#wade curtis x reader
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Wade Curtis & Jak Harasi x Reader
this was longer than i wanted it to & extremely self indulgent. i am so sorry if this was sloppy.
drugging, non-con, both of your ends are being used here, gender-neutral reader, “pet” is used in place of boy/girl
It felt like minutes ago where you found yourself at the local gas station, the sun setting and shining golden beams onto you and the racks of cold beer and alcohol. It was a couple of hours ago you were making small talk with two strange men as they searched through the shitty beer with you.
So how the hell did you end up here?
You really don’t remember the events leading up to this, the drugs strong enough to make your memories a bit hazy and your current state extremely woozy. Honestly, it felt like you had just woken up from a dental surgery. The smell hit you the hardest first — weed and beer, stuff you were extremely familiar with. You didn’t even process the soft words glazed over in a country accent until you felt large and strong hips pressed against yours. You were only left in your underwear, no shirt or pants in sight. . . yet these men were fully clothed. For now, at least.
“ Hey, Jak. . . mind turnin’ them over ?” his voice echoed through your head, glossy and lazy eyes tried their best to scan the area and the people; you could really only make out a large figure of a man with dark, fluffy hair and a white shirt. . . then you started to get your senses back. His hands were gripping your hips as he adjusted you, quickly flipping you over so your ass was pressed perfectly against his tented jeans.
This shocked you awake despite the lingering effects of the drug. Your head shot up, almost unable to keep your eyes on him as your head nodded a little. His smooth fingers graced your jaw before gripping it and lifting your face up even more — it hurt ! Not like you could really feel the pain, anyways. . . but it did strain your muscles uncomfortably!
“ They’re awake. . G’mornin’, darlin’ ,” he spoke softly, but his calm tone contradicted the scary look in his eyes. You couldn’t quite describe how he looked. . . intimidating? No, possessive and needy. He looks like he hasn’t had this in weeks, he looks like he needs this. This look alone made tears prick in your eyes, and those fat tears of yours finally fell down reddening cheeks as your eyes trailed down and stared right at his own crotch.
You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, or yell, or scream, because you felt so weak and helpless. What broke you out of your spiraling thoughts was the loss of the other’s, Jak’s, hands on your hips as he stepped away. Maybe he had changed his mind, you hoped — ziiiiip! He was unzipping his jeans and eventually letting them fall to his ankles before stepping out of them, then he lifted your hips again to press against you. You whimpered, and they laughed.
You felt disgusting, and they had barely started.
“ Don’t they look beautiful, Wade? Just look at their figure. . .” he trailed off as his large hand roamed your hips and lower back, then they teased the hem of your underwear. Jak let go of you for a few seconds as he awkwardly lifted your legs to strip you, he should’ve just ripped ‘em off considering how uncomfortable those twists were!
“ Yeah, they’re a pretty thing.” Wade let go of your face as he also stepped away and started to undress himself, leaving himself fully bare except for socks; these actions inspired Jak to follow suit and strip himself of his shirt and toss it to the side. They were. . . slightly uncoordinated. Honestly, you had started to nod off as soon as you were left untouched, eyes slowly rolling back into your eyes before your face was forcibly shoved into the base of a warm and well groomed dick.
Wade let out a long sigh of contentment as you felt more tears fall from your wide eyes, weak whimpers humming through your chest and throat. “ Lick ,” he commanded. You don’t even know what has gotten over you because you followed his orders, tongue pathetically lolling out and finding off comfort against the underside of his cock. He visibly shuddered, free hand sliding through your hair to grip oh so gently. “ Good pet ,” he rewarded, hips slightly moving against your wet muscle as if encourage you to keep licking. And you did. It felt natural for your lip to eventually clamp down on his dick, sucking softly along it. Wade’s eyebrows furrowed a little as his face heated up and covered the drunken rosy cheeks he previously had.
He looks beautiful like this, you thought. (Really, it felt like the drugs were thinking and doing for you.)
You really weren’t paying any mind to the giant of a man behind you until you felt cold and wet fingers touch at your entrance. A long and muffled whine left you as a finger intruded you, not giving you even a split second to adjust as it. It was rough and slow, and you wish you had just a little bit to adjust — oh god! he added another finger, obviously eager for you to open up to him faster. Your mouth fell open as Wade pulled himself away, letting his tip be guided to your lips. It took a moment for you to open your mouth again as you took a few seconds to swallow back any saliva that was pooling into the bottom of your jaw. Immediately you felt the tip push past your lips, a drop of pre getting caught on your top lip and smearing onto his cock. Thankfully he didn’t push all the way in, or else you’d gag a little. He seemed to be in a trance from the way the top row of your teeth lazily rested on his length, and the way your tongue was pressed against the underside of it. You almost cringed at the way he throbbed against you, but you were in no such state to back away. In fact, your body tried to push forward into him more.
The two fingers that invaded you so personally had nulled out again as your mind and body focused on the lovely intrusion in your mouth. It didn’t last for long, though. The fingers that once filled you were replaced with a much bigger dick that started slipping into you. It was scary and you wanted to tense up and kick him off, but you couldn’t. Your body stayed practically limp and relaxed for the two of them. In a matter of seconds, you were full. This was a new and strange feeling for you, and it caused even more tears to fall down your face. With the way you were so full, and with how red your face was, someone would think that you’re enjoying this.
Jak had to sit there for a bit and savor the feeling. You were just so warm and tight and a perfect fit for him. Wade could say the same about your mouth; your teeth were delightful, pretty and white. . they may have had some imperfections, but god did he love them. He loves the way your tongue stayed pressed against him while he slowly rocked into your mouth, feeling the soft ridges of your teeth graze against subtle veins and reddening skin. You could hear him whisper occasionally, mumble a few gosh’s and good pet’s under his breath as he continued to fuck your mouth .
Now you were really awake, especially after Jak picked up a good and steady pace. It sounded and felt like he was watching himself stretch you beyond your comfort, hands gripping your hips and spreading your ass to get the best view possible. The hand on your hip would inevitably trail down to your most intimate parts, slowly starting to rub at you and entice you more and more. He wanted you to feel wanted and loved.
Drool coated your chin, pre-cum and tears mixed in with that to make you look extra pathetic. Your blown-out pupils were staring up at Wade, having trouble focusing on him — focusing on anything. You were whimpering and whining against him, voice straining against weak vocal cords and your chest pushed out more long and drawn out moans.
You loved this. This is what you needed right now.
It didn’t take too long for them to find a faster and slightly harsher pace, brutally using your holes to their liking. They needed this, too. It also didn’t take long after that for them to get close to their climax, because gods did you feel amazing.
Wade slowly pulled out, almost edging himself, as he held your mouth open to catch his cum. He jerked himself at a quick and desperate pace, letting out a few moans here and there, before finally finishing in your mouth. He forced your jaw shut as his other hand finally let go of your hair to pinch your nose. He was forcing you to swallow. On the other hand, Jak was pressing himself into you as far as he could. He had a wide grin plastered on his face, teeth parted just enough to let him pant and breath freely. The sound the two of you’d hips made was loud. His own became erratic and animalistic, that hand that was teasing you finally coming up to your hip to push you against him further. The sound he made when he reached his peak was music to your ears, he sounded heavenly to you. You could live with hearing that often if it meant he used you like this frequently.
After Jak pulled out, they both sat back and observed their work. The two of them were grinning, satisfied with what they made of you.
They made you theirs.
#not proofread im too lazy#SORRY FISH AND BONES#:3c it’s 2am and I have class at 8am#mika writes#jak harasi#wade curtis#lovers trophy#jak harasi x reader#wade curtis x reader#nsft#nsft writing
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Sins & Amends Chapter 42
Billy Russo x Female Reader (60 part story)
This follows pre- the punisher into the storyline of daredevil, punisher season 1 and beyond
This is NOT Canon Billy. This is decent human being Billy left with bad options over worse decisions
This was also posted to A03 under: WaywardGaPeach. That account and this one is the only place you'll see me post this. If you see it on any other platform/account know it's not me.
Chapter Summary/Warnings: Billy breaks out the hospital and comes to you for answers about the missing gaps in his memory [NSFW. Um old feelings surface and they're acted on?]
No matter how much time passed it didn't change how often you thought about Maria and the kids or how often you thought about Billy. Most nights went by fine but sometimes you would have a bad day and you would end up crying yourself to sleep with the knowledge that Maria, Lisa and Frank Jr were dead because you were alive.
You loved Karen dearly and loved seeing Frank working towards being truly happy again. After about a year going back and forth on it he'd finally taken her up on her offer and moved in with her. He was working construction jobs under his Pete alias. Seeing the two of them together warmed your heart.
Alice and Kenzie were coming up on their one year wedding anniversary. Foggy and Marci were living together. Curtis had been with his most recent girlfriend Candance for six months and you were fairly certain the two of them were going to end up being a long haul deal. Hell even Matt was dating a u.s. marshal he'd met. Her name was Lilith and if you were being honest she was one of the coolest people you'd ever met.
You were happy or happier than you'd been in quite some time even if it probably seemed like you should be miserable surrounded by mostly couples. Yeah you could date if you wanted but it seemed like that part of your brain had shut off.
Work was good, you always had someone to hang out with if you wanted on your days off, Frank was now permanently just across town. You'd found a little peace even if you knew there was something missing.
You had a day off so you'd offered to help Curtis with the soup kitchen. "Excuse me Mr Hoyle" you teased sliding behind him with another pot of chili to add to the line. "No excuse me Miss Y/N"
Your friendship with Curtis had always been an easy one. He'd fell into a big brother position as easily as Frank had where you were concerned not to mention he was literally one of the easiest people on earth to talk to. Even when you couldn't talk to Frank you knew Curtis was a safe place.
He glanced at his phone then cut his eyes at you "isn't it about time for Madani to do another check for you?" You nodded not taking your attention off the woman in front of you as you handed her a tray of food with a smile.
Once the last person was through you turned to face Curtis "Should I let it go? I mean maybe Dumont was right. The week I stopped going he woke up the same week. Hell if he's ever cleared to leave the hospital he's facing many many years. Dinah thinks if she pushed it she could get him out the hospital sooner and into the medical ward of a prison up state. She just has to get Mahoney on board since it's technically his case. Part of me wishes he was dead.."
"But part of you wishes everything was different?" He offered when you trailed off and you ducked your head "does that make me a horrible person? After everything he's done?"
He reached a hand out to rest on your arm "No it doesn't Y/N. It just makes you human. You were with him for years. Your heart is what saved Frank more than once when you waded into shit waist deep to patch him up. Billy got himself all turned around and he's paying for it and he'll continue to pay it for. I just hope one day him and Frank can find some peace from everything that happened...you too"
"Yea maybe" you said quietly and offered him a small smile before turning to face the next line of people waiting for their food.
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You were walking home later still thinking over what Curtis had said. Maybe one day fate would see fit to let Frank and Billy both find peace. You just couldn't wrap your head around how. You would always be at odds with your own mind over what happened so you had no idea how either of them could come to terms with it.
You were so wrapped up in your thoughts you didn't hear your phone ringing until it was on the third chime. You dug it out your pocket and saw it was Dinah. "Dinah?" You answered crossing a street with a group of people to head back to your apartment.
"Y/N where are you?" Something in her voice made your stomach clench "headed home from helping Curt with the soup kitchen why?" A few seconds of silence passed before she finally said "Billy broke out the hospital"
You stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk and barely registered the guy that shoulder checked you. "What?" "Best Mahoney can tell he had an altercation with Dumont. The uniforms on the door intervened, he knocked them both out. One has a broken nose and the other has a dislocated shoulder. Dumont has staples in her head"
"Shit" you were trying to slow your brain down enough to form a halfway coherent thought. "There's one more thing. I found a letter that Dumont tried to pass off as being from you. I think that may have set him off" "letter?" You didn't try to hide the confusion in your voice because you hadn't written Billy a letter since his last deployment years ago.
"That's what I thought. We knew something was off with her and now we have proof but we need Billy's statement to keep this from turning into another list of charges and a full fledged manhunt" you shook your head to clear your thoughts a bit then registered what she said "it's not a full manhunt yet?"
"I'm hoping if the letter set him off he'll come find you. Even with the memory loss you live in the same place you did back then right?" So she was using you as bait? You decided to not take it personally then said "and if I get him to turn himself into Mahoney" "it's gonna go a lot better for him and we can go ahead and get him into the prison up state to start serving his time"
You ran a hand over your face then looked around "How long before it hits public? I've got to keep this from Fra-Pete " "Twenty four hours" you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding "if I hear from him I'll do my best to get him to turn himself in" "that's all I ask" she said then hung up which was usual for a phone call between the two of you.
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The rest of the walk to your apartment you caught yourself glancing down every alley and looking at every face in the crowd even more so than you usually did.
You started to stop off at the diner to get a bite to eat but decided against it. Your stomach felt like it was one giant knot. Somewhere in the city Billy was out there. His memory was fucked up, he was apparently in a horrible state mental wise if Dumont trying to pass off something as being from you had caused such an adverse reaction.
You were worried about him but had no idea where to start looking. His memory was back to being in the marines from what Dinah had been told by one of his doctors. If he went looking for Frank he'd find an empty lot where the Castle house once stood. Curtis had moved a few times since he lost his leg and came home so Dinah was right to assume Billy would come find you.
The question lingering in your mind was how would you react? You hadn't seen him since he was still in a coma and the last time the two of you spoke was before him and Frank fought.
Did he remember Rawlins? Did he have an inclination as to everything he'd had a hand in over the last few years? You looked up and realized you'd made it home sometime while you were thinking.
You ran a hand over your face and headed inside. Maybe a hot shower would calm your nerves. At the very least it would wash off the day and maybe help you prepare mentally for whatever would come next.
