#you get my unfiltered brain vomit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pupcuck · 2 months

Text

BLIND ITEM !

ft. og re4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. actor au, smut, leon is an ass, some misogyny duh, reader vomits once like non-sexual context, breaking and entering, dub-con that turns to just consensual sex, only one threat of violence :3

note. comm for the sweetest ever @liableperfections / 🪩 anon :3 plot credit goes entirely to her literally had to cut so many words down it was 10k before bc i was so excited ab it so if it seems choppy I’m so sorry… 😭 ignore my attempt at navigating la.. it’s so confusing usa system is so confusing .. ignore any typos :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated!!! REPOST CUZ TUMBLR HATES ME.

Malibu Beach is a terrestrial paradise. A post-apocalyptic Eden of sorts ‘cause there’s no tree of knowledge or any apples— Only thing Malibu Beach and Eden have in common is the naked ladies. It’s the best part of both. Which to Leon is factually correct, but to be politically correct as Hunnigan, his PR manager, would say it’s an opinion.

No need for serpent-induced bedlam, hedonism is at its peak, the fall of man is in full swing. There’s more snow than grains of sand. Leon’s world comes to life in bottle greens and muted blues, water glittering like a diamond behind the dimmed lenses of his aviators.

He snags a cabana close to the shore, draping curtains to keep him safe from blinding cameras and prying eyes and drab women who are more naked than they are clothed. From afar it’s a great sight. Up close it’s a whole lot of cellulite and over-plumped lips and over-plucked brows. Leon’s not picky, his standards are not high, he’s only asking for the bare minimum. Nice face, nice ass, nice tits— It’s expected, but it’s not an expectation ‘cause that would mean girls have to try and live up to it, but most of them come that way. Well, they’re supposed to come that way, but some girls got a little busted on the flight over from heaven.

Ashley faces him, she should be careful when Leon’s around, he pulls on bikini strings more than he tugs on his own dick, and her bikini has started to look especially stringy.

“Can you get my back?” In the light, her lashes twinkle like gossamer wet with morning dew.

Don’t need to ask him twice. Leon’s hands traverse the plains of her back, he coats her skin in lotion like the finest of pâtissiers would a cake, angling the spatula downwards to smooth thick buttercream into pastel swirls of perfection. It’s only SPF10 ‘cause Ashley’s more focused on getting an even tan and less worried about skin cancer.

They’ve been hanging out between filming. Ashley pisses him off with her hoity-toity shit, someone swapped out her brains for that rack, but she’s hot so Leon keeps her around. And to be completely honest, his perpetual state of ennui had been smashed like brittle glass by Ashley alone. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be riding the Raccoon City wave. Biggest blockbuster to come out of 1998. That’s a big feat. Competition was big names like Deep Impact, The Horse Whisperer— Oh, who is he kidding, nobody remembers that crap, but everybody remembers Raccoon City, the Resident Evil sequel that hit the ball out of the park.

The Resident Evil series is on its fourth instalment, and Ashley Graham insisted he come back to reprise his role; she wanted to act alongside Leon S. Kennedy and no one else. She stinks of money and Chanel Cristalle. Her dad is the studio head, so Leon’s kissing up to her, takes her cruising in his Bugatti Veyron up and down Rodeo Drive. They never breach the Platinum Triangle, he fears Ashley’s diaphanous skin would erode the moment unfiltered air hits her, melt off her bones in fleshly strings until there’s a skeleton rattling around in his passenger seat.

Ashley’s back is real nice. Like, the skin is super clear and creamy white and her shoulder blades stick out the same way a slinky feline’s do. If he could use anorexic as an adjective he would. Not quite, but almost.

“That feels so good, Leon.” He catches the tail end of the glance she casts over her shoulder, it’s flirty and he knows what’s coming next. Ashley’s spine straightens, skin pulled taut to the jagged bone, she twists her upper half and pouts directly at him. She pouts a lot for someone so scared of wrinkles. but when you’re this rich, the de-ageing secret is just Botox he guesses.

“C’mere,” Leon adopts a wider stance, spreading his thighs so she can curl up between them like a cosy pup in bed. “Hey, cutie.” He traces a thumb over her lips which are a milky shade of pink, fingers curling up beneath her chin to tilt her head up towards him.

She’s giving him bedroom eyes. Feathery lashes fanning his skin with the pace at which she bats them, like hummingbird wings beating against the wind. Leon is so going to get laid. Ashley’s nails rake over the sinewed flesh of his sculpted thighs, a testament to his athleticism, he does all his own stunts you know? Shit, he’s about to get the sloppiest head of all time, his dick is about to be degloved by that perfectly puckered pout, suction must go crazy—

In a single sweeping motion, the flimsy curtain is drawn back, fluttering in the same way Leon’s gut lurches. He can’t tell the difference between butterflies and nausea. It all feels the same to him. He half expects to be struck dumb by celestial flashes of camera light that gets him hotter than the sun.

However, in a much more pleasant turn of events, he spots a black whale tail that leads his sharp eyes to a bead of sweat dripping down a toned abdomen— Her belly button sticks out which Leon hates, but those tiny hotpants make up for her faults. They’re so short the flappy pockets are visible, distressed denim fringe brushing nice thighs that have got to mean an even nicer ass is right behind.

The face is even cuter. Round cheeks yet to shed baby fat, the apples smattered with charming freckles, her reddish ponytail is stiff with salt water. “Move,” she demands in a dictatorial fashion as if the world would bend to her will, rolling over and baring its belly like an appeased dog under her command.

Leon, against his better judgement, stays put. Who even are you, lady? The audacity of some girls, must be a fan of some kind. A clammy hand lands on his leg. Feels more like a dead fish left to rot on the docks. He shivers inwardly, prying sticky fingers off of him to clarify what the actual fuck is going on.

There’s a pretty girl in your peripheral. Not Claire. She’s not pretty in the way Claire is. She’s model pretty, might be a model or an actress or both, or neither. Just plain old pretty. But, it’s not plain, it’s extraordinary really. Polly Pocket dolly plucked from her compact home— Oh, gosh, your stomach is fucking killing right now.

Life is crazy, right? One minute you’re sucking face with a cute guy from Europe, and the next minute rotgut Mai Tais are not pairing well with the sweltering Malibu heat. And now you have reached the gates of heaven, fat-bellied clouds and Polly Pocket and something firm in your hand like a muscled calf. Not like a muscled calf, it is a muscled calf and it belongs to the most devastatingly handsome man you have ever laid eyes upon.

You anticipate the sprouting of wings from his back, the halo of Malibu sunlight that crowns his dirty blond hair to form an actual fucking halo. Holy fuck. You hope God can’t read your thoughts right now. Praying is out of the question, that’s like directly asking God not to press the big red button— Everyone presses the big red button, and then God would cast you down to hell in a fit of disgust. All ‘cause you want this angel to put your thighs to your chest and fuck you boneless with his seraphic dick.

“What the fuck, man?” Is the angelic knowledge he imparts upon your dying body. You feel like you’re being cooked alive, hot oil bubbling your skin.

“What is your problem, man?” Claire’s utterance comes at the same time.

“Hey, Claire,” you greet weakly.

“Hey, babe.” The back of her cool hand rests on your forehead, the heat is going to sear her skin like a piece of Grade-A beef. “Listen, man, can you just take your girlfriend and go?”

“She’s not my—“

“Leon, let’s just go.” The blonde girl loops her arm around this divine being’s bulging bicep.

Claire closes the curtain to shield you from the sun. It brings forth a wave of relief to your sizzling body, doused in floral breeze and sea-salt-infused linen.

“Aw, babe, you’re fucked.” She fans you lightly with her hand in hopes that man-made wind is enough to combat heat stroke or alcohol poisoning or whatever it is.

“You can head back, ‘m good here,” you slur, “gonna take a nap”

“You sure?” Claire pets your head, you see past her composed exterior, inside is a girl who’s mourning the loss of that cute beach bunny who ran for the hills the moment you started to emanate the smell of sickness.

“Mhm.” You nod, a sluggish movement that makes your liquified brain slosh about in your head. “I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll come check on you later, yeah? Just stay right here for me.” She lays a damp towel over your lower half and you feel like a bit of a beached whale. Like, fucking slack and stupid and heavy with sleep. It’s so unfair. Your one day off and the excessive day drinking comes to bite you in the ass.

Your nap is plagued by divine visions - getting to sink your teeth into that angel’s biceps. So life is not all bad. At least you’ve still got wet dreams to keep you going. The sun has sunken beyond the horizon, dwindling light paints the landscape a burnt orange, the deepening blues of the water taking on a coral hue as you poke your head out past the cotton curtains.

In the distance, you spot a mildly Claire-shaped dot with a ponytail. She’s still having fun so you make no move to bother her, instead you gather your belongings in a methodical manner. Beach towel folded at the bottom of your bag, cover-up slotted neatly into the side pocket. Water bottle and sunscreen on top - making sure to check the caps on both are tightly screwed on. Purse, keys, phone. You’ve got it all.

Though you’ve regained a sense of self - whatever you were going through a few hours ago that was an out-of-body experience - a tight knot lingers in the depths of your gut. It’s lodged in your throat. You proceed to the bathrooms located near the car park, beach bathrooms are not the nicest place on earth, but you’re not going there for a relaxing retreat, you’re there to unload the unholy amount of vomit that sits in your stomach like sunken rocks in a burlap sack.

Your gait is slightly off, it’s hard to navigate the beach in rubbery flip-flops, limping as your feet are anchored into the sinking sand with each step. After a treacherous journey over the colossal (read: totally flat, flatter than a brown rat’s feet) dunes, you’re granted access to the mildewy washrooms— The door swings open and collides with your delicate skull. A surge of nausea hits your system like adrenaline, pumping through you, and you pitch forward, hands on your knees as you hurl.

“What the fuck? Are you stupid?”

His voice is like the gentle tinkering of bells or a choir of angels, it’s thick and smooth like molasses, a knife through hot butter. All of the above. Even when he’s swearing the unholiest words you have ever heard under his breath. It’s him, the guy from before. And you just missed vomiting on his feet. Narrowly. He did hit you with a fucking door though. So there’s that.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay? I saw that!” The cute blonde from before has swiftly joined his side.

“I’m fine, Ashley, she ran into me.” Ashley… Ashley…You might’ve seen her on a billboard somewhere in Hollywood. Certainly looks the type.

“Not you, asshole, oh my god, Leon. Are you serious? You hit her!” Her voice is like money. Papery thin, but there’s substance to it. Makes the world go round. Makes you happy. This concussion might be making you woozy enough to feel happy. “Oh my god, are you, like, okay?”

You clutch at the wall of the beach hut-shaped washroom, steadying yourself. “I’m good, yeah, I’m really good, thanks for asking.” The vomit is gone from your system, that’s a step forward, but now there’s an ugly bump forming on your head.

“What if you have a concession?” Ashley frets, she makes no move to step closer as she would have to manoeuvre the puddle of vomit.

“A concussion.” Leon corrects, he side-steps to make a swift and graceful exit from this situation, making a beeline for the topless convertible parked a few rows over. Oh, shit this guy is like a big shot, and you almost puked on him. Keyword almost.

“Leon! Hello? We can’t just leave her!” She waves her arms at him wildly, like she’s flagging down a rescue helicopter.

“Oh no, my friend’s still here, I came in her car,” you begin, smiling sheepishly as she has made you feel a little like an abandoned puppy. Or a nuisance.

“No, no, you’re sick, like, really sick, and Leon hit you. He totally owes you.” Ashley insists, a delicate hand grasps your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. “Get in the front.” She’s demanding not in the same way Claire is, but in the way of a spoiled little girl. It works for her, and you plop down on a leathery seat that sticks to your skin. “Leon, I’m gonna meet daddy over in Carbon, so don’t worry about me, okay?” She flutters her fingers at him. “Behave yourself!”

Shit. This car costs more than you would on the black market. That makes you nervous. The guy makes you even more nervous. The way he’s glowering at you— What an asshole. Ashley’s right, he hit you hard, you so deserve a swanky ride home.

“Are you stalking me?” He asks, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, he looks like a total asshole, levelling you up with those glacial eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you stalking me?” He’s like dead serious right now.

“Why would I be stalking you?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, at least that’s what you want Leon to believe.

“Funny,” he scoffs, “real funny.”

“I’m sorry, what’s so funny?” You blink at him stony, gaze unwavering.

You, bitch. Acting like you don’t know him, like his face isn’t plastered all over California. In every nook and cranny. From flagship stores to beige vegan cafes that are frequented by a handful of hipsters and bored trophy wives alone. “Nothing,” Leon settles on, you can play dumb all you want, but this isn’t his first rodeo with stalkers.

In your hand, your Nokia beeps, and much to his annoyance, you pick it up to make casual conversation with whatever creep that’s put you up to this plan. “No, I didn’t mean to scare you, Claire. I literally kinda, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but I’m safe, okay? I’m in a…” You trail off, casting a sideways glance at him, “I’m in a taxi right now.”

He squeezes the steering wheel white-knuckled. You’re playing with him right now, and it’s not fucking funny. A little pathetic if anything.

“Yeah, I got enough cash on me to make it back, don’t worry about it. I will, I will, yep, okay. Bye, Claire.” You drop your cell phone into your beach bag and it falls quiet apart from the prowling growl of his engine.

“Where you need to go?” Leon asks, his teeth grinding together, offset by his clenched jaw.

“Santa Monica.”

“That’s helpful,” he says dryly. “Long way over.”

“I’m just being safe.” You shrug. “It’s half an hour, where’d you come from anyway? Beverly Hills?”

“You’re being unhelpful,” he repeats to cement the fact that he is going out of his way to be an upstanding citizen and help stupid girls who walk face-first into doors no matter how stupid they fucking are. Leon’s soft spot for girls is clearly limited. “Bel Air,” he adds a moment later, “but you know that, don’t you?” It’s in every tabloid, don’t gotta be a stalker to know where he lives.

“No, I do not, I seriously don’t know who you are, man.” Your profile is nice enough, not an eyesore, lips look kissable, you would look nice at his feet he decides. Girls like you need dick in your mouth to learn a few things about shutting up.

“You got in my car.” Leon points out.

“I was forced into your car.” Comes your rebuttal.

“Listen, I don’t have time for your shit, just tell me.” Leon never raises his voice at women, that would be a brash decision, girls hear a slight shift in tone and go cuckoo. When you talk to them all nice and sweet they turn to putty with no regard for the subject matter at hand. Could be harvesting a few organs or taking a couple billion out of their trust fund, it doesn’t matter, they’ll be stuck swooning.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Look at you, you think you’re the shit. “I can get home from the boardwalk.”

Leon is a lot of things. He is an asshole, he would feel like more of an asshole if he made a chick walk home in the dark. He swallows his pride and he swears his Adam’s apple bulges out further than usual. “I’ll take you home, no sweat, I owe you one.”

“I’m good, I want to walk.” You are one stubborn bitch.

“You could use the walk,” Leon says, a slip of the tongue. He didn’t mean anything by that. Listen, it just came out. Promise. You’re testing his fucking patience.

You bristle beside him, to his surprise you make no move to insult him in turn. “Who are you, even?” It’s thrown over your shoulder coolly. “Like, am I supposed to know you?”

“Leon,” Leon says, and to his knowledge there are no other Leon’s in Hollywood - Leonardo DiCaprio does not count.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” You’ve gotta be messing with him. It’s working, you’re driving him insane.

“Okay, sure.” He bites his tongue, and soon enough you tell him your address. Not the nicest part of Santa Monica, not the worst part. Definitely not Downtown L.A. so that’s good.

The velvet sky is frosted by stars, and it is a beautiful night for road head which Leon really fucking deserves for putting up with so much shit. If it were Ashley by his side he would’ve been forced to pullover more than a few times on the drive over to The Flats.

He pulls up in front of a house that looks to be made of paper mache. Wow, you’re slumming it. Leon makes an unmitigated promise to himself to never be seen around these parts ever again. The air is different, and there’s so many bad smells and oh my lord is that a homeless woman? He better leave before she knocks on his car door to offer him a good time.

“Bye, sweetheart,” Leon tells you because he is the prime example of a gentleman. “Not gonna thank me?”

“What an asshole.” You don’t even bother to say it under your breath, just to his fucking face after he dropped you off in this ugly, grey neighbourhood in his gorgeous convertible.

He forgets about you by morning. Leon has seen more women than a gynaecologist will in their lifetime. You’re another forgettable rack. That is until the following week. A blind item drops. He skims the page.

Blond guy… Plays a lot of action-hero roles… Good with women… Total Asshole… Something about harassment… Something about a full article dropping next week…

Sounds like Leon alright. Hunnigan is on his ass about it. Ashley is on his ass about it. The director is on his ass about it. The staff are looking at him funny. The room is spinning. Leon is going to take a prop gun and shoot himself. He’s managed to keep his asshole status under wraps, money and dick go a long way for girls— Shit, that bitch from Santa Monica. You were not an easy lay, there was no laying in fact. He didn’t offer you sympathy dick to make up for whatever he said to get your panties in a twist.

Leon checks his watch— Filming can wait, Ashley can wait, he won’t be long. Traffic is a nightmare, this sheepskin jacket is sticking to him - only time he has ever lamented having a roofless car. He shrugs off his costume, lays it over the headrest of the passenger seat. Your place is the crumbling stack of bricks tucked into the far corner of a street that is more litter than street.

He knocks on your door firmly, afraid it’ll knock down the paper walls. You don’t answer. He knocks again, taps his foot, and you do not answer. Leon tries the handle, he’s fucking desperate, okay? This film— The premiere has to go smoothly, he has to be back in the limelight and then you can go around making as many accusations as you please, send the pitchfork-wielding mob his way the moment promotions are over.

The door opens. Leaving your door unlocked in a neighbourhood this rough, oh, honey, you’re just begging for it, aren’t you? He steps over the threshold, the door clicks shut behind him, he moves forward in deliberate strides like he knows his way around. To be fair, there’s not many rooms to explore, not Ashley’s sprawling marble landing. From the top of the stairs, he hears your voice.

“Claire, is that you? I just got out the shower, wait there!”

Babe, you got ready for him? That’s cute, he hopes you shaved. The floorboards creak under his boots, climbing the stairs to face the open door of the bathroom. You’re in there, facing the mirror, wrapped in a baby blue towel. Easy access. When you spot him in the reflection, you drop the tub of cleansing cream in the sink basin, it splatters at the same moment your scream shatters the silence.

“What— How did you get in? Why’re you in my house? Get out!” All questions that Leon would answer if you shut up. You’re a stupid little thing, backing yourself into the wall until the back of your knees bump the bathtub. “Oh my god—“

“I let myself in, door was open, babe,” Leon says smoothly, “That’s real dangerous, y’know?”

You clutch at the shower curtain and almost bring it down on your head, Leon pries your fingers from the material as his hands find purchase on the fat of your hips. “Get off me— Get off, get off, get off!” Your spine straightens when he taps your cheek sharply. Huh. That worked. Is that what you need to loosen up? A nice, hard fuck. Some dick in that lonely pussy of yours.

