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https-florals · 1 year

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thought that i was dreaming when you said you loved me - j.m.

summary: if there was a contest for the world’s stupidest teenagers, you and jj would take first place.

word count: 3.1k??? i got a little carried away

warnings: a little language.

a/n: childhood best friends to lovers, a little argument, tiniest bit of angst. WHOLEEE lotta fluff. reading it back, im starting to wonder if it really flows together or if it even makes sense, but i think its cute and i liked writing it!! as always, likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. i adore you all!!

“Can I crash at your place tonight?” JJ blurts out the question, almost like he’s scared of the answer.

The two of you are headed away from a long day of surfing, your hair tangled and a little crunchy from the saltwater. You probably would have stayed out later, if it weren’t for how nasty the waves were getting. JJ had gotten pushed under and scraped against a reef, and you had slipped and landed facefirst into the side of your board, both of your accidents resulting in some pretty nasty cuts. Some old 2000s playlist is playing through the aux, and you’re driving while JJ holds a can of beer to your busted lip.

“Or..” he swallows. “Maybe until your parents get back? They’re outta town for like another three days, right?

You give him a sidelong glance and push the can away, your lip numb from the coldness. JJ isn’t the type to ask favors, so you’re a little taken aback. You don’t ask questions though; you just nod. “Yeah, that’s fine.” You pause, and then grin, saying, “You scared my daddy would run you off with a shotgun if he was home?”

He huffs and shoves the corner of a towel into your face. “Your lip’s bleeding again, dumbass. And no. He just scares me a little.”

Swatting him away and laughing, you go back to the subject of him staying at your house. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You can stay as long as you need. Plus, that gives me a chance to make sure you don’t let those cuts get infected.” You gesture to the raw skin on his torso.

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he scoffs, but the way he runs his hand over his side and winces isn’t lost on you.

By the time you pull into your driveway, it’s started to rain. Beams from the sunset hit the droplets just perfectly, and a rainbow stretches over the cut. It’s so pretty, and if your neck wasn’t so sore and if JJ wasn’t so cut up you would’ve taken the opportunity to pull him out in the rain and force him to dance with you. But he is trying to pick up the cooler and the towels and take it all inside himself, so you run around to the trunk and nudge him away. “Stop! Just grab the towels, you’re too bruised up to lift that.” Wedging yourself between him and the trunk, you set the cooler down on the gravel.

“C’mon,” he sighs, saying your name entreatingly. “No bruise is gonna mess with these.” JJ flexes and grins, and you glare at him.

“Never do that again. If you want to keep me as a friend, you will never flex in front of me again.” You’re only half-joking.

He fake-yawns and stretches, making sure to flex again when you look back up at him. “I know, you can’t even stand to be around a sex god like me.”

You look at him, jaw dropped in faux horror, and shake your head. “That’s it. Maybank, you can go stay at the Chateau.”

“I’ll tell John B you just couldn’t keep your hands off me,” he teases, leaning against you and making kissy noises into your ear.

You are giggling between fake gags, pushing him away gently. “Get your shit and go inside, freak,” you laugh as you tug the cooler into the garage.

Kicking your sandals off by the door,you grab some antibacterial soap, and then check under the sink for peroxide and bandages.

When JJ comes inside, you’re diluting a little cup of the peroxide with water. Pushing that and the soap towards him, you say, “Go shower and flush the cuts out with that-” you tap the cup- “then scrub with the soap. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, but it’ll get worse if it gets infected.”

He frowns, and takes them. “Okay, nurse.”

You both take fast showers, and soon the two of you are back in the living room. You’re wearing borrowed boxers and a big tshirt, and JJ has on the clothes he left last time he came over. Your mother always insists on doing your friends’ laundry, and thank God she does.

“Sit on the couch,” you instruct JJ, pouring some antiseptic onto cotton pads.

“I can do it myself,” he huffs, but he doesn’t make any more complaints when you climb over him and straddle one of his legs. In fact, he’s staring at you with a kind of awe in his expression.

“Lift your shirt up,” you command, looking at him with a stony expression.

He rolls his eyes, but obeys, hands a little shaky as he pulls up the fabric and you begin to clean the wound.

JJ hisses at the stinging, his muscles contracting and shifting under your fingertips.

You shush him and readjust so you’re sitting a little higher on his thigh rather than his knee. “Breathe, JJ.” Mentally, you’re telling yourself to breathe too. You’re just helping your best friend. Your heart shouldn’t be racing like it is.

One of his hands balls into a fist, and the other lands on your waist, grasping the worn fabric of your tee. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his lips are parted as he tilts his head back and groans.

You’re shameless in the way you’re staring at him. Maybe you shouldn’t find him in pain so very attractive, but- you’re just observing. You’re not even paying attention to what you're doing anymore as you wipe the cotton haphazardly over his cuts; you just watch the way his jaw tenses and relaxes. He opens one eye, and you jump slightly, heat infusing into your cheeks.

“Distracted?” he teases.

You scoff in response, bandaging up his cuts and climbing off of him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

JJ doesn’t press it any further; he just smirks and leans back onto the couch.

It’s getting late, the cloudy sky turning deep, dusky amber with the setting sun. It’s still raining, harder now, and JJ has the weatherman on TV as you throw together a quick dinner. It’s a three course meal of pizza pockets, some sliced up cucumber and ranch, and a pack of oreos split between the two of you. After some bickering, you settle on a movie to watch together. It’s some old rom-com JJ is obsessed with it, and you have never even heard of it.

You’re still whining through the first twenty minutes; saying, “A Christmas movie? It’s not even Christmas!”

He shushes you, putting his arm around your shoulders and giving you a playful thump on the head. “It’s got John Cusack in it. Everybody loves John Cusack.”

Sure enough, by the end of Serendipity, you decide you love John Cusack. “I feel a little bad for his fiancée,” you yawn, slumped against the blond boy beside you. There’s no point where you aren’t touching: shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. “I still don’t understand why he’d just leave her.”

You do understand actually, but you would listen to JJ explain the plot a thousand times if it meant you could stay this close. His hand is on your shoulder, fingers playing with the collar of your t-shirt as he talks about fate. It’s a little poetic, in fact, it’s the most serious you’ve heard him in a while.

“The whole idea about having someone destined for you is just really beautiful, you know. Like someone out there is supposed to love you no matter what. Like, the universe doesn’t give a shit about what you’ve done or where you come from. It’s just in total agreement that you deserve to be loved.”

You’re resting your head on his bicep, watching his expressions as he talks. His blue eyes are like lights across the water, his mouth serious.

“That just seems so… I dunno, fair. Like that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“J, you know that the universe doesn’t have a say in whether or not you’re worthy of love, right?”

He’s a bit caught off guard, looking you in the eyes now. “What?”

You adjust so you're facing him, legs criss-crossed on the couch. Hands in your lap, you wring your fingers as you begin to speak. “I just want to make sure that you know you…” you pause, and breathe. “You’re worthy of love, JJ. Destiny doesn’t determine that.”

His gaze softens for a split second, and he unconsciously rubs his side, the one bruised. But, then the mask is back up quicker than you can snap. He scoffs, moving his arm away from where you're leaning against it. “I know that. None of the Pogues are getting more love than me,” he smirks, but its a little half-hearted.

“I’m serious, JJ. I’’n not talking about fucking around,” you sigh.

He says your name a little rough, a little annoyed. A plea for you to stop. This isn’t a conversation he wants to have with you. Especially not right now. “Don’t start with the mushy shit,” he coaxes, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

You stand up, your temper a little hotter. “It’s not mushy shit! It’s the truth, and I’m not gonna sit here while you feel sorry for yourself, acting like you don’t deserve every single good thing.”

“I’m not acting sorry for myself!”

You’re on a roll now, and JJ can’t stop you now. “You so are! You won’t let anyone get close, cause you’re so scared that they’re gonna hurt you.”

He stands up quick, almost knocking you back. You stare up at him, his face a mere handbreadth away, but you don’t back down. “I’m not gonna bet on a race that I know I’m gonna lose,” he says, voice low.

“Love isn’t- it’s not- you can’t win if you’re more afraid of losing!” You’re not even sure if you’re making sense at this point. You don’t really know what sparked this little flame in you. Maybe it’s your PMS, or maybe it’s the rain making you antsy.. Maybe it’s the years or worrying, all the times he has done something reckless and stupid and kept you and your friends up all night. Maybe it’s the blatant disregard for his own wellbeing, or the way he ignores your questions about new cuts or bruises. Now, everything is spilling out, in words, in tears. “You never even give it the chance!”

“It’s just not in the cards for me, okay?”

You start to hit his chest, but he grabs your wrists and holds you steady. “It’s just how it is, and I’m okay with that,” he says, trying to infuse a brightness into his voice.

You snatch your wrists away, and yank your blanket up off the couch. “I don’t know if you’re- I don’t know, blind or just plain fucking stupid.”

His eyebrows furrow as you walk away from him. “What?”

“I’m going to bed.”

He says your name quick and a little strained, but you don’t turn to look at him. You disappear down the hallway, leaving JJ to slump on the couch, alone.

It takes no more than twenty minutes for the blond to come slinking into your bedroom. JJ whispers your name as he cracks open the door, but you don’t answer. He can't tell if you’re really asleep yet, so he just slides under the covers next to you, like he used to when you were kids. You still have the same full bed, and your sheets still smell like salt water and coconut shampoo. When your breath hitches as his hand comes to rest right by your back, he knows that you’re awake.

“Do you really think I’m stupid?”

“Yeah.” You don’t move, voice muffled against your pillow.

JJ lays parallel to you, almost painfully close, but not touching. “Come on, talk to me.”

You huff and roll over to face him. “Why aren’t you sleeping on the couch?”

“It’s scary as hell out there alone. Y’all got too many windows.”

Just like that, any animosity dissipates. “You’re supposed to be the man, JJ. S’posed to protect me.” You’re clutching a stuffed animal to your chest, and you push it into JJ’s. It’s an old battered dolphin pillow pet, and his hands close instinctively around it. It’s sat on your bed since fourth grade, and the stuffing isn’t as fluffy as it used to be. He remembers when you first got it. “Mr. Melon’s feeling a little flat,” he comments.

You nod, but are silent, watching the tendons in his hands and the bones of his knuckles. In fact, you’re a little shocked that he remembers the stuffed animal’s name.

“Remember when we used to have sleepovers like, every night?” JJ asks, a little laughter in his voice. “I never understood why your mom was so happy to have me over on school nights.”

There’s a twinge in your chest. You understood. Even during the worst of you and JJ’s childhood arguments, your mom would coax you to invite him over, and she’d patch up his cuts and wash the dirt and blood stains out of his clothes.

“I miss our sleepovers,” you sigh. The two of you have scooted closer together subconsciously, the only barrier being Mr. Melon.

JJ nods, and asks, “Why’d we ever stop?”

You smile. “We got old, J.”

He sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry.”Who cares? We’re old now, and look at us. Having the time of our lives. We could be ninety and still be the funnest people in the OBX.”

“Most fun,” you correct with a grin.

“Hey, y’know I have a shitty English grade,” he answers, playfully punching your upper arm.

“My mom was scared I’d fall in love with you,” you comment, a little off-subject with a shaky smile plastered across your face. “She always said I’d fall head over heels, and that you’d be the biggest heartbreaker in the county.”

JJ’s face gets serious quick, faux solemnity all in his eyes. “A real concern,” he says, deadpan, “For mothers everywhere.”

“She was right about you being a heartbreaker! Remember that poor touron from the other weekend?”

He scowls and shakes his head. “I made it very clear that it was a one night type of thing.”

It makes you think of your argument from less than a hour ago. If love was in the cards for any of the Pogues, it had to be JJ. Girls tripped over themselves just so he would notice them. But, you laugh, shove him in the arm, and switch the subject. “Remember when you fought John B in here and broke my lamp?”

“Wasn’t that like, what, fifth grade?”

“Yeah. It was my favorite fairy lamp, and you bumped into it and her head broke off!”

You're both giggling, the tiredness setting in. “He called you a bitch! That was a big bad word back then,” JJ laughs, blond hair tangled and messy as it falls across his pillow.

Your eyebrows quirk up. “You call me a bitch all the time now.”

“That’s different,” he waves his hand to cut you off. “But then? I couldn't let him mess with my girl.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you kick yourself mentally for being so damn cliche when you feel it.

The two of you keep exchanging stories, thunder rolling and the lightning lighting up your room every few minutes.

“So, old-fashioned slumber party with the whole gang tomorrow night?” JJ proposes, his goodnight, his eyes barely open.

You nod and smile, then you do your best Pogue handshake the two of you can manage while lying on your sides.

Your eyes drift close, and after a few minutes of silence filled with JJ’s breathing and the sound of your heart, you say, “My mom was right about another thing.” JJ takes a moment to process, cracking his eyes back open to look at you. Yours are still squeezed shut because you're scared to look at him. “About me falling in love with you. It was inevitable.” You’re shaking, but it has to be said. You have to at least get it out there.

His mouth goes dry.

The silence is killing you, but you don’t dare look at him.

“Like destiny,” he finally says, tripping over the first word.

A warmth spreads through you, heat in your cheeks and heart. “Exactly like destiny.”

When you finally get the courage to look at him, he’s staring at you like you’ve peeled back your skin and revealed solid diamond underneath. Awestruck, maybe a little fear in that deep blue.

You can hear your own heartbeat, and your breath is shallow and short. His, in contrast, is deep and slow.

“She was wrong about one thing though.”

You wait for his answer, lips parted as you watch his gaze go from your eyes, to your lips, and back to your eyes, down to your lips again…

“I could never break your heart.”

Your cheeks heat when he traces a line from the end of your eyebrow, down your cheek and jawline. It’s a ghost of a caress, almost like you’re some holy relic that he thinks will heal him.

You start to backtrack, feeling a little embarrassed, a little scared “J, you don’t- don’t have to say something you don’t mean.”

JJ draws his hand back so fast you jump, and he sits up and scoffs. “You think I’m bullshitting you?”

Your stomach drops as the sudden shift in emotion, and you nod hesitantly.