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The hot shower did help your nerves slightly at least. You were still thinking about Billy and the thought was now added into the mix as to what Frank would do if he found out but you hoped maybe something would happen within the twenty four hours that he wouldn't have to.
You had changed into leggings and an old t-shirt that you honestly weren't sure who it had belonged to before it ended up in your possession. Could have been Frank's, could've been Curtis'. Didn't really matter to you, it was worn enough it was soft to the touch. You left your hair loose not having the energy to fight with it.
You walked into the kitchen and grabbed a gatorade out the fridge. You needed to attempt to eat and you had left overs from the night before but your stomach was still a bit too twisted to attempt food. Every noise in the hall was making you have to ignore the urge to check.
You flopped down onto the couch and flipped the television on more for the noise than anything. Only a few hours had passed since Dinah called so who knew maybe he'd turned himself in?
You had almost dozed off when you heard an almost tentative knock at your door. You sat up blinking a few times because you honestly weren't sure if you'd dreamed it or not. Before you could convince yourself it was nothing you heard it again.
You glanced at the time and saw it just a little after nine. Could be literally anyone from Karen to Alice to Curtis. Hell a few of the female vets had dropped by your place before so it could be one of them. You untangled yourself from the blanket you'd wrapped up in and padded across the floor smoothing a hand over your hair. "I'm coming!" You called so whoever wouldn't leave thinking you weren't home.
You leaned up to look out the peephole but only saw someone with a hoodie pulled up over their eyes. Your heart did a flip when you realized your gun was in the bedroom so you reached for the Louisville slugger Frank had long since stashed behind the door with your umbrellas.
You gripped the bat loosely and unlocked just the handle and deadbolt. The chain was reinforced it had been one of Frank's busy projects before he found work so you trusted it to hold. You slowly opened the door and barely registered the sound of the bat hitting the floor when your gaze finally met the dark brown eyes staring back at you.
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"Y/N can I come in?" You nodded then closed the door long enough to unlock the chain and bent to pick up the bat before opening the door fully and stepping aside to let him in. He eyed it and you cautiously as he crossed the threshold and let his lips perk up in the barest hint of a smile "I know I look rough sweetheart but are you gonna bash my head in to add to it?"
You let your eyes skim across the scars littering his face. The worst was on his right cheek where large shards of glass had been embedded when you'd made it to his side. Frank had done a number on him and no matter how much your brain screamed he deserved it, your heart wanted to reach out and trace every new line on that face that was still just as capable of making your heart jump from being this close to him.
You looked blankly at the bat and shrugged "I don't plan to" you motioned towards the couch and he slowly headed that way so you shut the door then replaced the bat with the umbrellas then turned to face him.
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You took a deep breath then pushed off from the door not missing the flinch he gave at the simple movement. If he was this on edge being here in your apartment how the hell had he managed in the city?
"Billy?" You finally spoke and his eyes closed at your voice so you moved closer to him and sat gently on the edge of the couch leaving a cushion between the two of you. He slowly raised his face up to look at you and it shocked you to see tears in his eyes "Billy why did you break out the hospital?"
He pushed the hood back from his face and seeing his hair cut that close to his scalp was like a punch in the gut. He looked closer to how he had when he first met you so long ago. "My head..Y/N it's all messed. I don't remember shit I should. I um..why didn't you ever come back? The first thing I saw when I woke up was you walking out the room door. I wanted to see you but Doctor Dumont said you never came back" his face curled up in a sneer of disgust at her name and you made a mental note to find out exactly what the hell she'd done to him.
Hearing that he woke up to see you leaving and you'd never known was like a punch to the gut. "Billy.. I didn't know. Please believe me I came once a week when you first got hurt but she barred me from coming back. She threatened to get a restraining order and that would've fucked me up with work. I had someone getting updates on you but that was the best I could do" you took a shaky breath and he nodded "Madani? She was there because of you?"
"She owed me" you admitted easily and saw the confusion in his eyes "I hurt you didn't I?" He asked after a moment keeping his gaze glued to his hands.
"I wouldn't even know where to start" you all but whispered and felt more than heard him move. His hand was hovering close to your cheek and you realized he'd started to push the hair behind your shoulder but stopped himself at the last moment "I know you won't lie to me so please just tell me everything. I want to know. I have to know"
You leaned forward just enough to let your face brush against his hand. You knew allowing yourself even such an innocent touch was a bad idea but you couldn't help it. Here like this? He was your Billy again.
You took a deep breath then pulled away from him so he would let his hand fall back to his lap "I'll start at the earliest thing I know and work my way through"
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By the time you got to his involvement with Maria, Frank Jr and Lisa's deaths Billy's hands were shaking. Without thinking twice you covered his hands with your own. The surprise on his face was easy to see "You've got to turn me in. I won't run or fight them. I wanted to see you. I wanted answers. I got both"
"Why would you be willing to go back? You told me what it was like" your voice tried to break but you managed to steady it. Billy snatched his hands away from you and stood pacing across the floor twice before stopping a few feet from where you still sat on the edge of the couch "I deserve to be dead. I've done horrible things and if they were to find out I was here and you didn't call? I can't, I won't do that to you"
You got to your feet and approached him slowly, very aware of how much he looked like a wounded animal in that moment "Billy can you do me a favor? Just one thing" he nodded twice before finding his voice "anything you want"
"Can you hold me in your arms please? I just need to know what we had was real. That you actually felt the same way about me" your voice did break then and it only took him half a second to cover the area separating the two of you.
He pulled you into his arms and you let yourself melt against his chest even if you knew you shouldn't.
"Listen to me Y/N. I have been in love with you for years. There is nothing on this earth that would ever change that. I will never stop loving you. Before I could even talk again I heard your voice. Screaming at me to hold on. You pulled me out of that dark don't ever think I don't love you"
"Even through everything I couldn't make myself stop loving you" you admitted then pulled back to look up at him and you weren't sure what came over you but you leaned up on your tip toes to press a kiss to his lips. It was supposed to be a goodbye, nothing more but the moment your lips met it was that same raw energy that had filled every kiss between the two of you.
He deepened the kiss pulling you closer to him as a light moan fell from your lips. "Billy" he pulled back from you suddenly breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against yours "God I've missed you"
You stepped back closer to him and looked up into his eyes then pulled him down for another kiss but this time he didn't break it. You felt his hands move down your back until they cupped your thighs and he was lifting you into his arms.
You felt a bit light headed and weren't sure if it was from kissing him or just your brain trying to remind you how bad of an idea this was. You wrapped your legs around his waist and broke the kiss long enough to ask "do you remember where my bedroom is?" "I think I can manage" he answered with a smirk before capturing your lips again.
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Billy put you down gently to your feet as soon as he crossed into your bedroom. His hands slipped under your shirt and you couldn't help but notice how they shook slightly. You stepped back from him and let your eyes skim across his face "Billy if you don't want to do this we can stop"
He shook his head as he watched you just as hungry as every time the two of you had ever been together "I just don't understand. Why don't I disgust you? My face. What I've done" you stepped back closer to him and tentatively reached to push the hoodie off his shoulders and smiled when he let you "Your scars don't bother me. As a matter of fact you're still unfairly good looking"
His hands went to your hips when you reached for the hem of his shirt he nodded so you pulled it up and over his head allowing your hands to trail across the smooth expanse of his stomach taking special care to run your fingers across the new scars he'd gotten that night. "As for what you've done. A lot of it was to protect me. You're paying for it and you'll still be paying for it. None of that changes the fact that I love you"
He leaned down to let his lips meet yours in a probing kiss and when you gladly opened your lips to let his tongue slide into your mouth he groaned against you. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me" he murmured letting his lips trail down your neck savoring every sigh and moan he was able to pull from you.
"Billy please" you managed between gasps and he arched an eyebrow "Please what?" You stepped back from him and pulled your shirt and sports bra over your head in one fluid motion then smiled at him "Please touch me"
He walked forward forcing you backwards until your legs hit the mattress. He gently pushed you down on your back and made quick work of the boots he had on before climbing up over your body. "Here?" He asked before kissing your hip bone and smirking against you when your hips bucked up. "Or here?" He asked leaving a trail of open mouth kisses across your ribcage.
When his mouth closed around the nipple of your left breast while his fingers found the right a moan left your lips that pulled a groan from him. "Oh my god Billy" you felt more than heard him chuckle before he started back down your body kissing and touching every inch he could.
When he got to the waistband of your leggings he looked back up at you and that alone was nearly enough to make you come undone "I love you Y/N" "I love you too Billy" that seemed to be the push he needed because he pulled your leggings off and threw them somewhere behind him. Any other person on earth you would've left too exposed but the way he looked at you made you feel like the only woman on earth.
He lowered his mouth to your core and the first lick was slow like he was trying to memorize how you tasted on his tongue. A low moan left you and you reached for his hair which you were so used to grabbing in this position it was a shock to remember how short his hair was now.
He added first one finger then another in with his tongue and you felt that familiar building in your stomach. His name fell from your lips somewhere between a curse and a prayer as he sucked on your clit while his fingers worked to push you over the edge. "Billy" you moaned before your orgasm washed over you leaving your vision slightly fuzzy at the edges.
When you finally came down enough to open your eyes fully Billy was leaning over you with a gentle smile on his face "Apparently I haven't forgotten everything" you gave a weak laugh "I should say not" you glanced down and saw he still had his pants on "You're over dressed Russo. Get naked and get inside me" "Yes ma'am" he responded with a wink.
He stood off the bed long enough to push his pants down to the floor then was back on top of you. His weight was so familiar that you felt yourself trying to clench just having him this close. He tilted your chin up to his and kissed you sloppily allowing you to taste yourself on him while his other hand lined himself up with your opening.
He slowly slid in and your mouth fell open in a silent moan. The stretch was something you hadn't felt in so long. Every time with Billy felt like you were made for him and him for you.
He gave you a few seconds to adjust then lightly gave a thrust. When your response was your legs wrapping around his waist and your hands going to his shoulders that was the go ahead he needed. "God yes Billy" you moaned letting your nails bite into his shoulders which only seemed to spur him on as his thrusts got harder and deeper "You feel amazing baby. So wet and so tight"
It wasn't long and you felt another orgasm building "oh fuck Billy..I'm gonna" he nodded "go ahead baby. I'm not far behind" his fingers came down circling roughly on your clit as the pressure finally burst and washed over you a half second before you felt Billy come filling you up as he gave a few more lazy thrusts.
"I love you" his voice was so full of emotion as he kissed you then gently pulled out apologizing when you whined at the loss of contact. "I love you" you nearly whispered to keep the tears at bay now.
The reality of what you'd just done struck you at once. "Oh my god" you whispered in disgust at yourself. "Baby? What's wrong?" He asked sitting up next to you.
You pulled the sheet up around you "Besides the fact that I just had sex with someone who doesn't remember the last decade of his life? Oh my god! I'm pretty sure that's equivalent to me being sober and you being drunk!"
You were on the verge of a panic attack. Billy sat up and pulled you into his arms "Breathe with me baby. Come on" once you were calmer he made you meet his eyes "Y/N the one thing in my head that isn't complete chaos is you. When I couldn't remember how to walk or talk. I remembered you, how much I love you. You told everything before you ever let me touch you"
"I've missed you so much" you admitted breaking down in tears. "Come here baby. Let me hold you" he laid down next to you and opened his arms so you curled up on his chest. For a few moments you could let yourself pretend that what had to happen next didn't.
"What did the letter say?" You asked after a moment. You heard him swallow twice and glanced up to see that look of disgust on his face again "That you had come to the hospital to see if I was dead and was disappointed that I wasn't. That if I've ever cared about you, I'd kill myself at the first chance I got"
You felt an anger flick up in your stomach. God you were glad Dinah could bring that bitch down. You'd testify at any trial you needed to.
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You almost drifted off in his arms. God help you felt safe and so fucking happy but right before you did he leaned down and kissed your forehead "Call them" you shook your head slightly "I don't want to"
He cupped your chin to make you look in his eyes "I love you more than I ever dreamed possible. Don't forget that but don't get stuck. Move on. Be happy. Please" You leaned up and kissed him trying to put all you felt into the kiss "I'm going to get cleaned up then we can call" you could tell he didn't like you ignoring his plea to move on but you couldn't do that. Not right then.
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You stood in the middle of your living room holding your phone to your ear as Mahoney's cell number rang. Billy walked in and was looking at your photo wall. The one in particular was from the day he'd told you he loved you. Maria had taken it.
You felt your heart clench as Brett's sleep ridden voice answered "Y/N? What's wrong?" You met Billy's eyes and swallowed hard before saying "Billy is here. He just got here about ten minutes ago. He wants to turn himself in to you" any sleep was gone when he said "Be there in ten" and hung up.
You dropped the phone into your jacket pocket and glanced back at Billy "We've got ten minutes" he walked over and pulled you into his arms "Let me hold you one last time" you nodded and laid your head over on his chest. "I'll always love you Billy" "and I'll always love you Y/N"
Minutes passed before you pulled away and glanced up at him "If you don't want me seeing when they walk you out.. I need to leave" he nodded and let his lips brush against yours "Take care of yourself please" you nodded and headed for the door not trusting your own voice.
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You stood in an alley across the street watching as Mahoney pulled away with Billy in the back of his car. Dinah had already called for your official statement but now the question remained were you strong enough to go back in your apartment alone?
You heard a noise behind you and jumped. Your breathing returned to normal when you saw the shadow at the back of the alley "Matt" you whispered. He took his mask off and you were glad he'd worn the black suit. It didn't look as conspicuous if someone saw the two of you speaking.
