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ikigaisvt · 5 months

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seventeen as tropes – vocal unit

starring: jeonghan, joshua, jihoon, dokyeom & seungkwan + gn!reader / (mention of mingyu in dk's) words count: 3.5k in total (between 400 - 800 each, expect seungkwan's 1.3k..,,.,..,, dont comment on that pls) content: fluff, non-idol!au warnings: everything is soft tbh? skinship (cheek kiss, kissing, holding hands), teasing, pining, rivalry, shitty team mates/friends, crying, lots of blushing lmao, very very very very sappy note: seventeen as tropes has been sitting in my drafts since 2022 and i'm FINALLY letting it out,, i hope everyone enjoy it! i decided to post it by units or else the post would get Too long (i already went off on this one lmao) don't worry hhu unit and pfu unit is already in the making hehe >.< pls don't come for me if some members have more words than others! inspiration isn't going to be the same for every tropes so i hope everyone can keep that mind! minors can interact with this fic but please don't follow or i'll hard block you. ignore any mistakes pls my brain is Dead rn,,, pls enjoy this piece of mine and don't forget to leave a like/reblog/comment! mwah mwah mwah good reading~

Jeonghan: Blind date

Jeonghan never loses bets and everyone in his friend group knows that which is why no one ever makes bets with him. He is just an extremely lucky person and he can always get his way out of any situation; expect when the person he made a bet with is Joshua – I taught him too well, he thinks to himself. It’s all because of a lost bet that he finds himself going on a blind date on this Thursday afternoon. That was the bet – to go on a blind date with someone the other picked. To say he was nervous was an understatement. All he’s hoping for is that Joshua didn’t prank him and sent like Seungkwan as his date. That would be awkward, he thinks as he makes his way quicker to the café.

As for you? Well, here you are, waiting for Joshua’s friend in this new café that opened in the neighbor. You don’t really know what went through your mind when you agreed to this blind date; something about Joshua’s words, probably. He can be a bit too convincing at times, something he apparently learned from this special friend – Jeonghan. You’ve never met the guy but oh have you heard countless stories about him. You know he’s one of Joshua’s closest friends so maybe you won’t get a relationship out of this but you will be able to talk about Joshua’s weird antics – in hopes Jeonghan isn’t worse, somehow, than your best friend.

You’re lost in your thoughts when a voice softly calls your name. You look up to see the most beautiful man ever and he quickly introduces himself as Jeonghan, as he sits down in front of you. You don’t really notice how Jeonghan looks at you, like you’re the most beautiful human he has ever seen or how a slight blush creeps up on his ears. And Jeonghan doesn’t notice the blush on your cheeks or how you slightly smile to yourself every time he tells you something. You two talk for hours; complaining about Joshua’s behavior – and you don’t let Jeonghan get away with turning him into a little devil, talking about how cute Sylvanian families are – he even shows you the ones he has, he rants about Legos, too, while he lets you tell him about that last book you read – something about a fae prince and a human falling in love. The staffs at the café breaks you both out of your conversation, letting you know they are closing in 10 minutes – it’s only when she comes around that you realize you are the only customers left. You quickly gather your stuffs, expecting to say goodbye to Jeonghan in front of the café but he naturally walks you back to your place. It’s when you’re leaned on your front door that he asks for your number – I thought he would never make a move, and he promises to see you soon before leaning in to give you a kiss on your cheek. It’s only when Jeonghan leaves you that he realizes luck was, once again, on his side.

Joshua: Coworkers

You’re very grateful for your coworkers at your new job. It’s only been a few months since you joined the finance team at this new company but everyone treats you like you have been part of the team for a long time. Everyone helps you out in new tasks, especially Joshua. Whenever you have to do something you aren’t used to, Joshua comes running to help you out and he cheers you up every time you have a hard time. You never really questioned how he acts as you always thought he was just being nice – as he is with anyone else. However, as your coworkers have known him longer than you, they know how you always get a special treatment from him; he makes you coffee when you start working and after lunch, he brings you your favorite chocolate, he prints out your folders for you and makes sure you always have your favorite pens working. His crush on you is known to everyone but you.

That all comes to light on a company dinner where Joshua special dots on you even in a restaurant far from work – he gets you food, fills up your plate and your glasses, lends you his jacket when you get cold and even offer to walk you home. All of these little attention gets him teased by your coworkers while you are still as oblivious as before. Joshua wears a profound blush on his ears all night but once again, you still don’t notice the pink tint of his ears (you honestly think it’s a cause of his drinking) and Joshua is entirely too happy about you being so clueless.

A few hours later he walks you home – as he promised. However, you surprise him by asking why everyone was teasing him back there. He stumbles on his words, the blush going to his cheeks until he finally admits it’s because he has a crush on you ever since you walked into the office on your first day. And now you’re the one with the blush, stuttering an answer – I like you too, but Joshua takes you by surprise by kissing you.

Jihoon: Acquaintances

You have known Jihoon since middle school; he was just always around in your group of friends and yet you didn’t know him at all. All you knew about him is that he liked music and as much as you thought he was nice, you never thought about making friends with him – if you didn’t all this time, why now? But when you’re in your first year of college, walking into your liberal arts class and you see only one familiar face – Jihoon’s, you walk up to him because it’s always good to know someone in every classes – to get notes or for future project.

So, you put on your best smile, sit down next to him – hope to god he remembers you – while starting to rant about how glad you are he’s here. However, all you’re met with is a blushing and stuttering Jihoon; “Sorry, I- uh- I forgot to water my dog- I mean, no- Forgot to give water to my dog! Bye!” before he runs out of the auditorium. It’s an understatement to say you are confused about his behavior, hoping he doesn’t secretly hate you – and is currently at the college’s administration to beg for a transfer. He’s cute, after all.

Next week, you are standing in front of the door of that same auditorium wondering if you’re going to find Jihoon in there. You don’t give yourself time to run away, pushing the door open and promising yourself to try and make a friend in this class today. You sit down, not trying to find Jihoon among the students. You didn’t even finish pulling out your laptop that the chair beside you is pushed back – Someone sat down next to me! – and you look to see who your new best friend is, only to see Jihoon looking at you, smiling. He greets you, asks you how your morning went before apologizing for last week – something about him being stressed. You let him know it’s alright – you can’t just hold grudges against him. And he’s cute today too. That’s how you two become friends after more than 10 years of being in each other’s life – or like background. And so, because Jihoon never feels like he apologizes enough, he does anything you ask of him for weeks: he buys you food, lends you his notes, makes you playlists but most importantly, when you ask to see his studio, he accepts.

On a Friday night, he picks you up and you two walk together to the studio, as you ask him about music – all these years, you always saw him with a guitar or humming songs and yet you never knew how it all started. And so, he answers all your questions, he talks, again and again, he tells you everything because it’s you. When you get to the studio, you walk around, touching every instrument, asking more questions while he sets up his computer. He goes out for a moment – letting you know you can play around on his computer – to pick up dinner at the fast food down the street. Of course, you take his offer, settling down on his chair and you open Youtube, play some songs before trying to make a simple track. It’s when you open his files to add one of his samples that you stumble across a file named after you; you can’t resist the urge to open it, finding songs after songs – Run to you, Darl+ing, Lean On Me, Adore U.

Jihoon comes in a few minutes after, the computer still shining with all these songs. And that’s when he knows – he knows he can’t hide it anymore, he knows all these years he spent at a distance from you can’t happen again, he knows he has to tell you. So, he tells you – he never talked this much in a night – he tells you he always liked you, he never forgot that first day he saw you in middle school, he explains how much he tried to not be in your life but he always felt himself be pulled in. He confesses that’s how he started music – because nothing but this could describe what he feels in his chest when you’re there. And you have tears in your eyes, you feel like your heart is going to implode from the love he gives you and you tell him; someway, somehow, your life has always felt empty when he was missing. When college came around you were scared you were never going to see him again. So, when you saw him, you knew this was destiny. You knew the world pulled strings for you two. (You spend the night at his studio, listening to every song he made for you while you two build a new world together.)

Dokyeom: Love at first sight/Meet cute

Dokyeom knows it; he’s in love. Okay, he hasn’t been in love before but he is pretty damn sure if love is something then it’s this; your chest tightens, you feel tingles in your stomach and you can’t stop looking at everything they do. That’s what he feels right now, when he sees you reading your book in that coffee shop.

He’s here with his best friend who tries so hard to get his attention but nothing can make him look away. I’m not being a weirdo, he reassures himself. You’re just so pretty, sitting there while reacting to that book – at one point, he saw tears pooling in your eyes – while you sip on your tea, your headphones on. You stay there, reading away while he watches you, then stops looking when he feels like you’ll notice him but he finds himself looking at you soon enough, never being able to really stop.

It's when you get up, making your way to the bathroom that he breaks from his daze – I need to get a grip. So, he focuses on his best friend’s rant, listening, actually answering his questions. But when he misses you, he looks back to your spot only to find it empty, only your book left behind. He gets up immediately and make his way to your spot, not even caring about Mingyu’s complaint. He picks up your book – Me Before You, he reads – and hurriedly makes his way out of the café. As he looks around, trying to find you, he notices you at the end of the street, a few meters away, waiting to cross the road. He runs up to you, not wanting to let you get away and as he gets to your level, he gets weirdly nervous; it’s not like he’s gonna make any move, right? He lightly taps your shoulder to get your attention. You turn around, a natural smile hanging on your lips as an answer. Dokyeom feels his heart beat faster right away and he knows it’s not even the nervousness, it’s you – Hi, uh- I- I was in that café, he starts as he points behind himself, I think that’s yours, he says as he holds out the book between the two of you. Immediately, you react, your face twisting in something between surprise and gratitude as you grab it and you never stop thanking him, again and again, asking him how you can repay him. Nothing, he answers, stars in his eyes knowing he will never be that close to the sun again, just- enjoy that book, okay? he finishes, turning around to go back to his best friend and his cappuccino. He walks slowly, almost as he expects you to catch up to him, almost as he wants you to – and he does. It’s when he pulls the door of the café open that he feels a light touch on his shoulder, his body reacting to you before his eyes can even see you. His lips pull up, his eyes shine again and he turns around, his heart reacting the same way again, before you extend a piece of paper between your bodies, stuttering; You forgot something too, the blush on your ears deepens, my number.

Seungkwan: Rivals

Seungkwan has always loved badminton; at this point, he talks about it so often, the whole school knows. Which you might be bitter about – only because you don’t like sharing something in common with him – but it’s only normal people do know about it; after all, he’s the captain of the boy’s badminton team. Now, what people of this school don’t know is that there is also a girl’s badminton team in the school – however, they are about to know. You have been leading the team so well, even though it has only been two years since it first got together, that you now get to share the court in your school’s sports hall to practice with your girls. Your coach – which is also the boy’s team, also lets you know that you’ll be meeting the other team every 2 weeks for friendly matches so the girls could improve in their skills.

It's the next day when you walk onto the court, already prepared for practice – you just need to take care of a few things as you are the team captain. Unfortunately, you stumble onto Seungkwan when you least expect it – you thought the team had classes at this time (not that you know his schedule, of course). Seungkwan doesn’t understand what you’re doing on his ground and he asks you to leave or else he will tell the coach – as if he had any kind of weight on her. Go tell the coach I’m here, go, you scoff at him, knowing she will only let him know what’s really going on. A few minutes later he comes back, the coach by his side, as he rolls his eyes at, probably, the thought of sharing anything with you.

And that’s how the rivalry between the two of you gets worse – if that was even possible. Your team meet every other day, practicing side by side and sharing laughter – expect you and Seungkwan. You both make your possible to annoy each other – you take the best spot first, you help the coach, you give advices to his team mates, you even go as far as to use him as something not to do on the field. On his side, he refuses to say your name, he keeps reprimanding your girls, he even says how even a toddler could play better than you and even go as far as to flirt with your team mate. Fortunately, even through all this fight with him, you and your girls train hard and your skills are rapidly improving. Time passes by so fast and it’s already time for your first match against the boys. You gather your team, let them know you believe in them and to not get intimidated by their playing – they are going to play hard and we need to hit back as much as them. It’s when Seungkwan sees you like this, so serious, so sure of yourself and so proud of your team, even when they lose points that he notices you in a different way. The way you burn with passion and yet how your eyes still shine with love when one of your team needs words of encouragement. He didn’t think he would ever feel like this but right now, you are distracting him from the match. And nothing, distract him from badminton.

The match is fierce, the room is burning with pride and want for the win; which the girls get. You cheer again and again, even the boys are congratulating your team – only Seungkwan doesn’t as he gathers his stuff and leaves first – which somehow, stings. You think it’s because his pride is hurt but it’s only because he can’t bear to see you anymore when he feels like this – heart fluttering, lips forming into a smile – at the sight of you.

The training keeps going after that win, the matches too; you keep annoying him and he does too, even though is comments are more helpful than anything; don’t do it like this, you’ll get hurt or even tell them to coordinate their moves, it will make them better – but you don’t notice, you only do the contrary of what he wants you to. The 5th match comes faster than any of you expect and you fight for the win with your team – you haven’t won these past 3 ones and it’s taking a toll on the team spirit – but the luck isn’t on your side when you sprain your ankle. The match stops as soon as you yelp, your team mates too surprised to react right away. Through the pain, you open your eyes when you feel a hand touch at your ankle delicately, trying to evaluate how hurt you are. You expect to see your coach but you meet a pair of brown worried eyes – Seungkwan. Are you hurt somewhere else? he asks softly, before turning around and telling everyone else to give you space, talk to me, please, he pleads, his big brown eyes fixed on your face. The after shock of the fall passes by as you stutter; why do you care? before asking for two of your team members to help to the infirmary – the coach letting everyone know the match is postponed, as you go through the door.

A few hours later you’re sat down on the cold bed, waiting for one of your friends to get out of class so she can drive you home – two weeks without walking and a month with no badminton, at least, the nurse told you earlier, but please go see a doctor, she finished before leaving you alone in the room to rest. You’re lost in your thoughts when you hear a knock on the door, thinking it’s your friend that’s here to bring you back home – finally. You’re more than surprised when you’re met with Seungkwan’s figure at the door as he asks you if he can come in, which you answer with a nod. He walks in and sats down on the chair at the end of the bed; what did she say? he asks, nervous at the thought of talking to you normally – and also, at the thought of not seeing you for practice anymore. 2 weeks with crutches and a month without playing, at best, you whisper, trying to fight back the tears. Oh- I’m so sorry, he says, sounding sincere. It’s not like you have anything to do with that, you sneer, wiping a tear off your cheek, do you? He sits back, now realizing how far your rivalry had gone for you to thin he could hurt you; no, of course not. I would never, he says seriously, as he sits down at the foot of your bed. Yeah, sorry, you apologize, your voice breaking in the middle, I thought that was what we did. Hurt each other. He takes in your pain which is much more than physical right now; your heart is on the verge of breaking and it’s mostly because of him; Not anymore. I don’t want to do that anymore; he starts as you lookconfused by his words. So, he explains; how his aversion for you came to be because you were a better captain, how people compared you two together, how some of his old team mates wished to have you instead of him. How he found himself to be as admirative of you as people are, how he finally understood everyone when he saw you play, how badminton was made for you, the same way you were for him. How these feelings bloomed in a place he thought was burned by the spite of others. How he wishes he could take everything back but since he can’t how he hopes you can give him a chance to do better, in the future. So, you do; you hold his hand as you both stay silent; he starts to come up with way to fix your broken heart and you, coming up with a plan to keep the flowers blooming even in winter. Maybe love is the way to it all.

thank you so much for reading! leave me a like/reblog/comment if you want and you'll have my unconditional love forever 🫶

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arcaneacolyte · 8 months

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Attention

Summary:

Phantom likes attention.

If anyone were to watch how he performs at Rituals, how he interacts with screaming fans, blowing kisses and moving his body in ways that make them scream all the louder, it’s obvious.

