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aakeysmash · 2 months

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Roommate or boss?

part 2, part 3, part 4

Pairing: f!reader x Katsuki Bakugou.

Warnings: none, really. AND THEY WERE POSSIBLE ROOMMATES, MAYBE?

Context: 3k words. Reader is a barista and she only meets Bakugo at the end of this </3. He’s her boss but she doesn’t know. I don’t delve into this tho, just so you know. They’re both 22.

A/N: never thought I’d write a slow burn but I HATE not giving context. This is just me yapping with zero grammar context whatsoever. The reader is super oc in this one, but all the girl names I thought about were UGLY. Let me know what you think about it!

“No.”

“Come onnnn it’s gonna be just this one time” pleads your best friend from the other end of the phone.

“Ochaco, you know I hate when you pull this shit” you reply, while putting your jacket on.

“I knowww, but listen, me and the cute guy have had NO time for ourselves lately and-“

“And you’re leaving me doing this assignment with who knows who? We’re always partners for physics, you know I can’t do it all alone and you can’t phrase your deductions to save your life. We complete each other. You’re my soulmate. Why are you leaving me for a guy?” you whine, while closing the door of your apartment and walking towards your car.

“It’s gonna be just this one time, I promise! It’s not like we’re gonna fail. I think. I hope…” she mumbles.

You sigh. “If we do fail, you’re getting your ass beaten, I am so for real” you concede after thinking about it. You start your car and put your phone on speaker.

“BABEEE I love youuuu! You know you’re the only one for me! I promise to finally tell you all the details on Saturday” she squeals.

You wince. “Nah, I can’t this Saturday. I have to work, manager is on vacay. Maybe Sunday?” you said, knowing she will start rambling.

“Y/N just leave that place, they don’t even value you as a person, let alone as a worker. Plus, your manager is a bitch” Ochaco says sternly. “I still haven’t got over the fact she makes you work double shifts just because she wants to be in Bali with her new stupid tomboy. Who, by the way, cheats on her. You said so yourself, and I heard him and your colleague going at it that one time I came to visit you last week -not Momo, bless her heart, how is she by the way?- oh and he steals her money. And-“

“I need the money, and I do love to make coffees for the nice old ladies that tip me” you interrupt your more-than-protective best friend, knowing that she could go on complaining for hours if you didn’t stop her. “Also, I just got to the cafe and I’m already running late. I’ll text you when I get off, okay? Love you”.

“Yeah yeah. Don’t overwork yourself too much, love you” and you hang up.

You and Ochaco have been friends since you were babies. Your parents were neighbours back in your hometown, and your moms coincidentally got pregnant in a span of 2 months apart from each other. You have been attached to the hip all of your school years, and fortunately you have been accepted at the same campus at university. You moved to different apartments because you wanted to be independent, but you are still living pretty near each other. You are enrolled in literature, while Ochaco has a passion for astronomy; you had chosen physics as a bonus class for some extra credits since Ochaco said it would be easy and you trusted her, but she didn’t take into consideration that you failed math throughout all of high school, and she had to save your ass multiple times in the past. You’ll never forget her face when she got an 86% on one of the graded tests she did for you: she was so disappointed she made you ask the professor to redo the test, which you barely knew the basics of. She got 100%, and the professor congratulated you (her) for being such an overachiever. You never felt more ashamed of yourself and proud of your best friend at the same time. On the other hand, she made you do her English essays on a monthly basis, so she really wasn’t in the place to complain about doing all the dirty work for you.

You had partnered up with her since she was a genius, but she met this “cute guy” a month ago and was head over heels for him. She still hasn’t said his name to you, all you know is that he is a part of the physics course and he apparently just stole your assignment partner.

You sigh inwardly. Sometimes you wished love could come to you as easily as it comes to Ochaco. She is a lover girl at heart, nicer than anybody could ever hope to be, but she sure could bite if she had to. She has been there for some of the worst moments of your life, and you have done the same for her. You really didn’t know what you would do without her. Maybe you should get her an apology pastry from the cafe’s leftovers to make up for the last two missed Saturdays (“they’re for the girls!” she said, and you meticulously met up every week up until you had gotten a job).

You’re a bit distracted by thinking about her when you get into the place you work at. It’s a cute cafe, a little bit too orange for your taste, but it’s cozy enough to make work pleasurable. Plus, it’s 5 minutes from your apartment (15 if you walk, but you are lazy). They pay on time, the coffee is good and the clientele isn’t too bad. If it wasn’t for-

“You’re 32 seconds late. You’re getting a formal complaint this time” says your manager, waiting for you with her arms crossed.

“Put that on the note that says I worked 8 extra hours a week for the last 5 months. Hello to you too, weren’t you supposed to be in the Philippines or whatever by now?” you say sickening sweet, with the fakest smile you can muster, while you pass next to her to get to the room behind the register.

“Shut your smart mouth up before I get you fired!” she almost screams. Some of the people at the table near her look at her like she’s crazy before going back to their cappuccino.

“My oh my miss Utsushimi, it’s not nice to use that tone before the rush hour” you reply, giving an apologetic look at your regulars next to her.

“Mpfh, whatever. Close up this place when you’re done, the boss will probably be in to ask you for the keys at the end of your shift. I’ll be MIA for the next two weeks, bye” she says to you. Then she turns around and smiles sweetly at the clients who previously looked at her with distaste and lies “pregnancy hormones I hope, me and my man are trying for a baby, I’m sorry for scaring you!”. You know damn well she had an IUD appointment last week, because she made you work instead of working herself. Fake bitch.

Without saying anything else, she leaves the place.

“I hate her ass so much”, says someone next to you.

You snicker. “Who doesn’t, Momo?” you face her with a genuine smile.

“Never leave me alone with her ever again, you know I can’t survive this place without you, work wifey” she kisses your cheek fast, before going back to making coffee for a client at the register.

“Ochaco will be hearing about this and she’ll slap you” you laugh heartily.

“I love her too, she’s my work wifey’s wifey, so she’s basically my wifey” she winks at you.

After a few more laughs here and there, you both go back to work like usual.

A couple of hours pass and it’s closing time. Momo waves you goodbye, clocking out. “I’m so tired I could sleep on the floor right now” she whines.

“Yeah, how about no. Let’s go, babe. We don’t want to drag Y/N’s time” says her boyfriend, Shoto, who shoots you a nod of acknowledgement before placing a hand on her lower back and escorting her out of the cafe. “I remember suffering at closing times, let’s leave her be and go home” he nudges your colleague, smiling down at her. He has been inside the cafe a lot in the years you’ve worked here, sometimes picking Momo up. Momo says he was one of the best bartenders the cafe ever had, but he found a job that payed him more and he decided to leave. You couldn’t blame him.

“See you soon, you two lovebirds!” you reply, waving a hand of your own.

Now all alone since even the waiters have gone home, you clean up the counter before packing up the pastry for Ochaco.

“Damn, I have to wait for the boss to give him the keys” you remember, rubbing your face.

You wait 45 minutes before a redhead makes his way into the cafe. He seems busy on the phone with someone.

“I’m here, let me just get- fuck no I don’t wanna talk to Camie about it, Baku- no, wait- fire? Are you going to take her place and finally come down here like the boss you are? Yes, I know- what? And where would we- what do I have to do with all of this? No, I’m going home- fuck, he hung up” the man sighs, before turning his body towards you.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, not really manly from me” he smiles, looking sorry.

“Oh don’t worry about it!” your smile was really stretched, and you think he notices, because he says “sorry” again. “The manager said to give you the keys. So you’re the boss?” you say politely, stretching your hand with the keys towards him.

You’ve seen him multiple times, he’s a regular. He always gets the same order (one black coffee and one hot chocolate with extra cinnamon), and he always tips you and Momo well. Today he seems distressed.

“I wouldn’t wish to be the boss, to be fair. You could say I’m his right hand. Where’s Camie? Boss needs to talk to her in private before next week comes” he sighs.

“She said she’ll be gone for two weeks” you reply, confused.

“And who said she could do that?” Kirishima, you think that’s his name since you’ve written it on his order just yesterday, looks at you in disbelief. You shrug. “I don’t ask. The less I know about her, the better I feel about working here”. You start to pack your things up, before going towards the door with the man following behind you closely.

“This is nuts. I hate doing job interviews” he mumbles fast, turning the key in the lock. You raise an eyebrow, what is he even talking about?

“Do you live near? If not, I could give you a ride. I’d hate losing the only barista who makes boss man’s drink good enough to not make him pissy” he says, while pointing to his car.

You laugh. “It’s just a hot chocolate. Tell him he should try it with a few drops of hot sauce in it. Sounds disgusting but it’s actually pretty good. Also don’t worry, I live just down the street”. He nods and you wave each other goodbye.

“It does sound horrible. Thanks again for waiting, see you tomorrow for the same exact order I always make” he grins, then gets in his car and drives away, not after seeing you get in your car as well.

Once at home you call Ochaco, who’s “been worried sick, you never get home this late”.

“Y/N you seriously need a roommate. Did you even eat?” she reprimands.

You sigh. “I have to meet someone tomorrow. But you know, girls tend to look at you weirdly when you say you need them to know how to cook. They feel like you’re looking for a maid. Like, I can’t eat sandwiches every day like I did with the last roommate I had” you explain while opening your fridge. Sausages and smashed potatoes from yesterday will do the job for today.

“The psycho who thought vegetables made her look weak? Freak” you hear your best friend snicker. “At what time are they coming over?”

You groan and say “8 am. It’s a guy this time. Who wakes up before 8 am at uni? He’s already lost 2 points for this” while gulping down your food.

Ochaco’s snicker is now a full laugh. “People who have their lives together, maybe? But pay attention, males scare me” she replies quieting down.

“Yeah yeah. I’m gonna sleep now, text me the deets for Sunday, okay?” you clean your plate and go to the bathroom to wash your teeth.

“Will doooo. Good night, babe” she smooches on the mic before hanging up.

After making sure you locked your apartment door, you go to your bed, where you manage to fall asleep in thirty seconds.

The next morning you’re brutally awakened by the sound of your doorbell. You look at your phone screen: 7:42 am.

“Who the fuck is it now?” you grumble, before going down the stairs and looking through your peephole.

“Shitty hair I swear if this takes me more than 10 minutes… she hasn’t even opened the door. Yeah, she said 8 am, who cares if I’m early? I AM NOT the only one awake on a Saturday morning. Y’all are just lazy fucks” a blonde rudely says into his phone. You can hear him talking loudly from behind the door. You widen your eyes, before screaming “coming! Give me 5 minutes!” and rushing towards your bathroom to make yourself presentable. “Fuck, I forgot about the roommate appointment” you whine, while putting on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. At least they are clean.

You open the door to find a broad man staring at you menacingly. He’s kinda tall, kinda (really) fit, kinda underdressed for the winter. Kinda hot, too.

“Hi, how can I help you?” you offer him the nicest smile your still sleepy mind can muster.

He looks you up and down, before focusing on your face and levelling you with an indifferent look.

“You must be Y/N. I’m Katsuki Bakugo, we had to meet at 8 am for the spare room offer. I've been here for 15 minutes” he gruffly declares.

You add “rude” to your list of “kinda”. You don’t like his tone. -1 point.

“Yeah, and it’s 7:48” you bite back, your smile faltering while shaking his outstretched hand. He’s definitely going to the gym with the callouses he has.

“Come in, I’ll let you see what you’re getting yourself into”, you say, opening your door more.

You live in a nice apartment, you think. There’s a nice kitchen with a nice island that also serves as a table in front of it, a blueish couch in front of the tv, and a couple of steps that bring you to a corridor with three doors: your room, the spare one and the bathroom.

You describe everything while he stays in absolute silence next to you. It makes you feel uneasy. -1 point.

You just finished showing him the bathroom and are ready to tell him you don’t think he’s a good suitor when he finally speaks up.

“And how much do you pay for this shit?” he asks. Nice voice, you think. Gravelly and rough enough to not sound annoyingly forced. +1 point.

“500 a month” you reply, while returning to the kitchen.

“Your shower needs some work done, it leaks. Also, mold is starting to show on the bathroom ceiling, might wanna check on that. Your oven looks unusable in the condition it’s in. Small tv. At least you’re clean from what I've seen” he begins to say.

You frown and turn to look at him. Did this bitch talk for the first time in 15 minutes only to complain?

“Do you even know how to cook with said oven?” you say, ignoring everything else he just said, and giving him a nasty look.

He tsks. “Yes. Is this your way of asking me to cook you fucking breakfast? I don’t eat with lazy people who get out of bed at 11 am” he makes sure to say.

You scoff. Men really do find the audacity to say stuff like this nowadays? It seems like you've been out of the loop for too much.

“You showed up early. It’s a sign of disrespect, you know? Also no, I know how to fix myself something. I just don’t want you to burn my kitchen down to a crisp and smell takeout whenever I get home” you say in the rudest way you find possible.

He smirks before saying “might wanna check on that fucking attitude of yours too before I poison your food”, tapping your shoulder to get you out of the way and take out some pans. You showed him where to find them earlier on.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you say in disbelief. “This is still my kitchen. Get out”.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m making you fucking breakfast to say sorry for interrupting your princess sleep. Just make coffee while I come up with something. If you know how to make it, that is” he doesn’t even look at you while getting eggs, milk and bread out of the fridge.

You’re baffled. He’s making himself at home when you didn’t even say he was accepted.

