#i do still grieve that my relationship with him looks very scarred and that it took a long time to get to where he is now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

odetodilfs · 1 year

Note

can you do joel miller reuniting with his cowboy/vaquero husband at the wyoming commune and they catch-up and have very romantic sex, praising each other and promising that they’ll never leave eachother again? (power bottom joel please?)

Together again

Hey anon!! Sorry for taking so long, but here it is!! Pairing: softdom! bottom Joel x sub top male!reader

Warnings: Smut, praising, names, reunion sex, established relationship (marriage), shower sex and breeding.

Apart from losing Sarah that day, Joel had also lost you, his husband, the love of his life, his dear, the man of his dreams… but he didn’t know that you were actually alive and had met up with Tommy ever since he arrived in Wyoming, you two started to get along really well, but your heart ached for Joel, you needed him, ever since that day you parted you cried into your pillow, holding it, wanting to believe it was him. But your heart kept grieving him, he was the man you loved, the one made for you, and he was gone.

That changed when you heard of Joel and this girl named Ellie coming in through the gates of the town, you immediately ran out, not caring if it was cold and you were in your bed clothes, you ran out and sprinted. Then…

You saw Joel…

It was like the moment you first met all over again, you ran at each other and hugged each other hard, when you felt his arms around you, you felt a peace that hadn’t been with you for 20 years… Joel might not have had the best smell at that moment, but you didn’t care, you looked at each other and kissed each other passionately in front of the crowd, you didn’t care who saw you, in fact, some even cheered as your lips meshed against each other’s.

“My dear…” he said, starting to sob out of happiness,

“Joel…” you placed your hand on his cheek, “You look so beautiful” he smiled, tears streaming out of his eyes now, “You too” you chuckled lightly, getting closer to your house,

“Nah, but thanks for the compliment” “Let’s go inside” you said,

“Oh, this is Ellie by the way” he said, pointing at her,

“Nice to meet you” the girl smiled and shook your hand “you two need to catch up on things…” she said and went off, you looked at each other.

“Well…” Joel said, “Look at you, let’s go take a shower love” you smiled as he followed you to your house, “Woah, running water” he said like a kid who just discovered something, “Yeah, you can use it as much as you want” you smiled, turning the shower on, Joel started to undress.

His body had some scars, but you found him beautiful, just like you always had, “Are we still husbands?” he asked, fear in his eyes, “We always will be, Joel” you said as you started to undress too, “after today, we’ll never leave each other alone” you held his hand, Joel just leaned in and kissed you as you went into the warm shower, his cock instantly hardening.

As you cleaned your husband you looked at each other, hands not being able to be off the other, both of you desperate, once he was all cleaned, you started to kiss him desperately as the hot water continued to wash over your body, you looked at each other, “I want you” Joel confessed, “Me too”

“Then…” he smiled, looking at the ground, you smirked and sat on there, “Let’s get you ready," you smiled as you grabbed vaseline from a drawer you had in the shower, slicking up your fingers. He looked so impatient and desperately needed you inside him, “Please baby- please-” he begged, opening his legs, showing you his hole, you put a finger inside the tight entrance, “Holy shit Joel, you’re so fuckin’ tight!” you said as your finger barely managed to pass through, Joel’s legs quivered as you put in another finger. When your two fingers brushed against his prostate he screamed in pleasure, whimpering, you kissed him and held him towards you, “My love, I’m here for you, we’ll be together for the rest of our lives okay? I’m yours” you smiled, that sentence stirred up something in you, “Finger me more” he demanded, “Joel are you su-” you asked, immediately getting cut off, “Yes, third finger, now, please love” he demanded, you did as he told you to.

He moaned happily as you fingered him, Joel was feeling so many things… he hadn’t had your fingers in him for 20 years, he was at the top of the world, he couldn’t even say anything as you played with his prostate, making him writhe and scream in pleasure, however he didn’t close his eyes in pleasure, instead he looked at you, his husband who was now with him, and who he’d be with forever, he didn’t even realize it had been a full 10 minutes since you started to finger him. You pulled out and he looked at you confused, only to smile when he saw you lube up your cock and press it against his ass, he immediately stood up and positioned himself to ride you, “I love you, Joel” you told him, “I love you too” he said, as he took your length inside him.

He started to take you in slowly as he started to ride you, “You alright my love?” you asked him, worried if he was feeling any pain, he kept slowly riding you, trying to take you after so long, “Y-yes- just let me- fuck- kiss me-” he said, you immediately followed orders and kissed at his neck, then going down and kissing his collarbone, you sucked on the skin, both of you knowing that’d leave a mark, but that turned you on, suddenly, Joel bit down at your collarbone too and left a bright red mark, he was claiming you as his again, “Fuck- you really took care of yourself these 20 years baby” he praised you, now riding your dick at full speed.

You couldn’t even speak, he was so tight, his warm walls squeezed your cock just right, he was going to make you cum if he started riding you any faster, “Gonna cum, baby?” he smirked, you were panting and gasping in pleasure, it was the best you’d ever felt ever since the last time you’d had sex over 20 years ago, Joel looked majestic riding you, his gray hair wet by the shower, hands all over each other. You felt yourself getting close, but when you looked up you heard Joel scream your name loudly as he came all over you, his walls squeezing your cock to such an extent that it became almost impossible to keep your orgasm in, but he kept riding you…

“Fuck… Joel-” you moaned, holding back as much as you could,

“Please baby, please just a little longer” he said as your dick hit his prostate every time he went down, “Just a little longer baby, do it for your cowboy…” he smirked, making it even harder to hold back, he used to call himself that name to flirt with you, when you got married, he said “I’m your cowboy now…” those words had an effect on you, “J-Joel- I don’t think I can-” you moaned, squeezing his hand, “It’s okay baby, cum for me, be a good boy and cum for me” those words pushed you over the edge as the pent up pleasure inside you released inside your husband, jet after jet of hot cum as you were in heaven, when you finished you only realized Joel was speaking to you,

“-such a good boy, you’ve been holding back a lot haven’t you?” he smiled, you had almost forgotten to speak after that orgasm, “Y-yes- I always believed in the chance that you were alive somewhere, I missed my cowboy” you hugged him, “I missed you too, my cowboy” he said as he held you. You switched off the shower and dried off, then dressed up and went into bed.

“Joel, I want you to know that even if you want to leave, I’ll go with you” you confessed, “Really?” he asked, surprised you’d want to leave the comfort of the commune, “Yes Joel, I wanna spend my life with you, I was made for you” “And you were made for me, I love you” he held you, “I love you too” you caressed his face as you went to sleep in each other’s arms.

#joel miller #joel miller x male reader #joel miller smut #tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal characters #x male reader #gay

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asumofwords · 1 year

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: As always, your kind messages and comments bring me so much joy, I can't even explain it in words! I am working on transferring the works to AO3 as well!

Chapter 41: Fools dreams

The Maester sewed your wound back together, though he uttered concerns that the scar would heal much larger now, and that the stitches may not assist anymore, but continued anyway on the off chance it would and at the behest of your father.

Saria and Aella bathed you with a wet cloth, scrubbing the grime and dirt away from your skin before gently brushing your hair, pulling the tangles and knots away from your scalp before tucking you into bed to sleep.

Sleep came to you quickly and although you slept deeply, you did not dream. Even your mind was far too tired to concoct visions for you in your slumber. You drifted off into the darkness and went with it calmly.

It was your first night back home.

When you woke, your chambers were well lit with light, and the fire place still burned. You shifted in your bed before turning your head to look about the room. The large curtains at the balcony had been opened wide and the sky was bright and warm.

It would be midday.

The air beside your bed stirred and you turned your head to look.

Sat beside you was a very tired and slumped Jacaerys. His jacket was gone and his dress shirt was unbuttoned and loose. He wore no shoes and leant heavily against the back of the chair beside your bed, head in his hand.

“Jace.”

The younger boys head shot up to look at you face alert, but once he took in your relaxed demeanour he immediately calmed. His hand came to brush his short hair back with a smooth swipe, giving you a lopsided smile.

Small, tight.

Unsure.

“How are you feeling?” He asked gently, scooting the chair towards the bed, the feet scraping agains the stone loudly.

“Like I’ve been trampled by horses.” You joked, giving him a wry smile.

Jacaerys gave a small and sad laugh.

“You look it.”

You huffed a similar laugh as you slowly wriggled yourself up the bed, leaning heavily against the back of the bed, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you lazily looked at him.

“Is that how you treat your sister who is back from the dead?” You mocked, trying to make light of the situation but all it did was make the boy swallow thickly and look down at his lap.

You did not know what to do.

Nor how to act.

What could you do in such a situation as this? Who would ever be prepared to socialise after all you had been through? After all you had lost? And then to come home to the people who not only grieve that loss with you, but also not know how to tend to you.

You felt suddenly guilty for poking fun, and before you could apologise he looked back up at your face, before making a show of looking at your side.

“The Stranger clearly sent you back. Not even they could handle you.”

You laughed in earnest, side twinging slightly as you looked at him sadly.

“Gods, I have missed you.”

The boy sniffed.

“It has been far too quiet here without your terrible singing.”

“My singing is not terrible.” You argued.

“Oh no? Then why does no-one compliment it?”

“The people simply are not ready for such a talent.”

A quiet fell across the room as you smiled at each other, unsure how to go forward. How were you to behave or react? What was the appropriate way to grieve a loved one? One that you failed? How does one recover from such a loss? Will you ever be the same? Will Jacaerys ever be the same?

Luc and Jace had always been inseparable. As children, Luc would follow Jace around, never leaving his side unless by yours. And Jace was a fierce protector of Luc, always reassuring him and comforting the young boy should he ever need it.

Lucerys had been protecting Jace and your cousins the evening he took Aemond's eye.

How was Jacaerys supposed to move forward from this? How had he been coping? Would he ever forgive you?

“I’m sor-“ You began, though Jacaerys intercepted your apology and instead redirected the conversation elsewhere.

“Mother sat here all night watching you sleep. She had only just finally gone to rest, but only because I had to practically drag her from your chambers.”

You smiled at the thought.

“Where is Daemon?”

Jace smiled again.

“He was also here, pacing about the fireplace. I was worried he would melt holes in the stone flooring with the speed he went.”

You let out a small giggle as you looked to the fireplace, imagining your father pacing about like a madman. It was comforting to know.

“And where were you for all of this?”

“I was sleeping soundly in my room. You needn’t three mad men in your chambers whilst you slept.” He grinned.

You grinned and closed your eyes momentarily. Allowing yourself to wake up fully as you pushed yourself higher up on the bed, grunting as you went.

That quiet was back, and it unnerved you. The sounds of the waves outside crashing on the cliffs caused a constant stream of white noise into the room.

When you opened your eyes to look at Jace, you noticed that it had unnerved him too.

“It is quiet, isn’t it?”

Jacaerys nodded.

“It’s almost unbearable.” You tried to joke, but it came out as a grimace.

“It’s so….” You fought to find the word, “still.”

The brown haired boy nodded, looking down at his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“We thought we lost you both.” His voice was quiet, he still didn’t look up at you.

“I thought so too.”

The tide began to surge inside you again.

“I’m so sorry, Jace. I’m so so-“

“Stop it.” His voice was kind and soft.

You stared at each others eyes wet, before his hand came to grasp yours in his, softly squeezing your hand as he looked at you.

“It's not your fault.”

You shook your head as a tear began to fall down your cheek.

“I mean it,” His hand came to brush the tear away, “We all know it too. Do not hold this unbearable weight on your shoulders. It will bury you.”

You sniffed and nodded your head before moving your legs to the side of the bed. Jace gave you a funny look. His hands move to push you back into bed, but you shook your head.

“I want to be with you all.”

“All the Lords and Ladies are at the Painted Table. I think you should rest.”

You shook your head again and stood.

“No. I will rest when this is over." You sighed, "I have had enough time to rest.”

Knowing he could not argue with you, Jace gave a small nod, before leaving your chambers to fetch your maids. The girls came and dressed you, braiding your hair back tightly against your skull before you moved to exit your chambers.

When the doors opened your eyes met those of your Knight, Ser Darke.

He bowed deeply, “Princess. It is good to see you.”

Your hand came to touch his shoulder plate as you gave him a warm smile.

“And you, Ser Darke. Come.” You nodded your head away as he gave you a puzzling look.

“Princess, You should be resting. I was told to ensure your rest.”

“The Greens do not rest, so nor shall I.” You stopped and looked back at the man who still stood at your chamber doors looking at you with uncertainty.

“Come.” You commanded, and so he did.

Your Knight walked you through the halls, maids and servants bowing their heads as you passed and guards stiffening in respect. Ser Darke arrived to the Painted Table before you, walking down the stairs as he announced your arrival.

“Princess Y/n Velaryon, eldest daughter of Queen Rhaenyra, First of Her Name.”

A hush fell over the room as you walked slowly down the stairs, head held high. Your mothers eyes carefully watching you with uncertainty, whilst Daemon stood up the back proud, chin high and back straight, small smirk on his face.

All bowed their head to you as you walked to the table, small uttering of “Princess” as you passed. The table was lined with the usual allies, and you made your way to stand beside your mother.

Baela and Rhaena beamed at you softly and you smiled back nodding, you would reunite with them later. Rhaenys stood off to the side behind the girls, not quite at the table, but not far away either.

It seemed that she still had no taste for starting a war, but it had already been started.The Queen Who Never Was gave you a proud nod before looking back at the table.

Your mother watched you as she fought back the urge to tell you to rest. You pulled your hands behind your back as you stood and looked about the room. Although the same men were present, the air had changed.

Your mother no longer stood cautiously to the edge watching, instead stiff and strong by the side of the table.

War was here.

The Noble Men all stared at you, unsure of how to proceed after your entrance.

“Please, do not let me distract you.” You waved a hand around the table, “Carry on.”

And so they did.

“We have word from the Blackwoods that the Brackens have sided with the Greens. There have been small rebellions in the Riverlands, and whispers of an upcoming attack.” Lord Bartimos spoke out, continuing his updates to the table.

Queen Rhaenyra looked down at the table where the Riverlands were carved. Her silver head lifted to look at Lord Bortimos before she responded.

“Then we send a patrol to the Riverlands, stamp out the rebellion before it begins and deal with the Brackens before they attack.”

The Lord nodded before speaking again.

“Our support from the Starks and Arryns mean we have a larger force that Aegon. We could send some of the Northmen down to the Riverlands to prevent the Greens sway.”

Your mother nodded before looking to Lord Staunton, who stood still staring at you rather than the table before him.

“And what of House Tarly?”

“The Tarlys have sent a raven, declaring their support for you, Your Grace.” He confirmed.

“With The Vale of Arryn and The Eerie secured, we have a strong hold in the East and North. Is there any news from the Lannisters?”

Silence around the table, until Maester Gerardys spoke gently.

“The Lannisters have declared Aegon as their King, Your Grace.”

Anger rippled across your mothers face.

"Right, as was expected. Then we have no allies past the Golden Tooth. You say that we have the full support of the Blackwoods?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Our hold in the Blackwood Vale will help us take Riverrun, which will shut off the Lannisters from most trade.” You commented, and the energy at the table shifted.

It was tense. Uneasy.

Uncertain.

You stepped towards the table, pointing your finger to the Red Fork, where the House of Blackwood had been since the First Men.

“Though, once we do this, we should expect the Brackens to use their might. The Blackwood and Bracken Houses are ancient, and have power in the realm that should not be underestimated. The Brackens may have sway in smaller towns or settlements that we may not know of.”

Your mother nodded at you, before commanding an envoy to travel to the small settlements to keep them at bay.

“And what of the Greyjoys? Any news?”

“The Greyjoys have declared for neither you, nor Aegon, Your Grace.”

“I see. We should also expect House Martell to be of no use either.” She hummed, fingers touching the edge of the table as she looked down in thought.

“House Darklyns support allows us to have Duskendale secured. With Lord Corlys’ fleet, we may have the port there protected.”

Lord Corlys sat on a chair beside the table watching your mother, his chin was rested in his hand. The white haired man nodded and all went back to looking about the table to plan.

It was quiet as everyone thought, until Lord Bortimos' voice disturbed the still air.

“Princess Y/n, please forgive me for any offence at what I am to ask…” All eyes were on you.

You nodded warily.

“You were at the Red Keep for some time, yes?”

The tide began to rise, though you quickly squashed it.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“I was.”

Your mother stiffened.

“And did you see or hear of anything whilst there? I only ask a-“

“I did not see, nor hear any plans of future attacks, or whispers from their allies.” You interrupted him.

The Rogue Prince was staring daggers at the Lord before you started again.

“In my time at the Red Keep, I was imprisoned. No-one was permitted to speak, nor talk around me, and the Dowager Queen barely spoke a word. As you can imagine, I was not invited to the council meetings.” You glared at the man, before continuing, “Though, there was a palpable tension there, Aegon and Aemond still bicker as they did when they were children, and Alicent becomes more frayed as the days go by. Helaena is no longer a threat to us, although I would argue that she never was. So we can rule her out as a Dragon Rider.”

The men nodded at the table as the Queen stared at you.

You continued.

“In my short time in Dorne, I quickly learnt that none of them see Aegon as their King… Nor you as their Queen, Your Grace. So we can definitively say that Dorne would be no threat, nor would they accept Aegon’s request. Borros Baratheon has sided with the Greens, as I am sure you are all well aware of by now, at the promise of a marriage between Aemond and one of his daughters."

You breathed a sigh.

“Thank you, Princess.” Your mother nodded, before turning to begin again.

The Lord's all seemed to be staring at you before they looked away to the table. It made you feel useless. It made you feel defeated, and angry and bitter.

They thought you had nothing to offer but losses.

“There is more.” You blurted.

Now you had their undivided attention. All waited for you to speak as you pushed down at the swell inside you, the mounting tide trying to drag you down.

“At Storm’s End, Aemond had intercepted our mission to seek allies. Borros Baratheon took great delight in this, which seemed to aggravate Aemond.” You cleared your throat.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“Y/n.” Prince Daemon called to you, a subtle hint that you did not have to continue.

You blinked and started again.

“Lucerys and I took to flee, when Aemond threatened to take his eye. A fight ensued on dragonback, and Lucerys was slain. I was knocked from my dragon and fell, I do not know what happened next, except waking up in the Red Keep.”

Your mother was stiff beside you.

“Vhagar is barely controlled by Aemond, and he is more unhinged now than he has ever been before. He is dangerous. I was able to sneak into his chambers and stab him, though unfortunately,” You drawled, looking at your father whose eyes widened in delight, “I was not able to kill him, but he was injured nonetheless.” You grinned.

All waited for you to continue.

