#absolutely terrible. TERRIBLE. so many red flags there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theragethatisdesire · 10 months

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scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.”

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin.

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it.

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch.

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

#aot x reader #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren x you #eren yaeger x you #eren yeager smut #aot fanfiction #eren jaeger fic #eren jaeger fanfiction

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greenrosepdtl-blog · 2 months

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Ok so maybe I see this in a unique way because I’m a child of abuse and had narcissistic parent. But multiple things can be true at the same time. I hate how the internet is so incredibly black and white. Drake was absolutely sexually tortured for months as a child by someone he worked with who had SO MANY red flags and no one cared. This is a fact. It went to court and everything there’s documented FACTS. Now it can also be a fact that he SA-ed a teenager himself and has allegations against him. These things can be true at the same time. Sympathizing with someone for having something terrible happen to them doesn’t mean they are now 100% absolved from sin and get unlimited get out of jail free cards. It just means we are humans and so are they. It means people can be complicated and carry on cycles of abuse. It means trauma can make people do terrible things and even turn them into bad people when they get older if they don’t work to heal themselves.

When we all come together and say “poor teenage Drake! I’m so sad that should have never happened!” some people are acting like we are patting him on the back for sending dirty picks to a teen and being like “it’s ok buddy, completely understandable!” It’s getting infuriating especially on this site because we of all people should understand how deeply attached we get to our media. Us tumblr girlies should absolutely relate to being 13 and being in love with Drake and Josh and obsessively watching all these shows and buying the magazines with them in it only to find out now as adults that these people were being tortured for our entertainment.

Both things are true at once. The human experience especially when it involves abuse and trauma is incredibly complicated. I can be so terribly sad that this all happened to him because I care about the celebrity version of Drake I loved as a kid while also side eyeing adult Drake in case he himself is now in the darkness and hurting other people. We are complicated enough to feel multiple things at once people get it together.

#quiet on set #drake bell #nickelodeon

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vinvantae · 8 months

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Unmasked

15/16

<<< previous part

Word count : 5.2k

Warning: poorly translated French (English translation at the end)

A/N : I feel terrible about how long it’s taken me to write this, the inspiration just hasn’t been with me for a little while. I hope you enjoy it regardless ❤️

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SC - With the weight of the world seemingly off her shoulders, y/n absolutely flew around the track today. It feels like for the first time in a while, we’re seeing Thirty in her element once again.

Even with two rampaging Bulls chasing her down, it’s the Prancing Horse who takes the chequered flag. Y/N Y/L/N wins the Spanish Grand Prix!

MB - Despite all of the noise this weekend, it’s races like this one that define y/n as one of the best drivers of this generation. From the flawless start, to defending from the tremendous speed of the two Redbulls when it mattered most - that was a wonderful race to watch.

SC - I’m sure Ferrari were hoping for a 1-2 finish today, but after Charles' engine issues forced him to retire, I think they’ll be happy to get the most possible points with y/n’s fastest lap too. Look at that celebration, if there’s one thing about Thirty, every win is just as exciting as the last.

The feeling you got when you won never was any less triumphant, no matter how many you had tucked under your belt. But after how long the weekend had felt, this one felt particularly special. You climbed atop your car and pumped your fists above your head - practically giddy with glee as the crowd cheered for you, the underlying boos barely phasing you. They just didn’t matter - their opinions didn’t matter.

Your eyes zeroed in on a small group of girls who were in the grandstands, dressed head to toe in red - waving a banner for you above their head. Their celebrations seemed louder than anyone else's so you made sure to wave, putting the biggest smile on their faces before you hopped over to the car.

You laughed as the team swept you up in a tight hug when you ran over to the barrier, patting you on the helmet - the noise vibrated through you, making your heart soar. If there was a group of people you knew you could rely on, it was your team; even after your reveal, they were never any less supportive of you, always there for you no matter what the result was and treating you as they always had. It was one of the reasons why none of the contracts you offered tempted you, Ferrari are your family, you belong in red.

After swapping your helmet for your team cap, both Redbull drivers approached - Max giving you an overly enthusiastic bro hug, slapping your back so hard it almost hurt but you couldn’t help but laugh. “Amazing job, y/n. Almost got you.”

“Well, thankfully you and the smooth operator were too busy having a family squabble for that.” You teased, pulling back to let Carlos hug you as well, the Spaniard’s strong arms looped around your middle. “Now, if you boys don’t mind me - I have a winner’s interview to do.”

“Good job, y/n. Really happy for you.” Carlos made sure to get his praises in before you head across parc ferme. “See you soon.”

“Congratulations, y/n, what a result!” Naomi looked almost as excited as you as you approached for your post race interview. “How are you feeling right now?”

Your face was already hurting from how much you were smiling, you placed a hand on top of your cap and laughed. “I’m over the moon, this win felt so good.”

“After all you’ve had to deal with since your reveal, this is definitely wonderful to see.” She praised. “You raced spectacularly, anything you’d like to say to the people out there who still doubt you?”

“Honestly? After everything the guys, Max, Pierre, Esteban and Charles especially, put on the line for me, none of it really matters anymore. I have confidence in my skills and talent in this sport and knowing that my rivals believe in me too means everything… I won’t pretend that reading cruel things online will magically stop hurting, but I know what I’m capable of. I’m a world champion for a reason and there’s nothing anyone can say that will take that away from me.”

“Is this the start of your triumphant return, are we going to see you up on the top step now you’ve got your confidence back?”

“I’m ready for whatever the rest of the season throws at me. The championship is still all to play for right now, so I’m going to put my best foot forward and focus on racing.”

“Thank you so much, y/n. Congratulations. Your race winner, everybody!”

You waved at the crowd as you stepped inside to head to the cool-down room, your heart racing. Max and Carlos both greeted you with large smiles as you stepped into the room, the Spaniard playfully swatting at the brim of your cap to knock it from your head - swapping it for the 1st place Pirelli cap. “Much better, hermosa.”

“Thank you, however…” You knelt down to pick up your Ferrari hat, dusting it off before placing it on the table, a teasing lilt to your voice as you spoke. “Don’t disrespect! You can be proud of me for winning without being rude about my team, Carlos. I won’t ever let you forget you were almost one of us.”

“Idiot.” Max mumbled playfully, a strong arm draping across your shoulder - his eyes crinkled up as he smiled. “Congrats again on the win, y/n. You raced like a proper champ.”

“It felt good. Like of course winning is always good but this one felt different. Perhaps it was the timing of it, but there’s something about winning while feeling confident in myself again that makes me hungry for more.” You smiled softly. “To be honest, it felt more like the two of you were pushing me along than racing me… I’d thank you for taking it easy on me but there’s no way that that’s true.”

“You know I’d never do that. It was all you.” The Dutchman scoffed. “How dare you remember how good you are at racing, how am I supposed to beat you now.”

The way you grinned at him, gave Max flashbacks to your karting days together - your genuine joy when you beat him or all of the other boys in races. He could picture the small girl with her hair all messy from her helmet, sticking her tongue out at him when he whined to his Dad that a girl beat him. It’s not fair, she pushed me! When in reality you were just talented from day one. The way anyone could ever doubt you were Thirty bewildered him because you were you. Driven. Passionate.

It was why he never had any issue sharing the podium with you - your wins felt truly earned. Sure every driver had a win or two that they got under unusual circumstances but when the two of you were on those steps together, he could see how much you enjoyed it, no matter which number win it was and finally being able to see your smile made it all the better.

As you lifted your trophy above your head, you scanned the crowd for Charles - who, despite his DNF, was now standing in the front row, smiling up at you with pride. He threw you a cheesy wink as he clapped, not letting his own race ruin this for you. Despite not being your first win of the season, it was your first time on the top step so you relished every second of it - drowning both Redbull drivers in champagne before chugging some of the sparkling liquid. Max made sure he poured his drink down the back of your race suit, something he insisted he missed out having to share with your body double after the last win when you scolded him for it.

You felt on top of the world, all of your criticisms temporarily forgotten when that evening, all you could hear was the clinking of glasses against your own - the girls’ lips all sparkled with champagne as they toasted your victory. As much as you loved the guys, being celebrated by other women made your win all the more special. Lily looped an arm around your middle and pulled you close as Carmen snapped a photo - their laughter twinkling through the air. They gushed on how amazingly you raced, teasing you as your cheeks flushed.

All of this however, didn’t stop Charles watching you from across the bar - your red race suit traded for a gorgeous dress of the same colour, your eyes sparkling under the lights. The confidence you were radiating was intoxicating; he wanted to blame it on the beer he was drinking but there was nothing more he wanted than to have his hands all over you. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, everything about you was magnetic. He wanted to steal you from the girls, but he knew you needed this. Even when Max slapped him on the shoulder, he struggled to tear his eyes away.

“She’s not going to vanish if you stop looking at her, mate.” The dutchman teased, Charles finally turned away from you. “Let her celebrate, she knows where you are when she’s ready.”

“Something about her is just…different. Lighter.”

Max smiled softly, secretly fond of how Charles was with you. “She just won a race!”

“No, no. It’s more than that.” The other driver insisted. “But I just can’t put my finger on it… and if you’ll excuse me, I can’t just watch from a distance. She’s too beautiful.”

“Gross.”

He shoved Max lightly on the arm before crossing the bar to get to you, weaving between the flashes of red of those who were still in their team kit. Charles watched Lily give you a look before you cast your eyes over your shoulder - your face cracking into a grin. Your teammate felt grateful you were as pleased to see him as he was you. “Charles.”

“Mon amour.” He hummed, draping an arm around your waist - pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Sorry, I couldn’t stay away from you any longer. Having fun?”

“So much. I’m glad you’re here actually, we were just talking about you.” You lent into his touch.

“Oh yeah?”

Lily’s brow raised playfully. “You’ve got a big battle coming, il Predestinato. Now that our girl’s back, you ready to step it up?”

“I don’t think she ever left.” You looked at him as he spoke, his green eyes already fixed on you. “Just needed a little reminder of who she is.”

You smiled softly at him before leaning in to kiss him - his hand coming up to rest on your jaw. “I’ll never forget again thanks to you, and who knows, there’s still 16 races to go… anything could happen.”

“Joint world champions.” He teased, “That ever happened before?”

“Don’t think so.” Your laughter was soft, Charles had practically forgotten the presence of the girls watching you both with a fondness in their eyes. “But if anyone could do it, it would be us.”

“Cheers to that and cheers to you, y/n. I love you.”

You clinked your glass against his. “I love you too.”

