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spacedace · 1 month

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Still thinking about the Social Worker Jazz concept that @gilbirda posted about and it's slowly turning into a full Anger Management fic send help

Jason at length - much longer than it really should have taken really - set the resume down.

The new Social Worker’s resume. Because she was there, in his office, trying to convince him to hire her as a member of his criminal organization.

Crime Alley’s new social worker. A bright eyed Midwestern transplant from some tiny speck of a place that only qualified as a city because there was nothing bigger in a hundred miles in any direction to claim otherwise. The new social worker who had a Psy D. and three masters degrees and who had graduated Valedictorian. The one that had high paying private gigs lined up all over the country with the offering companies fighting over her.

The one who had, apparently, decided to take a shit job in Gotham’s shoddy social services department instead. The one that got kicked to Crime Alley - which was its own division despite technically being a small neighborhood in the grand scheme of things - within her first month. Supposedly for the sole purpose of scaring her off or getting her killed for all the questions she was asking and secret dealings she was sticking her nose into.

That social worker.

“I’m gonna need you to run this by me again.” Jason said, never so grateful for the voice modulator in his helmet as he was in that moment. It stripped out the bewilderment that had bled through into his words and made him sound stoic instead.

“I’d like to work for you.” The social worker - one Dr. Jasmine Nightingale - repeated primly. Back straight, clothes neat - if skewing more on the librarian side of professional - expression confident and hopeful. Completely and utterly oblivious of how fucking insane she sounded. “I was told that you’re the person in charge of Crime Alley.”

He resisted the urge to scrub at his face. It’d just look weird with his helmet on and not do anything to actually settle him in that moment anyway. “I understood that part.”

“Look, Doc,” She earned a doctorate and she was crazy enough to waltz into the office of one of Gotham’s most powerful Crime Lords, he’d be respectful about using her proper title at least, even if he suspected she was ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. “You’re going to have to tell me why. I was under the impression the only reason you ended up dumped on our end of the city ws because you wouldn’t play ball. But now you want to sign up for my crew?”

Nightingale frowned a little at that.

“Is that what people are saying?”

“What else are they gonna say?” Jason answered, leaning back in his seat, “Head of the department only dumps Crime Alley on folks he don’t like. And everyone knows he doesn’t like anyone that can’t or won’t play his game by his rules.”

“Alright, well. I’ll give you that.” Nightingale conceded, “Payne doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. But for the record,” She added giving him a wry smile, as if sharing wry smiles with Red Hood was just something people did, “I asked to be assigned to the Park Row and Bowery neighborhoods.”

“You wanted to work here.”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

Nightingale laughed. It was a bright sound. Not especially clear or pretty, but warm and welcoming in a way that carefully calculated giggles or overdone guffaws couldn’t be. Something with real and honest amusement in it, that encouraged those nearby to laugh along. Not the kind of involuntary, nervous chuckling people tended to slip into when they thought they had pissed someone that scared them off.

She just wasn’t intimidated by him at all, was she?

Behind his helmet, Jason found himself smiling. Just a bit.

“I’m serious.” She assured, blue-green eyes meeting the dark stare of his helmet without a moment of hesitation. He watched as she brushed a lock of her bright red hair behind her ear and out of the way. She’d woven it all into a practical, neat braid but a few sly pieces had snuck out to bounce around her. Gilding her quiet professionalism with a playful charm that worked well with her academia but make it cottagecore kindergarten teacher aesthetic.

“I’ll admit, Gotham wasn’t part of my plan when I first graduated. Time and choices take you funny places sometimes.” She plucked an invisible bit of lint off her soft blue cardigan, not nervous but absent as her gaze went distant for a moment. Thinking back on the events that had led her to his fine city. In a blink, those sharp eyes were back to focusing entirely on him. “But Gotham is where I am now, and I want to help.”

She looked at him, a serious, determined expression settling easily on her face. “The city as a whole has so much chaos and crime breaking out all the time.” No censure or horror in her voice, just a neutral fact to be observed. “But where the rest of the city has millions of dollars poured into it by various foundations or charities run by the Waynes, Park Row is largely ignored.”

Jason watched as steeliness sharpened her gaze, the blue-green shifting from the shine of a bird’s wing to the warning hue of something poisonous and deadly. “No one deserves that. No one.” Her chin tilted up, proud but not imperious. “So yes, I want to work here. There are people in Park Row and the Bowery who need help and I refuse to let any of them feel like they are going to be ignored.”

Jason considered her.

Really looked at her. Pealing back his initial off handed impression of her as some clueless transplant in over her head with no idea of what she was doing or what she was poking her nose into to find the real woman beneath. Her confident poise, her clear unshakable belief, her unflinching willingness to look danger in the eye and not blink. The tense curve of her frown, the lines of pain at the corners of her eyes, the simmering anger beneath it all. There was an edge to her, too. Something sharp and dangerously well hidden by the cardigan and folksy charm of her accent.

It was personal for the woman before him, Jason realized. Maybe not Crime Alley specifically, but something about the whole situation. The treatment the neighborhood and its residents received from the city at large, from those even beyond it.

Crime Alley wasn’t a place that received much in the way of charitable thought. The average joe with their house in Somerset and job at some corporate shithole hating every second of their life but thinking at least I don’t live in Crime Alley. Those asshole hoity-toites in city hall throwing money around equally between shit that’d get them re-elected and their off-shore slush funds in the Caymens doing their damn level best to pretend the black mark on the other end of the city just didn’t exist. Bruce, flooding the entire city with charitable programs and carefully constructed infrastructures shying away from the manifested grief and trauma that was the place he watched his parents get murdered.

For the most part no one from outside of the Alley gave a shit about the Alley other than as a place to avoid at all costs. And most of the time those natives that manages to claw their way out into better and brighter lives didn’t ever turn to glance back. Orpheus could have learned a thing or to from an ex-Alley Kid who managed to eek out a steady 9-to-5 and move to Burnley.

And something about that seemed to piss Dr. Jasmine Nightingale Psy. D right the fuck off.

He could see why Bill said he liked her enough to let her in.

“Alright.” He said, tilting his head, watching the woman seated across from him carefully, “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Why you’re trying to get on my payroll.”

“I’m not trying to get on your payroll.” She said, some of the glinting edge softening, but the steel remaining. Strong and unyielding. “I’m trying to get into your community outreach program.”

Jason thanked god and all the saints once again for the gift of his helmet. That baby had saved his ass more times than he could count both by keeping his head in one piece and keeping his stupefied expressions wrapped up and hidden from view. Dr. Nightingale was one hell of a woman to make him have to rely on that fact twice in one conversation.

“Wasn’t aware that was something I had.”

Nightingale, not fortunate enough to have a full face covering helmet of her own, had nothing to hide her stupefied expression behind. Jason had a feeling she might have removed it to make sure he saw even if she did though. She looked like she had caught him eating glue like it was a cheese stick.

“Yes you do.” She said, sounding deeply confused but unshakable confident in what she was saying. “I’ve seen it. The soup kitchens, the shelters, the collection boxes for donating old clothes, the after school day care.” Nightingale ticked off on her fingers, “I’ve lived here for less than two weeks and I’ve lost count of all the things I’ve seen setup to help people struggling in the area that I’ve been very reliably informed you and your organization are behind.”

Oh.

Those.

“Those aren’t part of some community outreach program.” He said, “We are simply locals offering services for our neighbors.”

He watched as her caught-him-eating-glue expression shifted into one that said she’d stumbled upon him licking electrical sockets for a mid-day pick-me-up instead. He had to give it to her, the woman was not afraid to let one of the most dangerous men in the city know she thought he was a fucking idiot.

“Let me see if I understand this right.” She said, and he appreciated that there wasn’t any kind of condescension in her voice, even though she very clearly thought he’d been dropped on his head as a baby. Possibly from the top of a three story building. “You have a large group of people working together to plan, organize and execute multiple services in your area - your community, if you will - that provide aid and support to those that otherwise would not receive it. Reaching out with your available time and resources to offer these services, that you provide. For free.”

Alright, Jason got it. He had stumbled ass backwards into creating a community outreach program. But he wasn’t just going to let her think she won this one. He was Red Hood, he had a reputation to uphold here.

“What makes you think any of that is free?” He tilted his head at just the right angle, the one that cast shadows across the planes of his helmet and made him look hell-touched and terrifying. “Just because we don’t charge money, doesn’t mean there isn’t a price to pay.”

Dr. Nightingale, dressed like a damn kindergarten teacher, laughed at him.

#dpxdc #jazz fen #jason todd #social worker jazz #social worker jazz fenton #anger management ship #anger management #pre anger management #jason todd x jazz fenton #i don't know why i keep writing scenes where Jazz writes resumes to apply to work for crime bosses but it just feels right in my soul okay #the real reason Jason wears a full face helmet is so people can't tell when he utterly fails to hide his emotions about something #the idea of social worker jazz working in crime alley has completely consumed me mind body and soul

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manicpixiefelix · 4 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 4.

Summary: While Oliver may struggle to fit into your group of friends as a whole, he seems to fit perfectly by you and Felix's sides. Farleigh grows more unhappy with this arrangement as the weeks go on, and finally Felix has enough of his attitude towards you, and you accidentally overhear. Upset at both Farleigh's attitude and how Felix had to fight with him on your behalf, Felix spends the rest of the night making sure you know just how much you're worth.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: drinking/intoxication, smut but somehow i managed to still write around the reader's AGAB??? still explicit tho (reader bottoming), and 'dog' being used to demean the reader once.

A/N: 3825 words. it hasn't been even 24 hours since the last chapter. im making good time lol. i promise there will be a lot more oliver in the future (i already have part of chapter 5 that is VERY reader/oliver) but this is an especially Felix/Reader chapter. i know its kind of going slow, we're still only in the first bit of oxford, but it will pick up, i just like really getting into the character interactions. as always, this is unedited, and i'd love any feedback you may have!!

Taglist: @strangemaximoff @renaissance-mama @tsach @malscorner @xhoneymoonx134 @yelchinweasleylothbrok @tarriea @florencediet @butitsbetterifyoudoittoem @belladonnadarksshade @fandom-multiamory @snazzynacho @jubileexoxo @soocore @be-lla-vie @nightingale2124 @willow-sages @null4ndv0id @gracieluvthemoon @day2dream @marvellover98 @navixfr @bitxhinthecomments @daintylovers @alesunsets @noturningbacknow @d0llysposts @alilcloudy @callsignwidow @moviequotes23 @325575 @bonnieblue0606 @osoqueen125 @hot-dino-nuggies @darkness-falls-xo @mattymurderdocks @flowerecs @weepingwitchofthewest @ilovemydinoboi @marsmallow433 @king0flies @cashtons-wife @jessicascharacterbananza @gossvedd

TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Oliver, by nature, does not appear to be an incredibly tactile individual. Getting shitfaced at your first proper meeting at the pub aside, and not counting the nights he joins you all at the club, he seems perfectly gentle and demure, always taking up as little space as possible, never really reaching out for another person unless they make the first move.

Except with you.

It's never overt, nothing about Oliver is ever overt, he's not throwing his arms around you every time he sees you like Felix, not tucking himself close to you as you all walk to the pub the way the girls of the group liked to do, nor is he leaning on you and treating you like furniture the way Farleigh liked to expression his familiarity. It was small, constant contact. Sitting too close in a booth, knees knocking under the table, shoulder checking you at the bar and staying that close as you both wait for your drinks, studying together in the library, sitting across from one another and his leg sticks out under the table, his ankle reaching yours.

For you it's normal, honestly it's a little toned-down from what you're used to, but there's always something in his eyes when he first makes contact, like he wants to memorise your reaction. Oliver is always memorising, always watching, always observing. There's something almost voyeuristic about his company in those quiet moments, but you're used to being watched, you're used to putting on a show, so you find yourself matching his energy, giving a coy smile when you meet his unreadable gaze. Underneath the table you'll press your ankle back against his, or knock your knee against his with purpose, or lean against his at the bar, acknowledge the contact, relish in it for the moment.

Felix, however, is the king of overt, and has never in his life waited for someone else to reach out for him. Every chance he has he'll pour his focus and attention onto Oliver. The more he learns about Oliver, the more insistent he seems to have him around, even if the rest of the friend group is less than enthusiastic. None of them would ever say as much to Felix, except of course Farleigh, but Felix grows ever more protective of Oliver, and Farleigh learns to keep his mouth shut in the end.

It takes you a long while to see the difference, actually it takes you a long while to realise there even was one. But there was. For all Oliver would orbit around Felix, looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky, he didn't touch Felix unless Felix touched him first. Call it reverence or respect, you just remember the way he'd shrunk away from Felix's bike when you'd first met him, how he'd shrunk away from your handshake after he'd dropped it, always weighing up every decision, never leaping without calculating the risks. He'd rather be touched than reach out and get rejected.

When you finally realise this, that feeling from the pub hits you again, sharp, bright, and intrigued. Everything's already warm and a bit fuzzy, the two of you sitting on Felix's bed, back to the wall, sharing a bottle of orange juice that's also half vodka, pregaming for a party and waiting for Felix to get out of the shower. If this were anyone else, chatter would be flowing brightly between you both, but you'd found early on that you settle into comfortable silence well beside Oliver. The CD player is playing that pop punk CD Annabel leant Felix last week, and Oliver is focused on playing with the rips in the knees of your jeans. He's always a little more bold, a little more tactile when he's drunk, he'll dance with you, will sit with an arm around you or on your knee, but its taken you until now to realise that you've never seen him really do that by his own choice with anyone else, even while drunk.

"Ollie, Ollie, Ollie~" you practically sing his name softly, affectionately, and when he hums in acknowledgement, looking up from your jeans, you lean your chin on your shoulder with a coy little smile, almost nose to nose with him.

"Sorry should I not be -?" He glances to your knee once more, but you snort a laugh and shift your leg to lay it out across both of his. You take another long swig of the juice, and feel his hand fidgeting once more against your knee.

"You make me feel all special, Ollie," you laughed, tipping your head against his, and he once again goes still, "I don't want to treat you like a horse but you do have to stop being so skittish," comes out without you even properly meaning it to, and suddenly Ollie's half spluttering through apologies and explainations.

"I can't- I can't help it, you just kind of say things that catch me off guard, I don't mean to -" this time his fidgeting has a more nervous energy, and you carefully put your hand on his to settle him.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said that," taking a deep breath, you try and organise your thoughts, "that was mean of me, I'm too used to people without much of a filter."

While Oliver is quiet, doesn't quite feel the need to speak, he does flip his hand around and lace his fingers with yours. Both of you look at your joined hands for a long moment.

"I like being next to you," you tell him with quiet sincerity, "and I like that you want to be next to me."

"Everyone wants to be next to you," Oliver says softly, and out of the corner of your eye you see him turn to look at you, "I just feel lucky that you keep saving space for me here." You give his hand a squeeze, terrified to meet his gaze, terrified of what you might see in the way he looks at you.

This moment overwhelms you, thrills you, makes your chest hurt in a way that's so unfamiliar. The idea of Oliver looking at you, seeing you for all you are outside of Felix's shadow, for wanting to be close despite that - you take another drink.

The shower turns off, and the two of you fall back into silence, sharing the drink as you hear Felix scuffle about the bathroom getting dressed. When he emerges only wearing jeans, towel drying his hair, you wolf whistle at him with the biggest grin just to see him blush. Lobbing the towel at you both, he leans across the bed to take the bottle of juice from Oliver, taking a few long chugs before passing it back.

For a moment, his eyes linger on your still-joined hands, and he smirks as he turns to his wardrobe.

"You two look cute."

"I'm stealing your new best friend," you announce with a shit-eating grin, bringing your joined hands up to your chest, and Felix throws an amused look at you over his shoulder as Oliver ducks his head, unable to his hide own abashed smile.

"Oh it's like that, is it? You'd let yourself be stolen so easily, Ollie?" Felix teased, pulling out a flattering button-down for himself to wear, turning back expectantly. Oliver flushes, looking back and forth for a long moment between yourself and Felix, who was slowly sauntering over to the bed. There's something in his eyes, that look he got when he was carefully evaluating what to say next without trying to look like he was thinking too hard, but it was gone once he settled on Felix.

"It's Y/N, can you really blame me?"

Oh, he's good. Something lights up in Felix's eyes as his gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, something adoring and amused in equal measure. Felix has always held a very high opinion of you, and just as you found joy in his happiness, so did he find joy in yours; he had never been shy about how he loved when others truly adored you, since he thought everyone should. Still, it wasn't something he tended to broadcast the way you wore your loyalty to him on your sleeve. Oliver was very good.

"I actually can't even argue with that," Felix's voice has a kind of softness to it that most people will never hear, but you know it, and there's something about how he's letting Oliver hear it to that warms your heart.

There moment breaks as the CD finishes and Felix starts hunting for his socks, declaring that he should be ready to go in only a few more minutes.

The change after that is less gradual. Of course you're still social and integrating yourself with the whole group, still playing your role in the group dynamic, offering affection and yourself without hesitation, just as Felix did too, but the two of you always make room for Oliver too. He's easing into it more, talking, laughing, reacting and seeming to live more outside of his head. Still, there's a divide in the group, there's something that makes the others hold back, something that means they can't quite understand the affection you and Felix have for the newcomer. Farleigh is a lost cause.

Farleigh can only seem to bring himself to be condescending and bitchy to you when he's sober, and outright won't speak to you while intoxicated.

"The fuck is your problem with Y/N?" You're pretty sure you weren't mean to hear Felix confront Farleigh by the bathroom of the club.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Farleigh snaps, but then you hear a scuffle and thud, and ducking your head quickly around the corner you see Felix holding Farleigh to the wall by his collar. There's a strange sensation in your gut at the sight, knowing his anger was on your behalf, but you didn't want to get caught, and pressed yourself back to the wall.

"My problem is with Oliver," Farleigh hisses, "you both know that, but you don't fucking care."

"Then treat me like dirt, not them."

