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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 1 year

Text

Soap x Reader You decide to reward Soap after finishing a set on the bench press.

NSFW 18+, Explicit, Shameless Smut, Porn w/out Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Gym Sex, Teasing, Fluff, Flirting, Cunnilengus, Blow-Jobs, Cowgirl, P in V, Might be a little tame, but still Graphic Description, no Y/N usage, sorry if this reads kind of cringe or shitty, I'll fix what I can as I come back to it! (ʃᵕ̩̩ ᵕ̩̩)

Word Count: 2.4k

OK, so I had an ex who used to take me to the gym with him on a private compound (he was a Ranger, mm good times (っ˘ڡ˘ς), and those gyms were always dead empty after like 5pm. So, I thought it'd be a perfect setting for something freaky. Enjoy!

But also disclaimer: This is a fake scenario I made up! (✿˵•́ ૩•̀˵)৴♡* Masterlink

"Can you spot me?"

Soap takes a seat at the bench press, having just added a fresh, new 100lbs set of weights to the barbell. He'd spent the last half-hour warming up with lighter weights; this time he felt pumped enough to push himself.

You set your dumbbells down beside you upon hearing Soap call for assistance. The two of you have been working out for well over two hours now, and your bodies were feeling sweaty and spent at this point. The showers were practically singing to you.

Any time you went to the gym with Soap, you left genuinely feeling like you got a good workout done. Often times in more ways than one.

As you walked around so you could spot him, you were met with a resounding smack to your ass, making you gasp.

Instinctively, you look around, afraid that someone may have caught that. Then you remembered why you liked this gym so much.

It was inside a compound; the other soldiers would need special clearance to even enter, meaning the place was basically a graveyard once it was time for everyone to clock out. And best of all, all the cameras were in the hallways. Or so you were told.

God help whoever has to watch the surveillance footage later if that's not true.

Now despite that, it wasn't like you and Soap ever actually did anything in here before; Beyond some kissing and heavy petting in-between sets, whenever one of you two looked just a little too good while pumping iron.

When you came to the gym, for the most part, you actually did want to work out. However, you couldn't get enough of how sexy Soap was looking in his gym attire today.

He went with his old rugby shorts and a muscle top, anything to show off how good his body looks when he's getting damp with sweat and flexing his muscles each time he starts another set. The man was almost too aware of how good he looked.

As usual, you knew he dressed like this on purpose too. Knowing you'll eat it up every time. You don't know how many times he's teased you today alone about your lingering eyes.

He wasn't the only one trying to distract with his clothing, however.

Knowing that this gym would be empty, you went in just some extremely short, thigh-high, tight shorts and an equally tight sports bra. When you didn't have to worry about perverted men ogling you as you worked out, it was nice to actually wear some clothes your body could breathe in.

It also made it easier to attract the right kind of attention.

You'd certainly been enjoying looking into the gym mirrors and seeing Soap's eyes smack dabbed right on your ass whenever you'd squat or deadlift. Unaware that you could see him. Each time he looked, he'd sigh to himself like he didn't even know where to begin with you. His hands would adjust the crotch of his shorts, and he'd blink a few times to get himself back into the zone.

You've been itching to tease him about it all day yourself.

You get behind Soap as he lies back on the bench, shifting his body until he's comfortable enough to take the barbell. You watch his hands grip the cool steel firmly, the veins in his arms looking especially mouth-watering from where you're standing.

"Let's see if you can break your last record," you challenge him.

Soap gives you a teasing look suddenly. "What do I get if I do?"

You place your hands on your hips and smirk. Having to look down at him, all laid out with his arms above him. It was making your imagination start to wander.

"Find out," you wink.

Soap takes one deep breath and lifts the barbell from the stand, beginning his set at a decent speed. Little droplets of sweat begin to roll down the side of his face, as his mohawk sat a little wilder for wear on his head. You listen to the little grunts and sharp breaths he lets out each time he raises the weights.

You start thinking about how he might look if you were in that bar's place instead. Having him a panting mess underneath you. It made you more impatient the more you thought about it.

"Almost there," you start to cheer him on now. "You got this."

Soap reaches his last one, as he struggles to lift the barbell up. You give him some time to rerack it himself, wanting him to feel accomplished with this workout. And wanting to reward him for it too. His arms shake and he grunts with frustration, but he manages to get the barbell back on the stand.

The sigh he lets out the minute he finishes felt equivalent to how you imagine he'd sound climaxing. It makes you giggle.

You're ready to put it to the test.

"You did it!" You applaud him.

"Aye," he huffs. Soap then extends his hands over his head, until his callous palms have met the bare skin of your thighs behind him. "Now come 'ere already," he practically growls out. "Give me what I won."

It seems his mind was in the same gutter as you.

His hands slide up your thighs until they've stopped right at the cusp of your ass cheeks, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your gym shorts ever so slightly. It makes the heat between your legs start to radiate; for a second you could have sworn Soap noticed. Judging from how his smile grew.

"Oh, was this the prize?" You tease. "Sweaty foreplay?"

"My favorite," Soap chuckles.

You take one final look around, making sure the gym was as empty as it had been for the past three hours. Soap didn't seem to care regardless, his mind already set on what he wanted. You don't stop Soap when you feel him pull your shorts down, the clothing falling to your ankles as you kicked them off.

Soap takes an eyeful of you, licking his lips and making sure to give your ass a generous squeeze before pulling you closer to him. You step forward, until you're right over the Sergeant, your arms using the barbell to lean on for support.

You already knew the man was about to treat your pussy like a five-star meal. It had you damn near dripping just thinking about it.

"You're good," you give him your final stamp of approval.

"Oh I know," the Scotsman teased.

He lets his grip tighten over your ass and thighs, swiftly bringing his tongue to your clit like a man desperate to feel your body react to his touch. To feel all the love he had to give to you. You jolt initially, Soap's strong grip keeping you still as you continued to hold onto the barbell for dear life.

Soap eats your pussy sloppy, in all the best ways possible, letting your thighs squeeze around his head like earmuffs as he does it. He sucks at your clit, running a tongue up and down your cunt, and slurping up any bit of you he could. The sting of his facial hair rubs pleasurable so against you; had he not been holding you so tightly, you're sure you would have fallen off your feet by now.

Your moans echo around you in the gym, as you try to keep them bottled. Of course, as soon as Soap sees you trying, he takes that as a personal challenge to make that task impossible for you.

His tongue starts circling and sucking at your clit faster, a rhythm having been placed, and your body bubbling with arousal. You feel yourself shake almost violently, your grip on the barbell so tight your knuckles turn white. You're damn near sitting on Soap's face at this point.

You don't even tell him you've just came. The chuckle he lets out was enough of a cue to let you know he was well aware.

So now you felt it was time he was the one shaking.

You step back, seeing his cool, blue eyes follow you from where he still lies. He watches you like a hawk, as you round the bench. You stop right at the rising tent that was beginning to form in his shorts.

You grab the top of them and begin lowering them down, until you've seen the large, hardening, girthy mass of flesh spring free from its prison. How Soap can walk around with this thing would forever be a mystery to you. Your eyes get wide every time you see it, and it always makes Soap laugh.

You let your hand run up his shaft, allowing your thumb to brush over the head teasingly, and seeing the Sergeant shiver in response. You get a cocky look suddenly. "Don't hold back."

You let your warm mouth wrap around him, your lips sucking over the head of his cock, as you let your tongue dance against him, teasing him. It makes Soap's head fall back onto the bench, as he lets out a pleasurable groan.

He lets his hands gently grab hold of your ponytail, as you let him lightly guide you. Though the more you get into it, the harder it is for him to even concentrate.

"Yer doin' so well, love," he just manages to say.

You let your head bob up and down, your hands touching what parts of him your mouth could not reach. Pretty soon your body works as though you were a conductor, hard at work.

Soap grips the edges of the bench now, his hips slightly gyrating, and his breath getting caught every time he felt himself graze the back of your throat, saliva coating his member like lubricant. You gave your services to him like the rent was due.

Your tongue travels down his shaft, as you let your lips hook over his balls, sucking unabashedly, and finally getting that deep groan you'd been waiting for.

The minute he does, you let go of him and stop, seeing Soap look up at you like he was about to burst at the seams. Yearning for you to come back. Fortunately for him, you weren't finished yet.

You climbed on top of Soap, his body feeling like a well-sculpted boulder beneath you. He looks up at you, worshipping everything about you. His hands slide to your sides and rest there, as he takes a moment to admire you.

"You're so beautiful."

You blush, but cover it up with a giggle. You playfully shush him, and bring your mind back to the important things right now.

You grab hold of him again, positioning yourself over him as you use his cock to play with yourself a little, letting the tip massage you. You hum at the warmth it creates in the pit of your groin, enjoying how the sound of your voice just seemed to make him bite at his lip impatiently. Doing everything he can to let you keep the power here.

He certainly enjoyed seeing you so in control of yourself over him. You keep your eyes locked on Soap's as you do, the man looking as though he were about to fall apart if he had to wait any longer for you.

After a few more seconds of teasing, you let him slowly come in, feeling your walls stretch at his length. You're slow to start, as you rest your hands on his shoulders so you can use him for leverage. Soap's hands stay on your sides, as you feel him starting to try and take power below you.

To combat this, you bring a hand to his throat, letting your thumb press in as you start to choke him. Warning him seductively. You haven't met a lot of men who liked being choked themselves; most were too fragile to give it a try. Not Soap though. The man'll do almost anything that'll lead to a satisfying orgasm, no matter the caliber.

Which only meant more fun for you.

You roll your body on top of him, lifting yourself up and down over his cock and letting your pussy smack back against him. You made sure to roll your hips when he was deep in, assuring that special spot of yours was hit every time you slapped back down. You let it make moans spill from your lips, adoring the way Soap craved for it.

Weak groans and whimpers leave his lips. It makes you move faster, wanting the man unable to keep himself from moaning by the time you were through. Just like he had you.

Once he's too overwhelmed by your own dominating nature over him to try, he settles back and lets you use him as you please, his moans low in his throat.

"I can't get enough of you," he moans.

You place your knees on either sides of the bench, resting your hands back on his thighs as you lift yourself up and down with quick, precise speed, grinding against his groin and taking him fully.

Soap starts to grit his teeth, his nails digging harder against your skin, as you feel his hands trail up to the small of your back. He grabs hold, and without warning, begins to join you in the pounding, as he starts thrusting harder into you, keeping up with your speed.

The moans practically hiccup out of you each time he pumps in, the air leaving your lungs and your entire body feeling like it just got lifted into cloud nine.

Once again, neither of you announces when you come, letting your exasperated moans and tightening grips speak for you. Soap brings you down to his chest and hugs you against him, taking your mouth and completely devouring it, as his cock twitches with cum in you. It makes your cunt vibrate against him, a weight-like rush of ecstasy flooding down your body and making your legs turn into noodles.

You both huff and puff for air, as you lie sprawled on top of him. "Fuck," you gasp. "I feel like that was more of a workout than what we just did."

"Aye," Soap chuckles, rubbing his hand over your back as he looks around himself. "We're gonna have to wipe all this gear down before we go," he says.

Forever the Good Samaritan.

More One-Shots Coming Soon. Thanks for reading! (ᴗᵔᴥᵔ)

#call of duty #soap x reader #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty mwii #soap mwii #Spotify #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #modern warfare ii #mwii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mw2022 #divider from tezzy-lovez

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traveler-at-heart · 2 years

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Hey, Romanoff!

Requested by @nooneno - Avengers are heroes, but also celebrities. Natasha hates this, especially the paparazzi that follow the team around. Then, she meets you. Enemies to lovers.

Her day got off to a wrong start.

“Hey, Romanoff”

Natasha knows that voice.

She hates that voice.

“You’re looking good” you insist, snapping a couple of pictures as the redhead keeps walking away from you. “Come on, turn around, show off your new hairstyle”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she speaks, still not facing you.

“This is kind of my job, Natasha” you chuckle and she fights the urge to take your camera and throw it across the street.

Unfortunately, ever since Bucky broke one with his hands, all of the Avengers are on the spotlight.

Stupid paparazzi.

“Hey, these are good images. Ugh, except this one, you look like Ronald McDonald here”

“Excuse me?” the Russian stops, finally turning around.

“Gotcha” you say, finally getting an image of her face. You cackle when Natasha realizes what you’ve done.

Pleased with your pictures, you stop chasing after her. Your eyes linger on that last shot.

Natasha Romanoff may be a stuck up bitch, but she’s a very beautiful one.

“Have a nice day” you say and are met with the somewhat familiar view of her middle finger raised at you. “Beautiful! My editor’s gonna love this”

It’s just like every other day at the office. The rest of the team is sitting around at what your boss calls “the pit”.

“Morning, Tom-Tom” you greet, placing a latte in front of your coworker and friend. He smiles up at you and you ruffle his hair.

“Someone’s in a good mood. Did you spot your favorite celebrity?”

“Yeah, she got a haircut. It’s ridiculous how good she looks with anything” you take a seat next to him, sipping your hot cocoa.

“I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous; you won’t admit you have a crush on her, Flash”

“Shut it. I can’t believe that stupid nickname stuck around”

“You like that too” he teases and turns back to Eddie, making his typical entrance wearing jeans and a blue t-shirt.

“Morning, my despicable minions. Did you do your morning rounds? Who got the finger today?”

“I did!” you shout, proudly. “Romanoff”

“Holy shit, Flash! You win!”

“I know! It was awesome”

Eddie high fives you, because he loves to piss off Earth’s mightiest heroes. Something about his penthouse being destroyed during the battle of New York.

The rest of the meeting goes by as usual, commenting on the pictures and articles that will be going up in the following days. You’re the only girl in the team, but it’s actually nice and comfortable.

The guys go out of their way to take care of you, but it’s not like you need it. You’ve been out on your own since you can remember.

“Don’t forget that the Stark gala is two days from now. Tom and Andrew, you will be on duty”

“Actually…” Tom begins to speak but you interrupt him.

“I wanted to see if we can swap. You know, with Romanoff hating me and everything, I might get you some good pictures”

“Yeah, awesome. Whatever” Eddie says.

“What was that for? You know it’s my wife’s birthday” Tom nudges your side.

“Yeah and you know how weird he gets when people remind him you have lives outside of this shitty job. That way he won’t snap at you”

“Aw, it’s so nice you don’t have a life to piss him off”

“Don’t make me take back my offer, jerk”

Out of all the Avengers, Tony’s the nicest one to your lot. He always sticks around for a couple of pictures, making a cheeky comment and saying something silly as he walks away.

Steve is the nicest, obviously, but you can tell the attention makes him fidget. A polite smile is all you get before he goes inside Stark Tower.

Colonel Rhodes seems very pleased with the attention, but you roll your eyes. After taking pictures of some random people that insist they’re tabloid worthy -no, they’re not- Natasha finally arrives.

As usual, she ignores everyone.

“Hey, Romanoff” you wolf-whistle and she turns to you, a murder glare in her eyes. It’s all you need to get a decent photo, the rest of the people scrambling to get her attention.

“Nice” Andrew comments, looking over your shoulder. He’s the most experienced member of the team, and basically acts like your paparazzi-dad.

Less and less people walk through the main door and at this time, most photographers leave the place.

“You gonna stick around, kiddo?” Andrew checks as you sit by the back door.

“Yeah, maybe catch them smoking something crazy” you smile and he fist bumps you.

“Don’t stay too late, ok?”