***

Yourusername added to their instagram story

***

After your race win in Imola and poor strategy in Monaco from your team - ruining Charles’ chance at a win at his home grandprix, it didn’t take long for you to catch up to your teammate in the points and by the time the chequered flag was waved in Azerbaijan, you were the championship leader and it felt good. You could tell the strategy calls were starting to affect your boyfriend but whenever you brought it up, he told you it was all fine and that he was nothing but happy for you and selfishly, you believed him. You wanted him to feel as excited as you did, and it was the first time in a long time you were feeling good about your career.

Instead, you focused on racing with the same confidence you always knew you had before your reveal and with the people around you always making sure you had a smile on your face - the last few straggling cynics barely made a noise over the roaring crowds every time you lifted a trophy above your head.

Part of you thought maybe you had just become more attentive now you were free to be yourself, but every race that passed seemed to have more and more female fans eager to greet you at the barricades, ecstatic that you were leading the championship even if there was only 7 points in it.

“You’ve got this in the bag, y/n!” They always told you Canadian’s were nice, and it was shown with the way your new poor assistant’s arms were piled high with gifts as fans chatted away with you. You were never allowed to talk to them before as Thirty, so meeting them really was a delight. “Those boys don’t stand a chance.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Charles is pretty good.” You smiled softly. “But, I’ll tell you what… I’m gonna do my absolute best for you.”

“You’re already the champion in my eyes, regardless of how the season ends.”

“Oh stop, you’re gonna make me cry.” You laughed softly, giving the girl a one armed hug. “I have to go now, thank you all though - for the support, the gifts. I’ll try and win for you today, promise.”

You helped to take some of the gifts from your assistant before heading towards the motorhome, saying hi to the other drivers as you passed by - after the protest, they had much more an effort to include you in idle chit-chat or debates they were having with another driver. Whether it was Esteban trying to get you to convince Mick and Lance that his long standing feud with Max was definitely over or Kevin showing you photos of his kid, it was nice. It was truly all you had ever wanted from your reveal - not just to be a driver, but to feel like one too.

Charles tucked you under his arm before the driver parade started, bickering with Pierre in French about god knows what but the glint in their eyes and the cheeky smile on Charles’ face assured you it was all in good fun. You simply rested your head against your boyfriend, eyes closed as you enjoyed the surprisingly warm weather as you waited for the flatbed to start moving.

“Mon amour, are you falling asleep standing upright?” He teased, squeezing you into his side.

“Mhmm, you’re so comfy, Charles.” You hummed softly, standing up straighter as the engine began to rumble - wanting to wave to the crowds instead of being caught dozing. “Besides, I’ve got to be well rested before I win the race later.”

“Leading the championship and suddenly your ego is massive.” Pierre teased, kicking you lightly in the shin - making you whine and glare at him. “I’m kidding. You deserve to be cocky, you have been very impressive recently.”

You raised a brow. “I’ve got my eyes on you, Gasly.”

“Uh oh, Pierre, you’ve made an enemy of Thirty. You better there’s no chance of the two of you tangling during the race.”

You practically snorted out a laugh. “Oh Charles, he won’t need to worry… unless, maybe I end up lapping him.”

“Oh it is on.”

It was your turn to bicker with Pierre, your boyfriend slipping away to talk to some of the others as the flatbed pulled back in to drop you all off at the pits. You felt in such high spirits when you got in the car that there was just nothing that could stop you - you were sure of it. You were going to get your 3rd title and Ferrari their first WCC since 2018. it felt like you owed them at least that much after keeping you on.

And oh, did you love this track. With its tight barriers hugging the track and long straights, the high speed was risky but made the race all the more exciting. That paired with the two Redbull’s sniffing at your car’s rear end and your teammate starting at the back of the grid, it was bound to be an exciting race.

Max put up a hell of a fight, chasing you down and barely giving you even a second to breathe - he nearly caught you on more than one occasion, but not pitting during the late safety car was his fatal mistake - his pebbled tires were no match for your shiny new softs. And before long you were lifting your second consecutive first place trophy above your head, Max and Lewis alongside you.

You felt untouchable, blowing a kiss in the direction of a small crowd of Redbull fans who had booed you louder than the rest as you’d been handed your trophy before giving their golden boy a good hosing down with your champagne, the two men who you shared the podium with upended the bottles over your head in a bubbling waterfall- a giddy smile on both of your faces as you celebrated.

“Hey congrats.” Lewis grinned, patting you on the shoulder as the three of you stood on the podium for the photo together. “Winning looks better on you every time.”

“Thanks Lewis, means a lot. Especially from you.”

The three of you stepped off the podium for your post race interviews, and you just couldn’t shake the electricity running through you. Not a single interview passed without them commenting on just how different you seemed - how over the course of the past few races, the personality they had loved beneath the helmet seemed to have finally come to the surface. “It’s so nice to see how much you’re enjoying racing again, y/n.”

“Yeah, it’s been really really good.” You smiled, your hands resting against the cool metal barricade in front of you. “Sure, I still see and hear some nasty stuff but it… it just doesn’t feel the same, it doesn’t hurt as bad knowing that I have nothing to prove to them. They’ll never like me, and that’s okay. I have plenty of supporters and friends who love me and back me up no matter what.”

“Well, it’s good to have you back. Hope you enjoy your weekend off, see you at Silverstone.”

You thanked the press before heading back to the Ferrari motorhome, letting out a yelp as you were practically tackled by your boyfriend as he swept you up in his arms. “There’s my race winner.”

“Oh who cares about my race win when you made it up from 19th to 5th!” You laughed, wrapping your arms around him - the warmth from his body made you feel at ease. “That’s far more impressive. You very much deserved the driver of the day, I’m glad your hard work was recognised.”

“Well...” He carefully placed you on the floor, placing his hands on your hips. “How about we take our weekend off to celebrate your phenomenal race and my win, hmm?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck before leaning in to kiss him. He smiled against your lips and pulled you closer, deepening the kiss like you weren’t surrounded by the hustle and bustle of your team packing up now the weekend was over. Neither of you cared, you simply couldn’t get enough of each other.

When you pulled back, you couldn’t help but notice the cheeky glint in his eyes. You let your hand move to rest on his jaw, brushing your thumb across the stubble. “That sounds like an offer I simply can’t refuse.”

***

The skies were blue when you touched down in Silverstone, another favourite - a classic; the Tifosi showing wasn’t as big as it used to be but there were enough flashes of red amongst the crowds for you to feel their support. But, much to the disappointment of the Mercedes and Mclaren fans filling the grandstands, you and your team were currently on track to win the whole thing. You’d spent more time than you cared to admit trying to figure out what the earliest race you could win the championship at despite your slow start to the season.

But with Charles, Max and Carlos all having an equally impressive score sheet, you honestly had no idea which way it was going to go - you could only hope it would be in your favour. You’d worked so hard to fight for not only the championship, but the respect you deserved that you knew that you couldn’t stop now. Everything was to play for and you couldn’t back down now.

SC - Welcome one, welcome all to the Formula 1 Lenovo British Grand Prix here at Silverstone, the sun is shining down on all of us Martin and it looks set to be a good race. With the Ferraris and Redbulls occupying the two front rows, it will be a challenge for anyone else to claim victory. Our Championship leader shares the front row with Max Verstappen, who is gaining with each race on her and her teammate Charles Leclerc.

MB - It definitely is one to watch, the battle between the Prancing Horses and Bulls has been thrilling so far this season. I can’t wait to see how this all plays out and with Y/N having claimed podiums in her last six races, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her back on that top step.

SC - I’d put money on it if I was a betting man. Her performance leading up to this point has been something special. But with Max picking up the pace, I think he’s definitely her biggest competitor right now.

MB - Now Crofty, I wouldn’t write young Leclerc off so quickly, he is second place right now.

SC - Well, I’ll guess we’ll just have to wait and see as the grid lines up for the start of the race. The British Grand Prix is about to start, engines are revving… and its lights out, and away we go!

You felt breathless as you pulled into parc ferme, what a race. Despite your win, you couldn’t help but think about Gyanyu, George and Alex - the crash at the start was scary and you were lucky to have not been a part of it with a third of the grid getting tangled up. As much as you loved to win, it was always a bittersweet feeling when others were potentially hurt.

As you climbed out of the car, you made an effort to try and catch as many of the other drivers you knew had been part of the incident as you could as they made their way through parc ferme. You immediately wrapped your arms around Seb as he climbed out of the car, your former teammate giving you a gentle chuckle in response - promising that he was okay. So you glanced around the crowd for your childhood friend, Pierre smirking as he saw you approach. “Aw, coming to check on me?”

“Don’t make me regret it, Gasly.” You chuckled, pulling him into a hug. “But if you’ll excuse me, I did just win. Catch you later.”

You tried to catch Charles before he ducked away but you were ushered towards Lewis and Carlos for the podium interviews. With your fresher tires brought on by Esteban’s safety car, he wasn’t able to hold you off… or Lewis… or Carlos. So he was understandably frustrated. But you were still happy and wanted to celebrate with the team and you were sure once he’d had his moment of annoyance, he’d be happy for you too.

It was hard to have that same attitude when the roles were reversed the following week in Austria, and it was you who barely missed out on the podium and it all came to a head in your driver’s room. “I think we need to talk.”

“Oh?” Charles gently took off his first place cap and placed it on the coffee table. “Everything okay?”

You took a deep breath. “I don’t know why we haven’t had this conversation before but I feel like we need to talk about what happened this week and last week… when one of us wins and the other doesn’t. I think we need to find the balance of being able to understand how the other one feels versus celebrating the winner.”

“Yeah, yeah I get that. Well…” He approached you slowly, placing his hands on your hips - giving a gentle squeeze. “The winner can be sympathetic and the other can be supportive, but if one of us has a particularly bad race when the other wins then we just check in on how they feel first before jumping for joy at the win.”

“We’re both in with a chance of winning this whole thing, we have to promise not to let that get in the way of what we have.” You looped your arms around his neck, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck. “I'm really happy with you and I don’t want me beating you to ruin that.”

“Oh, you’re gonna beat me are you?” Charles chuckled. “Well, best of luck, mon amour. You’re gonna need it.”

***

Leading up the summer break, things stayed on the up for you but not so much for Charles the agreement between the two of you more in force than ever. Hungary was the last race before you could enjoy a relaxing few weeks away from the paddock but with Charles’ DNF in France the weekend before he’d lost 2nd in the WDC to Max, the Dutchman now 5 points ahead thanks to his victory and it was clearly bothering him. You were soaring ahead and he was starting to be left behind - you 33 points ahead.

