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elodieunderglass · 1 year

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the first chapter of Moby Dick rewritten in tiresome modern idiom

CHAPTER 1. Loomings.

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - it's none of your business how many - being mostly broke, and bored with the land part of the world, I thought I would sail around a little and look at the watery part of the world. I'm probably the most mentally healthy person you know. Whenever I feel my face getting grim; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself accidentally reading the ads in the window of funeral homes, and following funeral processions through traffic; and especially when I'm hangry, and only my extremely strong moral principles stop me from deliberately going out in public and methodically slapping people's earbuds out - then I know it's high time to get to sea, ASAP. This is my substitute for getting in fights. I'm too mentally healthy to kill myself; I quietly and considerately put myself on a ship and sail myself away instead. There is nothing surprising in this. Everyone feels exactly the same way, and if they don't, they're lying.

You think I'm lying? Exhibit A: a city. Go to your local coastal city. Everyone is looking at the water. They drive over from other neighborhoods just to come to the water. They make a day of it. They're not doing anything, they're just staring at the ocean. Why? Is it because they all work office jobs? No! Here come more of them! They cram themselves up to the edge of the water and stare at it. WHAT DO THEY WANT? WHAT ARE THEY LOOKING AT. Perhaps the ships themselves all packed together, each one with several compasses on it, creates some kind of critical mass - all of the small compass-magnets on all the ships in the harbor combining into one really big magnetic field - and the people get sucked into the field and trapped there. That's science.

Exhibit 2: the countryside with lakes in it. Every path you follow in the countryside brings you to some water, such as a stream. There is magic in it. If you take your standard fool with ADHD dissociating in the middle of a supermarket and put them outside and give them a shove, they'll automatically lead you to water (if there is any nearby) (try it). Another good experiment to try is to get lost in the great American desert in a caravan supplied with a metaphysical professor! Try it in the great American desert at home!

Yes, as everyone knows, meditation and water are a match made in heaven. Married forever. That's science.

Here's an artist who wants to paint you the dreamiest, most enchanting landscape. What does he put in it? Trees, meadow, cows, a cottage with smoke coming from the chimney, obviously. He will probably put a path in it and make lots of triangular mountains in rows and have them be different shades of blue (naturally.) But there's gotta be a stream in it. Go visit the prairies in June, and wade for forty miles through knee-deep through tiger lilies. What's missing from this picture? Water!

If Niagara Falls was made of sand instead of water, would you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why would a guy given a handful of cash have trouble deciding whether to buy a coat (which he needed) or go to the beach? Why are all the best, healthiest, sexiest and most mentally healthy people obsessed with the sea? (You get me.) When you were first on a boat, did you not succumb to VIBES? Consider ancient Persia. Consider ancient Greece. They understood about vibes, and also gods.

SURELY ALL OF THIS IS NOT WITHOUT MEANING.

And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all! You get me! You understand it now.

Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I get weird, don't you dare imply that I buy a ticket and get on a boat. I have never had money in my life. How dare you. Anyway I don't go as a passenger - that's bougie, and something boring people do. Passengers never have a good time. And although my C.V. is incredible - I go to sea SO MUCH, you guys, I have lots of experience - I don't go as a boss, or a cook. That sounds like far too much work. Hard work. Disgusting, respectable, bougie, and far too responsible. I can literally only look after myself. Do not ask me to look after ships or shit. In fact, I have only a vague idea of what a ship is. There's so many different kinds of ships - don't get me started and DO NOT GET INVOLVED. Also, I'm allergic to glory.

It's kind of attractive to go as a cook. I mean, I'm allergic to glory and there's some glory attached to the position of the ship's cook, but, like, you're not management-track and so it's still credible. But I don't really want to cook (say) roast chicken. I really fucking love to eat roast chicken. I'm one of the best at doing it actually. I really appreciate when people go out of their way to butter, season, baste and roast a chicken for me. Picture a roast chicken and I am Looking Respectfully at it. Maybe something more, maybe I'm worshipping it. Don't make this weird. If you want to get weird about my relationship with roasted chicken, why aren't you getting weird about the ancient Egyptians? They ate roasted hippos (look it up) and the pyramids were basically pizza ovens. So it's pretty hypocritical to think that I'm being weird about roasted chicken when I've never made mummies out of chickens or built a religious pizza oven dedicated to honoring them: check and mate, haters.

Anyway - I like to go to sea as a manual laborer. A simple sailor. Salt of the earth… er… sea. Yeah, true: as a job it sucks. They make you jump around, order you around, treat you like shit. They expect you to jump around the boat like a grasshopper. And yes, at first, this sucks. It's degrading, especially if you come from a middle-class family. Worse, it's awful if you've already had some kind of professional job before signing on to be the dirt on the boss's boots - like, if you went to college and worked as a teacher and actually got kids to pay attention to you, really feeling this connection to work/teaching/identity or some shit, and now you are just literally the scum on this captain's boots, in the lowest possible job in the world. It hurts! It hurts your dignity. But the hurt, and also the dignity, both wear off in time.

So what if some old bastard sea captain orders me - ME! - to get a broom and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, compared to the shit in the Bible, compared to the shit in the news, compared to the shit everyone else has to take. Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t a slave? Tell me that. We're all just serfs under capitalism, right, so why not just be honest about it: I prefer the honesty. Anyway, however the old sea captains may order me about - slapping and punching of course - I have the satisfaction of knowing that it's the same experience everyone else on Earth has, but more honest. Everyone else in the world is being served the exact same way. Either in a physical or a metaphysical way - sometimes people get the shit beaten out of them in person, sometimes online, sometimes emotionally, it happens to you in EVERY JOB, you sign on to get pushed around and slapped in the teeth: so the point is that when you're a sailor, it's a clean and honest slap. All the workers of the world share the same universal slap to the face that gets passed round, one slap passed all 'round the chain, like paying it forward, but it's a slap; and we should all accept this Universal Slap as the price of living, and then offer each other healing back massages, brother to brother, and slap each other and then kissed the places we slapped, and be happy.

I could examine that but I'm not going to.

Anyway: I always go to sea as a sailor. I've said that already. You're welcome. BUT THE POINT IS, they pay you. If you're a passenger, they don't pay you, at least, not that I've ever heard of [citation needed] (do they pay passengers?? Is there a job I can get where I can be a passenger and get paid?? Look this up.) Yeah so passengers have to pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. (That's Adam and Eve. You get it.) But BEING PAID. GETTING PAID IS THE BEST. NOTHING COMPARES TO GETTING PAID. EVERYONE LOVES THAT SHIT. Which is surprising, since we also apparently believe that money is the root of all evil, and isn't there something in the bible about "no rich people can get into heaven," right? And yet it's universal, literally everyone loves payday. Ah! How cheerfully we send ourselves to hell.

Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor (I've said this already) because it's FRESH AIR AND EXERCISE. Okay so think about ships. Normally, bosses stand on the "bridge" thing, and because we're sailing a boat, the nose is going into the wind and the butt part of the boat is at the back. That's how wind works. But if you think about it, winds usually go in one direction more than other directions (unless the men have been eating beans and farting: it's Pythagoras, look it up) SO if you're a boss standing on the boss-deck, the wind is blowing FROM the sailors TOWARDS you, and YOU ARE ACTUALLY BREATHING THE AIR THAT SAILORS ALREADY BREATHED. The boss THINKS he breathes it first, but he doesn't. He gets the air at the BACK of the boat and sailors get the air at the FRONT. So it's better to be at the front of the boat (sailor) for health reasons. This is a metaphor for life and work, etc.

But I have smelled the sea lots of times as a paid sailor and WHY I should decide to go on a whaling expedition - ok so you know how there's an invisible police officer of the Fates who has me under constant surveillance, who secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way? YOU get me. You know him. "The poor FBI agent tasked with reading my search engine history" YOU GET ME. Anyway, "Ishmael, why, after having a perfectly well-reasoned, and very smart of you, part-time job as a spontaneous random sailor, did you decide to escalate that to joining a WHALING EXPEDITION, which is worse in every way?" Well, ask my fucking secret FBI agent, he can answer better than anyone else. Including me. You get me. Also, obviously, this was predestined, part of the Universe's Grand Programme for its talent show, which was all scheduled way before our time. The concept of sending me on the whaling voyage comes in as a kind of interlude or solo between the main performances of the Universe's great talent show. I bet it was advertised llike,

"PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION OF THE UNITED STATES EMBROILED IN ONGOING LEGAL DISPUTE.

Whaling voyage by some guy called Ishmael.

BLOODY BATTLE IN AFGHANISTAN."

Like a commercial break in between the big acts. A filler episode. Lightens the load for everyone else. Though I can't explain why the stage managers - the Fates - chose such a shitty role for me, a WHALING VOYAGE of all things, when it feels like others were given magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces - it seems a little unreasonable at first. Why doth Ishmael get shat upon, etc. But then I think about all the circumstances, the plot points and motivations that were cunningly presented to me under various disguises - FBI agents, bouts of random hanger, gay awakenings, you get me - and you can see that actually, I was set up. And worse, between them all, these Fates and Circumstances conspired to make me believe it was all my own choice and good judgment. Is Free Will an illusion? Are my decisions bad? We will NEVER know because I, Ishmael, am just a little guy that the Universe plays head games with.

One of the ways the Universe tricked me into starring in this performance and then mocking me for it was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself (whaling expeditions usually contain whales.) Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity. Then of course, if you have a whale, you have the wild and distant seas where the whale rolls around with his body-the-size-of-an-island; the dangers and nameless perils of the whale; whales are also found in interesting places I haven't seen; this all tipped me over the edge. Maybe normal people could've resisted, but I am tormented with an everlasting itch for obscurity. I hate everyone else's oceans. I want the forbidden seas.

You know The Horrors? Of course you do. You might be surprised that I, the most mentally healthy person you've ever met, a person who is self-aware enough to go to sea when they're at their fucking limits, a guy who likes fresh air and manual labor and normal things, is familiar with The Horrors. Well, you'd be surprised. I know what's good, I'm an extrovert. But I'm still quick to perceive The Horrors. And how I deal with the horrors is a very extroverted thing: I'm social with them, if they'll let me. It's smart to be on good terms with The Horrors. You should always be on good terms with your permanent neighbors. That's how extroverts deal with The Horrors, and I recommend it.

I think that's enough explanation for why I welcomed the whaling voyage. The great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild figments of imagination that pushed me into doing it, the whales came marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah. They marched into my innermost soul in endless processions and occupied it, you see, I was quite helpless under this occupation - I consented to the haunting and the whales marched in to haunt me - and amidst them all was one grand shrouded white phantom, like a snowy mountain in the air.

You get it.

You know how it is, with whales.

(read the actual first chapter of Moby Dick here: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2701/2701-h/2701-h.htm)

#mody bick

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seeingivy · 10 months

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birthmark

satoru gojo x f!reader

satoru’s suddenly more appreciative of scars

content warning: MANGA SPOILERS, canon divergence bc im not gege and they all deserve to be happy, reader described as pregnant, giving birth/c-section, hospitals, pain (kinda), big brother megumi + tsumiki, lil corny family,

an: happy fathers day to our fav dad :DDD reader is described as having dark hair in comparison to satoru but tbh every hair color is dark compared to white unless you have white hair them im sorry

“Hi baby.”

“What do you want, Satoru?”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

You take your eyes off from the screen to find Satoru lying across the couch, his head very close to your stomach. His blindfold is hanging around his neck, his shiny, blue eyes staring right at the bump.

“He doesn’t have ears yet.”

“You don’t know that. We have father-daughter telepathy. She can hear me.”

“If anyone was going to have telepathy with him, because he is most definitely a boy, it’s going to be me.”

He rolls his eyes, lying his head against your stomach as he continues staring down - his eyes focused. You reach down, pressing your hand in his hair as you start carding through his white locks.

“What were you like as a baby, Toru?”

“Horrible. Came out super late, cried all the time, total sweet tooth.”

“I asked about you as a baby. Not now.”

He rolls his eyes, sitting up to ruffle your hair. You shrug him off before leaning your head against his shoulder, his hand placed directly on your stomach, which he does almost every time he’s near you. You can hear his stupid voice in your head. She has to know I’m here too, not just you mama.

“Shut up. Stop bad mouthing me in front of our child. That’s not a healthy parenting model.”

“You screamed my head off for throwing out your precious kikufuku in front of Megumi last week. Healthy parenting model, my ass.”

“Well some things are just unforgivable, sweetheart. And he’s a big boy now.”

He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of your head, before pressing his cheek against your hair. “What was my baby like as a baby?”

“I came out super early. I think they had to stay in the hospital for a few days because I was too weak. But after that, I think it was okay.”

He leans over, pressing himself harder into your frame as he squeezes. You place your hands in his hair again, running through as you wait for him to talk. He’s thinking - too hard.

You understood that a baby, a real one - not grown up and super self sufficient like Tsumiki and Megumi were - was anxiety inducing. But ever since you had told him, Satoru was stressed out, more than usual. Shoulders always tensed up, freaking out over painting the room or assembling a crib, or picking a godfather.

“Love?”

“Yes, Satoru?”

“Do you think…the baby will be scared of me?”

“Because you’re the strongest? Of course, not. Megumi and Tsumiki always thought it was so cool when they were little, smacking their tiny little hands against it while laughing.”

“No, no. Not because of that.”

You push your palms against his cheeks, pulling his face out of the crook of your neck. He looks into your eyes, the look shy. His eyes waver down to his arms, littered in scars, before looking back up. And now you get it. He’s talking about his scars.

They’ve faded over the years, from back when Megumi was still possessed by Sukuna. You remember when they were angry, red and fresh, when he came home, and nearly made your heart drop out of your chest.

And when it was well and over, you had kissed them hundreds and hundreds of times over until Satoru knew, with full confidence, that you love him. And Megumi had apologized, millions of times before he understood that none of it was his fault. You love Satoru. Scars and all. And you love Megumi. Possession and all.

“Satoru. You know that we all-”

He shrugs you off, the look exasperated.

“I know you guys love me. But I’m talking about the baby. There’s just so many of them and they’ve faded a good amount but-”

You lean over and press your lips to his, kissing him softly before you let go. You can feel him deflate at the sensation, giving you the smallest of smiles when you pull apart.

“You guys have father-daughter telepathy. She could never be scared of you.”

You see the smile spread across his face as he rolls his eyes at you, shaking you at the shoulders.

“So you agree? She’s a girl.”

“No. He is most definitely a boy. But I’ll let you have it for tonight.”

“You’re so generous.”

“I know Satoru, it’s one of the best things about me.”

You feel him cup his hands around your face as he presses a light kiss to your nose.

“Yes. It is.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I know that, love. But I wasn’t.”

Unlike Satoru and much more like you, your baby is born early. What you thought was a routine ultrasound turned into an emergency c-section and your little baby coming a little earlier than you had planned.

That was hours ago. Satoru has been watching you, your chest heaving up and down as you sleep, since they moved to this room. Your daughter, because Satoru was right, was down the hall in the NICU, in a tiny little plastic incubator. With Megumi and Tsumiki.

