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theonotti · 5 months

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MIO | OS | t.n.

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!Hufflepuff!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: Voldemort won. Harry Potter is dead. But the Order of the Phoenix is still fighting, with two surprising allies who have very different reasons for aiding their cause.

Warnings: Pretty angsty. AU where Voldemort did not die at the end of DH.

Notes: This is heavily inspired by Secrets & Masks and Manacled. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

That Final Night One Shot

Late.

They’re fucking late.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Theo looks down at his watch.

Twenty minutes late, to be exact.

“How long are we expected to wait here?” Mattheo growls, pacing across the wood of the decrepit bar. The floorboards creak with every step. Theo is sitting at one of the tables, a sigh forcing its way out of his lungs as he watches his friend. In one hand is a cigarette, the other hand mindlessly tracing the vandalism that had been scratched into the top of the table.

“Another ten minutes and then we’re fucking off.”

The bar has been long abandoned, making it their top choice for discreet meetings. They had cycled through a few different locations before they finally found the bar. The walls are a sloppy black color, which is mostly covered in 80’s posters, both movies and musical talents alike. Theo’s eyes drift from poster to poster. He’s seen them what feels like a thousand times, and yet he still finds it hard to tear his eyes away when he stares at them.

An hour has already passed since their arrival, but that was due to the ungodly amount of wards and disillusionment charms that they needed to cast before the meeting, a ritual that has become quite routine. Once everything is set, they’ll briefly discuss what they’ll say, and then they wait. Theo finds the extra waiting time peaceful, usually. It gives him a chance to mentally prepare for the carnage that comes to his psyche afterwards. The guilt. The fear. But this time, the stakes are higher, increasing the tension in his muscles much too soon. He can feel the pain already in his lower back, and he doesn’t want to imagine the aches he’ll be feeling once he returns home.

“Can’t we just kill them?”

Theo considers this question as he lets his eyes jump back to Mattheo.

“That would probably defeat the purpose of why we’re here.”

“Sure, but I still hate Weasley and his stupid face. Just one Cruciatus curse at his ugly face would be okay, surely. I won’t even make it a long one. Four minutes tops.”

Theo boredly watches the smoke from his cigarette float up towards the ceiling as he ignores Mattheo. Every moment that passes increases his irritation. He finds himself wondering if it’s a power move on their part. They hold all the cards, so they can keep him waiting.

Something in the air triggers, both men looking towards the door. Theo’s fingers tense around the cigarette as he brings it to his mouth to take another drag, his other hand dropping down from the table to clench around his wand as it rests on his lap. The dimly lit room has a smoky haze, all thanks to Mattheo and Theo disregarding the “No Smoking Allowed” sign that is appropriately starting to fall off the wall.

The door opens, Ron Weasley followed by Hermione Granger walking in. Theo has long lost count of how many times they’ve met with Granger and Weasley, yet it still feels jarring every time he sees them. Maybe it’s because their appearance catches him off guard each time.

Despite them all being in their mid twenties, they all look tired and worn. The rosey cheeks that Granger sported while they were in school are now gaunt and hollow. Dark circles are painted under her eyes, along with Weasley’s, and she keeps her bushy hair contained in two french braids going down her back. Weasley keeps his hair short now, and his body is more built than it had ever been when they were at Hogwarts. His boy-like features are long gone, with gray already peppering his ginger hair, and if Theo didn’t know any better, he would’ve guessed that Weasley was in his late thirties at the least. The life in their eyes had long drained out, replaced with a coldness that chilled anyone who happened to be stuck in their gaze.

War hadn’t been kind to Theo or Mattheo either.

Mattheo has more scars on his face than he did back in school, and he grew his hair long in a feeble attempt to hide them. There was a time that he wore them like a badge of honor, but since the start of the war and his PTSD becoming worse than ever, they no longer were something he pretended to be proud of. He’s since developed an anxiety twitch, his whole face seeming to spasm whenever there’s a loud noise not caused by him, or tense moment. Though they don’t live together anymore, now that Theo has full ownership of Nott Manor, when they had, Theo could remember all the nights of hearing his best friend scream and cry in his sleep from across the mansion. It was more often than not, and it was unbearably hard to get Mattheo to calm down from the vivacious nightmares.

The opposite could be said for Theo. Instead of nights filled with intense dreams of death and melancholy, Theo simply doesn’t sleep. He couldn’t, for the life of him, shut his brain off. And while that had always been an issue for him to some degree, it had become exacerbated since his transition from student to soldier. Theo doesn’t know what being tired feels like anymore. It’s so ingrained in his psyche that it would be more abnormal for him to not be tired. All he can do is adjust, living off coffee and the occasional upper to keep him moving.

Weasley leans on the wall beside the door. His demeanor is much more unpleasant than normal as his eyes flit between Theo and Mattheo. Theo pretends not to notice as he looks at Granger, who’s standing in the middle of the room. She always did all the talking. Theo assumes it’s because of the way she carries herself, and they certainly take her more seriously than they could any Weasley. Besides being a fighter for the Order of the Phoenix, Granger is a war negotiator. She deals with prisoner exchanges and, eventually, peace talks. Although, considering it’s been seven years since the Battle of Hogwarts, Theo is less confident of the possibility of any sort of peace treaty happening any time soon. For the entire duration of the war, it was her that Theo dealt with when it came to these sorts of things, before and after their betrayal.

She clears her throat.

“What information do you have for us?”

The strain in her voice is lost on no one. The tension in the air is so thick, Theo is convinced he could grab it if he tried.

Mattheo stops his pacing, turning to face her full on. His anger is palpable.

“Stop with the bullshit,” He snaps. “Let’s talk about why we’re really here today.”

Weasley’s hand tightens around his wand, but he doesn’t move. Theo keeps his eyes on him to ensure it stays that way before turning back to Granger.

“You have Malfoy.” Theo’s voice is quiet, tone neutral.

The corners of her mouth twitch upward.

“We have Malfoy.”

Mattheo lets out a frustrated sigh.

“We can’t continue to cooperate with you until you hand him back.”

Granger’s expression doesn’t change, making it clear that this reaction was expected.

“He’s quite the bargaining tool. What are you willing to give for him?” A beat passes. “Or I guess I should say, who?”

Mattheo turns to look at Theo, who can tell just by that exchange of a glance that his friend’s patience is wearing horrifically thin.

“We can ensure the release of Luna Lovegood and Seamus Finnegan. And we’re prepared to give you the maps of the hidden prisons in Sussex.” Theo conveniently forgets to mention that they were already planning to give them the maps, regardless of the way things went at this meeting.

Granger turns to look at Weasley, who merely raises his eyebrows, before turning back to Theo.

“He’s Draco Malfoy.”

Theo’s hand curls tighter around his wand.

Mattheo huffs loudly, throwing his hand down and smacking it on the bar top. The sound is so loud that Granger flinches, and Weasley pushes off the wall suddenly, but doesn’t move forward.

“You know bloody well that our heads will be on a fucking spike if we don’t get him back,” He hisses at them. “Then who will aid your bloody Order? You think there’s anyone else who will risk their necks like we have? Honestly?”

“Regardless of your help to the Order, do you really think we can just hand Voldemort back one of his best fighters?” Granger's voice raises just a touch. Mattheo takes a step towards her.

“You’ll be singing a different fucking tune when we’re dead and you realize the next on the list is you. You’re losing the goddamn war. Biblically. You need us. Alive.”

Theo waits for Mattheo to finish his outburst before he turns his attention back to Granger. He knows where this is going.

Fuck, he knows where this is going.

“What else do you want, then?”

Theo’s hands tremble slightly. He clenches his right fist around his wand even more, the left bringing the cigarette back to his mouth quickly.

Mattheo shakes his head, turning away as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it with his want.

Granger tilts her head as she looks at Theo, her expression shifting to a tired one, as if the answer is obvious. When she speaks again, her voice is just above a whisper.

“You know who we want, Nott. It’s been almost a year.”

Theo’s nostrils flare.

“Not on the table.”

Suffice to say, the raid couldn’t have possibly gone worse.

How the Order could’ve been so prepared for them was beyond Theo.

One minute, everything seemed to be going to plan as Theo, Mattheo, Malfoy, Blaise and a few others sauntered into the safe house. Quick in and out. Nothing too complicated. The next, it was like the floor fell out from under their feet.

How did things get so royally fucked up?

Theo woke with a start, sitting up abruptly, covered in a layer of sweat as his eyes darted around the room. It took him a minute to get reoriented, and only then did he realize that he was in his own living room, laid on the couch with a blanket draped over him. Ripping the blanket off, his hands flew towards his abdomen. When he looked down, he found he was shirtless, but his skin was unharmed, save for some minor scarring. New editions to the collection. He then reached up and touched the top of his head. Nothing. Not even a scrape.

What?

Slowly, he kicked his feet over the side of the couch and stood up. The room spun for a moment, and his joints ached, but otherwise, he was completely normal.

The manor was silent. So silent that it made the hairs on the back of Theo’s neck stand up. Almost automatically, he walked across the floor, his bare feet cold against the hardwood. He tried to keep his footfall soft as he continued listening for any sort of sound. There, in the faint distance, he could hear… something. Grabbing a hoodie off the back of a chair, he slipped it over his bare torso and zipped it up halfway before making his way towards the sound.

Theo stepped into the kitchen. A flash of movement came from the other slide of the sliding door that leads to the courtyard. His hand instinctively went to grab his wand from his pocket, only for him to realize it wasn’t there. At the same moment, he also realized the person outside was Mattheo, having a smoke. His tense fingers relaxed, his arm falling back to his side.

Mattheo looked over as Theo slid the door open and walked out.

“Look who’s awake. How’re you feeling, Sleeping Beauty?”

“Who healed me?”

Mattheo placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense.

“You wound me, Nott. You don’t think I’m capable?”

Theo shook his head almost immediately.

“It’s not as… clean when you do it. And I have the scars to prove it.” He pointed to his back, which was covered in scars thanks to a nasty run in with a car, a Bombarda cast, and Mattheo’s lack of concern to learn basic field emergency spell casting.

Mattheo sighed in resignation before saying, “You’re right. It wasn’t me.”

Theo waited for Mattheo to give elaboration, and when one wasn't given, he could feel his fingers curl into fists. Though Mattheo’s face was neutral, the tension radiating off his body could be felt a kilometer away.

“What did you do?”

Mattheo took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out through his nostrils before turning back to Theo.

“Theo…”

“What did you do, Riddle?”

Swallowing hard, Mattheo looked away from Theo.

“We got their best healer.”

Theo blinked. A hostage?

“You took someone?” He asked, voice low. “That… that wasn’t part of the plan.”

Not that things ever went to plan. And not that they hadn’t ever deviated so far left and forced them to take hostages before. But there was something about the way Mattheo couldn’t look at him that made Theo’s fingers run cold.

Mattheo shook his head as he took a seat on one of the lounge chairs. He let his head fall to his chest, as if it were too heavy to hold up anymore. “That wall fell on you. You were going to die, Theo. We needed…” He inhaled sharply before looking up again. “It was beyond us. We needed the help. We needed her.”

Theo wracked his brain. The Order’s best healer? The Order’s best healer. Why does this mean something to him?

“Who is it?”

Mattheo leaned backwards in the seat so his back laid against the chair before he pointed at Theo, as if he was preemptively defending himself.

“You’re going to thank me. You’ll be pissed. But you’re going to thank me, ultimately.”

Theo’s nose twitched.

“Mattheo… who is it?”

Mattheo nodded back towards the house before vaguely replying, “She’s upstairs, in the North wing.”

Theo’s feet didn’t move, stuck to the floor like ice. His mind was running, a plethora of questions all begging to be answered. But his mouth forgot how to work as well. For a moment, all he was able to do was stare at Mattheo, who stared back briefly before nodding towards the house again.

“Go on.” His voice was soft.

Theo’s feet kicked on again, taking him back into the house as if they were on autopilot.

Why the hell are you so nervous? You don’t even know who it is.

His wand was laying on the end table next to the staircase, which he grabbed and shoved in his pocket. His knees buckled as he walked up the stairs. Distantly, he could hear the sound of yelling and objects being thrown around. It didn’t take him long to figure out which closed door the sounds were coming from the other side of. He stood outside the black wooden door, listening. Trying to maybe discern who it was before he went in.

He could just make out the wards that had been placed on the door. Laying a hand on the knob, he was relieved to find that he was able to touch the brass of the handle. Mattheo had been known to incorrectly cast the spell so no one could get through, which had more than once sent Theo or Malfoy through a wall.

A shaky sigh pushing its way from Theo’s lungs and out of his mouth, he turned the knob and let himself inside the room.

The color drained from Theo’s face.

Standing in the middle of the room, chest heaving and anger radiating off of like a stove top, was you.

Suddenly, Theo was back at Hogwarts, standing in the Astronomy Tower. You were no longer in your casual shirt and jeans, but instead, in your Hufflepuff robes as you looked at him and told him you were leaving to join the Order.

“This war is above us, Theo. Dumbledore is dead. Harry Potter is dead. I can’t stand idly by and watch people die. I need to do something.”

“Yeah? And what about me?”

“You could come with me.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“And you know I can’t stay.”

The memory hit Theo like a train. His breath hitched in his throat.

You turned to face him, freezing in the headlights of his gaze. The way your fury faltered at the sight of him made it clear that you were having the same out of body experience that he was.

You certainly had been busy. All of the furniture in the room was broken. The night stand had been thrown against the pewter colored wall, leaving a dent in the dry wall and the wooden pieces scattered across the floor. A picture frame that Theo hung and forgot about was in ruins, the brunette girl in the picture cowering in the corner of the shredded pieces of photo paper. Feathers from the pillows littered the carpet. The mattress had been thrown off the bed frame, which was also now broken.

Though he couldn’t focus on the damage that had been done to his guest room. He was too busy staring at you with the same confounded look he’d had when he first entered the room.

Your hair was longer than he remembered it, pulled back so it was out of your face. Your features had grown with you, your cheekbones more prominent, your eyes with more bags, your cheeks with less color. There wasn’t a corner of Theo’s world that wasn’t burdened by war, and, unfortunately, that included you. His heart raced in his chest as he looked at you. He had locked the memory of you deep into the catacombs of his brain, not allowing himself to bring them out for any occasion. There wasn’t the time or need for it. This is war. When is there a moment for reminiscing on the worst day of his life?

But now there you were, standing in front of him, with a dumbfoundedly angry look on your face, casual clothes and longer hair. The flood gates were now opened, and he was overwhelmed with memories of you, running through his mind so quickly that he felt like he was spinning.

Your eyes still twinkled in the light that streamed in through the curtains.

“You tell Mattheo Riddle that he can give me back my wand and we’ll see then if he’s able to force me into this room again.”

Theo flinched.

The sound of your voice alone made him feel the need to have a complete mental breakdown. You could’ve been cursing him out or singing in German and he would still feel the overwhelming urge to curl into a ball on the floor. Even with your anger, it still felt like a sweet symphony to Theo’s ears.

He never thought he’d hear the sound again.

Hell, he never thought he’d see you again.

Realizing you had spoken and he was just staring at you like an imbecile, he cleared his throat.

“You healed me.”

Your expression shifted, an emotion crossing your face that Theo couldn’t read. Standing a little straighter, you nodded.

“I’m a healer,” You said slowly, distantly. “It’s what I do.”

He snorted. That bleeding Hufflepuff heart.

“You could’ve let me die,” He pointed out, cocking his head to the side.

