#her choices are not great but she chooses the ones she hates less every time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pasukiyo · 1 year

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Hey, ignore if u arent still doing requests but I've had this storyline in my head for ages and I think ur a perfect writer for tom. Basically, the reader is a muggleborn but she attends Hogwarts and it's like half term where they are all home for a break. Shes either avery or lestranges adopted sibling and it's kinda been kept a secret from tom because.. well yknow shes a muggleborn lol(he knows about her now because her adoptive brother had to explain before bringing Tom over) anyways so hes at every or lestranges house for some reason (you make it up) and shes in her room, her adoptive brother needs something so he asks tom to get it from her desk in her room and they preferably have 🌶 time. Sorry if it sounds stupid but I've been thinking about this for ages!!😭

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!reader 8,104 words warnings: smut. sort of angst. also lots of prejudice against muggle-borns. read part two here. notes: reader is hufflepuff and muggle-born in this one. summary: every year, the lestranges will hold a christmas party for only the oldest of pure-blood wizarding families. every year you are locked in your room while the party rages downstairs, but everything will change when tom riddle is invited to this year’s party. everything…

The Lestrange name definitely held some irony, considering how strange the family truly was. The Mother sent an owl at lunch, the rolled parchment dropping onto the plate in front of Tiernan Lestrange. On either side of him sat Clarence Avery and Liam Mulciber, who gazed down at the rolled parchment sealed with the Lestrange family crest with sparkling irises.

“Is it for the party, Lestrange?” Avery asked as Lestrange took another bite of his sandwich, dusting his hands off before finally taking a hold of the parchment, untying the ribbon keeping it closed. “More than likely,” he replied as the parchment unraveled, his mother’s handwriting gazing back up at him in inky black cursive letters.

‘To my dearest son,

Tell your friends they’re more than welcome to join us on Christmas Eve for the party. Invite that Head Boy you were writing to me about too. I am most interested to meet him, since you speak so highly of him. Remind the Girl that she is to not speak of the party, I simply cannot have any more of her kind in the house. I will see you at King’s Cross Station, my darling.

With all my love, your mother.’

Of course, the Girl referred to the Hufflepuff sitting all the way across the Great Hall at her own House’s table, her head down as she ate, so as to not catch the attention of her brother or any of his friends. She didn’t choose this family— and if it were her choice, she’d be far away from them— and neither did they.

It was the fault of whomever it was who dropped her onto the Lestranges’ doorstep in the wee hours of the morning when she was only an infant. The Mother had given birth to her son only a few months before, and found the crying baby on her doorstep to be quite a burden.

She asked herself why the Mother and the Father even bothered keeping her, for even before they learned of her blood status, they hated her. Perhaps it was to uphold their reputation— taking in a child who wasn’t theirs? It was the perfect foundation for the story of a kind-hearted pure-blood family— how could the Lestranges let that opportunity go?

Of course, behind closed doors, she was treated less than a family member, some would argue far less than a house elf. She may as well have been a house elf if you ask her. She was treated like how they believed anyone of her kind should be treated— a mudblood deserved to be treated like the rubbish they are, they’d say.

Up until she got her Hogwarts letter, she believed them. She believed she deserved to be treated this way, that she deserved to be put through the torture that came with living with the Lestranges. She believed she had filthy blood, demon blood.

But all of that changed the second she first stepped foot into Hogwarts. Of course, the Lestranges were at first very against letting her attend Hogwarts— mudbloods shouldn’t be taught magic, they’d say— but even they could only take so many letters flying through the fireplace or popping up in the stew before they gave in. Of course, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone of her blood status— “you are not to tell anyone of your filthy blood status,” the Father had told her with an accusatory finger in her face. “As far as anyone is concerned, you are pure-blood. So I expect you to act like it.”

Her school robes and supplies were not as grand as Tiernan’s, and she wasn’t allowed an owl or a cat or a toad. But she told herself that she would make do with what she had, and she felt at least a little bit grateful that the Lestranges didn’t give her tattered secondhand, even third-hand clothes, even if she knew it was all for the act.

When the Lestranges found out she had been sorted into Hufflepuff however, oh, it gave them all the more reason to ridicule and torture her back at home. “Of course the mudblood is in the weakest House,” the Mother would mutter beneath her breath as she and her husband read the letter their son had written. “We were fools to think that old ratty hat would sort her into Slytherin.”

Tiernan and his friends— they made certain that her life at Hogwarts was just as bad as her life at home. Of course, Tiernan was the only one who knew the truth about her blood, Avery, Mulciber, and the others just tagged along because they found it funny. They loved calling her names, making her trip in the hallways, pulling pranks such as jinxing her school books so that they may not open no matter how hard she tried.

And still, she didn’t dare stand her ground, for she knew all too well that the Mother and the Father would catch wind of it, and make certain that she’d be on the first train back to King’s Cross Station. So instead, she dealt with Tiernan and his friends, just like she learned to deal with everything else.

But Tom… Tom Riddle was different.

Tiernan Lestrange and his friends worshiped the ground Tom Riddle walked on, and it was no secret. She remembered when she first saw Tom, all the way back in the Sorting Ceremony in her first year at Hogwarts. She remembered hearing his name ‘Riddle, Tom’ being called and she remembered watching as he approached the platform, settling himself down onto the stool.

She remembered the way their eyes met and she swore her knees turned into jelly when she gazed into those dark ravines he had for irises. And she remembered when the Sorting Hat exclaimed “Slytherin!” hardly before it had even touched a hair on his head.

And she remembered how disappointed she felt when she was called up to be sorted, the Sorting Hat put her into Hufflepuff. She wanted to be a Slytherin— she wanted to be wherever Tom Riddle was.

In all her time at Hogwarts, she’d never even spoken a word to Tom Riddle. They’d pass each other in the halls, but thanks to her brother, she’d never been given the chance to even tell him hello. And Tiernan made it clear that she never would.

So life went on, and she got older. She hoped that over time, she’d forget about Tom. But it was hard when he was made prefect, and when he was given the Special Award for Services to the School, and when he was made Head Boy at the beginning of their seventh and final year.

She remembered her fifth year during all the attacks on muggle-borns vividly as if it were only yesterday. She remembered how frightened she was when she realized it was muggle-borns whatever it was was attacking. She remembered the panic she felt when Hogwarts was on the brink of being closed— she couldn’t have that! She belonged at Hogwarts, not out there with the Lestranges where she was treated like vermin.

At least here, she could pretend to be someone she was not.

Of course Tiernan was no help, always taunting her and teasing her that she’d be next. She remembered when she heard that it was Rubeus Hagrid who had freed the muggle-born killing beast, how although she felt that it could not be Hagrid, she felt a sense of relief when he was expelled, when all the attacks had stopped.

And of course it was Tom Riddle who caught him. And of course it just made her admire him more and more.

But she would keep her distance. She’d admire him from afar. She couldn’t begin to imagine the torment Tiernan would put her through if he found out she liked Tom Riddle.

“Yes! Looks like we’re invited, Mulciber,” Avery exclaimed, pumping his fist. Tiernan rolled his eyes at his friends, “you’re invited every year,” he replied, just as Tom entered the Great Hall, and they fell into silence as he approached.

She could see Tom over the tops of the heads of the Hufflepuffs in front of her, and she slowly sat up to get a better look. That was when Tom blinked up and she swore their eyes met, just for a moment, before he settled down into his seat, disappearing behind the heads of the other Hogwarts students. She felt herself flush as she hunched over her plate again, a small smile creeping onto her face.

“My Lord,” Tiernan Lestrange nodded as Tom settled himself between him and Liam Mulciber. Tom nodded in acknowledgement as he placed a few pieces of chicken onto his plate, and Tiernan’s gaze flickered from him to the rolled parchment in his lap. “My mother sent an owl,” he said, and Tom hummed in reply, nodding. Still, he said nothing.

Tiernan shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, and Tom, with his eyes slightly narrower than before, peered up at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. Tiernan turned pink beneath Tom’s stare, and he presented the letter to him, Tom’s dark eyes flicking down to the inky black words on the scroll.

“My family, we… we hold a Christmas party every year,” he said, and when Tom glanced back up at him, he flushed again. “And you would’ve been invited! But it’s only for the oldest pure-blood families, and, well…” Tiernan trailed off when he saw the shadow looming over Tom’s already dark gaze, and Mulciber and Avery shifted in their seats uncomfortably.

Tiernan cleared his throat again, “but I’ve been speaking very highly of you to my mother. She wants you to come,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. Tom pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he stared back up at Lestrange, handing back the parchment. “Yes, I know. I can read, Tiernan,” Tom said sternly, and Tiernan clawed at his knees to prevent himself from trembling.

“Yes… well…” Lestrange said shakily as he rolled back up the parchment, slipping it inside one of his pockets. “…I’d really love it if you come. We’ll all be there— me, Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, Nott— and our families too, so you can meet them all!”

Tom took a bite out of one of the chicken wings on his plate, placing it back down before wringing a napkin between his hands, gesturing towards Lestrange’s robes with his head. “Who is your mother referring to when she speaks of ‘the Girl?’” He asked, and heat crept back into Tiernan’s cheeks until they glowed scarlet. “Oh, you know… my sister…” he muttered, and Tom’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t she refer to her daughter by name?” Tom questioned, turning his body to fully face Tiernan, his interest piqued. “What does she mean by she ‘cannot have any more of her kind in the house?’”

The other boys leaned in to hear what Tiernan would say next, and he knew now that there was no way to get out of this. He’d have to tell the truth not only to his friends, but to his Lord.

“Forgive me, my Lord, for asking this of you,” Tiernan hung his head and muttered lowly towards Tom. “But I must ask that you promise you won’t tell another soul about this. This goes for all of you, too,” he said towards Tom and the rest of their group. Lestrange gazed into each of their eyes and held contact for a moment with each, to make it known that he was serious.

Tom shrugged, “I promise.”

Tiernan inhaled a shaky breath, before finally saying, “she… as you know, is not my sister,” he began. “And she’s not pure-blood, either. She’s a mudblood.”

Mulciber, Avery, and the others all leaned closer and broke into a sea of murmurs, “that sure explains a lot. But a mudblood? In the Lestrange family?” Tom remained silent as he stared at Lestrange, beckoning for him to continue. “Her filthy muggle parents left her on our doorstep after she was born. My mother and father took her in purely out of the goodness of their hearts,” Tiernan sat up and stuck out his chest proudly. “And they kept her, even when they learned where she came from. So you see now why she never comes to the party. Mother always tells guests she’s never home for the party anyways.”

The boys all laughed and ridiculed her while Tom, again, remained silent, staring absentmindedly down at his plate. He wasn’t sure what to think, how to feel. All this time he’d spent watching her, only catching glimpses of her from afar when he felt a gaze on him, watching as she turned away whenever she saw him with Tiernan and the others.

All this time he secretly lusted after her, the outcast of her family, the black sheep of the family. All this time he felt some sort of connection to her, all this time he felt he could relate to her because he, too, felt like an outcast. The outcast of the orphanage he grew up in, the outcast of the Gaunt family, the outcast of his muggle father’s family.

Tom Riddle never belonged anywhere, but he belonged here, at Hogwarts. And he knew she felt the same.

But would things change now that he knew she was muggle-born? Should he feel disgusted with himself now for ever thinking of pursuing her, for ever thinking of taking her in whichever way he pleased? Was it wrong of him to still lust for her, to still think of having his way with her?

Tom was clever but this, this he wasn’t sure of.

“So where has she been hiding during the parties?” Liam Mulciber asked, and Tiernan Lestrange snickered. “Mother and father force her up into her room. Says they’ll punish her accordingly if they hear even the smallest of noises coming from her room,” he replied, the boys erupting into another fit of snickers. Tom was still silent as he stared at his plate— he suddenly didn’t feel like eating.

The next day, she and a group of other Hogwarts students waiting to go home for the holidays gathered at Hogsmeade station, waiting for the arrival of the train. She snuck glances over to where Tiernan and his friends stood together, Tom in the middle of them all. She flushed and turned away when his head began to turn, and she moved to hide herself behind a few of her fellow Hufflepuffs, safe away from Tom Riddle’s view.

The train’s whistle echoed as the train emerged, slowing down to a stop before them. She dared gaze back over to where Tiernan stood with his friends as she waited for the doors to open, and when she did, Tom was no longer looking her way. She let herself stare for a little moment longer before she felt someone tap her shoulder, and blinked at the Hufflepuff girl in front of her with brown skin and shoulder length black hair she recognized as Clara Wingrave.

“Are you coming?” Clara asked, a furrow in her brow. She blinked and nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat back down. “Yes, sorry Clara,” she mumbled as she followed the Hufflepuff girl onto the train, sliding into the seat opposite the one Clara chose. She sighed as she settled herself into the seat just as footsteps thundered through the train, and she hardly had any time to register what was happening before their compartment door slid open, revealing none other than Tiernan Lestrange, Clarence Avery, and Liam Mulciber, Tom and the other three boys nowhere in sight.

Clara narrowed her eyes at their intruders, “hey, go find your own—“

��Shut it,” Mulciber hissed towards her. “No one allowed you to speak.”

Clara’s glare hardened as Tiernan leaned down to block his adopted sister’s view, his lips curving into a cheshire grin. Her hands balled into fists, and she suddenly felt the strongest urge to slam them right into that crooked smile of his.

“Mother sent the owl this afternoon,” Tiernan muttered, and he needn’t elaborate, for she was already used to the rules she was forced to follow every year during the annual Lestrange Christmas party. “Oh yeah? And let me guess… I’m not to speak of the party, I’m not to attend the party, I’m to stay up in my room and if I make even the smallest of noises, I’ll be punished accordingly? Is that all?” She asked quietly, so that the girl across from her could not hear.

Tiernan scowled and grabbed for her throat, much to Clara’s shock as she shrieked, giving her a firm shake. She pressed her lips closed and gazed into Tiernan’s dark umber eyes as they gleamed with mischief. “You dare give me attitude?” He tsked. “You just wait. I’ll tell mother and father about this and—“

“—Tiernan? Won’t you leave her alone for Merlin’s sake, the train is about to leave.”

She along with Clara, Tiernan, and his friends snapped their heads to the open compartment door where the Head Boy now stood, a furrow in his brow. He narrowed his eyes every so slightly, and he looked irritated. She flushed when she saw him and turned away as Tiernan released her, dusting off his clothes. She glimpsed up at him as he turned to leave, not without making sure to flash a dirty look her way over his shoulder before he slid the compartment door closed behind him.

“What the hell was that about?” Clara gasped and shook her head in disbelief. “I know it is common for siblings to fight, but that was just absurd.”

She shook her head as she shifted in her seat, gazing out the window as the train began to move, and Hogsmeade station grew further and further away until it disappeared altogether.

“He’s not my brother.”

The train ride back to King’s Cross Station seemed to go by quicker than usual, much to her dismay. She wished she could stay on the train forever rather than have to go back to living with the Lestranges, and wished that she had an invisibility cloak so that she could hide and be on her way back to Hogwarts within the hour.

But, since she didn’t, she sighed as she collected her bag with her few belongings and exited her compartment, stepping out of the train and onto Platform 9¾, where her eyes immediately fell upon the Mother and the Father where they stood, eyes narrowed when they fell upon their muggle-born adopted daughter. She huffed as she made her way over to them, standing beside the Mother with a considerable amount of distance between them.

“Where is my son?” The Mother asked through gritted teeth, and she shrugged her shoulders. “He and his friends should be getting off soon,” she replied, not daring to turn to look at the Mother. Sure enough, almost as soon as she finished saying it, there stepped out Tiernan and his friends, Tom Riddle close behind. The other boys left to greet their own parents, but Tiernan and Tom made their way over to where she stood beside the Lestranges, and she flushed.

Why was Tom coming over here?

“Tiernan,” the Mother smiled, drawing her son into her chest for a hug. “And you must be… Tom, is that right? Hogwarts’ Head Boy?”

She glanced over to where Tom stood, a charming smile plastered his face and she could feel heat creep back up her neck. She turned away from him before he could catch her staring.

“It is nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Lestrange,” Tom greeted them, shaking Mr Lestrange’s hand and giving the top of Mrs Lestrange’s a polite kiss. “Oh!” Mrs Lestrange giggled. “I like this one. The manners!”

Tom flashed his best smile but snuck a glimpse over to where the Lestranges adopted daughter stood, her arms crossed over herself as she looked anywhere but at him. He eyed her up and down just as Mrs Lestrange clutched either of his forearms, and he was forced to tear his attention away from the girl behind her.

“Tiernan here tells me you’re from the orphanage?” Mrs Lestrange asked and Tiernan felt like shriveling away beside Tom. Tom only nodded in reply to which Mrs Lestrange tutted, “how about this? You’re welcome to come and stay with us for the holidays. We’d be delighted to have you.”

She froze at this and her lips fell agape with the intent to protest, but nothing came out. She knew nothing she said would matter anyways, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle being around Tom for the entirety of the holidays. She’d been comfortable leaving him at a safe distance away from her at school, but now she’d have to deal with seeing him at the Lestranges? She simply wouldn’t be able to trust herself being around him for so long.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Tom beamed as Mrs Lestrange fussed over him, leading him away from the platform, and she, the Father, and Tiernan followed close behind. Tiernan made a point of ramming his shoulder into her every once in a while, and it took everything within her to control herself, to not shout or push him away. The Father saw this was happening but did nothing to stop it.

It wasn’t longer before they finally entered the Leaky Cauldron and made their way to the fireplace, and they each grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. The Father went first, then Mrs Lestrange, and Tiernan before it was down to her and Tom. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had ever been alone together, and she forced herself to look away as he stepped into the fireplace.

Tom was no stranger to her shy nature. He tilted his head to try and get a better look at her, watching as she peeked over at him only to find he was staring, and looked away again. He smiled, exclaimed “Lestrange Manor!” and he was gone, leaving her alone.

Soon, she too was back in the Lestrange Manor, and she nearly ran into Tom where he stood just before the fireplace. Her palms instinctively fell onto his back to find her balance, and oh, how she felt she’d explode where she stood.

It was the first time she had ever touched Tom, and she truly did not expect him to be so warm. Tom glanced back over his shoulder when he felt her hands on him and swiftly stepped out of her way, feeling her touch lingering on his back where she had touched him. Something ignited within him at that touch, and every doubt he had about still wanting to pursue her seemed to fray away.

He wanted her.

“Welcome to our home!” The Mother exclaimed with a smile as she dusted off the shoulder of Tom’s coat where some ash had fallen, letting her palms soothe back down all the way to his elbows. “Tiernan will show you where you will be staying. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

She began to follow Tiernan and Tom as they headed for the staircase leading to the next level, but just before she could, the Mother grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her backwards to face her and the Father. She scowled down at her adopted daughter as soon as she made certain Tom was out of sight and leaned down until they were eye level.

“Listen to me, girl, and listen to me good,” the Mother said lowly. “You are to be on your best behavior while we have a guest in the home. You are to stay up in your room for the holidays except for meals, do you understand me, girl?”

She blinked— normally, she’d hate the fact that she had to stay up in her room all hours of the day, but instead, she felt relief surge through her. At least she wouldn’t have to see Tom, at least she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself in front of him.

“Yes, Madam Lestrange,” she said as the Mother released her elbow, and the Father stepped forward, leaning down to eye level.

“And you mustn’t leave your room under any circumstances during the party tomorrow evening,” he muttered. “If I hear even the smallest of sounds coming from your bedroom, I will punish accordingly and do understand, I will not show mercy.”

She heard this rule every year, but still to this day, the way the Father threatened her sent chills down her spine. “Yes, Mr Lestrange,” she nodded and when the Father waved her off, she walked as fast as she could towards the stairs, practically sprinting up the steps and down the hallway until she finally reached her bedroom.

Tom and the rest of the Lestranges were already in the dining room when she finally bounded down the steps, and he could tell Mr and Mrs Lestrange were using all the self restraint they had within them to not blow up at her, most likely for his sake. He watched as she sat down across the table from where he and Tiernan sat, carefully only placing a small selection of food onto her plate.

