#the 'stop sending me asks about this now' comment doesn't make much sense if you think there was only two asks lol. I'm preetty sure
Note
Spencer Reid x Read fic. Reid and Reader are friends, like best friends. Reader is always offering Reid donuts and listening to his fun facts and info dumps. It's one of those, they both like each other, but also are convinced the other doesn't like them.
Spencer is taking care of a slightly drunk reader whose grandmother called and asked why they're not engaged when they're younger sibling is married and expecting a child. At some point Spencer makes his ever classic comment about how it's safer to kiss and drunk reader, before being able to think, kisses Spencer. I hope that made sense.
OOPS I DID EXACTLY THAT
Safer to Kiss (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader
Word Count: 2899
Warnings: Mentions of food, drinking alcohol, mild cursing, outdated expectations of women, and lots of pining
A/N: Hi I wrote this in 2 hours and was extremely entertained, please enjoy and if you send me a fic request I'll probably do it bc this is my hyperfixation hobby right now and very much keeping the demons at bay xD @bxm-1012 thank you for dropping by my inbox! I am VERY tempted to make a part 2 of this, I hope you enjoy! c:
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The whole expiration date thing that women faced was, in your humble opinion, complete and utter bullshit. Here you were, slowly approaching thirty (definitely still told people you were twenty-five, when, in fact, you were actually twenty-eight), and the biological clock was ticking. No, you didn’t want kids. Not right now, anyway. Not when you were only two years into your career as a profiler for the FBI’s prestigious Behavioral Analysis Unit. Not when you still had tons of things to check off your bucket list - go to Europe, visit an independent bookstore in every state, pilot a helicopter.
And you didn’t buy into that whole ‘once a woman hits thirty, her stock plummets’ crap. Not usually, anyway.
But Nan’s phone calls always left you questioning your existence.
Back home in Ohio, your little sister, Kendra, had just announced her pregnancy. Three years younger than you (ironically, the age you told everyone you were), and married to a power plant manager, Kendra was living the dream of a woman from the 1950s. You tried your best not to look down on it, to wish for more for her - but Kendra was happy. She’d always wanted to be a mother, and you couldn’t imagine anyone better suited for the role. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be a wife and a mother, to devoting one’s life to it. You reminded yourself of that every time you spoke to Kendra. You especially reminded yourself of it every time you spoke to Nan.
That sympathetic tone your grandmother used when she said, “Oh, Button, you’ll find someone eventually, and you’ll be just as happy as Kenny” was like nails on a chalkboard. You resisted the urge to gag into your speakerphone and simultaneously rip your grandmother a new one. You wanted so badly to explain to her that you were perfectly fulfilled with your life.
You helped lock up bad guys on a weekly basis, you wanted to remind Nan. Your brain was one of few that had been chosen for a task force that caught criminals based on their behavior. It was amazing, working for the BAU, bouncing ideas off of your colleagues, finding a family within this small group of people that spent more than forty hours a week together.
Nan didn’t see it that way. She wanted you to be just like Kendra. She wanted you to have that white picket fence in the suburbs, with a broad-shouldered husband and two little tykes running at your feet. Domestic bliss just wasn’t in the cards for you, you’d decided. And that was okay.
You were still reeling from your conversation with Nan the night before when you walked in to work on Monday morning. It was Derek who caught the raging RBF first. “Woah, pretty girl. Pump. Your. Brakes.” He said, halting you just as you entered the BAU’s bullpen, holding a hand up to stop you.
“Good morning to you, too, Derek,” You flashed him a phony grin, and he rolled his eyes.
“And you’re grumpy this morning… why, exactly?” Derek asked, turning to walk beside you, essentially escorting you to your desk.
“Because I’m allowed to be?” You proffered, shrugging your shoulders, not really wanting to talk about it with him. You loved Derek - hell, you loved all your coworkers - but he was not the person you wanted to go to with these thoughts. You didn’t really want to talk to anyone about it, actually. You just wanted to ride the cranky train until it came to a complete stop.
Emily was returning from the kitchenette with a fresh mug of coffee and decided that the conversation concerned her as well. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Y/L/N’s wearing her cranky pants this morning,” Derek filled her in.
“Oh, those so don’t match your blouse, Y/N,” Emily teased, winking at you with a smirk before looking at Derek. “Cut her some slack. No one likes Mondays.”
Derek held up his palms defensively. “Alright, alright. Forgive me for being a concerned citizen.”
“It’s appreciated,” You told Derek genuinely before setting your bag down at your desk. “But unnecessary.”
It wasn’t until later in the morning, around ten, that anyone bothered you about your obvious bad mood again. This time it was Spencer, the one person you couldn’t possibly be annoyed with. He rolled on his desk chair around the partition that separated your workspaces, holding his hand out expectantly, like he usually did this time of day.
Without speaking, you opened the bottom drawer of your desk and pulled out the white bag of mini powdered donuts that you always kept in stock. They were your guilty pleasure snack, and one of the first things you and Spencer bonded over when you started at the BAU two years ago. That, and the fact that you were the closest agents in age, was how you got along so well so quickly. Over several cases, varying in degrees of intensity, you and Spencer became really great friends. Best friends, actually.
There wasn’t anyone else in your life that you trusted more than Spencer Reid.
You opened the bag of powdered donuts and shook one haphazardly into Spencer’s palm, then grabbed one for yourself. Silently, you cheers-ed your donuts together, and ate them simultaneously, making weird-but-comfortable eye contact as you did.
“Derek says you’re in a bad mood today,” Spencer pointed out with a teasing smirk on his face. A smirk, and white sugar blanketing his upper lip.
“Derek’s full of shit,” you grinned after swallowing your snack, the smile on your face totally facetious. “I’m extremely happy.”
“I can tell,” Spencer snickered as you set the powdered donuts back in your snack drawer, closing it with a clank. You watched as he brought both of his legs up into his desk chair, crossing them like a kindergartner.
The action made your stomach flutter. You’d felt strongly about Spencer for a really long time, probably a year and half, if you had to try and pinpoint it. But there was no use in going down that road with him. For one thing, he was your best friend, and you didn’t want to risk flushing the best relationship in your life down the toilet. For another thing, you knew it was one hundred percent impossible that he could feel the same way.
“What’d you do this weekend?” Spencer asked, and you could tell by the question that he was trying to discover the source of your poor attitude.
“Stayed home, caught up on chores,” You said, crossing your knees and leaning back in your seat, your expression telling him that you knew exactly what he was doing. As much fun as playing mind games with Spencer was, you decided to throw him a bone. “Spoke to my grandmother on the phone last night.”
Spencer nodded understandingly. “Say no more,” he said with a chuckle. “She gave you the whole ‘when are you going to get married’ spiel again?”
You nodded. “Unfortunately. I usually don’t let it bother me, but for some reason it’s just, like, lurking in the back of my mind today.” You shrugged your shoulders and exhaled through your nose. “What about you?” You asked.
“What about me?” Spencer arched a brow, and you rolled your eyes playfully.
“What’d you do this weekend?”
“Oh,” Spencer began, pursing his lips for a moment, like he was hesitant to tell you. “I actually went on a date.”
Your stomach flipped. “Oh yeah?” You choked out, forcing a smile. “Who with?”
“That girl, Lisa, from the coffee shop, the one you told me wouldn’t stop ‘ogling my boy band hair’,” Spencer held up air quotes when he repeated your words from memory.
You recalled the cute barista from the coffee shop just down the highway from Quantico, a popular morning stop for agents on their way to work. You tried to stop the jealousy from turning your blood into fire. “How was it?” You asked, trying to resist the urge to sit on the edge of your seat, trying not to hang on his every word.
Spencer shrugged his shoulders. “It was okay. She was very nice, but there just wasn’t…” he trailed off, gesticulating as the words failed to come to that supercomputer brain of his.
“It was like a donut without powdered sugar on it?” You suggested with a small chuckle.
“Yeah,” Spencer agreed, nodding, meeting your eyes and smiling, mildly amused. “Exactly.”
Spencer went back to his desk a few minutes later, and the rest of the day went on. It was quiet, especially for a day at the BAU. There were, weirdly enough, no open cases right now, so you spent the day catching up on paperwork, which there was always plenty of.
You caught the elevator about ten minutes after five with Spencer in tow, and you held the door open for him. It was just the two of you as you made the descent from the sixth floor, and Spencer leaned against the back wall. “Plans tonight?” He asked.
“Not really, no,” You said, shaking your head. “Why, you want to do something?” You asked.
Spencer nodded. “There’s this landscape and nature photography exhibit at one of the galleries downtown,” he said. “Might be fun. There’s this artist, Milton Harvell, who takes photos of renowned locations around the world but zooms in on an obscure detail and gives the framed photograph to the person who correctly guesses the location.”
You smiled slowly at that. You loved it when Spencer went off on one of his tangents. You found it completely adorable. “It’s actually quite fascinating,” Spencer went on, an amused tone lining his voice, making it sound lighter. “Kind of like a Where’s Waldo, but in reverse. There was this one photograph he took of the Louvre in Paris, but he zoomed in really tightly on a young boy enjoying an ice cream cone. He even went so far as to edit the photograph to make it look like it was a different time of day. The four thousand and eighth person to view the photograph was the person who guessed the correct location.” Spencer’s head bobbed and he was smiling like an idiot.
God, you were down bad.
“Was the four thousand and eighth person… you?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him scrupulously and allowing a teasing grin to cross your face.
“The photo’s hanging in my living room,” he confirmed.
You laughed softly. “Will there be alcohol at this function?” You asked him, and he nodded.
That was all you needed to hear.
— — —
You and Spencer went straight to the art gallery from work, sharing a cab rather than bothering with your cars. You immediately bought a glass of red wine, and began to follow him around the gallery. You weren’t an art aficionado, not by any means, but you enjoyed looking at beautiful things, and you especially enjoyed spending time with Spencer that wasn’t hunched over a dead body or trying to map out a killer’s comfort zone. It was a rare occurrence, so you tried to soak it all up as much as possible.
Plus, your Nan’s words were still lingering in the back of your head. It’ll happen for you someday, Button. Men just don’t find you strong, career types attractive. Maybe you should soften up your look a little.
You downed your first glass of wine within ten minutes, and caught one of the catering staff passing out champagne almost instantaneously after. The champagne fizzled down your throat as you strolled with Spencer through the art gallery, listening intently as he went on about each piece, rattling off whatever contextual knowledge he had. But you were a little bit biased; you could listen to him list different types of soil and find it interesting.
After the glass of champagne came another glass of champagne, and by the time you made it to the main exhibit Spencer wanted to see, your cheeks were flushed. It wasn’t that you couldn’t hold your alcohol; rather, it just made you a little bit silly. Your inhibitions were lowered, just like it would affect anyone. But with your arm looped through Spencer’s and your Nan’s nagging message still in the back of your mind, you were perhaps a little more loose than usual.
As Spencer examined the exhibit, you tapped your foot, unable to keep still, and scanned the open space. Your eyes landed on another patron of the gallery, a conventionally handsome man about your age, and you found yourself unlooping your arm from Spencer’s, subconsciously not wanting to appear taken.
“Are you gonna go talk to that guy?” Spencer asked, and you snapped your eyes back to his. “Because you can, if you want to. Don’t let me stop you.”
It was almost like he was daring you to. Spencer’s jaw seemed tense as you examined his expression, the way his gorgeous brown eyes darted from the man and back to you. “You don’t mind?” You asked, arching a brow, almost like a challenge.
Spencer shook his head, his lips pursed. “Not at all. I’ll wait here for you?”
You nodded, and turned towards the man. There wasn’t any harm in getting a guy’s number, right? Your feelings for Spencer were a lost cause, anyway. Plus, as Nan liked to point out, you weren’t getting any younger.
The man’s eyes locked on yours and he seemed to understand that you were about to speak with him. He met you halfway, and you shook his hand. “Malcolm Greene,” he introduced himself, and you spouted off your own name in return. “You’re not here with that guy?” He asked, jerking his chin over to Spencer. Your eyes followed Malcolm’s, and you saw Spencer with his body turned towards the photography exhibit, but his head turned to the side, as if he were keeping an eye on you with his peripheral vision.
“Yeah, I am,” you said, and Malcolm’s head inclined to the side. “I am. I’m here with that guy,” you panicked, suddenly realizing in that moment that you weren’t interested in speaking with Malcolm. No, you had absolutely no interest in spending your time with any other man but Spencer Reid. “I just, uh…” Your cheeks flushed, and you stifled an awkward laugh, anxiously trying to come up with some excuse. “I came over here to tell you that your shoe was united.”
Your eyes followed Malcolm’s down to his shoes, which were loafers. Laceless loafers. Malcolm’s mouth opened as if to point this out to you, but you managed to stammer words out first. “Ok, well, have a great night, goodbye!” You turned on your heel and marched back over to Spencer, your cheeks red as you reached out for his arm.
Spencer furrowed his brows down at you as your arm gripped his. “I need another glass of wine,” you confessed.
Twenty minutes later, after two more glasses of wine and a very watchful eye out for Malcolm, you and Spencer left the art gallery. You were awfully giggly on the cab ride back to your place, cracking puns and humming along to the radio intermittently. Spencer seemed to be amused, but more so concerned with getting you home in one piece.
As he walked you up the stairs to the door of your apartment building, he was teasing you about your conversation with Malcolm, which you still hadn’t told him completely about. “I still can’t believe you didn’t get his number. You were talking with him for exactly two minutes and twelve seconds. What, in that short of an amount of time, could have turned you off to him so quickly?” He pondered aloud, a playfully mocking tone lining his voice.
“Listen, I shook his hand! I had my fun!” You exclaimed, bursting into laughter as you leaned against the handrail of the stairs that led up to the door. “Good, clean fun!”
“You know, the number of pathogens that are passed during a handshake is staggering. It’s actually safer to kiss someone,” Spencer rattled off, and your eyes snapped to meet his.
You don’t know what took you over. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way the street lamps reflected in the irises of his eyes, or how you stood just a few inches away from him. Maybe it was his stupid tweed blazer, how he looked like a tenured art history professor despite barely being thirty years old. Maybe it was the way he smelled like pine and printer ink, a combination you wouldn’t have ever thought was attractive.
But when Spencer said that, you stood up on your toes and kissed him. It was slow and innocent at first, until it passed the border into lingering, and Spencer’s hands found your hips, pulling your body closer to his. There was a cool night breeze that filtered through the space between your bodies, and by the time you pulled your lips away from Spencer’s, and slowly opened your eyes, you were completely red in the face and breathless.
No, that certainly wasn’t the safest choice you could have made.
——
read part 2 here
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#basketonthedoorstepofthefbi#criminal minds spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid x fem!baureader
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Sorry for adding to your pile of requests 😭 quick question: so like how many requests can one person give before it gets annoying 🙈🙈
What do you think of post-game Tav hyping up Dammon’s forge saying it’s the reason they could beat the absolute. OR OR some jealousy HCs but specifically for late Act 2 when Tav sees Dammon lowkey flirt with Karlach/mutual pining shit.
One or the other! IDK I can’t get this man out of my head.
