#Clearing out some of my old drafts don't mind me

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Reminder; Don't Forget

(Scrap)

❥Park Seonghwa x fem reader

➯a/n: i want park seonghwa to be mean to me while wearing a tank top, that is all ➯a/n: i'm going to start posting drafts that haven't been touched in over a month so they don't just collect dust, enjoy ya filthy animals

✃ "You need a reminder of who's good girl you are."

✫彡wordcount: 2.7k

(>ᴗ•)♡´･ᴗ･`♡genre: YANDERE SMUT (hinted mafia/crime au)

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: THIS IS A DARK FICTION. EMPHASIS ON DARK FICTION. i do no condone pretty much anything seonghwa does in this fanfic. this is very dark, the darkest i've gone so if you are uncomfortable with that check out something else. we have here: dark/yandere/savior complex hwa, degrading, unsafe physical restraint, choking, destruction of personal property, shaming, dubcon, extremely possessive behavior, some ddlg themes, slapping, praise, yelling, captivity, crying, knifes thrown at reader as a punishment(none hit!!), threats of violence, manipulation, mind break, hair pulling, mention of edging, face humping, throat fucking, messy bj, not proof read

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

"Did you forget your place, hm? It certainly seems like it, acting like a slut when you're mine!" His grip on your neck tightens, a chuckle leaving his furled lips as you grab at his tank top desperately trying to force out apologies through the pressure he puts on your wind pipes. "What, you can't even say that you're sorry? Another's man's number in your phone and you can't tell me you're sorry?"

Oh he's evil, he loves to see you squirm. And squirm you do: pushing against his heavy weight on your hips and clawing at his arm as your lungs beg for air.

He lets go, arms crossing his chest as he leans back nonchalantly, every bit of his weight in your lap as you heave. "Hwa-seong...Hwa, I'm s-sorry! I thought, thought, it'd be okay hes just a f-friend-"

   "You thought," he laughs cruelly, "are you even capable of that? Dumb little girl," he slaps your jaw, lightly, but it still makes you face the wall with a look of defeat.

"I think for you, is that clear?" You nod, tear stained cheeks gleaming in the light.

"Hey, am I clear?" he shouts this time, making you jump.

    "Yes! Yes, Hwa, clear..."

   "There's my good girl—" He brushes back your hair, cooing as you lean away, "you're the prettiest girl I ever laid my eyes on, and you think men don't see that? You think they're blind? Or are you really just that naiive, pretty baby?" His cool finger tips trail down to the blooming bruise on your neck, pressing softly to make you whine. "Give me your phone."

   He's up and off your body in a second flat, letting you catch your breath as you slowly manage to pull yourself to your knees. He doesn't press you to hurry or yell, he doesn't do anything but sit back in the bean bag chair he gifted you for previously good behavior and watch you like a hawk. His legs spread and hands on his knees, resisting the urge to snatch you up. When you turn and see him on the other side of the room, you simply outstretch your arm with the old prepaid phone he provided you with a few weeks ago. "Bring it here," he commands lowly, eyes tracking your every move as you slowly move towards him on your knees- having no energy to stand.

He spreads his legs further, a silent instruction. You slot yourself between them and hold the phone to him tentative, shoulders relaxing as he takes it. "Thank you, beautiful. See, isn't it easy when you listen to me?" He unlocked the phone quickly, eyes flicking to you darkly when you go to take it back. "Got something to hide?" You shake your head, looking down as he takes your hands and places them on each of his thighs. "Don't move."

So you don't, simply breathing deeply to replenish your abused lungs while he combs through your phone with a fine toothed comb. You know you haven't done anything truly wrong, but it seems like he has different definitions to you.

"Good girl..." He whispers to himself as he sees the message of you shooting down the idea your friend tried to corrupt you with, to go out without him. "Stupid, but good..." He continues as he reads through every message with the phone number of the man. He monitors everything you do, it was only a matter of time before he got around to checking all of the numbers in your phone and their owners.

"Aw, you really are just naiive, huh? My poor little angel. Cant even tell when someone's trying to take you away from me-" He tuts his tongue, setting the phone down on the floor. When you go to pick it up, he kicks your hand away. "Sorry, Baby, you can't be trusted with big girl stuff yet. Gotta learn first." He smashes the device beneath his booted heel, a squeal passing through your lips at the loud metallic crunch.

"Hwa!" A pouty whine comes before you can stop it, tears welling up in your eyes all over again. When he cocks his eyebrow up, you cower between his legs, stuttering quietly. "Sorry, m'sorry..." He swipes the destroyed phone to the side with his boot before tapping your hip with it. You shuffle quickly, untying his shoes with a shaky breath.

"I know you get bored baby, but I can't have others corrupting your mind. I'll get you some new books, maybe even a TV for in here if you're extra good." You whisper a soft thank you, and a promise you will be as you set his shoes off to the side neatly.

"Look up at me, Doll. C'mon don't be angry," you look up at him as softly as you can, a groan of affection bubbling past his throat, "there's my pretty little thing." You rub your fingers on his jean-clad legs in an attempt to ground yourself as he looks down at you like a predator that's spotted it's next meal.

"Aren't you so happy you have me to take care of you? Who knows what others would do to that pretty face of yours— not to mention that pretty cunt."

A heat immediately finds it way to your face, and he laughs deeply. "Oh, please, don't be coy. You know as well as I do that if I didn't take you out of there that that little hole would be ruined in an hour. I saved you."

You hide your face in his lap, mind racing. It's true that he's more gently than other people you've had the dis-pleasure of encountering in his line of work. But that doesn't make him any less over bearing and obsessive. His possessiveness bordering on ownership. Sometimes you're truly thankful he scooped you up before anyone else could touch you- other times you curse him for it.

He rubs the back of your head gently, leaning up in the slouching chair, like he can sense your thoughts. "You aren't going anywhere, Baby. You're mine- until the day you die and even after that. Even God himself couldn't pry you away from me. You are mine. Do you understand that?" You nod into his lap, a quiet 'yes,hwa' muffled by his jeans. "Such a sweet thing," he whispers before gripping your hair and pulling you up, earning a gasp.

That glint in his eyes- "Hwa, wait, wait—" he did no such thing, standing up with his clothed crotch in your face, pulling your hands up to his belt.

"You need a reminder of who's good girl you are-"

"No-"

"No?!" He laughed in disbelief, nails digging into your scalp as he makes you look up at him, the stretch of your neck uncomfortable as he cranes it up. There's a sharp hunger in his eyes, "you're so cute -so, so, so, cute when you're defiant... but I'm not in the fucking mood. Get your ass up," he tugs you up by your hair, ignoring the sharp yelps that tremble past your lips.

     "Ple-ase don't take me downstairs! I'll be good, I'll be good!"

    "It's okay baby, we aren't going downstairs," he positions you back to the wall and backs up, pushing you back when you try to follow and apologize. "I'm too tired." The glimmer of hope is stomped out as he unlocked his side of the nightstand. "You can take your punishment here."

   "Hwa... I'm real sor-" A skinny throwing knife that thuds into the wall next to your head shuts you up quick, a squeal replacing your pleas.

   "Been looking after you so much, I'm rusty-" He throws another with a groan, hiding his smirk as you jump, "stay still baby, I'm out of practice." You can't help but duck as it thunks into the wall just above your head.

     "Stand up straight!" His booming voice shakes you to your core, and you stand as straight as you can manage with the knot forming in your gut. You grip the wall with your finger tips, looking down at your feet so you don't see the sharp objects coming. You've found that it's less fearful that way.

Knife after knife is thrown, each dull thump making you twitch as they're buried into the drywall in the outline of your body.

When they finally stall, his sock clad feet come into view, his curved knuckle lifting your chin. The flame in his eyes has faded to a simmer, an almost fond one. "Are you done being a brat? Or should I let my hand slip next time I need target practice?"

   "I'm done..." you speak with a gulp, body still frozen against the wall lest you move and graze against the blades.

He seems to sense your thoughts once again, cooing softly as he notices your tense shoulders. "C'mon, sweet girl," he carefully pulls you straight out from the wall and twirls you around.

He wraps his arms around under yours and grips your shoulders, holding you close to his chest and resting his chin on your head. "Your life in my hands... Such a delicate thing you are." You eyes trail over the outline of your body, traced with throwing daggers. "If you just behaved, I wouldn't have to scare you. It's the best way for you to learn, my love. That fear you feel when we go downstairs, when I have you pinned up- that's the fear you would feel every waking moment without me. Just be a good girl, and let me protect you..."

"...Okay, I'm sorry, Hwa... I don't know why I act out," You don't know if you're telling the truth anymore. It is even acting out? You sometimes think you have a right to.

Maybe— "Maybe you like it when I'm mean to you."

You don't know what you would have thought, but that wasn't it. You think he likes being mean to you. He always finds a reason to punish you: whether it be with bone chilling fear or being pushed to your sexual edge and then repeatedly denied.

    Some days, he's softer with the sexual aspect of his obsession with you.

He turns you back around and shoves you to his knees, right back into his clothed bulge where you started. "I want to claim you, I'm going to claim you. Every part. Take it off now before I decide to skull fuck you." Your breath hitches in your throat, lip trembling at his threat, knowing full well he will follow through.

Today is not one of those days, you realize.

You hands quickly find their way to his belt, unbuckling the golden buckle and letting it dangle, the button undone next and the zipper followed. He didn't bother to kick his jeans off, or even pull them down. Only his cock out, twitching to life infront of you inpatiently. "You belong to me, I'm gonna get that through your thick skull" -he flicks your head- "even if I have to use my cock."

He rubs against your cheek, sighing out in pleasure at the feeling of your hot embarrassed face. "Say my name," he whispers deeply, eyes swirling with an unreadable mix of emotions.

"Seonghwa," you pant out shyly, eyes closed as you feel him rutting against your face, his pre cum smearing on your cheek bone. His grip is continually becoming softer, loving as he lewdly humps your head. Your hands find purchase on his sock clad feet, helping you lift up your body into him. "Seonghwa," it comes out as a moan, and a thick groan comes from him in response.

He steps back just an inch, looking down at your tear stained face, his fresh pre-cum glimmering on the side of your face.

His full lips curve into a smile, his previously angry facade fading as quick as it came when he busted in the door earlier, while he lifts you to the bed and lets your head hang.

He's even beautiful when viewed upside down-

    "You make it hard to ever leave your side, pretty girl. I could spend the rest of my life buried in any of your gorgeous holes, I love you so much."

"I love you, Hwa. I-" Your breath catches in your throat as the words tear through your throat. "I do want you to claim me, I want to know I'm yours." One of your hands seems to sprout a mind of its own, wrapping around the base of his thick and smooth girth. "Let me take care of you, and you take care of me."

A groan dies on his lips, shuddering as you slowly stroke him, the words you speak shooting through his heart and down to his balls. "Let me be your good girl. Please, I know I can!"

The fear he instilled in you just moments ago festered into a need to please, to solidify your place by his side so he would never leave. He never would dream of it- leaving you. You are his heart and soul personified. You hold his entire being in your hands, and you have no idea.

"Yeah? Gonna be my good girl again? Make it up to me?" His heart flutters as you nod enthusiastically, your mouth opening wide for him and tongue lolling out."Fuck, that's a good girl," he spreads his legs around your dangling head, slim fingers gathering yours to your chest and holding them ever so softly as he slips right down your throat.

The hot, velvety skin encasing him makes him moan loudly, squeezing your hands to ground himself and keep himself from fucking your skull like his life depends on it. But, oh, how he wants to—

"Good fucking girl, that's it, just like I taught you," you gulp around his overwhelming length, eyes closing as you focus on breathing through your nose, the smell of his body wash somehow soothing to your fried nervous system.

   He holds himself back as long as he can, thrusting in your throat slowly and basking in the warmth of it. But as your saliva builds, nowhere to go, and the wet and lewd squelch of your throat grows louder, he can no longer do that. He intertwines his fingers with yours and lets you squeeze tightly, a soft growl letting you know his arousal is at a peak before he loses all control-

   His hips draw back and slam into you, the head of his cock poking at the very depth of your throat and making you gag, and the noise just stirs him on, going again and again and again to hear that sweet sound of you choking around him. Sticky saliva tainted with the white of his pre-cum drips from the corners of your stretched mouth, dripping up your face. It seems like the onslaught will never end, but he has bigger plans for his building release.

     The moment your throat is free of his cock, you draw in a large gasp, all of the wetness in your mouth dripping like a waterfall, letting you heave as he watches with dark eyes. Not that you can see the lust driven look on his face, if you were to open your eyes you'd be blinded by spit and cum.

  He discards his pants and top as he lets you catch your breath, cooing all the while about how good you just did for him. He uses the softness of his tank top to wipe away most of the filth on your face, and you finally peek your eyes open as you feel him lift you.

   You swear there's hearts swirling in the darkness of his eyes as he scans your messy face, a permanent smirk plastered on his features. "Pretty girl, you're such a mess for me," you can only pant in response, leaning into the palm he places on your cheek as he lays you down right-side-up, letting your head collide with the soft pillows.

The moment he put a pillow under your back, you knew you were in for a long ride.

And by the end of it, you wouldn't forget who you belong to.

#ateez #ateez fic #yandere ateez #ateez smut #ateez smau #park seonghwa #yandere park seonghwa #yandere seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #smut fic #yandere fic

[tarmac-rat]

#Cyberpunk 2077 #Johnny Silverhand #Clearing out some of my old drafts don't mind me #Aldi speaks #Aldi memes #Been Good to Queue Ya #top posts

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

A/N: I finished this sweet little one shot I found in my drafts. ❤️

Wayne Munson stared at his nephew's hospital bed. He never really felt his age, not around his nephew. Eddie always somehow managed to bring out the rambunctious side that once belonged to his youth. He was quick to his snapbacks and wasn't afraid to wrestle with him a time or too. Sitting in this chair, however, Wayne felt every bit his age and then some. It was times like these with Eddie that made him feel old, and it was worse now.

"You better not leave me alone, boy," Wayne whispered gruffly.

"Wayne?"

He looked over his shoulder, and his heart leaped at the sight of the woman he once loved walking through the door of the hospital room. Shit, maybe he still loved her. Her smile, though tentative, was still sweeter than pumpkin pie. Wayne loved pumpkin pie. Claudia was still as beautiful as the day he met her. He wondered if she was still a Henderson or if she finally divorced that no good husband of hers. When he met her, she was still Claudia Jackson, the sweetest girl in all of Hawkins. She wasn't afraid of giving away her heart more than once to anyone who she felt deserved it, and she wasn't afraid of befriending anyone, even if it might cause her grief. Although there were risks in that, she wasn't afraid of taking those either.

"Hey, punkin," Wayne said, giving her a crooked grin.

"Wayne," Claudia said, and he was pleased to see that he could still make her blush so prettily.

"When did you get back to Hawkins?" He asked.

"Quite a few years ago," Claudia said, looking at her feet in shame. "I would have contacted you, but to be honest, I was afraid."

"I was never upset with you for choosing him, Claudia. He was sick, what were you supposed to do? You loved him too," Wayne said. "Just disappointed in the situation, is all."

"I know," she said softly.

"How is Walt?" Wayne asked.

"Gone. Left before we moved back to Hawkins," Claudia said.

"We?" Wayne asked.

"I have a son. Dustin. Your boy took him under his wing this year," Claudia said. "I'm very grateful to him."

"He's a good boy," Wayne sniffled. "School's always been hard for him. It's going to be even harder for him now that they think he's a murder. They cleared him, but you know how it is. The public's opinion has always been the hardest to clear."

Claudia moved closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I never believed it for a second," Claudia replied.

"What if he doesn't wake up?" Wayne sobbed, and he collapsed in Claudia's arms.

And it was like the past twenty years hadn't happened. She was here and holding him tightly. It was like time hadn't passed at all. He spent most of his energy crying in her arms, and he's not sure when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, he was reclining back in the hospital chair with a blanket draped over him. Claudia walked back in a few moments later. He thought he had dreamed her up there for a second. She was wearing nurses' scrubs. Shit, maybe he was still dreaming.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, old man," she said teasingly. "I work here as a nurse."

"How did you -?"

"Twenty years is a long time, but I like to think that I still know you," Claudia said softly.

"You were always good at taking care of other people," he replied.

"So were you, always taking care of that brother of yours and Elizabeth," Claudia and started pushing Eddie's hair back. "I hear a lot of people say that he looks a lot like his daddy, but I see a lot of Elizabeth in him too. I always thought so since he was a baby. I always liked Elizabeth. I was sad to hear that she passed. I would have come then, but Dusty was a sick baby, and I'm not sure what stopped me after."

"You're here now," Wayne said softly. "Please, don't leave again, punkin. I know it's been twenty years, but I never stopped loving you. Choose me this time. I ain't asking for much, just whatever you can give me. I know I can't give you a whole lot. . ."