He loves to be watched. So much so, that he’s jealous when other Ghouls get attention. He might argue until he’s purple in the face—or at least more than his unglamored skin already is—but Swiss knows, Swiss sees.

Pairing: Swiss/Phantom (Aeon)

Words: 3,017

Contains: Praise Kink, Mean Swiss, Dom/Sub, Safewords (Stoplight system), Masturbation, Longing, Top Swiss, Bottom Phantom, Humiliation, Degradation, Autofellatio, Flexibility, Jealous Phantom, Attention Whore Phantom, Subspace, Dacryphilia, Teasing, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Size Kink, PWP, Polyghouls, Voyuerism, Mildly Dubious Consent

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Hello hello! I’m back with another brain worm induced fic lol. So basically, I noticed during the Ritual I went to, that every time I tried to film Swiss, Phantom would try to walk in front of my phone or take over the shot himself, and I thought it was very funny, and apparently he was doing it at other Rituals too! Then I saw how bendy he was and how much he likes attention, and this idea spawned from there.

I will say, this does have a little bit of dubcon feelings to it, but I promise that Phantom is very much into this! I added the tag though just in case people might feel a little squicked about it!

I did not beta this, and also wrote it in a fugue state and finished it at 3 am, so please let me know if there are any glaring mistakes lol.

Read below the cut or on AO3 if you prefer that!

Phantom likes attention.

If anyone were to watch how he performs at Rituals, how he interacts with screaming fans, blowing kisses and moving his body in ways that make them scream all the louder, it’s obvious.

At first he thought it was simply Phantom trying to move from one place to another on the stage in front of him, but as more Rituals went by and Swiss watched the lithe Quintessence Ghoul more and more, he started to notice a trend.

Any time a fan would aim their phone towards Swiss, Phantom would come stomping past, or even step directly to the edge of the stage, effectively blocking off any view of the Multi-Ghoul. He’d make a silent fuss as he bent his body or flipped his guitar around in a spectacle that the little Bug seemed to deem far more interesting than Swiss of all Ghouls. Swiss was stuck up on a platform in the back. Phantom was out in front, free to move around as he wished. The fans should want to film him.

It was adorable really, how the taste of the limelight gets the new Bug all jealous. But Swiss has been with the band long enough to know that everyone has favorites, and no matter what Phantom does, that won’t stop the fans from wanting to film Swiss.

So the little Bug likes attention, huh? Swiss smiles as he shakes his hips in tempo with his tambourine.

He can do that.

He just has to wait for the opportune moment.

Thankfully it comes not long after Swiss makes his plan. Phantom is a younger Ghoul by the rest of the pack’s standards, and his want—no need—for attention is so obvious now that Swiss has keyed into it.

Always talking, asking questions, commenting on anything any other Ghoul or even Papa is doing. Staring with those big round lavender eyes as he asks for cuddles or for someone to help him with something.

So easy. So predictable.

He starts giving the Bug just the lightest bits of attention. Little bits that are sure to leave Phantom wanting more.

Casually asking what book he’s reading from across their respective bunks on the tour bus, watching those lavender eyes glow as Phantom explains the contents of the book Swiss couldn’t care less about. Giving Phantom little bites of his road snacks, something that’s normally off limits to any of the other Ghouls, offered like a secret. A gentle grip to the back of the Quintessence Ghoul’s neck and a soft, “Good job out there,” after a Ritual.

Swiss is a Multi Ghoul after all. He’s good at playing anyone like an instrument.

Swiss is careful not to give too much, just enough to leave the little Bug wanting and nothing more. It’s a delicate balance, almost a fun little game for Swiss to pass the time with. Thinking and planning on what he’s going to do next to make Phantom want his attention more and more.

He knows it’s working by the smell. The desperate little scent that’s downright delicious. The way that Phantom keeps trying to get closer to Swiss, sitting or laying down next to him with as little space between them as possible; trying to twine his tail with Swiss, as if it will change Swiss’ mind when he decides to finally move.

The stupidly cute thing about Phantom is that as much as he loves attention, he doesn’t like to use his words and ask for it. He’s stubborn that way, and Swiss intends to break him.

Finally, the opportunity comes when a hotel is booked after a venue, Copia too goddamn tired to want to even think about getting on the road again until tomorrow, and he passes out hotel keycards with a tired expression, reminding his Ghouls not to stay out too late or cause any irreparable damage.

He’s roomed with Rain, and he notices that Mountain is paired with Phantom.

It all comes together too easily, really. Far easier than it should have, but that just means that his plan has worked.

Half of the pack decides to go out for a few drinks before settling down, the rush of energy from the Ritual still singing in their blood, but Phantom—who normally joins them—claims he has a headache and says he’s going to turn in for the night. Swiss doesn’t believe it for a moment.

It’s as easy as anything to get Mountain to trade key cards with him, especially as he claims he’s going to head back to the hotel early, and wants to check on Phantom.

“Going to finally give him what he’s been asking for?” Mountain asks behind the lip of his beer bottle, and Swiss has to laugh.

“Please, Mount, I don’t kiss and tell,” he teases, slipping the keycard into his pocket.

“That’s a lie,” Mountain comments back, but says nothing else, nodding his head as a goodbye before Swiss turns to leave the bar.

It’s thankfully a short cab ride back to the hotel, and Swiss gives the tired woman at the front desk a tooth full smile as he passes towards the elevator. He wonders if she’ll be the one who will be getting noise complaints later on.

Finally, without much fanfare, he’s right outside the hotel room. Even without being inside, he can just faintly smell desire sharp desire radiating through the door. He stands to enjoy it for one long moment, before slipping the card into the lock.

The click of the door opening makes him smirk, and he can’t help the anticipation. All the work is finally going to pay off.

And oh, pay off it does.

The heady scent hits Swiss the same time the visual does, and he can’t help but moan over a filthy chuckle as he looks at the little Bug, his cock already starting to perk up in his jeans.

Legs bent nearly up to his ears as he desperately tugs at his cock, tail wrapped around his own thigh and moans muffled by cute little fangs digging into his plush lips. The slick sounds of him frantically jacking himself off nearly makes Swiss laugh again, but he simply watches for a long moment, endlessly entertained by the fact that Phantom is so wrapped up in himself, that he hasn’t even heard Swiss yet.

“Headache, huh?” He finally says before closing the door and dropping his human glamour. A fleeting thought crosses his mind about leaving it open, but no, he’s not about to share what he worked so hard for to any human who might walk by.

Phantom’s eyes shoot open, and he gasps sharply before trying to scramble himself together, like he wasn’t just desperately jacking himself off. “Swiss!” He shouts, breathless, pretty doe eyes so wide and already watery.

Oh, Swiss is going to ruin him.

He approaches a few steps, tail swaying like a predator toying his prey but ends up watching the little Bug from the archway into the room proper, crossing his arms and propping himself against the wall, a knowing smirk that he couldn’t stop if he tried stretching his lips.

“Came to check on you, little Bug.....” he says softly. “Seems like you’re feeling better?”

Phantom has a blanket thrown haphazardly thrown over his crotch, and he’s blushing so hard he’s nearly glowing. It’s cute, the little display, and Swiss aches to pull the blanket away, but he refrains, stays in his place and looks.

The Quintessence Ghoul starts to babble, “I—w-well....I was.....you—the Ritual?”

“Pent up?” Swiss supplies with an arch of his brow.

Phantom’s head drops and he looks away, digging a fang into his plush lip again. Swiss wonders if he can make Phantom pierce it hard enough to make it bleed.

“Interesting.....” Swiss says, finally pushing himself off the wall, moving into the room. He stops looking directly at the lithe Ghoul, pretending to contemplate his movements as he reaches the chair in the corner. “And here I was, thinking that you were hurting....”

“I—“ Phantom hesitates, as Swiss pulls the chair to settle it in front of the bed where Phantom sits, still flabbergasted, trying to explain himself.

It’s so cute.

Swiss wants to see him cry.

“But you’re hurting in another way, aren’t you, Bug?” Swiss asks, settling himself down in the chair, feigning nonchalance, inspecting his fingernails as he settles with one knee draped over another. It’s tight against his half hard cock, but he’ll deal with it for the moment.

A whimper is what he gets in return, and another smile stretches its way across the Multi Ghoul’s lips.

So easy.

“It’s a shame you didn’t ask.....” his tone is light, then darkens as he flicks his eyes to Phantom, who’s mouth is dropped open slightly as he stares at Swiss, almost as if he can’t believe that the Multi Ghoul is here. He’s almost surprised that Phantom hasn’t tried to demand that he leave, but the tent in the blanket covering the little Ghoul’s lap tells Swiss everything. “But you don’t like to ask for attention, do you?”

Phantom’s mouth gapes and closes like a goldfish for a few moments, trying to decide what to say, maybe try to defend himself, but Swiss isn’t interested.

He goes in for the kill.

He moves, leaning his elbows onto his knees and staring at Phantom with sharp red eyes. “You like to demand attention, don’t you, little Bug?” He growls. “You like to take it when it doesn’t belong to you....”

Phantom swallows sharply before whining again, working his hands into the blankets, squirming at the intense gaze. “I—“

“Stomping in front of fans when they’re trying to take pictures of me. When they’re trying to film me.” Swiss outright growls, and he doesn’t miss the way Phantom’s covered cock twitches at the words, even as he tries to come up with a silly, stupid excuse that Swiss doesn’t care about.

“I’m sorry Swiss, I just—“

“Well you have my attention now, Bug,” Swiss interrupts, before settling against the back of the chair again, his arms draped over the armrests. “What are you going to do with it?”

Phantom gapes at him again, like he honestly can’t believe what’s happening, before he licks his already slick lips, enough that it makes Swiss groan a little under his breath. Phantom chirps at the sound, and Swiss chuffs lowly back.

“Color, Bug.” Swiss says, and that seems to knock Phantom out of his surprised headspace.

“Green,” he says softly, still kneading nervously at the sheets.

Swiss quirks a brow. “Bug....”

“Green, Sir....” Phantom replies, his lithe little chest huffing with pants.

Eyeing him, Swiss says. “You tell me if that changes.”

“Yes, Sir.” Without any hesitation.

Swiss smiles. “Good boy.”

The whimper he gets in return makes the smile widen.

“Show me, Bug......let me see how desperate I got your cock.”

Phantom whines and scrambles to follow directions, and Swiss relaxes further into the chair, unabashedly reaching to knead at his cock through his jeans. What an easy thing Phantom is.

When said Ghoul pulls the blanket back and reveals his still twitching, wet cock, Swiss licks at his lips before cooing. “Aw, look at that.....so hard aren’t you?”

“So hard, Sir....” Phantom replies, his hands still shaking at his sides. His tail has wrapped around his middle, his torso lithe enough that he can wrap around it almost twice.

Swiss bets he could wrap his hands around it and almost have his fingers touch.

Oh, but what a good boy he is for not touching himself before Swiss says he can. He tells Phantom so, and it gets him a keening little moan.

“Sw-Swiss...”

“I know, Bug,” Swiss can’t help the condescension out of his tone. The wanting, pathetic little whines he’s plucking out of the Quintessence Ghoul are oh so yummy, and he wants to hear more.

“You just can’t help but be a slave to your cock, can you? So brainless and horny aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” replies Phantom dumbly after another thick swallow, and Swiss doesn’t reprimand him for the lack of ‘Sir’ due to how blissed out he already looks just by Swiss’ words alone.

So damn easy. What a power trip.

“Why don’t you show me how you were touching that little dick before I caught you?” Swiss says easily, already knowing the Quintessence Ghoul will do just as he asks.

Phantom shudders, but flashes those doe eyes and pouts those plump little lips at him as he shifts back against the pillows and the headboard, throwing his knees up so easily and smoothly it makes Swiss’ cock throb even as phantom mutters, “Not little...”

“Oh?” Swiss archs a brow. “I think it is....bet I could cover the whole thing with just one of my hands....”

And that gets the little Bug to start jerking again, whining and screwing his eyes shut at the slick sounds that start up again so very quickly. Swiss chuckles, and it makes Phantom squirm and moan, his tail shifting to wrap around his own thigh.

Swiss can’t help but be cruel. “Eyes on me, Bug.....you wanted my attention and if you squander it now I’ll fucking get up and leave....”

“No!” Phantom gasps, eyes shooting open. Swiss groans, his cock kicking as the smaller Ghoul opens his legs wider, pulls them back even more so Swiss can really see how he’s stripping his cock, hurtling himself towards an orgasm that the Multi Ghoul isn’t so sure that he wants to happen just yet. He’s practically folded himself in half now, and damn does Swiss want to tease the needy little thing.

“Look at yourself.....look how needy you are and how wet you’re making yourself.....so pathetic....” He sneers. “You could have had my hand or my mouth on your cock if you would have just asked... but now we’re here. Watch as you jerk yourself stupid, Phantom.”

Little Bug follows the order beautifully, tilting his head down to watch himself jerk, taking a moment every few strokes to smear more of the pre-cum that’s blurting out of his slit and smear it down his shaft for a smoother glide, little grunts and moans coming unbidden from his throat, like he can’t even help it.

He’s so pathetic and needy. It’s cute.

Swiss watches, rapt, as Phantom tugs himself closer and closer to orgasm, and when the little Ghoul’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, Swiss finally notices something that he can’t help but voice as his own cock spills pre-cum into his underwear and sends a shiver down his spine.

“Sathanas....looks like you’re flexible enough to suck your own cock if you wanted...”

It was meant to tease, meant to send Phantom closer and closer to the edge he’s so desperately gunning for, but Swiss’ eyes widen, caught off guard for the first time tonight when Phantom shifts, nearly locking his knees behind his ears and leaning down to lick filthy and wet over his cock slit, whining sharply before fluttering his eyes shut and bending himself just that little bit more to take the leaking head of his cock into his mouth.

“Fuck~” Swiss swears sharply, unable to stop himself from kneading hard at his clothed cock as he watches Phantom give himself a firm suck, sure by now that a wet spot is forming on the denim, but he’s not going to take his eyes off of Phantom to check, not in a million years.

The little Ghoul moans at the feeling of his own mouth, and while he doesn’t seem to be able to get more than the head into it, that doesn’t stop him from sucking and licking at it like the worlds most pornographic lollipop, keening and moaning and dripping saliva and pre-cum all over himself. One of his hands still tugs freely at the rest of his cock, and Swiss feels like his head is going to explode.

Fucking hell, the surprises his little Bug has.

As wonderful and mind-numbingly erotic the sight of Phantom desperately sucking at his own cock is, the noises coming out of the Quintessence Ghoul’s mouth are telling, and Swiss still doesn’t want to let him cum just yet, so despite himself, he barks out, “That’s enough, Phantom.”

He groans when Phantom doesn’t stop, too much into himself and his singleminded quest for cumming down his own throat.

But he can’t have that. So Swiss decides to take matters into his own hands. He stands suddenly, and kneels onto the bed, reaching to quickly thread his fingers into Phantom’s soft hair, pulling him back with a sharp movement. He growls at the little Ghoul’s whine at dislodging him so close to his orgasm, but it turns into a cruel smirk as Phantom blinks up at him with oh so wet eyes, lips swollen and face flushed dark from the exertion and pleasure. “Such a dirty little pathetic slut,” he taunts, gripping Phantom’s hair tighter in his fist just to see him wince and hear him whine, the sound high and feminine and absolutely delicious. “When the Hell did I say you could orgasm....?”

It seems to take a few moments for Phantom to register what he’s said, and Swiss revels isn’t he fact that he’s gotten the little Bug so deep so quickly. “B-but....” Phantom’s lip wobbles, and Swiss groans, the tears that have gathered at the edges of Phantom’s eyes finally streaming down his cheeks.

Swiss has a wonderfully terrible idea then, and he smiles, all fang as he reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone.