“Aegon drinks more heavily too. The Greens have their weaknesses, and they showed their hand when I was there, despite all odds. Alicent even implored that I take Aemond’s hand in marriage, to unify" You scoffed, "our families and prevent the war from escalating further, despite his proposal to the Baratheon daughter. I believe that Alicent knows they stand little chance.”

You took a breath, the tide was still.

The table was still.

And all who gazed at you were quiet.

You waited for anyone to respond. For anyone to use that information at the table, but no-one stepped forth. Could that have been useless to tell them? Had all of that been for naught?

“If Alicent is shaken, then there is reason for it.” Jacaerys stepped to the table.

“Aemond’s lack of control and Aegon’s demeanour combined will be the end of the Greens, and she must know it.”

You nodded, thankful for him stepping up.

“The Greens even treated Y/n when she was at the Red Keep, keeping her alive. Why did they not let her die?" He asked the room, "There is a reason she is here before us today, and a reason for the Greens keeping her there.”

You waited for anyone to add their thoughts, though most looked at you in pity.

You hated it.

“Send word to the Blackwoods. Tell them that we shall be sending men to assist in keeping a stronghold from the Brackens. A small fleet is to be sent to Duskendale to patrol the water and skies. If Aemond is unpredictable, then we must be ready for anything.” Queen Rhaenyra looked at you as you spoke.

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief spread across you. You had helped in some way.

It was not all for nothing.

“Send a raven to Lord Cregan Stark to update him with the news and return of the Princess.”

The table was then dismissed, and the Lords and men went to their duties to fulfil the Queens wishes. You and your family stayed behind, all looking at the table, waiting for one person to finally break the silence.

You didn’t want to wait.

“This is good news. The North is large and to have the Starks support is a turning point.”

Your mother softly nodded before coming to hold both of your hands.

“You should be resting.”

“I have.” You smiled.

She looked at you softly before kissing your hairline.

Daemon still stood on the end of the table staring, unsure of what to do, whilst Jacaerys was behind you. Rhaena and Baela stood to the side with Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys.

Rhaena caught your eye, and suddenly the tide was back.

Her posture was far too stiff as she stood to the side, and her eyes were stormy and dark. Not only had she lost her cousin, she had lost her betrothed. Someone she had loved and grown with. Laughed and shared memories with.

Planned a future with.

“I am sorry for your loss, Rhaena.”

She looked at you sadly, before looking away. Baela held onto her hand tightly as she watched you.

“My condolences, cousin.” She uttered to you, her voice quiet, though a simmering rage beneath it.

The quiet came again and it made you shift on your feet. Why were they all looking at you like that. You felt agitation begin to boil inside of you, until suddenly Lord Corlys spoke to you.

“Only my granddaughter could escape away from the Red Keep, full of guards, surrounded by enemies, only to find her way back on a ship with not one, but two Dornish men.” He gave you a smirk.

“I must admit, the dungeon was empty when I escaped.” You gave him a small smile.

Daemon's eyes followed your every movement as you stood beside the table with your family, your knights and guards in the corners of the room.

“I can see you all have questions, but are either too polite, or too frightened to ask me in fear that I may break. I can assure you, if I was to break, I would have done so already. So I ask you to please, stop looking at me as if I am about to fall apart.” You snipped.

Jacaerys lowered his head and no-one replied which made you more mad.

“I did not survive as I have just for you all to cast me aside, thinking I am weak. Broken. Too fragile to assist.”

“Syndor is dead.” The Rogue Princes voice was sharp.

You felt another piece of you die alongside Lucerys. Your heart cracked and a broken sob almost worked its way up your throat. And although you knew in your heart that he was, and that when you fell you witnessed the fight begin, you had still kept out some small piece of hope.

Taking a breath you sniffed and nodded. Rage bubbled within.

“I assumed as much. Have the other dragons been claimed yet?”

Your father titled his head at you, jutting his hip out, hand lazily rested on the hilt of his blade.

“No.”

“Good.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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bakuliwrites · 2 years

Text

Silver Scars, Chapter 2: Sorrow

Rating: 18+ (for future chapters), Minors DNI!!!!!

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

Fandom: Castlevania (Netflix)

Relationships: Alucard/Narrator, Alucard/OC

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, End of Season 3 Spoilers, POV First Person, Eventual Spice, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Trust Issues, Blood, Sumi and Taka, Adrian Tepes, Narrator OC, Depression, Grief

Chapter Summary: With Sumi and Taka gone, the palace feels emptier than ever. Adrian seems emptier than ever. Read here or on my AO3

Empty

In the weeks that follow, Adrian is distant. He slinks around the castle, pilfering bottles of wine from the cellar and creeping back to his room. At night, I watch him stumble down the palace steps and into the forest. He always comes back with a kill, some wretched night creature from somewhere nearby. When I’m able to join him, I witness how much his fighting style has suddenly changed. His motions, once calculated and agile, have become sloppy and reckless. He reminds me of an animal, trapped in a corner, swiping desperately at its captors. He seems so lost, so distant.

Every time I pass our front entryway, I shiver. The corpses of monstrous beings just keep piling up, impaled as gruesome warnings to anyone who dares to stray too close. But the ones that disturb me the most are the two bodies, fragile and human, that stand to either side of the entryway. Withering, desiccated guards of a desolate castle. I don’t like that they’re there, but I know Adrian needs to grieve and process in whatever way he needs. Still, it seems unlike him to keep around these reminders of such a traumatic event. It seems so very much like his father.

The castle feels emptier than ever before. Adrian feels emptier than ever. When I actually get a moment with him, it’s as if he’s not there. Like his soul is somewhere else and has left behind a vessel filled with sorrow and anger. He’s not ready to talk about it and that’s fine. I give him his space. But I wish I could do something. I wish there was some way I could show him that I’m here, other than acting as a silent presence that greets him in passing through the halls. He doesn’t want company, he says. He doesn’t need company. But I can see the emptiness, the loneliness, the devastation in his gilded eyes.

I leave him be. I give him space. But it pains me to no end.

Dolls

I discover the little cloth dolls as I’m tidying up the kitchen one day. They’re tucked behind a jar of sugar, hidden high up where no one would really find them unless they were looking. They’re lovingly made, if not a bit crude. It’s Sypha, Trevor, and I. The sheen on their little button eyes reflect Adrian’s loneliness, the sorrow he exuded as he painstakingly sewed them on. I didn’t realize how deeply our absences affected him. It dawns on me now why he became so attached to Sumi and Taka so quickly. There’s a hollow in my chest where guilt and sadness well. Adrian wasn’t about to stop me from assisting my friend. He’s not clingy or possessive like that, and I know he doesn’t fault me or Trevor or Sypha for leaving him alone. But it pains me to know how isolated he was.

I hear footsteps in the hallway outside the kitchen. Swiftly, I wipe away the tears that have gathered in the corners of my eyes and tuck the dolls back into their hiding place. I start clearing down the table just as Adrian enters, looking for another bottle of wine.

Silence

I find Adrian sitting on the palace steps one night. The moon is a devilish sliver in the sky. Stars peek out from behind ashen storm clouds and the air is heavy with oncoming rain.

“Come inside, Adrian,” I try softly, standing aways back. His gilded hair hangs disheveled and limp around his face. His hands are shaky as he gazes sorrowfully down at them. He looks a wreck and, from here, I can smell the waft of alcohol on him, a heady and unpleasant perfume.

“Adrian?” I venture once again, a little louder this time. I know he can hear me, but he says nothing. My shoulders slump and a deep sigh escapes my lips. I take a seat beside him just as a crack of lightning floods the sky with a sickly purple. Thunder resounds through the heavens, cacophonous and foreboding. Adrian is staring down at his hands, a haunted look in his eyes. There are no tears in them, but I can tell that he’s been crying from the irritated blood vessels that bloom across his pale sclera. His hands are clean, but I know that all he can see on them is Sumi and Taka’s blood. His father’s blood.

I place my hand on his arm, hoping to draw him out of his troubled thoughts. His skin is cold beneath my touch, colder than usual. I slip off my robe and drape it over his shoulders. He hums in thanks, still lost in his own mind. We sit in silence and watch as the storm rolls in, dark clouds weighty overhead. At some point, Adrian leans his head against my shoulder, eyes focused now on the pillars of bodies that surround the front entrance. I press a lingering kiss to the top of his head, lips brushing against the soft strands of his flaxen hair. My eyes fall shut as unwilling tears slip down my cheeks. Seeing Adrian this deeply hurt is more than I can bear. And I can’t even imagine what he’s going through.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you,” I whisper, a notion I’ve been wanting to express for a while, one I haven’t been able to. It’s been so hard to talk to him. He hasn’t wanted me around. This is the first time we’ve had a moment together since everything happened. His voice sounds scratchy and distant when he responds.

“You have no reason to apologize. You were right.”

Maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t feel that way. I wasn’t that far away, right? Wouldn’t I have heard something? Adrian says it happened so fast, even if I had heard, I couldn’t have done anything. And obviously, he handled it himself. Still, to go through that alone… As for his sentiment about me being “right,” it’s hardly something I want to gloat about. It was just a feeling I had, nothing that was right or wrong. It just was.

There’s nothing more to say right now, so we fall into silence once again. The soft sighs of his breath are a comfort as the night goes on. Rain trickles gently at first before the sky breaks open and the world floods.

The next thing I know, I’m in my bed, sunlight streaming through the curtains of my room. Dew glistens on the blades of grass far below my window and the sky holds a few lingering, wispy clouds. I groggily rub my eyes and rise from my bed, confused as to how I got here. It dawns on me when I see my robe, folded up neatly on a nearby ottoman. Atop it sits a purple bellflower. Its delicate petals are velvety beneath my fingertips and pass a brightness onto me that is familiar and warm. I feel Adrian’s softness in them. I’ll press and dry the flower to remind myself that, even if Adrian never returns to himself fully, he’s somewhere in there. His kindness and gentility are not gone, even if he seems to think they are.

Sunlight

Adrian falls in step beside me, matching my pace. Raindrops cling to emerald leaves and the world feels refreshed after the storms that have rolled in from the north. Finally, we have a clear enough day to go foraging. Adrian is wordless beside me, but his eyes sparkle a bit clearer than they have these last few weeks. He seems more alert as he takes in the beautiful sunlight and twittering sound of chirping birds.

“Hmm,” he hums when we pause in a small clearing. He closes his eyes, soaking in the breeze and the sweet scent of petrichor.

“Hmm?” I return questioningly, glancing up at him. The muscles in his face relax for a moment and, for the first time in a long time, he looks at peace.

“The sun feels nice,” he mumbles, smiling softly. He looks to me, something searching in his gaze.

“Thank you for giving me space,” he goes on, pressing a small kiss to my temple before he turns to lead the way back home. It takes me a moment to get going again, but once I do, I trail along behind him. There’s a lighter step to his gait and it gives me hope. This moment is precious and I hold it close to my heart. So much more was conveyed to me in Adrian’s words, in his gaze, than one might realize. I am hopeful. I am grateful. He is healing, but I know it will take him a long time still.

Are you frightened?

Another sleepless night; but, this time, it’s not night creatures or gut feelings that are keeping me awake. It’s Adrian. He’s been a bit chattier as of late, but he still lapses into days of deep depression and silence. I don’t see him on those days, except for when I creep past his room to make sure he’s alright. Usually, he’s in a troubled slumber, sheets tangled around his body, empty wine bottles scattering the floor. When he’s not holed up in his room, he might make some conversation, but it usually dwindles to nothing and he escapes my company as quickly as he can. I don’t want to keep bothering him, but I want him to know that I’m here if he needs me. Even just for quiet company.

Tonight, I feel a false sense of hope. He and I went for a small walk through the forest and he talked about maybe taking the corpses down. But when we returned to the castle, his mood darkened and he retreated to his room.

I give up once again on trying to sleep. I glide through the palace hallways, the hem of my billowing robe fluttering out behind me as I make my way down flights of stairs and dimly lit corridors. I feel like a spectre, wispy and quiet as I try my very best to retreat to the library unnoticed. Maybe some light reading will distract me.

As I descend the final set of stairs, I notice a warm strip of light pouring out from under the library doors. I let my fingertips graze the handle, hesitating for a moment, listening to see if I can hear sounds of life inside. It’s hard to make out anything other than the jovial crackle of a fire in the hearth, so I take a risk and push the heavy set of doors open. It takes more effort than I’d care to admit, but I quickly catch my breath when I see Adrian at the mahogany desk in the center of the room. The library echoes with each crinkle of the pages in his hands. He flips carefully through a weathered tome, onion-skin pages held delicately between elegant fingertips. I make note of his calculated and purposeful motions. It feels like a small return to the old Adrian. He doesn’t lift his gaze as I enter, my footsteps sounding softly as I pad across the cold floor.

“You’re up rather late,” he mumbles, low voice startling me as I approach.

“I could say the same for you,” I return gently, pulling my robe closer about my chest. I suddenly feel shivery. Nervous, even. Not of Adrian, but of where conversation could lead. Or perhaps there will be no conversation, as usual, I think, moving towards one of the velvet loveseats and seating myself down on the soft cushions. The fire is warm against my skin, welcome on this cold night.

Furtively, I glance towards the dhampir. The hollows under his eyes are dark and his face more gaunt than it’s ever looked. Shadows have nestled themselves under the angles of his cheekbones. I’ve seen the empty wine bottles still scattered about his room. I’ve witnessed the darkness that passes across his face when he storms past the gruesome warning he’s set out in front of the castle. I can feel his pain penetrate his soul and radiate out like a dark beacon. When he returns home each night, his hands are stained with the blood of night creatures; but the permanence of his father’s blood, of Sumi and Taka’s blood, far outweighs anything else. He still looks at his palms as if they are the Devil’s own.

I’ve tried my best to give him his space, but I so desperately want to comfort him. To be a gentle presence in his tumultuous life. We used to spend hours chatting and laughing when we traveled with Sypha and Trevor, and before I left on my travels. When Adrian smiles, it brightens the whole world. But I feel as if I haven’t seen that smile in such a long time, and for good reason. I caught a glimpse of it again when we went foraging a couple weeks ago, but that was an eternity ago, it seems. So long ago, in fact, I wonder if I’ve forgotten what his smile looks like. And every time I try to tell him that I’m here for him, that he’s not alone, I’m met with a pitying look and unending silence.

“Couldn’t sleep?” his voice suddenly sounds from across the room. I turn to face him, though he’s made no motion to stop whatever it is he’s doing.

“No,” I return quietly, shifting awkwardly in my spot, “You?”

He chuckles ruefully and I feel my heart flood with hope. That’s the first laugh I’ve heard in a while, even if it is somewhat sarcastic.

“The shrieking of night creatures isn’t exactly a pleasant lullaby,” he returns, impatiently flipping to another page in his book. He frowns at it before shutting the tome with a loud thud and sliding it across the table.

“What were you reading?” I venture quietly, leaning my head against the seat back and watching as he sets his hands down on the table.

“I honestly don’t even know,” he sighs, gilded hair falling in front of his eyes, a curtain that blocks his face from me, “I’m just trying to distract myself, I suppose. I’ve not been sleeping well at all.”

His shoulders slump defeatedly, head hung in sorrow. I’m desperate to wrap my arms around him, hold him close and tell him that he’s safe. That he isn’t a monster. That he’s not going to turn into his father. But instead, I sit huddled on the couch, waiting for Adrian to make his next move.

“Mind if I join you?” he questions, his voice so quiet, it takes me a moment to process what he’s asked.

“N-No! I don’t mind at all,” I manage to sputter, burying myself further into my seat to make room for my companion. He doesn’t sit beside me, however, opting to plop down on the fur before the hearth. I notice that he makes sure to rest an arm on the cushion beside me, close but not too close. We sit in silence for a little while longer. My eyes trace the red, painful scars that run the length of his body like tendrils of ivy. The injury from his father in the center of his chest is paler than the more recent wounds, but no less prominent.

“I- I need to ask you something,” Adrian’s voice falters, his piercing gaze meeting mine. The shimmering gold of his eyes is filled with fear and grief. I furrow my brows, my forehead crinkling with worry and heart skipping a beat.

“Are you-” he tries, eyes searching, waiting for me to answer his unspoken question so he doesn’t have to ask it, “Are you afraid of me? Since- After what happened with- with-”

“Sumi and Taka?” I finish gently. I wait for him to nod, watching as he winces with the mere mention of their names. I can tell he’s replaying that memory over and over in his mind.

“No,” I reassure, heart aching over the idea that I’d be scared of him or that I might think any less of him, “I know you did what you needed to do. They were going to kill you. I-”

I would have done the same, I want to say, but I can’t. Because I don’t know what I would’ve done and I won’t speculate on that. All I know is that I’m not scared of Adrian. I’m not upset with him. I know he did what he needed to do and not because he’s some kind of monster.

“You’ve watched me kill people that are important to me. Or people I thought were important to me. How could you not be terrified?” he tries to reason, but his logic falls flat.

“I don’t live in fear of you killing me because I’m close to you, Adrian,” I return, reaching my hand out and resting it gently on his arm, “I don’t live in fear of you at all. You’ve always been kind and gentle to me. Nothing has changed. I love you just as much as I did before. That won’t ever change.”

He whips his gaze up at me, bewilderment glittering in his gold eyes. I slide off the couch in order to sit beside him, taking his hand in mine and giving it a small squeeze.

“You are gentler than you know. Kinder than you realize,” I begin with a small smile, meeting his astonished gaze, “What was done to you was wrong. But you are not a monster. And-”

I pause, searching Adrian’s exhausted face, watching as his mind tries to process my words. I know what he’s really worried about. I can see it written in his eyes.

“You’re not your father,” I finish, tucking a strand of his flaxen hair behind his ear, “You’re still out there, every night, fighting night creatures. Making sure the world is a safer place for everyone. Counteracting everything your father brought about.”

“I’m impaling bodies on stakes outside my castle. That seems pretty like my father, if you ask me,” he returns, smiling ruefully.

“Well-” I pause, not quite sure at first how to rebuttal that, “It certainly keeps people away.” I trail off, frowning to myself. He flashes a small smile at me and gives a low chuckle.

“Like I said, you’re out there fighting night creatures. Not bringing more into the world,” I reason with a shrug, “You’re not committing genocide or seeking vengeance on humanity. Humanity is part of you.”

I press my hand over his heart and can feel its powerful, wild thrum. Its beat is strong and rhythmic.

“Your mother gave that to you,” I muse aloud, thinking about the power of Lisa’s love. Love so powerful it brought warmth to Dracula, himself. Love so immense it softened him.