"Nothing I could say would ever stop you from doing what you want, or who you want, cousin," you hear the sneer in Farleigh's voice, and feel your stomach sink, "but -"

"But what? You expected- expected what? Better from Y/N?"

Farleigh's silence speaks volumes. Once more you peak around the corner and see Felix shove himself away from Farleigh, who simply straightens his shirt, standing tall.

"The fuck do you want me to say?" Finally, Farleigh snaps, "congrats, Felix, you got your dog a dog, and now I can't look at either of you without that freak hanging around like a fruit fly."

"Fuck off," Felix sounds like he's about to be sick. Farleigh obligingly fucks off, and you have to take a long moment, head tipped back against the wall as you fight back tears in your heightened, intoxicated state. While you know you should leave, shouldn't be caught eavesdropping, you can't bring yourself to move fast enough, and Felix rounds the corner, walking almost directly into you.

"Y/N -!" He's clearly forcing a smile for the half second that it takes him to register that it's you, but then he sees your expression, the tears in your eyes, and his face falls, "you okay? What- what's-?" While you press your lips into a thin line, trying not to give anything away, he glances over his shoulders and he's quick to connect the dots, "you heard?"

"I'm sorry, Fi," your voice trembles, and immediately he's wrapping you up in a tight hug, "I don't like making Farleigh mad at you," you sniffle, clutching his sweater tightly.

"Farleigh's being an asshole, that's not on you," Felix's voice leaves no room for disagreement, but still he rubs circles into your back, "that's never your fault."

Its Felix who suggests the two of you head home for the night, but you're glad he knows you well enough to intuit that was what you'd wanted anyways. The two of you say your goodbyes for the night, putting on a happy face, thankfully obscured by the haze and neon lights and highs of your various friends. Farleigh seems to be avoiding you both, so it's only Oliver who seems to want to cling, just a little, as you say goodbye.

Somehow you know he's the only one who can see the truth of your mood in your eyes. He hugs a little longer than usual, still holding you tightly when Felix reminds him about lunch between the two of them the following day. Oliver nods before he steps back, but he doesn't entirely let go. For a moment he looks between you and Felix, you already reaching back for Felix, who takes a hold of your wrist, and then Oliver quickly takes your face and kisses your forehead quickly.

"Get back safe, alright?" He insists with a resolute nod. Both you and Felix manage a genuine smile at that, and finally head from the club.

At first, the walk back to the dorms is quiet; your own mood is low, but there's something about Felix that you don't realise until he starts to fume.

"Can you believe he'd talk about you like that?"

"What?"

"Farleigh; where the fuck does he get off talking like that? Fucking entitled." It's fury, radiating off of him in waves. His intensity surprises you, but your heart's not beating faster out of any kind of fear, "he should know better."

"Felix -"

"I don't care if he's my cousin, he -" and he stops dead, finally turning to look at you. In an instant, seeing the wide-eyed, almost awed love you were looking at him with, all his fury seemed to disappear. Still, there was intensity as he stepped up to you, wrapped one arm around your waist as he cupped your jaw, "he made you cry," the anger was faint but still audible, his thumb running gently over your cheek, where you had wiped the tears away not ten minutes ago, "I never want anyone to do that ever again."

Felix knows how to make you feel good, has had years of practice, but tonight he dedicates every ounce of focus he still has to that cause. It's been a long time since he's properly taken his time with you like this; there's been a lot of quickies, or drunk, sloppy sex when neither of you want to hook up with someone else, messy handjobs in janitor's closets between classes simply because you were bored and liked the thrill of it, or giving each other head in the bathroom of the club or pub when the other loses an arbitrary bet. But the way he worships you is something that only happens when he's feeling especially sappy.

When his mouth isn't on you - kissing, sucking, biting - he's lavishing you with praise until it almost becomes righteous, and his nails dig in and he's losing himself in you and babbling about how anyone who even got to fucking look at you should be grateful.

"Fi -" you gasp, hand coming up to muffle yourself as he's got you to the point of speechless. But he stops, cock deep inside of you, hips pressed flush to yours as you have your legs wrapped around his waist. You groan and whimper and try rolling your hips to create more friction, but his grin is wide as he leans down over you.

"Come on, no, don't do that," he practically purrs, taking your hand, pinning your wrist to the bed next to your head, pinning the other in just the same way so he was braced over you, "I want everyone to hear how you sound when someone's making you feel good." He starts to move again now, slow this time, while this new angle has your thighs splayed somehow further open, all new moans of pleasure escaping you now. Felix looks pleased, face close enough to yours that you're practically panting and moaning into his mouth as he delights at the way he's making you feel.

One of your favourite things about fucking Felix is that he is consistently Felix, which is that he very rarely shuts up, which is fantastic because you love hearing his voice. The praise and love he lays on you this night is interspersed with the way he always is during sex, chatty, always checking in, somehow making casual and curious sound like the hottest things in the world. Even when you're past the point of words and his head is between your thighs, he'll have two fingers inside of you and -

"This alright?" He knows the answer because he knows you, but you've always been endeared by it. Still, you make a breathy noise of confirmation, and you hear his voice drop to something low and firmer, "words, Y/N." God, fuck, the things that voice does to you when he uses it.

"Yes, oh god, Fi, it's good, it's good, it's good -"

You can feel his pleased chuckle as his mouth is back on your tender skin.

Dawn is breaking beyond his window, through the curtains neither of you had bothered to close all night, when you both finally concede, feeling thoroughly satisfied and spent.

"I know you don't like me getting into scraps on your behalf -" Felix, laying out on his back, easy smile on his face as he looks to you, begins.

"Or ever," you roll your eyes, but turn to lay on your side, facing him, unable to stop smiling yourself. Felix chuckles.

"Fine, sure, but," and he wets his lips, his gaze softening for a moment as his eyes meet yours, "I'm never going to sit by and let someone chat shit about you, you know that, right?"

After a long moment of deliberation, you finally admitted -

"I got a girl expelled because of how she was talking about you," you blurted out. Immediately Felix's eyes went wide. He shot up, sitting dead straight and looking back at you.

"You what?!"

"I don't get into scraps like you, but what she was saying was fucking vulgar, and I asked her to stop but she started making these awful, gross comments about how she was going to baby trap you and you'd be too stupid to know, and- and-" you flipped to lay on your back, fidgeting as you recounted the details. Felix was watching you, but you couldn't quite figure out what the look on his face meant, though perhaps he was simply processing it all, "and so I paid someone to plant a whole load of illegal shit in her room and called campus authorities."

Quiet suddenly filled the room, and slowly Felix looked away, choosing to simply stare at his hands.

"The only reason I don't like you getting into scraps is because I just don't want you to get hurt; it actually means so much to me that you care enough to defend me, you know? I'm not a hypocrite, I just worry about you," you tried to laugh, but it sounded lame in the quiet.

"You got a girl expelled for me," surprisingly, you can hear the grin in Felix's words. When he turns back with an incredulous laugh, relief floods through you. In an instant he's pitched himself practically on top of you, peppering your face, neck, and chest with kisses, "you're fucking diabolical, I'm so glad you're on my side!"

Eventually the two of you manage to get to sleep, though it's not nearly enough, as a knock comes at the door at around eleven. Both you and Felix groan, but he insists that you stay in bed.

"Be there in a sec," he calls to the door. After sourcing some boxers, he opens the door just a crack, and you can hear Farleigh on the other side.

"I was a dick."

"You were," Felix agrees.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said all that."

"No you shouldn't have."

"So are we good?"

"I don't know why you're apologising to me," you can hear the passive-aggressive lightness in Felix's tone, and Farleigh sounds confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Of course you know what I mean, Farleigh."

Then, a long sigh from Farleigh, and quietly, almost too quiet to hear it, you hear him ask if Felix knows where you are. You can almost picture the smug smile on your best friend's face as he steps aside and opens the door wide enough to reveal you, in his bed, still mostly asleep.

"Morning..." Farleigh says awkwardly.

"Morning, Farleigh," you yawned loudly.

"I..." he started, looking deeply uncomfortable; Felix had to prompt him to continue, "am sorry for treating you like shit these past few weeks. I don't like Oliver, that's," he sighed, unable to look you in the eyes, "not your fault."

"It's not my fault but you're making it my problem," you tell him bluntly, to which he scowls, "I love you, I have loved you for years, I do not love you less because of Oliver; your jealousy is childish."

"Fine," Farleigh rolls his eyes, "I'll temper my urge to vomit at the sight of him and his poor attempts to fit in whenever you're around- either of you are around."

"We appreciate the sacrifice," Felix rolls his eyes, sarcasm all but dripping from his words. Still, you accept the apology and tension between the three of you seem to ease as the conversation comes to an end. Felix throws himself back down on the bed with a grunt, half laying on you.

"What time is it?" He voice is muffled against the mattress, so you glance at his alarm clock.

"Eleven fifteen."

Another groan from Felix, but he still doesn't move. Slowly, he crawls to a more dignified position, and back under the covers beside you. He wraps am arm around you, pulling you in close so your back was flush against him, his breath warm on the back of your neck.

"Fifteen minutes and I'll leap out of bed with enthusiasm," he says in the absolutely least convincing manner, tucking himself as close to you as possible, "I got lunch with Ollie at the pub."

"That should be nice," you yawn, and rest your hand on his where it's warm against your bare stomach.

"Gotta have a shower, get dressed, figure out if I'm biking or walking," he's mumbling mostly to himself, voice drifting off.

"I'd join your shower but I plan to sleep here until Monday."

"I'll probably join you when I get back."

It's a comforting thought, and you let out a contented hum, before finally adding before you drift off.

"Give Ollie my love when you see him, won't you?" And as your asking, Felix presses a kiss to your shoulder.

"Of course."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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digital-domain · 29 days

Text

Clean Slate

Part Two to Spring Cleaning

Alastor x Reader // word count 3.1k

In which new clothes are illicitly obtained, and quickly disposed of

Tags/warnings: yandere, invasion of privacy, power imbalance, stripping/nudity, Alastor is definitely watching you sleep

A/N: god, part twos are hard to write. But the people of ao3 asked, so you, the people of tumblr, get to share in their (dubious) reward

True to his promise, Alastor did not leave your closet standing empty. When you woke up this morning, it was already full, the wardrobe you’d collected over the course of your year in hell displaced and forgotten. You wrinkled your nose in distaste when you saw that a large portion of the space was occupied by dresses, none of which fell above the knee. Those, you were sure you would never wear. But there were other options. You donned the least offensive - a pair of black trousers and a soft, slightly oversized red sweater - and felt almost like yourself when you looked in the mirror.

In the drama of last night, Alastor had skipped over the rest of the small drawers of your dresser, so at the very least, you still had your own socks and the rest of your undergarments. The shoes lined haphazardly along the floor of your closet had been replaced by stiff, polished black flats, slip-on pumps, and other things that looked as uncomfortable as they did unfashionable, but he hadn’t noticed the pair sneakers that lay beneath your bed. You felt a strange thrill as you put them on, like you were getting away with something forbidden.

And then, you thought, why stop there?

Alastor tends to keep his distance from you during the day. You do see him, of course - it’s not as if you can avoid him, living in the same building - but he barely speaks to you, unless you happen to be the only two people in the room. He doesn’t seem to like the idea of sharing your company with others, or letting anyone else see the two of you together. It means that outside of your bedroom, you still have your freedom. On this particular morning, you’ve decided to use that freedom to walk out the front door. Alastor is in the lobby, and you tense slightly when you see him, but he doesn’t so much as glance in your direction. At least, not while you’re looking at him. You swear that you can feel his eyes on your back as you exit the building. But that could just be your own paranoia. It’s been very strong as of late.

You don’t know exactly where you’re going. Just that you want to end up somewhere he wouldn’t want you to go. There are plenty of places like that in Hell. Arcades, electronics stores, smoke shops that sell harder drugs out of their back rooms, bars that don’t know how to make a proper old-fashioned…you certainly have plenty of options. But of course, in the end, you find yourself at a clothing store. Not a lingerie store - that entire concept has been ruined for you, for the time being - but still not a place he’d ever visit himself. Everything here is casual, comfortable, unpolished. The opposite of your new wardrobe.

You select a soft, unassuming pair of gray sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt. When you pay for them, you decline the branded paper bag, instead choosing to stuff them into the canvas one you’ve brought with you. Once you make it back to the hotel, and into your room, without alerting any suspicion, you’re relieved. You take the bundle of cloth out of the bag, and stuff it under your pillow. You’re not stupid enough to wear them during the day, but they’ll be perfect to sleep in. The slip you woke up wearing lays crumpled in an invisible corner of your closet. You’d like to forget about its existence, but you don’t dare try to destroy it.

You don’t see Alastor for the rest of the day. He doesn’t visit your room. This isn’t unheard of; his appearances have become more frequent over the past several weeks, but there are times when two, or even three precious days go by without a trace of him. Once it’s late enough, past the time when he might call on you, you change into your contraband. It’s nothing special, nothing particularly flattering, but when you look in the mirror, you smile. When you crawl into bed, you’re almost at ease. Last night, it took you a very long time to fall asleep, but tonight, it comes almost instantly.

It does not last.

You wake up, and know immediately that it is nowhere near morning. You’re on your side, facing the wall, and you fight the impulse to roll over and check the time. You’re still half-asleep. You don’t want to move.

But you do. And once you do, the time no longer matters. The exhaustion bolts from your body. You’d like to bolt along with it, but you only manage to half-sit up, swinging one arm defensively over your body.

You are not alone.

This shouldn’t be happening. There are clear, unspoken rules to Alastor’s appearances - only when you’re alone, never past 10pm, never when you’re in the bathroom that adjoins your room. And yet, he is here. You can see his smile and his eyes far too clearly. It’s unnatural, the way they shine in the dark.

“I apologize for the late arrival, my dear. It’s been quite a busy day.”

You don’t believe him for a moment. “What do you want?” You’d like to scream at him to get out, but you can’t imagine that would end well.

“Do I have to want something to visit you?” He’s nowhere near the switch by your door, but the light still flickers, a shock to your eyes. It’s quickly extinguished, plunging you back into the dark. “Perhaps I merely enjoy your company.”

His hand is curled tightly around his staff. It’s another wrong thing about this image - he usually doesn’t have that, when he visits you. Your fingers brace against your sheets. You know why he’s here. He knows, somehow, about your little act of rebellion. How he knows…oh. You don’t want to think about that.

“I don’t expect you to return the compliment,” he murmurs, “but you could at least temper that awful glare in your eyes. It’s almost making me want to look away from you.” As he says this, he leans closer, bending at the waist until his unblinking eyes are mere inches from your own. “I always make an effort to control my unpleasant feelings. If I didn’t, I might make you uncomfortable.”

You can’t imagine feeling any less comfortable than you do now, with that terrible grin glowing before you. Your eyes are still adjusting to the darkness, but you get the feeling that he can see you with perfect clarity.

He straightens up, and uses the tip of his staff to flick back your covers, revealing the clothes you’re wearing underneath. “You must have thought so little of me,” he sighs, “to expect to get away with such a thing.”

You fail to catch your breath before it gasps out of you. He doesn’t sound angry, but you’ve learned that the tone of his voice is a poor indicator for how he’s truly feeling. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, eyes cast down. There’s nothing else to say. You purse your lips, and wait.

“I’ve tried so hard with you,” he continues, as if he hasn’t heard you at all. “I’ve been so patient. And just when I thought I was getting somewhere, you decided to act out.” The tip of his staff catches on the hem of your t-shirt, and you instinctively tug the fabric away.

It’s the wrong thing to do. His grin freezes on his face, its appearance now closer to a grimace than anything else. He rests the end of his staff heavily on the curve of your waist - you stiffen, and raise your hand as if to shove it aside, but quickly think better of it.

“An excellent decision,” he purrs. “I knew you had some sense. I’ve worked very hard to instill it in you, after all. I was just starting to be impressed by your progress…but it appears that there’s still quite a lot of work to be done.” His eyes flash, momentarily glowing an even brighter red, cutting through the darkness between you. “Stand up.”

He withdraws his staff, and although you want nothing more than to pull your covers over your head and pretend this isn’t happening, you instead feel yourself rising to your feet.

“Well done.” His voice is quiet as he steps forward. He’s not touching you - his hands are pulled behind his back, as they often are when he’s close to you. But you can hear his breath, make out every detail of his face despite the absence of light. “I detest being upset with you. I detest that these little things upset me at all. But it seems there’s nothing I can do about that. So.” He leans forward, and smiles indulgently. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s fix this little problem you’ve created, shall we?” His head tilts a bit further than would be natural for anyone else. “If you take those ridiculous things off, we can put all of this nonsense behind us.”

You instinctively take a half-step backwards, only to awkwardly shuffle your foot back to where it was before. The thought of changing back into the slip he gave you makes you shudder, as does the thought of how he might react when he sees you pull it from the floor of your closet, hideously wrinkled. Still, you find yourself nodding in agreement. “Now?”

“Now.” His control over his tone is beginning to waver - his volume oscillates, voice frays with harsh static.

“The slip…” Your voice is small, in stark contrast with the angered scream you were preparing to release just moments before. “It’s in my closet. I can go”-

Alastor abruptly flicks his staff upwards, turning it into a barrier between you and your closet door. “That won’t be necessary.” You feel very small, all of a sudden. You can’t quite tell whether it’s just the way he’s standing, or if he’s truly taller than he was a moment before. There’s an awful cracking noise - his head drops, neck contorts until he’s staring at you from a truly impossible angle. “You ought to listen when I speak to you, my dear.”

The way he says this now, it might as well be a curse. It propels you back, your feet moving of their own accord. But of course, the backs of your legs quickly hit the side of your mattress, leaving you feeling even more trapped than before. For a moment, you’re grasping at stray thoughts, trying to figure out exactly what you did wrong -

Oh. He didn’t say anything about the slip, did he? That was where you jumped in your head. But what he actually said -

Your breath catches, fists clench. You don’t want to be right. You can’t be right - he’s awful, but he wouldn’t make you do that -

“Hm.” Seeing your panicked response seems to calm him somewhat. He straightens, takes a deep breath. The terrible grin seems to shrink just a fraction. When he speaks again his voice sounds just as it always does, rolling off his tongue with the pleasant crackle of long-dead airwaves. “A delightful reaction, as always.” He shakes his head slightly, shiftily glances aside. His gaze returns to you, and there’s that familiar spark, the excitement that you’ve come to fear. “Now…” The tip of his staff catches once more beneath the hem of your shirt, and this time, you don’t even consider brushing it aside. “Off.”

