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ghuleh-witch · 1 month

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And We Are Tied As One Eternally

Fandom: Ghost Rating: Explicit Warnings: (For Future Chapters) NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex, mentions of past abuse and domestic violence, references to suicide Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x OFC Characters: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia, OFC Additional Tags: soft!dom Copia, eventual smut, developing relationship, no beta reader Chapter Word Count: 2921 Summary: Ellie Moran just wanted to make a new life for herself. Running to escape the people in her past, she ends up in a small town in the middle of nowhere that happens to be home to a Satanic church. She never expected her life to change again after she started attending the public masses at said church.

Ao3

Chapters: 2/?

Tag list: @sodoswitchimage

Chapter Two

tw: references to past self-harm

The dining hall was filled with an aroma of buffet food. Siblings and clergy members spoke to one another as Copia entered the hall. His eyes scanned the people and ghouls in the room before finding their target. He spotted Ellie with Sister Gemma in a small group of Siblings. He wanted to approach Ellie and talk to her, but the vision of her down on her knees in front of him, looking up at him, well, it did things to him. He couldn’t figure out why seeing her like that affected him so much. Had it been as simple as seeing a beautiful woman on her knees before him? No, it couldn’t be it. There were many beautiful people in the ministry that dropped to their knees before him every week and they hadn’t affected him the way Ellie had. There was something about her specifically and he wanted to find out what it was.

He was happy to see Ellie interacting with his congregation. He remembered just weeks prior how she stood alone and away from everyone. If she made friends with the Siblings she’d want to come back to visit, and if she came to visit more often there would be more chances to talk to her, he reasoned.

“So you have your eye on the new girl too,” Terzo said as he came up next to Copia.

His eyes slid sideways to the other man. “I do not,” Copia responded a little too quickly.

Terzo chuckled. “Oh, fratello , you don’t have to lie to me. I saw how you looked at her during communion. I thought you were going to get a hard-on right then and there.”

Copia rolled his eyes at his brother. “Okay, fine, what if I do have an interest in her? What does it matter to you? Are you planning on bedding her? A new woman to add to your tally?” He felt suddenly possessive of Ellie and stomped the feeling down. He had no right to feel that way. Ellie wasn’t his. He didn’t even know her. And even if he did, that didn’t mean he was entitled to her. She probably wasn’t even interested in him. Terzo was just trying to get under his skin.

“Calm yourself,” Terzo said. “I’m only messing with you. I was thinking about asking her out for dinner, but seeing you all up in arms over her has changed my mind. You’re not usually interested in anyone, so I’ll let you have this one.”

“How gracious of you,” Copia deadpanned.

Terzo clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck, fratello .”

XXX

Gemma introduced Ellie to her friends: Sister Brianna, a pretty redhead with a round face, and Brother Micha a short man with dark hair and eyes in his mid-20s. The other two Siblings welcomed Ellie into their little group with open arms, asking her questions about her life and taking interest in her responses.

“Your tattoos are gorgeous by the way,” Brianna said, taking Ellie’s hand and looking at the bits that poked out from under her sleeve. “Can I see more?”

“S-sure,” Ellie said, rolling up her sleeve to show off more of the floral and vine designs that covered her arm. She hoped no one would notice the raised scar that ran up her wrist that the tattoos hid. She wasn’t up for answering questions and bringing up that part of her life. If any of them had noticed, they didn’t mention it, which Ellie was grateful for.

“I wish I had more tattoos,” Brianna sighed dropping Ellie’s arm after admiring the colorful ink. “I only have the one. Haven’t had time to get more.”

As the conversation turned to other things, Ellie pulled the sleeve of her sweater back down and noticed Copia across the room. He was watching her as he spoke to Terzo. When Terzo patted his shoulder and walked away, Ellie excused herself from the group and walked over to Copia.

“Papa,” she greeted. “The service today was really good. I enjoyed it.”

His lips turned up into a small smile and the sight made her heart beat just a little faster. “Thank you, cara , I’m glad you enjoyed it. It was one of my better ones. I’m glad to see you’re back and that you took communion. Are you thinking about joining our little family here?”

“I don’t know yet,” Ellie said. “I don’t know a whole lot about your religion. I understand and agree with the tenants, but I have a…complicated relationship with religion.”

“Former Catholic?”

“Evangelical Baptist,” Ellie corrected.

Copia made a face. “Even worse than Catholics, si?”

Ellie nodded. “At least the Catholics wouldn’t tell me I’m going to Hell every time I stepped into church,” she laughed.

“I can never keep track of what the different denominations believe. Catholics believe one way, Baptists and Lutherns another it’s all confusing,” he said, waving his hand as he spoke. “At least here we are consistent in our beliefs.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Ellie smiled. “I think I need to learn more before I can decide on joining.”

“Of course!” Copia responded with a nod. “Having all the information in front of you before you make a decision is the responsible thing to do. I’m sure Sister Gemma would be happy to help you, and if she can’t, I would be glad to help.”

“Gemma–er–Sister Gemma already offered to be my sponsor,” Ellie said, glancing over at the little group of Siblings that were still chatting to one another. She looked back at Copia, feeling his mismatched eyes boring into her. “But thank you, I really appreciate the offer. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

“Si, si. Well, eh, I’ll let you get back to your new friends. I hope we get to see more of you here.”

Ellie could have sworn she saw a glint of eagerness in his eye as he said that. It made her smile and nod. “I’m sure I’ll be around more,” she said before giving him a small wave and walking back to the group of Siblings.

“Making friends with Papa?” Micha asked.

“Yea,” Ellie answered. “He came and talked to me a little the first time I was here. I just wanted to tell him that I really enjoyed the sermon today.”

“Papa Copia is alright,” Micha said. “He’s gained a lot of confidence since ascending to Papa. He was awkward as hell as a Cardinal. Should have seen him. Always had a rat with him. Rode a tricycle around the Ministry. It was weird.”

“Aw, I think that’s kind of sweet. I love rats,” Ellie smiled, glancing over her shoulder. Copia was now speaking with one of the masked figures Ellie learned were called Ghouls. After watching the Ghouls interact with other Siblings, there was something weird about them that Ellie couldn’t put her finger on. When she turned back to the three Siblings they were all looking at her with smirks on their faces. “What?”

“You like him,” Brianna said in a sing-songy voice.

“No,” Ellie said a bit too quickly. She felt her cheeks warm. “I mean, sure, as a person. He seems nice.”

“Oh yea? Then why are you blushing?” Gemma asked a grin of triumph plastered on her face.

Ellie let out a sigh. It would be useless to lie. She was always a terrible liar. “Okay, maybe I find him attractive,” she said as Gemma, Brianna, and Micha all looked at each other and nodded.

“What?” Ellie asked, unsure she wanted to know what they all just agreed on.

“We’re going to get you two together,” Micha said. “Papa needs someone. I heard he hasn’t slept with anyone since he became Papa.”

“Woah woah woah,” Ellie said putting her hands up. “I don’t even know the man and you’re already trying to get me in his bed? I appreciate the thought, but I’m just…I’m okay with the way things are right now. He’s nice and I’d like to be friends, but anything else…” The thought of nothing more between her and Copia made her a little sad and she couldn’t figure out why. But her life was too unstable—barely just began to start it over. Ellie didn’t know him well, but she knew Copia deserved someone better than her. So friends it would be.

“So,” Ellie said turning to Gemma to change the subject. “When can I begin studying for my membership?”

XXX

Ellie left the ministry with a handful of pamphlets given to her by Gemma. They covered the history of the ministry, rules, beliefs, clergy hierarchy, and much much more. Her first task was to read through all the material and write down any questions she had. She was meeting Gemma for her first study session in a few days.

As she looked through the pamphlets, she saw Copia’s papal portrait in one of them. It listed him as the current head of the ministry and frontman for Ghost. Ellie couldn’t help but stare at it. He looked regal in his papal skull paints and glimmering blue robes and miter. Gemma, Brianna, and Micha didn’t push her any further on their plans of getting her together with Copia, and Ellie was thankful because if she thought about Copia anymore, a permanent blush would be seared into her flesh.

As she finished reading through the third pamphlet, her phone chimed with a text message. Ellie froze for a second. No one had her new number. She ditched her old phone back in her hometown before her journey across the country.

“It’s not him,” Ellie told herself as she picked up the phone and opened the text from the unknown number.

Hey! It’s Gemma! I forgot to tell you that when you come here you’ll have to be buzzed in through the front gate. Just tell them you’re here to see me.

Ellie let out a huge sigh of relief. She forgot she gave Gemma her number. Ellie sent a response to Gemma before saving her number in her contacts. Ellie set her phone aside and willed her heart to stop bounding against her ribcage.

“It wasn’t him. You’re fine,” she told herself.

But the sick and twisting feeling that was currently churning in her gut didn’t go away.

She was hypervigilant over the next few days. Every little unexpected noise made her tense. When her boss dropped a large encyclopedia in the store that morning she nearly gave herself a heart attack. Ellie knew she should probably see a therapist and talk about her past and how it was affecting her, but she just didn’t feel ready to dive into all that just yet. She convinced herself that she was just stressed by all the recent changes in her life. Stress. That’s all it was.

That still didn’t stop her from looking in her rearview mirror to make sure no one followed her on her drive up to the Ministry.

She stopped outside the wrought iron gates that were normally open for public mass days. Ellie rolled down her window and pressed the call button on the box just outside the gate.

“How may I help you?” A voice crackled over the speaker.

“Hi, yes, my name’s Ellie Moran. I’m here to see Sister Gemma,” Ellie said.

“Come on through,” the voice responded as the gates began to open.

Ellie drove the now familiar path up the gravel drive and to the small visitor’s parking lot. She sent Gemma a message informing her she arrived before walking to the front doors. Before she could even put her hand on the handle the door was opened and an extremely tall, masked ghoul was standing there. Ellie had to crane her neck to look up at him.

“Sister Gemma will be right down,” the ghoul said ushering Ellie into the atrium of the church.

“Thanks,” Ellie said. She stood in the atrium, looking up at the stained glass before looking at the ghoul standing by the door. “I’m Ellie,” she introduced holding her hand out to shake.

“I know,” the ghoul said, looking down at her outstretched hand. “I am called Mountain.”

When it became obvious Mountain wasn’t going to shake her hand, Ellie let it drop and waited awkwardly for Gemma to arrive.

“I’m here!”

Ellie turned around to see Gemma coming down a set of marble stairs. She was in the same short, black habit that Ellie saw her in at mass but instead of fishnet tights and pumps, she wore black thigh-high socks and knee-high lace-up boots.

“I’m so glad you’re doing this,” Gemma smiled before waving at Mountain. Gemma guided Ellie up the stairs to the second floor and down the corridor. “I’m going to take you to the library first,” she said. “We’ll get an account set up for you so you can borrow books. Then I’ll give you a tour of the place if you want. After that, I’ll answer your questions and we’ll go over what we’re going to be working on.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ellie said as she kept pace with Gemma.

The Ministry library reminded Ellie of the photos she had seen of the Bodleian Library in Oxford, England. The dark wooden shelves stretched toward the high arches of the ceiling and were filled with ancient-looking tomes and modern-day novels. The smell of old paper filled her nose as Ellie followed Gemma to the front desk. There was a long row of tables and chairs that ran down the middle of the library and ended at the large stained glass window. There were several siblings at the tables, either sitting alone or in pairs. All of them had their heads in their books and were taking notes on paper, tablets, or laptops.

Ellie was handed a clipboard by an older, rather severe-looking Sister and was told to fill it out. It was a basic form asking for her name, phone number, address, and other relevant information, and when Ellie handed it back to the Sister behind the desk, she was handed a temporary card.

“Your official card will arrive in the mail next week,” the Sister said before returning to her work.

“Cool. I’ve never had a library card before,” Ellie said staring down at the simple cardstock that bore her name and an eight-digit number.

“Never?” Gemma asked looking surprised.

“Never,” Ellie said. “The last time I stepped foot in a library I was nine.”

Gemma’s eyes practically popped out of their sockets. “You’re kidding me.”

Ellie felt her face warm. “I…I was homeschooled and my mother…well she didn’t think public libraries were Christian.”

“Oh,” Gemma responded. “One of those 'information is danger' people. I understand. We have a few Siblings here who have similar stories.”

Ellie relaxed at that. “I thought I was the only one.”

“Not at all,” Gemma said. “I don’t mean to pry or overstep or anything, but we have support groups here if you ever need to get anything off your chest about the way you were raised.”

“Thanks,” Ellie said, feeling a lump grow in her throat at the suggestion. “Maybe I’ll check it out.”

Gemma nodded and smiled. “Ready to continue?”

“Please.”

From the library, Gemma showed her the administrative wing, the dormitories, the archives, and the recreational rooms that were filled with everything from video games and board games to movies and comic books. Gemma showed her a few of the classrooms and the greenhouse before stopping outside a small two-story house just outside the main abbey.

“This is the Papal house,” Gemma said. “All five of the Papas live here.” “Nihil, Primo, Secondo, Terzo, and Copia,” Ellie listed off.

Gemma grinned. “Good, you were listening. You know Papas Terzo and Copia of course. Papa Nihil doesn’t go out much anymore. Just for mass and a couple of Ministry events. Papa Primo is always in the greenhouse, and Papa Secondo…well we’re really not sure how he spends his time. He’s always coming and going. I’m sure you’ll get to meet them all at some point.”

Just as Gemma turned to lead Ellie back into the abbey, the door to the house opened and Copia stepped out. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Ellie. Ellie couldn’t help but stare. He looked completely different out of his papal vestments. He was dressed in red sweatpants, a black shirt with baring VVLGARI in white across the chest, and a matching red zip-up jacket over top. His face was devoid of the black and white skill paint Ellie saw him in, and instead, he just had black around his eyes and on his upper lip.

“Oh, eh, hello,” he said. “Am I interrupting something? Did you need to see someone?”

“No, Papa, I was just giving Ellie the tour,” Gemma said. “Sorry if we disturbed you.”

“No apologies necessary, cara ,” Copia said. “I was just going to see Sister Imperator in her office. His eyes were then once again on Ellie. “So what do you think of our little home?”

“It’s nice,” Ellie said. “Everything’s so beautiful.”

“This used to be some Catholic monastery or something before it was sold off and we bought it,” Copia explained. There was a pause before he shifted almost anxiously. “If you have time before you leave today, would you come by my office?”

“Oh? Um, sure,” Ellie said. “I don’t have anything going on this afternoon.”

“ Perfetto ,” Copia said, a smile forming on his lips. “I’ll see you then.”

#awataoe #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fanfic #my fanfic #copia #papa emeritus iv #copia x ofc #copia x oc #papa emeritus iv x ofc #papa emeritus x oc #papa emeritus iv fanfic

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rottenaero · 8 months

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Roommates part 9

Part 1(Less content than ao3)

Part 8

Ao3

This chapter has about 7,500 words, so uh, warnings in advance.

CW: Description of injury, Vecna Vision(I’m not going to be too specific as not to spoil it), mention of fake vomiting(no actual vomit)

Steve was used to the whiplash.

One second, he’d be fighting demons from an alternate dimension, the next he’d be back to his regular life, whatever that had been at that moment.

But he watched as the demodogs paused.

Heard it as the clicking ceased.

Not just the clicking, it was almost like the entire upside down stopped what it was doing. An unsettling quiet blanketed it, and he scooted backwards, hoping to get away before the creatures snapped out of whatever trance they were in.

He feels his hand throb, as he stands up, hanging it done was definitely not doing it any favors.

Steve brings the bike up with his non-injured one, still watching the demo-dogs as he kicks off and pedals away. They don’t follow.

He makes it to the trailer, thankfully, though he doesn’t know how seeming as his sides are still split, and even he can smell the iron. The make-shift bandages are doing much to shield the bleeding either, holding on by a thread.

Even though he’s far from the demo-dogs, he still feels his heart pounding. Quick and fast against his ribcage.

He shoulders open the front door, cradling his broken arm gently as he does so.

He eyes the rope.

Two things on his mind.

What the fuck?

And,

How the hell am I supposed to get up there?

His side twinges, and he lets out a loud grunt as he leans against the doorframe.

There’s an echoey yelp, and for a moment he wonders if something followed him. He wouldn’t be shocked.

A yell of his name by a familiar voice quickly trumps that thought.

“Steve?!”

He grins, wobbles his way to the middle, where he heard Dustin’s voice. He looks up, and his brows furrow at how freaky seeing his trailer from the ceiling was.

“Hey man, don’t suppose you have-“ He hisses at a particularly sharp sting from the bites. “-Have an elevator, huh?”

He’s guided through a one-armed climb, well, not really guided, just told to use his legs. The hem of Nancy’s shirt falls off on the flip, and the oxygen feels like fire on the wound. He feels nauseous, the lights blurring together.

Before it all kinda-

Goes away.

He’s falling still, a little too long in his opinion, before he feels a soft mattress beneath him.

Definitely not the one that he’d seen on the other side.

He blinks, glances around.

Plaid surrounds him. Wall, curtains, bedsheets.

This isn’t the trailer.

His hand, which should be injured but isn’t, ghosts over the wallpaper until it meets a wooden door, a metal knob.

Steve twists it, pushes forward.

Let’s the familiar hallways refresh in his mind.

There’s a voice filtering from downstairs, cold and flat. He avoids the stairwell, instead pushing forward to the bathroom. Don’t come up, don’t come up.

The door opens, and Steve is met with the outside.

With his pool.

That wasn’t the back-door-

A figure is sitting on the diving board, legs swinging idly. Back and forth, back and forth. Repeat.

He takes a step forward, and the person seems to sense the motion.

Without turning, she speaks. “Do you remember what you did, Steven?” Her voice shifts as she continues, turns gravely, but he knows it’s still her. Still Barb.

“Or have you already forgotten?” The body falls forward, into the pool. The lights surrounding shut off.

“When I kill someone, I never forget.”

“I never killed Barb.” He says. The water ripples, and he watches it.

He knows what’s happening.

Something crawls out of the dark, he tries to step back but it wraps around his leg.

Drags him in.

The waters thick, and in the back of his mind he hears something screaming. It’s not water!

Then he’s back.

Back out. The feeling on his skin leaves him, and he looks around.

Around at the red.

The debris, the doors.

He hears the pendulum swinging back and forth.

“You’re friend Nancy, she’s been looking for me,”

A voice drawls, a voice he assumes is Vecna.

“Eleven too, I need you to give them a message.” His side twinges.

“All of them.”

The shower was nice, just what he needed to calm down and to get the dirt and grime from five days on the run off his body. He finally got to wash his hair for the first time in forever, and that part of his routine was enough to feel normal-ish.

He had grabbed an extra tee beforehand, one he rarely wore, and used it to dry his hair. It was by then that he noticed the noise.

He hadn’t expected it to be silent, but, well he hadn’t expected screams of bloody murder.

Yells that sounded a lot like Steve’s name and-

Eddie slams open the bathroom door to Dustin about to knock. “Tapes! Tapes tapes-“

“Dustin what the fuck is going on, is Steve bac-?”

“Where THE FUCK are Steve’s tapes?!”

“My room, but-“

Before he could finish that sentence, Dustin and the rest of the little hellions are hijacking it to Eddie’s room.

He only has a second before his brain connects the dots, but when it does, he rushes to follow them. “Slipping Through My Fingers, ABBA!” He almost shrieks. Not even a second later Erica is barreling her way back through the hall, tape in hand. She hands it to Max who jams it into her now empty walkmen. Robins preparing to climb back up with it when a voice stops her.

“Steve! He’s back, oh god!-“ Nancy says, and Eddie makes his way to the gate’s area.

He looks up, and watches.

Watches as Nancy helps Steve back through, the shirt that was previously wrapped around his stomach falling away, now stained dark red. If the bats were bad before, they look like hell now. Stretched open with pieces of skin hanging.

He lands, and Eddie stares at his arm.

Broken, very much broken. He takes a shaky breath as he takes a step forward.

Doesn’t register Max putting her Kate Bush back in, or Dustin’s “Holy shit! What happened to you?!” He takes a couple more steps until his hands are hovering over Steve’s stomach, unsure of what the hell he could even do to help.

“Jesus H. Christ… What did you do?” He looks on the verge of collapsing, but smiles anyway, even if it comes out more of a grimace. “Hey Eds.”

Nancy lands on the mattress, and is quick to stand up. She glances at Steve, eyes wide and afraid, before looking elsewhere. “We need to move, we made too much noise.”

Max offers her place up, with Erica watching through the window and waiting to signal a clear.

Eddie doesn’t process much of it, just runs across the gravel when he’s told, and walks into the redhead’s trailer.

Steve comes in next, and he’s quick to be by his side.

He waits until Max is inside, and asks about a first aid kit.

“Bathroom.”

“Great, great.” He mutters, “Where is that?”

She rolls her eyes, “We have the same layout, same place as yours I guess.”

He nods, tugs Steve’s non-broken arm in the direction and quickly objects Dustin’s request to come with.

He shuts the door behind them, lets the younger sit down on the toilet seat, shrugging off the denim jacket that, in the middle area, has thoroughly soaked blood. Meanwhile Eddie grabs a red box from under the sink cabinet. He moves to a crouch down in front of the other, pulling the antiseptic wipes out and ripping them open.

“Twice in one day, this is really the King treatment, huh?” Steve teases, a lax grin lining his face, but it quickly disappears when the wipe touches his skin. He hisses. “Ouch.”

“Suck it up, buttercup. This is what you get for being a dumbass.” Eddie snarks, but he can’t manage any malice, just keeps dabbing at the wound even when the tiny paper turns red.

“Not like I chose to be eaten by bats, and chased by demon dogs…”

“Is that what broke your arm?!” He asks, and his dark brown brows furrow. He rips open another wipe packet.

“No, I broke it by crashing the bike.”

“Jesus.”

Once the bites are mostly clean, he eyes the limply hanging skin.

It’s disgusting.

“I don’t know what I should do about that.” He says, glancing up at Steve, who hums. “Cut it off, cover it, or sew it.”

Eddie frowns. His voice raises. “Red? You have a sewing kit somewhere, maybe your moms?” After about a minute, the door opens a little bit, and a hand delivers a tiny box.

He grabs it, quick to grab a needle and thread some embroidery floss into it, turning toward Steve when he’s ready.

“This might hurt.” He warns.

The jock bites the inside of his cheek when the cold metal pierces through the throbbing skin, providing temporary relief before it’s quickly tugged away by the feeling of yarn running through him. He tries to stay still, but he can’t help the slight winces as the skin is pulled together.