“Your father did, too,” I go on, hand lingering above his heart, “His love for your mother gave you this. This strength, this vitality, this kindness. It gave you guilt and humility, loneliness and sorrow, happiness and trust. It gave you love.”

Our eyes meet, something voltaic hanging in the air. Time is frozen in this moment and the world stills to nothing. Adrian looks bewildered as I breathe my next sentence, “You are made of love.”

Something unspoken passes between our eyes, deep and powerful, cherished and loving. It’s another moment before we can breathe again; and when we finally do, I have to catch my breath. I can see the glimmer of tears in Adrian’s eyes. He squeezes my hand tight and holds it against his chest.

“You trusted Sumi and Taka, because they didn’t give you any reason not to,” I smile, “Because they showed you kindness and joy. Your mother would have been proud of you for being so welcoming. And maybe part of you wanted to be like your father, welcoming Lisa into his castle. You were betrayed, and that’s not your fault. It’s not your fault they tried to kill you. And it’s not your fault you defended yourself.”

Adrian hangs his head, tears beginning to stream down the sharp angles of his cheeks. I swiftly wipe them away with the pad of my thumb, cupping his face in my hands and pressing my forehead to his.

“You can take as much time as you need to grieve and to process,” I go on with a small smile, letting my eyes flutter shut as he and I remain forehead-to-forehead, “I’ll still be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Adrian wraps his arms around me, shuddering breaths muffled by my body, tears soaking my nightclothes. I hold him close, running my fingers through his locks until he hushes into an undisturbed slumber. This is the most progress we’ve made over these weeks. This is the most he’s spoken to me. Has he been avoiding me this whole time because he’s worried I’m afraid of him? He needed his own time to grieve, but I need him to know that I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.

So we remain locked in an embrace. My eyes begin to droop, Adrian’s soft breathing lulling me to sleep. Here, in my arms, Adrian is safe and I try to convey this with every beat of my heart.

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #adrian fahrenheit tepes #alucard x oc #dani writes #alucard castlevania #adrian tepes

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danikatze · 1 year

Note

For the CR meme: 30, 33, 35

30 What is your favorite theory or headcanon that has absolutely no bearing on the plot and isn't important at all, but which is completely compliant with canon?

Oh gosh that's a difficult question. There are certain fandoms I have an infinite amount of hc and theories for, but I don't have any that I can think of for CR. Looking around in my CR tag I did get reminded of all the wild theories around Bolo from EXU Calamity and I love each and everyone of them hahah. Well I guess imagining that Yussa has (had) a mullet at some point is a hc that is not important at all, and golly do I like the drawings that I made of that x)

33 You may ask any member of the cast one, and only one lore clarification question. What do you ask?

Hmmm I'm usually a wait-and-see kind of person.. I certainly don't have C3 lore questions, because of all that might still be revealed. Nor any C1, because while I like it well enough I'm not that interested. When it comes to C2 I'm especially looking forward to Fjord and Molly's origins comics, and there is a chance I might get the Nine Eyes of Lucien next weekend (we're celebrating Sinterklaas in the Netherlands, which means exchanging gifts and I asked for the book 🤞If I don't get it, I'll probably buy it myself lol)

I'm not expecting an Essek Origins comic, and I would definitly love to know more about Den Thelyss and about Verin in particular. Matt has dropped little snippets about his relationship with Essek and it sounds delightful and kind of heartwarming? I wanna know more about his dynamic with Essek growing up, but also as adults. So yeah I guess I would ask Matt about Verin.

Wait wait wait, speaking of Den Thelyss: my real question is about Essek. HOw is Essek not consecuted. WHat's the story, Matt?? Isn't it too important for his den to just accept a "no thanks" from him? Did he "too busy, maybe later" it for so long until his den just gave up? Did he fake it? If so: how do you fake a consecution ritual that takes an entire day? As far as I'm aware he lies about it to everyone, so can I assume he lies about it to his den too?

I also think it's a curious coincidence that Essek didn't receive a consecuted soul when he was born in the first place. I mean it makes sense that you're not guaranteed to get one when you're born because not everyone who worships the Luxon gets to be consecuted and so it's pretty much random, but it's a thought that struck me nonetheless while listening to c2e91 again a few days ago.

This answer was a bit of a ride, sorry hahah.

35 You can set the time and place of the next EXU series, but it cannot be within 100 years of the Calamity nor Divergence. When and where do you set it?

I have a weakness for creatures that are commonly viewed negatively, shown in a different light. So the Mighty Nein's introduction to Xhorhas will always be one of my favourites, and I would be very interested in seeing a mini campaign take place in Asarius for example. That could be so much fun, especially if like half (or all) of the cast plays some type of monster: very fond of bugbears, but also a minotaur PC?! that would be so cool..

Besides that I'm also super intrigued by the lands scarred by the Calamity. It reminds me of a place in Belgium where apparently nothing would grow for a good while after. I'm never really interested in WW II stories, so many have been forced on me for educational purposes and as someone who's prone to downheartedness all they did was make me feel pessimistic. That story of the land and the animals that fled it grieving what happened there always did something to me though. It was probably barren because of the stuff the armies used to gass their enemy, but still, the idea of a cursed and/or grieving land captures my imagination.

And I don't really care when it takes place, because the reclaiming of the land around Ghor Dranas to build Rosohna came with a lot of setbacks and any stage of that process could be really good!

#replies #captainofthetidesbreath #thank you for the ask <3 #sorry it got long hahah #this is the only ask I got so might as well make the most of it lol #ask meme #long post

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spideyskrunkly · 2 years

Text

Hungry For Help (Ch3)

Fanmade Case (sorry, this is kinda short)

Characters: David Jeremiah Jones, June Shiloh, Kailin Stanford, GPD, cc suspects

Relationships: June/Jones (one sided | platonic)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of starvation, someone got drunk in the previous chapter, gun violence, toxic relationships mentioned, someone breaks down

Kailin witnesses who is quite a beast.

"So your cart was bashed?! Do you know who damaged it?!" Kailin wanted to make sure that she got her hands on whoever destroyed Quinn's ice cream cart.

"I- I saw someone but they ran off! I couldn't tell since I was just coming from the bathroom and my cart was far from the bathroom! I HAD TO RUN! MY SCARS ON MY LEG WERE KILLING ME TO RUN! THE ASSHOLE!"

"Don't worry, Quinn, Kailin and I will find whoever damaged your cart. For now, just head home. We might as well go to the park and see if there's any evide- hang on, my phone's ringing." Jones picks up his phone to find Nathan's contact. "Hello? How are you guys?"

"I'm alright. And June seems to be okay as well! Well... physically okay, I don't really know about emotionally. But he seems like he's ready to talk whenever you guys come over."

"Perfect! June's sober and we got a crime scene."

"How about you talk to June while I head to the park? Seeing that you two act kinda sus..."

"Oh my God, SHUT UP!! You are such a little shit..."

The two separated as Jones went to June and Kailin went to the park to see what damages were occurred. She spotted a camera from the public bathrooms.

"Quinn did say he went to the bathroom. And this camera seems to have angles of everything. Might as well give this to Alex."

Jones met up with Nathan back at June's apartment.

"If he's not ready, I can come back, Nathan."

"He says he's ready. I asked. I gotta warn you however, he is REALLY upset with this case. And might have a headache from anything loud. So be gentle, okay?"

"I'm always gentle with him!"

"Still." Nathan knocked on June's bedroom door and talked not loud, but to where June can hear him. "June, Jones is here."

"Hey, Nathan. Thanks for staying here for him. If you want, you can head on out."

"Yes please. As much as I care for June, my snake might die without me." Nathan grabbed his bag. "Hey, let me know if you need me back here for him, okay?"

"Not at all, but please. You deserve this. I appreciate it, man."

Nathan nodded and left. Jones closed the door and heard the bedroom door open.

"Is... is he gone?"

"... Yeah."

June settled some tea for him and Jones and stayed in the bedroom. He or Nathan must have tidied up cus before was a mess.

"I'm sorry, David. Did... did I say anything stupid?"

"You were just being a dork. Other than that, no, you're alright. But you kinda wouldn't let us go before we got Nathan to watch you."

"Fuckkkk...." June rubbed his head. "How's... the case so far?"

"We got a few bit of evidence and some leads, but other than that, it's going a little slow."

"Hopefully it's one more evidence.... do I fit the description?"

"Unless if you own a white shirt, no." He didn't wanna tell him that he almost does.

"Yeah. Makes my tiddies see through."

"Oh, god. I remember. "

"Well, it's true!" June let out a soft giggle. But then it just went back to him being upset. "I really am sorry. It's... just my brother. The last time we've ever talked was before I left for Grimsborough and he said he was proud of me, soldier or not. And I always hoped that one day, I could go back to my hometown and bring him here. But now, that is gone an- and he's..." June held his head in pain and frustration. "Fucking hangovers..."

"I really am sorry for your loss, June. And I promise you, when all this is over, you will have time to grieve."

"And the worst part is that I see him here in Grimsborough..." tears started to fall out of his eyes. "And I-I promised Carlos from a very young age that- that I'd protect him no matter what..."

"Carlos? Is that your older brother?"

June looked up at Jones and started to cry harder. "Both of my brothers are gone now!! My promise to Carlos is GONE! I FUCKED UP!!" He was holding his head in great pain from sadness and frustration as tears fell out. "I'M SO SORRY SHENG! I'M SO SORRY, CARLOS!"

Jones embraced June like it was the end of the world. "I'm terribly sorry for both of your losses. And I promise you, I'll find the asshole who did this."

June thought for a second. "Did... did you guys find out where he lived?"

"We did. In the apartments. We even checked. "

"I know that I'm a suspect for the case, but I think you guys should check again and see if anyone else that had access over there. Or if anything, check if he had personal connections."

Jones did like that idea. "I'll tell Kailin."

"Thank you, David. And again, I'm- I'm really sorry about that whole strawberry wine thing. Again."

"Hey, quit apologizing. I understand. I just hate seeing you drunk."

Jones stood up and headed for the door. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be alright. I just... need some time alone."

"Not a problem."

Kailin and Jones met up again to go back to Sheng's apartment.

"So he said that he had another sibling that died? That's fucked up...."

"Yes, but don't say anything, please. He's not in his best."

Kailin and Jones made it to the apartment only to,find Anquezze there. "Hey lady?! This is a crime scene!"

"And?! I'm supposed to be here, this is much my,home as it was Sheng's! We lived here together!"

Kailin looked at Anquezze. "Go ahead, Jones. I'm gonna have a word with her." Jones headed in while Kailin and Anquezze were outside of Sheng's apartment.

"What were you doing here, Anquezze. Wasn't it obvious that this is a crime scene?!"

"Am I supposed to be homeless?! No! Look, I promise I'll pay the bills here."

"Fuck it. ... Have you been having the best relationship with Sheng? Another suspect said you haven't been acting in love with him lately."

"Well, we can't always be in love! He's literally just more focused on his job and his friends! I gotta entertain myself somehow."

"... nice scars you got on your arms..."

"Gym's been fun."

Kailin and Anquezze looked at eachother with much hatred. "Miss, I suggest you leave unless you wanna get cuffed the fuck up."

Anquezze looked with more hatred and gripped her fists, but chose to leave. Kailin was so irritated at her and decided to continue the investigation.

Jones was watching from the room. "Damn, feisty."

"Shut up. Find anything?"

"A bitch walking away from your dead stare. Other than that, nothing."

"We might as well wait for Alex back at GPD then."

Alex called the duo to the lab.

"So I managed to find what happened to Quinn's cart and honestly, it was damaged by the killer. Bitch move, I would have wanted some ice cream."

"Exactly!" Kailin was also annoyed. "And they're delicious!"

"Besides the point, how'd you know it was the killer?"

"Because I looked at the description of the killer is that it fitted perfectly! But then I also noticed a detail..."

Jones and Kailin leaned closer for the reveal.

"I noticed how there were scars on their arms. I checked with Nathan and he confirmed that Sheng does not have scars on his arms."

"So our killer wears scars! Perfect!"

The two made it to Jones room to fit the killer with the suspects.

June had no white shirt. Nope.

Quinn has scars, but they're on his torso. And other than him having playboys and scars, no.

Jack drinks wine and has a white shirt, but it doesn't say he's the killer.

"So our full lead is...."

"Anquezze Robert. I knew it! It's always the lover!"

"Kailin Stanford, it was an honor to be your partner for this case."

"As it was yours, David Jones."

Suddenly, the door slammed open. Ramirez was panting feom stress.

"Ramirez? Is everything okay? We're about to arrest the killer!"

"ANQUEZZE! ANQUEZZE IS THE KILLER!!"

"Yeah we know-"

"THERE WAS A CALL FROM GRIMSBOROUGH APARTMENT BUILDING 5 AND SPOTTED ANQUEZZE ROBERT!!"

"Wait, but that's not Sheng's apartment, that's... OH NO."

June was back in his apartment when he heard a door open.

"Hello? David?"

... No answer.

"Did he leave my door unlocked again."

June went to check outside his bedroom and saw his door open.

As he went to close it, a cloth went over his mouth.

"HRK!" "DON'T MOVE."

June was struggling to breathe with the cloth on his mouth.

"CRAZY BITCH!" Anquezze had a tight grip onto the cloth to where June couldn't escape which ended him up onto a chair. As he struggled to breathe, Anquezze quickly handcuffed his hands to each side of the chair before he regained focus again.

"Don't worry Shiloh. I'll try to make this death painless, unlike how I did your brother's."

June was having a hard time with focusing on the present and struggled to get out of the handcuffs once he caught his breath. His eyes turned from amber to dark orange once again as the white in his eyes turned to grey.

Anquezze was about to lock the door until someone kicked it in.

"Anquezze Robert, you're under-!" Jones, Ramirez and Kailin made it just in time to June's rescue.

"Well, look who it is, June! Your boyfriend and his little 'hippie group'." She hissed the word hippie at Kailin.

"Ay- FUCK YOU!"

Unlike Jones and Kailin, Ramirez tried to talk her out of it. "Ma'am, please, let our friend go! He's not worth you having more years."

"Do you know he's the reason why Sheng would never focus on me?! HUH?! THIS SHITHEAD IS THE REASON WHY MY BOYFRIEND USED ME!" She sounded hurt.

"What- what do you mean?!" Jones was confused.

"Oh- you thought Sheng was an innocent dude, huh?! Well, I oughta give you assholes a storytime. Sheng and I were deeply in love, we were supposed to be together! But then he wanted to go here to Grimsborough to see how 'strong' his brother is!!" Of course she gestured at June. "I didn't want to leave. I needed to stay with my family, my mother who was sick. But he gaslighted me saying 'YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ME, YOU JUST CARE ABOUT YOUR FUCKING FAMILY!!' so I went with him. But then, a week ago, I received news that... my mother passed away." She shedded some tears from her grief.

"So why didn't you break up with him! Why leave him to starve?!"

"I TRIED! BUT THE PIG STARTED HITTING ON ME AND I- I LOST IT, SO I... I took the bat... and I killed him." She did look like she regretted it. "But JUNE! JUNE WAS THE ONE WHO CAUSED US HARM! THAT IS WHY HE'S NOT SEEING LI-"

Chains started to break. Jones put his gun down, but not in his holster. "You... you might wanna back up."

Anquezze looked behind her to see June.

Not just June though.

A man, with sick eyes and cuffs around his bruised wrists and teeth, looking humane yet disgustingly sharp.

"Holy shit..."

June grabbed his gun off the counter and grabbed Anquezze before she could run away to a threatening gun position.

"STUPID BITCH, I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!!"

"JUNE, WAIT!"

June looked up to the three as he held the terrified woman.

"June. Put the gun down, man."

"SHE KILLED MY BROTHER AND TRIED TO KILL ME!!"

"We know!" Kailin stepped closer.

"Kailin, get back here!" Jones called to Kailin, but couldn't stop her.

"We know she tried to kill you. But if you kill her, June, you're gonna be the one in trouble, not her!"

June started to realize the situation and what he was about to do. He started to breathe hard and started shaking.

"June, please. We're here for you." Ramirez joined in in Kailin's protest.

Jones realized that this was their way of getting June to put the gun down. He put his own gun away in his holster and stepped foward to June. "All of us."

June noticed that tears were falling down and immediately dropped the pistol and let Anquezze go. Anquezze scrambled to Ramirez, who immediately put the handcuffs on her. "Let's go, Kailin. June needs a minute."

Kailin followed Ramirez with Anquezze out of the room.

Jones got closer to June and checked if it was okay to touch him. With June breaking down, he immediately rushed into David's arms.

"Shhhhh, shhhhh.... it's going to be okay. Let it all out. Breathe with me okay? Breathe in... breathe out.... breathe in...."

As Jones proceeded the breathing procedure, June followed along, knowing that he was safe with him.

"I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry David...."

"Shhhhhhh..... you did nothing wrong. You noticed your whereabouts. You thought before shooting. You chose to not hurt anyone. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I'm a fucking mess...."

"Calm down. Breathe in.... breathe out....."

Judge Hall shushed the people in the room as she focuses on Anquezze.

"Ms. Anquezze Robert, you are being tried for the murder of Sheng Shiloh, the kidnapping and attempted murder of Captain June Shiloh and for damage on business property."

"Please, it was an ice cream cart."

"Do you plead guilty or innocent, Ms. Robert?"

"Guilty as shown. You have the proof."

"If you were in a toxic relationship, why didn't you report him?"

"He wouldn't let me! He'd find out and then he'd guilt trip me saying 'You don't love me! You never have!!'"

"Although I excuse your feelings, I cannot excuse your actions. That is why, Ms. Robert, I am sending you to prison for life with no chance of parole. Court is adjourned!"

"Fine by me. I have not much of a purpose anymore here anyways."

June went on break for half a month. Kailin was awarded for her bravery by allowing her a $2000 gift card at GameStop.

June and David hung out for a while back at his place. David made sure to go over a few times and see how June was doing. June didn't mind.

"So... I know this may be too soon, but..." David pulled out the book from his bag that him and Kailin found at Sheng's place. "I thought you should have this. We held onto it during the case, but I thought of giving it to you after. You don't have to read it immediately."

"His... book here in Grimsborough?" June looked up to David with a warm smile. "Thank you, David."

David nodded with ease to see June be calmer despite his grumpy attitude. But June wasn't grumpy or being mean this time, he was being... genuine.

"I think I'd not go through it yet. But maybe I'll have the strength one day."

"Not a problem. We have all the time in the world."

Ch3/Fanfic end

#criminal case #david jeremiah jones #june shiloh #alex turner #nathan pandit #eduardo ramirez #grace delaney #chief king #grimsborough #cc suspect #sheng shiloh #hungry for help #kailin stanford

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kiridarling · 3 years

Text

"𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐒."

izuku midoriya | friends older brother!izuku + college student!reader + f!reader + squirting + size kink + more! minors dni! does this count? as dark content?