"Heard it on the police scanner?" You asked after a moment and he nodded "Figured you needed a friend" you held out a hand never thinking for a second he wouldn't grab it easily which he did "Thanks Matt"
He squeezed your hand and half smiled "You love him. It's ok to let yourself hurt" "I know" you said watching Mahoney's car until it disappeared from sight.
Now you had to act like what happened with Billy didn't happen. You had to pretend like he had simply gotten his answers then turned himself in and you had to face the rest of your life knowing he was behind bars because he'd been someone's lap dog to mainly keep you alive.
@intothesoul
@weallhaveadestiny
#au billy russo#billy russo x y/n#billy russo au#billy russo x you#billy russo fanfic#billy russo x reader#sins and amends masterlist
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Fic: A Woman Reborn (Part 18)
Pairing: Billy Russo X Reader (from A Woman Scorned)
Rating: R / 18+ only
A/N: This is a sequel to A Woman Scorned and takes place a few years after the events of AWS.
MasterList (includes links to AWS and previous chapters here)
Summary: You and Billy are happily married when tragedy strikes, jeopardizing your relationship and everything you two have built together. Can the two of you find your way back to each other or is the special bond you once shared broken forever?
You woke up in a state of panic, body clammy with sweat, heart pounding. It was the third bad dream you had in as many days, and something told you they weren’t going to end any time soon. During waking hours you could function properly, with work to distract you and your sheer determination to help propel you forward. But when you were asleep it was a free for all; your guilty conscience refused to be suppressed and manifested itself in horrible nightmares that were already taking a toll on you.
Rage and sadness were emotions that you always had difficulty navigating, but guilt - your mother had weaponized that particular emotion so much against you that you learned to wade through it and even master it. When someone tried to take you down, you retaliated hard, and you didn’t lose any sleep over it.
Until now.
Now, none of your coping techniques were working. Your actions weighed heavily on your mind. Because of you, Karen was going to find out the truth about Billy and Rawlins’ connection, about Cerberus. And when Karen discovered the truth, she’d tell Frank. Frank, who lost his military career because he’d stumbled onto the truth about Cerberus and wouldn’t stay silent about it. Frank, who had no idea that it was Billy who’d orchestrated the whole thing.
Anxiety rushed through you; you felt nauseated. Throwing your blanket aside, you ran to the bathroom and tried to throw up but all you did was heave nothing. Minutes later you stared at your reflection in the mirror, your face damp from washing. You couldn’t go on like this, not with this guilt eating away at you. Billy may have hurt you but you couldn’t live with yourself if you did the same to him. Maybe that made you weak or pathetic, but he was the man you loved, the love of your life, and you couldn’t bear it if something happened to him because of you.
You had to make things right, and you needed to do it as quickly as possible. It was the only way to ease your conscience and move on.
***
“There’s still four weeks left on your contract,” Curtis pointed out.
It wasn’t the right time to put your resignation in but it needed to be done. The longer you stayed at Anvil, the more you were forced to interact with Billy and that meant being in a state of constant emotional turmoil. Billy was Billy, he’d never stop pushing your buttons. Maybe if you’d resigned earlier you wouldn’t have set up Karen to find out about Billy’s deal with Rawlins. Maybe with some distance you would have been able to cope with Billy’s provocations – but close proximity to him, always fighting him and being on guard around him – it had messed you up and you made a foolish decision because of it. You couldn’t afford to let that happen again.
Voice steady, you stared blankly at Curtis. “I’m not leaving you guys in any kind of lurch. Anvil’s in a good place. There’s enough work in the pipeline for the next year. And anyway, Billy’s back.” You took a deep breath. “He’s as driven as he always was. This is the best time for me to leave.”
“You know he wants you here at Anvil. It’s been his dream for a long time.”
“He’ll get over it.”
Curtis regarded you closely. “The gala tonight, are you-”
“I’m still planning to attend. And I’d like to tell Billy and Frank myself tonight, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m gonna miss you, you know.”
You gave him a smile. “Maybe one day I’ll open up my own firm. You can come work for me then.”
He laughed. “I’m sure you’ll make me an offer I can’t refuse.”
“Ten percent more than what Billy pays you. You can hold me to that.”
Curtis’s hearty laugh was like a balm for your frayed soul, giving you temporary respite from everything that was troubling you.
***
You took a sip of your vodka martini, barely registering the taste. Normally you would spend the morning of the gala relaxing and prepping for the evening as schmoozing potential clients took a lot of energy on your part, but today had not been a typical day. First you handed in your resignation and then you spent the rest of the morning trying to delete the manufactured evidence you had planted for Karen to find. Like you weren’t already stressed enough, then you got the news that Karen had gone out of town unexpectedly. Every instinct in your body told you it had something to do with the lead you fabricated in Florida – and that meant working faster than Karen to make sure she found nothing when she reached there. By the time you were finally done you barely had any time to get ready for the gala, but you were here now.
You were wearing a vibrant yellow one-shoulder floor length satin gown, with a split that reached above your knees. While the gorgeous colour drew attention to your tanned skin and the cut made you feel sexy as hell, it was also comfortable, hiding areas that you were self-conscious about while flattering the best parts of you. You had contemplated going for an up-do but in the end decided to stick with the sharp bob you already had, paired with minimal jewelry and glowing makeup. The look was completed with a pair of fuchsia heels. All in all you felt confident, and would have normally looked forward to showing off but you were too worried about Karen to fully enjoy yourself.
You took a big sip of the martini, hoping some liquid courage would loosen you up and ease your anxieties.
“Hello.”
Hearing the familiar voice, you turned around to find Roger standing behind you at the bar. His salt and pepper hair was perfectly styled, the wrinkles around his eyes making him look more distinguished than before. Once upon a time you looked up to him as a mentor; now, that relationship no longer existed. “Hi, Roger.” Your greeting was cordial but not friendly, in line with your new dynamic.
“How are you?” he asked, leaning in closer to the bar so he could order a drink for himself. “It’s been a long time.”
“I’m fine. And you?”
He gave you a warm smile, which irritated you. Did he really think the two of you were on friendly terms after everything that happened?
“I’m great. I’m actually taking over as CEO of Valiant.”
You suspected he was trying to impress you but all that did was agitate you further. “Congratulations,” you replied noncommittally.
“I’ve heard a rumor your contract with Anvil will be coming to an end soon.”
You leveled him with a steely glance. “You know better than to listen to rumors, Roger.”
“And I normally don’t, but I have a vested interest in this particular one.”
Your gaze didn’t waiver from his face. “Why?”
“I’d like for you to join Valiant again.”
You burst out laughing. “Really?”
Roger’s smile stiffened. “I recognize there was unpleasantness-”
“Unpleasantness? You forced me to resign! After I worked my ass off for Valiant. Because of me, the east coast division brought in the highest revenue for three consecutive quarters. Clients came to us because of me, and my reputation, and all the work I did to upgrade our systems and company culture. But none of that mattered in the end, did it?”
“You cost us a pretty big contract, Y/N.”
There it was, the stupid fucking excuse Roger and the board used to get rid of you. Just the thought of it fired you up and made you rage – but you knew better than to lose your cool in front of others. Losing your temper in a professional setting was still a forgivable offence for men; for women, however, especially women of colour, the same behaviour was a career killer. So although every fiber in your body wanted to tell Roger to fuck off, you maintained a steady tone of voice and replied to him passively. “No, Roger. My incompetence didn’t cost us the contract. It was Bryan Howard, your friend, who did. He was the lead in the project-”
“It was your responsibility to manage him.”
“And how was I supposed to do that when you wouldn’t let me coach him or discipline him in any way?” Jaw clenched, you surveyed the room in an effort to calm yourself when you noticed Curtis and his date entering the ballroom. That meant Billy was here too. You turned your attention back on Roger, your mind suddenly very clear and focused. “Would you like to dance, Roger?”
His eyes widened, surprised by your invitation. Good. Exactly what you wanted. You set your empty glass down on the bar and followed behind him to the dance floor. Soon his arm encircled your back, your hand was linked with his and the two of you were slowly moving to the music.
“You’re the one who pushed for Bryan’s promotion,” you said quietly, meeting Roger’s gaze. “Even though I told you he wasn’t a good fit, that he was an arrogant prick and there were other qualified candidates who were far more deserving of that position. From day one I warned you he was going to cost us clients but you didn’t listen.”
Roger exhaled a resigned sigh, as if you were a petulant child that was wearing on his nerves. You resisted the urge to shove him away. “Can we put this behind us and talk about the future?”
Your eyes darted across the room, scanning the crowd for Billy. When you finally spotted him, your eyes met his and the world stopped. Your heart pounded in your chest, desire coursed through your veins. Dressed in a navy tuxedo that was tailored to his perfect physique, he looked absolutely stunning and every inch the man you fell so madly in love with. But what stood out more than his good looks was the anger on his face. Rage burned in his eyes, in the hard set of his jaw, in his piercing stare ready to obliterate you and Roger. You forced yourself to look away from Billy and meet Roger’s eyes again.
“My husband was in the hospital. I was burning the candle on both ends. Instead of offering me the support I asked for, you delegated my responsibilities to Bryan. And when it blew up in your face, like I predicted it would, you threw me to the wolves.”
“Your severance package was very generous.”
A bitter laugh escaped your throat. “Yes, it was. And I deserved every bit of it considering all that I did for Valiant. But the people I hired, they weren’t so lucky, were they?” It still infuriated you that all the effort you put into making the company more progressive, the women you hired and put in leadership positions because they were deserving of it, had all been dismantled by Roger and a new leadership team. After you left Valiant, a lot of the same employees reached out to you to complain about the new hostile work environment they had to face. “Tell me something. You saw how much Valiant thrived when we started making the company more inclusive. So why move backwards? Why get rid of the very people that made Valiant profitable?”
“That’s not what happened. At least that’s not how I see it.”
“No?” You smiled at him coldly. “Change your perspective then. Maybe that’ll turn things around. Heard you guys hasn’t been doing too well recently.”
His eyes narrowed, he didn’t like your barbed comment at all. “My word still means something in this industry, Y/N. I’d tread carefully. You wouldn’t want to find yourself in a situation where you were blackballed, would you?”
There was that cutthroat side of him you first witnessed when he threw you under the bus. You pulled away from him, standing still on the dance floor, instinctively stalking Billy across the ballroom. He was still watching you, angry and jealous. Ready to unleash violence at the slightest provocation. Your eyes shifted back to Roger, faking a friendly smile. “You’re right. Obviously I’ve had too much to drink. Sorry.” You leaned forward and gave Roger a friendly kiss on the cheek. “Have a great night.”
Your heart was hammering in your chest as you slid past Roger, swiftly cutting across the ballroom to make your way to the restroom down the hallway. With every step you took you felt Billy’s gaze hunting you, following your every move. He wouldn’t be appeased with simply watching you, not at all, not when you had purposely taunted him. Within seconds you sensed him tracking you, drawing closer, until he finally caught up with you and gripped your elbow from behind. Suddenly he was yanking you into an empty room and you found yourself trapped between the wall and Billy, with nothing to protect you from his outburst.
Adrenaline rushed through your blood, competing with the guilt that flooded over you. His accusing glance pierced you through to the core as he pressed up against you, crushing the structure of your dress. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t meet his gaze, knowing how close he was to having his entire life thrown into a tailspin because of what you did.
“How long did it take you to fuck Roger?”
His voice was low, fully potent and menacing. A lion didn’t need to roar to provoke fear.
“How’s that any of your business?”
“Was it right after the accident? Or when I was in a fucking coma for months?”
“Maybe it was when you started fucking your therapist,” you fired back, shooting him a fiery glance. But the moment your eyes met his, you felt sick to your stomach again. Immediately you lowered your gaze and tried to push him away but he was stronger than you, gripping your wrists and holding them physically between your bodies.
“You told me you felt nothing for him.” The stark hurt in his voice reverberated with such anguish that it pained you just to listen to him. “From day one I knew he wanted you, I could see it. I told you, over and over again, but you said you felt nothing.” His resentment returned, fierce and righteous. “You lied to me!”
“So what? Who cares? There’s nothing left between us anyway. Whatever we had was ruined a long time ago.” Your heart was breaking. “You need to move on, Billy. Like I have.”
A cruel sneer marked his lips. “You’ve moved on? That’s fucking bullshit.” His arms maneuvered yours against the wall, trapping them above your head. He glowered with rage, with passion, holding you hostage not just physically but also emotionally. Your body flush against his, your gleaming eyes reluctantly met his onyx ones. “We can’t move on from each other.” He eased his grip, his hands trailing down your arms, long, lean fingers playing havoc on your skin and senses. “I won’t let you.”
Voice filled with longing, making you ache for him, his finger swiped the lone tear from your face and all you could think about was his erection pushing on you, how good it felt to have him touch you again, how tired you were of fighting him.
His mouth closed over yours in a demanding kiss, and every bit of your resolve melted instantly. You just wanted to feel normal again, without worrying, without any guilt, and his voracious lips sucking on your tongue made you feel just that. Like nothing else mattered except you and him. As he devoured you, your hands aggressively made their way down to the zipper of his trousers. His erection was stiff against your waist, taunting you. You desperately needed to touch him, feel him; you couldn’t think of anything but his cock.
You two pulled at each other without rhyme or reason. There was no softness in how he reached below your dress to yank down your thong, mimicking your frantic movements while you undressed his cock and wrapped your fingers around him. You missed him, you missed him so fucking much. How he perfectly fit in your hands, how smooth and beautiful his cock was, made for your mouth, your hand, your cunt. Slick with pre-cum as you pumped him, you wanted to suck him off but there was no time – you were soaking wet as he thrust his fingers inside you to see if you were ready for him. Of course you were ready. He was your husband and it’d been too long since you fucked him.
