#but one has a marginally fucked up left ear and the other has a marginally fucked up right ear
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i miss my good headphones
#AAAHH#ugh#i got suuuuch nice sony headphones on sale forever ago and they were working perfectly wnd then i LOS THEM somewhere at my aunt's house#like ten months ago and i have sooo many cousins so they are gone forever#i asked around after i lost them but they're gaun#i miss themm mmmm so muuuuuch#uggh#i have apple headphones and another pair somewhere idk where#but one has a marginally fucked up left ear and the other has a marginally fucked up right ear#and then i have free wireless headphones i got from work a couple years ago which like#i wont lie they're honestly good for being A Free Pair Of Wireless Headphones#but THEYMRR NOT AS GOOD AS MY OLD OOOOOONES#im such a serial headphone killer#like yeah i have them with me at all times but idk shit is too easy to lose#and/or break#i had a good pair that was my mom's that she was lettimg me use and then some num of months ago i pushed the right one in with mu finger#and i guess it pushed air in the headphone or something cuz it just kind of popped and quit#broke n as fuck#AHHH AAAAHHHHHHHH AAAHHH AA A AAAAHHHH#ok#i always forget how much it sucks to not have nice headphones until i dont have nice headphones#cursed forever#can never forget the crisp audio of superior headphones as i listen 2 music that is mildly washed away
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"kats, your tag's stickin' up."
katsuki hums in some kind of recognition, your remark of no particular interest to him at the moment. he's sitting with his back to you at his kitchen table, hunched over a bowl of cereal—the boring kind that's good for you, the kind of stuff your grandma likes—and a textbook that's been meticulously highlighted and has notes written in the margins. you reach towards the back of his neck without thinking, pinching the little tag between your fingers and tucking it back down under the collar of his t-shirt. your fingertips brush against the warm skin at his nape as you do so.
the boy in front of you grunts in surprise at the unexpected contact, his shoulders lifting all the way up to his ears as he pitches himself forward across the table away from you. he almost knocks his bowl of cereal over in the process, and he chokes loudly on the mouthful he's chewing as he goes.
"the hell was that for?" katsuki barks out hoarsely after he's managed to swallow down the cereal lodged in his throat, he doesn't turn to look at you as he says it.
"jeez," you remark incredulously, startled by his reaction to such an innocuous gesture. "i was just tucking in the tag!"
"never asked you to do that," katsuki grumbles as he settles back in his seat. you watch as he fiddles with the spoon in his bowl, but doesn't take another bite, and you can't help but notice the pink flush that's crawled up his throat all the way to his ears.
"hey," you remark curiously, still standing behind him with your hands on your hips. "is your neck ticklish?"
he finally turns in his seat, glaring at you over his shoulder.
"no," he snaps.
his cheeks are pink too.
you and katsuki have only been hooking up for a few months, so there are lots of things you don't yet know about each other. sure, you've been superficially acquainted since high school—at least enough to recognize each others' names—but knowing someone in passing and knowing the intimate intricacies of their body are two vastly different things. hell, this is only your second time spending the night at katsuki's apartment, and the first time ever on a school night.
your eyes glance over to the clock on the stove at the reminder. it's still only 7:30—katsuki had risen at the ass-crack of dawn, much to your horror. his first class isn't even until 11:00 while yours is at 9:30, and you would have happily slept in for another hour if not for him waking you as he crawled out of his bed.
"hey, you mind if i borrow a shirt or something to wear to class?" you ask him, scratching at the warm skin of your tummy under the oversized hoodie you'd pulled on when you rolled out of his sheets that morning. you wouldn't be opposed to keeping it on, but it's a nice brand—and one of his favourites, given how often you've seen him wear it—so you don't dare request it.
katsuki turns to look at you again, cheeks still pink, eyes still narrowed.
"a shirt?" he asks. "why?"
"you got cum—"
"for fucks' sake," katsuki interrupts you, looking away—largely, you suspect, to hide the renewed reddening of his cheeks. "didn't you bring a change of clothes?"
"i would have," you chirp, "but if i recall correctly, the text you sent me at 11:30 last night seemed like me getting here right after i left the library was suuuuuper important."
"just.. wear that one." katsuki waves his hand dismissively over his shoulder, and you stare at his back a little dumbfoundedly. you hadn't expected that at all.
he shoves another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
katsuki sure has been full of surprises these past few months. you learn more about him every day. and not just about his body and what makes him feel good—that's sort of a given with casual, no-strings relationships like this one—but about his likes and dislikes, his quirks and eccentricities too. like what he eats for breakfast, or how his neck is ticklish, or the way he organizes the shoes on the shoe rack just inside his front door. you're not sure you dislike it, either, unravelling him bit by bit.
and katsuki doesn't say it, but he feels largely the same—realizing with every passing day that he's uncovering more about you than he ever thought he would that first night the two of you ended up fooling around after running into each other at a bar near campus.
katsuki had just gotten out of a long-term relationship. well, just meaning five months prior—though his friends often remind him that there's nothing "just" about five months. but contrary to popular belief, katsuki had always been a serial-monogamous dater, going from one long-term relationship to the next without any flings in-between. he had no intention of hooking up with anyone, least of all you, that night.
but one thing lead to another, and now here you are: shuffling around his kitchen as you try to find where he keeps his mugs, wearing his favourite sweatshirt. and katsuki knows you take two sugars in your coffee. knows you'll wait until the absolute last minute to head to campus for your 9:30 class. knows you'll take your notes in purple pen through your lecture because you claim the colour helps you remember the lesson.
but it's not just you who katsuki's learning things about these days.
for example, he's learning that maybe he's just not cut out for casual dating.
because every little thing he learns about you is starting to feel a lot like a string.
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ℂ𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 ℂ𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕤
✧warnings: F-boy Sunghoon so mentions of sex ig, may be a lil suggestive, possessive hoon
❁synopsis: The campus hottie, was practically perfect, smart handsome talented and rumour has it among the girls, good in bed. The male is a fuck boy, a jerk face, never once wanted to fall in love after having his heart broken once by an unlucky bitch. Heck he believed he'd be like that forever, until he came across the new girl. Yang y/n.
✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧
✧❁PART 1/???❁✧
"Oh my god you slept with him?!" one of the girls exclaimed as the other girls had their shocked reactions too "Yeah... then he broke up with me" the girl admitted "Isn't Sunghoon a fuck boy though? girl why'd you date him he doesn't even hide the fact he doesn't love you?" another girl pointed out "It doesn't matter, at least I had a great night" the girl said shrugging as the others laughed it off.
Y/n fiddled with her phone as she waited outside the classroom, one earphone in, hidden by her hair. She's heard many crazy things about this high school, having been transferred from a school in UK where she was used to everything, to a high school in South Korea. Everything is so new there, education system, driving on the different side of the road. but she had her best friend, Danielle by her side.
"Hey it's going to be ok" the girl reassured. One thing y/n is glad about, is the fact that she's fluent in Korean so language will not be a big problem for her. She smiles at Danielle as she follows her in. The teacher asks her to introduce herself as the girl blinks, staring at the class in disbelief. Introduce? first day and she has to speak in front of all these judgemental 18 year old strangers?!
"I'm y/n..." she says, forcing a smiled, the teacher points at an empty seat which was sadly not next Danielle. Making a sad pouty face at Danielle, she sat at the seat. 17 minutes. That's how long it took "Park Sunghoon late again?!" The teacher scolded as the male scratched his head then he froze. His eyes on y/n.
The girl's jaw rested in her palm as she doodled in the margin, false lashes fluttering against her glasses, her lips stained with a rosy, nude shade. Fuck she's everything. Is this what cupid felt when he saw psyche? love at first sight like Romeo experienced with Juliet? Sunghoon was captivated.
He slammed his palm on the desk of the person beside y/n. The girl didn't even flinch and probably didn't care due to the earphone blasting Itzy in her left ear. the student sitting beside her immediately got up and went to a different seat as Sunghoon slipped into the seat beside the girl. he turned to her, tapping her shoulder. the girl paused her music turning to him.
So this is Park Sunghoon, the handsome fuckboy they say. Y/n knew he was bad news "Im Sunghoon... and you?" the male asked "Not interested" she said, turning back to do her work "Come on baby, don't be like that" he said, winking as she sighed, looking at him. She then turned back and ignored him, doodling.
"Wah you can draw- that looks so realistic gurl" he complimented as the girl groaned, slamming her head on the desk. "Park Sunghoon stop distracting the new girl and get on with your work. or you can switch spaces with Eunchae!" the teacher warned as Sunghoon groaned, picking up his pencil.
2 lessons passed by and break time rolled in, she smiled, sorta running over to Danielle with grabby hands. they jumped up and down squealing like typical girls as their fingers intertwined. "I can't believe we're finally in the same schooool!" Danielle squealed as y/n smiled. "I know right?! we can finally do typical bestie stuff get our nails done, do each other's makeup, gossip, and hang out~" y/n added with a smile.
"All of this and I don't hear boyfriend... i'm assuming it's because you have one?" Sunghoon asked with a raised eyebrow as the girl sighed "No I don't never had one and never will... I don't like the idea of putting all my trust in a guy." She said, in a slight passive aggressive manner. "Ok but I'm telling you, a pretty girl like you NEEDS to end up with a trust worthy guy like me" Sunghoon said.
Y/n gave him the 'be for real' look as she rolled her eyes, walking away with Danielle. "So stupid. He really thinks I'm going to let him get in my skirt?!" y/n scoffed, handing danielle a cherry lollipop as she sucked on her own. "Please. He can't flirt for shit, and just yesterday he had two girlfriends whom he dumped back to back." Danielle added as Y/n shook her head, disappointed. Sunghoon having over heard all this, decided it was time to stop playing girls like a gameboy, and pursue his princess.
✧❁PART 2❁✧
#sunghoon x reader#sunghoon imagines#sunghoon fluff#sunghoon smau#enhypen imagines#enhypen fluff#enhypen x reader#enhypen x you#enhypen x y/n#enhypen scenarios#enhypen reactions#enhypen#park sunghoon#sunghoon#enha imagines#enha scenarios#enha smau#enha x reader#enhypen drabbles#enhypen x female reader#sunghoon drabbles#park sunghoon fluff#sunghoon oneshot#sunghoon drabble#enhypen oneshot#sunghoon x you#sunghoon imagine#enhypen imagine#park sunghoon x reader#enhypen sunghoon
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Alphaworld File 3: Diary of an Alpha Transformation (1 of ?)
Click here to read Alphaworld in posting order.
X
An undated journal. It is heavily bedazzled on the covers, though many of the gems appear to have been scraped off or stepped on. There are several stains yellowing the coloured paper of the cover, mostly sweat.
Inside the front cover, there is a space where the owner is encouraged to write their name. Two names occupy the space, one on top of the other. The lower layer is written with a purple marker, neatly spelling the name “Ronaldo Herrera.” There are multicoloured sparkles drawn around the name, and glitter has been sprinkled over it. Some of the glitter appears to have been scraped off with a knife, and there is a 3 centimetre tear at the top interior of the page, as if someone was about to rip it out. On top of the first name, the name “RONNIE H” is scrawled in crude capitals using a pencil. The pencil was applied with sufficient force that graphite scrapes are visible from where they were brushed off the page.
Journal entries flow into each other without dating, but editors have split entries based on context and labelled them “Day One, Day Two, Day Three…” despite the fact that more than one day clearly proceeds between some entries. From this point onward, journal entries are transliterated directly, with marginalia and other notes on the text rendered in square brackets [] to distinguish them from the main body.
[Day One]
OMG, I’m soooo happy to be back on campus! Staying with my parents is such a bore! They don’t let me stream any of my shows, they say drag race is of the devil, and the town is so small that I’m, like, the only twink there. I can’t even get any dl dick all holiday because country guys are all totally masc for masc. My hole is toooootally desperate.
I’m so happy that Ollie across the hall got me this journal! He made it look soooo cute with all the stones! He’s, like, okay for a fellow bottom, even tho his massive crush on me is, like, totally obvious. Sorry babe, this dick is for decoration only lmao! Maybe we could get tag teamed by a big dick boy sometime, that’d be pretty hot. I've never bottomed alongside a transmasc dude.
Anyway, I just stopped at the dorm to drop off my suitcase and get out of my het drag, there’s a whole lotta frat parties starting tonight and if I wanna end my dry spell I’ve gotta be there! I just had to live my Sex and the City fantasy by putting down a few lines in the diary first!
[a doodle of an open-faced journal with scribbly lines on the page in rainbow colours]
[Day Two]
ZOMGGGGGGG [written in double-tall bubble letters across a quarter of the page, filled in with pink highlighter]
This term is gonna be SO AWESOME.
Campus is suddenly full of massive muscle men who are totally desperate for me! I was, like, totally the target of a dominance contest at the party last night, and it was SO HOT.
So I walk in, right? And I’m dressed in my usual, my lil slutty crop and my littlest shorts. Here, I took a pic before I left so you can see how cute I was.
Anyway, I’m cute, I’m obvious, I’m ready to have any guy absolutely wreck me. Like, last night, I would have taken a bicurious frat bro fucking me raw, my hole was so neglected. So I am a blaring neon sign: I’M A FAG [written in rainbow marker colours]
And as soon as I walk in, this GOD [a doodle of a massive man is in the margin, a perfect X shape covered in cartoonishly bulging muscles] comes up to me and is all, “Hey boy, I’m Nate.” He. Is. PERFECT. Gorgeous grey eyes, windswept dirty blond hair, a tank top hugging pecs the size of my HEAD. And his voice gets me tooootally weak in the knees. I can't believe he's LOOKING at lil ol me, even if I do look like a twinky slut.
But before I can even say anything to Nate, there’s another MASSIVE arm draped over my shoulder, and ANOTHER massive guy is whispering in my ear, like, “Name’s Lee. Want a drink?” I look over, and he’s just as hot as Nate, with shiny black hair and this perfect sexy smile like a J-pop star. But, like, if a J-pop star was 250 pounds of pure muscle and sex.
I swear all the air went out of the room. Suddenly, Nate and Lee were glaring at each other over me, and all these frat bros were staring.
BTW, when did all the frat bros get so cuuuute? Like, not as sexy as Nate and Lee, but they’re all totally cut this term and I think they’ve got some skincare going? Like I wanna go back sometime lmao.
Lee, like, GROWLED as he glared across me. I felt a li-ter-al rumble from his chest. Nate started totally flexing his big pecs, I thought his shirt was gonna shred in the middle. They didn’t even SAY anything, it was so totally primal. I think I got a whiff of Lee as he tucked me closer to his chest, and I realised he totally doesn’t use deodorant. He smelled totally HAWT.
Anyway, I have two perfect men fighting over me, and I’m not letting either of them go, so I go, “Boys, I promise my holes are big enough to share.” I totes flashed my dimples at them. [doodle of a smiley face]
They kept glaring at each other, but finally Lee was like, “I get his hole.” Maybe he, like, won the contest or whatever? Because Nate looked down at the floor and said, “Fine.” And I mean, fine with me! I love getting stuffed from both ends! What a way to come back from vacay!
We didn’t stay at the party long, just long enough for Lee to get me a drink and Nate to carry me around the dance floor a bit. I checked on Lee while we were dancing, and he was, like, totally making out with one of the frat bros. Like, a guy I knew was straight. I blew him freshman year when his gf was away. I guess Lee’s just like that, lmao.
We ended up upstairs. I think Lee’s in the frat? But we weren’t in his room, which was kinda hot. Lee and Nate sandwiched me between them as soon as we were through the door. I was tooootally surrounded by massive muscle as Nate made out with me and Lee sucked on my neck. I felt, like, high, with Nate’s big cock grinding into my belly through his jeans while Lee felt up my cute ass.
“You guys kissing would be so hot,” I gasped as Nate pulled off my shirt and Lee took off my shorts.
They both hesitated, I could feel it. “Oh c’mon,” I moaned, “you’re both tooootally hot, and you haven’t touched at allllll.”
Suddenly, Lee picked me up and threw me on a random frat bro’s bed. “I guess your mouth IS gonna be busy,” he said, which was SOOO hot, and then he started slicking up my hole.
Pretty soon, both hunks were balls deep in me. They were SOOOOOO big [doodles of massive, soft cocks cover the margins of this page] and I took ALL of them. Lee filled me up SO good, rubbing my prostate like he was fingering me. And Nate tasted, like, perfect. And the whole time, Nate kept pulling back just far enough that I could watch him and Lee kissing over me.
FUCK, they made me look like a little doll between them! I think once they were in me, all the dominance stuff went away, because they were TOTALLY making out. Nate’s, like, SO noisy, and Lee kept on doing that growl thing like he’d done before, which made me moan around Nate’s cock, which made him even noisier.
I came handsfree right before Lee flooded my ass and Nate filled my mouth with cum.
