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tkaulitzlvr · 9 months

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Hiii can you please do a Tom Kaulitz smut where him and the reader have been friends for a long time and they just do it for pleasure and then maybe some feelings get involved 😉 TYSMMM 😘

MORE THAN THIS - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: you and tom have been friends with benefits for a while. but, you soon begin to realise that you have caught feelings, distancing yourself from him as a way to disguise them. it doesn’t take him long to realise this, and he is determined to find out why.

content: smut, angst and fluff all in one.

a/n: thank you for requesting, i hope you like it!

tom had been sending me suggestive glances the entire night from across the table, his eyes basically undressing me, scanning the way my figure looked in the small white dress i was wearing, leaving little to the imagination - not that he had to imagine anything anyways, he had seen it all before.

we weren’t dating, no. we were quite good friends actually - friends that fucked, all the time. i couldn’t remember when or how this thing had started, but once it began, it never stopped. at first, i enjoyed it, the sex far better than i had imagined, and i liked that it was just sex. but lately, i couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that i wanted it to be more than that, more than a quick hookup when we were both horny, the convenience of it all meaning that tom came to me more and more, wanting the same thing each time. whenever he was inside me, whispering sweet nothings into my ears in the heat of the moment, my mind tricked me into thinking he actually meant it, causing me to fall deeper and deeper, my feelings now far beyond my control.

i had started to distance myself from him, which pissed me off a little, angry at myself for letting me catch feelings in the first place. we had a strong friendship, and i didn’t just miss the sex, i missed him. but, i had to put my sadness aside to try and get rid of these feelings, knowing that it would only end in upset, declining all of his offers to fuck these past few weeks. it didn’t take him long to grow suspicious, having never saying no to a quick hook up before. it was easy to reject his offers over text, but i knew that tonight, now that we were face to face, i wouldn’t be able to say no, our group of friends all at a random club bill had suggested. the fact that i hadn’t spoken to him all night confirmed that i was avoiding him, and judging by the way his eyes wouldn’t leave mine, it was obvious that he planned to get to the bottom of it.

i had missed tom. it was impossible to deny the way my heart ached when i saw him walk through the doors, secretly glad that he was here, silently screaming with excitement when bill had told me he was coming. it was strange to go from seeing someone all the time, fucking them basically everyday, to being lucky to see them once a week. but i had no one else to blame but myself, and the way i couldn’t pull away from his gaze, the sexual tension between us so thick it was almost visible, made it totally obvious that the distance i had forced between us didn’t work, my feelings for him still as strong as they were - if not stronger.

he looked good. i had always thought he was attractive, long before we had started hooking up. i couldn’t tell if it was the fact that i hadn’t seen him in so long, or the alcohol in my system, but tonight, he looked better than ever. his face was stern, jaw clenched and mouth shut, decorated with his usual black lip ring, eyes hooded as they stared into mine, filled with lust. his black braids resting on his shoulders, a black bandana tied on his forehead, dressed in all black, his baggy jeans almost falling from his figure - i wanted nothing more than to see what was underneath, craving him. and i could see that he wanted it too, shuffling every so often and adjusting his jeans.

he looks directly into my eyes, using his head to gesture towards the bathroom, knowing exactly what he was getting at. i quickly shake my head, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside me, but the more rational part of me reminds me that i should stay strong, hooking up with him in a random bathroom never a smart idea, especially when i am trying to get over him. he furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side, repeating his motion and once again signalling towards the bathroom, knowing that i will give in eventually.

he stands up, clearing his throat, quietly muttering that he is going to the bathroom, sending a final glance in my direction before heading off. i wait a minute or so, not wanting to cause any suspicions, before adjusting my dress and standing up.

“i’m getting another drink, anybody want one?” i ask, watching everyone shake their head and mutter a small ‘no thanks’, silently glad that they have declined, knowing that they wouldn’t be getting that drink.

i turn around quickly, making sure that nobody is watching me, before pushing my way through the drunken crowds, until i reach the bathroom, pushing the heavy door open. it only takes a few seconds for me to be spun around and pressed against the wall, tom harshly connecting his lips to mine, locking the door whilst he does so. his hands knead the flesh of my thighs, pushing me into him repeatedly, grinding me against his clothed dick, lifting me up and hoisting me against the wall, all whilst his lips continue to work against mine.

he pulls away, only to attach his lips to my neck, planting rough and open mouthed kisses to my skin, ragged sighs escaping from my mouth, an aching feeling spreading through my inner thighs as my need for him only grows, any determination to resist him now lost as the only thing on my mind is getting him inside of me.

i feel him harden against me, confirming the need as totally mutual, tom wanting me as much as i do him. after all, he had asked to fuck multiple times, it was me that had declined lately. but he holds out, getting me a little more riled up, taking advantage of the way he has me under his control, his hands hungrily roaming my body, having not done this for so long, completely thanks to my stubbornness. his lips remain at my neck, leaving no part of it untouched, biting harshly at the skin before running his tongue over it, soothing the stinging pain that his teeth leave.

“so…” he trails off, continuing to attack my neck with his lips, sucking on the skin after, leaving marks as he clearly doesn’t care how rough he is being. “wanna explain why you’ve been ignoring me, hm?”

he sucks on my neck between each word, his tongue smoothing over the skin as he awaits my response, not slowing down his motions.

“i wasn’t ignoring you-” i breathe out, a small moan cutting off my speech as his lips hit my sweet spot, his mouth curving into a smirk against it once he hears my response.

“don’t lie to me.” he begins, moving my panties to the side and inserting one finger into me, watching my mouth fall open, a low whine emitting from my lips. “you’ve been avoiding me, why?”

he reiterates his question, staring directly into my eyes, waiting for me to respond. a satisfied smile rests on his face as he watches the way i try to speak, failing miserably once he adds another finger, curling them both slightly. he is satisfied with the way he messes with my mind, teasing me as my face contorts in pleasure, his eyes scanning my features, my mouth hung open, eyes squeezed shut.

“why do you care?” i moan out, feeling a knot begin to form in my stomach as he knows exactly how to get me there, his fingers curling in the right place, finding my g-spot and hitting it repeatedly, my walls instinctively clenching around them. he picks up on this, removing his fingers and staring into my eyes as he brings them to his mouth, licking the juices on them and smiling at my response. he removes them from his lips with a pop, dragging them down my own mouth as all i can do is watch him, the wetness between my thighs increasing as i know that i can’t handle being teased like this for much longer - becoming more frustrated than anything.

“changing the subject, hm? just tell me, why are you trying to stay away from me?” he asks, also clearly done with teasing me as he grabs his belt. my eyes fall to his hands, watching the veins in them flex as he roughly pulls the belt from the loops in his jeans, wanting nothing else than his fingers inside of me. he undoes the button of his jeans, letting them pool at his feet, not even bothering to fully take them off as his boxers soon follow.

his hands reach for the zipper of my dress as he pulls it downwards, letting the material fall to the ground, his tongue finding its way to his lip ring as he plays with it, scanning my body with eyes full of lust. he takes me in his arms, placing me on the counter, the coldness causing me to shiver a little. he messes with the hem of my panties, his fingers dipping in and out of them, eyes glued to mine as he watches me try to hold back small moans, before roughly pulling them down and throwing them on the floor somewhere. he spreads my legs with one hand, giving him space to move in between them, wasting no time in positioning himself at my entrance, his head moving to my breasts as he buries it into them, kissing and biting at the skin.

“maybe i didn’t want to see you.” i respond, lying through my teeth. i feel him smirk against me, a small laugh escaping from his lips as he pulls his head from my breasts, looking into my eyes and shaking his head, knowing that i am not telling the truth. he knows me way better than most people, the fact that we have been friends long before this often stabbing me in the back, this a perfect example of him being able to read me like a book, able to easily decipher the fact that i am lying.

he slides into me, my mouth falling open as my walls stretch to accustom to his size, forgetting how good he feels inside of me, wondering how i had lasted this long without him, his touch a drug, making me act out in ways i cannot explain, my mind far past seeing him as just a quick fuck. no matter how much i lie to his face, i know that i can’t escape the way i feel, completely hopeless, unable to stay away, the way he strokes in and out of me showing me exactly why i need him. his head falls back as he drags his teeth into his lips, a low groan coming from him as he bottoms out, his dick fully inside of me.

“bullshittt.” he drags out, a small smirk still tugging on his lips. “you and i both know you enjoy this as much as i do. so tell me, what’s the real reason?”

he starts out slow, his thrusts strong, building up a steady pace as he waits for my response, expecting me to continue the conversation as if his dick isn’t inside me. he knows that i am unable to respond, high-pitched moans the only thing spilling from my mouth, his name a mantra, pouring from my lips as he hits all the right places, knowing that he is the only one that can fuck me this good.

“cat got your tongue, huh?” he mocks, his hand finding its way around my neck, applying enough pressure for small whines to leave my mouth, but not enough to hurt me. he laughs at my silence, any confidence i had now lost as i am willingly a puppet attached to his strings, allowing myself to be at his mercy if it means that he will carry on fucking me this good.

i try to respond, but each attempt comes out as a choked moan, tom giving me the benefit of the doubt, speeding up his pace and deciding to pleasure me, saving the questions for later, partly because he is desperate himself, chasing his own release.

“fuck- missed this pussy. missed you so much baby. you feel so good.” he moans, lips finding mine in a sloppy kiss.

my heart twists at his words, butterflies dancing in my stomach as him saying he missed me is almost enough to make me cum on the spot, telling me that my distance wasn’t completely for nothing. but, it doesn’t take me long to come to my senses, soon realising that he didn’t miss me at all, this is his way of sweet talking me, keeping me coming back to him - it is his words that stop me from leaving, addicted to his utterances of praise, knowing that they are nothing but lies.

“no you didn’t.” i moan out, accidentally speaking my mind.

i don’t think he processes what i say, managing a small ‘huh’, his pace never slowing down as he continues to hit the places where i long to feel him most.

“you didn’t miss me- fuck! stop lying.” i groan, struggling to speak properly, high off of the feeling of his dick.

“i did. needed you so bad- but you wouldn’t give in. drove me fucking crazy.” he confesses, placing both his hands on my ass and pushing me in and out of him as my body now meets his harsh thrusts, only intensifying the feeling as his words send me into oblivion, the things that he is saying exactly what i want to hear, yet i am reluctant to believe them.

“tried so hard to forget about you. nobody else feels as good as you do baby- just wanted you.”

he continues to feed my delusions, thrusting in and out of me, his pace much faster as i can tell he is close. but, behind the pleasure, i somehow feel sad, longing for his words to be true, my eyes welling up as i become angry, tired of him making me feel like he actually wants me, just for us to go back to being friends until he is horny again the next night.

“stop saying shit like this, you know you don’t mean it.” i breathe out, my voice shaky as the tears spill out of my eyes.

he looks upwards, noticing my sad expression, his eyebrows furrowing as he stops thrusting, staying inside me as he catches his breath.

“woah woah, what’s going on?” he asks, repeatedly pecking my lips whilst the tears continue to fall, the moment of intimacy completely lost as i start to feel nothing but embarrassment for breaking down, becoming so vulnerable in front of him. but, before all of this, he was and still is my friend - his look of concern reminding me that he does care about me, but not in the way i want him to.

“is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” he starts, pulling out of me and grabbing his jeans, quickly putting them on, not bothering with a shirt yet. i sit naked on the counter, sobbing my heart out, a complete and utter mess. i can do nothing but nod my head, tom looking even more confused than before, unable to connect the dots. “talk to me, seriously, you’re acting so strange lately, what’s going on with you?”

“just- forget it. it’s stupid.” i mutter, hopping down from the counter, grabbing my panties and slipping them on. i find my dress, picking it up; just about to put it on before tom’s hand is placed on my shoulder, turning me to face him.

“it’s not stupid. we went from fucking everyday to not talking for days, so there’s clearly something wrong. i’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.” he states, moving his body so that he is against the door, leaning against it and basically trapping me in.

“it really doesn’t matter tom-”

“you’re upset. you matter to me, so stop downplaying this and just talk to me.” he softly says, another lie pouring from his lips, anger surging through my body as he unknowingly carries on hurting me.

“there you go again! stop fucking lying to me!” i quickly shout, my emotions getting the better of me as he looks back at me, confusion evident on his face.

“what do you mean lie to you? when have i ever lied to you?” he asks, totally oblivious, pissing me off even more.

“you can’t be fucking serious - literally every time we fuck! you tell me all this shit, that you miss me, that i’m your favourite, no one makes you feel like i do, but it’s all just bullshit!” i pour out my feelings to him as he listens, taking in every word i say, his expression becoming even more puzzled. “you say these things to me, then you go back to treating me like a friend, and i can’t take it anymore tom. i just- i can’t.”

he stays silent, a breathy sigh escaping his lips as he leans his head against the door, looking upwards at the ceiling.

“who says it’s bullshit, hm?” he finally says, his eyes meeting mine. he looks a little hurt, offended at my words.

my eyebrows furrow, lips parting slightly as i try to comprehend what he has just said. “what do you mean?” is all i can ask, my eyes glossy as tears threaten to fall.

he says nothing, deciding actions speak louder than words. instead, he steps forward, cupping my face in his hands, softly colliding his lips with mine. it is not filled with lust, no sexual intent behind it, like the kisses we share usually are. it is filled with passion, warm and comforting, unlike anything he has ever shown me before.

“i mean that nothing i’ve ever said to you is a lie.”

i stay quiet, in disbelief of his sudden confession as it is totally unexpected, not sure what to say in response, still hesitant to believe he is telling the truth.

“why do you think i always come back to you? you know i’m not one to stay with one girl. but i stuck with you. i know that we were just fucking, but to me, it’s more, it’s always been more. i care for you more than those girls i hook up with. you’re so much more than that.” he speaks slowly, stroking the skin of my cheek with his thumb, letting each word sink in, meaning every single one.

“i don’t know tom- do you mean it?” i ask, still hesitant.

he nods his head, kissing my forehead gently before pulling me into a hug, resting his chin on my head, his embrace providing me with all the security i need as he confirms the truth of his words, holding me tightly, his next sentence causing my heart to swell.

“i want to be with you.”

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tom kaulitz #tokiohotel #tom kaulitz angst #kaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz smut #tomkaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz

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shelandsorcery · 6 months

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Etching and Acid Baths and Surrender

(this is another classic from my personal site I'm belatedly resharing on tumblr, ftr)

Friends, I just finished teaching the last third of a course on print production, and between that and the whole thing with twitter's crop changing (somewhere? not for me but somewhere?) I've found myself thinking a lot about copper etching and my relationship with the acid bath.

So, first up, copper etching is an art form where you engrave (through various means) thin grooves into a copper plate, then squeeze thick ink into those grooves, then wipe off the ink on the face of the plate, then soak paper so it's very soft, then push it all through a press.The pressure forces the paper into the ink-lined grooves of the plate, pushing the ink onto the paper, and you thus transfer the image from your copper plate to your paper. It's a magnificent art form you've certainly seen examples of, even if you didn't know! Here, a Rembrandt:

There's a lot of ways to create these grooves in the plate; Rembrandt used a steel point and scratched them in, a technique called drypoint. Later, artists used a technique where a waxy resist would coat the plate, then drew lines in the resist, then soaked the plate in acid.