"Nothing can keep me away from you, Wayne Munson," Claudia said. "Not ever again."

"Not even cats?" Wayne asked.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," she teased.

Wayne chuckled and took her hand, pressing a hard but loving kiss to it.

"You know anything about the Harrington boy that's been patrolling the halls?" He asked.

"Oh, that's Steve. He's as good as my son, too, as well as Sue and Charles Sinclair's son. His parents, well, they're about as reliable as Al," Claudia said. "He's a good boy, and he's been a good older brother to Dusty. To all the kids."

"There's something in his eyes, though," Wayne said, his eyes wandering over to Eddie. "I'm not sure if I should say."

"Sometimes, things don't need to be said for someone to understand," Claudia said, her eyes twinkling delightfully. "I hope it all works out for them."

"Me too," Wayne said softly.

It was during that moment when Claudia and Wayne were staring fondly into each other's eyes that Eddie awoke.

"Either you're a really good nurse, or you really are going to be my new auntie," Eddie croaked.

Wayne had never been happier to give him a slap on the head than he was in that moment. His boy was awake, his loud mouth a strong indicator of more good things to come.

#stranger things #wayne munson #claudia henderson #wayne x claudia #wayne munson x claudia henderson #eddie munson #dustin henderson #henderfam #with a brief mention of #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things fanfiction #good ol' uncle wayne #eddie & wayne #stranger things s4 #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #eddie munson lives

[copperbadge]

What do you mean by digital cleaning?

It's something I've been working on more this year because I had a bit more travel than usual so couldn't do actual home cleaning, but I always take a couple of days in the Month Of Cleaning where I'm focused on my digital life. It's good to make your physical home a comfortable place for yourself, but it's also good to recognize that we have "digital" homes that need attention. And often this is at least less physically demanding, so it's good to keep it in your back pocket for days when you're mentally okay but physically too tired or sore to do more of that kind of work.

In the shortest possible terms, digital cleaning is just making sure that your phone, computer, socials, and other digital "presences" are organized in a way that you find helpful, and that you take a moment to either answer those messages you've been putting off or give yourself amnesty on doing so.

This tends to make a lot of people extremely anxious in a way ordinary physical space cleaning doesn't, so I'm going to put the rest of it behind a cut...

So when I say digital cleaning, I refer to stuff like going through my likes on Tumblr and clearing them out, going through my drafts and turning them into queued posts, answering my asks. I spend time in my email inboxes, either responding to messages or removing them. I am not an "inbox zero" kind of guy, but I like to keep the read-but-not-answered messages to a minimum, and towards the end of the year that usually means a clear-out and amnesty. I clean my Google Drive -- delete old files I uploaded for others, move documents I'm no longer using into an archive, move documents I want to work on into a central work folder. I go through my catch-all folder on my hard drive and organize it; I sort through the year's photos and organize those, partly to archive them and partly because I make a scrapbook from them each year. I don't usually have a ton of tabs open but often have more than I'd like, so I go through them all and either read, bookmark, or get rid of them.

I look in my phone's file tree to make sure I delete files I don't need (mostly menu downloads, Restaurants Stop Making Your Menus PDFs Challenge 2K24) and I sometimes go through each app on my phone, make sure I still use it, and make sure it's set how I want it. If this sounds like a nightmare, bear in mind that I very rarely put apps on my phone to start with -- I think my mother has more apps open at any given time than I have apps on my phone ever.

Everywhere I clean, I look for files named things like "notes" or "deal with" or "random" and move them all into one place so that whatever is in them, I can sort through it and make sure it goes somewhere permanent. Logins go in the login/password spreadsheet I keep, addresses go into my contacts, story notes go into a "fiction scraps" file, random thoughts either get moved into a journal file or put into drafts to become Tumblr posts, etc.

If this sounds like I might have some kind of compulsion disorder, I get that; when I explain my digital hygiene systems a lot of people look at me like I'm spouting a mad but harmless conspiracy theory. But it's something I used to have to do periodically even before I created National Clean Your Home Month, because otherwise I could never find anything, and everything was just...harder. As I once told a boss who admired my organizational skills, "It was this or endless chaos."

Putting addresses into my contacts list means I always know that the addresses I have for my friends are up to date. Putting logins into a spreadsheet means that five minutes spent now will not result in five weeks of procrastination later because I can't find the login and can't do anything else until I do that. Going through my email and archiving old conversations means not only can I find them easily when needed, I don't have to look at them the rest of the time. Sometimes I even go through my various wish lists and remove old/purchased items, or clear out all my "save for later" carts.

There's no doubt this is stressful, but like every part of NaClYoHo, it's broken down into smaller tasks; I don't have to look at my computer and organize everything on it all in one day. I can answer a few asks, then sort photos (something I find very soothing up until the moment I Don't), then read and delete some emails, then I'm done for the day. I can spread "answer or file all your work emails" out over a couple of days. I can maybe empty out my Likes but just turn the ones I actually want to reblog into drafts for now and deal with them later in the "drafts" phase of cleaning. And if I don't manage to empty out my inboxes, at least they're emptier than they were.

I'm struggling this morning with having put a bunch of physical cleaning on the to-do list but not feeling physically up for it, so I did what I felt capable of doing (measuring cabinets for new shelf liners mainly) and later today I might sit down and start building this year's photobook. Or not -- I have to code Radio Free Monday, sort out a prescription and possibly go pick it up, plus a very full day of work and a couple of afternoon appointments I can't shirk, so today may simply be a "get through the day" kind of day. That's okay too; some days the spirit is willing but the schedule is full.

#naclyoho #national clean your home month #digital cleaning

[seangelfish]

“Let’s do something fun!”

Natsume Sakasaki x reader ♡ Tags: Smut (NSFW), established relationship, romance, fem!AFAB reader (she/her pronouns), dom!Natsume & sub!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, rough sex, riding, missionary, nearly getting caught. ♡ Word count: 1,394 ♡ Synopsis: During your break, you headed off to the secret room to visit your boyfriend who was busy experimenting. Since both of you had a free period, why not do something fun together? A/N: This is such an old draft (from last year) 😭 I'm not sure why I didn't finish it, but I did now just for my Natsume lovers out there. I also needed to clear out my drafts... Anyways, happy reading! (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! NSFW below the cut. Please proceed with caution.

Turning the doorknob ever so slightly, you peered into the room. There you saw Natsume equipped in his usual get-up of a lab coat over his school uniform, experimenting with all sorts of colourful liquids.

You smiled to yourself as you made your way towards him.

"Natsume!" you greeted, tiptoeing to his height to plant a kiss on his cheek.

His face flushed red.

"(Y-Y/N)?!" he exclaimed. "Don't you have class right now?"

"Nope, I have an hour free!" you giggled. "And I see you're skipping class again, so let's do something fun together!"

Natsume sighed but smiled. "Sorry, kitten, but I really want to finish this. We can do something together after school, okay?"

You couldn't hide your disappointed face, but you nodded. "Okay, then let me just watch you."

"Sure."

You sat down next to him. With your palms on your cheeks, you stared at how his hands handled the vials. They were slender and pale, his veins prominent, and the way they moved had you feeling some sort of way.

"I bet you find this boring," he suddenly said.

"N-No, I'm fine!" you replied. "What are you making this time?"

"Just a simple potion to make a person spill the first thing in their mind. Would you like to test it out?"

He was only teasing, but it had you excited. "Yes! Could I?" you asked eagerly.

"O-Oh, okay," he said. "I'm only going to give you a little. Chin up."

You obeyed, looking up at him from the chair you were sitting on. He stabilised your chin with his fingers, but before he could pour the liquid into your mouth, he hesitated.

"Natsume?"

Seeing you under him like that made him sweat a bit.

"I change my mind," he began, putting the vial down. "Let's do something together."

"Really?!"

You were thinking of going to the cafeteria to grab a snack and then walk around the gardens together. That would be fun! But before you could suggest anything, you heard a faint lock.

Behind you, Natsume removed his lab coat, tossing it to the side. He turned to you with a smirk, taking your chin again as he locked lips with you. You fell into the kiss almost immediately, but disappointment struck again when he quickly broke away.

"(Y/N), when do you have to get back by?" he asked.

"B-By 2pm," you replied, perplexed.

"That's enough time."

He led you over to the beanbags in the room and sat down. You were confused about where this was going. However, before you could ask, he tugged your arm harshly and you fell right on top of him.

"You're so pretty, my kitten~" he cooed. His hand rested on your back with your hands on his chest. He wouldn't let you get back up no matter how hard you tried to do so.

"Natsume, what are you doing?" you questioned, nervous chuckles escaping your lips.

"I thought you wanted to do something fun?"

"Yes, but–"

"Then let's do something fun."

He had you bounce on his cock, his slender hands holding you in place.

“You’re so pretty, my kitten~”

"N-Natsume, why am I... the only one... undressed?" you spluttered. He had stripped you naked, but he was still fully clothed. "T-This is so... ah... embarrassing...!"

"Well, it makes it more fun, don't you think?" he said teasingly. "And anyway, we're the only two here..."

You pouted, annoyed at his antics. He can't get away with this! You had to take revenge! You grabbed his chest and bounced on his cock even faster. As expected, his smirk was wiped off his face as he began to moan.

"Mmm... (Y/N)..." he groaned. "Ah... that feels good..."

You just couldn't believe he had this in mind when you said you wanted to do something fun with him. The actual nerve!

But at least it felt good...

It's not like you wanted to stop any time soon...

He smacked your ass whilst you made your way up and down his cock. With your nipples perked up, he sucked on them harshly, circling them with his tongue.

“Ah…! N-Natsume…!” you squeaked. “Ngh… ahhh~”

His eyes looked up at you, his mouth still sucking on your breasts. He loved the view you were giving him, all red and sweaty, beautiful and glistening. He wanted to break you, wanted to hear you beg for his dick.

And that's when an idea came to mind.

When you started slowing down your movements, Natsume started thrusting in and out of you.

You gasped loudly. "Natsume!" you cried, gripping onto his hair. "Ahh~ I'm going to come... I'm going to–"

But before you could, he had come to a sudden stop. Visibly confused and upset, you hit his chest lightly.

"W-Why did you stop?!" you whined. "N-Natsume, you're so mean...!"

Natsume tucked in a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"I'll make you come if you beg me for it," he taunted. "Beg me for my dick."

The tables were flipped again. He was playing with you, but worse than before! You guessed you didn't really need to get revenge, but you did want to reach your climax.

As you leaned forward, you kissed him aggressively. With every smack of your lips, you moaned out, "I want... y-your dick... please..."

Natsume grinned, but you continued. "P-Please... I want y-you... to c-cum inside... me..."

He blushed instantly at this even when his face was already so red to begin with. You, his beautiful girlfriend who was always so poised – so innocent – wanted him to cum inside you? The two of you never went that far, but if that's what his kitten wants, then that's what his kitten gets.

Natsume picked you up and slammed you down onto the beanbag, switching your positions so now he was on top. He teased your cunt as he rubbed his dick over it before plunging it in.

As he began to pound into you harder, you moaned loudly, arms wrapped around his neck, wanting more and more of him.

"Shhh," he said. "We may be in this room, but that doesn't guarantee nobody will hear us."

You obeyed like he knew you would and started whimpering instead.

"Mhm~ ngh~"

"(Y/N)... ah... ahhh," he moaned, his voice low. "Ugh... fuck... aren't you talking me well~?"

He fucked your cunt as fast as he could, plunging in and out of you that it felt so good you couldn't help but wail. You had to cover your mouth at this point to shut yourself up.

"Argh... (Y/N)..."

"N-Natsu–"

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door and a voice came out saying, "Natsume-kun, are you in there? Could you open the door?"

"T-Tsumugi-senpai?!" he hissed, coming to a halt. "Great timing..."

He was about to stand up, but you yanked him back down.

"Stop... d-disappointing me... today..." you panted. "Just ignore... Tsumugi-senpai... Please... just... f-fuck me..."

Your boyfriend looked at you in surprise. You were being so needy, so adorable. He couldn't help but give in to your word.

"Natsume-kun?" Tsumugi repeated.

"Alright, kitten. Just stay quiet, alright?"

You nodded impatiently as Natsume continued to please you. He left you kisses all over, a few hickeys here and there too. He groaned quietly as he felt your pussy tighten around him. He was so close. You were so close.

"I-I'm going to c-cum...!" you whispered.

"Argh... so am I... fuck..."

And with the last few thrusts, you had finally reached your climax. Releasing all your fluids on Natsume's cock, he filled you up with his.

He pulled out gently, watching his cum slowly seep out of your hole. What a pretty sight, he thought.

"Let me get you cleaned up," he said. "You can rest for a bit."

You giggled in response, your eyelids drooping down. Smiling softly at you, he kissed your forehead.

"I hope that makes up for disappointing you."

By the time Natsume unlocked the door for Tsumugi, it was time for you to leave for your next class.

"Good afternoon, Tsumugi-senpai!" you greeted happily, skipping out the door.

"H-Huh? G-Good afternoon to you too, (Y/N)...?" he replied, confused.

He didn't expect you to be in the room with Natsume. What on earth were you two doing then? But he immediately shook the thought out of his head and did what he came here to do.

Intro page | Ensemble Stars masterlist | Rules

#ensemble stars x reader #enstars x reader #x reader #fanfic #enstars smut #enstars x reader smut #natsume sakasaki x reader #natsume sakasaki x reader smut #sakasaki natsume x reader

[californianedgeworth]

I wrote this tirade about the Gavinners' theme in my notes app months ago but I had no Ace Attorney fans to share it with but I have a tumblr blog now so I will unleash it upon all of you:

We only know 2 of the 5 Gavinner members. There have to be 5 since there are two guitarists, a bassist, a drummer, and a keyboard player as established by the instruments in Turnabout Serenade. But the only ones with canon appearances and names are the guitarists, Klavier Gavin and Daryan Crescend. Since we know less than half of the band, it sends my mind running who the others could be. It would have been so fun to see all the designs of the band, but we don’t! So I just have to imagine what they look like, possibly based off of Klavier and Daryan. Some people have made their own headcanons and fanart, and I like them but I feel like there’s an important matter they never touch on.

As far as Klavier goes, his design is straightforward. 

(sorry his png is so damn big. I figured out how to edit in html to make the image smaller but every time I save the textpost draft it undoes my edit. no I will not open a photo editor to size him down)

When I show a picture of him to my friends who haven’t played Ace Attorney, they ask if he’s a rockstar. And he is! His design conveys the fact. He’s also a lawyer, so his style strikes somewhere between courtroom attire and rockstar. A lot of the Ace Attorney designs are fun and great at conveying character, and I’d say Klavier is a pretty solid design.

But then there’s Daryan, who is dressed like a shark. 

Idk if anyone else agrees but I’m not a fan of Daryan’s design. I also don’t really like him as a character either tbh. If he wasn’t holding a guitar, would it even be clear that he’s a rockstar? All the Gavinners members are part of law enforcement, but you can’t really tell Daryan is a police officer either. His design kind of bewilders me. With Klavier, you can tell a lot just by looking at him. What comes to mind when you look at Daryan is “shark man”. I mean, shark man’s a sick design concept, but I don’t like looking at Daryan! I think it has a lot to do with his ugly ass hair. His hoodie’s fun, but I don't like his hair. It's an unfortunate shape. And I think the people agree: half the fanart I see of him, they change his hair.

Usually with bands, you expect them to share a common style. But in the rock band the Gavinners, one of the members is dressed like a rockstar, and one of them is dressed like a shark. Like, I guess you could argue that Daryan is kind of in line, and his fashion fits into the rocker style. But I don’t know, in my mind the fact he’s a shark guy makes him very inconsistent with Klavier to me. So that got me wondering, what percentage of the Gavinners is dressed as rockstars vs Gavinners dressed as marine animals? I thought through some of the possibilities and proposed the ones that are funniest to me

Ratio 1 - 4 Rockstars to 1 Marine-Themed Star

This would mean Daryan is the odd one out. The weirdo who is a little too into Sharkboy and Lava Girl. A band of 4 guys who wear similar rockstar styles and then there’s just Daryan in his shark hoodie. 

Ratio 2 - Split 2 to 3 Either Way

In this scenario, the band can’t agree on what their theme is. Half are dressed in chains and leather, the other half are out of a marine biology textbook

Ratio 3 - 1 to 1 to 1 to 1 to 1

The Gavinners has no theming in the costume department. Each member is dressed however they like. Aesthetic nightmare

Ratio 4 - 1 Rockstar to 4 Marine-Themed Stars

I imagine it like this:

A 16-year-old Klavier Gavin walks into the studio, which at that time is the Gavin family’s garage. The Gavinners have just come together recently, and are rehearsing for their first show. But when Klavier enters, he finds his band mates are dressed up as a shark, a wrasse, a clownfish, and a lobster.

Klavier is confused, because he thought that the Gavinners was going to be themed after Klavier Gavin. He expresses this thought to his band.