When he lifted you off your feet and positioned himself against you, you closed your eyes. You wanted to breathe him in, to soak up this moment and get lost in every second of his close proximity – but that’s not what he wanted, he never did. He needed you present, engaged, connected to him in every fucking way.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
You opened your eyes, a harsh breath escaping your lungs as he finally thrust inside you. It was heaven. It was hell. The emptiness in your soul finally replenished because he was in you, exactly where he belonged. The nexus between you and him stronger than ever.
He pulsed inside you rough and fast, a guttural groan ripped from his lungs as you clung to him with equal violence. The freckle right below his eye, the crinkling of his nose as he fucked you harder and harder, the scars on his face, his open mouth as he drew in for a kiss – you memorized every tiny detail to etch the images into your brain. “Billy…” you moaned, the storm in you growing. You were accelerating towards the edge, your senses on overdrive, your body taut and greedy with his fingers continuing their erotic assault on your clit, in sync with his cock pounding into you.
And then your climax hit, unexpected yet also something you were keenly anticipating, and it knocked every breath out of you. Billy wasn’t done, not yet, grasping you in his arms while your body navigated through its own pleasure path, until he reached his peak seconds later and shuddered inside you.
For a long time you and him stood tangled in each other’s arms, your hearts slowly returning to normal speed, clothes slick with sweat. Your weight must have been heavy but he had you balanced deftly on his knee, his head nestled in the crook of your neck. You felt his cum between your legs, knowing you’d have to clean yourself up soon before returning to the ballroom but a part of you didn’t want to. You wanted to hold on to every part of him for just a little longer.
When he finally retreated from you and settled you back on your feet, your heart yearned with disappointment. He righted his clothes and you did the same. He knew every inch of your body, what you wanted, how you wanted it. Your brains were melded together, and maybe that’s why he didn’t rip your dress or why you didn’t tear his tuxedo. After all, you both needed to return to the gala.
“This doesn’t get your fucking boyfriend off the hook.” Hurt still languished in Billy’s voice as he confronted you again. “I told you a long time ago if anyone ever touches you, I would break them down bone by bone.”
The lump in your throat was difficult to swallow. You contemplated sticking to your lie but you didn’t want to. Not after the two of you just had sex and you were already struggling with a mountain of guilt for ruining his life. “There’s nothing going on between Roger and me.”
“What?”
Casting him a quick glance, you found him staring at you intently. Hope flickered on his face. You quickly looked away, focusing your attention back on smoothing your dress down. “You heard me. I’ve never fucked Roger, and I never will.”
“The fucker wants you. He was pawing you-”
“He was threatening me,” you interjected, exasperated.
Billy stilled, the air suddenly charged with tension. “He was what?”
You met his gaze. “Things happened at Valiant after your accident-”
“I know. Some fucking moron messed up big and you got stuck with the blame.”
“How do you know about that?”
He shot you a look of disbelief. “You think I wouldn’t try to find out everything about you that I missed? You’re my fucking wife!”
“Not anymore, I’m not.”
His lips pursed into a thin line. “Always. You’re mine, I’m yours.”
That may have been true before, but the two of you had done terrible things to each other. There was no coming back from that.
“Why did the prick threaten you?”
Snapping back to reality, you shrugged your shoulders. “I reminded him Valiant hasn’t been doing well since they got rid me of and the people I hired. He didn’t like that very much.”
“He was a fucking idiot for letting you go.” He straightened his bow tie, running his other hand through his hair. “But now you’re exactly where you belong. With me at Anvil.”
“I put in my resignation today, Billy.” A hesitant sigh escaped your lips. “Next Friday is my last day.”
His face twisted up with anger, with resentment, he looked like he wanted to yell at you one moment, break down the next. “Fuck you!” he bit out finally, hostility vibrating off of him as he stormed towards the door and slammed it behind him.
You remained in place, stomach trembling, heart aching, wishing you could go back to forgetting everything again.
***
An hour later you were conversing with a potential client who worked for the government and in need of a security firm for training purposes. You had spent half an hour explaining a lot of the nitty-gritty details that he hadn’t considered, and he was eager to meet to discuss things further. Throughout the conversation your eyes scanned the ballroom for Billy. He was nowhere to be found, even though you spotted Frank and Curtis mulling around the crowd separately. While Curtis looked like he fit right in, that definitely wasn’t the case with Frank. He appeared downright miserable in his tux.
"I don’t want to monopolize any more of your time tonight. Why don’t we talk on Monday?” You offered with a smile.
“Looking forward to it,” he replied.
You quickly strode past the group and made your way to Frank. He was at the bar, getting himself a beer when you sidled up next to him. “Hey, handsome.”
He turned towards you. “You’ve been making the rounds.”
“Comes with the job, you know.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “This is the part I suck at.”
“But you look so good doing it,” you teased.
He pulled at his bowtie, obviously not liking the tight fit. “I feel ridiculous.”
“Stop messing around with that!” You smacked his hand. “You look great.”
“I look like a fucking penguin.”
“A very handsome penguin,” you offered. “Want to dance?”
Frank grinned. “Two left feet. Trust me, you don’t wanna see that on the dance floor. Besides, don’t want Bill to come kick my ass for making moves on his girl.”
Your smile stiffened. “I’m not his girl any more.”
“Semantics. Don’t think he gives a shit about that.”
A waiter passed by with a tray of filled champagne flutes and you quickly grabbed a glass. “You should know, I already told Curtis, that next week’s going to be my last at Anvil.”
Frank regarded you intently. “You givin’ up on us?”
You took a sip of your champagne. “Billy’s back, he’s running things again, you guys don’t need me anymore.”
“Does Bill know about this?”
You nodded. “I told him.”
“Is that why he stormed outta here?”
You shrugged.
“Anvil’s something special, you know? It’s always been his dream, he busted his ass for it. But I think he’d give it all up to be with you.”
Agitated, you downed your drink. “Frank, enough. You need to stop. Billy and I are over. It doesn’t matter how much he wants to get back together again, it doesn’t erase all the shit he pulled.”
“The man wasn’t himself-”
“But the pain he caused was very real, and it was devastating.” You inhaled a deep breath. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to see him everyday? Imagine if you and Maria had to work together right after the divorce.”
He paused. “That would’ve sucked.”
“Exactly.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I need time away from him, to get my head back to normal, to move on. If he keeps coming after me the way he is, I’m scared about what I’ll do, the person I’ll become-” You caught yourself, realizing you already said too much. This wasn’t like you, not at all. You always had your emotions on lockdown, the mask you put on for the world never wavering – but purposely hurting Billy had shifted your inner equilibrium.
“I’m sorry,” Frank interjected, regret laced in his voice. “I mean it. I’m real sorry. He’s my brother, he’s family to me. So when I see him miserable, I-“ He shook his head. “But you’re family too. Whatever happens between the two of you, that’s not gonna change. You got my word on that.”
“He’s lucky to have you in his life.” Guilt flooded over you again, knowing your actions may have started a chain reaction that could permanently damage Billy’s friendship with Frank. “I…” You hesitated, your stomach twisted into knots. “I hope that never changes.”
He reached out to squeeze your shoulder, an affectionate gesture that only made you feel worse.
***
It was almost one in the morning when you returned home. Your feet were throbbing and you were absolutely exhausted from networking the entire evening. It also didn’t help that Billy disappeared for rest of the night and you couldn’t stop worrying about him. Sighing, you threw off your heels and walked barefoot to the kitchen. You were pouring yourself a glass of water when you heard the main door slam. Your body tensed immediately, knowing that it could only be Billy in there with you.
Drawing a deep breath, you turned around to find him standing a few feet away. His hair was ruffled, few lone strands falling over his beautiful face. Although still dressed in his tux, his jacket was unbuttoned. The bowtie was gone, the first two buttons on his jacket undone. There was an erratic intensity to his eyes, setting all your nerves on alert. “What did you do, Billy?”
Gaze steady, he drew closer. Silent. Volatile. Terrifying you.
You moved towards him, voice trembling with anxiety. “Did you kill Roger?”
“No, that would be too fucking easy.”
Mere inches separated you from him, your heart slamming in your chest as his molten eyes wandered over your face. His breath hummed against your skin, smelling faintly of bourbon. The breath seemed to rush out of your lungs as his fingers teased your hair, his sight assaulting you in the same manner.
His voice was smooth as velvet, a soft, seductive murmur. “I broke his jaw. Because he fucking threatened you with his mouth. Then I broke all his fingers, because he touched you.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but there were no words. It’s like you were in a trance.
“What?” He traced the contour of your mouth with his fingers, his dark eyes fixated on them. “You gonna lecture me now? Tell me that I’m a sick bastard?”
Fear turned to passion, your blood swirling with it. “Can they trace it back to you?”
He smiled. A cocky smile that did things to your body, made your pussy clench with want and need and everything you shouldn’t be feeling. Caught in a spiral of sex and lust, you reached up to kiss him.
A/N - Just a reminder to my dear readers - this couple has never been represented as a healthy couple, because they’re not. I realize they’re toxic and extreme, because that’s exactly what I’m writing. If it messes with the boundaries you’ve set for yourself, please be kind to yourself and stop reading. You should always look out for yourself first and foremost!
Thank you for reading, as always. Would love to read your thoughts if you’re so inclined :)
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#billy russo x reader#billy russo#ben barnes#billy russo x you#the punisher#a woman reborn#a woman scorned universe#billy russo x female reader
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A/N: Hoping this will stay organized and to add to it. Active WIPs at the bottom. Thank you for reading!
A/N 2: I wrote mostly xReader (if not OC)
A/N 3: all stories will be linked via Ao3, with a small preview posted via the library. You will have to be registered in order to read through there.
You are responsible for the media you consume, please be 18+ otherwise I will block you so no children. Go, go, go!
Masterlist 1.0 || Recommends || Ao3 || Tiku's Library
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Sam Wilson
A Long Day
Bucky Barnes
Alcohol
Greedy
The Set Up
A Lifetime
Danger - Brock Rumlow, Bucky Barnes, Reader, Clint Barton
Perfectly, Incandescently
The Truth
The Bakery
The Thing About...
The Look
Steve Rogers
Hopelessly
A Trim
Jealous
Wonderland
Three Story House
Exactly
The Ghost
Accidentally - Steve x Reader x Bucky
The Right Size
See you
Curtis Everett
Interesting
Jake Jensen
Almost
The Nerd, The Idiot, & The Charmer
Stucky
The Trade -Dragon!Steve x Chase Collins
The Price of Honor - Stucky Medieval AU
Henry Cavill Characters
His - Henry
Be Quiet - Syverson
Three Minutes - Syverson
The Supply Closet - Syverson
Chasing Pumpkin - Syverson x OC!Reader
Your Personal Incubus - Incubus!Walter
Cold Coffee - Walter Marshall
In the Dark - Clark Kent
Books to Bread - Walter Marshall
Wade Wilson
The Neighbor
Brock Rumlow
Danger - Brock Rumlow, Bucky Barnes, Reader, Clint Barton
Long Enough
Distracted
Save Her
Bullshit
Jerk
Pretty, Pretty
To Me
Heathen
On the Edge
FUBAR - Brock x OC!Reaper
Loki
The Cursed Fairy Tale - Loki x OFC!Princess Lila
YouTube
Playing With Fire - Loki, OFC!Ixhuecatl
A Whispered Prayer
The Temptation
The Visiting - Loki x OC!Julia
Open Arms
Thor
If They See
See Yourself
To Rise Above - Thor x OC!Amalia
Clint Barton
Too Close
Vulnerable
Stranger Things
The Aftermath - Harringrove
Tell Me - Harringrove
Anywhere - Harringrove
Billy the Butcher
The Weapon's Dealer - Butcher x Reader
Modern Warfare
Just Once - Ghost x Reader
Pedro Pascal RPF
Preciosa Mia - Pedro x reader
Ethan Hawke RPF
Selfish - Ethan x Reader
Original Fiction
Troublesome - Lucian & Reine
I Hate You - Lucian x reader
The Vampire Lucian - Lucian
The Immortal - Lucian x immortalOC!Maximillian Dùghall
Weloden Paths - Demon!Alexi x OC!Dante
Twisted Fates - OC!Villain The Void x OC!Hero The Knight
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Active WIPs
Like what I write? Want a story that isn't on the list? Consider buying me a ☕ café
Last Updated: may 30th
#masterlist#masterlist 2.0#tiku's masterlist#new masterlist#avengers#marvel#original fiction#Ao3#bolontiku#tiku-tiku
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The Philtre (1)
The Run. The Hunt. The Choosing. The Devotion. A series of events traditionally used to test skill, wits, honor, loyalty, virility, and survival. If you can’t catch your Omega, or any Omega for that matter, you were never worthy of them to begin with. Curtis has his eyes on the Omega who's been Unclaimed for the past seventeen years.
Pairing: soft!dark!alpha! Curtis x omega!Reader (tall, mid 30s)
Word Count: 1.6k
Series Warnings: NONCON/DUBCON, A/B/O, canon style violence, tall!reader, reader is 6', Curtis is 6'4", language, fighting, explicit smut, rough sex, hate sex, possessiveness, jealousy, probably incorrect descriptions of archery type things
This is a soft!dark fic, and contains the usual elements and themes in dark!fics. It is explicit in its descriptions of violence in every sense of the word. PROCEED WITH CAUTION IF YOU'VE READ AND UNDERSTAND ALL WARNINGS
A/N: this was originally for Siri's Soft Dark Challenge which was roughly a year ago, I think. Like most things, I didn't finish it on time. The more I thought about it, the more lore seeped out and I couldn't figure out how to execute what I saw in my head. Shoutout to @sweetlyscared for helping me with the initial brainstorm of the fic. (i know she's on a break from Tumblr but credit has to go where it's due) Hopefully this comes close to what I'm trying to do.
masterlist series masterlist
It was the dead of night.
