#i have to own all of them….. it’s a compulsion
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Sneak Peek 💜💚💜
frat boy! Ari Levinson x college student!Reader
At a party with your boyfriend when things aren't going well between you, your old classmate--the notorious jock and man-whore, Ari--catches you in a weak moment...
Warnings for drinking/partying but not much else in this bit. (That might be a terrible summary for this excerpt but I made there too much going on to explain succinctly. My bad.) WC 720
The compulsion to be kind and quiet continues as you follow him out, tucking your hands under your arms so Billy won’t try to hold your hand, but it doesn’t matter. He walks ahead of you a few feet to keep up with his friends on the walk down the road to the Kappa house.
The two-story, plantation-style home is packed to the gills, making it hard to maneuver farther in than the front door, and of course, the first person you recognize is a brother of the fraternity living there.
Ari Levinson stands halfway up the staircase overlooking the crowd like a king surveying his domain, hair grown long and a beard worthy of his fifth-year undergrad status. He’s wearing a button-up linen shirt as if he just walked in from the beach, perpetually sun-kissed skin glowing, the carefree blue fabric matching his eyes.
Asshole.
He probably showed up to his own damn house, cocked his head, and smirked.
“Y’all having a party?” he probably asked, chill as fuck.
Idiot…probably. You don’t know what happened to him after Women’s Studies two years ago, but you can’t imagine he got better. Nothing changes.
His queen-for-the-day leans into his ear, her top half covered only by a red bandana and not much below that hidden by a miniskirt.
What sluts. Both of them. They deserve each other.
He’s so sexy though.
His smile is bright while he doesn’t spill the contents of his red Solo cup on anyone below him on the stairs. Seems his drunk coordination has improved since your freshman year at the very least.
“Babe,” you hear yelled close to your ear, “take it!”
Billy shoves one of two cups he’s carrying into your hands and shouts for you to follow him. He wants to play beer pong in one of back rooms downstairs with no room to stand and watch. There are no chairs, but Billy asks if want to play with him. In no reality would he think you’d answer ‘yes’ in this chaos, but then again, he hasn’t noticed you won’t take a sip of the drink you didn’t see poured either.
You yell back that you’re going to find a seat somewhere. Billy gets pulled off for the next partnered game.
The only open spot that isn’t a squeeze beside couples going at it in public is a bench underneath the cutout of the staircase. You took a detour to dump your cup in crowded kitchen’s sink and sit alone for a while, people-watching, wondering vaguely about the king and queen above you on the steps.
Parties…are not all that fun when you don’t feel safe.
You’re not sure how much time passes before a light blue linen shirt invades your view.
“Thirsty?” Ari asks casually, offering the only cup he carries.
You wave it off with a ‘no, thank you’ even though that should be sketchier than your boyfriend getting you a drink.
Ari takes a huge gulp and shuffles his broad body onto the too-short edge of the bench beside you. He seems careful not to touch you or invade your space, the barest graze of a short-sleeve cuff brushing the skin of your upper arm.
Again, Ari tilts the cup toward you. “Jack and coke,” he shrugs, lifting his eyebrows, “mostly coke though. I’ve been here a while. You’re basically late.”
He wouldn’t drug himself with anything, you imagine, and worst case, Ari’s already much drunker than you.
You pluck the half-full Solo from his hand and take a small sip. He’s right about one thing; you can’t smell or taste any alcohol.
Ari smiles softly.
“Where’s what’s-his-face?” He scans the hall. “Probably getting you something better, huh?”
You can’t help but frown and sigh as Ari takes another swig of soda, his pink lips nearly hidden beneath the hair of his beard, but you remember they are quite plump.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” you throw back, and keep your guess silent. Perhaps knuckle deep in the toilet?
Ari contemplates for a moment. “Flying with the pigs,” he settles on.
“What?”
He repeats himself, and then, seeing your confusion, he leans closer to clarify, “she doesn’t exist. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Poor bandana girl. That’s a little harsh to be fobbed off so soon.
“So—”Ari elbows you gently “—how you been, smartie-pants?”
A/N: I cannot express to you the sheer amount of internal screaming I have done while writing this. He's...he's too...uhhhh my gawdddddd. He's too beautiful.
[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
#ro updates#ari levinson x reader#teaser#upcoming fic#sneak peak#frat boy!ari#fuckboi!ari#really belated valentine's fic#Ari April#ari levinson fanfiction#ari levinson one shot
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illustrated wuthering heights covers
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................ he
#i feel like I posted this already but I also can't find it in any recent posts so...#......he#cats#EVEN if I did post it.. why not poast himb again? it's he#I'm like halfway through actually editing aforementioned costumes and stuff and i WANT to work on sculptures again and I have video#s and that worldbuilding slideshow and all of these things so hopefully like.. more usual stuff soon maybe.. to be posted#for now though yeah.. just cats#The end of the year is also when I panic about the passage of time and how little I've gotten done and how I will never actually be a#sucessful game maker slash author slash cat cafe owner slash set designer slash costume designer slash psychologist#who lives in like Scotland or somehting and also owns my own candle company or something ghbjhb#and will probably just be a mentally ill hermit recluse all my life who dies early of mysterious health issues with 5000 projects left#undone and blah blah the crushing weight of chronic illness and capitalism and so on and so forth#So then I scramble to get projects done to try and meet some goals but usually that means I scatter between projects#so it takes longer to finish all of them. Like instead of dedicating 8 hours to one thing and finishing it one sitting. I'll do 2 hours on#this then 2 hours on that then 2 hours on another things. so they all get done slower even though I'm still technically making progress on#them all. This is also a very poo poo pee pee stink brain way to work and is not like. the most efficent thing but it's just how my brain#organizes tasks sometimes lol#***#(<ignore this its part of an OCD compulsion lol. anytime you see me type three asterisks I'm not bleeping out a curse word#it's just a Special Secret Foolish Thing I Have To Do At Specific Uncontrolable Times When Brain Says So gbjhhj)#ANYWAY... eeeee#Still haven't resolved my mystery chest injury though so being at te computer for too long is also kind of achey-inducing#Better get over it though because I have like 30+ hours of slideshow vidoe to edit hahaha hee hee hoo!!!!!