Daryan tells him that since Klavier decided to name the band after himself, it was only fair the rest of the band mates got to choose the theme. And they were all super into sea life, so they dressed up as their favorite marine animals.

Klavier is annoyed they didn’t talk through it with him and says that maybe their theme is getting a little muddled. But since they’re all so enthusiastic, he’ll try it out. And he wants to be a merman. 

All the other members side eye Klavier. A merman isn’t a real animal, they tell him. Maybe he could be a manatee, a seahorse, a sea angel, a parrot fish? All of those creatures are just as majestic and beautiful as mermen, and they actually exist. Despite Klavier’s protests, the rest of the band does not budge. They persuade him to be a parrotfish.

The day comes for their first show. They got Klavier a parrotfish costume, which he keeps making faces at as they set up.

Klavier tells the other Gavinners he doesn’t want to wear the fish head hat since it will cover up his fresh haircut, but they insist he should. As they get ready in the dressing room, Klavier excuses himself to the bathroom.

When they’re called to the stage, Klavier has not returned. They assume he might already be onstage, or will be there soon. As they all get there and Klavier does not, they start to feel concern. Klavier is their lead singer and guitarist. He’d been thinking of nothing but their show for days, so it’s strange he’s suddenly missing. They ask the manager to delay the curtain call for a few minutes. The manager denies them, saying they’re on a tight schedule and they don’t want to delay the performers coming after the Gavinners. The band considers going into the bathroom to check on Klavier, or if they could perform without him.

As the curtain begins to rise, Klavier finally walks out on stage and joins the rest of them. But he’s not in a parrotfish costume. He is in a matching black shirt and pants combo with silver chains. Not even close to being parrotfish themed. The bandmates are shocked, but know they can’t make a fuss about it when the show is starting. They give him glares while they play. But they know they must look so bad when they’re all dressed up as various fish and an arthropod while their lead singer isn’t. The performance is received well despite the tension, but there are some mild comments on how strange the costuming is. Once it’s over, the bandmates confront Klavier, but he absolutely refuses to dress as a parrotfish for any of their future shows. When they realize they can’t change his mind (and they still won’t change their minds about letting him be a merman), they agree to just go to shows that way. Four of them dressed up as ocean animals, while the lead singer is not.

Over time, the other bandmates eventually give up on the whole marine life shtick. If they’re not all coordinated, what’s the point? And from their dressing room in the AA4, it looks like the band’s styling is in line with Klavier’s. But as the other members shed their marine life costumes, one keeps his through it all: Daryan. As the band builds regard and a fan base, he remembers how Klavier ruined their theme. So many of their arguments over the music and the band image are started because Daryan is secretly wounded no one dresses up as a fish with him. Now this gets into theory territory because I believe this could be his true motivator in Turnabout Serenade—

#ace attorney #the gavinners #klavier gavin #my txtstuff #as you can see I have a lot of thoughts about this #aa #ace attorney headcanon

[heteromerous-rhyming]

this has been in my drafts for a while, but it's honestly more of a criticism of a singular person's actions than the show, so i've hesitated in posting it. but i feel like it needs to be said perhaps, and i don't feel like i'm being unfair (though you all can judge that)

let me be blunt: i hate the attitude that riordan has towards the movies.

this isn't in any way a defense of the movies, by the way. I saw that movie when it came out with my dad (who was not impressed) and i remember ranting the whole way back in the car about how the movies had failed in their adaptation.

but they could have just been forgotten after a few years. it's been fourteen years, and in that time, i've made my relative peace with them - they weren't percy jackson at all (i disowned them from my headspace relegated to pjo) but they exist. and that's fine.

and this isn't to say that i don't understand the reaction that riordan had to the movies. the books were his creation, and the movies fundamentally betrayed them. he, of all people, has the right to feel disappointed and angry.

but a movie is more than just a director. or a screenwriter. a movie contains so many myriad parts - when logan lerman congratulated walker scobell, i realized that the first emotion that i'd had towards the movies had faded into general bemusement, and i thought that it was very sweet that a (disowned maybe) percy had passed on the torch. there are some parts of the movie that are done well - i find that almost none but the most irredeemable pieces of media have no good parts.

but riordan, from his tweets, constantly makes jabs at the movies. "normalize bad movie erasure" but, oh, riordan, if you could only take your own advice? if you had erased the movies, they would not be so prominent in your mind as you're thinking of the show. it is clear that riordan still hasn't let go of a movie now 14 years old, and i find that unfair to those people who worked on that production in good faith, to the places in the film where the fandom laughed along to.

in wholesale, emotionally rejecting the movies, riordan excises the possibility of learning something about the art of a visual medium from them. riordan, from my knowledge, has never worked on a film or tv show before - and say what you want about the movie but they had some veteran showrunners (which makes the end product more disappointing but i digress). riordan thus refuses to acknowledge the movies while clearly being affected by them (note: someone else has already pointed out that the lotus flowers being food was a movie change and not from the books). even the choice of levitating is contrasted by him to the movies. but the idea of a hit pop song in the casino is from the movies themselves.

#rr crit #i'm not tagging this with the show bc #it's ultimately not a criticism of the show really #it might be a criticism of the author and of some aspects of fandom #but i digress #.

[aceofstars16]

Here we go! I finished the cover the same day I finished the rough draft of the fic, and now I edited the next chapter and posted it!

You can read the whole thing on AO3!

But I will also include the next chapter under the cut here in case you don't want to use AO3 (though I don't have the energy to find the previous chapters on here, there are links to the tumblr posts on AO3 though!)

Chapter 8 - Old Food and Old Friends

Tensions rise as Ford realizes he may need help in fixing the time machine.

Darkness. It was everywhere, sticking to everything. Ford could feel it, clinging to him, trying to suffocate him, to pull him under. And it was succeeding. Laughter echoed around him, laughter that he had heard for weeks on end, mocking him for his stupidity.

“Just leave me alone for one minute!” He screamed, knowing it wouldn’t do anything, but unable to face the suffocating darkness anymore.

“Fine. I can make it on my own! I don't need you! I don't need anyone!”

The darkness vanished in the blink of an eye, replaced by the light of a lamp, sitting on a desk that Ford hadn’t seen in ages. Tires screeched outside of the closed curtains. Curtains he had closed only a few moments ago, or at least – that’s what his mind told him. In reality, it had been years ago, but dreams had a way of making everything seem real again.

Glancing down at the pamphlet in his hands, Ford let out a sigh, desperately wanting to throw it in the corner of the room for all the good it did him. That dream was gone, ruined by a brother who couldn’t let go of a childish fantasy that hadn’t been a possibility for ages.

Ruining lives, that’s what Stan did.

The thought came out of nowhere. It was almost in line with his own feelings, his own thoughts and emotions. But something about it wasn’t quite right.

Stan only cares about his own dreams; he never wanted you to succeed.

Anger rushed through Ford at the thought, but he couldn’t figure out if he was mad at himself for thinking it, or at Stan or…at something else. That unsettling feeling. He knew it, but his brain seemed to be failing him, as if something was stopping him from identifying it.

You can’t trust Stan. You can’t trust anyone.

Fiddleford leaving, townsfolk starring at him. Something about their eyes sent a chill down his spine.

You are the only one you can rely on, everyone else will fail you.

Right…that’s what he had learned. If he ever wanted to succeed, he could only trust himself. He had to do it himself, had to fix it. No matter how hard it was, not matter how lonely…

That’s right. Besides, you don’t need anyone. You are strong enough on your own.

“You are going to change the world one day.”

Pa was looking at him. It was the last time Ford had ever seen him, at some celebration that must not have been very important because every inch of the background was blurry.

“I…”

“You’ll make me proud. You’ll be someone. You’ll change the world.”

A shiver ran down Ford’s back. He didn’t know why, but something felt…wrong.

Then it was gone and Pa nodded and walked away.

One blink, and he was back in reality, staring at the ceiling of his cabin in Gravity Falls. He was shivering, and his head was throbbing, he didn’t feel sick, just…off.

Coffee, that’s what he needed. Caffeine always helped clear his head. Did he have any coffee left? Only one way to find out.

Sit up, swing his legs over the edge of the bed. That’s what he told himself to do, but his limbs didn’t respond, not because of exhaustion, but because something was keeping him there.

Panic overcame him and he started pulling, trying to yank his hands free. His muddled brain was still half in the dream, still feeling like something was there, just out of sight.

Bill.

The thought washed over him and his brain slowly recalled the last time he had been conscious, and the agreement he had come to with Stan. Tie him up. Right. But now he was stuck, and despite rationalizing that he must not have done anything since he was still tied up, the anxiety that had sparked a moment ago grew at the inability to move.

Turning his head as much as he could, another flash of anxiety hit him when he didn’t see Stan anywhere?

“Stanley?”

No response.

Oh gosh, what if Bill had taken over…what if…

“Stanley?!?”

“Huh, what?”

A second later, Stan was stumbling to his feet, looking around quickly, as if ready for a fight.

“Were…were you sleeping???” Ford stared at Stan with his uncovered eye, his worry being replaced by annoyance. After everything Ford had said, Stan had slept?

“Uh, just closed my eyes for a bit that’s all,” Stand said, his shoulders relaxing a little as he looked at Ford, but he almost immediately looked away again.

“You were supposed to be keeping an eye out on things!” Ford couldn’t help the outburst. He had trusted Stan and what did he go and do? Sleep.

“I was! And nothing happened, okay?”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. You haven’t moved an inch.” Anger flashed in Stan’s eyes for a moment, but almost immediately fizzled out. “Now if you don’t mind me, I’m going to go check on the kids even though nothing happened to them because you didn’t move.”

“Wait.”

“What? I told you-”

“I’m still tied up…” Ford said, trying to move his hand as if to prove that he was stuck and needed some help if he wanted to do anything.

“Oh…right.”

It only took a few minutes - minutes of complete silence aside from Stan mumbling under his breath as he struggled with one of the knots - but soon, Ford was able to move freely again.

Rubbing his wrists, which were slightly scuffed up from the ropes, he let out a breath, knowing he should thank Stan, but when he looked up, his brother had already left. Okay then…guess no thank you was needed. Or Stan just really didn’t want to be around Ford.

The back of Ford’s neck prickled as his dream came back to him. It was Bill, that was the only explanation. He was messing with him. But glancing at the ropes, he felt doubt creeping into his mind. Stan had come, he had tied Ford up, but he also didn’t seem to grasp the severity of the situation. Of Bill and his plans. Not that Ford had been able to explain too much but deep down, he couldn’t help but wonder…could he really trust his brother?

------

Stan shut the door, not fazed by the loud banging it created. Who cared if Ford got mad? Stan hadn’t done anything wrong; nothing had happened. But the words that his brother – or really the creature controlling him – had spoken rang in his mind. Why had Ford sent him the post card?

Shaking his head, Stan pushed the thought away. Considering Ford’s reaction upon waking, he didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk to Stan. And Stan wasn’t in the mood to talk to him either. He’d rather talk to his other family members. Which, to be honest, he was still trying to wrap his head around, but it did make some sense seeing as Mabel had been so keen to stay with him and trust him so quickly.

As he walked into the living room, he saw the kids. They were talking quietly and Stan ignored the memories that popped into his mind of him and Ford as kids. They had shared everything with each other back then, back when they trusted each other. But not anymore. Those kids were long gone.

“Stan!”

Mabel grinned at him and Stan couldn’t hold back a smile. “Hey, kiddo.” He glanced at Dipper - the brother that she had tried so hard to find again - and ignored the pang of hurt that came with knowing Ford had never searched for him like Mabel had for her brother.

“How’s Ford?” Dipper asked.

“I’m fine.”

Stan opened his mouth, only to be cut off when his brother walked into the room. Despite not wanting to, Stan found himself glancing at him, but Ford didn’t return the gaze, he just walked to the table where they had left the time machine, plopping down some tools before fiddling around with it. He still looked tired, but at least he wasn’t a second away from collapsing anymore.

Letting out a breath, Stan caught sight of Mabel looking at him questioningly, but he just smiled. “How’d you sleep, kiddo?”

Mabel glanced at Dipper, who was watching Ford cautiously. “Good.”

“Glad to have your brother back, huh?”

“Yeah…how are you and Ford-” She started, but Stan cut her off before she could finish her question.

“Hey, you know what, I’m kind of hungry. Want to help me rummage up some food?” Stan grinned and started heading out of the room.

A moment later, Mabel was next to him, grabbing his hand to lead him despite him knowing where the kitchen was - though he supposed she didn't know he had been there last night. “It’s this way, but there isn’t much food. Me and Dipper could only find some crackers last night.”

“I’m sure we can find something.” Stan said, hoping it was true. At this point, he was starving - the handful of crackers he ate last night had barely been a snack, let alone a filling meal. And while sleep had helped a little with his exhaustion, he knew food would help even more.

They rummaged around in the kitchen for a while, but Mabel was right, there wasn’t any food left, at least not anything edible. Why didn’t Ford have any food? Sure, he definitely wasn’t in his right mind, but it was still concerning.

“Ew.” Mabel made a face as she sniffed a pack of cheese in the fridge.

Stan chuckled, more to cover over his unease than out of amusement. “Yeah…I’m thinking a trip to the store is in order.”

“What about the snow?”

Frowning, Stan walked to the window. Snow was covering most of the sill, but he could see outside. “I think it’s calmed down some. It should be safe enough to drive.”

“Maybe we can all go to the store! A family outing!”

This time, the laugh that escaped Stan’s mouth was genuine. Mabel sure had a way of bringing excitement and joy to any situation, even one as…confusing as theirs. And Stan was grateful for it. “Yeah, maybe so.”

------

Dipper was vaguely aware of Mabel and Stan leaving the room, but he didn’t follow. Sure, Ford said he was fine and he did seem a little more coherent than before but after the encounter with Bill…

Shaking his head, Dipper focused on what Ford was doing. He was using some small tools to try to fit the time machine back together. If anyone could fix it, the author could…well, at least if he was at the top of his game.

“Ford?”

For a moment, Dipper thought he hadn’t heard him, but then Ford sighed, though he didn’t look away from his project. “Yes?”

“You look uh…”

Ford glanced at him for a second, and Dipper suddenly felt embarrassed, but he was curious about what had happened last night.

“It looks like you slept, but you told me that when you did, Bill would…”

Waving with his hand, Ford focused back on the measuring tape. “He didn’t. Stan tied me up, so Bill didn’t do anything.” For a moment, Ford’s eyes narrowed and he muttered under his breath, but Dipper still heard it. “At least I don’t think he did.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Dipper scooted slightly away from Ford and unfortunately Ford looked up right as he did. For a split second, Dipper saw guilt cross his face, but then it vanished.

“Apparently Stan fell asleep at some point too.” Ford’s gaze hardened as he returned focus on his work before muttering to himself again. “But I suppose if something had happened, I wouldn’t have still been tied up when I awoke.”

Dipper frowned. Ford and Stan’s relationship seemed…strained, to say the least. And sure, Stan from the future wasn’t always the most trustworthy guy, but…he didn’t seem too bad. And this 80s Stan seemed fine too. So why was Ford so cold towards him? Sure, he had been brash with Dipper at first but Stan was his brother, not only that but his twin.

“Ford?”

Ford didn’t look up from his work. “I need to focus, if I want to fix this.” His voice had an edge to it, which immediately set off Dipper’s anxiety.

 “Oh…right…” Dipper fiddled with his hands, not wanting to anger Ford further. But after a few moments, curiosity got the better of him. “Are you mad at Stan?”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Ford took a deep breath, then opened them again before continuing his work. Despite expecting it, Dipper was still disappointed. He had so many questions about what had happened to create the future he knew, but if he didn’t know anything about the past, he wouldn’t be able to answer them.

“Yes.”

Dipper sat up straight at the word. Ford still wasn’t looking at him, but the frustration on his face was evident.

“Why?”

“It’s a long story.” Ford muttered.

“But he’s here. Wait, why is he here?” Dipper was hit with the realization that he didn’t know how Stan had even known how to get to Gravity Falls. Unless he lived here too, but from Ford’s interactions with him, that seemed unlikely.

“Because I asked him to come… Gah!”

Dipper jumped as Ford threw his screwdriver on the table. “Wh-”

“This blasted thing doesn’t make sense. If I had some blueprints, I might be able to figure it out. But this machinery is too complex even for me.” Ford glared at the time machine.

Dread grew in the pit of Dipper’s stomach. “You…you can’t fix it?”

For a moment, Ford was quiet, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he straightened up, only to deflate again. “I…don’t think I can…but…I might know someone who…could help.”

“Really?” For a moment, Dipper was confused, then he remembered the journal and he straightened up. “Wait, your assistant? He’s good with machines, right?”

Ford glanced at him and sighed. “Yes, I just…have to find him.”

“You don’t know where he is?” The hope that had grown in Dipper’s chest deflated.

