#reads whatever writes
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To Keep Me Safe From You: Part One
find my masterlist here
[description]: jax teller x fem!reader
[wordcount]: 3.1k+
[summary]: after overhearing a conversation that could be detrimental to the future of samcro, the club has voted that you have to die. fortunately for you, jax has to complete the kill.
[cw]: 18+, female reader(y/n), swearing, mentions of murder throughout, knives, smut, cliff hanger, possible grammar/spelling errors, generally following the show but slightly AU
[authors note]: so this one shot turned into something more and will be getting a part two as i'm not done with this scenario. i realised during this just how hard it is for me to write in a way where i don’t want jax to come tape me up and murder me... so sometimes the reader (y/n) makes some really questionable decisions, simply because i would let this man get away with anything. i hope you enjoy it :)
“We really talking about offing a chick right now?” Juice stared at his fellow members with wide eyes.
“She heard everything, Juice.” Even though he was whispering, Tig’s panic was loud and clear. “You wanna be the one to risk prison time over some waitress in a diner?”
Jax slammed his hand on the table, “We. Don’t. Kill. Women.”
Bobby looked around at the eyes now peering towards their table before shaking his head at Jax in disapproval, “We also don’t talk about club business outside of Chapel, for this exact reason.”
Tig doubled down now he knew Bobby agreed. “She heard too much. I saw it in her eyes, Jax. I can handle the hit. I’ll follow her out back, it’ll look like she was mugged. No witnesses. No trace.”
“Do you hear yourself right now brother? We don’t even know if she heard-” Juice stopped abruptly as he saw you walking over to their table, bill in hand. You smiled at the blonde haired man sitting at the end of the bench, avoiding the 5 other guys glaring at you. “Is there anything else I can help you guys with today?” He grinned back at you, taking the bill from your hand, “I think we’re all done here.” He placed three twenty dollar bills inside the wallet, a very generous tip, before handing it back to you. “Thanks for stopping by, boys. Get home safe.”
“You too, darlin.’”
Jax watched you walk away, making sure you were out of range before addressing the other members. “See? She heard nothing. That ain’t no witness that’s going to talk to feds. She’s not even spooked.”
Tig scoffed and Bobby lowered his eyes at Jax, “Maybe we should take a vote, Pres.?”
Jax was really pissed now, even contemplating killing a woman made his blood boil. But Bobby was his VP, and he was right, this wasn’t a decision he could make himself. Jax let out a large exhale, glancing at you as you cleaned the last remaining tables. He leaned into the table, “Fine, we vote. All in favor of murdering the poor innocent diner chick. I’ll start. Nay.”
He was the only one who voted so. Juice had almost sided with him, but everything Tig had said persuaded him to change his vote. Tig had panicked the rest of the members into actually killing a woman. Jax was outnumbered, and there was nothing more he could do. While you were finishing your night shift, the Sons of Anarchy had just sentenced you to die.
Jax had managed to get Tig to back off, reluctantly agreeing to let him carry out the hit instead. He figured at least he could kill you quickly, saving you from Tig’s twisted methods. The other members had left, leaving him the only 4 seater vehicle they had brought out that evening. Although you didn’t know it, Jax was waiting for you across the parking lot, leaning against the hood of Piney’s car, cigarette in hand. You shut the door to the diner behind you, fumbling with your purse to find your car keys. You were too preoccupied with the broken zipper on your bag to realise the same blonde haired man from earlier was still there, and approaching you.
“Lost somethin’ darlin’?”
“Shit-”, his voice startled you, causing you to drop your purse and everything in it across the lot.
“Fuck, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He helped as you collected the strung out items across the tarmac. “You didn’t mean to scare a girl leaving work on her own in the pitch black at this time of night?” You snapped at him as you searched for your belongings along some hedges. Jax handed you a tube of lipstick and your reading glasses, that had somehow survived the fall.
“I guess I didn’t think that one through. Sorry about that.” He stood up, extending a hand to help you. You barely acknowledged as he spoke, ignoring his hand, as you were desperately scanning the floor.
“Well you’re gonna be really sorry. You have to drive me home. My keys aren’t here..”
“Fuck- you cant find them?” He dropped to his knees again, searching the ground with you. You could barely see in the carpark, you had no chance of finding them until daylight.
“No, they’re gone. What the fuck am I gonna do now?”
Jax stood up, pacing the length of the car park still searching for your keys. “They gotta be here somewhere.”
“This is useless. Can you just take me home?”
Jax smiled, “least I can do darlin’.” He extended a hand to help you up from the ground again, but this time, you took it.
He started walking towards his car, holding a pack of cigarettes out at you. You didn’t smoke, but you also didn’t usually get into cars with strangers, either. You weren’t sure what had come over you, and you felt wary about the whole thing, but you didn’t have many options left with no car keys, and he seemed nice enough. You followed him to the car, taking a cigarette from the pack and holding it up to your mouth as he lit it for you. “I don’t even know your name and I’m about to get in a car with you.” He chuckled. “Names Jax Teller. And I can assure you, I’m a normal guy, just ignore the kutte.”
“Okay then.. Jax. You gonna tell me why a normal guy such as yourself is waiting for a girl outside her place of work at almost midnight?”
He held the car door open for you with a reassuring smile, “I’ll explain on the way home.”
You looked at him through narrowed eyes, “you better get me home in one piece.” You got in the car, flicking the half smoked cigarette on the floor as Jax shut the door behind you.
The inside of the SUV was a mess, the dash covered in raunchy magazines and parking fines. It was hard to think about anything other than the stench of dry oil and stale cigarettes. Jax began to drive, and you directed him on the way to your house, although you got the feeling he didn’t need your help anyway.
“I can get one of the guys to come change the locks on your car tomorrow morning. Get you a new set of keys.”
“That’d be great. You guys locksmith’s or something?”
Jax grinned, one hand on the steering wheel, glancing between you and the road as he drove. “Something like that. We run an auto repair shop out in Charming.”
“Oh. So is this your thing?”
Jax looks at you puzzled, “my thing?”
“Getting girls keys lost so you have to give them a ride home?” Jax shook his head, amused by your assumption. “You’re actually the first.”
Watching him while he drove gave you the chance to study him in fine detail. You’d noticed his good looks earlier at the diner, but now you could see Jax looked like he belonged in a hollywood movie. He held the steering wheel with one hand, the other on the gear stick, his fingers draped in silver rings. His beard was coated in a layer of stubble, with long shaggy blonde hair that tucked behind his ears. He was undeniably attractive. If anyone was going to lose your car keys, forcing you to drive with them for a ride home, you were glad it was him.
He turned on your drive slowly before parking, reaching into the glove box adjacent to you. He searched the compartment, and a load of CD’s fell to your feet. “Shit sorry. There’s no pens in here. You got anything in that bag you can use to write your number down? You know, for the keys.”
“I could grab a pen from inside.”
Jax nodded in response, “I’ll walk you to your door.”
Before you had the chance to say anything, Jax was out of the car and making his way to the passenger side door to open it for you. It was all a little surreal, you’d only met him a few hours before, yet he had shown you more courtesy than any man you’d previously encountered.
You walked with him to the front porch, then searching under the mat for the spare house key. You thought to yourself how you’d have to find a new hiding spot for it tomorrow. You unlocked the front door. As you walked in, switching the lights on as you entered the kitchen, you knew Jax was standing at the door, patiently waiting. You hesitated for a second, debating on the idea of having this random stranger enter your house. On one hand, you knew it was the dumbest idea you’d ever had. On the other, he was charming, respectful and like nobody else you’d ever met before. And you knew that after tonight, you’d probably never see him again. “You can come in if you want, I’ll just be a sec’.”
