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kitmon · 2 months

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Get Into The Groove | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie finds you dancing while you’re home alone and, unsurprisingly, the sight has him careening into the bottomless gorge that is loving you all over again.

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things, 2022) x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: allusions to sexy times 18+ only, no actual smut, FLUFF cuz I’m a sucka for it, established relationship, reader is explicitly referred to as “girl” and “woman”

Author’s Note: Just an itty bitty thing that came to me a while ago that I jotted down in between work and school :P hope you like it! And if you’d like to enhance the experience listen to Into the Groove by Madonna and Wango Tango by Ted Nugent!

There are few things that Eddie Munson looks forward to in life: a well-planned D&D campaign, a perfectly rolled joint— the premium shit— and getting home to you.

He whistles to himself as he skips up the steps of his trailer, chains and leather creaking with each step he takes and every key he flips in his hand. The entire day he had been anticipating this moment, just as he does every weekday, where he can come home to a warm and secluded trailer, see you and kiss you the same way he did before he left to work— deep and passionate and long enough to make you dizzy— and sink into his worn-in spot on the couch with you under his arm. He smiles at the comforting thought as he pushes the door in, humming under his breath as he steps inside.

He drops his keys into the ceramic bowl near the door with a clink before he begins peeling his jacket and vest off. His arm is halfway in and out of his jacket as his ears perk at the music trailing down the hall from his room. He finishes shrugging his jacket off, tossing it over the La-Z-Boy before he stalks towards his room, taking care to cushion his steps. As he gets closer he can make out the faint synth and the clap of the drum machine; it’s Madonna, he realizes.

He dips his head to peek through the slit between the door and the frame, eyes glowing with mirth as a wide grin consumes his face.

Only when I’m dancing can I feel this free…

He hadn't expected to find this upon coming home. You’re usually stretched out across the sofa or his bed, mentally marking the bubbles of a quiz inside a Cosmo that Nancy let you borrow or smiling to yourself as you flip through the pages of one of your bodice ripper romances. Instead, from his vantage point, he can see you singing along to the tape that you’ve popped into his stereo, sipping a black cherry Tab as you skip around his room tidying up the cluttered space. You pick up discarded clothes from his floor, pinching that lacy number he stripped off of you that morning and dangling it over your pointer finger as you absentmindedly twirl it around before tossing it into the hamper.

Tonight I’m gonna dance with someone else…

As the song builds to its chorus you drop the clothes you're working with, take one more gulp of your soda and start bobbing your head and shaking your hips. With the way you sway, he can't help but admire how your frame fits under one of his ragged sleep shirts. Your legs are bare and enticing as you prance around with only your underwear on underneath, the reliable lilac pair that you wear flashing at him with every punctuated glide you make down your legs before flipping your hair back.

Get into the groove,

Boy you’ve got to prove,

Your love to me…

Your voice picks up in confidence and volume. Even if you're not classically trained, you make up for the wavering notes and shifting keys with your enthusiasm as you stomp about his room, shaking your head and shifting your hair as you swivel and cock your hips in a way that has Eddie swooning against the door frame. The door kicks open wider as he watches you, tongue licking at his canine in amusement and adoration.

Your singing subdues into little mumbled harmonies and a few enunciated riffs as you drag your hands from your thighs up your rocking body, your fingers catching the hem of your shirt and lifting it over your ass to offer just a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glimpse. You writhe like a charmed snake in a wicker basket, your hands meeting over your head as you slither in mesmerizing forms.

You fall away from your dance but maintain the skip in your step and the nod in your head as you bend over and snatch a pair of Eddie's boxers from the floor. You twirl in place, boxers held to your chest as you get lost in the music, shifting your feet to twist you around, eyes closed blissfully.

“At night I lock the doors, where no one else can see— AH!”

You scream, chucking the boxers at Eddie’s head as you’re startled. He ducks as the garment soars over his head and he laughs at your reaction.

“Jesus, sweetheart! You almost took me out with my own drawers!”

“Eddie!” You scold, with wide eyes and a small crinkle between your brows, “You scared the shit out of me!”

You’re clutching your chest with one hand as your breath relaxes but your eyes screw up in mild anger at the fact that he snuck up on you.

“M’sorry! Didn’t want to interrupt the show.”

You groan, your hands crawling over your face as you wince, “You saw that?”

Eddie steps towards you, soothing your embarrassment by rubbing at your arms.

“Mm-hmm, and, if I may say so,” he leans in to whisper into your ear, “it was very sexy.”

You sputter out a giggle at him before taking your hands and pulling at the loose thread along the collar of his t-shirt— perhaps you’re the reason all of his shirts have holes along the collar.

“Of course you would find it sexy,” you tease as your fingers migrate upwards to play with the ends of his hair. “You could watch me floss my teeth and get a semi.”

“Can you blame a guy?” He laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist to draw you closer. “With a girl as smokin’ as you, it’s impossible to keep the little guy down.”

You snort, letting your head fall into his chest as he strokes your hair.

You bask in the silence for a moment, the two of you shuffling your feet and breathing each other in. The song’s ended by now and moved on to another poppy dance number that fades into the background.

“Think you can teach me some of those moves?” He questions into your hairline.

You hum, a smile coating the sound as you lean back to look into his eyes.

“I dunno, don’t think you’re limber enough to pull off some of these crazed gyrations of this rock generation.”

He smiles down at you, leaning close enough to nip at your lips, “I’ll have you know I’m a proper Johnny Castle, baby.” His smile gives way to a contemplative yet amused shape, “And did you just quote Ted Nugent to me?”

You nod your head as a wide grin splits across your face.

“Oh, you don't know what you do to me, woman!”

You squeal as he hoists you up and throws you onto his bed, your head falling back against his pillows as you laugh from the excitement of it. You fall into soft hums of laughter that slip past your throat as Eddie follows you down and climbs up your body, nipping at your calves and thighs, pushing his nose against the hem of your— well, his shirt— to reveal that worn lilac cotton that you make look like a whole Victoria’s Secret set.

“And I’ll show you dancing, I’m quite skilled at Zee Wango, Zee Tango.”

#I witerwy need him so bad #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie #eddie munson headcannons #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson stranger things

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cannedpickledpeaches · 2 months

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Insert Your Name (4)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tag(s): @guava-has-a-pen

Jade’s Signature Spell has several restrictions. The greatest variable about it is its rate of success. Only ten minutes after meeting with the captured thug, the four of you sit out in Azul’s living room with furrowed brows. Except Floyd. Floyd happily indulges in Azul’s expensive grapes.

“I didn’t think Moore looked like someone with a strong will.” You reach out a hand at Floyd. He drops a perfectly round, nearly black grape in your palm. “Maybe he was faking the terror? Or maybe the person who gave him Jade’s information is much scarier than a bit of persuasion from Floyd.”

“Looked and felt like a minnow.” Floyd’s jagged teeth tear through the fruit like it’s made of tissue paper. “His screamin’ was real, lemme tell ya that. Even if he’s scared of someone else, he probably thought he was gonna kick the bucket right then and there. If ya asked me, he woulda spilled even without Jade cuz he thought he was fucked either way. Kinda weird that he didn’t.”

If there’s anything you’ve learned from knowing him for this long, it’s that his gut feeling is rarely wrong. Intuition is his forte. But if that’s the case, how come Shock the Heart didn’t work?

“My guess is,” Jade muses with a hand on his chin, “there is a spell previously cast on him that can block mine.”

Azul considers it. “Memory wiping, maybe. Perhaps he really doesn’t know—or at the very least, doesn’t remember. Another possibility is a defensive spell cast on his mind.”

“Even if that’s true, he isn’t a mage.” You pop the grape inside your mouth. A sweet, delectable juice spreads over your tongue. “If he was, he would’ve tried to break out of those ropes.”

That’s a simple trap Jade likes to set. Without a magic tool like the mirror back in Night Raven College, it is difficult to tell who’s a mage and who isn’t. However, by using restraints that are not made of anti-magic material and relaxing security briefly, mages often reveal their hand with escape attempts.

“Maybe it was his boss or somethin’ who casted it. Y’know, to keep secrets from gettin’ out. Pretty nifty spell, if ya think about it.”

“Someone within the Carpenter Mafia, huh.” You curl up on the couch, pressed into the corner formed by its arm and back. “Guess we’ll have to investigate all the mages they have. Talk about time consuming.”

“Please leave it to me.” Jade places a hand on his chest, a reassuring smile on his lips. Reliable. Like a sturdy tree, or a nook in the cliffside. Someone you can lean on. Someone who can pick up your slack and watch your back. Trust given to Jade can only be from a naïve fool, a desperate person, or a wary one who has leverage on him or something to gain. Regardless, despite the fact that he is difficult to trust, he is terribly competent to make up for it.

“Will you have time for it, with all the other things you have to do? Like managing the mafia and the main story?”

“Please do not worry. If it comes down to it, there are tasks that I can delegate to other qualified individuals.”

Azul heaves a heavy sigh.

After a lengthy discussion, Azul all but kicks you three out of his house. You let Jade drive you home because you aren’t keen on sitting in Floyd’s passenger seat again anytime soon. Sitting in the leather seats of Jade's car, you watch as streetlights sweep by the glowing dashboard to a constant beat. The twins’ differing tastes are obvious even in their choice of car models. While Floyd prefers flashy sports cars that attempt to break the sound barrier, Jade prefers sleek, black ones that don’t make too much noise.

While Jade drives, your eyes drift to the night sky and your mind to the story. The next event is their second meeting. (Y/N) runs into him in the shopping district. Judging from the description in the manuscript, it’s on a street you frequented with her. Buskers at intersections. An ice cream shop next to an oak tree. A fountain with picturesque statues. You have a picture on your phone of her laughing in front of the water.

Does she think about you? If a friend suddenly stopped contacting her after being cornered in an alleyway, she’d naturally try to check up on them. That’s the selfless and considerate personality she has as the main character, after all. So why hasn’t she even texted you once? Were you truly even friends?

Of course you were. A kind person like her couldn’t fake affection. Those smiles she shared with you were definitely real. So then, why?

“You should sleep early tonight.” Jade suddenly speaks up at a red light. He takes the momentary break to glance at you. There’s an expression you can’t place on his face. Worry? No, nothing that strong. He looks back at the road before you can decipher it. “You’ve been stressed lately. I can brew you a relaxing herbal tea if you have trouble sleeping. It will guarantee you a relaxing slumber.”

“That makes it sound like I’ll never wake up if I drink it.”

He chuckles. “You can find out if you drink it.”

“Pass. Make it for yourself.”

“Perhaps I will. I often have difficulties falling asleep at night.” Unlike you, his insomnia is evolutionary. Moray eels are nocturnal creatures, and having grown up in the deep sea, day and night cycles took time to get used to. In the endless night of a place where sunlight cannot reach, circadian rhythms follow a schedule, not daylight.

“Doesn’t the story say you’ll sleep in the same bed as (Y/N) tomorrow?”

There’s only one bed. A common trope. This event seems to be shoved into the story, full of plot holes and reasons that don’t make any sense. (Y/N) is meant to lightly twist her ankle because of her endearing clumsiness. Jade will bring her to a fancy hotel room and tend to her wound there instead of bringing her home like today. Your only guess is that the story wants to showcase his wealth and influence. He can get a fancy room in a fancy hotel whenever he wants without a reservation. He can afford whatever her heart desires.

“Indeed.” Jade gives a half-smile. “Although I doubt it will happen. I find that I cannot sleep in the presence of strangers.”

Morays are cowards, Floyd once said. Ambush predators. They like hiding and darting out at prey or going after injured animals. Strong enough to have the confidence of living in a hole with no escape route other than the entrance, but careful enough not to chase down prey in open waters. Jade is more careful than most. You don’t think you’ve truly seen him with his guard down before.

“(Y/N) is harmless.”

“I am aware. It is only a force of habit.” His fingers tap lightly on the steering wheel. “I will stay until she falls asleep and then do some work. There is much to do, with so little time.”

You wonder if the increased workload has taken a toll on Jade. As competent as he is, he was suddenly saddled with the responsibilities of an entire syndicate and expected to run it with the same proficiency as his parents. His hobbies that he adores so much were all put on hold. There must be a mountain of pressure on his shoulders, but he never complains. Never one to show weakness. It is easy to exploit.

“You can give me more work. Just pay me and I’ll do it.”

Jade’s eyes flick to you, then back to the road. “How considerate of you. What are you willing to do if I take you up on that?”

“You can leave the investigation of the Carpenter Mafia to me.”

“Thank you for offering, but I would like to take that matter into my own hands. It concerns information about me, after all.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

He hums in that way he does when he pretends to think. “How about guarding me when I sleep?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say you can’t sleep with other people around?”

“I said ‘strangers.’” A teasing lilt weaves through his voice. “You are my dear friend of many years. Surely, we are closer than mere strangers? I daresay we are even closer than acquaintances.”

“You really like bringing that up.”

“It is because you seem prone to forget.” The car turns into a side street. Houses pass you slowly. Your neighbourhood is quiet at this time of night. “If you were guarding me, I would not even mind sleeping in (Y/N)’s vicinity.”

“Don’t even think about it. I won’t be there.”

Despite the lighthearted tone of your conversation, you understand the undertone of his request. He doesn’t expect you to accept this responsibility. Instead, he is conveying a message: he trusts you. Enough that he’s willing to be physically vulnerable around you. When he’s asleep, you could slit his throat, press a pillow over his face, crush his windpipe. But he trusts that you won’t. Instead of attacking him, he trusts that you will protect.

But is that what he truly thinks of you? Or is that what he wants you to think that he thinks? How convoluted. Talking to him is taxing on the brain.

“Actually, Jade.” You hesitate briefly. “Can you ask (Y/N) about me? Or just, like, drop my name in the conversation.”

Mild curiosity fills his gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“Just do it.”

“I have no obligation to. But if you tell me, I might consider it.”

“Forget it, then.” It wasn’t important anyway. You’ll ask her once the story is over.

He pulls up on your driveway. The entire house is dark, save for a light in the master bedroom and in the entrance. You thank him and prepare to leave the car.

“Give your mother my greetings.”

You nod and wave goodbye. The car stays in your driveway until you enter your front door before driving off. It’s something you’ve noticed only he does. For safety, he had explained. He’s making sure that you’ve entered your home safely. You can never tell if he has some ulterior motive.

The first few things you notice when you step inside are the pill bottles left out on the counter. You take your shoes off and silently pad over to the washroom, returning the bottles to the medicine cabinet. Just as you put the final one in place, a voice calls out from the top of the staircase.

“You’re home late. Are you tired?”

A kind, familiar voice. You approach the stairs and look up to see your mother standing there in her sleepwear. The stress accumulated throughout the day melts away, temporarily forgotten. No matter how difficult things are, no matter how tedious the days become, no matter how much is on your mind—at the end of the day, you have your mother to return home to. Around her, you are just her daughter, without the need to be anything more.

“Hi, Mom. You didn’t have to stay up.” You ascend the staircase to meet her on the second floor. She gives you a warm, comforting hug.

“Nonsense. I can’t sleep until I know you’re home safe.” She pats your hair and lets you go. “Did you come home by yourself?”

“Jade drove me. He says hi.”

“Oh, Jade. He’s a good kid. Thank him properly, alright?”

A good kid. You almost laugh out loud. For one, both you and him are in your late twenties. For another, you wouldn’t use “good” to describe his character. But you don’t, because you don’t want your mother to worry. You only tell her the best anecdotes about the people around you so that she can rest assured you’re in good hands. She doesn’t know about your real job, either. She doesn’t need to. You prefer to keep things this way. She would never approve of a profession where you could get hurt.

“I will.”

She follows you to your room, where you start getting ready for bed. “What were you doing downstairs before I called for you?”

“You left your medicine on the counter again. I was putting them away.”

“Oh dear, did I?” She sighs and places a hand on her cheek. Wrinkles crease the skin around her mouth and the corners of her eyes. It is because I have lived a happy life, she always assured you, since I was lucky enough to have you as my daughter. “I must be getting old. These days, I often do one thing while forgetting another.”

“It’s a good thing you have me, huh?”

She chuckles. “You’re right. It’s a good thing I have you.”

When you lie in bed, your mother sleeping soundly in the master bedroom, you think back to Mr. and Mrs. Leech. To Jade and Floyd, who anxiously wait for a cure to that curse they still haven’t found the culprit for. Jade changes out the flowers by their hospital beds as soon as the petals start to wilt. Floyd bribes the hospital so that he can spend nights by their side. If your mother was in that situation, you know you would raise Hell on Earth. You can only imagine what the twins are going through. If they ever catch the assassin, you don’t want to know what will happen to that soul. There is no judgment against the twins here. You would do the same.

You don’t know when you slept, but you wake up before dawn to the sound of your ringtone. Upon picking up, Jade delivers two pieces of information.

Firstly, he fell asleep. And secondly, when he mentioned your name to (Y/N) last night, she smiled blankly and asked: “Who?”

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #jade leech #twst fanfic #twst jade #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #multi chap fic #mafia au #slow burn #azul ashengrotto #floyd leech

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the1975attheirverybest · 1 year

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Real Love, Baby

A/N: based on this request. Think this’ll be it for tonight cuz I’m exhausted.

Warnings: none.

—-

“Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t keep having this conversation, darling!” Matty fiddled with his hair to give his hands something to do. He turned to look at her. “What do I have to do to prove it to you? How many times do I have to say ‘I’m in this. I’m serious. I want to be with you.’? At some point, I’ve gotta think…maybe you just don’t trust me.”

“It would be a lot easier to believe your declarations of you acted like it. You can’t just tell me you love me, but then shut me out every time I try to get close.” She felt defeated, repeating the same words that she had said to him countless times before, knowing that they’d fall on deaf ears again. as they always did.

“Oh for fucks sakes” Matty mumbled under his breath before she was even finished speaking. “Not this again.”

“Yes, this again! Matty, you’re not listening to me. I respect the work that you do. I’m your biggest fan, you know that. But, there’s no room in our relationship for your tricks and sleights of hand. You can’t perform for me, pull the rug out from under me. Leave that at work! Please, I’m begging you!”