You seemed to consider this briefly before saying, “In theory, yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Silence hung in the air between the two of you, coupled with the unmitigated tension. Theo’s hands were curled at his sides, not from anger, but to stop himself from giving into the inordinate compulsion to reach out and touch you. To prove to himself that he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. That you were actually in front of him. You shifted your weight to your other foot.

“I don’t think I really could’ve, even if I wanted to.”

The words unsaid in this moment would keep Theo up at night for weeks.

Your eyes trailed down his body, studying him, taking in his bare chest underneath the hoodie. He swallowed hard, his body seeming to freeze under your gaze. Maybe he should’ve changed before coming into the room. At least maybe thrown on a proper shirt. He’d never had a hostage in his home before. There was no protocol book on the proper etiquette.

Especially not when the hostage was his ex-girlfriend who’s now working on the opposite side of the war.

You let out a strangled sigh.

“You have to let me go back, Theo. They need me. No one is trained on some of the things I am.”

The shake of his head was immediate.

“You can’t even begin to comprehend what he would do if he found out Mattheo and I had you and then just let you go back,” He said in a strained yet soft voice. “I can’t. We can’t.”

Your nose twitched as you closed your eyes.

“I won’t fucking heal for him,” You declared in a low tone. “I’d rather be strung up in Godric’s Hollow to rot like all the other people he’s executed than heal for him.”

Theo tried to be rational as he considered what to do. There was a tug of war in his mind, his loyalties competing to decide the best course of action. The obvious answer was to turn you over to The Dark Lord, where you would be put on trial for the crimes he deemed you guilty of, and then punished accordingly. With the skills you hold, Theo knew that you would more than likely be put under the Imperius curse and forced to act as a healer for the Death Eaters.

Though the answer was obvious, that didn’t make it correct. Not to him or to anyone else.

Theo knew. He knew you’d rather die than breathe the same air as the Death Eaters, let alone fix their wounds and send them back out to kill your people. His head throbbed as he tried to think of the best direction to go in.

Because, in his head, letting you go was simply out of the question.

“This is a negotiation, is it not?” Granger asks. “We have something you want, you have something we want. We exchange.”

Theo shakes his head as he smashes the end of his half smoked cigarette on the top of the table.

“She’s not for trade.”

“Well, she’s what we want.”

A bead of sweat trails down the side of his face. He ignores it.

“She’s nowhere close to being worth the same as Draco Malfoy. This isn’t a fair trade.” He means it, but not in the way that he presented it to them. Nothing they could offer would make it a fair trade in Theo’s eyes. They could offer the end of the war. They could offer his freedom from the Death Eaters. They could offer endless riches, or immortality, or anything else he could possibly dream up. None of it would equate.

“Then we’ll gladly take Luna and Seamus back as well,” Granger says through clenched teeth, expression reading that her patience is wearing thin. “To make up the difference.”

Theo opens his mouth to respond, but Mattheo cuts in before he gets the chance.

“You’ll take what we fucking give you.”

Granger shoots him a dagger filled glare.

“We can no longer afford to play these games with you. You have our best healer. And we need her back.” She rolls her head before her eyes fall back on Theo. “We have been patient. We have accepted that we had nothing worth trading for her. Now we do. Malfoy’s importance to the Death Eaters is well known. Don’t patronize us by pretending we don’t have the upper hand here.”

A chill runs through Theo’s spine.

She’s right.

God dammit, she’s right.

Theo runs a hand through his messy hair, the most he’s moved since he sat down. His brain scrambles to come up with something, anything, that he can offer to remedy this. There has to be something of equal value. There has to be something he can give that would make them decide to let you stay.

“Before you try to come up with some feeble offer, know that we won’t be backing down from this,” Granger says as if she’s reading Theo’s mind. “You won’t be getting Draco Malfoy back unless we get her, regardless of what else you give. She’s the only card you have that could get him back.”

Theo’s eyes snap back to Granger, the anger boiling in his chest.

“This is a negotiation, is it not?” He repeats her words back to her. She smiles at him, but the gesture does not reach her eyes.

“Maybe negotiation is the wrong word for it.” She hums thoughtfully. “It’s more like a plea deal. Take it or leave it.”

“You’re up late.”

Theo jumped at the sound of your voice as he quickly flicked the light on.

He didn’t expect to find you in his kitchen, sitting cross legged on the island counter with the lights off. A bowl of what he could only assume was cereal was in your hands.

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

“It’s four in the morning.”

You glanced up at the clock as well, before shrugging.

“Fine, you’re up early.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Theo’s mouth.

He could feel you studying him as you brought the spoon to your mouth. A flush of warmth filled his cheeks as he made his way to the fridge, making it a point to turn away from you. Still, he knew your eyes never left him.

“You still don’t sleep much, huh?” You asked, mouth full of cereal.

He sighed as he pulled the carton of orange juice off the shelf.

“I’d say I don’t sleep at all these days.”

He popped the top of the carton before bringing it to his mouth and throwing his head back. You watched him carefully, seeming to pause your eating.

“You’re a feral one now, aren’t you?” You asked in a playful tone. “Drinking right from the carton? Who have you become, Theodore Nott?”

He laughed, the sound being so foreign to him these days, before saying, “I generally live alone, and I never host other people. No need to waste a glass, as far as I’m concerned.”

Him ignoring the last comment of yours was intentional. Despite the playfulness behind it, Theo doesn’t know how you would feel about the man he’s become, and he doesn’t want to dwell on that fact.

You continue to laugh as you shake your head.

“Mad behaviour.”

Theo eyed you.

“Says the girl sitting on the counter, in the dark, eating cereal.”

You smiled as you take another bite.

“Got me there.”

It had been almost two months since Mattheo had taken you hostage and made you Theo’s problem. In an attempt to keep peace, Theo gave you free reign of the entire manor and all of the land around it. After repairing the furniture in the guest room (multiple times, as you had to get your frustration out somehow), Theo allowed you to stay there. Before his death, Nott Sr. had created a dungeon-esque holding below the house, with cage like cells and torture weapons, but Theo had the area of the house completely closed off upon his arrival as head of estate, and he wasn’t planning to reopen it anytime soon. Besides, the thought of locking you in an actual cell made Theo physically ill.

“How’s the escape plot going?” Theo asked as he leaned against the counter adjacent from you, juice carton still in hand.

“Considering I can’t apparate because you already had anti apparation wards in place, the wards Mattheo placed that are linked to my DNA so I can’t leave the estate at all, and that bed being the most comfortable thing I’ve ever slept on…” You listed, raising a finger with every reason. “ … I’d say it’s going quite terribly.”

Theo’s eyebrows hit his hairline as he let out a surprised huff.

“Mattheo has always been quite meticulous.”

“Well, he said he was afraid you’d let me go.”

Theo’s smile faded quite quickly.

The first couple of weeks following your capture, you had made yourself scarce around the manor, mostly spending time in the North wing. Theo made it a point to stay out of your way. Not only for the sake of your anger, but because he needed to work out his own emotions about you being there. Even in this moment, looking at you in the kitchen, he still hadn’t quite worked out how the whole thing made him him.

After the first couple of weeks, you had slowly started making your way through the manor, exploring every crevice. Every nook and cranny. Theo knew it was to look for a weakness to exploit that could lead to your escape, but he didn’t comment that to you. Just let it sit in the back of his head.

With your emergence from your room also came your increased interactions with the dark haired lad. It was painful at first, just a curt nod here and there, but it slowly built up to exchanging jokes and sarcastic comments, and even as far as the two of you reading books in silence together in the library.

It was almost as if there was never a moment between the days you and him spent together at Hogwarts and now. Just cut the time apart out and sew the rest together like the war never happened.

Theo often found himself wondering if he was one of the weaknesses you were attempting to exploit.

Your comment about Mattheo believing Theo would let you go did nothing to snuff out that thought.

He tried not to think about it too much.

You watched him carefully as he took another long sip of juice from the carton.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do with me yet?”

Theo rolled his eyes, setting the juice on the black countertop next to him.

“Nope.”

He didn’t bother to ask how you knew it was even up for debate. You’d always had a knack for just knowing things. And he couldn’t imagine that his debates with Malfoy and Mattheo were as quiet as he would’ve liked them to be.

“What are you leaning towards?” You asked innocently, your eyes studying him. He bit the inside of his cheek as he considered how to answer.

“Let’s see,” He mumbled. “Malfoy thinks I should turn you in. He doesn’t see why you’re useful here, and says you’d be better suited as a healer for… them.” He decided not to say Death Eaters, but you flinched at the idea anyway. “Mattheo thinks I should keep you here.”

Your eyes didn’t leave him as you took another bite of your cereal. Theo mirrored you with the orange juice.

“But what are you leaning towards?”

“Not turning you in, that’s for damn sure.”

Your gaze pinned him, as your eyes narrow only slightly.

“So I’m stuck here then.” It was more of a statement than a question, and something about it made an ache burst through Theo’s chest. He had no idea how to respond, so he opted to say nothing, instead bringing the juice carton back to his lips. Your eyes followed him. “Theo, you’re a rational person. You know that I don’t want to be here. Why can’t you just let me go back to the Order?”

His eyes fluttered shut.

“It’s complicated.”

You set the bowl down on the counter before looking back up at him.

“Then simplify it for me.”

All he could say in a breathy whisper was your name.

He didn’t know how. He couldn’t even simplify it for himself.

It all happens at once.

Theo quickly stands, pushing the chair out from under him so quickly that it glides across the floor and into the wall.

Weasley rushes forward, his wand pointed at Theo.

Mattheo grabs Weasley by the scruff of his shirt, roughly shoving him into the wall with the tip of his wand jabbing into the ginger’s jugular. The impact of his back against the hard surface causes Weasley to drop his wand, which Mattheo swiftly kicks across the floor.

Granger puts her wand only inches from Mattheo’s head, though he doesn’t appear to notice.

Theo directs his wand to Granger.

“The difference between you and I, Weasley,” Mattheo hisses in his face. “Is that I don’t have any pathetic qualms about making a person suffer. So please. Point your wand at one of us again. We’ll see who comes out the bigger man.”

“That’s enough, Riddle!” Granger shouts, pressing her wand into Mattheo’s temple. Theo steps forward and jams his wand through her hair and into her occipital scalp.

“Drop it.”

A beat passes.

Mattheo’s face twitches.

Granger slowly lowers her hand, her jaw clenched so tight that Theo is convinced her teeth will crack.

“We all want the same outcome,” She says in a quiet voice, still glaring daggers at Mattheo.

“It’s how we get there that we can’t seem to see eye to eye on,” Theo growls.

Letting his hand drop back to his side, Theo takes a step back towards the table he had previously been occupying.

“Let him go, Mattheo.”

The curly haired man glares into Weasley’s face for a moment longer, letting his deep breath smack against the ginger’s face before he shoves him away. Theo’s eyes follow Mattheo as he walks back to his pacing area, and then they flick back to Granger. She looks incensed over what just occurred, as Weasley adjusts his shirt, embarrassment painting his cheeks pink.

Theo opts to stay standing this time.

“She’s not a part of the equation,” He says in a low tone. “We can give you the maps, Finnegan and Lovegood for Malfoy. Or we can give nothing at all.”

A draft fills the room as the wind can be heard whipping outside over the silence.

“And again, we are well aware of Draco’s importance to the Death Eater army,” Granger says in a tone that matches Theo’s. “There is no option. It’s her or nothing.”

Theo fights the urge to curse her.

“Then it’s nothing.”

The door hit the wall so hard, Theo could almost feel the drywall dent. In the moment, however, he couldn’t give less of a shit.

You whipped around to face him. The anger on your face couldn’t be missed, but neither could his. For a while, the two of you just stared at each other, speaking through daggered glares and heaving chests, as if words weren’t necessary.

It was a moment of deja vu, calling back to the first time the two of you met in what became your assigned bedroom of the house. Both times equally as tense, but for radically different reasons. And this time, all of the pieces of furniture were entirely intact.

Finally, Theo broke the silence.

“What business do you have, entering the field?”

Your nostrils flared.

“What business do you have, almost getting yourself killed?”

A breeze came in through the window, chilling the room further. As if it needed the help.

“I was handling myself fine,” He said in a low voice. “Injuries are bound to happen-“

“A pelvic fracture and an open head wound are both severe injuries,” You countered in a raised voice. “You may have felt fine in the moment but you wouldn’t have after you lost two liters of blood just from the fractured pelvis alone. You needed care.”

Theo felt like throwing things as the anger flared heavily in his chest.

“I could’ve apparated back to the manor after-“

“You would’ve splinched yourself with that severe of injuries, Theo,” You snarled, looking exasperated. “Mattheo came and got me.”

Theo made a mental note to kick the absolute shit out of Mattheo the next time he saw him.

“You could’ve said no!” He shouted. “You’re not my bloody on-call healer who gets to risk her life whenever I almost die.” The image of you in the middle of the fight, dodging multiple green casts in your wake, was burned into his retinas. Despite being safe in the Manor now, his chest was still reeling from the panic that flooded his heart and lungs when he fought to get to you.

You took a rushed step forward.

“Don’t fucking do that,” You said in a strained voice. “You don’t get to drag my arse back into your life-“

“You think I wanted this for you?” He shouted, cutting you off. “I didn’t drag you anywhere. I didn’t bring you here. I didn’t ask for this.”

You took another step towards him, more controlled this time. Theo almost took a step backwards to keep the distance.

Almost.

“But you kept me here. Why am I still fucking here, Theo?”

The words left his mouth before his brain had a chance to even consider them.

“Because you fucking left me before I was fucking done with you!”

Theo’s chest heaved, as he stared down at you. The room became painfully silent, the only sound being Theo’s breathing. You were holding your breath.

“What does that mean?”

Theo didn’t hesitate for a moment.

“You left me to join the Order. You left me behind and I went bloody maniacal. I didn’t know a person could be touch starved for a specific set of hands, but your fingers burned their prints into my skin and I can’t get them to goddamn heal. And then Mattheo dropped you on my fucking door step and it was like I was an imprisoned man who just felt the warmth of the sun for the first time in years.”

You were frozen, staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“Theo…” A breathy whisper.

Theo shook his head, feeling a mix of anger and desperation in his head and heart. When he spoke, his voice was more calm this time, taking a low tone.

“If love were a language then the only one I know how to speak is the one we wrote together. I couldn’t lose you again. I can’t lose you again.”

It was unclear who moved first. Maybe Theo. Maybe you. Maybe both. But somehow, the distance between the two of you closed, and Theo’s mouth was crashing against yours.

His left hand was on the small of your back, the other on the back of your head. His fingers weaved through your hair with a firm grip, as if to keep you from pulling away. Your hands were on his cheeks, lightly cradling his head between your palms as your fingertips teased the beginnings of his hairline.

“I love you,” He said in a silent voice, his lips still pressed against yours in the desperate kiss. “I never stopped.”

“I love you too.” Your words came without a sliver of hesitation.

His tongue parted your lips, as your fingers moved to the back of his head. A groan forced its way up his throat. Your nails against his scalp drove him insane. It always had. Theo knew you knew that well.

And with that, he pushed you onto the bed.

“So…”

Theo closes his eyes at the sound of Mattheo’s voice. His steps are slow as they walk up the pathway of Nott Manor. In an effort to prolong the inevitable, Theo pulls a cigarette from his pocket, setting it between his lips before lighting it with his wand.

“We don’t have a choice, do we?”

Theo looks up at the sky as he blows a plume of smoke upwards to join the clouds. He can’t look at Mattheo.

“No,” He finally says. “We don’t.”

Mattheo pulls a smoke of his own out, lighting it before taking a deep inhale. The only sounds in the air are the wind and his exhale.