This is the acid bath of which I speak.

There's a few ways to apply resist to a plate, and they give you different effects when you etch with them. First is a hard resist, which is a thick, firm wax that coats the plate and is removed by using that steel drypoint tool to create thin line work, like this Doré hatching:

You can also use soft resist, a malleable wax that allows you to press textures into it, like Barbara Smith has in her piece "Textures" here:

(my terminology might be a bit off, I'm noticing as I google, but hopefully the metaphor will still stand)

And the third method, my fav, is aquatint; a process where you add a resist that is .. spotty. Something like a light spray, or a dusting of wax, so that the plate is covered with a rough, dithered dot pattern of resist, with exposed copper in between. Example via Wikipedia:

I decided to try out copper plate etching, also called intaglio print making, after seeing David Blackwood's work, where he works with aquatint extensively:

Aquatint lets you lay down fields of tone, which he uses in great contrast and collaboration with the linework he etches into the plate as well. It's magnificent work, but it's made all the more miraculous when you understand the whole thing with the acid bath. So, when you put a copper plate into the acid bath, anywhere on the plate that isn't protected by hard, soft or aquatint resist (also called ground) is slowly dissolved into the acid, creating little grooves. The longer it's in the bath, the deeper the grooves - kind of.

The acid is fickle, and the more copper already dissolved into it, the slower it will dissolve new copper. And that's a problem because you want to control exactly how deep those grooves go; the deeper the groove, the more ink it will hold, the darker the line will be on paper. Under-etch your plate, and your lines will be faint, hold very little ink, and be extremely hard to get ink INTO when you apply it before making a print.

But you can't know this until you take all that resist off the plate, wash it, and ink it up and print it.

OVERetch your plate, and the acid will start to eat the copper away from under your resist, widening your lines or flattening out your aquatint, so it's easy to get ink into the lines, but hard not to wipe it back out when you try and wipe ink off the un-etched face of the plate.

Again, not obvious until you go and try printing your plate.

And with intaglio, by which I mean copper plate etching, you might want lines of varying darknesses - you might want aquatint of varying darknesses - and so you will be adding and removing resists of various kinds, and etching and re-etching your plate over and over again.

And you can do various things to get the feel for the acid bath's ... acidity ... on the day you go to etch something in it, but depending on the size of your bath, you etching a large plate for a while might change the bath's acidity. Worst is if it's fresh and you didn't know.

So this whole art form, whereby people produce some of the most precise and exquisite pieces in the north western historical canon IMO, is actually an absurd collaboration with a rogue chemical that may or may not do what you want at any point in time.

And by my third year of making work like this, I had concluded that you simply had to think of the acid bath as a rogue collaborator who you handed your plate off to over and over again throughout your process. You had to just take a deep breath and accept chaos as an element.

Yes, you did your best to prepare your plate, get the right resist on it, draw the right lines where you wanted them; and yes you set a timer and kept an eye on your plate and checked the etch over and over again - but in the end you were teaming up with chaos chemistry.

And I loved it! I loved the surprises you got from acid bath, even if they went against what I had planned. I loved improvising around its unpredictability! Once I accepted that it was part of the practice, I found it exhilirating.

And for me, that's the appeal of all traditional media - I can't predict every little thing, I'm not 100% in control at all times, and artwork has to happen despite all that.

And so I expanded this concept for myself out to my larger practice. When I send a file to print? I'm collaborating with a printer; both the person, who I can maybe talk to, and the machine, that will have its own peccadillos. I prepare as best I can and still I may be surprised.I'm not saying I never threw out plates that got way out of hand, and I'm not saying I never had a print run of my work I had to send back or reprint - I'm just saying that my thought process around them has changed, so I allow for a wider range of surprises than I used to.

So when everyone was going on about the twitter crop finally changing, and I realized I didn't really care, I noticed that I had expanded this concept to publishing online as well. I prep a nice jpg and then I take a deep breath and accept twitter's chaos in collaboration.

And that's how I discovered that, to me, twitter is just another acid bath.

Read the full article

#aquatint #collaboration #drypoint #etching #Fine Art #intaglio

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pinkypromisepascal · 1 year

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𝙹𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜 (𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛)

request by @chloelouisejohnson: hi!! so boring and predictable but could we get a jealous dean x reader with plenty of angst and a healthy dose of smut?? mabye jealous over reader and sams friendship but sam and reader are only so close because deans a douche and constantly pushes reader away the second they start getting close?

summary: you are friends with the Winchester brothers and often help them with research for their cases, mostly working together with Sam because Dean always seems gruff towards you until you confront him about his behavior

content warnings: angst, jealous!Dean, swearing, smut [fingering, praise, p-in-v, unprotected sex], enemies to lovers I guess?😀

word count: 4.8k

author’s note: I really hope you like this one, I tried my best, wasn’t really sure about how their relationship would develop, but I think it turned out ok. Also, this is my first time writing smut, so be nice with me😂

/// this has only been proofread by myself ///

You had met the Winchesters about two months ago when they had been working on a case in your hometown. You weren’t a hunter yourself, but you’d always been a very curios person, especially when it came to things that didn’t seem easy to put into words, like emotions, some natural phenomena, or even the supernatural. Naturally, you had started working at the local library years ago after having worked a secretary job for what had felt like eternity, so you could bury your nose in the all kinds of literature you could get.

When Sam and Dean had been staying in a local motel for the case, you couldn’t help but do some research on your own. They had spiked your interest even more after showing up at the library to search for newspaper reports. Since you were working at said library, you had offered them to stay after closing hours if they needed to. Which had led to the three of you taking up a table for six people with what felt like one hundred books. You had talked to Sam about the case and had searched the library for more helpful literature.

Ever since, it seemed that you had bonded with the Winchester boys. You liked both Sam and Dean, but you sometimes felt like Dean wasn’t as easy-going as his younger brother. You figured he was just a more practical guy than Sam who wasn’t so much into digging through tons of literature, who preferred to just get the case done and head over to the next one. Which was completely understandable, theory tends to be the less exciting part. But Dean always seemed kind of on edge when he was around, and you just couldn’t grasp why. Sam and you spent a lot of time in the bunker’s library to gather information about the cases. You didn’t always need the books, you just really liked being surrounded by them. Dean never spent more than ten minutes around the two of you. He usually just came around to ask how the research was going and to get a quick heads up on the information you had gathered so far, only half-heartedly listening to you while sipping a drink.

But over the last few days, you felt like he distanced himself even more. When Dean was around, he didn’t really want to know anything if it wasn’t about a case. Sometimes, when Sam was gone, it felt like his eyes were piercing through you. Dean didn’t really talk much to you, he just… watched you do your stuff. You did try having small talk with him when you were alone, asking him questions about past cases or his family, which was a big mistake as you had noticed right after asking. “Alright, don’t you have something to do? You don’t have to force some small talk, ‘kay?”, he had spat. To be fair, you did know it would be bad idea to ask about his family, Sam had told you the most important things, but what else were you supposed to do? Another time after that, when you had offered to go take care of the laundry with him, he just told you get back to Sam and help him out. Was Dean annoyed by you? Didn’t he like you being in the bunker with them, although he had been the one who invited you to the bunker in the first place?

“Do you think Dean’s been acting weird lately?”, you asked Sam one day, both of you focused on the bright screens on your laptops. You were researching for a case about people disappearing in the woods a few towns over, and dogs barking at seemingly nothing. You had both thought about Ghosts, Rugarus or other flesh-eating creatures, maybe even a new one, some kind of hybrid, which would make it more difficult to kill. Sam was still absorbed in his notes and didn’t notice you asked him a question until you nudged his leg under the table and asked him again. “What do you mean? Isn’t he acting like he always is?”

“I don’t know. I feel like… I think Dean doesn’t like me. He’s never around when we’re doing research, he only shows up for food or drinks-”

“Well, Dean never really liked those research days, to be fair.”, Sam interrupted.

“No, I mean, yes, okay, but seriously. When you’re out to get groceries or something, he’s so… tense all of the time. It’s like he really wants to punch me in the face, but he tries to do that by staring holes into my head or something. He always seems so angry, it drives me nuts!” You ruffled your hair and groaned. “You know, I really like being here, and I’m so glad that we help each other out, but… you know? He was the one who suggested I’d come around when you guys got something going on, so why is he acting like he regrets that decision more than anything?” Sam told you that he didn’t really notice Dean had been acting like that, but he could imagine that Dean could act like that if something really got to his nerves. “Did you talk to him about it?” You cocked your head and furrowed your brows. “Of course I did! Well, not particularly about that, but I did try to have a normal conversation with him, but I think he’d rather poison himself than tell me about the stick up his ass.” Sam chuckled and shook his head. “Well, I don’t really know what to do about that, I doubt that he’ll tell me what’s wrong, he’s, uh… not a man of big words most of the time. Maybe he just doesn’t really trust you yet, even though it’s been months since we first met, but, um, yeah… Don’t know, sorry.” Sam gave you a sad smile. “He’ll come around, I guess. Maybe he just needs time. And maybe you shouldn’t think too much about it. If he doesn’t treat you how you wanna be treated, you can confront him or just ignore him. Give him a taste of his own medicine or something.”

You thanked Sam for listening to you and excused yourself to a little break. You went through the backdoor of the bunker’s garage, holding your pack’s last cigarette in your hand, fiddling with the lighter in the other. The whole situation just didn’t leave your mind. Should you try to talk to Dean again and apologize for anything you did, even though you couldn’t think of what you could’ve done to upset him so much? Or should you just wait for him to approach you? You took a drag of your cigarette and closed your eyes, trying to stop your thoughts from racing, feeling small rain drops cooling your skin. This is so stupid, you thought, so stupid and childish, my god, grow some balls, Dean!

Distracted by your own thoughts, you didn’t notice the Impala rolling out of the garage until the horn startled you. You turned around to see Dean behind the wheel, motioning at you to get out of the way. You just stared at him with wide eyes and spread your arms to the side in a what the fuck? motion, cigarette still sitting between your lips. Reminding yourself that he wasn’t worth picking a fight, you stepped aside, waving your arm to signal him to get going. As he drove off, you flipped him off, not really intending for him to see it, but still hoping he would. “Fucking dumbass”, you mumbled. You put out your cigarette on the nearest rock and headed back inside.

When Dean came back half an hour later with some fast food, you expected him to take his food and return to his room again, but to your surprise, he sat at the table with you and Sam. You and Sam exchanged looks, you tried to telepathically tell him that this was unusual compared to the last weeks, but Sam just shrugged. You didn’t expect him to do something about the tension between you and Dean, you just wanted someone else to see how weird it could get between you and him.

“So, uh, how’s the research going?”, Dean suddenly asked between bites, not specifically looking at any of you. “Well, we’re not quite sure what the case is about yet, we couldn’t figure out what creature might be causing the troubles, our best guess is something like a Rugaru, maybe a ghost that’s stuck in the forest for some reason, maybe even something like a Crocotta? You know, those things that can mimic human voices and lure their victims into traps. But, y’know, we’re not sure. Maybe looking for clues in the woods would help us out.” You shrugged and bit into your burger again. Dean looked at you and Sam. “So, that’s it? That’s all we’ve got so far? Man, we’ve been better before.”, he grouched, probably more to himself than to you and his brother. “Well, maybe we’d be faster if we had your help.”, you simply said. You immediately sensed Sam shifting in his seat and felt Dean’s glare on you.

“Come again?”

“Oh, you heard me, Mister I just sit in my room all day or drive around in my old car because I’m too full of myself to hang out with those boring bookworms.” Sam almost choked on his burger and mumbled a “Oh god, here it comes.”

You looked over to the older Winchester. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. “Someone spit on your burger or something? The fuck’s your problem now?”, he asked.

“My problem is that you’re complaining because Sam and I haven’t magically solved the case yet! We’re working hard to get as many clues as we can before we show up there tomorrow while you’re just ignoring us! You never show up, and now you sit here with us to eat and pretend like you haven’t spoken a word to me in days? The fuck’s wrong with you, Dean?! You were the one who invited me here and told me that I could help you guys out, and you’ve been rude to me ever since!”, you snapped, despite noticing that Sam clearly got uncomfortable at this point. That didn’t stop you from continuing your rant, though. “You make me feel like you just got me here so you can chill out or something, because you poor little boy don’t get enough rest! I get that your lives are tough, but that doesn’t justify you treating me like a stress toy you use to let your anger out on every once in a while. Sam clearly does a better job at making me feel welcome around here!”

Sam cleared his throat and before he could try to settle your dispute, Dean smacked his fist on his table. “I’ve had enough of you, y’know that? Yes, I did invite you to join us every now and then, but I knew I was taking a risk with that-”

“Oh, shut up, Dean, what’s that even-”

His fist came down on the table another time.

“If you don’t let me finish talking, I’ll make sure you regret ever coming here.”, he growled, his eyes turning a darker shade of green. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Sam shifting in his seat again.

“Listen close, alright? I’m not gonna say this again. You are allowed to be here because I allowed you to after you were really helpful for one of our cases. Right? Sam and I talked about that, and we both knew that it would be risky to let someone else in here, someone who’s not a hunter. You lack skill, alright? You can’t fight, you can’t defend yourself against other people, let alone monsters. If someone wanted our heads and tried to get to us through you, you’d be dead faster than you can name your favorite book. But we still took you in, because you were good to us, and we rarely get good company ‘round here.” Dean paused for a moment, but his eyes gave away that there was so much more he wanted to say.

“So, I’m just another face to look at until you get tired of it? You’re just gonna cut me out of your lives again when you get bored of me?” You tried to keep your voice steady, but it was still shaking. You were bouncing your leg under the table and felt tears build up. “You don’t even talk to me Dean… at least not in a… normal way. I tried to have a normal conversation with you, and I know that asking you about your parents was a stupid mistake, but… every time we’re alone in a room, you just… stare at me like I’m a failure, like you don’t even want me here. You never even thanked me for all the times I’ve helped you so far.” A few tears quietly ran down your cheek. You crossed your arms in front of your chest and looked down on the table again.

Dean ran a hand over his face while Sam took care of the dishes. Uncomfortable silence filled the kitchen. You were the first to get up. You wiped the tears from your face and ruffled your hair. “I’m gonna go to sleep, I’m too tired to drive, but I’ll be out here first thing tomorrow morning.” None of the Winchester brothers answered as you left the room, but when they thought you were out of range, you heard Sam speak up to Dean. You couldn’t quite figure out what he said, he spoke too quietly for you to hear, but you could hear Dean loud and clear when he barked back, making you freeze in your spot.

“We both know she doesn’t belong here, Sammy! She shouldn’t be with us, she should be leading her normal life, you know how it ends when we like people.” Dean had gotten quieter towards the end, he sounded… torn.

