#get that shit far away from me. twitter is a horrible place and anyone who works there is complicit in that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

horansqueen · 2 years

Text

Headlines - Chapter 14

Story Masterlist ✨

❤ chapter 1 ❤ chapter 2 ❤ chapter 3 ❤ chapter 4 ❤ chapter 5 ❤ chapter 6 ❤ chapter 7 ❤ chapter 8 ❤ chapter 9 ❤ chapter 10 ❤ chapter 11 ❤ chapter 12 ❤ chapter 13 ❤

NOTES ❤

❤ written from both Niall and Ophélie’s POVs ❤ i don’t proofread, I never do, I hate it. ❤ OU comedy/fluff/smut/romance ❤ 3k ❤ i accept requests and ideas for this story, so message me in my inbox! ❤ i added a request to this chapter! thank youuuuu! ❤ if you want to be notified when this story is updated (or be taken off the update list) CLICK HERE

Ophélie

All I could see from my seat was clouds. They were a very light shade of white because of the sun illuminating the sky and I just moved my heart shaped sunglasses down on my nose. I had tried to forget about what had happened with Viktor but it was not as easy as it seemed. I was well aware that nothing had happened, thanks to Niall for hearing my screams and pulling him away from me, but the scene kept playing over and over in my head anyway. I was normally a strong person, or at least that's what I thought, and it pissed me off to think that I was not able to put this specific moment in my past. It kept me up late at night and was part of my nightmares. I felt dirty, sick and stupid. Why wasn't I able to push him off of me? Why didn't I try to rip his eyes out, or scratch his face? How did I even get myself in this situation in first place?

I felt nausea hit me and put my hand over my mouth, holding my breath, making sure I wouldn't just throw up all over myself as we flew across the ocean.

When my agent told me I should get some time off, I was a bit skeptical. I knew that going away wouldn't change anything. The problem was in my head, and I would bring it with me everywhere I'd go. However, after a while, I gave in and agreed to leave with Niall. He had proposed that we'd go see my family but I knew it was a bad moment. I was also pretty sure my brother would find out how messed up I was and I was not ready to face him. The fact that the story was all over the internet didn't help either, and I had to answer text messages from my parents since I would never answer their calls.

The truth was, if Niall wasn't there with me to keep me steady on my feet, I would probably just lock myself in my apartment for weeks. I felt his hand on my shoulder but I didn't move. He bent closer and I could feel his warm breath on my cheek and part of my neck.

"Are you alright, petal?" he whispered, making me press my lips together.

I nodded very lightly without looking at him and felt his hand slip away from me. It immediately made something stir in my stomach and I realized how easily Niall made the stress leave my body with only a touch. It was scary and comforting at the same time.

We had agreed on going to Europe together, and he had suggested England. Despite the fact that It wasn't that far, I had never gone to England and I just agreed. I knew Niall wanted me to spend some time away from everything, and especially Viktor, and I also knew he wanted to help me get better, but somehow, I felt like it was useless.

The next day after the party, some rumors got out saying that Niall had hit Viktor because something was going out between us and Niall was jealous. It was horrible to think anyone would believe this shit, and it made me angry. The only video out was of Niall punching Viktor and him falling into the pool. However, a few hours later, a bunch of other actors and singers that were at the party started calling bullshit on that rumor and a few videos came out of Viktor on top of me, holding me down on the ground as I was hitting him with my feet and screaming.

It didn't take long before I got a call from the producers of the movie. Apparently, there were petitions online and hashtags on twitter that asked them to remove Viktor from the movie. I was pretty sure that in other circumstances, I would have been the one who would have been replaced, but the proofs if his guilt were too obvious to deny. The movie was not cancelled yet but it was definitely postponed, and I was wondering if my acting career hadn't just died before it even started. Who the hell would want to have me in their movies, now?

I quickly got out of my thoughts when I felt Niall's hand over mine, and held my breath. He was being incredibly sweet with me, and it was surprising to think that only a few days before, we hated each other, or actually tried very hard to. His thumb rubbed gently on the top of my hand and I felt tears come to my eyes. I didn't want him to be so nice with me, but I didn't have the guts to move my hand away. I just closed my eyes, focusing on the softness of his touch, trying to take in all the affection he was giving me. It didn't matter if it was pity. At least, it was something.

I was surprised there was no paparazzi or even fans when we got out of the plane. We quickly took a cab and although I expected us to get to a motel, I frowned when I got out of the car and saw an apartment building.

"Where are we..." I asked in a low tone, finally moving my sunglasses up on my head.

Niall turned to me and smile when his eyes met mine. "My place." he let out with a chuckle. "Don't worry, no one knows we're here, not even Lucy and Matt."

I frowned as he grabbed my suitcase and his but followed him inside anyway. "You didn't tell them we were coming here?" I asked as the elevator doors closed in front of us.

"No, you needed time for yourself, not to get harassed by paps and read shitty articles about you."

I stared at him a few seconds in silence before my lips curled slightly on the left. Somehow, he knew what I needed before I even knew myself, and that was something I was not used to.

"If you prefer a hotel, I will rent a room tomorrow, just let me know."

I followed him inside and shook my head as he turned to me. "No, here is good. I just didn't know you also had a house here."

He smiled and grabbed his phone before chuckling again and turning the screen my way. 'Niall Horan and Ophélie King have vanished : where are they?' could be read in an other ridiculous online article. Somehow, it made me laugh and I shrugged with a big smile. It felt good to know that no one except Niall knew where I was, and it made me realize that I wanted this to last for a few days, at least.

We ended up sitting on his couch in silence and in the dark, the room only lit by one of the candles I had brought with me. It smelled like cookies and I watched the flame move very very slightly, pressing my lips together.

"They told me stardom could leave as fast as it came but, that was a bit too fast for me."

"Your career isn't over, Ophélie, don't worry." Niall tried to reassure me with a soft tone. "Trust me, this movie will happen, and then a bunch of others after. It's not your fault Viktor is an asshole that deserves to spend the rest of his life in jail."

We remained silent for a few minutes as I let his words sink in and after a while, I breathed in deeply. "I love this apartment, more than your house in Cali."

"Really?" he asked, his eyebrows raised, as I turned to face him. "I was thinking about selling."

"You shouldn't."

He sent me a small smile. "Okay."

He didn't move, his arms were resting on each side of him, on the back of the couch, and his legs were spread, but I could feel his thigh press against mine. I tilted my head, telling myself how good he looked, and started nibbling on my bottom lip.

"Maybe I don't hate you anymore."

"Maybe?" he asked with a chuckle, a bit surprised. "Thanks, I guess?" he laughed some more.

"It would be inhuman of me to hate someone like you." I explained with an amused smile.

"Well, pet, I do not hate you at all." he pointed out, a smile still on his lips. "Guess you grew on me."

I smiled more at the expression he had used, trying to understand why I actually liked it and for a short moment, I forgot about Viktor, I forgot about the movie, the assault, the videos and the headlines. For a very short moment, all I could see was Niall, his sparkling eyes ad his pretty smile.

Gently, I placed my hand on his thigh and moved my upper body closer to him. He didn't move, he didn't frown, he just kept looking at me with a fond smile, and something inside of me seemed to crack open, letting a feeling spread inside me and invade my whole body and mind. I knew that feeling all too well and I held my breath, trying to stop if from spreading but it was too late. Way too late.

Niall

I hadn't expected her to kiss me but I had hoped for it. When she held herself on my thigh to move closer to me, I tried not to move. I didn't want to rush her or make her feel uncomfortable, and I wanted to make sure she wanted it. I remained motionless just in case she'd change her mind last second but she didn't. Instead to crash her mouth against mine, I felt her mouth brush on my lips gently up and down very slowly. Her upper lip against my bottom one, and then her bottom one against my upper lip. If we hadn't hated each other about a week prior, I would have sworn she was kissing me lovingly. If I didn't know better, I would be sure there were feelings in the way her fingertips brushed on my cheek. If I didn't lie to myself, I would admit that the jump my heart made every single time she touched me was love.

Slowly, I moved my arms closer, leaving my hands on her hips, my fingers barely touching her. It made her straddle me and I held my breath as her lips were still against mine. It was completely different than the first time we had sex, and it made me even more nervous. It was gentle, sweet, and soft, which was pretty much the opposite of the only other time we fucked.

She made the kiss grow and without thinking, I gripped her waist tighter. I wanted her, it was true, but I also wanted her to feel safe, and good. I wanted to take care of her, and to be there for her when she needed me. I still felt guilty for not getting to her faster when Viktor tried to rape her and somehow, it made me wonder if her trauma wouldn't be as bad if I had found her about ten minutes before. Maybe Viktor wouldn't even have tried at all. That thought made me frown but I tried to push it away to kiss her back deeply but slowly.

I heard a small whimper escaping her mouth and I swallowed it. She tasted good, even better than I remembered, and when she pressed herself down on me, I groaned, realizing how much hornier I was than I thought. I didn't want to talk, I felt like it would only ruin the moment, but without thinking, I ground up on her, feeling my hard cock push against her inner thighs. It made me feel dizzy for a few seconds until she started shaking in my arms. She unglued her lips from mine and quickly moved away from me. I frowned and my lips parted as I moved closer.

"Hey, are you ok?"

"I'm sorry Niall okay, I can't." she whispered, her knees up, her arms wrapped around them and her face hidden.

"Petal, no, don't be sorry. It's okay, you're okay. We don't have to do anything." i explained in a soft tone, not daring to move closer. "I'm not going to touch you, okay? I promise."

She started sobbing, her shoulders moving as she cried, and I felt my heart break in my chest. I felt so powerless to her pain, and as much as I wanted to help, I felt like I couldn't.

"Ophélie, you're safe with me." I pointed out gently.

It seemed to change something and she looked up slowly before swallowing. I could read guilt in her eyes and I wanted to tell her she had done nothing wrong, but I didn't have time.

"Can we go to bed?"

I nodded and we ended up laying in my bed together. I had decided to keep my shirt on, along with my boxers, and Ophélie was wearing one of my shirts too and a pair of sweatpants. I knew she was still crying, I could hear her whimper from time to time, and I couldn't fall asleep. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep until she'd fall asleep first.

"Niall?" she breathed on, making me turn my head her way. "Can you hold me?"

I turned completely her way and moved closer, wrapping my arms around her and holding her close against me. I leaned my chin on her head and closed my eyes as she moved her arm around my waist. I could feel every part of her body pressing against mine under the covers and I breathed in deeply. She smelled good and I swallowed hard, letting two of my fingertips fondle gently her back.

"You're safe with me, petal." I repeated. "You can sleep now."

Even after a few days spent together, Ophélie didn't mention the first night again. I didn't know how to bring up the subject and decided that maybe she just didn't want to talk about it. We went out, visited a few museums and expositions, spent time at the restaurant, and took a few walks together. She was happy, laughing and somehow, I knew it was not fake. She was not acting around me anymore, she was just being herself, and it was how I loved her the most.

"Okay so, when was your first kiss?" she asked as we walked hand in hand, going back home.

We had started asking questions to get to know each other and it was fun and natural. I never thought I'd ever say that about her. If someone had told me that the first time we met...

"Real kiss? I don't know, I was 15, maybe?" I answered with a chuckle. "And yours?"

"I was 14, it was with my older brother's friend."

I was about to make a joke when I heard my phone. I grabbed it from my pocket and stared at the word 'Ma' written in the notifications. I sighed and put my phone back in my pocket, making Ophélie frown and tilt her head.

"Something wrong?"

"No." I replied, shaking my head. "But I have a favor to ask."

"A favor?" she repeated, raising her eyebrows with a smile. "What can I do for you, sir?"

I rolled my eyes with a smile and she laughed, squeezing my hand with hers and making my heart stir slightly.

"I really need to get to my hometown before we fly back to Cali, would that be alright with you?"

"Honestly, Niall, I'm in no hurry to go back. I'll follow you wherever."

The way she had worded it made me smile fondly at her. If only I could tell her that I'd follow her anywhere, too.

"Thank you."

She smiled more and tilted her chin up but just as I felt like she was about to tell me something, we heard a voice next to us.

"I'm... so so sorry!" a cute little blonde asked, raising her nose up as two of her friends waited slightly behind. "We didn't want to bother you but, could we get a picture?"

"Oh, of course!" I quickly replied with a smile as she handed me her phone. "A selfie?"

The girl turned to my fake girlfriend and sent her a smile. "We'd like a picture with Ophélie."

I turned to her and her lips parted before she shook her head. "Yea, yes of course!"

I laughed a bit, taking a picture of the four of them together and when the girls left, I laughed, pushing my hands on my pockets. "Wow, talk about keeping my feet on the ground uh?"

"You know, that's a win-win for me. You get a reality check, and I meet my first fans!"

She sent me an amused smile and I laughed more, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her close. She nuzzled my neck and it made a shiver cross my back. I didn't know if these moments of affection came to us naturally, or if we had faked them so often that we now did them without thinking. Either way, it felt good and normal.

"Now that people know we're here, we should fly away." I let out, kissing the top of her head as she hugged me tight against her.

"Mmhm, we should." she replied low. "You buy tickets and I'll pack."

"Good idea."

She moved away but kept her arms around me. Her smile fell as she stared in my eyes and slowly, I moved a lock of her hair away from her eyes. I wanted to kiss her but I didn't dare.

"You okay, pet?"

"With you? Yes."

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan love story #niall horan story #niall horan ou #niall horan enemies to lovers #niall horan fake dating #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan writing #headlines #my fanfics

46 notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

if i could keep cool | 1

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 20,322 words / 6 chapters

summary: A villain attacks Shouto Todoroki’s apartment and kidnaps what he apparently believes to be Todoroki’s secret lover. The bad news—for both you and the villain in question—is that you’re just there to clean the place. That’s how it starts.

tags: romance, reader-insert, accidental sugar daddy shouto, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

You’d been alone inside Shouto Todoroki’s apartment when the villain attacked.

In your defense, you were supposed to be there. Twice a week, for three hours apiece, you turned up to clean the place, dusting, remaking his bed, and scrubbing down the modern kitchen surfaces that you were fairly certain were going unused in the first place.

You weren’t actually supposed to know who owned the high rise, but the personal effects he kept around hardly made any secret of it--a few simply framed photographs of him with his siblings and his friends at school dotted the shelves in the living room, crates of fan mail were often delivered to his door during your shifts, and you’d seen his hero costume dumped in a hamper on more than one occasion.

You’d been excited to find this out at first, as you were just as much a hero fan as the next girl--particularly heroes who were as handsome and infinitely memeable as Todoroki--but you’d tamped down on your enthusiasm in order to keep things professional. It would kind of suck to be a celebrity and find out that some rando fan let themselves into your apartment on the regular and could help themselves to your stuff if they really wanted to.

You had almost considered asking your manager for reassignment when you’d first figured out just whose apartment you were cleaning, in order to keep things purely professional, but Todoroki’s schedule worked well with your own class schedule, and the money didn’t hurt either. The tips either he or his manager left for you were pretty hefty, and it was nice to treat yourself to groceries that weren’t ramen. He was keeping you in fresh vegetables and a Netflix subscription, so in the end you didn’t ask for reassignment--you were a college student, not a saint.

In retrospect, though, maybe you should have. Because one afternoon in late September, the large wall of windows that looked out into the city shattered with violent force, and a huge figure landed in the living room, glass crunching underneath their heavy boots.

You’d just barely managed to catch sight of a wicked looking scar twisting half of the villain’s face before you’d thrown yourself behind the kitchen island you’d been wiping down, landing heavily on your shoulder. That hadn’t saved you, though. You’d been hauled out across the scattered glass, the shards scraping through your clothes to tear at your back and elbows, and looked up into the face of the furious-looking man.

You hadn’t had time to scream, or beg for your life, or whatever other insanely embarrassing thing you might have done, before a fist connected with the base of your skull, and you were falling into darkness, the man’s features and the clean lines of the apartment around you slipping into black.

Now, you awoke in the dark, a musty scent like dust and slow decay pressing into your nose like a heavy rag. Your eyes flickered open, but the world seemed just as dark as behind your eyelids. In the dim, you could just barely make out cement floors studded with dirt and debris, and gaping cutouts in the wall across from you, pitch black with shadow. They were rectangular in shape, and huge--truck ports, maybe? Were you in a warehouse?

You made to move, but something tugged at your wrists, and you realized with a growing sense of horror that your arms were bound behind your back with rough rope, looped through slats in the chair you’d awoken in. Your head whipped up, and the back of your neck screamed in protest, sore from what had likely been hours of you lolling unconscious.

The thin, wavering sound of something like a radio static filtered from somewhere over your shoulder, and you could just make out low tones of a radio broadcaster: “Pro hero Shouto Todoroki’s apartment was broken into early this afternoon...the perpetrator of the crime is still at large…”

That’s right--Todoroki’s apartment. Your heartbeat instantly kicked into high gear. Where were you? Why were you here? Who was that man in Todoroki’s apartment? Had he taken you here? But why?

A boot crunched in the dirt behind you and you stiffened.

“Awake now?” a voice spat, laced with pure malice. The tone sent shivers down your spine.

The pair of boots crunched towards you, rounding the edge of your chair until you could look up into the face of the villain from before, the man with the horrible scar. It twisted and warped the skin over half of his face, the flesh melted into itself like he’d been held down against a hot stove. An equally horrible grin cut into the harsh line of his mouth.

“Who are you? Where am I? Why am I here?” you demanded. Your voice came out high and quavery, and you could have cringed at how absolutely terrified you sounded.

He raised an eyebrow like you’d just asked the dumbest series of questions he’d ever heard.

“Oh, I think you know why you’re here,” he sneered. His eyes were dark, almost black in the gloom of the warehouse.

A twisting wave of frustration washed over you. No you didn’t know why you were here. You’d been wiping down a fucking counter one minute and the next you’d woken up in some creepy warehouse with no idea of where in the world you might be.

“I don’t,” you said, frustrated. “Please, I don’t have any money. Whatever you want, I can’t get it to you.”

He stared down at you impassively, the radio static crackling in the background. “I don’t want money, you fucking brat. I want revenge.”

You stared at him. Revenge? You’d never even met this guy before, what the hell could you have possibly done to him that he would need revenge on you? The extent of your crimes against anyone, as far as you knew, only included arguing with people on twitter and once--drunk at a bar--peeing in the men’s room before you realized it wasn’t the ladies’ toilet. Gender was a social construct, anyway. It wasn’t that bad.

Your blank look seemed to irritate him, and he placed a booted foot on yours, deliberately grinding his heel down on your toes until you felt your bones creak. You bit down on a yelp.

“Don’t play stupid, you little shit. I know he’ll come for you.”

What? Who would come for you?

The radio signal seemed to catch again, and the newscaster’s stately voice reported from over your shoulder. “--Hero Commission received a message from the villain that they are holding Todoroki’s secret lover hostage. We’ve received comment from a PR representative at the Todoroki agency--”

Your stomach dropped in horror as you considered the smug expression that twisted the villain’s face. Oh no.

No.

No way.

Did he think you….?

Dread coiled into a hard pit in your gut. Oh, you were so absolutely fucked. Shouto Todoroki had never so much as heard of you, nevermind invited you into his bed. As far as you could tell, he had no current lover, as his apartment had only ever evidenced the single occupant.

He’d been linked in the media to a couple models and an actress, but it seemed unclear if that was any more than speculation. In the year you’d worked at the cleaning service, there’d never been anything like an extra toothbrush or an abandoned pair of underwear to give away another person’s presence, though you had sometimes seen evidence of his friends; things like a forgotten All Might sweatshirt that clearly belonged to notorious fan boy and current number one hero Deku, or a neatly prepared container of soup you’d seen in the fridge once with a note that read eat this you fucking fuck and if you get me sick I’ll kill you that you strongly suspected came from the foul-mouthed hero Ground Zero.

So unless those were to be taken as signs of a blossoming romance, there was nothing that strongly hinted at the presence of a lover.

You were frankly flabbergasted that this villain had assumed, just because you’d been alone in his apartment at the time, that you of all people could have been that to him.

And you were even more concerned now, as there was absolutely no way Shouto Todoroki was going to come haring in to save someone who did not exist.

What was the villain going to do when he realized that no one was coming for you? Or worse, when he realized you were no one to anyone, and your presence would hardly be missed? Was it better to try and clear up the misunderstanding now? What would he do when the dots connected?

The villain smirked, mistaking your horror. “That’s right, brat. He was supposed to be there, but you'll do just as well. He’ll come for you, and when he does, I’m going to do to him exactly what he did to me.” He gestured to the scarred side of his face and you winced.

So it hadn’t been a hot stove.

“I think you have it wrong,” you said a little desperately. “I’m not--I don’t even know Todoroki. I’m a cleaning lady.”

He rolled his eyes. “Nice try. I’ll just let you walk free then, shall I?”

Your fingers dug into the rope behind your back. “Um, ideally, yes.”

He bit out a harsh laugh, that horrible smile cutting into his features again, and knelt down in front of you. He was close, too close, and you could smell something sour on his breath.

“I’ve just had a better idea,” he said, leaning into you. “What if I do to his precious lover what he did to me? Your face can be the last thing I let him see before I kill him.”

Your stomach turned and you forced yourself as far back in your chair as you could get. Oh fuck. “No, please, you have to listen!” Your voice was growing higher as you spoke. “I don’t know him. I’m his fucking cleaning service. You can call them and ask--just ask!”

The villain didn’t listen, digging around in the inner pocket of his jacket for something. “No skin off my nose if you are or aren’t. But I think we both know you aren’t.”