“Yes, sir”

Your patience is rewarded fifteen minutes later, as Natasha walks out, a blonde woman following her.

“Romanoff” you shout again. The blonde turns around, smiling. You notice she’s younger than Natasha and when she speaks she has a thick Russian accent.

“Hi, there” she waves at you.

“Yelena, what the hell are you doing?” Natasha hisses, trying to drag the woman away from you.

“Greeting your friend, she called your name” the blonde explains, walking back to you.

“She’s not my friend, she’s with the tabloids”

“Like the paparazzi? That’s so cool. I want to pose” Yelena shows around her outfit and you go along, snapping a couple of pictures.

“Yeah, the camera loves you! You’re so much better than Natasha” the redhead growls at your words. “Hey, come on. I’m just complimenting your date, don’t get jealous”

“Oh, no” Yelena laughs. “She’s my sister, not my date”

“Stop telling her stuff, she’s gonna post it everywhere and people will know who you are”

“Wow, hey” you put the camera down, changing your demeanor. “I don’t want to risk her life. Here, I’ll delete the pictures. And I promise I won’t tell people you have a sister, ok?”

“No, I want to see the picturesss!” Yelena pleads, giving her sister some serious puppy eyes.

“Well, you could give me your number and I’ll send them to you?” you offer with a sly smile. You flirt your way out of every situation and to get exclusive information about the people you follow.

Why should this be any different now?

The blonde turns to her sister and speaks in Russian. Natasha rolls her eyes, but nods.

“Here” Yelena pulls a pen out of her coat, taking your arm and scribbling her number. “See you around…”

“Y/N or Flash, whatever you like”

“Flash” Yelena nods and winks at you.

For the first time since you’ve met her, Natasha looks back at you and she doesn’t seem annoyed at all.

That’s definitely new.

Days like these are your favorite. You’re sitting by your desk, next to the open window. It’s hard to explain, but the smell of the air reminds you of the rain; judging by the cloudy sky, it’s going to be pouring in a few hours.

You sip your cup of cocoa and sigh at the sweet taste of the drink.

“Ha, this one definitely goes to the folder” you drag an image, pleased with yourself.

The meme contest is coming up and you’re determined to win; you’ll give yourself an extra pat on the back if it’s with an image of Natasha doing a weird face or something.

So far, you have pictures from Barton, Tony Stark and some other celebrities that you find everytime you walk around the exclusive sites in New York City.

“One of Barnes, just for the fun of it” you mutter, browsing through your hard drive. Unfortunately, Bucky always looks the same -his face sporting a combination of a frown and a glare- so there’s not much you can do there.

Something else quickly catches your eye, though. You have pictures from Barnes in five different locations and every time, there’s a man following him. It’s hard to see his face, but he’s almost always taking pictures with a cheap camera.

“Huh” you sigh, saving all the pictures you can find of the mystery man in a separate folder. Then you go through every Avengers picture you have and the same thing happens.

Someone seems to be following them, acting as paparazzi to go unnoticed.

Or maybe you’re just paranoid.

Either way, you’d rather be safe than sorry. You grab the drive, knowing there’s a good chance Natasha won’t want to speak to you.

There’s even a better chance she’ll kick your ass.

It’s been two hours since you arrived at the SHIELD building. Apparently, you’re not even allowed to wait in the lobby without clearance so you’re forced to stand outside, your back to the wall and the front of your shirt soaked by the rain.

The rain is so dense you almost miss the two figures that leave a black car and run to one of the doors.

“Hey, wait” you run to them. Natasha stops so abruptly, you end up crashing against her back. “Go away”

“I need to speak to you”

“Flash! What’s wrong?” Yelena says, pushing you to the lobby. “You’re all wet, come in, before you get sick”

“What do you want?” Natasha eyes you curiously, noticing your soaked clothes.

“There’s something you need to see. Someone’s been following the Avengers”

“Yeah, right” she rolls her eyes.

“Please” you hand over the drive, not interested in arguing with her. The only thing you can do is warn her.

“Fine” she takes it and you nod, eager to go back to your place and take a shower.

“Wait! We’ll give you some dry clothes while we check this out. Then you’ll tell us everything you know”

“Ok” you sigh, relieved at the idea of getting warm again.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Steve says, looking at the security camera as you wait around the interrogation room.

“I’m not sure. She doesn’t have any reason to lie about this. But she’s also extremely annoying”

“I’ve rarely seen you this annoyed at someone” Steve comments. “Why does she bother you so much?”

“Because she likes her” Yelena says behind them and Steve smiles, while Natasha turns to glare at her sister. “Oops, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. But come on, sestra, don’t be mad. You know it’s true”

“Let’s go, Rogers” Natasha rolls her eyes. As soon as she enters the room, your eyes meet hers and she quickly avoids your stare.

You take it as a sign that she’s still unhappy with your presence.

“Hi, Y/N” Steve greets you, sitting in front of you.

“Cap. Did you check the pictures? Am I crazy? Under arrest for wasting your time?”

“No, we think you’re right” Steve says. “You’re sure you’ve never seen any of the men in the pictures before?”

“Yes. I know everyone that works for the tabloids, even freelancers. The cameras they’re using seem super cheap; I doubt they’re getting decent images. It’s like… they’re props to play the part, if it makes sense?”

“We can’t do anything about it, though. It’s not illegal to be in the streets pretending to be photographing someone” Natasha speaks to no one in particular.

“Let’s run some of the images through facial recognition”

“I can keep an eye out. If I see them again, I’ll try to get better pictures and send them to you” you offer.

“No” Natasha interjects. Right, of course she’d never work with you. “If you see them again, call me”

“Oh, is that how you’re finally asking for my number?” you wiggle your eyebrows and she grumbles.

“I just don’t want you to do anything stupid. We have the upper hand and I’d like to keep it that way”

“Whatever you say, Romanoff”

Steve is trying to hide his smile at the exchange but you can see the amusement in his eyes.

By the time you get back to your apartment, all you want to do is sleep.

“Do not disturb” you complain when your phone pings.

Natasha: Remember to call me when you see them

Y/N: Who’s this?

Natasha: You’re not funny. And you left your drive here.

Y/N: Don’t open the meme folder.

Natasha: I’ll give you 20 dollars if you submit that last picture of Clint

Y/N: Deal

You smile at the screen of your phone. Who knew that Romanoff had it in her to be a joker.

You keep an eye out, but the team seems to be limiting their public outings while they figure out who’s watching them. Instead of going after the Avengers, you spend a couple of afternoons at the set of an upcoming show to “leak” the pictures and make the fans curious about the show.

Then, a quick tour around 30 Rock to photograph the stars arriving at the various talk shows hosted in the building.

When you finally get home, you heat some leftovers and wait for the microwave to ping while you stare out the window.

“Holy shit!” you launch yourself to the floor, crawling to your room. Without missing a beat, you pull out the camera and start taking pictures of a group of men, carrying something in a warehouse that’s been abandoned since you moved here.

They are the same men that have been following the Avengers.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up” you mutter with urgency as you try to reach Natasha.

“Where are you?”

“My place”

“Then why are you calling me?”

“Oh, I just wanted to hear your voice, Romanoff. Come on! I can see them from my window, they’re carrying something inside a warehouse”

“Send me the coordinates”

“Do I look like Google Maps, Natasha?”

“You know what I mean”

“Then ask for the address like a normal person”

“Shut up”

She hangs up and you keep peering out the window. You knew this place was a shithole but if it’s being used to hide criminals you really gotta move.

“Where are they?” Natasha walks past you, looking out the window. Most of the men are gone now, but there’s still a black USV outside. “License plates”

“Yeah” you grab your camera, trying to adjust the settings in the dark. You barely manage to take a picture before they drive away.

“I’m gonna need to use your computer to send this to Steve” she looks around and for the first time, you’re aware that Natasha Romanoff, the woman you antagonize almost on a daily basis, is standing in the middle of your apartment.

She looks a little out of place, but it’s not an unpleasant sight.

“What?” she snaps when you stare but the moment is gone, so you roll your eyes and point at her shoes.

“Mud. All over my floor”

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware you live in Buckingham Palace, princess”

“Just take the memory card and go”

“I’m not leaving” Natasha shakes her head, walking back to the kitchen.

“Excuse me?” you follow her around, whisper yelling, scared that the bad guys have super hearing.

“They could be back at any minute” she explains and you roll your eyes.

“Then I’ll send you pictures”

“You’re a civilian”

“And you’re a pain in the ass”

“It’s not up for discussion, Y/N'' she says and you know there’s really no point in arguing with her. So you cross your arms in front of you, anxious at the idea of spending hours alone with a woman that hates your guts.

“Here’s the computer. I’m taking a shower” you finally concede, walking away.

“Good, you stink” Natasha says, opening your laptop and only God knows how she manages to get your password on the first try.

“You’re such an ass”

By the time you’re done with your very long, very cold shower, you’ve lost your appetite, so you get a twinkie and walk back to your room. Natasha is sitting by the window, at an angle where she can see everything that happens on the street without getting caught.

“Nothing?” you say, your mouth full of bread.

“You’re going to rot your insides if you keep eating that”

“Come on, don’t knock it till you try it” you lean forward, offering the last bite of the twinkie. Natasha actually opens her mouth and lets you feed her. There’s something hypnotic about the way she holds your stare.

“It’s gross” she protests.

“Spitters are quitters”

You can allow a lot of things, but she absolutely will not waste the last bite of a twinkie, which is arguably the best.

“You’re even more gross”

“Sing it” you agree, leaning back in your bed. “You’re gonna sit there all night?”

“That’s what one does in a stake out”

“Ok, I’ll take the next shift. Wake me up when it’s my turn” you rest on your side. Natasha is amazed at how quickly you fall asleep, completely unfazed by her presence.

You’re either incredibly stupid, or you trust her completely.

She kinda wishes it’s the latter.

But a second later, you laugh in your sleep and mutter.

“I’m the Twin-Kween”

So, maybe you’re just really dumb.

It’s 4 AM when you stirr awake. Miss I-can-do-this-all-night is all but snoring in her chair by the window.

“Hey, get some sleep” you guide her to the bed and to your surprise, Natasha barely resists.

“Your coffee sucks”

“It’s decaf. Now, rest. I’ll let you know if anything happens”

Of course, it’s all quiet and as the sun rises, it’s even less likely that the criminals across the street will do anything too suspicious.

The view from the kitchen window is decent enough, so you start cooking breakfast for two. Pancakes and bacon will have to do for today.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” you grimace as Natasha walks out of the room, her nose scrunching up adorably as she yawns.

Wait, no. It’s just a yawn. Nothing cute about it. Stop.

“It’s ok. I’m a light sleeper”

“Well, then. Breakfast will be ready soon” you promise.

“I don’t suppose you have a very strong cup of coffee”

“Sorry, it makes me all jittery. I can go get you some. Or offer you orange juice”

“Juice is fine, thanks” she looks around. “This smells great”

“What, no fancy chef at your fancy tower?” you flip a pancake and serve two in a plate. After setting some bacon on the side, you stretch your arm towards her. She looks like she’s about to say something else, but an incoming facetime call interrupts her.

“Ana Banana” you greet, leaning your phone against the sink. A child screams on the other side, and you quickly realize Ana’s phone is held hostage by her children. “Hey, bug, put mama on the line, will ya?”

“Children, stop it” she says, finally snatching the phone. “Hey, sis”

“Another manic day?”

“Yeah, you could say that. You ok? How’s your shitty job?”

“Same as usual” you shrug your shoulders, aware that Natasha is listening to everything.

“Well, I guess it’s not so bad if you get to see your celebrity crush, right?”

Well, shit.

You almost knock the pan as you try to hide your blush.

“Ana, you can’t say stuff like that. They’re super paranoid and probably listening to this. I mean, my phone is probably bugged or some shit”

Natasha is smirking.

“Is your boss still a jerk, though?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

“Fair enough”

“Listen, I got like a million errands. But is Jack ok? You need anything?”

“He’s getting better. Doctor Ray is a lot more optimistic after the last surgery. That check you sent really helped get the insurance off our backs. Thank you”

“Thank the hot redhead that gives me the finger every other day. That’s why I still have a job” you say, uncomfortable with Ana’s emotional speech. Natasha chuckles.

“Well, if I ever meet her, I’ll tell her she better be nice to my sister” a crash and some loud cry interrupt her.

“Go” you wave goodbye and the call ends.

Now you regret it, because there’s a silence hanging in the air as you finish with your pancakes.

“Sisters can be a pain” Natasha spares you the embarrassment and you nod.

“Yeah. I mean, we’re not sisters. We grew up together in a foster home, but still. She’s the closest thing I have to family, I guess”

“I’m sorry” you shrug your shoulders and keep eating, hoping she won’t ask anything else. But of course, it’s in her nature to know more. “Is your boss really an asshole?”

“Depends on the day. Most times he’s chill. And he likes my work, so I’m rarely in his path. But I do hate how he’s with the rest of the team. They’re nice people, even when you all hate our kind”

“That’s not exactly fair” her voice softens and your defenses immediately drop.

“Listen, I do it for the money. I was working as a freelance for a magazine, but then Ana’s kid got sick and I felt like I could do more, help her out and her husband. If I get to piss you off, that’s just a bonus”

“Jerk” Natasha says, but her tone lacks any malice.

It’s nice to talk to someone. You’ve never told anyone all of this. There’s a certain peace, knowing someone can understand your life hasn’t always been easy.

Eddie calls a minute later, ruining your mood.

“Where are they?” he barks and you don’t need to put him on speaker for Natasha to hear.

“Who?”

“Who, who? What are you? A fucking owl? The fucking Avengers, Flash! We haven’t posted anything about them in almost a week”

“They might be on a mission, you know that, Eddie”

“I only keep you around because you give me good content. Get off your fucking ass and find me something, hot stuff”

“Lovely” you say as he hangs up and Natasha stands up, kicking the chair. “What?”

“I’m gonna kill him”

“Hey, wow, slow down. He’s all talk and definitely not worth it”

“I’d still like to kill him”

“If it makes you feel better, you kind of destroyed his penthouse in the battle of New York”

Natasha ponders for a second, clearly unsatisfied.

“Let me make a call. I think I can get him off your back”

“Are you calling to have him killed?” you say nervously, but she walks away with a mischievous glint in her green eyes.

The girl’s got some serious power, because an hour later you meet with the Winter Soldier and snap some “candid” pictures of him working out.

It’s a bit scary and he looks bored most of the time but when you tell him that’s enough and he can go, he actually smiles.

“Oh, tell Romanoff that if she’s done playing house, we might have a lead”

“I will” you blush as he gives you a once over and walks away.

Eddie is giddy like a schoolgirl the minute you step into his office.

“What do you think it’s a good headline?”

“How about Winter just got hot - Barnes shows off his muscles in outdoor workout”

“You’re a genius!”

His moodswing practically gives you whiplash. This morning he was ready to kick your ass to the curb. But, since Natasha gave you enough to keep him off your back, you leave the office early and stop by the grocery store.

“I’m home” you announce.

That’s weird. You’ve never lived with anyone, so you never speak when you get to your apartment.

But there she is. Smiling.

“Uh… hi. I thought we could have some pasta tonight” you busy yourself with the things you need, keeping those weird thoughts away.

“Did Barnes behave?” she asks in a tone that makes it very clear the Winter Soldier will get his ass kicked if Natasha doesn’t like the answer.

“He was really nice. Insisted I call him Bucky and all”

“Well, he’s single, in case you’re interested”

Natasha seems actually… disappointed with the idea? You gotta eat something fast, because at this point you’re delusional.