“I…have a few ideas...I just hope he’ll actually talk to me this time.”

------

“Absolutely not.” Ford frowned at Mabel and Stan, who had just asked about going into town together to get food.

Mabel felt disappointment worming its way into her chest, but she pushed it back. “Why not? It’ll be fun!”

Ford stared at her for a moment, as if she was some kind of puzzle. “It’s too dangerous. I’m not going to leave the por-my house without supervision.”

“What, you don’t have a lock?” Stan grumbled.

The glare that Ford shot at Stan was painful to look at, despite it not even being directed at her. “I’m not leaving my work for anyth-one to mess with.”

“You mean the big thing in the basement?” Mabel asked, which she regretted as Ford shot her a suspicious look.

“How do you-?”

“Dipper told me.”

Ford glanced at Dipper who looked at him sheepishly. Sighing, Ford shook his head. “Like I said, I don’t want to leave the house unsupervised.”

“Okay, fine, then I can just go with the kids and-” Stan started but Ford quickly held up his hand.

“Unfortunately, I need to go into town myself.”

“Why? Don’t trust us to get the right food?” Stan countered.

For a moment, Ford just glared at Stan, and Mabel hated how icy his look was.

“No, I have to find someone if we want a chance at fixing the time machine and I’m the only one who knows him. And where to find him.” 

Stan made a dismissive sound, but before he could say anything, Mabel piped in, not wanting Stan to get even more annoyed. “How about we split up!”

Everyone turned to look at her and Mabel gave her biggest grin. “Me and Dipper can go with Ford and Stan can stay to watch things.”

Mabel tried her best not to be disappointed when she saw the deep frown that grew on Ford’s face.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, I should just go into town myself and-”

“Oh yeah, it’s not like you’re seriously sleep deprived or anything,” Stan muttered.

“Well, if you-”

“Hold up!” Dipper raised his voice, and Mabel had a feeling that he wasn’t a huge fan of the brothers arguing either. “Why can’t me and Mabel go with Ford while Stan stays here to watch the house?”

A grin grew on Mabel’s face and she gave Dipper a thumbs up at his support of her plan. As much as she hated the idea of leaving Stan, she couldn’t help but feel excited to have some quality time with Dipper and maybe figure out what was going on between Stan and Ford.

“I suppose it could work but...I’m still not a fan of it…” Ford glanced at Stan for a moment, and unfortunately Stan saw it.

“What, you don’t think I can sit in a house?” Stan deadpanned.

Clutching his hands behind his back, Ford’s gaze flickered away from Stan. “No, it’s not that it’s just…there are things that you don’t understand, and if anything went wrong…”

“You don’t trust me.” It was an accusation, but Mabel didn’t miss the hurt that crossed Stan’s face.

“I didn’t…look we’re wasting time. I’ll just go into town.” Ford glanced at Mabel. “You can come if you’d like, but Dipper has more experience with supernatural occurrences so he should stay here in case anything…happens.”

Stan opened his mouth, probably about to argue some point, but Mabel quickly jumped in. “Sounds good to me!” In reality, she would rather Dipper go with her or she stay with Stan, but she was tired of the arguing and it wasn’t the worst solution.

“Are you sure, Mabel?” Stan asked, glancing at his brother with uncertainty.  

Dipper was looking at her in concern too, but she just grinned and looked at Ford. “Yup! It’ll be fun!”

For a moment, Ford just stared at her, then sighed. “Alright then, we should get going.” He held out his hand towards Stan.

For a moment, Stan looked confused, then understanding crossed his face and he sighed, reluctantly pulling out his keys. “You better not crash her Ford; I know your luck with cars. And with that eyepatch you’re bound to be even worse.”

Grabbing the keys, Ford let out a huff. “I still know how to drive, Stanley. And I can still see. Come along, Mabel.”

Mabel gave her brother and grunkle a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him. We’ll be back soon!” Then she headed after the author. Sure, she didn’t really know him, and he did seem a little…cold, but it would totally be fine! It was just an opportunity to get to know Ford. And maybe, just maybe, she could get him to tell her what was going on between him and Stan so she could help fix it.

#trapped in the past #timtrapped au #timestuck au #gravity falls #gravity falls au #gravity falls fanfiction #stanford pines #stanley pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #stan pines #ford pines #pines family #aceo writes things #(was that a tag i used? i do not remember it's been so long...) #aceo draws things

[pb-dot]

WIP Anouncement: Thereafter

As I'm putting the final touch on the first draft of His Impossible Brushstrokes, I've come to realize something important about myself. I like writing, I like it a lot. Ok, not exactly a deep dark secret, that, but it has some implications as to how I'm going to do this one so I figured I should mention that up top.

The thing I came to realize is that the way things are going, I'm going to make what is hopefully one final pass on The Clockwork Boy to shine up the dialog a bit, and while editing is a fine and indeed neccesary part of writing, I have a need to keep writing-writing these days. Speaking from a purely practical standpoint, I also need some way to pace myself, as losing my mind in writing frenzies isn't doing my brain any favors.

So, with that in mind, I have decided to write and release my newest project, Thereafter, myself in the style of serial fiction. I'm going to set up a newsletter service to send my subscribers individual chapers of the series and host the backlogs on some apropriate site, looking like Cohost at the moment. After a period of outlining and writing up character bios, I plan to start at a slow but hopefully manageable clip, releasing two chapters per month, possibly ramping up to three if I find the workflow suiting me.

I don't really plan on earning any money from Thereafter at the time of writing, but considering hosting costs for the newsletter side of things, I may set up a patreon or other crowdfunding page if I ever start getting close to the 100 subscriber limit of the free plan I have my eyes on. It would be nice to get paid for this thing even if it's just the hosting costs, but honestly I just want to get the project out there and get some eyeballs on it, and if it catches on it catches on.

Thereafter is a bit of a appraising look, perhaps even deconstruction of the Portal Fantasy type of narrative, think your Narnias, your Warriors of Virtue, Your Pagemasters and what have you. In it, we meet 4 souls in their thirties who saved a secret magical land from a great evil as children, and have been struggling to make everything work in the aftermath of that. Now solidly among the ranks of the adult, these ex-heroes of legend find themselves, each in their own way, long for the magic, freedom and purpose of their adventures. When the strange wind that once whisked them away to their magical lands finally comes for them again, our heroes learn that they should have been careful about what they wish for.

The magical lands which our protagonists saved are all gone, shattered into fragments by something so vast and terrible not even the survivors could describe it, leaving the magical realms as floating pieces of flotsam and jetsam in the void between worlds. In this void, what scant few survivors there were from the calamity band together to build a refuge out of the broken pieces of their old worlds. It is to this refuge, a town called Thereafter, that our heroes arrive, learning that not only are these worlds they bled and suffered for destroyed, but they were destroyed centuries after their departure, their exploits turned into legends.

It is this legendary status that their summoners, the de facto ruling council of Thereafter, wishes to exploit. Plagued by a scarcity of resources and a truly wild variety of cultures, species and levels of magical ability, the desperate masses of Thereafter seem poised on the brink of panic and/or revolt. The council of Therafter prop up our heroes as having returned to save the world once again, hoping that their utter failure to do so will take long enough that someone will be able to come up with a better plan in the meantime. Our heroes, on their side, are ambivalent about pretending to be these larger-than-life personas that their legends have been turned into, but recognizes that their only way home is through the good will of the council, and so play along, at least until it becomes clear that Therafter's problems are far from over, and that it is impossible to rule the unwilling with clean hands and a clean conscience.

I'm pretty excited about this one. The idea of not getting to go back once I'm finished to make the style uniform is terrifying to me, and I'll have to get used to a kinda different way to pace the story, but I have decided that this is a good way to keep myself writing while leaving enough room in my schedule to keep the editing more or less consistent. Also, I can make it every bit as queer and political as I want to, so that's nice. Worst case scenario, it'll be a fun distraction while I work on getting The Clockwork Boy published.

A more detailed plot synopsis and some talk about the characters will follow at a later date.

#Thereafter #Peebs writers #writeblr #self publication

[tomurderornottomurder]

if we could just pretend; peter parker

pair. ceo!peter parker and male!reader

summ. peter reunites with an old friend. his old friend is a recovering drug addict. his old friend doesn't recover.

gen. angst, fluff, hurt/no comfort

wc. 8.8k

tw. death, drugs, addiction, overdose descriptions, blood, injury descriptions, decomposition descriptions, body descriptions from drug use, alcohol, guilt, food/eating mentions

note. can you tell i'm clearing out old drafts? song is if we could just pretend by flatsound. this has been sitting in my drafts forever and also this is the longest oneshot i've ever written. this has been two years in the making simply because i forgot it existed and got stuck several times and i did not know how to end it, so please enjoy and feedback is appreciated. as it's been sitting, my writing might show some of it's age but overall, i think it's solid. lastly, disclaimer that i have never dealt with drug addiction myself but have been around people who have so if anything is incorrect please let me know so i can improve/change it.

Where did you go, and what did you do,

With all that time, you too scared to move?

"I really appreciate this, Pete." You slap a hand on his shoulder, "I promise to make it up," You point a finger at him, "and you can hold me to that, alright?"

"You don't owe me anything, you know that," Peter replies, holding one of your bags.

The elevator dings and you step out. Peter's penthouse is extravagant and honestly just not like him. "Holy shit," You mumble. "You sure you live here?" You turn to him with raised brows.

Peter laughs softly, "I've got a few spare rooms so let me know which one you like best."

You throw your arms around his neck and press a kiss to his cheek. "Peter!" You drop your arms to wrap around his torso, "Ah, thank you so much."

Peter freezes up as his face turns bright red. He drops your bag to reciprocate your hug and rubs a hand up and down your back, "It's no problem." He's forgotten how affectionate you can be.

"You're the best, Petey!" You give him a squeeze before pulling away. You laugh softly, "Sorry 'bout the kiss, I'm just so excited! And oh my god have I missed you!" You wrap him into another hug and squeeze.

"Can't breathe," He mutters.

You pull away and put your hands on his shoulders, "Sorry, man." 

"Well, I hate to leave you but I'm going to be late for a meeting. I should be back soon, feel free to explore."

"You sure?" You quirk a brow at him, putting your hands on your hips.

"Definitely. Enjoy yourself,"

"Oh," You laugh as Peter heads to the elevator. "Peter Parker, you have made a mistake giving me such freedom."

He just laughs, "Don't burn the place down." He flashes a smile before the elevator doors close.

You twirl around in amazement, "You have really outdone yourself, Pete." You tour each room and finally pick one down the hall from Peter's. You unload your things and roughly set up your room to keep yourself busy. You explore the penthouse to get an idea of the layout and your mind piles questions up to ask Peter later. Out of pure curiosity and boredom, you peek into Peter's room. You smile at the light blue walls and vintage, framed posters. You take a step inside to get a better view and quirk a brow at a discarded bra on the floor. "Oh," You mutter. What have you been up to Peter?

"I'm back!" Peter announces, stepping out of the elevator. 

What is it like, to be by yourself, for three and a half years

For roughly three and a half years

"Welcome home, Pete." You smile at him. "So, what's on the menu?"

"I'll just cook something," Peter shrugs, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it up. "What do you like?" 

You shrug, "Anything you cook, I'll probably eat." 

"Great," He flashes a smile but you can clearly see how tired he is. He rolls the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows as he strides into the kitchen.

You follow Peter into his kitchen, taking a seat at the island while he sifts through pots and pans. "So, the famous Peter Parker doesn't have a personal chef or something?" You rest your head on your hands as you lean your elbows onto the island. You watch Peter as he gracefully pulls out ingredients and prepares them.

"I like cooking," is his simple reply.

"For your lady friends?" You smirk.

He cranes his neck in your direction with wide eyes, "What?"

You laugh, "I saw a bra on your floor. Is it from a girlfriend or a mistress?" You bite your lip to hold in another laugh as you watch Peter become more and more flustered. This is the Peter Parker I know. 

"I don't have a girlfriend or mistress," He points a pan at you. "But it's probably from a one-night stand," He shrugs, turning back to his stove.

"One-night stand? Is this my Peter Parker who couldn't ask out Liz Allan or Mj? How's Mj doing by the way?" He really has changed. 

"She's in Europe right now," 

"Good for her," You reply. "But back to my point, since when has Peter Parker been a one-night stand kind of person?" 

He shrugs, "I grew up I guess." 

"Being rich turned you into Tony Stark?" You chuckle, looking at him with pure adoration. He shakes his head with a low giggle. "Onto my next line of questioning then," You get up from your seat walking to his side. "You have alcohol?" He points to a cabinet. "Great. Now that wasn't my question," You reach up and grab some alcohol of your choice. "Why do you have so many paintings?" You lean onto the island, alcohol in hand.

He shrugs, "I enjoy art." He starts throwing ingredients into a pan.

"Are you okay? Did your meeting turn to shit?" 

He quirks a brow and looks at you as he tosses in more ingredients. "Why?"

"You're kinda snappy today. You can tell me what happened," You grab the bottle of alcohol and offer it, "and have a drink." 

He sighs, "Sure, pour it." He throws in a few more ingredients before pouring a bit of vegetable oil. 

"Anything special?" You ask, grabbing a glass from a cabinet. He shakes his head, focusing on his cooking. You smile and decide to whip him up the same thing you had when you got him to drink alcohol for the first time. "This is a classic, Peter Parker. And frankly, if you don't recognize it, I'll be offended." You smile at him as you mix his drink. 

He chuckles and shakes his head before turning his attention back to cooking. His mind is all over the place, especially with you here and by his side, he needs to focus on his cooking though.

"We make such a great pair," You start as you finish pouring his drink. "You can cook and I mix a mean drink." You slide over his drink and start downing your own. You sigh, leaning onto your hand and watching Peter. This is a nice moment, a nice break from the hell of your life.

Silence takes over the kitchen with the only noises being the moving of glasses and sounds of the food cooking. Peter's entire focus is on his cooking while your mind wanders. You watch him for a bit before momentarily drawing your attention away to refill your glass every so often. You think about how much he's changed since high school. How he's still the same yet vastly different. How your worlds greatly differ and how lucky you are for your path having come across his again. 

"Peter," You start -a bit too quiet for your liking- with your throat burning, guilt coming up just like puke does. "Peter," You repeat and this time your voice is at a volume you like. "What did you do?" You ask this too quickly. You catch how vague the question is and expand further, "I know we weren't the closest and we still aren't and I'm sorry but what did you do? What did you do in those years I was gone? I know I didn't keep in contact like Mj and everyone else did- and Ned stayed here so-" You cut yourself off. You're rambling too much. "I shouldn't have left like I did. No contact, not even a text or DM. That was shitty but I want to know what you did? What did you do by yourself?"

Peter turns to you with a soft smile but you can feel the sadness behind it. He really doesn't know what to say. "It's okay, you know?" His head is tilted down but his eyes peer up to look at you. "It's okay that you left," He wants to assure you and hope he does. He can't be sure that he's reassuring though because he's not sure the words he's using are right. "By myself," He mumbles to himself but doesn't realize it. He sighs before explaining what happened after graduation, how he graduated college early, and lastly how he inherited some of Tony Stark's company and started his own. 

"God," You shake your head after Peter finishes. "I wish I could say the same," You chuckle sadly. Your mind wanders back to before now, before college, just at the beginning of the disaster that your life is.

If we could just pretend, that I went to college

And that is why you, you haven't seen me

Your future looked bright. You just graduated and were sorting through college acceptance letters. Peter was doing the same with his Aunt. You really wanted to go to a college out-of-state; you'd lived in New York forever and wanted to branch out. Not only did you want to attend college across the country but you planned to study abroad; hopefully the college you chose to attend had one of those programs. You needed a new adventure and sure there was always something going on in New York with all the battles and things but you needed to be the adventurer. 

Your first weeks of summer were spent thoroughly vetting the few colleges that truly spoke to you. You were planning to visit each campus, even one with Peter though he was set on attending school near his home. It made you kind of sad to think about; you and Peter were set on different paths. But you knew Peter would keep in touch; he never broke a promise. He was good like that, such a good person, such a good friend.

---

Two weeks into college; things were rough. You liked- well, no. You loved it. A new atmosphere was really what you needed. It's just that starting over is hard. You knew no one, had to navigate campus virtually by yourself, and classes were difficult; nowhere near what high school was like. It was exhilarating, too! So much to learn, so many people to meet, so many opportunities. You were honestly so caught up in all the newness you had forgotten about Peter; obviously, you knew he existed, and every so often something would remind you of a memory you had with him but when he texted and called, you never answered. You were just so busy and every time you checked your messages, it was late and you didn't want to bother Peter; you were sure you'd get back to him soon enough. 

A year had passed before Peter stopped texting and calling. You didn't blame him and soon he completely left your mind. He hadn't been new enough for you and the guilt of this still burns in your chest.