This day had already been too hard for Satoru. And it wasn’t even over yet. Watching you get pushed onto a table, your baby coming out and not crying, finding out it was a girl but you weren’t even conscious enough for him to stick it to you, having to pick who to spend his time with.

He picked you. Because Megumi promised that he’d watch her there, make sure she wasn’t alone. He knows how much it meant to the two of you to get to meet her together so he’ll wait. I mean, that is his little sister and all, he doesn’t mind watching her. After Satoru agreed, he couldn’t help but smile at Megumi, literally sprinting down the hall to meet her where Tsumiki was waiting.

He watches you shuffle in your sleep, your eyes fluttering open. He nearly knocks the table as he stands up, placing his hands on your arms as you wake up.

“Satoru.”

“Love, oh my god, I was waiting for you. To wake up, I mean. Are-are you okay? Does anything hurt? Do you want me to get anything?”

He watches your eyes pinch shut as you raise your hand, clamping it right across his mouth. Your little raspy voice breaks out and he can feel the tears streaming down his eyes at the sound of it.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

He can’t help but laugh, the tears still streaming down. God, he loves you. Bedridden and still giving him fucking attitude. You’re okay and sassing him around and he loves you.

He watches the smile spread across your face as you keep your hand there, now wiping his tears off. You look around the room, the crib still neatly made.

“Wait, where’s-”

“Down the hall. Megumi’s there with her.”

“Her? It’s a girl?”

You can feel the pride bustling in your chest, the tears now filling in your eyes. She’s a girl. Your tiny little baby that you were carrying for the past months was a girl. You can buy her little dresses and teach Satoru how to braid her hair and-

“Told you so.”

“Shut the fuck up. I know you’re not sticking it to me while I’m literally in a hospital bed. Need I remind you, that you did this to me.”

“How did I do this to you?”

“You knocked me up!”

You both laugh as Satoru helps you up into the wheelchair, pushing you both down the hallway to where she was.

“You see her yet? Is she cute?”

“No, it’s only been a few hours. I wanted to see her together.”

He swings the door open, pushing you to the front into the room. You can see Megumi seated right next to the little box, his hand inside with Tsumiki watching from the other side, her eyes focused on the crib.

But you don’t take notice of your baby first. What you notice first is the shirts Megumi and Tsumiki are wearing, matching pink that say “big brother” and “big sister.”

“Satoru. Don’t tell me you guilt tripped them into wearing the shirts.”

They both run over at the sound of your voice, pressing you into a hug. You reach forward, resting both of your hands in their hair as they help you up, holding you steady in the air and running their eyes over you to make sure you’re okay.

Satoru had bought the five of you matching shirts to wear when the baby was going to be discharged. And they were corny as fuck. With dad, mom, big sister, big brother, and baby written on them. Megumi said he was going to burn his in a fire. You and Tsumiki hid yours somewhere in the basement, pretending you lost them. Satoru found them in five minutes. But here they are, wearing them.

“You don’t have to wear those. I’m sure he pulled the whole, my wife is dying, my baby is sick but-”

“I didn’t ask them to wear those. At least not today.”

You look over to find Satoru smirking, worst than he ever as before, at Megumi especially, as he starts ruffling his hair, cooing over how cute he was.

“Just, shut up about it. I thought it would make your depressed ass laugh.”

“Toru, quit bugging him.”

You press a kiss to Megumi’s cheek before Satoru crushes him in a hug. He’s always been your sweet boy.

You and Satoru slowly shuffle over to the little box, sticking your hands in to hold hers. Her eyes are pinched shut, a tuft of dark hair at the top of her head. You can feel the tears rising in your eyes, quickly glancing over to see Satoru crying too. Megumi and Tsumiki are on the other side, directly across, sweet smiles pressed on their faces.

“Dark hair, Toru.”

“Just like her mom.”

You both can’t help but stare at her, rustling around in the little crib. But what catches your eye is the dark patch of red on her left eye, instinctively reaching over to touch it.

“Megumi. What happened?”

“We think it might be a scar or something. The doctors said she’s okay though, it doesn’t hurt her or anything.”

You immediately crane her head over to Satoru, whose switched spots with you and is now softly pressing his fingers over the skin. You lean over, whispering in his ear as you both watch her.

“Think she looks scary with her scar, Satoru?”

“What the hell are you talking about? She’s perfect.”

“You guys match. A scar for her and a scar for you.”

He looks over and you watch the realization spread across his face as he understands what you’re getting at. He gives you a sweet look before pressing one the softest kisses to the top of your hair. He’s crying even harder now, his entire frame shaking. Fucking sap.

She curls her hands into Satoru’s, squeezing his pinkie finger.

“What the hell, Toru? She didn’t do that for me.”

“It’s father-daughter telepathy, love. You wouldn’t get it.”

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katszumi · 3 months

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"but, isn't it a blessing to have someone care about you?" your voice was soft but your words weighed heavy on bakugou's heart.

it was nearly ten o'clock. due to your rampant text messages you sent to bakugou ten minutes ago, he stayed up past his normal bedtime in order to figure out what exactly was your issue tonight.

you were rested on the bench that was outside of u.a while bakugou was reclined on the bench, his legs sprawled out in front of him. there was a mere sprinkle that surrounded the area around them, a slight breeze also forcing you two to sit closer together to bask in each other's warmth.

bakugou was unsure what to reply with. where did your random outburst even come from. what did you really want him to say?

bakugou didn't particularly understand love and he damn sure didn't know how to express it. maybe that's why he was okay with it at first— you deserved to be with someone that could make you happy. he knew that he wouldn't be able to live up to your standards. he lacked all the aspects for a healthy relationship.

but when you got together with that stupid guy you met at a coffee shop eight months ago, he felt like an idiot for not pursing you. he noticed all of your tired eyes, insecure smiles, and passive behavior. it was only then when bakugou realized he could’ve done so much better than he thought.

you took his silence as an opportunity to continue. "someone who worries about your happiness and wants to always be by your side?"

yes. bakugou wanted to scream. yes, you fucking idiot. were the words that burned his throat. why couldn't it come out when he so desperately wanted it to?

did you decide to be blind of his feelings towards you? bakugou had thought he'd shown you that he'd go to hell and back for you, but still, you couldn't discern the fact that he was so infatuated with you? he was so in love with you that he would wait for you at the bottom no matter how long it took.

he hated this feeling. why did it have to be you that caught his eye? the only girl he was drawn to, no matter how many times he tried to escape your aura, the path always lead back to you.

he doesn't know why he would sit with you while you ranted about your relationship problems. maybe it was because he didn't want it to be anyone else other than him or because he cared about your well-being most of all. maybe it was both.

either way, he fucked hated it. why couldn't it be the other way around? why couldn't he be the one on the receiving end of your love? bakugou knew for sure he wouldn't do half of the shitty things that your lover would do. he hated that you stayed with worthless dick-face of a man you call your boyfriend. did you not know that with your personality and beauty that you could find someone that was worth millions?

"you know... i like to think someone cares for me that way." bakugou didn't have to look at you to tell there were tears prickling your eyes. water threatening to spill out. it was a usual thing whenever you'd ask him to lend a ear to your venting sessions. he wanted nothing more than to grab your face and kiss your tears away.

bakugou didn't understand love. not in the slightest. but bakugou understood regret. and his biggest regret came in the form of you. if only bakugou had enough courage to tell he that he loved you years ago when you two first met, then he would be the person on the receiving end. he would be the guy who would always be by your side. to be the guy who truly cares about you.

for however long you stayed with that asshole of a boyfriend, bakugou was aware his chance with you was as close to zero.

and he was fine with that.

because even though it pained him to hear you talk about another guy, bakugou would rather have some of you than none of you. he didn’t mind having to swallow his feelings that tugged at his heart if it meant you were happy.

he dryly laughed. "there is," his eyes suddenly finding comfort in the wet cement below them. "just someone who fuckin' sucks at showing it."

bakugou didn’t just not understand love. he hated it. he despised love because it always fell into the hands of the wrong person.

yes the quote is from fruits basket, i couldnt help it.

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t0rturedangel · 2 months

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Possibly a fic with Lucifer with the reader helping him preen his wings since we all know he probably doesn’t do it himself since Lilith disappeared 😭🙏🏽

╭ . . . 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 ੭

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ⿻ 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭

⌦ 𝒲𝒜𝑅𝒩𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒮 ﹕none really, maybe lucifer being a little bitch but really nothing much at all dont worry :D

aww this idea is so sweet!! thank you sm for this ask <33

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ From the very start of knowing the king of hell, you took notice of his rather, unclean wings.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ so immediately you took action, re-searching how to clean (then finding out it's called preening) wings, all types of wings really (if you own birds and or know how to properly clean wings then ignore this!!) but unfortunately, there was nothing about angel wings

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ alright then! improv it is, a few videos of people cleaning the wings of large extravagant birds should help you enough- after all Lucifer is much like those large, extravagant birds but not so large or fancy and more like a duck.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Lucifer defiantly hates the idea of getting his wings cleaned, or at least feels melancholy about it after all, the last time his wings were properly clean and taken care of were when Lilith was still there

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ WELL WHO GIVES A FUCK??? COZ YOU'RE HERE NOW!!! and well, you're the best person in Lucifer's life, apart from his daughter obviously. You care for him, make sure he eats, drinks, leaves the whole duck situation for healthy periods of time

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ so yeah, you mean a lot to him, though when it comes to his wings he's a bit defensive about them. Whenever you tried to touch them or look at the feathers Lucifer would flinch them away from you, questionable but it's his wings, not yours (god you'd kill for some wings)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ thus, in conclusion you need to be sneaky about this- while yes you valued your lovely lucifer's want to get you away from his wings you also could not watch him let his wings get all ... gross

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ and so you planned to sneak on him, and clean his wings as quickly as possible... which works as well as it sounds, you against an ex-seraphim, king of hell.... you won, easily.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ it really did not take you long to get your fiancé (he proposed, it was beautiful) to agree to you cleaning his wings (in reality you pleaded, bribed and almost got Charlie into this- who would have been happy to help, mind you)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ it took you soooo long to clean his wings (but it was worth it, you got to see Lucifer happy and you got a lovely reward for all your effort after!) and lucifer was sort of a little bitch about it- seriously for the king of all of hell he could not be any more whiney about getting his wings cleaned, you spent about a good 5 hours to pluck out any bits in his wings that really did not belong there (e.g. mechanical bits from the many ducks he decides to make) and about another two to 'scrape' out anything really stuck in there. Then you carefully washed each one of his wings, making sure they all clean and healthy! ⿻ㅤㅤᱺ after all of that, Lucifer actually genuinely felt better- his wings didn't feel burdened with anything and he could fly much better now! Meaning he could take you for flights without feeling an aching pain- all this time he thought it was that he missed Lilith (he still does, what a fitty he scored) but no, it was a small cog that was poking him.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ thank you [name], really, thank you

#જ⁀➴﹒⁾⁾ 𝑶𝑹𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑫 / 𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑺 ✫#x reader #requested #requested x reader #hazbin hotel #requests are open #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x you #fluff #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer x reader #we love lucifer #wing cleaning

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cxlamarisalxmi · 11 months

Text

Being Miguel’s daughter and hosting Venom

[Platonic One-Shot]

c/w: major spoilers, angst, gender neutral terms and pronouns (they/them), suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, no gendered terms used to describe reader, canon ignorance and inaccuracies, if you read the drabble you’ll know you originally just hosted Venom but this time I’m writing you as Spider-Venom

—

[Unedited]

The sun kissed the Western horizon as it slowly sunk beneath the surface. The gorgeous colors of the settling dusk bathing your New York in the luminous sheen of the golden glow that settles upon the city like a blanket.

You were just finishing up for the day, swinging from a tall skyscraper to tether a web to the very top of a clock tower. Pulling yourself up all the way to the top to perch on one of the very many gargoyle statues jutting out of the tower’s roof lip.

“Hungry.”

“That’s what the sandwiches are for bud.”

Venom settled inside when you tore the wrapping off the sandwich and took a big bite out of the end. Plenty of meat packed into the sandwich but also enough vegetables to sustain you too. Nutrients were vital in your symbiotic relationship with the alien and regardless of where they came from you both needed hundreds of them to keep yourselves alive and healthy.

“I hate the vegetables.”

“Well I like them. They taste better than people do.”

“You’ve never had another person before! You don’t let me eat people!”

“I’m not a cannibal.”

“Hmph.”

You rolled your eyes at the symbiote’s childish behavior, you’ve grown used to it but that didn’t mean you’d grown to like their attitude.

But you had grown to like them, ever since they had attached themself to you on your fourteenth birthday. The same day you very nearly took your own life.

Your life was far from perfect, as a matter of fact you can’t remember a time in your twenty long years of being alive that you’d actually been happy. Really, well and truly happy.

Your mother died when you were five and your father had abandoned you not too long after. About a year and half to be precise, and in his care and his care alone you’d learned that he was the furthest thing from what a proper father should be.

The first five years in which he parented you alongside your beloved mother he seemed guarded. Closed off, angry at the world and everyone surrounding him. And his own personal turmoil seemed to transcend into raising you— as he didn’t put an ounce of love or affection into bringing you up.

At the time, you hadn’t understood. What did you do wrong? Did you make him angry? Why wouldn’t he love you unconditionally? Your mother did.. was it so hard for him to treat you as his own? As if he loved you?

Apparently it was too hard for him, because he didn’t want to do it alone. And when your mother had died of cancer he had attempted to raise you in her honor but failed miserably and gave up within two years.

You were seven when you experienced your first heartbreak, in the years prior under his ‘care’ you had plenty share of devastation and let-downs from him. But none compared to this, no other feeling you had ever experienced before compared to this.

A searing ache in your chest born of self doubt, lack of self worth and value. Because you had believed it was entirely your fault that he was incapable of loving you fully and to the extent of his heart. And it festered in your years spent under different families, the issues regarding how you viewed yourself only darkening as you were let down over and over again.

Given up on— over and over again. And the ache continued to linger, growing in secret places— dark and hateful in your tired heart.

And slowly but surely it had given up on you too, shatter to pieces and cast to the wind to leave you broken and hurt. Vulnerable and fragile to the cold and bitter winds of this cruel and brutal life.

Eventually your mind followed suit, wishing for anything to escape this pain. Anything to leave it behind.

Your luck had a turn for the worst when you were bitten by a spider at twelve and gifted cursed with abilities and skills inhuman and otherworldly.

Enhanced senses, heightened sensitivities and awareness and phenomenal intelligence and strength.

Superhuman.

And for two years you lived with it, not utilizing the powers for any kind of purpose. The heightened healing property of your curse made it hard to give up on this life as you had so desperately wished to.

You tried and tried again— and each time you failed.

When you were fourteen is when you met Venom, you had tested buildings before but never the Golden Gate Brigde. And as you clambered over the rail to stand at the very edge of the bridge’s structure— it happened.

You remember the feel of their texture sliding across your skin, then the pressure you felt as they sunk beneath your skin to meld with your body—

“It wasn’t that bad. You’re overexaggerating.”