What is wrong with you? You don’t know. You should have something to say, something to yell, a fist or a kick or a back to turn on him. Instead, you only manage a moment of inaction before casting your eyes down and pulling your t-shirt over your head, discarding it on the floor at your feet. You were wearing nothing beneath it. The blood rushes to your face so quickly that you imagine he can see it flowing beneath your bare skin. You can feel it, almost as intensely as you can feel his eyes burning into your face.

Your face, which you slowly, foolishly raise to look up at him.

His eyes do not wander. He is staring, yes, but at your expression more than anything else. His gaze is fixed and impassive, with much less appreciation than the night before, when you were clothed in the modest garment he’d conjured. There’s something in his eyes - vindication, perhaps - but nothing more than that, even now. His hands are behind his back, and show no signs of stirring.

“Go on.”

He’s certainly enjoying this. But not for any reason that makes sense to you. In his mind, you think, this is fair. To make you regret what you’ve done, in the cruelest, most humiliating way possible - to him, there’s nothing wrong with it. You should have been good. Then, this all could have been avoided.

Is that what you think? That this is your fault? You’re not sure. You don’t want to think about it. You move mechanically, sliding your fingers between your underwear and your waistband, tugging your sweatpants down your legs and nearly losing your balance as you step out of them.

“Well done.” He says this, just as you stumble, just before you catch yourself, and it’s so condescending that you’re seeing red. But it’s not like you can say anything about it. You seem to have lost your ability to speak entirely. “Now. If you can manage it, I would prefer for you to look at me, instead of at your floor.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your lip. Your arms are hanging at your sides. You cross them as you look up, but a gentle glove on your wrist sends them falling. You’re glaring, but it must appear more petulant than anything else, because he only laughs when he sees it.

“Just one more thing, my dear.” He leans forward, strokes one finger over the thin cotton that clings to your hip. His touch is so light that you can barely feel it, but it’s still enough to instantly tense every muscle in your body, to straighten out any slack that was left in the posture of your spine. “These didn’t come from me either, did they?”

You shudder, and set your jaw. Speak through barely parted lips. “No.”

“Don’t look away,” he murmurs. “You’ve nothing to fear, so long as you behave yourself.” He waits patiently until you force yourself to look into his eyes. They’re shining, and his grin, too, is far too bright, a lurid yellow gash in the dark. “If I intended to harm you tonight, you would already be well aware of it.”

Where are your hands? You realize that they’re clasped behind your back; the realization sickens you for reasons that you don’t take the time to understand. As if in a trance, you bring them forward, let them fall against your hips. He doesn’t need to say anything more - only to watch as you pry the last scrap of clothing from your body. When you’re done, you stand with your head bowed, praying that he doesn’t ask you to look up again.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything at all. Only sighs, satisfied, and lightly drags the tip of his staff up the side of your body - the outside of your thigh, your waist, your ribcage, your neck - and then presses it gently under your jaw, silently compelling you to raise your head.

You try to summon anger to your eyes, but find that you can only stare blankly, waiting.

“I almost wish I could stay upset with you,” he sighs, letting his staff drop to his side. “It would make things so much less complicated, if I could simply refuse to forgive you…” His chest rises, falls. “And yet, I can barely stomach the thought.” For just a moment, his eyes flutter shut. His fist falls from behind his back to clench at his side. He takes another slow, deep breath. Then, his eyes slowly open, their red light dim and hazy. “No…I couldn’t let you go, even if I tried.”

You’re rigid, feet frozen to the floor as he leans over and kisses you gently on the forehead - he doesn’t touch you anywhere else, but you feel that perhaps you’d prefer that to this. You’d understand it better, at least. You’d understand exactly what you were scared of.

You don’t think he quite understands what he’s doing, either. He looks almost confused, when he pulls back. Rattled, almost as much as you are. But he quickly suppresses it, the daze in his eyes replaced with the familiar vicious spark. “You look exhausted, my dear. I would apologize for waking you so suddenly, but I’m afraid it was necessary. I’m sure you understand.”

He stares until you nod in agreement.

“Lovely.” He pauses for a moment, then goes on with a lowered voice. “I’m sure I’ll have no need to do it again.”

Again, you nod mutely. It was a question, and one that you can easily answer.

“I certainly have no need to keep you awake any longer tonight.” He gestures to the mattress behind you. “Time for bed.”

You don’t think you’re going to fall asleep any time soon, but you still reach behind you to awkwardly pull back the covers. You do not turn around.

“Hm… ” His eyes narrow, grin twitches at the corners. “It’s a warm night, my dear. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable without anything covering you.”

There’s nothing to be done. You sit down, swing your legs over your covers, and lay on your back. Arms at your sides, although you itch to wrap them around yourself. You vaguely register that you are cold, but that barely matters. Perhaps you’re not cold at all. You could be shuddering for any number of reasons.

He leans over you one final time. “Sleep well, darling.” His eyes do not waver from your face. Nor do they blink. You’re not sure if they ever have. “You’re quite a restless sleeper…I do hope that you have better dreams tonight.”

By the time you’ve processed what, exactly, he’s just told you, he has shrunken into the shadows before your eyes, and silently disappeared. You lay stiffly on top of your blankets, and stare up at the ceiling. You do not move, and you certainly do not cover yourself, even as the chill seeps under your skin. When you do fall asleep, hours later, your dreams are cryptic, tinged in a red glow, full of shadows and whispers in voices that are almost familiar, but far too distorted to make out.

When you wake up, you’re shocked to see that your discarded clothes are still lying on the floor. Shocked - but not relieved. It only means that the task of their disposal has been left to you.

#alastor x reader #yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #tw yandere #tw invasion of privacy #tw abuse of power

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genericpuff · 2 months

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I'm sorry, but this should come as a shock to absolutely no one.

Just a little bit of 'insider info' (and by 'insider' I mean I was a part of the beta testing crew a few years ago) Webtoons has been messing with AI tools for years. You can literally play test that very same AI tool that I beta-tested here:

Mind you, this is just an AI Painter, similar to the Clip Studio Colorize tool, but it goes to show where WT's priorities are headed. I should mention, btw, that this tool is incredibly useless for anyone not creating a Korean-style webtoon, like you can deadass tell it was trained exclusively on the imports because it can't handle any skin tone outside of white (trying to use darker colors just translates as "shadows" to the program, meaning it'll just cast some fugly ass shadows over a white-toned character no matter how hard you try) and you just know the AI wouldn't know what to do with itself if you gave it an art style that didn't exactly match with the provided samples lmao

And let's be real, can we really expect the company that regularly exploits, underpays, and overworks its creators to give a damn about the ethical concerns of AI? They're gonna take the path of least resistance to make the most money possible.

So the fact that we're now seeing AI comics popping up on Webtoons left and right - and now, an actual "Webtoon AI" branding label - should come as zero shock to anyone. Webtoons is about quantity over quality and so AI is the natural progression of that.

So yeah, if you were looking for any sign to check out other platforms outside of Webtoons, this is it. Here are some of my own recommendations:

ComicFury - Independently run, zero ads, zero subscription costs (though I def recommend supporting them on Patreon if you're able), full control over site appearance, optional hosting for only the cost of the domain name, and best of all, strictly anti-AI. Not allowed, not even with proper labelling or disclosure. Full offense to the tech bro hacks, eat shit.

GlobalComix - Very polished hosting site that offers loads of monetization tools for creators without any exclusive contracts or subscriptions needed. They do offer a subscription program, but that's purely for reading the comics on the site that are exclusively behind paywalls. Not strictly anti-AI but does require in their ToS that AI comics be properly labelled and disclosed, whether they're made partially or fully with AI, to ensure transparency for readers who want to avoid AI comics.

Neocities - If you want to create your own site the good ole' fashioned way (i.e. HTML / CSS) this is the place. Independently run, offers a subscription plan for people who want more storage and bandwidth but it only costs $5/month so it's very inexpensive, and even without that subscription cost you won't have to deal with ads or corporate management bullshit.

Be safe out there pals, don't be afraid to set out into the unknown if it means protecting your work and keeping your control as a creator. Know your rights, know your power.

#webtoons #webtoons critical #hosting recommendations #anti AI #fuck ai

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ecstarry · 10 days

Text

@jegulus-microfic / football / 768 words / @bellaxisworld i love you

--- here's a little kiss cam brainrot <3

"But I hate football, you know this," Regulus reiterated to a very persistent Remus over the phone.

“I know, but Sirius can’t make it and he doesn’t want the tickets to go to waste. It’s just one game,” Remus remarked with a hint of something that Regulus couldn’t quite place.

That’s how he ended up at a Saturday sports match, hoping the players were hot; at least he would be entertained that way. He approached his seats and yelled Remus’ name, but someone else turned around: James.

“Reg? Why are you here? I thought I was meeting Siriu-” Regulus interrupted him, only a Potter could manage to insult him as he was greeting him.

“Nice to see you too James, well I thought I was meeting Remus. So you were also not who I expected to see.”

Before James could give a proper response, they both got a notification on their phone. Regulus looked at his screen to read Remus' quick text: Sorry, can’t make it. Have fun.

“I’m going to kill him,” Regulus mumbled.

“Sirius just canceled on me. I’m guessing you got stood up too?” James asked kindly, but only received a mean glance in response.

In silence, they took their seats. Regulus was beyond pissed. How could Remus do this to him? He thought for a second that they might’ve been set up, but he thought this ruse was a bit dramatic even for Sirius’ standards.

“Do you like football?” James asked, breaking the silence.

“Detest it,” Regulus replied tersely, still too upset to entertain James’ attempt at conversation. When his brother’s best friend asked if he wanted anything to drink, he simply declined in a polite and quick manner.

But when James returned with his favorite treats and a wide smile to his seat, he couldn’t remember what he was upset about. Regulus felt a discreet blush work its way towards his cheeks as James handed him his favorite candy.

“Sirius mentioned you liked this, so I figured that if you were stuck with me and in a place you don’t want to be, you might as well get a sweet treat, no?” James said casually, as if remembering someone’s favorite candy was nothing.

To Regulus, it was such a significant gesture, but he couldn’t help but feel a little pathetic by how such a simple token could make him feel so warm. If he was honest, maybe it had more to do with who was giving him that attention than the piece of candy itself, but that was not the time to process that.

The game continued, and to Regulus's surprise, he found himself having more fun than he had expected. While Remus would have been good company, James was captivating in his own way. Despite not being a fan of football, Regulus made an effort to stay informed about the current games. A fact that he deliberately kept from James as the other man’s eyes lit up explaining everything. He never expected to be so absorbed in James’ words or thoughts or lips or eyes or arms or smile...

Oh god, when did James Potter become so attractive?

“Regulus?” His name coming out James’ lips took him out his trace.

“Yes?”

"Kiss cam," James said, pointing at the screen in front of them. There they were, the two of them, with a crowd surrounding them, chanting for them to just kiss. Regulus felt as if seconds extended into hours as James's hand gently cupped his chin, his eyes silently asking for permission. An inaudible yes left Regulus's lips as the distance between them evaporated.

His hand instinctively reached for James' shirt, pulling him closer as if their lips touching was still too far a distance to bridge. He allowed himself this moment, the touch of an angel on a broken man. Every crevice of doubt within him was filled with warmth as James kept asking for more with his tongue. James parted slightly, and the absence of his lips made Regulus remember himself. Embarrassed, he started to pull away, but James held him tightly, his hands not leaving Regulus' face.

Regulus bravely opened his eyes to face the regret that was sure to be all over James’ face, but instead he found something else— something sweet and soft, something only honey eyes like James’ could convey. He was still light-headed from James’ touch, he couldn’t make sense of just how long he had been given access to heaven.

But the reality remained: he had just kissed James Potter, who seemed just as delighted to have kissed Regulus Black.

Maybe football wasn’t that bad.

more microfics here

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nexusnyx · 3 months

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ㅤㅤㅤ— ˏˋ꒰under neon lights꒱

→ Based on this request. [WC: 1.1k]

Joel became an expert on many things in this damned life, but running away from something he wants is not one of them. OR; How you're Joel Miller's worst (best) habit .ೃ࿐

Although he'd love to say he "tried his best", Joel's no liar.

He never tried a goddamn thing.

Not even once.

The moment he saw it in you—the glint of something wicked looking for any inch of ground to sink teeth and claws in, the spark of desire meeting him, he was done for. Joel dug his heels and stood his ground despite his instincts, not knowing what would come of this.

"Hey, handsome."

Initially, he thought those to be a joke. Now, Joel knows better. "Thought you wouldn't come," is his answer.

You laugh under your breath, the air turning white in front of you.

Joel watches as you remove your coat, boots, and place all of your items in their proper places. The house Tommy found for him is small just like he wanted and it serves its purpose—Ellie's got a roof over her head, and Joel has pieces of furniture and cracks in the walls he busies himself with. It's more than he could've asked for after years of cleaning sewages or doing god knows who's dirty work.

Your disposition to come over to his place every Friday night and sit with him while everyone else hangs around the town's square for food and drinks never faltered.

Joel serves you the whiskey and sits on his porch chair, knowing you'll follow suit.

During the first visits, Joel's had some of the best conversation of his lifetime.

Even if it felt like this was his third one already—he remembered how good it was to have someone else around who also wanted to just enjoy the peace and quiet. Someone who took pleasure in knowing that this was real luxury. This was luck.

Then, Joel remembered how it felt to learn your visits and company were also the thing he kept denying himself.

Lingering looks. The burning touch of your hand brushing against his at every given opportunity. Sultriness dripped from your voice every now and then when he spoke of things that demanded intimacy. When the topic verged on real things, Joel recalled seeing you lick your dry lips and look him dead in the eye before responding, as if daring him to say you were joking, or even ask if you meant your words.

"I don't come here because I'm lonely, Miller. Is that what you think of yourself? That your company's good as nothing?"

"What?"

"Saying that implies your company offers me nothing when you know that's not true. You see me smilin' at you around town, waving hi, waiting for you to appear in the meetings just so I can have someone else to offer my incredibly witty remarks. You're not the go-to 'cause I'm lonely—which, by the way, I'm not."

"Figured you were. Haven't seen anyone else demand your attention back from me."

"It's 'cause they know it'd be worthless."

"Why'd you come then?"

"'Cause I like talking to you, jackass. Why else?"

"I—I haven't..."

"Haven't what? Interacted properly with another adult person in a while? That's okay, we'll take baby steps."

"Don't laugh at me, that ain't nice, sweetheart."

"I thought I was laughing with you..."

"All of this is weird."

"Which part? Having a life again? ... Yeah, it's weird."

Joel hated it when you were at a loss for words now.

It was more than just a habit after all these times—seeking the heat of your skin as you leaned against the wooden porch. His hand moved under your jumper and shirt, opening wide on the lower part of your back. He caressed the skin slowly and watched you from the side as you looked forward.

It was stupid to ask if something was wrong when everything around everyone sort of crumbled to pieces daily, so instead, Joel made a grunting sound to get your attention back on him.

When you looked up, something shone. The redness of your bitten lips made him want to soothe away your pain. Maybe kiss them until they are numb. Sometimes, Joel pretended he could lick you clean from any harm or any sin.

It's a whisper when your voice cuts through the howling wind of the night. "D'you think we'll ever be more than... this?"

It hits like a rock to his stomach.

This—late nights stolen like the first kisses were. Hidden messages, looks, touches, all hidden underneath some shame. All the taking and giving and taking again, both so lost in the pleasure and the touch that neither are capable of looking away when the other pins one with their eyes.

This—crying, and begging, and moaning, all muttered and exhaled because they were pulled, earned, and nothing could stop the pleasure from drooling from the lips.

This—a secret. A habit. A battle cry.

"I don't know." Joel wants to, though. His hand on your back squeezes harder, and he molds the front of his body to fit the back of yours. "I'm..." a lot. Too much. Never bold enough to think about these things. "A lot different than I was when I first got here."

There's a short laugh. "I know. I remember." Your hands smooth the way from his hands to his forearm, and you make yourself more compact to fit in his hold. "I just... I lied to my sister to come here tonight, and..."

It all added up. "Right." Did you have to? "Why did you?"

He regrets asking the second the words are out because the memory floods back with you quoting his words to him. "This is the last time we're doing this." He said that, back when he was still in denial you wanted him too. "I'm not sure if—"

Joel spins you so abruptly that it shuts you up. "I meant that back then, but it's not true," he shakes his head. "I was saying that more to cover my own ass than anything."

"Cover from what?"

"From how stupid I'd feel once you noticed I'm not what you want."

The silence that follows makes his nape itch. Joel's mind learned to listen for all the threats in the woods and the quiet of the houses surrounding them, but his eyes were glued to you.

You tilt your head at him, analyzing him so thoroughly that Joel does fidget.

"Is that what you thought?"

"It was." He can hear the exasperation in your tone as much as he can hear the surrender in his. "I don't mind if you tell people where you're going—honestly." Joel chuckles. "If I'm lucky enough you want to come back..."

Your arms came up higher and hugged around his shoulders. "This is not where I hoped this conversation would go," your pleased smile only makes his inside feel like they're growing too. "You be careful what you say, Miller."

"I ain't scared." His words already got him feeling like an outsider or perhaps an outlaw, so fuck him—he'd use them to keep you looking at him like this for a change. "I mean it." He could get addicted to this.

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incognit0slut · 10 months

Text

Right Kind of Wrong (9)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: A shocking call has Spencer questioning her involvement in the case. wc: 3.7k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

MASTERLIST

SPENCER COULDN'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME HE FELT AT PEACE. Although protecting people and making them safe gave him a certain comfort, the pressure of being involved in harrowing cases took a toll on him more than he expected. But amid the ongoing investigation, he felt rather...calm.