Two years in and you were abroad in France. The country was beautiful, the people were interesting, the nightlife was exciting, and the drugs... the drugs were out of this world. The drugs took off the edge, they helped you forget, and they came in handy to crank out assignments. Well, that's how they started off, that's always how it started.

It wasn't long before you were in a week-long bender and lost in France. While high, you dropped out of college in a short, curse-filled phone call. You had missed your flight back to America anyway. From then on, you went spiraling further and further. Your mind was a blank slate and France held no consequences. You weren't native to the country and whatever happened there would stay there. You could abandon the country and fly home and forget it all ever happened. At least you thought you could.

I wanted to go, but not for this long

"Why can't you? What happened?" Peter asks as he slides a plate over to you and takes a seat next to you. He's truly worried, he hasn't seen you in what feels like forever and he just wants to know. He wants to be able to help someone he used to and still holds so close to himself.

You shake your head. You can't tell Peter what happened; there is no way you won't throw up if you do. You shrug and twirl the pasta Peter had made around your fork. "Well, I didn't graduate, unfortunately," You bite your lip. Fuck, I think I'm going to cry. Your childhood dream of graduating slipped through your fingers and all you have to blame is yourself.You choke down a sob before continuing with a chuckle to cover for yourself, "But hey! At least I got to get out of New York and I even went to France!" You beam at him before trying the pasta he's made you. Filling your mouth with Peter's wonderful cooking helps to stave off the sobs and quiet the burning sadness within you if only for a little bit.

"You can always go back," He proposes. "That's what Mj did," He adds, looking up at you with that bright smile of his. 

That smile sends you back to high school and all the good times you had with Peter. Your heart is full, swelling, bursting at the seams. This is a good feeling, you miss this; feeling good all over, your whole body filled with goodness. "I guess," You shrug. "But it feels like it's too late." The statement is one of defeat and both Peter and you know that. You gave up so easily and you can only hate yourself for it.

"It's never too late," Peter beams at you again. 

You can't help but smile back before replying, "I mean-" You sigh, "I guess I could but money's kind of a problem and I don't know if I can do the whole uh, going to lectures and mingling thing." You want to believe his words because some small part of you does but it's too real for you to face right now.

Peter wants to act laid back but he quickly replies, "I could always pay for it. I- I wouldn't mind at all," He suggests. "And if you want, we could sign you up for online courses! You could um," He bites his lip. Should I? And he does, "Stay here and attend your classes." It was hopeful and a stretch but Peter wants it. He misses you. He is worried about you. He doesn't quite realize it yet but now that you are back in his life, he wants to keep it that way; to keep you around and more importantly, keep you safe. He can't lose you again, that's too real for him to face.

You don't know what it is. Maybe having someone care for you is too much. It is terrifying. It's even sickening in a strange way. You really haven't kicked your addiction yet and it is so easy to get drawn back in. You wish it weren't but it just is. And now you're lying on Peter's living room floor, foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head, and reaching out for someone who isn't there.

I overdid it

I overdid it

Well, Peter is there. He steps out of the elevator but he doesn't see you right away. Your body is blocked by his sofa but your coughs and gurgles fly over it. Peter's ears perk up and his spider-sense starts going crazy. He dashes and then jumps over the couch. He kneels beside you, his eyes wide, mouth going a mile a minute as he tries to say something- anything coherent. He quickly calls 911, holding your hand throughout and swiping his thumb over the top of your hand. He assures you that you'll be fine and keeps repeating that he's there.

Soon enough sirens flood the building and paramedics stampede into Peter's loft. Yelling and screaming ensue as Peter screams, fighting to stay by your side while police and paramedics yell. Three police officers have to not only drag Peter away but hold him down as he fights relentlessly to stay by your side. He just wants to know- he needs to know that you are okay. He can't lose you, it's too real.

As his body and mind calm so do his thoughts. His mind explores the possibility of him getting in the way of paramedics saving you and so he gives up, letting the officers restrain him with ease. But his mind wanders further and further. How did you get drugs? Why? Did he do something to set you off? What had he done? 

Of course, none of his thoughts hold any truth but the possibility that they could, begin within Peter a ceaseless torrent of tears. He's sure by the time you leave the building and the police finally let him go, he could fill thirty pools with all the tears he's shed. But there's no time to dwell on his thoughts, he has to get to the hospital and be at your side! He won't let you leave him so easily, not again.

Why did you say, that I was one in a million? 

Everything's been a blur. This moment now is blurry but you are present within it. Peter is sitting at your side, slumped over in a chair, one hand holding yours and the other holding his forehead as he mumbles curses to himself. 

Slowly, you turn your head and unknowingly squeeze Peter's hand. In an instant, he's looking up at you and your eyes are open staring back at him. He could just scream! "Y/n," Your name rolls off his tongue and out of his mouth breathlessly, desperately. You both hold each other's gaze and each other's hand. The moment is blurry but it is nice.

"Peter," You whisper back, voice sore and croaky. You squeeze his hand again, it says more than your words ever could. 

The pooled tears that have been swimming next to Peter's eyes finally fall and flow down his cheeks. Most tears follow the red paths down his already tear-stained face, a few divert creating new paths for the seemingly endless stream of tears. "I-" His voice and his pain catch in his throat. What can he say? What could he possibly fucking say? 

"Why did you have so much faith in me?" You have to ask. You have to know. And you assume by now he has lost all that faith and so you must phrase the question the way you do. Your chest and whole upper body hurt like hell. There's a burning near your heart and in your throat, there's a tightness strangling your throat and crushing your ribs but the look Peter gives you hurts much more. The guilt within you burns hotter than Hell could ever be imagined to.

Because I believed it

You lean into Peter and Peter into you as he helps you walk out of the hospital. At the very moment that your foot hits the pavement, rain starts to fall, pelting you both in a way that can only be seen as some divine punishment. Even so, to you, the rain is heavenly and a respite from the thick cleanness and infuriatingly boring white inside the hospital. Peter quickly slips his jacket from his shoulders and carefully pulls you closer to him before covering both of your backs and heads with the jacket the best he can. 

He rushes with you to the passenger side first, letting you slip into the seat he closes the door for you. You watch him only for a moment as he reaches the driver's side. You keep your head down, looking at your lap, and unwittingly begin to pick at your fingers. Your nerves are through the roof now more than they ever were in the hospital. At least in the hospital, you can expect Peter to be mostly calm but now you don't know how he might act. He's changed so much after all this time and who's to say he won't scream and yell at you? You swallow down your nerves as you hear Peter plop into his seat next to you.

Surprisingly and thankfully, the car ride is quiet. The rain pelting the car helps to ease your mind if only for a bit. You allow yourself a quick glance at Peter. His expression is almost unreadable if not a bit sad. Quickly, you turn away before you can start crying yourself and watch as cars and people and buildings pass you by.

Peter's mind is swirling with thoughts and question after question bounces around in his head. He wants to ask so many things but he can't and he knows that. He doesn't want to make you feel worse than he knows you're feeling right now. He just wants to let you have this time and hopefully, you can gather your thoughts enough to answer him when you're back at his loft. The whole time he drives though, his knuckles burn white as he grips the steering wheel too tightly. There's a tension that won't leave his body.

---

You two reach the building and before Peter reaches your side of the car, you step out, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, head held down as rain pelts the back of your head. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. The pelts of the rain help you keep a rhythm as you silently curse yourself and demean yourself with names. Each drop of rain against your skin serves as an insult your brain must deliver to itself. It isn't going to help but it does make you feel better. All the while you've been standing just outside the car, Peter has pulled his jacket over himself and motions for you to come under. You shake your head and trail a foot or two away still following him.

In minutes, you reach an entrance into the building and Peter holds the door open for you. You step through the threshold, head still down, and arms still wrapped around yourself. It's almost as if you were to move your arms away, your body would simply fall to pieces. Peter is at your side in a moment and you continue to follow him into the elevator. You both stand awkwardly and shivering a few feet apart as your clothes and body drip rain onto the marble floor of the elevator. This ride is as silent as the car but has a more threatening ambiance. 

The elevator dings and Peter motions for you to go first before he follows. "You should take a shower," He proposes quietly.

It must have been some coincidence because right at that moment a shower is exactly what you crave. You nod at him, following him to the nearest bathroom. You try to peel your shirt off while Peter fetches you some towels but you have no luck.

"Do you need any help?" Usually, he would be asking this in a teasing manner but the words could not have left his lips any sweeter than they just did. His voice is quiet and calm, a little wavering but not so much as to cause concern. He's still shivering and dripping wet himself yet he stands there looking at you with such kindness.

You nod, "Please."

He shuffles to your side and slowly peels your shirt from your torso. He lifts it slowly, softly asking you to put up your arms. He gets a quick glimpse of your bones just barely being held behind your skin and bruises littering your torso. His face is close to yours as he pulls the shirt over your head and you can feel his breath. One more moment and he is pulling the shirt off of your arms. He gets a glimpse of the bruised injection sites on your arms and has to hold his expression. "There," He smiles, looking into your eyes.

"Thanks," You immediately cross your arms back over your chest, both from the cold and embarrassment. God, I probably look like shit. 

Peter hasn't seen you like this since high school gym class and even then it was rare to catch you without a shirt on. 

"I've got it from here," You tell him and he nods before closing the door.

Peter lets his mind wander to high school gym class. You hated it so much but Peter needed it. He had so much energy and he needed an outlet. That was of course before he had become Spider-Man and then he joined in on your hatred of the class though, he always did better than everyone there. 

He wanders into his room to change before grabbing a towel to dry his hair as his mind wanders to a  vivid memory of one of the only times he had seen you shirtless back in high school.

The class had gotten done swimming and everyone was out of the locker rooms, except Peter who had to do extra laps and had just gotten out of the pool. He dried his hair as he walked over to his locker but stopped in his tracks when his spidey sense started to go crazy. He looked in every direction but there wasn't anything he could see. A few more steps revealed you, sitting on one of the benches, your shirt laying in your lap and a towel wrapped around your waist. 

That did catch Peter off guard but there was another thing: you were crying. Peter's stomach twisted in knots as he looked down at you. Suddenly, your eyes were on him. Shit! Why hadn't he said something? Now, he just looks creepy!

"Peter?" You asked in a hushed tone. You had looked like you'd been crying for a while. Your whole face was red along with your eyes, you looked terrible.

"Y/n," He returned your tone. He took a few steps forward and bent down a bit. "Are you okay?" 

You shook your head. You were in no mood to avoid your feelings. You hurt and you hurt bad. "No," You answered bluntly.

Peter took a seat beside you. "What happened?"

The memory isn't the most pleasant but he remembers how after that you stayed at his apartment for three days and that seemed to have done you good. He wonders what happened to the Y/n he knew back then. He doesn't feel any differently toward you, not at all but what happened to you to make you so miserable now?

He finishes changing and drying himself off and steps out into the hall. At the same time, you step out of the bathroom. Peter meets your eyes and walks over. He looks you over and smiles, you have a towel tightly wrapped around your waist and a towel thrown over your head. "Here," He places his hands on top of the towel at your head and dries your hair. 

You stand there, heart beating wildly as Peter helps you dry off. You notice his change of shirt and before fully thinking about it, reach out with your hand to slip it under his shirt before rubbing your thumb over the top of the fabric. You're sure Peter already saw the marks littering your body and right now you just didn't care. You want to feel his shirt and that's all you want.

Peter stiffens as you have a hold of his shirt. Your fingers aren't touching his skin since you hold the shirt out a bit but they did for a brief moment and the tingles it sent up his spine are unlike anything he's felt before. He accidentally stops drying your hair but continues as soon as he realizes that he's stopped. He sets his eyes upon you and it's a good thing you can't see his face. Anyone could see right through him at this very moment and pinpoint where his thoughts are. 

He finishes drying your hair with the towel and slides it behind your head, letting the towel rest on the back of your neck. For a moment, he holds each end of the towel toward himself and he can't meet your eyes now. His head is down but he is looking at you. 

Your head is down but you're looking at him. Your eyes dart from your hand still holding his shirt to the pecs you can just make out underneath his shirt. This is a moment of safety, of home, of tenderness, of friendship, of love. There's a silent agreement between you two and so, for the time you separate. You go to your room to get dressed as Peter goes into the living to wait for you.

"It's cold, isn't it?" Peter asks as you settle on his large couch. You nod and Peter sets a blanket over you. "I've got some hot chocolate on the stove," He knows that's your favorite. "It should be done soon." 

I thought i had something that you

Were too scared to lose

You nod again, wrapping yourself in the blanket. "Thanks," You whisper.

He takes a seat next to you with his own blanket wrapped around his legs. He swings his legs so they rest on the couch and leans in, his shoulder touching yours. "What's on your mind?" 

He genuinely wants to know, what the hell? You let out a deep breath and lean your head against his shoulder. "I was just thinking about high school. We used to be so different. I used to be so different. What happened to me?" You turn your head and stare into his eyes.

You don't know either. "I-" He's at a loss for words. "Whatever happened," He pauses and places his hand over yours. "It's not all bad." He smiles at you before standing. "Hot chocolate's ready," He says before walking off to the kitchen. 

You start picking at your fingers again as you wonder what you're going to do. You can't rely on Peter for everything, that's just not how you are. You didn't even have any money after blowing what little you had on what you OD'ed on. God, why are you so stupid!? Peter's nice enough to let you crash at his place and what do you do?

"Hey," Peter's presence pulls you from your thoughts. "Here," He bends over as he hands you a cup of hot chocolate. He takes his seat next to you again, sitting a bit more straight this time so as to not spill his drink on you. "'Thinking about something?" 

You nod, "Yeah, just..." You bring your cup to your cheek and bask in the warmth. It's been too long since you've truly felt any warmth like Peter's been showing you this whole time. "I can't stay with you forever," You muse, flicking your eyes to his, unsure of what he might say.

Peter chuckles, "Well if you want to, you can." He flashes that boyish smile of his at you and it hurts. His eyes and nose crinkle and his features are so bright. "I said it before, Y/n. I'll do anything for you." 

God, that hurts. He cares about you too much. "Peter," You stop him in his tracks. He shouldn't be saying stuff like this. He needs to protect himself from you. "Don't say that." He's too attached, you can't let him be this attached.

Peter's soft expression turns puzzled and he turns to look at you. "Y/n?" He's looking at the side of your face while you keep your gaze straight ahead. "If it's about staying with me, I can get you your own place. I know-"

"Peter," Your voice is stern but tinted with softness as you cut him off. "I've got to do this stuff on my own."

"No," Peter protests immediately. 

"What?" You sit up straighter now, looking at him deadly serious.

"You don't have to do anything alone. If it were me, you would say the same! I won't let you be alone with this." He sets his drink down on the coffee table as he continues to speak passionately. "I love you, Y/n." It's a confession masked as a friendly gesture of affection. "You're my friend." This covers his tracks though he wishes he didn't have to cover them in the first place. "I'm going to take care of you." It's the truth and it's real and he means it.

You can only look at him in awe, utter awe. He's serious about this.

"I-" He starts out confident but falters. Should I really say this? He catches the thought and tosses it aside. His confidence is back, only a bit less than before. "I can't lose you."

Something in you wants to slap him. He can't lose you? What the fuck!? You hold yourself back, hands tightly gripping your cup. You hang on his every word. Just what is he thinking?

Peter sighs, looking down momentarily, shaking his head. "I don't want things to be like before. I want to see you and be around you; I want to know that you're okay. And I want you to be happy."

You swallow his words and let them digest. They don't sound bad, at all. But there's a knot in your stomach and a scribbly, black haziness in the back of your mind setting off alarms.

Peter leans in as he says, "There's nothing wrong with asking for help." He sits back again, "You don't even have to ask, I'll just do!" He reaches out for your free hand, "I'm here for you." He gives your hand a small squeeze. "Just let me be here for you." It's a plea and it's all he can do.

Peter's greatest fear is loss. He's lost so many people in his life already he surely doesn't need to lose another. But losing you isn't exactly his main concern, it's seeing you live up to what you've always wanted, it's letting you chase your dreams and catching them, it's waking up every day with some real purpose, it's seeing you change for the better. His concern is you. His concern is your life. His concern is your well-being. His concern is your happiness and fulfillment. His concern is your recovery. And his concern is your change. He's lost you once, he won't lose you again.

It was all in the past now, you had nothing to be scared of. The road ahead is fruitful with opportunity. Peter is by your side. You're recovering. You can handle this. You've got it.

So if we could just pretend that I went to college

And traveled abroad, and did something different

Things go well for weeks and weeks, it feels as though nothing bad has ever happened before. But something sets you off. You see something on the street and return to Peter's loft as you cry like a maniac. You feel foolish for breaking down like you are, crying as hard as you are, and being unable to move from Peter's living room floor as you are. And even worse, Peter comes home.

He's taking off his coat casually as he normally would until he hears your sobs, then he rushes to your side. He rests his hand on your back and leans in close to ask what's wrong. 