His jaw clenches as he turns his face away from you, and when he looks back at you his lips are pressed into a firm line. You’ve seen this expression only a couple of times, and only when JJ is on the brink of tears. In fact, his eyes seem a little glassy when he starts to speak. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” he snaps.

“J-”

JJ waves his hand to cut you off. “No. It’s my turn to talk.” His voice does that thing where it gets a little higher, stress peeking through the cracks in his pitch. “Y’know how you called me blind earlier? You’re the blindest person ever! Everybody else sees the way I look at you except you!” he cries. His hands push anxiously through his hair. “It’s been you. Always you. As long as I can remember.” The way he’s looking at you practically sets you on fire. You can see it now. All those years of childhood crushes, pining and overthinking are evident in his eyes, like a storm at sea. “You-” his voice breaks fully now, and he covers his mouth with his fist before breathing and continuing. “You were the first person who made me feel like I was someone. Like, loved. You really made me feel loved.”

“Always have, always will,” you blurt out.

That’s when the dam bursts, and JJ begins to cry. You sit up and throw your arms around him, and his hands grasp your shirt like you’re a lifeline. He’s murmuring your name like a prayer, over and over like he’s trying to do penance. Before you can even begin to console him, he kisses you quick and soft.

“Is that okay?” It’s so sweet, a side of JJ you hadn’t seen since you were little kids. Since before you had burdens and before the world got scary.

“More than okay,” you whisper back, utterly melting against him. When he kisses you again, you can feel him smile, and feel the dampness from his eyes on your cheeks.

JJ can’t believe that you’re kissing him back, and he wonders if he’s dreaming. When your hands shift into his hair, he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. It has to be fake.

Almost like you can read his mind, you pull back. “I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you assure.

His smile is so wide, you think it’ll get stuck like that. “You’re gonna have me around forever,” he says. “That’s a promise.”

“It better be, Maybank. I kinda like you.” You cuddle up against him, head on his chest, grinning profusely.

“I guess I really do have to tell John B you couldn’t keep your hands off me,” he jokes.

“Shush! You’re gonna ruin the moment!”

#outer banks fanfiction #outer banks #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #jj obx fic #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #outer banks imagine #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank smut

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peetaslefttoe · 11 months

Note

Can you write a smut fic about like... a megahorny Peeta "using" the reader (consensually ofc) thanks sorry im very embarassed to be sending this in lol

warnings: Peeta “using” fem! reader, rough smut, angry smut, bdsm, consensual violence TW‼️‼️‼️

summary: request above 🫶

author’s note: omg don’t be embarrassed this is such a good idea 😫 this lowkey descended into bdsm so… warning you now 😘

Masterlist Pinned xx

You and Peeta stormed into the bedroom bickering loudly.

“Are you kidding me? How is this my fault?” you gasped.

“You weren’t even trying back there!” Peeta spit back.

“God damn you, I was trying as hard as I could Peeta, fuck-,” you groaned.

“And what if we’re not good enough Y/N? Then what? You’re gonna “try” your best to fucking survive in the arena!?” he yells, running his hands through his sweaty hair.

“Fuck you! You think I don’t want to survive this Peeta!? It’s not my fault that the other contestants are better than us in training,” you growl, glaring at him.

“Fuck! We’re so screwed,” he sighed loudly, rubbing his hands across his face in anguish. You felt you angry begin to clear, like a rain cloud hit by rays of sunlight. You stepped slowly closer to him, feeling embarrassed at the suddenly wetness between your legs. He was so hot when he screamed at you. Was that a normal thing to be feeling? You didn’t think so.

“Just, just leave me alone okay?” Peeta said lowly, his arms crossed.

“Let me help you Peeta, we can’t go back out there tomorrow this angry,” you said calmly, placing a tentative hand on his flexed bicep. He glared down at you, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Yeah, you’re right, we can’t win if we’re screaming at each other,” a hint of a smile danced across his lips before disappearing with a glint in his dark eyes.

“Use me Peeta,” you whispered, finding his scanning eyes harder to ignore than usual. He was taken aback by your remark, looking at you in shock.

“What?” he breathed out finally.

“Use me. You’re angry, pent up, use me Peeta, make yourself feel better,” you egged him on, running your hands up his shoulders.

“This is your last chance to leave this and go to bed,” he warned, his eyes darkening threateningly.

“Take me Peeta,” you whispered, gripping his hair tightly. Suddenly he swung you around, shoving you face first onto the bed.

“You’re so pathetic, failing me in training and now you’re begging for me to bend you over like a slut?” he spat angrily. You felt the pool between you legs grow and your stomach fluttered at his cruelness. He held you down and yanked your spandex shorts and panties down, tossing them to the side. He smacked your ass, before kissing the red spot, soothing the sting he left behind. He spread your cheeks, revealing your glistening heat to him.

“God, you’re such a whore, you love it when I yell at you don’t you? You weak bitch,” he grabbed your hair, tugging you back and looking into your eyes. “Answer me honey,” he smirked at your limp body.

“Yes- I love it when you scream at me Peeta, please use my pussy,” you whined, surprised at your own pathetic response. He turned you into your back, pulling your tank top over your head. The cold air hit your nipples, you felt them harden as he watched you with a cold stare. You nearly screamed in shock when he smacked you across the face before taking your lips in his. You parted your lips as his tongue danced in your mouth, your hot mouths gasping for air. You knew it was almost laughable how much you needed Peeta, but you couldn’t help it as your legs clenched together.

“Come on baby, spread your legs for me,” he said almost kindly as he ran his hands along your bare skin. You saw the switch in his eyes as you opened your thighs, he looked at you intensely as you shuddered under his gaze. He pulled his painfully hard cock from his shorts and ran his dripping crown along your slit. You bucked your into his shaft as he grinder against you. His hands pushed your hips into the mattress, holding you still.

“Last chance, are you gonna take my cock like the slut you are?” he whispered menacingly, kissing your cheek. You nodded.

“Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you senseless Y/N,” the way he said your name had you soaking the duvet.

“Please fuck me, use me to get yourself off,” you rambled. “If i’d known how big you were I would’ve started this a long time ago, gonna stretch me so fucking wide Peeta,” you moaned, grinding against nothing in an attempt for some pleasure.

“Aw poor baby, not gonna be able to take my cock?” he said innocently. He threw your legs over his strong shoulders and tugged your hips to his. He lined his veiny shaft up with your soaked hole and plunged into you. Your eyes rolled back as he sunk deeper into you, your pussy swallowing each inch he gave.

“I’m gonna ruin you, gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be limping into training tomorrow you stupid girl,” Peeta gave you less than a second to adjust before he began ramming you onto his cock. You lay unable to move in his grasp, shuddering with each brush against your walls.

“Fuck- taking me so well, making me feel better already,” he groaned, his heavy sack hitting your ass with each thrust. You moaned his name loudly, cling to his back as he bounced your cunt on his dick.

“Shut up, you fucking wanted this, take it,” he nearly shouted, his jaw tense with built up frustration. You felt the knot in your stomach grow at his harsh behaviour as he fucked you mercilessly.

“Peeta,” you whined, you sore hole clenching around him.

“Such a good fuck toy, your tight cunt is suffocating me, gonna use you ever time I want to, aren’t I? You’d let me wouldn’t you? Such a whore for me,” he growled, sinking his nails into the flesh of your ass.

“Yes! Use me Peeta, I’m just a worthless hole for you,” you whimpered, your walls beginning to flutter. He raised a hand from your hips and struck your face again, stinging and throwing you into your orgasm. You felt your pussy throb, gushing onto his thick cock. He bit down on your bare shoulder as he came, continuing to ram your overused hole full of his seed. His thrusts slowed and he looked down at you with blown out pupils.

“You squirted all over me you filthy girl,” he groaned, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he shuddered with the last few ropes of cum painting your insides. He pulled out slowly, pressing a sloppy kiss to your abused pussy. He disappeared from your view, as you lay helplessly on the bed.

“Peeta?” you whimpered, starting to feel the weight of the moment.

“Shh, I’m right here baby,” he stroked your hair from your eyes, and brought a warm washcloth to your thighs. Wiping your combined juices from your legs and heat. He leaned down lapping at your burning hole leaking his cum. You whined, your body oversensitive as he sucked his seed from you.

“That’s a good girl,” he said softly, kissing you gently. You tasted his salty cum on his tongue, moaning softly. He helped you under the covers, laying to face you. He pecked you on the nose sweetly before cupping your face in his hands.

“You okay? I wasn’t too rough was I?” he asked, worry flashing in his angelic face.

“No, I love seeing you like that,” you smiled sheepishly. He pulled you into him letting you feel the rise and fall of his chest and the soft beat of his heart. You buried your cheek into his side, smiling to yourself as he gently stroked your back.

#peeta supremacy #the hunger games #peeta x reader #peeta mellark #smut #the hunger games peeta #fanfiction writer #imagines #i love peeta #thg peeta #peeta mellark imagine #peeta imagine #peeta smut #team peeta #peeta mellark x reader #peeta thg #peeta mellark smut

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taylortruther · 4 months

Note

~~catching up on your blog lol~~

It’s interesting to hear that someone thinks Bejeweled can’t be about Calvin because I think it’s established that High Infidelity is about Calvin (I don’t think that’s contested) and Bejeweled just parallels that so perfectly? Bejeweled is the before/during her going out and having a good time asserting her confidence, High Infidelity is the fallout when she comes home. It’s a pipeline from “and we’re dancing all night / and you can try / to change my mind / but you might have to wait in line” to “I bent the truth too far tonight / I was dancing around, dancing around him” — “I bent the truth” could also go along with her saying that she doesn’t remember if she had a boyfriend in Bejeweled. Bejeweled is her saying that she’s had enough, she just wants to go out and have fun and she doesn’t give a shit about the consequences; High Infidelity is her coming home to face the consequences, the intensity of which demonstrates why she had been so desperate to get out in the first place. Those songs just line up narratively too much imo for them not to be about the same subject matter.

I think it’s definitely related to Joe in that it’s interesting that after so many years of not writing about this relationship she suddenly felt the need to explore it, likely because of stuff she was experiencing in her current relationship. I think that fits the concept of midnights too — I think a lot of midnights was her going back and looking at past relationships to analyze why they went wrong, possibly because she was desperately trying to save her current one. So I think a lot of the songs — Bejeweled, Maroon, Question, even Midnight Rain — may have elements that parallel stuff that was happening with Joe, but they are ultimately about other past relationships.

yes, exactly!

#bejeweled

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hwasoup · 4 months

Text

Tale As Old As Time

Playlist to read along with !!

songs used for inspo: No Matter What (reprise), Wolf Chase, etc...

art credit goes to Marbipa

ooh lord, my back hurts from so much from all the typing I swear once I start writing I don't stop until it's done, any whoop I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!! Try guessing who our new characters are, they'll be introduced soon!!

like always let me know if you’d like to be tagged !

prev | ch.3>>

warnings: enchanted items, fear, slight harassment, slight misogyny

word count: 2.5K

Chapter 2: The Castle

A week after departing from the village….

Mauricio happily hums a tune to himself as he directs Felipe where to go. “Ahh Felipe, can’t you taste it?? First place at the contest, I mean this contraption is very nifty, I’m sure I'll win a prize” He holds onto the reins a bit tighter as he looks around the dark woods. “Well…isn’t this lovely…if only I could recognize which woods I'm in” he says. After a while he reaches a fork in the road. He didn’t know whether to go left or to go right “well…this...is…something” he thinks for a while and looks in both directions “well then Felipe, let's go left, shall we? Let's try to get somewhere before-” Thunder rumbles in the distance..."before the storm hits.” he says while directing the horse to go on the path.

After a while the woods slowly became more spiritless, the trees started looking more shriveled, and the vegetation slowly started disappearing. The wind has picked up a bit and the thunder rumbled louder than before. Mauricio looks around a bit more and says “well where did you take us Felipe? This can’t be right?” he says blaming his decision on the poor horse. Then Howling is heard in the distance. Felipe backed up a bit looking around anxiously as he nickered some more “We should turn back around” Mauricio says.

Suddenly out of the blue he sees a wolf behind him and immediately yells “GO FELIPE GO” The Horse neighs loudly and starts galloping, Rain has started falling and lightning crackles in the sky. Mauricio didn’t even bother to look behind him as he could hear the pattering of feet and snarls behind him. He was being chased by a pack of wolves. The path in the woods slowly started disappearing and the trees became larger and thicker, the rainfall seemingly to become harder and stronger. The roots protruded in the path as the pair ran away. A branch that was in the way makes Felipe trip and fall, the wagon unlatching itself to the horse as it runs. Mauricio fell down and looked at his wagon, all of his supplies scattered, and his dear invention destroyed, but there was no time to think about that.

He then heard a deep growl behind him and saw the wolf, he got up and ran as fast as his feet could take him and ran to the edge of a small cliff. He looked down and saw the rest of the wolves snarling at him, ready for him to jump so they could pounce at him. He sees Felipe in the distance and yells “FELIPE POR ACA, VENGA!” The horse whinnies and runs towards him, allowing Mauricio to jump and perfectly land on the horse’s back. He looks behind as he sees the pack chase him and his grip tightens on the horse’s reins. He turns back around to see a gate. “TO THE GATE FELIPE” he cries out. The horse runs as fast as its hooves can take him and the gates open allowing the pair to quickly escape and immediately closes as soon as they enter, leaving the hungry pack of wolves barking and snarling outside.

Felipe gallops until it becomes a trot as he could see a stable where he could stay. Mauricio wipes his face in relief and then gets off the horse and brings him to the stable “well let’s get you settled, at least you have some food and water…now, let me go up and uhm…” He looks up at the grandeur castle that is before him. “Greet our host...” he says in awe of the castle. As he walks up the stairs to the entrance, he wonders why can’t seem to remember this place existing or even why there was a castle here in the first place. His thoughts are replaced by the thunder booming as he needs to get inside to stay dry from the storm.