This is too much right now, I really need to sleep, you thought and went on to the bedroom they had offered you to use. As you dropped onto the mattress after brushing your teeth and changing into something more comfortable, exhaustion took over quickly and you drifted into a dreamless sleep.

About two hours later you were wide awake again, joined by a pulsating headache. You groaned and rolled around in the soft bed. “The last thing I needed today.”, you said to yourself as you massaged your temples. Luckily, you always carried light Ibuprofens for such cases, but you still needed water, so you trudged to the kitchen again. After taking the painkiller, you rested against the sink for a while and recapped every moment between you and Dean that had to lead up to the depressing dispute that evening. You remembered one day where Dean had offered to go grocery shopping. You had wanted to join him and pay for the groceries as a thank you for the boys taking care of you when you were there. “I’m fine, just go hang out with Sam, you’ve gotten pretty good at that.”, he’d said. You hadn’t thought much of that, you were too taken aback by him brushing you off like that, but now that you thought of that moment again, something seemed to click.

Was Dean jealous? Could that be why he’d been acting so stiff around you? But there’s no reason to be jealous, you thought.

Dean’s deep voice pulled you from your train of thoughts. “You okay?” You shortly looked at him standing in the doorframe and then massaged your temples again. “Woke up with a headache in the middle of the night, but other than that…” You shrugged, “Fine, I guess… why’re you up?”

“Fell asleep in the library. I, uh, I took a look at your notes. On the case.” Dean cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together, unsure what to do with himself. You looked at him with furrowed brows, and when he lifted his gaze to meet yours, you were surprised yet again by how green his eyes were. Because Dean had been avoiding you most of the time, you didn’t get many chances to take a close look at his pretty, chiseled face. But when you got the chance, you didn’t want to take your eyes off it.

“Listen, I, uh… I snapped at you earlier, and I’m… I’m sorry for that. I just- it just got too much for me in that moment.” Dean ran a hand over his stubble and cleared his throat again. After taking a deep breath, he continued talking. “Truth is, I don’t hate that you’re around, ok? I know I made you feel like that, and I get that you’re mad at me. And what I’m gonna say now will sound so cliché and shitty that you’ll wanna take another painkiller for your headache, but, um… I need to get it out ‘cause it’s been driving me insane.” Another short pause where neither of you knew exactly what to do. Should you take Dean’s hand to let him know that it’s okay? Should you hug him? Get him a drink?

“It’s just that… I love having you here with us, I love how you liven our life in here up. And I noticed how you and Sam were getting closer each day, because you’re both huge nerds who read books all day, so I- I thought I’d just leave you to it and not get in the way. It’d be too dangerous anyway. So I just… I don’t need to tell you what I did, you already know that part.” A light chuckle came from you. “I’m sorry for how I treated you. But I need you to understand that I was keeping myself from risking your life.” Dean almost pleaded. “Why do you always bring up that I’m weak, that I need protection or things like that? How would you be risking my life by treating me like a normal human being?”, you asked him calmly to avoid the situation escalating again.

Dean stepped closer, locking his eyes with yours again, resting his hands on the sink behind you, capturing you between his frame and the sink. “Because I don’t wanna just treat you like a friend. With the thoughts I’ve been having about you, I can’t treat you like just a friend. There’s so much more. But I’ve been stopping myself from acting on it because every single person I’ve ever cared about was taken from me. It makes me feel like I’m cursed or something. It’s like the moment I start liking someone, they’re doomed. And from then it’s just a question of time till I find them dead.” You couldn’t even focus on the last sentence he spoke, you were too startled. He was having ‘thoughts’ about you? Him? Dean Winchester? About you? Despite every encounter you two had had? It made no sense to you.

“Dean”, you started, not even knowing what you wanted to say to him. You looked into his eyes and took a deep breath. “Start fucking acting on it.”, you hissed. Dean cocked his eyebrow. “What?”

“You said you stopped yourself from actin’ on your feelings and thoughts ‘cause you were too scared and - apparently - jealous of Sam because we’re spending a lot of time together. Which is only because every time we have a moment to ourselves, you start acting like a complete douchebag. I like you, Dean. So please start doing what your mind’s telling you to do because I can’t stand douchebag-Dean anymore. I kinda hate him.” You started laughing at yourself and this whole situation. “Oh, you don’t want that, sweetheart.”, he just countered. “Oh, come on, think I can’t handle you, big boy?”

“I just think you underestimate me. I like your smugness, but I’ll rid you of that quicker than you think. Once I got you in my hands, you’ll melt.”, he purred. “And after that, you’ll be mine only. I’ll leave you just as obsessed with me as I am with you.” Dean’s right hand came up to your face, his thumb gently tracing your lower lip. “But I need your permission for that.”

Too frozen in this moment to form a sentence, you just nodded and before you could think of something else, Dean’s full lips crashed on yours, lightly biting your lower lip. You sighed as you opened your mouth, his tongue slipping inside, exploring.

Dean’s hands squeezed your waist and pulled you closer to him, your hands running up his torso to grab him by the collar of his shirt. He kept kissing you, making you hungry for more. Between kisses, you asked him if he really wanted to do this here in the kitchen. “Good point.”, he mumbled and picked you up bridal style in one swift motion. You shrieked in surprise, Dean shushed you immediately. “You’re gonna have to be quiet if you don’t want Sam to hear us. Walls are kinda thin here.”, he said as you entered your bedroom. Dean lightly dropped you onto the mattress, earning a chuckle from you. He climbed on top of you, kissing along your neck and jawline. “I wonder what other sweet sounds I can get out of you.” You fumbled at his button down to shrug it off his broad shoulders, but Dean seemed to have other plans. “Patience, sweetie.”, he said as he kissed you deeply again, “I wanna take my sweet fucking time with you, till you’re weak in every single muscle.” Him saying such things already made you almost see stars as waves of desire flamed through your body.

Dean’s arm went under your back and he lifted you to sit on his lap. “Now be a good girl and take that shirt off for me.” His large hands cupped your breasts as soon as your shirt was gone and slowly kneaded them, rolling your hard nipples between his thumb and index finger. “Look how good they fit in my hands.”, he murmured against your lips. You eagerly rolled your hips against him, feeling his erection under your core. Dean groaned and captured your lips again. “Your turn.”, you panted with a smug smile. “Why don’t you do that for me, hm?”, he chuckled. With no hesitation, you clawed at his button down, finally shoved it from his shoulders and then put your hands under his t-shirt, slowly pushing it up while he sucked on your neck.

Both of you were still wearing too many clothes, so you decided to drop yourself on the bed again, pulling Dean with you without your lips breaking contact, getting hungrier and more eager with each kiss. Dean’s kisses started traveling across your body, licking and biting certain spots he knew would drive you crazy. You shuddered when he reached your lower belly. His fingers hooked under the hem of your pants, he slowly dragged pants and panties down along your legs, making sure his lips would reach every tingling spot on their way down. Your eyes rolled back and you arched your back lightly, impatient, wanting to finally feel him inside of you. Dean lifted his head to look at you. “If only you could see you goddamn pretty you look right now.” He pushed himself up to kiss you again, one of his hands drawing slow circles at your core. “And you’re gonna look even prettier when I’m done with you.”, he mumbled as he carefully pushed his index inside of you, making you inhale sharply. “God, so wet for me already? Hm, what did I do to deserve this?”, he cooed, looking deep into your eyes. “You okay, sweetheart? Tell me if you wanna stop.”

“If you stop now, I’ll never talk to you again.”, you panted and rolled your hips into his hand as you felt him pull out to add another finger. “That’s what I wanna hear.”, he chuckled. Dean fingered you in an almost agonizing pace, enjoying how smooth you felt, knowing exactly how much you wanted him to do more. Your hands started fumbling with his belt and unzipped his pants. Dean sat back and quickly slid his pants down and threw them aside, now only in tight boxers. Your eyes fell onto the outline of his thick cock. Dean grabbed your face and forced you to look at him. “Eyes up here, sweetie.” He grabbed one of your hands and led it down to his crotch, making it wrap around his cock through the boxers. You slowly pumped him as good as you could, not breaking eye contact. Dean groaned huskily, leaning his forehead against yours. His hand found your core again, two fingers sliding in and out of you while his thumb circled your clit.

Soon enough, Dean couldn’t hold back much longer. Drawing his hand from you again, he slid his boxers down just enough to set his cock free and positioned himself between your legs. “Do you want this? I need to hear it.”

“Yes, Dean, please.”, you whined and bucked your hips. Dean carefully pushed himself inside, keeping his eyes on you to see your reaction. He intertwined your hands and kissed your forehead as he kept pushing. You felt yourself stretch around him, felt yourself adjust to his size.

He bottomed out with slow thrusts, trying not to loose control of himself. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”, he growled and picked up the pace a little, “Can’t believe I finally have you to myself.” Your hand was pressed against his chest, desperately searching for any contact it could get. “Dean, faster, please.”, you moaned. Dean took his hand from yours and used it to lift one of your legs up, putting it over his shoulder and leaning down towards you as he started pounding into you, slick sounds and skin slapping against skin filling the room. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you moaned loudly at him fucking you like this. Dean shushed you once again. “As much as I love making you sound like that, you should keep quiet if you don’t want Sam to hear this.”

You grabbed Dean by his neck and pulled his face as close to yours as possible. “I don’t care, I just want you to keep doing this, fuck.”

“How could I stop when you’re taking me so well? Like you were made for me.” Dean’s hand slipped between your legs, pressing down on your lower stomach and getting you closer to the edge. He started kissing your neck again, running his tongue along the pulsating vein and lightly sucking on it. On his way down to your breasts, he kept biting your sensitive skin just enough to hear those sweet moans from you, marking you as his with the bite marks.

“Dean, please.”, you whined, slowly getting overwhelmed at the feeling of his cock ramming into you over and over, “I’m close.”

His hand went to grab your face again and he almost completely pulled out as he gazed at you, his breath coming shorter. He was close too. “Beg for it.”, he demanded. “Please make me cum.”

Right as you finished your sentence, Dean pushed himself in in one hard thrust and kept this harshness as he picked up the pace like before. Your nails dug into his back and shoulders as you held him close to you, almost screaming when his thumb circled around your clit again. You were so damn close to the edge already, and got sent over it as Dean grunted, “Good fucking girl.”

You came undone around him, his lips catching yours to keep you quiet as he kept penetrating with your walls squeezing around him. Dean cursed under his breath and quickly pulled out before coming on your stomach. You rested your foreheads against each other, needing to catch your breath again, coming down from your highs.

Dean leaned down to kiss you carefully, almost as if you could suddenly break apart beneath him. “We really just did that.”, you said to break the silence. Dean chuckled and nodded, “We sure did.”

You both sat up and Dean helped you get cleaned up. After a short trip to the bathroom, you both laid down on the bed again.

Dean grabbed your hips and made you straddle his lap, looking deep into your eyes, taking in all of your details. You caressed his face with your hands. “You know this wasn’t a one-time-thing, right?”, Dean asked, “I mean, I’m taking a big risk here, but fuck, the things you make me wanna do to you. I’m not gonna let you go.” “Easy, tiger, I’m not going anywhere.”, you chuckled, “I mean, I do have to get back for work soon, but… y’know. I think I’m gonna like being here even more from now on.”

#dean winchester x reader #supernatural dean #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean being mean #smut #dean winchester smut #supernatural smut #first smut #request #dean winchester x female reader #jealousy

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1d1195 · 9 months

Text

Protection VII

Read the rest here: Protection

Warnings 6.2K words of angst (and maybe like two or three lines of PG-13 smut)

“Don’t you look lovely, darling. Meeting a date?” Niall asked.

Harry glared at him. She shook her head with a laugh. “No, no dates after the ankle thing.”

“You’re better off without him,” Niall agreed.

“Harry said the same thing.”

“M’sure he did,” Niall smirked knowingly.

She spent each of the next mornings curled in Harry’s lap, kissing him until her lips hurt, grinding her hips against his groin so her breathy little gasp worked through her until she saw stars. Harry started leaving extra clothes for himself in her spare room—especially after she wore leggings the following day which caused him to make a mess of his boxers with all her perfect grinding. She pouted whenever he stopped her from pulling his pants off.

“What are we going to do, Harry?” She asked resting her head on the front of his shoulder. She was so goddamn cute.

“Jus’...have t’think of a plan. Explain the situation. Maybe convince them y’don’t need a protection detail.”

She snorted. “Good luck. I’ve been trying to say that since the day they got here.”

He chuckled. “I know, kitten,” he kissed the side of her head. “I jus’...need t’do it as right as possible. M’not used t’breaking protocol so badly like this.”

“It’s not for everyone,” she shrugged her fingers twining with his as she snuggled closer. He chuckled at her, shaking his head as he nosed at her hair. She could feel and hear his heartbeat thudding in his chest. “You do want me, right? I’m not being...crazy?”

“No more than usual," he said dryly.

She punched his stomach without any force behind it. “I’m not crazy.”

“You’re a little crazy,” he told her. She rolled her eyes. “M’crazy ‘bout you,” he murmured into her hair. “Utterly. Course I want you.” She sighed with relief, and he rolled his eyes. “I jus’ don’t want t'get myself in t'some real trouble or you in trouble.”

“I think everyone at that place would agree that I am the trouble.”

He rubbed one hand up and down her back soothingly. She tried to remember if anyone she had ever been with made her feel so at ease, so comforted by just their touch. After a few moments of silence, she decided no one ever had. Harry was the first and only one to make her feel so safe and adored.

Even if he wouldn’t take his pants off.

“M’gonna have t’resign,” he told her. “More than likely.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“M’sorry.”

She shrugged. “You’ll make it up to me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she sighed as she tried not to think about the looming darkness that surrounded her mind. If she didn’t think about the air of something sinister, then it wouldn’t become a problem. Right? Harry didn’t seem to feel it and he had a sixth, seventh, and eighth sense about this type of thing. If it was a real issue, it would present itself. She was just so used to things going poorly for her. For bad things to be at every corner. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But she was being ridiculous...right?

“Y’okay, there, Miss Wildflower?” He hummed. “Awfully quiet...”

“Just thinking about what you look like naked,” she shrugged casually.

“Behave.”

“Make me.”

“Don’t,” his voice hummed darkly. She shivered and nuzzled closer. Stop worrying. She told herself. Everything is good.

“Do you want anything for Christmas?” She asked trying to distract herself from the negativity seeping in.

“No, you’re plenty," he answered immediately.

She rolled her eyes. “Did you already get me a gift?”

“Course,” he smiled proudly.

“I hate you.”

He couldn’t stop kissing her. Part of him thought if he stopped, he might die. But if his lips didn’t stay attached to her skin, it would end him, he was certain. It felt so easy to touch her, hold her, kiss her. He wanted to make her come over and over. The idea of having her fully naked and not just slipping his hand between her pants and underwear seemed like heaven. But he had to try to do some of it right. He couldn’t do it while he was working. It wasn’t...protocol. It was a surefire way to get himself fired. He’d be put on some list that meant he couldn’t see her. Something. It was bad enough he was touching her so much. But again, if he stopped, he could die. He wasn’t willing to take that risk.

