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atinylittlepain · 4 months

Text

Part Two | The Father

gator tillman x f!oc

series masterlist | series playlist

I am the shape you made me. Filth teaches filth. - Anne Carson, An Oresteia

wordcount | 5.4K

content warnings | 18+ this is a work of fiction exploring dark themes related to domestic abuse, corrupt government, physical/religious/psychological trauma, murder, canon-typical violence | dark smut, violent smut, verbal degradation, brief mention of sex work, depictions of dissociation-like behavior | gator is gross and toxic and what goes on in this fic is a depiction of a toxic, unhealthy dynamic | THESE ARE BAD PEOPLE DOING WRETCHED THINGS

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Her family never went to church. Her mother has pictures somewhere of a requisite baptism, but nothing more. And she can’t imagine receiving a particularly warm welcome anyways, not with Roy Tillman’s flock. Since she’s been staying in this town, Sundays are normally the only day of the week she can move around with little resistance, everyone else at church, or after church doing the brunch and the small talk and the eyes starting to melt the longer the day drags on and the wives and husbands and children, faces drooping, waiting to bend and break once they get home.

But there’s a different kind of worship occurring this afternoon. And while she’d like to continue her silent sulk, her surrender to failing, staying holed up in that condo until her boss pulls the plug on her, that snarl inside of her isn’t ready to give up. This Sunday, she’s joining the congregants to watch Roy Tillman preach.

It isn’t much of a debate when there’s only one man on stage, but she seems to be the only person minding that. Something close to hysteria, he certainly knows how to work a crowd. To get men up on their feet, nodding and grunting, burst capillaries in their jowls shaking with their devotion, and the women clutching their children close and nodding their own quiet assent, not that theirs matters, not that theirs counts. But still, but still. When he says stand, they stand, and when he says kneel, they get down and tilt up their chins to look at their deliverance, in blue jeans and a pressed flannel shirt no less.

It’s all the things that men like Roy Tillman tend to say. Something about the constitution, and a country under attack. Something about guns that isn’t about guns, but really, it is. Something about freedom that sounds more like oppression. And really, she’s not sure why he’s putting on such a show. It’s not like there’s any competition. But looking around to the other faces shivering in the stands of the highschool football field, she can understand why he might enjoy seeing their implicit prostration for himself, a little kick in his boots, little puff, pride, in his chest.

And his family, of course, front row, all in a perfect line, new wife and two daughters and she can almost see the pinch of fear in the wife’s face that it’s two daughters sitting next to her. Gator on the end of the row, there and not there at the same time, she thinks. She hasn’t seen him since that night. Some part of her, young part, small part, thinks he looks a little worn thin around the edges, a little darker, more drawn in. But she waves that off as her own projection, blinking focus away from the happy family and back onto the stage where their beloved patriarch is wrapping up.

She knows that the real reason she came to see this was more gross curiosity than anything else, though she’ll continue to pretend to be taking note of those closest to Roy, not that it’s anyone or anything new, nothing she didn’t already know.

Soon, she thinks, watching the crowd move and disperse around her, she will leave this place exactly as she found it. These people will continue to be the way they are. And the king will continue to rule. And she will go back to DC and forget all about the thin thread of hate and vitriol that strings this town together, held in the precarious hands of a righteous man. Less agent and more anthropologist at this point, she watches the families buzzing and swarming with a vacant interest, small hands being led around by larger hands. And someone, in turn, is watching her.

She feels her face pinch and pull when she catches his eyes, now standing with his father in a posture that can only be called a smalling, shoulders curled, his eyes darting and daring up to hers from their deference to the ground. She’d expect nothing less, watching the prince at the feet of the king. For her part, she doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away, a tired resignation to see what might happen, to dig her thumb into a festering wound, though Roy doesn’t abide by his son’s divided attention for long.

It’s quick, casual violence in the arc of a backhand. It hardly even makes him flinch, just turns his face to the side for a beat, a breath, and then he’s no longer looking at her, only looking at his father and she thinks she can see what words he’s offering to his son. What’re you looking at? Huh? What’s so interesting? And then the king’s eyes settle on her, still sitting in the bleachers, and he curls his lips in a grin, tip of his hat, grin, before turning his attention back to Gator. You don’t look at her, look at me, look at me when I’m speaking to you. You don’t look at her. Do you understand? She continues to stare though, and now it’s Roy who’s sliding quick glances her way, something indiscernible in the pull of his brows as he continues to speak to his son.

Maybe a week ago she would’ve pulled her gaze away, gotten up and left so as to not draw any more attention to herself. But something has calcified inside her and broken into pieces. Something failing, something losing, something tired. She doesn’t care any more about the attention, the promise of getting out of here in a few short weeks dropping a filmy haze over everything. There, but not really there, she watches as Roy dismisses his son and starts walking her way. A few of the stragglers greet him when he steps up onto the bleachers, and he’s all smiles, all straight, white teeth and pleasantries, waiting to drop his lips in a curl once the good folks, nice folks leave. Just him and her on the bleachers now, and she’s starting to shiver in her coat, chin tilted up in an indifferent acknowledgement of the looming man.

“Agent Harris.”

“Roy.”

“Are we on a first name basis now? I didn’t know.”

“It’s been long enough, hasn’t it?” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own. It hasn’t, not for a few days now. A little dull, a little drone. She speaks, and she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. Just sound, just murmur.

“How’d you like the show?” He does that man thing, hooks his thumbs into his belt and heaves his mass forward with his question. She fights a roll of her eyes, settling for a placid smile that aches in her jaw instead. His grin falters.

“All those people certainly seemed to enjoy it.”

“Well now, that’s not what I asked you, is it? I asked if you enjoyed it.”

“I’d say I got what I came for.”

“I’m glad you did.” His mouth barely moves around the words, set in a thin line. And she makes a mistake. Even in her thick haze, she knows it’s wrong, the quick glance of her eyes over Roy’s shoulder to catch his son’s stare, made small with the distance, his jaw working around itself as he watches their conversation.

Of course, Roy notices it, turn of his head over his shoulder, and Gator looks away a breath too slowly. Like a game, whose eyes on whom, and who gets caught. And they both do, she thinks, with the slow, steeled set of Roy’s shoulders when he turns back around to look at her, sliding his thumbs back and forth, back and forth along the edge of his belt, trying to square up a new truth. They’re both caught. She wonders if he can see it on her, sense it, a thin film of grit, grime slipping and sliming up her skin. She wonders if filth recognizes filth.

“Heard you’ll be leaving town soon.” It takes a breath to remember he’s speaking to her, snapped back into the reality of Roy Tillman lording over her, a dare of some sort in his statement, jump of his eyebrows that makes her grimace.

“I suppose I am.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No you aren’t.”

“No, I’m not. You have a nice day now.” Tip of his hat and the whites of his teeth and he’s gone, and when he moves out of the way she sees that Gator is gone too. Probably, definitely for the better.

There’s a voicemail from her boss on her phone that she listens to as she trudges through the gravel lot to her car. He’s been calling a lot more lately, a few last hail Marys to see if she’s managed to dig up anything worth sniffing at before he’s making an entirely different call in two weeks. No, nothing, she’ll call him back tomorrow morning when the haze isn’t so thick.

Swift sickening, he’s waiting at her car, and it’s too familiar, and there’s too much hope in his eyes, rounded and real, and she wonders briefly if screaming would get him to scurry off. No, not here, not with families still getting into their cars around them. She approaches him with a numb resignation.

“Mel.”

“You don’t call me that.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” Fierce and sharp and don’t, her words snap with don’t. A little too loud, a few husbands and wives and children turning their heads at the sound of don’t. He huffs, palm to the back of his neck, that smalling, that downing thing. And that dull curiosity kicks up inside of her, just to see what might come next. She waits, silent, her hand on the handle of her car door.

“Can we go somewhere else?”

“What? You can’t talk to me right here?” That snap is settling back in, a fine flicker of frustration that he’s needling like he is. It feels better, at least, than the haze. A little pulse, a little flame of anger.

“Please?”

“I don’t think Roy would appreciate the sight of you talking to me.”

“This ain’t about him.” Nervous, she realizes, his one hand shaking at his side while he takes a quick pull off his vape, still not quite looking her in the eye. And she could leave right now. Could stay holed up in that bleak condo for another two weeks and never see Gator Tillman and his broken face again. But there’s that aching wound and she wants it to ache a little more.

“Fine, get in the car.”

One thing she has come to like about North Dakota are the vast stretches of highways between towns. In between places, places where no one is paying too much attention to anything other than getting through it. They drive for twenty minutes in pure silence, save for the jilting tap of his fingers on his knee, minded enough to not smoke in her car. And when it seems like enough distance has been put between them and anything or anyone else, she pulls over onto the shoulder of the highway, faced with the withering remains of crops, dying out and crumbling into death in the oncoming cold.

“Well?” She lobs the word at him, more cough than question with the way her throat is starting to close and constrict. And she shouldn’t be surprised, but still, but still. A broken yelp skittering up her throat when he lurches toward her. No, she shouldn’t be surprised that this is all he can think to do, a desperate dare to close the space and try to press his lips to hers. But that makes it sound so nice, doesn’t it? And this, this isn’t nice. This is something bordering on violence, his hand curling so hard around her arm that it makes her gasp with the sting of it. And he tries for her mouth but she dips and jerks away so suddenly that the back of her skull rings and thrums against the window, a hot, wet smear against her chin all that he succeeds in. No, not surprising that he thought that would work, a child’s logic to the whole thing, just like his father taught him. But he is forgetting her own fang.

Snap, snarl, she lashes out in a quick heat of motion, satisfaction when the sharp of her nails make contact with his cheek, enough of a recoil that she can strike again, heel of her hand to the hilt of his throat, shoving him back with a choke. And it all melts down from there, both of them grabbing at clothes, at skin, teeth bared, white flash and breathing curses at the other. It feels like something, and that’s better than the alternative, better than failing, than losing, so she bears down harder and lets the heat rise.