Mauricio then arrives at the door and looks around, he can see all the lamps lit up, but nobody outside. He knocks on the door and the door creaks and opens. “Thank you, Thank-” he looks next to him and sees nobody by the door. He looks behind him as he sees the door closing on its own. Confused, he slowly walks inside the castle, he sees beside him a fireplace with a lovely chair. “Hello?” He walks a bit more and looks up and sees the intricate designs of the castle “I’m just a traveler…seeking shelter from the storm.” he says, a bit defeated. His words echo in the seemingly empty castle “Perdon por molestar…anyone home?” he says as he takes off his coat and hangs it on the coat rack. The coat rack then discreetly looks behind him and shakes off some of the water off the coat to release some weight. However, in a corner at a small table a clock and candelabra stare at Mauricio. “Damn...he must have gotten lost in the woods…” The clock smacks him quickly “shut up you idiot” she whispers.

Mauricio then turns around confused, making the two stop moving. “Excuse me?”

He then slowly walks towards the table and looks at the clock. “Oh how beautiful…” He then peeks at the candelabra and picks it up “oh how extraordinary.” Music from a piano starts playing, which makes Mauricio turn around and gently place the candelabra back down on the table. Mauricio then fixes himself and walks towards the music.

“Ooh he got some taste.”

“Relax, he was talking about me.”

Mauricio then approaches the room where the piano was and sees it playing on its own. “Oop-” the piano says as it stops playing. Mauricio looks at the piano in awe and confusion and stutters a bit over his words. He turns back around to where he originally was and goes to approach the chair by the fireplace. “Well now, wherever you are…I’m just going to sit down and warm myself by the fire.

In the distance there was some clattering which caught Mauricio’s ear. He quickly walks towards the noise as well to find himself in a dining room that had food by a chair. “Oh, muchas gracias…I couldn’t thank you enough.” he immediately sits down and starts eating, savoring the foods and flavors in his mouth. Then as he ate, he saw a cup on a small plate slowly approach him and he looked at it in utter awe, shock, and fear. “Daddy says I wasn’t supposed to move because it's scary…..sorry” says the cup in a little girl’s voice.

Mauricio’s eyes bulged out in shock as he quickly replied “its…it's alright…”

He then bolted out of his seat, walking as quickly as he could to the entrance “I…uh. Cannot humbly thank you for…for your hospitality” he says while taking his coat and putting it back on. “But uh it seems to me that I…uh well. Bid you...adieu…” he says with a bow while opening the door. “And uhh…good night.” He slams the door walking as fast as he could, not knowing that someone was watching the whole time. Outside, the storm has stopped, and Mauricio quickly goes to Felipe and mounts him. With a quick thwip from the reins, Felipe galloped into the gardens. “No wait, stop, stop, stop.” The horse stops and Mauricio gets off “Roses…I nearly forgot...” He approaches the rose garden and notices that they were all white, “I promised mi niñita a rose...” Mauricio walks into the garden scoping a perfect rose for Y/N unaware of the owner lurking…watching him as he walks in the rose garden. The host quietly moves from one place to another as he sees Mauricio get closer to a rose. The horse starts nickering and whinnying in anxiousness, hoping that his owner would see his warning.

Mauricio then takes a look at one rose and smiles thinking about Y/N and brings his hands up to pluck the rose, but instead pricks his thumb with a thorn. The host growls as he sees Mauricio reach in again trying to pick out the rose. Finally, Mauricio with a smile plucks the rose for Y/N but instead hears a loud thud and a roar to see the figure in front of him. Scaring him nearly half dead and making him fall on his back. He whimpers in shock and tries to back up in utter fear “HOW DARE YOU STEAL FROM ME, I GIVE YOU SHELTER AND THIS IS WHAT I GET ?!”

Mauricio pleads to the monster in front of him. “N-no p-please, it was only a g-gift for my d-dau-daughter” he says while staring at him. “WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT?” Mauricio stutters some more. “OH, I SEE...WE’VE COME TO STARE AT THE BEAST, HAVE WE?” Mauricio looks at him and stammers some more “n-no I didn't mean to offend. I-” A low emanating growl comes from the beast as he approaches him “CALLATE, YOU’VE DONE PLENTY…NOW YOU’RE COMING WITH ME” He takes Mauricio and drags him back inside the castle. Felipe whinnies and bucks his hind legs as he tries to get the reins off of him, eventually succeeding and running off back to the village.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later…

Ben is looking through a bush where some of the leaves have started goldening and falling off, while staring at y/n’s house. “...y/n is sure to get the shock of her life...” Ben nods at Eddie and looks at himself at the puddle next to him. “Oh yes Eddie, this is definitely her lucky day!” He looks away from the bush and turns around to see everything perfectly set up. He then clears his throat to catch everyone’s attention “I would like to thank all of you for coming to my wedding, your contributions are greatly appreciated…but now I gotta go in there and well” he clears out his throat once more “propose to the girl” he says with a chuckle. The guests chuckle and laugh as well unlike the 3 women in the corner who are weeping.

“Now you Eddie, have the most important job, when I come out the door with y/n...”

“Yea I know, I’ll strike up the band” he says a bit disinterested. As he looks at the band and makes them quickly rehearse the wedding march.

Back in y/n’s home however, she’s sitting on a chair happily reading her book until she hears a knock on her door. She approaches it and using her father’s invention to see outside, she notices it's Ben and she groans loudly to herself. “Ok…you can do this” she says to herself in a whisper as she opens the door. “Oh, why Ben... que sorpresa...” she says with a feigned voice of interest.

“Why isn’t it, I'm always full of surprises,” Ben added. “You know y/n there isn’t a single woman in town who would be aching to be you right now.” Y/N backs up a bit “Oh uh…pero como?” Ben chuckles “Well, this is the day your dreams come true my dear...” he saunters his way more to get closer to her. “What do you know about my dreams, Ben?” He chuckled once more “Oh plenty, now here picture this.” He sits down on a chair and places his muddied shoes on the table. “A rustic hunting lodge, my latest kill...roasting on the fire, while my pretty little wife massages my aching feet, while the little ones play on the floor with the dogs” he says while looking at her with a smoldering look. “We’ll have six or seven...”

Y/N grimaces at his words and thinks at how unbelievably daring this man is right now. “Perros?” she asks with a pained smile. “No Y/N, strong boys like me!” Y/N rolls her eyes “you...don't say...” she says now looking for some sort of exit from this situation. “Now Y/N, who do you think that little wife will be?” Y/N’s eyes widen in horror and says “erm... Uhh.. let me think…” Ben interrupts her with a grin “Why, YOU Y/N.” Y/N turns away from him quickly and backs up to the door. “Ay pero, Ben I- I’m speechless..I.. well really don’t know what to say” she says as Ben approaches her with a determined look.

Then, by using both of his arms, Ben pins her to the door with a winning smirk “say you’ll marry me then” he says as he leans in closer to Y/N. “Perdon Ben pero…I’m uh..I just...” Ben has leaned in close enough to kiss her. In a quick attempt, Y/N uses her hand to find the door handle and opens it, quickly moving out of the way, making Ben surprised and fall into a puddle of mud.

Eddie on the other hand only hears the door open and signals for the band to start playing. He then directs the band for a bit and then hears something moving. He turns around to see Ben completely covered in mud “soo uh…Imma take that as a no...” Ben, enraged, looks into Eddie’s eyes and mutters to him “I WILL have Y/N as my wife, make no mistake about that” he states, as he begrudgingly walks away in embarrassment from the rejection, he just took in front of his wedding guests.

After the commotion dies down, Y/N peeks out of her front door and looks around “Is he gone ??” She looks down to confirm that Ben is gone and walks outside to feed her chickens “I can’t believe him, ME? To be the wife of that headstrong, boorish, conceited man.” She grabs the chicken feed and throws it everywhere in annoyance “imagínate, señorita riley, just imagine, his little wife.” She throws the bucket of chicken feed to the ground. “I need some place to scream.”

A few minutes later she ran on top of a hill and layed in the field of dandelions. “My dreams? What does he know about my dreams… I want adventure, I want it so much that I can’t imagine someone else imagining it.” She quietly lays in the grass for a while longer and plucks a dandelion and blows it, watching the seeds spread in the wind. “I want so much more than this tiny village,” she says to herself. “If only someone could understand...” She sighs and closes her eyes, taking in the air from her surroundings. She inhales once again but then stops as she hears whinnying in the distance. She turns around and gets up as she spots Felipe in the distance.

“Felipe, I- what's wrong?” She looks around to see that there was no wagon and especially her father. “Dónde está papá ?” she says as she tries to calm down the horse. "Where is he Felipe, what happened?!”.

She took hold of his reins and frantically responded “Please, we must go find him, Take me to him !!” She takes Felipe back home quickly to grab her cloak and to replace the horse’s broken reins. Once she does, she mounts Felipe and takes control as she rides out to the woods to find her father.

taglist: @cupcakeinat0r , @miguelhugger2099, @mcmiracles, @xxsugarbonesxx,@codenameredkrystalmatrix,@deputy-videogamer,@lxverrings,@miguelzslvtz,@itsameclinicaldepression,,@ricekrisbris,@loser-alert , @thedevax, @uncle-eggy, @corpsebridenightamare, @m4dyy,

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #spiderman miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel 2099

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shima-draws · 3 months

Note

OK, so thinking about a Sanlu au where Luffy is a Pirate King who gets so many marriage requests but does not want to get married. And so he instead insists that he gets to choose his partner through a contest where all the princes and princesses of like the countries around them or other pirates can like bring him a meal and if he likes it, you get married. The problem is that whenever people bring him food he'll just eat it and move on.

And so obviously the vinsmokes are like. Oh s***, we should get in on that. New Ally? And so they try with some of Sanji's others brothers, but none of them like work because they just made their cooks make their meals and everything.

Then eventually sanji, who wants to escape hears about this. And he knows that he can cook so he makes this amazing meat dish He is ready to present his meal towards the Prince in hopes of like maybe escaping his country and living there with Luffy. But like as he's on the way there, there's like this little girl who's starving, and so he gives her the meal instead. It was a one in a million shot anyway.

Anyway, either Luffy sees him doing this or if this was like the true test for kindness for all his partners, and sanji passes the test. Luffy's like get bring this man to me! So sanji goes before him, and luffy asks if he has a meal for him. All sanji has is like, this old sandwhich that he made for himself for the journey here, and sanji tells luffy that. Luffy tells him to bring it to him anyway, and after a lot of protests, he does. Luffy finally eats it and says that its delicious. He and sanji definitely get married.

Sorry for dumping this on you, but your artwork made me literally fall in love with sanlu so I wanted to share this middle of the night idea with you lol.

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP ANON THIS IS EVERYTHING.......I'm a SUCKER for AUs like this, ones that kinda give off that Cinderella vibe? The whole 'Well if I have to get married to a random stranger I'm gonna do it my way' trope is always so fun to explore

Luffy's one requirement for a spouse being that they have to cook well is SO on brand for him tbh. I feel like that's something that would be canon too. (Thinks about a situation like that in canon where Luffy's like well nobody can cook better than Sanji so I'll just marry Sanji! And Sanji double takes like wait what hold on a second--)

Even funnier would be if Luffy just met Sanji's brothers and was like. I don't like their vibes they seem mean. And all three of them being SO offended at that lmao

SANJI GIVING HIS DISH TO A STARVING GIRL THO AAAHGFHFHF THAT'S SO. CLENCHES MY TEETH he's so selfless and giving he would absolutely give up all of his dreams just to make sure someone doesn't go hungry I am GOING to cry. And Luffy immediately noticing that, pointing at Sanji and going "Him. I want that one" AGHHH 😭😭😭

ALSO YES THE CALLBACK TO WCI with Sanji's little lunch basket...the food is a total mess it's been rained on and dropped and looks awful but Luffy eats it anyway and says it's delicious...and Sanji's like oh oh oh I think I'm in love with him. Uh-oh.

DON'T APOLOGIZE THIS IS SOOO ADORABLE I'm so glad I got you hooked on Sanlu they are so underrated!!! Going slightly off topic here but I think it's really funny how predictable I am when it comes to getting into new media. Step 1 I watch a show and slowly discover who my Favorites are. Step 2 I end up shipping those favorites together. Step 3 I make that everybody else's problem. Also that ship almost always ends up being the less popular one for some reason?? Which is SO funny to me. Looks at Trustedpartner/Diode, Yujikiri and Tododeku as the most obvious examples of this along with Sanlu

ANYWAY anon I really want to write this can I write this. No guarantees to me actually finishing a full blown fic but oh my godddd this is such a cute idea and is so in character for both of them I'm weeping real tears

#Shima answers questions #I'm going to blow up this is SO THEM!! SO SANLU #I love them so much hahfhghfsanda #I love Cinderella-esque AUs anon you're a GENIUS #Sanlu #One Piece #Lusan #Luffy #Sanji #Monkey D Luffy #Black Leg Sanji

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sl-vega · 4 months

Text

✧Sticking to the Script✧

Pairing: Xingqiu x FEM! Reader

Genre: fake dating, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst (?), high school smau, modern smau

⋆｡°✩-Synopsis: Xingqiu just got entered into a special writing contest, the type that's invite only, the theme this year is love, the only problem is that he has zero romantic experience. but he really wants to prove himself as a writer. meanwhile, you just found out that your boyfriend cheated on you, and you need to show him that you're 100% over him, the only problem is that there's no way you can get an actual boyfriend that quickly. clearly, the solution to both of your issues is to fake date each other. it shouldn't be hard for an actor such as yourself, all you need to do is stick to the script.

Status: ONGOING

playlist: just here for the vibes. also shoutout to the lovely @uuyuomi for giving me ideas for what songs should be on here

✧MEET THE CAST✧

y/n + company ✧ xingqiu's victims friends ✧ other friendly faces

PROLOGUE-a little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now

01-no chance for a showmance

02-time to write the other 51

03-inspiration? more like desperation

04-the world's a stage and i'm the star

05-lara jean who?

06-not so soft launch

07-rebound already?

08-hollywood here i come

09-i swear i'm not a gold digger guys

10-action!

11-possessive much?