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Doing God's work by looking ambiguously just young enough just old enough to satiate whatever creatures lurk in someone's psyche.
I understand more than people may think from my views instinctual disgust reactions. But for me, the more 'gross' a conquest is, the more Fun it is.
I like visceral and strange. I feel a kinship to people I don't actually have a 'badwrong' thing in common with because either way, they are Weird, and it fascinates and excites me to no end. It's not even necessarily sexual, and I think even the sexual aspects of it aren't always rooted in base sexual appeal. Moreso, it pings the part of my mind that finds much joy in taking things apart and studying them. The part of my mind that sings like angels at the unusual.
#look i just like to give non-c/anti-harmful-c paras a treat#i find them cute a little! to be honest#something about all that internalized shame and complexes developed around attractions ppl dont control#makes me go all#soft sadist#nsft#ag3 play#pro para#dark kinks#actually i do believe harmless outlets help manage feelings#rather than the fearmongering that any time spent understanding and compartmentalizing them is futile and will make u likely to do bad thing#the only cases in which it may be a problem are in progressive obsessive-compulsive tendencies#its a use your own judgement refer to a therapist or peer who wont judge you and has experience in something related thing#i just think they're neat#considering whether to post my uber specific fantasies so weak followers can leave#bbygirl i have complexes and kinks you have never even heard of
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here's a concept for a fusion thing ig.. they're completely batshit and exist only to annoy the everloving hell out of the jack pack
#it's rough as fuck and that grates at me (i have a compulsion to COMPLETE things)#not putting this in the main tags. it's very au-y and situational and all of that cl-- codswallop.#they're also actually fucking tall (like i think around 6'11”-7'1”????)#i don't actually know where this'll lead#but i'm thinking. canon divergence around the time shadowtrap gets released#lots of fuckery and then they fucking MELT together and out twirls this asshat.#imagine if the eclipse in deck 13.5 was like a lunar variant. this - by default - would be the solar variant#they're half their own person and two respective quarters of clap and shady. it wants to stay fused (and so does shadowtrap. at first)#but they're also UNSTABLE AS HELL™ and anything that can go wrong for the vault hunters 99.9% of the time WILL GO SO VERRRRRY WRONG#their components are also kinda amplified here!#if claptrap was annoying; he's insufferably infuriating. if shadowtrap is vengeful; they're insanely spiteful.#and they KNOW how the other five treated clap like shit. in retaliation he raises absolute hell and they have to bob and weave around every#little obstacle he sets down.#the ONLY things setting them back from breaking out are their components trying to up and split#| [ aaaaanddddd tag spam break!! ] |#i might tag this tho....#/ fusion!au#- gijinkatrap#<- although it's not exclusively a gijinka au! i might do a “canon” ver. soon!!#- velveteen pen-scribblings ]
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Some people on this site are So rude and mean over the most inconsequential bullshit that it’d be funny if it wasn’t actually hurtful.
#signed the side show dog apparently#a lot of the time i think i have crappy social skills but the helpful residents of tumblr remind me i am actually#at least#am not a jerk#different fandom experiences are not a crime and if if genuinely bothers you#that's a You problem#as is a compulsive need to be Correct(tm) all the time#chill the fuck out and leave like actual reasonable people idk it tends to work well for everybody else#but really the people who compulsively correct others Need to chill on this one. If you Have to correct people over inane shit Every time#it's legit a you problem#unless they explicitly asked you to do it#yes yes i know it can be annoying when other ppl get stuff wrong#but listen. somebody being wrong about something that doesn't matter is Not worth making them feel bad to cater#to your own perfectionism#it's not.#and an inability to understand people work in averages when talking about group sizes is unhelpful and pedantic#anyway tldr a bunch of you Need to recognise dumb fandom shit you are annoyed by is not a reason to be a dick to/at somebody#like i would never make a comment about somebody on my page if they'd ever see it#Ever.#i actually check even before i do the tumblr version of sub tweeting somebody#that they don't follow me#because i am not cruel#i'm easily irritated but i'm not mean#oh and btw.... reading comprehension. Try it.
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re: what fandom 'a little life' came from, my immediate knee-jerk thought was "backstreet boys." i have absolutely no basis for this other than Terminally Online Brain Worms esp bc..........there are 5 of those boyband fellas and as far as i remember only 4 main characters in that book lmfao. what can i say. the boyband angle feel right
yeah i'll incorporate that into my belief system
#fandom life#total speculation!!!!!! but i love it!#a little life#Ok but fr i think the time period of peak bsb rpf fits HY's age group#Also the (initial) thing of we are a group of successful handsome men all just kind of hanging out .. is very boyband au rpf ..#the nebulousness of the setting (in time period etc) is very fanfictiony to me the thing of everyone being successful in different fields#very fanfictiony#And one of them has a horribly traumatic backstory... classic fanfic trope! tho taken to extremes here. who here remembers#the 'rape recovery' fanfic trope. HY said what if that.. but no recovery . which sure is a valid artistic choice a valid question.#what if someone DIDNT get better. but full disclosure i could NOT finish this book i really felt i had to stop for my own safety .#as if people don't not get better all the time u know??? and as that one reviewer said . WHO in the world of this book#WOULDNT become a crystal meth addict. etc. there's no legit way out and that's a total authorial construction.#anyway i do actually think she's a skilled writer but i did not feel the compulsion to finish this book that so many ppl have felt#built different i guess. just walk out!#if you're a normie who never read any absurdly ott h/c fanfiction i guess it hit different tho!#mangoamango#asks#i welcome furhter speculation.... i always thought it was possible it was some band i'd never heard of or some 90s manga i never read#I did manage to read her first book 'the people in the trees' and yes i would describe it as 'good'#but it's like . imagine an ursula le guin book but evil
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"the ivashkovs were a royal family, one of the wealthiest and most powerful. they were the kind of people who thought they could get anything they wanted and walked over those in their way."