Jax stepped through the doorway, looking around as he followed you to the kitchen, “nice place you got here.” You searched the ‘drawer of everything’ in the kitchen to find an old receipt and pen. “It was my best friend’s house before she went back to Washington. She’s letting me stay here while I save for my own place. I get cheap rent, she gets a free house sitter.” Jax was standing behind you, making you overtly aware of how close he was. “Y/N.” He was reading from the receipt over your shoulder as you wrote down the number to your home phone. “I never did catch your name at the diner. It’s pretty.” You handed him the crumpled up paper, and he placed it in his pocket.
“And you never answered my question.” You turned to face him as you spoke, to find the beautiful blonde stranger holding a large blade against your stomach. “Living room. Now.”
You froze in fear, unable to move. You realised you’d made a huge mistake. You had known the risk of letting him in. You knew better. And now it was too late. You pushed through the lump in your throat to get words out, “Just take what you want and leave. It’s all yours.” “I don’t want your shit, y/n. Walk. Now.” You did as he said, walking slowly towards the living room, feeling the cold blade now pressed against your back. “What do you want?” He pulled your arm back with his free hand, stopping you in the living room. He gestured toward the armchair that sat between the TV and couch. “Sit down.”
“What are you doing, Jax?” You didn’t want to sit, you wanted to run. You wanted to buy yourself some time.
“I said sit down!” Jax’s voice cracked as he yelled at you. Hearing him yell sent a shiver down your spine, and you snapped into the chair in front of him immediately. You could see his face now. His eyes were vacant, completely shifted from the warm, courteous man you’d thought he was when he entered your home. It seemed he’d grown 10 feet taller now, towering over you while you sat frozen and vulnerable in the chair beneath him. He brought himself down to your level, with the knife now at your side, the blade touching your arm.
“You wanted an answer to your question?”
You nodded.
“I waited for you because I have to kill you.”
“To kill me?” Nothing was making any sense. “To kill me..” You repeated, looking straight into his eyes, “but you don’t even know me.” Jax placed the knife into the sheath, and back onto his belt pocket before pulling a roll of duct tape from his kutte. You recognised the tape from the drawer you had searched earlier, but that couldn’t be possible, you told yourself. You never saw him take it.
“You heard some stuff tonight that could ruin lives. And there’s a group of outlaws that want you dead now because of it.”
His words rang in your ears like sirens, putting all your senses into override. You couldn’t catch your breath before Jax was binding your hands together in front of you so tightly you could see the skin pulling under the tape. “And you want me dead too?”
Jax paused to look at you, matching your eyes, before looking down, continuing to tape your hands. “Doesn’t matter what I want.”
Nothing made sense. You hadn’t heard anything they talked about. He had totally got the wrong idea, and if you could just explain it, he could understand.
“Jax, please listen to me. I didn’t hear anything. I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”
He closed his eyes as you pleaded with him, “Stop. Talking.”
You pulled your wrists up, trying to touch him with your fingertips, as if that could reach the kind part of him you thought you had seen. Your bound hands pulled at his shirt as you begged.
“I didn’t hear a thing! If I heard some fucked up shit why would I get in a car with you? Why the fuck would I let you in my house!” You felt faint, your ears beginning to ring as adrenalin circulated your veins. He tried to ignore you, and started to tape your legs. You wanted to think straight, to talk sense into him, but your eyes began to fill with water, tears unwillingly streaming down your cheek. “I didn’t hear anything,” you sobbed, “I’m not lying to you.”
Jax dropped the roll of tape on the floor. His hands covered his face as he rubbed his eyes, the words “jesus christ”, muttered through his teeth. Suddenly he stood up, pacing to the kitchen. You couldn’t see him, but you could hear the flicking of a lighter. You sat there, bound by tape, in silence, afraid if you said anymore he would come back to finish you off.
Some time had passed. Jax had paced the kitchen before venturing into your bedroom. You’d spent the last few hours weighing your options. You could try to run, but you wouldn’t get anywhere with your hands and legs bound together. If you could get to the phone in the kitchen you could call the cops, but he’d see you before you could even dial the numbers. You weren’t sure how long you sat there, trying to think of anything that may save you. Your planning was halted when you heard footsteps coming from the bedroom. Jax lowered himself down to you, pulling the knife from the sheath. He pointed it towards you, and you braced yourself, knowing any plan you could make was too late. You closed your eyes, awaiting your fate, when you heard the sound of tape ripping and your hands were released from the bind. You didn’t move a muscle. Jax’s eyes smoldered. “I’m not going to kill you.”
You pulled the tape from your wrists, stinging as you peeled back the residue from your skin. “You’re not?”
“I can’t kill a woman. And even if I could, I can’t kill you.” He cut the tape binding your feet. You gulped, still sat in the chair as if the tape had never been cut in the first place. You could run now, you should run now, but you didn’t want to.
“What about the outlaws?” your voice was almost a whisper.
“I’ll handle them.” You watched as he began to walk towards the front door. “I’m really sorry for all of this, y/n. I just couldn’t do it.” His face was full of shame, his voice clouded in regret.
You didn’t have time to contemplate before you yelled, “wait!”
Jax stopped in the kitchen, “What?”
“You can’t just go.” You leaned into your knees to stand from the chair, legs stiff from being in the same position all night. As you stood you stretched your legs creating instant relief as you walked towards him. Your mind yearned for the same relief your body had, but now you were just really fucking angry. “You bring me here, tell me I’m going to die, tape me up and then decide you’re not going to murder me anymore. Now you want to just leave? And pretend this never happened?”
“I can’t stay.” He sounded guilty, and his lack of eye contact was further proof of this.
“Why the hell not?” You were standing arms length apart, looking up at the man who was tasked with your murder, yet now you were pleading with him to stay. “What are you even talking about, Jax?” You tried to step closer to him, but he inched back.
“If I’m not killing you, I need to stop whoever is going to instead.”
You didn’t respond, as you were still trying to understand why you needed to be saved at all.
Jax softened, “I know you’re confused but this is the only way I can keep you safe.”
“To keep me safe from you.”
He took a deep breath, taking your face in his hands. His blue eyes had melted, any anxiety he had been wrestling with tonight had passed.
After everything that had happened, somehow, here, in this man’s presence, you felt safe. You now knew he wouldn’t hurt you. He held you there in his hands, searching your face, looking for a different way out. Something in that moment shifted, the air around you moved as if it were wrapping you in string, tying you to Jax, bringing you closer together. He leaned into you, kissing you on the head, seemingly like the beginning of a goodbye. But he didn’t speak, and no goodbyes came. Instead he placed his forehead along yours, breathing you in along with whatever thoughts plagued his mind. You didn’t understand how or why this was happening, and you got the idea that Jax didn’t know either. Before you could make sense of it, he took you into his hands and kissed you. He pulled your face tight to his, securing you to him by the grip his fingers had through your hair. The tension between you was palpable, every movement of his tongue against yours was fierce and urgent.
His hands released and lowered to your waist, pushing you into the open island in your kitchen as you stumbled backwards on your feet. The cold countertop was pressing against the back of your jeans, contrasted to the warmth of his mouth on yours, his hands now tugging at your waist band.
He lifted his hand back to your face, feeling your lips beneath his thumb before sliding it down your neck. The corners of his mouth stretched into a smile as he kissed you.