“Wait, you’re still not-“

“I'll give you the money at the start of every month. I’ll paint the walls of the room, I hate that fucking green, but painters are scammers so I’m doing it myself. I’m clean, I’ll just need a spare key in a matter of days to take my shit here. I’ll keep myself in my room if you keep yourself in yours. Any further requests?” he interrupts you, assembling his french toasts on the pan.

You’re even more stunned. But you’ve always been quick with your thoughts, so you come up with something.

“I’ll say yes if those french toasts are good. If they’re not, your ass is out” you say, still not looking at him, while making coffee.

“Might say yes if you know how to make a hot chocolate from scratch instead of the poor coffee that machine will make” he watches you from the corner of his eye. You scoff, you’re a barista nonetheless: who does he think he’s talking to? Meanwhile, he could swear he knew you from somewhere.

“Deal”.

Neither to say, the french toasts were “not that bad” and your hot chocolate was “barely fucking acceptable”.

#bakugo katuski #bakugou katsuki #bnha #barista au #bakugo fluff #i guess #how do you tag #bakugou x you #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #and they were roommates #bakugo knows how to cook in this one

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dreamauri · 10 months

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♪ — 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗖 𝗗𝗜𝗘𝗗 - part three max verstappen x girlfriend! driver! reader (angst+smut ) “. . . the universe might hate you after all. after a week of rest and recovery with max, you get bad news before your race.”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( previous | next )

"S-slower." You whimpered in between hungry kisses. Your body was at its limits, pressed up face against the shower walls with max's chest tight on your back. The cool water was falling on you, doing nothing to help with the with the burning feeling you felt.

"Max, please." You whined reaching up to hold his hand that was resting against the wall. "I can't. 'S too much." "You've taken me before, liefje. You can do it again." Max said in your ear huskily. He took your hand without hesitation.

His free hand turned your head back to face him, pulling you in a passionate kiss. Bouncing with each thrust, you felt like you were going to be ripped apart, like you were set on fire. You were getting closer and max could feel it, turning you around so your back was on the wall and your chests pressing on each other.

The blond continued to attack your lips, holding you up by your thighs. You did the only thing you could, gripping onto his back and shoulders with your legs wrapped around his abdomen. "Ik hou van jou." Max whispered in your ear, looking at you as you panted on his chest, a moaning and squirming mess.

You had no idea what that meant and were too out of it to realize. You were crashing, scratching into your boyfriend's back as he fucked you through your orgasm, slowing down as you relaxed in his arms. It made his heart melt feeling you melt into him, making him repeat the phrase again. "ik hou van jou."

Max felt incomplete when he pulled out, he couldn't have enough of you. Gently setting you down on your knees and hands, taking you doggy style. "Max, I can't go again." You pleaded, reaching back and trying to push on his chest weakly. "Schatje, please. I'm almost there."

How could you say no to him, he's made you cum three times already prior to the last one. "Just not inside." You stuttered whimpering, too overstimulated. Tears welled in your eyes as you did your best to stay still for him. "Brave meid." [good girl] he praised kissing the spot behind your neck.

You leaned into his touch, turning a little to face him while you cupped his cheek. He pressed his nose into your cheek closing his eyes, concentrating on you and only you. He pulled out, cumming after a few strokes with a grunt.

Your boyfriend caught you by your stomach before you would lose all your strength and fall. Pulling you on his lap, he leaned your head against his chest as he pressed kisses along your jaw and neck. Close to passing out, you held Max's hand. "Thank you." He whispered in your ear kissing the back of your hand.

He loved this side of you, one where the media and the sports world were forgotten. All the tough races and unlikable moments, gone. Where it was just you, his girlfriend. Letting her guard down around her boyfriend. He also loved that he was able to get you to relax a bit, you deserved it.

Max gently washed your hair, earning a hum from you as he gently cleaned your body. Once you were both clean and dry, you were back on your shared bed ( one that you had moved to sleep in recently ) cuddled up against max's taller figure. "Why do you think ladybugs are called ladybugs?" You asked out of no where making max chuckle pressing a long soft kiss to your cheek. "And do you think there are gentlemen bugs? Would they be black and white?" You continued to ask, starting a comfortable conversation with your lover, sharing a few well earned laughs.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Hey, dad. Where's mama?" You asked your father once you saw him. "Forget about the old hag, she's getting her son." He answered, starting to make his way to the paddock. You pursed your lips watching him go.

"Not even a 'Hello, daughter. How are you'." You mumbled in annoyance, starting to follow him. "I heard that." He warned, making you zip your mouth.

"What position are you aiming for today?" "Minimum P1. Hopefully Max stays out of the way and isn't too much of a hassle." You joked feeling way lighter. "No way, P1's mine." You heard Max say as he passed by you. You turned around to look at him, a soft smile on your face. "I called dibs already, he's going to have to give in." You told the reporter waving Max off.

The paddock could feel the lift in your moon, although you weren't completely back to the ball of sunshine you used to be as a rookie, you were almost half way there, spending a week with Max did you good ( no you two weren't fucking the whole time he took you out surfing and to get cupcakes ).

"You look awfully happy, is the accident not relative?" What the- You were shocked hearing those words, so early into the new interview as well. "Excuse me? What accident?" You frowned at the man, anger and confusion clear in your tone. 'am i not allowed to be happy anymore?' was what you thought.

"Your mo-" "Thank you, but we have to go." Your PR manager excused pulling you out of the interview pen. "What happened? What accident?" You asked her once you got out of earshot. "It's nothing, they are just trying to get in your head. Don't listen to them."

You brushed it off walking with her to your garage. It was only 10 minutes before the race did you go through the messages on your phone while sitting in the car. 'Your mother passed.' The message read. You understood what that meant, and it felt heart wrenching.

You tried several times to get out of the car, but the only person holding you in was yourself. You felt numb. Watching the lights flicker red one by one, your breath was heavy and you could hear your heart beat in your ears, taking one last blink before the race.

When you opened your eyes you were parked in front of the P1 spot, your team cheering in front of you. What happened? Was the race over already? "Hey! You okay?" Someone patted your shoulder, shouting so you can hear him through your helmet. "Yes." You lied, stuttering over your words.

You don't remember any detail from the race, not the battle for p2 nor p1, not the pitstop nor driving in the rain. It seems you were sitting in the car for too long because Charles in P3 was delivering his short interview. Fumbling with the seat belt and the steering wheel, you hopped out shakily, weakly. You weren't able to support your weight falling onto your knees, putting your head on the ground as you sobbed.

You felt more heartbroken than any of your losses or incidents. Stumbling to your feet, you walked shakily to your team who hugged you patting your back and helmet gently. You were pulled away from them shortly for the interview. Your figure was on the big screen, a camera following you as you took your helmet and balaclava off.

"That was an aggressive race today. But you made it to P1, congratulations." The interviewer asked, trying to lighten up the mood. "I honestly don't remember anything at all. I must have blacked out." You stuttered over your letter and words, you looked like a mess, trying to hold in a sob. Tears trickling down your eyes like waterfalls. Your face was flushed and nose red.

"Really?" "Yeah." "You had an amazing battle with Sainz, Leclerc, and Max. You were leading the race 32 seconds ahead of everyone, and were quite a bit aggressive." "Yeah?" You breathed out nodding, not really listening.

Once you stepped into the cool down room, you broke down, crying like an idiot. Max was quick to reach seeing you reaching for him, getting off the chair and crushing you in his arms. You gripped the fabric on his back, sobbing into his chest while he held the back of your head.

The camera in the room was of course capturing everything, but that was a problem to deal with for later. He leaned his forehead against yours. He only just found out about the news a few minutes ago after the race and heard about your blackout through the speakers.

Max understood why you had such an aggressive behaviour now. And he forgave you before you apologized.

Once it was time for the podium you found yourself crying half way through your anthem. The crying wasn't stopping, not even so you could receive your trophy and medal in peace. You kissed the trophy and put it to your forehead, dedicating this to your mother who helped you reach your dream.

You found yourself hugging Max again. The man patting your back as he took both champagne bottles and walked off stage with you. News about you two dating was going to be out any second now.

You were soon sitting on his lap hugging him in the red bull garage. You were a contrast to the navy, yellow and orange theme in your red, black and gold suit (which max told you he found you attractive in previously ). "You hungry?" He asked, you only shook your head in return knowing you wouldn't be able to keep it down.

Max was passed a water bottle. He was kind enough to open the flask before handing it to you. You had to force yourself to take several gulps before giving it back. "You had me worried." You looked back, seeing your dad.

He took a seat beside Max, pulling you into his lap and giving you one of his rare hugs which made you even more emotional. "She would be so proud of you. You've come so far and she wouldn't want anything more than that."

"I'm sure she's cheering on heaven right now because that was a very good overtake in lap 46." Max complemented taking your hand and kissing the back of it, trying to make you feel better. You smiled at your boyfriend, feeling just a bit better. Your mom would've loved that overtake.

"Hands off my daughter, Verstappen." Your father scoffed, pulling your further from your lover." You only chuckled as Max put his hands up in surrender, looking at you with love in his eyes.

"Go do something worthwhile that is not my daughter." Your dad shooed making Max groan and stand up. "It's my garage." He mumbled as he waked away.

"Your mother and I love you so much." Your dad's voice echoed through your ears as you walked outside of the paddock, holding the back of Max's shirt so you don't lose him through the crowd that was following you two concerning the topic of your relationship.

No one would've thought that you two would be together since your families have a history of rivalry. Your dad and jos have been battling each other since 1994 and only one out of the two drivers was able to win all the races.

You understood why they couldn't get along, and that scared you deeply.

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flowerandblood · 10 months

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Green Snake, Red Lion (6)

[Slytherin • Aemond x Gryffindor • female]

[warnings: kissing, mention of sex, fluff]

[description: Aemond is a Chaser and captain of the Slytherin team. His biggest rival on the pitch from the Gryffindor team, turned to be his biggest fan, and he hates her with all of his heart. His hatred towards her slowly turns into something else, when she one day stands up for his sister, Helaena. This is slow burn love story.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

Even though they both tried to fall asleep, all they got out of it was short naps between kissing and touching. With her so close to himself, Aemond couldn't help planting tender, innocent kisses on her lips every time she made a movement in his arms, opening her sleepy, thirst-warmed eyes.

She reciprocated his tenderness fervently and passionately, massaging his lips with hers with a soft, muffled moan, stroking his hair with her hand. Aemond didn't dare touch her between her thighs again that night. He knew that part of her was horrified by what had happened between them.

In the morning he felt her trying to gently extricate herself from his grip and get up. He didn't let her, letting out a low growl of displeasure, not even opening his eye. He pulled her even closer to himself, hugging her from behind, his nose in her hair. He heard her swallow hard.

"I should go to my bedroom. I wouldn't want your parents to catch me here." She spoke softly and painedly.

He opened his eye at her words, feeling uneasy at the way that she said the phrase. He felt his heart pounding hard.

"It's only dawn. We can lie together for a while if you want." He said softly, kissing subtly the patch of skin on her neck exposed to him. She didn't answer him for a long moment. He felt her chest rise and fall unsteadily in his embrace.

"…will you tell your teammates about what happened between us?" She asked in a whisper, terrified, her voice breaking at the end as if she was about to cry.

Aemond raised himself quickly on one elbow, wanting to look at her face, frowning. She turned her head away, but he took her cheeks in his hand and gently forced her to look at him. Her eyes were terrified. He thought with a sinking heart that she regretted what they had done.

"What are you talking about?" He asked uncertainly, all tense, his eye expressing concern.

He felt pale, his stomach clenched into a tight knot. Solren swallowed softly, one tear slipping from the corner of her eye down the side of her face.

"You're going to pretend that nothing happened between us, right? When we get back to Hogwarts." She whispered. He felt his heart leap into his throat. For a moment he couldn't get anything out.

He didn't want to announce to the whole world that he had slept with the opposing team's best player. He didn't want to give cause for gossip about them. He also wanted to give himself some time to get used to this new situation. He wasn't going to take it as a one-off, though, like with the random girls in the restroom.

He didn't want this to be their last time. He didn't want to stop talking to her either. It was just that what was going on between them surpassed him in every possible social way. He didn't know how to explain it, so she didn't feel like he was throwing her away. He sighed softly, running a hand over his face.

“I…fuck, it's not like that. I mean – ugh, damn it." He shook his head, stuttering, everything he could think of sounded hopeless and evasive. She looked at him, sniffling, all red. She swallowed silently.

"I'd like to keep this between us, but that doesn't mean that I want to forget about it and end it there." He said after a little thought. Solren blinked, twisting in place, pressing her lips together, apparently processing his words in her mind.

"So what would you like?" She asked uncertainly, but there was a note of hope in her voice and she was no longer crying. Aemond sighed, rubbing his temple.

“I guess… I mean… I – fuck – I just wish that we were together like we are now. Didn't analyze too much and saw, what – um – would come of it." He finally said with difficulty, but somehow relieved that he had managed to say what he really felt. He looked at her uncertainly and saw her face lighten slightly. She nodded.

"All right." She said and smiled warmly, sniffling, her eyes bright and happy again. He smiled involuntarily at the sight, his hand ran over her warm, red cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now, okay? I will also do this at school." He hummed as he leaned over her, stealing from her a long, lingering, sticky kiss. She murmured into his mouth contentedly, apparently expressing her full consent to fulfill his desire.