When my requests are open? Absolutely fair game, especially for great requests like this. While I like the idea of the first one, the second prompt gave me more to work with and is similar to an idea I've had in mind since I first made this blog. I hope you enjoy and send in more requests when they open back up :)
When you get jealous of Dammon 'flirting' with Karlach
You'd been travelling with your group for a few months now, all of you growing closer and forming bonds in your own way with each other and the others you've run into
One person you feel you've had quite the connection with is the handsome tiefling blacksmith Dammon
Now you're all here in the shadow cursed lands it's the perfect time to reconnect with the charming man, particularly as you take Karlach and some infernal metal to him
He'd always been friendly with you, smiling and offering discounts on his wares, his calm and confident demeanor drawing you in
Soon you found yourself spending more time with Dammon, joining him for a drink once his work was done for the day or bringing him new materials you found while traversing the wilderness
It didn't take long for you to fall for the tiefling
What you didn't expect was the way he'd look at Karlach, the subtle flirting as he worked on fixing her infernal engine
You could feel your own heart break as the visit went on, even Karlachs endless excitement at being able to touch others didn't cheer you up after she held Dammons hand
However, Karlach was oblivious to the way you excused yourself as soon as you could, ducking out of the forge and leaving to go have space
And you were oblivious to the way Dammon asked Karlach if she knows how he might win you over
What you'd misconstrued as flirting was just a genuine sense of excitement on Dammons part to work with the rare substance again, and his stumbling over words was his failed attempt of trying to avoid flirting
There's no way for you to know that though, as you look out over the water and cuddle with Scratch
Things carry on much like normal from then, other than you avoiding Dammon and Karlachs endless excitement over being able to touch others
It only took a few days for the blacksmith to wonder what's keeping you, though initially he tried to brush it off as you being busy keeping everyone alive, and he must admit he misses you
After a week he left his forge to try and find you, however he found Karlach first and surely she'll know where you are
You come back to your campsite only to see the two speaking, stopping right in your tracks until Karlach waves to you, and you turn heel and leave
Dammon doesn't know what's going on in your mind, but he seems to realise part of what's happening by now, quickly taking chase and calling your name
You eventually find yourself stuck in a dead end, only you and Dammon around as he catches up and tries to catch his breath
It's a hard conversation for him to start, asking why you're avoiding him with the cutest frown on his face
His frown only deepens at any comments you might make about him preferring Karlach
It takes the both of you a short while to work through the miscommunication, neither of you realising the others feelings at first
Once Dammon does reveal his feelings to you, trying to assure you he doesn't want Karlach, it's easier to reveal your own in turn
Once you two resolve things though, it's easy to fall back into your old routine
Except this time it includes you and Dammon sneaking many more kisses when the others aren't looking
#bri answers#baldurs gate 3#bg3#baldurs gate 3 x reader#bg3 x reader#baldurs gate 3 dammon#bg3 dammon#dammon x reader#dammon x tav#dammon x you
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Hi I was wondering if you could do a Maknae line - having a argument and making up after a fight ? Thank you 🤍 love your work
maknae line + fighting with them
a/n: of course! i’m so glad you’re liking my work! this was a fun write, but writing for vernon for this scenario was sooo difficult for me lmfoa?!?! anyways pt.2 of them making up can be found here and hyung line's version is right here! c: please leave likes/comments/reblogs if you enjoyed!
w/c: 2.1k
seokmin
in large arguments like this, he’s just as much of a mess as you are. you’re both emotional, and while some might think that large arguments like this are impossible between you just because of how soft-spoken he is, they’re so, so wrong. the fact that you’re both so emotionally driven heightens arguments like this, even though they may be rare. you’d both be crying for sure, yet neither of you relent because you want this issue to resolved and you’re both too stuck up in how you’re feeling individually to think about compromises and solutions. it’ll just go back and forth for literally ages until one of you just can’t find it in you to even cry or yell back anymore. once you've both reached your breaking points, it'll be pin-drop silence. neither of you would be saying a word, the only noises coming from the shaky inhales and exhales. eventually seokmin would get up and grab himself a glass of water, retreating to your bedroom afterwards. you use these moments to think about your next actions, but with your mind all foggy like this, all you really want to do is sleep. you debate for a few moments if you should choose to sleep in the guest room or follow seokmin and sleep with him. your head is telling you that maybe you need space but your heart is telling you that you can't bear to be this distant from him in a time like this, and quickly follow in his footsteps, crawling into your spot on the bed next to him without a word. seokmin doesn't speak either, but the way that he shuffles just a little closer to you under the covers sends you the message that things will be okay.
mingyu
i can see him getting *really* worked up by arguments just because he tends to get blinded by his own emotions. when you guys are in an especially big argument, he’d definitely forget completely about what you guys are even fighting over and will try to nitpick at your words because he just lets everything get to your head. oh you want him to change some of his behaviors? that must mean you hate him. and let me tell you this man is SO stubborn that once his mind is set on one idea, as long as he’s angry and heated like this, he will NOT relent at all (thinking abt that one time jeonghan talked abt an argument he had with mingyu where they were yelling so much that jeonghan lost his voice but mingyu kept going help). he’ll be so stuck in his head and it all just builds up and you’d be getting sososo frustrated it would literally bring tears to your eyes and with everything that he’s saying and everything that you’re thinking, nothing is making sense because there’s just so much going on. at some point you feel like you can’t even comprehend the words coming out of his mouth so you cut him off, saying, “mingyu i can’t do this anymore,” and that’ll make him stop dead. you’d realize he thinks you’re talking your relationship in general, and while the silence is thick, you clarify, “this argument. i can’t think right now,” you murmur. you realize that mingyu’s breath is labored and that this entire fight has really taken a toll on you both, and he takes a moment to respond. “okay,” is all he says, and he doesn’t move when you go to the bedroom to grab a pillow and blanket because he only thinks you’re going to get into bed. when you walk out and place the two on the couch, he catches on, quickly catching your wrist before you can lay down. “what are you doing,” he’d ask. “going to sleep?” you shoot back. “okay well sleep on the bed.” you’d shake your head. “i want to clear my mind.” mingyu tugs at your wrist, “okay well do that on the bed.” like i said, mingyu is STUBBORN he definitely won’t relent until you finally agree to sleep on the bed with him, even if you two aren’t pressed up against each other like usual.
minghao
i said this earlier but the yelling-in-each-other’s-faces kind of arguments don’t happen with minghao. with the others, those kind of arguments may be rare but with minghao they are quite literally nonexistent. that doesn’t mean you two don’t argue or have issues, but having them emotionally escalate to that level with either of you can’t even think is just not something minghao or you will let happen. the worst of your arguments are still quite tolling though: you and minghao would start talking faster and maybe not all of your words are thought through but whenever either of you realizes what’s going on, you’d take it as your chance to just stay quiet for a few moments, collecting your thoughts. tonight, you’re both frustrated and emotional and you know that this isn’t the best time to have this kind of conversation. eventually, minghao will say what you’re both thinking: “i don’t think we should talk about this right now.” you agree with him, you know you do, but you’re so upset and desperate to fix this issue and for once you speak without thinking, “then when will we?” and the words come out harsher than you’d like. minghao gives you That Look and you’d falter. “in the morning,” he tells you, “we should sleep now.” he can tell you’re hesitant so he walks across the room to where you’re standing to hold your hand and gently pull you to the bedroom. he understands that you’re still tentative and doesn’t push you to do anything you don’t want, but is still insistent on the fact that he wants the two of you to at least still sleep in the same bed.
seungkwan
petty as fuck. kind of like mingyu in the sense that he would definitely nitpick at your words and make the argument far more stretched out than it should be. you love him and all off his dramatics but in some situations it’s just too much, and this happens to be one of those rare occasions. you’re just trying to get your point across and you get the feeling he isn’t really listening to you—it's infuriating to say the least. you're both upset and frustrated and seungkwan is too angry, too caught up in the moment to catch on. it's when your tears stop steadily falling and you end up bawling into your hands that seungkwan seems to sober up. you're crying out so loud and so hard hat neither you can think, seungkwan standing still on the opposite side of the room while you just bury your head in your hands, trying your best to take in deep breaths and ease yourself. seungkwan is, least to say, astounded with himself. he's still upset, still angry, but the only thought at the forefront of his mind is the fact that you're literally sobbing your eyes out and it's his fault. he's not sure how it came to this point, since the moments before you crying were pretty much just a raging blur for him. now is seungkwan's time to step back and reflect on anything and everything he's said in the past few minutes, eventually making the decision to walk over to you and place a hand on your shoulder, hoping it'll help ground you, help calm you down. and much to his tentative relief, it works, and you're able to start muttering words about how you're too tired to talk about this anymore, sinking into seungkwan's arm further. he feels his soul nearly crush at the sight, pushing any anger towards this situation to the back of his mind before he's pulling you along with him to the bedroom. "sleep," he'd instruct, opening the covers for you, and when you look at him with puffy cheeks and glossy eyes, he sighs heavily, "we'll fix things in the morning, i promise." as you both slip under the covers, you drift off to sleep with the welcoming thought that you know seungkwan always lives up to his promises.
vernon
vernon in a serious argument is reserved. it almost pisses you off how he's just...taking everything in. you'd be talking endlessly about your feelings and trying to discuss the issue and he wouldn't even look at you, having his eyes trained on the ground intently. after what feels like ages of you just pretty much talking to yourself, you sigh in defeat, crossing your arms over each other as you blink furiously, trying not to cry. "can you at least pretend you care?" you spit out without thinking, and you regret it for a moment but then you don't, not if it has vernon looking up at you, seemingly more reactive to your words right now than in the past ten minutes. "i—i'm sorry, i'm—i'm thinking," he'd stutter a bit before looking you in the eyes properly, "i care, you know i do, i just—this is a lot." you want to cry even more now, not because you think he's lying but because you know he's telling the truth—it's glaringly obvious to you now that this issue is, in fact, quite a lot and you know vernon likes to take things slowly. you're honestly a little desperate to get this whole situation resolved right now, but you're tired and vernon is tired and you don't know how you're going to make it work. vernon notices this doubt on your face, stepping forward to take your hand. "i'm so sorry," he'd murmur again when you struggle to meet his eyes, "i just—it's late, and i'm trying to think about everything and it's not making sense right now and i think we need to talk about this later." you want to frown and protest, say that no! we need to talk about this now! but you know vernon's right and that if you keep this up you'll keep going in circles. you'd let out a short hum of approval before letting vernon pull you by the hand to the bedroom. he notices your hesitation to get into bed next to him, but he gives you a look which is filled with so much sincerity that any thoughts you have of sleeping on the couch are withering away.
chan
he’d be very mature about most arguments, but that doesn’t mean he’s the best at controlling his emotions when things get abnormally out of hand. you aren’t sure when this argument escalated from just going back and forth to pretty much yelling at each other from across the room but it happens and you’re not thinking straight—not seeing straight, definitely not through the tears in your eyes. chan would be glossy eyed too, and this whole situation is less about you two being stubborn and more about you both trying to communicate your emotions in it’s full capacity. normally that would be good—you and chan are heavy on being honest about your emotions but when both of you are thinking and feeling so many things, it’s hard to comprehend, let along discuss how you’re feeling. it’s after you go on a long, long tangent about something when chan doesn’t reply, kind of just staring at the floor with a clouded expression. he’d be trying to formulate a response but his brain would be fried and all he can think about his how he painfully wants this issue to be resolved, but fights back the thought that you guys can’t do that right now—not when you’re both so foggy minded. “i’m sorry,” you’d finally whisper, looking down at the ground as well, not finding it in you face chan. “i don’t think we can talk about this right now,” chan says in response with a heavy sigh. “let’s just—“ he takes a shaky breath to run a hand down his face to wipe away some stray tears, “—let’s talk about this in the morning.” you’d follow him to the bedroom and the thought of sleeping in the living room crosses your mind, but when you see chan crash down into the mattress, obviously exhausted, you just *know* your heart won’t let you do that. instead, you crawl into the bed next to him, and while you have a feeling a bit of distance would be good, you can’t help but curl up by chan’s side tentatively, sinking further into the sheets when he grips you closer without a word.
#maknae line x reader#vernon x reader#lee chan x reader#dino x reader#mingyu x reader#seokmin x reader#dk x reader#dokyeom x reader#minghao x reader#xu minghao x reader#the8 x reader#seungkwan x reader#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#svt reactions#seventeen x reader#answered#✰ anon#💌 drabbles
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Arranged Marriage
(Part 01 / ?)
(Niko Omilana x f! reader)
Warnings : None
Summary : In order to be the grateful daughter, you have to comply with your father's request. But what is it?
"WHAT!?!!?", you stand up abruptly, question whether you had misheard the sentence.
"Y/n, you're gonna listen to your father, we're not going to argue over something as trivial as this". Your stepmum, Ryona, interjects rudely as she pulls a chair and sits down.
"TRIVIAL?", you exclaim.
Why did she care, you ask? Nope, I don't know either.
"Dad, why are you doing this? I mean give me a proper reason at least. You can't spring up a topic this serious and tell me to go with it." You try pleading with your dad, but he remains unfazed at your outburst.
"We've always wanted the best for you y/n. I've given you everything you wanted, done everything you asked me to. And when I tell you to say yes... You question me as your father?"
Your eyes drop to the floor. It was true. Your father was an amazing man and an even better parent. A sense of shame crawls through your spine as you realise just how much you owe him. He had done so much for you, yet you couldn't agree to one thing he had asked?
"Dad please, this is so stupid. I don't want to be married right now. I just started my career-", you reason.
"Making little videos isn't a fucking career, Y/n. Maybe you're pulling a few hundred dollars here and there, but that doesn't mean that this is a stable job. Do you even know how embarrassing it is to tell people that our daughter makes 'videos' on the internet. I mean even the phrasing of it is absolutely hysterical and shameful!" Ryona finishes her comment with a quick glance at her husband, motioning for him to speak.
"Y/n, please... ", Your dad looks at you with hopeful eyes. What you failed to notice was how that man's eyes filled up with tears as you sighed and started walking towards your room.
.
.
.
The following week was uncomfortable. Whenever you came down for breakfast, they'd stop talking. They'd drop whatever the hell the were doing and wander off somewhere else. I mean, you were used to Ryona pulling shit like this all the damn time, but not your dad.
He avoided you like the plague. This had gone to such an extent that the old man couldn't bear to be in the same room with you, avoiding your eyes everytime you tried to speak.
Perhaps it was how they treated you, or perhaps how that bizarre idea had implanted itself into your head. You weren't interested in anyone, and god forbid to say that you didn't have any personal goals to hit. You'd love to have a family, you'd love to have someone at home, just for the sake of it. You'd build the family you could never get as a child.
But how?
The were talking about marrying you off.
Or that's how you heard it.
Yeah, Definitely marrying you off.
But how does an option like that sound so much better than living in this hell hole.
Fucking hell.
It's been one month, that your dad and your stepmum have completely iced you out.
.
.
.
"I'll do it". You state, matter of factly, raising an eyebrow as your 'parents' turn towards you. They weren't gullible, they knew what you wanted to say.
"Y-you'll marry him? You'll marry Nikolas!", Your dad pulls you into a bone-crushing hug which you don't return. How could he be so happy at the thought of his wife sending their child away to a man they don't even know.
Well, they know him. You don't.
He's the son of your dad's bestfriend. Of course the know each other to an extent.
Whatever.
You had dug your own grave, might as well get it over with.
"But, I can't just say that I'll get married to him? He has to agree in order-".
"The boy has agreed a month ago. It was YOU who kept stalling the wedding. How long were you planning on doing this? Don't you see that we have an image to maintain? Now stop your wailing and mentally prepare yourself. You'll both get married in a week's time. I'm calling the Omilanas and confirming". Ryona makes herself very clear, making it painfully obvious that they were going to get you married forcefully if you didn't agree otherwise. Or else how could they manage a whole venue within such an acute time frame?
You nod weakly and head back upstairs, feeling defeated. Your future was written already, your yes meant NOTHING.
.
.
.
You've heard of him. He's big on YouTube, people in his comments often ask him to collab with you. You'd be lying if you said your comments said otherwise.
Oh how'd the internet would have an absolute field trip if they found out that their two favorite creators were about to me married.
Well....married for the sake of marrying.
Married for the sake of a title.
Married for the sake of your father.
You look at the dress and accessories you had picked out and sigh into your hands. It was happening.
Your wedding........... was tomorrow.
#betasquad#beta squad#betasquad x reader#beta squad x reader#niko omilana#niko omilana x reader#sharky#sharky x reader#chunkz#chunkz x reader#king kenny#king kenny x reader#aj shabeel#aj shabeel x reader#ukyt#uk#ajshabeel#uk youtubers#ajshabeel x reader#arranged marriage
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good morning my beloveds! this is a bit of a surprise post, but i'm thinking it makes more sense to say this in a post now rather than copy and paste it for the heartbreaking number of people asking abt this in my inbox!
allow me to paraphrase the overall message of, at present, fifteen nearly identical messages in my inbox:
"hi blue. i'm wondering if you have any advice on how to deal with people not interacting with you anymore. i make all these posts and starter calls, i post memes, i answer drafts, i do everything in my power to make my dash a nice, happy place for people to feel comfortable enough to approach me for interactions and conversations, but nobody is doing anything. nobody is liking my posts, or commenting, or reblogging. my notifs are empty, and i feel really awful about it."
that's actually, word for word, what has been in my inbox for three days now. and i didn't know how to respond, because quite honestly, i have no advice for you. none except for this:
please, please, please start interacting with your mutuals some more.
i'm guilty of it myself. i go silent a lot, i've no idea why. however, i still make a good effort of trying to comment on people's posts, because that's what this place is. tumblr is a social media platform. we socialize on this platform. if we stop doing that, it ceases to be a social media platform.
but a single like can do so much for a person. sending a DM to do some plots, commenting on a post about how to make a grilled cheese REALLY special (i like to add pesto to mine!) or sending unprompted asks to a new mutual! it doesn't have to be massive. but we have stopped interacting with one another, and it really, really sucks. it's so disheartening, it really is, and if that happens to one person, they'll stop sending out notifs as well. and it'll expand, like ripples in a puddle.
it breaks my heart to see so many people facing this challenge. and i'm so sorry that i've been unable to provide a solid answer or suggestion. but the issue here is the community itself. it's a classic example of an individual issue expanding into a social one. if we stop communicating, if we stop socializing, on a SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM, then it's no longer a social media platform. we're no longer a community. we're just a bunch of people who like to write, and we're all on tumblr.
let's make it a resolution. in fact, a challenge. let's all agree to like a few posts each day. or comment on a friend's post, or send in a few memes, or randomly tag people in starters. it's not a massive effort, it's not a huge energetic loss. if we all did a small bit each day, i can guarantee that the dash would transform almost overnight into the community we all knew and loved and deserve! but we all need to be making that conscious choice to interact and communicate more often.