When she kisses him, she bites down hard enough that a cry threatens up his throat, metallic bleed in her mouth that she chases after. And he’s jerking away while also pulling her toward him until the console is digging into the soft of her hip, slumped toward him, open mouths, open breaths, open violence. Her stomach churns, toxic taste in her mouth, tinged and tainted with him and him and him. Him and his wretched hands in her hair and under her jacket and coaxing and coaxing. Him and the shattered sounds he’s gasping out everytime she pulls away to find some other swath of skin to lay her teeth into, something desperate and caught in his chest. And if she thinks too hard about the fact of him she’ll crumble. Easier to proceed, to dig down deeper into the wound.

“Is this what you wanted?” And this voice is hers, no matter how much she wishes it wasn’t, coming from somewhere deep and darkening inside her. She holds him by the hair at the nape of his neck, tilts his face back so she can look him in the eye, his mouth slack and panting, dark want in his eyes. Yes, he says, and the word breaks in his mouth, a shattered, small confession of want. This is what he wanted, a little more pain, the pinch of pleasure. She drags her hand down to his pants and he’s hard and he’s making more of those broken sounds as she digs the heel of her palm in, livewire spine shooting straight up with a jolt and Jesus Christ, short and shouted and amen.

None of it makes sense. Somewhere in the fray and fizzle he’s managed to dig his hand down into the neck of her shirt and under her bra, grasping hard at the swell of her breast while she fumbles through his zipper, a little frantic, the both of them trying to make this real. Real enough when she wraps her fingers around him, a little damp because it’s that much of an ache, a want for him, his head tipping back with a sigh when she squeezes, soft and warm and he’s pretty like this. A slow realization that slips in around the edges of her foggy mind, watching the crumple of pleasure in his face as her wrist starts to flicker, his cheeks starting to mottle pink and red and she lays her open mouth over that heat, that pulse under his skin.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” His head jerks in a nod, eyes scrunched shut as an uh-huh mm-hmm rattles up from his throat. And that thing that she likes, that buoys and blooms behind her ribs into something rotten, rotting, fizzing and snapping, a small please that he repeats twice, please, please. He spills over her hand with a punched-out groan, and for a moment, the haze lifts. She blinks hard in the gray wash of sun spilling in through the car windows and a shiver settles in. Something is splintering, the choice to stop now, or to let this rot a little more.

Filth begets filth, she’s back in the snap and snarl of it just as quickly, some kind of deciding that yes, she is doing this, digging into this. Her hand is smeared sticky, starting to cool, and she watches from somewhere over her shoulder, a blank and morbid what if of a wondering as she swipes two of her fingers through the thickening drip of him and holds it up to his mouth. There’s a resistance that fades in his eyes when she runs the pads of her fingers over his bottom lip, opening up, letting her in until she’s hooking her fingers behind his teeth and giving an experimental tug to his jaw. He breathes hard through his nose, lips closing and tongue curling around her fingers. He likes it, and her stomach churns with the hum he mouths around her knuckles.

Unblinking, his eyes are swallowing darkness, steady and settled on her. And she is looking at him. She is looking at him.

…

She takes him back to the condo, out of place in the clean, cold, white. Leads him into the bathroom and tells him to take a shower before stepping back into the bedroom and shutting the door behind her, slumping when she hears the sound of water running. He does as he’s told. And a headache is starting to press throbbing fingers into her skull, fraying logic, reason, turning it into misshapen meaninglessness. She takes off her shoes and she can’t feel her feet. She unbuttons her blouse and she can’t feel her hands, can’t feel the curl of her own spine as she unclasps her bra either. Can’t feel anything, how nice. How nice, this numbness, it almost feels like floating when she lays back on the bed that is but isn’t hers, bare and eyes tilted up and back to look at the place where the wall meets the ceiling.

What is this? This is nothing. How nice, that this can be nothing. A meaningless experiment, what if, and then gone, and then gone, and never again. But for now, she will rot with him, with the failing prince, failing just like her. She has decided on this.

Some of his cum has dried over her knuckles, peeling off in flakes that she studies, making a fist and then unmaking a fist, tilting it this way and that in the dim light of the bedroom.

“Oh wow.” The water has shut off, and the door has opened. And it’s such a strange thing to say at the sight of a naked woman. Young thing, absent-minded thing, starving eyes and the flex of his knuckles where his hand is holding a towel around his waist. She sits up on her elbows, wills tissue and ligament into a posture of want, knees bent and falling open and arch in her back and this body isn’t hers, but he’s looking at it, so it will have to do.

He looks different. Hair out of the usual slicked and shelled back, but dark and skewed around his face, longer than she would’ve thought. And there’s a tattoo on the swell of muscle over his left shoulder that she is choosing not to notice, ridiculous, though it looks more scar than ink, raised skin that she can see even from here. There’s a softness to him that surprises her, a fullness, a pinkness, heat blooming red up his neck and into his cheeks.

“Come here.” And he does, lets the towel drop and dark thatch of curls creeping up his pelvis and her hand rests there when he kneels between her legs, petting at the coarseness and the softness of his skin. He’s uncertain, that usual feather and flair of confidence dissolved. He’s a boy, biting his lip and unsure where to put his hands as his eyes drag over the body that is but isn’t hers.

“Come here.” Again, and again, he does, sinks his hands down into the mattress and curls over her and that hovering heat and weight is something of reassurance, something to hold onto. But she stiffens and stills when she runs her hand around his side and up his spine because not like the rest of him, not soft but strange, snarled and puckered and she thinks she knows what it is, what it might look like, but before she can think much further on it his hand is around her throat and he’s angry, fierce, fearsome. Her hand falls away from his back and his fingers curl into a closer crush and she gasps. He tries to look frightening but mostly he looks frightened, something nervous flashing behind his eyes when he tells her to never do that again. Don’t, do not. Sipping air, she brings both her hands to close around his neck, her thumbs digging up into the soft space beneath his jaw. He whimpers, wheezes a little, the blunt sharp of his fingernails digging into her throat. And they hold, they hold, both of them losing until they relent, release and pant. Hands slacken and ribs expand and her head spins, pushing him off and back and down and settling over him, making herself into a trembling god in the drape of her thighs and the fold of her hips.

His hands wander, and they could be anyone’s hands when she closes her eyes. A stranger, an animal, a suit back in DC who won’t look her in the eye but will squeeze right past you, sweetheart whenever he pleases and squeezes, and hands, and hands, and different, and different, because no one looks her in the eye the way that he is now. A little unnerving, a little too real so she closes her eyes instead and takes him inside her, a bruise inside her, an ache, their hips fitting together with a whine of pain.

She moves and he curses, damp hair bleeding against the sheets when he presses his skull back, a dark confession in the slack of his jaw. And she makes it hurt, digs her nails down into his chest and makes herself hiccup with the gritted pass of her hips against his.

He asks for her eyes, for her to look, look, look and when she refuses, his thumb and forefinger pinch at her jaw, hard, little shake of her skull, of her bones in his hands and she stills with him so deep it’s like a disease. Snit, swipe and spat and spit, her nails scratch at his face with the pass of her palm, hard smack don’t, do not, and he looks at her like this is something holy. And she sneers, curls her spine like a cage over him and you want me to look? You want my eyes? Now you have them. Unblinking and sweat and the stick of skin and his fingers are going to leave pain where he’s gripping at her flesh and she wants it, she wants it. Two bodies moving like one wretched beast, wretched sound of want resounding in the swim of it, and when she comes it’s a sharp knife in her stomach, quick cry, and he isn’t far behind, open mouth against open mouth.

And everything starts to melt in the after. Slump, sag, sigh, she feels used up when she slides off of him, feeling the tack and salt dripping between her legs. Awful, he’s smiling, little laugh of wonder and running his hands back through his hair because that was good for him, good, good, so good for him, half moon of his smile lit up white in her periphery, the line of his nose and he’s looking up at the ceiling, little puffs of breath in his chest. Awful, it was good for her too, good settling and sickening in the hollow drip of her gut. Awful, she will do that again.

She tells him to go home and he says no, simple as that, and she doesn’t ask again. She is very tired, after all, and he is very warm, very solid, very real. There’s a brief tensing, steeling and shivering up still when he tries to tug her into his chest. She kicks at his shins and he grumbles, but he keeps tugging, hands on whatever skin he can grasp. A wax doll starting to melt, the throb of his heart between her shoulder blades is enough to make her settle.

It’s only the afternoon at the latest, but they call it night, curtains drawn and lights turned off and sleep comes on like death, dreamless and sudden. She hasn’t been sleeping, so when she wakes up a few hours later with his arm still draped over her, palm splayed on her sternum and his fingers threatening nothing against the stitching of her throat, it feels like mercy. He doesn’t wake, doesn’t even stir when she peels herself out from under him. His face is crumpled to the side, on his stomach with his cheek turned toward her on a pillow, peaceful and young and unmoving.

“I’d like to kill your father.” Whispered, more breath than anything else, though she leans in close when she says it so her nose nearly brushes his. He doesn’t flinch, nothing.

Night has seeped in amidst the bleed of hours. She walks into the kitchen, still bare, still smeared, dips her head into the sink and drinks a few gulps of water from the tap, back of hand to mouth to catch what drips. And because she’ll be leaving soon, there isn’t much in the fridge, but her stomach aches, so she makes do with what there is. A couple of olives, a handful of shredded cheese, acrid salt in the back of her throat and threatening to gurgle back up. She swallows, stares blankly out on the half-finished development eating up the land, house bones and tarps wavering in the night. Her reflection stares back in the window and it is and it isn’t her.

When she does return to bed, stomach swollen and sweating with salt and sour, he only stirs enough to pull her back into him, skin squirming against skin and she lets him. The mutt prince has found something he likes, and he is going to hold onto it, breathing his damp heat all over it. She thinks idly to herself somewhere between sleep and not that she will break each of his fingers if she has to. Vacant violence that floats away with another wave of sleep.