12-juliet's found a new romeo

13-boyfriend vs boy friend

14-no shit sherlock

15-boy you got me helpless

16-you've got it bad

17-denial ain't just a river in egypt

18-third wheeling x10

19-spotify doing me dirty

20-taking my breath away (literally)

21-practice makes you a little too perfect

22-finishing touches

23-cheating but not really

24-feelings are confusing

25-front row seats to my demise

26-confess before the credits roll

27-not the best with words but i'll try for you

28-setting the scene

29-opening night

30-confessions and curtain calls

31-fucking finally

EPILOGUE-that's a wrap!

(OPEN) Taglist: @freyao7, @thatoneswordgirl, @sn1perz, @latay7, @esmetrees, @nmriki0, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @httpsrenren, @cupid-spams, @aixaingela, @kaitfae, @luvkvni, @danhenglovebot

additional notes:

-this is the reworked version of going of script

-time stamps don't matter

-feel free to comment if you want to be added to the taglist

-this is for all the xingqiu simps and theatre kids

-it's fully planned out so it will start soon :3

-names in bold means I can't tag you btw

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cuubism · 2 months

Note

Hi, may I ask about the bachelor au please and thank you:3

omg yes. i made a post once about how unhinged a dreamling Bachelor au would be, and then i actually started writing it XD

it's a bit messy/unformatted right now, because it's a sort of outsider POV structure where it alternates between scenes from the TV show and chat commentary from the internet fandom who are watching 😂 hopefully one day I'll actually write all of it

A scene from probably the last/second-to-last episode of the season. The final two "contestants" in the show were Hob (who Morpheus keeps insisting he doesn't have feelings for despite everything he does proving otherwise) and Thessaly.

Morpheus leans on the railing, hunched in on himself. Rain pelts down onto his head, flattening his hair and soaking his clothes. Hob steps out through the sliding door, heedless of the rain, to stand beside him, and rests a hand on Morpheus’s back. Hob: Didn’t work out, then? His voice is softer than usual, almost inaudible over the rain. Not playful, or teasing, as it so often is with Morpheus, it’s just… gentle. Morpheus: She… decided… that she no longer loved me. Hob: Poor darling. Again, it’s not teasing, only a bit… sad. Morpheus: I suppose this means that you win. Hob: Yup. Morpheus curls into him, pressing his face into Hob’s chest with a sob. Hob catches him, wraps his arms around his shoulders, and holds him tight. Hob presses a kiss into his hair. Low enough that it’s clearly intended not to be picked up by the mics, he says— Hob: It’s alright, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay— —as Morpheus keeps crying.

INTERVIEW — HOB Hob’s expression is lacking its usual cheer and mischief. His hair is still wet, as though he’s only recently come in out of the rain. Hob: So I guess I won? Interviewer: You don’t sound happy about it. It takes a moment for Hob to respond. He bites his lip in thought, then sighs. Hob: I— it was just supposed to be a game. I thought— I thought we felt the same way about it, I thought— I didn’t even care if I won at first? So it was just for fun, just this totally ridiculous nightmare of a— He scrubs a hand over his face, messing up his hair. Hob: Seeing Dream like that, I didn’t realize, I didn’t realize what it— Interviewer: ‘Dream’? Hob: Hm? Interviewer: You called him Dream. Hob: Did I?

#chat went nuts bc 'dream' is a pet name hob made up that he only called morpheus in private before #also fandom is obsessed with hob bc he keeps doing insane things like threatening to kill people and punching alex in the face but when he'#around morpheus he's always just so sweet #the amount of lore about this fic that exists in my head but not on paper is incredible 😂#bachelor au #my writing #ask #anonymous

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stareiiez · 1 month

Text

𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 --- one.

simon ( ghost ) riley x female reader.

note: first time writing for the COD lovers. tell me how I did :). please be gentle and kind to me omg.

content : dark?? ghost. modern settings. mentions of suicide. obsession. stalking. unhealthy attachments. smut in later chapters. alcohol. dark topics. this is just my version of haunting adeline but for ghost. adult reader. MDNI. 3.6k words.

Rain streaked down your large window's pane, clear warm waters raced each other down thin plane glass. Each droplet getting bigger than the others that trickled downward the more liquid each harmless little drop of water that was collected further speeding the streaks to drop down onto the sill. If you were delusional you would have compared yourself to the naive raindrops that beaded your window in the dead of night. You, the perfect round thing, sitting in paranoia and harm's way as it escalated its determined way to collect you into its grasp and swallow you whole.

You, losing yourself to the drowning and suffocating heat of entrapment that fear had on your throat, on your mind, on your entire being. You could always blame yourself. You could blame your idiotic choices for provoking this rapid current. You could blame yourself for never calling the police as much as you should. Not taking their advice when they did give it to you when you were swaddled in that horrid-smelling grey blanket one of them would provide for comfort when they would arrive on your property at late hours. Instead, you ignored them, ignored your normal conscious thoughts that warned; and tried to steer you away from this danger that was always lurking in your mind. You welcomed the risk. The pure risk of knowing who dared to turn your once perfect, as perfect it could be for an adult, mental cognitive thinking into pure garbage that was feeding its appetite for more delicious terror.

It's why you ignored the large palm print that didn't get smudged away by those racing water streams you had chosen to watch instead of taking in the details or gawking at how massive and thick all five fingers were spread out on the middle half of the glass. The creases of the print's fingers were perfect, if you even squinted and shoved your face against the glass you could try and see the swirls of fingerprints on each end of the finger markings left behind. A telltale sign that your attacker that plagued your thoughts, and your surroundings had been here. Whether it was during the day or he was just a few minutes ago, you'd never figure it out. You had the balls to not turn and flee this time, this time if he even had the balls to still be lurking in the thunderstorm outside; or in the walls of your own house. You wouldn't run and hide like you did before.

The only thing you however did not ignore? Was the blaring light of your cellphone and the harsh vibrations of it against the smooth palm of your hand? Slight vibrations had your nerves fire off in adrenaline-soaked supersonic booms underneath your skin that had your eyes jump away from the staring contest you were having with the imprinted glass to now move on to your bright phone screen. The contact name glared up at you and without another beat of annoying buzzing. You answered the call as if it was on cue.

"Hello?"

"Hello ?? Earth to __ ." A pair of fingers snapped in front of your face in rapid beats rivaling a hummingbird's rhythm. The sharp snaps were enough to have your pupils focus back in and realign on your friend in front of you. Cheeks flushed in a small wave of rich pinks when you realized you weren't listening in on what plans your friend was trying to make with you for the only night that you were free for, ever since you got done unpacking at your old relative's loft. The quiet sounds of distant music coming from a speaker in your home, the sensation of heat still seeping into the palm of your hand from the mug of tea you were once sipping on. It all brought you back to the very present, the red-haired fire engine female in front of you. Insistent brown eyes glared at your warm face, irritation present on dyed red brows.

Tonight was the one chance you had to have some unwinding to gain some energy to get back to your life of being stuck behind a desk and computer when Monday rolled its ugly head once again. "Sorry. . . um, what time were you saying you wanted to meet up again?" Your lips quirked in a sheepish grin when your friend's lips twitched into an annoyed scowl.

"9. Veronica and I are taking the Jeep and you're driving to meet us at that dive bar, Vaqueros. Then we hit the club down the street after we finish our pre-game." As if someone in your mid-twenties can handle your liquor without consequences anymore. You weren't sixteen and sneaking Fireball and Kahula from your mom's pantry in the dead of night and trying to make fun and new cocktails for yourself and the girls who were sleeping over for the night.

You swallowed your excuses of trying to back out of tonight and stay home with nothing but a tub of ice cream and a 2000s coming-of-age comedy movie. You wouldn't dare to even annoy or inconvenience your best friend, Izzy, out of canceling plans; when you've already pulled the same song and dance of lying about too many things in the past, just to get out of a social event. Your eyes drifted to the clock on the wall behind Izzy, the little and big hands reading 7:30 pm. Way too early to lie about how you have to feed a nonexistent pet you have, or how you have to call your mother and tell her how much you miss her.

Your eyes darted back to her face. A soft exhale left your lips, fine. Fine, it was one night. One night of fun. One night of drinking yourself into a silly tizz and end up with a headache the next morning when you're nursing yourself with black coffee and the hair of the dog shot you'd make; just to make yourself feel at least decent enough to handle the public again." Right, then you better get going, before you dont have a chance to outdress me tonight." You tease with a forced grin.

The irritation present on Izzy's face seemed to melt immediately when you teased her. Delighted that you hadn't fought and screamed your way out of another outing, she was now her normal ball of sunshine and energy. She put the sun to shame sometimes with the amount of positivity and 'good vibes' that leaked out of her pores in waves of vanilla and champagne perfume. If it wasn't her good vibes, her self-medication of weed by day and alcohol in moderation at night was surely her fuel to stay hyped and chatty.

"As if you could beat my fashion sense. You can't even beat your attention span limit, you hardly even listened when I was talking. I don't think you were even conscious when you answered your door for me."

Another flush of quick embarrassment. You'd curse yourself out later when you were changing into your night clothing. It wasn't your fault, you were tired. Sleeping in a brand new place, in a different part of the city and farther away from the Surburan culdasacs you spent the majority of your life in. It was the quiet and actual sounds of birds chirping without being drowned out by the sounds of cars honking and the cries of the neighbor's newborns at eight am. You were surrounded by nothing but lush evergreen and pine trees that practically swallowed the dark mahogany-colored loft house you now lived in. Jet back iron fencing that interwove around each other in details of swirls traced all around the perimeter of the home; till they met in the middle to swoop and create large gates that protected you from the evergrowing dark and shadows of the trees.

It was nature in its purest form, wild and smelly. Untamed with its inhabitants hunting each other for sport between thick trunks and leaping from branch to branch to escape certain death. It was exhausting.

The trees and greenery surrounding your home had welcomed you and Izzy with gentle winds of pine and earth when she had decided it was about time you get ready and 'try to look like you're enjoying yourself' with your outfit. The sun crested the tops of towering tree tops. Oranges and pinks kissed the blue till it was a wash of vibrant purples, it was a beautiful sight. Just another perk to moving out of gated suburbia. How else could you have sunsets like this without them being ruined by city smog and highrise skylines that tried to rival nature's cacophony of watercolor evenings?

"Text me when you get there!" Izzy's voice chirped out of her rolled-down window when she pulled out of your driveway. The black iron gates swung automatically open once they sensed the cherry red Bug heading out of your property. Your hand was raised, waving the trails of dust and fading notes of Gwen Stefani away till the car was swallowed in the shadows of your private forest.

Finally, finally, could you let your face fall from its forced enthusiasm. Smooth facial features now drooped into a grimace when you turned your back and faced your house. A long groan was released from your lungs. Brows pinching. Eyes screwing up as you let out your dread and nerves about going out tonight. "I should have just told her I had gotten the stomach bug." You muttered to yourself, your hands raised to your scalp. Fingers itching at the roots of your hair in irritation before you finally exhaled. Eyes opening once more with a sense of sad acceptance.

You'll just have a few drinks. Hell, just one fruity drink and you'll slip back out the front door before Izzy and Veronica notice you being gone. Besides, when was the last time you had fun? Pure unfiltered fun? You couldn't remember the last time you even laughed so hard you felt your stomach cramp and your gasps turn into snorts from trying to contain yourself. This will be fun, it'll be good for you to socialize and maybe find a little someone to take home if you are really lucky. The last time you got laid was something you dare not even think about, it felt like years yet in reality it was probably close to six months.

With a shake of your head, you made your way back into your new home. Making sure to lock and deadbolt your front door, you turned to the living room/ kitchen. Rich dark greens of carved wood walls and black marbled flooring that melded with flecks of white in every square tile greeted you. The quiet was still chilling to your bones.

The open expansive windows, which were framed with even more luscious green velvet curtains, exposed you to the eyes of more green trees and sharp limbs of evergreens. At night those branches clawed at your bedroom. Sometimes tapping in a strange rhythm from the smallest breeze that begged you to let them in. Let me play with you. Let me in, I swear I'll be nice and good to you. The forest seemed to whisper. If it even was the trees, you wouldn't be surprised if it was just some random hiker coming by to try and ask for a place to stay in the dead of night if they happened to wake you.

A thousand eyes seemed to be watching you, or it felt like it anyway, when you had decided to stop procrastinating and get dressed in the master bedroom of your home. The windows were drawn open, just for the sheer thought that nature didn't mind a little skin and curves. After all, Eve and the Garden of Eden were very intimate all those thousands of years ago when being naked was the new cool.

You stared at your reflection in the floor-length mirror, judging and scoffing at potential outfit combinations that would fit the dive bar and club scene. Something that still screamed 'sexy' in not over flashy loud look for a backwater bar; but just short and good enough to get the bouncer's approval at the trashiest club you'd be dragged to. Your bed and floor were nearly a mess when you decided to settle on a coppery red outfit. It was a dress that was accentuating the curve of your ass and low on the neckline that hugged your sides and dips with a tasteful flourish. The hem of the dress ended at mid-thigh, the material flowy to let you not walk so straight-legged to risk your dress riding up and flashing a stranger your no-show thong. The color complimented your skin color, a not-too-warm color that seemed casual but the style and length were fun for easy access if you were in a hurry to get fucked in the bathroom at two am.

The Go-Go boots you decided to pair with the dress only elevated the look, letting your thighs and calves do most of the talking for starving eyes to get a good peek at smooth-shaven skin. Your makeup was tasteful, hints of the same copper red were blended onto your eyes with a neutral lip to keep things easy. You weren't trying to look good with all the work. God bless tutorials and Ulta Beauty.

"Have I told you how happy I am you're here?" Izzy gasped out for the third time that night. Her black lipstick peeled into an expressive smile at you, the glitters on her skin she applied had her eyes sparkling even more under the amber lights of the bartop you and your two friends sat at. The crowd of people in the bar made it hard for you to hear her, but you could practically tell how excited she was for tonight.

"About just as much as you told her how hot she looks too," Veronica added, wiggling her eyebrows in approval around the dip of Izzy's hunched figure. Her short-cut hair hid the teasing crinkle in her almond-shaped eyes of hers. Veronica, a childhood friend of yours since kindergarten. Only the years of middle school and your moving to a different school cut the friendship short. It was highschool sophomore year and a quick Instagram follow that had you two thick as thieves once more.