By the time our clothes were back on, Lee and Nate were back to playing their weird dick measuring game, keeping me between them as we went back to the party. I think Nate left pretty soon, but I danced for a bit longer and made out with a few frat bros. They really ARE super cute now, and they all seemed totally into me. Guess they finally got over being raging fucking homophobes lmao.
Anyway, I got home and crashed as soon as I’d cleaned all the cum and sweat off. Now my hand’s all crampy from writing for so long lol. Oooh, I should go tell Ollie all about it!
[Day Three]
I was, like, SO right.
The last few days have been AWESOME!!!! [jagged star doodles all around the word] I swear there are soooo many hunks on campus all of a sudden! One of my profs this term is a tooootal musclestud.
So I’m taking this class on fashion history, and when I looked it up, this Prof. Romano guy was listed for it. He was cute, one of those cute tweed aesthetic guys. You know, a fag who studies fashion. Like, OMG, that picture must be SO OLD.
I show up for class all ready to sit in the back row, but then I see this MAN standing at the podium. Like, total Italian stallion, with the dark waves and the stubbly jaw. He was, like, BURSTING out of his blazer. I could watch his pec bounce through three layers of fabric.
So obv I run down and sit in the front row. I’m not the first fag to have the idea, there’s already like 3 other twinks down there, but I’m totally the cutest. As the rest of the class comes in and sits down, these two GORGEOUS boys walk in and go up to the prof. They’re totally shredded, and dressed in complementary button-ups. And the muscle-god prof pats each of them on the head! Then they go sit down in some chairs behind the podium, and I can see their boners in their cute slacks.
The prof clears his throat, and it’s this DEEP, RESONANT sound. I got a total eargasm just listening to the rumble. “Good morning, class,” he says. And then his next words are TOTALLY burned into my brain:
[written in shaky block letters across a whole page] “You will call me Alpha Mario.”
And then he says, “I am your professor, and I will see you all for extra credit,” while rubbing himself through his pants, like half the class isn’t ready to have his babies. My cock was ROCK FUCKING HARD in my jeans. [doodle of a leaking penis]
He introduces his TAs as Beta Max and Beta Owen. IDK, maybe it’s a kink thing? He’s clearly their dom or something, they were totally devoted to him all class. I’d happily be Alpha Mario’s Beta if he’s hiring, lmao! [hearts are doodled around “Alpha Mario”]
Anyway, that’s just one ep in the PORN SHOW that is my life these days! Ollie’s room has been, like, a revolving door of cock since we got back, and I usually take two or three loads a day out on campus. This group of straight computer science geeks actually begged to fuck me yesterday, so I was dripping all the way home.
They were surprisingly buff for nerds, too! I should point out to Ollie that we gotta hit the gym if we wanna keep up with all the boys on campus this term. Can you imagine? Us at the gym! [The rest of the page is covered in stickers of the laughing emoji]
[Day Four]
Went to the gym today! Not to workout, but I had this new outfit idea and I thought it might get me noticed if I just hung out in the locker room. OH BOY, was I right!
Last few days all my clothes have been feeling super tight, so I’ve been doing a lot of [scribbled in rainbow marker] SHOPPING. It’s too bad, all my old clothes were suuuuper cute, but I’ve started giving some of my old faves to repeat fuckbuddies. One of the guys who used to push me around for being faggy, this guy called Brendan, has been coming over for the last few nights. I never realised how cute he is before!
Anyway, the first night Brendan came over he throatfucked me, but last night he told me he really wanted to feel my fingers in his hole, so I started fingering him! It was soooo hot that my cock ended up totally hard and before I knew it HE was blowing ME while I rubbed his prostate. He’s been texting me all day, begging to service my cock again. Lol, he just sent a voice message all like, “Please, Ronaldo, I’ll do anything to make you cum again!”
My point is I gave him a pair of my old booty shorts. They fit him perfectly, even though he NEVER had an ass as nice as mine before. He’s been wearing them all day today, just like I told him. It’s so hot, knowing he’s showing off like a fag even though he used to be a straight homophobe.
Fuck, I was writing about MY clothes! I’ve been so distracted by hot beta boys the last few days. I thought it was kinda time to change up my style, plus I looked super hot trying on some more dude-type clothes, so here’s the pic of me I took while I was hanging out at the gym.
I had guys HANGING OFF OF ME after a few minutes. It was totally hot, they wanted to do anything I said. Before long, I had a bunch of hot guys kissing me all over and all the cocks I could want to suck. Guys kept running out to grab their hot friends to join us, and all these guys were focussed on me.
At one point one of the staff came in, and I could tell it was to tell us to stop. He was a cute guy, really filled out his work polo, you know how gyms always hire swole dudes and curvy gurls to work at the front desk. I just gave him this LOOK from the middle of my pile of dudes, and I could feel his straightness melt away as his cock started leaking in his preppy shorts.
But just as I was about to cum, my cap got ripped off my head and I was dragged out of the pile by Nate, the guy from that frat party. I swear, he got even BIGGER since last time, he held me up by my shoulders like I was a paperweight. He was totally growling at me, too. He said something like, “I hate when they’re half done,” whatever that means, and then he yelled at all the other boys to get back to work.
Once we were along in the locker room, Nate shook me like a doll. “All the ex-het Betas can treat my gym as neutral ground, but it’s MY territory to you and the other half-done Alphas, you got it?” [note: Alpha and Beta are capitalised in the original text, although Ronnie does not seem to have been aware of the Alpha Phenomenon]
I was like “What are you talking about?”
Nate said, “You’ll get it.” Then I started smelling this INCREDIBLE smell. It was like really sharp cedar cologne mixed with fresh sweat. There was something else too, and it made me feel totally out of it.
Next thing I knew, I was on my knees swallowing Nate’s cock again. “Yeah,” he was saying while he fucked my throat, “this’ll speed you up. You’ll probably never submit again after this, so I’m gonna enjoy it.”
I just stayed there, taking him all the way into my throat. I feel like a week ago it would’ve been totally hot, but today it felt different. Nate using me made me MAD [underlined several times]. I felt like I should do something about it, like punch him or steal one of his boys, but the smell coming off of him kept me docile.
Nate came really quietly, which made me madder. My throat is an incredible tool, okay? Any guy should be screaming when I blow him, especially a noisy top like Nate. Then he patted me on the head like I was a little boy and said, “Head home. Drop a load in that guy who lives across from you, he should be progressing well too.” Then he just. Walked away.
I was gonna stay here all night just to spite the asshole, but I’m super horny again and I don’t wanna go back out. Maybe I’ll go see if Ollie’s got any visitors tonight or if he wants me to fill his holes for him.
[Day Five]
[From this point, entries are written in a noticeably heavier hand. Lowercase Es and Os become jagged.] Fuck, last night was fucking awesome. I knocked on Ollie’s door, and he answered in nothing but a thong, showing his bottom growth right through the fabric. His legs have been getting so hairy and thick, he looked super slutty. Plus his room smelled like sex and cum. I’ve been sleeping out, but seems like Ollie’s been taking house calls.
“Ronaldo?” he said, blinking up at me in surprise. I think we used to be a matching pair of little twinks, but guess I’ve had a growth spurt.
I shoved through the door. What was he gonna do, stop me? I was like, “Where’s your lube?” It came out of my mouth so deep, in a crazy manly register. “I wanna finger you.”
Ollie fuckin’ moaned when I said that, and stumbled over to his night table to grab it. He keeps his lube right out in the open, proud of how much cock he takes. I was already dropping my jeans, my cock was getting super hard and I hate feeling it strain. It deserves to be seen anyway.
Once I grabbed Ollie’s lube, he stood against the wall and presented his ass for me. Fuck, just remembering the look of all that hair on his fat ass is making me leak again. Okay I jerked a bit, should be able to write. [there is a stain on the page here]
Ollie’s hole was still loose from his last dick appointment, so I pushed three fingers in nice and easy. Ollie was moaning, all, “When did your fingers get so thick,” and “What’s happening to us, Ronaldo?” so I roughed up his G-spot a bit until he wasn’t being so articulate anymore.
“What’s happening to us is we’re gonna rule this school,” I hissed at him. I’d realised that it wasn’t gonna be enough to finger him and make him blow me. I needed to shoot inside his ass right fucking now. “Fags are in fucking charge here now.”
Fuck, wait, I need to text Brendan and get him over here. I need him milking my cock so I can focus on writing.
[There are several crude doodles of dicks, asses, and cum splatters in various marker colours before the entry continues on the facing page]
So anyway I slammed Ollie against the wall and shoved my cock into him. My cock’s so much fucking bigger now, too. Like it’s really filling up Brendan’s mouth while he sucks on me. I had enough cock to really saw at Ollie's asshole, and I felt him cum handsfree onto the wall.
“That’s it,” I growled in his ear as I had to hold him up. “This is what you’ve wanted ever since we became neighbours, right? Ollie wanted to get Ronnie’s big alpha dick in his hole.” It felt good to call myself a
[in massive letters on its own line] ALPHA
Ollie didn’t really say words at that point, just lots of “Yes” and “More.” I could hear his voice getting deeper with every thrust, too.
By the time I was getting close, Ollie’s room reeked like ME. It wasn’t a bad smell, but I knew any boy who came in here would be able to tell that all this musk and spice wasn’t just Ollie. It would take weeks for this to be really Ollie’s territory again now that I had marked it. “Fuck, show me that man pussy,” I ordered him, and threw him down in his bed.
Switching holes felt like the most natural thing in the world. I’m fucking built for topping, I can’t believe I thought I hated it. I fucked Ollie through a couple more orgasms and then let myself fill up his man pussy with what felt like 3 loads.
I fell asleep still inside him.
FUCK. I just came in Brendan’s mouth, and it felt totally different. Like, I marked Ollie’s room, but I didn’t mark HIM. His holes are open for anyone to fill. He can own other boys for all I care. But Brendan? Brendan’s fucking MINE. He’s mine he’s mine he’s mine. MY Brendan. [scribbled hastily] I need his hole NOW.
[written later]
I took a pic of Ollie before I started fingering him. I bet he looks totally different now, like me. Gotta go, MY Brendan’s gonna show me how to do a gym session.
To Be Continued...
#alphaworld#male transformation#mental change#male tf#muscle tf#reality change#musk tf#dom tf#hairy tf#gradual change#all fwkong
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𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕀𝕀: 𝕀 𝔸𝕞 𝕃𝕠𝕤𝕥, 𝔹𝕦𝕥 ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕀𝕟 𝕐𝕠𝕦
Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader
synopsis: in order to fulfil your revenge plans on Neteyam, you have to give up a lot of your life, including a future with a man who loves you dearly.
warnings: 18+ minors DNI, aged-up! Neteyam/Reader, enemies-to-lovers, angst (@lanasblood trying to be better about this), smut (fingering, orgasm denial), strong language, neteyam and reader being horrible to each other lol
wc: 6.5k words
a/n: things are starting to get spicy besties 😌 i have to admit, although i am a lot more comfortable with friends-to-lovers, or more angsty tropes, i adore writing the sexual tension that comes with e2l and i hope i did it justice and you enjoy this chapter. i can't wait to hear your thoughts, bbs and thank you again for all the love and support on this series xx (thank you very much also to @cinetrix for her amazing Neteyam art ily bestie x)
this is only half proof-read, so if you see any mistakes no you don't
na'vi compendium: yawne - beloved, Tsakarem - Tsa'hik in training, tìlor - beauty, txepvi - spark
: ̗̀➛ previous chapter (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series playlist (x)
In a perfect world, I'd kill to love you the loudest
But all I do is live to hurt you soundless
Say you see I'm lying, babe, and let this go
I can never promise you tomorrow
The departing footsteps echoed through the forest as O'ì'en left you all alone, with a broken heart and the man that broke it, and the feeling left you empty, the hurt of what transpired, of what he did, what you did, how with each passing blow to each other’s lives, this was no longer just a petty rivalry but felt like so much more, like too much more. You threatened him, you spit all sorts of petty warnings about hell and burning - and in the heat of the moment, that sounded cool, and doable. Not anymore, as you stood motionless in the clearing and realised that Neteyam still had so much power over you, that his grasp on your life and on your heart was so tight, tighter than anyone else’s, tight enough to bruise and crush it with a tug of his fisted fingers. You removed yourself from his grasp like his touch burned you, which it felt like it did, and put distance in between your bodies, so that you could see him, so that you could clear your mind, so that his presence wouldn’t have the effect on you it always did, that you were sure was just your body recoiling in hatred, that always manifested itself in goosebumps and shivers down your spine.
“You’re such a fucking asshole.” The tears stung as you willed them back into your tear ducts. It’s been 7 years since Neteyam has seen you cry, and you’ll be damned if that would ever change, and especially right now, as you watched the smirk grow with every departing step, with every erratic blink of your eyes, as you tried to stop them from falling down your face, as he knew he got to you, that he made you pay for the words you uttered to him before.
“Oh, yawne. One day you’ll learn to not punch above your weight, and I guess since no one else is willing to, it falls onto me to teach you.” He walks slow, purposeful steps as he nears you once more, and his eyes boring into you, filled with intensity and a feeling you couldn’t quite place, that didn’t quite match the arrogance staining his lips like poison, stilled you in your spot, until he was so close, you could feel his warm breath and musky scent, until your heart boomed painfully in your chest, echoing loudly in your ears, marginally drowning out his next words.
“Did you really think you could threaten me and everything I’ve worked for, my relationship and the rest of my life, without any repercussions, huh? Did you really think I would go down without a fight?”
His hand raised and reached to push some unruly strands of hair out of your face, and you couldn’t look away from the soft glimmer in his eyes, that was so at odds with the rest of his face, you wondered if he even knew it was there. You wondered if he knew what it signified, because you didn’t. And despite your best efforts otherwise, you couldn’t deny the curiosity that deluged you, to try and find out.
The hint in his molten golden orbs dissipated as quickly as it appeared, and so did any middling emotion that tried you, as you once more found yourself reaching for your knife and unsheathing it, holding it in between both your hands, aiming for a shoulder… or a neck, and with a feral growl, you pushed your entire forced into the blow, and yelped in pain as one of his hands wrapped around both your wrists and twisted until the knife dropped pitifully on the ground with a loud clink. Tears threatened you once more at how futile the effort had been, how easy for him to overpower you like you were nothing more than a child, or a doll. He pinned your hands above your head and pushed you until your back collided with the bark of a tree and you felt the wind getting knocked out of your lungs at the contact.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk… why must you always resort to violence… yawne?” Your eyes widened as the hand that wasn’t holding you ghosted over your cheeks, tracing the air right above your lips with his thumb, and you were struggling, yet again, with the feelings that were plaguing you, that made burning appear everywhere his fingers were, burning the travelled down your body until they reached your core, that throbbed and clenched, that desperately asked you for something you would never, ever give it. After exploring your face, and tracing your jaw, his fingers finally settled on your chin, pushing it gently until your face angled upwards to meet his and no further breath could inch its way down your airways at the sight of him, at the way he looked at you, at the way it made you feel.
“You told me that you won’t mind burning in Hell as long as I burn with you. Well…” he broke eye contact to look around him at the forest surrounding you both. “Do you hear that, yawne? Fire is catching. And looks like we’re going to get to burn together after all.”
“Let me go. I told you what would happen if you ever touched me again.” His smirk never faltered, but only deepened as his eyes trailed over your body, settling on your lower abdomen.
“Mmm, yawne. I’m not sure you mean that.” It was your turn to reciprocate his guise, no ounce of shame or hesitation on your face.
“Let me go and you’ll find out whether I mean it or not.” his eyes widened, if only for a split second, and you felt like you imagined his grip on you loosening, or the fleeting sight of goosebumps peppered on his chest and neck, where your warm breath touched him.
“Are you really going to miss your chance to find lover boy and apologise like the good girl you like people to think you are?”
Your eyes lost momentary focus as he spoke. His words, although as cruel as usual, made guilt peak its ugly head over the thin-veiled curtain it was hiding behind, and you knew he was right. This was irrelevant. This whole fandangle of aggression and snarky remarks you always engaged in was not what should be occupying your brain, it wasn’t what mattered. O'ì'en mattered. Fixing Neteyam’s damage… and your own - that’s the only thing that mattered right now.
“Funny how quickly you seem to have forgotten about the one you supposedly love so much when I have your hands pinned above your head, isn’t it… yawne.”
His hands trailed over your arm as if on accident as he let you go and you felt embarrassed. Embarrassed at his words, at his effect on you, at how hard you were fighting your own body and mind as they were struggling to regain composure from his touch, and his voice, and his presence.
Hate. That’s all it was. It consumed you, and you wish it didn’t, but at the end of the day, it was still just harmless, bona fide, unadulterated hate. You ignored the way your cheeks caught fire and burned beneath your skin as you ran towards the village, towards where you assumed O’i’en was headed, without sparing your biggest, your only enemy a second glance.