The words she spoke broke her own heart. It baffled her that Matty could remain stoic in the face of her ardent pleas. The whole situation scared her. She never thought she would ever find herself in a position where she had to beg a man to love her, or let her love him. Even worse, she never thought that person would be Matty. When they first met, things seemed to come naturally and effortlessly between them. She should’ve known it was too good to last forever. The things is, she was far from a hopeless romantic. In fact, before she’d met Matty and was consumed by him, she used to say that love could hardly be worth the trouble. She thought she respected herself too much to allow herself to hand over her heart like that. She had no idea when that changed, or how she ended up here…the very thing that her past self despised. Love-sick, strung out on him, addicted to his love. Even an idiot would’ve told her the honeymoon phase never lasts.

She didn’t know what hurt more, the fact that Matty didn’t seem to love her anymore, or the fact that she didn’t see it coming.

“I can’t believe this.” Matty shook his head in disbelief. “Are you really using my own work against me? Is that what it’s come to? Why would you do that?”

“You left me no choice!”

“You don’t seem to understand: love isn’t a tangible thing. Love isn’t an object. You can’t prove it or disprove it! You just have to trust me. Why can’t you trust me?”

Hot tears ran down her cheeks like a stream. How could he ever think that she didn’t trust him. “Things are different.” She whimpered. “I used to be able to feel your love. In your touch, your looks, your words….in your eyes. It’s not there anymore.”

“Do you- you can’t be serious.” She scuffed, dismissively. “Are you joking? Do you hear yourself right now? I mean- how am I meant to control my eyes? This is insane.”

“That’s not what I said-“

“You’re asking for the impossible, here. You understand that, right? I can’t prove love. If I could, it wouldn’t be-“ he stopped himself, looking at her with blank eyes, as if he was seeing right through her. As if she wasn’t even there. “why am I arguing with you? You’ve gone insane.” The words hung in the air, echoing in her mind.

She wiped her own tears, watching him as his chest rose and fell. She didn’t know what to say to him. She didn’t know how to talk to him because she felt like she couldn’t even recognize him anymore. He took a deep breath. “I need a smoke, a zoot, something- I need to get the fuck out of here. I can’t deal with this, right now.”

He headed straight for the door without looking back once. Not even to say goodbye.

***

Matty took off his leather jacket, placing it gently back on the hanger by the door. He wiggled his feet out of his loafers, sighing loudly. He was a bit stoned. But nothing too serious. The long walk, and the joint he’d smoked, helped him to unwind and think about the fight they’d gotten into. To weighed on him, heavily, that she’s been feeling unappreciated and neglected lately. It bothered him even more that this wasn’t the first time in recent memory, that they’ve had this exact same fight. They keep trying to discuss it, only to arrive at the same dead-end. He knew something needed to change, but he didn’t know what it is. All he knew for sure was that he loved her. Wanted her. Needed her. Nothing else mattered to him.

He walked through their home, looking around for her. Maybe they didn’t need to resolve this once and for all, tonight. It’s been a long day for both of them. And he was tired of arguments. Besides, he missed her. He just wanted to hold her, kiss her, and tell her that she’s the love of his life. Tomorrow, once they’d slept on it and had a chance to think things through, they’d discuss it calmly and carefully. As a team. Not as sparring partners, not as debate opponents. They needed to be on the same side again.

Matty rushed into to kitchen, thinking that, perhaps, she was stress baking again, but she wasn’t there.

She wasn’t stress-cleaning either because the laundry room was empty. He ran up the stairs into the bedroom, and the bed hadn’t been touched since he’d made it this morning. She wasn’t in his home studio, or in her office. Her purse and phone were gone. She wasn’t home.

***

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…c’mon, baby.” He muttered.

In the car, Matty connected his phone to the car stereo system, dialing her over and over, but he kept getting sent straight to voicemail. He’s already left her three messages, and she wasn’t picking up his calls. His heart sank as he drove through the streets, thinking about her leaving their home. It was her home. It’s where she belongs. He’d forced her out of it. There was only one place she could be.

***

“Thanks so much, Carl.” Matty thanked the library security man for pointing him in the direction that his girlfriend had gone. He excused himself and walked down the hallway, speeding up the stairs to the fourth floor, skipping two steps at a time.

“There you are! Fuckin’ hell, babe! You scared the shit out of me.” He called out as soon as he saw her sitting at the table, reading in silence. The entire fourth floor was empty. It was only her and the front desk lady.

“Sir, this is the quiet reading floor, no speaking allowed.” The front desk worker cautioned him.

“Give me a fuckin break, there’s literally no one in here.”

The lady simply pointed to the “silence please” sign, making him roll his eyes.

He ignored the librarian’s warnings and rushed right over to his girlfriend. “I know you want proof. I know you want to be sure that I love you. You don’t think I’ve given you enough-“

“You’re not really allowed to be speaking up here.” She attempted to shut him up, but she knew Matty well enough to know it wouldn’t work.

“I don’t know how I can show you that I love you. I trust you. I’m as open with you as I have ever been with anyone. Including myself.”

She brought finger to her own lips, hushing and pretending to read.

“You want to know for a fact that I’m serious about you, but the only way to do that would be literally read my mind. And that’s impossible. Which is why I always say that you can’t know. You can only trust.”

She slapped both ends of the book together, shutting it dramatically as her heart raced. She slid the book onto the table in front of her, looking up at Matty questioningly. He was nothing if not dramatic. She appreciated his enthusiasm, but she wasn’t necessarily asking for some outlandish speech, she was just asking for a bit of his heart.

“I just want you to trust me. If you want proof, I’d that’s what it takes, then I’ll prove it to you: will you marry me? I love you, I want you, will you be my wife?”

#matty healy fanfiction #matty concepts #matty healy fanfic #matty healy x you #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy fluff #matty healy x oc #matty healy oneshot #matty healy angst

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himbos-hotline · 1 year

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Name: With tears in your eyes, you begged me to stay Word count: 1183 words Ship: Jay Orton/Adam Cole [ship: bluejays and blowjobs] Characters: Jay Orton, Adam Cole Rating: General Audiences/Teen [kinda on the cusp between both] Prompt: @wrestleprompts prompt week two: It was you the entire time Triggers: Mentions of Sex [no actual smut], mentions of Cole's concussion, panic attacks Authors note: This started out as smut but I got really anxious and I just gave Adam Cole my panic attacks. Still writing trans femme adam cole using he/him pronouns cuz pronouns don't equal gender. I don't think this is my best work/flows right but I'm tired. I might end up editing this/re-writing this but we'll see how this goes Tag list: @ithunderstorm @itsnoosetome @malewifemoxley @kass-the-kitten @melancholycowboy @josiewrites @basil-the-pretty-cowboy @ss-trashboat @ambroseasylum @wrestlezaynia @banannabethchase @bellicosebunny @mrsmatt @racerchix21 and @anairbri and @mistress-omega-majesty

READ ON AO3 [reblogs/yelling in the tags/comments really appreciated]

Gold stole Cole away, onto new horizons and Jay stayed left in the dust. Until, because fate is a bitch who has no self control, the two of them were dragged back together. And they’re friends now. The same familiar pattern between two people whose bodies still know the others. Jay lays her back against the couch, tilts her neck backwards against the leather cushions. “Are you gonna get dressed any time today?”

He’s looking at her from across the small locker room, ankles crossed politely as he pretends to scroll through twitter on his phone. Occasionally, Jay catches his blue eyes flicking down to trace the curve of her chest or across the careful intent of a bite mark, purpled and hidden in a bruise on the curve of her thigh. Jay rolls her ankles and bends the curve of his back, eyes still glued on Adam. They’re meant to be wrestling in less than an hour, a stupid mixed tag match that’s meant to boost their connection. Jay finds that somewhat stupid; She’s taken Cole into her mouth and held him closely as he shook, pleasure blowing his stupidly beautiful blue eyes so wide that Jay feels like they could consume them. A mixed tag match is nothing, he doesn’t even know why the two of them have to tag together, they’ve done it before. It didn't work.

There’s a devious little smile that spreads across Cole’s face, he rolls his chewing gum against the back of his teeth until it's in a small ball, rolling against his tongue. “Nope.” He grins, blowing a bubble. It bursts when Jay drags a ring-worn nail across the sticky circumference and Cole licks at his bottom lip, collecting the tasteless gum back into his mouth. “I think I’m gonna stay right here.” Cole replies after staring down at Jay with a small, twisted frown. One that carries no real emotions other than half-playful stubbornness.

“You’re being such a brat.” Jay grumbles, rolling his eyes. Cole raises an innocently confused eyebrow and shrugs his leather jacket. Jay cocks an eyebrow and gasps when Cole tosses it at her feet. “You wanna play this game?” Cole nods once, turning his eyes back to the TV, the PPV rolls slowly forward and Jay balls his leather jacket between his hands and chucks it back at him, chuckling when Cole squarks out in surprise. “Cmon get dressed!”

Jay flails her hand and Cole shrugs his jacket back on, pouting when Jay pinches at the bridge of her nose. “Do I have to get you dressed? Are you that much of a pillow princess?” The look on Cole’s face makes Jay pause, head tilted and eyes widening in confusion. “You’d like that?” His voice is softer now, reaching up to stroke at Cole’s leg. His hands clasp and unclasp around one another, nails itching against the spaces between his knuckles and Jay presses a kiss to the side of his temple. “I'm sorry for making you uncomfy princess.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t.” Is Cole’s soft reply, leaning his temple against the pleasant chill of his…Jays lip rings. “I’d like not to have to think about that kinda stuff y'know..” His voice is tight and shrill, like someone twirling a guitar string too tight. “Its st-”

Jay silences her with a soft kiss to the bridge of her nose. “It’s not stupid, nothing’s stupid. How about we try it later, yeah?” Cole keeps grabbing at the space between his knuckles, pressing the pads of his fingertips against his knuckles until they shift and pop. Jay knows it’s hurting, at least distantly because Cole’s eyebrows press together every time the small sound echoes around the little locker room. “Hey Cole, look at my baby.” Jay whispers, shifting to sit beside him. “Shh baby, it's just a panic attack. You know how to beat these.” There's promise on her words and once he worms his fingers under Cole’s, she squeezes.

Panic attacks are yet another lasting side effect of Cole’s concussion and one that Jay’s gotten better at dealing with. He muscles Cole onto her lap and lets him curl as small as possible into his little frame. Let’s his body tremble against hers as Jay runs a soothing hand across his spine, promising that it's only temporary. “Just breathe, nice and slow. In and out. There we go, good girl” She whispers, watching how Cole’s teary eyes glance up at her, thanks in his eyes.

The time for their match comes and goes, Jay gets snapped out by the heads who sit at the top of the table and the crowd boo’s and chants for Cole but he stays tangled around Jay, panic- worn body, loose and limber. His eyes are red-rimmed when he glances up at him, an apology dancing on his tongue. Cole opens his mouth and pauses, closing it again.

“What is it baby?” Jay whispers, brushing tears off the apples of his cheeks. He looks down at him, waiting patiently. He’d wait forever for him. He’d walk to the bottom of the underworld and back, like Eurydice and Orpheas, two former lovers bathed in death.

“It’s always been you.” Cole starts in the same small voice he always uses; tired and weak and guilty. “It was you the whole time.” When Jay’s fingers pause against the bottom of his spine, Cole releases a last shuddering breath. “Since NXT. it’s always been you. The one I’ve been thinking of. When I got hurt, it was you. I wanted more than pain meds and a good night's rest and anti sickness. You.” Cole knows he’s rambling but panic has made his tongue uselessly limber in his mouth. “It’s been you the whole time, the one I’ve missed the most.”

Jay's arms wrap around him tighter, pressing the zipper of his jacket into his exposed skin, Cole feels her breathing even out, feels the chill of Jay’s lip rings drag against the crown of his head. “You don't have to miss me now Princess. I’m here.”

“Please don’t leave me alone.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Jay leans down and presses a soft kiss to his trembling lips. “I’m not leaving.”

Cole raises a clammy hand, sticks out his pinkie and the smile that spreads across Jay’s face seals the promise like wax sealing a love letter. “Pinkie promise?”

Their fingers interlock together and Jay presses a kiss to the side of his palm. “Pinkie promise.” Cole nods, squirms until his face is tucked securely between her collar and jaw and yawns. Jay feels the stubble of his cheek itching her freckled skin pink and relaxes against the leather couch cushions as Cole’s body finally falls limp with sleep, pinkie finger still tangled around theirs.

In the end, The two of them get a fine for skipping out on a PPV. But, back at the hotel, sharing burgers and Cole laying out outfits eagerly for Jay to choose, eyes sparkling with a joy that he hasn’t seen in what feels like forever. Jay knows he’d lose everything for her little princess.

#wrestleprompts #ship: jay and cole #rating: teen #oc: jay orton #mouse writes #all elite wrestling #aew #reblogs are appreciated

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therem-harth · 3 years

Note

h h hewwo owoo 22 / 23 / 29 / 31 / 34 / 50 / 58 / 61 / 88 in any order, and u can also just. pick only those that u want :3

hhhh-ewwwo? I did say I wanted to chat and I desperately do not want to do work or studies so buckle in for a long post (derogatory). 22. role model? Oh man, I don’t think I have any, like, specific ones for entire things, though I do fall in my hero-worship phaes and then fall out of them like everyone else. I think that taking an entire person and being like I wanna be like them is... not for me though. But I do look up to some people for specific things - I look up to, weirdly enough, Abigail Phylosohpytube who I didn’t watch before her coming out for her graceful coming out video though she admits that the experience wasn’t obviously as smooth. I look up to lots and lots of people for their ability to create and their art (not gonna tag my fav artists bc am tiny and do not want people to look at me, but i do be reblogging). I look up to people like ConcernedApe Stardewvalley and Supergiantgames Hades for their ability to put so much soul in their work, smth I aspire to do. I look up to @not-poignant for, among other things, their idk how to say it best, wisdom in understanding and communicating with others and with myself? I’ve learned a lot by just sort of being in their periphery and seeing how they articulate their thoughts and choose to be kind and witness other’s pain. Hell, I look up to twitch streamers and youtubers sometimes (the recent nice trait I’d like to have if I ever went into bigger content production is how ibxtoycat deals with parasocial relationship realities). 23. strange habits? Hm. I don’t think drinking tea whenever I need a pick-me-up is strange, that’s just probably forcefully assigning a British nationality to me. I think my insistence on misspelling words in a way I think is lowkey funny might be one, I say thamks bc it feels softer, or thank bc it’s funny, I say sleeb, I say finkers or tryink or otherwise replace g with k for lulz. I also don’t know if it counts as a habit but I have a small leather band around my wrist that’s been there for a year soon. Hmmmmmmmmmmmm I probs have like, stranger habits but I can’t recall rn. 29. best way to bond with you? Hmm. Well, if you show initiative and are explicit about wanting to spend time with me, that’s already a big chance of me spending time with you. And then if our interests match and I don’t think that you’re like, young in a way that automatically puts me in a position where I don’t feel comfortable really being myself around you bc in my head I have to look out for you (it has happened with two of my friends, sigh), and we regularly spend time together, voila, friend acquired. It simultaneously doesn’t take much and takes a bit to be my friend and bond with me - it’s easy af to become a casual friend cuz I’m always open to new people, but there has to be a level of trust to become like, a close friend. Respecting my boundaries, talking shit with me, being explicitly committal about wanting to bond with me are big steps that way. 31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? Uh, I don’t do neither, but a current fave that is reasonably badass is my black tshirt with like, a ritual circle and a deer skull. V edgy, 10/10. I also used to have like a real edgy tshirt with a jester and some dice that said the game of life, but I threw it out bc dysphoria. or maybe I put it at the back of my closet along with one other shirt In Case I Get Top Surgery so I can wear them then. 34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? Many, such is the nature of advertising, alas. I have managed to avoid most of it tbh though, so the only place I am forced to sit through ads so they stick is my scrabble capitalist nightmare app where I play and always beat haha my coursemate. And they have adds for those shitty apps where you have to solve a puzzle that ends up failing in the add and like, drenching a man in green goo. I find those kinda fascinating tbh. Who plays these games? Who plays these shitty shitty games whose ad has to be “prove your IQ“ to make you want to prove yourself to play them? Oh and also, the insidious nature of ads in media I consume - the mcelroys have gotten me informed about many many things bc they do it in a funny way. Have you heard about squarespace? What about meundies? I also literally installed honey yesterday that I knew abt bc of the relentless adds and I wanted to save, uh, 2.50 from my minecraft server purchase (and then spent some time googling how they make money before giving up. just say u sell my data, that’s easier than not knowing what part of this makes you money). I was tired and in a weird mood, ok. 50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? It’s always the stupidest jokes, what matters more is laughing together with someone and getting caught in a laughing loop. I still remember laughing with my siblings until our stomachs really really hurt bc I think one of us said a rug was vomit-colored and it was funny in the moment. How many times have I laughed like that with you too, vit. I know that Laura’s one is nostrilatu, right? :D :D It’s just something that catches you off guard, I think.