"You both are hot, now let's drink!" You giggled, nudging Izzy's arm with a bashful smile. Her other arm held the second shot of the night all three of you were about to down. The amber liquid smells strong in your nose and on your breath. Whiskey was a sipping drink, but you were here to have fun and regret tomorrow. It was decided in the back of your mind when you meet Izzy and Veronica in the parking lot of the Vaquero's bar.

Their, Izzy's, eager waving and wolf whistles had changed your mind from bailing on your friends for the night; to genuinely having fun in your young adult life.

"To being single and getting fucked or fucked up tonight!" Izzy whooped out, her hand raised high in the air with the single shot gripped between clammy fingers. Veronica hissed through her teeth to shush her, but you couldn't help the loud giggle you let bubble up from your throat.

The eyes on you from grown men and women around you silently judging you were overlooked and cast aside. You didn't give one single fuck, respectfully. Your glass threatened to shatter from impact when you clinked it against hers. The amber whiskey burned so good down your throat when you threw it down with a smile while Izzy whooped out once more after downing her own. She was already leaning over the bartop to wave down the bartender for another drink of choice while you grinned from ear to ear at Veronica. Tonight was your night.

"To being single and getting fucked or fucked up tonight!"

Those words were the first things the male had heard when he swung open both double revolving doors of the dive bar. The low golden light of the bar somehow illuminates the three women who acted like they were celebrating some kind of sorority or bachelorette occasion. Whatever it was, it made the man snort and roll his dark eyes to himself. Places like these weren't the spot for people who tried to be the life of the party in their old age regularly. It was a place for people like him. People that were either no-lifer alcoholics or scumbags hoped to pick up the residential lot lizards that hung around the entrance of the bar every night at 1:30 am. Just hoping to score easy cash on some drunk bastard down bad for the night.

For Simon, it was different. It was business with pleasure. A convenient mix of both that made him a comfortable little regular for Alejandro and his men.

The crowd of people moved around him just so he could find his spot towards the back. Safer that way, just how he liked it. Eagle eyes swept over the customers that mingled with each other or sucked down cool liquor like it was ambrosia. Drunkards hung off women like they were leeches. Grubby, sweaty hands picked and pulled at clothing desperately. They whined like kicked puppies if the women they were unabashedly feeling up were rejecting them with a swift smack of their hands. It didn't stop them from trying time and time again. Another loud cheer came from the crowd, somewhere towards the bar.

Somehow there was enough space between swaying, gyrating bodies to see who was causing so much noise. God was he a thankful man that he just so happened to have his gaze staring where it was. He saw her. Liquid metal that shimmered off smooth skin and sloping shoulders. A walking beauty amongst the gargoyles of humanity.

Full lips on display that are curved into a radiant smile that has his eyes turning a shade darker, and cock giving one heavy twitch in the confines of his jeans.

For Simon, the world has stopped. There is no more bar. There is no crowd of people separating you and him. There is only you and him in his mind. Your laughter which was caused by your friends, was only fuel for his stare. Your laugh caused his heart to escalate from its calm beating to a higher tempo.

He's hot under the collar. You haven't even noticed that someone in the shadows of the bar is staring at you, but he doesn't give a fuck about that. He's staring at you and only you. You and the curves of your thighs and hips that shine under the lights of the bar. You with her sparkling eyes crinkle in amusement at something you're being told. He wants that. He wants to be looked at like that. He wants to know what you find so hilarious that your head is tipped back, exposing your chest and throat to hungry men like him to salivate over. He wonders what your skin would taste like if he sank his teeth into your throat. He wonders if you smell like honey and sin incarnate.

He'd wonder if you were as soft and supple under his scarred palms that beat the life out of pieces of shit that decided to walk the earth.

His line of work would be something he'd never bring home if you were there. He'd shed his skin every time once he crossed the threshold, just so he could bury himself into the deepest, warmest parts of your body. If anyone ever touched you before him, he'd break their fucking fingers into bite-sized bits and feed them the gooey mess with a rusty spoon. If you asked he'd kill himself and be reincarnated into somebody worthy of your love if he wasn't fit for it. But that's the thing. He's all you're ever going to need. He's enough and will be enough. You don't know it yet, but you're already his girl. You are so beautifully unaware that it makes his blood sizzle in his eardrums at the rancid thoughts of you and him together.

His weight shifts to get up off the worn chair he had collapsed into earlier. When he stalls for a brief couple of seconds. Angels sing white noise serendipity when your eyes meet his. What he hopes is his gaze and nothing else that you're focused on so much that it had your own eyes widen a fraction more. He must look like he wants to unhinge his jaws and eat you whole. He likes that. Because he fucking wants to. He's obsessed, and you'll learn that the more time comes between you and him.

When you blink. He'd be gone, him and his bottomless black holes of eyes that drew you in like a crushing state of gravity. He slipped out through the bumping crowd, blending through intoxicated hot vapors to the winding staircase off to the side. He's gone, but the sensation of his hungry eyes on you has yet to leave.

#cod mw2 #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod x female reader #cod x f!reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #simon ghost x reader

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rainisawriter · 10 months

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Free Comic Book Day

Raven is your typical anti-social teenager who prefers to spend time alone, reading comics and watching anime. She doesn’t hate her classmates, she just doesn’t have a desire to socialize. So, when the new exchange student approaches her during lunch one day, she is surprised by his request to sit with her. The two realize that they have quite a bit in common and enjoy each other’s company, thus…

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#contest #contest entry #creative writing #friendship #one shot #rain #rain reynolds #slice of life #story #unite and celebrate #wattpad #writer #writing

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gotham-ruaidh · 5 months

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Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 14A: Where Do We Go Now?

Soundtrack: “Sweet Child O' Mine,” Guns N' Roses, 1987 [click here to listen]

She's got eyes of the bluest skies As if they thought of rain I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place Where as a child I'd hide And pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by...

Philadelphia || June 1988

Claire pushed her chair back a bit from the desk. Raised her arms. Stretched. Breathed deeply.

Reading for the eighth time the words she’d finally tapped out on the Selectric this morning, after days of rolling them around in her head.

Chief Physician

Boston Medical Center

To Whom It May Concern,

As you may be aware, I am a trauma surgeon at BMC. Twelve months ago I was placed on administrative leave by the BMC, and my medical license was suspended, pending the resolution of BMC’s internal investigation into my conduct. The investigation started by looking into a near-fatal error I committed during a surgery, and then quickly discovered that I had not only been forging prescriptions and stealing painkillers for quite some time, but also developed a severe addition to those painkillers.

As you may also be aware, I did not contest the actions taken by BMC. Subsequently I enrolled in an intensive drug rehabilitation program in North Carolina. I am happy to share that I am almost twelve months clean, having completed the program last December and successfully maintained my sobriety since then.

I have previously communicated to the Board, on several occasions, my sincere regret for what I did and my remorse for the incredible lapse of professional judgment and ethical standards I demonstrated. I repeat those regrets to you now.

Which is, in part, why I am writing you today. I wish to understand what else is required of me to return to work, in any capacity, at BMC.

Making amends for wrongs was something that Claire and Geillis had talked about a lot, during her time at The Ridge. Yes, doing that was a formal part of any 12 Step program.

But it was more than just saying sorry – it required the addict to recognize the wrongs.

To own them. To understand why they had happened, and the impact they had had on others.

Because nothing sounded more inadequate in the English language than the two words, I’m sorry.

But words matter. And this attitude shift was a crucial step on any addict’s road to recovery.

Making amends was something that Claire and Jamie had talked a lot about, too. She had seen him make amends many times, in their short time together – and quite often during their last few weeks on the road, as they traveled city to city for Print’s acoustic tour and Jamie came into contact with many people who had last seen him drunk/rude/high/demanding/hung over/acting like a total asshole during the last (disastrous) tour in ’86.

He made it a point to really talk to each person, to apologize for specific things he remembered doing. No matter if it was the venue manager, or the catering guy, or the lighting guy, or the security guard. I was a dick when I was drunk. I said terrible things. I hurt you. I’m sorry.

Two weeks ago in Chicago, he couldn’t sleep after a fucking incredible show at the old Chicago Theater. The adrenaline buzz after the show so much better than any pills or bourbon or groupie could have given him. He had tossed and turned for hours, until finally, quietly slipping out of their bed and perching in the easy chair in their suite at the Palmer House, watching Claire shift restlessly under the covers without him.

But of course, she knew when something was wrong. She woke, and turned to face him, easing up on one elbow. Watching him back. Giving him space.

When he finally spoke, it was just above a raspy whisper.

“How can you be here, Claire, when all you do is hear me talk about how awful I was to so many people?”

Her heart did break a little bit. “Because I never knew that version of you, Jamie. What I care about is who you are now.”

He sighed, breath ragged. “This shit is so fucking hard.”

“I know, baby.” Somehow she was standing beside him, and blindly he buried his face into the warm skin of her belly. She threaded her fingers in his hair, held him close as his pulse spiked.

“Deep breaths, Jamie. Focus on me. I’m here.”

He had had several panic attacks during the tour. Which could be chalked up to anything – the stress of changing hotels every day, the crush of fans and press that clustered around their tour bus when they arrived in a new city, the women who pulled down their tops in the front row at every concert, the Jack Daniels bottles and little baggies of powder left in his dressing room before the show in Wilkes-Barre.

But instead of smashing to pieces all alone, she sheltered him. He knew when to ask for help. And always found her just in time to crash against her, shaking and crying in bathroom stalls and green rooms and even once on the deserted tour bus. And each time she was so grateful for the psych rotation she’d done in med school that prepared her to help him.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

“Breathe in, Jamie. Think about how much I love you.”

He drew in a deep, sobbing breath.

“That’s right. Now exhale. I’m never going to leave you.”

He exhaled, shoulders shuddering.

“And inhale, Jamie. We can get hamburgers for breakfast again, if you want.”

He inhaled, and she felt a faint smile against her belly.

“That’s right. And out. Think about how amazing our wedding night will be.”

He exhaled. Gently bit the soft, soft skin above her bellybutton. She shivered, and smiled.

“Good. Center on me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She counted along with him – twenty four more deep breaths. Caressing his forehead, and kissing his hair, and loving him and loving him and loving him.

Finally when he had calmed down, she crawled back into bed, and he held her so close against him. Kissing her forehead. Whispering endless words of love.

“If I ever fuck up with you, Claire, know I’ll always own it.”

She kissed his eyebrows. “The same for me, Jamie. I’d rather be mad at you than not have you.”

He had said the same words to her this morning. A promise he never tired of repeating. Murmured against her hair when he bent over to kiss her in the bed, body thrumming with energy.

Colum had booked a studio here in Philadelphia for the day, so that the band could lay down recordings of the acoustic tracks they’d played to dozens of sold-out crowds during the tour. With the incredible press from the tour – thanks in no small part to Geordie Ash’s profile in Rolling Stone – and bootlegs in wide circulation, it was time. And for once, the band agreed with the label.

She would join him later, of course. But today she needed the time to herself, to finally write and then mail the letter to Boston.

All because of Jamie.

“You can’t stay in a state of limbo forever, Claire,” he had said one night, meeting her eyes in the bathroom mirror as he gently brushed her shower-wet hair. “And I know we still don’t know where we’ll live when we’re married. But you have the right to know.”

She had sighed, jamming her hands in the deep pockets of the hotel bathrobe. “I don’t want to go back to that life.”

He had set down the hairbrush they shared, slipping his hands into the pockets, pulling her close against him. “I know. But you can’t have that door hanging open, Claire. Whether you open it or close it, you know I support you. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by not knowing.”

She had nodded, and pursed her lips. Smiling just a little as he kissed the shell of her ear.

She blinked, and turned back to the typewriter.

I have been traveling for the past few weeks, and won’t be back to Boston for at least the next month. Although I may not be immediately reachable by mail or telephone, I’m enclosing the contact information for someone who can get any letter or other message to me.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Dr. Claire Beauchamp

She gently pulled the paper from the typewriter roll. Signed her name. Took a deep breath. Began to address the envelope.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #little bit better than i used to be

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dancing-with-the-madmen · 2 years

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The Massive Aggression of Calico Jack, redux

Several kind souls have complained brought it to my attention that my failure to use cut tags is, in fact, not optimal. I don't have any good reason that I don't use cuts - mostly I'm just throwing these thoughts out here so they don't endlessly rattle around my brain. Frankly, I'm endlessly astonished anyone but me can be arsed to bother wading through them at all. So, after a truly epic tantrum thoughtful consideration, I've decided to edit my longer posts to add cuts. If you've already read them, (may endless blessings rain down upon you) there's no new content (vile lies and calumny. I'm going to take this opportunity to fix errors and add a line here or there, but nothing major). Just making it more scroll-friendly. You'll know it when you see the word "redux" in the title. So without further ado...

I’ve been trying for a while to put my finger on exactly what it is about Our Flag Means Death's Calico Jack that makes me want to crawl out of my skin and smother him to death with my own abandoned ecdysis.

I mean, I normally love me a spurned admirer/cock-blocking ex. Romantic comedies have their beats, and there’s obviously no serious danger the love interest will end up with anyone other than their intended, so I may as well sit back and enjoy the machinations. After all, the course of true love never did run smooth, and these bitches are here to rough some shit up for sure. I also love Will Arnett. Hands down favorite recurring character on 30 Rock. The second best Batman after TAS (fight me). I can even cheerfully bear his Reese’s commercials if I must bear commercials at all.

Real-life Calico Jack? One of my v. favorite pirates. He wore floral-printed cotton from India as a fuck you to the British tax man. He had an affair with Anne Bonny and offered to purchase her divorce when her husband found out. The two ran away together into piracy when Bonny’s husband refused to quit her and had her whipped for her infidelity. Mary Read was part of Jack and Anne’s crew, and possibly their lover. We love a hopeless romantic, possibly polyamorous king.

So what is it about OFMD Calico Jack that makes him so acutely punchable?