“Hey, calm down, it’s just me.” The guy you think you know all about. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You’re breaking into my fucking house, you fucking psycho, why would I want to talk to you?” Little fists hammer away at his chest, nails catching on his chest holster that looks more like BDSM gear than anything useful.

“You kidding me?” Leon captures your chin, his touch is anything but tender, a tactile intrusion that leaves crescent-shaped impressions on your jaw. “Had a lot to say in that article.”

“Is that… Is that what this is about?” You catch your breath, trying to appear nonplussed, though you tread carefully in trepidation. “The article isn’t even out yet-“ A soft whimper betrays your confident front when Leon bows his head to meet your eyes.

“Look at me when you’re speaking,” he instructs, and you do. What a good girl. “Okay, there you go, baby, continue.”

The disdain that spoils your pretty face intensifies at his words, and yet you can’t look away. Cute. Head says one thing, pussy says another. “I’m not- I’m not making Claire drop the article, this is the biggest scoop she’s ever had, and you’re gross.” You stand your ground. “You’re an asshole, I hope nobody ever has to deal with your shit again, I hope you get blacklisted, like, forever and fucking ever. I watched your shitty movies, I could do better than that and I got a D in drama class, you’re just hot and you get away with it-“

“That’s not very nice.” Leon talks to you like he is scolding a misbehaving child. Which you are. A rash little girl driven forward by noisy temerity. “We talked once, sweetheart. I wanted to go on a second date, what a shame.” He’s glad you find him hot though.

“Fuck off.”

“C’mon, you’re too cute to be using nasty words like that.” His teasing is not taken in stride, you elbow him in the gut and squirm out of his grip. Leon recovers fairly well, his fingers catching the hem of your towel, unravelling it like a spool of thread. He draws you closer, naked, wet body flush to his clothed one. Nice tits, tick, cute ass, tick, he wants to see how you’d look in a tight skirt, one that hugs your stomach and hips and the tapering of your waist. The type Hunnigan wears when she means business.

And shit. Your pussy is the only thing cuter than your face. Shaved bare like you knew he was coming. You wanted it. You did. Leon doesn’t see any other hot dates waiting for you. “Aw, baby, you shouldn’t have.” He coos, tracing your puffy pussy lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t do that…” Your voice is merely a whisper, and you’re not scared, girls like you don’t get scared. They get pissed off. Heated. Angry and upset. But never scared.

“Is this what you want, babe? Some dick ‘n you’ll shut up? Just wanted my attention.” Leon’s voice is a low rumble in your ears, he drawls like a slow trickle of sticky honey. Nothing is stickier than your cunt. He parts your lips, catching the dribbles of slick that form in beads along your slit. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ wet, baby. You needed this, didn’t you?”

“No,” you croak out, throat dry from only a few minutes of disuse.

“No? You want me to stop then, sweetheart?” Leon slows his touch, it diminishes until it’s gone entirely and you whine at the loss so sweetly. “You’re not making any sense, babe.”

“Oh my god.” You suck in a breath, trembling not out of fear, but out of unadulterated rage and dizzying lust for a piece of his dick. “Fuck you.” He takes that as a Please, fuck me!

“How about we do something easier, baby.” Leon forces you onto your knees, and he was fucking right. You look so good like this. Knelt by his feet. His belt is unclipped, pants unzipped, boxers lowered. He guides his dick into your mouth, and you really are the most cock-starved thing he's ever met, ‘cause you open up and swallow him whole.

Then you do the sluttiest fucking thing a girl has ever done for him - reach back and jab your nails into the meat of his ass to force his dick deeper down your throat. “Shit, that’s right, baby— Fuck, you’re a fucking freak, huh?” Leon rewards you with a skull fuck. Balls clapping wetly and obscenely against your chin.

You gag on it, and you love it. God, he feels the pulse of your cunt through his boot when you grind yourself down on the steel toe cap. It’s round enough to do no damage, cool enough to help that hot cunt out, and the perfect shape to part your folds and stimulate your swollen clit.

Leon slaps it on your cheek a couple of times, then he tightens his hand around the shaft as you play with his balls, try to fit ‘em in your mouth like jawbreakers. Shit, fuck, his brain fucking blanks. He’s gonna cum if you don’t stop. His hand comes to rest on your forehead, hoping to snuff out the pleasure that builds too soon in his belly, you pop off his cock, refusing to stop making out with his tip, tonguing the slit like you’re getting paid to do this.

The bedroom is a couple metres away, it’s an awkward shuffle over with his lips slotted to yours, tongue running over your teeth, licking at your gums. Your back hits the handle, then less than a metre after that it hits the squeaky mattress. He kisses down your body, you smell like fruity body wash, it might be strawberry or raspberry. It smells like pink, that’s all he knows.

A sloppy kiss is placed on the very front of your mound. “You want me to play with your sticky little pussy, baby?”

“Ew,” you whimper out, nodding anyways, legs bent at the knee to bare your sweet pussy to him.

He laps at you like a dog. Eating pussy is tedious, Leon likes pushing heads down on his dick, it’s way better. But to hear you moan like that, shit he would do it a thousand times over, latch onto your clit and suck till you see stars. “Did you like that, baby? Fuck, creamed on my fucking tongue, sweet little thing.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Sure, Leon's going to go back to set smelling of your cunt, it’s not so bad. He quite likes it. Better the tang of pussy than sweat.

“Jus’ put it in,” you beg, “please, please—“

“I heard you the first time, sweetheart. Be patient.” Leon takes your ankles in his hands, puts them by your ears. See this? That’s when Leon can tell a girl really fucking wants him. When she holds her thighs up for him, and then she puts her palms flat to spread herself as open as she can get. “Jesus, baby, you’re a slut.” He laughs derisively, it rolls off his tongue as sweetly as any other pet name.

You’re left keening when the head of his dick sinks into your weeping cunt, your toes curl, and Leon cranes his neck to kiss your ankle. He runs his hands over the backs of your plush thighs, circling his hips as he eases into you— He’s lying. In his world, there’s no easing. Leon’s dick is mean, and he can tell you’ve been dying for a rough fuck. He bottoms out the second his head pops past your fluttering hole. Then he’s balls-to-the-wall. Like, literally. They’re heavy against your ass, slapping loudly with each measured thrust.

“Baby,” Leon starts, he’s breathless, rolling his hips into yours, “I swear on my life, sweetheart, if that shit drops I’ll beat you fuckin’ bloody.” That article dropping would signal the end of his life as he knows it. Your pussy clamps down on him at his words. “Oh, you nasty little bitch, you liked that?”

There’s a string of yes, yes, yeses! and then a string of expletives, and then a drawn-out call out of his name as he drives into you with all the force of a freight train. Your nails are scratching down his back, and your pussy is coating him in the same wetness that pools below your ass.

“Take it, baby, take it, fucking take it.” It takes one last thrust for you to come undone, your orgasm has your body going ramrod straight, and then your pussy fucking gushes. And Leon in all his years of sex and women and pussy and fucking has never made a girl do that. Half of him is convinced you’ve gone and pissed on him, the other half is sure he’s made you squirt like girls do in porn— Holy shit. He’s twenty-seven years old and he only just made a girl squirt.

You cry out as he grinds into you, his dick bumping your cervix, his pelvis grinding into your clit— And you sob, shaking your head as another burst of liquid spurts out of your cunt, soaking his abdomen, soaking his fucking shirt that belongs to the costume department—

Fuck, he’s gonna cum. He’s cumming hard. Leon’s balls tighten, and his shaft twitches as his load shoots out of the tip of his cock into your tight cunt. He didn’t pull out. If there’s one thing, he’s good at, it’s pulling out. Leon made a girl squirt, and he didn’t pull out. All in one day. What an accomplished man he is.

“Mmm.” You roll onto your front, face in the pillows as you catch your breath, still shivering as aftershocks zap at your nerve endings. Leon wipes the sweat built on his forehead, strands of his hair stuck to it. “I’m not convinced, the article’s still going up.”

What a bitch.

“Right.” He delivers a brisk swat to your ass, it elicits an involuntary yelp. “Guess I’ll have to convince you. I got a week, don’t I?”

“A week and a half,” you say, not bothering to bid him bye as he zips his cargos, “I’m pretty hard to convince.” Cheeky.

“It can be done.” Through another round of dick from Monday to Friday.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

285 notes · View notes

blossom-hwa · 3 years

Text

Stardust - CHANGMIN

So like. This was the first full scenario I wrote for TBZ and I can’t believe I wrote this before actually even STARTING No Air, but whatever! It was cute! I couldn’t help myself but I didn’t want to post this before No Air so that’s why it’s late

Thank you to @deathbykpopboys for helping me put this scenario together! Honestly I don’t think I’d ever write anything without sunny hhhh she’s always so great with ideas <3

Pairing: Changmin x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, a little angst if you squint, teacher!au

Triggers: alcohol, cursing

Word Count: 2.7k

Changmin sometimes thinks you’re a little too perfect to exist.

TBZ Masterlist | No Air | Touching Stars | Breathe, and Live

Friday nights are always fun, for Changmin. Friday’s the last day of the work week and kind of blends into the weekend, and because he’s a schoolteacher, he (sort of) gets the weekend off. Sure, he might be making lesson plans or writing reports or doing other important, not fun things, but he also has his stolen moments for dance or shopping or things that he doesn’t have time to do during the week. He’s free, more or less.

The last Friday night of each month, though, Changmin enjoys the most, when he, Jacob, and Kevin meet up for cheap food and drinks. And as much as Changmin likes to wreak havoc on the lives of his fellow teachers (mostly by scaring the wits out of them with dolphin screams and horror movie masks), he really does enjoy their presence in his life and appreciates them for it.

They haven’t a missed a night so far, not since that time Jacob was out with the flu and Kevin had a family emergency. And even though Changmin’s definitely done and said some stupid (read: really embarrassing) things while under the influence, the pros of each night always end up outweighing the cons. So if Changmin wakes up the next morning with a hangover, well, that’s just a side effect of having some fun.

But sometimes he has thoughts. Thoughts that he’s repressed so well he might not even register them, but that exist nonetheless. And Changmin, sadly, is a truthful drunk. His thoughts come spilling out of his mouth, mostly unfiltered, whenever he’s had enough to drink.

And this week, Changmin has been having thoughts. Thoughts that he isn’t sure he wants to spill.

If he drinks, they’ll flood out. It’s the way Changmin works – he’s had enough experiences with alcohol and his brain that he knows what will happen. As he stares at the soju bottle on the table, he knows that if he drinks, he’ll probably regret it in the morning. Not necessarily because he’ll remember what he says – his memory tends to get a bit spotty even after a round of light drinking – but because Kevin definitely will.

Normally, Changmin would praise God for Kevin's ability to remember drunk things. Coupled with his inability to lie, it makes for so much potent blackmail. Sure, Kevin makes Changmin and Jacob swear not to talk about anything he said under the influence, but Changmin isn't an angel the way Jacob is. If it came down to it, he'd sell Kevin's secrets for a single corn chip and some entertainment.

(Okay, not really. But the point still stands.)

If he complained about this to people, they’d probably just laugh and say something about how Kevin is a precious pure meme, that he’d never sell out Changmin’s deepest thoughts for anything. After several years of working with him, though, Changmin knows better.

(He’ll just say that sometimes, Mr. Kev Kev isn't the happy-go-lucky meme-y little boy that everyone likes to make him out to be.)

So maybe Changmin shouldn't be drinking tonight. There isn’t necessarily a lot on his mind, but he’s been thinking of things that he doesn't want spilled just yet, and drinking will only make that possibility a reality.

Isn’t that what alcohol is for, though? To make those worries disappear, if only for a short while? The soju beckons at Changmin, even more so when Kevin actually opens the bottle. Eventually, he throws caution to the wind and fills his own glass.

It’s a clear night, mostly. A bit cloudy, but no sign of rain, and there’s a pleasant little breeze that feels cool against his cheeks. Sitting at one of the small tables outside of the restaurant, Changmin loses himself in the food and the conversation.

After an hour, Jacob decides he needs to leave because he’s supposed to meet with his family the next day and can’t get too plastered. Kevin calls him a noob while making a face, but Jacob, being the angel he is, just pats him on the head on his way out. Privately, Changmin thinks Kevin is much more of a noob than Jacob, but the alcohol hasn’t addled his mind enough to say that out loud just yet.

At some point, though, the world becomes pleasantly muddy. Changmin can register what’s going on at a distant level and he probably shouldn’t drink too much more, but he takes a last shot anyway, just as Kevin asks a slightly slurred “How’s life with Y/N?”

A stupid smile stretches across Changmin’s lips. “Kevin, oh my God, she’s perfect.” He grins, the breeze cool against his flushed cheeks. "She’s so beautiful, it doesn't make sense that we exist in the same world."

Kevin mutters something that sounds like "whipped" and "so soft."

Changmin is sure that if he were sober, he would've attacked his fellow teacher by now, but his tipsy haze is too pleasant to interrupt. He just wants to keep talking. "Kevin," he whines. "Pay attention."

"Okay." Face flushed, Kevin puts his chin on his fist. "'M listening."

"Y/N’s so beautiful." Dimly, Changmin is aware that he's just repeating himself, but he can't help it. The point needs emphasis. "Kevin, she’s so amazing. So much more amazing than me. So smart. Did you know Y/N knows like ten programming languages?"

Tipsily, Kevin shakes his head. "What... what's a program."

"Computer shit." Changmin plays idly with his shot glass. "Doesn't matter. So smart, so nice, so... lovely, Kevin. Y/N’s good at everything. She cuts fruit for me when I work late and make me go to sleep. She doesn’t know anything about dance and tries to help anyway. She works so hard and never takes anyone’s shit and she always knows when I need time alone or when I need comfort.” His mouth draws down into a slight frown. “She’s like... she’s like..."

Why is it so hard to come up with something to explain you? Your entire existence defies definition. How can he even find something comparable to the way you sparkle in his eyes?

Ignoring Kevin’s gaze trained on him, Changmin slumps over the table, eyes gazing out at the dark night. A few stars manage to glitter past the clouds and the piercing lights of the Seoul skyline.

Stars. Something tugs at the back of Changmin’s brain. Stars. Sparkly.

An image of your smile pops, unbidden, in his mind. Your bright eyes glimmer. Like stars.

Oh.

Stardust.

Yes, stardust.

You're like stardust, warm and gentle and... magical. Magical to the touch.

"She’s like." Changmin hiccups. "She’s like stardust, Kevin. Stardust. Perfect. Warm.”

A tear trickles down Kevin's cheek. Changmin has exactly two seconds to ready himself in his drunken haze before Kevin launches himself at his purple hoodie, loosely grasping at the soft cloth as he fully encases Changmin within his arms. "Ji Changmin," he sobs, muffled, "that is the most adorable thing I've ever heard you say."

Even sober, Changmin doesn't think he'd know what to say in response to that, so he just stays silent. It's not like Kevin would even hear him over the sound of his overemotional crying.

Anyway, Kevin's hug feels nice. Warm. Changmin doesn't think he needs to speak words at the moment, he's too comfortable. It's not the same as being in your arms, but he'll settle for it now. He burrows a little deeper into his friend's hold.

“You little child, you,” Kevin sobs into his shoulder. “You’re so sweet and small and warm, I can’t believe you exist.”

Changmin doesn’t feel like replying. There’s a bubble of something growing in his chest that he can’t entirely decipher right now, and his brain has focused on that. It’s some sort of emotion, he thinks. It doesn’t feel very pleasant.

His head gets pulled out of Kevin’s arms. He whines a little, annoyed by the lack of warmth, but he doesn’t really have the presence of mind to do anything but sit there limply as Kevin starts shaking him back and forth, still wailing about how “adorable his little Ji Changminnie is.”

The bubble keeps growing as Kevin keeps shaking him. It doesn’t feel like vomit – Changmin knows that sensation a bit too well – but it makes him feel a little sick. A little upset. The bubble feels suffocating, cold, but it also burns.

Not vomit. He doesn’t feel nauseous. But still unpleasant.

Kevin goes back to hugging Changmin into his chest, which soothes the bubble a little bit. The soft warmth of Kevin’s sweater smooths the burning and takes away the edge of the cold. But the bubble still stays as Changmin rocks back and forth in his friend’s hold, blankly trying to decipher the stupid emotion growing in his heart.

“There’s a bubble.” The words slip out of his mouth just past Kevin’s ear. “There’s a bubble in my chest.”

“Bubble?” Kevin pulls back slightly, flushed face confused. “What bubble?”

Changmin vaguely gestures at his chest as best he can with Kevin’s arms partially trapping his hands. “Here. Doesn’t feel good.”

Kevin’s eyes squint. “Need to vomit?”

“Nooooo,” Changmin whines. “Kevin, it’s a bubble.” He pauses. “Think it’s an emotion.”

He hears Kevin suck in a breath. “I can’t believe my precious little Scorpio child is finally feeling emotions,” the older boy says in a stage whisper, loud enough for at least the next two tables to hear. Changmin has enough presence of mind to slap him. “Hey!”

“It hurts.” Changmin’s lips pout deeper. “I don’t like it.”

“Aww, no, baby.” Kevin pats his head – a little too hard, but Changmin can deal with that. “Why does it hurt? What emotion is it?”

Changmin racks his brains for the word. It’s not a good feeling, so he tries to eliminate the good words as they pass through his mind. Not pleasant. Definitely not happy. Not calm, either.

Sadness? Maybe that’s part of it, but it’s not specific enough. Anger? Not really.

Fear?

Changmin isn’t scared of many things. He loves horror movies and thinks possessed dolls are cute, and it’s hard for anyone to really startle him. Fear is not an emotion that regularly appears in his repertoire.

But this time…

“I’m scared.” The two words slip out of his mouth, quiet, lonely. “’M scared, Kevin.”

Kevin pulls back again. “Changmin, you’re never scared.”

“I am now.” He purses his lips petulantly.

“Why?”

Unconsciously, the corners of his lips turn down even further into a blank pout. "Sometimes I think Y/N’s gonna leave. Slip through my fingers."

Even tipsy, Changmin can tell there are more tears welling up in Kevin's eyes. "But… you love each other?"

"Y/N’s stardust." Changmin's pout deepens. "Too perfect. She’s gonna realize that, that I'm not... I'm not good enough but she’s too nice to say that so she’ll just slip away." He hiccups again, feeling his cheeks burn with drink, fluttering his fingers loosely to make sure Kevin gets the point. "Like stardust."

Kevin remains silent for one, two, three seconds. Changmin takes that time to drain the last little bit of soju left in his cup.

Then Kevin nearly knocks the cup out of his hand when he literally grabs Changmin and forces him to curl up into his sweater, nose buried in the soft folds of cloth. “You beautiful, pure little child, you,” he coos, patting Changmin’s head (still a little too hard, but Changmin really doesn’t feel the need to deal with it right now). “You small little child. You poor, small child. Y/N is so in love with you, there’s no way she’ll ever leave.”