Charles spent as much time as he could with fans, making sure not one was missed - chatting away, taking photos and bringing as many smiles to their faces as he could. He would always be the tifosi’s golden boy; despite you leading, he would always have a special place in their hearts and you couldn’t blame them. There was something charming and gentle about him, he was impossible to dislike. The way he avidly listened to every word fans said to him, the look on his face full of genuine interest. He was so kind and you knew someday he was going to live up to the massive expectations they had all put on his shoulders - you wanted to win the championship, but someday it was going to be his turn and you knew that he would have their support every step of the way.

As you finally stepped away from the crowds, you linked your fingers with his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze - noticing his deflated stature as you walked towards the motorhome. Neither have you qualified on pole and his hopes of winning were being diminished by the minute. “You looked like you were having a good time with the fans, what’s the matter? Talk to me…”

“I hate to say it, amour, but now that you’re off ahead in the distance - I’m gonna have to play the role of second driver.” He grumbled softly. “I really want you to do well, y/n, I do, but I want it to be fair.”

A soft sigh left your lips and you turned him to face you, his green eyes locked on yours. “I won’t let it be unfair. I’m gonna talk to my engineers and let them know how I feel about it.. When I beat you, it’s all gonna be on my own merit.”

The corner of his mouth tugged into a smile, shaking his head a little. Your heart skipped a beat at his laughter, his strong arms looping around your middle. “And when I beat you, it’ll be because I deserve it too.”

“Exactly. We’re equals.” You lent up to press a kiss to his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck. “Last race until the summer break, we just have to get through this and then you and I can escape to your yacht and make the most of the privacy.”

“You are beyond tempting.” He purred, pulling you in closer. “If we weren’t surrounded by all these prying eyes, I’d have you exactly where I want you.”

A giggle escaped you, you raised a playful brow at him. “Well, then what are we waiting for? Your driver’s room has a lock on the door, doesn’t it?”

Your teammate groaned, his nose nudging against yours before he kissed you with even more intensity than before - not caring about the cameras or poor staff members walking past you both to get into the building. The butterflies erupted in your stomach as he smiled against your lips, not wasting a second more before he tugged you into the building towards his driver room. He pressed your back against the door as he closed it, his pupils blown with lust as they scanned your figure. “As pretty as you look in red…”

“I’d look better in nothing?” You teased, slipping your hands under his polo - he shivered as your cold hands ran across his skin. “C’mon, Charles. You can do better than that.”

“You’re impossible.” He shook his head, dropping his voice to a whisper as his lips brushed across your skin. “Tu es délicieux(1)…je t’aime de tout mon coeur(2).”

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped you. “God, you speaking French really does something to me.. Don’t stop.”

He tugged you away from the door as he pulled your polo over your head, lips only breaking from your skin to mutter filth in french. You were weak at the knees as he pulled back to look at you - his lips shiny with your gloss. You reached up to brush your thumb across his bottom lip before tugging on his chin gently to bring him back into a kiss as he began to work on the button of your jeans.

“Did you lock the door?” You managed to get out, feeling breathless but your boyfriend seemed relentless, grunting in response as he dropped to his knees to pull your jeans over your hips, tugging you lightly so you thumped down on the couch with a soft oof. “Charles, the door.”

“You’re killing me.” He whined, running his hands up the insides of your thighs - pushing them apart. “Je ne peux pas supporter d'être loin de toi ne serait-ce qu’un instant(3), amour.”

You draped a leg over his shoulder. “If anyone walks in, I’ll run you off the track later.”

His lips curved into a devilish smirk. “Deal.”

****

charles_leclerc posted to his instagram stories

***

Next part >>>

(1) you’re delicious

(2) I love you with all my heart

(3) I can't stand being away from you for even a moment

I hope you enjoyed ❤️ thank you for all your continued support regardless of my terrible posting schedule

Want to be notified when I post? Join our discord, head over to #reaction-roles and click the sunflower 🌻

#unmasked fic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 #x reader #charles leclerc x reader #Charles leclerc x you #leclerc x reader

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saltpepperbeard · 4 months

Text

Some Late Night Thoughts™ before I head to bed:

One, and most importantly, today was a rougher day, for myself and a lot of people, it seemed. There was a bit more disappointing news around, and a bit more corporate nonsense to deal with. But with that being said, I just wanted to thank y'all for still fighting so hard, and for being such sources of light. I came on here after taking a break for the evening, and saw people sharing so many helpful resources, as well as whatever bits of hope/promising pieces of news they could. And it was just so so needed, and so very appreciated <3

Like, not only are we lighthouses for the show, but lighthouses for each other. And that's so important, especially when so many of us are getting so exhausted and having highs/lows.

And two, even DESPITE the nonsense Casey threw out today, I think we still need to maintain our same efforts. I kind of sat with it a bit, and was like,,, man, I bet they WANT us to be like "Aww, man, no chance :(" instead of our current "NO QUARTER 👹." They probably WANT us to shut up and sit down, to move on to a different show and stop making a fuss.

But we won't. We absolutely won't. Especially when there are whispers of other studios being interested; if anything, that makes our "Max raids" even MORE important. Because, the more noise we keep making, and the more red flags we keep flying around, the more attention it draws, and the more it makes Max's decision look terrible like it was.

So keep the flags up. Keep the flags up, stay hydrated, rest when you need to, and hang on. I'm hoping and praying this near-silence from the cast and crew is a good sign; I'd like to think it points to strong NDA's, and potential negotiations with other platforms.

Fingers crossed, and keep sailing on, crew! <3

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #SaveOFMD #RenewOFMD #Renew as a crew

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pictureofdoriaaaaaangay · 9 months

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chaotic book ramble so I can stop spiraling into the abyss: dark academia books you've heard of and probably already read edition

I need to talk about books I love to stay sane please stand by <3

Bunny by Mona Awad. I love this book SO MUCH. it's beautifully written, the characters are all unhinged women, there's murder, there's creation, there's a creative writing class. it drips with insanity and eroticism. reading it is like living a fever dream. you can picture the events of the book perfectly, but could never hope to explain it to anyone.

The Secret History by Donna Tartt. this book is the entire world to me. I love the characters [they're all terrible and irredeemable people], I love the story [they kill a man then they kill their friend and also worship Dionysus], and I absolutely want a friend group just like the Greek class [to reiterate: they are all walking red flags]. it's a book you have to read once, then again, and again, just to notice more and more so you can analyze it and make deductions. at the end of the day, it goes beyond the age-old "moral implications of murder" and delves into "moral implications of love". don't ask me how many times I've read it. that's my red flag.

If We Were Villains by ML Rio. it was only recently that I read this over the course of twenty four hours, and I honesty have yet to recover. I'm not a Shakespeare girlie, but I still loved the way his work was so inherently and intricately woven into the story of the iwwv characters. it was transcendent. it was a tragedy, it was a love story, it was a comedy. it depends on your perception of it, I suppose. but I digress - it's a really good bloody book. expect the ending to make you cry.

The Picture of Dorian Gray, by our lord and savior Oscar Wilde. this, technically, can't really be classified under the textbook definition of "dark academia" since there's not exactly any academia (can Harry even read let's be honest here), but it goes in this list because VIBES. this is one of my favorite novels of all time, and another one I've read one too many times for it to not be a red flag. I mean, the name of my damn blog is my red flag. I love it so much. it's got everything, from art to obsession to murder to gay people to the most heartachingly profound lines you've ever read. I mean, why wouldn't you read it if you haven't already?

These Violent Delights by Micah Nemerever. this one snuck up on me. towards the beginning, I wasn't sure if I'd like it, but by the middle, I was hooked. by the ending, I was shooketh. reading the author note, I was sitting silently in abject horror. more gay people, more obsession, more murder - what else do I have to say?

this has been a chaotic book ramble. thank you for being here <3

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bonefall · 3 months

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I know you like Nightheart, but what about NightSun? I think you've brought up the issues with Nightheart X Sunbeam before, but I don't remember if it was a dedicated post or not.

Ok so like, to understand why I do not like NightSun, it's important to know why I like Nightheart.

I like Nightheart as a young, arrogant person who is the cause of many of his own problems in life. He doesn't mean to be the way he is, but it's as if everything he says comes out twice as mean as he wants it to, and the first of every thought is the worst one. While he resents the legacy of Firestar that he's part of, it also FRUSTRATES him that he isn't treated like the prodigal little hero he feels like he is.

It's an inferiority complex and a superiority complex, but he doesn't know that. He's intelligent, but he isn't wise. So he grabs at all these different complaints; "Why does no one see me for my own achievements?? I can't be what you want me to be. Let me prove myself! No, not like that, I'm not a child I'm a warrior!! Who do you think I am? Who do you think YOU are?! Why is everyone being so mean to me!?"

So, what I LIKE about ASC is watching him make messes, as he thrashes around to get loose and only ends up tangling himself even further into his troubles. He's fun when he's making shortsighted choices that should be ruining his relationships and putting himself in danger. What I DON'T like about ASC is that "fuck around" never becomes "find out."

I would have liked NightSun a lot if it was a story about how Sunbeam's complacent, conflict-avoidant personality crashed into Nightheart's self-absorbed, passionate nature like pop rocks and coke. They feel like such a unique, compelling sort of toxic to me. I LOVE the way that Sunbeam just immediately allowed Nightheart into her Clan, just straightup ignoring the red flags. I liked the way that Nightheart responded to his problems by running away from home, POSITIVE that his Tigerkin would treat him better than his Firekin.

Unfortunately, it seems like they're playing it straight. Nightheart left her ass alone THREE times when she asked him not to, and she's just shrugged her shoulders. Nightheart's already talking about babies and they're cooing at each other. It's painfully boring.

Why can't the writing team ever do toxic relationships on purpose? Why is it that when it looks like a relationship SHOULD be barreling towards a terrible conclusion they just end up playing it wholesome and soso sweet (Star Flower x Clear Sky, NightSun), but when they intend for two cats to be the obvious, perfect choice for each other (Bramblesquirrel, Turtle Tail x Gray Wing) it ends up absolutely radioactive?

(Side note, isn't it weird that StarClan was able to DM ThunderClan and tell them "hey, dont be mad that nightheart's leaving for the 400th time" but Frostpaw comes back with legitimately important information and Splashtail is able to go "nuh uh." GOD Nightheart's life is so easy)

TL;DR NightSun should have gone down in flames and we were robbed.

#bone babble #asc spoilers

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madcatlad · 9 months

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I doubt Jesson intended it but... why do I keep running into this really heavy theme throughout mcd.

Hear me out:

Children turning out to be monsters despite their parents efforts.

Let's start of with the obvious red flags

Zenix.