“Jesus, your skin is freezing…” The metalhead mutters when his pinky brushes against it. Funny, because it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like a furnace inside his stomach, like someone pressed a hot pan to it.

Eddie hands him the instant cold-pack from the first aid kid once he finishes the first bite and ties it off. Tells him to trigger the thing and put it on the wound to hell the swelling.

“You’re quite the little surgeon.” Steve jokes, hands clenching the cold-pack when the needle goes through. Eddie hums, “Not really. I’m just using the stitches I used for my vest.”

The younger winces, glances at the denim from the corner of his eye. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I know how much that thing means to you.”

“Nah, it’s cool. Way more metal now.” Eddie says, and it’s silent for a moment. Steve lets his eyes wander over the metalhead’s crouched form. His eyes are focused, tongue poked out of his mouth the way it is when he’s being precise.

It reminds him of when he’d paint his minis. Sitting in front of the trailer’s living room window, curtains drawn and using the natural light to illuminate the space.

It’d take hours just to get a few done. Steve’d sit by him the entire time, watching him work, occasionally choosing a vinyl to put in the record player.

Eddie hadn’t ever painted them in his room. His room was reserved for sleeping in later, shared joints, chaotic school mornings where Steve would have to rush him awake. He’d let the metalhead change out of whatever clothes he had on, usually one of Steve’s own T-shirts, while he made coffee for Wayne and him, setting aside orange juice for Eddie.

His eyes drift down, down to the shirt he was wearing. Hawkins Swim Team it read in big bold letters. Steve could picture the text on the back, Steve Harrington, 1982. He’d been on it in ‘83 and ‘84, but the shirts those years looked the exact same. No use in getting more, not even to sleep in, since he didn’t even wear a sleep-shirt.

A pat on his shoulder makes him blink, and he looks back up at Eddie’s face. He’s got a small grin, his dimples pulled back. “Stitches are done. Turn around.” Steve obliged.

He doesn’t mention the staring, not like he usually would. If this a different time, one where he wasn’t patching him up, then Eddie’d probably say something dumb, like “Like what you see?”

Steve can’t blame him, he’d probably say the same thing, cheesy as the line was.

He feels stinging on his back, hisses slightly. He’d broughten the wipes back out, now cleaning the road rash. It was probably for the best, there was definitely all sorts of dirt in the broken skin.

Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell though, Steve dare says it hurts worse than the stitches.

Eddie pats him again to signify when he finishes, and throws the used wipe into the kit, “Turn back around, give me your arm.” He grabs a roll of elastic bandages, wraps it gently yet firm around the break. The next roll he grabs it white. Gauze, something distant in Steve’s mind tells him.

He holds onto the end as Eddie rolls it around his stomach. It’s uncomfortable, feels a little stuffy when he’s done, but he can manage. It was definitely worse before.

“You are all done, Stevie.” Eddie says, and he reaches for the battle vest before standing up, handing it to him.

“Do I get a reward for being so good? Sucker? Tootsie pop?” Steve asks, smirking as he tilts his head to the side. He shrugs the denim over his shoulders as he waits.

Eddie runs his eyes over the guy’s face, stares for a second before leaning in, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. When he leans back, he grins. “That good enough?”

Just to be a shit, Steve shrugs and stands up, preparing to snark, but instead feeling lightheaded at the sudden movement. He trudges on anyway. “Eh, would’ve preferred the sucker.”

“Asshole.”

“Dickwad.”

“Virgo.”

“I’ve had sex before.” Steve says, and Eddie snorts. “Virgo, not virgin.”

“I know what a virgo is! Let me rephrase- At least I’ve had sex before.” The metalhead grasps his heart, fakes being shot.

“Ooh, ouch. That hurt, sweetheart. Do our times together mean nothing?”

“Our two kisses?”

Eddie scoffs, backs up and allows a faux snooty expression to fall onto his face. “I should’ve let you bleed out.”

Steve leans his head forward, “Good luck trying to find someone else to annoy.” His vision blurrs for a second, and he sways. A hand slithers under his arm and over his shoulder. “Shit, Stevie. Let’s get you some water.” He hums, water sounds nice.

Eddie drags him to the living room, sets him gently on the sofa, and heads towards the kitchen. Robins by his side by an instance, looking him over. “You okay?” He gives her a blank look, and she winces, crouches down in front of him.

“Right, stupid question. Super stupid, I just mean, you’re not gonna die, right?” He snorts, shifts his broken arm so it's sitting on his lap. “Nope, can’t get rid of me that easily, Robs.” She smiles, pats his lnee reassuringly before standing up, Eddie taking her place with a water bottle in hand.

He uncaps it, hands it to him. Steve takes it gratefully, chugging the thing. Water droplets drip down his lips, gathering together at the bottom of his chin. The bottle is lukewarm, but he could care less, it’s the best thing he’s ever drunk.

When he finishes, he crunches the plastic together, setting it on the tabletop to the side of him before looking up. Everyone stares at him, waiting.

“Right, uh, I guess there's some questions.”

“You think?” Erica asks, utterly unimpressed from two cushions beside him.

“Yeah, but before all that. That uh, that guy? Vecna, in the vision he showed me, something happened.” He swallows, although there’s nothing in his mouth. Even though he just chugged a whole bottle of water, he still feels parched.

He fills a hand on his, glances to Eddie, who’s frowning. He doesn’t speak, just keeps his hand there.

Steve’s eyes zero in behind him, on the large grandfather clock, before turning back.

He doesn’t say anything about it.

“He mentioned Nancy, says you’ve been looking for him. Told me to give you and El a message.” He closes his eyes. Takes his hand out from under Eddie’s.

“There were four gates, they were spreading across Hawkins, and they met in the middle. The whole town was fucked. There was this big dark cloud, and it was swallowing it whole. A bunch of those monsters, an army of them really, coming into our world. He uh,”

His brows furrowed. “Vecna he’s…He’s Henry Creel, or One, or something. He’s like Eleven, and he’s going to destroy Hawkins.”

“Four chimes, Vecna’s clock. It always chimes four times.” She looks up, meets eyes with Steve. “Four exactly.”

“I heard it too.” He says. His bites give a sharp sting and he winces.

“He’s been telling us his plan this whole time.”

“Four kills…” Lucas mutters. Steve turns his gaze to him. “Four gates, end of the world.”

“If that’s true, then he’s only one kill away.” Dustin says, and everyone's eyes dart to Max or Steve.

Eddie stares at him, before his eyes land on the ground. “Jesus Christ…”

Max starts walking to the phone, presumably to call El, or that’s what Steve thinks anyway, he might’ve heard her name one or twice outside the closed door of the bathroom.

He leans into Eddie’s side, let’s his hand rest on his back. “Hey man, it’ll be… It’ll all be okay, alright?” The metalhead’s head snaps towards him. “No! No it’s not gonna be okay. You could die from Vecna, I’ve seen it, twice. If you don’t, something could go wrong when we try to kill him. Even if whatever plan we come up with works perfectly? I’ll still have the murder charges.” He hisses.

“We’re fucking screwed, so screwed. We wouldn’t even have the trailer because there's still that fucking gate in it. What if it infects the real world?” His eyes widened. “What if your bites get infected? Or the bone heals wrong, or-“

He must not realize his hands were flailing about, because when Steve grabs his wrist, he stares at it like it personally offended him.

“Jesus Eds, have a little hope. Super-girl will help defeat Vecna, and then you’ll be cleared, and my bites will be taken care of. We have people who take care of the aftermath, okay?”

Eddie looks a bit relieved, and he’s about to respond when Max comes back in. “Anything?” Dustin asks.

“No. Rang a few times then went to busy signal.”

The metalhead slams his eyes shut, furrowing his brows. He leans away from Steve, almost like he’s going to get up. And he does.

Steve lets him, he needs his own moments alone sometimes. “Maybe you punched it in wrong, try again.”

“I didn’t punch it in wrong.” She hisses. He lets his body fall against the back of the couch. “Well, I don’t know-“

“I think she knows how to use a phone.” Dustin interjects.

He hears the sound of cabinets opening and shutting, before Eddie’s back at his side with another water bottle and some painkillers. He takes them, opening the cap of the pill bottle and shuffling about five into his hand.

Eddie stops him before he can down them with the water. “Hey, woah. That’s a bit much.” He says, concerned.

“It’ll be okay.” Steve assures before opening up the water and swallowing them.

He looks back at Dustin, who is staring at him with his arms crossed. “I’m just saying, she could’ve typed it in wrong.”

There’s an audible ringing for a moment, before he hears the clack of a phone being slammed back into place. “Same shit.”

“How is that possible?” Lucas asks.

“I told you, Joyce has this telemarketer job. She’s always on the phone, Mike won’t stop whining about it.” And Steve nods at that, he sorta remembers Mike moaning about not getting to talk to El.

Max’s brows pinch together, “Okay, but this lines been busy for what, three days now?” She sighs, takes a step towards Dustin. “No way, somethings wrong.

“She’s right, it can’t be a coincidence. It can’t be.” Nancy starts, everyone's eyes dart to her.

Steve really hopes she’s about to go on a monologue that’ll somehow explain everything, and knowing how crazy smart she is, maybe she will. “Whatever's happening in Lenora is connected to all of this, I’m sure of it.” She makes her way to the window, looks outside.”But Vecna can’t hurt them. Not if he’s dead.” She turns back to them, gaze challenging.

“We have to go back there, back to the upside-down.”

“What? No no no no…”

“Nope! Absolutely not.”

Steve and Eddie disagree in sync, and Steve stands, starts circling Nancy. He feels a bit dizzy at the motion, maybe from the bloodloss, although it could be the fact he felt twenty pounds heavier coming back through. He pushes on anyway.. “Let’s think this through.”

“What is there to think through?!”

“We barely made it out of there,” He says, and gestures to himself with his non-broken hand. “I barely made it out of there.”

“Yeah, and that’s because you’re a reckless idiot and we weren’t prepared. This time, we will be, we’ll get weapons, and guns, and protection. We’ll go through the gate, find his layer, and kill him.”

“Or he’ll kill us.” Steve hisses, and Eddie nods along. “The only reason Steve’s alive is because he wanted him too. You didn’t get the music to him, right?”

Something minute in Steve agrees.

Because demo-dogs don’t stop like that. They were called away the last time he saw them, by the mindflayer, but they don’t stop.

They wait, wait for the prey. Just like they waited for Steve at the junkyard. Wait for them to make their first move.

“He’s not scared of us.” The jock says instead of mentioning that, and Robin stands.

“And for good reason, we were wrong about Vecna-“ She pauses. “Henry- One-“ She turns her head to Steve. “Sorry, what are we calling him now?”

“One.”

“Vecna.”

“One.”

“Henry.” Nancy hisses.

“Right, we’ve learned something new about-“ She takes a breath, “-Vecna, slash Henry, slash one. He’s a number like Eleven only a sick, evil, male, child-murdering one with really bad skin, but-but my point is-…”

She stops to breathe after bumbling on, “- He’s super powerful. He could turn us inside out with the snap of his fingers, it’s not a fair fight!”

“So then why fight fair?” Dustin inquires. “You’re right, he’s like Eleven, but that gives us an upper hand. We know Eleven’s strengths,” He raises his hand in emphasis on the next part. “And weaknesses.”

Erica scoffs, “Weaknesses?”

The curly-haired boy rolls his eyes, “When El remote travels, she’s in this sort of trance-like state. I bet the same is true with Vecna.”

“It explains what he was doing in that attic.” Lucas says. Eddie looks over to Steve. “Attic?” He asks.

“Maybe later.” Steve whispers.

“Exactly, when he attacks his next victim I’ll bet you he’s back in that attic, physical body defenseless.”

“Defenseless?” He raises his brow, glances down at the gauze which has a tiny red stain starting. “What about that giant army of bats?”

“Right, true, we’ll have to find a way past them, distract them somehow.”

Eddie starts to stand up, “And uh, how do we do that exactly?”

“No idea.”

“Gotcha.” He sits back down. Steve would laugh if this were some other situation.

Dustin continues on, “But once they’re gone, he doesn’t stand a chance. It’ll be like slaying sleeping dracula in his coffin.”

“That sounds all good in theory, but there’s no pattern to Vecna’s killings. At Least not one that I can decipher, we don’t know when he’s going to attack next. We don’t even know who he’s going to attack next.” Robin stresses.

“Yeah we do.” Max and Steve speak at the same time, and he glares at her. “Absolutely not.”

“Steve-“

“No way, a teenager isn’t going to do this.”

“Yours was a one-time vision! You didn’t have the symptoms before!”

He eyes the clock in the corner, doesn’t notice when Eddie stands and bumps his shoulder lightly. “Hey, is there something you wanna share?” His eyes are wide, scared, worried.

Steve hums, looks back to Max. “I guess not, but that’s- It’s incredibly stupid. We could just try with me-“

“We don’t have time to just try. The second Vecna knows what we’re doing he won’t let us get away a second time. I can still feel him, I’m still marked. Cursed. I ditch Kate Bush, I draw his focus back to me.”

“Max…” Lucas whispers, his voice brittle. She turns her gaze towards him. “You can’t, he’ll kill you.”

Her lips turn into a thin line, hesitating, before taking a deep breath. “I survived before, I can survive again. I just- I need to keep him busy long enough so that you guys can get into that attic. Then you can chop his head off, stab him in the heart, blow him up with some explosive Dustin cooks up-“

She huffs, “-I honestly really don’t care how you put this asshole in his grave just-….Whatever it is, whatever you do, try not to miss.”

“Okay…” Eddie sighs, stands up. “We need weapons, right? Red, where are your magazines?”

“Gonna beat him up like a fly?” Erica asks.

“No- Just hush, magazines?” Eddie asks again, and Max points to a bucket in the corner, and he grabs a random one from two months ago.

He begins flipping through it, and Steve reclaims his spot on the couch. “What are you doing?” Eddie doesn’t answer, and Steve tilts back. He looks at Robin, and makes a twirly cuckoo motion with his finger.

He gets a light smack to the knee, “I saw that asshole.”

About two minutes later, Eddie stands up, slams the paper onto the table. Steve follows him, leans over his shoulder to look at the paper. “Check this out, The Warzone.” Everyone surrounds the table, curious.

“I’ve been there once, it’s huge. They’ve got everything you need for, uh, well killing things? Basically.”

“You think fake Rambo has enough guns there? And, is that a grenade? I mean, how is any of this legal?” Robin asks.

“Well, lucky for us it is, so…This-This place. It’s just far enough outside of Hawkins, as long as we steer clear of the main roads, we ought to be able to avoid cops, and uh.” The metalhead grins, “Angry hicks.”

“If we’re trying to avoid angry hicks, maybe we shouldn’t go to some store called The Warzone.” Erica states, staring at Eddie like he was stupid.

Nancy hums. “Normally, I’d agree but we need the weapons, so it’s worth the risk.” Lucas agrees.

“But is it worth the time? It’ll take all day to bike there and back.” Dustin states.

“Who said anything about bikes?”

Steve’s brows furrowed, “What you got some kind of a car you’ve been hiding from me?”

Eddie stands up, leans into his space, grins. “It’s not exactly a car Steve, and it’s not exactly mine, but it’ll do.”

His grin widens, if that’s even possible. “The Kents Winnebago.” He singsongs before turning to Max, and before Steve can even object he’s asking about a ski-mask.

Eddie looks absolutely ridiculous in the Micheal Myers mask, sneaking around the trailer park.

It’s so dorky, so fucking dorky.

Still, Steve can’t help the smile as he leads them to the back of the winnebago, sliding open the window. He gets in first, taking a second to help Steve-(and take off the mask)-before making a mad dash to the front, locking the door as he passes it.

He opens the toolbox they’d brought along when he gets there. Takes out the pliers and holds them with his teeth as he pulls out some wires.

Steve leans over his shoulder, watches as he cuts two of them. “Huh, didn’t know you could do this.”

“Yeah, well, while everyone else was playing catch with their dads, our dear old Al Munson was teaching me how to hotwire.” The metalhead huffs a laugh. “Now I swore to myself I wouldn’t end up like he did, but now I’m wanted for murder, and soon,” He pauses, trying to spark the ends of the two wires together. “-Grand theft auto, so I’m uh, really living up to that Munson name.”

Robin appears behind them suddenly. “Hey Eddie? I’m not sure I love the idea of you driving.”

“I’m just starting this sucker, get Wheeler up here to drive.” Steve goes to complain, but notices the shift stick. Not enough arms.

“Hey big boy, how about you sit down, huh?” Eddie suggests, gives him a quick peck on the cheek before the wires spark, and the engine hums. He slides into the passenger seat, watches as Eddie runs to the one behind him, and Nancy takes his place at the wheel.

The owners have noticed now, banging rapidly on Steve’s window. He flips them off as Nancy hits the gas, and they fly forward as fast as a winnebago can go.

He hears Eddie’s near hysterical laugh from behind him. Loud, boisterous. He finds himself laughing too, and once they get to the main road at a slower pace, he stands up, joins Eddie in the back.

He doesn’t question it when almost immediately Robin takes his seat, smiles lightly at her on her way by.

Steve sits down, setting his broken arm on his lap. He shoulders Eddie lightly. “Your hairs a mess, what the hell did you do when you got back here?” He asks.

“Uh, some headbanging. That was cool, right? The whole hotwiring thing?” Steve snorts, shoulders him again. “You’re such a nerd.”

Eddie crinkles his nose, “Freak, Steve. Important distinction.”

“Yeah, whatever nerd.”

“You guys are disgusting, I’m gonna throw up.” Erica says, face scrunched and staring at them from the couch.

“Hey! We’re adorable, right?” The metalhead turns to look at Steve, who’s brows are furrowed. His voice is low when he speaks.

“Did you tell them??” He hisses. Eddie’s face turns sheepish. “Dude!!”

“I’m sorry! Dustin already knew apparently, and he shouted it when we didn’t know if you were coming back because I was worried- I didn’t tell them, just- maybe- confirmed it?” He huffs at the end.

“Of course it was Dustin.” Steve sighs. He shuts his eyes and leans backwards.

“Are you mad?”

“No, wish we could’ve waited till we told Wayne though. Think that poor man deserves to know for putting up with our bullshit.” Eddie hums along, grabs Steve’s non-hurt hand when he’s done.

“We’ll tell him after we kill Vecna, and get you some medical help.”

“So you’re not on team me dying anymore?”

He gets a light whack to his knee. “I was never on routing on you dying.” He scoffs. Steve shrugs.

“Seemed pretty adamant something would happen earlier.”

“That was just a small freakout, totally fine now.” Eddie waves him off, before putting his arm on the back of Steve’s seat. He rests his hand on his shoulder. “So, you excited for save the world part four?”

“I won’t be doing much saving with this.” Steve says. He raises his make-shift cast.

A sudden swerve of the winnebago has Steve clicking a seatbelt over his shoulder.

“Jeez Nance.”

He doesn’t get a response. He shifts so he can look at the driver's seat.

There's a bump, Nancy’s frozen still. The winnebago is facing the edge of an overpass.

“Nancy? Hey!”

The entire thing is silent, no music playing. He looks to the back, everyone else is still too. He tries to undo the seatbelt.

It doesn’t budge.

“Nancy!”

He looks out the front windshield, right on time as a thin metal fence crushes under the front of the winnebago.

He feels his organs slush, and suddenly times not frozen anymore, there's screaming, ear-shattering screams.

He feels the impact as they hit the ground, just for a second before-

“-Steve?”

He blinks.

“Huh?”

Eddie snorts, “Dude I called your name five times.”

Steve just smiles, tugs on his seatbelt like it’ll even help in that scenario. “Sorry, I zoned it, what were you saying?”

“We were talking about who all's going in hick-central.” Erica states. She looks him over condescendingly. “Congratulations, you made the list.”

“Who else is going in?” Steve asks, and Erica grins proudly. “Me, Robin, Nancy, and Max.” She says, Max nods her head.

“It’s too dangerous for known Hellfire members to be walking around.” The redhead explains.

“What about you guys? I’m sure you have to be on the news by now for-“ He cuts himself off, looks between all of them. “What did you guys do exactly?”

“Erica slashed some cops tires and we all biked away. But this is outside of Hawkins, they’ll be fine.” Dustin chimes. He looks considerate for a moment. “Plus, if we were worried about that, you wouldn’t be able to go in.”

“Uh,” Steve starts, “And why not?”

“While we were at the Wheeler’s, the cops may have…” Dustin clicked his tongue.”…Inquired about you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Wayne.” Eddie hisses, eyes wide with understanding, and he turns to the jock. “You tell him anything about where you were going? Or did you just leave?”

“Fuck. Fuck.”

“Jeez, that’s not a good look when someone just died in that trailer.” Dustin states, and Max elbows him. He shrieks, turns to her. “What?! It’s not!”

“You’ll be fine, we need to go.”

The winnebago halts to a stop, just on time, before Robin and Nancy appear from the front. “Who’s all going in?” Nancy asks.

Her question is answered when Steve, Erica, and Max all stand up simultaneously. She nods approvingly, and heads to the door.

Eddie grabs Steve’s wrist before he can leave, turning it around and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Be careful in there, Stevie. Try not to break any more bones.” The young snorts, shoves him lightly.

“I’ll try, stay out of sight, okay?”

“Mmm, gotcha.”

There’s some retching noises, and they look toward Robin, who’s fake gagging.

She stops, stares at the. “Oh, sorry, you’re so adorable together.” She turns away, and Steve can see the slight shake of her head, hear her fake whisper ‘No they’re not.’

“Thank you Robin, for your continuous support.” Steve says in a monotone voice, patting Eddie’s shoulder before making his way out of the vehicle.

The shelves are- thankfully- stocked. He’s got a plan for how he wants to do this.

Erica, Max, and Nancy will group together for a bit, and Robin and him will take one of them each when Nancy needs to grab her gun.

He’d just put on one of the many army green shirts, and was putting the battle-vest back on while Robin was dumping kerosene containers into their cart like milk cartons.

Steve slips the denim over his shoulders, grabs another container to set in the basket when Robin makes a shocked noise. She stands stock-still.

He looks to where she’s looking, follows her gaze, and sees a red-head with a sunhat which-

Vickie.

It’s gotta be.

And even though he fully supports the small crush on Nancy, she is still with Jonathan so-

“What are you gonna do Robin? Just stand here and gawk at her-?”

“Shut up.” She hisses, successfully quieting him. She takes a step forward at the same time someone walks up behind Vickie.

