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angel-eyes05 · 11 months

Text

to leave the warmest bed i've ever known

pairing: spiderwoman!reader x miguel o’hara

summary: after miguel’s fight with miles, you confront him in his office

warnings: this whole thing is basically one big argument there’s SO much angst, implied suicide attempt, HUGE ATSV SPOILERS DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THIS MOVIE, im projecting a little in some parts of this ngl (i cried writing a certain section of this, you'll know it when you read it lmao), mentions and descriptions of blood, gore, and death

word count: 4.1k

notes: i watched the movie yesterday…and miguel is on my mind. but i remember reading this namor x reader fanfic after i watched wakanda forever of a similar idea to this and i loved it so this is HEAVILY inspired by that fic, but just make it miguel. i would link it but ngl that was so long ago and i dont remember the author. if i end up finding it again ill put it here. also, just pretend miguel has been doing this whole spider society thing for a couple of years at least, it just needs to work like that for this ik its probably not canon but just roll with it lmao. and yes the title is a taylor swift lyric im so glad you noticed (im so sorry she's in my brain rn with the eras tour)

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The anger boiled up inside your chest as you stormed your way across the lobby. Hundreds of different Spider-Man variants were scattered across the area, some more injured than the others. It sickened you sometimes. How he had so many people under his grasp and just decided to throw some of them at the walls sometimes, not caring how hard they hit the floor because they were all just ammo to him. How despite his denials of it, that’s probably what your role was to him as well. Nothing more than a bullet in his massive machine gun.

You normally tried not to think about it, how his determination towards his goal sometimes meant lack of care for others. But this time he had just gone too far. You always had a soft spot for Miles, watching closely on him whenever Miguel would let you go though scanners of all the different variants. You admired his struggle, but eventual success to taking up the previous Peter’s mantle, and always hated how Miguel talked about him. You knew there was no way Miles could’ve asked for any of this. For the pressures and struggles of being a Spider-Man, for everything causing such a strained relationship with his parents, for the death of his uncle, and for what will be the eventual death of his father. You definitely didn’t.

Ok lets do this one last time. Eh, whatever, there’s probably gonna be 50 other introductions after this one so it doesn’t really matter.

Being Earth-837’s Spider-Man has never been easy. Especially since you were bit when you were only 13 (another reason you sympathized with Miles and Gwen). Your life had followed the order of canon events to a perfect T, your older brother killed in a fight with a robber only two months after you were bit. You tried to overcome the burden of your powers by trying to live as normal of a teenage life as possible, but it was mostly in vain, having to give up multiple friendships and relationships in fear of those you love getting hurt. This was only elevated when your boyfriend Peter was murdered in the crossfire of an encounter with Doc Ock. You didn’t understand. You couldn’t. What you had done to deserve all of this. All you did was just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You wonder sometimes what would happen if someone was in the same place you were when you got bit. If someone else went to the closed down area of that museum and ran into that spider. That stupid spider that ruined your life. Those thoughts slowly started to disappear for a bit. For a few years things were easy. Things seemed like they were finally going in your favor.

You were 25 when it happened. The last canon event. Ever since you were a little girl you hated your mother’s job. Losing nights of sleep over if she would come home or not. She always did though. She was good at her job. Too good though. Good enough to get promoted to police captain, which for who you were, was basically sealing her fate. She saved so many people that day. You were too busy fighting Venom to notice how much collateral damage you were causing in the process. Your mother’s job was to evacuate all the citizens away from the fight. She died shielding a child from incoming debris. A noble way to go. But god was it gruesome. You found her after the fight was over, two metal poles impaling her. One through her stomach and one straight through her face, pools of blood growing bigger below her as she was left there, all the paramedics busy trying to save the heavily injured. You froze when you finally recognized her, unable to at first due to how mutilated her face was from the pole. Suddenly, you were transported back to being a six year old, falling asleep outside the door to your mother’s bedroom so you would know exactly when she would come home. Purposefully falling asleep in her arms so that she couldn’t go anywhere.

When you used the key she had given you to get into her apartment that night, and you slept in her room, desperate to intake anything left of her before she was fully gone. You doused yourself in her perfume so it still felt like she was standing right behind you. You had always loved her smell. The smell of vanilla, curl product, and fancy perfume. They were attached to memories you had of her. Trying on her heels when you were a kid to try and be fancy like her. Smelling her hair in the morning before school to comfort you before she left for work. Despite all of this bringing you comfort, all it really did was cause further denial in your heart. That one day you were gonna hear the keys clacking in the keyhole to your apartment one more time. That’s all you really wanted. You would give everything up in a heartbeat just to hear her police scanner go off one last time. But it wasn’t going to. And it was your fault. Deep down you knew it was. You should’ve done a better job controlling the debris. You had always been a messy fighter, but you didn’t know it was going to mean anything until it was too late.

How you got up to the top of that building is still a blur to you to this day. But next thing you know, you were looking at the New York City skyline from the very top of the Empire State Building. And at the very edge too. You heard some sounds behind you, but you just decided it was the wind howling from how high up you were. You were just so tired. Everything and everyone you loved was cursed all because of you. And with your mother as the most recent victim, you decided you finally had enough. You took a deep breath, eyes overflowed with water, as you set your foot forward.

Your plummet was interrupted by a sudden contact you felt to your forearm. Shock filled your body as you turned around to look at what had stopped your attempt. The blue hand was massive, nearly wrapping back around onto itself as it held onto you for dear life. You finally looked up at face that the hand belonged to. The mask that covered the massive figure was a strange one. Blue with strange red silhouettes for the eyes. It kind of reminded you of…your own costume? That couldn’t be though there was no way. This must be the afterlife or something. You already jumped and that's why you didn’t remember your way up to the top. This was some kind of creature trying to stop you from jumping down to hell below. His breaths were heavy and loud, almost like he was desperate to stop you. This convinced you that this was real, which caused you to try to escape from his grip. He was stronger than you, and was putting up a huge fight. You were slick though. Once you were out of his hand, you closed your eyes and quickly made your jump. Everything flashed before your eyes. Your brother, Peter, your mom. You were hoping to see them soon. This was very quickly interrupted again when you suddenly stopped falling. Something had attached itself to your stomach. You opened your eyes. A web? This web was much different than yours though. It was glowing a bright, neon orange.

The man was holding onto the end of it tightly with both hands. His mask then disappeared to show his face. His was long, matching how big the rest of his body was, defined cheek bones sticking out. Brown wavy hair slicked back with a few loose strands flying out in the wind. The look of desperation on his face stook out most of all. Why did he care so much? He didn’t know you, and you definitely didn’t know him. “Let me pull you up. Please,” he said to you between shaky pants. You stared at him for a bit before nodding. He slowly pulled you up with the string of his web, each move more careful than the last. As soon as your feet were planted safely back on the roof of the building, he wrapped you up in his massive arms. You appreciated the gesture, but you didn’t return it, still very confused about why he was so concerned. He was so big around your body though, you couldn’t help but feel a little comforted, feeling his still shaky breaths against the hairs of your neck. Soon after, he clicked on some buttons on his neon orange watch and led you into a portal.

The rest is history. You’re grateful he found you that day. It allowed you to meet so many people, Peter B., Jess, Gwen, Hobie, Ben, Pavitr, Margo. They all related to you and you felt like you could share things with them that you couldn’t do with anyone else. You had grown especially close to Peter and Jess, both of them having been in the game for a long time, just like you. They both knew how you felt, having lost so much and growing so tired after so many years. Peter even named you as Mayday’s godmother when she was born, a gesture that caused you to nearly kill him with your hug. Miguel though was different. He wasn’t nearly as social as the rest of your friends, but you found yourself having much more intimate moments with him (in more ways then one). You eventually found out why Miguel was so concerned for you the day you met. He had taken interest in your abilities early into looking for variants for his little “project”, but refrained from roping you into something so dangerous while you were still in your teens.

Once you were old enough though, he started paying more and more attention, hoping to catch you in a fight and recruit you then. But he was always pulled away with more important duties to attend to. That was until he witnessed your canon event. He had seen it happen so many times before through his scanners. It was going to happen. It had to in order for your universe to not collapse in on itself. But for some reason, yours hurt more than the rest to him. Especially how you coped with it. Seeing you wrap yourself up in her blankets and clothes broke his heart. He knew where this would lead to. That’s why he was there that day. To save you. He had to, or he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. You got your own watch immediately, along with your own room in the Spider Society headquarters. He stayed close with you for the first month of you being a member of the team. When he wasn’t out on missions, he was with you. You didn’t really know what to label you two as, but whatever was going on, you liked it. And he did too.

That is until Miles came into the picture. Once Miles was bit, all hell broke loose for Miguel. He was always in some alternate dimension catching some Spider-Man villain who got out and rangled them back over here, falling back over to you more beat up and bruised than the last time. You couldn’t imagine how much stress he was under, the fate of the entire multiverse up to him. You had some ways of helping him relieve his stress, but you wish you could convince him that he wasn’t alone in this. But nothing ever got through to him. He had become distant, aloof even. You tried bringing it up to Jess every so often, but she would just brush it off.

“That’s how he’s always been.” Not to you he hasn’t. This week has been hell though. With Spot making it over to Miles, Miguel had been going into rages all week. You had put up with it for now, but that was all about to stop. Watching how harsh he was being on Miles, throwing so many Spider-Men at an innocent boy, risking all of their lives in the process. Disregarding everything Gwen and Peter were feeling and then throwing Gwen back into her broken world with nothing. He had gone too far. No one else was going to stand up to him about it, so you knew it had to be you. Maybe he would listen, maybe he wouldn’t. It didn’t really matter. He just needed to hear it.

“It’s not worth it you know.” The voice snapped you out of your thoughts, stopping you in your tracks. “You know how stubborn he gets over these things,” said Jess, trying to convince you to save your breath. “I don’t care. I have to at least try,” you responded, monotonically. “I just don’t understand how you can follow him so blindly and not see what he’s doing is wrong.” “Because he isn’t wrong. I don’t know about you, but I’m not just gonna stand by and let some kid’s stupid decisions destroy another Earth,” Jess argued. “He’s just trying to save his dad, I can’t understand how that makes him such a bad person,” you said, finally turning around to face her, shocked when she was closer to you than expected.

“You know exactly why. Don’t be so naive, y/n,” she shot back. “You can’t stop me,” you said staring straight into her. She shrugged. “Then I can’t help you.” She began to walk away. You did to, until you heard her say. “You don’t know how much he cares for you.” You turned around to face her again, but her back was still to you, her head tilted ever so slightly to look at you. “If you really do care for the kid, watch what you say to Miguel right now. Cause you might just give him the final push he needs to do what needs to be done.” You didn’t give her a response, and just simply kept walking. You felt Jess’ eyes on your back as you entered the elevator to get up to Miguel’s office.

The elevator ride up felt longer than it should’ve, as you tried to gather all of your thoughts and emotions together so even if he didn’t listen, your words would still stick with him in some way. You didn’t necessarily want to hurt him (though your fists were telling you otherwise), but you did want him to be aware of what he’s done. Once the doors finally opened, all of that work flew out the window as rage took over your body again, seeing Miguel up there looking at the scanners. The fact that he looked just as normal as he always does made you furious. It’s like nothing happened.

“You know, I could hear you coming in from the lobby,” he said, almost stopping you in your tracks. You hated when he did that. Claiming that he knew what your every move was going to be. Like you were under his control or something. “Yeah, well then you must’ve heard me talking to Jess, which means you know exactly what this is about,” you shot back, stopping to where you could see him perched up there. “Why don’t you just save me the conversation about morality and just come up here and kick my ass already. It’ll save both of us time,” he said, not even taking his eyes off the scanners to look down at you. This only added to your fury. “That’s not what I’m here for Miguel, so don’t you dare try to twist my words here. What you did to that kid was fucked up and you know it.” “Oh yeah, then why didn’t you try to do anything to stop me?” he questioned.

“Because I’m not stupid Miguel. I’m not gonna try to take down hundreds of Spider-Men at once.” “Oh, cause you’re so much better than that?” This wasn’t like him at all. That gentle, kind, and caring Miguel you once knew was gone, taken over by some sort of personal vendetta he had against Miles. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but this all needs to stop before it gets taken too far. You’re getting into a fight you can’t win. That kid’s strong and so are his allies. And if you go any further into this, I won’t be here to help you.” He stayed still and only turned his head to look at you. “And what makes you think that you’re so important to my plan that it’ll fall apart if you leave? Have you really become that pretentious?”

Your body froze. Have I really? No no no, that’s exactly what he wants. If you begin to doubt yourself now, you’ll stay and nothing will change. You knew you were right. He was trying to crumble you down, but you wouldn’t let that happen. “And you really think that one kid is going to ruin something that you’ve been working for for years? How insecure you’ve become.” “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, turning back away from you. You did the same, wiping off your face in anger. “I hate it when you do tha-,” you said as you turned back around, but were cut off to find Miguel standing there right in front of you. He was close. Too close to your liking, although in any other circumstance you would’ve found this attractive.

He tilted his head up, but his eyes were down staring daggers into yours. You hated how much he tried to make himself seem more superior to you. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he repeated, this time slower as if you were a child. “He’s just a kid Miguel,” you said in a low, quiet voice. “An anomaly. And a dangerous one at that.” “God Miguel, all he wants to do is protect his dad, do you know how insane you sound right now?” you said letting out a slight laugh when you finished. You backed away from him a little. “He doesn’t know how much damage he’ll do with this. Saving his father will only prolong the inevitable. His world will be gone within hours if he does this. All I’m trying to do is make him understand,” he tried to explain. “By trying to kill him.” “You always have to exaggerate the situation,” he said palming his face. “But that’s essentially what you’re trying to do isn’t it? Why not snuff out the problem entirely by taking him out!”

He signed and began to walk away while you were talking, bringing up your anger even more. “Yeah, use all the power you’ve accumulated over the years and just take out the small problem! Except this isn’t just a fly on the wall Miguel. This is a child! An innocent boy who didn’t ask for any of this to happen to him, just like how we didn’t. I get it, I’m sorry that this job is stressful, I really am. But that gives you zero right to act the way you are!” You were screaming at him at this point. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want your emotions to get the best of you. But he was being too stubborn. This was the only way you thought you could get to him. You might not have wanted to, but you needed to hurt him now. It was the only way.

“You can’t be so power blind that you refused to accept the fact that there could be a way around Captain Davis’ death. You said we saved Earth’s before, I’m sure we could do it again.” Your anger only kept rising when he kept walking away and didn’t respond. “This is a personal thing isn’t it?” you asked calmly. You knew it was working now when he stopped walking. “Yeah, it it. You won’t let Miles get his happy ending. Because why should he be pardoned of his burden while the rest of us have suffered so much. While you’ve suffered so much.” The answer to your question was confirmed when Miguel stayed silent. “Just because you didn’t get the life you wanted Miguel, doesn’t mean you have the right to stop other people from getting theirs.”

You knew you overstepped the line when Miguel turned around and started walking towards you, fury burning in his crimson eyes. “Yeah, so what! What if that is what this is all about! You should know better than anyone how much this job takes away from you!” he screamed at you, backing you up into a wall. “Why should he get to be let off so easily, while people like you and me have to suffer so much? Don’t try to turn me into the villain here when I know you’re thinking the exact same thing, y/n.” He wasn’t entirely wrong. You had wondered it at some points. “I won’t let you turn this onto me Miguel, this is about you,” you fired back. “Oh no, you’re not getting off that easily. I know you’re thinking it. And you’re right. Why should Miles get let off so easily when you’ve lost so much.” He held your hands in his, trying to connect to you. “And you have mi vida. You’ve had so much taken from you and it’s unfair. Why should he only have lost one person when you’ve had three taken from you. Your brother, Peter, your moth-.”

He was cut off by your hand striking against his face in a harsh blow. “If you’re smart, and I know you are, you’ll keep those three out of them. I won’t let you drag their names through the dirt for something as stupid as this.” You both stood there for a while, both of your eyes looking towards the ground, hoping it would open up to swallow you both as an escape from this god awful conversation. You never wanted it to come to this. In all honesty, you cared for Miguel. You might’ve even loved him, if you were even capable of doing such a thing. You hoped he felt the same way about you, but in a job like this, he always had at least one wall up around you. It just wasn’t worth it anymore. You were too tired to keep trying for something that was most likely going to fall apart in the end.

“You’re still going after him aren’t you?” you asked, finally breaking the silence. Miguel looked back up at you. “You can’t ask me not to. You know better than anyone why this is so important to me.” He moved his hand up to cup your cheek and kissed your forehead gently. You let it sit there for a minute out of habit before pushing it off your face. “And you must know why I can’t stay anymore then.” His shoulders dropped. “Whatever this thing between us is. It’s over. I can’t stay beside someone who can’t see what he’s doing is wrong.” Miguel’s dropped hand turned into a fist of anger. “Fine,” he spat in your face. “I don’t need someone like you in my way. You’re just a liability to this anyways.” He began to walk away from you back to his scanners. “Just don’t come crying back over to me when your little plan doesn’t work out, cause I won’t help you.” He used his webs to pull himself back up to the platform to keep looking for Miles. You stood there for a second, gathering yourself.

Five years. Out the door just like that. It bewildered you how easily a bond like you two had could be broken all because of one teenager. You began to make your way for the door before you said. “When this is all over…don’t try to find me.” He didn’t respond. Once the elevator doors opened, you rushed inside, desperate to get away from him. So many thoughts rushed through your head as the doors closed and you sunk down back to the lobby to leave. You didn’t have much of a plan. This could end up being a horrible idea. Your gut told you it was the right thing to do though. And that was enough for you. You walked out of the headquarters lobby with a new heart and a new mind, ready to take action for your new plan.

First though, you had to find Gwen.