58. four talents you’re proud of having? Oh shid. Hm. 1) My ability to analyze data and understand the basic building blocks of something. Makes me cool at studying and sexy at explaining things to my course-mates. 2) Not a talent more like a skill that I’ve worked hard on through therapy - but my inner positive voice/healthy parent is very strong and automatic (something I was sure would never happen). A good example is me going out for a walk, my phone dying so I can’t listen to music, when I went in my head “well I can always make music in my head. do-do-do *drum sound*“ and I could feel the wave of self-reprimand cresting but before I could actually hear any negative comments the positive voice said with a light of a thousand suns NO THAT IS ACTUALLY CUTE AND SEXY and just haaaaaaah. 3) I sing good. Need to sing more. 4) I think I’m good at making conversation. Even with people I don’t necessarily like or want to talk to. More of a skill again but whatever. 61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? Do not come to me and ask for favorites, witch. Uh, I have some quotes in my notes app, like 7 from Pia’s writing :D. But imma go with “It’s a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world“ by Mary Oliver. It counts, ok. Or, wait, something I will for real one day either crosstitch of commission shitpostcalligrapher: “t’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something. “What are we holding onto Sam?” “There’s good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.“” 88. your greatest wish? Hrm. Right now? To have like a couple days with no responsibilities and without the outside world bearing on me as heavily, to be tiny tiny tiny so I’m invisible and can drink tiny tea on a tiny leaf. Uh, in general? My recently formulated wish or a goal is stability/peace. Then everything else becomes ok because you can bounce back to stable ground between feeling shit or everything happening so much. And I’ve sort of reached that. Also like, half a million euros would be nice too so I can get a house and a car and go on a few trips abroad. :D // there’s two ask memes in my blog recently, go wild

#long post #derogatory #personal #i think the wish to be tiny was there more last week #now i just wanna have nice things and fun and a bit of rest but am otherwise less overwhelmed #also hey. talks #chats

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xyliane · 4 years

Text

AU-gust 2: college au

PROMPT THE SECOND: COLLEGE AU (one of these days I’m actually going to draft a story out of my own tales of undergrad into chaos, mayhem, and jumping out of windows cuz the class was boring. instead today, you get the aftereffects of being a TA and also seeing this post on twitter and jumping a few dozen steps to the right. hxh again, zushi pov)

0o0o0o0o0o

It’s 3am, Zushi has a paper due in the morning, and he is bouncing impatiently from foot to foot outside of the RA’s door in shorts and an old shirt that should have fallen apart months ago. It’s not fair, really. He could have had this done days ago, all he needs is the translation for some final key conclusions, but his partner on the Artomatic forums fell off the map, Professor Palm absolutely refuses to help, and Zushi still doesn’t read Greek in any form, let alone whatever form of it is going on in this tome he’d scavenged out of the dusty corners of the old art wing library.

Zushi’s an engineering major. He has a whole internship lined up after this, working with Wing and Dr. Krueger on practical applications of Da Vinci’s wing sketches. This art class is the last humanities section he ever needs to take. Why does he need ancient Greek just to understand a fresco made thousands of years ago depicting a bunch of naked people breaking vases--

He pounds on the RA’s door again, just as the flimsy wood creaks open. Killua, to no surprise, is still awake, white hair casually tousled and blue eyes a little red from whatever he’s using to stay conscious. He looks like any other time Zushi’s seen him, save for the chocorobo-print pajamas. He blinks a little, like he’s not used to looking up at someone taller than him. “Oh, hey Zushi. What’s up?”

Zushi all but launches the tome at Killua (and it is a tome, leather-bound and heavy as a whole weightlifting rack and smelling of dead dust). The RA catches it in his chest with an oomph fuck. “I heard you...” Killua raises an eyebrow, and Zushi swallows heavily. “I heard you can read ancient Greek?” he asks the chocorobos covering Killua’s knees.

When he doesn’t get an immediate response, Zushi knows he’s screwed. He’ll take the F on the term paper, the absolute mess it will do to his overall GPA, Wing will just look disappointed--

And Killua lets out a little chuckle. “Haven’t got that in awhile. You bring your phone?” At Zushi’s stare, he adds, a little sharper, “For the translation.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Killua sighs, and steps into his room as though expecting Zushi to follow. They’re friends, Zushi thinks, or at least friendly--Killua’s a good RA as far as making sure everyone’s forms are in on time and not enforcing the rules when he thinks they don’t make sense. But he’s never been in here before.

It looks like any other single, but with a private bath. Maybe a little neater than most, a teetering tower of textbooks threatening to consume most of the desk. Zushi doesn’t know what he expected.

Fortunately, Zushi has had the fresco’s page marked for ages now, so it’s easy to find and point out the troublesome scrawl. At the sight, Killua seems to brighten, some of the everpresent uni student exhaustion lifting as he traces a finger along the photocopied brushstrokes. He looks absolutely thrilled at whatever it is he’s found, words boxy and stark against the naturalistic forms.

Zushi coughs a little too loudly, and Killua’s head snaps up, white curls bouncing a little. He grins a little sheepishly. “Where did you find this?” he asks. “When I was--I know some people who would kill for a look at this.”

Killua’s previous major is a source of much debate amongst the freshmen--what gives someone fluency in at least three languages, a solid basis in at least calc 3, and way too many opinions about world leaders?--but Zushi doesn’t care right now. He just wants to get this done. “Can you read it?” he asks. ��Please?”

Killua shrugs. “Sure, as long as I can borrow this when you’re done. Pronunciation first.”

And Killua begins to read. Zushi has no idea what he’s saying, but the words seem to flow musically, one into the other, until it’s hard to tell if Killua is reading or singing. When the phrases finish, they don’t so much end as echo, vibrating around the shabby college dorm as though aching to sink in and create a place worthy of their sound.

Zushi doesn’t realize he’s stopped breathing until Killua takes a deep breath himself. He’s pale, paler than usual, and his hands are white-knuckled around the edges of the pages. “Well. That was...” He glances up, seeming to remember Zushi is there, and rolls out his shoulders. “Now, to translate--”

And the ground erupts in light.

When Zushi’s eyes clear, it’s still nighttime, but he’s laying on well-used cobblestone, and an infinite array of stars stretches out in front of his eyes. He doesn’t remember laying down. He doesn’t remember the outside. And he certainly doesn’t remember such colorful statues towering overhead, not unless you count Captain Biggs’s much-defaced figure outside of the gym.

A brown-skinned young man with wind-swept black hair stares at him, brown eyes dancing as he yells something across the stone--a plaza maybe? a courtyard?

By the time the young man’s helped Zushi sit up and offered a small sip of what tastes like wine, Killua’s back, now dressed in something out of a toga party with a smile practically splitting his face, wider and wilder than Zushi has ever seen. “Cool, you made it. Did you know you found one of the last remaining active frescoes? Because I didn’t, and if I had I wouldn’t have read it out loud.”

Zushi shakes his head. “I don’t read Greek,” he says.

Killua says, “You’d better get good quick. We’re in Athens until our friend here--” The young man says something, voice a question even if his expression is still laughing, and Killua shakes his head. “--Gon, can help us find the original.”

“The original...”

Killua kicks him gently with a bare foot. “You’re an engineering major. You’re not that stupid.”

Zushi can all but feel the wheels creaking in his head, splitting away from logic and reforming into some new, illogical, impossible set of gears. “Th-that’s not--we’re in Greece???”

“Circa 4th or 5th century BCE, if I’m getting my dates right,” Killua agrees cheerfully. He holds out a hand and tugs Gon to his feet, their grip and Killua’s eyes lingering just a little too long before offering the same to Zushi.

Zushi takes a few deep breaths, then one more for good measure. He can deal with this. He’s shit at language, but this is a problem, and there will be a solution, and he will find it before he has to turn in that miserable paper.

“Okay,” he says, and lets Killua help him up. “Okay. And your new boyfriend will get me clothes, too?”

Killua’s grin turns smug in a way that Zushi really, really does not want to know. “When in Rome, right?”

“We’re in ancient Greece!” Zushi squawks.

(AUgust prompts)

#AUgust2020 #my writing #hxh #zushi #killua zoldyck #look I don't know #I'm sorry to my art history profs who made sure I knew about black figure and red figure #the ancient greeks didn't really do inscriptions like this but fuck it magic book #using my art history degree here for the only thing it's actually useful for

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Twenty Four, “Never Again”

* FIND OLD CHAPTERS HEEEEEERE! *

Warnings: Mentions of blood and physical assault

Music Inspo: Goodbye To You by Michelle Branch (click to listen)

“His name leaves my lips in a breathy whisper, almost a question. But he doesn’t reply. And I don’t know what to say. I never thought this day would come. I hoped for it and I dreamt of it and I longed for it. But I never thought that he’d learn the truth, and not like this. I didn’t think that it would feel like this.

Disgusting. Heart-wrenching. Regrettable. Stinging. I wanted more than anything for him to know, but not like this. Never.

“‘m so so sorry,” he sobs from below me. I feel his body shudder under my fingers.

Suddenly, the moisture leaves my throat and detours to my eyes. I gulp hard and wonder what words I could get out if I even knew what to say. Is it okay? It’s not, but what he just did for me surpasses that entirely.”

“These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.”

- Shakespeare

“Becks!”

I can’t tell what hurts me worse. The licks of fire spreading on my face, or the look I see on his.

Harry.

Wait, is he really here or am I imagining it? I wonder to myself as the world in front of me starts to spin.

I don’t have much time to think about that, because I feel something warm trickling down my chin. I watch as it slowly falls off my skin like a cliff and plummets to the floor. A shiny scarlet drop embeds itself in his floor, and all I can think of is how badly that will stain. In a flash, it’s covered up by something else shiny - a black leather boot.

Then a leg in flowy black slacks.

A torso in a satin mustard button down.

Black ink scattered over skin.

I don’t see his face until it pops into view, his body bending to look up at me.

“Becks, are you okay? Oh god, yer really bleedin’,” he panics, the words dipped in sugar rushing out of his mouth. I almost don’t feel the fiery pain stinging my face or the warmth on my chin. The worry and hurt consuming his face make it all feel like a dull afterthought in comparison.

I can’t tell who’s in more pain - him or me.

I watch in disbelief as his thumb brushes the skin next to my nose and I wince at the tenderness. Okay, so that answers my question of if he’s real or just a figment of my imagination, I conclude inside of my head. He gives my arm a squeeze with an audible ‘sorry’ and places a tissue in my hand.

“S-she hit me first!”

Oh great, I was hoping to continue to forget the fact that she’s still here.

The disgust lacing itself into Harry’s features tells me that I’m not the only one thinking that.

“Ya can’t do anythin’ but lie, can you?” Harry retorts, slowly turning around to face her. His girlfriend.

“I’m not l-lying,” she sputters, redness filling her cheeks. An alligator tear spills onto her cheek, and Harry huffs.

“Ya just showed me that ya’ve been lyin’ t’ me fer months, Amber, maybe even longer!” Harry yells, his voice carrying around the room. It makes me remember the pounding inside my skull.

I wince and readjust the tissue under my nose, wondering how much blood you can lose from a nosebleed. My footing becomes unstable and I step forward, running right into Harry’s back. He turns to look at me and his bewildered expression softens as I grab hold of his shirt to anchor myself.

“You okay?” Harry murmurs, turning again to face me. He cups my arm and squeezes it gently.

I answer his question with a nod and feel his hand rub up and down in my arm in response.

“Why don’t you believe me, Harry?!”

“‘Cuz I believed ya dis whole bloody time, Amber, and look wha’s happened!” he exclaims, turning around, throwing his hands up and letting them fall with a sigh. “Ya lied t’ me ‘bout everything! Our relationship, who you were textin’ all those times when ya said it was yer friends, where ya were those nights ya didn’ come home ‘til 3 in tha bloody morning! Ya lied ‘bout Becks, Amber! Ya fooked with her work, harassed her, ya fookin’ assaulted her not jus’ once but twice! She’s my assistant, o-one of my best friends, an’ you hurt her again and again! I gave up so bleedin’ much fer ya. I cancelled plans with friends, with Becks, to make time fer ya, and tha whole time ya were fookin’ another bloke behind me back. Maybe even more, who knows, ya probably coulda gotta ‘round to fookin’ all o’ London in our time togetha . . ,” he trails off.

I didn’t think it was possible to feel my heart break any further today. It does when he’s facing me again and I see the first tear paint his cheek. Then another, and another.

The pain worsens when he looks to me and his cherry lips part for his syrupy voice, “C’mere, ya should sit down, Becks,” Harry coos, flipping the switch to return to himself. Soft and sweeter than he’s ever been before. And selfless.

He guides me over to the couch we’ve played Scrabble on more times than I could count. He doesn’t turn around after he helps me sit down, but instead kneels in front of me.

“Harry, I-I’m sorry-.”

“No, yer not bloody sorry. I don’ believe that fer a second . . . . Now leave,” Harry retorts, cutting her off. He looks up at me as his hand brushes against my cheek, tucking my bangs behind my ear.

“I want to fix this, Harry,” Amber continues with a sob, possible regret, and apology in her voice. I’ve never heard it before, so it’s hard to place it and its authenticity.

“Ya can’t, Amb, ya ruined it- ya ruined everything. Ya know that. I loved you once, ya know, a-and . . . ‘s gone. It has been fer awhile,” Harry mumbles, tears flooding his eyes that only I can see. “W-we’re done . . Leave . . ,” he says, emotion consuming his voice. His adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. New tears paint his cheeks as the walls shake with a slam of the door.

His chocolate curls are rearranged with his hand as he looks to stare at the floor. I hear him whimper. I lift my hand and place it on his knee that remains up. It wavers there for a second before it takes a daring risk, and does what I’ve always dreamt. His locks feel like butter between my fingers as I push them back, and catch his stubbly cheek with my thumb. I feel the warm wet tear under its pad and anticipate seeing several more if he were to look up.

But he doesn’t.

His name leaves my lips in a breathy whisper, almost a question. But he doesn’t reply. And I don’t know what to say. I never thought this day would come. I hoped for it and I dreamt of it and I longed for it. But I never thought that he’d learn the truth, and not like this. I didn’t think that it would feel like this. Disgusting. Heart-wrenching. Regrettable. Stinging. I wanted more than anything for him to know, but not like this. Never.

“‘m so so sorry,” he sobs from below me. I feel his body shudder under my fingers.

Suddenly, the moisture leaves my throat and detours to my eyes. I gulp hard, and wonder what words I could get out, if I even knew what to say. Is it okay? It’s not, but what he just did for me surpasses that entirely.

“It’s not your fault,” I say shakily, combing my fingers through his shiny curls, back and forth.

“It feels like it,” he sniffles, both hands grabbing his hair and pulling it.

“Harry, stop, you can’t change what happened. Please,” I urge him, trying to pry his hands from his precious head of hair. It takes a few tries, but suddenly he relents with a loaded sigh.

I sit there as the seconds tick by, still holding the tissue to my nose. Head throbbing. Cheek throbbing. Nose throbbing. And my heart. Before I know what I’m doing, my fingers are wrapping around his bicep and pulling him towards me. Or trying to.

“Come here,” I coo, tugging and tugging until I succeed.

It’s an earned feat when I finally pull him up off of his feet, and I wonder if I’ll regret it when suddenly all of his weight is on top of me. But when those arms go around me and his warm face is tucked into my neck, I know that I never could. And I can’t decide if it makes all of this harder, or easier.

“‘m so so sorry, Becks, ya have no idea how sorry I am. If only I had believed ya when ya told me, all o’ this coulda been stopped. I dunno how ‘ll ever forgive myself. I shoulda believed ya and I dunno why I couldn’. I’m a terrible person and ‘m just so sorry, Becks. I-.”

“Harry, stop. It’s over. She’s gone, and I’m okay,” I interrupt his rambling, and lose my words. His hot breaths into my neck are distracting, and so are his fingers drawing circles on my back.

“But yer hurt, and I coulda stopped it, Becks.”

“And you did, Harry! You did stop it. Y-you stopped anything more happening, and I am so grateful,” I share, raking my fingers up and down his back.

My fingers fall from their sudden familiarity and find his shirt in my hands. It feels as if cement is being poured into my heart as his weight leaves me and I look into his tear-stricken eyes.

“Ya are?” he grumbles, another tear falling with his blink.

“Yes, of course,” I reply, feeling my effort failing at the last syllable. “You came in and saved me when nobody else could, Harry. You stopped it. You stopped her from hurting me anymore,” I confess with tears weighing down every word.

His tears mirror mine diving onto my skin, and now he’s pulling me into him. And there’s nothing I’d ever do to stop it.

“Becks.” My name leaves his lips in a struggled whisper, anointed by a hiccup. The letters making up my name settle into my hair followed by his lips kissing the crown of my head.

My lips echo his name in the same fashion, coated with tears.

“‘m sorry I didn’ believe ya, Becks, I hate myself for that.”

“Harry, no, don’t. You don’t need to do that,” I say curtly, shaking my head into his warm chest. I remember the other liquid leaving my body. As much as I hate to, I bury my head in his neck instead so his shirt isn’t ruined.

“But afta alla that . . . I want t’,” he mumbles, each word weighed down even more than the last. Another tear to my heart right there.

“What’d I just say?” my lips move against his neck, in a way opposite than I thought it’d happen. “I just told you how you saved me, Harry. You stood up for me. You fought for me. You took care of me when I was hurt, and-. You did everything I wanted you to do, Harry, and more.”

His chin brushes against my hair as he nods in response. And that’s all I need. I relax against him with my other half curled against the couch, him sitting opposite me. My hands clutching the tufts of his blouse relax. I lay my cheek on his neck, and relax to the feeling of his pulse against my skin. Me. I never thought that this would happen, either.

Today is just full of surprises.

A couple sniffles and me almost falling asleep in the crook of his neck later, he pulls away. I whimper in disappointment and open my eyes to find him wiping his, sitting across from me.

“We should get ya cleaned up and get ya some ice,” he murmurs, flitting his eyes to me. I follow them to my hand that hasn’t left my nose since he handed me this very kleenex. Yuck.

“Yeah,” I reply with a disgusted look at my own hand. “I can do it, I’ll just go to the bathroom. I should probably fix my makeup in there, too.”

“I’ll order us somethin’ t’ eat while yer at it, maybe some churros and gnocchi soup,” he suggests, and I smile in response.

I get to my feet and watch him do the same. He squeezes my arm with a warm smile stuck to his lips before he turns to his desk. “Don’ be gone too long now. I know how girls can get when it comes t’ fixing makeup,” he quips, giving me a toothy grin as he picks up the office phone.

“I won’t,” I reply, watching him shoulder the phone and dial the buttons by memory.

His eyes play on the screen of his iMac as my feet drag themselves to the door. He doesn’t see me stealing glances at him over my shoulder on my way out the door.

“Yeah hi, ‘d like t’ place an order,” Harry begins, pulling over a notepad and a pen. I watch his lips move with every syllable, and the way his eyes crinkle with a laugh. Redness still rimming them, and leftover tears leaving them glassy.