“I thought we agreed you’d stay out of my head.”

“I never agreed to that.”

“Venom,” you scolded lightly. Not reprimanding in a way that spat disappointment over ownership. But in a way that spoke volumes of the relationship you shared with the alien. Equals.

“I hate it when you think about that bastard.”

“I know, I’m sorry.. my thoughts get away from me.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. He made his choice, you are what he made you. And you’re more than worth it. You deserve love just as everybody else.”

They went silent after that and you didn’t bother trying to get them to keep up the conversation. Just smiled softly at their nature— overprotective and fond.

Venom had saved your life when you were at your lowest, the abilities you gained from your spider bite coupled well with their own. And upon latching themself to you they had promised they would make you see the value in life. And you had.. in them.

They were what kept you alive, and you couldn’t be more grateful for them coming to your aid when you needed it the most.

“You’re sweet, you like to act like you’re big and bad but on the inside you’re just a big softie.”

“I regret everything I said.”

“Oh come on, I was thanking you for what you said.”

“Funny how you didn’t actually say the words ‘thank you’ at all.”

You just laughed as they grumbled in your head, but you were swift to straighten and turn serious when your senses tingled. Like a cold rippled shucking down your back to warn you of incoming danger or threats.

Venom growled lowly alongside the tingle and you jumped up, spinning around to face the danger that caused your senses to ripple. And a glowing orange portal suddenly erupted to life just a few feet in front of you. Sliding your mask back on you separated your feet and steadied yourself, prepared and strong in stance.

Your senses tingled again— sharper this time and you stood there on tense silence and a brief moment of absolute stillness. A moment later something was shooting from the portal, something turned out to be someone and you recognized the green suit and grinning goblin mask as Green Goblin tackled you off the building.

You freed yourself from his grasp and shot a web to the corner of the building to your left before pulling yourself free from his grip and onto the side of the skyscraper.

Your jaw ticked as a flicker of annoyance sparked to life in your chest. The very last thing you wanted to deal with after a long day was an anomaly. You were honestly tempted to just call up Peter B. Parker and have him come here and take care of this himself.

Or maybe he could convince the leader he follows to come do it, not that you know his name or anything f about him but from what Peter says apparently he’s pretty damn good at his job.

“Seriously another one? Our dimension can’t be that exciting can it?”

“Right there with ya buddy, why did he have to come here after we already finished up our day too?”

“Honestly, like— a little fucking class wouldn’t hurt.”

You chuckled at their remark before your senses tingling had you swinging away from the spot you occupied previously just as a gas bomb erupted against the brick.

An irritated sigh left your lips behind the fabric of your mask as you perched yourself on a lamp post, the Goblin’s eerie hysterical laughter echoing loud and prominent in the desolate streets surrounding you. Everyone having long since turned in for the night leaving the area free of any civilians which made your job —and in turn Venom’s— easier at least.

The fight that had begun two minutes after Goblin had tried to surprise you with his fucking chemical bombs wasn’t all you had thought it would be. This Goblin was a whole lot weaker than your Goblin, not only that but the guy kept glitching every few minutes.

And you and Venom capitalized on the very golden opportunities that event opened up to you every time it occurred.

And finally taking him down without any damage to the buildings or street was just the icing on the cake, the fact that the whole fight didn’t endanger any innocent people was a plus too.

Things only went to shit when you went back to that portal with Goblin slung over your shoulder and found two different spider variants walking out of it.

“Well what the fuck took them so damn long? Sure, sure no worries we’ll protect our own universe and keep others out too. No fucking problem on our end.”

Again, you found yourself chuckling humorously at Venom’s attitude. Their clear lack of patience and respect for those in charge of keeping the multiverse under control amusing you. Sure, you both liked Peter enough to admire what it was he and the guy he followed did.. along with the other spider variants he works with. But still.. if you’re going to make this your entire career and you’re going to dedicate yourself to the security of the multiverse— at least be good at it.

“Think this asshole got lost, poor wee lamb.” You quipped as you landed on the rooftop the other were standing on. You carelessly threw Goblin off your shoulder and he grunted as he hit the concrete on his back. The sound of pain coming from him almost humanizing him a bit, and you curled your lip derisively as he broke out into a mad grin seconds later.

Whilst you were distracted staring at Norman, Miguel withheld his sudden and intense urge to upheave all the contents in his stomach. His heard felt like lead as it plummeted to his toes, knots in his stomach winding themselves up tightly at the sound of your voice.

“[Y/Name]?”

You looked up when the man of the two variants spoke, and there was a flicker of recognition in your stomach at the voice. Recognition that swiftly turned to course and fiery hot rage that flowed through your blood like magma.

“How dare he?!”

The man pulled his mask off his face and there he was, your father, Miguel O’hara.

“How dare he return here?!”

You took an instinctive step back from him when he revealed his face. And you flinched internally when you saw it, he looked miserable.. eyes bloodshot and brows downturned to put a deep and painful scowl on his face.

He looked broken.. hurt.

And the twisted and vengeful feelings inside you felt good at the prospect of him hurting. You liked that look on his face.. because he more than deserved whatever put it there.

Miguel watched as you stepped back, you didn’t remove your mask as he did. Just stood there frozen as you stared at him. Then the eyes of your mask narrowed and he could abruptly feel the heat of your glare searing into his skin. Angry and painful.

“Parker— that fucking bastard, we’ll kill him.”

“We?” The woman spoke and you looked from your father to her. She had darker skin and a styled afro, her mask was more or less goggles on her face and Venom snickered inside your head at the mental insult you made.

You decided to ignore her question, the passive aggressive tone she took not inclining you to be cooperative with her at all.

“As far as we know Osborne was the only one who got into this universe,” you informed choosing to look back to Miguel to address him instead of the woman. “So gather him and go home.”

“[Y/Name] wait!—”

“Don’t. You’re just here for him right?” You queried gesturing to Norman when you referred to him. Then you were facing Miguel again. “Take him and get out. We’re finished here.” You weren’t granted the chance to see his reaction— immediately doing what you thought was best for you and getting out of the uncomfortable spot his return had put you in.

And you swung away as you ignored the calls of your name he roared into the night. You didn’t want anything to do with him, and there was nothing you owed to that bastard. Not a damn thing.

And as you swung away from that rooftop you felt angry at the fact that you could feel your guarded heart hurt in deep and stinging agony once again— because of him.

And you felt a twitch of disgust in yourself twist itself into a knot within your chest, born at the expense you felt you were dishonoring Venom by being hurt you saw your father again.

After all, it was them that had healed you six years ago when they had first bonded with you. And it was them and them alone that had healed that ache in your heart.

“Kid.”

“Please Venom, not now.”

They went silent after that, and you stayed quiet too as you swung through the city. You just wanted to be at home, safe and comfortable in the warmth of your own space. Just so you could calm the roaring of your blood and thunderous heart in the security and peace that your home brought you.

You knew that now that he knows you’re still alive he’ll come back, and you’re not sure how the next time will go.. this time you just wanted out. The way your heart had picked up and the way your blood quickened had made you just want to be isolated and safe.

You’re not so sure which feeling will take more presence next time— but you could promise this; the rage you had briefly felt, that died behind the feeling of ache and hurt but still lingered, was strong. If it took province over every other feeling next time you could promise it wouldn’t end well.

Not for Miguel.

Not for you.

And not for the multiverse.. the same multiverse he had been so keen on protecting—

The multiverse he had chosen over you.

—

a/n: I did this during a tattoo on my ribs— and the wipe down continues to be my least favorite part of adding tattoos to my body, cause how can I sit through a tattoo just fine then get weak on the wipe down? 🥲🤌🏽

#across the spider verse #spiderverse #miguel o’hara #jessica drew #peter b parker #miguel o’hara x reader #venom x reader #spiderverse x reader #venom x platonic!reader #miguel o’hara x daughter!reader #platonic reader

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bluetooththereptile · 5 months

Note

Can I request a part 2 for His Mother (Yandere Damian Wayne x naga reader x Yandere Bruce Wayne)🙏🙏🙏

Yes! For sure you can!

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

Note: this oneshot is continuation of this fic.

Tw: mentions of drugs

The faint scent of soaked wood was in the air, and your den's condition was stimulated so well that if it wasn't for the walls around you, you'd feel at home. Minus the sunlight of course, and a fresh breeze, the air made you feel weak and sleepy and its scent was sort of sweet on your tongue, as if it was spring already and the flower petals were in the air. Every day, all you did as time passed was either spent sleeping or taking care of the little one who unlike you was extremely energetic, cooing and babbling as she crawled around with her tiny hands, still not old enough to learn how to crawl with her tail. She could be a menace and a little angel at the same time, crawling on top of a few branches and then jumping down onto you, giggling, which was her favorite pastime that left you alert most of the time to her presence. Lately, a few teeth had grown into her mouth and she had started to nibble on things, including your tail, and feeding her with your hands had turned into a challenge. Now that you looked around, you could see her bite marks on the plants around you. That little thing had explored the whole invisible cage so many times that you'd wondered if she had learned to crawl on the walls as well...it wasn't that unlikely of her.

Speaking of the devil...

Lulu's head popped up from under the water as she splashed the water around her "Mama, mama!" She reached out for you, and you slowly reached out and took the baby in your arms, she could breathe underwater unlike you, which meant her parents were water-based Nagas. Handling her wasn't easy, but it was for a few hours before they came along. Bruce and your boy, Damian. They somehow knew how to handle both you and little LuLu, or as they called her, Lucy.

You looked down at the cooing baby in your arms, smiling softly, Lulu was pure white, her large eyes having a red hue to them, you thought the poor thing was sick for not having a color to her scales or little puffs of hair, not knowing that she was a very rare albino, oh how many nights you had spent on worrying about her health not noticing that she was chubbier than most of baby Nagas you had seen, which meant she was quiet healthy.

As you held the baby, she nuzzled into your chest, liking the fabric of your topwear. Bruce would provide you with them, and not much to your liking, he'd take it off or put it on you himself. Lulu's tail wrapped around your arm as you rocked her, watching her play with the tip of your tail, poking it with her chubby fingers. You let out a soft sigh of irritation as she reached for the tip and started playing with it, you didn't know when you found that abandoned egg you'd end up like this, you were mateless and young, without much experience, you didn't know how to handle the baby, and she didn't help you with handling her either...well, except Damian, at least he'd listen. Your mouth turned downwards, remembering that he was the reason you were now captive. Poor you, you didn't have much luck in both parenting and mating...well, as for mating, Bruce still tried to woo you, you could easily deduce that, but how did he know of Naga culture and their ways of courting, you weren't sure.

Lulu squirmed out of your arms and swam into the shallow pond, splashing around as she swam to the other side of it, you sighed again, too tired to follow her around. "Lulu...honey come back" You tried to take her attention, but she was already on her way to creating chaos once more. You relax your upper body on the warm sands close to the pond, and your lower half rests in the water, soaking in. Today none of them came along, were they unwell? The thought made you feel bad, both with the image of them being sick and your thought of caring about them made you feel bad. You couldn't deny you worried about them as well, but...Were you being tamed like a beast? Never! You wouldn't allow that!

You were too busy rubbing your temple as you let your thoughts circle in your mind like a swarm of irritating flies, to notice the door of your gilded cage opening. Damian and Jon's heads popped in, noticing that you were far away from their side of the cage they let out a sigh of relief. Knowing you, if it wasn't for the sedatives you'd be charging at them already. You looked at the two humans entering slowly, struggling with blinking to keep your eyes open, you rested your head on top of your hand, watching them walk to Lulu, who was already crawling toward them.

"Dami! Dami!" Lulu squealed with excitement as she spotted Damian, her chubby cheeks flushed with the struggle of crawling faster to her brother. Damian smiled at the little one and bent down and picked her up, her giggles filling the air. You smiled softly at the scene, looking at how Damian's one snake-like eye's iris widened at the sight of his sister, a sign that he loved her.

You hummed his name under your breath, remembering the time you had to put your special balm on his wounds, made out of your blood and a few different herbs, unknowingly giving him some sort of mutation, making him gain some snake-like features. How precious he was when he held onto you tightly, seeking comfort, fever haunting his body because of the infection in his blood. You wanted to be mad at him for bringing that man, Bruce, to take you away from your swamp, but you couldn't, he was your boy.

When Damian turned around to take Lulu away you felt a little surge of panic rush into your reptilian heart, where was he taking Lulu? "W-wait-!" You were too slow and the boy and his friend had left with the little one, leaving you there, filling your heart with worry. You moved into the pond, getting closer to the door of the cage, you knew you couldn't move past the invisible walls of it, naturally you didn't know of glasses, thinking of them as invisible walls, you didn't know how to move past them, but you still tried. You moved your hand and slammed it on the door of your confinement with the remnants of your energy in a struggle to make it open, you knew it would be in vain, but you still did so, but much to your surprise, the invisible door opened, letting clean air come into your cage, you could see a different light coming from there...oh?...oh...OH!

....

"Just be quick, I need to put Lucy back with Mom..." Damian told Jon as he put Lulu in the little tub to keep her from crawling around. The baby Naga was a little distraught by the unfamiliar nature of her surroundings, her small fist tightly holding onto Damian's finger. Jon moved closer, with a few little dresses that his mother had tailored for little Lucy. "My mom said they are water resistant," Jon said with his proud smile and helped put the dress on top of Lulu's body, she giggled as her head popped out of the neckline of the little pink dress, finding it amusing that Damian tried to pull her little arms into the holes of the sleeveless dress, to her everything seemed like a game.

"If you want to take pictures, I have a camera you know" Dick appeared behind the two young boys startling them slightly. Jon nodded enthusiastically, while Damian huffed "Let me at least tidy up her hair". He said as he ran his fingers into her white messy locks. "Say cheese!" Dick spoke as he used a rattle to gain Lulu's attention as he held the camera, chuckling slightly as Lulu looked up at him with a large smile, her few teeth shining. The picture of the Naga in her cute dress was taken with a bright flash from the camera. The bright light made a huge shadow behind them appear on the wall the three humans tensed up visibly, turning around slowly, their eyes widening in shock.

....

"E-easy, Y/N..." Bruce groaned out as your tail made another circle around his legs, tightening around them not so gently. You were on top of him, your hands holding him as you glared down at him with your snake eyes. You had crawled out of your cage and since you weren't inhaling sedatives, you were gaining back your strength, so you had startled Bruce on his seat in the bat cave.

You looked down at the man you had pinned to his seat, unconsciously moving your hand to trace the different parts of his face, you were too focused on his blue eyes that you didn't notice his hand move to push a button, it'd give you an electric shock to stop you from doing something reckless, but his hand paused as he watched you lay slowly on top of him, trying to get some warmth from his body. "Mate..." the word came out of your mouth in a whisper, you had realized that struggling was futile, Bruce was the alpha predator of your chain of family, and you should submit to feel happier, he knew how to handle Lulu and Damian and seemed to like you, even now that Lulu was away from you she seemed happy enough, so why resist?