He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly the reason why, between his responsibilities and obligations, he found himself embraced by this unexpected peace. It certainly had to do with the woman still nestled in his bed as he now stood in his kitchen, contemplating whether she preferred drinking coffee or perhaps something sweeter to start her day.

He couldn't believe it. He never imagined himself debating on another person's choice of beverage. Yet here he was, making a new pot of fresh coffee and setting out another mug to prepare a nice, warm cup of hot chocolate because its rich sweetness reminded him of her. If he didn't know which one she preferred between the two, he was going to make both.

He let out a sigh. He was a fool, wasn't he? Spencer was never one to indulge himself in romance. It wasn't easy for him to get swept away by any potential relationships. Falling in love again seemed like an illusion for him, something so far out of his reach. It seemed impossible to find someone he genuinely liked after losing the only person he ever considered spending the rest of his life with.

But look at him now, falling for somebody he met less than two weeks ago. For a smart person with an IQ of 187, he certainly was a fool.

Although having to know her for a mere fraction of time, Spencer had never fathomed that he could harbor such feelings. Having her soft body pressed against his side let him understand how much her presence stirred his heart.

And it wasn't just the physical aspect. The night wasn't simply spent with the warm feeling of her bare skin, but it was also filled with her laughter. Their late-night conversations delved into the realms of dreams and vulnerabilities, effortlessly bridging the gap between two strangers. With each passing conversation, he discovered the captivating intricacies of her mind which he wanted to understand better.

He liked her. He really did.

Maybe after all this ordeal, after he could disclose this current case, he could ask her out on a proper date. When there was no more boundary between them, when he wasn't an authority and she wasn't someone linked to a case, he would finally enjoy her company without feeling guilty.

He was pouring the fresh pot of coffee into a mug when his phone suddenly rang. He let out a groan, knowing what was waiting for him as he noticed Garcia's name plastered on the screen.

"Hey, Garcia," he greeted, slipping his phone between his face and his shoulder. "New update?"

"Reid."

He froze, noticing the strain in her voice. He quickly stopped what he was doing and straightened himself, pressing his phone against his ear. "What's wrong?"

"Are you sitting down?"

"Uh—no." He frowned at her question. "Why?"

"You might want to sit down."

He didn't, of course. But his mind was already buzzing with curiosity. "What is it?"

"Reid," she whispered, her voice dropping low as if trying to keep quiet. "You're the first person I called which means nobody else knows about this...yet."

"Garcia," he probed, suddenly feeling anxious. "What is it?"

There was a shuffling at the end of the line before her voice filled his ear again.

"Okay, so I crossed references that could help me find any articles Jamison Lynch wrote that might involve Kevin Marshall, and it turns out, there are none. Nothing. Nada." There was an unsettling pause before she continued, "Although there is one article mentioning Mr. Marshall by a journalist, who as of now, is an active employee at the publishing firm Jamison worked at. Guess who it is?"

He clutched the phone tighter as a tumultuous mix of emotions churned in his gut. In that moment, time seemed to stretch, waiting for his response. He paused, his mind spiraling into a web of confusion and disbelief as he pieced together the verity of this call.

"I'm guessing by your silence you already know why I wanted to call you first."

He did. He knew why it was important for Garcia to be informing him before anyone else. His eyes then glanced towards his bedroom door. Gone was the peaceful bliss he had felt, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease. Confusion suddenly swirled within him, clouding his thoughts and casting shadows upon the woman who still lay peacefully on the other side of the wall.

The warmth he relished this morning was now replaced by a chill of uncertainty that seeped into his veins.

"What—" He suddenly cleared his throat, hating how his voice sounded so foreign to him. He took a deep breath. "What else did you find?"

"I did more sleuthing and found Y/n's name as one of the people who filed a complaint against Jamison—which meant nothing, really, since he was known as a complete douchebag." Garcia then stopped. "May he rest in peace."

"Is there anything else?"

"Well, as it turns out, Jamison Lynch wasn't the first person Y/n filed a complaint for. There was also a complaint against Mr. Marshall."

"I thought Kevin Marshall was clean?"

"He was until I hacked into his company's database system and found this single complaint sent by her, which by the looks of it, seemed to be buried under a lot of firewalls." The clicking sound of a keyboard played in the background. "It was as if the company he worked for, or even Mr. Marshall himself, tried to hide it."

His burrows furrowed. "What was the complaint for?"

"Sexual Harassment."

His heart pounded in his chest, a fiery rage suddenly coursing through his body. The revelation he had just uncovered struck him like a thunderbolt, leaving him torn between seething anger and a torrent of conflicting emotions. The person he came to like had once suffered the unimaginable—a vile act of assault perpetrated by the man who now lay lifeless, a victim of murder.

Yet beneath the simmering rage, doubt festered like a poisonous seed. He was suddenly questioning the nature of her involvement. Not only did she know one of the victims, but she was also acquainted with both of them. His thoughts churned, torn between the desire to dismiss this uncertainty and the nagging voice of suspicion that echoed in the depths of his mind.

"Reid," Garcia called out when she was met with silence. "I don't what this means. I don't understand how or why she's linked between these two victims but please, please, don't do anything stupid."

His eyes drew back to his bedroom. Even when he was stuck between the depths of his emotions, the rational part of his brain managed to turn its gear. "Garcia, I need you to find out whether she knew the third victim."

"You mean the suicidal case that doesn't seem like suicide?"

"Harvey Webb," he confirmed, the name printed in his brain.

"Alright, I will. Oh—and Reid?" He hummed a reply. "Don't act on impulse. Please don't go concluding stuff on your own when you're obviously involved with her."

"I..." He took a deep breath. "I'm not involved with her."

"You're telling me you asked for her address and you didn't do anything about it?" When he didn't respond, she clicked her tongue. "Exactly. Now listen, I need to go and tell the others this, so come by the office and we'll deal with it together, okay?"

He glanced towards the cup of coffee now sitting cold by the counter. "Thanks, Garcia."

"You're welcome, boy genius."

As the phone call ended, Spencer found himself adrift in a sea of swirling emotions. This information was a step further into the investigation now that he found a link between the victims. But as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, a cloud of doubt descended upon his thoughts.

The deeper he delved into the complexities of the situation, the more elusive the truth became. Was it really possible she had anything to do with the murder? Could the trauma she had endured have pushed her to take matters into her own hands?

The questions lingered like a toxic fog, polluting his mind.

"Good morning."

Spencer looked up to see Y/n padding across the room wearing nothing but his shirt. The way the material draped over her form accentuated her curves, holding an allure that was impossible to ignore. His eyes traced the lines of her body, from the tousled strands of her hair to the subtle curve of her hip. It was an intimate sight that would have once mesmerized him completely.

But his mind was too clouded with his doubt.

"I hope you don't mind me borrowing your shirt—" She stopped when her eyes fell on him. "What's wrong? Is it the shirt?" She looked down at herself. "Should I change out of it?"

As quickly as the enchantment had taken hold, the weight of his doubts resurfaced. At that moment, the air crackled with unspoken words, an invisible barrier separating them. Spencer's heart ached with the weight of uncertainty.

How could the woman he had fallen for potentially be connected to a heinous crime? It seemed inconceivable, yet the voice at the back of his head urged him to question his doubt.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew Kevin Marshall?"

The unexpected question startled her, her feet instinctively taking a step back. "What?"

"When I questioned you that day, why didn't you mention that you knew him?"

She studied him, wondering where this was suddenly coming from. "I didn't think it was important," she finally responded. "And technically, I didn't know him personally. I interviewed him once for work."

"What happened that day?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you interviewed him, what happened?"

She felt his gaze upon her, intense and penetrating, and a shiver ran down her spine. It was as though he had glimpsed into the depths of her soul, unraveling something not many people were aware of.

"You know." It was more of a statement rather than a question. She took another step back. "Nobody else knows except a few of my closest friends but—" She shook her head. "That doesn't matter. What matters is how you know. I don't even think that company kept the files, they practically ignored my complaint."

"They kept it," he mused.

"And how do you know this?"

"The technical analyst in our team managed to find your files hidden."

"Technical analyst—why were you even searching for it?" She crossed her arms across her chest, focusing her attention on him. "Answer me. Why was your technical analyst searching for my complaint?"

Her heart was pounding against her chest as she waited for his answer.

"Because you're currently the only person linked between the two cases we're working on."

She frowned. "You mean the cases you think are done by the same killer? The death between my late boss and Kevin Marshall?"

"Yes. But this is only procedure, we do an investigation on any leads that we find."

"Investigation?" Then it dawned on her. It fucking dawned on her. Offense suddenly surged through her while his words, accusing and laced with suspicion, struck her with a sense of betrayal. "You think I have to do something with the murders."

The atmosphere, once a sanctuary of shared affection, now felt suffocating, closing in around her as the weight of his accusations settled heavily on her shoulders. His silence spoke louder than words.

"Unbelievable." Her eyes blazed with anger, her voice sharp and defensive. She turned away and stalked back to his room. "Unbelievable."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving," she hissed, noticing him trailing behind her. "Did you expect me to stay here and let you interrogate me like I'm some kind of criminal?"

His face twisted in frustration. "I just want to know what happened the day you interviewed Kevin Marshall."

"Why? So you can accuse me even further?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“You’re questioning me. You want to know whether I have some kind of vendetta against him."

"I'm not trying to accuse you of anything."

"But you are." Without any warning, she gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over her head. "You're practically cornering me with all the questioning, especially with that look on your face."

He quickly looked away and she stopped herself from scoffing at the absurdity of it. She was about to divulge how his sudden modesty was unnecessary when he spoke, "I wouldn't have to constantly ask you if you had answered me sooner."

This time she did scoff, grabbing onto her own pair of clothes. "You caught me off guard. What was I supposed to do?"

"Answer the question and not avoid it like what you're doing now."

"You think I'm avoiding the question on purpose?"

He drew his eyes back to her. "A study shows that body language plays a crucial role in interpersonal communication, and based on its verbal indicator, an attempt to avoid answering the question is notable by your vague response."

"And you're analyzing me based on that?"

"It's my job to analyze anyone involved in the case.”

"Anyone involved?" She screeched, dumbfounded by his judgment of her. "I trusted you last night, I opened up to you, and now you're throwing these baseless accusations at me?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm trying to make some sense of where you're connected in all of this."

"You don't even know how I'm involved!"

"That's what I'm trying to find out!"

The air crackled with tension, heavy with the echoes of their heated words. The silence that followed was almost deafening, a palpable strain that hung in the air like a fragile thread. The once intimate space now felt hollow, as if drained of its energy by the intensity of their emotions.

Breathless and emotionally drained, they stared at each other, their eyes mirroring a mix of regret, hurt, and lingering anger. But as the echoes of their heated argument faded, she felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over her. The adrenaline that had fueled her anger now deserted her, leaving her drained.

"You know what was on my mind this morning?" She suddenly spoke. "I woke up thinking I was happy to run into you again. It didn't take long for me to understand that, albeit the circumstances, I actually came to like you."

As the words spilled from her trembling lips, her voice quivered with vulnerability. But then a shadow of doubt danced in her eyes. A new wave of anger surfaced, overpowering the fragility of her confession.

"But the person I like is not this version of you. Who I like is Spencer Reid, not Doctor Reid."

He frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, right now, you're not the same guy I spent the night with. You're scrutinizing me, you're—what is it that you do again? Ah, yes, a profiler." She pointed a finger at him. "You're trying to profile me, you're trying to read my mind in my most vulnerable state because if you haven't noticed, Spencer, I'm standing here half naked while you're pestering me with your questions."

He quickly glanced away, noticing the truth in her words. He had let his anger and suspicion cloud his judgment of her, something Garcia had warned him not to do. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I'll go wait outside."

"Don't bother, I'm almost done."

But he was already out of her vision, and when she heard the soft click of the door closing behind her, she let out a shaking breath.

She stood there, her heart aching with a mix of disappointment and betrayal. His accusations had cut deep, searing through the bliss they had nurtured the past night. The warmth that once enveloped them had been replaced by a cold emptiness, leaving her feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Her eyes drifted to the unmade bed before her. The memory of the night lingered in her mind like a bittersweet melody, playing on the strings of her heart. The tender moments they had shared, the warmth that had enveloped them seemed so distant now, overshadowed by the disappointment and anger that colored her mind.

She had hoped for a peaceful morning, a continuation of the intimacy they had shared under the cover of darkness. Instead, she found herself faced with the harsh truth of their current reality, the dissonance of their unspoken tensions. His doubt had tarnished the tender memories, leaving a bitter taste on her lips.

With a heavy sigh, she let the memories of last night linger for a moment longer before gathering her strength. She walked out of the room once she was fully clothed to find him standing by his couch, his body turning at the sound of her footsteps.

"Y/n."

“Thanks for listening to me last night."

"Y/n."

"Thank you for letting me stay too."

"Y/n."

"Stop."

Her hands clenched into fists, a physical manifestation of the conflicting emotions raging within her. He watched her, and as the silence stretched between them, she saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a recognition of the hurt he had inflicted. Perhaps he had acted out of fear, allowing the shadows of the investigation to cast doubt on her. But the betrayal still lingered too deeply.

"You know what frustrates me?" She wondered. His silence was a sign for her to continue. "You're questioning me not because you genuinely want to know, you're doing it out of your obligation because you think it's your job to do so."

She held out a hand when he took a step closer.

"And it's fine," she went on. "It is your job. You're the federal agent here and I'm merely someone whose name is linked to the case."

"Y/n, I didn't mean to—"

"With that being said, we should keep our relationship strictly that way."

Her words hung heavy in the air, each syllable an arrow piercing his heart. He stood there, frozen, his eyes fixed on her as if searching for a flicker of hesitation, a glimmer of doubt. But her resolve was unwavering. With a deep breath, she mustered the courage to speak once more, her voice steady and resolute.

“If you really want to know what happened, call me into your office, I'll answer your questions then.”

Her expression dulled as she held his gaze, and with one last jaded look etched in her somber eyes, she finally turned around without sparing another glance, excusing herself from his apartment.

He watched as the door closed behind her.

Spencer stood there, surrounded by an oppressive silence that echoed the void she had left behind. Time seemed to stand still as he grappled with the overwhelming flood of emotions. The truth of the situation settled upon his shoulders, the reality that their paths had diverged and the bliss they had once shared had transformed into something unrecognizable.

Just as the weight of his emotions threatened to overwhelm him entirely, his phone suddenly pinged with a new alert. Startled, he reached for it, his fingers trembling as he unlocked the screen. The digital glow illuminated his face, casting a pale light upon his features as he read the message.

PENELOPE: THEY'RE CALLING HER IN. SHE KNEW THE THIRD VICTIM.

Spencer stood frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at the words. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating through his entire being. He dialed Garcia’s number only to be rejected as soon as the first ring echoed in his ear.

PENELOPE: CAN'T TALK. HOTCH IS BESIDE ME.

His heart raced, his breath quickened, and a mixture of anger, confusion, and fear surged through his veins. Spencer quickly walked over towards his window and saw a glimpse of Y/n climbing into a cab, her phone pressed against her ear. He ran a hand through his curls in frustration as his phone alerted a new message.

PENELOPE: GET YOUR ASS HERE, REID.

SPENCER: I'm on my way.

Confusion clouded him, the lines between truth and lies blurring in his head. And beneath it all, fear lurked, whispering doubts about his judgment.

A heaviness settled upon his chest, constricting his breath and swarming his thoughts. The calm that had graced his waking moments seemed like a distant memory now—his peace only lasted briefly.

>> NEXT PART

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dresshistorynerd · 4 months

Text

Palestinian History Between Great Powers - Part 1

From Bronze Age to Ottoman Palestine

I started writing this article months ago but as it deserves proper research, it took me a long while, and at one point I started questioning is this helpful anymore. I thought it's obvious at this point to anyone not willfully ignorant that what we are seeing in real time is a genocide, and I'm not going to convince those who are willfully ignorant. I decided to finish it anyway since I do feel obligation to do something and maybe providing some accessible historical context is what I'm capable of doing. Even if I probably won't change any hearts and minds, I think the least we can do is not forget Palestinians and fall into apathy. And at the very least more understanding of the situation is always better even when we already oppose this genocide.

This is quite out of my area of focus, so I will be doing more of a general overview of the history and link in depth sources by more knowledgeable people than try to become an expert on this. My purpose is to offer an accessible starting point for the history of Palestine to help people put historical and current events into their proper context. I don't think the occupation and genocide in Palestine pose complex moral questions - it's pretty simple in my opinion that genocide, apartheid and colonialism are wrong and need to stop for peace to be possible - but the history is complex and it's understanding needs quite a lot of background. I will do my best to represent the complexity accurately and fairly while keeping this concise. Since there is a lot of history, even if this is very general overview, it's still very long, so I did need to cut this in two parts. First part will be covering everything to the beginning of WW1, second part the British Mandate period and Israel period.

Bibliography

I'm linking my sources and further reading here so it's easy to check some specific resources even if you don't want to/have time to read 5 000 years of history right now. Because there's so much misinformation and propaganda, I read as much as I could from academic sources, linked at the top here. They are really interesting and delve deeply into specific subjects so I do recommend checking out anything that peaks your interest (Sci-Hub is your friend against paywalled papers and in JSTOR you can make a free account to access most papers). Some of them I didn't really end up using, but I still linked them here since they provide some additional context that wouldn't fit in this overview. At the end there's some accessible resources (youtube videos, podcasts etc.) which are relevant and I think good.