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a/n: god that took longer than it should've. dw dw i'll do a part 2 if enough people ask for one. im not 100% sure how im gonna do a part 2 cause yk....idk how beyond the spiderverse is gonna go so tbh, we're just gonna make it go the way i want lmao. thanks for reading, ik this was kind of a long one lmao

NEXT CHAPTER

#miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #into the spider verse #spider-woman reader #across the spiderverse #fem!reader #fanfic #fanfiction #spiderman #spider man #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderverse

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writer-in-theory · 1 year

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"It's a wonder Steve's survived this long, Jesus H. Christ," Eddie hissed.

Eddie hasn't stopped pacing the hospital waiting room ever since Steve was taken back for 'testing'. The doctors had listed out various scans but there were too many acronyms to keep track of. All Eddie knew was that Steve had been hiding his pain for at least a day, maybe longer, until he collapsed at work with Robin.

That was the second worst call Eddie had ever gotten in his life.

"Harrington?" the doctor called out then, holding onto a metal clipboard tightly and looking around the busy emergency room. In an instant Eddie was on his feet, practically sprinting to where the doctor was standing.

"How is he, doc? Get to keep all his fingers?" He wanted to joke, but the words fell flat in the sterility of the room. The last time he'd been here had been after...No. The Upside Down had long since been closed off from their world and Vecna was disintegrated into that weird otherworldly ash. It was over.

"Are you family?"

Nancy and Robin had prepped him for this one, too. In everything but the law, Eddie and Steve were husbands. They'd had a wedding with Robin and Dustin as their Best (Wo)Men and Wayne as their officiant, in the middle of the night where no one would notice but them. They'd celebrated their fifth anniversary two weeks ago, they were the loves of each others' lives. But to the government, to this doctor, they weren't anything but friends who shared a bed. Fuck the nineties.

"Yeah, he's my brother-in-law," Eddie answered, knowing when Nancy showed up they could pass this lie off decently. "How's Steve doing?"

The doctor gave him a long look, but otherwise nodded and rechecked his clipboard. "Mr. Harrington is getting prepped for emergency surgery, currently, as he's s—"

"Emergency surgery? What do you mean surgery?" Already Eddie could feel the tell-tale warning signs of panic as his heart began to race and his palms got sweaty. Surgery wasn't good. They weren't supposed to do this. No more hospitals, no more surgeries, no more 'wait and see's. They'd promised after last time, Steve promised.

"Sir," the doctor pushed, looking more irritated than concerned. "This is a routine procedure, we see it all the time. Mr. Harrington has a case of appendicitis, pretty bad by the looks of it. Has he been feeling any pain lately?"

"Yeah, yeah the bastard has," Eddie hissed, not sure if he was about to laugh or cry. Appendicitis. Fucking appendicitis. He'd had that as a kid, he still remembered all the popsicles and ice creams Uncle Wayne let him have in the days after, cooped up in the trailer watching boring TV shows while all his friends were at school. "Is he already in surgery? Can I see him?"

"He's being prepped, but you can see him. We gave him some medication to calm him down and ease his pain, so Mr. Harrington may be...out of it," the doctor warned as he led Eddie through the maze of hallways behind the front desk. "Next time, let your brother-in-law know he shouldn't ignore this kind of pain."

"Oh don't you worry, doc, I'll make sure to pass on the message," Eddie answered, practically glaring at the closed hospital room door. Fucking appendicitis and Steve had ignored it, passed it off as a pulled muscle after a run.

Seeing Steve in a hospital bed didn't get any easier, though it was hard to be angry or scared when the man's head lolled across the pillow to reveal a brilliant, out-of-it smile Eddie had never seen before. "Eddie!" Steve cooed, reaching his arms out for the other man.

Eddie couldn't help but laugh, crossing the distance quickly so he could press Steve's arms back to the bed. "Hey, c'mon now, Harrington, don't wanna pull that IV line out."

"Did they tell you they're stealing my organ? They're stealing it, Eds!"

"It's a pretty useless one anyway, you won't even miss it."

Steve's face scrunched up at that, like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "How dare you! Of course I'll notice one of my little guys got separated! What if he gets lonely?"

"You're..." Eddie tried not to laugh, if only because he's sure that'll make Steve fly off the handle even further. He scrubbed a hand across his tired face, sure his expression was full of nothing but fondness now for the man laying in the hospital bed. "You're afraid your appendix will get lonely?"

"I just...they're all meant to be together, you know? You can't separate one and expect it won't get lonely. Don't let them steal my organ, Eds."

"I," Eddie began, unable to help the smile that pulled on his lips. "Stevie, baby, it's not stealing if a doctor does it. They're taking it out because it's being a troublemaker. It doesn't belong there anymore, you can't keep trying to make it fit somewhere it doesn't."

"Never stopped me before," Steve answered with a little slur. "Maybe I like troublemakers." Then, leaning over with his hand by his mouth in a conspiratorial whisper, he said at full volume, "I mean you, Eddie."

There was no laugh like the one Steve was able to pull from him, of that Eddie had learned years before. He laughed until his chest hurt and tears gathered in his eyes, until even the nurse peeked their head in to check on the two of them.

"C'mon, Stevie. You go be a rockstar in there and I'll be right beside you when you wake up. We'll go get so much ice cream you forget about your stolen appendix," Eddie offered, pressing a kiss to Steve's non-IV lined hand.

"I'll be such a good rockstar you gotta put me in the band," Steve answered, blowing a kiss to Eddie as the surgical team came in to wheel him off. "Love you, Eds."

Warmth spread through his chest, warming him from the insides out until Eddie worried he might burn up from the intensity of Steve's love. "Love you too, Steve."

Eddie stands and watches as they wheel Steve out of the room, laughing as Steve yelled after him.

"I can't believe you're letting them steal my poor appendix, Munson! I won't forget this!"

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie headcanon #hospitals #surgery #jay writes in theory

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crystalflygeo · 5 months

Note

two long dragon tongues down your throat is better than one <3

So I was going to answer this like a normal ask just fangirling and screaming yes but then it kinda reminded me of this abandoned wip I had sitting in my docs and IT WAS TOO GOOD TO LET IT PASS.

So sorry this sat on my inbox so long csvajckwxbhaj I promise I am not ignoring :c <3 work is just killing me and also this got out of hand HAHA WHAT A SURPRISE

it was written before 4.2 dropped (maybe before 4.1 even I can't recall) so there are some little things here and there that are technically not canon anymore//hit

Neuvillette is absolutely fascinated.

The chief Justice of Fontaine has lived for many many years, seen, learned and experienced a lot of what the world has to offer, at least within the confines of his beloved hydro nation. Always a diligent man, carrying out his role and job at the court to perfection. Yet there was something he’d always… disregard.

Some more basic instincts pertaining to his true draconic nature.

He’d had enough in his plate as it was, practically managing the nation, keeping lady Furina both entertained and out of trouble, taking care of the Melusine, and a myriad of other duties in between. Truth be told, he was a tired old dragon not having much time or interest in the pursuit of a romantic companion.

So how did he end up here? Having a sample of the most sacred and valuable treasure of another dragon. Their mate.

Neuvillette is mesmerized at how your body reacts, jerking and trembling in unadulterated pleasure. Entranced a how your lips part with labored puffs and cute little sounds he didn’t know humans were capable of. High pitched whines, long drawn-out moans. Hypnotized by your eyes, usually so alert, so smart and playful… now glazed over, clouded with euphoria yet so raw and sincere in their emotions, begging him not to stop.

And your scent… oh, the most decadent sinful scent he’d ever sensed. His pupils dilating and turning back to slits as his stare focused on your drooling pussy. His mouth dry, his fangs aching. He wanted to drown all of his senses in you.

Darkened fingers slide across your folds, a little colder than normal for a human which is why he’d always wore gloves, but you mewl appreciatively and gladly accept them. Clenching warm and wet around the digits.

And his breath catches.

“Hmmm… you’re doing so well, baobei.”

The Iudex’s eyes flicker momentarily at the other man, or should he say, other dragon. The former Geo Archon Morax, quite literally a mythical figure exuding an aura of power far greater than his current own. He is older, wiser, stronger, a deity once involved in the likes of the Archon war and the Cataclysm. In this little… exchange, Morax is certainly the dominant dragon, simply letting Neuvillette please you.

Morax holds you close to his chest, purring contently in a display of affection towards you and confidence towards the other male, as if he needed not to worry about another taking what is his. Neuvillette knows if he were to even remotely try something funny, he’d likely face the infamous wrath of the rock. Under normal circumstances, he’d find it a little insulting to be treated like this. If he had his full authority…

But these are far from normal circumstances.

And he’s currently rather… ah… enchanted by you.

“Curl your fingers towards you and pump slowly… she likes that.” Morax explains, voice deep and rich like syrup. His hands roam your shoulders and chest, massaging softly at your exposed skin while he plants kisses at your neck, occasionally nibbling of a few past marks from his own fangs.

Neuvillette does as said, experimentally, and is rewarded by a sultry moan and a buck of your hips towards him when you feel those fingers wiggle and rub at a spot deep inside you.

“Oh? Got it on your first try Chief Justice, why you may be a natural.” Morax chuckles.

The younger dragon appreciates the praise underneath the teasing lilt.

“Now, you may use your thumb to rub at that little pearl, it’s just begging for attention.” Your mate nuzzles against your cheek, his own thumbs rolling over your perked nipples. “Slowly, careful… she is very sensitive.” He adds with amusement.

He does so again, the pad of his cool finger brushing over your puffy little nub, the spark of pleasure is immediate and you toss your head back and squeal.

“Please please please…” You gasp out, breath shuddering, body trembling.

Tears gather at your eyes and roll down your cheeks, it’s so much it feels so good.

The younger dragon stops and blinks at you, his demeanor shifting suddenly. His hands slip over your thighs to you hips, as if trying to cradle you, hold you closer.

Morax’s eyes narrow if only a bit, curious but wary of Neuvillette’s sudden… protectiveness over you.

“You’re crying… have I hurt you? Are you ok?” He asks softly, attention solely on you.

Your heart could melt at that, who knew the ever serious and imposing Iudex could be so gentle? He truly reminds you of your mate sometimes.

You nod, catching your breath a moment. “I-I’m good. Feels good.” You mumble, cheeks heating up with the confession. Your body already lays bare and presented for him, in it’s most vulnerable. But to open up your feelings too… “People… cry when they’re happy too, you know?”

He seems to consider it for a moment, you can practically se the cogs turning in his head, it’s rather endearing, his brow twitches the same way Morax’s does when he’s pensive, perhaps it’s a dragon thing? “I have observed that before, yes, but why-”

“Emotions are powerful. When y-you feel… so much… you need a let out. Be it angry, sad, even happy… our tears leak out, like emotions overflowing.” You smile and shift a little, hiding your face towards the crook of your mate’s neck. “Weren’t you the one who said waters carry emotions?” You nuzzle there and Morax responds accordingly, his hands once again massaging and roaming your body, knowing you’re still pent up and the sudden stop was probably a little frustrating.

Golden fingers slide over your folds and sink in carefully, thumb circling your clit once more and you whimper. “That’s it, my love… I want you to feel good. We want you to enjoy, isn’t that right?”

Neuvillette straightens up a little to meet Morax’s gaze. Not challenging (not yet) but there is something.

“Indeed.” He leans in to nuzzle at the other side of your neck, the soft skin there unmarked. Morax tenses his hold on you, a slight growl coming out from deep within his chest.

“Careful Chief Justice. Remember our agreement.”

“Of course. No kisses, no marks, no claiming. No strings attached.” His lavender eyes a dark purple now as he follows the soft slope of your jaw. “I wouldn’t dare break a contract with the deity that presides over them.” He chuckles. “I just want to test…”

Or rather taste. His draconic tongue laps up softly at your tears, his hands tease your nipples as if trying to get more reactions out of you and you whine, arching towards him as Morax’s hand keeps working at your core.

It’s so… intense. They are both so clear about their desires, slow and reverent, kind in their methods, but so assured in their dominance that they will get what they want.

And oh, to be desired by two dragons truly is something…

“Interesting…” He mumbles pulling back. “So sweet.”

Morax nips at your mating mark then and tilts your head to press your lips together, your mouth happily parts for him and you let out a muffled moan as that long split tongue slides down your throat. Your feet kick and your fingers claw at whatever is closer.

Half-lidded golden eyes stare down at you with satisfaction, blown with lust. A third finger sinking in on your sweet pussy, faster, your juices gushing obscenely around them.

That tongue teases and chokes you and more tears come out of your glazed eyes, eagerly caught by another one. Bodies pressed together, hands roaming, Morax’s tail curled around your ankle keeping you open, Neuvillette’s swaying after him with excitement, cool fingers pinching your nipples, massaging your breasts…

“Mmphff…!” You squeak, high pitched and tense as the pleasure tips you over the edge and your body locks up in a delicious powerful orgasm. You sob and whimper as they work you through it. Shuddering. You see stars. Can’t think only feel.

Once it settles Morax pulls back and you melt against him, chest heaving, legs weak, muscles aching just a little, they continue to pamper you with affection and attention.

Your mate’s fingers retreat with an embarrassingly wet noise and much to your further mortification he brings them up to his face and that sinful slip tongue once again comes out this time to lick them clean.

Neuvillette stares transfixed.

You groan quietly, it’s obvious what he wants…

Morax on his part only lets out a short laugh, possessive instincts seemingly more at ease now. “Oh? Want to have a taste too? I can assure you will not be disappointed.”

Archons, the way those sharp eyes shift to you.

“O-okay…” Your voice is barely a whisper. “P-please be gentle though I j-just…”

Your breath catches in anticipation as Neuvillette’s hands rest on your inner thighs.

And then your dear mate pulls you back into a kiss.

#I started writting Morax and then just rolled with it #GOD I NEED THESE TWO TO RUIN AND DEVOUR ME THANKS #XIANGSHENG MONSIEUR PLS FUCK ME BREED ME DSVJVBHSDVKSJL #ok I gotta go to work now //sobs #crys answers #bjahfler #crys writes #zhongli smut #neuvillette smut #zhongli x reader #neuvillette x reader #fem!reader

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tightwadspoonies · 1 month

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How to Get a Doctor to Listen To You (and maintain the relationship you have with that doctor, cause you're gonna need that later)

First, I'll preface this by saying: The system sucks. There is no perfect way to access medical care, at least not in the USA. You've almost always got to play the system at least a little to get what you need.

Should it be this way? No. But it is. So here's how to play the game in order to get the most out of a visit to the doctor (there are very different steps to getting what you need out of a hospital stay, but that's a different post):

So First, Let's Assume You Have a Primary Care Doctor That isn't an Urgent Care or the Emergency Department (if you don't, look below the cut first for some tips on getting one, then come back up here)

First, make a list of your problems, then go at the pace of one problem per appointment. Yes I know this sucks. But please read on.

Reasoning:

Appointments are set up in 15-minute slots, but docs typically are timed to about 5-8 minutes spent in a room with a patient on average (the rest of the time is prep and charting and referring and checking in with other doctors to get advice). This is imposed by the hospital or clinic they are working for- not something they choose. If a doctor took as much time as they needed with each patient they would probably get fired. That means every minute beyond that 5 minutes is a minute being "taken" from another patient (isn't capitalism wonderful?!). And 5 minutes is about enough time to evaluate 1 single medical problem.

So when you're setting these up understand that it is way easier and faster to make a bunch of appointments all at once than making them one at a time (hence the making a list of your problems). You might be able to get one slot per week (after a new patient appointment, which will probably take a long time to schedule, see below the cut), each scheduled for a different problem. Keep in mind though, if you make multiple appointments, no-shows are not taken-to kindly. Too many and the rest of your appointments will be cancelled. If you know you can't make it, call ahead.

So what if you need seen right now for a specific symptom? Go to an urgent care or the emergency department. They are almost never going to be able to solve the problem, but a toradol shot for a migraine now is better than waiting six weeks for a sumatriptan prescription. Plus, an emergency department visit or two where they did something for you establishes a history in the record of your problem.

Does this suck? Absolutely. Is multiple appointments always practical for work/school/transportation/copay reasons? Nope. But that's the system, and unfortunately, if you go into an appointment with 6 problems, as you have probably experienced, you're either going to be asked to narrow it down to what is the most important to you anyway, or you're going to get exactly zero useful things out of that appointment.

Next, be upfront, and do it LONG before the doctor walks into the room.

When you schedule an appointment, they will ask you why you are coming. If you want to be evaluated for Ehlos Danlos, for example, say exactly that. "I want to be evaluated for ___________".

Reasoning:

No one can hold everything in their heads for their entire careers, and doctors use that little blurb of why you are coming to look stuff up before you get there.

If you spring something on them that isn't something they see every day, they will be falling back on a very small amount of information they got a long time ago. If you don't fit that tiny piece of information they have saved on that specific disease, you're probably not going to get a diagnosis.

In contrast, if they come in knowing what they will need to evaluate, they will be able to look up or ask how to do the evaluation beforehand and the evaluation for things like the thing you want evaluated. You're much more likely to get a diagnosis if they're doing the right test and asking the right questions.

Also, say you are looking for a diagnosis if that's what you want, and say why. Say something like "If I come up positive for MCAS, could you tell me? I want to try some treatments and accommodations for it that I can only get through a diagnosis."

Reasoning:

I spent 6 years in therapy before my counselor admitted to me that she thought I had had depression the entire time. Why? Because before Obamacare, having a diagnosis of anything more than the flu one time could leave you un-health-insurable for life. Plus even just a generation ago being sick in any way was something socially unacceptable.

It's still like that, but it's changing.

