#her casual brilliance!!!!!!!!

[itspileofgoodthings]

he sees everything black and white, never let nobody see him cry, I don't let nobody see me wishin' he was mine

#taylor swift #i'd lie #the succession of lyrics here. it's so. good. #the shift in perspective through 3 successive visions #her casual brilliance!!!!!!!!

[revasserium]

hiii can i pls request zayne with prompt 60 “home”? also love ur writing btw and i look forward to reading more of ur works <333

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

60. home

zayne; 2,264 words; fluff, fem!reader, no "y/n", whipped!zayne, implied sex, fade to black, zayne being a simp as per usual

summary: a friday afternoon

a/n: idk i just love writing dialogue for zayne he's so !!!!

The Hospital - Friday, 4:36PM

Linoleum floors and fluorescent lights; the smell of antiseptic, the rhythmic beeps and hums of heart rate monitors and nebulizer machines. He spends too much time here, knows the flow of the hospital like he knows the web of arteries and capillaries in the human body, the wards branching off of each other, the hustle and bustles of nurses and staff familiar, oppressive.

It is only in the quiet of his own office, with its big windows and even bigger piles of paperwork (be it virtual or physical), that he ever allows himself to relax. He glances at the vase of brightly colored tulips on his desk and allows himself a grin. He remembers the shape of you, can feel the weight of your hand in his as you’d tugged him around the farmer’s market on Sunday morning, pointing at the various vendors, asking to try a bite of this and a bit of that, until finally, you’d come across the flower seller — a middle-aged woman with a sweet smile and a gleeful glint in her eyes as she explained about the language of flowers.

“There’s sunshine in your smile,” you’d repeated, looking down at the yellow tulips before grinning up at Zayne.

“Perfect for you, isn’t it?”

He could hear the tease in your voice, see that familiar playful twinkle in your eyes and he’d raised an eyebrow before wordlessly handing over a few bills from his wallet.

And now the flowers sit, quiet save for all their brilliance, on his desk, in a simple vase filled with crystal-clear water. He stares at it for a second longer before pulling out his phone and swiping it open to your contact.

Coming home early today, he texts. Immediately, a typing bubble appears, and a second later, a short shoomp sound as your reply appears on his screen —

oh? dr. zayne leaving work early??? is the sun setting in the east today?

He chuckles to himself before dialing your line and a second later, your voice answers, a little hesitant.

“Hello?”

“If you’re going to be sarcastic, at least do it in person.”

Shuffling noises, and then — “Not my fault you’re never around for me to be mean to you in person.”

Zayne leans back in his chair with a sigh, “Hn. How’s shopping with Tara?”

“Fun! But my legs are getting tired…”

“I can meet you at the main shopping center around 5:30.”

A moment of quiet, and then “Ah… but that’s still an hour from now…”

Zayne scoffs, “I could stay till 7PM like I usually do —”

“No, no! That’s… that’s not what I meant — I’ll see you at 5:30, then? Don’t be late!”

You end the call before he can protest and for a second, Zayne stares at the screen, the picture of your smiling face fading after another few seconds as the phone screen darkens.

“Doctor? Your next patient is here,” the nurse calls through his closed door.

“Yes, I’ll be right there.” Zayne glances once more at the yellow tulips on his desk before pushing himself up and adjusting his white coat. He’ll have to make a note to change the water soon.

City Center Shopping Mall - Friday, 5:38PM

“You made it!”

Zayne turns at the sound of your voice to find you slightly breathless as you jog up to him, coming to a stop a few steps away.

“You sound surprised.”

A blush dusts your cheeks as you avert your eyes, “I — I’m not! I just thought… you might be a bit later than this.”

Zayne keeps his expression neutral even as he reaches out to take your hand, casually lacing his fingers between yours. He feels you give him a small squeeze and contents himself with letting you take the lead as the pair of you start to wander through the mall, glancing at the window displays.

“Oh… that smells good!” you both pause as the smell of scallions and garlic warms the air. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, “I think it’s coming from that restaurant over there! Tara was telling me that it just opened a week ago and it’s already going viral online for their stuffed pancakes —”

“C’mon then.” Zayne starts off for the restaurant.

“W-wait! We don’t have a reservation! We’ll never get in!”

Zayne keeps walking, gently tugging you behind him till you both round the corner to see a truly impressive line outside the restaurant doors. He walks passed the massive line straight to the front where a smiling girl in a flowery apron stands at an electronic podium, taking down the names of the next party in line.

“Is Liam here?”

“O-oh! Uhm, I think so!” the girl blinks, surprised as she looks down at her reservation list, “May I ask who’s asking?”

“Zayne.”

The girl nods as she slips into the restaurant. Beside him, you look up, confused.

“Do you know someone here?”

Zayne nods but doesn’t explain any further as the smiling girl comes back and motions for you both to follow her.

“Right this way Dr. Zayne! Enjoy your meal!”

Zayne gives your hand a small tug as you stumble after him, the confusion on your face blossoming into something like surprise as the pair of you duck into the bustling restaurant to be greeted by an enthusiastic young man, around Zayne’s age, his sleeves rolled up, a bandana tied around his forehead.

“Zayne! You should’ve told me you were coming!”

“It was a last-minute decision,” Zayne supplies, shaking Liam’s hand firmly, pulling you into his side even as Liam’s eyes slide onto you.

“Oh… is this the girl you were always talking about back in —”

“I think we’ll take a booth in the back, thanks,” Zayne cuts him off with a loud cough, already making for the back of the restaurant. Liam laughs good-naturedly, leading you both to a booth tucked in the very corner, away from most of the noise and bustle.

You inch into the booth, casting Zayne a curious look.

“Is that the owner? How do you know him?”

Zayne doesn’t look up as he glances over the menu before pushing it towards you.

“We went to medical school together. Pick anything you want, it’s all very good.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “And he decided to become a chef instead?”

Zayne’s lips twitch, “Is that so unbelievable?”

You shrug, looking down at the menu at last, pursing your lips, “No… it’s just… did he drop out of med school then?”

Zayne shakes his head, “No, he was one of the best in our year.”

“Oh. Then…?”

Zayne taps the menu, “I thought you were hungry.”

You blush, looking down, “I am!”

It’s not till the middle of the meal that Zayne speaks again —

“He said it didn’t make him happy.”

You look up, your cheeks bulging with food. Zayne watches you swallow with a concerted effort, reaching out to wipe at your lips with an indulgent smile even as you swat at his hand.

“Liam? About… being a doctor?”

“Yes. And… in a way, I understood him. He said that the kitchen’s always felt more like home.”

You purse your lips, looking at your half-eaten stuffed pancake.

“Then… does the hospital feel like home? To you?”

Zayne chuckles, leaning forward to add some more veggies to your bowl with his chopsticks.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Then…” you trail off, waiting for his answer. There’s a familiar color seeping into your cheeks as Zayne looks you over before his eyes flicker down to your bowl.

“Eat. Or else the veggies will go cold.”

Zayne’s Apartment - Friday, 7:01PM

“I’m so full!” you slump down onto his couch with a long sigh, patting your stomach.

“You were the one who wanted seconds of dessert,” Zayne says, hanging up his coat and turning to join you on the couch. You make a small noise as he lifts your legs and lays them across his lap, his thumbs absently digging into the backs of your calves.

“Ow…” you make to jerk your leg away as he hits a knot but he only grips your ankle and pulls it back with a soft tut.

“Hold still.”

You bury your face in one of the couch cushions as he continues to silently knead at your calf muscles.

“There, better?” his voice is soft now, tugging on the frayed ends of your subconscious as you turn your head to blink at him, a bit dazed.

“Yeah… lots better. Thanks.”

You make to get up but he loops an arm around your back and lifts you easily from the couch, bridal style.

“Zayne?”

“You’re staying the night, right?” he asks, even as he makes for the bedroom.

“I — I am?”

He glances down at your face as he sets you down on his bed.

“I can still drive you home if you want —” He makes to pull away.

“No! I — I can stay. I mean — I want to stay.” You reach up to tug at his shirt, fingers crumpling the material as he stills. You can feel your cheeks blazing as his gaze flickers over your face before settling on your lips.

“Alright then.”

There’s a breath’s pause before you give his shirt another tentative tug and he tips forward with the motion, leaning in to brush his lips against yours.

A soft groan bubbles out of you as Zayne presses you back and back and back, until he’s caged over you, trailing hot lips down the line of your neck, skimming his teeth along your collarbones.

“Mm — Z-Zayne…?”

He pulls back, his eyes a bit unfocused as he looks you over — you can feel the weight of his gaze as it flutters over the planes and ridges of your face, from the arch of your brows to the line of your nose. You can’t help blushing beneath this intense scrutiny, and you tug once more at his shirt, your fingers somehow having inched up to his collar, one of your fingers hooked into the top loop of his buttons.

He reaches up to cover your hand with his, fingers easily curling around your smaller hand.

“What is it?”

You lick your lips, stomach twisting, the base rumble of his voice sending shivers shaking through your body.

“Nothing just… I don’t remember you drinking at dinner so…”

He leans down to press a soft kiss to the back of your hand before dropping it back to his shirt collar.

“No, but… alcohol’s not the only thing that might cause someone to lose hold of their senses…”

You watch as his eyes darken at your intake of breath, the way his grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly.

“Then…” you swallow, eyes fluttering shut as you feel his lips trail back up your neck to your jaw.

“Are you going to make me say it?”

You let out a tiny whimper as he presses a leg up between yours, his breath now hot against the lobe of your ear.

“Say… what?”

Zayne pulls back just far enough to cock an eyebrow at you. And like this, you’ve never seen anything so alluring — the sight of him with his shirt tugged open, his eyes blown dark with desire, his hair slightly mussed from your eager fingers, his lips kissed pink, his cheeks warm with color.

“Hn. Is this my punishment then?”

“For what?”

“For being late to meet you.”

You fight back a grin, “Well… you did say I could be mean to you in person.”

Zayne lets out a sigh, “Alright then.”

You walk your fingers up his chest before pushing him back till you’re both sitting up again. He waits patiently for you to push him down and straddle his hips, slowly tugging open the buttons of his shirt, loosening his tie till it hangs undone around his neck. You lean in to press a soft kiss to his chest and revel in the way he hisses.

His fingers reach up for your hips and you catch them with a quick shake of your head.

“No touching… not till I say.”

Zayne stares at you for a second before relaxing and letting his hands fall back onto the sheets.

And it’s not until you lean down to kiss at his exposed abdomen that he groans, head tipping back. Then, a second later, you find yourself pinned beneath him, breathless, Zayne towering over you with parted lips, the moon casting stark shadows along the lines of his face.

“I said you could be mean… I didn’t say I wouldn’t retaliate.”

After, when the pair of you are curled into each other like pieces of jigsaw puzzle that’s finally found its missing parts, his breath warm along the nape of your neck, Zayne finds himself smiling.

“It’s always been you…” he murmurs, though he’s nearly certain you’re already asleep, your breathing sweet and level, your body pliant and perfect against his.

He laces his hands between yours and drops a soft kiss onto the skin of your bare shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter what I do… or where I do it… because my home has always been… you.”

#love and deepspace #love & deepsace x reader #love and deepspace x you #zayne imagines #zayne x you #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne drabbles #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace x reader #lads headcanons #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #love & deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne #lads zayne x you #love and deepspace fluff #x reader #floofy floof floof #scheduled post

[lostfracturess]

【 ꜱʏᴍᴘᴛᴏᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇꜱ 】 ch. 03

x pairing professor!gojo x med student f!reader (medical au)

x summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

x wc 6.9 k

x warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

x author's note i hope you like slightly longer chapters, i didn't know when to stop with this one really. anyway, thank you for reading and feel free to leave your thought, i love to read them! & pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

"So, anyone else feeling like their brain is about to explode?" you half-joked.

Yuta looked up from his notes and nodded. "Definitely. I keep getting the side effects of beta-blockers and ACE inhibitors mixed up."

The university cafeteria buzzed with the nervous energy of students prepping for exams. You joined Toge, Yuta, and Maki at a corner table, each of you clutching a much-needed coffee. The air was thick with the scent of caffeine and the sound of pages flipping.

"Statins?" Toge muttered as he rubbed his temple. 

"They're primarily for lowering cholesterol levels," Maki answered quickly.

Yuta let out a frustrated sigh. "Right, right. And anticoagulants? I still can't wrap my head around those."

You leaned forward. "Anticoagulants inhibit clotting factors in the blood. They're essential in preventing thrombosis and strokes."

Yuta gave a resigned look. "You two sound like walking textbooks. I'm sure I'll fail."

"No, Yuta, you've got this," you reassured him, though he seemed to be brainstorming backup career options already.

Suddenly, the atmosphere of the cafeteria shifted as Gojo and Geto entered. It seemed like the crowd naturally parted for them, their confident strides carrying them through the sea of students. You found your gaze irresistibly drawn to them as they joined the line, chatting casually. 

Gojo's eyes quickly scanned the room and landed on your group. His gaze met yours for a brief moment. Your stomach fluttered. Was it the intensity of his gaze or the fleeting memory of the dozens of painkillers in his car? Perhaps both.

Geto also turned around. He broke into a warm smile as he saw you. 

Hm, at least he was not angry with you anymore.

"Looks like the big guns are here," Yuta joked under his breath, nodding toward Gojo and Geto. "Do you think they ever get exam jitters?"

"Doubt it," Toge said.

Maki rolled her eyes. "Focus, guys. We need to ace this exam."

Your group returned to your notes. Gojo and Geto picked up their coffee and found a seat not too far from yours, granting you an unobstructed view of Gojo. You tried to concentrate, but part of you remained acutely aware of his presence. 

Every so often, you stole glances at him, watching how he discussed something with Geto. His muscles flexed subtly with each animated gesture he made. There was an undeniable air of confidence that radiated from him, making him stand out effortlessly in the crowd. 

He was dressed in his usual white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the intriguing play of veins along his well-defined forearms. The dark blue slacks he wore were tailored to perfection.

His disheveled white hair was slightly tousled, as if he had run his fingers through it. You could see his jaw flexing as he articulated his points, each movement emphasizing the sharp lines of his face.

The sight was distracting, to say the least.

As you watched them, you couldn't help but think back to what Gojo had said to you in his car-how he had the audacity to accuse you of wanting to have a threesome with them. Heat rose to your cheeks.

"Hey, are you even listening?" Maki's voice pulled you back to reality.

You blinked. "Sorry, just got distracted for a moment."

Yet Gojo's presence lingered in your periphery. You stole another glance at Gojo, only to find him already looking at you. His lips curved into a faint smile.

Suddenly, you noticed that Geto's eyes were on you as well. The moment his gaze met yours, you felt caught like a deer in headlights. You quickly looked away. Geto said something to Gojo. Gojo merely shrugged, his expression unreadable, but the faintest smile played on his lips.

The rest of the time in the cafeteria passed in a blur. 

While you and your friends were engrossed in a last-minute review, Gojo and Geto began gathering their things to leave. They stood up and chatted casually as they strolled towards the exit, which happened to be in your direction.

Yuta checked his watch. "Time to head out for the exam." You all started to pack up. As you rose from the table, a sudden presence brushed against your back, making you turn.

"Oh, sorry about that," Gojo said. But there was a twinkle in his eye that suggested the touch wasn't entirely accidental. Before you could react, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Good luck with the exam. Though, something tells me you won't need it."

Gojo straightened. His gaze held you captive. You watched as he and Geto made their way out, with Geto swatting Gojo on the back of his head as they left.

"You're so fucked," Maki commented dryly, catching you watching them.

─── ·✧· ───

A week had passed since the exam. 

Life at the university had returned to its usual rhythm. You were in class with Toge, Maki and Yuta, the lecturer's voice a steady drone in the background as you all scribbled notes. Midway through the lecture, your phone that lay on your desk lit up with a message.

[3:32 PM] Gojo: Meet me in the lab after class. 

[3:32 PM] Gojo: Btw, you passed your exam. Congrats. Got a little gift for you too.

You stared at the message, puzzled. It was unusual for professors to have exam results ready just a week after. How did Gojo know?

[3:33 PM] You: What gift?

[3:33 PM] Gojo: It's a surprise. Why spoil it now? Come and see.

[3:33 PM] You: What about my friends Okkotsu, Zenin and Inumaki? Did they pass too?

[3:34 PM] Gojo: Can't say. I may have obtained your exam result in an unethical way.

[3:34 PM] You: Oh, too bad. Guess I must skip the lab today then.

[3:34 PM] Gojo: Are you fucking with me?

You didn't reply to that. 

After all, he wasn't the only one capable of playing games. You set your phone down, a slight smile on your lips as you turned your attention back to the lecture.

[3:52 PM] Gojo: They also passed.

[3:52 PM] You: Great. See you in the lab.

You turned to your friends. "We all passed the exam," you announced in a hushed tone.

Maki's eyes widened. "Seriously? How do you know that already?"

"Unethical ways."

Yuta let out a deep sigh. "Shit, that's some great news," he murmured, his usual worry lines smoothing out.

Toge nodded with a satisfied sound.

Suddenly the professor, who had been lecturing about biochemistry, paused and glanced sternly in your direction. "If we could have less chatter and more focus, please."

Your group quickly composed themselves and turned their attention back to the lecture. Yuta shot you a last smile.

As the lecture came to a close, you and your friends gathered your belongings and made your way out of the auditorium. The hallway outside was bustling with students discussing the lecture and making plans for the rest of the day. 

"I can't tell you how relieved I am. I was sure I botched the beta-blocker section," Yuta said as you walked.

You suddenly spotted Gojo casually leaning against a wall across from you, his arms crossed over his chest. His piercing gaze instantly locked onto you as you exited the auditorium. He tapped his fingers on his folded arms.

As your group began to drift towards the exit, you halted in your tracks. "You guys go ahead. I've got something to take care of after class."

"Alright, catch you tomorrow then," Yuta replied, clapping you on the shoulder.

You lingered in the hallway, waiting for the last students to leave. The corridor quieted, leaving you and Gojo alone. His intense gaze never wavered. He pushed himself away from the wall and strolled over to you.

"You've got quite the nerve, first-year," Gojo remarked.

You met his gaze squarely. "I could say the same about you, professor. Perhaps we should be more careful about being seen together outside the lab."

Gojo flashed a mischievous smile. "Concerned about starting rumors?"

"It's your reputation on the line, not mine."

"Ouch," he said, putting a hand over his heart in mock offense. "And here I am, offering to escort you. That's quite gentlemanly, don't you think? Even after you managed to rile me up."

You rolled your eyes. "I'm perfectly capable of walking myself."

He leaned closer. "I know, perhaps I just want to spend more time with you." He started to walk towards the lab. "Come, I have something to show you. Something tells me you'll love it."

─── ·✧· ───

Once inside the lab, Gojo led you to a table where a mysterious box lay hidden under a cloth. With a dramatic gesture, he pulled away the cover, revealing what he had teased as a 'gift'.

Your eyes widened slightly at the sight. "A brain?" you said, then turned to Gojo. "You have quite a unique way of pleasing a woman."

Gojo's smile broadened. "It's a human brain, specifically for us to practice on. I figured some hands-on training might be beneficial for the surgery, so I got us a few. It's a first for me too, so I thought, why not be thorough?"

You stepped closer to the table and peered at the brain encased in its protective glass. You grabbed the preserved organ and held it up, mesmerized by the sight.

Gojo watched your reaction. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is." You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away. "Where did you get them?"

"Let's just say I had to pull some strings. Rest assured, they're from deceased donors, ethically sourced, of course."

"I know you've been worried about making another mistake in surgery," he said, his voice softening. "So, I figured the best way to prepare us is with hands-on practice."

You turned to face him. 

"We'll use these brains to meticulously go through each step of the procedure," he continued. "It's the closest we can get to the real experience. Practicing on actual human tissue like this will provide a depth of understanding that no model can match. By the end, you'll be thoroughly prepared for the surgery."

You placed the brain back on the table. "You did this for me?"

"I would do anything for you." Gojo closed the distance between you. He stood unusually close, his presence almost enveloping you. He leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on the table on either side of you, holding you captive between his arms.

Your back hit the edge of the table. You leaned back, trying to regain some distance. "What are you doing?"

He held your gaze, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice. "But just so you know, I have my ways of pleasing a woman. And not just by gifting her a human brain."

You leaned back even more. "Is that so?"

However, the distance was quickly closed by Gojo as he leaned in even closer. His breath warm and close, his lips almost grazing yours. "Absolutely," he murmured. "I'd be more than willing to demonstrate, if you're interested."

You raised an eyebrow, your heart racing. "Forward as always, Gojo."

Suddenly, in one swift motion, he reached out. His hands grasped the back of your thighs. Before you could react, you found yourself falling back onto the table. Your breath hitched. Gojo leaned over you, his blue eyes intense and piercing.

"You have no idea," he murmured, his voice deep and resonant. "If you weren't my student, I'd have already shown you just how forward I can be." His words were laced with an implication that sent a thrill through you. "'Be sure, I am a patient man, but even I have my limits."

His hand traced a path along the back of your thigh, the other firmly planted on the table above your head. Trapped in his gaze, you were acutely aware of every point of contact, the heat emanating from his body, and the undeniable pull you felt towards him.

"Maybe you should consider not seducing your student, then," you countered, your voice faltering slightly, betraying the effect he had on you. Your body seemed to act on its own accord, your legs instinctively drawing closer to him, as he stood between your parted legs.

"You could tell me to stop at any moment, yet you haven't," he said. "Interesting, isn't it? It's almost as if you're as curious as I am about where this might lead."

His face drew nearer, the space between you shrinking with each passing moment. Your breaths mingled. Your hand wandered to his arm, grabbing onto him, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt.

Your body craved his touch, despite the rational part of your mind screaming caution. But in that moment, it was impossible to resist the magnetic pull that drew you closer to him. You found yourself inching closer, your heart pounding in your chest. 

His gaze held you captive, and you felt as though he had the power to steal your very breath with a simple look.

Oh god.