His raspy drawl tickles my ears as my steps echo down the hall. The pounding in my head becomes harder, and so does the pounding in my chest. I almost stop when I hear his happy giggle, but I keep walking. I keep walking when I can’t hear his voice anymore, and my heart wants to leave me. I keep walking past my desk that’s littered with somebody else’s things.

The heels of my shoes echo in the empty bathroom. They stop in front of the sink, but I can’t look in the mirror.

I can’t.

I can’t do it.

I can’t look back at my broken reflection. Again.

The tears come again, fast and hard, and will me to slowly look up. I stop and have to start over again. Once or twice.

Splashes of purple and red shock me, and my chest is racked with another sob. I hate her. I hate myself. I hate that I let this happen. Again. I hate that I couldn’t stop it, or stand up to her. I pull the crumpled kleenex away from my nose and watch as a tear mingles with the blood. The old and the new.

My knuckles are white as they claw at the edge of the sink. Because I don’t know if I can hold on anymore. Drops of red splash into the sink in front of me, and I breathe in shakily. I close my eyes hard and try to take another. I blow it out with a shudder and whimper as another sob racks my body.

My eyes snap open and I rip a paper towel from the dispenser. I watch myself wet it under the tap, wring it out, and wash my face without deciding to. I go into autopilot, watching my own hands clean the streaks of blood from my face, the lines of mascara under my eyes, and the blood caked into the lines of my hands. I roll a piece of paper towel up and shove it in my nose, instantly forgetting about the nosebleed. I scrub my skin until it starts to hurt, but I almost don’t feel it.

When I look into the mirror again, I see the splotches of purple and red painted under my right eye. The red rawness around my nose, and the shininess of my eyes. And their emptiness.

Why did I let it get this bad?

How could I have ever let it get this far?

Why didn’t I leave sooner?

Why did I keep letting her hurt me?

And him?

Tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear, I bend my head and pump the soap dispenser. I watch the last drops of blood disappear down the drain, and take today along with it. With one last breath, I dry my hands and leave the bathroom.

I walk and I don’t stop. I don’t turn around.

I keep walking into the elevator. I only stop when I reach the back of it, and I don’t turn around. Because I know if I did, I’d keep walking.

I’d keep walking and go back to him. I’d let him hurt me again.

“Whiskey coke, please,” a voice murmurs beside me.

“What d’ya think, Becky?”

I blink hard and lift my eyes to the inquisitive ones staring back at me.

“W-what do I think of what?” I reply, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Of shots?” Asher continues with a funny nod of his head.

A laugh sputters from my lips, and warmth fills my cheeks, “No, Ash, we’re too old for that.”

“No we’re not!” he argues and another laugh of mine fills the air.

This feels good. I can’t remember the last time I laughed at something that wasn’t on my tv.

“Come on, Becky, a few shots never hurt anybody,” he quips, shrugging his shoulders clad in a hoodie.

“Yeah, not until tomorrow morning, Ash,” I reply and he deals me another shrug. I watch him turn to the bartender with a contagious smile and order a few shots.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t let me get you drunk, it’s what you do when you leave a job,” Asher comments, turning on his barstool to face me once more.

“I think the window of time to do that has kinda passed, Ash,” I comment, flicking my eyebrows up. He shakes his head with a chuckle as I move the ice around in my cup.

“Window schmindow,” he counters, batting a hand at me with a toothy grin. Now it’s my turn to shake my head. I uncross and recross my legs, watching the black fabric dance against my skin. “You can celebrate leaving a shit job anytime, even weeks afterward.”

“If you say so,” I reply, running a hand through my wavy curls. My eyes flit to the lines of Christmas lights strewn around the pub. The decorated Christmas tree in the corner adds to the atmosphere. I suddenly curse myself for the tenth time for wearing a dress in the middle of December.

Brown liquid sloshes onto the table in front of me, and I turn to find Asher picking his shot up and downing it. I close my eyes hard and can’t resist shaking my head at him, but my hand ventures to touch the cool glass. I bring it to my lips and choke down the volatile liquid.

“God, can you get anything more appetizing than that? Perhaps that doesn’t look and taste like shit?” I cough, setting the glass down with a clatter.

“Fine, you whiner. Can we have a Pornstar shot next, some Blue Kamikazes, and those Cotton Candy shots you got advertised?”

My cheek meets my hand and I lean on it as my eyes dance around the room. Bright neon lights shine behind the bar, and the bartender tosses the towel back over their shoulder. The hum of loud voices around me grows in volume. I hear laughs, glasses clinking, and 80s music from a speaker somewhere. The song ends suddenly and a Christmas jingle comes on. Soon, a bloke is singing along to it loudly and then his mate joins in too.

“Here,” Asher says, pulling me from my thoughts. He sets a blue and red shot of something in front of me. “Cheers to uh . . . leaving that shit hole of a job that I’m uh still at, and uh moving onto better things and new coworkers who will never be as great as me,” he smirks, clinking his glass with mine before knocking it down.

“Yeah, I think I can drink to that,” I titter before the liquid smelling of cherry cough syrup meets my lips.

Alcohol I can’t even pronounce the name of passes my lips in one shot after the other.

The volume in the pub rises and smothers my ears with incessant buzzing.

Christmas jingles fill the cracks of the room, and Ash and I can hardly resist singing along to them, badly.

The alcohol warms my cheeks and negotiates laughs from my lips.

A basket of fries falls in front of us and is only crumbs minutes later.

Glasses of water soon adorn my grasp and slowly the pounding in my temple falls away.

“Stop drinking water, you woose. That’s not how you get drunk,” Asher slurs with a whine, playfully shoving my shoulder. His spiked blonde hair is now a mess atop his head, pointing in different directions. The collar of his flannel no longer lays flat and points to the sky with flare.

“Did you ever think that maybe I don’t wanna get drunk?” I reply, trying and slightly failing to keep my words in a straight line.

“You’re no fun,” he replies, shaking his head as he grabs the Guinness the bartender just poured for him. He sips at the frothy foam and licks it from his blushing lips.

“Yeah I know,” I mumble, looking around the room and suddenly wondering why the hell I’m even here. I’ve been putting off getting drinks with Asher for weeks, and somehow I finally gave in tonight. But why? Probably because I was feeling sorry myself, and sorry for turning him down time after time.

“I know what could be some fun,” he announces, standing from his chair and teetering a bit. He almost grabs the counter for support, but he’s only buzzed. I’ve seen him far more pissed than this. “I love this song, it’s a real ballad. I’m pretty sure it played at my parent’s wedding or something. And don’t ask how I know that if I wasn’t there, because I dunno,” he rambles, stepping away from his beer to my surprise. I’m stolen away from my water when he tugs on my hand.

“Asher!” I groan as he pulls me along with him. I try and fail to free my hand from his grasp that’s even stronger when he has alcohol in him. I’ve never understood why or how. “I don’t dance!”

“Yeah, ya do. Anybody can bloody dance. Ya just put a hand here and a hand there, and move your feet back and forth,” he instructs, placing his hand on my waist and taking my other in his right. “Now, that’s not so bad, is it?”

“You’re really going to owe me after this one,” I moan with a shake of my head. Looking away with blushing cheeks, I cast my eyes downward and find my legs swaying effortlessly with the rock ballad. The cream stars on my black dress dance along with the music. To my surprise, my heels don’t crush his feet.

“Oh you have no idea,” he whispers, turning away from me and looking at the other few couples dancing on the floor.

“What?”

“Oh nothing. It’s just I’m a terrible dancer, you’ll see soon enough,” Asher says quickly, biting his lip and refusing to make eye contact with me. I watch his eyes jump when there’s a crash and the bartender is shouting. Oh boy.

The last notes of the song float into a soft 90’s love song. Asher sways with me and I guess this dancing thing isn’t too bad. Rom-Coms with prom scenes always made it seem more romantic, but those movies were never realistic for their love stories, anyways.

There’s a jingle of a bell when the front door opens, but it’s melted into the background the last half hour we’ve been here. I continue to sway with Asher and watch the other couples folded into each other’s necks, talking and laughing. My attention is grabbed when I hear Asher sigh and look up to find him staring at something behind me across the darkly lit room. His expression suddenly changes and I see his adam’s apple bob. Surprise paints his face when his eyes flit down to me.

“Now don’t be mad at me, okay?” Asher mumbles quickly, eyebrows touching the ceiling.

“What, why would I be mad at you?” I reply in a rush, looking at him with pure confusion. “Asher, I don’t-,” I begin, but he falls away from my grasp when he steps away from me.

“Oh,” the letters trip off of my lips when my eyes see what now stands in front of me. Or who.

Long legs clad in skinny blue jeans.

A tie-dyed Beatles shirt under a red and black flannel.

A black peacoat draped over his arms.

Saint Laurent brown leather boots donning his feet.

Rings layering his fingers.

And those moppy brown curls I loved so much.

“Harry,” I say, his name easily rolling off of my tongue.

His chest rises with a breath, “Hi, Becks. C-Can I interrupt and steal a dance?” he murmurs in his molasses-like drawl.

I can’t find any words, but he takes it as a ‘yes.’ Instead, I soon find my hand in his and his on my waist. The song pouring from the speakers guides our lazy movements and soon enough I’m slow dancing with Harry. His hand is clammy in mine, or maybe it’s mine. I’m not sure.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” I mutter, locking my eyes on a patch of twinkling lights in the corner that no longer twinkle.

“Asher told me you an’ some o’ tha blokes from tha firm were gettin’ togetha fer drinks,” he replies in a hushed whisper.

I shake my head and can’t hide the sigh that’s building inside of me. “Yeah, if he means just him and me.”

“Oh.”

“Harry, why are you really here?” I respond, finally daring to look him in the eye. I think it catches him off guard, and it takes him a second to collect his thoughts in front of me.

“Cuz ya didn’t lemme finish tha otha day, Becks,” he finally says. I continue to sway with my hand enveloped in his. The music fills the silence between us as words fleet me, and my anger grows.

“Then finish,” I retort.

A sigh, or a deep breath follows. I don’t know which. “I thought I fixed things or that ‘d started t’, Becks, and then ya just ran away. How many times do I hafta say ‘m sorry?” Harry says, locking eyes with me and holding me there. Too long. Longer than I want to be there.

“You can’t, Harry. Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore,” I reply curtly, dropping my hands. I turn around and walk away, with the door in sight.

“What, are ya gonna run away from me again?!”

“Yeah! Apparently, I’m getting really good at it!” I reply over my shoulder.

The door is only ten steps away when I feel his fingers coil around my arm. He gently pulls me into a corner by a deserted table and spins me around to face him.

“What was the point in staying, Harry?” I announce, throwing my hands up in question. I wonder if people are watching us, but they aren’t. They’re too preoccupied with their own problems, their beers, and The Spice Girls song that somebody chose to play.

“What? What d’ya mean?”

“Why should I have stayed the other day?” I respond, enunciating every single word.

“I dunno, to hang out and talk and eat dinner togetha. Like old times.”

I can’t resist laughing, and the effect it has on him is immediate. His already sullen expression falls just a little deeper into despair.

“Harry, I quit! It was my last day! Your girlfriend just punched me in the face in front of you. Why would I want to stay there with you?!” I chuckle, my hands helping me talk once again.

“Becks-.”

“No, y-you don’t get to keep calling me that after everything that’s happened,” I stutter, feeling the emotion play tug of war with my words. His lips part again to speak, but the alcohol makes me faster. “I quit, Harry. You have a new assistant now, and I’m sure she’s great. She is, isn’t she?” He nods after a stubborn second. “See! You have a new assistant who can put up with your shit. So why did I need to stay, and why do I need to be here right now?” I retort, letting my hands hit my thighs with a slap. My head shakes in annoyance before I put my back to him once again.

“Ya were more than just an assistant t’ me, you know that. We were friends, Becks,” he blurts out from behind me. The words stick to my feet like glue, and suddenly I can’t move another step.

“Yeah, I think that was the problem,” I say slowly, unsure of if I can face him. “We were friends one day, and then we weren’t the next day. What do you want me to say, Harry?”

I give up and turn to look into his watery green eyes. No, you don’t get to do this to me. Not again.

“Being friends didn’t work, Harry, and neither did being your employee. So that’s where we are. And I don’t want to try and be friends with you after leaving. We both know it won’t work, and don’t say that we don’t know that,” I continue, the words falling from my lips one after the other.

“I want ya t’ come back, Becks. I want us t’ try again. Ya had potential for law, and ya were learning so much,” he continues emphatically, pulling words out of his ass. I think he is, but the expression knit into his face refutes that. There are words etched there into the lines of his skin, but I don’t want to read them. I don’t want to go back on that roller coaster and feel all of that again.

“And where would I go, Harry?! Huh? You have a new assistant, so I can’t go there. Hmmm, where else . . Well, I’m not a lawyer, since I dropped out of law school . . And I’m not interested in being anybody else’s personal bitch, or doing whatever the hell The Cubiclers do . . So that leaves me out of the game. Sorry, better luck next time,” I tease, feeling the alcohol rush through my veins. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.

I try to leave, as I have so many times since I met him. But like all of the other times, he pulls me back in. This time, I can feel the cold metal of his rings as they encircle my hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and for some reason this time it yanks at my heart worse than the others. I swallow past the lump rising in my throat. No, you don’t get to make me feel this way again when I was just starting to get back to feeling normal.

“It’s too late, Harry. The other day . . it didn’t change anything. I-I have a new job, and there’s no place for me at your firm anymore,” I declare softly, venturing a look into his eyes. The color of the ocean on a stormy day. Much like today. “And there’s no place for you in my life anymore.”

My fingers slide from his warm grasp, and I rip my shoes from the floor with each step. But this time he doesn’t run after me or pull me back to him. And unlike all of the other times, I don’t want him to. I’m not sad or confused about wanting him to follow me.

This time, I’m relieved. My heartbeat slows as I walk over to the bar, grab my purse, pay my tab, and walk out into the crisp winter night. The further I am away from him, the better I feel. And the smaller his voice and his face become in the back of my head. Snowflakes fall heavy and fast from the gray sky above me. They mingle with the warmth of the bittersweet tears painting my face.

Emotions mix up inside of me, growing stronger with every step I take.

Sadness. Fear. Doubt. Relief. Anger. Excitement.

Each step I take is a step I take into my new future. A future full of unknowns and doubts. But bubbles of excitement fill me with that thought.

Excitement for finding a new me.

END OF PART ONE

#the assistant #pa harry #harry styles #harry au #harry styles au #lawyer au #assistant #one direction #fanfiction #wattpad #fanfics #1d #harry #writing

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sebthesnipe · 4 years

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The Dreamer by Whatwashernameagin an Analysis? (Part 1 cuz it was a lot longer than expected)

All portions:

Chapter 1: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Chapter 2: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Okay so first off… I get asked a lot what I can do with a forty-thousand-dollar degree in Literature when the job economy is so crap… Answer: Lay awake at 2AM analyzing your favorite fanfic authors. So, here we are. Before I begin however, I wanted to make a few things clear: First, if you have not read any of @whatwashernameagain’s work I highly recommend you do so. She is very talented. You can find her on archiveofourown here; and The Dreamer Chapter 1 here. Secondly, I realize that most authors don’t look into their work as deeply as the reader does when writing an analysis and that a red door may simply be a red door… but where is the fun in that? And Lastly, there will be spoilers… So… Beware! (Also it is a Sanders Sides fanfic so check out Sanders Sides by Thomas Sanders on youtube as well if you haven’t already)

WARNING: Spoilers under cut!!

I’m not sure how many of you are familiar with the literary theory of Reader Response (its pretty much exactly what it sounds like) but I’ll probably be addressing it throughout this post. In fact here and here great introductions to the literary theory; which can be defined in its most broad sense, as a criticism that “considers readers’ reaction to literature as vital to interpreting the meaning of the text” (Purdue Writing Lab). Not very clear is it? Basically, Reader Response is the concept that readers have just as much say in what the work means as the author does. In other words, “readers do not passively consume the meaning present to them by an objective literary text; rather they actively make the meaning they find in literature” (Purdue Writing Lab). Without the author there is no reader and without the reader there is no author.

That’s probably a lot of mumbo jumbo to take in but I’ve studied so many literary approaches that it is merely a glimpse into the stuff rattling around in my brain when I read any type of work. I don’t tell you any of this to flex or show how smart I am… …. Well… not really anyways lol. I am explaining this now because it will be important later in the post. Now! Onto the really fun stuff!

CHAPTER 1 (Again spoilers!)

Okay, going into the work I knew the premise: Superhero vs. Villain eventually becoming friends and even lovers. I’m totes down! However, Eva (the author (Whatwashernameagain) never ceases to pull in the reader from the first line!

“He’d chosen to call himself the Utilitarianist, the etymology of which was clearly derived from the Latin word ‘utilis’, meaning ‘useful’” (Whatwashernameagain).

First off! The italics are beautiful! They pull attention to the fact that whoever it is that is naming himself (*cough* Logan *cough*) has already shunned the outer world. He doesn’t care what others have to say. He is deciding this for himself. The sheer amount of strength in a single word because she used italics is stunning and I’m certain she doesn’t even realize what she has done.

Moving on to the actual name is another thing entirely. I know that ‘Utilitarianism’ is defined as “the ethical doctrine that virtue is based on utility, and that conduct should be directed toward promoting the greatest happiness of the greatest number of persons” (“Utilitarianism”). So first, this screams Logan, secondly there is a lot to be said for the name choice. While, the hero/villain’s goal is obvious by the name (doing acts that are for the ‘greater good’) there is a lot to be said for personality here. Obviously, it can be taken that whoever chose this name is insecure in a way; only taking value of themselves by how useful they are. The man no doubts feels as if he is only as valuable as the contributions he makes, which is certainly relatable. So, within the first sentence we learn quite a lot about a single individual and are already drawn in… then again, that’s Eva for you.