"Mine..." you added, making Bruce smile nervously, something that he had thought would happen with force, now had happened easily. His hand moved away from the button to caress your hair, chuckling slightly as he heard Lulu's voice as Damian approached them with her in his arms "Mama! Mama!" Her voice echoed in the cave, promising a new future in a much different world for you with your new family.

#blue answers #yandere batfamily #yandere batman #yandere #yandere damian wayne #yandere bruce wayne #yandere robin #yandere x reader #naga reader #dc comics

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ivnxrori · 1 month

Text

When Sun and Moon meet - S1

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

Warnings: None

Masterlist

҉ * ‧͙ ⋆ ⁺ ༓ ☾ Prologue

“We announce the birth of a healthy girl…Princess Y/N!” Chief Arnook announced as the crowd cheered for their new princes alongside Yue. What the crowd didn't know was the difficulties of even keeping her a healthy princess. Once the baby was born, she couldn't stop wailing and crying. It was like every bone of her body was in pain. All the medical help didn't do anything, they didnt know why the Chief’s daughter was in so much pain. Yagoda suggests going to the Spirit Oasis, it's their only chance. Chief Arnook sweats as well as his wife, as if they're bound to be unlucky for every life they give. The royal parents of this princess used the same technique as they did with their previous daughter. Dipping her in the Spirit Oasis while praying for her life to the moon spirit, the color of the girl's hair turned from brown to a graceful white. Silent cheers and cries as they held their newest child close to them, happy the moon spirit gave another one of their daughters a second chance.

“Stop touching the edge of your coat” My mother instructed as she pulled my hand from the cuffs. I whined but one stern look from my mother stopped me. I huffed as I stood up straight leaning more so to my sister, Yue who took my hand graciously. In books and stories becoming a princess sounds like a dream. You have money, attention and you could do whatever you want. Everything is accurate except the last one, I couldn't do everything I wanted. I had to be restrained to the guards and my parents eye, even Yue doesnt get this treatment as much as I do. However I forgot to mention how I even got into strict confinement in the first place. “What are you doing?” My father grabbed my hand making the water orb splash at both of our feet. “She's a water bender…” My mom whispered as my dad's eyes widened. “Y/N…” He spoke softly as he held both of my shoulders in a kindly manner. “Do not water bend, it's not allowed for people like you”. I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at him confused. He sighed as he took my hand. “Y/N, where we live only men are allowed to use waterbending, that's their job…to protect” My father shows me to the boys training their bending. “Especially people like you and your sister, you're both very important to this nation”. I didn't listen, it's not like I didn't understand what he was saying, I just didnt understand why it had to be like this. I zoned off as I saw the male benders. Envying that they can use their gift while I couldn't use mine. I snapped out of my zoned out space with a little pinch given by my sister. I flinched lightly as she slightly giggled earning a hush from our mother. I don't understand us needing to come to these royalty meetings, neither Yue and I are close to 16. Well she is closer to 16 by what? 6 years? That's still a whole 6 years till 16! I'm only younger than Yue by a year, however people treat me like a polar bear dog, cooing at me constantly for doing the littlest task while Yue gets treated so much more maturely. Some might say I have it easier but honestly I just feel dumb. Once the meeting ended we respectfully bowed and got up following our father. I held back my yawn as I saw the now night sky, looking how beautiful the moon is. ҉ ☾ I woke up in the middle of the night, groaning as I looked at the moon. I brush through my tangled hair with my hand while walking outside near the river. Is anyone there? I internally thought as I scavenged the area to see if there were any witnesses. I double checked and took a deep breath. Opening my eyes I hold the water orb, feeling the calming air around me. “You're going to get caught if you keep doing that”. I yelped and dropped my water orb. I turn around immediately with widened eyes meeting Yue. “Oh Yue” I sigh in relief as she glared at me. “You could've gotten caught by the guards and gotten in more trouble then you already have”. I sigh in understanding but also in annoyance. This isn't the first time I have snuck out to try out waterbending. Some days I have been caught but some days I haven't. “I'm going back to bed” I sigh with my head down “Are you?” “Yes, I am” Yue giggled as she patted me on the back. “I believe you can use it one day Y/N, I really you” She whispered sweetly as I nodded. “Thank you”

Next ->

a/n: This is my first fic im starting and im getting brainrott from avatar :) im still learning how to write so if there is any suggestions please share. Im like half asleep while writing this authors note so I know it wont make any sense when I wake up lmao Also feel free to tell me if you want to be added in the taglist!

---

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janinemel · 6 months

Text

Egon Spengler Relationship Headcanons

author’s note: i did implied nsfw for this but decided last minute not to add them bc i personally cannot see egon in such things, if that makes sense. so no nsfw hcs. (again, this is a personal opinion and decision. don’t feel discourage by this.)

Pairings: Egon Spengler x reader (ROMANTIC)

Warnings: none (?)

Not proofread

General HCs

•You met Egon through Ray, he introduced you two and you instantly had an interest in the scientist.

• After awhile, Egon began to feel more comfortable with you and this blossomed into a friendship.

• You listened to his theories and watched him work long nights. You brought him coffee, occasionally sweets when he requested.

• Time went on, you fell in love with him and it became a little hard to hide it because you two were always together. Little bumps, skin contact, light touching, you always felt your face warm up and your stomach did flips.

• Ray knew you liked Egon but you were too embarrassed to admit it. He was happy to hear this because he knew Egon had a thing for you as well.

• Eventually things fell into place with Ray’s help and Egon confessed to you during one of your long nights. This caught you by surprise and you thought he was just tired but he assured you he was being serious. You just smiled at him and gave him a date before leaving for the night.

• After that date, came along many other dates and you both became official. You loved Egon so much and it came easy when talking.

• Egon was never the one for physical touch so you always asked him if it was okay to hug him or hold his hand.

• One night where he was staying at your apartment and he had brought his work along, his hand found yours as you read a book. You felt yourself smile a bit because it felt like a natural reflex.

• Egon slowly began to move into your apartment, first came a few pairs of clothes, then his toothbrush and comb, then his books, then eventually you asked him to move in with you. He only said,”I thought I already did.”

• You often wore his shirts to bed, he didn’t mind because he found it sweet. Just as long as it wasn’t his important shirts.

• Whenever Egon came home late because of work, he would find you laid out on the couch. He hated that you would stay up just for him and he reminded himself to have a talk with you.

• Egon was a lover of sweets but you had to remind him to drink his water and eat healthy sometimes. Occasionally, you would spoil him by getting him his favourite chocolate bars but that’s pretty much it. You wanted a boyfriend for a long time, not a short time.

• He’s not the one for nicknames but he didn’t mind anyone giving him them. You often called him honey or love. He can’t lie to himself and say he doesn’t like those nicknames which are meant for him only.

• Your first kiss, you both were tired but he still had work to do. When he told you it was okay if you wanted to go to bed. You just looked at him and leaned in for a kiss. He didn’t move and just let you kiss him. You told him it was time for bed, he just asked you to do it again. You gave him another kiss and he kissed back. After that, you asked him if it was now time for bed, he answered with a yes.

#ghostbusters #ghostbusters imagine #x reader #ghostbusters headcanons #egon spengler #egon spengler x reader

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tarjapearce · 6 months

Text

Chapter 3: Innocent As A Lamb

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Emotional distress, mild comfort, angst, subtle hints of ptsd, more character background, confrontation, lies exposed, mild physical aggression, mentions of abortion,

Summary: Miguel isn't used to consequences.

Pt. 4

A/N: Finally got this down ❤️. Hope to live up to this jskjs.

We have to talk. Meet me at the parking lot.

The message had truly confused him, he wasn't one for texting, much less engaging into something so vain and boring like making acquaintances in work, unless they provided something substantial he could use in his favor. Had someone spread out his number again?

The thought made his lips morph into a smirk. Was this another crazed woman obsessed over him he didn't know about, even though some of the lab staff knew he was engaged?

Miguel wasn't immune to gossips, yet being the reason of one, was borderline amusing. It was rare when they managed to actually divert his attention to anything that wasn't work or Dana.

The latter however seemed more vexing and pestering than usual, he truly couldn't identify a culprit. But the ways of making up kept a smile on his face for long enough until the cycle repeated itself again.

Once married things would likely turn for the worse. Dana had been already increasing her control over him and viceversa. Always caught up in the neverending power play that somehow he ended up winning with flying colors. A sore loser and a bad winner.

Thrilling at first, but now everything but fun. Miffing in fact. And it showed in his eyes whenever she wasn't around but still, she managed to sour or dull his expression either via calls or messages.

He had been with her for long enough, but the benefits she offered were way too rewarding to let go. He knew what he represented in Dana's life.

A rich, hunk and trophy soon-to-be husband.

But as long as he was left unbothered while working or having her shut up, he didn't care. In fact, he flipped a finger on life long time ago and ever since none of his irreverence and cynism stopped.

He tossed the briefcase in the car and then hopped in, after confirming a dinner date, for the umpteenth time with her future bride and torment.

She loved getting under his skin, but he enjoyed enough in getting inside her to quiet her down enough to leave him alone. It was like sex was one of the only true reasons they remained together, no matter how much they disguised it as love. A long term lust that had sufficed them both enough to go by.

Cause in truth, love had been shoved to the back of the shelf and forgotten after the two year mark. Complacency takin it's place.

A new array of seasonings like jealousy, disrespect, cheating had joined the rack, casting a deep shadow over love, pushing it to the very end of the already malnourished emotional ledge.

Straying away from what had originally brought them together yet unable to let go. Yet again complacency had made both too cozy and lazy to expand their horizons in meeting new sort of people and shaping new bonds. Perpetuating the Chernobyl-like situation brewing between the both to a new level.

He never looked back. Always moving forward either the good or bad way, but moving. Not stopping for nothing and anyone, something he had learned from the least suspecting person in his life. His biological father. Tyler had showed him through actions, and not precisely in a healthy way. He had learned all that someone must never teach a man.

Liar, deceiver, manipulator, and so many more things that one would never believe if someone said 'Miguel O'Hara is a cheater.' Way too disingenuous to keep a remarkable reputation of a recluse and engaged genetic engineer.

But of course, there was a big chance someone had messaged him by accident. He blocked the number a couple of minutes later after receiving it.

He drove away.

"Pregnant?"

MJ's stonishment was upsetting. Not because you hadn't told her, but rather the circumstances the life changing event were conceived.

Her face paraded with so many emotions since it was hard to not feel something wrong about it, and the whole fiasco screamed and thrashed with all sorts of wrongness.

But even so, the absence of a judging stare made your senses to relax a bit, even if you were sprawled in your bed and her hands caressed your hair in a measly attempt to soothe your frying nerves. Her motherly antics paid off for a bit.

"He knows, right?"

Your silence earned a blasé sigh from the redhead.

"How is he going to know he fucked up if you don't tell him!?"

"It's not as simple as you think, MJ. He's sneaky. I sent him a text message, and surprise, he blocked the number."

Mary Jane blinked a couple of times, processing your mumblings.

"My goodness what a dick!."

"He is. Just... I'll tell him."

"Do you think he's gonna-"

"Tell me to fuck off?. That's for sure. If anything, I've already taken a choice."

"And, are you sure of it?"

With a shaky breath you sat on the bed, facing your best friend. A script writer and part of a theatrical troupe. You had met her after going on a date with a guy that was obsessed over the company's plays.

And most importantly, a mother of a one year old you had scarcely seen and met, just like her husband. Two times to be precise. In her wedding and MJ's baby shower. But her baby, a lovely girl called Mayday was always present in her phone's gallery.

"I am sure. I... I'm so not ready for this." You bit your inner cheek briefly, "I don't wanna be a mom. Much less knowing that my hypothetical child would be the next Cain."

MJ shot a confused look your way.

"You know, God punished him with a permanent mark on his forehead so none would kill him."

"Right" her ginger brow raised at your words

"But it was his way of punishing him by letting everyone know what he had done." You gestured with flailing hands in the air, "In few words, I'm sparing the child a really fucked up talk on how I met their sperm donnor."

MJ casted her eyes away, she knew things were messed up as they were, even though her mind wandered towards a curious yet forbidden territory of wondering how you'd look with a pregnant belly, she knew things just didn't work like that.

Maternity in most of the cases arrived in unexpected ways, yet, not everyone embraced it with open arms and happy tears. You had been already so brave to see the news through, even though your brain still needed to catch up with them.

MJ held your hand and pulled you closer to her. All of the people you could confide in was her. Out of everyone, she knew better than anyone what was like to be a mother. She'd call you in the verge of tears sometimes saying how much she wanted to call it quits. Empathy was one of best traits.

"No matter what you choose, I'm sure it'll be for the best. And if you want me to be there for you, I will."

"I know, thank. I... don't even wanna tell him, cause what use would be? I'm sure he doesn't even remembers-"

"Still, you must tell him. He owes you an explanation."

"Doubt he's happy or even cooperating in giving one."

Your hand was squeezed gently. There wasn't much that needed to be said, terrifying as it was the confrontation was a must. Mostly for your own closure, you needed that chapter in your life over once and for all and if it meant to look up for a new job, away from him and the mess, then so be it.

Dread.

The bravado you had mustered a week ago was now dead, leaving a strong trepidation in its place.

In your mind, the conversation had been replayed over and over you had even learned the possible outcomes in the answer and neither of them was good or comforting.

Nauseous stomach and Bambi-like legs walked you over your work spot. Like a cage, with tiny space in between it's bars, allowing little to no room for you to try and escape.

Your body could, but the mind had already sentenced itself for a long time, imprisoned with the same thoughts over again. Miguel was your cage, and you weren't that sure you'd ever be free.

A tiny part of your reasoning cheered you to seek freedom by telling him.

The truth will set us free

Of course, but it always came with a price, and maybe you didn't have enough to pay it.

As the day marched through the eight hour's end, your thoughts gravitated with anger. Be it the hormones changing, or the constant voice telling you to confront him, brought back a little bravado you thought dead. You had asked for permission to be let go an hour earlier to intercept him.

And this time there was no escape. No more cold shoulders, no more waiting, even if your body wasn't listening to you and definitely no more niceties.

Taking your purse and the proofs of your condition in your hand, you marched towards the parking lot. Ready for a battle you were sure was lost before it started. A Leonidas versus Xerxes.

You waited in one of the benches scattered around the place, eyes trained to the exit door. Waiting felt like forever and being pregnant surely made it worse. It was like pregnancy granted you the power to slow time, but instead of being a blessing, it was proving to be a nuisance.

But there he was, parading himself with a belittling swag as he moved through the other workers. Face blasé, jaw tightened and fist clenching tightly at a little leather folder he had smothered in his large hand.

He pulled out his keys, and deactivated the car's alarm.

You stood. Heart beating a mile per second, breathings deep and shaky, just as your steps towards him. You could run away and hide, spare him the truth and the already brewing verbal assault you were unprepared to take part in. Spare him and you the immediate disgust.

But you weren't God to forgive.

A deep exhale was taken before approaching him carefully while he fumbled with the keys on his hand. Your narrowing steps alerted him, and your shape came into view in his window's reflection.