“I knew there was a reason I couldn’t kill you.”
His tongue lapped against yours, gentle and kind with every touch yet urgent with his hands on you. Groans fell from your throat in response.
You had feared this man all night, and now you were drunk from his lips, and utterly desperate for more.
———
part two
let me know if you want to be tagged in part 2 :)
find my masterlist here
#reads whatever writes#jax teller#soa#jax teller x reader#jax teller x you#jax teller smut#fanfiction#jax teller x y/n#jax teller fiction#sons of anarchy#sons of anarchy fic#imagine#juice ortiz#tig trager#bobby munson#samcro#smut
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those first couple weeks after escaping a time loop have gotta be disorienting as all fuck. all those little cues that used to tell you what's about to happen are now triggers that cause you to brace for something that isn't coming. you have to relearn the permanence of death -- hell, you have reacquaint yourself with the entire concept of finality altogether. everything keeps changing but it never changes back and you keep having to remind yourself that this is normal. "it won't reset anymore," you echo to yourself, over and over and over, like a broken record, like you're still trapped in a loop, like someone who escaped the time loop but was doomed to bring it into the future with them
#orcspeak#edit: this is not about fanfic nor is it about a specific fanfic nor is it about a specific show or movie or book#this post is about the time loop trope itself which occurs in many different stories spanning many different art forms#i don't read or write fanfic and I'm not looking for fanfic recs and whatever character you think this is about there's#an 80 percent chance i don't recognize their name
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I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.
Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life
"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"
It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.
It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.
In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.
Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.
It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.
Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.
"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—
He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference.
He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction.
Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.
Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?
Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does.
Doesn’t she?
“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne.
“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”
He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—
He can’t remember the last time she said his name.
His real name.
How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet—
(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance.
“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.”
“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”
“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity”
“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.”
His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)
Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom.
Something is wrong.
He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe.
He lashes out at her.
“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"
What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—
And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all.
“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness.
“You said you were bored, my Lord.”
“And why would you think–”
Because that is what he’d taught her.
That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished.
Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—
Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.
He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:
“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?”
Her head cocks. She does not understand.
"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"
It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question.
“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”
“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something.
From him.
If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–
"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"
("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."
"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest.
"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"
"Well, I'm trying to—"
She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest.
"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her.
"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you."
"But… why?"
"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."
He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night."
"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair."
She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."
He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent.
"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")
He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued.
He can’t.
It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death.
All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow.
He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded.
He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight.
"My love, look at me."
And she does, if not by command, then by instinct.
"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?"
And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love.
He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—
And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–
Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried.
“Darling?”
“Yes, my Lord?”
Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.
How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her?
Showed her he loves her?
When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?
He cannot remember. He cannot recall.
He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes.
He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed.
It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic.
Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that.
Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely.
How long has it been? How long has she been gone?
Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time.
“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”
Second part of the story HERE
#morgana and friends#astarion#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#literally whatever you want it to be#very bad implications here do not read if sensitive#bad mean astarion#sort of#lots of mistakes here fellas#i TOLD yall i was having a tough time writing#this needed more time and work but man I just CANNOT focus#you get the gist right#this needed more detail and to be longer but i was struggling here#god i need medicine or something#one down about 399 more to go lmao
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087 - reigen takes mob out to get ramen for the first time. from another fic i’m really normal about
#freaks GET OUT OF HERE !!! this is not ship art im biting you to death#mob psycho 100#mob#reigen arataka#mp100#mod 1#i can kind of be normal about early reigen and mob’s dynamic. like . the fic writes it so well#reigen being standoffish to Not Get Attached to this small boy who makes being so kind and silly a sport#and whatever. the part abt not realizing how cold his apartment is until after he leaves the ramen shop#whatever GO READ IT !!! its so good alas i wish i colored this but that wouldve killed me
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The MANY Bloodlines of Constantine
Those Constantine is Danny's dad and sold his kid soul because he thought he'd actually never have one and Danny is now the Ghost King so his soul claims are invalid AUs but learns he's not Constantine only kid (after a while Constantine honestly 100% thought he'd never have kids and never bothered with a 1st born clause when making deals, maybe some annoyed deity or powerful magic user made Constantine think he can't have kids anymore just to get back at the conman) and now doing everything in his Kingly power to save his half-siblings (can be other teens from other shows or movies or cartoons etc etc) because Danny is the oldest of them and really really wants to punch his biodad for making such a huge mess he has to deal with but Danny does get to meet and protect his younger Half-siblings.
Then comes the day he's celebrating one of his half-sibs birthday with all the others when he's suddenly summoned out of the blue and meets not just the Justice League but his, and his half-sibs, no good soul selling biodad.
Hello rightly placed aggression.... Once he takes care of that powerful evil spirit that's attacking earth first of course.
#danny phantom#danny fenton#dp x dc#blue rambles#crossover#writing ideas#random idea#danny phantom dc#John Constantine#Constantine is in trouble#Danny is the oldest of them#got crowned before his 18th and the papers/contracts that had his soul showed up#he read them and was livid that his biodad sold his soul#then he found out just who Constantine is and is now annoyed as heck when others show up trying to claim his soul#he gets really pissed off when he starts getting contracts for apparently his younger half-sibs souls#because hes the oldest and now Ghost King and with his protector core all contracts dealing with his blood/family is sent to him#on the bright side he gets to know his half-sibs#he will be punching Constantine once he deals with whatever he was summoned for though#his siblings can be any other kids from any other shows/movies/cartoons etc#is this silly. yes. do I wanna read something like this. double yes#is it almost 3am and I am bored out of my mind. triple yes#ghost king danny
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i have been reading through the diary I kept from ages 14-17 and realising how helpful it can be to keep a record of how you're feeling at different moments.
not only is it helpful to write down and process how your feeling and give yourself time to truly think about it, it's nice to have something to look back on. to not just remember how you felt about a certain situation but to actually have yourself from that time tell you.
and also, from an adhd perspective, it's really lovely to have reminders of things I'd almost entirely forgotten. it's easy to think that your life right now isn't interesting, but in 5 years time? to know what songs you were listening to or book you were reading or even that Thing that you were so worried about but now you can't even remember the details. it's nice to have a physical reminder that time passes and things really can get better.
#i think part of whats makes it so special to me is that (like it is for a lot of people) those ages where so *much*#and i was so stuck in my head and socially anxious and i feel like those years of school rly shaped who i am now ect#but id kind of forgotten? its become a blur emotions over time and its nice to see it clearer#but also how i changed? and to read into it and see what i did or didn't write#im also a big fan of the inner child and doing things for your younger self and its a lovely gift to have her speaking to me directly#also if you want to journal i highly recommend doing it in a normal notebook rather than a pre planned one#it gives you the freedom for it to be whatever you want with none of the pressure#recovery#tips
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rating: mature; 18+ only | cross posted on ao3 here
"truth or dare?"
steve's looking at eddie expectantly while he waits for his answer, his eyes wide and cheeks pushed up from the grin pulling at his lips. he's shirtless from past dares and eddie's trying hard to not look at the hair covering his chest, to not look at the way his scars have faded into a pretty dusty pink, to not look at the flexed muscles in his arm from where it's slung over the back of the couch and he's definitely not looking at the way the movement pulls his pec up.
they aren't high enough for this, not drunk enough for it either, but he feels intoxicated. maybe that's just what being around steve harrington at 2am does to him. it makes him stupid.