He glanced back over to where Mr Lestrange sat on one end of the long dining table before looking over at Mrs Lestrange on the other end. Neither paid her any attention, or showed any intention of speaking to her. She didn’t seem to want to talk either.

“So, Tom, Tiernan tells me you’re exceptional at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Mr Lestrange said, shaking Tom from his thoughts. He forced a small smile as he nodded, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Yes, actually, I wish to become Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher one day.”

She listened as she finished her dinner as quickly as she could, but she didn’t stick around to hear the rest of Tom’s story. She gazed over at the Mother who only nodded that she may be excused before she gathered her plate and hurried off to the kitchen where the Lestranges house elf cleaned.

“Thank you for the food, Gimbel,” she nodded at the house elf who only nodded back as she set her dirty plate on the pile of unclean dishes the house elf had stacked on the countertop. She hurried back upstairs where she shut herself in her room, sighing as she fell onto her mattress.

All she had left to endure was breakfast tomorrow morning, and she’d be free of seeing Tom for the rest of the day. She rested her arm over her eyes, her heart beating against her chest. She couldn’t believe the boy she’s been pining after since her first year is in her house, staying in only a few rooms down from hers. How she wished she could talk to him, to treat him like a guest rather than act like he wasn’t even there at all.

She even, for a moment, wished she was a true member of the Lestrange family, so that she could be treated as an equal.

Tom hardly saw her for breakfast the next morning, for as soon as he and Tiernan had entered the dining room, she was seemingly finished with her food, and once again scurried off towards the kitchen as she did the night before. Tiernan scoffed when he saw this as they took their seats on one side of the long dining table, loading their plates with biscuits and bacon and eggs.

“I apologize for her… strange behavior, my Lord,” Tiernan muttered to home as Tom took a sip of milk. “She’s always like this, you see.” Tom didn’t care to listen to whatever else Tiernan had to say about his adopted sister. Tom had already made up his mind about her, it was how he’d find the chance to talk to her that was the problem.

She seemed to avoid him like the plague, and he knew he more than likely wouldn’t be seeing her at all the rest of the day, since the Lestranges locked her in her room while they hosted their party. Tom was clever, so surely he’d be able to find a way around it?

But as the time for the party to begin approached, he still came up with nothing. He had no excuse for wanting to see her, and with Tiernan practically breathing down his neck, he hadn’t any chance of sneaking away any time soon. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to see her at all when the party began and Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, and Nott all came rushing towards him and Lestrange. He had no space absolutely no space and no time to sneak away.

“Don’t worry,” Lestrange was saying to his friends. “The mudblood is upstairs in her bedroom. Won’t be coming out at all tonight, that one.” The boys snickered as they called her names and made jokes about her, but Tom wasn’t listening. Even though it seemed as if all hope of seeing her tonight was lost, he was still thinking of every possible excuse he could come up with to sneak away.

But fortunately, he wouldn’t have to contemplate for much longer.

“Blast,” Lestrange cursed, feeling around his pockets. Clarence Avery furrowed his eyebrows as he watched his friend, the others soon joining in. “What is it?” Liam Mulciber asked as Lestrange emptied each of his pockets, coming up with nothing. “Left my damn wand in my room,” Lestrange muttered, and Tom perked at this. Lestrange turned to Tom and stepped closer to murmur close to his ear, “forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord, but I simply do not trust the others. Will you go upstairs and retrieve my wand for me? I can’t go upstairs, mother and father said I need to stay down here.”

If Tom was the type, he’d laugh and jump up and down at the request. All day he had been trying to come up with some sort of excuse to slip away from the party, and now he finally had one. He cleared his throat and nodded, “of course,” he said to Lestrange before making his way over towards the staircase, but he did not stop at Tiernan’s bedroom door as he passed.

Instead, he walked a little further down the Lestranges upstairs hallway, stopping at the last door on the left where she was, the black wooden door the only thing separating him from her now. Tom raised a fist to the door and knocked, and for a moment, it was silent on the other side.

Who could possibly be knocking at her door?

She knew it could not be any of the Lestranges, for they would’ve just burst through the door without any respect for her privacy anyways. It couldn’t be Gimbel either, the house elf never came to her room. She grew weary as she closed her book and set it down on the mattress beside her, clearing her throat before murmuring a low, “come in.”

She watched as the handle to her door twisted and it swung open, and when she saw who was standing there in her doorway, she felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. She’d only ever dreamed of Tom Riddle being in her bedroom, but never before did she actually think he’d really come in here.

But there he was. There Tom Riddle stood, closing the door behind him and turning to gaze at her where she sat on her bed, his eyes entrancing as they were dark. Even from across the room, his irises seemed to pull her in like they were magnets and she was metal, and she lost herself further and further into his soul…

“Forgive me,” Tom said, and she blinked. Those were the first words she had ever heard him direct towards her. “I would not usually barge into a lady’s room like this.”

Fire raged across her skin, up her neck, and to her cheeks until they were seared with flame. She suddenly had the strongest urge to open the window, wondering if she had broken into a sweat yet or not.

She blinked again, and the corner of Tom’s lips curved into a soft smile. He knew he already had her wrapped around his finger.

“Your brother thought he left something in here,” he said, gesturing towards her desk against the far wall of the room. “May I?”

She could not think of anything Tiernan could have possibly left in her room, but she wouldn’t dare question Tom, so instead she nodded, and she watched as he strode across the room, opening her desk drawers and sifting through its contents.

Of course, Tom wasn’t searching for anything. But she needn’t know that yet.

“Hm,” Tom hummed, closing the drawers he had opened and turning to face her again, leaning back against the wooden desk. “Perhaps, your brother was mistaken.”

She felt small underneath Tom’s gaze, and she felt as though she could curl herself into a ball right now and shrivel away. But instead she sat still on her bed, unable to speak, unable to move. Tom chuckled and she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, mentally cursing herself for being so shy. Typical Hufflepuff, she could imagine her adopted brother sneering.

“You know, you should really join the party,” Tom said, hoping to break the ice between them. She soothed the skin of her arms with her palms and rubbed at her elbows, shaking her head. “The Mother and the Father won’t let me attend,” she managed to speak at last, and she gulped down the lump in her throat.

Although Tom already knew the answer, he still tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Why is that?” He asked, and she swallowed again, forcing back down the truth. She dropped her head and shrugged, “because I’m different.”

Tom blinked, and he suddenly felt like he was ten years old again, still living at the orphanage he grew up in. For over ten years, he grew up unlike all the other children, and even at an early and young age, he knew that he was different. It wasn't until Albus Dumbledore came to visit him that he finally understood why he felt this way.

It was different in her case, because at least she knew why she was different. But they were still treated the same, like they were misfits, rejects, outcasts. It was then that he understood the connection he felt towards her with a different meaning, that he first noticed this string tethering them together.

They had both been lost before, but just like he had found himself, she could be found too. Tom could be the one to find her, for he seemed to be the only one who understood her.

Tom’s footsteps permeated her bedroom as he made his way over towards her bed, setting himself down on the mattress beside her. She flinched when she felt the bed dip beneath his weight, and it was then that it occurred to her just how close he was.

They had never ever been this close before.

“Why are you different?” He asked, gazing down at her as she peered up, their eyes meeting closer than they ever have before. For a moment she said nothing, only continued to lose herself further in the dark depths of the treacherous caverns that were his eyes. He studied her— her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her lips.

It was no secret that she was beautiful, even Tom could admit that. But she was vulnerable, it was clear the moment Tom met her eyes again. And Tom could work with vulnerability.

“Well…” she trailed off, contemplating how much she should tell him. Tom’s fingers grazed against her knee and she trembled, her eyes flicking down to his hand and back up to his face. “You can tell me,” Tom said warmly. “You can tell me anything.”

She blinked. Never before had she heard those words. Nobody has ever wanted to hear her story before, for they all thought they already knew it all by now. She was the child who was left on the Lestranges doorstep as a baby, the child the Lestranges took in to ‘raise as their own’ because they just couldn’t bear giving such a young girl away since they were so kindhearted.

So never had she ever thought she’d be given the chance to tell someone about herself, to let someone read her story. But there was something about Tom, and she felt like she could trust him.

“I’m… I was left on their doorstep as a baby,” she began, and Tom nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I was… I am muggle-born…” she trailed off, wincing as she searched Tom’s face for disgust, but he didn’t even recoil. He only gazed at her with that same patient stare, waiting for her to keep going.

So she did.

“They hate me for it,” she added. “For having dirty blood. I’m not sure why they kept me, I could’ve been a Squib or not even a witch at all for that matter. Thankfully, I got my Hogwarts letter when Tiernan did.” She wrung her hands together in her lap, Tom’s warmth drawing her even closer to him. “It certainly didn’t help that I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat back down again, and Tom let his palm rest on her knee again, his touch warm, like a kiss from the sun itself. She felt relaxed when he touched her, despite how nervous she actually was inside.

“They treat me… so bad,” she whispered. “They treat me like I’m nothing.”

Her voice wavered before it broke, and when it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to continue, the hand that had previously been resting on her knee retreated so that it may instead reach her face. Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her face up to his, her teary eyes searching his for something, anything she could hold onto. Warmth, comfort, reassurance, hope, anything.

So Tom would tell her what she wanted to hear.

“You are not nothing,” Tom murmured, and her lip quivered the longer she stared at him. “You are somebody. Don’t let them take that feeling away from you.”

She blinked and her brow softened, her vision blurring with tears. She was somebody. Tom Riddle thought she was somebody.

And somehow, that seemed to be all she needed to hear.

A silence ensued and they only gazed deeper into one another’s eyes. With the grip still on her chin, he drew her near and he leaned down to meet her halfway, his lips pressing against hers softly, as tenderly as he could. He felt the way she shuddered under his touch, as if his kiss was a tranquilizer, and she was becoming limp and pliant, all for him.

So he kissed her deeper, he kissed her harder. His tongue was warm in her mouth as she let him reign dominance over her own, her hands shaking as one cupped the side of his face and the other grabbed his bicep.

This was what Tom Riddle had been fantasizing about for years. To have her compliant beneath him, to have her completely under his control. He loved how easy it was, how easy it was to have her. Although he’d admit, this connection he felt towards her was growing, and it was growing at an alarming rate. As he pushed her down onto the mattress and trailed his kisses down from her lips to her jaw, he found that his heart burned, as if she had set it aflame, and this feeling was foreign to him.

He had no idea what this tenderness he felt was, whether he dared call it love or not. For eighteen years, he was under the impression that he couldn’t love, that love simply just wasn’t in the cards for him, and he was completely okay with that.

But this feeling, whatever it was he felt for her, came unexpectedly, and he was unsure whether or not he should embrace it or push it away.

For now, he worked at unbuttoning her blouse as he sucked marks into her neck, his tongue swirling around her collarbone.

She pressed her lips together to contain her noises as Tom slipped her blouse from her shoulders and down her arms, discarding it down onto the floor altogether. He made quick work of her brassiere, his lips previously kissing her collarbone venturing down between the valley of her breasts, sucking marks onto either mounds of flesh.

“T… Tom,” she mewled as he pressed a kiss to one of her nipples, kneading her opposite breast with his palm. He hummed in reply, gazing up at her through hooded lids as he sucked the erect bud, releasing it with a wet pop before doing the same to the other. She squirmed beneath him and squeezed her eyes shut, arching her back up off of the mattress. “T… Tom, I… they will punish me if they hear me.”

Tom smirked against her skin as he released her nipple from his mouth and kissed down her stomach, past her belly button, all the way to the hem of her skirt. He pushed himself up by the elbows as he hooked his fingers over the hem, beginning to tug them down her thighs.

“Then I suggest you stay quiet,” he said simply as he removed her skirt from her ankles, her panties soon joining the sea of clothes on the floor as well.

She sank her teeth down into her bottom lip so hard when he placed a kiss just above her aching clit, she feared she’d draw blood. Tom eyed her through his hooded stare as he teasingly dipped his tongue past her folds, testing the waters. He watched as her face scrunched and she kicked her legs, arching her back at just the simplest of touches.

So eager, he thought.

He soothed her stomach with one of his palms as he pecked her clit, watching the way she trembled and writhed, whining behind closed lips, silent pleading for more. Tears broke past the glossy barrier of her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks like crystals, and he smirked as he pressed his lips down against her heat, sucking her clit as it throbbed and ached to be touched.

She threw her hands down on the mattress on either side of her, her fingernails clawing at the sheets as he flicked his tongue up and down her slit, humming at the taste of her nectar on his tongue. She tried to watch as he lapped up the juices spilling down her folds before flicking his tongue against her bud again, but she couldn’t even hold herself up, much less keep her eyes open for longer than a few seconds.

“P… please,” she mewled quietly as one of her hands ventured down between her legs to grip at his hair, and she ground her hips against his face, eager for more. That was when Tom stopped and pried her hand away from his head, and she blinked up at him through her bleary eyes.

“Do you want to come?” He asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, shouldering it off of him and tossing it to the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. She gaped at the sight of his chest, but he grabbed her face again and forced her to look at him, squishing her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.”

She trembled and felt her walls clench at his words, nodding up and down. “Yes. Yes please,” she whimpered as he tore his hand away from her face to work on his belt, tossing it and his trousers away until he stood before her completely in the nude, in all of his glory.

He was beautiful. And he was already beautiful to begin with but this, she never could have even imagined how he looked underneath the clothes. He wasn’t muscular or built like a statue or even a Quidditch player, but still, his arms and torso were toned, and his cock…

She could feel her patience slipping away the longer he kept her waiting. She watched as he took a hold of his cock and stared down at her, maintaining eye contact as he gave himself a few pumps, his other hand absentmindedly stroking up and down her slick. She bit down onto her lip as she gazed up at him, watching him in anticipation for what was to come next.

Tom leaned back down to her face and captured her lips with his, unable to resist the temptation any longer. He kissed her again and again and again as he slipped inside of her, her moans muffled by his mouth on hers. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dug her fingernails into his skin, etching crescent moons into his flesh. Tom broke their kiss and let his forehead drop onto hers as he rocked his hips into her, slowly at first. One of her hands slithered to cup the back of his neck as tears streamed down the sides of her face, never feeling this good in all her years.

Tom let his gaze fall upon her face again, her eyelids squeezed shut but her face scrunched in pleasure, every once in a while muffling her sounds by pressing her face into his shoulder. He began to thrust harder than before, her legs wrapping around his waist and squeezing, beckoning him further inside of her. So he fucked her harder, and harder and harder and harder as if he intended to break her, to shatter her into a million pieces.

And maybe that was the goal all along.

Never has Tom felt this good, never had he felt so intoxicated by another person, and never did he believe he could be so attached to someone else before. Part of him hated it, part of him wanted to throw it away and stomp on it and set it on fire.

But the other part of him embraced it, another part of him felt powerful as he fucked into her with reckless abandon, powerful having someone underneath his control. He never imagined another person could feel so good, he never imagined someone else could make him feel so infinite. As far as he was concerned, he was doing just fine on his own.

But this was different. This was on a whole other level of power. He felt strong, even when she clenched around him and gushed around his cock, even when he felt himself so close to the edge, so close to releasing himself for another person.

He pushed away from from her and groped her chest with one hand, holding onto her shoulder with the other as he fucked her harder than before, without a care for how much noise they were making. He’d make it up to the Lestranges, he’d go down and tell them it was him making all the noise, it wasn’t like they’d punish him.

For now, he focused on chasing his release, on the way she felt around him, on the way he was so close to climax he could practically taste it. She sobbed beneath him and her lips fell agape with the intent of screaming his name but he clapped his hand around her mouth before she could as he thrusted again and again and again until finally he released, and warmth surged through her.

Tom’s chest heaved and he fell on top of her as she cried, motionless beneath him. Sweat made her skin glisten and tears made her cheeks swollen and sticky, but he found that he admired her all the same.

This warmth in his chest was new, and it was a feeling he couldn’t quite place or put a finger on. But if whatever it was could make him feel like he was on top of the world, like he was the most powerful being on this Earth, like he was infinite…

…then surely he could learn to embrace it.

a/n; oop this is the longest imagine i’ve ever written 🙈 thank you so much for the request anon! i wrote this one up pretty fast because i really liked the idea, it definitely wasn’t stupid! so i hope this is close to what you’ve been imagining!! and feel free to send in more requests if you’d like! i love writing requests!

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza 🥹🫶

#tom riddle x you #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #wizarding world #harry potter fic #harry potter fandom #harry potter imagine #harry potter #tom marvolo riddle

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willalove75 · 2 months

Note

stop simping over women and pay attention to your husband. You clearly made your choice to be with a man and have his child rather than choose a woman. You bisexual women don’t get to exist in lesbian spaces when you lean towards men. Unless your husband lets to you step out on your marriage or lets you have delusional thoughts that any lesbian would want a woman knocked up by a man. You bisexual women who lean more towards men or are with men have no right to be in sapphic or lesbian spaces. And lady d is a lesbian so as if she would be with someone who let a man touch them let alone knock them up.

Oh, I'm sorry, did my husband tell you that I'm not giving him enough attention? Didn't think so.

Yes, I made a choice to be with him, because I fell in love with him. Because he's my best friend and my biggest supporter in everything I do (yes, he even supports my writing and fics and he tells me often how proud he is of me). I did not chose him because he's a man. Truthfully, his gender had absolutely nothing to do with why I married him. I just happened to fall in love with and marry a man, but that does NOT make me any less of a bisexual woman.

"You bisexual women..." and people question whether or not bi-erasure is a thing, meanwhile, this entire ask is such a great example of just that😒

"delusional thoughts that any lesbian would want a woman knocked up by a man." is truly offensive to not only every bi woman who has been with a man, but any woman who has. What about the lesbians that got pregnant by men?? Because this may come as a shock to you, but it does happen. It may not happen a lot or often, but it does. Does that mean that those women are "tainted" or "ruined" also??? No it fucking doesn't, you idiot.

It really makes me laugh when people try and use a fictional character to make a real life argument. You want to know why? BECAUSE THEY'RE NOT FUCKING REAL!!! So honestly, you have absolutely no idea if that's true or not because she's a fake fucking character from a video game. Are you also this upset at the fic writers who make her trans??? Or what about fic writers that make Alcina's partner trans??? Or are you just that much of biphobic person and this is the hill you're choosing to die on?? Either way, you're an actual bigot.

This post just SCREAMS biphobia and bi-erasure and it's fucking gross. You are so very obviously projecting your own issues and insecurities in this and honestly I would be embarrassed if I were you. Because not a single thing you said is true AT ALL or holds any merit.

Bisexual women who lean towards men or who are with men ABSOLUTELY do belong in those spaces. Just because a bisexual woman is married/with a man or leans towards men does not discredit or change their sexuality. No bi person automatically becomes straight if they date/marry the opposite gender or become gay/lesbian if they date/marry the same gender. It's called BIsexual. More than one gender. You do not get to invalidate every bi person with this shitty (and inherently wrong) opinion.

I know you wrote this trying to get a rise out of me, and congratulations because you succeeded. But I also know that people like you leave messages like this because they feel so broken and hurt and shitty that they want others to feel like that too. Unfortunately for you, I grew up in the era that birthed anonymous hate messages so you'll have to try harder next time. Not only that, but I am proud and confident in who I am and no pathetic anonymous (especially anonymous, you pussy) message is going to shake me.

I am a proud bisexual woman. I am proud to be married to my husband. I am proud that I will soon be the mother of a little boy who I will raise to be a much better person than you'll ever be. I am proud of what I've written and no, I will not stop.

#willalove75 #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #bi erasure is real #tw #biphobia #bi erasure #fuck outta here with these shitty and wrong opinions #you picked the wrong bitch my guy

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romanestuffsposts · 11 months

Note

Hi!, Hora are you?

You told me that the requests are open so here mine if you feel comfortable with it.

Daddy stucky x little reader

I just read thinking, maybe they punish little because of a miscommunication between them, (your can choose the situation), and little doesn't know what's happening and cries lot, still they eventually discovery that she didn't do anything and didn't deserve that, they apologize to her.