…

It isn’t night but it isn’t morning yet either, thin fingers of pale blue light threatening through the curtains. She’s woken up by something hot and wet running up the side of her hip and it’s him, hard and rutting his want all over her skin. He isn’t even awake, whimpering and grasping at her so tightly that she feels deflated, feels like she can’t breathe because she doesn’t even need to, her ribs crumpling and collapsing in under the overwhelm of him, sugar paper body and he’s breaking it with his wretched hands.

As easy as a few machinations of their bodies, inside of her again, throbbing pulse of him again. He’s awake now, whispering her name, her full name, every time his hips hike up against her ass, pointless prayer that sounds stupid coming from his mouth. He makes her come with the frantic need of a boy, everywhere hands and hot breath and he won’t stop saying her name so she arches and contorts her spine in such a way that she can reach behind her and hold her palm over his mouth, fingers hooking around the round of his cheek, everything clammy and too close. He laughs, murmurs something wet against the lines of her hand that sounds a little like you sure are flexible and even then, even then, she lets him continue to fuck her.

She shouldn’t. Not once, let alone twice. But he comes inside of her again and it feels like nothing, a little warmth, a little spread, a little raw meat starting to gristle and glisten as his arms finally slacken and she rolls over onto her back. Heartbeat in her hips and the handprints he left all over her, she watches light start to spread over the ceiling and wonders if today will be the day her boss calls her and stops asking for evidence and starts talking about plane tickets.

He whistles, low sound, short sound, dog sound, and her eyes roll over and onto him where he’s laying beside her on his back. Hair soft and in his eyes and he’s smiling at her because to him, this is nothing but good. Heat rises in the front of her skull, up around her eyes, sharp inhale to stop the sudden flood.

“Is Gator really your name?”

“It’s what everyone calls me.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Isaac.”

“That’s your real name?”

“Nobody calls me that.”

“Who named you Isaac?”

“Nobody.” And she knows nobody means mom, means mom that got out, that isn’t even a memory for him. She knows who his mother is, but judging by the blank way he answers her question, she doesn’t think he knows. It’s her job to know. To have threads of files of all the lives that have ever intersected with Roy Tillman’s. She knows Gator’s, or Isaac’s, mother’s name, knows she was never married to Roy. She never could track down a birth certificate for a Gator Tillman, the son that Roy was not supposed to have, and the true comedy that he’s the only son Roy does have. All she could find, a police report from a woman who had to leave her son behind with one Roy Tillman. The bastard, the mutt, the illegitimate prince.

“Who started calling you Gator?”

“My dad.”

“Do you like your dad?”

“I love him.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He doesn’t like that, scoffs, shake of his head, curling his body to sit up and she sees his back. His back in the pale light, a mural of gnarled scar tissue, pink and puckered cross-hatching. She isn’t surprised, but she still takes in a sharp breath at the sight and she’s sorry for it, reminding him of the fact of his body that he had forgotten for even a moment. Caught, he glances at her over his shoulder and he sighs because there’s nothing to be said. Moves with a caution she hasn’t seen from him before, slow and small in getting up from the bed, puts on his undershirt and briefs from the day before.

Sudden and surprising, she finds herself gripped by a cold terror, her heart ramming up against her ribs, spine slicked with ice. She can’t move, watching him kneel on the bed and make a cage around her with his arms, leaning close so she can smell his sleep-soured breath.

“He ain’t an easy man to like.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Do you like me?” His eyebrows pinch with hope, and she could nearly laugh because she’s certain he could kill her now, if he wanted to. He came close to it a few times last night. But he’s a boy, a hopeless boy waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know what I think of you.”

“I like you.” She wonders if he can hear the thrumming fear in her pulse, if he notices the way her eyes shift to the top drawer of her dresser where a second gun sits humming and waiting. If he does, he shows no sign of it. He’s looking at her, and only her.

“That’s good.” It must be nice how simple this all is to him. He hums a single note and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, cold air stirring when he gets back off the bed to continue getting dressed. Slowly, the fear thaws out of her, leaving something else behind.

A little blink of hope. Her boss calls them cracks. Little weakness, little slippage, places where the lines between two people slacken and fray. She thinks that she’s found somewhere to dig her fingers in and pull and push. Father and son, and the fine fissures that pain creates. A new wound for her to mouth at. She thinks that the next time her boss calls, she might just have something to offer up to him. A boy, a body, a traitor.

#gator tillman #gator tillman smut #gator tillman angst #gator tillman fanfiction #gator tillman fic #gator tillman fargo #filth

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heartbrokens · 4 months

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HEARTBROKENS ♡ ─ hello! i'm angel, twenty-three, she/her, pst.

NAVIGATION. ♡ 1x1 INFO.

i'm currently looking for 1x1 partners! i've been roleplaying for such a long time now but i took a break for a few years, and now i'm back! i love to connect with someone and make cute headcanons, playlists, pinterest boards of our characters! i play either male or female, but you can check the cut to see my fc wishlist/opposite! i also either play oc and fandom depending on what my partner likes! i adore the typical plots like enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, celebrity, long distance, slice of life, college, etc. i tend to be very flexible with replies but i do have days where it takes me a bit longer to reply, at the end of the day, i would love to develop a friendship and gush over our characters! like this post ♡ if you're interested and i'll send over a message! or don't be afraid to reach out to me. under the cut you can see some fcs i'd love to play and some fandoms/characters too! ( updated feb 26 !! )

𝗙𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗢𝗠𝗦

bolded = ships i desperately want to play!

𝗴𝗹𝗲𝗲

finchel ( finn x rachel ) faberry ( quinn x rachel ) jarley ( jake x marley ) fuinn ( finn x quinn ) brittana ( brittany x santana )

𝗙𝗖 𝗪𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

bolded = fc's i desperately want to play!

𝗳𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗲

lana condor lola tung sofia carson sydney sweeney jennie kim minnie mills olivia rodrigo sabrina carpenter park chaeyoung/roseanne park nadine lustre kathryn bernardo kiernan shipka

𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗲

joshua bassett kim taehyung kim seokjin milo manheim taylor zakhar perez tanner buchanan sang heon lee david iacono gavin leatherwood regé-jean page

#1x1 rp #discord rp #discord 1x1 #1x1 roleplay #rph

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wroteclassicaly · 1 year

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Cheeky Plan

(Steddie x Female Reader)

Warnings: Some language, tooth rotting, domestic fluff.

Pairings: Steddie x Female Reader

A/N: This is just something I randomly came up with! It is unedited! There’s complete domestic life fluff, and I hope y’all enjoy?! ❤️💝

~*~

You wake up in a dizzying rush, not bothering to feel on either side of you. With your stomach heavy and growling with hunger, you have a mission to complete. It takes some maneuvering on sock clad feet to get yourself off the king sized mattress and plant your heels into the hardwood, but you manage—as always. You’re quiet in your languid pattering down the hallway, almost ready to turn the corner into the kitchen when a soft male voice calls out for you, concern pressing into its depth. “Y/N? Sweetheart, what are you doing up? It’s almost four in the morning.”

The gravelly tone comes from the sofa, where one of your husbands is perched, cradling your mutually shared husband in his lap, fingers threading a rhythm through his chocolate tresses. It warms your insides and makes you move towards them. “M’ sorry if I was too loud, Eds.” You break briefly to look down at the snoring form of Steve Harrington—clad in sweats and his full bushy chest on display, one hand curled in Eddie’s spare, the other resting at his side, as if he was missing your touch. “He fell asleep out here, huh?”

“Out like a light the second Johnny Carson came on.” Eddie lightly scratches at Steve’s scalp. He’s roused awake, blinking slowly up at Eddie with a head tilt, baring his entire, delicious jugular and its straining tendons. He then finds you and is sitting upright too fast, having to balance himself by keeping his hand held in Ed’s, the other pinching at his knee.

“W-what’s wrong? Fuck, what time is it, guys?”

In unison, you and Eddie answer with, “Nearly four.”

“Why’d you let me sleep for so long?” He briefly directs it at Eddie, before turning back to you. “We should’ve gone to bed with you, honey.” You’re already shaking your head. “You were tired—“

“And you looked too-fucking-cute to shake awake,” Eddie interjects.

“So it’s okay, baby.” You finish, leaning in to peck Steve’s slumber-parched lips.

“Yeah, but… Y/N, you almost never get up this late in the night? What’s going on?”

Eddie pitches himself forward and starts to stand, but you’re already leveling a hand out, a sudden anxiety creeping in. It’s to be expected right now, as you’ve been having bouts of it on and off the last month. However, it still leaves both of your hubbys shocked at the flipped switch. “Don’t touch me, Edward!”

With a stoic and damn near comedic expression, you forgo the rest of the conversation and head into the kitchen, making a beeline to the refrigerator, yanking the freezer door open and crying out upon seeing its contents (or lack of). “What the fuck? Where is that tub of ice cream I just bought?”

Both men are cautiously approaching, Eddie still in his jeans and band tee, complete with fuzzy slippers. He gives Steve a knowing look. This causes you to huff and stamp your foot (rather cutely, if they must say so). “If either one of you tell me that you ate it, I swear you will never see these—“ You pause, lifting your night shirt and exposing your swollen breasts. “again.”

“Baby… You said I could have some, remember?” Steve tries, gulping anxiously.

You’re caught between wanting to pummel him and craving to lick his throat, giving it more marks. Instead, your eyes fill with tears that you can’t battle, and a shame leveling off rationality. Your voice is a tiny whisper, but clear. “I didn’t think you actually would.”

Steve is automatically brimmed with guilt, engulfing you in his arms in one elongated step. You bury your face in his hairy chest and inhale his body wash and lingering cologne that’s mixed with Eddie’s Old Spice. You let him hold you for a second, also permitting Eddie to do that thing you like with his fingertips along the curvature of your spine and around your tailbone, before pulling away, tears having subsided. “Don’t tell me that. Tell her. She really wanted it, Stevie.” And you use both pointer fingers to motion to the swollen bump that’s resting beneath your shirt, your daughter wide awake and grumpy.