If anyone were to walk into the lab now, there would be no plausible explanation for this compromising position.

His breath was warm on your skin, tantalizingly close to your collarbone. "But don't worry, first-year. I do love a good challenge. Especially one as intriguing as you." 

His body pressed against your open legs. In this position you could clearly feel the stretch in his pants. Your core melted. "There's just something about the way you resist, yet-not quite."

His hand ventured to the inside of your thigh. His fingers traced a path along your skin, edging daringly close. You arched into his touch. His lips caressed your collarbone, his touch light as a feather. The anticipation was nearly unbearable, a delicious torture that held you in its grip. 

"Even though your body betrays you every single time," he said before tightening his grip on your thigh. He pressed closer to you, the unmistakable hardness of his erection grinding against you. 

A moan escaped your lips and you could feel him smile against your skin. He lifts his head just enough to peer into your eyes. "Oh sweetheart, I'm dying to hear you moan my name."

Just as Gojo's fingers came dangerously close to brushing the sensitive area between your legs, he withdrew abruptly, leaving a void where his warmth had been. He straightened, a semblance of control returning to his expression. "Perhaps it's time we should get to work, don't you think?"

Was he for real?

You lay there for a moment, panting heavily. Pulling yourself up to your elbows, you managed a breathless, "What?"

Gojo, now a few steps away, nonchalantly adjusted his pants, something inside of them clearly troubling him. "We have a surgery to prepare for, remember?"

He said that as if he hadn't just nearly fucked you on the lab table.

You sit up completely. "I hate you."

Gojo chuckled. "You're so easy to play with, first-year," he remarked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Consider it payback for making me 'borrow' your friends' exam results from my colleague's laptop."

You watched him for a moment, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. The way he could shift so effortlessly from intense intimacy to professional demeanor was both infuriating and intriguing. 

With a groan, you let yourself fall back onto the desk and stared up at the ceiling. As you lay there, you heard Gojo walk away, his footsteps echoing through the lab. "Leaving already, Gojo? Need a quick break to blow off some steam?"

Gojo returned a moment later with a tray of surgical tools. He shot you a sly grin. "Why? Interested in watching?"

"Keep dreaming."

Gojo laughed. "You're quite amusing, first-year. We both know you'll surrender sooner or later. But don't worry, I can wait."

He began meticulously arranging the surgical tools, shifting the focus back to the task at hand. "Ready to begin?" he asked, glancing over at you.

You nodded.

─── ·✧· ───

In the following weeks, your routine consisted of meeting in the lab every day after class to prepare for the surgery.

The sessions were rigorous. Gojo's dedication to perfection and precision became more apparent with each passing day. He was a taskmaster in the truest sense, his expectations high and his attention to detail almost obsessive.

You thought Geto was strict, but Gojo operated on an entirely different level. His standards were exacting. He accepted nothing less than absolute precision. Every incision, every maneuver you practiced under his watchful eyes had to be flawless.

Maybe he was a maniac.

He sure was a maniac.

It was late.

You were hungry and tired.

However, once more, you and Gojo stood side by side to rehearse the procedure yet again.

"Now, stabilize the area while I insert the implant," Gojo instructed. You reached for the micro-surgical tool on the nearby desk and followed his directions precisely, maintaining a calm and steady breath to steady your hands.

Gojo led the way with inhuman precision. You mirrored his movements flawlessly. "Gently retract the meningeal layer," he guided. "Perfect, now hold it steady."

As the hours ticked away, you repeated the procedure over and over. With each repetition, you drew closer to seamless synchronization, your actions becoming increasingly fluid and intuitive. 

"Stay concentrated, we're almost there."

You slowed your breathing. "Inserting the implant now," Gojo said. Your eyes followed Gojo's hands as they maneuvered the tiny neuroimplant. "Hold steady," he murmured. "Slight adjustment to the left, that's it."

It was then that you noticed the slight trembling of his hands. In the blink of an eye, the tool in his hand slipped ever so slightly, causing a visible tear in the brain tissue.

"Damn it," Gojo muttered. "I'm sorry. Let's reset and try again."

The second attempt began much like the first, perfectly in sync. You both worked in silence. The only sound your synchronized breathing and the steady hum of the overhead lights.

But the second attempt didn't go as planned either. A small but significant misstep by Gojo resulted in further damage to the fragile brain. After the third failed attempt, Gojo took a step back from the table. His hands trembled.

"Fuck," Gojo hissed again, tearing off his gloves. He ran his fingers through his hair.

You set the instruments back on the table. "What's wrong? You good?"

It was unusual. He never made such mistakes. He always had the most steady hands, so why was he struggling with every attempt now?

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just need a break," he said, frustration etching lines on his forehead. He walked over to a nearby bench, where a forgotten cup of coffee rested. He picked it up with a shaking hand. You observed him closely. 

"Gojo, your hands..."

"I'm fine."

Oh, he was so clearly lying.

You walked over to him. "Don't tell me shit, what's going-?"

But before the words fully escaped your lips, Gojo's hand cramped. In an instant, the porcelain succumbed, shattering in his clenched fist. Coffee spilled over the bench in a dark, staining flood. A sharp curse escaped him as he released the jagged remains of the cup.

You bridged the distance between you. "God, Gojo," you exclaimed, quickly clasping his injured hand. "You're hurt."

"It's nothing."

"Yeah, keep lying to me," you retorted, locking eyes with him. "Sit down."

"It's merely a scratch."

"Just sit down, Gojo. Let me take a look at your hand."

With a sigh, he sank into the chair, watching you as you gathered the medical supplies.

"Fortunate it's your left hand," you remarked, pulling up a chair to sit beside him. You cradled his hand in your lap. Porcelain shards were buried in his palm and fingers, blood began to pool around the punctures. "Looks like you'll need a few stitches."

"I'm not sure I should trust someone to stitch me up who struggles to even find a vein," he quipped. "You know, this is a surgeon's hand." 

His attempt at humor fell flat. You were not in the mood for jokes. He flinched when you started to remove the porcelain fragments with tweezers.

"Don't worry. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's stitching up wounds," you said quietly.

You meticulously removed each fragment. The room was silent, punctuated only by the occasional clatter of tools. After ensuring no debris remained, you cleansed the wounds. 

Unfolding a suture kit, you glanced at Gojo. "This might sting," you cautioned, beginning to stitch the deeper gashes.

Gojo's jaw clenched. He remained silent, his eyes following your every move. After a while, he spoke, breaking the quiet. "You're pretty good at this. How did you learn to stitch so well?"

Your hands paused briefly, surprised by the question. "I mentioned my mother wasn't the same after my father's death. That's how I learned it."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his gaze shifting away.

You completed the last stitch and bandaged his hand carefully. "There, all done." Standing up, you began to clean the area. Gojo flexed his fingers, testing the mobility.

"Thank you," he said. "It's really good."

Without facing him, you asked, "You won't tell me what's wrong, will you?"

His silence was your answer.

A sigh escaped you. Gojo then stood, breaking the momentary stillness. "I need to grab something from my office. I'll be back soon," he said, his tone somewhat distant.

You nodded and watched as he left the lab. The door clicked shut, its sound echoing faintly in the now empty space. The quiet hum of the lab enveloped you.

Time ticked by, and the lab's clock hands moved steadily forward. The quiet was pervasive, broken only by the occasional sounds of the building settling for the night. You glanced occasionally at the door, expecting Gojo to return, but there was no sign of him.

He did not return to the lab that night.

And he was not in the lab the next day.

─── ·✧· ───

"Can you imagine having surgery with these?" 

Yuta joked, pointing at a set of rusty scalpels. His face scrunched up in mock horror.

Maki laughed. "I'd rather not. Makes me appreciate modern anesthesia."

Toge added a quick quip, "Unbelievable."

You and your friends decided to visit the local museum. Today, it was hosting a special medical exhibit, which naturally piqued your interest. The warm sunlight filtered through the museum's large windows, casting a golden glow over the exhibits.

As you walked through the halls, the exhibit unfolded in a series of medical histories and advances. There were sections dedicated to ancient medical practices, rows of archaic surgical tools that seemed more like medieval torture devices, and interactive displays on modern surgical techniques.

Amidst the array of exhibits, one particular section caught your eye. To the casual visitor, the subject matter might seem unappealing, but you found it absolutely fascinating. 

You excused yourself from your friends and approached the exhibit. It was a quiet corner of the museum, away from the more popular attractions.

You were so engrossed in reading a panel that you hardly noticed the approach of another visitor. It wasn't until you heard a familiar voice nearby. Your heart froze for a moment.

"I knew you'd be drawn to this," Gojo remarked, his presence suddenly beside you. He was observing the same exhibit, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Stalking me again, professor?"

"Purely coincidental, I assure you. I couldn't pass up this exhibition. Turns out, today's the only chance to see it."

You turned to face him. "You've got some nerve, Gojo. You left me alone in the lab, disappeared without a word, and then ignored all my messages. You can't just act like nothing happened."

His face softened. "I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to hurt you."

"If something's wrong, you need to tell me. This isn't just your project, Gojo. It's still Geto's project too. Your actions will not only affect me, but him as well."

"You're right."

Exhaling sharply, turning your attention back to the exhibit.

After a moment of silence, Gojo spoke again. "What are you doing afterwards?"

You turned slightly. "Hm?"

"Go out with me."

His invitation hung in the air between you, leaving you momentarily speechless. You turned to him, searching his expression for clues. "Go out... as in a date?"

"Call it whatever you want," he said. "I just want to spend time with you."

"This will only lead to trouble, you know that."

Undeterred, he stepped closer. His bandaged hand gently lifted your chin, urging you to meet his gaze. His height forced you to tilt your head back.

"I'm aware of that," he said. "But I don't care. I can't ignore this any longer... whatever this is between us. And I don't think you can either."

"Give me a chance," he implored, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that felt almost tangible. "One evening. That's all I'm asking."

Time seemed to stretch out as you mulled over his request. "One evening?"

"One evening."

"Okay, one evening," you agreed.

A subtle smile played on Gojo's lips. "I'll wait for you outside."

Then he leaned in, as if to steal a kiss. But the sound of approaching footsteps quickly halted him. He withdrew his hand, leaving a trace of warmth where his touch had been.

"Talk about a small world," Yuta exclaimed, his eyes landing on you and Gojo, who was already keeping a professional distance.

Maki approached Gojo with a friendly greeting. "Quite a surprise seeing you here, professor."

Gojo responded with his usual charm. "Ah, the future of medicine, all gathered in one spot. Seems I'm not the only one drawn to this exhibition."

"I hope you're not here to quiz us, Dr. Gojo. We've had our fill of exams for a while," Maki said.

"I wouldn't dream of torturing my students outside of class."

Toge muttered something under his breath, earning a playful nudge from Yuta. "Don't jinx it," Yuta whispered.

The group moved through the exhibition together, with Gojo occasionally offering insightful comments. Eventually, he parted ways with you and your friends. He cast one last glance in your direction before saying goodbye.

As you and your friends continued exploring the museum, Maki nudged you playfully. "It's funny how Dr. Handsome always seems to be around you, isn't it?"

"It's just a strange coincidence."

"Yeah, sure."

You rolled your eyes. 

The rest of the museum visit passed in a light-hearted mood, with occasional teasing from Maki about Gojo. The sun was beginning to set, casting a beautiful golden hue over the city streets as you made your way out.

"Oh, wait," you said suddenly, patting your pockets as if searching for something. "I think I left something back in the museum. You guys go ahead; I'll catch up."

Yuta looked concerned. "Do you need someone to go back with you?"

You shook your head. "No, it's okay. I won't be long. Don't miss the train on my account."

After a moment of hesitation, your friends agreed and continued towards the subway station. You waited until they were out of sight, then went back to the museums's entrance.

"Hey, first-year."

Gojo's voice came from behind, startling you slightly. You turned to find him approaching with two cups of coffee in hand, steam rising into the evening air. His face lit up with a smile as he saw you waiting.

He handed you one of the cups. "Thought you might like some coffee. Just regular, though-no Red Bull mixed in, sorry," he said, a playful tone in his voice.

"How disappointing."

"Shall we go for a walk?"

You nodded.

The bustling sounds of the city surrounded you, the sky painted in vibrant oranges and pinks by the setting sun. The streets pulsed with the city's evening energy. Walking alongside Gojo, you sipped the warm coffee.

"Aren't you afraid of someone seeing us?" you asked, glancing around subtly.

"Are you?" 

"It's not like we're making out or anything," he added. "Unless you'd like to?"

"Don't push it, Gojo."

Your gaze fell on his bandaged hand. "How's your hand, by the way?" 

He switched the cup to his other hand and flexed the injured one. "It's healing well. Thankfully, a really skilled surgeon took care of it."

You rolled your eyes.

"Are you nervous about the upcoming surgery?" he asked.

"I am," you confessed. "You never seem to get nervous."

"Well, that's because I'm an exceptional neurosurgeon."

"Ah, sure, I forgot. You're the miracle doctor."

"Not really," he said. "I mean, I've always had a knack for it, but university wasn't always easy. It took a lot of effort to get to where I am now. Just like you. We're not that different, you know."

You observed him for a moment before asking, "Why neurosurgery?"

"Could ask you the same. What made you choose neurosurgery?"

"Why would I choose any another field when neurology exists?"

He chuckled. "Thought so."

"Plus, the patients are usually sedated, so that's a plus for surgery," you added.

"Ah, the mark of a true neurosurgeon's ego."

The evening had deepened, and a chill began to settle in the air as you and Gojo walked through the city streets. The vibrant energy of the day had given way to the serene calmness of the night. 

Streetlights cast a soft glow on the pavement, and the occasional sound of distant laughter and the hum of a passing car filled the air.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as a cool breeze seeped through your clothes. Without a moment's hesitation, Gojo halted and began to take off his jacket. "Here, wear this," he offered, draping it over your shoulders.

"But won't you be cold?" you asked, concerned as he would be left in just his shirt.

He simply smiled. "I'll be fine."

You slipped into his jacket, the sleeves oddly long on your arms. It was warm and carried the faint scent of his cologne. 

Gojo seemed unfazed by the drop in temperature as he watched you. He raised his hand to your face and ran his thumb gently over your cheek. His gaze fell to your lips. The bustling city street seemed to fade into the background as Gojo's proximity enveloped you. 

People passed by, a sea of faces lost in their own worlds, their voices fading to a distant hum as you and Gojo stood in your own intimate world. His thumb brushed over your lips, parting them slightly.

"Tell me, do you ever wonder what it would be like if we gave in?"

"For someone who says he's patient, you're really pushing it, Gojo."

Gojo's eyes darkened. His gaze locked onto your lips as he leaned in just a fraction closer. The world around you blurred, the bustling street becoming nothing more than a distant backdrop.

Gojo's lips curled into a seductive smile. "Maybe you're just too irresistible."

"Or maybe you only want me because you can't have me."

"Whatever the reason, first-year. The important thing is that we both want it."

The chemistry between you two was undeniable, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment. You leaned in closer, your lips tantalizingly close to his. "And what do you want, professor?" you whispered.

You both knew the risks, the lines that shouldn't be crossed, but in that charged moment, it was so damn hard to resist. Every inch of your body craved for his touch.

His hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you closer, eliminating any space between you. "I want to taste those lips of yours, to feel your body pressed against mine."

You breathed in each other's air as his parted lips hovered dangerously close to yours, yet not making contact. "I want to hear you scream my name," he whispered as he pulled you even closer with a sudden tug. His fingers dug into your back in a way that was almost painful. "Hear your soft pleas all night long."

Suddenly, the sound of screeching tires. 

Without a second thought, Gojo turned you around, using his own body to shield you from the street. Not far from where you stood, a horrific car crash had unfolded. One of the vehicles went airborne before crashing onto its roof with a sickening thud.

For a moment, you both stood frozen, processing what had just happened. People began screaming and gathering around the site of the accident. Without having to exchange a word, you and Gojo sprang into action, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

Gojo sprinted towards the mangled car, while you rushed to help the other vehicle.

As you reached the car, you saw the driver still inside, his head resting against the inflated airbag. You pushed open the driver's door. The man lifted his head slightly, blood dripping from a gash on his temple.

"We're here to help," you said. "Can you tell me your name?"

The driver mumbled something incoherent, his eyes struggling to focus. You carefully assessed the driver's condition, checking for any obvious signs of injury. His airway appeared to be clear, and he was breathing, albeit shallowly.

You continued to talk to the driver, trying to keep him conscious and engaged. "You've been in an accident, but we're going to get you out of here safely. Can you tell me if you're experiencing any pain?"

He didn't respond. You gently touched his head to tilt it towards you. You probed around the wound on his temple, checking for any underlying skull fractures or deformities.

"Do you know where you are? Can you tell me what happened?" you asked, trying to gauge his cognitive function. The man tried to speak, but nothing intelligible came out. His speech was slurred, and he seemed to be losing focus.

Then you heard a strained sound that resembled Gojo's voice. Looking up, you saw Gojo straining against the wreckage of the other car, trying to free the trapped driver. A nearby bystander was helping him.

You turned back to the driver in front of you. "Please stay still and try not to move until help arrives, okay?"

You went to a nearby bystander and instructed him to go to the driver and keep him still and engaged in speech. You hurried over to Gojo. He carefully pulled the woman out of the mangled car and laid her gently on the asphalt. Gojo hovered over her, checking her vitals.

"She's barely breathing." He leaned in to listen to her labored breaths. "She needs an emergency tracheotomy, now."

"What?" 

Your heart raced at the thought. There's no way you could do that here.

"Your jacket pocket, the right one," he instructed urgently.

Still wearing his jacket, you quickly reached into the right pocket. Your fingers found something, and you retrieved it. It was a sealed straw from the coffee Gojo had bought earlier. You handed it to him without a word.

"Now, the inner pocket on your left."

Reaching into the inner pocket, your fingers found a small, elongated case. "What's that?" you asked as you handed it over to him.

He opened the case, revealing a scalpel.

"You keep a scalpel with you all the time?" you exclaimed.

He briefly looked up at you with a sly smile. "Quite handy right now, don't you think?"

Without wasting a second, Gojo made a small incision in the driver's throat, skillfully inserting the straw to create an airway. It was unorthodox, to say the least.

Just then, you noticed a trickle of blood seeping through the sleeve of his shirt. "You're bleeding," you said. He must have injured himself on the jagged metal while freeing the woman from the crashed car.

Gojo glanced down at his arm. "It's nothing."

The wail of the sirens grew louder as the paramedics arrived, quickly taking control of the situation. Gojo immediately began briefing them on the condition of the injured.

"I'll go with them to the hospital," he said, preparing to accompany the paramedics. But as he turned to leave, you grabbed his shirt.

"I'm coming with you."

"You should go home, get some rest."

"You wanted to spend time with me, so spend time with me, Gojo." You looked at him. "You wanted a whole evening, and it's not midnight yet."

He pondered for a moment. "Then come."

Climbing into the ambulance, you found yourself in the midst of medical equipment and the paramedics as they worked to stabilize the driver during the transport. The confined space was filled with the sound of medical equipment and hushed, urgent conversations. 

Gojo relayed the details of the incident to the team. It seemed as if he knew them, as he addressed them by name.

As you glanced at Gojo's arm, the bloodstain on his shirt was growing. You turned to one of the paramedics. "I need antiseptic and gauze."

The paramedic seemed a little taken aback by your firm tone.

"Now," you clarified.

"Uh, right here," he replied, pointing toward a nearby drawer.

"What are you doing?" Gojo asked as you moved around the ambulance like you owned the place.

You sat down beside him and seized his arm, rolling up his sleeve. His firm skin felt hot under your touch as you cleaned his wound. "You really are my personal doctor, aren't you?" he remarked, his lips curving into a faint smile.

"You should just take better care of yourself."

His eyes locked onto yours. "I guess I do need someone to watch out for me. Also, with your perfect stitching skills, I'd never let anyone else touch me."

You huffed. 

"Quite a first date, huh?" you quipped as you continued tending to his arm.

"So it is a date?"

"In your dreams, Gojo."

Then the ambulance arrived at the hospital.

Upon arriving at the hospital, the atmosphere was a flurry of activity as medical professionals worked diligently to care for the injured. Gojo quickly turned to you.

"Wait for me in my office," he instructed, handing you a set of keys. "I need to assist here and finish the necessary paperwork. I shouldn't be long."

You nodded. Before you could react, he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your forehead. Then, without another word, he left. Your heart raced. 

Clutching the keys, you made your way through the corridors of the hospital, searching for Gojo's office number, which was written on the keys. The adrenaline that had fueled your body slowly faded, leaving a trail of exhaustion in its wake.

Entering his office, you were greeted by bookshelves lining one wall, filled with medical texts and various journals, while a desk cluttered with papers and a laptop occupied another corner. The room looked quite different from his office at the university. Still, it had a warmth to it. 

It even had his scent.

You looked down at your clothes, stained and dishevelled from the night's chaos. You rummaged through Gojo's belongings and found what looked like a gym bag. Inside, you found a clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants. They were undoubtedly his, large and probably loose on you, but they were clean.

He wouldn't mind, would he?

You looked down on yourself again. 

Yeah, whatever-even if he mind.

It felt strange to change into his clothes, but at the same time oddly comforting as you noticed his faint scent on them. You sank into the couch in his office, the events of the night replaying in your mind. The room was quiet, except for the distant sounds of the hospital at night.

You gazed up at the ceiling, then turned on your side and closed your eyes. Exhaustion gradually overcame you until sleep began to claim you.

Sometime later, the sound of the door gently opening stirred you from your sleep. Through half-closed eyes, you saw Gojo enter the room. He paused for a moment at the sight of you sleeping on his couch, a soft expression crossing his face.

"Gojo?" you murmured, your voice still heavy with sleep.

He moved quietly toward you, dropping to his knees before the couch. "Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," you replied, still wrapped in the warmth of his clothes. "How are the drivers?"

"They're stable. Don't worry."

Then he stood up again and moved to lie down on the couch behind you. You shifted slightly to give him more space, feeling his presence close to you. "How's your arm?" you asked him. Gojo settled down on the couch behind you, a soft sigh escaping him as he found a comfortable position.