Your body refuses to let you answer and so, you just cry as he sits there before slowly pulling you closer and into his lap. He pets your hair and smooshes his cheek against your forehead as he quietly whispers. You two sit like this for about an hour before you finally calm down. 

You try to wipe your tears away as fast and as best you can as you quickly crawl out of Peter's grasp, sudden and overwhelming embarrassment coming over you. "Please," You beg with your head held down, trying your best to keep Peter from seeing your face. "Can we just forget this all happened?" You're bent over now almost like you're praying even with your hands clasped in front of your head as your eyes though closed are pointed toward the ground. "Pretend I'm not some massive loser that wasted his life when you- you were here doing great things and I was just-" You sigh loudly, your head finally collapsing against Peter's floor. "Please," You cry out as tears start flowing heavily and you can feel a sob start to rack through your body, "please."

Your head hangs, chin pressing against your chest. Your eyes feel hazy and you can't see much. Your back is pressed against the cool brick of the wall behind you that you can barely feel due to the thick sweater and bloated jacket that warms your torso. Your legs are out in front of you and you laugh at their strange longness. You look at your feet next, the shoes they're adorned in, and how they too look strange and funny to you. You start laughing more and more, finding everything oh-so-funny. 

Anything but just sitting at home

For three and a half years

Writing song, after song, after song

Your arms now look as if shooting targets were made out of Swiss cheese. The holes only seem to get larger and darker, like the darkness could swallow your body whole if you weren't careful. And you weren't. Your eyes had always been dark but now they were pits, black holes of nothingness, no knowledge held there, nothing, just nothing. Your face is sunken like the tar roads in the summer, always sinking deeper and deeper or like the deep trenches of the sea where something terrible lies. Your lips are chapped like the hands of the working man, skin always peeling off, and never able to be quite comfortable because they are raw and red and always rubbing against each other. You're as thin as a needle, legs barely able to function as you walk bone on bone, the grinding like that of teeth against teeth. Speaking of teeth, yours seem to keep falling out, leaving your mouth pouring blood flowing like the divine wine of Jesus.

Where was Jesus now? Not here to save you. Your Jesus, your divine savior, Peter Parker is far away now, not because he chose to be but because there is nothing else he could do, nowhere he could be, not for you. And you chose your new savior, it was not him. It used to sting your arm but it doesn't seem to do just that anymore. It helps you ascend but not as long as it used to. Your belief is starting to wane but not quick enough, not quick enough.

So what is it like to be by yourself

The elevator dings as Peter reaches his loft. He steps out with his coat hanging off his arm. The place is quiet, the only noise being made by Peter as he hangs up his coat and steps into his kitchen. He opens his cabinet, the grip on the little knob staying far longer than it needs to before he opens it and lets the knob go. He reaches up just like you had on your first night. He grips the bottle tightly and sets it on the counter, it makes a noise too, a sort of clinking sound almost. He grimaces as he grabs the neck of the bottle and opens it, the smell stings his nose as he brings it close. His lips kiss the bottle and he swallows some down. 

The bottle accompanies Peter to his large and lonely couch, his tight grip around its neck, carrying it carelessly. He takes out the DVD that you left, your favorite movie, he's careful with it as he sets it in the DVD player (something you had ragged on him for not having when you were first there). (Something that he hadn't used since, not until today). (Something he would probably never get rid of now, only being thrown out when he was dead). He stumbles back over to his couch, falling onto it not as clumsily as he could manage but enough to shake up the alcohol in him. He extends his arm, pointing the small remote that came with the thing at the television and pressing play. His arm falls against the couch as the remote leaves his fingers, finding a new home in the arms of the faithful couch.

He watches almost angrily, there isn't anything like it, this emotion Peter feels. Is it really anger? Contempt even? Surely, not toward you. But the drug, toward the drug. ...Right? Or was he even angry? Hateful maybe. Toward you, toward the drug, toward himself. What was this that he was feeling? It's like an ache with no name or possible description. Empty isn't the right word. He's not hollow inside, he's all filled up, some even splashing out of him but what is it? What is this substance, this feeling, this emotion, spilling out of Peter Benjamin Parker? What is this thing that spills past his lips and fills up his head? Is it... you...? Surely not, that's ridiculous!

Peter doesn't notice until now, too focused on the movie he's seen far too many times, but his hands are trembling. His knuckles are a soft red, his veins are all in place, those little clumps of blueish-skin-pigment below the reddened knuckles, his fingers long and intermittently pale the ends a bit darker than the rest, all shake in chorus. He flexes his fist, bending his fingers and splaying them out, then he checks again. They shake just as much as they first did. 

And not feel like you'll die around everyone else?

Your hands were shaking, that was the first thing you noticed. It's almost exhilarating, they shook like they did when you first shot up. It was heaven. This was cloud nine. You were in paradise, lost in it. Your head was delirious, your eyes were bleary, your lips trembled as much as your hands, you were about to lose it all and all you could think about was how great this high was. You were about to die outside a house, just on the steps, of a den of drugs, a place filled with people dying just like you were about to, and all you could think about was how great this high was. 

Quickly, your thoughts shift to how awful this was. Your body lost control. You fell. Your head split against the concrete of the makeshift porch. Your back fell into the stairs that sat on either side were two dying drug addicts. Foam spilled past your lips and for a brief moment you thought of Peter then you were back to focusing on dying. You couldn't control your body. Your eyes would not work with you to see. They were gone now, they no longer wished to see the world. Your hands wouldn't do what you told them to. Your ears were ringing, there was so much noise, noise, noise! Why couldn't there be quiet!? Everything just needed to stop for a second, so that you could get a grip on things. You would set things straight. You wouldn't be found in places like this anymore. You would die somewhere resectable. But death doesn't care about respect, for him, there is no respectable place to die, and you are just another soul to be collected. Indifference is his gift but the indifference of the junkies you died next to led to searching through your pockets and hands all over your body and privacy violated and nothing left on you but the things they didn't care for. Your ID, some crumpled note you'd shoved deep into your pocket, a few too many wrappers for too many different things, and something else.

I thought I was one in a million

The distant clattering of silverware and private conversations set the stage as Peter sits across from a fine, young gentleman. He holds a menu in front of himself, his hair slicked back something you had told him made him look handsome you had said, his feet nervously sliding back and forth. Words come out of the gentleman's mouth and everything starts to fade out like watching a movie as your eyes blink more and more before you fall asleep.

It didn't go well whatever that was. A date, Peter supposes, an awful date. 

Peter holds a large bouquet of red roses. The dark red is contrasted by the white plastic that wraps around them. He holds them with both hands. He shifts his shoulders uncomfortably, his lips moving awkwardly against each other. His stride isn't really a stride, rather a walk but a quick one, like he has somewhere to be. A date perhaps? 

Well, thanks for nothing

Peter's stride leads him into a cemetery. He passes headstone after headstone, a few full-on statutes, and some grave markers. The roses are strange in his hands in this cemetery. He shifts his grip on them a few times. His collar feels like it's choking him and sticking his finger under it hasn't done anything. His thoughts don't consume him this time like they usually seem to do; some are seething, others are sad, most are guilty, and a lot are what-ifs. Never helpful, those what-ifs. Peter accidentally passes your grave before stepping back.

He reads the engraving as he always does before taking careful steps over. He sits above your dead body (that's buried several feet down), in front of your headstone (that stares back at him like a gargoyle), and underneath a weeping willow (that he wished he could see you under, not like this, not like this). "Well," Peter starts, setting down the roses, "he was allergic to roses." He sighs. "I miss you." He leans over, resting a hand on top of your headstone and closing his eyes.

He talks some more and if anyone were watching him, they might think he was having quite the conversation with a headstone. He moves his hands and looks at the headstone like a person, making eye contact with it, maybe even willing it to respond. It never does. And it never has. It's too bad you didn't have a spirit, you might have sat underneath that willow, leaning back against it, and watching Peter just for something to do. But you were dead and that was that. There was no coming back from being dead. Your body was buried beneath the earth and now you belonged to her. 

Peter groans as he gets to his feet, "Well, buddy," He rests his hand on your headstone, patting it almost like you would a dog, "I've got to get going. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" He pauses, not intentionally but he lets the silence hang in the air in hopes he might get a response. He never gets a response. There is no satisfaction or catharsis for him, only the silence of the whistling wind and the whipping of the willows as they reach as far off their branches as they can. Maybe if he hoped hard enough, one day he would get that long-awaited response and you wouldn't have died for nothing.

Peter's lids are heavy as he tries to blink away sleep. This never works just like all those other things. He always falls asleep; you never answer him. He just wishes you would answer him. Peter's eyes close rather quickly this time and nothing matters but the dream he can feel is real and he feels apart of it.

Thank you

Thank you

Peter's hand reaches out as you fall, your fingers graze his. He can see the desperate look in your eyes like a dog begging for its life. Your eyes are not only desperate but terrified too. (Like a dog that knows it's going to be put down, he thinks). Some noise comes from you, some words but his ears can't decipher them, like everything in his dreams they are distant, blurry, and unmemorable. He just wants to know what you're screaming. He can see the extension of your jaw, the crinkling and wrinkling in your face, and the raise of your brows but he still can't hear what it is you're saying.

Then the scenery shifts. You slipping past his fingers is no big deal as you fall onto a hospital bed. You look at him all tired like and puppy dog kicked. You are worn out and bruised like a dropped fruit or a childhood blanket. You look like you might be molding. Your face is sunken in, your eyes hauntingly dark and blank, the flesh of your nose beginning to rot away, and the plush of your lips gone now replaced by the hard, cold warning of your teeth. You're missing a few and your gums are starting to turn yellow. Peter can't save you. He can't do anything. He watches as you rot. He tries to leave the chair he's stuck in but he can't, his arms won't even lift off the sides. He can't get to you. You're so far away.

Before your body can fully decompose and shift into sand and fly away in the wind, again, the scenery changes. Paris. He can really only recognize it by the Eiffel Tower. You had talked about it before. A lot. Before you left. Before what happened, happened to you. Peter wanted to go there with you. He never got the chance. At least you had seen it yourself. He finds it strange that he stands in Paris but he can't see you ...like you're gone. But then everyone is screaming and there from the clouds falls a body. Your body is falling, your arms are spread out, and you're limp like a fish. In seconds, your back is pierced by the spire of the Eiffel Tower. Killed by the very thing you love. Or loved. Or did you even love it all? Did you just talk about it? 

There is no time for Peter to process seeing someone he loves getting killed right in front of him. He's in an alley now like the one you died in. There are homeless people and drug addicts, drug dealers, and you. You stand there like an angel with your skin glistening thanks to the sun and despite the grime in the air. Peter can't take his eyes off of you. He doesn't want to anyway. He needs to see you like this, happy and aware and bright-eyed and in good standing with life. He can't bear the reality of flesh and bone and blood and six feet underground. It's always been a flaw of his. Feeling those that are dead are not really, not really. They still linger, he feels them, he can't see or hear them but he knows them. He can feel the brush of fingers against his back or the jostle of his loose curl. They live within him, just outside of him, in his fingers and feet and the way his eyes move follows them though he can't really see them there.

A blood-curdling crack stops everything. In a moment, you're lying on the ground with blood running from your forehead down past your chin and drip-dropping against your neck. And Peter is down on his knees in front of you, holding your torso, pulling it up onto his lap, and he holds your head like a kid holds a teddy bear. He strokes your hair as you gurgle up blood. He can't do anything for you. He's stuck. He's not allowed to save you. He is not allowed to save you. You did not need saving. He didn't know what you needed and neither did you. With your head in his arms and his nose pressed against the line of blood down your forehead and your limp body against his thighs, he rocks back and forth, whispering things he doesn't know and you can't hear. You'll be okay. I've got you. I won't leave you. You can't leave me. You will live through this. And your dead, limp body is not motivated to live.

And there you lie, next to him in his bed, your head turned toward him, and you're smiling. The sun shines on both of you; Peter can feel it on his skin. Like being kissed by a god. Like being kissed by you. He's a cat in a sunspot and you're stretching out toward him. Your fingers brush against his cheeks and you're smiling at him. He fills your vision; Peter can see his reflection in your big, beautiful eyes. He wants to kiss you and you move closer. Your eyes stay on him the whole time, if it weren't so beautiful, it'd be unnerving. 

You're on top of him now. Your hands -fingers and palms- caress his chest, trace his collarbone, feather down his ribs to his hips. He shudders under your touch. He wants it again. He wants it real. He doesn't realize it isn't yet. On all fours, over Peter's body, you lean down and kiss him. It holds, lasting long enough for him to hold your cheek and to satisfy him if for a fleeting moment. You pull back, your eyes staring into his; he's in love. (You're not real). Your hands trail down his chest again as you sit on top of him. You're just looking at him.

And when Peter turns, now awake, he's alone; you're not there by his side. He reaches out across the sheets like you would reach out if you could. Poor Peter, he doesn't know. 

#murder writes #peter parker x reader #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker x m reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x m!reader #peter parker you make me sad

[josiesullysblog]

Pandora

~AGED UP Neteyam x Avatar reader

~Angst, fluff

~Proofread?-no

~Summary-okay this might be long, but the reader is very into science. She dreams of being become a scientist, but her dreams are quickly denounced when her mother wants her to marry. In a pit of rage, she runs off and ends up somewhere new.

~Note-I’m SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY! My real life has been catching up to me, and I have finals coming up! Outcast should be posted by Sunday since I’ll be unable to write any other day :( but until I can write I’ll be posting drafts.

***

For as long as you can remember, you’ve always been connected to the forest. Your mother says if at any point she cannot find you, she knows you were somewhere in the forest.

It was like your scared place, nobody could mess with you there. You blame this connection on your father, he was a scientist, and when you were one year old, he surrounded you with his work. You don't remember everything, obviously, but you remember people.

A woman, she was nice but spent much time in her studies. And a man in a wheelchair, he was fun he always played with you. Although he always seemed to be going somewhere else.

Your father rarely let you out of his grasp, but when he did you explored everything in the forest. Your mind and body were one and you could truly be free, but at some point, we all have to grow up.

You can't remember much else about your father, but he died trying to protect you. Your mother never talks about it, and you don't bring it up. But you still feel connected to your father, like you know he is watching over you.

It's the main reason you wanted to become a scientist, to finish what he began. Your mother was very against this, she said it was far too dangerous and you should stick with a job like a teacher. You never listened to her, your mind was set on being a scientist.

“Come on, [Y/n] we can't keep them waiting!” your mother knocked on your door again. You sighed as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you wore a dress you’d never choose and had your hair in a style that didn't suit your face.

“Mother, why are you doing this again?” you opened the door and your mother quickly dragged you down the stairs. “It is always nice to meet with the Smiths! They invited us so we will go,” you got in the car and sighed. You were meant to be researching more into your father's study.

He wrote of a place far from here, one that took six years to get to but somehow only took him a few seconds. The rest of the work is torn up as if someone hadn't wanted anyone to know the rest.

You studied his work every day since you found it. You wish you got to meet the man everybody spoke of, but you sadly don't carry many memories with the man.

“Please do not talk anyone's ears off with nonsense talking,” you weren't even paying attention to a word coming from her mouth. Your eyes raced with the trees, “the smiths have a lovely back garden, maybe if you behave they’ll let you in it,” you lit up at the idea, “okay!”

When you both pulled up, you noticed how everyone dressed nicely, “what are we celebrating here?” your mother checked your outfit once more, “we don't need to celebrate something to dress nicely, [Y/n],” you sighed and walked inside.

Everyone waved at you, which was weird since they never spoke with you. You sat on the couch, closest to the sliding door. “Penny for your thought?” you turned and noticed, James, the oldest Smith child, “just thinking.”

He smiled sitting down next to you, “you're rather an odd one,” you gave him a face, “i’m not odd, I just do things differently.” He laughed, “there is nothing interesting in the garden, yet your eyes cling to it,” you looked at him.

“I was just imaging what it be like to live in the woods,” it was his turn to make a face, “probably terrible, such thoughts are better left in the mind.”

You looked away, you weren't in the mood to cause trouble so you chose to be nice, “I guess.”

He stood up quickly clearing his throat. “Meet me in the garden, I have a little surprise waiting for you,” you nodded before walking off. You would rather be anywhere but here, you rather be studying, playing in the forest, or just staring at a wall.

You thought you became a little dumber every time you hung out with your mother's “friends.” They were no fun at all, and their children were annoying to be around.

“You should head to the garden,” a little boy came up to you, “don't listen to him, he has nothing important to say,” a girl his same age came talking next. “At least people listen when I speak,” the boy hit the girl causing a mini fight.

“Let go of me, penis face!” the girl yelled causing a laugh to fall from your lips, “how about we head there together,” they stopped and you three headed in the back.

It was breathtaking, you couldn't help but walk a little faster then the two children. “Gorgeous,” you whispered under your breath.