“Stardust,” Changmin reminds Kevin, words muffled into his sweater.

“Stardust,” Kevin agrees. “But good stardust. Gonna stay with you. Never going to leave.”

Changmin doesn’t remember much of what happens after that. He knows that they eventually pay for everything and Kevin’s partner picks them up (well, they were the one who was supposed to pick the two of them up. He doesn’t actually register the driver’s face, but Changmin hears Kevin calling them “love muffin, better than Beyonce,” so it’s probably them. He refuses to acknowledge any alternatives), but he’s too drunk and too tired to process anything else.

Somehow, he wakes up the next day curled up in his bed, forehead threatening to split from the dull pain. Mentally, he thanks himself for closing the shades before he passed out last night (or was it morning? He isn’t completely sure when he got home) so that the sunlight isn’t adding to his headache.

Get up, Changmin, he tells himself, summoning the strength to swing his legs out of bed. Step by step, he exits his room and slowly brushes his teeth before heading toward the kitchen for a bottle of water or something to get rid of the pounding in his head.

Changmin’s so out of it that he doesn’t register the smell of something cooking wafting out of the kitchen before he’s almost in it. He finally stops, confused, just in time to see your head poke out from the kitchen entrance.

For a second, Changmin just stares at you, brain buffering as he tries to come up with a suitable greeting in his hungover state. There’s this look on your face that Changmin’s muddled mind can’t seem to decipher.

Oh, God.

You look like you’re about to cry.

He panics. What did he do wrong? Did he say something bad last night? He can’t remember anything – how badly did he screw up, what the hell did he do –

Then you leap at him, much the same way Kevin did last night, and bury your face into his shoulder.

“Ji Changmin,” you say, words muffled into his rumpled shirt, “I love you so much.”

Changmin’s mouth can only come up with a confused “huh?”

You pull back, eyes shining with tears, but mouth stretched into a beautiful, beautiful smile. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember what you told Kevin last night,” you say teasingly, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in your gaze.

Slowly, slowly, the events of last night begin to piece themselves together in Changmin’s brain. Every single stupid word he said to Kevin in his drunken stupor comes flooding back in one massive, jumbled mess.

He blushes.

“Ji Changmin.” You cup his puffy, red cheeks between your hands, voice trembling. “Listen to me. I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to slip through your fingers and, fucking, I don’t know, fly away. Because I am not perfect, I am not stardust, but god, I – you’re perfect for me. You are good enough for me, more than good enough for me. You are perfect, and I’m staying here forever. You’re not going to be able to get rid of me. Understood?”

“But –”

“Understood?”

Changmin stares into your shining eyes. Even with you standing right here, hands cradling his face with the gentlest touch, he can’t quite believe you’re real and not just some beautiful figment of his imagination. Slowly, slowly, one of his hands rises to touch the fingers resting against his cheek. Just to make sure this isn’t a dream.

Solid. Warm.

Not a dream.

This is real.

He nods dumbly, a stupid smile spreading across his face. “Okay.”

You crush him close again and this time, Changmin’s arms automatically move to wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He can feel a few tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt as you hold him tight, so tight, and he smiles, one hand coming up to pat your back.

You’re here. You’re here, alive, solid, real. He can feel your warmth against his body, feel your hair tickling his skin.

You may be ethereal. You may be something completely out of this world, beautiful, divine. You may be sparkling, glimmering, brilliant in the morning sunlight. You may be made of stardust, something too perfect (he’ll fight you on that) to exist on earth.

But now, with you wrapped warmly in his arms, Changmin realizes that even though you may be stardust, that doesn’t mean you’re going anywhere.

A tear slips out of his eye as he smiles.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 cheek pinch for changmin idk why I just think that’d be fun <3)

108 notes · View notes

mcuntainbcrn · 2 years

Text

@sylvctica said: What is a trope you’ve always wanted to subvert?

//tropes about ptsd - it isn't all hyperventilating and crying or freezing; sometimes it's violent mood shifts and unfiltered anger, sometimes it's quiet withdrawal, sometimes it's unconsciously testing your loved ones over and over because your brain lies and whispers that it's only a matter of time before they disappear too, so it may as well be on your terms, sometimes its a sound or smell or taste that triggers a memory and you wind up nauseous or vomiting.

i do not fuck around when it comes to exploring all sides when it comes to the aftermath of traumatic events with my muse, and yes, getting close to her and remaining close to her is difficult, but i'm not going to ever water her down.

#a whole ass idiot: ooc #sylvctica

2 notes · View notes

davidmann95 · 3 years

Note

Putting aside any of the controversy around Max Landis(not easy to do i know), what's your opinion on the Kryptonian Epic he has pitched on his Youtube channel as a follow up to Superman: American Alien?

I’ve listened to the further installments in the background while working for the bleak comedic value to chuckle over with friends later and on the understanding that the viewcounts are way too low for him to be making any bank on these, and unsurprisingly, they’re real bad! For every “well, I hate to admit it, but this isn’t the worst idea...” there’s at least five concepts so mind-shatteringly absurd, perverse, or simply dogshit dumb as hell that you have to wonder if he wrote the mostly-solid American Alien in some kind of fugue state. Couple off the top of my head notes:

* Bane’s a Tyler Durden for Bruce.

* Blue Beetle is a Republican Cop who stumbled into a stash of Batman tech and immediately became Landis’s self-insert who fixes everything and makes Batman look like a total dumbass.

* Superman gets so annoyed fighting the Suicide Squad he goes fuck it and murders them all in full public view and feels basically ambivalent about it.

* Wonder Woman’s powers come from a magical pool that’s I guess some kind of Kryptonian thing that the Amazons worship as a cult, and if you’re a man (as it's phrased, in practice AMAB) and step into it you’re covered in tumors and also your testicles explode.

Infinitely better that he vomits his unfiltered brain-droppings onto Youtube as opposed to DC cleaning it up and paying an Actual Monster for the rights to publish it.

#Max Landis #DC Comics #Superman #Batman #Wonder Woman #fanfic #Opinion

16 notes · View notes

bourbonmetalhead · 3 years

Text

Round 22 of the 64 bourbons bracket — Rare Breed 112.8 vs. Four Roses Small Batch Select

Rare Breed 112.8 wins round 22 of the 64 bourbons bracket. I have really enjoyed Four Roses Small Batch Select when enjoying it on its own. I thought it had an outside chance to win this entire 64 bourbons bracket. See, I sometimes celebrate cinnamon when drinking bourbon or rye. Now, don’t get me wrong - I find Fireball to be vomit inducing swill; but I can gravitate towards cinnamon in my highball. I was nuts about Willett 3 year and 4 year rye — until they priced me out and I realized it was a one trick pony. And I love the cinnamon in Noah’s Mill and Four Roses Small Batch Select.

But it isn’t complex. This isn’t a tournament of single skills. As I write this, the cinnamon aftertaste embraces me. I just poured a consolation pour on Four Roses Small Batch Select. As the buzz kicks in, as I crank up the volume of “Hell Patrol” (cover by Astralborne), does it have a chance at the upset.

Possible.

But, no. The Rare Breed 112.8 has complexity. Even just sniffing the empty glass, there are a dozen different scents swirling around my brain. A tournament isn’t won by a specialist. A player can’t win a tournament exclusively by shooting perfect free throws or having the most ankle-breaking cross-over. There has to balance. Adaptation. Adjustment. And Rare Breed 112.8 did nothing wrong. Literally.

It is usually a sign that a bottle is about to get bounced when I am rushing the final, full Kentucky chew on a glass - while preserving the rival glass to savor. That happened here. I was rushing to the Kentucky chew because I was getting 5 kinds of cinnamon and I wanted to get on to the Rare Breed journey. And what did Rare Breed 112.8 do with its Kentucky chew? A first. It brought a fucking tear to my eye. Mr. Barrel-proof-unfiltered-uncut-but-certainly-circumcised shed an involuntary tear and had to scramble for words as to what was happening on the finish for Rare Breed 112.8. That was a dagger. No way Four Roses Small Batch Select could overcome that.

And here it is, 9 p.m. on a work and school night. Astraborne growls and pounds through an unknown Judas Priest cover as I savor a consolation pour of Small Batch Select, but keep sipping the complex empty glass of Rare Breed. Rare Breed will “brutalize you, neutralize you, gonna go for your throat as you choke, then they’ll neutralize you.” Why the fuck not? Let’s go!

2 notes · View notes

mon-dayragingslut4monstaxday6 · 4 years

Text

Ultimate

“Pairing” Changkyun and fem OC

Warnings: Mentions of sex, swearing, drinking.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Did I base this character on me? Sort of? (in the sense that Changkyun is my ultimate, but Honey is my bias). In the process of making chapter 2, and LOVING all of the ideas. Will I write for other members? Hell yes I will (in the process of finishing one shots or short series of different members). Still new to the posting my work type of thing, so I hope this goes well.

No, no. This can’t happen. Changkyun is my ultimate? Can’t be! He’s my good friend, arguably a best friend, but I can’t consider him my ultimate! My friend at home was texting me, asking me how my visit to Korea is going and she had the audacity to tell me that even though my bias is Jooheon, my ultimate is Changkyun, because “I was talking about Changkyun a lot”. I told her it just might be a little crush, something that comes and goes, but she insists that he’s my ultimate. I’m a blushing mess from the thought of him being more. I adore all of them, but I thought my heart was only reserved for one. I do have feelings for Honey, that’s for sure, but I’m too chicken to initiate something. What is this feeling? Wanting to vomit, wanting to hide, getting excited from the thought of said person? Fuck, I haven’t experienced this since high school when a friend pointed out a crush I had. I don’t miss this feeling. I want to hide and let these flushed feelings run its course, but it’s damn near impossible since I’m staying with these boys.

Changkyun knocks on my door and peaks his head in. Thankfully, I was decent. Sitting on the floor, my back against the bed, mentally exhausted. He’s the last person I want to see right now.

“We’re going to dinner. Let’s go”, he gestures for me to leave. I groan and slump over.

“Don’t go noodle on me, Sarah. We’re going to eat”, he points to me, trying not to laugh. I verbally whine, trying to sit up.

“Are you baby now?”, Changkyun sassily rest his hands on his hips.

“I’m a princess, not a baby”, I laugh, snaking myself up the bed.

“A drunk princess”, he cackles.

“Not drunk, just a girl who has fun”, I roll around the bed till I reach for my purse. My sweater accidentally slips up and shows the back and side of my lacey bra. I realize this and quickly pull my sweater down. Please don’t tell me he saw. Glancing over at Changkyun, his eyes are wider than when he came in. There’s no saying what he saw or what he’s thinking.

“Where are we going to eat?”, I break the silence.

“Uh, fuck, I forgot”, he hesitates, giving full eye contact. I throw a pillow at him to get his attention. Poor boy didn’t see it coming. He takes that as an invitation to horseplay and whacks me with the same pillow. You may be a boy, that I so happen to have feelings for, but I never back down from a pillow fight. I grab the other pillow and whack him beside the head. His giggles are contagious. Our fighting is playful and not sexually charged at all…not at all.

Honey yells a groan from downstairs.

“Let’s go!”, Kihyun shouts before opening the front door. Changkyun and I realize how long we’ve been playing and shuffle down the stairs, without looking at each other as if we’ve just been scolded. We’re quiet in the car ride to the restaurant. I get a buzz on my phone.

Did we interrupt something? -Kihyun

I audibly gasp, dropping my phone. I bend over to pick up my phone and sneak a text, since I’m sitting next to Changkyun in the car.

What makes you think you interrupted something? You didn’t interrupt anything -Me

Kihyun chuckles in the passenger seat.

Sarah, you can’t lie -Kihyun

Thank God, we made it to the restaurant. I sit in between Changkyun and Honey, solely because Honey pulls me to the chair between them. It works out though, lefties stick together at tables, but now I’m between two of my beautifully charming friends who stole my heart. I look at the menu and stare intensely hoping my brain will process the translation.

“Do you need help?”, Changkyun whispers, noticing my struggle.

“Let me see what I can read first”, I block my vision of him with the menu. Scanning through each item, I can’t recognize anything.

“Fuck”, I mumble to myself.

“Sarah, just let me help you”, Changkyun insists, moving the menu out of the way so he could see me.

“What are you hungry for? Noodles, rice, soup?”, he starts.

“What are you having?”, I hesitate. He points to something on the menu.

“It’s noodles and pork. You’ll like it”, he shrugs.

“You sure?”, I ask for confirmation.

“Just try it, if not, the fried rice is good here”, he encourages.

“Want a drink?”, Minhyuk asks from across the table.

“Like a soda?”, I innocently wonder. All of the boys laugh.

“Soju, Sarah”, Kihyun explains. My eyes widen. I had a drink with them before, but not soju!

“It’ll be ok, we won’t let anything bad happen to you”, Honey assures, putting his arm around the back of my chair.

“If you don’t want to drink, that’s ok”, Hyungwon assures there’s no pressure.

“I can have a drink”, I instantly regret. The boys cheer. The waiter takes our orders and brings a couple of bottles of soju for the table. I do a mental pep talk to get me through the first drink.

There’s nothing to be worried about. These boys adore you and will take care of you if you get sick. Oh fuck, what if they get sick first? I’ll have to take care of them first! Maybe I shouldn’t drink. No, that’s quitters talk! Mamma didn’t raise a quitter! I know my limit, I’ll stop when I get a giggly, that way I won’t get sick and I’ll still feel good. Sounds like a plan.

“Sarah, you’re pretty tense, take a shot to loosen up”, Changkyun suggests. Noticing how close he is, I need a shot to get rid of these nerves!

I take a shot and immediately know I made a mistake. All of the boys cheer me on for a second shot. I take a second and they follow.

“Fuck me”, I exclaim. They’re shocked to hear me mutter something like that. I’ve obviously sworn in front of them, as they have with me, but not this volume. They are also impressed with how good I’m taking the shots. I see their smirks in my peripherals. I close my eyes and take another one. Go away nerves.

We have three more shots before our food comes. I hit the giggle stage, I won’t drink any more. Before we chow down, the boys insist on a toast.

“We’re grateful to have Sarah stay with us while she’s on vacation”, Shownu initiates the toast.

“We’re definitely not going to convince her to stay”, Kihyun sarcastically adds.

“If she does decide to stay, she’ll have us”, Wonho sweetly smiles at me. They’ve done this to me before, trying to convince me to stay in Korea with them, but I have responsibilities in the states and they know that. Love the additional “talk in third person to make it less suspicious”. I stand from my seat, slightly stumbly. Honey and Changkyun make sure I don’t fall over.

“Sarah wishes only but happiness for her friends. Her friends love her dearly, she loves them even more, will she stay in Korea? Who the fuck knows anymore”, I accounce, continuing the third person, hoping my drunk voice isn’t noticable. The boys perk up hearing me open about the possibility of me staying.

“Before any of you start asking me questions, let’s just eat and enjoy our night first”, I conclude, breaking the third person narrative. I sit back on my chair and start munching on my noodles. The boys are dead silent.

“Eat”, I gesture to the table.We sip our drinks for the toast and carry on with our meals.

“Sarah. You don’t have to stay because we want you to”, Changkyun whispers. I turn to look at him dead in the face. How the fuck is he so handsome? I just wanna grab his face and kiss it!

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t stay?”, I nearly choke on my words.

“Work, your family, your apartment”, he lists.

“I can get a job here, I rarely see them as is, I’m up on my lease soon anyway. Try again”, I debate.

“Do you want me to stay, Kyun?”, I whisper. Our hands nearly touch, Changkyun notices and clenches his into a fist. He wants to say something, but won’t.

“Eat before your food gets cold”, he breaks eye contact. Fuck it. I take the bottle of Soju and pour myself another two shots. Honey takes the bottle away from me.

“Eat”, he barks at me. I scrunch my face at him. He smirks. At this point, everyone is getting giggly. It’s great to see my boys be silly. I’m far past the giggly stage and now I’m at the dumb bitch stage.

“Sarah, honest question. When’s the last time you got fucked?”, Changkyun changes tune. I almost choke on my pork. All of the boys crack up laughing.

“Excuse me?”, I cackle, hoping I heard him wrong.

“When’s the last time you had sex?”, Kihyun rephrases.

“Or when’s the last time you had an orgasm”, Shownu rebuttals. What the fuck!

“Why would you want to know?”, I avoid answering, my eyes nearly popping out.

“We’re all friends here. We can talk about these things”, Minhyuk adds.

“Have you had sex before?”, Hyungwon teases, raising an eyebrow. I scoff.

“Yes, I’ve had sex before”, I cross my arms, pouting from the interrogation. None of the boys believe me.

“When’s the last time a man has made you feel good?”, Honey nudges my arm. Please, for the love of God don’t touch me, but also don’t stop touching me. I hate myself for thinking that, what’s wrong with me.

“Too long”, I playfully roll my eyes.

“That’s too bad”, he smirks, flashing his dimples before finishing his meal. All the boys look at me, almost investigating me.

“You’re a virgin”, Hyungwon teases. My jaw drops.

“I am not”, I gasp.

“The last time I had sex was a few months ago with a fuck friend I made in college”, I confess, unfiltered. Changkyun’s face changes from cheeky goofball to his iconic emotionless glare.

“But was he good to you?”, Honey refers back to his question.

“Not at all, he’s a one round type of guy who doesn’t listen to what I want and stops us when he cums but never finishes me off”, I babble. The boys, except Changkyun and a little bit of Honey, are loving how open I am about my sex life, admiring my confidence. Changkyun started this, he shouldn’t be upset. Unless he expected a different answer?

“That’s bullshit, you deserve a guy who will go at least three rounds and always has you cum first”, Wonho drunkenly argues.

“Yes! Thank you”, I blow him a kiss. I notice Changkyun being sulky, almost pouting in his chair. I grab his hand and put my cheek on his shoulder.

“Kyun, why are you sour?”, I baby talk. He’s taken back from my contact.

“I’m not sour”, he chuckles nervously.

“Are you sour because I’ve fucked before?”, I mumble. He blinks rapidly, a mannerism he does when he’s nervous.

“You still haven’t answered my question earlier”, I whine, nuzzling his arm.

“Sarah”, he growls at me. I look up at him and he’s dead serious. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hot as fuck. His cheeks are all flushed from the alcohol and probably embarrassment. I’m in the mood for some hell raising.

“Dany”, I tease, raising an eyebrow. He always reacted weird whenever I called him Dany. Sometimes he rolls his eyes, other times he smiles, it’s always different. This time his face sinks. I know he wants to say something! He shifts in his seat and realizes all of the guys staring at us. I’m oblivious to this attention, my focus is on Changkyun.

“Sarah, drink some water”, he whispers, squeezing my hand.

“Why, did I have a little too much to drink?”, I play.

“Yes, you have”, he sternly confirms.