Eddie leans over and lifts one of his ringed hands to your belly, his thumb stroking over your navel with a defined softness. The baby responds to his familiar touch instantly, her little foot stretching your skin to give his palm a kick. His eyes beam with a glow that enchants both you and Steve. He’s marveling in a solitude of fondness, speaking directly to the swell of your tummy. “You wake momma up, princess? And for what? Frozen lactose and sugar?”

Steve sees your renewed ease and stretches his large hand out, splaying it beside Eddie’s. Another foot gives that same instant response. You roll your eyes, but it’s an endearing gesture. “She’s getting impatient, especially since she knows that one of her daddy’s ate it.”

“And since she’s got your biological genes in her, Harrington, you know how she’ll keep our lovely wife up all night until she gets exactly what she wants.”

This makes you snicker, Eddie snorting. Steve raises a brow. “Are you trying to tell me something, Munson?”

“Just that you can get a little cranky when you don’t get your way. Sometimes…” You say and pat his hand, fingernails scraping his wrist bone, before one digit slides across his gold wedding band—identical to the ones you and Eddie wear.

“Alright, alright.” Steve interrupts, his hand removing itself from your stomach and lacing his fingers through your own. “Daddy will go get his princess and his Queen some ice cream.”

You’re swimming in a sea of sudden guilt. Steve fell asleep early because he was exhausted from running the store and training new employees all day. He sees your hesitation and shakes his head, already heading for the hamper on the Lazy Boy and taking out a folded Polo, slipping into it and smoothing the fabric. With tousled hair in disarray, wisps of chest hair peeking through the undone buttons, topped off with gray sweats—Steve looks like your living fantasy. And Eddie, he’s in sync with your thoughts, peering through the curtain of his hair at the former jock, licking his plump lips.

“Fuck, man. Think you’re working up your freak of a husband’s appetite as well.”

Steve pretends to scoff, though he’s already formulating a cheeky plan.

~*~

With the small convenience store being down the road from your place, Steve’s trip to get the ice cream and essentials that went with it—was short. He’s back in no time, an over joyous grip pressing on his chest at the sight he’s greeted with. You’re on Eddie’s lap in the recliner, head on his shoulder, one arm around his neck, one of his hands on your feet massaging the tension away, the other rubbing over your belly, with your spare hand laying over top of his. What really gets Steve is the soft hum of some rock song that Eddie is serenading you and the baby with. You’re dozing off, but Eddie meets Steve’s eyes across the room, glancing down at you and kissing the crown of your head.

You and Eddie had married first, on paper, but that never mattered to Steve, because when he came into the picture not long after, you’d all taken formal vows as a unit. And when you’d all found out that the baby was conceived on a night you and Steve were together, whilst Eddie took some overtime for new band equipment costs, that didn’t matter either. She might be Steve’s first biological nugget, but she belongs to Eddie just as much.

You blink your eyes a few times, following Eddie’s pathway of a stare towards Steve, and you smile the most lazily soft grin that both men have ever remembered seeing on you before. “Thank you, baby. It’s chocolate, right? No, wait! Is it neapolitan?”

“Distract her for me, Eds. I have to set everything up.” Is what Steve replies with.

You huff and try to move, but Eddie is quick to pinch your chin between his fingers and bring your mouth against his. You melt into his touch like butter (as always), a moan drifting off your lips and onto his in a welcomed vibration. As Steve is going through the bags and dropping them onto the counter, he looks back at you two and shakes his head. “That’ll do it.”

You break from Eddie’s plush mouth with a smack, pout on your features. “You’re using your power for evil, Eddie.” You flick at his pick chain as he laughs.

“What? With these lips? No way, mother of my little earthling princess.”

Neither of you have noticed Steve’s disappearance into the bedroom, not until he returns and Eddie nearly chokes on your tongue. He taps your back and gets you to turn in his arms, your eyes going wide. There, in every single bit of his glory, stands your husband—Steve Harrington—in his old Scoops Ahoy uniform, complete with the hat. In the years since he’s worn it last, he’s filled out a lot more and you and Eddie both notice those… places where the polyester clings to. This time, Eddie helps you off his lap and you both meet Steve—you giddy and ready to pounce, Eddie speechless and drooling.

“M’kay, now that I’m married to you, can I say how otherworldly your ass looks in those shorts, Harrington?”

Eddie often saw Steve at the mall, but he wasn’t able to openly appreciate the uniform… until this very moment. You concur. Steve shrugs a shoulder and moves to the kitchen island, unloading the tub of ice cream, the sprinkles, and the chocolate syrup. He isn’t saying much, leaving you and Eddie zero choice but to oblige and find your seats. Both of them help you onto the bar stool with a hand, however.

The second that you’re seated, Steve is vivacious and cheeky. “Ahoy there, ladies and gent! What can I get for you tonight?” He reaches for something in his pocket and as he brings the ice cream scooper out, he spins it.

Eddie places his chin on his palm, muttering ‘are you on the menu?’

You clutch your belly, marveling at the scene before you. You’re glad baby Harrington-Munson woke you, after all.

~*~

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poorlittlegreenie13 · 2 years

Note

ok off the back of that modern gretson can I ask if you have any modern Jess/Lupe thoughts

Do I ever

I think they would live in New York too.

Lupe’s probably lived there for awhile, and Jess is relatively new to the city, having moved from Moose Jaw.

They would both be very involved in queer spaces in the city.

Also they would probably present a lot more masc because they could get away with it. Like shorter hair & less effort to pass.

Leather jacket wearing Lupe x Jean jacket wearing Jess. Mm.

But in modern times I think they would have a similar relationship at first to the one they have in the show.

Probably hanging out casually, being homies, going to bars together.

Once they met, Lupe would help Jess get to know the city and the best bars.

Lupe would probably have some friends but I think on the whole she’d be very closed off from most people.

Jess can fix that though

The more they hung out the more jealous Jess would get of the girls Lupe was hooking up with.

And meanwhile Lupe would be all broody & convinced that Jess could never want her.

Eventually they get their shit together. Which would probably involve Lupe being in disbelief that Jess likes her back, and Jess rolling her eyes and repeating herself several times.

But they’d figure it out.

Not to be horny on main but the idea of Jess & Lupe with access to modern sex toy technology… their power… they would be unstoppable.

Anyway.

Once they were together I like the idea that they wouldn’t tell anyone anything had changed & all their friends would just be like “wow Lupe really has it bad huh”

One day they kiss in front of their friends and everyone is like ???? you’re dating ????

They’ve been together for several months.

Their apartment would be such a nightmare, I’m sorry, those two are NOT organized people. They would be big fans of ‘The L Word’ and the TV would be on at all times.

Jess gives me grumpy dad who leaves the news on all the time vibes.

They probably start watching Killing Eve but stop after season one. Idk. I just think they would do that.

Greta and Carson recommended Killing Eve to them

They would have a massive dog named like Moose or Bear or something. Dog lesbians. The dog sleeps in bed with them.

They go to pro baseball games and bring binoculars to squint down at the field with.

They heckle the players.

Jess would still play guitar, but not professionally. Lupe would play a little bit too because Jess taught her.

Idk overall they would be living their best lives

They go on dates and both act grumpy but secretly are having the time of their lives.

#a league of their own #a league of their own fic #aloto #aloto fanfic #aloto series #a league of their own series #jess mccready #lupe garcia #lupe x jess #jess and lupe #jess x lupe #jess mccready x lupe garcia

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daydream-cement · 1 year

Text

Violet and Rose Ch. 6

Larissa Weems x OC (Fern Rogers)

Authors Note: Oof. Sometimes I start a chapter and I don’t even know where it’s goin.

"Up and at 'em!" Diane called from outside your bedroom door, knocking a few times just for good measure. You turn your face away from Larissa's side to look at the time: 5:00am. Not even Larissa made you get up this early during the summertime.

You let out a sleepy laugh as Larissa groaned and pulled the covers over her head. You had stayed up late talking, forgetting about how your parents have a no sleeping in rule. Larissa wanted to chat with you about her guilt of you not living in Wisconsin and you needed to share with her your family's theory that she was your 'sugar mommy'.

You still couldn't believe Larissa's reaction. She laughed. She thought it was hilarious. As you both got ready for bed, she kept saying, 'does my sugar baby need this' or 'I love you my sugar baby'. You found it absolutely maddening. You knew that this was a serious issue, but Larissa played it off as though it was a small bump in the road. You wondered if she was playing it cool to make you feel better.

You sneak your head under the covers. Larissa's eyes are open and a mild look of disgust, "Why do we have to get up?"

"You don't, technically, but I have to meet with a couple of locals." As you talk, you can tell Larissa is trying to charm you into staying in bed. Her hands tug gently at the fabric of your shirt and her eyes are all seductive and dreamy, "You could come with me though."

"Do I have to wear the boots?"

You roll your eyes and slip from the bed. Larissa tries to catch you, but her hands are too slow. You look at her as you strip, pulling off your pajamas and grabbing a pair of jeans that hung over the back of a chair. She peaks out from under the blankets, not trying to hide the fact she was watching you with hungry eyes. You decide to chastise her a bit for the hungry stare, "Larissa, I'm not getting back in that bed. You can just stay here. Wouldn't that be fun? My real mommy AND my sugar mommy spending time together?"

You can tell that Larissa is displeased by the idea of it, but she continues to sarcastically try to get you into bed, "Please come back to bed? I'm just so turned on by the childhood trophies and Jane Goodall posters."

"Ha ha ha. I wanted Aldo Leopold and Rachel Carson, but they don't make posters of them." You state in a matter-of-fact tone that made Larissa laugh.

You pull on a sports-bra and an old t-shirt from undergrad as Larissa continues talking, "If I go, do I have to ride a horse? Also, if I go, can I get a coffee?"

"No horses. We would take the truck. Yes, we can go in town for a coffee." At the word, 'yes' to a coffee, Larissa was sitting up in bed ready to go for the day.

------

"Phone? Keys? Kiss?" This was the same three questions your mom has always asked you before you left the house to go somewhere. You held up your phone and showed her the keys, then she grabbed your face and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

"I got everything, ma. Don't worry about it."