You could feel your heart climb into your throat as he pulled out a lighter and a small, metal can that smelled sharply of gasoline. Lighter fluid? You started struggling wildly in your bonds, feet straining against the floor to push your chair back from him.

He let out another laugh, uncapping the fluid. The acrid smell sharpened, burning in your nose. The radio let out another burst of static in the background, a high whine that set your teeth even more on edge.

“I’ll let you pick the side, brat,” the villain said, smiling.

“I pick neither,” you managed around the lump in your throat. Your eyes were locked on the can of lighter fluid, like you could will it away from you with the sheer force of your panic alone.

The villain scowled. “Be difficult then,” he said, and moved to pour it over you anyway. You felt the first splash of fluid on your cheek and closed your eyes. That acrid smell got stronger, and the villain let out an excited breath.

Then the wall blew out.

A wall of freezing air rushed over you and the can of fluid dropped from the villain’s grasp, spilling sloppily down your clothes, before clattering to the floor. The villain swore and whirled, grabbing a fistful of your hair and wrenching your head back. You peeked open an eye.

A huge slab of ice had blown open the side of the building, and the silhouette of a man was outlined against the evening sky. It was hard to make out his features in the dim light, but that mop of red and white hair was so distinctive, you would know it anywhere.

A shivery frisson of relief went down your spine at the sight of a familiar figure, but confusion mounted in the back of your brain.

What the hell was Shouto Todoroki doing here?

There was a flinty noise and then a small flame flickered in the corner of your eye. You stiffened--the lighter was still in the villain’s hand, and you were entirely covered in lighter fluid.

“So nice to see you again, Todoroki. Any last words to your little girlfriend?” the villain spat. His gaze was fixed unblinkingly on Todoroki.

You strained against your bonds and his tight grip on your hair. “I’m not his girlfriend! Todoroki, tell him.”

You could barely see his features but you thought you caught Todoroki’s eyes darting over you curiously, like he was trying to figure out who in the world you were and why anyone would mistake you for a love interest of his. Your eyes met briefly. Then the fingers on his right hand pressed forward just the slightest bit, and a huge cascade of ice like an avalanche was rushing you. You closed your eyes, ready to be impaled.

There was a grunt and the villain’s hand was ripped out of your hair, taking a fistful with it. A sudden, suffocating silence pressed down on you, and an icy burn stung at your lungs when you inhaled.

You blinked your eyes open, only to come face to face with a wall of ice mere inches from your nose. Cold pressed in on you everywhere, biting at you through your clothes--it seemed Todoroki had formed some kind of protective shell over you as he forced the villain off of you. You exhaled and sank back in the chair with shaky relief.

More crackling echoed from outside your cocoon, muffled through the thick slabs of ice, and a bright jet of orange light lit up the crystals around you. You tracked the sound and the movements nervously. There was a moment when a body slammed into the ice behind you, cracking it a little, and you tensed, but then whichever of them it was rolled off and was gone within moments.

Over the course of a few minutes, the sounds of their battle and the flickers of light started to fade off into the distance, and you wondered if Todoroki was trying to lead the villain away, or if the villain was leading him somewhere he had planned for. Your fingers found the bindings at your wrists again, and you scrabbled desperately at them with your nails.

If the villain came back for you, you needed to be disconnected from this chair and out of the ice prison ASAP.

You had just managed to work your chair backwards and get a good angle against the rough ice, starting to work up a friction between your bonds and the ice when muted footsteps approached and a hole began to melt in the side of the ice wall. Your eyes snapped to attention and you leaned as far away as you could get.

It was Todoroki who stepped through, however, lifting an arm to melt away more of the ice over you. He looked a little mussed from combat but otherwise unharmed, and in good shape to get you out of here. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief, muttering, “Oh, thank god.”

He fixed you with a weird look, leaning over you when he’d melted enough of the ice to get to your bonds. A hot hand at your wrists burned ropes off of you easily enough, Todoroki careful not to singe you with his flames.

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you as you pulled your arms back to yourself, shaking them out.

“Uh, thank you,” you said, watching nervously as those distinctive two-toned eyes flicked over you.

He helped pull you to your feet, and gestured you towards the hole he had blown in the side of the warehouse.

“This way--there’s an ambulance to check you over,” he said evenly. His voice was low and smooth, even deeper in person than you’d heard it on TV. His whole presence seemed a lot sharper, larger even, than was communicated via the media.

You followed his broad back out into the evening air, noting that you were on a somewhat crowded street, likely somewhere still within city limits. Several rows of similar warehouses lined the streets, and an ambulance and several police vehicles had pulled up onto the sidewalk closest to you.

An EMT ran over to you, helping you over to the ambulance and immediately setting to the task of checking you over. She asked you a series of questions including your name, what year it was, the prime minister’s name, and a slew of probing queries about your injuries. She concluded a concussion seemed unlikely, but produced an ice packet for your head where the villain had struck you, and cleaned your wrists where the rope had cut into them, smoothing on aloe and wrapping them up in gauzy bandages.

While she worked, you watched Todoroki as he spoke in quiet tones off to the side with a group of policemen. Eventually, however, the conversation seemed to die out, and he came padding back over to stand in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest. You tried not to focus on the swell of his biceps through the fabric of his hero costume.

“What you did was very stupid,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

That tore your attention away from his arms, and you paused, staring up at him in confusion. Did all civilians get a lecture like this fresh off of being kidnapped?

“Excuse me?” was all that escaped you.

That grey and blue gaze raked over you. “You’re lucky I was able to rescue you. You risked your own life and invaded my privacy while you were at it.”

A mixture of confusion, exhaustion, and anger welled up inside of you. You had just been fucking kidnapped and he was lecturing you like a toddler who’d gotten into a box of crayons while her parents’ backs were turned.

“You think I fucking wanted to be kidnapped?” you demanded, sliding off of the back of the ambulance to take an angry step towards him. “You think I wanted any of this to happen?”

He held his ground, hardly threatened by someone who barely brushed his chin and had needed his rescuing only minutes before. You gritted your teeth.

“You are not welcome in my apartment,” he said firmly, something like suppressed anger flickering in his own gaze.

Your temper flared even hotter than his flames. You clenched your fist, the words bubbling up before you could even think to stop them. “Great. Clean it yourself then, you huge fucking asshole, if you don’t want someone else there.”

His eyes widened the slightest bit, but you weren’t done.

“I get kidnapped because some crazy douche wanted to settle a score with you, and you dare yell at me for doing my job? Because what, it’s shameful for you to be accused of having a secret lover and now you have to do PR? Grow the fuck up. That’s your fucking job.”

You turned on your heel, setting a beeline for the police officers where they had turned to watch you, mouths gaping.

“Do I have to give a statement right now or can I come into the station in the morning?” you demanded of the nearest officer.

“We recommend you give your statement as soon as possible, but you can delay until tomorrow if you’re, uh, in emotional distress,” the officer said, staring at you.

“Oh I am,” you intoned loudly. “But not as much emotional distress, apparently, as someone who's been mildly inconvenienced by a media narrative. You'd better check on him, he's the real fucking victim here. And I’ll see you in the morning instead.”

You stalked off towards the street, hardly caring where you were headed or how you would get home from here. You would figure it out and find your way, and it was better than standing around and being berated by some asshole hero who thought himself so wildly inconvenienced by saving you.

“And Todoroki, you can go fuck yourself,” you threw over your shoulder as you disappeared into the dusky maze of city streets.

And he could.

You hoped that was the last you’d ever see or hear of Shouto Todoroki.

756 notes · View notes

neoheros · 4 years

Text

suddenly sitting on his lap tiktok trend feat. kuroo, kenma, akaashi, tsukishima

kenma kozume

kenma wasn’t really comfortable with the whole pda thing and that was ok because if you’re being honest, you didn’t like that too

it wasn’t that he wasn’t romantic or affectionate, it’s just that it takes him time to get accustomed to the fact that there’s someone other than kuroo or shoyo in his life now

he liked you so much and he was often worried that you doubt his feelings

sometimes he’d just suddenly run his hands through your hair and you’d look at him with a smile asking why

he doesn’t say anything though, he just smiles back at you and reverts his attention to his game

when you and kenma hang out, it doesn’t really bother you when he’s busy on his switch or console

you just liked being near him

so one day while you’re scrolling through tiktok, you stumble upon a video where this girl fit herself on her boyfriend’s lap while he was gaming

you contemplate doing it but you were low key scared that you might ruin his game or make him lose

but you do it anyway because frankly you were so soft for these kind of things

you propped your phone on a countertop and smiled at it as you saw how it got kenma’s entire gaming system in the frame

you walked over to him and he looked so focused on the screen, his headphones almost falling off his head as he clicked on his controller

you walk over the wires and he doesn’t look away once from the game when you fit yourself on top of him

you straddled his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck whilst burying your head in the crook of his neck

your heart was beating so fast anticipating his reaction

what you didn’t expect was for him to tighten his grip on your back and ease into your hug as he continued playing

he presses his face against you for a second, placing a soft peck on your shoulder blade as you got comfy in that state

you pull from his neck and he looks at your face for a moment before pushing you back into his chest

“i like it when you do this.” he tells you softly, returning his attention to the screen in front of him

akaashi keiji

needless to say akaashi is the kind of person that pays a lot of attention to detail

especially when it comes to you since you’re one of the most important people in his life

he knows when school’s been too demanding for you, or when the day you just had was incredibly tiring

he’s practically memorized the signs by now when you feel that way

you try your best to not show it though since he’s also one of the busiest students in campus

but it’s been particularly hard to when lately all you could think about was the horrible anxiety you get when school is brought up

so one afternoon when keiji texted you if you wanted to come over you didn’t even hesitate in saying yes

you were sad and you just wanted to receive hugs from your man, ok!!!!

you immediately went straight to his house after school and you breathed a sigh of relief when you saw him sitting on the couch with a book in his hands

you don’t even let him greet you as you prop yourself on his lap, pressing your face against his shoulder as you hugged him close

he presses a soft kiss on your temple, lightly lifting your face to look at him

he looked so worried !!!!!!!!

his eyes soften as you sigh, running circles on your back as he got comfortable under you

“bad day, huh?” he says as he places a peck against your head, and you feel the heaviness in your chest lessen a little

kuroo tetsuro

alright simp nation !!!! i got u !!!

i have an overwhelming need to dictate the fact that kuroo has had tiktok since november of 2019 and he downloaded it to see the hype and got overly addicted to it almost immediately

so yes he is indeed caught up on all the trends that’s currently on the fyp

and when he saw this video of a girl get on her boyfriend’s lap while he was gaming he was like “oh 👀”

he spent the next three days trying to hint at you that you should do that tiktok and even went as far as playing obnoxiously loud in front of you

kuroo: oh wow my lap sure is cold 🥱 i wonder if anyone !!! would like to help me out !!!!!!!

you, scrolling through twitter: i’ll get you a blanket ok babe

kuroo: heart ❤️been broke 💔 so many times ⏰ i i don’t 🤷‍♀️know what to believe 💭 yeah 👍

one day he’d just get sick of all the hinting and he decides that he’s the one gonna do the challenges on you !!!!!

bc he’s not gonna back down 😡 he’s mfing kuroo !!!

so you’ll be chilling on your desk, working on your homework when all of a sudden kuroo pulls back your chair and props himself on your lap

you: ??? omfg you’re heavy please

the two of you end up falling from the chair because unlike his calculations it wasn’t enough to support the both of you

he’s just laughing now and you’re trying to comprehend what just happened because holy shit your thighs h u r t

kuroo: you’re very comfortable, 10/10 would sit again

you, out of breath: god has favorites and it is NOT me 💔

(he posts the whole thing on tiktok and it went viral with about 700k likes.)

tsukishima kei

when you think about it he’s really just a very tall touch starved babie who needs more love and affection

there will be no tsukki slander on my blog thank you !!!!!

i think sometimes we all just forget how young he is because he’s so tall and he acts like he’s been through 3 life threatening problems

but nah he’s just a 16 year old boy who’s trying to study hard and be the best at volleyball with his team

so you completely understand when he asks you to come over just to study with him because life do be testing him too much sometimes

you’re chilling in his bed while he’s on his desk,, stressing at how unnecessary this essay was especially since it was all busy work anyways

you saw the tension in his temples and he sighed every two minutes, you were seriously scared for the pencil on his hands

so without giving it a second thought, you got up and walked to his side

he spares you a glance as if asking if you needed anything but you only push his hand out of the way as you got on top of his lap

you sighed as you sat down and embraced him, letting your head fall over his collarbone

he tended for the first few seconds but eventually eased into your arms

he hugged you back with a breath of relief as he felt your fingers tangle in his hair

you: man,, school sucks huh?

tsukki, without hesitation: i’m burning the place down

you, pressing a kiss on his cheek: i’ll help

1K notes · View notes

whitewitch95 · 3 years

Text

alright, I'm usually over at twitter or discord spewing my thoughts and prompts, but I feel like the Merlin fandom is bigger over here, so maybe someone appreciates that

Thoughts and a fanfic prompt to s2ep07 The Witchfinder

Aredian accuses Merlin of magic bc of the amulet he placed in the physician's quarters, and from the look in his eye, presumably speculates that Gaius will "confess" that it's his - what Gaius of course does because he loves Merlin like his own son. During the episode, still-innocent Morgana is on Aredian's radar as well, just bc Gaius treated her nightmares, and we learn that although Gaius confesses, Aredian still wants to "expose Merlin and Morgana's evil deeds".

I feel like most people - once we realize that Aredian is an asshole who stages all the "sorcerer sightings" for money, and Arthur once more is more reasonable than Uther and helps Merlin save the day, who is actually doing all the work again - I feel like most people tend to forget that Aredian actually precisely accused 3 real sorcerers of sorcery. Yes, neither of them did what they'd been accused of, but nonetheless, Aredian points them out with eerie precision.

So WHAT IF Aredian actually has some weak magic himself? Like the "funny feelings" Merlin sometimes gets when he just instinctively knows shit's gonna go downhill or when he feels drawn towards other people's/being's magic? Like an actual witchfinder, you know, not skilled enough to play detective and catch sorcerers in the act, maybe not even interested in upholding the laws against sorcery or not, just as long as he gets payment and fame - but what if he makes those seemingly random *finger point* "THAT BOY" accusations that nobody ever questions bc of his own weak magic that makes him sensitive for it?

Okay, so now comes the prompt idea. We all probably laughed when cheeky Merlin exposes Aredian with that toad coming out of his mouth on top of everything else, but imagine he doesn't bc that would be too obvious and instead just places the "fake" evidence in his room - that would leave Aredian the opportunity to use his mouth.

So what if, while Arthur and the knights are searching the room, Aredian thunders that "THAT BOY placed this here, HE'S the sorcerer, you have EVIL IN YOUR CASTLE" and Arthur only scoffs because please, that man is just ridiculous. And then, like *Merlin* did in the actual episode, *Aredian* turns away, half-hidden from view, whispers a spell that has Merlin's magic reacting, body spasming and eyes golden.

And Merlin is just standing there, struggling to hold his magic inside and not have it lashing out, and Aredian is smirking bc there's no way to explain that away, surely he has won now-

And Arthur whirls around, punching Aredian in the face, yelling at his knights about stuffing that man's mouth with a cloth before he says any more spells, and when Aredian fights them bc he finally realizes he's about to lose and then moves towards Morgana, Arthur runs him through with his sword.

Aredian is dead.

Merlin is still breathing hard, even though his magic has settled once again, and while everyone is shocked and panting and Arthur assures himself of Morgana's wellbeing, Merlin is On Edge. Because that was his actual magic reacting, and his own eyes turning golden in response to the spell, and a room full of knights, and Morgana, and Arthur were watching.

But when they all return to Uther, Arthur relays the story and it sounds as if Aredian, traitor of Camelot and apparently an evil sorcerer that has sent innocent people into their death, has enchanted Merlin to look as if he had magic, JUST like he did with hiding that amulet in Gaius chambers, to put the blame onto someone else.

Nobody questions it, not even Uther.

Merlin feels the tightness in his chest lessen, finally able to breathe normally again. He wants to laugh, really. Arthur is SO CONVINCED that his manservant is nothing more than a bumbling, but highly loyal idiot - and he has tried to protect Merlin, he remembers, right in front of Aredian and Uther and the whole court - that Arthur doesn't even consider Merlin could actually have magic.

When the day winds down, Merlin helps Arthur getting ready for bed, serving him dinner, tidying his chambers, still tired and wary, but incredibly relieved.

Until Arthur says, "So, Merlin," and Merlin freezes because that tone sounds chilling. Carefully, he straightens up and looks at Arthur, who's watching him with frighteningly intense eyes, gaze piercing. "Anything you have to say?"

"Uhm," Merlin hesitates, unsure what exactly Arthur means, heart beating wildly. "I don't know what you mean, Sire," he settles on, but that seems to be the wrong thing to say.

Arthur narrows his eyes. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe 'thank you', but I know manners aren't your strong suit, so how about the truth?"

"The truth?" Merlin laughs nervously, dear god, he shouldn't have let his guard down-

"YES, Merlin, the truth," Arthur growls, and then he's out of his chair, stomping towards Merlin. "Because I can assure you, this was the last time I've lied to my knights and my father and the entire court for you if you don't even have it in you to tell me the TRUTH!"

Arthus has him cornered against the bedpost now, and Merlin is trembling ever so slightly. Arthur's eyes are blazing, like a blue, furious thunderstorm, and Merlin knows there's no escaping this; especially because Arthur is right.

So he talks. He's hesitant at first, reinforcing that everything they found out about Aredian is the truth, that Merlin did not lie, that he did not *once* betray Arthur, or Camelot. Arthur looks as if he isn't sure if he fully believes Merlin, but he listens, and that is more than Merlin could've hoped for.

In the end, Merlin's voice is rough from talking, his face pale and tight with worry. Arthur has stepped back from him a while ago, first crossing his arms and snapping out questions, and then he started pacing.

"I swear," Merlin says lowly, "I never intended to bring anyone harm. I was born like this... and I have finally found a purpose."

"And what would that be, Merlin?" Arthur asks, but he doesn't sound harsh; he sounds tired, staring into the flames of the fireplace.

Merlin gulps. Now or never. "Protecting you. I- I wanted to tell you, but I didn't want you to have to choose. Because no matter the outcome... it would've burdened you."

Still staring into the flames, Arthur laughs humorlessly. "And yet it seems I did it anyway."

At Merlin's silence, Arthur finally turns, and he almost looks sick. "Does Gaius know?"

"Yes," Merlin whispers, but he's not afraid that Arthur will punish Gaius for it. Arthus isn't Uther.

"Of course," Arthur mumbles, and his eyes show that he's working through what he's heard so far. "How could he not know? After all, a quite powerful warlock is living with him."

Shifting uncomfortably, Merlin wonders if there's anything he can say to make it easier for anyone, but there are no words he can think of.

Arthur scoffs, shaking his head. "That... that can't be..." he trails off, and he's reeling more than Merlin has ever seen him before. "That would mean-"

Abruptly, Arthur turns away, aiming for his chair, before he whirls around again and once more stomps towards Merlin.

"If you're telling the truth," Arthur snaps, and there's a threatening expression on his face, before it softens at Merlin's flinch. "Then why aren't you affected by the magic? Why do you still want to protect me, so much so that you're putting yourself at risk everyday?"

"I," Merlin starts, unsure. "I told you, I think... that you'll be a great king, and I-"

Arthur shakes his head. "No," he interrupts. "Why is the magic not tainting you? Why... why are you still you?" he finishes, quieter.

Merlins heart feels incredibly tender. "Because magic is just a tool, Arthur. Like sword fighting. A tool that some people can use, and some can't. A tool that sometimes is used for good, and sometimes for evil. Having magic says nothing about a person - but the way they use it does."

Silence, only the crackling of the fire can be heard as Merlin watches Arthur's face, seeing the emotions flit over it, the horrible realization. "Then..."

Merlin doesn't say anything. This is a conclusion Arthur should draw, alone, without Merlin's influence.

Arthur looks up, and the light of a candle reflects in his eyes. He looks vulnerable. Pleading. Incredibly young.

Merlin waits as Arthur turns away once more, running a hand through his golden hair, shoulders tense.

"If it's alright with you," Merlin carefully starts, "I'd look after Gaius now. He's gone through hell these past few days."

"Yes, yes," Arthur agrees, sounding crumpled under the weight of tonight's revelations. "Please pass on my well wishes to him again. What happened to him was... unjust." He gets hung up on that word apparently, because he repeats it under his breath, like a death sentence. "Unjust."

Tentatively, Merlin steps towards Arthur, but he doesn't know if it will be welcome right now.

"Goodnight, Sire."

The door has almost closed behind Merlin when he hears the faint "Goodnight" in return. He smiles. Maybe, just maybe, the horrors since the witchfinder arrived are leading the way to their destiny.

Addition: Maybe, because Arthur's actually kind of smart, he realized that Merlin has magic earlier, but tried to convince himself that he hasn't. And maybe Arthur puts two and two together about the witchfinder having actual magic, and he asks Merlin about Morgana. And maybe that would save her, and the kingdom, and ultimately himself. Just saying.