“But you’re the one who said I should loosen up”, I cackle, poking his chest with my free hand. He grabs my other hand. My heart is beating in my throat.

“I’m taking you back to the house”, he finalizes.

“You shouldn’t drive”, I gasp.

“No, no. We’re going to walk”, he nods. He scoots out of his chair, still latched to me. Honey pulls out my chair for me to get up.

“Be safe!”, Hyungwon shouts.

“Take care of her!”, Kihyun adds.

“We’ll see you two soon”, Minhyuk waves. I probably do the worst wave I’ve ever done, whatever I did, it almost knocked me off balance. Thankfully, Changkyun has me wrapped up to keep me stable.

Outside of the restaurant, Changkyun refuses to talk to me. We cross some streets before I try to break the silent treatment.

“Changkyun, I’m sorry for embarrassing you, don’t be mad at me”, I whimper, still nuzzling his arm.

“I’m not mad at you”, he scoffs.

“Then talk to me. Why did you ask me when’s the last time I got fucked?”, I babble.

“You’ve been tense lately”, he huffs.

“Is that really why?”, I groan, calling him out on his bullshit.

“I didn’t expect you to answer specifically”, he hesitates.

“Or did you not expect the answer being that soon?”, I poke his cheek. His sulky face comes back. I definitely struck a nerve.

We get to the house, Changkyun immediately grabs me a glass of water and escorts me to my room. I plop on my bed and point to my dresser.

“Would you be a sweetheart and grab my pajamas from the second drawer?”, I sweet talk. Of course, without question, he opens the drawer and grabs some pajamas, visibly taken back from all of the panties in the same drawer. I sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed.

“Changkyun, talk to me”, I nearly beg. He nods and sits besides me, keeping some distance.

“I know you’re bothered with something”, I stick out my bottom lip, trying to sweet talk him into being honest.

“I didn’t expect you to have someone at home”, he avoids eye contact.

“I’m not dating the guy, I even called off our fuck status before I came here”, I laugh. He perks up.

“You did?”, he smirks. There’s the devilish grin I love so much.

“Didn’t you hear me say how bad he is? Of course I was going to cut him loose”, I shrug. I wiggle myself out of my sweater. Changkyun turns around and shields his eyes.

“Sarah!”, he shouts.

“I’m sorry, I’m warm”, I whine, slipping off my jeans. I dress myself in my pajamas while Changkyun acts all bashful. I give him a hug from behind, wrapping my arms around him while my boobs press against his back.

“You still haven’t answered me”, I whisper.

“For what question?”, he grabs my hand and admires how small it is compared to his.

“Do you want me to stay?”, I giggle.

“Why ask me and not the rest?”, he avoids the question.

“Because I already know their answers. I don’t know yours”, I turn the direction back. He weasels himself out of my grasp. We sit on the bed, facing each other.

“Don’t lie to me. Don’t tell me I’m the deciding factor”, he turns serious.

“I’m the deciding factor, Changkyun. I just want to know your thoughts”, I get serious too. He takes a deep breath and lunges into my lips. He cups my cheeks and pull me into a deeper kiss. I grab him by the shoulders for stability while I straddle his lap. How did I not notice his hard dick bulging in his pants! He lays me down on my back, himself hovering above me and pulls out from our kiss.

“You’re too drunk, this isn’t right”, he realizes.

“Just one more miss, Kyun”, I bat my eyelashes. He bites his lip, wanting to give me what I need.

“You know I want to. I can’t”, he struggles. He kisses my cheek and rolls off the bed.

“Drink that water before you go to sleep. If you need anything, please reach me”, he sweetly smiles at me before leaving the room. I simply lay there to reflect on what the fuck happened. Just thinking about it hurts. I pass the fuck out without washing my face first, good job me.

Waking up to the sun illuminating the room is very welcoming and not having a hangover is even better. Sadly, I don’t remember jack shit what happened last night. I remember eating some bomb ass noodles and the boys joking around in Korean and my drunk ass trying to follow along. I look at my phone, which was charging, but I don’t remember plugging it in, nor getting myself in my pajamas. I’m still wearing my bra? Shit, how fucked up was I? There are few texts from the boys.

Hope you got back safe, we’re on our way!-Kihyun

Neither you or Changkyun texted, letting us know if you got home, please answer-Shownu

Are you two dead!-Honey

Changkyun told me he got you a glass of water. Do you want a refill?-Minhyuk

Changkyun and I separated from the group last night? Weird. I scrub the make-up shit off my face, change into normal clothes then head downstairs to look for the guys. Some are gathered in the dining room, the rest is in the living room, watching TV. I walk past them all to go to the kitchen. Changkyun can’t keep a smile off of his face. I always loved his smile, I’m happy to see it whenever it’s there. Changkyun follows me into the kitchen. I open the fridge to grab myself a juice box. In my peripherals, I could see Changkyun checking out my ass. I do a little wiggle as a joke. Closing the fridge kind of spooks him.

“Morning”, I pull the straw off of my juice box.

“Good morning”, Changkyun greets, rubbing his hands together.

“Did we get separated from the group last night?”, I wonder, puncturing the box with the straw. His face sinks.

“You don’t remember?”, he mumbles.

“The last thing I remember is taking shots with you guys at the restaurant and you guys speaking Korean and I almost knew what you were saying. The shots hit me fast, I guess”, I laugh. His face turns stone cold and he leaves the kitchen without saying anything.

He goes to his room and nearly slams the door shut.

“Changkyun?”, I murmur.

“What happened?”, Kihyun springs up from his chair.

“I asked him what happened last night and he storms off”, I shrug. Kihyun and Minhyuk look at each other.

“Did something happen when he and I were separated from you all?”, I whisper. Kihyun struggles with composing a sentence.

“Talk to him”, he settles.

“What did he say to you guys?”, I gasp.

“You two kissed, according to him”, Minhyuk shrugs. Kissed?! I kissed my ultimate and I don’t even remember?! Fuck! I go back to my room to hide. If Minhyuk knows and is comfortable with saying it out loud then Changkyun must’ve told the entire house! I crawl under the blankets and wrap myself like a burrito.

I hear a knock on my door.

“Morning, princess”, Honey greets from the other side of the door. Great, even better. I groan.

“Come in”, I sigh. He opens the door and no matter how simple dressed he is, he always looks to the nines. I scurry back into my blanket.

“What’s wrong?”, Honey worries, closing the door behind him.

“Do you know what happened after Changkyun and I left from the restaurant?”, I muffle.

“No, why? You don’t remember?”, he continues with the questions. I peel myself out of the cackoon.

“I don’t remember anything and it’s fucking stressful”, I panic. Honey takes my hands and kisses my knuckles.

“What happened happened, today is a new day”, he assures.

#monsta x fic #im changkyun #monsta x smut

46 notes · View notes

weltonreject · 3 years

Note

ok not to ramble about the same thing again But it rlly makes me so happy that my word vomit gushing about ur work to u can serve as a reminder of the love in the world that is waiting for whatever u will gift it when the time comes like i am so happy u are feeling more hopeful about publishing again bc i rlly rlly think u have so much talent and so i am Invested in that hope and Also !!! two novels, my head is spinning, again i Know these are like not coming out Immediately but i'm already imaging waking up in the morning on a day off making a nice coffee and sitting and reading or being on a train for hours but the time flying by bc i'm reading like Wow, i mean lowkey i have done that already with lost and stolen except that was a curled up in bed not even able to get up bc i was so entranced, but a physical book one day is just Wow and Two even more WOW so i am v excited for what the future holds in terms of u getting ur work even more out there, so anyway thank YOU bc rlly i am just giving u my unfiltered thoughts and u are giving beautiful stories and characters that will live in my mind forever (not the fairest exchange but i think it works) and also good luck with ur publishing lecture and thesis and everything else u are working on somewhat Immediately i am so excited for u <3 egr

ps i feel like i'm writing full on letters to u, i am truly so sorry i cannot condense any of my thoughts into anything less than a mini essay but i am sure the Spirit of my messages is worth it (hopefully)

Please! Write full letters! I already have a few Letter Correspondences going! I’ll add a wax seal and it’ll be official! I love writing lil digital letters to people-- even if sometimes I’m slow with conversation because I get communication fatigue super easily if I’m having a Hard Time (meaning, please don’t take any length of time it takes me to answer as any lack of affection, it’s JUST my brain being exhausted and not wanting to write insincerely).

BUT your unfiltered thoughts mean more than I think any of my polished stories ever could. I mean... what you said about my poorly thesis (I read her now and think OH i can’t wait to revamp her and be BETTER) makes me feel so... grateful to have all of you as my little hidden secret weapon for my writer’s confidence. I know I tell this story all the time but if it wasn’t for the people that have read my fics and supported my work on here of all places, I would have never applied to write my senior thesis (so NO lost & stolen) and would have never applied to grad school (so NO oct 1983 or Juniper and the Gardener 2.0). NOW look what your unfiltered words are doing! [I’m editing my manuscript finally and feeling really good about it somehow!!!]

I really hope one day you get to hold all three of my novels (three meaning, of the three I’m working on. I don’t plan on stopping at three... plEASE) and that all three bring you joy and some kind of company. And, if I can, I’ll sign ‘em and send them to y’all who have really Done The Most For Me. Which is all of you. All my publisher copies are going to y’all. That’s what I’m saying.

Not to ramble (my turn!!!) but again, thank you so so much for all of these messages. I appreciate you so much!!! You’re just! making my whole night!! (also idk your time zone but i know I’m Up Late, so you better get some sleep...)

-M.K

#long post #if you have a tag on here you get a book #i swear on it #EGR #asks #more letter correspondence #i should make a #mail call #tag so it can all go somewhere #Anonymous

1 note · View note

terfhunter420 · 4 years

Text

“how ya holding up?”

This is about how I'm “holding up” how I'm “doing” and if I “need anything” as a covidclerk because so many beautiful kind amazing stellar friends and otherwise have been asking me that more times than I can muster to answer, at some points. The long story short is “fantastic!!” because that's true – every letter of the word FANTASTIC has about a million facets intertwined within them.

Betwixt grief and global pandemic there is an incredible relationship. I have been through the standard stages of grief that I wholly know – I expect to cycle through them in multiples the longer this goes on, while always growing despite/in spite – I created new stages of grief that are probably related to the new type of cognitive dissonance I have mastered, and I have re-grieved the loss of my partner due to the fact that I can feel Nhiki laughing about the most reptilian parts of all this. The word GRIEF and the place of grief is not a triggering word or a scary place, rather, a declaration of floating just above the Earth – place of rest and reflection, a powerful position to be in for action and clarity. I don't want anyone to feel unsettled approaching me knowing I am cycling through a grieving process and I don't want anyone to feel spooked that I am answering with raw emotion.

DENIAL: what denial in a pandemic setting looks like is not true denial, per se. I'm not hoaxin' out or making light of the severity of the pneumonia and organ failure and cardiac arrest perpetuated by this virus. I am trying to absorb as much new information about how the virus behaves in the body and regurgitate harm reduction practices and efforts from each piece of new study. What denial has shown itself to be for me, as time has moved on and on and on, and every day I keep showing up to work in a fucking contagion zone, and I continue to remain healthy – even though I DID get sick when this all started – the more I am (hopefully, productively) twisting what must be fear into believing that I will be okay. I will stay alive. I am not dying from this. I can FEEL the sickening aura of tremendous outsider grief, and it's not colliding with my own. Which is interesting – I am empathic, and I have isolated my own grief from the rest? Is this something I can consider a level-up, or a form of denial? Have I sharpened a tool in my coping toolbox or have I dulled one?

ANGER: there is so much and it is not harmful. I am made of fire – my heart exists on fire – I am surrounded by salty chicks because they throw salt on my heartfire – I am knives – my knives are on fire! – I have a prayer to Lord Shiva tattooed on the base of my neck and it is vibrating constantly. OM NAMA SHIVAYA – wild destruction for the sake of wild growth. I WANT TO SEE THIS FAILED SYSTEM COLLAPSE. I MICRO/DOSE BELLADONNA TO BECOME ONE WITH THE ENTROPY. THERE IS NO FULL, CONTINUOUS UNITY and holy fuck is that scary or what! The response my own store took for basic safety measures was drip drip blackstrap molasses slow. The response the state has been unrolling has been drip drip pure unfiltered honey thick. The inappropriate responses of the TRUMP administration has been a maniacal outpouring of American vomit and bile foam. WHYYYYY of all presidents did this have to happen under this one? Well, some folks I know say it's because that's part of The Plan. I know what they're talking about. I hear them wide and clear – and it does not make sense for me to focus my energy exertion on processing the Grand Scheme of the Bourgeois and how it relates to global elite efforts. You begin saving the world one person at a time, after all. My biggest anger I have felt relates to the social conditioning that I felt like a threat to everyone around me, and everyone around me felt like an even bigger threat. That conditioning is nauseating so I have broken it.

BARGAINING: Should I keep my nails long or keep my nails short? Should I call out of work today? Should I lie about symptoms? I could keep my mouth shut at being placated or I could open it up and let the words fly out. Should I leave the cats to my mother or to a friend if I have to die? Should I spend time with this thoughtful chick? What if I cut most of my fingernails short? How do I get this guy to stop calling me a frontline hero and thanking me for my service? Can I trade spots with Nhiki for one day? What if I called out of work and said I needed a mental health day? What if I lied about symptoms just to get three days off and not two weeks off? What if I bought some scratch off lottery tickets? What if Nina met Death with me? How did I get here and how can I assure that I am never here again? HOW DO I GET OUT OF HERE?!?!? AM I TRAPPED WITH A METAPHORICAL GUN TO MY HEAD OR AM I JUST UNAFRAID? What if this is God (God is short for Good) placing me in a situation that I know I am meant for? How do I convince God (God is short for Good) that I am not meant for this? What if I convinced myself I am meant for this? Oh fuck it turns out I'm meant for this and it was insane to doubt thyself so much in the first place.

DEPRESSION & EXHAUSTION: My strongest trauma-bond is with the experience of helplessness. Living in a big helpless fury for weeks will lead to the inevitable: YANG flame snuffs and YANG must reignite itself. My candle wobbled, the YIN spilled everywhere. Now I have to carefully chip out the wick from the pool of wax, YIN poured up and out and over – tears, tears, tears – I had one night alone since this all started and I spent it in a heap on the ground full of trauma, remembering the way eyes with no life behind them roll in any direction that gravity takes 'em, being terrified that my baby would find me dead because that is the most horrific thing to go through, especially if that corpse wasn't supposed to die any time soon – tears, tears, tears – mourning the loss of our already fucked normalcy and expressing the fears of the future through screaming out to absolutely fucking no one. My face is puffy – and I need to work quick – because I'm too tired to keep going without my flame. What's that? I'm out of time?! TIME TO START TAKING TREMENDOUS AMOUNTS OF CBD. Oh god, perfect. All the serenity, without the cognitive hinderance... yeah baby, a global pandemic is what this shit was made for. At least something is made for this. Oh fuck, I have to remember I was made for this too. Not today – oh fuck, every day is today.

ACCEPTANCE: I am passionate. I am passionate for what my life means. I feel everything and everything and it is very beautiful. I love taking care of people, Nhiki taught me how to be taken care of. My life means help. My life means protection. My life means others are better from my existence – Yes – IT IS SYMBIOTIC, because that is WHAT MY LIFE MEANS. I am indeed a vessel for your sorrows and euphoria of all to flow through one side and come out the other sparkling and validated and warmed. How did I end up working in a vitamin department of a grocery store during a fucking global pandemic? HOW DIVINE THE NATURE OF TIMING – GOD IS SHORT FOR GOOD – ALL THINGS GOOD IN GOOD TIME. I assure you, dear customer, you will do everything I can so you won't die on my watch. My girls... you will not die because you are here, with me, and I love you. I have four beautiful girls in my house, and if I can keep them all fed, Dad is happy. I have a very important woman who has graced me with her presence, and if I can keep her feeling warm and smiling and appreciated, Dad is happy. The normalcy and it's failing systems can be collapsing all around me – somehow my world remains strong, remains in love, and remains standing – REMAINS GROWING AND PATIENT AND PROTECTIVE, as does my nature.

PASSIVE-AGGRESSION: I get passive aggressive at people who actively ignore the public health and safety standards imposed around me... apparently. You know I breathe in my own air for 40+ hours every week so it shouldn't be that much trouble for someone stopping by my store to do that for 40 minutes. Public Health is Selflessness. I feel like I work in an airport with the placating, gentle overhead announcements stuck betwixt the stepmom radio tracks reminding everyone of CDC guidelines and in-store signage instructions. The bright-but-not-abrasively-bright signage directing the flow of the public becomes such background noise that I almost forget it is there until I clean my glasses again or bump into it. I got a “talking to” by my bosses that I am passive aggressive. I probably am... Passive, Aggressive. This whole thing has been a balancing act between the two of these states and I think most moments I'd rather hop off that beam except I can't hop off it so it's a good thing my cautious vibe has taught me how to stay still.

COGNITIVE DISSONANCE: I was raised with the understanding that patience is the best virtue and the only acceptable state to operate from is “calm, cool, collected” – my whole life I've done hard work on balancing the importance of operating from that state with the equal importance of allowing my heart-on-fire to steady burn. Since pandemic started at the grocery store I have become LOUD AND OBNOXIOUS AND DANCING AND PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE ABOUT PUBLIC SAFETY AND HIGH AS FUCK ON CANNABINOIDS and have managed to balance that with MY REQUIREMENT to stay helpful and calm and knowledgable. I do active harm reduction with people that find themselves standing in front of me and a row of incredible forces of nature, looking for the slightest of anecdote for their respiratory/immune/blood/stress systems. And, WOW, gaining that footing in this new balance within a two month period of time has not been always graceful, or easy. Cognitive dissonance was required to achieve it and that's all on my brain's capacity to immediately shift my thought flow, like I have an internal sensory overload kill-switch.

LOVE: My Glorious Baby of Buttercups. You will thrive. I am your dad. I love you. You will always eat before me. I know you know that I know Death, baby. I convene with Death eagerly, and not one morning begins without immense gratitude to Death for Just. One. More. Day. “THANK YOU DEATH FOR SPARING MY LOVED ONES OF THE TRAGEDY THAT WILL BE THE LOSS OF ME. I LOVE YOU – BOOM SHANTI!!” The tip of my iceberg-on-fire of Love is a base idea that I want to give the world everyone... because every one deserves the goodness and glory of the world, and all it has to offer. God is short for Good. Beneath that sea surface, oh my god. It is inexpressible at best, the depths of passion I hold for the well wishes of everyone who has touched my soul. I thought before this pandemic I was already grieving everyone I know and love. I was attuned to mortality salience as sharply as could be. As I continue to know and love ANYONE, the more I grieve. Grief and Love is a tandem ride, and that is the most important lesson I have ever realized. Now, the tuning has only gotten FINER – like discovering a new energy wave that is actually measurable, the edges of my sword of feeling everything all the time are thinner and shinier and more deadly – Here and Now, I am digging pits of love and sorrow for strangers like never before. Reaching new rock bed foundations of my soul's capacity to care about the world and wanting everyone to be okay. Sparkly rock-beds! The infinite vast in my grief for my family, for my chosen family, for my Eastside community, for all of my girls leaves me in awe. I am unabashedly unafraid to speak to everyone and anyone. I MAY SAY I HAVE ALL OF THE TIME – I MAY SAY THAT YOU HAVE ALL OF THE TIME – THAT DOES NOT MEAN THAT YOU AND I HAVE ALL OF THE TIME. I refuse to squander all of this time not connecting.