They spent the rest of the morning kissing, touching each other's cheeks and hair, enjoying the intimacy that they knew would soon be unavailable for them again. Aemond was relieved that she wasn't expecting straight answers and precise statements of his feelings from him right away.

All of this was very difficult for him, but at the same time it filled him with an indescribable satisfaction. The thought that perhaps she had been in love with him from the very beginning filled him no longer with discouragement, but with a pleasant, warm feeling melting in his heart.

Solren ate breakfast with his family, then they all gathered to transfer to Kings Cross Station. For this, they used a passage hidden in one of the subway stations, enchanted in such a way as to exit on platform 9 ¾, created for Hogwarts students.

As they stepped out onto the platform, a large red and black locomotive was waiting ahead of them, surrounded by students with suitcases and their pets, joyfully greeting each other after the break and saying goodbye to their families. Aemond, Aegon, and Helaena also exchanged polite farewells with their parents, and Solren thanked them for their hospitality.

Helaena and Solren went ahead, talking to each other. Aemond and she tried not to look at each other, but they were doing rather poorly. They were both shocked by what had happened between them and how intense the experience was. Aegon was telling him how he couldn't wait to get back on the pitch and play Quidditch again, but Aemond, though agreeing with him, couldn't concentrate on what he was saying.

He stared at Gryffindor's skirt, thinking of her hips which he squeezed so hard as he fucked her. About how wonderful it felt to be sunk between her thighs, how tight and wet she was, just for him. He swallowed hard, feeling his cock throbbing in his pants at the thought. He flinched when Aegon mentioned her name.

“… it's good that she will play again. She's the only Gryffindor I like, and I have to admit, she's quite pretty. I hope you don't see this as a betrayal of the team, but I want to flirt with her a little and see what comes of it." He grunted, brushing his hair casually, as he pushed his way through the crowd of people.

Aemond felt his heart stop for a moment. He pursed his lips, unable to utter a word.

"She already has someone." He blurted out after a moment, not even thinking about what he was saying.

He immediately felt embarrassment at what he had said, and felt as if he would burn with shame. He'd told her that he didn't want anyone to know about it, and he'd just betrayed them himself. He thought that he was a fucking hypocrite and squeezed his eye shut. Aegon raised an eyebrow at him, surprised.

"Really? And how do you know about it?” He asked curiously, recognizing that it was knowledge did not seem to match their level of familiarity. Aemond looked away.

“Helaena told me. If you'd talked to our sister more instead of pretending that she didn't exist, you'd know that too." He lied with surprising ease, feeling his heart pounding wildly as he climbed the steps into one of the train cars that Helaena and Solren had boarded moments earlier. Aegon sighed heavily as he followed him inside.

"Who's the lucky guy?" He asked with irony, looking with him for some free compartment. Aemond saw Helaena and Solren enter one, Solren waved for them to follow them. Aemond felt his throat tighten. He wanted to hiss that he is and tell Aegon to fucking stay away from her.

"I don't know." He said low, furious with himself and with him for some reason.

They followed the girls into the compartment and made themselves comfortable. Helaena and Solren sat on one side, Aemond and Aegon sat on the other. Before Aemond had even taken off his cloak, Aegon asked a question, that made him freeze.

"I heard you have someone, cutie. Who is that?” He asked with amusement, leaning his head against the backrest.

Solren blinked, surprised, completely confused about what he was talking about. She looked at Aemond and saw his terrified, pleading look that said it all. She swallowed hard, her eyes dropping to the floor as she thought hard about how to lie.

"I… well, I don't want to say anything because it's not certain yet." She said softly, pressing her lips together, as she glanced at Aegon. He raised an eyebrow, obviously not satisfied with the answer.

"How is it? You don't know if you want to be with him? Tell me who it is and I'll tell you if it's worth it." He smirked, looking at her expectantly.

Aemond covered his face with his hand, resting his arm on the armrest, feeling that he was about to die of shame and the awkwardness that he had put her in.

Solren turned all red, he could see the physical effort that she was putting into thinking at the moment. Helaena looked at her curiously, as if only now realizing what they were talking about.

"You didn't tell me that you were seeing someone." She said, but there was no regret in that voice, only curiosity and soft warmth joy at her happiness. Aegon looked at his brother, frowning.

“You said, that you learned it from Helaena. You…” He said and suddenly stopped talking, as if he had connected several threads. He looked at Solren, then back at his brother, leaning forward, mouth open in disbelief.

"You must be fucking kidding me. "She's already taken but I don't know who it is?" Seriously?" He said, mocking his brother's voice impatiently. Solren pursed her lips, red with embarrassment, looking at Aemond in surprise.

He rubbed his face, sighing heavily. He looked at her with an expression of utter hopelessness on his face. Whatever happened, there was no turning back. He wasn't going to deny it and say that they had nothing in common.

Aegon's confession made him realize painfully quickly that he didn't want to share her at all. Not after what happened between them. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone else touching her the way he did.

Fucking her the way he did.

"You just surprised me. It was supposed to stay between us for now." He said finally, lowering his gaze, dropping some small powder from his pants on which he focused his gaze, avoiding the eyes of his brother. "Yes, we are together."

There was silence in the compartment. Aegon sank back into his seat, shaking his head, amusement mixed with disbelief on his face.

The Gryffindor stared at Aemond with pursed lips, and when he looked at her, he saw joy and happiness. She lowered her eyelids timidly, playing with the material of her skirt, barely holding back the wide smile that appeared on her face.

"That's wonderful, I'm so happy for you!" Helaena said lightly, pressing herself against her arm, closing her eyes with a dreamy smile on her face.

They spent the entire trip in practical silence. Aemond stared out the window, feeling the tension in his body and the horror of what was happening. On the one hand he was relieved, on the other he was afraid that Aegon would blurt everything out and everyone would talk about them.

He hated drawing so much attention to himself, it made him extremely uncomfortable. He felt Solren look at him once in a while, but he didn't dare look at her.

As they arrived in the evening to their destination and were heading for the carriages that would take them to Hogwarts he saw that Solren was talking to Aegon about something in the rear. He felt uncomfortable at the thought, but decided not to say anything. Stark and a few others called her to come with them, and she waved to them, saying that she'd be right over.

Aemond saw, surprised, how she rushed over to him. Before he could say anything, she started talking.

“I asked Aegon to keep what he heard to himself. Helaena won't tell anyone either. So please, don't worry." She said, pressing her lips together, looking at him as if she was worried by his condition.

His heart clenched at the thought that she thought of his feelings more than her own. She was the one who was terrified, she was the one who lost her first time with him, she was put in a situation where she didn't know what would happen next.

He thought that he was cruelly selfish, as usual.

"I want to kiss you." He spoke softly and matter-of-factly, almost indifferently, though his heart was pounding like crazy. Solren blinked, blushing, looking at him uncertainly.

"Here?" She asked, surpised.

He didn't anserw her, but just grabbed her by the nape and bited into her lips hungrily, placing a long, wet, lingering kiss on her lips. He pulled away from her with a sticky click and pressed his forehead against her temple, his nose pressed against his cheek.

"Do you want to be mine?" He asked in a whisper, still holding her tightly by the nape, all around them were the surprised, quick conversations of people who had just seen what he did.

He heard her shudder at his words, dropping her eyelids modestly, smiling sweetly. She nodded, and he grunted contentedly, as kissed her cheek, pulling away from her. He looked at her, for some reason more content and calm than ever.

"See you later."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses

Others: @fangirlninja67 @helaenaluvr @queenofshinigamis @scmdsblog @talesofoldandnew @godrakin @nina2697 @saminalloxo

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polyamorouspunk · 11 months

Text

The first time I ever heard the phrase “pick your battles” was when I was about 12 years old in eight grade. The grade above us was filled with kids who drank and smoked and did drugs and the grade below us was filled with kids having sex in public bathrooms and somehow we were stuck in the middle, reaping the restrictions put on us for crimes we didn’t commit. One of these being that we were not allowed any personal bags in our wing.

Now, if you’re like me, you carry a *lot* of shit. I mean, there’s textbooks, reading books, food, water, phone, pens and pencils, an eraser that actually works, FeMiNiNe hYgIeNe pRoDuCtS, and idk? Random other shit? Too much to reasonably carry from class to class in your arms and pockets.

So my friends and I wore bags. Purses, if you will, though I hated that term because it was a bit too girly for me, and my “purses” came from the military surplus store. In fact, I still have the last one I got from there. Regardless, my point being that we wore personal bags to carry our shit in.

Except that wasn’t allowed because kids *before* us would sneak their alcohol and shit with them in bags.

Now, nowhere in the handbook did it say we weren’t allowed to have bags- trust me, we checked. Our parents helped us take up the cause- us being me and my 2 friends. But our teachers collectively decided we were not allowed to have them in our wing, they had to stay in our lockers. And so we asked: how them are we to transport them outside of our wing if our lockers are in said wing. If we can’t have them in the hallway how can we have them outside the hallway if we have to store them in the lockers in this hallway.

One day my teacher who had a soft spot for us pulled me aside. He told me he knew that I was on a campaign against this, but that sometimes we need to pick our battles. I had never heard of this phrase, so I sat on it for about .5 seconds before saying “then I’m going to pick this battle and continue fighting it.”

I understand now what he means though. We can’t change everything that we want to. There are so many causes out there, so many things that we should be aware of. But we’ll burn ourselves out trying to take them all on ourselves. It’s been said before to pick a few causes you really feel passionate about and focus on those because you can do more for change when you aren’t stretched out thin.

Beyond that, though, I think we need to pick and choose our battles because realistically there are not just things we can win, and at the end of the day some things *are* more important than others.

We live in a surveillance state. That’s clear in a lot of countries, including the US, but that’s clear on a global level. While this sucks, at least here in the US, it really seems like not enough people care to fight it. Hell, people are actively bringing surveillance devices into their homes in the name of convenience. Realistically, overturning our surveillance state doesn’t seem likely. While it’s a battle that’s noble to fight, it’s probably in vain.

But think about when Roe v Wade was overturned. How much outrage it caused. How much outrage it’s still causing. Enough people are fighting that there is hope to rectify it, I think. And when it comes down to it, if you have to pick a battle to “not be surveilled” or to “legalize life-saving medical treatment (again)” one of those seems a lot more pressing and important than the other.

It’s okay to personally put causes on the back burner. It’s okay to not reblog every single “awareness” or “woke” post you see. You’re not obligated to fight every fight. Even just reblogged activism post after activism post can be draining. It’s okay to take a step back, take a break. Don’t forget about these struggles. Keep them in the back of your mind. Maybe go back and reblog them later. But don’t burn yourself out fighting too many battles, especially if they’re losing one. Focus on a few, solid, tangible changes you can make: being kind to strangers; donating goods, services, and money; volunteering; teaching children; etc. and if you have the energy go above and beyond that. You can make a difference just by being kind. You don’t have to fix every single problem. But together we can fix a few at a time.

#long post #tl;dr there are some issues that the majority doesn’t care about enough to make real change and a few people won’t cut it #focus on what’s most important both to you and overall #it’s okay if you aren’t blowing up police buildings you can just be kind and that’s enough #personal

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 2 months

Text

By: Andrew Doyle

Published: Mar 11, 2024

As a child of the Eighties and Nineties, I remember well that homosexuals were fair game in the mainstream media. One columnist in The Star railed against “Wooftahs, pooftahs, nancy boys, queers, lezzies — the perverts whose moral sin is to so abuse the delightful word ‘gay’ as to render it unfit for human consumption”. After the death of Freddie Mercury, sympathy in The Mail on Sunday was limited. “If you treat as a hero a man who died because of his own sordid sexual perversions,” one writer cautioned, “aren’t you infinitely more likely to persuade some of the gullible young to follow in his example?”

It was sadly inevitable that the AIDS crisis would exacerbate this ancient prejudice. A headline in The Sun declared that “perverts are to blame for the killer plague”. And while a writer for the Express held “those who choose unnatural methods of self-gratification” responsible for the disease, letters published in its pages followed suit. One reader called for the incarceration of homosexuals. “Burning is too good for them,” wrote another. “Bury them in a pit and pour on quicklime.” Someone had been reading his Dante.

I happened to come out in a much less hostile climate. In the early 2000s, we were enjoying a kind of Goldilocks moment, neither too hot nor too cold. We weren’t generally on the receiving end of homophobic slurs, but nor were we patronised by well-meaning progressives. My memory of this time was that no one particularly cared, and I was more than happy with that. Being gay for me has never been an identity, it’s simply a fact, as unremarkable as being blue-eyed or right-handed.

And so it has been troubling to see a resurgence in the last few years of the kind of anti-gay rhetoric that was commonplace in my childhood. Of course, it could be argued that the rise of social media has simply exposed sentiments that were previously only expressed in private. As Ricky Gervais has pointed out, before the digital era “we couldn’t read every toilet wall in the world. And now we can.”

Yet the most virulent homophobia appears to be coming from a new source. Whereas we have always been accustomed to this kind of thing from the far-Right — one recalls Nick Griffin’s remark on Question Time about how he finds the sight of two men kissing “really creepy” — but now the most objectionable anti-gay comments arise in online spheres occupied by gender ideologues, from those who claim to be progressive, Left-wing and “on the right side of history”. The significant difference is that the word “cis” has been added to the homophobe’s lexicon. Some examples:

“Cis gay men are a disease.”