"Donelson's, then the Martin's, head across town to Ms. Mary's after that." Your mom instructed you, reminding you for what felt like the thousandth time of who you were supposed to visit, "Take Larissa out for lunch or something while your at it."

"Thank you." Larissa smiled triumphantly as your mother pulled her down for a kiss on the cheek too.

You mom now spoke to Larissa specifically, "When you get home, we will do some cooking together. Won't we, sweetheart?"

"Of course." Larissa responded, heading out the door first.

You lingered behind to talk to your mother, "Do not ask her about being my sugar mommy. I don't want to keep arguing about thi-"

"Fern, I'm not going to ask her about being your sugar mommy or whatever. I talked to your father about it and I may have been a little... much last night."

The look on your face told Diane that you didn't quite believe her.

"I think I just got nervous that your relationship is so non-traditional and everything about our family is so traditional, but you... You, Ferny, you have always been the one to break the mold, so I'm sorry and I was wrong."

You hugged your mother and began to tease her, lightening the mood, "I can't believe that Diane Rogers was wrong. Can I get that in writing? Will you repeat that so I can record it?"

Your mother began to chuckle at your ridiculousness, pushing you out of the house, "Get out of here. Pain in my ass."

You trail after Larissa, lightly jogging to catch up. Her eyes seemed unsure of the vehicle when you approached the red, beat-up truck, but she didn't say anything.

"We are taking ol' Eleanor for a spin." You smile, opening up the passenger side door for Larissa. You couldn't help but look at her head to toe, secretly enjoying the way she looks in casual clothing. Larissa hopped into the front seat and immediately adjusted her chair to accommodate her legs as your mother was usually the one in the passenger seat.

"Coffee?" Larissa asked as soon as you closed your car door.

"Coffee second. Corn first."

-------

The first stop didn't take long at all. It turn's out Mrs. Donelson was overly worried about this year's crop, but it was doing perfectly fine. You did a quick lap of a few different fields, driving Larissa around on some of the backroads. After a couple stops in the fields, you encouraged her to drive, so you could jump out and get back inside without turning off the car. She was a little nervous at first, but after she settled into the driver's seat, you began thinking she was becoming a little too comfortable.

"Jeezz, Rissa. Not so harsh on the turns, huh?" You gripped at the "oh-shit" handle, as your father called it, and looked at Larissa in shock. Larissa was enjoying the gravel road beneath the car's tires, "Gravel is all fun and games until it's not."

"Okay, okay, okay." Larissa rolled her eyes and did what she was told.

You had her stay in the driver's seat, making her drive you both into town. You wouldn't deny how good and carefree the drive felt. You lifted the armrest and slide across the bench seating, Larissa's arm draped over your shoulder as you both sat listening to the country radio with the volume on low.

You have driven this road hundreds of times. You knew every dip and turn in the roads. You knew when to expect fields of crops and when to expect pastures with cattle. You knew every house, every half-fallen barn, and every broken down tractor.

“Keep going straight. You will see the coffeehouse on the left as we go down Main Street.” You don’t move from Larissa’s side, but your arm stretches in front of you to point forward. You bring your arm back down and continue watching out the front window as Larissa drives.

Larissa rolls to a stop in front of the one stoplight in town. You feel yourself have a mini heart attack, standing on the street corner is Sarah who is waiting for the light to turn as well. There was no doubting that she noticed your family’s truck. You saw her staring directly back at you, watching as you were tucked into Larissa’s side.

The light turned green and she maintained eye contact as Larissa drove you up the street to park in front of the local coffeehouse. You wondered if Sarah would follow you up the street. You were so anxious to come into contact with her. Larissa didn’t seem to notice your nervousness as she turned off the engine and hopped from the truck. Her hand was outstretched to you, helping you from the truck as well. Just this one gesture made you feel better. Larissa was your girl, not Sarah.

You held open the door to the coffeehouse, allowing Larissa to walk in first. You follow after her. The coffee shop wasn’t typically busy, but it obviously had enough customers to stay in business. Larissa wasted no time ordering herself a large latte and ordering you your preferred mocha. You, however, hold out cash first, preventing her from paying. No one in town could start sharing in your mother’s ‘sugar mommy’ theory.

Larissa didn’t question it. You always went back and forth paying for coffees and such. You stood and waited for your drinks, Larissa’s hands rested on her hips, “So what are we doing next?”

“The Martin’s are a local family that has an orchard, berry farm, and grows grapes. Pretty eclectic growing for these parts.” You explained, trying to ignore the sight of Sarah walking past the front window looking for you.

Larissa smiles and probes a little deeper. She loved getting you talking about plants, “And what do they need help with?”

You see her step a little closer, blocking your vision of the front door. You look up at her and she is leaning forward in anticipation, looking for an answer from you, “They are worried about fertilizer amounts. They want me to take a look at the current fertility levels. Now that I’m home, it’s easier than sending it in to the state university or extension to have it checked.”

“Weems.” Larissa’s name was called as the coffee ms were placed at the end of the counter. The bell rang as the front door opened. Larissa was still blocking the door from your view and she glanced over her shoulder first. As she turned back to look at your, her eyes got wide and she gave you an ‘I’m sorry’ look. She moved out of the way to get the coffees, leaving you in line of sight for Sarah to see.

You acted like you were raised to: you smiled and gave a small wave. Sarah, of course, takes that as a cue, coming over to speak with you, “Well, well, if it isn’t Fern Rogers. Finally back home, I see.”

“Summer break. I had to come home to visit mom and dad.” You were internally kicking yourself for how fake your tone sounded. You would have thought she was a long lost friend or something.

Larissa comes to stand over your shoulder, carrying your coffee but not saying a word. Sarah looked up Larissa. You thought Sarah was tall when you dated, but Larissa of course was a whole different level. Yet Sarah’s voice exuded confidence as she spoke “And who is this?”

“This is my- This is Larissa. My-”

Larissa cuts you off, pushing the mocha into your hands and holding out her now free hand to Sarah, “Fiancé.”

———

“Fuck. Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” Larissa played dumb.

“Rissa…” You tried to push down the anger and keep it bottled, but it was becoming increasingly difficult, “Want to know how small my town is? My mother will call me in the next hour or so because she has gotten word THAT WE ARE MOTHERFUCKING ENGAGED.”

You gripped the steering wheel. You pulled off to the side of the road outside of the Martin property. You had never yelled at Larissa like this before. Never had she done something so stupid.

Larissa wasn’t going to sit there and take being yelled at, however, “I was helping! Fiancé sounds so much better than girlfriend. We really stuck it to that bit-”

“Larissa! I don’t care about her! Oh my god, I could give it a shit, but this is huge. Oh my god… Oh my god…” Your head falls to the top of the steering wheel. You wanted to dig a deep hole and lay in it. You mother was going to find out at any moment. Then what were you supposed to say?

It had been a half hour. Your phone started ringing on the seat next to you. Your mother’s face popped up on the screen. You thought you might vomit.

You couldn’t ignore it. You press the green button and put it on speakerphone to listen to your mother’s words, “Engaged? Fern Elizabeth Rogers! You have been home for two whole days and you haven’t mentioned a word of this!”

“Mom, I can-”

She didn’t care what you had to say, “You may be an adult now, but you know that this is absolutely reprehensible! I don’t know what is going on with you, but I’m beginning to question the type of person Larissa is! You haven’t been dating even a year yet, and now you are going to get married? I want you home young lady, immediately!”

The line went dead and you glanced at Larissa, “Do we get fake engaged or do you want to tell them the truth?”

Link to Chapter 7

#stately sequoia #larissa weems x oc #larissa weems #prinicpal weems #the cedars have eyes #fanfic #wednesday netflix #violet and rose #fern rogers

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stinalotte · 11 months

Text

Six (or rather, three) ways from Sunday

I'm not gonna warn for Spoilers because come on, we're over a decade after the fact.

I just watched Sunday for the third time in my life and had my heart ripped out just like the last two times.

The first time, I saw it on TV when it aired. I was so shocked that I literally stopped watching the show. Like, I turned off the TV, said nope, can't do this, and stopped.

The second time, it was my rewatch around 2016 or 2017, and I had completely forgotten about the plot or the fact that I had stopped watching because of how shocked I was. I didn't even remember when the title came on or when they mentioned the explosions. I didn't remember literally until the very moment the last bomb went off.

So if you want to know the emotional equivalent of taking a rusty blunt knife and twisting it in scar tissue, there you go. I bawled my eyes out and had to go for a walk even though I was sick with influenza at the time and could barely make it down the stairs.

I did decide to power through and watch the rest of the season (and the two subsequent ones) that time, but man, that hurt.

And now for the third time: I'm on my second rewatch — not binging it, mostly just one episode per day, if even that. I'm pacing myself. Only I was inching closer and closer to Sunday and this time I knew what was in store. And still I'm sitting here crying.

I think one of the reasons this episode hits so hard is because everything that comes before the third act is so lighthearted. I love seeing glimpses of everyday life, people wearing jeans instead of uniform, friendships, people playing and having lunch together (go get your man, Liz, he cute!), people just having a life and hobbies (Lorne you absolute gem, you're an ARTIST!). You get a real sense of the community that has formed.

Another reason is because of how the big blow - pardon the expression - comes at a time when the audience has just breathed a sigh of relief. Carson gets the tumor out, the bomb disposal unit takes over, he radioes the others, everything is okay.... And then it all collapses in an instant and suddenly there's a eulogy and a coffin and 50 people in the gateroom desperately trying to keep it together.

Of course, this time I was screaming for someone, anyone to take Carson fishing the whole time. God, the guilt they must have felt. (And yes, it's nobody's fault, but still - when you lose someone, you ask yourself, what if I had done X or Y or Z differently. It's human nature.)

Man, what an episode. I'm gonna need some time to recover from this one.

One thing though, and I say this with all due respect for the gravity of the story: hot damn, Sheppard in dress blues is FOINE. Sorry for your loss, babe, but dayum!

#I'm so sorry for babbling like this nobody cares pls ignore #I just had to get it out of my system #stargate atlantis #episode 3x17: Sunday #I can sob over Carson and drool over men in uniform at the same time thank you very much

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sopestvr · 11 months

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀† ABOUT THE WRITER !