#psa.#ooc.#( it's been BUGGING ME for so long )#( i took a brief hiatus not two weeks ago )#( bc i thought i needed to fix my mentality )#( but the dash is just so exhausting )#( it feels like an office bullpen most of the time )#( we need to make things fun and interactive again )#( and we can )#( there's nothing stopping us )#( just go chat with people again )#( fuck the anxiety )#( if you're mutuals with someone )#( THEY WANT TO WRITE WITH YOU )#( it's so simple i stg )
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So today @juztscrollingthrough send me this video from 2009. 2009, the year Anthony said their friendship basically ended.
First part of the video where they ask "if their friendship ever been torn apart by a woman yet?" And Anthony immediately answer with "yeah his girlfriend right now" he laughs but it's obvious he thinks of it beforehand hence why he was so quick to answer to that. But Ian laughs at him. He either thinks Anthony is joking or he's not comfortable with Anthony talking about his girlfriend. And then when they ask if they have girlfriends Ian's face immediately falls as him and Anthony says yes. (Put a more closer look at the end) Now that's definitely not a "shy" look as the woman said in my eyes. It's clear that Ian is sad about it. But why? Is he sad that he had a girlfriend? Is he sad that they're talking about her in the show? Is he sad that Anthony has a girlfriend? That they can't spend enough time together now? And why didn't Anthony liked Ian's gf? As far as I know m****** and Ian is still in good terms. What was happening in Anthony's mind that made him uncomfortable? I don't wanna believe that™ woman but her story about this part looks like it's true. Anthony doesn't like Ian's gf and Ian doesn't like Anthony's. I get Ian not liking k**** but why Anthony doesn't like m******? Yeah i know that's none of ours business but it's too much of a subject now I can't stop but wonder about it. Cause we all now even if Ian threatened bad in the relationship he wouldn't tell anything. He himself said he wouldn't even understand if he put in emotional turmoil. Did something happen to make Anthony not happy? Also again why the fuck Ian is sad about them having girlfriends? He immediately puts it to Anthony by making a joke about the shy part with "oh Anthony is blushing now" but he wasn't shy it is so obvious Ian was sad. Ok on to the next part.
This part is more sadder. SAD AS FUCK. Cause here we see Anthony very openly and a little jokey but in all seriousness saying Ian that he doesn't enjoy doing editing the full time. He says "he lost the gladiator fight (this is a reference as they did fight about parts and Ian got the writing the script and him "stuck" with editing)" When the reporter confront Ian with "he wanted to do it too you're too controlling Ian" Ian looks so confused. Cause this is the first time he's hearing this and he's shocked and doesn't realize if that's a bit or serious he's looking between Anthony and the reporter awkwardly laughing. And Anthony hits him with "this is spousal abuse" Ian is confused licking his lips can't answer the reporter can't answer to Anthony he doesn't know what to say. Again we know Ian is not very open about his feelings and can't show them. That's a fact already. But in this moment we can see him can't hide his feelings and like showing his confusion. I think Ian's poker face improved after defy where he tried to act like everything is ok around the Smosh cast. In here it's still 2009, he's a young boy. And then Anthony says "I never told you but I'm very hurt by this." Referring the editing and the script writing. We know it's not a joke cause he repeats himself for Ian to hear it. Ian still can't answer but there's a little "awww" coming. He probably wants this to stop. Doesn't wanna talk about it anymore. His face is obvious but his mouth still can't make up words about how he's feeling. We see him relax a little when others laugh so he thinks it's not that serious it's not something big of a deal that makes Anthony leave. He's relaxed now and jokes about it. The others remind them that COMMUNICATION IS THE KEY. TALK TO EACH OTHER. Anthony then makes another comment "you never talk with me." He's serious about this too. We can see it because when Ian came to his senses and made that a joke too and give a funny accent apologize we can see Anthony is annoyed. This is him trying and Ian once again pushing his feelings aside and turning it into jokes. Which I think Anthony sees that jokes as "Ian didn't care about me, it was always a joke to him, he didn't care about me enough" when it's just Ian trying to make it a joke so he doesn't have to be open and sincere and talk about his feelings. (This boy needs therapy((STILL)) now that he "apologized" he immediately drops his face and sulk cause he's aware it's bad too, he knows it's cringe and he knows it annoys Anthony.
Meanwhile others are STILL trying to advise them to talk to each other. They ignore that as they talk between each other "we should go to Dr Phil" "or Tyra(not sure he literally talks inside his mouth)" others tells them to find each others love languages Anthony shakes his head as a no? Ian laughs? And again they end it with SPEAK TO EACH OTHER. Which we later saw that they actually didn't do that.
Someone in the server said something like "i can't believe how they managed to stretch that till 2017" tbh i really don't know too. Cause this conversation happened literally 14 years later too. Anthony still remembers it all. My only guess is the love and connection they had for each other. Ian didn't wanna talk about it, he didn't wanna do it because he didn't want Anthony to leave, I bet he had his own problems too but he put everything aside and put on a happy mask, acting like nothing bad is happening when everything bad is happening. He tried to act like everything is fine so Anthony won't leave. And Anthony didn't say anything or maybe tried a little but got ignored by Ian. So he didn't talk about it anymore because he didn't want to annoy Ian, and then later he thought Ian didn't care anymore, he was a bad person. I don't wanna assume their friendship it's not my place. But it's so obvious that communication was the key. And from the 2009 people were telling them to talk to each other. That they didn't listen. Ofc now that they came together they talk more about their feelings and they're more open to each other. At the time they were still young and still insecure probably. But every time i saw them coming together after 6 years. It made me think that they're actually soulmates. The universe wanted them together that's why Ian transferred to that school, that's why they met in 6th grade, that's why they became best friends. The universe tears them apart because they couldn't realize the magic of their relationship. But even after 6 years they're coming together and there's STILL a sparkle that's destiny. Their path might be separated in the road but they're back together and now they're closer than ever. I'm so glad.
"If it’s real love, then let it breathe. Let them be free as a person, and if they come back to you, then that’s how you know it’s always been real. This is what you call “freedom love” in order to let them go and be free—it’s coming from love and never hate or pity. Lead with love in these conversations, and if it’s meant to be, it’ll come back to you. This is not a goodbye forever, just a see you next time."
#smosh#ian hecox#anthony padilla#ianthony#☀️🔍#💛🖤#this is by no means me going thats exactly what happened its the truth or anything this is just me analysing shit i saw#its 3.50am#im on my feelings rn
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𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑
— 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄
—— 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎
—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒.
—𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟕.𝟐𝐊
—𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
—𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
—𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃
—𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄
𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄
𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀
𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕
Payback draws the first short straw. His face falters, falls, crumples. His bottom lip trembles and his eyes are wet suddenly. He is just about to take a quivering breath, just about to swallow his pride and beg everyone to let him stay, when Fanboy suddenly squares his jaw.
“I’ll go,” he says. “I’ll go with him.”
Payback doesn't have the strength to say anything at all. But the urge to beg evades him instantaneously. He claps his hand on his best friend’s shoulder and holds it there for a long time.
Fanboy’s heart is hammering in his chest. He knows it’s the right thing to do and he almost always does the right thing--even if it makes his stomach sour.
“Someone should probably go to Paul’s cabin, too--just to…eliminate or whatever,” Phoenix says. She’s trembling. “Maybe he’s still…”
Bradley glances at you--you won’t even look at him anymore. And Jake still won’t look at you. Fuck. Everything’s fucked up right now. This isn’t how this summer was supposed to go.
You nod, sighing.
“Good idea,” you comment softly. You’re staring at your hands. “Someone should go.”
God, there’s so much blood beneath your fingernails. You haven’t been able to wash off at all. Mentally, you’re thinking about everything that needs to be packed in Fanboy and Payback’s packs when they go. But really, you wish you could even just think about washing off. You think even just that would make you feel cleaner.
“I’ll go,” Bradley volunteers. “Don’t need to draw sticks again.”
Coyote glances at Bradley--he’s watching you intently as you pick at your fingers and furrow your brows. Then he glances at Jake, who won’t look up from the ground. It’d do the three of you good to have some distance--maybe he can even talk some sense into Bradley if they’re alone together.
“Me too,” Coyote agrees. “We should get on outta here, though. It’s gonna get dark soon.”
“Right,” Bradley answers. He takes a deep breath. “Let’s boogie.”
So, now you’re here, standing at the edge of camp before Payback and Fanboy. Jake is in the mess hall with all the campers, guarding the front door with the shotgun. Phoenix hasn’t left Bob’s side once. Coyote and Bradley are trekking through the thick trees to get to Paul’s cabin.
Fanboy and Payback have their backpacks on--sleeping bags, bandages, rations, water, flashlights, kitchen knives included. They’re each holding an ax, which was your idea, and Coyote gave each of them walkies with an extra battery.
The sun is beginning to set. Everything is orange and pink as you look at the long and winding path before them, your breath caught in your throat.
“Got everything?” You ask.
They nod identically. Payback fiddles with the switch on the flashlight--he can never stop moving when he’s nervous.
“Got enough food to feed a horse,” Fanboy says.
You smile small--the dry blood on your face cracks.
“Didn’t want you to go hungry,” you say softly.
As if hunger is what’s going to kill them.
The wind kisses the tips of your nose, your ears. It smells overwhelmingly of iris. All three of you look up towards the trees, the sky. It’s going to be dark very soon. They need to start moving.
“You believe in monsters, Gale?” Payback asks, hands on his hips. He didn’t until a few hours ago.
Biting your lip, you nod.
“Have to in my line of work,” you whisper.
“Think they live under the bed?” Fanboy follows.
“Sure,” you say with a shrug. “What do you think?”
Payback pauses, eyes unfocused as he stares past you.
“I think they’re sneakier than that.”
A pregnant pause fills the air. You don’t know quite what to say to these men that you’re sending off into the dark night, all the spirits and ghouls and boogeymen hiding behind trees just waiting for them with watering mouths.
“Two days,” you finally say softly. “Two days and then everything’ll be hunky dory again.”
You don’t even believe yourself when you say it.
Fanboy nods. Beads of sweat are rolling down the back of his neck.
“Yeah,” he says, voice thin. “We’ll be back, okay?”
“With a horde of rescuers,” Payback adds softly. The smile gracing his lips is sad and small. “We’ve probably got a better chance than y’all, huh?”
Nodding, you shift all your weight to one side.
“Probably.”
It doesn’t make any of you feel better to say it.
Payback clenches his fists--they’re sweaty. He doesn’t want to go. And he doesn’t want to stay, either. He wants to go back home to his girlfriend and her awful tiny dog and eat good barbecue and forget all of this ever happened.
But then he glances at Fanboy and Fanboy is looking at him already, squinting under the sun. And he thinks that he is the most friend-looking creature to ever grace this earth. He thinks that he didn’t stutter at all when he volunteered to come with Payback. And then he feels a little bit better about doing this--about leaving and getting help.
“We’ll be heroes, right?” Fanboy asks, a mischievous smile tugging on his lips pathetically.
“Yeah,” Payback answers. Then he glances at you. He knows you feel guilty, but he knows you’re backed in a corner, too. You’re doing what you can--just like him, just like Fanboy. “Hold it down, alright?”
Choked up on all the apologies and all the grief and all the anger of today and yesterday, you can only nod. Alright, you’ll hold it down.
“We’ll check in every half hour,” Fanboy says.
You nod again. You grab his wrist, glance at his watch--it’s a Mickey Mouse watch, one you’re sure was a gag gift given his first name, but that he dons proudly all the same. But then your eyes are watery because you hope you see this watch on this wrist again soon. So, so, so soon.
“It’s eight now,” you tell them. You let go of Fanboy’s wrist.
“And we’ll be out of range…shit, like, a couple miles out, I think. So, if we don’t respond…” Payback says. He doesn’t finish his sentence and neither you nor Fanboy jumps at the opportunity to either.
The three of you just stand there for another moment. It’s getting darker--a lavender light is starting to fall all over camp. Shit. Bradley and Javy still aren’t back from their trek to Paul’s cabin yet. But at least all the campers are back inside the mess hall.
“Don’t die,” you tell them.
They nod solemnly.
“No doy,” Fanboy says. “Ditto.”
And then they turn around, their backpacks bulging, and start to walk away from Camp Arcadia. Just for a moment, as the white rice moon untethers itself from the pink clouds, you wonder if this is the last time you’ll ever see them.
But then you shake your head and look down because the thought is too vicious to bear.
Payback’s heart is racing as they start down the path, the trees tall and the cicadas loud. He’s gripping the handle of his ax hard, hard enough that it’s splintering his skin. And he’s taking deep, deep breaths.
“Hey,” Fanboy says because he can practically hear Payback’s heart hammering out of his chest. “Maybe we got out scott-free.”
“Doesn’t feel that way,” Payback whispers.
“It will when we get to town and have a couple cold ones,” Fanboy says. “Hopefully everyone else is still alive by then.”
Finally, when their figures disappear behind the treeline, you turn around and face camp again. The day is fading very fast now. You’ll only just have time to wash yourself off in the lake.
You don’t bother getting naked--you don’t even bother taking your shoes off. You just walk down the incline of pebbles, the warm water lapping at your ankles and pulling you in until you’re standing on your tip-toes with your chin atop the water.
How could someplace as Camp Arcadia be so beautiful--the towering trees, the deep green leaves, the cotton candy skies, the white stones, the blue-green water--and so horrifying all together in utter tandem?
Trying to move quickly, you dunk your head beneath the surface and begin to scrub your scalp. God, it’s so quiet under here beneath the water. The continuous hum of underwater life, the muffled cicadas and crickets, the soft moss-bottom. It’s the quietest it’s been in your head in hours and hours. You wish you could stay here forever, dunked just below the rippling surface.
Jake watches you go under from the mess hall windows. He’s watching you closely--has been since you escorted Fanboy and Payback to the edge of camp, which looked more like a death march than anything else. Bubbles race to the surface as you exhale and then it all goes still.
“C’mon, Gale,” he whispers to himself, eyes narrowed. He’s waiting for you to bob back up to the surface, to exhale and wipe your eyes now that they’re clean of blood. “C’mon, baby.”
He imagines something is wrong--that the killer somehow found you in the lake, as ridiculous and sleep-deprived a thought that is. He imagines blood and bubbles and flesh and you resurfacing just to scream his name before you’re pulled back under. He’s so tired, so scared just thinking about it, that his palms begin to sweat.
Ignoring all the ruckus of the kids behind him, he stands with his hands firmly on the shotgun. He has half a mind to stomp out there and pull you out of the water, but then you finally come up and oh. You’re fine. Totally and completely fine.
He glances behind him--everyone is settling in. The kids are playing. Phoenix is with Bob. You’re probably the one that needs the most protection right now, anyway, all alone out there. So, he very quietly slinks out the door and starts for the shore.
You can hear him coming--somehow, you just know that it’s Jake. Maybe because he likes to get you when you’re alone or maybe because you just know what his footsteps sound like on the gravel.
But either way, you know he’s there, watching you wash off.
“Can we talk?” He asks softly.
“Yeah,” you answer, not looking at him. You’re picking the blood out from under your fingernails. “Go ahead.”
Jake sighs. He’s thinking about how you yelled at him--how he felt like a kicked dog after. You were right, of course. He needed to calm down, grow up, realize there are bigger things in life than what’s going on between you and Bradley and himself.
“Listen, I…” he trails, scratching the back of his head. But he can’t think of anything to say.
“I don’t want to talk about me and you or me and Bradley, alright? So, if that’s your prerogative, then just march on back to the mess hall,” you say. Your tone is even and quiet.
You turn your face so he can see your profile against the dying sky. He’s already looking at you, shirt crumpled and face soft and hair messy.
“Okay,” he answers. He doesn’t wanna leave you. “Can I sit down?”
If you weren’t so exhausted, you’d tell him he can do whatever he wants on account of it being a free country. But instead, you nod. You just nod.
He sits on the rocks with the shotgun across his lap, sniffing and digging his fingers into the soil.
“Are you pissed?” You ask finally. You aren’t looking at him again, busy scratching blood off your calves.
“About what?” He asks, brows furrowed.
“That I slept with Bradley,” you whisper.