There's still fear about this in the medical world. Putting a diagnosis on paper that the doctor technically didn't have to used to run some pretty serious risks. Pre- HIPAA (1996) those risks extended to your job and social life too (patient privacy was actually not actually a law back then). Even today, certain health conditions (including things like gender dysphoria or schizophrenia) may be looked at unfavorably in some areas if you're trying to do something like adopt.

So be open about the fact that you want to know, and if necessary, why that information is important to you.

Finally, come up "normal" on screening questions. At the beginning of the appointment, the person who rooms you will ask you a set list of questions. These are called "screening questions" and they include things like "do you feel safe at home?" and "does transportation keep you from getting to appointments or getting medications?"

Reasoning:

Unfortunately, if they find anything they need to talk about when asking these questions, they generally have to address these problems at the appointment, which means time they cannot spend on the problem you're there for.

If youdon't feel like lying and think you might have come up "positive" (something needs to be talked about), you have to be extremely clear that you would prefer to make another appointment to discuss the screening test, and today stay focused on the problem you came in for. It depends on the doctor as to whether they are willing to take that risk (and it genuinely is a risk, to them), and you also end up eating up some time.

My wife's opinion is that you know yourself better than a screening test anyway, and sometimes you do have to lie to get what you need.

So, you know, you do what's best for you.

Keep Reading:

Choosing a Doctor:

When you are first starting out looking for a doctor, you will probably have the choice between family practice (either a family practice doctor or family practice nurse practitioner) or internal medicine (your standard adult primary practitioner). Having worked in family practice I may be biased, but personally of the two, if you're looking for someone who is most likely to listen off the bat, it's going to be someone in family practice.

You may also have the option between a private practice and a residency. Of the two, I would choose the residency, because at a residency the docs you see are going to be residents who, 1- just finished up learning about all the zebras and can still remember them, and 2- are not yet jaded. Which if you think you have anything that isn't the most straightforward case of diabetes/heart disease/COPD, that's what you need.

The First Appointment:

So here's the thing. In order to get in with a doctor, you have to do something called a "New Patient Appointment", or NPA. An NPA takes a long time to get (sometimes months) but it is worth it to get a primary care doctor. An NPA is a little longer (usually about an hour or two) and most of that is going to be screenings with a nurse or medical assistant.

Understand that very little will happen at this appointment. It is just for you and the doctor to get to know each other (through a pre-programmed set of questions) and get some background info on you. Sometimes there will be time to address one thing. Use the checkout from this appointment to make more appointments that will fix things.

#health #chronic illness #going to the doctor #diagnosis

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scientia-rex · 10 months

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Hysteria isn't a fucking thing

ok fun fact: I'm rapidly becoming a cult favorite doctor among our local privileged elderly white ladies, which I have mixed feelings about, but the #1 reason is that I just don't leap to "anxiety" as an explanation for symptoms unless the patient tells me "I am anxious, and then I feel these symptoms, and when I am not anxious, I don't feel these symptoms."

The sheer number of women I've seen who've been told for years to decades that the only thing wrong with them is anxiety is fucking staggering, in this Year Of Our Lord 2023, and I just keep digging. We checked a basic lab panel, sure. CBC. No anemia. CMP. Kidneys are fine. (Electrolytes are basically always going to be fine if someone is well enough to walk into my office under their own power to talk to me. Exception is mild chronic hyponatremia.) And we check thyroid. TSH and free T4. We check blood sugar. A1c, if the fasting is a little weird. Fasting insulin, if I'm still suspicious. We check cortisol. Inflammatory markers--ESR and CRP.

And eventually, if the symptoms support it, or right away, depending on my level of suspicion, we check rheumatological labs for abnormal autoimmune function. Anti-nuclear antibody. Rheumatoid factor. There's at least a dozen you can check, and which ones you should check is always a matter of debate and also of expertise that I 100% lack. We are out in the sticks. There are no "local" rheumatologists for me to send people to.

But a couple of weeks ago I found a woman--she has bipolar disorder and has been told for decades that's all that's wrong with her--who has an anti-centromere antibody titer that's fucking through the roof. I found an anxious 19-year-old with an ANA of 1:1380. And yesterday I found out why a sweet elderly woman I've seen for a year or two now started feeling crappy months ago: her rheumatoid factor is over 90.

Rheumatological disorders are always difficult. Our understanding of them varies from "pretty good, actually, and here are useful treatments" to "Well I Guess That Exists." Labs aren't always a slam-dunk and even labs plus symptoms can give you misleading impressions. Your immune system can decide that virtually any short chunk of protein is an enemy, and the problem with that is that your body is made up of many, many, many short chunks of proteins, so the odds that you'll develop some kind of antibody against yourself just keeps going up over your lifetime. Immune disorders tend to travel in packs; there's a clear genetic element to it, so the more first-degree relatives (parent, sibling, child) you have with any kind of autoimmune disorder (including Type 1 diabetes), the higher your risk of any kind of autoimmune disorder is, and if you already have one autoimmune disorder, you're at higher risk for developing another one.

But I think it's precisely because they're difficult that a lot of mainstream primary care prefers to pretend they don't exist, rather than try to sift through the utter fucking mess that is Mixed Connective Tissue Disorders, a title that has fallen out of favor since I learned it in my third year of med school. And women are at higher risk for autoimmune disorders than men. And older women are at higher risk than younger women.

So if I, as a family doc, just keep digging, just keep poking at the tangled knot of symptoms, there's a decent chance I will uncover something interesting. Hopefully something treatable. Sometimes we have nothing to treat with, and I just get to offer someone more understanding of their disorder, which feels pretty paltry but is better than the casual dismissal of "You're just anxious."

Never, ever, ever take anxiety as a diagnosis for a symptom other than anxiety. Not even as a rule-out. Keep those symptoms as an open question mark on the patient. Don't say "anxiety" just so you can close the door. And damn sure don't do it to women.

I'm actively working on learning more so I can be more helpful, in our Rheum-less community, so if you have good lectures or books, please drop me a lead.

#the attending dr. kristophine

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lovetorn · 1 year

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tonight you are mine — xavier thorpe

Guitarist!Xavier x Fem!Reader

Summary: Enid invites you to a gig with her new band, which leads to a certain guitarist taking an immediate interest in you.

Warnings: a little suggestive, singing (yes, this is a warning), idk music

A/N: i love this one, and i hope you will too.

W/C: 2.6k

“I promise you’ll love them. They’re like brothers to me. Except for Ajax, of course.” Enid giggled. “This is gonna be awesome!”

You smiled as she spoke over the sound of her pink Doc Martens slapping the concrete. Enid carried a tote bag full of what you didn’t know. All you had was your phone and a lip gloss tube, clueless as to why Enid insisted on taking so many belongings to the gig.

Enid only joined her boyfriend’s band as a lead singer last month, and you hadn’t seen them perform yet. You had never met the other two original band members, only Ajax, as he and Enid were almost attached at the hip. Enid had you listen to some demos over the few weeks she had been a part of it all, and you were beyond proud of your best friend.

“I think there’ll be a huge turnout tonight. Xavier told his college friends, and Rowan invited his study group. I can’t wait to get out there,” Enid grabbed your arm, a wide grin on her lips. “Aren’t you so excited? I am. I want you to hear these songs so bad.”

Your heart doubled in size as you listened. Enid was completely enamoured with the band despite only being in it for a short period, and you guessed that’s what made the boys so grateful to have her around—she was just as passionate as they were.

You smiled brightly at her and nodded. “I’m so proud of you, E. Soon, I’ll be waiting hours to get front-row at your concerts.” Then you widened your eyes jokingly. “I’ll have to fight teenagers to get tickets!”

Enid stopped you and turned toward you. She wore a giddy smile and shook her head. “You won’t be in line. You’ll be backstage. Duh.” Then she latched onto your other arm and shook your shoulders, both of you sharing the same elation, laughing together.

“Hey! What’re you girls doing?” A voice called from a car. You didn’t think Enid’s smile could get any bigger until she peeked around you to wave at her boyfriend. Ajax sat in his beat-up Subaru on the curb. Enid grabbed your hand and pulled you along toward the car.

“Just discussing our future success,” She exclaimed, opening the passenger door and sliding in. You got in the backseat and watched as the couple shared a kiss.

“Come on, at least wait until I’m out of the car.” You joked, covering your eyes. Ajax rolled his eyes and put his car in drive, pulling away from the sidewalk and back into the traffic.

“It’s okay, baby; she’s just jealous. She hasn’t gotten with anyone for months.” Enid threw you a teasing look and a cheeky smile before returning her gaze to the road. Your mouth opened and closed, no words forming on your lips as Ajax laughed.

You sighed obnoxiously and turned your attention to your phone. The pair in the front shared a few whispers before Ajax spoke.

“We’re sorry, Y/n. I bet there’ll be someone here tonight. There’s a lot of people coming.” He said, no hint of sarcasm in his tone. You met his eyes through the rearview mirror. “I know Xavier needs some, too, jeez!”

Enid slapped her boyfriend on the shoulder. “No! I will not let him anywhere near my beautiful Y/n.” It was the first time since this morning that you’d heard her voice so serious. “She will not be his rebound.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to be a rebound, Jax. But thanks, though.” You falsely smiled and looked out the window. The sun had started setting a half hour ago, and the sky was painted a deep tangerine.

“Just saying! Ever since he broke up with Wednesday, he’s been so pissed off. Nearly had my head on a stick because I ordered tomatoes on his sandwich. He’s fucking crazy!”

You had heard stories of Xavier, mostly from Enid. Tall, green-eyed, goofy, and sometimes timid. He intrigued you, yet you’d never seen him.

“Okay, Y/n. Jax and I are going backstage for like 20 minutes. Will you be okay on your own? I don’t want to leave you alone, and I know you hate that.” Enid explained as the car pulled into a parking spot behind the small venue.

You nodded in approval and got out of the car. “Yeah, that’s fine, don’t worry about me. Go be a rockstar.”

She gave you a grin and a hug. “I’ll dedicate ‘swoon’ to you.” Laughing, you pulled back.

“I hope so. We wouldn’t want Ajax getting a big head.”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

You stood at the front of the crowd, securing the spot the moment you entered the doors of the building. As expected, the venue was packed. Knowing Enid was beyond ecstatic, you didn't doubt she was a little nervous.

Your mouth was sticky from the fresh layer of lip gloss you applied not 2 minutes ago, and you moved your lips together to ensure it was evenly coated. You wiped the corners of your mouth with your fingertips, and a short cough rang through the room, indicating one of the band member's microphones was on. You looked up and noticed an unfamiliar set of eyes focused on you. Your gaze quickly darted away to notice Ajax already sitting at his place behind the drums and again to see another new face on the other side of the stage. The boy had glasses and held a bass guitar. All who was missing from the stage was Enid.

Suddenly, the lights turned a deep purple, and the chords of ‘Monodrama’ started playing through the speakers. You looked back towards the first guy whose hair hung in his eyes as he plucked at his guitar strings, his body hunched over slightly. You watched him in curiosity and confusion. They were starting without Enid?

But your question was soon answered when the ball of sunshine you called your best friend came running out on stage, a microphone up to her lips as she sang the first line. Your face broke out in a smile. As the song continued, you saw her become more comfortable in front of this many people. She pointed at you and jumped around.

You nodded to the beat, mouthing the lyrics you knew before your eyes drifted to the long-haired electric guitarist. Xavier. As he played, his eyes met yours again. His dimples indented his face as he smirked, tongue poking his right cheek. You felt your face go warm, and soon, he leaned forward into his mic to join Enid on the chorus. You were in awe of how well their voices went together. He knew what he was doing and wasn’t afraid to show it.

Xavier opened his eyes to see you already staring at him after the chorus. Shivers ran down his spine as he watched you sing the words to the song he wrote. Sure, many girls had done exactly what you were doing, but the difference was he knew who you were—Enid’s best friend. The girl who his bandmate never shut up about, and Xavier had been eager to meet you. He continued your minor stare-off, grinning smugly to himself when you broke the eye contact, a smile of your own pulling at your lips.

The lights had turned blue throughout the song, highlighting Xavier's high cheekbones and long face. You had to force your eyes away from him to gain control over yourself.

Once the fourth song ended, Enid spoke to Xavier before she went backstage for a break. Her shoes were killing her. Four songs of jumping around. Four songs of a game of cat and mouse to play out between you and Xavier. One would look away when the other glanced in their direction, and only thrice had you caught each other staring.

You watched as Xavier walked up to the lead microphone, his converse only feet away from you. Expecting a new song to start, you kept your eyes on the bass drum to stop yourself from looking up at Xavier. You didn’t expect him to take a step forward and crouch in front of you. Your eyebrows raised when he held your gaze, his fingers moving in a lazy come hither motion. When you pushed onto your toes, he leaned down to your ear, his hot breath on your neck. His fingers tangled in the long strands of your hair as he pulled you closer, his fingertips scorching your scalp.

“Next one’s for you.” He said. His voice was so thick you’d think this throat was lined with honey, golden and sweet, and the crowd around you faded as your ears rang. Xavier pulled away from you and used his ring-clad finger to brush the tip of your nose. Your ears went hot, and you took a deep breath to control your racing heart.

The room turned green, and for a second, you thought you must've fallen into a dream. Xavier towered over you, his teeth pulling at his bottom lip as he adjusted the microphone stand, maintaining eye contact with you. It was a sensual moment that should only occur in the depths of the night in a bedroom. His dimples and devilish smile were the cause of the butterflies in your stomach, and you had never felt under such scrutiny. But it was an illusive feeling to be the focal point of his attention.

You knew the song as soon as Xavier started playing. Tonight You Are Mine. The sound brought you out of your daze.

“This is a new song I wrote, like, last week,” Xavier said before the crowd cut him off. His soft laugh echoed through the room as the noise died down, his eyes finding yours again. “We’re gonna play it for you tonight if that’s okay?”

Enid had given you the demo of this one only four days ago, as she said it was mandatory for you to hear it before tonight’s show. The song was one she was excited to learn, and who were you to deny her of sharing her passion? So you listened. And you listened, and listened, and told Enid it was your favourite one yet. And it was. The song was wholly sultry, and you found yourself going back to it each time you put your headphones on. She must’ve passed on the news.

In a sense, I'm such a mess watching you The air is cold, so hard to breathe Still, your breath is all I see

You could hardly breathe when he looked at you like that, played his guitar, and sang intimate lyrics to you. You were utterly entranced by his voice, hands, smile. He looked ethereal on stage like he was destined to be on one.

Don't be so naive You know that you are all I see

To your disappointment and relief, he broke eye contact with you only a few times—you weren’t sure how long you could stand under his intimidating and dizzying gaze.

But, it only spurred you on more. It made you believe you also had some power in this uncharted territory. You watched him sing through your eyelashes, the rasp in his voice making you warm.

So let me slip inside your ultraviolet disguise The daylight holds you close But tonight you are mine

Xavier’s eyes were heavy-lidded as he played through the guitar solo. He knew it was inevitable that he would have to face you after the show; sometimes, the thrill of performing made him cocky. He hoped you’d still like him when you discovered he was pretty reserved when he wasn’t in front of a crowd. Yet, none of his insecurities deterred him from wanting you. Because when you looked at him like that, he needed nothing more.

After the song finished, Xavier winked at you, and you desperately needed to get out of the crowd, go outside, and fill your lungs with cool, fresh air that would free you from the irrational thoughts in your head. You didn’t know the guy, but still, you wanted him more than anything.

Enid’s voice brought you back to earth. “Thank you for coming out tonight, everyone! I hope you had a good night and liked our music enough to come back.” She laughed. It was obvious everyone in the room had fallen in love with her personality throughout the night. Enid carried herself with such self-assurance it was difficult to find why you wouldn’t like her.

The only thing that could pull your eyes away from her grand smile was the burning on your cheek. Your eyes flickered to Xavier, who stood off to the side with his guitar. His hair was now tied back in a half-up style, and you swore your knees almost buckled.

As everyone filtered out, you remained in your spot. Enid came bounding over and jumped down to stand with you. “Did you have a good time?” You could see she was nervous to ask.

“Of course I did! And you played my favourite song,” You replied, grabbing her hand in reassurance. Enid smiled sheepishly.

“Well, I didn’t play it. Someone else did.”

“Well, someone told the other someone to play it, so.”

Enid wiggled her eyebrows, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I saw how he was looking at you. I knew he would like you, who wouldn’t?”

You rolled your eyes, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“But, you’re still off-limits. Only until he gets over his ex. That wouldn’t be fair.” Enid rambled before she stopped and straightened up. “And that’s my cue to leave.”

You looked at her hesitantly, unsure why she would be saying that. “What?”

“Bye, Y/n. Hey, Xav." Then she pointed him behind you. "Don't fuck this up." You assumed he made a face at her from behind you because then she laughed and walked backstage.

You’d never felt your stomach drop and your heart rate speed up in such synchrony. He was the devil in converse and a white tee.

“Y/n.” Your name on his lips was something you could get used to.

“Xavier.” You said, turning to face him.

“So you do know me.” He was taller than you. A lot taller than you assumed, and it made your legs weak. “I was under the impression that you only knew Ajax.”

You shrugged. “Enid mentioned you a few times, so I had to come and check out these band guys she was hanging around.”

“Final verdict?” Xavier’s mouth was pulled into a smile at the corners.

You purposefully took your time to make a decision. Taking a step back, you sized him up. He stood still, arms crossed over his chest as you eyed his hair. You rubbed your chin in false thought and then nodded.

Feeling bold, you looked him in the eyes. “Yeah, you’re cute. And talented. So, I guessed you’re alright.”

Xavier’s cheeks were dusted with pink as he laughed. You smiled proudly, pleased you got the reaction you’d wanted from him.

He then moved closer to you and leaned down so his eyes aligned with yours. “Well, I find you alright too. How’d you feel if I asked you to hang out in about…” He twisted his mouth in thought, his eyes flickering down to your lips. “Half an hour?”