'Cause I have yet to learn how not to be his
This city will surely burn if we keep this as it is
You spent hours searching for him, but despite trying every place you knew he liked to frequent, all efforts proved futile. You knew he wouldn’t want to be found, but still, you held a glimmer of hope in your heart that at least subconsciously, he’d want you to find him, to allow him to explain what was mostly inexplainable and inexcusable - you couldn’t blame him for proving you wrong.
Eventually, as eclipse was nearing with each passing moment, defeated and regretful, you went to the nearby river, that was almost deserted due to the approaching evening, that you hoped would bring you some answers, or some solace… some strength. What were you supposed to do? Were you supposed to listen to Eywa, and your own heart telling you to go for this mateship that you knew was wrong, but felt drawn towards, for your own twisted, sadistic reasons? Or should you listen to your mind who told you to fight for what you knew would be a comfortable, healthy future, one that didn’t particularly enthral you, but hoped you could aspire to and embrace in time, with the insight that came with getting older? As always, the war between your mind and heart led to a painful impasse where both of them were bloodied and injured, but no discernible winners were left to claim victory on the choice, or on all the questions that plagued you.
You recognised Jake’s steps and his scent as he approached you, and you sighed. You were not in the mood for a lecture. Sure enough, he sat next to you, looking at the waterfall falling violently into the otherwise peaceful river, that rippled and bruised at the contact. It was funny to you now, sitting here, how that was a perfect metaphor for your relationship with Neteyam, how in his presence, you were just a river, and he was a force of nature, there to disturb and perturb, there to change you, so aggressive and formidable, and so strangely necessary. You were sad at how much his presence in your life mattered, how you knew that despite all the hurt and the pain, you owed him so much of who you were, so much of where you were. Because he pushed you every day, to be better, to strive for more, to want to be more like him in some ways, less like him in others - a better daughter, a better friend, a better sibling, a better soldier, a better warrior, a better clan member.
“Hey, kid. What are you doing here, eclipse will be upon us soon. You know the rules.”
“I know the rules, Jake. And with all due respect, right now, I really couldn’t care less about them.”
You turned to him and noted his expression melting from one of annoyance, raised eyebrow and an open mouth, ready to chastise you for your insubordination and recalcitrance, into a soft and pitying one, as he took in your tear-stained face and trembling lips. You never cried, not in front of anyone who mattered, so the fact that here you stood, so obviously distressed, concerned Jake more than he could say out loud.
“What’s wrong, baby girl? What happened?”
“I… I need to find O'ì'en… I’ve been looking for hours, but I can’t find him. Have you seen him anywhere?” Your sniffles and a hoarse, broken voice were more than enough to bring a grimace to the Olo’eyktan’s face.
“Oh, honey…” his arms circled your much smaller body and he squeezed, the much needed hug warm and very welcome. Your hand tightened around his forearm, and you started sobbing silently as he held you. You’ve always been immensely grateful for the Sullys and their patriarch, but especially so in moments like this, when his paternal instincts kicked in, a role he was much better at than he ever gave himself credit for.
“I ruined it… I ruined everything. I should have told him, I should have been honest with him. I should have come to you and asked you to free me of this responsibility that I never wanted to shoulder in the first place.”
“You can still ask, kid. We would never force you into something you genuinely aren’t comfortable with, and you should know that. In fact, you do know that. But you didn’t come. Why?”
You had no answer to that, because truthfully, you didn’t know. Getting revenge on Neteyam wasn’t a good enough answer, and more and more, you realised that - and you knew Jake would challenge you on it as soon as the words came out of your mouth. Getting revenge isn’t a good enough reason to sacrifice your own happiness, and liberty, your future as a warrior and your future with the man you wanted to want so badly. It wasn’t a good enough reason because it wasn’t the reason - not the only reason, not the full reason, but that was something you couldn't think about, you couldn't even fathom, not yet, so you didn't.
At your lack of response, Jake sighed and looked contemplatively at the river being perturbed by the waterfall crashing on it, at the way the water rippled and undulated, at the way the bioluminescent glow of the underwater plankton, that was visible now that eclipse settled over the land, warped under its force.
“Did I ever tell you I had this girlfriend back on Earth? This was when I was young, about your age.” You shook your head softly, not looking at him, still focused and mesmerised by the same view he was studying.
“She was amazing. So kind, and sweet, and beautiful… and good. Too good for me. And I loved her. She was the first girl I looked at and thought that maybe, just maybe, she would be the one. I used to pick her up after her classes were over and we would just drive in my car, just down the coast, in Anaheim at sundown, and I remember feeling so happy, thinking that I would feel this way the rest of my life.”
You thought about that, and about your boyfriend, who very much seemed like what Jake was describing, who brought you comfort and safety. You thought about walking with him in this place Jake called Anaheim, in a heavenly place away from hurt and pain, away from mistakes and fears, just two people who loved each other, who wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. You felt grief envelop you when the face that appeared in your visions wasn’t the one you wanted to see, the one you hoped you’d see, the one you needed to see. You hated your brain and your heart for not allowing you to commit to him the way you knew you should, in the way that would ensure you a future of happiness and peace, a love worth harbouring, a pure and kind love, just like the one Jake described.
“What happened? Between… you and her, I mean?” Jake shrugged, a small, content smile on his face.
“It just didn’t work out. I joined the military, she continued her studies. We would have never worked. I wasn’t good enough for her, and she deserved someone who could love her the way she was meant be loved. Anaheim is still a beautiful memory to me, and I’ll always cherish it, but it made way for something much, much better. For both of us.
I think sometimes we hold on to things we think we need, we want to want, but these things pertain to a version of ourselves that isn’t fully authentic. I think it’s easy to pretend when we’re with certain people that life is one way, that we could fit in it, in this world we’ve created in our heads, in the world that they inspire, but the sooner we accept the realities of our circumstances, of who we are and where we truly belong, the more time we have to enjoy life for how it’s meant to be lived: fully, wildly, being wholly ourselves.”
He stood up and headed back towards the village, not before giving you an affectionate pat on the head and a squeeze of your shoulders. His last words echoed in your ears long after he departed, leaving you with so much to think about, and so much pain at knowing he was right, and that soon, you’d have to break a heart and learn to mend your own.
“You can still ask, kid. I just think, deep down, Anaheim isn’t for you… just like it wasn’t for me.”
But I'd give anything to stop time
And drive around Anaheim at sun down
And teach my mind to put you first
It took the whole night, but you eventually found him, after a painful conversation with his mother, at a different river he used to love coming to as a little kid with his father, one much further away from the village. He was sitting on the river bank, lost in thought, his feet dangling mindlessly in the water that rushed downstream, agitated and tumultuous, much like your mind. You sighed deeply, trying your hardest to build up the courage for the most difficult conversation you’ve ever had, one in which you knew the end result was a broken heart, one that you caused, that you never meant to, that you would never want. You knew what it was like to be broken-hearted, sad and unmoored from the reality you’ve built up in your mind, from your hopes and dreams, from the future you were promised and now will never have again. But after the conversation with Jake, you knew it was the right thing to do. You loved O'ì'en, you truly did, just not enough to ever give him everything he needed and deserved, not for the rest of your life. You had darkness in you he would never be skilled enough to wander through, to bring light into, and you would never want him to try, not when it would dim his own light, that deserved to be nourished and heightened by someone, who much like him, was good and pure, and better than you’d ever be.
“O'ì'en…”
He wasn’t startled by your presence. His gaze didn’t shift from where it was intently fixed, and you knew you shouldn’t expect that it did. You wouldn’t want to look at yourself, either.
“You know, I watched for so long the interactions between you and Neteyam, and they always made me sad and uncomfortable. The hatred that I could not understand, that seemed to occupy so much of your time and space in both your minds, that consumed you both. I watched it, and I wanted to say something, but I never thought it was my place. It hurt me, seeing you suffer at his hands, and hurt me that you always reciprocated, that you never took the high road, that you always felt the need to one-up him, to give as good as you got. It was so toxic and unhealthy, and I hoped in time, you’d move away from it. I hoped I could help you. But now, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to, not anymore. And I don’t know if I want to.”
Tears rolled down your face with every word uttered, with every sentence that cut deeper and deeper in you, until you were bleeding and bruised, until it all hurt, being here, seeing him, hearing him, the past and the future, the present and your actions, and Neteyam’s actions, and everything that lead to this moment. It was so much easier to get your heart broken, you realise faintly, than to break a heart. Heartbroken, you could pity yourself, victimise yourself, tell yourself and the world that it’s not you, but the other person, the one who instigated it. You can sleep at night knowing you were wronged, that if it wasn’t for the pain that someone else caused you, things would be different, easier. There was nothing easy about watching a good person suffer and knowing you caused it, and you wondered how you were ever going to fall asleep again, how were you going to be able to live with yourself.
“I didn’t choose this, O'ì'en… any of this. I need you to know this. Mo’at asked us to come to her as a matter of urgency the other day, she told us that Eywa gave her a sign, showed her a vision, and that by her will, Neteyam and I will have to become a mated-pair.” You felt bad about leaving out certain… extenuating circumstances, but you realise that sometimes, certain things are better left unsaid and once some words are uttered, some actions taken, they can’t be recalled, they can’t be reversed, they won’t dematerialise - their echoes will forever ring through time, leaving damage and hurt in their wake, and you didn’t want that - not for him.
“Have you told her you don’t want to? Have you gone to the Tsa’hik, or the Olo’eyktan, or the Tsakarem and talked to them, told them you are in love with someone else, that you made up your mind? Did you fight for us at any point? For me?”
Your eyes widened at his words, that had an edge to them you’ve never observed in him before, that you didn’t even realise he was truly capable of. The words stung needles on your skin and in your eyes, that had prickling tears still falling uninterrupted, like summer rain, soaking your heart and soul that hurt because you knew that you couldn’t give him an answer that would satisfy him… you couldn’t give him an answer at all.
“They look at you like you’re their daughter. They would listen to you if you asked. But you didn’t, did you?”
“I once overheard Lo’ak talk about you and Neteyam to his human friend. He was concerned about you. About both of you. But aside from that, he talked about you two like you were an inevitability. About passion that ran so deep there was no way only hatred fuelled it. That there must be something underneath it all. I heard this and it made me angry at the time… I thought that he was unreasonable and out of line. Naively, I took your affection at face value and never looked beyond. Until now, that is. When I realised that in our time together, all the time we shared, all the moments that were sweet and innocent and everything I’ve ever wanted, you’ve never once shared even a fraction of that passion for me.”
“O'ì'en, no…”
“I think, deep down, you don’t want to get out of this because it’s finally a way to bridge the gap that has existed between you and Neteyam for so long, a gap you secretly wished had never existed. I think you’ve been in love with him since you were children, and this was the perfect opportunity to change a path you thought was set in stone before. I think he’s in love with you, too. But both of you are too mean, too stubborn with each other to see past your differences. To talk.”
“You’re wrong.” The temper was rising in your chest as his head continued shaking, denying your statement, as his words were processing in your mind, the unbelievable, insane, unreasonable words that you couldn’t believe were being uttered right before you, not by him. You wanted to scream at him, to shout and tell him that it’s all wrong, all of this, everything is all wrong. That the passion he’s talking about is just intense dislike that was so grand, so overpowering, it couldn’t be contained inside your body, nor inside his. That you were not in love with Neteyam - you hated Neteyam. With every fibre of your being, you loathed the man that hurt you so deeply, so intimately, for so long, that forsook the past you shared and the memories you made and what you meant to him, or what he meant to you.
You wanted to tell him that he’s delusional in ever thinking that man could ever be in love with you, when all he did was find new ways to torture you, to belittle you, to make you feel lesser than him, lesser than anyone he knew. How could that ever be love? How could that ever work? This was love. What you had with O'ì'en. Pure and good and kind and easy. Love wasn’t supposed to hurt, right? Love was supposed to feel natural, like coming home after a long, exhausting day, it wasn’t supposed to be what made the day long and exhausting in the first place. He was so wrong.
But you didn’t find it in you to argue with him. Not with him. Someone else will have to bear the consequences of your repressed anger, but not O'ì'en, because he deserves better than what he got, and what you gave, and in truth.. none of this mattered anyway. Arguing would make no difference in this doomed relationship, so you calmed yourself for the time being and spoke in as even of a tone you could manage.
“O'ì'en… I think you’re wrong. But, it doesn’t matter. You’re right that I didn’t talk to Mo’at, and that I should have. Regardless of the circumstances that led to this, I am so sorry. I will forever be sorry for the way you found out, for the way this came to be. I’m so sorry you had to be collateral damage in a war that is only mine to bear. I had a whole plan about how to tell you, I had so many things I wanted to say to you. That I’m grateful to you, and that I love you. That I’m sorry it wasn’t the way that you deserve to be loved, but I do love you. That I will never forget you, and your affection that shone so brightly over me, that was a safe haven from the bad storms I’ve had to weather for so long. That I’ll be sorry every day that I wasn’t good enough for you, but am relieved by the notion that one day, you’ll find someone so much better than me, someone who will be able to give you everything you deserve and then some, and I’m relieved in knowing you will be thankful to have been rid of me.”
You decided this would have to be enough for now. One day, maybe you’ll be able to face him again. One day, maybe he’ll even be able to spare you a glance, or a smile. But not today.
“I hope you forgive me one day.”
“Me, too.”
But I'd give anything to stop time, commit to you and not crimes
Against your truth and lose sight of every divide threatening to undo this story
But baby, I'm so sorry, I don't think that I'll ever memorise this route
It was a long way back to the village, and with every step taken and every moment passed, the anger that you tried to stifle for his sake came back ten fold - the tiring days of fighting, of crying, of suffering, of uncertainty and rampant emotions all building up within you, all coming to a calamitous zenith that threatened to spill all around you, that begged and urged for revenge, for payback on the man that caused it all, the man that was at the centre of all your life’s woes.
He ruined your relationship? Well… let’s see how he’ll like a taste of his own medicine. You knew exactly where you’ll find him, because you knew he’d be in the place he knew he could pester you the most, in a place that’s supposed to be yours, that he tainted over and over, that you will make sure to conquer back from him, the way you eventually would all of the pieces of yourselves he’s taken from you through time.
Your tent was quiet and untouched, unlike the little nook behind it, that was completely segregated from the rest of the clan, an oasis of secrecy and privacy in an otherwise bustling environment. A place that should be yours alone, but now hid two Na’vi, one of them mewling softly at the actions of the other. Neteyam was focused on his mate’s neck, their make-out session so intense, they didn’t even notice you until it was too late, until you stood behind them, until your presence was announced by a deep sigh and a disappointed click of your tongue.
“Oh, how disappointing.”
The girl let out a distressed yelp at your voice and pushed Neteyam off of her, eliciting a deep growl from the man that was less than impressed by the interruption.
“Am I interrupting?”
You saw Neteyam’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of you, at the way he knew what was coming. You laughed at his expression. What did he think was going to happen after what he’s done? What did he think you were going to do finding them here? The evil smirk that possessed you reminded you of his, and you wondered if this is how panicked you looked, too, when you saw him approaching you and O'ì'en.
“You know, if you’re going to continue going against the Olo’eyktan and the Tsa’hik’s wishes and cheat on your mate, I wouldn’t do it… you know, right outside of her tent.”
“WHAT?!” The high-pitched screech nearly deafened you, but you didn’t let it show. Instead you just watched as Neteyam scrambled to get himself out of the eye of the storm threatening to tear him apart.
“Tìlor, I -“
“Ah, your boyfriend didn’t tell you?” Your smile was sickeningly sweet as you approached the couple, stopping right next to Neteyam, placing a hand on his arm, tracing the protruding veins that made saliva pool in your mouth, and you bit back a laugh at the girl’s rabid look, that looked a lot like she was going to pounce on you at any given moment - you hoped she did. Nothing would make you happier than to have an excuse to rearrange her braids. This girl that always looked down on you, that looked at you like you were an outsider or a freak, that never even tried to mask her jealousy, her disdain, her fear at the fact the Sullys preferred you, and always will.
“I will be your Tsa’hik soon. Isn’t that right… yawne?”
“So unless you want me to go and tell the clan leaders… and your mother… and your father, and everyone who matters that you’ve been fucking someone else’s mate and watch as little by little, your entire world falls apart around you, I suggest you realise this man right here, he’s not worth it. Not worth all the drama, not worth all the fuss. Just go, and find yourself a single mate, and give thanks to Eywa she’s rid you of him, cause damn, I know I wish I could be.”
The hatred in her eyes was slowly replaced with fear and embarrassment, and for a second, just a second - you felt bad for her. Because no matter how badly she’s treated you, how she’s adopted Neteyam’s behaviour as her own with no reason or rhyme, much like O'ì'en, she was also just another collateral victim in a war that kept claiming lives and hearts, and you wondered where, if at all, the line would be drawn, when, if ever, would enough be enough?