“Thought you didn’t wanna talk about it,” he says quietly.
You shrug, sighing.
“Changed my mind,” you whisper. “I just…I wanna get on the same page, you know? I feel like I’ve been so confused and everything’s just been so--so…muddled. Best to just get it all out there, right?”
What you mean is: above it all, all the shit and the gore and the horror, you don’t want Jake to be mad at you. You don’t want to wreck what you had. And you just don’t know what you’re doing.
“Not pissed,” Jake answers. “Confused, maybe.”
“Why?” You ask.
“‘Cause of our night together,” he answers. “I thought things…changed that night.”
“They did,” you insist, brows furrowed. “I mean, I thought they did.”
“Then why him?”
You turn to him and finally, he can look at you. You aren’t slathered in blood anymore. You’re washed off now--as washed off as the lake water can get you.
“Because you can only look at me when I’m clean.”
Jake swallows hard. He doesn’t want it to be true, but he knows that in your private way, it is. He can’t look at blood and you’ve been covered in it for hours and hours.
“I can’t help it,” he says. He sounds like he’s pleading.
“I know,” you answer. Casting your gaze back on the rippling water, you bite your lip. “I know.”
“Are you…in love with him?” He asks. His heart is in his throat.
“I’m not in anything with anyone,” you tell him. It’s a half-truth, you think. You could be in love with Bradley easily--very easily. But you’re standing on that edge, your toes just barely breaching the murky air. You won’t fall. You won’t let go. “Are you in love with me?”
Jake laughs--it’s short and humorless.
“Baby, look at you. Of course I’m in love with you.”
You nod, a smile tugging on your lips.
“What are we gonna do?”
Jake almost says love each other. Be together. But then he realizes that you mean right now, right here. What are you going to do to stay alive?
“Maybe Bradley and Javy found something,” he says. “Like, a radio or something.”
“Fat chance,” you answer.
And then you wash the last of the blood off your skin and start to wade back towards Jake--the sun is almost entirely set now. Your fingers are numb when you think about so many of your co-counselors being out there in the dark, thick woods.
Jake stands up, leaving the gun on the rocks beside the two of you. You’re soaking wet and the air is getting cooler--he knows your skin must be goosed, he knows your scalp must be prickling.
“Here,” he offers, opening his arms. He watches you, your lips a tint bluer than they were before, eye him carefully with all the skepticism of a mutt eyeing the dogcatcher. Then he rolls his eyes and beckons you closer with a cut nod of his head. “C’mon, you’re freezing.”
You submit then because you are freezing. You’re freezing and you’re exhausted and you’re scared and you feel like nothing in the world is going your way.
Falling into his arms, you bury your cold nose in his chest and inhale him. He smells like he always does, like deodorant and sweat and grass--but mainly sweat and grass. It’s a good smell, one you inhale as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to him. And you remember that just a few days ago, being in his arms was good. Comforting. Warm. Safe. Soft. But now everything is different. Everything is gone. Everyone is gone--or at least, that’s what it feels like.
“Jesus, your nose is an icicle,” Jake says, holding the back of your head and pushing your face further into his chest. “You’re shivering.”
But you’re not shivering just because you’re cold. You’re shivering because you’re suddenly crying so hard that you can hardly breathe. Your shoulders are shaking and your spine is curved and your eyes are wet. You don’t even know when the dam broke, when you started sobbing, but you are. You’re so exhausted that your cries are silent.
He’s stroking your back as the bullfrogs begin singing, his hands warm against your soaked clothing. But then he feels how warm your face is suddenly, how quiet you are. He’s just about to ask if you’re alright when you suck in a deep, quivering breath and sob into his chest.
He’s never seen you cry before. You’re level-headed, cool, calm, collected. It must mean something, Jake decides, that you’re falling apart right here and now in his arms. It must mean something--it has to.
Jake isn’t going to say anything. He doesn’t know what to say right now that would make you feel any better. He just holds you close, holds you tight. You’re fisting his shirt and he’s stroking your hair. And because he’s a weak man, because he’s a weak man who is in love with you, he sinks his face into your hair and breathes you in.
You are hardly clean right now and he’s able to do this. He thinks, if he really tries, if he keeps being in love with you, he’ll be able to stomach anything just to look at you.
“Jake,” you whimper. “Jake, I feel like--I feel like we’re being punished for something awful.”
He tuts softly, stroking your hair gently.
“Whatcha mean, baby?” He asks quietly. “Who’s punishing us? For what?”
“God,” is all you can manage to choke.
You don’t know why you feel like this, why you feel like something bigger than you, than everyone, is punishing you. But it is an ever-present knot in your gut.
“Shh,” he whispers. “You’re just tired, baby. That’s all.”
But now a rock sinks in his belly.
♀
Jake is sitting on the ground by the mess hall doors, the shotgun laying just beside him. It’s late now--so late that there’s not even a speck of light outside. He’s been the one checking in with Payback and Fanboy every half hour, he’s been the one sitting up and watching the doors, he’s been the one peering over his shoulder at the slumbering campers in their sleeping bags. Phoenix is asleep with Bob in the kitchen and you--finally--laid your head down on his lap and fell asleep after he told you to lay down for the eightieth time.
“But they’re not back yet,” you said softly, glancing out the windows into the dusk. “What if something happened?”
Jake swallowed, squaring his shoulders. Your face was still puffy from crying and your hair was still wet.
“I’ll check it out if they aren’t back by midnight, okay?”
You bit your lip, considering your options. You really didn’t think it would take this long for Coyote and Bradley to go to Paul’s cabin and come back. There’s a knot in your belly and a headache behind your eyes just thinking about it. But over everything else, you’re so fucking tired. So tired that you’re delirious.
“Okay,” you whispered. “But you’ll wake me up if you go, right?”
“Of course,” Jake said, face serious as ever before. “C’mon. Get some shut-eye.”
The clock is racing towards midnight--only a few minutes ‘til. Jake doesn’t want to wake you up. Quite frankly, he doesn’t wanna go out there in the dark. But then he thinks of Coyote hurt--Hell, he even thinks of Bradley hurt--and a strange sense of duty tightens his sense of right and wrong.
“Mr. Jake?”
He jumps--cranes his neck to look beside him. Mable is standing there, her hands clasped before her. She’s red in the face and there are tear tracks marking her cheeks.
He’s just about to ask what’s wrong when he sees it instead--her bandage is bright red with blood.
“Oh,” he says softly. His stomach turns, his saliva grows thick. But still, he looks at Mable. “It open again?”
She nods. She had a nightmare about the Devil--the one who wanders the camp, the one who cut her with the Swiss army knife, the one who she is so petrified of. And then she woke up with her cut oozing hot, hot blood.
“Can you--can you help me?” She asks.
She sees you, clear as day, sleeping on Jake’s lap. She would much prefer if you helped her bandage the cut, but she doesn’t want to wake you. And she knows, somehow, that Jake doesn’t wanna wake you either.
“Sure,” Jake says after a few moments of silence. “Like, just…reapply the bandage?”
Mable shrugs. Right. She’s a kid.
So, as carefully as Jake can, he slips out from under you, carefully laying your head on the wool blanket you’re laying on. And then he leaves the shot gun behind, ventures to one of the tables where you set up your nurse’s station. Mable follows behind him, wiping her face.
“So…a bandage, probably. And maybe some cotton, right?” He glances at her. She shrugs again. “Didn’t you watch her bandage you?” Jake asks.
“No,” Mable says quietly. “I was scared.”
Jake nods. He gets it.
“Well, okay. Um…just--why don’t you take off your bandage and put it on the table.”
He’s preparing himself--steeling his gut, straightening his shoulders, taking a few deep breaths when he starts to feel lightheaded.
Mable unwraps her wound--a few deep red drops of blood fall onto the floor. Jake squints, lips wrinkled as he tries his hardest not to start gagging.
“Good,” he says weakly. He presses cotton to the wound and sighs in relief for a moment--at least he can’t see it anymore. But then he can feel it--hot and velvety beneath the pads of his fingers. “Shit--uh, alright. Yeah. You hold it there, okay?”
Mable does as she’s told.
Jake struggles with the bandage for a second, unraveling it before wrapping it around Mable’s thin arm a few times. The cotton bulges beneath it, but at least he can’t see the slice anymore.
He holds the bandage in place then glances at Mable, who’s already looking at him.
“Now what?” He asks quietly.
“The tape,” she whispers, nodding to the roll on the table.
“Right,” he says. He smiles weakly. “I knew that.”
He rips the tape with his teeth, carefully applying it to the jagged end of the bandage while Mable watches carefully.
“There,” he offers quietly. “All better, right?”
She nods, examining the shoddy work. It surely isn’t as good as it is when you do it, but it’ll do. It’ll do.
There’s a pause between the two of them. Jake is proud of himself--he bandaged a bleeding kid all by himself. He almost wants to wake you up just to tell you that he did it. And if he can do that, he’s certain he can do anything else. Mable is chewing on her lip now, too afraid to go back and lay down, but still sleepy.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Mable whispers. “When I said he was coming for you.”
Jake swallows hard, shrugs.
“All in the past,” he sighs.
She struggles for a moment, sniffling.
“But I wasn’t lying,” she tells him. She looks at his face--his furrowed brows, his twisted lips. “He still is.”
Jake isn’t mad exactly. But he’s scared and he’s tired and he wants this to be over and done with.
“Why?” Jake asks because he knows it’s no use arguing. “Why me?”
“Because he wants all of us and you know how to shoot the gun.”
In your restless slumber, you’re standing outside in the middle of the courtyard. You’re by yourself, covered in blood again, feet planted firmly in the gravel. It’s dark and windy and the waves of the lake are crashing against the white stone uncarefully.
There’s a sense of something, like a sheer curtain shielding a sunny day, that you can’t quite put your finger on other than it is the feeling of loss. Everyone is dead and gone. Only you are left, all by yourself, barefoot in the onyx night.
In your hands is the shotgun, but even it is slimy with blood--you can hardly get your grip on it. Rage and terror are fighting inside your cut--so vicious that bile is rising up your throat.
And there, standing before the lake with that wicked curve in its neck, is the entity. It is as dark and fleshy as ever before, looming over you and everything else as it takes deep and rapid breaths. You don’t know how you know, but you know that its face is covered in blood, you know that it is waiting for you to make the first move.
You’re going to fight it. Just you and just it.
The wind is blowing something wicked. You’re scrambling to find the safety. The entity is twitching, snarling, snapping its teeth. It wants to press is mouth to yours, it wants to breath in your scent as it blunges a claw through your throat, it wants to feel the life drain out of you like it felt the life drain out of your friends--
The mess hall door rips open and the sound of clattering footsteps rips you out of your nightmare. And in the dim light, in your haze of upset and in your frenzy of panic, you sit up and reach for the shotgun beside you. Jake is gone--you don’t know where he is--but you know that you have to protect what you have.
“Don’t fucking move!” You scream, cocking the shotgun and pressing the safety off. You’re still blinking yourself awake as you scramble to stand. “Get the fuck--!”
Bradley blinks at you--Coyote’s eyes are wide.
The barrel of the shotgun is aimed directly at them.
“Whoa, whoa!” Jake calls, hurrying over to your rigid form and Bradley and Coyote. “Hey, hotshot, put the gun down!”
Still in shock, you lower the weapon. Your heart is racing. Your mouth is dry.
“I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head, swallowing hard. “God, fuck--I’m so…I’m so sorry.”
Jake takes the gun from your hands, stroking your hair as you stumble back. Your fingers are numb with panic.
“Jesus Christ,” Bradley gasps, eyes narrowed at you. “Were you gonna fucking shoot us?”
“No!” You answer, shaking your head. “No, I was just--I panicked. I didn’t know it was you coming in.”
“Well, it’s not like you gave us a secret knock,” Bradley hisses.
“I know,” you say, holding your face.
“Christ, we’ve been busting our asses out there, running through the woods with a killer on the loose--and we come back to that?” Bradley cries. “Way to show your gratitude, Gale.”
He isn't calling you Birdie.
“Lay off her, man,” Coyote insists, clapping Bradley’s shoulder. “We have bigger fish to fry.”
Bradley looks at you long and hard--the way you’re holding your face, the way Jake is standing beside you like he belongs there. He’s burning from earlier still--angry at himself and at you and at Jake.
“Here,” Bradley says, throwing a flurry of newspaper articles and papers at you and Jake. “Read ‘em and weep.”
Coyote scoffs, slapping Bradley on the back of the head.
“Don’t be a dick, man,” Coyote insists.
“Fuck off,” Bradley grumbles. “They need to read ‘em.”
“I didn’t know it was you!” You insist. “I never would’ve--Bradley, I wouldn’t--!”
“--I really don’t care right now,” Bradley interrupts, holding a palm up to you. “Read the newspapers.”
With quivering hands and wet eyes, you lean down and grab the newspapers. They’re old--yellowed and stained. The scent of old ink floods your nose as Jake claps Coyote on the shoulder.
“Glad you’re back,” Jake tells him. “I was just about to send out the troops.”
Coyote smiles weakly--he’s more afraid now than he was before. Not even just because they finally made their way back to camp, but because of what him and Bradley found.
You’re reading as fast as you can, your brows furrowed, your stomach at your feet.
HORROR AT CAMP ARCADIA. July 19th, 1957.
“What…?” You whisper.
Bradley is watching you with his hands on his hips.
“Paul’s cabin was ransacked. He wasn’t there. God, there was--there was shit everywhere. And a fucking bulletin board full of shit like this.”
“What is it?” Jake asks, brows furrowed.
Phoenix peers out from the kitchen, her eyes heavy with sleep.
“What’s going on?” She whispers.
“What’s going on is that some shit went down in 1957. You know--like it’s going on now. Like, a guy running around fucking killing type shit. Read it.”
Your stomach is in knots.
“‘All seven of the camp counselors and the camp nurse were found brutally slain on camp grounds’,” you read aloud, your voice quivering. You’re lightheaded suddenly, choking on panic. “What the fuck is this?”
“The Great Oaks Gazette,” Coyote answers. “As in…it’s real.”
“What do you mean?” You ask. “This is--Jake, isn’t this the story you told at the bonfire?”
Jake swallows hard, eyes wide.
“I thought it was--Jesus, I thought it was just some spooky story.”
“Well, it’s not,” Bradley answers. “It happened. Like, it happened here thirty fucking years ago.”
“‘The maniac’…” you whisper. Then you have to close your eyes and breathe through a bout of nausea. “Christ…what the fuck is going on?”
“He’s here,” Coyote answers. “Whoever did that--he’s here.”
“Except that he isn’t really ‘cause he was found dead, too,” Bradley says. “So, someone who knew about him is pretending to be him. And they’re trying to pick us off one by one.”
“People got murdered here?” Phoenix asks, clutching another newspaper clipping. “Like--here? Camp Arcadia?”
“Catch up,” Bradley snaps at her. “A whole staff. Just like us. Seven camp counselors and one nurse.”
Coyote nods stiffly.
“Two girls and five boys,” you whisper softly. “Just like us.”
“Yeah,” Bradley confirms. “Just like us.”
Jake’s head is spinning. He grips your shoulder, his eyes wide.
“My God,” he mutters. “I didn’t know…I thought…”
That’s when all the bottled-up rage from today, all the fear and the horror, surfaces in Bradley’s chest in a puddle of red. He turns to Jake, his eyes narrowed.
“How did you hear the story?” Bradley asks him, suddenly turning towards him. “Like, where did you hear about it?”
Jake’s brows furrow.
“I…I don’t remember,” he answers honestly. “I feel like I’ve just--like I’ve just always known about it.”
“Why?” Bradley continues, narrowing his eyes. “None of us knew about it.”
“C’mon,” Phoenix says, glancing between Jake and Bradley. “Cool it.”
You’re too stunned to realize how lethal this argument between Bradley and Jake is going to be. If you were less shocked, less hurt, less tired, you would see in their eyes just how bad things are about to get. You would see it in Bradley’s red chest and Jake’s clenched fists.
“No, no,” Bradley says. “‘Cause while we were out there, trying to get some fucking answers about what’s going on, I kept thinking about it. No one answered me earlier when I asked who would hike all the way out here. Shit, who knows we’re even out here, right?”
“Someone who knows about Gwyar,” Phoenix says. His name tastes bitter on her tongue. “Someone from town. I don’t know.”
“Right. You don’t know,” Bradley says, not ripping his gaze from Jake. “I’ll bet it was someone who knew about Gwyar, too.”
The tips of Jake’s ears are bright red. His face contorts in rage as he scoffs at Bradley.
“The fuck are you saying, man?” Jake asks.
Bradley smiles.
“I’m saying that maybe you’re the one who’s trying to slice and dice us.”