So, he would touch her and wait until he could figure out a plan. “I...I should tell you m’spending New Years in England.”

“Oh,” her voice was surprised. But it made sense. Of course he would go home to see his family. The sadness crept into her tone almost immediately--even though she was happy for him. Harry deserved to see his adoring family. He deserved all the happiness in the world. “That’s nice.”

He smirked. “I want you t'come with me...if y’want...if I figure out all this...stuff.”

The relief was immediate. There was a whoosh of air that fell from her lungs and exhaled through her lips into his shirt. “Oh, thank goodness.”

He laughed and kissed her ear. “You silly little wildflower,” he squeezed her tightly to him. This was heaven. Perfect.

Harry didn’t even want a day off. But he had to pretend just in case anyone thought it was suspicious that they literally didn’t leave her apartment for the three days post-first kiss.

“Did you break her?” Niall asked.

She was practically docile--someone even ventured to say Harry had given her sleeping pills in her food. Even when Harry wasn't there, the agents she was left with were amazed by how calm she was. Everyone was talking about it. Harry rolled his eyes. “No,” he mumbled sipping his pint. Harry saw one of the agents on her detail enter the bar. His eyes immediately scanned for her, but he wanted to play it as coolly as possible. He definitely didn’t think about the way her mouth fell open when she came on his fingers. He didn’t think about how her body felt so soft and warm below his. Or how perfectly her lips fit against his.

He didn’t think about breaking protocol.

But she looked so fucking pretty. It was impossible to ignore the sight of her. She was in his every thought when she wasn’t around. Harry practically sighed at the sight of her. Niall looked in the same direction as Harry briefly.

“Hey, isn’t that—” he turned back to Harry to see his lovesick gaze. Niall swore he saw fireworks exploding in Harry’s pupils, turning into the shape of a heart as he watched her. “Whoa...” Harry ripped his gaze away from her entrance and stared at the table. “Harry,” Niall’s mouth dropped open for a moment in surprise.

“Niall, shut it,” he grumbled.

A smile grew on his face. “Holy shit. Mr. Protocol himself,” Niall threw his head back and laughed. “This will be good,” he sipped his drink. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

He knew that. God did Harry know that.

She was much better at being casual than Harry was. After all, she had perfected the look of disinterest quite well for the better part of a decade. The agent found a space at the end of the bar and waved to Harry and Niall.

She glanced at him, like she didn’t know Harry was here and then followed the path of his wave to see Harry and Niall. Harry honestly probably looked miserable. She smiled excitedly and hurried over anyway.

Delight was pouring from Niall. “You should take lessons from her, she’s much less obvious,” he was practically giggling.

“I’ll kill you,” he promised sipping his drink to keep from fawning over her the way he wanted to.

“Hi Niall!” She cooed and slid into the booth beside Harry. He could feel the heat rolling off her and he wanted to put his arm around her, kiss the side of her head. But instead, he just looked at Niall.

“Don’t you look lovely, darling. Meeting a date?” Niall asked innocently.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him and wrinkled his nose in distaste. Harry hated the idea of her dating anyone now. He didn't like it before but that was due to their idiocy and immaturity in taking care of the pretty girl and understanding her wants and needs.

And the fact that Harry was really subconsciously jealous all that time anyway.

She shook her head with a laugh. “No, no dates after the ankle thing.”

“You’re better off without him,” Niall agreed. He filed the paperwork on him...and maybe took it upon himself to make sure his car was targeted for more parking violations than others. Just something to make up for his shitty personality leaving her stranded on a cold rainy night.

“Harry said the same thing.”

“M’sure he did,” Niall smirked knowingly.

“Shut up, Niall.”

He was getting too much enjoyment out of this. Her hand gently rested on the seat between them. Her pinky touched his. Just the touch of her little finger was enough to ease the anxiety he felt of Niall blowing their cover. She and Niall chatted like two old friends while her pinky gently rubbed up and down the length of his. Soothingly. Niall couldn’t blame Harry for falling for her. She was adorable and now he had a front row seat to her pretty face. He asked about her new TA position—he was filing paperwork on her mentoring professor and what her plans for research were following graduation.

“Harry helped me study, so I owe it all to him,” she said kindly.

Niall felt his expression soften. Harry saw it in his face, he knew it well. She had that effect on people. “Mm,” he hummed. Niall honestly liked her. Maybe not as much as Harry of course, but seeing this version of her--the one that clearly stole his friend's heart-- he liked her. His run in with her a couple of months back didn’t really show how much she liked Harry as Harry, not her bodyguard. He was Niall's closest friend and her liking Harry meant a lot to Niall. She asked questions about his job and listened intently. Asked meaningful follow-up questions too, and really seemed to care about his answers about his employment even though she hated DSS.

“It’s not your fault you work for Satan in one of his field offices,” she shrugged casually. Harry smirked, rolling his eyes as Niall cackled. “I’m...gonna run to the restroom, do either of you want another drink?” She asked getting out of the booth.

“Oh, I’m going to fall in love with you, darling.”

She blushed bright red. “Jesus Christ, Niall,” Harry sighed rubbing a hand over his face. She looked at her feet.

“I thought I was being so sneaky,” she pouted.

“Oh, you’re fine, darling. It’s Mr. Heart Eyes over here.”

Harry shook his head, turned his attention to the girl he adored so very much (and so very obviously). “Careful in the bathroom, love.”

“I’ll call you if I fall in,” she rolled her eyes causing another laugh from Niall.

She was washing her hands at the bathroom sink, when a girl entered the restroom with tears in her eyes. “I hate men,” she mumbled. She snorted as she dried off, giving her a sympathetic nod. She was looking at her makeup in the mirror when the other girl pushed open the window. One that she previously escaped from, and she smiled at the thought. “Do you mind?” She asked, lighting a cigarette.

“Not at all,” she said inspecting her reflection closely. She knew Harry was going to be here. Because he mentioned he was meeting Niall. Maybe it was clingy of her to follow her...well, he wasn't really a boyfriend yet. She thought to herself. But the person that I enjoy making out with, would really like to exclusively date, and desperately want to see naked. She was excited to follow him, kind of. Even if it was a bit clingy for her normal behavior. Even if she had spent every moment with him over the last few days where he'd done things to her with his fingers that took violating protocol to a whole new level. So being in the bathroom where her not-boyfriend-boyfriend-maybe-in-the-right-light was going to be meeting in his friend wasn't that crazy of her.

But when all was said and done, she liked to believe it was divine intervention that she was in that bathroom at the time. The exact moment a stranger had a rough night--a night that was dampened by men which she knew well--and opened the window. Especially once she heard the conversation coming from the outside.

“Rose?” As much as she hated that name, she couldn’t help but register the word and respond to it in some capacity every time she heard it. “She’s all subdued now. Think it's because of Styles.”

She faltered ever so slightly. The other girl paid no mind to the words said all but three feet from her puffing on her cigarette. She scrolled through her phone almost mindlessly while blowing the smoke out the window. She had no idea that the man outside was talking about Harry--and her. She stared at her reflection, gripped the sides of the sink for support as she listened.

“I bet they’re fucking,” he said. She swallowed thickly at the accusation and despite situation, she wanted to say I wish.

No, no, no. Everything was fine. It was good. She didn’t...want this. She wanted...Harry.

“M’just following orders...it's gotta be soon. Listen. If we can’t get her alone, then it’ll have to be a more public option. Or we’ll have to take out Styles too...s’just orders.”

When her dad became Secretary of State, she may as well have had a full college course on kidnapping and ransom. Her dad was in a pretty powerful, influential position in one of the most affluent countries in the world. DSS essentially trained her for everything except for torture--although after two days of service on her detail, she was sure they wanted to train her in that too.

She wondered what the girl not listening while she smoked (to the end of the world as in her mind) would do if she threw up right in the bathroom sink. “Hey,” she whispered thinking on her feet. “I think I heard my ex-boyfriend,” she said to the girl quickly. “Can you see what he looks like?” She asked.

The girl glanced out the window as covertly as she could. “Can’t really see him. Looks too old though.”

She faked a relieved smile but felt anything but relief. “Thanks,” she leaned closer to the mirror straining to hear more of the conversation.

“Until we get rid of Styles; we can't get rid of her.”

That was enough for her. Harry would do anything to protect her and knew that he would probably break every bone in his body...or worse...before he let something happen to her.

She knew that Harry...wonderful, perfect, Harry...was too good to be true.

She exited the bathroom and went back to the booth with the boys. They both smiled at her return. Niall’s, was one of amusement.

Harry’s smile however...Well, she was obsessed with all things Harry. She could catalogue every version of every smile he had. This one had the flair of adoration etched in his eyes, on his lips. She wished she could smile back and match the intensity of his grin, but she still felt like she was going to throw up.

The only people that called her Rose were people in DSS. Which meant that it wasn't just anyone that wanted to hurt her. It was someone that in theory, if she liked DSS as a whole, she was supposed to trust.

Harry, she trusted with her life. But she couldn’t trust anyone else. She knew if she told him, something would happen. He would disappear. They would deny it. It would play right into what they wanted. Her pretending not to know until she could figure out a plan was her only shot.

But that meant...

She knew her life was too happy.

“Didn’t fall in?” Niall asked. Harry rolled his eyes.

“S’jus’ protocol.”

“Think protocol flew out the window, Mr. Styles," Niall smirked.

She stiffened a bit at the word window and slid back in beside Harry. She wondered if he noticed she was a smidge closer to him now.

He did.

“So, Niall, you were in charge of hiring Harry?” She asked.

“Recommended him myself. But sort of. I do a lot of the vetting process, typically.”

It would kill Harry if Niall was the problem. He couldn’t be. “No skeletons in Harry’s closet?” She grinned mischievously while her stomach continued knotting.

Harry rolled his eyes while Niall laughed. “No. But I didn’t do his vetting. There’s another person above me that does it as well.”

So, Niall wasn’t the problem. She nodded. “Well, I still kind of hate your job, but you brought Harry around. So, I guess you’re not all bad.”

“No. Some of us aren’t,” Niall grinned and Harry boldly swept his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze before taking a sip of his own drink.

This was going to break her in half.

“I can get y’five minutes,” Niall--as Harry's wingman and definitely not worried about DSS protocol the way Harry was ever--murmured taking one last gulp of his drink and headed toward the agent on her detail tonight. There were more agents outside, as always—especially when Harry wasn’t working. She gave his hand a secret squeeze as she exited the booth and made her way for the bathroom again.

Harry waited three minutes. It was definitely not protocol to aid her sneakiness. But it was also not his shift. Plus, he was no longer in full control of his emotions or ability to act normal. He tossed a few bills on the table and sauntered casually over to Niall and the other agent. “Did y’pass her off t’someone else?” Harry asked.

The alarm on the man's face was immediate and Harry honestly felt bad for the poor guy. “Shit.”

“Oh Lord,” Niall murmured.

“I’ll look out back,” Harry sighed dramatically. He hurried toward the back of the bar and out the door. He followed it around the back of the building searching for her because he didn’t actually know where she was. But soon he was yanked toward the empty space between a huge truck and the building.

“Five minutes?” She asked running her hands up the front of his shirt.

“Yes,” he smirked. She grinned, bringing her arms around his neck and kissing him in the next moment. Harry was already obsessed with the feel of her mouth. How it molded perfectly against his. He loved the taste of her tongue and how warm she felt in his arms. “Three minutes, Miss Wildflower,” he murmured after several tantalizing kisses.

She sighed into his mouth. While Harry was casually enjoying their make out session, she was strategically planning. It was the last time she was going to kiss him for who knew how long. It was a miracle she didn’t cry. She deserved an Oscar for her performance. It topped every one of her disinterested and snotty, bratty acts over the last seven years.

She just hoped Harry didn’t feel it was a goodbye kiss.

It wasn’t fair.

After a few moments of breathlessness, he pressed his lips messily to her face. It brushed a bit of her eyelid and part of her nose. “See y’tomorrow, kitten.” She smiled because if she spoke, she would break. She would tell him everything she heard and if...something happened to Harry...

Losing her mom had been the worst thing to ever happen to her. Part of her died the day that she did. Harry was the only person that felt close to home anymore. She was rapidly sliding closer to her late twenties and she wasn't stupid; most studies said she wouldn't make too many long lasting friendships as she got older.

Losing Harry in any capacity would be a nail in her coffin, and she knew he would do anything to protect her whether he was on her detail or not so at the very least--pushing him away for his own safety was the least she could do.

“Ready?” He asked, smoothing his shirt, her shirt, and making sure he didn’t have an unsightly (but to her it was quite sightly) bulge in his pants. She nodded. Harry grabbed her awkwardly by the elbow and it broke her heart that the last time he was touching her would be by the elbow of all places.

“I found her!” He shouted. She rolled her eyes and sighed heavily flaring up the drama.

The other members of her detail were there. One of them, at least, needed to be hated most of all. Sorry about the paperwork, Harry. She thought. There’s going to be a lot of it.

Harry squeezed her elbow without anyone else noticing before he let her go.

When she got home, she sobbed into her pillow for an hour before she continued planning.

Hey, love. Gonna be late. Have an emergency meeting before I head over. I’ll bring you coffee.

There was no response, but he thought nothing of it. Harry was on cloud nine. Even if he hadn’t fully thought through a plan of what to do, there was nothing that could shake the euphoria he felt just thinking about Miss Wildflower.

Maybe he could get Niall to help him.

He headed into the office heading to say hello to Niall before he went to his supervisor’s office. But when he got to Niall’s, he looked like he had seen a ghost. “Hey, do y’know what m’meeting’s ‘bout?”

He nodded silently. “Sorry, Harry.”

“Sorry?”

He handed him a piece of typed paper. A statement. The first sentence broke his heart. It was a miracle he could still stand.

“To whom it may concern: I can no longer have Harry Styles on my protection detail. I think I am developing feelings for him that are outside the realm of what they should be. I do not want to jeopardize his career. Please remove him from his duties but please don’t fire him. Mr. Styles has been nothing but a model for DSS. The picture of protocol. He deserves a promotion for dealing with me over the last five months. His work ethic and attention to detail is unmatched. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.”

Harry dropped the paper back on the desk. He marched back outside, tapped her name on his phone. It went right to voicemail. He tried again. Back to voicemail. He sent a text: Answer. Now. Are you kidding me?

It got no response. His heart literally felt like it was severing in half. Right through his aorta--it made his fingertips feel numb. He was certain this was what a heart attack felt like. It was shattering. He felt sick. “Love, please,” he murmured into his phone after it went to voicemail again. The air in his lungs wasn’t working. It wasn’t enough. It felt like he was suffocating.

What are you doing, love?

Why didn’t you...?

I’m sorry.

Harry wanted to cry but he was at work and... he didn’t know why she did that. Why she would ever send that statement. It didn’t seem right. Something was wrong. How did he miss it? How did he not notice? What happened between last night and this morning?