It is implied that he was very young when he was taken in by Garroth. It is also said outright that he was a shadowknight even before that. The dark implication of this is that Zenix became a shadowknight at a young age (children becoming shadowknights is rarely mentioned within mcd, it notably is only implied with Zenix, and Alexis.) Garroth took Zenix under his wing, so much so the kid was literally described as like a son to Garroth. But despite his efforts Zenix betrayed Phoenix Drop. The way they address this issue stands out to me as multiple characters seem to describe Zenix as "already gone" from his arrival to Phoenix Drop. Even Laurence. Now one could chalk this up to Jess being unable or unwilling to truly address Zenix as a tragic character, and simply paint him as the conniving villain the series needed at the time (before Zane). And i think there is some truth to that. However the fact that Zenix' motives have remained notably undefined and his actions seem to contradict from what we are told about him so insistently. Even for Jessica this is a clear sign that something is up. "Already gone"... because my writer brain loves parallels I automatically connected it to (again) the only place that this idea is brought up in the series: Zane.

Zane.

Zane in mcd is evil, his motives also seem a little unclear at times, but this is because he characterized to be power hungry, unpredictable, and- undeniably evil. But was it always this way? Zane would prefer to watch the world burn than rule it. He seems to just hate people, so what terrible event caused such a terrible person? Nothing apparently. As said by Zianna, he was "always that way".

Zenix' "Already Gone" hits far too close to Zane's "Always That Way" for me. And the parallels don't end there, Zenix and Zane mirror one another in interesting ways. Both have familial-like attachment to Garroth, and their nature/motivation seems to torment and confuse him endlessly. They both became shadowknights (both were chosen by the shadow lord despite being outside of his usual "type" - Zane:At twink, Zenix:A child.) And they both seem to be obsessed with power, yet both have some kind of trauma surrounding people in power (Zane:Garte, Zenix:Implied to have been wronged by a lord in some way.) All this being said I have to point out Zenix and Zane both start with Z. They are the only ones aside from Zoey with a Z starting name, and since they already share so many qualities I can see this being a way for Jess to foreshadow this.

Garroth, like he did with Zenix, he questions what led Zane on his path but Zianna seems to put this idea to rest entirely, and her word is taken as fact. Which is fair the idea isn't too shocking, considering the kind of person Zane was. But the fact that even Garroth thought to question the cause of Zane's nature and is immediately shut down by Zianna, and then it is never mentioned again. It's just to reminiscent to how Garroth compartmentalized Zenix' downfall and never mentioned it again. It's just too close.

Zianna at the end of the day is Zane's mother, which one could argue that she knows him best, however parents can be blind to the trauma that young children might face and the results that this may cause. Important to note is that Zianna is likely a victim. A constant state of fight or flight could absolutely block her from realizing or addressing the effects of prolonged trauma in her children. In her mind she was taking the blunt of the rather, a shield between harm and her children, but as in most cases, and as shown in both Garroth and Vylad this was not the reality, so it would be easy to connected that this would be the same with the middle son, Zane.

But in the misfortune of her situation Zianna did the best that she possibly could. But Zane ended up the way he did anyway. The way that Zianna is characterized in her short time on screen really encapsulates the backbone of this concept. Her guilt, and her grief are so compelling, and the manner in which she rationalize her traumatic experience is very believable... but identifying a child who was raised in a household that actively encouraged cruelty as just "always like that" is very suspicious to me. And the strong thematic intersections aligning between Zenix and Zane makes me believe that there is something going on here.

Brian

Last but not least.

This reveal was unexpected but impactful. It was shocking because of this concept. Despite Molly's best efforts Brian became a traitor anyway.

It came alongside Zenix' in a way which I think is interesting. It was implied that they had some kind of relationship. And they both ended up betraying Phoenix Drop.

I wonder where this guy is now...

But some honorable mentions since this concept is interesting to me. (Most of the arcs were put aside so it is interesting to think where they could have gone considering the circumstances, so I'm connecting it to this mini-theory.)

Season 1, when Baby Alexis was turned into an adult SHADOWKNIGHT! She was returned to normal of course but still... is that a possible destiny for her to be weary of?

Leona. Kiki is so sweet, and a great mom, bit... there is too much mystery and unanswered questions surrounding this child of her's. (Why did Zane even do this?) She is somewhat implied to kinda-but-not-really be Zane's? Regardless of the reality one way or another she is a result of Zane, a pawn in his plot, maybe one that died with him, maybe one that returned with him, we don't know.

Considering this thematic presence throughout MCD I wonder where this would have led in season three. It would be interesting if this heavier side to the series continued. Especially since Aphmau is raising the heir to a destroyer's relic. If this theme is to be believed then where would that lead to in Alina's destiny?

"Minecraft Diaries: Son and Daughters"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46724815

#aphblr #aphmau #zianna ro'meave #zane ro'meave #garroth ro'meave #zenix mcd #brian mcd #leona mcd #shad the destroyer #mcd #minecraft diaries

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purikkura · 10 months

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collision report — s.hanbin

❪ ★彡 SYNOPSIS. ❫ ──── you've witnessed your best friend cause one too many train accidents, but never did you ever expect your heart would be caught in one.

❪ ★彡 PAIRING. ❫ ──── sung hanbin x gn!reader

❪ ★彡 WORD COUNT. ❫ ──── 2019 words

❪ ★彡 GENRE/TROPES. ❫ ──── angst... really bad angst, high school au (was tempted to set it at university, but didn't know how fitting that was <;/3), best friends

❪ ★彡 WARNINGS. ❫ ──── allusions to & mentions of death; reader's hella paranoid and delulu; hanbin's lowkey a red flag, but we choose to look past that

❪ ★彡 NOTES. ❫ ──── first fic... y'all, this took ages. i'm 98% sure there's no way i'll be able to pump out requests at a fast rate as most, but i'll try to get to that point. eventually. this was loosely inspired by doushite mo kimi ga suki da by akb48, hence why i brought up trains so often. get my sisters to 1 million on spotify, they're so close!! alternatively titled as 'heartbreak prince!'

You told him you’d be gone for no more than 5 minutes.

And usually, when you tell Hanbin things, such promises become your top priority—for no reason in particular other than that he was Sung Hanbin. Everyone liked Sung Hanbin, whether they’d admit to it or not.

Perhaps you stood ahead in line than others—reap the benefits of the title as his best friend, why not—but that position was distressing as it was rewarding considering all the train wrecks you had to witness practically firsthand. Cringing upon the first whiff of smoke in the form of heartbreak, you could only feel bad for that week’s victim who had fallen ill to Hanbin’s charms, who shoveled their nerves and confessed to him, sooted hands waiting to be taken by a pair as pure as his.

He never did. He never could; that, you knew very well based on the horrified looks he snuck over to you during the first few incidents. He’s gotten better at it, though—derailing the other person’s high-speed emotions, making it not as messy of a bloody blue ruin. As per every rejection, it ended with you two turning your backs and heading homebound together. Envy wasn’t always a green-eyed monster. It could also take on the form of a devastated high school student, eyes discerning the back of your head (rather than the obvious space between you and your friend) as though you had kicked dirt on them just then. Don’t you know better? The body’s still warm.

Homebound is where you should be right about now, but much to the shock of everyone else, you had a life outside of playing the role of “the one that always stands next to Hanbin; are they his significant other?” and, besides, you were people-pleasing elsewhere. Needing some last-minute material for an upcoming test, your teacher obliged the offer, but that meant taking time out of your day to actually confront them. You thought it would take no more than 5 minutes.

You told Hanbin that at approximately 4:37 PM.

It’s 5:23.

Perhaps on the way, you could sum up a valid excuse as to why you stayed way later than expected. Hanbin knew you were lagging behind in the class; he was the one helping you all this time, and it was more than likely that he was the one who tipped your teacher intel that you needed extra studying material in the first place. He tends to do that often. Care too much. Then again, you always tried to return the favor in other classes, no matter how bad you were, or, at the very least, attempted to buy or share your lunch. You physically had to fight to put a chip in his mouth once, which might or might not have resulted in choking, you profusely apologizing, and him simply smiling as if he didn’t almost befriend death.

It was the small things that made you love him.

Made people love him—you liked him a very normal amount.

. . .

Who are we fooling?

You were absolutely, tremendously, without a doubt, down terribly in the trenches in love with him! And it seemed everyone was well-aware, including your math teacher who not-so-subtly dropped the question only a few minutes ago, “Are you two an item yet?” Only problem was, you couldn’t tell the one person your feelings mattered most to. No, really, how could you? After every crush people have caught? After every crash he caused?

You weren’t willing to ruin what the two of you currently had. A relationship that exceeded mere acquaintances—one you always hesitated asking if it ever meant more to him. You even hesitated to ask someone else if they drew some sort of boundary with their friends when it came to physicality. It wasn’t uncommon for you and Hanbin to randomly entangle together, arms haphazardly overlapping with the other’s, however unintentional it may be. It was comfortable for the two of you, though perhaps not so much for passersby that looked at you with rage. A stark contrast between the way Hanbin looked at you with an unbelievable amount of tenderness.

. . . Regardless.

Hanbin was your best friend.

You couldn’t leave him, and he wouldn’t leave you.

That’s what you thought before making it to the courtyard. No Hanbin in sight.

Huh. That was strange.

The thought of him leaving you…

Your shoes kicked into high gear while the sun trickled to disappear. As if a ghost of one of Hanbin’s victims possessed you, a surge of unbeknownst confidence compelled you to try. Because you were tired of standing at a railroad crossing. Because you were fascinated by train wrecks.

There was no doubt in your mind. You love Sung Hanbin.

Didn’t matter how other people felt or how anyone would look at you. You were practically first on the waiting list anyway; you should feel more than willing to announce your feelings to the world and let the wind carry your words over to him.

Thankfully, Hanbin takes extremely slow strolls, so you managed to catch up to him right when he crossed the railroad crossing. (That’s also strange. You guys rarely take this shortcut.) Unfortunately, you arrived right when the gates fell.

“Hanbin!”

All you could see was him. Him. Him. Him alone. You could already imagine how beautiful he’ll look when he turns around, unable to hear laughter blocked out by what sounded like a siren.

You called his name another time. Possibly another.

Though the last was cut off by the incoming train, bells ringing, severing the red thread that connected you two until parted by death.

You braced for impact, a grimace replacing your previous dazed expression, but all you really felt was the wind pushing you back. You think the universe saved you just now.

Then the ringing stopped. You opened your eyes, expecting him to initially chastise you for being so reckless before teasing you for saying his name like a lovesick fool. But all he did was stare at you. Sure, there resided some specs of endearment in his eyes—that would never change—but the rest of his features reminded you so much of the horror-struck looks he gave you upon every confession. All he did was stare at you.

Meanwhile, all you could do was stare at her.

You’ve seen her before. She’s pretty—long sleek hair adorned by a headband, an accessory Hanbin doted on in the past for a reason beyond your one-sided awareness.