They grab her shoulders and she lets out a shout, turning around. A smile lights up her face.

Steve’s brows furrow at the familiar face, and he turns to look at Robin. He can’t see her face, but he knows it must be bad.

He sighs, sets a hand on her arm when the pair in front of them kiss. “Robin, hey, no-“ She turns, ready to run away, but his grip tightens and he turns her towards him.

Her eyes are watery, her breaths already coming in labored. He stares at her, just for a second, before engulfing her in a hug to the best of his abilities.

“It’s okay Robs. For your eighteenth birthday? I’ll take you to Indianapolis. And we’ll find you someone good. That’s only if they don’t swarm you before then.” When her breathing calms down, he pulls back a bit to look in her eyes.

“You’re a catch, okay? She’s just stupid. That guy over there? Total douche. Graduated my year, and he was the worst.”

Robin snorts, and he grins. “She’s just got terrible taste.” He states.

She smiles condescendingly, pats his shoulder, “Worse than yours.”

Steve scoffs, shoves her lightly. She shoves him back. The pair don’t notice when Vickie looks their way, stares for a little too long.

They’re still pushing each other around when Nancy comes to collect them.

Erica goes along with Robin, and Steve takes Max to the alcohol section.

Even if she was a highschooler now, Steve still didn’t trust her alone in this store.

He looks over the bottles, looking for plain vodka, while she stands beside him with her hands in her pockets.

“Do you have your ID?” She asks, brow raised in question, and he slips the card out of his back pocket.

“How the hell did that stay in there?”

“These-“ Steve gestures to his lower-half, “-Are my skinny jeans. They’re tight on the ass, so the pockets hold stuff good.”

“Bet Eddie likes them.” She jokes as he finally grabs a bottle. He sputters while starting to dump a bunch into the cart, before calming himself. He forgets how much these kids act like shitheads.

“Yeah, yeah he probably does.” There’s some footsteps, someone probably entering the aisle, Steve doesn’t look up, just continuing to put bottles in. He huffs after a second, glances at Max. “Can you help me out? Only got one hand. And sooner we leave this place, sooner you can see Lucas.”

“And sooner you can see-“ She eyes the person, at least that’s what he assumes for a second before looking back. “…Eddie.” She whispers, before helping load some up.

“Mhm, and sooner things can go back to normal.” He eyes the cart. “I think we have enou-“

A hand on his shoulder startles him, and he turns his head.

“Steve?”

His eyes widen, lips pursing into a line. “Wayne.”

Wayne has a basket of his own, the only contents being a six pack of cheap beer, a pocket knife, and a magazine. His eyes are slightly watery as he stares at Steve.

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been- I thought somethin’ happened to you.” His voice is gruff, like he hadn’t had to use it alot.

“I don’t- I’ve been staying somewhere else.”

“The hell happened to your hand? And what’s that mark on your neck?” He asks.

Steve backs up. Not paying attention as Max moves the cart away. “It’s nothing. Just some asshole. I’m fine.”

“Jesus christ.” He glances at the cart, at the girl holding it. “What’s going on?”

“I-“

“Steve, Max!”

All three turn to the end of the aisle. Robins standing there, wide-eyes darting between all of them. Ericas by her side. “We need to go. Jason and his jock-gang are here. We’re leaving.” She glances at Wayne, just for a moment, before they’re all making their way towards the register.

“Stay safe, Wayne. You see anyone with a Hawkin’s letterman, avoid them.”

“Steve-“

He takes the basket from Max, pushing it forward with purpose.

They need to leave.

As soon as they’re out the door, Nancys following behind them, and Robins hounding on him. “Who was that?”

“Wayne Munson.”

“Shit.”

“He was in there?”

Steve doesn’t answer, instead he slams open the winnebago door.

“Start us up, Eds!”

The metalhead scrambles to stand, running to the front. Steve eyes the trash can lids Dustin has, brows furrowed, even as Erica throws him a box of nails.

He feels the engine rumble to life underneath him, and Eddies back in the back of the winnebago in an instant. This time he sits on the couch, shutting all the curtains and patting the seat next to him while looking at Steve imploringly.

He sits down, doesn’t watch as Nancy makes her way to the driver’s seat, or as Robin follows her. Instead he listens to Dustin complain about having to wait until they’re at the clearing.

Eddies complaining about having to listen to Dustin complain. Erica tells both of them two shut up.

They’re laughing, and it’s nice. Distracts them from the fact they’ll have to fight literal monsters in a few hours.

He doesn’t talk to Max or Lucas much on the ride over, not wanting to interrupt their moments.

Steve lets them whisper to each other all they want, not wanting to think about how Max will be bait soon.

His head twinges at the thought. Makes him a little nauseous. Somewhere deep-down inside he hopes Vecna takes him instead, not wanting Max to hurt.

They’re about halfway there when Steve finds himself dozing off. It makes sense that he’d be tired. They hadn’t slept before leaving. Hell, nobody had slept since last night, he’s shocked they made it this far.

He gives Dustin strict instructions to wake up when they get there, catching the way Eddie’s eyes are half-lidded even when he seems energetic.

His head leans backwards, and he feels shifting next to him. Feels a head rest on his shoulder. Feels a blanket tug over his lap.

He thinks maybe for now,

Maybe for now they’ll be okay.

Just for a little bit.

He wakes up to a kink in his neck and Dustin viciously shaking him. There’s yelling as Eddie insists on letting him sleep, another reason why Steve didn’t allow him to be the person to wake him up.

He blinks, pats Dustin’s arm. “Jeez man, no need to be that aggressive.”

The curly-haired boy scoffs, crosses his arms. “You sleep like the goddamn dead.”

“Yeah, well the dead can be woken up gently.” Steve states, as he props himself up on his right arm, letting his left sit on his stomach. He stares at it, at the elastic bandages and the crooked angle.

“We should’ve gotten a splint and sling at War Zone.”

Nancy stands up from where she’s been-

Actually, he has no idea. She might be organizing the bags? Whatever it is, Robin was sitting next to her, doing the same thing.

“We didn’t have enough money.”

“We had enough for your hundred dollar shotgun.”

“Could’ve stolen it, we’re already criminals.” Eddie grins, shoves Steve in the side gently. Steve smiles back.

The sweet moments ruined when he's smacked in the face by an unknown object.

He looks up at Erica, who’s grinning with her arm outstretched. “Oops.” She shrugs, before letting it fall down to her side.

Steve eyes the purse, glances back at Erica who looks utterly unimpressed. “There's your sling, now hurry up so we can get shit done.”

He stands, pulls the purse on over his left shoulder, and slides his arm onto the pouch. He hears the vehicle's door open, and looks up.

Mostly everyone has filtered out, Eddie staying, waiting by the door for him.

He’s got a big grin that shows off his dimples. He bows, gestures to exit as he does so. “After you.”

The steps down jostles his arm slightly, and he presses his lips into a thin line. There’s a sharp tinge from his stomach, and he wonders if there’s any painkillers in the Winnebago.

He doesn’t go back in to check, instead heading towards where Nancy and everyone was gathered. Eddie jogs to catch up beside him.

Once they’ve joined the group, Nancy clears her throat.

“Robin, Dustin, you’re making the Molotov cocktails. Rip up those shirts, leave a little hanging out of the vodka bottles. Erica, Lucas, you’re making spears. Find some sticks, and wrap knives to them tightly with rope. Eddie, Steve, you’re on shield duty. Hammer nails into the trash lids.” She turns her head towards them, only for a second, before turning back to the group as a whole.

“Max, you’re with me. When we’re all done, we’ll discuss the plan as a whole, for now, get your supplies and get to work.”

She heads towards where all the bags are sat, and Eddie wraps a hand around his waist.

“It’s you and me, Stevie.” He says, and the younger leans into it.

He wishes that this was a different day, one where they weren’t going to fight some kid-murdering psychopath, but the fact of the matter was that it wasn’t.

Eddie tugs him along, to the plastic sacks, and crouches down, hands dropping to a random ones opening to look for nails. Dustin passes him the box with them as Steve grabs a trash-can lid with his right hand, and manages to grab the second one as well.

He sits down in a random spot nearby, and a few moments later the metalhead follows. He’s got two crates that he got from who knows where. They’re stacked atop each other, the top one holding the hammers and nails.

He sets them down, and they get to work.

This took way longer than expected to actually post(it's been done for a few weeks.) Mostly cause I've been procrastinating, and have moved on from stranger things. I'll try to get the last chap out, but it may not be up to par, sorry</3

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things ficlet #steddie ficlet #crisisinverted17 #crisisinverted17's roommate au

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neosilverthorn · 2 years

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Catching up on reviews from @atopfourthwall, specifically his review of Marvel’s Civil War II event. I’d honestly forgotten just how big a cavalcade of stupid it was. I had a bit of my own running commentary, but figured I’d vent here on my own tumblr rather than in the comments there, if only to not have to fight the character count on YouTube comments.

I’d actually emailed Law & The Multiverse regarding the legality of Carol’s using Ulysses’ precognitive visions. Carol could have an investigation started, and had Ulysses’ been reliable enough, a probable cause warrant. Without corroborating evidence, Carol has no legal standing to arrest or prosecute.

Which is why her arresting the finance banker is a problem: It crosses that line. She has no hard evidence to back it up. If she’d returned the briefcase, apologized, and left, it wouldn’t be an issue, but trying to force it. Then there’s the little matter of her attempt at intimidation during the interrogation, since Carol is a member of the US Armed Forces (a publicly known fact) intimidating a civilian, which crosses another line entirely.

Those both would probably justify the Department of Defense pulling her exception to the Posse Comitatus Act and hauling her before a court martial.¹ Never mind the consequence that would likely come with starting a brawl on the grounds of the effing Triskellion not long after, or the steps of the Capitol Building even later.² The President’s “blank check” wouldn’t save her from the wrath of the Joint Chiefs.

Tony...well, I’m pretty sure he’s less having a nervous breakdown and more an out-and-out psychotic break by the end of things. This is one of the cases where the fact that a sizeable chunk of Tony’s own story was relegated to the Iron Man tie-in. But yeah, Tony was losing it for a lot of reasons, and his mental state was headed downhill through the entire event. (The consequences of which would start cropping up post-series and would have an effect on Ironheart’s first appearances as Tony’s replacement, something I’m still irritated about because it turned Riri’s debut story into another ‘hero v hero’ mess so soon after II.)

As for the tie-ins...ugh. Out of 140+ tie-in issues, only two I remember reading (Iron Man, which was also Bendis’ book at that point, and Ms. Marvel) actually expanded any on the story. The rest were largely the characters giving voice to the writer’s frustrations about their own stories being put on hold for months every year so the company can have its increasingly meaningless events.

Just...ugh. This event was, I think, the biggest reason I quit reading books from Marvel, and half the reason (the other being DC’s New52) I spent a few years either reading Invincible or things from Valiant Entertainment (which, for those unaware, is the phoenix of the 90′s Valiant Comics).

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1. Carol, along with Rhodey, Steve, and any other hero who are also part of the armed forces would require an exemption from Posse Comitatus, as the law specifically forbids members of the US Armed forces acting in a law enforcement capacity.

2. Carol had, by the end of the main event books, racked up a list of crimes including assault, wrongful arrest and imprisonment, violating Miranda rights, multiple counts of damaging federal property, and conduct unbecoming a member of the Armed Forces. The tie-ins add what likely counts as manslaughter. It’s likely Carol used her “blank check” to secure a pardon, because the folks above her in the chain of command would have thrown her in the Raft and bricked the door up.

#Comics #Marvel's Civil War II event #UGH

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howtofightwrite · 3 years

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We See These Misogynistic Idiots in Our Inbox Occasionally

Anonymous asked:

not to sound like a prey animal on main but i feel like too many people, men and women both, do not actually understand the extent of the strength difference between men and women. it is actually surprisingly easy for a man to kill a woman, in fact it can be done accidentally

The only people who deny it are either blinded by ideology, or have never wrestled with someone of the opposite sex. I had a girlfriend who was extremely athletic, but had only ever played on all-female teams, and her little brothers were very young so she could throw them around. I’m 6’ 4″, and she honestly thought she could hold her own against me.

When I was fifteen, I had a boyfriend who was extremely athletic, but had only ever played against all-male teams. His sport of choice was soccer and his legs were very strong, so he liked to run around kicking other guys in the groin to resolve disputes. (Sorry, Tumblr, he did not turn out to be gay.) One day, we were hanging out at my house and he decided to hug me from behind. I didn’t realize he was behind me, caught his arms moving in my peripheral vision, and nailed him in the solar plexus with my elbow. I did it automatically, just trained instinct. He bowled over, coughing, for a good minute, and continued coughing for roughly five minutes after that. After I determined he was, in fact, okay, I giggled because it was really, rather funny.

We broke up shortly after that. Fifteen year old me figured my body had the right idea about him. The only difference between my incident and yours is I’d been doing Taekwondo since I was six and had plenty of experience working with the opposite sex. I didn’t apply this singular experience of momentarily paralyzing a young man’s diaphragm as a weakness to all men everywhere.

We get MRAs like you every so often on this blog and, honestly, the only men who are wrapped up in the biological/physical differences in male bodies versus female bodies are the ones deeply insecure in their own masculinity. I encourage you to work on coming to terms with yourself and building your confidence in healthy ways outside of comparisons to others. Truly I do, because there are aspects of your ask which are supremely fucked up. We’re going to go over what you said in detail. Not for your benefit, but for the benefit of others.

“not to sound like a prey animal on main”

You sent this on anon. Maybe this is a Reddit thing, but your name isn’t attached so only you will ever experience the full embarrassment of trying to litigate your break-up with a complete stranger.

i feel like too many people, men and women both, do not actually understand the extent of the strength difference between men and women.

This isn’t “too many people.” This is about your ex-girlfriend. If you’re trying to AITA this shit, I can tell you, in no uncertain circumstances, yes, YTA. (You’re The Asshole, for those of readers who don’t hang in that subreddit.)

In the real world, not only do most people genuinely believe there’s a greater strength difference than men and women than actually exists, but they don’t realize that after a specific threshold natural advantages (whatever natural advantages exist and different body types have different advantages) cease to make a real difference. Physical strength is one of those. The general population actually puts too much importance on “natural advantages” over training and practice. That happens when people fail to grasp their own ignorance. (People, perhaps unironically, like the person who sent this ask.)I’ve done martial arts for most of my life, strength differences don’t matter to me because I know how to nullify my opponent’s strength. Violence is a lot more complicated than strength v. strength, and also a lot simpler. Force isn’t generated by the upper body alone and force application has nothing to do with the size of a person’s biceps or what they can lift. If flat strength mattered, bodybuilding would be more than cosmetic. The reality is bodybuilders struggle to draw bows. The reason for this ignorance is simple, as most cops will tell you, most people haven’t been in a fight since high school (if they’ve ever been in a fight at all.) This results in a skewed perspective in a society that already trains a skewed perspective on the gender divide from birth. Gender roles are socially manufactured, sorry.

In the professional field, nobody talks about strength because (surprise!) strength doesn’t actually matter. Martial combat is all about learning to utilize the advantages of your own body while stripping your opponent of theirs. You fight with the body you have. Want to fight? Learn to work with what you’ve got. On a practical level, that’s the end of the discussion. The rest is semantics.

Women do martial arts. They practice against men and women. That’s the end.

“it is actually surprisingly easy for a man to kill a woman, in fact it can be done accidentally”

I know this is going to come as a shock, but it is surprisingly easy to kill anyone accidentally. That’s a human thing. While you may feel otherwise, society actually labels women as acceptable targets for masculine aggression and so they are more likely to be on the receiving end from an abusive partner. This doesn’t mean women aren’t abusers, some are, and the treatment of women by society at large means even fewer female abusers get recognized. Male violence against women is unfortunately common. That doesn’t make women weaker. In fact, it gets us into a discussion about societal training and victim blaming for confirmation bias that I don’t feel like getting into.

I’m really hoping you didn’t accidentally kill your ex though. The fact you chose to include this line in your ask is pretty telling about where your mental state is.

“The only people who deny it are either blinded by ideology.”

People who know what they’re talking about don’t deny it, they say it doesn’t matter if you know what you’re doing. That’s the difference. However, this line is pure projection. You are blinded by your own ideology. I know this because you came here to argue with me, a third degree black belt who did martial arts for thirteen years. You didn’t stop and consider that my lived experience regarding this subject might be slightly more extensive than yours. Also, you’re relying on confirmation bias to support your point.

Your ideology as expressed in the ask you’ve submitted gears itself toward denying that any natural advantages exist outside of those gifted by size and the upper body’s musculature. Which is, sadly, incorrect. Biologically, it is true that male and female bodies aren’t the same. Historically, in Western countries, we haven’t truly explored the advantages gifted by female bodies, we know remarkably little about female bodies in general. This is largely due to the fact that society is geared toward maintaining male as default. Science knows more about how to give you an erection than it does my period.

However, the gap isn’t as massive as some would like to believe. Different isn’t less.

There are quite a few countries outside the West where the concept of women fighting isn’t alien, or even up for debate. Their history is filled with female rulers, female politicians and power brokers, women going into battle, and practicing martial arts. They’ve even founded martial arts. Europe’s is too, they’re just a little more difficult to locate.

“Women can’t fight” is a cultural invention. Pop culture still largely supports a majority white male default, but that isn’t reality.

“or have never wrestled with someone of the opposite sex.”

Your only example for this is limited to a singular instance, so we’re going to take this with a grain of salt. I can tell you’ve never wrestled with anyone who knows what they’re doing because you put way too much importance on height, specifically being taller than your opponent. Height is actually a detriment against someone who knows how to manipulate it into a particular disadvantage, one that gives an advantage to the biologically female body, we’ll get to that in a second.

Female martial artists regularly practice against men, usually men of all ages because there just aren’t enough participants to break down evenly by sex/gender. If they start young, they’ve been practicing against larger opponents for most of their life. (The same is true for young boys too.)

“I had a girlfriend who was extremely athletic,”

So, being athletic doesn’t mean jack shit. That’s true for both genders. The type of muscles you develop heavily depends on the type of sports you do. In addition, the vast majority of people are completely reliant on their upper body. The upper body strength contest is where men have a natural advantage, they’re better at building muscles in the upper body where women build up muscle more quickly in their core and their legs. Depending on how tall the man in question is, he’ll also start with a leverage advantage. He’s going down, while his shorter opponent is going up.

Both these advantages are nullified by martial arts and completely non-existent against someone who practices wrestling. I don’t mean “wrestling” as in grabbing someone and hauling them around the yard, or professional wrestling which involves professional stuntmen performing choreographed fights, I mean wrestling the sport. This will be covered in the grappling side of martial arts like jiu-jitsu, judo, etc.

Anyone who practices wrestling will perk up when you say, “I’m 6”4” and rub their hands with glee. They all know it’s the short wiry fucks you’ve got to watch out for.

Glee was my response at hearing about your height, by the way.

“but had only ever played on all-female teams, and her little brothers were very young so she could throw them around.”

I find it hilarious that you and your ex engaged in the exact same tactics when it came to the fake wrestling and you came away thinking there was a real difference between you. All your anecdote proved was two humans engage in the same natural behavior. Which is why we tell our that training matters. Neither you nor your ex have any idea about how to utilize your lower body or attack your opponent’s center of balance. Or, you know, leverage. That’s completely normal for untrained people.

In comparison, every one of my boyfriends except Starke have all failed to hold on to me in any meaningful fashion. I had an ex who always tried to playfight and pin in bed. Did it work? No. The answer to this one isn’t strength, it’s knowledge and technique. I know how to grapple and practice wrist releases, he didn’t. I don’t need to be stronger when I can be bendy and slippery instead. There’s no need to force anything.

“I’m 6’ 4″, and she honestly thought she could hold her own against me.”

So, let me explain what happened with your ex. She played sports, which is a confidence builder, especially if you’re good at it, and she’s gotten a lot of dopamine hits from adrenaline. Adrenaline makes you feel good, it makes you feel strong and tough. Both built an overweening sense of confidence that ultimately proved false. That’s a human thing, not a gender/sex thing. This happens all the time to men too. Plenty of guys who scrap in high school think they know how to fight. They don’t. Hell, in the scenario provided, she’s not any different from my high school ex who liked to kick other guys in the balls. He only kind of knew how to use his legs because soccer, and only in the way soccer taught him. (His kicks were cringe.)

Height is physically intimidating to most people, but only because they haven’t spent most of their life physically tackling taller people. The irony is that tall people have a whole slew of disadvantages that make them more easy to deal with than humans of average size or those who are short. In male bodies, the center of gravity is higher due to hip position. The center of gravity in biologically female bodies is lower, meaning they have an easier time maintaining their balance.

Taller people have to get much lower to the ground to maintain stability, they’re easier to knock over, destabilize, and throw. Their limbs are also longer which makes it much easier to perform joint breaks. Humans with high levels of muscular definition provide you with visual lines straight to all their pressure points. Pressure points are more difficult to locate in biologically female bodies due to the subcutaneous layer of fat.

If you don’t believe me, I encourage you to join any judo or jiu-jitsu dojo. Have fun learning how difficult throwing a five foot, ninety-pound girl can be. (Damn you, Kristen.)

The sexes aren’t as different as you’d like to believe. The real problem for you is your lack of self-confidence, especially when it comes to your masculinity.

What does it matter that your ex believed she could overpower you?

Why does the fact she had confidence in herself and her own abilities bother you?

Why did it irritate or anger that she didn’t automatically acknowledge your (supposed) superiority?

Why do you need to feel superior?

Healthy relationships are built on mutual regard, understanding, and respect. You obviously didn’t respect your partner’s passion for sports or see it’s value, so it’s not surprising you broke up. All girls who practice sports have heard the whiny bullshit about how they’re not as good as men, how their achievements are meaningless because they’re not men, and how they’ll always be second class. You’re not telling your ex or me anything we haven’t heard hundreds of times before. Thousands, probably.

You know who I never heard that bullshit from? My martial arts instructors. I’ve trained with a lot of men over the years and it never came up, not once. There was no, “boys are better.” They never needed to put down others, exert their superiority, or exclude in order to feel confident and comfortable with themselves. They didn’t need the clubhouse. And, honestly, neither do you.

Let it go.

-Michi

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We See These Misogynistic Idiots in Our Inbox Occasionally was originally published on How to Fight Write.