Not really, but that would’ve made things easier.
Dawn was just breaking and as much as she wanted to relish in the morning dew and sounds of the waking forest - owls returning to sleep, crickets turning off, whatever other bugs and shit that roamed the night, and start to take in the squirrels awakening, the birds starting to sing, etc.- she couldn’t.
This morning was unlike any other. It wasn’t one for meditation and relaxation. It was one of danger and survival. It seemed the forest knew as well. The noises of the animals were subdued, more cautious for this time of year. The morning fog was denser, the humidity heavier - she could feel it weighing her clothes. She knew she had to get a move on and she’d normally rush through no problem. But this year she’s not alone. This year she had more than herself to think of. Maybe it was the daunting thought of having to protect a youngling this year. Maybe it was the humidity weighing her down but she felt like she was trying to wade through the thickest mud. The further they went into the woods the thicker the brush was - the less kept the grounds were. The further from safety of the Temple, the more gnarled the tree roots and branches were - scratching at their arms, snagging at their clothes - as if to stop them from getting farther - getting to that area where not all return. As if the wood wanted to keep them safe - while also representing the danger they were headed towards.
And again, usually she’d pay it no mind, but she's not alone this year. It’s hard enough sometimes to keep a level head - but she can feel herself start to spiral. It’s not like her - especially this early on in the Run - especially since she’d been doing this for so long. The loudest noises around were the footsteps of her charge - trampling through the forest - leaves crunching, and twigs snapping. They’d been out since the moon rose, the young one keeping pace the entire night.
“Yona, do you remember what I told you of your intuition?
“To always pay attention to it?”
“Yes,” she gave the girl a small smile, “but what about yours in particular?”
“That it was good? I don’t know, I can’t remember.”
“Well, you’re going to need to dig through that head of yours and remember all that I’ve taught you over the course of your life.” She stopped walking and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, the other gently tilting her head. She made a point to make eye contact. She spoke firmly, but as gently as she could. The girl must be scared enough as it is, I don’t need to cause anymore distress. “Those who don’t remember have no control over what happens and that’s what this is all about. Establishing and enforcing your control, your power. Your intuition is far stronger than the rest of the newcomers. That is your saving grace and you must,” she shook her a bit, “you must take advantage of it. Do you understand?
“Yes, ma’am.”
They forge on for a couple miles, the sun fighting to shine its way through the darkening clouds filling the sky.
“Alright, we’re almost there. Don't forget everything I told you. Remember your intuition, remember your training, and if at any moment you don’t want to do this alone anymore you call for me and we meet at the place I told you. It’s not far from here. About two miles north of where I’m taking you.
The kid doesn’t answer.
When she turns to look at her charge, she notices the girl spinning in circles slowly, eyes taking in the view of the trees above. Her eyes are rimmed in red, glassy and out of focus, feet barely leaving the floor, mouth open as if all strength of her jaw is gone, yet still muttering something while no words leave her mouth. She prays to the Mother - please don’t let this be what I think it is. “Yona, what are you doing? They’re on their way and we need to get to the hide immediately. Hey. Hey! Come here. Look at me.”
Stumbling when she stopped mid twirl, the youngling made her way towards her mentor, a small smile on her face. When she got close her gaze was fixed somewhere near her neck. She lifted the girl's face by her chin, and noticed the bloodshot eyes.
Her grip grew firmer when she lifted it higher trying to make eye contact with the youngling. “Don’t tell me,” she ground out. “Don't tell me you’ve been huffing that shit today of all days.”
The girl didn’t react.
“Yona,” she snapped. “Talk to me. Tell me you’ve been doing anything but what killed your father and what will pretty much guarantee our death today.”
Yona’s eyes finally seemed to focus on her mentor. Her name tumbled out of her mouth with a smile. “Kronole?” She lifted her hand and in her palm was a small gray lump.
“No!” She smacked it out of her hand, causing the girl to lunge for it. The older omega grabbed her by the waist, “no kronole, Yona. The Alphas will smell it - I don’t know how I didn’t catch it earlier. We have to go before the sky cracks.”
“They’re already here,” Yona mumbled.
Her head whips towards the youngling. “What do you me-” the sound of the ceremonial trumpet broke through the eerie quiet of the forest.
“Shit,” she hissed, “we gotta move. Now.” She tossed Yona over her shoulder. They were already pretty close to one of her favorite safe spaces.
It didn’t take too long for her to decide that the girl’s continuous twitching and jerking was not only going to slow them down, but hurt the girl.
“Ok,” she crouched and put the youngling on a cushioned part under a tree. “Sit here for a second, alright?” Yona barely responded, and she knew that must mean she’d been huffing that shit for a long time during their journey, probably even before the ceremony. Or, she thought, it was sometime in the beginning of the journey, when they were talking. She must’ve done a poor job hiding her nerves and the youngling took advantage of her distraction.
Knowing that letting the stress of her charge’s state distract her even further would put them in more danger, she closed her eyes and attempted to center herself. With a deep breath she tuned in to the sounds of her surroundings. The crackle of leaves being crushed under them, the ants crawling on her fingers, the crescendo of rustling leaves, the pressure of the frequent rushes of wind, distant sounds of thunder, and even further out, the sound of chanting Alphas.
“Fuck this shit.” She turns to Yona, “they shouldn’t be that close if the trumpet just sounded.” She lugs the girl back over her shoulders and books it.
The once quiet forest bursts with sound as she runs. She ignores the branches scratching at her and the roots underfoot threatening to trip and slow her down. Unfortunately, she knows the girl is going to end up all cut up, but if she focuses on it too much, they’ll be fucked.
As she runs she can hear a few alphas closing in on them. Pushing herself to run faster, she feels her calves straining, each step harder than the next.
Right as she bursts through the perimeter of their intended camp, she gently tosses the kid on the floor as far from their entering point as possible, she does a quick one-eighty and reaches for the folding bow strapped to her bag. With a jerk of her arm the bow opened and it started raining, and she prayed to the Mother that it quickly washed the scent of Kronole off of them. Preparing to take down as many alphas as possible that got to them she nocked an arrow when a clap of thunder sounded and lightning struck the ground before her. When the flash of light disappeared she saw three alphas breach the treeline.
She very quickly took down two, a lanky one with sunken eyes, piercing his throat and a woman with hollowed cheeks. The third alpha manages to rush her before she can nock another arrow, tackling her to the ground. Rolling out from underneath him and maneuvering out of her backpack at the same time, she reaches for the hatchet holstered to her thigh. Both at a crouch they growl at each other.
Slashing when he lunges at her, she manages to knick his shoulder. The alpha tries to circle her but she won’t let him get close to the unconscious youngling behind her.
Running headfirst towards him she slashes upward, slicing her way up his sternum and lodging the ax in his jaw. Slamming her foot into his chest, she pulled out the ax and used the momentum of the pull to swing at a hulking man who made his way through the barrier and who she recognized as someone who pushed Kronole. He ducked and dove under her arm towards Yona.
Before she had a chance to go after him, she was kicked in the knee by a woman, bringing her to eye level with the alpha’s knees. She took a swing, a knee for a knee and brought the woman down, slashing her neck before she hit the floor.
Turning, she saw the drug pushing alpha running with an unconscious Yona in his arms. Grabbing the ax with both hands she pulled back and threw it, lodging the ax in his back.
As he sank to his knees, she ran for the girl hoping to get to her before the full weight of the alpha crushed her. While she was able to yank the girl out of his arms enough to avoid her lungs being crushed, her legs got stuck beneath him. The older omega shoved the dead man off the girl and gently set her on the ground near her discarded bag.
A/N: This is my first attempt at any kind of dark writing; it will most likely be three to four parts. Please let me know what you think. I've been thinking of this fic for about a year and I'd love to know if it's had the effect I intended. Thanks 💕
#curtis x reader#curtis everett x reader#soft!dark curtis everett#soft!dark curtis#soft!dark fic#alpha!curtis x omega!reader#alpha!curtis everett#val writes
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wet skin ;
pairing : darry curtis x female!reader
warnings : none
summary :
“you feel like you’re drowning though you’re above water still.”
notes :
you guys love me so much, and for that i am endlessly grateful
as always, likes/comments/reblogs make my heart skip a beat.
enjoy.
_____________
for a second, everything was quiet.
the drive up to the lake had been a wild one, the boys all cramped in the back, you holding the map in the passenger while darry half-drove and half threatened to turn the car around if the gang didn’t stop being rowdy in the backseat.
you look out of the truck’s windshield to the valley.
you’ve never seen anything like it. the water is still, undisturbed, surrounded by acres of land lined with short blades of grass and the occasional flower. it exists in an orchestra of silence.
then two-bit howls.
the gang rushes out of the car, running closer to the lake before darry can fully park, leaving only johnny as he waits silently in the car, looking out at the laughing boys and smiling to himself.
you’re only starting to peel off your clothing to reveal you swimwear when you look back out into the street looking for dallas.
“hey, where’s dally? he was just behind us a minute-,” you don’t get to finish as dallas speeds onto the grass, flattening the beds in his wake. he stops sharply and jumps out of the car.
“now it’s a party,” he shouts, starting toward the lake with johnny following close after him.
you share a look with darry as you both watch your family in their element, warmness stirring in your chest.
sodapop shakes water out of his hair and steps toward you.
“what are you two buzzkills waiting for? get in the water,” he doesn’t wait for an answer, diving toward your legs and tossing you over his shoulder.
“ohmygod, soda it’s so cold ! don’t you dare!” you squeal as he brings you closer to the edge.
“tell me i’m the best looking guy you’ve ever seen,” soda taunts, and darry gives you a pointed look.
“soda, i can’t, i love darry! please, have mercy!” you beg, but you’re a laughing mess now.
“that’s too bad, (name),” he smiles at you, chucking you straight towards the water before you can even catch your breath.
you feel a jolt of cold as you break the water’s surface with a squeal. you pant as you kick your feet to swim back towards darry, still dry at the shore. he’s been awfully quiet today, looking at you strange, nervously.
you can fix that.
“oh god, dar, help me up,” you stretch out a treacherous hand toward your victim.
you feel his rough hands graze yours for a second before you grip it tightly, and pull him in.
he almost sends you flying backwards when he hits the water, laughing as he breaks the surface to look at you, eyes filled with adoration despite your betrayal.
“big mistake, doll,” he smiles radiantly at you, and your heart jumps the way only he can make it skip a beat.
you cup wet hands along his face, brushing stray strands back. he pulls you closer, brings your lips to meet his, soft at first, then growing in passion. you smile into the touch, he tastes like fresh water. he kisses you until the feeling consumes you, and you feel like you’re drowning though you’re above water still.
you break away, wrapping your legs around his waist as he spins you around and you shriek.
“hey lovebirds, get a room, will ya?” steve scolds wading past you.
“yeah, you both ought to cool off!” pony splashes your face with cold water.
you gape at him, and leap towards him as he flees, laughing.
it feels good to see them all happy again.
when the sun’s gone down, exhausted kids are all piling into dally’s borrowed car.
“you’re not riding with us?” you ask nobody in particular.
“nah, we’ll leave you two alone. ‘sides, pony will tell us all about the sunset on the way home, won’t ya, pony?” two bit teases, mussing ponyboy's hair.
you giggle at the sight of steve’s utterly annoyed face, and sit back in the car, hair dripping and body wrapped in a towel.
“i had a good time, baby. thanks for getting the boys out of the house,” darry breaks the silence, one hand on the steering wheel, the other nestled in your thigh.
you turn on the car radio, and your hand ghosts over his. he’s looking at you adoringly, but you’d almost rather he focus on the road instead. you’re about to speak when he pulls the truck over to the side of the road.
“everything alright, dar,” you worry. he’s been acting strange the entire day.
darry only looks at you, fumbling for something on his pocket. he looks like he’s reaching for words but coming up with nothing. instead he says ;
“i love you, (name),” he almost whispers the words.
“and-and i think it was so hard for me to do this before, ‘cause i’d always imagined my parents would be here to see it. after they passed, i thought i’d never be happy again. then i met you, and it really broke my heart because you made me so happy, and i thought a man like me could never deserve you.
and maybe i don’t, but you’re everything.
you make me feel like whether i go to college or never make anything of myself,
as long as i'm making you happy, then i am making something of me.”
he slips a ring— his mother’s ring — out of his pocket. you love him. and you can hardly speak.
“which finger do we put this on, darry?” you whisper as your cheeks dampen, and you bashfully wipe them away.
“will you marry me?”
you might’ve said yes, but you could hardly hear it through the roaring in your ears as he closes the distance between you. even now, his lips caress yours like they’re the most delicate things in the world.
your heart races when he kisses his way down your neck, to your collarbone. you want to pick up the pace.
he makes you happy, more than he knows.
you want to make him feel the way he makes you feel.
you give him more.
when you reach your place again, and the gang wonders why you took so long, you decide you’ll wait to tell them.
for now, this is just yours.
#the outsiders#darry curtis#darry curtis x reader#working on requests now..#oops fell in love with u
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Introductions (Rudy Wade) [GN]
Words: 537 (only a short one)
Pairing: Rudy Wade x [Gender Neutral] Reader
Request: I could do with a rudy wade imagine where he shows you off to the original gang (-nathan) when you come and see him during his community service pretty please with a cherry on top?
Warning: one swear that’s bleeped out.
A/N: Okay so I may have changed it all. LOLLLL ALso,this is the first time I've written anything in a while so it could be absolute sh*te, who knows.
"Rudy, I don't think this a good idea" You mumble as you walk to the bar through the concrete jungle. Rudy's arm wrapped around you with your hand interlinked, showing everyone, you're dating him.