That's it, hope you have a great day!, Wherever you are right now.

🌻🌻💞

Hi there love! I'm fine, thank you! What about you ?

Thank you for the request, sorry for having to wait. I hope you like how I turned it 💜

Enjoy <3

****

Warnings : angst, angry Papa!Steve, cries, soft punishment, Pepper's niece is mean to you

Pairings : Daddies!Stucky ; Daddy!Bucky x Papa!Steve x Little!Reader

****

It's been three hours now that you are sitting on this couch with your Daddies and their friends. You love them but you're not really in the mood to be here, you just want to be in with your Daddies, just he three of you.

Your week has been really hard for you and they know that, every days exhausted you more than the precedent one and you didn't really had time to rest during those days so you had hoped that you could rest during the week end but apparently you'll have to wait again a little more.

Your Daddies wants nothing more but for you to feel good but they had to come for a meeting and now Tony trapped you all for a party and they didn't had the choice but to stay there. Steve always hated leaving early somewhere when he was invited while Bucky couldn't care less. But for Steve, they'll stay a little but not too long so you can go rest right after. Of course you agreed to stay, either way you'll be at home since a long time. You didn't want to make your Papa uncomfortable.

You stare at your empty cup of water and frown. You look at your left and see your Papa in a deep conversation with one of his scary friends while your Daddy is clearly bored. He looks with wide eyes the table in front of him and it make you want to laugh

You scoop closer to him and tap your finger on his arm. He snaps out of his trense and turns his head toward you? When he sees you beside him, he brings his hand behind your back and learns his ear closer to your mouth, he knows you're always a quiet one

"can I go to the kitchen ?" you ask, showing your empty cup. He smiles and nods his head "of course, beautiful. Do you need my help ?" you shake your head and stand up "i be fine"

He watches you walking toward the kitchen with your cup in between both of your hands. Steve sees you leaving the room from the corner of his eyes and pause his conversation to turn toward Bucky "is she okay ?"

Bucky looks away from you and nod at Steve "she's juste thirsty"

You walk inside the kitchen and sees Amanda learning against the counter with her phone in her hands. Amanda is Pepper's niece and is staying here for four weeks. This is why there's a party, it's for her or something like that, to be honest, you didn't really payed attention at what they were saying about her because you were just thinking about your food

You smile at her as you stand beside her to fill up your cup with water. She watches you closely and while your cup is mid filled, she talks "don't you want something stronger than that ?" she asks turning her body toward you with a wide grin. You shake your head "no thank you, I can just drink water"

She lifts an eyebrow "you mean that you can't drink ? Like nothing else than water ?" You nod your head, agreeing and she snorts "boring"

You ignore her and stop the water when you have enough water in your cup. You're about to turn around when she stops you "wait!" You turn around, surprise that she still want to talk to you she grabs your cup from your hands taking you once again by surprise. "if you drink in my glass, i'll give you back yours" she says with a smirk

You shake your head and go to take your cup but she steps away and extends her hand with her own glass in it "drink"

You shake your head again. When you try again to take your cup back she lets it slip from her hand and it fall on the ground, shattering. You gasp and step away from the pieces, you look up at her and a shocked expression while she just looks at you with a smirk.

You were about to say something when she talks over you "Oh my god! What's wrong with you! If you wanted to have a drink, you could've just asked and i would make you one" she loudly says "you don't have to steal mine and then throwing mine on the ground because i didn't wanted to give you my drink"

You open you mouth not really knowing what to say when someone clears his throat behind you. You turn around and see your Daddies lookign at you with angry faces and arms crossed. You look beside them and see more people from the party- including your Daddies's friends, walking inside the kitchen

Your Papa walks toward you and you want to step away but decide not to because of the glasses on the ground. He looks down at you making you feel so small compared to him "what did I just heard ?" he sternly and coldly asks

You shake your head and when you were about to say something he adds "you better start talking, right now" he orders making you shiver. You look at Amanda who plays perfectly the innocent girl before looking back at your Papa "that's not true, I didn't" You defend

He lifts an eyebrow and look at the girl behind you "I swear it's true. I won't lie about it" she fakes cries. Your Papa looks back at you with a scrowl on his face "did you just lied to us ?" he asks and now you see your Daddy standing beside him, peering down at you.

You shake your head again "No!"

"enough!" Your Papa says bringing tears in your eyes "go grab your shoes, put them on and wait for us at the front door. I don't want to hear one word leaving your mouth, i don't want to hear you making any noises. Understood ?"

You nod your head rapidly and watch him push to the side to let you walk. With head low, you step in between your Daddies and leave the kitchen to go toward the front door where your shoes are. You sit on the ground and quietly put your shoes on, you hear your Daddies apologizing for you at Tony and Pepper making you cry.

You wipe away your tears and stand up once you're ready, you quietly wait for your Daddies to come back. Soon after, you hear their footsteps behind you but you don't move, you keep looking at the doors and wait for them to push you away so they can walk out.

"don't forget anything" is the only thing your Papa says before opening the door and walking out. You follow them outside, not once looking in their eyes or looking away from the dirty ground.

Your Daddy waits at your car door and keep his strong eyes on you the whole time. He shuts the door close once you're inside and walks toward the front seat. You bite back your sobs as you watch outside the window.

The silence in the car is very hard to handle and you're glad that the house is not far away because you're not able to handle this longer than it's need.

Your Papa stop the car in front of the house and steps out at the same times as your Daddy. Your papa still opens your car door and waits, you undo your seat belt and step out of the car. You flinch when he shuts the door behind you and start walking toward the front door where your Daddy just walked in.

You feel the need to walk fster with your Papa walking behind you so when you step inside the house, you're feet hurt because of that and because of your tight shoes. That's why you removed them earlier.

You go to walk upstairs when a voice stop you "Now where do you think you're going ?" Your Daddy's big a scary voice sound from behind you. You turn around, still tears in your eyes and along your cheeks. They're looking at you the exact same way than at Tony's and it make you want to cry even more and to apologise even if you didn't do anything. You can't bear the thought of disappointing your daddies.

"come closer" Your papa says, waving a hand at you. You take two steps toward them and pray that it's enough. Of course they'll never hurt you but you didn't wanted to felt the same way than you did in the kitchen at Tony's when they were over you.

"we can't count on you, can we ? You always succeed by embarassing us or make something that you souldn't do. You have to learn that when we're away you can't act as if it's home. You can't throw on the ground a glass because someone told you not to drink in their glass! Specially when you know damn well that you can't drink" Your Papa snaps

His words are harsh and stab you right in the chest, bringing new tears in your eyes. You listen to his words quietly and don't dare to do or say something, you take it and just wait to have the right to go in your room.

"You're unbelievable" he scoffs before shoving his hand at you "now leave. Get out of my sight" he says before turning around. You sniff and turn on your heels and run upstairs.

What you don't know is that your Papa had to turn around and cut his argument short because he couldn't bear to see you this way, this hurt. You did something wrong but he couldn't look at you while saying those things.

Bucky sighs once he doesn't see you anymore in the stairs and turns toward Steve "you were too hard on her, Steve"

"she emabrassed me" he argues "i won't let that slip" he walks toward the kitchen and starts to serve himself a strong drink "she got a fucking attitude earlier and it's seriously getting on my nerves"

Bucky sighs again and nods his head "I understand Steve, and I support you toward what happened and what punishment you're gonna give her for that but keep it calm. Don't scared her because it's not you" he reminds him before walking upstairs to take a quick shower while Steve thinks about a punishment.

You're on your bed, crying your little eyes out, cuddling Bucksie when you hear steps in the hallway. You whine quietly when the door of your bedroom opens and the heavy steps of your Daddies are following.

"sit down, please" Your Daddy says. Even if there was a 'please" you still hear in his voice that it's not a nice conversation that's about to come. You sniff and slowly sit on the bed and bring your knees to your chest. You still look on the ground, too ashamed to meet their gaze "you want to act like a big girl and drink ? Then we'll treat you like a big girl. It means no morning bottle, no cartoons, no paci and no stufies" he says breaking your heart

You let your tears sliding away from your eyes and you hold Bucksie tightly "No Papa" you cry shaking your head "pwease, no"

He stands up and grabs your paci from the nightstand and all your stuffie. He puts them in the closet and walks back toward you, you shake your head and hold it tight but not tight enough for your Papa. He easily takes it breaking the space with your cries and screams as he puts it in the closet too. He closes it with his keys and walks out of the bedroom.

Your Daddy's heart shatter from the sight of you but respect Steve's decision and walks out of the room without comforting you. That was one thing of the punishment too.

------------------------------------------

It's been two hours now that they let you in the room, crying and trying to open the closet door. They kept themselves busy so they won't think about your crying face or hearing your sobs.

They didn't closed your door so you can come out whenever you want but of course you don't leave your room. How can you leave your friends behind you, they're trapped in the closet so you decide to be trapped in your room so they won't be alone.

Your Papa's phone is ringing pulling him away from his book. He sighs and leaves the couch to walk toward his phone who's on the kitchen where Bucky is doing the dishes. He frowns when he sees Tony's name showing on his screen and immediately answer it "Tony ?"

"Captain" he greets "sorry to bether you but i have to talk to you" he says and Steve can't make out the feelings behind his voice "i'm listening"

Bucky turns around and Steve puts the phone on speaker

"Amanda came here because her mom needed a break. She's a trouble maker and will do anything to have attention on her. And-" he in terrupts by Bucky's voice "go to the point, please" he says frustrate

"Oh, Hello Barnes" he greets "Yea so we found the old dishes of Pepper's great grand mother shattered on the ground and I had to discover who did that after seeing my wife heartbroken as she stared at the pieces of glasses on the ground"

"I checked the camera and it was amanda who broke the dishes purposely in the kitchen" he says exhaling

"okay ?" Steve says a little lost.

"So I decided to check what happened earlier too, you know, with her and your little one" he clears his throat "And I saw- Amanda took the cup from her hands and told her to take a sip of her drink either way she won't get her cup of water back. She refused to do it so she let the glass fall on the ground and accused her"

"excuse me ?" Steve inhales standing up

"it was Amanda's fault, Steve" he repeats and Steve hangs up after thanking him about his call. Bucky didn't waited for Steve and immediately went upstairs to you. He opens the bedroom door and sees you laying on the ground against the closet door, still sobbing.

"Oh baby" his heart broke once again and makes his way toward you. He scoops you in his arms and sits on the ground. He rests you in his laps and shushes you "it's okay, baby girl, you're okay" he quietly says in your ear.

You sob aganst his chest and when Steve enters in the room, he immediately goes to open the closet door. You hear keys noises and look up to see your Papa opening the door.

He grabs your paci and Bucksie from the closet and gives them to you. You grab it instantly and hold it tight against your chest as he slides the paci in your lips. You snuggle your nose in your stuffie and close your eyes

"I'm so sorry, sweetie" your Papa says "i'm so so sorry. I should've listen to you before believing someone i don't even know" he says wiping your tears away "i don't know how tell you how much i'm sorry"

You sniff and look up at him when you hear his voice breaking. You wipe your eyes with Bucksie and make grabby hands at Steve. His gaze soften and he looks at Bucky who nods hiw head with a little smile. Steve lifts you from Bcuky's lap to rest you on his own. You curl into a bowl against his chest and let him calm you.

Your Daddy is stroking your feet to help you calm down too "let's just have a nice evening in bed with all your stuffies. We can read stories and imagining some. How does it sounds like ?" your Daddy asks to save the situation.

You Papa looks down at your and you nod. Bucky stands up and takes you back in his arms while Steve fixes the punishement. He gets all of the stuffies back in your bed or in the corner of your room and comes to you who's already laying in bed.

Bucky comes in the bed too with stories in his hands and rests them in your laps so you can chose "I chose because Papa was bad ?" you ask looking at your Daddy

He breaks into laughters and nods his head. Your Papa scoffs pulls you on tope of him "i'll show you just how bad I am" he says just before spidering his fingers in your side and belly. You kick your legs and it's soon they tears of laughter instead of cries who make their way in your eyes. He blows raberries in your neck as one of his fingers explores your belly button and the others your lower belly

"Stoppp, pweasee" you plead with tears in your eyes and he finally stops. He kisses your temple and strokes your belly while your back is against his chest. Your Daddy laughs and pulls the books on his laps "well I guess I chose then if you're too busy" he teases

"No!" you scoop away from your Papa and lies back in betwee them. Your Daddy gives you back the books and Bucksie with a winks "go ahead then, beautiful"

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alavestineneas · 1 year

Text

Alive

pairing: Johanna Mason x fem!reader

summary: Maybe, just maybe, being alive has its perks.

warnings: mentions of ptsd, trauma, panic attacks

District 7 slowly was coming alive—people returned to their work, children started roaming the streets again, and even the forest gradually became green. It seemed like the only one to stay grieving was Johanna. She never thought she was going to get better; the wounds were deeply engraved in her mind. But time passed, and they turned into annoying scratches—almost healed but still bleeding.

She had a new house now—the one the government gave her. Its bricked walls weren't overly hospitable, but Johanna had seen far worse than that. The house wasn't big, but it was close to the market and, more importantly, the hospital, so Johanna was fine with it. Here, her cherished isolation was disrupted by only one human being.

Mac was the loudest child Johanna had ever met. The boy, who was not older than ten, lived two houses away. On a mostly calm street, he raised hell every day with his old red bike. Sure, the little devil helped the old Ms. Lane get the milk from the market or get the letter to the post office quickly, but something about his loud laughter in the evening annoyed Johanna to no end.

Not Y/N, though. Johanna wondered how such vastly different people could live under the same roof. Ms. Lane called her ''Lovely Y/N'' and Johanna had to agree with the old lady for once. Y/N worked as a nurse; Johanna often saw her in the white halls of the hospital. She was just what Johanna loved about her District the most: someone with a big heart and working hands.

This type of people sang old songs in pubs after a day in the sawmill or chatted with their neighbours over a cup of tea on Sunday afternoons. The people Johanna remembered from her childhood, the people her parents and brothers once were. Y/N was just the type—she smiled more often than she frowned and laughed more than she argued.

It seemed distant to Johanna, like a tune she'd heard before but couldn't recall the words of. She doesn't belong among those people anymore. Not after all she went through. And every time Y/N appeared on the porch of Johanna's house with a warm smile, Johanna was reminded of that.

"Good evening, Miss Mason."

Y/N stands in front of her once again. She came right after work, a worn bag over her shoulder, a deep blue coat a size larger, hurriedly buttoned up. The little devil is also here; now, the boy shyly hides behind the woman, hiding his gaze.

''My name is Johanna.'' she clears. Johanna hates that she can't hold a civil conversation for once; her words definitely didn't sound polite.

''Yes, sorry. Johanna, I am so sorry about your flowerpot. Mac?"

''I'm sorry, Miss Johanna. It won't happen again.'' the boy mumbles, his head bowed in deep shame.

Oh, yes. This dumbass broke a flowerpot with his annoying ball this afternoon. To be fair, Johanna couldn't care less about that thing; it was empty anyway. Besides, she had a stupid habit of breaking everything in her house when angry, so sooner or later, the flowerpot would meet its fate.

''Don't worry about it,'' she mumbles, almost embarrassed to see Y/N's warm smile appear on her tired face once again.

''I thought we should buy you a new one, but I didn't know which one to choose. How about we go to the market on Sunday together, and I'll buy the one you want?''

Johanna freezes. The idea of going to the market on Sunday terrifies her. Then, most of the District gathers there. But if she doesn't agree, Y/N will think she hates her. Johanna can't allow it—the nurse is the only thing close to a friend that she has. Mason can't help but think how damn stupid it is not to be able to buy herself a pot. So, the choice is obvious.

''Sounds good!'' Johanna squeezes out. Her voice is harsh, but Y/N still nods.

''Great! At the corner at ten then.''

Y/N is already there when Johanna comes, and Mason feels at ease, distracted from anxious thoughts by a pleasant conversation. That is until they enter the square. It is noisy and too fast for her to keep up, and Johanna almost thinks of running away, but Y/N places a hand on her back.

''First, let's look at Greg's. They changed the aisle; it is closer to vegetables now.''

Johanna might feel like throwing up, but she still got her stupid pot and made Y/N laugh a couple of times, so, in her book, it is a win. Y/N seems to think so too. She takes two pieces of candy out of the bag.

''Would you like some? I stole it from Mac.''

''Do I look like a kid to you?'' Johanna resents.

She still takes it, of course. It's chocolate, for God's sake.

It is Friday; Y/N's shift ends fifteen minutes after Johanna's appointment with the doctor, so they walk home together. Y/N says she doesn't like walking alone, and Johanna almost believes her; after each session with a doctor, Mason leaves the room with bloodshot eyes. Of course, Y/N notices them too.

Johanna waits for her near a small shop on the corner, as she usually does. What is unusual are a few wet patches on the pavement. Johanna feels her heart drop. Its racing beat rings loud in her ears. Suddenly, the air doesn't want to enter her lungs anymore; Johanna grasps it again and again, feeling her knees weaken. Water drops had already found her head and shoulders, each one burning her skin.

That's how she is going to die, she thinks. The water slowly covers small holes in the road; Johanna's hands begin to tremble, chills covering them. She already can't feel her legs. Water, then electricity. Snow fucking got her. She can't escape him.

A pair of colorful shoes blocks the view of the road. Then, concerned eyes appeared in front of Johanna's. It's Y/N, Mason thinks; her figure is a slight blur. She says something, but it is quite hard to understand—the water is pouring down her face.

Johanna shakes her head. "I don't," she stutters, "I can't."

She loses Y/N's face again but feels her presence near. The woman places something cold in Johanna's hands, her voice ringing loudly in Mason's head.

"Breathe.''

And she does. In and out, in and out, until her vision isn't so clouded anymore and she can finally feel her sore legs. The rain doesn't stop, but it doesn't hit her anymore. Y/N is sitting beside her, holding an umbrella.

''Can you walk?'' she asks, her hair and clothes soaked.

Johanna only nods, feeling the usual sleepiness returning.

''Let's get you out of here then.''

Johanna sits on the old chair in the smallest kitchen she has ever seen. They are at Y/N's house. She is in a horrendous dress that Y/N made her change into; she can't remember the last time she wore one.

The owner of the house, if you could call it that, was nowhere to be found. Y/N claimed to go searching for the blanket, but it was highly suspicious—the house was too small for anything to get lost. Johanna wonders if she is calling the doctors now, or hiding in the bathroom with a knife in her trembling hands—the thought brings a smile to her face.

Still, she is not alone in the room—a pair of curious eyes watch her very carefully.

''Are you going to hide there all day?" she asks, annoyed.

The little devil leaves his not-so-well-thought-out hiding spot with a loud sigh. ''Y/N told me to leave you alone,'' he reveals. ''But you are at my house, so...''

The boy looks very confident in himself. He grabs a pear from the nearest bowl and slides onto the chair next to her. ''Why are you here?''

Johanna eyes him up and down. ''Your mom dragged me here, and I didn't have the heart to argue with such a beauty'', she shrugs.

''Mum?'' he exclaims, making a disgusted face. ''Ew! Y/N is my sister, you moron!''

''MAC!'' Y/N roars, returning to the room with a spare blanket. ''What did I say just two minutes ago?''

The boy rolls his eyes. ''Don't bother the guest.''

''And?'' Y/N looks at him sternly.

"And don't you fucking swear." Mac grins, stealing one more pear from the bowl before dodging the rag thrown at him.

Johanna snorts. "A lovely kid you have here."

Y/N sighs. ''He's a pain in the ass sometimes. But I can't really blame him. ''

Mason watches the woman place a kettle on the stove. She changed her wet clothes, but her hair is still damp. Y/N looks relaxed like this, even with a near maniac in her kitchen.

''Why are you raising him?'' Johanna looks at her curiously.

''Well, my parents were executed for supporting the rebellion. So there was not much of a choice.''

''I'm sorry.'' Johanna frowns.

She never thought about how much the revolution affected the people around her. Sure, the District was burned and bombed, but how many people lost their families as Y/N did? Like she did years ago?