"...truth?"
steve's grin grows wide enough to challenge even the cheshire cat and eddie knows that truth was the wrong choice. see? stupid.
the hand on the back of the couch tightens and eddie can feel the way it pulls the cushion under his back, the fabric creasing against his shoulder blade. steve's leaning in a tiny bit closer, same wild grin on his face, and eddie feels himself stop breathing. he tries to remain calm, tries to keep an even expression on his face, but when steve harrington is in his presence, it's harder than it seems.
"okay... truth," steve's close enough that eddie can see the specks of green in his eyes and he tries to focus on that instead of how he can almost feel breaths that aren't his own on his lips.
"what's your biggest turn on?"
whatever breath eddie attempts to suck in gets stuck in his throat and turns into a cough forcing steve to pull away cackling. he isn't in eddie's face anymore but he can still feel him, can still sense the barely there exhale on his face, can still only see steve green behind his eyelids.
"what the fuck, dude?!" is all he can get out. his palms are sweaty so he rubs them furiously over his jeans, scowling at his fingers when they get stuck in the small rips.
steve is laughing at the other end of the couch but his arm is still settled over the back of it, creating the most delicious tension on his chest. he looks broad like this, broader than eddie's really ever seen him. and with his hand across the couch and his legs opened just slightly and his bare chest on display and his bright white teeth glinting in the dim moonlight he looks-
he's hot.
he looks like the old steve, all cock-sure and suave, like he knows he can get absolutely whatever he wants. it does eddie's head in. is he what steve wants? is he why steve looks like he could jump on anything and everything that came his way? is he why steve thought he could ask him about his turn ons as easy as if he was asking about the weather?
"i don't have-"
"oh bullshit," steve says with a flick of his free hand. "everyone has one, man. what gets you all hot and bothered?"
eddie tilts his head up with a scoff. "why do you want to know?"
"consider it your average every day bonding." he says it like it's obvious, like all guys do when they sit around and play sleepover games like they're kids again is talk about what they like in bed.
but eddie's drunk on steve in 2am moonlight and can't help himself for giving him everything.
"i like dirty talk."
he'd always give steve everything.
steve's grin shifts into something borderline feral that has eddie vibrating under his skin. he moves his hips and settles back into the arm of the couch, leveling eddie with his gaze. his eyes are heavy when they look at him and eddie feels glued to the spot.
"oh yeah?" steve's inflection sounds exactly like what eddie craves for and he's afraid that he's shown all his cards already if steve was able to pick up on it that fast. "like what?"
he rolls his eyes if only so that he can take them away from watching steve's muscles contorting as he shifts on the couch. it's not hard to get eddie in the mood, that's the embarrassing thing. his limited experience before he learned about alternate dimensions and things living under hawkins didn't exactly help his case. he didn't exactly have guys throwing themselves at him as a social pariah covered in still healing scars, either.
so steve looking at him with those eyes and that grin and without a shirt for god's sake? not helpful.
"i don't know, i just-" his mind supplies images that gets his cock stirring. a certain king of hawkins under him or on top of him or right behind him whispering things in his ear that he had never really thought about before.
"-i just like hearing the effect i have on them, i guess."
and then without warning steve is moving. he's up on his hands and knees and is leaning into eddie's personal space again, his face close enough to eddie's that he can see that damn green in his eyes again.
there's still a bit of space between then but not nearly enough that eddie isn't effected by it. steve's pinkie is brushing his thigh and his cock that was already interested just thinking about the sounds steve could make is stirring even more awake under his gaze.
"you like hearing you're doing good?" steve questions. eddie sighs. "you like all the moans and stuff?"
all eddie can do is nod, afraid that if he speaks that he'll do something embarrassing like say he wants to pull whatever sound out of steve that he'd let him. suddenly, steve's pulling away minutely to get his mouth close to eddie's ear, breath coming out in puffs against his skin.
"oh fuck," steve huffs out, voice pitched high and dainty. feminine. "oh, oh eddie, it's so good."
eddie grips his hands onto his knees like they're the only thing keeping here on planet earth as steve moans in his ear. his cock is starting to grow, whatever blood that was left in his head heading south fast and it's leaving him dizzy. from up close, he's sure steve can see what he's doing if he was to look down. he's wearing sweatpants that don't exactly hide anything, after all.
the sounds steve are making are all light and pretty like he's going off of his own experience and eddie has the fleeting thought that it's what girls sound like under him. that some girl has been pressing up close to steve's chest and had her pretty pink lips up close to his ear as he fucked her into the mattress. but oh, if eddie had the courage he'd tell him. tell him that he doesn't want to hear some girl, some stranger.
he wants to hear steve.
"you gonna take care of that?" steve's voice is back to somewhat normal, a bit raspy and deep, and it floods through eddie's veins like molten lava. he doesn't remember closing his eyes but he peels them open and turns his head to look at steve. he follows his gaze and sees that they're both looking at how turned on eddie is. he doesn't have enough blood left in his cheeks to blush but he would if he could.
"steve, that's wei-"
a hand wrapping over his knee stops him mid sentence. "not weird. do it. i want you to."
eddie gulps even though his throat feels drier than it's ever been. steve's fingers tighten and he jerks his chin up to urge him on and fuck, he knew he'd always give steve whatever he wanted.
"can you just," eddie sucks a breath in through his teeth as he drops his hand to his waistband, fingers teasing under the fabric. "sound like you, please?"
the silence feels palpable. he can feel every place that his clothes are touching him, every place that steve is touching him, every place his breath has fallen on him that evening. he has half a mind to take it back and tell him he was joking, to pretend like he's some girl again and eddie could get off on that, too. he could at least try, especially if it was steve.
but then- "eddie, fuck."
steve's mouth is close to his ear again, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear as he groans into it. his voice is pitched deep but it's definitely undeniably steve. he shifts onto his knees so he can drape his arm behind eddie once more. not touching, but there and as eddie's hand slips under the fabric to grip at his cock, they both let out a sigh.
"yeah, there you go. gonna touch yourself for me, hmm?"
"shit," eddie groans out as his hand trails over his weeping cock. he brings his thumb up to gather a bit of the precome that's dribbled out of the top and rubs it between his fingers before gliding them down his length. steve's panting these little sounds into his ear that mirror eddie's own moans. when he sighs, steve sighs, when he whines, steve whines.
it's like he's touching himself to get steve off, too, and isn't that something to think about? them laying side by side with each other's dicks in their hands, stroking just how the other likes to get them off. he'd watch steve's face, speed up when his eyes open and slow down when he's close. he'd buck his hips into steve's steady grip, swallow the moans he pulls out of him so they echo through his body. it'd be heaven on a mattress or hardwood floor or ratty couch in a ratty trailer.
"got me all hard in my jeans, eddie." steve breathes out and eddie can't see is he's lying or not but it sounds true and eddie briefly wonders if steve should go into porn with those acting skills. "the way you look with your hand in your pants, jesus, it's a sin. all flushed and hot and, god-"
if steve keeps it up, eddie is going to be done way faster than he wants to be. his hand speeds up when steve lets out a particularly loud moan in his ear and then there's a brush of denim against his arm and wow, steve was in fact not lying. his hips keep jumping up to get pressure against eddie's forearm and the long line of steve's cock is teasing him.
"steve," he whines out, "are you..."
"of course i am," he laughs against eddie's ear before sneaking a tiny kiss to his temple. "you're so fucking hot, dude. been wanting to do this for too long. too long, oh my god."
his hand that was on eddie thigh moves up to unbutton his pants and slides under his own waistband and eddie takes a moment to slow his strokes as he looks up at steve. he looks like a greek god in grungy trailer lighting, chest shimmering with sweat and puffing with heavy breaths. he's grinning down at eddie and he feels like he could float away.