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XANJYL⠀or⠀BTS RAPLINE’s #1 STAN (CANON)⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀✶ nineteen. he!xe. boricua. your stereotypical mean lesbian !

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VENOM⠀⟡⠀benji. evren. venix. yociel. czar. certified milf pursuer. graphic designer. born n raised new yorker. aspiring sugar momma. miles morales’ cousin. hobie brown’s unprovoked sidekick. professional makima & himeno hater. irl gwenpool. venom realest best friend. ava ayala in the flesh. diagnosed bpd pill popper. keeho’s secret bsf. ricky’s boss baby. yunjin’s needy.

BLOG⠀⟡⠀is for hispanic/latines that never see themselves in either oc's or readers, mainly because they’re always white and don't have culture. it is also for my tall chica’s who never get representation in media, aside from the tall girl movie where they weaponized her height until the last 30 mins of that god forsaken film. so bienvenidos mis amores.

♱⠀MI VIDAS⠀ᵎᵎ

TWIZZY’S⠀⟡⠀hobie brown. nagi seishiro. katsuki bakugo. keiji akaashi. yuuji itadori. maki zenin. ava ayala. america chavez. aña corazón. miles morales. shoyo hinata. takemichi hanegaki. hinata tachibana. denji hayakawa. chigiri hyoma.

MIS QUERIDAS⠀⟡⠀adri. mia. mula. lin. via. aster. riah. zeph. amy. cori. zayi. lulu. anahi. bri. naomi. mars. raj. dawn. rissy. sol.

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♱⠀PREFERIDO⠀ᵎᵎ

ANIMANGAS⠀⟡⠀attack on titan. god of high school. jujutsu kaisen. classroom of the elite. soul eater. chainsaw man. blue lock. gangsta. tokyo revengers. haikyuu. demon slayer. death note. hunter x hunter. sailor moon. angels of death.

COMFORT LOSERS⠀⟡⠀venom. miles morales. takemichi hanegaki. michael afton. yuuji itadori. denji hayakawa. suzune horikita. mikasa ackerman. mori jin. black star. meguru bachira. nicolas brown. aran ojiro. suma uzui. misa amane. killua zoldyck. usagi tsukino. isaac foster. katsuki bakugo.

♱⠀ESCRIBE⠀ᵎᵎ

BASICS⠀⟡⠀i always write tall (6'2), indigenous taíno puerto rican oc's for my stories. only time i won't is when a request specifically asks for an unlabeled reader, or a specific type of reader that doesn't correlate with my typical one.

#♱⠀—⠀sopestvr #♱⠀—⠀navi #♱⠀—⠀about me

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starwarmth · 1 year

Text

Books Read In 2023

Beowulf: A New Translation by Maria Dahvana Headley (1/3/23)

East by Edith Pattou (1/4/23)

Midnight on the Moon by Mary Pope Osbourn (1/16/23)

The Lady or The Tiger?, and The Discourager of Hesitancy by Frank R. Stockton (1/17/23)

The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1/21/23)

Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti (1/22/23)

Tiger Queen by Annie Sullivan (1/22/23)

The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis (1/26/23)

Batgirl, vol. 1: The Silent Knight (1/27/23)

Batgirl, vol. 2: To The Death (1/27/23)

Batgirl, vol. 3: Point Blank (1/28/23)

The Female of the Species by Rudyard Kipling (2/17/23)

Batgirl: Stephanie Brown, vol. 1 by Bryan Q. Miller (2/19/23)

Batgirl, Stephanie Brown, vol. 2 by Bryan Q. Miller (3/4/23)

Christmas in Noisy Village by Astrid Lindgren (3/4/23)

The Queen’s Blade by T C Southwell (3/5/23)

Sacrifice, The Queen’s Blade #2 by T C Southwell (3/9/23)

The Invisible Assassin, The Queen’s Blade #3 by T C Southwell (3/13/23)

Mermaids by Patty Dann (3/14/23) X

The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám translated by Edward FitzGerald (3/19/23)

The Mirror Visitor by Christelle Dabos (3/21/23) X

The Missing of Clairedelune by Christelle Dabos (3/22/23) X

I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jeannette McCurdy (3/24/23) X

Ronia, The Robber’s Daughter by Astrid Lindgren (3/27/23)

Kiki’s Delivery Service by Eiko Kadono (3/30/23)

Brine and Bone by Kate Stradling (4/10/23)

Green Arrow: Quiver by Kevin Smith (4/17/23) X

Eugene Onegin by Alexander Pushkin, translated by Stanley Mitchell (4/22/23)

When Patty Went to College by Jean Webster (4/23/23)

The Princess and The Pea by Hans Christian Anderson (4/23/23)

Deathmark by Kate Stradling (4/25/23)

Without Blood by Alessandro Baricco (5/5/23)

River Secrets by Shannon Hale (5/6/23)

The Fairy’s Return and Other Princess Tales by Gail Carson Levine (5/8/22)

Batman Adventures: Cat Got Your Tongue? by Steve Vance (5/14/23)

Batman Adventures: Batgirl — A League of Her Own by Paul Dini (5/17/23)

The Girl From The Other Side: Siúil a Rún, Vol. 1 by Nagabe (5/19/23)

Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair by Pablo Neruda. Translated by W. S. Merwin (5/26/23)

Other-Wordly: Words Both Strange and Lovely from Around the World by Yee-Lum Mak (6/21/23)

A Bride’s Story, vol. 1 by Kaoru Mori (6/25/23) X

La Dame aux Camélias by Alexandre Dumas fils (7/17/2023)

Storefront Church by William Waring Cuney (7/24/23)

Golden Slippers: An Anthology of Negro Poetry for Young Readers (1941), compiled by Arnas Bontemps (7/28/23)

Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate DiCamillo (7/29/23)

Strawberry’s New Friend (Flower Fairy Friends series) by Pippa Le Quesne (7/29/23)

Clementine by Sara Pennypacker (8/11/23)

The Whipping Boy by Sid Fleischman (8/18/23)

Convent Boarding School by Virginia Arville Kenny (9/05/23)

The Screwtape Letters by C. S. Lewis (09/18/23)

The Betsy Tacy Treasury by Maud Hart Lovelace (09/27/23)

Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan (09/27/23)

Skylark (Sarah, Plain and Tall #2) by Patricia MacLachlan (09/27/23)

Caleb’s Story (Sarah, Plain and Tall #3) by Patricia MacLachlan (09/27/23)

Maelyn by Anita Halle (10/06/23)

Imani All Mine by Connie Porter (10/15/23)

The Perilous Gard (10/22/23)

Enemy Brothers by Constance Savery (10/29/23)

Sadako and the 1000 Paper Cranes by Eleanor Coerr (11/19/23)

Gone By Nightfall by Dee Garretson (12/02/23)

The Dragon’s Promise by Elizabeth Lim (12/08/23)

A Lion to Guard Us by Clyde Robert Bulla (12/10/23)

The Thirteenth Princess by Diane Zahler (12/23/23)

The Hollow Kingdom by Clare B. Dunkle (12/26/23

The Wasteland by T. S. Eliot (12/31/23)

#i saw others doing this on tumblr last year and now i want to as well!

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ginevrastilinski-ocs · 9 months

Text

New Ocs!

I have new ocs to introduce, some that aren’t on my masterlist yet (but I’ll add them soon, I promise) (I have too many Gotham ocs, I know that I’ll probably scrap some of them, but until then...)

Shadowhunters

Marceline Seymour - Mundane (with Sight); future Elys’ girlfriend

Her faceclaim is Holland Roden!

Vincent “Vice” Verlac - Shadowhunter; Nico’s best friend (and ex boyfriend); just wants to be a singer; doesn’t care about fighting;

His faceclaim is Charlie Gillespie!

Descendants

Esme Balthazar - daughter of Edgar Balthazar; cat lover; her and Carlos are besties; ship TBD

Her faceclaim is Maria Ehrich!

Celestine - daughter of Blue Fairy

Her faceclaim is Maude Apatow!

Bernadette “Bernie” Poppins - daughter of Mary Poppins and Bert; twin sister of Armie

Her faceclaim is Millie Bobby Brown!

Armie Poppins - child of Mary Poppins and Bert; twin brother of Bernie

His faceclaim is Noah Schnapp!

Gavin - son of the White Knight; sweetest boy ever;

His faceclaim is Matt Cornett!

Brielle - daughter of the Red Knight

Her faceclaim is Sadie Soverall!

Rowan Cheshire - child of the Cat of Cheshire and Redacted;

Their faceclaim is Joy Sunday!

Glee

Jean St James - sister of Jesse St James; the sweetest girl in town; already famous singer

Her faceclaim is Olivia Rodrigo!

Maya Puckerman - younger sister of Noah Puckerman; Cheerio; New Directions memeber; wasn’t there for the first season for reasons lmao

Her faceclaim is Alexia Demie!

Mirabelle Ryder - Cheerio; no plot just vibes

Her faceclaim is Sofia Carson!

Morgan Smith - Cheerio; one of the Originals New Directions member; future Broadway star; (maybe a Rachel ship... tbd)

Her faceclaim is Lili Reinhart!

Melanie Jay - Football Player at McKinley (the only girl in the team); New Directions Memeber; basically girly girl who likes to play football and sing and that can kick your ass

Her faceclaim is Hailee Steinfeld!

Dulcinea “Dulcie” Klempt - niece of Isabelle Wright; famous dancer

Her faceclaim is Kristine Froseth!

Ezekiel “Zeke” Wright - son of Isabelle Wright; hates being famous; just wants a normal teenage life; hides in Lima for not handle New York shit

His faceclaim is Dylan Sprayberry!

Stranger Things

Effie Munson - Eddie Munson’s younger sister; probably a Robin ship (TBD)

Her faceclaim is Emma Mackey!

Sunny Henderson - Dustin Henderson’s older sister; Steve ship

Her faceclaim is Haley Lu Richardson!