“Cheer up” you get close to her, your fingers tilting her head up. “You’re about to have the best meal of your life”

“Am I?” she holds your stare and all you can do is nod. The redhead is nice enough to offer to help, but you honestly don’t know how to cook with someone all over your kitchen, so she goes back to spying on the criminals.

“Food’s ready!”

“Smells good”

“Told ya” you pour two glasses of wine and mentally pat yourself in the back, because the pasta tastes delicious.

“Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“Before I was a professional stalker, I worked at a family restaurant. The Nonna taught me how to cook. Why? Want some lessons?”

“I can hold my own”

“I’ll have to find out sometime, won’t I?” you snort as you remember Bucky’s words. “Oh, by the way, Barnes said you’re playing house and that they have a lead”

“He’s an ass and I already spoke to Steve. Seems like a group with biochemical weapons” she says it so casually while you almost choke on your fork full of pasta.

There are criminals with biohazard material across from your place.

“I really gotta move out” you mumble, annoyed. Stupid gentrification and crime.

“What’s with all the dog pictures?” she interrupts the silence after a beat.

“What’s with snooping around in my files?” you snark back and she actually looks embarrassed.

“Maybe you should password protect them”

“Would that have stopped you?”

“No”

You both laugh at that. After taking a sip of wine, you answer her. Why not? If she wants to know, you’ll tell her. Setting your fork down, you look at Natasha and speak.

“I’d love to be a pet photographer. Like, professional, holy crap, that dog is the cutest shit you’ve ever seen kind of thing”

“Ok. What’s with the stare?”

“Waiting for you to laugh at me”

“I won’t. It’s kind of cute”

“Thanks”

Thanks? What are you, twelve?

“I would have liked to be a ballet teacher” Natasha blurts out and you beam. Yeah, you could totally see it, especially with how graceful and beautiful she is.

“So, if you saw all those dog pics you also saw that picture, right?”

It’s probably the best picture you’ve ever taken and it happened by complete accident. During an afternoon walk, you spotted Natasha. Her hair was down, except for a small braid to the side. She was wearing a yellow cardigan and black pants.

As she approached the cafe, a little girl pointed excitedly at her. Next thing you knew, the redhead kneeled to speak to the child, who was wearing a Black Widow shirt. That’s why she was so happy, she was meeting her hero.

“Why didn’t you publish it?”

“I’d like the world to see it. See how important you are to little girls that want to save the world. But not from some tabloid that posts clickbait. You know?”

Natasha stares at you, but doesn’t speak, and neither do you. There’s something she’s trying to understand, and she’s the only one that can get there. So you let her be.

Until her phone rings and she excuses herself.

Barnes is right, you’re playing house with an Avenger and it’s ridiculous. Once Natasha leaves and goes back to hating you, the fall is gonna hurt like a motherfucker.

“I’ll be right back” Natasha walks out in a rush, going for the door.

“Wow, hey, where are you going?”

“Stark disabled their cameras and they’re distracting them. I have a couple of minutes to break in”

“I’m coming with you”

“Absolutely not” she halts and you almost crash against her.

“You’re not going alone, Natasha” you sprint past her, going down the steps at full speed.

“How are you so fast?” she says, going after you.

“I have to chase super soldiers for a living, remember?”

“Here” Natasha pushes you to the side, picking the lock and opening the door to the warehouse. “I’ll look around. Take some pictures and make sure no one’s coming”

You nod, pulling out your phone. There are vials with some red liquid and a lot of guns. Your hand trembles as you browse through some folders and manage to photograph the files. There’s one with Natasha’s name on it, so you scan through the words, trying to remember as much as you can.

“We gotta go” the redhead drags you away, going through a side door.

“Wait, Nat, we have to go back. There’s a file with your name on it”

“It’s ok, they’ll be here any minute”

You cross the street and as you’re reaching the entrance of your building, the black SUV pulls up.

“Shit” Natasha hisses, holding on tighter to your hand. It’s clear you won’t make it inside without being spotted.

“Do you trust me?” you ask, pulling Natasha back to you. She doesn’t have time to answer, as you press your lips against hers. You make sure her back is to the street, so the men only see your face.

They linger for a minute or two, so Natasha’s mouth stays on yours and at some time, one of you deepens the kiss. Your hands rake through her hair and she sighs against your lips.

“I…” you stutter when she pulls apart, certain that you’re about to pass out.

“Come on, let’s get inside”

To your surprise, Iron Man and Captain America are waiting in your kitchen.

“Do you people ever knock?” you feel irritated at the intrusion, secretly hoping it would be just you and Natasha, to talk about whatever the hell that was.

Unless there’s nothing to talk about.

“Here” Natasha hands Stark one of the vials. “I think I know what it is. Chemical subjugation”

“But mass produced” Steve completes.

“We think they were following us to see who would be more vulnerable” Tony completes. “They’ll probably want to control us to hurt people”

“Turn the public against you” it finally clicks, and you look at Natasha. She reaches for your hand, a comforting touch. “Are they going after you?”

“Maybe. It is something out of the Red Room, after all” you shudder, looking down. “Hey, it’s fine. I’ll be fine”

“We have an idea. But we’ll need your help” Steve looks at you.

“Like hell” Natasha stands in front of you.

“Let him speak at least” you nudge her and she sighs. Tony and Steve share an amused look before going to you.

“We have enough to go seize the place, but we’d like to set up a little trap in case one of them escapes. Romanoff is the bait” Tony explains.

“Bait? Seriously? And you’re ok with this?” you turn to Natasha and she shrugs her shoulders.

“That’s the job. If we don’t stop them now, they’ll hurt a lot of people”

“So, what am I supposed to do?” you cross your arms, anxious.

“Natasha will be out on the street, nothing too big because we don’t want people getting hurt. You can be there and be her eyes; if you see someone suspicious, she’ll take care of it”

“Ok” you say.

“You don’t have to” Natasha steps forward.

“Yes, I do” you squeeze her hand and smile.

“Well, unless you want to gaze into each other’s eyes all night, we have some planning to do” Stark interrupts.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” Natasha hangs by the door a second later and you nod.

As she leaves your apartment, you’re scared about how lonely it feels without her.

“You’re being too obvious” a raspy voice says to your ear. It’s like she’s standing right next to you.

“I’m not” you grumble, fidgeting with the comm stuck to your ear.

“It’s ok. It will be over soon” Natasha promises through the ear piece.

And then what? You’ll go back to chasing her on the streets, saying dumb shit just to piss her off?

God, that’s so depressing.

“I’m on my way to the door” Natasha’s warning snaps you back to the present, so you walk to the entrance of the building and act as if it’s just another day following an Avenger.

“Hey, Romanoff!” you shout, but this time she turns around, smiling at you.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

Double fuck, you’re in love with her.

“Did you do anything fun these past few days? The public missed you” you say, snapping a couple of pictures. More people join, calling for her and she looks around, trying to figure out if they pose a threat.

“They’re all good” you say in a low voice, confirming you recognise them. Natasha nods almost imperceptibly and keeps walking.

“Take some pictures, Y/N” she reminds you, so you lift the camera and look through the viewfinder. Just as she’s about to reach the crosswalk, you see the black SUV driving down the road.

“Shit. Everyone down, come on, walk away!” you warn the crowd, only a handful of them reacting in time. Natasha is focused on pushing them off the street, her back to the criminals racing to get her.

“Natasha!” you run to her, pushing her to the side as a man opens the passenger door, a gun in hand.

The only thing you remember is pushing her, then a blast and screams.

“Shit, Steve, Sam! I need back up here” Natasha requests, kneeling next to you. As you turn around, you find a pool of blood, coming out of your stomach.

“Well, that’s gonna leave a stain”

“Shit” Natasha drags you to the alley. Sam Wilson flies and lands in front of you, shielding you with his suit. “You idiot, why did you do that?”

“Come on Tasha, it’s not like anybody is going to miss me. You save the world every day” you land on your back, vaguely aware that you’re dying.

“Your sister…”

“Ana has like fifty kids. She’ll be fine” you laugh, but then start coughing, feeling the taste of blood in your mouth. “Shit, that can’t be good, huh?”

“Shh, try to stay calm, help is coming” she pleads, one of her hands applying pressure to your wound and the other caressing your cheek.

“It’s ok, I’m not scared. You’re right here with me”

“I’m not leaving. And hey, don’t tell anyone, but I think I’d really miss you too” she tries to smile and you chuckle.

“Liar”

Your eyes are closing.

“You can be annoying and all, but I really think I would. So please, please stay with me?” her voice is breaking. You don’t want to make Natasha sad.

She deserves to be happy.

“I always thought your eyes were so beautiful. I’m really glad they’re the last thing…”

“No, no, please, stay awake”

But you can’t do as she asks.

If this is heaven, then the whole idea is a rip off. As you open your eyes, there’s an IV stuck to your arm, a blinding light and a pressure on your side.

“Hey, Romanoff” you say as your eyes adjust to the light. The woman is asleep next to your bed, her hand resting on yours.

“You’re up” she smiles and you nod.

“I’m awake. I wouldn’t say I’m up just yet” you try to take a deep breath but it hurts. “Ouch. How long was I out?”

“20 hours, give or take. You’re on a lot of painkillers right now”

“Got anything stronger? Like death?” you mumble.

“Don’t joke with that” she asks, helping you up.

“Are you ok, though?” your thumb runs across her temple, where she’s sporting a little bruise.

“Just scared that you’d die on me” she leans against your touch.

“Yeah, but if you think about it, no paparazzi would ever follow you again. They’d be too scared to go next”

“I don’t want us to go back to that”

“Good thing I’m quitting, then” you smile and her eyes widen.

“Really?”

“I thought about it before, but this is all the proof I need that I want to do something I actually like”

“I support that one hundred percent” Natasha leans her forehead against yours.

“You’re gonna miss me, Romanoff?”

“Not one bit” she doesn’t give you time to feel hurt, as she leans forward and captures your lips in a tender kiss. “Because I plan on taking you out and being around for a long time. If you’ll have me”

“Yes, I’ll have all of you, Nat” you smile against her lips.

“Hey, Romanoff”

Natasha knows that voice. It’s from the person she loves most.

The redhead turns around, and sees you carrying two cones of ice cream. You hand over one and she kisses your cheek.

“Picture time” you announce, pulling out your phone to get a selfie. “Looking good”

You lean forward, capturing her lips in a kiss that tastes like chocolate.

Now she likes it when you take pictures of her, because they’re moments she wants to keep forever.

#Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanoff x you

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spidervee · 1 year

Note

Requests I see? If you’re still taking them, how about possessive!TASM Peter, maybe a little spicy too👀

hey sweets! this may have been a little bit of a different kind of possessiveness from what you had in mind, but I hope you like it nonetheless 🌻 18+ only; fem!reader, a little bit of violence and some filthy preamble to what might become hate-sex

Peter can’t turn on the television without seeing you. He can’t walk down the street without your face staring at him from every newspaper stand—well, not your face, exactly. The mask that you wear does its job in obscuring your features, but in the few selfies you’ve stopped to pose for with new and undoubtedly adoring fans, he can always just see the hint of your upturned lips, a smirk, he imagines, taunting him beneath the deep scarlet of the stitched fabric.

He hates you. True, he’s never met you and it was perhaps a bit unfair to someone who was admittedly quite good at catching criminals, but he still hates you. Because who were you to show up in New York, unannounced, and draw every fucking news outlet in the city to make comparisons between you and Spider-Man—and where was Spider-Man these days, they ask as your photo dazzles on his small tv screen.

Getting older, Peter thinks grimly, determined not to punch another hole in the wall beside the tv stand. And dealing with his shitty back and hesitant to go out vigilante-ing lest he kill another petty thief, let that darkness that sat beneath his ribs come running out.

But it’s watching you live on the news that does it for him. Because as much as he hates you, the sight of you being thrown into a cement wall with back-breaking force still makes his throat go tight. And when you emerge from the dust and rubble, on shaky legs but still standing, Peter can’t help but feel relief, even as he pulls his Spidey suit from the back of his closet and allows it to cling onto him like a second skin all over again.

When it’s all said and done—when the news crews have cleared and the crowds have gone home and it’s just you and Spider-Man in a dank subway tunnel, mask staring at mask in an expressionless impasse—Peter fights through the ache in his muscles and pushes you up against the wall, cold stone beneath his gloved hand where he presses a palm up beside your head.

“Whatever this little game is,” he growls, “It ends tonight. This is my city. My people. My streets. My problem.”

He expects you to falter. To buckle. To cede your heroism and disappear.

He does not expect you to scoff beneath that mask of yours and tell him to go fuck himself.

His hand slides from the wall to your throat and he can’t possibly miss the way your breath hitches when he presses himself closer against your body, no room for air between you. He wants you to feel his strength, to be aware of the bulge of his muscles and what they could do to you. Mostly, he just wants to scare you a little.

“I knew you were fucked up,” you spit, and the venom in your voice makes him falter just a little before his fingers tighten around your neck in warning. He feels your heartbeat quicken and feels his own blood start to head south and wants to break something, but the only thing in front of him is you.

“Everyone hiding behind one of these is a little fucked up,” Peter mutters, his free hand skating up the side of your body and toying with the seam where your mask meets the high neck of your spandex suit. He hesitates for a moment as he begins to tug at the mask, expecting you to stop him, but you don’t, and he rolls it up and over your chin to expose your mouth to him. And what a pretty little mouth it is, even as you cheekily try to nip at his fingers.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns, voice dark, back straightening when you give a soft laugh, the sound of sunshine in the darkness of this abysmal place.

“Or what?” Your voice is defiant, lips turned up into that smirk Peter knew was hiding there, though he can hardly see it, even with his heightened senses. “What’re gonna do to me, Spider-Man?” The second syllable of his name comes out in a mocking lilt and Peter can’t help himself—has to make you shut up somehow—and shoves two gloved fingers into your mouth, enjoying the way you gag around them briefly before he feels you start to suck.

#tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!spiderman x you #tasm!spiderman smut #tasm!peter smut #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #spicy spidey #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker blurb

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anonymous-dentist · 5 months

Note

Will you still continue writing and putting qbbh in your stories?

I'm asking this question after months because I can't stand people "separating" the cc from the character, when it can't be done, not when the cc defends such a despicable person. I kept quiet for a long time because you're my favorite writer, but I'm tired of pretending that it doesn't bother me because I suffer daily from racism and xenophobia (things that both qbbh and cc don't seem to care about JAJAJA).

I don't know if you will respond to this or just ignore it, but regardless, thank you for writing such beautiful works and stories, I won't follow you any further, not until I have your response. And if you keep writing Defender of the Bastard, I'll pretend I've never read any of your works, that I've never even met you.

I used the translator to make the job easier 0___=

Okay, anon, I'll start this by saying that I 100% understand where you're coming from. If you've seen my pinned, you know that I hate that shitty green teletubby and all his friends equally, and I do NOT fuck with anyone supporting them. And you've probably seen me speaking up about the freakish xenophobia that parts of Bad's fandom have been taking part in basically since April (that I know about, I've never been a viewer.)

But also? I don't write qBBH. I've written him maybe five times Ever since the QSMP started, and three of those five times were in Breaking Dawn. And, even then, he's not really super important to the narrative at all, and he was never going to be. If anyone from the book club was gonna be important, it would be Maxo because he was super important during the Regret Arc, unlike Bad. And you may have noticed that I haven't even mentioned Bad in that fic since he started getting weird about Dream recently. I legitimately rewrote all of the most recent chapter to keep Bad out of it.