And then – ohhh and then – as if Grief and Death and Life and Love have not unraveled me and twirled me back up often enough, the brightest softest Violet found herself around me, and I am stumbling, then falling, then floating for such a beauty and my grief for her is already so immense – despite all this newness, my grief for her feels ancient. Where she landed from I don't know – and where she'll go – I can't know. I think of her so gently, softly, and it turns out SHE IS GENTLE AND SOFT – so much meditation has been wishing I could more consciously grasp onto the first moment I saw her because that was the only point in time where I wasn't grieving her so immensely yet – because we caught on like my heart on fire and she can do anything she puts her mind to and she deserves to do anything she wants to do and I am privileged that it seems to be me that she wants to be held by and I'm really proud of her and I want everyone I love to meet her – sometimes it can feel really sad to be always grieving the people you love, and sometimes I question it by wondering if it pulls me away from the present – except when I realize, this practice is a mindfulness practice. GRIEF TEACHES YOU BALANCING PRESENT WITH PAST AND FUTURE BUT NOBODY ACES THESE PRACTICES ALL THE TIME, NOT EVEN DADDY.

AFTER YOU'RE GONE: NHIKI WHY DID YOU LEAVE US – OM NAMA SHIVAYA – NAM MYOHO RENGE KYO – it is always unfair (the word UNFAIR in this context is my inner child speaking) that no matter what is happening that you are not here experiencing it with me. Everything I have experienced since you left our Earthly bond (despite the beauty or despite the turmoil of it) has a permanent burnt tinge of envy of your celestial nature, with your concave shadow (this reformation of my heart) upon it. We could have pandemic'd successfully together – although we may not have known how to do this so easily as I have been without the knowledge I gained from the Death of You – now its just me and my Dad Energy digging all this out, and feeling you're just above up next to me – my missing you is so TANGIBLE it can manifest the whole energy of a room into the shape of your eyebrows, your teeth with the light from the window hitting the spit on them, your hands cracked/tracked open, or healed back shut – whatever you want. I can hear you: “You're so beautiful, Ems!” – and I can hear your bells go off and your tuning fork go off and I can feel you holding me and I can feel the REGRET IN EVERY NUCLEOUS REPLICATING WITH EACH NEW STRAND OF RNA – (REGRET HAS BEEN AN EPIGENETIC TRAIT OF MINE FOR FIVE HUNDRED AND SIXTY DAYS) – regret! about missing our night-time snuggle on our last night together! October 25 2018 was my last chance to hold you and I squandered it – because I fell asleep early – because you were high high high and the next day you finally got high enough and I am here, NOW: sometimes floating over this ground made of griefy-lovey sand dunes not wanting to use the full effort of my toes to keep my feet on the ground for too long, anymore. I do it anyway, with a full understanding of how to fix exhaustion. My grief for you is just love, with nowhere to go – and my grief is thusly my safest resting place. To wander my thoughts in my boundless love for you is to reset, relax, detach from any superficial misery and behold the most powerful thing: EVERYTHING. I remember what the soft edge of your ear feels like on the tip of my nose. I remember feeling the soft edge of your ear with the tip of my nose, and thinking, I need to remember this feeling for the rest of my life because you might not be here for it.

EUPHORIA: I grew a mustache. I left peak fertility and I have never felt more FULL of life.

CREATIVE OVERTAKING: I can see how one may deduct the opposite of “fantastic” based on the raw emotion I openly spew up and out and over. Except... thinking deeply, I couldn't feel so outwardly expressive and creatively fired if I wasn't feeling fantastic. I hold rage and serenity together, I hold grief and love together, I hold water and fire together, I hold anxiety and creativity together. Since the pandemic settled, my creative outlets have expanded into almost every thing I am up to. I made a crossword, I am making collages, I made a painting, I am wandering the neighborhood and being in awe of how lucky I am, I am making up silly songs, I am reading, I am making up love songs, I created a prettier place to sleep, I am wool felting, I am stringing my thoughts together with a new mindfulness level-up, I am etching new facets to listen with in my ears. That's the coolest part...

LISTENING: Throughout my life, I have admired most the people who can make you feel like the only person in a crowded room with how intently and wholly they listen to you. My grandparents, several grandparents. Nine times out of ten, these inspirations in the mastery of listening are people are significantly older than me. Listening is a lifelong practice, after all, so I am naturally in awe of those who have had the most time to practice. I have made it a point to cultivate this ability from an early age. Sometimes, it takes a fucking pandemic to further sharpen your coping skill tools – and your listening skills, too. I think as well, with fleetingly meeting Death more and more often as time goes on, the ability to listen more sharply naturally strengthens. Nothing is worse that not being able to remember what someone sounds like, feels like, looks like – and most importantly, their unique characteristics and mannerisms displayed when talking about something they love.

So these are the classic stages of grief and the newfound stages of grief that I am cycling betwixt and down and over and out. That may or may not answer the question of “how are you doing?” and it's the best way I can answer that one.

I get asked “how ya holding up?” and I'm wondering if that is the same inflection as the previous question, although I could take it for a spin relating to my direct physical position during these moments in time. My back hurts, but it's not terrible most days. My feet hurt, but not most days. I am fed, for most days. My menstruation got wild. My world is not collapsing, I am getting paid, the state gave me back my tax dollars and sent me a cheque for some future tax refunds of mine, I have four beautiful critters to quarantine with. I cook for them, I buy us everything we want, we get El Oasis sometimes, and I come home and the dishes are done.

I come home and the dishes are done was a thing that hadn't happened to me since my Nhiki stopped spoiling me on this plane of reality, so, it's a really special and thoughtful thing that I am treated to – and have been treated to for two months. For a long time after Nhiki left us I unconsciously stopped accepting help with physical things like bringing groceries from the car or carrying things or chores or having my food paid for or help on house maintenance and it has become a new complexity of my grieving process: to allow others to give me physical help that they believe I deserve from them, even if the thought never crossed my mind to ask. No I certainly don't have to do everything just because I don't mind doing everything. It is a special symbiosis and I have been so humbled by my baby buttercup. I love taking care of her – without feeling like I am literally taking care of her, because she loves taking care of me, without feeling like she is literally taking care of me.

Taking care of others – LOVE AND CARE is the only thing that moves me and things and time along. Time suspends when I am useless. And time suspension, well, that's a creepy fucking thing when you live majority of your consciousness on a linear plane of reality. Luckily for me there is literally/technically everyone available to love and care for. Even more luckily, I need not seek anyone. They are dancing down their own paths and those paths happen to collide with mine, and it is beautiful. How am I holding up? Um, considering I have so many fantastical souls I have the honor of caring for – I AM holding up. Not how, just am.

My boss quit our job a few days ago, and I was welcomed into her magical home. There is a deep ethereal bond between two people who have lost big loves to an untimely tragedy. Hers was five years ago – her heart aches for my measly eighteen months. My heart aches for her knowing what she's felt for so long. We talked about the guilt of waking up every day feeling good about being alive. Our loves wouldn't want it any other way, and yet... the void left behind when their suffering finally changed from theirs to ours is a big and trippy one. “Strong people” choose to fill that void with joy, we are both “strong people” although, if anyone asked us personally if we feel strong... we may disagree. Strong is the wrong word. The fact of the matter is, there is no other choice – except to crumble. And, when you are needed – when you have people to care for and attend to, the choice to crumble becomes a non-issue, a non-reality. LOVE IS EVERYTHING, and I feel everything – I am a fully feeling being. DEATH does not stop the fire that tells its story and moves within me. Absolutely not, it only makes the blues deeper and heartier, and the bright more blinding in its awe and heat. In heaven there is no heat, I've heard. Until then: I AM BURNING AND COVERED IN SALT and my business card says “Call me if your love drops dead, I know how you feel.”

The question of “do you need anything?” directed at me will only move me to flip that question back at the bearer. Do YOU need anything? Because baby, I have everything. Other than flipping the question back I tend to tell people “what I need is for you to follow the public health and safety guidelines to the best of your ability” and “stay safe” and “if you think of anything I need or want I would be honored” and I like to hope that is a creative prompt. The kind gestures and thoughtfulness I have experienced off my friends? Oh, they have taken flight with said prompt – soared! – and have filled my heart up!! Lovely!

People intuitively understand kindness, care, love, compassion. Yes these things are practices and yes they are mindfulnesses and every person still has all of this within them. This is the key understanding I try to keep at the forefront of my head, especially when protestors/outsiders storm my city to hold a Trump rally. Their anger is misdirected. Damn every safety net that was spun of illusion and damn every systemic failing that has led to a dramatic display of these human beings wearing their rifles around my downtown. Maybe because my world is so full of kindness, and love, and beauty, and patience... that I failed to remember these sorts of protests/gatherings would indeed happen the longer this shutdown went on. And HEY that’s WONDERFUL fuck remembering that.

Clearly the trifecta of my existence is LOVE and ENTROPY and MUTUAL AID – so to all of you wonderful humans who only reach out to ask me “how i'm doing” and “how i'm holding up” I want you to remember that simply you, thriving in all your glory, makes me proud to be alive and knowing you – and remember that I am constantly betwixt the sparkles of grief and love and anger and serenity and exhaustion and vibrance. So, nothing much with me has changed, even though I have overheard once or twice the theory that “everything” has changed, except the world that changed is not mine – because EVERYTHING IS LOVE. Remember to tell me about yourselves to me. I want to know how you feel, too. Because you matter, and you are essential, and so am I, and we are EVERYTHING.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

#covidclerk howareyoudoing howareyouholdingup doyouneedanything love mutualaid entropy

3 notes · View notes

uzumaki-rebellion · 5 years

Text

Stark’s New Intern Chp. 5

Summary: Giselle helps Erik help Maria. And then some...

C.W. : Mature Content. NSFW. As always.

youtube

"If at first you don't succeed Dust yourself off, and try again You can dust it off and try again, try again Cause if at first you don't succeed Dust yourself off, and try again You can dust it off and try again, dust yourself off and try again, try again

I'm into you, you into me? But I can't let it go, so easily. Not 'till I see, where this could be, could be eternally, or just week. You know our chemistry, it's off the chain. It's perfect now, but will it change? This ain't a yes, this ain't a no. Just do your thang, and we'll see how it goes…"

Aaliyah - "Try Again"

"I'm soooo sorry!" Maria wailed as Giselle held back her hair as she continued to wretch into the bathroom toilet once they were secure in their shared domain. Eventually, Giselle was able to get Maria cleaned up and into her own room.

Erik made an anonymous phone call to the complex manager to let them know there were chunks floating in the jacuzzi and that the entire area needed to be drained and disinfected. He showered and brushed his teeth in the bathroom and threw their swimsuits into the apartment washer to be cleaned. He scrubbed the toilet and sink with Lysol. Twice.

"Erik was just trying to help me not be a virgin, and then I just threw up—"

"That's not what was happening," Erik stressed to Giselle when he went back to check on them. Maria's head was bent over a wastebasket on the side of her bed. She held a small clear trash bag in her hand. There were several laid out next to her on the bed.

"I wanted to kiss Holden, but I've never kissed anyone before, and Erik was showing me how to not be nervous about kissing, and then I…bwwerppp—"

Erik had to leave Maria's bedroom once her vomiting came back full force. After an hour passed, Maria was well enough to brush her teeth again and throw away all the trash bags she had used. Erik sat in the living room wondering what Giselle was thinking.

"I put her to bed with several more trash bags near her head in case she can't reach the bathroom. You might want to check on her to make sure she doesn't vomit in her sleep. You look a hot mess too," Giselle said.

"I wasn't trying to be her first. All I did was give her a peck on the lips to help her—"

Giselle held up a hand.

"I got the entire story."

Erik let out a heavy sigh of relief. Giselle plopped down next to him on the couch.

"What a night," she said.

"Tell me about it."

"Did you really have to punch Wesley?"

Erik's face turned hard.

"He came at me wrong."

"He only did that to get a rise out of you and you fell right into his trap. You have to act a lot more mature if you're going to do well here, Erik."

His age.

That's what was turning her off from him. And damn if he didn't act like a young knucklehead in front of her by knocking the shit out of Wesley. Right out of his chanclas. The giggle fits started again and he couldn't help himself.

"What is so funny?"

Her expression was so perplexed that he knew he had no chance with her. And that made him laugh more.

"I knocked that nigga straight outta his flip flops!"

They could hear Maria from her bedroom laughing loudly with him again.

"Both of you need to sleep this off," Giselle said standing up and heading for the front door.

Erik grabbed his cell and stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Hold up, I'll walk you back to your apartment," he said stepping into his slides once more.

"I made it over here on my own. I can make it back by myself."

"I'm coming with you anyway," he said.

She didn't speak to him as he walked with her. The cool air cleared his head and he resigned himself to being a non-entity with Giselle. She wasn't vibing with him at all and it was just as well since she thought he was immature. And probably horny too after catching him kiss Maria.

Giselle's apartment was far away from his own and that was just another sign.

"Why did you come back over?" he asked.

His question caught her off guard. They stood in front of her apartment door. She lived in a first- floor unit. Her eyes avoided his face.

"You're not going to answer my question?"

Giselle finally looked him in the eye.

"I just came back to see if you were okay. You and Maria were drinking a lot, and still in the jacuzzi when everyone left."

"You were worried about me."

Erik smiled and moved a little closer to her, trying to get his flirt on. She stepped back from him.

"It's not a good look to be the sloppy drunk at a mixer."

"We weren't the only ones—"

"But you're not white. You stand out. Everyone is already watching your every move because of what Mr. Stark said at the first orientation. Be smart about your shit, Erik."

"Maybe I should hang around people like Roland," he said with a bit of sarcasm tinged in his voice.

"Maybe you should."

"I was trying to hang with you but you kept ignoring me."

"I wasn't ignoring you—"

"Yes, you were. Every time I walked over to you, you left me hanging like I had the plague. I thought we were cool—"

"We are cool—"

"Nah, you weren't feeling me at all. You even left with Roland."

"I went to make sure Wesley was okay and that you wouldn't get into any trouble. You could've really hurt him, Erik. Killed him—"

"I swear y'all act more worried about these assholes—"

Erik tried to catch himself before he really went off. He could feel his quick anger rising in his chest.

"Then don't act like an ass yourself—"

"Oh…so I'm the ass for checking a lil bitch coming at me for no reason? Fuck outta here—"

"Why do you get worked up so fast? Chill, nigga," she said.

"I'm not getting worked up!" he shouted, irritated that she was talking to him like he was some random hood boy.

"I know you not tryna get loud with me because we can go there!"

Erik's neck tilted to the side. The Baltimore was coming out of her when she clapped her hands at him like she was ready to throw down. That cultivated and polite intern she displayed earlier had switched up real quick. He liked this version of Giselle. This one right here was making his dick chub up. There was something about a woman who didn't back down from him that got him excited fast.

"Let's go there then!"

He came at her full-throated and took up all the space between them, nudging her back against her apartment door.

"You wanna be a mouthy bitch, then be about it!" he demanded.

His eyes narrowed and he felt his nostrils flare. His dick was hard as granite and pressing deep into his jeans, aiming right at her. His hormones were all over the place just being next to her. She breathed heavily aware that she couldn't move past him with her body blocked by his. He was taller too, and his face was right down next to hers. He was ready to fuck or fight this woman.

"All I wanted to do was talk to you all night," he whispered to her.

She didn't push him away when he let his body brush against hers. His erection touched her hip and her eyes dropped down to look at the hard bulge in his pants. She closed her eyes and let her head tilt back until it was touching the door.

"I'm not here for this, Erik."

"I think you came back to see me for this. But then you saw me kiss Maria. Tell me I'm right about that. That's why you left. You thought I was hooking up with her and got mad."

Giselle's eyes looked away from his once more and he smiled.

"Running around in that bikini knowing I was watching you. You were tryin' to get my dick hard for you. Admit it."

"A lot of people were wearing bikinis, Erik. I wasn't wearing it to show off just for you. Be serious."

She still wouldn't look at him, but he felt her hip grinding against his stiffness.

"We can handle this right now," he said allowing his hands to drop down and grip her waist.

Her mouth parted slightly and he could only think about kissing those lips that he had been pining away for all week. Every time she spoke to him about the most mundane things at the Stark offices, he could only daydream about being alone with her. She had no idea how badly he wanted to hold her…touch her all over…let his lips drift over hers and down her body. It was torture for him to watch her stick to Roland's side, her soft skin pressed next to the dull flesh of a man unworthy of her brains and beauty. It irked the shit out of him that she wouldn't even sit next to him in the jacuzzi for a few minutes but was willing to swim with Roland for over an hour. But here she was now, almost panting with him so close to her. He could see she was mentally fighting her attraction to him, doing her best to keep from looking at his eyes directly. His unfiltered desire was reflected there.

"Take me to your room," he urged, letting his head dip down to her neck. He kissed her there, his soft lips lingering, waiting for her to consent to whatever she would allow him to do for her. He would eat her pussy, suck her toes, lick her ass cheeks…whatever she wanted he was down for. Maybe she would let him pull her braids while he hit it hard and deep from the back…

"Let's just keep our relationship professional," she finally whispered back to him.

He closed his eyes with disappointment. His Baltimore babe was curving him. He was going to have to walk back to his apartment with a nine-inch boner cutting into the denim of his pants.

"Fuck," he said. He didn't mean to say it out loud in front of her, but he was upset. She had him worked up and would have him worked up all summer more than likely. Maybe she was saving herself for that boring white boy Roland.

"You should go back and look in on Maria."

You should play with my dick.

He wanted to say that to her. He wasn't above begging at that point. He dreaded walking back carrying all that hard weight between his legs.

"Can I use your restroom at least?" he asked.

Her eyes looked suspicious of his motives.

"Lemme take a piss and get this shit down. You want me walking in on Maria like this?"

Giselle laughed and opened her apartment door. The layout was the same as his and he went straight to the bathroom.

He lifted up the toilet seat and gripped his shit, aiming it for the center. His nutsack was tight, and urinating wasn't helping to relieve his problem. He had to step back and tilt his hips and penis to keep from peeing on the seat and the floor. Taking a piss was always tough with a hard-on and he had difficulty voiding his bladder with his urethra pinched tight from all the blood engorged down there.

Flushing the toilet, he scrubbed his hands clean with her scented mango liquid soap.