“Cis gay men are truly some of the most grotesque creatures to burden this earth.”

“I hate cis gay people with a burning passion.”

“If you’re a cis gay man and your sexuality revolves around you not liking female genitalia I hope you die and I will spit on your grave.”

“Cis gays don’t deserve rights.”

“There’s so many reasons to hate gay people, most specifically white gays, but there’s never a reason to be a transphobe.”

“It’s time to normalise homophobia.”

Of course, any bile can be found on the internet, but these kinds of phrases are remarkably commonplace among certain online communities. Even a cursory search will reveal innumerable examples of gender ideologues casually branding gay men “fags” or “faggots”, praising the murder of gays and lesbians, and claiming that the AIDS epidemic was a positive thing. Many thousands of examples had been collated on Google Photos under the title “Woke homophobia: anti-gay hatred & boxer ceiling abuse from trans activists & gender-identity ideologues”. The site was taken down last year, presumably because it violated Google’s policy on hate speech — or perhaps because it revealed the toxicity of the ideology the company has spent so long promoting.

If such ideas were restricted to the demented world of internet activism, we might be justified in simply ignoring it. But we now know that the overwhelming majority of adolescents referred to the Tavistock paediatric gender clinic were same-sex attracted. Whistleblowers have spoken out about the endemic homophobia, not simply among clinicians but also parents who were keen to “fix” their gay offspring. And of course there was the running joke among staff that soon “there would be no gay people left”.

And now a series of leaked internal messages and videos from WPATH (World Professional Association for Transgender Health), has revealed that clinicians in the leading global organisation for transgender healthcare have openly admitted in private that some teenagers mistake being same-sex attracted for gender dysphoria. The result of the “gender-affirming” approach has amounted to what one former Tavistock clinician recently described as “conversion therapy for gay kids”. Homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation’s list of psychiatric disorders in 1993, and yet here we are medicalising it all over again.

So how did we reach the point where gay conversion therapy is being practised in plain sight by the NHS? Much of the responsibility has to lie with Stonewall, a group that once promoted equal rights for gay people but now actively works against their interests. It has even gone so far as to redefine “homosexual” on its website and resource materials as “same-gender attracted”. It should go without saying that gay men are not attracted to women who identify as men, any more than lesbians should be denounced for excluding those with penises from their dating pools. What trans activists call discrimination, most of us call homosexuality.

Indeed, activists often claim that “genital preferences are transphobic”, or that sexual orientation based on biological sex is a form of “trauma”. The idea that homosexuality is a sickness was one of the first homophobic tropes I encountered as a child. Now it is being rebranded as progressive.

As for Stonewall, its former CEO Nancy Kelley went so far as to argue that women who exclude trans people as potential partners are analogous to “sexual racists”. She claimed that “if you are writing off entire groups of people, like people of colour, fat people, disabled people or trans people, then it’s worth considering how societal prejudices may have shaped your attractions”. It is worth remembering that Stonewall is deeply embedded in many governmental departments and quangos, as well as corporate and civic institutions. Anti-gay propaganda is being reintroduced into society from the very top.

Meanwhile, the Crown Prosecution Service has been meeting with trans lobby groups such as Mermaids and Stonewall to discuss changes to prosecutorial policy in cases of sex by deception. Since these meetings — only revealed after sustained pressure from a feminist campaigner who submitted Freedom of Information requests — the CPS has recommended what Dennis Kavanagh of the Gay Men’s Network has described as “a radical trans activist approach to sex by deception prosecutions that would see them all but vanish”. In trans activist parlance, the barriers to having sex with lesbians and gay men are known as the “cotton ceiling” and “boxer ceiling”. Now it seems the establishment is attempting to support the coercion of gay people into heterosexual activity.

Consider a recent post on X by Stephen Whittle, OBE, a professor of equalities law at Manchester Metropolitan University. In a reply to LGB Alliance’s Bev Jackson, Whittle took issue with the notion that “love is all about genitals” (an argument that Jackson has never made). Having dismissed this straw man as “a very hetero/homo-normative perspective”, Whittle then claimed that “a lot of gay men can’t resist a young furry ftm [female-to-male] cub”.

While it is true that there are some bisexuals who identify as gay, it is simply not the case that homosexual men “can’t resist” certain kinds of women. As Jackson rightly noted in her response, this is rank homophobia, “disturbed and disturbing on every level”. Yet it has been expressed by an individual who has been described as a “hero for LGBTQ+ equality”. With heroes like these, who needs villains?

Another example is Davey Wavey, a popular online influencer, who has encouraged gay men to perform heterosexual acts in a video called “How to Eat Pussy — For Gay Men”. It may as well have been called “Gay Conversion Therapy 2.0”. We are firmly back in the Eighties, where gays are being told that they “just haven’t found the right girl yet” and lesbians are assured that they just “need a good dick”. And yet now these demeaning ideas are being propagated by those who claim to be defending the rights of sexual minorities.

The Government’s recent guidance on how schools are to accommodate trans-identified pupils — in which biological sex will take precedence over identity — has been met with horror from gender ideologues. One of the common refrains one hears from activists is that it represents “this generation’s Section 28”. But this is to get it precisely backwards. Gay rights were secured on the recognition that a minority of the population are same-sex attracted. In dismantling the very notion of sex and substituting it for this nebulous concept of “gender identity”, activists and their disciples in parliament are undoing all of the achievements of previous gay rights movements.

The widespread homophobia of the Eighties, epitomised by Section 28, was based on the notion that homosexuality was unnatural, dangerous and ought to be corrected. Present-day gender identity ideology perceives homosexuality as evidence of misalignment between soul and body. In other words, it seeks to “fix” gay people so that they fit into a heterosexual framework. It is no coincidence that so many detransitioners are gay people who were simply struggling with their sexuality. Gender identity ideology is the true successor to Section 28.

The proponents of this revamped gay conversion therapy dismiss our concerns as “transphobia” and “bigotry”, or as part of a manufactured “culture war”. Worse still, the new homophobia is being cheered on by those it will hurt most. While prominent gay figures continue to feed the beast that wishes to devour them, we are unlikely to see this dire situation improve any time soon. It was bad enough in the Eighties, when gay people were demonised and harassed by the establishment. Who thought we would have to fight these battles all over again?

#Andrew Doyle #woke homophobia #homophobia 2.0 #gay conversion therapy #gay conversion #conversion therapy #anti gay #gender ideology #gender identity ideology #queer theory #intersectional feminism #religion is a mental illness

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imfinereallyy · 10 months

Note

Happy Almost Birthday!!! dialogue prompt #41 for Platonic Stobin please and thank you :)))

@spectrum-spectre aaah thank you!! also it feels right to start this event with an ask from you, your reblogs always make me smile. also this one is absolutely not where I expected it to go. (you can find the request game here)

Robin walked into the doorway of their apartment, only to find Steve staring off into the distance with a CD case gripped in his hand.

She felt something drop in her stomach. Sure, Steve wasn’t a man of many words, but the utter silence when she entered the door was damning. Steve never failed to greet her, even on his bad days.

“What’s wrong?” Robin demanded, getting on to the floor besides Steve, resting on her knees.

Steve turned and gave her a watery smile, “I like that.”

“Like what?”

“That you just know.”

Robin hummed in agreement; if anyone else were around, she would wave it off as being friends for years. That living with someone allowed you to pick up on their signals. She knew that was not true, though. That Steve and her had always been connected. Even when they didn’t like each other, there was an understanding between them. The years between them now made it stronger, sure, but to her, Robin and Steve were always meant to be Robin&Steve.

“He came out with the new album.”

Oh. Robin thought, that’s what this was about. That funny feeling only got worse with his words. It settled into something more solid, something more like dread.

Robin knew what she said next would be crucial. Most would want her to bash the album instantly. Any ex-boyfriend should be immediate trash, no matter the talent. But Robin knew Steve, so instead, she asked,

“Any good?”

Steve huffed, “Stupid good.”

“That make you angry? That he’s doing good even without you?” Robin took his hand and rubbed circles with her fingers.

“No, I’m not angry, and I don’t think he’s doing good. Kinda worried, actually. It’s just… it’s just track 7, is well—“ Steve cut himself off to rub his eye with his free hand. The motion pushed his glasses up and down his nose.

Robin took her friend in. The years had been stupidly kind to Steve. Sure, he was only 28, but fighting another dimension should age a guy. His scars only made him rugged instead of old. Robin hated him at times because of it, even told him so. But then, Steve would say something dorky, and kind, and would make her ego inflate way too much and—

Yea she loved her strange little dude.

“What’s on track 7?”

Steve cleared his throat, “You haven’t listened to the album have you?”

Robin, despite the tension in the air, can’t help but roll her eyes, “Oh that’s what ticked you off? Not me asking how the album was?”

Steve snorted as he leaned forward to click seek and landed on track 7 before he hit play.

Robin wasn’t prepared.

Track 7: My Reflection is You

In the depths of darkness,

where love once thrived,

A burning passion left,

but a coldness revived.

Our once forged bond,

now a shattered mirror,

Reflecting the pain,

as we stand here unclear

Torn apart,

like lightning splitting the sky,

Our hearts collide,

leaving scars we can't deny.

With every shattered piece,

a painful memory,

We fight to find solace,

a fleeting remedy.

“Jesus Christ.” Robin found herself saying interrupting the song. The irony wasn’t lost on her; that phrase she used was ingrained into her by the very man singing the lyrics.

Robin looked at Steve, and could see the pain he held in his body. How he ached to change things. The lyrics continued to play as she waited for Steve to speak.

Shattered silence,

shattered dreams,

Torn apart, it seems.

Steve leaned forward and paused the cd, “I guess I just always thought when someone wrote a song about me, it would be romantic. Not this.”

Robin didn’t have much to say. She leaned her head against his shoulder, "I know, babe. You deserve better.”

A sob escaped. Steve was suddenly buried in the crook of her neck, and Robin didn’t say a word, just held him as he cried it out. She didn’t shush Steve, or distract him. He needed this.

Robin, some days thought about yelling at Eddie Munson. This song, though, made her want to commit murder. Torture even. With her experiences, that wasn’t something she said lightly. But with Steve there, as he sobbed in her arms, she doesn’t even question the idea of stabbing a man she once considered a best friend.

But he would never be a soulmate. He would never be Steve. And for making Steve cry he deserved death.

Robin wouldn’t actually do it, though, because it would be more for her in the end. It wasn’t what Steve needed.

Steve’s sobs settled and he pulled back. “Sorry, Robbie.”

“What are you sorry for?”

Steve shrugged, “Don’t know. Just feel like I should be.”

“Well don’t. You did nothing wrong, okay?”

Steve nodded slowly, “Okay.”

“Now,” Robin sighed, “Do you want to rant about it or do you want me to tell you what I think?”

It was Steve’s turn to look at her. Robin wasn’t sure what he saw as he silently gazed at her, but she could tell something had settled in him. “Tell me what you think.”

Robin took a deep breath, “I think that the Upside Down fucked us all up in ways that we can’t even count.”

Steve grunted, but let her continue.

“But also think that as time passed, we all made lives for ourselves. Some of us with each other, like you and Eddie, or Lucas and Max. Some needed distance, like Mike. But we all became these things outside of the trauma, but we couldn’t exactly escape said trauma. So we all had our ways of coping. Me, throwing myself into academics, you with overexercising—don’t give me that look; I’m sure we can unpack that another time—but for Eddie, he made this wonderful life with you, and outside of you. Got big, and got a record deal. But he still had that trauma. So add famous rockstar plus unhealed trauma, and it usually equates to partying and addiction.”

“Where are you going with this robs?” Steve scrunched his eyebrows.

“I have a point, I promise. He loved you, and two things are usually offered to these rockstars: sex and drugs. And God—that boy loved you. Would never think about cheating, so I think he got it into his head that drugs were the solution. Maybe he got into his head that it would help him, or cure him. I’m not sure, who knows what goes on in Munson’s head.”

Steve giggled. Robin can’t help but feel she’d done something right. “It doesn’t matter why he did it, though. It doesn’t matter how much he loved you. Because you tried. You tried to make it work. You tried to get him to accept help. You tried to put up with the long nights, and the I’m sorry’s and the ER scares. It reached the point where, even though I love you both, I couldn’t stand to see the ghost of the person you had become. So you gave him a choice, to get sober or lose you, and he chose wrong. Not because he didn’t love you, not because you’re the problem, but because Eddie Munson doesn’t know a good decision if stared him in the face.”

Steve pushed his head against Robin’s “So you don’t think I made a dumb decision, that I deserve this?”

Robin held his face in her hands, “No, babe. In fact, I actually want to murder him for violating your trust and exposing you raw like this. Like how the fuck does he get to sing about heartbreak and make money off of something he could of fix. The only reason I’m not busting down his door right now is because of you.”

“I’m not exactly stopping you Robbie.”

“No, sweet Stevie, but I, unfortunately, know the inevitable truth. That you guys are going to end up together, he’s got a lot of work to do, and I get to at least punch him twice at unexpected times, but I know you both. I think that you guys are a force impossible to separate, always finding your way back to each other. Kinda like us.”

There’s a watery mist built up in Steve’s eyes, “No Robs. Nothing can be like us. Not even Eddie.”