You let the sun kiss your face, you let the wind pick your hair, and you listened to the songs of the birds. You sat down on the grass, till a voice could be heard, “there you are we’ve been looking for you,” James looked at you funny while you stood up.

He led you to the gazebo under a big oak tree, “stay here,” everyone seemed to pour in as he turned around. Your mother smiled big at you, “smile,” she mouthed at you. You smiled at her request confused as to why everyone was watching, James fell to one knee and grabbed your hands, “[Y/n] [L/n], will you be my wife?”

So, this is what everything is about? The reason everyone is all dressed up and watching you? To see you become engaged? You took your hands back, flashing an awkward smile, “where is this coming from?” James laughed, “this has been in the plans for months,” you couldn't believe your mother would do this to you.

You touched your forehead, “I need a moment.” You ran in the opposite direction, they were the last people you wanted to see.

How could your mother throw something like this on you? She didn't even ask if you wanted to marry, and she knew you were planning on being a scientist. That's when it hit you, she wanted to marry you off so wouldn't end up like your father.

You walked deeper, letting mad mumbles leave your mouth, “I decide who I marry, and it will certainly not be that boy!” As you walked, your dress became stuck on a branch, “and this excuse of a dress,” you tugged hard on the dress.

“I’ll be dammed if i’m forced to marry that man, I’ll run away!” anger engulfed your body. You tugged harder the dress finally letting loose, but not without a rip. “[Y/n]!” you heard your name and began running. You didn't know where you were headed but getting caught was the last thing you needed.

As you ran you kept turning around trying to see who was behind you, but you saw nothing. You were running so fast, you hadn't noticed the big tree in front of you.

You collided with it, blacking out at impact. The voice that called for you stopped, and the footsteps stopped it became very peaceful.

Jake watched as his children played. He never dreamed of having children, his mind was moving too fast for that. Until he met you, barely even a baby a fresh toddler with so much energy.

Everyone was a bit weary of him at first, they wanted his brother. The one who trained his whole life to see this planet, yet they ended up stuck with Jake.

But you wanted to play with him the moment you met him. You played with him, made him laugh, and always treated him with kindness. It was like you didn't even realize he was in a wheelchair, you just wanted a friend.

That's the good thing about children, they always see the good in you before judging.

Grace played with you sometimes, although she was more busy working you could tell she held a soft spot for you.

You were a human child, he wondered how you even got there. Your father was the smartest man alive, he figured out a way to travel from earth to Pandora in six minutes.

Your father was absolutely smitten with you. Showing you what he was working on, always finding something to keep you busy. He loved you even in his last moments, he loved you.

Jake regrets letting you go back to earth, it was selfish of him but he just had a feeling this is where you belong. Especially after knowing you can breathe pandora air without a mask.

It was actually the first time you met Neytiri, your father had been distracted for a few seconds, and you wandered off.

Now any other human would immediately start gasping for air, but you were different it didn't affect you at all. You were perfectly fine and played with flowers, till you heard Jake and Neytiri laughing.

They had been sitting by the river, letting the sun hit them when you walked over. You giggled loudly running right into Jake’s arms.

“Jake!” you grabbed hold of his ears playing with them. “I thought humans couldn't breathe without those masks,” Neytiri looked at you weirdly. She hated humans and couldn't believe the fact she was looking at one so small.

“Let's go back to daddy, [Y/n],” he grabbed you and walked you towards your father's study. “Stay right here,” he couldn't open the front door and left you there as he tried to find an alternative.

Your eyes landed back on the other lady, and your legs carried you back to where she was. She was watching the river as it sang a song you giggled a little walking slowly, “hello.”

The woman turned and looked at you funny, “where is Jake? How’d you get here?” you laughed as you didn't understand what she had said.

She stood up and started motioning for you to leave, “go away! Go back to Jake, human child,” you smiled and grabbed her hand hugging it, “[Y/n]!” you said your name.

“And i’m Neytiri,” she felt her heart soften as you laughed, “up, up!” you started jumping for her to pick you up. She pretended to not care, but she still picked you up.

Your hands immediately touched her ears, she watched as your eyes lit up, and your fingers then traced her freckles and you let out a happy laugh, “pretty!”

“[Y/n]!” Jake ran back for you, he stopped as he watched the scene. Neytiri became absolutely smitten with you, laughing as you tried playing with her tail. “She is very cute,” Neytiri said acknowledging Jake’s presence.

You played with the two of them for a few minutes, but they were enough to have Jake wondering what it would be like to start a family with Neytiri.

She was so gentle with you, he didn't know if it was because she didn't want to hurt you, or because you were so small. He looked back on these memories with fondness.

“What are you thinking about,” Neytiri wrapped an arm around his waist bringing him back to reality.

“Her,” he wished you were able to grow up with his kids. Neytiri never liked humans, but for you, she held a special spot in her heart.

“Daddy, watch me!” Tuk jumped from a high rock landing on her feet. Tuk reminded Jake of your spirit always eager to learn.

“Good job!” Tuk ran into his arms, laughing. Neytiri also found herself thinking about you, “you guys seem lost in thought today,” Kiri said she noticed how absent-minded the both of them were acting. “We are thinking of the past,” Neytiri smiled bittersweet at the memories.

Neteyam's parents, of course, told them what happened before they were born, but he knew they didn't tell the whole story.

“She was only a year older than Neteyam,” Jake started, “she was a very energetic child, for a human child,” Tuk eyes widen, “there was another human baby here before Spider!”

Neytiri nodded, “she was different from him, she could breathe the air here,” the children's eyes widen at the thought of their mother liking a human. “She was very brave, even for being so small.”

“She saved me and your father, children,” Neytiri would never forget the bravery you showed even though you were still small.

Neteyam’s interest grew as his parents spoke of you. He wanted to meet the brave human child, “what happened to her?”

Neytiri's eyes fell, “well, her father passed so they sent her to live with her mother back on earth.” Lo’ak thought for a minute, “but I thought babies couldn't go back?” Jake nodded, “they can't but her father-.”

“AHHHHHHH,” a scream was heard through the forest. Tuk clung to her father quickly, “what was that?” Jake handed Tuk to Kiri as he placed a hovering hand over his knife.

“Stay behind me,” Neytiri stood closely as they came closer, a Na’vi sat on the floor looking at her hands. When Tuk noticed it wasn't a threat she ran toward her, “are you okay?”

A blood-curdling scream came out of the girl as she pushed herself away, “STAY AWAY.”

Your eyes landed on Jake, and his heart stopped beating. Neytiri came closer, trying to grab Tuk when she stopped as well. They’d recognize those big eyes anywhere, “[Y/n].”

When you had awoken, you didn't remember anything. Well, you remembered why you ran off, but you didn't remember tripping or falling.

You attempted to stand up but fell quickly. It was like you were in a new body, so when you looked down at your hands and saw blue you couldn't help but scream. Had you fallen in paint? You felt your body and realized you were no longer human at all. You took a deep breath in, “must be a dream.”

That was the only logical way to explain how this could happen. You examined your hand, you must've been starting for a long period of time you hadn't noticed the little Na’vi girl come in front of you.

“Are you okay?” you let a scream out, covering your mouth afterward to stop yourself. You heard bushes move and noticed another blue Na’vi come out, “[Y/n],” you couldn't believe he said your name.

“I thought she was human,” the girl in front of you spoke as another one came out the pushes, “I don't think this is her,” someone spoke from behind the large man. “Maybe she is,” a tall boy spoke. He immediately went quiet when you made eye contact, looking anywhere but at you.

Neteyam felt like he was going to vomit just looking at you. You were absolutely stunning, although you looked lost. Your eyes traveled to everyone, “she’d be human if she were [Y/n],” you stood up stabilizing yourself with a sigh, “how could I be the wrong [Y/n]” if this is my dream?”

You rubbed your arm, which had a nasty cut from falling earlier, “who are all of you anyway?” You assumed you’d be waking up from this lucid dream soon enough, so why not talk to the people.

“I’m Tuk! That’s my sister Kiri!” the little girl pointed at a girl who waved at you. You gave a smile back, “that's my brother Lo’ak, and that's my other brother, Neteyam.”

You nodded at Lo’ak and went to do the same to Neteyam, but his eyes were stuck on you. “Hello,” you spoke to him breaking him from his trance. “Hi,” he spoke shyly.

“And these are our parents-,” Neytiri cut the girl off, “Neytiri and Jake,” she assumed their name would jog your memory but you didn't say anything, “cool names, and you guys already know mine.”

“Let us bring you to Mo’at, she can heal your arm,” Kiri came forward and began dragging you. “I’ll be alright when I wake up, no need!”

Everyone looked at you funny but kept walking, “how come she hasn't remembered?” Neytiri whispered to Jake who shrugged, “give her time it's been a while.”

Your eyes lit up as you watched the scenery around you, “this place is amazing!” you faced Neteyam, “my father was a scientist!”

Neteyam watched as you stopped every five seconds to look at something, “my mother said he was crazy smart,” Neteyam smiled, “you must be then.”

“Oh, i’m not up to his level yet, but hopefully by next year I’ll be sure to be even smarter!” Jake smiled he knew you’d probably outgrow your father's smartness.

“Who is this Mo’at person?” you looked at Neteyam to answer but he said nothing so Kiri spoke up, “she is our tribe Tsahik,” you nodded as you all walked closer, “Tsahik,” you muttered the word under your breath.

“We're here!” Kiri brought you to sit down as an older woman walked in. She smiled big at you, “who are you?” the woman grabbed your arm examining the cut, “Mo’at?” the woman made eye contact with you, “no, i’m Mo’at the question is who are you.”

“[Y/n],” you winced as she began fixing the cut, “the [Y/n]?” you shrugged, “is there another one of me walking around here?” the woman gave you a smile, “last time we spoke you could barely walk, let alone speak.”

You looked at her funny, “we’ve met before?” she laughed as Jake walked in, “I think she might have hit her head on her way here!” Jake gave a sad smile, “you are to be a Tsahik in training very soon, we can't have one with memory loss.”

Your eyes widen as the woman finally finished your arm, “Tsahik in training? What is she talking about?” you stood up facing them, “you’re [Y/n] are you not?” Jake questioned you, “Mo’at you remember her, you'd know if she was her.”

“Not hardly,” Neteyam walked in as Jake sighed, “you looked so much like her,” Even though you were blue now, Jake swore he’d be able to recognize your smile and your eyes. You backed up walking into Neteyam, “this is just a dream.”

Neteyam looked at you weirdly, “i’m going to wake up and be back in my room,” you pinched yourself yet nothing changed. You pinched yourself harder, and this time Neteyam put a hand over yours stopping you. “Okay, maybe this isn't a dream.”

“Maybe if I brought you by the waterfall it help jog your memory,” Neteyam smiled at you. You nodded as he led you out of the room, “there is no memory to come back, you guys have the wrong girl!” Jake watched as you left the room.

“She was picked by Eywa,” Mo’at said, “she will sooner or later learn her fate,” Jake nodded, “I just wish things didn't go down the way they did.” Mo’at nodded, “we all wish things were different.”

You sat by the peaceful waterfall in silence. Unbeknownst to you, this was the very one you met Neytiri at, “remember yet?” you shook your head. “You said your father was a scientist, what was he like?”

You shrugged looking at him, “wouldn't know he died when I was younger. But I still feel connected to him, I have all his old diaries.”

You smiled at Neteyam which made his heart flutter, “he spoke of me in them, he said he loved me more than anything. Can you imagine loving someone is much, you’d die for them?”

Neteyam nodded, “yea, I understand,” you blushed looking away, “I wish I could stay here,” you knew whenever you found your way home, you’d be forced back to reality which was marrying that boy.

“Then stay, we could explore the forest every day together!” he grabbed your hands looking into your eyes. “I wish but my mom would hate it,” you felt so comfortable opening up to Neteyam it was like you’d known him your whole life.

“She’s forcing me to marry someone,” Tears welled up in your eyes thinking about it. “I’m my own person and it feels like she just wants to get rid of me.” Neteyam kissed your knuckles, “it's going to be okay.”

Neteyam let you rant, he listened only speaking to calm you, he hugged you and you felt so safe. You both were put till late, talking about different things.

“Sky people have been terrorizing us for a long time,” you listened as he explained how his father used to be one of them, but Eywa chose him, “Eywa saw him and let him become one of the people.”

“What do you mean she saw him?” Neteyam smiled, “when someone says they see you, they don't mean literally they mean they see into you.”

You still looked a little confused so he did a hand gesture, “I see you, [Y/n], I see into you, I see the raw version, not just the one you put up for others,” you smiled big, “I see you Neteyam.”

He smiled, “do you still not remember?” you sighed, “I don't remember anything Neteyam, I wish I could!” A sudden movement in the bushes caused Neteyam to jump in front of you, “let's head back.”

As you both moved quickly, a hand grabbed you by the hair pulling you away from Neteyam, “Neteyam!” you reached out for him but he was grabbed by his queue.

He yelled out in pain, and a memory came back to mind. A man screamed as he was being held by his hair, “look at this pretty little thing,” the man behind you held you firmly as he sniffed you. “Let go of her,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Please let him go,” you tried moving but it was futile, a larger man came out smiling, and Neteyam's eyes widen at the man. “Surprised?” tears rolled down your cheeks as he came closer to you, “don't cry, pretty girl but it seems your boyfriend might've forgotten to tell you who I am.”

“They call me Quaritch, but you can call me Miles.” He flashed you a smile as the man behind you laughed. “DON’T TOUCH HER!” Neteyam screamed causing the man to look at him.

“Good catch, you caught his oldest son,” the man grabbed Neteyam, “here's what's going to happen, little lady here is going to tell Jake Sully we have his son,” he shook Neteyam a bit, “or else i’m going to kill him.”

The man let go of you and you tried running to get to Neteyam, “Stop, please!” Neteyam was dragged away but not before you heard him yelling, “it's going to be okay, my love.”

They left as soon as they came, leaving you to your tears. You wiped your tears and stood up quickly, heading back to Jake. You were going to get Neteyam back.

***

I’m excited to see if you guys like this one! Hopefully, I really liked this idea! Hope you enjoy it!

#avatar way of water #avatar loak #neteyam #jake sully #neteyam x y/n #avatar neytiri #avatar #neytiri #avatar tuk #protective neteyam #neteyam x na'vi!reader #avatar neteyam #loak x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam sully #neteyam x oc #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #avatar jake #avatar kiri #awow neteyam #awow x reader

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

Jenna People wrote in and said, There is a story going around on the Internet saying that the writers originally intended for Jim to have an affair with Cathy. 

Angela No! 

Jenna Yeah. 

Angela No! 

Jenna But that John Krasinski was so heavily against this idea that he convinced the writing staff to change their minds about the storyline. Is this true? 

Angela Well, you would have never gone for that either. 

Jenna Yeah. No. 

Angela Uh no.  

Jenna We can clear this up right now. Jim was never going to have an affair with or hook up with Cathy. However. 

Angela There's a however?

Jenna There were things about the proposed storyline that did bump me and John. Here's how it all went down. So after we filmed Cathy's phone call at the end of Special Project, you know, where she's like talking to her friend and it becomes clear that she's going to go after Jim in Tallahassee. It comes out of the blue. 

Angela Out of nowhere. 

Jenna Well, that was a total record scratch for me and John. We kind of immediately went into Paul's office and we were like. 

Angela Wha- wha- wha- what?! 

Jenna Yeah, we were like, exactly, like where is this going? We said, There is no way that Jim can hook up with Cathy. And Paul was like, That is not part of our plan, I promise you. No, that's part of her plan. That's Cathy's plan. Jim is not in that plan. And I actually checked with Warren and Halstead, who wrote this episode, and they confirmed that it was never part of the plan. And, lady, don't ask me how I have it, but I have the original Goldilocks outline for this episode. 

Angela You know why? 

Jenna Why? 

Angela Because you're my best friend. And we're both digital hoarders. You say it's really just me, But you have some old stuff you hold onto. 

Jenna I have a few things. 

Angela Now you hold on to things almost a little bit more intentionally, whereas mine is just like, you know, crazy clutter. 

Jenna Yeah. Well, I did collect things that had to do with Jim and Pam. 

Angela Yes. 

Jenna And what the Goldilocks was, it was the kind of very first story outline for every script. 

Angela Right. Before they went off and wrote anything. 

Jenna Exactly. This was what the writers could use when they went to write the script. And it was based on everything that had been pitched. And this document had to be approved by the producers. There is nothing in the Goldilocks about Jim hooking up with Cathy for this episode. Nothing.

Angela So this is even more. 

Jenna More proof. 

Angela More proof. 

Jenna Yes. When I talked to Warren about it, he said that the character of Cathy was always meant to be a kind of like provocateur. You know, you think about when she was introduced. Pam is really bothered that Jim won't admit that she's objectively attractive. 

Angela Right. 

Jenna But it was never pitched or it was never the intention that Jim would have any romantic feelings toward Cathy. It was always kind of understood by the writers that that was off limits. However. 