"Who are you roommates with?" he called out when he heard her in the living room.

"I don't have one yet," she said.

"Yet? How did that happen?"

"My roommate is coming later next week. Late arrival to the internship."

"Lucky," he muttered.

He adjusted his dick, but his erection wouldn't go away.

"You okay in there?" she called to him.

"Give me a minute…damn. You got my shit standing at attention. It doesn't just go away like that."

He was annoyed with her now. He heard her turn on the tv. Waiting patiently for his penis to relax, he tried thinking of things that would deflate the problem. All his thoughts were of Giselle's warm frame against his.

He was going to have to work it out the only way he knew how.

He unfastened his jeans and let them fall to his knees. Pulling down his boxer briefs he released his erection and watched the turgid deep brown flesh bob in front of the bathroom sink. Three small pearls of pre-cum seeped from his slit and he used his fingers to slide it around his tip until it glistened with more that dripped out of him.

His left hand held onto the sink as his right hand gripped the underside of his fat mushroom cap. Veins were already swelling on the top and underside of his rigid manhood. The tension of the night needed an immediate release. And if he had to nut in Giselle's sink to reach equilibrium, that's what the fuck he was going to do.

He started pumping his fist, pissed that he was rutting into his own hand instead of Giselle's. He hadn't had pussy since he left D.C. He thought for sure he would get some after visiting his Grandpop in Oakland before flying down to Los Angeles, but that trip had been filled with visits to extended family and friends and he had no time to roam his old stomping grounds. Even his favorite babe Sauda, who he had been fucking in the East Bay since he was sixteen, was out of town. He needed to get his dick wet, or sucked, or jerked off. And he wanted Giselle to do it.

The spank bank in his mind thought of her in that red crochet bikini, small titties sitting high, slender hips unable to hide the mini donk she slung on that back. She had a deceiving figure, lean and athletic looking from the front, but the moment she turned around…all bets were off. Visions of her sliding in and out of the heated pool flitted through his brain. Water rolling off of her skin made her glisten like the perfect wet dream. He could see himself untying that bikini top, freeing her breasts for his tongue and pliant lips. He could also see himself wrapping those strong legs of hers around his hips while he fucked her in the water, yanking on those dark ropes of hair that dripped down her back. He would serve her that good dick, let that B-more pussy get stretched out wide by some Oaktown pipe.

"Oh…shit…" he mumbled, curling his lips to try and keep noise to a minimum. He touched the base of his dick and could feel the pulse of his entire body rooted down there. His fingers slid back up and circled his frenulum, twisting the sensitive flesh until he could feel his toes bunching up in his slides.

"Are you okay-?"

Giselle stepped into the bathroom and watched him beat off over her sink. The lustful heat in his eyes sought out relief in hers. He was turned on, even more, staring at her in the mirror as he worked his thick shaft.

"Got me in here doing this," he hissed at her, no shame in his stroke game as he fisted himself harder, his dick swelling between his slick fingers. A long clear string of pre-cum oozed down onto her sink and he groaned.

Giselle rested her chin on his shoulder and watched his face as his jaw went lax. Her left hand snaked around his waist and lifted up his t-shirt so she could see the muscles in his chest and abs. Her thumb and index finger pulled his nipple and his breath hitched. Her right hand reached around and gripped his dick for him. He released it and let her jerk him off.

"Fuck…Erik…you're so thick…so hot to the touch," she gasped.

Her fingers and palm squeezed and twisted his dick, molding themselves around him like they were supposed to be there all the time. He squeezed his balls and her eyes stared down at the heft he held there for her. She pressed her midsection into him and he reached back to hold onto her ass.

"You gon' make me bust," he huffed, "go a little faster, baby…yeah…faster…make me cum girl."

She pinched his nipple hard and they both watched his dick shoot out thick streams of semen all over her sink.

"Keep going…I got more…I got more!"

She fisted him harder and his thick ejaculate fell in loud plops onto the lip of the sink.

"Erik…"

"Fuck!" he yelled when a final spurt shot out and coated a glass cup that held a brand-new toothbrush.

Giselle's hand was drenched with his cum. She squeezed her arms around his waist not even caring about the mess he had made all over her bathroom. There was even semen on the floor.

Erik took a deep shuddery breath and then ran water in the sink to clean his hands. Giselle handed him a clean washcloth and helped him clean up her bathroom. When things were back in order and pristine once more, she finally looked him in the eye. He could tell she was turned on by him. What he wouldn't give to slip his fingers into her panties and pluck at the bud that had to be tingling between her thighs. He wanted to drop to his knees and pull down her shorts. Plant his face and tongue in her folds.

"I thought maybe you had gotten sick," she said.

"Sure you did," he said with a smirk on his face.

"Seriously, I did—"

"So that was keeping our relationship professional?"

"I still want that."

"You can have that, and a little bit more," he said. He stepped in to kiss her and she closed the distance, her lips crashing into his. His age meant nothing to her now because she eagerly suckled his tongue. He dropped the fingers of his right hand down to brush across her mound hidden behind her thin polyester shorts. She was warm down there, the heat from between her legs causing his dick to jump again. He pressed his fingers into the material knowing he was hitting her clit with the gentle circles he gave her there.

"You real wet right now, huh?" he asked.

Her glassy-eyed stare told him she was dripping. He was going to enjoy teasing her until she was begging for his dick. The way she was squirming on his hand, he knew it wouldn't take long. He pushed into her clit harder making his circular motions more intense. She was moaning and widening her thighs for him. He was ready to play all in her pussy but he felt his cell vibrate in his pocket.

"Maria?" Giselle asked as she reached for his chest.

"Shit," he muttered as he looked at the screen. He brushed her hands away. Walking out of her bathroom he answered his phone.

"It has become apparent that you need adult supervision, Stevens."

Giselle could hear Tony's aggravated voice from his phone.

"I just got a call from Congressman Bretts in Washington, in the middle of the goddamn night yelling at me that his son was assaulted under my watch. Are you really trying to sabotage your career before you even have one?"

"That was all on him—"

"I want to see you in my office first thing in the morning. Eight sharp. We need to discuss if you can handle being here…or not."

The call ended abruptly.

Giselle heard every single word.

"Blowback," Erik whispered to her.

He left Giselle's apartment ready to pack up and head back to Oakland.

Fuck Wesley.

Fuck his daddy too.

And fuck Stark Industries.

###

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Tag List:

@fonville-designs @soufcakmistress @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon @thadelightfulone @allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky @raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514 @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling @chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry @honeytoffee

#stark's new intern #killmonger #tony stark #n'jadaka #erik stevens #black panther fanfiction

45 notes · View notes

admiraltitmouse · 5 years

Text

Some Reddie fluff with smutty undertones.

1350 words

Shit was getting weird.

More than what Richie or Eddie bargained for. Of course returning to your home town you could hardly remember--clearly your brain blocking out a lot of shit wouldn't be a luxury vaction. Though it wouldn't explain why Richie couldn't recall the good moments from his childhood either, something else was going on, there was something wrong with Derry.

Eddie was one of the people that were in all the good memories that were coming back to him. Their relationship was odd, if it was anyone else that Richie's unfiltered relentless jokes were directed to he would have had his teeth kicked in. Eddie as a kid would hate to admit it but he liked the attention--he knew in some weird way the jokes were Richie's way to express his love.

Richie was in his room of the Inn. The sun had been down for hours and chances were the rest of the gang were fast asleep. Being a borderline insomniac Richie occupied his time drinking whiskey, scribbling jokes down in his note book and pacing the room while he thought. He finished what was left of the whiskey in his glass before setting it down on the side table. The glass knocked against the wood drowning out the knocks on the door, it wasn't until the sound continued that Richie processed what was happening, standing in his boxers he frantically looked around for some pants.

"just a minute" he said loud enough for his guest to hear.

"stop jerking off and let me in" Eddie spoke from the other side of the door.

Richie's brows perked and his eyes widened. He stopped his search for his pants and went to the door, opening it a crack to see a distressed Eddie, his hands fidgeting and his eyes fixated on his shoes. Richie opened the door the rest of the way, "what's up Ed's?" his tone was concerned, Eddie looked at Richie and smiled slightly "I am freaking out, Richie" Eddie told him with a shrug of his shoulders, Richie placed his hand on his shoulder, human contact comforts some, or so he is told, "come in, I'll fix you a drink and we can talk about it" Richie stepped out of his way to let him in, he closed the door behind them and returned to thr bottle of whiskey and glass he left on the side table.

He poured a half glass for Eddie who was now sitting on Richie's bed, Eddie took the glass and sipped it as Richie took a swig out of the bottle. Richie knew well enough he wasn't the right person to talk about what the fuck was going on but he would do anything to help Eddie feel better. Richie joined him on the end of the bed. Richie's weight bringing Eddie closer to him as he sunk into the mattress, Richie made a face of 'well fuck, no more late night burger runs' and Eddie made a half smile and soft chuckle as their shoulders bumped together.

Richie smiled at Eddie but it faded when he remembered he was on a verge of a panic attack less than 5 minutes ago "what's on your mind, Eds?"

"so much...It, the fact we are all probably going to die, I am mad I forgot so much, I am mad I forgot about you and that I married that cow. I have wasted my life and now I am going to die-" he started to spiral.

"-hey, hey, hey. You aren't going to die" Richie assured him, though definitely not believing his own words, he had his own fears. There was silence between them again and Eddie let out heavy sigh. Richie had his impulse to lighten any situation and like word vomit he broke the silence with "didn't realize you were into beastiality Eds" He had a shit eating grin on his face. "fuck you" was all Eddie could say. They both laughed and fell silent again.

"I have missed you without knowing I missed you, does that make any sense" Eddie spoke again. Richie made Eddie feel something that he was longing for this past 27 years, he felt complete. Richie looked at Eddie, pained by what he was hearing and seeing, a broken man. Richie thought he was the only broken one in the group- they all had their problems. Richie stood and took another swig of the bottle of whiskey before setting it down. His heart was racing and his mind going a mile a minute, emotions boiling to a peak. He started to pace, back and forth a few times before Eddie stood infront of him, Richie stopped before he could bump into him. Eddie wrapped his arms around his torso. He frowned as he slowly wrapped his arms around Eddie's shoulders. He embraced him, tightening his grasp. Eddie nuzzled his head on Richie's chest and Richie had his chin resting on his head.

"I've missed you s-so much, Eddie" Richie told him, his voice cracking, his arms tightened around Eddie again. To Richie confessing that he missed him was like saying he loved him. Richie did love Eddie but Eddie was a married man- and he didn't want to complicate Eddie's life any more than it already was-at least that was the reason Richie convinced himself not to kiss him right here and now. In reality Richie feared regection, he couldn't risk losing Eddie, not now, not after just getting him back.

Richie had one hand between Eddie's shoulder blades and the other with his fingers laced in his hair. Eddie had let out a soft, content hum. His eyes were closed and he felt calm, "this is nice." Eddie commented, Richie's heart fluttered "if anyone came in here, they'd think we are gay." Richie replied, his word vomit. Eddie let go of Richie and Richie relunctently let go of Eddie, regretting what he said because it was indeed very nice. Eddie was staring at Richie, and Richie shifted in his spot a little uncomfortable by Eddie's gaze.

"what?" Richie piped up,

"just making sure you look as stupid as you sound"

"verdict?"

"your stupidity is incurable and spreading"

He replied, before bringing his hands to both sides of Richie's face, along his jawline, bringing him down to his level to kiss him. Their lips pressed against each other, soft biting and licking. The passion between them growing as the kiss deepened, Richie's hands also craddled Eddie's jawline. There was no space between them their bodies pressed together. Eddie's thigh grinded on Richie's groin. Their hands moved from each other's faces and now explored eachother's bodies, unsure what to touch or grab. This was new territory for them, to be with someone they actually cared for- to feel real passion.

"fuck.." Richie moaned against Eddie's lips as they parted. He grabbed his own growing erection, giving himself a slight tug "Sorry" he apologized feeling as if he had ruined a nice moment between them with his desire to fuck him. Eddie's cheeks went red, he looked at his tenting boxer shorts and smiled widely, pleased with himself.

"are you just fucking with me?" Richie panicked, remembering being bullied and fucked with as a teen. He was genuinely afraid that no one could care for him and that everyone was messing with him. "you're such a fucking idiot, Richie Tozier" Eddie exclaimed loudly his arms flailing as he start muttering nonsense. Richie felt foolish and embarrassed. Eddie was still baffled and was going off about Richie's comment, Richie tuned it out as his embarrassment faded and a smile formed on his face "-of course I love you, you idiot." Eddie blurted out. That, Richie heard. Eddie was like a deer in headlights, his dark brown eyes widening. Richie couldn't stop grinning, he lifted up Eddie and spun him around, beyond thrilled to hear those words, "Ha, ha. You love me" he said, impersonating Nelson from The Simpsons as he set him down.

"I love you too, Eddie Spaghetti"

"don't call me that."

#I can't write #But reddie makes me want to #Reddie #Richie Tozier #Eddie kaspbrak #It chapter 2 #it 2019 #Be kind

28 notes · View notes

unsuspecting-writer · 5 years

Text

Halos & Bone

Inspired by dialogue number 14 of this post

Word count: 1,239

Warnings: Gore, implied NSFW content, 16+ recommended

Author’s Note: I do apologize in advance if there is any typos, and would you be a dear and tell me if you find any? And I also apologize if it is trash, as this is my first fanfiction. Hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was it.

This was the end.

The air was sticky, the high humidity making the heat almost unbearable. The slight breeze was welcoming to the exposed flesh of your arms, the cool fingers brushing against your heated skin and quivering form, the wind whispering indecipherable words to your ears. Dry dirt and grit dug into your palms with a fierce bite as you forced yourself backwards, crawling frantically until your bruised back hit the wall, face flushed from tears and your left eye swollen shut. Your one good eye was glued to the gun pointed point-blank at your head, the barrel glinting dangerously in the light of the dive bar’s back window. An arrogant smirk was plastered onto the filthy low-life’s face, revealing two nasty rows of yellow, crooked teeth as he watched you stare at him with a wide, terrified eye.

That sick bastard is enjoying this! You realized with utter disgust and anger, sparking a small flame, slowly eating away at the fear that had rendered you immobile just moments ago.

“W-what do you want from me?” You tried to growl, but it ended coming out as a tentative squeak, betraying the rage that you held inside your chest.

“Oh, I think ya know exactly what I want,” the sad excuse of a man darkly chuckled, the smell of liquor overpowering on his breath as he licked his lips, eyes glazed over and slowly trailing up and down your body hungrily. You felt your blood run cold as he inched closer, the small ember of anger being overrun by freezing horror as you tried to scramble to your feet, only to be shoved back into the wall, the man’s powerful forearm crushing your throat, a gloved hand to cover your mouth, and the massive bulk of his body pinning you to the ground, trapping you.

With the low-life’s face only inches away from yours, he sneered angrily, his breath so strong it made you gag and want to vomit, “And where the hell do ya think y’er goin’? I ain’t even had my fun yet.”

“And ya won’t get it, neither.”

A loud gunshot then sounded, making your ears ring from the bang and you watched in shock as the side of your attacker’s head exploded, making blood, skull fragments, and brain matter scatter out onto the dust, wetting the cursed ground of the West with more blood of the damned. The man’s body was knocked off of you from the sheer force of the blast, allowing you to greedily breathe in some sweet oxygen into your battered lungs. Harsh coughs then raked through your body, pain like white hot lightning flashing through your chest, making you keel over and wrap your arms around your stomach in the fetal position.

As you waited for the pain to subside, you heard the jangle of spurs and noticed dusty, scuffed cowboy boots walking in your direction, stopping next to your head. You mustered the energy to look up at him when he kneeled beside you, observing your savior with unfiltered wonder as you took in his features. Honey brown eyes stared down at you like a hawk, brown hair peaking out from under his tan cowboy hat, stubble tastefully accenting his angular jaw and sun-kissed skin. A red serape was wrapped around his broad shoulders and draped over his left metal prosthetic arm, barely visible in the dim light. A lit cigar hung limply from his lips, illuminating his face as he seemed to inspect you, his eyes lazily analyzing your body, eyes lingering on the scrapes and the bruises appearing on your arms, before coming to rest on your face.

Usually you’d be able to meet and keep anyone’s gaze, but when you met this stranger’s eyes, you couldn’t help but blush and turn away bashfully. You couldn’t tell whether it was because you found this man attractive or the fact that he had just probably saved your life. Maybe it was both.

He grunted as he offered his gloved hand to you, his deep, southern drawl capturing your attention, “Can ya stand, darlin’?”

You nodded slowly, not sure if you could respond without blubbering like a fool. Gently taking his hand, he steadily pulled you to your feet, the dust clinging to your tattered clothes and bruised skin. After the stranger made sure that you were balanced, he turned towards the dead body, staring at it with such hatred that you thought that if he stared at it any harder, the body would burst into flames. Your savior took the cigar out of his mouth and stepped on it, mumbling something under his breath far too low for you to hear as he stomped towards the body. Grabbing the back of the low-life’s shirt collar, he dragged the body out from behind the dive bar, leaving drag marks and blood in his wake.

Far too intrigued by this strange man, you followed him, using the walls as support. It took a minute or two, but eventually you were able to find him strapping the body to the back of a huge, jet black stallion, tied to a post in front of the bar. He was checking the straps as you appeared from the shadows, making him cast a glance in your direction.

“Thank you so much, sir,” you croaked, voice scratchy and dry, but filled with pure awe. “What do I owe you?”

“Jus’ stay outta back alleys and dive bars, darlin’. I won’t be there ta save ya a second time,” he warned, eyes holding a strange glint that you didn’t recognize, but you were so filled with relief and gratitude that you’d live another day that it didn’t bother you.

“You’re an angel,” you whispered, mostly to yourself, but the strange man somehow seemed to hear you as he spat on the ground in rage.

He climbed onto his steed with the ease of an experienced rider, eyes like molten daggers as he snarled lowly at you, venom dripping from his words “Jus’ ‘cause I fight on the angel’s side, don’t go thinkin’ me as one of ‘em.”

Just as he finished speaking, the full moon peaked out from behind the black storm clouds, shining down on the stranger, making you stumble backwards and almost scream in absolute terror. The handsome cowboy that you had met was no longer in front of you. In his place, was a creature with ghastly pale skin and pure white hair. His cheerful red serape was now a tattered, deep purple with a skull design that you don’t remember being there before. The cowboy hat was now black, and he now wore a black bandanna that covered the bottom half of his face, a skull mouth design on it as well. Hell, even his horse was now deathly pale, and possibly even slightly opaque? But the most dramatic change was his eyes. They were no longer the warm, honey brown that you were blown away by, but now glowed an unnatural neon green. They looked through you, staring directly into the deepest, darkest parts of your soul. You never felt so violated.

As the moon was driven back into the cloud cover, the creature masquerading as a man kicked his mount and screamed a blood-curdling, ghostly yee-haw before taking off into the stormy night, the drag marks and the blood from the corpse being the only indicator that he was ever there.