“Do it again Bug,” he croons, aiming the phone at the little Ghoul. “And I’ll make sure that everyone sees.”

Phantom can’t disobey if he tried.

#ghost bc #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #swiss/phantom #swiss/aeon #swiss army ghoul #swiss ghoul #phantom ghoul #aeon ghoul #swiss x phantom #swiss x aeon #phantom x Swiss #aeon x Swiss #ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #my writing

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unexpectedstormy · 13 days

Text

Why Podfics are Important

A big part of why I like podfics so much is because to me it is an accessibility feature. There are times when I cannot look at a screen due to light sensitivity or I don't have spoons/brainpower to interact on Tumblr or or I'm too unfocused to read a fic but I still wanna be distracted and think about blorbos and podfics are perfect for that.

The problem is that there aren't very many of them.

When I first discovered them, I filtered for LU fics with no smut or MCD and there were only like 27 podfics. I listened to all of them in about 2 days. I was disappointed there weren't more, but the ones that were there were all excellent. So I asked myself why not try my hand at making them?

It took me about a week to figure out how to record audio, edit, where and how to host it, and how to link to AO3; and now that I know how to do it, I can record and post a fic in a couple of hours. You don't get alot of attention or fanfare for doing it--podfics are nowhere near as popular as ordinary fics, but it's a public service and its just plain fun. Actually its addicting. Every time I finish recording and posting a podfic my brain is like a sled dog pulling on a rope begging "More! Do more podfics!"

In an ideal world, I think every fic should have a podfic version. It would benefit everyone, not just disabled people. Not only are they good for low spoons time, they're also great for ordinary times when you're doing chores or riding the bus or something and you want something to listen to, just like you would listen to any other podcast. Not to mention the fact that by making podfics, you get to learn the valuable modern skill of recording audio and posting it.

I have a motto: "Try anything once," meaning, I'm game to try out learning any new thing and there's no commitment to do it long term or even do it more than that one time. Its just fun to learn and experiment. I've been trying a new thing every year for the past several years and have had fun gaining a bunch of oddball jack-of-all-trades skills like slacklining, longboarding, watercolor, digital art, and podfics.

I'd like to encourage everyone to try making a podfic and seeing how they like it (it does take a couple of podfics to really get your feet under you though). If you like it, or if you're willing and able to, making more podfics would be an invaluable service to provide for the fandom. And if you can't make podfics for whatever reason, why not just listen to a podfic and drop a kudos or comment or something to let the person doing them know that you appreciate it?

If anyone wants to know how to podfic, please feel free to reach out to me and I'll do what I can to help. Also, I'll be putting together a "how to make a podfic" post in the near future so keep an eye out for that.

#reposting this because something went wrong with the last time I posted it #podfic #fanfiction #linked universe

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aheathen-conceivably · 4 months

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Did someone say Simblr Gratitude Day? ✨

Y’all will have to forgive me for not having more prepared to show the immense gratitude I have for y’all today (a special thank you to @armoricaroyalty for the idea!) so please instead have a characteristic rant because I love you all and I can’t let that go without being said!

There’s no possible way for me to tag everyone I am grateful for because there is/has been so many of you who have helped and inspired me along the way. Also there’s so many of you who make the community what it is by reading or sharing, so I want to thank all of you beyond just those mutuals and content creators I appreciate. So thank you…

❤️ To all my Fellow Simblrs both big and small:

I know how utterly strange this little hobby can be. It can suck you in and spit you back out, take our attention for weeks and months at a time and then burn you out. It can be immensely fulfilling, creatively inspiring, and then exhausting. Thank you all for continuing to post here every day, for making this community a vibrant and lively space for those who have been here for years, the teenage simblrs just finding their sea legs, and for the new people stumbling into the community every day. Thank you for inspiring me and welcoming me and making me want to come back every day!

❤️ To my fellow Decades and Historical simmers:

What a strange and serendipitous moment when I fell into this little niche world. I would never have thought there were so many of us who find so much joy in combining these two hobbies and interests, so to see you all out here thriving and creating was a wonderful moment. Thank you to CC creators/mod makers/recolorers/builders/pose makers/and anyone else who makes this possible at all. Without y’all how could we transform this game into the historical wonderland we’ve come to love?

Another huge thank you to anyone who’s ever posted their decades challenge or historical content, to those doing gameplay or those who fell down the challenge to storytelling pipeline (hello it’s me) or those who share their edits and lookbooks. Y’all have all inspired me more than y’all can know.

❤️ To my mutuals and simblr besties:

The moment we utter ~mutuals~ on this site y’all know exactly what I mean. Like a little telekinetic bond that when I see your content or you see mine you know that’s exactly why we’re here, and I’ll support you every damn time. Thank you to those in the notes, those I speak to regularly, and those who I may not know as well; y’all are all the lifeblood of my dash and I have found many little icons I know immediately. Even if I don’t see you for a while you’re still in my mind and I’m so grateful for that.

A special above and beyond shoutout to those who have helped make the story happen at all. Those who have patiently walked me through technical skills and editing techniques and those who read my rough drafts and give me absolutely invaluable feedback. And of course those who finally pulled me down the reshade rabbit hole despite my unbecoming stubbornness. Y’all know who y’all are and seriously, would I even still be writing without y’all?

❤️ To anyone who has ever read, engaged with, or enjoyed my story:

I just…I cannot even possibly fathom how to show my gratitude to y’all. I never intended for my small little hobby to completely take over my brain, or for my decades challenge to become a story to this degree. But little by little it has done so, and I have y’all to thank for that. To those in the community who found me when I was a baby simblr and reblogged me, or those who encouraged me when getting more than 10 notes a post was an exciting feat. To anyone who has enjoyed a single picture or a single post, to the casual readers, and those who have jumped aboard along the way.

I am grateful for every interaction. Every single like and comment and reblog brings joy to my day and inspiration to continue creating. But a very special thank you to those I see in my notes every story post, who have been here from the beginning or gone back to read the story despite having literally hundreds of posts to go through. To those that know my characters and take the time to comment on them with emotion and investment. For all the joy this community brings me, those are the moments when I’m really stunned at my presence here and this little space you’ve all helped me create, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you all ❤️

#at this point I am incapable of writing anything other than a wall of text #so another thank you to those who read through these ramblings 😅#love ya simblr forever and always #simblr gratitude day

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al-andrice · 1 year

Text

Future Days

Spoilers for TLOU PART I & II

Series: Hymn for the Weekend

Joel Miller x Female Reader

(Edited on 12/06/23)

Abstract: Joel and Ellie settle into Jackson with the help from you - a great shot, smart and reliable (according to Maria).

Contents: Reader has she/her pronouns, former counsellor, second person, Ellie's got jokes, maybe a little teeny bit of pining but we like a friends to lovers in this household, Joel smiles!

Rating: Teen

WC: 1.6K

Listen to Future Days by Joel Miller

Author's notes: Here I am, back with the writing bug. It's been a long time since I've wanted to write something. As TLOU has dominated my whole life with the games that I've loved for years and the HBO series, it's no surprise that I have a whole fantasy in my head that I needed to write fanfiction about.

Hope you guys enjoy reading this! Please do comment and reblog, anything that helps to get this around.

Troy singing Future Days always gets me in the feels. If Pedro ends up singing...I am DONE (unless he sings La Bamba LMAO). Or if Bella sings Take On Me...TEARS. I love listening to the Part II covers.

not to be thirsty on here, but praise naughty dog for making joel miller so...mmmm yeah. i wanna marry this man. even pedro says he's hot

GIF by vera-kozhemiakina

Everything I've found here, I've not found by myself.

Winter was coming which meant heavy snow and slower starts to days with the later sunrise and the numbing morning air. Jackson had started preparations for it - checking that its residents had everything to keep warm in their homes, protecting the allotments and making any repairs to maintain buildings.

Sweeping through the long patrol routes was the biggest task. Maria had to be sure that the people assigned to them could handle potential Infected and any people they may meet on the way. Past encounters have mostly gone smoothly, with trading links made between communities, like Jackson, and also helping any travellers who just needed a good night of sleep and food in their system, setting off the next morning. This was something that the residents of Jackson were incredibly grateful for - to be able to say that they were safe and had warm beds to greet every night, as well as being able to provide aid and supplies to people who come through was a privilege.

The few not-so-pleasant meetings with bandits ended with minor injuries and increased security at the power plant as a precaution.

Joel and Ellie settled in as well as they could after the hell of a journey they completed. You lived a road away from their new home, so you had seen them integrate into the community and get used to living instead of surviving.

Maria was the one responsible for your first interaction with Joel, who was getting to know the different patrol routes on the map. "She's one of our best. A great shot, smart, reliable. Expect to be on patrol with her if Tommy isn't around. She's a busy woman in this town."

"Wow." You leaned forward onto the desk of her office with your hands. "A great shot, smart and reliable? You flatter me, Maria," you joked with a smirk on your face.

That was the first time you had seen Joel Miller smile. Even if it may have been a small one.

In the few months since the older Miller brother and the 14 year-old had arrived, you've had the opportunity to introduce (and re-introduce to the man) the different parts of the town to them.

"Woah, you have art classes? FEDRA school was never like this." Ellie wandered around the empty classroom that was decorated with paintings and drawings made by the young Jackson residents. Her fingers trailed along the row of paintbrushes and stained palettes.

"If you want, we can enrol you in some of the classes? I know you said that you wanted to take up patrols, but you're still young. We've even got Spanish. Try bilingualism to stimulate that brain of yours," you suggested.

You would never forget the way she looked up to you with widened eyes and an excited smile. "Really?" You nodded. "Didn't you say you teach a class, too? Maybe I could join yours as well?"

You sat on a desk with a warmed heart for the kid who wanted to go to school and learn. "I teach some psychology. Not that it means anything now, but there was blood, sweat and tears working for my PhD and training, so I might as well put it to good use to fill in the time and help anyone who wants it."

"What's a PhD?" Ellie asked in confusion.

You chuckled to yourself and started to explain. "It's basically a way to get people to call you Doctor."

Then, Ellie took her chance.

"Why is a doctor always calm?" She asked with her legs swinging back and forth under the table she was sitting on.

You shrugged.

A smirk found its way to her lips. "Because they have a lot of patients."

Joel was standing a few feet away from the door, taking in the sounds of laughter before calling out for the jokester.

Your house was one of the smaller ones on your road; just enough for one person. I'm just lucky to even have a home. Only a short walk away from Joel and Ellie's, you hugged a small pile of books to your chest and with a bag hung from your shoulder, dressed in a well-worn pair of jeans and a thick jumper.

The house came into view at the end of the street. It was not unusual to find yourself walking up the steps to their front door to bring Ellie some things that you thought she might like.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked. Footsteps thumped through the door, the locks were undone and the man of the house greeted you. "Hey." He widened the opening as an invite into the home. "Lookin' for Ellie, Santa Claus?" He eyed the the books and the bag you were holding.

"I am, yes." You stepped inside and pushed the door closed with your shoulder. "As you can see, she's made it onto the nice list and is owed a lot of presents." He started to lead you through the hallway and the kitchen where the backdoor led to the garden where Ellie lived in her converted garage.

"Know anything 'bout me being on that list?" He sent a teasing grin over his shoulder and stepped out into the grassy area.

(That was a loaded question.)

"Oh, Joel Miller, wouldn't you like to know? Too impatient to wait for December, are we?" An eyebrow raised at him.

"No, I'm patient." Just as he was about to call Ellie's name, he faced you. "When I need to be."

"Woah!" Ellie inspected the orange glowing lamp in her hands. "It looks kind of like a rocket."

"Yeah, that's why I brought it over. Thought you'd like it," you said while she made rocket launching sounds and waved it around. "And to go with your journey to the stars," you placed the books on her coffee table, "these are photos from the NASA Archive."

Her eyes widened and she instantly started to flick through the pages without another word except 'look' when she tilted the pages towards you, completely mesmerised by what had been discovered.

Joel, who was sitting on the couch beside you, hadn't said anything since you showed her the lava lamp. Looking over your shoulder, you glanced at him. Shoulders and eyebrows relaxed, no tension shown.

He looked...content, as if he just had a day off work and stayed at home.

Then, his eyes met yours. A small smile of gratitude was sent to you before you both went back to watching Ellie get excited at all her new gifts.

This is what I saved her for.

When you and Joel finally left Ellie's garage, the sun was setting which left a warm filter on everything within its reach. She was left marvelling over her newly acquired 'space hub' as she called it - a new poster of Neil Armstrong on her wall, a collection of books that were not in the FEDRA school library and an 'alien spaceship' as a lamp.

"Thank you for doing this for her." His hands were stuffed in his pockets while the two of you stood by the gate that you would eventually walk out of to go home. "You didn't have to. Here, she gets to be a kid an’-"

"I know, and I wanted to." Letting out an exhale, you decided to just lay everything out. "Look, Ellie's so young and has been through so much shit. Definitely more than what we experienced her age. Death and survivor's guilt come by so easily now, and I do what I can to help people cope with it whenever they ask." Joel dipped his head down and leaned his elbow on the wooden fence. "But the children here don't have to face those things because we keep them safe and we have a responsibility to teach them how to be. I like her happy and I also like seeing you happy for her, Joel."

The next thing he knew, he felt your hand's light squeeze on his forearm. "It's a good look on you." Just before you pulled back, he patted and laid his hand on yours (maybe for a second longer than he intended), squeezing back.

"Thank you."

"You say that a lot. Might have to start collecting money from you." He laughed and shook his head.

"Tell me how much and I'll pay it. 'M feeling generous today," he went on. A few seconds of silence fell. "I don't want to keep you out for too long. I'm sure you want to get home soon." He stood up, preparing to unlock the gate for you.

"Yeah." Bringing down the bag from your shoulder, you reached to the bottom and extended the package to him. "I actually did get you something, though." He took it, unwrapping the paper. Guitar strings. "My attic had a load of junk when I moved in and there was some music stuff there, too. I remember Tommy telling me stories of him and his big brother going to see live music-"

"And we'd mess around on the guitars at the end of the shows," he finished. "I haven't touched one since then." His eyes stayed locked on the bag of strings between his fingers.

"I'm pretty sure they have a few in the old music shop." Taking small steps to the gate, Joel followed. "I put all the treasure from my attic in the back room. Go raid it sometime."

"I will," he replied. You both stopped and you turned to him, with a soft grin. "Again, thank you."

You sighed at that. "You're welcome." A few steps out, you faced him. "Again."

Quick shots of his breath lightly hit your face and you looked up at him. "Sun’s setting now, Joel, so I think that’s my cue to get home.”

He nodded. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow, Joel.”

Unknown to you and the man, who stayed by the gate until you turned the corner, there was a curious set of eyes peeking through the curtains of their little converted garage.

A/N: what did you guys think of this?? tell me if there are any mistakes like spelling, grammar, switching tenses bc i didn't read it properly, etc.

this is the lava lamp that was gifted to Ellie if you just zoom in...

and he got guitar strings from santa!!!! since joel will eventually make his own gee-tars, he can have some strings that may hold sentimental value later.

i am planning to write more on this timeline, but work is piling. it'll be a while before i can really build on hymn for the weekend

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stephobrien · 2 months

Note

I’m coming from my vent account because I don’t want to get found out as a Jew on my main. Please, please stop posting in the antisemitism tag. You’re clogging it up and taking away a safe space for Jews by trying to delegitimise Jew hatred. Now, I don’t know if you’re good faith or not, but I’m leaning on no. You keep on going onto posts about Jew hatred from Jews, saying what boils down to ‘wow! I’ve learned so much from this!’ and then you go back to posting inflammatory things again. I mean, you posted something from Caitlin Johnstone, I can’t believe that you give a single shit about Jews (or Ukrainians) after that

As for your most recent post on how poor you just can’t believe lying Jews when we talk about discrimination because you’re scared we’re deceiving you, you put in a comment ‘If I'd seen said Arab nations' governments massacring thousands of civilians, while painting every single criticism of said massacre as Islamophobic, yes, I would have’. This is… I don’t even know how to tackle this, do you genuinely not know all of the horrific shit so many of the Arab states have done? Qatar is known as one of the biggest countries of modern slavery. The Houthis in Yemen sex traffic Ethiopian women, and also reintroduced slavery into Yemen. Just look at the atrocities so many of these countries have committed against Shia Muslims! Is your brain mush, how can you say this when there is so, so much evidence of the horrors that these nations have committed?! And if you think these states graciously accept criticism of those horrors… you’re being ignorant on purpose. And it’s still not okay to say that you don’t believe an Arab when they talk about anti Arab racism that they’ve experienced, I think we can at least agree on that. So why’s it not the same for Jews?