#merlin bbc #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #merlin x arthur #merthur #the witchfinder #episode remix #prompt idea #half a fanfic #bc let's be honest I can't not spew copious amounts of words when I try to explain a thought #Merlin's magic revealed #Arthur knows about Merlin's magic #yes these are ao3 tags

40 notes · View notes

relaxxattack · 3 years

Note

ayo! (wait this might be a bit of a jumpscare dishdks i apologize) i’m op of That Post and was wondering what your opinions were on the whole woobification thing? /gen

because it’s a Tiny Bit widespread within the dream apologists to sort of,, overdramatize stuff like l’manberg hurting him. like they’re not a 100% wrong but if you look at it subjectively you can see some sort of bias going into that sort of thing that makes the character’s mistreatment a bit more blatant and intentional which,, it really wasn’t? and there wasn’t That Much of it either. especially on twitter (tumblr is much better about it) people just jump to conclusions it seems and yeah. since you brought it up i was wondering if you wanted to write a bit about it from your perspective!

we’re kinda from different corners of the fandom but i still notice that once you are too attached to a character you start taking certain evidence and giving it more weight than it actually has. there’s a blurry line between “taking away a character’s humanity” and woobification and it’s extremely difficult to find a balance when said character shows pretty much nothing of his emotional life (e. g. putting up the intimidating villain act in front of only c!tommy, pretty much everything he does making rational sense with no emotional subtext) and a lot of the fandom instantly jumps to one side or the other while it’s like.

we don’t know by far enough to say “he’s traumatized” or “he isn’t traumatized” or “he was villainized and it hurt him” or “l’manberg didn’t affect him at all”

as a very analytical person people constantly jumping to conclusions grinds my gears, but that’s about it for my own view of the situation - sorry for the rambling.

in general i agree with you that both dehumanization and woobification is Bad and i really hope getting Actual Context sorts this out (e. g. him saying he was betrayed by his friends doesn’t mean it wasn’t partially his fault or that they were allowed to leave him, but it also shows that he did care about that happening. mentioning the cat doesn’t mean anything about what happened to c!tommy but it also shows that he did care about what happened to it. it’s just always interesting to get more information about the way he feels because he usually does a very good job at hiding it.) because man.

it’s like being stuck between a rock and a hard place, especially if you also are attached to the character and are expected to automatically agree with everything the people on “your side” say. it just ends up with everyone being mad and the character being mischaracterised overall.

oh wow hello! i didnt expect the op of the post to find me you’re right lol

and yes i agree! you seem to have a lot of very good thoughts tbh.

and by woobification, i mean exactly what you’ve already pointed out— the people who will say l’manberg purposely villainized dream, the people who will say wilbur faked his mental illness to manipulate dream, the people who are pretty much always talking about how badly dream was treated by people who were acting only fairly for themselves, usually.

for example people who act like dream was a perfect peacemaker before tommy showed up, or that tommy started most conflict. these are just actual lies that are told by c!dream himself to justify his abuse of tommy, and people fall for them incredibly easily because not a lot of people watched early dsmp and know that truthfully it was chaotic even then, and that dream was chaotic too. not to mention wilbur soot tried very hard to secede peacefully with l’manberg and dream jumped directly into war with no warning. and then people say he was forced into their war when, no, he started it.

theres also people who will say like, dream and sapnap for example are such good friends. i’m sure they cared for each other, but dream on multiple occasions has done horrible things to sapnap with no regard for his feelings (like leading fundy to sapnaps pets during the petwar, leading tommy to sapnaps pets during the other petwar and encouraging him to kill them, handing mars over to tommy to use as leverage against sapnap, etc). george he’s been less awful too but he certainly spoke over him and ignored his feelings enough that george felt hurt. he had places in his hall of attachments for beckerson and mars. george and sapnap were right to walk away from being treated like that.

there’s also what you just said here — “dream puts on a villain persona for tommy”— but honestly he acts like that around quite a few people (example: eret) and it’s usually when he’s revealing crucial info, which leads me and many others to believe that ‘persona’ is actually a more truthful version of him.

there’s the fact that he really isn’t safe for people to be around (or at least he wasn't before the prison) because he was planning to come up with ways to control every single person by stealing and threatening their attachments (some of which were not items but were living animals, or a real breathing person).

and then people will say dream was doing exile to enforce rules, or to keep the peace— when it’s very clear in canon it was a deliberate plan to get tommy on his own and into the prison. (from the way he was framing tommy for multiple crimes, and having sam set up the prison, and kidnapping tommy instead of correctly exiling him, all at the same time).

not even going into how he wants to kill and revive people for fun or make tommy immortal.

it’s just— ignoring all these actual facts and saying “oh he misses his friends, let’s get him some friends now” reminds me of like. when people would put flower crowns on pictures of serial killers. and then, there’s hardly anyone on the server who wasn’t subject to dream’s plans, so there’s absolutely no one i would be okay with him interacting with.

just remembered about the torture thing, and wow i still hate it so much. it’s someone’s sick revenge fantasy twisted into a way to get a manipulative villain sympathy, and it’s just gross to me on every account. i do think dream is traumatized-- just not by l’manberg, which was a conflict he started on his own terms. i would think l’manberg did affect him, because he was scared of losing control.

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again— my ideal ending for dream would be for him to be sent far away from dsmp to an island full of therapy animals and super strong therapists who have never met him before. and for him to get a shit ton of therapy until he becomes a halfway normal person. and then eventually he could get integrated into society again; but a different one with new people. (although maybe dteam + bbh + puffy can visit him, they might still like him.)

none of the people on the server (who have all been affected by dream) should be burdened with befriending him or rehabilitating him— look how that turned out with sam! sam had a personal grudge towards dream and it ended with the poor dude being tortured every day; and sam himself falling into corruption and literally cutting off his boyfriends arm. like we can all see thats fucking awful right?

no one who was affected by dream should have to deal with him ever again. and contrary to popular belief, that includes a LOT more people then just tommy. dream isn’t just tommy’s antagonist, hes almost everybody’s.

the only person on the server who might also be able to stand to help dream is techno, and that’s from sheer lack of ability to give a shit. but techno is probably THE furthest thing from a good therapist there is lol, and dream needs better then that.

this kind of just ended up being a rant about my thoughts on c!dream, so im so sorry op. especially since it was probably negative for you. i hope you’re doing very well.

i guess in the end it’s true what you said— people will highlight or ignore things based on what characters they like, and it’s especially easy to do in this fandom, where half the content doesn’t even get watched and then we become a big echo chamber of half-truths.

considering dream has hurt so many of the characters i care about, i almost can’t understand how he could be someone’s favorite or comfort character— but he is nonetheless, and it would be unfair of me to be rude about that.

essentially it just bothers me to see someone who was a perpetrator of accurately portrayed abuse and manipulation (using both those words in their actual definitions, not just as random buzzwords lol) being given the flower crown edit effect. especially since he’s hurt the characters i care about a lot.

ANYWAY all of that being said (this got LONG im so sorry op) i am so so excited to get dream’s pov, because although i disagree with his actions strongly i actually find dream’s character very interesting and cool, and watching his POV is going to insanely fun. i cannot wait to see what theories get confirmed or denied

ALSO incase it wasn’t clear this is all /nm at you! you seem lovely and smart, and neither of us can help what characters we get attached to :]

#c!dream critical #dream meta #og post #hey guys i would actually like some feedback on this one since i worked hard on it #rbs are okay and encouraged :]#my meta

32 notes · View notes

tchallasbabymama · 3 years

Text

Potential Breakup Fic

Yes, this is inspired by the re-release of the classic “Potential Breakup Song” by legends Aly & AJ. Check out the rest of my Masterlist HERE. Enjoy!

Word count: 2223

CW: Niggas aint shit. Kiana sat on her couch and tried not to cry into her glass of merlot. She took off her heels and got up to unzip her dress and take off her bra since she knew she wouldn’t be going anywhere tonight. She checked her phone again and was met with an empty screen. No notifications, no missed calls. She threw her phone down in anger, and was thankful when she noticed the screen didn’t crack.

“I can't believe this nigga.”

She looked at the clock and shook her head. It was 12:07am, and her 25th birthday was officially over without so much as a word from her boyfriend. Just last night he had told her to be ready by 7, and she hadn't heard from him since.

They had been together, on and off, for three years. They met their junior year at Howard, but didn’t hit it off right away. He was too slick for her liking, but over time he eventually weaseled his way into her heart. His smile lit up the whole room and his big brown eyes could seduce anyone just like that. And he did, constantly. T’Challa was a huge flirt, and it was cute when they were still single and just getting to know each other, but even now T’Challa turns his charm on for every pretty face he sees. Kiana had brought it up to him many times, letting him know how disrespected she felt. He would always say the same thing.

“But entle, I’m just being nice. You know I only have eyes for you.”

She did know that once, but that ended about a year and a half ago when she was casually scrolling through twitter on his phone and caught him cheating.

“T’Challa!”

“Yes, my love?”

“What the fuck is this?!”

“Why are you on my phone?!”

“Don't fucking raise your voice at me, I’m not in the wrong here. I saw a funny tweet and started scrolling when YOU got a text from some bitch named Jasmine talking bout ‘I miss you daddy’ and sending you pictures of her pussy. Care to explain?”

He reached for the phone and she pulled it away from him.

“Nah-uh, talk.”

He sighed in exasperation.

“If you give me the phone I can explain, sithan-”

“Don’t you fucking ‘sweetheart’ me, answer the goddamn question. How long, T’Challa?!”

“Just once. Eh, one and a half maybe-”

He was interrupted by a throw pillow to the head.

“How the fuck do you halfway cheat nigga?!”

“She just gave me head the first ti-”

“That’s still cheating!”

“Will you lower your voice? You have neighbors.”

“Fuck! Them! Did you even use a condom?”

“Yes, Kiana I’m not-”

“Stupid? You’re not stupid?” Kiana laughed. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“My love, I-”

“Oh now I’m your love? Where the fuck was that energy when you were balls deep in this other bitch?!”

T’Challa stood there dumbstruck. He had never seen Kiana get this angry and didn’t know what to say. He knew he was wrong when he did it, but seeing the tears streaming down her face made him truly regret what he’d done. She had been so busy with school and work that she barely had time for him anymore. He had needs and just so happened to stumble upon someone more than willing to fulfil them.

He cursed himself for not locking his phone or at the very least, turning it over.

“How many, T’Challa...” Kiana sniffled.

“I told you, it was only twice-”

“How many women?!”

He froze, not knowing if he should mention Lisa since that was so much earlier in their relationship.

“Oh my god...oh my god...oh my- are you fucking serious?! I-I have to...I have to go get tested, I-”

“Kia-”

“What?!”

She looked at him with such fierceness that he shrunk under her gaze.

“I-I am sorry, I didn’t do it to hurt you, I was-”

He was stopped by a heavy-handed slap across his cheek that nearly knocked him over.

“Get the fuck out.” She said, barely above a whisper.

Six months later they ran into each other in the grocery store and decided to catch up over a cup of coffee. Kiana had healed and moved on, but T’Challa was still stuck on her. They had spent almost two good years together before he ruined what they had, and he just couldn’t let it go. He loved her, and he was determined to make it work this time.

Or so he really, truly thought before he met Marci...and Tanisha...

T’Challa knew he wasn’t a one-woman man, but he just couldn’t let Kiana go. His dalliances were never serious, just enough to scratch his constant itching. Sometimes they were a one-time thing, but others stuck around if they were good enough and knew how to be discreet. No matter what though, he always came back home to Kiana because despite his trash behavior, he really did love her in his own toxic way.

However, he didn’t love her enough to double check his calendar before leaving work on her birthday, or any day leading up to it. He had forgotten what day it was, and when he told Kiana to be ready at 7 he just meant for a regular date night.

It had been a long day at the Wakandan Embassy and Kiana’s Prince Charming needed a drink more than anything. He stopped at the first bar he came across that looked halfway decent. T’Challa walked up to the bar and caught the eye of the beautiful barkeep.

“Hiya, what can I do for you?”

T’Challa smiled his panty-dropping smile and she smiled back, revealing her perfect, white teeth. There was nothing he loved more than a pretty smile.

“Well, miss…”

“Tanisha,” she responded while using both arms to mix a shaker full of liquid courage and ice. His eyes avoided her chest, slyly watching in the periphery only.

“Well, Miss Tanisha, I had a horrible day at work and I am in need of a whiskey on the rocks. Preferably Jack, but truly anything will do.”

“We all have those days honey. Here’s a double on the house,” she said as she slid the drink to him across the bar top with a wink.

T’Challa licked his lips and lifted his glass to her before taking a sip of the warm amber liquid. He let out a sigh and his day seemed to melt away.

Tanisha kept coming back to check on him and they would chat when the crowd died down. T’Challa was on his third double when she came over with a plate of wings.

“You’re an angel.” He dug into the wings and made a complete mess on his shirt, so he went to the bathroom to try to wash the stain out. On his way back to the bar he noticed a very tall and sweaty man leaning over the bar trying to talk to Tanisha. From what he could see, she wasn’t feeling the conversation, but he kept approaching her anyway. When T’Challa returned to his seat she immediately gravitated towards him. This angered Mr. Tall and Sweaty, who drunkenly attempted to punch T’Challa in the face. T’Challa dodged the lazy punch and knocked him out cold with one hit. Security saw the whole thing go down, and removed Tall and Sweaty from the building once he came to.

“What you got planned for the night, handsome?”

“Nothing at all, why do you ask?”

“I get off at 9, wanna hang out?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good, now here’s a water.”

“Thank you, angel.”

By 10pm he was already halfway inside her, and when his phone started vibrating he was too wrapped up in her to think anything of it. Without looking he quieted the annoying sound and turned the phone off so he could focus on the task at hand.

Two and a half hours later, T’Challa was creeping out of Tanisha’s bed right as Kiana was sliding into hers. She had washed off all her makeup, but she didn’t have the emotional energy to tie up her hair. Normally she would wear one of T’Challa’s t-shirts, but she was too angry with him so she slept in a cute nighty she never wore. She admired herself in the mirror for half a second before bursting into tears and pulling the covers up to her head. She tried to stop crying, but the tears kept coming and she eventually gave herself a headache. How could he miss her birthday?

Kiana got up and threw on her plush maroon robe before she padded to the bathroom to grab some Advil. On the way she noticed her phone getting multiple notifications, the first of which was from her best friend Bebe.

“Have u seen this?! Sis, I’m so sorry. When we slashing his tires? Just 3 tho, this nigga needs to pay $$$.”

“What the fuck is she talking about?”

Kiana clicked the link and saw that it was Bebe’s cousin Darrell’s Instagram Story. Apparently there was a fight at the bar where he was celebrating a coworker’s promotion and he had filmed it for all of Instagram to see. Kayla stared at her phone in shock. There was her aint-shit boyfriend at a goddamn bar on her fucking birthday. She watched him punch a guy in the face on her birthday. At a bar. Without her.

She thought the kicker came when she saw him turn around and flirt with the bartender, but the story after that just about killed her. There he was, leading her out the back door with his hand too far down on her lower back to be simply platonic. Even the caption read “Ooooh someone’s about to get some ‘thank you’ pussy. That damsel in distress pussy hit different!”

Kiana saw red and almost cracked her phone for a second time tonight.

She grabbed the remaining merlot and downed it before throwing the bottle at the picture of them on the fridge. She watched the glass shatter and cut their faces while the trace bit of deep red wine seeped down the picture like blood. She wanted to trash the whole place, but remembered she would have to clean it later. Kiana started to hyperventilate and felt like she needed to get some air when she heard the lock turn.

“Kiki, what are you doin- are you ok? What happened here?”

Kiana ignored him as she walked towards where she threw her phone, silently pulling up the story and handing it to him. She watched his face go from confused, to shocked, to fearful. No regret, though.

“Ki-”

“Give me your key.”

“Kiana, please let me-”

“The key. Now,” she said with her voice completely devoid of any emotion.

T’Challa assumed she would be angry and yell or throw things, but this quiet storm terrified him. To him, it felt like she didn’t even care anymore. He was right.

He slowly reached his hand out and she snatched the key ring, removing hers and tossing the rest back to him.

“I’ll have your stuff packed by the morning. It’ll be outside my door by 8am. If it’s still there when I get back from work it’s going in the trash.”

T’Challa couldn’t bear the coldness in her voice. Tears rolled down his face and his knees buckled.

“Kiana, please. I can explain, I didn-”

“I don't give a fuck what you did or didnt do. You know why?”

“W-why?”

“Because it was my birthday, T’Challa. MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY and YOU forgot it. Not only did you forget it, my gift was you fucking some other bitch and leaving me lonely yet again. So no, I don't care if you fucked her or not even though I know your sorry ass did. I know she’s probably not the only one because I saw how easily you slid on in there in that video. You were way too comfortable, so I don't even want to ask you how many because it doesnt fucking matter anymore. Now you can stick your dick in every fine ass Black girl you see without remorse, oh wait...you were already doing that. So fuck you, get out my apartment before I call my brothers.”

“Kiana…”

“5, 4, 3,...” Kiana counted as she dialed her eldest brother Trey’s number, ignoring T'Challa's pathetic excuses. “2, 1… Hey Trey, I’m sorry did I wake you up?...Yeah I have a situat- oh look at that, his bitch ass is leaving-”

“I am sorry, Kiana,” T’Challa said one last time before she slammed the door in his face. He could hear her on the other side of the door explaining the situation to her brother, and when she started to cry it finally hit him. Her wails broke his spirit and more tears fell from his eyes.

He knew Trey would be over soon to comfort his baby sister and he needed to get the hell out of dodge, so T’Challa left Kiana’s apartment and never came back. Not even for his things, which turned out to be the best thing for Kiana because she and her girls got to burn it all up in Trey’s backyard fire pit and finally release that toxic man from her life.

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #tchalla fic #tchalla x oc #angst #niggas aint shit #aly & aj #potential breakup song

91 notes · View notes

rainbowcarousels · 3 years

Text

I don't know how interesting this is going to be but I started to answer a comment on the latest JBSWM from @zanahoriabaila and realised I actually kind of want to talk more depth about the subject so I'm going to post it up here. Between talking a little about Genesis especially on twitter and briefly talking a couple of chapters ago about Sephiroth, it's kind of all been ruminating into something meta that borders on a directors commentary.

Again, how come your Genesis always spews all the stuff I think?

This is absolutely something I do with my version of Genesis on the regular and there's a few different reasons why he’s my character of choice for uncomfortable examinations of stuff.

Cut for discussion of fic, canon, trauma and interrelationships with everyone!

The first reason is the Eve symbolism that comes with Genesis as a character. There's a decent bit of it with Genesis (much like Aerith) when you consider his name, his limit break, his carrying around of the forbidden fruit and the look of the Goddess statue and in CC canon, he is the first person to tell Sephiroth about what Jenova is. As such, giving a lot of the harder hitting commentary to Genesis feels natural because he is good at weaponising knowledge.

It also makes more sense out of AGS to give it to him because of each of their interactions with how knowledge effects them. The revelation of the Jenova Project in general (I hope!) illustrated this pretty well in that Angeal takes in knowledge and then thinks about what he should say or do or feel about it and it impacts it greatly. Sephiroth takes in the knowledge and tries to analyse and categorise because exploring how he feels emotionally about something is really difficult for him and unless it's pertinent, he just doesn't address it in terms of how to feel about it. Genesis in contrast to both goes instantly to what he is feeling in the moment and it fuels his decisions and choices.

Angeal's issue comes when what he should feel and what he does feel are so at odds that he can't reasonably justify how he feels and he's been going through a lot of that since he doesn't want to think ill of his mother, he does not want to consider that his father might have lied to him and he absolutely does not want to think about Hollander at all. His sense of honour is wrapped up in family, in the idea that he pulled himself up to get where he is with hard work and determination and that he does make a positive difference and he's just...completely lost right now emotionally because he can't reconcile his feelings with what he thinks he should feel.

Sephiroth's comes when something is emotive and he can't pick it apart and make sense of it through physical and observable changes. I think this probably comes from spending his childhood as a lab specimen so he knows how to report things that are observable and that emotions are too subjective so he doesn't include them. Then getting thrust into war, he also learns to describe himself by a physical status report. Zack gives him one based on how he is physically because he knows this is how Sephiroth is. The problem for him and the reason he is as noted by the same comment so detached is because he just doesn't really process anything emotional in any significant way, which is why as noted in one of my much earlier chapters, he struggles with saying 'I love you' because it's pure emotion and he tries to show it in his own way instead.

Then you have Genesis who runs on his emotions and experiences like they're fuel. There's a throwaway line in Don't You Know My Name about how Genesis doesn't so much like or dislike things as he dismisses or obsesses over them and because of that, he has the nastiest tunnel vision and comes across as self centred. He likes to write his own narrative in a way that makes sense to him based on what information he has and how he feels about it. There's a line in the song from JBSWM's title song that says 'judgment made can never bend' and I think this is part of Genesis struggling more with Zack's inclusion into their relationship with Cloud because he formed his own opinions on Cloud and Zack is Angeal's little puppy he's been hearing about for years. It's hard to shift perspectives for him.

Zack and Cloud have their own relationships with truth and feelings but Gast is history for AGS. So onto Gast, because that the subject being discussed in the chapter. It's not something new, if I go by my own timeline, Genesis and Angeal have known since they were 15 about a decent chunk of what happened as Sephiroth's background and Angeal comes down hard on the 'respect what Sephiroth feels even if it's not entirely accurate because it's important to him' side and Genesis comes down on the 'This was bullshit and Sephiroth needs to know it was bullshit regardless of how attached he is to the memory of Gast because he needs to deal with it'.

Zack and Cloud are just forming their opinions and it'll happen over a few chapters, but Zack is far more emotion based but he also has rose coloured glasses and if there is an upside, he will find it. Cloud, growing up feeling angry and isolated and idolising Sephiroth, kind of has a similar way of coping as him in that he has this idea he can't be openly emotional or vulnerable because he'll get hurt but he also isn't about to pull any punches either. It should make for interesting interaction hopefully.