Robin tried to hold back her sob, “Yea, okay. Nothing can beat us; I promise you that. But either way, I do know this: You, Steve Harrington, deserve the world, and one day that man is going to give it to you. But for now, we’re going to cry about what a piece of selfish shit he is, and how I get to record him groveling when he inevitably realizes what an asswipe he was.”

Steve settled back into her side, “So, no killing him? Only trash talking?”

“I feel it’s only right we at least do that. Maybe hold off on our first actual murder charge.” Robin nodded.

“Maybe you shouldn’t hear the next lyric.” Steve moved to grab the cd out of the player, but Robin stopped him, reached across Steve, and hit play.

A love once pure,

now turned to rust,

Betrayal's sting

now we're in disgust,

Echoes of laughter

that haunt my mind,

In faded memories,

I'm left behind.

Robin was silent.

Steve put a hand on her shoulder, “Robin? Babe?”

Robin turned to Steve very slowly, as the weight of everything came over her. This was her best friend, her soulmate. How dare someone blame him for wanting to actually heal, how dare that little weas—

“Robs?” Steve spoke softly. “You okay?”

“What? Oh yea. I’m just going to need your bat. I’ve changed my mind on that murder charge.”

And although she was serious, Robin couldn’t help the smile that cracked on her face when she heard Steve’s laughter echo through the apartment.

***

sorry I know this hurt a lil bit, I can’t believe I wrote purely angst. I hope even if this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, you liked it. Thanks for all the laughs and love.

find the request game here

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imtotallyokandnormal · 27 days

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》☆Proxy Info!☆《

Sooo because I felt like dumping all of my brainrot in one place I'm gonna talk about the personalities of some of the creeps in my au!

Sorry in advance for how long these are, I put em under the cut so you can save yourself the scrolling.

(Links to images in titles and dividers by this person!)

》☆Jeff the Killer☆《

Basic info:

Full name: Jeffrey Hodek Woods

Age: 21

Pronouns: he/him (according to him, "I dunno, the guy ones I guess?")

Gender identity: Male

Orientations: Bisexual, demiromantic (openly bi but doesn't know what being demiromantic is)

Height: 6'0"

Likes: Slipknot, spicy food, dogs (cats too but only sometimes), horror and action movies, cartoons from his childhood, being annoying on purpose, working out.

Dislikes: Being touched without asking, complete silence, people with all bark and no bite, weird smells (especially strong chemical smells).

Extra: Jeff is Italian-American, as an homage to the original Jeff Hodek :>

Personality info:

Due to a rough childhood AND generally just being pretty fucked over by life, Jeff has a habit of acting reallyyyy tough and cocky. He doesn't like to sugarcoat things often, so he sometimes comes off as overly blunt.

He carries himself as a very confident guy, someone who will usually say what's on his mind whether people like it or not. This doesn't NECESSARILY mean he's a bully about it, but it doesn't mean he's always thinking about the nicest way to phrase things. Obviously this means he'll often speak his mind when it's COMPLETELY not a good idea, and he will often be stubborn about standing his ground.

He can have strong opinions on things, just for the sake of having strong opinions. He will die on a hill just to prove himself right. The Operator kinda fucking hates him honestly dgjudgdgiohf

Despite his brazen nature, he can be fairly friendly and fun to be around once you get to know him. He's spontaneous and very passionate when he gets into the spirit of something. When he sets his mind so something he goes barreling for it at full speed.

He's also INCREDIBLY loyal, like if he's decided he likes someone it'll be hard to make him dislike them. He's got your back, no questions, no caveats. He's kinda like a guard dog when he's friends with someone, like as soon as he hears someone shit-talking them he's ready to fucking throw down.

He's also very smart, quick on his feet with things and has a very good sense of logic. He might not have a specific field he's especially focused in like EJ, but as far as pure logic goes he's one of the smarter proxies in the manor. That's why The Operator bothers to keep him around, because otherwise it'd probably dispose of him just because it finds him annoying 😭😭😭

Appearance info:

Instead of only fire-related burn scars (which he still has a lot of), Jeff also has a lot of chemical burns, and healed scars of varying sizes all over his body. His smile cuts are healed, but are the most obvious cuts on his body. His body/face aren't white, but are instead his natural skin tone (kind of a warm beige, obviously varies in his scars). He also doesn't have a fully reconstructed nose, like he has kind of a bridge but it doesn't look like his original nose.

He's got a kinda sexy biker/emo band member aesthetic going on, like band tees cut into tank tops and black cargo pants are his go-tos. He also likes to wear regular tank tops that fit him snugly because he's a little bit of a show-off and likes to flaunt his muscles. He doesn't usually accessorize way too much, he usually just has a belt and spikey/studded wrist cuffs, probably some leather fingerless gloves too. When he's not wearing a hooded jacket-flannel combo he has a beat up leather jacket on. He obviously wears converse cuz he's emo but also big chunky combat boots that add almost 2 inches to his already towering height. Definition of unnecessary intimidation. He's also got piercings! Both ear and facial ones because he's hot. Definitely some tattoos too.

He has long thick hair that he dyes black (fucking emo I'm telling you) and it has tons of choppy layers that he cuts himself. He usually either keeps it down or throws it up in a ponytail (it looks a little like a big spiky pom-pom :3). He likes to experiment with his hair, he tends to just change his hairstyle on a whim if he's bored (keep him away from the kitchen scissors for the love of god he always uses the worst tools for cutting his hair). His hair tends to just naturally be messy so he doesn't usually put product in it.

As for makeup and nails, he somehow does so little and it enhances so much. All he does is put some black eyeshadow right around his eyes, rubs it around and boom, done. His nails are also painted black usually, and almost always chipped.

》☆BEN Drowned☆《

Basic info:

Full name: Benjamin Jacob Lawman

Age: 14 (does not age past this due to being dead)

Pronouns: he/they ("they is fine too I guess" *secret gender feelings unlocked*)

Gender identity: Male (...? He'll figure it out later)

Orientations: Does not know, does not care ("if someone's hot then they're hot I dunno- can I get back to my minecraft build now?")

Height: 4'2"

Likes: Video games, especially the LoZ games (who would've guessed), anything related to internet horror, hanging out with the older proxies, junk food, EDM, animals, bugs and tardigrades.

Dislikes: Being bossed around, comments about how young he is, valley girl accents, being alone too much, baths and pools.

Extra: Ben wanted to be a limnologist when he was still alive.

Personality info:

Now Ben is a 14 year old boy, not just for a year but for all of eternity as he knows it. He's not exactly gonna be HAPPY about this fact, because he still has some leftover young teenager angst to work through. Part of that angst includes not being taken seriously by everyone else in the manor because he's wayyy younger than everyone else.

To combat this Ben tends to try and copy mannerisms he sees in the "cooler" proxies (mainly Jeff since he's closest with him), so he tends to act sarcastic and snarky when in front of adults.

He's impulsive, especially if how he's perceived by others is on the line, so he's definitely doing dumb shit with the older proxies to make them think he's cool like racing stolen shopping carts or attempting (and failing) to prank The Operator, which just gets him in trouble.

He tends to keep to himself unless he's around people he's friends with, preferring to play video games and not having to interact with people. To him, it's better to just stay inside and distract himself than go out and let people comment on how young he is constantly.

There are parts of him that still remain from when he was alive, though. These traits especially come out around Sally, who he sees as a little sister. He understands how much it sucks to be dead so young, so he doesn't want it to suck as much for her.

He's patient with her if she can't figure out certain things, and tries to explain it in ways she'd understand. He's almost like a teacher in the way he does it, like he starts broad and narrows it down little by little until she gets it. This is how he teaches her things like ecology (one of his favorite science subjects by the way).

He's also good at telling how people are feeling, how people act if they feel certain ways. He's good at recognizing those kinds of patterns, and while he doesn't always openly try to help he tends to do it in more quiet ways. If you receive an anonymous candy bar at your door with a little sticky note on it saying "get better soon, dum-dum" no you didn't.

Also he doesn't mind being made fun of for his height as much as he minds the age thing, and often likes to use it to his advantage by climbing on people if they try to be comedians about it.

Appearance info:

To nobody's surprise, Ben loves the LoZ games, so obviously if he has the ability to cosplay Link all the time every day he's gonna take it. Ghosts can kind of shapeshift in a way if they're in their incorporeal state, so he absolutely goes apeshit. He gave himself the long blonde hair and the big ol elf ears and one of the cool Link outfits, but upon realizing he'd be picked on for his appearance he later he decides to abandon the outfit and switch to "cooler clothes." He also gave himself the bleeding black and red eyes because he thought it looked badass.

Clothing style? 90s teenage dirtbag mixed with gamer bro that hasn't seen the sun in ages. Big baggy pants with a big baggy LoZ shirt and a neutral colored flannel (probably has holes in it) is his default outfit, but also regular sweats and a t-shirt works just fine. Everything he owns is in a desaturated earthy color scheme, especially green because of fucking course. If it's not a variation of green, beige or brown it's probably black because he's gotta subtly let himself cosplay Link if he can't have the full Link outfit. He usually wears converse or vans, and pairs them with the weirdest funky mismatched socks you've ever seen in your life. Usually wears a beanie to compensate for the Link hat but sometimes he feels comfortable enough wearing it around his friends.

His hair is grown out and also kinda messy, but that isn't on purpose he just genuinely doesn't bother styling it most of the time. If he does do something with it it's a half up half down kinda deal, and the ponytail part is very small because some parts of his hair aren't the same lengths (unintentional layering basically). He has bangs and two long framing pieces, always sticking up and sideways every-which-way. Only ever lets Jeff or Nina touch his hair to style it because those two are basically his siblings, plus he knows they won't fuck him up on purpose.

He does let Nina paint his nails and dress him up sometimes but he absolutely does not want ANY makeup on his face....unless Sally is doing it but NOBODY ELSE CAN DO IT.

》☆Toby Rogers☆《

Basic info:

Full name: Toby Erin Rogers

Age: 20

Pronouns: he/they (*Thinks about it for a good 20 seconds as if he's only just considered this now* "Ehhhhhh...yeah- but also no.")

Gender identity: Demigender/demiboy ("Not like a guy, but guy...adjacent, I guess?")

Orientations: Pansexual, panromantic (calls himself gay for the funnies, but also because he is very gay)

Height: 5'8"

Likes: Playing guitar (he plays acoustic guitar specifically), doing dumb shit with his friends, going on walks in the forest, anything midwest emo.

Dislikes: People assuming he's weak/stupid, sudden loud noises, chalk, alcohol, being unable to help people he cares about.

Extra: Toby can fit about two packages worth of peeps in his mouth at once.

Personality info:

Toby has been through SHIT, even before becoming one of the proxies. He's been bullied for shit he couldn't control his whole life and has been isolated from the world just to get away from being constantly ridiculed (not to mention the abuse and death of the only person he could fully trust), so I think he'd actually like being around people that'd understand him in that way.

He's a lot more open around the proxies because at least THESE people could understand feeling outcasted, right? So even though it takes a while (quite a long while, had to learn he could trust the others first), he eventually lets himself be the goofy, impulsive, free kid he never really got to be.

When you get to know him and he knows he can trust you, he's really fucking considerate. Honestly probably the MOST considerate person in The Manor, like as much as he jokes around he genuinely cares deeply about the friends he has and he can be SO sweet. He's also very loyal, a little bit of a guard dog like Jeff but he's just a TINY bit more subtle about it.

He's the FUNNIEST person in the room, like he can make a joke out of almost any situation and he incorporates his awkwardness to enhance the humor. He's definitely gotten a little better about his awkward tendencies since first starting as a proxy, but sometimes he slips up on a social cue or something and he's generally able to be lighthearted about it. He does tend to crack jokes about his tics, especially if they happen with good comedic timing.

But make no mistake, as great as he is, he is so deeply, internally so filled with ready-to-go rage. As soon as his friends are fucked with it's almost like flipping a switch. He IS one of The Operator's top proxies for a reason, and he will show you said reasons. His anger starts quiet, a glare at whoever pissed him off, a tight grip on their shoulder or wrist. From there, if he's provoked further, he's not holding shit back.

He also has deep and complicated issues with trust, to the point that at times he's scared of trusting his own friends. He doesn't like being unable to trust people he cares about, especially since most of them are pretty much his family now. But for him sometimes it's hard not to be paranoid.

When this happens, or he feels any kind of overwhelming emotion, he tends to isolate himself until it passes. His tics tend to get worse when he's feeling a ton of stress, especially his motor tics, so he prefers riding them out in private. As much as the others tend to be perfectly chill about his tics, sometimes he prefers to just be alone if he can help it.

Appearance info:

Toby's still got his cheek gash in this au, but he's also got a bunch of other knicks and bruises from various things. Due to his CIPA he tends to bump into things and not notice if they've left a bruise so after a while he just sees it and goes "??? How'd that get there?" Along with that he's got a lil bit of facial hair, not anything that forms like a beard or mustache but enough to be kinda fuzzy. And BIG dark circles, he does not sleep.

This guy literally has two modes: Literal Marietta Song As A Person, or Slut. No in between. Guy is a walking talking Weezer album, a total Joyce Manor enjoyer. And when he's not that he's all the members of Måneskin at once, for funsies.