#fightwrite answers #michi answers #misogyny is a poor way to deal with a breakup #was that supposed to be a threat?#writing advice #writing reference

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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The Green Knight and Medieval Metatextuality: An Essay

Right, so. Finally watched it last night, and I’ve been thinking about it literally ever since, except for the part where I was asleep. As I said to fellow medievalist and admirer of Dev Patel @oldshrewsburyian, it’s possibly the most fascinating piece of medieval-inspired media that I’ve seen in ages, and how refreshing to have something in this genre that actually rewards critical thought and deep analysis, rather than me just fulminating fruitlessly about how popular media thinks that slapping blood, filth, and misogyny onto some swords and castles is “historically accurate.” I read a review of TGK somewhere that described it as the anti-Game of Thrones, and I’m inclined to think that’s accurate. I didn’t agree with all of the film’s tonal, thematic, or interpretative choices, but I found them consistently stylish, compelling, and subversive in ways both small and large, and I’m gonna have to write about it or I’ll go crazy. So. Brace yourselves.

(Note: My PhD is in medieval history, not medieval literature, and I haven’t worked on SGGK specifically, but I am familiar with it, its general cultural context, and the historical influences, images, and debates that both the poem and the film referenced and drew upon, so that’s where this meta is coming from.)

First, obviously, while the film is not a straight-up text-to-screen version of the poem (though it is by and large relatively faithful), it is a multi-layered meta-text that comments on the original Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the archetypes of chivalric literature as a whole, modern expectations for medieval films, the hero’s journey, the requirements of being an “honorable knight,” and the nature of death, fate, magic, and religion, just to name a few. Given that the Arthurian legendarium, otherwise known as the Matter of Britain, was written and rewritten over several centuries by countless authors, drawing on and changing and hybridizing interpretations that sometimes challenged or outright contradicted earlier versions, it makes sense for the film to chart its own path and make its own adaptational decisions as part of this multivalent, multivocal literary canon. Sir Gawain himself is a canonically and textually inconsistent figure; in the movie, the characters merrily pronounce his name in several different ways, most notably as Sean Harris/King Arthur’s somewhat inexplicable “Garr-win.” He might be a man without a consistent identity, but that’s pointed out within the film itself. What has he done to define himself, aside from being the king’s nephew? Is his quixotic quest for the Green Knight actually going to resolve the question of his identity and his honor – and if so, is it even going to matter, given that successful completion of the “game” seemingly equates with death?

Likewise, as the anti-Game of Thrones, the film is deliberately and sometimes maddeningly non-commercial. For an adaptation coming from a studio known primarily for horror, it almost completely eschews the cliché that gory bloodshed equals authentic medievalism; the only graphic scene is the Green Knight’s original beheading. The violence is only hinted at, subtextual, suspenseful; it is kept out of sight, around the corner, never entirely played out or resolved. In other words, if anyone came in thinking that they were going to watch Dev Patel luridly swashbuckle his way through some CGI monsters like bad Beowulf adaptations of yore, they were swiftly disappointed. In fact, he seems to spend most of his time being wet, sad, and failing to meet the moment at hand (with a few important exceptions).

The film unhurriedly evokes a medieval setting that is both surreal and defiantly non-historical. We travel (in roughly chronological order) from Anglo-Saxon huts to Romanesque halls to high-Gothic cathedrals to Tudor villages and half-timbered houses, culminating in the eerie neo-Renaissance splendor of the Lord and Lady’s hall, before returning to the ancient trees of the Green Chapel and its immortal occupant: everything that has come before has now returned to dust. We have been removed even from imagined time and place and into a moment where it ceases to function altogether. We move forward, backward, and sideways, as Gawain experiences past, present, and future in unison. He is dislocated from his own sense of himself, just as we, the viewers, are dislocated from our sense of what is the “true” reality or filmic narrative; what we think is real turns out not to be the case at all. If, of course, such a thing even exists at all.

This visual evocation of the entire medieval era also creates a setting that, unlike GOT, takes pride in rejecting absolutely all political context or Machiavellian maneuvering. The film acknowledges its own cultural ubiquity and the question of whether we really need yet another King Arthur adaptation: none of the characters aside from Gawain himself are credited by name. We all know it’s Arthur, but he’s listed only as “king.” We know the spooky druid-like old man with the white beard is Merlin, but it’s never required to spell it out. The film gestures at our pre-existing understanding; it relies on us to fill in the gaps, cuing us to collaboratively produce the story with it, positioning us as listeners as if we were gathered to hear the original poem. Just like fanfiction, it knows that it doesn’t need to waste time introducing every single character or filling in ultimately unnecessary background knowledge, when the audience can be relied upon to bring their own.

As for that, the film explicitly frames itself as a “filmed adaptation of the chivalric romance” in its opening credits, and continues to play with textual referents and cues throughout: telling us where we are, what’s happening, or what’s coming next, rather like the rubrics or headings within a medieval manuscript. As noted, its historical/architectural references span the entire medieval European world, as does its costume design. I was particularly struck by the fact that Arthur and Guinevere’s crowns resemble those from illuminated monastic manuscripts or Eastern Orthodox iconography: they are both crown and halo, they confer an air of both secular kingship and religious sanctity. The question in the film’s imagined epilogue thus becomes one familiar to Shakespeare’s Henry V: heavy is the head that wears the crown. Does Gawain want to earn his uncle’s crown, take over his place as king, bear the fate of Camelot, become a great ruler, a husband and father in ways that even Arthur never did, only to see it all brought to dust by his cowardice, his reliance on unscrupulous sorcery, and his unfulfilled promise to the Green Knight? Is it better to have that entire life and then lose it, or to make the right choice now, even if it means death?

Likewise, Arthur’s kingly mantle is Byzantine in inspiration, as is the icon of the Virgin Mary-as-Theotokos painted on Gawain’s shield (which we see broken apart during the attack by the scavengers). The film only glances at its religious themes rather than harping on them explicitly; we do have the cliché scene of the male churchmen praying for Gawain’s safety, opposite Gawain’s mother and her female attendants working witchcraft to protect him. (When oh when will I get my film that treats medieval magic and medieval religion as the complementary and co-existing epistemological systems that they were, rather than portraying them as diametrically binary and disparagingly gendered opposites?) But despite the interim setbacks borne from the failure of Christian icons, the overall resolution of the film could serve as the culmination of a medieval Christian morality tale: Gawain can buy himself a great future in the short term if he relies on the protection of the enchanted green belt to avoid the Green Knight’s killing stroke, but then he will have to watch it all crumble until he is sitting alone in his own hall, his children dead and his kingdom destroyed, as a headless corpse who only now has been brave enough to accept his proper fate. By removing the belt from his person in the film’s Inception-like final scene, he relinquishes the taint of black magic and regains his religious honor, even at the likely cost of death. That, the medieval Christian morality tale would agree, is the correct course of action.

Gawain’s encounter with St. Winifred likewise presents a more subtle vision of medieval Christianity. Winifred was an eighth-century Welsh saint known for being beheaded, after which (by the power of another saint) her head was miraculously restored to her body and she went on to live a long and holy life. It doesn’t quite work that way in TGK. (St Winifred’s Well is mentioned in the original SGGK, but as far as I recall, Gawain doesn’t meet the saint in person.) In the film, Gawain encounters Winifred’s lifelike apparition, who begs him to dive into the mere and retrieve her head (despite appearances, she warns him, it is not attached to her body). This fits into the pattern of medieval ghost stories, where the dead often return to entreat the living to help them finish their business; they must be heeded, but when they are encountered in places they shouldn’t be, they must be put back into their proper physical space and reminded of their real fate. Gawain doesn’t follow William of Newburgh’s practical recommendation to just fetch some brawny young men with shovels to beat the wandering corpse back into its grave. Instead, in one of his few moments of unqualified heroism, he dives into the dark water and retrieves Winifred’s skull from the bottom of the lake. Then when he returns to the house, he finds the rest of her skeleton lying in the bed where he was earlier sleeping, and carefully reunites the skull with its body, finally allowing it to rest in peace.

However, Gawain’s involvement with Winifred doesn’t end there. The fox that he sees on the bank after emerging with her skull, who then accompanies him for the rest of the film, is strongly implied to be her spirit, or at least a companion that she has sent for him. Gawain has handled a saint’s holy bones; her relics, which were well known to grant protection in the medieval world. He has done the saint a service, and in return, she extends her favor to him. At the end of the film, the fox finally speaks in a human voice, warning him not to proceed to the fateful final encounter with the Green Knight; it will mean his death. The symbolism of having a beheaded saint serve as Gawain’s guide and protector is obvious, since it is the fate that may or may not lie in store for him. As I said, the ending is Inception-like in that it steadfastly refuses to tell you if the hero is alive (or will live) or dead (or will die). In the original SGGK, of course, the Green Knight and the Lord turn out to be the same person, Gawain survives, it was all just a test of chivalric will and honor, and a trap put together by Morgan Le Fay in an attempt to frighten Guinevere. It’s essentially able to be laughed off: a game, an adventure, not real. TGK takes this paradigm and flips it (to speak…) on its head.

Gawain’s rescue of Winifred’s head also rewards him in more immediate terms: his/the Green Knight’s axe, stolen by the scavengers, is miraculously restored to him in her cottage, immediately and concretely demonstrating the virtue of his actions. This is one of the points where the film most stubbornly resists modern storytelling conventions: it simply refuses to add in any kind of “rational” or “empirical” explanation of how else it got there, aside from the grace and intercession of the saint. This is indeed how it works in medieval hagiography: things simply reappear, are returned, reattached, repaired, made whole again, and Gawain’s lost weapon is thus restored, symbolizing that he has passed the test and is worthy to continue with the quest. The film’s narrative is not modernizing its underlying medieval logic here, and it doesn’t particularly care if a modern audience finds it “convincing” or not. As noted, the film never makes any attempt to temporalize or localize itself; it exists in a determinedly surrealist and ahistorical landscape, where naked female giants who look suspiciously like Tilda Swinton roam across the wild with no necessary explanation. While this might be frustrating for some people, I actually found it a huge relief that a clearly fantastic and fictional literary adaptation was not acting like it was qualified to teach “real history” to its audience. Nobody would come out of TGK thinking that they had seen the “actual” medieval world, and since we have enough of a problem with that sort of thing thanks to GOT, I for one welcome the creation of a medieval imaginative space that embraces its eccentric and unrealistic elements, rather than trying to fit them into the Real Life box.

This plays into the fact that the film, like a reused medieval manuscript containing more than one text, is a palimpsest: for one, it audaciously rewrites the entire Arthurian canon in the wordless vision of Gawain’s life after escaping the Green Knight (I could write another meta on that dream-epilogue alone). It moves fluidly through time and creates alternate universes in at least two major points: one, the scene where Gawain is tied up and abandoned by the scavengers and that long circling shot reveals his skeletal corpse rotting on the sward, only to return to our original universe as Gawain decides that he doesn’t want that fate, and two, Gawain as King. In this alternate ending, Arthur doesn’t die in battle with Mordred, but peaceably in bed, having anointed his worthy nephew as his heir. Gawain becomes king, has children, gets married, governs Camelot, becomes a ruler surpassing even Arthur, but then watches his son get killed in battle, his subjects turn on him, and his family vanish into the dust of his broken hall before he himself, in despair, pulls the enchanted scarf out of his clothing and succumbs to his fate.

In this version, Gawain takes on the responsibility for the fall of Camelot, not Arthur. This is the hero’s burden, but he’s obtained it dishonorably, by cheating. It is a vivid but mimetic future which Gawain (to all appearances) ultimately rejects, returning the film to the realm of traditional Arthurian canon – but not quite. After all, if Gawain does get beheaded after that final fade to black, it would represent a significant alteration from the poem and the character’s usual arc. Are we back in traditional canon or aren’t we? Did Gawain reject that future or didn’t he? Do all these alterities still exist within the visual medium of the meta-text, and have any of them been definitely foreclosed?

Furthermore, the film interrogates itself and its own tropes in explicit and overt ways. In Gawain’s conversation with the Lord, the Lord poses the question that many members of the audience might have: is Gawain going to carry out this potentially pointless and suicidal quest and then be an honorable hero, just like that? What is he actually getting by staggering through assorted Irish bogs and seeming to reject, rather than embrace, the paradigms of a proper quest and that of an honorable knight? He lies about being a knight to the scavengers, clearly out of fear, and ends up cravenly bound and robbed rather than fighting back. He denies knowing anything about love to the Lady (played by Alicia Vikander, who also plays his lover at the start of the film with a decidedly ropey Yorkshire accent, sorry to say). He seems to shrink from the responsibility thrust on him, rather than rise to meet it (his only honorable act, retrieving Winifred’s head, is discussed above) and yet here he still is, plugging away. Why is he doing this? What does he really stand to gain, other than accepting a choice and its consequences (somewhat?) The film raises these questions, but it has no plans to answer them. It’s going to leave you to think about them for yourself, and it isn’t going to spoon-feed you any ultimate moral or neat resolution. In this interchange, it’s easy to see both the echoes of a formal dialogue between two speakers (a favored medieval didactic tactic) and the broader purpose of chivalric literature: to interrogate what it actually means to be a knight, how personal honor is generated, acquired, and increased, and whether engaging in these pointless and bloody “war games” is actually any kind of real path to lasting glory.

The film’s treatment of race, gender, and queerness obviously also merits comment. By casting Dev Patel, an Indian-born actor, as an Arthurian hero, the film is… actually being quite accurate to the original legends, doubtless much to the disappointment of assorted internet racists. The thirteenth-century Arthurian romance Parzival (Percival) by the German poet Wolfram von Eschenbach notably features the character of Percival’s mixed-race half-brother, Feirefiz, son of their father by his first marriage to a Muslim princess. Feirefiz is just as heroic as Percival (Gawaine, for the record, also plays a major role in the story) and assists in the quest for the Holy Grail, though it takes his conversion to Christianity for him to properly behold it.

By introducing Patel (and Sarita Chowdhury as Morgause) to the visual representation of Arthuriana, the film quietly does away with the “white Middle Ages” cliché that I have complained about ad nauseam; we see background Asian and black members of Camelot, who just exist there without having to conjure up some complicated rationale to explain their presence. The Lady also uses a camera obscura to make Gawain’s portrait. Contrary to those who might howl about anachronism, this technique was known in China as early as the fourth century BCE and the tenth/eleventh century Islamic scholar Ibn al-Haytham was probably the best-known medieval authority to write on it extensively; Latin translations of his work inspired European scientists from Roger Bacon to Leonardo da Vinci. Aside from the symbolism of an upside-down Gawain (and when he sees the portrait again during the ‘fall of Camelot’, it is right-side-up, representing that Gawain himself is in an upside-down world), this presents a subtle challenge to the prevailing Eurocentric imagination of the medieval world, and draws on other global influences.

As for gender, we have briefly touched on it above; in the original SGGK, Gawain’s entire journey is revealed to be just a cruel trick of Morgan Le Fay, simply trying to destabilize Arthur’s court and upset his queen. (Morgan is the old blindfolded woman who appears in the Lord and Lady’s castle and briefly approaches Gawain, but her identity is never explicitly spelled out.) This is, obviously, an implicitly misogynistic setup: an evil woman plays a trick on honorable men for the purpose of upsetting another woman, the honorable men overcome it, the hero survives, and everyone presumably lives happily ever after (at least until Mordred arrives).

Instead, by plunging the outcome into doubt and the hero into a much darker and more fallible moral universe, TGK shifts the blame for Gawain’s adventure and ultimate fate from Morgan to Gawain himself. Likewise, Guinevere is not the passive recipient of an evil deception but in a way, the catalyst for the whole thing. She breaks the seal on the Green Knight’s message with a weighty snap; she becomes the oracle who reads it out, she is alarming rather than alarmed, she disrupts the complacency of the court and silently shows up all the other knights who refuse to step forward and answer the Green Knight’s challenge. Gawain is not given the ontological reassurance that it’s just a practical joke and he’s going to be fine (and thanks to the unresolved ending, neither are we). The film instead takes the concept at face value in order to push the envelope and ask the simple question: if a man was going to be actually-for-real beheaded in a year, why would he set out on a suicidal quest? Would you, in Gawain’s place, make the same decision to cast aside the enchanted belt and accept your fate? Has he made his name, will he be remembered well? What is his legacy?

Indeed, if there is any hint of feminine connivance and manipulation, it arrives in the form of the implication that Gawain’s mother has deliberately summoned the Green Knight to test her son, prove his worth, and position him as his childless uncle’s heir; she gives him the protective belt to make sure he won’t actually die, and her intention all along was for the future shown in the epilogue to truly play out (minus the collapse of Camelot). Only Gawain loses the belt thanks to his cowardice in the encounter with the scavengers, regains it in a somewhat underhanded and morally questionable way when the Lady is attempting to seduce him, and by ultimately rejecting it altogether and submitting to his uncertain fate, totally mucks up his mother’s painstaking dynastic plans for his future. In this reading, Gawain could be king, and his mother’s efforts are meant to achieve that goal, rather than thwart it. He is thus required to shoulder his own responsibility for this outcome, rather than conveniently pawning it off on an “evil woman,” and by extension, the film asks the question: What would the world be like if men, especially those who make war on others as a way of life, were actually forced to face the consequences of their reckless and violent actions? Is it actually a “game” in any sense of the word, especially when chivalric literature is constantly preoccupied with the question of how much glorious violence is too much glorious violence? If you structure social prestige for the king and the noble male elite entirely around winning battles and existing in a state of perpetual war, when does that begin to backfire and devour the knightly class – and the rest of society – instead?

This leads into the central theme of Gawain’s relationships with the Lord and Lady, and how they’re treated in the film. The poem has been repeatedly studied in terms of its latent (and sometimes… less than latent) queer subtext: when the Lord asks Gawain to pay back to him whatever he should receive from his wife, does he already know what this involves; i.e. a physical and romantic encounter? When the Lady gives kisses to Gawain, which he is then obliged to return to the Lord as a condition of the agreement, is this all part of a dastardly plot to seduce him into a kinky green-themed threesome with a probably-not-human married couple looking to spice up their sex life? Why do we read the Lady’s kisses to Gawain as romantic but Gawain’s kisses to the Lord as filial, fraternal, or the standard “kiss of peace” exchanged between a liege lord and his vassal? Is Gawain simply being a dutiful guest by honoring the bargain with his host, actually just kissing the Lady again via the proxy of her husband, or somewhat more into this whole thing with the Lord than he (or the poet) would like to admit? Is the homosocial turning homoerotic, and how is Gawain going to navigate this tension and temptation?

If the question is never resolved: well, welcome to one of the central medieval anxieties about chivalry, knighthood, and male bonds! As I have written about before, medieval society needed to simultaneously exalt this as the most honored and noble form of love, and make sure it didn’t accidentally turn sexual (once again: how much male love is too much male love?). Does the poem raise the possibility of serious disruption to the dominant heteronormative paradigm, only to solve the problem by interpreting the Gawain/Lady male/female kisses as romantic and sexual and the Gawain/Lord male/male kisses as chaste and formal? In other words, acknowledging the underlying anxiety of possible homoeroticism but ultimately reasserting the heterosexual norm? The answer: Probably?!?! Maybe?!?! Hell if we know??! To say the least, this has been argued over to no end, and if you locked a lot of medieval history/literature scholars into a room and told them that they couldn’t come out until they decided on one clear answer, they would be in there for a very long time. The poem seemingly invokes the possibility of a queer reading only to reject it – but once again, as in the question of which canon we end up in at the film’s end, does it?

In some lights, the film’s treatment of this potential queer reading comes off like a cop-out: there is only one kiss between Gawain and the Lord, and it is something that the Lord has to initiate after Gawain has already fled the hall. Gawain himself appears to reject it; he tells the Lord to let go of him and runs off into the wilderness, rather than deal with or accept whatever has been suggested to him. However, this fits with film!Gawain’s pattern of rejecting that which fundamentally makes him who he is; like Peter in the Bible, he has now denied the truth three times. With the scavengers he denies being a knight; with the Lady he denies knowing about courtly love; with the Lord he denies the central bond of brotherhood with his fellows, whether homosocial or homoerotic in nature. I would go so far as to argue that if Gawain does die at the end of the film, it is this rejected kiss which truly seals his fate. In the poem, the Lord and the Green Knight are revealed to be the same person; in the film, it’s not clear if that’s the case, or they are separate characters, even if thematically interrelated. If we assume, however, that the Lord is in fact still the human form of the Green Knight, then Gawain has rejected both his kiss of peace (the standard gesture of protection offered from lord to vassal) and any deeper emotional bond that it can be read to signify. The Green Knight could decide to spare Gawain in recognition of the courage he has shown in relinquishing the enchanted belt – or he could just as easily decide to kill him, which he is legally free to do since Gawain has symbolically rejected the offer of brotherhood, vassalage, or knight-bonding by his unwise denial of the Lord’s freely given kiss. Once again, the film raises the overall thematic and moral question and then doesn’t give one straight (ahem) answer. As with the medieval anxieties and chivalric texts that it is based on, it invokes the specter of queerness and then doesn’t neatly resolve it. As a modern audience, we find this unsatisfying, but once again, the film is refusing to conform to our expectations.

As has been said before, there is so much kissing between men in medieval contexts, both ceremonial and otherwise, that we’re left to wonder: “is it gay or is it feudalism?” Is there an overtly erotic element in Gawain and the Green Knight’s mutual “beheading” of each other (especially since in the original version, this frees the Lord from his curse, functioning like a true love’s kiss in a fairytale). While it is certainly possible to argue that the film has “straightwashed” its subject material by removing the entire sequence of kisses between Gawain and the Lord and the unresolved motives for their existence, it is a fairly accurate, if condensed, representation of the anxieties around medieval knightly bonds and whether, as Carolyn Dinshaw put it, a (male/male) “kiss is just a kiss.” After all, the kiss between Gawain and the Lady is uncomplicatedly read as sexual/romantic, and that context doesn’t go away when Gawain is kissing the Lord instead. Just as with its multiple futurities, the film leaves the question open-ended. Is it that third and final denial that seals Gawain’s fate, and if so, is it asking us to reflect on why, specifically, he does so?