He turned and for a second, you wished he didn't.

Deep rusty brown eyes stared at you, after recognizing your face, anger in them betraying his unbothered demeanor. The keys stopped tinkering as they were scrunched up in his fist.

"What do you want?"

You frowned, he glared. An iceberg was warmer than his own voice.

"We need to talk."

Plump lips twitched into a scowl on his frightening face.

"We've got nothing to talk about. Everything's pretty fucking clear between us. Or do you want me to spell it for you?"

"Is it really hard for you to stop being an idiot?"

A derisive 'tsk' from him while you narrowed your eyes into a glare. As he turned to face you, his arms crossed his chest, enlarging him even more, but you didn't coward. Anger rivaled your politeness, but every word that came off him made the ire tab to go skyrocketing.

"Amuse me, then."

He gestured with a hand towards you, inviting and mocking to then going back to their original position. Your lips trembled as you spoke.

"I'm pregnant."

His eyelids drooped lazily, clearly unamused yet still you had managed to pull out a genuine laugh off him.

"Dios mío..." He raked a hand over his head, shoulders shaking in little laughter, even though it all was stemmed out of an underlying doubt and rising anxiety.

"If you want money to keep it quiet, just say it."

"God, just when I think you can't go lower, here you are proving me wrong." Your anger spoke for you and he had to hold back a snort, "I don't want your money, or anything that comes from you."

The irrefutable proofs of that night, printed on those pages were shoved into his hands.

"What is this?" His voice skeptical and subtly alarmed as the clinic's logo came into his vision.

"Consequences. Care to explain how on earth that happened?"

His eyes scanned the paper, laughter and derision slowly dying the further he read on. His eyes narrowed at a certain part of the information. 9 weeks.

"So?"

His eyes glared at you to then go back to the paper and the ultrasound pictures. A little bean-like creature was growing within. A creature that had part of his DNA, forming itself with each passing day, enclosed in a comfy looking cocoon.

No.

His hands grope the paper so tight it had crumpled mercilessly under his snapping fingers. His body had turned frigid, paralized with a crashing and burning numbness spreading through his limbs. Muscles on his extensive and mountainous shoulders contracted in such rigidness, he looked liked he'd break and snap at any second.

No. No. No.

Yet they rose erratically, matching his breathings. A hand was able to let go from the paper, only to rake through his hair once more, as if trying to scruff out the chaotic thoughts. He kept looking between you and the paper.

"This..." He gulped, tasting his own words. In truth he had already forgotten about that night, but for you to return with such news was the cherry on top of a shitty day.

"Amused enough?"

"Get rid of it."

He pushed the paper back in to your hands while seething, the mere touch of them burning his skin. A biting and bitter laugh came out of your lips as your eyes glistened.

"What?"

"Get rid of it. You don't want it, neither do I. Why keeping it?"

"How. That. Happened?"

Your tone was everything but friendly, yet you were restraining in giving a piece of your mind. But his hand reached for your arm and pulled you, more like dragged you to a more secluded space, away from prying eyes.

"Let me go!" With a shove and a slap away of his hand, you freed yourself.

With a deep breath, a hulking figure loomed over you with a glare. How dared you in hindering his plans?

"Listen to me very carefully, if you tell anyone about this-"

"Are you seriously threatening me?"

"You don't understand." Venom and vitriol spilled through clenched teeth. His hands were trying to decide which place was better to anchor itself from, clenching them only fueled his anger, and pacing around wasn't helping either.

"You are the one that seems to not be understanding. I'm not asking, I want to know how this happened, Miguel!"

That was definitely a way he hated hearing his name. So full of anger and demand. Just like Dana.

"It's your fault." He couldn't help but muster, more to himself than to you, "How... How couldn't you notice this?" Voice betraying the grittiness in his demeanor for a second.

"My fault?!" glossy eyes in anger widened as he kept spilling his accusations. "Must I remind you what happened that night? We fucked. In bathroom stall."

"For all I know that... thing isn't even mine, and you just-"

"Just what?! Try to put the blame on you?! Bold of you to think I have the time in whoring around like you do!"

His nose flared, relieving the brewing and piping hot steam.

"You can't... you can't do this to me, I can't do this." His hands clenched in his lab coat pockets. Then they rubbed his face.

"You think this is easy for me?!"

"I have a career."

He seethed and you couldn't help but laugh bitterly. His eyes followed you, settled to make an intimidating tactic you seemed temporsr immune to.

"So do I."

He scoffed at your words while pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No you don't. Not like I do."

"I'm not even asking you for anything but the truth. What happened? You're the only person I've hooked up with."

"Yeah, could fucking tell." He took a little check book and scribbled some things on it. Then put it right next to you, in the car's hood.

"I don't know how much you'll need, but get rid of it. The sooner, the better."

You heart stopped for a second as a flurry of emotions crossed your face.

You weren't one for fearing or hating monsters, but this one before you, made you shiver and recoil with something so damn familiar it instantly got you lunging for him, ready to make for his face.

He caught your hand before you could actually slap him with the freshly written check. Grip tightening, yet you were too angry and hormonal to care about the pain. Hot and angry tears were no match for his careless and cold stare. He seized you once more before letting you go, nearly shoving you out of his way.

He wasn't moved by your silent crying, either angry or sad, he just watched you with a gaze that would be translated into an 'Are you done?'

You weren't. But defeat had been pulling out all trace of energy that remained on you. No matter how many times you asked, he avoided the question and he just proved he didn't have any intentions of giving you one, or anything of the sort.

He clearly didn't want anything to do with you or the child accidentally conceived.

"What are you doing, Miguel?"

But he knew what happened. The condom had broke, expiration date had been one of the reasons it ripped. He knew he had to change it. But his mind was on the tip of his dick. Awaiting to attack your snug insides again.

Wiping the little dignity you had in your eyes, your shaking hands were about to reach for the papers on the floor when you saw a pair of cream colored heels, that carried the beautiful woman you were dying to set free from the maws of lying and cheating monster.

Dana's perturbed voice echoed through the open space and then evolved into an acute ringing in your ears, muffling her voice for a minute before you rushed to the nearest trash bin to empty the bile that had rose during the fight.

A clear Stop it, from your body.

Both Dana and Miguel watched you, doubling over the bin and holding your hair to prevent a further mess. Incredulity and horror struck them both. Miguel specially.

Stress made the sensations and pregnancy affairs a hundred times worse.

"Dana..." Miguel warned, but his fiancé was way too gone into staring you retch, recognizing a little piece of what had been happening. She had arrived when Miguel was writing you the check hearing more than enough.

"Let's go home, corazón."

Miguel spoke but Dana's eyes darted to the papers on the floor along the written check. Legs moving to where they were and picked them up.

Ultrasound pictures, some medical prescriptions and the most important thing, your diagnose. After this weekend passed, you'd be turning ten weeks.

You were too busy to notice the brunette's hand trembling and covering her mouth as she kept on reading.

"Dana-"

The click of her heels and firm slap echoed through, making your attention to go back to them. Miguel was looking to the floor, a flushed cheek with his fiancé's hand, and the woman herself looking like she was about to commit murder and he the next victim.

"Liar!"

You could only look away at the raw and ugly pain behind those words. He had fooled her enough. Dana did what you couldn't, a tiny solace to your bleeding soul.

"How could you?!" A quiet sob before the brunette turned to you, air trapped in your lungs as she prowled over you. Cheeks ready to receive the impact, but this never came, at least not right away.

"Dana, wait!"

"You whore!" Miguel grabbed her last second but she only thrashed in his arms, struggling to let go, trying with all her might in freeing herself from the monster's claws.

"I didn't know he was engaged! I'm sorry!"

Words kept flowing between broken sobs and sour mouth. Miguel looked like considering letting her go so you could have a taste from her wrath, but seeing you ready to take the hit made the urge to go away, infuriating him even more.

So righteous.

"Don't bullshit me, you slut!"

"He wasn't wearing a ring when I met him! How was I supposed to know?!"

That phrase alone made Dana to remain still. Her heart visibly breaking in tiny shards, so small they could be blown away with the wind. Fat tears rolled down her trembling cheeks. Miguel could glare even more to you if possible. He didn't know what pissed him the most that you were ready to face the consequences or the fact that you were spilling everything out.

"H-He wasn't?"

If the circumstances were different, you'd wrap her arms around her to prevent her breaking even more. But the only thing you managed to do was to admit everything. Sacrificial lamb ready to be slaughtered, unafraid of death.

"He wasn't."

As Miguel lowered his grip Dana came for you, holding you by the lapels of your blazer. Her dainty fingers wrinkling the fabric impossibly tight under her grip. Some of her nails dug on your skin. She trembled, eyes unwavering over your steadfast ones.

"I'm so sorry... If I had known that... he was engaged I would never have approached."

"For how long have you been doing this? Answer me!"

She pleaded. Unlike Miguel, you were providing with answers that only put the remains of her broken and stepped on heart on a shredder, but the more you talked, the more the weight on them was lifted off your shoulders.

"It was one time-"

"Where?"

"In... in the Alchemax Retirement party. I'm so sorry, miss, I had no i-"

Your words were cut short by another slap. She sting spreading through your right cheek.

"Get out of my sight" Dana shoved the papers back into your hands and pushed you away from her, "Get out!".

Your legs scrambled you away, you could hear a metallic sound clinking on the floor, Dana had removed her ring and threw it at Miguel, only to bounce off the floor. Miguel could only watch the expensive relic getting soiled at his feet.

"Say something!"

She wasn't ordering, but pleading to have answers. You knew she'd get none, since you didn't have yours.

Car keys fumbled in your hands, you needed to get out before anything else happened. Miguel’s eyes burning into you, they stalked your every movements and expressions.

But you had laid bare before the both and took the punishment like a champ. The car's engine purred, drowning out the sound out. You could see Dana speaking in an accusing manner as Miguel tried to get a hold on her. As much as you were a homewrecker now, you could sleep a little better knowing that you had saved her from getting married to a man like Miguel.

The latter proved to be cornered, but he didn't lash out. And that only sent a new wave of anxiety to wash over you. What he was planning? The check was scrounged up like your medical data.

His penmanship a tad sloppy, but the traces looked almost like he was intending to tear through the paper. You drove off, watching them both from aside. Miguel's eyes locked with yours once more.

You stared at danger itself in the face, but you weren't afraid anymore.

You drove away. Forced to escape the aftermath.

MJ held your hand as you both made your way inside a bigger center, shielding you away from some religious protesters outside the building.

Just as your words had forseen, his reaction had only made your previous resolution to ground even more.

Mind set in getting your old life back. Even if it was dull, boring and full of so many average moments, you wanted it back.

You wanted to go out drinking, dance till your feet hurt, instead of hurting for the many times you went to the bathroom. You needed to feel normal, annoyed even whenever your boss caught you slacking for something you could control and not because a pregnancy.

But more importantly, you wanted to feel normal again. The same as usual, underpaid receptionist that was another worker in a big multinational company.

Not an underpaid, used, threatened and pregnant with the child of an engaged man that had done nothing but test your patience. This wasn't in your job's description.

And pretty sure, the woman next to you in the women's center wasn't made for comforting either. She cursed at her unborn child in between ugly sobs, saying how much she wished to never have appeared back in that house, wherever it was, to whoever it belonged.

A stark contrast to the woman right before you, looking at her ultrasound images with such joy you'd never had the chance to understand nor wanted to. Too exhausted with your own thoughts to make some Instrospection on your heart's opinion. MJ sat next to you, her warm and soothing hands never left yours.

Half of the room felt red, warm, homey and full of proud future mother's that without a doubt would give their children whatever they deserved. They smiled and shared their stories among eachother, like if they had just won over the lottery. Some even went to the extent of be ecstatic upon each other's ultrasound picture.

And you sat on the blue side. Mothers that didn't want their child over so many different vicissitudes.

Some unable to carry on the pregnancy due the lack of a decent living place, homelessness, Some too young to be there, yet old enough to go under the scrutiny of a doctor to confirm what they already knew. Others with a faulty body that would be nothing but trouble, it was rare the woman that came in like nothing had happened, ready to resume their old lives, unbothered and emotionally unscathed.

"How much do I must wait to get rid of it?"

The blasé voice murmured behind you, unknowingly of the damage that had resurfaced in your memories, just like Miguel's words.

Get rid of it.

Get rid of her.

It was one of the few phrases the woman that gave birth to you, engraved in your childish brain as she was contained by the turn's lover, avoiding the imminent physical damage to fall upon you.

But what to do, when the most hineous form of impairment had already wounded you?. Crippling you to this very day. It didn't help the foster homes you were taken to after, followed a likely pattern.

Unstable, erratic, hot and cold and so confusing, blurring and tarnishing parenthood's concept too much to make a healthy definition out of it. And as soon as you hit the eighteen's to your little surprise, the system let your hand go.

Get. Rid. Of. Her.

A hard swallow and a shaky breath. sides turned a pale hue of lilac for a moment.

The sooner the better.

You weren't getting rid of the seed growing within you because you hated it. All the opposite. You were being merciful and compassionate. Borderline loving even.

Right?

Your name was called, and everyone's eyes turned to you, some hopeful, a silent plea to keep it, others encouraging, pushing you deeper in the hallway that lead to the surgery room, and others understanding. There was no judging, specially from the blue side. MJ nodded to you, encouraging to keep walking, yet a bit of hesitation remained on them.

With every step you gave, the room came closer, reaching an arm to you, so tempting and inviting to finally grant you what you had been longing for the past days.

Getting rid of it.

Another gulp, but this one was harder to deglute since a solid knot had been tightening in your throat with such force, you were sure you couldn't scream even if your life depended on it.

Like mother, like daughter.

Stomach queasy and oh so dreading to what came next. An open door, tools and equipment ready to be used in your little seed. Brain storming with flashing colors that had you wincing at the plain white light.

The thought alone of resembling in any form of your mother was revolting. Your feet haltered as the doctor ventured herself in. Hands shook, unable to be still, unable to grasp yourself completely. A thick tear rolled down your cheek, then another one followed.

The only thing I regret is not getting an abortion sooner.

A sniffle, your steps approached closer to it. Sterile white filled in with pristine smells. Despite not remembering her face anymore, her voice remained etched on you like a ghost. Leeching on your memories and hindering all possibilities of letting go.

God, I swear. I don't even know what I am paying.

With a trembling jaw and lip, you stepped back.

I was happier, way much happier before you showed up.

Even though the room was open and the doctor called you in, you didn't dare to enter. No matter how tempting and cozy it seemed inside. Just like your foster homes had been initially. You weren't happy to be here, a rush of panic made it's way through your legs, stomach and throat. Rising without any forgiveness.

Why won't my baby just die? Why?! Is not that hard, sweetie.

She had said with all the loveless voice someone could muster after you had spilled her pills down the toilet by accident. Cold and unfeeling hands tightening around your ten year old neck, your little pleas unheard. The same rush of panic flooded your senses, freezing any rational thought with it's biting glacial maws. You were in danger.