With my other current multichapters (Let a Spider Run, Evil Eye), he was never gonna be a big part of them because I quite genuinely just don't give a shit about his character and because his character isn't too important to the parts of qCellbit and qRoier's stories that I want to explore. Breaking Dawn? Regret Arc. Let a Spider Run? ...Kinda all over the place, but it's the bit of May when Cellbit and Roier started getting interested in each other. Evil Eye? Current "Fuck The Federation" Arc. So if you wanna follow those, go ahead, Bad would only be a cameo mention at most, almost definitely not someone super important. The fic he'd appear most in would be Breaking Dawn, but even then it's like one or two more times because, again, Maxo is actually the more important one there. Limited roles, dig?

But also? You have no right to demand what I do and do not put in my writing. Am I gonna put Bad in anymore? Not in any huge role because I never did, but you showed up and decided to effectively threaten me into not writing him at all by saying you'll never read again. And that's disappointing because I'm so ridiculously thankful for all my readers and I never want to make anyone uncomfortable, but you coming in and demanding I effectively change the plot to my passion project instead of coming and talking to me in dms or something is just kind of a dick move.

I don't hold anything against you, anon, and I won't hold anything against anyone who decides to unfollow me because I'm gonna keep having qBad appear as minor characters in my fics, but you've gotta understand that he's a character. Does he suck? Yeah, and so does the CC, but separating fact from fiction is a vital part of appreciating Minecraft RP storytelling. And I 100% understand having difficulty separating character from CC when it comes to a CC who has done some real shitty things, but sometimes you just need to take a step back and stop consuming content from something that brings you this much distress just by having a single character in it.

You're probably young, and I'm really, really sorry that you've dealt with so much horrible bullshit because of this one man's fandom, and I'm sorry that this guy is on a server that you love and appreciate and I understand that so well (I was a DSMP writer for a while, after all), and I hope that you understand what I'm saying here. I'm not currently planning on including him in anything beyond one or two brief appearances in Breaking Dawn, but you don't really have much of a right to demand that of me. I made this decision weeks ago.

#asks!#anon!#i'm really sorry that you're going through this #and i really won't hold it against you if you're so uncomfortable as to unfollow #that's your decision

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bakurapika · 1 month

Text

My boss has been awesome but I got in trouble for overlooking something several weeks ago that, real talk, I think is probably heavily due to how I've had some big memory issues lately which I think is related to my lack of med management. But I'm sure as hell not gonna say that for multiple reasons (1 of which being, I think she has similar issues herself and would think it's BS, and 2, if she DID believe me then she'd question my ability to do my job to a point where it'd be worse than believing I was intentionally a little negligent).

And right after that, I was late for a meeting because of 1) those same memory issues, and 2) some tech issues. Where it looked like I was being intentionally negligent again.

And I'd just recently asked if she would still be a good reference for me if I had to get another job becuase of financial issues she was already fully aware of (and she's been the kind of person who I trusted to be supportive with this information despite being a boss), so it's been pretty transparent that she thinks I'm slacking off on purpose.

I thought that all got settled but now she's been interpreting normal situations that would usually be like "oh yeah, we'll clean this up no problem" or even not have any identified issue at all, where it would just require a little paperwork on my end to fix - and seems to just be looking for evidence that I don't take my job seriously. I'm really on edge whenever she talks to me now, because this situation has played out before at the same job with a really bad boss, and things got reeeeally shitty right afterward.

I feel inclined to be like "lol! it's just my anxiety! i'm projecting!" but I genuinely don't think I am, and so far my instincts have been pretty spot on about this kind of thing.

And it fully sucks because she became my boss specifically to get me out of that situation of a sucky boss who interprets everything I do in the worst faith possible.

But anyway, so I've been having breakdowns at work whatever. But everyone gets a day off on the day of the week we normally have a private boss-employee meeting. I was really relieved about that. But literally last minute of today, she rescheduled it to be at the end of the day tomorrow, right before the long weekend, and it's gonna suck and I'm not sure if it's better to dread it all day or to have "gotten it over with" and have a sucky conversation that made the entire day awful again. Not that I have a choice.

So basically I need to go into this conversation and lie like a rug. Because being honest and taking accountability for my actions has gotten me treated with suspicion because she thought I was lying and admitting to anything that's "off" before it becomes a problem for other people (though it may not have been pointed out as an issue I caused - or a problem at all - if I let it lie) has itself become a chance to evaluate what I've done as laziness or doing bad work. Even if the actual thing being discussed took place ages before I was applying for other jobs.

Hence lying like a rug. I just need to be polite and accept any blame she gives me without taking it personally or letting it affect my actions (since yesterday at work, I got next to nothing done because I was crying all day, compared to today, where I decided Fuck It and chilled most of the day and was able to focus on my work like a normal person afterwards, without needing to text anyone for my own safety or anything at all). And basically I need to roleplay someone who's not emotionally invested in my job at all but is distantly professional.

But I'm really shitty at lying in that kind of situation so it'll probably take about 45 seconds to break me, and I'll wind up being like "I WAS SOBBING IN THE OFFICE ON WEDNESDAY BECAUSE OF AN OFFHAND REMARK YOU MADE" which would be taken as utter manipulative, lying horseshit. And it's a half hour meeting and she's definitely gonna confront me about stuff that, real talk? Was at least as much her fault as mine, if they're even situations that you feel like you need to identify anyone being at fault in at all - and again if I even hint at that being the truth, I'm f u c k e d.

God someone please like this post to tell me I'm not alone even if you just skimmed it because I'm struggling. Maybe send me a message about the worksona I need to develop and how I should be able to keep it together for like 2 full minutes.

Like if she hates me at a personal level now, she won't want to talk for long either, right??

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saturnisfallingdown · 9 months

Note

don’t watch good omens and i’m not planning to but i’m nosy: what’s coffee theory

IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED !!!!!! IM GOING TO TALK FOR A VERY LONG TIME NOW!! thank you so much nora welcome to my cave!! its homey in here. we talk about bbc prime video series good omens.

So for the Context: as im sure youve seen if youve ever glimpsed a gifset in the past week, Good Omens season 2 ends with a big tragic decision. Aziraphale meets with Metatron, a bigwig in heaven. Metatron tells him about how due to Plot Reasons, they need a new supreme archangel in heaven, and Aziraphale is the perfect fit for the role. Local demon best friend Crowley confesses his love and tells Aziraphale about how he wants them to run off together and leave heaven and hell behind, but Aziraphale is incredibly set on using a powerful position in heaven to do some real good. Crowley is offered the chance to join him, but Crowley stays on earth while Aziraphale goes up to superheaven. This causes the big tragic break-up between the two of them you've seen giffed one billion times.

Now onto the theory itself. The important thing to note about Aziraphale's conversation with Metatron is the, you guessed it, coffee!! Metatron, in human disguise, picks up a latte with almond syrup from the shop across from Aziraphale's place. Before he gives Aziraphale the job offer, Metatron gives him the coffee and insists he drink it in front of him.

The "Coffee Theory" is this: Metatron in some way (the method is disputed) spiked the coffee, and whatever was done to it affected Aziraphale's mindset in order to get him to leave behind Crowley. Some kind of a magic angelic brainwashing potion.

The theory sprung up for two reasons, the first being that the coffee is focused on a weird amount. Metatron asks Aziraphale to drink it in front of him, an entire scene is dedicated to it being purchased, it's a whole thing. The second, really big reason, is that people didn't think the ending of the season made sense. This is to say, Aziraphale choosing the bureaucracy of heaven over his best friend of 6000 years. Many claimed it was "out of character" for him, and thought another force might have been behind his actions.

So yeah, that's the coffee theory. It's been a biig source of debate in the fandom recently, and therefore many people still swear by it!!

But with the facts and logic presented, we may briefly enter the opinion zone! This is all my measly two cents. This being said however: I am not a coffee theory bitch!!!!!!!!

I am someone who grew up in a very shitty church, had a lot of my decisions influenced by it, and I think Aziraphale's actions made perfect sense!!! I think it was entirely in character! Aziraphale's entire character, as we've seen it throughout thousands of years, holds so much hope in heaven! Even if he sees himself as separate from it, it's clear he still thinks of heaven as a tool to do good, simply led by bad people. He doesn't see the inherent flaws in the system like Crowley and the audience do. I think it's a totally logical leap for his character dedicate himself to doing, what he thinks, is undeniable good through heaven! He thinks he can fix it, and that's worth leaving behind the person he loves most! That's incredibly strong character writing, and to chalk it up to a magic mind control potion and actually aziraphale wouldve totally left heaven if he wasn't drugged just. removes so much of that impact!!

#HI NORA!! SORRY ABOUT THE NOVEL OF A RESPONSE LMAO. I LOVE YOU #i love talking about things and characters and themes wahghghgh!!!!!#good omens #good omens spoilers #coffee theory #ive noticed many more coffee theory truthers on platforms like tiktok whilst tumblr users tend to lean more against it. interesting stuff!!#<- at least in my experience from what ive seen!!!! lord knows i dont use tiktok

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calypso707 · 1 year

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Chapter four : Sinners and Saints.

It had been several hours now since they had taken off ang fatigue was beginning to set in. Jill tried not to give in to it, she wondered how long it had been since she had had a real restful sleep. In this kind of job, you had to be constantly on the alert. The pilot's voice in her headphones pulled her out of her drowsiness: "We're going to start the descent, I can't land here, you'll have to rappel down to continue on foot."

"Copy that. Try to find a landing area nearby and report your position. As soon as we're done there, we'll take off. We'll stay in contact with the earpieces," Chris said as he stood up to put on his bulletproof vest.

Piers went to equip himself too. Jill unbuckled her belt and did the same, at the back of the cargo hold, near the cockpit, were crates containing equipment, hoping that it would be enough for this mission. She crouched down in front of the equipment crate, took several magazines for her Berreta and placed her earpiece correctly. The sound of heavy side doors resounding, as she looked over her shoulder, she saw Chris assisting Piers down with a rope while Merah came to stand beside her. Jill looked up at her, the woman seemed to be annoyed.

"I hope you'll be focused on this mission."

"Excuse me?" said the former STARS as she stood up.

"I know you've been through some shitty stuff, like the rest of us, but you can't let your feelings screw up the mission or impact us.”

Jill cringed at her words and frowned; she didn't like her tone. Before she could even reply, Merah said "Chris may be fooled but I'm not, if you don't feel up to it, retreat.”

The young woman watched Merah walk away and leave the chopper. Only she and Chris were left in the hold. Her companion's words kept echoing in her head, hard as they were to hear. And yet, she was right, her lack of confidence could not affect the mission. If she went on like this, she would be putting her partners’ lives at risk, she couldn't let that happen. She took a deep breath and walked towards the door with a determined step, grabbing the rope.

"Hold on tight!" said Chris, loud enough for her to hear.

She nodded and slid down the rope to join Piers and Merah on the ground, Chris coming down a few seconds later. Jill covered her head to protect herself from the gusts of wind the chopper's blades were causing, and they all watched the plane fly away before they began to venture into the forest. The trees looked giant from below. The branches were so huge that it was difficult to discern the sky. The wind rushing through the forest made the leaves roar, like a howl that was choked as they went along.

"Well..." said Piers, while scanning the surroundings.

"The academy is to the northwest, two kilometers from our position," Jill informed, "There's no network here, no wonder it took them a while to be able to contact reinforcements."

"With no way of contacting anyone from outside, this probably made the situation worse," said Chris.

"Let's hurry."

It was getting dark as they approached the campus. The place was huge and surrounded by forest, any method of extraction would therefore be difficult. There had to be an explanation for why such a place was under terrorist attack. Moreover, with the forest nearby, other creatures could easily have been infected. Finding the person responsible for this attack would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. They ventured down the main avenue of the academy, it was almost like a small town, florists shopping malls and other shops were there. Jill was impressed by the size of the area, completely independent. They quickly reached the checkpoint that allowed access to the buildings such as the dormitories, the classrooms, the stadium, the cathedral... There's even a fucking cathedral, she thought.

"Damn, this is huge. It's going to take us a long time to find Professor Wright," said Merah.

They went through the main gate, walked a few yards before stopping, Chris turning to his three partners, "We should split up. Merah and Piers, you go and look for Mr. Wright, start with the dorms. Jill and I will try to find any survivors, we'll check the classrooms. If you see anyone infected, shoot."

They all approved the order and split up. Jill could feel the stress growing inside her, she had a bad feeling about this place and she knew that it would be complicated to complete the mission. The two agents moved cautiously, weapons in hand. There was blood and sparse corpses on their way, some of them not even infected, they had thrown themselves off the top of the building, preferring to die than to turn into a monster. It was horrible to see and bear. As they made their way along the windows to enter the main doors, Jill stopped short of a window. There, on the other side, two young girls were hanged. Her heart was in her throat, young people like them, condemned in this way. Chris's hand on her shoulder startled her: "Jill. Let's keep moving."

She huffed, as if to gain composure and once near the doors, Chris began to open them slowly. Despite their stealth, the zombies that littered the hallway all turned on them at the same time before rushing to attack. Jill didn't hesitate and opened fire, with Chris following with a burst of fire from his machine gun. After several minutes of killing off the last of the infected, silence gradually returned.

“I hope there are still survivors somewhere.” said Jill.

They were able to explore the various classrooms, one by one, looking for survivors, but nothing. The more they explored the place, the more desperate they became. This building was simply crawling with infected. As they explored the last part of the building, where the toilets were located, they came across two infected trying desperately to sneak into a toilet stall. Jill shot the one scratching at the door in the head, while Chris pulled the legs of the one crawling under the door to get him out and plunged his knife into his skull. The captain pushed the door open, and they came upon a young man with red hair cowering on the toilet, tears in his eyes, the barrel of his gun against his temple, ready to shoot.

"The way is clear, boy," Chris said, holding out his hand.

The young man came to his senses, struggling to accept the fact that reinforcements had arrived to rescue him from this nightmare. Jill helped him step over the dead bodies and began to examine him thoroughly, checking for injuries, bites, or any signs of infection before asking, "What's your name?”

"My name… My name is Ricky Tozawa..."

"Doug Wright's nephew?" questioned Chris, surprised.

"Are you Chris Redfield?" asked the young man "My uncle told me a lot about you and the BSAA... So it's true, you're here to save us?”

"We'll do everything we can," said Jill.

#chris redfield #resident evil #jill valentine #valenfield #resident evil 5 #romance #re3 jill #re3 remake #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil 3 #re5 chris

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dumbbanana · 2 years

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I'd love to hear your theories about Lurien's personality and his relationship with the king ^^

Hello hello! Thank you for the ask and so sorry for the late reply (have had a chaotic few weeks)! Oh boy oh boy! I get to talk about Lurien and my headcanons! 🤩

Quick warning that one of the pics I drew below might be off putting to some since it has some eyes in it. Please do ask to tag if necessary!

I'll put my ramble below the cut (It's long!)

Aside from being the grumpy alcoholic I depict him as, I like to think he's one of those people (bugs? you get what I mean) that doesn't usually say much but commands a lot of respect whereever he is. When he does have something to say, he rarely sugarcoats it and will often be rather blunt about it, unless he decides more tact is necessary for the situation.