You bit the inside of your lip in habit. “That would depend on what we would be doing.”

Xavier stood to his full height with an unconcerned expression as he uncrossed his arms and opened himself to you. “Whatever you want. My treat.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Tempting.” His lopsided smirk and tired green eyes were too easy to fall for. “But, yes. I would like that.”

His lips slipped into an easy grin and he nodded, throwing this thumb over his shoulder. “Sweet. I’ll be back in half an hour to take you on our date.” He winked.

You shook your head, laughing as he stepped up onto the stage. “Not a date!”

Xavier didn’t turn back to face you as he replied. “We’ll see!”

Were you in too deep too quick?

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

songs mentioned: - tonight you are mine - the technicolors - swoon - beach weather - monodrama - benches

feedback is greatly appreciated! thank you for reading <3

PART 2

#xavier thorpe oneshot #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x fem!reader #guitarist!xavier #wednesday imagine #wednesday fanfic #Wednesday

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bruisedboys · 8 months

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hello!! can I request the prompt “2o﹕ sender lifts receiver's chin , invoking eye contact .” with remus lupin? maybe a hurt/comfort where reader is having a panic attack and he helps calm her down?

thank you so much for the request lovely! ik this isn’t how everyone experiences panic attacks but this is how I’ve experienced something of the sort! I’d have loved to have a remus to help me through it <33

cw post-panic attack, anxiety + anxiety related nausea, mentions of r throwing up but she doesn’t actually!!

remus lupin x fem!reader

You don’t know when the nausea started but now it won’t stop. The anxiety has ebbed now but you still feel sick to your stomach. It’s that awful, dizzying feeling that won’t go away no matter how many times you try to swallow it down. You sit by yourself on one of the rows airport chairs, a family of foreigners to your right that you barely notice. Fake black leather sticks to your thighs. You clench the cold metal chair arm hard in order to feel something other than mind-numbing nausea.

Remus has gone to look for somewhere that sells bottled water. You’re pretty sure your flight leaves any minute now. You don’t know if you’ll make it but that’s the least of your worries right now.

“Hey.”

A pair of long legs appear in your field of vision. Brown corduroy pants and black doc martens. Remus, you think in relief. His hand finds your cheek, thumb sliding under your jaw, his ring warm on your skin. He tilts you up carefully to look at him.

You’re sure you look a mess but he meets your eyes and smiles like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Hey,” he says again. “Still feeling awful?”

You nod, swallowing hard. You’re afraid if you open your mouth you’ll throw up your guts. You’d hate that even more than whatever this is.

Remus crouches down so he’s at eye level with you, hand steady and warm on your cheek. He pulls your face down with him.

“Poor girl,” he murmurs, fingers pushing behind your ear and into your hair. “Hey, I got you some water. Do you think you can drink?”

You want to drink but you don’t know if you can. You nod anyway because your lovely boyfriend has gone and bought it for you. Said boyfriend smiles at you kindly.

“Good,” he says, pulling his hand away from your face. He reaches into his tote and pulls out a water bottle, unscrewing the lid before holding it out to you. “Here you go, lovely.”

You take the bottle from him and have a small sip. It’s splendidly cold and almost immediately makes you feel a little better. You take another sip, your chest feeling less and less tight by the second.

Remus takes the bottle when you’re done. You’ve barely had any but it’s a start, at least. He screws the lid on loosely and puts his other hand on your knee. “Any better?”

You nod. “Yeah. Yeah, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Remus squeezes your knee. He’s got worry written all over his face but you can tell he’s trying to hide it. Which is somehow lovelier than the fact that he’s so worried about you. “Still feel like you can’t breathe?”

Earlier, your chest had been so tight and your mind so full of anxieties that you hadn’t been able to breathe properly. After that the nausea took the lead. But you’re much better now.

“No,” you shake your head. “No, I’m okay now.”

“You sure?”

You smile as best you can. It’s not hard when you love Remus so much. “I think so.”

Remus smiles at you, all slow and pretty like a sunrise, warming you from the inside out. He takes your face in his hand again, large palm warm on your cheek.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, sliding his hand behind your neck and pulling you into him. You go without complaint, falling into his chest with ease, letting him wrap his arm around your neck and the other curling around your back.

You breathe his scent in, bergamot and coffee grounds, citrus laundry detergent and a hint of your shampoo. You don’t know how long he holds you, but eventually you feel better enough to get your arms around him and whisper a ‘thank you.’

Remus kisses the side of your head and rubs your back. “You’re welcome, lovely.”

A few minutes later there’s an announcement over the speakers that your flight has been delayed a half hour. For once you’re happy for the news — it means you can stay in Remus’ arms for a little longer.

#★ mal writes!#5k celebration #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fic #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin scenario #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin x you #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin imagines #remus lupin drabbles #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x reader fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader

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villainsandvictimsalliance · 2 months

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What do you think of afo giving shiggy decay

Oldest and favorite theory now to (very possibly) turn true in the manga. This was seriously one of my first theories when I joined the fandom!!!

Tumblr sucks at helping you find your own posts, meaning I have no way to link my old posts about it in this ask :( but anyway.

At first it was purely born from the frame of the shadow man with the hat delivering Tenko home and how strange it was that Tenko happened to awaken his quirk that day. There's also the fact that the man looked a lot like AFO, with the body structure, the suit and the face in shadows.

This is the panel that started it all:

I remember a lot of people went against it 'cause it was anticlimactic for them. They thought that if AFO gave Tenko decay, that event was taking something from Tomura as a character, making him less interesting.

For me, it made sense because there were too many factors that you couldn't explain otherwise. Some of them are exposed here. There are too many variables for it to be a coincidence. Now, if AFO gave Tenko decay or if he did something to activate it that day... That's yet to know.

But for example, look here. AFO had a room fully prepared for Tomura. He had shelves full of books, a bed, a chair and a desk... He even had toys!

* it looks like some of the action figures had arms or even the head missing. One of them is fully on the ground.

It wasn't long until Tomura had a PC installed too:

It's clear that AFO was expecting him. For what I know from the Vigilantes manga and bnha, AFO didn't treat every kidnapped kid like that. He had a hospital full of kids to turn into nomus after all. He wasn't that involved with every experiment.

Tomura was clearly different from the star. He knew who Tomura was, he expected the tragedy to happen, he expected the quirk too. AFO never reached for Tomura's hands. He acted like he had already seen the state the Shimuras' house was left in. He knew where to look for Tenko, like he was following him.

And the way he spoke... It was too premeditated:

He created that situation so he could play the role of Tenko's saviour. He needed Tenko to hate every hero, every citizen, he needed to feed his anger, his hurt. Or well, at least how's the theory goes.

AFO gave Tenko decay, waited for the result of an abused 5 years old reaching his limit and then he appeared like a knight in shining armor. He made sure to allow Tenko to walk around, he was also probably using his influence to interfere so a) the Shimuras deaths wouldn't become a scandal and b) no one would rescue Tenko before he could.

But going back to the "AFO gave Tenko decay" theory, I think the canon fact that supports that theory the most is that Tenko was already 5 years old. Here are the panels I'm referring to:

There's always the question if the Shimuras had a quirk. We know Nana had hers, but nothing is said about Kotaro or Nao or even Hana. We don't know if they were mostly a quirkless family or if Tenko would be the first one of them.

For the way Tenko recounted his day to Nao, we know that he was at the park playing with some friends. Here:

Between AFO picking Tenko up from the park and taking him home to his family, he must have done something. I don't know about the timeline... and if Giran could have already been associated with AFO... I just remembered that his quirk was the ability to muddy the memory of anyone up to five minutes prior or after he used it.

You see, Tenko never said anything to his family about the man that brought him home. We don't know what Tenko did when he "played the hero". We don't know what AFO told Nao. This is just theorizing, but giving someone a quirk by force doesn't hurt? From whom did AFO take decay if Tenko wasn't the original user?

Doc Garaki said it was a quirk never seen before...

I don't know. Since you asked me my opinion, I'll say that I'm still not very sure if AFO gave decay to Tenko or if it was Tenko's quirk from the start. It's not unheard of, since his case sounds a lot like Eri's, who developed a weirdly aggressive quirk on her own.

We're getting closer to being absolutely sure 'bout AFO's involvement with Tenko prior to the deaths of the Shimuras.

I just wonder what option fits better thematically.

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scary-lasagna · 4 months

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I see the magical ask box is open!

I was wondering how the proxies would feel about a new proxy that was older war veteran. A bit on the grumpy side. They use to work as an ER doctor. Like Jeff trying his BS on them and the proxy just gave them a tired intimidating stare.

I was thinking about a medical proxy and this seems like a good fit.

fun fact: OC Kitty (not the real Kitty) is like this toward the creeps. Tired, grumpy, and keeps threatening to sew their ear on their forehead if they get knocked out again

TW: Injury mentions

Vet!Medic Proxy

"Jeff, I swear to god if you bring that bullshit in here again, we're gonna have some hardcore problems between us."

You're done. You're so done. This was supposed to be a somewhat easy job. Considering everything they've seen in and out of the ER, everyday here is a first for you.

You've witnessed car crashes, steel pipes lodged in arms, gushing wounds, and families being torn apart. And yet, when Toby comes to you because he forgot he was sitting on a heating pad and received 2nd degree burns on his asscheeks, you are left dumbfounded.

"Why the hell were you sitting on a heating pad in the first place?"

"I wanted to pretend my chair was a heated seat."

"...Toby. You can't feel temperature. Or pain. That was a terrible idea."

"WEll I DUnNOOoOO!!!" He will now throw his hands up in exasperation like he wasn't the culprit of his own wounds.

At least 5 visits a day is the standard around this place.

Eyeless Jack gets the bigger problems that require stitches, thankfully. You have no idea what'd your reaction would be to Helen falling on one of his many pointy tools, getting a file stuck in his neck, because he was watching Tiktok while cleaning.

You care deeply about every single one of them though, all of these injury-prone dumbasses hold special places in each of your heart valves.

You may threaten them daily, scaring them into being more careful or else you'll misplace their fingers. But they love to bother you, and always end up laughing at their visits.

Tim especially gets a kick out of you, nudging you away whenever you pull on his ear for diving headfirst into recklessness.

"Ahhh, c'mon, doc! You know ya love us!"

"Mhm. Sure." And you'll give him a lovetap on the cheek that's a little too hard for his bruised face to handle.

Some of them are intimidated, but others just like to poke you for a reaction or a giggle.

On a blue moon, someone might catch you with your hard walls down. And you talk to them gently, and wrap their wounds with care not to hurt them any further. They can hear a story about your time in the ER, or have another little heart-to-heart talk with you in the early hours of the morning.

Perhaps it's Ben who couldn't sleep because of an ingrown finger nail, or Helen who's stayed up too late and hit his head on a dresser due to his woozy sleep deprivation, or maybe it's even Slender, who just wanted a band-aid and a chit chat about how you were doing.

Slow moments like this make you fall more in love with the chaotic mess of this manor. You'd give you life time and time again if it meant these dummies could see another day to fall down the stairs.

#proxy!y/n #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta blog #jeff #toby #ben #slender #helen

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mara-tevith-solo · 10 months

Text

It Takes Two

This is my second failed attempt to do a short, simple one-shot for this guy, Jeez Louise. Enjoy! Part 1, Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Pairing: Eventual Miguel O’Hara x Enhanced ex-Avenger Reader

Warnings: They’re idiots, full dance around your feelings and gaslight yourself about them idiots, injury, blood, violence, mention of miscarriage, Concussion Confessions, Mayday being a cutie pie, Peter B being the Dad, use of Spanish as a none-native speaker but i tried finding actual Mexican Spanish terms

Rated: PG-13 but still, please no minors

Words: 1.6k+

Miguel O'Hara was an enigma. At least to you he was. To everyone else he was stern, stoic, even unpleasant and harsh. To you he was... different. It's hard to ever imagine the man as soft, but with you he very much was. He was always making sure that you were alright, that your workload wasn't more than you could comfortably handle, that your mental and physical health stayed a priority to you. He even went out of his way to make sure you never skipped a meal, especially when you were so thrown into a project that you forgot what day it was.

You weren't even supposed to be there, in the Spider Society. You weren't a Spider-Person. You were an enhanced ex-Avenger from Earth-199999 that he'd... taken pity on? You weren't even sure why he'd initially invited you to join the Society. No one was, not even Lyla. You just knew that he had a habit of seeking out your proximity, even if neither of you said a word.

"Y/n! There you are! Get suited up! Boss man needs you on deck!" Peter B materialized in front of you as you worked on a random engine you'd found lying around, earning a small yip and a quick juggling of the wrench you'd been using. Mayday found it entertaining at least, giggling her cute little cheeks off and clapping her little hands.

"B, you're lucky I like your kid, 'cause sometimes I'd like to sucker punch you whenever you scare me." You were joking, of course, and he knew it too, chuckling as he stroked May's fiery mane.

"Oh no. Can't have me face the consequences of my own actions. That would end the world!" His sarcasm kept her little giggles going as he lifted her high in the air. You couldn't name the intense emotion blooming in your chest in that moment, it was consuming and aching, like a sailor's widow looking for him to return every day up on a windy cliff. It felt like something was getting sucked through your chest as your gaze on the little toddler turned melancholy. Peter B was many things, and surprisingly observant was definitely one of them, though he had more than enough practice when Mary Jane was pregnant. He knew longing when he saw it, and he'd seen it on you more than once when interacting with Mayday, though he could swear they were getting less frequent and less intense the more time you spent with his little bundle of joy. He knew your life hadn't been all sunshine and roses, he knew that you'd once been expectant of your own little bundle, but Thanos had brutally taken that from you to hurt your then husband. And when you thought no one was looking, he saw the glances you centered on Miguel. "They're gonna be ready to go here soon, so you should get a scuttle on." He hinted with a warm half-smile.

You snapped out of your daze with a solid nod, offering the Spider and Spiderling a warm smile before quickly making your way to Miguel's office, where you knew that the tall futuristic man liked to start from. It didn't take you long to get there, your mask in hand as his gaze found you over the heads of the others, warming to a garnet shade from its usual intense ruby "Now that we're all here, we need to get a move on. Remember, we're dealing with two different Doc Ocks this time." Everyone nodded to him in understanding, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before a portal appeared with a deep thrum.

The city on the other side was in chaos, several flipped and destroyed cars on fire, people running and screaming in all directions, understandably so. Jess already had wheels on the ground, waiting for you as you hopped on the back and crouched, ready for her to slingshot you at the closest adversary. Your Volto mask suddenly felt claustrophobic, cutting off part of your peripheral vision, but right then wasn't the time to fix it. The click of the gearbox was your only warning that you were about to be catapulted, Jess bringing the bike down to neutral as she kicked out the backend right as you jumped, sending you sailing through the air and into an Ock who looked like he'd come straight from a silent hill horror film. He cried out in frustration as you latched onto him, immediately dodging his bladed mechanical arms, coated in fresh blood as you began scrambling to disable the arms. "Get off of me you halfwit!" He snarled at you with a voice like gravel and grit, the flash of his teeth reminding you of a shark's.

"Not until you stop rampaging in the wrong Universe, genius!" You snapped back, ducking wildly to avoid getting scalped. Other Spiders joined you, red and white webs trying to take control of his arms so that you could work in relative peace. You had the tip of your knife in the neural link, prying it out of his flesh as he began crying in pain and fear, his arms whirring and snapping frantically, trying to get to you. A strangled cry was your only warning before something solid hit you like a freight train, sending you flying away from the fight, a weird pressure just under your right collarbone, one that simultaneously stung and felt cold. You didn't have time to contemplate why as your back made hard contact with a concrete pillar, knocking the breath from your lungs without mercy as you fell the short distance to the ground.

Your ears were ringing so loudly you almost forgot what sounds were, your eyelids too heavy to work properly as you struggled for breath. You were in pain, bone deep, radiating pain that made you want to curl into a ball and sleep for a year as you laid there on your side in the dirt. You tried getting up on your hands and knees in a bid for air and to relieve some of the pain, your ears still ringing and your eyes barely opening, but blinding, shooting pain on the right side of your chest stopped you in your tracks. You could hear someone shouting, you couldn't hear what they were saying as your fight for air became more desperate, something rattling in your chest with every attempt. Your eyes finally opened fully as hands made contact, large warm hands that helped to center you against the pain. Miguel was crouched over you, his mask still in place but you could see the panic in the eyes of it "...'me on! You can do it, Y/n! Just one breath." You were shocked at how panicked he sounded as the ringing dissipated, but your body obeyed, sucking in a ragged, greedy lung full of air before repeating the process over and over. "Good, good. Buena chica."

You watched as he shrunk in on himself, taking big breathes of his own, his relief clear "Miguel..." You breathed, licking your lips under your mask "did we..."

"We got 'em." He nodded, one of his hands petting your hair "Let's get you back home." He was gentle as he picked you up, cradling you as close to his chest as he could, not letting anyone take you when they offered. He was adamant that none of them could see how afraid to lose you he'd suddenly been, how afraid that he had lost you he'd been. He couldn't stop that small vibrating purr he made as your head tucked itself in the crook of his neck, his hands clutching you closer in silent response. He felt guilty, like absolute shit, that you'd gotten hurt because his web had snapped, that little voice that liked to reside in the back of his mind telling him that you needed to go back to your Universe and stay there, that you'd be safer there. But the more rational part of him reasoned that at that moment, he needed to focus on getting you to medical, getting you better. He'd deal with the after later. "Stay awake, Cielo. Need you to stay awake right now." He could feel your breathes beginning to deepen, feel you relaxing into him more than you should have as he stepped through the portal.

"'M so tired, Mig." You mumbled your argument, nuzzling your masked face deeper into his neck "'N you're so comfy."