"My arm's fine," he reassured you with a soft smile. "Thanks to you."

You turned onto your back, your eyes meeting his as he propped himself up on one elbow. His face hovered close to yours. "They look good on you." His hand reached out, gently brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "My clothes," he added.

"Sorry, I just wanted to get out of my dirty clothes."

"I don't mind."

A smile played at the corners of his lips. "You should've seen yourself out there," he said. "You really bossed those paramedics around. I'm sure they'll remember you."

"Well, if you keep hurting yourself, guess I'll have to keep patching you up."

Gojo's laughter filled the room, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled at you. "You can stitch me up anytime, doc."

"You better not make a habit out of this."

He chuckled softly, his thumb gently stroking your shoulder. "I'll try my best."

Lying there, side by side, you both gazed into each other's eyes. The room was filled with the soft light of the moon outside, casting gentle shadows across his face. Silence settled between you, the only sounds in the room were the soft breaths you both took.

"We do make a good team, don't we?" Gojo's voice broke the silence. "And I'm not just talking about in the OR."

"Are you implying something?"

"Nah, never."

As you let out a yawn, Gojo adjusted his position, lying down beside you. "Come here," he said softly. His arm encircled your shoulder, drawing you close to him. 

Instinctively, you nestled into him, your head finding a comfortable spot against his chest. His heartbeat, strong and steady beneath your ear.

The warmth of his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath, brought a sense of safety and calm. You could feel the tension of the day slowly ebbing away. His fingers trailed lightly across your back, drawing absent patterns.

"You know, this is quite close for a student and a professor," you muffled against his chest.

"Is it? Should I go?"

Your fingers gripped his shirt, holding him in place. "No," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don't go."

A smile played on his lips. "I'm not leaving you," he whispered. He leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. Then, he cuddled closer, the distance between you seeming to disappear.

Gradually, sleep began to claim you both. You drifted off, entwined in each other's arm. The office was quiet, save for the soft sound of your synchronized breathing and the faint, distant echoes of the hospital's nocturnal life.

Tomorrow, maybe, you would care about the consequences.

But not today. Not in his arms.

─── ·✧· ───

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

x a/n: i hope you like slightly longer chapters, i didn't know when to stop with this one really. anyway, thank you for reading and feel free to leave your thought, i love to read them! ♡

🏷️  @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved

#gojo saturo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x female reader #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Confesser

Summary: Spencer is a criminology professor, and Reader is a French professor. Separate focuses managed to get tangled together once, which makes Reader even more suspicious when he stops by her office on Valentine’s Day.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Light flangst

Content warnings: Slap

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: a little last-minute Valentine scenario

The bulb in your desk lamp flickered, as if it was begging for you to call it a night. You've been working late nights at the office recently, not only to help your students before midterms but also to keep your mind at bay from the lingering anguish.

There’s nothing wrong with being alone on Valentine’s Day. It’s been the case for you for years now. Solitude has been your most consistent and prosperous state. It’s how you earned your place as tenure after just five years at Marbury University (Go Cardinals). A job for life. Many people aren’t lucky to have that like you are. So you can’t stop now and get comfortable. Your students love you, and over the years have advocated this position for you. Stopping now would be nothing but a disservice to them.

If only you hadn’t been so stupid your fourth year here (and the first half of your fifth), then the feelings you get when in Jefferson Hall might be less painful. You were stupid enough to believe that the number one workplace rule didn’t apply to you.

Don’t fuck your coworkers.

Perhaps you thought your achievements from back to back earned you a place of immunity in that pool. Well, Dr. Spencer Reid was happy to prove you wrong there. Things like that can always risk being casual, unrequited, awkward. And you were stupid enough to go back more than once, and sully the place and position you rightfully earned.

Spencer first noticed you speaking to some of your students outside the hall. When approaching, he spoke in French, assuming you were a foreign exchange student. But when you turned to face him, he saw your staff badge, and put the pieces together quickly. It’s not too far off of an assumption, as most people think you’re French when they see how easily the language and history flows from you. You applauded his French (both pronunciation and accent) regardless.

That meeting turned into a coffee date. Coffee turned to grabbing lunch, then grading papers together, moral support to keep one another going. That quickly trickled into a friendship as you learned about Spencer’s specialties, multiple degrees, and current employment at the BAU in Quantico. You’ve both been to France for pleasure and to study. One was coincidentally in the same year as each other, where you both visited the city of Orléans. The rich architecture and vast history as far back as the Merovingian era made you both agree you prefer it over Paris any day.

Those days were during your fourth year. And it was just over a year of friendship where you made the mistake of agreeing to a drink after work.

The bulb flickers, as if to mock those memories or distract you from going too deep. Does it really matter? Spencer made it clear it was a mistake. None of it was meant to happen — the kiss, the confession, the sex. And with your shared brilliance mixed with two vodka sodas, you both unraveled what used to be a genuine friendship, a trusting relationship among coworkers. You cut your desk lamp off with a click, muttering to yourself as you collect your bag and some books. It’s a good enough sign to call it a night and head home. At the very least, you could spoil yourself with a nice bath and some wine. You question if you should grab a bottle on the way home or use what you’ve got stashed.

Your keys rattle in the door as you lock up your office, and you jerk on the doorknob for the sake of double checking. Spencer told you most break-ins occur because people fail to check the locks in their homes or cars before leaving. You don’t know how many of your students or fellow professors in the Language Department would be eager to bust into your office, unless they need some spicy ancient French poetry or books on Rococo architecture. No issues of the sort have arisen yet.

That is until you spot him at the end of the hall, drenched in fluorescent lighting and paused as if you caught him in the act. Of what, you didn’t know. It’s not like Spencer was short on French books or books in French. You hesitated to speak, questioning if it was even worth speaking a word to him. Regardless of the fact that you have to go his direction to get to your car.

Of course you caved. “Spencer.” You tried to not make your gulp so audible.

He just stood there awkwardly, like this wasn’t as much his fault as it was yours. Like you were in his way.

You scoff. Seeing him there, just feet away, it’s a cruel feeling blooming in your chest. The idea that maybe it isn’t too late. Maybe he’s here to confess what he really feels. On Valentine’s Day, no less. A bit of a cliché, but you’re not in a position to be too picky about how you might make up. If that’s even what’s happening.

With reluctance, you walk toward him. “I’m heading home for the night,” you say. “Are you parked out front too?” It pains to ask as if this is all casual. It feels like your heart’s about to burst or crush because he’s not saying a word as you approach him. Not until you actually approach him.

“Hi,” he meekly says. He looks pale. He looks sick with worry. If you were more concerned, you would feel inclined to ask about it.

You try to avoid sighing too loudly. You need the air. Since the bar (and everything after that), you two haven't been this close. “Do you want to walk out to the parking lot?”

Spencer shakes his head. “I, uh, I got you something.” He digs around in his satchel and pulls out a frame delicately. Like it was an old piece of art. Spencer hands it to you.

It’s not an old piece of art. It’s an old piece of poetry. Two of them in a single frame.

“They’re not the originals. But I have a friend in Germany who knows a guy in France who could exchange some pretty old copies.”

You stared at the pieces. Gawked is likely the more accurate word. They were definitely old copies. It was all handwritten and translated to Middle English.

You looked up at Spencer. “Charles d’Orléans?”

Spencer nodded, lips pressed together in a boyish, nervous smile.

You were so stunned by the decoration of the parchment, the distinct age of the pieces (well before the revolution), you almost forgot to ask, “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Had some spares around the apartment. Figured you’d appreciate them more than me.” He chuckled.

You turned your head and narrowed your eyes.

And you saw Spencer’s audible gulp. Much more audible than yours earlier (yes!). “Read it.”

You scan over the parchment, translating in your head:

Let men and women on Love’s party

Choose their St. Valentine this year!

I remain alone, comfort stole from me

On the hard bed of painful thought.

As he is well this day has caught

A Valentine that loves him, as I guess,

Whereas this comfort me here alone

Upon my bed so hard of painful thought.

You looked back up at Spencer, hoping this time he’ll put some more context behind the words instead of leaving you to fill in the blanks (again). You waited.

“I’m sorry about what I said. Or I guess… the way I said it. Maybe both. Both is probably the safer option to go with. The point is that I’m genuinely sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

You didn’t know what to do with the poems. It is instinct to keep them close to your chest like a book, but (like with you and Spencer) you’re afraid of ruining them. Somehow cracking it or damaging them. Firmly held in your hands, you are hyper-aware of its value. You also try not to let your emotions take a grip for the sake of your pieces. “You said it was a mistake.”

“It was a mistake that we went that far in one night. That’s… not who I am.”

You quirked a brow.

“That’s not who I usually am. I went too far in every way, and I’m sorry.”

You clamped your lips closed, looking around like students were present, ready to eavesdrop and gossip later. If your favorites were here, they would beg you to dish it all out over lunch. But no one was here. It was just you and Spencer (and Charles, kind of). “But what if my feelings were genuine?”

“I-I assumed they were. And I hurt them, and I’m sorry. I understand if I blew it and you may want to forget those feelings now, which is completely understandable. I destroyed it all in one night. And I can’t hold your hands right now, but I want to, and just say that you’re very important to me. And I miss you being around. And, uh, whatever context that might be, I hope we can be around each other again. A-at some point in the future.”

You sighed. It was heavy but concentrated. You needed a fresh breath of air. Spencer had the look of a sad puppy. It’s the way he looked whenever he was worried. How could you kick a sad puppy when he’s already down?

Well, you didn’t. You slapped him.

And he instantly reached for his cheek, already burning red.

“That’s for hurting me.”

Spencer nodded, not objecting to that part.

You then took that same cheek and pulled him closer, locking his lips with yours. And you both inhale deeply upon recognizing the contact. You’re hesitant about getting closer, given Charles is between you. “That’s me forgiving you.”

Spencer’s eyes crinkled as he held your face, but he didn’t initiate a kiss. The nerves in his fingers show he was hesitant to touch you so suddenly. He wasn’t messing this up again. “Can I walk you to your car?”

This time, it’s you who doesn’t hesitate. You hold the frame in one arm, cradling it like a baby. And you reach for Spencer’s hand as you walk out of Jefferson Hall.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid blurb #criminalminds #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic

[elyssialumengard]

Alastor x Reader : Fragile Link ( Part 2 )

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Link to the first part for those who haven't read it :

https://www.tumblr.com/elyssialumengard/741783404758073344/alastor-x-reader-fragile-link-part-1?source=share

Summary : In this chapter, Charlie presents his redemption hotel project to (y/n), an powerful overlord. Alastor, with his own motives, tries to persuade (y/n) to become involved in their confrontation against Adam.

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Taku knocked a second time, but the silence remained implacable.

Tangible anxiety flashed across his face as he prepared to strike a third time, softly saying :

- My Lady, may I come in ?

Getting no response, he made a face that the two people behind him did not see. Charlie frowned at Alastor, wondering what was going on. The radio demon tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing, wondering why (y/n) was slow to respond, when usually, she was so responsive. He could sense her presence, so it wasn't due to a mistake in location.

The demon, under the overlord's orders, did not hesitate to not ask permission, instead deciding to carefully push open the door. He entered, Charlie and Alastor on his heels, where the blonde was amazed by the clean layout of the place.

The room was bathed in soft, calming light that filtered through the thin curtains, letting in the golden rays of the artificial sun. The walls were painted in light tones, accentuating the brightness of the room and creating a warm atmosphere. Delicately framed paintings adorned the walls, bringing an artistic touch to the whole.

At the back of the room, a solid wooden desk was placed, on which were placed a kettle, a selection of fine teas in pretty metal boxes, delicately decorated porcelain cups, as well as small biscuits arranged on a plate.

Two plush sofas were placed opposite each other in the center, separated by a glass coffee table on which were a few magazines and a vase filled with fresh flowers. The elegantly patterned cushions added a touch of color and comfort to the seating.

Shelves full of books stretched along one of the walls, offering a varied selection of reading material for all tastes. Potted plants were scattered here and there, bringing greenery and freshness to the room.

In this welcoming and peaceful environment, (y/n) stood near a window, her back, silently contemplating the landscape through the glass, absorbed in her thoughts.

Approaching with growing concern, Taku called out to him again. Hearing this time, (y/n) gracefully pivoted towards them, revealing her strangely angelic appearance, which always disconcerted those who saw her for the first time.

Her hair, as white as fresh snow, flowed in silky cascades around her face, framing delicate, celestial features. His gaze, both gentle and penetrating, could have probed the deepest souls. Slight wrinkles framed her eyes, testifying to the countless trials she had endured. Fine deer antlers stood on the top of his head, rather large, extending back, adorned with light beads that had been made for her decades ago.

She was wrapped in a long taupe gray t-shirt, loose and flowing, the long sleeves of which fell almost delicately over her slender hands. The hem of the garment caressed the bottom of her buttocks while she had taken care to slip the front into her straight black fabric pants, thus defining her silhouette. A navy blue belt, carefully adjusted, captured the whole in subtle harmony. On her feet, sandals matching the color of the belt, with black wedge heels, seemed to extend the slender line of her legs.

Despite the apparent casualness of her outfit, she emanated an aura of dignity and serenity, giving her presence a natural nobility and captivating maturity.

Yet, despite the brilliance of her beauty and the imposing aura that surrounded her, an enigmatic fragility seemed to emanate from her, as if the burden of the entire world rested on her proud shoulders. Silent tears beading from her white eyelashes, sliding slowly down her cheeks, leaving in their wake sparkling traces on the porcelain of her skin.

Faced with this heartbreaking vision, Charlie's heart ached with empathy. She could almost feel the pain and suffering emanating from (y/n), even though she didn't know her.

Ignoring Charlie and Alastor, (y/n) walked towards Taku who was walking towards her. Their gestures betrayed a deep and ancient familiarity. She held out a trembling hand, which Taku took tenderly, placing his other hand on her hip for support.

Tears continued to fall down (y/n)’s cheeks as she begged for comfort.

- Taku... I am gripped by doubt and torment... Did I make the right decision ? Was I right to act this way ? She whispered in a broken voice. My heart breaks thinking that another member of my family will suffer loneliness and fear because of the consequences of my actions.

Taku looked at her affectionately, his hand gently stroking hers to comfort her.

- You acted according to your duty. He replied in a soothing voice. Lynn broke established laws. It has threatened the balance that you have so ardently preserved. You had no choice but to punish him.

An encouraging smile appeared on Taku's lips, trying to ease his mistress' pain.

- Your wisdom and prudence have protected our family and our territory. Don't let the burden of your decisions torment you. We are all at your side, aware of the rules, ready to support your choices, however difficult they may be.

(y/n) closed her eyes, feeling the tears continue to fall down her cheeks despite her efforts to hold them back.

- I know, Taku... I realize that none of you hated me for that, that I did what had to be done, but... But that doesn't lessen the pain. She whispered, letting out a sigh of sorrow.

Taku, still close to her, dried her tears delicately, his fingers tenderly caressing her skin. He moved even closer, trying to offer her whatever comfort he could in this moment of torment and vulnerability, no longer caring at all about the guests.

Observing this touching scene, Charlie was overcome by an emotion mixed with surprise and fascination. She didn't expect such intimacy between Taku and (y/n), but she couldn't help but find it magnificent, given the evidence of the deep attachment between them.

While as far as Alastor was concerned, he felt a surge of rage wash over him, his fingers tightening around the top of his cane with increasing intensity. His sinister smile widened, tinged with a dark glow as he observed this lesser demon, acting as if he was entitled to such closeness.

A shadow passed through his eyes, mixing jealousy and desire for possession.

- Remember this, my Lady. Your wisdom has always brought us serenity and protection. Your decisions were dictated by necessity and prudence. He continued in a soothing voice, trying to ease her pain.

(y/n) listened carefully to her advisor's comforting words, her expression relaxing slightly under his influence. However, when she heard the crackles of the radio growing louder in the room, her eyes suddenly widened, recognizing the sound with a disturbing certainty.

- Alastor, I advise you to control your emotions. Taku intervened, diverting his attention to the demon. I did not grant you an audience here, with my Lady, for you to cause trouble.

Alastor bit back a growl, his stag horns growing slightly in response to his growing frustration.

- I'm not the one who starts the trouble, my dear Taku. He replied, his gaze burning with a dark glow. But no matter, I wouldn't want to spoil your little intimate moment with your precious overlord. He added acerbically, his pupils narrowing, leaving more room for the black of his eyes.

Before Taku could respond, a bitter cold suddenly filled the room, dropping the temperature several degrees and obscuring the surrounding light. (y/n)'s silver eyes glowed menacingly as she stared at Alastor with an icy intensity, filled with hatred and menace.

Detaching itself slightly from Taku, (y/n)'s aura transformed into a terrifying presence, imbuing the room with a heavy and sinister atmosphere. His antlers grew larger as did his shadow which expanded, morphing into a tight grip around Alastor's body, immobilizing him. All this happened in barely the blink of an eye. Alastor's mischievous smile froze, becoming more awkward as he tried to keep his composure.

Charlie, panicked, let out a little cry of fear when she saw Alastor in danger. (y/n) walked towards him with determined steps, her piercing gaze staring at him intensely. Once in front of him, the same size, she addressed him in a cold voice :

-What are you here for, radio demon ?

Aware of the palpable threat in the air, Alastor responded with feigned confidence :

- Just to chat, my dear overlord. I come as a friend, as always.

- As friends ? She replied, an icy glint in her eyes. You have no friends here. You only have enemies waiting for the right moment to destroy you.

A shiver ran down Alastor's spine, but he kept his composure, his sinister smile stretching slightly across his face.

- Oh, but my dear, it's a shame. I'm sure we could get along if you gave me a chance.

(y/n) stared at him with contempt.

- You don't belong here, Alastor. And if you even think for a moment about sowing chaos in my territory, know that I will make you regret every second of your existence.

When Alastor should have fought back or tried to defend himself, a subtle observation revealed to him an unsuspected truth, escaped everyone's attention. The shadow's hold on him, although similar to that of his memories, was not as stifling or threatening as he had thought. He felt within himself the possibility of freeing himself from it, if he really wanted to. Staring intently at the face of the woman he had come to meet, he noticed that the tears had stopped flowing, giving way to an expression valiantly fighting against fatigue.

Smiling even more, he decided to lighten the atmosphere with his usual sarcastic humor.

- Let's see, my dear, you take me for a more belligerent demon than I really am. He said, giving a mocking smile. I'm here on a much more interesting matter than causing chaos. Actually, I'm here to introduce you to someone !

(y/n) arched an eyebrow, her expression hardening even further.

-And who is this person you are talking about ? She asked in a biting voice.

Alastor let out a small laugh, turning to Charlie with a theatrical nod.

- Allow me to introduce you to Princess Charlie Morningstar, heir to the throne of Hell and the founder of the Hazbin Hotel !

Charlie, feeling a little uncomfortable under (y/n)'s unforgiving gaze, gave her a shy smile and bowed slightly.

- Hey… Nice to meet you, Lady (y/n). She said in a calm but respectful voice.

( y/n ) looked away from Alastor to stare at Charlie, his expression softening slightly. She observed the young princess with a mixture of curiosity and evaluation, taking the time to look her over from head to toe, making her slightly uncomfortable, feeling as if the one who was taller than her she probed the depths of his soul.

- Charlie Morningstar… She whispered, repeating the name as if to engrave it in her memory.

As (y/n) scrutinized Charlie with growing interest, a resolve seemed to arise within her. With a graceful gesture of her hand, she dispelled the shadow that still enveloped Alastor, thus freeing the demon from his yoke. The temperature of the room and its brightness returned to their natural balance, while (y/n)'s deer antlers returned to their initial size.

(y/n), now more relaxed, conformed to the rules of etiquette, respecting them. A gracious smile graced her lips as she gave Charlie a salutation of gracious solemnity, bowing her head slightly in respect.

- The pleasure is shared, Princess Charlie. She replied in a soft but confident voice, getting up. It is an honor to welcome you to my modest home. Please forgive me for the vulnerable and aggressive version of myself that you may have encountered. Under no circumstances should she be present in the presence of royalty such as yours.

Charlie was pleasantly surprised by the sudden change in (y/n)'s attitude, feeling more comfortable in her presence. She bowed respectfully in gratitude, acknowledging the courtesy of the Overlord of Hell, not being used to being shown so much respect.

(y/n) then turned towards the couches, inviting Charlie to sit down.

- Please sit down, Princess Charlie, you must be tired from all this walking. She declared in a friendly voice, gesturing elegantly to the sofa.

Charlie nodded politely and sat down, his gaze following Alastor who stood behind the back of the sofa, his teasing smile still hanging on his lips. Meanwhile, (y/n) sent a command to Taku.

- Taku, please prepare some tea for our guest. She ordered in a calm but authoritative voice, as she sat down her turn, opposite Charlie who was standing straight, playing with his fingers.

Taku nodded silently, bowing slightly before walking over to where the teapot and cups were set out. He prepared the tea with silent skill, discreetly observing his enemy out of the corner of his eye.

As for Alastor, he remained unfazed by the presence of the one he would like to see dead, his expression still teasing, his gaze sparkling with undisguised malice as he observed the scene with palpable amusement.

Once the tea was ready, Taku approached Charlie and handed him a cup with a respectful gesture.

- Your tea, Princess Charlie. He announced in a neutral voice, placing it in front of her on the table, before serving (y/n), who thanked him with a warm but moderate smile.

Charlie thanked him with a grateful smile and took the cup carefully, feeling the comforting warmth of the liquid against his fingers. She took a small sip, savoring the soothing taste of the tea. (y/n) observed him with a slight smile, then suddenly declared, breaking the silence that had fallen :

- If I may say so, you look exactly like your father, Lucifer.

Charlie, astonished, looked at her in surprise.

- Do you know my father ? She asked with a hint of disbelief, unsure of what to think.

(y/n) nodded slightly.