— 2.4k words

"It's simple: I'll stuff you full with two fingers, but they only do what simon says. Understand?"

“[Y/N?]”

“Uh, hey Izuku!” You smile, grip tightening around the strap to your bag. Izuku fills the doorway, broad shoulders kissing both sides of the frame, and you can’t help but feel minuscule in comparison. “Kota around?”

Izuku shakes his head, peering over his shoulder for a second before returning his attention to you with a click of his tongue. "Uh, no I think he's out with Eri. They should be back soon though...it's been a few hours."

"Shit," you curse under your breath. Your friend's older brother smiles in apology, biceps straining under his white tee.

"You need something?"

"Yeah," you nod, forcing your eyes back onto his, instead of the broad chest presented at eye-level. "Just my precalc book."

Izuku waits a second, thinking, before his palm claps against the doorframe and he's walking deeper into the house. "Come on in, then! I'm sure he won't mind."

You step into the house after him, and it's...weird. Weird being with your Kota's older brother without Kota there, because despite the thousands of times you've been in your best friend's house and as well as you know the greenette, you and Izuku have never been alone.

"Find it?"

You've been rummaging through Kota's room for a solid ten minutes and somehow still empty-handed, moving slowly in fear you'll see something you can't unsee. And hey, with Kota and Eri dating, anything's possible.

"No," you sigh, ready to give up rather than find a strap-on. "It's fine. I can just come to get it tomorrow or something."

"How soon do you need it?" The greenette asks, his forearms leaning against his younger brother's dresser. You take a seat on Kota's comforter instead, silently hoping you'll find your book by accidentally breaking your tailbone against the damn thing; you're a little disappointed when all your ass comes in contact with is a plush mattress.

"Like, tonight," you grieve, knowing that tomorrow morning, your math grade will suffer severely. "'S fine though. There's always another test."

Izuku snorts at that, crossing the room to take a seat next to you. The bed whines under his weight but doesn't collapse, and you feel a little bad to say you're surprised. Voice full of reminiscence, he sighs, "Ah, the college days."

You giggle, "You act like they're lightyears behind you."

"They might as well be," the greenette shrugs, before reaching behind your waist to steal a pillow. "Couldn't tell you a thing I learned."

You shrug trying to remember the last time you’ve felt prepared for a test, “Neither can I.”

Izuku chuckles and nods, though you’re convinced it’s because he has nothing to say. An awkward silence takes possession of the room by the neck, and you shift awkwardly, unsure of what to say that could give you an excuse to leave, or at least redirect his strange yet heavy gaze. As Izuku licks his lips, you notice how close you two actually are, as he's big to the point where your shoulders almost brush, but not quite.

"How um, hows your boyfriend?"

You scoff at that, but you suppose it's been a while since you and the greenette have talked one on one—and the last time you had, you weren't single.

"Oh uh, he's fine, I guess," you brush it off with a shrug and a wave, cringing at the thought of how that ended. "I don't know. We broke up a while ago, so."

"Oh sorry!" Izuku flushes and throws a hand over his mouth, and you giggle.

"You're fine. He was an asshole anyway," you chuck a laugh, but it's not really that funny. Frankly, he's left too many emotional scars to count, along with the ones healing from past exes. "I...don't have a good reputation when it comes to picking boyfriends."

“So, I’ve heard—no offense,” he says sheepishly, though you don't blame him. You've definitely had a few surprise visits caused by a nasty break-up or two, knowing this is the place you'll probably find both of your best friends hiding out. When Izuku speaks again, it’s borderline awkward as his eyes dart around the room, cheeks puffed and lips pursed in apprehension. “Found...anyone new?”

You frown, “Anyone new.”

“Yeah!” Izuku exclaims, and it’s almost encouraging. “Like a new boyfriend.”

“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Um, no. Like I said, I don’t have much luck with that type of stuff.”

Izuku snorts, rolling his eyes before he’s adjusting himself to lay on the pillow, half of his body upright. “I bet you do. You might not realize it, but you do.”

Now it’s your turn to snort and roll your eyes, leaning back on your hands with a huff. "You're just being nice, Izuku."

"No, seriously!" He props himself higher so you can see he really is serious, evergreen eyes locked and deadset, "Like—okay, and this might be a TMI or something, but how do they, y'know, and then be dicks, y'know?"

"They don't."

"They don't...what?"

"They don't...make me cum," you heave with great depression, despite the seemingly surface-level complaint. With wrists tightening around your ankles, you hate uncomfortably in the silence, and watch Izuku's mouth open and close, before it opens and closes again.

"Like...never?"

"No." You give him a weird look.

"But what about your last boyfriend? I thought he—"

"I don't know what you're looking for, Izuku," you chuckle, shaking your head. The greenette seems more pained than he is shocked, eyes wide with a big fat pout in place of a neutral face. "It's not like I haven't had an orgasm before. Just...not with someone else."

"That's not the same!" Izuku defends, slowly becoming more animated than you've ever seen him. "It's like...more passionate with another person, you know? And that makes everything a whole lot hotter."

"Thanks," you huff, mood souring more than it already has. Izuku's mouth stills once he realizes what he's essentially bragging, guilt clouding his face. As you exhale out of your nose, you can't escape feeling bad for snapping. "Look. I'm perfectly fine with being the only person to be able to make myself cum. It's not that deep."

"You sound like you expect no one to be able to," Izuku snorts with a raised eyebrow, shoulders bumping against yours. "You've just...had bad boyfriend luck. That doesn't mean no one's capable of doing it."

"Well," you click your tongue bitterly, because you've heard all of this before, and you're utterly tired of hearing it. "They've been able to make all their exes orgasm. And it's not like it even matters, relationships aren't abou—"

"I could do it."

"I—" you blink, shaking your head at the pure audacity of his request? Suggestion? Comment? Whatever the fuck. "Excuse me?"

"I—wait, listen," Izuku rushes like you're getting ready to book it the fuck out of there, sitting upright so his body is turned to yours. "You're...it's...I've been told I'm good with my fingers, right?"

And what a way to start a story.

"Izuku, in the nicest way, every guy is like this," you scoff, "He thinks he's all that just because a chick or two said you made her feel really good. I don't need to fake another orgasm."

"You won't have to," Izuku purrs cockily, leaning forwards on his hands and making you wonder where all of this is coming from. "Let's play a game of simon says, yeah?"

"Simon—" your chest collapses with a giggle of pure disbelief, "I'm not that much younger than you, you know."

"I wouldn't be offering if you were," the greenette reasons, eyes growing dark slowly, if any. "Yes or no?"

"What's the catch?" You bargain and Izuku huffs a laugh. You can feel it on your face.

"No catch, Pretty," he hums, and you can feel the vibrations in your fingers. "It's simple: I'll stuff you full with two fingers, but they only do what simon says. Understand?"

You gulp as Izuku lifts a hand—and a very large one, at that—and it's jagged and rough with scars and bulky knuckles. His free hand makes you grab his wrist and you're fingertips barely touch, but you’re pulling his hand south by your own volition.

“Gotta take your pants off first,” he chuckles, and you flush red. That would be helpful, yes.

It doesn't take long before they're off though, flung towards a corner somewhere—and this is when you realize that maybe, you shouldn't do this on Kota's bed.

"Izuku maybe we shoul—"

But before you can say anything else, he's pushing your panties to the side and shoving both fingers into you at once, eyebrows folding as he groans under his breath from the sensation.

"So wet already? Clearly, someone likes this more than they let on."

"I—what the fuck happened to simon says!" You yelp, but his fingers don't move. Izuku just beams like the deceptive asshole he is.

"Game starts now," is all he says, and you're huffing, propping yourself up on your elbows. Izuku's fingers might as well have knocked the wind out of you, lungs struggling to find room to breathe as he curls his fingers to tap directly onto your g-spot with worrying precision.

"Simon says um, move please," you grunt out. Izuku's fingers stay still, and you frown, kicking him in the thigh. "Hey, I sai—"

"You gotta be more specific than that, Pretty,” he says with a grin. You snarl. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"I..." you start, but it's fucking embarrassing, and you know Izuku feels you twitch around him when you say: "Can you um, fuck me with your fingers."

He doesn't move.

"Simon says fuck me with your fingers, asshole," you grunt with narrowed eyes, though they widen when he starts to pump his fingers in and out, chuckling when you shiver from the dexterity.

Except, his fingers move painfully slow, and you find yourself gritting your teeth at the speed when he doesn't make an effort to go any faster. You click your tongue—he's really going to make you request everything, isn't he?

"Simon says faster," you growl with a challenge burning in your eyes, and Izuku meets them with equal fire, fingers finally forgetting their torturous pace for a much quicker one. Finally.

"Fuck! Simo—simon says right t-there," your legs spread wider and Izuku makes more room for himself in between. He hums with dark eyes as you whimper and whine his name, writhing in his younger brother's sheets like they belong to him—like you belong to him.

"I wanna touch you all the time, you know," Izuku grunts before cursing at the sight of your wetness around his fingers. "Make you feel good, make you mine. I don't think Kota would approve, though."

"We don—" you wheeze and he places a hand next to your head, towering over you. The angle only gets better, your hands digging into the sheets as Izuku's fingers curl just right. "We don't have to tell him."

Izuku chuckles at that, chest rumbling as he leans in closer to the point where your noses nearly touch. "You dirty fucking girl."

You moan at that, hips bucking into his hand. You're so close and yet you need more, something else to push you over the edge for good. With a whimper behind a bitten lip, you say, "S-Simon says rub my clit."

Izuku's thumb falls upon your clit and you squeal from the amount of initial pressure, thighs jolting from the white-hot waves that pump through your bloodstream as his thumb moves in small, ever-quickening circles that have you gripping for Kota's comforter for dear life.

"Iz—Izuku I'm gonna—g-gonna cum," you pant, and he's ripping his hands away before you can even reach a hint of the edge. You glare at him out of pure and utter betrayal, and he beams.

"Simon didn't say, did he?"

Your mouth flies open before your brain has time to process it all, "Simon says make me cum, p-please, I need to—fuck!"

Izuku's stuffing you full with his fingers in an instant and his thumb returns to its rightful place.

"Yeah? You gonna cum for me, Pretty?" His hands somehow find the energy to speed up to the point where the clap of his palm against your pussy fills the room, slowly being replaced by a lewd squelch as you tighten around him. He chuckles when all you can do is whimper, grappling for his big shoulders as he says, "Oh, yes she is. So fucking close I can feel it."

You let out a broken moan and in a blink you're squirting, body buzzing as you make a big wet mess of Kota's sheets. It doesn't even register how screwed you two are because you're too busy wading waist-deep in the sea of Izuku's eyes, chest heaving in time with his as he gives you a look of pure awe. Not at what you've done, per se, but at you, and that's when you understand it—the passion.

"We should uh, probably clean up," Izuku flushes as he chuckles, cheeks pressing into the crescents of his face, and you find yourself smiling along with him. With a final click, he pulls his fingers out, gesturing to a circular wet spot on his now see-through shirt. "You made quite a mess."

Fuck the passion.

You shove your fists into his chest and Izuku laughs, pushing your hands away with his one dry free hand, wiping the wet one on Kota's sheets.

"Izuku!" You gasp, looking at the new and improved addition to your mess. The greenette shrugs.

"What? We're going to have to clean it anyway," he shrugs before assuming the dry spot to your right and nestling his forearms in the pillow to peck you on the forehead. Then he freezes.

"I uh...am I allowed to do that?"

You roll your eyes, grabbing him by his squirt-soaked shirt to pull him into a kiss. Izuku hums at that, suppressing the urge to smile as his big hands find their way to your waist. He's an annoyingly good kisser

"No, you're not," you say with swollen lips once you pull away. Izuku grins, teeth digging into his bottom lip as his eyes flutter to yours for a moment, before they're staring into your soul again.

"I like you," he boldly states, albeit quietly, like he's talking to your eyes and nothing else. "Like, a lot."

"I—" You start, but you're interrupted by a click of a lock and the sound of the front door opening. Shit.

"Oi! We're home, Izuku!"

#— 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔 #deku smut #izuku smut #midoriya smut #bnha smut #bnha imagines

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valkyrieofedenia · 2 years

Text

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How Could A Mind Be So Cruel?

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Pairing: Kabal x GN!Reader

Warnings: angst (but what do you expect? Its me, I'm known for my angst >:P)

Summary: you grieved the man you thought you knew

Note: this was very inspired from when I was on the bus home from work and listening to Little Talks

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It's as if he was still there, with every waking eye you saw his face above you. Every little thing reminded you of the man you once loved and thought you knew so well, tears falling from your eyes with each memory. If he wasn't such an ass maybe he'd still be here.

"Morning Y/N."

You ignored him. It's not him. It's your imagination.

"Why don't you ever talk to me?"

"Because you're a figment of my imagination, Kabal."

You looked up at him, his face not scarred with burns, his hair tied back and gazing into his dark orbs that made you feel safe everytime you looked into them. Or at least they used to, now they just angered you.

"Just go away," you grumbled, turning your back from the figment of your own cruel and imaginative mind.

"Anything for you, Y/N."

You had been bed ridden for days after the attempt, the attempt on your life by a man you once thought you loved, maybe you still did? Your brain told you to hate him but your heart still longed for him. Despite the nightmares, you still reached for his side of the bed that remained empty and cold.

Your mind doing no good in your grieving, he wasn't dead however, though the part of him that you loved was certainly dead. All that Kabal had become is cruel, heartless, and obsessed with revenge. You didn't know where the romantic, suave, loving man had disappeared, you knew of his dangerous work but remained with him, if only you knew where his work would take him.

Nightmares still plagued your mind. How emotionless his eyes were, not like how they were how he used to, when he used to look at you his eyes held nothing but love, but that night. His eyes weren't his own, all there was in his eyes was anger, death, almost as if he didn't know who you were.

The hooks that dug into your skin that left your stomach scarred from the wounds. You blamed Kano, he was the one that gave Kabal the order to kill you, the lie that you had cheated. You blamed Kabal as well for believing Kano's lies, Kabal knew how loyal you are and how much you loved him.

Before he was burned, possibly he wouldn't have believed Kano's lies, pre-burn Kabal loved you and knew how loyal you were. He was confident in your relationship as you were to him,

It all changed after he was burned, he barely even touched you anymore. He constantly got angry with you when you would go anywhere without him, even something as simple as lunch with your friends would get you yelled at by him. Kabal had changed, he didn't trust you, constantly thought you were seeing someone else, but you weren't.

No, you loved Kabal, whether he was burned or not, your heart beated for him, maybe his didn't though, at least not anymore.

Despite how much your mind told you to hate him, it still reminded you constantly of him, the cruel hallucinations you had of him pre-burned, when he still loved you.

You would have done anything for Kabal, you would have murdered the entire Outworld if it came down to it. You were the only one that stayed by his side after he was burned, you devoted your life to him, he was your dream and your nightmare. Even now, you were still in love with him even after he made an attempt on your life.

You cursed Kano, wanting to see the man's head roll down the stairs of your home, his blood spilling down your hands, you wanted to hear Kano scream and beg for mercy. But that would never happen, Kano would kill you in seconds. Not even Erron had stayed on your side, your own bestfriend, he believed Kano's lies.

As much as the idea made you want to throw up, if Kabal ended up on your doorstep and begged for forgiveness and your love, you would have taken him back immediately. Kabal made your days brighter, gave you a reason to live your life again, he still did in some kind of fucked up way.

But for now, all you had was your cruel mind and yourself.

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Thank you for reading, I'm not exactly a fan of this fic but I need a break from writing a series for a bit so here's a quick oneshot. Don't forget to like and possibly reblog as it really does help me out

Taglist: @icy-spicy

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#kabal #kabal x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat kabal #mortal kombat kabal x reader #mk #mk x reader #mk kabal #mk kabal x reader

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softkuea · 2 years

Text

Once again, i'm here being a Theo apologist because it does irks me to see people calling him "selfish", "immature" or a "master of manipulation" (he is not) without much of an argument besides his maladaptive behaviour, which btw, makes perfect sense considering his family/social context and personality.

Theo is a character with many flaws, he doesn't cope well with reality so he uses fantasy as a way of avoidance and protection. His coping mechanism it is, indeed, inmature, naive and self-centered, but that doesn't make him a bad person, that doesn't mean he is doing everything with ill intentions: he is totally unware of his own harmful behaviour.

Theo's family is also not perfect and i really think the way his parents raised him has something to do with his psychological state: you can't just keep your son in a bubble until he grows up, you can't leave your son to his own devices in a different country breaking all his connections in such a early age. Theo had only one friend and that was Akk, it doesn't seem he was very social, he had a rich inner world after all, but cutting that relationship so quickly will clearly have an impact in Theo, I mean, he still was thinking of him in France and described his life there as "lonely". Also, separating a kid from his role models, the people that he looks up to for healthy coping styles, that's just not good. Theo was extremely sheltered of the raw conflicts of the world, this lead him to an idealized version of everything! love! friendship! life! So yeah, this isn't a issue of "Theo is like this or like that therefore evil" He might be rich and all, but y'know? most of the time it's the rich families the ones with more distorted family dynamics, usually involves emotional neglect or in this case, the lack of tools given by the parents to their child to confront reality (the stereotype of the spoiled brat comes in mind, however, Theo doesn't not behave like that in my view).

Let's not forget the big elephant in the room: he was struck with the dead of a love one. His first hit with reality was literally death.

If a totally mature adult with a good set of coping skills can deregulate and get destroyed by the dead of someone close to them... imagine how it must be for someone like Theo, that has none of that.

Besides, Theo has insecurities too! and a lot of them! honestly, it's extremely sad that he doubts of the love of his parents for him, but how can he not? He came from thailand and many people went to him for his status/money, everyone lied to him to keep him "happy", so who says they are not lying about loving him either?

At the same time, Theo being a only child puts a little of pressure on him to keep the family together, the reason why he took P'Sun advice.

Now, why he decided to go with his mom? I would say this is more of an emotional response, he clearly thought it was better for Akk and for his mom (different reasons): he seemed to have a more warm relationship with her and honestly, grieving another person (in the metaphorical sense) wasn't a option. I do think it wasn't the best decision, but considering Theo's character... seems about right. If I'm being honest, for me, he still needs to sort things out and therapy: there's scars left undone BUT at the end, he is getting better and i see him for what he truly is, a person with the soul of a kid, trying to survive with what little he had in terms of coping and guidance.

"Theo the manipulator" doesn't not exists for me and it never will.