Pre-Ottoman Era

On The Problem of Reconstructing Pre-Hellenistic Israelite (Palestinian) History - Critique of Biblical historical narratives

Canaanites and Philistines

Archaeological Sources for the History of Palestine: Between Large Forces: Palestine in the Hellenistic Period - Everyday life in Hellenistic Palestine

Ottoman Era

Rediscovering Ottoman Palestine: Writing Palestinians into History - Critique of politics of Ottoman Palestine historiography

The Peasantry of Late Ottoman Palestine

Consequences of the Ottoman Land Law: Agrarian and Privatization Processes in Palestine, 1858–1918

The route from informal peasant landownership to formal tenancy and eviction in Palestine, 1800s–1947

The Ottoman Empire, Zionism, and the Question of Palestine (1880–1908)

Origins of Zionism

Christian Zionism and Victorian Culture

Zionism and Imperialism: The Historical Origins

The Non-Jewish Origin of Zionism

Zionism and Its Jewish "Assimilationist" Critics (1897-1948)

The Jewish-Ottoman Land Company: Herzl's Blueprint for the Colonization of Palestine

Books

Boundaries and Baraka - Chapter II of Muslims and Others in Sacred Space - Local syncretic religious beliefs of Muslim and Christian Arabs in Palestine

Further "reading"

Israelis Are Not 'Indigenous' (and other ridiculous pro-Israel arguments) - Properly cited youtube video on settler colonialism of Zionism (Indigenous is defined here in postcolonialist way, in contrast with the colonialist, the video doesn't argue that diaspora Jews didn't originate from the Palestine area)

Gaza: A Clear Case of Genocide - Detailed Legal Analysis - Youtube video detailing current evidence on the ongoing genocide and assessing them through international law

What the Netanyahu Family Did To Palestine: Part 1 , Part 2 - Two part podcast episode of Behind the Bastards about Israel's history and Netanyahu Family's involvement in it with an expert quest

History of Israeli/Palestinian conflict since 1799 - Timeline of Palestinian history by Al Jazeera with documentaries produced by Al Jazeera for most of the entries in the timeline

Ancient Era (33th-4th century BCE)

Palestine's location in the fertile crescent, the connecting land between Africa and Asia and the strip of land between Mediterranean and Red Sea means since the earliest emergence of civilizations it has been in the middle of great powers. Thorough it's history it has been conquered many, many times for it's strategic value. Despite the changing rulers and migrating groups there has been a continuous history history of a people, which has changed, split and evolved, but not fully disappeared or replaced at any point, which is quite rare of a history spanning thousands of years.

Speakers of Semitic languages are the first recorded inhabitants of Palestine. At least from Bronze Age (c. 3300-1200 BCE) onward they inhabited Levant, Arabian peninsula and Ethiopian highlands. Semitic languages belong in the Afroasiatic language group, which includes three other branches; ancient Egypt, Amazigh languages and Cushitic languages of African Horn. Most prominent theories of the origins of proto-Afroasiatic is in Levant, African side of Red Sea or Ethiopia. In the Bronze Age the Levant's Semitic speakers were called Canaanites and there was already urban settlements in Early Bronze Age. Egypt had been extending it's control over Canaan for a while and in Late Bronze Age, 1457 BCE, it took over Canaan. Gaza, which had had habitation for thousand years already, became the Egypt's administrative capital in Canaan. Canaan stayed as Egypt's province until the Late Bronze Age collapse c. 1200-1150 BCE, when Egypt started losing it's hold on Levant. Egypt eventually retreated from Canaan around 1100 BCE. The causes of Late Bronze Age collapse are unknown, but theories suggest some kind of environmental changes that caused destruction of cities and wide-spread mass migration all around the East Mediterranean Bronze Age civilizations.

Canaanites was not what most of the people called themselves, but rather what the surrounding empires, especially Egypt and Hittites in the north, called them. Philistines appear in Egyptian sources around the Late Bronze Age collapse as raiders against Egypt, who were likely populating southern parts of Canaan, the Palestine area. Several groups with mutually intelligble languages emerged after Egypt left the area: in Palestine area Philistines, Israelites, in Jordan are Ammonites, Moabites and Edomites, and in Lebanon area Canaanites, who were called by Phoenicians by Greeks. Israelites have been theorized to split from Philistines, possibly after Aegonean migrants during the Late Bronze Age collapse influenced the culture of the costal Philistine city states, and/or through Israelites development of monotheistic faith. During Iron Age these different groups descendant from Caananites had their own kingdoms. In the area of Palestine there was two Israelite kindgoms, Kingdom of Judah is the highlands of Judah, were Israelites likely originated, and Kindom of Israel or Samaria north to it, as well as Philistine city states in the coast around the area of current Gaza strip.

Earliest historical evidence of Israel is from mid 9th century BCE and of Judah from 7th century BCE, though Israelites as a group were mentioned earlier. It's entirely possible the kingdoms predate these mentions, but the archaeological evidence suggests likely not by much. Israel was conquered by the Neo-Assyrian empire in 722 BC, so it's entirely possible kingdom of Judah was created by retreating Israelites of the earlier kingdom. The remaining Israelites under Assyrian rule came to be known as Samaritans, marking also the split of Jewish faith into Judaism and Samaritanism. Neo-Assyrian lingua franca was Aramaic, a Semitic language from southwest Syria, which became the major spoken language in Samaria. Judah became a vassal state of Assyrians and later Babylonians. After a rebellion Babylonians fully conquered Judah in 586-587 BCE and exiled the rebels, though more recent historical study suggests it targeted the rebelling population and was not a mass exile. In 539 BCE Babylon and by extension Judah was conquered by Persian Achaemenid empire, which allowed the exiles to return and rule Judah as their vassals. Persia also conquered Samaria and Philistines. Aramaic was also the official language of the both Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid empires and replaces Old Hebrew as spoken language in Judah too, though Old Hebrew continued to be written language of religious scripture and is known today as Biblical Hebrew. Otherwise in the Palestine area there were Edomites, who migrated to the southern parts of former Judah kingdom, and Qedarites, a nomadic Arabic tribal federation, in southern desert parts.

Biblical narratives tell this early history very differently, and for a long while, those were used as historical texts, but more recent historical study has cast a doubt on their usefulness in historical inquiry. Even more recent archaeological DNA studies (like this and this) have supported the historical narratives constructed from primary historical texts.

Antique Era (4th century BCE - 7th century CE)

Under Persian rule the people in the Palestine area had a relative amount of autonomy, which lasted about 200 years. In the 330s BCE Macedonians conquered Levant along with a lot of other places. The Macedonian empire broke down quickly after the death of Alexander the Great, and Levant was left under the control of the Seleucid empire, which included most of the Asian parts of the Macedonian empire. During this time the whole Palestine area was heavily Hellenized. In the 170s BCE the Seleucian emperor started a repression campaign against the Jewish religion, which led to a Maccabean Revolt in Judea, lasting from 167-160 BCE until the Seleucids were able to defeat the rebels. It started with guerilla violence in the countryside but evolved into a small civil war. Defeat of the rebelling Maccabees didn't curb the discontent and by 134 BCE Maccabees managed to take Judea and establish the Hasmonean dynasty. The dynasty ruled semi-autonomously under the Seleucian empire until it started disintegrating around 110 BCE, and Judea gained more independence and began to conquer the neighbouring areas. At most they controlled Samaria, Galilee, areas around Galilean Sea, Dead Sea and Jordan River between them, Idumea (formerly Kingdom of Edom) and Philistine city states. During the Hasmonean dynasty Judaism spread to some of the other Semitic peoples under their rule. It didn’t take long for the rising power of the Roman Republic to make Judea into their client state in 63 BCE. Next three decades the Roman Republic and Parthian Empire would fight over control of Judea, which ended by Rome gaining control and disposing of the Hasmonean dynasty from power. It was a client state until 6 CE Rome incorporated Judea proper, Samaria, Idumea and Philistine city states into the province of Judea.

The Jewish population was very much discontent under Roman rule and revolted frequently through the first century or so. It led to waves of Jewish migration around the Mediterranean area, which would eventually lead to the formation of European and North-African Jewish groups. The Roman emperor’s decision to build a Roman colony into Jerusalem, which they destroyed along with Second Temple while squashing the previous revolt, provoked a large-scale armed uprising from 132-136 among Judean Jews, which Rome suppressed brutally. Jerusalem was destroyed again, Jews and Christians were banned from there, and a lot of Judean Jews were killed, displaced and enslaved. Rome also suffered high losses. Jews and Christians hadn’t yet fully separated into different faiths yet, but this strained their relations as Christians hadn’t supported the uprising. Galilee and Judea was joined into one province, Syria Palaestina. Galilean Jews hadn’t participated in the revolt and had therefore survived it unscathed, so Galilee became the Jewish heartland. During the Constantine dynasty, in the first half of the 4th century, when Christianity was the Roman state religion, Jerusalem was rebuilt as very Christianized. After the Constantine dynasty the Jewish relations with Rome were briefly improved by a sympathetic emperor, until Justinian came into power in 527 and began authoritarian religious oppression of all non-Christians, casting the whole area into chaos. Samaritans rebelled repeatedly and were almost fully wiped out, while Jews joined forces with several foreign powers in an attempt to destabilize Byzantium rule. By 636 the first Muslim Caliphate emerged as victors over the control of Palestine.

Muslim Period and Crusades (636-1516)

For more than 300 years under the rule of Muslim Caliphate, Palestine saw a much more peaceful period, with relative freedom and economic prosperity. Christianity continued to be the majority religion and Christians, Jews and usually Samaritans were considered People of the Book, who were guaranteed religious freedom. Non-muslims though had to pay taxes and depending on the caliph had more or less restrictions posed upon them. The position of Samaritans as People of the Book was unstable and at points they were persecuted. For the position of Jews it was a marked improvement, and after the expulsion of Jews from Jerusalem by Rome in the 2nd century, they were finally allowed to return. Jerusalem became a religious center for the Muslims too, as it was considered the third most holy place of Islam. Cities, especially Jerusalem, saw Arab immigration. The rural agricultural population was mostly Aramaic speaking, though even while Palestinian Arabs had mostly been bedouins in the southern deserts, there were few Arabic villages from the Roman era. People of the Book were protected from forced conversions, but over time conversions among the Christian population slowly increased, until Islam became the majority religion. Cities became Arabicized and slowly Arabic (also Semitic language) replaced Aramaic as the majority language. Towards the end of the first millennium persecution of Christianity increased with the threat of Byzantium.

In 970 a competing dynasty, Fatimids, conquered Palestine beginning a new era of continuous warfare and conquest by foreign powers. In the beginning of the new millennium Palestine was conquered by the Turco-Persian Seljuk empire for a couple of decades, recaptured by Fatimids for only a year, until the Crusaders took Palestine in 1099. During the next two centuries Palestine exchanged hands several times between the Crusaders and the Egyptian Ayyubid Sultanate. After internal struggle the Ayyubid dynasty was overthrown by the mamluk military caste and them in lead, the Sultanate secured Palestine. First they repelled the invading Mongol empire in 1260 and by 1291 they had defeated the remnants of the Cusaders and their Kingdom of Jerusalem. The period was devastating to the Palestinian populations, cities and economic life. The Crusaders especially committed numerous massacres against non-Christians and under Muslim rule Christians were persecuted and forcibly converted. The next two centuries under the Mamluk Sultanate were peaceful and Christian and Jewish communities were afforded some self-governance and relatively high religious freedom for being recognised as People of the Book again. The state had a more contentious relationship with Christians as the wars with the Crusaders were still looming between Christians and Muslims, and at some points Christians faced persecution and forced conversions.

Ottoman Period (1516-1917)

The Ottoman Empire gained dominance in western Asia over the Mamluk Sultanate during the late 15th century and conquered Palestine in 1516. It became a great imperial power in Asia and Europe for two centuries and in the 18th century started a slow decline, eventually becoming the "Sick man of Europe". The Ottoman Empire was very decentralized and under it Palestine was at first ruled by three Palestinian families semi-autonomously. The Ottoman state didn’t pay much attention to economic development, as they considered it contrary to their chivalric culture, so they instead attracted foreign businesses with the capitulation system. Capitulations were treaties between Ottomans and a foreign power by which the citizens of that foreign power were under their jurisdiction inside Ottoman borders. This guaranteed safety and religious freedom for non-Muslim merchants and exempted them from any additional taxes applying to foreigners and non-Muslims, which encouraged them to build businesses in the Ottoman Empire. Ottomans also intentionally attracted European Jews, who faced persecution and pogroms, and had built effective international trade networks through the tight knit diaspora communities. Jews and Christians had quite well secured position in the empire as People of the Book, but Samaritans were persecuted after they had sided with the Mamluk Sultanate against Ottomans and later for being considered "pagans". City elites adopted Turkish culture, while in rural areas peasant villages and Bedouin clans remained Arabic. The rural areas were very much self-governing as both villages and Bedouin clans were fairly self-reliant with their own political structures. Villages consisted of clan-like family groups, hamulas, and the village lands were distributed between their collective ownership.

In the 19th century the Ottoman Empire was leaving behind European imperial powers in economic and military development. With the rise of the international capitalist markets, capitulation approach, which had worked well for the empire in previous centuries, was extended to markets as a very laissez faire economic policy. This did not lead to hoped economic growth however, but rather deindustrialization. The Ottoman Empire opened itself to markets it couldn’t compete in and its resources were then easy to exploit by stronger economies. The other powers, such as the European powers, avoided this by first cultivating strong national industries with protectionist policies, and then opened to international markets. The capitulation system also became a political liability the way it interacted with the protégé system. The Ottoman Empire had agreed to allow some European powers to give their protection over certain minority religious groups (mostly Christian groups) in the Empire, allowing members of those groups to claim citizenship of their protectorate nation. This had allowed those Ottoman citizens to claim the benefits of the capitulation system and cultivated trade and business for the Empire. In the 19th century the European powers, notably France, British Empire, Germany and Russia, turned their interests towards Levant which was important for their access to their colonial interests in Asia and Africa. They had a vested interest in the continuing power of the weakening Ottoman Empire, which they believed they could control through economic dominance and the protégé system. It became a competition on who could gain the most influence in the Ottoman Empire. In Palestine this led to a change in class dynamics. Christian protégés of European imperial powers were given tax exemptions from the increasing taxes, which were implemented to balance the national deposit, and better opportunities to gain wealth from international trade, turning the urban Christian Arabs into elite.

In 1832 Egypt invaded Palestine, marking a point of more rapid decline of Ottoman rule. Egypt attempted to “modernize” Palestine, which was considered backward, but Egypt's policies, especially conscription, were considered intrusive. The local self-ruling clans and families were resistant to outside powers and with their sway over the population, they rose to a popular uprising after two years of Egyptian rule. The suppression of the uprising devastated many villages and Egypt still failed to enforce order and halt violence. In 1840 Britain intervened, returning its control back to the Ottomans. They didn’t yet have capitulations with the Ottomans and were concerned over the other European powers gaining influence over the aging empire, so in return for their military assistance, they gained capitulations and named Jews and Protestants as their protégés in Levant. Palestine rapidly opened to the international markets with the increase in capitulations combined with the laissez faire fiscal policies of the empire, allowing European powers to turn Palestinian cities, especially in the coast, to centers of trade. In 1858 the Ottoman Empire also attempted to privatize land ownership to increase agricultural production and profitability in order to help with their financial troubles. Most Palestinian land was public land, but in practice owned informally by the villagers cultivating it. As long as they paid taxes, they couldn’t be evicted, which rarely happened in those cases either, and their rights to the land were hereditary. The land reform codified and formalized land ownership and removed barriers to non-villagers gaining ownership of peasant land, laying groundwork for commodifying land. The Ottoman Empire also allowed foreigners to purchase private land. This didn’t immediately lead to large-scale transfer of land ownership, but increasing taxes impoverishing the peasantry and indebting them transferred land from its cultivators to urban absentee landlords. Peasants started to turn into landless tenants and a new type of large estates were established.

Birth of Zionism

The British pushed for more control over Levant, since they wanted to secure their access to India and their colonial ventures in Africa. They didn’t have much interest in colonizing Levant themselves, which is why they were interested in backing the Ottoman Empire and gaining stronger control over it via European Jewish immigrants. European Jews had been immigrating to Palestine in small numbers for a while for religious reasons, to escape persecution and to take advantage of the economic opportunities offered by the Ottoman Empire. The British though also had religious interests in supporting Jewish migration to Palestine. Since the early 19th century, there had been a growing religious movement of Christian Zionism, who sought to restore Jews into Palestine and then convert them to Christianity to cause the second coming of Jesus and the end times. As you do. They were considered fanatics, even lunatics, for their literal interpretations of prophecy, but they were enthusiastic imperialists and when they expressed the idea of restoration of Jewish Palestine in imperial terms, it gained popular acceptance in Britain. Some of the common talking points originating from Christian Zionism were Jews had the right to Palestinian land for Biblical reasons, the only way to not let the “underdeveloped” agrarian land go to waste was colonialism, and Jews would be a civilizing force in Palestine. While the end goal of Christian Zionists was conversion of Jews, they had Orientalist reverence for Jews, but among the wider imperialist support for these ideas there was in addition an explicitly antisemitic aspect. The imperialists' idea was that Britain, and Europe more broadly, could this way also get rid of the Jews.

The trouble was that at the time there was no wide interest at all among Jews to colonize Palestine. The Jews who were migrating there during the first half of the 19th century did so with all intentions of integrating to the Palestinian society. European Jews had since Enlightenment and the French Revolution gained unprecedented levels of social acceptance and equality (which still wasn’t very much), and liberal assimilationism had become the dominant ideology especially among Jewish elites. Assimilationist Jews considered Judaism a religious identity, not an ethnic one, and they rather identified with their nationality. In the latter half of 19th century Jewish socialism was contesting the liberal Jewish idea that antisemitism could be overcome with individualist approach and instead demanded structural change. During the century it became increasingly clear that the assimilationist approach couldn’t fix antisemitism as racial ideology and exclusionist ethnonationalism were gaining traction and fueling antisemitism, which culminated in the 1880s pogroms in Russia and 1894 Dreyfus Affair in France. These events certainly promoted socialist approach among many Jews, but the Jewish elite were certainly not interested in socialist solutions, where they would lose their elite status, even if for white Christians they were all second class citizens. So instead, like many elites facing the threat of socialism, they turned to nationalism. To the question of how to build a nation from a diverse diaspora, they found the answer from Christian Zionism. Jewish Zionism was distinctly secular, so while they did adopt many religious and biblical narratives and goals of Christian Zionism, they put them in nationalist terms. Their end goal was of course different from that of the millennialist Christians so Jewish Zionism was presented as a practical and rational alternative to utopian fanaticism, but they were still natural allies. Zionism was opposed in the European Jewish communities by both assimilationists and socialists, who both viewed it as countering the efforts of opposing antisemitism, which Zionists saw as an inherently impossible endeavor, and also by Orthodox Jews from a religious standpoint. Orthodox Jews denounced the secularization of the Promised Land, which according to them could only be bestowed by God and couldn’t be a state with secular power.