- We met on a few rare occasions. She replied in a calm voice, full of reflection. But I must admit that I don't particularly hold it in my heart. Although I understand that he is overwhelmed by the illness of depression, especially since the departure of Lilith, your mother, I firmly believe that a king, even if he did not choose this destiny, must above all think to his subjects and be ready to sacrifice himself for them. Unfortunately, your father doesn't always seem to understand this, letting innocent people perish every year and condemning all sinners indiscriminately.

A nervous laugh escaped Charlie's lips at this unexpected revelation, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, trying to hide his growing confusion. Another heavy silence settled in the room, (y/n) doing everything to ignore the presence of Alastor, who reveled in his reaction.

After taking a sip, the hostess asked in a friendly but curious voice :

-And if not, can you inform me of your coming here, princess ? I must admit that I never imagined such a thing happening.

Charlie felt a surge of intense excitement course through her body as she jumped to her feet, the surge in her voice ready to burst into song to introduce her hotel of redemption. Her eyes glowed with palpable determination as she prepared to share her vision with those in the room.

- Oh uh yes ! Let me introduce you to my hotel that rehabilitates fishermen ! She began in a vibrant, almost musical voice. A place where the most lost souls can find redemption and inner peace.

His momentum was abruptly interrupted by the authoritarian voice of (y/n), which ended his tirade :

- There is no room for songs here, princess. Please forgive me for interrupting you, but I believe that there is a time for everything, including songs. If this is serious, you can present things differently.

Charlie, disappointed by the abrupt interruption of her creative momentum, sat up slowly, stammering an excuse. Alastor raised an eyebrow and said in a voice tinged with sarcasm :

- Are you sure about that, (y/n) ?

Ignoring Alastor's remarks and the hostile glances exchanged between him and Taku, (y/n) focused on Charlie, noticing his growing state of stress. Telling herself that his condition was because of her, with natural grace, she offered him a soothing smile and said softly :

- There's no reason to stress, princess, I didn't want to upset you. However, I can't stand the music anymore.

Hearing this, Alastor's smile became colder and more sarcastic. Charlie, looking at the woman in front of her, sighed, her shoulders slumping. She still had a hard time realizing that she was here, sharing tea with the person she considered an example to follow. As a result, she could not hold back from sharing her adoration for the overlord.

- You know, I've always heard about you. Rumors say that you are almost as powerful as my father, but that you have chosen a different path. A path of compassion and helping others.You have made pacts with sinners, protecting them and guiding them through the troubled waters of life. It's incredible. Everyone talks about you, but we never see you. You might almost think you're a legend. And yet here I am, facing you, realizing that you are very real. I admire you so much. It's like meeting my idol. Your strength, your generosity... It's inspiring. I mean, who else could boast of having (y/n) as an ally ? That's... That would just be amazing.

As Charlie's excitement began to skyrocket again, (y/n) gave him a kind look and said gently, touched by his words :

- Calm down, princess. Thank you for your admiration. Breathe, I am fully listening to you.

Charlie, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, outlined his plan with frankness tinged with nervousness. She honestly admitted that it was her fault that the purge had been brought forward six months, explaining that in a month Adam and the exterminators would come to see them first. Unable to hide her anxiety, she admitted that she did not know what to do in the face of this critical situation.

-And so… Alastor brought me here to get your help, apparently. She added, casting an uncertain look at Alastor.

( y/n ), staring skeptically at Alastor for the first since this exchange, raised an eyebrow, expressing doubt about the demon's intentions. In a calm but direct voice, she asked him :

- Do you really think you'll help Charlie with his hotel ? Do you believe in this idea of redemption ?

Alastor replied with a hint of amusement in his voice :

- Ah, my dear (y/n), believe in redemption ? It’s like believing in Santa Claus ! However, I see Charlie's little project as an entertainment opportunity. And maybe, who knows, a few souls to collect for eternity. But don't get me wrong, I'm here to save his project, it shouldn't be broken too quickly. I was even the one who chose the name of the brand, the “Hazbin Hotel”!

Faced with Alastor's response, Charlie felt disappointed and blasé, her face betraying her displeasure. She had hoped to find a sincere ally in him, but his words had reminded her of the dark and detached nature of the one who accompanied her today.

(y/n), turning to Taku with a serious look, asked him if the information provided by Alastor was true. Taku nodded soberly, confirming that according to his informants, the stated facts were accurate. (y/n) bowed his head slightly in recognition towards Taku before turning back to Charlie.

- I see… And what do you want from me, princess ?

Alastor spoke up to propose a solution to the situation.

- You know, (y/n), with your power and your army of fishermen, you could put an end to all this. You could even come to the aid of other potential members of what you insist on calling your “family”. He said in a convinced tone, looking at his nails, keeping a straight posture, not wanting to slump against the backrest even if he wanted to, wanting to keep a good face in front of her.

In a gesture of controlled serenity, (y/n) gently raised her hand to interrupt him, before falling gracefully on his knee. Closing her eyes briefly, she gathered her thoughts before responding in a calm but resolute voice :

- I understand your point of view, but I refuse to put the members of my family in danger for a matter that does not directly concern them. Here we are safe.

(y/n)'s reply, although delivered with apparent confidence, does not quite succeed in convincing Alastor, accustomed to detecting chinks in the armor of his interlocutors. He had subtly noticed the change in expression on the overlord's face. A smirk tugged at his thin lips, his eyes sparkling with biting amusement as he prepared to further explore the cracks in (y/n)'s confidence.

- You sure about that ? He asked, his voice softly tinged with a veiled threat. Think about it my dear. Things change, alliances break, and even your fishermen could find themselves caught in the tumult of this impending war.

He remained silent for a moment, letting his words permeate the atmosphere, then he continued in a calm but incisive tone :

- Imagine for a moment that Adam's forces are getting closer. Do you really think they will stop indefinitely at the gates of your pocket dimension ? That your precious fishermen will be spared from their fury ? No, my dear (y/n), your security is only an illusion in this constantly moving world. And if you refuse to act now, you may bitterly regret it when the flames of war lick the walls of your refuge.

He paused, letting his words resonate in (y/n)'s mind, before concluding with a sardonic smile :

- Of course, I do not underestimate your ability to protect your domain. But it's always good to consider all possibilities, even the darkest ones. After all, prudence is the mother of safety, right ?

Alastor knew how to tug on the heartstrings of high-ranking demons like (y/n). He used his charisma and sharp rhetoric to sow doubt in the overlord's mind, giving her a different perspective on the situation and pushing her to consider more aggressive actions to protect her rule and honor.

Before Charlie could intervene with his own arguments, Taku, faithful servant, spoke in a respectful but determined tone.

- My Lady. He began in a voice full of devotion. I understand the arguments made by this nuisance, but I implore you, do not let fear and uncertainty dictate your actions. You are the force that unites us, the light that guides our steps in the darkness. Your prudence is our shield against the chaos that always threatens to engulf us. Yes, times are uncertain and threats are many, but it is precisely in these times that your leadership is most crucial. Acting in haste, under the influence of fear, would only hasten our downfall. Let us remain faithful to our strategy, to our vision of the future. With your wisdom and wise judgment, we will overcome whatever challenges come our way. Because if you choose to engage in this confrontation, you risk losing more than you could gain. Your place is here, alongside yours, to protect our home and guide our destiny. Don't let the words of a manipulative demon sow doubt in your mind. We trust you, my Lady. And as long as you stay strong, so will we.

His hand, resting confidently on (y/n)'s shoulder, testified to his unwavering support, while he awaited his suzerain's decision with respectful patience, trusting in her wisdom and in her ability to make the best decisions for them.

(y/n) turned her gaze towards Taku, letting her face rest on her hand which was placed next to her on the backrest, fighting against the wave of sadness which invaded her at the thought of Lynn, that she had punished for a recent transgression. Alastor, carefully scanning the scene, felt a pang of annoyance as he noticed the proximity between them, a proximity that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

However, her attention was diverted by something that seemed to escape the others, when she raised her arm slightly, to take Taku's hand which was on her shoulder. Another curious and interesting detail, which added to the confirmation of his suspicions. (y/n) raised his face towards Charlie, letting go of his advisor's hand, placing his arm back at his side. In a gentle voice, she expressed her regrets.

- I'm sorry, princess, but I can't help you in this matter. She declared with compassion. I can't afford to put any member of my family in danger, let alone drag them into this.

However, she offered Charlie a glimmer of hope by adding :

- However, if your hotel survives, I will be happy to support you by visiting your establishment. I could then assess whether it truly constitutes a safe haven for those who seek redemption under your protection.

This compromise seemed to assuage Charlie's disappointment, giving him an encouraging outlook for the future of his project. She couldn't hold back her joy and literally jumped with contentment, her eyes shining with excitement.

- You are serious ? Really ? She exclaimed, both surprised and delighted by the powerful overlord's proposal.

(y/n) nodded gently, a kind smile stretching her lips.

- Yes I am. If your hotel manages to offer a path to redemption, then some members of my family may feel drawn to that possibility. And as a worthy leader, it is my duty to help them as best I can. She declared with dignity, thus expressing her noble vision of responsibilities.

Charlie's eyes lit up even more, splashed with a mixture of admiration and gratitude.

- It's incredible ! Thank you so much, (y/n) ! You won't regret it, I promise ! She exclaimed, letting her gratitude and determination to make her project a success shine through.

Sensing Charlie's imminent departure, (y/n) smiled slightly, appreciating his enthusiasm and determination.

- I wish you good luck, princess. Do your best to save your hotel. She told him sincerely, recognizing the passion that animated the young woman.

Charlie, moved by these words, bowed respectfully to (y/n) like a fan to an idol.

- Thank you, thank you very much ! I will not disappoint you ! I will do everything to find a solution to save him, you will see ! She promised passionately before heading towards the exit, carrying with her a mixture of excitement and newfound enthusiasm, not caring if Alastor followed her or not.

Alastor remained still, staring at (y/n) with a mixture of interest and challenge in his glowing gaze. Taku, seeing that the conversation was coming to an end, turned to Alastor with a cold and bitter expression, suggesting in a scathing tone :

- It's time for you to go, demon. Your presence is no longer required.

But Alastor didn't seem to react to Taku's words, keeping his attention entirely focused on (y/n). He let out a little sarcastic laugh, before announcing in a quiet voice but full of innuendo :

- In fact, I intend to talk a little more with (y/n).

She turned her attention to him, with a neutral air, while he announced :

-And one-on-one this time.

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Author's note : Well, I guess there will be a part 3, right ? I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it, and that (y/n)'s character captivated you. Stay tuned for the next part !

#alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #radio demon #vivziepop

[cool-fancier]

Starlit Serenity

Synopsis: Laughter, love, stars, and an accidental nap—your shared moments forged bonds you’ll forever treasure.

Word count: 1.7K

The story of you and Bada was an adventure filled with serendipity and joy, unfolding on the bustling streets of Seoul. It all started with a strange interview you were doing with several dance teams in order to capture the dynamic essence of the city's underground dance scene. Bada's group, called "Bebe," captivated you not only with their excellent dancing but also with their contagious spirit.

After a thrilling performance, you found yourself absorbed in conversation with the crew members one fateful evening. Among them was Bada, whose eyes sparkled with a blend of passion and humor. Her vibrant personality drew you in, and the casual interview transformed into a lively exchange of stories and laughter.

As the night proceeded, Bada told stories of her misadventures and spontaneous excursions, captivating you with her passion for life. The more you learned about her, the more you realized that beneath her confident exterior was a soul that resonated with your own quirks and unique characteristics.

Days turned into weeks, and chance encounters morphed into planned meetings. Soon, you found yourself caught in the whirlwind of Bada's infectious laughter and the magnetic pull of her presence. Your common sense of humour became the foundation of your bond, turning everyday moments into remarkable ones.

After a particularly difficult interview, Bada suggested an unexpected stroll through Seoul's packed street markets. Bada pulled you into a spontaneous dance, converting the crowded street into your own private stage, as you walked the bustling passageways, eating street cuisine and revelling in the bright mayhem.

The bond grew stronger as you discovered common interests and complimentary eccentricities. Bada's enthusiasm for life properly balanced your more reserved personality. Friends were envious of your and her chemistry, and it was evident that something remarkable was in the works.

The turning point came during a little getaway Bada took you one weekend. The beautiful golden beach that meets the endless blue sea under a sky that shifts from dawn's soft colors to the brilliance of sunset provide the backdrop for a succession of wonderful moments. A mixture of apprehension and excitement permeated the air as you and Bada sat on a large boulder viewing the gorgeous scenery on a starlit night.

"I have something to confess," Bada said, a sly grin on her face. "I've been wanting to do this for a while."

Bada leaned in, grasping your lips in a lovely and unexpected kiss, before you could register her words. As the warmth of the moment wrapped you both, the world appeared to pause. The kiss was a beautiful balance of warmth and humour, leaving you surprised and delighted.

As you pulled away, Bada couldn't help but burst into laughter. "I've been planning that for days, and it was even better than I imagined!"

The two of you laughed together, the shared moment deepening the connection between you.

From that point on, your relationship with Bada took on a new and exciting dimension. The kiss became a cherished memory, a moment that added a delightful chapter to your love story.

And so, the laughter-filled journey of you and Bada continued, painted with the hues of shared adventures, spontaneous kisses, and the enduring camaraderie of your extraordinary friends. Each day brought a new opportunity for humor and affection, making your story a delightful tapestry woven with threads of love and joy.

— — — — — — —

The eagerness among your group of friends had been evident for weeks as the expectation grew. You, Bada, Lusher, Tatter, Kyma, Minah, Che Che, and Sowoen were all packed and set for a weekend vacation in a gorgeous mountain cabin. The aim was to get away from the craziness of the city and bathe in the serenity of nature's embrace.

Your close-knit group of friends found themselves in the midst of a mesmerising evening under the blanket of a starlit sky, snuggled in the quietness of an isolated cabin. The environment was filled with laughter, anecdotes, and the warmth of long-lasting friendships.

With her vivacious energy, Bada pitched a game of "Never Have I Ever," an unofficial game of divulging secrets and amusing dares. The air buzzed with excitement among the flickering firelight.

"Never have I ever gotten lost in a foreign country," Minah said with a smirk.

Kyma laughed. "All right, guilty as charged." Remember that chaotic trip to Tokyo?"

Laughter erupted as the group recounted tales of their travel mishaps, adventures, and comical escapades. Bada came in closer, her hand immediately finding yours, fingers intertwining in an unsaid language of love.

The game continued, the questions ranging from hilarious to heartfelt. Tatter, with a sly grin, steered the conversation to more risky questions. "Never have I ever tripped going up the stairs!"

All eyes were drawn to Bada and you, evoking a chorus of taunting remarks. Bada's cheeks flushed rosy as she struggled to hold back a giggle, casting a teasing glance at Tatter.

"It was not planned!" Bada objected, eliciting a burst of applause from the audience.

"Sure, sure, we believe you," Che Che joked, winking at you both.

The fire gradually faded as the night progressed, putting a lovely glow on the faces of the companions sharing anecdotes and dreams. The glittering lights overhead seemed to reflect the glimmer in everyone’s eyes.

The warmth of the evening air surrounded the group, encouraging a decision to spread out beneath the star-studded sky, discussing hopes and wishes. The tranquil beauty of the moment was only broken by an owl's screech or the rustling of leaves in the soft air.

Bada, cuddled against your shoulder, shifted her attention to the stars above, her eyes reflecting the starlight. As you wrapped your arm around her, feeling the softness of her laughter vibrate against your chest, the night had an amazing silence.

"You know," she muttered, her voice a musical whisper in the midst of the peace, "this is perfect." Just being here with you, with everyone... it feels like home."

As you observed her in the dark embrace of the night, your heart overflowed with love. "It's moments like these that make everything feel right," you admitted, your words swept away by the night breeze.

The group, now engulfed in a comfortable silence, marveled at the beauty of the starry canvas above. Moments flew by like glittering stars, each one carving themselves into the tapestry of treasured recollections.

Lusher, always armed with her camera, stealthily captured the serene scene, ensuring that this night, infused with warmth and intimacy, would be preserved in the annals of time.

The group chose to go indoors as the night progressed and tiredness began to claim its victims. But Bada, clinging to the wonder of the evening, stated her desire to witness shooting stars.

"I've never seen one," she said, her eyes twinkling with childish awe.

Che Che, the eternal optimist, grinned mischievously. "Then tonight's the night! We'll make sure you do!"

The group waited, wrapped in blankets, scouring the heavens for the rare shooting star. The mesmerising grandeur of the night sky, on the other hand, appeared focused on tormenting them, concealing its angelic delights beneath veils of clouds.

Amidst the anticipation, the fatigue eventually caught up with Bada. Her eyelids drooped, and with a contented sigh, she leaned against you, seeking solace in the comfort of your presence. Unbeknownst to her, sleep claimed her in that tender moment, her hand still entwined with yours.

When the group noticed the charming sight, they exchanged knowing glances and whispered nods, realising the significance of this touching moment. Lusher again took advantage of the situation by taking a series of candid photos, each frame capturing the peaceful innocence of Bada, asleep in your embrace.

Morning came with a calm light streaming through the windows, providing a warm glow throughout the cabin. Lusher couldn't suppress her joy when everyone gathered for breakfast.

"Time for the big reveal!" she said, projecting the previous night's filmed moments onto the cabin wall.

As the photographs were revealed, there were gasps and chuckles across the room. Bada is sound asleep, her hand intertwined with yours. The cabin became a safe haven of affectionate ribbing as a result of the playful banter and taunting remarks.

As the laughter subsided, Bada, awakening to the joyful chaos, met your gaze with a soft smile, her eyes shimmering with affection and gratitude.

"We'll have to add these to our future wedding album," Minah teased, evoking a chorus of cheers and laughter from the girls.

The day progressed with shared meals, fun games, and echoes of meaningful events weaved throughout every conversation. The cabin, which had formerly served as a backdrop for a weekend escape, now housed a treasure trove of memories that would live on in their hearts forever.

— — — — — — —

There were calmer but equally wonderful times among the fun chats and shared laughter. You and Bada found yourselves stealing looks and sharing concealed smiles that spoke volumes in the language of unspoken affection while the group engaged in board games and heated conversations.

During the break in the group's conversation, Bada's laughter, melodious and contagious, filled the air. She caught your attention and offered a hand, inviting you to join her in a dance. You accepted her invitation with a lighthearted grin, and the two of you danced to an imaginary song, your steps led by the common rhythm of your hearts.

Bada found herself leaning into you as the night went, seeking solace in your warm embrace. The steady rhythm of your heart lulled her head into your chest. You softly moved a strand of hair away from her face in that tender moment, enjoying in the closeness and unsaid connection that joined you.

Bada lifted her gaze to meet yours with a quiet chuckle. "I could get used to this," she admitted, her eyes twinkling with mischief and adoration.

"Me, too," you said, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "This feels like home."

Morning arrived, casting a gentle light that bathed the cabin in a serene glow. As the group gathered for breakfast, the slideshow of captured moments revealed the tender scenes of Bada, finding solace in your embrace. The room was filled with amused chuckles and affectionate teasing, yet amidst it all, there was an undeniable sense of warmth and love.

Throughout the day, amidst shared meals and playful banter, you and Bada found yourselves stealing moments – a fleeting touch, a shared glance, each an unspoken testament to the bond that blossomed between you. These intimate gestures, hidden amidst the laughter and camaraderie, spoke volumes of the growing affection between you and Bada.

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #swf2 x reader #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bebe #bada lee fanfic #bada lee x oc #bada lee x y/n #bada lee imagines #street woman fighter x reader #lee bada #street woman fighter

[denaliwrites]

What Beautiful Things I'll Wear

Tenth Doctor x Fem!Reader

Summary: The Doctor takes you to a masquerade ball during the Renaissance.

Soundtrack: Marry Me by Emilie Autumn

Requests: Open!

Tag List: @nyxiethesimp (I always forget this bit, I'm so sorry!)

Warnings: Canon-Typical Peril.

"Oi! We're gonna miss it!" the Doctor called into the TARDIS wardrobe, startling you out of your reverie.

"You have a time machine!" you snapped back in lighthearted exasperation.

"We can't cross our own timelines!"

"I'm sure there are other balls we could attend, Doctor!"

"Yeah, but this one's got Machiavelli!"

"Wait, seriously?" you asked as you poked your head out of the wardrobe. "The Machiavelli?"

"Yeah," he said teasingly with a big grin. "So hurry up, before the party's over and he leaves!"

You sighed with a roll of your eyes and withdrew back into the wardrobe, adding the final touches to your ensemble in a rush.

Finally, you exited, adorned in a lavish dress of midnight and periwinkle. Sat delicately over your face was a silver wolf mask, which hid an equally wolfish smile. "How do I look?" you asked, giving the Doctor a twirl for effect.

He stood in silence, simply taking you in for a few moments. He looked somewhat awestruck, eyes wide and full of something you couldn't quite put a fully accurate name to. And the smile he gave you -- it was adoring in the way his smiles often were when he was faced with humanity's charm and brilliance. But it seemed deeper than that. More personal. Intimate.

It sent a shiver down your spine.

"Doctor?" you prompted him gently.

He blinked back to himself and his smile easily slipped into something more casual. "You look stunning," he told you as he held an arm out for you. There was still something in his voice that tickled your senses, but you left it, eagerly taking his arm. Without further ado, the two of you were off to the ball to meet Machiavelli.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Machiavelli had turned out to be a rather boring individual.

Well.

That wasn't fair. He just wasn't the kind of man you'd expected the writer of the Prince to be. He was a lot more mild, comparatively, and didn't seem to possess any of the traits that you, in your modern attitude, would consider Machiavellan.

Except maybe the way he seemed rather eager to get to know you biblically.

You swore, if he cooed one more "good lady" or "lovely mistress" or "darling girl" in your general direction, you'd lose your mind.

The worst offense, though, was that he'd separated you from the Doctor. You'd tried looking for him, but he'd seemingly vanished entirely from the ball.

Tired, lost, exasperated, you made your way to a bench out on a nearby balcony and flopped gracelessly onto the seat with a groan. It had already been such a night, and now all you wanted was to crawl into your bed.