-rose hathaway, frostbite
#vampire academy#the ivashkovs#the ivashkovs are prob the best example in va of the way royal moroi exploit dhampirs and reinforce cisheteropatriarchal moroi supremacy#the unjust and oppressive standards of their society are believed and reinforced by all characters to different levels#but it really hits its peak with the ivashkovs#as the family with the most power in the series they're symbols of the inherent injustice and corruption of that power#(anyone and everyone below them including other royals like tasha aren't immune)#tatiana daniella and adrian are sexually interested in dhampirs (ambrose and rose) but that doesn't make them any less moroi supremacist#in fact the way ambrose and esp rose are objectified is one of the biggest way moroi supremacy and misogyny is reinforced#daniella wants dhampir women enslaved with compulsion#tatiana's idea of a compromise is putting 16 yo dhampirs on the front lines#she slutshames and threatens rose's career for having the gall to be *checks notes* sexually harassed by tatiana's royal nephew#nathan's casual constant supremacy and support for oppressive policies speaks for itself#and adrian direspects violates and gaslights rose while telling himself he respects women's consent and did it all for love#one of the most fascinating levels of adrian's character is the way he mirrors the rest of his family tbh#and i feel like it gets disregarded bc it doesn't make him sympathetic even tho it makes him more interesting#(from a watsonian analysis pov)#his contempt/resentment for dimitri a working class dhampir man long predates last sacrifice#he always disregards rose's will and happiness if it conflicts with his own#and he has double standards for dhampirs even if he has no moral ground to stand on#(it's ok if adrian tries to seduce rose while she's dating mason but it's an outrage when rose cheats on adrian etc)#i should prob tag this#anti adrian ivashkov#even tho it isn't really an anti take but ik his stans prob won't want to see it#queue*
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yesterday at work, the kids had to like, make their own puzzles by drawing stuff on paper n then cutting them into pieces n stuff, n this one kid came up to me saying that the kid sitting next to him was saying mean things, n the second kid was like, "it wasn't me, it was him!" n pointed at the creature he'd drawn for his puzzle.
i didn't really know how to handle the situation (though thinking about it, i probably should have just said that just bc the creature was saying mean things abt his friend didn't mean he was in the right for passing on those thoughts), so i just told him i didn't want to solve his puzzle if the creature it featured was gong to be so mean to other people, and for some reason it worked??
i guess it's just easy to forget how deeply children care about what adults think bc of how we as adults have learned to not care so much abt what other people think and operate on the assumption that others don't automatically care abt our thoughts.
#the worm speaks#it felt difficult to handle in the moment bc i don't want to stifle children's compulsion to explore ideas n concepts through fiction#specifically bc fiction and fantasy are very harmless spaces; but obviously what was being made was being used as a vehicle to bully others#and that was absolutely in need of correcting#and i wasn't sure how to reprimand that w/o possibly teaching kids to conflate something bad happening in fantasy#with doing bad things to others in reality#anyway thinking abt it today when making this post helped me pinpoint how to handle it next time#i.e. that kids are agents in their own right and they have the choice to pass things on to others#whether that be something kind and true like compliments; or mean and vicious like bullying; or even literal germs and disease!!#anyway the second kid actually seemed really nice once i insisted that i didn't want to do his puzzle bc it featured something mean#n like obviously i didn't want to tell kids that the things they make up are automatically reflections of the kind of person THEY are#bc that's super not true!!! but i poked abt asking him a couple questions abt it n that's how he ended up telling me 'he told me to say it'#'he lives inside of my head' n i was like 'hmm.' bc he's pretty young... first grade i think? so maybe a reflection of meaner impulses#but i'm not him! i can't say that for certain! n i don't believe in making those kinds of assumptions about people#so i guess the way i handled it was basically saying i didn't want to interact w/people who are influenced by others to be mean#i guess i'm always expecting to be working w/teenagers who'd be like 'you don't get it! i'm gonna make my own choices!'#n i'd be like 'yep sure buddy i'm not gonna stop you! but i'm setting my boundaries right here'#i have a bit of beef with how some of my coworkers treat kids-- like none of them are outright cruel i think#but i don't think some of them are being genuinely responsible with how they interact. i think it's good that they all try to be nice#n some take that to mean 'treat them like your friends!' (proceeds to gaslight kids abt whether a certain snack was available)#(n when the kids called them out they were like 'we're teaching kids to think for themselves! n to be confident in their own experiences')#like. i don't think that picking out the snacks you like before feeding the kids is right. we are not kings; we are caretakers#n like i can see how that can be kind of a joke one might make in certain flavors of friend groups but like. certainly not to a child.#one plays obvious favorites; others place restrictions w/o explaining why they're there (bc they're obvious to adults)#n tbh i'm probably a headache myself bc i'm ~probably~ enabling kids in some way so i'm not gonna condemn the ones who#tell kids 'no you can't do that' w/o much explanation. n i think for the most part they're all trying#but i STILL disagree w/my now-gone supervisor who insisted that i treat kids the way i do 'bc it's in my nature/personality'#it most CERTAINLY is not!!!!! i was SUCH a hater of ANYONE younger than me for a LONG TIME growing up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#i had to be TAUGHT these things. i had to LEARN to LISTEN to kids and take them seriously!!!!!!!!!#a kid on friday told me he had mixed feelings abt some of his older friends possibly becoming youth workers at the camp in the summer
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#god. ok. so i should really b reading papers rn but my lab mate called me needy today and it just keeps cycling in my head#like ive spent way too much time around him bc of field work and the thing abt me is that i just say whatever tf is in my brain so hes#basically been exposed to a scattershot of anxious thoughts in my head idk wtf he must think of me but today he said#the more i learn abt u the more i realize ur needy in these v specific ways#and i think it bothers me a lot bc needy isnt the right word. im not needy. i dont plead for help. im just a semi non functional person.#i just lay here not dealing with all these problems i have. but i generally try just make it my own problem. im just a bit pathetic like#that. do i need help? maybe but im not like needy. im just semi nonfunctional and rather compulsive and controling over myself. i live in a#world full of invisible walls as dictated by my stupid brain. but its all internal control i can put up with a lot as long as i have ctrl#over myself. its not especially healthy but it makes me pretty easy going i suppose. ugh! needy! he obviously hit a nerve how annoying#whatever im exhausted bc i had to b a scribe all day and i had a phd meeting this morning. the project sounds v cool and apparently im the#most qualified person to approach them so far but idk itll be v competitive and do i really want a uk phd? idk idk#at least this guy conducted it like an actual interview. i was like fuck finally some structure! and he said i talk well lol thanks dude#so he thinks id do ok getting grilled by a pannel. idk i kinda wanna apply just to see how far id get into the process#unrelated#i was also having harrowing nightmares last night abt climbing mt everest. at least i got 8hrs sleep lol fml i leave for sampling again#tomorrow afternoon. this is what i get for trying to have even a tiny bit of a social life rip
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"what to eat the day after a binge" "i binge pretty often, like five times a week" BABYGIRL i binge five times a DAY i dont even make it 12 hours anymore and that's counting the time i spend asleep.