"think i'm hot, stevie?" he says on a shuddering breath as he hits a spot on his cock that he immediately goes to find again. steve smirks before his eyes roll back as he gets a hand on his own dick.
"so hot, so fucking-"
he's cut off by a moan and eddie sends up a silent thank you to the universe that they have the trailer to themselves for the next few days because eddie needs to pull more of those out of him. he needs steve on his back and on his cock and in his mouth and on his fingers and every which way he'll let him have him if it means he gets to hear more of that.
"gonna get my mouth on you soon enough, gotta know what you taste like. gonna get you down my fucking throat..."
steve's brought his mouth back down to eddie's ear and is grunting like he's running the race of a lifetime while he tells eddie what he wants to do him. says truths of his own outside of the now forgotten game, secrets laced with some of the most romantic things eddie's ever been told. tells him how pretty he is, how good he is, how he's imagining eddie's fingers on his cock and on his skin and how he's close, close, close.
knowing he's effecting steve this much, knowing he has this hold on him that he thought was one sided, knowing that he's racing through steve's veins like he's racing through eddie's, it's too much.
"i'm... fuck- i'm gonna," eddie's hand speeds up and the hand on the back of the couch comes up to tangle in his hair. there's a pressure pulling him back until he's looking at the ceiling for a second until all he can see is steve and the flecks of green he's come to love.
"it's okay, i've got you, come on. let me just-"
their first kiss is shared on a ratty couch in a ratty trailer with their hands in their pants and come covering their fingers. eddie's mouth is open enough that he's moaning into steve's and the hand on the back of his head is twitching while he comes. they pull apart enough that eddie can hear what they sound like as they work through their orgasms together, can hear what steve sounds like as he works himself down.
he's going to get that on a record someday, he tells himself. it'll go platinum.
and just as quick as it started, it's over. only this time steve's snuggling up next to him and using his clean hand to stroke over the exposed skin on eddie's stomach instead of returning to the opposite end of the couch. their chests are heaving as they try and regain their composure and it feels like bliss until steve laughs.
it's like an ice bucket being poured over him and he wishes he didn't love hearing steve so much because he's afraid that the laugh will haunt his memories for ages to come. steve must feel him freeze up because the hand on his stomach circles around his waist and pulls him even closer so he can nuzzle his face into eddie's chest. it starts to settle the nerves that had wound themselves around his insides.
"i don't know if you could tell," he starts, voice muffled against eddie's flannel. "but i've been wanting to do that, this, for ages."
eddie snorts. "you've wanted to make me jizz in my pants for ages? really? low standards even for you."
steve snorts out a laugh in return. "no, you idiot. i've wanted to be able to do this for ages."
he tilts his head up and places a featherlight kiss to eddie's lips. it's soft, it's sweet, it's the opposite of everything that happened not two minutes prior. eddie feels a smile tugging at his mouth and pulls back to see steve smiling, too.
"does this mean..."
there's no words, no definition that eddie can put to the events of the night that don't sound silly or juvenile. but then he sees steve settle back down, pressing a kiss to right over his heart before laying his head down where it was.
"... that we're doing that again? absolutely. just maybe in a bed next time."
and maybe they don't need a label. maybe all they need is laying on a couch with come cooling in their pants and echoes of what just happened bouncing off the trailer walls. maybe all they need is a promise of later sealed with a kiss and their heartbeats in synch.
and maybe, just maybe, they'll play truth or dare again.
#defintely did not beta read or whatever so ignore any and all typos pls#steddie#steddie fic#my writing#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie drabble#steddie ficlet#steddie headcanon#steddie smut
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I wanna be defined by the things that I love
Not the things I hate
Not the things that I'm afraid of
Not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night
I, I just think that
You are what you love
#caption is the song daylight by the one and only queen Taylor Swift#that song is so them#when i have no ideas for the captions i write ts lyrics#haymitch abernathy#effie trinket#haymitch x effie#hayffie#whatever i sold my soul to them apparently#i freaking can’t#to whoever made this playlist: I owe you#i seriously need to reread the books#once you read the book with the knowledge you own from the movies about those two is deadly over#I’m waffling#thg fanart#hayffie fanart
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I understand that literature nerd Jason Todd is kind of overblown in fanon compared to it's actual presence in canon (a few issues during his pre (and post?)crisis Robin tenure that highlight it) BUT consider that I think it's hilarious if the unhinged gun toting criminal has strong opinions on poetry
#ramblings of a lunatic#dc comics#Jason Todd#batfamily#it's just a fun quirk! it's a fun lil detail and I simply cannot slight ppl for enjoying and incorporating it into works#like obviously jason isn't the only one. I'm a big believer in the batfam having over lapping interests they refuse to bond over#i know dick canonically used the robin hood stories (which are pretty flowery in their language far as i can tell) as inspo for Robin#and i know babs was a librarian and even tho her area of nerddom is characterized as more computery she probably knows quite a lot-#-about literature as well#duke is a hobbyist writer i believe? i saw a fan mention that- which if so is great and I hope he's also a nerd#(i mean he is canonically. i remember him being a puzzle nerd in his introduction. but i mean specifically a lit nerd)#damian called Shakespeare boring but also took acting classes so i think he's more of a theatre kid.#Tim's a dropout and i don't think he's ever shown distinct interest in english lit and i can't remember for Steph?#I'm ngl my brain hyperfocused on musician Steph i forget some of her other interests I'm sorry (minus softball and gymnastics!)#and then Cass had her whole (non linear but it's whatevs) arc about literacy and learning to read#went from struggling to read in batgirl 00 to memorizing Shakespeare in 'tec and is now an avid read in batgirls!#she's shown reading edgar allen poe but we don't know if it's his short stories or his poems#point to all of the above being: i know Jason's not the only lit nerd in the batfam#but also i do need him to be writing poetry in his spare time and reading and reviewing it#jason at the next dead robins society meeting: evening folks today I'll be assigning all of us poems based on laika the space dog#damian and steph who have been kidnapped and brought to jasons warehouse to hangout: LET US GO BITCH#speaking of^ random poem i think jason would like: space dog by alan shapiro#wake up one morning in an unfamiliar more mature body with a profound sense of abandonment. the last four lines. mmm tasty
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something that’s always been funny to me is that long fics with smut tend to do better than long fics without but it’s like. if you write a longggg 10k+ word fic with a build up and plot and sprinkle in smut at the end, people will read that long build up and pay attention to the plot in order to get to the smut. and 99% of the time the tags and comments will talk about the plot itself and the way it was written as opposed to the sex and they will ask for more or for part 2’s and as annoying as the part 2 comments can be sometimes, it also means that they focused on the plot and not the smut. but if you post that fic without the smut—as in same fic and same build up and everything, but the smuts not there, a lot of those same people will simply not give the fic a chance. it’s just funny to me bc yes, a part of it is just horniness, but also i think it’s partly that there is also some conditioning to believe that a “perfect romance” or a “perfect story” of a romance is sealed with intimacy that’s more often than not sexual in order to actually be valid. and yeah. idk. it’s an interesting thing to see from a writers perspective
#me personally i write what i want im at a comfortable place in my writing that#i don’t rly feel i need to add that smut to get engagement#partially bc i think im blessed with readers who are very kind to me and always reiterate that they would read whatever i put out#i have so many anons that tell me they don’t know anything ab genshin but they read my works for the fandom anyway bc i wrote it and i feel#grateful that there will always be an audience i can count on to support my writing#but partially also bc i’m also happy w my writing that if i did post a fic that had not smut and it didn’t rly get attention i wouldn’t feel#disheartened by it bc writing it was meaningful to me#but#ig it’s just an interesting divide to see of like ‘i won’t read it without smut’ vs ‘i will read it with or without for the story !!’