You groaned again as a shadow fell over you. You turned, fully expecting to see the Machiavelli there to hound you into another dance.

Instead, you saw... nothing? But also something.

It cast a shadow, so you knew that there had to be something physically there. But as you looked, it seemed to shimmer and glide right out of your field of view, like the dancing dapples of light on the surface of a pool.

You'd spent enough time with the Doctor to know when things were a little... off. You weren't sure if this was the work of a perception filter, or something similar, but it definitely wasn't normal and it definitely wasn't human.

And it definitely wasn't throwing you off the trail.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, a voice called out. "Don't!" You turned again to see the Doctor running towards you.

There was a sudden sting as something slid into your neck, and then heat spread out from the injection, dazing you. You heard the Doctor calling your name, even felt his hands on you, but couldn't see anything other than the shimmering man behind you.

"What have you done to her?" the Doctor shouted. You were startled, you felt it, yet your body didn't move. "Whatever you did, fix it! Cure her!"

You could feel the heat spreading. It felt like fire, razing through your veins like an inferno. You had the sense to know it should hurt, yet you felt no pain. Even so, you knew that without some kind of antidote, it'd kill you.

The Doctor seemed to know that too.

"Please," he said, and you realized he'd moved on to begging. "Please. Not her. Let me save her." Begging for you. For your life.

You watched as the entity produced something new -- it still shimmered, never letting you get a good look at it, but as it slipped into your neck you realized it was another needle.

This time, the plunger sent ice into your veins. It moved quickly, eating up the fire and leaving you shivering... but alive. You realized as the ice spread that, not only were you wracked with tremors, but you could move your own body voluntarily. You lifted your arms with difficulty and wrapped them heavily around the Doctor's neck. And gently, he tipped your head forward so that your eyes were finally on him.

"Doctor," you whimpered. "About damn time..."

He laughed a little at that, though it sounded hollow and the smile that came with it didn't reach his eyes. "Fashionably late as ever, eh?" he asked gently.

Your head lolled when you tried to nod. That made him laugh again, and that time it didn't sound so hollow.

"What did you do to her?" he asked the shimmering man again. There was no reply, and you almost thought that maybe the strange entity had left.

"She required correcting," a dozen voices said at once.

"Correcting?" the Doctor asked, pulling you closer protectively.

"The female carried disease. It's now eliminated, and she is corrected."

"Disease?" you and the Doctor asked simultaneously.

"She is corrected." With that, there was a whoosh behind you, and you knew that whatever that thing was, it was gone.

The Doctor stayed with you until you'd recovered, holding you close and stroking your hair with one hand while the other rubbed circles into your back.

Once you could move without fumbling like a ragdoll, he helped you to a stand and guided you towards the door.

Music still played in the ballroom, though most of the attendees had filtered out and the party was definitely in its final throes. Machiavelli, blessedly, was gone.

The Doctor brought you to a halt in the middle of the room and turned towards you with a light smile. "May I have this dance?" he asked, and though he tried to sound casual, you could hear that deeper note in his voice once again.

"You may," you answered thoughtfully.

He began leading you through the steps of a waltz you didn't recognize, but it wasn't too hard to pick up. You imagined he'd chosen something that would be easy for you, in case any effects from your "correction" still lingered.

"Doctor?" you murmured into his ear after a while of dancing in silence.

He hummed in acknowledgement, and you could've sworn his arms around you got tighter.

"You've seemed... a bit off, for a while... is everything okay?"

"Oh... everything's wonderful," he answered, and you could hear in his voice that he meant it. He shifted his arms so that he could cradle your face in his hands, one on your cheek and one on your neck, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where the entity had injected you with those strange substances. "Everything's perfect, in fact."

"Y-yeah?" you asked, looking into his eyes, your own wide as he watched you with such intense and bare adoration.

"Yeah."

You didn't pull away as he leaned forward, didn't move back as his lips pressed to your own. It was a sweet and tender kiss, the kind of kiss that sent an entirely different kind of warmth through your veins. You smiled sweetly into it, and you could tell the Doctor felt it as you felt his lips quirk up in response.

He pulled away, and while you leaned into his chest with a contented sigh, he peppered little pecks over your bare shoulders in reverence.

You stayed like that, swaying gently in a dance not from your planet, to music not from your time, up until the moment the band stopped playing.

#tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #doctor who x reader #the doctor x reader #the doctor x you #reader insert #doctor who fic #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who #the doctor #david tennant #canon typical peril

[writeforfandoms]

The Name of the Wind 2

Find the series masterlist

A new day brings more talks and planning for the future. Oh, and dragons.

Part two of my submission for the Alejandro challenge hosted by @glitterypirateduck This chapter I used "Nothing is ever that simple."

Warnings: Swearing, black humor, lil bit of politics/social norms, fantasy au, fantasy au rules.

Word count: 1.8k

Eventual Alejandro Vargas x f!reader

Fortunately, you were already awake and ready when someone came to get you in the morning. The young woman wore the same kind of dark, simple clothes that the riders here seemed to favor, black hair braided back away from her face. Her smile was kind as she led you to the dining hall. 

In the daylight, the dining hall was bigger than you remembered, with several rectangular tables and benches providing plenty of places to sit. Alejandro waved to you, seated at a table in the middle of the room. The others around him moved over to make a space for you. Someone set a clean plate in front of you, while others passed dishes of food around again. 

“Good morning,” you greeted a little cautiously, overwhelmed at the casual kindness. 

“Did you sleep well?” Alejandro's eyes twinkled in the morning light, like he found you amusing. Better than annoying. 

“Very well. Thank you.” You managed a little smile, trying not to gape at the food. This table alone held much more variety than you were used to seeing. 

“Some of my riders,” Alejandro told you, motioning to the men and women around him. “Rodolfo will be with us today.”

You nodded to Rodolfo, who looked more stoic than Alejandro. At least for now. He returned the nod, giving you a quick, assessing once-over. You were getting used to that. 

“After breakfast, we will continue discussing your circumstances.” Alejandro held your gaze for a moment, waiting for your nod, before he picked up a mug and took a sip. The conversation around you resumed, discussions of training and rotations. You let the words wash over you - you didn’t know any of the names, so a lot of it meant nothing to you. 

No sooner had you pushed your plate away than the riders around you stood. You scrambled to your feet as well, looking to Alejandro for guidance. He let the others go first, and then guided you out of the hall. Rodolfo fell into step behind you, his steps nearly silent. 

“Still wish for a job here?” Alejandro asked as he walked. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You smiled rather wryly. “Walked all the way here.” 

“You did.” He turned down a different corridor, this one leading further away from the natural light. “Were you followed?” 

“In that downpour? No.” You shook your head. “Everyone sane stayed where it was dry.”

He flashed a grin at you, sharply amused. “And this should make me want to let you work here?” 

You huffed a little laugh. “Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I’ve seen harnesses before. Even with regular care, they take a beating.” 

Alejandro nodded. “You are correct,” he agreed, even as the roof started to rise and the passageway opened up into a cavern. “They do. You would not have a shortage of work here.” 

Your eyes went wide as you craned your head back, trying to see the top of the cavern. You couldn’t. You could see how smaller spaces honeycombed the inside of the mountain, sunlight bleeding through some of them. But Alejandro didn’t pause, and behind you Rodolfo had to clear his throat to get you to hustle after Alejandro again. 

Alejandro moved to the far side of the cavern, the light growing brighter as he walked. The cavern lowered again, still much taller than you but not so enormous anymore, until morning sunlight nearly blinded you. An easy exit. 

But Alejandro didn’t quite go outside. He turned and went into a room just off to the side, nearly hidden by the brilliance of the morning. 

“A few of the harnesses,” he told you, motioning to a series of pegs on the wall holding up connected straps of leather. “These need repairs. We have extras.” 

You nodded, tipping your head as you examined the one nearest you. Honestly, you weren’t sure how it worked, but you could learn. That much you were confident about. “Once I know how these work, I can repair them.”

Alejandro chuckled. “Your confidence does you credit,” he agreed. “But that’s not all.”

“What else?” You turned to look at him, curious. 

“The dragons, of course.” He grinned again, striding out of the room. Rodolfo sighed with amusement but motioned you out first. 

A little wary and a little curious, you followed. 

Alejandro walked fearlessly up to an enormous brown dragon, the color of rich wet earth. The dragon lowered its wedge-shaped head, one big eye blinking down at the rider, and made… a noise. It was deep and rumbly, but beyond that? You didn’t have the words to describe it. 

The dragon made Alejandro look small, standing more than twice his height at the shoulder, wings folded neatly against its back. 

“This is Caba.” Alejandro patted the dragon’s massive jaw. 

You stopped well back from the dragon, leaning much more towards wary now. That was… a lot bigger than you thought. Oh, sure, everyone knew dragons were big, but… It was very different standing this close to one. 

“Go say hi,” Rodolfo murmured from behind you, amusement clear in his voice. You cleared your throat, nervous, but stepped forward slowly. Alejandro watched you, mostly suppressing his grin. 

“Hi, Caba.” You really weren’t sure what you were doing, so you stood awkwardly, eyes wide. The dragon was somehow impossibly bigger from this close. 

The dragon peered down at you, blinking slowly. Then it huffed out a breath. 

“He is nearly the biggest in the garrison,” Alejandro told you casually, as if you weren’t still reeling from being this close to an actual dragon. “But you would still need to make repairs for all the dragons here.” 

Ah. Yes. That was an excellent point. “I can do it,” you reiterated stubbornly, even though the thought of being so close to dragons often made you nervous. You’d just… muscle through. Figure it out. You could do that. 

Still better than marrying a man you suspected would be your death. 

“Good.” Alejandro grinned. “We’ll find you a permanent room and give you the rest of the tour, then.”

You blinked. “Just like that?” 

Alejandro shrugged, hand still on the dragon’s jaw. “Nothing is ever that simple,” he said, looking past you to Rodolfo. “If your would-be husband discovers you are here, he could cause trouble.” 

“If,” you grumbled, looking down. “Nobody knows where I went. I left no note.”

Alejandro hummed but seemed content to drop the subject. “Come,” he said, giving Caba one last pat to the jaw. “I will show you the rest of the garrison.” 

He was as good as his word, personally taking you around to show you everything. Well. Most everything. He didn’t take you up to the dragons’ sleeping area, nor did he show you the riders’ quarters. But he did show you everything else, from the kitchen to the bathing facilities to the overlook. 

The overlook in particular was your new favorite spot. Sure, it was a bit of a hike up to it, but well worth it. 

A space had been cleared using the mountain as a natural shelter to provide half-walls and a ceiling, while a thick wooden door blocked the stairway from the cold air. Two chairs seemed to have permanent residence in the overlook. The rest was open to the elements, which made for a cold but beautiful viewing area. From there, you could easily see out over the river valley, the river swollen from the recent rain. The valley stretched for a long ways, the far mountains distant and bluish. 

“How far away is that?” You asked, hushed despite the fact that it was just the three of you up there. 

“Not so far as you think,” Alejandro answered, leaning one hip against the half-wall next to you. “Less than an hour on dragonback.” His gaze clouded, anger burrowing his brow and twisting the corners of his lips. “Less, for a wyvern.” 

You nodded slowly. You'd never seen a wyvern either, and you knew exactly why that was. Because of this garrison. The first line of defense against the wyverns. “What lives in that valley?”

“Deer, rabbits, other game. Various birds. Sometimes we see larger animals, but not often.” Alejandro didn't look at the valley, though, gaze still focused on the distant mountains. 

“Is someone up here all the time?” You shifted your weight, the weight of Alejandro's anger making you… almost nervous. On edge. 

“No,” Rodolfo answered this time, from behind you. “We have rotating watches elsewhere. This was carved out long ago, but seldom used now.” 

You nodded, chewing lightly on your bottom lip as you looked between the two men. They both seemed focused on the distant mountains, and you wondered briefly if they could see anything more than you could. 

“Do you see wyverns a lot?” The question passed your lips without permission, leaving your face warm under the weight of two stares. 

“Depends on how you define ‘a lot’,” Alejandro said with a little huff, dryly amused. “More than most. Not daily. Not even weekly. Sometimes it's months in between attacks.” He shrugged once before crossing his arms over his chest. “But if you stay, you will see them.” He turned his gaze on you again finally, unwavering and hard. Warning you, you realized. 

He wasn't just showing you the view. He was reminding you the purpose of this garrison, what you'd be risking if you stayed. 

Your lips quirked in something like humor. “Still better than dying on my way to the coast,” you quipped. You could handle this. Sure, it was a bit scary. But you could do this. 

To keep your freedom, your passion, you would. 

Alejandro nodded once, approval in his eyes even as he stepped back from the wall. “Good.” He smirked faintly, motioning you to follow again. “What other supplies do you need?”

The question made you pause at the top of the stairs, a considering hum leaving you. “I brought some tools with me. I'd need to see what else you have here.” 

“Easily done.” Alejandro didn't pause until the three of you were back in the main hall again. “Take the rest of the day. Get used to being here. Tomorrow, I expect you ready to start.” 

You smiled, feeling more secure than you had since your father died. “I'll be ready.” 

It wasn't until you watched the two leave, footsteps nearly perfectly in sync, that you breathed out slowly. 

Okay. You'd make things work. This was your best choice, your best option. 

Alejandro paused at the end of the hall, those dark eyes holding your gaze for a long moment before he was gone. 

New plan. 

You'd make things work, and not find Alejandro attractive.

#amor a alejandro #dragon riders au #the name of the wind #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x you #f!reader

[leoramage]

competition + part one

⊹ masterlist ⊹ taglist ⊹

⊹⊱ trigger warning - [being shady af, slandering, tune in for plot twist!]

⊹⊱ theme - [social media au]

⊹⊱ pairings - [ex!mick schumacher x thai beauty queen!y/n x ?]

⊹⊱ face claim - anntonia porsild

⊹⊱ keywords - [rumours. "i promise that you'll never find another like me." emotional scars trope. "you're talking shit for the hell of it." girl fight. "anything you can do, i do better." bitterness and envy. "who do you think you are? are you better than me - no."]

INSTAGRAM

mickschumacher posted a story and a photo

liked by pierregasly, estebanocon and others

mickschumacher 🤍

truemickfan Wait, did I miss a whole season? Mick and Y/N were just together during Miami Grand Prix, and how's he's all cozy with someone new? 😳

estebanocon 😍😍

⊳ racedaydreamer estie bestie, explain what happened to my parents! 😭

⊳ speeddemonette I AM DISAPPOINTED BARFING, CRYING, HAVING SEIZURES RIGHT NOW!

mickfanatic Is it just me or does anyone else feel like Mick moved on way too quickly? Y/N is not just a casual fling!

micksupporter YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH Y/N WAS ALMOST 4 YEARS MICK! 😭 4 YEARS!

gridgirlgossip Goodbye, I am sending you my therapy bills.

cornercruiser #downgradeofthecentury

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TWITTER

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The night was alive with the glow of twinkling stars, casting their silvery light over the event you had just finished hosting the glamorous charity event, Your radiant smile never left your face as you effortlessly guided the evening. The applause echoed through the grand hall, and for a moment, you felt like the world was yours as you were dressed in elegance and grace, embodying beauty and poise like no other, leaving behind a trail of flashing cameras and clinking glasses. But as you retreated backstage, reality caught up with you.

Your phone buzzed insistently in your hand, a notification lighting up the screen. You anticipated it to be a congratulatory message, a reminder of your brilliance on stage. Instead, it was a photo that sent shards of pain through your heart.

Mick.

There he was, smiling broadly, his lips on her cheek and an arm wrapped around a woman – you realized who she was – the Instagram model whose presence had been splashed across tabloids and gossip sites recently but whose ingenue beauty was unmistakable.

Your heart sank as you realized the truth: he had moved on like you and him never happened.

3 years of being with him – going 4 years – all thrown aside like a trash.

You were with him, in his ups and downs.

You were there when he lost his F1 seat.

You were there when he questioned his ability...

His talent...

His whole being...

And the pressure of him being the racing prodigy after his father.

You were there when Mercedes took him in and welcomed him as a reserve driver. You celebrated late at night and cuddled by the flame drinking beers while Coldplay plays on the background. It feels like home to be with him but...

Where could have you possibly lacked that he found another one so easily within two months?

Were you that ugly?

Were you that unworthy?

Were you that replaceable?

Were you not enough?

The tears welled up before you could stop them, blurring your vision as you crumbled into a chair. The room felt like it was closing in on you, the deafening silence of your pain echoing in your ears. A whirlwind of emotions swirled within you – hurt, confusion, and an undeniable sense of loss.

He said that he won't break your heart, let alone shed tears because of him. Yet here you are, a sobbing mess because he found a replacement 2 months fresh after your break up.

You hated him. No... You loathed yourself that you've ended up this way with your heart and soul. Yet a part of you feels guilty and loves him despite letting you burn yourself in the process. He said he'll protect you but...

He had set fire and left you alone - sacrificed yourself for your ever-unsalvageable relationship.

It simply costs you. Your being.

You lost yourself so that he could find himself.

You didn't know what happened. One day he wasn't the Mick you knew.

He changed that was all.

It felt like a betrayal, a stark reminder that he had moved on while you were still grappling with the aftermath of your breakup. The break had been raw, an ache that had haunted you since the day you parted ways. Two months had passed, yet the wound was far from healed. The emotions you had been pouring up for weeks seemed to return like an overflooded river, and the dam you had so carefully constructed - every week you put on a brave smile and face the world - finally crumbled once again.

You completely lost him.

Amid the tears and the sobs, you allowed to release the anguish that was held back. It was as if the universe had given you permission to feel, to mourn, and to heal.

You clung to your friends, letting their unwavering support become your lifeline, traversing the caverns of your own heart. Your friends rushed to your side, their faces filled with concern.

And a new familair guy was there too, like a true friend. He knelt in front of you, his big copper eyes locking onto yours. "Y/N," he whispered, "I'm so sorry... You don't deserve this." The sobs wracked your body as you buried your face in your hands before he pulled you into an embrace that lulled your lamenting and already ravaged heart. But the pain was too raw. It was misery that had been festering for two long months, a pain you had hidden behind your dazzling smile.

You thought you were fine, that you were strong enough to handle seeing Mick with someone new. But in that moment, all your strength crumbled. It felt like your heart had been ripped out and stomped on.

His hand grazed your back with your face buried in his chest, his voice was low but soft but filled with empathy. "He doesn't deserve you, Y/N." His accent was thick upon whispering in your ear, feeling bad that you had to go through this.

As you cried, you realized that the pain wasn't just about Mick. It was about the weight of expectations, the pressure to always appear strong, and the fear of being alone. It was about the depression that had been silently eating away at you.

You had been wearing a mask for so long, pretending to be okay when you weren't. It manifested from you losing weight, skipping meals and even your sleeping schedule had been hell. And now, in this moment of vulnerability, you felt like you were breaking free from that suffocating facade.

He whispered soothing words, reminding you that you were loved and that your worth wasn't defined by a relationship.

As the tears continued to flow, you realized that healing would take time. But for the first time in months, you felt like you were ready to take on the path to recovery. The pain was real and there was nothing for you to do but it shouldn't be stopping you.

You promised that you would be stronger than you had ever known.

TWITTER

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Morning aftermath...

As the morning sun filtered through your window, you found yourself still wrapped in the cocoon of sleep, the weight of last night's breakdown lingering like a heavy fog. But as your phone began to buzz with notifications, reality swiftly came crashing back. Friends had texted you, their words a mix of concern and reassurance.

"Hey, just wanted to let you know that there's a tweet going around. We're here for you, always." — F/N1

"Some fan or paparazzi sent a picture of you crying backstage last night to a Twitter account. They're all with you. We are always here for you, Y/N." — F/N2

You sighed, sitting up and staring at your phone. It didn't take long to locate the tweet they were referring to – a photo of you, vulnerable and raw, with your friends surrounding you to comfort you. The tweet had gained traction overnight, becoming a symbol of empathy and support from fans all over...

As you scrolled through the replies, you were taken aback by the outpouring of compassion. Fans of both Mick and yours had come together, expressing their concern and sending well wishes. The sight of your shared pain resonated with many, they felt upset for you over a single Instagram post of Mick that drew out all the vitality in you last night.

With a sigh, you knew you couldn't remain in bed all day, wallowing in the events of the past night. You were stronger than that, and you owed it to yourself and your supporters to show them that you were okay. Taking a deep breath, you decided to update your fans through an Instagram story.

You snapped a picture of yourself, the gentle sunlight casting a warm glow on everything it touched. Typing out a caption, you chose your words carefully.

With a sense of purpose, you tapped the post button. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a step forward. The response was immediate – an influx of messages, hearts, and encouraging words flooded your inbox. Each notification felt like a virtual hug, a reminder that you were not alone on this journey.

INSTAGRAM

yourusername posted a story • 4 mins ago

seen by carlossainz55, lewishamilton and 962,820 others.

Later that day...

As the sun began its slow descent, you found yourself deep in thought, your mind weaving through possibilities and aspirations. The idea had taken root within you, a flicker of determination that refused to be extinguished. You wanted to show the world that you were more than just a single pageant title or relationship and that your journey was far from over.

The world felt a little brighter, and the weight on your shoulders felt a little lighter.

With a sense of purpose, you reached for your phone, your fingers dancing over the keys as you composed a message to your pageant coach, RL Duangkong. Your journey to a bigger goal is just about to start.

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Author's Note: THIS POST HAD BEEN UPLOADED WAY TO SEVERAL TIMES THAT I ALMOST LOST PATIENCE. The effort I poured onto this fic is ungodly. Which is why I appreciate smau!writers out there. I was having an internal monologue on how the lines would be distributed properly. I honestly loved making this - it is such a challenge and a struggle to be fair. Please do not repost or take the edited pictures without my consent. Some media in this post are mine and it's hard to do photoshopping/photo manipulation. Any kind of support is appreciated as I continue writing as long as I keep dreaming. Until then, stay updated for part 2! 𔘓ฅ[⁠ᓀ⁠˵⁠▾⁠˵⁠ᓂ⁠]𔘓ฅ

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction created by the user in response to a creative writing prompt. Any resemblance to actual events, persons, or entities, whether living or deceased, is purely coincidental. The characters, events, and dialogue portrayed in this fanfiction are products of the user's imagination and are not meant to infringe upon any copyrights or trademarks associated with the Formula One sport or any real-life individuals. This fanfiction is solely intended for entertainment purposes, and the author acknowledges that the depicted scenarios are not endorsed, authorized, or supported by any official Formula One entities or the individuals mentioned.