I think Sephiroth is more knowledgeable than he realises in that he quickly guesses from Genesis being willing to share that they are in the 'experimented on parents' club that this is colouring some of his interaction here. He backs down earlier when the subject comes up, not because he thinks he's wrong but he's not pushing that hard because as much as it comes from a place where he's sad and angry that this terrible thing happened to someone he loves, he can rationalise backing down because his feelings are second hand. Except now they're not. While Angeal and Sephiroth can look at their parents to some degree and assign some kind of blame (and Cloud can from being victimised), he can't because he doesn't know who his parents are or what the circumstances were but Gast was the head of the department when this crap went down so he is a prime target for someone to be furious at.

These guys spent their teenage years building coping mechanisms based on battlefield experience, it's probably not a surprise Sephiroth is practical and tries to funnel it into something productive, Angeal tries to find the honourable method of dealing with it in the way he's supposed to and Genesis just wants someone, anyone appropriate to unleash all of that emotion on. I'd also argue that Zack tries to apply it to being the best hero he can be even though he was doing a lot of pretty unhero-like things and Cloud was cannon fodder, it's no surprise his sense of worth is in the toilet and he can't really grasp the idea of being special.

Someone described JBSWM as five broken people trying to make each other whole and I don't think it's exactly right, but it is close. It's five people trying to figure out a way to live with a shit ton of trauma and a lot of it is trauma they're complicit in which is really difficult to work through given all time and resources let alone trying to deal with Shinra at the same time.

This kind of brings me back to why Genesis is often the pushing person in the relationship and why he's not always right to do it.

As horrible as the Project G revelations are, it's not the same as growing up in the way Sephiroth (and in some ways, Aerith) did and he has the coping mechanisms he has for good reasons. He needs to have this idea of Gast as this good person who tried to be good to him but died because the alternative is Gast wandered off the moment he wasn't as interesting anymore and left him (in JBSWM's timeline at around the age of 4) to try and survive it by himself. He's already lost this perfect idea of a mother by having the 'L' put there and all SOLDIERs having JENOVA on their files and he's kind of desperately clinging onto something good because he hasn't really thought about what a lot of it would look like to someone coming in now until Cloud started to ask about it and had enough first hand experience to know it was really messed up. He can justify it as Gast was the better scientist, the better man, the better influence for him but if you start taking that away, it puts him in the position of being victimised and abused and that's all there is and I don't think he knows how to even begin to process that. As @aimeelouart pointed out, if he thinks about it or talks about it with any perspective, he would have to acknowledge he is traumatised and a large part of his identity has been built on his own invincibility. How can he be traumatised if that’s so?

The flipside of it being that I don't think any of them understood fully in a conscious way what happened with Sephiroth’s childhood until they saw it up close and personal with Cloud and even if it's coming from Genesis (dude is loud), Angeal is also pissed off and furious that it's just as bad as they thought it might be but could never be sure because they've only ever seen the aftermath and he does not talk about it. Zack got it all in one, he heard about it and saw it and is trying to deal with that but for Genesis and Angeal, it's festered for a decade and since no one save for maybe Zack has ever met a single healthy coping mechanism, it goes out as Angeal being cautious and letting Sephiroth set his own pace and Genesis going no, this is important, you have to confront this because if it hurts them from just caring about him and realising how bad it was, if Sephiroth some day realises how awful it was, he's going to just...shatter or explode and they'll lose him and even if he struggles to express it sometimes, he does love him dearly and like with Cloud, he wants him to figure out what will make him happy and it doesn’t seem like he’ll feel happy until he can stop blocking out what he’s feeling on instinct as some leftover coping mechanism. Cloud having to deal with his own lab trauma just brings it to the forefront and Genesis is not wasting the opportunity.

The thing is I don't think he's wrong about it because I think Alien Demi-god Sephiroth and Sane Sephiroth are two sides of the exact same person. There's hints of it here and there, but I think one of the biggest ones is he's very possessive and it took Hojo crossing the line and almost killing Cloud when he was beginning to grow attached to him to get him to move out of his holding pattern. In a way, this can also be traced all the way back to Gast and the idea of his mother because it's this almost childlike view that when he's attached to someone, they leave and it hurts so the obvious answer is make it so they can't leave or in the case of canon, try to push them to come back. I genuinely do not think Jenova knew what they were getting themselves into with him because they were like 'hey I could be your mom' and got absolutely swallowed by someone who was hurting, desperate for connection and just So Fucking Done with all of it until his will overrode theirs and he was never, ever going to be alone again because the entire planet would be reborn as part of him.

Not the direction I'm going with JBSWM, they have some things they need to work on with each other but they are together and leaving Shinra was as close to a statement of commitment as you can get. With Midgar behind them and a chunk of their identity and dreams left with it, trying to face those uncomfortable truths will be hard for everyone and as much as Genesis puts it out there, he’ll struggle with his own too because if they have to deal with their shit, so does he.

#to say this got away from me is a gross understatement #i hope it makes a little sense #fic: just be still with me #fic related meta

30 notes · View notes

asteriismos · 4 years

Text

irresistable - jacob thrombey

warning(s) : smut, reader & jacob are 18, choking but whats new, the thrombeys being horrible as always

words : 2.6k

request:

Jacob and you having sex together during the party or him actually masturnating to pictures of you wounds like such a good concept

I just need some rough jacob b. and jacob t. smut

Howdy, can I please get a rough Jacob thrombey smut where they hate each other?

you didn’t want to go to the thrombey party that was being thrown for harlan thrombey’s birthday.

it wasn’t because of harlan, no, you loved the old man and he loved you too. you two always had interesting conversations whenever you two spoke. he loved you as if you were his own granddaughter.

your family was close with the thrombey’s, family friends. it was normal for your family and their family to throw parties together or be seen with each other on the streets of massachusetts.

the real reason why you didn’t want to go is because of jacob thrombey. the literal thorn in your side.

he was rude, incredibly rude to you and to everyone around him. he always sat on his phone and wrote controversial tweets that made almost everyone angry. he hated you, a lot. you didn’t know if it was because you were simply a girl, or because you didn’t take his shit.

probably both.

“ah, mr and mrs y/l/n! so nice to see you,” harlan thrombey greeted once he opened the front door of his estate. your parents smiled and shook the old man’s hand, and harlan turned to you and smiled. “and y/n! great to see you too. we missed you at the last party.” you hadn’t gone to the last thrombey family party because you were doing something for school that day.

“hi harlan,” you said, shaking his hand and walking beside your parents into the enterance hallway. everyone was in the dining room that connected to the family room. there were boisterous laughs and drinks being held as the thrombey’s greeted your family.

you stayed silent though, eyes scanning over the people at the party. there was marta, who stood on the offskirts who smiled and waved at you. you waved back, turning your attention to the stairs where jacob was sitting. he had his chin resting on his non dominant hand as he scrolled idly through his twitter feed, not paying attention to anyone who was at the party. he didn’t even notice that you were there, which was probably actually a good thing.

but megan, or meg, ruined your cover, yelling your name and coming to hug you. she was a little bit older than you, in her first year of college while you were in your senior year of high school. despite the slight age difference, you got along pretty nicely, you were even thinking about going to her college to room with her next year. “y/n! you’re here! i missed you so much at the last one,” megan said, pulling away from her hug and standing in front of you.

“meg! you too. and yeah, i had to be at the school for some fundraiser,” you said, shaking your head.

“you always are doing something, aren’t you? listen, i really need to catch up with you, but my mom wanted me to go check to see when the hors d’oeuvres are coming out,” she said, turning on her heel and walking away. you sighed, finding yourself once again alone. you were just about to find a spot on the couch, when you heard a voice behind you.

“what are you doing here?”

you turned to be met with jacob, who wasn’t sitting on the stairs anymore but instead was standing rather close to you. you rolled your eyes, pushing past him and bumping your shoulders together. “nice to see you too, jacob.”

he just laughed, making you stop from walking away from him to look at him once again.

“what’s so funny, thrombey?”

jacob squinted his eyes at you, rolling his eyes. “just how entitled you think you are.”

you scoffed. “me? the entitled one? have you looked in the mirror lately?”

then you walked away, returning back into the room with your parents and the other thrombeys. as far as you knew, jacob went back to going on his phone on the stairs. it’s not like you cared anyways.

the night went on and you stayed mostly by yourself, occasionally talking to megan when she would come around or if joni would try and talk to you about her new practice or whatever the hell she did. ransom came to the house a little bit later than everyone else, so mostly everyone was talking about him or talking with him. you didn’t know ransom well, so you didn’t talk to him at all and only watched him try to talk up harlan on something.

you were bored, so you stood up and walked into the kitchen, trying to find something to drink that wasn’t the wine that was set out for everyone. no one cared if you drank, but you’d had a little bit too much wine and needed to wash it down with some water.

while you stood at the water pitcher and poured yourself a glass, someone came and pushed you against the counter. this caused you to lose your grip on the pitcher and get water all over your hands and arms. you just knew that it was jacob that did it, and the laugh that you heard from behind you only validated your claim.

“you’re an actual dick, you know that?” you said to him, turning around and shoving him in the chest with your wet hands. you pushed past him and made your way to the bathroom, only closing the door halfway and going to the mirror to fix yourself. you grabbed a towel and heard the door close, looking in the mirror you saw that jacob had walked in and closed the door behind him. “what the hell do you want?” you sneered, wiping off your hands and arms.

he didn’t answer, only standing against the door watching you.

“do you speak?” you asked, setting down the towel, turning around and leaning your back against the vanity. “or are you just coming in here to mess with me more?”

“you talk too much, y/n, i swear to god,” jacob said, walking closer to you. he was so close that you could feel his hot breath on your face. “do you ever shut up?”

you were about to retort something back to him, but he leaned towards you and pressed his lips against yours. it was a harsh kiss despite you not seeing it coming, his hands coming to your sides in a tight grip. your first instinct was to push him away because him kissing you was really weird, something that you never thought would happen. but then you realized how good of a kisser he was, and that there was a searing desire seated in your stomach that seemed to be growing the longer your lips worked against his own.

jacob’s tongue prodded against your lips, to which you opened your mouth to turn it into a deeper, open mouthed kiss. tongue against tongue, teeth clashing against each other a few times. his hands squeezed at your sides, pushing you closer into the vanity that you could feel the edge bite into your back.

he pulled away for a moment to order, “jump.” hands moving to the back of your thighs and giving them a good squeeze. you did as he ordered, jumping into his arms and allowing him to place you on top of the sink counter. your legs instantly wrapped around his waist, his hips pushing into yours with a low groan coming from his lips.

you smirked, liking that reaction from him so this time you pushed your hips against his, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling on the strands of hair on the nape of his neck. his hands came from your sides to the bottom of the blouse that you were wearing, pushing it up. this separated both of you for a moment, making you whine from the loss of contact, but it didn’t take long before he was kissing you again.

as much as this felt wrong for doing, mostly because you hated jacob and he hated you, you couldn’t help but think about how insanely hot jacob was. and in that tie that he was wearing? you wondered how you never jumped his bones before this moment.

his hands palmed at your breasts, head dipping down to kiss down your neck all the way to your collarbone. his teeth grazed against that sweet spot on your neck and you moaned out, eliciting a chuckle from his end against your neck. he sucked down at that point and all around it, giving you more than enough hickies that would make you remember this moment for a very long time.

his other hand came and wrapped loosely against your neck, giving it an experimental squeeze. this made you let out a noise and look up into his eyes, a grin plastered on his face. “you like that don’t you? of course you’re a masochist.” you knew that he was trying to edge you on, but you couldn’t get yourself to say anything because he was squeezing your neck again, his clothed dick grinding against your clothed core. your mind went blank, pulling him by his tie to kiss him again.

a large yell was heard in the bathroom and it wasn’t from either of you, making both of you pull away from each other for a moment. jacob’s hands came to your thighs and held them, motioning over to the air vent that sat above the toilet. you only heard a few words that were my will and im warning you. it sounded like ransom, and by the noise heard afterward like a door slamming, it came from harlan’s study.

you two took a moment to catch your breath, realizing how hot it was getting in the small bathroom. once there was no more noises from the vent other than the air rushing through it, you two were kissing again. both of you had kiss swollen lips, but it’s not like it changed anything for you two.

you had managed to undo the tie around his neck and dropped it down to the floor, your fingers undoing the buttons on his white dress shirt. while your fingers worked the buttons, your lips came and kissed along his chesk, giving him a nice hickey here and there, his hands pushing your skirt up and fingertips dancing along your clothed clit. you pulled the rest of his shirt off and was about to work with his belt when he pulled away your panties and slid two fingers inside of you.

the feeling of him pumping them in and out drove you crazy, turning you into a moaning mess, but quiet enough so that no one else would hear in the party that was still going on. he shushed you, tutting and putting his hand right to your neck again. his fingers were going at a quick pace easily because of all the wetness you had already created. your panties had been soaked for a good five minutes prior to this.

“so wet for me, god,” jacob muttered, face going back to your neck and pressing kisses along your skin.

the coil in your stomach was getting tighter and tighter, and was so close to snapping when his thumb came to rub along your clit. jacob’s hand stayed at your neck and applied pressure, enough to make it a little bit hard to breathe but not enough to totally make you unable to. and you were so damn close when his fingers pulled out of you, leaving you high and dry.

jacob held up his fingers that were slick with your arousal and brought them to your lips, pushing them into your mouth. “clean it up, it’s your mess,” he said in a condescending tone. the hard on you could feel against your inner thigh got harder when he watched you swirl your tongue around his two fingers, groaning out in the taste of yourself.

he pulled his hand away from your mouth and helped you undo his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down and pulling himself out. he pumped himself a few times and you couldn’t help but stare at him. he was big, probably the biggest you have ever taken and you weren’t entirely sure if he would even fit. jacob caught you staring and said, “like what you see, y/n?”

you rolled your eyes, his tip teasing your slit, rubbing up and down against you. his lips attached to your jawline and he whispered, “beg.”

“screw you jacob,” you said. “no way.”

“fine, then i’ll just leave you here all worked up,” jacob said, pulling himself away from you. the cold air of the room hit your core and you groaned, reaching out to grab his shoulders.

biting your lip for a moment, you said, “please fuck me jacob.”

“i think you can do better than that.”

your cheeks heated up red in embarrassment, pulling your lips next to his ear. “i need you jacob, fuck me. i need your cock.”

“good girl,” he said, pushing into you with no remorse. jacob didn’t give you any time to adjust to him, instead starting a consistent pace that had you borderline screaming. the only thing that kept you from crying out was the hand that went from your neck to your mouth to shut you up.

the way that he was filling you up, pounding into you like he owned you was driving you closer to your high. you were already pretty close because he fucked you with his fingers, and you weren’t going to last long. thankfully, jacob didn’t think that he was going to last very long either, because seeing you moan out his name and talk about how much you needed him worked him up much more than he was willing to admit.

his lips pressed against yours for a moment before he pulled away and said, “remember who made you feel this way. me, it was me. you’re mine. say it.”

“fuck, jacob, y-you’re mine,” you stuttered out, hands gripping against his bare back. your fingernails went into his skin almost enough to break it, but the pleasure mixed with the pain that created a great feeling. “i’m all yours, only yours.”

he chuckled, hand reaching down to mess with your clit in figure eights. that was enough to have you moaning into the nape of his neck, his hand gripping your neck trying to stop you from being so loud. your hips rolled against his, riding out your high. he thrusted a few more times and then he was hitting his own orgasm.

you felt his cum go inside you for a moment before he started to pull out some of it spilling out onto the insides of your thighs. his hand came down, fingers catching the cum that had spilled out and pushing it back into you, making you jump up from the sensitivity.

“i want you to keep all of me in there,” jacob stated, pulling his fingers out and using the towel next to you to wipe his fingers off.

it was silent as you slowly put your shirt back on and attempted to fix your hair, still sore from your hips being spread apart for an insane amount of time while he fucked into you. you watched up dress himself, run a hand through his hair and walk towards the door.

before he opened it, jacob said, “at least now i know how to get you to shut up.” he winked, then opened the door and walked out back into the party.

you sighed, knowing that he would never let you live this down.

#jacob thrombey #knives out #jacob thrombey x reader #jacob thrombey smut #knives out imagine #jacob thrombey imagine

319 notes · View notes

all-things-are-nothing-to-me · 3 years

Text

The New Nihilism

It feels increasingly difficult to tell the difference between—on one hand—being old, sick, and defeated, and—on the other hand—living in a time-&-place that is itself senile, tired, and defeated. Sometimes I think it’s just me—but then I find that some younger, healthier people seem to be undergoing similar sensations of ennui, despair, and impotent anger. Maybe it’s not just me.

A friend of mine attributed the turn to disillusion with “everything”, including old-fashioned radical/activist positions, to disappointment over the present political regime in the US, which was somehow expected to usher in a turn away from the reactionary decades since the 1980s, or even a “progress” toward some sort of democratic socialism. Although I myself didn’t share this optimism (I always assume that anyone who even wants to be President of the US must be a psychopathic murderer) I can see that “youth” suffered a powerful disillusionment at the utter failure of Liberalism to turn the tide against Capitalism Triumphalism. The disillusion gave rise to OCCUPY and the failure of OCCUPY led to a move toward sheer negation.

However I think this merely political analysis of the “new nothing” may be too two-dimensional to do justice to the extent to which all hope of “change” has died under Kognitive Kapital and the technopathocracy. Despite my remnant hippy flower- power sentiments I too feel this “terminal” condition (as Nietzsche called it), which I express by saying, only half-jokingly, that we have at last reached the Future, and that the truly horrible truth of the End of the World is that it doesn’t end.

One big J.G. Ballard/Philip K. Dick shopping mall from now till eternity, basically.

This IS the future—how do you like it so far? Life in the Ruins: not so bad for the bourgeoisie, the loyal servants of the One Percent. Air-conditioned ruins! No Ragnarok, no Rapture, no dramatic closure: just an endless re-run of reality TV cop shows. 2012 has come and gone, and we’re still in debt to some faceless bank, still chained to our screens.

Most people—in order to live at all—seem to need around themselves a penumbra of “illusion” (to quote Nietzsche again):—that the world is just rolling along as usual, some good days some bad, but in essence no different now than in 10000 BC or 1492 AD or next year. Some even need to believe in Progress, that the Future will solve all our problems, and even that life is much better for us now than for (say) people in the 5th century AD. We live longer thanx to Modern Science—of course our extra years are largely spent as “medical objects”—sick and worn out but kept ticking by Machines & Pills that spin huge profits for a few megacorporations & insurance companies. Nation of Struldbugs.

True, we’re suffocating in the mire generated by our rule of sick machines under the Numisphere of Money. At least ten times as much money now exists than it would take to buy the whole world—and yet species are vanishing space itself is vanishing, icecaps melting, air and water grown toxic, culture grown toxic, landscape sacrificed to fracking and megamalls, noise-fascism, etc, etc. But Science will cure all that ills that Science has created—in the Future (in the “long run”, when we’re all dead, as Lord Keynes put it); so meanwhile we’ll carry on consuming the world and shitting it out as waste—because it’s convenient & efficient & profitable to do so, and because we like it.

Well, this is all a bunch of whiney left-liberal cliches, no? Heard it before a million times. Yawn. How boring, how infantile, how useless. Even if it were all true... what can we do about it? If our Anointed Leaders can’t or won’t stop it, who will? God? Satan? The “People”?

All the fashionable “solutions” to the “crisis”, from electronic democracy to revolutionary violence, from locavorism to solar-powered dingbats, from financial market regulation to the General Strike—all of them, however ridiculous or sublime, depend on one preliminary radical change—a seismic shift in human consciousness. Without such a change all the hope of reform is futile. And if such a change were somehow to occur, no “reform” would be necessary. The world would simply change. The whales would be saved. War no more. And so on.

What force could (even in theory) bring about such a shift? Religion? In 6,000 years of organized religion matters have only gotten worse. Psychedelic drugs in the reservoirs? The Mayan calendar? Nostalgia? Terror?

If catastrophic disaster is now inevitable, perhaps the “Survivalist” scenario will ensue, and a few brave millions will create a green utopia in the smoking waste. But won’t Capitalism find a way to profit even from the End of the World? Some would claim that it’s doing so already. The true catastrophe may be the final apotheosis of commodity fetishism.

Let’s assume for the sake of argument that this paradise of power tools and back-up alarms is all we’ve got & all we’re going to get. Capitalism can deal with global warming—it can sell water-wings and disaster insurance. So it’s all over, let’s say—but we’ve still got television & Twitter. Childhood’s End—i.e. the child as ultimate consumer, eager for the brand. Terrorism or home shopping network—take yr pick (democracy means choice).

Since the death of the Historical Movement of the Social in 1989 (last gasp of the hideous “short” XXth century that started in 1914) the only “alternative” to Capitalist Neo-Liberal totalitarianism that seems to have emerged is religious neo-fascism. I understand why someone would want to be a violent fundamentalist bigot—I even sympathize—but just because I feel sorry for lepers doesn’t mean I want to be one.