You watched as she scrambled to fasten her top around her neck properly and without another word, she was gone, leaving just you and Neteyam alone, with enough tension in the air around you to suffocate you, to feel like smoke from a fire so grand, you didn't know if weren’t skilled enough to put out.
'Cause I have yet to know how to be mine
You can try to unearth this soul
I swear you'll hate what you find
“Why?”
“You’re making out with someone behind my tent, knowing that would piss me off, after what you did yesterday, and you have the nerve to ask me why?” you threw your head back and laughed at the outrageousness of the question. Neteyam wasn’t stupid - far from it. He was also not naive, or oblivious, or harebrained. The question had no business coming out of his mouth, but yet it did. You didn't have time to ponder the reasons why.
“You see, Neteyam, I think you came here because you knew I’d come. Because you secretly wanted me to. Because you know deep down that this girl has nothing to offer you, and you just needed an easy way out to rid yourself of her, and you needed me to do your dirty work for you again. Well, you’re welcome, Neteyam. What the fuck would you ever do without me, huh?”
“You’re such a fucking hypocrite. All the theatricals of being heartbroken over what I did to O'ì'en and then you do the exact same thing to someone else, someone innocent.”
“Innocent, ha! You think I give a shit about your little girlfriend’s feelings, when you treated O'ì'en the way you did? He didn’t deserve this, Neteyam. Any of this. He’s good man, he respects you, and looks up to you. He -“
“He should have known better than to associate himself with you.” His bared fangs didn’t do as much to scare you, not nearly as much as his proximity to you did, at the way his eyes stared daggers at your face, that even in the heat of the moment, at the peak of anger and hatred, couldn’t help settle on your parted, wet lips. “He should have known better and realise that all you bring in people’s life is disappointment and pain. He also should have known better and realise you didn’t love him. That you never will. That you might try to act like it and convince yourself, but someone like him would never, ever satisfy you.”
“And who the fuck would satisfy me, Neteyam? You? That’s rich. I bet your poor little girlfriend’s happy she’s rid of you. Bet you haven’t made her cum once. Too busy thinking of training and ruining my life, too busy thinking about how great you think you are to make room for anyone else in there.” You poked him in the chest with your index finger, right over his heart. Your touch lingered on his body, somehow unable to bring yourself to stop, half in awe at the way his heart was racing, at the way yours beat almost in sync with his, at the way you tried to convince yourself it’s because of the anger you were feeling, and no other reason.
“Yeah? Is that what you think?”
And there he was again, once more grabbing you by your throat, and you wanted to object, and fight him, but you didn’t - you couldn’t -, not as you felt throbbing deep within you at the action, not as you had to push your thighs together to accommodate for the increasingly uncomfortable sensation, not as your loincloth was becoming more and more damp by the second. And you remember your words, and remember that you told him that if he ever touched you again, you’ll make him pay for it, but right now, in this moment, you couldn’t find it in you to speak a word, as the intensity of his gaze knocked the air out of your lungs and his fingers squeezed just enough so no more could get back in you. Your back scratched painfully against a tree as he pushed you into it, and you couldn’t help a small moan as his other hand pushed your loincloth to the side, brushing over your folds that were now sopping and swollen. He let out a soft chuckle as he felt you.
“If that’s what you really thought, you wouldn’t be dripping on my fingers right now, tsxepvi.”
Slowly, deliberately, he started exploring your heat, thumb ghosting over your clit as he watched you squirm under his touch, struggling between what you knew you should do, between your conscious mind telling you you were going to pay for this in tears and heartache, and your subconscious mind screaming to let go, to embrace the overbearing desire to give in to him, as you did in the dreams you convinced yourself in time were nightmares, but knew more and more each day that it was just another lie you told yourself to keep going.
One side of you won by a landslide, as he gently pushed two fingers in you, as he started increasing the pressure with which he was massaging your clit, and it felt so good, too good, better than anything you’ve ever felt before. You tried to contain the sounds coming through gritted teeth with all your might, knowing what he was doing, knowing giving him any indication of the pleasure he was giving you would mean another thing you’d have to pay for later, knowing you couldn’t allow him to enjoy this, you couldn’t possibly give him the satisfaction of knowing he could do this to you, but you couldn’t stop, not when his fingers curled in you and found the spongy part that made you see glimmering, blinding lights and his thumb circled your needy bud in the perfect way to heighten the sensations running through you, electrifying your every nerve. The moans turn into mewls as he increases the pressure and his pace, and you felt the pleasure in you reach a high that you were ready to ride out, your orgasm so close you could practically taste it, and you’re barely able to think about how fucking quick it was, how it took no time at all for him to get you there, how skilled his fingers, as they worked his ministrations on you. You had no will to think about what the fuck was happening, how weird it was, how the man you’ve hated for so long is doing this to you, before the feeling got too overwhelming to be contained anymore.
“Fuck, i’m gonna -“
“That’s right, tsxepvi. I can feel you squeezing my fingers. You want to come for me?”
“Argh, I-“
The moan you let you wasn’t of pleasure, it was of deep, throbbing pain as the emptiness overtook you, as soon as he removed his fingers.
He smirked, an evil smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as his fingers found his lips and he sucked on them, his tongue swirling in between them, licking every single drop.
“You taste fucking amazing, tsxepvi. Maybe next time, if you apologise and behave, you’ll actually get to cum.”
And with that, he was gone, living you an empty, horrified mess, as the high came crashing down violently and the consequences of the last few minutes replaced it to lead you in a spiral of mixed thoughts and feelings, each one more terrifying than the last.
'Cause I am lost, but not in you
Yes, I am lost, but not in you
taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @afro-hispwriter @soleilmoon @crazy4books1 @bakugouswaif@randxmthxughts @xreadersstuff @sirezaya @kimberlyshailany-blog @gyuventure @jujudsmyst @kikookii @nxptury @nonniesworld @koing-slvt @bakugouswaif @isnt-itstrange @tpwkforevermore @alahamums @tallulah477 @gknj9495@aquamarine001 @itssomeonereading @yumimak @sweetbread-m @eqgroil @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @juneonhoth @yagirlheree @jackiehollanderr @legendarynoodlebowl @iameatingmyhair @justasimps-blog
#༊*·˚ andra's works#neteyam#neteyam x reader#neteyam fanfic#neteyam reader#neteyam sully#avatar#avatar twow#avatar fanfic#neteyam x avatar!reader#neteyam sully fanfiction#neteyam angst#awow#awow neteyam#sully family x reader#neteyam smut#neteyam x y/n#avatar way of water#neteyam x reader smut#neteyam x you#neteyam fluff#neteyam x reader angst#neteyam x omaticaya!reader#monster in me series
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One Day At A Time (Part 4/?)
Jake Seresin x Reader
Summary: Hangman's POW fiancée attempts a prison break and Jake gets the call he been longing for
A/N: Sorry I don't think this could've taken much longer to write!!
T/W: Anxiety, panic disorder, PTSD, POW, gun violence, hints to torture, death
Reader POV -
You don't give yourself time to strategise, you grab the boy's hand and Ghost's jacket and force them to follow you. You're back tracking through the building to a side door you noticed when you fell.
The sound of your heart hammering in your chest is the only thing you can focus on while your hand tremors above the door handle. You force yourself to ignore your rising panic and make a silent prayer that this door is unlocked.
Ghost echoes your sigh of relief when you try the door and it quietly swings open. You quickly survey the surrounding area from the doorway: there's no other guards in your eye line, and no visible watch towers that cover this section of the camp as far as you can tell from this vantage point.
Directly ahead, a few hundred metres away if you had to guess, you see a break in the fence and a small seating area just beyond it. They have a makeshift smoking area.
"Let's go." you say, not waiting for a response before breaking out into a sprint.
It's eerily quiet as you lift part of the chain fence, forcing it wide enough for the boy to shuffle through. Ghost watched in horror as you do not react to the metal cutting into your palms.
You gesture for Ghost to go first and he obliges. You feel blood start to run down your wrists as you force the metal to gape open wider.
Ghost visibly jumps when a second round of gunfire bellows from the building behind you. You shudder at the thought of them killing the people you left behind.
How can anyone have such little regard for human life? You've not encountered a single person here who looks marginally remorseful for their actions.
The wait for Ghost to get through the fence feels like a lifetime.
They're going to come for me, please move. You mentally chastise Ghost for the hold up.
Fear threatens to swallow you as you hear the back door burst open. It hits the wall with such a monstrous thud, that you feel the sound ricochet through your body.
"Don't turn around." Ghost warns you.
Both of you know the door is close enough that anyone with half decent aim could shoot you right now.
Ghost lets go of the fence and you feel your heart sink for a second thinking after all of this he could just leave you right now.
It takes you a minute to realise he's moving to get himself out of the firing line. He drops down to hold the fence at a much lower angle.
You're thrown against the fence as a blistering pain radiates through your shoulder.
"Go." you instruct Ghost, ringing blaring in your right ear.
"I'm not leaving you here Seresin." He says grabbing you through the fence and forcing you downwards.
You army crawl through the fence screaming from the pain of the bullet wound. "I'm not a Seresin." You say as soon as you're through the fence.
Ghost hoists you upright. "Not yet." He says with a small smile plastered on his lips.
The next few minutes are a blur - you're hazy from blood loss and running when none of you are in peak physical condition. It takes the three of you fucking ages to cover even the smallest of distances.
Every few yards Ghost slows down panting and coughing like he can't get enough air to his lungs which you know is a very real possibility now that he's sick.
You keep walking waiting for him to catch up - clutching your arm to maintain pressure.
The roaring of wardens behind you is getting closer and closer with every passing minute.
You've got to get out of this forest.
You need to get to a hospital.
Even if you meet your own version of Kathy Bates in Misery you'll have a higher chance of survival than if the guards catch you.
The two of you know from how many planes you've seen overhead since being moved to that camp that there has to be an air base nearby.
You either keep walking and hope to stumble upon it or find someone, anyone to help you.
Knowing the latter is unlikely you decide to just head to the edge of the forest.
You need to find civilisation.
Arguing breaks out nearby as the wardens question what direction you may have gone. Ghost rapidly responds halting you and placing a hand lightly over the boys mouth to muffle his weeping.
I don't know where to go. I don't know what direction will lead me out of here.
You silently stand behind trees hoping if you're quiet enough the men on your heels will give up and let you go home.
Reaching into your jumpsuit you grab the broken locket and stare at Jake's happy face.
I'll come back to you, you mentally promise him releasing a shuddering sigh in absolute dread over whatever you're going to have to do to get out of here.
*
Jake POV -
Hangman doesn't hear the phone ring from where he stands bickering the in garden with Rooster.
Javy on the other hand is inside, engaged in a discussion about his best friend with Bob and Phoenix. Trace looks at him knowingly, "are you going to get that or shall I because we both know Hangman is not in the mood to talk to someone else." she says.
Coyote gestures for her to hand him the phone. He instantly regrets having the responsibility when he answers the call from Admiral Simpson saying he needs to speak to Jake directly.
Knowing he cannot say this is not a good time to the admiral, Coyote pops his head of the sliding doors and calls for Jake.
"Work is beckoning you." He informs Hangman who instantly stands up straighter.
"Why?" He asks knowing his paranoia made him check that he had today off nine-thousand times.
The minuscule walk from the barbecue to Javy holding the phone out of the door is enough for Jake to plaster on his bravado. Whatever presumably horrible thing someone Is about to say on this phone call, cannot hurt me.
Jake puts the the phone to his ear and it's like everything else is in slow motion.
"At 16:00 on Tuesday an unauthorised fighter plane flew over the California. The plane had no coms with the US Airforce but landed upon request at a private airport." Cyclone starts.
Jake remains quiet, wondering what the hell does this have to do with me?
"The woman who was flying the plane has not been identified and was unconscious by the time that she was removed from the plane." He says.
Okay, and? Jake thinks still unsure on how this relates to him.
"The police have contacted all of the different defence agencies to see whether anyone has an MIA pilot matching her description." Cyclone continues.
"I am at the hospital and she is unrecognisable." He states making Jake even more confused.
"Sorry Sir but I am not seeing how I factor into this?" Jake speaks up not caring about the consequences of interrupting him.
"I am going to be honest and say you might not but I need you to tell me if this sounds familiar. The woman had a locket in her possession - the photo is tiny and dirty so I'm not saying this with any kind of certainty but it looks like you in the picture." Cyclone stops talking.
You're alive.
"I'm j-" Cyclone starts talking again but Jake interrupts.
"What hospital?" Jake asks feeling like he's barely breathing.
Simpson reels off the name.
"I'm on my way." Jake mutters.
Without saying anything to the others, he runs into the house and grabs his car keys from the bowl in the kitchen that he always shoves them in.
"Where are you going?" Javy questions as Jake grabs a jacket off the back of the door.
"I've got to go but I'll be back soon. You guys don't have to go... if you do, take the spare keys to lock up and then post them through the door - I don't know how long I'm going to be." He states shoving on the jacket before sprinting up the stairs to grab his backpack. He empties it onto the bed quickly - for once in his life not caring about being neat as he shakes it out.
He swings open the door to your half of the wardrobe and picks out your joggers and one of his t-shirts alongside underwear, socks and your trainers. Just in case you have to stay longer he grabs toothpaste, your toothbrush, deodorant and a scrunchie from the box of your stuff still sat in the bathroom cupboard.
"That'll do." he mutters running down the stairs and out the door before anyone can stop him.
Jake's fairly sure he's been caught by at least one speed camera as he steps out of his car in the hospital parking lot. He speed walks to the reception only nudging one person of out the way to get here as quickly as possible.
He asks for your room number and ward before breaking out into another run when he gets the answer.
Admiral Simpson and a ton of police officers and random other officials stand in the corridor and Jake knows that means you're in the room behind them.
"Lieutenant Seresin?" One of the police officers asks.
Jake nods, "Hi."
"You're right, he does look like the picture." One of the others says to Cyclone.
"Before we take you in to identify her, please can you come with us to somewhere more private?" Cyclone asks.
"Yes Sir." Jake responds.
*
Jake cannot sit still as the detectives start talking. He's aware that everyone in the room is hyper focused on him so he will not stop twitching.
"Can I see the locket?" He questions nervously.
Jake can see a crushed looking pendant but nothing more as the detective reaches for it.
They push it towards him on the table and Jake could cry looking at the state of your first anniversary present.
"That's Nova's" He confirms opening the plastic bag to have a better look.
"That's us moving me into her really old apartment." Jake elaborates.
"I was told she was killed in action." Jake says tears silently falling down his face.
He sniffs and wipes them angrily away.
"We don't know that the woman in that room is her, but whoever that is we think they were POW." Cyclone theorises.
"When she went down she was with her weapons system officer - was anyone else in the plane?" Jake asks.
"Yes. Someone was in the back seat but they were dead long before the paramedics got there." One of the officers responds.
"We don't know if it was Ghost - they are comparing his DNA to the database" Cyclone admits.
"How did he die?" Jake's voice cracks.
"The plane had taken quite a bit of fire - the canopy was broken. The man on the backseat was struck by some of the glass." The police inform him.
Jake shivers from the thought of the world's happiest WSO dying of blood loss - at the thought of you having to sit there and listen to that.
He stands up not wanting to hear anything else.
"Can I see her?" Jake queries, not beyond begging if anyone objects.
"Not before we talk about the kid." a random lady chirps.
"What kid?" Jake counters feeling bile rise in his throat at the prospect that you might have a kid that isn't his.
"He's too old to be hers; let him go see her." Cyclone says to the officers.
Jake raises his eyebrows in confusion but they gesture that he's free to leave so he doesn't delay this any longer and starts striding towards your room.
*
"I need to warn you that despite surgery - this is quite shocking." Cyclone says holding the door handle, "She's been put into a medically induced coma to try and reduce some of the swelling."
Jake nods not really hearing him.
I need to know if this is you.
Admiral Simpson carefully opens the door at lets Jake through.
Jake looks at your face and he doesn't recognise you.
The bruising is obscene - this person's face is purple and yellow.
Thank god she's unconscious because I can't imagine how painful this would be.
"Is it her?" Cyclone asks as Jake steps closer.
Jake refuses to admit that even he cannot tell from looking at your face. Your features are too swollen to properly see.
His hands shake as he brushes some of your hair out of the way to look under your ear for a scar you got learning to ride a bike as a kid.
He uses his free hand to rub the tears from his eyes.
It's there. The scar he's kissed a thousand times.
He pulls back, lip trembling in the horror that anyone would hurt you so much that he cannot recognise you.
"It's her." Jake verbalises as he takes you hand.
The whole world melts away behind him as he stares at what's been done to you and actually takes it in.
"You're okay sweets, I'm here. I've got you." Jake whispers running his thumb across the back of your hand.