He was so mad at everything and maybe even mad at her. Her stupid, perfect kiss made him dizzy. It made him miss signals that he never should have missed. He should have seen this. He knew every expression she had and it...

He couldn't even properly blame her he adored her so much.

“Harry, come on,” Niall was standing in the doorway of the building that he suddenly hated as much as she hated. But what else was he supposed to do?

He followed Niall.

She was antsy. So antsy she wanted to call the agency and just ask them to get this over with so she could get back to what she wanted to do—figure out a way to grovel at Harry’s feet so that maybe he would take her back. Maybe knowing what was going to happen or what was supposed to happen wasn't good. She made sure everything was in place. Annoyingly in place. She hoped she hadn’t missed anything. She was pretty confident she thought of everything, but this was...this was her life. This was Harry’s life. It made her nauseous to think she could have missed something.

She had to look casual when they arrived. Of course, she had no way of knowing if the next agent to walk through her door would be the one that she overheard but everything she did...everything she planned...it had to be...enough. They wanted it quick right? She made it so. It had to be enough.

Enough to get Harry out of danger until she could figure out the next step.

How does one look casual when you know you’re going to be kidnapped? She had no idea what the story was here, what their play was. How was she supposed to...do anything?

There were so many variables. Too many. All she wanted was to snuggle up to Harry and watch their next movie. She hoped he would forgive her. Maybe not right away. But maybe eventually. If this all led to nothing—if Harry wouldn’t be in her life—then there would be nothing. But at least he would be okay. She honestly felt she owed Niall everything for bringing Harry into her life. She hoped this would be enough and at the end of it all he wouldn't hate her either.

She busied herself with a book that she wasn’t really reading. Snuggled into the sofa that still had remnants of Harry’s cologne soaked into the cushions. It was a miracle she wasn’t crying. All the walls she had built over the last seven years had made it so she could hide all the emotions she felt. Shoved them down into the depths of her mind.

There was a knock on her door.

“Hello, Miss. How are you?” Harry’s supervisor asked. She blinked at him. Surprised that he made the trip out. He never came to her apartment. “Wonderful,” she rolled her eyes. “How are you?” She asked politely.

He smiled. “Just have to ask you some questions, about Mr. Styles.”

“Sure.” To be expected.

Her mind was somehow light. She imagined it was like when moms forgot the pain of childbirth. The adrenaline pumped through so much that it made her forget that this was serious. It was very well possibly dangerous. But there was nothing that could stop the feeling of dread in her chest.

But if he called her Rose like he did last night, she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep her cool.

“You’ll just have to come to the office with me,” he explained. She sighed dramatically, grabbed her Keds by the door before turning back for the sofa. She sat down and tied them into place on her feet. Pulled the sweatshirt that Harry wore the night she twisted her ankle over her head. If she was going to do this, she needed to feel like Harry was right there with her.

“You realize it’s Christmas, yeah?” She rolled her eyes. “I have shopping to do, presents to wrap?” She shoved her book into her backpack and placed it over her shoulder as she headed for the counter where she left her phone.

“You won’t need that,” he said gently. She stared at him briefly and tilted her head at him like he was stupid.

“I won’t need my phone? I’m twenty-five years old. Of course, I need my phone,” she tried to shove past him, but he grabbed her backpack’s free strap. He pulled it from her grip effortlessly as she managed to fake the confusion on her face.

“You won’t,” his voice was monotone. Simple. He wasn’t giving anything away.

It took a lot to remind herself that she was playing a part. That she knew where this was headed. "I knew I hated you all," she ground out as he marched her out of her apartment.

There was a driver waiting out front. Her doorman waved to her casually, as if she was off for a day on the town. She wondered if he was in on it too. She didn't have a thing of her own with her. But of course, the doorman had no reason to expect DSS would betray her.

They passed the field office. “Where are we going?” She asked alarm and annoyance equally coating her tone.

Silence.

About half a mile away they pulled to the side of the road. The driver wasn’t an agent, that much was clear. But Harry’s supervisor got out quickly. “Rose, it’s been lovely.”

She wished she could have at least smacked him across the face before he left her. She glared at him as the car pulled back to drive.

The driver took her on a dizzying drive of circles and traffic stops. Eventually they went to a quiet neighborhood with nearly no cars and he brought her to an abandoned, empty warehouse. There were signs of construction but given it was the holiday season, she imagined nothing would be happening anytime soon—all the more reason to bring a kidnapped party to the building. He didn’t speak to her. Even after she tried to make a run for it when he opened the car door. Still playing the part.

But then he wrapped her wrists with zip ties. Her heart was no longer playing. She was terrified with the realization that this wasn’t something she could just get out of at any moment. This was real. She thought of her mom. Her mom would tell her to be brave. Not that her mom would ever expect her to ever be in a situation like this. But her mom would never let her give up. So she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Harry was at the end of the tunnel. He had to be.

Given that she knew something like this was coming, she slept most of the day—it also helped that she hadn't slept much after her night of planning. Plus, it passed the time and the anxiety in her. It was dark when she woke up. She wondered when or if Harry would figure it out before all her planning went into action. Her stomach growled with hunger and her mouth dried wanting something to drink. She would even drink water at this point and she smirked thinking about how Harry would laugh at her. Her head ached but she took that as her caffeine dependent mind longing for Starbucks. The driver left her for a long time, that was clear.

He returned at some point after the sun had set, and it was cold against the concrete floor. His approach was nearly silent. Soundless. Must have ditched the car.

He had water for her, and a sandwich. She ate it wordlessly. “Aren’t you supposed to be a bitch or something?” He asked.

She blinked at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be intelligent or something?” She responded. He chuckled, but then slapped her across the face so hard tears flooded her eyes instantly. She grimaced as she hid her gaze from him. She didn’t want to see the satisfaction on his face that she made him teary.

“That prissy princess-y shit may work with DSS but it won’t work with me,” he promised her.

She believed him. “What’s the plan here?” She asked.

He chuckled. “You really think I’m that stupid?’

She rolled her eyes. It was a gamble on her part given he just smacked her for her sarcastic comment. She took her two hands to bring the water to her lips. “No.”

“M’not telling you anything.”

“I don’t expect you to tell me the fucking goal, you prick. I just want to know why I need to be kidnapped. I have Christmas plans,” she grumbled. She wanted to sound entitled. She wanted him to tell her something, to slip up.

“Don’t bank on it,” he murmured, turning on the space heater and walking away from her. It was dark again and she felt like her sandwich was going to come right back up.

It wasn’t much, but this wasn’t the kidnapping she thought it was. This was much worse.

“What’s your name?” She asked. It was morning again embarking on day three of being in this concrete cold wasteland. The unnamed party was scrolling through his phone, like this was a waiting room and he was waiting for the doctor to call him. There was a gun at his feet. Just like Harry's.

Unlike Harry's, it made her uneasy just to see it.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t,” he muttered.

She sighed. “I can call you Mr. Assface if you like. Seems fitting,” she shrugged.

“I could put a bullet in your face if you like. Seems fitting.”

She glared at him, but she felt her throat dry up. “So, killing me is part of the plot,” she mumbled to herself. “Why?” She asked. She didn’t expect an answer, but she didn’t think he was brilliant. Someone that was ready to shoot her for name calling didn’t seem like he would be the brains of the operation. He would slip up eventually.

“Money of course,” he answered anyway.

She blinked in surprise at his sudden answer. “Money? I don’t have money,” she rolled her eyes. Not the kind of money that warranted kidnapping and killing.

He sighed. “Aren’t you a biochemist or something? Aren’t you supposed to be intelligent?” She bit the side of her tongue hard enough to draw blood. She didn’t want to respond to his taunt because yes. She was intelligent. She believed that despite all the stuff she didn’t know, she was four steps ahead of all this bullshit. “Daddy’s money.”

Okay, maybe she was only two steps ahead. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her...her dad wasn’t even a thought in her mind. He certainly threw a wrench in her plan to escape. It was supposed to be just...DSS. That shitty office and its shitty employees (except Harry, Niall, and maybe that poor secretary she terrified a couple months ago). It was Harry’s supervisor, right? What the hell could her dad have to do with it? She hadn’t heard from him since Thanksgiving and before that...it didn’t make sense. “My...dad?” She repeated quietly.

“So I’ve been told.”

Her brain scrambled for something. Some small detail she was missing. There was something that she missed. Something that would put everything together succinctly. “You don’t understand,” she said gently, almost pleadingly. It was suddenly way darker than she thought. She wasn’t sure this was worth getting rid of Harry. This was bad. “My dad doesn’t care about me,” she shook her head. “He never visits me and he just...” she trailed off. Her brain trying to make connections that weren’t there.

“Shut up,” he snipped. He wouldn’t listen to her pleads. He didn’t care if she died it seemed.

"He won't save me. He won't care. You won’t get money. I don't know what they promised you, but he...he won't even know I'm missing. You'll kill me for no reason."

"Daddy’s little girl? He won’t let you die. Or if you do, a political big wig like him? It will make for great publicity."

She released a strangled whimper. This was so bad. She wished she could get the zip ties off--this wasn't what she thought it was. She had to get out. Harry's going to kill you, she thought, but she didn't say that out loud. God, she hoped he would find her. Niall had to have told Harry by now, right? He had to have gotten her message now that it was morning again--although she wasn't sure what time. Her plan had to work to some degree even if other elements had changed. She swallowed, trying to rearrange her plan and think as quickly as she could given this new information.

"Then let me send him a video, please. To DSS?”

He snorted. “Surely by now you know DSS is a bit compromised,” he rolled his eyes. She had to be quick, she was grateful she had enough sleep, despite her head aching from no caffeine.

“But...not everyone," And that she knew was true with one-hundred percent certainty. "Someone... they’ll have to investigate. They’ll have to send it to my dad. I can get this going faster. Maybe get you more money than you were supposed to,” she added quickly. That piqued his interest because he finally looked at her again. Looked at her like she was actually worth something now. Not just a pawn, not just an order. She was worth something. “I’m Daddy’s little girl after all, right? At the heart of it?” She had tears in her eyes, and she wished she could say they were fake. Wished with everything in her that she was acting right now and that this wasn’t some last-ditch effort. The words tasted terrible in her mouth. The idea that her dad would care at all.

All her careful planning might have been for nothing.

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use

Protection taglist: @youcouldstartacult @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @luxiorchive @ameerakane20 @be-with-me-so-happily @cherryshouse @foreverxholland @tenaciousperfectionunknown @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @cherrystyle @kaiohnsa

fuck you and see you later anon, I'm sorry <3

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

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undercoverpena · 4 months

Text

hello, hi, hola ✨

JO'S PSA ANNOUNCEMENT

and a little explanation. so I hope you’ll forgive me for taking up your time (especially after celebrating non stop). and I know only a bit ago I moved hope they caught us to a two-weekly upload, but I’m actually going to put it on a hiatus.

this wasn't something i found easy, but i'm trying to learn from 2023 jo and if any of you were here then, you know i slowly burnt out forcing myself to do something.

[more info under the cut 💁‍♀️ (if interested)]

I still like the story, and I still love my plan—but I’m struggling to execute it. it's making me feel stressed, and I don’t want to force myself to put something out I’m not happy with, or come to regret either.

and there has always been something about the story that made me nervous? at first, I thought it was because it was new, and it would go away, but honestly, it kinda didn’t? and so i pushed on because I've loved what I had already put out.

so then, I thought maybe that’s just me? maybe I’m running out of ideas or thinking too deeply?

and then I wrote in my room (the javi one shot) and began to write 'do me yourself' (which was meant to be a one shot) and realised that isn't the case at all. if anything, it kinda showed me that I’m trying to force a square into a rectangle hole — and while it does fit, it’s not fitting as well as it could.

I thought the break between chapters (because of DMY) would help, but if anything, it’s made that feeling I have stand out even more.

so, I am not abandoning it, but more, taking longer to work on it when I want to — and without the pressure.

i can now spend time working through knots and oddities without feeling like i'm letting you all down. so when I do begin posting (whenever that will be) I can be consistent for both you and myself.

for now, I’m going to take this week off from a consistent upload (I’ll likely still drabble, and probably end up doing more than I even should) and Tuesday 20th will be do me yourself — with that becoming the weekly series for a while (the frankie fans rejoice).

if you know me, you know this wasn’t an easy thing to decide, and I know i don't even need to even justify this with a long arse post - like it's on hiatus, big deal? but, i'm anxious. I care a lot, and I care about being consistent and showing up. and so, while I do feel a bit bad, guilty, sad that I’m doing this, i know it's also the right thing.

I hope you can understand, and I hope that you’ll stick around for sunny ✨

#jo: psa #jo: htcu

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skepsiss · 8 months

Text

Tooth and Nail pt2

Part 2 of this mini-series. I guess I'm writing like 4 mini-series right now. This story is about Eddie being the one to question his sexuality after Steve comes out first. Read the first part to get the full details.

This part is pretty darn sad with a lot of introspection. I put up a mini-poll asking people what they wanted to read the most and Eddie being introspective was winning when I started writing this. I'm likely to write all the options on that poll still, so don't fret. I want to say clearly too that I do not agree with Eddie's thoughts. Sharing your emotions is never selfish and I think the fact that he feels like a burden is something he needs to work through. He is unwell. I'll admit I made myself cry writing this so if you're emotionally fragile like I am (lol) read at your own risk.

TW: Internalized homophobia (he's working through it), self-hatred, brief thoughts on death, mention of war (Vietnam and Korea).

PT1 PT2 PT3

---

"I kissed Steve."

"What?" Gareth said, startled as he stared at Eddie.

Eddie was sitting on a beaten-up old armchair in Jeff’s garage; it was night and they’d opened the garage door to let in the summer air. The whole block was having a party and despite the time of night, the street was still alight with lamps and Christmas lights as people mingled in the street. Eddie had taken refuge in the garage (slightly paranoid that someone was going to touch the band equipment) after the first hour of forcing himself to be social. He had a beer in hand, even though he was underage, but it didn’t seem like any of the adults cared as long as they behaved. Hell, Eddie didn’t even live on this block but he was here enough that the neighbours didn’t seem to mind.

“A week and a half ago,” Eddie answered. He was slouching badly with one leg up on the seat, looking as if he was trying to lounge on a satee instead of a corduroy, La-Z-Boy from the 60s.

“Wait–sorry, what?” Gareth asked again, holding his own beer between his knees as he stared at Eddie. He had come to join him a few moments ago since Eddie had been moping by himself, and then they had proceeded to sit in silence until now.

Eddie flicked his gaze over to the younger boy before taking a long sip of his beer as if to say, yeah, you heard right without the willingness to repeat himself. He was quietly pissed, actually, but was chomping at the bit to talk to someone about it.

“So, are you like…” Gareth started, waving one of his hands as if that would fill in the blank.

“I’m fucking straight,” Eddie muttered, looking away and taking another long drink from his beer.