Within the next paragraph we learn that the he is in fact a ‘villain’ though I like to think of him more as a… misguided vigilante… but Logan is my bea… so… yeah. Once again, we see italics: “They called him a villain” (Whatwashernameagain). It pulls the reader’s attention to the separation the Utilitarianist is making between himself and the outside world. The feeling of loneliness just from the two italicized words is almost suffocating, at least to me (hence Reader-Response theory). Eva always has such a way with capturing emotions so subtly its breath taking. It certainly is one of her biggest strengths. I mean, here we are not even two sentences in and I’m already moved by the isolation of the villain.

Moving on down the line, we see that the Utilitarianist feels he is doing good for the world… sees himself as a hero rather than the villain the world sees him as. Eva also begins to apply descriptors to the not-villain. “Cold and infallible logic” is used to describe his work. Knowing Sanders Sides as I do its obvious that at this point, I have an assumption as to which character the Utilitarian is (and I’ve already read the work once or twice) but this practically cements it. The reason I bring these four little words to your attention however is the simplicity of them and the giant impact they have. Just as the italics spoke volumes so does this small excerpt. The loneliness I mentioned before only grows with these words, becoming an image of shivering, icy fingers reaching out for someone who isn’t there, the only thing keeping him warm is his own logical calculations…. Its… so heartbreaking… Damn it Eva!!! T.T

Within the next paragraph however we’re moving on to a more light-hearted tone as the Utilitarianist calls the world small minded and unable to understand his ‘superior logic’ (Whatwashername). That, in and of itself, gives way to more personality, breathing more life into the previously abstract character and making him more human… though far less humble lol.

I feel as if I really need to move a bit more quickly through this work to keep this post from getting to long but… Eva’s work with emotional subtext is so stunning I can’t help myself. We’ve moved from the first sentence drawing attention to the separation of the Utilitarianist from the public’s view of him, to the lonely cool logic behind his actions and now within the next few sentences were pulled into a whirlwind of frustration and all of it is so seamless. It may seem like something small and inconsequential but there are published best-selling authors that struggle with it regularly and she manages it so flawlessly (and if I had to guess, without even really thinking about it.

The frustration I mention above is visible through the way the Utilitarianist uses descriptors pulling attention to names like ‘whistleblower’, ‘eco-terrorist’, ‘extremist’, and the way he points out more than one, obviously frustrated. He also insults the world once again pointing out their ‘small minds’ and ‘hypocrisy’; the media calling him ‘cruel’. Again, it’s the subtle things that really make a work shine and as usual Eva’s work is almost blinding.

“His enemies were clear to him, chosen not by his own selfish passions or greed, but by pure, beautiful logic” (Whatwashernameagain).

This line…. Oh, this line…. -sighs dreamily at the words-

So, Reader-Response theory can be interpreted in a number of ways but basically what you need to know is that everyone reads things in different ways due to their own life-experiences, interests, backgrounds, opinions, etc. So, this tiny line that most wouldn’t think twice of is one of my absolute favorites. Why? Well… Lets just say that I have four copies of every Sherlock Homes book (Sir Arthur Connan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes) (Leather bound, hard cover, soft cover, and children’s versions). Which means I’m a bit of fan. Why is that important here? Well, Logan’s (the Utilitarian’s) thought here, pulls me straight back to Doyle’s work. It is so Holmes-esc that it makes me all warm inside and brings a smile to my face. Not to mention it is another shift in the emotional tone of the work, pulling the reader from frustration to an almost affection as Logan addresses his work. This provides the character with even more complexity making him more tangible than ever. There is already so much depth to this character in the first half of this chapter than it astounds me… I am never disappointed in the woman’s writing.

As I read about some of Logan’s target, I have to pause because of just how real some of these issues are. “Fast food chains that ate away the natural resources with their disgusting wastefulness, earning money on the back of animals starved of space and clean air. Government funded projects poisoning the water of people dependent on it. Radioactive plants secured so badly the surrounding hospitals were filled to the brim with cancer patients. Presidents who criminalized people for their skin, their sex, their religion or orientation” (Whatwashernameagain). It makes we want to bring attention to New Culturism and New Historicism but that’s a whole different can of worms. For now, I’ll just say that in today political and environmental climate these are some real issues and she knows that. She knows her audience, for sure! I feel as if this could be a real power play, not in any bad way but in the sense that she can pull at the concerns of so many readers at once with Logan addressing these issues, submerging them in support of his unconventional solutions. How else do you make a reader fall in love with a villain but with sympathy and support? Brilliant… just bloody brilliant.

“Public acts of violence threatened to cause a brutalization of the human mind and thus cause more violence due to normalizing it by prolonged exposure” (Whatwashernameagain).

I won’t spend too much time on this but… Holmes-esc… just saying… I love it so much!

“Despite any attempts to paint him as a ruthless monster, the people were his ultimate ally… Ultimately, he believed the world would come to understand his superior philosophy” (Whatwashernameagain).

Okay, lets pause for a moment. We get some conflicting information here (not in a bad way). Up until now Logan has isolated himself from the world but now, we find out that the people work with him. This is conflicting not because it goes against what has been said but simply what the reader has assumed (reader-response theory). When we really consider it, of course there would be support for his tactics. Trump has supporters… I don’t see why but he does… It’s only logical that someone who is actually making change for the better (even if his methods are extreme) would have them too…. Wait… Did I just compare Logan to Trump?! I’m going to go cry in a corner now… T.T No, but seriously Eva is making her readers think and ask questions that they have to fill in the blanks for, themselves. Its fantastic! The truth of the matter is, the best works have the readers read between the lines, fill in the blanks, help mold the story to their own liking, and she does this so Wonderfully I am jealous and awed by it all. As for bringing the world around to his philosophy we as a reader know that’s probably not going to happen but that might not be the point of the sentence. Perhaps, its to bring a small sense of eccentric tendencies in a far less subtle manner to Logan or just determination. I feel that it does both whether intended or not and does it beautifully. It makes it obvious that Logan is still lonely and determined to bring others in on his work while deluding himself that they will. I think most of us have been lonely enough that we went just a little crazy at one point or another… Which makes Logan more relatable.

Unfortunately, I have to go to work; but I will be back with a Part 2 of this. I have a lot more to say so be warned! And yes, I realize there’s going to be a lot of TLDR’s but it’s a good thing I’m writing this more for myself than anyone XP so… until next time…

Purdue Writing Lab. “Reader-Response Criticism // Purdue Writing Lab.” Purdue Writing Lab, https://owl.purdue.edu/owl/subject_specific_writing/writing_in_literature/literary_theory_and_schools_of_criticism/reader_response_criticism.html.

“Utilitarianism.” Dictionary.com, Dictionary.com, https://www.dictionary.com/browse/utilitarianism.

Whatwashernameagain. “The Dreamer - Chapter 1.” Hello Guys Gals And Non Binary Friends, 8 Sept. 2019, https://whatwashernameagain.tumblr.com/post/187581477262/the-dreamer-chapter-1.

#The dreamer #villain!logan #hero!roman #Sanders Sides #logince #logan sanders #roman sanders #logan/roman #analysis #readerresponse #reaction #whatwashernameagain

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fluffy-marshmallow-heart · 5 years

Text

Ride or Die ch.15 -Dead End

Colt's POV of chapter 15, when MC crashed her car

Colt x MC (Ellie)

Words: 3557

Warnings: NSFW

This was requested by @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction

Colt had spent all day looking for Toby and Ximena, finally finding them and filling them in on what’s been happening. He told them about the plan Ellie came up with, capturing the Brotherhood on video.

“I’m hoping they’ll be too distracted by my attempting to catch them on camera that they won’t even notice there are others. “I bought a burner phone specifically for this, so it really doesn’t matter if anything happens to it.”

“Wow, that…could actually work.” Toby told him

A flash of pride rippled through Colt. That’s because my girl is smart.

After telling them what they need to do, where they need to be, and at what time, they parted ways. I hope Ellie’s right and they pull through.

Colt rode his bike to a random small house in South Central, roaring into the quiet neighborhood, parking behind Ellie’s pink car.

Pink. She had to have pink. So noticeable, so girly girl, so…Ellie.

He gets off his bike and saunters over to where Ellie is standing with Logan. Fucking Logan.

“Is it done?” She asked

Cold nodded. “Green light. We’re just waiting for a call sometime tonight.”

“You’re sure?” Logan had his eyes narrowed, looking at Colt accusingly.

Anger bubbled up inside him. “Yes, I’m sure, you…”

“Guys, we’re on the same side, remember?” Ellie cut in, glaring at the both.

Colt sighed, running a hand through his hair. Fine.

Logan looked at her apologetically. “Let’s just get inside.”

Colt takes Ellie’s hand and holds her back as Logan walks ahead. “Hey, look…I stopped by the old garage earlier, to try to find some things. Anything, really, to remind me of my family’s legacy. And I found this. I guess my pop kept it from my first car. He had it in his desk. And now, well, no place for it on my bike, so…I figure you might as well have it, if you want.”

He hesitantly holds out a little cactus bobble head, complete with a mustache and sombrero. Please don’t laugh. I know it’s lame. I was a kid when I got it and thought it was cool. Something prickly just like me.

“Colt…thank you.” She smiled warmly at him, and butterflies erupted in his stomach.

He shrugged casually. “It’s nothing. Just a trinket, but…maybe it’ll bring you some luck.”

Taking her hand again, they follow Logan up to the door. He knocked, and a moment later the door swings open to reveal some food truck guy Colt had seen around every now and then.

“Logan! It’s been a minute, cuz.” He steps forward to give Logan a hug but stops short when he sees his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we lay low out here for the day?” Logan asked.

“Course. Come in.”

The guy leads them inside. He takes in Ellie’s prom dress. “You wanna tell me what’s goin on?”

Mother fucker better not be checking her out ever again. I’ll forgive the dress, because it’s odd she’s still in it, but next time…

“The less you know, the better.” Logan informed.

“You at least gonna tell me who this dude is?” He points to Colt, and he fists his hands, agitated. Seriously?

“That’s Kaneko’s kid. And you remember Ellie.”

Kaneko’s kid?? I have a name!!!

“Colt.” He said flatly.

“Hey, Vaughn. Sorry for intruding.” Ellie shot him a Look, and he shrugged slightly. Whatever, it’s my name.

“Nah, it’s cool. Get comfy, change outta those threads…”

“Thanks. We’ve got some planning to do.”

“Well, hang on just one second. You can stay here, but I need something in return.”

Naturally

Logan’s face fell. “You do?”

Vaughn turns away, walking to the kitchen counter. “You might be my cousin, but nothing in life is free. You gotta do me a favor.”

“What?” Logan asked hesitantly.

“You gotta taste test my new dishes for my truck.” He turns back around with a tray of fresh, eclectic street food.

Logan grinned. “I think we can manage that just fine…”

Colt’s mouth immediately started watering, and as they discussed their plan, they scarfed down amazing food.

Hours later, the sun sets outside, and the showdown with the Brotherhood draws nearer. After planning every last detail of the night, the four of them are passing time half-watching TV in Vaughn’s living room.

Ellie keeps looking at the clock. Logan nudges her. “There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

Colt slid his eyes over to her. She looks just as nervous as I feel. I need an outlet. We both do.

Ellie gave a half smile. “I know, I just…I feel like I need to do something now. Get all this anxious energy out so it doesn’t distract me later.”

“I know how you feel.” Colt clenches and unclenches his fist, over and over and over again.

“You can lie down in my spare room for a bit, Ellie.” Vaughn offered.

Right. Mr. Nice Guy. No wonder Logan brought us here.

“Thanks, Vaughn. I think that’ll help.”

“We’ll get you when it’s time.” Logan assured.

She nods, the heads toward the hall, she pauses in the doorway, looking back at them. Colt catches her eye from across the room.

Come on, Ellie, bring me with you, I know exactly how to get out all our frustrations.

“Colt, could I talk to you for a minute?” She asked.

Yesssss. Shove it, Logan. She wants to fuck me, not you. I win.

Colt shrugs, not showing his excitement, and follows her down the hall to the bedroom. He closes the door behind them, then leans against it casually. “Did you actually want to talk, or…?”

“No.” Ellie wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a passionate kiss. He pulls back to smirk. “Not even dirty talk?”

“Colt!” She slaps his shoulder playfully, but then he captures her mouth with his. Their embrace is heated, insistent. He walks her back toward the bed, his hands running all over her body, under her clothes…

“Colt…”

He can feel his kisses make her dizzy, his touch alone sets her on fire. Something tells him they’re both barely on the edge of control.

This feeling…what is this feeling….it feels like…I can’t control myself around this woman, I need to consume her. She’s mine and I’m hers and this is forever.

“Ellie, what’re you doing to me?”

“Hopefully making you feel really, really good.”

He groans into her mouth, pulling her flush against his hard body. “Yes…Can you feel how good you make me feel?”

He thrusts his hips into her, letting her feel how hard he is. He wants to plunge his cock inside her. His lips travel down her neck, nipping and licking at her exposed skin. His hands slide under her sweatshirt, and she arches into him.

“Colt…take it off” She says breathlessly.

As you wish. He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He quickly pulls her sweatshirt over her head, then unbuttons her jeans and pushes them down her hips, and she quickly shakes them off. He pulls her back into his arms, her bare skin rubbing against his still-clothed body.

“Not…fair…” She moans as he caresses every inch of her exposed skin.

He licked his lips, unable to stop the smile appearing on his lips. “If you want me outta my clothes, all you gotta do is ask.”

She tugs on his leather jacket, pulling it off one shoulder. “Off. Now.”

Colt pulls back to take off his clothes, throwing them haphazardly across the room. “Better?”

“Much.”

The two of them settle back on the bed together. He pulls her in for another searing kiss, his body flush against hers. He squeezes her ass and knows exactly how he wants her.

“Don’t stop” She begged.

“Wasn’t planning to. Come here.” He nudges her onto all fours, facing away from him. He kisses her spine, making her shiver

“Colt stop teasing…”

“But I love when you moan my name.” And now you’re gonna fucking scream it.

He glides his hands down to her hips with a featherlight touch, a whimper escaping her mouth, then guides himself into her tight, wet slit. He grunted as he began to thrust in and out of her, his need for her consuming them both as she puts a hand on the headboard to steady herself as he moves faster and faster.

“Colt..oh, god…”

So fucking tight. So fucking perfect, This body…I love this body, she feels so good wrapped around my dick. Where the fuck has she been my whole life?

He can no longer contain himself. He swivels his hips just so, pulling on her hair so she leans more backwards and together they fall apart. He shot his hot sperm into her as her sweet pussy drank it up, milking him completely. The two of them collapse on the bed together, a tangle of sweaty limbs.

She snuggled into his arms and he kissed the top of her head gently. After a few minutes, they caught their breaths.

“We’re gonna have to do this soon, aren’t we?” She whispered into his chest.

Colt runs his hands up and down her arm in a soothing pattern. “Whatever the Brotherhood throws at us, we’re ready.”

She flips over to face him. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

He runs his thumb over her cheek, gazing deep into her eyes. “Only if you promise me the same thing.”

I know you. You’re just like me. Both of us do what needs to be done.

She sighed. “…This whole plan is kinda stupid, isn’t it?”

He kisses her forehead. “Maybe, but it’s the best we’ve got.”

Logan knocks. “We got the call. We’re in. It’s go time.”

Colt kisses her one last time before getting up and pulling on his clothes. “I’ll let you get ready.” She just nods, and he leaves the room.

Joining Logan and Vaughn in the living room, both men were giving him death stares. Alright. Guess Logan told Vaughn I stole her away from him. Which I did, so…fuck off losers.

Steps sound in the hallway and they all look up to see her.

“Oh, damn.” Vaughn’s eyes were wide.

“I’m ready.” She announced.

“You sure look like it. Logan’s jaw was practically on the floor.

Colt eyes her ravenously, soaking in her appearance. He really likes the red leather coat. “I already feel better about our chances.” You look bangin’.

Logan tosses her her keys and she catches them out of the air. “Let’s go.” She pulls out her phone, powering it on for the first time in a while…and dial a number. She presses speakerphone, so they can all hear.

“9-1-1 emergency, what is your location?”

“My name is Ellie Wheeler. I want to turn myself in.” There’s silence on the other end for a moment.

“Alright, what is your location Miss Wheeler? We’ll send someone to come pick you up.”

“There’s only one person I’ll speak to. Detective Wheeler. Have him meet me at the Pacific Division station. I’ll be there soon.”

“Miss, if there’s…”

She hangs up the phone. “Clock’s running.”

They all walk outside to where her car is parked at the curb.

Logan grabs her hands. “You’re sure I can’t convince you to let me go in your place?”

She shook her head. “No. It has to be me.”

Logan’s shoulders slump a little. “I know…but a guy can hope. Just…if anything goes wrong, Ellie, look out for yourself. Run.”

Colt watches from a short distance, arms tensely folded. He just gives her a nod when she looks his way. Yes. Run, and I’ll find you to live out our lives. I promise, Ellie.

“Well. See you on the other side.” She gets into her car, shutting the door. Colt sees her put his old cactus on her dash and his heart feels like it’s going to explode of happiness…until she turns the engine on and drives out into the moonless night up the 405 toward Mar Vista.

His heart sinks as he climbs on his bike and heads for his location. Hardly any time passed when his earpiece went off, Ellie’s voice coming through.

“Logan? Colt? We’ve hooked them. They’re coming up fast in the cars we stole for them off the hauler truck.”

Logan’s voice sounds through next. “Already? Damn, they’re quicker than we thought.”

Colt narrows his eyes in frustration. “It’s too early! They’re gonna catch you before you get to the target! Step on it!”

“They’re almost on me!”

“You’re still a ways out. Hang on. I’ll be there as soon as I can!” Logan shouts into his Bluetooth.

Right. Knight in shining fucking armor. Ugh.

“Hurry up, Logan.” He spat out. “You better not let anything happen to her.”

“I got it, Colt.”

As Colt reaches his destination, he sees her rocket forward, the two cars that were at her side crashing into each other and sending debris flying.

Oh my god…my pop…he trusted her with a NOS system?? He taught her how to use it?? His heart ached at the realization of exactly how much his father cared for her and looked out for her…all because his son did.