#maow speaks #theo my beloved #enchante #enchante the series #if im being annoying pls tell me... it's just that i love theo:(#im repeating myself right??? but i can't stop #i searched the tag and feel like... idk... i wanted to give two cents

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stovetuna · 3 years

Note

CW: character death and Tony lack of self esteem and self preservation. Ignore if not ur jam

(¬_¬) psssttt angst time. post-Endgame Steve accidentally ending up in 616 and meets that Steve and Tony. And after failing to wrestling ANY info about why this Steve is here, 616-Tony figures out other him is dead and this Steve is taking it badly and this has Tony trying to make MCU-Steve feel better by saying something like well that me probably deserved it??? All us Tonys do (This does not make MCU feel better. Nor does it make 616-Steve very happy)

ANON MY HEART! IT CANNOT TAKE THIS! (she says as she mulls over this prompt for DAYS and even snaps out of half-sleep to write a little bit of it)...

but like, imagine it. Somehow or other Steve ends up in 616!universe—a spell of Dr. Strange’s gone awry, maybe, or a clusterfuck while returning the time stone—and he’s ended up in 616!Tony’s workshop. It’s late, he’s confused and disoriented and grieving, and he’s already making for the ratty sofa (thinking fixing this is a problem for future steve) when he realizes there’s already someone stretched out on it.

not someone. someones. together. wrapped around each other like koalas on a branch. one of them is Tony—no amount of darkness can smother that blue light, or so Steve once thought—and his heart is breaking all over again, when the person wrapped around him, partially hidden behind Tony’s shoulder, raises his head, eyes alert, and Steve realizes it’s him. Himself. Steve Rogers, from another dimension. Universe. Tony would know which.

Rogers snaps to attention and is standing and interrogating Steve and he manages to not wake Tony up the whole time. This Tony sleeps like a rock, or maybe that’s just because of Rogers, and Steve is spiraling over the fact that maybe that’s all it would have taken to make things right—better—in his own universe. He could have been brave, he could have been strong enough for both of them to walk up to Tony and ask him out, kiss him, something. Instead he lied, and hid, and ran. He’s still running. Meanwhile this taller, broader, stronger version of him chose happiness, because what else could life with Tony Stark be?

Rogers is grilling him in the semi-darkness, asking questions Steve isn’t sure he’s allowed to answer (the rules of the time heist are still fresh in his mind), but the questioning stops when Steve starts crying and asks him how long they’ve been together. If it was enough to stop their fight, and everything that happened after.

Rogers tells him they were too late to stop the Civil War, but they pulled their heads out of their asses eventually. When Steve mentions Thanos, Rogers’ face flashes recognition but not the same level of grief Steve feels like a railroad spike lodged in his heart. Whatever else has happened in this universe, Thanos hasn’t, and this Steve and Tony are together. Steve can’t stop thinking this is all just a cruel nightmare disguised as a tear in the fabric of the universe.

And then the lights come on at a dim 30%, revealing a Tony Stark who is whole and alive and very, very different from the man Steve knew. While Steve stands there poleaxed in crisis mode (Stark mentions “blue screening” which is a reference Steve does get and he hurts all the more deeply because of it), Rogers fills Stark in on what he knows about Steve, when he showed up, what they’ve talked about. When Rogers mentions Steve’s question about their relationship, something brightens in Stark’s blue eyes.

“Your universe’s Tony Stark is dead, isn’t he?”

Steve makes a sound that is something between a sob and a laugh. Of course Stark would figure it out with the least amount of information at hand. In response, Rogers grabs Stark’s hand. He’s gone deathly pale, as if the very thought of losing Tony is too terrible to imagine, and he shares a look with Stark that speaks volumes, because Stark looks just as grim. Something happened there, Steve thinks—one or the other of them died, or came close enough to put the fear of it in them for life.

And then Stark opens his mouth and says “If your universe’s Tony Stark was anything like me, and categorically speaking he probably was, he probably deserved it.”

Steve’s gut plummets because Jesus Christ, does Tony Stark not have any sense of self-worth, in any universe?? Apparently he and Rogers are the same wavelength—shocker—because he rounds on Stark with “Tony, we’ve talked about this” while Stark waves him off with a scoff.

“This isn’t low self-esteem talking, Steve—you know my track record when it comes to near death experiences. How many would you say have been the inevitable result of my own actions?”

Rogers’s face flattens. His lips and eyes narrow. “Too many.”

“Right. So am I right, or am I right?” Stark asks Steve, but Steve’s tongue has cleaved to the roof of his mouth. Of course, Tony Stark was always able to talk enough for three people, even if two of them were, technically, the same person. “He probably went down thinking he was the only one who could fix whatever was broken, walked right into a coffin he made himself, literally if not figuratively.”

Steve swallows. “Actually,” he says, thinking of the gauntlet fused to Tony’s armor, which had fused to his arm, “it was something like that.”

Steve’s eyes laser in on their joined hands, tearing up when he sees Stark squeeze Rogers’s fingers. A small touch of reassurance, stabilizing and loving, to remind Rogers he was still here. Still breathing. Still alive. The look Rogers sends Stark is so warm, so full of things Steve doesn’t have the strength to name, it threatens to shove him deeper into an already devastating downward spiral.

So of course Stark chooses that moment to look at Steve and be his usual smart self, because some things are truly universal, and Tony Stark’s intelligence and ability to read people is one of them.

“You never told him?”

Steve shakes his head. Rogers makes a small, hapless sound, like the thought of never telling Tony Stark his feelings, being with him, is too sad to consider. It is—Steve can honestly say it is, and of the two of them, Steve is the only one who has to live with the consequences of the choice he made (and made, over and over again) for the rest of his life.

Whatever nonverbal communication passes between the two men, Steve doesn’t see it. He’s too busy staring through blurry eyes at the floor of the workshop, wishing this nightmare would end so he could go back to his own universe and not have to be confronted with the life he wishes he could have had with a man who was now dead.

He’s so wrapped up in his own misery, he doesn’t register movement until two socked feet stop in front of his shoes and he looks up to see Stark standing there, eyebrows knitted in concern and wonder and, worst of all, understanding. Like he’s been where Steve is, lost and bereft, irreparably heartbroken. Did this Tony lose his Steve? How? Rogers is standing right there. But Steve has seen Stark’s expression in his own mirrored reflection every morning for the past year, and while he was never on par with Tony Stark’s genius, he could read people too. Stark knows this kind of loss as deeply as Steve does now.

“We’ll get you home first thing,” Stark tells him, but it sounds like a line to quell Steve’s nerves, which it does, and a good thing too, because Stark is moving into Steve’s personal space as he says it, breathing his air and meeting his gaze straight on. “Nod if you understand?”

Of course Stark would be considerate of Steve’s inability to speak when they’re this close. Steve nods.

“Can I give you something, Steve? If I know myself—and I do, really, even if my judgement isn’t always perfectly sound—your Tony would have wanted to give it to you himself. But life wasn’t fair to either of you, I think. Not that it ever is, but, I’d like to correct the imbalance in some small way. Is that okay?”

Steve nods before he realizes he’s doing it, like his body knows what’s coming before his brain does and he’s helpless to resist.

Logically, Steve knows this isn’t his Tony. Not because his Tony is dead—although that does play a major factor—but because this one is so unlike him. This Tony, Stark—he’s too tall, Steve’s mind supplies, too young, too broad; his hair is too dark and his eyes are too blue.

But Steve Rogers would recognize Tony Stark anywhere, in any dimension. In any universe. And if it means getting to give Tony everything he was too scared to offer him in life, even for a second—let alone getting some of it back—then so much the better.

Stark pulls him in for a kiss like it’s second nature to him. Muscle memory. But to Steve, it’s a shock to the system. Every hair on his body is standing on end. He gasps against Stark’s lips and suddenly fingers are buried in his hair, tugging him closer before he can stop and ask them if this is okay, if they know what this means to Steve, if he can actually have this.

A sob sticks in his throat as he finally musters the wherewithal to kiss back. Stark takes it handily, licking a hot, wet line across Steve’s bottom lip before Steve slants left and kisses him hard and deep, wrapping his arms around the similar-yet-unfamiliar frame. Kissing Stark, Steve realizes, makes him happy, in a profoundly genuine, comforting way he hasn’t felt in years, and the only way to express it is to wrap a hand around the back of Stark’s neck, just below the nape, and suck the moan right out of his mouth. Even if that happiness is soured by his implacable grief, he can shove that into the back of his mind long enough to luxuriate in the feeling of Stark’s tongue brushing against his soft palate, those hard, scarred workman’s hands sliding up under his shirt to splay soft across his lower back. He feels safe, and happy, and loved.

And if he imagines his Tony in Stark’s place, no one has to know. And if they did, Steve doesn’t think either of them would judge him for it. His instinct is confirmed when Steve pulls away long enough—breathing hard, just like Stark, who looks for all the world like someone who just fell off a Tilt-a-Whirl ass-backwards—to look over Stark’s shoulder at Rogers, who’s staring hungrily at both of them like he doesn’t know whether to pounce or stay put. The tent in his sweatpants speaks for itself.

Before Steve can piece two coherent thoughts together—like does he feel weird about an alternative universe version of himself being turned on by this? or does he need to stop kissing Stark before this gets out of hand? how is he supposed to get home? how is he supposed to live without this now that he’s had a taste of it?—Stark is pulling him back in for a kiss that tunes out all the noise and warms him through, tucked in the safe, quiet, happy circle of Stark’s arms.

Steve holds the man and the moment as close as he can, as long as he can, and he’s grateful, for the first time in his life after coming out of the ice, for the silence.

#stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #616 stevetony #MCU steve rogers #rachel writes fic #stevetony fic #stony fic #superhusbands fic #fic rec #superhusbands #I'M SAD BUT ALSO HOT UNDER THE COLLAR NOW THANK U ANON

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

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TMA Fanwork Appreciation Challenge: Event Week Fanworks

For @themagnuswriters fanwork apprecation challenge round two--a list of event week fics that I've really enjoyed!! I have a lot of favorites, so I've tried to whittle it down to one fic per event. There are still quite a few fics, so you can find the list below the cut!

As To Be Understood | jonmartin, rated G | Ao3: SupposedToBeWriting | tumblr: @organchordsandlightning | event: Archival Pride

Fleeing from unimaginable terror in a cargo van, Jon and Martin take a moment to collect themselves. Martin examines himself and his connection to the Lonely, as well as what Jon means to him.

I would be remiss if I didn't recommend at least one fic from Archival Pride! Every single fic created for it has been wonderful, but I really liked this one in particular because of the way it deals with both Martin's experience with the Lonely and his own feelings with his grayromanticism 💚🤍🖤

A Survival Received | jonmartin, rated G | Ao3: cuttooth | tumblr: @cuttoothed | event: Jonmartin Week 2021

Martin takes Jon’s hand—the burned one—in his, and presses it to the pale, silvery scar on the right side of his belly.

“When you see this scar, does it remind you of the fact that my appendix burst when I was twelve and I almost died?”

Jon and Martin talk about their scars.

I have a lot of feelings about fics that discuss Jon's feelings about his scars, and this one dealt with it beautifully! The idea that scars equate survival had me tearing up a little, and this fic is definitely part of my ideal post-200 scenario.

The Notes Inbetween | jontim, rated T | Ao3: voiceless_terror | tumblr: @voiceless-terror | event: JonTim Week

At first, he thinks it’s the radio. It’s not uncommon for these stores to play classical music, trying to add an air of sophistication in what’s otherwise a dark room of dusty knicknacks. But when he walks towards the noise, he instead finds Jon sitting at the bench of an old wooden upright, his posture straighter than Tim’s ever seen it, hands moving slowly but deftly across the keys as he leans into each note.

Jon plays the piano and Tim appreciates.

I love JonTim and I love musician Jon and I love Jon reminiscing about his childhood and this has all three of those things 💛 A really sweet fic with equal amounts of seriousness and shenanigans.

Even for an Hour | jonmartin, rated T | Ao3: silvercolour | tumblr: @silver-colour | event: TMA Fantasy Week

When you can only see the one you love during twilight, and must be separated from them during both the day and the night, the hours seem to go so very slow.

In which Martin is a spirit of the sun, and Jon of the night sky, and every twilight they meet again, and part ways again.

I love the concept of this fic! It's so bittersweet and tender, and the imagery of Jon and Martin as moon and sun spirits respectively is fantastic. I could read a hundred more fics in this AU 💛

Ink | jongerrymartin, rated T | Ao3: voiceless_terror | tumblr: @voiceless-terror | event: Gerry Week

“Mhm.” Gerry nods slightly, pen tapping against his sketchpad. He turns around, seeing the naked fondness in Martin’s eyes and has a particularly wicked thought. “Y’know, this is how he looks when he’s watching you.”

Martin sputters, turns a lovely shade of red. “W-What? Really?”

“No,” Gerry smirks. “It’s the way he looks at the Admiral.”

A few snippets in Gerard Keay's surprisingly domestic life.

I love jonmartin and I love jongerry and I love jongerrymartin, and this fic is tooth-achingly sweet! The doodles-and-notes-as-love-languages fits so well with jongerrymartin, and the bit about the post-it notes had me ;___; 💕

Particular | jongeorgie, jon/others, rated G | Ao3: Aza (sazandorable) | tumblr: @sazandorable | event: TMA Bi/Pan/Poly/Omni/Mspec Week

Jon does not like boys. He does not like girls, either.

Just, sometimes, he likes this one.

I like this fic partly because it resonates so well with my own experience with romance and partly because I love the exploration of Jon's experience with romance. The jongeorgie scene is lovely and the mention of the s1 archival crew at the end (and the implied jonmartin) was nice 💛

Letting Luck In The Door | jonmartin, rated G | Ao3: cuttooth | tumblr: @cuttoothed | event: Jon Sims and Cats 2021

The man standing at the front counter is looking around anxiously, a bundled up jumper clutched against his chest.

“Sorry, we’re—” Martin begins, and that’s as far as he gets before the man unleashes a frantic tirade.

“Please!” the man says, “I need your help, I-I’m not sure they’re breathing.”

Martin forgets to lock up, and gets some unexpected visitors.

I was looking for a fic from the jon-and-cats event that I'd read and I got distracted by this one and immediately fell a little bit in love! I adore the kitten-related jmart meet-cute, and Tim and Sasha looking at Martin like 👀 when he comes to visit the kittens is very amusing.

a tale as old | jonmartin, rated G | Ao3: bibliocratic | tumblr: @bibliocratic | event: Aspec Archives Week

"But the trees outside the forest had shed their clothes to bareness, and the welcoming touch of speckling frost had begun to settle upon the ground, and Martin’s mother grew weaker, developing a cough that rattled in her rickety lungs. And so, Martin of the Black Woods packed a small knapsack and ventured upon the winding pathways of the forest to seek out the beast who lived there."

Or: Martin gets his happily ever after.

I loved this fic a lot! Featuring monster!jon, fairy tale elements (and style of prose!), and ace Martin. The worldbuilding is wonderful and the imagery is stunning <3

thank god for wikis | jongerry, rated T | Ao3: PitViperOfDoom | tumblr: @pitviperofdoom | event: Aspec Archives Week

Gerry makes an important discovery about himself. Jon helps.

I said I was only going to do one fic per event week but I couldn't decide between these two, so here they both are! I particularly enjoy the depiction of demisexual Gerry figuring himself out within his relationship with Jon and Jon helping him find the label that works for him! I love fics that have Jon being confident in his own asexuality and supporting someone else who's also aspec, and this one is very sweet <3

And, because I'm not immune to self-promotion, a few of my own:

to grieve and to mourn | jontim, rated T | event: JonTim Week

Jon had mentioned to him once, more than a few drinks into a night out at the pubs, that he’s the type to mourn in private. So Tim isn’t surprised when he walks into Jon’s bedroom to see Jon sat atop his bed, hair tied up into an approximation of a bun and an array of papers spread out before him in a kaleidoscope of white and black. Nor is he surprised to see the cigarette held between Jon’s fingers, burning faintly orange in the low light.

In which Tim offers comfort, Jon makes arrangements, and bourbon is shared.

agony quiets to pain | jongerry, rated T | event: Gerry Week

Gerry steps out of the hospital doors, his body a mess of aches and pains and stark white bandages, to see a man who is not his mother sat atop the short wall outside the hospital doors.

“Jon?”

that which glitters divinely gold | jonmartin, rated G | event: TMA Fantasy Week

“I like it here," Martin says. "And I… I feel like it likes me too.”

The stranger hums; it’s a lovely sound, like the clanging of morning bells. “It does,” they say, confidently and lightly, like there’s no room for argument in the matter. After a moment, they continue, more hesitantly, “I… I do.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fwac #jonmartin #jontim #jongerry #jongeorgie #jongerrymartin #fic rec #fic rec list

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lambourngb · 3 years

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a skeleton of something more [3/7]

previously here. malex wip based on the trailer for season 3, some spoilers and my own speculation. I’m failing at the daily serial because keeping to 2K is impossible, but hoping to have it finished by next week.

Warnings: NSFW content, not forrest long friendly

*** NOW ****

Alex shut off the streaming hot water reluctantly, and shifted back on the new shower bench to lean his head against the tile.

His fingertips were pruned from the long shower, his attempt at using the scalding water to try to wash away the dirt he felt covered in after being away from Roswell for so long. Pointless endeavour, when he knew the filth was more than skin deep at this point. It was in his bones. It was in his blood, the way the Manes name still opened the worst doors. Alex touched the corners of his smile with his hands, looking for the edge of the mask he wore around Deep Sky and finding only the bristle of his beard growing in, a very late five o’clock shadow.

The steam of the shower was slowly fading, bringing back the visual details of his naked body. His stump was slightly swollen, the marks of wearing his prosthesis for too long, but it was hard to feel safe without it on, doing the work he was doing around even more paranoid men than he was. Three years past his injury, the scars were still ugly to his eyes as he cupped his fingers over the end of his right leg, but time had faded the lines from an angry red to a wizened white.

Alex hoped that time would do the same to his soul.

He moved his hand from his stump, over to his thighs to stretch the lingering soreness from his legs. He ignored where his cock laid, half-full of blood from the simple pleasure of a hot shower; the desire to let himself feel good was far from his mind. Instead he focused on returning functionality to his body after the long, cramped ride on that bus. That was the physical challenge, the emotional one would be trickier.

It helped that he knew Michael was still there, in his house, probably fixing something else that had been neglected during Alex’s time away. Finding something that was broken or damaged, and then making it whole just with his touch, that was what Michael did naturally. Alex was no exception to that.