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there's no way the bathroom at peppino's pizza is actually that big but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . hey ummm anyway.... i care them...... anyway there's a lil ramble on my take on fake pep's like psyche or whatever in tags on the og post if ur into that kinda thing :y
hey! it's a series! fake peppino world tour: [noise] [noisette] [peppino]<- u are here [gustavo] [gerome] [noisette again]
#ramble after realtags yeag. shoutout to serrangelic btw suggesting the silhouettes thing bc i would have Died otherwise#pizza tower#peppino spaghetti#fake peppino#gustavo and brick#arting#pizzaposting#so anyway i think fake peppino has like. a general awareness that he is supposed to Be Peppino and that he was Made to do that#and likewise he does generally try to...do that. the thing he does NOT realize is hes like really goddamn bad at it#not to be mean but like...c'mon. they are pretty distinctly different kinds of guys even beyond the physiology yknow.#he's neither on-brand nor fooling anyone dsjdsjjkgfsd. BUT!#since the rest of the cast generally likes him [at least as I play it] he thinks hes doing just fine#he's like 'oh they r happy with me so i must be getting a good grade in being peppino :)'#so getting told that 'yeah you actually really suck at that but that was never the reason people liked you'#and told that by og model peppino no less--yknow THE guy he's supposed to be living up to#who's already a bit intimidating for that and who ALSO totally wrecked him TWICE in the tower#making him acutely familiar with just how formidable the guy is and how much there IS to live up to....#it's a Moment for sure. not really a sad or hurt one though. just... contemplative.#thinking abt people liking him for being the guy he's already naturally been being even though that guy is Not Peppino#i don't think he's gonna be super broken up about realizing he has a bad grade in peppino given everything else hes got now#nor do i really think he cares enough to go like reinvent himself or whatever after the fact#he seems to b pretty clearly having fun with it already so i think he just keeps doing that#and in some cases he still has the pre-installed peppino traits/instincts like to cooka da pizza. and that's fine#is this projection. yes. but if youve been following me awhile you know most of my character writing is ghdhfdgf#gonna kinda expand on all this in the gerome one which is...one after next. itll be a bit but man.#anyway peppino will never admit to anyone and especially not himself that he's gotten a little attached to the guy. hee hoo#pep tends to be kinda surly but he certainly has his ways of showing he cares. all of which are on display here#''that thing is not my son'' says man currently watching thing's antics with the 'bemused dad' arms crossed pose. yeah ok buddy.#gus is totally onto him already but hes not gonna say anything.#if u read all this ur prize is not having to go decode fp's rot13. his lines are ''meant to be you...?'' and ''wrong question.''
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To Keep Me Safe From You: Part Three
find my masterlist here
[description]: jax teller x fem!reader
[wordcount]: 1.7k+
[summary]: just when you think it couldn’t get worse, SAMCRO decides it’s time for another vote.
[cw]: 18+, female reader (y/n), swearing, mentions of murder throughout, angst, a lil bit of fluff, knives, possible grammar/spelling errors
[authors note]: so this part takes place immediately after part two. this took some time for me to finish but we’re here! life has been really strange for me lately but writing this has really helped me get some of my inspiration back. i’m not 100% sure as to whether this should get another part or two.. if anyone has any ideas where it could go i’m totally interested in suggestions! hope you enjoy :)
“Chapel? Whose getting married?”
Jax chuckled at you as he made his way through the hall. He slumped himself along the edge of the bed, your towel still draped across his lower half. His arms rested on his knees as he ran his hands through his hair, sighing out loud. “Nobody’s getting married.”
You sat next to him, crossing your legs on the bed. “You really, really, need to tell me what the hell is going on, Jax. You owe me an explanation at this point. This whole thing is just insane.”
“‘Chapel’s just our word for ‘vote’, I guess.”
You hadn’t meant to discuss that further, but there was a wave of relief that set over you regardless. At least now you knew there would be no impromptu wedding on the horizon.
“So Chapel means to vote. Okay.. so what is there to vote over? You said you won’t hurt me.”
He lifted his head to meet your eyes, his voice was soft, almost exasperated. “Yeah, well, that wasn’t really my decision to make.”
“And that means..”
“It means I went against the club.”
Waves of fear crashed into you as reality hit like a ton of bricks. Your mind replayed over the events of the last several hours. Despite it feeling like a lifetime ago, Jax had tied you to your chair to do nothing more than kill you, and now you had no choice but to trust him to save your life.
“So at Chapel.. They’ll vote if I still have to die?” You shook your head as the words left your mouth, tears welling in pools under your eyelids. “Jax I didn’t hear anything, I wasn’t lying when I told you-”. Jax pulled you into his chest before you could finish, hugging you tight. “I know, I know. I told you, nobody is going to hurt you. But they already decided, and I went against the club's decision. Tomorrow there won’t be another vote on you, that’s done. And once they realise I didn’t get the job done..”
Oh. Another realisation hit, the bricks piling onto what was left of any hope you had. This wasn’t just about you anymore. “They have to vote on you.” Your voice was low as you tried to suppress the lump in your throat. You dried your tears with your wrists, pulling yourself up to look at his face. “You have to tell them I never heard anything, you have to make them understand.”
Jax was looking down on you as you laid against his chest. He tried to reassure you with a smile, but he didn’t say another word. He hugged you tight, and for a moment it felt like you’d known him for eternity. Before you could get used to the feeling, his arms loosened around you and he rose from the edge of the bed, walking towards the bathroom. “Come shower with me.”
———
“You read a lot of books, huh.” Jax wasn’t asking a question, because he already knew the answer after scouring the house all night while you were his hostage.
“Well- most of my books are back home, but yeah, I do.”
Jax seemed so nonchalant about everything. He casually cracked three eggs from the fridge into the pan on the stove while he spoke. “And where’s home?”
Your eyes squinted at him over the kitchen island. “I told you last night.”
Jax smiled. “Washington, right?” You watched as he flipped the eggs, now sticking a little too much to the hot pan in front of him.
You avoided answering. The sudden interest confused you and you pondered over whether he’d changed his mind, if he wanted to know your hometown to find your family or chase you down if you ran. You snapped yourself out of the thought, suppressing your fear. “Do you read?”
He turned from the eggs to meet your eyes, pausing for a moment before subtly shaking his head. “I write.”
You raised your eyebrows at him, trying to hide your shock. The murdering biker stranger writes. “That’s interesting. What do you write?”
He shrugged, “Just journals and stuff.”
“I would’ve never guessed that about you.”
Jax leant over the island, placing a plate of scrambled eggs in front of you on the countertop. “Bet you never guessed I was a chef either.”
You grinned politely and thanked him, poking at the dry eggs with your fork. “There’s definitely a lot we don’t know about each other.” Jax tucked into the remaining eggs over the stove, scraping at the hot pan.
Suddenly you were giggling, and then you were laughing so hard you almost choked. It was unthinkable how fucking bizarre this entire situation was. “What’s funny?” Jax was looking at you across the kitchen island, completely bewildered by your sudden amusement.
You had to catch your breath before explaining, “Last night you had taped me to a chair with every intention to end my life, and this morning you're cooking me eggs. I think I’ve lost my mind.”