“What if we just stopped aiding them?” He suggested after a beat too long of silence. “They’re losing. They need the information we’re feeding them. A few weeks without it would have them feeding out of our palms.”

Theo considers this as he plops down on the top step leading onto the porch. The cold from the wood seeps through his trousers.

Not that his body held any warmth to begin with. Not since he walked out of that bar.

“We don’t have a few weeks.”

Another cloud fills the air.

“The Dark Lord wants Malfoy back now.”

Theo’s heart already feels hollow as he thinks about what he is getting ready to do.

Mattheo paces the cobblestone pathway, running his fingers through his curls as he takes another long drag of his cigarette.

“There has to be a way.”

Theo studies his friend. There’s very few people Mattheo holds loyalty to. The Order wasn’t on the list, despite the way they were risking everything to help them. The other Death Eaters didn’t have it. Hell, even his own father only held enough of Mattheo’s loyalty to keep him alive. Not enough for it to matter.

But Mattheo, from the moment they met until this moment in front of Nott Manor, was always fiercely loyal to Theo. And the way he desperately tries to come up with a solution to fix this for Theo pulls at his heart.

Because his loyalty to Theo also extends to you. When Theo told Mattheo that he was planning to betray Voldemort’s army in an effort to end the war and keep you with him, Mattheo wasted no time in joining him. No questions asked.

Mattheo was willing to risk his head to keep you safe if that was what Theo needed. And in this moment, Theo knew he didn’t thank his friend enough.

His hands shake slightly as he brings the cigarette back to his mouth.

“I don’t think there is.”

He doesn’t want to sound as defeated as he does. But as his mind runs a million kilometers a second, it still comes up short on a way of getting out of this.

Mattheo shakes his head angrily.

“This is bullshit.”

And Theo says nothing, his gaze fixed on the ground as he finishes his cigarette, and plans what he’s going to say once he goes inside.

Oh Merlin, do I really have to leave?

Theo sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at your sleeping form. Your back was facing him, the blanket low enough to show the bare skin of your upper torso.

He swallowed hard.

Five minutes. Just another five minutes.

But he knew he wouldn’t stop at five.

He was in his Death Eater robes, dressed to leave. This meeting wasn’t one he could afford to miss, and yet, watching you sleep in his bed was enough to make him at least consider it.

Reaching over, he traced the lines of your right scapula, moving down to the left, feeling your smooth skin and shoulder blades beneath his fingertips. Your body rose and fell with every breath you took, but you did not stir at his touch. He brushed your hair down to the side so it all fell concurrently onto the sheets.

Every time he tried to stand, his legs would defy him.

Bloody hell, this is impossible, he thought to himself.

The temptation to kiss you was strong, but he resisted. He didn’t want to wake you, because then you would know he was leaving, and then you’d ask questions. One’s he didn’t yet want to offer up the answers to.

You didn’t know what he was about to do.

The door creaked open, making Theo jump. Mattheo stood at the threshold, also in his robes. His eyes flitted between his friend and you, before they settled on Theo again. All he did was nod, a gesture that Theo returned, before turning and leaving once again.

A sigh forcing its way out of his lungs, Theo stood up from the bed. Before walking out the door, he threw one last fleeting glance your way.

This better fucking work.

Once the door to his bedroom was shut, Theo walked through the manor in a flash, before finding Mattheo standing in the front garden. His friend gave him a look, and it was not lost on Theo the anxiety in his expression.

“Are you sure about this?”

Mattheo’s words hung in the air, swirling around above them with the wind. Theo slowly let his head fall backwards as he stared at the sky. For once in his life, his thoughts weren’t racing. He was confident in this decision. He had never been more confident about anything.

“I’m sure.”

No more words were said.

Grabbing Mattheo’s forearm, the two men apparated. When they reappeared, it was in an empty warehouse in Sussex. Windows lined the walls just a meter or so below the ceiling. The walls themselves were painted an off white colour that left them looking dirty, with hand prints and muck dusting the paint. It felt too big, in Theo’s opinion. If this were to become a regular thing, they’d need something smaller. With seats, preferably.

The two got to work, placing wards and disillusionment charms everywhere they could. Before they knew it, a whole hour had passed, and they were just finishing up.

“You know I hate this right?” Mattheo asked as they regrouped in the center of the giant room. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Not what we’re doing necessarily but this meeting?”

Theo had to fight the urge to laugh.

“You think I like this any more than you do?”

Mattheo shook his head as he looked around the warehouse, taking in the metal beams that lined the ceiling.

Theo took the moment of quiet to get his thoughts in order. Ever since he sent that damn letter, he had dreaded this moment. And now it was here, and though he had spent countless hours stewing and preparing, right now, he felt completely naked and defenseless.

A sensation filled the air. Theo looked over at the same time that Mattheo did. The door creaked open, the sound echoing off the walls and around the air, before Hermione Granger, followed by Ron Weasley, the Weasley twins, Dean Thomas, Ginny Weasley, another Weasley they couldn’t place, and the blonde Triwizard Tournament champion from fourth year who Theo, for the life of him, could not remember the name of.

“All Gryffindors, mostly Weasels,” Mattheo mumbled under his breath. “Too much bloody red around here.”

Theo fought the impulse to laugh.

The crowd of Order members approached them, all looking apprehensive. Granger stepped forward, her eyes jumping between the two of them.

“Nott.” When her eyes bounced back to Mattheo, the disdain became more apparent. When she spoke again, she spat the word out. “Riddle.”

Mattheo gritted his teeth as Theo took a step forward, saving them the risk of what would happen if Mattheo were the next to speak.

“Granger.”

He debated on greeting the others, but decided against it. There simply wasn’t time for pleasantries. Besides, Theo didn’t particularly want to be polite to them. And he knew that Mattheo wanted nothing more than to raze the whole warehouse just because he saw that familiar flash of ginger hair one time, let alone several. So it was probably best to get right to the point.

“What’s this about?” The unfamiliar Weasley called out.

It was hard for Theo not to grow annoyed. The amount of people in the building had him feeling overwhelmed, though he couldn’t exactly blame him. How else should they have responded? It could’ve been a trap, for all they knew.

The moment Theo reached into his back pocket, a swarm of wands were pointing in his direction. In his periphery, he could see Mattheo’s fists clench. though he was grateful that his friend didn’t immediately start spitting off hexes and Unforgivables. Theo froze more out of politeness than fear, then slowed his movements down. With the same speed as a snail, he pulled out a couple of scrolls, tossing it on the floor halfway between where he stood and where she stood. The wands all moved to point at the scroll in the same way they would point at a bomb.

“Those are plans for upcoming raids on your safe houses,” Theo explained. “Now you can be better prepared.”

The reaction was comical. At least, to Theo, it was.

Granger stared at the scrolls, her mouth agape. Ron and Ginny kept their wands pointed at it in a way that suggested they were convinced it was anything but a scroll. The twins backed away from it entirely. Dean Thomas stared not at the scroll, but at Mattheo specifically, confusion painting his expression. The unfamiliar Weasley with the scars on his face jumped away when Theo threw the scroll, and had not moved since. And the blonde looked like she wanted to approach it, but was too afraid to let her feet move.

Granger was the first to speak.

“Why should we trust you?”

A draft filled the room.

“Trust us or don’t,” Mattheo quipped. “You’re losing. You’ve been losing. Pathetically. We’re guaranteeing you a win right now. Whether you decide to take that chance is up to you.”

The silence was deafening as the members of the Order all exchanged looks, looking absolutely flabbergasted by this turn of events. It was clear they were trying to have a conversation through their facial expressions. Every muscle in Theo’s body tensed as he waited for their reaction.

This has to work, He thought to himself.

This will work.

“What do you get out of this?”

Granger’s words hung in the hair, and though the question was for the both of them, her eyes were pointedly trained on Mattheo. When the two Death Eaters remained silent, she continued.

“You’re betraying your families. Your fathers. What could you possibly have to gain, besides maybe a pardon from execution if we win?” She sneers. “And even that isn’t guaranteed.”

Visions of you lying in his bed, only covered by the duvet cover, overtook Theo’s head. He found himself wondering if you’d woken up yet. If you’d eaten. If you’d slept well. If you’d realised he’d left. The lump in his throat felt like a bolder when he swallowed it down. His fingertips burned with the feeling of your bare skin underneath them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Theo sees Mattheo glance over at him.

This is, after all, Theo’s doing. So it’s his question to answer.

“Family isn’t everything,” Theo said in a low tone. “And some people are worth yielding for.”

Rise.

Fall.

Rise.

Fall.

It takes Theo a full half hour before he finally finds you in the manor. Here you are, curled up on the couch in the library with one of his robes covering you like a blanket. Your back faces him as your face is nuzzled against the fabric of the back of the couch.

Deja vu hits him hard.

Instead of waking you, Theo sits on the ottoman beside you and counts the amount of breaths you take. At the moment, he’s up to about sixty since he started. It’s easier on his heart to sit in the silence, only filled with your quiet snores.

It’s easier for his heart to handle than what it knows he has to do.

But he knows that he’s only prolonging the inevitable.

Letting out a deep sigh, Theo reaches over and places his hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake.

“Hey,” He says in a low voice in an attempt to not startle you. “It’s me. Wake up.”

Your head springs upward, looking around at the back of the couch before you roll over to face Theo. The way your eyes light up at the sight of him makes his heart ache in a way he’ll never be able to describe. It’s like he misses you before you’ve even left.

A soft yawn takes over your face for just a brief moment, and is quickly replaced with a tired smile.

“How’d it go?”

Theo bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard that he can taste blood.

I can’t do this.

You have to do this.

“Not great.”

The smile fades from your face. As quickly as your still waking up body allows, you sit up, rolling over to face him entirely. Theo sits up straight as you pause, watching as the wheels turn in your head to process what he had said.

“What happened?” Your voice is so small, and something about it gives Theo the impression that you already know where this conversation is about to go. He sighs heavily. The pain in his upper back makes it feel like he has the entire world on his shoulders.

“They wouldn’t return Malfoy to us,” He explains. In an effort to hide the shake in his voice, he speaks slowly. “They… they had specific conditions for his release.”

The hush blanketing the room is only pacified by the pounding in Theo’s ears.

If there is one thing about you that Theo knows deeply, it’s that you can’t keep your emotions off your face. So it’s to his great dismay that he watches your expression shift from confusion, to thoughtful, to realisation.

“They want me, don’t they?”

The words feel like a bullet each, piercing through Theo’s chest and implanting straight into his heart.

I can’t bloody do this.

“Yes.”

Suddenly, the quiet that overtakes the room is less welcome as that one single word hangs over the two of you like a storm cloud threatening a downpour. The way Theo’s mind runs a million kilometers a second makes it so deafening. He can see the conflict on your face as you consider what needs to be done. The downward cast of your sleep stained eyes and the way you curl your lip in thought makes him want to burn the entire Order to the ground so he doesn’t have to even consider losing you.

He sucks in through his nose as the hand on his knee clenches tightly into a fist.

When your eyes drift back up to meet his, matching resolve in your expression, Theo has to swallow down the urge to cry.

“When?”

His nails dig into his palm.

“Mattheo’s going to take you once you’re ready.”

A frown crosses over your face.

“You're not going?”

Theo can’t recall another time in his life where he’s felt as broken as he does now, looking into your sad stricken and confused eyes.

He’s losing you again.

“I can’t.” He swallows the lump in his throat that makes his words come out choked. “I… I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

He lets the rest of his thoughts remain left unsaid. That he would kill them before they could even leave the area with you. That he’d kill every last one of them for taking the only good thing he’d had during this god forsaken war. The entire reason he had broken his loyalties to the Dark Lord in an attempt to put it to an end.

And now, he has to watch you leave him.

Again.

Anguish and surprise conflict your face, making him take your hand in his and hold it tightly.

“I’ll figure it out, okay?” The desperation in his voice is so palpable that you can feel it bleeding onto the skin of your fingertips. Theo’s eyes never leave yours. “I’ll finish this. For you. For us.”

You fill the spaces between his fingers with your own.

You haven’t even left yet, but Theo begins to dread the ghost of your touch that will be left behind once you are. It’s a feeling he knows too intimately.

“What if we lose?” You ask him in a soft whisper. “Or what if one of us doesn’t make it?”

The air leaves Theo’s lungs, evaporating from the heat of your words.

He wants to dig a bunker and hide you in it, keeping you far away from the sins of the war and the pain of ever leaving his side. He wants to blow up the world and watch from space with you on his arm. He wants to do anything, literally anything that would take away the hurt in your eyes.

Images of the many ways he wishes to kill the Dark Lord and end this devastation flash through his mind.

“I need you to hear me when I say this,” Theo says in a slow tone. “I will do whatever it takes to ensure my return to you. Even if that means I have to blow through the gates of hell myself and crawl out of my grave. Make no bloody mistake. I will come back for you.”

#theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fanfiction #theo nott fanfiction #golden trio era #golden trio era fanfiction #.txt

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whatislovevavy · 4 months

Text

Most of Freedom and Of Pleasure

Jake Seresin x OC (Cherry)

Hangman and Cherry have never been able to be in the same room as the other without nearly ripping each other's throats out. Hangman provides a solution that provides her a sense of freedom and pleasure that she begins to crave.

Warnings: Smut, P in V, degradation, hot pilots being delusional and horny

Word Count: 3.4k

Soph's Collection of Literature

A note: This is a nice little piece I made for @roosterforme's TopGun 80's Rocktober Challenge using Tears for Fears' Everybody Wants to Rule the World. The lovely divider was made by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more. I hope you enjoy <3

All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook

This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.

“God, you’re such a dick,”

You almost missed the way his lips curved into a smirk into the sensitive flesh of the column of your neck. Hands gripping into his shoulders as he sucked at your pulse, pushing your hips into the cold metal lockers behind you with a resonating bang, his broad hands digging into your Nomex clad waist enough to leave marks.

Time was not in your favor, and you could sense that the team had their suspicions about what Hangman and Cherry were doing while they weren’t trying to rip the other to shreds on the tarmac.

“I always did like you more when you were too busy takin' my cock to say your little bratty comments,” he growled into your throat.

You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way his gravelly tone and filthy words made you want to clench your thighs around his lean waist.

A huff left your lips.

He was absolutely vexing.

His hands gripped harder into your hips, squeezing into the flesh of your ass, making you let out what could be best described as a repressed sigh.

And shameless and cocksure.

He harshly sucked at the flesh of your neck, sure to leave angry, deep purple marks in his wake, the act making you hiss.

A significant part of you had stopped caring to cover up the traces of your rendezvous; new ones would be there the following day or later in the week anyway.

And was absolutely filled to the brim with brazen confidence and a glaring disregard for others.

You had to bite into the soft, plump flesh of your lip to silence yourself as his mouth made you want to softly whimper.

Chewing him out only turned him on, and ignoring him just made him press harder into your nerves.

You couldn’t win with him. Maybe that was why you let yourself have this arrangement.

To see if you could win, and claim victory over the infamous Hangman that had women for miles lined up for a chance to warm his bed.

Because just like him, you craved victory.

His fingers frantically reached for your front zipper, pulling the dark green material down your body, exposing more and more flesh by the second to his ravenous mouth.

A sigh passed your lips as he fondled your breast, bringing your tank top down to expose your pebbled nipple to the cooler air of the locker room with a gasp, taking the sensitive flesh into his warm mouth with a deep growl.

You hated that he had this effect on you.