Every muscle was loose finally, thanks to the improved water pressure beating on the knots of tension until they turned into putty. Beyond the simple improvement of the plumbing, Michael had also relocated the shower taps to the wall next to the bench, so he could sit safely and turn on the water without balancing on one foot in the front of the stall.

New grab bars lined the bathroom walls as well. Alex had worried about the expense until he recognized the chrome and black rails from the boxes he had bought a while ago, before shuttling them off to the garage. Michael had apparently found the abandoned project and had finished it for him. The longer the trips he made away from Roswell were, the more involved the upgrades Michael made in his absence. He would need to prepare a cover story in case Forrest noticed the changes, a renovated bathroom went far beyond changing out bulbs in a light fixture.

He was getting closer to ending the sham relationship with Forrest, but he wasn’t there quite yet. His first night back in Roswell he had managed to steer Forrest away from his house and more importantly, his bed, but that was only a temporary reprieve. Tomorrow it would all begin again, playing the role of a grieving son looking to ‘understand’ his father, docilely following Forrest’s lead in ‘discovering’ the alien threat, letting the other man comfort him, but this time, that would all happen in front of Michael.

Michael knocked on the half-open bathroom door to get his attention, before stepping inside carrying a bath towel. “Are you still alive in there?”

“I am, but I want to marry this shower,” and you, he finished silently. Michael looked pleased by the comment as he stood outside the glass doors, waiting patiently as Alex pulled himself up from the bench and carefully hopped toward him. As he drew closer, the proud expression changed to one of open hunger as Michael took in his nakedness, cataloging the changes on his body. Downtime while he had been away from Roswell had often been filled with trips to the gym, exercising to work through his frustration at the slow pace of developments regarding Deep Sky. Weight lifting and core training had kept his hands away from his phone when the desire to check in with Michael took hold.

There was only so many times he could pass off a call to Michael about his mail or paying a bill for his house.

Alex held out his hand for the towel, while Michael stared at him, his gaze almost physical as he lingered over the swells of muscle. He snapped his fingers at Michael to break the hypnosis.

At the sound, Michael blinked, but then avoided his hand to wrap the towel around Alex himself. Warmth from the soft linen enveloped Alex, a sign the towel was fresh from the drier. He closed his eyes under Michael’s safe hold, enjoying the blatant pampering as Michael gently patted Alex’s wet skin dry. “I don’t mind sharing you with the shower, especially if it means you’re not wearing clothes,” he murmured in Alex’s ear, nosing the lock of wet hair away.

Shivering under the ghost of Michael’s lips, Alex felt something start to knit and heal inside him, blanketed by more than just the towel. Love. Feeling more like himself, Alex teased Michael back, “You could have joined me.”

“It was tempting, very tempting, but then who would have made dinner if I had taken you up on that offer?” Michael tucked the towel around Alex, and then offered his arm as a support while Alex hopped toward the pile of folded sweats to wear.

“I have a lot of appetites, Michael, food is barely in the top five. And I can eat later, after you leave,-” Alex held his clothes in his hand, not moving to get dressed just yet.

“You can, but you won’t eat. As soon as I walk out that door, I know you’re going to park yourself in front of your computer and spend the rest of the night hacking, just like you’ve done nearly every night since this started.” Michael waited with a raised eyebrow for Alex to deny it.

Caught by both the frustration that Michael was right and by the ticking clock in his head that counted down the end of this precious time together, Alex conceded. He pulled his sweatshirt down over his head grumpily, “I didn’t spend every night hacking.”

“Just the nights when you weren’t with Forrest Long.” Michael said it quietly, turning away to hang up the wet towel.

Alex tucked his crutches under his arms, before reaching out to catch Michael’s shoulder. “Hey, it doesn’t mean anything, you know that, right? It’s just…friction.” He studied Michael’s face, worried that perhaps his patience with everything was wearing thin.

Over the last year, as he moved deeper and deeper into the circle of men that made up Deep Sky, Michael had been his lifeline to his real identity. A voice on the line, late at night, warm and beloved, reminding Alex what was important and keeping him grounded. During the day, his resolve had felt less certain. He had forced himself to echo the words of Jesse Manes to curry favor, ducking his reflection in the mirror when the hateful words started to come easier and easier to him. Then there was the feeling he had, when he had to accept Forrest’s offers to visit him in Los Alamos, the way he had felt weirdly relieved to see a familiar face, even if it was someone he couldn’t trust.

Hearing Michael’s voice led him back to himself, and then little by little, the updates were less mission-related and more personal. It had led them back to each other. By the second month, Michael had stopped dancing around things, admitting to Alex just how much he missed him and by the third month, Alex was slipping away to meet with him at half-way destinations to seal his words with actions.

It was reminiscent of his early days in the Air Force, finding Michael in out-of-the-way places where no one knew them. Back then, Alex had DADT and military physicals to dodge. Michael had to take care in leaving no marks on Alex’s body, while Alex had had no such restriction. Michael would leave those encounters, mauled with love bites and fucked thoroughly, while Alex stayed as pristine as his neatly pressed uniform. Eleven, twelve years on, the need for discretion had changed, from the military to Forrest Long.

That was the elephant in the room. Alex was still having sex with Forrest, mostly when he couldn’t avoid it with a trip out of town, like when he accompanied Forrest to Deep Sky owned properties. It was just friction, putting his body in motion to do a job, much like he had when he had deployed abroad. He had lost any amount of shame for what he was doing to the other man after the first time, when he had found a detailed write-up about his own visit to the Long Farm that Forrest had filed and sent to the mysterious leader of Deep Sky.

“I know.” Michael replied, his smile weak but real as Alex brought him closer for a slow, thorough kiss.

Alex inhaled the scent of rain into his nose as Michael melted in his arms and the kiss deepened between them. This was the opposite of friction, as they slid easily together in the doorway of the bathroom, until Alex’s stomach betrayed him thoroughly and growled. Michael broke away with a laugh, and Alex noted with relief that his earlier fragility had completely vanished from his eyes, as he headed toward the kitchen, “Come on, I made you your favorite for dinner, spicy tomato soup.”

“With strips of cheese toast?”

Michael looked offended at the question. “Of course.”

That was proof that Michael had been listening to him closely during their late night conversations, the way the subject migrated from business to the personal, until Alex had flat out whined over how terrible the food was at one of the Deep Sky outfits. “Forget looking for aliens, they should look for a new chef.” And then they were off and running about comfort food, with Michael sharing his fondness for canned spaghettios, they tasted fine cold. Sharing his own fond memory from childhood of his mother making soup as a rare show of maternal care. Melted cheese dripped over cut up toast, then dipped in the tomato soup.

The clock was still ticking in his head, counting down the end of this brief interlude of happiness. Alex laid back on his couch with a tray of soup on his lap and tried to soak in every minute. The thrill of sharing a meal together, sitting side by side on his couch with the evening news droning on in the background. It was a type of domesticity that he never thought he had wanted until Michael. His thoughts turned away from the wholesome toward the carnal as he watched Michael pucker his lips together to blow on the steaming bowl.

The food was delicious, but that was a distracting sight for anyone, let alone someone who knew just what Michael’s mouth was capable of doing.

Michael flashed a wicked smile when he caught Alex staring, picking up his strip of toast to dip in his soup and then licked it indecently clean. The perfect bow of his mouth around his food, his tongue chasing his lips for every drop of spilled soup had Alex shifting on the couch. The production lasted until Michael hit a hot place in his bowl, squeaking in shock, sending Alex into a peal of laughter at the affronted look on his face.

“Fuck, that’s hot!”

“Yes it was.”

“Asshole, I meant the soup!”

Alex laughed long and hard, his head tipped back against the couch, and after a moment, Michael joined him. Tears came to his eyes, the laughter set off each time they looked at each other. There was a point, where Alex realized he couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed like that, at least not in the last year outside of talking to Michael on the phone.

It was worth it. All of it. Infiltrating Deep Sky, spending half of his time around people who would cheerfully murder an alien, even using sex to get information, the price was not too steep to pay if it meant he could protect this moment, preserve it and repeat it forever. To see laugh lines around Michael’s mouth, instead of the press of fear, he would fuck the Devil himself if it meant Michael was safe.

He slowly sobered on the couch, his laughter gone at the thought of losing this. Michael placed their empty dishes in the kitchen and then drew Alex’s foot into his lap to rub. “I can practically see the gears turning now. Relax, okay? Watching the clock doesn’t help.”

“I know,” Alex agreed quietly, pressing his foot into Michael’s grip. “I’m feeling a little guilty here, with all this pampering.”

Michael dug his thumbs into Alex’s instep, drawing a loud groan of appreciation as he worked on releasing the knots of stress. Too much time in combat boots, the calluses were thick and tough under Michael’s hands but he kept rubbing regardless.

“If that guilt motivates you into taking better care of yourself-”

“I know, I am trying. But what about you?” Alex gestured toward Michael’s face with his own look of judgment, “are you sleeping enough? Eating enough?”

“I’m also trying. It will be better once this is over. Once you get to meet the head of Deep Sky, and hack him, we’ll both sleep better.”

“If it’s ever over. I’m starting to think the leader of Deep Sky is like the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

Instead of pulling on the threads of pessimism, Michael tugged on Alex’s ankle as he crawled closer to him on the couch. As a subject change, it was a welcome one to Alex. Why dwell on the future, it was better to enjoy the present. Michael’s hands smoothed over the soft fleece of the sweatpants, sending a thrill of excitement through Alex. He slipped down on the seat to allow Michael room.

“Is it okay to pamper you a little more?” Michael asked, his eyes dark as his fingers slipped inside the waistband of Alex’s sweats. He teased at the taut muscles, stroking his fingers over the soft rasp of hair trailing downward.

“What did you have in mind?”

“When’s the last time someone’s sucked this big dick of yours?”

There was a dark hint of teasing in Michael’s voice, he was daring Alex to say a name. Forrest’s name. It was the type of playful provocation they could use with each other now, safely, the result of their late night phone calls to each other. When time was valued, what was the point of secrets between them?

Alex licked his lips absently, giving Michael a thorough head to toe look of consideration, before answering honestly, “It was in Santa Fe. At the Silver Saddle Motel. A very hot cowboy sucked me until I was hard, and then rode my dick all night long.”

Michael blinked, not expecting that answer, but pinked in pleasure. “Oh…well then, you’ve been deprived because that was months ago.” He pulled down on Alex’s sweats, letting the band of elastic tuck neatly under his balls and sat back to admire the view. Alex shifted under his eyes, his cock straining upward as Michael bent his head down. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, he’s a short guy, all of this probably doesn’t fit in his mouth,” Michael commented, wrapping his palm around Alex’s cock firmly.

“Yeah,” Alex gasped, hitching up into Michael’s grip, “small mouth, it’s hard to even kiss, impossible to fuck-” His voice gave out as Michael licked the bead of pre-cum with tip of his tongue before stretching his mouth wide. There was a way that Michael approached cock-sucking that Alex could never get over. The look of hunger and that deep breath he always took, as if he had to hold himself back to keep from gorging himself on Alex’s cock.

Alex had been deprived. Very deprived.

Slowly Michael slid his lips down on Alex’s cock, taking him deep into his mouth. His tongue, warm and firm, dragged downward. Alex cried out in pleasure, it felt so good, his hips rocking upward imperceptibly as his iron-strong control was rocked by Michael. He kept his eyes trained on Michael’s mouth, the reddening stretch of his lips wrapped tightly around his cock. Michael looked up, catching his eye and then bobbed his mouth downward.

Reaching downward, Alex placed his hand against Michael’s jaw and traced his thumb around the edge of his mouth. “So good, you take me so well, Michael.”

The praise had Michael blinking in pleasure before he redoubled his efforts in sucking. Alex gasped again, sinking deeper into Michael’s throat until his lips were kissing the sparse hair, down to the root. Fuck. He was ready to come already. Worse than the clock sweeping toward the end of the evening, was his body ready to end it now.

“Close, I’m gonna-” Alex warned, his hands going to Michael’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull Michael off of him, or keep Michael in place to feed him his cock in case he backed away as Alex teetered on the edge of orgasm. His grip clutched uselessly on him, but Michael showed no signs of stopping his efforts.

Kicking at the couch cushion, he lost the fight to hold back, as he felt his cock hit the back of Michael’s throat. There was a tightening around him, throat muscles working hard to swallow, and then Michael wrapped his hand back around the base of Alex’s cock to stroke him in time with his sucking. His free hand gently squeezed Alex, before rubbing a knuckle along the seam of his balls to his perineum. The outside touch against his prostate was enough to have Alex coming hard down Michael’s throat.

God it was so good. Michael knew every place to touch him. He knew to keep his mouth on Alex as he came, swallowing his release sloppily, until come and saliva leaked from his lips. It was over far too fast, but Michael held on until Alex felt the tears of overstimulation burn in his eyes. Slowly Michael softened his lips, letting Alex’s spent cock slip lazily from his messy mouth and then met Alex’s gaze with a knowing glint.

Michael knew exactly how depraved he looked.

It was too soon to get hard again, but Alex felt the twinge of it as he stared at Michael. His hands were greedy, cupping Michael’s face between them before wiping up the spill from Michael’s lips with his thumb. Two could play at that game, he thought as he brought it to his mouth.

“Fuck,” Michael swore softly, “Look at you, tasting yourself.”

“I’d rather taste you,” Alex patted the couch he was laying down on and straightened his disheveled sweatpants. “Take off those jeans and wrap those great thighs of yours around my head and let me suck you.”

“Actually, I’d rather take you to bed.”

Alex glanced at the clock behind Michael. It was close to midnight. He knew based on experience that Forrest would be by in the morning with coffee, before Alex was fully awake. It was a transparent way of trying to catch him off guard, to see if Alex would slip up with news about Michael, or any other alien. After every short trip back to Roswell, the other man had made sure to find an excuse to be in Alex’s house.

“I know I can’t stay, but I don’t want to leave.”

“I never want you to leave either.” Alex chewed on his lower lip, as Michael waited. Sensing his advantage, he tilted his head seductively, spilling his curls over one eye and then made a transparent pleading face at Alex. Laughing, Alex conceded, “Okay, okay, you can stay for a little while. Help me to bed, and set an alarm.”

***

#malex fic #roswell new mexico #not forrest long friendly #alex goes undercover #season 3 spoilers

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vivisextion · 3 years

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I first saw Slipknot at age 14.

No one knows how I managed it. I'm not sure I even remember. These days, you have to be 16 or 18 to get into Standing areas. I do know I had to buy tickets on the phone, back in the old days (2005, that is). A singular ticket, too - none of my friends, not even the classmate who had gone with me to see Linkin Park the year before, was that into Slipknot.

But I HAD to see them. This was the Subliminal Verses tour cycle, and Vol. 3 was my first and favourite Slipknot album, even to this day. It's the reliable old warm blanket for my soul whenever I need it. It's on right now, as I write this.

My memory isn't that good, but luckily I unearthed a livejournal (livejournal!) diary entry about the event I made the next day.

August 16, 2005. I went right after school. I went to a very conservative Anglican secondary school, too. I tried not to get caught in the bathroom, as I coloured my nails black with permanent marker (I know, don't laugh) and changed into my standard metalhead baby outfit - Slipknot band shirt, black cargo shorts, and my pride and joy: steel-toe boots I somehow managed to cajole my parents into letting me own.

I caught the bus to the open-air war memorial park where the gig was going to be. I got there at 4pm, 4 hours early. A couple other maggots were already hanging around. I found myself surrounded by tombstones, and I read them all. It was the middle of the Hungry Ghost Festival, too - a very fitting time for Slipknot to pay a visit to this godforsaken hellhole of a small town I lived in. (Especially given the paranormal circumstances surrounding the making of Vol. 3.)

While I wandered around the venue (no security or sound guys were around at all), I spotted two white vans pull up to the stage, in the middle of a clearing. It was them! I spotted Joey and missed him by a hair's breadth. I was quickly ushered behind the stone archway entrance by security then.

(Funnily enough, while walking around, I got mistaken for Joey more than once. I am the same height as him, had the same long black hair, same pale skin, and was wearing almost exactly what he had been. One person claimed from behind, I was a dead ringer, apart from when I turned around, and they realised I was Chinese.)

It was soundcheck time. A sound guy testing the mics would say random things, like "testing one two three two one.... fudge fudge, I like fudge...." The band even did Purity, so us earlybirds were given a rare treat, and we screamed along from the entrance, and drummed our fists on the sides of nearby porta-potties. I hope no one was in there at the time. Whenever we got a glance of any of them, we'd scream and cheer. Finally they left again, but were soon to return.

This was the first time I'd been a part of the metal community. I was barely allowed internet in those days. But here, random strangers were friendly, striking up conversations like they'd been friends for years. Two big guys, called Trevor and Ted, looked out for me the entire gig after, keeping other big dudes from crushing me too much (I'm 5'3, remember). Other people commented on me being so baby, because I was only 14, and said they would take care of me.

When we were finally let in, right after the usher cut the rope, I ran in, screamed "WOOOHOOO!" along with a few friends I'd made. I only briefly stopped to receive this RoadRunner Records compilation CD from a roadie, then resumed running like a madman screaming and dashing into the VIP cage.

I was right up against the barricade - the first time I would ever be at a gig. People from assorted magazines and press took photos of us, and I think I got my photo taken about 10 times at least.

(This is how I got in trouble with my parents the next day. My photo had ended up in a local paper - you can see examples of that here. They had no idea what I'd been to see the night before, and were horrified when they saw what Slipknot looked like.)

We saw Sid filming us from the stage with a camcorder and screamed at him. We saw Jim and screamed at him too, and he flashed the victory sign back at us. I remember Metallica playing at the time, another one of my favourite bands.

The concert was a brutal religious experience I will never forget. People with their arms outstretched, crying and screaming out loud, moving like the devil possessed them.

The new friends around me made sure I was alright after every song! There were huge guys fainting behind us who had to get carried out, but I endured, a tiny 14 year old child. We got a family speech as per tradition, of course. "Are you guys out there all looking out for each other? We're all one big family, and we gotta look out for each other." What Corey said held true - strangers hugged, shook hands, talked, and made friends. I was heartened by how close-knit the maggot community was. It really did feel like a family, and it's felt like that ever since.

Of course, I did my first Jump The Fuck Up. It is possibly the most euphoria I've ever experienced all at one go. (Later, in 2020, I was extremely disappointed that I didn't get to do it again in London.)

They did the death masks for Vermilion, and I remember Chris helping Sid fix his mask and shirt when they'd changed back. Sid hung out near Clown's drums for most of the time too, and hugged him from behind and just latched on at one point. It was pretty adorable.