No but seriously he does have the aesthetic of literally any image that comes up when you type Midwest Emo on Pinterest most of the time. I'm talking huge grandpa sweaters, sometimes cardigans, earthy colored flannels, t-shirts over long-sleeved shirts, beat up pair of converse (or beat up pair of boots), the works. Similar to Ben, his clothes tend to have earthy tones but definitely incorporate more brown. He also likes to mix it up with orange and dark blue, especially if he has dark blue jeans. A lot of his clothes have patches that he learned to sew on himself (Jane helped him out a little). And any accessories he has are likely things he's gotten from other people, such as a bracelet Sally made or some fingerless gloves Nina doesn't wear anymore. But what about his Slut mode you ask? Look up Damiano David. You'll understand. He has a pair of sexy red cowboy boots hiding in his closet and he's waiting for an excuse to use em.

His hair is literally the cutest grown out mullet you've ever seen in your life, literally so fluffy and it swoops out at his neck. He cut himself some bangs with help from Jeff (more like Jeff forced his help on him because he knew Toby was gonna do it WAY too short). He likes to fluff it up with some hair mousse and sometimes uses one of Nina's many curling and straightening irons to really add volume.

Toby likes having his nails painted by OTHER people rather than himself so he lets Sally or Nina or Jeff paint them for him. He likes to try out different colors, he really just lets em go crazy. For makeup he usually doesn't wear any, but occasionally he'll let Nina give him a makeover to practice new makeup looks on him. He always looks hot afterwards (thought he was hot before too).

》☆Sally Williams☆《

Basic info:

Name: Sally Maryam Williams

Age: 8 (does not age past this due to being dead)

Pronouns: she/her ("Oh! Ben and Nina taught me about this!")

Gender identity: Female

Orientations: Does not know, just loves everybody ("Uhm- well girls are really pretty- but boys are pretty too! Everyone's pretty!- oh, except for Ben." *mischievous smirk*)

Height: 3'9"

Likes: Ben and Nina, creative activities (like painting or making crafts), reading books, collecting various objects, dressing up, cats, visiting cemeteries.

Dislikes: Unfamiliar people (especially men), losing things, being alone, having her hair touched/brushed (unless Ben/Nina), yelling.

Personality info:

Despite everything that Sally has gone through, she is an incredibly joyful, optimistic kind of kid at heart. She makes her own happiness as a way to keep herself feeling safe, and her efforts spread to other people in the manor.

She's generally friendly to everyone in the manor but won't outright go talk to anyone by herself unless it's Ben or Nina. Those two are the only people she fully trusts being alone around, so she'll usually be following or pulling one of those two along. She is very extroverted and gets most of her energy from being around others, but she needs a little encouragement when spending time with people she's not familiar with.

Once she does know you and trust you enough though, expect her to chat your ear off and ask you to do things with her. Once you're her friend she'll treat you like she's known you her whole life. She's really sweet and likes to give people gifts, especially stuff she makes herself. She's also the type to get into mischief with you (as long as Ben gets to go too of course). She's very talkative and asks everyone how their day's been, because she's genuinely curious.

Adding onto that, she loves to learn things, like anything that has information will probably pique her interest. She tends to ask people questions, anything that she thinks they might know (Ben might have to pull her away once the other person's tired of answering, she's just got a lot of things to ask).

Although she's a very sweet girl and loves being around people, she can clam up very easily if she's faced with something that scares her. Not a lot of things get to her, but one big thing that immediately gets her panicked is getting lost or being left alone (specifically if she doesn't know someone's nearby, she's usually fine in her room by herself). Once she realizes she's away from someone familiar she's quick to get panicked. Depending on the circumstances she might run away or try to fight off people trying to help her. While this is rare, it does happen.

Similar to Toby, she has trouble processing big emotions. For her, anger and fear are really hard for her to control, so she tends to run away and isolate herself when she feels they're getting too strong for her to handle. Being a ghost, sometimes her handle on her physical form gets harder to maintain when she's upset, so she'll most likely be incorporeal when she's dealing with really rough things. She hates feeling these things, she doesn't like having people see her like that, which just makes her feel ashamed of herself afterwards.

Luckily, Nina is especially patient with her when this happens, so after she's calmed down enough she'll go to Nina to decompress. She's really glad to have someone help her and love her, she's so grateful she has family to fall back on.

Appearance info:

Since Sally's a ghost and can basically customize herself, she usually makes herself look like a version of herself when she was alive. The only differences would be things she wished she had when she was alive, like long hair down to her knees and eyes that change color with her emotions (because who DIDN'T want that as a kid). Depending on the day she might change little things for fun, like giving herself cat ears or a unicorn horn. She doesn't have the focus or energy for making big changes (otherwise she'd always be looking like a magical girl with a rainbow color pallette and angel wings).

She LOVES having all sorts of clothes and dressing up because it lets her express how she feels and what she likes. Her clothes are usually very girly, ranging from princess dresses to jumpers to monster high and barbie t-shirts to every kind of skirt known to man. Though sometimes she likes to sort of copy Ben's style, wearing overalls over an mlp shirt and a flannel and beanie to pull it all together. Honestly if she likes you or thinks you're cool she'll try to dress like you at least once.

The only consistency with Sally's hair is that it's almost always long, otherwise she goes nuts styling it different ways. Her and Nina are always doing cute hairdos, Nina helps her braid it or do pigtails or whatever Sally feels like. She loves doing different bang styles, she's always got those lil kids scissors with her in case she wants to chop herself some bangs (it's ok she'll get better at it). Basically it changes depending on how she's feeling, just like her clothing styles.

ACCESSORIZES TO THE MOON SHE LOVES ACCESSORIES ABD SHE INTENDS ON USING AS MANY AS POSSIBLE. Makeup and nails? Obviously! She often likes to do it with Nina in the mornings. Don't forget colorful clip in hair extentions too! Her closet is full of as many things she can get her hands on and she couldn't be happier about it.

#this was really really fun to write i hope you guys like my take on these guys so far!#so far i put in the people I've been thinking the most about for this au since i had the most ideas for them #but there will be more to come!#normal aus!#creepypasta au #creepypasta sally #creepypasta #creepypasta jeff the killer #creepypasta jtk #creepypasta ben drowned #creepypasta toby #jeff the killer #ben drowned #toby rogers #sally williams #proxy #slender proxy

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leschanceux · 8 months

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@fatedtruths gets whatever this is! -

alex hates when they argue with a burning passion.

and yet, he's started this fight, couldn't just let it go when henry warned him not to keep going on about how much of a bellend ( a phrase that often creeps its way into his vocabulary these days ) philip is for apparently deliberately calling at inconvenient times.

it's not like he doesn't know that yelling and insulting henry's family isn't going to help things. he knows he's scaring david when he yells and waves his hands about, but it's so frustrating to know that even now, with more then three thousand miles between the prince and his gilded prison with its guards, that buckingham palace can still have such a devastating way of destroying the man he loves from the inside out.

he just can't stand by and watch the effect such calls have on henry any longer, the way his face becomes so blank and mask-like, the unhappiness that laces his tone and his movements and sours the mood in their brownstone for ages afterwards.

so he runs his mouth, and to nobody's surprise, it makes things worse.

"i'm just saying-!" he continues, voice raised as he interrupts whatever henry's about to say, blood heated, "i wish you'd refuse the calls sometimes, or just tell him he's a dick for calling when we're obviously still in bed!"

#fatedtruths #THREAD; ( ALEX C. D. )#WITH; ( HENRY )#VERSE; ( POST CANON )#mmm hello here is the brain itch

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olderthannetfic · 1 year

Note

This orphaning/deleting discussion is really interesting. I wonder what people think of editing? I often post early drafts and then edit later, sometimes months later and sometimes substantially (i.e. erasing or rephrasing entire paragraphs). If we are to treat AO3 like an actual history-preserving archive, each new version would be its own document. But AO3 is not ONLY an archive but also a place to read fic, which means that it has to be usable, and having several versions of the same story reuploaded as a separate body of text would obviously clog up tags. Maybe there could be an editing history available to readers? Idk, I'm mostly just curious if heavy editing is generally frowned upon :)

I hate it with a burning passion.

The most I'll do is fix a few typos. Once it's posted, that's the final version.

As a reader, it's disconcerting to find phrasing I remember suddenly missing.

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anonymityisfunwriter · 1 year

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Battle of The Babysitter

Request from ValerieQ on AO3 : "Awesome!So sunshine is babysitting this 8yr old boy. (her and bucky arent dating yet.) and the little boy has a massive crush on sunshine(she thinks its funny.) one day she brings bucky along while shes babysittg and let me tell you. this child hates bucky witha burning passion. not cuz the kid knows who the winter soldier is. but because the boy likes sunshine. t the end of the day poor bucky is half full of rage cuz whenever mc's back is turned, this CHILD is MAKING FUN OF HIM. And when confronted about it bucky accidentally lets it slip that he likes sunshime."

Part of The Grumpy Sunshine Series

"Okay, you can do this, you can do this," Bucky chants under his breath. "It'll be fine, you can do this. Just ask. You can do this."

Today was the perfect day, Bucky reminded himself.

If he didn't do this now, he never would. He could barely remember the last time the two of you both had an entire day off together.

Actually, he could.

It was seven weeks ago.

And he chickened out then too.

He swore it was probably easier to get all the planets and stars to align than it was for your missions and assignments to coincide. He had to wait for almost two months before everything lined up all over again, and now, he had to do it.

He'd seen firsthand how other agents used their best pick up lines on you, their most obscenely flirtatious banter, it really was only a matter of time before someone captivated you like you captivated him.

It solidified his resolve. After all, there was no time like the present.

You were just sitting there in the common room, tying a ribbon around a perfectly wrapped gift box.

Bucky briefly worried that he accidentally missed someone's birthday, but he shakes off the concern knowing that you would tell him something like that.

You were always so considerate of him, even if you were slightly oblivious to the massive crush he'd been harboring. And you were good friends, so he wasn't sure why he couldn't summon the nerve to move his feet from where they were cemented on the tiled floor.

"James?" you call, looking up at him with a quirked eyebrow. "You're lurking again."

It was a little joke between the team, that Bucky just lurked around the entrances of rooms, crowds of people, any social gathering really. The first time Sam made the joke in front of you, you made it your job to not let Bucky lurk.

Sometimes by standing with him. Sometimes by grabbing his hand and bringing him into the conversation.

He feels a slight blush warm his cheeks at the thought of how kind and warm you were to him. His crush was clearly getting out of hand, which was another reason he just needed to gather the nerve to just ask you out.

He rolls his eyes, a humorous scoff leaving his mouth, "I'm not lurking."

"Don't worry, you didn't miss anyone's birthday."

He sighs in relief, "Good, Sam gave me so much shit last time."

You chuckle, finishing the bow on the gift box. "So what's wrong?"

"What?"

"You only lurk when something's bothering you."

"I wasn't- " he stops mid-sentence, figuring that now was as good of a time as any. "I actually just - I wanted to know if you had plans today? I thought maybe we could - Like the two of us. Together. Did I say today already? I feel like I should say today-"

'James," you try interjecting as he continues stringing half phrases together, "James, are you okay?"

"I just wanted to know if you wanted to maybe, kind of go out with me. Today," he finally blurts out all in one breath.

"Oh," you slightly frown. It doesn't take any time for Bucky to process the frown. Rejection. He can feel it in the very pit of his stomach. In the awful tugging sensation in his chest. "I mean - I'd love to, but I actually have plans today."

"Plans," Bucky repeats, mostly convinced that you're just trying to let him down easy. He wouldn't press it any further. He knew you didn't owe him anything. And still, that acknowledgement didn't make it hurt any less. "Right."

"Why don't you come with me?" you abruptly offer, wanting to do anything to get the dejected look off of Bucky's face.

"You want me to come with you?" he dumbly repeats. His eyebrows furrow. A rejection he could process. An invitation seemed to make all gears grind to a halt. "Like right now?"

"Yeah! Come with me!"

"Uh.." he lilts, hoping his brain will catch up with his mouth. He clears his throat and slightly shakes his head, "You sure? I don't want to impose or anything. You don't have to-"

"I want you to come," you assure him. "It'll be fun. Promise."

"So where exactly are we going?" Bucky asks as you both finally exit the subway station.

He vaguely recognizes the streets and some of the buildings, but nothing gives him any clue of where you're taking him.

"We are going to an orphanage," you finally reply, holding a tray of cookies in your hand as Bucky hold onto the gift box. "One of the last ones in New York actually."

Bucky quirks an eyebrow, "We're going to an orphanage?"

You chuckle and take his free hand and guide him in the correct direction, "It's actually a lot of fun. The kids are all really great. I usually spend the day there, playing with them, talking to the older ones."

"And why are we going to an orphanage?" he prods.

"Well, today I'm really just going to see one kid for his birthday," you explain, gesturing to the box tucked in the crook of Bucky's elbow. "But I usually go a few times a month. Mostly when I have the time. Nick keeps us pretty busy."

It takes everything in Bucky to play it cool when you don't drop his hand as you walk down the distantly familiar streets of Brooklyn. It was already going so much better than he thought it would've. You're holding his hand as you walk the streets of his old borough - it was already shaping up to be a pretty good day for him.

"So you're telling me that on the few days we have off, you haul yourself from all the way upstate down to down Brooklyn to babysit kids all day - all of your own good will?"

You dismissively wave your hand, fighting the shy smile on your face, "It's not that big of a deal."

"Trust me, it's more than the rest of us do."

"Don't you go the VA to hang out with retired veterans with Sam and Steve?" you point out.

"Yeah, but that's not so much charity, just hanging out with people my age," Bucky jokes.