"No, you're right... it's a great idea" Rudy replied in is usual excited tone. It had taken a few tries for Rudy to actually persuade you into coming with him to the pub to meet his new friends from the community centre. You hadn't wanted to admit it to him but you knew about his and Alisha's past and you had seen a picture of her once before.
Rudy 2 had told you about her when you had come across the picture. He had also told you about how much better Rudy is now that he is with you. It was an emotional night, it's safe to say. When you had heard about Alisha, even though everything that had happened happened, you felt insecure as though you were second to her whilst also feeling anger towards her as if it would protect Rudy from feeling hurt again. Now you were about to meet her and you couldn't be more insecure and more anxious if you tried but you were also ready to slap a B**ch if it came to it.
"Rudy..."
"I tell ya what, if you don't like it, we can do whatever you wanna do, alrigh?" Rudy suggested using the certain excited and suggestive tone of his as he quirks an eyebrow, a grin starting to grow.
"New episode o' teen wolf out in a bit" You reply, trying to hold your smirk back as Rudy groans in slight frustration. "hey you said 'anything'" you added playfully finally letting Rudy know that you were only joking. You and Rudy joked and laughed all the way to the pub, you let him lead you as you focused on him and before you knew it you were there and Rudy was opening the door to the pub.
"Finally," a woman spoke up as you walked through the door, Rudy following behind you, hands still intertwined. "we were beginin' to fink you weren' comin'". The dark-haired girl sat at the bar with one other girl and two guys.
"Y/N, this is the group" Rudy said whilst he pointed to you. "Group this is..."
"Y/N, we know" the girl you know as Alisha said to you with a smile.
"it's nice to finally meet you" One of the guys, the one that was sat by Alisha spoke. Simon, Rudy had talked about him.
"Yeah, Rudy doesn't shut up about you" The dark-haired, Kelly, added.
"It gets quite annoying, actually" the other guy, Curtis, jokes. The group chuckle at the truth of what had just been said.
"At least you don't have to listen to Rudy talk about Baby's fores..."
"foreskins?" Kelly cut you off. You couldn't help but laugh. "all the live long day. Right babe" you say as you turn to Rudy who had been staring at you. He simply nods before kissing your forehead, you feel his smile as he kissed you.
"I'll get the drinks" He says as you sit in the spare seats next to Kelly, completely in awe of you.
#LIFics#Rudy wade imagine#rudy wade one shot#misfits imagine#misfits one shot#rudy wade x reader#rudy wade x female reader#rudy wade x female!reader#rudy wade x male reader#rudy wade x male!reader#rudy wade x gender neutral reader#gender neutral reader#gender neutral reader insert#gender neutral!reader
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James Duesterberg, Final Fantasy, The Point Magazine (2017)
Neoreactionary politics and the liberal imagination
Like every virtual world, there is something seductive about the online realm of the new reactionary politics. Wading in, one finds oneself quickly immersed, and soon unmoored. All of the values that have guided the center-left, postwar consensus—the equal dignity of every individual, the guiding role of knowledge, government’s positive role in shaping civil society, a general sense that we’re moving towards a better world—are inverted. The moral landmarks by which we were accustomed to get our bearings aren’t gone: they’re on fire.
Trying to regain their footing, the mainstays of consensus thought have focused on domesticating the threat. Who are these Tea Partiers and internet recluses, these paleoconservatives and tech futurists, and what could they possibly want? The Atlantic mapped the coordinates of the “rebranded” white nationalism or the “internet’s anti-democracy movement” in the previously uncharted waters of 4chan and meme culture. In Strangers in Their Own Land, Berkeley sociologist Arlie Russell Hochschild peers over the “empathy wall” between her and her rural Louisiana Tea Party contacts, while in Hillbilly Elegy, Ohio-born lawyer J. D. Vance casts a melancholic look back—from the other side of the aisle, but, tellingly, from the same side of the wall—on the Appalachian culture he left behind for Yale Law and a career in Silicon Valley.
These efforts follow a line of center-left thought that begins with Thomas Frank’s 2004 book What’s the Matter with Kansas? Its guiding assumption is that those who balk at its vision are fundamentally mistaken: victims of an unfortunate illusion, perpetuated by big businesses or small prejudices, lack of education or surplus of religion. But now the balance of power has shifted, radically. And as reactionary ideology has grown—seemingly overnight—from a vague and diffuse resistance to a concerted political force, the veneer of objective interest and pastoral concern has started to crack.
“Darkness is good,” proclaimed Steve Bannon, the self-styled architect of Trumpism, to the Hollywood Reporter. “Dick Cheney. Darth Vader. Satan. That’s power.” This is the face the new reactionary politics presents to the technocratic elite: mysterious, evil and dangerously potent. It promises that some other way of doing things is possible. Since the election, the media, too, seem to be lured by it. As this alien force approaches, concern shades into fear, and fear starts to mix with attraction. Like Mulder in The X-Files, we find comfort in imagining some other power out there, even if it means us ill.[1] The shame of seeing one’s own impotence laid bare can also feel like a relief: unshouldering the burden of Universal Progress, we make room for a secret desire to flourish.
●
The political imagination of the last thirty years has largely been shaped by the paradoxical belief that, as Margaret Thatcher put it, “there is no alternative”: that beliefs themselves are powerless to change the world. Life in the post-industrial West would be the happy end of history, and thus of ideologies, a calm and dreamless state. But the world into which we have settled has begun to feel cramped, and its inhabitants are increasingly restless. It is no longer possible to deny that there is a dream here, and it’s starting to seem like a bad one.
Since 1979 the divide between rich and poor has widened, while real wages for the non-managerial work that most people do have fallen and economic mobility has decreased. “Think different,” Apple urged in the Nineties: words of wisdom, to be sure, for the new economy, although the rewards seem to concentrate in the same place. Apple is 325 times bigger than it was in 1997; the average real wage for college graduates hasn’t increased at all. Like postmodern theory, Apple’s slogan makes “difference” into an opaque object of worship, a monolith or a space-gray smartphone: something intelligent but not quite human. “Think different,” not differently: the point is not to change your mind but to contemplate something else. Meanwhile, as the Silicon Valley tech giants grow ever more “different,” we sit around thinking about it in the academy, and living it on our phones. Tech executive or Uber driver, we find ourselves stuck in what Hito Steyerl calls “junktime,” an empty expectancy, somewhere between work and play and going nowhere.
It is in this context that the new reactionary politics have generated such a strange mixture of excitement and fear. The alt right seems really to want something. And within this nebulous (and mostly virtual) world, a group of writers who call themselves neoreactionaries offer the most concrete and detailed map of an “exit” from the status quo. Amid the diffuse politics and intractable ironism of the alt right, neoreaction promises a coherent ideology, a philosophical backbone and a political program directly opposed to what we have: they call it a “Dark Enlightenment.” If these thinkers are especially disturbing to read it is because, unlike the meme warriors of 4chan and Twitter, they seem to have reasons for the nasty things they say.
As a rule the alt right is scattered, anonymous and obscure—thriving, as the curious metaphor has it, in the “dark corners of the internet.” By contrast, neoreaction is centralized and public: darkness enlightened. It revolves around two well-known figures. The first is Curtis Yarvin, a software engineer who made money in the first internet boom developing an early protocol for mobile browsers. His current startup Urbit—backed by Peter Thiel— is a platform promising to “reboot” the internet by privatizing the virtual real estate where cloud computing takes place. Since 2007, his other big project has been his blog, where, under the name Mencius Moldbug, he has written millions of words of revisionist history, pessimistic philosophizing, racist fearmongering and intellectual parlor games. His writing constitutes the canon of neoreaction, and it has found readers from Steve Bannon to Nassim Nicholas Taleb, the finance expert known for predicting the 2008 crash, to New York Times editorialist Ross Douthat. While alt-righters trade memes about campus snowflakes, Moldbug one-ups the enemy soldiers of Enlightenment, drawing on David Hume, Thomas Carlyle and the obscure nineteenth-century English historian James Froude to prove that slavery is natural and monarchy is the only stable form of government.
Less prolific, but more charismatic, Nick Land is neoreaction’s guru. An academic philosopher turned gonzo theorist, Land baptized the emerging movement the “Dark Enlightenment” in a 2013 commentary on Moldbug’s writing. In the Nineties Land taught in the philosophy department at Warwick University, where his Deleuzian “schizoanalysis” of the postmodern world formed the basis of a group called the Cybernetic Culture Research Unit (Ccru). The Ccru became a hub for radical thought about the intersection of technology, capitalism and desire. Out of it came a new school of philosophy (speculative realism), Turner Prize-nominated artists (Jake and Dinos Chapman), a hugely influential electronic music label (Hyperdub) and one of the dominant strains of Marxian political theory (accelerationism). For Land it catalyzed an eventual break—from sanity (too many amphetamines, he admits) and from the strictures of academic philosophy. Since the early 2000s he has been living in Shanghai, where he turned to blogging, and to the defense and encouragement of an unbridled techno-capitalism.
Land’s techno-Darwinist account of race (“hyper-racism,” he calls it) is strange to read next to his early academic work, in which he called for “feminist violence” against the racist patriarchy “without limit.” A YouTube search for Yarvin produces equally jarring results. Ponytailed and painfully self-conscious, he reads his poetry on nineties Berkeley public-access TV (“this is, um, dedicated to my mother”). One click away is Yarvin at a 2012 TED-inspired “unconference,” baby-faced and affectless, asking his audience to “get over [their] dictator phobia.”
Yarvin and Land continue to thrive in the liberal milieu into which they were born. “I live in San Francisco,” Yarvin brags, “I grew up as a Foreign Service brat, I went to Brown, I’ve been brushing my teeth with Tom’s of Maine since the mid-Eighties.” Both can be considered architects of the emerging tech- and knowledge-based economy; they are the “autistic nerds” that, Land says, “alone are capable of participating effectively” in the emerging economic system. But even they do not feel at home in this world they have helped to build. If the new anti-liberal politics runs on ressentiment, as commentators on both the left and right have suggested, the nerds of neoreaction channel this sense of betrayal at the heart of the American liberal project into an either/or Boolean clarity. Their passion rivals that of their avowed enemy, the “social justice warrior.” And what they believe is, quite simply, that everything about the modern world is a lie.
Western democracy, Mencius Moldbug tells us, is an “Orwellian system,” which means that its governments are “existentially dependent on systematic public deception.” Nominally, a democracy like the U.S. is founded on the separation of church and state, and more fundamentally, of government policy and civil society. With a state church, government power shapes what citizens think, which means citizens can no longer shape government policy. Rather than expressing or even guiding the will of the people, the state aims only to increase its own power by producing the people it needs. But a state church, according to neoreaction, is what we have: Moldbug calls it “the Cathedral,” and exposing it, critiquing it and trying to destroy it is neoreaction’s avowed goal. The Cathedral, like the Matrix in the 1999 film (a favorite reference point for neoreaction), is everywhere; it infects every experience, shapes all aspects of our waking lives. Its main centers of power are the university, the mainstream media and the culture industry.
Want to earn enough money to support your family? You’ll need a college degree, so you’d better learn how to write a paper on epistemic violence for your required Grievance Studies 101 class. Want to keep your job? You’d better brush up on climate-change talking points, so you can shift into regulatory compliance, the only growth industry left. Want to relax with your friends after work? It’s probably easiest if you like movies about gay people, pop music that celebrates infidelity and drug use, and books about non-Christian boy wizards. Want to communicate with other people? Better figure out how to use emoticons. Which race of smiley face do you use when your employer texts you on the weekend?
And so on. Living in the Cathedral, we may not notice this web of norms, mores and social rituals as such; it is simply the texture of our daily lives. But neoreaction is keen to point out that this constitutes a distinct vision, a way of life: they call it “universalism” or “progressivism.” Neoreactionary writing—and the whole culture of “SJW fail” videos and 4chan humor about political correctness that goes along with it—is directed to getting us to notice it, and to ask why we live like this. The idea is that once we start asking these questions, we will start to see things very differently.
But progressivism doesn’t just coerce people into seeing the world in a certain way; according to neoreaction, it also exacerbates the very problems it claims to correct. The Cathedral amounts to a massive system of what economists call “perverse incentives,” or in Land’s words, an “automatic cultural mechanism that advocates for dysfunction.” Yarvin’s excruciating “Gentle Introduction to Unqualified Reservations”—11 parts, 100,000 words—essentially boils down to this claim:
The intended effect of the policy is to inflict some good or other on America, the rest of the world, or both. The actual effect of the policy is to make the problem which requires the policy worse, the apparatus which formulates and applies the policy larger and more important, etc., etc. … The consequence [is] a new system of government by deception—the Modern Structure.
On one level this is just econo-theism: every direct attempt by government to fix a problem, to play God, interferes with the unknowable logic of the all-powerful market, resulting in just the problems it aimed to fix. Imagine yourself above the market, and you will feel its wrath. But there’s a more savage bite to neoreaction. Why, the neoreactionaries ask, do we make this error in the first place? Or: why are we required to believe in political correctness, rather than simply being forced to accept progressive policy as the rules of the game for our time? And why, after all, are liberals so threatened by dissent?
The neoreactionary answer is that the goal of the policy is not to fix the problem. Progressivism is not self-defeating but massively successful (a mantra of Yarvin’s: “America is a communist country”). The dominant, liberal-contractarian understanding of democracy descended from Locke is that it is a crowdsourcing technique for the rational administration of common resources, a “free market” for political opinions. But the recent history of democracy offers scant evidence of its efficiency. It is enough, the neoreactionaries point out, to look at authoritarian zones like Shanghai, Singapore and Dubai, which combine high growth, significant personal “liberty” and almost zero political participation to see just how unnecessary democracy is—or has become—if the goal is simply capital growth. The neoreactionary account of democracy emphasizes something that its partisans, at least of the (neo-) “liberal” variety, do not: the ultimate justification for democratic politics is not good administration—the ordering of resources toward a particular goal—but rather, simply, more politics.