''I like to think they were happy to die fighting.'' Y/N watches the droplet of water hit the window. ''You can stay for the night. I am leaving early, but Mac will be home.''

Johanna wants to argue, but frankly, Y/N is right. She can't even bring herself to look at the rain, let alone set foot outside.

''Thank you.''

Y/N nods. She doesn't talk anymore, deep in her thoughts. Johanna wonders what she has also missed.

''I had brothers too, you know. Two. Snow killed them after I won.'' Johanna bites her cheek, feeling her eyes water.

She had never told anyone before. None of the survivors

know where her family is, except for the doctor, but it wasn't really her choice to tell him.

''I miss them.''

''I do too.'' Y/N's eyes mirror hers - something in them makes Johanna's heart squeeze. ''Sometimes I think it should've been me. Mac would've been much happier without a sister than without parents.''

''Don't say that.'' Johanna scowls. ''You help a lot of people.''

Y/N chuckles. ''I don't do much. I am not a doctor.''

It's not what she meant, Johanna thinks but keeps her mouth shut. What did she mean by that anyway?

Johanna cleans for the first time in forever. It's refreshing, although she will never admit it. The weather is pleasant enough to keep the windows open, and Johanna thinks the sky is finally starting to clear. That's when she hears loud bangs on the door. There is only one person who knocks this loudly.

''What do you want, Mac?'' she asks, opening the door only to find a boy completely out of breath.

''Miss Mason, Y/N wondered if you could help us chop the wood?''

Johanna frowns. ''Is this why you were running here?''

''Yes.'' the boy nods.

Something doesn't add up, but Johanna has absolutely no wish to dig deeper; it's easier to say when Mac doesn't have something going on.

''Well, let me grab my axe.''

Johanna doesn't understand why the little devil keeps rushing her. Their house seems fine, with no fire or explosion in sight. When they approach, however, Johanna hears a familiar voice speak louder than usual.

''Mister Pitforest, I'm afraid I can't. I am working at that hour.''

''Oh, Y/N. Are you going to deny me the pleasure of your company? You know, my darling, it gets lonely these days without someone by my side.''

''I am very sorry to hear that, but I have to put food on the table.''

''Sweetheart, you don't have to worry about that. I will take good care of you and your brother—that's what old friends are for, right? So, what do you say?''

Johanna watches Mac's hands turn into fists when the man touches Y/N's shoulder. He is at least twice her age, if not older, and she is clearly uneasy.

''I believe she said no.''

Y/N turns to her, surprised. Johanna knows she probably looks like a mad woman with an axe in her hand and Mac hiding behind her. The axe feels natural in her grip - she still remembers how to use it properly.

''Y/N, don't tell me you know '', he motions toward Johanna, "her.''

''I do. Is there a problem?'' Y/N's face is stone cold, and Johanna can't help but think it was much more intimidating than a weapon in her hands.

''A problem? Y/N, she is a child killer! What would your poor father say to that?''

''And what would my father say to his friend trying to sleep with his daughter?"

The man's face grows red. ''I was trying to help you, ungrateful bitch.''

''One more word,'' Johanna warns.

The man throws a glance at her axe before quickly getting into the car. He is rich, Johanna thinks—not a lot of people can afford cars here. She watches the auto disappear in the next turn before turning to Y/N.

''You should've told me he was bothering you sooner.''

''He was a family friend.'' She shrugs. ''And a dick, apparently.''

Johanna chuckles. ''So, where's the wood?''

Y/N looks at her, confused. ''In the forest, I assume?''

''Mac told me you need help cutting it.''

Y/N laughs. ''That little shit.''

Johanna can't help but notice how pretty she looks like that.

''You don't look bad yourself, with an axe and everything. It suits you.''

Mason feels her legs take a step closer to Y/N, their eyes meeting.

''Can I?'' she asks, but Y/N is quicker; she presses her lips to hers.

It's calm. For the first time in years, Johanna feels calm. They pull away after a few moments, Y/N's arms still intertwined with hers—the one without an axe, of course.

''I haven't been hugged in years,'' Johanna admits.

''Well, that should feel nice then.''

They stay like this, just holding each other - as much as Johanna doesn't want to admit it, it does feel nice.

''Are you finished eating each other's faces?'' Mac asks, his eyes purposefully shut.

Johanna feels Y/N giggle in her chest. ''Tell him he has five seconds to run as far as he can.''

She smiles too, watching the boy vanish into the house. Maybe, just maybe, being alive has its perks.

#johanna mason #johanna mason x reader #johanna mason x you #johanna mason x y/n #thg #hunger games #wlw #imagine #ilovejohannasomuchandiwanthertobehappyforonce

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lovingherrscher · 10 months

Text

Cor destructum

Note: Cor destructum means Destroyed heart.Written under Dazai's POV Unexpected yandere at the end but oops? 👀 This was written when I'm mentally unstable and very sleepy so my apologize if I do make any mistakes or make Dazai seems OOC. 😭🙇‍♀️

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She seems sad today, more than usual I mightsay. Was it because she lost her job? Or was she drifting in her memories again? Maybe it's simply because she is lonely.

Everytime she cries she told me that "I feel so lonely." or that "I don't want to be left behind." Both my fist and my heart clenched. Because I know exactly what loneliness is. It's not a monster but a poison. One that can kills us immediately but it takes its time, casually flowing in our veins as if it's the blood inside our body. It was as if Death itself was using a needle to slowly inject his venom into us. It was painful, and I myself hate pain.

I love to hear her stories. Yet for some reason, her stories wasn't as happy as the ones she used to told.

She told me about a place which was supposed to feel like home, yet she feel absolute dreadful just being there. When ever her family gathers, they would share memories about her mother, unfortunately, none of them are good ones. They tried manipulate her into despising her mother. It was the same when she was with her mother, though. When will they finally understand that (y/n) is mere human? She is not a rope you use for tug of war. If you continue to treat her that way, eventually, and inevitably, she will be tore apart, broke into pieces which can't be fixed.

Unfortunately, she did.

She told me of someone she treats like an older sister she never had. They had had deep, late night conversations, at least before I came in and take the position instead. They shared their pain, listened to each other and gave the other either a hug or just a pat on the head saying "You did great." after finished.

But eventually, every journey shall reach its end. They were like tangent lines which had one chance to meet and then parted forever. That person can't comfort her anymore. It's not because I'm here, it's because she chose to stop. My darling was heartbroken, but there was nothing she, or I can do about it. We respect their own choice.

There was an another story of her dearest friend who betrayed her. She thought they were still going to be best friends, through thick and thin. Oh how wrong my darling were. They had the chance to meet more people and befriend them, eventually they began to forget about my dear (y/n). When she tried to befriend their new friends, it was them who hurt her. But instead of defending her like they were supposed to do, they choose to side with their new friends.

Please, do not worry my dear kitten, it's not because you didn't deserve them. It was them that didn't deserve you.

I love you so much, dear (y/n). You are the light of my life. I really love your smile, it's like the moonlight that shines upon my night sky, even if it appears less nowadays. And I certainly do love it more when you smile for me and just for me.

If this cruel world is at fault for hurting you, then I guess it's time I lock you away from it, no?

#yoha writes #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs dazai #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #bsd dazai #yandere dazai #yandere dazai x reader

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chloe-caulfield94 · 6 months

Note

Do you think they will have another LIS with Max and Chloe? If they do, I hope they continue with the "Save Bae" ending. Do you have any ideas for an "After The Storm" game? Thanks for all the likes on my Pricefieldizcanon page btw!

I don't think we will get another Life is Strange with Max and Chloe as main characters. But I do think that they will continue the trend started in S2 and Wavelenghts, where the player is asked at the very beginning what they chose in S1 and depending on your answer there will be cameos/mentions of Max and Chloe.

I think it's likely that non-game LiS content (comic books, novels) will continue to follow the "save Chloe" ending, no matter if it's content specifically about them (like the comics) or about other characters (Steph's Story, which mentions them at one point).

It's no wonder that they chose to follow the "save Chloe" ending in the non-game content so far. It simply creates much better opportunities for storytelling than the aftermath of Chloe's murder.

Such opportunitiues include: Max once again finding herself in a situation where she has to use her powers or to let someone die (this was already explored in the LiS comics, with Max's rescue of Tristan). Chloe finally realizing that she does in fact deserve to live, deserves love and deserves a fresh start (this was also explored in the comics). Chloe being reconciled with David and David finally becoming the father figure he promised Chloe to become in BtS (this was briefly touched upon in S2, but it deserves a story of its own). Steph, Mikey and other survivors of the Storm grieving their loved ones (this was explored in Wavelengths and Steph's Story). We could even imagine a confrontation between Max and Steph, if Steph were to ever find out about the events of Storm week (I highly recommend great short fanfic by AO3 user Shisumo about Max telling Steph why she has no right to judge her for choosing Chloe: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37099903 . I also wrote a short fanfic which touches upon a Max/Steph meeting, but I imagined it in a less confrontational manner: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50505817 ).

None of those storytelling opportunites exist after Chloe is murdered. Bay Max would never use her power again, not even to save someone's life. Bay Max would just watch Tristan being murdered, just like she did with Chloe. Chloe would never receive the love and care she so desperately needed, let alone accept that she deserved it. Nobody would be reconciled. Steph and Mikey would go about their lives, not aware that Bay Max is carrying on her shoulders the grief and sorrow of an entire town, like a modern day sin-eater.

Death is final. It solves all problems, but in the least satisfying way possible. It cuts all loose threads short. It's a sudden stop to any and all stories. I don't see an opportunity for any meaningful stories following Chloe's murder. Unless it would be some morbid story about Bay Max stumbling through life, crushed with remorse. Regretting every day that she took her love and friendship back, erased it so that it never happened. That she nipped something beautiful in the bud. Hating herself and finally learning to hate Chloe for making her feel that way.

I am very fond of the LiS comics. So even if we never get another story with Max and Chloe as main characters, I am content with the comics as the "canon" conclusion to their story.

As for my personal idea for a post-Storm game: I would love to see the "other Max/nightmare Max" return as an antagonist. Some time after the Storm, Max would start having visions, similar to her nightmare in E5, where her evil twin would try to once again drive a wedge between Max and Chloe by spewing lies and hate. Max would then be sucked into multiple alternate timelines (like in the first issue of the comics). But they would all be very dark timelines, where "other Max" chose wrong, chose to hurt people. Max would have to work to undo the wrong choices made by her evil twin. Of course, in the end Max would right all the wrongs, rebuke her evil twin and find a way back to her own timeline.

The character of "other Max" could be played in two ways - either as a manifestation of Max's internal struggle or as an entirely separate person - a version of Max who instead of love, friendship, courage and trust chose fear, doubt, resentment and guilt.

I love the confrontation between our Max and "other Max" in E5. It represents a struggle with a dark part of her own mind. And if she tears the butterfly photograph, Max achieves a victory over her own fears and doubts, which is the greatest victory one could possibly achieve.

So I would love to see that struggle of Max against her inner demon (or a version of herself shaped by wrong choices) turned into an entire game.

#max caulfield #chloe price #pricefield #life is strange #lis

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 2 years

Text

So in Love that We Acted Insane | Jake Seresin

✦ pairing — Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x civilian!female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 9.6k

✦ request — i have this idea where hangman and plus size reader are just friends but with a lot of tension. they basically used to act like a couple and would fight all the time and used to make out when drunk and thinks like that but she doesn't think she's his type for an actual relationship and so she has a boyfriend and something happens with him (your choice) that makes her see jake is it for her and there's a lot of drama and feels and fluffy smut. i imagine this based on the way i loved you by taylor swift but i don't know if it fits

✦ warnings — nsfw, light angst, mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol, idealization of romantic partners, loving two people romantically, parental issues, allusions to fatphobia (very light, don't worry), drinking alcohol, smut, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, protected sex, mentions of blowjobs, soft sex, fluff.

✦ author's note — this is the first of a series of one shots inspired on quotes from 'Essays in Love' by Alain de Botton.

"We fall in love because we long to escape from ourselves with someone as ideal as we are corrupt. But what if such being were one day to turn around and love us back? We can only be shocked. How could they be divine as we had hoped when they have the bad taste to approve of someone like us? If in order to love, we must believe that the beloved surpasses us in some way, does not a cruel paradox emerge when we witness this love returned? 'If he really is so wonderful, how could he love someone like me?'" — Alain de Botton.

════════════════════════

The french doors leading to the balcony were open. Faint light entered along with the summer night wind, dwarfed by the glow of the indirect lighting around the room.

You stood in the doorway, admiring the bedroom. Your mother helped with decoration, to choose the right bedsheets and the perfect task lamps framing the king-size bed.

You weren't interested in those. The man who sat on the floor had your entire attention, with his head tilted, brown eyes glued to a book.

He often read poem anthologies on the floor, sat with his back to the bedframe, bare feet crossed at the ankles as he extended his legs.

You found him so pretty like that, dark hair tousled to the side, eyes drinking the ink on the paper and throat swallowing the lump the words he just drank formed.

Sam was golden, like august. And just like august, the lingering sense that things could go both ways. Sam saw the beauty in everything, in everybody, in the little things you swore didn't matter.

Your mother loved him, perhaps more than she loved you; blaming her would be useless, you were past it, you understood what he evoked in people.

Sam was perfect. Handsome, smart, chivalrous, kind.

He always knew what to say and how to say it. Words loved him, followed him around in desperate attempts to latch onto him.

"I didn't hear you arrive, love."

You smiled at him. "Just got home."

Sam closed the book and placed it on the bedside table. In a swift motion, he stood up.

You remained in your spot, letting him approach you. His eyes clouded as he frowned.

"What's the matter?" The crease of his brow deepened. "Your eyes look sad."

You smiled again, this time with less conviction. "I had a long day."

"Hey." He rested a hand on the back of your head. "Cheer up, you'll see your father soon."

"Yeah, you're right." You moved off his touch, just enough to enter the room. "Did you have a good day?" you asked as you removed your jewelry.

Sam let out a soft, happy, hum. "I even had dinner with my mom."

"That's great, honey."

You hated Sam's mom. Every time you were in her presence was an interrogation as though she deemed you unworthy of his son.

Maybe you were.

Sam kept his distance as you changed in front of him, only staring at your figure. Intimacy came easy with him, there wasn't a part of you he didn't accept. "How did dinner with your friends go?"

Your friends were included in the parts he accepted without complaints, not even when your best friend gave him reasons to hate him.

Contrary to Sam, Jake was hard to read. Jake wasn't interested in being open or available. They couldn't have been more different from each other and yet you loved them both.

"It was good."

"Tell me about it."

You wondered where to start. The sinking feeling that you would be forgotten by your best friend wasn't exactly the best description for what the night was supposed to be.

'Jake left the table early to flirt with somebody at the bar, he's probably fucking them right now' was simple, and the truth, but your throat constricted at the mere reminder of it.

Clearing your throat, you put a sweatshirt over your sleeping tee. "We just talked about work and the like."

His eyes dulled at your reply. Sam gave you a small smile. "Are you watching your show tonight?"

"Yeah. I'll come to bed once the episode is over."

He kissed your temple. "Good night, love."

"Good night."

You closed the door on your way out of the bedroom and padded your way to the living area.

The blue couch fit perfectly in the living room. Sam had taken measurements before buying any furniture, insisting your safe haven needed to be perfect.

Opening the box on the coffee table, you withdrew the TV remote and turned the framed flatscreen on.

You sometimes wished you didn't have to curl up by yourself on the sofa to watch your favorite show. Sam had tried to like it, he really did, but it wasn't his thing. He wasn't a comedy guy, he often reminded you of it.

Comparing him to Jake in moments like these was inevitable. Jake watched anything you put on the TV, he didn't always pay complete attention and he complained a lot, but he never let you switch to something else. 'You want to watch it,' he would say, 'I don't mind.'

His green eyes always showed that he minded, that he was sick of watching the same two shows. But his smile? His smile assured you he would watch those two shows for the rest of his life with you.

If only that was it. If only all it took for him to suddenly start to love you was the disposition to watch the same two stupid shows you loved almost as much as you loved him.

Loving Jake Seresin wasn't easy. He came with baggage, with a shell hard to crack, and with the stupid idea that settling down was not for him.

You knew he wouldn't choose you even if it was on the cards. Jake's type was the opposite of you, if it weren't, he would have told you so one of those many times you made out when you were single.

The next time you saw Jake was at your apartment. Friday nights were boring without him, but you didn't want to go out. August had brought rain and you had almost forgotten how to drive.

His strong arms wrapped you in a warm hug. His leather jacket was barely damp, and unlike his voice, slippery. "Hey, you."

You smiled at him in greeting as you parted from him. He shed his jacket, showing his blue button-up shirt. The white buttons almost popped open as he moved, a reminder that he would go find somebody to rip it off just after having dinner with you.

"How's Mr. Perfect?"

"He's out on a business trip."

"Who's 'business' code for?"

"Jake," you warned.

He lifted his hands in surrender. "Truce?"

"Truce."

Truce never lasted with Jake, not many things did. It was a miracle you had been friends for over a decade now, that you had crossed paths more than once.

Jake was more constant in your life than anything. More constant than your favorite color, or your favorite food; more constant than your circle of friends that changed every once in a while. He was even more constant than your father, you had spent more birthdays in his company, you had shared more fears with him.

Sam didn't understand your resentment towards your father, but Jake did. Jake wasn't welcome at your childhood home anymore after defending your honor when your father insinuated you were wasting your life away at a job he deemed embarrassing.

Ever the businessman, your father wanted you to follow his steps. He wanted you to trade stock and run numbers for your entire life.

You were never good at calculating anything. If you had misjudged your own father when you assumed he would be happy you had the job you always wanted to have, how badly would you fuck up trading stock with people who shared his mentality?

Sam offered to teach you all about it, to ask a friend to give you private classes if needed. You always told him it could wait for when you were retired, for when you had run out of things to learn; only then.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Jake asked after dinner.

You frowned. "In the rain?"

"Why not?"

"Your hair will get ruined."

"So?" He kinked an eyebrow. "Who cares? I'll fix it later."

"Who are you and what did you do with Jake Seresin?"

"Come on, just a short walk." Gently pushing you to the side with his hip, he admitted, "I'm getting dizzy with so many blue and white trinkets around here."

According to Sam, repetition was key to coherent interior design. Who were you to contradict the artist?

"I'll get my jacket.”

Jake gave you his million-dollar smile, nodding.

You walked with your hands in your pockets, humming as Jake told you another story. You liked hearing him talk about flying, no matter how worried you were when he was deployed. He sounded so happy when he talked about it, as though nothing else existed but Jake Seresin and the sky.

And perhaps nothing else existed. Perhaps the rain falling on your heads was a sign that the sky understood what it was like not to have him all for itself.

What would your artist boyfriend think of you if he knew you felt so akin to the sky? And how heartbreaking would it be for him to learn it wasn't because of him?

You loved Sam, so much you would do anything for him, but you would always love Jake more.

"You're quiet tonight."

"Just thinking."

"You do that a lot lately."

You slowed your steps down. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jake shrugged, looking up. At the sky, the damned sky that would never share him — much less with you. "You're lost in your head most of the time," he explained, "it's like you're not here anymore."

"Don't call me a ghost," you softly pleaded.

He knew what the implications were, he knew he was comparing you to your father. You weren't supposed to be absent, or distant, or cold. You were supposed to be bright, loving, present — you had to be there, you couldn't be your father's daughter.

"I'm not—" Jake sighed, bringing his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. The tip of his tongue lingered on his upper lip as he found the words to say. "You're not a ghost." Your name rolled off his tongue, lovingly, in the warmth that Jake rarely let other people hear. "I'm just saying you're not entirely here."

"Work has been—"

"Don't." He kicked a can that stood in his way, then stopped his steps altogether. You did the same, expecting another comment. Jake had something else to say, but first, he bent over and picked up the can he had just kicked, held it in his right hand and motioned for you to continue walking.

You did, looking around for a trash can. He silently did the same, letting the rain speak for him in the meantime.