Fun fact: The version of Eyeless you hear on the 9.0 Live album is from Singapore, as is Eeyore. There are very few photos and videos from the crowd of this gig, because in 2005, very few people had camera phones. The crowd at the Slipknot gig in 2020 was a sea of arms with phones, filming the gig rather than experiencing it. Yes, I'm going to be that cranky old geezer who complains about the good old days.

Joey as usual, was fucking amazing and never failed. However, due to the fact that I was right up front, only his tiny head was visible behind his vast drum set, I couldn't see him the entire gig.

Amazingly, the government told Slipknot they were not allowed to do obscene gestures, curse, vomit (possibly due to the decomposing crow pre-show ritual), simulate humping on objects, throw faeces, or jump off stage (looking at you, Sid). I don't think our totalitarian government knew who they were dealing with, because watch what happens next.

Near the end of the gig, Corey tells the crowd “your government has given us a laundry list of things we aren’t allowed to do, your government has told us we are not allowed to swear”. Crowd goes “BOOOOOOOOO” and Corey goes “BUT WE DON’T GIVE A FUCK!!” And they launch into Surfacing, the last song. Everyone riots. Best night of my life.

You can find the setlist from that gig here. It had everything I wanted and more.

This story later got immortalised when Kerrang asked maggots for gig stories, for an article which came out in 2020. I had forgotten entirely, until people began messaging me to tell me, and one friend sent me a scan of it!

On the way out, I managed to get a shirt. I remember calling my best friend at the time, and got everyone at the merch booth to go "IF YOU'RE 555 THEN I'M 666" for her. This shirt has since been lost to the landfill, because my Christian mother took it upon herself to dispose of it the first opportunity she got. Needless to say, our relationship is not very good.

After that, I even managed to get that Roadrunner compilation album they were giving out signed. The band was staying at the Carlton. Unfortunately, Joey wasn't there, neither was Clown, and Mick was swarmed by guitar nerds so, 6/9 it is. It is a great regret of mine that I'll never have anything signed by him, nor will I ever get to see him perform ever again.

The next day, I went to school, my head swimming. Yes, I went to see Slipknot ON A SCHOOL NIGHT. I was a giant bruise, from my ribs and my chest, to my hips and knees, from being slammed into the barricade like a screen door in a hurricane. Most of all, my sore, headbanged-out neck could barely hold my head up. Classmates thought I had been in a fight. I was torn between battle-scarred exhaustion and hyperactive ranting about the most amazing gig of my short life (it still is, to this day). When teachers spoke to me, I wanted to reply, "Fuck trigonometry! I've just seen SLIPKNOT. Do you not understand that my world is different? Do you not understand that *I* am now different?"

My country was a small, conservative town that Slipknot had graced with their unholy presence. Corey Taylor once said that where he grew up in Iowa had a way of making a 16 year old boy feel like a 36 year old man (or something to that effect). I felt that in my weary bones as a teenager, being from a place just like that. Years later, Watain would run into worse trouble, and wouldn't even be allowed to perform. The Christian stranglehold is stronger than ever. It was a good thing that back then Slipknot had the element of surprise, striking serpent-fast and choking this society by the neck for a too-brief time, before they departed.

After that, my desire to play the drums only grew like a weed. Joey Jordison had, has, and will always inspire me as a drummer, and seeing the beast live (or what little I could spy behind the massive riser) had only spurred me on. I had always been a noisemaker, be it driving my parents mad with chopsticks on pots and pans, or driving my teachers mad with pencils on my desk. But of course, my parents wouldn't have any of it. I'd have to wait a good 14 more years before I'd be able to afford lessons and later, a kit of my own. Better late than never, right?

There will never be enough words to describe the impact Joey has had on my life. And it isn't just Slipknot, either. I could write another essay on his time with the Murderdolls and its influence on my own gender-non-conforming ways. Suffice to say, my wardrobe doesn't look too dissimilar to his during the early Dead in Hollywood days.

I told my boss I could not come into work today. I was grieving. I said that my music teacher died, as I didn't think she'd understand the magnitude of my loss. In a way, it's true. And I am not the only one Joey has nudged on the path to being a musician, that much is certain. To the rest of us, I wish strength and love for you in this difficult time. The best way to honour Joey, who truly loved music, both the creation and appreciation of it, is to pass that gift on. Teach it to someone. He is the reason I picked up the sticks in the first place, and one day, they'll be handed on, the heavy metal baton for the next generation.

And finally: remember that the ones we have lost are never truly gone.

Vinnie

P.S. See if you can spot me in the crowd photos in this post!

#Joey Jordison #Slipknot #Murderdolls

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codename-adler · 3 years

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foxes + onesies (9/9)

based off of that one post i saw and don’t remember, where people once caught Allison wandering around Fox Tower in a giraffe onesie, and i absolutely melted for her. here is the Foxes’ journey to getting a onesie each!

Kevin

every Fox has bad days

some bad days begin with a specific feeling

when Andrew feels ghost hands as he wakes up, when he feels his body too tight for his bones, or hid bones too big for his body

when Neil feels every sound like a knife to his skin, when the scars on his face feel like phantom pains, when he feels a grown man moves too fast, too close to him

when Allison feels jeans cling too much to her thighs, when her shirt brushes too much on her abdomen, when she feels the food she ate resting in her stomach

some bad days begin with a specific date

when it’s the anniversary of Tilda’s death, and Aaron cannot be in the same room as Andrew, no matter how far they’ve come

when it’s the anniversary the Boyds’ divorce, and Matt can’t leave Dan’s side for one second, no matter how strong their relationship is

when it’s the anniversary of Mary’s death, of Evermore, of Nathaniel’s last birthday, of Baltimore, and Neil can’t take a single look at himself in the mirror, no matter how many times Andrew worships his face with his mouth and his fingers

or, when it’s the anniversary of Kayleigh Day’s death, and nobody remembers, not even Wymack, and Kevin is all alone with this grief that is other, unlike any other he carries everyday, unlike anything he can compare to, and he doesn’t know how to feel anymore

Kevin vividly remembers that day, and he sees it luring around the corner as August approaches

but this time, there is no more Riko to worry about, no more mafia to be scared of, no more Ravens to antagonize him, no more Master to punish him for even attempting to grieve every year

and no more alcohol to make him forget

Kevin quit drinking the day they won championship, they day Riko was killed died

it’s been a year and a half, now, and Kevin still wants to drink the minute things get hard mentally

(it’s also been a year and a half since the Foxes started getting onesies, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long, and only Allison remembers that summer where it all started)

so when Kevin enters his bad days, his bad weeks, the Foxes are used to his mood swinging back and forth between Queen of Assholery and Feral Fox

but Kevin isn’t

he isn’t used to feeling all of this, to always think, and think, and think, until everything inside his head is as loud as the outside, until it’s all too much

yet he’s still expected to go on

still supposed to function, to perform, to be a decent human being when he’s not even sure he even feels human anymore

and so when Kevin snaps, the Foxes are supposed to be used to it

they’re not

nobody is

it’s summer practice

the 9 Foxes came in early, before the two new recruits arrive

Kevin is in the middle of yelling at Neil, who is very much yelling back at him

there’s that moment very full of testosterone where each of them throw away their gloves and helmets and sticks

they’re an inch from each other’s face and then Kevin suddenly… stops

he completely stops

his face goes blank, his feet move him back, his arms go slack

he looks at Neil, and he looks, and looks, and looks…

as if he could find an answer to a question he doesn’t know he’s asking

Neil, who has never learned to watch his mouth after all the trouble it got him into, keeps tearing into Kevin

Kevin keeps backing up and Neil keeps pushing further

but apart from his backwards movement, Kevin doesn’t react

pure apathy doesn’t suit him nearly as well as it did Andrew

the other Foxes are so silent, that between two of Neil’s breaths, they can all hear him whisper

“Stop.”

but Neil doesn’t hear him, or doesn’t want to

it gets so out of control, even Wymack has to step in, on the court, when he sees Kevin so unresponsive

it gets so bad, eventually Neil, too, stops his yelling and just looks at Kevin

and he looks, and looks, and looks…

as if he could understand the question Kevin is asking an answer for with his pleading, green eyes

“Stop… Just- stop. I can’t- anymore… “

Kevin shakes his head and looks at the floor as hatred and hurt grip his guts

he takes another step back

suddenly he jerks his head back up and looks at Neil

“I hate you. God, I hate all of you.”

he looks at all his Foxes

then leaves

Kevin Day leaves the court

behind his back, he doesn’t see Matt holding back a furious yet teary-eyed Dan

he doesn’t see Renee leaving her goal to join Andrew’s side, her big racquet blocking his way

he doesn’t see Nicky putting his hand on Neil’s shoulder, squeezing in empathy

he doesn’t see Allison throwing away her racquet against the plexiglass wall with all that she’s got, fuming and hiding her tears

he doesn’t see Wymack matching over to Neil, a whole speech ready to give Neil his piece of mind

and he certainly doesn’t see Aaron collapsing to the ground, his hands holding his head and gripping his hair, his breaths shallow, his jaw clenched shut, his eyes dry yet red-rimmed

but from behind Kevin’s back, none of them see him either

they can’t see him losing his breath as he starts running away

they can’t see him clenching and unclenching his left hand

and they certainly can’t see him crying

the week that follows is undeniably tense between all the Foxes

that week also coincides with a lot of events

there’s the new Foxes’ arrival

there’s the start of classes

there’s the mandatory psych session with Betsy before Exy season starts

and there’s August 27th

Mom’s accident

Kevin remembers the day vividly, he truly does

he remembers because the week of the accident, he was supposed to start school for the first time, on September 1st

he had picked his outfit for the first day, he had new red Exy-themed shoes, he had even planned the lunch he wanted to have that day in his lunchbox (spaghetti squash casserole. yeah, weird kid.)

on August 27th, Mom didn’t come home

on August 27th, he went to the Moriyama property

on August 27th, he settled into a weirdly well-accommodated room that fit both him and Riko

on September 1st, he woke up with Riko and they prepared for their first day

on September 1st, Kevin wore his planned outfit, put on his red shoes

on September 1st, Kevin did not have spaghetti squash casserole

she left him nothing but an aversion for squash, red shoes, and Exy

which brings us as to why, on August 27th, as all the team is mandated to talk an hour with Betsy Dobson, Kevin Day volunteers to go first (with Aaron volunteering to go second and be the designated driver for the pair)

none of the Foxes have really talked to Kevin since the previous week’s outburst

Kevin has no other outlet for this painful day

it’s either talk to Betsy, or ruin 496 days of sobriety with one vodka bottle

the only words exchanged between Kevin and Aaron, on the drive to Reddin Medical Center, are, surprisingly, from Kevin

“Somebody should get you a new goddamn car.”

he doesn’t elaborate further than that, but Aaron looks at him strangely

his car really is garbage, though

once arrived at their destination, Kevin doesn’t wait for Aaron and bursts in Betsy’s office without warning

it takes at least half an hour of Betsy talking before Kevin gives up his silence

everything was already there, he just had to open his mouth and let his words fall

Kevin: I’ve been sober for 496 days. I’ve been thinking about my Mom’s anniversary for the past few weeks. That’s today, now. And last Friday, I told Neil, then the whole team, that I hated them. Care to unpack that for me?

Betsy: I can help you sort some things out, of course, Kevin. But this is your baggage. I’m afraid I can’t do this without your help. Why don’t you tell me more about this hatred you feel towards your teammates?

Kevin: I dont. Hate them. I don’t… I hate what they do to me. How they treat me. Their double standards. How they forget, how they dismiss. Mind you, I’m well aware of my asshole status. I know I am. But them… they’re… they’re mean. Vicious. They cut and stab and don’t care about what’s underneath. They don’t care that I helped them get the title of Champions. They don’t care that I was there every step of the way, that I was right there beside them when we played the Ravens, when we won. They don’t care that Riko died, that he once broke my hand, that I was legally kidnapped, that I went through hell and still lived to walk on my own two feet. They don’t care that I, too, once had a mom. They don’t care that my Mom died. They don’t care. To them, I’m still just a cunt. It’s unbearable. They don’t give a shit and I’m so, so tired, Betsy. I’m not asking for much. I just want… I want- I want them to let me breathe. I want them to realize that, I’m just like them. I’m a Fox. I’m a Fox as much as they are. I wake up everyday, and feel all this weight on my shoulders, in my stomach, on my heart, but I carry on anyways, and I don’t know why, but I do, just like them. Is that so hard to grasp? Is that so hard to accept? What am I doing wrong, Betsy?

Betsy: Oh, Kevin…

the rest of the session passes in a blur

Kevin talks about how every time he takes a photograph, he thinks of Kayleigh, of how brightly she smiles in all the photos Wymack has of her, of how he wishes he could take pictures of her with his own camera

Kevin talks about how every strong woman in the Irish folklore he reads about wears Kayleigh’s face

Kevin talks about how he thought Thea had been a bit like her, and how, in the end, she hadn’t been at all, she was her own woman, a woman he didn’t know and didn’t love, and how he thought he had lost a bit of Kayleigh again when they separated

Kevin talks

he talks

and Betsy listens

when his time is up, Kevin’s voice is hoarse with exhaustion and sadness

he lets Aaron in as he decides to take a run back to Fox Tower

his mind tries to guilt him into going back to the court, but between facing the Foxes after that and isolating himself in his dorm, Kevin knows what’s best for him

he is only disturbed in the late evening, when Wymack enters the dorm

even Neil, Andrew and Nicky hadn’t come back yet

Kevin knows something is wrong

Wymack isn’t supposed to be here

Wymack: Day… Listen, son.

Kevin sits up on his bed

Wymack: Argh, I’ll cut the bullshit. It’s Abby. There’s been an accident. Her car’s fucking scrap metal now. She was brought to the hospital 45 minutes ago, I just got the call. She’s going into surgery. We’ll all visit her in the morning.

Not again

Not Abby

What the fuck is this life?

Wymack: Number Seven wants to see you now. Don’t ask me why, I don’t wanna know. I’ll let her in, don’t make me regret this. Sleep good, son. I’ll see you tomorrow.

he opens the door, takes one last look at Kevin’s tense form, and leaves as Allison comes in

she’s wearing her giraffe onesie tied at the waist, with an oversized WALKER 09 t-shirt

she stands in front of Kevin until he looks up at her

Allison: Scoot over. We’re watching The Crown.

and Kevin, dumbfounded, lets her and moves

he finds himself quite intrigued by the storyline, enough to only worry about Abby with his fingers, fiddling with one of the giraffe’s horns

after the third or fourth episode, Allison starts to talk, eyeing Kevin’s fingers playing with her onesie

Allison: Wanna know the latest gossip? Even Andrew has a onesie, now. God, I can’t believe this is a sentence that exists. Andrew Minyard owns a fucking onesie. Do you know what that makes you?

Kevin stays silent, eyes fixed somewhere not quite on Ally’s laptop screen

Allison: That makes you the only Fox without one.

Kevin: Oh, so now I’m a Fox? Didn’t seem that way earlier. Or, like, ever.

the dealer chooses her next words very carefully

Allison: Just because we hadn’t seen it yet, just because we were too busy stuffing our heads up our asses, doesn’t mean you weren’t a Fox… I know, I know. Hard to feel like one when the others give you shit non-stop. Been there, done that. And now I’ve done it to you, too, and I’m… Sorry. We’re dysfunctional, there’s no changing that. But- We can do better. We’ll try, promise. I think you’ve made quite an impression on Betsy today, ‘cause we all received a good talk from her during our sessions. I mean, don’t expect Andrew running in to apologize, but, you know… Something about Betsy turning severe makes you re-evaluate your life choices. We’ll do better, Day.

Kevin looks at her, then

really looks at her

and nods

yet just as he turns his attention back to the screen, Allison leaves the Netflix page and googles “onesie adult”

Kevin: Oh, no. Absolutely not. Nope.

Allison: Oh, yes, yes, yessss!

but then, of course, there’s a knock at the door, and Allison gets up, opens the door, lets the person in, whispers something, and leaves

just like that

and oh

It’s Aaron

Aaron: So… Allison tells me you’re finally getting yourself one of those stupid pajamas too?

Kevin: I am not. What are you doing here anyway? The others will be back soon, I assume.

Aaron: Well, it’s my shift…

Kevin: Your what now?

Aaron: No, it’s not like that! We just… We thought you’d want some space because of… today… But then Abby… We didn’t want you to be alone.

Kevin: Really. Who’s “we”?

Aaron: The proud Palmetto State Foxes’ Exy team. All of them. You know, Dan, Matt, Renee, Allison, Andrew and Neil, Nicky… Me.

once again, Kevin can’t help but stare, deeply surprised

Aaron: Andrew and the others will be back for the whole night, but for now, it’s my turn. I wanted to take the first “watch”, but Allison said she had business to do with you. And I’m not getting in the way of that woman.

Kevin honest-to-God snorts

Kevin: If by “business” she meant bullying me into buying this onesie shit, then you should have gotten in her way. I’m not doing that. It’s fucking dumb.

Aaron: Hey!

Kevin: Aaron Minyard, don’t tell me you’ve participated in this madness…

Aaron: So what if I have? It wasn’t exactly on purpose, but I got one. And you don’t. So really, who’s dumb here?

Kevin: What is it??

Aaron: Not telling you.

Kevin: C’mon…

Aaron: Nope. You can’t bribe me. I’m not telling you shit. However, what I can telling you, is that it feels kinda wrong that we all have a pajama and you don’t…

Kevin: Oh my God, fine! What did the others get?

Aaron: Well, besides Ally’s giraffe, we got a tiger, a dinosaur, a teddy bear, you’ve seen Nicky’s unicorn nonsense, and I’m not quite sure about Andrew’s… Oh, and Neil’s is a fox, obviously. That predictable dumbass.

Kevin: Okay, well, I want a fox too.

Aaron: No, Kevin, you can’t.

Kevin: What? Why not!?