Jax chuckled with you, “I’m a man of many talents, darlin’. Though I can admit that I’m still shocked you wanted me to stay.”
You pulled yourself together before standing from the bar stool at the island, heading back down the hall toward the bedroom, “I’m going to get ready for work, try not to take anymore hostages while I’m gone.”
____
The rays from the California sun had burned through the windshield of the car all morning, turning it into a makeshift oven. Your thighs hit the fiery leather of the passenger seat as you got in, the heat radiating into you. It was almost impossible for you to sit still through the warmth of it. The stench of stale cigarette smoke had intensified throughout the car, and the smell brought you right back to the events of last night. Driving home with your stranger, completely oblivious to the gang’s death sentence, and everything else that would follow. The sound of the engine roaring to life abruptly disturbed your replay of events as Jax pulled out of the driveway.
“You can make a left at the end of the road. It’s faster.” He nodded.
Jax didn’t speak as he drove, it seemed as if he was totally preoccupied by his own thoughts. You wished your mind would be as silent.
You were overwhelmed from trying to understand, too many questions and uncertainties racing in your head. What was going to happen now? If Jax couldn’t stop the club, would they kill him for going against their decision? If Jax was dead, then they knew you were still breathing, and they’d come after you next. You’d have to leave town. How could you save yourself now?
Maybe you could escape before the impending doom you had been sentenced to. Or maybe they’d kill you before you got the chance.
“I have a question.”
Jax glanced your direction, but you couldn’t tell if he was even looking at you through his dark sunglasses. “What exactly is it they think I heard?”
Jax peered over his sunglasses, and you could tell he was looking at you as he cracked a smile. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
You rolled your eyes, “you probably should’ve while you had the chance.”
Jax scoffed. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”
His arrogance was no longer charming, instead now all it did was fill you with rage. “Can you blame me for not trusting some stranger who startled me into losing my car keys in the pitch black after work? Who held me at knifepoint, taped me to my armchair and held me hostage for hours? The same stranger who decided it was a better idea to spare my life and fuck me on my kitchen counter? I can’t be crazy for questioning whether I’m going to make it out of this alive. I could at least know what it is they want me dead for!”
Jax chuckled, he was too calm for your liking. “You did ask me to stay darlin’, that was all consensual.”
“Did I consent to being the target of your murder plot?”
Jax gritted his teeth, his playfulness was gone. “Look, I know you don’t really know me and it’s probably better if you didn’t. But I am sorry, I’m sorry for all of it- well, most of it-“ for a moment it seemed like he was going to smile, and then it was gone. “This is some serious shit I’m piled in.” He shook his head contemplating. “But I’m not going to let them kill you because of a dumb misunderstanding. And even if you heard everything, we don’t kill women.”
“You sure do sound like a group of martyrs.”
“I know what I am, y/n. Last night I told you I was a normal guy. I’m not. I’m not a normal guy, I’m not a good guy, and I’m definitely no damn martyr.”
Your ears rang with every word. You knew you should’ve ran for the hills the second he’d cut the tape from your wrists.
Jax pulled the car into the diner, parking alongside your abandoned Honda.
“I guess this means I have to find another locksmith. I’ll probably get my brakes cut if I go to Charmings finest mechanics now.”
Jax laughed, “cutting breaks isn’t really our style, babe.” He reached down into the well of the car door as he spoke, pulling out your lost keys, the metal dangling between his fingers.
Your eyes narrowed at him as you snatched the keys from his grasp.
Jax turned to the steering wheel, looking out of the window as he spoke. “Told ya, not a good guy.”
None of this made any sense. This man you barely knew, that needed you dead, had somehow sent a crushing pain through your chest. Maybe it was the confirmation that this had been his goal the entire time, this wasn’t a game, it wasn’t a joke. Jax Teller had to kill you, and for some reason, you weren’t dead yet.
You wanted to scream at him, tell him what a piece of shit he was. You wanted to yell and tell him how much you hated him and this dumb ass biker gang. You wanted to tell him last night was the worst and best night of your life. But the words wouldn’t form. Instead, you shoved your weight into the passenger door before quickly jumping out and furiously slamming it behind you. Childish but he got your point. Tires screeched as he sped off from the diner, leaving you stood there, frozen, tears streaming down your face.
You knew that was probably the last time you’d ever see Jax Teller again.
———
find my masterlist here
#jax teller#sons of anarchy#sons of anarchy fic#jax teller fiction#jax teller smut#jax teller morrow#charlie hunnam#fan fiction#reads whatever writes#soa#jax teller x reader#jax teller x you#jax teller x y/n#imagine#samcro#fluff#angst
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sure we make fun of fandom cliche tropes and stuff but i also literally dont care if you like them. be cringe my love you are free
#i have my own that i like. shrug emoji#sometimes you want something new and different bc everyone writes the same tropes#sometimes you want to read the exact same plot beats 371874 times. it’s whatever. who cares#have fun#vees train of thought
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Maybe a hot take, but I don't think the Traveler was being inconsistent or out of character in the last archon quest at all. People are getting upset at their reaction to Lyney and Lynette's behavior from the perspective of players, with meta knowledge of the story that the Traveler, the character, doesn't have.
The players know, for example, that because they're playable characters, Lyney and Lynette are ultimately friendly and on "our" side, and we can also trust that what they told us about their backstory is true. The Traveler does not have that knowledge.
TO BE CLEAR this post is talking about my thoughts on the TRAVELER'S thought process. If we want to talk about how I personally would have reacted to the situation, I'm an overly trusting bleeding-heart who would absolutely get scammed and probably murdered by Fatui in this universe.
(Also characters, even main characters who you normally like, can do things you disagree with and that doesn't mean they're badly written. I mean, sometimes they are, but I don't think that's true in this particular case)
But think about it! Looking at the entire situation from an in-universe, in-character POV, it's a really bad look for Lyney and Lynette overall, because here are the facts as the Traveler is aware of them:
Lyney and Lynette are not only members of the Fatui, the primary antagonistic force in this story, but are specifically members of the House of the Hearth, which is known to specialize in espionage, subterfuge, and sabotage.
Both of them also work in a field that would further require them to be masters of misdirection, audience manipulation, and drama.
They "coincidentally" ran into the Traveler right as they arrived in Fontaine and immediately began to do them favors and be very friendly, including saving them from Furina, bringing them to meet their family, and gifting them VIP tickets to Lyney's show.
During the trial, the twins withheld key information, and not just about their identities (and listen, I get it, I fully empathize with why they did it, I get the reasoning, but it's still a bad look when it gets figured out) but also about what they were doing in the tunnel.
They admitted that the entire magic show was a ruse to do, guess what? espionage! To break into the room with the Oratrice's core and find out how it works. To, through subterfuge, obtain Fontaine's secrets about the nation's most important mechanism and central source of power.
The Traveler has known these people for like, a day total.
So what conclusions might the Traveler draw from these facts? When the evidence shows that Lyney and Lynette have a record of misdirection and obfuscation for their own ends? When the Traveler has no way of knowing if even their initial meeting was orchestrated for an ulterior purpose? How are they supposed to know if the tragic backstory is even true, or if that's just Lyney trying to win back some favor and sympathy? In my opinion, at that moment, they don't. Hence the coldness.
My interpretation of events is that the Traveler does like the twins, and wanted to keep liking them, but was struggling to reconcile their initial impression of two friendly magicians with the realization that these two friendly magicians were dishonest with them for most of the time they'd known each other, so they needed to have some space to figure that out.