Once he found the trash can and threw the squashed can in its designated place, he finished his comment, "I hate when you give me the same excuses you give him."

"It's not an excuse."

"See, that's a reflex." He pointed at you with his index finger. "Next you're going to say you take your job seriously and that I don't understand how important it is to you."

"And you're going to get offended because you haven't gotten it through your head," you answered. It, too, was a reflex.

"My head knows perfectly well you like your job," he defended himself. "But why lie?"

He hated when you rolled your eyes at him. So you did. "I'm not lying."

He snapped his fingers on your face. "Don't do that."

You slapped his hand off your face. "Don't tell me what to do, Jacob."

"Just tell me the fucking truth!"

His loud exclamation prompted you to look around. There was nobody in the park, probably because the fucking rain the sky insisted to bestow upon you hadn't ceased. "I am telling you the truth!"

"I don't believe you. Is it your dad again? Do I have to have another talk with him?"

"Jake, come on..."

His gaze was heavy on you, eyes expectant. He believed his assertion to be the truth, he thought he had cracked the code, that he would solve the riddle.

"I applied for a promotion," you blurted the first factual thing that came to your mind.

His shoulders relaxed. "You'll get it."

"I'm not the only candidate."

Jake slung his arm around you, drawing you against his side by wrapping his arm around your neck. "You will."

Instinctively, you leaned your head against him. "You think so?"

He hummed. "And we'll celebrate whether your boring boyfriend wants to or not."

You should have defended him, Sam wasn't boring. But you didn't want to fight with Jake over Sam, there were better battles to pick.

════════════════════════

You pressed your back against the tiled wall of the bathroom, gnawing on your lip. You dialed a number by memory, then deleted it. Going through your contacts, you called Sam instead.

"Hi, honey," he greeted you. The line shuffled as he presumably moved the phone to his other ear. "I'm about to head home."

"I got the promotion," you announced.

"Baby, that's wonderful! Does your mom know?"

"Uh, no. I wanted you to be the first to know," you lied. It was supposed to be Jake.

"Call her, call her. I'll see if I can get a reservation in that restaurant you like so much for tomorrow."

"Thank you, honey. I'll see you later at home."

"I love you."

"Love you too, Sam."

Your mother was elated with the news. She swooned when you told her Sam would get the reservation, reminding you that Sam was the better part of your relationship.

He was, you would never deny it.

So you put on a fancy dress, ditching the monochrome business-wear for red. You were showered in compliments by Sam, your mother gave you a proud smile, and your father for once didn't complain about your job.

Sam had mentioned he would make the occasion even more meaningful that evening, and you couldn't stop butterflies from erupting in your stomach.

His hand held yours, he looked at you with so much love that you could have gotten lost in the constellations in his dark eyes.

And then he clinked his glass with a knife and stood up. Sam asked for everybody's attention, making you look up at him in question.

He smiled at you. He didn't have anything but words of praise for you, calling you the love of his life. You smiled at him, touched by his devotion, hoping you could fully reciprocate one day.

It wasn't hard to imagine, to fantasize becoming devoted to him. Oh, but he made it so with his actions not more than a second later.

Sam got on one knee in the middle of a two Michelin star restaurant, with everybody's attention on your table as he asked you to marry him.

You gazed into his eyes; they were bright, loving, hopeful.

The chair scratched against the floor as you stood up. "I need air."

The sky mocked you by rumbling. Would it cry for Jake this time too or for somebody else? Had it become fond of Sam? Had it found it in itself to pity you?

You would have said yes in another moment, you would have put your doubts and fears to the side to be with the man who fully loved you and whom you loved too.

When he mentioned making the occasion more meaningful you imagined your favorite flowers, perhaps a gift, maybe hot sex. Not a proposal that came out of nowhere.

The topic of marriage had been avoided for the past two years. He tried to bring it up once, you stopped him, and he dropped it — you assumed that would be it.

You took a cab home, scared you would find your mother already there. It never crossed your mind to watch for your parents’ reactions to the question or your own reaction, but one didn't have to be a genius to assume they were happy for Sam and furious at you.

Jake was right about the blue and white shit all over the apartment. You chose the couch thinking that would be it, that it would be a focal point in the living room.

Sam collected anything he found in blue and white. Vases, ornaments, plates, clothes... it was endearing at first.

Kicking your shoes off, you wandered around the apartment in search of something to do. Calling your other best friend was always an option, there was a high chance she was still up.

When the voice you truly wanted to hear didn't answer, though, you told her you had tapped on her contact by mistake. She laughed, asking if you were still up for brunch the next day.

You would be up for anything that meant being away from the apartment, safe from a confrontation that would end in nothing.

Sam wasn't one for fighting. He liked to talk things through calmly, to take time to cool off before yelling.

You laughed out loud in the middle of the kitchen at the thought of Jake doing that. Jake never shut up, it was like the switch that kept him quiet had broken long ago and he didn't bother to fix it. He would have run after you and yelled in the middle of the street earlier if he was Sam.

Both of you had gotten kicked out of many places because Jake and you wouldn't stop fighting. It was petty most of the time — a fact he got wrong, a song you didn't like, the awful horror movie he made you see in the cinema because he was bored at the bar.

You didn't know how you were going to explain this to him when he was back from deployment.

Fiddling at the front door let you know Sam was home. You opened the fridge and took the half-empty bottle of red wine, only to drop it when you heard your mother's voice.

"Oh, you are here."

Turning around, you came face to face with her. Sam walked past you, wanting to see what the clashing sound had been. He softly closed the fridge door and rested a hand on your lower back.

You craned your neck to look at him.

"Let me clean this up," he said, avoiding your eyes. "Just be careful."

You looked down at the floor as you stepped away from the broken glass and the crimson liquid. The angry glare your mother gave you didn't deter you from sitting on the sofa.

The remote was in the box again even though you had left it on the sofa in the morning. You didn't get to turn the screen on, your mother snatched the remote from your grasp and threw it onto one of the white accent chairs.

"I'm surprised you are here."

You looked up at her. "Where else would I be?"

"With Jake."

"He's deployed. You would know if you listened to what I say."

Sighing, your mother sat beside you. She grabbed your hands, gripping them a little too tightly. "I was just telling Sam you often panic when you get a lot of attention."

You looked away from her, searching for Sam's eyes. He smiled at you trying to assure you everything would be okay.

You had never panicked in public, much less because you had attracted attention. Your mother would have liked you to be a meek fat girl, but you were never that, you wouldn't start now.

Your cellphone rang on the counter, prompting you to jump off the couch. Sam lowered his eyes to see the screen, then turned around and opened the fridge.

Jake's face almost blinded you. The cocky smile in the photo took you back to that day on the beach when he pushed you into the water not even two minutes after you had dropped your cellphone onto the towel.

With a deep sigh, you unclogged your nose as best as you could and swiped your finger against the screen to take the call. "Hey, you," you greeted him.

"Hey, you." He sounded tired. "How did it go?"

"How did what go?"

"Did you get the promotion or not?"

Your heart skipped a beat. He remembered. "Oh! I— I did, yeah."

His voice livened up as he said, "See? I fucking told you!"

You sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, holding your head in one hand as you gripped your cellphone with the other. "I know, bub, I know. I should have believed you."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You just agreed that I was right."

Jake was right about many things, you just rarely mentioned it out loud. His ego didn't need you to.

"Because you were."

"No, that's not it," he insisted. After a pause, he asked, "Were you crying?"

"Jake, come on," you almost pleaded, "this is silly."

You had to hold the phone away from your ear as sound interfered with the familiar rhythm of his breathing. A door closed on the other side of the line and he gritted, "What happened?"

"Nothing." You drew in a shaky breath, pressing the device back to your cheek. "I got the promotion, I just told you."

"I know you were crying."

He would make you cry some more if he didn't stop.

"Fuck, Jacob, can you learn to drop things for once in your life?"

He mimicked your exasperated tone, "I'm not dropping it."

"Please?" Uttering that word had never been so difficult. "Until you come back?" you offered a truce, praying he would take it. "Then we'll go to that stupid Chinese buffet you say you hate and we'll talk about it and you'll overreact and get us kicked out like we're teenagers."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Take care."

You bit your bottom lip, hard. "I should be the one saying that."

He huffed a laugh. It sounded wrong. "Say it, then."

"Come back to me in one piece, Seresin, or I'll kick your ass."

"I'm soooo scared."

"You should be."

"Hey." He softly said your name. "I'm proud of you."

"That makes two of us."

"I'll call you soon, okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah. Be safe."

"You too."

You felt empty as the line clicked. Resting your cellphone on the granite, you stayed in the same position for a few seconds as you caught your breath.

Your mother's heels clicked against the wooden floors as she approached you. "You need to fix things with Sam."

"There's nothing to fix," you assured her. "We're fine."

She shook her head. "You embarrassed him in front of all those people."

"He proposed in a public place."

Ignoring your answer, she told you, "He's in your bedroom. Can I trust you will fix everything or do I have to do it for you?"

A lump formed in your throat. "Just go. Tell dad I'm sorry."

You watched her say goodbye to Sam, hugging him tightly. You didn't move from your seat as she left, not even to lock the door. Sam hurried to join her, to walk her to her car.

He locked the door as you looked for another bottle of wine, for anything to keep your hands busy at this point.

"It's okay if you don't want to," he spoke, making you jump as he stood near you.

"Why are you like this?" you genuinely asked, grasping a bottle of vodka from the cart.

He watched you pull two glasses and fill them with vodka. He then shrugged. "Like what?"

"You always agree with me," you explained before taking a gulp of alcohol.

Sam tilted his head, squinting. "We're a couple, we compromise."

Wincing, you shook your head. "You just give up." Lifting a hand so he wouldn't speak, you added, "The couch is blue because I said so."

"It's your apartment too."

"You wanted the yellow one, Sam."

"Yeah," he admitted as though it was nothing, "but the blue one looks good too."

"Compromise would have been choosing another color. Green was right there, it was gorgeous too."

He ran his hand through his perfectly trimmed hair. "I don't understand."

"I want you to fight me on something. There, I said it."

He stuttered, "W—wh... what? You want to fight?"

"Yes. Choose something, anything, I like and you don't and fight me on it."

"Like that show you watch?"

"Sure."

"Uhm... the main character is loud."

"He's probably neurodivergent and can't control the volume of his voice when he speaks."

"Oh. I should read up on that."

"No!" you yelled. "You are supposed to fight me on this."

"But his neurodivergency isn't his fault."

"I just pulled that out of my ass, Sam!"

"I don't understand why you want to fight."

"Because it's fun! It means you give a shit." You grabbed his hands, intertwining your fingers with his. "I just want you to fight me on something and still love me by the end of it. But I don't think you can."

"Baby," he sighed, "fighting isn't my style."

"I don't trust that."

"Why?"

"Everybody gets angry. We all fuck up and say things we don't mean."

"I watch my words."

"I'm sick of you doing that." You dropped his hands, shaking your head as you put the bottle of vodka back in its place. Not even drinking was fun right now. "Jake wouldn't, you know? Jake would have called me a dumbass for breaking the bottle of wine and he would have fucking cleaned it because he isn't that big of an asshole and then..." Rinsing the glass you had used, you continued, "He would have told me to pay attention and he would have told my mom not to talk to me like that. But you just stand there and take it and let me take it and then smile like it's nothing."

"Jake isn't here."

You froze. Wetting your lips, you hummed and turned around, briefly facing Sam before adverting your gaze to the cupboard where you stored the now dry glass. "It was an example."

"Are you sure? Because your mother said you get nervous around crowds and then you told Jake you would fight him in a crowded place."

"My mother isn't a good judge of character."

"So you humiliated me on purpose?"

Oh, so he was the humiliated one. Funny.

"You are the one who proposed on the day I was supposed to celebrate my promotion. You think that isn't humiliating? Am I even something other than your partner?"

"You are the love of my life."

"And what else, Sam?"

Taken aback, he stepped closer to you and asked, "Isn't that enough?"

"No! I'm a person, a professional, a friend, a... I don't know, a fucking asshole sometimes."

"But you're not those things to me, honey." He made a motion to pull you into a hug.

You moved away from him, going back to the living room. "I should be."

════════════════════════

Jake glowered at you, arms crossed as he stood outside the coffee shop you were meeting at. "You're late."

He didn't need to tell you. "My uber was late."

"You have a car."

"I..." You gave him a sheepish smile. "What if I told you I forgot how to drive?"

Jake gave you a scowl in return. "You're not funny, you know?"

"I wish I was trying to be funny." You walked past him, entering the little café you had been wanting to visit for a while.

You rarely visited new places without him, it was your thing to go around the city in search of new places to visit and different food and drinks to try.

Jake chose the table, still angry that you were late. Placing an order took you a while, but you settled on your favorite which made him laugh and comment he knew you would do just that.

You analyzed the table while Jake did the same to you. His phone was facing up on the table while yours faced down. Did that mean anything? Should you even bother reading into it?

"I was never a great driver, you said it yourself a few times. And Sam likes driving so..."

"How nice of him to drive his girlfriend around like she's his little sister."

You wished he hadn't said it like that. Every sneering comment Jake made about Sam made sense now, not because he was a bad person or because you hated him — no, your opinion of Sam hadn't changed, he had a particular way of seeing things, a lovely one, one that would have made you swoon if you were in your early twenties. Or not in love with your best friend.

Jake's comments made sense now because after all, Sam wasn't what you wanted, because Sam couldn't help but treat you like you would explode at any given moment. You would explode, you wanted to explode, and only the man in front of you had ever been okay with it.

"Why didn't he drive you here anyway?"

"We, uh... I'm moving out."

"You broke up?" At your nod, he twisted his mouth upward. "I'm sorry."

"That doesn't sound like you."

Jake tilted his head, suppressing a smile. "I'm trying to be nice here."

"You don't have to."

"What did he do?"

"Maybe I'm the one who did something."

Jake gave you a skeptical look. "You can do no wrong."

Fuck, if only that were true.

You tasted your beverage and told him the story of how your ex-boyfriend made your promotion all about himself. Jake listened attentively, not showing any emotion at first. Everything changed when you told him how shitty it made you feel.

You were still trying to understand Sam's logic. Upstaging you was one thing, he often did that without realizing, but actively and purposely minimizing your professional career was something you never expected from him.

"I expected my favorite flowers, not a proposal. And he didn't understand why it bothered me." You bit the tip of your tongue, wondering if telling him about everything else was a good idea.

You decided that it wasn't.

Jake placed his hand on top of yours. "My sweet girl..."

Looking down at his hand enveloping yours, you tried to smile. He was taking your hand now and later that night he would leave a bar with somebody else.

That was your life. Everything always circled back to Jake Seresin and your unrequited feelings for him, the agony of wishing to be somebody else just so he would look at you as a woman and not as a friend.

"I found a place closer to the office so I guess not everything is bad."

Jake pried your fingers apart, slipping his in between. He almost crushed your fingers by giving them a squeeze. "Hey. Look at me."

You did, you would do anything he asked you to. "What is it?"

"You're gonna be okay."

You pursed your lips, nodding. "Painfully single, though."

It was Jake's turn to look down. You lost him for a while, he swam in his thoughts as the warmth of his hand seeped into yours.

He finished his coffee in a gulp and asked, "Wanna take a walk?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

His hand left yours, leaving you cold.

You walked side by side. Jake dictated the way, moved around the city like he owned it, like he would give it to you if you asked.

It was a perfect day to be outside, sunny yet not too hot. The sky was unbelievably clear as you examined it.

"You think it will rain today?"

Jake looked up too. "Nah."

"Are you sure?"

"The sky is bluer than my underwear."

"Out of everything blue in the world..." you said between laughter.

"First thing that came to mind."

You asked him to tell you a story, to feed his ego and help you keep yours. Jake did, he talked your ear off for so long that you were back at the coffee shop and he wasn't done yet.

You stood on the sidewalk, listening to him, laughing at his exaggerated hand movements.

He guided you to his truck, insisting he would drive you. Many things died in your throat that evening, the question of whether he saw you as a little sister included.

"Wanna come to mine and watch a movie?" he offered.

You looked at the time. Did that mean he wouldn't go pick up somebody at the bar? "You're not busy later?"

"For you? Never."

Jake's place couldn't have been more different from the apartment you had shared with Sam. His couch was made of leather, he didn't have a particular organization system, and you were sure he hadn't bothered to paint the walls when he moved. It was clean and organized, but not to the obsessive extent Sam insisted on.

Guiding you to sit down, he handed you the remote and went to the kitchen to fetch a couple of beers.

Thanking him for the beer, you went through a streaming service's catalog. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Anything but horror."

That made you pause and shift to look at him. "Oh?"

"You hate them."

"I don't. And you like them."

"I want to watch something you like."

"Jake..."

"Don't 'Jake' me, just pick something, baby, come on."

You looked at him in shock. Jake had called you a few things in your life, 'sweetheart' was a common one. But 'baby' was out of the question, 'baby' had other connotations. It slipped, you understood, he was a natural flirt. But you needed to look away, to play it off as something you didn't hear.

"Sorry," he said the word for the second time that evening. "It slipped, I shouldn't have... shit."

You faked a laugh. "It's fine, bub, it happens."

"You don't get it."

You took your bottom lip between your teeth, shaking your head. You didn't understand why it mattered.

"I was going to tell you that night at the park. It would have been romantic, I think, in the rain." He pursed his lips, then twisted his mouth and added, "But you had everything with him, what can I offer in comparison? I'm fucked up, I'm never home, and I'm scared of all the things you make me feel."

In your hurry to react, you bit your tongue. Whining, you pressed the tip of your tongue against the roof of your mouth and exhaled through your parted lips. "What are we talking about?"

"Come on, you're not dumb."

"You're implying you have feelings for me," you explained in case he hadn't understood the way his words would sound.

"I'm telling you I'm in love with you."

"You're not funny."

"A, I am. B, I'm not trying to be this time."

You set the remote on the round coffee table. "I'm not your type."

"Who the fuck said that?"

"Life." Grasping your beer, you took a swig. "You're out of my league, everybody knows that."

"I am out of your league? Have you met yourself?"

"Jake..."

He grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him. "I can't believe you're talking about yourself like this."

"I can't believe you're lowering your standards like this."

He frantically shook his head, eyes wild as they danced around your face. "You're insane. Are you hearing—"

"I've been in love with you for so long... of course I am hearing myself."

Jake blinked rapidly, shifting on his seat until he was kneeling on the couch. His eyes bore into yours as he asked, "Why did you start dating Sam if..."

"I thought I'd get over you. He was so different that it had to work, right?" You slanted your head, pressing your cheek to his palm. "And then it didn't."

"Well, I'm glad." He smiled at you and you entertained the ridiculous idea that he was nervous.

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. "So fucking glad, baby."

You extended your arm to set the beer back on the coaster. You lightly rested your hands on his arms, tentative. Jake looked down, directly at your lips.

"You’re gonna kiss me or what, Seresin?"

His lips were soft against yours, making you sigh in his mouth. He dropped a hand to your neck, angling your face while the other cupped your cheek. His touch became tender as he kissed you more firmly, a reminder that this was different from all those drunken times before.

Pulling away, hands still on your face, he teasingly asked, "Like that?"

"Maybe."

He smiled, big and bright. "You're impossible."

Before you could remind him he was one of the most infuriating people to ever walk the Earth, Jake kissed you again. You snaked your arms around his neck, bringing him closer whilst he lowered a hand to your middle.

His fingers barely tickled you as he brushed the bare skin at your lower torso, your breath still hitched. It was only then you remembered that shirt often rode up even though it generally fit you well.

Jake's hands were as warm as his mouth, but while his kiss had turned heavy, his touch remained light. His growing stubble scratched against your skin whilst he languidly kissed you.

Months, years to be honest, of longing brought you here and you couldn't believe they had paid off.

Your lips moved more firmly against his and you prodded his lips with your tongue so he would part them. Jake happily did, letting the kiss become all tongue and teeth.

Parting for air was out of the table, leaning into each other's touch felt like a necessity, one that both of you were too busy fulfilling to care if you were halfway off the sofa.