Before Zionism was fully formalized as a movement, there were proto-Zionist movements in Eastern-Europe as a direct response to the pogroms, with the goal of settling Eastern Jewish refugees to Palestine from 1881 forward. This is considered to be the start of the First Aliyah, the explicitly Zionist mass migrations to Palestine. The funding was secured from the European Jews, and with it the Zionists bought land from the absentee urban landlords with large estates and evicted the tenants in order to form Zionist colonies. This raised concern among Ottoman officials, who had become vary of the European exploitation of their capitulation system, which increased European influence with the immigration of European Jews. They were also concerned about the rising Arab nationalism in Palestine provoked by the European economic exploitation and even more pressingly the peasant displacement. The Ottoman Empire was already facing massive difficulties with nationalist movements in different parts of the empire, like in Armenia. They attempted to restrict Zionist land purchases with legal restrictions and failed.

The 1880s settling to Palestine was still unorganized and leaderless until Theodor Herzl, who is considered to be the founder of Zionism, joined Zionist ranks in mid-1890s and began formulating a colonialist venture in earnest. The British were supportive of the Zionist project, but as long as the Ottoman Empire was in charge of Palestine and the British could extend control over it, they weren’t interested in establishing such a state themselves. So the Zionist movement with Herzl in the lead turned to the Ottoman Empire in 1901. He envisioned the Zionist colonial project as a land company, modeled after the British and Dutch East Indian Companies, which would under imperial blessing operate fairly independently and govern over colonized land. The end goal was to build an ethnonationalist Jewish state and expel the native population. There were even dreams of Jewish empire that would colonize neighbouring countries, “civilize” them and bring them “prosperity”. To persuade the Sultan, Herz proposed to pay for the Ottoman Empire’s depts with European Jewish investments in exchange for allowing the Zionists to settle and govern Palestine. The Ottoman government was well aware of Zionist movement’s end goals and their alliances with European Imperialism, rejecting their proposals.

The Zionists evaded Ottoman restrictions anyway and continued to settle Palestine with British backing. European powers then pressured Ottomans to abolish those restrictions allowing a new wave of Zionist colonialism. The violence and pogroms in Russia had convinced some of the Eastern European Jewish socialists that fighting antisemitism was impossible, so they created Labor Zionism and used the “untouched land” to experiment with utopian socialist communes. In the process they displaced indigenous peasant hamulas, which had often for centuries farmed the land in communal ownership. Mass migration and eviction quickly provoked a predictable opposition in the Palestinian population and spread of Arab nationalist thought. This second wave of Aliyah ended at the First World War, which was also the end of the Ottoman Empire.

#history #palestine #palestinian genocide #palestinian history #colonization #colonial history #zionism #islamophobia #ottoman empire

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honeybeejam · 4 months

Text

be my mistake: lorenzo berkshire x reader

pairing: guitarist!lorenzo berkshire x gn!hufflepuff!reader, drummer!ex!mattheo riddle x reader

reader’s physical body is never described! there are a few slightly feminine leaning nicknames

synopsis: cruciatus' lead singer ends their relationship with drummer mattheo riddle. In a moment of desperation, the hufflepuff ends up crashing into none other than their best friend (and guitarist) lorenzo berkshire.

warnings: language, 18+, MDNI, smut, praise kink, penetration, m orgasm, reader orgasm, dom! enzo, slight exhibitionism

word count: 2.5k

part of the cruciatus au: nihilist! ep (masterlist coming soon)

“save all the jokes you’re going to make

while i see how much drink i can take

then be my mistake.”

It took six excruciatingly painful days to leave the Hufflepuff dormitories. Susan Bones was the only living soul to see your swollen eyes and tangled hair. She stopped by to drop off meals, water, and occasionally a box of jellybeans or a Dreamless Sleep Potion for comfort. She told you that the Slytherin table was unusually silent at meals and that she hadn’t seen Riddle at all: but it still seemed too soon to leave the comfort of your bed. Too vulnerable.

Rehearsal had gone on without you (with Pansy on vocals for the time being). Cruciatus didn’t have any scheduled performances until the silly Muggle love holiday, so it didn’t really bother the rest of the band. Besides, Pansy told them that you write better lyrics under pressure. The boys were looking to release a new album at the same performance. Perhaps the breakup would be a blessing in disguise.

You, of course, hadn’t written a single thing. You longed to be void of emotion, to enter a state of numbness where those molasses eyes didn’t haunt every beat of your heart. Every breath ached with the phantom pain of bruised ribs - it was more likely pain from heaving. Susan took to turning in your schoolwork when you had the energy to complete it. Being two weeks ahead in every subject had its perks in the long run. Your tear-stained parchment assignments were on par with your grades, but that didn’t mean it was easy.

Venturing into the Hufflepuff Common Room proved a more daunting task than originally anticipated due to the nerves. You only needed to make it to the kitchens. Winky promised a favor last time you comforted her, and you hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days. A quick sprint from the barrels to the portrait of the ticklish pear leaves you vulnerable from all directions, but the hall seemed empty.

Worth the risk, you mused and broke out into a run.

A flash of green. A pained hiss. Two large hands around your waist, and then a familiar groan. Your head hit something firm but comfortable as you let out an abnormally high-pitched squeak. When everything stopped moving, you moved to a sitting position on your fall-breaker, wincing as you saw the familiar deep brown of his eyes and the pain painted across his features.

“Oh, Enzo! I am so so sorry, Merlin’s sake!” you gasped out, scrambling off of him and standing up as you reached out to assess the damage to his head. Your fingers threaded through his silky hair to spot a bump, only pausing when he let out a sigh.

“You’re alright, love. I should be the one apologizing. Now, I need to get off the ground before the others leave the Great Hall. I told them I was too busy to rehearse tonight.” He pushed himself up onto his elbows, accepting your now extended hand. He paused for a moment.

“Would you like to come to the dorms? It would do you well to have some company, and you know we get our own rooms. You could make sure I’m not concussed as well, darling.” He brushed the debris off of his slacks and smiled at you gently.

You pushed aside any feelings of guilt. You no longer “belonged” to Mattheo Riddle. You had every right to spend time with a mutual friend. Especially a mutual band member.

“Sure,” you replied apprehensively, relaxing when you remembered that the others were gone. He grabbed your wrist with ease and led you down the staircase.

Enzo weaved through the crowded Slytherin common room, shooting a glare to anyone who stared a little too hard. It was comforting to see Enzo act protective, since he was such an easygoing person most of the time. He never failed to make you laugh. You wrapped your arms around your center further, ignoring the concern etched into the creases of his glowing skin.

Once you were seated on his four poster, he asked you the long awaited question.

“How are you?”

“That obvious, Enz?” You replied, sighing and spreading out to cover his mattress with every part of your body. “I’m bloody miserable. If Susan reminds me of Slughorn’s essay one more time I might transfigure myself into a giant squid and take over terrorizing the Black Lake. I don’t give a rat’s ass what my Amortentia smells like. Not to mention, I couldn’t write a lyric if I read it from a textbook. I’m supposed to be writing songs about love!” The mattress creaked under your dramatic flailing and created a cacophonous sound. It sounded familiar to how you felt.

“I think you need a nightcap, darling.” Enzo reached under his mattress, coming up with a nearly full bottle of Firewhiskey. “Nott said you haven’t talked to anyone, even Pansy. We know you haven’t been in the Room of Requirement because we practice there, and Susan Bones won’t speak to me. I know you two aren’t together, but what happened?” He passed you the bottle with a grin.

You briefly lifted your head to take a drink, leaning back again as the alcohol burned your throat. You grimaced.

Enzo’s golden brown eyes lit up with pride. “Good job, darling. The first one is always the most difficult. Now tell me.”

A warm feeling crept up from the base of your neck to the tips of your ears, spreading to your chest and causing you to stutter.

“I-uh. I was tired of a-always being - fuck. I was tired of always being.. second choice. He had his toys and his, uh, escapades with you guys. I never got that freedom.”

“Escapades? I don’t recall any escapades.” That head tilt was adorable. Enzo reminded you of a confused puppy.

You sat up fully and took another burning sip of the golden liquid, pausing as it slid down your throat. “Mattheo grew up that beautiful, Enz. Everybody wonders what it’d be like to love him. He must’ve been curious about the other people here. And they’re all practically throwing themselves at him. Something about drummers, I guess.” You automatically assumed he was a cheat. A liar. It was in his blood, was it not?

“I was always jealous of him, you know.”

“To feel so wanted, so seen? I can’t imagine it’s easy. It’s all lust. I’d take that over having his father any day, though,” you babbled to fill the silence, not expecting to be interrupted.

“I was jealous because he had you.”

Oh. You chose to remain quiet at that, waiting for him to speak up again.

“I think I was angry because Riddle never considered how lucky he was,” Enzo said quietly. “That git lost something special.”

You scoffed at that, hiding behind the bottle in your hands as defense.

“Hilarious, Lorenzo. Save the jokes though, please?”

“I’m not joking.” He grabbed your chin, tilting it up as he took the bottle out of your hands. He placed it up to your mouth, tipping it to encourage you to drink. You did, stopping after a few gulps to hiccup violently. You giggled at yourself and looked to Enzo for a reaction. He seemed dazed, distracted almost. Then he spoke quickly, like he was trying to push something out of his mind.

“Let’s fuck things up.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Riddle fucked up the friend group, so let’s make it worse. Be my mistake, darling.”

You took another drink. It couldn’t hurt. It could destroy several friendships and relationships. It would definitely tear the band apart. It was irrational, irresponsible. Childish, even.

In the moment, though, Lorenzo Berkshire had never looked more enticing. You decided to test the waters.

“He’s always so busy, Enz. I get so lonely.” You looked up at him through your eyelashes, tears threatening to spill. “His eyes were always so dark and so empty. I never knew what he was feeling. I just wanted him to want me.” Honesty, vulnerability. You trusted Enzo with everything, and he held that trust close to his heart.

“I want you,” he whispered, looking at you with those same glazed over eyes.

“I need you,” you whispered back. He watched you set down the bottle of Firewhiskey.

“Nox.” The room went dark, and you felt a hand on the small of your back. He used his other hand to grasp the back of your neck, guiding your lips toward his.

You hummed with content at the feeling of his plush lips, hearing him harmonize with a deeper groan as he broke away to breathe. He pressed on your chest lightly to encourage you to lie down.

⚠️ smut below

“So pretty, little songbird. Look at you, all cute and needy,” he placed his hand on your cheek, cupping lightly. “Open.”

As if you were locked in a trance, your lips parted. Your tongue slid out to catch his pointer and middle finger, swirling around the digits. You bobbed your head slightly, watching his smile brighten and the tips of his ears turn red. Even with his fingers in your mouth, he was still nervous.

“I have you baby,” he spoke gently as you tried to get his attention. His fingers left your mouth with a ‘pop’. He traced them down your chin and past your neck to your collar. His arms lifted to gently push your sleeves aside.

Lorenzo laughed at your squirming figure below him. If he were truly a bad person, your scantily clad image would already be in Mattheo’s text messages. Not only was Lorenzo a good person, he was also a possessive person. And Mattheo had forfeited the gentle Hufflepuff as soon as she had ended things. “I would show you off, you know. You deserve that.” He helped you remove the rest of your outfit, leaving you in underwear. You tugged at his shirt needily, breathing heavy. He chuckled. “Can I make you feel good?”

You could only respond with frantic nods, beginning to get frustrated at his amused expression. He traced his long fingers along your waist, stopping to push and pull fabric until your lower half was exposed. The dark green bedsheets below you had deepened several shades, and your face followed suit.

“Out of breath, pretty baby? … This early? It’s okay, I’m gonna take care of you. You’re so wet for me.”

He quickly removed his shirt and dived back in to you, pulling your underwear past your ankles. He traced his fingers back up your calves and thighs, his breath hitting your lower stomach.

You were more of a lyricist than a musician. Although you could play a few instruments, Draco and Theo had melodies pouring from their wands with ease.

You think, however, that a song about pure bliss would feel like this moment.

Nothing but the sound of you panting as your best friend plays you like his guitar. Every twitch of his fingers made your breath halt for a moment.

“All mine. I’m gonna treat you so well, show you off to everyone.” He whispered into your skin. “Make you moan my name so loud that you can’t go on stage.”

You whimpered desperately, bucking your hips up toward him. He finally gave in. You felt the pressure of his tongue as you closed your eyes, stars exploding in your vision. You lost control of your voice, blacking out slightly.

When you came down from your high, you noticed a heavy feeling on your tongue. Although slightly dazed from cumming so hard, you could still tell what it was. You felt Lorenzo push his cock further into your mouth. You looked up at him sweetly, compliantly. If he made you feel so good, it was only fair that you returned the favor. He fucked your throat gently, careful not to hurt you. He might have deemed you his toy, but you couldn’t afford to lose your voice.

“Look at you, all cock drunk. Gonna write a song about how much better I fuck your throat than your little drummer boyfriend?” He stilled at the vibrations from your moans, feeling you twitch beneath him. He pulled his cock out of your throat and positioned himself above you.

“Look at me, Y/N.” You met his syrupy sweet eyes. “Can you tell me what you need from me, darling?”

“Need you to fuck me, Enz,” you replied immediately. “Wanna feel you inside me, want you to fuck some good ideas into my head.”

That was all he needed to push into you with force, letting out a loud and drawn out moan as he bottomed out. He took hold of your hands as he began to thrust.

“So good,” He gripped both sides of your waist firmly as he fucked into you, lifting your hips into the air. You felt yourself slipping again. He never let up pace as you approached climax. He was practically manhandling you as he pulled your hips back repeatedly, watching your eyes roll back. You could never get there by yourself, but by some divine power, Lorenzo Berkshire had you screaming and jerking violently. You felt him shudder as he slowed to a stop, his own release spilling into you. He let you ride out your orgasm before he dropped you onto the bed, curling up to you and wrapping him arms around your limp figure. He faced you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You did so good for me.” He watched you smile lazily, barely noticing footsteps until the doorknob was twisting and he was whispering the Disillusionment Charm on your body shoved under the duvet.

Mattheo and Theo walked into the dorm, both clearly intoxicated. They walked over to the opposite side of the room in search of something. If they noticed Enzo at all, they didn’t acknowledge it.

You pressed a kiss to Enzo’s inner thigh, listening to his breathing change as you brought your mouth closer to him.

Mistakes were more fun than you thought.

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #enzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x you #lorenzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys #slytherin #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle

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rakurairagnarok · 5 months

Note

Hi there, I’m just beginning as a bodybuilder and I was wondering if you had anything that would help me grow bigger and get an edge over my competitors?

An edge over your competition you say? Well... Here at Rakurai Inc. we have something that might help with that.

As you get out of the shower after another intense workout, you hear your doorbell ring.

"Who could that be?" You ask out loud.

You walk to the front door, and looking through the peephole you see a small package in front of it.

You take it inside and look over it to find a small stamp with Rakurai Inc. on it. Opening the box, you find a large black massage gun inside, alongside a small note.

"Dear @musclejedi7 , we heard you were getting into the bodybuilding scene and hoped you could help us promote the company by sending you a new prototype massage gun. For optimal use please use within 30 minutes of your workout!. We wish you a transformative journey!!!"

You smirk. You had been getting pretty big, so ofcourse companies were gonna throw themselves at you to get more money.

You look at the time and sigh. It had already been 35 minutes after you finished working out, but you figured it wouldn't matter that much. After all, you had never heard of an 'optimal' time to use a massage gun before.

You turned it on and, since it was chest day today, put it against your sore pecs. Immediately waves of pain and pleasure soared through your body. Your eyes rolled back and a soft moan escaped your mouth.

"FuUuUuUck"

You looked down and chuckled. It was probably due to the gun pounding away at your pecs, but they were looking much bigger.

You continued running the massage gun across various parts of your body, the pleasure increasing in intensity. You bit down on your lip.

"Damn this feels amazing, but, my chest... has it always been this big?" You ask yourself as you look down again. You had been growing steadily but your tits looked much bigger than they did after the workout and you were already past the pump. Wait... tits?

You never called them that. They are pec...pect...pectits? Your eyes widened. Your brain was rambling for the proper term but it couldn't find it. You looked at your guns, no, not guns bi... bis... guns. The massage gun was doing its magic against your massive...GUNS.

You flex your arms, the guns growing. You chuckle again.

"Huhu so big"

NO! WHAT??

Your mind is racing. What is happening. You can't think of the correct names of muscle groups, and now you're just sitting there giggling like an idiot?

Your arm makes the gun move down to your legs, which immediatly send more pleasure to your overworking brain. A fun idea pops in your haze ridden mind, and you move the gun to your glu... glu... booty. What the fuck!!! As the gun touches the soft bubbly meat of your perky booty, your knees buckle in pleasure. You drop to the floor as the gun pounds away at your flesh, and for the first time you actually see what is happening. Your previously perky butt, which was barely bubbling due to the gun, was now visibly growing!

It got bigger and bigger, sending move waves into your already overheated brain. More chuckles escaped your slacked mouth, drool dripping down your lips. You accidentally increase the setting as you make the gun travel across your whole body, the pleasure stopping any brain activity to a screeching halt. Eventually getting so overwhelmed that you drop the gun, seemingly breaking it in the process as it stops vibrating.