However, it wasn’t the headband that drew your attention or made your eyes bulge out of their sockets. It was the space between them, or lack thereof when you noticed their hands glued together.

You must’ve stared long enough not to notice the gates rose, clashing with your confidence that diminished instantly right to the soles of your shoes.

You only picked your head up when he called your name, as gently as he could.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he mirrored in the same nervousness.

Glancing between them was a difficult task not to do. “Sorry it took so long, I… had to get some help from my teacher.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he made sure to say that first, sneaking a look to the side. It was still his part, and you knew this script far better than anyone else. “I’m sorry — I forgot to introduce you.”

You didn’t catch her name. That was, without a doubt, the least interesting part of his sentence. Still, the words ‘My girlfriend’ resounded perfectly in your ears.

“Oh.” Congrats, you incorporated your first-ever adlib in your role, but please, follow the script. “Since—since when?”

“Since now, I think,” the girl finally took charge of the lines, attentive to neither yours nor Hanbin’s broken expressions, but she (at the very least) picked up on the awkward situation unfolding. “I guess I asked Hanbin out a few weeks ago? And he said yes, but we didn’t go anywhere from there until today when I… asked him to walk me home.”

“A few weeks ago?” Your breath fell short despite saying only four words.

Hanbin didn’t necessarily have the gall, but to better his conscious, he had to deliver an answer. “It happened in the middle of a convenience store.” Translation: he didn’t think that much of it.

“And you said yes?” Your voice was quiet. For the first time, Hanbin forgot what to say. For the first time, he forgot how to redirect the train. There was only one rail, and it was headed straight for the two of you.

Out of every confession leading up to now, this was by far the worst.

“Yes.”

At some point in time, he lost his girlfriend’s hand, but she delicately laced it back with his as pure reassurance, prompting him to add: “Yeah, I mean, I’ve been crushing on her all year. I figured, why not?”

He’s been crushing on her all year? He’s never mentioned that before, has he? If so, how could you not have possibly known?

“Why not…” Your body’s breaking down, losing function. “Why didn’t…” …you tell your best friend? Why didn’t you tell me you were on the cusp of killing your own best friend? “Why don’t you walk her home this week?”

That definitely wasn’t the response Hanbin was expecting, or wanted. But the director is intrigued, seeking confirmation as to whether their actors know their characters as much as they did, persisting in the change in script.

“What?” Anyone could’ve heard how his voice dejected an octave lower.

“Yeah… yeah, you know,” you trailed in, unsure as to whether you really meant what you were about to say, “I’m staying after to study for the test soon. I wouldn’t want you to walk home alone. Either of you.”

Hanbin convinced himself those last few words were rushed because the ones before were definitely a direct hit on him, and there’s not a second in this situation when he doesn’t regret saying yes to his girlfriend’s homeward request.

“You sure? I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“Are you serious?” He didn’t mean to interrupt his girlfriend as he did, and he especially didn’t want to sound as exasperated as he did. Nothing could stop your eyes from flashing a bit of concern; it was built into your system that Hanbin’s well-being was priority #1. “If you still need help, I could come over.”

Was he upset with you? Anger is common as far as human nature goes, but the genuine kind never rose between you and him. You’ve certainly seen him tense up in situations like confessions or tests even he didn't study for (no thanks to you), but did his shoulders always buckle so tight?

“I think you’ve helped enough.”

There, you’ve done it. Now, there lies two casualties. That red thread of fate did last until the very end.

“B-But I’m here now!” You sounded more enthused than you were. “And I don’t want to hold either of you up, so let’s start walking, yeah?”

You extended your arm, gesturing for them to lead the way. Part of you hoped he’d take your tainted hand instead, but he never did. He never could. His girlfriend had to tug for his body to finally react, and you witnessed his face surf through a plethora of emotions before settling on a forced cordial smile—one he used after every killing.

This moment felt all too familiar. Déjà vu all over again, only you felt out of place. This was a change in scenery. Rather than spotting the sunset, you watched as the couple turned their backs, your eyes boring into the back of an innocent’s head, who walked in the position you once had.

You were prepared to play the kicked puppy, a gate of tears ready for their cue. But you couldn’t, not when the boy who did away with your innocence walks already guilted with so many bodies, some that hadn’t even gone cold.

So, you never did.

You told him you needed all but 5 minutes. If it had been 5 minutes, would your life have been spared?

#zerobaseone #zb1 x reader #zb1 x gender neutral reader #sung hanbin #sung hanbin x reader #sung hanbin x gender neutral reader #zb1 imagines #zb1 scenarios

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rockofeye · 23 hours

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This is Not Okay.

(I see your asks and I am working through them, promise)

In the last few years, I have generally kept quiet on the amount of unpleasantness that has come bearing the title of Haitian Vodou. I am not the Vodou Police and people have a right to be wrong and make (sometimes terrible) mistakes. Additionally, people genuinely do not want advice or feedback when their mind is made up and they have found what they think is the real deal for them, and that's okay. I don't need or even want to get involved since folks are presumably adults making adult decisions, and I don't need to invite myself to any/every fight where my name is not invoked...or even when it is!

And yet.

Sometimes, it's too much to stay quiet because silence can get people really hurt, or worse. While folks are entitled to their mistakes and entitled not to educate themselves or do due diligence on the people they are granting access to their heads, there's just something that doesn't sit right with me when it's egregious. Long time followers know I have only spoken directly once or twice.

This is egregious, and it's going to get someone killed:

I have received this at least 5 different times today and have had folks genuinely seeking the lwa ask if this is a solid option. I do not know the person behind this and I would hope this is some sort of massive misunderstanding on their part. However, even so, this is awful.

Let's break this down a bit.

Advertising an initiation right off the bat with how many spots you have available says that you are not concerned with who comes in the door or why they are there. Advertising initiation as something to buy is weird even without the bargain basement 'FIVE SPOTS AVAILABLE'. Sosyetes do not need to advertise and recruit; folks come by reputation and general attraction to what the sosyete does.

The fact that there is no information about what sosyete is mounting this is a red flag. No one can undertake initiation alone. It's impossible because the very mechanics of initiation require folks from outside your lineage to come and verify that the work is being done completely and in accordance with the general principles of the religion.

Trying to cast doubt on other places as a way to build credibility is gross, and it is super ironic that they are advertising this as an answer to scams and people who do gross things. Do those things happen? Absolutely. Is this the way to solve it? No. Grift cannot neutralize grift. This is grift.

The big blinking neon red flag sign is the kwakwa/asogwe hybrid initiation. This is not possible and communicates several things, the largest of which is that this person has not received appropriate guidance in either rite because even the most barebones education tells you that this is not possible and could never be done.

Further, this communicates a lack of respect for both rites. The balls it takes to decide that you are going to take it upon yourself to change a religious practice and throw a bunch of stuff in a blender to come up with something new is WILD. This is outright spiritual arrogance that ignores the place of elders, culture, history, and the actual revolution that birthed these things.

Claiming that a person will receive everything they need in one step is lacking in clarity and breaking from the culture of Haitian Vodou, tchatcha and asogwe lineages alike. That is not how initiation works; the process of initiation unfolds over days and weeks and the process of becoming a competent manbo or houngan unfolds over years and even a lifetime. No initiation is a drive through endeavor and should not be treated as such.

'Without the worries of ties to a spiritual house' tells me this person lacks rootedness and perhaps ties to a spiritual house of their own, which is sad. It is not possible to be a manbo or a houngan in any lineage without ties to a specific lineage/spiritual house. It's not possible. Every lineage of Haitian Vodou is based on the lakou, or the compound or yard that a family and community is built around.

What lakou we are associated with tells our stories and gives us our roots, whether we are Haitian or not, or related to our lineage head or not. These stories are vitally important, we cannot function without them and we cannot take Haitian Vodou out of the context that it exists in. We are collectively built from the story that our spiritual ancestors told themselves when they dreamed of liberation and undertook the truly revolutionary action of revolt against French colonizers.

Trying to undo that to package initiation as something unrooted and without community is a slap in the ancestral face and is impossible. It's not Haitian Vodou. We do not stand alone. If you have no community, who will endorse you as a houngan or manbo? How will anyone know you actually are one? I can give you the names of a dozen priests who were active participants in my initiation and can confirm that I have the right to hold the asson. If you have no spiritual community, you do not have that...and you do not have the right to hold the asson.

Learning is different in Haitian Vodou; we learn as we develop and there is no initiation that grants you the immediate access to the inside of your initiator's head. Info farming is not a thing. We learn as we develop, which is why relationships and community are so important. Going through an initiation doesn't give you all the knowledge. Initiation doesn't even teach you things, you learn after because during the process you do not have the right yet to know. Framing all of this as withholding information shows a lack of cultural fluency. Do people withhold in ways that can be harmful? Sure, because there is fault everywhere....but this is not how you solve that, at all.

Most asogwe receive their po tèt; some take it home and some choose to keep it in the temple they were initiated in. Some houses have specific regleman around that, and there are individual circumstances that would keep someone from having theirs but those are instances that people would work out ahead of time. Further, if someone is not comfy with what the lineage they are initiating into does with po tèts, that it something to work out before they initiate, which is why discernment is so, so important.

There are not multiple kolyes given during initiation. In an asogwe lineage, a kolye is made during the initiation process for you specifically and it is large and worn on the body in most places. We do not receive kolye for individual lwa nor are they consecrated in separate ceremonies; this is directly taken from Orisha traditions.

A kwa kwa and a bell are not an asson, and genuinely only a fool would try to bring that to Loko, the progenitor of all asogweman. You cannot mash things together and say they are an asson because you want them to be, or that Loko will give it. I can't even be charitable about this, it's straight up wrong and completely unethical. No one does this. No one.

'Head seals' is wild and someone is going to get hurt. The job of protecting the head is with the lwa, not in the hands of someone doing work. Further, a correct and complete initiation precludes the possibility of problematic possession because the lwa are there to sort that out. Additionally, taking it upon yourself to 'seal' the head a child of Ginen in the name of Ginen is awfully arrogant...are you really going to say you can overstep the lwa and/or do a better job than them?

The work of initiation is incredibly delicate because you literally have someone's head in your hands. People can die when things are done incorrectly, either in the moment or in a long and winding road of calamity. Every single manbo and houngan I know has a story about this. We know what happens when things like this are undertaken because we've either watched the fallout or had people come to our doors in deep suffering because incorrect and inadvisable things have been done to them.

Paying for any initiation through Etsy should speak for itself. That is not how houngans and manbos do business.