When I attempt to retain some shreds of my former antipessimism I fantasize that History may not be over, that some sort of Populist Green Social Democracy might yet emerge to challenge the obscene smugness of “Money Interests”—something along the lines of 1970s Scandinavian monarcho-socialism—which in retrospect now looks the most humane form of the State ever to have emerged from the putrid suck-hole of Civilization. (Think of Amsterdam in its heyday.) Of course as an anarchist I’d still have to oppose it—but at least I’d have the luxury of believing that, in such a situation, anarchy might actually stand some chance of success. Even if such a movement were to emerge, however, we can rest damn-well assured it won’t happen in the USA. Or anywhere in the ghost-realm of dead Marxism, either. Maybe Scotland!

It would seem quite pointless to wait around for such a rebirth of the Social. Years ago many radicals gave up all hope of The Revolution, and the few who still adhere to it remind me of religious fanatics. It might be soothing to lapse into such doctrinaire revolutionism, just as it might be soothing to sink into mystical religion—but for me at least both options have lost their savor. Again, I sympathize with those true believers (although not so much when they lapse into authoritarian leftism or fascism)— nevertheless, frankly, I’m too depressed to embrace their Illusions.

If the End-Time scenario sketched above be considered actually true, what alternatives might exist besides suicidal despair? After much thought I’ve come up with three basic strategies.

1) Passive Escapism. Keep your head down, don’t make waves. Capitalism permits all sorts of “lifestyles” (I hate that word)—just pick one & try to enjoy it. You’re even allowed to live as a dirt farmer without electricity & infernal combustion, like a sort of secular Amish refusnik. Well, maybe not. But at least you could flirt with such a life. “Smoke Pot, Eat Chicken, Drink Tea,” as we used to say in the 60s in the Moorish Church of America, our psychedelic cult. Hope they don’t catch you. Fit yourself into some Permitted Category such as Neo-Hippy or even Anabaptist.

2) Active Escapism. In this scenario you attempt to create the optimal conditions for the emergence of Autonomous Zones, whether temporary, periodic or even (semi)permanent. In 1984 when I first coined the term Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ)

I envisioned it as a complement to The Revolution—although I was already, to be truthful, tired of waiting for a moment that seemed to have failed in 1968. The TAZ would give a taste or premonition of real liberties: in effect you would attempt to live as if the Revolution had already occurred, so as not to die without ever having experienced “free freedom” (as Rimbaud called it, liberte libre). Create your own pirate utopia.

Of course the TAZ can be as brief & simple as a really good dinner party, but the true autonomist will want to maximize the potential for longer & deeper experiences of authentic lived life. Almost inevitably this will involve crime, so it’s necessary to think like a criminal, not a victim. A “Johnson” as Burroughs used to say—not a “mark”. How else can one live (and live well) without Work. Work, the curse of the thinking class. Wage slavery. If you’re lucky enough to be a successful artist, you can perhaps achieve relative autonomy without breaking any obvious laws (except the laws of good taste, perhaps). Or you could inherit a million. (More than a million would be a curse.) Forget revolutionary morality—the question is, can you afford your taste of freedom? For most of us, crime will be not only a pleasure but a necessity. The old anarcho-Illegalists showed the way: individual expropriation. Getting caught of course spoils the whole thing—but risk is an aspect of self-authenticity.

One scenario I’ve imagined for active Escapism would be to move to a remote rural area along with several hundred other libertarian socialists—enough to take over the local government (municipal or even county) and elect or control the sheriffs & judges, the parent/teacher association, volunteer fire department and even the water authority. Fund the venture with cultivation of illegal phantastice and carry on a discreet trade. Organize as a “Union of Egoists” for mutual benefit & ecstatic pleasures—perhaps under the guise of “communes” or even monasteries, who cares. Enjoy it as long as it lasts.

I know for a fact that this plan is being worked on in several places in America—but of course I’m not going to say where.

Another possible model for individual escapists might be the nomadic adventurer. Given that the whole world seems to be turning into a giant parking lot or social network, I don’t know if this option remains open, but I suspect that it might. The trick would be to travel in places where tourists don’t—if such places still exist—and to involve oneself in fascinating and dangerous situations. For example if I were young and healthy I’d’ve gone to France to take part in the TAZ that grew around resistance to the new airport—or to Greece—or Mexico—wherever the perverse spirit of rebellion crops up. The problem here is of course funding. (Sending back statues stuffed with hash is no longer a good idea.) How to pay for yr life of adventure? Love will find a way. It doesn’t matter so much if one agrees with the ideals of Tahrir Square or Zucotti Park—the point is just to be there.

3. Revenge. I call it Zarathustra’s Revenge because as Nietzsche said, revenge may be second rate but it’s not nothing. One might enjoy the satisfaction of terrifying the bastards for at least a few moments. Formerly I advocated “Poetic Terrorism” rather than actual violence, the idea being that art could be wielded as a weapon. Now I’ve rather come to doubt it. But perhaps weapons might be wielded as art. From the sledgehammer of the Luddites to the black bomb of the attentat, destruction could serve as a form of creativity, for its own sake, or for purely aesthetic reasons, without any illusions about revolution. Oscar Wilde meets the acte gratuit: a dandyism of despair.

What troubles me about this idea is that it seems impossible to distinguish here between the action of post-leftist anarcho-nihilists and the action of post-rightist neo-traditionalist reactionaries. For that matter, a bomb may as well be detonated by fundamentalist fanatics—what difference would it make to the victims or the “innocent bystanders”? Blowing up a nanotechnology lab—why shouldn’t this be the act of a desperate monarchist as easily as that of a Nietzschean anarchist?

In a recent book by Tiqqun (Theory of Bloom), it was fascinating to come suddenly across the constellation of Nietzsche, Rene Guenon, Julius Evola, et al. as examples of a sharp and just critique of the Bloom syndrome—i.e., of progress-as-illusion. Of course the “beyond left and right” position has two sides—one approaching from the left, the other from the right. The European New Right (Alain de Benoist & his gang) are big admirers of Guy Debord, for a similar reason (his critique, not his proposals).

The post-left can now appreciate Traditionalism as a reaction against modernity just as the neo-traditionalists can appreciate Situationism. But this doesn’t mean that post-anarchist anarchists are identical with post-fascism fascists!

I’m reminded of the situation in fin-de-siecle France that gave rise to the strange alliance between anarchists and monarchists; for example the Cerce Proudhon. This surreal conjunction came about for two reasons: a) both factions hated liberal democracy, and b) the monarchists had money. The marriage gave birth to weird progeny, such as Georges Sorel. And Mussolini famously began his career as an Individualist anarchist!

Another link between left & right could be analyzed as a kind of existentialism; once again Nietzsche is the founding parent here, I think. On the left there were thinkers like Gide or Camus. On the right, that illuminated villain Baron Julius Evola used to tell his little ultra-right groupuscules in Rome to attack the Modern World—even though the restoraton of tradition was a hopeless dream—if only as an act of magical self-creation. Being trumps essence. One must cherish no attachment to mere results. Surely Tiqqun’s advocacy of the “perfect Surrealist act” (firing a revolver at random into a crowd of “innocent by-standers”) partakes of this form of action-as-despair. (Incidentally I have to confess that this is the sort of thing that has always—to my regret—prevented my embracing Surrealism: it’s just too cruel. I don’t admire de Sade, either.)

Of course, as we know, the problem with the Traditionalists is that they were never traditional enough. They looked back at a lost civilization as their “goal” (religion, mysticism, monarchism, arts-&-crafts, etc.) whereas they should have realized that the real tradition is the “primordial anarchy” of the Stone Age, tribalism, hunting/gathering, animism—what I call the Neanderthal Liberation Front. Paul Goodman used the term “Neolithic Conservatism” to describe his brand of anarchism—but “Paleolithic Reaction” might be more appropriate!

The other major problem with the Traditionalist Right is that the entire emotional tone of the movement is rooted in self-repression. Here a rough Reichean analysis suffices to demonstrate that the authoritarian body reflects a damaged soul, and that only anarchy is compatible with real self-realization.

The European New Right that arose in the 90s still carries on its propaganda—and these chaps are not just vulgar nationalist chauvenist anti-semitic homophobic thugs—they’re intellectuals & artists. I think they’re evil, but that doesn’t mean I find them boring. Or even wrong on certain points. They also hate the nanotechnologists!

Although I attempted to set off a few bombs back in the 1960s (against the war in Vietnam) I’m glad, on the whole, that they failed to detonate (technology was never my metier). It saves me from wondering if I would’ve experienced “moral qualms”. Instead I chose the path of the propagandist and remained an activist in anarchist media from 1984 to about 2004. I collaborated with the Autonomedia publishing collective, the IWW, the John Henry Mackay Society (Left Stirnerites) and the old NYC Libertarian Book Club (founded by comrades of Emma Goldman, some of whom I knew, & who are now all dead). I had a radio show on WBAI (Pacifica) for 18 years. I lectured all over Europe and East Europe in the 90s. I had a very nice time, thank you. But anarchism seems even farther off now than it looked in 1984, or indeed in 1958, when I first became an anarchist by reading George Harriman’s Krazy Kat. Well, being an existentialist means you never have to say you’re sorry.

In the last few years in anarchist circles there’s appeared a trend “back” to Stirner/Nietzsche Individualism—because after all, who can take revolutionary anarcho-communism or syndicalism seriously anymore? Since I’ve adhered to this Individualist position for decades (although tempered by admiration for Charles Fourier and certain “spiritual anarchists” like Gustave Landauer) I naturally find this trend agreeable.

“Green anarchists” & AntiCivilization Neo-primitivists seem (some of them) to be moving toward a new pole of attraction, nihilism. Perhaps neo-nihilism would serve as a better label, since this tendency is not simply replicating the nihilism of the Russian narodniks or the French attentatists of circa 1890 to 1912, however much the new nihilists look to the old ones as precursors. I share their critique—in fact I think I’ve been mirroring it to a large extent in this essay: creative despair, let’s call it. What I do not understand however is their proposal—if any. “What is to be done?” was originally a nihilist slogan, after all, before Lenin appropriated it. I presume that my option #1, passive escape, would not suit the agenda. As for Active Escapism, to use the suffix “ism” implies some form not only of ideology but also some action. What is the logical outcome of this train of thought?

As an animist I experience the world (outside Civilization) as essentially sentient. The death of God means the rebirth of the gods, as Nietzsche implied in his last “mad” letters from Turin— the resurrection of the great god PAN—chaos, Eros, Gaia, & Old Night, as Hesiod put it—Ontological anarchy, Desire, Life itself, & the Darkness of revolt & negation—all seem to me as real as they need to be.

I still adhere to a certain kind of spiritual anarchism—but only as heresy and paganism, not as orthodoxy and monotheism. I have great respect for Dorothy Day—her writing influenced me in the 60s—and Ivan Illich, whom I knew personally—but in the end I cannot deal with the cognitive dissonance between anarchism and the Pope! Nevertheless I can believe in the re-paganaziation of monotheism. I hold to this pagan tradition because I sense the universe as alive, not as “dead matter.” As a life-long psychedelicist I have always thought that matter & spirit are identical, and that this fact alone legitimizes what Theory calls “desire”.

From this p.o.v. the phrase “revolution of everyday life” still seems to have some validity—if only in terms of the second proposal, Active Escapism or the TAZ. As for the third possibility— Zarathustra’s Revenge—this seems like a possible path for the new nihilism, at least from a philosophical perspective. But since I am unable personally to advocate it, I leave the question open.

But here—I think—is the point at which I both meet with & diverge from the new nihilism. I too seem to believe that Predatory Capitalism has won and that no revolution is possible in the classical sense of that term. But somehow I can’t bring myself to be “against everything.” Within the Temporary Autonomous Zone there still seems to persist the possibility of “authentic life,” if only for a moment—and if this position amounts to mere Escapism, then let us become Houdini. The new surge of interest in Individualism is obviously a response to the Death of the Social. But does the new nihilism imply the death even of the individual and the “union of egoists” or Nietzschean free spirits? On my good days, I like to think not.

No matter which of the three paths one takes (or others I can’t yet imagine) it seems to me that the essential thing is not to collapse into mere apathy. Depression we may have to accept, impotent rage we may have to accept, revolutionary pessimism we may have to accept. But as e.e. cummings (anarchist poet) said, there is some shit we will not take, lest we simply become the enemy by default. Can’t go on, must go on. Cultivate rosebuds, even selfish pleasures, as long as a few birds & flowers still remain. Even love may not be impossible...

#hakim bey #Nihilism #t.a.z.#anarchism

23 notes · View notes

harryandmolly · 4 years

Text

fear and loathing in mandeville canyon *1*

summary: Shawn & Lilly, derailed, detoured, but maybe not destroyed

warnings: language, big angst but with a purpose

wc: 5k

July 2019

Lilly’s fingers are sunk into the curls at the back of his head, perhaps subconsciously clinging to something already lost. Maybe something she never even had.

His kiss is so brief. It’s a flutter against her lips, followed by a jerk of his head that’s so certain in expressing his desire to be away from her that he may as well have already said it. He steps back, the corners of his lips lifting, soft and timid.

Lilly’s fingers fall. He doesn’t catch them.

“No,” she whispers. Her chin starts to go first. She’s like a cartoon character when she cries. Her chin begins to wobble, then her pillowy lips. Her round cheeks get rounder. Her blue eyes go an eerie sort of green.

She’s watched it happen before, in mirrors when she’s alone. He’s seen it, too. But never from so very, very far away.

“I don’t…” she begins, her voice a painful rake across its cords, “I didn’t know.”

He’s appropriately solemn in that horrible way that feels schooled, like he practiced, like he’s getting through it to get through it. He hunches his broad shoulders, bows his head a little like he’s sorry. God, is he even sorry?

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and holy fuck, no one’s voice has ever hurt so much. She wants to rip it away from him, maybe that would cause him as much pain.

Her numbing fingers cup her arms across her chest, guarding her explosive heart. She can’t even look at him now. She used to think he wanted her to look at him. Did he ever?

“I don’t really know what to say,” he confesses, scrubbing at the back of his neck, keeping his eyes down at his shoes, “I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t think she was ever going to want me.”

Lilly’s back hits the wall and it gets his attention. He blinks up at her, startled, then snaps back into well-trodden guilt.

He doesn’t have to tell her who he means. Anyone who was half paying attention could do that. Because even though he’s the one breaking her heart, she still gets to be called the fool who let him.

“I trusted you,” she breathes, and it’s acid, “When you looked at me, when you held me, when you loved me, when you told me it was me, I fucking trusted you.”

He looks somehow hurt now, like she’s hitting below the belt. Because how dare she question the farce he strung her along for, for his own erstwhile entertainment?

“Don’t do this,” he scolds, shaking his head like he’s the one who’s disappointed.

She is all rage, and it’s bliss. It’s jet fuel and it won’t last her and somewhere buried below the molten spite she knows when she inevitably burns through it, she’ll be just whatever’s left, but it has to ignite, it has to go somewhere.

“All this time, it was always her,” she seethes, dropping her head back against the wall because if she doesn’t anchor herself, she might take a running start at him, “Was it ever, even for a second, was it ever me?”

His heavy eyes drift shut. He looks exhausted. Lying is fucking draining.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, and Lilly believes him. She shakes her head.

“You stupid boy,” she spits, watching as his eyes slam open again, offended, “You stupid fucking child.”

“Stop,” he grunts, defensive again. It’s a red flag to a bull.

She lifts off the wall, fists in her hair. “You had me so fooled. I thought you were so mature. God, you wore it well. The way you talk about your music and your family and your future. I thought you were a goddamn adult. No. You’re not. You’re a child.”

“You sound insane!” he cries, squaring off his perfect jaw.

“You’ve been waiting around for years. What do you think? You get a Calvin Klein campaign,” He scoffs and takes off toward the door, but she follows, “And now she’s suddenly paying attention, but whatever, it must be real? This is it? She’s finally yours? So fucking naive.”

He slams a solid fist against the doorframe. “You don’t know! You don’t know shit about us. Stop talking like you know anything. You’re fucking jealous.”

“Jealous!” she screeches, clutching her chest with both hands, choking on every breath, “Of course I’m fucking jealous! Were you waiting to hear me say that? Of course I’m jealous. Because I’m in love with you! While you had one eye on her and one hand on me, I was in this. I was all in. I love you. I love you! And you love her!”

For no good reason at all, saying it out loud knocks out the ignition. She nearly crumples. With an almost theatrically shuddering breath, she steps back.

He stares at her, bewildered. What could he possibly have expected? Did he really think she wasn’t going to remind him? Worse, did he really think maybe she was lying, too?

Lilly shakes her head, slow and deliberate, pressing a rolled up sweaterpaw to one of her gushing eyes. She is cracking apart. Part of her wants him to go so she can do it alone. The spiteful part wants him to watch what he’s done.

Lilly wonders if she’s waiting for him. She wonders where. At her place? At a hotel? Maybe she’s in a Lyft outside Lilly’s house. She almost wants to check. She manages to keep her feet planted because Camila Cabello is not worth life in prison.

“I just want you to know,” Lilly begins, and her voice is as painful coming out as it is to hear it, “That I really want to hate you. And that should mean something to you. I can’t hate you yet, but I cannot wait for that to kick in. Until then, I’m stuck with loving you. But know when you’re falling asleep with her tonight, brushing your lips against her hair, playing with her fingers, know that I love you, but I want nothing more than to hate you.”

Finally, the guilt looks real. Finally, the shock has his own breath shaking. Finally, she managed to set one little fire from the sparks of her blaze.

He leaves without another word. And she’s left with the wreckage.

March 27, 2020

Lilly used to read creepy stories on the internet. It was one of her many fads. She’d hunt through Reddit and Buzzfeed and Tumblr, trolling for words that made her skin crawl. There was a post once somewhere about the world’s shortest scary stories.

The last man on earth sat alone in a room. Then came a knock at the door.

She’s been preoccupied by that one lately, but she’s unsure why. Maybe it’s because she’d rather be alone right now instead of holed up with seven roommates. Maybe it’s because she’s grateful not to be alone.

The stay-at-home order in Los Angeles has been in place for eight days. Lilly’s been home for ten, when production on her series shut down. No production, no need for a freelance PA. That night, she held her breath and applied for unemployment just like six million other Americans.

She’s gone a bit nocturnal, staying up until 2 or 3am and waking up around noon. She does yoga, paints her nails, washes her hair every day, which makes it brittle and dull. She re-paints her nails, then bites them off while she checks Twitter.

She talks to her mom, who agonizes about the choice to keep Lilly in LA though she and Lilly’s dad would so much rather have her home and close. Lilly’s mom has a respiratory condition that makes her immunocompromised. If she goes home, she risks her mother’s health. She can’t bear the burden.

She talks to her friends and coworkers. Everyone is still in a state of shock for the first week -- scared, anxious, not yet angry. The anger will come later. Lilly understands in her own much smaller way the convoluted route anger takes through fear and numbness. That anger that’s taken a merciful backseat in her mind in recent months feels completely unimportant now, when it crosses her mind at all.

She talks to herself a little, too. It’s not unusual for her, exactly -- being an only child, sometimes it was the only way to make conversation growing up. But more and more as she attempts to self-isolate in her basement bedroom, avoiding her roommates with more fervor than usual, she worries about her growing dependence on it.

When the knock at her door comes, she’s mid-sentence, telling herself putting on the leggings is the hardest part of a workout, and she should just fucking do it and--

It’s two short raps at the door leading to the pool deck. The scary short story flashes behind her eyes as she blinks quickly, startled by interaction from the outside world.

She waits a few beats too long before she goes to the door, pausing with her fingers on the handle. She decides to believe it’s one of her roommates that got locked out upstairs, even if somewhere deeper she knows it’s not.

He had backed up off her little porch after knocking. Lilly’s not sure if it was out of a respect for social distancing or a concern that she might take a swipe at him. Either way, smart move.

Words seem superfluous. Lilly prides herself on a sharp, well-delivered line, but combing through the tangles of her brain, she has nothing. And she’s disappointed to discover the clawing in her throat and the increase in her heart rate that indicate if she tries to talk now, she might just start crying.

“I’m sorry. I know I should’ve called.”

He says it like he definitely thought about it and decided not to. She probably wouldn’t have answered. He once knew her well enough to know that.

She continues staring, wrapping her arms over her chest. He lifts a hand into his shaggy curls, longer than she’s seen on him before, but not totally unkempt. She can’t say the same about his facial hair.

“I needed to talk to you,” he continues. He’s doing the thing where he ducks his head and looks up through his lashes to be sweet and non-threatening.

Ever heard of a phone?

Funny, you haven’t needed to talk to me in nine fucking months.

Nothing feels right, so her jaw stays locked. She continues staring.

“I don’t want to come in, I just got off a plane--” he starts, and she finds her voice.

“Did it look like I was about to invite you in?”

He blinks hard and shifts on his feet. “N-no, I mean, I didn’t mean it like that, I just--”

“Shawn, I have no idea what you think you’re doing here, but you need to say it quickly before I walk straight into the deep end and sink like a rock just to get out of this conversation.”

His pretty lips part. He exhales sharply. After a moment, he squares his shoulders and jaw and she almost has to look away because he’s staring straight into her and it makes her squirm.

“I made a mistake, Lilly.”

Lilly gives him one long, wary glance. She turns away, steps inside, and shuts the door.

Shawn bounds up to the door and watches, confused, as she draws back the curtains and lifts the light filtering blinds. A pane of glass sits between them.

“What are you doing?” he calls through to her.

“Social distancing,” she snaps, cocking her head and pursing her lips. He rakes a hand through his hair.

“Please come out,” he requests, dropping a heavy hand to the wooden frame of the door. She jumps a little.

“I don’t need to, I can hear you from in here.”

He goes from warm and sheepish to annoyed quickly. “What, are you scared of me?”