You grab your groin with one meaty hand and your massive cheeks with the other. Your dick is already on the verge and your slow and mushy brain can only think of one thing to release it. You slip a finger into your hole, and cum. You keep shooting , on the floor, over your gi.. gi... big ass muscle tits, on your face, on the couch. Any sense of selfrespect and decency leaving your body with the creamy, delicious liquid.

You wanted an edge on the competition. Well you will be edging alright. You're the biggest after all, muscles, ass, libido, and biggest bottom the world has ever seen. You can still compete don't worry but I doubt your brain will be able to last on stage with all those massive cocks around you. All you will be thinking of is ways to get as many inside you as you can right?

#transformation #asks #male muscle growth #rakurai #gay tf #male transformation #dumbing down

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seat-safety-switch · 2 months

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"I hear there's a whole crew of eager young faces out there just ready to ride the rapids!" hollers our rafting guide, a man who I would later discover from the TV news was actually named Ralph. This man continued to give us a short-form version of his life story, before instructing us on the proper way to wear a life vest (or "personal flotation device," if you're German.) The tourists around me oohed and aahed and snapped pictures, enough to be already halfway through what, in a simpler time, would have been a roll of Kodak film.

Why was I engaging in this pursuit, one which was not just dangerous but without the involvement of any motorized transportation whatsoever? Simple. I had gotten a free ticket from a coworker who "couldn't make it," and I had heard that there were some old hoopties crashed in the forests around the white-water rapids.

See, way back in the era when old cars were new cars, there was no good way to recycle them. Tow truck technology was in its infancy. Junkyards were just called "yards." And China hadn't been invented yet. Or it had, but they were probably also busy building their own new cars and didn't want to take some idiot's old Ford Business Coupe off his hands. So folks just left that shit on the side of roads, in forests, or pushed them off a cliff and watched what happened before driving off in their new car. Tragic, I know, but it means that lots of perfectly good running gear is all over this part of the country.

Ralph led us out on the water. He was pretty good, except for the part where he kept yelling at me to perform manual labour for which I was receiving no compensation. After a couple hours into the trip, I had seen no cars whatsoever and was beginning to lose hope entirely. I was damned to be stuck on this orange pool toy as we shot down the water in order to be rewarded with yet more water. Thrilling though it may be to some people, I was perfectly familiar with going dangerously fast and getting uncomfortably wet from any daily commute in my harem of rusty cars.

That's when I saw it. Anyone else would have easily missed a glimpse of the fender of a 1929 Chevy International roadster. I pulled my backpack off, discarding my oar to do so, and retrieved my homemade grappling hook from within. With a quick burst of compressed air and a not-so-quick burst of nitromethane-fuelled Sanden air-conditioning compressor exhaust, I was flown from the piteous grasp of Mother Kinda-Wet to the warm embrace of Mother Earth. And boy, did she ever have that fender. Not much else, of course, but if you squinted, you could kinda see part of the headlight was now being adopted by the accumulated moss.

After guessing the vague location of it, I dug in and left with my quarry: one extremely rusty, pig-iron "Oakland" vee-eight engine. It was really light, because almost none of it was left, which is good because I had a long way to walk home. A chipmunk kept me company along the way, probably because he used to live in #3 before I picked up his whole sub-development.

As for the other occupants of the river rafting tour, I'm told that at least half of them, perhaps deluded by hours of direct sunlight and lack of access to proper nutrition, believed my sudden escape was actually proof of my having been abducted by angels. I rolled that into a few other paying gigs upon my return to civilization, but it didn't really do much for the fleet. Tax-exempt crooked megachurches have very strict rules about only buying new cars.

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goth-pod · 3 months

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Goth-Pod Ep 5: Gotham Troubles

Welcome Back! Listening to you send ins, Juda Boone talks about things by Gothamites, for Gothamites!

[goth-pod is a fictional in-universe podcast based on the DC comics universe. Juda Boone is an original fictional character, not based on any real person or known comic book character.]

Transcript under the cut

Hello everyone and welcome to Goth-Pods special trials and troubles episode! I’m an indie theater’s take on the ghost of Christmas Present- and your host, Juda Boone.

We're looking at your submitted trademark Gotham problems. So without my usual ramblings, lets get to business

—

For our first submission username Trekkle brought up a good debate: Subway vs Bus: The Subway is safer, since buses can get hit during rogue attacks, but if you're stuck underground there's a chance of a killer croc attack and also the birds ride the roof.

Fantastic points, Trekkle! Thank you for writing in. I don't know exactly what you mean by the birds riding the roof, though. Do you mean Robin? Because I have been on the tram while a fight was happening between Robin and The Penguin on top. Of course, I missed most of it because I had my headphones in. Noise cancellation has its pros and cons in Gotham.

There’s no set answer on this one, I don’t think. You kind of have to pay attention to what Rouges are active the way you pay attention to the weather. Cloudy with a 70% chance of a Riddler scheme? Maybe take the Buses, since they’re not connected to a maze-like system like the subways are. But maybe it's sweater weather with a possible freeze-over because Victor Fries broke out two nights ago and is due for a showy return. Then an underground bunker with cushy seats doesn’t sound too bad.

—

From Clexx we have: I'm new to Gotham (full ride scholarship, thank you Mr. Wayne): Why does everyone hate Superman? I tried to get answers from a friend and they called Superman a Homewrecker. Is there an infidelity scandal around Superman I don’t know about??

Oh wow. First of all, congratulations on the scholarship! I'm assuming you're attending Gotham U? Just be sure you get a proper Rogue-proof gas mask. Yes there is a difference. It’ll probably be covered in your Orientation though, so onto the main question.

To the Homewrecker comment.. oh I didn’t think it’d come to this. Okay, there's this thing in Gotham. Clexx, have you ever heard of Bruceman? Ask your friend about it, they’ll probably love to explain more. Basically it is a Real-Person based Ship on Gotham’s two protectors, Bruce Wayne and Batman. One watching over the day, the other the night.

This is another Topic that might take all episodes to explain, so to keep it short: People see Superman and Batman’s relationship- professional, platonic, romantic, or however they define it- as a threat to Bruceman, the number one Gotham Ship. Godspeed if you get between our beloved prettyboy himbo and our odd night-stalking cryptid.

—

From Allison: My cousin is visiting and I want to show them why I stay in Gotham. Where can we go for 1) a low level rogue attack (for Bat sighting), and 2) where can we go for a Wayne sighting. (They think Dick Grayson is hotter then Brucie [eye-rolling emoji])

For the first one, I think any part of our public transport system will do, as we discussed before. The tricky part is knowing when it’s going to be low-level or if your cousin will be joining you in a shelter-in-place lockdown.

For a Wayne sighting, unfortunately it’s harder to say these days. Bruce Wayne has made several statements on how he’s spending less time at the company in order to focus on bonding with his new son, Jason. I hate to disappoint, but right now might not be the time for celebrity sight-seeing. Maybe take a day trip to Bludhaven! Your cousin might enjoy the chance to convince you instead.

Thank you all for writing in and for joining us on this special episode! If we didn’t get to your submission, head over to our socials to see if we replied there. I’m Juda, you’re listening to Goth-Pod

Until then, Newcomers, visiting cousins, locals on the bus, Stay safe, Gotham.

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dreaming-medium · 4 months

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Animals Without Direction

Chapter Twenty Nine - Between Two Walls

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

It’s a numb ride to Fort Mire.

The only experience you had with riding a horse was with Jeongin– but the memory doesn’t manage to put even the smallest of grins on your face.

The barrage of emotions that hit you in the throne room are still simmering in your brain.

A large part of you is screaming to turn around, to walk back into your bedroom, strip all your armor off and cover your head in blankets until everything is over.

No. You need to do this, this is what needs to happen.

And there is no time to waste.

Wind whips past your face with each gallop. The horse’s hooves make such brief, heavy contact on the stone road as it tears through Miroh and towards Erbus’ border.

Left alone, your thoughts run wild– each of them morbid and gruesome. Slaughtered armies and burning flags, screams of the injured ring in your ears and you have to shake your head to get them out.

The bridge leading over the Amvista river comes into view with the sunset.

What were you going to do? What sort of plan can you hope to come up with to keep Miroh safe?

Night was falling on the seventh of December.

There are five days to prepare. Five short days to ensure that Miroh is ready to face one of the largest attacks they’ve ever encountered.

It will be four by the time you arrive.

If the Mercy Division did those sort of horrible things to civilians, what do they do to enemy soldiers on the battlefield? What sort of evil weapons do they fight with?

There was no way they would fight cleanly, that was for certain. You need to be prepared for every dirty war tactic in the book.

How was Miroh going to make it out of this? And with the attack on the northern border your forces will be split even more.

It’s an attack on all fronts. It’s fucking brutal.

It’s war.

By the time you make it to Fort Mire, the sun has not yet risen on December eighth.

Miroh’s flag blew proudly in the wind, you were able to see it from a distance. Like your own lighthouse, it drew you in and guided your way.

Even though you knew the attack was not for another few days, you could not help but to heave a sigh of relief upon seeing it wave so strongly at the top of the fort.

You’ve only been gone about two weeks; why does it feel like it’s been an eternity since you’ve seen this place?

You’re not the same person you were when you left. New scars and lessons litter your life story. Several chapters have been written in the book of your life.

Only a few guards patrol the top wall of the fort as usual– it’s the night shift. Guards would often bet their shifts in poker when they had no more money to wager.

Everyone hated the night shift. But you never minded it. Hyunjin was always there to keep you company, despite the two of you only sharing a few words every now and then.

As soon as the guards spot you riding in from a distance, the gate is cranked open for your– Chan’s– horse to gallop through.

The poor thing, you pushed its stamina for hours without giving it a proper rest.

The gate shuts behind you as quickly as it’s opened.

A neat head of blond hair greets you as you hop off the saddle.

“The mercenary returns,” Hyunjin says slyly. “And on the Jarl’s horse nonetheless.”

When you snap around to look at him, his teasing smile falters for a moment. Clearly, he was expecting one of your usual dry retorts.

But, when he’s met with a frazzled mercenary, his entire demeanor shifts.

His eyes widen. “What is it?”

“Where is Changbin?”

------------------------------------------

The excitement of your arrival is quickly stamped out by the weight of the news to come.

But, your sullen energy doesn’t stop Changbin from wrapping you in one of the tightest, warmest hugs you’ve felt in quite a while.

As soon as you stepped foot in the now heavily decorated office, his eyes lit up and his strong legs carried him to you in under three seconds.

Your feet almost lift off the ground, he's hugging you so close. Like second nature, your arms close around his hulking figure.

“She returns!” Changbin cheers in your ear.

You giggle but it’s hollow. Of course it wouldn’t slip by your commander.

He releases you from the bone crushing hug and holds your shoulders, studying your face.

“What is it, Y/N?”

You swallow. “I bring news of the war. And you are not going to like it one bit.”

Not one detail is spared when you tell Changbin and Hyunjin the events that have happened since you left only two weeks ago.

From the Dove Waltz to the assassination of Lord Tybesin.

Well, one detail is left out: your leg. You keep that to yourself.

Yes, you tell them about the ambush, but your injury is conveniently left out of the story.

You go through the masquerade and everything you learned in Inuin.

Both of their faces fall when you speak about the letter you found in Tybesin’s office. Changbin grows pale and has to search for a chair behind him as his knees threaten to buckle.

He shakes his head and puts it in his hands.

Hyunjin runs a hand through his hair nervously, missing up the kempt ponytail.

“All at once?” the mage asks. “They plan to attack every one of our strongholds at once?”

“According to the letter, yes.”

“How do they have enough soldiers to do such a thing? The Mercy Division is a special unit, not its own army.”

You shake your head and brace your hands down on the table. “I know not of their numbers. I only know of their strength; they are highly skilled and equally as sadistic.”

“They’re spreading themselves extremely thin, we just need to be ready to intercept the attack,” Hyunjin states, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Will that even be enough?” Changbin asks, picking his head up and rubbing at his face. His fingers massage the skin under his eyes.

After a second, he finds his footing and stands up from the chair, walking up to the map spread out on the grand table.

“We do not even know if the attack will come from the north or south. With Erbus’ relationship with Bewaes, it could be either.”

He points downwards at the country to their north.

“Erbus did not mention Bewaes in their letter?” Hyunjin asks you.

“Nay,” you answer confidently.

“They would not reach out to Inuin unless they needed it. I wager Bewaes is not providing assistance.”

Changbin’s head moves side to side, weighing his words. “We cannot rely on that speculation.”

“Erbus has never requested assistance from Inuin— why now? Because they most likely have no other option.”

“But when has Bewaes ever gone against Erbus?”

“When has a hold of Olera ever committed mass genocide against a race of people?”

The two of them go back and forth about the hood to the north while you stare at the map.

Every single stronghold that Miroh has set up is marked. They’re all over the northern border of Erbus, a few linger to the East closer to Miroh’s border.

“Can you send scouting groups out to look along the north and south? If the Mercy Division is planning an attack from the north, then their camps would be seen there,’ you suggest.

Changbin thinks for a moment, his arms cross over his chest. Back and forth he paces in place, his eyes looking down at the map.

“I could,” he says slowly, still thinking. “But if they are caught, it would take away our one advantage in this. Erbus does not know we are aware of their plans.”

“It is not an advantage if we do not know where they are coming from,” Hyunjin adds.

Changbin thinks carefully for another few moments before nodding. “Aye, that is the best course of action then. Hyunjin, go gather a small group of soldiers– I want you to go out with them. Be back by sunrise tomorrow. Additionally, have a messenger ride out alerting our other strongholds to be on guard, a detailed plan will be sent before the attack hits.”

Hyunjin nods and turns to you before leaving. “Shame,” he says slyly. “I was looking forward to having company by the campfire tonight.”

A soft smile pulls at your lips.

“Tomorrow is another night,” you tease with a sideways glance.

The mage brushes his shoulder against yours gently as he walks behind you with entirely too much grace for one person.

“I will look forward to it.”

The door shuts behind him.

Changbin looks up from the map and directly into your eyes. His features soften.

How can someone built like a brick wall look so… gentle? The man’s biceps were larger than your head and yet he reminds you of a giant stuffed bear that used to sit on your bed as a child.

“I did not take you for a harbinger of bad news,” he laughs.

You scoff and roll your head around your stiff shoulders. Hours and hours of continuous riding took its toll on your body.

“I wish I was not.”

Changbin waits a moment and then looks back down at the table and shuffles a few papers around. There’s a certain stiffness to his movements that rings a tiny alarm in your mind. What is he looking for?

“How was your journey back to Miroh?” he asks without looking up.

Your heartbeat falters for a half-beat. “I told you, it was uneventful until the ambush– smooth nonetheless.”

Changbin’s nose twitches and he sniffles. He hums and nods, as if unconvinced. “Nothing else happened at the ambush?”

Shaking your head, you shuffle your weight from foot to foot. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, goosebumps rip down your arm.

He knows, doesn’t he? He always knows. He used to do the same thing when you and Jeongin would try to skip out on laps during training.

Finally, he finds a piece of parchment and unfolds it. The official court seal of Miroh on the back.

“I was excited when the first letter arrived after your departure,” he tells you, flipping the paper around in his large hand. “Finally, I was going to be able to read correspondence from Chan without the aid of another. Thanks to you, of course.”

Changbin makes a great show of unfolding the paper and looking down at the words in front of his face.

Slowly, he begins to meander towards you, coming around the table to take tiny, lazy steps in your direction.

“Changbin,” he reads, putting on a voice to sound like Chan. “I am pleased to hear of your success in enemy lands, it brings me great pleasure to hear about Miroh’s victories.”

Pride rips through you at how easily he’s reading the letter. You only taught him for a month and he picked up on it so quickly. He’s obviously been practicing every day.

It’s an evil concoction of emotions that you’re feeling: pride and fear.

“There’s a bit more about war plans here, advice on where to strike next, blah blah blah.”

Closer and closer he walks to you. Eventually, your legs begin to act on their own and you back away from his approach.

“But then we get here.” He smacks the paper with the back of his hand. Changbin clears his throat once and continues reading. “Y/N arrived back in Miroh yesterday with Jisung. With the state that she arrived in, I regret to say that the contents of this letter were almost entirely different. The two of them were attacked by a scouting party of Erban soldiers just over the borders in our lands.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and continue to back away from your commander. Step by step he saunters towards you.

“During the ambush, Y/N was stabbed in the leg with a poisonous dagger– the injury was near fatal and we almost lost her before my very own eyes. Luckily, with Felix’s skill, we were able to bring her back from the Void. I implore you to keep an eye out for this poison that coats Erbus’ weapons, it seems to stunt the body’s natural healing abilities.”

Eventually, you run out of floor to back away on; your shoulders come in contact with the wall. Changbin crowds your space more and more until he’s directly up on you.

“The wound will take longer to heal than she is accustomed to, Felix suspects. We will keep a close eye on her and ensure she is well before returning to her normal duties.”

Changbin finishes reading and looks down at you with wild eyes. He holds the letter up like evidence.

Shit.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and then the bottom lip pulls between your teeth nervously. Unable to keep his searing eye contact for more than a few seconds, you look off to the side.

“Does not seem ‘uneventful’ to me.”

Huffing, you cross your arms. “I should have never taught you to read,” you grumble.

Changbin laughs humorlessly and grabs your chin with his free hand, turning your face back to him.

“Did I not command you to stay safe? It was not a suggestion, it was an order.”

You roll your eyes. “You think I purposefully defied that?”

He clicks his tongue.

“How did it happen?” your commander asks you.

Clenching your jaw, you gulp. “I took care of the entire scouting party, the last soldier went after Jisung. I was disarmed in the previous scuffles and had no choice but to attack weaponless.”

“So it came down to a test of brute strength then?” Changbin’s voice dips to a lower register.

Suddenly unable to find your own voice, you only nod in his grip.

“It seems we need to work on that, no?”

What? Work on your strength?

Changbin reads the confusion on your face, his nose scrunches.

“No time like the present, aye?”

Within a blink of your eyes, both of your wrists are snatched from your side and pinned next to your head. He moves so fast that by the time you register the movement, you can hear the letter hit the ground with a delicate crunch.