For a more personal example to Jews, look up the Mizrachi expulsion. The Arab states violently expelled almost a million Jews from their countries ‘because Israel’, which they only care about because it ruined their dream of pan Arabism, not because of any solidarity with the Arabs in the mandate btw. My family was lucky, we came from Iran, which is not Arab, so the violence was coming from the people rather than the state itself. But I’ve had to heard accounts from people talking about how they watched their family get shot in the head while their homes were repossessed for no reason other than the fact they were Jews. Is that bad enough for you? Does it even make a dent in your image of the Arab states? Or is it okay because it happened to Jews?

I know I sound very angry in this, and that’s because I am very angry. And that anger is completely justified! My life, and the lives of almost every Jew on this disgusting website, have been beyond horrible for five months. The number of times I’ve had to read about a new Jew hating shooting or stabbing in the world is too many too count. And then, non Jews like you decide to play the ‘oops, I just caaaan’t believe those Jews about Jew hatred because they could be zionists!’ (Which are around eighty percent of the Jewish population, but I don’t think you’re ready for that conversation yet, it’s reserved for people who actually want to learn). All of us are so unimaginably angry. All of us are at our fucking breaking point, or we’ve completely snapped already! The people you have interacted with have been some of the kindest, most levelheaded people here, but you’d better not get used to it, because we’re all tired of this bullshit

Thank you for taking the time to call me out. Between you and the several other people who contacted me about this, I’ve come to realize that that post was a terrible mistake.

It was meant to be a vent post about people who deliberately blur the lines around what’s actually antisemitism, and about my lack of certainty about my own ability to independently assess the less obvious instances of that (which is clearly still very lacking, as the response to that post made clear to me).

But it apparently caught a lot of innocent Jews in the crossfire, making them feel unsafe, unheard, and delegitimized. That wasn’t the intention, but it was clearly the effect. I screwed up badly, and I’m sorry.

I admittedly don’t know all the details about the horrific shit Arab nations have done. I was aware of Iraq’s government mass murdering protesters, and Saudi Arabia’s horrifically sexist laws, but some of the info you shared in this post is stuff I hadn’t previously heard of.

As for why I mentioned false accusations of antisemitism specifically, it’s because that’s the one I’ve seen several times a day lately, sometimes in the form of stuff like telling people who protest child murder that “You just don’t like it when Jews defend themselves.”

That said, you and the other people who responded have made it clear to me that that focus was based on an overly narrow view on my part. I’ve been more active in pro-Palestine circles than in circles that focus on the other situations you mentioned, so naturally that resulted in me seeing more antisemitism accusations than accusations focused on groups that aren’t directly involved in that conflict. So that resulted in a less than balanced viewpoint.

While my vent post was meant to be about one specific phenomenon I’d personally seen a lot of, the fact that I didn’t mention similar behavior on the part of groups I hadn’t personally seen as much of that behavior from did result in it being unjustly targeted, in a way I didn’t intend but should’ve assessed better.

What happened to you and other Jews at the hands of Arab nations (and pretty much every nation) was absolutely not okay. The effect my post had on you and other Jews who saw it was not okay. The treatment you’ve endured on Tumblr is not okay. And I’m sorry for the pain I caused you.

You have every right to be angry at me. I won’t ask you to forgive me or trust me, because I know I earned your anger with that poorly thought out post. I shouldn’t have made my own insecurities and frustrations other people’s problem like that. I screwed up badly, and I’m sorry.

#long post #I can be a dumbass sometimes #but I'm woman enough to admit when I screwed up #and this time I definitely did

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felixsmeshglove · 11 months

Note

Hii I'm a baby stay who biases Seungmin and I've been on a total kick of reading everything with him lol

So could I please request

Seungmin (maknae line)

Gn!reader

Prompt: academic rivals to lovers? Prefer straight fluff with just like friendly competition/teasing but hurt/comfort could work too!

I'm a uni student and the only thing that is saving me is imaging stray kids at university with me lol

Thank you so much lovely :)<3

ooo thank you so much for requesting! i have been a little nervous to write for non idol!au type SKZ so bear with me, seungmin honestly rots my brain out so much so i get your obsession!

~~~~~

finals week - kim seungmin x reader

writers note ; for this fic seungmin and you are both in high school, you share a photography class and you both are just trying to get your portfolios done for finals week but seungmin just has to make it as much of pain as possible. not the most confident in this but feedback is welcomed

pairing ; college!kim seungmin x gn!reader

wc ; 0.9k

content warning ; seungmin’s an asshole™️ but in a cute way, angst if you squint, mostly just fluff, sorta enemies to lovers? more like playful rival to lovers

~~~~~~~~~~

your feelings for kim seungmin were… complicated. he truly frustrated you to no end, and what made it even worse was just how pretty he always looked. you always chose to put the thought out of your mind though. he was manageable enough last year when in normal classes but this year for some reason you’d chosen photography in an attempt to fill in some elective courses.

much to your chagrin, you were met with the same big goofy shit-eating grin and cocky gaze peering at you as you’d entered the room. you’d even requested to change classes but by the time you had, it was too late to switch.

you were stuck with kim seungmin.

he always seemed so critical of your work every time, peering over to your computer as he watched you work on your various assignments.

“why did you retouch that, it looked just fine.”

“i can still see the seam of where you removed that.”

“are you really going to crop it like that?”

never outright insults, but just blunt comments that always seemed to itch you just where he got on your nerves. no matter, though. all of the interactions you’d had with him before had prepared you for this.

throughout the semester though, he never seemed to die down in his efforts to tease and compare your works. that was another thing of his that he seemed to love doing- he loved to brag about how much better his photos were. how much better staged, better edited, better subject choices.

however, he finally wore down to your breaking point once finals week rolled around. your professor had requested a twenty photo portfolio. each student was required to have twentu unique photos, also unique from each other. this meant students could not both have photos from the same location. it was florals for this assignment, you thought you’d had it in the bag.

somehow though, seungmin always seemed to beat you to your various photo locations, forcing you to pick a new one. you’d attempted the floral nursery? he was there. the woods out back behind the school, even past where the trail ended? he was there too.

it was finally when you’d finally changed your photo locations for the seventh time.

it was almost comical as you arrived to the park, and there he stood in his big black puffer jacket and school-supplied professional camera.

“ahh y/n! i didn’t think you were going to try to get your photographs from here! i didn’t like the ones i got from before so i wanted to try again. only the best portfolio can get the best grade,” seungmin said with a cocky hand on his hip as he held the camera with his other hand.

what seungmin was expecting was just for you to scoff and roll your eyes, and attempt to go back to one of the previous locations. however, what he was not expecting was for you to start to tear up and start to ramble. he could barely even understand your rambling as you ran a hand through your hair in exasperation and started to shout at him.

what he didn’t know was just how stressed you were about finals. all of your finals, not just your photography finals had consumed your every hour. you had no time for friends, for any leisure time. you were stressed, exhausted and just wanted to finish your portfolio so you could take one more thing off your plate.

now it was your turn to be surprised, as seungmin cut you off mid-ramble. he hugged you close, firm and comforting arms wrapping around your back. as quickly as he hugged you though, he let you go.

seungmin’s expression was far from his usual cocky one, his plump lips formed into a slight frown as he gave you a look of worry.

“y/n i didn’t know how much it was actually bothering you, if you’d genuinely told me to stop i-… aish…” he tried to explain, but every explanation he tried just made him feel worse about it. the young puppy boy had not intended to actually make you truly upset let alone start to tear up, but it was no excuse for adding to your stress.

seungmin really did like you, that’s why he always seemed to pursue you. poking at your sides when he could, standing just behind your shoulder only to whisper in your ear or surprise you. he thought you were so cute and so expressive, but in hindsight seeing you so upset was never once his goal.

“do you want maybe help you? i know of a few more places no one else will try-“ seungmin offers. you sigh softly and look down, you can’t help but fall for his sweet change in demeanor. even if just a little.

“sure… that sounds nice…” you said softly. much to your surprise, he grabbed your hand gently. he led you along the park trail, taking lots of care to point out various areas you could take extra stunning photos, of course not without snapping a sneaky few of you.

after all, the photos to him were only stunning if they were of you. you didn’t need to know that yet though, but soon. he just had to change his approach to support you more and bring you up. after all, he never once wanted to see those tears in your eyes ever again.

maybe then, you could forgive him. maybe then he could ask you out.

little did he know, you forgave him the moment you saw his face drop when he saw you so upset.

#raeraeanswers #raeraewrites #raeraerequests #skz #stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz seungmin #stray kids seungmin #kim seungmin #seungmin x you #seungmin x reader #seungmin x y/n

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

Text

Pink Scarf - PART 15 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Mentions of Blood/Miscarriage/Medical trauma. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: The ANGST is real, y'all, and I'm not letting you off the hook after Part 14, sorry! This one was a beast to get out of my brain and the block was real for so many reasons, but we made it! It's here! Just so y'all know, this part is very much a bridge to all the crazy stuff that is to come. Reader is going through it and taking all of us with her. And I promise that more smut is coming (if you are only here for that, you horny animals! LOL). Please make sure you read the trigger warnings for this part because there are some sensitive topics that carry over from Part 14!

Thank you for being so patient while I got this out. Unexpected life crap/emotions/writer's block killed me on this one, and I SO appreciate you hanging in there with me! I rewrote the beginning of this part no less than four times, and FINALLY it clicked so here we are! Hooray! Thanks for helping me get through this!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

No!

The scream catches in your throat as you wake with a start, clutching your belly in a panic, your heart pounding against your ribcage so hard you feel like it is attempting to flee your chest. It takes a moment to figure out where you are. The night is warm and the sky is vast, and you are so far up you feel like you’re still dreaming.

“Baby, are you okay?” Elvis sits up straight in his lounge chair and turns to you. You can see, or better sense, the concern in his eyes, even in the darkness. This sends a shiver of recognition down your spine as your dream (or is it a memory?) flashes back to you in fragments. His eyes are older now, but the look remains the same, feels the same.

“I..I..I…” you stutter, shaking your head, unable to be coherent. No, you are not okay. Looking down, you half expect to see blood pooling between your legs, but thankfully there is none. You feel stuck in the haze between reality and dreams, or reality and what you are afraid might actually be the past.

You feel like screaming, but the impulse sticks in your throat, strangling you.

There was a reason, you think, that you never remembered that horrible night from nearly a decade ago. That you’d only been able to piece together snippets of what really happened from vague accounts of the people you’d been with that night. Elvis, in particular, had been purposefully scarce on details.

And you had been fine with that, truly not wanting to relive your trauma in any way, shape, or form. You’d even been grateful when the doctor told you it was normal for your mind to protect you from your near-death experience, that you might never remember the details of that night, and you determined the memory loss a blessing.

When you’d woken in the sterile hospital, drugged and dazed, the doctor told you’d had an ectopic pregnancy, that the baby—no, the “fertilized egg,” he’d said—had gotten stuck in your fallopian tube instead of your uterus. Unfortunately, your fallopian tube ruptured as the baby grew, and you had massive hemorrhaging, nearly dying in that skating rink. They were able to do surgery and stop the bleeding, but the baby was gone, and you were told it never would have come to term.

It was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. The grief and heartache, the disappointment, the feeling like an utter failure that your body had betrayed you in such a way. No, you were fine not remembering the details. You’d wanted to forget all about it. It didn’t matter to you that the specifics weren’t there, that not everyone’s stories lined up or made complete sense. You just wanted to push it all away.

But now…this dream felt so incredibly real, at least the parts that you remembered. As dreams do, it begins to fade, leaving only a few missing puzzle pieces that start to slot into place. Desperately, you try to wipe it all away again, but it’s too late. You are trying to convince yourself it had to be a dream, that the flashes you are remembering (or more so feeling), couldn’t have possibly happened that way. Except many of the parts you do remember are true and really happened: Elvis’ coming home, how you’d been so inexplicably enamored with him, and how he'd been so concerned he’d done something to hurt you—all of that was real.

But the night of the Rollerdome is where things get choppy. Those parts of the dream are still but snippets and feelings, overwhelming ones at that, and you have no memories to compare them to. Could it be that you lost the baby and almost died in Elvis’ arms after he’d come to your rescue when…when…something else happened? You can’t grasp why he’d needed to come to your rescue or what led up to being in his arms on the floor—it all slips through your fingers like water through a sieve.

God, but the pain you are remembering right now…it is all so much worse than you’d imagined.

It’s like you can sense it happening all over again rather than simply remembering, your belly cramping and lightheadedness threatening your vision. The frantic panic of fearing the worst pours through your veins now almost as it did then. I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe.

Then there was Elvis, pulling you into his lap; you can feel the terror he tried so unsuccessfully to hide, how obvious it was in the shaking stutter of his voice as he was doused in your blood. Then, it fades again, leaving you with the distinct feeling that something important (other than losing the baby) happened on the floor of that roller rink, but it disappears into the ether before you can lock on to it.

“…Oh, God, don’t—”

All of it is too much, all at once.

You are barely conscious of the tears pouring down your cheeks, and you awkwardly stagger up from the lounge chair you’d fallen asleep on while traveling to the moon and the stars. Just you and me and the moon and the stars…You feel dizzy from getting up too fast, from the physical memory of it all and you sway, but your body overrides it with the need to flee, as if you can outrun the past.

“Hey, hey, hey! Honey, what’s happenin’? What’s wrong?” Elvis asks, confused, leaping up, grabbing your shoulders.

You tear yourself from his grasp, staggering for the door that will lead you off the roof and hopefully out of this hell your mind has sought to drag you into. Nothing makes sense. You feel trapped in a daze of psychic and physical pain, none of which is helpful or wanted. All the peace from your moment with the moon and the stars has evaporated in an instant. You reach the door and yank it open.

“Y/n, stop! Wait just a damn minute!” he says firmly, pulling you back to him, his cold rings digging into your forearm like chains.

“Elvis, let me go! You have to let me go!” you shout, trying to break free, but his hold on you is fierce. “Oh, god, I can’t do this,” you gasp, barely able to look at him.

You know you are being unfair to him in your reaction, but you feel betrayed. Betrayed by your body, betrayed by your mind, and betrayed by him, all at once. All logic is lost.

“Can’t do what, honey? I don’t understand what you’re goin’ on about,” Elvis asks in confusion, and you can tell by the roughness in his tone that he is frustrated but is trying to be patient with you. You don’t blame him. You must seem out of your mind, having a breakdown every other minute you are with him.

A deep part of you feels absolutely mortified at the entire situation. You’d had no idea that it was Elvis who’d found you and that something so horribly personal and tragic, your worst failure, was laid out before him so vulnerably. And to think he never mentioned it again makes you both grateful and angry. How could an experience like that be brushed under the rug, like nothing ever happened?