“Yes,” she says immediately, so honestly. He flinches and stares at her.

“You just got off a plane from Miami, you’re probably one big walking coronavirus.”

Shawn wets his lips and lifts a shoulder. “I didn’t come from Miami, I came from Toronto.”

Lilly’s ire is interrupted by her confusion. She knows he was in Miami with her. The paparazzi were at her house the day after they got there. Lilly doesn’t avoid the pictures like the plague anymore. They don’t cause insane, uncontrollable crying jags anymore.

He no longer has that kind of power.

“You went home?” she asks.

“Last week,” he reports with a nod, propping himself up with his hands on either side of her door. She thinks maybe he got taller. It’s unimaginable.

Lilly will not ask. He seems to have come here to tell her, so she’s not sure how much point there is in her not asking but a scraping in her gut tells her to cling to her pride.

He drops his head. His hair looks greasy. He exhales in a huff.

“What, Shawn?” she prods, voice raspy but harsh.

He lifts his head like it’s extra heavy. “I ended it.”

Lilly shuts her eyes. She hates every piece of this feeling, even hates that she can name them all, sort them alphabetically, can imagine putting them in little baskets like she’s been doing since last summer. She thought she was done with that. Why is he doing this?

She drops her forehead to the glass door and then springs off it just as fast, fisting a hand in her hair. It’s too close.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” she hears herself pant, maybe more to herself than him, “Shawn, what the fuck?”

“I don’t know,” he pleads, eyes wide and lost, “I just really needed-- fuck, I wanted… Lilly, I missed you. I just… wanted to see you.”

She presses her hands together in front of her lips like she’s praying for patience. “You… Jesus Christ, you have to see how crazy this is. I… Shawn, it’s been nine months. And… and you left me.”

The wrinkle in his brow deepens. He was expecting that. He cocks his head slightly and looks pained. “I know. I’m… I still wanted to talk to you after. I just didn’t know how.”

Lilly’s eye roll is so epic she feels the tectonic plates beneath them shift. “It’s hard to be friends with the woman whose heart you broke, I guess.”

Again, he looks wounded. He plays it off better now than he did during the actual breakup. Or until her final parting words, at which he did look genuinely hurt. It was her only consolation.

“I’m so sorry. You have no idea--”

“I have no idea how sorry you are?!” she finishes for him, jerking back to life, her voice reaching a dangerous pitch. Shawn squares his jaw to take it.

“You know normal people get to just unfollow, block, whatever, and they can hide from the person that dumped them and their new relationship? There was no hiding from you two. Especially when you made fucking zero effort to be modest at all. Shawn, I could not escape it. So how sorry you are is nothing compared to how sorry I am.”

Shawn’s hands slide off the door. He takes a little step back, but refuses to drop his eyes. Lilly stares, swallows hard, and looks away when it becomes too much.

“I wanted…” he starts, clears his throat, “Wanted to see how you are. If you need anything. I know, I mean, I remembered your mom has that respiratory thing so you can’t go home.”

Somehow hearing it out loud, maybe hearing it from him, puts her over the edge. Two hot, fast tears trickle down her cheeks. Shawn looks startled, then stricken.

“Is she ok?”

Lilly, embarrassed and angry, goes magenta and swipes at her face with sweaterpaws. “She’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t know why I’m-- It’s ok.”

Shawn still looks concerned. He shoves his hands in his front pockets. “And your roommates? Is everyone ok?”

If she had any sense at all, any hope of self-preservation, she’d lie through her teeth. He wouldn’t know the goddamn difference. But he knocked out her ability to reason when he brought up her mom.

“Casey is sick,” she croaks, bringing her palms up over her eyes. She shakes her head, “We don’t-- I mean, she can’t get a fucking test. Mae is staying with us and living with her in her room, taking care of her.”

Shawn looks horrified and half ready to come through the glass at a run. “Lilly, you can’t stay here.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” she snaps.

He searches desperately for an answer in the cool, muggy air around him. It’ll rain again soon. Another thing for Lilly to cry about.

“With me!” he finally spits, his eyes lighting up, “My place in Toronto. You can, I mean, the guest bedroom--”

“Shawn, no,” she grunts, “I’m not doing that. That’s… what? No.”

The idea of holing up with Shawn in his lavish but small two-bedroom condo is the kind of vision that would’ve made her knees weak a year ago. She would’ve killed for this kind of time. Now, she honestly can’t believe she’s hearing him suggest it.

Shawn seems to go back to the mental drawing board. Lilly continues shaking her head and sniffling, ready to reject any idea he comes up with.

“What if we stayed here? Like at a hotel or something?”

“I’m not staying with you at a hotel for several reasons.”

He starts to look a little frustrated, and it’s oddly gratifying. Lilly crosses her arms.

“Ok, a house. I’ll rent a fucking house. Lill, please. I know you hate me. I totally don’t blame you. Please let me do something good for the first time in a fucking year. Please. Let me do this for you.”

Her teeth come together sharply when he uses her nickname. He doesn’t seem to notice.

She shakes her head for what feels like five minutes. “I really don’t know what to do. The fact that I’m even considering this doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

It’s the boost he needed to let the tension in his shoulders drop. He tilts his head and watches her tenderly as she roils inside.

“Are you as scared as I am?”

Lilly blinks and looks up at him. With a deep sigh, she releases the anger she grabbed onto, the anger she’d stowed months ago, the anger she picked back up as soon as she found him on her back porch. It’s not permanently gone. She knows better than to imagine that. It leaves exhaustion in its wake.

“Yeah. I am,” she admits, swallowing harshly. She drops to the tile floor and watches as he slowly, carefully lowers himself to prop against the other side of the glass door.

He looks different. There are new tattoos she knows about -- the stories behind them, she doesn’t. He’s wearing his hair longer on the back and sides. She thinks she likes it that way. He has a pimple, probably from stress, on the right side of his forehead. And he’s staring at her like he knows her inside and out. She shifts uncomfortably against her side of the glass.

“I replay that night over and over again in my head all the time,” he admits, squinting toward where the sun halos the banana trees at the far end of her yard, “I can’t fucking believe I treated you like that.”

Lilly sighs again, heavy-hearted. “Shawn, if this is something you think I need to hear, you should just go because I’ve dealt with it. It’s over. I’m… I’m not mad at you anymore. I don’t want to be. And if you’re here to deal with your guilt then honestly I think that’s selfish.”

Shawn sniffs and nods slowly. “It is selfish. I am selfish. I was selfish then and I’m probably being selfish now but all I want is to make sure you’re safe. I came here to apologize. I don’t know what I wanted out of that, I don’t know what I expected. But now I can’t leave without knowing you’re going to be safe.”

He looks as sincere as she’s ever seen him. It’s like an out-of-body experience. Just an hour ago she would’ve bet serious money on never seeing him in person again.

She shoves her head into her hands between her knees. She groans, “I’ve probably already been exposed to it. I could get you sick.”

“I’ve been on three planes in the last two and a half weeks, I’ve almost definitely been exposed, too. But at least in a big house with space we can really self-quarantine without you dealing with your roommates.”

He’s perked up a little, lifted his head off the door. He knows she’s considering it seriously. He seems afraid to breathe the wrong way and change her mind.

She chews thoughtfully at the inside of her lip and is silent for almost a full minute before she speaks again. “You could just go back to Toronto. You could go home and stay at the condo for a while, then be back with your parents in a week or two. You could just go home, Shawn.”

A piece of her hates him a little for having that option when she doesn’t.

He looks absolutely certain when he nods, wets his lips, and speaks.

“I could. But I don’t want to.”

It’s less than 36 hours later when Shawn texts her the address. It’s tucked up in Mandeville Canyon, gated and quiet, he assures her. He says it like he went out of his way to find them a place out of the public eye and the cynical piece of her says that’s less for her than for him. From what she can tell on social media and gossip sites, no one even knows he left Toronto. For Shawn to get in and out of LAX without the Army knowing about it, she figures he must be serious about keeping a low profile.

She waits two hours before letting him know that she has to pack, pick up groceries and prepare her roommates for the idea that she might be gone a while.

By the time she arrives, thumbing at the keypad with the code Shawn provided to open the driveway gate, it’s almost 9pm. Pavilions was a post-apocalyptic nightmare and made her feel more alone than she’s felt in weeks since the pandemic picked up media steam in the US. She dropped over $200 on whatever stable goods she could get her hands on and enough fresh stuff she hoped to be able to freeze. Exhausted, and a little traumatized, Lilly turns off the car and steps out to look around.

On the outside, the house is surrounded by tall white stucco walls and expertly trimmed hedges. The windows are wide for light but obscured tastefully by tall palms and sun-scorched banana trees. On the inside, beyond the stoic gates, it’s a little wilder, but in a relaxed, thoughtful way. The bases of trees and plants are illuminated by lights, giving the home a warm glow from the outside in, though Shawn seems to have turned on every light in the house. Wrapped in lush greenness, the house is classic prohibition-era LA -- stucco walls, adobe roof, some Mediterranean and Moroccan influences in the rounded archways and mosaic accents. The windows are all framed in hunter green. Lilly likes that.

There’s a balcony wrapped all the way around what looks to be one room on the second floor. Lilly stares up at it thoughtfully until the side door by the kitchen slams shut.

Shawn practically leaps off the tile steps to the stone pathway, his grin bashful as he tries to smooth it down. He jerks a hand through his hair, which looks cleaner than she last saw it. He’s barefoot in gray sweats and an old t-shirt. Lilly’s chest pulses with the sensation to walk right into him for a kiss. It’s a bizarre phantom instinct that she almost has to physically shake off. She tries to smile back, but it’s a grimace.

“Hey. How was it?” he asks.

Shawn stays a perfectly reasonable six feet away, but it feels further. Lilly swallows.

“It was fine. The lines were long.”

Sharing the vulnerability of telling him how grocery shopping in the midst of a global health crisis made her feel seems too much to handle. So she pops her trunk and looks around while he eagerly loads reusable bags into his very capable arms.

“This place is like something out of a Nancy Meyers movie,” she marvels.

Shawn grins again, that kind of smile it’s hard not to smile at.

“You like it?”

Lilly mashes her lips together and nods, forcing the corners of her mouth up. Again, it feels false. She drops it with a sigh.

“Sorry, I’m… really tired.”

Shawn looks at her suspiciously for a moment before his face clears up. He nods and heads for the door.

“I get it. I can show you your room. How much do I owe you for these?”

He gestures to the herculean number of grocery bags in his hands. Lilly reaches for the last few and shrugs, following him inside.

“It’s fine. You rented the house, I can pick up groceries.”

Lilly knows better than to imagine she won this battle so easily. It’s one of Shawn’s great joys in life to pay for stuff. It’s part of the Leo in him. But he seems to sense she’s not in a place to be argued with right now, about anything.

“I brought antibacterial wipes,” Lilly suddenly announces as the center island of the all-white kitchen gets cluttered with boxes and bags and containers and jars.

“Oh,” Shawn says with a grateful nod, clearly confused.

“The store was totally out of them but I brought some from home. And there was no toilet paper, weirdly,” Lilly muses.

“Huh,” Shawn murmurs, loading a bag of bell peppers into the vegetable drawer of the oversized fridge. Lilly watches, drumming her fingers against the white granite countertop. Shawn glances up at her as he sniffs and inspects the cabinets, deciding where to put the canisters of oatmeal.

Lilly shakes her head and backs up against the edge of the sink, crossing her arms. “This is so weird.”

“What?”

“Stocking up for the apocalypse in a mansion with my ex-boyfriend.”

Shawn looks like he wants to protest, but he shifts tactics. “Yeah. I guess it is weird. The whole fucking world is… weird.”

From six feet or a hundred thousand miles away across a countertop, Shawn and Lilly face each other. As for what’s between them, beyond the space, it will remain there for tonight and probably nights to come.

Shawn gives Lilly a truncated version of a house tour on the way to her room. He talks nervously, explaining that he took the master because he thought she’d want this room more, anyway. With each step, suitcase hurtling along noisily behind her over the stone tile, Lilly’s sense of panic grows.

This was a mistake. You’re insane to have considered it. Pathetic, even. Ridiculous. Immature.

Shawn wishes her a good night a few feet from the door. She smiles shallowly. Mercifully, the master bedroom is on the other side of the sprawling house. She waits until his footsteps fade to release her stress tears and gasping, short breaths.

The room is gorgeous. Simple white walls like the rest of the house with clean, neutral furniture, comfortable but stylish, with pops of color and lots of plants. Old California. But the real selling point is the balcony. It wraps around the guest suite and is accessible through wide set French doors.

Lilly sits on the end of the bed and attempts to reason with herself. She squeezes her eyes shut. She’s had an overwhelming couple of days. She needs to sleep. If she’s still miserable in the morning, she can leave, Shawn and his pretty house be damned.

Lilly wakes up fully clothed, half under the covers of the enormous bed. The curtains are still drawn open. The room is so bright it could be noon. In frantic confusion, Lilly flips over her dying phone to check the time. It’s 8am. She slept for almost 12 hours. She’s not entirely surprised.

She cranks herself up to sitting and assesses. The exhaustion-fueled panic that had her half-ready to stride back to her car to take herself home is gone. Her suitcase is where she left it in the middle of the room. Her face is tight and dry from salty tears.

And she can hear him.

She knows it’s not recorded music. She knows it’s him. She even knows which acoustic he’s playing. It’s his favorite. Hers too.

On crackling ankles and knees, she stands and shuffles to one of the balcony doors, pausing with her hand on the knob. She sighs and bites at her dry lips, pressing her forehead against the glass, looking over the balcony into the gardens below.

He’s barefoot again like he almost always is in LA. He used to complain that it’s too cold in Toronto to go barefoot even inside when the heat is on. She used to tell him he imagined it. He’s bobbing his head and strumming slowly like he does when he’s playing through a few chords to decide where he’s going next. He takes big, slow steps away from the house toward a bunch of lavender bushes near the edge of the property. Before he can pivot and turn to head back the other way, Lilly steps back.

She glances at her suitcase. She’ll think about it again after breakfast.

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @mendesficsxbombay @siennarossi @lostinshawnsmemory @umbreakablesoul @sleepybesson @shawnsheaven

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #like the back of my hand #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes drabble #Shawn Mendes Imagine

177 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Ground Rules (for Love and War) - Pt.1

Of War and Peace

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 3860

Type: Two-shot, reader insert

Summary: Steve Rogers always has been a bit of a mystery – always polite, with a little bit of foot-in-mouth syndrome, unbelievingly kind and definitely good-looking – but a mystery anyway. He treated you differently from his friends. Why?

You would never expect the ongoing prank war between Bucky and Sam to shed light on the matter.Of course, Tony Stark is also to blame. Whenever he isn’t? You are his assistant – you would know.

Warnings: silly pranks, blackout, attempt at humour, swearing… fluff and way too shy Steve

A/N: Loosely based on a request from AO3 from Call_Me_Mrs_Rogers: awkward flirtatious Steve and Tony’s-Assistant!Reader, Sam-Bucky prank war and a power-cut. Whole request in the notes under the first chapter.

Sam Wilson was a brave man, you thought.

An undoubtedly handsome, considerably capable, loyal to a fault, but first of all, an incredibly brave man.

That was the only logical explanation of him declaring a prank war to James Buchannan Barnes; and it started by the Falcon himself reminding everyone who followed his Twitter that Bucky’s middle name was indeed Buchannan and he loved to be called that.

The truth was that calling Bucky that name was bordering with dangerous. Pulling out a stunt like Sam had, now that was like singing up his own death sentence.

“Wilsoooon!” Bucky howled through the corridors and you jumped in your seat before smirking into your second cup of coffee that day.

You wondered what Sam had done this time. Ever since the first Twitter event, both Sam and Bucky were stepping up their game.

Social media pranks. Sugar-salt switching. Soaped door handles. Hair dye in shampoo. Itching powder. Glue on a mug. You name it.

They were like infants. Worse even. As if the Tower needed more men-children in it. As if Tony wasn’t enough.

Now, Tony Stark was a brilliant man; distracted, sarcastic, a maniacal scientist and a hero, whom you were honoured to call your boss. Except Pepper Potts was the one in charge, pulling the strings and hiring you after she had become the CEO of Stark Industries, because she could no longer be his assistant.

Because Tony Stark was a genius of a man-child who needed constant supervision. He needed a girl Friday and F.R.I.D.A.Y. sometimes wasn’t enough. Enter you. A glorious secretary with an engineering degree and enough patience to deal with him. Hand-picked by Virginia Potts herself, sometimes being chosen to go to a meeting with her to represent Tony’s intentions rather than him, since you were less likely to piss people off, being able to keep cockiness in check.

But damn, weren’t you proud.

Your train of thought was cut short as the former Winter Soldier strode into the communal kitchen with a stormy look on his face and sneezed on its way; four times. Loudly.

Your face twisted in sympathy.

“Haven’t seen him,” you answered before Bucky could collect himself enough to ask.

Another wall-shaking sneeze was his response.

Now that one was just cruel; as far as you knew, supersoldiers couldn’t get sick. So it was just the sneezing itself, whatever it was caused by. Still, you guessed it must have been horrible to go through that after so many years of blissful germ-freedom. Honestly, if you sneezed like after seven decades, you’d lose your shit. Why did it feel like your lungs were about to leave your body through your nose at the mere thought of it? Scary shit, alright.

Bucky growled and stalked away. Not before he nodded in thanks.

He left the room with another sneeze.

“Bless you,” you muttered under your breath and eyed your tablet.

Tony was asleep as he had stayed awake until two a.m. working on the newest upgrade for the security of the Tower, so technically, you had time to enjoy your coffee in relative peace.

Naturally, peace was a short supply in the Tower, the home to the Avengers.

When Pepper had first offered you to simply move in since you spent the most of your time there, you had been reluctant. It had only been a week in and while you met some of the team members, finding out they were far less intimidating than they presented themselves to the press, it sounded… overwhelming to stay there 24/7. However, you had been quickly persuaded after you nearly passed out, because your sleep schedule was a mess, consisting of either passing out on the couch in the Tower or making it home only to fall asleep before your head hit the pillow, and being woken up by an urgent call from the Ironman himself two hours later.

Living in the Tower had its downsides and its upsides.

Downside was that it rarely got quiet and it was the perfect target for any supervillain as it had all of the Earth’s mightiest heroes in one place. Constant supervision from an artificial intelligence was as reassuring as concerning.

As for the upsides… you hadn’t expected to actually… befriend the Avengers. You certainly wouldn’t guess that once Natasha Romanoff warmed up to you, she was a great friend, a female element alongside Pepper that the Tower and the team sorely needed. The times you bonded over the aforementioned men-children were one of the best in your life.

Clint was a lot of fun, though you had soon adopted the habit of making a pot of coffee just for him, since you were usually the one to get up from bed before him and talking to him pre-coffee was the risk equivalent to touching Sam’s snacks.

Bruce… kept for himself a lot. But when he came out of his shell, either liberated by alcohol or when discussing science with Tony, he would radiate an aura anyone would be happy to bask in.

Sam was the ray of sunshine, gentle with a lot of fun stacked behind the chocolate eyes of his, but once he got into the same room and Bucky… oh boy.

The silently charming grumpy supersoldier added to the team in a way you wouldn’t see coming – perfectly. Except that he and Sam were always in each other’s hair. Always bickering; one that sometimes resulted in a war. Occasionally funny; other times utterly annoying. Rright now, you felt like it was something in between.

“Good morning,” sounded pleasantly from the door, where the last member of the peculiar household stood, seemingly hesitant.

Oh. Steve Rogers. That was right. Your biggest guilty pleasure. That man was a pure eye-candy, a body perfected by the serum only to protect the great man hiding in it. You didn’t have many opportunities to truly know him; but whenever you saw him, he had an air around him, greatness and kindness, yet somehow fogged by modesty.

At times, he appeared sheepish almost, but always polite. To you anyway. His friends were a different story; it saddened you occasionally, that he didn’t consider you a friend, not really giving you a chance, treating you differently. You suspected it was because you weren’t a fighter; while assisting Tony nearly 24/7, it was obvious that the billionaire tried his best to keep you away from the danger zone as much as possible.

The arms-long distance Steve Rogers kept you at was causing you a heart-ache at times, yet you had a feeling he didn’t have any particular dislike for you; only that he treated you differently. Always polite. Always a pleasant interaction.

You couldn’t help but smile at him, his usual running outfit and tousled hair giving away he was coming back from his everyday morning routine of what was probably like thirty miles or something.

“Good morning, Steve. Had a nice run?”

Looking himself up, slightly guiltily, he scratched the back of his neck. It occurred to you that he was embarrassed at not being the most cleaned-up version of himself in front of you – a woman –, which you found adorable. His forties-man was showing.

“Yeah. Yes. Thank you. Did you… sleep well?” he queried, shifting by the door.

“Yes, actually… are you going to stand there all day?” you teased him lightly and the corners of his lips twitched as his gaze fell to the floor, his shoulder finally bouncing off the door-frame.

“I just didn’t want to disturb your moment of peace…”

Your chest felt warmer at such admission. What a sweet thought.

“That is very kind of you,” you praised him as he gestured to the coffee pot, checking with you if it was for everyone’s use. You nodded and chuckled at the tinniest flaw in his thoughtfulness. “Except you were beaten about a minute and half by a much grumpier and louder supersoldier.”

Steve groaned and leaned onto the counter. “Let me guess: Sam proceeded with another prank.”

You made a finger gun at him, grinning. “Exactly. I don’t know how he did it, but I don’t think I ever heard a person sneeze that loud. And that often. Poor Bucky.”