I’ve rewatched the episode several times (oh my v. dears, I really hope this write-up is worth it. I am SO BRAVE to subject myself to this), and I think I’ve finally got it. It’s not just that he’s a loud, vulgar, hectoring, drunken jackass of a bird-murderer. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have as little patience for his brand of mindless destruction and violence-for-violence-sake as Stede does, but that’s not all. It’s that he’s also a master of passive aggression.

Jack does the little whisper-y “Sorry! Sorry!” when Stede wants to know what’s with all the cannon fire, but immediately starts grinning like an unrepentant varlet as soon as he drops his hands.

And then accepts Stede’s introductory handshake with clear derision.

When Stede says he wasn’t expecting guests and there’s only two settings at brekkie, Jack doesn’t wait for Stede to sort things out, and he’s already lowering himself into Stede’s chair by the time Stede invites him to take his spot. He then purposefully keeps steering the conversation to topics that exclude Stede from participating, and cuts Stede short when he tries to reign the conversation back.

He insinuates Stede is less of a pirate for being “store bought”

He refuses to get Stede’s name right, even when corrected. Twice.

And is just SO insincere when calling him back.

And, just, the whole pissing contest scene.

But so what? We’ve had other passive aggressive assholes on the show; Badminton with his cracks about Stede’s tiny dick ship, the French captain’s slurs, Gabriel simpering about Jeff the Accountant’s dining manners. I’m not shedding any tears for their respective fates, but none of them made me want to crawl through the screen and sew all their face holes shut. Because Jack isn’t just passive-aggressive (and aggressive-aggressive), he might just be the most savvy reader-of-rooms we see on the show, and purposefully and systematically leverages his passive aggression to manipulate the actions of those around him for the purpose of making Ed and Stede betray their better selves and make them do the work of driving a wedge between themselves. That was a lot in one sentence. Let me break it down.

Jack uses passive aggression to achieve one of four goals: to nettle, to undermine, (seemingly paradoxically) to reinforce connections, or to coerce. And, if he can manage to achieve different goals for more than one target with the same attack? So much the better. And he’s frankly just astonishingly good at doing so. Like, I’d admire him for it if it didn’t also make me want to make him swallow all of his own teeth.

The basic gameplan goes thusly (this is not a strictly chronological list, a lot of these tactics take place concurrently and recurrently): Stede is the primary target, so Jack nettles him with passive aggressive comments, which puts him on the back foot and undermines his self-confidence. He reinforces his relationship with Ed in ways that excludes Stede and undermines Stede’s relationship with Ed and Ed’s relationship with Stede. Jack uses coercive tactics with Ed and the crew, which undermines Stede’s relationships with them, isolating and othering Stede, which further tanks his mood, which leads him to self-isolate. When Stede eventually lashes out at Ed for falling for Jack’s bullshit, Ed has no idea what’s got Stede so out-of-sorts; Jack has so carefully lead Ed to making the choices that have alienated Stede that they seem like they were Ed’s ideas in the first place. And if Ed has made the choices to do these things, then they are clearly just a reflection of who he is, which, if Stede is lashing out against them, then Stede is rejecting him. Wedge set and match.

So let’s look at the specifics.

Jack’s interactions with Ed are like a masterclass in neurolinguistic programming for evil. First, he plys Ed with booze from the very start. Just look at the bottle in this shot from right after they blow up the dresser drawer.

That bottle or rum is over half gone, and the sky in the background is the peachy-pink of sunrise. This isn’t the bottle Jack had with him in his dinghy; that one he drained and then threw in the air and tried to shoot before coming aboard the Revenge. Which means that they’ve consumed over half the bottle between just the two of them in a very short amount of time. Alcohol, of course, is a social lubricant - the physical warmth it produces mimicking the “warm, fuzzy” feeling of true comradery, and, more importantly, decoupling the decision-making process from inhibition (that is to say, Ed isn’t necessarily doing anything he absolutely wouldn’t otherwise do, but he might otherwise think twice).

But it’s more insidious than just having a few drinks with an old friend. Jack specifically gamifies the consumption of alcohol to reinforce the coupling of the feeling of inebriation with the comradery engendered by teamwork and excitement of success in order to encourage Ed to drink more than he necessarily otherwise would. Ed confirms to Stede during his apology that the idea to use the drawers of the armoire for target practice came from Jack, and we saw that a bullseye meant that Jack had to take a drink, but Ed didn’t. Presumably, there would have been some consequence for a “miss”, and it seems likely that it would be Ed has to take a drink and not Jack. In this way, Jack is able to exert a measure of control over how much Ed is drinking (by missing on purpose) while making it look like the responsibility lies with Ed and his skill as a thrower. This pattern of sneakily controlling Ed’s actions while making it seem like Ed is the one who made or is responsible for the decision will pop up again and again during their interactions.

After the apologies for waking Stede, Jack steps into the space where Ed is gesticulating to make himself readily available to be touched, reenforcing the bond between them, but letting Ed be the one to instigate the touching.

At brekkie, he pours rum into Ed’s teacup without asking or being asked while Ed’s attention is diverted by getting food.

Jack’s collaring of the conversation does not just function as a means of making Stede feel excluded, he’s also refreshing and reinforcing the bonds he and Ed forged under adversity. Talking over Stede also demonstrates that what he has to say is more important than anything Stede might contribute.

Note that just before Jack cut him off, Stede had referred to Ed as Blackbeard (“Blackbeard and I met on a ship”). This may be innocently explained away; if you meet a person from a facet of a close friend’s life with which you do not intersect, you might refer to said friend by their given name instead of a nickname that the other person might not know, for the sake of common frame of reference. But this is the opposite of that - referring to a friend by a nickname instead of the given name that you both presumably know. That suggests to me that the seed of the Ed/Blackbeard dichotomy has already been planted in Stede’s mind by the morning’s shenanigans. And when Jack invites Stede back into participating in the conversation by talking about something he knows Stede would find upsetting (the wanton cruelty of Ed purposefully trapping people to be burned alive, couched in what sounds like sincere admiration for his friend’s piratical prowess), Jack has picked up on that distinction and is leaning into it HARD. He WANTS Stede to see Ed as a collection of behaviors he finds palatable, and Blackbeard as a collection of behaviors he finds repulsive, and then coerce Ed into performing those “Blackbeard behaviors” in order to coerce Stede to drive the wedge by rejecting him. Fucking diabolical.

When Jack is calling Stede a “big girl,” or “store-bought,” or purposefully getting his name wrong, he’s not just throwing barbs that play on Stede’s insecurities (and with such harrowing precision, too; calling on the effeminacy for which he was tormented as a child, his body image issues that we’ve also seen him struggle with under the tender mercies of Badminton - both brain-ghost and original flavor - and the authenticity of his claim to piracy, which we’ve seen him confess that he fears he’s ill-qualified to claim to Jim, Oluande, and Ed. I mean,triple bullseye for this fucking guy). He’s also using these public declarations to undermine Stede’s authority in front of his crew, and establish himself as the real authority on things like piracy and masculinity. He further reinforces this idea by withholding the story of how he saved Ed’s life under the guise of false modesty; people never want something more than when they’re told they can’t have it. And what they’re being told they can’t have is the story of how Jack was so amazing that he even managed to save the life of the coolest, most legendary pirate they know. This withholding primes the crew to think even more highly of Jack and hang on his every word.

This puts Jack into a position where he can pressure the crew into things that sound fun at first blush (like diving off the yardarm or having a snowball fight, but with coconuts), but end up hurting more than anything. Of course, within this dynamic, no one wants to admit they aren’t having a good time, or don’t want to do it; to do so would be tantamount to admitting you are less of a man or not a real pirate. So when Stede refuses to participate, or admits his discomfort or disgust with the proceedings, he’s doing Jack’s work for him, and further alienating himself, and solidifying the roles Jack had put into place where Jack is the fun, cool guy, and Stede is the killjoy that no one should listen to.

Stede unwittingly plays right into Jack’s design when he tries to stand up for himself and wrest back a modicum of respect before things get too far out of hand. He’s well-versed in the world of passive aggression, and sees what Jack is doing. He also knows that you can’t call it out because passive aggression comes with a built in cover of plausible deniability gaslighting. So instead, he tries to push back with a little passive aggression of his own, suggesting that a real pirate has a ship and a crew. Sadly, Stede is not nearly so adroit at wielding passive aggression as Jack is. Jack uses the story (and we know that Izzy sent him, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole mutiny thing is just a story; I could even easily read that slight hesitation after Stede asks his question as Jack deciding on what would be the most effective cover story, instead of hesitancy to admit to something shameful) of his crew’s mutiny to casually re-sow the idea of mutiny on the Revenge. It’s played for comedy when the crew starts talking about how they almost mutinied on Stede and probably will again, but you can’t tell me this hasn’t been a major concern for Stede ever since the first episode. So Jack’s not only got the crew trying to buoy his spirits by assuring him that his crew mutinying on his doesn’t mean he’s a bad person; it’s just something that happens! He’s also got them low-key committing to a future mutiny WITHIN EARSHOT OF STEDE.

Additionally, while Stede is well-steeped in the ways of passive aggression, his crew and Ed are not. They are not particularly sophisticated at identifying passive aggression on its own merits as opposed to the reaction it provokes, which can make it look like they don’t care when it’s being leveraged against Stede, undermining his ability to trust they will look out for him. Stede stoically putting up with Jack’s jibes makes them even more difficult to identify as hurtful. Jack’s (fake) emotional reaction to Stede’s sally might make him look momentarily weak, but allows Ed and the crew to unequivocally identify who is in the wrong and react accordingly. By positioning himself as a victim, he villainizes Stede, further undermining Stede’s authority, and placing him in a position where he owes Jack recompense. Thus, Jack is able to manipulate Stede into the trap of Dead Man’s Cove and make it look like it was Stede’s own idea. I mean, the Xanatos Speed Chess of it all.

What’s heartbreaking to me is how Jack’s wedge-driving and othering of Stede is working so well that at this point we start to hear it from other sources. As they approach the island and Stede suggests going for a swim or taking a nature walk, Ed is the one who tells him, “I think with this crowd, I think they want something a little more…” Not Jack would want something more exciting, this crowd. Jack’s exclusionary rhetoric out of Ed’s mouth.

Which is exactly the time Jack decides to up the ante.

I want to take a minute to look at the immediate lead up to yardies, because I think it’s an excellent illustration of how Jack looks like a lumbering boor, but his actions are actually so carefully considered and nuanced. He runs up from behind Stede and Ed and throws his arms around them shouting “Yardies!” literally insinuating himself between them, which interrupts anything that was going on between them, puts them off balance, and focuses the attention on him. Then, when he says “Who’s up for yardies?” he makes eye-contact with Ed - the implicit social expectation being “You, Ed, are up for yardies.” When he turns to Stede, it is to literally laugh in his face. I mean, the absolute cheek.

Until this point, the crew of the Revenge have been passive participants in Jack’s hooliganry. They watched him perform whippies, and got whipped at without encouraging him to do so. They listened to his and Ed’s stories. But now Jack is cashing in on his established expertise of what real pirates do to coerce the crew into taking part in a dangerous stunt. It’s more of the “Blackbeard behavior” dichotomy he started sowing in Stede’s mind at brekkie, but now he’s extending it beyond Ed to the whole crew. He wants Stede to feel like he’s all alone in a sea of idiocy, but he wants him to come to the conclusion on his own by making it seem like Ed and the crew are doing things of which he would disapprove of their own accord.

Once we get to the island, we see the activities take a turn from the careless Jackass-ery of whippies and yardies to the abject cruelty of turtle vs. crab. There’s no saying that Jack organized the fight, but we do see the crew handing him various trinkets to be used in gambling on a winner, which certainly suggests he was the central figure in how the game was established. We also see that, though he has been presenting himself as a drunkard, there’s no bottle in his hand or around him in the sand. There is, however, one in Ed’s hand, who is directly to his side. I can easily see him handing it off so he could handle the gambling stakes, the real intention being to keep Ed readily supplied with booze.

And then we have the pissing contest. Jack’s got Stede literally and metaphorically isolated, and now it’s time to really drive it all home. Every moment of their interaction is designed to drive Stede to distraction; the amount of derision he lays on the phrase “Your good, close buddy,” the insinuation that he and Ed are just alike, and then being as rude and crass as possible. And because he’s read the room - the intimate breakfast for two, Ed’s little touches and the way Stede smiles at them, the way they keep going off together for little chats - of course Jack’s just got to twist the knife and allude to his and Ed’s former sexual history. So now that he’s got Stede primed, it’s time to name the fear: “Maybe you don’t know him at all.”

At this point, Stede is left to wonder: does he? Blackbeard’s reputation preceded him, after all. And he’s been acting so differently since the appearance of one of his oldest friends. It’s not the violence qua violence, per se; Stede is by turns delighted and impressed by the violence he’s seen Ed and his crew employ in the heat of battle in the pursuit of piracy. It’s the cruel and senseless violence that Stede objects to, and that’s exactly the brand that Jack has been peddling, and which Ed has gone along with so enthusiastically. And it’s not JUST the violence; Ed apologizes for Jack when he recognizes Jack has crossed a line in a typically agro way (destroying Stede’s belongings, and insulting Stede to his face), but it never occurs to Stede that his insistence on persevering with quietly aggrieved dignity in the face of Jack’s slights would make it nigh impossible for Ed to identify that Jack has crossed all sorts of other lines, and Stede is hurting because of it. For Stede, it must be frustrating and mystifying why Ed keeps letting his friend get away with his passive aggressive bullshit. Doesn’t he care?

Is it any wonder that one more failure to notice how Jack has riled him, and one more act of coconut-flavored Jackass-ary is enough to break the dam, and for Stede to spill all that built-up hurt on Ed? Is it any wonder that Ed is bewildered at where all this is coming from? I’ve talked before about Ed’s tendency to fawn on people, and how, as an emotional chameleon, he would have difficulty identifying when the motivation for his actions is self-directed or externally dictated. Jack has further confounded this distinction by manipulating scenarios to make it seem like participation in all the Jackass-ary he has instigated was voluntary instead of coerced. When Stede says “I don’t like who you are around this guy” what he means is “I don’t like how this guy is able to manipulate you into acting on your very worst impulses”, but what Ed hears is “I don’t like you”. For who is he, if not the collection of behaviors he chooses to exhibit? And were those choices not entirely his to make? With the rift clearly established, if in its infancy, of course Jack is going to do everything he can to foster its growth. So again, he interrupts Stede, again implicitly signaling that Ed should pay attention to what he says and not Stede. By lobbing the coconut at Ed at that moment, he forestalls any possible clearing of the air between Ed and Stede, and causes Ed to literally turn his back on Stede, in the way Ed feels Stede has emotionally turned his back on him just moments earlier. Jack reinforces this idea of turning his back on Stede again moments later when he says “Don’t go!” and immediately turns Ed around by the shoulders.