#and nobody fucking cares <3#my own parents care emotionally but not even enough to like. yknow. stop taking me to restaurants. or smth.#my friends are cool but like. they dont get the extent of it i fear.#one of them asked me if i had an episode after they went to sleep at the sleepover.#bestie you saw me compulsively reach for the food all evening. no i didn't have an episode i dont have episodes i've binged 24/7 for weeks#i want help but at the same time. god i hate the idea of trapping myself even more.#at least now i can survive on the illusion that i can escape#the second i step foot into an hospital i have to commit#like sure i HAVE to eat at least one meal a day w my parents#but over there too. and w more concrete restrictions over my goings.#broadcasting my misery#vent#ed tw
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Today was an Adventure:
-ordered alcoholic beverage online a couple days ago, culminating in me running out into the wet street without shoes to catch the UPS truck
-impulse bought a heart-shaped mini Bundt cake maker (not just a pan, but a MAKER - you plug it in and pour in the batter and it cooks the cake for you)
-also impulse bought Lindoor truffles whose flavor was listed as "dark strawberry" and I know that that's just dark chocolate with a strawberry filling but "dark strawberry" sounds amazing as a concept
#gonna tell the Ordering Alcohol Online saga in the tags#mostly for my own sake/posterity#so I wanted to buy a bottle of a particular alcoholic beverage as part of a Valentine's day gift#but they don't sell it around here so I had to order it#now of course you have to show an ID and sign for the package when you receive it on account of alcohol#but I live on the third floor of my apartment and the doorbells don't work#so I had a distinct feeling I was going to miss the delivery#and I TOOK EVERY PRECAUTION#before making the order I called the company and asked if they could call or text me upon arrival#and they were like ''well we work with UPS etc. so it's up to them but try sending us an email about it it might work''#so I made the order and sent the email#yesterday I popped down to the business on the first floor and was like ''hey I'm ordering alcohol''#''if they knock on the door would you be able to sign for it?''#the person was like ''well I'm here from 8 to 4 so if it arrives in that time then sure''#today I see an email: order is out for delivery#THE EMAIL IS IN MY PROMOTIONS FOLDER MIND YOU. I WOULDN'T HAVE FOUND IT IF I WASN'T LOOKING CLOSELY#so I'm compulsively checking the tracking page all day#it says it's supposed to arrive at 7 pm#4 pm comes and goes and no dice#I leave a post-it note on the door: ''dear deliveryperson the doorbells don't work please call/text the number on the back of this note''#6 o clock rolls around. I am still compulsively checking#and then in the middle of watching a Brennan Lee Mulligan video with my bf I compulsively check one more time#''delivery was attempted''#so I hightail it downstairs in the hopes I can catch the UPS people#I don't even stop to put on shoes#I open the door; no one's there but I see the UPS truck across the street#I run out onto the Very Wet sidewalk in my socks#wait for a break in the oncoming cars and jaywalk straight to the truck#it's empty#I sit on a nearby low wall and wait until I see a couple guys in UPS uniforms coming around the corner
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as i learn more about aac + the people who use it im starting to feel incredibly complicated about my one active dnd character being autistic + mute + those two things being completely unrelated (at least in terms of origin obviously theyve become very much related over the years). like. i dunno. i love ida and i love playing ida and if i was coming up with ida today she would be virtually unrecognizable because holy shit i did not think this character through when i was coming up with her
#quetzposting#a lot of my issues with the way i wrote ida basically stem from the fact that i came up with her when i was like. what. 15?#and ive been able to iron things out a LOT over the past four years#but i still feel a little weird about playing a character whose autism is like. definitely a disability. and trying to figure out how that-#-works with and impacts her acquired disability because while i do still sometimes lose speech i really dont have the like. lived experience#that would make me fully comfortable playing her the way i would probably write her if she wasnt. yk. a dnd character.#i guess what it comes down to is like. all of my best characters have had a part of me in them. usually that part comes with a little autism#or bipolar or aromanticism or dysphoria or compulsive behavior or superstition or whatever the fuck else#and while im trying to figure out my own disability (and coming to terms with the way my autism impacts it + often makes it worse)#im having to look at ida and try to separate out the parts of me that became her and the parts of her that became me#and her disability is… not really either one of those#even though it did come from me because at the time i pretty much had a selective mutism thing goin on#and it did come from her because playing her has helped me understand my own disability#even though its so different from hers#its just really weird to think about. and i do wish id played her a bit differently from the beginning#its extra weird because i straight up dont remember huge chunks of the campaign lmao#thanks for that dissociative disorder. really appreciate it (sarcasm)
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thinking about how I've seen OCD get talked about now, but haven't really seen many posts that actually explain what it is. And like, obviously people shouldn't get all their info about mental conditions from posts, but u can't deny that internet communities and stuff play a major role in people recognizing and putting names to their own experiences.