And for those saying the Traveler is inconsistent, here's the thing: they still helped Lyney. They still acted as his attorney, investigated thoroughly, won the case, and cleared his name. They've done similar for other Fatui members in their acquaintance—they helped Childe with Teucer, they helped Scaramouche/Wanderer with getting his memories back, they helped that other member of the House of the Hearth fake her death and escape the organization—whether or not they fully trusted them, and generally they didn't.
As for the Traveler's supposed hypocrisy, my view of their relationship with Childe is that it's only improved because, despite Childe trying to nuke Liyue in the past, the Traveler knows that
a. They can handle him if it comes down to a fight again;
b. He likes them, regardless of if the feeling is mutual or not, and is indeed aggressively friendly to the point where it's easier to just be civil;
c. Childe is generally upfront and honest about his actions and will strike from the front, not stab them in the back; and
d. He's worked together with them before when they had a common goal (for example, the labyrinth they went through with Xinyan).
They know how his mind works and what motivates him. Childe is a known quantity, the twins are not, and it took in-story time and shared experiences for the Traveler to get to even this point of neutrality; they were openly suspicious of him during his story quest.
As for holding his Vision for him, the Traveler didn't exactly volunteer for the job, Childe literally threw it at them with no warning and peaced out. What do you expect them to do, drop it in the sea? That would be inconsistent with their characterization.
Wanderer's whole situation is even weirder, since the Traveler was able to experience his actual memories and emotions and therefore has good reason to trust that he's had a genuine change of heart. Not to mention that they're not friends, I'd argue they're in that same nebulous "neutral" zone, and that only because Nahida usually functions as a buffer (and also because, again, the Traveler knows that they can handle Wanderer in a fight, and Wanderer also tends to be blunt and honest).
Also, in Lyney's story quest it seems like everyone got over their problems pretty fast and they're all chummy now, so you can all rest easy that the twins' feelings weren't too hurt about it.
Anyways if you disagree go ham, refute my points, whatever, just keep things civil.
#is there a designated spoiler tag idk#genshin impact#4.0 spoilers#hi non genshin-liking friends i promise i won't be doing this regularly#i just like to think about character relationships#ace attorney ass quest#genuinely rather disappointed that there was no... tension between them in lyney's story quest. like at all#the last time y'all saw each other was dramatic and depressing right after his murder trial and now you're just pals 'n' buddies#and maybe more considering how heavily they imply that lyney is flirting with the traveler#maybe they'll touch on it (the Drama) in the next archon quest#now that would be inconsistent writing with the story quest but whatever#i read comics i'm used to it#shadowboxtalks#speaking of the story quest i said out loud at several points 'oh yeah you're definitely a fatuus'#all that about not forgetting debts#and 'oh yeah you're definitely from the house of the hearth'#sneaky little shits (affectionate)
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it's honestly a bit odd to me that so many people have jumped on the 'aziraphale will be pulling all the strings and playing politics in heaven' train. like I think it's true that the metatron is underestimating aziraphale's intelligence and ability to disrupt the second coming even while separated from crowley, but I also think the idea that aziraphale is going up to heaven with a clear idea of how he's just been lied to, an understanding of how much danger he's in, and a plan to stop it is a huge reach.
frankly, aziraphale is very vulnerable to manipulation. I'm thinking now of neil’s post with the diary entry from before the edinburgh minisode where he was duped by two humans, the whole thing with the nazis in 1941, and his sponsorship of shadwell's various obviously fake agents (sergeant milkbottle, etc.). he's not nearly as savvy as fanon tends to portray him. he takes people at face value, especially people he thinks of as Good. (that's not a dunk, btw--I find these things endearing, and a sign of aziraphale's innate wish to see the best in people. I just think that sometimes the BAMF protective aziraphale of fanon overshadows the slightly more naive aziraphale of canon. and honestly, I also think TV aziraphale is just a bit softer than book aziraphale, though he is capable of stepping up when it counts.)
and he's a bad liar! I know it's a meme in the fandom that aziraphale lies all the time, but he doesn't like it, and he's bad at it. he gets nervous and comes up with terrible excuses and the only reason he ever gets away with it is because the people he's lying to are idiots (gabriel), have their own agendas (god, the other archangels), or trust him to be honest (crowley).
aziraphale's real strength is his ability to take sudden, completely unexpected action. that's one of the things that crowley admires most about him. "he's unpredictable," is what he says to nina, and it's true! aziraphale's greatest moments of rebellion have always come from spur of the moment decisions, not intricate plans. (if anything, crowley is the planner--the arrangement and the thwarting of the apocalypse, their two longest cons, were both his idea.)
aziraphale gives the sword away because when he is forced to make a decision under pressure, he tends to land on the side of rebellious kindness. shielding crowley from the rain in eden, lying to gabriel to protect job's family, defying the quartermaster and returning to earth via possession during the apocalypse, blowing up his halo--he does these things because he's following that same impulse. when aziraphale has time to over think, he frets and fusses and is paralyzed by indecision. (or worse, he falls back on what heaven has taught him.)
TL;DR: I don't think aziraphale has any sort of grand plan other than a generalized "make things better," and I certainly don't think he is planning to betray heaven. he might try to come up with a plan once he figures out how bad things are going to get, but my bet is that what will actually disrupt the second coming is an absolutely bonkers off the wall decision that no one, crowley included, could ever predict. and I think it’ll happen, as it usually does with aziraphale, just after he accepts a difficult truth that fundamentally shifts his worldview—in this case, his final rejection of the idea of “good” and “bad” people, and of the entire morality system of heaven and hell.
#good omens#good omens 2#good omens meta#final fifteen#aziraphale#long post#been in a meta mood lately sorry#to be clear people can write whatever they want. playing with characterization is fine and good in fanworks#but also I do wonder if the fanon built over four years between seasons is seriously impacting the way people read the final fifteen#and because I suspect it will come up: his smile in the elevator reads as Aziraphale’s denial smile#the one where he plasters it on as a ‘this is fine this is what I want I am a Good Angel’ reaction#‘I’m not trapped in here with you you’re trapped in here with me’ is not a thought aziraphale would ever have about himself#he doesn’t think about himself that way#crowley thinks of him as a force to be reckoned with for sure. but aziraphale is not that sure of himself
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i headcanon that like, 90% of the time, Phantom is The Town Hero™️, nice smooth edges, very consistently human-like and teenager-shaped with a bright voice and five-star smile (e.g. mostly-canon appearance). you can barely tell he’s even a ghost, really! and he absolutely does it on purpose, even if he doesn’t realize it at first. but his PR is finally good, he's got to be as nonthreatening as possible if he wants to keep it that way. hence the dress code.
but when his emotions run high and things get serious, i think Danny loses a little control over the shape of his ghost form; his teeth get longer and sharper, and were his fingers always claws? and the temperature drops and static electricity makes all your hair stand on end and you know you're in Danger. Phantom doesn’t have actual hackles to raise, but there’s green lightning crackling down the ridge of his spine and it can’t be anything but a threat.
whenever he gets like that it's always temporary, and people assume that "the stress made that sweet Phantom get a little scary but he'll be back to normal soon" as opposed to "the stress made Phantom stop pretending that he isn't always that scary"
#danny phantom#danny fenton#text#headcanon#realizing now that i can literally say whatever i want on tumblr#i said this in phandom discord a while ago but ive been rotating it in my brain since then#if anyone wants to take this as a prompt PLEASE do#i will read it and shower it in praises#milo writes
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