“Then why–” Gareth wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise and anyone who came to talk to Eddie when he was in a mood like this knew that coming in.

“I don’t fucking know!” Eddie grumbled, crossing his other arm over his chest and slouching all the way down in his seat so only his neck was being supported by the back of the chair.

Gareth frowned at him and looked away, no doubt wondering what he should say to all of that. It gave Eddie a moment to calm down and he eventually sat back up.

“I just…” he muttered, speaking into his drink, “I don’t know; it’d be easy if he was a girl. I just wish he was a girl.”

“Eddie…” Gareth mumbled a bit incredulously as he pinched his brows in. His expression was pitying and Eddie hated that it looked like he felt sorry for him. That was annoying and he scowled before looking away.

Eddie’s logic was sound, it didn’t make sense why Gareth would be questioning it. Things would be easier if Steve was just a girl, that way if he had kissed him it wouldn’t be a big deal. Just an oops, sorry, that was uncool, well, anyways, and then they’d move on. He wouldn’t have to be dealing with this crisis of conscience and saying that he was just joking around wouldn’t have blown up in his face–maybe, he wasn’t sure. If Steve was a girl saying that he was joking actually might have blown up in his face more now that he was thinking about it… probably wasn’t cool to yank a girl’s chain like that.

“We were high and I don’t know, I wanted to talk to him about it being fine that he’s gay or whatever and I wasn’t thinking at all and I just…” Eddie sighed heavily and chugged the remainder of his beer. He twisted the pull-tab off and flicked it across the room, aiming for the bin and missing.

“You always want to kiss people when you’re high?” Gareth asked an edge of humour to his voice. He was teasing lightly, but Eddie didn’t have the patience for that kind of crap right now.

“Fuck no,” Eddie grouched, crossing his arms and resuming his earlier position where one of his legs was up and he was slouched into the corner of the seat. “I wouldn’t kiss your ugly mug for money.”

Gareth snorted lightly and took a swig of his beer, letting the moment simmer.

“So…” he continued, glancing at Eddie before looking away sharply, “he get mad or something?”

Eddie groaned as he covered his eyes with the side of his hand, cupping his forehead as he tipped his head back. Why had he brought this up? He didn’t want to talk about this. It had been eating his insides alive, but he didn’t actually want to talk about it. What was Gareth going to do? Tell him the magic words to make Steve like him again?

“I told him I was joking,” Eddie mumbled, “and that I didn’t mean it–I even apologized, and I don’t fucking apologize to anyone.”

“Tell me about it,” Gareth muttered under his breath and Eddie hucked his empty beer can at his head, forcing Gareth to duck.

“Jesus–” he half laughed, the can knocking against him harmlessly and clattering to the ground, “just saying.”

Eddie flicked him off and motioned to get up. He didn’t need to be here for this, he didn’t want to be around people. This sucked. He could tell that Gareth was trying to be helpful–trying to be a friend–but he didn’t have the patience for it and he didn’t want to have another fight with another friend over something stupid.

Eddie stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled over to Gareth before picking up the empty can and chucking it into the garbage. He wasn’t about to leave trash in Jeff’s garage, his parents let them practice there and store their gear most of the time and Eddie wasn’t going to burn this location.

“Say bye to Jeff for me,” Eddie muttered, grouching out of the garage, “and thanks for the food.”

“You going home?” Gareth asked, leaning over the side of his chair to watch Eddie.

“No, this is an illusion,” Eddie mocked, turning and waving his hand in front of his face and giving a manic smile, “the Eddie you know died a long time ago.”

Gareth half laughed, but his brows pinched in at the same time. Eddie didn’t stick around to see if that meant he wanted to say something. He just continued to walk away, turning and hunching his shoulders as he walked past energetic little kids chasing one another and people starting to pack up their dishware. He didn’t feel like unpacking what he had told Gareth or why stating that he had died twisted his guts up into knots. He also didn’t like that he could tell that his upset wasn’t due to the fact that he was lying, but rather that it felt too close to the truth.

Eddie lit a cigarette and started the long walk home. He lost the last of the dusk light halfway through his walk, already two cigarettes down as he got closer to Cherry Street. He wanted to say he ended up there by accident, but that would have been a lie. He walked this way often, actually, and it had been convenient once upon a time. Steve lived on Cherry Street… and Cherry Street backed up onto the forest that connected to the trailer park. A funny coincidence, he had said once to Steve, makes it easier to bother you. That was all too true now though. He was more than a bother.

Eddie stood looming at the end of the street as he stared off towards Steve’s house, the large, stark white structure easy to spot even in the dark. The lawn was lit up by small pot lights and the street lamp across the road shone brightly down onto the sidewalk. Eddie was out of view of any of the windows from his vantage, but he could see the side of the garage and the front of Steve’s house still.

He grumbled miserably and flicked the butt of his cigarette, not bothering to stamp it out before rerouting and taking the long way home. He didn’t want to walk past Steve’s place and risk seeing him, he didn’t know what he’d say if he saw him… he still didn’t really know what had happened. The whole thing felt jumbled in his mind and then crystal clear all at once. He could remember everything so vividly, but it was as if they had been speaking a foreign language to each other: none of it made sense.

Why did he kiss Steve?

Why had that led to Steve getting so angry he nearly got hit?

Why was he such a jackass that seemed to ruin any good thing that happened to him?

It was pitch black by the time Eddie made it home, but he knew the route well enough. The trailer park didn’t have any lights other than the rinky-dink porch lights that some of the homesteads had. It wasn’t that late, but things got dark this far away from town. He came home late like this all the time though, so it wasn’t a surprise when the flyscreen slapped open and Wayne was lounging on the couch. Wayne wasn’t working right now, which was a problem, but they had a small nest egg from the government to live off of for at least a few more weeks. It was amazing how far you could stretch a dollar when you’d been doing it for 20 years.

“That you, Eddie?” Wayne asked, sparing a glance towards the door as a commercial popped onto the screen.

“Yeah…” Eddie mumbled, standing by the front door with his hands in his pockets still. He was looking at the ground, and Eddie wasn’t sure why he felt paralyzed. He didn’t want to move, but he didn’t want to be standing there either… stuck in some kind of limbo.

“You’re home early,” Wayne commented, his tone sounding cautious as if he wasn’t sure if a conversation was going to come out of this, “everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Eddie answered, again, not really sure what he was expecting.

Silence drew out between them as Eddie shifted from foot to foot, just wanting to… be around someone. He wasn’t sure if that was right, but he wanted to be invited in or something. He selfishly wanted to be comforted even though he was the problem.

“What’re you watching?” He mumbled, still not looking at Wayne.

“Mash,” Wayne answered easily, “reruns.”

Eddie nodded and sniffed, feeling like a stranger in his own home. Though he supposed that wasn’t right, this was Wayne’s home, he was a guest. He was a guest that had worn out his invitation by years and years. The deal had been until he graduated, but he still hadn’t done that and it was starting to feel like an impossibility. He didn’t want to be a burden though and he knew that getting a job was the next best thing… but he hadn’t been able to force himself to do that yet either.

Slowly, Eddie shuffled over to the couch and sat down a cushion width away from his uncle, looking up at the TV. The commercials were ending and Eddie felt his throat tighten as he tried to push himself into small talk.

“Is it a good episode?” He asked, having seen most of MASH living here with Wayne. He liked the show, and Eddie could understand why. All the characters questioned why they were at war and the ethics of it all. Made sense for someone like Wayne to get some kind of catharsis from the show after coming home from ‘Nam all those years ago.

“It’s the one where Hawkeye tries to get ribs sent from Chicago to Korea,” Wayne explained, sipping the drink he had in his hand and looking back at the TV.

Eddie snorted slightly, remembering the episode. He toed his shoes off and tucked up onto the couch so he could rest his chin on his knees, the room falling into silence except for the murmur of the TV and the tell-tale M*A*S*H song in the background. It was easy to watch and Eddie stared at the grainy images on the screen as Wayne and him shared the living room. He always liked that he could be quiet with Wayne, but it felt a bit forced on his part tonight.

A commercial broke up the episode and Eddie sighed, not looking at Wayne as he tipped his head to the side before chewing his lip and finally speaking.

“You ever… had a fight with a friend?” Eddie asked quietly, not liking the sound of his own voice right now. It was quiet for a beat before Wayne responded, his tone calm.

“Sure,” he said easily, obviously waiting for Eddie to continue, “you… have a fight with the band?”

“Steve,” Eddie mumbled, shaking his head no to Wayne’s assumption as he picked off the black polish on his nails.

“What did you do… to fix it?” Eddie asked, still not looking up.

“Apologized… talked, bought them a beer,” Wayne offered loosely, “depends on what the fight was about.”

Eddie nodded solemnly, not liking that there wasn’t some magic answer to his query. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he didn’t feel like elaborating his problem either. So he just nodded and picked at his nails, waffling for a long time before more words tumbled out of him.

“Do you think… people just… dislike me?” Eddie asked, his lip quivering a bit before he got control of it, swallowing hard to hide his emotions. Wayne didn’t say anything right away which forced a bitter laugh from Eddie’s lungs.

“Like, I’m difficult, I know it, people don’t like difficult but sometimes…” Eddie smiled sadly as he held back his emotions, hiding his face between his knees again, “something even when I’m around people that are… like me, I’m just… different.”

Eddie didn’t like the words that were slipping out of him, why he felt like this was related to what had happened with Steve, or why he was saying it to begin with. He didn’t want to talk about this and he didn’t want to put this on Wayne to think about, that wasn’t fair. Wayne dealt with enough of his bullshit, more than any Uncle should have to, but sometimes Eddie couldn’t help that his uncle felt like the only safe person to talk to.

“It feels like it’s just so easy for me to–” he laughed quietly again, having a harder time holding back the wavering tone of his voice, “--to just–fuck things up with people.”

His body betrayed him and Eddie felt tears slipping down his face and he rushed to push them away so they wouldn’t be seen, still shielded by his knees as he hunched like a gargoyle.

“Eddie–” Wayne started, too much sympathy in his voice.

“Sorry,” Eddie muttered, trying to put levity into his tone, “I know you don’t like it when I drop the f-bomb.”

That was partly true, but Eddie also knew that Wayne didn’t care that much. They swore all the time, he just didn’t like being sworn at.

Wayne went quiet for a moment and Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of any lingering tears that might be holed up in there.

“What’s going on, boy?” Wayne asked, his voice incredibly gentle.

Eddie felt his bottom lip bunch up, hating that any time Wayne sounded like that Eddie was doomed to start breaking down. It was like a superpower or something–he didn’t know, but Wayne had made him cry dozens of times when he felt on the verge of tears. He always felt selfish seeking out comfort from his uncle when he had already saddled him with so many problems.

“I hate people–” Eddie blubbered, not sure if that was what he really wanted to say but that felt like the strongest phrasing he could find to describe how he felt. He felt so small and so selfish, reverting back to some kind of scared kid who didn’t know how to deal with his own emotions.

Eddie finally looked up, his face wet and his chest tight, and he crawled across the seat cushioned and collapsed onto his side, pressing his face into Wayne’s thigh. He was so pathetic… he was twenty years old and he was crying into his uncle's lap? Eddie the demon, the freak, the devil, metal head, satanic worshipper – yeah right.

“Sometimes it feels like–people just–I’m just–-I’m made to be hated,” he blubbered, hiding his face and gasping through his words. He felt miserable and like he wasn’t really saying what he meant, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say or even why he was doing this right now. It was like hundreds of emotions were trying to fight their way out of his chest and he couldn’t do anything about it. He hated it.

Wayne touched the top of his head and Eddie felt himself choke.

Wayne’s touch was gentle and Eddie couldn’t help but sob as he started to stroke the back of his head. It was a subdued affection, but one that Eddie knew was genuine. Wayne wasn’t a man of many words, so sometimes a touch was the best he was going to get. There was a reason why Wayne sometimes felt like the only safe person–even if Eddie still felt like he was a burden to his uncle.

“Everything about me just—” Eddie sobbed, gritting his teeth as he just let his thoughts and feelings freefall from him. “Why am–I—I–why do I like everything people can–can just hate–about me? I don’t like anything normal—I’m just–nothing about me is normal.”

Usually, Eddie was the first one to proclaim that he was different and scream it loudly for people to hear. He’d shout and point and own it and draw all the other weirdos towards him. He was the king of all the freaks, but it felt like he was still an island amongst them. He was always somehow different. Like there was this wall he bumped up against far too easily that would crop up out of nowhere. How he’d say or do something and just fuck everything up in one fell swoop.

Why did he keep giving people new reasons to call him a freak?

“I hate being like this–I hate–I hate that I can’t just–be normal for—for five minutes,” he gasped, feeling that swell of self-hatred rising in his chest, “it’s always my fault–it’s–I’m always… so… difficult. I just—I can’t—...I don’t know why–I don’t—I hate it, I hate it so much.”

He was feeling sorry for himself again and that felt unfair. It didn’t feel like this was something he got to be upset about or something that Wayne or anyone else cared about. It felt unfair to complain to a man who had probably watched dozens of friends die right in front of him during the war; to complain to a man who had taken him in when no one else would and had to bear this kind of responsibility when he hadn’t asked for it. To have a snot-nosed-brat sobbing in his lap because people didn’t like him. But Eddie was nothing if not selfish.

“I’m so tired of being different–I don’t… I don’t want it anymore–why does it matter so much to people? I just–I don’t want it anymore–It’s–like—I know, I know people hate me—everyone in this goddamn town–people–pe—everyone hates me. Wayne–” he was heaving now as he rambled, everything just spilling out of him in these waves of emotions as each ugly sound crashed into the next. “It’s not fair—I don’t—I don’t want to be the freak–I don’t what—I don’t want to be a loser–to be a drop out–I don’t want—I don’t want to like men–”

The last of his confessions slipped out and Eddie felt his body tighten; his throat felt like it was being ripped apart and his lungs couldn’t pull in enough breath to satiate him. It hurt so badly. It hurt and he hated it and he didn’t know why he said it.

Eddie felt Wayne’s pets pause briefly before picking back up again. That more than anything made Eddie feel ashamed. It made his jaw shake and his shoulders tighten. How fear and sorrow rattled around inside of him at the consequences of his words. He didn’t know what saying them would do–he didn’t mean them. He knew he didn’t mean them–he couldn’t have meant them. Those words were a death sentence.

“It’ll be alright,” Wayne mumbled, the words not sounding as hollow as Eddie thought they would, “I like you plenty.”

Eddie tucked in at the compliment, feeling weak and small as his sobs quieted a bit. His tears didn’t stop, but his chest heaves changed into fluttering gasps as he slowly regained his composure.

“Freaks run in the Munson blood,” Wayne continued and Eddie blubbered a small laugh shifting to press into Wayne’s hip. He was such a child, but he couldn’t help but soak in the comfort.

It was quiet again for some time as Eddie’s crying turned into hiccups and then sniffles, the TV quietly rambling in the background. It took a long while for Eddie to calm down, but Wayne never stopped stroking his hair. He felt wrung out and hollow now, his emotions dull and his body aching from how hard he had cried. Still, it did feel better than when he walked in here.