Jake caught his breath against you, barely detaching his lips from yours. His chest heaved, adoring eyes focused on you as he took you in too.

You ghosted his jaw with your fingers, inhaling sharply as he leaned into your touch.

Dipping his head to press his face into your neck, he placed a string of kisses along your neck. Jake inhaled your scent as he tasted your skin, humming.

You hummed too, overflowing with desire as his kisses became sloppy. His lips trailed from your neck to the exposed area of your chest and then back to your neck.

"We can stop," he assured you, lips hovering over your pulse point.

"Should we?" you asked, breath ragged.

"No." His kisses were open-mouthed now as he moved to the other side of your neck. "But I can wait."

"What if I can't?" you barely managed to breathe out.

"We don't." He planted more kisses over your throat, sucking to leave marks all over.

You whimpered — at the sensation, yes, but mostly at the idea of being marked by him in some way.

"Come with me, sweet girl," he gently said into your skin. His words seeped into your pores, making you want him even more.

You missed his touch and lips the moment he parted. Jake gave you a knowing look as you gazed up at him and he rested his hand on your lower back.

Adding a little pressure with his hand, he guided you to his room.

His cologne hit your nostrils the moment you stepped in. You filled your lungs with it, with the lingering smell of freshly made laundry too.

The plush bed you found yourself lowered onto welcomed you with open arms.

Every time you thought about this —and you did many times—, Jake acted differently, he backed you up against a door and trapped you like an animal, he manhandled you and pushed you harshly onto the bed.

But this wasn't a fantasy. Jake hovered over you on his bed, lips following the collar of your top as he scattered kisses at the base of your neck. His fingers traced your figure, up and down your sides.

In one of his upward motions, Jake featherly touched your breasts. He hesitated, mouth briefly stopping, before he continued.

The content sound that escaped you as he palmed your breasts made him smirk against your skin.

"I'm not going to break." You didn't care how needy you sounded as you implied you wanted him to be rougher.

One of his hands caressed your belly, tracing the dips and valleys of your sides. "I know," he assured you, giving your hip a territorial squeeze. "I'm just taking my time."

His hips jutted into yours, creating teasing friction. Your lips were back clashing in a hungry kiss — Jake’s tongue forced its way into your mouth and you happily accepted it.

He was confident as he kissed you, as he touched you, sure he would bring you the pleasure you deserved.

You slid a hand underneath his grey tee. His skin was soft under your fingertips as you traced his chiseled body, warm, inviting.

His muscles tensed as you grazed the tufts of hair around his belly button, his heavy kiss faltered, bringing the heated make-out session to a halt as he took a deep breath.

Dragging your hand up to his chest, you felt the quick rhythm of his heartbeat against your palm. You couldn't help but smile, a little too cocky over the fact that you were having such an effect on him.

"Take it off," you breathlessly urged him, mouth so close to his that your lips touched.

He grinned. "So demanding."

Jake gave you a small peck before completely pulling away from you. With his arms crossed, he grasped the edge of his shirt and pulled the item over his head.

You wished you wouldn't have stared. The teasing was coming, you could see it in his cocky grin, but you couldn't stop gawking at his chest and shoulders.

Of course you knew he had an amazing body, and you had seen him without a shirt before — but never like this, it had never been only for you or in the privacy of his bedroom.

He grabbed your legs, prying them open so he would fit between them. You propped your torso up with your elbows, gazing at him.

Jake bit his bottom lip. "Like what you see?" He tried his hardest not to laugh, you could see it in his eyes.

"What if I do?"

He squeezed your outer thigh. "You better do."

You saved yourself from the embarrassment and decided to keep in what you wanted to say. He was the most gorgeous person you had ever met, the funniest, the one who had the biggest effect on you.

His hand moved up to your hip, the other joined. It was the only encouragement you needed to put your hands on him again, to have his strong shoulders and the taut muscles of his back under your plush touch.

His palms moved up, fingers tickling your skin beneath your shirt, dancing over your belly. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, making you almost giggle as your breath got caught in the back of your throat.

Your heart thumped in your chest, vibrating in your ribcage. The effect Jake had on you wasn't normal and you were afraid you would stop having some sort of an effect on him the moment this was over.

Perhaps he just needed to get you out of his system. The gorgeous specimen with his hands all over you couldn't possibly harbor feelings for someone like you. He had to be mistaken, and you had to brace yourself for the sobering truth that would come after this.

You could only hope your friendship wouldn't be over.

His fingers roamed your torso, gliding up and down without a particular goal. His slight touch was enough to send you aflame, to put you in a trance.

You barely hummed in answer as he asked if he could take your top off, holding your breath as he tugged the material away from your body.

Before you could fully register what was happening, his lips were back on yours. His kiss was relentless as he pressed himself against you, casually pushing his warm tongue into your mouth.

It was like you belonged to him, like this was how things were supposed to go. His hot kiss was steady while your heartbeat scattered in all directions, all of which lead to mimicking his ragged breathing.

One of your hands found its way to the back of his head where you tugged at his scalp purely by mistake. A groan bloomed from his throat, making you clench around nothing.

You whimpered as his lips left yours, chasing his mouth as he slid his hands under your lower back. Jake kissed your neck, then your chest where he buried his face in the valley of your breasts — he gave pecks to the patches of skin your bra left uncovered, but didn't bother to take it off as his mouth continued a downward path.

He left open-mouthed kisses all over your stomach, humming to himself as though he was having an internal conversation. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting for something, you didn't know what.

"You want me to stop?" he asked, hands coming down to grasp your ass.

"No," you admitted.

He didn't need you to say anything else, he didn't make any other comment as he rid you of your pants, leaving you to lay on his bed only in underwear.

Jake stood before you, looking you up and down as he mindlessly took his dark jeans off too. You hated that you checked if his boxers were blue and you hated even more that he hadn't been joking earlier when he said it.

Reaching over, he grabbed a pillow. "Lift your hips."

You did so, curious as to what he would do. He set the pillow underneath you, your hips giving him the perfect angle to comfortably reach your pussy and your ass.

He leaned in, trailing kisses from your hip to your inner thigh. One of his hands rested on your stomach while the other hooked underneath your thigh to hold your legs open.

His mouth inched closer and closer to your center as he nuzzled his face against your skin.

"You don't have to." There was no need, you were overwhelmed by your arousal, by the way he made you feel like you had never experienced lust before.

"I want to," he said, determined, before confessing, "I've wanted to for years."

Fuck. Fuck him. How could he casually say things like that? His words only made the fire within you stronger, made it spread to every crevice of your being.

He pulled your panties to the side, bringing his fingertips to make contact with your folds. "Oh, baby," he sighed as he traced your slit.

You couldn't be wetter even if you tried. Exhaling harshly as his fingers brushed your clit, you tried to find the words to tell him you just needed him to fuck you.

The semi-coherent 'we can leave it for later' you were about to muster died in your throat, turning into a choked whimper as his tongue came in contact with your slit. It hadn't even registered to you that he took your panties off.

Instinctively, you tried to press your thighs together. At the feeling, Jake removed the hand keeping your legs open and let you trap his head between your thighs, instead fucking you open with his tongue and mouth.

Your mouth fell open. You placed your hand on top of his at the height of your belly button, squeezing his fingers just to have something to do, something to focus on.

He enthusiastically traced your folds with his tongue. He used his lips too, sucking and briefly hollowing his cheeks, enough to get more sounds out of you.

"That's it, honey," he spoke against your clit. It was barely audible, but you caught it. "Say my name, come on."

Moaning his name was relieving after many nights of pretending you wanted anybody but him between your legs, over you, above you.

Jake held you down as your hips bucked up, growling in warning as he continued his ministrations. A broken moan fell from your lips as his fingers joined his mouth, as he shifted to make room for them and pressed his hot mouth fully to your clit.

You pushed his face even deeper by holding the back of his head, allowing yourself to get what you wanted from whom you had lusted over for many years.

Jake gave it to you, making you clench around his fingers as his mouth closed around your clit. His teeth barely scraped you, just enough to make you jolt up in pleasure.

You came with his saccharine name on your lips, tasting every letter as you repeated it. He didn't move, his fingers fucked you through your orgasm and his mouth lapped at anything you gave him.

He rested his chin on one of your shaky legs, hands trailing up your sides as he soothed you into catching your breath.

"You taste so good," he giddily told you. It had your head spinning, you had never heard him speak in that voice.

"C'mere."

He immediately pulled his body up, lips finding yours in a swift motion. You caressed his hair between your fingers, accepting his intense kiss as he ground against you.

You broke the kiss. "Do you prefer slow blowjobs or fucking people's mouths?"

He laughed against your mouth, shaking his head. "Both and right now none of 'em. Just wanna be inside you."

A disappointed whine left your lips. You had always fantasized about going down on him — on his birthday, as a Christmas present, as a welcome back home gesture...

Jake kissed you again, briefly. "Later," he promised. "I'll let you do whatever you want to me later."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Anything."

"Okay," you whispered.

He traced the edge of your bra, blown out eyes on yours. "Take it off," he demanded, much like you had when you needed his shirt off.

His hands were on your chest the moment your bra fell to the side and both mounds were revealed, wrapping his hands around them. He even squished them together.

You brought your hand to his lower abdomen, fingers grazing the hem of his underwear. You palmed him through his blue boxers, barely able to wrap your fingers around his hard cock before he growled.

Jake rasped your name in warning, squeezing your breasts to get your attention, to distract you from what you were doing. "Behave."

You almost didn't want to. He was persuasive, though, his lips were red from all the kissing, so inviting you couldn't tell them no as his mouth loomed over yours.

Managing to push his boxers down, you only caressed his thighs as he kissed you. You still felt the twitch of his cock, excitement running through you as quick as it did through him.

He discarded his underwear, rummaging through a drawer. You watched, entranced, as he rolled a condom down his length.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

He prodded your entrance with his tip, making you grip his strong shoulders. You let out a sigh. "Go on."

Jake pushed into you inch by inch, slowly stretching you. It was uncomfortable for a moment and you found another thing at which Sam would never compare to him. He momentarily stopped his movements, reaching over to cup your cheek — his thumb ran circles on your skin.

"We've got time," he assured you.

His considerate comment brought a thrill down your spine, and your walls clenched. He hissed, causing you to quickly apologize.

"You can move," you softly told him, breathless.

You liked that he didn't doubt you, that he knew you trusted him so much you wouldn't have been ashamed to stop him if he was hurting you. Jake didn't press on the subject, he merely told you to let him know if you needed a break and pecked your lips a few times.

Still moving slowly, he fully pushed inside you, making you gasp. Again, you clenched around him, this time not only involuntarily but harder. It pulled a few curse words from him, a shaky breath too as he rested his forehead against yours.

His muscles contracted under your touch with every breath he took, with every thrust of his hips.

He wasn't loud. It wasn't like you had expected him to be, but a part of you wished he was — that he would moan openly, that he'd pant in your ear.

As though reading your mind, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, grunting as he repeatedly hit your cervix. The burn from the stretch of his cock was long gone, taken over by the warm lingering presence of an upcoming orgasm.

Jake squeezed your waist, holding you tight enough to leave marks. Once again, the idea thrilled you.

You hoped he would speed up the moment you told him you were close, but instead, he chose to keep a slow pace. He dragged it out, truly taking his time with you as he mentioned he wanted to earlier.

Whimpers escaped you, both in pleasure and frustration alike. He chuckled against your skin, leaving kisses all over your neck, dragging his lips down your chest.

"Jake," you groaned, begging he would take the hint, "come on, baby."

He hummed. His pace slightly began to quicken, just enough for the rhythm to be switched.

"My good girl... you're taking me so well," he sighed against your left breast. He ran his tongue around your nipple, making you arch your back.

The pistoning of his hips had your legs shaking. Jake dragged his hand down, holding your thighs. His bedroom grew hot as though your panting had swallowed the fresh air.

If it weren't for his cock filling you up, you would have complained about how hot you felt; your skin was on fire, and beads of sweat rolled down the side of your face as the drive of Jake's hips rocked you against the mattress.

"You look so pretty like this."

If only he knew how ethereal he looked with his lips parted as he panted above you.

You felt the need to warn him you would come and your body confirmed your warning by convulsing around his cock.

Jake cursed, humming in encouragement for you to let go. Your body tingled with warm ecstasy, arms flying to wrap around his neck as he fucked you through your orgasm.

Above you, he shuddered as his hips stilled. You felt the twitching of his cock inside you as he spilled in the condom.

You were chest to chest as both of you tried to recuperate your breath. Lulling your head to the side, you allowed Jake more room to breathe as he laid his head on your shoulder.

You found the afterglow wasn't sobering as you feared it would be. You felt like floating as Jake drew random patterns on your bare skin, letting silence linger.

Words weren't needed, you were sure they would come later when the daze wore off and the need to fill the air became too much.

And it did. For him, it did. Jake was never the quiet type, quiet with him only meant trouble. You would have been fine with it, with all the trouble and the clouded sight he bestowed upon people from time to time.

Jake couldn't help it, he needed to speak, always. He needed to be heard. And you would always hear him, for as long as he'd want you to.

It never bothered you, not even when he was loud and thunderous, when his somewhat feigned pomposity got the best of him. You saw through the cracks, he saw through your stained glass walls — that was how the two of you worked from the beginning.

The air between you settled, taking away the glow from his skin and the dampness from yours, replacing them with shuffling around and getting cleaned up between lingering glances and poorly hidden smiles.

"Your mom is going to hate this," he said, leaning on the doorframe as you washed your face.

You wiped your face with the clean towel he had lent you. "My dad too," you reminded him.

Jake huffed, smiling as you stood close to him, face to face. "Can you live with that?"

"I thought I already was."

Shrugging, he lifted his eyebrows. "Maybe I just want to hear you say it."

You took his hand in yours, tracing the scar he had in the juncture between his thumb and index. Gnawing at your bottom lip, you considered changing the subject. A question nagged at you, one you wouldn't be able to move past it even if you tried. "Can you?"

He withdrew his hand from your hold, choosing to wrap his arms around your waist. He held you with care, eyes finding yours, curious as to whether your question had been earnest. He nodded when he realized you needed him to assure you that your parents' attitude wouldn't come between you.

Pressing your forehead against his chest, you rested your hands on his sides. Jake held you closer, it was familiar, this was how things were supposed to be.

As though reminding you there was a part of him you would have to share, the sky rumbled. You smiled, then a laugh erupted from deep within you.

Jake didn't question it, not even fazed as you moved away from him and walked toward the window. The pitter-patter of tiny drops against concrete slowly filled your ears, briefly accompanied by Jake's barely audible steps as he followed you.

You watched as the pavement darkened. The soothing sound of the rain welcomed the change of season as Jake rested his chin on your shoulder from behind and observed.

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader

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fizzbot · 2 months

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alright, you, this isn't a choice ANSWER ALL OF THE QUESTIONS OR I WILL EXPLOTE!!!!!!!!!!

AHHHH NO DONT EXPLOTE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ok this got kind of long, so im answering this hellaverse critical ask game under the cut!!!!

1. Explain, not necessarily a criticism, but a nitpick that you have for whatever reason. oh i LOVE to nitpick <333333 i really fucking hate that the sinners cant leave pride. thats literally the dumbest shit ever. guys, that would SOLVE THE OVERPOPULATION PROBLEM????? exterminations straight up would not be necessary (or at least could be way less frequent) if the sinners could travel. some other little things.......i hate that mammon is the only sin that acts like a sin. the REASON lust and gluttony are considered ""deadly sins"" isnt to say 'sex is bad' or 'eating any more than you need is bad', its about how you partake. lust is a sin when you use sex for your own gain, and disrespect others boundaries. gluttony is a sin when you overindulge, taking from the needy and hoarding what you need. bee is an alright character and i LOVE ozze, but why do they care about being respectful???? theyre not really sins if they only show the good aspects of a sin right?????????????????? whats sinful about how ozzie partakes in sex. OH OH OH ALSO. VEGA WAS CAST OUT OF HEAVEN FOR SPARING A CANNIBAL CHILD. A HELLBORN SPECIES. THEY ARE PARDONED FROM THE EXTERMINATION, WHY DID SHE GET KICKED OUT FOR THAT,,,,???? idk JKLSDFHJKLSDF i could list nitpicks all day, i gotta move on

2. What's your favorite and least favorite design in either show? for helluva boss, i gotta give "best design" to striker. i am incredibly biased because hes one of the only characters i like im choosing to ignore western energy and oops but i really like it!!!! its simple, effective, and i think that really lends to the twist in harvest moon. like, yea, this cowboy might be evil, or he could just be a cowboy. for WORST hb design its Bee. no question or context whatsoever. her colors are so fucking bad. for hazbin.....i think my favorite design is probably mimzy!!!! again, real simple, but conveys 'flapper' super well. this is honestly not saying much bc i really dont LOVE her design but i like the trim on the chest a lot and her palette isnt totally eyebleeding. rosies is also pretty good!!! i also like missi's but im a little biased towards the scenecore look JHKLSDFHJK as for worst design.......ugh i might have to give it to val. it makes me so fucking angry. WHEN HE OPENS HIS WINGS HIS DESGN IS GREAT. THE GOLD, THE BELT, THE OPEN SHIRT. BUT THEYRE ALWAYS CLOSED INTO AN UGLY ASS ROBE THAT MAKES NO SENSE. also alastor sucks but thats a given im not even gonna mention it

3. What character do you think has the most wasted potential? Why? ok this isnt really an answer but......every female character. all of them. i am not exaggerating. vega's angel twist couldve been so good but was so stupid. she has no character traits other than "charlies overprotective girlfriend". the exact same thing is true for millie. most of the mom characters die or are bitches. stella is the worst example of this as there is nothing to her at ALL other than evil (earlier i was watching some of the early eps and you can see so many photographs in the bg of her, stolas, and via looking like a happy couple. whered that go). charlie is the princess of fucking hell and yet is completely and totally useless and is worlds biggest pushover. velvet is usually ignored in favor of the 2 male vees, even in (or even ESPECIALLY in) fanworks. why is nifty like that. also honorary male character: PENTIOUSSSS PENTIOUS PENTIOUS PENTIOUS. SO FUCKING WASTED. it genuinely makes me so fucking angry that HE got the redemption when he HAD NO ARC. NONE. HE DID NOTHING WORTHY. BUT THEY HAD PLENTY OF TIME TO GIVE HIM SOMETHING AND JUST?? CHOSE NOT TO??

4. What are some aspects of the shows you actually enjoy? .....uhhh..... JHKSDLFHJKLSDFHSDJKL im blanking. honestly im not sure why i enjoy watching them so much. maybe i like them mostly to riff on??? but there was a time where i did enjoy both?? i think i just like watching the little ""arcs"" play out, even if theyre executed horribly. i might come back to this one to think of a better answer

5. What's a redesign from the crit community that you enjoy? i dont think ive ever seen an alastor design thats WORSE than the og. every single one ever is an improvement

6. What's a ship you hate and why? oh. so many. if were talking canon ships, i fucking HATE stolitz. absolutely awful no redeeming qualities ever which SUCKS because i totally think you COULD MAKE IT WORK AND THEY CHOSE NOT TO. its weird slimey fetish bait and i hate it and it totally ruins any stolas development for me bc i just despise him. i also really hate cherrisnake. i think they coulda made it work? but also it was a ship i didnt like even before it was canon, so the awful execution just left a bad taste in my mouth. as for noncanon ships, i hate all alastor ships, but radioapple has a special spot in hell imo. idk why it fills me with so much rage JKLSDFHJKSDHJKL other than that, most canon ships are boring and i dont care about them ether way

7. What's a ship you enjoy? BLITZKER SWEEEEEEP!!!!!!!!!!! fuck that random bot for taking the blitzker user in 2012 i should be me!!!!!!!!!!!! blitz x striker is so real to me. if viv wants toxic yaoi in her shows so goddamn badly at least make it COMPELLING. cowboyfriends are SO compelling. to me. i also do like fizzmodeus, theyre pretty cute!!!! uhhh. some others i like are polyvees, one-sided radiostatic, zestmilla, mammon x adam, anddd.....i think with some SERIOUS re-writing, huskerdust could work. weve done a great job of it in our fix-verse so far 😎

8. If you had to rewrite a ship in canon - which one and how? ALL OF THEM. LET ME SAVE THIS SHOW. stolitz and huskerdust are the big ones though......for stolitz, i would get rid of their little quid pro quo deal. i know a lot of critics hate it, but i think you could make the "childhood friends" thing work, if, as adults, they rekindled that friendship first. no weird sex deals/manipulation on EITHER end. let them bond over something else. with huskerdust, i also think it could work if husk didnt start really getting interested/involved with him until AFTER angel did some healing. husk shoudlnt have to be the one to fucking save him, he should give angel a wake up call so he knows hes continuing the cycle of abuse. i think maybe after angel makes amends for all the sexual harassment, THEN they could become friends. THEN they could become lovers.