Suddenly all the beautiful bouquets of flowers he sent from afar in those weeks after it happened start to make a bit more sense, as does the distance that started to grow between you two. You had originally blamed it solely on him having to leave right away for Florida (he hadn’t even been there when I’d woken up in the hospital), then it was all the recording he’d needed to get done, and then just like that, he was out in Hollywood filming again. And when he was home after that, you remembered, he did not seek you out to spend any one-on-one time together. Now you wonder if he’d been purposefully avoiding you, and that makes you feel both offended and embarrassed.

You close your eyes, willing yourself to breathe somehow while still feeling like the world is closing in on you. The way your heart beats so quickly drives you to escape, but Elvis’ grip is like a vise, anchoring you to the spot. Everything hurts—a long-buried grief radiating through you like a tidal wave that has been held back far too long. Its icy flood consumes you, tightening your chest, and the healed scar on your belly feels like it’s being ripped open.

Finally, you say with shaking breaths, “I had a terrible nightmare. Or…or a memory, I’m not quite sure which…It felt—feels—so real, like it’s happening all over again.”

“What? What’s happening all over again?” Elvis asks with concern in his azure eyes.

“The baby. The night I lost the baby…god, there was so much blood. It was awful,” you choke out. “Were you really there? Was it you who found me, who held onto me?” you ask frantically, looking up at him for answers, for confirmation.

If you weren’t so consumed by the overpowering feelings rolling over you, you might catch the fleeting panic that flashes across his face before that unreadable mask he’s so carefully crafted over the years takes its place.

“What do you remember?” he asks evenly, calmly.

“Well, I…it’s all jumbled, flashes really. Being at the rink. Then suddenly blinding, horrible pain,” you grimace, arms wrapping around your abdomen, “and then I’m in your arms, bleeding everywhere, and everything gets distant and cold and numb and terrifying. And then it all fades away,” you whisper, looking at him for any sign of the truth of it.

You almost think you see relief in his eyes (why?), but it’s only for a second and then is gone. “That’s what you remember?”

You nod.

He continues, “Yeah, it was like that. I found you, baby. I held you until help got there. It was…awful,” he shudders, those almond eyes of his clouding, the memory obviously affecting him in some way.

“I…almost died,” you breathe. Of course, you logically already knew this to be true, but that was before you remembered how it felt.

“Yes, you did,” Elvis replies solemnly, his eyes churning with emotion, bringing his thumb to your cheek to wipe away the tears you have forgotten are falling.

“It hurts. Here. Now. I don’t know why,” you whisper. Though the pain has ebbed some, it still is intense, overwhelming. Perhaps it is because something about it still feels unfinished and hidden from you, like you are still missing some integral piece. You look at him as though he can give you the relief you so desperately seek, and you can’t help but feel that he is keeping something from you based on the look in his eyes.

“I don’t know either, but you’re safe now,” Elvis says, pulling you into him. He thinks he is good at shielding his emotions from you, and maybe he used to be, but now, after everything that has happened this past week, you can sense the turmoil beneath the softness of his pretty features. It sets you on edge. Enough secrets have been kept from you at this point in your life to recognize the signs, even if only intuitively.

Standing there on the roof, he rocks you gently, and the burning pain in your abdomen begins to subside, but is quickly replaced by unease, a rock of it forming in the pit of your stomach. Something is amiss and you can’t put your finger on it, but it has something to do with that terrible night. And with Elvis.

You watch him carefully as he leads you to the stairs, gingerly, like you might shatter into a million pieces. While you indeed felt that way only moments ago, worry and curiosity wind their way through your mind as you grasp at pieces of quickly-fading memories, searching for something, anything, that supports this intuitive feeling in your gut. You do not find it.

However, as you come back into his darkened suite, you are reminded of the fact that you should not be here, that your husband must be wondering where you got off to. It is nearly dawn, and you aren’t in your room.

And, oh dear lord, all the yelling and the noise that you and Elvis made earlier must have been overheard. Suddenly you are nauseous.

“Elvis,” you say, clasping his forearm in a panic.

“What, baby?” he looks at you, confused, concerned.

“We made a lot of noise earlier…”

A slow, wide grin spreads over his face, but that almost predatory darkness from before lingers in his eyes. “Oh, honey, I sent everyone away after that little stunt of yours in the bathroom with Jack,” he laughs, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He still isn’t happy about that.

Relief washes over you at the fact that your escapades remained private, although, you don’t know exactly who “everyone” is because his Mafia members were never too far from their master.

The unease is back, snaking through your mind. “I have to get back,” you say, “Jack must be wondering where I am.”

“He’s likely in the casino, and you, my dear, went back to Sandy’s room and fell asleep there.” The lie falls off his tongue so easily, and while you are grateful for the excuse, this ability of his gives you pause as you find the remnants of your clothes strewn about the room.

Everything feels off. It’s as though your dream-memory has exposed something, but you cannot put your finger on what, only that something about Elvis is itching at you.

Something important.

Your mind and your insides are still reeling from everything this night has entailed and uncovered. You shakily dress and try to clean yourself up before having to face the world outside of Elvis’ private suite. Between the wildly intense sex and the jarring memories your sleep unlocked, you are exhausted and wonder how you can possibly process any of this and still present “things as usual” to the rest of the world.

Finally ready to head out the door, Elvis stops you. “Wait,” he says, spinning you back to him and pulling you close. His luscious lips brush yours so sweetly, with such yearning, as if he hasn’t had you in nearly every way already tonight. You melt into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palms, the warmth of him solid and comforting. You forget all your doubts and questions for the moment, unable to focus on anything but the pillowy softness of his gentle kisses and the way his strong hands cup your jaw and pull you to him. The man has you fully under his spell, and right now, as his tongue laps at yours, you do not care about anything else.

When he pulls back, you whine at the loss of him, and being him, he senses your need, and gives you a cheeky smirk.

“Later, darlin’, I promise,” he says, brushing your cheek. “I want you backstage again tonight, okay?” It’s less of a question and more a gentle command.

You nod, getting lost in those endless blues of his. Then you shake yourself off and head out the door, shutting it quietly behind you in your best effort to sneak out, your mind beginning to whirl again the moment you are out of his presence.

Lost in a fog of thoughts, your focus is on the ground, so when you collide with another body in the hallway, you nearly jump out of your skin, flying backwards and catching yourself before you tumble to the ground.

“Well, shit,” a familiar voice intones slowly and with surprise as you look up.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Red.

Your eyes go wide as saucers as your brain tries to scramble up an excuse of why you’d be coming out of Elvis’ suite at this hour looking as you do, and you quickly realize that there is no other plausible explanation. Your mouth opens then closes aimlessly. And the smirk on Red’s face makes it quite clear that he understands the situation fully.

Your heart thunders in your ribcage as you stand frozen like a dear in headlights. This is very, very bad. Jerry is one thing—you have no doubts of his loyalty to Elvis and keeping his secrets. But Red, he is quite a different situation. He is loyal to Elvis, to be sure, but for a price. And he is friends with Jack and has been since the beginning. You had never taken to Red—something about him always irked you, but it was never truly an issue before this moment.

“Y/n, y/n, y/n,” Red tsks at you, a nasty gleam in his eye, “Now what kind’a trouble you been gettin’ up to?” It’s obvious he knows exactly what kind.

You finally find your voice. “Red,” you say in what you hope is a warning but considerate tone, “I’m sure we can both just forget this ever happened. We wouldn’t want to upset anyone.” There’s no need to say their names, you both know who you mean. But your voice is too shaky and even you can’t take yourself seriously.

“Hmm, maybe,” Red ponders infuriatingly. You want to wipe that smug look right off his face.

You both stand there staring for a minute before you finally straighten yourself. You desperately want to turn and go back to Elvis to plead with him to drop Red off somewhere in the middle of the desert, but you know E needs his rest and this conversation can’t happen now. So instead, you square your shoulders, dread pooling in your stomach.

“Excuse me, I have to be going,” you say a little haughtily.

Red just laughs, “I bet you do, sweetheart.”

The endearment is anything but, coming out snide instead. A cold shiver runs down your spine. Finally, you break the tension and push past him, trying to keep your gait steady and unhurried, when all you want to do is to sprint to the door. But you make it without doing so, holding your breath the whole way. Once in the hall, you pound the elevator button multiple times as if that will make a difference in how fast it arrives. Then you feel like you can breathe again, once tucked safely and blissfully alone inside the car, heading down.

You don’t trust Red. Not one bit.

Panic rises up from your stomach, an acidic, bitter bile. This is exactly what you’ve been afraid of. You can feel the rickety foundation of your lies begin to sway under your feet. Not only are you feeling unmoored because of whatever your dream-memory unlocked about Elvis that you can’t pinpoint, but this hits you where it hurts. You reap what you sow, and you have been sowing quite a bit.

All the doubt that Elvis washed away with his gentle kisses mere minutes ago comes back to hit you full force. You must end this, you’ve got to, and you know, oh god, you know it will break your heart, but you cannot live anymore with this fear that is eating you from the inside out.

You were never meant to be this person. You are not special, certainly not special enough to warrant true love from Elvis Presley. You are just a housewife from Tennessee whose husband is a liar and a cheat. You were bored and now you’re in over your head.

Get out. Run, as far away and as fast as you can! your mind screams at you. God, you can’t breathe. For the second time today, you feel as though the air has been stolen from your lungs and like the ground is crumbling underneath your feet.

You are not strong enough for this. You were not made for lying and cheating and sneaking around. The weight of it all feels untenable as you knock on Sandy’s door.

When it opens, she doesn’t even say a word. One look at you and she’s yanking you inside.

“Red knows,” you eek out before she has a chance to say anything.

“Shit,” she curses and brings you to sit down on the bed. Then she steals away, and you hear water running.

You don’t realize you are shaking until she hands you the glass of water and it nearly spills all over your dress. You gulp it down, suddenly parched.

“What the hell happened last night?” she finally asks, after you’ve downed the glass of water and manage to take in some slow breaths. “You disappeared with Jack,” she says with a wrinkle of her nose, “and then Elvis looked like he was gonna lose his damn mind and kicked everyone out, but you were nowhere to be found. Then, Jerry called and told me that if anyone asked, you were with me all night.”

Setting the empty glass on the side table, you put your head in your hands. “Oh, Sandy, I feel like every decision I am making is insane. I don’t even recognize myself.”

Sandy just looks at you with expectation in her eyes, waiting for you to explain yourself.

“Elvis and I had quite an…argument about me being with Jack. And then we had crazy, hot sex, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before,” you sigh and Sandy grins like an idiot. “Then he took me up on the roof to look at the moon, and I fell asleep and had this horrible—well, it was a nightmare, but I think it was actually a memory I repressed. Oh, it was awful.”

Sandy looks at you quizzically. “A repressed memory? What do you mean?”

“Well, you know I can’t have kids…but way back in ’60, I had an ectopic pregnancy that resulted in me miscarrying and almost bleeding to death on the floor of the Rollerdome,” you ramble out, the water you just drank making you feel sick to your stomach.

“Oh my god, hon, that’s terrible,” she says pulling you in for a hug.

“Obviously, there are reasons I don’t talk about it, but also, I didn’t remember any of it. The doc said my brain did it to protect me from the trauma. Until this morning, I didn’t have any idea of what really happened. But now…I had these flashes, these glimpses, of the horrible pain. It was like living it all over again. Like I could feel it happening, San,” you say, clutching your stomach. “And what I didn’t realize was that Elvis was there for all of it. He was holding me and watching me die. There was blood everywhere.”

“Jesus,” Sandy breathes.

“And he never told me that he was there! How could we go through something like that together and him not say a damn word? And I swear something else happened, something he’s not telling me. I just feel like he’s hiding something about it, something I still can quite put my finger on,” you add rapidly.

“Well, honey, maybe it was traumatic for him, too. And I’m sure he didn’t want to make you relive all that,” Sandy says reasonably, patting your knee.

“That makes logical sense, San, I know it does, but it’s not just that, I’m telling you…I’ve been having these dreams, these memories, come up since being with him, things I am just now remembering. I don’t know,” you shake your head, frustrated. “It’s like a puzzle that is missing pieces and I just can’t quite put it all together.”

“How can I help, hon?” Sandy asks, her eyes comforting and kind.

“You’re doing it, babe, by just listening,” you say, squeezing her hand. “So, when I woke up from the dream, E seemed closed off about what I was telling him. I mean, he confirmed he was there, and that he’d held me, but I could just tell he wasn’t letting me in on everything. I feel like I’m noticing just how well and how easily he seems to bend the truth to suit his needs, and now I’m doing it, too,” you say, ashamed.

“And how does Red fit into all this?” she asks, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, god, yeah. I literally ran into him coming out of Elvis’ room. You should have seen the smug look on his face, San. I am so fucking screwed,” you sigh, flinging yourself back on the bed.

“Just tell Elvis! He won’t let Red get away with anything,” Sandy points out.

“I won’t see him until tonight, and by then, everyone might already know!” You look at Sandy frantically, pleadingly. “I feel crazy, and I hate all these stupid emotions! Jesus, who even am I anymore? Am I this woman who lies and cheats and hides things, not just from everyone, but from herself, too?”

Sandy looks at you, pausing as she seems to gather her thoughts. “Have you thought that maybe, just maybe, you are finally breaking free of everything that’s been holding you back? That you are just scared of all of this because it’s new and different and a risk? Before this last week, when was the last time you even took a risk, y/n? When was the last time you actually allowed yourself to really feel anything? Hon, you’ve spent so much time pushing down everything that you are and could be because of Jack and what you think you have to be for him. Maybe all this is just you becoming…you. Making decisions for yourself, ones that make you happy,” Sandy says with the love only she could give you.

You choke back a sob, “But who I am is an awful person, Sandy. I can’t seem to do anything right. I’m a liar and a cheat, which is everything I hate about Jack. I’m stuck in this dysfunctional marriage that I’m dependent on, and I was the reason we couldn’t build the big family we both wanted. I’m in love with someone I have no business being in love with, a man who is so utterly beyond my reach, who could never love me the way I need him to. I…God, I can’t even trust my memories!” Your utter heartbreak at everything aches through your chest, a painful reminder of everything you lack. Shaking with tears, you curl into a ball.

“Oh, hon,” Sandy says gently. She grabs your shoulders and hauls you up. “Look at me.”

You force yourself to meet her gaze, tears leaking from your eyes.

“You have to stop beating yourself up, baby. You’re not perfect, none of us are, but you are certainly not an awful person, not one little bit. You are full of love and kindness and talent, and you’ve put yourself last for so damn long that putting yourself first feels wrong to you,” she says so matter-of-factly that you have no choice but to listen.

“But I’ve made such a mess of things,” you whimper.

“Yeah, well, Jack pushed you to it, hon. And Elvis, well, he’s Elvis, and resisting that man takes a fortitude of will that not many women possess. What I’m saying is, this is not all on you.”

But you still feel like a powder keg about to explode, all your anguish and self-doubt clawing its way out of you, ripping you to shreds along the way.

“No, no, no. I have to…I have to end this,” you shake your head, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore. It feels like hell.”

Sandy purses her lips and gives you a look. “Did you even listen to a word I just said, hon? Let me make it clearer for you: You love Elvis. You don’t love Jack, not anymore. Leave the fucker and go be with the man you love, guilt free! Jack’s a big boy, he’ll survive.”

She makes it sound so easy, but it is anything but, at least to you, and you’re the one living it. “I can’t, Sandy, I can’t just do that! I’m dependent on Jack, who is dependent on Elvis. Without either of them, I have nothing. No job, no money, nothing. So tell me what happens when E gets tired of me, huh? Then I will literally be out on the street, Sandy!” you yell.

“God, you are just determined to be miserable, aren’t you? So determined that you are blind to the obvious!” Sandy shakes her head in frustration, then takes a deep, calming breath before lowering her voice to continue, “I can’t make you feel that you are enough—only you can do that, hon. But you are. You are enough for me, and certainly enough for Elvis.”