#Spotify #formula one #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher au #mick schumacher smau #mick schumacher x you #mic schumacher fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula one instagram au

[sethsclearwater]

okay so what if—WHAT IF—paul and imprint reader who only wants to keep it casual?? like a friends with benefits type of thing because romance is just too complicated with her, especially considering the topic of romance with a werewolf.

paul gives total desperate vibes but he’d rather her want him physically than not want him at all so he’s basically just letting her make all the rules. and one night during sex he lets those three words slip and she totally freaks. HAPPY ENDING OFC but you’re just so good with angst i need the fear and anxiety omg !!

anon, i am obsessed w you! this is absolute poetic brilliance and i'll be writing this as a full length imagine ASAP omg

#paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote imagine

[forestdeath1]

Sour

@prongsfoot-microfic

James is sitting on the sofa opposite Remus, completely engrossed in a book. Sirius is propped against his shoulder, idly twirling a lock of his hair and fidgeting with his right foot. Remus is doing his best not to glance at Sirius. It's challenging because Sirius always seems to be the centre of attention in this bloody castle. And that's normal. Perfectly normal.

"Enough with the reading, is there anything you don't already know?" Sirius's tired voice reaches Remus, directed at James.

"I'm trying to find a way to...," James abruptly stops, catching sight of Marlene sitting next to Remus. He clears his throat and continues, "Figure out how to ace the Transfiguration test better than anyone."

"Oh, spare us," Marlene mutters, not bothering to remove the quill from her mouth or look up. "Everyone knows if you lot are hitting the books, it's only to concoct some scheme," she then turns to Remus. "Remus, have you finished? Could you take a look at mine?"

Remus takes her parchment with the Transfiguration essay on it and hands her his. They've got into the habit of helping each other with their essays this year, since Sirius and James have been too wrapped up in their own brilliance and often disregarded his requests.

"What's got you so engrossed?" Sirius leans over to James, flipping the book cover. "Ah. Well, carry on then," he says with a slight smile and lets go of the book, then gives James an approving pat on the chest and suddenly halts, scrutinizing James as if he's a dog that's caught a scent.

Remus looks away, trying to focus on Marlene's essay.

"Where were you today?" Sirius inquires.

Even Marlene looks up at that question.

"What?" James appears puzzled as he looks at Sirius.

"You smell like something sour, lemony. As if you've been swimming in lemons."

"Lemons? What lemons?" James is clearly bewildered.

Ever since he became an animagus, Sirius has had an acute sense of smell. Suddenly, he can detect the scent of perfume of someone who was in the room ten minutes ago, or identify what Peter has brought back to the dorm from the kitchen before even opening it.

"Sour ones, obviously," Sirius leans in closer to James's cheek, sniffing. Then he quickly licks it from bottom to top and immediately claims, "Lemons. Your cheek tastes of lemons. Have you been out with Katie, you muppet?"

Remus blinks in surprise. James laughs, throwing his head back.

"Why Katie?" he asks amidst his laughter, with Sirius still intently looking at him for an answer.

"She's got that lemon-flavoured lip balm."

"What a nightmare."

"Indeed," Sirius concurs.

"Probably just the potion fumes. Lime juice was in today's brew," James shrugs.

"Okay," Sirius immediately loses interest and turns away. James puts the book aside and grabs Sirius by the neck, pulling him close while he tries to squirm free.

"Not a fan of lemons then?" James teases, pulling Sirius's head towards him and leaning in, attempting to press his cheek against Sirius's lips and nose.

"Get off, James, have a wash first," Sirius breaks free, trying to push James's face away with his left hand while attempting to escape his grip with his right. "You smell like Dumbledore."

"That didn't stop you from licking me," James chuckles, keeping a firm hold on Sirius.

"It was a scientific experiment, you idiot! You're going to strangle me!"

Marlene looks at Remus, raising an eyebrow, and whispers:

"What's with them?"

Remus just shrugs and says, "It's normal."

Lately, this has become the new normal, and it looks like the whole school will have to get used to James and Sirius showing affection in new ways, including Sirius casually licking James's cheek as part of a "scientific experiment".

#prongsfoot microfic #prongsfoot #james and sirius #sirius black #james potter

[tabithatwo]

it's yellowjackets / jennifer's body parallels time!

hi hello keep reading if you would like to hear about shauna/jennifer and jackie/needy, here's my totally noncomprehensive, very much off the cuff thoughts on this very complex and interesting dynamic!!

(i'm not getting into the basic parallels, i'm gonna assume you know the karyn kusama of it all, the heart necklace, the homoerotic female friendship, the death)

yellowjackets is so brilliant because it feeds you stereotypes and absolutely does not deliver on them. there could be an entire paper on each girl and how this is true for them specifically, but walk quickly with me because i want to get into the nitty gritty gory fun stuff! a brief oversimplified example: nat is referred to as a burnout, some would assume she's a loner based on that, but she cares about the team as a unit more than arguably anyone else. (this is common in real life too, our stereotypes often don't hold water in reality and yj reflects that beautifully!)

now to the jackie/shauna of it all. it would be oh so incredibly easy to look at jackie and think she's the jennifer of the duo. we are set up to see her as prettier, more popular, more demanding. but that illusion falls apart QUICKLY if you pay attention to the things that jackie actually says and does. she's not a mean girl. she's actually one of the kindest on the team. she doesn't pick on shauna, she clings. there are plenty of takes on this on tumblr so i won't exhaust it, my adhd loves to digress and meander but i'm forcing myself back onto the trodden path to this point: people look at the first few minutes of the pilot and they immediately decide that they know who these girls are. the audience typecasts jackie as a jennifer and shauna as a needy. the popular, bubbly girl and her shy, bookworm best friend.

a lot of people, especially casual viewers who don't study this show like its their job (god, wonder what that would be like lol) understandably stop here. but to me the BRILLIANCE of yj is that they don't actually make it HARD for you to undo your initial impressions. the material is there. it isn't hidden. it isn't some deeper self of each character that is unraveled throughout seasons. they push, push, push to see just how far they can carry our deeply held stereotypes/expectations. how forward and violent can shauna be, with viewers still clinging to a shy and sweet girl, who was really their own creation? how kind and honestly pathetic kicked-puppy can jackie be, with viewers still clinging to a mean girl, who was really their own creation? how far will we go to warp the characters intentions, so that we can keep them in the box we understand them in? they ask this of the viewer and of other characters, but AGAIN i digress.

so, while this might sit strangely with some, yes i think that jackie is very much aligned with needy if you peel back just one layer. but far above and beyond that, shauna is so very fucking jennifer.

the overall veneer is thinned immediately in yj. there isn't one girl in the stands and one on center stage. jackie and shauna are both on the team. they go to the same parties, they play the same sport, i would argue that shauna isn't even coded as "less pretty" (please note the word coded, because i'm not saying needy is literally less pretty than jennifer, i am simply saying that we have hair, makeup, clothing, glasses trends that we use to stereotype characters, are you with me?)

so now what? now these girls are both and neither. shauna thinks that she is the needy to jackie's jennifer. jackie wears the necklace and the introductory shots frame her as important. but we're already diverting from that set-up.

our absolute clearest common denominator here is one that i rarely see people mention funnily enough: JENNIFER IS A SUCCUBUS. she CONSUMES. she KILLS. she WANTS and she TAKES.

now before you get TOO EXCITED!!! i see some of you getting ready to say i'm a shauna shipman hater, put the pitchforks down!! shauna is one of my favorite characters of all time. i love her crazy ass so deeply that it's alarming. (i don't hate jennifer, either, for the record.) i love her largely for WHAT she is. i think sanitizing or sweetening her is a disservice. she's amazing and complex and wounded and capable of deep love. but she also, quite LITERALLY, consumes.

her character is sex and desire and violence and obsession and consumption. and it's AMAZING. she's POWERFUL. she's our main framing character (in this dynamic), rather than needy. the scripts are switched. jennifer dies and needy lives, and that's one story. that's clearer cut, simpler, made for a horror film. but here, jackie dies and shauna lives, and that story is deep and rich and goes on to include a whole lot more death and destruction and chaos.

shauna tells us herself that it excites her. she likes it. she is this girl. this woman. she reminisces and she recreates and she covets.

jennifer tries to consume needy, shauna literally consumes jackie.

there's more to this story, obviously. you could deep dive and mine for the intricacies of the set up and fall of stereotype and expectation, or collect all of the exact parallels. but i'll stick with a few, because this is a quick outburst of thought.

a huge one, who is taking whose boyfriend?

here's another personal favorite of mine, just for kicks

is it too complex to neatly tuck away? absolutely. they're different stories with different themes. shauna isn't simply a teenager possessed by a demon. it runs far deeper. as is the essence of this show.

but if you want to look at parallels, look at the one who has been holding the knife the whole time.

#can you tell both of these stories make me crazy #i love shauna this is not shauna hate this is shauna LOVE do not misinterpret pls #you guys she EATS people!! #anon who just messaged me about this YES I see you I’m with you here are my thoughts lol #yellowjackets #yellowjackets meta #jennifer's body #shauna shipman #jennifer check #jackie taylor #anita needy lesnicki #karyn kusama #shauna x jackie #jackie x shauna #jackieshauna #shaunajackie

[cellarspider]

30/30 One last thing.

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We have come to the end of Prometheus. But depending on how you’re feeling about death of the author right now, it’s not. Not quite yet.

Because Ridley Scott had some things to say after Prometheus came out.

Two months after the movie's release, Ridley Scott gave an interview. Its original home has succumbed to link rot, but it’s still available in a couple places, in the Internet Archive and within the corporate acquisition mass that is Fandango, featuring a weird note of brand revisionism in the relabeling of the interviewer’s affiliation.

Now. Let’s begin by saying this: A movie is a movie. The things around a movie are not the movie. This seems obvious, but it’s to say that a single creative work can be viewed entirely free of outside context, and in most cases it’s best to assume that it will. If a director comes out later and tells people what their intent was, then that’s not part of the movie.

…But it can still sit in your brain for years, leaping out to ambush unsuspecting passers-by.

So! This interview. Ohhh, this interview. I’d forgotten most of it, because the final lines of it just knocked the top of my head clean off, so we’ll be discovering bits of this together.

We start from the end of the movie, with the interviewer asking about the openness of the ending to a sequel. Scott, among other things, said:

“I’d love to explore where the hell [Dr. Shaw] goes next and what does she do when she gets there, because if it is paradise, paradise can not be what you think it is. Paradise has a connotation of being extremely sinister and ominous.”

This came across well in the movie, though it was festooned with the random bit of organic bigotry from Shaw toward David. A short answer won’t capture everything, so I still have no idea if Scott intended for that to be so brayingly insensitive, this is the guy who was fine with Joel Edgerton as Ramses II. In any case, Paradise might be ominous, but Shaw’s not bringing along ideas that will improve it by any means.

This isn’t really the film we eventually got from Alien: Covenant. Is that bad? Honestly, I don’t know that either. Shaw as a character did not have a lot of depth in this movie. Noomi Rapace ended up playing her hurt very well by the end of it, but if that’s your standard of quality in horror acting, then Josh Stewart’s leading role in the grungy Saw-adjacent movie The Collector (2009) will serve you well.

I think they could have built something out of her character, but they didn’t. David is definitely the stand-out character from Prometheus, and they do at least focus on him quite a lot. But I’ve yet to watch Covenant, partly because the structure of it does not interest me. Also, because I’ve heard about what David does when he shows up on the new planet, and bad things happening to crowds are one thing that can make my brain wig out something awful.

Speaking of the Engineers, Scott speaks about their character:

“they’re such aggressive f**kers … and who wouldn’t describe them that way, considering their brilliance in making dreadful devices and weapons that would make our chemical warfare look ridiculous? So I always had it in there that the God-like creature that you will see actually is not so nice, and is certainly not God.” 

Again, we find ourselves at the casual gnosticism of the movie, in which the Engineers are kind of the demiurge in this context. Some christian-influenced people assume that if there is a true god, it must be omnibenevolent, and find the violent and threatening behavior depicted in the Old Testament to be at odds with their understanding of divinity. A lack of benevolence is seen as a sign that the figure depicted must be something else, something that may think that it is a god, but it is not truly, regardless of its role as a creator. Hence, the gnostic idea of the demiurge.

But Scott also seems to confirm my suspicion that he’s not aware he’s recreating gnostic cosmogony through Prometheus, because he doesn’t reach for any of the older sources or the language around him. He instead invokes a rather surface reading of Paradise Lost:

“ In a funny kind of way, if you look at the Engineers, they’re tall and elegant … they are dark angels. If you look at [John Milton’s] Paradise Lost, the guys who have the best time in the story are the dark angels, not God. He goes to all the best nightclubs, he’s better looking, and he gets all of the birds. [Laughs]”

Setting aside the fact that Paradise Lost ends with all the fallen angels having a bad time because God’s turned them into snakes, I will give Scott the tiniest bit of credit, there’s a bit of my brain that saw this and thought “this is a strong start”:

Scott eventually continues on the Engineers, and the sacrifice scene at the start:

“That could be anywhere. That could be a planet anywhere. All he’s doing is acting as a gardener in space. And the plant life, in fact, is the disintegration of himself.  If you parallel that idea with other sacrificial elements in history – which are clearly illustrated with the Mayans and the Incas – he would live for one year as a prince, and at the end of that year, he would be taken and donated to the gods in hopes of improving what might happen next year, be it with crops or weather, etcetera.”

Scott is misremembering some things here, which is understandable given the off-the-cuff nature of the remark, but it’s still worth correcting. This is a misattribution of Aztec rituals that would involve the sacrifice of a “teixiptla” representative of a god (such as Xipe Totec, Tezcatlipoca, etc). The Inca didn’t carry out this ritual–they did engage in a human sacrifice ritual called qhapaq hucha, but its form and function was not the same. The Classical Maya also engaged in different human sacrifice rituals, but there was also an emphasis on non-fatal self-administered bloodletting–Maya nobility in particular were often depicted shedding their own blood for this purpose.

This also, to my memory, conflates stories of european human sacrifice rituals, where crop failures are sometimes linked to the sacrifice of kings, such as Dómaldr in the Ynglinga saga, and noted in the placement and treatment of certain bog bodies. The Aztecs did sacrifice to the god Tláloc for crop for good harvests, but the rituals involved were quite different.

It should be noted, of course, that Tláloc was later syncretized with the Christian god during the Spanish conquest, likely as a result of conceptually linking Tláloc’s sacrifices to the demand that Abraham sacrifice Isaac. And, y’know, that conquest was concurrent with the Spanish Inquisition, and the wider religious belief that a heretical witch army was being organized by Satan to stand against God to forestall the Second Coming of Christ, with crop failures being the most feared result of their rituals.

I’ve added all these details not because I want to say Scott is bad for misattributing this stuff, people make mistakes. I have several hours’ access to the internet, Scott did not. However, it is worth noting: How we frame an idea can say a lot about how we conceive of it. Variations on these behaviors are found throughout history, and across cultures. Sacrifices and martyrs are powerful symbols still invoked in western culture today. There’s a potential wandering back and forth between appreciation and exoticization that Scott’s engaging in.

Then Scott says something that made me get up from my chair to find a book to shake at my computer.

“I always think about how often we attribute what has happened to either our invention or memory. A lot of ideas evolve from past histories, but when you look so far back, you wonder, Really? Is there really a connection there?”

Yes.

Yes there is. Ancient peoples weren’t stupid. Ancient peoples didn’t even necessarily have less information to work with than any one modern human, they just had different information that kept them alive and finding solutions to their problems, be it “I need to find food” or “how do I meaningfully participate in my culture’s artistic and governmental traditions, and should they even be followed at all?”

If you want a great and thorough examination of that, check out the book I gesticulated with.

Highly recommended. Graeber was an anthropologist and Wengrow is an archaeologist, and the two of them together are a force to be reckoned with. There are definitely subjects covered in this book that I’ve seen from different angles before, and I feel like their interpretation pulls in more context than I’d gotten previously. Especially pertinent to this, the first part of The Dawn of Everything is spent examining the origins of modern western thought on “primitive” cultures and their character and capacity, and then digging into what evidence we actually have on the subject.

But the movie does not, fundamentally, engage with cultures outside of westernized, christian thinking. Not to any serious extent, anyway. It has a certain worldview, and that’s fine. That can be explored intelligently, although we’ve seen that I think it squanders that chance. It’s fundamentally a christian-centric movie.

And despite Scott’s protestations in the interview that they toned it down, quite a few readers have already guessed how far Scott originally intended to go on that.

“But if you look at it as an “our children are misbehaving down there” scenario, there are moments where it looks like we’ve gone out of control, running around with armor and skirts, which of course would be the Roman Empire. And they were given a long run. A thousand years before their disintegration actually started to happen. And you can say, “Lets’ send down one more of our emissaries to see if he can stop it.” Guess what? They crucified him.”

Yes. Jesus of Nazareth was actually Jesus of Space.

This is why the movie says the Engineer corpse died about 2000 years ago. This is why they decided to destroy humanity. 

Presumably the original quote on the cross was “Father, forgive them, for they know not that we’ve got deadly black goo.” Engineer 23:34, I guess.

Now that the screams in the audience have hopefully settled down, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH.

Alright. So, this is bad. Let’s break down why, beyond the obvious questions about “why does nobody ever draw Jesus as bald, huge, and ripped.”

There’s a fake script circulating that actually has a decent interpretation of this: a human kid got zwooped up to be taught the ways of the Engineers, and sent back as an emissary. Why? Dunno. Also apparently the gospels that mention Mary and Joseph fleeing to Egypt with the baby Jesus were off the mark by a few lightyears.

This is laughable to christians, because “what if Jesus was an alien” is the sort of thing that twelve year olds come up with. It’s offensive if it’s taken seriously, because it says their literal god was actually a mortal critter from outer space. Ha! Your god is not all-powerful, or all-good. He’s not even All-Might.

But you know what’s almost worse? It implies that, sure, Christianity isn’t the inspired word of a deity. It also implies some level of exclusive factual accuracy to Jesus’ teachings, not shared with other religions. Jesus was a celestial emissary, endowed with the teachings that could save humanity, and his death doomed the Earth to the Last Judgment.

The Torah is insufficient, and all Rabbinic literature was produced following the rejection of the true way to salvation. The enlightenment of the Buddha counted for nothing, the Dao is not the way, Vishnu cannot defend or restore dharma, the Prophet Muhammad is only so valid as his acknowledgment of the Prophet Īsā ibn Maryam. 

All other faiths are superfluous under this premise. If people had just listened to Jesus and accepted him as their savior, everything would’ve been fine!

This is the one point of alien contact with western canon in the entire setting, after the deep prehistory of Skye. Every other literate culture that was contacted got the Engineers’ message wrong. Or they didn’t listen. Only christians got it right.

That’s incalculably bad. That’s not even counting the fact that the wall o’ artifacts that Shaw and Holloway presented included a notable oversight: the only two artifacts further from Europe than the Middle East are chronologically impossible, based on the movie’s own timeline. It implies the rest of the world was thrown in as an afterthought.

This whole Jesus thing is a piece, a big, jagged piece of why this movie drives me so far up the wall that I’m now residing on the ceiling. It’s not, as far as I can tell, actively malicious. It’s just dumb. It wasn’t thought through the way it should’ve been. If they wanted to do a movie like this, they should’ve gone all-in. Really dig into the implications of what they’ve done. 

And the movie seems wholly ignorant of it. There are basic questions presented to the audience, but there’s no deeper consideration that could make this respectful to anybody.

So, what are we left with?

A mess. A beautiful, stunted, confused mess that was poorly served by its script and lack of conviction.

The movie turned away from asking big questions, and focused instead on traditional horror. A genre that works best with good characterization to drive audience investment, but then it cut out most of the characterization, and what it left was scattershot. It gave us a flashback of Shaw’s childhood before we’d even really met her to understand why it was meaningful for her. The movie then failed to add any emotional weight to her.

The movie failed to give us characters with emotional weight or intelligence. It gave us a single, compelling character in David, driven largely by Michael Fassbender’s delivery and physical performance. It gave us a tactile, carefully constructed setting that was beautiful and often an accomplishment in filmmaking craft, but these spaces remained emotionally empty without a story that gave them meaning. It gave us the potential of something new, and then retreated to imitate the old.

I went into the theater in 2012 looking forward to a good film. I suppose this one has stuck with me more than a good film would have, but its primary value is as a flawed thing to critique, to learn from, and to put tooth marks on when the frustration gets to be too much.

Prometheus got one sort-of sequel in Alien: Covenant (2017), and it seems to have been abandoned. The first trailer for Alien: Romulus just came out the day I’m writing this, and it looks like it’s going to be just a monster movie.

If you want a good, modern Alien, play or watch Alien: Isolation (2014). Apparently its content was recut into a web series in 2019, though I can’t speak to the quality of that. For now, I’m done with the series. I’m not going to be rushing out to see anything new, because I don’t think it’s doing anything new. Prometheus could’ve been a chance to do that, but it failed.

Still. Writing this was fun, I will admit. My weird little obsession with this movie turned into a month and a half of writing and prepping this thing, totaling–Jesus E. Christ, over 82,000 words. I wish it could’ve been about something that hid more intellectual heft or careful thought than Prometheus did, but hey! There’s always next time.

And there will in all likelihood be a next time, as I’ve already started on another document. It won’t be for quite a while, though. This was a lot of fun, but a lot of work as well. I’ll be taking a break, and only releasing more stuff once I have it fully written ahead of time, as opposed to how I handled this one.