Not in a way that itched your skin, but in a way that made your insides swirl and buzz with…

A low whine pulled its way past your lips as he let the rough pads of his fingers run through your folds.

“Mhm, so wet, Cherry. This all f’me?”

His chest inflated with pride at the glare you shot him.

He watched with salacious eyes as he removed his fingers, “Come on, sweets, we both know ya don’t get this wet for just anyone.”

You watched as he let his tongue glide over his bottom lip, his gaze heavy on your flushed cheeks and glazed over eyes.

Agitation overcame you at the sight of him as he closed his eyes, humming at the taste of you on his fingers, trying to ignore how much you ne-wanted his touch again.

And trying to remember how much you hated it when he called you that little endearment with that irritating southern drawl of his.

Maybe this whole arrangement was to gain some freedom from this chase you both did with each other, to put your hatred for him to better use.

To have an outlet. Yeah that was it. An outlet. A reprieve from your hatred induced frustrations.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His dry laugh made your insides burn and your nails dig into his shoulders just that much harder.

He nipped at your jaw as your nails dug harshly into the back of his neck.

The act made him growl into the column of your throat, the vibrations making you almost shiver.

“I already do, sweets. You wouldn’t keep coming back if it weren't the case.”

You scoffed.

“You’re insufferable.”

His lip quirked.

“And so god-damn frustrating.”

He hummed, his ego growing like his cock in the thin confines of his flight suit with each breathless word that passed sweet, no-faults-in-sight, perfect straight shooter Cherry’s lips.

“But I’m not wrong,” he replied, giving your neck a playful nip.

“I never said you were right, and don’t call me sweets,” you quipped back, trying to keep your voice steady as he sucked at your pulse point.

He chuckled against your skin, his breath hot against your skin, “always so feisty, Cherry,”

Your words died on your lips as his lips lathed at your chest, softly biting into your nipple. A soft sigh left your lips as he soothed your flesh with his frustratingly nimble tongue.

His touch almost made you miss him as he took a second to pull down his flight suit, his white undershirt clashing with his golden tan skin and clinging to his biceps. The imprint of his dog tags showing through his cotton shirt. Your eyes followed the path of the white fabric as he unveiled the sharp ridges and dips of hard muscle from his defined adonis belt, to his marble carved abs that seemed to go on for days, to his pectorals and thick, broad shoulders.

"We don't have all day, Bagman," you said, voice lacking the authority you hoped it would still have.

His muffled dry laugh made your jaw clench and stomach flip.

Your voice couldn't have sounded that desperate, could it?

His lip quirked, revealing pearly white teeth.

"Didn't realize you were in a rush, got a hot date later?"

Your eyes narrowed, his teasing smile grating on your nerves.

"As a matter of fact, I do," you managed to say without your voice sounding too breathless or shaky.

His eyes narrowed for only a millisecond.

A flash of something you've never seen before.

In his eyes, at least.

But as soon as it appeared, it was gone.

"Mhm," he bit the inside of his cheek, leaning down to kiss at your neck, coming up to your tender ear lobe, giving the soft flesh a delicate bite that had a hitched breath leaving your parted lips.

You hated how well versed he was in the subtle language of your body.

He firmly squeezed your hips in his broad hands, his fingers sneaking under the fabric of your bunched up flight suit to your ass.

You almost shivered at his warm breath settling against your ear.

"Does he know he's gonna be getting sloppy seconds?"

A scoff passed your lips, "I don't see how that's of any concern to you."

He hissed as your nails dug harder into the back of his neck.

"We both know you don't date. That's why this works so well, "he said dryly as he kissed at your neck, slowly pulling the Nomex material below your waist, your legs moving at their own accord to step out of the sleeves.

He had a point. An annoying and frustrating point.

"It's the first date anyway," you replied, choosing to ignore the evident vibrations of the chord he just struck through your chest.

He let his jade, evergreen eyes settle on you.

Those same eyes that could read you like a book he's read a hundred times over.

His lip quirked, eyebrows scrunching in amusement.

"That's really romantic, Cherry, really. Showing up with another man's cum dripping down your thighs as he sweats himself on the first date."

Your mouth dried up, utterly speechless at the words he said with that trademark Hangman confidence.

Your eyes narrowed, eyebrows softly pinching together.

A smirk grew on his lips that made you want to slap him, or pull his lips towards yours.

You couldn't decide.

He kept his heated, lust-bright gaze on yours as he trailed his calloused fingers in between the material of your panties and your soft, supple skin, relishing in the feel of gooseflesh he left in his wake.

You watched as let his gaze shift downwards, clicking his tongue.

"Cherry, you shouldn't have... you wore my favorite pair just for me?"

You bit your lip as he continued to toy with the soft, blush pink material of your undergarment.

That same full-of-himself smirk that you hated curved his lips.

But do you know what you hated more?

The fact that you couldn't help but feel like some part of you purposely decided to wear the pair, and not because you purely wanted to, but because there was a part of you that wanted to wear them just for him.

He gently rolled them down your thighs, letting you step out of them.

He let his hand drift under the back of your thigh to behind your knee, grasping your leg and lifting it to bend at his hip before snatching the pair of pink panties that hung off your ankle.

Your eyes followed his hand as he bunched the material between his dexterous fingers.

"Excuse me, I'd like those back," you snipped.

His lip quirked.

"If you're good, I'll consider it, sweets."

You huffed, glaring at the smirk and subsequent wink he sent you.

Your glare worsened as he brought the material to his nose, taking a deep inhale, a deep sigh of satisfaction leaving his lips, doing your damnedest to ignore the soft throbbing of your clit at the sight, and to suppress the whine that threatened to bubble up in your throat.

"Always smell so sweet, Cherry, like a perfect, little cherry pie." He murmured as he placed the debauched material into the pocket of his flight suit.

"You're disgusting and don't call me sweets," you gritted back, raising your voice with a snarl that Jake knew was all bark and no bite.

At least with him.

He gave that salacious smile that always made you want to slap him. Or kiss him. Or knock his perfect teeth out. Or fuck him. Or grab him by his hair and-

Your jaw tensed, nostrils flaring.

His smile widened, evidently proud of the rouse of emotion he pulled from you.

You were too much fun to tease.

"Shhh,” you could have sworn that you saw red the moment the condescending noise left his lips, “someone's gonna hear ya if you keep that up, and ya wouldn't want someone to see just how well I can get along with ya, right Cherry? Make ya make such sweet, absolutely sinful sounds f’me?”

Heat rose to your cheeks, much to your unending irritation with the visceral response this man managed to pull out of you each time he had you.

Whether it was the Hard Deck bathroom during the saturday night rush, that one time at the beach long after Bob Floyd’s birthday celebration, or on the other side of Admiral Simpson’s white fence during the Fourth of July BBQ that past summer.

A chuckle broke free from his chest as you laid a smack to his thick pectoral, eyes still sharp and full of what could be described as a cauldron of hate and lust to anyone else who had the misfortune of interrupting their, what could be described as, animalistic rutting.

He pulled down his flight suit to settle down to the tiled floor with a small thump, his body only clad in his signature pair of Calvin Klein briefs.

That was another thing you hated about him; he looked good in anything.

It pained you to say that he could easily have become a model if the Navy hadn't worked out.

Your nails dug into his shoulders before softly tracing down his body, over each ridge, each chord, each plane of muscle and bulging vein that made you salivate more than you would care to admit.

He pulled his briefs down, letting his thick cock that always forced you to take a minute to adjust to sprung up against his adonis belt with a soft tap.

A soft sigh passed your lips as he gently traced at the embarrassingly soaked folds of your cunt with the pads of his fingers.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin would never admit it, but he was disappointed he didn't have the time to taste you, to savor what he would describe as the intoxicating taste of candied cherries that dribbled down your flushed folds like a sweet nectar.

Sweet nectar from a poisonous, intolerable, type-A personality fruit.

He hated that he wanted to quirk his lip at the birthmark just above your soft, sensitive little clit. To hear that sweet sinful sound he, disappointedly, hadn't been able to find in anyone else when he fucked you with his tongue.

A soft puff of breath passed your lips as he lined up the angry, red bulbous head at your flushed cunt. Grunting as his sensitive head met your drenched folds.

His entrancing eyes hurriedly met yours.

You feverishly nodded.

Jake pushed his length into the delicious inferno of your tight, little pussy.

Your breath felt like cement in your lungs as he let his full, long, thick length accommodate itself into your welcoming heat.

He let his head fall to the crook in her shoulder, her nails still gripping into the thick cords of muscle of his shoulders, trying to ground yourself.

"Jesus, Cherry,” he murmured.

God, the way his voice graveled out praise was the most unfortunate consequence of this arrangement that still affected you hours after your trysts.

His cock seemed to push any capability of forming coherent sentences out of your body.

All that passed your lips were sharp intakes of breath and low mewls that left your throat without your consent.

He gave an experimental thrust into your heat, letting your soft sighs of pleasure meet his ears as you adjusted to his length.

Your breath hitched as he brought your other leg around his waist, his biceps bulging with the effort of thrusting into you against the smooth, metal locker doors.

"More."

"Come on, sweets, you can do better than that."

He smirked at your breathless tone.

If his cock didn’t feel like the only thing you needed at the moment to live, you would have told him to go fuck himself.

You laid your head back against the dark gray metal surface, eyes meeting his fiery, lush, emerald gaze, voice frozen in your throat, lips parted.

He manhandled your legs, forcing them to cross around his waist, gripping your waist in his broad hand in a borderline painful grip.

His other hand brought up to grip at the sides of your throat. A low moan came from your lips that had him smirking deviously and your cheeks turning red, utterly at the mercy of him and his thick cock that was rubbing deliciously at that spot he always found with maddening accuracy.

“Please, more,”

Those two words made you cringe with embarrassment, unable to stop the small whimper that passed your bite swollen lips.

His salacious chuckle met your ears, making your cheeks burn brighter.

“God, I can never get used to you like this… so needy and desperate. You become such a sweet girl when I get my dick in ya. Haven’t even started yet, and you're already babbling like a cock-drunk little slut.”

All you could do was part your lips and muster enough composure to utter two simple words.

“F-fuck you,”

His eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise, leaning his head towards your ear. The scent of bergamot and cedar wood filling your senses.

“You already are, sweets,” he growled, sharply thrusting into your sopping wet cunt.

Your gasp and tightening of your grip into his shoulder and hand that settled at your neck had him throbbing against your velvet walls that oh so begged him to never leave.

“Fuck, Cherry, I bet you don’t even hate me,” he panted, “not,” thrust, “even,” thrust, “a little,” thrust, “bit.”

Your cries of pleasure spilled from your lips and into the empty on base locker room, fingernails gripping and scratching into him almost enough to draw blood.

He gripped your throat just a bit harder, enough to have your eyes rolling back, wanton moans pouring from your lips as he pistoned his hips into your cunt.

He yanked your neck closer to his. Close enough to see the small specks of hazel in his almost unending green eyes. And the kink in his nose he got when he broke it back at the Naval Academy. And to smell the potent scent of you on his breath.

“I think you just need someone who can fuck you like this. Treat you like a slut and fuck your tight, little hole. Just like you need.” He gritted out, continuing to pound up into your dripping heat that dribbled your arousal to the tile floor below.

You couldn’t help the labored pants of breath as you nodded feverishly, your consciousness shutting down and your own body taking over.

He let out a dark chuckle with a carnal grin, his abdomen feeling tight as his balls slapped against the underside of your ass, his release building.

“God, you’re fucking adorable for thinking anyone else could fuck you like this,” he snarled.

Your high pitched whines and obscene moans had him gripping you that much tighter and chasing your high.

“Oh, fuck, please!”

He could feel the sweat building at his forehead and chest as he pistoned his hips into your pretty pink, flushed, little pussy.

He ne-wanted you to come first. His ego demanded it. Demanded that he bend you to his will.

His spine tingled at the feeling of your walls spasming around his dick at his brutal pace.

You shuddered at the feeling of his mouth near the soft cartilage of your ear, breathing caught in your throat.

“Please what, sweets? Use your words.” he growled.

“Please, Please… make me cum.”

A deep chested groan rumbled through his throat at your pathetic whine, “fuck, I’ll make you cum, sweets, I’ll make you cum,” he growled.

Your body was wracked by tremors as he thrusted, channeling each ounce of strength in his body into pummeling your flushed cunt.

He watched as your eyes clenched shut, eyebrows pinching together as your feather soft lips parted into a strangled moan that was much louder than the previous ones.

In a split second, he crashed his lips to yours, swallowing each sound of pleasure that escaped your body as he finally felt your walls choke his cock for all he was worth. Your breath mixed with his as your chest heaved, his hips still pistoning into your no doubt raw cunt.

Oversensitivity wracked your body, making you cry out as his chest heaved and lips swallowed each cry and moan. Stars and galaxies flashed before your eyes as he kept his grip on your throat, chasing his high as your second one consumed you.

You could feel with each thrust, how his cock throbbed against your slick, sensitive walls.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he grunted out, a gut punch groan resonating against the locker walls that encased you both.

Your clit tingled at the feeling of his release painting your walls, squirming with each soft impact they landed against your delicate cervix.

His head fell down to your shoulder as his chest heaved, breathing heavy.

You felt as though your head was spinning as your breathing evened out, absentmindedly running your fingers along the pebbled chain of the dog tags that settled between his pecs on a soft bed of sparse, golden chest hair and freckles sparingly scattered across his chest.

Your fingers paused, retracting them to hold onto his shoulder as his breathing settled.

This arrangement was meant to get you both the most of freedom and of pleasure.

Nothing more and nothing less.

He placed a kiss along your neck. His soft touch almost made you sigh.

Almost.

You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering shut, basking in the moment of feeling him still inside you. His softening cock letting his release dribble around the seams of where his cock perfectly encased itself between your folds.

His head rose up to meet your face, cheeks flushed and sensuous evergreen eyes that seemed to glow with a post high gaze.

“Meet same time tomorrow?”

People who may be interested <3

@roosterforme @sebsxphia @mamachasesmayhem @withahappyrefrain @entertainmentgirl80 @teacupsandtopgun @seresinhangmanjake @goldenseresinretriever @sailor-aviator @hello7442 @gigisimsonmars @yepyeahuhhuh @tess-lecter-blog@hookslove1592 @86laura11 @seresinsbrat @isabelstardis @shamelessghostwagonwobbler @emma8895eb @taytaylala12 @kmc1989 @h-ngm-ns @hangmans-wingman @marvel-hotchner @nemesis729 @a-lil-bit-nuts @justagirllivinginaghibliworld @mizzzpink @themusingofagothicsoul @potato-girl99981 @a-beaverhausen @callmemana@joalslibrary @peachiicherries @whiskeyswriting @jkbindigo11 @princess76179 @clancycucumber230 @chaoticassidy @superskittles @cherrycola27 @cheekymcgrath @djs8891 @novastories@urmom-999 @zombicupcake3 @catsficrecs @abaker74 @kmc1989 @hangmanshoney @caidi-paris @i-wanna-be-your-muse @shara-ne @memeorydotcom @memoriesat30@shanimallina87 @whoeverineedtobe @slippinginto-theairwaves

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin smut #tgm #glen powell #top gun maverick #hangman smut #tgm x reader #tgm fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman #hangman x reader #top gun hangman #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x you

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witchy8464 · 1 year

Text

Let Go of Me - Anthony Lockwood x gn! reader

This is my first oneshot! Let me know if you have any feedback.

Summary: The reader takes the place of Lucy, and contacts Annabel Ward. They end up possessed, and bring up all sorts of emotions in Lockwood.