“You don’t know that, Sandy! Besides, Elvis is keeping shit from me, too! And I haven’t been enough for Jack for a long time!” you holler.

“Fuck Jack, y/n! Fuck him! He’s not worthy of you, not the other way around. You have to start to see that, hon!” she yells back, her cheeks reddening.

“None of that changes the situation! Red knows, and you and I both know he’s gonna make trouble, and it’s gonna all blow back on me. I’m trapped. I’m trapped in all of it, my marriage, this affair, the lies, this fucking insane world of Elvis’! I can’t…Fuck this shit,” you say, standing up, every nerve in your body flying on a horrible roller coaster than you can’t seem to get off of.

The only solution you can see is to remove yourself from the equation.

“I’m gonna say goodbye to Elvis, to Vegas, to all of it. I’m leaving on the first plane out of here tonight,” you say with finality, standing up. It makes you feel like you finally have some semblance of control over your life.

“Y/n. I don’t think this is the solution you think it is, hon—” Sandy starts.

“Look, I appreciate everything you are trying to do here, but I’m the one living this, not you, and it feels like hell right now. I need out. I’m going home,” you say harshly, swiping the tears off your face. It’s like you are pulling a steel door over all the turmoil you’ve been feeling, shutting out the pain so you can do what you should have done days ago.

You don’t want to relive the trauma of your miscarriage or remember all these fleeting and confusing moments with Elvis anymore. You don’t want to think about what Elvis is hiding from you, because you just know it’s something important and you can’t take another man you love lying to you. You don’t want to see Jack. You don’t want to completely upend everything you’ve known for the last fourteen years. You don’t want to be in love with a man who could never truly love you back the way you need him to. Because they never do.

And your heart aches in every way—for the baby you never met, for the man you used to love, and for the man you love now—it all radiates through you like poison, threatening to cripple you. You can’t stay like this. Anything to escape these horrible feelings, this seemingly unending wave of fear and uncertainty.

Sandy looks at you resigned and disapprovingly, shaking her head. “Fine. You do what you gotta do. But running away ain’t gonna solve anything.”

The hell it won’t.

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couchcandy · 6 months

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Psych x Community ??

I love psych and i love community so this vague concept of them existing in the same universe has been floating around in my head.

The key connecting factor being the references to Shawn/Britta’s similarly eclectic off-screen pasts. They're close in age so I'm like okay - it would totally be possible for them to have known eachother/dated/whatever at some point before.

psych aired from 2006 - 2014; Shawn born 1977

community aired from 2009 -2014; Britta born 1980

(Take these two quotes just as an example but it's referenced casually throughout both shows)

Britta’s Dad: I mean, every time we get too close, you run off. We sent you a birthday card to your apartment in New York, and the next week you’re setting fire to a Jamba Juice in San Jose.

Britta: How long is that gonna stick with me?

Britta’s Mom: Until arson is legal, sweetie.

Gus: Shawn, you’ve had fifty-seven jobs since we left high school.

Shawn: Yes I have. And they were all fun. But this one takes the cake.

Gus: Oh yeah? Better than the acupuncture clinic?

Shawn: I didn’t realize experience was necessary.

Gus: What about the summer you spent driving the weiner mobile?

Shawn: I did that for the hot dogs.

I think they fit somewhere in the ballpark of each other's types, both sluts(affectionate) and it makes sense for them to have crossed paths at some point during Britta's “anhercists” days.

So that establishes a link between the groups, but what would it be like if they interacted? Take the arbitrary scenario; Shawn and Gus have gotten themselves and by extension the SBPD into another whacky shenanigan somehow who cares how i'm not writing this

I imagine initially everyone in the study group has a more or less positive impression of Shawn because he's charming, (with the notable exception of…you got it! Jeff)

JEFF

In typical jeff fashion is immediately threatened by Shawn because he has to be the coolestmostlikeabledude™ in the room at all times while simultaneously has to act like he doesn't care so he's quietly seething and - hey what's this new dude doing here making all my friends laugh that's my job! i must now make it my life's mission to prove this guys a fraud and reclaim my status no matter how much a fool i make of myself in the process (a la: advanced documentary filmmaking)

BRITTA

Normal standard “hey old friend” situation, remember when we *insane thing involving multiple felonies and property destruction* haha anyway let me introduce you to my friends -

ANNIE

immediate skepticism that Shawn is able to sidestep pretty quickly by being charming/flirty (NOT in a gross way *hisses at the jeffannie shippers*) Her reaction being like when the dean “swaps bodies with jeff” or after abed’s don draper impression.

ABED

Knows Shawn isn't really psychic but goes along with it/doesn’t point out that Shawn’s hyper observant because he's invested in watching the psychic/cop show formula play out. He would! and I would too!

(quote from 5x03 Basic Intergluteal Numismatics):

Abed Nadir: [Pretending to read the crime scenes as a psychic] I see a man... using a social disorder as a procedural device. Wait, wait, wait, I see another man. Mildly autistic super detectives everywhere.

TROY

Obligatory: “you’re wrinkling my brain right now” and just general fascination, awe, and wonderment. Asks Shawn to tell him his future

SHIRLEY

Immediate judgment on Shawn's practices not being christian enough for her standards, but easily swayed to liking him once he picks up on something and comments on her ex husband being an idiot to lose her or something

PEIRCE

Does his peirce thing and tries to seem impressive and fails, something level five laser lotus blah blah - u get it thats enough on him

THE DEAN

Is facilitating the psych crew being there because it might bring in good press for greendale and he def does the hand on shoulder thing when he meets him you know the one - omg and totally is into Lassiter furrowed brows “im packing heat” Carlton, please. – lassie is Not Amused™

CHANG

This depends on what point in community canon this interaction takes place because season 1 chang would prob be normal(for him), but like season 5 Chang would do/say something so insane and so chang that i can't even come up with it

As for our psych guys, Gus points out how weird and fucked up and bizarre Greendale is meanwhile Shawn is LIVING for it - signs them up for the Dean’s PA announcements class, and “Gus! buddy! I hope you don't mind. I used your credit card to sign us up for The History of Ice Cream. Come on, it starts in 20 minutes ! :D” Gus: “Shawn! >:0”

Lassie would just nonstop point out all the health and safety violations- he doesn't want to be here- calls a lot of people hippies, generally grumpy demeanor and we love him for it.

Starburns terribly hits on Jules - gets rejected, proceeds to try and sell her drugs - gets arrested.

#community tv #psych tv #community x psych crossover #community nbc #psych usa #shawn spencer #burton gus guster #britta perry #the study group #crossover #community show #insane ramblings of a tv obsessed loser #if i had any ability to write entertaining comedic fiction i would #shawn solves the mystery and saves the day #he finds russell borchert years before Basic Sandwich

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royallyprincesslilly · 1 year

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Title: The Gods' Arena of Pleasure 1 {Two-Shot}

Superman/Clark Kent/Kal-El x Reader/OFC Bia Dess

Warning: Action, Fighting, Mild Cursing, Backstory Heavy

Words: 4.7k

Synopsis: The city is under yet another attack and guess who comes to the rescue--The Justice League. With their muscle and brawn, and Bia Dess’ brains this new threat doesn’t stand a chance.

Note: It has been a minute since I’ve written anything Superman/Clark Kent/Kal-El. Hell, anything Henry related. I may be rusty, so bear with me and accept my apologies beforehand. I think this is a one shot. At the time of writing this “note”, which is prior to actually writing the story, I am calling it a two shot. We’ll see. Hehehehehe! Also, I had the hardest time deciding what to call him. I am deadest on getting rid of Clark completely and going with Kal-El. Thoughts?

***ALSO, ROUND HERE SUPERMAN HAS AND WILL ALWAYS BE HENRY CAVILL UNLESS HE BECOMES IDRIS ELBA!!!! (I SAID WHAT I SAID)***

As always, thank you for reading. I appreciate it.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

"Again, Superman has just taken out the legs of this massive, massive alien that looks like some electronic tripod. This is unbelievable!”

From the television in the packed cafe, you and tens of other people gasped and gawked at the coverage. Superman took a bone shattering hit from the alien figure and was sent at least twenty feet back but in seconds he was zipping through the air right back at it to return the favor and then some. His laser eyes beamed through the creature making it roar out in evident pain. The ground violently shook, and everyone screamed and tried to hold on to something.

While those around you panicked, a thought occurred to you. For its scream to affect the Earth's surface, that told you that this could work to defeat it. Just then you watched the rest of the Justice League sans Aquaman rally around Superman each doing their part to take down the tripod adjacent creature.

Another ear-piercing scream shook the cafe and everyone around you exclaimed showing their fear at the current turn of events.

"Oh my god, look!"

Everyone pressed close to the window and watched as a second and third tripod creature fell from the sky, each confronting a different justice league member. The one before Diana immediately went into action shooting a laser beam at her. Every molecule in your body fired up craving action. You almost wanted to run out the door and join the fight and you didn’t know why.

Diana crossed her wrists in front of her blocking the beam with her Thymescarian crafted wrist guards. The beam ricocheted right back to the creature making an impact. Its deafening screech pierced the air and everyone including you covered your ears. The internal anguish you felt was powerful. It felt as if your eardrums vibrated threatening to rupture but the effects went deeper than that. Your internal organs quivered like a hand gripped each of them and squeezed. The effects were sudden but only lasted a moment for you but looking around at the others in the café you realized they were still being affected.

A thought hit you then, "They’re vulnerable to their own weapons," you rushed out. Without thinking, you hurried out of the cafe and into the streets. Pressing your phone to your ear, you called your assistant Vicara.

“Vee here.”

“Vee,” you began but was cut off by another screech from one of the creatures.

“Holy shit, tell me you’re not in town square right now!”

“I’m in town square right now.”

“Jesus Bia, get outta’ there. Aren’t you seeing this fight between Justice League and these creatures?”

“Vee take a breath and listen to me,” you shouted.

Across the street something crashed into the structure creating a large explosion sending rubble everywhere. You dived behind a car, covered your head and beared down hoping not to get crushed by the large pieces of rock that rained down.

“Hello? Hello? Bia!”

“I’m here. Listen, these things effect the Earth’s surface. The soundwaves they produce they use as a weapon. From what I’ve put together so far, they not only alter the tectonic plates under us, but internal organs.”

“No way! That’s so cool,” Vee marveled.

“Right! If they affect the surface like this what’s so say we can’t use that against them.”

“Bia, that’s genius.”

“I know, I thought of it.”

It wasn’t meant to sound egotistic at all, it was just a matter-of-fact statement. For some reason you felt you came up with many genius ideas in a short amount of time.

“If you were so much of a genius maybe you could figure out where you come from once and for all,” Vee teased.

“Low blow, Vee. I need you to run the scans and tests of this area and find me a Hail Mary.”

“The square has changed so much I need an arial,” Vee informed.

You looked around the barren and disheveled streets that no doubt would take weeks to clean up trying to find something you could use. In the distance closer to the fight than you liked, you saw a skyscraper that would be perfect.

“Of course,” you muttered unenthusiastically.

“What?”

You sighed, peeled off your blazer, examined the heels you wore trying to decide if they would hold up, then you began running right toward the fight like someone who had a death wish.

“I’ll get you the arial. Give me ten minutes.”

Just as Vee was telling you not to do what she thought you were doing, you ended the call and picked up the speed. Your entire being woke up feeding on the adrenaline coursing through you. While others would be apprehensive charging into a practical battlefield, you weren’t. A mechanical tentacle collided with the pavement a few feet in front of you creating a deep crater.

It was so close to you that you didn’t have enough time to stop. Quick calculations gave you another route, but it involved some athleticism. Without thinking, you jumped into the air then came down onto the hood of an abandoned car to bounce off of it and over the thinnest part of the tentacle. Once your feet were firmly back on the ground you took off again hoping to get to the building soon.

When you were close to the door a body fell from the sky ruining the entrance.

“Oh my god.”

Again, you didn’t think, you bolted to the body, climbing over rocks, beams and turned over cars. As you got to them, they sprang up sending a piece of cement into the air and several feet away.

“Son of a--,” Diana groaned.

“Are you okay?”

Her head snapped to you and your eyes locked. Diana cocked her head to the side as she took you in. Every time you saw her there was something familiar about her, something that didn’t feel as if she were a stranger.

“Bia? What’re you doing here?”

You took a few steps to her, “I need to get to the top of this building.”

“Why? This is no place for you. It’s dangerous.”

“I gathered but I may have a way to end these things.”

Diana’s attention zeroed in then. “How?”

You quickly explained your theory to her trying to keep the science bit of it minimal. You found she was intelligent enough to grasp the concepts but there were times you’d gotten deeply technical and lost her. When you finished, she looked impressed.

“And you came up with this in how long?”

“2 or 3 minutes,” you nonchalantly replied.

Diana scoffed then smiled. “Always impressive Bia. My people would love a quick, resourceful and seemingly fearless woman like you.”

“The Amazonians?”

She nodded. Saying the word gave you another sense of familiarity but you shook it off.

“What do you need from us?”

The creature screeched again. Both you and Diana cringed but didn’t cover your ears. She looked bothered but not to the core as the others in the café. Interesting you thought. “You’re already doing it. Oh, and one of its weaknesses is its own weapons. Use them against it.”

Diana nodded then took off in one mind boggling leap and bound that shot her into the sky.

“Wow.”

After climbing over the rest of the rubble, you ran into the building to the elevator banks. It probably wasn’t a good idea seeing that it was possible to get trapped but it would take way too long to run up possibly a hundred flights of stairs. You may not have known where you came from, but you knew for certain you were not Superman. Once in the elevator, you pressed the top floor and took the ride.

Halfway up, the building shook and the elevator stopped startling you.

“That’s not good.”

The elevator doors opened as the lights flickered. Wasting no time, you ran out in search of the stairwell, and it was then a call from Vee came in.

“Yeah Vee.”

“All tests and scans look optimal. Your theory will work.”

“Have you made the preparations with Terra?”

“All I need are those ariels.”

“I’m still working on that.”

You took off climbing up the stairs two at a time. You didn’t even focus on the number of them you climbed you just registered every turn. Round and round you went, when one flight was climbed you tackled the next in an endless loop. Before long, you’d zoned out completely. Though your muscles were beginning to burn and your back aching you continued. By the time you got to the top floor you were winded and almost ready to pass out.

Your heartrate returned to normal within a few moments. you then ran out onto the roof nearly falling on your ass when you realized just how closely the fight was happening to where you were. A fireball zoomed past your head arching over the building and colliding with the one beside you. Thus started a domino effect as the building went down on another and so on and on.

“Shit!”

It took a few moments for you to recover. When you did you scurried to the edge of the building and dug into your pocket pulling one of many devices you carried with you at all times. Tapping a sequenced code into its exterior brought the drone, Dot, that was no bigger than the length of your finger alive. Using your phone, you tapped into the drone and entered the coded instructions.

Dot purred indicating it had understood the command and was ready to comply. You raised your hand into the air and watched it take flight. With the implant in your behind your ear you were able to see what it saw. It enabled you to work faster as you got data instantaneously. As you took the ride with Dot you kept close eye on your wristwatch that relayed the date readings.

Soon you had an aerial view of the fight. Superman shot rays out his eyes which only made brief impact with one of the creatures before it self-sealed the wound. He and Diana were taking turns working together to confuse them. Diana swung her lasso wrapping it around one of them. She used the side of a building as leverage to withstand the strength of her opponent. Another ray shot out of the creature, but Superman zoomed so fast through the air that you lost sight of him momentarily. All that remained was the red and blue blur of his suit.

When you saw him next, he’d slammed into the electronic being sending it off balance. The beam it shot went right through the second creature’s head. As it dropped on top of a building you shot your hands into the air and cheered seeing your theory was correct. All the attention turned to you then. Several smaller drones were released from the hull of the creatures, and they all took flight toward you.

“Shit!”