Part 3 if you missed it
Part 5
Masterlist
@inthestars-underthesun
@rainy-darling
#jake seresin#tgm#top gun#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman fic#hangman imagine#hangman x reader#hangman angst#top gun au#top gun x reader#top gun hangman#hangman#top gun fic#top gun maverick#tgm fic#tgm x reader#tgm au
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Aditha/nandini jacket
AFTER A MILLION YEARS I FINIALLY FINISHED THIS
set in this verse and a prequel to the silly asides in this fic. a mix of book and movie canon as usual!
for those who responded to my wip poll im sorry i ignored literally all of your votes and instead worked on "in which vandiyadevan is trapped in the toilet" but it ended up working out for everyone (me and the 2 mutuals reading this) so whos laughing NOW anyway apologies in advance for any cultural errors or general incoherency; its one in the morning and maya is in a different time zone. i had to google things! also none of this is serious. enjoy!
Evening is cooler than Nandini expected.
After the tumultuous heat of Poonghuzhali’s van, and the station, and the day, and the week — well, she did not anticipate shivering in the dark outside this dormitory. The leather motorcycle jacket she so pointedly wore in the blistering sun now, a week later, lies untouched beside her. They have had three stare-offs in the last twenty minutes, she and the jacket. She cannot bring herself to put it on; the idea leaves a queer feeling in her belly that she doesn’t care to examine.
The dormitory itself is a relatively humble one, considering the wealth of its former occupant’s family. More a boy’s hostel than the kind of lodging the Cholas might secure for their most beloved child. Arunmozhi seems completely unbothered by the state of it. He grins widely at the orange toned walls, scuffed, and the low doors, slamming open and shut at intervals (though less now, so late into the night), and the general ruckus of the boys who greet them. They were all but cheering in welcome of their former dorm mate and his mismatched band of traveling companions, needing a place to avoid the authorities and – impossibly – his Uncles’ and her fathers’ spies, last minute. There was a lot of hugging that went around, at any rate. It’s not quite an elder siblingish relationship, Nandini thinks, though she is absurdly then struck by the question of whether the benign, chummy, kindly way Arunmozhi interacts with the younger boys is patterned after the way his own — that is to say, he has an older br — oooh.
Nandini does not want to think about it.
Just as well, because she’s many other, marginally less useless things to think of.
She is thinking of these things quite obsessively, in matter of fact. Scientific observation would suggest a verge on neuroticism. So it goes in Nandini’s head: oh, Lord, My Mother. She is Here. I’ve met Her. She is Alive after all, and so Beautiful, and so Fucking Weird.
(The capitalizations are quite manifest in her own thoughts).
If anyone else were to say the last she’d box them, but God it is true, and Nandini is nearly brought to happy tears by the realness of her mother’s strangeness. Her mother is exactly the same height as she. Her ears are not pierced. She favours her left leg, while Nandini favours neither, but when she walks she sways her hips in much the same way Nandini does when she is not thinking about it. She has hair which is nearly the same length and weight and texture, and it curls around the ears such that it must tickle – Nandini has much experience with this. Her mother’s fingers taper off as hers do; the nail beds are the same; her mother’s chin dimples against her neck in a way Nandini has always felt insecure about in herself. They have a mole in the same spot on their arm; Nandini’s left toe has a bunion near identical to the left toe of her mother; the bottom row of her mother’s teeth lay the same; her mother’s breasts are not very small, but not overly large either, and sit in the same position Nandini's do; her cheeks possess vestiges of the same roundness; her elbow wrinkles in the same way; her eyebrows are a bit unkempt in the middle, like Nandini’s were when she was a child and could not be bothered with their upkeep.
How strange it is! To see your own face so clearly in another. The slope of her nose — the curve of her mouth — the way her hair falls. Nandini wonders if this is what she will look like when she is old. She wonders if she is what her mother looked like when she was young. Surely the answer is yes. They are now inseparable in her mind, she and her mother, and it is overwhelming. She does not even need a father anymore; he has been axed from the equation. She has a mother. She knows her mother!
And when she saw her mother for the first time, cheerfully led out of the very mundane, uninspired Thanjai local jail, her mother knew her. Nandini had stood, transfixed, as Mandakini had touched her gently on the cheek, just so, and began to cry quiet little tears that slipped down her cheeks like they were the simplest thing in the world for her to give, to feel, to shed.
Nandini has always hated crying. Real crying, anyway; she is an expert fake crier, as anyone successful in the world of Tamil soaps must be. But real crying is snotty and uncontrollable and undignified.
Nandini thinks (she has been thinking all evening – it is really getting to be bad for her health) that is what makes her mother at once so unfamiliar, too.
There is so much tenderness in her face. Even without words (Nandini is so very good with words, honeyed and poisoned and flat and querulous, even, rarely, honest) her mother tells the world of her love. For her daughter (who craves it so badly); for Arunmozhi (who despite Nandini’s earliest assumptions seems to know he must earn it, however freely it is given); for simply living, it seems. Nandini cannot understand this last part. Life has been on whole pretty miserable, for her mother. What right does it have to her love?
Nandini does not think she could ever love like that.
She’s seated and steeped in these ruminations on the topmost step of the dusty concrete facing the dormitory courtyard; behind her must be the toilets, for there is a light on inside one of them, and in front of her is a small garden decorated with scraggly trees which housed the mango-stealing monkey who had earlier been tormenting the dorm’s inhabitants, and a little walking path. Earlier, in the dark, she saw Arunmozhi and her mother (her mother!) start off on a little walk along the path. She supposes it does make sense; they have not seen each other in a while, and he has explained to her how Mandakini saved him from that lake, and that rickshaw, and also his own slippery bathtub once in this very same dorm. They’re old pals: Nandini knew this going into the venture. He knows sign language and everything, and can communicate with her far better than Nandini can. So it makes sense that they must now catch each other up – she on why the police inspector was bribed to arrest her (this is still a little muddy) and he on his future career plans (vague) and current family business rescue plans (hairbrained and relying too much on the goodwill of Nandini herself, if she’s being honest). But watching them go, arm in arm, signing animatedly at one another left a strange ache in her heart. That was a while ago. Bits of the yard are illuminated by the light from one or two dorm windows, but on whole, it is past curfew, and therefore dark; Nandini is more or less alone with her thoughts and also the noise from the city beyond the wall.
Being alone, she has spent the last thirty seconds staring sightlessly at some invisible point in front of her, eyes the size of saucers, spiraling.
“Erm – ahem.”
Nandini startles so badly her bangle-clad wrist nearly knocks into her own nose.
Aditha Karikalan has never been particularly tall. When they were teenagers there was a brief month where she had an inch on him. Right now, however, he stands above her such that she has to look up, and once more notice the fact that he does carry himself with a kind of dignified height. Which Nandini appreciates. Or did appreciate. Or – well, she is not sure. The last week has been quite a lot of everything. He wears a loose linen button down in a bright orange pattern open over a t-shirt, and a simple dhoti clumsily tied (she remembers the rare time he wore one in school, when they weren’t wearing their uniforms, she had helped him tie it), and sandals, and his wrists are sporting a nice fancy watch but they’re also covered in enough bead bracelets that, paired with his hair – unruly and wild and long as ever – he really does look far more the part of children’s camp counselor than first son of any kind of business mogul-cum-politician.
Which Nandini appreciates. Or could appreciate. Or – well, she is not sure. A week ago, she would have very deliberately said, well, and what does a camp counselor make, anyway – I want to be a Bollywood actress, and glared him down out of spite.
The last week really has been a lot of everything.
Anyway; she stares at him. Amidst her up-til-now very private spiraling.
Her mother her mother her mother her mother oh she is so known but so unknown oh they cannot love the same oh perhaps Nandini cannot love at all oh that must mean that must mean must it mean? that she, Nandini, well could she be broken is that what her mother sees surely she sees –
“I just – well. There’s the – the restroom is right there. So I’d come to …” And here Aditha stops his terribly uncomfortable and verging on comical awkward explanation, tilts his head – some immaterial spark of understanding happening in his sharp lovely eyes – and says, in an abortedly gruff tone that does very little to prevent what happens next, “Nandini … are you – alright?”
Nandini, rather unexpectedly, begins blubbering. Loudly.
Her face crumples in on itself. Her shoulders hunch inward. Her nose gets snotty and her throat clogs up. And in general, she makes a very pathetic sort of hiccupy wailing noise, which she had not planned for.
“Shit,” says Aditha above her, after a moment of stunned silence. “Fuck, okay – Nandini? Well, you shouldn’t cry – come on, pull it together. The toilets are right there, look, someone’s even using them. Uh – well – alright, alright. It’s alright.”
None of his stammered, asinine condolences register much in Nandini’s ears. She is just very overwhelmed. It is only after a moment of her crying, sat on her rump outside the men’s toilets, that the stiff, chilly awkwardness of the night air changes, and there is a person quite suddenly beside her, and then not just beside her at all, but holding her – his arms carefully wrapped around her shoulders, his warm chest a perfect distance from her cheek, his large hands flattening clumsily over her back. Their knees bump together, and it isn’t very graceful at all – she refuses to move, so he must lean over ungainingly, and is probably quite uncomfortable doing it.
Nandini cries into Aditha’s shoulder for five or ten minutes. He only pats her back stupidly once, at the start, and by the end of it, it is a proper embrace, and they are even rocking back and forth just a little.
It’s nice.
Presently, Nandini’s tears slow, and she registers the position she is in more properly. Whole-bodily, in fact. She had not expected that her body’s memory would slip back into this embrace so easily, and the realization is disquieting. She does not move, and Aditha does not move – she wonders if he is having the same panicked, wary thoughts – and so they sit in a stupid little impasse, hugging, for another two minutes.
It’s getting to the point where she is noticing his cologne, so Nandini decides it is high time to pull herself together; she sits up, wiping at the snot on her face, and pretends her stomach is not in knots. A lopsided roll of toilet paper materializes in front of her nose. Oh – Aditha is holding it. She eyes it like a ticking bomb. It’s a bit squashed, like it was in his pocket. He must have brought it with him, earlier, which means he really did mean to use the bathroom, which means he hadn’t actually sought her out –
Had he? He’s still holding her, sort of, and Nandini is terribly disoriented to realize that it is not an abhorrent sort of feeling, as she has very deliberately imagined it would be in the past, when hosting her more elaborate and vindictive daydreams in which she supposed they might reunite, not because she missed him badly but because she nursed ongoing fantasies of holy vengeance; all of those ended with her dumping a bucket of slop over his head. Instead, she has stopped feeling a decent measure of her earlier anxiety, and is breathing more normally now, and the rapidity of her thoughts have veered away from the breakneck pace of before.
That could just be the crying. Her brother used to say that a tender weeping was good for one’s spirit.
Nandini’s lip wobbles again; she misses Nambi, and is overwhelmed with a trickling feeling of shame – hadn’t she just left him, for so many months, and ignored all his overly-formal emails?
The idea of emails makes her remember she has not sent a mildly threatening missive (subject line: I Know You Know Something About Mandakini Nolastname) from her ghost account to Sundura Chola in a while, and then that makes her think, well, it’s pointless now – her stalwart ally Arnunmozhi won’t have any reason to give her gently reproachful looks re: her long term haunting of his invalid father anymore – she’s found her mother – and then she is re-visited, very strongly, at once, by the dual reality of oh God her mother and oh God, Aditha is holding me.
Fuck, she needs to blow her nose.
“Here,” comes Aditha’s low voice, as though he’s read her mind. Which of course he hasn’t. But still. He tears off a piece of the toilet paper for her. Nandini trembles, and does not know whether she ought to lean in closer, or pull away entirely. She can feel his heartbeat against her shoulder, and while Nandini does not have a lot of experience with the biological sciences, it is beating rather more quickly than the average human heart ought to be.
“Oh,” she says, taking the tissue on autopilot. She dabs at her face, which must surely be smeared in kajol by now, and then her nose, which is probably ugly and red.
Good thing it’s so late at night.
After she’s done, because there doesn’t seem anything better to do – the alternative is getting up and fleeing, and Nandini is not a coward – she turns and stares at him.
Aditha clears his throat and scuffs one foot into the dirt at their feet, but he doesn’t look away. He’s grown a beard. She noticed this first thing last week. He never had one before.
“It’s just,” Nandini says, again on autopilot, “-- my mother.”
Ah, her mother. Poonghuzhali had demonstrated a very rare bout of tearful emotion and Arunmozhi his by now expected kindly friendship; Vandiyadevan had slipped her extra clementines after his grocery run and even Kundavai had been looking at her more gently than usual all afternoon.
Until now, Aditha had been avoiding her. At her words his expression flickers, oddly, a shade of genuine concern colouring his face, before settling into something not quite effortless in its knowing but careful and gentle. She’d forgotten that he could look at her like that. It’s different now, just a little bit. The Look from before was more boyish, and the look now has a kind of sadness to it that makes it feel more real. Maybe it’s the beard. Unease fills her chest again, tenses up her hands. What must he be thinking? Why did he go about all day avoiding her? Alright, so she has also been avoiding him – all week now, to be sure – but – but –
“It must be really strange,” he says suddenly. His voice is deeper than before but not by much. She has not noticed this until right now, because they are sitting so closely and he is speaking quite softly. “Finding – finding someone who is so like you, all of a sudden.”
Whatever was on the verge of backflipping in the pit of Nandini’s stomach sours. Her chin trembles; she looks away. “I suppose.”
“Can’t really prepare for it, I guess.”
She sniffs. “I’ve been looking for months,” she says, more pointedly than perhaps she means. Looking does not equal preparation; the person she was in that Sri Lankan library was not entirely well, let alone prepared. Nandini is woman enough to acknowledge this. To herself, anyway.
“It’s – it’s funny really,” he continues, deliberately gruff again, but not with the awkwardness of before; it’s more sincere now, roughened with honesty, yet in a way that is entirely oblivious to Nandini’s chin wobbles, “I can’t really understand what she’s saying half the time,” he rubs at his knee with one free hand, “but you know what I’ll tell you – I don’t think – well, I’ve never seen anyone with the same sort of sweetness in their face.”
“As what,” croaks Nandini.
He looks at her strangely. Nightlife honks and buzzes past the dorm walls, cocooning them. “As you,” he says, like she is being stupid.
Nandini flushes deep from within. No – he must be lying. Hadn’t he called her a poisonous witch just last week?
She supposes he must have meant that, but she knows Aditha well, and she knows when he is lying, even now – she has come to know, through many a painful altercation (the witch thing, and also she has threatened to kill him a few times) – and she resolves that whatever he meant last week, right now, he is also being honest. She feels somewhat dizzy. The urge to bolt is real. He, too, is looking a bit terrified, like maybe he did not exactly plan to say that in so many words, or maybe he had but now that it is out in the open he’s realizing it sounds a lot more – a lot more – than anticipated.
“Have you really watched my show?” Nandini blurts out, more loudly than she means to.
If Aditha’s eyes were wide already, they widen even further in alarm. This was a tidbit Vandiyadevan gave away two days ago; she thinks Aditha has still not forgiven him. He stammers,
“It was the only thing on TV,” with very little bravado. But then, before Nandini’s chest can deflate, as though shaking himself he says, more resolutely, “well, what was I supposed to do? That one scene of yours went viral on Twitter and the aunties at camp – who know very little about acting, may I add – just repeated what they read, blah blah blah like twittering little quails, but I am an educated person, Nandini, and a role model for children, and I have to investigate my news for myself –”
“Thank you for the tissue,” Nandini interrupts, because if she keeps her mouth occupied, then maybe that will quell its urge to spread into a large smile – maybe even emit a hysteric giggle or two – as if it’s forgotten that she only went into dead-end television acting in the first place because of the Veera Pandiyan scandal –
How much of that was really Aditha’s fault, though?
Nandini’s heart thumps rapidly. Now she’s really being crazy. Think of your mother again, girl. Go back to blubbering or something. Aditha blinks at her a few times. The light is pretty dim (they are lit from behind), but just enough that she can see the flush on his neck and ears. Have they been this close the whole time?
“You – you were shivering when I got here,” he manages, instead of answering. “It’s kind of cold, isn’t it?”
Nandini is not shivering now. In fact, the place where his arm is still held against her back is so warm she thinks she could doze off in contentment just leaned up against him, if not for the fact that her stomach is doing gymnastics beneath the crop of her top. She nods anyway.
“I will be fine.”
“You should wear your jacket,” he says, roughly.
Nandini blinks. “Oh – no, I can’t. That’s yours.”
She isn’t looking for a reaction, per se; the words just sort of come out. She can very well see the bob of his throat, though, and the slight inhale he takes – his chest moves against her shoulder – before he says,
“Come on, Nandu, it was a gift.”