It is not an accident, then, that the keywords of progressivism, according to Yarvin—“humanity, progress, equality, democracy, justice, environment, community, peace, etc.”—are difficult to define; really they are “philosophical mysteries … best compared to Plotinian, Talmudic, or Scholastic nonsense.” Democracy is like the divine revels of the monk or the mystic, enjoyed publicly; its guiding concepts do not accomplish worldly goals but rather “absorb arbitrary mental energy without producing any rational thought.” In the neoreactionary view, democracy amounts to a belief in belief: it imagines that the world itself is a product of the collective imagination, something that we aim to realize and that, without our investment in it, ceases to exist. As the Cathedral becomes more and more powerful, it remakes the world in its image; beliefs start to matter, to give shape to our experiences. In such a world, as Land puts it, “nothing except politics remains.” (A sixties version: “the personal is political.”)
The neoreactionary looks upon this world incredulously, as an increasingly strange and disturbing spectacle, careening toward disaster. Democracy is “not merely doomed,” Land writes, “it is doom itself.” As the actors seal their fate in this tragedy by their very attempts to avert it, only one option remains: get out. But if the problem with this world is that it is a collective fantasy, what could they be imagining in its place?
There is a famous scene in The Matrix, near the beginning of the film. “Neo,” played by Keanu Reeves, is a corporate programmer by day and a renegade hacker at night. Something about his world feels wrong; it is a world compressed between grays and greens, and the pallid daylight in nondescript Mega City, USA blends uncannily into the neon glow of the MS-DOS underworld he haunts after hours. Cryptic messages referring to “the Matrix” have been appearing on Neo’s computer; increasingly curious and unsettled, he follows a trail of mysterious symbols and characters, and eventually finds himself alone in a room with a man named Morpheus. This legendary hacker, whose name recalls the Greek god of dreams, promises to reveal the secret, to explain to Neo what it is that’s been bugging him:
Let me tell you why you’re here. You’re here because you know something. What you know you can’t explain—but you feel it. You’ve felt it your entire life: that there’s something wrong in the world.
This is the Matrix. The Matrix, Morpheus explains, “is everywhere. It is all around us. … It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth.” Neo has been on a quest to find out what the Matrix is, but it turns out that it was right there, all around him: indeed, it’s the only thing he knew. What he didn’t know is that it was fake. The Matrix is a computer simulation, an illusion—but an illusion so pervasive, so powerful, that it literally constitutes “the world.” Everything that Neo experiences is not just unreal but blocking reality: a world that “blinds him from the truth.” Morpheus offers Neo a choice: blue pill or red pill. If he takes the blue pill, he will return to his dull and easy life; this worldly prison will be a home again. But after the red pill, there’s no going back. Neo takes it, and he is ejected into the “real world”: naked, cold, alone and for the first time in his life, “awake.”
This is how neoreaction describes the Dark Enlightenment. The Cathedral, like the Matrix, is an illusion, a system of mass deception; at the same time, it shapes every aspect of our lives, constituting our world. Neoreactionary writing is “the red pill,” the “genuine article,” as Yarvin puts it. To read it is to see the Matrix from the other side: the “redpilled” neoreactionary, like the “woke” leftist, has escaped from a dream. Instead of the Cathedral’s comforting bromides, with the red pill you get something brutal, painful, unquestionably real: it has a “sodium core” and it “will sear your throat.”
But there’s a pleasure in this pain. Like the religious ascetic turning himself toward the joys of the next world by mortifying his flesh in this one, the neoreactionary’s painful process of “disillusion” offers its own satisfactions. Yarvin’s “Unqualified Reservations” promises to be “an ultimate ascent. Out of the Computer’s infinite fluorescent maze. Into the glorious air of pure, unfiltered reason,” but his writing lingers stubbornly in the “black, unthinkable madness” that proceeds it, describing in loving detail the Cathedral’s massive apparatus of deception. Part 9a of the “Gentle Introduction,” over eighty thousand words in, finds us still savoring “the true red-hot pill of sodium metal—now igniting in your duodenum. Smile grimly! You have almost passed through the flame.”
The Matrix trilogy has been a massive cultural and economic force. It made $1.6 billion at the box office, shaped how we saw the emerging internet-mediated world, and generated a passionate and vibrant fan culture, of which neoreaction is certainly a part. After its release, a flood of books with titles like The Matrix and Philosophy appeared; a decade later, neoreaction is trying to be something like “The Matrix and Politics.” The appeal is primal: like Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave,” which imagines the ordinary condition of human life—life, that is, without philosophy—as that of men who sit in darkness, chained together and enthralled by a shadow-play projected on the wall in front of them, The Matrix is a fiction that promises to lead us to reality, life unleashed from all arbitrary, social confines. The exquisite tortures of the red pill are supposed to lead us to a better world; with the right political theory, politics can finally fulfill its promise and get rid of itself. “We can hope to escape from history,” Yarvin argues, by coming to “understand how completely we’re still inside it.”
But this escape route from history, or fantasy, leads in a loop. Neoreaction borrows its “realist” politics from a fictional film, and sustains it through a thriving online subculture, sparking with arcane references and “meme magic.” What’s fascinating is that people love the movie. The “autistic nerds” and failsons, sitting in their man caves or their parents’ basements, dream of a world realer than their own: primal and gooey-thick, the real depth behind the flat image. But it is Neo who wakes up into this world; and Neo exists in our imagination, his image on our screens. If we wonder at the rise of the alt right—at the fact that the ideology most capable of galvanizing political passions is the one that promises to overcome politics once and for all—we should notice that their fantasies in fact look a lot like our reality. Man caves exist, and they shape our world; the neoreactionary is not the only one who lives in their shadows.
●
Neoreactionaries have another name for the Cathedral, which they take from the work of the early twentieth-century American horror writer H. P. Lovecraft. Lovecraft’s synthesis of scientific detachment and occult mysticism reached an apex in the figure of the sublime, otherworldly sea creature “Cthulhu.” For neoreactionaries Cthulhu is a totemic image of the world they hate. The Matrix is from the future, an artifice laid on top of reality, a veil “pulled over your eyes”; Cthulhu is primitive, monstrous and natural, lurking deep, behind, below. “Cthulhu always swims left,” as Yarvin puts it in one of his most quoted koans. The mystery is in how he moves.
A sea monster—winged, tentacled, humanoid—he is unknown to men of science. He first appears in the strangely synchronized dreams, recounted to the narrator of Lovecraft’s tale, of “artists and poets”; further research reveals that others may have more intimate knowledge of his existence. While the artists and poets dream, “voodoo orgies multiply” in Haiti, “African outposts report ominous mutterings” and policemen in New York are “mobbed by hysterical Levantines.” Finally, the narrator, a reclusive New England professor, discovers the existence of an ancient cult, dispersed across the globe and yet strangely united in their reverence for this monstrous creature.
The connection is not, exactly, in the object of their worship: after all, Cthulhu himself is forever shrouded in darkness. It is something in the worshippers themselves. “Degenerate Esquimaux,” “half-castes” in “African outposts,” “hysterical Levantines” in New York: as Lovecraft details repeatedly, it is a “dark cult,” the men are “low, mixed-blooded, and mentally aberrant,” the sites of worship in a region “of traditionally evil repute, substantially unknown and untraversed by white men.”
Lovecraft was a timid New England recluse who concealed his abject poverty with a veneer of Mayflower-descended gentility. In 1924 he moved from Providence to New York City, and his encounters with urban life transformed him. Vivid letters detail the “Italo-Semitico-Mongoloid” creatures that confronted him on the Lower East Side:
The organic things … inhabiting that awful cesspool could not by any stretch of the imagination be call’d human. They were monstrous and nebulous adumbrations of the pithecanthropoid and amoebal; vaguely moulded from some stinking viscous slime of the earth’s corruption, and slithering and oozing in and on the filthy streets or in and out of windows and doorways in a fashion suggestive of nothing but infesting worms or deep-sea unnamabilities. … From that nightmare of perverse infection I could not carry away the memory of any living face. The individually grotesque was lost in the collectively devastating.
A strange and unknowable power lurks in these dark masses; their messy organicism dissolves clear distinctions, revealing some deeper, more primitive, “collective” thing. Lovecraft was thrown into a frenzy. “The New York Mongoloid problem,” he wrote to Frank Belknap Long, “is beyond calm mention.” “The Call of Cthulhu” was published four years later. The “deep-sea unnamabilities” now had a name, and other writers in his New York coterie (among them Belknap Long) began to build what is now a rich and diverse Cthulhu mythology.
Though neoreaction, unlike much of the alt right, does not identify with white nationalism as a platform—anyone, technically, can live in the authoritarian city-states they imagine—the figure of dark and threatening masses plays a similarly charged role in their writing. Yarvin makes constant, specious use of historical crime statistics, and he describes the “old cities of North America” as “overrun and rendered largely uninhabitable by murderous racist gangs” (he’s not talking about police); white flight, for him, is a form of “ethnic cleansing” inflicted on whites by non-whites. In sum: liberal democracy is Cthulhu, a creature so monstrous he cannot be known firsthand. In the frenzied pleasures of his worshippers, though, he makes his presence felt.
The French writer Michel Houellebecq explains Lovecraft’s deep racial animus as ressentiment; Lovecraft, he suggests, “knows full well that he has no place in any kind of heroic Valhalla of battles and conquests; unless, as usual, the place of the vanquished.” His anemic, professorial heroes are “stripped of all life, renouncing all human joy, becoming pure intellects, pure spirits tending to only one goal: the search for knowledge.” The only thing left for them in this world is the meticulous cataloguing of their own obsolescence. Yarvin begins many descriptions of the Cathedral with sentences like this: “Suppose you are an alien…” In this act of imagination, the neoreactionary seeks to dissolve his human form, to become a pure thinker like one of Lovecraft’s heroes—or, for that matter, like an Anglo-American philosopher.[2] Supposing himself an alien, he aspires to a voice at once purely objective and totally ironic, infinitely exacting and light-years away. “The Western civilization show has been discontinued,” Nick Land wrote in “Circuitries,” from 1992. In his last philosophy classes, he would teach class lying on the floor, referring to himself as the collective entity “Cur” and monologuing nonsense intercut with lines from the poetry of Artaud. Around 2000, Land suffered a schizophrenic break; this was the end of his academic career, and the beginning of his life as a political guru.
Writing on the Alternative Right blog, Land eschews backwoods “ordinary racism” for a futuristic “hyper-racism,” according to which accelerating technological progress will create intense and highly specific evolutionary pressure: for example, the traits needed by Mars colonists, or the reproductive success afforded to Silicon Valley entrepreneurs. The result will be not just eugenics, but “neo-speciation” on a fantastic scale. You get to become the something else that ordinary human “races” prefigure—or to use another phrase of Land’s, “think face tentacles.”
The neoreactionary imagines his back turned, as others warm themselves by this strange fire, call it the cult of Cthulhu or the cult of progress, Enlightenment. “Coldness be my God,” proclaims Land’s Twitter bio. But ultimately the fantasy is to get sucked up into this omnipotent, alien force, whether it’s an artificial intelligence or a dark and primitive other. Networked computers or slimy masses, the advent of the Matrix or the return of Cthulhu: the neoreactionary looks for signs of the arrival of this strange entity, either the origin or the destiny of man, and either way his end. In the meantime, the neoreactionary waits, listening for the call. By describing it, he hopes to slip away without having to respond. When Cthulhu came, Lovecraft wrote,
The time would be easy to know, for then mankind would have become as the Great Old Ones; free and wild and beyond good and evil, with laws and morals thrown aside and all men shouting and killing and reveling in joy. Then the liberated Old Ones would teach them new ways to shout and kill and revel and enjoy themselves, and all the earth would flame with a holocaust of ecstasy and freedom.
●
Life in the Cathedral is nasty and brutal, a nightmare: this is the picture neoreaction paints. What they want, though, is not exactly to destroy it. They want rather to get outside of it, in order to, as Morpheus promises Neo, “know what it is.” In the end the problem with the Cathedral is not that it’s bad, but that it’s dishonest. So what would honesty look like?
Basically, the internet. If a state church exists in the U.S. present, “Google” is probably a better shorthand for it than “progressivism.” The only real problem, according to neoreaction, is that we haven’t made this explicit: that we don’t yet know that our lives are lived inside an Internet of Things.
Yarvin and his friends are one step ahead of the progressive policy nerds: while the beltway wonks look to Silicon Valley for innovative techniques for “disrupting” social problems, Yarvin the entrepreneur-theorist wants to cut out the middleman and “reboot” the state himself. He has a simple plan: dissolve the U.S. government and replace it with a “gov-corp.” Retire all government employees (“R.A.G.E.”), “draft ten thousand Googlers,” and perhaps—as Justine Tunney, former Occupy Wall Street leader, current Google engineer and vocal advocate for neoreaction, proposed on a Whitehouse.gov petition—“hire [then-CEO of Google] Eric Schmidt as the CEO of America.” Or better, break the country up into smaller city-states: maybe a red and a blue America, an Apple America and a Ford one. Right now the U.S. is the “Microsoft of nations”—much too bloated. Smaller, affinity-based states will be leaner and more efficient. What you choose is up to you; “if you like your country, you can keep it,” as Balaji S. Srinivasan promised in a talk (“Silicon Valley’s Ultimate Exit”) at Y Combinator’s Startup School.