Ethan Clifford - sweetest guy in all Indiana; ends up in the middle of the Hawkins Supernatural Chaos by accident

His faceclaim is Joshua Bassett!

Gotham

Annalise Pennyworth - niece of Alfred Pennyworth; Bruce (potential Bruce x Selina) ship

Her faceclaim is McKenna Grace (and probably Meg Donnelly when she’s older but... TBD)!

Margaret Gordon - young sister of Jim Gordon; the darling of the GCPD (does she work there? No)

Her faceclaim is Florence Pugh!

Virginia Falcone - daughter of Carmine Falcone; sister of Sofia and Mario Falcone; (don’t know about her for the vigilante thing... I’m more towards yes but not sure yet)

Her faceclaim is Zoey Deutch!

Karina Wayne - aunt of Bruce Wayne; Wayne Enterprices’ heiress (at least half of it); future vigilante (name tbd)

Her faceclaim is Anne Hathaway!

Vera Wayne - twin sister of Bruce Wayne (or at least this is what they think... spoiler: she isn’t)

Her faceclaim is Millie Bobby Brown!

Myra “Hel” Mooney - niece of Fish Mooney; rich bitch energy

Her faceclaim is Savannah Lee Smith!

Penelope Fisher - private detective; just wants to know what the fuck is going on in Gotham; the law can’t stop her lmao

Her faceclaim is Emma Stone!

Elijah Crow - no plot just vibes; vigilante for sure but name TBD

His faceclaim is Dominic Sherwood!

Mireille Lacroix - first and only daughter of an elite family of Gotham; future vigilante (name TBD)

Her faceclaim is Dove Cameron!

#new ocs #my ocs #new fc #new faceclaim #greta's ocs madness era

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cherrycola27 · 2 years

Text

HUNG UP

Chapter 3

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x OC Adaline Carson

Warnings: Language, drinking, allusion to Smut. Hangman being Hangman. Minors DNI 18+

"Rooster get OFF of me!" Ada yelled as she attempted to push the larger man off of her. "Jesus Christ you are so heavy!" She heaved trying to escape the unwanted cuddle from her friend.

Rooster sighed and rolled over. "Well this could have easily been avoided if you didn't have the world's most uncomfortable couch." He laughed getting up from her bed. "I have fallen asleep on that couch plenty of times with no issues sir!" Adaline shot back. "Yes but you are five and a half feet tall! I'm sorry all six feet and two inches of me couldn't easily fit on your couch like you can." Rooster responded.

It was true she wasn't the tallest person she had to look up to everyone on the Dagger Squad but her height didn't keep her from being a bad ass and at least when she did tell people that Rooster had stayed the night with her and cuddled that wouldn't be a lie. She had to admit it was nice having someone keep her warm last night. Her bed had been significantly colder in the previous nights ever since Jake had stopped sleeping over.

Adaline grabbed her clothes and went into her bathroom to change. She slid on her favorite teal bikini and a cute tank top and cut off jean shorts she tossed her hair in a messy bun and packed a bag for the beach. She decided to forgo makeup for the day considering she would just sweat it off, so she settled for a swipe of her favorite lip gloss across her lips. Once she exited the bathroom Rooster emerged from down the hall in a fresh tank top and swim trunks. He completed the look with his classic aviators and ridiculous Hawiian shirt.

"Ready to roll sweetheart?" He asked. Ada cringed at the pet name. "Sure am... honey... let's get this fake dating scam going" she replied pushing past him to head down stairs.

The day had gone well. Since Ada and Rooster were friends they had a good time together they ate, went to the beach, swam, and watched the sunset just like she planned. They even took some cute pictures that she put on Instagram. She hoped Jake would see them considering he followed her, and even if he didn't she was sure someone else from the team would show him.

Rooster spent the night again and this time when he went to cuddle her, Adaline didn't put up a fight. However she was completely shocked when Rooster sealed his lips along the spot where her neck met her shoulder. "Bradley what the Fuck? I told you no funny business!" She yelled pushing him away. "Ada chill... its all part of the plan remember... I'm getting fake laid tonight before I get to show you off tomorrow. I'm just leaving a little evidence. You won't be able to see it in uniform, but it will be visible in one of those pretty little sundresses you love to wear." He told her.

"How many people have you fake dated Bradshaw? You're like really good at this." Adaline laughed before turning over to sleep.

"I can't fucking believe it!" Jake exclaimed sitting in his truck. It was just after 11pm and and for the second night in a row when he had gone by her house, Roosters Bronco graced the spot in Adaline's driveway that used to be reserved for his Silverado. "This cannot be happening. How could she have moved on so fast?" He thought to himself. Which they hadn't been dating in the first place and if they weren't together they technically couldn't break up. So technically Ada wasn't doing anything wrong he told himself. But it was Rooster of all people for her to go running to... Rooster?!

She could have picked Fanboy, Coyote, Payback, hell she even could have picked Bob and he probably wouldn't have batted an eye... but Rooster? Sure he and Bradshaw were friends.. kind of... but Bradley knew how Jake felt about Adaline Casron yet he was more than happy to get in her pants the moment Jake was out of the picture. "Damn you Rooster." He cursed under his breath and drove away.

The Hard Deck was packed on Sunday night. Adaline held her breath as she and Rooster walked in hand in hand. She looked good. She was wearing a baby pink sundress covered in red roses. She matched her lipstick to the shade of the flowers on her dress. Her hair was curled and pulled back from her face and the love bite Rooster had given her was on full display next to the barely there straps of her dress.

The couple greeted theit friends warmly before Phoenix began interrogating them about their blooming relationship. After she was satisfied with the fake backstory the pair gave Rooster lead Ada to the bar.

"Penny! Get this little lady whatever she wants on my tab!" He called before he turned to rejoin the team for a game of pool. Penny gave Ada a sly grin. "You and Rooster uh? I always thought you and Hangman had something going on?" Penny prodded as she set a tequila shot and a dirty Shirley infront of Ada. "What can I say P? Rooster knows what he wants unlike some people!" Adaline shouted of the crowd. She quickly down the shot and chased it with her mixed drink. Once both glasses were empty Penny handed her another Shirley and a beer for Rooster. Ada happily walked over to the rest of the group.

Hangman had debated even going out tonight but he needed a stiff drink and an easy girl tonight because his hand just wasn't doing the trick. Hopefully he could avoid Ada and her new 'boyfriend' but much to his chagrin as soon as he walked in, he spotted them dancing. He almost turned on his heels until a pretty brunette walked up to him and started to flirt. She wasn't nearly as pretty as Ada, but she would do for the night.

As the evening drug on Hangman hardly paid attention to the brunette... her name was Taylor or was is Tonya... he couldn't remember and he really didn't care. After an hour of talking the brunette snapped her fingers in his face. "Listen Jake, I don't know what you're focused on but it's obviously not me have a goodnight dude." She said before hopping off the bar stool. Poor girl it wasn't her fault that he couldn't take his eyes of of Adaline and Rooster. He hated seening them happy together. "That should be me" he thought.

The sound of the bar groaning and the juke box cutting off snapped Hangman back to reality once again. Soon he heard Rooster grace the piano with the opening of "Great Balls of Fire" and to make matters worse, Ada was on his lap with his sunglasses on her head! Jake clenched his fists and slammed his beer on the bar. He tore through the crowd to head to the bathroom to puke... the sight of Rooster and Ada made him sick.

When Jake exited the washroom Rooster was no longer at the piano and he and Adaline where no where in sight. He scanned the room just in time to see his favorite pink dress slip out the back door.

"No fucking way." He growled. There was no way Jake was about to stay in this bar while Rooster was fucking Adaline out back. He could pretend that the times he had seen them at her house that nothing was going on, but slipping out back this early in the night... even Hangman couldn't make up a excuse for that.

Jake pushed through the crowd, not bothering to say a word as he ran into people. He was breathing heavy, his jaw was tight, he was on a mission. He pushed his way outside and that's when he heard it.

"Oh right there baby!" The familiar moan that he had once coaxed from Adaline was now being draw out of her by someone else. "Oh baby... you have any idea what this dress was doing to me in there? Wanted to take you right on that piano bench in front of everyone. You're such a bad girl, wearing this dress and no panties... just couldn't wait till we got home could you?" Rooster asked.

Hangman couldn't see them because they were being a storage shed but he knew what was going on. He balled his hands up into fists and charged around to corner ready to rip Roosters head off.

He rounded the corner and was stunned at the sight before him there as Adaline... his Adaline with her legs wrapped around Rooster while he assaulted her neck. Her eyes were closed but snapped open when she heard the disturbance.

"Jake what the hell are you doing out here?" She screamed at him both out of anger and fear. Rooster set Adaline down. Before he could say anything to his fellow pilot, Jake jerked him away from Ada and back handed him across the face. "What the FUCK Bradshaw?" He screamed. "How could you. You could fuck any other girl out her but you have to sleep with MY GIRL? Jake strained his voice already becoming hoarse. "That is so messed up man. Do you even care about her, or are you just using her to get back at me you son of a bitch?" Jake grabbed Rooster by the collar of his stupid Hawiian shirt.

He was just about to break Roosters nose when Ada called out. "Jacob stop!" Hangman froze at the use of his whole first name. He glanced over at Ada. She was visibly upset with tears in her eyes. "You have no right to do this! You aren't my boyfriend... hell you never were! I'm not your girl Jake, we were fucking that's all because you didn't want more. It's not my fault that Rooster knows what he wants and isn't afraid to go after it. So could you please let my boyfriend go and get your ass out of here!" Ada yelled at him.

Jake looked between Adaline and Rooster. He wasn't sure what had come over him. He let Rooster go and mumbled a "Sorry." As he headed to his car.

Hangman climbed into his truck and drove away.

He needed to be somewhere where he could be alone. He pulled into the abandoned beach parking lot, and for the first time in his like Jacob Thomas Seresin did something he swore he would never do because of a woman... he cried.