Since I partially based my gijinka/human design for him off Sherlock Holmes (mostly the Inverness cape he wears), I usually headcanon him as having the Sherlock-like obsevation skills and the unsociable personality that comes with it 😆On top of this, I headcanon his bug-self to be a dragonfly! One of the things that entrances me about them is that they're said to have really good vision. This video (tw: bugs) that i watched shows someone firing a pea past a dragonfly, looking at it in slow motion, the dragonfly is show to move it's head to look at the flying pea, decides "nah, this isn't worth my time" and then goes back to what it was doing. So, I like to think Lurien has a similar attitude during most interactions, though he is not oblivious to how he may come off to others, he simply doesn't care.

He isn't grumpy without reason though. I headcanon him being something akin to Head of Secret Service and a key advisor to the Pale King (PK) and his court so he is a very busy man!

I think he genuinely cares about the kingdom and it's people, having clawed his way from the bottom rungs of society to his current position. He wants to make the world a better place but has found that even in his station/role as the Watcher, fierce politics and bureaucracy have prevented him from making many of the changes he originally aspired to make - one of the many reasons he drinks and smokes heavily. He does do what he can to help out though and I imagine him to be the kind of person who anonymously makes generous donations to the city's struggling orphanages and hospitals.

Another theory I have is that he's a very politically savvy person and isn't afraid to get his hands dirty get the job done, only resorting to more ruthless methods once all peaceful alternatives have been exhausted and it's clear to him there is absolutely no other option and/or an innocent life is in danger. He has a disdain for people who abuse their positions and power but can and will efficiently beat them at their own game if he is pushed to do so.

It's a different story if they decide to make it personal, however.

On a more positive side of headcanons for his personality, I enjoy the idea that loyalty is one of his strongest traits. He is loyal to PK, Hallownest and whichever handful of individuals he'd count as his close friends. He's the kind of friend who will always stands by you, and move heaven and earth for you. But he would also tell you to your face if he thinks you're being an asshole and/or a shitty friend. He's a powerful ally and a formidable enemy.

That being said, although Monomon and Herrah are his best friends, he'd probably sooner throw himself off the top of his spire than straight up telling them that he cares about them (not that they don't already know).

Regarding his relationship with PK: I'll preface this with a short lalala that I think of PK as a somewhat self-righteous ruler, having installed himself as the king of Hallownest and having this cult of personality thing around himself (like, there were idols of him, his symbol is everywhere, everyone reveres him as the beloved king, that weird text on the fountain in Ancient Basin that basically said "give the King all your money", being described as King and Creator etc.). He's a powerful being, god and king and he knows it.

Earlier I mentioned that Lurien doesn't hold back when speaking his mind and PK is no exception to this. Contrary to the "uwu my king <3" bootlicker personality I see most people give him, I find it fun to think that although he acknowledges PK's god status (where his cut dialogue seems to imply that he has witnessed PK's true form) he simply… doesn't care.

The best way I can describe it is that he saw PK's true form and went "Ok great, you're a god. Nice to know. Now will you do your job and be a ruler? No, it's not the same - you're thinking like a god, you have to be a king. FOR FUCK'S SAKE MUST I DO EVERYTHING MYSELF?! Oh yeah? You want total obedience? Then go ahead and smite me. Use your light to instill total love for you. WHY NOT? Make an example of me and everyone will fall in line. DO IT." followed by torrents of swear words as he walks away and PK has blasted a nearby wall.

In short, Lurien would be one of a few people who can (and will) say "No" to PK and still walk away with his head attached to his shoulders. PK has the benefit of godhood - if something bad happens, PK couuld simply smite it, abandon Hallownest and/or create a new kingdom and he wouldn't have to think about it again. Lurien isn't immortal or a god and thus, approaches and understands problems in a way that an immortal god might not.

He's not completely cynical and does place a lot of faith in PK and vice versa but their long time friendship/relationship/acquaintance is shadowed by the knowledge that if PK didn't have his god-like status and powers, it would be people like Lurien who would be in power.

I personally do not romantically ship PK and Lurien (but I don't mind if others do) since I think of their relationship as very close with lots of trust but has major issues such as major power imbalance, clashing values and attiudes to list a few things.

I also headcanon Lurien as not being interested in romance (or the other thing) so any attempts to court him even after he's tried to explain and let the interested party down peacefully would simply result in

Ahaha wow that was a lot (my English Literature teacher wishes I could write this much about anything).

If you read all that, thank you! I have been wanted to talk about stuff like this for a while but have always been to awkward. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to do so!

I hope you have a lovely day! 🥃

#ask #mostlydeadallday #hollow knight #lurien the watcher #hk gijinka #long post #tw: eye horror #<- don't know what the right tag is #please let me know!

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eldritch-spouse · 2 years

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What if I show your boys positive pregnancy test after a night with them?

[Let's say you're their obsession for this, otherwise it might get ugly.]

Very happy, wants to throw a party immediately:

BREG. OOOOH he's screaming at the top of his lungs. FINALLY. HATCHLINGS. HE BRED YOU!! Forget the logistics of how such even happened, he's fucking ecstatic, he's ready- You're getting treated like royalty and he's going to watch so many baby documentaries, he's so happy he could combust.

Morell. There's no doubt your kids will look a little odd, but he's beaming with happiness. Baby mama, you're getting praise from his entire family for bearing Mori's kids. Even if he's extremely enthused about this, you need to take some time aside with Morell to talk about his family's eating habits. Even then, the kid will be fucked up, it's unavoidable.

Fank-e. You can't physically have kids with him, but let's say say you worked something out here (artificial insemination?). He knows nothing but he's extremely excited! He's always found the process of pregnancy to be very interesting, and even if he has trouble focusing, Fank-e gets serious when he has to be. He's silly enough to get along well with kids anyway. Your kid will be a hyper little oddball like him, probably.

Hesitant but not upset:

Patches. Ooooh boy he's nervous. He's so nervous. Oh God he's gonna be such a shitty dad- He can barely hold a child without freezing in fear of it crying! You need to reassure him constantly, and make sure he let's the kid breathe because he's very protective and suffocating.

Nebul. It wouldn't be right to say he's nervous, but more so that he needs to have a talk with you to explain that the child may be a purebred wraith, or half-wraith, and as such, you need to take care not to put the same type of expectations on them that you would place on, say, a human child.

Grimbly. He's uh... He's not used to taking positions of responsibility. He's the brat, the pillow princess, you'll have to step up and guide him through this. Grimbly can be a good father with some incentive, he's definitely the type to always doll his kids up in perfect outfits. What a fashionable child you'll have.

Gallon. If the kid is not a slime, he's going to be sooo out of his depth. He'd love a family, truly, he's just kind of worried with his line of work and the possibility of it getting in the way of family time. Overall, he's absolutely on board for a child, but needs a lot of reading material and reassurance as well.

Having an internal crisis:

Vinnel. How??? How?! He thought he was infertile! He's not entirely sure if the disease he has is genetic, but he bets it is, so please- Consider very thoroughly what you're going to do regarding this. He... He doesn't think he could see another poor half-slime/slime suffering the way he does. But he also will feel an attachment if it's determined that the forming baby will have the same illness. Ultimately, he leaves it up to you and feels very insecure about taking the role of a father.

Santi. Hmmm- He's had so little contact with children, for instinctive reasons mostly. He fears he might be a bit of a distant dad. These are unfounded fears that swallow him alive, you need to reassure Santi that there's potential in him to be a great dad, because there is, he's a supportive and protective person who can definitely handle raising a kid with a little bit of nudging.

Ludwig. He's a free-loading monster whose job is inconsistent and he tends to be a little distant. Not only that, he's a wrathful demon, if the baby doesn't share some wrath traits, growing up with a dad like Ludwig might put them off, not that Lud would ever intentionally be aggressive towards family. He's just scared of himself. Scared of what you'll think of him.

Fasma. Get him therapy right now. Start working on those drinking habits, the smoking, his debt- You chose quite literally the worst monster to have a baby with, Jesus fuck. Neither of you are ready for this and there has to be a lot of work done from you two.

#general tce #Fank-e oc #Ludwig oc #Grimbly oc #Santi oc #Patches oc #Nebul oc #Gallon oc #Morell oc

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shummashum · 3 months

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Klaus Goldstein Ch8 [6~10]

The moment Liz was about to ask her if she was all right…

oh… well yeah you think that stealing something from someone and not trying to cause any harm can be said to be true at the same time, okay you have kleptomania or something?

you don't get it? it's obvious as hell let me guess, the reason she stole the teacup was to aim for an indirect kiss, right? ew fuck disgusting

fan, you say… you speak quite positively

what's wrong with her… oi Fanda pull yourself together

well but even excluding that reason, the most suitable person to entrust this investigation to is Cae Zeus is well… not only is it strange to ask the victim, but he would probably just spread it all around Hiro is well… he's not that trustworthy either, and not to mention Liz besides Klaus doesn't seem to have any intention of entrusting the job to Al in the first place

I always feel this, but Cae plays the role of a punching bag so well he deserves an extra salary

And finally, Zeus broached the subject: why she stole his stuff.

ew,,, don't live like that, you disgusting bitch……

well… how does Zeus think if he doesn't consider it a big deal, her punishment will be minimal; however, if he is unwilling to spare her, her punishment will be increased a crime is a crime, so she should get the minimum sentence at least. don't you think?

no way don't let your heart ache are you kidding me imagine that a student whose name and face you don't know -- who has no connection with you -- stole your belongings for a "personal act" isn't that disgusting

erm… at least you didn't commit theft why do you feel a sense of kinship? you think you're on the same level as that?

that ha no I won't say anything she already considers herself like that, what can I do?

Then she ran to Fanda and put a comforting hand on her back.

hey your sanity are you insane? what… what are you doing no way oi what are you doing what are you doing now am I… seeing things what are you doing right now…??

and if you're going to ask for forgiveness, shouldn't you ask Zeus first before Klaus? he is the victim (besides it's even not that you committed, mind your own business you ^kind^ goody two shoes)

hah don't appeal to emotions, I hate that if she knew what she did was wrong, she shouldn't have done it in the first place after doing everything she wanted and now she says please forgive me? ridiculous as hell

and Fanda tell them you're prepared to be punished, then they may determine that you're willing to reflect and reduce your punishment nothing will change if you just lie down and ask for forgiveness in that shitty and whining manner

I said, that never justifies what she did I'm technically a girl but I cannot agree with this honestly it's even weirder to understand and sympathize with this I nah I give up I'll zip my mouth

Anyway, Liz continued to ask for forgiveness.

oh? well if he says so… or maybe he's so used to this kind of thing that he doesn't think it's a big deal

but I'm begging you turn this sentimental bgm off I'm not moved at all

Well Zeus said he just had one request.

you nutcase,,, take back your textbook too,,,,,,

and why do you like hearing that is your brain upside down or what? and no one has a problem with this? guys??

Anyway, when Zeus asked where his teacup was, Fanda hesitated and reluctantly lowered her gaze.

shush this girl just throws away things that aren't even hers why did she steal it if she was going to throw it away if she put in the effort to steal it, shouldn't she at least cherish it?

now I get it, the labyrinth is just a huge trash can heh comparing the labyrinth to a trash can kinda makes me feel sorry for Luci

After bowing her head and apologizing again, Fanda quickly left the Prefect's room.

well he isn't a Prefect now! but I kinda agree, academy rules don't exist for nothing of course the victim himself said it was okay but… I think it would've been better to impose some symbolic punishment at least?

#shumma plays wh

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happyvoidharmony · 1 year

Text

Bad

Happy Miraxus Day 2022 !

Found : FF.net AO3

He was mad. Intensively mad. Like never before at her. Veins pumping like he was ready to start a battle. At him though, he may have gotten a bit angrier once or twice. Especially when the boy harmed his whole family, trying to throw a rebellion against him in order to start a reign of terror and misery over the people he loved the most. But that was another story.

How stupid did they have to be ?

Honestly, he wondered. There were some days he even wished he was tall enough to smack them both across the face with his wheelchair, just to get their brains both back into places. If only nature hadn’t been so cruel towards him.

Mavis, he couldn’t believe it.

And the nerve they had. Unbelievable. To just pretend like nothing was happening, right under his nose. To smile and chat like everything was fine, without a thought to what he might be feeling or wondering. To vanish one after the other, not at the same time, oh no, Mavis forbid they even let the slimiest clue that they were actually going back together.

Un-fucking-believable. And he didn’t like to swear. Not when he hadn’t drunk. He shook the habit out after years of hanging in the guild with a thousand children running around.

Not that he wanted to catch it again, even with them all grown.

If only they could stop acting like children.

Those two stupid brats.

And he loved them. To the death. Didn’t even need to explain why. Not when it came to him, but to the girl… Oh, how he grew to love her. Like his own, even if she was one of the only ones to actually remember who was originally supposed to love her this way. And it wasn’t just blind fatherly love, since he spent most of his days in her company, trying to get some work done, or mostly watching her getting the job done.

Watching her grow up, and loving what she was becoming. How beautiful and kind, and caring, and just the right amount of witty. Sometimes, he even wondered if she couldn’t be some angel sent from the sky to save him from his old days. Not that he wasn’t encouraging her to enjoy life as much as she could, even if it meant doing anything, or anyone for that matter. As long as it meant making her happy, and finally taking the life she deserved from the fate that took so much from her.

He just wished she hadn’t taken it so literally.

Because him. Well, he certainly wasn’t going to make her happy.

And it wasn’t as mean as it sounded. Because he loved him and also wished him the best joys of life just as much, if not even more. They just weren’t right for each other.

Too much baggage.

They were too different. Or not enough. He couldn’t tell. But, he certainly could tell how it was going to end. Horribly. Like some cheap heartbreaking show. Actually, there were several ways it could end, since they were both honestly damaged. Not for the rest of their lives. But for now, and until they actually managed to break through a few relationships, to have time to contemplate what their hearts lacked and were able to give.

If only they weren’t so stubborn as to skip all the trials to get to the one that could maybe harm the guild. And he didn’t want that. Not after everything. He didn’t want to die seeing them both tearing each other apart and his life work with them. It was just too much. Too much for his old heart to bear.

The only thing he didn’t know was who was going to bolt first.

It could be both really.

He was just so insecure, so hurt. And with reason. The old man had done his best, taking him in, raising him to the best of his ability, but no grandfather could make up for a shitty emotionally abusive father and a run-away mother. It was actually a miracle the boy wasn’t that messed up. He had character, that you couldn’t take from him. Most men would have wrecked the world and become a drug addict, or a warlord for that matter.

But he was damaged. Didn’t trust anyone. Not even him. Especially not him. But that was mostly his own doing rather than his father’s. Barely even opened up to his own carefully chosen friends, that would never dare break his trust. Sometimes he even thought he chose them to make up for his lack of parental validation, to have people chanting his praises to make up for the years of demeaning.

He was going to crush her. The girl needed steadiness and somebody to confide in and trust with her own life. She was a romantic. Not a goofy one though. She believed in die-hard love and life-long promises, in burning desire and intimate support. He knew it. She wouldn’t say it, but he knew it. Because he knew her, knew how much she had struggled with loneliness and suffering, even with her siblings at her side.

He was going to run. He was going to get terrified of having to trust somebody else, and he was going to crush her heart into tiny little pieces when she would open up and try for it.

And for that, he wanted to kill him.

Or maybe, he was going to be the one to open up. No reason. Actually, she was just as fucked up as him. She could very well be thinking they were just having fun, and unintentionally mislead him with her emotional talk and kindness. It was difficult not to feel close to her. She had a talent for that. People loved talking to her at the bar because she drew them in with her smile and warmth. It was only when you went to bed that you realized she never even said a word about herself.