Thanks pop. I had no idea. Thank you for keeping her safe.

She dodges another car back and forth across the lanes, barely staying out of reach.

“You’re almost there, Ellie!” He shouts into his speaker.

Come on, come on, you’re gonna make it! Just a couple more miles!

Colt whips out his burner phone and sets it up to record. He hears bare metal and looks back up, gasping. He felt like he was watching everything unfold in slow motion.

Ellie’s car stalls as her tire blows out, sending sparks flying against the pavement. Another car slams into her, sending her spinning.

“Ellie! Can you hear me? I’ll be there in a few seconds! One last go for old times’ sake?” Logan pleaded.

“One last go” It was barely a whisper, but Colt still heard it.

Ellie dodges hard to the side as Logan turns on his high beams directly in front of the Brotherhood cars.

“Ellie, go! I’ll catch up!”

“Hurry! You’re at the off-ramp!” Colt added.

She steps on the gas. “I’m almost there! I can make it…”

One of the cars in pursuit flies ahead of her and skids to a stop, blocking the exit ramp.

His heart began pounding erratically. This is looking…familiar.

Flashes of his father speeding towards the barricade and crashing his car to save the crew, to save him, swam through his head. He felt sick. She’s doing the same thing. Oh my god, please no.

“Dammit! Okay, just stay on the freeway, Ellie!” He could hear his voice but it didn’t sound like his own. It sounded a bit higher, panicked…fearful.

“Colt, I have to get there! If I don’t, all of this was for nothing…” She argued

Colt shook his head violently, his breaths coming faster and his head starting to spin. “There’s gotta be another way.”

“No. This is where I get off.” She said, fury and determination evident in her tone

She floors it straight towards the stopped car, while Colt fell to his knees, bile rising in his throat, shock overtaking him. No, no, no…NO!!!!! NOT AGAIN!!!! THIS CAN’T HAPPEN TO ME AGAIN!!!!

He screamed, yet there was no sound. He didn’t feel attached to his body anymore. He was with his father, whom he didn’t even think loved him and yet gave his life to keep him safe. He was with Ellie, whom he had found love himself and loved him back…and was about to give her life to keep him safe. And he was completely helpless to stop either one of them. For the very first time in his life, he was terrified of losing someone he loves. He never had to think about it before his father died.

Like a missile, she crashes into the car, knocking it aside.

“Ellie!” Logan cried.

Her airbag deploys as gravity abandons her. She goes airborne off the ramp, spinning like a top. She slams down on the pavement of a wide, empty lot fifteen feet down. Colt could practically feel the metal crumpling and denting, unable to handle the impact. Her momentum sends her rolling several times until finally coming to a rest on the car’s roof.

Colt gaped at the heavily damaged car, the glass broken and scattered in all directions.

Oh my god, Ellie, what did you do?? You can’t…I don’t believe…you have to be okay. You’re all I’ve got left

Slowly he realized he was shaking uncontrollably, the phone in his hands had already dropped to the ground, his face the only thing on the screen. He became vaguely aware of Logan’s voice in his ear.

“Ellie! Ellie, can you hear me?”

A weak cough responded. “yeah…I made it to the target”

Oh my god, she’s alive. She made it. She FUCKING MADE IT!!!! MY GIRL MADE IT!!!!

“That was absolutely insane!” He finally found his voice. SHE FUCKING MADE IT!!! SHE’S ALIVE!!!

“Colt, are you in position?”

Taking several deep breaths to slow his still racing heart, he answered. “Ready and waiting by the transformer box. They’re coming up on you now.”

“Okay…*cough*…make sure to get their faces on camera.”

But she sounds so weak. She must be hurt. No has that kind of accident without getting hurt. Not even someone as crazy as her.

Headlights approach and the cars stop, doors opening, masked figures approaching the destroyed car. One of them offers her a hand helps her crawl through the shattered glass.

Jason.

Jason’s helping her to her feet when Logan approaches. Jason draws a gun, putting the muzzle to Ellie’s temple just as Logan comes around the bend. He slams on the brakes, skidding to a stop ten feet away, bathing them in his headlights. Jason’s form casts a long shadow across the lot.

She survived the crash just to take a bullet to the head? I don’t think so. We’ve come too far. Time to end this. Without thinking, Colt started marching forward, ready to kill the Brotherhood. He’s blind with rage, not seeing the woman deftly approaching him.

“Nice phone.” She snarled, snatching it away and wrenching his arms behind his back in a hold.

“Thanks. It’s insured.” He snapped back. FUCK!!!

A walkie-talkie crackled at the woman’s side.

“Hester, it’s Shaw. You find Kaneko’s kid?”

“Bringing him in now.” The lady spoke back.

“I have a fucking name, and it’s not ‘Kaneko’s kid’.” Everyone calling me Kaneko’s kid. I’m not my father, and I never will be.

Crossing the lot, Hester pushes Colt along at gunpoint. “I really don’t care.” She replied, sounding bored. She calls out to Jason. “Caught him over there trying to film us on this.” She tosses Colt’s phone onto the ground and shoots it. It shatters and sparks.

“Trying to get us on tape, huh? Get us locked up? Oh, so close.” Jason teased menacingly.

“Good thing we wore masks. You would’ve had nothing, anyway.” The Brotherhood then peel off their masks.

“But how…did you know?” Ellie asked, her voice feigning disbelief.

Jason smirked, shaking his head. “Ellie…come on…we tapped your phone. Duh. We’re the goddamn police. I thought you would’ve figured that out by now.” He laughed.

“We heard you call 911…we heard you tell Kaneko’s kid what to do, where to be.”

“Colt!” He couldn’t stop himself, the words just slipped out angrily.

Jason rolls his eyes and steps closer to Ellie, the barrel of his gun just inches away from her head. “It’s actually kind of tragic. I thought you would’ve made a good cop, Ellie…but I was wrong. A cop always needs to think one step ahead. And now…now your dad will never know what happened to you.” He aims the gun at her, his face neutral.

“You said you didn’t want to hurt her.”

Mona. Traitor. Never trusted her.

Jason frowned. “I didn’t. But she didn’t learn her lesson. You should know, Ellie, I take no pleasure in this. We really were never that different.”

A slow smile spread on Ellie’s face. “Oh, really? I think we are.”

“How’s that?”

“The difference between you and me? Well, for one, I’m not the dumbass who just walked right into a trap.”

She really is going to be okay. There’s that snarky tone I love so much. Colt let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

“What is she talking about?” Wallace asks nervously.

Jason looks around, anxiousness spreading on his face. He looks far across the lot…to the façade of Mar Vista High, and the dozens of CCTV cameras on the streetlamps.

“Say cheese, asshole.” Logan grinned.

Jason’s eyes went wide. “No…”

Gotcha “Go ahead. Wave to Toby and Ximena.”

Inside the school’s AV club, Ximena grins, her voice ringing loud and clear in the parking lot. “We got ‘em”

“In crystal clear high definition.” Toby agreed.

“Shaw…what just happened?” Hester’s voice raised a few octaves.

“I…”

“Always gotta stay one step ahead, isn’t that right, Jason?” Ellie asked sweetly, winking at Colt. He smiled at her before directing his gaze back at Jason and the other two members of the brotherhood.

That’s right asshole. No one messes with my crew.

@annekebbphotography @gardeningourmet @zigortega4life @eileendannie @thequeenofcronuts @drakewalkerfantasy @friedherringclodthing @coffeebeandragon @drakewalker04 @alesana45 @mfackenthal

@i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction

@rhymesmenagerie

#colt kaneko #colt x mc #rod colt #colt x ellie #ride or die colt Kaneko #choices ride or die #ride or die a bad boy romance #rod fanfiction #rod fanfic #fluffy-marshmallow-heart #playchoices fanfic #playchoices fanfiction #choices stories you play #playchoices

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no-no-no-ahhhh · 4 years

Text

I'm having bad anxiety so I'm just going to answer these questions rn

Okay so when having anxiety I over think and I barely have any friends so I thought if using these questions to keep my mind off things and it kinda works it's also why some are long because I'm trying my best to think about other things then my stress. Maybe some of yall can try this if you want. Could help idk

Questions belong to @tr33-g1rl

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

Soda cans

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

I LOVE chocolate bro

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

Cotton candy because let's all be honest bubble gum doesn't even tast good so that just leaves texture and cotton candy dissolves abs you could always have normal gum

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

Some would say nice hard working smart and dyslexic but that's what they say not actually think

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

I've never really had the soda bottles but for now Ig soda cans because I feel like it keeps it fresher then the plastic and plastic is bad

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

Umm out of all these ig tomboy my style that I try to go for more rn is kinda like bille eyelash baddie style

7. earbuds or headphones?

Def earbuds cuz headphones if left on too long start hurting and squeezing my head

8. movies or tv shows?

TV shows 100% I cant consum media for long (my anxiety)so cartoons are the best for me because they're usually 11 minutes and light hearted

9. favorite smell in the summer?

Hmm this is good question in my head summer looks so good ahh but I've never really had a sent for it cuz the past few years I've been in my room but I love the sun oh and you know when your about to go in the pool and you can smell the Clorox mixed with the sun block and that smell just smells like a soft nice energy and there is this one tropical sent havent really smelt it in years I remember the one time I got to smell it was in middle school in the girls locker room so ig it was a perfume idk if it was really associated with summer or it was just tropical perfume my mom could spray on anytime of the year

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

Lol none I hated p.e I was also pretty tall at the time so people expected me to play but I just wanted to hide in the corner

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

Well I don't really like breakfast that much I think food in the morning makes me nauseous but I have to eat it cuz I can't eat school lunch food cuz that shit is nasty but breakfast school food is 😉 so I usually get banana bread and good ass duch chocolate milk

12. name of your favorite playlist?

Por Vida is one of my favorite albums if that counts

13. lanyard or key ring?

I hate things being around my neck so key ring

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

Mexican candy

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

The outsiders

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

Your butt relaxing ig and not hunched over idk how some people do their work not hunched over like how do you see what your working on

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

These white Adidas with 3 halo strips and tan boots

18. ideal weather?

To wear you can soak in the sun but not have it burn you right when you go outside and kinda breezy not a fan of the cold and whatever weather that isn't effected by global warming is the best

19. sleeping position?

I always try not to sleep on my back cuz then they say that the demons come for you

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

I have a lot of journals and books to write

21. obsession from childhood?

My little pet shops, barbies, fnaf, teen titans, monster high dolls, beanie babes, never brats or the ever after high dolls cuz I had a fear of big heads as a kid

22. role model?

Em their are not many people to look up to these days but Quenlin Blackwell is even though she struggles with depression and seasonal depression she still is a qween love her

23. strange habits?

24. favorite crystal?

Hmm maybe amethyst one of the only ones I have

25. first song you remember hearing?

No idea

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Be in the sun

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

Not have the seasonal depression come for me

38. lemonade or tea?

Lemonade bro tea is kinda weak and for BrItish blocks , but today I did have a bunch of lemons and they got me sick cuz I dont have a healthy balanced diet if anybody knows simple healthy recipes that have little to no cooking pls share

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

I've never actually have had lemon pie but I have been thinking about making pie. I've had peacon pie and water burger apple pie and McDonald's apple pie and I think another fast food pie but I can't remember the flavor. I know the other flavor exist because my mom order a different pie flavor from me once and she said we can both try each others. Maybe it was lemon. I think lemon tast is quit forgettable thow idk I always put other things on my lemon and lemonade has all that sugar and speaking of Britain I think they carbonate their lemons . But I think I've only had lemon cake 2 times , so if the cake

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

School is lame and that's on period pooh

41. last person you texted?

Umm this girl I barely know and I'm going to leave it at that cuz this story makes me kinda sad and worried and I'm answering these questions to avoid that

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

Hmm good question , I think jacket because they are bigger and girl Jean's have the pockets different to make the booty look better and sometimes that leads to uncomfortable pockets and front pockets barely exit for girls and jackets sometimes have those secret pockets only you have assess too like the ones on the inside and jacket pockets are bigger

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

1. hoodies are good for when you dont have a bra on and they come with one BIG pocket and you dont need to worry about a shirt

2. Leather jackets are for cool kidz and carry a nice vibe and still thick enough to keep you warm , but you can't really get them wet I think so you can't wash em , but they can come with cool designs on the back but their better fitted on perfectly on a person and if you grow they just look odd on you then you have to buy another and that's not fun

3.Bomber jacket , it's a whole style but one I try to pull of but just cant do it well

4.Cardigans kinda umm not a fan but good if your wearing a dress that's shows your shoulders and you are insecure about that being shown. Remember when somewhere in the 2000s they told us that cardigans where so easy to put on and throw more into your outfit so people bought quit a few. I do

5.I feel like jeans jackets aren't warm enough maybe their more for the summer?

44. favorite scent for soap?

Hmm maybe something tropical or just those cool lavender ones that have oats that's cool I like oats in my soap

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

I hate sci-fi uhhhg and super hero kinda ties in with that so fantasy and when reading fan fic just sweet simple domestic fluff

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

Hmm not sure but the shirt has to be soft. I only experience soft shirts like that few times in my life

47. favorite type of cheese?

Mexican cheese and blue cheese uhg and mozzarella with that crust, yum🤤

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? Errrum maybe a watermelon cuz they are very hydrated. Oh and watermelon with the big black seeds is better then that soul less watermelon

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

None dawg I really need to find one but I do have a lot written down In a book

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

Omg my aunt had some funny looking ass dogs I couldn't stop laughing. One of her dogs hate me tho now

51. current stresses? I dont want to talk about it cuz I dont want to worry but I was crying for more then 6 hours probably 8 when I think about it and then today as well and it's so bad I'm not even going to school

52. favorite font? I like the one kali uchis uses in one of her albums I think it's called fairy tell or something

53. what is the current state of your hands?pretty dry cuz I wash them alot and kinda long nails cuz of genetics

54. what did you learn from your first job?

I havent had a first job

55. favorite fairy tale?

Hmmm something with the tooth fairy

56. favorite tradition?

Idk holidays cuz I get school off

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Depression and I would say anxiety but no

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

I dont have any talents

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

Uuuuyg idk too stressed to really think that I dont even know what type of video game I would be in

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

nothing stressful maybe something calm like a farm anime, some light magic, pokemon things like that

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

I was never ment to live life like a sim - megan the stallion

62. seven characters you relate to?

Anybody with anxiety, kinda pearl from Steven universe, the nerdy part of dipper from gravity falls , Roman from sander sides if virgil too sense he has anxiety okay and that's all I can think of I think early I said I dont really watch media or stuff so yeah

63. five songs that would play in your club?

Gosolina kali uchis songs and bank account that's all I can think about rn

64. favorite website from your childhood?64. favorite website from your childhood?

Y8 brooo oh and there was Disney or Nickelodeon websites you know that show with the hands and they had the googly eyes they had a g as new for that loved it and for Disney they had zack and cody games on their website and it's not a website but the one thing on windows that would work without wifi you know and you could make cakes and give them faces and try matching the cards

65. any permanent scars?

One time a cat scratched me more the like 8 years ago and I can still faintly see the mark

66. favorite flower(s)?

The one that grows on the cactus

67. good luck charms?

I know a rabbits foot is one and 4 leaf clovers,and markipliers flannel. I sadly dont have any personal good luck charms

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

I don't want to talk about bad foods rn cut the cameras

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

idk I think I can vaguely remember every facts orgin that I know

70. left or right handed?

Basic right handed but my dad used to be left but then the school forced him to be right

71. least favorite pattern?

Anything 80s uhg that shit is disgusting and terrifying

72. worst subject?

Chemistry but I just got out of that so that's fun

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

People day hot cheetos and sour cream is odd but I like it . I would wat some rn but I think I got sick cuz of my poor diet so I'm not. Someone pls suggested simple easy foods for your girl who can cook

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

1 I am big baby

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

I dont know

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

Tater tots are good and fries

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

Idk no green thumb

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

Idk ig coffee

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

Jewel tones

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

Theirs a difference?

82. pc or console?

Console it's just simpler

83. writing or drawing?

Uhhheg ig drawing I'm bad at grammar

84. podcasts or talk radio?

Podcast, podcast are just more plans out then talk radio and talk radio is a morning thing and I'm not the biggest fan of mornings

85. fairy tales or mythology?

Fairy tales mythology kinda ruff ya know

86. cookies or cupcakes?

Cookies their just more sturdy and their is always normal cake

87. your greatest fear?

Tooo many things and I'm having an anxiety attack right now so like no

88. your greatest wish?

Well it's cute and all idk to live peacefully is one part the other parts a secret for now

X.o.x.o gossip girl ya know ya love me

89. who would you put before everyone else?

Umm maybe myself Idk

90. luckiest mistake?

One time my mom ordered a foam sord for my brother and a real one came. It was some anime sword

91. boxes or bags?

Bags cuz they look cute and you can take em every where with you. Disposable I would have to say boxes tho because its less damaging to the environment

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

Sunlight is so warm and it fills something inside of me makes me feel cozy

Lamps are great for when sleeping and your scared of the dark

Fairy lights are cute but are they neccessary

Overhead lights are good for when you just need light in your life

Am I the only one who gets sad and sometimes cant clean if it's dark in the house?

94. favorite season?

Summer I think. I know it's harder for me to function in the winter cuz depression but then summer is anxiety sometimes ya know

95. favorite app on your phone?

Littetly no idea I don't really love/like the things on my phone if their more distractions or time wasters but I do love how I can search up useful things on YouTube to try to calm down my anxiety and I was definitely not a fan of tumblr at all but I kind have made it my safe place a bit

96. desktop background?

Well the computers my dad's so it has deadpool on i

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

Barely 2 ,I am kinda a dummy sorry unggv

98. favorite historical era?

Well idk heehaww cowboys?

#trifle utters #misspelling because ya girls pretty stressed #im just trying to cope rn so dont cap on me

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chasedbyhowlingwolves · 4 years

Note

1-30 cuz I'm chaotic I dare you.

What a bitch move JJ how dare you

Ok so lowkey that one song by Lizzo Good as Hell cause it's so nice and uplifting??