Nandini is overcome by a very strong urge to scream. Or swoon. If she had ever had reasons for wanting to kill him, she’s forgotten them just now. In fact it is very easy to forget the existence of everything around them – her lingering fragility about her mother, or the fact that they are right out in the wide open air, and there’s the real possibility that Kundavai of all bloody people will interrupt them. All these are things entirely immaterial, because unbidden her hand has moved up to press gently against Aditha’s chest, and she can clearly feel the rough pad of his thumb against the bare skin of her back, and they really are sitting so very close – a puff of his breath brushes against her cheek – and her heart goes thump thump thump thump so loudly she can’t really hear anything else.
His eyes have dropped to her mouth. “Nandini, love …” he starts, in a murmured, involuntary whisper.
Nandini tilts her head so very slightly closer …
Bang!
If it is possible for two people to jump a foot apart while still being seated, Nandini and Aditha achieve this. Behind them, in the spilling light of the open bathroom door, lounges the person of Vandiyadevan, who is doing a very bad job at putting on suave and chill airs. Faintly, there is the sound of a toilet flushing behind him.
“No one could have guessed how badly this door sticks, eh?” he says loudly, holding up a roll of paper not unsimilar to Aditha’s. He tries and fails to adjust his footing, stumbling sideways a little into the door frame and then giving them both the finger guns. “Well! Beautiful night. Don’t mind me, carry on!”
“Vandiyadevan,” Aditha’s voice filters into her ears distantly, like it is coming from very far away. “How – long … have you been in there?”
“I was using the facilities! What, can’t a man take a piss after a long day’s honest espionage –? Ayyo! Wait, no, I promise I’m leaving!”
“That’s not the – we weren’t doing anything –!” Nandini hears Aditha splutter out in a strangled yell.
Which is just as well, too, because by the time he has turned back around, she is already gone, bangles clinking as she flees, scrambled away to hide behind the dark corner of the building’s edge, where stands frozen and with her eyes squeezed shut, while her errant, traitorous heart tries its damndest to beat right out of her chest.
#who cares about coherent plot when you can have lovers to enemies to lovers ft Theyre Both Idiots The Whole Run Of The Thing Too#lovenemidiots to lovers. even#ponniyin selvan#aditha karikalan#nandini#aditha x nandini#vandiyadevan#HOPE U LIKE IT MAYA#also in case it wasn’t very clear aditha and nandini have Never Kissed there are no two people on earth who radiate virgin energy more#i came so close to having aditha call nandini Nandi. SO close#the girls who get it get it…
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*jazz hands* Guess who started a new WIP?
This is an expansion of this post. It'll go through every Hazbin episode and basically show what the show would've been if Loona was staying at the hotel for fun. This first chapter has the start, with her ending up at the hotel.
As always, it's archive-locked but cross-posted here under the readmore if you don't have an Ao3 account!
(@blitzmorningstar, since you left those eye emojis in the replies of that post i thought you might want to hear about this lol)
Next
The Consequences of Believing Demons
Chapter 1: Overture
The plan was going well. Too well, considering Loona was only trying it as a joke.
Loona had been scrolling on Sinstagram while ignoring her job as a receptionist, as she so often did, when she’d seen a post advertising a hotel with a goal of rehabilitating sinners. She'd assumed it was a joke, given it a like, and kept scrolling. Oddly enough, a different ad for the same hotel soon reappeared in her feed. This time she'd noticed that the ads were from the verified account of Lucifer’s daughter. Once she saw a third ad, Loona had to admit that this commitment to the bit was impressive.
Each post had a phone number attached, and frankly? Loona was really fucking bored. She decided to try the number and see if anyone would pick up. After typing the number into her phone, not expecting much, somehow the princess of Hell herself was the one on the other end of the line.
“Hi, I’m calling about your…” Loona double checked the name. “Happy Hotel?”
“Hazbin hotel now!” How did anyone sound this happy on a phone call? The tone of voice was like if someone was barfing rainbows into Loona's ears. “Are you a sinner looking for rehabilitation to avoid the extermination and get into Heaven?”
“Yes?” Ms. Morningstar- fuck, Loona needed to research titles- was so earnest that Loona actually felt a little bad. There was a small suspicion in her gut that this was an actual, serious attempt to save sinners.
“Alright!” How had the princess gotten even more excited? “Just stop by whenever you get the chance! We’re located at the Hazbin Hotel in Pentagram City! Do you need directions?”
“No, I’m good.” Loona paused. “Thanks.”
“Of course! I can’t wait to see you at the hotel!”
Loona felt like she needed a nap after the sheer energy in that phone call. She hadn’t intended to go anywhere, but if this was a bit, Loona wanted to see where this led. If this wasn’t, she was honestly a bit curious.
Over the next couple of days, Loona hadn’t stopped thinking about it. First off, there was no way that was actually Princess Charlie Morningstar. Logistically, why would someone that important be doing something like this? Whatever sinner it was, they could imitate voices with shocking precision. She wasn’t getting her hopes up about getting ahead by befriending royalty.
However, if this was legitimate, she’d come up with a few reasons that it was a good business decision. As intentionally shitty she was at her job, Loona still marginally cared about the business, and had realized that the sinners who'd believe they could leave were likely to be new sinners. New sinners were also the ones most likely to ask I.M.P. to murder a human for them, so getting to know more new sinners would be a great advertising opportunity.
Plus, no matter which it was- everyone in Hell knows that once you’re there, you’re there forever. She might be laughing with them, or she might be laughing at them, but it'd be the same to her either way.
Loona used the grimoire to transport herself directly to Pentagram City. She'd checked beforehand, and the directions on VoxMaps were easy to follow. There weren't any other similarly-named establishments, and she was confident as she navigated her way there.
Apparently there weren’t many businesses of hotels trying to rehabilitate sinners. How surprising.
When she knocked on the hotel door, some angel-looking chick opened it. Loona tried to hide her surprise. Most demons in pride were sinners, the same way most demons in Lust were succubi or most of Gluttony was hellhounds, but fallen angels weren't common anywhere. This could be a sinner, they had the greatest variety in appearances- but over the years and her travels, Loona had met a lot of demons and a few fallen angels in other rings. This sure as hell looked like an ex-angel. Especially with the spear.
“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” The potential-fallen-angel asked after taking in Loona's appearance.
“Pretty sure,” Loona responded.
“You know that this is for rehabilitating sinners, right? Not Hellborn.”
“Wow, I thought this establishment was above judging on appearance. I am a sinner.” Loona hoped this person would fall for that.
The person guarding the door simply raised an eyebrow.
“I was killed by an infected dog bite, ok? It’s a sensitive fucking subject. I didn’t ask to spawn here looking like a fucking hellhound,” Loona continued, trying to keep her tone harsh. She was a little surprised she’d thought of that on the spot- if she ever decided to actually try to do her job well, she’d deserve a raise.
The guard (maybe?) stepped aside to let Loona in. “Fine. Can you at least act? We’ll need you in the commercial we’re filming.”
Loona’s ears twitched backwards. “Not at all,” she answered. She hadn't heard anything about a commercial, and definitely didn't want to be in one.
“Then come back later and we’ll give you your room. We’re kind of…” she glanced backwards, “in the middle of that.”
Loona nodded. She'd been walking away, looking for a good place to create a portal back, when Blitz jumped out of a fucking bush at her.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” She demanded, the words leaving her mouth as soon as she comprehended what she was seeing.
“Tracking you down?” Blitz said, as if it was obvious. “You just fucking disappeared to who the fuck knows where without telling anyone! I had to use your phone tracker to find you.”
“Blitz! I’m an adult. I can leave when I want to.”
Blitz just shrugged. “What’re you doing in this dump in the first place?”
Loona glanced around the two of them and hissed, “That hotel claims to have Lucifer's daughter behind it. It probably doesn't, but just imagine how much it'd help us if it did. Also, it'll be full of new sinners. Some of them will want revenge.” That wasn't why she was doing this, but Blitz didn’t need to know that part.
He was looking at her with open shock. “That's actually a decent fucking point. This could fucking make us.” He looked genuinely proud for a moment, and as much as Loona denied caring about him, seeing it created a warm feeling in her chest. “But this better not interfere with I.M.P!”
Loona rolled her eyes. “Of course it won't.”
A few hours later, Loona had met the hotel staff. Princess Charlie Morningstar, who Loona had been shocked to find was somehow actually involved in this joke of a project, was more than enthusiastic to give Loona a room key. Besides the single other resident, a porn star who’d apparently filmed with hellhounds before, none of them noticed anything off about Loona. Even he only seemed mildly suspicious of the dog bite story.
One other resident. The hotel was completely fucking hopeless. This would be fun.
#helluva boss#hazbin#hazbin hotel#helluva#loona#helluva loona#blitzø#blitz#blitzo#vaggie#fanfic#crossover#vagasaurus#the consequences of believing demons
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batman body piercing au that i wrote with @quanxisgirlfriend in the pub under the cut
Shops
Bruce’s shop
Bruce: the only APP studio in Gotham, goes to the conference every year. Set his shit up with his parents’ money so doesn’t actually need to worry about bringing in profit, apprenticed under Ra’s
Favourite piercing: Antitragus
Dick: Bruce’s first apprentice, left to open his own studiowork in Bludhaven but still guest spots
Favourite piercing: Antinavel
Jason: Has had so many fucking needle sticks that Bruce tried to get him to quit. Ends up setting up his own studio down the road and sets his prices marginally lower to snipe Bruce’s clients
Favourite piercing: Snug, microdermal
Tim: Really good but so annoying. Tells clients about bevel theory as he’s piercing. They do not care
Favourite piercing: Rhino
Damien: Refuses to do any piercing that isn’t artsy fartsy (reasonable), LOVES unique anatomy piercings, terrible bedside manner but really skilled. Bruce can’t put him on reception because he’ll turn people down if he doesn’t like them.
Favourite piercing: Septril
Steph: Fantastic piercer and really picky about clients. Really loves to perform surface piercings. Has a list of people she’s kicked out of the studio for having “bad vibes” (she’s always right about this). Gossips at the desk of the Rogue shop sometimes and loves to visit Babs. Babs’s pincushion when she’s learning.
Favourite piercing: Sternum
Cas: Ear only, does elaborate ear maps that take years to get through, has a very loyal clientele and rarely takes on new clients because she’s so booked out. Anatometal ONLY. Orders in custom jewellery
Favourite piercing: ROOK!!!
Duke: So anxious. Starts off working reception and takes a while to work up not because he’s not skilled but because he constantly second guesses himself
Favourite piercing: Forward helix
Carrie: Is good and wants to hop ship to Ivy’s studio because she’s sick of the men she interacts with daily.
Favourite piercing: Eyebrow or single side lip.
Joker shop
Joker: Does navels standing up. Drops the needle on the ground when he’s done. Saw trap ass sharps bin, only closes it when it’s full to the brim. Externally threaded steel jewellery is all he buys. He charges $50 for a pair of lobes. Doesn’t own an autoclave, thinks alcohol is fine. Tells clients to use undiluted tea tree only. Keeps the same gloves for the entire process.
Favourite piercing: Lobes bc he uses a gun
Harley: did a psychology undergrad but didn’t finish, got with the joker and agreed to apprentice under him instead, he drove her literally insane. She hated it so much she just thought the job would not be for her but then couldn’t go back to college so agreed to work with ivy.
Favourite piercing: Rims because she can get them done in 3 minutes or less.
One hundred million revolving apprentices that end up leaving due to poor work ethic.
Rogue shop
Riddler: Not APP qualified because he sees himself as better than them. Skilled but does NOT take criticism. Tells people riddles to take their minds off the piercings which works weirdly well. Does not do oral piercings bc of saliva. Doesn’t let anyone else near the autoclave.
Favourite piercing: Stacked lobe
Scarecrow: Obsessed with history and relationship with queer culture, likes the fear element (weirdo)
Favourite piercing: Nasallang
Croc: bad at it. Left Joker’s studio and lied on his CV. Floundering constantly but refuses to admit or ask for help.
Favourite piercing: Nose
Penguin: Leaves for a cig break every ten minutes. Not allowed to sterilise jewellery because he’ll smoke while he does.
Favourite piercing: Septum
Ivy’s shop
Ivy: spiritual/cultural piercings, has incense on constantly, does scarification too, studio is too new to be certified but works to APP standard. Thinks Bruce is too up himself and won’t collaborate with him on anything, doesn’t let men pierce in her studio and lets the others pierce male clients.
Favourite piercing: Septum
Harley (post-joker): learns to love the job again due to wlw tendencies and having a safe environment, great with kids and specialises in kids lobes. Gains huge clientele by having sessions where she listens to your issues and pierces you therapeutically.
Favourite piercing: Lobe
Babs: Was offered a place in Bruce’s studio but turned it down to work here. Very skilled, likes to pierce daiths and industrials.
Favourite piercing: Dahlia
Characters
Harvey: health inspector and bad at it. Sometimes very thorough and others lets things slide, somehow always lets things slide for the Joker
Ra’s: taught Bruce but refuses to be APP certified which is their main conflict
Tommy Elliot: works at a beauticians and thinks using guns makes him a piercer. Has filler. Favourite piercing: Rim but he does them with guns
Bane: works at Claires :)
Eddie: Too afraid of rejection for any surface piercings, obsessive about healing, sleeps on his back but wakes up all over the place and stresses about things shifting when he wakes up on his ear, everything in pairs. Piercings: Symmetrical, paired brows, paired nostrils, 6x rims with rings per side, fwd helixes both sides, tragus both sides, flat each side with question mark labs, venom
Jonathan: Weird about it all, experimental. Piercings: Antinavel (doesn’t have the anatomy for traditional), three lobes on one side, tongue, double conch (low and high, both 1.6), single vertical helix that he wears a plain titanium barbell in. all his jewellery is plain titanium, bcrs if rings but he prefers labs or curved bars for everything but his lobes.
Harley: Piercings: angel fangs w/ one black one red ball, tongue that’s wonky because she didn’t have the proper anatomy so it’s angled, smiley, double lobe and paired stacks, can’t heal cartilage for shit but has a conch and 3 rims anyway, isn’t allowed a rook even though she wants one, paired eyebrows with cones, septum (full hinged, maybe with a mandala design). all are titanium with ONLY acrylic balls and cones for the colours :). 18cm stretched lobes w/ either opal tunnels or hangers
Joker: Piercings: fucking snake eyes AND frog eyes. Snakebites with barbells instead of labrets, his teeth are FUCKED. Wonky as fuck navel, hand webs, wrist dermals, pierced his own tongue traditionally initially and didn’t have the anatomy so pierced straight through a vein but refused to take it out or go to hospital so nearly went septic. All slime green glow in the dark acrylic and cheap “bioflex” bars
Ivy: Piercings: none but visible patterned scarification on her arms and back
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I've voted for the Democratic candidate in every local and national election for 17 years, either because I genuinely believed in them at the time (Obama) or because they seemed like the lesser evil (Hillary, Biden). I will not vote for Biden in 2024.
I am far from the only person who has hit their limit watching the US openly back genocide, so I wanted to make a post for others who are going to refuse to give the Democrats their vote and are going to have to deal with shitlibs yapping in their ear about Trump and 'fascism' or whatever catchphrase caught their tongue waiting for the mobile above their bed to start up again.
"I don't like Biden either but if we don't support him we're going to have Mein Cheeto Fuhrer back in the White House"
I don't care about your stress and anxiety around Trump, you're not who I'm in solidarity with. I'm in solidarity with Palestine, I'm in solidarity with every Latino trying to live here and instead being thrown in a concentration camp for the crime of being Latino, I'm in solidarity with inmates, with the homeless, with the dispossessed and liberation movements the world over. And no one included there is doing better under Biden than Trump - he is continuing down an identical path and escalating violence and repression and suffocation of all those groups and people.
I don't care about hyper online white queers scared of their own shadow who think Agent Orange is the worst thing to ever happen and will usher in fascism. If you feel safer under Biden than Trump, you're either delusional, disconnected, or part of a demographic of people for whom the political system still shows some marginal interest in entertaining. In any case, I don't care about the opinions and anxieties of people who's political awakening and world began in 2015 and who have done nothing since to humble themselves and recognize that all the fascist shit you're afraid Trump 2 will do has already been what people living under the thumb of US empire have faced for decades.
You don't have to entertain liberals. Liberals are liberals either because they have decent principles but are so beholden to propaganda they have no actual understanding of how to embody or actualize those principles, or they're Aaron Sorkin watching dweebs with no real principles who will sell anybody out for their own comfort and sense of social superiority and goodness, a people who would rather see every Palestinian vaporized out of existence and then spend the next 20 years talking about how sad that was and how really it was Republicans fault if you think about it, then actually put any skin in the game and stand with people using force to resist genocide.