The film could play with both this question and its overall tone quite a bit more: it sometimes comes off as a grim, wooden, over-directed Shakespearean tragedy, rather than incorporating the lively and irreverent tone that the poem often takes. It’s almost totally devoid of humor, which is unfortunate, and the Grim Middle Ages aesthetic is in definite evidence. Nonetheless, because of the comprehensive de-historicizing and the obvious lack of effort to claim the film as any sort of authentic representation of the medieval past, it works. We are not meant to understand this as a historical document, and so we have to treat it on its terms, by its own logic, and by its own frames of reference. In some ways, its consistent opacity and its refusal to abide by modern rules and common narrative conventions is deliberately meant to challenge us: as before, when we recognize Arthur, Merlin, the Round Table, and the other stock characters because we know them already and not because the film tells us so, we have to fill in the gaps ourselves. We are watching the film not because it tells us a simple adventure story – there is, as noted, shockingly little action overall – but because we have to piece together the metatext independently and ponder the philosophical questions that it leaves us with. What conclusion do we reach? What canon do we settle in? What future or resolution is ultimately made real? That, the film says, it can’t decide for us. As ever, it is up to future generations to carry on the story, and decide how, if at all, it is going to survive.

(And to close, I desperately want them to make my much-coveted Bisclavret adaptation now in more or less the same style, albeit with some tweaks. Please.)

Further Reading

Ailes, Marianne J. ‘The Medieval Male Couple and the Language of Homosociality’, in Masculinity in Medieval Europe, ed. by Dawn M. Hadley (Harlow: Longman, 1999), pp. 214–37.

Ashton, Gail. ‘The Perverse Dynamics of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Arthuriana 15 (2005), 51–74.

Boyd, David L. ‘Sodomy, Misogyny, and Displacement: Occluding Queer Desire in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Arthuriana 8 (1998), 77–113.

Busse, Peter. ‘The Poet as Spouse of his Patron: Homoerotic Love in Medieval Welsh and Irish Poetry?’, Studi Celtici 2 (2003), 175–92.

Dinshaw, Carolyn. ‘A Kiss Is Just a Kiss: Heterosexuality and Its Consolations in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Diacritics 24 (1994), 205–226.

Kocher, Suzanne. ‘Gay Knights in Medieval French Fiction: Constructs of Queerness and Non-Transgression’, Mediaevalia 29 (2008), 51–66.

Karras, Ruth Mazo. ‘Knighthood, Compulsory Heterosexuality, and Sodomy’ in The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, ed. Matthew Kuefler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 273–86.

Kuefler, Matthew. ‘Male Friendship and the Suspicion of Sodomy in Twelfth-Century France’, in The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, ed. Matthew Kuefler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 179–214.

McVitty, E. Amanda, ‘False Knights and True Men: Contesting Chivalric Masculinity in English Treason Trials, 1388–1415,’ Journal of Medieval History 40 (2014), 458–77.

Mieszkowski, Gretchen. ‘The Prose Lancelot's Galehot, Malory's Lavain, and the Queering of Late Medieval Literature’, Arthuriana 5 (1995), 21–51.

Moss, Rachel E. ‘ “And much more I am soryat for my good knyghts’ ”: Fainting, Homosociality, and Elite Male Culture in Middle English Romance’, Historical Reflections / Réflexions historiques 42 (2016), 101–13.

Zeikowitz, Richard E. ‘Befriending the Medieval Queer: A Pedagogy for Literature Classes’, College English 65 (2002), 67–80.

#the green knight #the green knight meta #sir gawain and the green knight #medieval literature #medieval history #this meta is goddamn 5.2k words #and has its own reading list #i uh #said i had a lot of thoughts?

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heauxplesslydevoted · 3 years

Text

Then & Now (Ethan x MC)

Summary: A particularly difficult case forces Ethan to confront a blast from his past

A/N: This popped into my head and I had too much fun writing it. I will loosely incorporate some of the themes from book 3 and make them better, but this is mostly an AU.

A/N 2: Yes I’m writing another multipart fic while actively ignoring my others. The muses spoke and I had no choice in the matter. Enjoy!

~v~

“Would you like some more coffee, Dr. Ramsey?”

Whatever line he was reading in his textbook blurs as does his vision. Ethan looks up at the face of the newest member of the team, a young resident, Isabelle. He takes the cup, not missing the way her eyes light up as he does so. What is it with residents and their incessant need to kiss-ass and be people pleasers?

“Thank you, Dr. Proctor.”

“Of course! I figured we’d need all the caffeine we could get our hands on with this case.”

Ethan doesn’t respond with words, only offering the young woman a hum in acknowledgement. Instead his eyes land on his coworker, Harper Emery. “Harper, has your team been able to come up with anything new?”

“Nothing,” Harper replies with a resigned sigh.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’ve run as many tests, MRIs and CT scans as I could, and none of them came back with anything conclusive. We’re officially back to square one.”

Ethan hasn’t been this stumped in years. A week ago, a patient came to Edenbrook after waking up without being able to feel anything from the waist down. A young, relatively healthy 25 year old with no extraordinary medical history, no recent reports of any TBI, nothing. He assumed with Harper–one of the nation’s greatest neurosurgeons–on the case, that this would be a simple fix.

As painful as it is to admit, he’s wrong.

They’ve gotten nowhere with the case, they’ve made no progress, and to make matters worse, he has Leland Bloom and the board breathing down his neck because it’s been years since the team has spent more than a week on a case, so a week with no news reflects poorly on them—on him, as the team’s leader specifically.

The last member of the team, Tobias, clears his throat. “Did he ever mention getting into a fight? Maybe he took a hit to the head, and just doesn’t want to admit it?”

“Maybe, but like I said, none of the CT scans or MRIs showed me anything out of the norm,” Harper says. “I can always ask him again.”

“That’d be ideal–”

Ethan’s sentence is cut off as the door to their office is thrown open, and in walks Leland. “Hello, team!”

The most senior members of the team stay silent, but Isabelle gives a slight wave. “Hello, Mr. Bloom.”

“Dr. Proctor,” Leland greets in turn. “Nice to know at least one of you has manners.”

Ethan checks the time on his watch. “What are you doing here, Bloom?”

“Last time I checked, I owned this entire building and I didn’t need to ask your permission to be here.”

“We’re nearing midnight,” Ethan adds. “What are you still doing here, and not at home? I’m sure Mrs. Bloom would enjoy seeing you.”

Leland ignores the mention of his wife Caroline, pretending like she wasn’t mentioned at all. “I just stopped by your patient’s room to see how he was doing. And then I decided to drop by to check in with you guys. Are there any updates on the Miller case?”

“I’m not discussing patient information with you,” Ethan says.

“Well, I am your boss.”

“And until you go to medical school, graduate, become a doctor at this hospital, and join in on this case, I don’t have to tell you anything. You may own this hospital, but I do not have to discuss my patients with you.”

“Okay, so you guys have no new information,” Leland concludes.

Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance, this conversation giving him a headache even though it just started. “We were actually in the middle of a brainstorming session before we were interrupted, so if we could have some privacy again, that would be much appreciated.”

Ethan’s tone causes Leland to drop the veneer of kindness, the smile dropping from his face only for a second before he catches it. He looks away and sniffs haughtily. “Fine. I’ll check in with the patient tomorrow for a status update, since it’s clear I won’t be getting it from my employees. Thankfully, his father and I go way back.”

“I can’t stop the patient from divulging his own information.”

Leland glances around the room one more time, his gaze lingering on Ethan a bit longer than it does on the other occupants. “Goodnight, doctors.”

Once Leland leaves, Harper turns towards Ethan. “You act like it would literally kill you to be nice to him.”

“Be nice for what? Bloom thinks we owe him undying loyalty and infinite ass kissing because he bought the hospital. He’s pulled a lot of nonsense since moving into this position, but he’s not worth breaking any laws over. My patients deserve their privacy.”

“And I agree, but the extra hostility isn’t needed. The last thing we need is World War 3 with you and Bloom tearing down the hospital. Just be nice.”

“Okay, are we getting back to work or calling it a night?”

The rest of the team glances around each other. Pulling an all-nighter with Ethan while he’s in a foul mood sounds like a nightmare.

“We’re calling it a night.”

~v~

Ethan ends up falling asleep in the office, finally dozing off around 5 o'clock in the morning, surrounded by a mountain of books and the harsh light of his computer screen. The sleep is short lived though as the sound of his pager wakes him up.

He jumps up with a start, and checks the time on his watch before checking his pager. He only managed to get two hours of sleep, but he can’t dwell on that. The page is a 911 alert to his patient’s room.

“Shit!”

He takes off to the 4th floor where his patient is housed, thankful that the early morning hour means the hospital is not yet flooded with people.

Isabelle, Harper, and a nurse are already in the room when Ethan finally makes it. “What’s going on?”

“He had a seizure,” Harper explains.

“How long did it last?”

“Around 50 seconds. We administered lorazepam into his IV.”

“Could this be a new symptom?” Valencia asks. “Or something else entirely?”

Harper shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’m going to take him down to radiology for another CT scan. Hopefully this next one can actually yield some results.”

Ethan nods. “That sounds like a plan. In the meantime, Dr. Proctor, add seizures onto the list of symptoms to broaden our search criteria. Maybe that’ll help.”

“Gotcha.”

“We’ll reconvene when Tobias comes in and once we get the new CT scans back.”

There’s a knock at the door and Ethan bristles when Leland’s loud voice calls out to him. “Dr. Ramsey, can I speak to you out in the hallway?”

“With all due respect, I’d rather not.”

“It wasn’t a request, doctor. Hallway, now.”

Ethan shoots Harper a look, and she gives him a quick sympathy smile before he and Leland step out into the hallway.

They move a few feet away from the patient’s door, out of earshot before Leland lays into Ethan. “How in the hell is the patient actually managing to get worse under your care?”

The question actually takes Ethan aback. “You can’t possibly be saying his condition is my fault?”

“I’m saying he’s been here for a week now, and he’s no better off than where he was. You don’t have any information to give him or his family. Do you know how many phone calls my assistant has had to field because they want to get him transferred to a different facility?”

“We are giving him the best care possible, Leland. Just because you and his father belong to the same country club or whatever, does not mean there’ll be some instant diagnosis or treatment that he can buy...or steal. We need to do our due diligence.”

Leland is smart enough to know when a dig is being lobbed in his direction. His eyes narrow. “What are you trying to say, Ethan?”

“Exactly what I just did. Besides, why do you have such a vested interest in my team and what we do? I’m sure you have other businesses and people to micromanage these days.”

“You guys don’t make me any money yet remain my biggest cost. The least you can do is be efficient and answer my questions when I ask.”

“And like I told you last night, I know you own this place. You never let me forget it. But you buying this hospital does not mean I am here at your beck and call, now does it mean I have to be governed under anything that isn’t set forth by the American Medical Association. Now, me team is the best this hospital and this city have to offer, so back up and let us do our jobs.”

“You guys are the best?” Leland chuckles humorlessly. “Act like it. Or I’ll find someone else who can.”

The threat causes Ethan to pause. “What does that mean?”

“You heard me loud and clear, Dr. Ramsey. Loud and clear.”

~v~

“You idiot! Why on earth would you get into a fight with Bloom in the middle of a hallway?”

Ethan doesn’t try to school his bored expression as Tobias paces the entire length of the office, huffing and puffing as he does so.

“I didn’t get into a fight with him,” Ethan amends. “It was an exchange of words.”

“A loud exchange of words,” Harper adds. “In front of our patient’s room, might I add.”

“I had plans for this day to be productive, but the minute that man opens his mouth, I just–”

“We get it, you don’t like him,” Tobias interjects.

“Disliking Leland is an understatement.”

Isabelle stays silent, unable to find a good place to cut in, despite having questions. Ethan’s dislike of Leland Bloom is the hospital’s worst kept secret, but the contention has always been passive aggressive at best. And as a second year resident, she doesn’t have any background knowledge on why the relationship is the way that it is.

“I don’t like him either, but you don’t see me needling him in front of the nurse’s station!”

“Sure Leland is...obnoxious at times, but I don’t understand any of it,” Isabelle says, finally speaking up. Ethan looks at her as if he’s just now remembering that she’s been in the room the entire time. “What happened that caused this much animosity?”

Leland’s kidney disease wasn’t a major secret. Most medical personnel that worked at Edenbrook and the larger Boston area remember the huge media blitz, and all of the pomp and circumstance surrounding his hospitalization early last year. And the official story is Leland got a kidney from a family member who wished to keep their identity a secret from the public, and everyone ate it up.

Only a handful of people know the truth. That a few well placed phone calls and dollars exchanged got Leland to the top of the donor list within a day, stealing a second chance from the true person at the top of the list: a 14 year old girl.

“So long as there is breath in my body, Leland Bloom and his ilk will never get an ounce of respect from me, and I’ll just leave it at that,” Ethan says cooly. “And that’s all you need to know, Dr. Proctor.”

“Okay.”

“I’m just saying man, Bloom is petty,” Tobias adds. “Men like him, who think the rest of us should bow at their feet, don’t take kindly to getting told off, especially in public. Underneath the billions is a tiny ass, fragile ego. Can you just keep a low profile and be quiet for the next day or two, so Bloom doesn’t dismantle this team?”

“I’ll be as cordial as Bloom is,” is what Ethan settles upon. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

The only thing that can rival Ethan’s intelligence is his stubbornness. Tobias knows it’s the best he’s going to get out of Ethan, so he relents. “Okay.”

“Good. Now can we get back to work and stop talking about Bloom?”

His team nods and Ethan sighs in relief.. They still have a chance to turn things around and actually have a good day.

They fall into a productive routine, tossing around different theories, sharing research and narrowing down ideas. Too bad that only lasts for about half an hour before there’s a knock at the office door. A few seconds later, Naveen pokes his head in.

Ethan smiles because part of him was expecting Leland to show up again. “Naveen, this is a nice surprise! Don’t tell me you’re ready to get back in the saddle.”

Naveen laughs good-naturedly at his mentee. “Not quite.”

“Well what brings you down here?”

“I wanted to talk to you for a second, Ethan,” Naveen says.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. It’s not about me, it’s work related. Team related news, that I wanted to tell you personally,” Naveen explains, fully entering the office. “Is there any way I could steal you for a few minutes?”

“If it involves the team, I think we can have the conversation here. Is this about my...spirited discussion with Leland?”

“No, it’s about the case you’re working on.”

“Now I know we don’t usually work on cases for this long, and we’re working on it.”

“I know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Leland has some concerns about how long it’s taking you guys to treat this patient, and he told me that he wants to outsource some extra help to speed things along.”

“No thank you.”

“He’s already made phone calls. I’m just here to give you a heads up about who he picked.”

“A heads up?” Ethan scoffs and rolls his eyes. Who on earth could Leland think of reaching out to that Ethan would need a warning about? “Who is he asking for? Mendoza from MK? Catherine Morgan from Stanford? The Boogeyman?”

“I don’t think I’ve reached Boogeyman levels of infamy. Well, at least not yet.”

The voice makes the hair on the back of Ethan’s neck stand up. It’s a voice he hasn’t heard in close to three years, one that he thought he’d never hear again.

His eyes snap up, locking with the large brown ones staring back at him, and all of the breath leaves his lungs at once. The last time he looked into these eyes, they weren’t full of humor like they are now, but pure fire. His chest constricts, inhaling suddenly the most difficult task in the world.

The entire room goes silent, everyone watching as Ethan and the woman stay locked in their staring contest. Isabelle’s eyes dart back and forth, hoping someone can clue her into what’s going on, but Naveen, Harper and Tobias offer zero assistance.

Isabelle takes the quiet time to appraise the stranger. She’s petite, almost a foot shorter than Ethan even with her sky high Jimmy Choos on. The second thing that catches her attention is the mess of dark curly hair spilling over her shoulders, and the amused smirk on her face, like a cat that got the canary.

The woman breaks eye contact with Ethan to look past his shoulder. “Harper, Tobias, hello. Long time no see.”

When he regains the ability to speak, Ethan grits out, “Naomi, what on earth are you doing here?”

“I got an interesting call from Leland Bloom this morning, saying that the diagnostics team was in dire need of some assistance on a particularly difficult case. Within the hour, his private helicopter was picking me up.”

Ethan takes a sterling’s breath and silently counts to 3 before talking again. “I’m not working with you.”

“You don’t have a choice. Not unless you quit.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Naomi rolls her eyes. “Drama was never a good look on you, darling, I was always better suited for it.” She turns her attention to the young resident gawking at her, turning on her megawatt smile. “You’re new. I don’t know you.”

“Um, n-no you don't. I’m Dr. Isabelle Proctor.”

“Isabelle,” Naomi repeats slowly, letting it roll off of her tongue. “What a pretty name.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m Dr. Naomi Ramsey.”

The last name catches her attention. Her eyes flicker over to Ethan’s face, catching the way his jaw ticks as female Dr. Ramsey talks.

“I can see the wheels turning in your head as I talk, so I’ll clear things up for you right quick,” Naomi continues. “No, the last name thing isn’t a coincidence. I’m Ethan’s ex-wife." She sticks out a hand for Isabelle to shake. "Nice to meet you.”

~v~

Tags: @openheartfanfics @mvalentine @choicesaddict5 @professorkingslay @maurine07 @aka-calliope @bluebellot @whimsicallywayward15 @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @cecilecontrera @thatysn @bellcat2010 @blainehellyes @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey @uneravine @choicest

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc

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undisputed-bucky · 3 years

Text

Dean Drabble!

NFSW MINORS DNI

Summary: Dean almost loses you on a mission and lets you know exactly how that makes him feel.

WARNINGS: SMUT SMUT SMUT, oral(m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it my lovelies), GUN KINK(reader has a gun pointed to her head most of this fic) . IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH GUNS OR ANY TYPE OF GUN PLAY DO NOT PROCEED.

Word Count: 1.6k ish

A/N: I have to thank @bucky-daddy for the ideas and inspiration for this! It was supposed to be just a little Drabble but it turned into a full one shot!! Again thank you @bucky-daddy for letting me scream about ideas while I wrote this! I hope you guys like it! I always appreciate likes, re blogs and comments! My requests are open as well!! Send me an ask or message and I’ll be happy to discuss ideas! Also I wrote this on my phone so I can’t add a page break so PLEASE BE AWARE OF THE WARNING I'VE PUT IN THE DESCRIPTION OF THIS PIECE. ILL SAY IT AGAIN⚠️VIOLENT AND EXTREME THEMES ALONG WITH SMUT⚠️

The hunt wasn’t supposed to go wrong. You weren’t supposed to get captured. Almost every part of the plan you and Dean had gone over went wrong. So so wrong. The nest wasn’t supposed to know you were coming for them. You weren’t supposed to leave Dean’s side.

And now because of that you were tied to a chair, with a teenage werewolf desperately trying to finish the knot on your right leg. Shit shit shit, you thought. The last time you had seen Dean he was fighting off one werewolf. As you looked around the room you noticed at least five just in this room. You prayed he was safe. You knew Dean could hold his own but the amount of werewolves that could be here? That sets you on edge.

Just as the thought presents itself in your mind, you hear a crash and multiple gunshots. The werewolves all looked towards the door, the familiar growl of the Winchester brother echoing through the walls. You smirked.

“Come at me motherfuckers!” He yells as he kicks through the door. Dean raises his gun and takes out two within five seconds. You growl as you kick out with your right leg, the knot having never been finished.

“Dean!” You shout as you nod your head towards the wolf that had tied you up. He shoots with extreme precision and the silver bullet meets its target, the werewolves brain.

Dean promptly takes care of the two other werewolves in the room.

You breathe a sigh of relief as you watch Dean pant, his shoulders heaving with every breath. “Man, I really got scared there! Thanks for the help Dean, you’re a great hunter” You say, wiggling against the ropes in the chair. “Why don’t you uhh help me with these ropes, Deano?”

“What did I tell you, Y/N?” You hear Dean growl as he turns around. As you look up into his eyes, the darkness there makes your skin prickle. And not exactly in a bad way.

“You told me not to leave your side, I know Dean but I thought I had it! I didn’t kn-“

“SHUT UP” You're cut off by Dean’s yelling. You suddenly look up to see him storming towards you. His hulking figure soon looms over yours, the rage practically radiating off of him.

“You left my side after I specifically told you not too. You directly disobeyed my orders!” He starts, voice so low it was almost a growl. “You put yourself in Danger!” He yells, his hand raises and he presses the barrel of his gun into your temple. “I ALMOST LOST YOU, Y/N! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

You splutter as you look into his eyes, the emotions there a mystery to you. What wasn't a mystery was the pool of moisture collecting in your panties. You'd always been quite attracted to Dean but this ragey, scary Dean? He made you weak!

Dean's gun drifts down slightly as his expression softens slightly, “What would I do without you, Y/N?” He says, anger still virulent in his eyes.

You decide to come back to that question later, suddenly wanting to press the rage inside him more. You smirk and stick your tongue out, swirling your tongue around the silver barrel. You watch Deans pupils dilate as you draw the barrel into your mouth, sucking gently.

“You think this is a game, Y/N?” Dean growls, his mouth twisting into a sneer. He chuckles, a dark dry sound as his hand moves to his belt buckle. He dexterously undoes the buckle and moves on his jeans. “Guess what? You lost” He suddenly removes the gun from your mouth, placing it back on your temple. “You disobeyed me and for that you’re gonna be punished” He speaks as he pulls his briefs down, revealing his hard cock.

Your mouth falls open, eyes widening as you imagine wrapping your mouth around it. The wet patch in your panties grows as you look at the massive member. You always suspected he was big but this? Unprecedented.

“Brat sees something she likes huh?” He chuckles as he moves closer, his cock right in front of your face. He presses the gun harder against your temple, his other hand slapping his cock against your face. You gasp and he takes the opportunity to thrust roughly into your mouth.

You moan around his impressive length and he groans. “Such a fucking brat, not so mouthy with your trap stuffed full of cock huh?” He growls, his hips pistoning against your lips. You choke and gag as his tip smacks the back of your throat forcefully with each thrust of his hips. You Do your best to breathe through your nose as you take every inch of his cock.

“Fuck, Y/N. Sucking me so good. Knew that mouth was good for something other than being a smart ass” He growls, hips stuttering slightly. Drool and spittle falls down your chin as tears spring to your eyes. Every thrust to your throat had you walls clenching around nothing, cunt desperate for the cock currently in your mouth.

Dean's groans become more desperate and he stops, roughly pulling from your mouth with a wet plop. “No no no. M’saving my cum for your cunt. Wanted this for too long not to fill you” He says.

“Please Dean! Untie me so I can show you how much I’ve wanted it to!” You beg, wiggling against the restraints.

He chuckles as he bends down to untie your leg, smirking. You look back at your hands, expecting him to move to them next. When he doesn’t you look at him, “Dean, m-my hands babe” you say, laughing nervously. He suddenly moves behind you, roughly kicking the Chair out from beneath you. It plants you on the floor with your hands laid out above you. “D-Dean please!”