Let me show you, baby.

You ran. Ran in the direction you had came in, ignoring the doctor's calling you, the unified shocked stares as you crossed the clinic's threshold. MJ trailing behind you with a perturbed look in her face as she called your name. Everything in your body buzzed, but one thing had you folding and crying in an alleyway.

The child's heart.

Beating with such intensity along yours. Uneven at first, but then in a rhythmic and single one. Strong, steady and very much alive. Grateful even.

MJ's voice called you, to then rush to you.

"I'm so sorry... I can't-"

"It's ok." Hands wrapped around you, cradling you with nothing but tenderness and care. She shushed you and attempted to wipe your tears whole you shook your head vehemently.

You couldn't. You weren't brave enough yet.

"Do you want to get back inside?"

A little shake of your head. Mary Jane helped you to stand and wrapped her sweater around you, promising you'd be fine. Promising that everything would be alright.

"Let's go home, ok?"

Your hands tightened around your lower belly while guilt flooded your senses. You weren't ready to be a mother, that was much true, but you weren't also ready to make such a life changing decision, yet time was running out.

It wasn't thrilling. Yet, you knew an honest talk awaited once you got home.

And this time, a desicion would be born out of your rational side, not from your feelings and fucked up memories.

Your heart however, had turned a shade lighter of lilac, borderline pink.

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#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #t writes✨

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

Life in the City 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bad friends, creep behaviour, abuse of power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You move to the big city and find yourself swallowed up by its chaos.

Characters: Clark Kent, Thor Odinson, short!reader

Note: I think I'm addicted to thick men.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you. No tag list, do not ask for updates.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Tuesday sees a new block in your calendar. The three hour meeting stands out in the internal calendar as its highlighted bright yellow. You don’t know where it’s come from. You’re nervous.

Have you done something wrong? Is this a firing? Does that really take three hours?

You try not to let your innate insecurity get the best of you. You click on it but the new window offers little more than the time. All participants are hidden and there’s no description aside from ‘meeting’. The only other information is the conference room number. Right, so you’re going to implode in the hour leading up to it.

You try to focus but the Excel lines are much tighter than usual. They seem to blur together as you file through a thousand different possibilities and none of them are good. What do you do if you are in trouble? If you do lose your job? You have nothing to fall back on.

You get up ten minutes from the start of the meeting. The building is still new to you and you have to check the placards on the wall to make sure you’re at the right conference room. The door is already open and you slow down as you see Tony strut through ahead of you. This definitely seems off. He’s one of the top execs…

What if it’s a mistake? What if you were added by accident? Maybe you misunderstood it. Maybe it was a notice to stay away. Oh, you’re so confused.

You enter the room and hug your notebook to your chest. The table against the far wall is arranged with trays of catering; pastries, fruits, veggies, quiche, all sorts of delights. Alongside the treats are coffee and tea and a frosty jug of water.

Tony helps himself to a cup of coffee and several tarts. Several other seats are already filled. You vaguely recognise them, not all by name, but you know they’re from various departments. You sit at the table and lay your notebook down, nervously gripping the spiral as you flick your thumb against the tip of the pen slid within.

No one else seems to notice you. They all know each other and chatter among themselves. Five including you. Not very many at all. You wait, wondering who called the meeting as no one seems in a hurry to begin.

The door clicks but you’re the only one who hears it as they rest or deep in conversation. You peek over as Thor strides to the head of the table, stopping behind the high-backed chair.

“I hope you all helped yourselves to the wonderful treats,” he smiles, “don’t mind me as I grab a few before we begin.”

He carries on to the trays and you look down at your notebook. You open it to the first blank page and slide your pen free of the coil. You wiggle it between your fingers as you wait. Surely, it can’t be disciplinary. There’s food and Tony is one of the top guys.

Thor returns, a healthy mound of sweets and fruits on his plate and a steaming cup in the other. He sits and pushes his shoulders wide, sighing as he peers up and down the table. You shrink down as you sit at the opposite end.

“Well, we are all here,” he declares, drawing the silence of the rest. They all turn their attention on him. “I think some of you already know why I’ve brought you here but we have lots of time to get filled in. We’ll be taking breaks of course but we won’t waste time, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” your voices reply out of turn.

“We will be working on a very special project. It’s big news that we’ve acquired Onyx Row and it’s all well and good to put a pretty bow on it and send out a release, but we have to handle all that background noise. We have to figure out how that works,” he explains.

You’re almost hypnotised by his voice and the way he moves his hands as he speaks. He’s so confident and carefree. You envy him as much as you admire him.

“You have all been handpicked to take this on,” he pauses to look at each and every one of you. “We need a strong team. We’ll have new clients to take it and to retain, we’ll have new profits but new expenses as well, and we have a lot to learn about OR. We all know things are not always transparent in acquisitions.”

There’s a murmur of agreement as you stay silent. You’re still not sure you’re supposed to be here. You don’t have very much experience, just a certificate you got at the end of your degree. You chew your lip as you stare down the table, suddenly caught in the sights of another.

Thor’s blue eyes meet yours and his cheek dimples. You blanch and make yourself sit straight. You uncap your pen and quickly scribble in your notebook; Onyx Row.

“Today’s strategy planning,” Thor says, “we’ll toss some ideas around until the first break, then after that, we’ll come up with a ladder.” He stacks his hands over and over as he talks, “figure out how we climb it. Step by step.”

There’s typing on keyboards. You regret not unhooking your laptop but your notebook’s just as good for notes. Tony leans backs as he chews a quiche, crumbs dusting down his jacket.

“Stark, why don’t you write something down, eh? You’re not here for a free meal.”

“That’s what you think,” Tony scoffs playfully but lets his chair snap straight and taps on his touch pad to wake up the laptop.

“Right then,” Thor stands, “I’ve a brief presentation to get us started before we start brainstorming.”

Your stomach swims. The displacement remains but at least you’re supposed to be there. Even if you’re not sure you’re the right choice. Everyone else in the room is a veteran and you’re just you. That’ll have to do.

Or maybe you’ll just show yourself to be a total noob.

🏙️

At the midpoint of the meeting, several new trays are added to the spread. It’s a lot for six people. You finally get up to grab a tea, steeping a bag of green in hot water, then take a small triangle of a tuna sandwich and a few pieces of fruit back to your seat. Despite the ice breakers round, you’re still shut out of the clique-like conversation of the others.

You don’t mind so much. Talk for business, nothing else. This is work. Besides, you’re so anxious you don’t know what you would say. You chalk it up as much to your own inaction as to their blatant exclusion.

The empty chair to your other side rolls back, frightening you as Thor sets down another plate of goodies and sits. You gulp and look at him as you quit your nibbling of the sandwich crust. You clear your throat and wipe your fingers on a napkin.

“Sir,” you greet with a cringing smile, “hi, er.”

“Thor will do,” he assures coolly, “are you enjoying the food?”

“Um, yeah,” you answer, trying to brighten up out of your cocoon, “it’s good.”

“Feel free to have more. There’s plenty to go around.”

“Thank you, that’s… I’m good,” you press your thumb to your index and bend and unbend your knuckle nervously.

“Tea?” He muses as he reaches to flick the small tap dangling from your cup.

“Mhm,” you nod awkwardly, “coffee burns my tum–stomach.”

He smiles broadly, “ah, mine too, but I’m stubborn.” He leans his elbow on the table, his chair turned to face you entirely, “are you nervous?”

Your eyes give you away as they widen at his blunt question. You dip your chin again, “a little. I… you know I only just started, right?”

“Yes, but you have your qualifications,” he insists.

“Yeah, uh, but…” you glance around at the others.

“But, I have faith in you. As I said, I picked every person in this room. You included. I know that new minds are as valuable as more experienced ones.”

“Well, er, thank you for taking a chance on me,” you bit your cheek and force a smile.

“You know, if no one had ever taken a chance on me, I might not be sat here with you right now,” he leans in just slightly, “everyone deserves their chance to prove themselves. I have faith in you, and what about you?”

“What about me?” Your cheeks wobble.

“Do you have faith in me?” He rests his chin in his hand, watching you intently.

“Y-yes, sir, uh, Thor,” you crackle out, “thanks, I…”

“Good,” he praises and sits up, “I’ll let you finish your food, if you don’t mind that I stay and do the same.”

He swivels the chair and picks up a cracker from his plate. You hum in acquiescence, barely able to muster words. The only permission he needs is your nervous reach for your tea. As if you would tell him to go. He’s the boss.

🏙️

You’re finally let free but you don’t feel as much. You have so much more to do now. You carry with you the folder handed out to each member of the room with an exhaustive overview of your session and the Onyx Road contract.

You sit at your desk and take a moment to situate yourself. This is your priority. Everything else is second tier. That’s as much as Thor said but what are you going to do about Dawn breathing down your neck?

You fix the loose button on your cardigan that comes undone now and again, right at the worst spot; the middle. You pull the bottom straight and clear your throat, signing into your computer as you rejig back to work mode.

As you shuffle through the emails you received in your absence, a figure approaches. You delete a redundant communication before you face them. You expect Dawn but instead, an all too familiar face looks down at you. Sitting, Thor seems to tower over you even more than usual. You feel like you should stand as he bends his neck to talk to you.

“I did forget to mention some things early. As you can expect, some details slip through the cracks in such a big project,” he spreads his hand on the corner of your desk.

“Oh, okay,” you grip the arms of your chair as you peer up at him.

“IT will be around to help connect to the shared drives required for the project,” Thor explains as he leans on one foot, hooking the other over it. “You will be dealing with some very important documents. Confidential so you will also need to relocate…” he looks around briefly, “you will be moved to a private office.”

“Uh, wow, that’s… okay,” you nod with a flutter of lashes.

“It’s a lot, I know, but you will be compensated. At special projects rate, no less,” he intones as he drags his hand up his suit jacket and curls his fingers around his lapel. His fingers are so thick. All of him is. And big. You’re getting vertigo just looking up at him. “You be in your new home by the end of the day.”

“Today?” You ask, almost breathless.

“Yes, we move fast around here,” he grins, “but I also wished to tell you that should you require any support, you will come to me. Your supervisor has been informed of your reassignment and your daily duties will be handed out to your colleagues for the duration of this project.”

“Uh huh,” you croak out, “that makes sense.”

“You understand, this is a big assignment. It could require late nights and… business trips.”

“Yes,” you lie. You really hadn’t considered that. In the contract you signed, it was for a desk, there was no travel, no overtime.

“Another matter for us to deal with. Travel pay, extra hours…” he drones as if bored.

“I understand,” you murmur.

He drops his hand to frame his hip, pushing back his jacket as he stays leaned against your desk. His eyes stick to you as they storm in mystery, “I like that sweater. It’s cute.”

You look down at the flower embroidery and your cheeks singe. Compared to him and the other execs, you were a touch underdressed. That’ll probably need to change too.

“Uh, yeah, I…” you fix the loose button again, “sorry, I’ll… I’ll buy a blazer.”

“I mean it,” he drags his hand from the desk and stands straight, “don’t buy the blazer, that suits you better.”

You crane your neck to look up at him again, “thanks, sir,” you fold your hands in your lap, “I… like your tie.”

You immediately want to disappear as the words trickle out. You sound so stupid. He touches his blue grey tie patterned with white paisley and examines it.

“Not one of my favourites, but thank you,” he chuckles. “Right,” he snaps his fingers, “much work to do. For both of us.” He shifts back on his sole, “don’t forget what I said, if you need anything, I’m your man.”

He winks and spins on his heel. You watch him go as tension raises your shoulders. That was awkward and painful. You’re already doubting your place in this whole thing. Before you can turn your chair back to your desk, you don’t miss the errant gazes in your direction. You ignore them as best you can but they sear into your back. You have witnesses to your humiliation, great.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #life in the city #superman #avengers #mcu #dcu #dc #marvel

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rollingsins · 7 months

Text

Quinn Bailey Must Die, p2

P1 | P2 | P3

summary: Quinn Bailey continues her quest to conquer the Carpenter sisters. Well, one of them, at least. all hers universe.

warnings: (+18), Tara is (was) Ghostface, language. Implied sexual content.

pairing: tara carpenter x reader, sam carpenter x quinn bailey

word count: 6.1k

a/n: set in the all hers universe, sequel to the first. wanted to try something a lil different - this is mostly from Sam's POV. There will be at least one other part after this one. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts!

Sam’s bed is shaking when she wakes.

She has a fan plugged into the wall. Military grade earplugs. A white noise machine.

And yet, every morning, she wakes to the sound of a squeaking mattress and you moaning like you’re on a casting couch for a bad 60s porno.

Aggravated, she sits up. Launches a pillow at the wall in the hope it will quell your happy groans.

It doesn’t.

“Tara, YN!” She yells, more than fed up, “Shut up! Shut the fuck up.”

You hear Tara groan through the walls. A quiet shush. The bed stops shaking. Sam slumps back into her pillows, content.

Tara has never cared, but at least you can be shamed into silence.

She closes her eyes, snuggles back into her pillows for a couple more hours of precious sleep.

A few minutes go by, and just as Sam is on the cusp of unconsciousness, she hears you let out another, loud moan.

“Oh, Tara-”

Sam sits up.

Fuck this, she thinks as she grouchily shimmies back into an old hoodie, I’ll sleep outside.

When Sam returns to the kitchen - after seventy minutes of tossing and turning with a pillow and a blanket in the apartment hallway - Tara has the audacity to look pleased with herself.

She’s wearing one of your old t-shirts, absent-mindedly stroking your hair as she sips on a cup of coffee. As if her bedroom activities hadn’t driven Sam out of hers.

Sam is fuming. Her cheeks are red as she slams her bedding onto the couch.

You turn at the same time Tara does.

“What’s up, Sam?” Asks Tara, like she doesn’t know the answer, “You look like you’ve just been dragged through a bush backwards.”

“You know what’s up,” Sam growls. She snatches a mug from the kitchen counter and pours herself a healthy helping of coffee, “How many times do I have to tell you-“

“Relax, Sam,” Tara says with a roll of her eyes, “We didn’t realize you were awake. We’re sorry-“

“I wasn’t awake until you woke me,” Sam says, jabbing a finger towards her nonplussed sister, “This is ridiculous. It’s the third time this week. If you two can’t respect my boundaries-”

Your face is a little hot. You shoot an apologetic look towards Sam, “We’re sorry, Sam,” You say, “We get… carried away sometimes.”

But Tara looks annoyed.

“This is our home,” Says Tara, “If we want to fuck, we will. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to-”

Sam slams her hand to the counter, making you jump.

“You asked me to come here,” She growls. She looks a little wild; red cheek, hair messy and ruffled, dark, tired eyes, “You asked me to pitch in. If you want me to go, I’m taking my share of the rent with me.”

Tara crosses her arms, unhappily.

“I’m doing the two of you a favor by being here. You think I can afford to pay New York City rent and California rent? The least you can do is not have loud sex at six AM-” Continues Sam, voice strained.

“You’re right, we’re sorry, Sam,” You interject, eyebrows pinched, “Right, babe? We’ll be quieter.”