Tag List: @shanimallina87 @marvelsvalhalla

#top gun #top gun maverick #hangman x oc #hangman smut #hangman top gun #hangman seresin #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin #jake seresin smut

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stroebe2 · 1 year

Text

2022 favorites

albums/eps :

Once Twice Melody - Beach House

Ramona Park Broke My Heart - Vince Staples

CRASH - Charli XCX

CAPRISONGS - Fka Twigs

No Stylist - Destroy Lonely

Stardust - Yung Lean

Palaces - Flume

Fantasy - Jacques Greene

Icons - Two Shell

Palaces of Pity - Malibu

Crest - Bladee & Ecco2k

Cry Sugar - Hudson Mohawke

Dawn FM - The Weeknd

X - Ken Carson

Eternal Intervals - Braga Circuit

to hell with it - PinkPantheress (2021)

Agor - Koreless (2021)

Galore - oklou (2020)

movies :

The Wicker Man (1973) - Robin Hardy

Inherent Vice (2014) - Paul Thomas Anderson

All the President's Men (1976) - Alan J. Pakula

Crash (1996) - David Cronenberg

L.A. Confidential (1997) - Curtis Hanson

Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion (1970) - Elio Petri

I… For Icarus (1979) - Henri Verneuil

Carrie (1976) - Brian de Palma

Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975) - Pier Paolo Pasolini

Suspiria (1977) - Dario Argento

Dog Day Afternoon (1975) - Sidney Lumet

Westworld (1973) - Michael Crichton

Rosetta (1999) - Dardenne brothers

Videodrome (1983) - David Cronenberg

Blow Out (1981) - Brian de Palma

After Hours (1985) - Martin Scorcese

The Parallax View (1974) - Alan J. Pakula

THX 1138 (1971) - George Lucas

Candyman (1992) - Bernard Rose

The Thing (1982) - John Carpenter

documentaries :

Blackfish (2013)

jeen-yuhs: A Kanye Trilogy (2022) (LOL 🖕 )

JFK: Destiny Betrayed (2021)

Children of Salò (2002)

Mirage Men (2013)

The Beginning: Making ‘Episode I’ (2001)

Disney Channel’s Theme: A History Mystery (2022)

Petites (2021)

Innommable - L’affaire Dutroux (2021)

books/reads :

CHAOS: Charles Manson, the CIA, and the Secret History of the Sixties - Tom O’Neill

THE CALIFORNIAN IDEOLOGY - Richard Barbrook, Andy Cameron

Programmed to Kill: The Politics of Serial Murder - David McGowan

La Septième Obsession - Twin Peaks

La Septième Obsession - James Cameron

Jurassic Park: The Ultimate Visual History

Les dossiers X - Annemie Bulté, Douglas De Coninck, Marie-Jeanne Van Heeswyck

Fire & Blood - George R.R. Martin

L’Europe de 1815 à nos jours - Jean-Baptiste Duroselle

La pipe de Maigret - Georges Simenon

Les protecteurs - Jean Nicolas

podcasts :

Otherworld

Ghost Stories For The End Of The World

Blowback

TrueAnon

Programmed to Chill

Subliminal Jihad

#im missing things for sure but. nice to write down things

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seinfeldsimp · 1 year

Text

a series of orchestral events - the beginning

jerry seinfeld x reader

warning: some suggestive stuff, not the best writing but at this point idc. i’m having fun

as we go, the series will have an out-of-order timeline, but the same ‘you’ will be there. formatted like pulp fiction, in a way!

“george!”

the short man you hoped was your brother turned around. oh good, you thought, it is him! “oh my god, it’s been forever!” you practically swallowed his body in your arms, hugging him tightly.

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he mumbled, his annoyed tone contrasting from the tight hug he returned.

a couple of seconds passed, and he was the first to break away. “okay, c’mon,” he said excitedly. “let’s drop off your bags, and i already told jerry we’d meet him as soon as your flight landed.”

“awe, c’mon,” you whined, “i can’t even rest for a second? that plane ride felt like an eternity.”

“oh, you’ll have two months to lay around and do whatever, you’ll live,” george said, punching you in the arm. before you could argue again, he took your bags from the ground and sped to the exit of the airport. “c’mon, i’ve been in a 30-minute parking space for almost an hour.”

“holy crap, george, that’s your sister?!”

you smirked. “i got the good genes,” you teased, “but george gets to live in the best city ever! i have to stay at home, at least until i finish school.” kicking off your shoes, you plopped yourself on the couch in the apartment. “i did not wear the right shoes for traveling. my legs are killing me.”

“yeah, who cares about you and your long legs, you spider…” george mumbled, talking to himself after a few more insults.

jerry walked around george, patting him on the back before sitting next to you. leaning back, you closed your eyes.

you didn’t really want to look at him that closely, not yet at least. the university you went to rarely ever played good entertainment—especially for being in the fine arts college—but on occasion you’d walk home after night practice and catch the johnny carson show playing late at night in the lobby of your building. a very handsome gentleman in a sport coat with jeans caught your attention immediately; more or less for the atrocious outfit, but he was actually quite funny. the bits he had in his stand-up had your face hurting from holding in your laughter. his smile, his huge eyes, you really fell head over heels. you knew nothing would come of it; he was literally a celebrity, probably untouchable.

then, he said his name. jerry seinfeld?

doesn’t george know someone named jerry seinfeld? no way would this be the same guy…but it’s the same name, i’m positive.

yeah..it’s the same guy. and i’m in his apartment. jesus christ.

seeing jerry there, and knowing george was friends with him…the very fact made your heart ache terribly, and you didn’t know what to think.

“did you fall asleep?”

your eyes opened. “no, i just got lost in my thoughts, sorry…” you turned your head, showing a slight cringe to your face. “the travel’s made me a little weary. did you say something?”

jerry had his head resting on his hand that was propped up on the back of the couch.

“how old are you?” he asked.

“i just turned 22.”

“what are you in school for?”

“music. i’m on my summer break right now, but i have one more year before i graduate.”

a scoff resounded. “music? i didn’t know that was possible. what do you play?”

“i play piano,” you said, leaning your head back and closing your eyes once again.

“can’t you just play in the department stores for experience, or something?”

you internally rolled your eyes, and before you could defend yourself, jerry kept talking. “i mean no offense, but isn’t that just a big waste of money and time?”

“i take that with full offense,” you said, scrunching your nose. jerry laughed as a sigh escaped your lips. not that you were surprised by such a reaction, especially from someone with his personality. “i love it too much not to study it. i want to be in a symphony too. have you heard of carnegie hall? do you even know what a symphony is?” you opened your eyes and looked at him, your last couple of questions dripping with sarcasm. “put any piece of music in front of me, and i can play it in seconds. i promise you.” you wiggled your fingers and smiled. “i have good fingers, if you know what i mean.”

another scoff left jerry’s lips. “well, looks like it wasn’t a total waste. we’ll have to put that to the test at some point, won’t we?”

holy shit. sleep deprived me is like drunk me, and i’m just saying shit!! at least he’s into it, i think.

i’m gonna be so embarrassed when i wake up tomorrow.

george almost spit his coke out. “don’t hit on my sister, jerry! you don’t see me hitting on your mother, do you?”

“well no, because she’s my mother—“

“and she’s my sister!” he gestured to you with both hands.

“talk about a buzzkill,” you muttered, pointing a thumb toward your brother.

“don’t even think about it, daddy long legs.”

jerry rolled his eyes and stood back up, taking his empty dish with him while you laughed lightly. this cannot actually be happening in real life. a buzz suddenly filled the room for a second, and you turned your head to see jerry speaking into an intercom next to his door.

“elaine?”

“yeah!”

“she’s gonna get a kick out of you,” jerry spoke to you. “you and george coming from the same mother and father…she’ll be stunned.”

“sometimes, i think i’m adopted,” you said.

“that’s one thing we have in common,” you heard george mutter. sitting up in your spot you turned your head toward him; he was sitting on the table behind you.

“what?”

“we both think you’re adopted.”

“verrry funny, costanza,” you replied.

the woman from the intercom arrived at jerry’s apartment, and to your surprise, you instantly felt jealous.

despite these strong feelings, you couldn’t focus on them for too long. jerry said your name and you stood up from the couch, reaching your hand out for the woman to shake.

“hi, i’m elaine,” she said, “so…you’re george’s sister?”

“yep!” you replied. “blood related and everything. somehow.”

elaine scoffed. “no way..!” she let go of your hand and pushed you back, to your surprise. “his sister?! howcome he never mentioned—“

“shut up,” george mumbled.

“no, it’s fine,” you laughed, “we’re both so busy i’m not surprised he didn’t say anything before. i’ve barely mentioned him to my friends at school.”

“oh, you go to school?” elaine asked. “what do you study?”

“she’s a pianist,” jerry said from the kitchen, faux posh tone seeping through. “one with the orchestral people.”

“hey,” she laughed, “maybe you know the maestro.”

“the maestro? has he conducted anywhere big? is he.. based here…?” your words fell on deaf ears; you saw them all start to giggle.

jerry patted your shoulder, “no no, he’s just a guy who takes his job a little too seriously.”

“his name is bob cobb, but he’s a conductor for a community orchestra here, and likes to be called ‘maestro’ at all times,” elaine said.

a cringe followed with the statement. “god, that’s so embarrassing,” you laughed. “that’d be like if i forced everyone to call me the pianist. bleh.”

as the laughter died down, you turned to george. “speaking of which, george, as much as i’ve enjoyed meeting your friends—i’d like to go to your apartment and check out the keyboard you bought.”

“ooh, we’ll have to go to george’s sometime and hear you play a song!”

elaine exclaimed. “wouldn’t that be something, our own personal concert!”

“yeah, maybe!” you replied. your sleep depravity was hitting you harder than you thought. “george, can we please go to your apartment now? are you ready to hit the road yet again?”

with an annoyed yes, you both said your goodbyes to his friends and proceeded to leave the apartment back to george’s car.

if that was one evening of chaotic conversation, what the hell was the rest of your break going to look like?

#seinfeld #jerry seinfeld x reader #seinfeld x reader #jerry seinfeld #elaine benes #george costanza #x reader fic

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