#Overwatch #ow #overwatch jesse mccree #ow mccree #undead jesse mccree #undead mccree #fanfiction #xreader #x reader #gender netural reader #my writing #writing #gore #jess McCree x reader #mccree x reader #undead mccree x reader

36 notes · View notes

redsrandomrants · 5 years

Text

Let Me Tell You Why You're Wrong About Pink Diamond💎

**spoilers for the show Steven Universe if you aren't caught up**

A lot of people on social media have some very strong opinions on the character of Pink Diamond. It’s not really a secret that the Steven Universe fandom is rather toxic, which is why I usually I try to stay away, lest I contract idiocy, but I made the horrible mistake of watching one of the many, many, YouTube videos on her, and let's just say I have a lot of feelings.

First off, the impression people seem to have of Pink is that she was a selfish brat that used and manipulated everyone around her, faked a new identity to escape her Disney Princess life and responsibilities and was in general a horrible person. These people are wong. Don't listen to them. Listen to me. I have a blog.

So, since apparently those geniuses have been watching an entirely different show, I, a scholar, shall provide you with evidence from the show to back up my claims instead of just spewing whatever unfiltered word vomit enters my brain. You might wanna buckle up, folks, when I rant I rant for hours.

Let us begin.

First, we will need to reconstruct what we know of Pink's timeline. The earliest glimpse we can get of her is in the episode "Jungle Moon".

-I want my own army! I want my own planet! I deserve it! I’m just as important as you!

Pink Diamond, Jungle Moon

Here is where the 'spoiled brat' idea was probably born. And I would agree with that... if this was the last we saw of Pink. But it isn't. This is, in story terms, Pink Diamond pre-character development. When you write a story, it's important that your characters grow and change over the course of the adventure. Otherwise it makes for a bad, boring story, because if the events didn't have an impact on the characters, how are they supposed to have an impact on the audience? Who wants to see an adventure that doesn't leave a mark and after it's done it's quickly forgotten as if it never was? It's nearly impossible to pull off a compelling story like that. Hence why characters start out with a problem or a character flaw that they need to overcome. Let me ask you this, can you see this tantrum-throwing version of Pink leading an army? Can you see her acting like that with Amethyst, Garnet or Pearl? With Greg? No, because by the time she met them, she was a different person. Would a selfish brat leave behind her cushy life? Didn't think so.

Back to the timeline, after Pink throws a fit that she is a Diamond too and wants to be a big girl now, after much pleading and begging and probably more tantrums, her sisters decide that she's mature enough to to handle it. It's possible that she demonstrated in some way that she was up to the task, but we have no proof of that at this point. The next bit of her we see, she's already overseeing progress on her very first colony -- Earth. It's not all that she imagined it to be, as we see her bored and she even remarks to her Pearl that she wished something more exciting will happen. Pre-character development Pearl at this point is brainwashed to be an obedient pawn, so she agrees and does anything her Diamond says.

- Could you imagine that running a colony would be this dull?

- I could imagine it, if you would like me to, My Diamond.

-Pink and Pearl on the Moon Base, Now We’re Only Falling Apart

In this segment we see how Pearl accidentally gave Rose the idea to shapeshift into a Quartz and go to Earth to meet her soldiers. Now, at this point it's worth noting how nice Pink is to them. The newest episode at the time of this post is Familiar, where we see that Pink treated her Pebbles similarly (they try to hide from Steven until he says 'thank you', and only after that do they recognise him as Pink Diamond)

- Welcome to Earth!

- That is the first and nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

Pink and a newly-emerged Amethyst soldier, Now We’re Only Falling Apart

Pink and Pearl tour Earth, hugging trees and being hippies. And then something happens - Pink sees humans for the first time. It dawns on her that this planet already has life on it, and that completing this colony, this thing she's wanted for so, so long, would mean destroying that life. At this point we're already seeing some of that character development, but this is a call to action that really gets the ball rolling.

So, what did Pink do next? She decided to run away from her boring responsibilities, not caring about the destruction she was causing and what she was leaving behind, but only looking to selfishly disappear under a fake identity. No? You think that's a bit inconsistent with the gem that thanks little worker pebbles and was most excited not about conquering but about creating life, saddened by the fact she has to end the life already there? Well, you'd be right.

What Pink did next was go to her sisters, the other Diamonds, and say, “I don't want to complete this colony.” When the Diamonds, rightly so, pointed out that Pink had been badgering them for it and asked why she didn't want it anymore, Pink told the truth: there are humans and flowers and she doesn't want to destroy that. Naively, she sincerely thought that if she told her sisters this, they would agree that it's wrong, they would leave Earth alone and maybe only colonise uninhabited planets. But what did the other Diamonds say? We don't care about humans, they told her. You wanted this, now finish what you started! They scolded her, the way you scold a flippant child. Because, let's not forget, she is by far the youngest of the four. Those of you with older siblings, would they listen to you about something they've done longer than you? Imagine you've just now started a new activity, like let's say fencing. You go to your sisters who are both years older than you and you tell them you want to fence holding the rapier backwards and that they should do the same. The response you would get will fall somewhere between annoyed eyerolls and condescending remarks, possibly a derisive laugh or two. And guess what, that's exactly how the Diamonds reacted.

-Why did she have to rope us into all of this? Why couldn’t she just stop the colonization herself?

-She tried. When she told the other Diamonds she didn’t want to go through with the colony, they told her to finish what she started. When she told the other Diamonds she wanted to preserve life on Earth, they created the Zoo and threw a handful of humans in. She did everything she could as Pink Diamond, but her status meant nothing to Blue and Yellow.

-- Sapphire and Pearl, Now We’re Only Falling Apart

We need to remember that she was a Diamond, yes, but she didn’t have absolute power to do as she wanted in every single respect, especially given that this is her very first colony and she’s the baby of the family. No matter how much you grow up, to the adults in your life you will always be that kid that drew on the walls and pooped their diaper. But Pink didn’t give up, she kept making excuses after excuses, and when nothing worked, she decided to take a stand ‘as someone they couldn’t ignore’. Notice that she didn’t just tear down the kindergarten and break her toy like a petulant child. No, her first instinct was non-violent solutions.

-She was going to scare every gem off the planet.

Pearl, Now We’re Only Falling Apart

And that might have been where it ended. Buuuut…

-Everything changed when she saw your fusion. Before Garnet, Rose was only fighting for Earth. But Garnet changed everything; Rose wanted to fight for her, she wanted to fight for gems.

Pearl, Now We’re Only Falling Apart

But how, please tell me how, is any of that selfish? Pink didn’t want to be a fusion. At the beginning, this was about preserving life on Earth. Then it became about other gems. She didn't do any of this for herself -- she did it for them. She could see how brainwashed all the other gems were to love the Diamonds and serve them and do what they’re meant to do.

-Rose Quartz changed my life. I came to Earth thinking this was just another colony -- build another arena for important fighters to fight in, build another spire for important thinkers to think in. And then I met her. Just another Quartz soldier made right here in the dirt, but she was different. And she was different because she decided to be. She asked me what I wanted to build; I’d never heard that before. And gems never hear they can be anything other than what they are, but Rose opened our eyes.

Bismuth, Bismuth

Some people are salty that it turned out Rose Quartz wasn’t ‘just another soldier’ and that made her less special somehow. But what does it matter if she was a Quartz or a Diamond? She was still different. Was she like the other Diamonds? No. Was she like any other gem? No. So what does it matter? She still made the choice to be different, she still decided to fight for innocent life and for the right of other gems to choose, something no one, Diamond or otherwise, had ever done. She pretty much acts the same as Rose as she did as Pink, so why the hell does it matter?

And this is the point where we will take a slight detour and talk about Pearl. Pearl has now been demoted in public opinion for some reason because she’s ‘less of a rebel’, because now she's just following a Diamond like she’s supposed to. That’s what everyone says, right? But here’s the thing. Everyone is full of shit.

-Pearl.

-Yes?

-I’m going to stay and fight for this planet. You don't have to do this with me.

-But I want to!

-I know you do. Please, please understand, if we lose, we’ll be killed. And if we win, we can never go home.

-Why would I ever want to go home if you’re here?

Rose and Pearl, Rose’s Scabbard

Pearl wasn’t just following Pink -- she was given a choice. Stay who you are, stay a maid, an object, go to one of the other Diamonds. I’m going to do this dangerous thing, but you don’t have to. Pearl joined the rebellion because she wanted to join, and she was given the choice of staying behind and being a servant, but she rejected it. Like with Bismuth, Pink asked her what she wanted to do. And notice how different she is now than Flashback!Pearl. She snaps at Peridot that she doesn't belong to anyone, she learned to sword fight and to build things and to do stuff that Pearls aren’t supposed to because she wanted to. She stayed with Pink because Pink is the epitome of sunshine and goodness, not because of some slave complex. Dobby the House Elf didn’t die for Harry Potter because of some slave-in-love-with-its-master crap, but because Harry showed him a kindness no one else had and Dobby wanted to help him, and fight for him, and ultimately die for him. Harry freed him, but he was still there, following him and helping him because he just wanted to. Are you seeing it now? Pearl was famous for throwing herself between Pink and attacking enemies, even though Pink told her not to do that.

-Why won’t you just let me do this for you, Rose?!

Pearl, Sworn to the Sword

-Did Rose make you feel like you were nothing?

-Hah! Rose made me feel like I was everything.

Connie and Pearl, Sworn to the Sword

Pink showed Pearl kindness that she’d never seen before, asked her what she wanted to do. That’s why Pearl follows her. Maybe there wasn’t a symbolic sock of freedom, but Pink told Pearl that she was free to do as she chose. And Pearl chose to fight.

Pearl is a renegade pearl, and she doesn't belong to anybody. Fight me.

And now let’s talk controversy -- the shattering.

Going back to the timeline, let’s recap.

Pink wants a colony of her own

Pink gets colony

Pink finds out running a colony is boring, but Pearl gives her the idea to sneak into the kindergarten in disguise

Pink sees humans and flowers and decides she wants to protect the planet

Pink talks to the Diamonds about stopping the colony, but gets shot down

Pink decides to take on the form of Rose Quartz and chase the gems off world.

Pink meets Garnet and decides she wants to fight for gems and their right to choose

Pink gathers more gems to her cause, such as Bismuth, and creates the Rebellion

While points 5-8 are going on, Pink continues making up excuses to stop or slow down colonisation. She knows that the Rebellion is outnumbered, that Homeworld can keep sending troops indefinitely and that they, unlike the rebels, aren’t afraid of shattering. Pink was very much against shattering, as it’s a permanent death for a gem, and as discussed previously she is a big poofy marshmallow. Pink tries, relentlessly, to get the colonisation stopped, even while she is leading the rebellion, and even tries to use this to make the other Diamonds back off. This goes as well as you’d expect.

- This is what you wanted. You begged us for a colony of your own, and now all you want to do is be rid of it! First there were too many organics, and then their cities were too difficult to dismantle, and now these Crystal Gems? We're tired of your excuses, Pink! This Rose Quartz can't hurt you. You can't be swayed by a few unruly gems. Enough! You must understand... you are a Diamond. Everyone on this planet is looking to you. You don't even have to do anything; just smile and wave. Show everyone you are unfazed by this little uprising. Your gems will fall into line, and these Crystal Gems will be no more. As long as you're there to rule, this colony will be completed.

Blue Diamond, Can’t Go Back

This is when the idea forms. Pink realises that as long as she is there to be the ruler, the other Diamonds won’t relent. But maybe, just maybe, if she were to disappear, Blue and Yellow would leave the colony unfinished and tend to their own.

- Blue and Yellow don’t care. They never have. This is Pink Diamond’s colony. We can end it all, right here, right now.

Rose, A Single Pale Rose

Please note again that Pink doesn’t command Pearl to play along, but instead asks her to participate. Also note that Pearl is no longer mindlessly agreeing, she is considering the danger and making her own choice. Pink believes that this is the only way to get the gems to leave, and she also chooses to present as Rose Quartz, because that’s who she feels she really is. Here is the thing. Diamonds, just like any other gem, are made for a purpose. Pink was supposed to be a conquerer or world, that was her job. But she didn’t want to be. She didn’t want to be treated like a Diamond (please refer to the scene on the Moon Base and her disdain for the robotic way Pearl addresses her). How is that any different than a Pearl choosing to fight or a Quartz soldier choosing not to? Rose Quartz or Pink Diamond, she rejected the role she’d been assigned and sought to make her own path in life. She wanted to be free, too, the same way she wanted that for all gems.

Please note my choice of words, people. ‘Chooses to present’. ‘Role she’d been assigned’. ‘Trying to be someone she’s not’. Those are not coincidences.

-Mom lived in hiding by the name of Rose, with the friends she’d made and the form she chose

Steven, Reunited

With such big LGBT+ vibes in the show, it boggles my mind that people aren’t picking up on this. Is it because gems are genderless aliens? Is it because Rose is the same ‘gender’ as Pink?

Moving on to the final bits of Rose Quartz’s history (since this is the name she chose for herself, we’ll go with that from now on). Let’s see, what haven’t we addressed? Selfish, spoiled brat? Character development, we went over that. Manipulated and lied to everyone? Um, to do what, fight for their own freedom? Since she pretty clearly gives everyone she meets a choice, I’m gonna call bullshit on that one. And she always acted as herself while she was Rose, so she wasn’t pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Faked her death to escape her responsibilities? Nope, did that so the Diamonds would leave Earth (which worked btw). She’s a horrible person? Well sure, if by horrible you mean sweet and nice to everyone she meets, fighting for innocent life and for the rights of all gems, then yeah. She’s so horrible everyone loves her.

Had many secrets? Well, that one is kinda legit. She did have secrets, but she hid things for the greater good. Her being Pink Diamond? I’d imagine a lot of gems would have reacted like this butthurt fandom “Oh, so we never really rebelled? We were just following another Diamond this whole time? THIS WHOLE REBELLION IS A LIE!!” Except that it isn’t. Everyone made the choice to follow Rose, not because she was a Diamond, but because she inspired them. They did rebell on their own, and they were fighting of their own free will. They didn’t know that she was a Diamond, and that’s what really matters. But, well, we’ve seen what happens -- people jump to conclusions without stopping to think. So yeah, I get that. Bubbling Bismuth? Well, I mean… Bismuth did try to kill her. What else was she supposed to do? This is as close to prison as Rose can do, and obviously she wouldn’t shatter her or banish her so that she would fall into enemy hands. Rose kept Bismuth safe, along with her most treasured possessions, but knew she couldn't let her out. Why? Bismuth would still want to take the war to Homeworld. And Rose made a choice not to sully Bismuth’s good name and tell others of her betrayal and radical murdery ways. Not an easy choice, but it was the one she made. People were also kinda salty that her being Pink means that she never had to make the tough moral choice to kill an evil dictator, but here you go, imprisoning your crazy, extremist friend counts as a morally grey choice.

Created Steven so that she didn’t have to face consequences and left him this mess to clean? What was her grand plan for him, why did she have him? Surely there is a great conspiracy behind this, right?? The machiavellian mind of Pink Diamond at work???

- I don’t understand! Why is this the same as the video you guys made me? Who’s Nora?

- Nora is you! We had it down to two names: Steven if you were a boy and Nora if you were a girl.

- So then… would Nora have the magical destiny if I wasn’t here?

- Magical destiny? I dunno about that.

- But Mom did! She was trying to tell me something with my tape! She keeps leaving me puzzle pieces! Sooner or later, I’m going to understand what I’m for!

- Whoa, Steven, it’s okay! C’mere.

- … Am I supposed to be… Did she want me to be Nora?

- Steven, she just wanted you to be you. When you have a kid you have no idea who they’re gonna be; even Garnet couldn’t predict it. That’s what was so exciting to your mom, that life is full of so many possibilities and you would get to explore them for yourself. I mean, you could be Steven, or Nora, or anyone else. And you can always change your name! Hey, I did.

- So that’s it. I’m just… supposed to be her kid.

- Well… yeah. Is that okay?

- Yeah. I think I can handle that.

Steven and Greg, Lion 4: Alternate Ending

- I get it. I know you didn’t want me to deal with your problems. But you’re a part of me now. I have to deal with what you left behind.

Steven, Storm in the Room

#FIGHT ME #steven universe #pink diamond #rose quartz #blue diamond #yellow diamond #white diamond #steven #greg universe #great diamond authority #pearl #garnet #amethyst #random rants

17 notes · View notes

apolesen · 5 years

Text

Fic: The Start of Something (Garak/Parmak, ST:DS9)

During their walks through the ruined Cardassian capital, Garak tells Parmak about his past, but not this time. Instead, the question why comes up.

TW: Post-Fire Cardassia destruction, mentions of torture, vomiting and deceit within previous relationships.

Read of AO3

When Parmak stepped out of the makeshift buildings that housed the medical centre, it was the first time in two days he had seen sunlight. First a particularly bad dust-storm had hit, making it impossible for anyone to leave. Then they had dealt with the fallout of that dust-storm. Parmak had spent much of the night treating everything from mild coughs to respiratory distress so bad the patient had to be intubated.

That was only the short-term effects, of course. How the increased pollution would affect people’s health in the long term was still unclear. When he could not sleep, Parmak would frequently think about the issues it might lead to, even if there might be ways of ensuring the phenomenon became rarer. Sometimes, he would jerk awake, going from nervous dreaming to wide-eyed horror at some new thought. Was the increase in vitelline deformities he had noticed due to the Jem’Hadar weapons? What should they do to prevent toxic dust from getting stuck in loose skin during shedding? Were the old state-distributed respirators good enough to protect from the contaminants left behind by the war?

Parmak hated what these storms did, to his patients and to himself, but even the most vile thing has moments of beauty. A cluster of dust particles drifted towards the ground, lit by the sun. Now that the wind had died down, they moved slowly, like small leaves falling from a tree on a calm day. He stopped and watched the way the dust made the sunlight solid in front of him. It meant he did not notice the figure standing ahead of him immediately.

There was not much to distinguish the person from any other Cardassian in what was left of the Union Capital. Not an inch of skin was visible. The respirator hid the face, and thick gloves covered the hands. A shawl had been wrapped and secured around the head. The frame was difficult to make out under the heavy coat. Parmak could not say what it was that made him so sure of the figure’s identity, but he knew who it was even before it raised a hand in greeting and approached.

‘Good morning, Doctor Parmak.’

‘Good morning,’ Parmak said. ‘What are you doing here? I hope you’re not unwell?’

Garak shook his head with a chuckle.

‘No, no. It just happened to be on my way.’

Speaking to him was like looking at the dust particles. Parmak worried what his company would do to him, and he knew he was dangerous, but at the same time, when a beam of light illuminated his spirit…

When Garak spoke again, that theatrical tone he usually used was not as pronounced.

‘Would you join me for a walk, Doctor?’