Tbh any Disney movie

I HAVE THIS HONEY APPLE ONE THAT I ABSOLUTELY LOVE ITS SO NICE

An orchid, there's like 4 in my house but I love them so much

That's a tough one cause I almost always don't act fully myself around people

I love my eyes, being tall is pretty nice I guess, I'm in meh shape. I'm super loyal to people, I'm smart, and I care about just about everyone

Sky blue or like a forest green

You duh, @bex-the-disaster-child101 @firebirdfalcon

Listening to music or watching a stand up show on Netflix

Graduating college so I can start working full time or get into vet school

Tbh I'd really love going out hiking or go to the zoo or something, just something outside where we can talk and still do stuff

Pretty good I'd say, but currently consumed by anxiety which is nice

Literally any kind of pasta dish, particularly lasagna though

My first thought was She-ra so I guess that

Didn't get any emojis 🤷🏼‍♀️

MY FAVORITE BIG BRO WHO TOTALLY WON HIS ROWING RACE AND YOU CANT TELL ME OTHERWISE (also he's amazing?? v nice)

FAIRY LIGHTS

You ask me that like I don't have at least 20

School really shouldn't be my answer but yeah

A pet, a gIRLFRIEND PLEASE, and to pass my fucking midterms

You'll be okay, I know everything seems terrible now, but don't go, you'll get through it and you'll make some amazing friends that will helo you through this. You have so much happiness ahead of you if you just wait a little bit

Bitch I hope you fucking passed vet school and are having the tIME OF YOUR LIFE YOU DESERVE IT

My leather jacket

Light my candle and listen to music or watch Tiktoks

A book or like a painting or something, something they knew I would like

I want to say the Lord of the Rings but that'd be a terrible idea but I'm sticking with it cause all my ideas are terrible

None of the main ones, I just want to live my life in a cottage near a waterfall in a fantasy world

Ok so honestly I don't do much (or any) of either so how about both

Morning

Being out in a forest, and it's like humid but cool. I don't have at forests near me but that's the closest thing I can think off

#jk i love you bro #big bro jj

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officialjkhogan · 6 years

Text

STRAY: Chapter Eight

by J.K. Hogan

Noah’s stomach cramped with hunger as he tapped the glass touchpad that controlled the holographic display. He was using the library’s public data-deck to take a practice test for his level twos. If he got the grades he thought he would, he might be able to escape his almost certain future of working in a factory or a plant, and instead become an engineer. Level two proficiencies were the highest level of education for everyday citizens—doctors, for instance, went on to level threes. Noah knew from his history lessons that back in the days of brick-and-mortar schools, level twos were referred to as “university.”

He sipped bitter coffee that someone had left sitting on the machine, obviously having forgotten about it while it was being filled. Gods, he was hungry. He hadn’t made many sales at the Bazaar last Tuesday, and a couple of his regular customers had stopped coming around, so he had literally five dollars to his name at the moment. He just had to manage not to starve to death before he took the tests, then he could get a decent job and find an actual place to live and, like, food and stuff.

At least he had a current roof over his head, as undesirable as it was. And crashing with Cousin Tom was definitely undesirable. Being a dealer meant that Tom had a revolving door for customers at any time of the day or night, and they were always eyeballing Noah real creepy-like. Sometimes even Tom did. Noah had gotten used to living with the hunted feeling, that need to constantly be on his guard and look over his shoulder. He always felt like there was someone just around the corner, waiting to grab him—be it Tom’s addict friends, stalkers on the street like that one time years ago when the blond guy saved him, or even goons from his parents’ church-cult, deciding they were going to force him to join after all. He’d never, ever felt at ease. Well, only once. With that guy. Whose name, irritatingly, he couldn’t ever seem to remember.

Noah had been avoiding going back to Tom’s, because the way the man looked at him had been making him increasingly uncomfortable. Sure, they were family—at least, he thought they were. He’d only met Tom after his parents had dumped him. They ran in the same circles, and Tom approached him one day, saying that he was the son of Emmy Cowan’s estranged brother. Noah had been so desperate for any kind of connection to another human being that he hadn’t questioned it. Still, occasionally Tom’s stare became sort of possessive, and even…predatory. Sometimes.

Noah scored nearly perfect on the practice test before his hunger started making him lightheaded. He had two more days until the Bazaar opened again, but he’d starve before then. He had no other choice but to back home—not that it was his home—and find someone to blow for a twenty. There were always some tweaked-out druggie closet-cases around to hit up. They consumed more when they got off, so it was lucrative for both Noah and Tim. As much as he hated doing it, Noah refused to let himself feel ashamed. It was survival, pure and simple.

As he walked home later, Noah passed by Sanctuary just like he did every time he went to the library. And each time, he remembered the masked man who suggested there might be a job for Noah inside. Hell, the guy probably just wanted Noah to come in because he thought he was pretty. It had been a nice fantasy, but Noah didn’t believe a word of it. It was rare for businesses to have enough capital to employ an in-house engineer to keep their tech up and running. Still, every time Noah walked by, he wondered if he’d given up before he even tried.

Tom lived in a ramshackle house on the edge of a former residential district that hadn’t survived the last purge. No one had bothered to claim the land and redevelop, so people like Tom and his ilk had colonized it, squatting in buildings in various stages of disrepair. The front door rocked on its hinges as Noah swung it open to reveal stained tan carpeting and puke green walls that were peeling enough to expose the sheetrock beneath the paint. The sickly sweet smell of ganja was a physical cloud in the hallway, so Noah followed it into the dark den with its blackout curtains and psychedelic tapestries.

Tom lounged on the threadbare couch with two men who were obviously sampling the wares, and a woman was asleep—or unconscious—in the recliner that hadn’t reclined since they’d found it on the side of the road. Tom looked over and gave him an oily grin.

“Eyy, Noah, my dude! Have you been at the fuckin’ library this whole time?”

With a sigh, Noah half sat, half fell into the only empty chair left. “Yep. Killed my practice test though. I’ll be ready for my level twos. I only came home because…I got hungry.”

Tom took a sip of his lager and eyed Noah for a moment, before jerking his chin at the guy to his left. “I’m sure Adam here can help you out.”

Noah’s stomach rebelled, and he had to swallow down the urge to vomit air—because that’s all he had in his stomach—but a guy had to eat. At least Adam was somewhat attractive, built like a tank, with a razor-sharp jawline and a crooked nose, but he also looked like he could get mean with very little provocation.

“My cuz here needs some work to make a little extra cash,” Tom said to Adam. Some kind of silent communication must have happened to inform Adam just exactly what kind of work Tom meant, because Adam gave Noah a long onceover and licked his lips.

Fuck. The guy was definitely down for it, and Noah should be happy because he would get to eat but, fuck. Noah stood up and headed for the door, looking over his shoulder and raising a brow until Adam got the picture and followed him. As he climbed the stairs, with Adam’s fingers brushing the top of his ass, Noah hated himself just a little bit more.

****

Tonight I am a creature. A man but not a man. Who dreams of nothing but murder.

****

Tuesday, the Bazaar was swamped. Noah sold half the inventory he’d brought from the crypt, and he should have been flying high on the accomplishment, his full belly, and the wad of cash in his pocket, but he was just…numb. All he could think of was the feeling of Adam’s beefy hands on his skull, pulling his hair, and Noah wondered why he did it.

He had no one. No family, not really, no real friends, only people who seemed to want to use him, so why the hell did he fight so hard not to starve. Why didn’t he save himself the trouble, and his jaw the strain, and just go fall off a bridge somewhere.

Shaking his head, he stuffed his remaining tech into his duffel. How fucking melodramatic. He’d never been suicidal…not really. Honestly, he’d always felt like there was something just offstage, waiting in the wings, something that he was meant to do but couldn’t quite see the full picture yet. Some days it was the only thing that kept him from knotting sheets together.

He piled up his boxes and crates behind an old food stand from the bygone days of the amusement park and hoped no one would steal them before next Tuesday. The back of his neck prickled as he bent to pick up his duffel, so he spun around and scanned the almost empty Bazaar. There was no one near. No one, except for a big white cat.

This time, the coincidence of seeing the cat again made Noah’s hair stand on end. He was half convinced he’d been hallucinating the creature this whole time. His fingers clenched on the leather strap of his bag, but he tried to act like he wasn’t afraid he was losing his mind.

“Hey, there, um…cat. I don’t know how you keep finding me. In fact, I’m ninety-five percent sure I’m seeing things. I’m surprised you haven’t gone home by now. Hell, I’m surprised you’re still alive.” Noah scrubbed his hands over his face, then shook his head. “I’m surprised I’m still talking to a gods-be-damned cat.”

The creature meowed, then slinked over and wove its way between and around Noah’s legs, leaving long white hairs all over his jeans. He brushed off the denim-myolene blend and glared at the cat. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

The cat purred and let out another plaintive moan.

“Ugh… I know that look too well. You’re hungry, yeah? All right, then, follow me. Today, we eat like princes.”

Eating like princes for Noah meant one of the mobile kitchens that frequented the park. He ordered some falafel, with curry chicken and rice, and hauled it all over to a picnic table. He sat down on the table part, while bracing his feet on the bench. Inexplicably, the cat followed him like it thought it was people. With a sigh, Noah spread out a napkin and spooned some chicken onto it for the cat, who eagerly wolfed it down, snarling a little as it chewed.

“Easy, killer,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t choke. Damn, you must’ve been starving. Been there, pal. Hey, at least you found a generous benefactor to keep you in curry, and you didn’t even have to blow anybody to get money.”

As if it understood, the cat froze. It stopped eating and stared at him, blinking slowly. It sat back on its haunches, ignoring the food, and waited, as if it expected him to continue. Embarrassed about talking to a cat, Noah gave an agitated wave of his hand.

“It’s nothing. When you’re homeless, you do what you need to do to get by. Every day I see people who are way worse off than me, so I try not to complain.”

The cat padded closer, curling up and pressing against the side of Noah’s thigh, purring. Noah stroked its back, running his fingers through the soft fur, and felt the knobby bumps of its spine as it arched up to chase his touch. Looking down at the cat, Noah noticed something he’d never seen before—a flash of black on the inside of its ear.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, as if the cat was going to answer him. He swiped a finger along the pink, paper-thin skin of the cat’s inner ear. It was ink. A tattoo. He knew that animals were often tattooed with ID numbers by shelters, or even their owners, but this marking was unusual. It was a glyph of a small, five-pointed crown. Beneath it, letters spelled out a word he didn’t recognize. “I wonder what this means. Basti.”

When he said it, the cat whipped his head around to stare up at him, and it let a garbled little growl. It sounded so disgruntled that Noah had to laugh. Obviously at some point, someone had cared about this cat enough to mark it, but he’d seen it on the streets too many times for it to be anything other than a stray.

“Is that your name, then? Basti? It’s cute.”

The cat narrowed its eyes, exhaled sharply through its nose, then mewed and went back to the curry chicken. That, apparently, was that.

While Basti inhaled his food, Noah ate at a more sedate pace, savoring the feeling of, for once, not being hungry. He looked at the cat, who in turn watched him. It was lithe and willowy, but not skinny. Its bones didn’t protrude past its thick coat, so it had to be fed with some regularity.

“I wonder where you normally get your food,” Noah said before he could quell the impulse. He sighed, setting down his now-empty food carton. “I know I must seem like some freaky stranger who speaks to you as if you were human, in a language you couldn’t possibly understand but…I don’t have many people—or animals, I guess—in my life, so I just can’t help myself. You’re safe.” Noah didn’t know if he meant that the cat was safe for him to talk to, or that the cat was safe with him. Maybe both.

“I have to go home. It will be dark soon.” The last place he wanted to be was Tom’s, but it wasn’t safe on the streets at night. “You should go on back to wherever you normally sleep and eat. Trust me, where I’m going isn’t anywhere you want to be.”

Noah tossed their trash into a nearby agri-dump receptacle, and set off west, toward Tom’s. The cat jumped down from the picnic table and followed. Noah sighed heavily, because with his work done and his belly finally full, all he wanted to do was lie down on his lumpy mattress and sleep for a week.

“Shoo! Get out of here! Trust me, you don’t want to go where I’m going.”

Basti grumbled and sat back on his haunches. As Noah continued through the rapidly darkening park, he pretended he didn’t know the precocious feline was still following him.

#gay romance #gay fantasy #m/m romance #m/m fantasy #m/m paranormal #m/m dystopian #stray #chapter #writing #m/m paranormal romance

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babystolemyheart-blog1 · 6 years

Text

Chapter 1: Tattered Hearts and Tattoos

Summary: Tattoos hold so many meanings, but they also hold memories, stories and emotions; pain, wonder, awe

Dean Winchester x OFC (Marina)

Trigger Warning!

Child abuse, abuse, cheating, language, angst, sad, tearjerking backstory, child favouritism, just overall sad

Previous: Intro - Innocence

Chapter 1: Walls

Word Count: 1,166

Previously:

In her unconscious state, Marina didn’t hear her brother apologise to her. Nor did she hear her parents stop fighting after her mother had ran off again.

She didn’t hear anything.

Now:

And as the years flew by and she grew up, grew taller and stronger against the beatings, she watched as her mother snuck around, drawn to her phone as she left for work three hours earlier, coming home late after work. When her mother had hopped into the shower, phone on the charger, the hunter in-training had leapt at the chance to find out why she was acting so weird. What she saw and read on that phone was the beginning of her heart breaking, the day she began to construct an iron wall around her heart.

The days that followed were filled with tense looks and sleepless nights. Her mother was cheating on her father. When she brought up the fact to her father, he simply looked at her and shook his head. Almost as if he just didn’t want to know anymore, a look of pure defeat and heartbreak causing her own heart to slowly crack. Another wall went up, made from the gut-wrenching look of complete defeat, the glass slid into place.

“Are you cheating on dad?”

That one question, as straightforward as it was, had caused the house to go quiet. Sitting at the dinner table, with no dad, Marina looked her mother in the eye, gaze not wavering as she stared, the brown of her eyes completely consumed by black rage.

The fight that followed was loud, bloody and gruesome.

The defensive tone of her mother confirmed everything as she began to stutter, face flushed in guilt as she looked towards her son, who was looking at her with disgust evident on his face. As Marina repeated the question, all hell broke loose as plates were thrown, cutlery clattering to the floor as the yells began.

But instead of hiding with her brother, Marina stood fast, knocking the chair back, voice raised and face turning red.

“How could you break this family apart? How could you do this to us, to your kids? Sleeping with some, some fucking piece of shit just so you could feel better!”

As the curses left her mouth, there was no going back. All the anger and hatred from years of being abused came rushing to the surface, slithering out of the dark corners of her mind. She was on a warpath and she wasn’t going to stop until her mother was in shreds at her feet. Another wall wrapped around her heart, this one was made from earth and stone; stronger and unmoving like a mountain.

“You have no right to speak to me that way young lady!”

“I have every fucking right! He is out there saving people and you’re here acting like a brat! People are dying because of those monsters mom! Children are dying, and dad saves them...but you get huffy because he doesn’t come home. Well what about us?

We’re kids! Of course we want him home. But we know that he’s out there for the greater good. How could you cheat on him? We’ve known since the beginning, we just want to know why? Why even bother pretending like everything’s alright when it’s not.

Why not just fucking end it and save us all the pain...all of this betrayal.”

As the words left her mouth, she watched as her mother trembled in shame before she picked up her phone, dialing and unknown number. The room was silent for all of 10 minutes before the front door opened with a bang.

That’s all that Marina can remember from that night. She woke up in a hospital with her brother, asleep at her side, his head next to her hand. It took her a month to recover, with multiple visits back for rehab. Her leg had been broken in three different places, ribs broken, bruises scattered her body and the various cuts to her face would suggest that she’d been in a cage fight. Though the sulfur that was left behind left little to the imagination.

But, as she later found out, that wasn’t true.

Tyler had told her that a group of men had stormed the house, attacking her as he was grabbed by their mother, safe from the dispute. And despite the obvious pain she was in, Marina smiled at her big brother, a small one, but a smile nonetheless.

“At least you weren’t hurt.”

Once she was cleared and completely healed, she returned home with her brother. It was squeaky clean, the bleach smell burning her nostrils as she padded to her room. Once the door was shut, Marina took out the brand new leather journal her father had gifted her for Christmas. And she wrote down everything that had happened. Wrote down the location of the emergency bag of cash she’d stashed incase something happened. Wrote down everything her father had taught her about drifting from place to place, about how to protect herself.

When she turned 13, she added another wall around her crumbling heart, the structure only growing as more metal was added, sealed tight with a lock, the key having been tossed somewhere dark. On a particularly hard hunt, both Marina and Tyler were witness to the death of their father. Having knocked both siblings out, the ghoul had free reign for at least 10 minutes, and by the time Marina had come to, her father’s blood had run cold. After organising the remains of his body onto a pyre, the brother and sister set their father alight, giving him a hunter’s funeral.

The drive home was silent, filled with nothing, not even the comforting lull of music from the radio. With dull eyes, both brother and sister kept their gaze focused on the road, not even acknowledging the dark cloud that began to gather around the tops of their heads. They knew of the coming storms, and tried as best they could to prepare for the forthcoming danger.

When they returned home with the news, silence was all that was met. And then anger. Directed at both children, Lauren Roseanne Cooper became a living, raging storm; frustrated and angry tears streamed down her face as the world was drenched in red. As usual, the whimpering mess that was Marina huddled against the wall, her hand clenched tight around her big brothers, hoping to outlast the pain. But like always, through the blood, sweat and tears...the darkness became a welcoming friend, arms open and willing to take away the pain, if not for a little while.

When she regained consciousness, she clutched desperately at the sheets of the hospital bed, searching for the comforting weight of her brother’s hand.

Looking around the light blue room, Marina’s eyes searched for a figure that wasn’t there; but was at home, safe and sound with a loving, doting mother to wait on hand and foot.

Just like that, all the walls that had been built over time…

Solidified.

And became as permanent as the scars on her body; tattoos that told the story of her young life.