Any other situation he would have found somewhere comfortable for him and taken a nap with you, held you the entire time. But you were hurt, concussion was too heavy a possibility for him to just let you rest "No, come on, Y/n. You need to stay awake a bit longer. We're almost there." He let his concern and fear temper his tone, trying to get your hurt brain to understand the severity of the situation.

"You worry too much, Mig." You hummed softly, your filter long gone and your ability to worry about it gone with it "You should relax, you're so pretty when you smile." He couldn't feel your dopey little smile, but he could certainly hear it, feel how it made his heartrate spike wildly. His mind felt frozen, unable to fully process that you at the very least liked his smile.

"You're delirious." He huffed as he quickened his pace, trying to pass off your words as just concussed nonsense.

"Maybe," You conceded "but it doesn't change the fact that I've had the biggest crush on you this past year." He wondered, in his stuttering thoughts, if you realized that you were admitting all of that to him, if you were aware of what that mouth of yours was doing.

He was relieved as he passed the threshold of the Medical Wing, several Spider-Doctors rushing to take you from him "We'll talk about this when you're better, Cielo. Until then, survive." Without another word he was passing you to the nearest medical professional and watching as they whisked you away as quickly as possible, talking in medical jargon that he couldn't fully understand.

#miguel o'hara x reader #Spider-Man 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spider-verse #Avenger reader

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thewertsearch · 8 months

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TT: We are like the emissaries to what lies beyond this small bubble in their unfathomable dark foam. TT: Derse skirts its edge, and during the lunar eclipse, we graze it, and that's when their intent for us becomes clear.

Is that it, then? You can only understand Horrorspeak when you're in the Furthest Ring?

If so, it must take nerves of steel to actually try and negotiate with them. We've seen what that place looks like without Bubble protection, and it is not pretty.

TG: what am i supposed to do [...] TT: They will teach you how to navigate the unnavigable. TT: The result should be a map. [...] TG: why TT: To plot a course through the Furthest Ring. TG: plot a course to what

Aradia said Rose would never find the Green Sun - and she was right.

But Rose isn't the only Derse-born Player in the session.

TG: whats the deal with this thing [...] TT: I don't know that there is a deal with it. [...] TT: It is what it sounds like. TT: A huge sun out in the literal middle of nowhere, and it is bright green. TT: It is simply, TT: The Green Sun.

I feel like Rose is being a little too flippant here. If you're planning on messing with one of the cores of reality, I don't think there's such a thing as too much caution.

The Sun is an enormous, intensely supernatural pseudostar of unknown, possibly unknowable origin. The game taps it to create First Guardians, but we don't know if that's its intended purpose, or if it even has an intended purpose. Unlike everything else in Sburb, it is not duplicated across sessions, doesn't feature in the game's storyline, and is only referenced in a cryptic stone monument buried hundreds of feet under LOLAR.

It's not even in the Medium! It's 'part of Sburb' only in the loosest possible sense, and feels more like something completely foreign to the game that Skaia is just using. Even the Horrorterrors feature more heavily in the game than the Sun.

Rose doesn't seem too curious, but I am. Just what the fuck is this thing? Is it the only one of its kind, or does Skaia draw its power from other enormous structures, hidden deep in oblivion?

TT: It is nearly twice the mass of our universe.

Scaled against every Sburb session, that's actually pretty small.

We know from Doc Scratch's introduction that every planet supporting intelligent life will have a First Guardian. Every universe will have at least one of these, since its creators will want somewhere to live. There are also universes with a surplus of intelligent species - the Alternian Empire has to be conquering someone.

In other words, this Sun is powering, at an absolute minimum, one First Guardian per universe. It's impossible to estimate how many universes there are - but if (as was implied) every intelligent species is destined to spawn sessions, and if even one session on a planet is successful every million years, the numbers get exponential really fast.

From a metaphysical standpoint, 10^50-ish kg just isn't that much. The First Guardians themselves probably have more collective mass than the Sun.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #s90 #3040 #Rose could also be using the actual non-observable mass of the universe (since all bets are off at this point re: relativity)#But she still has a number. So the universe is finite #The number of universes should dwarf it by any measure after just a few iterations of session nesting #Really this is all just for fun; even without timeline branching the actual number is probably just infinity - or it may as well be

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olderthannetfic · 6 months

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I've had a few commenters on my fics be surprised that I do plot outlines, make a timeline of events, and make Word docs going over everything that's canon for the character that's relevant to the story (particularly useful for comics' canons where there's multiple continuities and you need to get the details of a specific version straight). Personally, I have a lot of issues with remembering things later on while writing, so this combats my ADHD. I don't think most people would find my level of planning enjoyable. But surely most people do some planning? It just makes things easier to go, "okay, here's my beginning, my middle, and my end" as a plan than to sit there going, "I hope I come up with an ending eventually". Or at least, it's easier for me. Is that a universal experience, a neurodivergent one, or a "your mileage may vary regardless of neurodivergence/lack thereof"?

*cackling*

Guys...

"Planner" vs. "Pantser" is like the most basic division of writing styles ever and is covered constantly on every writing blog and in every writing how-to book and...

From what I have seen, your average prolific writer of genre fiction who also writes articles on craft tends to be a planner, though not always at the extreme end of that spectrum, but there are plenty of famous authors who are extreme pantsers. I remember some Isabelle Allende quote about "Write one good page a day and at the end of a year, you have a book".

I don't think it's as simple as writers of plot-forward genres vs. genres about the human condition, but in terms of people producing writing advice, it does often break down that way. (Also, it's a lot easier to write how-to guides for plotters than pantsers in some ways, so that probably skews the numbers.)

The big difference between fic writers and pros who are pantsers, from what I can tell, is that the pros 1. have a lot more experience with needing to finish big projects by a deadline and successfully doing so and 2. don't usually post serially, so revision of the full work is possible after they've written the first draft and discovered what the story is about.

(There are pros who do post serially to great success, but my impression is that many of them are planners.)

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crash-and-cure · 2 years

Text

If I Were You Part 2 (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Reader tries to navigate the immeadiate aftermath after that fateful night with Elvis, to varying success. WIth his return to performing on the horizon reader questions is if there is a way of forward that causes the least amount of damage for both parties. Elvis sees only one path forward.

Note: This is based on @venus-haze One shot If I Were You. Please go read that before this because it’s absolutely incredible. And yes before anyone asks I had her full permission to continue the story and she has been on board the whole time. I swear on my life this was originally a one-shot to continue on and let it be known what I saw for reader and Elvis’ future. Then about 5k into this story and realizing there were so many scenes I wanted to add within the first week alone for these two, I just went all in and decided to restrain this chapter to a week. There will be at least one more chapter following this. Reader is cis female, and aside from that no other descriptors are used. Full disclosure I do use this song, which, while never performed by him, has all the makings of one, and it fit to well in the scene it’s in. I do have a Bachelor’s in Psychology, but I am not a therapist, so nothing here should be treated as genuine mental health advice. That being said there is alot more focus on reader this time around. Please read the warnings before deciding to read.

Word Count: 10.5k

Warnings: Yandere fic so there are themes of obsessive , manipulative, and delusional behavior as well as some heavy allusions to blackmail, emotional and otherwise, here too. There is an informal therapy session depicted here as well in which topics such as performance anxiety, sex, exploitation, and substance abuse are discussed. Depictions of drinking that may be seen as delving into alcohol abuse territory, as well as some other erratic behavior on readers part. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes oral (f. recieving), pentrative sex (m/f), spanking, some daddy kink, and other dom/sub undertones sprinkled throughout. And of course Elvis’ mommy issues and readers daddy issues (truly aa match made in hell). Finally depictions of a toxic relationship that include power imbalances, manipulation, and uses of coercion. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

My Masterlist

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You kept that bottle of wine, you can’t fully explain why though. Worse yet you kept it in the bottom drawer of your desk, and every time you opened that drawer these past few months you were always secretly hoping that it wouldn’t be there and would always feel the disappointment when it continued to be there out of your sight. How poetic you thought idly as Elvis forced open that locked drawer after curiosity over the glass clinking sound had gotten the better of him.

Recognizing the bottle he let out a dark chuckle. “Well I’ll be damned. Thought you didn’t take gifts from us patients, Doc?” he said, very much amused as he used his teeth to take the cork out. “Don’t worry though mama,” he paused taking a swig, “I forgive ya’. Least I could do after all ya’ gave tonight.”

Shaking both in shock and humiliation, you grabbed the bottle and after nursing it for a beat too long, you proceeded to ride him to oblivion as he sat in your own desk chair in some twisted attempt to regain control of the situation. Though the closer you got to your peak, it became clear that this was all in vain. The way he sat there, lounging back, one hand behind his head and the other leaving finger-sized bruises on your rear, guiding you as you desperately chased your release, he was the very image of a King on his throne. It was on that thought that you proceeded to shatter around him once again that night, drifting as he whispered in your ear what a good girl you were.

The rest of the night proceeded as a blur as the next conscious thought you had would be wondering how you were going to get to work the next day as he drove you home in his own car. You don’t quite remember giving him directions, but for the sake of your sanity you just assumed you did. And in some perverted form of chivalry, he even walked you to your front door and gave you a tender, almost sweet, kiss as though he didn’t have you bent over your own desk not even an hour ago, before departing into the night.

You’re in a fugue state as you work toward your nightly routine. You don’t taste your dinner, you don’t hear the music from your neighbor’s radio, and you especially don’t feel his cum flaking on the skin beneath your blouse. Nope. Definitely not. You’re too ashamed to even look at yourself going so far as to shower with your lights off.

As you settle into bed that night, your sleep is fitful as you try your best to decide what to do about this night. In the end, with all the evidence of your tryst washed away, you resolve to ignore these feelings at the very least until you have to see him again.

What you can’t ignore the next morning is your car, that had no business being there, in its usual spot, along with your keys in the ignition. Not really trying to think too hard on the implications you would rush to work hoping to clean up before your first client of the day.

To your surprise everything in your office is already in order: No furniture askew, no suspicious stains on the desk or chairs, not even the panties that you swore didn’t come home with you anywhere in sight. The only proof that last night even happened at all was the broken desk drawer and the slight tenderness on your ass.

The days following that session were hazy at best to you as, even during work, your mind was occupied by him. You formulated plans as to how best to address what happened and why it must never happen again. Elvis has always had a reputation as a bit of a cad, so perhaps you can both treat this as a one time thing. Something that he had to get out of his system in order to successfully further his treatment. Even in session he confessed that he had trouble with maintaining monogamy to almost all of his previous partners - though, you thought, he did immediately follow that up with the justification that he was looking for the “right” girl.

You pushed that notion away, he will understand - he has to understand - that it would be better to return to the previous professional relationship. So come Thursday morning, you take steps to effectively unsex yourself; no makeup, loose fitting pants and blazer, hair in a less than flattering style, the whole nine yards. All of this done in an effort to make yourself a less viable option for a sexual partner .

As you leave your apartment you catch a glimpse of your ill-fitting attire and you can’t help but be reminded how as a child you would wear your fathers suits and declare you were going to be a Doctor like him. As you would swim in his oversized coat, you remember feeling lucky to receive a dismissive glance your way and monotone orders to return the clothes back where you found them. You rush out to your car before you can dwell on that train of thought.

If your other patients noticed your sudden change in style that day, no one mentioned it. You had previously taken pride in the level of professionalism you were able to maintain, but in the grand scheme of things, looking frumpy for one day of work could hardly be deemed the worst thing you have done.

As 4 PM rolled around you were still in the process of convincing yourself that you were ready to confront this head on by not confronting it and acting as though nothing ever happened. You can do this- you have to do this- you told yourself.

4:15 PM, you were ready for the knock on the door that would not come that night.

4:30 PM, you were still waiting in a rigid state with your pen and notebook clenched in your hands, full attention at the wooden door, like a dog waiting for its owner to come home. You shudder at the comparison.

4:45 PM, you were justifying his tardiness with his upcoming concert, and even with your barebones knowledge of performing, you realize that these types of things are planned weeks, even months in advance. And so you wait.

5 PM and you’re already mentally packing up to go back to your apartment. You know that all of your things are sitting at your desk but you wanted to spend as little time looking at it as possible. These past few days, you had the irrational fear that even so much as looking at where your indiscretion happened would tip off everybody. You disregard that reflexive response that makes you clench your thighs together when you look in its direction.

5:15 PM you can no longer ignore the stiffness in your back but you're doing your best to disregard the feeling of rejection that has settled in the pit of your stomach. Because this seems to be the place where you make your worst decisions, you decide to pull out that damned bottle of wine. You see the teeth marks on the cork, and you push down the part of you that blushes at the thought of putting your mouth where his was.

It is in that moment with the stopper wrenched free and you thinking about a man you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about, does the shrill tone of your office phone ring. It’s embarrassing really how quickly your hand shoots to answer it, moreso when you answer with a mouthful of cork.

“Hww-” you quickly spit it out. “Hello this is Dr. Y/L/N.”

It is little comfort when you recognize the voice.

“Baby I’m so sorry that I missed tonight, but I coulda swore I told one a my boys to let ya’ know I wouldn’t make it.” he said apologetically. “We got rehearsal’s all this week for Saturday and my minds been all over the damn place.”

Baby, you thought as you took a quick gulp of wine. Early on, he had slipped and called you tha, maybe a month or two into his treatment. You, as gently as you could, informed him how you would appreciate it if he wouldn’t refer to you as such. He reassured you that he meant nothing by it as he apparently calls everyone that from time to time. You accepted that answer and didn’t say anything the few times he would say it later on.

Looking at the bottle in your hand, you had spent the last few days blaming it for being your first misstep in your career, but retrospect is funny like that and you’re now realizing it was one in a series of many over the last year. With him continually elbowing his way back into your life, you doubt it will be your last.

“That’s alright Mr. Presley, just please don’t let this happen again in the future.” is your response, wanting to end this conversation as quickly as possible. “I’ll see you for your next session on Monday.”

“Speakin’ a that. I was hoping we could reschedule today for Saturday,” he said before you could lift the receiver from your ear.

“Mr Presley, I don’t work on Saturday’s,” you half-heartedly protested.

“Then you’re free,” he quickly countered. “Doc, it’s just that… I’mma need some help gettin’ my head straight before the show, cause it’s been over a year since I done this, and even longer since I done a show sober.”

You immediately clock what he’s trying to do, and for all the ill-advised actions you’ve taken in the last week, you didn’t get your license out of a cracker jack box. “Elvis, that is in no way appropri-”

“Well it’s the show,” he quickly cuts you off. There is a dark edge to his tone as he continues. “And what happened on Monday. I think I really need to talk to someone ‘bout it.”

It doesn’t have to be you, goes unsaid.

He’s got you there and you know it, and currently you’re in no state of mind to try to find a way around this. So rather than doing anything semi-responsible and enforcing the boundary you have set, you down most of what’s left of the bottle and agree.

“Darlin’ that’s perfect. If there’s one thing I can promise, it's a helluva show” You can almost feel the self-satisfied grin over the phone. “I also been thinkin’ ‘bout what you said with not lettin’ people know that you’re my therapist, and you’re right.”

The neck of the bottle is clenched so tightly in your fist, you’re concerned it may shatter at this point. That earlier feeling of rejection being quickly replaced with dread.

“So I think I best I send you a lil’ somethin’ to wear for the show, I want them knowin’ you’re my girl, not my shrink, and you don’t exactly dress the part Doll.” he says this with such a cool authority that leaves no room for argument.

You stared off into space with this offer. You’re idly reminded of months ago when you had him practice an exercise in control. He did, you observed, have an excessive need for control in almost every aspect of his life, but this mindset also held the detrimental effect that everything that went wrong was also his fault due to the control he felt. So you came up with this exercise so you could both figure out where it is reasonable to be in control, and in which places he could relinquish it a bit. One aspect he mentioned that he often controlled was the way his girlfriends dressed, which you will admit made you do a double take. The only thing you commented on that detail was that so long as both parties were consenting he was truly not in control of the entire situation.

Doll indeed, you think bitterly. Did he take it as a challenge? Whatever the case may be, one thing becomes evident. You have no doubt what his intentions are anymore, no overwhelming emotions clouding his judgment, nor any post-orgasmic high having him say things he doesn’t mean.

As you look at the near empty bottle of wine while you sit in the room where your career has lived and will inevitably die, you can hardly say the same thing about yourself.

Mark had insisted you keep it that night months ago, and after realizing that there was no way of returning it to Elvis without bringing up the incident again, you kept it in your office for the sole reason that it felt wrong to keep it in your apartment. Too Intimate, you had thought. You begin to wonder how your life would have been had you told Mark why you wished to refuse the wine. Maybe you would have been strong enough to put your foot down and keep this relationship professional… or maybe he would have taken the same approach you took, and let it slide under the guise of Elvis not knowing any better at the time. Elvis seemed to have that effect on people, of wanting to justify his actions in spite of it everything.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the way he sounded when exhausted, or just maybe it was looking into Pandora's proverbial drawer and finally finding those lost panties with the evidence of your attraction to him stained into the fabric. Whatever it was you found yourself finishing off the bottle and agreeing to his requests - demands really- and drunkenly trying your best to rationalize to yourself why you shouldn’t burn your license to ash at this very moment.

The next day rolls around and you return to your normal wardrobe. Though that morning you can’t help but take an extra long look at it as though the promised new addition will change it fundamentally. You chalk that thought up to you still being hungover. As the day continues, you try your best to be more attentive to your patients that day, because even if you failed to do so once, these people deserve a space free from your own personal issues.

You’re not surprised to be met with a package at your doorstep, though the colored box and large bow it arrives in are a bit much for what you assumed to be a single dress. What you’re met with inside is in fact a full outfit complete with even the undergarments you assume you’re expected to wear. The style itself so far from your typical business professional taste, it circles into the territory of a disguise. You even have to admit that there is an air of brilliance to it, since you doubt even you would be able to recognize yourself in this outfit.