Your eyes flit all over his face.

Warmth radiates off his body and surrounds you like a blanket.

Words stick in your throat like molasses.

“Come on now, Y/N.” His face dips down to be level with yours, a challenging glint shines over his dark eyes. “Get out of my grasp. You should be able to handle this easily.”

His weight leans on your wrists, keeping you thoroughly pinned to the surface. It seems that you’re stuck between two walls: one of stone and the other of muscle.

Get out of his grasp? Why doesn’t he put you in enchanted cuffs instead, that might even be easier than fighting against his brute strength.

Humoring his command, you push forward, trying with all your might to move him even an inch away from you. He doesn’t even budge.

A breathy chuckle comes out through his crooked smirk.

“I need you battle ready, Y/N. Come now.”

Harder and harder you shove against him, the grip on your wrists only continues to hold you like iron. The veins in your forehead pop from the exertion, your skin flushes.

Changbin’s face grows more and more amused at your efforts.

His head dips down towards your neck.

Warmth envelopes your flushed, sweaty skin when his lips press to the skin exposed at your collar. You gasp and forget all about your original goal of pushing him off of you.

Another low chuckle rumbles from within him, you feel each exhale on your neck.

“I am still here, Y/N.”

The strength is sucked from your body with each press of his lips on your skin. They start out so gentle, but with each kiss, they become firmer, moving up your neck millimeter by millimeter.

Another shiver zips up your spine.

“Fight against me, mercenary.” Changbin’s boot knocks your feet to the side from the inside, spreading your legs a bit. His knee comes up to rest on the wall right in between them, further pinning you there.

Your eyes slide shut, the sensation of his mouth taking over each one of your senses.

God, you missed his smell. Two weeks doesn’t seem like that long in any other circumstance, but when each day feels like five, your sense of time becomes warped.

Up, up, up his mouth moves. The kisses become wetter, his mouth opening more and more before each point of contact. Just underneath your jaw, you feel his tongue poke out to lick at your skin.

A breathy moan shakily leaves your lips.

Your chin tilts back, head softly hitting the wall.

Changbin snickers. “What happened? Do you not want to escape?”

Swallowing a thick knot of arousal, you shake your head.

“Words, little girl.”

You bite back a moan. His deep voice paired with that nickname sends your brain into a spiral. Unconsciously, your hips jolt and roll.

The smallest bit of pressure from his thigh rubs against your clothed arousal.

“No,” you whisper. It’s so quiet, you worry he might not have heard it.

“No?” he repeats into your neck. “No, you do not want to escape?”

Finding a bit more strength, you say it again. “No,” you hush firmly, keeping your eyes closed. “I do not want to escape.”

His tongue pokes out and licks at a patch of your skin, lips then closing over it to suck softly– not hard enough to leave a mark but enough that you shiver.

“And why is that, mercenary?”

“Because– fuck .”

Teeth bite down where your neck meets your shoulder before you can answer.

“What was that?” he teases.

A tiny whine comes from your throat. “Because it feels fucking good.” It comes out more confident and more even than you thought you were capable of in that moment.

He hums and mouths up your neck once more, but he doesn’t stop at your jawline like the last time.

Changbin pulls back and brings his face level with yours again.

He releases one of your hands to grasp at your chin once more, bringing your face back down to look at him.

A blush of his own mirrors yours across his cheeks. His full lips already look a bit swollen just from running over your neck.

“You came back,” Changbin whispers.

“I told you I would.”

Changbin’s lips swoop down and capture yours. Your now free hand comes up to wind through his curled, black hair. You always liked it more when it sat naturally on his head.

You allow yourself to be consumed by him; you let Changbin take over each one of your senses. He’s everything around you at that moment.

Truly, you hadn’t realized how much you missed his entire being until that void was filled once more.

His tongue pokes from his lips to lick at yours, your own coming out to tangle together in a wet dance.

His hand trails down to grab at your waist.

With all your armor still strapped to your body, you’re unable to feel his touch as much as you’d like to. The small flash of needy desperation causes you to roll your hips again.

An insatiable itch picks at the base of your spine and shoots to your groin.

Like always, Changbin picks up on even the smallest of signs.

His knee lifts up to rest higher on the wall.

With only a flimsy pair of trousers on, Changbin’s muscular thigh presses against you, igniting an even hotter inferno.

Your own travel trousers were nothing but a thin layer of cotton.

The sinewy muscles of his quads ripple through the trousers while his hand on your hip pushes you down against it.

An involuntary moan is swallowed by his mouth.

The pressure from the grind against him brings more relief than you can even begin to describe, but at the same time, it makes you crave more .

Over and over again, you begin to roll your hips around on his thigh, wave after wave of delicious pressure washes over you.

At the same time, his kisses become hotter and heavier.

The smug joy that blooms in his chest at your actions inflates Changbin’s ego tenfold.

Your fingers wind tighter through his hair the more you ride against his thigh.

“Missed you,” he murmurs on your lips before diving back in to taste you again.

“Gods,” you answer breathily. “I missed you too.”

He releases your other hand, grabbing your waist with two hands. You grab at his tunic, knuckles turning white from how hard you’re gripping it.

His own breathy exhales go right through you. It almost sounds like he’s getting off just from feeling you rub against his thigh like a bitch in heat.

Can he feel how wet you are through the layers of fabric?

With how good each stroke feels, you wouldn’t be surprised if his trousers had a wet patch on them after you were through.

“Thought of you,” Changbin says in between kisses.

“Mmm?”

“Regretted not doing this earlier.” His hand on your waist squeezes tighter.

Faster and faster your hips pick up speed on his thigh. Just the right amount of pressure is hitting your clit, each rub feels so good.

Tiny moans come from your throat; they sound more like whimpers.

You’re so exhausted from the back to back journeys, but the sudden need to reach your release energizes you more than any mug of ale ever could.

“Who would have known you could be this dirty, little girl.”

That nickname again. It makes you keen and roll your hips faster.

The familiar coil of an orgasm winds up tighter and tighter in your lower stomach. It pulls at the base of your spine and tenses all of your muscles.

“ Shit, shit, shit, ” you murmur against Changbin’s lips. You’re no longer able to keep up with his long, wet kisses. Your mind is too focused on chasing your high.

It’s just out of your reach, dangling in front of your face.

Just a bit more. Just a little more.

“Read something somewhere,” he grunts.

You’re only able to respond by moaning a ‘uh-huh?’

He read something somewhere?

He nods against your mouth, those lips pulling into a sinful smirk once more before one of his hands slides up your body.

It crawls up your side, over your shoulder, up your neck, up your face until his fingertips gently caress the shell of your ear.

The second his touch gets as close to the point as your piercings would allow, he ever-so-gently, pinches the delicate skin and your orgasm rips through you like a wildfire through old trees. He presses his mouth against yours to swallow the cry you let out.

It’s different from the orgasms you’re used to. Your walls clamp down over nothing, electric shocks shooting down your spine into your toes.

Strained grunts pass from your throat after a few seconds while you try to catch your breath.

Changbin pulls away from your lips to rest his forehead against yours. His strong hands keeping you up and steady while you come down from your high.

Your head falls back against the wall again.

“By The Six,” you pant.

Changbin snickers. “I did not think you had it in you.”

Your hand comes up and smack his arm, he only laughs more.

“You read about Elves’ ears somewhere?”

“There are some interesting books littered around the fort, I have to say.”

You laugh in disbelief, your heart rate finally beginning to calm down and return to somewhat of a normal rhythm.

“Give me one moment and I can–”

“Nay,” he cuts you off. “You are going to sleep.”

Your eyes snap open. “What? No, I can–”

“You have been traveling for almost an entire day, you are going to sleep.”

“Changbin–”

Before you can answer again, he leans down and hoists you up over his shoulder. You yelp and cling onto his tunic.

“Sleep.”

“Fine.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #changbin x reader #seo changbin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #lee felix x reader #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #i.n x reader #hyunjin x reader #animals without direction #stray kids fantasy au

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jinkicake · 1 year

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Will you write jealousy hcs for Connie, jean, Eren, and armin (either they’re jealous or reader is jealous?)

Armin, Connie, Eren, Jean, Reiner x Reader

A/N: Of course!!!! Let me know if you’d like me to write more for this!!! I love jealousy shit! I’m sorry but I also had to include Reiner like..... I just had to. This is also a good part of a zodiac ramble, sorry.

WC - 2.1k

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Armin Arlert

Let’s get one thing clear, Armin is a scorpio (!!!A WATER SIGN!!!). He needs to have you all to himself like he has to be your priority……

Armin is highly sensitive when it comes to his emotions and will get jealous very easily. He won’t show how he is feeling or act on it right away since he does have a level head on his shoulders but, he’ll 100% be feeling it.

He can get jealous of anyone and everyone, he hates the idea of anyone but him being close to you. In a normal way (and possessive fun way heheh), Armin is very protective and will always have a watchful eye on you. It doesn’t matter if he is in a conversation with someone else or he’s working on something important, if you’re near him then he will immediately be distracted. Little glances will be thrown your way while he writes in his notebook or he might just move to sit next to you entirely.

In the heat of the moment (when he is feeling his jealousy at its worst), he’ll act calm and unbothered but that can’t be further from the truth!!! Deep down, he’s fucking furious ((not at you -obvi- but the person approaching you)). In almost little time at all, he’ll find a way to remove you from whatever situation you’re in.

Armin would even get jealous of Mikasa or Eren, not in a romantic way but in a you’re spending way too much time with your friends and he needs your attention way! He gets jealous soooooo easily and will turn into a big pouty mess because of it. Like yeah, he’s so fucking pissed that he’ll also need tons of affection fron you to soothe the ache he’s feeling kekekeke

On the other handddddd,,, when you get jealous,, Armin gets really nervous…. and anxious?

Like he wants nothing more than to fix the reason why you are feeling jealous. He’d hate to know that he made you feel that way,,,,

If it’s someone giving him too much attention, he puts a proper amount of distance between him and them. If his work has taken too much time away from you, he’ll set distinct time slots where he will spend with you.

Armin is very sweet, a gentle boyfriend so he’ll be sure to make it up to you whenever you get all green and filled with envy!!

But also,,,,, there’s a part inside of him that swells up with pride at how possessive you are over him heheheh Scorpios love loyal s/os!!!!

Connie Springer

Connie,,,, fav bald-headed dumbass, is a male Taurus (and coming from one taurus, a male taurus is the reddest of flags that there is). He’s very stubborn and very perceptive about how he is feeling as soon as he feels it. Connie might pretend to laugh something off or act as if he doesn’t care about it but, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He doesn’t allow himself to get jealous. It’s almost like in his own stubbornness, he will push his feelings down because then he thinks he won’t have to deal with them. That method never works and he’s usually left with his stupid frustrations and sometimes gives you the cold shoulder while trying to figure out what to do with them.

It’s like.. Connie is very clingy (not in a negative way!), and he enjoys being around you and hanging out with you. The two of you are always doing chores together and enjoying each other’s company. However, there will be a point when you start to recognize his clinginess as a sign of his jealousy. This can be seen when he doesn’t part from you ever even when you two have two different things that you each need to be doing. The moment he pulls away from this clinginess is when you have a problem!

As soon as the clingiest ends then comes the ignoring!!! It can be extremely difficult to deal with a petty!Connie but, as long as you keep a clear head and calmly ask him what is wrong and get to the bottom of his hurt feelings then it ends quickly.

It’s best to get this feeling of anger out of the way quickly because when taurus become hurt, they will always remember that pain!

Okay…. But when you get jealous, Connie thinks it is the funniest thing in the world. Not because you are upset or uncomfortable but because he can’t understand why you are feeling jealous, like, does he not prove time and time again his unconditional love for you?

He always spends his free time with you and makes sure to keep your needs and desires first in his mind. Your jealousy truly comes as a shock to him and, he might just laugh when you let him know how you feel.

Howeverrrrr, he will very quickly apologize and make you feel better when he finds out how hurt you’ve been feeling. Taurus are very attentive and when a male taurus cares, he will make sure that you feel you’re very best.

Despite being a red flag, Connie is the greenest red flag ive ever seen!

Eren Jaeger

Oh…. Eren….. He’s fucking crazy. This man is literally a male Aries like…… be careful. Despite being driven and courageous, he’s also extremely desperate and lashes out when pushed to the edge. It’s very easy to tell when he is jealous since it happens so often.

His type of jealousy is one that needs to be matched with patience. You have such a strong hold over him, unmatchable power, that he can’t fight no matter how hard he tries. He can’t help but want to make sure he’s the only significant factor in your life and he will monopolize all your time to ensure this (what a possessive thing).

Howeverrrrrr don’t worryyyy, it is a good thing that Eren gets jealous because that means he really loves youuuuu~ And his intentions are relatively pure, okay?

There are times when he can be nonchalant, when Eren can swallow his bitter jealousy and just ignore you until it goes away. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t go away. If you get upset with him over this petty conflict, he’ll quickly come to his senses and beg for your forgiveness and attention. It’s like he’s all tough until he realizes that he’s made you upset LOL

Eren can be very sweet and genuine, you’ll never have to guess with him since he can be so easy to read (as long as you know him well), and he’ll always fiercely protect you no matter what. It’ll be easy to rest knowing you’re his first priority.

UGH, but the other way around though…. When you get jealous, it sends his pride and ego through the roof like he will get so cocky and hideous (so hot) about it.

Yes, it makes him feel good knowing that you’re getting protective of him and he finds it hot. Eren is a relatively simple creature, what can I say?

He’ll make sure to ease your jealousy, after he’s gotten a proper amount of it, and he doesn’t half-ass this either!!! In his own way, he’ll tease you and poke you just enough that you get mad but nothing too extreme. The second he notices that you’re starting to feel uncomfortable, he stops and grabs you in his arms.

Your jealousy made him feel good and now, in return, he’s going to kiss your ass (literally).

If you ever feel like shit from getting jealous, just know that feeling won’t last long because Eren will most definitely make it up to you.

Jean Kirstein

Jean is much like Eren, given that they’re both Aries. He’s hardworking and extremely caring but, also short-tempered. Fighting with someone explosive and stubborn like Jean is like lighting a match in the middle of an oil spill,, everything will go to shit quickly. It’s not like he wants to lash out at you or fight with you (because really, it’s the last thing he wants) but jealousy is such a wretched feeling and Jean has a very hard time controlling it.

Yes, he gets jealous very easily and it is also very easy to tell when he is jealous. Jean gets loud and expressive, making sure that his voice booms so that you can hear him. If your attention isn’t on him then he will very quickly make it so that it is.

Jean naturally gets jealous of anything but, can you blame him? He’s dramatic, he wants to be the center of your world! He will not stand another person giving you attention, it just rubs him the wrong way. Still, most of the time, Jean can ignore his jealousy and subdue it just long enough to get himself away from whoever is pissing him off.

It’s very easy to combat his jealousy, just as easy as it is for him to get jealous. Just give the fire sign attention, that’s it. A little extra affection always does the trick hehe.

If you just stroke his arm and play with his hair for half of a second, Jean is instantly recovered and puffing his chest in the air like he wasn’t even jealous before. He’s a sweet thing, really,,,,

Oh… when you get jealous, it’s kind of a problem. Aries men are creatures of habit, they can do one thing or another while you can’t do either of the things….

If you’re jealous about something, there’s a good chance that Jean (if he’s swept up in the attention enough) won’t notice. You’ll have to confront him with your feelings and even then, he might just brush you off.

Only if he can really see the hurt on your face or just how insecure you are feeling (which he can do easily since he kisses the ground you walk on) then he will stop exactly what he is doing.

Like if he’s surrounded by cadets all gushing over him, he’s going to have a hard time pushing them away BUT, if he knows you are feeling jealous then he will shove them away with ease.

At the end of the day, your happiness is most important to him!! Always!

Reiner Braun

Reiner…. My sweet psychopath…. Is a Leo male, do I need to say anything more about this? (no? I don’t think I do?)

His jealousy can be a bit tedious since he tries his hardest to submerge the feeling but ends up getting choked by it. He doesn’t mean to, but, he might take the frustrations from his jealousy out on you. Not in any harsh way but, he might just ignore you and push you away just to make you push him back and fight him to prove how much you care about him…. Reiner is difficult, we all know this.

Given, not just his sign, but his entire history and background, it is no surprise that Reiner is so protective of you. He cherishes you and loves you incredibly hard.

He might not be the easiest to read but when he gets jealous it’s kinda in your face... He’ll hover around you, mildly snooping, as he asks you questions about what you’re doing or who you’re going to be with. Oh! You’re on the phone? Who are you talking to? Why do you have to talk to Eren? Reiner does this in such a smooth way that it comes across as him being curious (which he is) but, you can also see the twitch in his fingers at someone else having your attention.

Luckily, his open wounds are easy to fix. A little reassurance goes a long way and can prevent a really big explosion of emotions. Stroke his ego a bit (and other places if you’d like) and let him know how much you adore him and love him,,,, Reiner really needs it-

Unlike the rest of these fools, despite being a fire sign, I can’t see Reiner entertaining your jealousy. If this man knows you are feeling upset and insecure, he will fix this the second he realizes it.

Any doubt that you have, any fear lingering in your mind, will be squashed by his love and affection. There’s literally nothing Reiner can’t talk you out of, he always makes you feel content in your relationships.

His favorite thing is to just hold you. When his words don’t work, he will always rely on his touch to make you melt into his arms. He’s so sweet when he’s not trying to k!ll everyone, ugh-

You’ll rarely get jealous with Reiner because he doesn’t ever do anything to make you jealous. He’ll never test your feelings or get too close to another person because you’re the only one for him.

#armin arlert x reader #connie springer x reader #eren jaeger x reader #jean kirstein x reader #reiner braun x reader #aot x reader #armin x you #connie x you #eren x you #jean x you #reiner x you #aot x y/n #aot x you #aot x gn!reader #i got sleepy halfway while editing this so..... i hope it is alright #word vomit... zodiac vomit...

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