But like since the general public has like absolutely no idea of what OCD actually is (no thanks to popular media), and a lot of things I see talking about intrusive thoughts don't mention OCD (either bc they originated in OCD circles or bc intrusive thoughts aren't Exclusive to OCD or for some other reason), there should prob be more explanation put out on what OCD actually consists of.
Which is kinda hard in some ways, bc there are so many ways OCD can present in terms of what "themes" a person experiences, so someone talking about what their themes are might not ring a bell with someone who experiences different ones. But like, the core thing with OCD isn't the presence of certain themes, it's a specific pattern of spiraling thoughts and reactions.
Like. OCD is a mental condition/illness where people experience stressful, unwanted, repetitive thoughts. These are intrusive thoughts are what make up the "obsessions" part of the disorder. In response to these intrusive thoughts, a lot of people will perform certain actions or think certain things in an attempt to neutralize or disprove the threat they represent. These are the "compulsions" part of the condition.
For a more "traditional" example, someone experiencing intrusive thoughts that they might catch a communicable disease may obsessively wash their hands or google their symptoms to try to lessen the anxiety. While someone who is worried they might hurt someone (even though they very much do not want to hurt someone) may avoid being near sharp objects or may avoid the people they're afraid of hurting.
One of the issues with OCD is that performing the compulsions provides short term relief, but in the long term it only strengthens the stress caused by the intrusive thoughts, thus furthering the thought spiral and actively making it worse, to the point where, depending on your themes, you may be (almost) convinced that your intrusive thoughts represent the truth or the inevitable or something permanent.
Intrusive thought themes cam be literally anything, but some of the common ones are stuff like
Questioning your sexuality, gender, etc (what if I'm actually straight/gay/bi/trans/cis/etc?)
Being worried about losing control and hurting yourself or others physically, sexually, emotionally, basically any way (what if I want to kill someone? What if I'm a pedophile? What if I'm an abuser? What if I want to stab myself? Etc)
Fear of becoming or being sick
Worrying something bad will happen to you or people you care about
Worrying about your spiritual beliefs or lack thereof (what if I'm actually Christian? What if I'm actually atheist? What if i don't believe in the faith i ascribe to? Etc)
Worrying about relationship status (what if I don't actually love them? What if they're not "the one"? What if they're cheating? What if *I'm* cheating? Etc)
What if I'm a bad person?
Fear of losing things
Fear of things not feeling right (this is often be related to other themes via magical thinking. ex: if I don't have my things organized Just Right then something bad will happen)
Fear of unreality
Compulsions vary by theme a lot obviously, but some common ones include
Hand washing
Organizing things until they Feel Right
Checking and double checking and triple checking to make sure you did something correctly
Obsessively reviewing your memories to disprove a thoughtor make sure you don't believe something
Arguing against the thoughts in an attempt to disprove them
Testing your mental reactions to a thought or to certain kinds of content, to show yourself you don't actually believe or feel something
Obsessively googling symptoms, testimonies, things related to your thoughts
Obsessive prayer
Repeating phrases, mantras, affirmations, etc in an attempt to make thoughts go away
Avoiding things and situations that set off your intrusive thoughts
Repeatedly asking for reassurance from others ("I'm not being xyz, right?")
But yeah this obviously isn't exhaustive but, just, if this kind of thing sounds familiar, you should probably do some research on OCD, bc while intrusive thoughts can occur with other conditions, the intrusive thought-compulsion spiral is the core of OCD and isn't really a subaspect of depression/anxiety/ptsd/etc. and the treatment and management of OCD can look different from other stuff, so its a good thing to look into.
(Also it's important to keep in mind, esp if you're someone that doesn't have it, that someone's intrusive thoughts Are Not "secret desires" or "repressed urges" or anything the person even remotely wants to act on. Someone having harm-related intrusive thoughts is not at risk of actually acting on them, no matter how worried they are of doing so.)
Anyway this was a long post and I don't have a neat way to wrap it up and also I accidentally added a poll and now can't get rid of it so here's free poll. I'm running on nyquil and a small amount of straight gin (which works very well at numbing a sore throat) rn gnite
#ocd#actuallyocd#actually ocd#intrusive thoughts#my hand is fuckin stiff from typing this all out on my phone rip
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price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat
girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡
18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words
John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.
Here’s part 2!
Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.
Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.
His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.
Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.
But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.
Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.
But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.
He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;
“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”
Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.
“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”
It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.
You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.
Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.
Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.
One, two, three, four…
At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.
There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.
With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”
Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.
“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.
“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”
A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”
“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”
You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”
With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”
“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.
He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”
You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”
Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.
With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.
“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.
He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.
“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.
But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.
Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.
As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.
Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.
“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”
Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.
“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.
“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”
Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”
“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”
“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”
Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”
Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”
He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”
Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.
He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.
So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.
“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”
Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.
“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.
You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.
“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”
“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.
You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”
Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.
He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.
Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.
But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.
“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”
“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”
You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”
“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.
So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.
But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.
“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.
You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.
“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”
You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.
“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”
Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.
“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.
You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”
That was a step over the line.
You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.
And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.
He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.
“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.
A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.
He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.
You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.
“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.
With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”
Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.
And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.
“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”
#bet his handprint is the size of a dinner plate#john price#call of duty fanfic#john price x reader#john price x female reader#captain john price#cod fanfic#john price x you#captain price#captain price x reader#captain price smut
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Omg I just saw that u write for atsv!! So I was wondering if u could do one with a female reader x hobie where the readers quite reserved to everyone in public (maybe she’d been a spidey longer so she’s lost more people? Idk why she’d be reserved bc I cannot write for shot lmao) and people think she’s super cold but then they like?? Walk in, and she’s like open and warm with Hobie (it doesn’t matter if she’s loud or not) and they kinda just look at the scene in shock like wtf and Pav is sort of smug bc he knew all along and then it comes out that they’re dating?