Thank you, brave readers, for making it this far. 

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Citations for alt-text rambles:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2023%E2%80%932024_Sundhn%C3%BAkur_eruptions#Eruptions

https://tubitv.com/movies/314320/the-collector 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dettifoss 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Codex_Magliabechiano 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tollund_Man 

https://youtu.be/nT2ueyFrVgk 

https://www.deviantart.com/pretty--kittie/art/Prometheus-Engineer-407316113 

https://nebula.tv/videos/hellofutureme-is-netflixs-avatar-any-good 

Overflow Ramble 1

Hey, does anyone else remember Stephen Speilberg’s War of the Worlds (2005)? I saw that in the theater, and I cannot watch that thing again. Yes, I was younger, but the overall content of that movie absolutely shredded my nerves to pieces. Even though I’d grown up knowing the full H G Wells story and reading things like The Tripods book series as a kid, Spielberg managed to make a movie that felt so viscerally unpleasant to me that it gave me nightmares for years.

My main theory is this: You know in movies that the protagonist is almost certainly going to survive what happens, doubly so in War of the Worlds because it was goddamn Tom Cruise. But my brain did not treat Tom Cruise as my viewpoint character. Something in me says “well, I’m not Tom Cruise, I’m one of those other people around him, and they’re all gonna die horribly.” 

This tends to happen with me in disaster films and similar stuff like that. I have to be real certain I want to be there if I watch a kaiju movie, for example. I can do Godzilla (2014), but I’m not so sure about Godzilla Minus One (2023). Shin Godzilla (2016) is off the table.

Horror movies have to hit a balance of giving people a rickety feeling of potential safety they want to preserve, rather than letting them feel too safe or too screwed. Too far either way and you lose people, either to apathy or just pure bad vibes. The paradox of enjoyable horror is that it can’t scare you too much.

Overflow Ramble 2

I personally don’t think the tone of Fede Álvarez’s horror fits with what I’m looking for in an Alien movie. The xenomorph life cycle worked best and most subversively when it was deliberately targeted, to take the sexual/reproductive menace usually placed on female characters in horror and forced it onto a male character instead. Álvarez has historically played that trope straight instead. From a horror perspective, that’s boring to me. The xenomorphs also appear to be aggressive monsters here rather than animals, more like Aliens than Alien. Not my favorite interpretation.

And to be honest, when I saw the trailer, my first thought was “Oh, it’s Sevastopol Station.” The setting looks exactly like Alien: Isolation, and there’s not a chance the movie’s going to outshine Isolation. That game’s only narrative sin was a bit of slow pacing toward the ending. Romulus’ trailer makes me think it’s going to go too far in the other direction.

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#Prometheus 2012 #Prometheus (2012) #IT IS DONE #I AM FREE

[yesimwriting]

Hi! You asked us if you should keep the tension or let the bubble pop and all I have to say is KEEP YHR TENSION. 1. It does seem more realistic bc it doesn’t seem like the reader is the kind of person who would do that to her friends, and 2. The casually intimacy they all display with the bubbling tension of something more constantly keeps me going on the hard days, I NEED IT‼️ Like desperately (im so normal about this fic and is in no way unhealthy attached to it, why’d you ask?🙂*eye twitch*/j kinda) this actually got me thinking I wonder if other people ever notice how casually intimate they are? Like Stu’s naturally touchy but the way he dotes on her and the way Billy is just different from normal Billy when he’s with her,like not even just Randy, tate, and sid like other people who have known them for a while but they aren’t friends, like aquatints I’d love to see that

I’m sorry this spiraled, anyways all im saying is i personally love the tension, I love this story and I love you and you’re brilliance *MWAH <3* sorry for any spelling mistakes I was kinda rushing

a/n this ask is so sweet!! <3 also love the chance to expand on the final girl universe!!

i love this ask especially bc i feel like billy and stu have gotten so relaxed around final girl fic y/n that she probably just thinks they're like that and doesn't pick up on anyone finding it different 😭

the fic under the cut is in the final girl fic universe but it isn't a part of the main fic so it can be read as a stand alone

i think all the context needed is in the ask :) anyway here are some moments that made the people around billy, stu, and y/n raise their eyebrows a little 😭

----

"Billy." That's all it takes to snap him out of sludgy version of auto pilot he lets take over on days like this. Days that drag on in their mundaneness in a way that makes it hard for him to keep up the version of himself he's crafted for public display.

He turns his head, a strange type of fondness pinching his chest a little harder than usual thanks to the fact that you've saved him from whatever the peaked-in-high-school-quarterback-in-the-making was droning on about. Some party Billy would dip out of at the last minute or a recap of his last game.

You're smiling at him, casual but warm. He can take your appearance in more openly now than he did this morning when you were rushing to class. You're in a tank top that's a little low cut, paired with a cardigan that seems thin for today's weather. You're also wearing a skirt that's short enough to make him wish he had insisted on picking you up this morning instead of letting you walk.

Maybe he could get you to agree to a ride home. He could suggest it casually, bring up the idea of getting something to eat after school. Today's your least favorite lunch day, so it'd be an even easier sell than usual.

"Hey," he finally says when you're close enough, keeping his tone indifferent.

You stop farther than usual, eyes darting towards the walking varsity letter. It's a shift in attention that has the potential to jab at him, but the stiffness in your demeanor keeps Billy from spiraling in that direction.

"Uh...guess what?" A rhetorical question, probably an attempt to keep yourself from seeming too excited in front of the intruder. "Ms. Johnson paired us up for group projects today and this time she was a lot less mean to me...so that's cool."

Billy can almost feel the details that he's not getting because you're not alone. It's enough to make his apathetic feelings about the unwanted third party take on a violent tinge.

He wants to hear you talk more than usual today because it forces him to be present. It makes the aggravating need for patience go down easier. "So no more cheeto fingers?"

For a brief second, Billy's feels the comment in his chest. A call back to a joke you had only made a few times awhile ago. There's a chance you won't remember. A chance he remembers more than--you laugh, it comes out quick and clearly takes you by surprise.

You clamp your mouth shut, eyes glancing to the left again. "No more cheeto fingers on my notes or on my final project. I got paired with Stephanie McDonald, who I don't know for sure won't do the same thing, but she gave me a hair tie during PE one time so she doesn't seem the type."

Billy makes a mental note of the name, not being able to recall anything specific about anyone named Stephanie, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know her. It's Woodsboro, even if he's never met her he'll be able to find out something if he needs to. "Classy."

You tilt your head, eyes briefly squinting in that way that means you're trying to decide if he's teasing you or not. "You might be making fun of me, but she didn't even let me give it back."

"Not making fun of you." He shakes his head once, keeping his expression innocent, silently promising that he could never.

"Nah, that seems nice." A new voice that has you angling your body closer to the lockers. Billy fights the instinct to glare, wondering why he didn't give the guy a reason to leave as soon as he saw you. "Johnson's AP history, right?"

You nod instinctually, a small dip of your chin Billy can't fully read. "Yeah."

Billy knows the guy well enough, but they're not exactly friends. The guy's name is somewhere in Billy's head. After a second of thinking, all he can come up with is that it probably starts with a D. Damian? Or is Damian the other football player that's in his math class and always nods at Billy in the hallway?

"Cool," varsity jacket says it in a way that makes the word feel void of its typical meaning. Billy isn't sure where he's going with it, can't remember if he's one of those self proclaimed jocks that use high school as a four year power trip or just a guy that likes football. "You tutor?" The guy tilts his head, Billy presses his nails into the skin of his palm to resist the urge to step closer to you. "'Cause I wouldn't mind learning a thing or two from you."

The blatant line is finished with a bit of a laugh. Billy wants to role his eyes--a cop out in case you reject him. A built in safety net that makes it seem like he's almost making fun of you so he can laugh off your reaction if you don't instantly drop to his feet.

Your eyebrows draw together and even though your lips are neutrally set, something about your eyes makes it feel like you're frowning. Anger or annoyance for the sake of someone else is rare, Billy doesn't know how to handle the spike of defensiveness he feels. He's used to passiveness, never caring about who's messed with.

"Ignore him," the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, "He has a hard enough time keeping his GPA high enough to not get benched."

Billy doesn't know how factual that dig was, but the guy's face falls enough for Billy to assume his guess was accurate enough. The satisfaction of being right is nothing compared to what he feels when he looks at you.

Your lips are still pressed together, now in a way that's more amused than sad and your eyes are wide. The comment wasn't the kind of insult that Billy finds particularly cruel or hurtful but he knew you'd find it biting. Your reaction's enough to ease the tightening feeling in his chest without fully alleviating it. He needs to get you away before the guy says something else and more of Billy's control slips.

"You seen Stu?"

Billy knows the answer. "Yeah, this morning before homeroom." You stand a little straighter, one hand gripping the strap of your backpack. "His next class is next to mine, so I'll probably see him again in a second, why?"

"Good," he mumbles, reaching into his locker and grabbing a random notebook, "Can you give his notes back to him? He needs them back before fifth period and I missed him this morning."

Not true in the slightest, Billy knows Stu will go with it anyway. "Sure." You take the notebook, fingers brushing against his. "I'll go find him. See you later."

Billy nods as you turn away, "See you."

You're now gone. The guy who can't take a hint is still there. Maybe he's waiting for some kind of apology or explanation. Billy's turning on him does seem random considering that most of their conversation has revolved around Billy placidly agreeing to whatever. Instead of bringing anything up, varsity letter laughs. Billy raises his eyebrows, silently asking what that's about.

"Look, man, I get it, she's cute." That heavy feeling that Billy's always struggling to work with rises. The dark feeling twists its way around his lungs, making it hard to breathe without giving into impulse. "But she's so...nice and school...y." Cute, nice, and school-y. Those are the adjectives he's using to describe you. Billy was right to assume his grades are suffering. "It'd be like hooking up with a middle school try hard. Not worth whatever you're putting on."

The anger grows in density, a physical force expanding in his chest in a way that borders on painful. Rationality attempts to lighten the pressure, reminding him that it's a good thing this guy doesn't want anything to do with you. Logic tries to convince him that his focus should be on hardening himself, on making this guy and everyone else think that you're just another friend to him and that he's fully committed to Sidney.

Billy shuts his locker, harder than he meant to. "Good thing she'd never fuck you then."

The last of his patience and civility has been scorched, leaving nothing but bitter ash in its place. Billy walks away, already trying to think of an excuse to find you and Stu.

----

Stu turns angles his head to the side, just enough to look at you without really looking. You're content, watching some trailer with a measured level of investment. He focuses on that as you absentmindedly extend a hand to grab a few pieces of popcorn from the bag that he's still holding.

You're happy, he's here with you, that should be enough. It's no one's fault that more people that both of you know are here than he expected. That's the hard part of Woodsboro, one slip in front of the wrong person and the rumor mill will have an exaggerated version of events spread to over half the school by the next day. The guy that glommed onto Stu the second he noticed him in the theatre definitely falls into the category of wrong person.

Jacob whatever-his-last-name-is is a try hard. He's been searching for some kind of in, some kind of leverage on anyone that seems even slightly cooler than him since middle school. This need to be bigger and better has forced him into a permanent act that even good old, 'high school stereotypes are bullshit' Randy finds off putting.

You hadn't looked particularly bothered when Jacob stood up and waved Stu over, forcing the two of you to sit closer to the center of the theatre than Stu wanted. After realizing that the screening he had expected to be empty on a Saturday afternoon was crowded, Stu wanted to sit towards the back. It was a strategic goal, it would have given him the permission to be a little more openly touchy.

Stu had to actively focus on not holding it against you. You didn't complain or give any indication of feeling ambushed because you're nice to a point of fault.

"What'd you think of that one?" Stu shrinks down in an attempt to make whispering to you easier.

Your eyes shift away from the screen and towards him. "Hm..." You're debating, analyzing, "Not as good as the one before, but it doesn't look bad." You reach forward, taking another piece of popcorn and popping it into your mouth. "You?"

Honestly, Stu had been more focused on you than the trailers, but this last one had felt like a flat attempt to balance out horror with something artsy. But the chance to get to you is more appealing than just bashing a movie with a title he can't remember. "This one is so much better than the last one."

You snap your head away from the screen. "No." He presses his lips together to keep from grinning. What do you mean 'no'? You asked for an opinion. "You just want to start an argument."

He lets out a breath that's meant to take the place of a laugh. Is he getting that predictable? That transparent? "I never want to fight with you." You narrow your eyes, skeptical. "If Billy was here, he'd agree with me."

Your lips pull together in what's almost a pout. For a second, you're quiet, one hand coming to your opposite arm, smoothing the exposed skin quickly, like you're trying to keep warm. "He wouldn't and you know it."

"Okay," Stu's voice is suspiciously innocent, "We'll call him when he gets back from that thing with his dad."

Stu knows that Billy's dad tends to keep him out until late on weekend trips to the boat. When it gets too late to fish, he likes to keep them out on the water, spewing bullshit about Billy's mom because Billy can't escape.

"What are we going to do? Describe the movies over the phone or...?"

He raises an eyebrow, shrugging and letting his shoulder bump into yours, "Sounds like you're scared."

You grin, adjusting in your seat to make it easier to cross your arms. "Fine. If it's gonna be like that, we'll call him."

You're cold. You have to be. "Told you to bring a jacket," he sighs, already unzipping his hoodie.

"I'm fine, it's--" Too late. The jacket's already off and only somewhat awkwardly being pushed onto your lap. You touch one of the sleeves, oblivious to the way Stu struggles to look at you. "C'mon, Stu, now you'll be cold."

It's said so softly, so earnestly, Stu has to fight the urge to squirm. He can never tell if the nervous energy he feels makes him want to draw you in closer or force you away.

He ignores the touch of warmth rushing to his face. "I'm good." Stu shakes his head once, almost dismissively. "Run hot," he mumbles, finally glancing at you before nudging you with his elbow, "You know that."

You roll your eyes, smiling more than you mean to as you shrug on the jacket. The fabric is warm and criminally soft. "Totally." He'd call you out on your sarcasm, but you're already pulling on the jacket. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

"Sure you don't want to pick up some twizzlers before the movie starts?" You pause for a second too long and Stu knows that the suggestion has hit. Your eyes had lingered on the red plastic while buying tickets even though you insisted you didn't want them after accepting the fact that Stu wasn't going to let you pay for anything.

Scratching the back of your wrist, you give in with a sigh. "Okay." You start reaching for your purse. "I'll grab some." Stu reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out some cash. "Stu."

"What?" He already knows where this is going. You're always trying to pay your own way. Every once in awhile, he lets you win just so that he can justify buying you something else. This is one of those things he probably should let go, but the additional shadow has already downed his mood. "I want them more than you do."

You sigh, pulling your purse onto your lap. "I have twizzler money."

"Oh, I'm sure, but my dad left me a bunch of cash before his latest trip and you're too pretty to buy your own twizzlers." Your resolve is cracking, like you often do whenever Stu mentions his parents. "C'mon, get me some milk duds, too."

Another sigh, the sound sharper as you let go of your purse. "You are so annoying." Stu smiles at the lack of bite in your tone as you stand, finally accepting the cash and putting it into the jacket's pocket.

"You love me, I keep you supplied in twizzlers."

You gasp, jaw dropping in offense. "Asshole."

He laugh as you turn away, "Remember the milk duds."

You glare, passive aggressively setting your bag on his lap. Stu takes it, adjusting his hold on it comfortably as you walk down the aisle.

"That's a fun thing you've got going there."

Stu can feel himself immediately tense even though Jacob's comment should feel innocent enough. There's just something about the way he says it, the hint of an edge implying more. Stu should be bothered because Jacob's the kind of guy who could turn this into a story for Tatum because he wants to have something over Stu. Instead, Stu's feeling defensive over Jacob looking at you like that.

Stu shrugs, "It's just Y/n."

Jacob's eyes briefly leave the screen before refocusing. "That was friendly even by your standards."

Feeling even more defensive over you and the way he acts around you, Stu sits up straighter. "We're friends."

"Yeah," Jacob concedes, amusement in his voice that Stu doesn't quite get, "And she's turning you into a softie."

That hits him in a different way. Sure, Stu's nice to you, nicer than he is to some guy that doesn't get that no one likes him. Stu can also admit that he's touchy with you and likes taking any excuse to be close to you. But he's not soft about it.

"What?"

Jacob laughs, the sound restrained, like he's scared he'll forget where he is and give in fully. "You're cold, here's my jacket."

Stu scoffs. That wasn't--you're--whatever, it's not like Stu cares about what Jacob thinks. He'll do what he wants, treat you however he feels like. You're the only one that comes close to getting him outside of Billy, Jacob could never get that.

"Whatever, man." Stu mumbles, hoping that you'll come back before he can get too caught in his own head. The lack of aggression in his own comment surprised him and he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to keep it up.

Another preview begins to play on the screen and for a brief second, it feels like that might be the end of the conversation. "If my friends looked like that, I wouldn't mind acting like that either."

Stu tightens his grip on the arm rest. "Maybe if you didn't make everything a thing, you'd have some."

"You're the one holding her purse," Jacob mumbles, attention turning back to the screen as if that proved something.

Stu's knuckles strain white. There's nothing sensitive about the way he feels about you. It's not Stu's fault he can't pursue right now the way he wants to, and if this asshole knew half the stuff you let him get away with he wouldn't be so smug. "Fuck off."

Maybe the comment could have been played off if Stu's tone had been lighter, more relaxed. But he didn't. It landed with the same intensity a threat would, and Stu's not completely sure he didn't mean it that way.

Soft. Hard to call someone that's pulling out your insides soft. He'd have to wait for Billy to get back, talk the idea up to him and explain why someone they've tolerated on and off since middle school deserves a call. It'd be worth it, though, because should they really leave someone that talks about you like that? Why shouldn't Stu treat you in a way that's totally normal?

"Hey," you whisper, slipping back into your seat, "Guess who got the last box of milk duds." Stu's attention shifts to you, that bloody itch becoming a lot more bearable as you smile a him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he eases, "Commercials are just getting worse."

You stop tearing into the top of the box enough to look at Stu and wrinkle your nose. "I feel you." You shake out a few pieces of chocolate into your cupped palm. Stu expects you to take them, but you don't. You just extend both hands, the box and the candy you had gotten out. When Stu doesn't react, you prompt him, "Here."

Stu moves his hand, letting you spill them into his palm, the edge of your pinky briefly resting against his. The gesture is so gentle he almost feels like he's being suffocated by it. Stu takes his hand back silently. If you notice the change in his demeanor, you don't comment on it. Instead, you just take your bag back and hand him the unopened pack of twizzlers and box.

The latest commercial comes to an end and the screen fades to the start of the opening credits. "Okay," you whisper, "Last chance to predict if this movie's going to be good or not."

"I picked it," Stu says, moving his hand enough to have the milk duds roll into each other, "Why would I think that it's bad?" He's not acting normal enough, he can feel it. "Why would you come if you think it'd be bad?" A weak question, considering that Stu knows sometimes you purposefully watch the worst movies you can find for entertainment.

You don't point out that sometimes trashy movies are worth the suffering, you just shrug. "I don't know, I kinda just wanted to hang out with you."

Something in Stu's chest cracks. His face feels warmer than it did a second ago. He's not one to feel mushy or look into tone the way Billy does from time to time, but you had said it so innocently.

"Aw," he hums, finally coming back to himself, "You like me."

"Shut up," your response is immediate, "Movie's starting."

He leans down, placing a hand over the one you're laying on the arm rest. "You like me."

You roll your eyes, "Give me a twizzler."

----

He knew. Even when Stu was still insisting that they were capable of keeping it together enough to keep the circle of people small, Billy knew that the night would turn into a party.

Billy's annoyed and slowly becoming genuinely irritated thanks to the beer and pot mixing together on an empty stomach and the drowsiness that came for him with no warning. Everything feels louder now, heavier.

He shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose harder than he should. Another 20 minutes, half an hour tops, and he'll get Stu to start shutting it all down.

The only good thing about nights like these is that you crash with them. You always choose to sober up at Stu's even though your mom doesn't seem like a hard ass when it comes to drinking. You still don't want her or your practical step dad seeing you drunk and you can't help that other people are smoking, which is something you've made clear your mom would kill you over.

It'll take some time getting you into bed. Unless you're drunk enough, you'll offer to sleep on the couch, like the three of you haven't justified sleepovers before. Sometimes drunk you has a tendency to get a second wind out of nowhere. If you get all hyper on him then it'll take even longer.

"Billy!" He opens his eyes and you're there.

He smiles easily, watching as you walk towards him. "Hey."

You stretch out an arm slowly, open palm gently pushing his arm. There's something sluggish about the movement and something else in the way you nearly miss him all together. Are you that drunk? Stu said he'd watch your drinks.

"Hay...is for horses," you state blankly, almost like some external force had possessed you to get the thought out coherently. And then you burst into a fit of tired giggles.

Billy presses his lips together. He knows you, knows how you get when you're not handling your alcohol. This isn't exactly that. It's more like you at the beginning of...

Ugh. You didn't--Stu didn't--With a sigh, Billy grabs your arm and glances around the room. Everyone's caught up in their world, and even though Sid's around here somewhere, there's nothing inherently suspicious about Billy checking on you. Especially while you're like this.

Still, better safe than sorry when Billy's not in the mood for self control. He tugs you forward, you follow as he leads you two to a nearby corner. You barely protest when Billy angles you so that your back's against the wall.

Billy squeezes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your head so that you have to look him in the eye.

"Hey--" You mumble, protesting a second too late, "Oh, I just," you laugh, "--I said the horse thing."

Great. Your eyes are tinged red and considering the fact that Billy saw you take a few shots earlier...

He told you at the start of the night to pick one, and the easy decision for everyone had been for you to stick with alcohol. Drunk you can handle crowds and the general party atmosphere. High you is clingy and easily startled and usually more complicated to deal with.

Billy watches you intently. It only takes you a second to still in his hold, staring at him in a way that makes it harder to keep his edge. "You're high." It's not an accusation, it's a statement. "And drunk."