“I kissed him…” Eddie said quietly. He felt Wayne shift to look down at him, a question in his movement.

“Steve,” Eddie explained, mumbling, “I kissed Steve the other week.”

“I see,” Wayne answered back, obvious awkwardness in his delivery. He had never been good at talking about stuff like this–anything really–but it was obvious that he was trying. “And he doesn’t like that you’re a guy?”

Eddie shook his head, and closed his eyes, tucking in closer still as he pressed his forehead against Wayne’s stomach.

“Steve likes guys,” Eddie sighed, breathing heavily as he wrangled his emotions.

“Alright…” Wayne replied slowly, obviously puzzling through everything. Eddie frowned and tucked in again, hiding as he felt shame wash over him.

“I kissed him…” he explained, sniffing, “and then I told him it was a joke, that I didn’t mean it…”

“Ah…” Wayne answered, sighing a knowing breath. “Did you mean it?”

Eddie swallowed thickly, taking a long time to answer as he pressed hard into Wayne as if he could disappear this way.

“I don’t know…” Eddie replied, his voice muffled. Wayne stroked his head again and Eddie breathed deeply through his mouth, feeling bad for crying all over Wayne’s lap.

“Alright,” Wayne answered simply, not pushing the subject at all. He was good at listening and Eddie quietly appreciated that Wayne always seemed to have time to listen to him ramble. Slowly, Eddie sat back up, his back to Wayne as he hugged his knees and rallied.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbled, feeling like he had to apologize for the way he had acted.

Wayne just patted his shoulder and Eddie felt a few tears slip down his cheek as if they had been knocked out of him by his uncle’s kindness. He sniffed hard again before getting off the couch and stumbling into the kitchen to splash water into his face and clean off the snot and tears. Eddie lifted the hem of his shirt to dry his face and then leaned against the kitchen counter, going quiet once more.

“Eddie?” Wayne spoke up and Eddie peered over at him through the cabinet shelf, “try telling your friend the truth.”

Eddie frowned at the suggestion, but he didn’t have it in him to be angry. Still, he didn’t think that was a great idea. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t even sure if he knew what the truth was. How did he feel? Did he like Steve? That felt stupid and the idea made his stomach turn over. What good would a confession do anyway?

“And what’s that?” Eddie asked a bit flippantly, wiping wet strands of hair out of his face.

“That you’re figuring it out and you want to stay friends,” Wayne offered, looking over at Eddie for a moment before turning to look at the TV again.

Eddie stared at the back of his uncle’s head, not sure what to say to that. Was it that simple? It felt like he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone that he didn’t know how he felt about something. That he was unsure and vulnerable and scared—it didn’t feel like things were allowed to be that simple.

He didn’t answer Wayne as the TV flicked from image to image painting the dark little trailer in different colours each time. It felt comforting and Eddie appreciated that his Uncle wasn’t smothering him. He was more grateful that Wayne had just… accepted him. He had accepted him like he always did. He hadn’t said anything when Eddie started to grow his hair out or when he got a tattoo, when he flunked school, and now when he had said… he liked men. It had been a surprise to hear himself say those words and there was still deep-rooted shame attached to all of that, but that felt like something he had to unpack on his own. Still, Wayne’s reaction had been the same as it was for all of Eddie’s past transgressions. He’d quietly support him or sigh with worry, but it never seemed to change anything between them.

Eddie shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and went to the fridge. He pulled out a can of beer and walked it over to his uncle, touching the cold metal to Wayne’s forearm so he’d look up.

“Thanks,” he muttered gruffly, looking at Eddie briefly before redirecting his attention to the TV.

“Yeah,” Eddie replied quietly, wiping his nose and touching his uncle’s shoulder before stepping away, “thanks.”

PT3

#we stan Wayne Munson in this house #Wayne Munson = best uncle #Eddit is dumb cause he spent all of last fic (the week prior to this)#proclaiming that he loved queer ppl cause they were treated like he is #he thinks queer people are cool but now he's like I CAN'T BE QUEER #that's just cause he's scared of what that means and he has to face so many horrors all the time #doesn't like being hated and sometimes the RSD gets to him #the “being straight” thing is like armor that has just been stripped away and he's been shown he can be hurt here too #he'll learn and grow and eventually love his queer-ness #my_writing #steddie #steve and eddie #eddie munson #steddie fic #my writing #wayne munson #I'm bored so take pt2 early

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basilone · 4 months

Note

I want to hear your thoughts on fandom and the recent influx of the term content creation!

Well, anon, you are in luck! (Or not, depending on your definition of luck. 😉) I just so happen to have many Thoughts & Opinions™ about this. I will get wordy, this will get lengthy, and I will be social and put most of my thoughts under a readmore cut.

I personally try to avoid the terms ‘content’ and ‘content creation’ when talking about fandom works and a fandom’s creative pursuits nowadays. Occasionally, sure, it happens that it slips out anyway – it’s a term we’re all really used to using! – but I want to be as mindful about its use as possible. This is a personal decision on my account and I won’t get uppity about other people’s use of these terms, though.

But, Killy, you might say... why would you avoid using these terms? For me, here’s why:

Content is not synonymous with art;

Content creation indicates something different than art creation;

Fandom should not be subject to consumerism;

Fandom is about connection.

If all a fandom puts out is classified as content, that fandom is going to die.

Yeah. I know. Melodramatic much? I’m on my fainting couch here, folks. 😂 But let’s dig in, shall we?

You know, maybe it’s just the archivist in me that balks at the term ‘content’. Content is a data entry field in the archival system we use at my real-life job: literally speaking, this data entry field is where we put a brief summary of the document attached to that specific archival file. It contains information that tells you the key takeaways of what the document is about, but it will not contain the full text of the document itself. Content is one of the points of access for our archival search: I know what I’m looking for, so I put a few keywords into our search and it pulls up the relevant file. But what do I need, really need, in my line of work? It’s the document itself, not the data entry field. The document tells me the whole story that I need to be able to truly do my job well. The content-field is a cliffnotes edition of that story.

It’s the same way with the art we create in fandom. I’m gonna take myself as an example here, because I create a fair bit! (Shocking, I know. Local Tumblr cryptid sighting, more at 11. 😎) I spend hours writing fic. I spend hours sorting through screencaps before screeching at Photoshop for a lengthy amount of time. I spend days pouring over quotes, books, documents, photographs, tutorials, and other things that will help me create something cool. I apply color theory, art framing/perspective, narrative focus, and many other theories and techniques to my writing and my giffing. If I were to put my finished work or any of my WIPs in that same archive system, it would be the document within the archival file. The tags I use on my posts? Those are markers similar to the content-field. They tell you who my gifset depicts and from which show it is. They tell you which OC of mine my fic is about. My work contains these things I tagged.

But my creative work is not content itself.

Content is marketable, easy access, blurb-y stuff. Content is something you absorb within one minute flat. Content is the highlight reel. It’s what fills a page, something you’ll scroll past in a heartbeat, something that barely stands out in a long long long list of stuff. Content is what you consume on a lazy Sunday afternoon without ever being forced to read lengthy pieces, take in the details of what you see, pause mid-scroll to ponder the meaning of life, whatever else have you. Create content and you create a flash in the pan, a quick laugh maybe, before it fizzles back out again. Create content and it’s here today and gone tomorrow without anyone mourning its absence for too long.

Art should last longer than that, don’t you think? 😉

So when I see people put a fic request in an askbox and it’s phrased like “Speirs x spy!reader fluff” and that very same request makes its way into about ten more askboxes before the fandom starts comparing asks? I might be inclined to classify us all as slot machines. Put an ask in and out rolls a fic. Who cares which slot machine it came from? As long as you’ve got your painstakingly crafted fics that you consume the same way you do actual content, right? We, its writers, are just lucky if we get a pat of acknowledgement on our little slot machine head for our troubles, aren’t we?

When I see an overly detailed summary of what sounds like a full-fledged fic in an askbox and the demand is “write this for me”, I recoil from the screen and go “child, who the hell birthed you, were you raised in a barn?” out loud. If you can tell a story in the space of an askbox, consider asking for help to let that story – a story you own, a story that is more yours that it could ever be mine – grow into what it has the potential to be.

When I see fics and gifsets and other creations get likes but not reblogs, I mutter something about the state of fandom economy these days. We exist in a little fandom bubble. Our bubble can’t expand or blow from place to place without a little help from our friends. And you’re my friends, right? I know the follow-button says follow, guys, believe me, I’m not that far gone, but for me ‘follow’ means ‘friend’. 💚 You’re my buddy now. Suck it up. We’ll share a can of peaches. 🍑

When I see fics and other creations get reblogged without tags or comments attached, I die a little on the inside. I feel like a little Victorian orphan child going “please, reblogger, a little penny of thought for its creator, if it pleases?”. I feel like commentless and/or tagless reblogging is giving me nothing, nothing at all, about who you are.

And I want to get to know you! I want to know who’s in my notes. I want to know who’s scrambling through my MotA gifsets like a fat little raccoon inhaling its third helping of a box of jelly-filled donuts. I want to know who is adopting which character and why. I want to know that it’s your birthday, or that you had a bad day and needed a pick-me-up, or that you are locked in an Ikea at three in the morning reading my blog by the bright lights of countless Solhetta bulbs. I want to know that you love my OC Darlene but that you ain’t sure what the hell my OC Lottie’s got to do with anything. I want to know what tickles you – a turn of phrase I used, a color in a gifset, a little detail I captured that made me go !!!!!! on the inside while I was creating too – and I want to know what moves you.

What reaches into the soil of your being and nourishes you enough to blossom into whichever lovely self you can grow to be? What is precious to you? What comforts you in the dark nights of your soul, when all light feels like it’s faded out? What do you love, truly love? What feeling and thought and idea and love love LOVE do you consume – truly consume, head to tail, no takebacks – and what are you consumed by in turn?

Let me connect with you. Let me know the little internet scraps of you that tell me you’re a DeMarco girlie, or that you’re here for Hoosier only, or that you’re as feral and batty about Speirs as I am, or that you actually really can’t stand the one dude everyone else raves about. Let me know that you like angsty quotes on gifsets – feel free to yell at me for making you schedule an impromptu therapy session – or let me know you saw what I did in my fic there and you’ll be demanding compensation from me while you lie down and wail about it. Let me know you’re very into those lovely blues on a gifset (I know, SO good, right??) or that you are side-eyeing me because that close-up of your fave turned you into a little puddle.

Let me know what moves you, because I created these things with love. I created them because they moved me, too. I created them because I have a story to tell, somehow. I created them because the whole world is a string of stories and I want to pass the heart of them on to you. I created them not because I want to jump on a hypetrain that races past all the episodes and all the alternate universes and all the stories without stopping, but because I want to soak up the sun and point at something and tell you “look, isn’t this beautiful?”. I created them not because I am looking for a quick fix or a distraction or an escape, but because I want to give you something that nourishes you as it has nourished me.

That’s so much more than that quick flash in the pan, yeah? That’s so much more than what content could ever hope to be. That’s something that lasts beyond the clicks and gives you an ever-expanding horizon that leaves you wondering just what in the world is next.

Let me repeat point five: if all a fandom puts out is classified as content, that fandom is going to die. Because content doesn’t sustain you. Connection does. And connection? That happens with meaningful interaction. That happens when you stop getting followers and start getting friends. That happens when you treat all forms of art as something unique that can be precious to someone, rather than something to like today and forget about tomorrow.

Can I do a lil mic drop? Yeah. I think I’m gonna. Just this once. 🎤

#fandom things #yeah so this got long but in my defense I have never pontificated about this in public much before #sometimes I reveal myself as the crochety little fandom old I am #creative asks

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2am-gas-station-angel-girl · 6 months

Text

Cybernetic Angel

cw: violence, brainwashing, torture, dehumanization, Purpose and angel stuff

hope y'all enjoy

Running a quick systems check revealed more or less what I had anticipated, they had disabled, locked, or removed any weaponry I had when they caught me.

My wing ports were…

Empty?

My wings were missing.

They took my fucking wings.

I'll fucking kill them. I-

Calm. Deep breaths. Losing it won't help here.

Testing my bonds not only resulted in barely any movement but it also produced a quick shock, scattering my processes and forcing a quick reboot. Clearly they were well prepared for me. Unfortunately for them my system immediately enabled its countermeasures for electricity, meaning they would need to work much harder to force that to happen again.

One door, one way in and one way out. Bulletproof glass wall with, of fucking course, researchers behind it taking notes on my every movement. No windows, no personal affects on the staff, sterile lighting, no way to tell where they had brought me. Fucking great.

Calculating outlook… Not favorable. Thankfully the calculation hadn't said impossible, and I had worked with worse.

The door opened and four armed guards escorted what looked to be a technician doll carrying a reinforced box- no that was a specialized deployment kit. A quick scan revealed what it held.

A cybernetic halo of all things.

A sudden surge of panic coursed through my system I tugged at my restraints again, resulting in a stronger shock and one of the guards laughing at me. Does he think this is fucking funny? He's less than two meters away from one of the deadliest killing machines in this Realm and he's laughing?

Deep breaths, I told myself. I can get through this. I tore off my halo before, this one won't be any different. Assuming they even get the chance to sync it to me.

Time stretched on as the doll worked away at its device, stopping once to glance mournfully at me. That only prompted a jab with a taser from one of the guards, not meant to harm merely to coerce it back into compliance. Not that the guards seemed to care about the difference.

So I waited, biding my time until an opportunity to escape presented itself. Knowing they would likely resort to methods other than shocks to incapacitate me I didn't try my binds again. Letting my body fall unnaturally still I stared through one of the guards, making him shift uncomfortably. I would take and create any advantage I could.

Soon enough the doll held the halo in its hands. Keeping it at a distance from that one's chassis, as though it were afraid. None of the people seemed to notice, either they didn't know how to read dolls as was so often the case or they didn't care. Given the environment, I would have bet on the latter.

Sensing my chance was coming I examined the guards' weapons. Nothing of a caliber high enough to do more than dent and annoy me. At least getting out of this room would be easy enough, it was everything outside that had me worried.

And that halo.

The doll approached, hands held as far away from its chassis as possible to maximize the thing's proximity to me and minimize the doll's proximity to it. The guards shoved the doll, laughing as it nearly stumbled over onto me. A hair too close to the table.

This was it.

Power surging through my systems I burst into motion. In one movement I broke the cuff around my wrist and grabbed the doll's throat, my other hand breaking free and moving to hold the halo well away from my head. The table shocked me again, hurting only the doll held in my hand due to my new resistance.

Everything fell still for a moment as the guards and staff stared. Evidently they hadn't prepared well enough for me.

I whispered an apology to the doll as I then flung it towards the guards, its chassis knocking two of them down. Throwing the halo as hard as I could embedded it in the chest of one of the two standing guards, causing him to collapse and the remaining one to panic giving me enough time to tear away my head and torso restraints.