“Fuck off,” you hiss at Bradley, stepping closer to the two of them. “You’re not helping!”
“Oh, I’ve been helping,” Bradley insists. “I put my ass on line to get this information--but Jake already knew it, right? You already knew.”
“It was just a story!” Jake insists.
“Except that it wasn’t,” Bradley says. The toes of his tennis shoes are grazing Jake’s now. The men are eye-level, each of their gazes fiery as they stare at another. “You know, I was thinking on the way back: how could it be him? And then shit started to add up, you know? The stars really aligned.”
Coyote is stunned into silence. Bradley never verbalized any of this on their trek back.
“Fuck off,” you say again. You attempt to get between them when Bradley suddenly juts an arm out and puts it in the middle of your chest. “Hey-!”
“Stay back,” Bradley says. “I think we found our killer.”
“You can’t just say that, man,” Coyote says. “You need to check yourself.”
“Where did you find the ax?” Bradley asks Jake. Jake swallows hard. “Right…your cabin. I remember now. And the Swiss army knife--that was in the bus barn, right? You found it. Didn’t he, Coyote?”
“You’re making something out of nothing,” Coyote spits. “Leave him alone.”
You’re watching the two men with your heart in your throat. This display of aggression, of dominance, is making your throat tight with anger.
Jake’s grip tightens on the gun.
���He can’t stand the sight of blood,” you say. “How’s he gonna chop Bob’s arm off?”
“You know, did anyone ever know that Jake was in his school’s musicals?” Bradley asks. He recalled it during the long walk back through the dark woods--that tiny detail Jake shared a few summers back when he’d had one too many, slurring the lyrics to Suddenly Seymore. “‘Cause I remember that.”
“Mr. Jake isn’t afraid,” Mable pipes up from behind everyone, her heart in her chest. From afar, she thinks that she’s coming to his defense. A sudden loyalty for Jake has sprouted in her chest. She holds her hands on her hips, then juts her arm out towards everyone. “He isn’t afraid of anything. He wrapped my arm back up.”
Fuck.
“Convenient,” Bradley sneers. “You can handle the sight of blood when all of us aren’t looking, huh? What else you doing when we’re not looking?”
“Bradley, you’re way out of line,” Coyote says.
“And didn’t you tell me that you were gonna kill me? Like, a few hours ago?”
“That’s taken way outta context!” Jake demands. “You were fucking--you were--!”
“--I was what? Talking about your girl? And you didn’t like that?”
Bile rises in your throat.
“What are you talking about?” You demand. “Both of you--just--just quit it!”
But they aren’t quitting it. They’re stepping closer to each other, not ripping their gazes from each other.
“Coyote heard it,” Bradley says. “Didn’t you, Coyote?”
Coyote doesn’t answer. He did hear Jake say it--but he knows…or at least, he thinks he knows, that Jake would never hurt anyone. He wasn't being serious. He was just angry.
Jake glances at Coyote, whose face is pulled together in agony.
“C’mon,” Jake says. “You know I didn’t mean it.”
Your blood runs cold.
“You said you were gonna kill Bradley?” You whisper.
“He was talking about you,” Jake insists, incredulous.
You turn your back on the two men, reeling. Your heart is beating out of your chest. What the fuck is going on?
“You fuck,” Phoenix sneers. Her emotions are running high, her heart is ripping apart in her chest every moment she has to watch Bob settle in an agonizing slumber. “Did you fucking hurt Bob?”
“No,” Jake gasps. “Phoenix--you know me. C’mon. We all know each other! I would never hurt Bob!”
“Yeah, but you’d threaten to kill me,” Bradley insists. “You’re a man of your word, right? Maybe you thought Bob was me.”
“We need to calm down,” Coyote says. “Let’s--fuck, let’s put the gun down and just talk this through?”
Jake snaps his head in Coyote’s direction, rage burning the tips of his fingers.
“Put the gun down?” Jake asks, gaping. “You think I’m gonna…you think I’m gonna hurt someone?”
Coyote is sorrowful as he shrugs and shakes his head.
“I don’t know what’s going on!” Coyote cries. “No one does!”
“I do,” Bradley interrupts. “It’s you, isn’t it? You were gonna shoot me earlier today, too. I heard the safety click off.”
“What?” You whisper. You look at Jake, who is looking like he’s about to start scrambling for purchase. “What did you do?”
“No, I didn’t!” He looks at you--all that hurt in your eyes is making his chest ache. “Gale, baby, you’ve gotta believe me! I would never do that! You know me! You know me!”
Bradley steps between the two of you.
“Leave her out of it,” he sneers. “Give me the gun.”
Jake tightens his grip on the gun.
“No,” he says, shaking his head firmly. “I didn’t hurt anyone.”
“Jake,” Phoenix says, sobbing. “Give him the fucking gun!”
“No!” Jake yells, stepping back. “No, I won’t give Bradley the gun.”
“Then give it to me,” you say quietly. Your face is softer now, your brows pulled together in anguish and your face twisted in confusion. “Give it to me, Jake. It’s okay.”
In this tizzy, you’ve hardly thought about what’s real and what isn’t. Everything feels real and nothing feels real. You’re living a waking nightmare, you’re having nightmares when you close your eyes. You’re losing. Everywhere you turn, everywhere you look, there’s blood.
“Gale…” Jake says. He’s crying now, staring at you. “I didn’t do it.”
“Okay,” you whisper, stepping closer to him. “I believe you. Give me the gun.”
Jake’s palms are sweaty.
“Give it to her!” Phoenix sobs. “Jake, give her the fucking gun!”
Jake gives you the gun and you take it slowly, not breaking your gaze from him. And then you swallow hard and look around at everyone. You’re just about to tell everyone to calm down, about to say that you should all calmly talk about what’s going on, when Bradley suddenly jumps on Jake.
“What are you doing?” You scream at the two men. The campers start to russell in their sleeping bags, start to sit up. “What are you fucking doing?!”
Coyote is panicking, holding his hands on top of his head.
“Stop!” Coyote yells.
The two men are a blur. It’s fists and blood and legs and hair until Jake is laid out flat on his belly and Bradley is sitting on top of him.
“Get the fuck off me!” Jake demands. “You stupid son of a bitch! You fuck!”
“We need to talk about this,” you cry. “Stop it! Stop it, Bradley!”
“He’s gonna hurt someone else,” Bradley hisses at you, pressing his knees into Jake’s back. “He can’t be in here with us.”
“What?” You screech. You’re quivering. “We don’t know that he did it! We don’t know what’s happening! He just--Christ, he just heard a story, okay?”
“And he found the weapons. And he said he was gonna kill Bradley,” Phoenix says. She wipes her face, stares down at Jake. “I don’t want him in here.”
You turn to her, flabbergasted. Phoenix, the pillar of maturity and level-headedness, suggesting that Jake be cast out when there’s a slasher on the loose. Your knees nearly buckle.
“Phoenix,” you whisper quietly. Your throat is too choked to say anything else.
“Please don’t do this,” Jake cries, stills struggling beneath Bradley. “Please, please don’t fucking do this!”
“Get off of him,” Coyote snaps, pulling Bradley’s shoulder. “He isn’t hurting anyone!”
“Not right now,” Bradley says. “But he could start again. Any fucking time.”
All the campers are standing now, watching the showdown.
“You’re a son of a bitch,” you snap at Bradley. “Get the fuck off him!”
“Why? So he can kill you? So he can kill me? Not a fucking chance, birdie.”
Panicked, you shove Bradley’s shoulder. It’s enough to rock him but not enough to move him. And before Bradley can shove you away from him, Coyote’s gripping your elbow and pulling you beside him.
“So, what? What do you wanna do now, Bradley? Wanna stick him outside? Fuck you!” Coyote says.
“We’ll lock him in a cabin,” Bradley says. “No harm, no foul.”
“You’re gonna kill me,” Jake screams. “You’re trying to fucking kill me!”
It’s clear as day to you suddenly, reality. Jake wouldn’t hurt anyone. Jake didn’t do this. Jake would never hurt you. He would never hurt Bradley. Jake wouldn’t hurt anyone. It isn’t him. It isn’t him.
“Please get off of him,” you cry. You’re sinking to your knees, still holding the shotgun in your hands.
“Get her outta here, Phoenix,” Bradley says. “She’s hysterical.”
“Fuck you,” you mutter, spitting at him. “I hate you!”
“Yeah, yeah, you hate me so much for keeping you alive! I get it! That’s the thanks I get, baby!” Bradley sneers at you. “Nix--take her.”
Phoenix wraps her arms around you, carefully tugging you up. You are shaking your head, crying, scrambling. But then Coyote is tugging you up, too. He nods towards the kitchen.
You keep fighting, keep trying to get back to Jake and Bradley, when Coyote suddenly holds both of your cheeks in his hands. His nose grazes yours and his eyes are open and honest.
“Bob needs you,” Coyote says very seriously. “Okay? You gotta keep your head. It’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to Jake, alright? I promise.”
You don’t feel any better about it, still choked up on anger and grief, but you allow Phoenix to tug you back towards the kitchen. And just as you’re about to cross the threshold, Jake’s cries still echoing inside of the mess hall, you look at Bradley. For one moment, just a fleeting thing like the flap of a hummingbird’s wing, you see it: he winks at you. Or at least you think you see it.
“C’mon,” Phoenix whispers to you. “Let them do it. It’s okay, it’s okay.”
“Fuck off,” you mutter to her, voice trembling. You break from her grip. “You know it isn’t him! You know it.”
The kitchen door swings shut.
Bob’s feverish body lay crumpled on the floor. Phoenix looks at your face, her own stained with furious tears.
“No, I don’t,” she says quietly. “But I know that my best friend in the whole fucking world is dying. And I want someone to pay. I don’t care if you’re fucking him or not.” Offended, you gape at her. She stares back at you. “Look outside your feelings for him,” she insists, softer now. “Don’t be one of those girls who wears horse-blinders when it comes to men.”
Horse-blinders.
“I’m not,” you spit. “I just know he didn’t do it.”
“How?” She asks, voice hard.
You can’t answer.
“Right,” she answers. “‘Cause your word is lord.”
The room is quiet. You stare at each other, chests heaving.
“I don’t wanna fight,” you tell her, shoulders sloping. “I’m…I’m fucking scared.”
“Me either,” Phoenix says. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” you tell her. “But I don’t think he did it.”
She nods.
“Okay. We’ll see.”
Bradley throws Jake into his own cabin, the one he shared with the littles. Jake is bright red, cursing Bradley, shaking his head at him.
“Fuck you,” Jake sneers as Bradley stands in the doorway with his arms crossed. “You’re trying to get me killed, you fuck!”
“Look, man,” Bradley says. “I’m just trying to keep everyone else alive.”
And before Jake can respond, Bradley is slamming the door shut and locking it from the outside. Coyote watches with his head hung, his heart racing. Fuck. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. Nothing was supposed to be like this.
“Hey, man,” Coyote calls to Jake. “I’ll…I’ll check in on you every thirty, alright?”
“Fuck off,” Jake sneers, pacing the length of the dark cabin. Panic has seized his heart. “I’ll be dead by the fucking morning.”
“Drama, drama,” Bradley says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t let him out, okay?”
Coyote nods, not looking up.
Jake sits on the floor, burying his head in his knees. Fuck. Fuck.
“I’m gonna die,” Jake whispers. Coyote still hears him. “You’re fucking killing me, man.”
𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: JAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!!!!
𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:
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Here for DG crumbs 🥹
with a non fighter, average reader like she is average and doesn't have much that stands out to her and is a dg simp. She simps hard for this man. Not a toxic or psycho fan but a supportive one
It would make my day if you could do this really! We need more dg content!!🤧
Oh right! it could be James with an average non fighter s/o as well
Thank you for reading ❤️
Ask and ye shall receive, here's a strangers to lovers (which turned out quite lengthy...)! Did this fandom just make me like DG? This plain noodle man?!
DG x Reader: Stranger to Lovers
Half fic, half hc. A normal reader comes across DG
DG came across you on one of his lonelier nights.
He knows he shouldn't be reading articles and posts trashing him, but curiosity killed the cat.
His ego is feeling uncharacteristically bruised until he comes across your comment.
You're sweet, supportive and understanding of how hard it can be in the public eye. It cheers him up that some fans still see him as human.
He takes note of your social media name but doesn't take it any further.
Fate brings you together at a fan event (actually no, your meet and greet tickets did) but the first thing that draws DG to you is your eye contact.
He's met many fans and almost all of them avoided looking at him and were giggly and shy. It's to be expected. You are the first one that looked at him squarely head on.
You didn't go crazy or ask for a lock of his hair (like some of the other more wild fans), but thanked him for what he doing in the industry.
You're articulate even as pink dusts your cheeks.
And then you kept talking and you repeat what he read that night.
He files away that info for later.
When DG finally has his moment of peace, he quickly taps in that username in the hopes that it's you.
It is.
The same person in the profile pic that posted the kind comment is also who he met mere hours ago.
It brings a little smile to his face.
Another lonely night, without any practice schedules, PTJ Entertainment issues or James Lee loose ends meant DG had time on his hands.
He's spent enough time looking through your profile and posts over the past couple weeks, whenever he could grab a minute here or there.
You're pretty normal in every sense of the word, a world removed from DG and James Lee.
He couldn't stop thinking about the idea of you.
Biting the bullet, and using a pseudonym, he sends you a message - starting a conversation based on something you last posted about.
He receives a reply within the next 20 minutes and that was that.
The hours turn into days turn into weeks turn into months.
DG finds himself stealing time so he could respond back to you.
He lets you in on vague details about his life and you tell him all about yours.
In another life, he thinks he could have been similar to you. Normal. With normal hobbies and interests. Normal issues and headaches. Normal family and normal friends.
A normal past and normal future.
You're a golden ray of truth and light cutting through his secrecy and darkness.
DG finds himself wearing a coy smile more and more from your interactions, from your late night 3am messaging and your 'good mornings' and everything inbetween.
It doesn't go unnoticed. To the extent that rumours float around that he has found a special someone. He abruptly and coldly shoots that down.
But unable to hold back anymore, one morning he asks if you want to meet up.
DG knows how it sounds: meeting a stranger (a strange man). But he feels a bond with you, one he's never had before, and hopes you feel the same way.
The minutes until your response dragged and stretched.
Until you finally put 'Ok'.
He could feel your hesitation across the screen. Usually so full of life and excitement and emotion, this simple one worded response isn't like you.
He backtracks but you're now the one insisting.
A date and location is set.
In a quiet coffee shop, set away from the main street but popular enough to not be too secluded, DG finally meets you in person again.
Did he truly think you were normal the first time he met you? How odd.
Because now he finds you radiant, beaming, glittering. Like sunshine, like moonlight.
Anything but normal.
He calls you over, and your eyes light up as you go to meet him.
You greet him by his username, but freeze when he pulls his mask down. That face would be recognised by all of Seoul.
"DG?!"
This meet up doesn't last long.
You flee in embarassment, having spilled all your secrets to one of the most famous man in South Korea as he kept his identity and life hidden away from you.
DG understands how you must how felt, the mortification. And the deception as he hid the biggest secret from you most of all.
He sits with his head in his hands.
DG doesn't hear from you for a few days, and the distance and silence feels cavernous.
It hits him like a truck that over time, you became his confidant, his best friend. Someone he could talk to and feel like a person.
He is the first one to reach out and he apologises.
He says what he can about his life, his current life. Hoping that this makes it up to you somehow.
That he promises to be truthful to you, where he can, but there are still some things he's not ready to say.
That he understands you feeling betrayed he kept his identity secret, especially during all those times you unknowingly gushed about how much you liked him.
That even though it was fair to keep his identity a secret, he should have told you as soon as it was appropriate. A lot sooner than at the cafe.
That this was something he started because of his ego, but continued because he likes you.
That he's never felt this closeness with anyone else.
That he's not sure if anyone has ever seen him properly as a person. Until you.
That he would like a second chance. Please.
Hope against hope, you eventually respond.
You ask to meet again in the same place.
In a quiet coffee shop, set away from the main street but popular enough to not be too secluded, DG meets you in person for the third time.
DG waits, anxiously fiddling with a bouquet of roses. He never does this.
You enter, and illuminate the room.
This time DG calls you over, and you give him a shy smile
He presents the bouquet, and you accept.
You become the starlight guiding and comforting him during the lonely nights.
#lookism#lookism manhwa#lookism webtoon#lookism x reader#lookism fanfics#lookism fic#diego kang#kang dagyum#dg x reader#lookism dg#lookism headcanons#lookism hc#james lee#james lee x reader#wannaeatramyeon#kang dagyeom
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The "reblog, don't like. Liking hurts creators" stuff has always gotten on my nerves, who are you to tell me what to put on my blog? But I jsut saw this post, which put it in a different light.
https://mayahawkse.tumblr.com/post/691239174316097536/heres-a-little-comparison-for-people-who-say
I' got on Tumblr in 2013, quit around the porn ban, and only came back pretty recently. I didn't realise that people had actually stopped reblogging things from each other.