9. Doodle / write request! Asker gives you a (non-NSFW) prompt to draw / give a drabble for! you didnt include this in your ask but i asked you over discord and you said kitty!!!!! fitting, since shes a fizzbot :}c here you go!!!! a little skatch of her!!!!

10. What's a theory you have for future episodes of either show? i think we kinda nailed it when we had that conversation over the phone about the full moon ep in helluva. "blitz is gonna take stolas giving him the crystal as a sign that stolas DOESNT like him, and hes gonna feel all betrayed and sad and hurt. im not mad about this because i think its stupid, im mad because i KNOW its stupid, and i KNOW its gonna be what happens". also i think adam is gonna come back as a sinner but so many people have said that one first

11. Asker gives you a ship to rate and give your perspective on. again you didnt give me one so i asked you over discord and you said BLITZKER!!!!!!!!!! i love these stupidass cowboyfriends 9/10!!!!!!!!!!!! i could literally talk about them all day. their relationship is like, the only thing that stays semi-consistent in western energy in oops so thats all those eps have going for them. but i LOVED their energy in harvest moon. striker seems so pleasantly surprised to find someone about at his skill level!!!!! blitz is the ONLY one who can make sex jokes around him, and have striker NOT be mad at him for it!!!!!! you could argue hes just manipulating blitz SURE but i like to think there is at least some attraction there. calling him "bossman" is just gay as hell IM SORRY. losing points just because. i hate harvest moon and oops striker i HATE HIM I HATE HIM. THEY RUINED HIM . MY BOY :(((((((((((((

12. What media do you enjoy or are critical of? like. what other things do i enjoy?? i enjoy a lot of things :PPP i keep everything else i like/am critical of over on @cloudyscollections <3333 but the most similar relationship to this show i have would be my one with miraculous ladybug. at least that one can get away with being a show for children

13. If you're doing a rewrite - asker offers an inquiry or suggestion about your rewrite. i dont think this is applicable bc you co-own the rewrite anyway HJKLSDFHJKLDF

14. Free space!

blitz sitting like field mouse

THANKS FOR SENDING THIS BABE MWEMWMEWMEMWEMWMWEMWMWEMWEMW <33333333333333333

#hh #hb #critical #vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical #helluva boss critical #answers

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valthevalkyrie · 1 year

Text

The Philtre (4)

The Run. The Hunt. The Choosing. The Devotion. A series of events traditionally used to test skill, wits, honor, loyalty, virility, and survival. If you can’t catch your Omega, or any Omega for that matter, you were never worthy of them to begin with. Curtis has his eyes on the Omega who's been Unclaimed for the past seventeen years.

Pairing: alpha!Curtis x omega!reader (tall, mid 30s) Word Count: 3.6 k SeriesWarnings: NONCON/DUBCON, A/B/O, canon style violence, tall!reader, reader is 6', Curtis is 6'4", language, fighting, explicit smut, rough sex, hate sex, possessiveness, jealousy, probably incorrect descriptions of archery type things A/N: I'm so sorry this is nine months late!! i got stuck on a part and lost my muse. But good news (?) I was laid off last week and will have a couple months free to write more. Special thanks to @brunetteavenger for all your kind words on the last chapter, I'd look at them all the time to motivate myself. Hope you enjoy 💕

This is a (soft!dark/dark) fic, and contains the usual elements and themes in dark!fics. It is explicit in every sense of the word. PROCEED WITH CAUTION IF YOUVE READ AND UNDERSTAND ALL WARNINGS.

masterlist series masterlist

They trade shifts after four hours, the moon’s light making its way through the foliage, making the forest floor sparkle like reflections in the water. After what feels like 30 minutes she finds herself being woken up again by Yona. “Wake up,” she whispers. “Someone is coming.”

“Handle them.”

“No,” Yona taps the center of her chest. “Something’s not right.”

She sighs. As tired as she is, she sits up and mentally prepares herself to fight again. Her best student was proving to be a not so great companion for a Run. She drugged herself and was now refusing to handle intruders even though she was more than capable. But she had to have faith in the girl’s Intuition as it was one of the strongest she’d ever encountered. “Make sure all the weapons are in the tent, then stay inside.”

Although her eyes itch from lack of sleep, she makes room for Yona who comes back in soon after, weapons in hand. When she goes to take the girl’s place outside, she’s pulled back. “No. Something’s not right. You must stay inside.”

With the help of the moon, she could see the young girl’s fear. She can’t help the confused furrow of her brow. Why would she need to hide? She understood Yona’s hesitation due to her lack of experience, but it made no sense for her to be hiding as well.

“Can you sense how many there are?”

Yona just shakes her head.

Her mentor scratches at her ear and looks down, contemplating her choices. She was never one to cower away from anything, although she eventually nodded her head. With every pull of the zipper, less and less light made its way into the tent. When she zips the tent shut, the darkness is almost overwhelming. It didn’t take long for their eyes to adjust to the darkness and although there wasn’t much light coming in, they could make each other out.

“Be sure to focus on your breathing and calm your heart. Let them think we’re sleeping.”

She hears a twig break in the distance as she finishes instructing Yona. The girls strain their ears, listening out for the intruder’s next move. They can’t smell them at this distance, so they’re not sure yet what their designation is.

Things are quiet for a while and she can’t tell where the intruder has gone until she hears the shift of leaves on branches at what should be the entrance to their little clearing. If she weren’t so quiet right now, she’d have missed it.

Whoever they are, they're light on their feet. She can’t hear them walking, but she can sense them getting closer.

The feeling of being watched starts to set in. She knows they can’t see her, but eyes are on their tent all the same.

The closer they get, the more a bitter twang begins to settle in her nose. They must be an alpha. An arrogant alpha, because the more they approach the tent, the heavier their footsteps get.

Either they think they’re too asleep to wake up to the sounds of their footsteps or they just don’t care at this point if the girls wake up.

The footsteps slowly but surely circle the tent at a distance, and with every lap they get closer until they stop at the entrance to the tent. The older of the two slowly gets a grip on her hatchet as they wait with baited breath for the entrance to open.

As they wait, the heat in the tent increases, no breeze to filter through as their temperatures rise. The girls are sweating, one shaking with fear and the other with fury. Yona twitches violently, a sign that her cramps are worsening. Her hand searches for her godmother’s and when she finds it, she squeezes it tight. The older woman can hear Yona begin to pant as the pain builds. In an effort to make sure no sound escapes the young girl, she redirects the hand holding hers to Yona’s mouth. Right as their fingers brush over her cheek, a clear whine escapes and everything stills.

The intrusion to the tent never comes. Instead, the footsteps begin to circle the tent once again except they got further out. Over and over again the mystery alpha circles them, breathing harder every time. Farther and closer, farther and closer. Just when they think the intruder might have left, they start their pacing once again. Teasing them, surely knowing they’re awake at this point.

On the latest rotation the footsteps stop once again at the mouth of the tent and the harsh breathing outside stops. Instead of opening it, the alpha presses their face against the fabric and takes in a deep breath, deep enough that the fabric makes an imprint of their nostrils.

Enough bullshit, the older omega thinks and slams the handle of the hatchet into the nose of the intruding alpha.

They cry out and she rushes to open the tent, Yona’s efforts to pull her back useless. When she makes it out she sees a familiar face, their scent hitting her at full force.

“Franco.” There was a reason she couldn’t tell who it was, the old man’s usual scent was as bitter and rank as they come. “Why are you here?”

“The same reason any of us are here,” he gurgles through a broken nose. “To find a mate.”

While her godmother had a respectful reputation, Franco’s was anything but. He had a history of mates who died young, only two produced him heirs. One died young and the surviving one was no better than him. No one who had any self respect associated themselves with them.

Until Wilford took over the clan.

He gave Franco the Elder and Franco the Young positions of enforcement, giving them the freedom to harass who they liked with minimal repercussions. The power had gotten to their heads.

“If I remember correctly my last words to you were that if I were to see you again, I would kill you.”

“Your exact words were, ‘if you try to mate me again I will kill you’. I’m not here for you, you’ve aged out of your value.” His gaze settles behind her. “I’m here for her.”

She does nothing to hide her noise of disgust. “That’s not going to happen.”

“The code of honor dictates I be given a fair try.”

She turns to look at the girl who is sweating profusely and clutching her stomach. Yona was in no shape to fight. Franco was right, the code of honor gave him the right to a fair try, but she couldn’t risk the young girl’s life. If the fight didn’t kill her, a life with him would.

“Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Oh please,” she sneers. “You couldn’t kill me if you tried.”

“Let us not forget who left you that scar,” he indicates to the one on her eye, “in your prime.”

“I was seventeen.” She gave a dark laugh. “I was nowhere near my prime.” She considers him for a moment. “Leave now, and I give you my word that I will not kill you.”

“I would rather you give your word to let me have a go at the youngling.” He takes a step closer as he wipes at the blood coming out of his nose.

She sneers, “take one more step and-”

Yona calls her name. When she turns, she sees the girl in obvious pain but with a fire in her eyes.

What her mentor doesn’t know is that Franco the Elder had been following her around their town, whispering profanities at her. Dark promises of how she would be his and all that he would do to her.

It ends tonight.

Everything she had done until this point was in an effort to perform without the looming greatness of her godmother’s reputation. Regardless of her failure in that venture, she knew she had to do this for herself. Her intuition had made her aware of Franco’s lurking even when he wouldn’t approach her.

“I’ll have a look at his offering.”

“Oh, I have no offering,” he sneered. “I prefer the combat method of The Choosing.”

With obvious effort, she straightens her posture and her hand leaves her abdomen. “Fine.”

“Yona, no.” Her godmother turns to her. “There is no need to prove your abilities. I know how capable you are.”

“This isn’t for you. It’s for me.”

There is obvious conflict in her face as she deliberates. She’s close to saying no and fighting Franco herself, when she sees the determination in Yona’s face.

“Very well, then.” She turns to Franco. “You may have your chance.”

Franco grins, his teeth red with blood.

“No weapons. You fight as equals.”

Franco makes a show of throwing down his only weapon, a hunting knife. Yona had no weapons on her to begin with.

She moves in front of her mentor, taking a deep breath to center herself. As she settles into a fighting stance, Franco’s grin widens. He follows her movements in an exaggerated manner.

“I can smell your cunt from here, little one.”

Yona says nothing, adjusting her stance.

“You’d best prepare yourself for a life with me.”

Still nothing.

“I can’t wait to feel your virgin cunt squeeze me tight.”

She pays him no mind and focuses on the task at hand and doing her best to push aside the pain. While she made a fool of herself the entire Run so far-ignoring common sense and years of training-she knew better than to make the first move.

So she waited while filth spewed from his lips. The longer she waited and said nothing, the angrier he got.

“You stupid little bitch. If you thought my other mates had it bad, just wait until I get my claim on you.” And he swung.

She ducked and jabbed at his face but he dodged the hit. She set out with another hit but he grabbed her hand, pulling her close while slapping her in the face.

The hit was enough to make her lose her sense of direction for a moment and he took advantage and pulled her by her hair. He pulled her back to his front and took a deep breath of her hair.

“I knew you wouldn’t put up much of a fight. I knew your dirty little cunt wanted me.” He inhaled her scent again and groaned. “You’re the sweetest one, yet.”

Yona took advantage of his distraction and slammed her elbow into his diaphragm, winding him. As soon as he let go she spun around and punched him in the face. Right hook. Left hook. Uppercut.

She takes him by the shoulders and slams her knee into his abdomen and lets him fall to the ground, wheezing.

Yona bends down. “You may be bigger but you’re old and slow. I reject your offering and deny you my devotion.”

As she turns to walk away, he grabs her foot and twists it while bringing her down to the ground with him. Yona’s chin hits the ground on her way down and the pain of the fall and her heat blinds her while Franco’s hands wrap around her neck.

“I never yielded, you stupid fucking cunt.”

Yona’s hands scramble trying to catch his but he just squeezes harder, straddling her legs and pinning her down.

Yona’s godmother watches on in horror, waiting for the girl to break free from Franco’s hold. But she doesn’t. As the seconds wear on and she sees Yona’s face start to turn blue, she knows she must throw out the code of honor if she wants to save the life of her ward.

She tightens her hold on her hatchet and rushes forward, slamming the handle into the side of his head. When he falls over, she adjusts her grip and swings down with as much force as she can, lodging the ax in his skull.

Dropping next to Yona, she moves to give the breath of life to the youngling. A few tense moments and frantic breaths later and Yona begins to cough.

Her godmother sobs in relief and mutters a quick and thankful prayer to the Mother.

About fifteen minutes later Yona is sat near the campfire with a blanket from her pack wrapped around her. The temperature had seemed to drop dramatically after her close call with death. Her heat had intensified, making her feel cold and the sweat on her body only made her feel colder. She was borderline delirious.

“How are you feeling?”

Yona whimpers as another cramp wracks through her body. “Why does it hurt so much?”

“Well, our heats have been provoked and you haven’t had many to begin with. They get easier to deal with over time.” She places a hand on Yona’s knee. “You did very well for your first Choosing fight.”

“Didn’t yield,” Yona groaned.

“That aside, you did very well. I’m proud of you.” She runs a hand over Yona’s sweaty hair, making her way to her back to give her a few soothing rubs. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

The older omega makes her way to the bags. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she double and triple checked them.

“Where’s all the food?” There’s no answer. “Yona. Did you eat all of the food?”

The girl’s whimper serves as her answer.

She sighs. “For the love of the gods, Yona.”

The only time she could’ve had to eat what was left of the food was during her short watch, her cravings a result of her heat. It could also have been the nerves. Gods know the girl had been wracked with them since the beginning.

She pinched her nose, took a deep breath and looked back at the girl. “Alright. What’s done is done. We can only move forward. I will go hunting.”

“D’you wan’me to come?”

“Absolutely not. You can barely stand. You can barely talk. I need you to stay in camp.” As she gathered her weapons Yona doubled over again in pain. “Come. Sit here.” She helped Yona sit closer to the fire. “Did you bring your bow?” The girl shook her head. She sighs. “Here. Take mine.”

“How’ll you hunt?”

“Don’t worry about that. I want you to stay focused. Anyone comes in, you shoot first, ask questions later.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good.” She grabs her pack and heads over to Franco’s body, struggling a bit to take the hatchet from his skull. Pinning his head down with her foot, she yanks it out. “Now, be sure to drink plenty of water while I’m gone, don’t leave the camp, and for the love of the gods do not fall asleep.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She nods and turns her back to the girl. Her chest is tight and her shoulders tense. She doesn’t like the idea of leaving the girl alone. Although she did a good enough job fighting off Franco the Elder, the fact that her ankle was most likely fractured and her heat was getting worse worried her. She could only pray to the Mother that Yona had enough strength to fight through the pain once more if anyone breached their camp.

She can’t help but compare Yona’s first Choosing fight with her own during her first Philtre.

She’d turned down a few offerings for The Choosing by the time an alpha decided her first answer wouldn’t be enough.

He was a belligerent old fool who had been tired of being alone for so long. He demanded she fight with him. And fight with him she did. Her anger got the best of her and she killed him before he had a chance to yield.

She knew of the rumors of her stringing up alpha’s intestines like a garland and placing their heads on spikes. It was mostly true. It was not her promised who became her first kill, it was the old man. Her fury over her promised not coming for her as they had agreed had consumed her. In her mind, she was at war with any and all alphas who dared approach her with no respect in mind.

Thank the gods Yona turned out so different to her. Sure, she was different enough that she made incredibly poor decisions in the heat of the moment, but she was different enough that she couldn’t see her turning out as bloodthirsty as she had become.

As she makes her way through the wood, she goes surveying the ground, trying to find any kind of tracks. It’ll be a little harder to hunt without her bow and arrow, but she should be able to make some traps.

Disregarding the deer tracks she finds, she instead zeroes in on the rabbit tracks, moving slowly once she finds its burrow. Retrieving the necessary materials, she constructs a simple snare. Once that’s done, she settles down a ways away and waits and hopes it doesn’t take too much time. She doesn’t want to leave Yona alone for too long in her condition.

After waiting for about ten minutes, she hears a rustling behind her. Turning her head, she catches a whiff of alpha. Rolling her eyes, she stays sitting, hoping they don’t notice her so she can have peace while waiting for her food.

It doesn’t work out in her favor.

A breeze passes by and she shuts her eyes in frustration as she hears the footsteps stop once her scent reaches them. They slowly make their way to her and as they get closer, she can make out several pairs of footsteps.

Eventually they make their way to her, surrounding the tree she’s sitting against. She pays them no mind, inspecting the dirt underneath her fingernails.

One of them calls out her name.

She looks up and can’t help the smirk that twists her lips. “Franco the Younger.”

“How are you doing on this fine evening?”

“I’m doing just fine. Just waiting around.”

“For what,” a woman asks.

“For an alpha like one of us, obviously,” Franco answers. “I’m not sure if any of you are aware, but we are in the presence of the longest reigning Unclaimed in the clan.”

Sparks of interest erupt in the eyes of the other four alphas.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Frankie, but I’m planning to round out my Unclaimed years at an even eighteen. Possibly even twenty.”

“You just haven’t had someone like one of us to try for your hand.”

“I’ve rejected many types of alphas over the years. Your father being one of them.”

“Ah, but he was close,” Franco traced the shape of her scar over his own eye.

“That’s fair,” she nods. “How about I make the same deal with you that I did with your father not too long ago. Leave now, and I give you my word that I will not kill you.”

Franco and his goons laugh. “There is no way my father took that deal.”

“You’re right,” she takes her pack off her lap and situates it next to her. “That’s why he’s dead.”

“Impossible,” he growls.

“You see this blood?” She lifts her hatchet. “It’s certainly not mine coating it.”

His lip curls in fury. “This bitch is mine.”

Slowly rising to her full height, the others could not have done a worse job at hiding their shock when they all took a step back. Caked in the blood from earlier, covered by the darkness of the night, and six feet tall, she was sure she was quite the sight.

She places her ax in its holster at her thigh, making sure the blade is covered. Walking out into the light of the moon, she makes sure to bump shoulders with him as she walks past. “Let’s get this over with. I have places to be.”

Like father, like son, Franco the Younger pulls out a large hunting knife.

“I’m going to gut you like a fish,” he growls.

“I’d like to see you try.”

They circle each other for a beat before he lunges for her. She grabs his hand, throwing an elbow to his face and turning into his body before slamming an elbow to his gut.

Disarming him as he catches his breath, she turns and jams the knife into his neck. His eyes are wide as they look into hers, mouth gaping as he falls to his knees. She places her foot at his chest and kicks him back to pull the knife out of his neck.

As he bleeds out onto the forest floor she turns to the others.

Everything stills for a moment.

An animal squeals in the distance.

The alphas rush at her and she slits the neck of the one closest to her. She spins out of the way of his falling body and uses that momentum to throw the knife into the chest of the next one.

The third alpha tackles her to the ground. She throws a punch to her face and tries to push it back. The alpha tries to wrap her hands around the omega’s neck and they struggle a bit before the omega takes a deep breath and goes limp. This gave the woman on top an opening to choke her.