He was going to fall for it. Way slowlier than the others, but she was going to do exactly what she did all day, except this time in his arms, and he was going to fall for it and blurt his heart out to her to get the affection he was yearning for. And she was going to crush it, ruin every little effort he ever made to let other people know how truly kind and loving he was, just to step on it and take him years back without even realizing it.

And he wanted to cry at the thought.

There was no way this was going to end well. His best chance was to hope they would both keep their bullshit until the end, and go for a quick and clean break. But how could the best scenario be not to grow at all ?

Because the odds of them getting both of their messes together on the first try was just too unlikely.

And the audacity to try when it was doomed. Well, it angered him so much.

It didn’t help that they both acted like children sneaking out to eat candy in secret, or thieves getting ready for the heist of the century. They didn’t even look at each other most days, let alone exchange a few words that weren’t directly related to jobs, or drinks, or the weather, but that was them trying. He knew because he had watched, carefully, weeks after finding out about the deed.

He had heard the rumors before, of course. But nothing quite compared to seeing it on his own. He hadn’t believed them, didn’t want to believe them. There were a thousand rumors going around the guildhall every day, especially about eminent members, and he was too old to pay attention to drunken chitchat, particularly when the two concerned barely managed to talk to each other for five minutes.

It was ridiculous.

He had found out during their trip to Crocus, to celebrate Lucy’s award and drink the night away. He was old but he wouldn’t have missed it for the world. He was too proud of her.

Of course, he thought it was weird when he saw his twenty-five year old grandson leaving the party before midnight, only half an hour after he himself considered calling it a night. But the boy had never been a social butterfly, even seeing him not hating the whole gathering already felt like a win.

He hadn’t thought much about it when he saw that they were sitting next to each other the whole time. After all, they both belonged to groups that seemed pretty determined to mingle, so it wasn’t that out of the blue. Maybe he noticed it, wished they wouldn’t return to their old ways and wreck the place over what color the tablecloth was supposed to be. He prayed for that one.

Didn’t even connect the dots when Mira got up, just fifteen minutes later. Right on the clock, he had to give it to her now, the timing was perfect. She went to congratulate Lucy, and then had the nerve to come up to his table and ask him if he needed help getting back to his room. Like she wasn’t planning on skipping her own to see if Laxus’ wasn’t more comfortable.

He couldn’t believe it.

He felt betrayed.

He trusted that girl. Trusted her with all the comings and goings of the guild, the one thing he gave his life for. Trusted her with his thoughts, feelings, and doubts. Mavis, he didn’t even trust Erza that much. And she knew. She knew how much it meant to him, how he was the most treasured thing he had left on this earth.

And she went for it.

Didn’t even have the decency to tell him to his face.

Didn’t even have the nerve to face him right after he found them out.

He didn’t have the strength to face her either, to be honest.

She didn’t like when he drank, kept on rambling about how it was bad for his health and his heart, how smoking could keep him from seeing his children thrive and be happy, and did he want to miss that ? No. Certainly Not. But he was old, and it was pretty difficult to explain to her, how, despite her best efforts, he could very well be found dead in his bed tomorrow, for no other reason than that it was the time. So, he certainly wasn’t going to miss out on his last opportunity to enjoy a good whiskey or a cigar.

He was too old for that.

But, he didn’t want to hurt her. Not when she spent way too many nights making sure he was going to bed properly and taking care of his way too big of a house. Did he feel ashamed about sneaking out at five in the morning when sleep eluded him ? Certainly. Very much so.

Couldn’t quite shake the irony when they had both found each other uncovered and guilty as charged. Him on his way to join Guildarts and the last partiers, and get some hard-earned liquor, and her getting out, dissheveled and sleepy, from a room whose number he knew to be Laxus’.

Mavis, he didn’t have the nerve to call her on it when she stared at him. Pretty sure he never saw her as red or as flustered. She didn’t even try to articulate a word to him. Just stared, and he stared back at her, before walking past him without another glance. Just walked straight across him and down the corridor to her room.

She was savage.

“I just caught Mirajane getting out of Laxus’ room'' Was the only thing he could articulate when he found an empty seat beside the fourty-seven year old mage.

He didn’t quite know how to take the warm laugh he had gotten.

“About fucking time.” The brown-haired said, trying to calm his laughter and finish his glass. He was drunk, anybody could have smelled the whiskey in his breath from a mile away.

The old man only smiled awkwardly, and finished his drink straight, to forget about the all too disturbing image.

They hadn’t talked about it. Not for weeks. The woman just pretended they had never seen each other. Even missed the opportunity to scold him about his drinking. Probably hoping he had been too tired (or, too drunk) to remember their encounter. But you didn’t spend fifty-three years running a tavern without developing a resistance to shake the gods. But he didn’t call her on it.

He observed her. Observed her manners. Looked for the slightest tell, the subtlest blush when the blond talked to her, the quickest touch between their fingers when they just stood too close. And they were good. Honestly, only someone in the know could catch it, but they weren’t invisible. He noticed the glance he’d send her before ordering a drink. He noticed the knowing smirk she had when she asked him about his job. Noticed the way he would drag time at the bar, before resigning and going up the stairs when someone else would require her attention.

And it killed him.

It killed him how they could just go along their day acting all innocent and probably laughed at him later, at all of them. About how everyone was so oblivious to it. Like it was their fault if they couldn’t assume a glance in public could mean many more things in private. He wanted to kill them. For playing with fire. For acting like spoiled entitled brats. For hiding things that they knew were bad.

He almost gagged on his drink the day he saw it. That day when she was just so drunk and he saw her grab his arm to rest on it. He even looked around to see if anyone else had seen it, but he was only met with bored eyes that didn’t have a clue about what just happened.

Maybe it wasn’t that important. Maybe everyone knew and he was the only one caring. Maybe he shouldn’t care about it and let them figure their own things out. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal.

But, it was to him. Maybe it was stupid and childish, but he was angry. He was angry at them for hiding such a thing from a person they were both close too. From the person that cared most about them, that knew them better than they knew themselves. Even if that person hadn’t been capable of guessing it for himself

Maybe he was mad at himself. Maybe he was sad he didn’t know them as much as he thought he did. Maybe he hated himself. For being so slow. For being so blind.

He wanted to confront her. He wanted to scold. Tell her how stupid she was being. Him too, but it was already so difficult getting time alone with him, he didn’t want to offer him an excuse to skip their rare meals together. He worked too hard for them.

But he never could. For the first two weeks because it was too awkward to bring up. For the weeks that followed because he wanted to see how much time they could go without addressing it. Maybe the boy wasn’t even aware about him knowing. Not if Mirajane had kept it from him.

But why would she ?

He almost choked on his beer the day he asked her out. Out of the blue. In front of everyone. He was pretty sure he heard the whole goddamn guild freeze when they heard. Pretty sure he heard a few ones falling from their chairs when she actually said yes. She tried to hide it of course, but she was red as a poppy, fidgeting as she tried to ignore the questions to go back to her everyday chores.

Maybe it was kind of cute.

“So, you and Laxus, right ?” He had finally asked just a few hours after that. Once they were alone in his office, trying to get through the pile of complaints hoping to touch the ceiling.

He could see her straighten a little, probably not expecting the direct question from him. After all, he kept silent for many weeks, so why now ?

“Right. ” She only responded, not lifting her eyes from the letter she was reading.

“Huh.” He thought about giving up. But no. He wanted an answer and a resistant twenty-one year old certainly wasn’t going to stop him.

She only gave him a glance then. But that was all he needed.

“And how long exactly has this been going on between the two of you ?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, master.” She hummed.

“Don’t play with me, child.” He wanted to scream but instead settled for firm. “I’m old, but I’m not that old.”

Still no glance, she was pretty motivated not to look at him, shrugged her shoulders and kept on working, pretending like the conversation wasn’t making her head burn.

So, he didn’t say anything next, only stared at her, very intensively, very much expecting a response. She kept on working as long as she could but there was just something about the master burning holes into her that became too difficult to bear.

She looked at him then, tried to take on her best teenage-like face about how unimportant it was, but he didn’t let her. He gave her the knowing eyebrows and she felt herself stiffen, feeling like a child whose parent remind that lying only makes the punishment worse.

She swallowed and turned back to the papers, trying to hide the disarray that spread through her core.

“A few months” She maybe articulated with another shrug.

“A few months ?” He sounded angrier.

“More or less.” She scribbled something on paper, probably a bill.

There were not many times when he wanted to unscrew her head from her body to see if she could be as unnerving, but that was definitely one of them.

“You mean you don’t know ?” He tried to control his tone, but he was fuming.

She sighed and lifted her deep blue eyes to uncomfortably stare at him, just for a second.

“I mean it doesn’t have to be that important”

“I see… ” He sighed trying to think of a mischievous remark to throw back but nothing came to mind. So he just drank his beer in silence.

A few months.

It was insane.

They didn’t talk about it again. Not for a long time.

“Why don’t you try minding your own business, for once ?” The blond also shot down every chance he took at warning him.

They both had that way of getting on edge every time he would try to put the subject back onto the table. Even if it was just to tell them that whatever was going on between them, he and the guild certainly didn’t want to hear anything about it.

So he ignored it. He waited. Waited for the day they would become ancient history and he could go back to normal with both of them.

He just hoped he’d still be alive by then.

“I don’t get what’s bothering you.” Bob said to him one day, when he was visiting on a business trip away. “You love that girl.” He put down his drink in exasperation. “If you were seventy years younger, you’d marry her yourself.” The Blue Pegasus master laughed.

Like that was a reason.

A few weeks later, he finally gave in. Just not to die stupid. Maybe he was never going to like it, but he could at least try to comprehend it.

Mirajane was just a little less inclined to answer his questions.

“What do you mean why ?” She only asked back when he went forth and tried to inquire. A bit aggressive, as always when it came to the thunder mage.

“I do not wish to fight, child.” He tried to diffuse the tension but she was already frowning to hell and becoming all agitated it took everything in him not to give up. “I am only curious.”

“I didn’t see you becoming that curious when Gajil and Levy got together.”

“Surely, you can see why that is different.”

“I can assure you, I don’t.”

There was a silence. A long one. One during which she shelved a few more papers before turning back to him to raise her eyebrows again. A bit insolent maybe. She had quite a spark, one that clashed with her usual demeanor, one that he didn’t see often. But he wasn’t going to let her have her way around him. He wasn’t that old. So he was just raised his much more impressive eyebrows back until she turned around back again.

“I really don’t get what you expect me to say.” She was tidying the desk, glancing at him from time to time while he only stared and finished his cigar, ignoring her judgmental look.

“You mean you can’t think of a single reason why you would want to date Laxus of all people ?”

He saw her smirk, but only for a split second.

“I can think of many reasons, master.” She sighed while gathering the glasses on her tray. “I’m just afraid they might be a bit too generic for what you’re looking for.”

“Generic ?”

“That’s the word, yes.” She smiled, then. Like she was having him.

He paused, blowing out smoke. But still staring at her, so she knew she wasn’t dismissed.

“I don’t know.” He sighed again, folding the paper of the day, just for countenance. “I’ve seen you turn down quite a few people from the guild over the years.”

“Well, maybe that’s because he’s not twice my age, nor divorced, or married for that matter.” She tried to giggle but his face looked just too serious for that, so she only grinned. “I like that in a man.”

Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered.

So, he tried seeing it for himself.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner instead ?” He invited her once as she was preparing to leave while Laxus sat on the couch in front of him, eyes widened and everything, as usual, when the boy (rarely) gave in to his passive aggressive invitations and came over to eat alone with him.

He saw her hesitate, he even caught the glance she threw at the blond, seeming like she was checking by him, as he wasn’t ready for any possible reason to avoid being left alone with his old man. “I really doubt he’s going to mind.” He tried adding.

“Well…” She stammered, taking her shoes back off and grabbing a glass to join them on the couch, ignoring the victory glance he had when he understood he finally managed to take them by surprise. “I guess I can spare an evening.”

He didn’t know what he expected, but he certainly was disappointed when they didn’t even try to exchange a few words through the whole night. Well, he was pretty sure they did in the kitchen, but never in front of him, let alone touch. No, not a finger, not a word to each other, only to him. He was less angry than amazed now. What kind of self-control could they possibly have ?

He tried talking to her sister then. After all, the girl was as close to her eldest as anyone could be, so she had to know something, right ?

“I don’t know, master, they never really hang out with me either.” He was very disappointed with this one. “Not together, I mean.” The white-haired girl tried to smile, but the old man looked too concerned to be taken lightly. “They just don’t like having people around.”

He sighed.

“From the lack of witnesses, I’m beginning to doubt they even hang at all.” He smoked while the eighteen year old giggled with amusement. “You forgot one.” He pointed at the glass left on the table.

“Well, I rather think it's a good sign, you know.”

He was intrigued then, grinning slightly. “And why is that, child ?”

“I don’t know…” She finished piling the glasses up on her tray before smiling brightly at him. “The thing with my sister is that she never talks that much about the things she cares about.”

“That’s an interesting take.”

“Well, not to me at least.” She sighed too. “But from what I heard, she’s a lot more talkative with Erza these days.”

He frowned at the thought. “ Erza, why ?”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s the booze talking.” She giggled again. “Or maybe, it’s because she doesn’t talk under torture.”

He smiled at her as she exited the office. A bit more satisfied with her than with the others.

Erza, huh ?

Now, that was someone he could ask.

Or not.

From the red her head immediately got when he asked, he’d go for the latter.

“I really don’t… I really don’t know what you want me to say, master…” She stammered so hard, way redder that he’d ever seen her before.

“Don’t give me that, Erza.” He cut her, tried grinning to relax her. “From what I’ve heard, you know more than anyone in here.”

She got even more flustered. If that was even possible.

“Maybe…” She swallowed hard. “But, I’m not…” She whispered then. “I’m not really supposed to talk about it.”

He thought hard about making her. He certainly could. She would never hide something from him if he inquired, he knew that. He could order her to talk and she would shamefully confess the whole thing even if it meant betraying her friend. But he hesitated. After all, the guild peace and running greatly relied on the two women’s good understanding, and force a feud between the two just seemed too stupid for that idiotic a reason.

“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, child, but I’m just looking for…”

“Please, don’t make me tell you, master.” She cut him though, still red as a tomato and looking down. “I really can’t have Mira hating me again.”

He nodded. Sometimes² there was no helping it.

He thought he had gotten to the end of his ressources by then. Maybe he was never going to comprehend it. Maybe he didn’t have to. Some things maybe weren’t made to be understood. They never fought like he used to think they would. They never talked for that matter. He could go on about his day without even having to think about it. He even had to check by the girl, once in a while, just to make sure this was still happening.

Some guild members even forgot and tried to ask the white-haired out, but strangely only when the blond was away. The Thunder Legion didn’t like it though. He himself didn’t like it. Just because he didn’t approve of something didn’t mean guildmates could act this way towards each other. It was a matter of respect.

He did like that Laxus came by more often though. Not too often, he didn’t like exaggerating. But he slowly stopped turning him down for whatever reason he had found that night. He was calmer too, a little bit more relaxed and smily, but that could be very well him taking his dreams for reality. He didn’t know if she had something to do with that.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

But he did see him smile that day. When the guild was dark and packed. When the chatter was so loud he had trouble understanding Cana next to him. He saw them. Up onto the balcony where they thought no one was paying attention. He had trouble at first, catching the hand on her waist, or the bright mischievous grin she had during what seemed to be a passionate and witty conversation.