Tara’s quiet for a moment, but Sam knows her sister. She knows the things Tara’s thinking in her head, and none of them are favorable.

“I have a life back in California,” Sam warns, “If you want me to go, I’ll go. But I’m taking my money with me.”

Tara’s brows knit.

“We don’t want that,” You say, quickly, “We’re very grateful you decided to help us out. Right, Tara?”

“Very grateful,” Tara says, voice tight, “Sorry, Sam.”

She pauses a moment.

“Babe, you’ve got the ad up, right?”

Sam ignores the spark of annoyance that floods through her and grabs her lunch.

She sighs right before she heads out. Decides she doesn't want to start her day swimming in negativity.

“Bye, YN. Love you, Tara.”

“Bye Sam,” You say, with a small smile, “Have a good day.”

Sam waits a moment.

“Bye, Tara.” She says, once more.

Tara rolls her eyes, “Bye Sam. What, you need me to walk you out or something?”

Sam just sighs and leaves.

Sam has a new job at NYU.

A job she loves.

Her life so far? Deadbeat father, emotionally absent mother. A murderous psychopath as a biological father. A murderous psychopath as an ex-boyfriend.

It hasn’t panned out the way she was hoping.

Nowadays, there’s only two bright sparks in her life.

Her baby sister, and her job.

What more could a girl need?

She’s working in the history department, a subject she’s always been good at. Tutoring students who apparently don’t share her prowess for the past.

Her first assignment is a nineteen year old boy with straight D grades. Her second is a girl who point blank asks if “the Nazis won the Korean War?”

Her third strolls into the library now.

Doesn’t bother to introduce herself. She walks in like she owns the place. Settles herself next to Sam with a coy look in her eye and flutter of her eyelashes.

“Hi,” Says the girl, with a coy smile. A smile that is far too friendly for discussing the Yom Kippur war.

Sam blinks.

“Hi,” She says, a little taken aback. She gets ahold of herself, “I’m Sam. I’ll be your tutor for the next semester.”

This girl has long, flowing strawberry-blonde hair. Piercing blue eyes. She’s wearing a shirt that rides up over her belly button and a pair of pants that are so tight they look as if they were painted on.

The girl watches for a moment. Surveys Sam - like a hungry wolf might appraise a rabbit.

And then she grins.

“We actually know each other,” Says the girl, “At least - we know of each other.”

Sam tilts her head.

“Oh?”

“I know your sister,” Says the girl, and her smile turns sheepish, “I used to live with her. Before she kicked me out.”

Sam blinks.

“You’re Quinn Bailey,” Sam realizes with a start.

Quinn’s cheeks pinch in a tight smile.

“Guilty,” She says with a nervous laugh, “Sorry. This is awkward. I didn’t know the school was going to pair me with you. I mean - I didn’t even know you worked here.”

Sam leans back a little, suddenly on guard.

“It’s fine,” She says, “I’ll ask you to be assigned to another tutor.”

Quinn squints.

“Actually, you can’t,” Says Quinn, sounding apologetic, “There’s only two history tutors - I checked. The other guy’s out for the next two weeks.” She leans in close, eyebrows in her hairline, “Mono.”

She pauses.

“Sorry, this must be awkward for you. But I really do need help. My first paper is due next Thursday.”

Sam sighs.

“Look, Quinn,” She says, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea after you-“

“Threw myself at your sister?” Quinn finishes. Her face is tight - she looks a little embarrassed, “I get it. I do. But you’re the only one who can help me.”

Sam tilts her head.

Quinn reaches over, takes Sam’s hand.

“Please.”

Clearly, it’s been too long since Sam felt the warmth of human touch. Because Quinn’s hand on hers ignites a spark that sends shockwaves through her body.

You need a boyfriend, she thinks momentarily, badly.

Sam retracts her hand, squinting slightly.

And remembers the horror stories Tara had bellowed down the phone line.

“Those girls are very special to me,” She says, “What you tried to do? It’s despicable.”

Quinn looks dismayed as Sam stands.

“Sorry,” Sam says as she straps her back over her shoulder, “You’ll have to find someone else.”

Tara’s in a mood when Sam gets home that night.

She orders takeout, instead of eating Sam’s meticulously planned, healthy vegan curry. She ignores Sam’s attempts at conversation, and turns the TV a little louder when Sam tries to offer her dessert.

Sam gives up, not long after.

She eats dinner by herself, trying not to let her mind drift to Quinn.

“Please,” She’d murmured, “I really need your help.”

Weird, she thinks. Quinn’s touch had imprinted on her mind all night. For such a devilish, evil, homewrecker - she’d seemed kind of sweet. Hopeless, almost.

Like a lost little child, adorned in red lipstick and Michael Kors.

But then she remembers her sister.

You arrive home, not long after Sam’s finishing her plate, batting Quinn’s easy smile out of her brain.

You press a kiss to Tara’s forehead, offer Sam a small smile.

And then you throw your bag down to the floor and disappear into your bedroom.

“Good day, Sam?” You ask when you emerge, towel over your shoulders.

Sam hums.

“Weird day,” She admits. She shakes her head as she catches your questioning stare, “Nevermind.”

You watch her a moment, and then reach down to squeeze Tara’s shoulders.

“I’m taking a shower. Pick a movie for us?” You say with a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Sure, babe,” Tara says.

And then she sits up long enough to shoot a glare over at Sam.

“Just be careful not to shower too loudly,” Tara says, “We wouldn’t want to interrupt Sam’s precious relaxation time. Who knows? She might threaten to not pay the water bill next time.”

Irritation flashes through Sam, hot and fast.

She’d been up at six AM again. Her sister is the culprit. And somehow she’s the bad guy?

“Stop being a brat, Tara,” Sam says, voice tight, “You’ll be twenty next year, you better start acting like it.”

“And is that when I’ll be as demanding and bitchy and sexless as you?” Tara deadpans.

Sam lets her cutlery clatter over her plate. Rage simmers in the pit of her stomach that begs to be unleashed. Primarily on her ungrateful shit-head of a sister.

I move across the country to bail you out, she wants to scream, and you can’t even be hospitable?

But you get there first.

“Stop it.” You say, pulling the remote from her hand, and tugging her up, “You are being a brat. Apologize to Sam and go to bed.”

Tara glares up at you.

“But babe-“

“Now,” You warn, “Or it’ll be your turn to sleep in the hall.”

Tara’s face clouds over.

It’s a familiar look to Sam.

It’s the one she used to give to their Father. Right after she’d choked Sam, or punched her, or pulled her hair.

Her fake apology face.

“Sorry Sam,” She mumbles, as she stands, looking anything but, “Try earplugs next time, maybe.”

“Bed.” You say, “Now.”

Tara storms off to bed, shooting a withering glare over to Sam as she leaves.

Sam’s lips twitch.

She’s used to this - Tara taking her anger out on her. She’s done their whole lives.

It doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

You sigh, throwing your towel over one of the dining chairs.

“Sorry,” You say, “You know what she’s like sometimes.”

“That therapy is really working wonders, huh?” Asks Sam, a little sarcastic. Her hands are shaking, a little.

You bite your lip, sinking into the seat opposite her.

“Good days and bad days,” You say, “Dr Colmann says miracles aren’t going to happen overnight.”

“That girl needs a miracle.” Sam says, a little frosty. Then, she softens, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m not trying to put you in the middle.”

“It’s fine, Sam,” You say, “I know she can be a handful. We’re talking about all the stuff she used to do as a kid in therapy.”

Sam snorts.

“You mean like when she cut off all the heads of my teddy bears because I wouldn’t let her blow out the candles on my birthday cake?”

You blink, a little taken aback.

“No,” You say, slowly, “She kept that one quiet.”

“You better not be talking about me.” Tara’s voice sounds down the hall, hot and angry.

You look from Sam long enough to shoot a glare down the hall, “And you better be in bed. I mean it, Tara. I’ll be there in five.”

Tara huffs, but retreats, nonetheless.

You look back over to Sam, who has a contemplative look on her face.

“I met Quinn Bailey today,” She says.

You stare.

“Why?” Is what you ask, and then you frown, “She’s not trying to worm her way back in here, is she? Because that’s not happening.”

“The only thing she’s trying to worm her way into is an A+ on her history paper,” Sam says, “I told her to forget it.”

You’re quiet a moment, and then you nod.

“Thanks Sam,” You say, “Can you do that? Send her away? Isn’t it your job?”

Sam shrugs.

“I don’t know,” She admits, honestly, “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

“You can’t turn her away Sam, it’s your job.” Says Sam’s supervisor, sternly, in the morning, “The poor girl was in here in tears last night. There’s no one else.”

Sam pauses.

“It’s just-“ She tries, “She has a complicated relationship with my sister and her girlfriend. They used to be roommates. She made some unwanted advances and they kicked her out. I can’t tutor her. It’s a conflict of interest.”

Her supervisor smiles, a little passive aggressive.

“Spend less time worrying about conflicts of interest Sam,” He tells her, “And more time teaching them”.

He punctuates his point by tapping down on a book about Palestine.

And Sam sighs.

“I could just quit,” Sam says later, over a sad looking salad in the cafeteria with Mindy, “I mean, I only took this job because Tara asked me to help out with rent for a bit.”

Mindy looks over, eyebrows raised.

“Doesn’t quitting your job defeat the purpose of helping Tara with rent?” She asks.

Sam bites her lip.

“I suppose…” She admits, “Though it wouldn’t be too hard to get a new one. It’s not like the pay is that great, anyway.”

“I thought you loved your new job,” Says Mindy, “You were saying only last week how good it feels to finally have something fulfilling in your life.”

“It’s just a job, at the end of the day, Mindy,” Says Sam. She ponders this over a mouthful of lettuce, “Besides, Tara is my sister. She comes first.”

Mindy purses her lips.

“And you think she would do the same for you?” Asks Mindy, after a moment, “Quit her job for you? Fly across the country and move into your apartment to bail her out?”

Sam straightens her shoulders.

“I’d like to think so,” She says, somewhat defensively.

Even if she doesn’t believe it.

Mindy shakes her head with a sigh.

“She won’t even stop banging her girl at six AM for you,” Mindy says, “She won’t even let you get a decent night’s sleep.”

“They’ve said they’ll be quieter.” Sam says, softly.

Mindy shoots her a look.

“And how many times have they told you that?” She asks.

Sam averts her gaze.

Too many times to count.

“Don’t do her any favors, Sam.”

Sam stares.

“And I thought she was supposed to be your friend?” Sam asks, somewhat pointedly.

“She is,” Says Mindy, “She’s my friend. And I love her. But she’s selfish as fuck, Sam. You know that. You’re related to that. You’re already being a good big sister. But you don’t have to give up everything for her, Sam. Do something for yourself for once.”

“And Quinn Bailey is me doing something for myself?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised.

“If she lets you keep the job you love, sure.” Says Mindy, “Tara will get over it. Besides, you’re only tutoring the girl. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Sam chews her lip.

And considers it.

“I’ll help you,” She tells Quinn, a little later over the phone, “Despite my better judgment, I’ll help you.”

Quinn lets out a breathy sigh, “Oh, Sam - thank you so much-“

“I’m not doing it for you,” Sam says, voice stern, “And we’re not friends. I don’t want you coming to the apartment and upsetting my sister and her girlfriend. We’ll meet at the library, every evening around eight. Okay?”

“Okay,” Quinn agrees, before she hesitates, “It’s not about Tara, Sam, I really just need the help.”

Sam hums.

“See you tonight.”

“You’re meeting who at the library?” Tara explodes over the dinner table.

Sam sighs. Helps herself to more potatoes.

“I don’t have a choice, Tara,” She says, “It’s my job.”

But Tara’s eyes are wide as if Sam has betrayed her.

This is how Tara works. Black and white, no shades of gray.

Mindy’s words echo through Sam’s head.

Don’t do her any favors, Sam.

You touch Tara’s arm.

“It’s alright, Sam, we know,” You say, voice gentle.

“Are you doing this to punish me?” Tara asks, eyebrows knit, “You don’t like us fucking loudly and so for revenge you’re going to tutor the girl who tried to destroy our relationship?”

“I need the money, Tara,” Sam says, voice tired, “If I lose this job I won’t be able to chip in for rent.”

“So get a new job,” Tara says, immediately, as if it’s a perfectly reasonable request.

“I like my job.” Says Sam, “I’m not getting a new one.”

Tara splutters. She looks over to you, wide-eyed, “And you’re okay with this?” She asks, in disbelief.

“Tara,” You say, knitting your brows, “It’s not our decision-”

“Like hell, it’s not,” Says Tara, “You’re my sister. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“There are no sides, Tara.” Sam says, “This isn’t world war three - as much as you’d like it to be. I’m helping her out because I’ll get fired if I don’t. I’ve already told her she’s not coming to the apartment. You won’t have to see her. If she tries anything, I’ll shut it down. Alright?”

You touch Tara’s back.

“It’s fine, Sam,” You say, quietly, “Baby, it’s okay. We’re not seeing her again.”

“Yeah, right.” Tara scoffs, “Please. This is just another one of her ploys.”

She looks over at Sam.

“She tried to steal me, Sam, we told you that, right?” She says, sounding scandalized.

Sam rolls her eyes.

“Yes, you told me that,” Says Sam, “And it didn’t count for shit because you’re a loyal girlfriend and your head couldn’t be turned. Right?”

Tara thinks. She blinks as if her brain is short-circuiting.

“Right.” She says, voice slow.

“Perfect,” Sam says, voice dry, as she stands, “Look, Tara, please don’t be mad at me. You know I wouldn’t see her if I had the choice.”

Tara folds her arms.

Sam sighs.

She leans down to press a kiss to the top of Tara’s head.

But Tara jerks away.

“Go, Sam, you’re going to do what you want anyway." She says, sounding surly.

Sam slips her bag over her shoulder.

“Bye, girls.” She says, a little dejected, “Love you.”

But it falls on deaf ears.

You and Tara are arguing when Sam leaves.

“Why do you care so much, Tara?” You ask, voice hot, “You’re scared she’ll try to kiss you again and you won’t be able to resist?”

“Baby, that’s ridiculous.” Tara says, outraged, “I don’t want to see her again because she upsets you.”

Sam sighs, and clicks the door closed.

The sound of both your voices echoing down the hall.

Your neighbors must hate you.

When Sam arrives in the library, Quinn’s already there.

“Hey,” She says, voice bright, and then pauses, “Thanks for coming.”

“It’s my job,” Sam reminds her, voice a little tight.

“Well, regardless, thanks.” Says Quinn.

She sets her books down, slips into the seat next to Sam, wide-eyed and eager. Sam appraises her.

She’s dressed a little inappropriately for a library study session.

Short skirt, crop top. Her hair in pigtails, face flush with eyeliner and blush.

Sam ignores the flutter that settles in her belly and pulls up a chair.

“Was YN mad you decided to tutor me?” Is her first question.

Sam opens her book, and points to the first sentence.

“We’re not talking about them,” She says.

Quinn chews her lips.