It Sounds Nice coming from You.
Hobie Brown x Fem!Spidey Reader
“I totally called it.” “Don’t even speak, Pavitr.”
kisses him cause he my bf (-compulsive liar)
People whispered about you. Spider people and the general public alike. Your city spreading gossip, rumours and misinformation to try and figure out who you were, but that was a Spiderwoman affair, every one of them dealt with it.
But having people same as you talk in hushed tones, glancing at you as you walked past. That’s a new kind of feeling.
The Spider Society didn’t exactly favour you, per se. There was nothing inherently wrong with you either, so no reason to get rid of you. But you were just so silent. No one knew a thing about you.
You mostly kept to yourself around base, never really trying too hard to make friends, you were well known enough not to be questioned. A loyal fighter was what you were recognised for, not your personality, your abilities.
There were still some people that managed to creep their way in though, their hearts so full of love, you didn’t know how to refuse them.
So you conceded. You let them in, and begged to any deity that would listen not to take them from you.
—
Hobie knew you as someone who could listen. Who understood him rather than challenged his beliefs. Not that he had any, but that was the point.
Your lack of input made him feel accepted in going on tangents of why he thought the way he did. And you just sat, and listened. A kind heart and an open mind.
Which eventually led to him falling for that kind heart. Tripping over his own feet to please your silent self. To get those small smiles or amused huffs out of you.
The occasional time you spoke to him, under hushed breaths and fond tones. God, he couldn’t take it.
The way your accent forms over each and every word, how your voice was akin to honey malt, sweet and addicting. Only giving him small doses, but he was the only one who got those doses. Only him, and you, and the words you spoke or times you listened.
He knows that people thought you were cold, or unloving. And maybe you were at first, maybe he thought you were. But he figured you out fast. Where you couldn’t talk, you could touch. Brushing your hands over his arm to get his attention. Linking your hand through his and dragging him away from people you don’t want to be near, he would smile down at you and follow along like a lost puppy. How your brows would crease a certain way, or nose would scrunch a little when you found distaste in things. He was a fool for you.
Where you lacked in verbal communication, you strived in every other category. So when some Spider-people decided to come to him, urging him for answers about you.
Telling him that he wasn’t sure you even wanted to be here—, Hobie would shut down the conversation quicker than thought to be possible. Giving a simple “She’s just quiet.”, and ditching the moment the words are out of his mouth.
It’d worked—, for a while. Ignoring the demeaning or conspiratorial comments made about you by spider-people a-kind. But eventually it got the better of him. Having him borderline snarl at the people who would talk shit right in front of his, or your, face.
“She’s silent, ain’t she?”
“Yeah. Peter 48 said she was like that ‘cause she killed her parents, made ‘er real quiet.”
“Jesus christ. Wouldn’t surprise me, she’s a freak.”
“Dude—“ One of the two spiders, the first one, turned to Hobie. Spider-senses ringing. Hobie stated back at them, deadpan and unblinking. “Don’t.”
The younger spider paled, quickly trying to backtrack.
“Hey— Hobie. I— Didn’t mean it. Was just repeating what I heard, ykno—“
“Cut it, mate.”
He squeaked, head tilting down in respect, the other spider following.
“Stop spreading shit rumours like ‘at. It ain’t fun when you’re the subject. ‘S it?”
“No.”
“Mm.”
Hobie walked past them smoothly, brushing shoulders with the kid just to scare him a little more. When he was far enough away, he heard them start to whisper to one another. “Fuck man, that was close. He could tell Miguel, and then we’d be out.”
“Jesus..”
He felt rather accomplished that day.
—
It was days later where you were brought up around him again. He’d been texting you, the upper half of his body hanging from Miguel’s platform, his wicks shifting every time he moved.
Miguel and Lyla were talking amongst themselves, clicking through holograms and sorting things out for potential anomalies.
Jess, Pavitr and Gwen had walked into the room chatting, Pav and Gwen expressing their excitement rather loudly.
He glanced up at them from his phone, you were still typing.
immm gonna b homein ten just be patient >:(
I’m patient 🦑
u werent 2 seconds ago
I don’t subscribe to consistency.
Or this slandering talk
ur consistently lame
also why squid
I’m never lame. Also, he’s cute
hes not real
Don’t do this me
reeeeeal tasty tho
What is wrong with you.
numnnum crunchhhh crrcchhh numnum ( > _ <)
Inhumane.
mmmmmm yummyyyy
He can’t die, he’s immortal
The ‘Texting’ bubble popped up on his screen.
“Hey, Hobie!”
Pavitr was running up to him, looking from his lowered position below the elevated platform.
He slipped further down the platform, slumping slowly as he greeted Pavitr upside down.
“Pav, my guy!”
Pavitr bounced on the balls of his feet, smiling wide at his friend.
“What’chu doing up there?”
His eyes darted to Miguel and Lyla, ending their conversation.
Smirking, he whispered to Hobie, “With the grump.”
Hobie snickered, gaining a disapproving look from Jess.
“Textin’ [Name].”
Just then, the next message from you showed.
immortal ??? how consistent of him to live
He grinned, typing back quickly while Pavitr eyed him knowingly.
He’s a squid, he’s more fluid than anything
ihu
terrivle joke
No, you don’t
And it was great
wtvr >:P
Hobie grabbed the ledge of the platform and swung down, landing softly in front of Pavitr and pocketed his phone.
“Glad ya ‘ere. Those two can’t keep it quiet, aye?” He said, pointing back towards Lyla and Miguel.
“They do argue very often.”
“Nah, Lyla don’t argue, mate. Just the hardass.”
Pavitr snorted and Hobie softly punched his stomach in jest, earning one from Pav to the chest, and starting a round of playful punching. Pavitr laughed as Hobie brought him into a headlock, scrunching his fist over the shorter man’s hair and rubbing it in.