Anyone that wants to browbeat or guilt or condescend to you about the importance of voting in national elections is at best a well meaning desperate rube responding out of fear and ignorance to being confronted with a material reality Parks And Rec never prepared them for, or they're a bad faith actor with a fundamentally reactionary conversative worldview who's playing team sports with politics and coopts the language of oppression and justice to cajole people into supporting the left wing of the oligarchic imperial plane that is the US political system.
Fuck all these people and fuck lesser evil shit. We need to stop wasting time on people who are not interested in doing the right thing and start putting that energy into fighting alongside and standing with all those across the world who are engaging in genuine struggle for liberation. And that is not now, nor ever, going to happen on the national level of the US electoral system.
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[Redacted: Urbe Aurea #5] literally every time I think of it I have to go back and read that series (Geralt: the ballroom scene ♥️ so funny, so cutting) Julena ♥️ Can't wait for more Eskel/Emhyr
I'm only a little way into the second chapter of it, and it will be the longest of the series by a considerable margin, because, I mean. It is gonna require some plot machinations to get Eskel to let Emhyr be nice to him beyond impersonal hospitality.
Also, this is the story where Lambert finds out what Geralt has been up to, so. This is going great for everyone.
(And if anyone else wants to poke me about a WIP, my original post for this meme has the list!)
"Been in Nilfgaard," Geralt said. "Not the whole time, but I'll probably mostly be there for a while--until Ciri's coronation, anyway. That's where Eskel found me."
Lambert gave a short jerk of a nod to Eskel, which Geralt interpreted as approval for his feat of tracking Geralt down. He wondered how much longer it would have taken for Lambert to use that portal Ciri had left to come through to Nilfgaard looking for him, and rubbed at his mouth, remembering the feel of Eskel's fist smacking into it.
At least Lambert wouldn't have that objection to Geralt getting involved with the Emperor of Nilfgaard. On the other hand, Geralt probably couldn't use that method to reconcile Lambert to the idea; he and Lambert had messed around plenty of times over the years, but it had never had the kind of weight to it that things with Eskel had, long before Geralt knew to put a word to that.
He wondered if that meant that Lambert hadn't ever had anything that felt like that, and then remembered the way Lambert had spoken about his Cat friend, Aiden, and forced himself not to think of any of that right now.
"I, uh... Emhyr decided to..." Geralt glanced toward Eskel, who just looked amused, and Lambert, whose scowl was darkening. "To be... friendly, I guess. Wanted to, ah--"
"You're fucking the Emperor of Nilfgaard?" Lambert demanded, but Geralt could hear the laugh lurking behind the incredulous outrage and couldn't help grinning.
Lambert could mock him about this to the end of time; that would be fine. That would mean Lambert sticking around, rather than cutting all ties with him after re-classifying him from second-to-last surviving brother to imperial quisling.
Lambert went serious suddenly and looked to Eskel without saying anything, and for a moment Geralt couldn't read him at all. Then Eskel sighed, shaking his head a little, and stepped forward to hug Lambert tightly, murmuring something in his ear as he did.
Geralt waited without even breathing, until Lambert huffed out a breath and leaned into it, closing his arms around Eskel and giving Geralt an ordinary sort of scowl over Eskel's shoulder. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "If you told him it was all right I guess it's all right. I mean it's fucked up beyond telling, but all right."
Eskel gave Lambert's back a couple of firm pats and stepped back, throwing Geralt a look that said Geralt had better remember which one had just pulled the other out of trouble. Geralt would, of course, but, "So anyway, Eskel, tell Lambert why we're here!"
Eskel glared harder; Geralt grinned. Eskel shut his eyes. "We have a contract on some wraiths at some elven ruins on property owned by--the Emperor."
Lambert squinted at Eskel and shifted his attention to Geralt. "So Emperor Boyfriend..."
"Emhyr noticed that Eskel was getting bored hanging around Nilfgaard, and he thought, what makes a witcher happy? And he offered us a job."
Lambert squinted harder. "What... what? Eskel."
"I am," Eskel grated out, "not fucking the Emperor of Nilfgaard."
"Yet?" Lambert demanded, voice pitching up into outrage all over again.
Eskel tilted his head. "I mean, the more time he spends trying to seduce another witcher for his collection, the less time he can devote to conquering the fucking world, right?"
"Yeah, that's very fucking noble of you," Lambert snapped. "Geralt, does your fucking boyfriend know I exist?"
"Yes," Geralt said promptly, because lying would be worse. "But he doesn't know where, and I didn't tell him to expect you to visit or anything. Although you could, if you want to see Ciri. I don't think he intends to keep expanding his collection indefinitely."
"Yeah, you say that," Lambert muttered. "Like you'd even be able to tell. Ugh. Wraiths, you said?"
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So part of me wanted to wait to post this until I was willing to do more than the most basic of shading ever on Mikey and Donnie’s tails… but I wanna talk about my boys so fuck that lmao.
The boys!! You can probably guess which ones are Mikey and Donnie, but for the other two: left is Leo, right is Raph.
I had so much fun trying to design these guys while trying to combine a couple of *very* heavily patterned animals. Raph in particular was difficult, because most Lionfish are red. You’d think that would be great since he’s the red guy, but every time I tried to think about going that route it just… didn’t look great. The current design does have red in it, but it’s not so in your face.
Now random facts Time!
Raph:
he’s a 22 year old, 6’4” tank of a mutant who loses like 80% of his intimidation factor when he lets his brother cling to him like geckos
He has two partners: Sol and Mona; Mona is pretty self explanatory, but Sol is a male OC that was created by complete accident and wouldn’t leave
If not already obvious, the guy is bi
He tends to act as both an older brother and a bit of a parent to his younger siblings since he is not only seven years older than them, but was only found by Splinter when he was 17
Raph isn’t actually a ninja and does not have the usual color-coded bandana or his sais
He can do a bunch of knife tricks though
This also means he doesn’t patrol, but for certain reasons this… isn’t really a bad thing
Leo:
He’s the second oldest at 15 and 5’6”; he’s probably hiding behind Raph anytime they’re in public
Yes, he does have a crush on a certain rabbit that he goes to school with
He has some pretty bad social anxiety, so while he’s great at planning and does “lead” on patrols it’s usually Donnie and Mikey doing most of the talking when necessary
Plays a lot of video games— he has every high score in that household
He also spends a lot of time taking care of plants with Raph and Splinter
Mikey:
14 years old and 5’4”; do not leave him and his twin Donnie unsupervised for too long or something *will* blow up
The fastest out of all of them even if only by a tiny margin over Donnie
Loves chemistry— yes, he and Donnie have made bombs
Very outgoing, but being nice and a menace are possible at the same time
Actually a very capable ninja and he’s most likely to split off on his own from the others
Donnie:
14 and 5’4” just like Mikey; probably the one you actually want to talk to if you like living
Quiet but confident; he might not approach you first but can and will talk your ears off if you get him going
Works with Mikey on a lot of his inventions, which leads to a lot of ah… hidden features
Has modified his bo partially out of necessity because while Raph is by far the strongest they all have a tendency to break normal weapons
Just do not piss this kid off he will hunt you and your family down for sport
#tmnt#tmnt iteration#Pleasepleaseplease ask me about my boys I love them so much#i have so many thoughts
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HEART'S FATE - CHAPTER 2
*Warning: Adult Content*
After checking in at the front office, Martin Hunter makes his way to the front office with his visitor badge pinned to his chest.
Numerous parent/teacher conferences over the past year had made him familiar with the layout of the school but not with any teachers names Skylar West.
Either Martin had not attended the meetings or Mr West was a new hire.
At the art room, he pauses for a breath, attempting to steady the tremble in his hands.
He’s not nervous for Miguel but rather for how any signs of distress in his son might reflect on him.
He doesn’t need wolfs ears to hear the other parent’s whispers.
Other parents, he had discovered, weren’t always kind and they liked to gossip.
They were like wild wolves in a way, always on the lookout for the weakest amongst the herd and here Martin was, barely limping along.
As a marginally employed singer father of four, the odds were stacked against him from the start.
The last thing he needed was some seemingly aberrant behavior to lead Child Protective Services to his door.
It wasn’t as if he could explain that the howling was perfectly normal or that the growling over shared food was just a thing with young wolves.
His children understood, of course, even Rio and Nico were careful but Martin knows grown adults that can’t always control their primal instincts sometimes.
It’s only going get harder as they his children hit puberty and shift for the first time, which Flora and Miguel were due for any day now.
Signing Martin straightens his spine and does his best to convey competence and confidence as he knocks on the art room door.
No one answers.
‘Mr West?’ Martin calls out, knocking again and trying the handle.
It isn’t locked so he opens the door and lets himself in.
The room looks like the class has just ended, rows of easels lining the floor with watercolours drying on the boards.
The silence and the musty smell of mingled art supplies instantly brings back memories of his own youth, when he had loved to draw and paint as much as Miguel did now.
Captivated, Martin peruses the student paintings and finds that many are very good.
Either Mr West has an unusually talented batch of students or he is an unusually talented teacher.
Perhaps both.
After a few seconds, Martin comes back to himself, remembering the reason that he is here and checks the time on his phone.
Was there another art room that he didn’t know about?
Or had the art teacher found something more important to do than discuss his son’s disturbed imagination.
He is just about to call the art teacher’s number that he had left in his call log when a voice speaks close to his back.
‘Hello.’
Not having heard anyone approach, Martin startles badly and turns, dropping his phone and knocking over an easel at the same time.
The spindly wooden contraption clatters to the floor and the painting that it had carried lands face down on the linoleum.
Horrified, Martin scrambles to pick it up and right the easel, nearly knocking over two other in his haste.
He mutters a stream of apologies as his face burns and his hands shake worse than ever.
So much for calm and confident.
An hand on his arm steadied him and another holds out Martin’s cell-phone to him as a mellow voice speaks soft assurances.
‘Never mind. They are practise pieces not master works. There is no harm done although I am afraid the same can’t be said for your phone.’
Taking the proffered devise, Martin sees that the screen is cracked and swears before he can stop himself.
‘Oh. Fuck.’
‘You must be Mr Hunter?’
The mellow voice now sounds amused and Martin kicks himself for swearing in front of a teacher before looking up to find himself face to face with what appears to be ‘a young God’ and blinks.
‘Mr West?’
He flashes Martin a brilliant smile, ocean green eyes shining like the sea and extends his hand.
‘Call me Sky.’
With fresh mortification, Martin shakes Skylar’s hand while experiencing a level of self-consciousness he though he had left behind in high school.
Martin wouldn’t call himself ugly but no one is about to ask him to pose for a calendar shoot, unless it’s frumpy dad of the year.
He hasn’t put more than the minimal effort into his appearance for a long time.
‘Sky’ on the other hand looks like the love child of of a fantasy superhero and a sexy hair product commercial.
His broad shoulders taper to his narrow waist, a light dusting of stubble shadows his chiseled jaw and modestly defined muscles show through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Most striking perhaps and most unusual is the cascade of shiny blond hair falling almost to his waist.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Skylar says giving Martin’s hand a slight squeeze before releasing it.
‘I’m glad for the chance to talk in person.’
‘You are welcome,’ Martin says and winces when he realizes that this is not the appropriate reply.
Skylar’s voice is strangely musical and Martin finds that the sound distracts him from the meaning of his words.
‘I mean thank you for calling me about Miguel.’
The art teacher eyes Martin for a moment, as if he’s deciding something and then he nods slowly.
‘He’s not in any trouble, rest assured. He’s a good student, quiet, obedient, respectful. It’s just the nature of his drawings that concern me. As a teacher, it’s my duty to look into it.’
‘Of course.’
Skylar beckons Martin and leads him to a desk at the front of the room.
There he unlocks a draw and pulls out a slim sketch book, which Martin recognizes as Miguel's.
Perching on the edge of his desk, Skylar rests it on his raised knee and opens it, revealing the graphite-covered pages within.
Martin quickly looks away as he recognizes what some of the scenes depict and he instantly understands the art teacher's concern.
‘You’re the only parent listed on our records. Is Miguel’s mother... not present?’
‘No. We are separated. She lives in Canada, now.’
‘Is she in touch with the children at all?’
Miguel takes a calming breath as his heartbeat spikes at the very thought.
‘No. Our separation was... not pleasant.’
Skylar taps the notebook, drawing Martin’s attention back to it’s pages.
‘Miguel tells me that this is his mother and her family and that this is you.’
Martin forces himself to look. It’s a two page spread, telling a story that Martin had hoped Miguel hadn’t seen enough to remember.
One wolf, flanked by two others, stand over a forth who cowered on the ground, obviously injured and frightened and with no hope of escaping the others jaws.
Martin looks away again, a sour twist tugging at the corners of his mouth.
‘That is in the past,’ he says.
‘Doctor Vance, our family therapist, says it healthy for Miguel to express himself and that it is easier to deal with the memories like this, casting us as animals. He said it gives him some, emotional distance from the events.’
All of that is true except Dr Vance doesn’t know that Miguel is drawing things exactly as he saw them with his mother and Martin as wolves.
‘I see,’ Skylar says,closing the book, thankfully and places it aside.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you but you can see my concern.’
‘Of course,’ Martin nods.
‘I can give you Doctor Vance’s number if you want to confirm anything.’
‘That won’t be necessary. In fact, Miguel’s sketches seem to tell a story and he’s sketched the more resent scenes first. This one for example.’
Skylar picks up the notebook again and flips to almost to the back where Martin sees a lot of the pages are filled in.
The art teacher holds it towards him and he risks another look but this picture makes him smile.
It’s the five of them, Martin and his four children standing in front of their new house arms around each other on the day they moved in. He can tell by the moving van in the background. Even in monochrome they look happy.’
‘His perceptive technique is impressive for his age,’ Skylar comments indicating the angles of the roof.
‘He has talent worth nurturing.’
Martin smiles, vicariously pleased with the praise.
‘I agree. That’s what I want to give all my children, the best start I can offer them and the support they need to follow their dreams.’
Skylar nods, closing the notebook.
‘And what about you Martin? Are you getting the best support that you need? The strongest foundation will still fail if it is built on sand.’
Instantly, the single father’s defences are back up, walls closing off and emotions shutting down.
He’s heard enough about ‘male survivors of abuse’ and ‘avoidance of seeking help’ from Dr Vance to last him a life time.
Martin doesn’t need to hear it from ‘Mr Perfect Hair’ as well.
‘I have all the support I can handle,’ Martin informs Skylar.
‘I have my family near by. The kids will be taken care of no matter what.’
Skylar smiles, a disarmingly kind expression and hand’s martin the sketchbook.
‘That isn’t what I asked. Here. Give this back to Miguel with my complements on his skill.’
Martin takes the book and somehow manages to say goodbye and depart without embarrassing himself any further, though he can feels Skylar’s eyes on him all the way to the door.
The single dad keeps looking aver his shoulder all the way home almost hearing the echos of Skylar’s melodic voice in his ears.
Being attracted to men as well as women, Martin found Skylar, objectively, quite attractive.
From his handsome face to his trimly toned form, oddly long hair, kind smile and ocean green eyes, he was, in a word, alluring.
But Martin wasn’t sure if he ‘liked’ Skylar West.
‘No,’ Martin decides as he carries Miguel’s notebook up to his bedroom.
‘I don’t think I like him at all.’
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Entry 02: April 27, 2077 (火)
I guess I got a little caught up finding myself in Night City but I really want to get back to journaling. Where to begin? So much has happened. I'm still riding with Jackie. I've met his mom, Mama Welles everyone calls her. She's great. I've smelled more hot lead in the last six months than in the rest of my life combined. Night City is a fucking hellhole--but I kinda like it. It's not like how our clan leaders always made it sound. I mean, it is dominated by corpos and full of selfish, neurotic assholes. But if you avoid all that, it's full of color and sound and life, somehow eking out an existence on the margins. I love the open sprawl of where I come from, but I guess deep down I always felt there was something missing. Maybe that's why I left. Here, I can dance, and drive, and explore every nook and cranny. The lights are seductive. And Jackie and I have made money. Maybe he wants to bring me in, to make me a Valentino, but that's not gonna happen. I'm having too much fun as a free agent. We're about to head out on a job for Wakako, this old crone of a fixer operating out of a pachinko parlor on Jig-Jig Street. We'll see how it goes.
=======
I'm going to be taking more photos and sharing them in my journal here. I picked up a very discrete little camera drone for just this purpose. Think I need to nurture my inner photographer.
Jesus, well, leave it to N.C. to have me taking back a complement. Sometimes being in this city is like turning over a rock and finding a human ear underneath. Gig was to rescue one of Wakako's clients, a woman named Sandra Dorsett. She ended up in the hands of some chop-shop sickos, on ice. She was lucky. One of the other girls in there wasn't--ripped open and mutilated, her cyberware stolen to be resold on the black market. And not even the good stuff. Sandra, on the other hand, had money. Enough money that Wakako got her out of a jam. Trauma Team airlifted her out of there, and I'm happy to say Jackie and I made short work of the thieves. They won't be cutting up anyone else, I made damn sure of that.