Parmak hesitated. He was tired and he was not sure his joints were up to it, even using his cane, but the invitation tugged at him.

‘The dust has settled towards Tarlak,’ Garak continued. ‘They say it’ll be safe to take off the respirators. I, for one, would not mind some fresh air.’

The part of him that could never relax supplied that it was probably not safe to be outside even with respirators on – just because the dust was on the ground did not make it any less harmful…

But another part of him longed for the feeling of cool air on his face. He did not care if he would be combing the dust out of his hair for an octad. The thought of taking off his respirator and hood and undo his braid was too tempting.

‘I would like that.’

Something made him think Garak smiled. He might have caught a glimpse of his face through the visor, or simply imagined it from previous experience. Whichever it was, he smiled back.

They started walking. Garak adjusted his step to Parmak’s slower pace. For much of the walk, they did not speak. Parmak racked his brains for something to say, but he was too tired. Instead he let himself relax into the silence. He found it comfortable – maybe even intimate. Usually when they walked, Garak would talk. He would recount stories from his childhood, his schooling, his assignments, his exile. He referred to them as his confessions. When he had first used that word, Parmak had pointed out that he was not admitting to any crime. Not crimes, perhaps, but sins, Garak had said cryptically. He had later made mention of a religion on some Federation planet that believed that recounting your sins would take away your guilt. A strange belief, but Parmak could see how the idea might be comforting.

What he could not understand was why Garak was telling him these things. He did not take these walks with anyone else. Parmak had sometimes wondered why he believed what he heard. Garak was a liar, Parmak knew better than to believe him – and yet he did. He had never heard him speak like he did during these walks. There was none of his usual certainty or showmanship. Instead, he talked slowly and quietly, choosing his words carefully. Parmak could not see them as lies. Perhaps that made him naïve. He would simply have to accept that risk.

Today, there were no confessions. When Garak broke the silence, it was with a question.

‘Have you had any news about your family?’

‘Not in the last octad,’ Parmak said. ‘But last I heard they were well. Cardassia V was not hit as hard as Prime.’

Garak made a gesture, somewhere between a shrug and a nod.

‘Cardassia V has the saving grace to not have been farmed and mined until all that’s left is dust.’

Parmak did not know what to say to that. Usually, Garak controlled himself completely, even when Parmak was convinced he was speaking the truth. Then sometimes, something would seep through the mask and Parmak would catch a glimpse of another side of him. These moments of nihilistic honesty scared him. It was like he spoke his mind despite knowing that someone was listening and would punish him for his words.

‘Have you thought of going there?’ Garak asked, returning to the topic at hand.

‘Thought of it, yes,’ Parmak said. ‘But I’m needed here. When the situation is less dire, maybe…’

They had been walking along the remnants of one of the main roads of the capital. The bombardment had reduced it to the width of a foot-path, but the surface that was left this far was still in good shape. As they drew nearer to Tarlak, cracks and holes were appearing in the road. Parmak picked his way through it slowly, struggling to find a surface plain enough for his cane. He was starting to worry he might lose his balance and fall. Garak gestured towards the treaded-up soil on the side of the road where others had walked before them. Parmak nodded, agreeing. They walked side by side, but when the ground towards the track sloped, Parmak fell behind. Garak stopped to let him catch up. He stretched out his arm to him. Without thinking, Parmak took it.

As soon as their arms hooked together and Parmak’s hand settled on Garak’s upper arm, he realised what he had done. He had not touched him spontaneously like this since they met again. Even the times he had touched him consciously had not been many. He had treated Garak for cuts and scratches he got from the rescue-work, he had grabbed him once when he had stumbled and almost fallen, and he had checked his pulse a few times. He had not thought he would ever touch him for any other reason, but it had felt so natural to take his arm. He kept his grip on it until they reached the track. There he let go. Garak did not seem to notice his disconcertion. His attention was on the monuments of Tarlak, some still standing, some fallen. Parmak wished he could see his face. What emotion would he have seen there? Admiration? Grief? Guilt? There was no way to tell.

They turned in among the monuments. By a fallen obelisk, Garak stopped. He took his respirator off and crouched down to look at something.

‘Look.’

Garak pointed. Parmak leaned down and strained his eyes. From under the stone, something green stuck out.

‘What is that?’ He knew what it looked like, but he did not trust himself to be right. He had not seen anything grow for months.

‘A Rentasian iris, by the looks of it,’ Garak said. ‘Or the beginnings of one.’ He smiled to himself. ‘It must have still been a bulb when…’ He gestured above, unable to find a term to adequately describe what had happened. Parmak had not yet heard a phrase that did not reduce the events.

Garak pushed himself up. He looked around, perhaps to find something that would help memorise the place. Then they continued. Parmak watched where he put his feet and his cane, in case there were other plants. He wondered what bulbs and seeds might be hidden in the soil. He had assumed they would all be died, and he had wondered how many plant species had gone extinct. Still, if that Rentasian iris had survived, there might be others.

The pain in his legs interrupted his thoughts. He crossed to an upturned stele and sat down. Garak remained standing a little way away, not looking at him, like he did not want to embarrass him. Parmak took off his respirator and started letting his hair out.

‘Will you sit down?’

Garak looked over, a little surprised.

‘Of course.’

He sat down beside him. As Parmak pulled his fingers through his hair, Garak looked at the inscription on the stele.

‘Gul Ghator.’ He looked up at Parmak. ‘Have you heard of him?’

‘Not that I can recall.’ He edged to the side a little to reveal more of the inscription. ‘Died during the conquest of Bajor.’

‘No wonder we don’t remember him, then,’ Garak said. ‘We were children.’

There was something in the way he used that word “we”, like they had been children together.

‘Hopefully he doesn’t mind us using his monument as a bench,’ Parmak said. Garak smiled. He wanted to smile back, but he did not quite dare. Garak looked away. They sat in silence, side by side. Parmak tried to concentrate on feeling of breathing cool, unfiltered air or the remains of the Tarlak memorial garden or the pain in his joints, something - anything - other than the man sitting beside him.

At first when their paths had crossed again, he had not wanted to have anything to do with him. Garak was a murderer and an oppressor and a liar. He had betrayed him in the worst possible way. The need for answers had finally made him seek him out, and that had led to the walks. Every time they met, Parmak felt he learned something new that was added to the portrait he was assembling in his mind. Today, he had learned nothing but how he himself had felt when Garak had offered him his arm and he had taken it.

‘Doctor Parmak? Are you quite well?’

He looked at him.

‘Why do you call me that?’ Parmak asked. He had not called him “Kelas”, or even “Parmak”. It was only “Doctor Parmak” or, a few times, “my dear doctor”.

Garak looked surprised, then concerned.

‘It doesn’t seem right to call you anything else,’ he said finally. ‘Why do you never call me anything at all?’

The observation surprised him. He had assumed Garak had not noticed that he always avoided addressing him. There were no title to go with his surname, it did not feel right to just call him Garak, and his first name was a reminder of what they had once had. It was how he thought of him, but he could not call him that.

‘I don’t know.’

Garak’s eyes moved off him, then back. For the first time since his confession, Parmak met his gaze.

‘Can I be honest?’ There was something missing in that sentence. He did not know which name he would say before he did. ‘Elim.’

Garak nodded solemnly.

‘Yes.’

Parmak collected himself and made himself not look away.

‘I don’t know what you want with me.’

Garak sighed. ‘I’m not sure either.’

‘Do you want me to absolve you of the things you’ve done? Because I’m not sure I can.’

‘I am not asking you to do that,’ Garak said, looking away. ‘I know my own guilt. I do not want absolution. But maybe forgiveness. At some point.’

Parmak looked away now too. Forgiving him… He thought of the things he had done: the lies, the deceit, the torture. Then there were the things that he had caused indirectly: the labour camp and the poverty and isolation he had endured after his release.

But it all felt differently than it had. The man he had been in love with all those years ago had not existed, but this man, who sat beside him now, did. He had spent so much time picturing this real Elim Garak, and now when he started revealing himself, he was nothing like he had imagined. He had conjured up the image of a sadist who did the State’s bidding without reflection or guilt, but he could see none of that. Even if Parmak was wrong and Garak had lied to him throughout his confessions, the pain that weighed on him was still real. There was no way anyone could falsify that depth of emotion.

That he felt bad for what he had done was not any basis for forgiveness. Then again, forgiveness, as he had made clear, was not the same as absolution. It would not change the facts or the need to atone. All it would changed was what was between them both.

‘Why me?’ Parmak asked. Garak looked at his hands, turning them palm-up and then back, flexing the fingers, inspecting the nails.

‘I do not know how many people I have hurt,’ he said. ‘Other than “too many”. I feel that, of all of them, I hurt you the most.’ He met his eye. ‘And I did it despite how I felt.’

Parmak’s throat ached suddenly. His next inhale threatened to become a sob. He swallowed, trying to stop it.

‘How you felt,’ he repeated.

‘I loved you.’

If it were not for his unsteady legs and his cane, he would have gotten to his feet and left. Now, the seconds it took to collect enough energy to rise was enough time to change his mind.

‘It doesn’t change what you did,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘I know that.’ The way he said it was almost like his comment about the overexploitation of Cardassia Prime: stated as truth, with no attempt to save face. ‘I do not expect you to forgive me, and I do not know if I deserve to be forgiven. You would be right to curse me every day for the rest of your life. But maybe sometime in the future…’

He trailed off.

In that moment, Parmak hated him. The gall of it, asking to be forgiven when he did not deserve it! But as fast as it came, the feeling disappeared. He could see the things Garak had not been able to say. How do you request something that you both desperately need and know you have no claim to? Is there any way to phrase it that will not sound like a demand?

Parmak made himself look at him again. When he had first seen him again, he had been frozen with fear and incensed by anger at the same time. He had felt unable to move. Not until Garak had turned away had the paralysis lifted. Afterwards, he had been sick for hours, unable to dismiss the feeling of those eyes watching him.

Now, he felt none of that hatred. There were many other things – confusion, apprehension, distrust, but among them was also affection. When he had seen him waiting outside the hospital, he had not been frightened but excited. When he had put his arm through Garak’s, he had felt safe, not exposed.

Perhaps forgiveness was not a conscious act. Speaking the words was, but the emotional progression could not be forced. His first thought had been that he could never forgive him, but maybe the process had already started. He did not know how long it would take, or even if it would reach completion, but he could feel the beginnings of it happening.

He could not think of anything to say to express any of this. Instead, he reached out and took Garak’s hand. Their fingers intertwined, pressing their palms together. Garak looked at him in surprise. Then his face softened. He did not speak, but the gratitude was visible in his eyes. They stayed like that until the wind picked up: hand in hand, in silence, aware of something growing between them.

#elim garak #kelas parmak #garak/parmak #a stitch in time #star trek #ds9 #my fic

4 notes · View notes

sidespromptblog · 6 years

Text

Blank: Part 13

Summary: Logan is logic no more, now all that is left is Apathy.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen

The moment that Logan stepped away from the subconsciousness, it felt like someone had drilled a red-hot icepick into his brain and started stirring around the insides for fun. His first few steps away from the door had him stumbling and very nearly falling to his knees as he gripped the side of his head, his teeth ground together as searing hot pain radiated from his temples.

It hurt worse than anything he could have ever imagined, it took everything in him not howl at the pure agony he was going through and collapse uselessly onto the floor.

As the pain arched through his head, a warm dribble of blood dripped down his nose, splattering against his dark blue tie as he seized the edge of the Apathy’s bed. Gripping the stark white comforter so tight that his knuckles turned white, as he heaved himself back up to his feet. Logan dragged the back of his hand over his nose, roughly wiping away the thin line of blood that trailed down and over his lips.

“I..I’m coming..I’m coming Apathy.” He gasped out, his very voice rasping with the words as if he hadn’t properly talked in months, but as another agonizing scream rang out Logan shook his head. Powering through the sensation of someone taking a jackhammer to his face, he surged forward one hand pressed to the side of his head while he navigated the terrain that he was traveling through.

Where..where we’re the screams coming from? Where…

Logan’s head jerked up as another awful set of screams started from the down the hall. They were getting worse. Another searing pain scraped at the inside of his skull.

“Virgil!” He hissed darkly, his fist clenching up so hard that his nails dug into the palm of his hand, leaving behind little crescent-shaped marks in their wake. He didn’t wait a moment longer, as he pressed forward.

What he expected, however, was not even close to what he got.

“You!” Snarled as soon as he had slammed the door open, Logan’s expression contorted in a set of pure rage as he saw the sight before him. Apathy screaming his head off, in clear pain, as Patton..as Morality continued to tightly grasp Apathy’s face, not letting him go for a single second. A raw unfiltered kind of fury washed over Logan, the kind of anger that made one see red and nothing else as he charged forward. The pain of his splitting headache all but forgotten in the wake of what Patton was doing to his friend.

“How dare you…” Logan snarled, his hand grasping the front of Patton’s shirt, lifting him a few good inches off of the ground. When,

“Now! Do it now!” Patton squeaked out, releasing Apathy almost immediately, and before Logan could even turn to see just who he was shouting too, a blinding pain struck the back of his head.

And then there was peace.

“Adequate swinging Anxiety.” Apathy rasped out, his muscles feeling like that of jello as soon as Patton had thankfully released him from his hell inducing grasp, he stumbled for a moment, only held up by the fact that his knees had locked in place and Patton had grasped the back of his shirt preventing him from falling face first onto Logan’s unconscious body.

Virgil however grimly nodded at the thanks, a rough sigh left him as he leaned down brushing a lock of Logan’s messy hair out of his face. The smear of blood coming from Logan’s nose made him grimace for a second, “Oh Lo,” He murmured, looking as regretful as he could while still holding the bat. His lips pressed into a thin frown as he hung his head, all wasn’t lost yet, they still had a chance. So holding the bat out for Roman to take so that he could heave Logan up onto his couch, Virgil waited.

Yet Roman didn’t take the bat.

“He..He’s wearing my sash.” Roman stammered out, swallowing drying as he stared down at the bright redness against the darkness of Logan’s shirt and tie, the dark eyeshadow was caked on underneath Roman’s eyes. “He’s wearing my sash, Virge..Virge what if we knocked out Logan.” He rambled slowly raising his hands to tug at the strands of his hair, “Not the asshole Logan but OUR Logan, we knocked him out! We..We..” Roman’s breathing shuddered, his chest heaving up and down as Virgil spun around to look at him, his room was getting to the princely side.

“Get him out of here! All of you get out now! I’ll deal with Logan, just leave before this gets any worse for you all.” Virgil barked out the order, feeling a gnawing sensation of guilt at the sight of the red sash that Logan had so carefully put around his shoulders. Just like how Roman wore it.

Roman shook his head, again and again, he didn’t want to leave. Not if Virgil was going to talk to Logan, he still needed to apologize further, he needed to see if Logan was back to normal, if anything would be like the way that it was before. If..If Logan remembered what he had said to him...

Yet, Patton’s surprisingly iron tight grasp clamped down on his wrist, dragging him out of the room. Leaving Virgil completely alone.

It took at least another hour for Logan to wake up, and when he groggily opened his eyes. The darkness of Virgi’s room even too bright for him at that moment, Logan had to squint before blinking a few times. The sight of cobwebs, cartoon spiders on curtains, and The Nightmare Before Christmas was all very familiar, turning his head he couldn’t help but to let out a groan as the smell of warm tea finally reached his nose. He was laying down..on Virgil’s couch. Moving his arms proved to be largely useless too, let alone even attempting to sit up and take more of his surroundings in. The sensation of rope rubbing against his bare arms stopped him from so much as wiggling in the wrong direction.

Throwing his head back he glanced around, the velvety softness against his cheek told him that whoever had done the knocking out, had at least enough graciousness to put a feather soft pillow under his head and a weighted blanket on top of him.

“How do you feel?” Speak of the devil.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Virgil played with his cup that he had filled and refilled full of his tea in the hour that Logan had been out. Usually, it helped to relax him, now..now he wasn’t so sure. His cup was once again empty, but he made no effort to refill it as he looked back at Logan, as the logical side blearily turned his head to look at him.

“Like shit.” Logan sourly muttered, his eyes somewhat glazed as he rolled his head back to look at the anxious side upon hearing Virgil’s warm voice, the other just sat there for a moment. As they looked back at each other, Logan offering a tired if not exhausted smile in the other’s direction, as the anxious side just stared back at him with an open and...mournful gaze?

Virgil just stared back at him for a moment, trying his best to remain firm and strong as Roman would have in this moment. Like Roman had when facing down Logan when he had been furious at the creative side, he tried to be like that..strong, and yet. All it took was a single tear, a single tear before they all started pouring out, as he crawled over to Logan’s side. Grasping and clinging to the bright red sash, he pressed his cheek against the cool leather of his couch as his eyes started to fill with more tears.

“I’m sorry Logan. I’m so so sorry.” Virgil burst out, finally spilling the words he had wanted to say since the very moment that Apathy had shown up, letting them all know that nothing would never be the same again. His head somehow found Logan’s shoulder, and he felt the other attempting to move. A gesture he hoped that was meant to comfort, as the tears soaked the shoulder of Logan’s shirt, “I was a bad friend, I..I laughed when..when I should have stuck up for you. When..you needed me, all I did was hurt you!”

Logan was completely still now, there wasn’t a single word that was coming from the logical side now, his breathing was the only thing that told Virgil he hadn’t fallen unconscious again. There was just a stillness about Logan now, “I was a bad friend...I let it all happen.” He sniffled, feeling the eyeshadow running down his cheeks in messy currents, before he even attempted to glance and look up at Logan’s expression.

“I know,” Logan whispered, the words as soft and sweet as a lover’s caress, as his dark and stormy eyes stared into Virgil’s. “I know.” He murmured again, as Virgil’s grip loosened on the sash and a smile curling onto the logical side’s lips.

Just about as warm as a summer’s day and as refreshing as a drink of water in a burning hot day. A sense of relief washed over the anxious side, as he dragged his sleeve under one of his eyes, only further smearing the eyeshadow that had at one point been perfect. He sent a startled little smile back to Logan, maybe everything would be alright, maybe everything could go back to being somewhat the way it was before.

Logan’s fist clenched, his knuckles turning white as his dark gaze bore into Virgil’s.

“You let it happen.”

Tagged:

@neko-ereri

@seas-space-and-stardust

@estraevelyn

@katatles-the-fish

@greeneggsandham1998

@ibelievewhatsontv

@sleepyssnail

@thats-so-crash

@serious-ppl-wear-neckties

@secretlyanxiouspersona

@nerd-in-space

@blue-wolfbane

@cats-vetal-miking-vomit

@ab-artist

@moonstonefox12

@echomist13

@goofigami

@temmiecupcake

@nyamafriend

@cyberpunkjinx

@noahlovescoffee

@iaminmultiplefandoms

@entpscarleharrrr

@dragonsight9

@sanders-is-awesome

@tea0-0stache

#apathy!logan #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #angst #hurt/comfort #apathy #apophis

83 notes · View notes