Lockwood & Co. isn’t the most prestigious agency. They lit a house on fire, investigated the death of an 80’s actress, jumped into the River Thames in the middle of the night, and had a certain disregard for the rules that tended to get them in trouble. But 35 Portland Row was your home, and would be for a long time coming. You possessed the talents of Touch and Sight, but while your Touch was exceptionally strong, your Sight was not, and you couldn’t see visitors all that well, so you spent more of your time doing research for missions, more of the logistical work. Having worked for Lockwood for almost as long as George, the three of you were a very tight knit group.

Lucy was a very welcome addition. You couldn’t keep up with Lockwood in the field, and George wasn’t exactly able to curb his self-destructive tendencies, so when Lucy proved to not only surpass Lockwood’s own abilities as well as provide him with a new found will to live, you could feel nothing but happiness for them, right?

The real problem lay in your heart, where concerning feelings had been bubbling for a while. Every night that George and Lockwood were on another case, you had been unable to sleep, petrified that it would be the last time you would see either of them. Lying awake, you would nervously think about what you would do if Anthony had died. You certainly cared deeply for George, but not quite the same as you did Anthony.

For the longest time, you had convinced yourself that you were more concerned for Lockwood because he was so self destructive, and while that was certainly part of the reason, you eventually couldn’t deny the fact that you were deeply and truly in love with Anthony John Lockwood.

Lockwood was apprehensive about waking you. You were a very polite person, and wouldn’t really mind, but he knew about your stress filled nights, staying awake until he and George showed up on the doorstep.

On the other hand, he knew if he didn’t you would berate him in the morning for not letting you help.

Lockwood snuck into the corner of the basement, rapier at his side, and gently shook you awake. He had originally tried to get you to take the room in the attic, but you had insisted on sleeping in a corner of the basement, claiming that it was cozier down there.

You awoke groggily, emerging from your cocoon of blankets.

“Annabel Ward’s ghost’s here.”

“...Shit.”

Every time you thought you had lost all sense of sanity you manage to find a scrap to lose. Now you were sitting in a chair, in the middle of the library, about to try and commune with Annabel Ward’s ghost. Whoop de doo.

Lucy had wanted to do it, but you had insisted, knowing your Touch was much stronger and that she’d had a long day, and you didn’t want to stress her anymore.

walks

Lockwood walked up to you, ring in hand, “If she takes any liberties, we’re right here, okay?”

Gently lowering the ring into your hand, you raise your thumb to brush his, as if to say ‘it’s okay. I’ll be okay.’

As Lockwood steps back, fear brimming in his eyes, you close yours, wrapping your fingers around the ring.

You feel a chill immediately rush over you body, quickly replaced with a kind of fuzzy warmth. You feel joyous, light-hearted, and… and like everything is perfect.

“She’s… happy.” you say, feeling Annabel’s lover watching her. Is it admiration in his eyes? Is it love? “She… she loves him.”

You feel a swirl of adrenaline, dancing to a song. It’s an important song, their song. Annabel spins and spins, her skirt flowing around her legs. The sun shone through the window, lighting your face as he smiled. He… He loved you right? That was what he felt for Annabel? For you?

You stood up, your eyes still tightly shut, and took a step forward. And another.

“She… she doesn’t know if he loves her.” And another. “I… I don’t think he does. She’s trying to convince herself.”

You feel the warmth creep a little too high. Slowly, slowly it feels oh so uncomfortable, beginning to feel fear, as he stands up. As your lover stands up. He’s saying something, calling you a liar. And another step. You’re begging him now, telling him to listen, that you didn’t do anything.

Your eyes fly open, inches away from Anthony.

“He’s angry,” you whisper, as if afraid you’ll set Annabel’s lover off. “She’s… She’s so afraid.”

Some kind of switch flips, and now you’re smiling at Anthony, but it’s a pained smile, he can tell. Your hand reaches out to cup his cheek, and the touch burns Anthony’s skin. His hand comes up to grasp your wrist, but he can’t bring himself to pull you away.

“It’s all right,” you reassure him, looking at him with such love in your eyes. “He loves me. You love me, don’t you?”

Your face is pleading, begging him to tell you ‘yes, yes I love you’ but in his heart, Anthony knows this is not you. But when you look at him like that… How long has it been since someone held him gently? Since someone loved him? Is it okay for him to love someone like this again? What if… what if you see him for who he is? What if you hate him for it?

You lean in, “You gave me the ring. He’d never hurt me,” you plead with Anthony, tears beginning to bubble to the surface. “He doesn't mean it.”

You’re trying desperately to convince yourself that it’s all okay, that loving him isn’t causing you so much pain. That Anthony isn’t hurting you.

“You love me, right?” your voice is straining, desperate to reach him. “You’d never…”

“We need to stop this. Now.” He can’t bear to watch you like this.

“Let’s just see what happens,” George says.

“Lockwood’s right,” Lucy interjects.

“No, don’t.” You interrupt, “Look at me,” your arms are gripping Anthony’s tight, drawing his attention back to you. “Look at me.”

Anthony whispers your name gently, as if speaking too loud might shatter you into a million pieces.

“Look!” you shout, the tears at the edges of your eyes just now beginning to fall.

A feeling of tightness begins to constrict around your throat, and all of a sudden you can’t breathe. You grip Anthony harder, your nails beginning to dig into his skin.

“No, stop,” you plead, looking for some semblance of the man you fell in love with.

You gasp for air, you’re not ready to die. Anthony looks at you, nothing but horror on his face. He’s terrified, he can’t lose you, but what should he do now? What if he pulls you out and you die right then and there?

“Stop,” you beg, pulling yourself back, away from Lockwood.

“Stop, please!” your yelps are getting more desperate as your grip begins to hurt.

Anthony doesn’t know what to do.

“Ow! You’re hurting me! Don’t,” you’re begging him, trying to convince yourself that it will all be okay, that the mere sight of him isn’t causing you pain, that Lockwood doesn’t kill everything he loves.

“Look! Stop, please!” your shouts are tearing through every wall he’s ever built., “Let go of me!”

Your arms are tearing at your neck, pulling at your sweater, trying to get air into your lungs. Tears are streaming down your face.

“I can’t… Let me breathe!” you choke out.

Anthony grasps your shoulders, trying to shake you out, to do anything, because you are dying. You are dying and he can’t help you, just like he can’t help anyone.

“Annabel, Annabel stop it!” he shouts because he can’t lose you too.

George runs to the window.

“Let go of me!”

The curtains are flung open, the light of dawn filling the room as the chair you had been sitting in minutes prior flings itself into the bookshelf, narrowly missing Lucy.

Anthony had grabbed you and thrown the two of you against the couch, shielding you with his own body.

“He… choked her to death,” you whisper, body trembling.

As soon as you got the words out, you pass out in Anthony’s arms, your tear-stained face landing against his arms.

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #lockwood and co x reader #anthony lockwood #possession #annabel ward #netflix #gn! reader #gn!reader #xreader #x reader #angst

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bricky-brikson · 4 months

Text

I am perfectly normal about the Psychonauts timeline

Spoiler warning for...everything.

As I was playing Psychonauts 2, I had a vibe that Ford and the Psychic Seven were active during the late 1920s, early 1930s, mostly because of the Model T Ford in Cruller's Correspondence, but also because of the biplane in the diorama of Ford fighting Maligula from Fatherland Follies. But there were some issues with that - namely the Feel Mobile which resembles more a model of van released around 1964. I feel compelled to mention it looks like the Motherlobe is trapped in the 70s, technology-wise.

So I looked up the timeline on the Psychonauts fandom wiki, as well as the blurb from Psychonauts about the history of Whispering Rock. And while clicking through the wiki, I found a copy of the Li-Po document, which contains the following line:

[...] when [Ford Cruller] was [...] away fighting for the Lincoln Brigade in the Spanish Civil War [...]

Firstly, based.

Secondly, that means Ford had to be at least 16* by 1937 (when American volunteers were sent to Spain). At least if we are to believe that this...very specific part of the Li-Po document is still canon. Which...I mean, we could. We know Ford was already an adult when he assembled the Psychic Seven, but we don't know how old he was. From the looks of him in the mental vaults and illustrations, he was definitely older than 16 (considering the full moustache). Meaning that it is possible Ford spent his younger years fighting in the Lincoln Brigade, then when he matured started looking more into his and others' psychic powers.

Possible? Yes. Plausible? Ehhh...considering the story of Psychonauts 2 is deeply tied to the trauma the Psychic Seven endured surrounding the Grulovian Civil War then the Deluge of Grulovia, I doubt that Ford's previous involvement in a very bloody battalion (22.5% of Lincoln Battalion fighters died in the Spanish Civil War) would have gone unmentioned. Since it makes no appearance in Psychonauts 2, I think it's safe to say it's no longer canon.

So where does that leave us? With the only statement from the devs (specifically Tim Schafer himself) that points us towards a date for the game's events:

"We think of it as taking place in the 80's but not necessarily the 80's, in case we need a piece of technology that we're stealing from the 90's."

So...that leaves us with a year range of 1980 to 1999. However, if technology is an issue (specifically, taking place during the 80s but needing some tech from the 90s), that means the game probably takes place in the late 80s, early 90s. I interpret this as being between 1987 and 1993. So, we've narrowed it down! Based on my arbitrary definition of "late" and "early"!**

Is there any way to narrow it down further? Unfortunately, not from what I can find - the tech we see in the Motherlobe is more reminiscent of the 60s and 70s (the computers we see on peoples' desks and in Sasha's lab look akin to a Xerox Alto, which came out in 1973), and I don't know enough about the history of other technology we see in-game to infer information about the timeline. If someone else has knowledge about things I may have missed that point us towards a date, please reblog and let me know!

Now, before I get into what I see as the timeline, I do want to address Maloof's line when you release him from the GPC.

"Nah, the staff hasn't put any kids in the GPC since the fifties."

Which goes against the timeline written on the log in the parking lot (which states that Whispering Rock Summer Camp was only created 5 years ago). I'm leaning more toward the written lore, since it's entirely possible Maloof is misinformed. After all, this is his first time at the camp. It's entirely possible Bobby (or another camper) has been lying to Maloof about the history of the staff's use of the GPC. For this reason, I'm disregarding this conflicting bit of evidence.

So! On to the actual timeline - at least, what I think it is. Starting from the beginning and working our way to the present day. I will represent the dates as a range, so "1987 - 1993" means "between 1987 and 1993." It doesn't mean that whatever event took place took that long, just that it happened at some point within that range. Good? Good! Let's go.

Brick's Speculative Psychonauts Timeline

1487 - 1493: A psitanium meteor strikes the area that will eventually be known as Whispering Rock, leaving behind a psitanium deposit.

1787 - 1793: A local indigenous group starts working with the psitanium, creating the arrowheads found in the first game, and names the area Whispering Rock (just, in their language, not English)

1887 - 1893: The mining town of Shaky Claim is established as part of the gold rush, except they're mining for psitanium. The psitanium deposit severely worsens the mental health of the people there.

1888 - 1894: The first case of 'Paranormal Hysteria' diagnosed in Shaky Claim.

1912 - 1918: Houston Thorney constructs Thorney Towers Home for the Disturbed. Ford Cruller is born.

1927 - 1933: Houston Thorney commits suicide. The town's population is less than the amount of patients in Thorney Towers.

1932 - 1938: Thorney Towers Home for the Disturbed is closed but some patients still remain. The remaining residents of the valley leave and the area is flooded, resulting in Lake Oblongata.

[At some point, Ford assembles the Psychic Seven]

1967 - 1973: The Psychic Six fight Maligula. Grulovia is flooded then trapped below the frozen floodwaters. Helmut Fullbear is presumed dead. Shortly thereafter, Ford uses the Astralathe to modify the memories of Lucretia and Augustus, then to break his own mind.

[At some point, Charlie Psycho Delta is established then swiftly abandoned]

1982 - 1988: Whispering Rock Summer Camp is established.

1987 - 1993: The events of Psychonauts, Psychonauts: The Rhombus of Ruin, and Psychonauts 2 take place all within about a week (and that's being generous).

So there! That's what I think the timeline is. Again, if you have any feedback or want to point out something I missed, please let me know! I'm new to the games/lore/fandom so 'tis entirely possible!

The implications of this timeline are...interesting. The fact that during the fight with Maligula, something that was supported by multiple countries, they're using planes from the 1910s when it's at least 1967...the world of the Psychonauts isn't less technologically advanced - they have a jet that rivals ones from 2024! So I have no clue what that biplane is doing in Gristol's memory of the fight with Maligula. Unless we consider Gristol an unreliable narrator for that detail - but even then I'm unsure why he wouldn't have assumed they were using modern technology...? IDK. It's weird.

Anyways, if you got this far, thanks for reading! I'm flattered. I always love picking apart lore and timeline details like this, no matter the fandom I'm in. So consider this my hello to the Psychonauts fandom :-)

*According to the Wikipedia page for the Lincoln Battalion, that's probably the youngest any American volunteers were. ** The way I see it: if it ends in 1/2/3, it's early. If it ends in 4/5/6, it's mid. if it ends in 7/8/9, it's late.

#my dad is a warplane nerd and he helped me identify the biplane #irl biplanes like that were used as late as the 1940s since they had more manoeuvrability than the faster jets #but by the 60s/70s there were definitely a variety of planes that would fill the 'slower but better movement' niche #and it cant be because grulovia doesnt have the tech - cause the psychic six weren't working with grulovia !#they were called in by the international community !!!#so for some reason the international community gave them planes that were at least twenty years old to fight this new terrifying foe !!!!!!#what is going on !!!!!!!!!!!#anyway. i was having a hella breakdown (/positive) over this last night. but putting in in clean form like this helps me figure things out-#-in my brain #also the fact shaky claim was established as part of the gold rush implies a location somewhere on the west coast #considering the devs are in california im guessing whispering rock is also in california #psychonauts #psychonauts rhombus of ruin #psychonauts 2 #brick wall #ford cruller #because i talk about him a decent amount

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ashes-writing · 1 year

Text

stranger things ● the new girl pt 6 ● g.emerson

warnings

angst / friends to lovers / idiots in love, bullying ( it's gross and I do not support it btw) and confrontations also high school drama and some mean girl shit here, mentions of alcohol/w**d and smoking, eventual filth, jealousy (a former friend of reader), rumors..

<- you/reader are the new girl in hawkins. you/reader are female and have female parts + a certain vibe (rich girl / 80's grunge rocker groupie ) as well as nicknames and a petname. this is a self indulgent baby. let me live lmaooo.

word count

3211 exactly. For missing context, see ( part 5 ). All previous parts are linked on their posts going backwards.

summary

-- you're the new girl in Hawkins. gareth is the boy who has caught your eye. but there are obstacles. can they be overcome?

(( ope. we have a cliffhanger maybe. ))

taglist + shoutouts

-- taglist is here if you'd like to be added, please click the bolded. or tell me, i'll add you. if you're on my tags for Eddie/Steve or others, please disregard this lmk if you want me to not tag you in Gareth fics.

@tbmunson bestie.. babes.. babe.. hear me out.. neither of us were expecting this chapter to go down but.. drama? and gareth. I love you omg, you're my inspiration.

@nana90azevedo I'm so glad you liked this. I love his character, tbh. Thank you so much!

@littlestarfighter03

@allelitesmut

@chaoticcancer

@dylanwritesgood

@just-a-blue-nerd

@music4life42

@slyisbehindyou

other links

masterlist ● gareth's masterlist ● about + rules

“ I saw him going into her house late Friday night. And then they left together Saturday morning. Pretty sure she fucked him because she’s been all about him since she started school here.”