They let up when they heard Lyla teasing Miguel for something again, giggling to each other at his expense.
He threw an arm over his fluffy haired friend and leaned his weight on him. Pav smiled up at him once more, brighter now. Before he could speak, Gwen’s voice echoed through the barren room.
“Same reason as you, I’m guessing.”
Hobie turned his head towards her, dropping himself off Pav and standing up straight again. Smiling at her as she reached him, and went in to hug her briefly. When they disconnected, he spoke again.
“Yeah—, No clue then, mini-punk.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Neither big bad has said nothin’ to me yet.”
“Seriously, are we going to skip over that?”
“Maybe they’re waiting until [Name] is here!” Pavitr chimed in.
“What does mini-punk even mean!”
“Not exactly, Pavitr.”
Jess, who now was standing next to Miguel, spoke.
The trio turned to face the two elder spider-people.
“Huh?”
“We wanted to have a discussion with the three of you—.” Miguel put his hands on his hips, authority that Hobie only saw as a challenge emanating from his figure.
“—Away from [Name], she’s already been consulted.”
Hobies eyes narrowed, the atmosphere in the room suddenly shifting to something a lot less unfriendly, and a lot more cautious.
Jess caught wind of the younger man’s tense stature and shuffled forward a step, not unwilling to intervene.
“Nothing too bad, just—,” He paused for a moment, the dense light from the reflective floors making the contours of his face pop.
Hobie watched with batted breath, posture only slightly relaxing from the statement. The crease in his brows begging to be drawn, yet his pokerface was something to be beat.
“,—Addressing her.. lack of communication.”
A shiver raked down the brit’s body, physically restraining himself from chewing this man out with a rebuttal.
“Wha’ ‘bout it?”
His gruff voice was a stark indicator of his annoyance.
“Well, ignoring the rumours following her—,”
Hobie, the usually rather sensical man, was getting more agitated by the minute.
“,—We’ve noticed a certain independence that she holds. Something not many others do.”
The punk quirked a brow.
“So?” Gwen was the one to talk now.
“That doesn’t seem very serious, ‘f you ask me.” She laughed lightly, trying to lighten the mood. Something Pavitr seemed a tad scared to do. There was a lot of competition in the air right now, he wasn’t very competitive.
“Exactly, it’s not.”
Jess cut in, seeing how terribly Miguel started this conversation made her cringe.
“It’s not—, but,” She shook her head, hair falling prettily with every move. “,Her ‘independence’, has been more akin to ‘lack of teamwork’. In some cases.”
Gwen started to speak again, her eyebrows furrowed, just as Hobies now were. He was right about brewing with offence.
“So!—,” Jess cut her off before she could begin.
“So there’s no need for her to have distractions anymore. From now on, she will not be going on team missions. Just solo’s.”
“Wha—! You’re cutting her off?!”
“Gwen, it’s not like that.”
“Like hell it isnt! She’s a part of us!”
“Doesn’t this mean she’s going to be in more danger?” Pavitr spoke up, concerned.
“No— well, not unless—,”
“Unless!? You’ve gotta’ be kidding!” Gwen choked out.
“And what does ‘consulted’ mean! Did she agree to this?!—“
They continued to argue, Gwen and Pavitr advocating for your teamwork skills while Miguel and Jess had made up their mind.
“No communication,” He pinched the bridge of his nose “,Fuck off.” Hobie scoffed under his breath, turning to leave and storming out.
The voices of Miguel, Jess and his friends following him through the portal to you.
—
“You agreed to this?”
lIts not like they’re wrong, I just hold you all back.”
He huffed, exasperated. Not only were you putting yourself in danger, you were doing it alone. And letting some guy who has a borderline vendetta against teens be the call for it.
“Now, you know that’s not tr—“
His stern voice was cut off by the frown on your face quivering. A due sign of you nearing to cry.
“Oh, shit— C’mon dollface, c’mere.”
He sat down on your shared bed, scooting against the headboard and bringing you into his lap. A soothing hand ran over your back as you tried to reel in your embarrassment.
“I really didn’t mean to agree.”
Hobie sighed, pushing your head into his neck and watching how the rings adorning his fingers rose goosebumps in their path. “I know, sweet’eart.”
And he did know, the moment that it had been a meeting addressed solely with just Jess and Miguel, he knew that Peter had been excluded for a reason. That Miles had been sent after an anomaly as an unknowing distraction for Peter to chase after. He knew those two intimidated you. And the fear of parental disappointment was something they used on you—, young, sweet you. That only ever got hurt because she didn’t want her problems to hurt others, or herself.
You had opened up to him once. Told him what everyone twisted when they whispered sickening words. A story unlike the rumours crowding your reputation.
How no, you hadn’t killed your parents, or siblings, or whatever messed up thing people claimed of you.
You told him how you hadn’t been bitten yet. How, when your family was killed, you hadn’t had any powers. So you couldn’t save them. And it wasn’t even canon. Nothing could’ve stopped them from dying, but it didn’t have to happen. And that was the guilt that weighed on you. How no matter the hardships your parents put you through, a kid neglected of attention. You still would rather die a million times for them to live once.
And it’s all “would”, and never “can”.
Other spider-people don’t have to live with the fact their parents died for nothing. Was what you said. A messed up thought, no doubt. And one you felt guilty for. But the sole continuer of this sorrow-filled silence. Which has worked well enough to protect you so far, why is Hobie one to break that?
Because you love him, you guess.
His hands slid further down your back, resting on the curve of your waist in his lap.
His breathing soothed yours. The shuddering breaths you had been giving to stop your tears, also stopped.
“You wanna talk about your day instead, luv?”
“Yeah, thank you Hobie.”
“Love when you say my name, Babydoll. So pretty and sweet like that.”
Wrapping your hands around his lithe waist, you hummed. Beginning your recount of the day in the honeyed, reserved tone you’d always held.