A/N: And that is it for chapter 1!!!! I was at work all day today trying to get over the massive writer’s block I’ve had since last week >.< But hopefully this will suffice...this was written on 4 hours of sleep after an 11 hour work day...so hehe enjoy!!!!

Please again, don’t be afraid to tell me what you think, send me a PM or just leave a reply cuz it’s almost like drinking 10 cups of coffee for me hehe.

As always thank you for taking the time to read this, I really do appreciate it. I can’t wait to see how this turns out!! We’re slowly building to seeing the boys again, almost!!

Until next time lovelies!!

- Ninz

#angsttw: abusetw: languagedean winchesterdean winchester x ofcthe feelsstrong female characterstrong female protagonisthunterspn #angst #tw: abuse #language #dean winchester #dean winchester x ofc #the feels #major feels #strong feel #sad #female protagonist #female hunter #character death #spn #supernatural #omc death #violence #crying

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herestoallthedreamers-blog1 · 6 years

Text

I’ll Be There

WARNINGS: Graphic content, violence, crime, physical abuse

SUMMARY: During Dan’s liveshow, a robber breaks in and threatens to assault Dan. Watching this take place live, the viewers desperately try to get a hold of Phil, who’s out grocery shopping.

*I recognize DNP are real people and I don't wish them harm, I just thought this would make an interesting story. Don't mean to offend or trigger anyone*

In the frame of a thousands screens, viewers are given a slither of Dan's life. The left side of a bed, the edge of a piano, the top slither of a desk. He grins up at the camera, his smile blinding against the grainy darkness of his room.

"Top Dan Memes of 2017?" Dan reads off the chat, snickering through his words. "That's-That'll be a-uh-a thing! I'm sure I've given you all a lot of meme worthy behavior!"

He laughs again, covering his lips with limp fingers, before sitting up, winding up for a rant. "It's funny cuz-I think the Dan Meme videos are great and I love acknowledging all the work and creativity you all bring to the channel and I appreciate your sense of humor-but someone commented that the Top Dan Memes of 2016 was the video they showed their friends who didn't know who we were. That's not what I want people's first impressions to be! I mean it's a fun video but it is literally the accumulation of all my shame and mistakes throughout the year!"

His eyes drop to the chat as he reads, "It lets people know the real you-Really?" he asks the camera sarcastically, squinting his eyes. "Is dabbing and vaping the real me? Is that-" his voice vibrates with laughter. "Is that the image I've created? 2018 rebrand on the horizon-No, no. Let's leave those mistakes where they belong, far in the past and in a dark corner of the internet…Where's Phil?-Phil is out grocery shopping cuz our fridge is currently made up of ketchup and yoghurt so-"

The sound of a door opening comes from down the hall. Dan pauses and looks over his shoulder, consciously smothering a subconscious smile. "Speak of the devil, back already, Phil?"

He's met with vague rustling in the kitchen and deep footsteps. Is Phil wearing boots? Phil never wears boots, especially not ones that could be heard from two rooms over.

Another noise accompanies the footsteps, the shattering of something glass.

Phil wouldn't be wearing boots, Phil would've called out if he broke something. Dan calls again for his friend, his voice dipping with doubt. "Phil?" Dan frowns as the footsteps grow louder and stands, leaving the livestream behind. Phil would've responded. "Hello?"

In Dan's room, it's silent. Around the world, fingers type frantically, computer's are asked questions that can't be heard. Dan stands near the doorway, listening, hesitating, not knowing which came first, the paranoid thoughts or his racing heart. He takes a ginger step forward, lifting a hand to open the door. It's probably just—

There's a crack of thunder as a figure rams through, the door missing Dan by an inch. Dan stumbles backwards, failing an arm out to catch himself on the bed.

In stalks a man as tall as Dan with a chest twice as wide, a arm extending outwards, a gun at its end. A knitted mask covers his face. His shadow falls over Dan, who slowly attempts to gain back his footing and raises a trembling hand, opening his mouth to speak. The man delivers a blow with the butt of his gun to Dan's left shoulder, crippling him back to the floor.

Dan writhes there a moment, whimpering, before settling onto his knees and putting his hands behind his head.

The computer screen flickers into the room, the chat erupting in panic, and Dan is reminded that his subscribers are watching. Part of him aches with dismay. They shouldn't be seeing this. Another part of him, a stronger part, is eager in their gaze, begging for their help. Dan's head turns slightly, a brown eye sliding the viewers' way. His eyes cry out to them.

"Whatcha you looking at, huh?" The man asks. There's an eerie jingle of casualness to his tone, like he's done this before, like he's enjoying it, like he'd grin in the face of danger, giggle in the face of pain.

The hard metal of the gun presses into Dan's temple, sending a wave of heat down his legs. "Nothing!" he barks, his voice sharp and protective, feeling as if his subscribers were in the room with him, as if eavesdropping in his closet, no more safe than he is. The chat slows as viewers lift their hands from their keyboards. When the man swivels his head towards the camera, they too feel that they are there. The chat slows as fingers leave keyboards, as tabs close, as viewers cry for their parents or reach for the phone to call the police.

"Yo, is that a fucking camera? Is this being recorded?"

"I-I was recording a video for my channel-my youtube channel."

Keeping the gun aimed at Dan, the man leans towards the computer, a white knitted mask consuming the frame. Through small cut holes, dead eyes dart about. Collectively the remaining viewers lean back, as if his eyes were searching for them and there would be no stopping his hand from reaching through their screens and grabbing their throats. The eyes drop to where Dan's usually fall, to the chat. He steps back, grabs Dan by the back of his shirt, and drags him up to the desk. Dan's knee bangs into the chair, his elbow into the drawer. His cry of pain gets caught in his throat, stunted by shock and replaced by a grunt of discomfort as the man shoves Dan's head parallel against the desk. His leather-bound fingers drape across half of Dan's face. When the man speaks, his words are serrated with aggression yet steady. "So tell me," the man whispers close to Dan's ear. "Is this live?" The man presses down and the loose skin of Dan's cheek slips over his eye.

"Yeah," Dan says through the man's fingers. Drool drips onto the desk. "It's live."

"Do they know where we are?" The man waves the gun lazily in the screen's direction.

"I don't know."

"Don't know? You don't know whether or not these people know where you live? How could you not know something like that, huh? Not sure if I believe that. No, I definitely don't believe that. So I'm gonna ask you again. Do they know where you live? Do they know the address? And things won't turn out well for you either way, so no point in lying."

"No, they wouldn't know." Dan's eyes slide up to the chat again. He's never seen it like this, without a constant stream of messages. There's only two now. In the whole of his career, he's never felt more watched.

The man reads one aloud. "I've called the police. Well, MiaHowls," he says, looking directly into the camera. "If you don't know where we are, then that doesn't do much good now, does it? Says a lot of people are watching. Wow," the man coos, squatting down so his head is level with Dan's. "You must be a famous fucker. How come I've never heard of you?"

Dan responds by closing his eyes, feeling the heat of the man's breath on his brow.

"Well, what a thrill for you all," the man says to the camera. The man turns Dan's head so that he breaths a shaky and wet breath into the wood of the desk. "Seeing your celebrity idol humiliated, live!"

Not longer silenced by shock, Dan lets out a muffled scream.

The sound of a door opening comes from down the hall followed by a single pair of footsteps. The man straightens as he looks over his shoulder to the doorway, loosing his grip. Dan opens his eyes wide, not sure how to feel about his best friend returning home. Thankful for the interruption? Horrified for his friend? His brain flicks between them so fast he ends up feeling nothing.

"Dan?" There casualness to Phil's tone, but its thin. He sounds scared. Could he know something is wrong? Did he see the liveshow? Did a viewer get a hold of him?

"Who's that?" the man asks calmly.

"My flatmate."

"Oh, well, don't be rude. Say hi."

"Hi!" The one syllable breaks in two.

"Tell him you're in your room. Go on."

No. Phil should run. Phil should be safe. But the gun finds Dan's forehead and he barks, "I'm in here!"

"Don't you move, now," the man whispers as he stands. He pauses halfway between the desk and the doorway, waiting, his gun by his side. Dan watches too, waiting to see the person who least deserving of this horror walk in. Please, don't, he begs. Please, no. The doorway becomes a vacuum, taking away his breath. His lungs ache, he hears his heart throb. Seconds go by. He's reminded of the times he would reassure himself, whether subconsciously or not, that these things wouldn't happen to him, not to him, not to Phil, that they were safe in the flat, he would be okay if he was with Phil and Phil would be okay if he was with him. When he met Phil, Dan finally felt safe and thought that feeling would last. How stupid he's been, he realizes, as he stares into the doorway, waiting for the live they built to fall apart.

He stares into the doorway.

Not Phil but two policeman emerge from the navy blue shadow of the hallway. "POLICE GET DOWN! GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES!"

In the gaze of two new guns, the man slowly lowers to his knees, placing the gun out in front of him. As the police begin to restrain him, Dan collapses to his knees as well, his breath returning in lavish sips.

Phil ducks into the room and swerves around the arrest. His eyes don't drop down to the police or the man, instead they stay locked ahead. They stay locked on Dan.

Dan doesn't fully stand, but merely lifts onto the balls of his feet and throws his weight into Phil's arms.

"Oh my god," Phil whispers into Dan's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Dan melts into Phil, relishing in his warmth, drowning in an overwhelming sense of relief and bitter-sweet happiness. "Yeah, I'm okay."

When they pull apart, Dan blinks, refocusing his blurred vision, and croaks, "T-the liveshow."

Phil, despite not understanding, follows Dan's gesture to the screen. "What?" When his looks upon the screen, it's not long before Phil's mouth drops open and his eyes flicker with dread. He puts his hand over the camera. Seconds later, thousands of screens go black.

To be continued…

#phan #phandom #phanfiction #danandphil #tw: abuse #tw: violence #tw: robbery #reality #friendstolovers

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theofficialcunt · 7 years

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Gimmie some witney please lol... the prompt: it turns out Single AF was just a fraud but Courtney thought it was legit. Willam (unwillingly at first but eventually softens up and means it) comforts her

This is probably garbage, especially because I’ve never written them as a pair exclusivley as the main focus (at least not in a fluffy way) - but here you go!

“I’m sorry Ms. Act, but if you ever believed that you were going to have a successful relationship from this show, then you were highly mistaken.” The producer apologized, with a monotone voice that stated he could really care less about her well being. He got his footage, and his B list star. There was nothing else that he needed from her.

“Thank you for the opportunity.” Courtney responded, a tone of resentment tainting her voice as she stood up from the table.

Single AF had turned out to be a complete fraud. They hired specific people to play the parts of the casts various hookups, and allowed them to pick their final choice in the end. But all of the paid actors had partners, so it was really just a publicity stunt and a way to boost viewership for the network. Courtney was led to believe that it was going to be a more raw experience - almost like a documentary. Unfortunately she had figured it out the hard way, after the camera’s had turned off she poured her heart out to her final choice Lucas - who then humiliated her by laughing in her face.

“This isn’t real Courtney,” Lucas had mocked. “It was all just for show. Surely you knew that going in? You’re great though, and I’d love to keep in touch.”

Courtney, still in drag - muttered a rare string of curse words and stomped on his perfectly pedicured foot with her brand new Louboutins before stomping away, never looking back.

She felt led on, humiliated, and played all at once. She wasn’t familiar with such a string of negative emotions consuming her every thought- but she couldn’t help but feel sorry for herself. She had been single for a very long time now, and the one time she let her guard down - she ended up getting her heart broken.

As she walked out of the studio, she really wanted to call someone to help cheer her up. Bianca was on tour, thousands of miles away so that was a no go. Adore wasn’t the best choice, mostly because she would just enable her to go smoke and drink with her - which was all fine and dandy, but not what she needed at this moment.

Who she really needed was Willam. She smiledfaintly, clicking on his name in her phone and pressing the green button awaiting his answer.

Her and Willam had a weird dynamic. They played this game of cat and mouse. Willam loved to tease her, and she secretly loved all of the attention he gave her. But he had never wanted a serious relationship, or anything with her as far as she knew. They were strictly friends, at least that’s what she would tell herself.

The phone rang twice before he answered.

“Well look who’s back from their romantic getaway! Who’s the poor unfortunate soul that gets to end up with you? Is it that Lucas guy, cuz fuck he’s some good looking trade-”

“It was all a fraud.” Courtney croaked, feeling the emotions bubble up out of her unexpectedly. “I get to end up alone as usual!”

“Oh.” Willam said suddenly, taken aback.

There was an awkward silence between the two of them. Willam had warned Courtney before she left to film the show that it might not be what she thinks it is. She clearly didn’t listen,

He was somewhat relieved that the show was all just a stunt, but still annoyed that Courtney shoved the whole experience in everyone’s faces. Every goddamn day, he’d wake up to new updates on her instagram story with other men and women. Much prettier men and women then him. Models, with perfectly styled outfits and hair, and sculpted muscles and-

“Can I come over?” Courtney sniffled, trying to pull herself together. She knew Willam wasn’t the best with tears, but he was literally all she had right now.

“Meet me at the studio in 20 minutes.” Willam responded, hitting end quickly. He sighed heavily to himself, putting his head in his hands exasperated. Courtney had been so excited about the stupid show, and all he had wanted to do was tell her not to go on it and to just be with him. But he went against his gut, and now look at what happened.

He felt like this was his fault.

—————-

When the knock on his studio door finally came, he opened the door to a clearly distraught Courtney Act. Her long blonde hair was frizzy, almost as if she had fallen asleep on it, and her eyes looked bloodshot from crying.

She was pathetically beautiful.

“Can I come in?” Courtney asked shyly, green eyes sparkling against the late afternoon sun.

Willam fought back the urge to say anything rash, and let her in effortlessly. He escorted her to the upstairs loft where his couch was, and they sat down on the leather love seat together in silence.He wasn’t going to press her to talk about anything if she didn’t want to. Feelings exhausted him.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Courtney asked, voice still soft. Broken sounding almost.

“You’re a 35 year old twink, what do you think?” Willam joked, shooting his million dollar smile in her face.

Courtney had always found Willam’s appearance striking, especially his smile. When he was in drag, his makeup was a mess but he made it work with his beachy looking blonde wigs. He looked gorgeous no matter what, and had a rocking bod to top it all off.

“I’m serious.” Courtney frowned, her lips trembling. “Why can’t I find someone to share my life with?”

“You aren’t looking hard enough.” Willam shrugged.

It was true. All she had to do was look right in front of her.

Since he wasn’t so great with feelings, Willam didn’t know how to tell Courtney that he liked her without feeling stupid. He had been waiting for the right moment, but he didn’t know what the right moment was exactly.

Feelings made everything so much more complicated. Which is why he did everything he could to avoid them at all costs.

“Is there a guy just waiting around for me in West Hollywood? Like am I missing something?” Courtney shrieked, laughing lightheartedly.

Willam smiled at her sad attempt to make the situation easier on herself. He wished he could be that positive in times of turmoil.

“Let me give you some advice. No one waits for anyone Court. You have to make your own reality. You’re in charge of your relationships and of going out and getting your trade.” Willam laughed, then straightened up holding her hand softly. This was as good of a moment as ever, he thought before he began. “You came to America from across the globe, if they weren’t in Australia, maybe they’re here. Maybe they’re..” Willam trailed off, trying not to laugh at how stupid and cliche he sounded. This was ridiculous.

“Maybe they’re?” Courtney asked confused, studying Willam’s face for any indication of where this mystery person could be.

“I’m sorry,” Willam began, sitting there cackling to himself. Was Courtney really this oblivious? Did they just get transported into a cheesy rom-com? “I can’t do it. I hate feelings so much!” He threw his hands up in the air exasperated, cursing himselfinternally for even beginning the stupid conversation to begin with.

Courtney jumped back at his sudden outburst, confused. Yes, everyone within a 200 mile radius knew Willam was not one for expressing emotion. Where was this going? Was this a joke? She looked around the corner for any sign ofcameras but there were none.

“I know this already.” Courtney said perplexed, eyes narrowing. “What’s gotten into you?”

“These stupid feelings that’s what!” Willam shouted, standing up. “Court, I’m just gonna say it. I can’t keep it in anymore. I’m in love with you!”

Courtney felt her stomach twist with a surprise at his confession. Her eyes grew big as she stared at a visibly frustrated Willam, shoving his hands in the pocket of his jeans as he paced back and forth.

Willam was in love with her? Her?

Her heart skipped a beat as Willam ran a hand through his perfectly poised curls, clearly upset at the whole interaction but looking like a tanned god. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.

“If you’re not in love with me too can you just tell me?” Willam murmured, his eyes sparkling with the fear of being rejected. He felt vulnerable, like he could be stabbed in the heart at any second.. “We can pretend this never fucking happened ifthat’s the case.”

“You idiot.” Courtney shrieked standing up, grabbing Willam by the shoulders. “Why couldn’t you tell me this before I wasted my time on that show?”

Willam bit his lip as he looked into Courtney’s blue-green eyes.

“I didn’t want to ruin your chances with someone who could give every ounce of their life to you.”

“I don’t need all of that Will. I just need someone to love me.” Courtney squeezed his hands, intertwining them. “I just want someone who’s serious about me.”

“Well I’ve been here all along you bitch!” Willam roared, picking Courtney up suddenly and throwing her over his shoulders. She screamed, kicking her legs playfully as he ran down the stairs with her. They were laughing hysterically as he set her down in front of his makeup station and he laid down next to her on the floor of his dressing room.

“You’re serious about me though?” Courtney asked, turning towards him smiling.

“Yes you dumb broad.” Willam smiled toothily, but his eyes showed he was being sincere.

The pair stared into each others eyes, and without a word - their lips met for the first time on the cold laminate floor. Words couldn’t release the two years of pent up sexual tension between the pair, only actions. They held each other on the floor as they kissed, Willam surprised Courtney with his gentle touch. And Courtney surprised Willam with her eagerness to dominate, and the small growls she let out as she ran her teeth along his neck marking him as hers as she left small bruises.

Some feelings didn’t need words. Some feelings just needed to be acted upon.

#witney #prompts #requests #prompt

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