Andy’s watching you and Gareth play fight over something across the parking lot. Gareth has you over his shoulder and he’s spinning you. You’re laughing and it’s loud. And when Molly says it, everything comes to a grinding halt. He turns to look at her. “You think they fucked?”

“Pretty sure of it, actually… I thought you’d.. Wanna know.” Molly’s shuffling her feet. Doing her best to look appealing to the stocky jock. Mirroring the way she’s seen you act around Gareth recently. Because she feels like if it worked for you… Maybe it’ll finally work for her. Maybe Andy will finally see her, standing in front of him. Hoping, praying and dying for a chance to be his girl.

“That all? You can go now, Moo.” Andy gives her an annoyed look and waves his hand away from him dismissively. “Go on. Go back to your little losers club.. Oh wait..” he feigns just a seconds worth of a sympathetic cringe, “They turned on you.”

“She caused it. I.. Andy, please?” she’s giving him a begging look and it’s one he finds pathetic. He chuckles. “You really want me, huh?”

“Yes.”

Andy steps closer. Staring down at the shorter girl. “I wouldn’t be with you if you were the last girl on Earth and I didn’t have a choice. You’re gross. Get lost.”

Molly’s shoulder slumps and the tears are stinging in her eyes. And as she rushes away somewhere, probably to cry, Andy turns his attention to you again. “She’d sleep with that, hm? She won’t want him anymore if I show her what a little bitch he is.”

Meanwhile, you’re trying to keep your bag of Doritos away from Gareth. And it was working, but then out of nowhere, he hauls you over his shoulder, in a show of strength that surprises you and turns you on, leaving you wet in seconds. Your breath hangs in your throat and Doritos fly from the open bag, scattering on the gravel. “You made me spill ‘em, Gareth.” you’re pouting as you try to look over his shoulder at him. Gareth is chuckling quietly. Face all red because he normally isn’t like this. But spending the weekend with you established these little… habits. And he knows that it’s Monday, that you’re at school now and maybe you don’t want him to keep at it with the playful way he started treating you, but he just can’t stop himself.

His fingers squeeze at your thighs and he bites back a groan. “You’re the one not sharin ‘em, bunny. You know I like Doritos. C’mon, just give me a few..”

“Fiiiiiine.” the word leaves your mouth in a whimper instead of normally and you want to melt right into the ground when it does. You slide down his body and hold out the bag to him, pretending to pout. “You know you probably left a handprint on my ass.”

Gareth nearly chokes on the chips he’s just reached into the bag to take because out of context.. His face burns even hotter. You step up into him and before you even stop to think that this is school and he might not want you doing it, you slip your arms into the warmth of the jacket he’s wearing over his plaid vest and Hellfire tshirt and you rest your forehead against his collarbone. Gareth’s breath hangs in his throat. And it’s about this time that Eddie, Jeff and Ethan finally see fit to arrive at school.

“It’s so chilly.” you pout up at Gareth when you’re finally not blushing too hard to look him in the eyes. “I didn’t wanna come today, y’know. We could’ve just blown it off and gone to my house.”

“Bunny, you gotta come. It’s school.”

“Unfortunately.” you’re still pouting and Gareth laughs, shaking his head. Eddie meets his gaze over your bent head and he’s rubbing his chin, amusement playing at doe eyes. “You two are cozy.”

“He’s warm. I’m not lettin go.” you answer without glancing back, your voice muffled by the front of Gareth’s plaid vest. Eddie snickers quietly. Looks at Gareth and mouths the question, “Are you really sure you want to die on the hill that she doesn’t like you, Emerson?” as he nods to you and the way you have your face resting against the side of his neck. Gareth gives Eddie a warning look and slips a handful of chips out of your bag, munching on them.

Jeff’s trying so hard to resist the urge to double over laughing because he has… Never seen Gareth this flustered. Nor has he ever seen Gareth attempt flirting in any way,shape or form except the rare stolen glance at his various hallway crushes over the years past. He clears his throat. “Are we interrupting something, man?”

Gareth flips Jeff off, gives him a warning look because he doesn’t want any of this to come to an abrupt end. You grumble about him constantly moving just when you get comfortable again and he laughs. “I told you to go to sleep before midnight.”

“You did.” you pout a little. “But I didn’t wanna.”

Gareth laughs, shaking his head. “Dunno what I’m gonna do with you, bunny.”

You shrug. You almost let it slip that you can think of more than a few things he could do with you but you manage to keep the thought safely in your head.

“What the fuck is he doing, staring over here?” you’ve lifted your head and caught Andy staring at the way you’re melted into Gareth to stay warm in the early morning chill. You scowl, stick out your tongue and raise your middle finger. “Take a picture, dipshit. It’ll last longer.”

But then you realize that it’s not just Andy staring. Because now Molly’s new little friends are all looking right at the two of you. And she gives you this hurt and angry look and you roll your eyes.

–

“She’s a slut, I’m telling you. When she’s done with Gareth, she’ll sleep with your boyfriends too. That’s totally why she moved here in the first place. I mean, she said it was just because she had to, but it was because everyone at her old school hated her.” Molly’s telling Anna, one of the popular girls who’s actually nice to her on occasion.

And it’s not true and Molly knows what she’s saying isn’t true.. But she doesn’t care. She’s just that jealous. That tired of everybody else getting everything she wants. Tired of being a target for endless teasing, everything from her weight to her sister dropping out at 16 because she got pregnant.

“Did she say she wanted to sleep with Chance?”

“She’s not gonna announce it, Anna, be smart.” Molly rolls her eyes. “She’ll just do it.”

Anna’s watching the two of you across the parking lot and she wrinkles her nose in disgust. “It’s just.. That’s gross? Who the fuck sleeps with Gareth Emerson, ew?”

“Poor guy is going to be crushed when she gets tired of him and leaves him. How do we know that she didn’t hook up with Andy when she first moved here, get tired of him and now she’s so mean to him..” Molly knows what she’s doing could backfire on her in a big way, but she’s got the attention of two of the three most popular girls in school.

Chrissy rolls her eyes. “How do we know it’s not just Andy being gross though? Because he is and we all know it.” and her gaze lingers on Molly thoughtfully. She’s sort of sensing what Molly is up to, after all, Molly’s exactly the kind of girl who will do anything to get what she wants. Including make up a lie.

,, she did this once already when we were kids.” the thought comes and as Molly’s saying more and more, Chrissy speaks up. “Why do any of us care about any of this again? I mean… if Chance sleeps with her, that’s on him.”

“But I don’t want him to sleep with her before I give it up.”

“If you were going to lose him, Anna..” and Chrissy is not getting a good feeling at all. Because Anna’s the one who always overreacts when she panics and Molly’s using it to her advantage, if she wasn’t sure about it ten minutes ago when Molly started telling them all this for no reason and with little to no context behind it, she’s sure about that now because of the warning glare Molly gives her when she speaks up and attempts to assert a little reason and common sense into the situation.

“I don’t wanna risk it. I’m gonna talk to her.”

Anna starts to walk towards where you stand with Gareth and his friends, as well as the three girls you’re always with.

“___, I need to talk to you.”

You raise a brow but you step away from Gareth, following Anna over to the picnic tables.

“Molly told me about you. If you think I’m gonna let a little slut like you sleep with my boyfriend… My ticket out of Hawkins at the end of the year.. You’re wrong and stupid.” Anna’s words have you laughing. Until you happen to see that she’s dead serious and then you look over at where Molly’s standing and your stomach sinks.

You know what she’s up to.

You rub the bridge of your nose. “What’d she tell you, Anna?”

Anna tells you exactly what Molly said and your fist clenches. “The hell is her problem?” you shake your head. “I don’t want Chance. Or any of those idiots, okay? Molly told you that to start something. Because she’s pissed. Andy won’t give her a backwards glance unless he’s being insulting or a total dick.”

“So you didn’t sleep with Andy?”

You nearly choke. “Huh?”

“She said that she thinks you slept with Andy when you first moved to Hawkins. But then you got bored and now you’re being mean.”

“Absolutely not. I’d light myself on fire if I had to choose between Andy and death.” you shake your head. Your stomach is churning and with a threat of a repeat of your old school and the bullshit you went through there hanging over your head, you shake your head and laugh bitterly. “I should’ve known not to say anything about the damn rumors.”

“Just leave Chance alone.” “I don’t fucking want him. Are you fucking blind? Do you not see me attempting to be with somebody?”

Anna gapes at you. “You.. you actually want that freak?”

“He’s not a freak. And yes. Yes I do.” you admit, going quiet. “I want him. Like.. I think I might be in love with him.” and you’re feeling worse now because you just have a feeling.. Everything is gonna end up like it was at your old school. And by the time the rumor mill puts in it’s days work, Gareth’s not even going to be able to look at you without being totally disgusted, assuming every wild and crazy thing that gets said is true.

Because that’s how it always goes.

What you don’t realize is that Anna’s not the only one who heard your little confession.. Or any of the other things Anna asked you about. Or your answers.

–

Gareth is frozen, rooted in place. And he’s listening intently, getting angrier and angrier on your behalf with everything Anna seems to be accusing you of. But when she asks you if you really want him, he’s tempted to walk away. Because he feels like he’s better off not knowing the answer, he doesn’t want to hear you laugh.

But he can’t walk away.

When he hears you answer her question, it’s like everything going on around him disappears. His brain is frantically trying to process what he’s just heard you say out of your own mouth. And even hearing you say it doesn’t stop those pesky pessimistic little voices from taunting him that you have to be lying, maybe you don’t want to tell the truth because there’s the risk that he’ll find out.

This could be a long con, after all.

And he could’ve gone on believing it until you tell Anna totally unprompted that you think you might love him.

“Fuck.” the word slips out quietly and his hand settles against thick curls as he takes a very shaky next breath. Anna’s walking away now and you slip off the top of the picnic table, glaring at where Molly stands in anger.

Your fist clenches and unclenches.

Gareth is still making an attempt to process what he’s just heard you say so when you rush past him heading straight for Molly’s direction, he doesn’t try to stop you.

“Oh shit.”

“Okay, I think we need to get over there.”

“Or.. hear me out.. We could let ____ kick Molly’s ass. We could let her learn a lesson this once.”

“What lesson, Adi? That she can’t be an ugly person on the inside and the outside? She needs to pick a battle?” Edith asks.

“Edie, that was mean. And she’s not ugly, no one is. She just has a really nasty attitude.” Maria and Adeline say it in unison.

“She’s a bitch. Remember when she pulled this shit in second grade and got Chrissy in trouble? Because Chrissy was nice enough to invite her to her birthday party but then every time she tried to include her, Molly was just mean about it? Yeah, she deserves every single second of this.” Edith points out calmly.

Molly turns around and spots you, smirking. “Speak of the devil.”

You shove her back as soon as you’re within reach. “Go on, Molly. Tell everybody all at once. Right now. Let’s get this over with. Let’s settle your problem.” you’re shoving her again because you’re furious… and hurt. Because you told them about the rumors in the first place because you thought you finally had friends you could trust.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Lying bitch.” you’re going for your earrings. “Come on, Molly. Tell everybody else what you told Anna. Like you think it’ll fucking bother me.”

“Ladies! In my office, Right now.” Principal Coleman calls out as soon as he spots the brewing confrontation. Molly shoves you back and she’s glaring at you. “I hate you.”

“You’re a bitch.” you shove her back. She raises her hand to slap you and you catch her wrist in your hand.

“Now, ladies.” Principal Coleman’s patience is wearing thin, you can hear it in the man’s voice. You turn and walk away, shoving through everyone to walk into the building. And you’re at least eighty five percent sure that the second you’re done in his office, you’re going home.

Because you’re not going to sit around and let it happen again. And you’re really not interested in spending an entire day fighting, either.

–

“Gareth? You okay, dude? What the fuck happened?”

Gareth rubs his hand over his face. “Shit.”

“What?”

“We need context, man.” Jeff speaks up.

“She..I.. There’s no way. She told Anna she thinks she loves me. I need a fucking minute, guys..” Gareth finally grumbles.

You shove past everyone and disappear into the building and Gareth takes off after you because now that it’s all sinking in for him, he’s well aware that you’re probably already assuming the absolute worst outcome. Because you’re similar to him when it comes to that.

–

Class has already started by the time Principal Coleman finally gets to the bottom of what happened outside. And you’re just glad the hallways are empty and you don’t have to look anybody in the eye. You can just slip out quietly.

And you do. Fuming and wiping away tears as you make your way back to your parents house. Because you’re angry and hurt, all in one.

The thing that bothers you the most in all this is that you were finally starting to feel happy. You were working up the nerve to write Gareth a letter and slip it in his locker. You were this close to having friends..

“And now I know why I don’t trust anybody. It’s my own fault, I never should’ve told them anything in the first place.” you shake your head as you step into your parents house and toss your backpack at the floor, bending down to toe off your shoes.

–

Gareth hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what he overheard you tell Anna that morning for the whole day. And lunch rolls around. He’s waiting outside the classroom for you to come out because he’s slowly working up the nerve to bring it up. To tell you he heard what you said. To tell you he feels the same.

The door opens and Edith walks past. When she spots him leaned against the wall and waiting like usual, she doubles back. “Do you know where ___ went? I haven’t seen her since this morning..”

“Wait.. she wasn’t in class? Shit.” Gareth rubs his hand over his face and takes a deep breath or two. “She probably left.”

“Why? Molly’s a lying bitch and everybody knows it now because me and that cheerleader, Chrissy? Yeah, her.. We told everybody the whole story in homeroom. Because Molly needs to learn to keep her fucking mouth shut. The girls got so mean she left crying, dude..”

Gareth grimaces. “Yeah, but so did ___.”

Edith rubs her face. “Probably because she thinks we’re all gonna believe the bullshit, man. Because she pretends she’s tough and everything, she really isn’t.”

“I know.” Gareth answers, dragging a hand over the back of his head. “I’m going over there.”

“After school. Give her time to calm down a little.” Edith gives him a grateful look. “I’m gonna get Adeline and Maria, we’ll go call from the payphone. Because if she thinks for one second she’s going to ditch us to deal with the assholes in this place, she’s wrong. I’m going to give her a piece of my mind.”

Gareth laughs. “Yeah.. do that.”

“Hurt her, Emerson, I’m breaking your knee caps.” Edith calls out to him before walking away, rushing down the hall to catch up to Maria and Adeline, your other friends.

“Your girl left, man. She slipped out after she left Coleman’s office. I was gonna stop her but she looked pretty pissed.” Eddie speaks up from beside him. Gareth nods. “Don’t blame her.”

“You should probably go.”

“I’m going. I’m going after school though because I think she needs space… And I’m still wrapping my head around.. You know..”

“Don’t be a pussy, Emerson. Go.”

Gareth mulls it over. Eddie speaks up. “I’ll stall the meeting this afternoon,dude.”

“But we literally just told Wheeler and Henderson we weren’t postponing for that Sinclair kid.”

“And we’re not postponing. We’re just starting a little later.” Eddie shrugs. “Go already.”

“I’m going.” Gareth takes off for the doors at the end of the hall that lead out to the parking lot.

#gareth emerson #gareth emerson imagine #gareth emerson fanfiction #gareth emerson imagines #gareth the great #gareth emerson x reader #gareth emerson x you #gareth emerson x fem!rich girl reader #gareth emerson x yn #my writing ● gareth emerson #<-warnings | bullying / confrontations and mean girl behavior ● friends to lovers / affectionate and heavy PDA ● see above #<-warning | female reader ( clothes/hair/outfits + personality #<- use of a nickname/petname ie.. bunny #fandom (stranger things) ● season ( 4 - total au ) ● character ( gareth emerson )#-- listen this chapter came out in a way i was not prepared for.#-- and it's a cliffhanger. because now i need to figure out what i wanna do next.