I guess the "likes hurt creators" thing might have some validity after all. I still really don't like the tone of entitlement or the idea that expressing your appreciation to OP with a like is an insult instead of an expression of appreciation.
The comment section probably cuts into the reblog counts; people have conversations there instead of in reblog chains, and don't have to reblog an entire post just to point out one quick thing or make the same joke as everyone else, but I don't think that comments account for the ratios in that post, especially since the screenshots don't show posts with hefty comments.
So yeah, guys, likes don't hurt creators, but Tumblr is for passing posts around. If you see something you like, you can just reblog it to be all "look at this cool thing I found". You don't have to worry about adding anything meaningful in a reblog, and if you and all your mutuals reblog the same post twelve times in a row, well, that's just how Tumblr works; if someone gets anoyed they can block the post through xkit.
--
Eh. I'd beware of anecdata like that.
I used to get like 2 notes a post and no asks ever. On the rare occasions that I reblogged heavily in a hot fandom of the moment for a month or two, I got a lot of engagement once people realized I was a place to go for that fandom, and I particularly got a lot of reblogs because people wanted that content on their own tumblrs.
Currently, I get a decent number of reblogs, but I get a lot more other interaction because things here tend to be discussions and debates and people don't necessarily want them on their own tumblrs.
--
In my case, I don't like the framing that it hurts creators because that's assuming that a person would have reblogged if they hadn't liked. In reality, they probably just wouldn't have interacted.
People pass posts around all kinds of ways, including pasting links to mine into various discord channels for fandom drama or sending me links to others' posts via chat messages here.
I also don't like the framing that it hurts creators because this only makes sense if you mean that it hurts the ability of visual artists to earn money.
Am I not a creator of a kind? Do I not write copious meta even if a lot of the content here comes from others? My ~engagement numbers~ are not harmed by failing to reblog. My engagement numbers don't matter full stop.
Or maybe, maybe, it's not about money, but it's about clout-chasing nonsense. Boo hoo, my gifset doesn't do numbers because it's not 2012 and I'm not in superwholock fandom now. Oh well. Chase the crowds to another site or chase the megafandoms. That's the only way to get those numbers back.
--
I do think that some time after 2012, people became increasingly afraid of harassment and may have pulled back on interactions, particularly contentful ones, because of that.
But mostly, tumblr has cleared out. Fewer people are using it, and fewer of the ones remaining are using it actively in a way where it makes sense to fill their own blog with content.
Maybe part of the change is that you can't become a BNF of tasteful curation so easily now, so there's no point in reblogging unless it's for yourself?
Maybe it's gifsets that are out of fashion? I don't know.
--
I never had much interest in "look at this cool thing" sans commentary back then, and I have little now. I have my activity page set to hide all that.
The changing phases of a site can be interesting, but we need a bit more than one person's top couple of posts to reach any conclusions.
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King - Chapter III
Chapter 3/?
Wordcount 4k
Title Dragonet
Fandom Shuumatsu no Valkyrie / Record of Ragnarok
Pairing Poseidon x reader
Previous chapters
1 . 2
Symbols ⭕ . ➕ . 🖤
Warnings: Mentions of blood and piercing; mentions of nudity
Tagging @cloveradora @the-dumber-scaramouche @mikkies @sl33py-zer0 @nooneknows8976 (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)
N. A.: So, after almost saying sorry for the wordcount in the previous chapter, here I am with an even longer one lol I've put much effort in this one, specially bc it's the wedding night ;) (wedding nights are, apparently, on of my fav things to write).
A few words about the title: dragonets are a group/category of small, colorful fishes of "shy" behavior, greatly appreciated for people who raise fishes in aquariums. There are really interesting things about them to research :)
Also, I want to apologize in anticipation for the use of the word "manhood" in this chapter bc though I think it sounds good when it's isolated, it feels kinda ridiculous when you contextualize it (but this is just my opinion as someone who doesn't have English as their first language lol)
The Lord of the Seas, as silent as his own domain before a storm, didn’t give any signs that he has noticed your presence in the room until he stopped by your side before the altar, but a moment under his glare was enough to make you wish you were invisible.
He kept looking at your whole form, examining your appearance, that is, his servants’ work through the aspect of your hair, your skin and the gown you were wearing, analyzing your movements, the way you were staring at him, your breath, your shivers, everything. Those eyes, you guessed, were the eyes of someone who was used to have people’s lives and deaths in his hands, and you had no doubts that he could finish you right there if he decided you weren’t worthy of his time.
Fortunately for you – or not, you still didn’t know – you were worthy, and after his examinations, he opened his mouth… doing this to give you an order, as expected.
– Come forward. You are too distant from the altar.
Unlike you imagined, Poseidon had a soft, low voice, typical of a young man.
You hesitated, though you understood what was said, and for the first time a wrinkle of irritation appeared on his forehead.
– You are too distant from the altar, human.
The sentence was repeated in a slightly higher tone, but not even this was enough for you to make a move toward him. When he took one step toward you, it was the end of your self-control: you stepped back, and would have run away if he hasn’t reached you in a second. Your legs almost failed you, and it was a miracle that you didn’t let out a scream.
He raised his hand and you closed your eyes tight, too scared to see what was going to happen, but you opened them again when you felt his hand closing around your jawline; his skin was warm and his grip was far from rude.
What he did after that, however, made you doubt what you were experiencing.
First, he moved your face from one side to the other, as to verify its conditions; the second step was to raise his free hand to your ears’ height and snap his fingers beside each one, making you flinch; he then put his hand at your eyes’ height and showed you three fingers, moving them and observing as your eyes followed everything.
– Tell me – he ordered – How many fingers you see here?
You replied with some difficulty, less because your movements were limited by his hand than because of your nervousness.
– Three… – and, before you forgot the appropriate treatment, – Poseidon-sama.
Finally, he lowered his hand and let go of your jawline. Less patience was sensed in his voice when he spoke again.
– Now, tell me. If you can talk, if you can see me, hear my voice and understand what I say... Why don’t you respond when I speak to you?
You swallowed, and no word was heard from you. You could barely raise your eyes to him, but when you did, you saw him raising an eyebrow, and the corners of his lips curving themselves in a smirk.
What? A god can do this type of thing?
Apparently, not only he could do that, but he had also proficiency in teasing.
– Are you defying me, or are you just anxious?
You felt your cheeks warming up and looked away, but not before sensing his fingers touching your hair, brushing it behind your ear.
– So quiet, so hesitant and small... – he commented; and, with a chuckle, – I thought I would find a human here tonight, but instead of this… What are you? A dragonet?
Your eyes widened at the comparison. Now he was giving you names? What kind of man was that?
Your tongue was almost freed at that moment for you to make that very question, but before the words left your mouth, Poseidon grabbed your arm.
– There is no use for shyness here, woman. Come, now. Let's finish this.
He then led you to the spot he originally ordered you to take.
Now that you were seeing the altar from close, you could see details that went unnoticed before. For example, alongside the earrings, there was a white, folded piece of fabric on the tray, which use you didn’t find hard to guess: in case the bride didn’t have her ears pierced already, she would bleed, and the fabric would keep her clean. You used to wear earrings, but your last pair was taken away during the preparations for the wedding, as well as any other metallic object or jewel you might have had with you, so that you would be at least spared from the pain and the mess.
Poseidon took one of the pearls and approached it from your lips, holding it with his fingertips.
– Kiss it.
You obeyed, despite the strangeness of the instruction. He then moved your hair away from your right ear, exposing it, as well as your neck and collar, and pinned the earring on your lobe. You flinched at his touch, but one look from him and you stopped avoiding his hands.
The process was repeated with the second pearl, and you knew that the easiest part of the ceremony was over.
Poseidon was the first to speak after it.
– These pearls are the sign of the Emperor’s wives – he started – Not only for the others, but for yourself. From now on, your heart, your mind, your body and your spirit belong to me. Whenever I tell you to come, you come. When I tell you to leave, you leave. When I tell you to speak, you do it, and if I want you to be silent, you do it as well. You will carry my children, and only them; no one else can touch you and stay alive, for these pearls must be their only warning. No attempt of removing them will be tolerated, nor even if they come from yourself. Always remember this, and you will stay in my favor.
Finally, he raised the back of his right hand and told you to kiss it, as the ultimate sign of your compliance. No, you weren’t really agreeing with all of that; you never asked or expected it, but you gave him the kiss. You knew it was marking a permanent change in your life, but how many things have already changed since you were taken away from home? Even when you were trapped in the depths of the seas, marked as a god’s belonging, you still had hopes of finding your way, if not out of his domain, at least through it, but you would have to navigate between many things to get there, most of them unpleasing. You still had to learn where you were stepping into, and for this you had to study the territory.
Your study already began, with your arrival at the lodge and your friendship with Alyssa, and now it would continue with this strange wedding.
With the kiss, the ceremony was over. Poseidon held your wrist and, without any additional explanation, walked you around the altar, to the doors through which he arrived. With one hand, he pulled them, and a new path appeared before you.
His steps were steady, too fast for you to follow without panting; you would have stayed behind if he wasn’t holding you. At some point, when you almost stumbled, he finally stopped and turned to you, disappointed.
– Too slow.
You just stared at him, unable to speak.
– Humans used to be a bit stronger in the past – and, assuming a more serious tone, – I am not sure if I like what I see now.
And before you could think of a reaction, he grabbed you by your waist and threw you over his shoulder. You let out a little scream, and had no response from him but a tightening on his grip before he continued to walk on the same pace as before.
This is so humiliating.
The only advantage of this – if you could call it an advantage – was that you were spared from any anxiety that a longer trip to the chambers where your marriage would be consummated would provoke.
***
Poseidon only put you down when you passed the chambers’ entry, closing the door behind him.
You immediately stepped away from him when you reached the floor. You haven’t gone too far when you felt a warm, comfortable texture under your feet; you looked down and found a black carpet that covered the entire place, forming what seemed to be a black sea.
It was when you realized the wideness of that place.
It was like two or three rooms with your lodge’s size were built together, but without walls to separate them, and the existing ones were even higher, leading to a ceiling that reminded you of the skies out there, toward which you saw the bright star flying at that night. All around you, there was a cold, bluish light that touched everything, from the decorations on the walls and the furniture to your skin and gown, yet your sight was as good as if you were under the daylight.
Some meters ahead you, at your left, there was an enormous canopy bed with four columns and a golden shell on the top of each one, and with curtains and sheets so dark that they could be black or indigo under that light; the curtains were opened, but you couldn’t help wondering if you’d feel like drowning in an abyssal zone if they were closed around you. Not so far from it, there was a small table with a bottle upon it.
There’s oppression in each corner of this room.
All of this you noticed the instant when the door was being locked behind you; you turned to it, passing your arms around yourself. Your wedding night was going to happen, then.
Poseidon turned to you and, when he started walking at you direction, Proteus’ advice came back to your mind in a flash.
Trust the silence, the modesty and the compliance, and everything will be good for you.
Everything would be good if you chose to become his Lord’s wife. If you acted like he instructed, you would survive.
But would you still be you?
Anything that goes beyond this you will do at your own risk.
He spoke as if your death was a certainty in case you dared speak. However, if you didn’t do anything now, you would lose what made you human.
My freedom.
And maybe Proteus-sama needed to know more about humans, because if he understood that trying to prevent you from doing something by threatening you with the unknown was the precise way to encourage you to do it, he would never speak like that to you.
To him, my voice means my death. But, to me, it always meant change.
And because, besides a human, you were also a merchant.
And the best thing a merchant does is to trade.
You stopped trembling, and decided to make your first offer.
Right now, Poseidon was going to untie the stripes of his robe, but was still dressed with it. You pulled back and knelt on the carpet, with your palms before your head and your face hidden upon the ground.
You couldn’t see Poseidon’s expression when he saw that, but a sort of annoyance – and maybe a bit of confusion – was sensed in his voice.
– What is the meaning of this? Are you really going to beg for my favor right now?
You tried not to stutter in your reply.
– Yes, my Lord.
You heard him sigh.
– Well, whatever. What do you want to ask?
It was the moment.
– Please, my Lord… Kill me.
Now, a slight change in his voice was sensed: whatever he imagined you asking for, it was clear that he wasn’t expecting something like this.
– What?
You raised your eyes to him, afraid of going too far but eager to observe the emotions on his face while you spoke:
– Please... Kill me... Make me one of your servants... Or just throw me away... But do not make me a mother.
It was hard to tell if Poseidon was shocked or offended by your request. The best you could say was that he was intrigued.
– Do you understand what you are asking from me, human? I can finish you with a move of my hand if I want, yet you would prefer this rather than having my children? – and with a hint of indignation, – What kind of plead is this?
You couldn’t risk his patience now, as much as you couldn’t risk having your request denied. You took a moment to adjust your posture, kneeling with your hands upon your lap, not looking directly into his eyes, then started to speak lower, as if opening your heart to him.
– Poseidon-sama, if you give me a death like this, I would be honored. But if you make me bear a child, it would be the longest, the most painful death I can think of – your hands gripped on your gown – Please, show your wife mercy and don’t give her such fate.
The Lord of the Seas spent a moment observing you. Then, without saying a word, he turned his back on you and walked toward a corner of the room, out of your sight. When he came back, you shivered: he has now returned to his previous spot and had his Trident with him.
So... this is the fate he chose for me.
His grip around the weapon’s base increased, and he extended it toward you in the blink of an eye. You only had time to bow your head...
But the strike never came.
You looked again, and found the three blades pointing at you, at your eyes’ height, the metal shinning under the blue light.
He's not going to kill me, then?
– Touch it – he instructed – Beware of the blades.
You understood you were supposed to put your fingers upon the symbol beyond the blades, and did it. Despite not being made of the same material of them, it was sharp, and freezing to the touch. With all the possible caution, you moved your hand away, back to your lap, and the Trident was pulled back to his owner’s side.
– Here you have it. The sign of my favor. Now, on your feet.
You obeyed and he went to return the Trident to its place, then passed by the small table where you saw the bottle. He opened it and brought it to you: it was an interesting object, with an elliptical shape and a rounded cap, entirely decorated with small, reddish jewels and aged gold. Before you understood what was going on, he grabbed your jawline just like he did before and approached the bottle’s neck to your lips, making you swallow part of the content. You took two shots of the fluid, cold and bittersweet down your throat.
You coughed a bit when he moved the bottle away, putting it back on the table.
– What is this, my Lord? – you had the nerve to ask.
– I am simply answering your request – his reply was unfazed – With this, you will not be able to conceive for one month. The next month, on the same day, you will take it again.
You frowned.
– I don’t understand. If my request will be answered, why do I have to...
You never finished the sentence. You blinked and the next thing you knew it was your lips being silenced with his index finger, after he returned to your side in an instant. Apparently, moving so fast that mortal eyes can barely follow him was one of the Sea Lord’s abilities, something that you supposed to be both impressive and lethal.
He had the same smirk as before when he replied to you.
– Let me tell you something, dragonet. Killing you, thus making you a subject of my elder brother, would be rather a waste after bringing you here. Even worse would be making you a servant with these frail hands of yours – he grabbed your wrists and approached your right ear, whispering – And, concerning sending you away... do you think you would survive as a rejected offer? Do you even understand what it means?
You opened your mouth in shock and he chuckled.
– Not even your people would have mercy on you.
You remembered the relief in Alyssa’s tone when she said she was glad for being accepted.
So, there’s really a taboo surrounding rejected offers.
You didn’t have much time to think of this. You felt his arm passing around your waist and pulling you to him, in a way that you were forced to stay on tip toes, your hands upon his chest, with no chance to escape. With his free hand, Poseidon took a lock from your hair, approaching it from his nostrils, smelling it intensely as he let it slip between his fingers.
– Finally, I conceded you the favor of not becoming a mother, but you are still my wife, you understand? – he approached his lips to your neck, brushing them on your skin as he spoke – You were the one who took me out of boredom this year with this absurd request of yours. Who told you I would not want to see more of you?
Your eyes widened with that. So, he was indeed willing to keep you around.
Staying this close to him was not that bad, though: not only he was handsome, but his body was warm and the fabric of his robe was soft; besides, from him you could sense a deep, addicting fragrance that reminded you of the sweetness of flowers, with a hint of the salinity of the seas. You inhaled it in silence, wondering if it was elaborated to make women compliant.
All of this was observed carefully by Poseidon, and what he said to you about it made you hold your breath.