What is unsaid in this blurb is that this is undoubtedly happening in the US, because it would never be allowed to happen in Haiti. This says a lot and it's a giant can of worms to open, but when have I avoided that? Initiation does not happen in the US for a lot of reasons. Some folks want to say it can, but it really can't. This is not the post to get into why and I can write more on that later, but that's the long and short of it.

Perhaps finally, my friend Sankofa made a really astute point in another forum: beware anyone in any African Traditional or African Descended religion trying to sell you something ceremonially unique. Our ceremonies are largely the same for big reasons, and an individual saying they are doing something new, like mixing tchatcha and asson or initiating you to your dead ancestors and putting ancestors on your head, is a massive red flag. This is not how culture and traditional religion function. This is not what the ancestors built for us, and this is not what we pass down.

Please, please be careful with your heads. I meant it when I said that people will die because of stuff like this. Please be discerning about who you trust with your head and your life. Take your time and see lots of ceremonies. Pray. Listen for the voice of the lwa which can sound a lot like your intuition. And, for the love of Ogou and Metrès Danto, don't buy initiations on Etsy.

I hope the person behind this post can reflect on what they are doing and re-evaluate their choices. In a perfect world, they would consult with their elders and their mama/papa kanzo for guidance and really, really listen. If they don't have elders and/or an initiator, they should refrain from offering things like this until they do. Different choices can always be made, but spiritual work done out of ignorance, malice, or greed that harms someone can never be taken back.

#vodou #haitian vodou

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jackalopesao3 · 1 year

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Solomon is Prime Suspect Number 1 and I don’t think he is our Solomon

So I know there’s been some theories floating around that Solomon in NB isn’t our Solomon but the Solomon from the past. I’ve been suspecting it myself at times, even at the very beginning of Nightbringer. Lesson 14 has only increased those suspicions. I also remembered something that should have been a big red flag, which I’ll put below the cut.

What I think may have happened is that past Barbatos, under past Solomon’s orders brought MC to the past/this timeline or past Sol used past Barb’s abilities to see into the different timelines and found that specific MC’s.

It could also be that Past Solomon is just an opportunistic interloper but I’m more inclined to believe that Nightbringer could either be Barb being made to do this under Solomon or even an alias of Solomon and Barbatos being a team. Or maybe it is our Solomon and it’s lighter than what I suspect. I’ll post more about everything under the cut.

1. I know I posted previously on Solomon being particularly mean in Nightbringer. Pushing the brothers into the bathtub seemed pretty mean to me, especially with how he tricked Leviathan, the most insecure of them all. He genuinely seems surprised at how MC can befriend demons, especially Diavolo in Lesson 14. He says he wasn’t considering a pact with Levi but would now.

2. He makes a pact with Asmo when he’s been feeling insecure and therefore vulnerable. He even told MC that he would not pursue a pact with Asmodeus in the past but then does so anyways. Which brings me to another point: What if he never had the pact to begin with? Asmo didn’t feel anything towards Sol before this pact like he did with MC, who does hold a pact with another version of him.

3. And then there’s the obvious red flag, that’s been right in front of us the whole time. MC does not have pacts with these brothers yet they still can syphon some of their powers to cast spells like opening the gates to the Celestial Realm or stopping a rampaging Beel.

Solomon not only summons Barbatos to his side but also makes him open a portal back to the castle. Our Solomon does not have a pact with this Barbatos. He should not be able to do this. Solomon should have to reforge his pact with Barbatos just like he would Asmodeus unless there’s some weird exception to him and Barb.

So either our Solomon never showed up at all or Past Solomon replaced him early on. Or our Solomon is up to something, whether it be bad or good.

4. This would also explain why Barbatos is absolutely furious with Solomon. Barbatos used to freely travel between timelines and ended up hurting people. His penance is serving Diavolo and having a pact with Solomon. For Solomon to make Barb use his powers like this would be the ultimate betrayal, especially after Barbatos made him into Solomon The Wise. I do think Solomon knows why Barb is mad. They’re very close in SWD and Barb trusts him. With their friendship, I believe he’d remember an event where Barb was really upset with his actions.

5. Solomon tried to have MC make an unbreakable vow to side with humanity at the fountain. Had it not been for Thirteen coming in and stopping him, this could have turned out worse than the end of Lesson 11.

This is out of character for our Solomon. Our Solomon has always stressed he is humanity’s protector and that he would like us to join him but he has never tried to force us into it in SWD. The choice has always been ours and he’s always been a supportive mentor. He had a huge blowout with a former apprentice many years back and you can tell he has regrets. I don’t think our Sol would do that to MC.

Solomon is not stupid. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows the rules of that fountain because Thirteen based her rules for her cave on it. He didn’t forget.

I also think Past Solomon has studied our Solomon quite well to know he is a terrible cook and acts like a “cheerful idiot” at times and has taught himself to play that role.

Now onto MC. I’m not sure if they know at this point. I’d imagine if they did, they’d keep quiet for their own safety.

I also have want to add something else that may be nothing but it’s brought up several times, including recently. Many characters do not even consider Solomon human anymore. Yes, he is immortal but he’s technically human. Is there a deeper meaning behind this or is it just because of their human biases and the fact that he’s extended his lifespan?

Solomon’s Goal

What’s Solomon’s purpose here? To get MC to make the pacts with these brothers and then force MC to side with humanity which would also make them use their pacts and the brothers for humanity against the other two realms. Michael said we’d be an enemy to the Celestial Realm should we side with Nightbringer who very well could be Barbatos, albeit under duress, working under Sol’s orders. Or, on a possible lighter note, using MC as an example to why humans should stand on equal footing to angels and demons.

We will need to find out who the person was that Solomon was talking to as a child. We know he talked to Thirteen but it’s not her because he already told us that. Maybe it’s Lilith? A new character?

Whatever is going on, I believe we are in a different timeline than our original and RAD not being founded yet was actually done on purpose as well as Simeon and Luke appearing now in the DD.

I would love to hear what others have to say. Maybe we can brainstorm? Let me know if I missed something or got a detail wrong! I’m perpetually sleepy like Belphie these days so I may have missed something.

#nightbringer obey me #obey me spoilers #nightbringer spoilers #barbatos obey me #om! barbatos #solomon obey me #om! solomon #obey me theories #nightbringer theories

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mimixmunson · 3 months

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Get to know you tag!<3

I was tagged by the lovely @oatmilk-vampire and I tag @finntheehumaneater @stevesjockstrap @edsbug @stevesbipanic @succubusmunson @stevethehairington @henderdads @excaliburstark @ticklishraspberries @eddieunbanished @unclewaynemunson @munsonluhvr ♡ (yes I tagged random users but pls don’t feel you have to do this!!<3

Who was your first fictional crush?:

I have a hard time remembering my childhood but the earlier crush I remember vividly was Beca Mitchell from Pitch Perfect. Anna Kendrick is a pretty little thing!

What's the first colour you think of when I tell you to think of a colour?:

Red??

Which fanfiction emotionally scarred you and still makes you shudder to this day?:

I had a lot of friends into Dan and Phil when we were teenagers but I never really got into them, but I had a friend read me a fanfiction of them and it involved a hamster and it was weird.

I'm coming to your house for dinner, non-negotiable, what are you making me?:

I am a terrible chef. Absolutely awful, but I make a good teriyaki stir fry!

Do you prefer lions or kangaroos?:

Kangaroos!!

Which fictional villain do you brush past the glaringly obvious issues for because you really like them?:

Henry Creel or Kurt Kunkle. Cursed by the need to ignore the biggest red flags for pretty boys..

What would accompany your picture in the Burn Book in Mean Girls?:

Mimi is addicted to flavoured air, painfully bisexual and writes below average fanfiction. PS- her hair is dyed red and she has a septum ring.

How many days would you last in the universe of your favourite fandom?:

Zero. I’d die from having no rizz but surrounded by hot people.

Have you heard of Mischief Theatre?:

No? Should I have?

Do you feel sorry for Medusa?:

Of course. She’s a victim.

Which song makes you think of your OTP?:

Obviously you’d have to change the pronouns for Steddie but Jackie and Wilson by Hozier ♡

Which song makes you disassociate and daydream the fastest?:

We’ll never have sex by Leith Ross it’s so beautiful I zone tf out<3

#get to know me #get to know me tag #stranger things #mine #about me

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seek--rest · 9 months

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Final Thoughts on The Dumb Teen Show

I'm too old for this media, this media is not written or meant for me.

Alas, we move:

It's the finale and I must finally speak my truth. I have not nor will I ever give a shit about Taylor and Steven. Taylor was a terrible friend to Belly and I'm sorry, I never forgave her for that. Cheating is despicable and I know that's rich coming from a show that's highlighting a love triangle between brothers but that's just how it is. Taylor is boring and annoying, Steven is grating as a person and as a brother and all the chatter of how "this show is bad but at least we have Steve and Taylor" I simply cannot relate to any of you!! They're bad people and not even in an interesting can't wait to root for them kind of way they're just Bad and more offensively, Boring.

JEREMIAH GET BEHIND ME. The way you deserve so much better in this show and in this universe. I've long been Team Jeremiah in the sense that everyone needs some fucking therapy (himself included) and that he needs to be in a better universe, with a better show and better writers. This is a boy that is consistently pulled around, has to fake a smile because that's all that is expected of him and the (1) time he actually shares his frustrations in a way that isn't absolutely perfect, he's mistreated by damn near everyone including the fandom. Everything about him in the last episode is a person that has so much maturity in a way that just doesn't make sense considering the hell he's been through. He's the better person.

Which was no help to fucking Susannah!!!!!!!! I've long since lamented that the show dropped the ball on exploring the real, tangible grief of Laurel in losing her Susannah and the more the season went on, the more frustrated I was because SUSANNAH IS A TERRIBLE MOTHER. She's arguably a shit sister. She is, within the narrative itself without looking for subtext, someone who is really fucked up! And what do we have to show for it! Nothing! The show did absolutely NOTHING with what they set up for her and never once interrogates how fucking demented she is to tell a fucking sixteen year old on her death bed to watch out for Conrad. poor Conrad. You love Conrad. He loves you. This isn't even because I think Jeremiah is the better person/brother (I do) but on any level you swing it, that is seriously fucked up to ask that of a teenager. As a grown ass woman!! What is wrong with you! Why are you asking her to watch out for your grown ass son AND ONLY the one son? When Jeremiah walked into the room after that?? It's like fuck did you forget you're a mother to TWO people here?

Removing Jeremiah entirely, that would still be so supremely fucked up and that is just one thing of the many things that have shown cracks in Susannah's life and experiences that now? We'll never get to explore. Laurel, hold my hand. Go to therapy with me. You will see the truth in time.