“Bucky brought this upon himself. He deserves it,” Steve grumbled, sipping at the coffee, his eyelids sliding shut blissfully. You were pretty sure that something resembling a moan resonated in his chest, which… didn’t do a thing to you. Didn’t bring thoughts that were not about caffeinated beverages, but something slightly dirtier. Nope. Nothing. Like… at all.

You stood up from you stool and gathered your stuff, ignoring the way your heart suddenly sped up.

“Well, I just hope we can all keep sane before this particular battle of their war is over,” you hummed, every word honest and hopeful. “These two might bring the Tower down. As if Tony wasn’t enough…”

“Very true. I’ll try and keep an eye on them… try,” he emphasized when your nose scrunched with a bit of doubt and you made a so-so motion with your free hand.

“Bold move. I hope you don’t get caught in the middle. Though I’m sure you could pull the blue-hair look unlike Bucky…”

Why did I just say that?

Smiling softly into his cup despite his eyes going wide in horror, he took a deep breath and looked you straight in the eye. The brightness of his irises had your breath caught in your chest.

“So am I. You… uhm, you look beautiful today, by the way,” he complimented you sweetly, his gaze swiftly glancing over your outfit and casual hairstyle. And for a good reason; having to assist Pepper on a meeting today, you had been chosen to wear a pink ladies suit and a white shirt. You had expected to look like a ridiculous copy of cotton candy – you had not anticipated to… actually look presentable. Feminine even. You.

Your cheeks matched the colours of your jacket at the praise; Steve’s shoulders straightened.

“I meant… not that you usually don’t. I was… uhm, I like the… the look on you. The one you have today,” he stumbled over his words and suddenly your whole body felt warm, pleasantly and yet embarrassingly.

“Thank… thank you. Have a nice day, Steve,” you nearly squeaked, threw a quick smile over your shoulder and rushed from the kitchen.

Oh yeah.

Steve… he would often utter a compliment, like a proper gentleman he was, treating women right. Except you never heard him say such thing to Natasha, who was far easier on the eyes. Or to Pepper. He would open the door for you, reached the top shelves when you needed it, always offering a helping hand, shy and gentle smiles, so… diverse to how he was when with the Avengers.

No, Steve Rogers didn’t treat you like his friend.

And god knew that the day you figured out if that was a good thing or a bad thing would be the day of solving the biggest enigma of the new millennium.

Unknown to you, Steve melted into the counter, putting down his cup of coffee and groaned at his utter inability to flirt.

“I swear, man, before you manage to give her a normal compliment without putting your foot in your mouth, someone else will snatch her,” Sam commented, having just sneaked into the kitchen to grab a three protein bars, cautiously scanning his surroundings.

Steve shot him a glare. “Thank you, Sam, you’re being very helpful. Has Bucky found you yet?”

“Shh! Don’t say his name! Do that two more times and he will app-“

“Wilson! You- ACHOO- fhakhin’ bird- ACHOOO-brain!” Bucky’s voice thundered through the whole floor and Steve smirked with satisfaction.

Sam’s body turned to stone, his eyes horrified and yet endlessly amused.

“Sorry, Cap, gotta go! But for God’s sake, just ask her out before we all go insane here…”

“Says the guy who cursed a supersoldier with sniffles!” Steve called after the disappearing figure exasperatedly, only to hear Sam’s laughter in the distance.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻❁༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

“Silly circuit! What’s wrong with you? Do you have no decency? Just work…” you mumbled under your breath, eyes glued to the interface from a way too short distance, but you didn’t care for your health at this point. You just wanted to fix this.

“Is it talking back?” a hesitant and yet teasing voice asked, making you nearly jump out of your skin. Your head snapped up in surprise.

“Steve. Hey,” you welcomed him briefly, shocked at the vision of the supersoldier in the workshop. “What brings you to our dungeon?”

“Coffee break,” he wiggled two coffee cups in his hands pointedly and beckoned towards the clock that… read ten in the evening. Oh. You didn’t realize you had been down here for so long. “Something tells me you didn’t have one in a while. Am I… overstepping?”

Your cheeks flushed similarly to his as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, reluctant to cross the distance between you.

Coffee honestly sounded heavenly now. And with delivery and perhaps some company? Not bad, not bad at all…

“Oh. No! No, that’s just… I’m surprised,” you admitted. “I mean, you’re always nice to me, of course, but… eh, sorry, my people skills are lacking at this time of day. Remind me how to tell-- gosh, I can’t even word, I mean speak-- you really do have a point about that coffee break.”

You chuckled, a palm over your forehead, fighting the urge to run it down your face in embarrassment at you babbling.

Steve, ever the gentleman, tried to hush his laughter at least partly, the sound coming out subtle and cute. He held out one of the cups for you and you instantly sipped at it reverently with your eyelids fluttering close, barely registering his soft: “Well, here you go.”

“Thank you, Steve.”

“You’re welcome. What are you working on?”

Surprised once more by his query, you took another vehement sip of coffee before placing the cup in safe distance and answering.

“Eh, just some glitch in Natasha’s Bites. I think she fried it, using the electromotive units too much during the last mission and now the interface is misbehaving and we would rather avoid her accidently electrocuting people, god forbid, herself.”

“…that we would,” Steve agreed, blinking at you, seemingly a bit dumbstruck, but a twinkle of mischief reflected in his irises. “Looks like the coffee is kicking in pretty quick. You have no problem with wording now.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle self-depreciatingly. He wasn’t wrong.

What threw you off balance was that he was… having a conversation with you, a playful one, so atypical of him – at least as far as it was concerning you – and… it felt truly nice. It did things to your stomach, a pleasant fluttery sensation and you quickly downed the rest of your cup, wondering if it was the shot of caffeine. You were about 97% sure that it wasn’t the cause.

“Har, har, Captain Rogers. I’ll have you know that it’s only my human skills that gets progressively pathetic with my caffeine levels running low, not my ability to say big words. Anyway, what’s got into you tonight? There’s something different about you… not that I’m complaining!”

Once more, his reaction took you aback. He flashed you a quick smile before lowering his gaze, holding up both of his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Guilty as charged. Sam might have found me making coffee for two and decided to give me a pep talk. He told me, and I quote, to suck it up and just spit it out. … And then made me take a sip from Thor’s flask.”

Your heart started beating its way out of your chest, a mixture of panic and excitement at his admission.

“Sounds like he’s a good friend then. Is there something on your mind? That you need to… spit out?”

“Yeah,” he confessed, peeking at your from under his rich eyelashes, shy but determined gaze settling on you as he leant onto the counter behind him. “I feel like… things I want to say tend to come out wrong. I… I’d like to know you better. If that would be alright with you.”

You felt endlessly grateful that moment, that the words ‘my jaw went slack’ were only a figure of speech, because otherwise you would have looked very comical and very much stupid. Still, your lips parted, the flutter in your stomach growing in intensity.

“…oh,” you breathed out intelligently, only to realize he had actually asked a question. Kinda. And he was waiting for you to answer. “Uhm… yes. Yes, I’d love to do the same. I… I admit I thought that maybe you just weren’t interested in further interaction, because I’m not on the team-“

“No! That’s not it at all, I swear,” he rushed to reassure you, sending a tiny pleased smile at your approval. “It’s just… like I said. I’m always tripping over myself around you, putting my foot in my mouth and- and things I want to say sound less awkward in my head.”

Tripping over himself around me? That sounded… nope, that couldn’t be it. Right? Except your heart was now hammering against your ribcage in excitement at the possibility, turning more real every second he was looking at you and dammit, do not give into the silly hope that Steve Rogers might actually like like you.

“Steve, you’re literally the nicest guy I’ve ever met. I like to think about you as sweet, not awkward.” Now wow, really, sweet? That was way too much, dummy. Except he smiled shyly, his eyes lightening up at the compliment and your fingertips tingled at the sweet display of delight. He relaxed further, settling more comfortably against the counter. “Now, what do you want to know?”

“Anything,” he shrugged, the corners of his lips still up in invitation, an encouragement to share with him anything you were willing to.

“Well, you clearly already know how I take my coffee…”

Hint of darker pink coloured his cheeks, much to your glee.

“How did you end up working for Tony?”

“First of all, we all know I’m working for Pepper…”

He laughed at that, but listened patiently after, watching you work as you told him about your mum always being away on business trips and your father taking you to his workshop to keep your child’s mind occupied, teaching you stuff that was way too complicated for a little girl, but fascinating at the same time, showing you direction when you turned the age of making the big career decisions.

“Applying for this insane position wasn’t a spur of the moment. Pepper sent out e-mails to candidates she picked – I didn’t even know about the position opening, she simply used some of Tony’s searching tools and wrote people of whom she thought might handle the job. It was a little scary, to be honest. First, I thought there was no way for me to sign up for that; it would mean basically no personal life and I never wanted to be like my mum, never home…. But then it occurred to me how proud she would be of me, much like dad is and… I thought that it doesn’t have to be forever, you know. I can work here now and switch to something else when I decide to be a mum. Of course, I can see now, unlike when I was a kid and teenager, that she tried, but… I realized lots of that stuff only after she died and it’s just… I’m sorry she wasn’t there and that I didn’t try harder to appreciate her.”

You couldn’t fathom when you started pouring your heart to him or when your eyes started burning, but suddenly his hand was there, gently squeezing yours, his wide shoulders as if shielding you from the rest of the world simply by standing by your side and your eyes closed of their own account, your body strangely comfortable in Steve’s huge presence.

“I’m sure she knew,” he whispered warmly.

You smiled at him through the tears you had failed to keep at bay. “Sorry. Now whose mouth is loose. I bet you didn’t expect me oversharing when you said you wanted to know me better.”

“No, I didn’t,” he confirmed, observing your face with a mixture of laughter at your joke and compassion at your outburst. “I appreciate that you’re willing to share something so big with me. Thank you.”

“It’s that eyes of yours. They made me spill my guts.”

He didn’t point out that your focus was on the device on the table and not his eyes, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket instead. He gave it to you, never letting go of your other hand.

“Oh wow,” you only commented, no more words needed. Who the hell still carried-

Steve groaned silently. “Please don’t make any old man jokes.”

“I was about to compliment your chivalry.”

“Sure you were,” he grumbled, but his mouth was curled up in a grin, so you assumed he wasn’t too offended by your reaction.

Staring at the dazzling display of perfect teeth, you missed another person coming in; until their shocked voice snapped you from your trance.

“Whoa, what’s happening?” Bucky blurted out, bewildered at the scene in front of him.

You jumped away from Steve as if you got burned, your hand slipping from his. To be fair, so did he.

When had you got to standing in such intimate proximity anyway? Christ, something must have got into the air vents. You’d blame the Barnes-Wilson war for that… not that you complained. Having Steve standing so close, offering comfort without a single word of complaint after listening to you pouring your heart to him… you weren’t entirely joking when saying you were about to commend his chivalry.

Steve cleared his throat, his voice hoarse as if he had been the one crying. “Bucky? What can I do for you?”

Bucky frowned first at his best friend and then at you, his gaze flickering between the two of you before settling on you, a worried wrinkle appearing on his forehead.

“You alright, dollface? Do I need to punch Captain Foot-in-the-Mouth in his face?” he beckoned his chin towards Steve and you instantly shook your head, still too caught off guard to find your voice.

“Buck, please…”

“It’s a relevant question, Steve. And I’d do it if she asked.”

A surprised chuckle escaped your lips and you offered Bucky a grateful smile, only to grin up at Steve before wiping the rest of your tears.

“You seem to have very supportive friends, Steve,” you remarked.

“You have no idea. What did you need?”

“Nothing from you, punk,” Bucky smirked and shifted his attention fully to you. “FRIDAY told me you needed me in here? Something about an upgrade for my arm? Which I don’t need-”

“… which is why I’m not working on such thing,” you said, baffled. Should you be working on Bucky’s arm?

The former Winter Soldier had an utter confusion written all over his face.

“Huh? Then why-?”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

The workshop was suddenly swallowed by darkness, stunning him into silence.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻❁༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

Part 2 ༻༺༻༺༻༺༻❁༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

Tags: @mermaidxatxheart @cxptain @smilexcaptainx

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻❁༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

Original request: Basically, the reader is Tony's assistant and she's in and around the tower 24/7. Steve really likes her and in the rare times that she's able to get away from her work, she really likes him. They're always flirting with each other in the slightly awkward old-man way Steve has but they never actually get together. Bucky and Sam decide to get creative and start a prank war. The only problem is that they cause a power-cut and because of Tony's high-tech stuff, Y/N, Steve and Bucky are trapped in a room together with a bit of food, a board game (monopoly?) and some candles. Maybe Y/N just finished training and was in her small, tight outfits and Steve couldn't keep his eyes off her. Could the whole thing be full of sexual innuendos but NO SMUT PLEASE! Anyway, Bucky does something (maybe he sticks his foot out and Y/N trips over it into Steve's arms? Idk, I'm not good at this...) and they end up kissing or whatever?

Sorry for not completely following the script requested, I focused more on what my keyboard dictated O:-) I did say I was terrible with given scenarios. Hopefully you’ll enjoy at least a bit anyway. I can’t see myself filling any other request in my life, but I did have fun with this ;)

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻❁༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading!

#marvel #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america #captain america imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfic #steve rogers x you #captain america x you #mcu #avengers #prank war #ground rules for love and war #anika ann

245 notes · View notes

wigwurq · 3 years

Text

WIG REVIEW: WONDER WOMAN 1984

You guys! Now that the holidaze are over, I finally got around to watching the #1 most hated movie of the holiday season: Wonder Woman 1984! People have so many opinions about this movie AND NOW I DO TOO! I even have some thoughts on the wigs! Let’s discuss.

We begin in Themyscira, land of Amazons, fishtail braidology, Robin Wright, NO EFFING MEN, and also this weird Amazon gladiator gauntlet that is mainly brought to you by lots of computers. Baby Gal Gadot (nee Wonder Woman) is allowed to compete in this CGI decathalon despite being 1/3 the size and age of the other competitors and almost wins the damn thing but Auntie Robin Wright disqualifies her for trying to cheat to win. About 4 hours later, toward the end of this movie, Wonder Woman also tries to “cheat” at something so this is kinda sorta foreshadowing if you believe that the writers of this screenplay even had that forethought!

Moving ahead to 1984, this movie just gets SO 1984. Or really “1984″ in the Stranger Things sense, in that they even used the damn mall that that show takes place in and some dumb criminals steal some jewelry and Wonder Woman saves the day and also comically saves some kids who could have been hurt. I am still bitterly injured by Gal Gadot’s wig, which is not so bent and tangled as the first Wonder Woman movie. Still, the general texture and quality leave something to be desired AS DOES THIS WHOLE MOVIE BUT I AM GETTING AHEAD OF MYSELF!! Anyway, other than foiling crimes at malls, Gal Gadot mainly lives a sad single life in DC where she pines away for Chris Pine in her fabulous apartment, surrounded by an astonishing amount of photographs of her late boyfriend, given the fact that the pictures she has of him are from the 1910s when not everyone had a damn photo printer. Absent of course, is the photograph of her and her ragtag WWI buddies which is delivered to her at the end of the first Wonder Woman movie in the present day and therefore hasn’t happened yet and here begins and ends all logic in this movie.

Anyway! Gal Gadot works with Kristen Wiig, who does her fabulously awkward Kirsten Wiig thing as a nerdy scientist who is largely overlooked by all of society and who wears upsetting culottes and oversized sweatshirts and drinks Bartles and Jaymes (THIS MOVIE MISSES NO OPPORTUNITIES TO #80s). Her wig, as all wigs worn by Kristen Wiig in movies, is a horrible mess of bad texture and general bentness. Also, together she and Gal Gadot are sifting through the jewelry stolen by those thieves at the mall and there is one particular giant crystal or whatever that seems to possess magical properties. Yes, like the Infinity Stones that came (and then kept coming!) AND YES I REALIZE THAT THAT IS MCU AND THIS IS DC BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER: EVERY GODDAMNED SUPERHERO MOVIE IS SOMEHOW ABOUT HAUNTED JEWELRY.

Enter Pedro Pascal in the most outrageous 80s wig in honestly the most outrageous 80s role. He essentially plays Donald Trump - a start-up conning people out of money who is also a terrible dad and has terrible hair. I really wondered for much of this movie if this wig was supposed to be a wig, because it looks as fake and wig-like as Trump’s hair, but no - I think this is supposed to be real hair! Truly truly truly outrageous. Anyway, dude basically doesn’t want to work hard to get rich (again, much like Trump!) and instead wants to just wish his way into success via this dream crystal that Gal Gadot and Kristen Wiig have.

OH AND THEY ALREADY WISHED ON THE CRYSTAL! Kristen Wiig wishes to be like Gal Gadot (not realizing that she’s actually wishing to be Wonder Woman) and gets the most outrageous makeover into this bleached blonde nightmare. AND EVERYONE IS JUST LIKE WOW YOU’RE NOT WEARING CULOTTES ANYMORE I GUESS THIS IS NORMAL FOR YOU TO SUDDENLY LOOK THIS WAY AND FOR YOUR HAIR TO INEXPLICABLY BE INCHES LONGER IN THE COURSE OF AN AFTERNOON. Also! Although this bleached blonde wig is maybe an upgrade from her mousy wig from before, that really means nothing as both wigs are garbage.

Gal Gadot’s wish, of course, was for her ain’ true love, Chris Pine, to come back. AND THEN HE DOES! SORTA! Despite being definitely exploded in a plane in 1918 (in the first movie - spoiler?), he just kinda walks into this fancy party like “hey what’s up?” OH EXCEPT FOR ONE SMALL THING.

HE LOOKS LIKE THIS DUDE TO EVERYONE ELSE EXCEPT GAL GADOT. Ok? I guess because Chris Pine’s actual physical body was destroyed in 1918, he has to inhabit the body of this random man credited only as ‘Handsome Man’ in 1984 which really begs the question - what then happens to this handsome dude while Chris Pine shapeshifts into him and does anyone care? ALSO! Plot-wise, this is just the tip of the iceberg in crystal wishes - basically everyone on earth gets a wish before film’s end and all are fulfilled no matter how ludicrous - and yet no other wish seem to have these sort of strings attached EXCEPT FOR WONDER WOMAN! WHY DOES ONLY WONDER WOMAN GET THE PET SEMATARY OF WISHES?!?!?!

Anyway! Lucky for us all, ‘Handsome Man’ has the most 80s closet ever! As we all know, movies set in the 80s are contractually obligated to provide us with a very 80s fashion montage and this one is ALL ABOUT CHRIS PINE. Somehow, ‘Handsome Man’ owns like 10 different fanny packs?!?! Every single 80s menswear disaster is covered here at least three times you guys.

About 3 hours later, he settles on this outfit! Mazel! I’d like to pause this review to now give my definitive breakdown of CHRIS rankings (limited only to the 4 young-ish, blonde-ish Chris actors who appear in superhero movies) so that I might now abbreviate Chris Pine to #2 Chris WHICH HE IS. Ahem:

- BEST CHRIS is obviously CHRIS EVANS. This is because he gets into Twitter wars with racists, he offered his arm of support to Regina King when she stumbled getting her Oscar, and he wears the shit out of a sweater. There are many other reasons also but no other Chris can compare - HE IS BEST CHRIS.

- WORST CHRIS is obviously CHRIS PRATT. This is because he is super Jesusy evangelical and also anti-LGBTQ and married a Schwarzenegger (tho Arnold wishes he was Evans too!). There are many other reasons why but those are the most important reasons. WORST CHRIS.

- #2 CHRIS is a constant battle between CHRIS HEMSWORTH AND CHRIS PINE. Hemsworth is very funny in the lady Ghostbusters, was once on Dancing With The Stars in Australia, and can really commit to a fatsuit. Pine is great at singing on a Wet Hot American Summer roof OR a river, loves caftans, and is loved by the one and only Wonder Woman. It’s an infinity tie between these two and therefore #2 Chris is in the eye of the beholder during whatever you are beholding, and currently we’re beholding Pine. #2 CHRIS!

Yes, this lengthy roundup was definitely worth it so that I can abbreviate Chris Pine to #2 Chris now. Moving on!

So Gal Gadot and #2 Chris walk through a very 80s DC while #2 Chris’s mind gets blown by all the stuff that is different in the 70s years he’s been dead. No 80s movie would be complete without of course covering PUNKS!!! This is where this movie definitely lost my husband because one of these punks is wearing a Cro-Mags shirt from an album THAT CAME OUT IN 1986. This offends me, also, not because I care about that band but because this is lazy costuming! Apparently, my husband was not the only one to notice this and become deeply offended - and Cro-Mags cofounder even chimed in to say that this is all ok because they released a demo for the ‘86 album in 1984 (AND WE ALL KNOW EVERYONE DEFINITELY MAKES SHIRTS BASED ON DEMO ALBUMS?) I still find this lazy and stupid costuming and remain annoyed! ANYWAY!

Back to the “plot”...Kristen Wiig and Pedro Pascal’s confederacy of bad wigs kinda sorta hook up at this dumb party so that Pedro Pascal can steal that very important wishing crystal! AND THEN HE WISHES ON THE CRYSTAL THAT HE CAN BE THE CRYSTAL. Haunted jewelry plots have never been so dumb as this you guys! AND ALL OF THE INFINITY STONES MOVIES WERE INFINITELY STUPID SO THIS IS REALLY SAYING SOMETHING.