– Not only this, but you are a terrible liar, you know? – he whispered in your ear – I can sense, smell, your warmth, your arousal from here... It is still just a tiny bit, but it can always get better…
Just like at the beach, when you stood with the water at your waist and your body was too slow to react and avoid the next wave, there was no way to escape the one brought by the god who commanded all of them: the strength of his arm keeping you close to him, having only the thin fabric of his robe and your gown to separate you; his fragrance, which you still weren’t sure to be a perfume or his natural scent; his breath upon your ear, your neck as he spoke; his voice, soft and composed yet youthful, sweet even in the coldest threats and mockery, invading your thoughts like a lullaby, numbing your senses, making his authority acceptable.
If this is what facing a god feels like… how do I fight him?
Not knowing how, you didn’t fight. However, you hoped that one day you would find the answer, for the path to it was right there with you.
The answer is himself.
This thought barely crossed your mind when Poseidon suddenly released you from his grip, and you almost fell. Before you did, you felt his hand holding your left arm, while the other grabbed your gown by the cleavage and pulled it with no hesitation; in a second, the pretty piece was turned into shreds that were promptly discarded with one move of his hand.
You covered your mouth, then your chest with the shock. That was the reason behind that servant’s laughter and the enigmatic response of her partner: you didn’t receive anything more because you wouldn’t need anything more.
His eyes passed all over you, in a way that nothing escaped from them – not even the tremble in your legs. It wasn’t clear that if he approved what he saw, but whatever he might have found displeasing, he would discuss it with his servants later. You pitied them for the tyrannical lord they had to serve.
Poseidon let go of your arm and unraveled the stripe of his robe, getting rid of it as fast as he did with your gown. The blue fabric fell to his feet, exposing everything and making you understand that it wasn’t for nothing that he held such prideful posture.
He was perfect in every possible detail.
At that moment, none of you spoke, and you kept observing, feeling something between embarrassment and awe: the absence of flaws impressed and enchanted you, from the uniformed tone of his skin, to the thin, golden layers of hair shinning over it in different parts of his body; the line of his muscles, as defined as if made of marble; his broad chest and strong arms; the shape of his abdomen, his groins and manhood; his firm thighs and legs. It was hard not to imagine yourself being held, touched, taken by him, and that was precisely what he wanted you to think of, for he stood there long enough for you to catch all those details, fix them in your mind and give room to desire.
Of course. He expects me to give him my undivided attention.
And it was the easiest thing for him to get it, you had to admit.
He came closer to you again, but unlike you imagined, he didn’t surround you with his arms: instead, he held your left shoulder as to keep you in place while his free hand held your chin, in a way that looked more like a study than an attempt of seduction.
– I am going to prepare you first – he spoke more to himself than to you – Most humans use kisses for this type of thing, don’t they? It worked with the previous one – his thumb caressed your lips as he approached his own, whispering – It might work for you as well…
And it worked. As he approached his mouth and put it over yours, you closed your eyes, afraid that he would just suffocate you with greed, but none of this happened: he started with small, brief touches on your lips and the corners of them; noticing your compliance, he made the kisses longer and experimented with them, sucking your lower lip, opening your mouth to reach your tongue with his, while his hands started caressing your face, your neck and shoulders, then go all over your body, warming up your skin; they were strong, but didn’t lack gentleness.
As he extended his kisses to your chin, your neck and collarbone, with his hands continuing to work on the rest, you began to feel sleepy, even relaxed.
Even when humans aren’t common here, he really knows how to do it with them. Maybe these things are not that different with other folks.
When Poseidon understood it was the right time, he took you in his arms and carried you to the canopy bed. Concretizing your fear, he indeed closed the curtains when he laid you on the mattress, so the apprehension of being surrounded by darkness couldn’t be denied, but at the same time it was good not to have yourself exposed as before.
As cold ripples that reach your feet when you first enter the sea, you felt his hands touching your feet, then your legs; it tickled you, but when you tried to move them away, you sensed his hand closing around your ankle and pulling you down to him.
– Where are you going, dragonet? – he put his body over yours, and you sensed his hand leaning on the sheets beside your head – It is too late for this.
You didn’t reply. With his other hand, he searched for your mouth, and carried on with the kisses when he found it. At the same time, you felt his knee moving your leg to the side, separating it from the other as he laid upon you.
You were now one of Poseidon’s wives.
#shuumatsu no valkyrie poseidon#record of ragnarok poseidon#poseidon x reader#snv poseidon#ror poseidon#snv x reader#ror x reader#ror poseidon x reader#snv poseidon x reader
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okay- okay- I'm shy to ask this but- got any headcanons for CraftyCorn×KickinChicken? it's just- these two has something special I promise you I'm not insane trust me gurl-
B E S T I E.
NO SHAME ON IT.
WE AIN'T BEING SHY IN THIS HOUSE. AND DON'T CALL YOURSELF INSANE CAUSE, MY FRIEND, IF YOU ARE CRAZY I'M FAR GONE-
I LOVE THE SHIP DYNAMIC YOU JUST GAVE ME-
WHY MAY YOU ASK? WELL LET ME TELL YOU EXACTLY THAT
🎨⭐💙🤍💛🎨⭐💙🤍💛🎨⭐💙🤍💛🎨⭐💙🤍💛🎨⭐
STELLAR OR COSMOS. YES. THAT IS THE BEST SHIP NAME FOR THESE FELLOWS. IF NOT, I HAVE NO CLUE.
Opposites attract, you guys. Maybe not like Dogday and Catnap in that sense, but LITERALLY in their social status and personality are they opposites.
Kickin would've totally heard from someone else that Craftycorn had a crush on him, which in this case she didn't YET, but BECAUSE of that fact he would play all high and mighty and say that he would act "hard to get". So at the end of the day, he would go around and try to send indirect pickup lines, hoping she would get nervous and ask if he was serious only for him to reject the thought of it. BUT INSTEAD. Craftycorn is completely confused by the comment and thinks it's just a playful joke from Kickin. Then she attempts to laugh it off to not make the situation awkward for herself, AND GUESS WHAT. JUST BECAUSE OF THAT ONE ACT, JUST BECAUSE SHE GIGGLED TO IT. HE INSTANTLY CRUSHES ON HER. AND NOW DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, BECAUSE HE TOLD THE ENTIRE GROUP HE WOULD BE ACTING HARD TO GET.
SO TAKING THE LAST HEADCANON IN THOUGHT, WE GET: AN IN-DENIAL COOL GUY WANNA BE X AN OBLIVIOUS QUIET GIRL.
I'll never stop head canonizing Craftycorn doodling the people she crushes on.
A very nice thought I would get from these two is Craftycorn asking Kickin if she'd like to hold his hand. At first, Kickin dismisses it, then reluctantly agrees, only for Crafty to witness how downright NERVOUS this man got. Like- we are talking about taking feathers, sweating beads dripping down his forehead, and even getting chicken skin WHILE BEING A CHICKEN. As she notices it, she attempts to comfort him and check if he is all right but just makes matters WORSE.
Picture this: The whole group are in a basketball competition on the beach/backyard of someone's house. Kickin's team are all struggling to keep up the energy. So, noticing this, Bobby brings in the idea for the ones not participating in the game to be the cheerleaders. That of course, one of them being Craftycorn. She declines the offer, once, twice, even so many times because she is too nervous to do such a thing. But once she decided to do it, all Kickin had to hear was "Uuuh... go team, go?" from Crafty and INSTANT WIN. INSTANTLY.
Let's all just agree that this is not looking-for-attention artist x looking-for-attention superstar.
Whenever there's a group activity, Craftycorn would usually invite everyone over to her house to do arts and crafts. She is somewhat of an art teacher for all her friends. That included Kickin, but due to his pride and wanting to heavily impress Crafty with his skills, he would deny any help and try to do EXTREMELY difficult art pieces. Which, obviously always ended up a crappy mess. Soon enough, when Kickin feels like giving up on his masterpiece and downright frustrated by not catching Crafty's interest, Crafty decides to step in and help him little by little. Soon enough, Kickin finds out that this is a much better way to catch Crafty's attention and finally enjoys doing something together.
Hoppy wouldn't leave him alone the moment she found out he liked Crafty. And the same thing would go for Craftycorn with Bobby.
Craftycorn, as a way to show her appreciation to others without saying words out, would usually go around and paste stickers to the things she likes. Now just imagine Kickin's shock the moment she begins to put stickers ALL around his body.
Craftycorn rarely gets angry at people, not because only is she soft-spoken, but she is rather very collected with her emotions. But when she gets ever so PISSED with people, she begins to regret it rather instantly. Sometimes she would lock herself in a room, and not come out for DAYS. This of course made Kickin very worried about her. Instead of going downright bursting into the door, he promises Crafty that he will be sitting at the other end until she is ready to come out. For a few bunch of minutes, there's a bit of a comforting silence until Craftycorn decides to open the door and let him inside. Now let's be honest, both of them are terrible at speaking their feelings out. Maybe Crafty is much more open about it, but it was clear she didn't want to make things worse than they already were, so they majorly only hold hands and stick together, the silence much more comforting than they thought it would be.
Let me make this easy for you'll to understand what I mean: Crafty + papercut = Kickin instantly falling into panic mode.
#poppy playtime#poppy playtime chapter 3#poppy playtime 3#smiling critters#kickinchicken#craftycorn#kickin chicken x craftycorn#craftycorn x kickin chicken#my headcanons#headcanon#STOP UNDERRATED SHIPS!!!
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Cuz I’m a sucker for angst, what would happen if in your soulmate au, the reader rejects the boys because of all the pain they put reader through??
Authors Note: I'm so sorry for putting this one off I just didn't want to spoil pt.3 !!! now that I have it out of the way here's my hurt no comfort version of how pt.3 could have gone. Basically an alternative time line where you break these boys hearts :(
(Please read the other parts for this to make sense)
For Context: Vashwood Soulmate AU Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Vashwood x Reader Soulmate Au, Angst
"I hate you" It's what comes out of your mouth. It's not your fault really, this is all too much too soon you didn't even know if you wanted soulmates, at least, not the kind that made your life a living hell since you were seven and yet here they were, stumbling into your clinic like this was acceptable or remotely normal.
"You...what?" the blonde ask. It's quiet, so quiet you'd almost miss it if it weren't for the kicked puppy expression he's currently wearing.
"Vash they don't mean that, I said mean shit too when we found out" Nick huffs. Vash and Nick huh? You almost wished he hadn't said the kicked puppies name, it'd make it easier to forget them when they left.
"No...No I do mean that" this gets both of their attentions, The dark haired man's brow furrows while Vash takes a sharp breath obviously steeling himself for whatever your about to say next.
"You two...you two made my life hell. I found out about you on my fucking birthday because I thought I got shot."
Vash winces at that.
"I had to be taken out of school because I cried all the time- hell I couldn't get out of bed! My parents had to look after me I nearly died myself from malnutrition because I couldn't stop screaming from how bad it all hurt!"
Nick shifts on his feet, squaring his shoulders, guarded as if it'll physically protect him from your onslaught of words.
"My dad left because he couldn't watch me suffer- my own mother prayed I would die. To be honest I kind of wanted to, I don't even know how I stayed sane, I don't laugh like I used to I don't- I hurt so fucking bad every day." your voice breaks.
You don't know what the two look like anymore, their forms get blotted out by the tears pooling in your eyes. It's good, you don't want to see their expressions anyways.
"I hate you! I wish you two would've just died!"
It's silent besides your own sobs that you try to muffle with your sleeve. If there was a god, he was a cruel one. One that played tricks and hurt for the hell of it. Because if there really was a god, why you? Why did you get the two people who hurt with abandon? Why did you have to be the one to send them away?
"We never meant to hurt you" Vash says softly, he's not crying. In fact when you glance up at him he's offering your a weary smile, it looks tired and fake.
"But you did"
Nick looks like he wants to say something but he reaches for his pack of cigarettes' instead, grabs one and lights it. Filling his lungs with a large inhale of nicotine. You can feel the burn when he holds his breath for too long.
"I'm sorry" the blond offers in a broken sort of tone, this bristles the other man but this too he doesn't comment on. He probably knows it's a losing battle anyways.
"I am too. Like I said, we're closed." You gesture to the door and that empty smile on Vash's face falters, you swear you see tears beginning to prick at his eyes too but it's too hard to tell with those yellow glasses.
He swallows the lump in his throat and nods slowly reaching for the door, he doesn't bother on waiting for his companion as he walks out shoulders lower than when he came in.
The man holding the cross watches you for a moment, expression hard to read under his dark shades.
"What" you say bitterly
"...He's right, we never meant to hurt you. Don't think we don't feel bad about it. I was mad too when I first met him but you shouldn't- you didn't even give us a chance"
"a chance? I've given you chances since I first felt the two of you. Every single day I gave you a chance, praying it'd be the last time I was shot or stabbed or fucking ripped apart." you snap back
He sets his lips in a firm line letting smoke curl up towards the ceiling.
"That "ripping" apart sensation was all me doll face. You want to be mad? Fine. But don't take it out on him, he likes to play martyr and I hate it just as much as you do but only because he loves too damn hard. Because he does love you, you get that right?"
It's your turn for your expression to sour.
"Loves me? he doesn't even know me"
"Well that's just the type of person spikey is. He loves with abandon even if it get's him hurt, even if it ends in his own soulmate turning their nose up at him. If you want to be mad be mad at me."
"Why do you even care."
"Because we're your god damn soulmates! As much as you don't like it god or the universe or whatever the fuck picked us. Us. All three of us to be together"
"Well I guess god makes mistakes then huh."
He stills at that. He's angry, or defeated, or tired, you don't know which, or maybe its all three but there's something akin to recognition in his stance. You were right, he knows when to pick his battles.
"Yeah...guess so." he scoffs "Sorry 'bout the smoke."
You don't say anything when he opens the door to leave.
There's a pull, your soulmate connection telling you to follow, to beg them to come back but you shake your head. Maybe God makes mistakes but you won't.
***
It doesn't take Wolfwood long to find Vash. He's leaning against the clinic still, watching the stars. He doesn't really know what to say. He'd known this would happen, had known since they felt you pinch back all those months ago...but what can he say? The needle noggins optimism had rubbed off on him, he had forgotten that their lives were a tragedy, doomed by the narrative from the start.
"It's not your fault spikey so quit makin that face" Nick huffs, he wished he could say something kinder, more reassuring but he wasn't built for kindness. Vash knew that though, had felt it.
"Isn't it? I'm the one that's always diving in front of bullets, always getting hurt, letting myself get hurt I- I've hurt them so bad Nick. I don't deserve them, I don't deserve you either." Vash sniffles
Nick runs his tongue over the end of the cigarette in his mouth. He knew that if you had turned Vash down this would happen. He had a self deprecating streak like no other, not that he was one to talk. Nick reaches out to gently press his knuckles to the other mans temple.
"C'mon tongari none of that. These things take time, I nearly rung your neck too when I found out we were soulmates. 'sides, if we wanna play the guilt game I win by a landslide. The eye of Michael-"
"Nick-"
Wolfwood holds up his hand to finish
"-The eye of Michael messed me up real bad blondie. That's not your fault or theirs. It's just a fact. So quit actin like this is black and white."
Vash quiets, he's not satisfied, but he won't pick at the wound more than he has to, not now at least.
"What do we do we do now?"
Nick eyes the other man and shrugs.
"What we always do. Keeping going and maybe...maybe one day we'll feel a pinch and know it's time to come back."
***
The next day they aren't in town, Gary tells you all about the two odd strangers who asked him about you last night. Ask if they ever made to the clinic.
"No they didn't but I closed early, must've missed them." you say
"Must've not been important then since they left so early, probably journalist" he chuckles, you just nod along.
"Yeah, probably."
You feel a pinch as you walk home, light on your right arm. You had caught a glance at Vash's- the blond mans left arm. Prosthetic, so the feeling must be from him. You don't pinch back.
There's no hurt after that, you move through your day painless, no bullets, no stabs, no pinches, no burns. No trace of you ever even having a soulmate.
Your life goes on like normal, although you have gained one new habit. Every night when you close the clinic, you double check to make sure the door is locked.
#vash x reader#vash x you#wolfwood x reader#wolfwood x you#vashwood x reader#angst#hurt no comfort#cry about it#soulmate au
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For the writer's ask game :)
In Your Starlight for ♡ ! (pick a fic and I’ll pick a comment that made me really happy) Deliberately picking your most commented on fic so that you have plenty to choose from (and a fun time re-reading all the nice comments)
And Nature 2.0 for ♫ 😁 (send a fic and i’ll make a 3-5 song playlist for you) Go ahead and spread some of that soundtrack goodness around 😎
You really did go for the one story with the most comments huh? Thank you for giving me an opportunity to bask in all of those wonderful comments again even though IT MADE CHOOSING ONE IMPOSSIBLE!!!!