It seemed like they didn’t catch the ruckus around them. Or maybe they were just too used to it to pay any attention. He wondered what could be so interesting that they wouldn’t even think about looking around. And maybe he felt a bit sad. Sad that he didn’t know what could possibly be the topic at hand. Maybe he almost felt his heart sink that he might never know.

He almost hissed though at the way he had to keep her way too close to him, and let his hands wander a little bit too much. He almost wanted to turn around at the way he dragged her closer to casually lean in and capture her lips. It was swift, or maybe it was longer. He hadn’t gotten a good look, even staring the whole time. Strangely, he couldn’t tell.

But he could tell they were smiling.

And for that, maybe.

Maybe it wasn’t all that bad.

#fairytail #makarov dreyar #laxus dreyar #mirajane strauss #lisanna strauss #gildarts clive #fairy tail bob #le prompt de la non-inspiration #erza scarlet #miraxus #laxus x mirajane #mira x laxus #miraxus day #miraxus day 2022

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33max · 2 years

Note

Hi ☺️ would you be able to write about Max cheering up Dan when he’s little? Like he knows Dan may be a little sad so he tries to comfort him and Daniel is obviously cheered up by his sweet boy??

Hello, yes I can absolutely do that! Thank you for your prompt and sorry it took me a little while ♥️

cw nsap, food mentions, tiny alcohol mention, 489 words

Usually, Daniel gives himself 24 hours to mope around after a shitty race. 24 hours to get all the negativity out of his system before he focuses on a more positive mindset. Coming last in Austin fucking hurt, it’s his favourite race of the year after all.

It still hurts when he wakes up the following morning. He plans to spend the whole day moping around in bed, then he’ll go out tonight, have a few beers and loosen up a little. Shake it off and move on.

His plans change when he rolls over to kiss his boyfriend good morning, and he finds Max staring at him, with big wide eyes and a cheeky smile.

“Love,” Max tells him, and oh. Max is little.

This… isn’t really how Daniel wanted today to go. Not because he doesn’t love when Max is little, he cherishes any time he gets to spend with his sweet boy, it’s just that… Max is really sensitive. Max picks up on his body language, his tone, and well… his feelings. Right now, Daniel doesn’t really want that. Doesn’t want Max to think it’s something he’s done.

“Morning, Maxy!” Daniel says as enthusiastically as he can.

Max snuggles against Daniel’s chest, seeking cuddles and comfort. Well, this Daniel can do… he kind of needs some comfort too.

“Mr Roar loves you,” Maxy tells him, placing Mr Roar on Daniel’s chest so Daniel can lean forward and kiss Max’s beloved plushie.

They spend several hours like that, lazing around in bed until Max is getting grouchy and needs his breakfast. Daniel’s not feeling up to making anything, so he lets Max choose something from UberEats… patiently reading him all of the options. After a lot of indecision and back and forth, Max gets a waffle with strawberries and cream. Brad doesn’t need to know.

“Daddy, you have!” Max demands while very messily eating his waffle in bed, he’s holding up a strawberry to Daniel and has quite a determined look on his face.

“You want me to eat the strawberry?” Daniel asks, a little confused. Max loves food, even little Max isn’t great at sharing.

“Yes,” He says, shuffling across the bed to pop the strawberry into Daniel’s mouth. “Make you less sad.”

Oh no. Daniel thought he was doing a good job of hiding it, but clearly not. Forgetting the waffles for a second he pulls Max into his lap, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close.

“Thank you for that,” He says, pressing a kiss to Max’s forehead, “I am a bit sad, but it’s because Daddy didn’t have a very good race yesterday… nothing to do with you, Baby.”

Max takes a moment to process that, before nodding and nuzzling his face into Daniel’s neck. “We cuddle until you feel better?”

That sounds a lot better than moping. Daniel’s heart melts, “Yes, let’s do that. Eat your waffle first though.”

#answered #anonymous #turkey dinosaurs au #writing

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little-coffins4 · 2 years

Text

Adjustment Takes Time Part 2/2

(Heavy content ahead! Implications of rape/non-con and semi-graphic physical violence.)

Max was gone, finally!

It took a while to actually get him out of the house. Max kept trying to find reasons to stay where he was– it was like he had grown roots. Still, Al made it very clear that since he had a job and had been making a stable income for a month or so, he had enough financial security to rent out an apartment somewhere. Eventually Max had caved, and Al helped him move out, loaded up all his belongings into the back of his van and helped set up his apartment. All in all, the actual moving only took a few days, and it was like a massive burden had been lifted from Al’s shoulders.

Albert does appreciate his brother, really, but his presence could get rather exhausting quickly. Him being gone also meant he could worry just a little less about being caught.

This first thing Albert had done once Max had left, was bring Finney upstairs to have a bath. The boy looked like he wanted to bite his hand off when he offered to help him wash, and pointedly yanked the shower curtain over to obscure himself.

He couldn’t blame him for that. He wouldn’t have wanted help with something like that when he was a boy, even if he had really needed it.

When Al had first moved into the property, he had installed locks on all the doors and windows, no matter how odd it may appear to outsiders. It served its purpose, and briefly Albert left Finney on his own locked in the restroom while he gathered some clean clothing for him. He’d made sure that he wasn’t gone for too long, lest Finney accidentally hurt himself or try to act out of line.

Once he’d finished bathing, Finney had tried any and every trick in the book to get Al to leave the room while he dried off and dressed. He begged and pleaded, he shouted and cussed, but Al remained steadfast in staying. Eventually he had tired and gave in, drying himself off and dressing as quickly as possible.

His shyness was quite endearing to Al.

He needed to wade into things slowly, safely, so afterwards Albert brought Finney back downstairs. While he wanted to keep the boy out longer, he knew he couldn’t yet. It was too risky, he needed to carefully make his way towards that point. He'd expose him to more and more time outside of the basement slowly over time.

Al couldn’t fully trust Finney yet, but he could at least start trying. He was sure he'd eventually be able to in the future.

That attempt at building trust, allowing the boy out of the basement and upstairs was what eventually led to Finney and Al sitting in the living room, watching a movie together.

Finney sat beside him on the couch, watching the TV with split attention. Al wasn’t stupid– he could feel Finney’s eyes burning into him, but he chose to ignore it and focus on the shitty romance flick playing instead. Finney had crammed himself to the very furthest end of the couch from him, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. In a word, he looked terribly uncomfortable with the whole situation. That would, of course, change eventually. Finney would realise just how much Al was doing for him, how he was bettering his life, and he’d begin to appreciate him.

Until then, though, Al would need to exercise a kind of patience he’d never really had before. A type of patience that had never been extended to him.

Something particularly amusing happened on screen, and Albert laughed a bit. It was mostly just a huff of breath, really, as it really didn’t warrant real laughter. Finney shifted in place, and from the corner of Al’s eye, he saw him put his feet flat on the ground before leaning back into the couch cushion, arms crossed tightly against his chest.

It was a lot less of a guarded stance, though he still looked uncomfortable. It was a start. Al couldn't help but smile when he saw it.

Al reached to his side and planted his hand into the boy's hair, tousling it a little. Finney flinched, but didn’t attempt to flee his touch.

“You hungry, huh? It’s not much, but I have some bagged popcorn in the pantry.”

Finney watched him in silent bewilderment for a few seconds, before shrugging. Albert took that as a yes, smiled once more and got up from his spot on the couch.

He kept his ears peeled as he left the room for the kitchen, he paid close attention to any noise he could hear while he opened the bag and dumped a portion of it into a plastic bowl. By the time he got back, hardly a minute later, Finney was in the same place he’d been beforehand, still watching TV. He didn’t look any more nervous then he had when he left, so with a pleased hum Al fell back into his spot, putting the bowl of popcorn between them.

“Here, don’t go too crazy on them. Save some for me!” He teased, to which Finney side-eyed him and didn’t reach for any.

After a few more minutes and Finney still hadn’t taken any, Al went for some. It was just a small handful, and he thought that perhaps it would show him that it was alright to take some. Maybe he was shy about eating in front of others? He did always look particularly uneasy while eating his dinner in front of Al. It was something they could work on together.

Suddenly, and without prior warning, Finney struck him. It was an objectively weak hit, but his fist had collided with the mask that covered the upper part of his face, jamming the hard plastic inwards. Al’s face throbbed and his eyes watered, he knew for a fact that he’d look much akin to a raccoon after this.

Through the haze of confusion, pain and anger, Al noticed Finney leaping to his feet to make a break for it. With a low growl, Albert himself leapt forward as well, grabbing the boy by the back of his shirt. Finney twisted and writhed, attempting to escape his hold and run away, but Al had a good grip on him. In a surprising move, Finney fell backwards onto the ground. Al grabbed him by the wrists, only to have the air knocked out of his lungs when Finney kicked upwards with all his might. Albert lost his hold on his arms, and Finney squirmed away, crawling across the living room floor. Still out of breath, Al lunged back on top of him, pressing his forearm to the back of his neck, and using the other hand to yank one of the boy's arms back and behind his back.

For a moment, Al stood still, taking in deep, deliberate breaths and refilling his lungs. Beneath him Finney was still trying to squirm away, but Al likely weighed twice Finney did. His weight itself was enough to keep the boy pinned, but the way he’d cranked his arm behind him in a painful position alongside the arm bearing down on the back of his neck limiting oxygen intake, left him unable to really even try.

“What. The. Fuck. The fuck were you trying to do, huh, Finney?!” Al’s voice rose in volume but fell in pitch. Even through his rage, he knew he couldn’t get too loud. The neighbours or somebody passing by outdoors might hear, and he’d be fucked if they did.

Albert pulled the arm he’d been pressing into Finney’s neck away, but before the boy could feel any form of relief he took a handful of those nice curls he enjoyed so much and pulled, shaking his head around as he continued to growl. “I do so many goddamn nice things for you, and you just don’t give a fuck! Just like those other boys! They didn’t appreciate a thing I did for them, and well, look where that got them!”

“You didn’t do shit!” Finney snapped back in a strained voice that broke around the words. “You– you took us from our families! You killed them! I want to go home, I just fucking want to go home!”

“You aren’t going home! Either you get over that shit, or I fucking slit your throat and do us both a favour!”

Albert released Finney’s arm and hair, flipped him onto his back and grabbed him hard by the face. He avoided grabbing him too close to the mouth– he knew that Finney bit when cornered, and he’d prefer not to have to deal with patching up a bite wound. The boy's hands snapped up, scratching and pulling at his hand, but he didn’t budge. He slammed his head against the carpeted floor beneath them, not too hard, but enough to temporarily daze the boy. From his pants back pocket, Al retrieved a switchblade. It wouldn’t make the most effective weapon when killing someone, but it was sharp and that was all he needed. He flipped it open, raised it high enough to give it some good momentum, and he– he–

Finney hadn’t made a peep. He had scrunched his eyes shut and was very obviously holding his breath. His eyelashes had liquid gathered on them– tears, he noted. He wasn’t struggling, wasn’t screaming, he was just laying there with his eyes shut and a death grip on the wrist of the hand holding his face in place.

It was a pathetic display of acceptance and submission, but unlike how he’d felt about the other boys' reactions before he’d killed them, he wasn’t disgusted. It didn’t fill him with rage or hatred.

–he stabbed the knife down hard into the carpeted floor beside Finney's head. The blade was going to be all kinds of fucked up after that, but he could just sharpen it again later.

“Just– fuck! Things were alright, they were fine! They were fine and you went and pulled this bullshit!” Al was still seething, but he’d calmed himself enough to grab the knife and get up off of the boy and step back, to begin pacing and pulling at his hair.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Finney scramble into the corner of the room, nearest to the couch. He couldn’t see the boy, hidden by the couch, but he knew he was still there.

“I thought– I thought I could start trusting you, but I guess I was wrong!”

“I never asked you to trust me!” Finney snapped back from his hiding place, voice accusatory and growing higher in pitch. “I never asked for any of this!”

Al thudded towards Finney, grabbed the arm of the couch and shoved it away, opening up the space the boy had wedged himself in some more to make him more accessible. Finney tried to crawl away, but he was all but caged in and Albert had little difficulty catching him once more.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME, DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING TOUCH ME!” He screamed, and panic boiled in Al’s gut. He was being too loud. He was being too loud! He could go scream his throat raw in the basement, but not upstairs!

Sampson started to bark and howl, which thankfully overpowered the racket Finney was making. If anyone came and questioned all the noise, he could blame it on the dog.

Al grabbed Finney by the ankle, dragging him forward. The boy reached to his side and grabbed the nearest thing– which unfortunately was a tall lamp. It came with him and fell to the ground. The bulb broke and went out, and the only light that illuminated the room was seeping in through the kitchen and what was cast by the TV.

Finney swung at Al’s face once more, but with him laying on his back on the ground, he wasn't able to put as much power behind it. Albert caught Finney’s wrist and wrenched it away from his face. This time, it was Al who swung, and he was a hell of a lot bigger and stronger than Finney. The hit met the boy's lower face, who coughed and sputtered. When his fist came away wet and warm, he didn’t have to guess why.

The boy rolled onto his side, one arm still restrained by Al while the other propped itself above his head, trying to guard himself from more blows. Al wasn’t thinking straight though– he was angry, so fucking angry, and he just wanted to make him hurt. In that moment he wouldn’t have cared if he’d started seeing brains, if he’d beat in and disfigured the face he’d been so drawn to. He just wanted Finney to shut up, to stop making noise and to stop moving.

The first hit to Finney’s arm had it nearly folding. It wasn’t even a matter of whether or not he could take the hits pain-wise, he was hitting him with such ferocity that his arm was being jostled in and out of the way, leaving his head and face open to more blows.

On the second hit, Finney seemed to realise his attempts at guarding his head were well and truly pointless. Instead, he threw his shaky hand into the air, shoving at Al’s shoulder.

It didn’t stop him. He barely even noticed the touch.

What he did notice, though, was that Finney had quieted down. The only noise that came from him was the popping of bloody bubbles forming on his lips.

Albert took a long, good look at what he had gone and done.

His fists were split and bloody– though he figured most of that blood wasn’t his own. Blood had gotten onto his nice carpet as well, a soft beige with dark brown patterns. He’d need to find a way to clean that up, and if his attempts weren’t successful, well… he’d need a new carpet. Finney’s face, which was half pressed into the carpet, looked pretty banged up. Al grabbed the boy by his chin, the blood on his hand and fingers smearing onto his skin. He turned his face to look at him, ignoring the sounds he made. Soft and quiet, they were wet and whiney, gasps and audible swallows as he looked up at him through wide eyes. He could already see that his face was beginning to swell and bruise. He was surprised it was setting in so quickly.

Finney’s lips parted, and for a moment, Al feared he may have chipped or even knocked out some teeth. Thankfully, though, the boy's tongue darted out in what seemed to be a subconscious reaction and wiped blood and broken skin from his lips off of his front teeth. He couldn’t tell if that blood had come from his mouth itself or from his nose. He watched as blood oozed sluggishly from both nostrils, and decided it could be either or. It didn’t even really matter, now did it?

Absent-mindedly, Albert grabbed Finney’s forearm and rubbed soft, soothing circles into it with his thumb. The boy sniffled and winced. The wetness that had previously just been beading up on his eyelashes was now streaking down his cheeks, mingling with the blood, diluting it to a soft pink in places.

“Ohh… Finney, don’t cry.” Al whispered softly, voice a few octaves higher. “No, no I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I promised you I wouldn’t hurt you, didn’t I?”