So basically, after 70 years apart, Gal Gadot and #2 Chris have no more time to waste on fanny pack fashion shows or questionable metro punks and have to follow Pedro Pascal to Egypt, where he has gone to demand some oil from Egypt now that he is the physical manifestation of a wishing crystal. In order to get to Egypt themselves, Gal and #2 Chris steal a plane from the Smithsonian (which apparently just has some jets laying around some random tarmac) and then Gal WISHES THE JET INTO BEING INVISIBLE! This is obviously to fuel Wonder Woman invisible jet nostalgia and also to waste about 45 minutes on shots of them invisibly flying through fireworks. BECAUSE IT’S THE 4TH OF JULY WAIT HOW DID THEY VISIT ANY MUSEUMS OR DO ANYTHING ON A NATIONAL HOLIDAY EARLIER THAT DAY OH RIGHT THERE IS NO LOGIC IN THIS MOVIE. Over in Egypt, the wishing crystal Pedro Pascal hisself somehow creates a water shortage and refugee crisis in Egypt and Gal has to Wonder Woman some kids to safety, but mainly she wears this amazing jumpsuit and is able to find a working payphone to call Kristen Wiig and ask if she has any intel on that damn wishing crystal.

Kristen Wiig is somehow EVEN MORE BLONDE AND WEARING THIS DAMN COAT. I mean...you guys. WHAT. Like any good 80s thriller, Kristen Wiig researched the wishing crystal on microfiche which leads her to a random record store where she meets up with Gal and #2 Chris who I guess flew the invisijet back to DC from Egypt in a few minutes or something. Anyway, rando dude at the record store takes out some musty old book that has all the wishing crystal information everyone needed and basically warns that it can destroy society AND ALSO it can take things away from the wisher like a damn monkey’s paw. SPEAKING OF MONKEYS THAT COAT THE END.

But Kristen Wiig’s makeover is far from over! She finally appears as Cheetah herself at the damn White House, where the wishing crystal Pedro Pascal is asking a fake Ronald Reagan (?) if he can please satellite everyone on the earth so he can grow stronger as a crystal person OR SOMETHING? Anyway, Kristen’s lewk is very “punk” but not in a Cro-Mag way, but more in a Meryl Streep in Ricki and the Flash way? It’s a battle of not great wigs, at any rate. Kristen doesn’t want anyone harming her wishing crystal Pedro since that’s what made her Cheetah so there is this huge dumb fight where Pedro and Kristen just kinda glide away (not unlike actual Trump and his idiots last week and omg did this movie foretell that) and then Gal realizes that she has to denounce her wish because the monkey paw’s clause of it all is making her not powerful enough to fight anymore. So #2 Chris is like: I should just be dead anyway and my whole existence is very Pet Sematary and everyone kind of cries in an alley and #2 Chris dies again (?) Also! I think this is supposed to have been foretold by that earlier scene with baby Gal Gadot trying to cheat at that decathalon or whatever because you can’t cheat....death??? Regardless, Gal jumps into the sky and somehow is ABLE TO FLY BASED ON AERODYNAMIC FACTS #2 CHRIS GAVE HER WHILE FLYING AN INVISIJET? SURE!

Over in another plane, Pedro and Kristen are on their way to some satellite island to broadcast to the world about crystal wishes and dude is not looking so great because wishing that you are a crystal is a terrible idea. This is the point at which I realized that this wig was supposed to be real hair because it looks so sweaty and shitty but has consistently looked like a shitty wig through this entire “plot.” Anyway! He asks Kristen Wiig if she wants another wish which....huh? Somehow Gal Gadot’s wish ended up a Pet Sematary nightmare of possessed handsome man bodies that she had to renounce but Kristen Wiig gets two wishes? SURE! AND KRISTEN WIIG WISHES THAT SHE BECOME THE “ULTIMATE PREDATOR” WHAT ON EARTH IS THIS MOVIE Y’ALL.

APPARENTLY THIS IS WHAT AN ULTIMATE PREDATOR LOOKS LIKE?!?!?! YOU GUYS. In order to literally become a Cheetah, they gave Kristen Wiig a CGI body and....kabuki makeup? This lewk absolutely looks like a mashup between two dueling community theater productions of Cats and Pacific Overtures and I can’t stop laughing.

Meanwhile, Gal finally gets to rock this lewk which was earlier described as the battle armor of the goddess, Asteria, who was the one chick NOT invited to Themyscira for Amazonian fishtail braidology times, and had to stay behind to FIGHT EVERY MAN ON EARTH but did get this sweet armor out of it?!?! Regardless, despite withstanding all men ever, Cheetah somehow effs up this armor in a matter of seconds, but Gal is still able to defeat her through underwater electrocution (which somehow avoids Gal herself even though SHE’S WEARING AN ENTIRE SUIT OF METAL).

Anyway, in the end, the entire world is on the brink of collapse and eveyone is looking at old dumb 80s tv screens because of all the dumb wishes everyone made and I guess I appreciate the fact that this entire movie is about dumb 80s wish fulfillment but also there are so many plotholes that I can’t even, you guys. Gal somehow lassoes Pedro Pascal into remembering his shitty dad and realizes that he is now a shitty dad and everyone somehow renounces their wishes and Pedor Pascal just kind of WALKS OFF AN ISLAND INTO THE DEBRIS OF DC AND FINDS HIS CHILD BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD?!?!?!?! It’s really annoying that this movie somehow rewards this shitty dad but also doesn’t let a woman (specifically WONDER WOMAN) have both a love life and her own damn job and I’m not alone in being annoyed by that. ANYWAY, days or weeks after the entire world almost ended, there is somehow a cute Christmas carnival that was definitely a stolen set from Dolly Parton’s Christmas in the Square where Gal Gadot is reunited with ‘Handsome Man’ who has no knowledge of previously being possessed by #2 Chris and is still rocking ALL THIS 80s FASHION and then a star shaped balloon is released into the sky and I wonder if this entire movie has been a Macy’s ad.

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE! In a mid-credits scene which is also maybe the only watchable part of this movie, the goddess Asteria (and OG owner of that gold body armor) is revealed to be alive and well and played by OG Wonder Woman, LYNDA EFFING CARTER!! She is definitely an actual goddess who never ages and whose hair is way better than any wigs on display at any point in this movie and is also the only part of the movie you should watch. THE END.

VERDICT: DOESN’T WURQ

#wonderwoman84 #ww84 #wigwurq #galgadot #chrispine #2chris #chrisrankings #kirstenwiig #cheetah #punks #THE80S #contractualfashionmontages #pedropascal #hauntedjewelry #lyndacarter

10 notes · View notes

spookyboogie3 · 4 years

Text

MY FAVORITE AH MOMENTS W/O R*an H*yw**d

Also keep in mind some of these moments i picked Bitch Face r*an may have been present for but this aint about his stupid ass.

The straw bit on Off Topic

Fiona and Trevor’s “Look at us” “Look at us” “Look at us” in TTT

Drunk Jeremy inhaling helium, followed by Jack and Trevor on Off Topic

“Krusty KrAYAYAB!!!” TTT

Jeremy trying to slam his face through a table, followed by Michael doing the same thing

“my god…… the munchdew” “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” Minecraft: Skyfactory

Actually all of Simple Farmer Geoff from Skyfactory

Whatever those sounds were that Jack was making in the beginning of GTA video

Alfredo screaming as he continues to fall down a steep tube in a GTA race

DESTROYING THEIR OFFICE DEAR LORD

“How did he drown though?” “UNDERWATER, MATT!”

Anytime Fiona starts to RAGE in TTT (bonus if others join in)

The time Gav was the phantom in TTT and he kept dying and being brought back and Jack spitting water and then trying to catch it

Alfredo’s Magoo moments in Minecraft

Geoff laughing in the background of a video hes not in

Lindsay fucking around with Chef Mike on Harecore Minigolf

Lindsay fucking around in general

Gavin and Fiona playing Animal Crossing and laughing at the stupidest shit

The Fish Tempura incident on Wheel of Fortune

Lindsay’s reasoning for why her and Michael should have 4 kids

Geoff’s fucking ad reads (my favorite is 23&Me)

The whole thing during Push the Button where everyone especially Michael gets mad at Fiona because she said the best candy to get while trick or treating was lollipops

Matt’s fucking desk in the corner of the room

Anytime Millie is in a video

Everyone falling off the pink ladder during TTT and dying repeatedly because of it

Alfredo “the two-time champ” Diaz dying very early in YDYD 3

Gavin and Michael fucking up almost every game they play on Play Pals

RAY OR NO and then RAY OR NAY on Off Topic

Reddit Roasts Geoff

Gavin asking if someone could kill 20 cows with their bare hands and the proceeding so say he could rip out a cow’s veins by reaching into its neck

Ify’s narration during Let’s Roll Ave Caesar

The internet losing its shit when Jeremy shaved his head years ago

“We need a knife” Gavin comes back with a hammer

Griffin chain sawing the Off Topic table up

“How do I put the boat in the water??” “Right click you animal”

As of 2020, 8 years of playing Minecraft, certain people still do not know how to play the basics of this fucking game.

Honestly it took over 200 episodes for some of them to figure out how the compass worked. You know after they decided that the sun was setting in the wrong direction. (this was in 2016??)

Flynt coal still is a joke they make

So is Day 2

Whatever happened in that GTA lets play where someone called a mugger or a hit on someone and the game glitched and 50 guys showed up and lined up on the street below from where they were playing

Anytime Gavin gets mugged, it’s an old running gag but it’s a classic

The time a mugger fucking started driving the fire truck away after mugging Gavin with Michael and Jeremy still in the truck thinking the other is driving and it takes them like 2 minutes to realize what happened while Gavin’s yelling “come back”

They got a water jug and immediately started water boarding each other

“It pinged and went dingle”

“Hey Trey-Boi” “Hey Gay-Boi” Immediately realizes what he has said

Jeremy’s website puns

(OLD) Ray jerking off in the corner during a let’s play

(OLD) the world in Minecraft never loading and everyone screaming about as Geoff says its fine for him

Jeremy’s “I AM MONSTER TRUCK”

Jack taking AH to Disney……in Minecraft

On Twitter, Gavin asked about recommendations for a computer mouse and Fiona starts sending him pictures of actual mice.

“Its not ghey, if its on the moon”

Literally anything Fiona does as Po

Jeremy saying the heterosexual flag is boring

UNO THE MOVIE!

Geoff fucking cackling the whole time.

“here’s looking at you kid”

the video was almost 3 hours long

“you know what my favorite color is? blue” “oh really? You know what my favorite hand is? Yours

They all want it to end but no one wants to lose and so they fuck each other and that prolongs the game. Also they put on more rules, so they just keep getting more cards if they don’t have a card to match the previous

Alfredo saying he won’t participate in ghost hunter because he knows what happens to people of color in horror movies

Fiona walking in on Off Topic with a protein shake and Gavin asks if shes drinking milk and she says without missing a beat “ah no that’s cum” and everyone laughed not expecting the answer

(OLD) “SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKER” *falls in hole*

(OLD) Ray and Gav running in a panel dressed as X-Ray and Vav and Ray running the whole way around the room before he got to the stage

Duck taping Jeremy to the wall

(OLD) All of Minecraft Episode 3 Plan G (This was the very first AH video I watch and why I know who they are)

Geoff and Gav creating Achievement City and giving everyone houses just to prank Jack into burning house down with lava.

Ray’s house is a dirt block with no furniture and single torch

Geoff’s giant ass house next to Ray’s tiny house

Jack tries to destroy everything with lava throughout the episode

“lets be honest, I realistically didn’t lose anything”

Michael stealing art from Gav’s house “NOO! I want nice things”

The sign to Michael’s says “Awaiting Approval, Awaiting Approval, Awaiting Approval” he runs into house and say “I’m home”

Ray also steals this sign at some point

Plan G – The failsafe.

“Oh whats this? Is this a button? Whats this? (pushes button) Yeah it was a button”

“Did you push the button?”

“Yeah”

“okay”

“wh-what does it do?”

“uh…”

Cue Achievement City beginning to explode as Michael starts screaming

Rays reaction “NO, MY SHITTY HOUSE JUST GOT EVEN SHITTIER!”

Not something funny but something VERY IMPORTANT. AH admitting that they all fucked up and how shitty their behavior was when dealing with harassment in the fanbase. People were racist, sexist, homophobic, misogynistic, and just downright horrible to a lot of the employees at RT and AH. This came up after Mica Burton left the company and talked about it publicly and how nothing was done about it. Fiona who also experiences these same things, along with Lindsay and other employees, but Fiona took the charge on the Off Topic talking about people can’t continue to get away with that behavior. She got to sound off her feelings to a group of white men who all respected her and LISTENED to what was saying and how she felt. She cried; Geoff cried. They all want to do more, so this doesn’t happen in the future and they’re not tolerating the racist and horrible comments. AH taking a mature moment to talk about how they failed to stop these comments and Geoff was right when he said the company has a long way to go.

Outside of AH each member has more to them than just all of the comedy and laughs and dumb shit they do

Geoff helped found Roosterteeth and Achievement Hunter. He has a beautiful daughter in Millie who is awesome in her own right. He’s a recovering alcoholic. Currently doing F**k Face podcasts. Was in the fucking army. Takes accountability for every mistake he makes.

Jack also helped start Achievement Hunter. He does so much work for charity. His twitter is full of things to help people go vote. He’s like the dad to AH, especially Fiona. He’s happily married to his wife Caiti.

Michael was an electrician and has a lot of handy man experience. He made a few videos online about him raging at games and that got the attention of RT. He’s currently married to Lindsay who he met because of RT. They have two kids together.

Gavin is an expert at high speed filmmaking and know how use and edit footage from a slow-motion camera. He has worked on actual films. One of the creators of the Slow Mo Guys. Worked his ass off to get to work for RT. Currently dating model and cosplayer Meg Turney

Lindsay flips between being the mom of the group and a complete chaos queen and we all love her for it. She started as an editor for the RT podcast and then AH stuff. She is an incredible voice actor, most known for Ruby Rose (RWBY), Space Kid (Camp Camp), Hilda (Xray & Vav) just to name a few. She also has a degree in finance

Jeremy started as a fan who made videos on the community page. He took over Ray’s place after Ray left to do Twitch full time. He is a self-published author and a skilled rapper and singer. He’s currently married to his wife, Kat.

Matt also started as a fan making videos on the community page. He actually interacted and made stuff for the guys in really early Minecraft episodes. Seriously this guy is like king of Minecraft. He has a degree in electrical engineering. He also has pretty decent singing voice.

Trevor is THE BOSS. Has a degree in aero-space engineering and is getting paid to babysit AH. Currently dating Barbara Dunkelman, RTs queen of puns.

Alfredo worked at IGN before RT and is a well-known streamer. He is the best when it comes to first person shooter games. He and Trevor look so similar.

Fiona. Po. Her majesty. Host of This Just Internet. A Twitch streamer. Baby of the bunch. Grew up in Europe. Her and Gav act like a pair of siblings. She has stated and showed time and time again she will fight for people to have safe spaces for anyone who needs them.

Ify, our new guy. He is wonderful and I want to stay forever. He’s a comedian, a writer, and an actor. Co hosts F-ing Around with Fiona. Has his own film podcast, Who Shot Ya? I look forward to more content with him in it, cause everything he’s been in so far has been great.

Were all hurting but well make it through this

We have all these wonderful moments and a lot more that I didn’t list and this incredible team of personalities with their own accomplishments and achievements. Not to mention old team members who were also great additions and the entire crew behind the scenes editing and making videos look the best that they can.

Here’s to Achievement Hunter and to this community. We need to be here for each other in times like these.

@theonyxranger gave me the idea for this based on their own post they made about the fans giving their favorite moments without bitch face and there were just too many. Oop.

#Achievement Hunter #Jack Pattillo #Gavin Free #geoff ramsey #michael jones #lindsay jones #alfredo diaz #trevor collins #fiona nova #jeremy dooley #matt bragg #ify nwadiwe #roosterteeth #yes im calling him bitch face now

10 notes · View notes

spacebaubles · 4 years

Text

CW: Transphobia/Homophobia/racism/sexism and all that horrible shit.

Here is your reminder for 2020: Think critically about the media you consume.

Last year, the dumpster fire that it was saw the coming out of JK Rowling as a TERF with her proclamation of support for Maya Forstater. I know you are probably sick of hearing about it but I give zero fucks about that. Scroll down like every other human adult does.

The reason why I am talking about this again is that for me it highlighted two things: how little research people undertake, and exactly how few people are scrutinising the information they have been provided.

For those of you who don't know: Maya Forstater was working for a think tank who worked on tackling poverty and inequality in the UK. Her work contract was not renewed by this organisation as her conduct online and within the workplace went against the workplace code of conduct. She refused to work with trans clients, she deliberately misgendered and harassed trans colleagues, and abused and harassed trans people on Twitter. In light of her behaviour, the organisation decided not to renew her contract.

Maya Forstater didn't really like this very much and tried to take her employer to court (to an employment tribunal). She argued that her exclusionary views on transgender people was akin to holding a religious belief and therefore said beliefs should be protected under the Equality Act - the UK's version of an anti-discrimination act which legally protects people from discrimination in the workplace and the broader community.

Under the Equality Act 2010 it is against the law to discriminate against anyone because of: age, gender reassignment, being married or in a civil partnership, being pregnant or on maternity leave, disability, race including colour, nationality, ethnic or national origin, religion or belief, sex, or sexual orientation.

The act defines discrimination as:

-- Direct discrimination - treating someone with a protected characteristic less favourably than others.

-- Indirect discrimination - putting rules or arrangements in place that apply to everyone, but that put someone with a protected characteristic at an unfair disadvantage.

-- Harassment - unwanted behaviour linked to a protected characteristic that violates someone’s dignity or creates an offensive environment for them.

-- Victimisation - treating someone unfairly because they’ve complained about discrimination or harassment.

These points above are the ones I want to focus on. The courts rightfully told Maya Forstater that her case was a crock of shit which prompted a Twitter campaign "IStandWithMaya" for people to show solidarity with her cause The UK press had painted a picture of a woman unfairly dismissed due to her views, and her want to "protect women". People not so much lapped it up but deep-throated the fuck out of it.

Now let's do a thought experiment for science. Let's replace the word "trans person" with "lesbian". Outside of fringe groups of people, it is socially less acceptable to discriminate against lesbians such as myself. People actually get angry when told of the discrimination that lesbians face.

Imagine I had to work with Maya Forstater. Imagine she refused to work with me. She called me "unnatural" and "sick" and a predator. She made me feel scared to come to work and physically unsafe being in her presence. She also harassed other lesbians online and had a following of people who supported her in doing so. Imagine when our imaginary workplace refused to renew her contract to protect my safety and the safety of our clients, she took our workplace to court.

In court, she argued that her anti-lesbian beliefs were the same as holding a religious belief and as such, under the Equality Act as you cannot discriminate against anyone for the religion they practice - her workplace should not have been unable to refuse to renew her contract.

What Maya Forstater wants is not the freedom to hold her beliefs without discrimination (i.e., In the same way as you cannot refuse employment to someone simply because they are Christian, or Jewish or Muslim), but the freedom to engage in actions based on those beliefs. The freedom to engage in harmful actions without consequences towards a class of people who are protected under the Equality Act. There is a difference between holding a belief and acting on that belief. You can have a belief. You can believe homophobic, sexist, anti-Semitic, racist or transphobic things. Discrimination occurs when you actively engage in harmful acts based on those beliefs towards the people those beliefs are about.

And that's what Maya Forstater wants. She wants legal protection to engage in emotionally and psychologically harmful acts by harassing her colleagues in real life and online, and refusing to help clients in need. And people supported that without even realising what they were supporting because they didn't critically analyse the situation. If she had won that court case, it would have been a massive blow to LGBTI civil rights.

Not only have people supported this without really looking at the situation, but they have also swallowed right-wing rhetoric used against cisgender women and other LGBTI people because it supports their bigotry against trans people.

An often-used example of this is the habit of Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists to attempt to devalue trans women by defining "Real Woman" as a person who has a uterus or the ability to get pregnant. Reducing cisgender women to specific body parts is a tactic used by right-wing conservatives to take away our rights. Particularly reproductive rights. Using the same tactics as a means to oppress trans/genderqueer/non-binary people harms the LGBTI community as a whole as well as straight cisgender women.

It amazes me the sheer number of women who will gleefully use the same tactics used against them as a means to justify their bigotry without even a hint of irony. They don't just hate trans people; they also don't give a fuck about your fellow ciswomen. TERFs getting into bed with right-wing conservatives isn't new. Bigots using right-wing talking points isn't new. It's been going on forever. TERFs are not your allies. They don't care about the LGBTI community. They don't care about protecting anyone.

But people passively (and sometimes actively) are okay with this because simple slogans and sensationalised falsehoods are easy to swallow than taking the time to really look at what is happening. Right-wing media has successfully painted LGBTI rights as a zero-sum game and spread the idea that for one group to gain rights, another group must lose them.

This is crap. Don't fall for it.

Stay critical and support your local queers. We're pretty fucking fabulous.

P.S: Just a note: You can still love and cherish Harry Potter while still understanding that Rowling's views don't reflect the universe she built. Don't stop loving HP because of an author. She might have created the universe, but it belongs to the fans now.

The full ruling is here: https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=https://www.snopes.com/uploads/2019/06/Forstater-v-CGD-Judgement-2019.pdf&ved=2ahUKEwj_-aD08-HmAhW2ILcAHWZzA-sQFjACegQIARAB&usg=AOvVaw2rfgLLGCwUemgI6Gq959Y1