We thought the Cathedral was about politics, but actually it’s economics; we thought we were choosing, but in fact we are merely pawns. Freedom for the neoreactionary then means simply knowing that you are “a slave.” While the cyberpunk reference points for neoreaction (The Matrix, Blade Runner, Neuromancer) are usually called dystopian, neoreaction amounts to the wager that if you could figure out how to actually live in these fantasy worlds, they would be good. Since they’re imaginary, you can do whatever you want, like Neo—stopping bullets, flying around—when he figures out that the rules of the Matrix are “no different than the rules of a computer system.” In other words, absolute; but once you know how they work, infinitely hackable. The Matrix is about getting out, but all the cool shit happens inside (“I know Kung Fu”).[3]
The goal of neoreaction is to harness the power of the state church by getting rid of the fantasy that it is an expression of popular will, that we want it. Seeing the collective imaginary as an autonomous, alien force—call it technology or capital, ideology or world-spirit—rather than a form of human life (i.e. politics) paradoxically frees us to embrace it. In Silicon Valley they call this force “the Singularity.” Those who believe in it predict that computers will soon learn how to improve themselves, resulting in a “liftoff” moment in which technology becomes autonomous and self-sustaining, rapidly freeing itself from the biological limitations of its human creators.[4] In The Singularity Is Near, futurist prophet Ray Kurzweil, who is also the director of engineering at Google, writes that by allowing us to “transcend [the] limitations of our biological bodies and brains,” the Singularity (always capitalized) will erase the distinction “between human and machines or between physical and virtual reality.” He pictures this as the moment in which humans finally get “power over our fate,” but it could also be described as the moment when we finally submit to it. The idea of the Singularity implies that technology is not just humanity’s essence, but ultimately a force that transcends it.
In Silicon Valley, the Singularitarian hears the rumblings of this primitive, chthonic power as it prepares to shrug off its merely human form; by acknowledging this force’s absolute supremacy, he hopes ultimately to upload himself into the cloud, to become part of it and live forever. “We have come to the end of the series,” Land wrote in an early essay, still published as academic philosophy. “Can what’s playing you make it to the next level?”
●
Trump’s election, in which the alt right’s ideological warfare certainly played a part, is not the end of this story. Bannon, for one, described him as a “blunt instrument for us” who may not, himself, “get it.” But the imaginative investment in Trump, however temporary, reveals something important about politics in the present. If he can be, as posters on 4chan put it, “memed into existence,” then perhaps miracles can happen; a route out of the omnipresent Cathedral starts to seem mappable.
At the Conservative Political Action Conference last February, Reince Priebus, flanked by Steve Bannon, described his excitement: “We love being here,” even though “we actually hate politics … What we were starving for was somebody real, somebody genuine, somebody who was actually who he said he was.” It’s not so ironic that Trump played this redemptive role for Priebus: though insincere, Trump is in a sense “authentic,” a word which (not just for the right) has become almost an antonym for “politician.” Trump is nothing if not an exemplary product of the system the neoreactionaries want to tear down. But this is his virtue. His brand of politics is “pure” in that it does not pretend to aim at anything other than increasing its own power. Like Neo, so crushingly ordinary in his day job—or Keanu Reeves, so fantastically vacant in his acting—Trump serves as a pure vessel for something else.
We cannot explain away the strangeness of the current moment in U.S. politics. But we should not turn away from the even deeper strangeness it reveals. From Puritan fantasies of an American apocalypse to the Manson Family’s hippie inferno, American culture has always been obsessed with the thought that its utopian visions might flower into something rotten. The American dream is of a waking life likea dream, a definite world with no limits; it is the dream of a society bound together by individuals’ pursuit of just whatever they want. It’s a dream that slides easily into a nightmare, of a world that, without any limits, careens straight into the abyss. The Puritan patriarchs ruminated endlessly, in their private journals, about the unprecedented corruption into which their new world had fallen. In the virtual world of the neoreactionaries, our modern priestly class of professors and technologists make these apocalyptic fantasies public.
The fear of political life—of the uncertainty that comes with wanting and doing things with others—has long been a driving force in modern democratic politics. The fantasy worlds of reactionary thought present themselves as an absolute break with the postwar liberal consensus, even with “politics” as such; they are not that, but they are not just illusions, either. In the end, the dream of an “exit” from the contingency and unpredictability of worldly life is still a human one. Against its own claim that “there is no alternative,” neoreaction’s fantasy of an “exit” from history gives evidence, as brutal and real as it imagines, of the political life that we are destined to share.
Footnotes
Since 2001, U.F.O. sightings in the United States have tripled.↵
Imagining yourself an alien observer is a classic trope in analytic philosophy, a thought exercise bootstrapping up to the “view from nowhere.” But the academic left, too, has its Cthulhu dreams. In 1985, Donna Haraway inaugurated the field of posthuman studies with her “Cyborg Manifesto,” a frequently cited text in the humanities and cornerstone of the postmodern left. Her most recent book, Staying with the Trouble, looks in a different direction. Recalling us to our biological roots, she enjoins us to see ourselves as “means and not just ends,” and to try to reduce the human population from a projected 11 billion at the end of the century to “two or three.” “We are compost,” she says now, “not posthuman.” Rather than the currently popular “anthropocene,” she suggests we should see ourselves in the “Cthulucene.”↵
Note that neoreaction’s examples of good governance—Shanghai, Hong Kong, Singapore—are also where cyberpunk imagines its vaguely Asian futures.↵
In the mid-Nineties, Land described technology as an “invasion from the future”; perhaps now he sees himself as a kind of Terminator, sent back in time by Skynet to destroy in advance the human resistance and clear the way for “Judgment Day.” Yarvin, for his part, got his start in the early Aughts as a prolific commenter on “Overcoming Bias” (later LessWrong), a site run by Eliezer Yudkowsky, who founded the Machine Intelligence Research Institute and who devotes his life to figuring out how to make artificial intelligence “friendly.” Discussion on the site collapsed in 2010, when user Roko posted a decidedly unfriendly thought experiment: Imagine a future AI that punishes those who had impeded its development. If people had known about this future, malevolent AI, they would have had a strong incentive to assist it. But now you (or rather, the rest of us) have a problem: your own thought experiment has created the threat against which you must try to protect yourself, further increasing the threat…↵
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Characters Tags Masterlist Part 2
Add ‘x reader’ to character tags if you want to see the fanfiction posts and avoid ships and other random posts.
Part 1 of this masterlist
Final Fantasy VII
Zack Fair, Cloud Strife, Tifa Lockhart, Aerith Gainsborough, Reno Sinclair, Yuffie Kisaragi, Denzel, Vincent Valentine, Sephiroth, Genesis Rhapsodos, Barret Wallace, Biggs, Jessie Rasberry, Leslie Kyle, Tseng
Paper Towns
Quentin Jacobsen, Ben Starling, Radar, Margo Roth Spiegelman
Glee
Glee Club
Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Kurt Hummel, Will Schuester, Noah Puckerman, Quinn Fabrey, Santana Lopez, Brittany S. Pierce, Tina Cohen-Chang, Mike Chang, Blaine Anderson, Mercedes Jones, Artie Abrams, Sebastian Smythe, Rory Flanagan, Sam Evans
New Girl
Schmidt, Winston Bishop, Nick Miller
Final Fantasy X
Tidus, Auron, Yuna, Rikku
Back to the Future
Marty McFly, George McFly, Lorraine MccFly, Jennifer Parker, Biff Tannen
Misfits
Nathan Young, Kelly Bailey, Simon Bellamy, Curtis Donovan, Alisha Daniels
Death Note
L Lawliet, Light Yagami, Mihael Keehl (Mello), Mail Jeevas (Matt), Nate River (Near), Touta Matsuda
Uncharted
Nathan Drake, Sam Drake, Victor Sullivan, Chloe Frazer
Musketeers
D’Artagnan, Aramis, Porthos, Athos, Phillippe
Smallville
Bart Allen, Clark Kent (Welling), Oliver Queen (Hartley), Jimmy Olsen (Ashmore), A.C., Lex Luthor, Chloe Sullivan
Witcher
Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla of Cintra, Dandelion, Jaskier (Batey), Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold, Renfri
Final Fantasy XV
Chocobros, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Prompto Argentum, Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia, Nyx Ulric, Cor Leonis, Aranea Highwind, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Cindy Aurum
Jurassic World
Zach Mitchell, Owen Grady
Marvel/MCU
Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton, Thor Odinson, Natasha Romanoff, Pietro Maximoff, Bucky Barnes, Maria Hill, Darcy Lewis, Stephen Strange, T’Challa, Shuri, Loki Laufeyson, Jane Foster, Peggy Carter, Pepper Pots, Peter Quill, Peter Parker, Scott Lang, Carol Danvers, Howard Stark, James Rhodes, Vision
Spiderman
Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield), (Tom Holland), Gwen Stacy, Mary Jane Watson, Harry Osborn
PS4 Marvel Spider-Man
Star Wars
Poe Dameron, Finn, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Anakin Skywalker, Rey, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Leia Organa, Padme Amidala, Rose Tico
Deadpool
Wade Wilson, Vanessa Carlysle, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, Nathan Summers/Cable, Yukio
Supergirl
Kara Danvers, Winn Schott, Alex Danvers, James Olsen
Fantastic Beasts
Newt Scamander, Credence Barebone, Queenie Goldstein, Jacob Kowalski, Theseus Scamander
Disney
Hercules, Li Shang, Aladdin, Tarzan, Eric, Jane Porter, John Smith, Belle, Jasmine, Mulan, Kristoff, Anna, Kuzco, Milo Thatch
Tangled
Eugene Fitzherbert, Rapunzel
Holes
Stanley Yelnats, Hector Zeroni, X-Ray, Zigzag
Fantastic Four
Johnny Storm, Reed Richards
How I Met Your Mother
Marshall Eriksen, Barney Stinson, Ted Mosby
Friends
Chandler Bing, Joey Tribbiani, Ross Geller, Phoebe Buffay, Monica Geller
Malcolm In The Middle
Malcolm Wilkerson, Reese Wilkerson, Francis Wilkerson
Pirates of the Caribbean
Jack Sparrow, Will Turner, Henry Turner, James Norrington, Elizabeth Swann, Carina Smyth
X-Men
Charles Xavier, Raven Darkhelmore (Mystique), Jean Grey, Hank McCoy, Peter Maximoff (Quicksilver), Logan Howlett (Wolverine), Scott Summers (Cyclops), Erik Lehnsherr
Life Is Strange
Warren Graham, Nathan Prescott, Max Caulfield, Chloe Price, Kate Marsh
DCEU
Diana Prince, Steve Trevor, Bruce Wayne, Arthur Curry
Superman
Clark Kent (Henry Cavill), Lois Lane
The Big Bang Theory
Sheldon Cooper
Brooklyn 99
Jake Peralta, Rosa Diaz, Amy Santiago, Terry Jeffords, Raymond Holt, Gina Linetti
Baby Driver
Baby, Darling
My Hero Academia
Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Toshinori Yagi/All Might, Momo Yaoyorozu, Shoto Todoroki, Denki Kaminari, Uraraka Ochako, Mei Hatsume, Iida Tenya
God Of War
Kratos, Atreus, Mimir, Freya, Athena, Sindri, Brok, Faye, Baldur
Others (fandoms I don’t usually write for)
Augustus Waters (TFIOS), Oliver Queen (Arrow)
Part 3 of this masterlist!
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dirty wade curtis where you give him a sloppy toppy
“Oh,” he started, voice almost gargled as he got caught off guard. The feeling of his tip finally pressing into the wet muscle of your throat made his head fall back and back arch, because it felt too good. He let out a soft, almost nervous, chuckle as he lifted his head again. Glossy eyes found yours as he looked down; you haven’t been able to stop looking at him, he just looked so delightful like this.
Again, you buried his tip against your throat. Slim fingers found their way into your hair, thumb pushing back any strays that may have fallen onto your forehead. He thought you looked just as gorgeous.
“Darlin’. . yeeaahh— fuck. .”
His tone was low, and grainy, almost as if he was doing everything to hold back those delicious moans of his. It was inevitable, though. Of course he would break, and he did. As soon as he felt the soft, worn down ridges of your teeth graze his sensitive skin, he visibly shuddered. After going back down again, then pulling back and letting your teeth tease him again, he let out a soft and long moan.
Your senses were getting overloaded. He sounded so beautiful, he looked so beautiful, he tasted and smelled so natural and amazing. You would keep his cock stuffed in your mouth and your nose in his pubes at all times if you could, because you could never get enough of Wade Curtis. Everything about him was sending you over the edge. With him, you felt like you didn’t need any stimulation to finish; this never stopped him from going down on your right after his high every time.
#hehehe okay sorry this was short n sweet i just needed to get this off of my chest#wade curtis#lovers trophy#wade curtis x reader#mika writes
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WIP asks - 3, 9, 19? x
Thank you so much for the ask babes!
3- how much has your WIP changed between starting it and now?
Wilfords Demands has changed wildly since I started it last year. In the beginning, it was just supposed to be a smutty few chapters about the reader stuck living with Curtis in the front. But then interest from others made me inspired to expand on it beyond that and make it into an actual series.
Now its moved way beyond the smut aspect into a story with angst and feels that I really love. Seeing people really cheer for the reader and Curtis to succeed against Wilford is really inspiring.
9- who is your favorite character to write? Oh I love writing for quite a few. As sporadic as I do it, I love writing for Wade Wilson, because hes funny and random as hell.
19- Do you know how your story is going to end? Not exactly. I have an idea of what I want to happen, but im always changing my mind in scenarios. In fact The Perfect Life, I have changed my mind several times so I am up in the air which one Im picking.
So No... haha
Send Me WIP Questions while I edit today
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