I know that I’ve been laying it on a bit thick and prolly sound like the written embodiment of the red string conspiracy meme, but I’m about to get a whole lot worse, and I’m going to ask you to stick with me, oh my v. dears. I think Jack killed Karl on purpose.

I know, I know. It was an accident! He was flailing drunkenly! But was he?

Have we seen him take so much as a single drink since the cannon fire at the beginning of the episode? Even though he’d been drinking earlier, did he not have devastating precision and accuracy when he first demonstrated Whippies - shattering every glass, snapping the cards from the Swede’s fingers, and ball-tapping Ed without permanently maiming him or even splitting the leather of his pants? In fact, while nearly every other crew member on the deck has a bottle in hand, just like on the beach, Jack does not.

Jack knows he has to get Ed off the ship before the British show up, but he can’t just say “Let’s ditch these losers” and expect Ed to agree, especially since he’s spent most of the day roping the crew into his schemes. The most effective way to get Ed to follow is if Jack is rejected for just being himself and doing what he does, just like Ed feels he was earlier by Stede. I think the original plan was to goad Olu into seriously hurting the Swede, the fallout of which would be recriminations that Jack made them do it, and Jack getting aggrieved that he was just trying to show this ungrateful lot how to have a good time, skulking off and leading Ed to follow him and reassure him that he’s really a good guy - how could he have known it would turn out like that? But when Buttons calls a halt to the proceedings and it looks like everyone is going to pack it in, Jack has to think fast. If HE maims a crew mate, that would be a bridge too far, painting him as the bad guy. But Karl? He’s just a bird. And if Jack can get a little revenge on the weird bird guy who made him change his plan, so much the better. AND, as people with far fewer auditory processing issues than I have pointed out, Jack mutters that he expected there to be more feathers. Could the evidence be any more damning?

Of course the whole ship turns on him, and then here’s Stede to order him off, explicitly rejecting him the way he metaphorically rejected Ed. But when even that isn’t enough to get Ed to follow him, Jack pulls out one last, desperate manipulation - the debt of life.

Jack’s tragic flaw is that he can’t turn it off. Once he and Ed are alone, he turns his passive aggressive assault on Ed, pressuring him into drinking the morning away by sarcastically saying he didn’t know he had an audience with the pope when Ed expresses disinterest, and, ultimately, giving up the game when he mentions with casual derision how he’d heard of Ed shaking up with Stede, and then deriding Ed for his failure to spot Jack’s machinations.

Too bad Jack didn’t know that the punishment for passive-aggressive fuckery on this show is death…

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #calico jack

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sin-sidejob · 2 years

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Hi! If you don't mind taking requests, could you write headcanons for Brett Hand with a shy s/o that has crochet as their love language? Lol himbo lives in my head rent free and I'm always like "Hey I heard you offhandedly mention this is your favorite color, have a scarf I made"

No worries if you don't want to, thanks!

Brett Hand x GN!Reader:

Tethered

Warnings: SFW, GENDER NEUTRAL, canon aligned depictions and material, BRETTS SIX PACK MAKES AN APPEARANCE, brett cries but it’s happy, food mention once, about coffee that Brett’s pouring no actual consuming of food or drink

Contents: SO PAINFULLY SWEET YOURE GONNA NEED TO BOOK A DENTIST APPOINTMENT, istg it’s so cute and y’all two are fools, brett needs love and cries when he gets it

Author note: this is so precious as a concept and thank you for submitting this request I literally fell in love with the idea when I first read this ask. Muah — all the kisses for you

Brett had always been accustomed to giving more love than recieving it. From his siblings, his parents, childhood friends and fraternity brothers. Even coworkers. But working with Cognito Incorporated opened his heart a bit with how he got to receive love, true affection back.

The one who cracked that well-guarded heart was you.

He was not immediately enamored by you. Not so say he didn’t find you incredibly awesome and cool, someone he immediately befriended and got along with. Brett just hadn’t fallen in love with you immediately.

That’s not to say it didn’t take long for him to actually develop feelings, strong ones, that had him pining after you wistfully in a manner that irritated the fuck out of each and every member of the gang. Andre was this close to just throwing a bunch of illicit drug recipes together in attempts to create a love potion or something adjacent.

He was this close to being nothing but a literally lovesick puppy, trailing and tripping over your feet and eager to get any meagre amount of attention and affection from you. Brett would literally lie his head on your knee or lap while you worked at your desk if he could, and just beam up at you.

He’s sick in the head. The good kind. Lovesick.

Throughout all of this, he thinks you’re just oblivious to him or don’t really know him. Think of him as a stranger. The truth is quite the opposite, with you being incredibly interested and intrigued by the man. Finding him charming and sweet, complete package looks and personality wise. No one’s got a bad word to say about him.

That and he’s the type to lend you an umbrella when it’s pouring when he’s only got the one between the two of you. That’s because he did.

You had stayed late working on a report for your department that got lost in the shuffle and needed to be expedited, forgetting the time and hurrying out only to find the parking lot in a down pour. While mentally bracing to make a run for it, you catch Brett Hand extending his umbrella and offering it.

“You can have it! My car’s closer than yours is, makes sense that way.”

And you’re about to offer just sharing it and walking together but the man carries on, rambling about how you can even keep it if you want and he flushes before dashing out, drenching himself in a mad dash for his car truly not parked to far away. Sadly, rain still dealt harshly on his button down.

Luckily for you, you got a glimpse of his shirt when drenched, understanding the appeal of wet t-shirt contests immensely now that you fell into a stupor just looking at his chest.

He tucks into his car, seating himself in the drivers seat and buckling before taking a second to check his mirrors — he’s that great of a driver? Where did he come from, an L.L. Bean catalogue?— and starts the radio before turning back to glance at you, sitting underneath the lip of the building entrance and shrouded from the rain. He waves.

You wave back.

Brett doesn’t pull out of the parking lot and he gets confused looking at you standing there before you realize with one of those “oh shit I’m being stupid” moments that you need to go to your own car, go on home, and he’s waiting to make sure you get out okay. As you unfold the umbrella and lift it overhead and step out into the rain, you make a note of visiting the cloning department to ask about Brett and whether he’s real or not.

You lose yourself in thought but make it to your car, stepping into the drivers seat in a mirrored motion similar to Brett and do your routine, turning the car on and checking the mirrors and backseat, turning the radio on then pulling up navigation. And as you tuck the closed umbrella against the shotgun seat, you glance back and see Brett scrolling through his phone and glance up to catch your eye and he smiles, waves again cheerily.

Good lord he’s not real. Did Hallmark start back up their cloning company again? It’s not Christmas yet.

You put the car in drive, passing his in the parking lot as you pull out to the main road leading to the highway for your route home. You try not to think of him when you sing along to the radio when the lyrics of love songs catch your throat.

—

Brett sees you alone the next week, not catching an eyeful of you between the rainy day and now. He can’t take his eyes off you and he nearly overflows the coffee cup in his hand in the communal kitchen.

You look so lovely and he’s trying to figure out what you have done with your hair and then the next he knows you are already on your way and walking up to him.

“Hi Brett.”

“Hi!”

He’d shoot himself in the foot if he could.

You look amused at how his tone lifted in pitch when he saw you, bright smile unwavering and shift on your feet. “I wanted to thank you for the other day and wanted to make you something — and it’s completely fine if you don’t like it! I won’t be offended.” You’re lying through your teeth.

Brett flushes crimson, pretty pink on his tanned cheeks and tugs his lip between his teeth, smiling like a child and his eyes get wide with joy, thinking you at least have to like him somewhat to make him something.

“You didn’t have to do that! Going out of your way and everything, but I’m sure I’ll love it. I don’t know how there could be anything you could make that I wouldn’t love.”

While he’s berating himself for almost just confessing all his feelings, you’re trying to not let your heart unravel and pool at your feel like an upturned spool of twine.

You shift and remove your hands from behind your back, revealing a bundle of fabric in this lovely apricot shade. His favorite color — orange. It’s tied with a big bow, one of those wired ones from the craft store, something personal about it that has his tummy seizing and twirling at the same time. God he could cry.

He tunes back in, eyes glancing between the bundle of fabric in your palms and up to your lips that move, and he’s just entranced. Bewitched. Ensnared.

“- like to crochet sometimes, it’s fun and it keeps my hands busy and my mind empty. But I hope you like it, Gigi told me it was your favorite color and I wanted to repay you.”

“Can I hug you?”

“What?”

You quite nearly drop the scarf you made for him when you hear Brett speak and hold yourself back from screaming yes but just manage a nod and a somewhat timid smile, muttering a sure that makes both of your grins wider.

He smells like old spice and old fashioned cologne, like hand cream and coffee, feels like a dream and his arms wrap around you and you want to cling to them and beg him to never let go.

Instead you don’t, you hug him back, and say nothing about the tears that flick at the collar of your shirt’s neckline and how he tugs you so close. You just run a hand through his hair and hum, unworried about the scarf pressed between you and your worries for if you’d ever get to be close to him.

You already were, and with the strong arms wrapped around you, you felt tied and strung to him, utterly hooked. With his head on your shoulder and feeling his watery smile there against your pulse, you had no worries. No loose threads.

You just felt him.

#inside job #my inside job #personal inside job #brett hand headcanon #Brett Hand #Brett hand x reader #brett x reader #Brett Hand x gn!reader #x gn reader #x gn!reader #brett hand imagine

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tarysande · 1 month

Text

I was at a writing festival on the weekend (as an editor; I was doing free editing sessions). I entered their haiku contest because one of the volunteers strong-armed me.

I just got an email saying I won 1st prize. And an honorable mention.

Which is hilarious, because I don’t actually have copies of the poems. One was about rain, one was about Persephone, and one was about banshees (and @dearophelia).

I hope it’s the one about Sara that won.

#like i get a certificate and money and everything #tara talks writing

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year

Note

hello can you do a xavier thorpe with midnight rain ?please

This has been in my drafts for so long and I did not plan for this to be over 2.7k, but here we are. Midnight rain is one of my favorite on Midnights so I couldn't not write this

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You've dreamt of writing novels since you could hold a pen.

At nine years old, you wrote your first short story, a dark mystery starring you and your sister Wednesday. Your English teacher was both impressed and horrified when she read it. She sent it to a writing contest for young writers, believing your writing skills deserved to be read by bigger names, but the judges preferred a tooth-rotting romance written by a typical American sweetheart.

You never stopped writing. On the contrary, you were spending more time with your typewriter, perfecting your storytelling and expanding your vocabulary. Those judges were too narrow minded and weak stomached to appreciate your writing.

At eleven years old, you met Stephen King at a book release event. You were the youngest in line and may or may not have skipped school in order to meet him. Sorry, Mrs. Jackson, but Stephen King was of greater importance than your lecture on World War I. You got him to sign your favorite book and dropped a folder with your name on the cover. The horror writer was confused, thinking it was something else you wanted him to sign — it wasn't.

''It's my first novel. I would like you to read it.''

His opinion mattered more to you than those judges from the young writers contest.

Wednesday, the ever so pessimist, kept telling you he would toss your novel in the trash and move on with his day, but a few weeks later, you received a handwritten letter from the man himself. He had read your short story. He called it macabre and at times disturbing, which was a praise coming from him.

Ten years later, you were standing in the very same bookstore you met Stephen King. But this time, you were the one sitting behind the table and signing books.

It felt surreal seeing your name on a book cover.

The New York Times listed you as one of the promising authors under the age of thirty, which made the sales of your novel go up.

You were getting ready for your signing, making sure you had enough pens and that your dark lipstick was not on your teeth when Eleanor, your personal assistant for this book tour, came up to you holding a bouquet of flowers.

''These were sent to you, Ms. Addams,'' she said, placing the bouquet of black dahlias on the table.

You looked at it in confusion. ''Who are they coming from?''

''They aren't addressed to me, I legally cannot check.''

You nodded in understanding and sent her off. Whoever had sent these knew your favorite flowers. Most assumed it was black roses, but you preferred dahlias — like the murder.

You took the small card attached to the bouquet and read it.

Congrats on the novel. I knew you were gonna make it.

A rush of emotions swarmed through you. You had recognized the handwriting, the perfect calligraphy of the boy who once owned your heart.

Sometimes, you catch yourself wondering what your life would be like if you hadn't broken his heart during your last year at Nevermore. You would be lying to say you didn't miss him. Xavier was more than a teenage romance. He was the love of your life, but your and Xavier's vision of the future, life after Nevermore Academy, didn't align. He wanted a comfortable life, away from the spotlights. You wanted the world to know your name.

You tried to make the relationship work, you really did. You thought you could do it, true love can get through the hardest ships, but you started focusing on your writing more and more, and lessening the time you spent with Xavier. He was understanding, knowing how important writing was to you. Sleepovers became less frequent as your nights were spent with your typewriter, weekly dates turned into monthly dates, and the 'I miss you's outnumbered the 'I love you's.

This wasn't fair to Xavier. He deserved someone who wasn't always going to make him second in her priorities. You had always been driven by a greed to succeed, the desire to accomplish your dreams. Love had come to you when you least expected it. It had never been part of your life-plan.

With a heavy heart, you found yourself turning the page on a relationship you thought would last your lifetime, because when you love someone, sometimes you need to let them go. Even if it hurts.

''Madelaine is asking when we'll begin,'' your assistant asked, pulling you out of your mind.

You shifted your eyes away from the card, hiding it in the pocket of your trousers.