Dean just laughs as he starts to pull your pants down, groaning appreciatively. Your legs spread for him, exposing your drenched cunt. He raises his gun, dragging the tip of the barrel through your drenched folds. You gasp and arch against the touch. He pulls the gun away and chuckles, slowly lifting it to your mouth in a silent order to suck. You open your mouth to taste your own juices around the gun. You moan at the taste as Dean suddenly presses himself against your entrance.

“What a dirty little whore you are! Just begging to be fucked at gunpoint aren’t you? So wet for me and my gun huh?” He asks, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds as he places the gun back to your temple.

“Yes Sir! Please! Fuck me at gunpoint and take what you want!” You shout, hips bucking to gain more friction. You watch as his lips turn up in a smirk. He uses his other hand to roughly hold your hips down, keeping you still as he slowly sheathes himself inside you.

“Fuck!” You cry out at his length filling you. He’s so huge you can swear you feel him in your belly, stretching you out. Your voice refuses to work when he slowly drags himself out, only to slam back against that spongy spot inside of you.

As his pace increases, he growls out, “Fuck Y/N so tight! Made to take my cock weren’t you?”

“Yes! Oh god yes!” You cry, the coil inside you beginning to wind and wind with every thrust to that spot he found so quickly.

Dean presses the gun into your skin, a bruising pressure as he growls, “Yes what?”

“Yes sir!” You scream, your walls beginning to flutter and squeeze around his cock. “Oh fuck!”

He groans as his pace falters, moving a hand to your clit. He rubs fast, tight circles as he leans down to your ear, “Gonna cum on my cock? Gonna soak me with my gun pointed to your head?” He whispers.

“Yes sir! Please let me cum!” You beg, legs beginning to shake. The coil was ready to burst but you wouldn’t dare cum without his permission.

“Cum! Cum for me like the desperate slut you are” He growls as he cock swells. Your vision goes white as the coil snaps, walls clamping down around Dean. Your mouth falls open in a wordless scream as he finishes, the feeling of his spend bursting against your cervix extending your orgasm farther. Your hips buck and shake as he thrusts out both of your highs.

Dean pants as he slowly pulls his softening cock from your leaking hole. He grunts as he watches your mixed juices leak onto the floor, walls still spasming from the earth shattering climax you just experienced. He throws his gun to the side and tenderly unties your hands, bringing them to his mouth to kiss the tender flesh there. He wraps your arms around his neck as he pulls you against him.

“I really don’t know what I would do without you, Y/N. You’re so important to me. Not only me but Sammy.” He leans down and leaves a tender kiss against your lips. You can visibly see the love and adoration in his eyes as he speaks, “I-I love you, Y/N. I’ve known for so long but couldn’t admit it till now. I-just the thought of losing you- I couldn’t bear it. Was I too rough? Did I hurt you?” His eyes full with concern as he start to look over the rest of your body.

“No y-you didnt. That was- that was amazing” You breath, tears welling in your eyes at his admission. “I love you too Dean. I think I have for a while now” You smile and kiss him again.

Dean's eyes suddenly darken again as he take your face in his hands, making sure your looking directly at him. “If you ever disobey me like that again I swear Y/N, you won’t walk for a week. And you won’t go on a hunt for a month”

He growls before crashing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss.

“Yes sir” You gasp out, enjoying the grin that comes to his face.

Tags: @writtingrose

#dean winchester #Dean Winchester one shot #Dean winchester smut #Dean Winchester x reader

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fakecrfan · 3 years

Text

POV: You wake up in the TMA universe at the start of season 1.

You find yourself on the streets of London, cold and confused.

You try to figure out what happened and get home. You discover the place you lived no longer exists. The place you worked no longer exists.

You try to call the numbers of family, friends, anyone you knew. Baffled voices that you don’t recognize answer you, and then hang up.

As you're wandering around the streets getting increasingly terrified, you pass by the Magnus Institute. Then, everything makes sense.

You hurry in and blurt out: "I would like to make a statement"

Rosie smiles politely.

“Alright, let’s get you the proper forms then.”

She tells you that the Archivist, Jonathan Sims, will see you in a moment. As you are waiting for him, you recall what happens to people who give statements to Jonathan Sims. Unceasing bad dreams. Unrelenting panic attacks. Enough that Jess Tyrell stopped being able to go out in public.

"Ah," you think. "I will not do that then."

You leave in a hurry. Outside, you realize:

oh, I'm the only one who can stop the apocalypse now, aren't i

You shiver. That thought can wait, you think. For now you need to find... somewhere to stay. You are effectively homeless. No, not effectively. You are straight up homeless.

You pull out your wallet to pay for food. Your card is declined. You try to use cash, only to be told it’s counterfeit. Everything is just a little too much to the left of your reality for you to navigate.

Finally you find social services of some kind. They ask for your information, including your NIN. you aren't surprised when they say the info they have on file for that number is.... not you. You are disappointed though.

They help you to a homeless shelter. You sit on your cot and cry self-pityingly for a bit, and then that pressure comes back to your mind:

The world is going to end. You know the world is going to end. You're the only one who can do anything about it.

You turn over and decide that's something you can deal with in the morning.

----

The next day, you think about it again.

"That's something I can deal with when I have an apartment," is what you think then.

So that becomes your next project. Finding your footing as a displaced person. Social services helps but it's... sporadic. It takes months for you to get more stable housing.

When you lie down on the couch of the new, well, new associate you've made, you once again remember that the world is going to end. That you are the only one who can do anything about it.

"I'll think about that when I get a job"

-----

Time continues to pass. As you are trying to get on your feet, you make feeble attempts to... start something.

You go to the Magnus Institute a few times. But it's hard. You've always had terrible social anxiety,. And everyone there seems so cold. You can feel eyes on your back: staring, watching your every move. Normally that alone is enough to make you quit for the day.

A lot of times, the main cast you remember is out doing research. When they are there, you are about to walk up and speak to them when the anxiety hits you again.

What if Elias sees you talking to them? What if he kills you?

You decide to retreat for a little while, then. Just to think of a better plan.

You spend the next month getting your first job in this new world. You start a timeline of when you think the apocalypse is going to happen, but remembering the canon dates is hard. It's not a very helpful timeline, and so you give it up.

Eventually you think the best thing to do is to wait until Elias has been arrested and then talk to the others. When Elias is in prison, he can't murder you for revealing your plans.

This means Sasha and Tim will die. But--they might have died anyway, even with your intervention. Who’s to say? Anyway, you’re not the one who will kill them. It’s not your fault.

You scan the news every day for things about the Magnus Institute, particularly the head of it getting arrested.

During this time, you do a little better. You have a nice apartment now, you think. Nice by your own standards, at least. You decorate the place a little. Get some video games that you like--or well, they aren't the same ones as in your world, but close enough you think?

Months pass.

One day it hits you that maybe the papers would never actually report on Elias being arrested.

Oh shit, you think.

You go back to the Magnus Institute then. By this point, Rosie recognizes you. She grants you the same expression one grants a wayward alley cat. You ask who the current head is. You are told "Peter Lukas."

Shit.

"Can I make a statement?"

Rosie looks nervous. "Um, the Archivist is on medical leave."

"Okay can I talk to one of his assistants?"

Rosie gets this very tired look in her eyes.

"I'll... ask."

Rosie phones the archives extension

it rings

"They've all really been through it recently," Rosie tells you. "They don't--like to talk to anyone else, now."

"I have to talk to them," you say. "Um, can you--can you tell Martin Blackwood specifically that I need to talk to him? That it's about Jon?"

Martin is--you like Martin. Martin will be nice and safe. He'll be easier to talk to than Melanie at this point, or Basira. Still, Rosie looks tired again.

"I'll have a chat with him," Rosie says. "How about you go home for now, and I'll call you when I've talked to him."

"But--"

You're bad at this. You were always bad at this. You can barely sign up for anything on your own. Your mother has done so many calls and filled out so many forms for you.

You never cultivated the skill of standing in a lobby and insisting to talk to someone. Maybe you'll just irritate Rosie and she'll blacklist you if you dig in your heels now. Anyway, you're already so tired from this. You think about going home, and playing some Medal of Honour IV.

"Fine," you say.

You go home. You play the game. You sleep.

You're not giving up, you say to yourself. You're just--biding your time.

Rosie does not call you.

It pains you, but you realize you have to go back in and ask to speak to someone again. You'll go today after work, you decide.

No, wait, you're too tired from work today. You'll go tomorrow.

Maybe on the weekend.

----

You finally go back

Rosie tells you she just--hasn't been able to get a hold of Martin.

"Fine," you say. "Any of the other assistants."

Rosie actually looks a bit worried for you. "Um, they're not--they don't take well to unexpected visitors. Let me wait and chat them up about it."

You do not listen this time.

You march down into the basement level where the archives are. The door is--well. Shit. It's barricaded? You knock. You keep knocking.

"Melanie! Basira!" you say. "I have to talk!"

The door opens too quickly. You barely get a glimpse of Melanie's snarl before she strikes and your vision goes white.

She hits you a few times. No knives, just fists. You hear Basira in the backround, barking for Melanie to stand down. Once there is an opening and you can blearily see again, you run away in terror.

It's not--you didn't intend to run. You were just afraid.

----

You go home, and realize that Melanie didn't even really hit you in a super serious way. Nothing that would warrant a hospital trip, at least. Nothing that has left you with a lot of pain, outside of the immediate terror of physical violence.

You probably could have stuck it out there. You should have.

You think about all the months--no, years now--that have passed without you making any progress.

"But that’s not my fault,” you say.

"I was having a really hard time. I was homeless. I've been struggling with my mental health. I still have to keep the rent paid and feed myself."

"It's not my fault. It's not."

"I will do something. Just--I need some more time."

You sleep.

You decide to wait a bit for your bruises to heal up before going back.

When you do drag yourself back to the Institute, now there is a PTSD reaction to going into the Institute on top of the social anxiety.

You leave quickly. Rosie looks so sad for you.

You do try to go back. You do try to get back in contact with the Archives, or go back when Jon is back up. But there's always something. Not something directly stopping you. Just--

Tiredness. Work. Illness. Doctor's appointments. Panic attacks. The Archives staff being unreachable.

The world is going to end. You're the only one who can stop it.

"That's not true though," you think. "I mean, technically anyone could. I just have a little more information that could help."

"It's never one person's fault," you tell yourself as you crawl into bed after another flight of anxiety struck you as you were about to cross the street to the Institute. "It's everything. It's--a whole system. It's Jonah's fault really. If I don't--I'm not to blame."

“I’m not to blame.”

----

You are playing Medal of Honour V when your phone lights up with a notification that there was an outburst of violence at a place known as the Magnus Institute, and billionaire Peter Lukas has disappeared in the confusion.

You should get up. It’s going to happen, and happen soon. You hand twitches on the controller.

You remember a quote you saw before you ended up here, on Facebook of all things.

"Don't wonder what you'd be doing in Nazi Germany. Whatever you're doing now, is what you would have been doing then."

Because bad things were happening in the world all the time, your preachy Facebook aunt said. There is always genocide, and famine, and war. It’s not some movie fantasy from the past.

You think about that. About the horrors in your world. Those movements that you retweeted support for and occasionally donated $5 to. The protests you awkwardly passed by on your way to work.

You quietly realize what kind of person you are. What you would have been doing in Nazi Germany, or the civil rights era in the U.S., or during the catastrophes in your own world, or right now.

It's what you were always going to do.

And so you get back to Medal of Honour V.

----

You're still dreading the apocalypse of course. It won’t be easy. It will be around six months to a year of full on torture, specifically designed to be the worst you have ever felt. Something about that soothes you. Something about knowing you are a victim too, or maybe knowing that you’ll be punished.

But--it will end, and then you'll be alright. Everything will return to normal, and you can go back to your apartment and your job and your games. It’s not all that bad.

You feel a twinge of guilt for Martin and Jon, who you could ave intervened for. You feel more than a twinge for the worlds the Entities will infect after. But--maybe it will all work out okay. Maybe the universe is a kind place. Maybe other worlds will be able to handle the fears better.

Who knows! There is always hope!

----

[When the sky turns red and the great Eye opens, when you start to hear the howls of your apartment neighbors through the wall--

Nothing happens to you. You are fine. It does not touch you.

Oh.]

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #self insert #reader insert #my writing

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bellsyafterdark · 2 years

Note

okay so here's the whole thing i started as an ask and then got Way Out Of Hand:

so din isn't a brat in the ball & chain verse, not really, bc his focus is service and the desire to be good etc etc. like, he'd crawl across broken glass if his alphas even implied they would like that. he doesn't have a petty bone in his body.

paz d o e s

and the cognitive dissonance for paz has gotta be Rough bc like. he's a service top for din, but with boba and fennec? well, they kind of butt heads bc of all their dominant dispositions. after a little while, paz and fennec fall into a mostly amicable, non-antagonistic dynamic and its chill. they're partners in taking din apart tho fennec is a bit more in charge bc of how she's a bit more clinical (cue greyace fennec simping) and paz, much like din, follows orders beautifully when he wants to.

paz and boba Do Not sort themselves For A While.

for whatever reason, paz has Issues with his instincts when it comes to boba. part of him wants to submit, but its uncomfortable to admit bc alpha instincts + paz never having been in such a position before. traditional, like you said, esp bc maybe that's what has always been expected of him as Big Beefy Tank Alpha. and paz is Bad At Processing Conflicting Emotions so he's fighting what he wants and what he thinks he's supposed to want AND his instincts which are all tangled up. as a result...he brats. he doesn't get particularly violent or break things bc that would upset din so it's always petty little shit, quietly done, no fits or temper. little things to piss off boba specifically. mando style passive aggressive nonsense. maybe paz's got the mindset that boba has to earn his vulnerability? crossed with how he's always been the top and he's only now discovering switch tendencies bc he's come up against 2 alphas who makes him b e l i e v e they can take him down not in a fight way (but yeah also in a fight way lol). which can be Uncomfortable, esp as an alpha probably. like, realizing this person is someone that???? you don't have to be strong for????? you don't have to be in charge??? idk how to characterize the feeling I mean. but it has to do with the exchange of trust and power that is one of the core parts of this kind of bdsm/kinky stuff.

like. boba and fennec Know paz is strong, can take care of himself and din and probably them if necessary. they respect that. but he doesn't HAVE to be in control when they're there and he's learning what it's like to trust someone else to watch his back and din's (bc let's be honest we know paz would care abt din before himself)

idk I just have a bizarre vision of paz being a petty brat at least a little. he's definitely Extra Grumpy if din is away (visiting grogu maybe or trying to con bo-katan into taking the darksaber via sabacc) and boba is definitely Wound Up at this point and fennec is probably getting frustrated with paz too so one day they just. take him Down and show him the rewards of being their good pup and what exactly his bad behavior has earned him.

he probably still is a bit passive aggressive bratty on occasion but hopefully he figures out that he can trust boba and fennec to take the reins and be in charge at least some times

This is perfect. This is exactly what I needed for the next installment in the chronological sequence for AO3, your brain is beautiful.

Back in the covert, Paz did follow someone else -- the Armourer -- but that was a different dynamic. She earned her leadership because she was an elder with knowledge, experience and the best fighting prowess in the tribe. She could take any of them down in a fight. But she was also not an Alpha.

So Paz in himself is a little confused in unfamiliar territory. He's been in non-traditional packs before but he's never had to follow another alpha or two who 1) also wanted to be intimate with him, 2) who were (in his eyes) competitors for an object of his affections.

Subconsciously, he's still divided the four of them into us and them and until he can relinquish some of his control, accept that he can trust them with Din, he resists in these little ways. It's probably through talking to Din trying to understand why he made this choice that he's first given food for thought about the merits of not having to be strong or in control all the time, and exchanging your power. Now he just has to realise that's acceptable for all people, not only omegas, and he'll be fine.

I absolutely agree with you that Paz's main beef is with Boba because it's not Fennec who sits in that throne all day with Din in his lap.

Maybe the first time Boba and Fennec take him down together is when Din is not home so it also makes it just about Alpha to Alpha without Paz subconsciously needing to behave a certain way for Din.

#ball and chain au #pazbobadinfennec #paz vizsla #you wonderful belligerent fool

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captaintrio · 2 years

Note

MCU for the fandom ask

-cracks knuckles- okay I have slept and eaten let's DO THIS (for you my v dearly beloved <3)

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most):

Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky. And Steve, and Sam, and the version of Natasha that I have in my mind at all times. Essentially the whole Cap Crew is my most especially dearly beloved. There's also like. I have a very specific characterization of Tony that my bestie and I kinda perfected over the years of active MCU interest whom I love and adore, but v similarly to Natasha the actual canon MCU had no earthly idea about who they wanted him to be so he was like. A different dude from film to film, and a lot of the time that dude was a prick.

Honorable mention for Actually a Good Dad Scott Lang, as at this point there are like 3 good fathers ever and he is one of them and he is. fictional.

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped):

Clint Barton is very Shaped and a scrungus no matter what they tried to do with Jeremy Renner and I will take that to my GRAVE. That man is the dude who calls you at 3 AM to come to his apt and it seems like it's gonna be a booty call but he's just gotten his hand stuck in a jar of salsa and can't figure out how to get it outta there without breaking it. he is precious and ridiculous and scrunkly and I love him.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave):

She got a lot of hate and apathy (as most afab characters that aren't immediately sexually available tend to do) but I really think Nakia from Black Panther is so fucking amazing, like. She was so competent, and she and Okoye were such incredible narrative foils for each other in that they were both doing what they thought was best for Wakanda, and they both refused to sacrifice their morals or honor to do so. Nakia also did what women are rarely allowed to do in media (especially not the MCU god fucking forbid), which was to love a man without subsuming herself into him. She very clearly and genuinely loved T'Challa, but never once did that stop her from being true to herself, or doing what she needed to do, and I just...hhh -clenches fist- I love her.

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week):

Literally every character in GOTG that was in the background while Peter and the gang were trying to catch Gamora and getting their asses kicked for their troubles, like. There was a lot of like screaming and trying to get out of the way, sure, but iirc people were just like 'o damn that's nuts lmfao' standing around eating and watching the dipshittery and I love all of them for that.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave):

I actually feel really sad for Vision, as boring as the writers liked to make him, like. That was Jarvis! That was Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, he was our AI buddy and then like. What. He gets an infinity stone jammed into his processing center and has to have a body now?? Be physically perceived??? Everyone that he's been looking after as an AI attacks him while he's JUST being born and having to figure out what legs are, and then he stumbles into a relationship at what is for him effectively age like 2, with the most powerful person canonically in the universe who is!!! basically just another infinity stone, and he gets to spend some time romping around with her kind of before some giant insufferable economics major who can't let go of the Malthusian model despite the fact that it's been undermined to hell and back by now like digs?? his brain out of his skull??? and then he's a hallucination for a while and then he just dies??? Bro had like -198732% of a chance, and things were very stressful for him at all times.

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason):

Thanos, Howard Stark, I don't care how charming he seemed in Agent Carter, Ronan, Odin still again and always, Alexander Pierce, literally anyone that ever hurt Bucky, essentially everyone that I want to put in superhell is going there via the horse plinko feeder tube, I don't care if all these people are dead PLINKO for 10,000 years and then superhell.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell):

The above list of fuckwits and shitweasels, though I am also going to include Joss Whedon for all of his very public and obvious war crimes, and Kevin Feige for shelving Serpent Society in favor of jamming Civil War into the MCU docket without bothering to do ANY of the build up or lay ANY of the groundwork that actually made the Civil War story arc poignant or important in any way.

#ask games #ask #answered #markwatnae #bby ily I'm sorry this took until today!

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dadolorian · 3 years

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Seven Days of Valentines, (Diamonds and Daddies side story) Whiskey x F!Reader CH 2

A/N: Thanks to @talesfromtheguild for Beta reading and helping me with many ideas for this! This will be a weekly series leading up to Valentines Day

I try to keep Readers physical appearance as open as possible for this story, but please note in these chapters shes going to become more of a ‘character’, some specific interests of hers are going to come into play.

This is canon to the main Diamonds and Daddies story, but i am uploading as its own thing. You do not need to have read Diamonds and Daddies to read this, just know its a fic about Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels being a Sugar Daddy and the reader is a professional Sugar Baby.

Fandom: Kingsman the golden circle Ship: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x Cis F!reader Warning/tags: established relationship, fluff, semi-public sex, sex against a window, P in V sex, fingering, Oral (M and F receiving) , multiple orgasms, slight over stimulation, dirty talk, choking, Daddy kink, DD/LG/BDSM style relationship, creampie,biting/marking, possessive language, aftercare, Jacks both a gentleman and a DIRTY BASTARD, Reader is 100% into it all

Word count: 6K +

My master list Seven days of Valentines masterlist AO3 LINK Buy me a Kofi

Summary: Whiskey whisks his Sugar baby away for a romantic Valentine’s getaway. Day two he takes her to see her favorite work of art.

Tuesday 9th of February

The second morning in Rome started with an early morning makeout session, soft, gentle kisses roused you from sleep, followed by a shower and a traditional Italian breakfast delivered to your suite as the two of you sat watching people make their way to the coliseum.

The coffee and crespelles were a perfect way to start the day, made all the more better by Jack’s large hand resting on your thigh, drawing gentle patterns with his thumb as you each sipped your mugs in comfortable silence.

By eight thirty AM the two of you were dressed in your warm clothes and out the door, ready to partake in whatever adventure Jack had planned.

You sat literally on the edge of your seat in excitement as you were driven around Rome to our destination for the day. Jack warmly chuckled beside you at your boundless enthusiasm, smiling wider to himself as you began snapping pictures along the way of the general beauty that was Rome.

Once you were dropped off Jack took your hand in his, leading the way up the road and round the corner. You practically hummed in excitement beside him, bouncing in glee as the large walls of Vatican City loomed over you.

“Jaaaacccckkkk!” you squealed delightedly, as he led you to the back of a growing queue. “Are we going where I think we’re going?”

He chuckled at your excitement again. “Couldn't take my girl to Rome without letting her see her favorite work of art could I?”

You bounced in place, trying to express your excitement and gratitude in any articulate way you could, you cupped his face and pulled him down for an expressive kiss on his cheek.

“You have no idea how excited I am Jack!” You elated, almost jumping for joy beside him.

He tried to calm you down and keep you still by resting his hands on your hips, pulling you to his front in a gentle embrace.