"So what do you call hanging out with me?" you ask as you finally reach your destination.

A date, he thinks to himself. A date, he tries to verbalize.

By the time his mouth catches up to his brain, you're gesturing to the building at the very corner of the street. There's a look of slight disappointment on your face when Bucky doesn't answer your question, but you shake it away. "That's our stop."

"This is it?" Bucky asks, stopped in front of the building.

The old brick building has to be at least as old as Bucky. Cracks and crumbling bricks line the exterior. The red brick color has now faded into a grayish beige. Definitely underfunded. Most certainly dilapidated and in need of some major repairs.

"I know," you frown, a little disappointed by Bucky's reaction. "But they do what they can with what they have."

"I didn't mean..." he rushes out. "I think it's great, what you're doing."

You turn to him with a warm smile, "Thanks."

Without another word, you both make your way inside. You approach the front desk with a smile. You don't even have to wait a moment before one of the staff calls your name with an exuberant beam. "I'm so glad you could make it today!"

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," you easily reply.

"And who's this?"

"This is my friend and colleague, James," you say, gesturing to Bucky.

Bucky has to fight the visceral urge to frown at the descriptors: friend and colleague. "Just Bucky is fine."

"A fellow Avenger," the staff member commends, shaking Bucky's hand. "I'm sure the kids will love you."

"You're back," an unfamiliar little boy exclaims, barreling out from the large, almost obscenely empty playroom just off to the side.

The staff member chuckles with a warm smile. She ruffles the hair on top of the little boy's head as she tells you, "Jake hasn't stopped asking when you were coming back."

"Sorry, buddy, duty calls," you explain.

"You said duty," Jake snickers with a toothy grin.

"How's my favorite guy?" you ask the little boy. Before he answers, your eyes quickly flicker over your shoulder to Bucky, "No offense."

Even as your attention shifts away from Bucky and onto the little boy, Bucky can't help the fluttering sensation that floats around the pit of his stomach at the mere thought of being your favorite guy, or at least, favorite non-child guy.

And it was only then that the excitement lighting up the boy's face fades as he finally bothers to notice Bucky standing behind you.

Jake's face drops, and though you'd never seen a child's mouth purse in distaste before, that was really the only way to describe Jake's reaction to Bucky.

"Jake, this is Bucky." You gesture to Bucky, still standing beside you. "Can you say hi?"

Jake rolls his eyes, grumbling under his breath, "Hi."

"And we brought you something," you quickly add, diverting the attention away from the awkward exchange, "Happy birthday!"

"You remembered?" the little boy gleams.

"Of course I remembered! It's not every day you turn 8 years old!" you gleefully exclaim, handing the little boy the gift box. "Hey, why don't you go show Bucky your other cars? I think he'd really like them."

The kid sighs, his shoulders slumping like he'd just been sent to do his least favorite chore, "Fine."

As Jake begrudgingly drags his feet back over to the open playroom with Bucky following him, Bucky shoots you an anxious glance over his shoulder. You wave your hand, reassuringly nodding and ushering him to follow the little boy.

Watching from your peripheral as they take a seat in front of Jake's little toy cubby, you turn to the staff member with a warm smile. "And these are actually for you - and the other staff, of course," you say, handing her the large tray of cookies that you'd baked the night before.

"You're too kind," the staff member, Allison, compliments.

"Anything to help," you offer. "How's everyone been?"

"Excited since they found out you were coming. Practically bouncing off the walls," she chuckles. "Jake's had a bit of a rough time, so we're all just happy to see him happy."

You remorsefully sigh. The little boy Allison was referring to was one of their older kids. Even at a mere 8 years old, he was too old for most couples to seriously consider adopting. The last time you were here, you'd heard of a couple that was halfway through the process of adopting the little boy. Your heart broke when you got the call that he would be celebrating yet another birthday here. "The adoption fell through?"

"They wanted a baby," she sadly explains with a shrug that tells you this situation is one she knows all too well. "There was nothing we could do."

"I'm so sorry."

Allison gently pats the top of your hand, "You really do make their day. I can't thank you enough."

"Any time, just let me know if you need anything else," you offer once more. "I'll do what I can."

And while you finish your conversation with the gentle staff member, Bucky remains awkwardly seated in the seat that was much too small for a fully frown adult, let alone a super soldier. The silence between the child and Bucky made it all the more uncomfortable.

"I don't like you," Jake states out of the blue, finally breaking the silence.

Bucky immediately tears his eyes away from you and back to the kid, "What?"

"I don't like you," Jake easily repeats, pulling out several of his toy cars from his cubby.

Bucky's mind immediately jumps to the Winter Soldier reasoning - a lot of people didn't like him because of that. "Why?"

"I'm her favorite guy. Not you," Jake coldly declares.

A slight smile tugs at the corner of Bucky's mouth. He leans in a little closer to Jake, his elbows coming to rest on the play table. "I see what's happening here, does someone maybe have a little crush?"

"Yeah, you," Jake pointedly scoffs.

Though Bucky knows he's talking to a kid, an incredibly jealous child that doesn't know any better, he sputters, "I - I do not have a crush."

"And you're a liar too," Jake mutters under his breath.

"That was not very nice," Bucky admonishes.

"Lying isn't very nice either, Ducky."

"Bucky," Bucky corrects.

"Whatever you say, Ducky," Jake flippantly remarks.

"Bu-cky," Bucky emphasizes.

"Du-cky," Jake cheekily repeats.

"Everything okay over here?" you ask, suddenly beside their little table.

Bucky plasters a wide grin on his face. "Just great."

"Well, then, we should probably get a move on," you gently usher Bucky and Jake from the table. "I was thinking-"

Bucky nods along as you continue giving some suggestions on what birthday activities you three could partake in. But as Bucky stands, Jake kicks a toy car in front of Bucky's path.

And while Bucky would consider himself a fairly agile person, he didn't really think he had a reason to be totally on guard in a children's playroom. He immediately knows he was wrong as he unknowingly steps onto the toy car kicked in his path. His foot slips on the toy car and out from underneath him and sends him flat on his back with a pained huff.

"Oh my God," you exclaim, immediately checking on Bucky. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, you okay, Ducky?" Jake asks, hovering over Bucky's fallen frame.

"Just great," Bucky wheezes, more from embarrassment than any true injury, squeezing his eyes as he imagines what the rest of the day has in store for him.

And though his day started out better than he could've imagined, it was morphing the most agonizing day he could've imagined.

Your first stop of the day was a little ice cream stop just around the corner. And for the shortest of moments, Bucky starts to think that maybe things wouldn't be so bad, that maybe the incident in the playroom was really just an accident. He even hoped that maybe he could win the kid over somehow. It was clear coming here meant a lot to you, and that meant it meant a lot to him too.

But his hopes were dashed the moment you three all had your cones of ice cream in hand. As you grab a handful of napkins for the table, Bucky starts walking over to one of the empty tables in the ice cream shop, blissfully unaware of the scheming little boy walking on his heels.

Just as he's about to take a seat, he feels a dull shove into his back paired with a distinct crunching sound. Bucky gasps, whirling around with wide eyes to find the little boy standing behind him with an over dramatically apologetic expression.

"Whoops," Jake shrugs, the remnants of the smashed ice cream cone still in his hand. You sharply inhale from at the sight of the ice cream cone smashed into Bucky's favorite leather jacket. "I'm sorry, Ducky. Didn't mean to."

Bucky clears his throat, doing his very best to school his expression. He grits his teeth, pulling a pained smile onto his face, "It's fine. No harm, no foul."

"But that's your favorite jacket," you point out. "Here let me help you."

Bucky's eyes narrow as Jake deviously smirks at him the second your back is turned. You take the napkins in your hand and attempt to clean off the little shards of waffle cone and cold liquid now dropping down his jacket. He's a kid, Bucky keeps reminding himself, just a kid.

Once the mess is mostly cleaned off of Bucky's jacket, you figure now would probably be a good time to shift gears for the day.

"Who's up for the park?" you eagerly suggest, the only one of your small group still wearing a smile.

After that, Bucky just thanks his lucky stars that the walk to the park just a couple blocks down goes without incident. Although, he's pretty sure it's you holding the little boy's hand down the street that appeases Jake rather than Jake having any actual mercy for Bucky.

When you three get to the park, you take off with Jake, playing on the jungle gym, pushing him on the swings, sliding down the slides as Bucky stands off to the side.

And though it'd sort of been a terrible day, Bucky can't help but smile and chuckle to himself as he watches you playing totally carefree. It was a nice reprieve from what was a chaotic and draining way of living.

With a flushed face and wide smile, you make your way back to the park bench beside Bucky almost an hour later.

You immediately notice Bucky standing there off to the side. You pat the park bench beside you, gesturing for him to join you. A smile tugs at the corner of Bucky's mouth as he takes a seat beside you. He sighs in relief as Jake running around the playground finally gives him time to relax ever so slightly.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you shyly turn to Bucky, "I just wanted to say that I know this probably wasn't what you had in mind for today, and I know that these kids are really good at pushing people's buttons. They're just not used to people trying. It sorta freaks them out, so they act out. I guess I just wanted to say thank you for being patient. It means a lot to me."

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. Bucky smiles to himself, relishing in the warm, comforting feeling radiating from your hand.

It's only a few minutes later as Jake comes barreling over to the park bench. His eyes flicker to you and Bucky's intertwined hands. "Ducky! Come play with me!"

"Me?" Bucky doubtfully gestures to himself.

Jake excitedly nods, gesturing for Bucky to join him by the swing set.

"Okay..." Bucky hesitantly agrees, unwillingly dropping your hand as he stands up off of the park bench. "Sure."

A sense of unease washes over Bucky as Jake settles on the swing set with Bucky rounding the set to push him on the swings. Just then, Jake looks over his shoulder at Bucky with a devious smirk and a calculating glint in his eye.

Before Bucky can even process the look, Jake launches himself off the swing, landing on his knees in the wood chips that coat the floor. Immediately, Jake lets out a bloodcurdling bellow that makes all parents and guardians snap their heads in Jake's direction.

Bucky gasps, his jaw dropped in shock. And the situation only worsens itself when Jake loudly cries, "He pushed me!"

"What?!" Bucky frantically shouts.

"He pushed me," Jake screams again, the tears flowing down his cheeks only adding to Jake's performance. You rush over to the kid, dropping to the floor beside him. And to really seal Bucky's fate, Jake sobs into your shoulder, "He pushed me!"

"What? I didn't - I only pushed you on the swings because you asked me to! I didn't actually push you!" Bucky frantically stammers.

You gently shake your head, resting your hand on Bucky's shoulder to let him know that you believe him in the midst of all the chaos.

"Aww..." you coo, gently prying Jake out of the crook of your neck and shoulder. "Sweetie, I'm sure James didn't mean to."

"He said he hates me!" Jake wails.

"What?" Bucky squawks. He sputters, "I- No -I never said that - I - what?"

"Okay, okay," you gently interject. "I'm sure that no one hates anyone else. Let's just take all take a breath."

"Ducky said that you weren't going to see me anymore! That you're only going to see him."

"I never - He's only lying because he knows I like you!" Bucky blurts out.

"What?" you ask, eyes blown wide.

"What?" Bucky repeats, the realization of what he just said hitting him like a ton of bricks.

"You just said-" you have to stop mid-sentence as you recall the injured child seated before you. "Okay, let's calm down and get you cleaned up, okay?"

The walk back to the orphanage thankfully isn't very far, and Jake doesn't utter a single complaint about walking - though, once again, Bucky figures that has a lot to do with the kid walking hand-in-hand with you.

When you've finally reached the orphanage, Bucky falters, stopping just short of the entrance. You look back at him with a curious, worried expression, "You okay?"

With a furrowed look on his face, Bucky nods several times, "Yeah, yeah, I'll just wait out here. You go ahead."

"James," you apologetically sigh.

"Seriously, I'm okay," Bucky reassures you. "I'll wait for you right here."

"Okay," you reluctantly agree.

It's only ten minutes later that you finish applying the last bandage to Jake's mildly scrapped knee in the nurse's office.

With all the excitement finally died down, there's a tense silence in the room. Jake stares down at his hands with a dramatic pout as you toss the last bandage wrapper in the garbage.

"Jake," you begin with a knowing tone, hands on your hips in disproval. "Did James actually push you?"

He refuses to meet your eyes, the same dramatic pout still on his face.

"Jake," you prod.

'No," he admits with a sigh.

"So why'd you lie?" you gently question. "You could've gotten him in a lot of trouble. And you made him feel pretty bad back there too."

"Why do you care so much about him?" Jake grumbles.

You take a seat on the table beside the little boy. You lean over, nudging your shoulder with his, "Jake, what's going on?"

"Do you like him more than me?"

"What?" you softly chuckle, a little unsure of how to answer the unexpected question. You knew Jake, more than any of the other kids, had grown attached to you, and you certainly didn't want to hurt his feelings. "Of course not. I like you guys in different ways. It doesn't change that you're my favorite little guy."

"Yes, it does!" he angrily accuses. "And you're gonna like him more than me and then you're gonna stop seeing me."

"What are you talking about? Who said I'm going to stop seeing you?"

"Everyone stops seeing the big kids," he bitterly mutters, crossing his arms in a huff.

It all finally clicks into place for you. "Sweetie, is this about the adoption? Listen, I'm so sorry that happened, but you're going to find a family-"

"No, I'm not," he interjects. "I'm 8 now. No one's gonna want me anymore."