The alpha’s distraction gave the omega the chance to reach for the ax strapped to her thigh. With a practiced hand, she quickly unsheathed it and swung at the woman on top of her.

Blood spattered her face as the ax struck the alpha’s head. She quickly pushed her off before looking for the last alpha.

He was laying face first on the ground with an ax in his back.

As she rushed to her feet, a tall figure came out of the shadows.

Her eyes widened. In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t caught the new scent in the air. “Curtis,” she breathes.

They stare at each other for a beat before he breaks the silence.

“Why’d you tell the kid I was dead?”

A/N: You have no idea how long I've been wanting to write that last part 😩 It was one of the first scenes that popped into my mind once I had the series idea fleshed out. Please, please, please tell me what you think, I'd love to know your reaction to that last bit lol

P.S. can anyone teach me how to make skinnier dividers that have a transparent background? mine never work no matter how hard i try lol

#curtis everett x reader #curtis x reader #alpha!curtis x omega!reader #alpha!curtis everett #val writes

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aphroditelovesu · 10 months

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hello! <3 could i please request a ship thing for harry potter (golden era) and brooklyn nine nine? my name is noelle & i’m a bisexual cis female (she/her pronouns). i like older guys and around my age for gals. my fav romance tropes are arranged marriage & forbidden romance, and (i think) my love language is physical touch. i’m also an entp & gryffindor! i LOVE to travel & i value experiences over possessions. my family is very important to me and i also really want to have children in the future but not necessarily get married. i’m a people person but i enjoy having some quiet time to myself. i like think i’m pretty nice, but do not cross me 👀 also, my dream job is either a comedian, working in film or something to do with traveling <3 i’m also considered “the funny one” & the ‘wild child.’ i also struggle/have struggled with anxiety, depression, substance abuse & eating disorders. i love to read books and write (mostly scripts & poetry.) i love my job as a barista and i also enjoy going on spontaneous adventures! i love camping, swimming and anything to do with nature. i have a navel piercing, a sagittarius (my zodiac sign!) arrow tattoo below my neck and a fig tattoo on the back of my arm. my style is very 70s mixed with early 2000s. i thrift basically everything i own. i’m 5’3 & have dark blonde hair with blue eyes, i’m pretty chubby but i have a great ass lol. thank you so so much!! :)

Of course!! I ship you with Ron Weasley and Amy Santiago! Btw, depression and anxiety sucks I feel you and I'm sorry about that :( hope you are doing better :)

Ron might seem like an odd choice, but I think the two of you would be great romantically, but if I'm wrong, feel free to correct me. Ron was over the moon when he met you and he soared even higher when he learned you were from the same house, both Gryffindors. It seemed like fate, didn't it? He worships the ground you walk on, to him you are nothing less than a goddess and he wants to be worthy of you, and he will. Ron doesn't have a lot of travel experience, but he would love to travel with you, as it's something you enjoy and he wants to make you happy, so you can pack your bags and choose your destination. Ron loves to read next to you, hearing you recite poetry is something very pleasant and calming for him, your voice calms him down.

Spontaneous adventures is practically your couple's hobby, he loves to take you on adventures, even if they are dangerous and you both almost died at one point. Ron would love to have a family with you, redhead kids with your beautiful brown hair, whatever. What matters is you, in the end. Although he would love to marry you, if you don't that's fine, Ron will be happy to just have you with him. And, oh, about your body... Ron thinks you're perfect in every way, from your scalp to the tips of your toes and he likes to grab your ass.

Ron will try to help you as much as possible with your depression and anxiety, he hates seeing you this way and wants to see you all the time. Give him some time and maybe he'll make it, this man just wants your love.

Amy is known as grimace and little spontaneous, always attached to her schedules and roles. Controlled and a perfectionist, but she stopped looking for perfection when she fell head over heels in love with you. Amy is very attached to you in a way that even she herself doesn't understand, but she's come to want to be glued to you all day if she gets the chance. She loves to touch you, not always in a sexual context, but things like hugs, soft kisses and gentle caresses are very common love language between the two of you. Reading is a hobby of yours, you two are almost always seen reading together, a good book or even a fanfic (depending on the context), she will love to read anything you write, from drafts to even a book.

You both love your work and it's very common for Amy to stop by the coffee shop/bar (?) you work for to grab a coffee and exchange some jams with you before heading to the 99, it's her little routine. She's not the outdoorsy type, but she wouldn't mind camping with you, although she loves watching you swim because you look so sexy, according to her. Amy loves your tattoos and if you let her, she will touch your piercing often because she finds it so attractive. She loves your jokes and will help you get your dream job if that's what you wants.

Amy will try to help you with your depression, anxiety and eating disorders as much as she can, if you allow her to. She loves everything about you, your body, your personality and even your height. Everything about you is perfect for her. Oh, she would love to have a family with you.

#ask #yandere harry potter #yandere brooklyn nine nine #yandere b99 #yandere brooklyn nine-nine #yandere concept #concept #match game #yandere game #yandere ron weasley #yandere ron weasley x reader #yandere ronald weasley #yandere ronald weasley x reader #yandere amy santiago #yandere amy santiago x reader

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withasideofshakespeare · 1 year

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ok, so, I just found your blog but I love this shakespeare content and I now absolutely need to know; if you could direct a play, what play would you choose to direct and how would you direct it/what are your ideas for it?

hope u have a great day!

This is a relevant question because I am currently helping to direct an audiobook version of Hamlet! Hamlet is my go-to play at all times for everything, so I’m over the moon that I get to help with this!

My choices on how I’ve been involved in this process are honestly more related to my experience with theater than my opinions on Hamlet. I'm not an actor and I've only been involved with one show (as a soundboard operator for Anastasia), but this limited experience has been pretty love-hate for me. Our schedule (as a live production) is quite rigid and things get stressful because of it! My main goal with Hamlet has been avoiding stress for myself as an actor and a co-producer. We've had a fairly flexible schedule and really let actors do their own thing with the characters, which has made the whole project really fun and way less stressful! If I could somehow remove the human element from directing a play and just... create the characters exactly as I imagine them, I think my focus would fall heavily on Hamlet as a story of grief. Grief is a big theme in this play, but it tends to get overshadowed in big-screen productions that seem to like to focus on revenge, masculinity, and violence more than the psychological horror of grief, insanity, and unreality that gives Hamlet its power, imo. If I were to direct this play...

-Hamlet would be more sad than angry.

-Claudius's dismissal of Hamlet's grief and his manipulation of Laertes would be a major focal point

-Ophelia would get some damn autonomy! I would not portray her breakup with Hamlet as an invention of her father- she has every right to be angry with him, regardless of the plot to determine the cause of Hamlet's grief.

-On the topic of Hamlet and Ophelia, let their relationship be toxic in both directions! Hamlet is obviously a dick to Ophelia, but she breaks up while he is in the midst of a mental health crisis. They're awful to each other, in large part because of the manipulation of their parents.

-Hamlet, Horatio, Ophelia, Ros, Guil and Laertes would be college-aged. (Hamlet, Horatio, & Ophelia and Ros & Guil: ~19/20, college sophomores; Laertes ~21/22, college junior or senior.) Their age is important to this play and I will die on this hill. It frames their immaturity in an understandable way rather than a "why are these grown adults so goddamn stupid" way and really adds to the tragedy of Claudius's manipulation of these young adults who are still coming into their own. (Also because I will be attending college this year, and this experience is one I understand)

-I would NOT downplay Hamlet and Horatio's relationship. They're queer. It makes the story what it is.

-Hamlet would get to cry. A lot. Framing this against Claudius's concept of (toxic) masculinity is something I want to see in this story.

-For a more creative/further from canon approach, I'd love a story where Horatio is clearly framed as the narrator. Maybe we open the play as a story he is telling to Fortinbras/at Hamlet's funeral. As the plot develops, Horatio becomes invested as if it's all real again and we get his desperate attempts to protect Hamlet (to stop him from following the ghost, begging him to trust his gut during the duel, etc.) as an impossible attempt to free Hamlet from the narrative he himself created. The play ends as it started, with Horatio telling Fortinbras the story of Hamlet's life and death.

Thank you for this ask! Apparently, I had a lot to say! I'm glad you're enjoying my Shakespeare content. There will absolutely be more of it!!!

#shakespeare #hamlet #dianthus's opinions on directing plays despite having never directed a live play #queer themes in hamlet #my beloved

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jedi-bird · 2 months

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One of the things I like about being an adult is being able to choose just how much or how little I want to own of something, back account willing of course. No one can tell me I can't have 30 pairs of socks. No one can tell me not to buy a tea I like in bulk (which is usually cheaper and yes I'm going to use it all).

And sheets. The number of fights I used to have with my mom about the fucking sheets in our room....

My mom and I shared a room together after we moved in with my grandparents when I was really little. We continued to share a room pretty much up until she died with I was an adult. Between space (my grandparents slept in separate rooms for many reasons, mainly because my grandpa was a jerk) and necessity, there wasn't a lot of choices. My mom also refused to ever go through her own stuff and instead chose to throw away our things, so this also meant our room only had one bed because all her belongings from when she divorced my dad were shoved into that room.

My mom insisted that people could only have one set of sheets. They also always had to be a white background with tiny delicate pink and yellow flowers on them. And she wasn't great at actually doing household chores so washing them took all day and they were usually still damp when it was time for bed.

I used to get yelled at all the time once I hit puberty. My period was very irregular, very heavy, and often "violent" for lack of a better description. No matter how careful I was, there were leaks quite often at night until I managed to convince her I needed different pads than the ones she insisted I had to wear. She screamed at me a lot about this. Never mind the fact that she definitely should have taken me to a doctor because this was not normal, nor was the burning and intense pain and nausea. This in no way helped with the hatred I had toward myself growing up nor was it my fault (took decades to realize this).

When my partner and I got married and I was in the process of moving in, I insisted we have more than one pair of sheets for several reasons. They were okay with it. They, too, had grown up with only one and hated it as well. So we bought two very cheap sets and switched between them.

I have since bought three more sets, brining us up to five. One is my favorite (dark emerald green and so soft); one is light blue and is their favorite (expensive so bought with a coupon and gift card and also very soft); another light blue that is also the only one that fits the air mattress we have for guests; a gray one that is okay; and a white, blue, and grey one with prints of Captain America's shield on it that I have because it holds too much heat but keep because it's pretty and it's a good indicator that I've waited too long to do laundry.

Five sheets might seem excessive, but there's logic behind it. I get sick. A lot. I get sick a lot less now that I'm home pretty much 24/7, but for a while I was very sick every other week. So being able to change a sheet and just go right back to bed feels like a luxury. If one tears (which happened to one of our old ones), we already have replacements. If we change it and something happens we can change it again immediately. I didn't buy they all at once; I've slowly collected them over time, same with pillowcases, and with the exception of that one sheet, nothing has cost more than twenty bucks.

Being an adult and being able to control my environment is wonderful. I get eye rolls occasionally from family about having "too many sheets" or "too many towels" (partner goes through three a day and nothing will get them to change) or "too many plates" (we have enough for four meals before dishes must be done, that's really not that much). My mother in law sometimes makes comments about how she only has three mugs and then freaks out when she wants everyone over and there's not enough cups for everyone; same with silverware (four sets for five people, assuming she remembered to do the dishes), towels, and places to sit. I grew up living like that and refuse to do it again. I don't hoard things and I don't buy more than a set upon amount. But I like not feeling rushed to do chores and not feeling like I can't rest if I'm sick.

So yeah. I like having more than one set of sheets. No one can tell me no. My comfort is in my hands and it's great. That's one of the few parts about being an adult that I like.

#birdy's weird family memories #tmi for medical issues

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tc-doherty · 2 years

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Brief Project Introductions

Because you might be like "Hey TC you have so many projects but what are they actually about? Why should I care?" And I know I've made jokes about them in the past but these are real summaries actually, just to give you guys an idea. Sorted by level of completion.

Pretty long post so it’s under a read-more.

Have multiple completed drafts, the main story is basically complete and just needs revision:

Celestials (The Ghost, The Fairy, & The Knight)

A middle grades series about the failing of the old order and reemergence of dark magic on one particular continent. The first book of this is actually published! Although it's technically a trilogy, the books do follow different protagonists and take place in different countries on the continent. It's less of a ‘books 1, 2, and 3′ and more of a ‘book 0 and then books 1 and 2′ of a story.

The Deadlands

If you ever saw that old Calamity Jane musical and thought "this is great except for the fact the last 10 minutes were straight" or if you have read the Ballad of Tam Lin and thought "this is great but why isn’t it about gay cowboys" then I have the book for you!

Genevieve is a singer from the big city who moves out into the middle of nowhere and ends up getting involved with the hitherto unknown-to-her magical culture of the wastes which may or may not be human in nature.

Dragon's Daughter (Dragon's Daughter & Dragon's Choice)

I've talked about this one before a lot but it is a lesbian knight/dragon romance that takes place after a dragon is ‘rescued’ from her mother against her will and dragged off to participate in human culture.

The knight she falls in love with is not the same one who killed her mother, I just want to clarify that.

The 1st book is going to begin serializing online in July!

Hoofbeats

If you like movies like Hidalgo but think "why isn’t it gay though?” This one might be for you. Kadife is a horse trainer who falls in love with Tirzha - the daughter of an organized crime lord who forbids the relationship due to the difference in their social classes.

But every year he hosts a very illegal and very dangerous steeplechase event and the winner can ask anything that they want, so Kadife enters with the intention of asking for Tirzha’s hand in marriage.

Temitope

I’ve also talked about this one a lot before. It's a young adult lesbian fairytale retelling wherein Temitope pretends to be a prince in order to protect her country from being overrun by a warlord and ends up falling in love with a princess who just so happens to need a champion at the moment.

Has a mostly or partially completed draft, so the story might change in the future:

The Gryphon of Sirray

This is a middle grade adventure story about a young prince and a young gryphon who go on a journey together to find out what happened to all the other gryphons - who vanished generations ago - and free them if possible in order to deal with the political upheaval that has accompanied the sudden and violent resurgence of all magic.

Has a little bit of "The Last Unicorn" vibes to it.

Will definitely get a different title in the future because I hate this one.

Magic Black as Knight

A young adult novel (which might end up being a duology) about a witch who falls in love with a trainee knight and decides to also become a trainee knight in order to win his affections, but is unable to do so without also continuing to be a practicing witch due to reasons and ends up living a dual life.

Miracles

Larkin ends his relationship with a god in an extremely dramatic fashion – by stabbing him. Kishar may have deserved it (he definitely deserved it) but now Larkin has divine blood on his hands and a curse chasing him. In order to avoid the curse he has to travel cross-country to the temple of miracles and get Kishar a new, unsullied sword within a certain amount of time. The main problem is the fact that the temple miracles is deep within dragon territory, where no sane person would ever willingly choose to go. He ends up in a traveling party with two eccentrics, each with their own secrets to hide and curses to bear, shenanigans and drama ensue.

Northbound

The daughter of two archaeologists is summoned back in time to serve as the personal mage to a temperamental young princess. Sasia’s job is already hard enough just living in the Imperial court, but things only get more intense when Keril accepts a political marriage to a fiery young general from the recently conquered northern reaches and in embroils them both in a far-reaching political struggle.

Worst of all, Sasia knows from her childhood that an unknown disaster of epic proportions is bearing down on the Empire and she can't help but feeling like this marriage has something to do with it. She does her best to protect Keril, survive herself, and prevent the Empire from turning into the ruins she remembers it as.

Untitled 1

Nyari is turned loose on the streets with nothing but massive holes in his memory and a criminal record that he also doesn't remember, but has been assured by others is real. With nowhere else to go he does what all refugees do, and heads for The Bridge - a self-governing area straddling two countries but not beholden to neither.

Unlike most people, he actually know someone who lives there, Dante – who might as well be a prince as far as The Bridge is concerned. While Nyari only intended to see a friendly face, it turns out that Dante needs his help. Something strange is happening and whoever's behind it is using magic specifically crafted to negate his own. With a chance of a permanent home and the possible ability to recover some of his missing memories from their shared past, Nyari agrees to become Dante’s spy and try to put a stop to whatever is happening.

Untitled 2

I love shounen manga. I love xianxia novels. This is just a love letter to both genres by me. Ideally it would be a comic, but might end up being just a heavily illustrated story. Hopefully it will appeal to anybody who also likes those genres because it's full of all my favorite tropes. Also it’s gay because I’m not a coward.

Old stories that are being completely gutted and redone:

The Huntress of Anihwen

Somehow the goddess of death has gone missing and all hell is breaking loose. In order to find out what happened and stop to it, Siani decides to break into the underworld and put things to rights.

This will probably end up being a middle grade novel, although it was young adult originally. I think it would work better for a lower age range.

Into the Witch's Wood

Emma Patterson comes from a long line of witches. Witchcraft is everything in her family. Unfortunately, she herself is not a witch.

Unwilling to accept the truth, her mother reaches out and through a friend of a friend of a friend manages to get Emma an internship at a company where all of the best witches go to work. If anybody can teach her how to do magic, surely it would be the head of such a company!

But it doesn't take a very long working there to realize that something at that company is decidedly not right, and her boss definitely isn't who she claims to be.

Laero

Kradhi is a prophesied warrior who eventually breaks under the strain of the expectations her tribe puts on her and runs away.

Nelli is the daughter of a general who ends up eloping with the enemy.

From different cultures and with vastly different philosophies and problems, the two of them are nonetheless thrown together by fate and have no choice but to travel together to request aid and try to save lives of thousands of innocent people who would certainly die without their interference.

The very, very original version of this was inspired by the Redwall series, so I think it still has some slight Redwall vibes.

The Thief Queen

Zephyral is an outcast from his own people and is forced to live among humans to make a life for himself. At first it's going great, until he’s suddenly framed for murder by a childhood friend he hasn't seen in years.

The victims were all nobility (and human) and unless he can find a way to clear his name, he will certainly be executed. He also has to manage to find a way to do that without being arrested as a fugitive, and with only the aid of an extremely eccentric "detective" to help him.

This will also need the new title because honestly this title had nothing to do with even the original plot and certainly doesn't have anything to do with the reworked plot LOL.

In very early stages:

The Race of the Midday Moon

You like Balto? Like Iron Will? Stone Fox? Gay children doing absolutely everything in their power to save their best friend? You'll probably like this one. My extremely indulgent middle grade love letter to cross country dog sledding stories!

The Swan Husband

Celendine is beloved by her people, heir to the throne and unstoppable warrior princess, a symbol of hope to all who behold her. At least until she's injured and poisoned on the battlefield. It's impossible for her to recover completely, it’s impossible to allow their people to know anything has happened to her.

In order to protect the spirit of their nation, her younger brother Camillus fakes his death and takes her place.

Everything works out fine until he suddenly finds himself in an arranged marriage with a prince from another nation. Lirio needed a warrior bride, and now finds himself saddled with an imposter, and one extremely protective older sister who won't allow anything bad to happen to her baby brother.

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A middle grade (probably?) novel about a boy from a modern world who falls into another and ends up in the company of a prince whose throne has recently been taken from him. He is determined to get it back, and get his revenge, but there's a problem. He doesn't know a damn thing about military strategy or the country he thinks he can rule over, or even ruling at all.

Well, our boy might be from a modern era but he did just have to write a book report on an old military strategy treatise so he agrees to help out on the premise that the prince will help him return home once he has access to the royal mages again.

But the farther into this venture they get, the more it begins to seem like it isn’t an accident that he ended up on that particular world, or in the company of that particular prince.

Not actually a novel, maybe?:

Second Chances

Extremely overwrought gay angst with a happy ending, this is a story that I first wrote in high school, I love it so much, and it’s level and type of drama has never changed.

Basically a story about two boys and the mutually self-destructive spiral they pull one another into and how they climb out of it over a period of years.

Silverwood

A four generation spanning sociopolitical fantasy epic. You might like this if you like really intense world building, and if you don't mind listening to somebody talk about something in excessive detail for 6 hours.

#writing #writeblr #my projects #so many lol #long post #they are all world built fantasy novels #I didn't feel like saying that every time

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