Six months ago, I'm not sure I could've handled the sight of what we saw in there. But making sure we were the end of that place let me hold on to a little of my humanity. I know that says nothing good about me or this place, that taking life left me feeling better. Best not to think too much of it. We gotta hug the ones we love and move on.
Speaking of which, Jackie borrowed my car to see his input Misty. Scratched it up, too, when some of the rest of the gang followed us back to Watson. Firefight in the goddamn streets, again! I'll be lucky to last to the end of the year, at this rate. Jackie and I have already racked up a hell of a K:D ratio. T-Bug -- Oh, I haven't told you about T-Bug -- she's our netrunner support, good gal but a little prickly. She told me she's got a friend in Kabuki with something to give me. She's been showing me the ropes of netrunning, I've got a bit of a taste for quickhacks now, so it probably has something to do with that. Watson's on lockdown now for god knows whatever reason, so I'm just gonna take a shower, try to make the buzzing in my head go away, and hopefully head down to Kabuki in the morning.
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I keep seeing people say Ashton is very loyal but I just don't see it? I don't have a very good read on Ashton's character though and it seems to be a pretty common thought so I could be wrong but I'd love some thoughts!
Yeah, a lot of people are wrong.
I covered some of this here after the first paragraph but it's worth going into more because I think people are really wrong about Ashton (and I like Ashton!)
I think a lot of people saw that Ashton is a punk and decided that Ashton is their idea of a punk: leftist politics, class struggle, DIY, tear down the system and rebuild it with mutual aid, marginalized identity, a sense of community. But they are full-on projecting something that does not exist within the text of the show. I will leave my further thoughts about this up to the readers of this post; know that they are very derisive, but also very funny.
Punk was made a widespread movement because a fashion designer wanted to use it to sell clothing and a band said "yeah, we'll do that." It was initially, if it was about anything, about pissing people off. At the height of the movement there were the same issues in punk as any rock movement had: drug abuse, sexism, anti-LGBT bigotry, racism. Straightedge, Riot grrrl, queercore, and "Nazi Punks Fuck Off" didn't come from nowhere - they came from people's actual bad experiences within the punk community. And the prototypical punk just wanted to fucking break shit.
In short: people desperately despite want Ashton to be a punk in the mold of Billie Joe Armstrong or Ian MacKaye (or worse, but unfortunately more accurately, in the mold of some ahistorical Tumblr post that says thing like "punk is about loving animals" and ignores the existence of like, skinheads, or the fact that words have meanings) and conveniently forgets that the Sex Pistols were largely just nihilists and Johnny Ramone fucking loved Ronald Reagan. And I think Ashton is modeled off that dissatisfied nihilism.
Ashton lives in a semblance of a co-op or punk house, and even has some friends there (well, Milo, and kind of Anni), but you get the sense he'll leave once he's got the chance. As I said, they gave up FCG - and Krook House - to the Corsairs in a heartbeat as collateral.
Ashton isn't loyal to Jiana. They're loyal to the existing agreement, that she won't turn them in and they'll work off the debt, but that's the limit.
Ashton mistrusts people who use vague terms like "greater good" and "loyalty". There is no sentiment or desire for the right thing or moral compass here. As they say to the Green Seekers when they explain their philosophy, "No, I always prefer working with people who are in it for the money. Then you know what they want. The 'right thing' can mean fucking anything." No loyalty to a cause, because they don't trust causes.
Ashton isn't loyal to Jrusar, or frankly, to Bells Hells yet, and seriously considers Ratanish's offer. Because Ratanish makes sense. Ratanish works for the highest bidder, even if that bidder is a power-hungry politician working with a slug monster and the Nightmare King. Ashton is, in the end, immensely self-interested.
Now: because the other pillar of his personal philosophy is "follow the fucking rules of whatever you're doing" (not the law - the rules, like "if something blows up you say you have no idea what's going on") he doesn't want The Verdict to die, because Evon Hytroga is an asshole and broke those rules of engagement, but he has no loyalty to them either - it was just that the rules were "get the earring as best you can, and there will be some security" and Ashton's furious that the "security" was way more fatal than indicated. It's not loyalty, it's a common enemy.
One could argue that Ashton's point of view is the result of being left behind by the Nobodies. They're living the result of that "everyone for themselves" philosophy and you know what, it sucks, but they have doubled down on it.
If I may (it's my blog, I always may): this isn't new. People love to project a morality onto Taliesin's characters that flat-out doesn't exist. Like, the idea that Molly was the moral compass is outright laughable. Molly treated Kiri, in Taliesin's own words, "like an animal you were going to butcher" [much like Ashton treated the horses], tried to enthrall two party members when he simply could have asked, and was unwilling to do anything other than give a bit of money or food to the Schusters, only joining in to an actual attempt to materially help them when other party members pushed for it. In the Talks episode after Molly's death, the philosophy outlined (other than "Life's short, do something to a bagel," which does to be fair outline a certain lazy hedonism that is generous when convenient) was "Make people have to deal with you but making dealing with you as pleasant an experience as possible" and the thing about that is, you still have to fucking deal with him, and the pleasantness of being treated as disposable or worthy of mind control is debatable.
So for Ashton, the philosophy is more like "trust only the most concrete of motivations, follow the code, it is what it is, and everyone's looking out for themselves". They're not building bridges out here. And I think that's great and interesting to explore! But fuck, is Ashton not loyal.
#critical role#critical role spoilers#ashton greymoore#mollymauk tealeaf#see also: my post on people projecting 20-21st century politics/mores onto a completely fictional fantasy world
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It’s Not Everest (No Vacancy)
The neon “NO” is hidden behind an overgrown shrub, so Dean pulls the Impala into the motel parking lot before they can see that it is, in fact, lit.
“Awesome.” Dean says in a tone that clearly doesn’t think so, and whips the car around to pull back onto the dark road. They immediately hit a pothole and Sam’s head bumps the ceiling.
“Ow, wait, Dean, we didn't go check with the office, maybe they just left the sign lit because they can’t freaking see it–”
“No, Sam, every goddamn motel in this godless town is full up and I don’t particularly feel like walking into another musty fucking office just to have them tell me I need to learn how to read. It’s too damn late, I’m too damn tired, I’m just gonna find a pull-off where the cops won’t feel the need to be our 5AM wake-up call and we’re sleeping in Baby. Fuck it.” He emphasizes the last sentence by throwing the car into park, all seventeen feet of shiny black metal successfully hidden behind a bank of tall, scraggly shrubs off the shoulder of the road. Dean kills the engine and the early summer evening rises to fill the silence with the musical stylings of several hundred crickets.
“Dean.”
“We’ve done it before, Sam.”
“I know we have. What about Cas?”
Dean looks over at the passenger’s side. Sitting shotgun, Cas looks back at him, his eyes just a dark glint in the moonlight.
“I can just... keep watch outside.” He says.
“Bad fucking idea.” Dean snaps. “I wake up in the middle of the night and see you out there lurking, I might shoot you between the eyes. You’re staying in the damn car.”
“Dean, there’s not enough roo–”
“Look, Sammy, passing out is passing out, sitting or lying down. This is a molehill, not Everest. I just need my four hours, damn.”
Dean crams up against the driver’s side door, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning his bent knees against the back of the seat between himself and Cas. He’ll worry about bootprints on the leather upholstery when he isn’t so fucking exhausted.
“Jerk.” Sam mutters from the backseat, almost inaudible.
“Goodnight, bitch.”
“Goodnight, Dean. Sam.” Cas murmurs.
“Don’t make it weird, Cas.”
"Goodnight, Cas."
"Thank you, Sam."
Dean gives a little huff through his nose. Cas folds his hands in his lap and turns his head forward to watch the fireflies.
Dean doesn’t like it when Cas watches him sleep. Cas knows this.
But if he doesn't want eyes on him, he shouldn’t be drawing so much attention to himself. This is the fourth time inside of an hour that he’s shifted around, clearly uncomfortable with his sleeping arrangement, six feet of full-grown man trying to figure out how to make three feet work for him.
It's clearly not working out.
Dean's head has fallen against Castiel’s arm. He’s snoring gently, Cas can feel his breath warm through the sleeve of his trench coat.
He shuts his eyes. Pulls his focus down to just this, the upper lefthand side of his body. Feels the weight of Dean's head, the unyielding shape of his skull, the softness of his cheek. Cas turns his head towards him, just to better assess the situation. Not at all to feel the soft tickle of Dean’s hair against his nose and lips. That’s just an... accidental consequence.
Cas feels too big for his own skin. It’s something a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent should be entirely familiar with, but this isn't the feeling of cramming a Chrysler building into a 5-foot-11-inch frame.
This is bigger than that.
The slump of Dean’s body across the seat means that his head is the only thing supported, and it has his neck at a bad angle. If Dean's an angry sleeper, he's even worse with a crick in his neck and Cas doesn't love the idea of being stuck in a car with that tomorrow. He can't pull Dean more flush against his side without the risk of waking him and sending him into a conniption of bruised heterosexuality, so instead, he carefully lifts his arm. It works perfectly: Dean slides forward, falling to lying down with his head in Cas' lap.
The effect is immediate. The uncomfortable pinch between Dean's brows smooths away and he takes a deep, slow breath, settling against his new pillow and sinking into an easier sleep.
Cas hasn't realized he's smiling, yet. It's a tiny, soft thing, the one he gets when he's looking at something precious.
He is.
The moonlight catches the sweep of Dean's eyelashes, the top of his cheek, the shell of his ear, gilding them silver. His lips are parted, plush and dark in the contrast of the pale light. He's slightly curled up on the bench seat and Cas knows it's to fit the small space but that doesn't mean it's not the most fucking endearing thing he's ever seen.
The short hair over Dean's ear is mussed from the way he was slumped like a grumpy turtle past the collars of his shirt and jacket. Delicate, Cas brushes it right again.
Dean shifts, pressing up into his ghost of a touch. Cas draws back, afraid he's been caught doing something definitely not on Dean's approved list of Things Just Friends Do, but Dean doesn't wake. Cas' hand hovers.
He shouldn't. He should return to looking out of the front windshield and prepare the diffusion for when Dean wakes up to find himself sleeping in Cas' lap. That's what he should do.
The trouble is, nothing short of a fucking catastrophe could pull his eyes away from this. Dean is so beautiful, so calm and easy in his slumber, and he's right here, safe and close and warm. Literally right in his lap.
Cas pets Dean's hair, feeling that dangerous constriction again, something so huge and profound it might very well burst him. Dean sleeps on.
"You should tell him."
Sam's voice from the backseat is so quiet it's barely a whisper, but it startles Cas like a gunshot. He turns his head a margin to find Sam watching him, head and shoulders against the back driver's side door, arms crossed over his chest.
"Did you say something?" Cas tries, matching Sam's barely-there whisper.
"You heard me."
"Tell him what?"
"You love him."
Cas turns his head further so he's not just looking at Sam out of his periphery. There's nothing accusatory in Sam's tone, quiet as it is, or in his posture, cramped as it may be. He looks back at Cas with nothing but the same easy camaraderie he's always shown him, like they're discussing a good book or the lovely weather, not a complete paradigm shift.
In his lap, Dean tucks one hand under Cas' thigh and nuzzles his face deeper against the fabric of his pants. Cas looks down at him again and feels ready to explode into several new galaxies.
"I can't." He breathes.
"Why not?"
"You know your brother, Sam.” Cas says, unable to stop himself from stroking light fingers through Dean’s hair again. “And I’m happy. I refuse to risk losing him in pursuit of something I don’t need from him.”
“You’re right, I do know my brother. Probably better than he’d like to believe.” Sam says. “And I think he might surprise you, given the chance.”
Cas looks back at Sam like he wants to argue, but then just closes his mouth, his jaw bunching. Sam gives a little shrug and sits forward, reaching behind himself for the door handle.
“Just some, uh… food for thought.” He says. “I’m gonna hit the head. I’ll take my time. No particular reason.”
“Sam.”
But Sam’s already unfolding out into the night air, the car rocking as his weight shifts. The crickets are suddenly much louder, invading their little bubble of quiet. In Cas’ lap, Dean twitches.
Sam shuts the car door and Dean sits bolt upright. His gun, dropped in the footwell before he fell asleep, is in his grasp in a blink.
“Sam's just gone to relieve his bladder.” Cas says next to him. Dean squints at him and sniffs, wiping at his groggy eyes, then flicks the safety back on. The gun hits the footwell again with a dull thunk.
"God. Like a damn cashew. You'd think with all that height there'd be more... storage."
Cas is carefully looking forward, and not at the red mark on Dean’s cheek that’s the same shape as the warm spot rapidly cooling on his thigh. Dean rubs at that side of his face.
“Was I…?” He clears his throat. “Uh.”
“Asleep? Yes. I thought that was the idea.”
“Lying on you.”
“You needed to stretch out.”
Dean gives a frustrated sigh. “No, Cas, man, that’s your personal space. You should have shoved me off.”
“It was easier on your neck.” Cas says, still looking straight ahead. “You weren’t bothering me.”
“That’s not the point. You gotta have boundaries.”
“What’s mine is yours, Dean. I have no qualms sharing everything I have with you.”
Dean scoffs, leaning forward over the steering wheel and tilting to pop his spine. “Jesus. You ol’ romantic.”
Cas turns his head to look at Dean. The slightly uncomfortable smirk slowly slips off of Dean’s face. His eyes drop to Cas' lips before he catches himself, and he makes a weak attempt to laugh the charge out of the air between them.
“Man, you gotta figure out your levels. Last person who looked at me like that had me thinking marriage."
“Dean, why do you say things like that?”
Dean’s shoulders shove up under his ears. “You turn eyes like that on some innocent girl she’s gonna up and devote her entire life to you, Cas, I’m just letting you know you gotta tone it down!”
“Why would I turn eyes like this on some innocent girl?”
“Because you’re doin’ it to me like you think it’s a normal thing to do!”
“Dean, maybe you need to figure out how to receive a signal without assuming the other person isn't aware of what they're broadcasting." Cas snaps, then subsides as something like fear flickers across his face.
Dean’s jaw hangs uselessly for a stunned moment.
"Cas. You–"
Cas watches him in the manner of a gazelle waiting for a sudden deadly movement. Dean's gaze flits to Cas’ lips again.
"You. Uh." He says eloquently, and his tongue darts out in a nervous motion. This makes his lips impossible to ignore, shiny and wet in the moonlight.
“It's not Everest." Cas whispers.
"It kinda fuckin' is." Dean says, hoarse.
“Forget it. You should go back to sleep.” Cas says, reaching towards Dean with two fingers. It’s his fighter’s instinct that makes Dean grab them before they can touch his forehead, but it’s something else entirely that bunches his other hand in the front of Cas’ coat and yanks him forward. Cas tumbles gracelessly on top of Dean, and Dean doesn’t give either of them time to think.
At the first touch of Dean’s lips, Cas melts. A tiny sound escapes him, not quite a sigh, not quite a moan, and he’s grasping Dean’s shoulder like it’s the only thing preventing him from falling into the footwell. Their mouths part with a soft, wet noise and Cas meets Dean’s eyes, almost too close to focus on.
His arm is pressed across Dean’s chest from his fall. He can feel Dean’s heartbeat, galloping like an outlaw with the sheriff on his tail, and he understands the feeling.
“Dean.” He croaks.
“Yeah.”
“Do that again.”
Dean nuzzles their noses together, nudges Cas’ mouth in a barely-there brush of lips. Cas touches Dean’s face, dizzy with it, feeling stubble rough on the skin of Dean's jaw. He presses forward, holding Dean’s face like the beloved thing it is, and kisses him reverently. Dean sinks against the door until he’s lying across the seats and shoves his arms up under Cas’ suit jacket, encircling his back.
The crickets play them a love song. It’s entirely lost on them.
When Sam returns, approaching the Impala with caution, he finds his brother asleep with his angel hugged against him like a large, man-shaped teddy bear. Cas glances up, clocking the motion of Sam leaning over to peer through the driver’s window, and there’s a smile on his face that Sam’s never seen on him before.
If happy was what he had been, then this? This is pure, unfiltered bliss.
Sam slides carefully into the back seat and shuts the door as gently as he can.
“I’ll save my I Told You So, but only because you look so cute.” He whispers.
“Sam.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
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#destiel#suptober21#no vacancy#I had no intention to participate in this year's suptober but then#the prompt hit me like seventeen feet of vintage shiny black metal#oops#dean winchester#castiel#wren writes#ao3#fanfiction#fic rec#destiel fic rec#idiots figure it out#first kiss#fluff#grumpy dean#deancas#one shot#short n sweet#HAPPY 11 MONTHS#destiel anniversary#destiel is canon
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