"Sweetie, that's not true," you try to assure him.

"Yes, it is!" he insists. "No one wants a big kid."

"You are going to find a family that'll love you so much-"

He cuts you off once more with a pleading expression and frantic excitement coating each of his words. In the little boy's desperation, you see tears beginning to well in his eyes, "Why don't you take me home? It'll be so much fun. When you're not doing your duties, we can play all the time!"

"Buddy," you sigh, crouching down to meet Jake's now teary eyes. "We've talked about this before. You know I can't."

"But why not?" he pleads. "I promise I'll be good! I'll even be nice to Ducky if you want."

"It's not about you being good."

"Then why not?"

"Well, for one, my job is dangerous, I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt," you calmly explain, even as your throat begins tightening at the discussion. It was a discussion you had before. Several times already. Truth be told, you'd take all the kids home if you could. But you knew better than most that these kids all deserved a real family. Someone who would be there more than once every few weeks. "And because it wouldn't be fair to make you wait for me all the time. But mostly because you deserve a real family. A family that can look after you, love you, that doesn't pop in and out of your life. And I know it feels like that it won't happen, but it will, you're going to find a family that loves you so much, and they're going to give you so much more than I could. And when that happens, you're not even gonna remember little ol' me."

"I think I'm always going to remember you," he whimpers, throwing his arms around you in a tight embrace.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," you tell Jake.

He peels himself out of your embrace to meet your eye, "Promise?"

"Promise."

You nod, clenching your jaw tightly through a warm smile. You reassuringly run your hands over the kid's arms as you stand from your crouching position. "'Happy Birthday."

He throws his arms around your midsection, squeezing you as tightly as he possibly can.

You gently smooth the hair on the back of his head as melancholy tugs at your heart. Your eyes squeeze shut as you attempt to keep the emotions at bay, or at the very least off your face.

By the time you manage to leave, Bucky awaits you outside, leaning against the old brick building in the cool early spring air.

Bucky jolts up at the sound of the door swinging open then shut. He's not sure what he expected when you walked outside, but it certainly wasn't the distressed, heartbroken look on your face. He watches as your eyes squeeze shut with a deep inhale followed by a shaky exhale as the cold breeze hits your warmed face.

Though he's not one for displays of affection, Bucky envelopes you in a secure embrace. He murmurs into the top of your head, "You okay?"

You shake your head, allowing the tears welled in your eyes to finally spill down your cheeks. "Just wish I could do more."

"You do plenty," Bucky offers.

"Sorry," you sniffle, pulling away from Bucky's embrace. You wipe the stray tears on your cheek, "It's just a sensitive subject. Probably an orphan thing."

"It's not," Bucky retorts. "It's because you have a big heart - because you care."

You weakly smile up at him, "Thanks."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Are you asking me if I want to talk about feelings?"

He awkwardly chuckles, "Yeah, first time for everything, I guess."

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"Okay."

"I care about you too. I hope you know that," you unexpectedly offer.

Bucky's hear almost stops right then and there. His throat constricts as a goofy smile plants itself on his face. "Really?"

"Of course I do," you chortle.

Bucky clears his throat, a hopeful expression lighting up his face, "Do you - you happen to have plans in about seven weeks from now?"

You look down at your wrist, no watch in sight, "I've got a little time today."

Grumpy Sunshine Series AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93

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sufficientlylargen · 6 months

Note

#800000 #FF7F50

Tumblr's search is so awful that even when I found the ask meme this was from on another blog (by googling) and could search for specific words and phrases, I still couldn't find it on my own blog. Eventually I just scrolled through the reblogs on the original post until I found the link. Truly a functional website.

Anyway, this is for this ask meme, where I suggested sending color swatches or codes instead of color names so that it's not clear which colors you mean. The colors #800000 and #FF7F50 are:

Most likely, these are Maroon = You taught me something new, and Coral = You're a meme, in which case, thanks! I strive to be memetic, and of course to always teach 100% factually accurate things on this blog :-)

However, these could also easily be RED = I hate you with a burning passion and ORANGE = I don’t like your blog, in which case, thanks! I strive to be despised, and of course to always put 100% totally curséd things on this blog :-)

If you squint a bit, #800000 might also be any of:

SCARLET = You have influenced my decision/thoughts on something.

VERMILION = You make me feel passionate

WINE = You make me feel kinda funny, like when we used to climb the rope in gym class

CRIMSON = We should collaborate on something!

BURGUNDY = I get excited when I see posts from you

and #FF7F50 could be

TANGERINE = I love your aesthetic

in which case, thanks! I strive to make people feel passionately excited about climbing ropes in gym class, and of course to always influence 100% of followers' decisions to feel funny about aesthetic collaborations on this blog :-)

#ask memes #color theory #tintedsphinx

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togrowoldinv · 2 years

Text

Permanence

Peter Parker x Reader

Peter Parker’s world ended world three times. Each one hurt more than the last and every day felt like an invitation for the universe to cause him more pain. When he meets you, his world changes once again.

Note: This takes place after the events of NWH, and this is Tom’s Peter. Enjoy!

Peter Parker Masterlist, Main Masterlist

The first time the world stopped on its axis for Peter was the day Tony Stark sacrificed himself. His mentor, his friend, his found family was gone an instant. He hadn’t been prepared to say goodbye. No one ever is.

But that loss was nothing compared to the loss of his beloved aunt. Aunt May was Peter’s safe space. She was his rock and firm foundation. No matter what, he always had her to come home to. Until he didn’t. She was ripped from him far too young and far too unfairly. It was as if Peter’s entire world slipped between his fingers.

The final day his world ended was the day he was forced to be forgotten by everyone who knew him. There would be no more Peter Parker to anyone other than himself. Everyone who cared for him or hated him or even barely knew who he was soon couldn’t even recognize the young man.

There was only Spider-Man. And that’s how you met him. A broken, lost man in a spider suit you had seen swinging around Queens.

He lived in the apartment next to you. That was all you knew. So when you saw him in the hallway, you dared to try and get to know the mysterious man.

“How’s the view from up there?” You asked him. He stopped in his tracks and looked at you with a titled confusion to his head. “You’re Spider-Man, right?”

“Oh- uh- you know that’s sort of-“ he began. His face burned with nerves and you tried to ease his worries.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I mean it’s not like I even know who you are,” you said.

“I’m Peter,” he said with a small smile. He reached his hand out for you to shake and you took it gladly.

“I’m y/n. Nice to meet you, Peter.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll see you around?” He phrased it like a nervous question and you couldn’t help but wonder why. It seemed obvious to you that you’d see him considering that he was your neighbor.

“I’ll see you around,” you confirmed anyways and the smile he gave you made your heart flutter.

After that first encounter, you and Peter began to see each other almost every day in the hallway. You’d be coming home from work and he’d be going out to patrol, or maybe the two of you would check your mail at similar times.

On what you guessed to be the twentieth time speaking to you, Peter took a chance and asked you out for a coffee date. You hadn’t expected it, but you quickly said yes.

After three coffee dates, you and Peter agreed to a dinner date scheduled for this evening.

When you open your door to greet him, Peter is standing there with flowers in his hand and his heart on his sleeve.

He takes your hand and keeps it in his for most of the night. After dinner, Peter looks at you with a grin.

“Are you scared of heights?” He asks you.

“I don’t think so. I’m not sure,” you reply honestly.

“Is it okay if I-uh- you know?” Peter asks and you have no clue what he means. You nod anyways, trusting him.

Suddenly, he shoots webs out from his hands and pulls you up into the air with him. He swings around the buildings and you shut your eyes. He lands atop of a building and helps you stand up again.

“Are you okay?” He asks. His hand rests on your back softly.

“That was crazy,” you say and he laughs breathily.

“Yeah. But look at the view from up here.”

You lift your head to the horizon and look out at the city. It is truly an amazing sight.

“This is great, Peter. Thank you for showing me this,” you say.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over and kissing his lips. He kisses you back softly and you enjoy the feeling. It’s safe, it’s somehow already comfortable, and it’s passionate.

When you break for air, Peter holds your hand and you two sit down where you can still gaze out into the sky.

Peter tells you of his life, of his losses, and of his care for you. You understand how he hasn’t been given the gift of even temporary permanence of relationships. You vow to change that.

And for the first time in a long time, Peter’s world doesn’t end. It doesn’t stop spinning. It doesn’t come crashing down on him.

When he looks at you, Peter’s world begins again and it takes perfect form in the shape of you sitting shoulder to shoulder with him and your hearts beating as one.

Tag list: @gracebutnotgraceful @i-wished-for-you-too @be-missed @likefirenrain @idkwhygregg @hehehehannahthings @mythosphere-x @yelenabelovaisthebettersister @wandassitcom @whitemanshoe19 @marie45019 @olsensnpm @raajali3 @pandaxnienke @juicyy444

#peter parker x reader #tom!peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #spider man #spider man no way home #peter parker

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meowcats734 · 9 months

Text

[Soulmage] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought.

I'd always assumed that I would be the reason why I died. I'd muddled through life by hiding in corners and hoping that whatever monster I'd pissed off this time wouldn't try to finish the job.

But as it turned out, that wasn't how it started. I wasn't sent to Odin at the hands of a sadistic elf or an arrogant witch.

I met Odin thanks to a poorly-timed gust of wind.

It had been such a nice evening, too. I'd spent the night dragon-watching with a kind and lonely girl my age atop an ancient clock tower. The cold was biting through our clothes, and even though Lucet was an ice witch it was getting a bit much for both of us, so with a gesture and a spell she created the precarious icy handholds that we used to climb down the tower.

And as the wind picked up and the slippery ice shifted, I fell.

I hardly had time to think Really? before I slammed into the courtyard below and blacked out.

When I awoke, the world had the eerie, black-and-white quality of the shifting sparks I saw when I closed my eyes and rubbed them hard. I tried opening my eyes, found they were already open, and tried closing them instead. Nothing changed.

"We're in your soulspace, kid. Eyes aren't what you see with here," a man's amused voice said from behind me.

I tried to spin around, but even though I could swear my body was moving, nothing changed. The man walked into my field of view, and he was tall and barrel-chested and draped in Redlands furs.

I frowned at him. "Am I... dreaming?"

"You could call it that."

The memory of the fall replayed in my mind, and I bit my lip. "Am I... dead?"

His lips quirked up infinitesimally. "You could call it that," he repeated. "I'm Odin."

He paused, as if expecting me to... I don't know, bow? Squeal in excitement? Truth be told, I had no clue who the barrel-chested man was, and I told him as much. "I have no idea who you are," I said.

His eyes flashed in irritation, but he reined himself in. "You could have the rest of your life to learn," he said.

An odd turn of phrase for someone who was maybe-dead, but that sounded like he wanted something from me. I was used to that. I could play that role. "I could also tell you to go jump in a rift," I said on reflex. Something about the man set me on edge.

"There it is," the man said, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That self-destructive instinct that you've been choked by your whole life. Look at you. You're completely at my mercy, and yet you still insist on threatening your only chance at salvation in order to spit in my eye."

"I don't want any salvation you're offering—"

"The Academy," Odin interrupted, walking to one side. Idly, he studied the black, sticky thorns that seemed to grow from nothing in the soulspace. "They took you from your homeland and taught you the art of using emotions to fuel magic. Happiness to create light. Passion to create heat. Freedom to make wind."

"Odin to make bullshit," I muttered, but the man proceeded as if he hadn't heard.

"But you have such glorious reserves of the fell emotions," Odin continued, wrapping the thorns in my soul around his fist. "Your self-hatred. The enemy you've battled all your life. It can be a tool, a weapon, instead of something to be locked away and ignored."

Odin walked forwards and put a single hand on my shoulder. "I want you to become one of mine. Swear to find me in Valhalla, and I shall restore you to health. The Academy has done you no favors. See what me and mine can do for you instead."

I met Odin's eyes, and... well. I'd be lying if I said he didn't have a point. I did hate myself. I did hate the Academy. And there were some days that I felt like burning it all down, shrinking it into a point and crushing it in the palm of my hand.

But I didn't hate everyone.

"Hold on, Cienne! The nurse is coming!"

And not everyone hated me.

Odin's eyes narrowed as... something else... entered my soulspace. Crystals, blossoming from nowhere and shoving aside the thorns of self-hatred.

"I've got you. Keep breathing. Ice. Ice is good for after."

"Thanks for the offer, old man," I said. "But you forgot one th—"

My eyes flew open, and I was in the Academy infirmary, Lucet white as a sheet to my left, a stern nurse to my right.

They'd brought me back from the brink of death before I could deliver my one-liner to Odin. Ah well. I meant what I would have said, and that was what mattered.

My self-hatred is mine. Not a weapon for you to use. You cannot take this from me.

"Are you okay, Cienne?" Lucet asked.

"His heart stopped. Legally, he died back there." I noticed I was undressed, sat up to try and grab my binder, but the nurse firmly shoved me back down. "And he would've died if you hadn't cooled him down as quickly and evenly as you did. He should recover with rest and magical therapy."

Lucet weakly smiled, and I caught her eye. "Hey," I said.

"Hey," she replied, relieved.

I hesitated, then lowered my voice, and asked, "Can I ask you a question?"

She shrugged. "Go ahead."

"Who... or what... is Odin?"

A.N.

Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!

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