Anyway, I did pick out two comments from In Your Starlight that aren't spoilery, both by guests:
And you have done it again!!
OMG this is sooo good! I love how everyone is so supportive, and the talk between Julie and Alex i-
the many friendships portrayed in this is just amazing.
I don't even mind about Willie being put aside in this chapter.
I love your work so much! :D
I am once again 'grinning like an idiot' and won't stop as this fic is just too good.
Thanks again for your amazingness :)
AHHHHHHHHHHHH YES YES YES YES YES IM SMILING SO MUCH IM SO HAPPY THEY FINALLY KISSED AND ALSO THAT LAST SCENE WAS JUST PERFECT OVERALL OH MY GOD I CANT STOP SMILING AHHHHHHHHHH
But I have to give real shout outs to the best cheerleading comments by @merihn, @chanihobbit and @thinkmanythingsofit because every single one of those was pure serotonin injected straight into the bloodstream!!
🎶
And now for the 3-5 songs for Nature 2.0 ... I mean, I have so many more on the official playlist but here's a few from this very eclectic soundtrack that tries to capture the epicness and softness and melancholy of this MGS white whale of a fic:
Nitzer Ebb - "I Am Undone" - this was the first song I encountered where I went "Oh, Nature 2.0 vibes!! I should save that in a playlist or something." The lyrics don't fit 100% but somehow it's still the perfect song for this fic.
MNQN - "What Have You Become?" - More of the Industrial sound digging into the themes of transformation and mutation. Especially these lines are very apt: "Only a few species ever undergo change - The others become extinct - Man will almost certainly be replaced by a new order of intelligence - Stop looking for monsters under your bed - You are the monster"
Hurts - "The Road" - This isn't much about the lyrics but I love the juxtaposition between the softer parts and the harshness interrupting it. It just fits the idea of this story so well with the danger and importance of the mission juxtaposed with two men falling in love in the quiet moments in-between. There's a surprising amount of philosophising happening in the original game and that was definitely the plan to rescue for this story. The structure of the song just mirrors that perfectly.
Montserrat Figueras/Jordi Savall - "El Cant De La Sibil·La" - this ... yeah, this has been on the playlist pretty much from the beginning. The sadness of it fits the tragedy of the fic. You know, I've actually never bothered to look up the meaning until now but learning that the lyrics are about a prophecy about the end of the world is just sooo perfect for the scope of the fic!!!
Clint Mansell - "Leaving Earth" (Mass Effect OST) - Mass Effect my beloved!! This instrumental piece is so full of feelings: epicness, softness, harshness. And as such it's perfect for my Nature 2.0 soundtrack as well ;D
Carina Round - "For Everything a Reason" - this is an 'end credits' song for me and the first one I put on the playlist (there's a few more of those by now). It doesn't really make sense for a fic soundtrack but in my head the fic is very cinematic and there's something about imagining the dramatic end fight, followed by a tragedy that was always going to happen, the sadness and hope going into a fade out. And then the end credits roll just like your tears while this song plays.
...yes, I realise that was six songs, shh. Anyway, I hope you got an impression of the fic and its playlist :D
And thank you soooo much for sending in some asks from This List and let me relive glorious comments and share some of my songs from the one fic playlist I'm really proud of <3 <3 <3
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okay so like how do you set boundaries with an internet friend that you don't wanna be friends with anymore? this is no one here, this is someone i know via instagram and I kinda just realized is actually a dick to me? all the time? and i don't wanna talk to them anymore much less have them edit my book (which they offered to do and I stupidly already said yes)
I don't wanna block them without saying anything, i literally have trauma around being blocked for no reason BUT like is that worse than like? just ghosting them forever? cause that's what I've been kinda doing already
this person CLAIMS to like my book but they've also given me stupid super nit-picky and mean spirited criticisms on it that make no sense that are literally like suspension of disbelief things (also they tried to say that it was "unrealistic" for Cain to not be arrested for tax fraud, which like. buddy you're european and you have no fucking idea what CEO billionaires in the US are fucking capable of getting away with apparently lol)
These criticisms were basically unprompted btw. they were like oh can i make some comments and I said yeah sure thinking it'd be something small and then they proceeded to tell me that my entire story makes no sense and kinda mock it and make fun of it and make me feel dumb
so they made me really insecure about my writing and also literally none of my headmates like them and we get that we can't stop them from reading our book when it's published BUT we just don't want to talk to them about it or have them read it for free
i asked a friend about it and they think they're jealous of me and that's why they say they like my book but are also picking it apart and idk if that's true but I don't think they're like... PURPOSEFULLY being an asshole they just are. i literally dread every message I get from them. OH also they called one of my headmates an ableist slur which like okay fine, it's a common slur that people throw around but it was still hmmmm not great (we are not out as a system on instagram btw)
they send me videos that are completely irrelevant to my interests, they've been BUGGING me about when i'll send them the chapters of silence agenda I told them they could edit (which now will not be happening lol). also our very first conversation was them trying to tell me that studying titanic history doesn't matter WHEN I WAS LITERALLY GRIEVING AFTER THE SUBMERSIBLE DISASTER LAST SUMMER AND VENTING MY FRUSTRATIONS ABOUT IT. and i did snap at them that time and we worked it out and both apologized for making assumptions which was fine but still. like i almost blocked them the moment they sent me that message and now i really really really wish I had bc I feel like i'm in too deep
we also have several mutuals in common and i would worry that if I blocked them on everything, they'd ask one of our common mutuals about it (or a mutual would share my art or something) and they'd realize that I have them blocked, and then i'd have to like. explain myself. and i don't feel comfortable telling those mutuals about it bc i DO NOT want to be that person that's like 'hey jsyk you're following this person who is Problematique' bc i DESPISE when people do that
anyway yeah i just don't know how to handle it and any advice would be appreciated. idk how i've been putting up with this person's bullshit for so long like dear lord i kinda felt like i yanked the wool off my eyes today and realized how fucking awful they are to me
#sorry for the massive vent i just wanted to get these feelings out#and i did end up blocking an ex tumblr mutual once and haven't regretted it but they were a radfem#this is different obviously#but yeah none of us want anything to do with this person ever again. we don't wanna put up with their bullshit#win rambles#vent /
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Mean prompt: Max/Daniel & you shouldn’t have come back
@sebsrainbowbicycle 🙃💖
It's good, being back in the paddock. Granted, Daniel isn't doing that much driving this time, but it's still good to be here, feel the pulse of the crowd. It feels good when they chant his name, too. The smile he wears isn't even the fake one, so it's all good.
Christian accosts him just as he's done with filming another interview with Sky. Daniel is in a great mood, despite the fact that Nico is a cunt, he always was, and now that he's back to commenting, Daniel isn't sure if he' glad about it or not. Nico knows how to ask the most inappropriate questions and play it off as if he didn't mean anything bad, as if he was just joking, and everyone lets it slide because it's Nico. Everyone knows he's weird, just like everyone knows Daniel is a ball of sunshine, and happy to be back in F1. "No matter the limited capacity," Nico had said and smiled for the cameras, and Daniel had smiled ever wider.
"We need you in the briefing," Christian says, dragging him by the shoulder. "Max needs you to clarify something about the downforce." He lowers his voice since they're passing by the McLaren mechanics.
"And whatever Maximus needs, Maximus gets," he says with a smile. Christian doesn't react, except to squeeze his shoulder. It feels like a warning.
The briefing is full, and Daniel sees some people he would like to say hello to, but Christian doesn't let him chat, or even stop. He drags him over to where Max is buried in data. He looks in deep concentration, a small frown on his face. When Christian taps him on the shoulder, the frown deepens, but he takes off his headphones and nods. Christian nods back, and leaves with a final pat to Danny's shoulder.
"Daniel, good. I need to know, wait, where's the data," he says, shuffling through the printed data sheets in front of him. "I need to know how you got the three tenths here in the curve, I can't make sense of it."
Daniel sits down in the chair next to him. "Hello, Maxy. How are you? I'm well, thank you for asking."
Max doesn't roll his eyes. In fact, he doesn't even acknowledge the joking reprimand. He searches through the paper, and Daniel knows how to read the strain in his neck, and the little pout-frown in the corner of his lips. He shouldn't push when Max is like this, but what was it that he'd said to Nico not half an hour ago? 'Full send, as always'? He thinks of how Max's lips used to taste underneath his, and how much he's bulked up in the past couple of years, and how good it would be to be pressed into the bed by Max this time, for a change.
He leans forward in the chair. "Come on, Max. Lighten up, it's not like you haven't driven here before." He drums his fingers on the table. "You should relax, enjoy the sun a little instead of being coped up in here. Take a break, and we can go get coffee right now, now that I'm back, you don't need to -"
"Well maybe you shouldn't have come back, if you will act like this," Max interrupts him, snaps at him really. "Maybe you shouldn't have come back, if you will not take this seriously." He doesn't sound angry when he speaks, that's the thing. He just sounds sure. "I am here to work, and to win, Daniel."
The unsaid implications don't escape Daniel's notice. He feels a lump in his throat, and he wants to reply. He wants to tell Max that he's here to win too, that he won too, that Max isn't the only one who has ever won.
Except, there's only one World Champion in the room, and it's not Daniel.
"Yeah, Max, I, yeah, okay," he fumbles, not looking away from Max's calm gaze. "I - show me the data. I'll tell you what I did in the ca - in the simulator."
His own voice grates on his nerves. Max doesn't reply, only nods, like that was exactly what he expected, and pulls out a sheet with numbers on it.
Daniel leans over to look at it, and doesn't thibk about how attractive Max was just then, or how fast his heart is beating, or how hopeless his daydreams are, or how some things won't ever happen again.
"Okay, so..."
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George Russell / Carlos Sainz
Title: Close to comfort
Pairing: Carlos Sainz / George Russell
Characters: Carlos Sainz, George Russell, Alex Albon
Prompt: Carlos is not happy about P3 in the constructors championship.
A/N: This can be read as a stand alone story but is part of my paddock slut series. You can read the rest here.
"You don't mind, do you George?" Carlos steps to one side and allows George into the room. Does George mind? Honestly it feels like something he just has to do now. He feels nothing anymore.
He had the evening planned with Alex, they were going to go out and celebrate their respect places in the Championship, but with George feeling under the weather they had agreed to have a night in, have a bit of pamper evening. That was until Carlos had text him and Alex had begged him not go but here George is like the good little slut he's somehow become.
"George?" He realises he never responded to Carlos' question, he forces a smile on his face. "No, I don't mind." Carlos smiles back and it looks so evil it sends a shiver down George's spine.
"Good, because i'm not happy we lost second place to you in the constructor championship and let's just say, I am very kinky." George swallows, so that's why Carlos had asked him to prepare himself very well. "You are very quiet George, you are free to leave..."
"No, I want to be here." It's just different with Carlos, Lewis and Charles were particularly rough with him but they were gentle in a personal sense and with Carlos he's just a hole. He's not sure if that's better or not.
"You are so beautiful George." Carlos gently strokes his cheek, he can't help but lean into it. "It's such a shame, i'm going to ruin you." Carlos removes the hand from his cheek and pushes it into his hair, forcing George onto his knees. "What's your safe word?"
"Ferrari." Carlos doesn't say anything but the hand in his tightens, forcing tears from George's eyes.
"I'm going to ask you one more time, are you sure you want to this?" Carlos release's the hand in his hair and stares at him, eyebrow slightly raised. "I want this." The evil smile return to Carlos' face. "Good, no more Mr. nice guy, you want me to stop, you use your safe word." George can only nod in response.
"All you are George, is a hole to fuck." Carlos growls grabbing a fistful of his hair, tugging hard enough to draw more tears to George's eyes as his face is forced to meet Carlos' very hard cock. "I'm going to use your mouth because that's all your good for."
George opens lips and Carlos slides into his mouth, he gets to know the big member with his tongue, licking around the sensitive tip, greedily lapping up the first few drops of pre cum. Carlos lets George have the control for only a few short seconds before the hand in his hair tightens and Carlos thrusts into his throat until George's nose is pressed against Carlos' dark pubes.
"Such a slut, a cock buried deep into your throat and it doesn't bother you." Carlos rolls his hips, thrusting into George's hot throat. Carlos is moaning loudly above him while he thrusts hard, into George's mouth. He can barely keep up and chokes on his own spit and saliva as it runs down his face and onto his neck.
Carlos stops thrusting and instead pushes his cock in as far as can and holds George there until his vision starts to dark around the edges. Just when George thinks he can't take anymore, Carlos slides out and George takes in as much air as he possibly can.
"You take off your clothes and kneel on the floor, while I get the rope ready" George does as he told, he takes off his team jumper and leaves it in pile on the floor along with his jeans and boxers. The rope comment has him a little nervous but it's nothing he hasn't done before.
Carlos returns with the rope and makes quick work of trying George up, he ties George's wrists together behind his back, then wraps the rope around his forearms and chest, leaving George's arms completely useless.
George is face down ass up on the hotel carpet, the roughness of it burns his knees but he doesn't get dwell on it for too long because Carlos has rolled on a condom and is pressing against George's slick entrance.
Carlos digs his fingers against George's hip bones and sinks inside of him. George grunts, it burns a little from the lack of preparation and from the size of Carlos' cock but it's nothing George can't handle as the burning subsides with every movement until Carlos eventually bottoms out.
"How can a dirty whore like you, be so fucking tight." George doesn't get the chance to respond, Carlos is pulling nearly all the way out only to slam back inside of him with one swift thrust. George might not have done a good enough job with his own fingers because it feels like Carlos is splitting him apart with every thrust until he finally settles into a steady rhythm. George moans with every thrust, not in pleasure just because he feels like he has to.
Carlos is slamming into him with a rough, deep pace gaining speed and force with every thrust. Carlos' speed is blistering but to George's relief his burn subsides to a burning dull of pleasure. George has never had sex like this before. Sure people have been rough with him but Carlos makes him feel like an object.
George can't wait for this to be over with, he squeezes down around Carlos, hoping to speed up his orgasm a little bit. Carlos hasn't notice or doesn't care that George himself isn't hard. He just continues fucking into him like he's a joy.
Carlos must be close now because he pounds into George with all his might, causing George's skin to rub against the carpet underneath, leaving burns on his pale skin. George bites his lip, it's nearly over, Carlos' thrusts are becoming more irregular until they eventually stutter to a stall and George can feel the heat of his orgasm through the condom. George just lays there and says nothing until Carlos eventually pulls out of him.
"Thank you, George. I feel so much better after that." George stays silent as Carlos unwraps the ropes and releases him from his bonds. His hole is sore and throbbing and his chest burns from the carpet. Carlos takes one look at him and raises an eyebrow. "George, are you okay?"
George blinks back the tears threatening to fall and forces a smile onto his face. "I'm fine Carlos." Carlos nods, staring at the burns on George's skin, a guilty look on his face, but he doesn't apologise. George quickly re dresses, he can't wait to get out of here.
"Thank you George, we'll have to do it again sometime." George says nothing, just walks out of the room and finally lets himself cry. He walks passed his own room and goes to Alex's room instead.
"Oh Georgie." Alex has barely opened the door before he's pulling George into a tight hug and just holds him as he sobs. "I'm so sorry Alex." The older one just rubs his back until his cries eventually subside.
"How about a nice bath?" George nods and follows Alex into the bathroom like an obedient puppy. "You can't keep doing this to yourself George." Alex turns on the tap and adds a shit ton of bubble bath. "who even was it?"
"Charles, Max and Lewis were rough with me." George speaks while removing his clothing for the second time tonight. He catches Alex staring at the burns on his chest, a bubble of anger rising in his chest. "But with Carlos, it's like I wasn't even there." Alex's knuckles turn white from how hard he's gripping the side of the bath.
George sighs in relief as he sinks into the bath, the warm water eases he tension and he instantly starts to feel better until he catches the vacant stare in Alex's eyes. "Are you mad at me Alex?" Alex smiles at him, but it's clearly forced. "Not with you Georgie." Alex washes George's body with a damp sponge.
"I can't let you do this to yourself anymore." George finds himself wrapped up Alex's bed, wearing only his boxers and a Williams T-shirt. Alex climbs in besides him and scoots up until their bodies are pressed together.
"I love you too much George, you are worth so much more than this." George can feel Alex's breath against his lips, he doesn't respond because they both know it's going to happen again.
"I just want to help you..." George takes the plunge and presses his lips against Alex's. Alex gasps in surprise at first but soon lazily kisses George back.
This might be the most loved George has felt in a long time.
#george russell#carlos sainz#fanfic#formula 1 fanfiction#formula 1 fanfic#mxm#fanfiction#formula 1#formula one#mxm smut#alex albon
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