“I have a fair idea Sugar,” he hummed, kissing your brow affectionately. “I remember when you mentioned wanting to visit Rome, on our New Year's trip, just a passing comment, but your eyes lit up when you mentioned the Sistine Chapel, I just knew I had to take you one day Darlin.”

Your hands rested lightly on his chest, with your gaze cast down you smiled, tenderly remembering the brief exchange you had shared months prior. At the time you never took much note of your conversation, having forgotten all about it until Jack had surprised you with this trip, but clearly Jack had taken notice, and went through great pains to make your wish you had barely ever shared before a reality.

You had lost count of the amount of times he proved himself of how utterly perfect he was for you was incalculable.

He amazed you every day, outdoing himself with each little surprise or adoring words, each grand gesture or gentle peck, each casual touch or passionate kiss.

Jack Daniels, as cocky, ridiculous, and flirtatious as he was, was everything you had ever hoped for.

“I wish I knew, just how to show my gratitude to you Jack,” you whispered softly to him.

He gently pulled your gaze back up to meet his.

“Darlin, you don’t need to do anything other than stay with me. You’ve made this lonely heart feel something again for the first time in years, and that's more than enough for me.”

Your lower lip wobbled and your eyes threatened to spill, Jack preemptively stopped your sappy tears from spilling with a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Come on Darlin, lines moving.”

Jack walked arm in arm with you throughout the whole tour of Vatican city, your gaze was often fixed to the beautiful architecture or paintings, but everytime you glanced over at Jack, his eyes were fixed on you. You had his whole attention, not the paintings, not the tour guide, you.

“Jack?” You asked softly, concerned he was only humoring you and didn't actually care about anything you were seeing. “Aren't you interested in all this?”

“Oh I am Darlin,” he reassured. “But I love watching the way your eyes light up, better than any painting here.”

“You’re just trying to butter me up Cowboy,” you smiled up at him.

“Can’t help it Sugar, pretty thing like you on my arm? Who can blame me?”

“You flatter me Jack, You’ve been sweet talking me from the moment we met, I don't even think you would know how to stop,” you teased.

He chuckled and kissed your cheek.

“No Darlin, I don't think I would know how to either.”

It was impossible to express just how fantastical it felt to see some of the famous pieces found in the Vatican museum, Raphael’s ‘Transfiguration’, The statue of Laocoön and his sons, The Vision of St. Helen , Da Vinci's St. Jerome in Wilderness, masterpieces you had only ever seen photos of on the internet or in your meager collection of art History books. Completely indescribable. But these experiences paled in comparison to seeing Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam, photos could not compare to how breathtaking it was. It loomed above you, alongside dozens of other High Renaissance masterpieces, but your eyes were pulled back to that one each time.

You imagined Michelangelo, centuries ago, in his genius, laying on his back atop the precarious scaffolding as he painted it, how grueling it was, how long it took.

You never thought you would ever see it, not in person, it had been such a fantasy to you you had never really mentioned it before until Jack had asked you those months ago.

Daddies had taken you on vacations before, trips to sunny beaches and tropical getaways, when they wanted to impress you and have you show some skin, but not once had they ever asked you where you wanted to go, what you wanted to see.

There had been no desire to share your interests, to take you to experience culture and art over bikinis and parties. Jack had been right, you had been with some shit Daddies before you met him.

The picturesque beaches and clear oceans may have been pretty to look at, but it couldn't hold a candle to the beauty above you.

Standing there, with your neck strained up at the ceiling, your eyes began to water for the umpteenth time since you had landed in Italy, but you willed them away this time, focusing on the painting to burn the experience into your memory and refusing to let the tears fog your vision as emotions overwhelmed you once again.

“Baby?” Jack’s soft voice cut in, his arms wrapped around your middle as he came up behind you, kissing your forehead. “You good?”

“Perfect, Jack,” you whispered back, giving your neck a break by resting the back of your head on him.

“Everything you ever dreamed about?” He asked, following your gaze to the painting.

“Better,” you sighed, squeezing his arms around you.

You clung to Jack’s arm as you made your way out of Vatican city and back to the streets of Rome. He patted your hand affectionately, placing a kiss to your temple.

You had been so...so... moved, by Jack's surprise, by the artworks, by the experience and you knew you couldn’t express it to him. And you knew he knew.

You were beginning to understand the magnitude of his affections, he wasn’t just trying to impress you, to show off and boost his ego like many men before him.

No, Jack's masculinity wasn’t so fragile that he had to prove himself like that, he may flash his money for you, to buy you trinkets and clothes just as they all had before, but the way he went about it was so different.

Stuff wasn’t what he relied on to keep you with him, no, he kept you by his side by paying attention, by caring about you, for you.

He wanted to make you happy, truly, and he expected nothing from you in return apart from your companionship.

His words from earlier in the day were really starting to strike a chord with you.

“You’ve made this lonely heart feel something again for the first time in years.”

You looked up at him from the corner of your eye as he led you through the streets. He seems to know where he wanted to go, and you trusted him not to get you lost.

“Jack,” you whispered softly. “I-”

“Don’t need to say a thing Baby,” he interrupted. “I know.”

“But, I-” you sighed. “How?”

“How do I know?” he asked, amused. “Baby you thank me every damn time I do something for you, no matter how big or small, I've picked up on a few things. I can tell when you’re struggling to figure out how to thank me.”

He stopped in his tracks, guiding you to his front and pulling one of your hands up to his lips to kiss it.

“You tear up when something specially meaningful, those are the times you can’t figure out what to say,” he cupped your face in his large, warm hands. They felt nice against the chill that had clung to your cheeks. “But you don’t need to say anything Sugar, I can tell just by lookin at’cha you’re grateful. It made you happy, that's all I wanted. I don’t need a ‘thank you’, I just need you.”

Your lip wobbled and you pouted up at him, making him chuckle.

“See? Just like that, and I get yer waterworks running,” he teased, thumb wiping a tear that was threatening to spill.

You rolled your eyes and swatted his chest playfully.

“None of that Darlin” he laughed, ducking his head to kiss you. “My Baby gets all sappy for Daddy’s sweet words huh?”

“Don’t get cocky,” you giggled, trying to duck from him gleefully.

“Thought you liked me ‘cocky’,” he joked as you turned and tried to walk off, pulling you back into his grip, back flush against his front. “Specially when it’s inside-”

“Jack! People are watching!” you laughed, swatting at him over your shoulder, grateful at least your conversation wasn't too loud and probably not understood by the locals who rolled their eyes at the childish tourists as they passed.

He laughed merrily, letting you go and gently taking your hand.

“Such a killjoy,” he joked, leading the two of you again. “Come on then Sugar, lets get some lunch.”

Lunch turned out to be in this adorable local cafe hidden down many sidestreets.

Jack told him a work colleague told him about the hidden gem, unknown to most tourists, and had made a point to bring you there.

You sat inside, safe from the bitter cold as you sipped your hot drinks and shared croissants and muffins.

Silence passes between you, as you watch from your window the small trickle of locals walk by, trudging through the remaining snow slush, on their way to wherever it was they were going. It was a perfect way to relax after your tour, Jack told you to enjoy it while it lasted, because he had one more surprise for the day.

Jack’s second surprise was a tour of Castel sant'angelo.

It was originally built as a mausoleum, over the centuries it became a fortress and castle, in modern times, it had become a museum.

“Two museum tours in one day?” You asked, humming as the two of you walked over the beautifully sculpted bridge leading up to the impressive building hand in hand.

“Well with it being so close to the Vatican, I thought ‘Why not?’ , and I know how much my Baby appreciates her art and history,” he smiled.

Taking his words from earlier to hear, you thanked him with just a kiss on the cheek.

Jack insisted the two of you could walk back to your hotel by the time you were kicked out of the castle at closing time.

‘Just a forty minute walk’ he promised.

You pouted at him, shaking your head no.

“My feet are killing me Jack,” you whined.

“Won't it be romantic though Baby?” He asked, trying to convince you.“Walking through the streets of Rome at night? Just the two of us?”

It did sound nice, in theory, but the sky was clouded over, your feet hurt, the ground was covered in slush and it was starting to seep into your supposedly waterproof boots.

“My toes are going numb and it’s freezing Jack!”

“But Baby-”

“Daddy,” you sniveled, trying to appeal to his dominant, caring role over you. You wrapped your arms around yourself to block out the cold as the temperature dropped further. It was bearable in the day, sunlight and warm clothes enough to keep you reasonably warm. But you weren't dressed with the expectation of being outdoors too long, and as the snow began to fall you pulled yourself to his chest, snuggling into his warmth.

“Please Daddy, I don't want to walk like this.”

He sighed and wrapped an arm around you, caving to his instincts to care for you.

“Alright then, let me call a cab Honey Bee,” he relented, pulling out his phone.

You groaned when you made your way into the hotel room, throwing the keycard on the table and collapsing by the door , tearing off your boots and letting your soaked, numb toes free.

Jack chuckled at your dramatic behaviour, not removing any of his gear much to your confusion.

“There’s a few more presents on the bed for you,” he smiled, heat in his eyes and flashing his canines at you as he crouched down in front of you, stroking your cheek. “Want you to go in there and put them on-”

“Jack, my feet are too sore for any heels toni-”

“No heels, Honey Bee,” he said, his tone and use of your moniker a clear warning for you to fall in line. “You’ll like it, I promise. Now go open your presents and get dressed while I go pick up dinner.”

He stood up as you nodded and took his hand when he offered it, helping you up and grabbing the keycard from where you discarded it.

“Be back soon Baby,” he smiled as he opened the door and left.

Alone, you padded into the bedroom, your feet grateful for the plush carpet as you made your way over to the bed.

Laid out across the sheets was a beautiful little pair of pink and black satin sleep shorts, a matching bralette, a cute pair of pink fluffy bunny slippers, and a long fuzzy pink gown. You ran your fingers over the material of them all, amazed at how soft they all were.

Atop your outfit for the night was another folded up note. You picked it up carefully and opened it up, greeted by Jack’s familiar scrawl once again.

“Day two of seven, I know your feet must be real sore today Baby, I hope a relaxing evening with Daddy makes up for it. Get dressed and go pick out a movie out in the livin room for me. Happy Valentine’s Week Sugar, Love Jack”

You softened, reading his words, again as you folded the note back up and began redressing.

The satin felt even smoother as it covered your skin, and the fuzzy robe and slippers helped warm you up after your cold trip back to your suite.

Once dressed you wandered out into the living area, delighted to see the couch covered in soft blankets and pillows, a gift hamper sat on the coffee table containing sweets, a bottle of wine, glasses and some foot lotion. Your heart warmed at the thoughtfulness of it all and how intimately comfortable it was.

As you snuggled under one of the blankets and flicked on the TV, scrolling through movie options you heard the keycard beep and the door unlock.

“Back Darlin!” Jack called from the entranceway , you heard him put something down and head to the bedroom.

He joined you a few minutes later, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips and his trademark stetson, carrying a large pizza box.

You smiled and bit your lip, admiring his little tummy that you loved so much.

He placed the box on the coffee table and snuggled under the blanket with you.

“Pick something out Baby?” He asked, one arm over the back of the couch and other hand wandering up your thigh under your robe and resting there.

“I think so,” you hummed, relaxing back into his embrace and warmth, head resting on his shoulder. “Sci-Fi movie by the looks of it.”

“Prospect?” Jack questioned. “Don’t usually sound like our kinda thing Darlin.”

“Yeah, but one of the actors caught my eye in the preview clips,” you giggled. “He looks like you Daddy.”

He quirked his eyebrow at you and gave you a shrug, letting you click play as he pulled the pizza and wine over for you to share.

You almost choked on your pizza when the actor showed up and Jack exclaimed in annoyance that he looked nothing like him.

“What are you talking about?” You laughed. “He could be your twin!”

“I know for a fact my Mamma only gave birth to one Daniels boy thank you very much!” He proclaimed.

You giggled hysterically, curling into him, trying not to knock the pizza box onto the floor.

“He’s just you with more scruff!” You gasped for breath between your laughter. “Listen to him he’s even got a southern accent too!”

“I resent being compared to a scruffy, sweaty, bastard space man who talks so damn weird Darlin!”

You covered your mouth, biting back a sassy comment about the ‘talks weird’ comment and tried to compose yourself.

“How can you not see it?” You asked when you finally calmed down. “The similarities are scary.”

The two of you eventually agreed to disagree as you finished your pizza and wine and moved on to a few after dinner chocolates from the hamper.

Jack rubbed your feet with the lotion as you lay on the couch sideways, easing the tension and soreness from your feet in his lap as the movie went on. You melted to his touch, unwinding from the long day on your feet.

You had taken quite a liking to the southern spaceman with the silver tongue, much to Jack's growing annoyance, he grumbled as you cooed at the man on screen.

But as irritated as he was, he pulled you to his side in comfort as you watched your little crush have his arm amputated, hiding your face in Jack’s chest throughout the difficult scene.

“Poor Ezra,” you murmured when the scene was over.

Jack rolled his eyes and kissed the crown of your head. “I don’t know what you see in him Darlin.”

“He’s your scoundrel, space-cowboy twin Jack. What’s not to like?”

“Think you need your eyes checked Darlin. I might actually be bothered ‘bout your little infatuation if you didn’t insist so damn hard that he looked like me.”

You giggled and settled down again against his bare chest.

“Hmm...”

“What are you hmming about over there?”

“You’d look good with a little blonde patch.”

“Shut up.”

When the credits rolled Jack switched off the TV, shrouding the room in darkness and stood up, gently pulling you up to your feet beside him. You were tired after such a long day, and the movie and snuggles afterwards only made you more tired.

He rested his hands on your hips and gave you a tender, soft kiss.

“You like your new jammies Baby?” He asked, smiling when you nodded. “Yeah? You look so dang cute in them.”

He nuzzled his nose against yours.

“Is my Baby too tired tonight? Or do you want to have some playtime with Daddy before bed?”

You whined in response, resting your hands on his chest.

“I always want to play with you Daddy.”

“Oh I know you do Baby, but Daddy thinks you need your rest. Bed time for you I think.”

“I don’t want to go to bed Daddy.”

“Think you’re awake enough for it Honey Bee?” he asked, gently shoving your new robe off of your shoulders and onto the floor.

“Yes,” you nodded.

“Prove it,” he rasped, firmly pushing you to your knees in front of the couch and pulling his sweats down enough for his balls and hardening cock to hook over them.

You licked your lips and looked up at him, taking him in your hand at the base. His eyes burned into yours as you opened your mouth and began kitten licking at his tip, circling your tongue around him.

You kissed him, from base to tip, worshipping his cock.

He moaned at your teasing little touches and you felt him twitch in your hand, hardening slowly under your touch.

‘That's it Baby, Get Daddy nice and hard,” he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back to lose himself to the feeling of you coaxing his cock.

You felt the crotch of your sleep shorts become wet, aroused by his raspy voice and lewd moans. But you kept your hands where they were, on his thigh and cock, knowing if you touched yourself without permission his ‘playtime’ with you would become a (delicious) punishment.

You relaxed your jaw and took him into your mouth, letting your tongue run along the underside of his length as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper into your mouth.

He let out a loud guttural moan, hands cupping your head to keep you in place.

“Hmmmmm fuck Baby!” He spat, looking back down at you and gently thrusting his hips into your face, careful not to choke you. “You’ve gotten so good at that! Can take me so well now can’t cha? Almost all the way!”

He rocked into you slowly, now fully erect in your mouth, you concentrated on breathing through your nose as he pushed himself deeper with each thrust.

You had succeeded in taking him easier than when you first had gotten together, but it was still a struggle to truly deepthroat him and supress your gag reflex, so far you had never managed to take him all in before you backed out. You kept your hand on his thigh, ready to tap out when needed.

Your eyes never left his face, and his never left your lips, watching as inch by inch his cock went further into your mouth.

“Breathe Baby,” he encouraged, hungrily watching his spit covered cock push and pull in and out of you. “If you can take me all the way in tonight Baby, I’ll give you a big reward.”

You mewled around him, excited by his promise of a reward. He always delivered on those promises in a spectacular way.

You took a deep breath through your nose and relaxed your throat as best you could, successfully taking him further, your jaw hurt and your throat protested as he pushed in even deeper.

Your eyes watered as your lips finally met the groomed hair at his base. You blinked up at him, waiting for approval and praise for having taken him all the way for the first time triumphantly.

“Hnnng! Fuck! Good girl! Good Girl!” he panted, watching you, transfixed on the way his cock looked shoved all the way down your throat. “Perfect, warm wet little mouth fuck!”

He reached down cautiously, fingers tracing over your neck gently, feeling the bulge in your throat. You whined, feeling light headed as he gripped your neck and squeezed lightly, he gave an experimental thrust, even with the awkward angle and groaned at the feeling of his own hand squeezing your throat tighter around him.

“Oh fuck Honey Bee I’m so deep,” he moaned, squeezing tighter, making you more light headed. “Doin such a good job, you need to tap out Sugar?”

You shook your head no as best you could, head swimming and body buzzing as he chokes you with his hand and cock.

“Can feel my fat cock moving inside you Baby, so damn hot, making me even fucking harder.”

He kept thrusting into your throat slowly, careful to not actually choke you. You were getting a little high from the lack of oxygen, far more aroused by it than you ever thought you could be. You only tapped out when black dots started to swim in your vision.

Jack pulled free without hesitation, crouching in front of you to check you were alright as the obstruction in your throat was gone and your lungs heaved in oxygen.

You gulped down air hungrily as Jack kissed your face in praise.

“Did so well baby, so proud of you, you took me all the way,” he murmured, nose nuzzling along your hairline. He waited for you to be ready to continue , and when your breathing had calmed and you gave him a nod to continue, he kissed your forehead, stood up and pulled you to your feet with him.

“As promised, my little girl deserves her reward,” he growled, nodding over to an armchair by the sliding door. “Go sit,” he ordered softly.

You scrambled to comply, anticipating your reward with glee.

He sauntered over, discarding his stetson on the coffee table before kneeling down in front of you, hooking his fingers into your sleep shorts.

“Up,” he gently instructed, pulling them down your legs as you lifted your hips for him.

He brought the shorts up to his face and inhaled your scent, licking up the crotch of them to taste the juices that soaked them.

“My baby tastes so good,” he praised, discarding the shorts over his shoulder. “Spread ‘em wide for me Sugar,” he said, gently coaxing your leg apart and licking his lips.

He didn’t tease, intent on giving you your much deserved reward as he drank you down and shoved his tongue deep into your dripping hole.

Your back arched, eyes closed and thighs shook, he pulled them over his shoulders to give himself more room, his strong arms wrapped around your thighs to hold them still.

You whimpered in delight, gripping his hair and pulling him deeper, his eyes cut up at you, letting you know that at any other time, an action would not be tolerated, and he would have you reprimanded for being greedy.

But this was your reward, you deserved it.

Jack did not hide his messy noises as he ate you out like a man starved, wet smacks of his lips on your lower lips, the sound of his skin coming into contact with your dripping thighs, his moans and your sounds of pleasure filled the room.

You gasped when you felt a thick finger prod at your hole, pushing up into you beside his tongue. Your head snapped down to watch as he slowly pumped his finger into you, his tongue began lapping up your folds until he reached your clit, suckling on it gently.

“Daddy!” You whimpered, pushing your hips up further into his face.

He gave you a cocky grin as a second finger joined the first, stretching you out so perfectly, his fingers were so much thicker than yours, fuck you loved his fingers so much, and he knew just where to stroke to make your body sing. In such a short time he had learnt your body better than you ever had.

“My Baby wants to cum?” He asked, running his tongue over your folds again.

“Yes, please Daddy,” you pleaded.

“Daddy prefers when you’re patient Baby. But you earned it tonight,” he growled, standing up with his fingers still inside you. Your legs dropped from his shoulders as he leant over you to nibble at your ear, you felt your juices that still coating his jaw as his skin met yours.

He abandoned his slow pumps of his hand, fucking you hard and fast with his skilled fingers. You keened under him, writhing at the sudden change.

“Look outside that window Baby,” he ordered in your ear hotly. “There's still people out and about, all they have to do is look up here, and they’d see you getting fucked by my hand.”

You felt your core clench around his fingers at his words, a wave of your arousal flooding out, soaking his hand.

“You like that idea Sugar? You like the idea of some stranger seeing my fingers buried in this pussy?”

You whimpered and tried to thrust up into his hand.

“Answer the question!” He growled.

“Y-Yes Daddy!” You cried, panting hard as you felt your pleasure building.

“Yeah? You get off on the idea of someone else seeing you? Seeing what’s mine?”

He sucked a mark into your neck, hoping it would show tomorrow, his secret little claim.

“Want everyone to see you? Like some kind of common whore? You’re mine Baby, don’t you forget that.”

“T-that's what i want them to see!” You whined, racing towards the edge, hoping he wouldn’t deny you as he often did to tease. “I want them to see who-who I belong to!”

He growled in approval.

“Yeah? What else Baby?” He asked, encouraging your line of thought.

“W-want them to see...That you’re- you’re the only one who can make me cum, that you’re the only one good enough!”

“Oh Baby you sure know what to say to stroke your Daddy’s ego,” he hummed in pride. “Go on then, show them, show anyone watching how hard Daddy makes you cum.”

You were already well on your way to your pleasure when he gave you permission to cum, but he helped you along by diving down and sucking hard on your clit.

Your back arched further as you screamed out his name, your walls clenching hard over his furious fingers, as they attacked that sweet deep spot inside you on a mission.

It hurt how powerful your orgasm was, how hard his fingers fucked you through it. And as it washed over you you were ready for him to pull out, for him to let you come down from your high, but his fingers did not slow.

You mewled, sensitive and sore from your first orgasm as you felt him forcing your body towards a second one already.

“D-Daddy, too- too much!” You whined, wriggling in his grasp.

“Yeah?” he asked, his teasing tone told you he didn’t believe you, he moved his head away from your clit to look you in the eyes, speeding up his fingers. “What’s your color then?”

Your hips began thrusting up to meet his hand again.

“Color Baby?” He reminded.

“Green,” bucking up hard now into his hand to chase your fast approaching second high.

“Thought so,” he hummed, taking your nipple into his mouth through your bralette, gently sucking on it and tugging it with his teeth.

When he had soaked the fabric and thoroughly teased you he released it.

“You’re going to cum again for me, that's your reward. Daddys going to make you cum so hard your pretty little pussy will be ruined tomorrow.”

You sobbed under him, anticipating how tantalizingly sore you would be with great delight.