Your eyebrows pinch together briefly. It'd be easy to lie for the sake of it. "Not high," you defend weakly, "I smoked a little, but not--it wasn't that--I'm good. Not high."

He sighs, letting go of your face. "I told you to stick to one."

"You and Stu smoke and drink at the same time all the time." Billy just stares blankly. It's not a strong defense, but it's all you have. "'S'not a big deal."

Not a big deal now. Just wait until later when it's hitting you harder and tomorrow morning, when you're hungover. Then it'll be a big deal and it'll be his big deal.

"No?" You tilt your chin down in a barely there nod, trying to solidify your stance. "You do whatever you want now?"

You sigh, lips pulling downwards in a slight pout. "It's not like that."

"Who gave it to you?"

Your eyes won't meet his. "I don't--" You cut yourself off, still aware enough that trying to hide things at this point is the quickest way to make things take a turn for the worst right now. "Stu let me use his--a little--but it wasn't like that. It was only a little."

Yeah, considering how red your eyes are and how much slurring and concentration it took for you to get through that, Billy really doubts it was as little as you're trying to convince him. "You're going to feel sick tomorrow."

To be fully honest, you can see that, a tiny bit of off-ness already starting to pull at the edge of your current buzz. You also don't love the way the usual giddiness of alcohol is blending with the easy uncertainty of your high. But Billy doesn't need to know that right now.

"'M okay." True enough, since you're not actively spiraling, "But I believe you."

He hasn't eased and a part of you is now starting to feel bad. You know you're not the easiest person to deal with when you're like this, but you also don't think you've done anything particularly annoying. His sour mood is starting to make what's wrong about your buzz feel magnified. Yeah, Billy told you to stick to one thing but he didn't make it sound like it was a big deal to him.

You swallow once, ignoring how dry your mouth feels. "C'mon." Billy's still close, within grabbing distance. The second you realize that it'd be easy to touch him, you reach out and place a hand on his arm. "Don't be mad."

He tenses under your touch, but you don't move your hand away. "Thought we didn't listen to each other." You half-sigh-half-groan as you drop your forehead against Billy's chest. He doesn't push you off, which has to be a good sign.

Billy places a palm on your back, rubbing soothing circles against the fabric of your shirt. "Let's get some water."

That feels okay enough, so you straighten, nodding once. "Okay."

He keeps a hand on your back, leading you back towards the main area of the party and into the kitchen. You're quiet as you walk, instinctually following Billy without question.

"Hey, I was looking for you--" Stu cuts himself off as soon as he sees Billy's expression. "You guys good?"

You nod placidly, "'M good, he's--"

"You gave her some?"

Stu holds his hands up in defense, "She was begging for it."

Begging is definitely an exaggeration. You want to explain, to defend the situation and take just enough blame to keep the peace without making yourself look like the bad guy. The words jam themselves in your head, twisting until they're in such a knot that all you can manage to get out is, "Nuh-uh."

Stu turns to glare at you, "So when I'm the bad guy it's all 'please' and 'I thought we were best friends' and 'it'll be our secret' but the second it goes a little bad you run to Bill--"

"Didn't run," you defend, but it doesn't matter, it's like you didn't say anything.

"You told her not to tell me?"

"No." The single syllable is so urging you can almost imagine that the question sobered him up. "I didn't say that."

There's a weird wave of tension between them, so thick and tangible a small part of you can't believe that the rest of the party continued, unaffected. You get why Stu snapped back to normal so quickly. "Guys," you try, even though you have no idea where you're going with this, "I just--I asked--asked like a lot--but I didn't beg. And it's--" You squeeze your eyes shut, really wishing you had been better at hiding your high. "It's not worth fighting over." Squinting your eyes open, you cross your arms across your stomach, hoping it'll make you seem more awake. "I love you guys, 'm good, let's just chill out for a second."

Billy and Stu both blink, exchanging a look that you don't get. You know you wouldn't get it if you were sober, either. It's one of their moments, a silent exchange you can't imagine anyone else ever getting.

Stu breaks the silence with a laugh. "She's way more out of it than I thought." You glare at that, not finding anything funny in what you said. You were nice, you diffused the tension. They're such assholes. And you always hate when they talk about you like you're not right there.

You glare. Maybe ditching them's still an option. They'd eventually accuse you of pouting, but there's a chance it'd be worth the future teasing. You could find Sid and Tate again, hang out until you calmed down.

"Aw," Stu hums, reaching for you, "She's pouting."

You push at the hand on your shoulder, too tired and distracted to be good at getting him off of you. "Am. Not." Stu squeezes harder. Normally, that'd just get you to fight back more openly, but now your stomach feels tight and things are starting to feel too warm. "Stu, knock it off--I'm nauseous."

Billy presses his hand against your back, the pressure comforting. "Give her a minute."

Stu lets go but makes a point of staying close. "You okay, sweetheart?"

Nodding slowly, you focus on feeling the words coming out of your mouth. "Yeah, yeah."

"You need to step out? Get some air?"

You shake your head once. You're okay, stable. "I'm good."

Billy's hand moves up and down your back gently. "You need to drink water."

The fighting risk is gone now. You should be completely happy, but the conflict rubbed you the wrong way and you're starting to feel like you might need space from them. "I kinda want to look for Sidney and Tatum."

"C'mon, cutie." Stu takes your hand gently, squeezing it softly. "Don't be like that." You're torn between arguing that you're not being like anything and telling them that they started it. "Do what you want, but no one's going to want to put up with you like this."

The comment stings more than it should. It's been mentioned before, that you're the the lightweight, the one that can't handle their substances and takes over without meaning to. Never cruelly, but it still hurts. "Mean."

"Not that mean," Stu pulls on your hand, "Because you love us."

You roll your eyes, hating past you for letting that come out. "Not right now."

Stu starts walking forward, you follow without complaining. "Don't say things you don't mean."

Billy's stays close as you walk, one hand on your back as you're guided to the kitchen. There are some people lingering around the fridge and the bar, but it's a lot less crowded than the main living room.

You stop at the island counter, moving to push yourself onto it with no warning. It takes Billy less than a second to pick up on what you want, he keeps a hand on your waist to stabilize you as you sit.

"Here." Stu hands you a glass filled with ice water.

You take a few long sips before setting it down next to you.

"Better?" It worked a little too well, and a part of you hates them for it. You reluctantly nod. "Told you."

More like Billy told you, but you're not opening that up again.

A small half-scoff-half-laugh snaps the three of you out of your bubble. Stu turns his head towards a semi-familiar blonde holding a beer bottle, "What?"

"Nothing." The voice is also familiar. A girl named Marley that used to hang around freshman year. "Just remembering the first time I got high and freaked out, you told me to get it together."

You crane your neck to look at the stranger, unsure if her comment's meant to attack Stu or you. "I'm not freaking out."

"Yeah," Stu defends, placing a comforting hand on your knee, "It's just water, Marley, if that's an issue, go be bitter somewhere else."

The girl scoffs, "Not bitter, just different."

You soften a little at that. Maybe she hadn't meant to come off as that hostile.

Stu shrugs, "I've grown." You watch the exchange curiously, wondering how well they know each other. There's a chance they met in kindergarten or on the first day of middle school or in some random sophomore class. Sometimes living in a small town that you didn't grow up in is the constant fear of becoming a third wheel in a matter of seconds. "In more ways than one."

Marley pretends to scoff, "Yeah, I'm out." She holds her hands up in a display of surrender before walking away.

"You know she used to be obsessed with me."

There's a 50-50 chance he's exaggerating. A more sober, more adjusted you would be able to make an educated guess, but right now you can't and for whatever reason that twists your stomach. You reach for your glass, taking a few sips to stabilize yourself.

"He's delusional," Billy corrects, voice so low you think you might be the only one that hears it. "She used to hang around, mainly for Sidney and Tatum, but never stuck." You nod absentmindedly. "No one else did before you."

The comment is small, muttered like saying it felt like pulling teeth. You smile regardless, way more warmed by it than you should be. Billy finally looks back at you. For a second, you let yourself openly watch him. A wave of casual drowsiness hits you with no warning, so you lean forward, resting your forehead against Billy's shoulder.

"You okay, angel?" Stu places a hand on your back. "Jealousy making you feel a little sick?"

You let out a breath that's almost a laugh as you force yourself to straighten. "You're right," you look at Billy, "He is delusional."

"Hey," Stu makes a point of poking you in the shoulder, "Don't be mean."

"You're right, I'm totally obsessed with you and--" A yawn breaks your sentence into two, "Close to bursting into jealous rage."

Stu's fingertips brush up and down your arm. "You're staying over, right?"

You nod, "Mhm, if that's okay."

He almost rolls his eyes. You're always prone to formality, always wanting to make sure that you're not bothering anyone. "I'd never kick you out of bed, sweetheart." You try to glare at him, but you're too tired to seem bothered. "You should go lay down for a little, I'm going to start kicking people out."

Hm. You are tired, but you never like being the first to go, the first to head upstairs and be left alone. You're about to protest, insist that you're fine when Billy speaks up, "I'll go, too." Billy straightens, holding out a hand to help you hop off the counter. "Over it."

You take his hand, getting off the counter with minimal complications. Billy moves an arm around your shoulder, deciding that that'd be the quickest way to help you get to the stairs.

#final girl fic #scream x reader #scream 1996 #stu macher x reader #stu macher #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #ghostface #poly! ghostface #ghostface x reader #poly!ghostface x reader

[beheworthy]

Jane, listen to me. You must not give up. You must finish what you've started. Why? Because you're right.

Chris Hemsworth and Natalie Portman's chemistry in Thor4 is unanimously hailed as the best thing about the film. While I absolutely agree with the consensus, for me, it started here with this scene 11 years ago.

This is the big romantic scene where the couple falls in love as they connect with each other. For example, Tony and Pep's dance in IronMan1: Pep is in a backless gown which she makes a point to mention and they almost kiss. Diana and Steve dance in the snow in Wonder Woman: they are also dancing close to each other, she even says so and it directly leads to them sleeping together. Arthur and Mera roam about in Italy in Aquaman: he catches her fall and they almost kiss as well.

These are all scenes I love from movies I love. I'm just using them as a reference to point out what director Kenneth Branagh does differently here. This scene is where his brilliance shines. He gives us romance without anything sexual or even sensual. It's just heartfelt sincere emotion between the two characters that elevates it to something more than just attraction.

It begins with Jane talking about the significance of the place she's brought Thor to, Thor thanking her for helping him, and her making a joke about hitting him twice in their aggressive meet cute, which he so graciously takes (post-Ragnarok Thor would never). He then gives her her notebook so she can continue her research. It's a humbling moment for the cocky Crown Prince as he'd so casually promised to bring everything back but all he could really bring was a notebook.

This is more than anyone has done for her because no one even believes in her research, let alone help her continue it. She understandably gets upset about having to start over with no support + with a hostile organization on her back now. And then comes the most important bit, he encourages her to keep going BECAUSE she is right. Not a cheesy 'I believe in you' or a fake deep 'believe in yourself' or even a superficial 'don't give up'. But keep going because you are right. Plain and simple. It gets through to her because it's straightforward and honest.

He then elaborates on it by explaining to her about the cosmos which directly furthers her research. He actively helps her research and supports her in the true sense, something she really needed and rarely got. And that becomes the foundation of their connection. The lighting is perfect, the ambiance is perfect. The actors do an admirable job. They don't touch at all, mind you. They're sitting with some distance between them. They don't even look into each other's eyes. Nothing romantic is said or done here. Yet, it’s romantic.

This scene is quite literally the reward of Thor’s hero’s journey: her. He learns kindness, sincerity, and humility from her and tries to emulate it going forward. She is his reward.

We get the emotional scene later when he dies for this town of 30 people. We get the big damn kiss. He literally gets her her research back. We get everything. Later. This scene was solely about the connection that sets the base for their relationship. It's the why of their love story. Both Thor and Jane are instrumental in each other's growth and make each other better people. She made him worthy and he made her believe in herself. I love the idea that love should be something that empowers and inspires you.

+

#thor #thor odinson #jane foster #thor x jane #chris hemsworth #natalie portman #kenneth branagh #marvel #marveledit #thoredit #chemsedit #nportmanedit #dailyavengers #dailymarvelstudios #marveladdicts #fyeahavengers #fyeahmovies #moviegifs #write up #meta #analysis #text #hey feige you already have chris and nat #get m&m and sir kenneth branagh and we're golden

[powderblueblood]

🎵+ our girl lacy hehe

send me 🎵+ character name and i’ll write a lil blurb inspired by a song from their playlist (you can also request songs and i will do my level best. god is a dj and i'm god)

▶ MAKING THE BED - OLIVIA RODRIGO

and i'm playin the victim so well in my head, but it's me who's been making the bed or lacy visits her dad in prison and reflects on the life she's created*

*as part of the hellfire & ice universe

warnings for mentions of past parental abuse, incarcerated parent, slight drug mention, cussin up a storm as always

also the amount of time this has spent buried in my drafts! it's not right! but it is okay i hope thank you love you anon &lt;3

You had been putting this off for as long as was excusable to put it off-- as long as you could push it, you'd push it. Busy with school, with work now since your gig at The Bookstore had started (which he'd hate), with your... friends (which he'd hate even more, if he knew exactly who that company included).

But eventually, you do just have to bite the bullet and pick up the phone.

The bullet tastes rancid and the visitation room is always freezing. Doesn't matter if you wear your warmest coat--the mink that he bought you, that still smells of smoke from a garbage can at Roane Quarry--you're still practically vibrating by the time you sit down.

"You always ran so cold, baby girl."

Your father smiles at you through the glass. His eyes are wrinkled at the edges, kind of tired. They've got him behind there like a caged animal. Like you're supposed to tap on the glass of his enclosure and see if he'll respond with glee or fury. He's docile today. It's a change; the last couple of times you'd accompanied your mom here, he'd been seething.

"I think it's an iron thing," you muse vacantly, winching your shoulders in.

"Should eat some red meat."

"There's been a concerning lack of filet mignon in my life lately."

That makes him chuckle and that makes you smile. The orange jumpsuit reflects badly against his skin, extra harsh under the burn of overhead fluorescents. Makes you both look sickly; worse than you are. Misery loves company. There's no way you can tell him that you're actually...

"So how are you doing?" He asks you this question and there's a weight attached to it. He must know, right, he must have figured the shitstorm of trouble that you'd been in for in the aftermath of his arrest. The blowback on you. On your mom, who you were white-knuckling yourself into having pity for.

Your lips purse, tugging to the side. Again, no clue how to answer a question like that. Is he expecting game face? Is he expecting... honesty? You can't read it. So you shrug. "You know."

"I don't, Lacy. That's why I asked."

He has a terrible stare, your dad, the kind you can never get out from under. The kind that makes you feel like you're being constantly watched. In the walls, this guy. As if he knows everything already.

"Well, ah-- school is fine, I'm doing about the same as always," you try to smile as casually as possible, "An even keel of greatness, as you used to say, and extracurriculars are... yeah. I, um," and you attempt a throat-clear, "I dropped cheerleading."

Your father pinches his chin between his pointer and his index as you speak, scratching at the side of his face. Contemplative. The smoothness of this expression doesn't break as you drop that on him.

"Why would you do that."

Your toes curl up in your shoes, ten little ice blocks you're begging to thaw out. Your pulse quickens with such a rapid pace that you feel it in your skull. So, you try and answer like he might.

"Conflict of interest."

"Conflict being?"

"Tina and I came to an impasse."

"Pass it." His laconic brilliance outshines yours.

Your throat tightens. "Why?"

This makes his expression falter, his hand drop from his face. There's a weird rush of satisfaction in that, seeing a crack in the facade--but then you have to deal with what leaks out of the crack in the facade.

"What do you mean, why? Because. This is who you are. This is what you've worked for."

Sshrrk, slicing right through the prime rib of you. He doesn't even need to hear you out, because he knows you, he created you.

He saw you attempting to alter and distort yourself in order to be something perfect and said, good.

Necessity is the mother of invention. Take their standards and make it look like you could maintain them in your sleep, bleeding, blindfolded. Be better, and make it look beautiful. Make them love you, then make them fear you.

And if it doesn't fit, shave parts off of yourself until it does.

You doubt that your uniform would even fit anymore.

Your teeth grit so hard that your jaw starts to ache. "I just don't understand why I should--"

"Why are you letting them win?" he asks.

"I'm not," you insist and it turns your stomach, "I'm not letting them win, it's just-- Daddy, you don't know what it's been like out here for--"

"Of course I do. I bet they're saying horrendous, gut-punching things about me, about what I've done, about you-- but what makes you think that freezing them out is the answer?"

You choose not to mention that you'd actually thrown a Molotov cocktail at them the night of Steve Harrington's party. Reason being?

"Self preservation."

"Your fragile ego can't take it?"

"I'm not fragile."

"No, god, you're solid as a rock. At the first sign of trouble, you turn heel, you quit."

"Dad, that isn't fair."

"This life isn't fair. And frankly, Lacy, I don't have faith in your capability to make it on your own."

Something about the way he uses your nickname makes it feel like it's tied too tight around you.

"You're scholastically intelligent, sure, but you're a shell. You have no inner structure. If you don't pack yourself full of something, whether it's pom-poms or prom invitations or fucking diet pills to keep you pretty, you will fall in on yourself." A pause. "You're not a well-rounded person. But it doesn't matter, not if you can make people believe that you are."

"Is that what you did?" Your voice is nearly slurred. When your father wants to cut you down to size, it's the one time that sound moves faster than light-- and it makes your head spin.

"Yes."

"Worked out pretty spectacularly for you, Daddy." It knocks out words you ordinarily wouldn't say.

"You're the child. You're supposed to learn from my mistakes."

"Can I count them on one hand?" Sometimes he'd knock you back for it. But this time there was a sheen of bulletproof glass between you.

"Lacy."

"Is doing yourself up like Saint Jude Thaddeus and siphoning money out of made up charities one of them?" You wonder if he could crack it. Use that handset as a hammer and gather his might and crack it.

"Lacy."

"Is Al Munson another one?" That one lingers between you a moment. "He's a two-bit do nothing deadbeat lowlife that's never come clean out of a job, straight or otherwise. Or so I've heard. People talk. He's like a folk hero now. Does it embarrass you that trusting him was all it took to topple everything?"

A beat. The sense memory of his hand cracking against your cheek is so visceral.

"Does it embarrass you that your charm offensive wasn't offensive enough to fool someone as surface level as him?"

A beat. The feeling of letting him have it, as they say, is all the more real.

"Does it embarrass you that you should've known better?"

A beat. You feel like you've just done a bump of something very dirty. Something somebody would sell out of a tin lunchbox. Immediate headrush.

"You got sloppy trying to fill that gaping maw inside you. And what do you have now?"

"What do you have, Lacy?"

And the descent of fear.

You open your mouth to answer, but decide y'know what. You hang up the headset, and leave him there.

Bussing it back to Forest Hills, your blood slowly starts to recirculate in your veins. With that, second guessing starts to flood in. Should you have said that. Were you right. Did any of it get through. Were you cruel. Did he read you.

Coat shrugged around you, you discover Eddie sitting at the picnic bench on your lot. Handful of pebbles in one hand, old SpaghettiO can in clear sight. A flash of pink presses out of the corner of his lips in sheer concentration-- you watch him miss three shots before you call to him.

"Knew you were flukey."

Eddie's head cranes over his shoulder and he grins a grin so loud and lively that it puts color back in your cheeks. They apple up; you're smiling too.

"Where the hell have you been?"

You cross to the bench, propping yourself up on the table beside him. He keens into you, bumping his head against your fuzzy elbow like a happy cat. Playfully, you nudge him away, but he's relentless.

"Prison. Where the hell do you think?"

Eddie hits pause, stares up at you with eyes brimming with shit, dude and fuck, dude. "Oh. Did it suck?"

You start to shrug it off, to completely glaze over it like the donut of daddy issues you'll force yourself to swallow later. But then you take a second look at him, his big eyes yelling you can tell me, y'know.

"It was fucking awful. Like, horrible."

His spine bolts up a bit. "You okay?"

This one you roll around your head a bit. "Right now, yeah. Maybe it'll hit me later."

"Okay. So worry about it later." Eddie's nonchalance when it comes to dad talk is reassuring. To you, he's a zen master when it comes to disengaging with the goading nature of toxic fathers.

"Worry about it later!" you echo brightly.

"I'll stick around in case, for later." He's a good friend. And your stomach sort of flips.

"Take me to the movies?" An afternoon in the warm dark sounds good.

"Fuck you, what if I had plans?" Eddie pushes back only because it'd be weirder if he didn't.

"You don't," you say, pushing back too, "Unless aiming rocks into that soup can is a prelude to something much more spectacular."

"Maybe it is. Maybe I'm finally trying out for basketball." He misses another shot.

"At the eleventh hour." It's a little transfixing, watching him aim and score. Moreso than when she ever stood on any basketball sidelines. "Why are you so bad at this. You're usually kind of good at this."

"These rocks are too small!" he exclaims, animatedly frustrated. Another one, making a sharp ting! off the can's jagged rim. "But seriously. I got banned from the trailer for playin' my gee-tar too loud while Wayne was sleepin'."

Because vaudeville was always one of your fascinations, you mimic your shittiest Southern accent in tribute to his uncle, "Goddamn, boy, ain't nobody teach you any manners?!"

"Was you brought up or dragged?!" His is so much better than yours.

You chuckle. He chuckles. There's a moment, the two of you looking at each other with the softness of two people with nothing but dumb bits and dangerous families. What ludicrous kinds of lives you lead.

"So, movies?" Eddie says, like it's his idea. You let him have it. It's nice to share.

"We'll always have the movies."

#powder room talk #Anonymous #hai brainrot #i genuinely DON'T know what else to tag this as but tentatively #eddie munson x reader #even though. look. it's lacy family issues centric #do i love it? not really. am i glad i wrote it? absolutely #anon thank you again for sending this in i'm very pleased that you're into this and that you fuck with this hope you're still here #i know this has been in drafts Furever #published by powder #blurbs #l. doevski by powder