Conrad is a fucking terror of a human being. I'm sorry, I cannot understand how or why he has so many fucking defenders especially from anyone with a fully developed prefrontal cortex. "He's mourning his mother" "he doesn't know how to express his feelings" "love it when he's petty! king!" like what is wrong with all of you. This isn't to say "omg your ship is soooo bad because it's unhealthy" because whatever, do what you want. But for so many to argue with their whole chests that Conrad is like an angel sent from heaven that is tortured and misunderstood and to mean that with utter sincerity has me convinced 1) every single one of you is also 16, never been in love before and/or in love with the toxicity of an emo bad boy or 2) loves the toxic drama. Which if it's the second, that's fine! But it's rare (if ever) that it's someone acknowledging that Conrad is a big fucking red flag.

I know the drill. I know what the endgame is. I haven't read the books but I don't have to. I understand Narratives. Conrad is going to "grow" and "develop" and the narrative will "prove" that fuck whatever Belly chooses, fuck the objectively more mature and more insightful and person who actively communicates with Belly even as a teenager that is Jeremiah, the show will contrive some way to bring Belly and Conrad together because they're Meant to Be or some shit.

Fuck fate. Fuck having to be emotionally manipulated and twisted around. Fuck having to being told that you're not mature enough and grow up from the same person throwing constant temper tantrums. Fuck the age difference honestly. Fuck the fact that this person always saw her as a little kid until she flirted with someone else.

I don't condone violence but Laurel's slap? Idk I think Belly needed that reality check. She needs to leave both of these boys alone. She needs to be in therapy, she needs to be single, and needs to let go of this idea that the world revolves around her.

I hate this dumb show so fucking much.

Can't wait for the next season.

#seek streams #the summer i turned pretty #the summer i turned pretty spoilers #tsitp #tsitp spoilers

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look-how-they-massacred-them · 8 months

Text

Preliminary Poll

Matt Murdock

Submission reason:

The mcu/netflix daredevil show was inspired by Man Without Fear, one of the worst DD runs written by Frank Miller that was so bad it got retconned. Thanks to the mcu's popularity, comics are now getting mcu-ified and Matt is one of those cases. In all of Daredevil, a majority of runs showed Matt being non-religious or at least have some aspects of lapsed catholicism. Unfortunately because the netflix show is so popular, chip zdarksy, the current writer for Daredevil, decided to make Matt just like his mcu counterpart except 100x worse. You know how ao3 fanfic writers write characters in such an OOC way that it hurts to read? Zdarsky does exactly like that but worse. He made Matt a caricature of what a catholic person would be. Matt is extremely unlikable in a way that isn't entertaining where he goes around preaching about god 24/7 and calls anyone whose killed someone a murderer especially if they did it by accident. First red flag was when he interacted with Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, and Iron Fist. He's interacted with them many times in older runs, knows who they are, knows that they have killed before, and is their lawyer. Here, he learns about them killing (again) and calls them murderers and leaves them. I'm not kidding when I say Matt preaches about God every second because even in his thoughts he's like ""This is God's way"" whenever he goes out as Daredevil, pretty much ignoring the real reasons why he's Daredevil in the first place. He became Daredevil because he wanted justice for his father's murder, simple as that. He knows the law system is flawed and wants to change it and also go against it. Matt being a hypocrite is fun, but in the current run, he's absolutely obnoxious about it. In previous runs, he has hung out with Elektra multiple times with the knowledge that she kills people only for this run, she suddenly isn't trustworthy because she kills people. Matt's characterization has gotten so bad to the point where Daredevil fans joke about him being in his youth pastor era and how the way he preaches about god and uses it as excuses to commit violence comes off as very much crusader colonizer. Daredevil fans like myself are only wishing for Matt to die at this point because the character we've come to love and enjoy reading is no longer there and until a better writer shows up, we have to deal with this version. And this version pushes the whole ""Catholic Matt Murdock"" narrative despite the fact that in a majority of dd comics he isn't religious. It's so bad, just go through breifcasejuice, daresplaining, and xycuro-illuminati's blogs on why this run is terrible.

Propaganda:

Chip Zdarsky stop writing Daredevil challenge

#look how they massacred them poll #look how they massacred my boy #matt murdock #marvel matt #marvel daredevil #daredevil #mcu daredevil #daredevil comics #marvel comics

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carmenlire · 4 months

Text

Oatmeal

Content warning for mentions of disordered eating.

read on ao3

Sometimes, Alec wonders when he’ll finally be free of all this.

Things have been difficult lately. Work at the firm has been overwhelming. While he’s no stranger to working his ass off– he didn’t make partner before thirty by resting on his laurels– the past autumn was the most stressful period of his life, he thinks.

Alec said yes to mentoring a new intern– and while Simon is a quick learner and surprisingly funny, it’s been a true test of his time management abilities to balance his own workload while making sure that Simon’s experience is valuable and that he feels equally supported and challenged.

Alec’s been working through lunch more often than not– or, well, he’s tried to find that balance that he’s learned he needs. So, he’ll have a sandwich while pouring over obscure law texts. He replies to emails in between bites of a spicy tuna roll from the sushi place down the street.

It’s conscious effort, but Alec’s trying. Sometimes he thinks all he does is try.

Still, Alec can read the warning signs.

Things have reached a head, lately.

It’s a little surreal to realize that Alec hasn’t really eaten four of the past six days. Eating feels like so much effort– he’s so tired all of the time– and it’s easy to skirt when he really does have a busy schedule. Alec wakes up with a dozen things on his to-do list and no matter how many hours he puts in or how many of those tasks he crosses off, he still ends the day with fourteen things waiting for him the next morning.

It’s a vicious cycle and Alec’s felt like he’s spending all of his energy just trying to survive lately. He doesn’t have time to worry about pesky little things like whether he’s eating balanced meals– whether he’s eating meals, at all– not when Alec’s felt like he’s been thrust into survival mode for months.

He’s staying at the office until near midnight half the week. Running on endless cups of coffee wasn’t really in his plan but it helps, a little. It makes Alec feel like he’s doing something– both a help and a hindrance.

Because Alec knows that relying on coffee is a red flag. But he also knows that it’s something to fill his stomach while it still works to suppress his appetite.

Alec told himself that he’d get it together at the start of the year. The holidays hadn’t wreaked as much havoc as they usually did but with so much on his plate, Alec’s vigilant self-care had went a bit by the wayside.

Which brings him to now.

It’s midmorning and Alec is up to his elbows in court briefs. His asshole client is scheduled to come in late in the afternoon and Alec already has a headache brewing at the thought of how much he needs to kiss this company’s ass, the obsequious fawning and sugarcoating the CFO requires while everyone else in the room rolls their eyes at intermittent periods.

He ignores the fact that his headache hasn’t really left since the weekend, since the first twenty four hours he went with nothing but an iced coffee half melting on his desk.

When Alec has a few minutes to spare, he’s filled with a sick apathy. He wonders if this really is his bed, if this is him laying in it– sure, he’s always had tendencies but things were so terrible a few years ago and he’s still reaping the consequences.

He can be doing so well just to hit rock bottom overnight. It’s like a switch has flipped sometimes and even if there is no trigger, Alec can still be laid low for days or even weeks. His bouts of depression since he was a teenager taught him that recovery absolutely is not linear. Still, he can’t help but wish that this didn’t have to be so hard.

He wants to wake up every morning and eat breakfast without thinking about it. He wants to casually accept dinner plans without immediately feeling a prickle of unease, without obsessively, almost compulsively, reading menus. He wishes that a colleague offering a snack in the afternoon lull didn’t make his gut twist with anxiety.

Phone buzzing somewhere under a stack of folders, Alec absently reaches over and unlocks it.

Glancing over, everything calms for the few moments it takes to read the texts and send a reply.

This is your reminder to eat lunch, darling. Don’t let work distract you <3

Also, this is me promising I won’t fall asleep before I get to kiss you goodnight tonight! I refuse to fall asleep at 8pm like a man twice my age. It’s extremely unbecoming, Alexander.

Huffing out a laugh, Alec shakes his head as he lets his full attention fall to his phone.

Thank you for the reminder, babe <3

I’ll try to get home at a decent hour but you know that even if you’re not awake, you always get your goodnight kiss <3<3

“Now who could possibly be distracting The Alec Lightwood from work?”

Alec doesn’t startle, merely flicks his gaze up at the doorway to his brother. Unimpressed, he just asks, “What are you doing here?”

Jace is just gearing up to answer with his customary dramatic– annoying– flair when Isabelle elbows him out of the way, stepping into Alec’s office and falling into a seat like she owns the place.

“We’re here to kidnap you for lunch! You’ve been ghosting us so we’re taking matters into our own hands.”

Alec smiles a little even if internally, he’s seized with panic. All he can think of is, oh this is terrible.

And it’s not because he’s drowning in work. It isn’t even because they’ve surprised him and caught him off guard.

No, Alec is almost overwhelmed with irritation, with dread, because he absolutely cannot eat right now. Just the thought of it is enough to fill him with an irrational surge of anger.

Alec knows it doesn’t make sense and he knows that this isn’t healthy. He also doesn’t give a shit, not when he’s been mired in this for days now.

Nothing feels as important as keeping up his streak. It feels like it’s the only thing he can control right now and he’s loathed to relinquish it.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t made it a clean streak. A few days, he'd eaten some crackers when he came home late. Yesterday morning, he ate a piece of toast. Still, with the way time stretches out, with everything else on his plate, it’s been easy enough to skip meals, to eat just enough for passable subterfuge.

Being confronted by two of the closest people to him, though, wasn’t in his cards.

Even after all this time, he’s never told Jace or Isabelle about his– issues with eating. They never noticed before and he really has gotten so much better in the past couple of years.

Just his luck that they do this now, here, where doesn’t have the room or time to escape.

And Alec knows that while he can be easy to annoy, true anger isn’t so common. Alec also knows that his irritation doesn’t even really stem from the impromptu lunch date. He’s been pissed off for a few days now, temper on a hair trigger.

It still doesn’t make any of this any easier, though. Again, for the hundredth, thousandth, millionth time Alec wonders just when this will all be behind him. When he’ll finally be better.

“I’m actually really busy right now so if–”

He’s cut off before he can finish rattling off his excuse.

Leaning in the doorway, Jace crosses his arms and stares Alec down. “I know you have a lot going on right now but all that means is you could use a break. Come on, let’s go to that diner down the street. It won’t kill you to leave your desk for an hour, you know.”

Alec grits his teeth, jaw grinding with the effort to tamp down his first and second responses. Things like what a pity to eat now when I’m not even hungry, when it’s been almost a week and I’ve lost nine pounds.

Things like this is the only thing that’s keeping me sane right now.

“I don’t really want to go,” Alec says, honest and only a touch apologetic.