“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Quinn says, “You seem really nice, Sam, you don’t deserve that.”

“Quinn.” Sam says, a little on edge.

Like she’s starting to think this is a mistake.

“Sorry,” Says Quinn, settling onto her elbows, “You’re right. Let’s not talk about them. Tell me all about the Yom Kippur War.”

And Sam does.

It’s a little difficult.

Much more difficult than teaching her other students. Quinn doesn’t take her eyes off her. She plays with her hair, bats her eyelids, licks her lips.

Sam clears her throat, starting to feel like prey.

But then Quinn changes the topic.

“I hope you’re ready to be the most consistent person in my life, Sam,” She says, blowing her hair out of her eyes, “Every night. I think if you were to define my dating life, comedy would be the word that springs to mind.”

Sam raises her eyebrows.

“Mine too,” She mumbles.

Quinn rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Tell me about it. I always pick the wrong guy,” Says Quinn, sounding a little frustrated, “Or girl most recently. Always the emotionally unavailable ones - or the physically unavailable ones. I think there's something wrong with me. Like a romance disease.”

Sam cracks a smile.

“I think we’ve got the same illness,” She teases, “I have a similar track record.”

Quinn sits a little straighter.

“Oh, yeah?” She asks, “Like who?”

Flashes of Richie blindsight Sam. His smile. His laugh. They way he’d kissed her.

The way he’d lied to her.

Tried to literally murder her sister.

Sam swallows, bad taste suddenly filling her mouth.

“No-one,” She says, hurriedly, “Just a bad ex-boyfriend.”

Quinn nods.

“I have a few of those,” She says, and then she bites her lip.

Sam reverts to feeling like prey. Something weird simmers in the depths of her belly as she meets Quinn’s piercing gaze.

“Have you only had boyfriends?” Quinn enquiries suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere.

Sam’s eyes flicker up.

“Enough about boyfriends,” She says, clearing her throat, “Back to the Yom Kippur War.”

Quinn’s smile is sly.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“I’ve only had boyfriends, and I only ever will.” Sam says, voice flat, “Now, the war.”

“How come?” Quinn blinks, wide-eyed, “You never wondered? You never tried it?”

“No,” Sam says, “Quinn, please.”

Quinn bites her lip.

“Fine,” She says, with a stretch, “I’ll stop busting your balls.”

Her eyes flicker up to Sam’s.

“As long as you remember - balls aren’t the only option.”

Mindy howls over lunch.

“It’s not that funny, Mindy,” Sam says, looking around. Well aware people are starting to stare, “Hey, shut up. I’m in a crisis here.”

Mindy draws her shoulders. Takes a deep breath. But her face breaks out immediately.

Her laugh turns into a snort.

“I’m sorry, Sam, it’s just too good-“ She says, between breaths, “She really said that?”

Sam nods. It sets Mindy off once more.

“Damn this girl has an agenda,” Mindy says, still laughing, “She wants into those Carpenter panties, she really doesn’t care who’s wearing them.”

“Stop being gross and help me,” Sam hisses.

“Just tell her you like dick,” Mindy says, with a shrug, finally calming down.

“I think we’ve established I tried that already,” Says Sam, cheeks flushed, “I get the impression no means yes to her. You know what - I know it for a fact.”

She chews her lip.

“Maybe I should just quit.”

“Relax, Sam,” Says Mindy, with a groan, “This Quinn girl - she’s persistent, sure. But I doubt she’s dangerous or anything. Worst she’ll do is try to kiss you. Hey, then maybe you can put her in a headlock too. Give you and Tara something to bond about.”

Sam glares.

Mindy holds back another laugh.

“Look - say you quit - then what? You get another job, waiting tables or working at a movie theater and hate your life. More than you already hate it.”

Sam scowls.

“I don’t hate my life,” She says.

Mindy nods.

“Sure, but you don’t love it. Let’s see,” She lists them off on her fingers, “No college degree, no boyfriend, no parents, your friends are a bunch of kids you used to babysit, and your alarm is having to listen to your sister take her girlfriend to pound town every morning.”

Sam’s ears flame red.

“You’re disgusting,” She says, voice flat, “And my life is just fine, thank you.”

Mindy shrugs.

“If you say so,” She says, slurping at her milkshake. She pauses, “God, that just made me sad. Maybe you should bang Quinn.”

“Very helpful,” Sam grumbles, as she stands, “Thanks Mindy.”

Sam gets home late - on purpose.

The last thing she wants to do is deal with the changing winds of Tara’s mood swings. Or even worse - the “I told you so”, which she’s sure is to come.

She hits the gym.

Tries to decompress her own thoughts.

Quinn is only trying to get close to Tara, she reasons, Quinn wants you because she can’t have your sister.

Her treadmill jog turns into a sprint.

And you’re straight.

It’s dark by the time Sam gets home.

But when she enters the apartment, expecting an empty living room - Tara’s sprawled across the couch.

The lights are out, and Sam squints as she makes out her sister's figure.

Tara sits up, like she’s been waiting for her.

Storm in her eyes.

“I hope you’re happy with yourself,” Says Tara, arms crossed. The couch has been transformed into a makeshift bed, in which she is clearly sleeping in.

Alone.

“Your new best buddy Quinn has caused disarray in my relationship.”

Sam sighs, setting down her bag.

“What happened?” She asks, reaching into the fridge for a beer. Alcohol is always necessary when Tara is like this.

Tara crosses her arms.

“You know what happened,” She says, “We got rid of Quinn and you brought her back into our lives.”

“Quinn’s not in your life, Tara,” Sam reminds her, “She’s barely in mine. You really think she’s worth picking arguments over?”

Tara frowns.

“I didn’t pick an argument,” Tara says, “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“And so you’re sleeping on the couch?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised, “What did you say?”

Tara huffs.

“Why do you always assume it was me who said something?” She asks.

“Because it usually is.” Sam retorts. She lifts the beer to her lips and takes a long swig.

Tara’s quiet.

“I just suggested we should… maybe help you look for a new job or something.”

Sam stares.

“Make you quit your job, is what I said, I think.” Tara says, a little sheepish, “YN’s mad because she doesn’t think I treat you well, or whatever. But I told her you don’t care about that. We’re sisters, we treat each other badly. That’s just how it goes.”

She looks over to Sam, expectantly. Like she’s waiting for her to agree.

Sam blinks. A sharp wave of hurt flushes through her chest that she can’t quite swallow.

“I don’t treat you badly, Tara, I love you.” Says Sam after a long moment. There’s pain in her chest, making her words hard to get out, “I flew across the country for you. I’m living in a shoebox apartment infested with cockroaches for you. I fought Ghostface for you.”

Tara blinks.

“I tell you I love you everyday, before I leave, do you know that?” Sam asks, eyebrows crinkled, “But you never say it back. Why do you never say it back?”

Tara just stares, eyes owlish.

Sam might cry.

Mindy’s half-cocked summary of her life had also made Sam a little sad. Because what does she have, truly?

No boyfriend, no friends, a sister who treats her less than human. Like Sam’s a piece of dog-shit on the bottom of her shoe that she can’t quite shake.

She won’t cry in front of Tara.

Sam drops the empty beer bottle to the counter and rubs her eyes. Her sadness momentarily turns to anger.

“I do everything for you,” Sam tells her, after a long moment, “But I love this job. This time you can do something for me. You can accept it.”

When Sam leaves in the morning, the apartment is strangely somber.

Tara’s avoiding Sam. You’re not talking to Tara. Sam’s not talking to anyone.

You don’t really talk to anyone, nowadays, anyway, she thinks, and then bats away the dreary thought.

She spends the day on auto-pilot. Tries to will away the self-deprecating hatred brewing in the pit of her stomach.

Quinn’s smiling when she finally makes her way into the library.

Maybe the only person in her life happy to see her.

It’s a sad thought, even for Sam.

“Joe’s in the best pizza,” Quinn gushes, touching her arm, a little bit into their study session, “Now you live in New York you’ve got to get serious about this kind of thing.”

Sam bites her lip.

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be in town anyway,” Says Sam, “I’m thinking about going home.”

Quinn tilts her head.

“How come?”

Sam shakes her head.

“I’m just- I’m in Tara’s space. It’s not good for our relationship.”

Quinn hums.

Sam blinks.

“Sorry,” She says, catching herself, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Let’s start on the next chapter.”

“Tara won’t have any space if you leave her here,” Quinn says, tilting her chin, “Believe me. I lived in that apartment. I know how expensive it is.”

“It’s an expensive shit-hole,” Sam mumbles, “You know every shower I’ve had this week has been cold?”

Quinn nods, sympathetically.

“I remember.”

Sam surveys her for a moment.

Her brows crease. And her curiosity gets the better of her.

“Why’d you do it, anyway?” She asks, “Go for my sister? I mean, five minutes alone with the two of them and anyone could see how in love they are.”

Quinn shifts.

Averts her gaze, suddenly shy.

It makes Sam frown.

“I don’t know,” Quinn says, after a long moment, “Your sister- she seems like a really good girlfriend. I’ve only had bad boyfriends. Maybe I just wanted a change. Someone to treat me right, for once.”

“And you really thought you could do it?” Sam asks, eyebrow raised, “Seduce her?”

“No,” Quinn admits, “But it was fun to try. I like that. People I can’t have.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow.

“You’re lucky YN didn’t beat your ass,” Sam says, the ghost of a smile on her lips, “I’ve seen her do much worse.”

Quinn licks her lips.

“Your sister is really beautiful,” She says, after a moment, “But you’re much prettier. Supermodel pretty.”

The back of Sam’s neck prickles.

Quinn scoots in a little closer.

Their thighs touch. A spark flushes through Sam’s body, embering into wildfire before Sam can get a grip on it.

Quinn’s lips are red. Her blue eyes are dilated. In the glow of the library-light, Sam could almost lean in…

Instead, she stands. Snapping up like she might die if she doesn’t.

“Quinn,” She says, voice flustered, “I’m not stupid, I know what you’re trying to do.”

Quinn blinks. She cocks her head, dark eyes flashing with innocence.

“And what am I trying to do?”

“You couldn’t have Tara, so you’re throwing yourself at me,” Sam says, voice firm, “You think you’re slick, Quinn, but I see right through you.”

Quinn tilts her head.

“I just said you were prettier than her.” She says, “Your sister - she’s nice. She’s cute in a pedestrian sort of way. But you - you’re beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Sam can’t help the blush that stems from the bloom in her stomach and sprouts beet red in her cheeks.

Quinn Bailey can talk.

But Sam isn’t falling for it.

“I’ve got to go,” She says, slinging her back over her arm, “I have- plans.”

There are no plans. Sam hopes it isn’t obvious.

Quinn purses her lips.

“Anywhere fun?” She asks, easy smile on her lips, “Maybe I could come?”

“Bye, Quinn,” Sam says, voice firm.

And all but stumbles out of the library with Quinn watching.

“Mindy,” Sam groans, down the phone line on her walk home, “You have to help me. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.”

“Let me guess,” Mindy says. She sounds like she’s out somewhere - at a bar, or a particularly echoey house party, “You have a big fat hickey on your neck courtesy of one Quinn Bailey?”

Sam’s cheeks flame.

“I’m straight, Mindy,” She says, though her voice hovers, “You know that. Quinn - she won’t stop. She threw herself at me again tonight.”

“Well, maybe you should just let her fuck you,” Mindy suggests, unhelpfully. She sounds a little drunk, “The girl likes what she can’t have so let her have you. Then she’ll leave you alone.”

“That is some particularly unhelpful logic,” Snaps Sam, “Where are you, anyway? It sounds like there’s three of you.”

“We’re at one of Chad’s lame house parties,” Says Mindy, “God, your sister’s in a mood, you know that? She’s scaring off all the cute girls. Not even YN can calm her down.”

“Oh,” Says Sam, stopping in her tracks, “You’re throwing a party? Who’s there?”

“Me, Tara, YN, Chad, Liv,” Says Mindy, without a beat, “Plus every other freshman on campus. Chad tried to get some seniors to come, but he’s a little far off becoming the campus hotshot again.”

Something pangs deep within Sam’s chest.

Loneliness coils like a snake around her heart, tugging, tugging, tugging.

The line is quiet, and Mindy seems to realize her mistake.

“You don’t want to be here though Sam, it’s super lame. Just freshmen.” She says, hurriedly.

“Of course not.” Sam says, trying to keep her voice light.

Why would she want to be there? At some lame party with kids four years younger than her, drinking like it’s the first - and last - drop of alcohol they’ve ever had in their lives.

Because, sings that little voice in the back of her head, every friend you have in this city is there. And not one thought to invite you. Not even your own sister.

“You can come if you want,” Mindy suggests, a moment later, “I’m really sorry, Sam, I didn’t even think-”

Sam bites her lip. Hard.

“The last thing I want to do is watch a bunch of kids get wasted off keg-stands,” Sam says. She takes in a breath, and she doesn’t know why - but she’s desperate for Mindy to believe her, “Enjoy the party, Mindy, I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Sure,” Mindy echoes, “Night, Sam.”

It really is pathetic, Sam thinks as she pours herself a large glass of wine, your life. It’s pathetic.

It’s Friday night.

She should be out. She should be drinking and partying with friends her own age. She should be dancing in a club, dragging a stranger home and regretting it in the morning.

What she shouldn’t be doing - is lounging around in her sister’s apartment, drinking by herself. She shouldn’t be moping about an invitation to a party with a friend group that isn’t even hers.

She’s made Tara her world.

But in Tara’s world, she’s not even a thought.

Not a sun, not a star, not even a moon.

Maybe, if she’s lucky, a bit of space-junk Tara can’t quite shake from her orbit.

Pathetic.

Space-junk, she thinks briefly, that’s a good name for you. A waste of space, more like.

Sam sinks another glass of wine.

The buzz feels nice. But the apartment is too quiet.

Just Sam and her thoughts - a dangerous mix.

And then - her phone buzzes. Sam has five glasses of wine in her. She answers, without checking who’s calling.

And her voice catches in her throat when she hears the voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey stranger,” Says Quinn, “I just wanted to call. I didn’t want to leave our conversation the way it was.”

Sam pauses.

She blinks - the room spins.

“If you’re not interested, I understand,” Continues Quinn, and her voice lowers, “But I think you’ve misunderstood me.”

Sam’s heartbeat jumps out of her chest. The hairs on the back of her arm raise, something she can’t quite name surges through her veins.

She swallows, but her mouth is dry. Despite the constant flow of alcoholic lubrication.

Quinn pauses a moment, and then sighs.

“I don’t want you because of your sister,” Quinn says, voice graveled, “I want you because you’re beautiful.”

Sam hums.

She closes her eyes, but she’s still spinning.

High off alcohol, high off arousal, high off something.

It feels nice to be wanted, no matter who is doing the wanting.

She closes her lips, once. Tries to hang up. But she can’t.

Then, she bites her lip.

“Come over.”

#all hers #qbmd #fanfic #mine #tara carpenter #sam carpenter #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x yn #tara carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x quinn bailey #scream #scream vi #ghostface!tara

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