Making quick work of the next commands to Dot you paid closer attention to the data coming in while keeping an eye on the incoming swarm moving toward you. Unwaveringly you focused on the task at hand. Sometimes you didn’t know if the way your brain regulated danger and fear was a blessing or a curse. It allowed you to stay calm under pressure and work faster, it also woke you up making you feel like you used more of your brain than humanly possible. Fear and danger did different things to you than it did to others you realized.

The first drone reached you ready for attack. you dipped down grabbed a stray welded bar and swung sending it flying through the air.

“Huh. I imagined that should have been harder.”

Shrugging, you went back to your watch. The data you wanted was coming in and your excitement picked up. A sharp sting of pain caught you off guard. You’d gotten so caught up in the date that you didn’t register the remaining drones closing in for the kill. You swung the bar again but missed and all of them went in for the kill.

Suddenly, a beam of red light went through all of them at once, dropping them.

“Ms. Dess, funny meeting you here of all places,” Superman said.

“Ha. You know me.”

He smiled. “You really shouldn’t be up here. It’s dangerous.”

“Oh, I get that, but I need this data to end this once and for all.”

“Diana has told me your theory. Do you think it will work?”

“I more than think. I’m never wrong and this data I’m seeing proves it.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Don’t let that thing interrupt me or Dot.”

“Dot?”

You pointed to your drone overhead and he nodded.

“Understood.”

With that he rocketed into the air and back to the two remaining creatures joining the fight with Diana. You zeroed in on what you needed to do, then called Vee.

“It’s coming in hot Vee. Get it done.”

“Got it. I’ll need five minutes.”

“Your get two.”

“So bossy!”

You tapped into your watch trying to connect your implant to Terra, one of many disks you’d submerged into the earth’s surface around the world. If everything went smoothly, you’d be able to communicate with Dot and Terra at the same time to open the sinkhole. The pressure and gravity would take care of the rest while the machinery went haywire making them self-combust taking each other out. It was a flawless plan.

“Now, Bia!”

You took a deep breath and initialized the connection. Connecting subdural with one device took control but two simultaneously took strength and power. It always put you on your ass for a few hours afterward. It wasn’t pretty. You took a deep breath then went in. The electrical surge that coursed through you made your body tremble, so you exerted some more control to override impulse.

Gritting your teeth, you proceeded to link the connection with Dot and Terra logging your consciousness into them to input the commands in. Long minutes ticked away and every one of them had an impact. You’d tested this for years and had only been able to sustain it for minutes tops.

“Four minutes, Bia. Get out now or you’ll fry your brain.”

Ignoring Vee, you dug deeper. You could hear fighting around you and knew Superman was probably holding the tide of new drones back.

“I have you,” Superman grunted.

For some reason, you felt secure knowing that.

“Bia your vitals are plummeting. Get! Out!”

“Al—most there.”

Terra’s command center complied then connected to the others around the city. They were charging up to centralize the shock to your location. It was critical you got the coordinates precise. You’d have hell to pay with the Governor if you sank town square. Suddenly an image took over your mind. You were in a field of grass overlooking a cliff at the ocean. All around you, you heard battle cries, swords clashing, armor colliding together then the yodeling came. It sounded like tens, no hundreds of voices coming together as one making a war cry that brought tears to your eyes. You turned realizing then you were wearing golden armor over one of your shoulders, golden corseted armor across your bodice, thigh high boots and held a sword in one hand and a massive staff in the other.

“Bia!”

You dropped to one knee and recognized the strong coppery taste in your mouth. Blood.

“You’re crashing!”

Finishing the computation, you sent the order to execute.

“It’s done.”

Suddenly the ground around you trembled and broke apart. As the earth crumbled a sinkhole about a mile in radius opened up and down the creatures went. As they dropped their screech echoed around sending nearly all living mortal things to their knees. You gritted your teeth as your brain rattled. Again, you were transported back to that field. Before you, hundreds of women had their weapons raised yodeling. These were faces you recognized but didn’t know, faces of people you knew. You must have because the warmth rushing through you felt awfully like affection, pride and joy. You knew this place.

Pain ricocheted through your midsection as you were hoisted into the air. A tentacle wrapped around your stomach and pulled you over the ledge of the building. It slowly registered that you were falling and being dragged along for the ride with one of those tentacled bastards. The sinkhole was getting closer and closer.

“Fuck!”

You were spent from your connection with the drones and had no more fight. Looking up, you saw Superman beaming down to you with his arm outstretched. As everything went in slow motion, you reached for him, but your hands didn’t touch. You remained just out of reach. His eyes glowed red and you closed yours not wanting to see your end. You could feel the shift in your surroundings. The coolness around you told you that you’d entered the earth’s surface.

The rest seemed to happen within seconds. The heat of fire against your back made you scream out and squeeze your eyes tighter. It would be over soon you told yourself. Not a bad way to go out you thought. You’d done some good. Another image came to mind, and it was of you falling into murky water a color that you’d never seen before. It looked otherworldly. As you sank into it you smiled. A wave of calm took over though you should have felt terror. You knew you were courting death. Strong arms wrapped around you as the tight squeeze around your midsection subsided. Strong wind whipped across your skin and through your hair and with every few seconds it got colder.

“Ms. Dess. Ms. Dess? Can you hear me?”

Lite taps across your cheeks had you fluttering your eyes open. Deep azure ones peered back at you with so much concern.

“Superman?”

He sighed and the wrinkles in his brow evened out.

“Thank god, I thought we lost you there.”

You looked around you realizing you were among the clouds.

“Oh my god.”

“Hold tight, I’ll have you back on solid ground in a few,” Superman said.

You obeyed and wrapped yourself tightly against him realizing then your legs were also wrapped around him quite intimately. He must have realized it at the same time you did because you felt his muscled frame tense as he cleared his throat and rocketed through the air. Once he put you on solid ground your knees buckled but you never crashed to the ground because Superman’s arms were around you again.

“Are you all right?”

“I just need my lab,” you panted.

“Care for another ride?”