“And we don’t really care,” Isabelle replies cheerfully.

So Alec grabs his coat and nods to Simon as they head towards the elevator. The intern is watching the livestream of some case, tossing back popcorn every few seconds. Half of it lands on his desk. Alec is reluctantly fond.

The diner is packed, half the tables claimed by students while professionals in suits and dresses occupy the other half. They wait a few minutes for a table and Alec almost feels like he’s preparing for war.

It’s trite even to him. It still doesn’t stop unease from pooling in his stomach.

The waitress is harried and mostly disinterested as they’re seated. She tosses a few menus down along with the same number of straws and glasses of water and declares she’ll be back in just a few moments for their orders.

Both Jace and Isabelle immediately throw their coats over the back of their chairs and settle down, reaching for the worn-out menus with a delicious-looking selection of pancakes and sandwiches.

Alec carefully peels his coat off, takes a few extra seconds to gently fold it and place it over the back of his own chair. Sitting down, he stares at the menu Jace moved into his place with a mix of irritation of trepidation.

“What are you guys getting,” he asks and keeps an ear out for their response as he starts looking over his options.

“I’m thinking about the huevos rancheros, breakfast potatoes on the side and a double serving of bacon,” Jace regales enthusiastically, clearly starving and a little impatient with it.

Alec stares down at the entire page that lists their assortment of crepes, mostly unseeing, as Isabelle offers, “I’m in the mood for a strawberry waffle. I might go for an iced mocha, too.”

Alec smiles a little, hums along. “Those sound good,” he murmurs and tries to find something on this diner menu that doesn’t make him want to crawl out of his skin.

His attention catches on what he’d like to have, first, though. Sometimes, it feels like half of Alec’s life is spent wishing he was a different person, someone not tethered by frankly disgusting metrics of health and wellness.

He used to be like that, he thinks. In college, he enjoyed meeting his friends for brunch after a night out. His go-to breakfast after a night spent drinking is still a short stack and scrambled eggs– at least when he allows himself, which is so rare as to be unheard of these days.

“What are you getting, Alec,” Jace asks as he twists his straw wrapper into a knot.

Alec shrugs, looking down at the sides section on the back of the menu. “Probably the oatmeal,” he offers.

He doesn’t really care, especially as it’s the only thing on the menu that even vaguely fits into his list of acceptable foods right now.

Alec is trying to ease off meat right now and half the menu has more sugar than he’d like to consume in a week. The oatmeal– if he does deign to eat it– will at least have some fiber, will be filling, could keep him satiated for another twenty four hours. There’s fruit served on the side, too, so there’s his sweetness and something fresh to complement the meal.

If it was another time, Alec would even be happy to order oatmeal. He actually does enjoy it– it’s a regular food in his rotation, his go-to easy lunch or breakfast.

When he’s good, he likes to experiment a little. Add some seeds and nuts, try some yogurt mixed in or granola, include different fruits.

This isn’t one of those times, though, and Alec is almost overtaken with a pervasive sense of disgust at the thought of breaking his fast.

It doesn’t matter that oatmeal is a safe food; it doesn’t even matter that he’s with Jace and Isabelle. Even if Alec doesn’t usually like an audience to his fucked-up dietary dilemmas, there’s a very large piece of him today that just can’t find the wherewithal to care– to care about what they think, what they say, what they might infer.

All that matters to him is keeping tight control over things. He feels a little manic with the desire, in between the lethargic apathy. It feels like the only thing keeping him going is the vague gnawing of his stomach, the headache that beats steadily in his temples that reminds him that he’s in charge, that he has a handle on himself.

Any threat to that immediately puts Alec on the defensive.

The waitress returns just in time to hear Isabelle offer an impassioned, “Boring,” and soon enough they’ve all ordered and have had their menus neatly collected.

Small talk ensues and Alec joins in, hearing about Jace’s early morning spin class and Isabelle’s disastrous run-in with an ex over the weekend.

For his part, Alec bitches about the client he’s meeting with later– keeping care not to divulge too much information– and it does feel good to catch up with his siblings.

The past several months have been increasingly difficult and Alec has felt a little out of control with it all, like he’s been swept up in a tide he didn’t choose. It feels like the warmth of the summer plunged right into a cold, strenuous fall and Alec didn’t even have a chance to catch his breath first.

An hour with Jace and Izzy are welcome after all and Alec enjoys himself. But that isn’t really anything new.

Briefly, he remembers that this used to be common enough– Alec might enjoy eating and trying out different restaurants but when he gets like this sometimes the best thing for him is to be rounded up and brought out into company. Being around those he loves is a balm to his nerves starved raw, offers a reprieve that Alec didn’t even know he needed until he’s laughing way harder than he should be at the way Jace complains about his commute and the oddly passive-aggressive seatmate he had to deal with two mornings last week.

He doesn’t need to eat to be in good company. He learned that in college. And the memory of those meals– where he brought his own food or just had water while he soaked in fond company– eases at least a little of his current anxiety.

The waitress brings their food out quickly and Jace and Isabelle are immediately tucking in with gusto.

Alec, for his part, adds the sliced banana and tiny cup of almonds to his oatmeal. He stirs everything in conscientiously, letting the task absorb more of his focus than is strictly necessary.

While Isabelle talks about a paper she’s been working on recently, Alec looks down at his oatmeal and it’s almost frighteningly easy to just. . . not eat.

After a few minutes, Alec looks up and glances around the restaurant. Things seem to be calming down a little, a few tables opening up and staying vacant. Turning his attention to Jace, whose plate is half empty, Alec asks, “How’s everyone’s food?”

Isabelle offers a thumbs up while she’s in the middle of biting into a glazed strawberry and Jace starts talking with his mouth half full.

“So good,” Jace says, absolutely not chewing before talking. “Want to try?”

Alec’s nose wrinkles in disgust and Isabelle laughs. “No, thanks,” Alec replies deadpan.

“Is your oatmeal not any good,” Isabelle asks, noticing that he’s just stirring it around halfheartedly.

Quick to shake his head, Alec smiles. “I’m just not hungry,” he replies easily and it helps that it’s not even a lie.

“Oh, did you already eat?”

Humming in thought, Alec resumes his casual study of the restaurant. “I’ve had a lot of coffee. Plus, I don’t really like to eat before noon.”

Isabelle frowns at that, looking down at her plate. “It’s only a few minutes to noon. You might as well go ahead and eat.”

Alec waves her off. “I’m really not that hungry. You know I just came here to catch up with you two.”

Finishing off the last of his coffee, Jace sets his mug down and leans his elbows on the table. He looks right at Alec and Alec feels the tiniest prickle of discomfort. “I guess you have dinner for tonight then, yeah?”

Alec smiles a little. “Yeah,” he agrees easily enough. “It’ll probably be another late night and it’ll be nice to know I have something waiting at the office.”

They’re interrupted by the waitress bringing the check by and Alec breathes a slow, steady sigh of relief. He knows he’s feeling more defensive than he needs to be but he can’t help that any questions about his eating, any attention paid to it, always fills him with irritation and an underlying sense of dread.

Alec grabs the check and asks for a to-go container and it’s just a few minutes later that they’re all tumbling out of the diner and onto the bustling sidewalk.

“Well, I need to get back,” Alec says, starting to slowly walk backwards towards his law firm.

Isabelle waves, weaving her arm through Jace’s. As they start turning to head in the opposite direction, she calls out, “Try not to work too hard, Alec.”

Alec laughs, more of a huff of breath than anything else. With a last, “See ya,” they go their separate ways and Alec hunches against the bitter wind.

The little bowl of oatmeal is heavy in his hand. Just the thought of eating it is repugnant. He can’t find it in himself to care.

Rounding a corner, it’s only another block to his office.

Alec doesn’t know what the rest of the day will bring except a chronic headache and frustration that’s been ebbing through his veins for weeks now.

It’s barely a thought before Alec’s tossing the bowl of oatmeal into a passing trash can. He feels a little bad but he knows that he wouldn’t have eaten it, that the reminder that he had something he could eat but refused to would weigh on his mind.

As he enters the building his law office is in, Alec feels a little guilty but more than that, he feels a tendril of contentment.

He knows this spell won’t last forever, that in a few months he’ll think back on this time with regret and a wince. For right now, though, he figures there are worse places to be.

Simon greets him with a salute when he exits the elevator, waiting on him with a stack of folders he needs to review before his meeting in an hour.

Settling back at his desk, Alec’s stomach grumbles. Alec likes to think that he can feel the emptiness and it propels him forward.

“Hey, Simon.”

Looking back from where he was about to leave Alec’s office, Simon smiles, expression open. “Yeah, boss?”

“Can you grab me an iced americano? And get yourself whatever you want while you’re at it.”

If possible, Simon’s expression brightens further. “Can I use the–”

Alec smiles and is reaches his eyes. “Yes, use the company card.”

Simon’s exuberance provides some much needed levity to Alec’s days and it’s compounded by how capable Simon really is– quick to learn and willing to put in the work.

Simon returns just before the meeting with Alec's iced coffee and Alec loses himself in the rhythm of his work. It’s steady, predictable enough after years.

He sips on his drink and when he comes home at a downright early 10pm, he finds Magnus waiting on the couch.

His boyfriend’s in his pajamas, some crime show rerun playing on the television. He look extremely comfortable under a blanket.

He’s out like a light.

Chuckling a little, Alec leans down to kiss him hello and takes a moment to study Magnus in the light of the lamp in the corner.

Kissing him on the forehead again for good measure, Alec quietly drops his briefcase by the hallway and gets ready for bed.

Twenty minutes later, he’s padding back into the living room, hair just a little damp and in his own sweatpants.

This time, his touch is a bit more firm as he tucks a strand of hair behind Magnus’s ear.

“Babe,” he murmurs, voice low. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Magnus is slow to rouse and Alec feels a little bad, knows the early mornings this semester are kicking his boyfriend’s ass.

“Alexander,” Magnus’s asks on a breath and Alec feels his heart catch at the warmth, the quiet joy laden in the syllables.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he answers softly. “Let’s go. If I let you stay on the couch, you’ll wake up with horrendous back pain.”

There’s some grumbling but Magnus doesn’t resist Alec’s gentle urging up to standing.

As they go to bed, Magnus falls almost immediately asleep, but not before mumbling, “Goodnight, I love you, Alexander.”

And as his boyfriend shifts a little, Alec stays awake a few minutes more, the ache in his stomach persistent now that the day has wound to a close.

It’s a familiar feeling, though, and not unpleasant. Turning over, Alec lets his exhaustion from the day– from the past few weeks– seep into his soul and numb him to sleep.

#my writing #oatmeal #malec fic

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