Angela Another however. 

Jenna Another however. In the very first drafts of this script, there was a lot more kind of teasing of the audience. Like, will he? Like, is he being charmed by her? Is he flirting back with her? Or is he just being a nice guy? Like in the version you see here, he is so clearly uncomfortable and is a giant no every time she does something. But in the original script, there was a little bit more like repartee. 

Angela Hmm. 

Jenna And John and I got to read that, and it really bumped us. We felt like even walking that line was a betrayal. And we did not want that for Jim and Pam's relationship. You know, the producers said that the idea was that they were putting temptation in front of Jim to show how committed he was to Pam. Those teases were more to create tension for the audience than they were to imply that Jim would ever do anything. But because we complained, they made some tweaks to make sure that it felt like this was 100% driven by Cathy and there would be no mixed signals from Jim. Like we didn't want there to be anything where it was like you could say, Well, Jim, you shouldn't have laughed with her in that moment, or you shouldn't have whispered in her ear during that conference room scene. Like, of course she's getting the wrong idea. Those are like examples of kind of the little things that she could have taken the wrong way. 

Angela Right. 

Jenna So the shooting draft of the script also included a scene where Pam calls Jim's hotel room on speakerphone and Cathy answers the phone. 

Angela Oh, I know. 

Jenna Yes, we shot it. It was written that Pam is really insecure about this. And even though it was really clear from Jim's side that he's really uncomfortable with Cathy in the room, Pam can't see that. So I didn't like that scene. I didn't like that Pam would become so easily insecure. Because, again, I felt like that pointed to a bigger issue in the marriage. And I asked them, like, How is that going to get resolved? Like, is Pam ever going to tell Jim her feelings? 

Angela Yeah. What's the long term ripple effect of that moment? 

Jenna Yeah. And there wasn't really an answer. They were like, Oh, it's not an arc. Don't worry. And I'm like, No, but if you're going to bring it up, it's- we should- 

Angela It's out there.

Jenna It's out there. So. Yeah. 

Angela Well, I watched that scene because it's in deleted scenes, and, you know, there is more to it. There's more to the phone call. 

Jenna Yeah. I mean, some of that was a late night writing scramble. I was going to bring it up kind of like where it would happen in the breakdown. So we should definitely talk more about it. I mean, I still have more to say. 

#god bless jenna and john for having our backs #i love them for that #the office ladies #the office #the office edit #the office edits #theoffice #theofficeedit #theofficeedits #jim x pam #jim and pam #jim halpert #pam beasley #john krasinski #jenna fischer #love #gif #gifs #gifset #deleted scenes

[stargirlposts]

El Malo

CHAPTER 2

(I know I took quiet a minute to post this but I lost my drafts in my old phone cause it fell in water 😭 and I didn’t back anything up but it’s here it also took a while cause I don’t really like how it turned out im having major writers block so some feedback would be great ps. Thank you for the likes and reposts it means a lot to me

I couldn’t sleep all night after Cesar told me that Oscar is getting out tomorrow. I don’t know what to expect or what’s gonna happen. I cuddled up on the couch as I thought back to when Oscar and I were younger. Him and I had always known each other, not personally but my house was down the street from his, so when I would walk to school, I would walk past his house . As we got older, Oscar and I always exchanged glances but we never talked.

I had never even told my friends about the glances that we shared, he didn’t tell his friends either, it was just something between us. I can still remember when one day I saw him with those beautiful dark curls and the next day it was all gone. Or when I saw his Santos tattoo for the first time.

I always thought Oscar was attractive but I wouldn’t ever dare act on it. He was a santo and I was a goody two-shoes, I never thought he was interested in me. I was the complete opposite of the ideal girl for him in the position he was in as a santo. But he didn’t care about that. He was different. He is different.

But, I’m concerned about how Oscar getting out is gonna affect Cesar. He seemed real distant after he told me that Oscar is getting out. I’m scared about what’s gonna happen

Cesar and another santo went to pick Oscar up, I didn't want to stick around for when they would come back so I decided to go to my mom’s house.

“Mija, you can't hide here forever. You’ll have to face him eventually” my mom stated softly as she stroked my hair lovingly.

“I thought you didn’t want me anywhere near him” I stated as I turned to look at her.

“And I don’t, I told you multiple times when you were a teen not to go anywhere near him and that he was no good for you but look where we are now “

I rolled my eyes with a sigh, “ I have Tony, he’s good for me, isn’t he?”

“Well, from what you’ve told me he is but I’m your mom, I know you don’t love him”

“I don’t know how to leave him, he’s been so good to me but he’s just not-“

“He’s not Oscar “ she started cutting me, “ You’re gonna hurt him if you keep lying princess”

“I told myself I’d learn to love him and I will, it’s just taking a while”

My phone buzzed and I looked to see it was a notification from Cesar

Cesar💙: he’s out.. we’re heading back now

I turned my phone off and told my mom I was going to my room. I was gonna relax and take a nice bath and everything was gonna be fine.

I was writing in my journal when I heard a knock on my door and my mom opening the door halfway.

“Caesar is here to see you ,” she smiled softly and patted Cesar on his shoulder.

“ Hey, Cesar” I said to him as I put my notebook in my bedside drawer.

I saw his eyes looked red and I tugged his wrist to sit down on my bed.

“What happened, what’s wrong?”

“Oscar is forcing me into the gang, I don't want to Y/N..”

We both knew this was gonna happen even before Oscar got arrested.

“Do you want me to talk to him even though I really don’t want to see him but you know I’d do anything for you..”

“We both know nothing's gonna change his mind, I’m scared of him, I don’t think even you could change his mind..He asked about you, I think he wants to see you”

I rolled my eyes but I’m not gonna lie and say that didn’t warm my heart. My mom knocked on my door telling me that she was gonna do a quick run at the store and then pass by Geny’s house. My mom and her were very close practically sisters. Cesar and I talked but then he got a message from Oscar so I walked him to the door, but when I opened it, I felt my heart beat a million times more..there he was the love of my life, Oscar Diaz.

Cesar cleared his throat and started walking out “I’ll wait in the car”

The 1966 Cherry red Chevy Impala. Oscar and I share a lot of memories together in that car.

“You’re not gonna give me a welcome home hug”

I finally looked up at him.

“I’m seeing someone Oscar” I stated as I crossed my arm, and looked down. As much as I wanted to hug him and kiss him, I couldn’t.

He chuckled at this “Yea, I’ve heard, but he’s not me, you’re still mine Y/N..”

“Oscar, it’s not the same anymore”

“You can lie to yourself but we both know, you still love the way I still love you” he gently touched my chin and closed the door, leaving me to wipe away my own tears.

#on my block #omb #oscar diaz x reader #oscar diaz imagine #Oscar Diaz #cesar Díaz #Santos #spooky diaz x reader #spooky diaz #spooky #imagines #imagine #fanfic #fandom #fanfiction #writers of tumblr #oscar diaz x latina reader #julio macias #el malo #ao3 #fiction #romance #fluff #scenarios #wattpad #angst

[changingplumbob]

York Household: Chapter 9, Part 5

Deanna and Paris have some time to talk amidst Deanna's university schedule.

The Yorks are Italian so if you see them using words that don't look like English it's Italian, or what google assures me is Italian. Caro/Cara: Dear Buongiorno: Good morning Piccolo: Little one Tesoro: Treasure Nonno: Grandfather Nonna: Grandmother Si: Yes Grazie: Thank you Per Favore: Please Buon Compleanno: Happy Birthday

Post brunch the household do their own activities. Kelly does some more biking around the neighbourhood, loving the feel of flying down the hills, almost able to imagine he’s skiing again. Deanna begins work on her projects. She has one presentation and one term paper to work on, getting both drafted up. Paris goes for another run to try clear her mind.

Following dinner Deanna wants to have a practice run at her presentation. What better sim to ask for tips than Devin? She begins to talk through her work, encouraged by her smiling sister.

Deanna: So, what did you think

Devin: I understood very little, but that’s just because I’m more arts minded than... was this physics?

Deanna: *laughs* don’t worry about the content, I need presenting tips

Devin: Your smile was good but your posture could do with some work. Straight back, head high. Act like you know what you’re talking about even if you have doubts and whoever you’re presenting to will believe you

Deanna: Thanks sis

Devin: Just keep practicing your key points and you’ll sail through it

Paris: Hey De, can we talk

Deanna: Sure baby. What’s on your mind?

Paris: I’m struggling. I don’t know what to do to fill my days

Deanna: You’re creative right? Maybe start making stuff to sell on plopsy

Paris: I guess I could…

Deanna: But that’s not the answer you were looking for

Paris: Not really

Deanna: Paris, I can’t read your mind

Paris: I know and I’m not asking you to

Deanna: If you’re worrying about something then tell me. We’re in a relationship, we’re supposed to be able to communicate

Paris: I don’t think I know who I am and I don’t think you know who I am either

Deanna: What the heck is that supposed to mean

Paris: Well you’re smart. You love robots. You care about you family and your friends. You want to help others, especially if they can’t help themselves. And me… I’m just blonde

Deanna: That’s what you’re worried about

Paris: Yes

Deanna: You have personality baby

Paris: Really? Then what the hell is it? Because I’ve been thinking and I can’t come up with anything except orphan slash girlfriend

Deanna: What’s got in to you

Paris: I want to be a person

Deanna: You are a person

Paris: Not like Devin who is dramatic. And not like Reece who has a passion for nature. I want to figure out who I am

Deanna: I’ll tell you who you are. You are my adorable girlfriend. If you want to figure out more about yourself then start trying things. I didn’t know I loved tinkering until I started doing it

Paris: *sighs* Right. I try new things…

Deanna: And you can always revisit old things you love. Like me… in our bedroom…

Paris: *giggles* After you

The two woohoo and fall asleep. In the morning Paris is first up. Despite having talked to Deanna she still feels unstuck but perhaps that’s a normal post high school feeling.

Paris begins her morning run, doing her best to clear her head. For what must be the millionth time she wishes she had her parents to talk to.

Calista is doing a workout before her shift and notices that the apple tree has finally produced some apples. Perhaps tonight or tomorrow her and Aaron will be able to start properly making nectar.

When Deanna heads out for a run before the university grind begins properly she thinks back on her argument with Paris. Maybe she hadn’t been sensitive enough. She wasn’t trying to dismiss her girlfriends doubts but was concerned it might have come across that way.

Paris: Hey Calista, need any help up here

Calista: I’m running late for work but I have to pick these berries

Paris: I could do that, help out

Calista: Oh grazie, see you later

Paris looks at the garden. Dirt under her fingernails isn’t her first choice but Deanna said she should try.

Deanna: You’re gardening?

Paris: Making myself try new things

Deanna: I didn’t mean… are we okay

Paris: We had woohoo, we’re fine

Deanna: Yeah but it wasn’t like the best we’ve had, it was tense

Paris: Did you come up here just to criticise my woohoo technique

Deanna: No. I wanted to have a proper conversation but I see you’re being childish

Paris: Just following your instructions babe

Deanna: Look, I know I’ve been busy with uni and you probably feel like you’ve been left on your own. That wasn’t my intention. I want you to feel at home

Paris: I know you do. You keep saying it and I am trying to feel it

Deanna: So, can I take you on a date?

Paris: What?

Deanna: I’ve got time and there’s that cute food shop in town. Please, I want to spend time with you

Paris: Sure. Just let me wash this dirt from under my nails first

Deanna: Deal

Deanna: Two scones for me and my girlfriend please

Vendor: Here you go ladies

Paris: This is nice De, you always look after me

Deanna: Happy to do it. I love you after all

Paris: *smiles* Thanks

Deanna: Do you want to brainstorm some more things for you to try?

Paris: Maybe later. I just… want to enjoy being with you

Deanna: You softie

Previous ... Next

#sims 4 #the sims #the sims 4 #simblr #My sims #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #R0901 #KellyYork #DeannaYork #ParisPearl #DevinVillareal #CalistaYork

[livlepretre]

Any estimate on when the next chapter is coming? I don’t mean to pressure you and I know it’s only been one week but you’ve been edging us HARD with the Klaus Meltdown! I NEED TO READ THE NEXT PART ITS BECOME AN OBSESSION

no one is edged harder than me, who is losing her poor mind over the desire to get this out!

going to be real here: I haven't formally started writing the next chapter yet. it exists as various scraps of dialogue and some rough scenes, cobbled together over the past eight years, and as various outline drafts of what I want to happen. it was only the other night that I had a big breakthrough on some issues that were plaguing me and feel clear on the writing.

this is what I am planning. I am working on finishing my reread of the nola II arc-- I'll wrap up with the chapter Klaus vamooses. I've been slowly reading and annotating FE all fall because I want to make sure I don't drop the ball on anything as we head into the final parts of this fic. Just today, I had a huge realization about something while reading through these old chapters. also, they are relevant for various technical world-building reasons.

anyway, once I finish that today or tomorrow, I'll start writing.

I want to say I'll have it in another week or so but why make a promise I'm not sure I can keep? Literally my two year old controls this entire fic's publishing schedule.

but.

GOD.

I think this arc has like 3 more chapters left. (the finale is going to hit elena like a brick to the face, sorry y'all)

I would DEARLY love to get those out before Easter.

probably a fever dream though.

#anonymous #fairytale ending #this arc has been a HORROR for me #it's been all setting up tiny little details that will hopefully thrill anyone on reread but which Elena is like #totally not putting together #yet

[sixty-silver-wishes]

Just saw The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari because of you heehee. (This was my first silent film!!) And I've got some questions if you don't mind me asking. How tf did Cesare and Dr. Caligari appear at the end of the movie if one died and the other had gone "mad" (or is it an "up to interpretation" kinda thing? Or was Francis the one seeing things?) What did bro mean by "I know how to heal him"? (Is it another up to interpretation thing or am I missing something?) ALSO where was Francis, the man he was telling the story to, Jane, and all those people at? Were they back at the Institute?

holy shit, Caligari count 14!!!

So the ending is pretty much up to interpretation. Although the screenwriters, Hans Janowitz and Carl Meyer, opposed it, they were made to add in the asylum ending, which may be interpreted to dilute the film’s anti-authority themes (although some interpretations, including my own, see this scene as reinforcing those themes and not lessening them). On a surface-level reading, Francis and the others (sans Alan for some reason) are in the asylum the entire time, and Francis is telling this story, which he believes to be true, to the old man, who serves as a device for the frame narrative.

When the asylum director says he knows how to “heal” Francis, I personally interpret this to enforce those anti-authority themes. If Caligari represents authority as abusive and dominating (keep in mind this film also came out after WWI), his counterpart as the director may refute Francis’ perception of him- or it may enforce them. Is Francis just crazy and viewing a benevolent doctor as an evil mad scientist, or is something sinister- or at best, ignorantly harmful- going on? Not only is “Caligari” an asylum director both inside and out of Francis’ story; he wrongfully assumes that Francis thinks he’s a different “Caligari,” the character from the book in the office, who, in the story, the director is driven to become. Even if the director has good intentions, he does not know how to “cure” Francis, because he completely misjudges what’s going on in Francis’ head. I believe this line is especially significant, as it keeps the anti-authority message intact; even if the director means no harm, he does not understand the actual problem and may be doing more harm than good.

Cesare being in the asylum at the end is, as far as I’m aware, there to reinforce to the audience that the story was in Francis’ head; not only is he still alive, but he appears harmless and passive, and not a threat at all. However, it’s interesting to note that Francis acknowledges that Cesare was also institutionalized; we see him being brought into the asylum during the diary sequence.

Jane and Alan are interesting, because they really throw the idea of what’s real and what isn’t into question. While “Cesare” and “Caligari” are not the real names of the director and patient, Jane responds to her name. And her line about not being able to “follow the path of her heart” is very interesting, because it vaguely mirrors the story; she is presented with the illusion of choice (marrying Francis or Alan, although Alan dies), and Francis refers to her as his “fiancee,” despite the fact she never expresses any romantic interest towards him- or anyone. She’s the clear object of desire, without presenting any desire herself (although interestingly, Wikipedia says that in an early draft, she and Francis were initially going to be married and telling the story to their dinner guests- which I think is way weirder than an asylum setting!). This begs the question- is the story was completely imagined by Francis, or if it’s a distortion of events that he and Jane witnessed? Also, why isn’t Alan there? Is he actually dead? Is he just a product of Francis’ imagination? (Personally, I interpret him as a manifestation of the concept of lost innocence.)

Whatever the case, all this speculation is what makes me love the film so much. I could talk about it for hours, and there’s a ton of academic analysis out there by scholars on what the film could mean and what people get out of it. The whole thing is very liminal, like a dream. It functions in thresholds between binaries, in a sort of gray area that’s just so fascinating to me. Plot points happen with no explanation; storytelling tropes are both followed and subverted. It’s impossible to really understand it, which is why I think it’s so timeless.

#the cabinet of dr. caligari