Though in that regard, you already have a lot of trouble doing so lately.

Your tentative plan as of right now is to attend the concert and take part in this impromptu therapy session, and you will discuss with him what happened and explain why it is in fact critical to his mental well-being that this affair goes no further. You begrudgingly admit that come Monday, you will have to start from square one with him, but this is the only path forward you can see anymore.

That Saturday morning is devoted to running in and out of grocery stores, trying to gather as many tabloids featuring Elvis as possible, if you’re going to -temporarily- play the part he wants you to play, you will have to look like it. The rest of the day is devoted to primping and preening to get said right look. This brings back memories from undergrad, you and a friend preparing for a double date and Priscilla, along with various other celebrity faces, taped to the mirror for inspiration. Specifically you remember after being able to achieve her dramatic cat eye, your friend joking that if this college thing didn’t work out for you, you could put in an application for being Elvis’ next girl. You laughed at how preposterous that idea was at the time.

Your thoughts of the past are quickly interrupted by rapid knocking at your front door, and you quickly put the finishing touches on your makeup and throw on the ensemble. At the door you’re met with a familiar blonde whose apparent agitation swiftly surpasses whatever momentary discomfort he clearly feels at encountering you once again. Though in that moment you’re at least grateful Elvis had the good sense to not involve anyone else in this matter (that and the fact he didn’t send a limo).

Getting into the car you’re praying for a long and silent trip to the show. Jerry not reading the room says to you “Sorry for rushing you out the door back there, um…” he says. “It’s just been a bit of a crazy week, and the Boss is just wigging out about every single detail.”

“I understand” you attempt to placate, wishing for this exchange to end as soon as possible. “You have a job to do.”

“By the looks of it, so do you,” he says in an attempt to joke, though he quickly cuts himself off after seeing you tense up. He quickly apologizes and as you turn to look out the window, you hear what sounds like a flask being opened and Jerry downing a good portion of it.

You resist the urge to demand a shot of whatever he’s drinking because, as poorly timed as that joke was, you are on the clock. And for as unprofessional as you have been lately, you don’t think you’ve quite gotten to the level of drinking right before a session. Because that’s what this is: an emergency/supplemental session that will precede a momentous occasion for your patient, and out of respect for his privacy, you are in disguise so that no one will know he’s even seeing a therapist. You’re hoping the more you tell yourself that the less ridiculous it will sound.

And due to the fact you're on the job you reason, it may be best to get an idea of his state before going in. “How has he been today? I’m sure the stress of the event is getting to him,” you ask.

“Yeah, uhh… he’s been in a bit of a mood all day,” he says carefully.

“Meaning?”

“He’s basically been sayin’ that he wouldn’t perform until he saw you,” he says, looking anywhere but at you.

And there it is, you think. You give a simple nod in acknowledgement to Jerry, as he is all too happy to let this conversation peter out. You now recognize what Elvis is attempting and using Jerry as a proxy for. Despite all your training that tells you that you’re not responsible for any actions your patients take, you feel yourself start to shoulder the burden of getting him to perform tonight. Not only that but it seems you also bear the responsibility of putting him in the right headspace to perform well tonight.

The rest of the ride to the show itself is quiet, which you’re grateful for, as it gives you time to steel yourself. Jerry as well seems to ease into a more relaxed demeanor the way one would when doing something that has become routine. It seems he’s no stranger to ferrying women to the King of Rock and Roll.

Regardless of the slight pang of sorrow you feel momentarily at that observation, you try to see the upside to it. That this… thing with Elvis, your patient you have to remind yourself, will be short-lived.

Arriving at the venue, you are immediately led backstage, and you’re not sure you can write off the feeling that everyone was watching you to paranoia on your part. Whatever it was, you surmised, there were more than a few people beyond Elvis expecting your arrival. As you were ushered to his dressing room, you felt equal parts dread and anticipation as to what would be on the other side.

What you weren’t expecting was your office. Though that may be a stretch, you can’t seem to find the logic in a dressing room having two chairs facing each other with a small table between them complete with a box of tissues right on top. The entire arrangement takes up an inordinate amount of space in an already cramped room, and you can’t help but conclude that it is intentional.

You find the man of the hour in an open robe (sans shirt, though thankfully with pants on) sitting cross legged on the sofa in what you recognize to be a meditative position. You wouldn’t say he is quite disheveled, but every time you’ve seen him, he’s looked nothing less than immaculate. So finding him in this state with his hair undone and no ostentatious clothing is slightly jarring. Upon hearing the door open he cracks open one eye, and seeing you his face breaks into that handsome grin you’ve become far too familiar with. “Y/N, baby you’re here.” he says feigning surprise.

Not even acknowledging what he just said, you make your way into the room and Jerry, clearly just as disturbed by the setup, closes the door behind you. You glance at the clock on the wall showing that you had a little over 2 hours until the concert was set to start, just enough time for a full session and then some for him to get ready for the show. There is no way this was not meticulously planned, you conclude.

You sit down placing your bag on the floor, as he takes his time to stretch out for a bit before he strolls his way to sit astride the chair across from you. There with an amused look on his face, he says nothing apparently wanting you to start.

Considering there is no protocol as to how to conduct a session in this highly specific situation, and not wanting to immediately open with the elephant in the room, you decide to begin with just idle chit chat. “So… um, I didn't know you practiced meditation.”

“Yeah, it was somethin’ I picked up in San Diego,” he says off-handedly.

“I’m glad that it works for you,” you say as neutrally as possible.

“Oh, it don’t,'' he clarifies. “It works in gettin’ everyone to leave me the fuck alone for awhile. But not in the other ways it’s supposed to.”

You nod your head in acknowledgement as he continues. “I got into yoga when I was down there too.”

“Do you find that works better for you?”

“Yeah,” he verifies. “When I feel somethin’ real bad, I gotta move. It don’t matter how.” This makes sense as he's a very physical person. You are aware of his love for Karate, and you briefly consider recommending he pick up Tai Chi as a happy medium between meditation and martial arts to help him in achieving mindfulness. Your thoughts are interrupted as he continues. “Too bad I ain’t been able to practice in a while.”

“And why is that?” you softly probe.

“I been needin” a partner,” he said with a sly grin, very much an offer.

There’s your opening, you think to yourself. This is the moment you can make a bid to reinforce some level of boundaries between the two of you. Where you can tell him that Monday was a mistake and should never happen again. That this infatuation with you is in fact detrimental to his mental well-being and will destroy your career. And most importantly that there is no future between the two of you.

“Elvis, please” you say, exhaling in frustration. “About what happened on Monday… I think it would be best if we-”

“Well,” he chimes in, “I think it best we save that talk for another time,” his severe delivery leaving no room for argument. Fear grips your throat as he continues in a notably softer tone, “Everything out there is ready for me to play, but up here,” he says, putting two fingers to his temple. “I don’t know ‘bout. Darlin’ I need your help right now, because I can’t do this without you”

Almost everything within you says to push forward no matter what, and tell him right here and now. The one thing that stops you is knowing for a fact he will be devastated with what you have to say. And then what? You leave and he’s unable to perform, leaving hundreds devastated. And come Monday will he even show up, or will he make the call and have you immediately reported for your part in this whole ordeal. Not to mention the long-term variables of if he will even want to continue therapy should you fail to get him ready tonight.

You sigh in defeat, as it appears you have no choice but to concede on this matter and focus on the immediate task at hand. “So you mentioned over the phone that your head’s been all over the place this week. Tell me, is this how you normally feel in the days leading up to a performance?”

He looks pleased with your question and answers “Not in the last few years no. I mean, first time in Vegas it was a little like this, but after a while that all became routine.”

He leans his chair back and reaches behind him to the vanity table to reach for a glass of water. This angle puts his full chest on display and you can’t help but rake your eyes over the hair there and follow the trail of it down to his-

Focus, you think to yourself.

He offers you a glass, and in spite of how dry your mouth feels at the moment, you are trying to no longer accept anything from him at this point regardless of how small, so you refuse. “Tell ya’ what though,” he says, taking a sip. “I ain’t feel this nervous since my early days of performin’ and I would shake somethin’ fierce on stage,” he laughs a little at this statement. “That’s actually parta where all my dancin’ came from.”

“I see.”

It’s unsettling how you could almost mistake the rest of your time together as a typical session with him. The only cosmetic differences being the harsh lighting from the vanity behind him and the uncomfortable feeling from the leather chair sticking to the back of your thighs. You’re also at a bit of a loss as to what to do with your hands without anything to take notes in, and the outfit has you feeling particularly vulnerable. As for his part you doubt you’ve ever seen him this relaxed in your presence before; leaning back with his legs spread and his robe exposing a mouth-watering amount of his torso. If you had to guess, it may have something to do with you being in his territory so to speak, as opposed to the typical setting of your office. Or maybe he’s just into your humiliation.

Aside from those factors, you would have even labeled today as a successful session… that is until the conversation takes a turn.

“I’ve done what feels like a thousand shows, most of them without all that crap Nic was pumping me with, but it feels like… I don’t know. Like that was some other guy that was performin’ and that he ain’t here tonight.”

“This ‘other guy’ has he always been a part of the way you perform?”

“I ain’t feel like myself on stage in a long time.” he said morosely.

“Elvis, I want you to try to recall a concert where you did feel like your true self. It doesn’t have to be the last time you felt this way, just the most memorable.” You replied leaning forward.

The half smirk that creeps on to his face makes you regret that question though. “Actually the show that comes to mind is the comeback special. You seen it before?” he asked.

Yes. “...No, I-I believe I missed that one,” you manage to stutter out.

He grins knowingly, “Well they had me in front of an audience, maybe less than a hundred people and had me dressed all in leather with only a small square for a stage. In spite all that I felt free especially since Parker had almost nothin’ to do with it,” he said wistfully. “He chewed me out later for it, sayin’ shit like how it was no real audience and that they were told when to clap. But I knew…”

His hungry gaze meets yours and you feel a kin to prey about to be devoured. “You wanna know how I knew?” he said.

In spite of your gut instinct that you are delving into dangerous territory with this conversation, you’re far too curious at this point. So you try to swallow that uneasy feeling and reply in the affirmative.

“I came in my pants,” he says, taking a sip of his water, as neutral and matter of fact as if he were just telling you what he ate for dinner last night.

“Wh-what?” you said, for the first time in your career, truly at a loss for words.

Sex certainly wasn’t a taboo subject to discuss with your patients, and it wasn’t even the first time you discussed it with Elvis himself. But those conversations typically surrounded your patient's fears of intimacy with a new partner, and even though that wasn’t a concern for Elvis, he did make reference to it when discussing his need to please others. Most importantly though when discussing sex with a patient, you’ve never actually had the experience with them.

“It was the weirdest thing, Doc. Never happened before, hasn’t happened since,” he said, at complete ease with himself. “Sure a few close calls here and there, but it never got to that point. Hell, it mighta been the suit itself that did it for me. What ya’ think it means doll?”

And what can you say to that really? You try to even out your shallow breathing as your mind races through the possible implications of this reaction. You have certainly never met another performer before so you’re unsure whether this is even unusual to those in his line of work, but at the same time most people who do what they love for a living also aren’t sexually aroused by it, let alone reach climax through it alone. Previously you would have labeled yourself as firmly within that category, but that damp feel beneath your dress proves otherwise.

Across from you, he waits patiently for your reply, but he is also openly delighted by your squirming state.

“I-” you clear your throat. “Um… Sex is a perfectly natural thing.”

“Don’t I know it,” he smiles rakishly.

“Yes I…” you say, briefly losing your train of thought. “A way of interpreting the… arousal you feel on stage is that being there and performing in front of an audience comes just as naturally to you. As for what happened at your special, it may have been the moment you felt most acutely aware of your desire to be on stage.”

He nods his head and you continue. “You’ve mentioned previously how you were unsatisfied by your movie career by that point in time. So the return to the stage may have also acted as a cathartic release of all these pent up frustrations you were feeling up until that moment.”

He raises an eyebrow at that in the way he typically does when he’s confused by your wording. “Basically you were feeling unhappy for a long period of time, so when you felt the joy of being back on stage, you’re…” you hesitate, suddenly embarrassed. “Body, as a result misinterpreted that joy as arousal. And adding to that, Parker’s disapproval as well as the feeling of being free that you described. It all culminated into that… reaction.”

He sits on your presumption for a moment, before chuckling a bit. “I see where you’re comin’ from on that doc. Though I gotta ask.”

You pause, apprehensive to what he may ask. “Ask what?”

“What are my chances for a repeat performance tonight?” he asks in a way you could almost mistake as innocent. As you feel close to hyperventilating, he continues. “I mean those things you brought up from the special are here tonight sooo…” he quirks an eyebrow, putting it on you to continue.

“...well… um” you draw out, truly dumbfounded and without any words to respond to that. You’re only saved from this conversation by hurried knocking at the door behind you.

“Well, looks like we’re outta time here doc,” he said standing up, prompting you to stand up as well. With a hand on your lower back guiding you to the door, you don’t miss the fact he’s effectively dismissing you. “Baby, thank ya’ for comin’ down here tonight and settin’ me right. And I just want you knowin’ that this whole show is because of you. I don’t think I woulda made it this far without my girl” he said looking down at you and bringing you close while his other hand was on the doorknob.

Your primary focus is trying your best to collect yourself before you need to go out there, but you’re so astonished by how he just so casually slipped in “my girl” into there. You know then you have to say something.

“But… I’m not your gir-” you quickly cut yourself off as you see his jaw clench, the previous look of satisfaction on a dime replaced with one of intense indignation at your denial. Before you can even begin to feel regret for your refusal, his expression just as rapidly shifts to one of downright mischief.

Not wanting to find out what that look meant, you attempt to turn towards the door, only to be halted by an iron-like grip on your jaw. “Not my girl, huh?” he says, forcing you to look at him, as he brings his face closer to yours. He then whispers, his lips just barely brushing yours, “tell that to them.”

You can’t say you weren’t expecting him to bring his lips closer to yours, but you can say you weren’t expecting to be such a willing participant this time around. You can tell yourself all you want that you did it to save him from the embarrassment of being walked in on with a less than willing woman, but it seems, deep down, the both of you knew better. So you played your part as you grabbed a fistful of hair at the nape of his neck as your lips came together, and he was all too willing to believe in your role as his hand snaked down your back. You’ll never fully know (or at least admit) who closed the distance that night.

All you really know is that being in here with him as he was now, was nothing short of intoxicating, in a way it had never felt in your office. You were not one to participate in drugs, but as his tongue slips past your lips to wrap around your own, you truly believe you could become addicted to this. His scent, his taste, his touch, all of it threatened to consume you whole and never let you go.

He was so all consuming in fact, you barely registered the sound of the door opening beside you, but you definitely don’t miss what feels like a dozen sets of eyes in full view of the both of you. You’re aware that you should in fact be more embarrassed of your compromising position with your arms thrown around his neck and his hand firmly on your ass. But with all the shame you’ve been feeling this past week, this hardly registers as the worst. Though you do feel a spark of it when he pulls away, and you let out a small whine from being denied his plush lips, until you feel them near the shell of your ear.

His breathy demand for another session after the show is hard to deny in your state, and more so when you see the color of your lipstick haphazardly smeared across his downright sinful smirk. It goes without saying what that will entail, but you surprise even yourself by not immediately running for the hills. Instead you, with all the grace of a newborn fawn, stumble past a line of people rearing to get in and do their job. This venture, not at all aided by the playful swat he gives your behind. The “knowing” looks on some of their faces tells you what they are all assuming. Part of you wishes they were right, because doing that would somehow have been less shameful than what actually happened.

After that “session” you try to compose yourself as best as you can, and make your way to the ladies room. Alone in the restroom you see your face in the mirror and to your relief aside from the smudged lipstick, you look relatively fine. You reach for your bag to touch it up, only to realize that you forgot to grab it when he was leading you to the door. As you shudder at the thought of going back to retrieve it, you finally realize how much of a sopping mess you’ve made of your underwear.

Insanity is truly your only defense for your next course of action, as you quickly remove your panties and dispose of them.

After cleaning yourself up a bit, you end up wandering around backstage with a new resolve to not think about him. You still have roughly another hour to kill before the show is set to start, so unsure what to do with yourself until that time, you attempt to strike up conversations with your fellow VIPs. Your attempt at keeping your mind off of him proves fruitless though, as it becomes apparent that word travels fast behind the curtains, and their interest in you begins and ends with Elvis. You’re flooded with questions as to what he’s going to wear tonight, what he’s going to sing, if there will be an afterparty at Graceland and subsequent requests for you to try to get them invited. The only time any questions are directed at you, it’s simply polite inquiry as to where you met him and how long you’ve known him, and you try to be as vague and non-descript as possible.

One woman remarks how she thinks she saw you in a magazine last week along with “the big man himself.”

“Guilty,” you reply with a nervous laugh, because you truly are. How would you even begin to try to explain the truth?

You are able to meet most of the members of the so-called “Memphis Mafia,” and get the rundown as to who does what in the group after asking in an effort to get a basic conversation going. It doesn’t go unnoticed that none of them ask what you do for a living, only mildly interested in the fact you’re the new girl, as though being Elvis’ “girl” is supposed to occupy the totality of your existence. Usually you would take offense to this, but under these circumstances, you know the fewer in the know, the better.

You don’t think you’ve ever truly considered the world he lives in until this moment. A world in which he’s surrounded on all sides by women that want him, and by men that admire and/or envy him. What does that do to a mind when everybody he meets falls into one of those two categories? How would one handle someone who doesn’t fit into either category?