You nodded as he picked you up once again and took off. This time you drifted off unable to fight the crash of your system.

~~~~~~

-Two Days Later-

You gasped for air as you bolted upright. It all was blurry but through the blur you could make out familiar things. The steady beep of the machine said your vitals were mostly back to normal. Slowly your sight returned to normal and when it did you saw you were still hooked up to and IV.

“Uggh.”

You yanked the needle out of your arm and pulled the leads off of your body which sent the monitors into chaos. Within seconds the door busted open and in stormed Vee.

“Jesus Christ. Finally, you’re awake.”

“Finally?”

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood.

“Yes finally. You’ve been out for a long time,” Vee clarified.

“How many hours this time?”

You walked out of the room toward the pit.

“Forty-Eight.”

You stumbled and spun around to her. “2 days?”

“Yep. 2 freaking days. You were dead to the world and going through some very creepy metamorphosis might I add.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come, I’ll show you,” Vee finished leading the way to the pit where you usually huddled around every device you owned and created. It was the information center of your lab.

Once there you checked a few computers wanting to find out the status of town square.

“Has the Governor demanded my head yet?”

“No. Superman and Wonder Woman are taking all the blame.”

You looked at her in shock. “Really?”

She nodded then beamed a recording from the pad she held in her hands to the massive screen in the front of the room. The video began with Superman laying your shivering body down then your trusted medical team pouring in to attach every device to your body. As they did, none of the readings made any sense. The lights flickered, machines went out of whack then stopped working and had to be replaced three time.

As they worked to stabilize you, you thrashed across the bed, screamed, and fought against yourself. It almost looked like you were possessed or going through some metamorphosis as Vee had said. The video progressed with your vitals never stabilizing. They went from dangerous to impossible for the human body. Several times through the video for it to make sense you should have flatlined. When you were left alone the audio picked up your mumblings, conversations with yourself in a language you didn’t know. One word in particular stuck out. You paused the video and replayed it over and over.

“Matpa.”

“What the hell is that?”

Suddenly the answer came to you as if you’d known it your entire life.

“Sword.”

Vee stared at you as if you’d grown another head. “How do you know that?”

You shrugged because you genuinely had no clue how you knew it, but you were sure of it.

“What if you’re going through a memory that your subconscious has repressed? What if the only way for you to have access to it is in an unconscious state after massive cerebral shock?”

That sounded plausible. For the first time in years, you felt hope. You didn’t know anything about who you were beyond your name and even that you weren’t sure about. Bia didn’t ring a bell; it didn’t feel like you. Sure, you’d made it your own over the years, but it only felt like a piece of you.

“We should try it out,” you suggested.

“What! No! Bia in order to try that out we have to replicate the same conditions you were under.”

“Okay, we can do it.”

“No! You were in a neural connection with 2 drones for over seven minutes. You were near brain dead Bia.”

“I have you here this time.

The ring of a bell paused your conversation.

“Who’s that?”

Vee put on the surveillance feed and standing at the lab entrance was Superman himself—well Clark Kent 2.0 to be exact.

“It’s damn he sure cleans up nice,” Vee said making you laugh.

“I’m going to change you can let him in and bring him to my office.”

You walked away back to the room you’d woken in and went through the clothes you left there for nights you worked late. Deciding on a sky-blue ankle-length suit that hugged every curve you proceeded to clean yourself up a little and change. By the time you walked out and made it to your office, he’d been waiting for a little over ten minutes.

“Mr. Kent, funny meeting you here of all places,” you said as you walked in and around to your desk.

Once in front of him, you watched his eyes rake over your body before coming back to your face. Bold, you thought.

“Ms. Dess.”

“Or should I call you Mr. El?”

He smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If this were Krypton maybe but on Earth, I’m Clark. You know that.”

“I must say I think I prefer Kal-El.”

“Why?”

“It rolls off the tongue better, and suits you better.”

your eyes lingered while your speech faltered. He looked in thought.

“I’m here to check on you. Are you all right?”

You held your arms out then spun for him. “Quite alright. thank you.”

“You don’t have one scratch or burn on you. Impressive.”

“I’ve always been a good healer.”

He nodded and then you decided you’d call hi, Kal-El.”

“We may be on Earth, but I prefer Kal-El.”

You came around and leaned against the front of your desk. “What can I help you with today, Kal-El?”

He studied you longer. The look on his face was not an annoyed one, or a confused one. It was a pleased look. He was pleased.

“Without you a few days ago I think things would have gone very differently. I’m here to thank you.”

You smiled then nodded, “Always happy to help.”

Silence returned to the room and neither of you rushed to fill it with words. Since you’d gotten to know of him then about him over the years, it had been like this. There was always this easy silence and comfort between you that never felt off.

“Even if it does put your life in danger,” he said making no effort to hide the displeasure in his tone.

“I do nothing more than you or the other meta-humans. Do what you can to save who you can. What makes me any different?”

“You’re not a meta-human. You don’t have super speed, or strength of electricity, or even control over water. You are defenseless.”

He almost sounded worried.

“I may not have any of those things but in no way am I defenseless.”

He cocked his head to the side as he took you in some more. “I have never known someone so—fearless, so brave. It is impressive—you’re impressive.”

Your eyes lingered on his and something strange happened then, your heart did a double beat. You clapped your hand over your chest, but it only happed once. He lurched to you with his hand outstretched.

“Are you all right?”

He was beside you with his hand at the midway point of your back. His scent circled you and immediately reminded you of Bergamot, Cedar, and clean linen. The heat radiating off of his body was so intense your body instantly reacted. You felt the hairs along your body stand on ends, the oxygen in your lungs being sucked out and your entire body tingle and hum. It was the strangest thing you’d ever felt, but oddly enough it wasn’t off-putting.

“I’m—I’m—all right.”

“Are you sure? Sit for a moment.”

He ushered you to a seat then kneeled in front of you peering into your eyes with so much tenderness you could have cried.

“I’m okay.”

He did not look convinced, but he did not press you further.

“I think it’s because I haven’t eaten in two days.”

“Okay. Let me take you to lunch. Or we could eat here, and you could show me your latest projects.”

You smirked at his sweetness. “I accept, but I have a better idea for a location.”

You smirked at the questioning look he gave you no doubt trying to figure out what you had up your sleeve.

To Be Continued.....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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the-scarlet-witch-22 · 2 years

Text

Chaconne: Part Twelve (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Word Count: 4.1K

Summary: As the fall season progresses, and as tensions rise, Y/N decides on what to do about her relationship with Agatha Harkness and goes to an audition for Natasha Romanov

Link: Here is a link to the Chaconne playlist I made on Spotify :) I’ve posted the pieces mentioned in this chapter (Vivaldi, Paganini, and Wieniawski) and add in other songs as well

A/N: Hello Chaconne readers! It’s been a minute. I hope you’re all doing well. I apologize for the delay in updating, life has been very busy but I am determined to finish the first arc of Chaconne. I wanted to do a quick little note to address a musician who is listed in the story. It was brought to my attention that some of you may think Hilary Hahn is a fictional person I made up but she is real! Please google her. I love her. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. We’re nearing the end! I think I’ve updated my tag list but if I left anyone off please remind me- I apologize if I did! As always thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave comments & my inbox is always open for messaging, it always makes my day to hear from y’all ❤️

Tag List: @anxiousgoldengirl @celasteria @danvers97 @imthedoctorlove @mcfriggingonagall @meowsaidmissy @scarletmeltstheice @shinkomiii @sxfwap @thestrangeundoing @upsidedowndanvers @venticalooks @vintagegoddess12 @thoroughly--confused @genderenvyeveryone @thewelshelk

Y/N POV

It had been twelve hours since the Times article had been published and you barely left your bedroom. A small part of you was aching to talk to Agatha, as you had grown accustomed to spending most of your waking hours in her presence. But those feelings of longing were outweighed by the heaviness you felt in your chest. You had so many questions, and you were unsure if getting answers would bring you out of this catatonic state.

Your brain replayed your last conversation with the conductor on a constant, agonizingly painful loop. It was pathetic really, but you couldn’t stop. Unfortunately those thoughts slowly transitioned to questioning every interaction you’d shared with Agatha and Wanda since starting your job. Every angry jab Agatha would throw in when the pianist was mentioned. How jealous she appeared whenever Wanda was in close proximity to you. All this time you had assumed the strange behavior was driven by her hatred of Wanda, and she didn’t want you associating with the pianist because of it. Now you were beginning to wonder if it was all some elaborate ruse to cover up an alleged affair.

Finally you couldn’t take your own self pity anymore; you needed to get out of your apartment. Fresh air would surely do you some good. Fall was in full swing in New York, and the cooler air sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins as you weaved through the crowds. You need to be somewhere calm to clear your head, which could be challenging while living in one of the busiest cities in the world. The most obvious choice would be to walk through Chelsea Market for coffee before taking a walk along the High Line. The mere thought of the park usually made you feel better, but instead you felt your chest ache at the memory of your most recent visit with Agatha.

Agatha throwing a fit as you insisted on taking the subway, and how you all but dragged her down the stairs of the station. Agatha, arrogant as ever, insisting on standing on the train and ultimately falling on your lap. Agatha holding your hand, intertwining your fingers as you strolled through The High Line. Agatha being carefree and the closest to happy you had ever seen. Agatha inviting you to her home. Agatha being domestic and cooking you dinner. Agatha humming under her breath, producing the most beautiful melody. Agatha watching you eat and admitting how much she enjoyed your company. Agatha, Agatha, Agatha. Always Agatha.

Your brain swirled with thoughts of the conductor until you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to go somewhere to sort out your feelings, and clearly The High Line was the last place you should visit. But still, you needed to be outdoors. Racking your brain, you thought of one place you hadn’t ventured to in a while. It was a bit of a trek to get there, but today you seemed to have nothing but time on your hands.

The subway was unusually quiet this morning, once again reminding you of your time on the train with Agatha. No, you thought quietly, you needed to stop. Attempting to distract yourself, you began sorting through your purse, yet as the train made its first stop your mind once again wandered to the conductor. How she scrunched her nose at your suggestion to sit down, and how hard it was for you to reign in your laughter when she fell on your lap. A smile played at your lips before you remembered your current situation, and felt a familiar tug at your heart. You missed her. How was that even possible? You had spent the majority of your life without Agatha Harkness, yet only after a few months in her presence she was all you could think of. Thankfully you reached your stop before you could remind yourself of the painful reason why the conductor was always on your mind.

Exiting the station, you enjoyed the cool breeze that left you feeling comfortable enough in your light coat. There was nothing quite like fall in New York City. The crimson and carnelian leaves rustling in the wind around you seemed to bring Vivaldi’s Autumn to life. While you always looked forward to fall and winter, your violin did not feel the same. You were already dreading the extra time it would take you to tune, as the colder weather could cause the stringed instrument to go flat.

Luckily this was perfect walking weather, and you could already feel your brain fog clearing as you reached your destination; The Met Cloisters. As a child you always enjoyed your family trips to The Met, but adored the rare trip to The Cloisters even more. Nestled in Fort Tryon Park, it felt as if you had traveled through time. The Met Cloisters housed relics from the Middle Ages and it was unlike anything you’d experienced.

As much as you adored strolling through the various galleries and admiring the medieval art, or taking a walk through one of the gardens, there was one spot you were longing to visit; The West Terrace. It was your hidden oasis, and was one of the only spots in New York that sometimes made you forget you were in such a crowded and occasionally overwhelming city. Situated on the hill, it overlooked the Hudson River and often provided you a quiet space for thinking. During the fall it was a brilliant swirl of gold and red hues, which produced a stunning backdrop. The terrace was relatively vacant at this time of day, and you were thankful for the peace and quiet. For the first time all week, you felt better.

Finally turning on your phone, your heart sank at the number of messages from Agatha. As upset as you were, you knew you needed to at least tell her you were okay. You sent a quick text back, and you considered calling her when a different notification caught your eye and almost caused you to drop your phone. You had received an email from Natasha Romanov asking if you were available to meet later this evening for an audition.

Natasha Romanov was perhaps the greatest violinist you had ever seen live…well besides Hilary Hahn. With the stature and grace of a ballerina, she made every flourish of her bow and run up and down the fingerboard look elegant. You had followed her since the start of her career, and she became more popular as the years went on. Soon, you had seen news of her headlining every major orchestra. You religiously watched any recording of her performances you could find and even followed her on Instagram. The chance to audition for Natasha Romanov was one in a million, and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were.

But were you ready for that pressure? Performing for Natasha Romanov was quite a step up from being Agatha’s assistant, and were you ready for it? Sighing, you realized you were wasting precious time and it was almost noon. You would need at least an hour to get back to your apartment, and would need an additional hour to practice and prepare. It wouldn’t hurt to meet with Natasha. Surely the worst thing that could happen would be being rejected from her group, and you could handle that. Replying to Natasha’s email, you hurriedly left the museum to get ready.

Which is how you found yourself standing in the doorway of Natasha’s studio. Natasha Romanov was even more breathtaking in person. Her red hair was pulled back in a braid, and she was rehearsing what sounded like one of Paganini’s 24 Caprices. You watched her perform, eyes closed as she let her fingers guide her through the passages. It took you a moment to clock it as No. 4 in C Minor. While you often struggled to hit every double stop accurately and have your notes be in tune, Natasha made it look as easy as breathing. She moved from passage to passage with such ease and unwavering stamina, never relenting in intensity.

She eventually noticed you hovering in the doorway and stopped practicing. “Y/N?” Natasha asked, and you paused for a moment before nodding.

Natasha approached you and held out her hand, and you shook it and offered her a small smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Romanov, thank you for this audition.”

“Well Wanda’s told me a lot about you,” Natasha continued as you fidgeted with your violin case as you unpacked, putting a generous amount of rosin on your bow. “She seems to feel you have too much talent to be wasting away as someone’s assistant.”

Despite your conflicted feelings regarding Agatha, you still felt anger at the violinist’s words. “I’m not wasting away, and I happen to love my job.”

“Yet you wanted to meet me,” Natasha pointed out. “Which must mean some part of you is considering a change in careers.”

“I guess I might be reconsidering a few things,” you admitted, and felt a small pang of guilt at the admission.

Natasha let out a low hum. “You’re a violinist, Y/N, not someone’s secretary. There’s no shame in wanting to perform, is there?”

Despite the churning in your stomach, you knew Natasha had a point. This is what you’d dreamed for as long as you could remember; to be on stage with your violin. For all of the hours you chose to practice instead of going out with your friends. The strenuous lessons with passive aggressive professors that made you want to bash your head against a wall. Countless hours spent crying in practicing rooms after lessons with said professors. Recital preparation that required your undivided attention as you attempted to memorize and perfect every last bar. You had sacrificed everything for this. This was the life of a musician. Nothing came before the music.

After taking a few moments to tune your strings, you remained silent, stewing in your thoughts. It appeared Natasha noticed a change in your attitude. “What have you prepared for me?”

The most obvious answer would be Chaconne. It would be the safer choice, as it was the primary piece you’d been working on with Agatha. But you’d recently started a new concerto, one you’d been dying to play for years; and it happened to be one you knew Natasha was fond of.

“The first movement of Wieniawski’s Violin Concerto No. 2.”

That appeared to capture Natasha’s attention, as you watched the violinist lean against the grand piano with a curious expression on her face. “Interesting choice. I last played that with the-”

“The LA Philharmonic last November,” you blurted out, and Natasha stared at you, perplexed. “I went to the concert. You were incredible.”

Natasha hummed again, before nodding. “Thank you. It’s a rigorous piece, are you sure you can handle it?”

Normally you would have let your inner voice chime in with your unrelenting self-doubt, but you were reminded of a particularly grueling lesson with Agatha. There were three things Agatha loathed (in no particular order); Wanda Maximoff (although you wondered how true that was), TikTok, and cowardice.

It was a rather late evening in the symphony hall, and Agatha had just finished attempting to fix the way you held your bow, bringing up the importance of how to curve your fingers just so. Unfortunately, each time the conductor did this, she was standing right behind you, one hand on your waist, the other on the hand holding your bow. You swore she moved closer with every word of the dangers of holding the bow with an unbent thumb, and your brain practically short circuited as she whispered in your ear to “relax.”

As soon as she stepped back, you could all but feel her burning gaze, thankful she wasn’t able to see the burning in your cheeks. Clapping her hands together, she went to leave the stage in her usual flourish. “Now, dear, just as we practiced. When you position your bow on the string keep your posture relaxed enough to ensure your bow hand fingers will be able to bend,” Agatha instructed, and you nodded. You could do that, right?

Gently raising your violin to rest on your shoulder, you rolled your shoulders back and placed your bow on the string. Taking a quick glance at your bow hand, you internally panicked as you felt yourself tense up. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and tried to relax, just as Agatha had whispered in your ear mere moments ago. But the more you urged yourself to relax, you became more tense. Finally you shook your head and placed your violin under your arm as you looked out to Agatha.

“I can’t do it.”

The conductor sat in the front row, hands folded neatly and legs crossed. There was a curious expression on her face, not quite annoyed but not amused either. She stared at you for a bit of time, the silence growing through the vastly empty hall until she let out a low hum.

“Then get out,” she said simply, motioning to the door. “And come back when you’re ready to work.”

Giving her an incredulous look, you shook your head again. “But I am working. I’m doing everything you’re telling me, and I’m telling you that I can’t do this.”

You had struggled with your bow hold for as long as you could remember. Various teachers had fixed it to their liking, and unfortunately different teachers had different methods they swore by. Your undergraduate professor thought you to be an anomaly. He couldn’t fathom how you were able to keep your left hand relaxed enough to move up and down the fingerboard with ease, but struggled to keep your bow hand relaxed.

“There’s a difference between being unable to do something and being afraid to do it,” Agatha remarked. The same curious expression was on her face, but this time she made no attempt to join you on stage. “What are you afraid of?”

Her question was slightly probing, and it caught you off guard, yet you replied without even thinking. “Failure.”

“Then don’t fail,” Agatha countered, finally standing up. The click-clacking of her heels echoed throughout the hall as she walked onstage, standing across from you. “If this is what you want, you need to tune out any sense of self doubt. Out of all those people that will fill those seats,” she motioned to the empty hall in front of you, “there is going to be one person holding their breath, thinking that you’ll find a way to fuck up. Don’t let that person be you.”

Agatha wasn’t a very open person, but her words seemed oddly personal, causing you to wonder if she told herself the same thing before performances. It seemed the conductor realized she was being too vulnerable as she cleared her throat. “From the top.”

Coming back to reality, you shrugged as you fixed your shoulder rest. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

That earned you a smirk. “Well I see you’ve certainly spent enough time with Harkness.” Taking a seat at the table, Natasha nodded towards you. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Wieniawski’s concertos have always been a favorite of yours. As with most pieces composed during the romantic era, there were many lush and colorful passages, starting with the opening theme from the orchestra complete with thick cords and furious runs. Wieniawski’s Concerto No. 2 in D Minor was no different. The opening was around 2 minutes long before you came in. However since you were playing unaccompanied, you mentally hummed the last few bars the orchestra played before your entrance.

The main theme reminded you of the sweetest pain you could experience. It was the sort of yearning you felt when you had a broken heart. The swirling and moody passages went from fast runs up and down the fingerboard to sweet melodies as your violin sang its grief. Playing Wieniawski wasn’t for the faint of heart, as the late composer was considered to be one of the greatest violin virtuosos of all time. The first movement was filled with difficult double stops, arpeggios, and chromatic glissandos that left your fingers all but aching by the end.

Just as you finished a particularly challenging passage complete with double stops, Natasha raised a hand to stop you. “I’ll be in touch in a few days,” Natasha offered, and you had heard that line enough times to know what it meant. It was usually followed by a polite but curt email informing you they decided to ‘go in a different direction.’

Thanking the violinist, you left the studio with a clear destination in your mind. It was late, and you knew the smart choice would be to go home and sleep. But you never made the best decisions. Which is how you ended up on Agatha’s doorstep, violin case still in hand. After debating on whether to ring the doorbell or just go home, you decided you were being ridiculous and rang the doorbell.

A few moments later the door opened to reveal Agatha looking more exhausted than you’d ever seen. The dark circles under her eyes made you silently wonder if the conductor had gotten any sleep. You waited for something, anything. For her to yell at you for completely ignoring all her calls and messages. Or for her to slam the door in your face. Yet instead you got… nothing. Only Agatha staring at you as if she had seen a ghost.

You broke the awkward silence first. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late. I probably should’ve called.”

The conductor remained silent, and you wondered if you made the right choice in coming by unannounced. “Agatha…” Trailing off, you tried to find the right words to say. You knew you had needed the time to gather your thoughts, to know what you wanted to ask her. But somehow seeing her standing in front of you, looking as though she thought she’d never see you again, words failed you.

Clearing her throat, the conductor looked you up and down with a disapproving glance. “You look freezing, Y/N. Why aren’t you wearing a coat?” Gently reaching for your arm, she coaxed you inside, and you felt shivers from her touch. “You’re going to catch a cold, you need to be more careful.”

You were barely aware of anything else besides Agatha’s arm wrapped around your shoulders as she led you to her sitting room. She was quietly mumbling to herself, but you weren’t focusing enough to hear what she was saying. Motioning for you to sit on the couch she grabbed a blanket to wrap around you.

Señor Scratchy was on the armchair across from you, and Agatha gently picked him up, stroking his fur. “Would you like some tea?”

Feeling your stomach doing flip flops, you figured drinking anything might not be the best idea. “I’m alright, thank you.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as Agatha took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, still holding Señor Scratchy. Despite the conductor being closer to you in what felt like days, you felt further apart from her than ever. There was so much you wanted to say, but you didn’t know where to begin.

Agatha appeared to be lost as well. She was more stoic than you ever remembered her being, and you wondered if the backlash from the article was making its way around the board; more specifically if Hayward was trying to cause problems. As hard as you tried to read the conductor it appeared she put every wall you managed to knock down back up, essentially locking you out.

“I’m sorry for running out yesterday,” You said quietly, trying to get Agatha to look at you. “I should’ve stayed and let you explain. I didn’t know what to do.”

The conductor let out a low hum, as she appeared to be gathering her thoughts. “I can’t say I blame you.” Agatha finally looked up, and met your eyes. “I was hoping to tell you before the article was published but there was no time.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her words. “You knew they were releasing it?”

“Only the night before,” Agatha explained gently, and you wondered if she was speaking this calmly for you or herself. “That's why I canceled the rehearsal. I have a friend who’s a reporter at The Times and they gave me a heads up.” She scoffed. “Although I’m not sure how much of a heads up it really was.”

“So you left to try and kill the story?” You guessed, realizing that explained the conductor’s strange behavior that night.

Agatha nodded. “As you can see I was quite unsuccessful.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry for not warning you.”

You wanted to say it was okay, and while you understood she had to have been under a tremendous amount of stress, you still had a few unanswered questions. “So it’s true?”

Agatha chuckled, and you wondered if you should’ve stayed quiet. “It’s true, but I haven’t talked to Wanda, much less seen her since Greece.” She noticed your downcast expression and sighed. “Y/N, it’s not what you think.”

You scoffed, attempting to stay calm. “So you didn’t have an affair with Wanda?”

Agatha arched an eyebrow at your tone, but continued on. “It was an indiscretion, and a mistake I believe I will regret for the rest of my life.” You stayed silent, stewing over her words, so she kept going. “It was over at the end of that summer. Wanda broke it off, and that’s that.”

“That’s that?” You asked quietly. “So you don’t…” trailing off, you quickly decided you didn’t want to know the answer to the question you were most worried about.

Agatha gently set Señor Scratchy down next to her before turning to look at you. “You have nothing to worry about, Y/N. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but there is absolutely nothing there.”

“You’re sure?”

“Wanda is incredibly infuriating and I am looking forward to being done with this concert series.” Agatha said, reaching across to grab your hand. “Do you trust me?”

That was an excellent question. Did you trust Agatha? On the outside the conductor appeared moody and stand-offish to the world. She had incredibly high standards, and was extremely demanding. You watched her make people cry in every MSO rehearsal, and had sent countless interns running for the hills. On paper Agatha should be the last person you trust.

But then there was the Agatha you knew. The brooding conductor who made sure you ate when you were stressed, and offered you rides home when leaving work too late. Agatha pushing you against the piano and kissing you. Agatha making you dinner and showing you her home. Agatha who made your insides feel like they were being filled with rays of sunshine every time she looked at you. You trusted Agatha. You loved her.

“I trust you,” you confirmed. “No more secrets?”

Agatha smirked. “What’s life without secrets darling?”

You wondered if you should bring up the audition you had with Natasha, when the beeping of your phone grabbed your attention, and you excused yourself as Agatha went to make tea. Going through your voicemail, you had one message from a number you didn’t recognize.

“Y/N, sorry to be calling so late. I know I said you’d hear from me in a few days, but I don’t see any point in delaying this. I want you to join my group in Vienna. I’ll have an official offer sent over in the morning. Take a few days to think it over.” There was a pause before Natasha added: “But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Let me know whatever you decide.”

“Y/N?” Agatha’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Have you eaten anything?”

Unfortunately you barely registered Agatha’s question as you replayed the voicemail; making sure you heard Natasha correctly. You made it in. You did it. The happiness and joy you felt was quickly replaced by looming dread. What were you going to tell Agatha?

“Y/N?” Agatha’s voice was growing closer. “Is everything alright?”

Agatha’s eyes searched yours, and you nodded, placing your phone in your back pocket. “Yeah, everything’s great.”

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha wandavision #agatha harkness x you #wandavision au #agatha harkness fanfiction #marvel au #Spotify

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