Aaron: Because. Neil’s already got a fox. Do you want to be a copycat AND a predictable dumbass?

and so until 1 AM, Kevin and Aaron bicker about each of Kevin’s suggestions (a Palmetto Foxes onesie, a USC Trojans onesie, an Irish-themed onesie, a white fox onesie, a gray fox onesie, and so on…)

when Andrew, Neil and Nicky come back into the dorm, Kevin’s almost laid all the way down on his bed, his head resting on Aaron’s elbow, as Aaron is sitting right next to him, laptop propped on a pillow and his fingers scrolling away

Aaron looks at Andrew, sighs, and looks at Kevin

they nod to each other, before Aaron gets up to go back to his dorm

Kevin sits up correctly when Aaaron is gone and Andrew approaches

Kevin pretends not to notice and googles one more idea, “brown fox onesie”

as he scrolls down and down and down, Andrew looks over his shoulder

and points at one picture

Andrew: That one. Now go to bed. We’re getting up at ass-o’clock tomorrow.

for the third time this evening, Kevin is shocked

he does look at Andrew’s pick attentively, though, and decides to go with it

that night, even if images of Abby covered in blood plague him for at least an hour, Kevin falls asleep to the memory of Aaron’s skin against his cheek, which somehow translates into dreams of Kayleigh resting both her hands on his cheeks as they sit in a field of wildflowers

a couple of weeks later, Kevin doesn’t tell the team his onesie has arrived

but he is forced to admit it when, for Halloween, they organize a huge party for themselves only, where they decided to wear their pajamas as costumes for the night

Kevin feels so stupid in his outfit

he even had to buy a LARGE because he’s so fucking tall

but it still feels… comfy… warm… not so bad…

maybe this can work for him…

it’s only when he steps into the girls’ living room that a problem arises

Aaron: What the fuck is this.

Kevin: Hum… A brown fox? Technically, Neil’s is orange, so you can’t shit on me!

Aaron: That- That’s not a fox, Kevin! What the fuck.

Kevin: Okay, well what are you then?? A mutant mouse?

Aaron: What are you- Oh my God, you don’t know what Pokemons are.

with that, Aaron turns around and yells for his twin

Aaron: ANDREW JOSEPH FUCKING MINYARD. YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE, DIDN’T YOU? YOU BASTARD.

he storms off yelling

Kevin only reunites with Aaron at the end of the night, on the girls’ balcony, both sober

Kevin: You know, for someone who pushed me so much to do this stupid thing, you’re not being very nice about it. I know you wanted me to be “original” or whatever, but it’s not like I look like Neil! Why are you so upset?

Aaron: Kevin. It’s not a fox.

Kevin: Oh for God sake’s Aaron, you-

Aaron: It’s a Pokemon, Kevin. They’re like little monsters, kind of, and it’s a videogame, but there’s anime, manga, and collectible cards and… I used to- I used to collect those. Before. I lost them, now, but see this? This is one of them. It’s the main Pokemon, actually. His name’s Pikachu.

Kevin: Okay… Who am I, then?

Aaron: You… You’re Eevee.

Kevin: And what’s “Eevee”…?

Aaron: Pikachu’s girlfriend.

and oh.

Oh.

Kevin: Andrew didn’t tell me… The little fucker. I thought- Sorry. I didn’t mean to be another pawn in one of Andrew’s little games. Why did he do that to you?

Aaron: I think you know why.

Kevin looked at Aaron

Aaron looked at Kevin

Kevin: Fuck.

Aaron: Yeah, that.

Kevin: What?

Aaron: Nothing!

Kevin: Aaron.

Aaron: Kevin.

Kevin slowly invaded Aaron’s space until his back touched the railing, and placed one hand on each side of the backliner

Aaron looked up at Kevin

Kevin looked down at Aaron

Kevin: Okay?

Aaron: Okay.

and Kevin grabbed Aaaron by the hoodie of his pajama, and pulled him close, closer, closer, closer, until their lips met, at last

it was a long-awaited kiss, a careful kiss, a kiss of home and yes and oh and warmth and safe

Kevin reluctantly pulled away and rested his forehead on top of Aaron’s, knowing they have very little time before the other Foxes found them snogging on the balcony like a goddamn cliché

Kevin: Aaron.

Aaron: Kevin.

Kevin: I’m gonna ask you something stupid, and you can’t punch me for it, okay?

Aaron: Fine, okay.

Kevin: Do you want to be the Pikachu… to my Eevee?

Aaron: YOU FUCKING MORON!

and with that, Kevin burst out laughing, as if the Foxes’ attention wasn’t already on them the second Aaron started yelling

Allison and Matt knowingly started whooping with their beers raised for a toast

Dan was facepalming hard, shaking her head, but smiling nonetheless

Renee smiled her genuine, angelic smile while clapping Nicky on the back as he choked on his drink

Neil, arms crossed, watched the scene unfold with contentment

and Andrew. Andrew had no reaction at all. at all.

he was looking at his nails, no knife in sight, no fucks given

which, in Andrew’s language, meant everything

and so that October 31st was one for the books, the books about the good days, the good feelings, the good memories

because the Foxes had those, too

Kevin Day had good days

Aaron Minyard had good days

Allison Reynolds and Renee Walker had good days

Dan Wilds and Matt Boyd had good days

Nicky Hemmick had good days

Neil Josten had good days

even Andrew Minyard had good days

God knows they deserve them

these onesies, as silly, as stupid, as corny, as childish as they may be, were a proof of that

a proof that the Palmetto State Foxes could be better, could do better, and could get better

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illfoandillfie · 3 years

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I’d love a platonically blurb ab them applying to foster/adopt kids 🥺

i love you for this request but also it made me very soft and emo and how dare you

It ended up being a little less about them actually applying and more just them deciding they wanted to adopt or foster and discussing their options because i can't read but perhaps i could do an actual fic later about the process involved and them meeting their kid and stuff?? idk...dad ben makes me 🥺🥺🥺

Anyway, here's the second last blurb in my Platonically event!

Words: 1,683

Warnings: Nothing much really, discussions about children including pregnancy, adoption and fostering, a little mention of sex but nothing explicit.

“I wanna be a dad.” You weren’t surprised to hear Ben say it. You’d seen the signs. There was the way he’d befriended and doted on the adorable toddler who’d played his daughter on a TV project. Every day he’d come home and his face would light up as he talked about her – how she babbled little kid nonsense at him all day and how they’d played silly games sitting on the floor of the set while the cameras were set up around them. You’d almost expected him to bring up the possibility of having kids then but he’d surprised you and not mentioned it. You could tell he was thinking about it though which made you think about it too. It made sense to at least discuss it and see where you both stood now that you’d been in the QPR for a while and knew that it worked and that you made a good team. You asked about it one night while you were washing the dishes and Ben was drying them. “Do you ever think about kids? Like having one?” “Yeah, sometimes,” he said, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but the conversation didn’t go any further than that.

It wasn’t until about three months later that you heard him say it. It took one of his mates having a baby with his wife for Ben to bring it up. You’d gone over a couple of weeks after they left the hospital, gifts in hand (a cute little spotty onesie and soft toy elephant that he hopefully wouldn't grow out of as quickly as he would his clothes). It was a lovely afternoon, catching up with the new parents and meeting brand new baby Bertie who just stared at everyone who cooed over him. You each had a turn holding Bertie too, marvelling at how anything could have such tiny hands and such big brown eyes. Ben happened to be handed the bundle of blankets that Bertie was swaddled in as the baby began to fall asleep. He didn’t mind though. When the new father asked if he should take Bertie and put him in his crib Ben waved him off. He said he didn’t mind sitting there a little longer to make sure Bertie really had dropped off. The parents didn’t argue, a little relieved that they were able to take a break and just relax. Both of them excused themselves for a moment to get some more food and use the bathroom which left you and Ben and the sleeping Bertie alone together. Quietly you stepped towards the armchair Ben was in, sitting on the arm so you could run your fingers through his hair. “I wanna be a dad.” Ben glanced up at you as he said it, and you could see how much he meant it. “Let’s talk about it tonight,” you reached out to stroke Bertie’s pudgy cheek as Ben lent his head against your side, his attention turning back to the baby.

Neither of you mentioned it on the drive home. In fact you both specifically avoided mentioning it, though not from fear of what might be said but rather just wanting to make sure you had adequate time to go over it without rushing. Once you were inside, shoes kicked off and the kettle on, you opened the discussion. “So....a baby?” Ben nodded, as he settled into the couch, body angled towards you, “I’ve been thinking about it for a bit, it’s not just because of this afternoon but that did help. I really want kids and I think I’m at a place where I feel ready to. Is that...is that okay?” “It’s wonderful Ben. Honestly, I’ve kinda been waiting for this conversation for a while. I’ve seen you interact with kids and I knew it wouldn’t be long before you wanted your own.” He laughed and inclined his head in amused agreement, “So does that mean you like the idea?” “Yeah I do.” “Really? Just that I know you weren’t really sure about it when we first decided to be partners.” “I might not’ve been then, but I am now.” “What changed?” “Well...you, obviously.” “Me?” He seemed surprised. “Look, before we got together I couldn’t imagine being in a relationship that didn’t make me feel at least a little uncomfortable. I figured I’d be single forever and I was okay with that. I’d considered just having a kid on my own – sperm donor or whatever – but that seemed like a really hard thing to do and I wasn’t sure I’d ever want it bad enough to do that. But then you showed me that it was possible to be in a partnership that felt good and, I don’t know, I started thinking about the possibility of having a family with you, and the more I thought about it the more I liked the idea.” Ben smiled as if he was trying not to look as pleased with your answer as he felt, “So we’re doing this then? For real?” “Yeah I think so. Weird.” “Bit weird.” There was a pause as you both just sat with the knowledge that you were planning a future together, that you both wanted to go ahead with it. You never would have guessed you’d get to that point with anyone.

Ben was the one to break the moment, “How would you want to...I mean how should we...How do you feel about being pregnant?” You bit your lip in thought, “I’m not sure. Honestly, it still kinda freaks me out.” “That’s understandable.” “I mean, if it was a dealbreaker for you then I would. I’m not entirely against the idea of carrying our baby and it would mean we’d get to do the fun part of making it.” “We do the fun part a lot as is,” Ben laughed, “But it’s actually something I thought about a lot.” “The fun part? That doesn’t surprise me.” “No, the you being preggers part,” he said exasperatedly, “I knew you weren’t super keen on the whole thing so I got thinking about whether or not it really mattered to me and I don’t think it does. I think I could be just as happy with a kid that came from someone else. And,” he paused as if giving you time to prepare for what he was about to say, “I might have looked into our options for adopting or fostering.” “You did?” “Mmhmm. It’s kinda complicated so we shouldn’t rush into anything and we should probably contact some agencies to ask questions and stuff.” “How complicated are we talking?” “Well, basically, if we want to adopt I think we have to put our names down with an agency and then there’s an interview process and if they think we’re suitable candidates then they’ll put our names in the system and find us a kid. And I guess it depends on the age bracket you’re looking for. I think if we wanted a newborn we’d be more likely to get one through adoption but it might still take a while whereas older kids are a little easier to find, so that’s something we need to consider.” “What about fostering?” “It sounds even more complicated. Like adoption you put your name down and go through an evaluation process but then there’s a few different options. There’s short term fostering where we’d look after kids for a couple of weeks or months while plans for their futures are finalised. Then there’s long term fostering which is usually for kids who can’t go back home but don’t want to be adopted out of their birth families and they mostly stay with you until they’re adults. Emergency fostering is another option which is a few nights or weeks at most but it’s for kids who need to be moved quickly and you don’t always get a lot of warning about them coming to you. And like, there’s possibilities to end up adopting the kid or kids you foster depending on what they want and how it goes.” You puffed your cheeks up with air and slowly blew it out, head swimming with the sudden influx of information, “That does sound complicated.” “Yeah. We’ll really have to consider out options and decide what sort of family we want to have. I think reading about adoption and fostering made me want to do it more though. Cause like...” he paused as he tried to find the right words, “These kids are out there without good homes and I really believe we could give them that.” You noted Ben was getting a little misty eyed, blinking more rapidly to hold back the emotion, so you tried to make him laugh by nudging him and calling him a sap. But you loved seeing how much he cared. It worked a little as he chuckled softly and shrugged, “Look, either way – adopting or fostering – it's probably not going to be easy. There’s challenges involved in fostering for sure – kids with trauma we won’t be able to understand, kids who are grieving the loss of their birth families or who’ve had bad experiences with other foster carers and who struggle to trust anyone. And the kids who are up for adoption might not have the same problems, especially if they’re younger but, I don’t know, I think finding out you were put up for adoption would leave its own scars. Issues with abandonment and things like that. So I think we have to be really, really sure before we put our names down anywhere. But I also think we could properly help someone doing it, maybe more than one someone. So, if you’re up for it then so am I.” “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” “What are you thinking?” More pros and cons lists?” You both

laughed at that but Ben grabbed your arm, encouraging you to leave your seat and sit on his lap instead. He wrapped his arms around your waist and tilted his head up for a kiss which you gladly gave. “I’m really happy we’re talking about this,” He almost whispered, squeezing you a little tighter. “Me too. I guess we should start by going through all our options and seeing which ones would suit us best.” "I've got some websites bookmarked and a few documents downloaded so why don't I go get my laptop and you make us a drink and we'll start working through it, okay?" "Okay,"

#my writing #my blurbs #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #platonically event #catch me crying in the club #god this was such a good prompt tho #ily L

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les-amis-dcd · 2 years

Text

Tag game

@aromantic-enjolras very kindly tagged me on this game! I’m supposed to share the first few lines of 10 of my WIPs and tag more friends. I don't think I have 10 WIPs total that I’m comfortable sharing, and I definitely don’t have 10 fanfic WIPs, so a few of those WIPs will be original stuff! Here we go!

WIP 1: ExR long fic, working title: Socrate (for reasons including and limited to: a cat called Socrate)

Enjolras doesn’t back down. He is a much feared up-and-coming politician, he is outspoken, he is highly argumentative, headstrong, and he does not fall easily for manipulation. He never does anything he hasn’t been intending to do and he does not try to please people. And contrary to what most people think, Enjolras can pick his battles, because Enjolras is a smart man.

Enjolras cannot say no to his grandma.

(Yes, this is a slow-ish burn, pretend-boyfriends fic ft. some angst and a happy ending, a super cute grandma, a fat cat who approves of Grantaire and only Grantaire, a lockdown because of Covid-19, and a legit family tree I made for Enjolras’ family. No, I probably will never get around to finishing it because life is unfair like that and the spoons are few...)

WIP 2: ExR fic I started writing for Enjoltaire Games 2020, and then I ran out of steam, changed plans, and uh. Yeah. The good thing is that I ended up writing What Comes Before instead for the games, which is, to date, one of the things I'm proudest of!

Courfeyrac waves at Enjolras from the balcony in grand, dramatic gestures. “Be careful! Text us when you get there!” he says.

“Will do, mum!” Enjolras calls back, grinning up at his friend.

Enjolras shuts the boot of the car —the thing makes an agonising groan of a noise. He throws a dubious look at Combeferre who stands by Courfeyrac, one arm lazily thrown about his husband’s waist. Combeferre just shrugs; he is a wise man and would never criticise Courfeyrac’s beloved car in front of him.

(The pitch for this fic: Grantaire is a horse boy in Camargue, and Enjolras gets stranded on his ranch because Courfeyrac’s old ass car breaks down and Bossuet, owner of the local garage is, predictably, injured. It is, in all ways but official, a romcom.)

WIP 3: my newest ExR fic and the most likely to be finished

I’m cheating, this isn’t the first few lines because I’m still working on my outline, but here’s a quick pitch: Grantaire is a Krav Maga teacher and he hasn’t been to Les Amis meetings in months, close to a year, because of his feelings for Enjolras and their conflictual relationship. Enjolras needs to take urgent self-defence lessons. They reunite. Things are awkward. Stuff happens. They end up together. Bon appétit.

WIP 4: original short story, Scar Tissue, my first attempt at writing horror.

There is a scar on the wall of the train station. It isn’t a crack, nor a crevice; it’s a scar. No one remembers what caused the tear, the origin of the wound, and no one lived to tell the story, but the scar —because it is a scar— healed like one’s skin might. It scabbed over first, the edges pink and nasty, and eventually, scar tissue grew. If only it had stopped growing.

(I just have 2k of exposition and I don’t know if I’ll finish it or how I’ll finish it, but it’s been super fun to write something out of my comfort zone, so I really hope I’ll get around to finishing it!)

WIP 5: original short story, Dana.

When Martin died, Dana felt like something within her died, too. And it did, to some extent. The person she was with Martin had to be dead, since Martin wasn’t around to shape her—this other Dana, the one he’d nurtured and loved for fifty-three long years. So Dana was left with the rest, and the lack of it, too. A Martin-shaped gap in her house, in her day, and in her soul.

(This short story obviously deals with mourning. It’s pretty much the whole story, how Dana grieves and learns how to become a new her after a part of her dies. I intend to finish it but I had to take a break from it because one of my grandpas passed away as I was writing it and uh. It hit super close to home. I have a full outline for this though, so I’ll probably finish it.)

WIP 6: ExR monster fic which will never even get to the point being a monster. Working title: The Fucc.

Grantaire doesn’t really do excited. The last thing he got excited about was The Hobbit films and the release of the second opus still features in Grantaire’s ‘Top 3 Let Downs”, right along with Trump and Bolsonaro’s elections (he counts them as one —too similar) and the French spelling of the word “penguin.” As for the third Hobbit film, well. Grantaire has become excellent at pretending it doesn’t even exist. And yet, in spite of his careful and cynical approach to life, Grantaire is very excited about the coming summer.

He’ll be working the entire time which, in and of itself, shouldn’t be exciting. Thanks to his parents’ and his subsequent own virtual wealth, he’s never actually needed to work—fact supported by his careless attitude towards jobs, studies, and pretty much anything under the sun. Nevertheless, as a self-appointed disappointment—likely the only point he and his parents agree on—Grantaire has long been getting ready for the inevitable day he’ll be cut off. Working part-time gigs and summer jobs is alright; Grantaire doesn’t actually dislike it —if anything, the prospect of working as a waiter or cantaloupe harvester is much more appealing to him than any boot-licking non-sense his family gets up to generation after generation. But while he won’t pretend that the idea of yet another summer spent under the sun scooping out ice cream for tourists fills him with glee, getting to do so with all his friends is pretty damn exciting.

(So this is actually the very first thing I started writing for the Les Mis fandom, and I was super excited about it, but it’s very unlikely I’ll ever finish it. I’d like to, though, one day. Maybe. Quick pitch: Les Amis are final year uni students and they’re all hired over the summer to work in a super shady, knock-off version of DisneyLand owned by none other than the Thénardiers. A revolution is attempted. Many games of Twisters are played. Bahorel wears a hot dog costume all summer long with nothing but underwear underneath, and he somehow rocks the look.)

It was really fun revisiting all of these WIPs, if a little sad because urgh, I wish I could finish them aaaall. Anyway, thank you so much for tagging me, aromantic-enjolras!

I tag: @lesbianjolllly @museinabsentia @luckybossuet @demourir @strangegoingson @serinesaccade @tonightless @nicolodigenovas @areyoumiserableyet and whoever wants to do it! Consider yourself tagged!

#tagged #tag game #wips #les mis #exr #enjoltaire #les miserables #les mis fanfic #original story #my writing

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