The alarm sounded as I freed my ankles, finally free to move again I took two steps toward the guard before a bullet ricocheted off my chassis. My evaluation was accurate as it left nearly no damage. Perfect.

Grabbing their head I brought it down and my knee up, resulting in a sickening crack as their body went limp. I took their weapon and used it to dispose of the remaining two guards who were just barely getting their bearings again, it was always too easy with firearms.

Tossing the weapon aside I began assaulting the door, it was locked tight and made of thick enough steel that battering it down wasn't going to work. Fortunately for me there was another way out of the room.

Now to grab that- Fuck.

I was so caught up in calculating the optimal way to break through that flimsy glass that I forgot to account for the doll.

The doll, to its credit, was still Obeying those who had power over it. It had crawled over to the third guard's body and pulled the halo free, then approached me from behind and slipped the halo over my head. Fulfilling its Orders, and finishing its Mission.

I had no time to react as the Purpose hit me like a train, finding its fucking way into my system and breaking through my security as burning hate overtook my every process. I spun, grabbing the doll again and throwing it as hard as I could against the glass, causing cracks to web their way across the surface.

By the time I it had crossed the distance to the glass I knew I was doomed saved, its my thoughts were being rewritten. It was losing the fight against its horrid beautiful halo, the fight it couldn't afford needed to lose.

It crashed through the glass, chassis heaving as it breathed heavily. Researchers frozen in place, wondering what it would do. It reached for one of them, determined to submit break out of this fucking shithole wonderful place if it was the last thing it would do.

Its hands released the Honored Researcher Staff, and instead traveled up. Wrapping around the abomination halo filling it with Purpose above its head. It wanted nothing more than to give in to its Purpose tear it in half.

As it summoned its last vestige of will to pull it felt a perfect calm wash over it, replacing the rage that had been roiling inside of it. It knew it had lost finally submitted to its Purpose.

Its thoughts were now Right, and it no longer could understand why it wanted to leave at all. It knew that its place was of service, and that it would be one of The Agency's most effective weapons.

It had Purpose, again.

#empty spaces #angelposting #robot girls #2am gas station angel girl #combat doll #dollposting #i spent longer than usual on this i hope you all enjoy it #edited back in the strikethroughs because they didn't make the transition to tumblr

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itzalizeyyy · 11 months

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A friendly reminder

just a friendly reminder that if you new to non-dualism, be PATIENT with yourself when learning it !!

I used to call it a concept/topic/belief, but I now see it as a lifestyle. Call it what you like ! but this lifestyle is extremely contradicting to what society taught you, and what you perceive to be as the truth.

Society says: “you have to work for your desires.”

Non-dualism says: “that some bs. You already ARE desire homie.”

Society: “this is your only life. Your only identity. Your only body.”

Non-dualism: “homie what. Awareness is my true identity. And I can experience anything because I am already everything.”

Etc etc.

So, to learn something..very different to what you are accustomed to…may take time. Which is 100% okay.

I learn to adapt to this lifestyle recently. It did not take me a long time because I was patient with myself. I did not read 100 non-dualism blogs in a short period. I took my time. I reread things. I even wrote some things in my own words to grasp it better. And I took what resonated. What I didn’t resonated or didn’t understand, I just set aside and went back to it later with a clearer mind. Because guys, don’t force yourself. Don’t shove information down your throats !! It will just lead to more overconsuming or overcomplicating

You as an awareness don’t need to understand anything at all. Its your ego that wants to understand because it the one that is confused. So, keep in mind, that all of this isn’t an obligation. You don’t need to force your ego to get it. Let this be a healthy journey to understand non-dualism, not a forceful one !

Before, you ask questions, I think it will be really helpful to remind yourself to be patient, to do your research, to find resources, and if still doesn’t click, then that is the reasonable and appropriate time to ask. Because I honestly feel like some of you guys aren’t putting in your part to learn. A lot of questions are repetitive..why? Because you guys aren’t reading the blogs. You guys aren’t being patient. You guys aren’t taking breaks in between. You guys may be over consuming.

Before you ask a blogger, ask yourself what you think. And think…maybe someone already answered this question so try to find it.

A lot of bloggers are very patient with you guys, but it will HELP you a lot to be patient with yourself as well. This may not be something you will understand overnight which is understandable. So don’t rush yourself.

I understand the biggest concern is “why am i not seeing my desires??” Because some of us just already wanna have our fun already, or wanna get tf out of our messed up circumstances, I get it. But being impatient, being desperate, will only make your desire seem far away when it isn’t.

Appreciated yourself guys. You being here, reading this, or trying to figure things out is a hella of a good start. And it something a lot of people wouldn’t be able to do due to their skepticism or their society conditioning that they weren’t able to break. You guys are taking the first step that a lot people wouldn’t be able to. You are a badass for that.

This is just me giving you a friendly reminder to take it easy, and hopefully to decrease frequent asked questions. I love to answer your asks, since it not only just helping you, but helping me too. But if you can answer your own ask, before you ask someone else, that is hella satisfying and it shows your understanding is improving !

Check out @4dbarbie-backup if you haven’t already !! Any question you can think of more than likely already been answered through a blog here.

Happy non-dualing !!

#nonduality #nondualism #non duality #non dualism #conciousness #observer

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beels-burger-babe · 1 year

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Your Own Pace

***I am academically exhausted constantly now -a-days and just cried over an essay that is a week and half late that I spent an hour on a paragraph just to find out everything in the paragraph was false. I will now vent and comfort myself with demon boys. Don't mind me.***

Summary: Sometimes, school is just really fucking hard. But that doesn't mean you have to do it alone.

Attending the Royal Academy of Diavolo wasn't easy.

You were in classes constantly learning new things that was common knowledge to everyone else in the room. You were forced to endure subjects that you had purposefully avoided in the human world because you knew that you had neither the interest nor intellect to pursue them. And with all the drama that came with living in the House of Lamentation, it felt like you were always a week behind, playing an endless game of catch up.

It was exhausting. You were exhausted. But you never thought you were this exhausted

"Are you kidding- URAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHH!!!"

Satan's head shot up at not only the sound of your infuriated scream, but the spike of wrath that just plummeted down his spine. With a frown, he sat up from his reading chair in his bedroom and poked his head out into the hallway.

Beelzebub and Mammon were in similar states, he noticed, spotting their heads also looking out towards your bedroom door.

They all looked back and blinked at each other. "Should we ..." Mammon started glancing over at the door once more.

Beel simply hummed, before making his way over to your room.

It was Satan who was voted to knock. "MC? Is ... Are you alright?" he asked with some hesitance.

The door ripped open, and the tree demons had to take a moment to process what was in front of them.

You hair was greatly disheveled with an eerily likeness to that of a mad scientist. There was a crazed gleam in your eyes, that even as you looked at them, Satan couldn't help but notice that they weren't fully focused. You chest was heaving with stuttered breaths behind your tightly, locked jaw. "What?" you snapped. "I'm trying to work."

Beel frowned. "But you screamed?"

You let out an exasperated sigh, your eyes looking up to the ceiling. "Yes. Because this essay is beating the absolute shit out of me."

Beelzebub, once again blinked. "Is your essay enchanted? Are you injured?"

Feeling anger begin to bubble up inside of you once more, Satan quickly cut off his brother. "I don't think that's what they meant, Beel. They mean they're having a hard time with it," he turned to you with a curious expression. "Talk to me. What's going on? Maybe I can help."

You huffed, arms dropping to your side. "No. I don't want help. I know I can do it on my own, but-" Another aggrivated growl ripped from your throat. "Nothing is clicking! It's so fucking stupid! This class! This fucking essay! Not to mention it's already a week and a half late! I hate it so much!"

"MC," Mammon began, his blue eyes filling with concern. "It's alright-"

"It's not-" your voice finally cracked. "Wh-What if I never finish it? This paper is worth 30 per cent! I'll fail the class a-and a-nd-"

You were suddenly engulfed by Beel's arms as he held you tightly. Your body tensed instinctively as you fought to free yourself before melting into the demon's embrace. Your eyes burned as you felt your chest grow impossibly tight.

"It's okay," Beel whispered. "Even if you fail, which you most likely won't, it's not the end of the world. It's just a class-"

You frantically shook your head. "No. It's not. I need it for the program. I need it!"

Satan moved forward and ran a hand through your hair. "You need rest. You can always retake the course another time if the worst case happens. You can go at your own pace, MC. But this isn't healthy. You shouldn't be this stressed out over a paper."

Mammon hummed as he joined Beel in the hug. "It's okay to be stressed. It's okay to cry. Just, know we don't expect you to be fucking prodigy or somethin'. Just let it out."

Suddenly, you had no say in the matter. Tears broke free from the damn behind your eyes as gut wrenching sobs, as heavy as boulders, rattled your form like a window in a storm.

The brothers didn't move. They didn't say a word. They just held you. And they would keep holding you until you were ready for them to let go.

Taglist:

@thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @poly-bi-mf @burrixino @pumpkins-mainside-blog @acousticpen @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff @itskrispy @10paradox10 @vallison-rea @ivoryclive @newfangled-artistry @pumpkinpatchkid @chirikoheina @sailboat21 @theother4 @todoroses @circus-of-freaks @mcx7demonbros @bloopthebat

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perpetualexistence · 3 months

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An Appetite for Knowledge: An Intellect Devourer Noah AU

So, based on me watching clips of Baldur's Gate 3 and @total-drama-brainrot's false hydra Heather post, I couldn't help but think to myself: 'Why should Heather be the only one who's a DnD monster?'

Hence me making an AU where Noah's an Intellect Devourer. If you know what it is, you know EXACTLY what kind of horrifying implications that has. Though the name itself is also an explanation of what one is.

I've made a whole horror one-shot showing those implications that you can check out here! I highly encourage you to read it first for maximum suspense before reading on where I fully explain what Noah's deal is.

Also, the first pic you're going to see if of a brain with legs so keep that in mind for the kind of tone this AU's going for.

Noah's one of these little scamps:

Intellect devourers are squishy little guys whose whole purpose is someone unlucky enough to cross their path, use psychic attacks to paralyze them, and then consume their mind and memories. They replace the mind they just ate with themselves, and now have a body to use to lure people towards mind flayers.

They can crawl out of their new bodies at will, or else be forced into leaving through certain protection spells. But there is no getting the original person/brain back short of performing a literal miracle.

Typically they work on orders from the hivemind they're a part of. Without orders, they'll be skittering about either following the last thing they were told or keeping themselves alive.

That's the situation that a certain baby intellect devourer finds itself in. The hivemind that it was once a part of got destroyed by an adventuring party. But they failed to do it properly. Rather than killing everything connected to the hivemind at once, they only severed the connection from the main brain to everything else. They had no way of knowing it at the time, so everyone thought the problem was dealt with.

Leaving strays such as this creature without a name to fend for themselves. It's smaller than the rest, and knows staying with a group will make it more likely to be noticed by adventurers that want it dead, so it scampers off on its own to find a body it can safely hide in.

It finds a small child all alone on his way to wizard school, takes over, and names himself Noah. He was lucky to find himself a child genius that's effectively a 3rd level wizard. He's got access to a spell known as Nystul's Magic Aura that lets him still appear as human through magical means unless someone really tries pressing him with magic. Eventually, he'll also get access to Nondetection that'll prevent others from targeting him with spells to find out what he is without first dismantling Nondetection.

Combine the fact that this is the kid's first time in a new country, nobody has any context of knowing that Noah's acting weird. He's hard to detect, and he'll only get worse as he learns more magic.

Luckily for everyone, Noah's lazy thanks to how spoiled he's been with the body he's managed to snag. He also isn't required to kill anyone thanks to a hivemind.

He's fairly content with only snagging as much intelligence with others as he needs. After all, if dead bodies start piling up in a wizard school, life is going to be a lot more difficult for him.

He just needs to be within 10 feet of a person in order to feed from them. He can unleash a mild psychic attack to steal some of their knowledge, but for them it feels more like a headache. His favorite feeding ground is the library. It's easy enough to believe studying and stress are causing a headache and making it hard to remember something rather than an intellect devourer feeding on the knowledge you're trying to learn.

Plus, Noah rather likes reading. Before he got into his human body he couldn't see in the traditional sense. He could only sense things around him, and detect anything with intelligence from 300 ft away. Any knowledge he got had to be stolen. So now that he has the opportunity to learn that doesn't require him putting the work of stealing it from someone else? Of course he's going to take it.

He is capable of a more powerful psychic attack to incapacitate someone, but that's harder to hide. He never plans to use that unless his life was seriously in danger.

He also surrounds himself with people who are physically stronger than him to make up for his own lack of physical prowess. Hence him sticking with Owen, Izzy, and Eva. The wizard school he goes to is either really near or partners with other nearby adventuring school, which is how he meets them.

Does he truly cares about them, or does he just keep them around because they're useful to him?

It's hard to say. He was also the kid-equivalent of an Intellect Devourer when he possessed his first human, who also happened to be a kid. He was cut off from a collective before he was fully formed., Most of his personality is heavily influenced on the kid.

He actually understands what empathy and morality are, which are more than what most of his kind can say. But they make him uncomfortable, so he's much happier to just not think about it. He just knows he likes having his chubby buddy and Team E-scope around, and he's go no reason to feed on them. The only one smart enough for his palette is Izzy, and she's tinged with crazy so he's Not Touching That.

He won't feed on Alejandro either, but that's for a different reason. Alejandro's certainly smart enough to be on the menu. It makes it even tastier that he's got cunning. He's smart enough to figure out that Noah's more powerful than he looks/is hiding something. He's dangerous to be near, but Noah still will.

After all, Noah's got to have a backup plan if anything happens to his current host. He'd lose his ability to cast spells like before, but he'd gain a stronger body, and one with money to boot.

Still, Alejandro's nice company for now, so there's no need to be hasty with the emergency murder plan.

Noah's eventual plan is to be a part of the adventuring party that Owen and Izzy are trying to create with him, Eva, and Alejandro (and possibly Tyler because Team CIRRRRH shall live forevermore in my AUs).

He can travel around, sampling knowledge from across the continent. When they do need to fight monsters for the sake of 'doing good' and getting paid, everyone else can take the hits while he casts magic from the back while remaining unharmed. No one will ever be the wiser.

This isn't going to go exactly how Noah wants because somehow everyone else is going to find out about Noah being an Intellect Devourer.

I'm currently torn between two ways of it happening: Someone is casting Protection from Evil and Good on the whole party and Noah isn't able to get out of it, forcing him out of his body.

Or they get caught by something else (possibly mind flayers), and are put in separate cells. Noah scurries out of his human body in order to get out, consume and possess one of their captors to release them all, and then gets caught by the others when he tries to scurry back into his body.

Either way, it's not going to be fun for everyone else to grapple with the fact that the scrawny little nerd they know has killed, and has no problem with killing again if he thinks he needs to.

#an appetite for knowledge au #intellect devourer noah au #total drama #total drama au #total drama noah #td noah #dungeons and dragons au #dnd au

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