Eleanor averted her gaze from you, turning to the beautiful flower instead. She was curious of their provenance, but knew it was none of her business. ''Eh, sorry. I didn't want to interrupt—''

''What is it?'' Your tone was a little rude, but you didn't get to apologize.

''There's a line outside that extends to the café and the owner is complaining that it's blocking the way and interfering with his business. Madelaine is asking when we'll begin.''

You glanced at the large clock on the wall. ''I'm meeting Wednesday and Enid for lunch at 1pm. I need to be finished by then.''

Eleanor nodded. ''I'll tell Madelaine to let the people in, then.'' She gave you a smile, then walked away.

After having dinner with Enid and Wednesday, you returned to your hotel. On the walk there, your heart jumped in your chest when you saw a tall man with his hair tied into a bun waiting to cross the street. Your mind immediately made the connection, the piece of paper in your picked feeling suddenly heavier.

According to Wednesday, Xavier lived in New York. He bought a loft somewhere in Greenwich Village and displays his paintings in a gallery. She and Enid had attended his last exposition a few months back.

It made you happy to know his paintings were displayed in a gallery. You always knew he was talented and could make a living off his art. You wondered what his paintings looked like. He must have improved since high school. Was he still using his nightmares as inspiration? Had he moved on to a more abstract style? Did he still have that painting of you?

Your questions remained unanswered, having reached your hotel.

Eleanor must have come into your room after the signing because the black dahlias were placed on the table along with the few small gifts you had received from your readers. You removed your coat and walked up to the flowers, a feeling of nostalgia filling your heart.

The first time Xavier got you black dahlias was on Valentine's day. While everyone got their significant other roses, he got you a black dahlia. The special attention had touched you. You had only mentioned once that they were your favorite. It was at his shed and he was painting. You thought he wasn't listening to you, but he was. He always listened.

You gave one last lingering glance to the black dahlias on the table, then called your mother through your crystal ball. A phone would have been more practical, but you weren't a big fan of technology.

Shortly after summoning her, Morticia appeared through the crystal ball. ''You look tormented, my little stormcloud.''

You couldn't hide anything from her.

Before you told her anything, she noticed the flowers behind you and immediately understood the provenance of your torments. Fortunately for you, heart matters were Morticia's favorite. She had a preference for those involving cursing a lover who did you wrong, but she was still very pleased to be of help.

''What's stopping you from reaching out to him?''

Flashes of Xavier's teary eyes haunted your thoughts as guilt and regret filled your guts. ''I broke his heart, Mother. I cannot show up at his apartment.''

''If he is the love of your life, why not give it a shot? Love makes us forgive the heaviest mistakes, my darling.'' Morticia paused, thinking about her own past mistakes. ''Besides, he sent you flowers, didn't he?''

The cab ride to Greenwich village felt interminable. You almost told the chauffeur to turn around fifteen times, but when would you be in New York again? This was your chance.

The car stopped in front of Xavier's building. It was tall and most lights were out. Maybe he was asleep? Xavier has always been a night owl, the chances he was asleep at this hour were very slim.

You paid the driver and took the stairs, your heart hammering behind your chest as you got closer to Xavier's door. You paused before knocking, deciding to use the secret knock you and Xavier used at Nevermore when sneaking in each other's dorms. It's been a few years, but you hoped he remembered.

The door opened and you momentarily forgot how to breathe. His green eyes looked down at you and an army of spiders swarmed your stomach, making you feel like a teenage girl.

Xavier stepped back to let you inside, then closed the door, plunging you in the silence of the apartment.

''You don't seem surprised to see me.''

He casted his eyes down and shook his head gently. ''I had a dream about you last night,'' Xavier explained, shifting his gaze back to you. ''You were here, standing by the large window of my apartment, looking absolutely stunning by the moonglow.''

You crossed the large room, your shoes clicking on the wood floors, and stood by the window adorning the street, trying to recreate Xavier's dream picture-perfectly. ''Like this?''

A soft smile spread on your old flame's face.

''I didn't know if it was my mind playing and trying to hurt me or if it was premonitory,'' he said as he walked over to you, his pace slow and calculated.

The moonglow hit his face, making his beautiful eyes glisten.

You wanted to kiss him.

Shaking that thought from your head, you cleared your throat. ''Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful.''

''I saw a poster with your face at the bookstore last week saying you would be having a signing. I wanted to come, but I didn't know if you would have wanted to see me...'' He got closer to the window, watching the city under.

''I always want to see you, Xavier.''

He scoffed, an ache in his heart. ''That's not what you said a few years ago.'' The wound was old, but it had never healed completely.

Guilt and regret swarmed your guts. You wanted to apologize, but no 'sorry' would be enough to amount how much you regretted those words. You had lied to him, right to his face, that night. You had watched his green eyes fill with tears as his heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

''Would you have thought of me today had I not sent you flowers?''

''Yes,'' you replied with no hesitation. ''Just because I'm a published writer doesn't mean I've forgotten about my past — our past.''

Shaking off the flashes of the past, Xavier blinked back his tears and tightened his jaw to camouflage his emotions. ''Why are you here, Y/N?''

The question was simple, yet you didn't know what to answer. You couldn't exactly blurt out 'because I still love you'. Although it was the truth, you knew this would not work with Xavier. You broke his heart and if you wanted him to let you have it again, you'll have to mend the pieces.

''I want to fix the past.'’

It was naive and silly to say, but you couldn't find anything better.

You continued. ‘’When we’re young, we think we know everything — we don’t. Decisions we think are right at the time sometimes are not and we only realize so when we grow up. I made a tremendous mistake when ending things with you, Xavier. I’m genuinely so sorry for all the hurt I inflicted upon you that night and all the ones that followed.’’

Xavier glanced at you for half a second, then looked away again.

‘’I wish I could say I wish I never pushed you away, but I can’t. If I hadn’t, I would never have realized how important you are to me. How I miss the deep connection we shared, the way we understood each other without words and having someone to share my greatest achievements with. I miss our late nights together, me writing or reading and you painting. I miss Sunday mornings at your dorm and seeing your sleepyhead beside me—’’

‘’Just because you miss these moments doesn’t mean anything. We all miss things from the past, it’s called nostalgia.’’

‘’I know what nostalgia is, and this ain’t it!’’

Frustration was beginning to build inside you and you were starting to think you were fighting for a love that was too far gone. A flame that had been killed and would never ignite again.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away.

‘’Back then, I believed my career was the most important thing. I thought if I made it and became a writer, I would feel fulfilled, but all this time I’ve been away from you made me realize that love is important too. What’s the point of living my dream if the person I want to share it with is not there by my side?’’

When you got the email from a publishing house saying they loved your novel and wanted to publish it, Xavier was the first person you wanted to call and tell your big news to. Your finger had hovered over his name on your phone for several minutes.

Instead, you had called your mother.

‘’When you're young, we make mistakes we thought were right at the time. When you grow up, you realize and come back to what you need. We’ve accepted that our lives grew apart, but what if I don't want our lives to grow apart? What if I want them to meet in the middle?’’

‘’Do you know how different our lives are, Y/N? I live in New York and you…I don’t know where you’re currently living. How are they supposed to meet in the middle?’’

‘’We make them meet in the middle,’’ you answered simply.

‘’We’ve tried that before.’’ Xavier scoffed, shifting his body toward the window. He could see your reflection in the glass, but tried to ignore it and focus on the street below. ‘’It didn’t work.’’

‘’We didn’t try hard enough.’’

The room was filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty as your words were left pending. Xavier's skepticism was evident, his doubts stemming from the geographical distance that seemed to separate your lives and the flashes of the past. A part of him wanted to jump in and take a chance, but another reminded him of the tough heartbreak he went through when you broke up.

‘’I’m ready to give my all into this relationship, if you’re willing to give us another chance. New Jersey is not that far from New York. I…I could move here! I have a computer now, we could video-call. Or you could come spend a few days at the Addams manor?’’

Xavier turned his gaze from the window to meet your eyes. Like your sister, you had always been reluctant to submit to technology. He was surprised that you owned a computer. ‘’It’s called Facetime.’’

You drew your eyebrows together. ‘’What?’’

Xavier couldn't help but chuckle at your response. ‘’Video-calling,’’ he mocked. ‘’It’s called Facetime.’’

Right. Facetime. Enid had told you many times.

You rolled your eyes. ‘’Excuse me for not being a slave to technology for as long as you,’’ you retorted, turning the teasing around.

Accepting defeat, Xavier then shifted back to seriousness. ‘’You really think we can do this?’’ he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

You took a few strides toward him, raising your eyes to meet his. ‘’If we put our hearts in it.’’ You took his hand in yours, holding it with both hands.

A moment of silence enveloped the room as your words hung in the air. You were trying to be optimistic, but the longer the silence was getting, the less optimistic you were. He was going to push you away...

His green eyes shifted from your hands, distracting himself with the dainty rings on your fingers. You still had the one he gave you for your fifteenth birthday. You were just friends back then, so it didn’t have anything romantic tied to it.

‘’Okay.’’ He covered your hands with his other one, making you look up at him.

‘’Okay?’’ you repeated, making sure you had heard correctly.

Xavier nodded. ‘’Just…don’t break my heart again. Please.’’

You couldn't make that promise. ''I'll try,'' you said instead. ‘’And if you break mine?’’

‘’We’ll say we’re even.’’

—

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#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x you #wednesday imagine #wednesday #wednesday netflix #xavier thorpe x addams!reader

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on-softs · 2 months

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Maxiel Bachelorette AU Snippet

Since I'm never going to finish it, I'm just throwing up the first scene of the Maxiel bachelorette AU I started writing. Enjoy!

Max doesn’t actually meet him on the first night. He only sees him for a second, through the doorway of the mansion, which is done up in this sort of Italian only it is not Italian way, American-Italian, maybe, with all this wood framing and tile.

The doorways in this house are massive, excessive, meant to be peered through. Max first sees him when he’s outside meeting her– Heidi– in the big, exploding garden that’s the front walk. The driveway and walk are both still wet from it raining earlier. Max had been so dizzy with nerves after the first impression that he’d been worried about tripping up the front steps on his way in. His dress shoes are still wet, and so are the shoulders of his tuxedo, though the wetness has spread and seeped by now. His armpits are wet for other reasons. He should not take off his jacket, tonight, even though the producers said they may not go to sleep until four or five this morning. It all depends on Heidi, of course. He should already be thinking about how to get his one on one time with her. Jos had jabbed a finger at the video clip on his laptop and said: Look at him. The ones who don’t get one on one time the first night are as good as worthless. They complain and are dead weight.

Max takes a sip of his drink, which is something mixed served in these short, thick-plastic tumblers made to look like cut glass. There are non-alcoholic options on the sideboard, but a producer in a black t-shirt keeps stocking all the mixed drinks on a tray in the middle of the table, so Max has obligingly kept drinking them. All the producers are wearing black t-shirts. When he turns his eyes to the side over the rim of his cup, the other contestants are watching the guy having his introductory conversation with Heidi, so he feels fine to keep staring along, too. They can’t hear anything, this far away. It’s all been hard to make out. Some of the guys have started chatting with each other, sometimes speculating about what could be going on, but it’s become a sort of sport, this waiting on the couch for the next new man to come in, greeting him, then going back to watching. Sometimes, it’s as long as twenty or thirty minutes between the new contestants because of hair and makeup.

A doctor from the east coast of America, but not New York, with dark hair and veneers, tried to talk to him earlier, when Max had first come in, still rattling with nervousness. He hadn’t really remembered what Heidi’s face looked like, when he saw it up close. Not even after studying her Instagram photos for several weeks, before. He hardly remembered what he’d said.

“Where’re you from, man?” the doctor asked, politely extending his hand in a– Max quickly adapted his own open hand for the fist bump.

“The Netherlands,” says Max. The doctor made a surprised face, maybe at the accent.

“Oh, I heard about you. Dutch, huh? Little boy with his finger in the dike?”

It took Max a second to know what he was talking about, what kind of joke this is.

“That’s what they call me,” he said, graciously.

“You were on Love is Blind, right? Oh, or, is it bad to talk about that here? I don’t know what’s a faux pas with the reality TV people. I’m just a guy.”

“Yes, a while ago. Just for a little bit.”

Max mostly remembers the brutality of the body work, before that one. His shoulders needed to read, said Dad. All for two stupid episodes, which he could hardly watch when Dad played them back on the house TV, later, so they could go over them together. Twenty thousand more Instagram followers. He knew the people who make this show know he was on Love is Blind, too, of course, but he wasn’t really sure whether or not they could talk about it, either. That hadn’t been in the paperwork.

“Seems like that show would suit you,” said the man. It took Max another beat to understand that he was being insulted. “Nah, I kid, I kid,” the man says quickly.

Max laughed, like he was hearing a funny joke, and it wasn’t even a fake laugh, or a bland one, but as real as he could make it. He was proud of how it sounded. Guys like to joke, says Dad. They don’t care if you get upset or not. The ones who try and get you upset will be off the show soon, anyways.

Then a bulky guy with slick hair appeared at the threshold of the room and the producers needed quiet to compose a suitably upset reaction shot, so they’d thankfully stopped talking.

I don’t even need to say it, but don’t make buddies, Dad had said. That seemed easy so far.

The guy outside talking to Heidi isn’t a buddy. Max isn’t even sure why he stands out, at all. He’s shockingly good looking as the rest of them. Dark, curly hair, long on top and short on the sides. Nose a bit too big, but then again, Max hasn’t fixed his own, either. That sort of thing tends to be obvious on camera. Max blinks as the man reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a corny shark-tooth necklace and hands it to Heidi. Maybe he’s a surfer. He can only see the scooped back of Heidi’s dress so he’s not sure what she thinks of it, until she reaches up to give him a ginger hug, which the man reciprocates, hands resting chivalrously on her upper back. His hands are tan as the rest of him.

“We’re moving to the pool table room,” someone says, nearby. A producer. Max suddenly realizes a lot of the guys have already left the couch room. The producer’s got an iPad clutched to her chest and an Airpod in one ear, looking busy.

“Do you need anything?” she asks.

“Ah, no,” says Max, and gets up.

#maxiel #f1 rpf #my fic #max #danny #bachelorette AU

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