—
Around half an hour had passed with Gwen arguing against Miguel before Peter showed up, Moles in tow.
“What’s all this about?” His slippers flopped when he walked and the baby carrier strapped to his chest shifted every time a sleeping MayDay squirmed to get comfortable.
“This—, This asshole!”
“Gwen.” Jess chastised her.
Gwen ignored it, pointing at Miguel accusingly. “—Kicked [Name] off the team!”
“Not kicked.”
“You said she wasn’t going with us anymore.”
Miles looked offended by the prospect. “Why?”
“She’s not kicked, she’s simply better off solo.”
“Oh, so it’s our fault then!”
“Gwendolyne.”
“All of you, stop.”
Peters voice ended the bickering, having learnt since fatherhood exactly how to use said voice. “We are not sending an 18 year old on solo mission against anomalies.”
“Since when did you have a say—“
“Miguel. You’re an idiot if you think i’m going to let that happen. That’s a kid.”
“She’s an adult.”
“When it’s convenient to you.”
Miguel pinched his nose bridge, growling under his breath. Jess spared a glance at him before wincing and backing down from the conversation.
“She doesn’t talk to people.”
“I’m sure she does, just not to you.” Gwen cut in.
“Yeah, her and Hobie talk a lot.” Miles prepped up on his toes. Pavitr smiled and hummed an agreement.
“Not that I’ve seen.”
Peter gave him another disapproving look. “Disregarding that. The fact you decided to not consult me on this decision is another reason that it’s not happening.”
“Consult? Like some council, please.” Miguel scoffed at him, rolling his eyes and turning to open a holographic tab.
“Yes, like some council. Someone’s gotta be the brains ‘round here.” The father joked, coddling MayDay as she cooed.
“I’m going to go inform [Name] the retraction of this decision.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Oops too late, portals open.”
“Can I come with?” Miles jogged after Peter, hopping quickly through the portal, Peter, Gwen and Pavitr following. Not without Gwen flipping Miguel off as she went. “We’ll sort something out, she can go duos with Hobie.” Jess put a hand on his shoulder, watching as he stared off to where the portal had previously been with a sided expression before sighing.
“Yeah..”
“That went great.” Lyla dragged, popping up on Miguel’s shoulder.
“I’m a second away from shutting you off.”
The AI blew a raspberry at her companion, and disappeared.
—
He had went off on a tangent about some movie he saw, or song he’d heard. Hobie honestly couldn’t remember, he was too focused on you. The way your voice sounded, how open you were being with him when every now and then you would respond to him. The hearts in his eyes were probably from how heavy his own was beating. Staring at you like a sinner to a prophet.
You had moved down from his lap, now curled against his side, head leaning on his shoulder and hand resting on his chest. At some point, the movie you had been watching before Hobie showed up was unpaused, and serving as background noise for his quiet rambling.
Both of you pressed under a blanket to beat the cold, and the darkness outside your window being killed off by the lights strung across your room. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this cozy, this utterly comfortable.
Sparks of colour strung out of nowhere, neither of them really seeing it at first, up until it spat out Miles. He stumbled forward a little and went to greet you before taking on the scene. You and Hobie cuddled up on a bed, blanket wrapped around you both, fire going, people singing. He was exaggerating the last parts, but it felt necessary for something so unexpected.
“Hey—, guys.” The awkward teen managed, before Peter walked through the portal with the other two in tow.
“Woah, no mean to interrupt.”
Peter put his hands up in surrender. Hobie snorted, it wasn’t like you were incapable of affection, It just seems he was the only one who got it.
“I totally called it.”
“Don’t even speak, Pavitr.”
He pouted, before giggling and waltzing over to sit next to the both of you. Flopping down on the bed and turning to watch the TV.
“Oh my god, I love this movie!”
“Favourite character?” You inquired. A collective raise of eyebrows was shown throughout the room.
Gwen shuffling over to sit down as well, a baffled look on her face.
“The horse.”
“Pff- Max?” Hobie snorted at Pav. Giving the still rather confused Miles - Peter duo a reassuring smile. And greeting Gwen with a fist bump, she smiled wearily at him before her smirk filled out and she punched his arm in congrats.
Pavitr nodded and laughed, gasping excitedly when the scene on the lake showed up. “Perfect timing.”
You glanced up at Hobie, Miles and Peter finding somewhere to sit as well, talking quietly amongst themselves.
He smiled at you, bringing you in closer while Pavitr sat smug.
The air of confusion slowly dissipated into something accepting, none but Pavitr had really expected you to be so.. Open. But they came to find they didn’t exactly mind it.
—
Everyone had left by now, the knowledge that you didn’t have to go on dangerous missions alone anymore leaving Hobie satisfied and you comforted.
“You doin’ right, babe?”
“Yeah, Hobes.”
You gripped his shirt a tad tighter and yawned, eyes drifting more shut as the minutes ticked down. “Wanna go t’ bed?”
“We’re in bed, dummy.”
He shot you a playful look.
“Don’ ge’ smart with me, young lady.”
You smiled at him before he made the decision to shuffle you both down in bed to get comfortable, switching off the lights by the outlet. He moved back to you, letting his whole body rest near yours, and letting you initiate any contact wanted.
A leg wrapped around his, and your arm still picking the fabric of his shirt.
“Sleep, sweethear’.”
“Mhmmph.”
Hobies breathe lulled you to sleep, white noise against your racing thoughts. He watched you fall, your trust in him to keep you safe was enough to make a man weak. He smiled, looking out your shared window at the city life below.
No crime, no anomaly or misshaped villain could possibly drag him away from you.
—
BAMBAMBAM 🦑‼️
#hobie my beloved#astv hobie#hobie spiderverse#hobie x you#hobie x reader#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown#spider punk x reader#spider punk#across the spiderverse#spiderman across the spiderverse#spiderverse x reader#pavitr my beloved#atsv gwen#miles 1610#peter b parker#miguel spiderverse#lyla spiderman 2099#jess atsv
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