Finney didn’t answer verbally, just clenched his eyes shut and let his lower lip wobble.

“Hey, hey here,” carefully, Al worked him up into a sitting position before wrapping his arms around him nice and tight. He rocked them both from side to side, tucked the boy's head beneath his chin and pressed quick, chaste kisses to the crown of his head. A sob bubbled up from Finney’s lips, and Albert shushed him quietly. “It’s okay, it’s okay… You’re okay.”

Al ran his hand up and down Finney’s back, rubbing soothing patterns into his ribs. He felt every hitch of his back, and the expansions and depressions of his chest as he sucked in frantic breaths between his weeping.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… let’s get you cleaned up in a few minutes, huh? Then we can get you down to bed. You need a nice night of sleep, and you’ll feel as good as new tomorrow!” The boy didn’t speak, nod or give him any form of confirmation that he’d heard. Still, Al had a feeling he had.

It was nice, holding Finney like that. One day, he hoped that instead of pulling his hands to his chest or dropping them to his sides, that maybe Finney would hug him back. It’d be nice.

It was just a test run. It was just a test run. It failed now, but he could try again in the future.

While Finney may be a good boy compared to the others, good boys could still be very naughty sometimes.

But still, a small niggling part of his mind whispered, maybe he had been a little too rough with him that night.

#the black phone #the grabber #finney blake #finney shaw #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #dark fic #horror

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nokingsonlyfooles · 1 year

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That Hits Me Where I Used to Live...

We're not talking about some book to be read to children, like Heather Has Two Mommies and One is Black. They have gotten rid of the most recent version of a book that I had when I was learning how to teach preschool. It's a book put out by the National Association for the Education of Young Children - which I was a member of until my broken body got in the way of my simple ambition to teach small humans who need to be carried sometimes. The NAEYC accredits teachers and preschools and sets standards. They have thrown out what is essentially the OSHA handbook of best practices for educating your young children.

And why have they done this?

...Because it tells teachers to treat kids with queer parents with equality, dignity and worth, and that they should try to keep systemic racism out of the classroom.

Developmentally Appropriate Practice (we just say DAP) has been the foundation of preschool education in the States for almost as long as I've been alive. The deal is that children are not just smaller, dumber adults. Their brains and bodies are growing, so you want to serve them appropriate activities as they change. They're not all going to go at the same pace, but kids of a given age will be about ready for certain concepts - some may need a little more help and some a little less.

This concept should not be political or controversial. They always say they're so goddamn concerned with biology, so you'd think conservatives wouldn't be freaked out by the idea that children grow up.

Young kids have tremendous anxiety about being safe and accepted in school. When they hit preschool, a lot of them have never been away from their caregivers, certainly not all day. Some of 'em get so scared they just stop talking. There will be kids who don't trust you enough to communicate that they need to use the bathroom, and then they will detonate on the floor. They will hide the fact that they're sick with 100+ degree fevers, or in pain, or bleeding. If you don't make your classroom a safe place for young kids, they won't just be miserable, they will be biohazards, okay?

But, oh, my god, the evil book acknowledged the reality that children come from all kinds of families, and systemic bias can hurt them.

Listen, forget marginalized minorities for a sec. BOYS get shitty treatment in preschool, okay? Most of the teachers are women, and when boys roll up with their loud, active, and sometimes aggressive gendered socialization, a person who grew up female can get very confused and impatient with it. They're trying to get more male preschool teachers, so there's someone in the room with context, but the job is low status, low paying and gendered female, so there still aren't that many.

If gender alone can make a teacher treat a kid unfairly, culture and ethnicity can do it too. The book of standards and practices would like your child's teacher to be aware of this, and try to self-police. That's all. And conservatives can't handle it. The book says you have to be respectful of people's differences? BURN IT!

This thing where they're coming after trans people is cover. It's loud and obvious and horrifying, and it makes it harder to see the smaller horrifying things that aren't getting as much media attention. Conservatives do not care whether trans people live or die, they're just a convenient excuse right now. This book isn't a book for keeping trans kids safe, it's a book for keeping all kids safe. Like, minimal standards of safety. And in Alabama, it's gone. All they had to do was say "it's woke." Poof. No more nationally-accepted standards and practices for preschoolers. Like magic.

God fucking damn it. We can't sleep on this. I don't know what to do about it, but it is NOT OKAY. I knew that the best we could do was slow it down and give people more time to get safe. I knew that. Intellectually, I knew that. But they're knocking out the safety rails that make it harder to hurt the smallest kids. What's next?

#early childhood education #i can't do tags im too damn upset #this shouldn't be like this #i shouldn't read the news

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bbbcnnie · 1 year

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ʷʰᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ʳᵒᶜᵏⁱⁿ' ᵃⁿᵈ ʳᵒˡˡⁱⁿ' ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵉᵃʳ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵐᵒᵐᵐᵃ ᶜᵃˡˡ !

ᵇᵒⁿⁿⁱᵉ ᶜᵒⁿˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵍˡᵒʳⁱᵃ ᵐᵃʳʸ ᶜᵃʳˢᵒⁿ

BONNIE CARSON? out here on the road, they have a reputation of being CUNNING + HUMOROUS but also RECKLESS + EASILY AGITATED, no wonder they’re called BONNIE. according to local legend, they’re 30 and when they pull up to camp not a soul can mistake the sound of GOOD GOLLY MISS MOLLY – CREEDENCE CLEARWATER REVIVAL following them. some say they carry A FADED, YELLOWED PICTURE OF HER CHILDHOOD CAT; A PIECE OF RED STRING TIED AROUND HER FINGER THAT SERVES AS A MAKESHIFT WEDDING BAND; HER NAN’S PRAYER BOOK; EVERY RAY CHARLES TAPE SHE COULD FIND IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT and have been traveling with THE CON JOBS. ( soph ! )

pinterest - spotify

CUE: ‘Our Father’ – The Five Blind Boys of Mississippi

A run-down bungalow-like shack, that probably used to be a farmhouse of some kind before big corporate came to town and robbed everyone of their land. Plaster’s coming off the wall, slowly but surely, but it’ll be another couple months before it gets damp and cold and someone’s actually gotta do something about that, so it’s ignored for now. The deep south, the 1950’s, in the midst of stifling heat, that’s where Constance Gloria Mary Carson is born, to mixed feelings – her father rejoices, a girl! Just what he wanted. Her mother only sighs and slumps back into the pillows. A girl, harder to get out of the house and working than a boy. Maybe she’ll be lucky again the next time ‘round.

Rolling Fork, Mississippi may have be a literal hellhole in every aspect of the word when looking back on it now, but from 1955 to 1960, the vast wasteland her father lovingly called their ‘backyard’ had been nothing short of an adventurous playground for little Connie May. Running around the place while momma shook her head and daddy read his paper, swinging by the tracks to watch the trains roll in and out every day, try and chase them for a bit until your lungs were burning and you were forced to stop, skip back home for a bland, in no way nutritious dinner. With a population of barely 1,300 , there was not much else to do. Perfect place to grow up, huh?

Soon enough, the Carsons turned from a family of four to a family of seven, and once deemed old enough – ‘She’s five, Jerry, for Heaven’s sake, she’ll manage watching’ the little ones, calm your horses’ – Connie May’s childhood abruptly stopped as she instead assumed the role of primary caregiver for her three younger siblings. Mom and Pop had to work all day, every day, with the paint peeling off the walls and the floorboards disintegrating underfoot, they had no other choice. In the neighbourhood, though, there are people who’ve got it worse, and the Carson’s are a pious family, so Connie May doesn’t even think about being unthankful for the little they have. Because they could have even less – when little Connie thinks about that too much her lips begin to quiver and her eyes grow awfully hot, a stinging pain underneath her lids as she tries to blink away her tears. Her mother had once reported, complained, nearly, to Mrs. Johnson from too houses down that Connie May was ‘a sickly little creature blessed – or cursed – with empathy’.

CUE: ‘Oh Happy Day’ – The Edwin Hawkins Singers

From the get-go, Connie May just … knows she’s different. She can feel it. It causes trouble from the moment she starts to talk. She’s an opinionated little girl, never shy to speak her mind. Because when the Swinging Sixties roll around, as Connie grows older and wiser, it gets increasingly harder and then, one day, impossible to ignore the inevitable. Rolling Fork was a death sentence. You’re born here, you procreate here, you die here. Simple as that. As your fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers have done before you. Get married off to the highest bidders, have a couple kids – or a couple dozen – and care for them while your slob of a husband goes to work at his shitty job that has him earning just enough so you’re just poor, not dirt poor.

Everyone around her, neighbours, classmates, they just .. .accept their situation. No, they are content with it. Content with knowing there’ll be no space for surprises, for action and adventure and all the fun stuff Connie May reads about in the novels she secretly slips from the library. That the furthest they’re ever getting from here is Louisville, if they’re lucky. It’s infuriating. It’s making her lose her mind.

The only escape from insanity is every other Sunday, when Momma and Daddy have to work and Mr. and Mrs. Dowall from next door take them to church. And heavens, does Bonnie love church. Not their regular church! Oh no, that’s just a stuffy little room, full of the same snot nosed kids she sits next to at school, who pull her hair and call her ‘nanny’ because she can’t join them at the county fair, has to watch her siblings instead. No, no, the Dowall church is different. The service there is the most exciting part of Connie May’s week. There’s always laughter and singing, gospel and worship in the way that she can get behind. A few weeks later, Mr. and Mrs. Dowall, with Momma’s approval, gift her two of their old records.

There are few fond memories of home, but one of them is dancing around the living room to ‘I Got A Woman’ and ‘Strange Things Happening Everyday’, standing on her father’s feet.

CUE: ‘Jesus Is Just Alright With Me’ – The Doobie Brothers

Connie May turns 17 in 1972, and by that time she’s got 2 friends, excluding her three younger siblings. Obviously excluding them, whatever connection she’s had to them has faded ever since their mother had begun to use Connie as a prime example for a person that had failed in life. Because her brother Robert had married his high school sweetheart the second they’d both turned 18, and he’d moved out a day after the wedding. They’re just … kids to her now. They’re getting older, too. They all take after her mother. It makes Connie sad, her dad, too, she sees it in the way he scratches his beard as if he’s lost in thought when, really, he’s tragically melancholic. Connie often wonders for how long her parents have been unhappy for.

Well, the ‘swinging sixties’ have come and gone, and so have the Dowell’s from next door and the fun services. Not dead, oh no, they just moved to live with their daughter and grandchildren, down in California. Good for them. Connie’s left, and she’s using the music they’ve gifted her to rebel against fucking everything in this god forsaken town. Tommy, Misha and her listen to records their parents don’t allow them to listen to because it’s ‘filthy, ungodly music’ in secret. Somehow, Connie May managed to convince her Momma that The Doobie Brothers were a nice, Christian rock n’ roll band. Maybe she’d had a gift for the odd con job ever since the beginning, huh?

CUE: ‘The Wild One’- Suzi Quatro

It takes another five fucking years for her life to finally change. In the year of our Lord, 1977, a dishevelled looking young woman with a million dollar smile rolls into town and Connie can only think of divine intervention as the cause of this … this miracle. Freshly twenty two, she’s already a burden to her parents – and reminded of that fact daily, thanks Momma! – and wants nothing more than to get out but there’s no way to escape. No loophole. Until, enter stage left, Tatiana appears. And changes her life for fucking ever,

First by changing her name. A simple mishearing turns Connie May into BONNIE and it just sticks. She sticks with it. She’s a new person and ready to embrace it.

Everything about Tatiana draws her in, and it is quite possible that the other woman is the coolest fucking person Bonnie has ever met. She’s so … god! She’s so everything that Rolling Fork is not, everything that Bonnie wants to be. She’s funny and nice, in her own way. She’s the most beautiful woman Bonnie has ever laid eyes upon. She’s dangerous and Bonnie craves the thrill of the unknown more than oxygen.

It's a quick and easy decision when Tatiana fina-fucking-lly invited her to join her on the road, live a life of adventure. In the dark of the night, Bonnie stuffs only the most important of her belongings into a duffel bag, leaves a note for her father telling him she’s safe and happy, and expressing her hope that he, too, may find happiness again, and then jumps into the passenger seat, laughing manically. Ready to leave her old life behind.

She doesn’t even glance in the rearview mirror when the pull out of the driveway.

However, Bonnie does lean out of the window as far as she can as they pass the sign that, in ugly faded letters, says: “You’re now leaving Rolling Fork! May God bless you and come again soon!” A fair bit of it was left covered in her spit.

CUE: ‘Whole Lotta Love’ – Led Zeppelin

Bonnie adjusts to life on the road fucking awfully at first but hey, she’s got much to learn and Tatiana is the best teacher one could’ve asked for. Bonnie might be naïve but she’s more than ready and willing to thrust herself into this life of crime. A little confused but she’s got the spirit! Most times her job’s simply to wait at the side of the road and look pretty and then pump the fucking gas when she goes from distraction to getaway driver. It’s turbulent, everything moving so fucking fast, but Bonnie has never felt so alive.

And so they make their way through the States, got a little routine going of sorts. Until one day, when they turn from Thelma and Louis to Bonnie and Clyde.

Usually, Bonnie’s got this thing where she puts on Creedence when they do their jobs, pull their stunts. This time, she goes for Led Zeppelin. Maybe it’s the thrill of the unfamiliar that causes the adrenaline to pump through her veins even faster, until suddenly, she finds herself standing behind some security guards who’d been about to corner and overpower Tatiana – she’s standing behind them and she’s got a gun pressed to one’s back while she’s got one of her boots pressed to the other’s neck. The guards let them go, they speed off, and once it’s safe enough, Bonnie pulls to the side of the road to yank Tatiana forward by her shirt. And, well, the rest is history. The rest is foggy windows and giggles and a drive to some poor pastor’s church who they bribe into giving them a marriage license, a fucking official one.

Next time they pull into the summit they’re fucking married. Spontaneous decisions had always been their forte.

CUE: ‘Blue Highway’ – Billy Idol

1985. It’s been some long years on the road since Rolling Fork. Hectic and dangerous and thrilling and just all in all fucking delightful. Even eight years down the line, Bonnie can’t find it within herself to regret the decisions that had brought her here, back to the summit, in their trusty old RV, her wife by her side. She fucking loves it, all of it. She loves Tatiana. Maybe not in the most conventional of ways for a married couple but she does, she loves her. Even if this open relationship typa situation they got on their hands isn’t her piece of cake – who’s she to complain? She might not be a godly woman anymore but she’s the same little Connie May that couldn’t bring herself to be unthankful for everything she had.

Hell, Bonnie even finds herself growing more fond of the other Con Jobs they picked up along the way. Even if she gets into fights with Wally over his choice of music every other day, even if Alfie and Wally do a god awful job of sneaking around every fucking night. She’s never wanted to be a mother or any of that shit, having spent her formative years as the sole caregiver of three little kids meant she had quite enough of kids for now.

But, then again, having cared for her siblings all these years had left its mark, and though she tries to hide it, Bonnie can’ t help but care when there’s a lost soul that needs her help. ‘Cursed with empathy’. At least you got that one right, Momma.

One rule has never waivered these past years on the road: Nobody touches the goddamn radio. Bonnie’s got full control over it. Even if she wants to take a trip down memory lane and listen to Sister Rosetta sing her best gospel hymns. Even if she wants to indulge her inner child with Madonna and Whitney’s latest hits. Everyone just has to sit and endure. So – Hands off!

#&&. intro #finally

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