Eventually though Jerry finds you and brings you to your seat, front row and center, because of course Elvis would. You know from his stories about his Vegas residency that he would often kiss women in the front row, and you already have a feeling as to how this is going to play out. As Jerry leaves, you contemplate making a break for it at this point, but without your purse, that idea is quickly tossed out.

You look around your area and breathe a sigh of relief at the fact that all are virtually unrecognizable. You know from the tabloids that this concert was deemed one for the ages already, being essentially his second comeback and with rumors flying around that there would be more than a few international attendants this fact is not all too surprising. There’s a small swelling of pride within you knowing that he is so loved worldwide that you quickly try to stamp down.

As the curtain goes up and the music starts to blare, you make the conscious decision that at this moment you are not his therapist, and that you are merely a fan. That you will be without worries at the state of your career right now, without fear that the APA is breathing down your neck, and definitely without any guilt to the sexual attraction you feel for him at this moment. Afterall you’re a fan, isn’t that just par for the course?

So as he steps on stage and immediately makes eye contact with you, you play your part. You get lost in it even, as you dance and sing and make a fool of yourself. He’s just… incredible doesn’t even begin to describe what he is as you’ve never seen someone move like he does, never felt music as you did in this moment. There’s not a single inch of the stage that’s not occupied by his presence as he’s able to keep the crowd fully enraptured for music they’ve undoubtedly heard hundreds of times before. His command over everything truly brings a new perspective to his King epithet.

Despite your best efforts you cannot help but think of the comeback special incident and in the brief moments between songs you can’t help but observe and this makes you feel all the more like a voyeur. In spite of the fact that there’s a couple hundred people watching the same show you are, they aren’t cursed with what you know. Unintentionally you read into every gyration, every hip thrust, even every time he throws his head back looking for any indication. You had thought about what he looks like in the throes of ecstasy an inordinate amount of times already this week, so you even compare every face he makes up there as well.

Eventually, after two demands for an encore, Elvis merely has to put a finger to his lips to command the rowdy crowd down. “Now before I go,” he pauses with a slight quirk in his lips as he hears their protests, but continues with “I’m gonna leave y’all with somethin’ new.” This statement is met with uproarious applause as he gestures to the band behind him and begins.

Want me to love you in moderation?

Do I look moderate to you?

Not even two lyrics in, you know you’re in trouble. Previously he had the decency to not single you out as he worked the entire crowd in front of him, but as he sings you know exactly who he’s directing this song to.

And are you any better? Like the other women in the front row you move to the stage, as you're overpowered with the urgent need to be as close to him as possible. You’re overwhelmed with just about everything at this point: the audience, the song, him, and all your conflicting emotions this past week all reach a crescendo as he kneels on the stage before you. You’re crowded by his fans all reaching out to touch him as though he were some divine being. But you knew better.

Girl, you better learn

Can’t hold it in,

And girl you better learn

I just can’t win

Cause I don’t see the worth

I don’t see the worst

He is something monstrous, demonic almost. Elvis is a siren-like creature who is leading you to your doom. As he leans down closer to you, you stand on your toes, willing your knees to not give in at a time like this. The women around you flock even closer, all trying to get a piece of him, while he puts a hand underneath your chin, his eyes challenging you to stop him. He may very well be a siren but you’re his victim who is all too happy to drown at this point.

And I’m still tryna figure out if it

Always

Has to hurt

Unlike the last few times, you were very much prepared for this kiss. At least you were, until he proceeded to lean away from you and plant the kiss on the woman directly next to you. Time slows at this moment, truly forcing you to take in every single detail of what is happening not even a foot away from your face. He kisses her with all the filth and passion you were craving in that moment, and she just as enthusiastically kisses him back.

His face is glistening with sweat from his performance that runs down onto her, but this woman doesn’t seem to mind. She will leave this concert and forever be able to have an interesting anecdote to tell at every party she will ever attend. This will be her one crazy story to tell about Elvis Presley, and the more logical side of you truly envies that about her.

Finally, after what was perhaps only seconds but felt like an eternity, he breaks away from the kiss, though that doesn’t ease the heavy stone that has settled in your stomach. You want to cry, you want to scream, and judging from the state of the women around you, you wouldn’t be at all out of place. You’re upset that you’re in this position, you’re devastated over the fact that this is the man who holds your career in the palm of his hand, and most of all, you’re heartbroken that you even wanted him to kiss you at that moment.

Did he not see you? Did he mistake her for you? Shouldn’t you be glad about this new development? That hundreds of people weren’t witness to you flagrantly breaking every rule and ethical responsibility you made upon becoming a therapist?

He answers all these questions with the single look he gives you as he stands before you, his lips now stained red from that random woman.

You want looove

You feel a tug at your elbow as Jerry once more guides you backstage. Elvis for his part shamelessly watches you walk away all the while belting out those final lyrics of his song. As the lights from the stage blink out, and the crowd proceeds to explode in near-deafening screams and hollers, and you see him bow out as the curtain drops. You try to make yourself numb to it all as you make your way through the bustling corridors, but in reality you can’t ignore your heartbeat thundering through you, nor the uncomfortably slick feeling between your thighs.

You have to get out of there and you know it. But you also want to stay and there’s no denying that. You have accepted that he has an unhealthy attachment towards you, and you naively thought you could work to dismantle it over the next few months to get him back on track. But seeing him kiss that other woman made you realize that this attachment threatens to be mutual, and that is truly where it will derail.

Before you can figure out what you’re going to do, you’re back in front of his dressing room door and you walk in not even having bothered to knock. You find him along with several members of his crew already in there but upon seeing you he grins and a simple wave of his hand has them all scurrying out, leaving the two of you alone. He stays seated at the vanity, too comfortable apparently, with his feet propped up, the upper half of his suit peeled off of him, and a towel around his neck. He doesn’t even bother to fully turn around to look at you directly, he simply watches you through the mirror.

“You enjoy the show Darlin’?” he says, lightly dabbing himself with the towel. “It sure as hell looked like you did out there.”

Despite knowing he saw how you behaved, you still try to lie with an indifferent, “You did good up there.”

“Ahh, baby” he draws out in a light teasing tone. “Don’t be like that. Why don’t you come over here and tell daddy what’s wrong?” Your breath hitches at his casual use of that word and you find your feet making the decision for you. You make your way over to him and you finally find your purse on top of the vanity. You go to grab it but in one fluid motion he grabs your hand and you find yourself on his lap. As he leans forward for a kiss, you see the red that still paints his lips and without even thinking you use the towel to wipe some of it off.

He makes a pleased hum at that, believing that this is what has you acting this way.

Is it not though? You think sarcastically. After rubbing off most of the color you drop the towel letting it fall back into place on his chest. He takes your hand into his, and your heart does an embarrassing little skip as he gives it a sweet kiss.

“Baby, I was raised to be a gentleman,” he said, adopting a chivalrous affect. “If my bestest girl don’t like me kissin’ others, all she’s gotta do is say so. Then I ain’t never gonna do it again.” His eyes pleading as he waits for your answer.

So that’s what his plan was, you think bitterly. You’re resentful over the fact that it worked at all. But he doesn’t need to know that.

You rip your hand away from him as you reply with as much resolve as you can gather, “You can do whatever you want Elvis,” before mulishly looking away. He evidently didn’t like that answer, as he stood up to prop you onto the vanity and placed himself between your legs. You try to escape his grasp only for him to place his hands at the top of your thighs, effectively pinning you in place.

“I can do whatever I want?” he says in a low, challenging voice, looking you directly in your eyes. It is only then do you regret your wording. Were you not so petrified, you would have admired his ability to quickly turn your own dismissive words into seemingly an invitation. There is no denying the trembling force in your body at this point and with the way he’s holding it is only inevitable that he will find your secret. And as though reading your mind, you feel his thumb brushing your inner thigh, and he finally notices the slick feeling in between. If you're going to be honest with yourself, you think you’re even more wet than when you walked in.

He makes an approving hum as he flips your skirt up, and you get the momentary pleasure of seeing his eyes widen at your lack of underwear. That is until he quickly bunches up the material past your hips and you feel mortified at being naked from the waist down in a room you don’t remember locking. You’re even more mortified as he kneels down and begins to pepper your inner thighs with light kisses. You instinctively try to close your legs, but his grip makes it impossible, and he notices your effort.

“Ahh, sweetness none of that,” he drawls out, emphasizing his point with a small nibble at the sensitive flesh that has you cursing. You feel his hot breath waft over you and as you’re trying to wrap your head around what’s happening, he teasingly licks a stripe up your slit, giving you a taste of what he has to offer. You gasp for air as though you’re about to drown.

“I can do what I want, can I?” he asks knowing you’re far too preoccupied to answer. “Well I want this,” he purrs, emphasizing his point with a soft kiss to your clit, which you meet with a strangled moan. He chuckles at your reaction before resting his head on your thigh and looking up at you. “But I gotta know what my girl wants,” he trails off.

Your muddled mind cannot even begin to process the question itself before he follows up with. “What’d ya’ say mama? Do you wanna be my girl?” he says looking up at you with those piercing blue eyes of his, and you know there is not even a choice anymore. You’re so far gone at this point, you hardly hesitate in saying yes. “No, no mama. I wanna hear you say it.”

You can already feel a few shameful tears trailing down as you cover your face with your hands, as though that will absolve you of your next words. “Yes… I want to be your girl,” you cry out desperately, and he dives straight in.

All of your composure is tossed out the window the moment you feel his mouth on your needy cunt, you moan and shout freely, no thoughts given to the people undoubtedly outside of the door. He’s going at an unhurried languid pace, exploring your nether regions, seemingly trying to learn what gets the biggest reaction out of you. He’s apparently indifferent to how desperately you need to cum. You grab at his hair and try to bring him closer, desperate for some control of this situation but the noticeable tightening of his grip on your legs make it clear that he’s going to take all the time he wants.

You’re there for what feels like hours before you’re at the point of begging him to let you cum. The King finally takes mercy on you as he stuffs his fingers into you while simultaneously nursing at your clit as you are finally allowed your release.

You’re a mess after that devastating orgasm, and as he brings himself back up to you, you don’t put up a fight to this kiss. You taste yourself on his lips, and the smallest, pettiest part of you feels victorious over that woman whose name you will never get to learn. Before you can dwell on that part of yourself, he spins you around so you’re facing away from him. Despite all of that you still feel yourself wanting for more, and as you look over your shoulder at him, you know he is very aware of that.

“Were you watching mama?” he said, pressing kisses to your neck as he undoes his belt. “Were you sittin’ there, wonderin’ if I did it again, and that’s how you got this wet?” You let out a small keen as you feel his cock just barely brushing at your entrance, and he presses a hand on your back, prompting you to bend over the vanity fully. You give a slight shriek as you feel a sharp swat on your ass. “Answer me,” he growls out, sending another shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” you say, pushing yourself backwards to him.

Another swat on the other side, “Yes what?” he rasps.

“Yes daddy,” you nearly cry out and you bury your head into your arms in shame as he drives into you. Once slotted fully inside, he pauses giving you time to adjust to him. The stretch of him burns only slightly this time around, though mostly you feel satisfaction as he feels achingly familiar.

“You don’t gotta worry mama,” he pants next to your ear. “I saved it all for you,” he says as he slowly begins to push his hips back and forth into you. You find yourself just as eager as you push backwards to keep him within. You close your eyes to the sensations, as this feels like the closest you’ve come to a reprieve in this whirlwind of a week he’s caused. You want to lose yourself here, and for once want to believe as he does that this is any way healthy or sustainable for the both of you. This delusion has the ability to ruin you, but for the moment you truly just want to indulge yourself in it.

Reality will always win out though. At some point he thrusts so hard, your feet no longer meet the ground, and you have to brace yourself on the mirror. Here in this position you’re truly forced to look at yourself for seemingly the first time as you truly are. You see your eyes bloodshot and pupils blown, your mascara trailing down your face, and, mortifyingly, you're drooling from the pleasure at not only what he’s doing to you but the sight you're met with in the mirror. You also see him behind you, looking more animal than man with the way he forces your hips to meet his pace and the snarl that mars his face. It’s all too much for you to handle. The only way to describe how hard you came in that moment would be violently, as you convulse and sob terribly at all the shame and pleasure you’re experiencing in that moment.

You feel him pull out, and moments later you hear a shuddering howl as he paints your lower back with his cum, effectively marking you as his. You sob even harder with the realization you had not even been thinking about protection in the last week, and now you fear that there will be another cord that will forever tie you to him.

If he sees your tears he ignores them and places a kiss on your cheek before sitting you down in front of the mirror. He lets you know that he has a press conference soon, but that he will meet you back home for the afterparty. He quickly dresses himself while you use a tissue to fix your makeup and try to make the wrinkles in your dress less noticeable. Once outside the door he hands you off to one of his men with orders to take you back to Graceland.

It is only as you’re pulling up to Graceland do you realize you gave no resistance whatsoever to his whims and didn’t even try to insist you go back to your own apartment. You pay no thought to that as you see there are already many of his people there to celebrate his astonishing performance, and the last thing you need is to draw more attention to yourself by being the one woman having a breakdown at the party.

So you slip back into your role as his girl, though can you even say that it is simply a role anymore when you fully agreed to it.

Eventually he arrives home and is met with all the praise and glory he has earned tonight. Yet he barely looks at anyone before he seemingly sweeps the room to zero in on you. He grins and approaches you to sweep you into a hungry kiss which is met with various wolf whistles and cheers from those around you. You are still playing your part for the audience you tell yourself.

The rest of the night is spent on his arm essentially advertising to all attendants that you're his. Eventually he announces to no one in particular that he is starting to feel tired, and it feels like only moments later when a mass exodus occurs, no one daring to stay past their welcome. The grip he has on your waist though tells you that he has no plans of letting you go.

That night and the following day in Graceland you spend in a daze of fucking and resting and even more fucking, interspersed with conversation between the both of you. Surprisingly you find yourself opening up to him as well, and with the conversations being not so focused on him, it’s easy to pretend that this is even remotely natural.

You do make a few attempts to leave that day, each time met with some pushback on his part to get you to stay. Each attempt is met with some excuse on his part be it being too early, his fans outside the gates, his exhausted state etc., and immediately following your concession, you are bombarded with physical affection and compliments as to how understanding and what a good you are for him. You allow yourself to indulge in this fantasy for a little while longer, and stay another night with him.

The next morning, reality sets back in, and there is no denying your active part in this anymore. He kisses you good morning and he reminds you that you have work today. You’re amazed that he hasn’t already made you cancel all of your appointments today, until you remember who you have your final session with later. You shower and use his toothbrush, no longer hesitating to do something you would previously labeled as far too intimate to do with anyone, let alone a patient.

You are however disturbed but not surprised when you exit the restroom and find a full outfit ready for you. This one is more in line with your regular work attire but the blouse does have a rather loud pattern, a far cry from your admittedly limited, colorwise, wardrobe. Without the tags, you briefly wonder if this is something left behind by the previous stand-ins or if he bought it for one of them to better pretend they were you. You push that thought aside as you finish getting ready for the day. Being early on a Monday morning you are able to be driven to your office without the worry of any ogling eyes. He even gives you a parting kiss at the door and it feels far more domestic than it has any right to be.

You would deem that day almost normal. You are of course exhausted from the strange weekend you had, but somehow you also feel unfettered when compared to the stressful week you had previously. You receive some compliments on your blouse, and you are able to, through tightlips, confirm yes when someone asks if you got it from someone special.

Other than that you are able to get back to your standard attentive self for your patients. Having worked with Elvis for nearing a year at this point, has had the unexpected benefit of making your other patients seem easier in comparison. You laugh at their funny stories, you dole out advice and insights when asked, and you comfort them when needed. These moments in between your nearly all encompassing thoughts around Elvis, you find, are a welcome respite from the looming black cloud that is your future as a therapist.

Eventually though 4:30 PM arrives and you hear a knock at the door.

#my fic #elvis x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #for once #elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis #yandere #yandere!austin!elvis

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faithsbrightideas · 1 year

Text

Oddly Enough- Part 4

Xavier x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of severed organs and body parts… idk what else

Summary: Y/n asks Xavier to the Rave’N and being so annoyed with her sisters antics she asks Tyler for her. Xavier calls off going to the dance with her, not knowing she disagrees with Wednesday about him being the monster.

I DO NOT OWN WEDNESDAY THIS IS JUST A MINOR TWIST ON THE. MAIN STORY LINE

Sorry this has taken me so long, December is a wild month for me. Holidays, then my birthday, then New Years! I hope everyone has remained safe! I hope you all have an amazing 2023! Also if anyone has any requests for Wednesday, I’m more than open to doing them!

Dr. Kinbott tells us that we should get out more and open our minds up to new experiences. Who are we to argue with her professional cliches? We needed to examine the monsters other victims, so we sent Thing into the morgue to cover the cameras and open the door. Wednesday and I slipped in.

"While Y/n and I do the autopsy, you find the files of the other monster victims and make copies," Wednesday ordered Thing.

He wasn't too happy with that, "Don't pout. Your scalpel skills are questionable."

He came over to defend himself while Wednesday unrolled the autopsy supplies, but I continued, "Do you remember when Uncle Fester gave us that cadaver on our 13th birthday? You sliced right through that man's carotid."

He gave up and went to find the files. Wednesday and I went to find the latest victim and started opening the freezer doors which contained the bodies.

"No," Wednesday inhaled, "Magnificent hematoma."

"Here!" I said finally finding our victim.

"Thursday, 7:23 PM. The body is that of a 50 year old male. Lacerations and defensive wounds appear on both hands. What remains of the chest and torso indicates a frenzied attack. Subject has been almost entirely disemboweled," I said into a recorder, Wednesday silently pointed to the mans foot, which was missing, so I added it to the information I've already collected, "It appears to have been chewed off at the ankle."

Thing frantically ran in, Wednesday asked, "Have you seen a left foot anywhere?"