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jacquelinemerritt · 1 year

Text

Dragon Ball Z: Abridged Episode 20 Review

Originally posted on October 30th, 2015

Conflating anime with wrestling is, unsurprisingly, an amazing decision.

“Namekimania 2011” is my favorite episode of Dragonball Z: Abridged, and it is my favorite for very good reasons: the episode is packed to the brim with great jokes, Team Four Star experiments with their approach to adaptation in it, and it even manages to find time to focus on the heroism and honor that are the crux of the source material.

In fact, “Namekimania” is so good that I could just list off all the great lines from the episode and end the review here. But I’m not gonna do that, because that’s no fun (though the strays are loaded with quotes this week because I have no self-control).

Let’s start with the key joke/device of this episode. “Namekimania 2011” has Team Four Star making the bold decision to reframe a somewhat inconsequential fight between Vegeta and Recoome (played by Ganxingba delightfully mimicking the staged charisma of a professional wrestler) as a live televised pro wrestling match.

And it works wonderfully, because Team Four Star commits fully to this device, incorporating an audience track of cheering and booing, having Jeice and Burter serve as announcers/commentators, and giving us “recaps” of what we’ve missed on the few times they cut away to other characters.

The “anime fight as pro wrestling” device also works extraordinarily well because it captures the ridiculousness of both of the mediums. Fights in anime are generally ridiculous affairs, with characters breaking the laws of physics and rules of the established universe very frequently, coupled with over the top blood, screams, and emotions. Wrestling similarly is over the top, with heroes and villains appearing as ridiculous caricatures, as well as allowing the wrestlers to clearly and blatantly disregard the rules in order to get an audience response.

When combined, the ridiculousness from both mediums complement each other, with the unreasonable action and caricatured fighters blending seamlessly, and it’s especially fun to see how the live commentary of Jeice and Burter serves to enhance the thrill of the fight itself.

“Namekimania” also finds time to embrace the hyperemotionalism of anime (its other extreme) in two scenes. The first is Gohan’s speech, as he walks slowly towards Recoome, broken and battered, that he is the son of Son Goku, the one man who can kick Recoome’s ass, and the second is the scene where Goku steps out of the spaceship, which pairs an 80’s rock song with a series of slow clips showing him gradually exiting the spaceship. With that scene, we know something is coming, and some serious shit is about to go down.

Rating: 5/5

If you like this review, please consider supporting me on Patreon.

Stray Observations

Recoome’s introduction speech is the greatest thing ever, and I will fight you if you say otherwise.

Gohan: “Who are you talking to?” Burter: “The audience.” Jeice: “We’re doin’ commentary, mate.”

Recoome: “Because the name’s Recoome. And it rhymes with doom. And you’re gonna be hurtin’, ALL…TOO…SOON!”

Recoome: “Silly Vegeta. The only thing Recoome sells, is merchandise!”

Spokesperson: “Spacey’s. It’s good food. In spaaace.”

Krillin: “Hey, Gohan, look! He picked Vegeta, like a…” Gohan: “Like a Vegetable, yeah.”

Krillin Owned: And we’re up to 12 with a lovely Recoome Kick.

Krillin: “Seems he threw my nervous system out of whack there. Can’t quite feel the pain. There it is. Owwwwww.”

#dragon ball z abridged #dragon ball z #team four star #dbza #film criticism #dbza ep20 #Ep20 is a great episode for sure #though it may have been replaced at this point as my favorite #what with though?#spoilers sweetie #(god making a river sing reference in 2022 is cringe af and i love it)

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wizardwomenwisdom · 2 years

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Yeah the 80’s argument. Uh, who back then was out? Oh nobody, right. And who was Elton John married to in the 80’s - ya know, that nice LADY? Someone (Mike) can date and even marry the opposite gender, but that isn’t proof they’re sexually attracted to the person. C’mon!

ima keep it real with you: i cannot tell if this is a “gay people in stranger things” truth post or a “gays didn’t really exist in the 80s” post but i think it’s the second so let’s just talk about this.

elton john famously came out at bisexual in ‘76. so like. he was out and attracted to women (and still identifies as such! he says he has more romantic relationships with men but that he is sexually attracted to women and that doesn’t disregard platonic emotions!!!) which makes this kind of a moot point. bowie was also out, and reportedly fucking mcjagger. freddy mercury was mostly quiet about his personal life, but still a well known bisexual. these people were out and proud about it—because people were out in the 80s.

the queer community was ridiculously strong then, too, because of the aids crisis. it came with fear and terror, yes, but it also came with intense support and love for each other. and also not everyone was an asshole and showed love to their family members who were out. (most queer adults i know have siblings who were willing to leave the family for them.) also with the cosmopolitan incident in ‘89, where they falsely claimed women couldn’t get aids, plenty of women joined the movement. it wasn’t just queer women. (paraphrasing this stuff please feel free to research it yourself)

i think the big issue with the people being gay in the 80s argument stems from a lot of people just straight up not knowing anything about queer history apart from stonewall when in fact the 80s were a huge part of the queer rights movement. AND with ryan white living in indiana, hawkins would’ve been near a hotspot of protests and work to destigmatize queerness and the AIDS crisis in the united states.

#stranger things #st4 #stranger things 4 #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #steddie #ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #steve harrington #eddie munson #discussions of the aids crisis

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terrence-silver · 2 years

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"You can't expect me to stop worrying about you if you keep getting yourself into dangerous situations..",beloved said whilst she cleans the blood off Terry's knuckles in the pale moonlit night. His reaction in different eras..

Thank you!

― I don't think Twig received too much care in the classical sense. Well, not counting the type of care you get in extreme, highly traumatic situations that involves someone saving him from literal death like John did multiple times in Vietnam, lets say. I think Twig would've been starved for commonplace, day-to-day, ordinary tenderness, attention, someone fussing him, taking note of his injuries (or even just taking note of him in general) without mocking him for sustaining them and...beloved patching him up feels like a wonderful something he undoubtedly hasn't really experienced in abundance, if at all. Them saying they're worried for him and that he needs to stop putting himself in danger? That too feels good. Too good. Twig could imagine himself living off of those words alone and rushing to tell John all about them at once. He almost wants to disregard everything beloved just uttered and put himself in harm's way on purpose now, purely if it mean that beloved could fluff him like this always. Maybe he should get battered and bruised up deliberately even more next time? Maybe give himself a few tactically manipulative injures and come to beloved like a wounded, lost, whining puppy, even though his goal is contradictively enough, to get stronger and appear more in charge? Maybe he is still in charge by pulling the strings here? Yes, yes, maybe he is. Maybe beloved's attentions cannot go anywhere else if he usurps every vestige of it all. Oh, but it is so tempting to bat his eyes and harvest their love and concern, all of it. Sounds like a plan.

― 80's Terry Silver doesn't think he was putting himself in dangerous situations, regardless of what beloved feels. Terry Silver in this era knows and is convinced he is the dangerous situation. However or whatever he confronts is the one in danger, and he's the it factor they should fear, baby, whether they realize it initially or not! If Terry's fist is bloodied, you should really see the state of the other guy or guys. He isn't someone you want to meet in a dark alleyway at night, at a crowded club, on a seedy street, or really anywhere, because Terry in the 80's, in his very physical prime, is a force to be reckoned with, and at first, his opponents might not even realize how deadly he really is. Heck! He might manipulate a group of people to fight each other without dirtying his hands one bit, but if his own fists got bloodied...then that other individual is undoubtedly in a far worse shape. What Terry is fascinated by is the blood and beloved cleaning it off for him and showing him their worry. He chuckles. How sweet. His cockiness and teasing conceals very conflicted emotions, though, because Terry Silver isn't really treated like a gentle someone and he hasn't been...in a while --- perhaps in some other life he scarcely remembers to the point it doesn't even feel his anymore. He is almost perplexed at how foreign, alien and tantalizing it feels. He fantasizes about ramming his fist into a nearby wall so it would bleed even more, garnering beloved's shock and horror which he can seep up. He doesn't. He allows beloved to finish as he watches them with unblinking, hyperintense eyes.

― What old man Terry loves is that he can come to beloved with wounds. That he can be open. Honest. Slip that damn mask off because he trusts them enough to see him like this and clean him up. That he can show them the fallout of violence and all it brings and all he is. That there's this mutual loyalty and understanding. Sense of...ritualized refuge delivered through the act of cleaning up a scratch, I daresay? Even a snake goes home somewhere when it is done hunting on the prowl and the snake that is Terry returns here. He loves that beloved worries. That they're concerned. He enjoys it to almost inappropriate degrees that very much serve to turn him on. Old man Terry loves having someone who he doesn't have to share with anybody (especially after the fallout with John --- but my goodness, in general as well) and who is entirely his and entirely and primarily loyal to him and his needs, even if that need is what he considers a very mediocre flesh wound he wouldn't have even noticed otherwise. Then again, if Twig would've been prone to get himself hurt on purpose so beloved could care for him, old man Terry might just occasionally play up his age and vulnerability as someone senior so beloved could worry for him as well, notwithstanding that even now, Terry's stronger and tougher than most young people --- or really even all young people. Oh, but cunning Machiavellian that he is, he might just give beloved an oddly tender stare as he lies 'My joints aren't what they used to be.' Only to follow up those lines with a wolfish, toothy grin.

#terry silver #terry silver twig #80's terry silver #old man terry #cobra kai #kk3 #tw; injury #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #dark fluff

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the-hinky-panda · 1 year

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first time (can't see the emoji), 💦, 🙈, 🚨, 🎥 for Carrillo? xoxo

Okay, the first time prompt, I am actually ridiculously proud of. And since that's the only one that I did a fic for, I'm saving it for the last entry. Loved writing it! So, now on to the headcanons:

💦 (cum headcanon): This just goes to show what a terrible smut writer I am. I tried to write a fic about this and just failed miserably at it. So here are just my thoughts. I don't think Carrillo is much into making a mess. If he has to or you ask him to, he'll come on you. However, I do think he has a wicked possessive side so I think he would definitely enjoy coming inside you and then feel a lot of satisfaction as seeing it run out.

🙈 (something they're shy about asking for): So I kind of, sort of hinted at this in Mariposa but wasn't explicit (haha) in the situation. I think he would be shy about asking for a blow job. With all the misogyny that ran rampant in the 80's with women in a male dominated workplace, I just feel like he wouldn't want to be viewed as one of "those guys" by a significant other. Canon wise, I think we see him in a very traditional situation as a husband. He's the protector of a scared and timid wife. I just don't see him being comfortable with asking her for something like oral sex.

🚨 (Sex that sent me to the ER): This fool. Horacio is the kind who will suggest shower sex and then slip and fall. Dislocated shoulder, sprained wrist, and a pulled back muscle. He doesn't want to bring too much attention to the three cracked ribs from you landing on top of him. Although this one I may circle back to write a fic about because @seltsamkind and I were talking about this prompt and imagining him showing up at the ER when Connie was working there? And then Connie coming home and being like "Steve, you will never guess who came limping into the ER today and you will never guess why!"

🎥 (Filming or making a sexy movie): Horacio strikes me as being pretty private and not wanting anything that could be seen as controversial being out there for his enemies to use as leverage. I just don't see this as being something he would be into.

Now for the First Time Fic:

Carrillo gets laser focused on things and when sex finally enters into his brain as something that is available to him, that’s all he can think about for awhile. Thankfully, he has a friend who introduces him to a General’s daughter who finds his arrogance and disregard for the rules exciting and dangerous. That’s how he woos her. Her life has been shaped and controlled by rules and regime. He’s a sledgehammer that smashes all her expectations and she falls in love with what he represents: freedom from regulations.

Her father knows exactly what he is facing when Horacio Carrillo starts turning up at his home and spending time with his wide eyed, sheltered daughter. He tries very hard to make sure he’s within the eyeline of the brash cadet, acting as the unofficial chaperon for the two young lovers. But even the most dedicated guard dog needs sleep. After a two week training camp that is used to weed out the weak, he retires to bed early one night and Horacio takes full advantage of the opportunity. She lets him through the kitchen door and they sneak up the back stairway of the old house to her room.

He tries to go slow, he really does. She has about the same amount of experience as he does, which is next to nothing, so they fumble through the removal of clothes, the shyness of the exposure, and the overwhelming feeling of being completely skin to skin. She’s incredibly tense no matter how much he runs his hands over her soft skin and curves. But everything, how she feels, how she smells, how she sounds, are making it very difficult to hold himself back. He’s literally shaking from the effort.

But she’s a general’s daughter, raised in the military despite never donning a uniform. She braces herself, convinced it’s going to hurt and ready to endure this rite of passage into adulthood. He, just as foolishly, decides to be done with it so he can either move on from whatever hold this base instinct has had on him or continue to practice it until he’s mastered it just like any other skill he’s set out to learn. He pushes into her, caught between doing it quickly or going slowly, and it ends up being a steady invasion. She tenses around him, painfully so, and a stray tear slips from her left eye. He presses his forehead against her temple and whispers apologies in her ear. The tension slowly ebbs from her muscles and he’s able to move, not that he moves for a lengthy amount of time. He manages three or four rolls of his hips before spilling himself inside of her.

He is terribly ashamed in the aftermath. Tears are coming more earnestly, her eyes impossibly round, and…a trembling smile on her lips. She thanks him, thanks him for being gentle, even though he knows he caused her pain. Thanks him for being kind, even though he found his completion and she did not. Thanks him for loving her, which he’s surprised to find, he does.

Fifteen years later, a young DEA agent decides he wants an insider perspective on how things work in Colombia. But Horacio needs to know if he can trust this Javier Peña so he takes him on a stakeout and keeps passing him beers. He ends up telling Horacio about some woman named Lorraine who was left at the alter after she confessed to Javier that she was not, in fact, pregnant like she had thought. Horacio had chuckled.

“I was in a similar situation,” he tells Javier. He’s not a fool. Trust goes both ways.

“Got a girl in trouble?”

“I did.”

“What happened to her?”

Horacio takes a long drink from the beer. “I married her.”

“You guys still married?”

He nods. “Fifteen years in August.”

“What’s her name?”

“Juliana.”

#hinky answers #horacio carrillo #colonel horacio carrillo

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lionews · 1 year

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Not to defend ocean but I’m also really tired of seeing people wear their sexuality on their sleeves for oppression points. It’s not the 70-80’s you’re not getting dragged in the streets so calm tf down. Yes it’s a bad move to name the space “straight space” but I feel like there’s really no difference. After all what’s wrong with being happily straight? In fact it’s literally allowing a space for gays, bisexuals, etc to have their space be exclusive to them.

I’m bisexual, I don’t like to mention it to randoms unless trying to pursue a romantic relationship- this the only reason why I’m bringing this up is to further my point. Nobody cares what your sexuality is, you can still be a person without just being part of the “lgbtq+”. Let’s try acting like civilized beings. I for one just want to go through life normally without having to throw labels at people and segregate and divide us even more. I grew up in a household that taught us to respect all people regardless of who/what they are. The only time respect didn’t have to be shown is if they had a disregard for respect.

Also discrimination doesn’t discriminate, if you wouldn’t do it to a lgbtq+ member or a POC then you’re likely discriminating. We’re all human at the end of the day. Also treat others how you wanna be treated. Hope this helps a few people

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maddestdog · 1 year

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Perhaps I shouldn’t think so deeply about this, but I think it’s a little telling about Majima’s state of mind with how damn long his hair was back in the 80′s. The short ‘n faded cut he has now is pretty high maintenance — and, he’s even said so himself.