He said no and began signing that someone was coming.

"Who?" I asked.

Officer Galpin and the Doctor who has been performing the autopsies. We needed to hide and there was only one place to hide, inside the freezers.

"Comfy," I mumbled.

Muffled voices came down the hall and the doors opened shortly after.

"Whatever or whoever is responsible for these killings, I've never seen injuries like this," The doctor said, "I thought you should see this before i issued my report on the latest victim. The killer cut off two toes from the victims left foot. Best guess they use a surgical saw. Final autopsy report still pending."

"The minute you're done, send it straight to my desk. Media blackout on the toes," Galpin said.

"Sure thing, sheriff," Doc said, "Been a busy last couple of weeks, eh? At least I'm going out in style, Friday is my last day."

"Happy retirement, Doc," Galpin said.

"See yourself out, I'll lock up,"

Just then I heard footsteps go over to where wednesday was and pull her out, "Full rigor, guessing you've been dead a while, hope you don't mind waiting another day for me to cut you open." And then he left.

The door opened and I sighed disappointed, "Five more minutes."

"Yeah, we were just getting comfortable," Wednesday shouted from where she was.

When we finally decided it was time to leave, more so Thing was constantly hounding us, we went back to our dorm and the next morning made a collage of information so that we could analyze it.

"When I suggested you two decorate your side of the room, I didn't have Ted Bundy's Pinterest in mind," Enid cringed as she saw our board.

"Still not as creepy as your stuffed unicorn collection," I said looking over my shoulder.

"Is this why you snuck out last night?"

"We may have paid a visit to the county morgue," Wednesday shrugged.

"Okay, there are so many levels of ew in that statement, I don't even know where to begin," her blue eyes scrunched almost shut.

"We need to get inside its head. Discover any patterns or anomalies. We've already made a big discovery," I smirked at Enid, "All of the victims have had body parts surgically removed. The first one a kidney, the second finger, third gallbladder, and the man from the meeting house two toes."

As I spoke Wednesday handed Enid the papers, showing her the severed body parts. Enid tried to communicate, turning pale.

"Do you understand what this means? Those murders aren't mindless, he's collecting trophies like a seasoned serial killer. It's impressive, actually," We turned around after hearing a thud, Enid's body lay unconscious. I sighed at looked at the other two occupying the room. Thing raised his thumb in what I'd best describe as a shrug.

"Thing, fetch the smelling salts... Again."

After we go to Enid awake and conscious we headed off to class. Today wasn't a day I felt like sitting next to Xavier, as we were the last two to arrive, yet again, I sat behind him. Wednesday huffed and sat next to him. Earning a confused look from Xavier. Ms Thornhill went on about "sexual carnivorous plants", I ignored what she was saying. Intensely watching Xavier, I saw him wince. Furrowing my brows and making subtle eye contact with my sister, she was suspicious.

"I hurt my back fencing," Xavier shrugged.

I heard Bianca speak up, making everyone laugh after making a jab at males not receiving any after the Rave'N dance.

"Okay, I know you're all excited about this weekend, but I still need volunteers for the decorating committee," Ms Thornhill said and hands spiked up.

"What, you two aren't going?" Xavier asked turning around, looking between me and Wednesday, "Aren't you excited about disco balls and spiked punch. There's even a DJ."

"I'd rather poke needles in my eyes," Wednesday side eyed him, still watching him like a hawk.

"I don't dance. Besides, sounds like every peppy girls dream, do I look peppy to you?" I deadpanned.

"Or... you two could invite someone and have a little fun," Xavier said bending down to put his sketchbook in his bag.

My eyes widened seeing a big scratch on his neck. I looked over at Wednesday who shook her head not to say anything. I felt an urge to lean forward and heal it, but I also felt a pit in my stomach, could she be right? Is Xavier a monster? Or worse, a killer?

Later Wednesday suggested we follow him, which is exactly what we did, into the woods where he went into an old shed type building.

"What is that place?" I whispered from behind a tree.

"Maybe that's where he has the victims body parts," Wednesday whispered back.

After a while Xavier came out of the building and began to walk back down the path.

"Wednesday, I'm still not convinced its him," I snapped.

"We need to do this. Xavier didn't get those scratches from fencing," Wednesday snapped back, Thing resting on her shoulder.

"Well on the flipside his art does come to life, we've both seen it," I sighed as she started walking towards the shed.

I exhaled sharply through my nose, looked around and ran in after her.

"An art shed, how suspicious," Sarcastically stating, I pulled the string, illuminating all the art he had around his shed.

My jaw about hit the floor, "No."

"I suppose every artist needs a muse," Wednesday said raising a brow at me, snatching a couple drawings from the paint covered stool, "Xavier, you just became that much more interesting."

I pulled the string and followed Wednesday out, but not before sprain one last glance at the art. This sure doesn't look good for Xavier, not myself either because I'm vouching for him. Idiot.

We started walking down the path, "Y/n! Wednesday!"

I snapped my head and Xavier came into view, he walked from behind the building.

"What're you guys doing here?"

"We saw you come out this way. What is this place?" I asked.

"It's kind of my private art studio. I cleared it out, fixed it up, so Weems let me use it," Xavier explained uncomfortably.

"How very entrepreneurial. I would love to see inside. Give us a tour?" Wednesday pushed.

"Not right now it's a total mess. Maybe another time. Why are you looking for me?" He asked narrowing this eyes at us.

"Y/n wanted to ask for your help on Miss Thornhills homework assignment," Wednesday said grabbing my arm and pushing me towards Xavier.

"How subtle,"I grumbled.

"She didn't give us homework. Remember? Is this about a certain dance that makes you want to poke needles in your eyes?" He teased, a large smile spreading over his face, "I'm all ears."

Wednesday nudged me and gave me a look. The look said this was an opportunity to cover for us being here, as much as I didn't want to do this, at least not for this reason. But this is our chance to get up close and personal with a potential serial killer.

"Are you really going to make me ask?"

"Absolutely," his smile, as adorable as it was, made me want to punch him.

"Would you... consider..." My voice caught in my throat, I knew he would say yes, but like I said... I didn't want to do it under these circumstances, " Would you possibly consider going to the Rave'N dance with a certain- Will you go to the Rave'N's dance with me?"

"Yes, Y/n, I would love to go to the dance with you," He smiled, "I thought you'd never ask."

I felt like I was going to vomit, I gave him a small smile and turned to walk away. His face echoing in my head, there's something were missing, I know there is. Once we were back in our dorm Wednesday began to ramble.

"This is perfect, now you can get up close and personal with him, find out so much more because you're going to the dance with him, and because he likes you!"

"Wait... Y/n is going to the dance?!" Enid squealed, "With who?"

"Xavier," I crossed my arms, still feeling sour.

"OMG! You need a dress!"

"I have a dress," I squinted.

"Yuck! No! Absolutely not! You're going to have a real dress, we're going to make everyone's heads turn!" She squealed, yet again, and drug us to Jericho.

We were in front of a pink flowered covered clothing shop, "The committee suggested we should wear all white, but that's just not gonna fly with us."

"We have more pressing business," Wednesday walked up next to me.

"I don't even want to attend the dance," I glared at the shop.

"But I thought we were bonding?" Enid sadly gave us her big blue eyes.

"We will only slow you down," Wednesday said.

"You're a gazelle, I'm a wounded fawn. Cut me loose and run with the pack," I said tilting my head to her friends, including Ajax, going into the store.

With that she ran into the shop and we went on our way. Thing tapped on my shoulder, pointing, as we passed Uriahs Heap.

"We're going to see Galpin, we don't-," I was caught off guard with the most beautiful black dress in the window.

We heard a chime of a door opening and turned our heads to see Dr Kinbott, "Hi Y/n! Hi Wednesday! That dress would really turn some heads!"

"Are you collecting more exotic trinkets for your office?" I asked.

"I collect them from my travels. That's how I step outside of my comfort zone. Speaking of which, are you two going to the Rave'Ns dance this weekend?" She pressed.

"We're not required to talk about it in the wild, are we?" Wednesday asked.

"Well I look forward to hearing about it at our next session," she smiled.

We both turned and walked away.

"Well only one of us is going," I mumbled.

We eventually made it to the police station to talk to officer Galpin. She pulled Xavier's drawing she stole earlier out of her pocket and placed it on the officers desk.

"We both know that there's a monster out there, so I suggest we put our differences aside and work together," I spoke.

"And this is your stake for me to deal you both in," he sighed examining the drawing and a photo, "I'm sorry but this is not enough evidence for me, but you got some nice detail though."

"We didn't draw it," Wednesday said taking the picture back.

"Well I need to know who did," Officer Galpin said aggressively.

"Unless we're exchanging intel we're not at Liberty to say," I said.

"Why would I share information about an ongoing murder investigation with a couple of high school kids?"

"Because we go to Nevermore and you don't, don't you want some eyes and ears behind those ivy covered walls?" I asked.

"Listen, Velma, why don't you and your Scooby gang stick to your homework and leave this to the professionals?" He stopped as the phone rang.

We both turned to leave.

"Hey Addams," we turned around, "lemme see that sketch again. The person who drew this, is that your suspect?"

Wednesday nodded. I looked down at the floor. I rarely disagree with my sister, but today is one of those days.

"Get me some concrete evidence. Then we will talk," he said and we left.

We were walking towards the Weathervane from the Police Department and I was quite frustrated, "Wednesday, you're tunneling."

"You saw all of that evidence, Y/n. Don't let your feelings cloud your judgment, you're better than that," She snapped.

Rounding a corner, I opened my mouth to argue back, but a familiar voice interrupted me.

"Woah, you two don't look happy. What trouble are you two in now?" Tyler said smiling between the two of us.

"Your father's in particularly frustrating form today. Avoid!" Wednesday said tight lining her lips.

"You're not exactly guillotines and cemeteries either," I mumbled crossing my arms as Tyler looked between the two of us.

"You guys have the Rave’N coming up this weekend right?"

"We must be the only two not obsessed with this stupid dance," Wednesday rolled her eyes.

"So you two aren't going?"

"Actually, Y/n was forced to ask someone as an act of self preservation," Wednesday raised a brow.

"Sure, that happens... I guess," He said confused, "So who is it?"

"Xavier," I said as if it doesn't matter.

He nodded in understanding, a sad look crossed his face, looking at Wednesday almost hopeful, "And you?"

I smirked and budged in, "Actually, I really didn't want to go without my sister, she's just being a little shy today, but she was planning on asking you."

Tylers face lit up, "Really?"

I could practically see the steam coming out of every hole in her head. Karmas a bitch… and today, my name is karma.

"Yeah," She looked at him, I knew she'd never hurt him, purposefully that is.

I smirked, "Great. We will see you this weekend. Come on Wednes, we have a club meeting to get to."

I walked away, almost a skip in my step. To the Hive we go!

"Enid wouldn't let us keep these in our dorm," I said pinning up our evidence.

"That's okay," He smiled, "I'm assuming this is the monster roaming the woods?"

"You’ve heard of it?" I asked.

"Mr Fizz said it was a bear but i knew that wasn't true, doesn't match their hibernation schedules," he explained, "Speaking of monsters with sharp claws, can you give this to your roomie? Put in a good word for me, I heard she still needs a date to the Rave'N."

He handed me a jar of honey, I raised a brow at him.

"Eugene!" Wednesday reprimanded.

"I know the chances of her asking are just next to zero, but I don't care. I'll keep putting myself out there until Enid finally... sees me," He explains.

I felt bad, Eugene was such a sweetheart, Wednesday agreed, but she'd never admit it.

"And if she doesn't?" Wednesday asked.

"She will, I'm playing the long game. My mom says people will appreciate me when I'm older. I know they're probably just trying to make me feel better, but-"

"Listen people like the three of us are different. We are original thinkers, intrepid outliers in this vast cesspool of adolescence. We don't need these inane rights of passage to validate who we are,” I interrupted.

“So you two aren’t going to the Rave’N either?” He excitedly smiled.

Guilt rested in the pit of my stomach as Wednesday answered him, “Actually, we are.”

“It was an unfortunate set of circumstances. These sketches are the closest thing we have to a lead to try and stop this thing,” I explained hoping to make him feel better.

“That circle…” He examined one of the photos, “I think I know where that is.”

“Show us!” I demanded.

Eugene brought us into the woods, about a mile away from Nevermore. A circular cave came into view, looking like something out of a horror movie.

“Well this isn’t so subtle,” I mumbled, “How did you find this place? It’s definitely a match.”

“I was collecting specimen. This place is ground zero for horny gypsy moths,” He smiled proud of his knowledge, and probably for helping us find this place.

“Lets go check it out,” Walking forward to the entrance, the other two following me.

“I don’t do well in enclosed spaces, I’m claustrophobic,” Eugene explained, “Do you think its in there?”

“No, but if you hear us screaming bloody murder, there’s a good chance were just enjoying ourselves,” I walked into the cave, Wednesday following.

Eugene followed hesitantly.

“This is definitely its lair,” Wednesday said shining her flashlight.

There was a bad odor permeating the entire cave, nothing too bad to make us leave, just nothing pleasant, no surprise though.

“Are those human?” Eugene panicked.

I examined a skull, “No, more so a taste for venison.”

I grabbed my own flashlight and when I turned it on a pair of chained cuffs were connected to the wall, surrounded by scratches, “Interesting.”

They both came over to see what had caught my attention, while they looked at the cuffs my attention drew to a broken claw stuck in the wall, “Uno out.”

Wednesday says Yahtzee and I say Uno Out… it was a couple of code words from when we were kids.

“What is that?” Eugene asked.

“Proof,” I said putting it into a ziplock.

Now I could prove Xaviers innocents.

Wednesday suggested we went back to Xavier’s shed and find something with his DNA on it to compare. As much as I didn’t want to, it was the only way to prove that he wasn’t the monster. Sending Eugene back to Nevermore we made our way to the shed.

I opened the door and pulled out another ziplock, “We wont be long Thing, we just have to find something to match the claws DNA.”

We went in and I immediately saw the art work again, although he was so incredibly talented, I knew something was off. How could he be so obsessed with the monster? How does he even know what it looks like?

“Found something,” Wednesday said pulling a blood covered cloth out of the garbage, “Now lets get out of here.”

“So I can prove its not him,” I stated bitterly.

“Y/n, just because you have some repulsive infatuation for the boy, doesn’t mean he’s automatically innocent,” She grumbled.

The door squeaked behind us, both of our attentions were snapped to Xavier. Shit.

“The hell are you doing?” Xavier snapped walking up to us.

“How do you know what the monster looks like?” Wednesday immediately began her interrogation, “Or are these all self portraits?”

I glared at her, it not being missed by Xavier. Although, I couldn’t be too upset, I wanted to know just as much.

He scoffed, “You think its me? I saved both of your lives.”

“So did the monster. Or was it you the night Rowan was killed?” Wednesday continued.

“You two are so out of line right now?”

“We’re just trying to uncover the truth. Your art seems to have a reoccurring motif,” Wednesday glanced at the nearest painting.

He thickly swallowed, “Yeah. This thing has been haunting my dreams for the past couple of weeks. I try to block it out, but I can’t, so I just come here and paint it. When I was panting this one the claws came out of the canvas and took a swipe at me. That’s how I got these scratches.”

“I thought you could control your ability?” I asked concerned.

“Not when it comes to this thing.”

“Maybe its just your guilty conscience,” Wednesday continuously pushed.

“Wednes,” I hissed.

“I told you I’m not the monster okay?” He defended.

“So you just happen to draw pictures of it, down to the location of its lair in the woods?” She pulled the drawing out of my bag, “Pretty vivid dreams.”

He came to a realization, “You two were in here. Before, when I caught you outside. That’s the only reason you asked me to the Rave’N, isn’t it? To try and cover.”

I looked at the ground, my voice caught in my throat. I slightly shook my head, he was wrong, so wrong.

“It’s nothing personal,” Wednesday said adjusting her bag.

“No, it never is with the two of you, is it? I mean, do you care about anyone or anything at all? Either of you?” He raised his voice, he looked so broken.

“Xavier-“

I tried to finally find my voice, but he wasn’t having it, “Get out!”

He pointed to the door. Wednesday went first, quickly might I add. Xavier and I made eye contact. His green eyes looked like something in him had cracked, they say your eyes are the gateway to your soul. I began walking towards the door, but then I stopped. I wasn’t about to walk away like this, saying nothing. Letting Wednesday have the only words in this conversation, I don’t care if he wants to go with me or not, but at this point he needed to hear what I had to say.

I turned around and walked over to him and pushed him back until he sat on the stool, “Y/n, just go. What’re you doing?”

“A favor,” I mumbled touching the side of his neck where the scratches lay.

They healed in seconds, “I didn’t need your help.”

“Well you got it. Look…”

“No, Y/n… I don’t want to hear it. Why should I? You used my feelings for you to feed into this little game you and your sister are playing. You two are accusing me of being a killer,” He snapped standing from his stool, towering over me.

I wasn’t intimidated because I knew he wasn’t the monster.

“Well… if you are, you could hurt me,” I raised a brow, “But wait… you aren’t the monster.”

He furrowed his brows. I rested my hand on the side of his cheek… only twenty seconds of insane courage is all it could take. I stood on the tips of my toes an kissed his cheek. He seemed to be frozen in place. His chest heaving as if he was taking deep breaths.

“Wednesday and I never argue, but this… we seem to butt heads with. I don’t believe it’s you, I’m trying to prove it to her… even through you don’t believe I care about anyone… I do care about you,” I said walking towards the door and just before I left I added, “Have fun at the dance.”

With that I left. Broken. If its meant to be, it’ll be, but I guess people like Wednesday and I are tornados of trouble, heartbreak and distraught… people like us are meant to be alone. Oddly enough, Xavier had feelings for me… had, being the key word.

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