But, back then? He really didn’t give much of a shit about himself. I can imagine his hair just wasn’t a priority to him anymore, much like anything else. His apartment is telling on its own, what with how barren it is. Majima used to have his hair short when he was a youngin’, but after all that he went through for a year straight, one can only imagine what it did to any sort of confidence he had about himself. He’s even made comments about how he “used” to be handsome before he lost his eye, and so on...

That, coupled with all the nihilism — it’s like nothing seemed to matter to him other than getting back into the family. He was prepared to do ANYTHING, even if it meant taking another’s life. (But, we all know how that worked out.) Point is, he didn’t really make himself and all his needs of much concern before he began to shift to his ‘Mad Dog’ persona. Maaaybe it’s not all that significant, maybe I’m thinking too much about all this. But to me, his new haircut is just one little piece of the bigger picture; the start of him practicing better self care, finding an identity, coping with all his trauma in the best way he knows how... through change, and a tougher outward appearance.

Obviously that’s not to say he doesn’t still struggle later on. He’s still so fuckin’ lonely and has so much trauma to work through, but with how he acts and presents himself, both on a surface level as far as appearances go as well as his chaotic demeanor, it’s less apparent. Back in the 80′s, he still had his moments, but he was far more subdued and, for lack of better words, quiet with his rage; up until he reached his breaking point, at least. Majima simply did what he had to do, disregarding his own mental health the whole time... still acting selfless, even when it was him who really needed the help.

ANYWAYS! I’ve gotten way off topic. I could go on forever about his coping mechanisms, all his different identities, so on and so forth. Point is? The change in his appearance is an important one. Like a snake shedding its skin, he’s abandoned who he used to be — or, well, at least on the outside. He’s tired of moping around, feeling sorry for himself, and letting that show. Dig deeper, though, and you’ll see he’s the same man he’s always been. No one’s going to take away his resolve. He knows what’s most important to him. And, he’ll continue to show loyalty and kindness to those he truly cares most for. He’s got a damn good heart and you’ll see that if you’re willing to stick with him and show him dedication, patience, and understanding. As Nishida’s mentioned before, he’s a big ol’ softie despite how he might treat you at first... 😔 ♥

#tldr; incoherent word vomit.#❛ ʜᴇʜ. ʜɪɢʜ ғɪᴠᴇ‚ ʙʀᴀɪɴ! 〈 headcanons. 〉

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akookminsupporter · 2 years

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"BTS-Only = Racist?" anon here.

I think it's a fair question. Cultural appropriation is a thing. Taking bits and pieces from a culture that are popular and then disregarding the rest. Miley Cyrus saying she invented twerking when it had been part of the black community for decades. Corn rows being a protective hairstyle for centuries, but a white women had them in an 80's movie and now all those black women are copying her.

So, people claiming BTS but not other kpop groups, could be a red flag. It's not always, obviously you're interested in the Korean aspects of their lives, watching their award shows, learning about the perilla leaf thing, etc. But there's some people who just want them to sing more English songs. Do more English interviews. Try to distance them from their Korean roots. Take the parts they like (their voices, their dance moves, their style) and push back on their origins.

It's the "you're pretty for a black girl" people. The "you're not like those [insert minority]" people. See where "BTS isn't like other kpop groups" could be read similarly? I'm not sure I would consider those people fans. Like Tkkrs disregarding things the boys say themselves, some BTS-Only people could be disregarding that aspect of their lives.

You're not like that, you care about them. I see that from your blog and our conversation. But yeah, that was what I was trying to say before. I absolutely think it's possible for someone to claim to be a fan of a foreign artist and still be racist towards them.

I understand what you are saying. But sometimes it is important to differentiate between cultural appropriation and cultural appreciation. Many times the former is confused with the latter although it is also true that nowadays it is sometimes a bit difficult to know the latter is the real intention. I digress. Regarding the first part of your second paragraph. Isn't that taking it to extremes? Why assume that a person who only likes bts (I don't want to use the word claim) and not another Korean group is bad? I'll sound like a broken record but for me, that comes down to personal taste and yes there will be cases that won't be like that but, are we so fucked up that we always have to think the worst first? I imagine that there are people, locals, who like bts for their music and nothing else and are not interested in other groups, that's possible. Casual fans I think they are called. Regarding the second part of your second paragraph, I understand what you are saying. A lot of people like BTS but they don't like that they sing in Korean, here I think the argument that many people want to strip them a bit of their Koreanness fits. I like your art but let's make it more western, I guess we can sum it up. I remember we had discussions about this here on the blog when bts released butter and PTD. Regarding your third paragraph, I partly understand what you are saying but I go back to what I said before, why assume the negative right off the bat? I do think bts is not like other K-pop groups, I think the resentment from other fandom is partly because of that. I think the success of bts is because of that but that doesn't translate into them being less Korean or behaving like less Korean or looking like less Korean. To me, that translates into their music, their art IS different. And for me personally, it's obvious. Different doesn't always have to have a negative connotation. I think it's wrong to assume that all the examples you give are basically the same. Context is important. I'm not saying it doesn't happen but I don't think it's healthy to assume that it always is. That's a bit depressing, don't you think? I think we have read too much into this whole discussion. The discussion started because of something a multi fan said and I assume many who think that way are too, so I imagine the background of that thought is that BTS is not the best and that there are other groups that deserve at least the same, that bts has.

Having said all that, the last thing you said is definitely possible. That's why I've never understood why when a white person is being racist they say "but a lot of my friends are black!" As if that immediately shields them from being racist against other pocs.

#anon #ask #bts #other kpop groups #kpoppies #bts army

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reno-the-himbo-turk · 2 years

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A mundate

Alright so obviously I don't normally do this and for those of you in the know this is mostly a spicy NSFW Reno blog where my interpretation of Reno does whatever the fuck he feels like when he feels like it. However I feel the need to say something considering the glaring angry red notification on my computer that says Heat Wave or Heat Index and has for the past week if not longer. For those of you who have not guessed I live in the USA better or worse neither here or there. I also work for a BBR (big box retailer) on their night/3rd shift I don't plan on saying which. I stock the health/beauty supplies in my case feminine hygiene/family planning, sunscreen, tooth cleaning items, lotion, body wash, shaving, and some baby care items like baby wipes and baby bath. Where I work this is the perimeter of the building and right next to lawn and garden, the crust of the store sandwich if you will. We have NO AC, none on that side of the store and we have not for years. Every summer like clockwork I get heat sick to some varying degree. Usually I end up dehydrated to the point l am vomiting as l am sure plenty of people can and will tell you if you do not have enough liquid in your body you are not pooping which means food as nowhere to go, but back the way it came. I will preface this by sharing I am fat and i need to work on myself I know that. Now I carry around a 1 Liter (33oz and some change) bottle of the Alkaline water. I empty that two to 3 times a night and on top of that if I have the funds I treat myself to a bottle of lemonade usually a 44 oz bottle. Also fun fact OSHA does not consider a lack of ac to be a violation. However

I got incredibly heat sick on Tuesday June 14th to the point that I was vomiting and almost passed out. When i went on my lunch break I laid my head on the cool metal counter in back and I did pass out for almost an hour. Management had avoided me all night long, I was dizzy, swaying on my feet, headache, tired and weak. Where I am at it's high 80's-90's all day long. Now my biggest issue isn't the ac or lack there of. I have learned after 9 years on third shift it's a thing and I sadly deal with it as best I can. My issue comes from this.

We have another lady who works up here, newer hire been here less than 6 months, she's pregnant, it's her off night and they put her in the same area as me she just stocks shampoo, makeup and acne meds. When she's here they are checking on her frequently, letting her go rest cause she's dizzy, sick, whatever sending her extra help when we are understaffed, sending her home early without penalty, letting her just roam the store hand on her belly ect. All because she is pregnant. Now the big thing is we work for 8 hours, 7.5 if you count our 2 paid breaks. We all ahve a thing that tells us the workload we should have hours wise. I frequently get anywhere from 10-20 hours, she gets 6-8. So while it's not her fault that she's inherently getting special treatment it really really pisses me off because this is a life choice she has made and has told us all she made it. Our nightly meetings we all get screamed at don't take extra breaks, don't wander off, if you go home we will penalize you, you hit X number of absences we will fire you. which all of that is fair and reasonable. I fully will admit that I am childfree by choice I never want and never will have kids if I can help it. I however understand pregnant women need extra care and concessions. However it is a load of shit the level of difference in our treatment. People talk about why you cannot retain employee's THIS THIS IS WHY. Not just the lack of AC but the lack of disregard for people in general and the special treatment and favorites some people get.

#mun post #needed a vent #fuck the heat #too damn hot

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adultswim2021 · 2 years

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The Venture Bros. #19: “Escape to the House of Mummies Part II” | July 16, 2006 - 10:30PM | S02E04

A little while back I covered an episode of Minoriteam that did a similar gag by presenting the second part, but not the first part, of a fictional two-parter. I would plainly assume parallel thought was the culprit here; The Venture Bros.' production schedule is probably more grueling and much longer than that of Minoriteam's. Just like Man-Thing and Swamp Thing were both created in each other's lead-times, making it impossible to tell which truly came first on a conceptual level. But when it's all said and done, it just takes one smarty pants to point out that The Heap came before either of them.

In this episode there are roughly three stories going on. The least important one is the supposed second part of the “Escape to the House of Mummies”, a ripping yarn about Brock, the boys, and various historical figures flirting with some ancient Egyptian curse and attempting to time travel their way out of it. Meanwhile, Rusty wagers with Dr. Orpheus that he can create a shrink ray before Orpheus can figure out a way to harness magic to accomplish the same task. So the majority of the show is just Doc hanging out with Peter White and Billy Quizboy trying to get Dr. Venture Sr.'s busted work-in-progress shrink ray to work while Orpheus hangs out with H. Jon Benjamin as the voice of a magic dog, while they glumly contemplate life.

It sounds slight, and it sorta is. This episode is pretty unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but it's really funny and a good character piece for all involved. We also do a little bit of lore building: playing with the concept that the Venture Bros. TV show that we ourselves are watching is only a fragment of the adventures these characters get up to (hence us only seeing part 2 of this multi-part episode). It also deals with the idea of Dr. Venture being a boy adventurer with his own fanbase; we see Billy's old Rusty Venture lunchbox; the first inkling that Rusty didn't just have a Jonny Quest childhood but also the same level of celebrity and fandom as he did. Also, this episode could be seen as a meta-commentary on the series becoming more serialized and less standalone. Like how the first episode of season two featured a scene with 21 & 24 that only served to queue up their scene in episode two, this one resembles a show with overlapping serialized narratives. Certain episodes would actually be as confusing as this one would be if you weren't clued into the false installment gag.

But please know that this show truly is at it's best when the characters are just hanging out doing stupid shit or just having conversations. By intentionally disregarding the “main” Egyptian curse story this episode lets itself do exactly that. Not every episode has the luxury; certain action-packed episodes wind up getting gutted of those nice character moments. That’s why this episode is great.

MAIL BAG

Not only is Tom Kenny cozy with Bob from their time on Mr. Show, but in the 80s he use to be in a comedy duo with Bobcat Goldthwait called themselves Tomcat and Bobcat. Bobcat went on to do movies and be a minor star/director in his own right but Tom got the last laugh when he was picked to voice Spongebob Squarepants, who is as famous as Mickey Mouse was in the 50s. Pretty cool, he must have a lot of money. Imagine if Mr. Floppy had that kind of appeal?

Tom... CAT? Bob...CAT? Tom... Goes to the Mayor? Bob... Odenkirk? Why is Bobcat Goldthwait not appeared in a single thing with Tim Heidecker? I just checked on IMDB. Hell, him and Bob have barely crossed paths. Why is Bobcat such an outlier? What did those men do to him? It’s a question worth asking... don’t you think?

Never seen Pee-Wee myself. Missed be by about ten years I guess. He always seemed weird but I didn't know about the jack off stuff until recently. Yeah, it's whatever that he did that, but he can't be surprised they didn't let him voice Face on Nick Jr. after that. They should have, but you know, the way the world works. Bye.

They let that loudmouth who calls Denis Leary an asshole be Face... let that stink in. Also: when I was little some kid at school insisted that Pee-wee defiantly had sex with a dog while police were chasing him out of the theater. I don’t think it’s true!

My assessment with Pee-Wee on Adult Swim is pretty much the same: the show bizarrely fits so seamlessly with the type of content Adult Swim airs that I don't mind that they aired it. It might have been a kid's show but I'd rather it air on Adult Swim and not on Cartoon Network at 6am or something.

I actually remembered Kim Manning on an Adult Swim stream and she was talking about how putting Pee-wee on was her idea, but she sorta brushed it off as a failure. The right people got it! WE ARE RIGHT

Think of the current cultural temperature (and honestly a lot of it comes from this very website) Pee Wee wouldn't have lasted a week in it. He would have been accused of being a groomer at first blush. I mean I guess he more or less stopped worked after the rap he got in the early 90s, but you wouldn't have even needed that now. And you certainly wouldn't have gotten no Pee Wee's Big Holiday later. Did you like Big Holiday btw?

(begins sweating) uh...

youshowrespectevenifyoudisagree writes:

Tom goes to the mayor? More like … Tom KENNY goes to the mayor! Lol

THANK YOU!!!!! I was getting pretty pissed off that nobody else was saying this!

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #the venture bros.

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ashes-writing · 1 year

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stranger things ● summer of 86 pt 3 ● e.munson

warnings

blatant disregard for season 1 through 4 canon. Forget what you think you know because it doesn't exist here. mentions of bullying / confrontations and small town gossip. mentions of alcohol/smoking and other vices. eventual filth. eventual overload of PDA, holy shit. barb and robin are gay and we're all here for it, alright? + the internalized angst and fears that go along with being gay in the 80's. small town and their crappy mindsets and the way everyone talks and judges everyone. gifted kid burnout / hints of reader having had recent struggles with her own future.

reader/you are female. you/reader are also the oldest Byers, putting you at 21. you/reader are also very confident in yourself despite a past track record of clearly not being that. you/reader have female parts / a certain personality and appearance aesthetic you enjoy now. listen, i left this as vague as possible but know this is me being a self indulgent little shit, so... if less than vague readers aren't your thing, friend..

word count

2640 exactly. If you need context for this, you can find ( part 3 ) here.

(( I am.. fully in the grips of all my bullshit. ))

summary

it's the summer of 86. eddie's just trying to figure his way through his 'adult' life and all the freedom that goes along with. you're back in hawkins for the first time since at least 84, on the heels of a bad breakup and your spur of the moment to drop out of college in your second year. they say people meet each other when they're most needed, right?

taglist + shoutouts

-- taglist is ( here ) if you want to be added, please click or let me know to add you. if you signed on to this for gareth/steve other character content and you don't wanna be tagged in Eddie things, also let me know.

@eddiemunsonspantschain i had to tag you in this. i had to, okay? it's our guy. Feel free to ignore, babes!

@tbmunson babe.. bestie.. babessss.. this is all you because you didn't talk me out of starting this one. I hope you know you're my inspiration and i looove youuuu.

@allelitesmut your tags mean the world to me omfg. you have no idea how good you make me feel. i'm glad you like my writing and I hope you like this too.

@caravelofthesun

@chaoticcancer

@dylanwritesgood

@just-a-blue-nerd

@slyisbehindyou