“Come on, be a good little girl for me and cum,” he cooed, grabbing your jaw with his free hand to make you look at him, his face only inches away from yours.

“Cum for Daddy, and I’ll fuck you right up against that window for everyone to watch.”

Your stomach flipped at the thought and your core tightened around his fingers again.

“If it weren't so damn cold out there I’d fuck you right on that balcony, so the whole of Rome can hear your screams for me.”

He brushed your clit with his thumb as the words fell from his mouth, pushing you over the edge for a second time.

“That's it Baby, cum for Daddy,” he cooed softly, lips ghosting yours. “Squeezing my fingers so tight. Can't wait till my cocks all snug up in there, my favorite, perfect little hole.”

His words made your second orgasm just as powerful as the first, you shook hard in your chair and screamed loudly until your voice was hoarse. You tried to muffle the scream with your hands which, until now, had been gripping the armrest for dear life ever since Jack removed himself from between your legs.

He was having none of that however, grabbing your wrists in his hand and pulling them away from your face to hear your screams of pleasure.

He coaxed your orgasm as long as he could, slowing his fingers but still thrusting them hard inside you. Dragging it out.

You shook from the aftershocks each time his fingers shoved up against your cervix, whimpering as your breathing struggled to return to normal and body tried to unwind.

He pulled his fingers free from you, loving how your pussy tried to suck them back inside. You mewled at the loss despite how oversensitive you were.

He held up his hand to inspect it, proudly displaying how drenched it was in your cum.

“Look at that Baby, down past the wrist...You horny little thing,” he rasped, letting you watch as he wrapped his slick coated hand around his neglected cock, pumping it slowly, you could hear the wet pass of his hand with each pump.

“Stand up,” he ordered gently, not helping you as you stood up on shaky legs, struggling to comply as your legs threatened to give out underneath you.

“Top needs to go too Honey Bee,” he instructed, watching you with predatory eyes as you raised your arms, taking the sexy little Bralette off and discarding it somewhere behind you.

“Up against the window, arms up.”

You wobbled over slowly, sighing as your body touched the cool glass.

You felt so exposed up against the glass, despite the fact there was no one currently walking about outside, and there was no light in the living area now that the TV was off, the only light source being the lights outside, lighting up the coliseum.

You could see Jack's reflection in the glass as he came up behind you, stepping out of his sweats. You could hear him still pumping his cock with you slick.

Your back arched as he ran the tip of his cock over your dripping folds, making you gasp and shudder.

“Poor Baby, still so sensitive,” he teased, pushing you against the cold glass with his free hand, making your nipples tighten painfully at the chill. You wriggled slightly as he pushed his hips forward, tip entering your hole.

“Shhhh Baby, Daddy needs his fair share too, needs to fuck your pussy,” he sighed, your tight wet heat slowly enveloped him as he slowly inched his hips forward.

“Need to make you cum. One last time.” He emphasized the statement by snapping his hips forwards, filling you up completely as his hips slapped up against your ass.

He gave your oversensetive body only a moment to adjust to the stretch before wrapping an arm around you and fucking into you hard and fast. His free arm grasped your neck, lightly choking you again as his cock hammered into you.

“Fuck, so wet baby. Your cums soaking me, dripping down Daddys balls,” he rasped into your ear.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap, filled the room as you were shoved up against the glass with each thrust.

You cried at the delicious stretch, at how he made your tender, sore hole buzz with pleasure every time he shoved himself inside, at how your body stung from the cold glass, and at the filth he rambled into your ear.

“My perfect pussy, Daddy’s pretty little princess. Think about how anyone could walk past. Could see you,” he teased, turning you on more. “Stuffed full of my cock, wouldn’t be hard, this low down, just need to turn their head a lil bit, ‘s all it would take to see you.”

You moaned at his words, tightening around him.

“Fuck, squeezing me so tight,” he whispered in awe,thrusting harder into you.

You closed your eyes and lost yourself to the delirium of being fucked by him, trying hard not to cum around him until he gave you permission.

He didn’t like it when you came without his permission.

He chuckled darkly into your ear, slowing his thrusts down to teasing rolls of the hips. “There's someone now,” he rasped, watching someone walk by further down the street, you cracked your eyes open and could see just how close they were, close enough that if you called out with the window open, they would hear.

“I don’t think they’ve spotted us. Let’s see if we can change that shall we?” He suggested with another dark laugh, letting go of your neck to grip your hips with both hands, making it much easier to thrust inside you and leaving nothing to silence your noises as he slammed into you again with the same speed as before.

You shrieked, watching with wide eyes at the passer by, hoping he did not hear.

It was annoying just how arousing the idea of this stranger catching the two of you was.

Before you could even stop yourself, you came around Jack’s cock without warning. No build up, no tensing, it hit you so suddenly you couldn’t have stopped yourself if you had tried.

He growled angrily behind you, pausing his thrusts as you squeezed him hard, as your walls fluttered and tried to milk his cock.

There was no way you could hide what you just did, it may have snuck up on you fast but he felt it. Felt you squeeze him and shake in his grasp.

“Did you just fucking cum Baby?” He snarled. “Without Daddy’s permission?”

“I’m sorry!” you sobbed. “I didn’t mean to, it happened so fast!”

“You got off to the thought of some stranger seeing you, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you whimpered pathetically, not wanting to anger him further by lying to him.

“Such a filthy little slut,” he berated, rocking back into you. “If Daddy didn’t need to cum so bad I'd punish you right now. Throw you over my knee and remind you that Daddy owns your orgasms.”

“I know Daddy! I’m sorry! So sorry!”

“I believe you Baby, but that don't change the rules. Doesn’t mean you get away without some sort of punishment.” He licked the shell of your ear, nibbling at you lightly.

“Tomorrow night, I really will destroy your pussy. I’ll hold you down and fuck you so hard, till you cum so many times you pass out, never letting up until you’re beggin me to. Daddy will choose how many times you cum, when you cum, and how hard you cum, to remind you your pleasure belongs to me.”

You sniveled, panting as your breath fogged up the glass.

“Y-Yes Daddy,” you agreed.

“Now stay still, Daddy gonna fill you up, get you nice and creamy.”

His rocks built back up to the harsh thrusts, reserving no gentleness for you as his grip would no doubt leave bruises on your hips the next day.

He growls, the steady slap of his thrusts, bumping of glass and the blood rushing in your ear was all you could hear.

And even though you had already cum three times, you could feel a fourth bubbling deep inside, warming you up.

He pounded you against the glass.

He cursed as his thrusts became frenzied, violent bucks up against your ass as he chased his release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, here it comes!” He bellowed, digging his teeth into your shoulder and marking you hard. He groaned against your skin as his hot cum flooded you. You felt it fill you and warm you up, even if he didn’t let you cum again, you adored the sensation of him filling you up each time.

His thrusts slowed as you felt his seed begin to leak out around his length.

You mewled at the loss of the orgasm you knew he wouldn’t have given you anyway.

He pulled out slowly, releasing your shoulder and watching as his softening length fell from you.

Your knees buckled, but Jack was quick to catch you before you fell and scoop you up into his arms.

“There we go Baby,” he murmured, gently nosing at your temple. “Let's get you sorted.”

As usual Jack’s aftercare consisted of his soft praises as he tended to your physical needs.

He washed you, tended to your marks, dressed you back into your new pajamas, and tucked you into bed. You drifted in and out of his care, only catching a few words here and there.

“Good girl”, “Did so well,” and “So proud,” were the familiar praises you heard.

He joined you under the warm blankets when he decided you had been thoroughly cared for, pulling you close to his chest to snuggle and murmur affections at you. You nuzzled deeper into his warmth, completely boneless and spent, listening to the gentle timbre of his voice as you drifted off.

That night you dream about old castles and handsome southern princes.

credit to @talesfromtheguild for this little bit

“Hmm...” “What are you hmming about over there?” “You’d look good with a little blonde patch.” “Shut up.”

Tag list:

@thats-one-tender-foot @luminescentlily @nuttybeardetective @ishqinbbc @ben-is-a-hoe @calamity-queen @phoenixhalliwell @talesfromtheguild @the-arctic-violet @jeeperky @mando-amando

#SugarDaddy!Whiskey #7dov #DIamonds&Daddies #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x reader #my fic #thots #smut

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youarejesting · 3 years

Text

The right to bare arms

Beta:@voiceswithoutlips�� Rating: All Pairing: Spider!Namjoon x Reader Genre: Hybrid au, Fluff, Adventure, little spooky Words: 2.8k

Summary: A Halloween special for the youtube channel ‘Ama-Jin Friends’ sees a group of young individuals visiting an abandoned and supposedly haunted hotel. Legend says there are evil creatures inside ready to devour those who enter. But in the depths of the building you find the supposed creature isn’t as deadly as it seems, actually he is a bit clumsy.

You were sitting in front of the camera, feeling a little nervous. Halloween was coming up and well, that meant spooky content, and you were a big scared cat.

“Good morning, noon, or night and welcome to another episode of Ama-Jin friends, I am your host Jin, and these are my friends. As today marks the first day of the week leading to Halloween, we are going to raise the stakes with a little competition.” Jin began speaking to the camera excitedly and you fidgeted, catching Hoseok’s eye as he too looked nervously around.

“I told you all to pack a bag with everything you would need to stay the week in a hotel, the competition is simple, the last person to leave the hotel wins.”

“That’s easy!” Jungkook puffed out his chest, his Brown bear hybrid nodded in approval.

“What aren’t you telling us?” Yoongi asked, noticing his owner Hoseok’s nerves rising.

“The catch, it’s not just any old hotel, it is the most haunted hotel in this town, and top three in the country.” He smiled evilly, you and Hoseok shivered nervously. “Well since we are all packed let’s all head out?”

“As usual we have the camera crew, each group will be given a cameraman, except one, now we will be drawing lots on who will be going alone.” We each picked a piece of paper from the basket. “One of the papers is marked X the rest are marked O, the X is the individual who will go through the house alone without a camera crew. “

You looked at the paper and felt your body go weak, you were going alone. Bracing yourself on the couch you took some deep breaths, “are you sure you are okay, you look sick?” Carl, one of the cameramen asked.

“I will take it if you want?” Jungkook

“No, I will take it!” you sighed. When you arrived at the hotel, you felt like crying, “this looks like something from a nightmare.”

You were each given a tracker bracelet and a headset with night vision goggles and a mic. Strapped to your chest was a go pro and you had a 360 camera on a stick, you were told to check the equipment every five minutes, to see if they were recording properly. And finally, you were given a heart monitor.

You each stepped in with your backpacks of clothes, some water, a torch, and your electronics.

“Pick a room and have fun, last one out wins”

You headed in by yourself, going to the back, on the first floor. You were shaking with nerves, “I don’t think I can make it through the night, but since I am all by myself I should stay on the bottom floor near the working toilets and the kitchen.

“Since this place has been turned into a haunted house the show stuff is upstairs. This stuff is pretty clean for people to eat food during Halloween.” You informed the camera.

“I have to find somewhere to sleep that doesn’t scare the crap out of me,” you muttered, lips numb, you found the kitchen and sighed, “I can’t sleep there, I found a small office, but it was locked, So I’m just outside in this lockable infirmary, so this is where I will camp for the night”

You chose that as your sleeping place, as there was a clean bed in the cozy room, however, the floor creaked and the carpet was discolored by water damage, but it was dry at this moment, and that’s all you needed.

You spent the night talking to the camera and trying to sleep, unsuccessfully, when you heard a sound coming from the kitchen, “I heard a sound from the kitchen, and it’s freaking me out, can you guys hear it?” you whispered looking at the small light glowing in the corner of the lense.

Moving out the door and down the hall, you saw Jungkook and V cooking Ramen on the stove.

“You idiots! I just had a heart attack!” you walked in shaking, Taehyung rubbed his round ears, embarrassed, and hugged you.

“You want some noodles?” Jungkook asked playfully.

“Yes please,” you whined.

“Hey y/n, I was telling Yui that I can smell another hybrid, I can’t tell what breed it is but it gives me a weird feeling?” Taehyung spoke in a husky voice.

“What does it smell like?” You asked aiming your camera at the two men as if you were interviewing them. Before placing the camera near the ramen.

“Like a rancid, bitter smell.” Taehyung expanded on his thoughts pulling a face.

“What smells bitter and rancid, snakes, lizards?” you brainstormed animals you knew that could be considered odd-smelling

“It reminds me of Ants?” Taehyung said thoughtfully “You don’t think it is a giant Ant hybrid?”

“Ants to me have an aniseed smell” You spoke to the camera wondering if others would agree with your statement, “Do you guys feel the same way?”

“No, not like that, it’s funky,” Taehyung shrugged

“So something maybe insecty, I have never met an insect hybrid,” you hummed

The three of you ate ramen and parted ways, you went back to your room, but your torch was missing and you were scared, someone thought it was funny to take it but jokes on you, you wouldn’t use the torch anyway, you didn’t want anything in the dark knowing where you were in the halls.

The first night you heard a noise, it sounded like it came from under the bed, you had been suspicious for the last hour that there was a hole under the bed. You dropped the stupid stress ball Jin had given you onto it bounced two times and stopped. When you moved to sit up there was a groan in the wood, mere seconds before the bed collapsed through the floor, you lunged off the bed for the ledge, but you missed and fell into the pitch-black basement.

You screamed, but you never hit the floor, you were cushioned by sticky rope, you touched it and realized it wasn’t rope, it was a thick wiry spiderweb.

One could always tell the size of the spider by the size of their web, but this was too big, this spider would have to be the size of a small bear, that scared you. Taehyung had said he smelt a hybrid, an insect hybrid, what if it had been eaten by the spider. What if it was that spider?

You felt movement on the web and you froze, something big was coming, you were desperately trying not to hyperventilate. You saw black shiny eyes and something retreat into the dark. But whatever it was, it didn’t attack, maybe because it thought you were dead when it didn't feel you struggling on the web.

You looked around slowly, a shuffling sound could be heard below, and as you hung from midair stuck in these rope-like webs. As the sounds grew louder you screamed again as a light came hit your eyes. “Hey, you alright? You fell through the floor.” A deep voice spoke making your heart explode, you were going to die.

“Who are you?” you asked mouth gone dry, looking around until you saw the torch pointed at the roof illuminating both of your figures, he was a handsome young man.

“I’m Namjoon the security guard, I watch on the cameras to see if anyone gets hurt. I came as soon as I saw you fall” He was wearing a very large puffy security jacket, you watched him struggle up the web and pulled you free, placing you on the ground, you picked up your things and he held out the stick 360 camera. “You might need this to continue your filming, are you like a tv show or something online?”

“We are online,” you smiled taking the expensive camera which thankfully was barely dirtied and still recording, you were still moving along behind him, you were a little scared, in a movie he would either get killed for helping, or he would be the killer.

A shiver passed through you, you whispered into your mic. He led you to the first floor and fixed the barricade and sign that said water damage, and warned occupants to not travel down that area of the hotel.

“Can I ask you a question?” The security guard Namjoon asked curiously.

“Sure” you smiled, happy to be back on the first floor, he told you he would take a stroll to check on every floor and make sure no one else was hurt.

“Well every one of your friends has a hybrid except you, do you not like hybrids?” He said curiously as to why you were exploring alone.

“I love hybrids, I just don't want to force one to live with me, but maybe if one wanted to then that would be different,” you murmured. “It’s complicated.”

“Sounds complicated?” he laughed, “what would you like? A cat hybrid or a dog hybrid?”

“I have no one specific in mind, just someone I could connect with.” He tripped and you went to help him up but he was already scrambling onto his feet.

“Sorry I am a bit clumsy.” He smiled and you looked at him in the light of the hall, his eyes were all black and beady. He lowered his head. “I didn’t mean to scare you or bring you any harm, I am just a hybrid, not a pretty one either.” He gave a dry laugh, “I have lived in this house all my life now, I just have to face that this is how I will live from now on, I am not upset, I just don’t know what I am.”

He went to leave and you grabbed his arm, “You are a hybrid?”

“Yes,” He smiled sheepishly, “I should go… back down there?”

“Wait, if you have lived here all your life, where do you sleep and what do you eat?” you asked curiously.

“Well, my job is the security here, so I make some money and so I sometimes eat Ramen but when I was a child, undiscovered by the staff, I would eat whatever I could find,” he smiled sheepishly, “I have my own little home in the basement”

“Can I see?” you asked, the idea that this sweet dimpled young man grew up here with no food pulled at your heartstrings.

“You almost passed out whilst we were down there, are you sure you want to go there again?” he asked and you shivered, remembering the damp basement, he laughed putting his arm around you. “It’s okay, you don’t have to go down.”

“I am just afraid of the dark,” you admitted, now he started laughing wholeheartedly “Oh yeah just laugh at the scared girl!!”

“It’s just I live in the dark so that’s kind of funny,” he grinned, “I find comfort in the dark”

“Are you like a bat?” You guessed,

“No, I can’t fly,” he chuckled, “I am evil, scary, and everyone hates me.”

His laughter died off, he was left looking sad and lonely, you wondered if your suspicion was right, was he the spider? or something else? He was a nocturnal animal with entirely black eyes but other than that there were no distinct features about him. He was very tall and his legs seemed to go on for days but that was all.

If he was a bat or moth he would have wings and, or webbed fingers, if he was an ant, beetle, or spider, you assumed he would have a more obvious behind. But his butt was confined to his pants perfectly, he caught you staring and he looked over his shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

“I was just checking something sorry,” you blushed, he probably thought you were checking him out, the way you were adamantly staring at his butt. “Anyway, what if you come to live with me?”

“You won’t want me,” he spoke bashfully, “I am not cute, and I am clumsy and repulsive-looking.”

“I have decided that if you want a home with hot water and real food, I could adopt you,” you crossed your arms, “you have never had an owner so I will be that, I will give you a better life, how does that sound?”

He looked like he was trying to contain his excitement and be reasonable, but he just couldn’t wipe that smile off his face as he stood up, “are you sure?”

“Let’s go pack your bags,” you grinned, “I won’t take it back, and I won’t ask you to reveal yourself, I will give you your own room and personal space so you can be yourself.”

Namjoon seemed to like this, grinning and heading to the basement. You tried to follow him but you slipped on the stairs, almost tumbling down the steps. Namjoon turned, looking shocked, he lunged for you. There was a tear of fabric and the jacket he was wearing ripped, revealing six more pairs of arms.

You fell into all eight arms and he stumbled backward falling onto his back, “Are you okay?” you asked, making sure he didn’t hit his head. Obviously, you now knew he was a spider, you were a little weirded out by multiple arms; they were all entirely human just eight altogether.

“I’m okay,” he seemed more concerned about you, “Are you?”

“I am in safe hands,” you snickered and stood up, holding out two of yours, “I only have two to help you up, but I am sure it is more than enough, let’s go pack your bags.”

It was safe to say you didn’t win the bet, leaving early but the video was a hit as Namjoon was the first spider hybrid caught on camera. He was introduced to your house where he got familiar with everything. You were quick to get custom-made shirts for his many arms.

Namjoon was soon the newest member of Ama-Jin friends and though there were hate comments, the people grew to love him, seeing his cute side. They especially enjoyed him playing games and trying new things as he often made a mess. One of your competitions was to make coffee, he somehow got tangled in his arms and well the milk got more on the bench than in the mug.

The cutest part was how naive he was and how he never shied away, he loved trying new things and wasn’t scared to fail, and when he did fail he gave a dimpled smile. The fans fell in love with Namjoon when they saw how smart he was. They started to send him little toys and trinkets of his favorite animals. So here he was in a shirt that said ‘Crab Life’ it was a blue with a brilliant coral crab on it. The fans sometimes called him Daddy-Long-Legs, which had made the others laugh hysterically.

You finished up today’s fun episode and headed home, you decided to go into the grocery store, grabbing Namjoon’s favorite foods, at the check out you were paying the cashier talking to Namjoon. “If you want to grab some groceries I will grab the rest and we could head home and watch some TV”

But when you turned you saw each hand carrying a bag and you couldn’t stop laughing. His ears turned red and you assured him it wasn’t bad, “you just never cease to amaze me. How could anyone hate you? You are a precious and sweet angel!”

Namjoon puffed up his chest and grinned, he was happy to be wanted and useful and you were happy to help him feel wanted. “I think you are an amazing owner too, you support me in what I do and you aren’t too overbearing. Plus you cook really good food.”

“Well if you like my cooking, I should let you know tonight I am making your favorite,” you smiled, opening the front door, you sorted out the groceries and thanked that Namjoon was so tall he could always reach the top shelf.

“Do you need help?” Namjoon asked and you grinned as he liked to participate, but you had to remind him to go slow and think about what he was doing first before he did it, you always gave him safe tasks not wanting him to burn himself.

“I have a salad that could be made so I need you to wash the spinach and chop the avocado and just dice everything slowly okay, take your time and don’t hurt yourself,” you warned him, getting the rest of the food ready, “I will finish making the japchae.”

“I love japchae,” he wiggled excitedly and began washing the spinach, it made you laugh, he was still such an excitable young man, he never had someone cook for him or to hang out with. There was never someone to talk to or confide in, he never had a safe place to explore the world and expand his mind.

He grew up well despite living alone, having access to books, and was smart enough to teach others, he even knew multiple languages that he self-taught from watching tv in the basement of the haunted hotel.

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hermit-pistol · 3 years

Text

Leone Abbacchio Fluff Alphabet:

And with that, the 600 follower special is concluded! I know that they took me forever to finish but I hope that you enjoyed reading them! Please like and reblog to show love, and read some Abbacchio fluff under the cut:

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Abbacchio enjoys the simplicity of doing nothing and going nowhere. Honestly, some of his favorite activities that you do together take place in the courtesy of your own home. Don't get it twisted though, he still will take you out for the occasional meal and show you a good time!

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He admires your ability to stay calm. Other people he has known in the past would tend to annoy him with how high strung they were. He much rather prefers a partner that he can sit in comfortable silence with, and can just go with the flow of everything.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Abbacchio, to be fair, has had his own fair share of emotional baggage, so he knows what you're experiencing all too well. Thankfully, he also knows how to overcome the situation when these feelings grow to be too much. He'll whisper words and phrases of affirmation, assuring them that everything will be okay and that he will always be there for them.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

His vision of the future is very uncertain, and in all fairness, he couldn't even believe that he'd made it this far in his life. His previous career as an officer and currently being in the mafia were certainly not considered "safe" jobs. He does want a future with you though, no matter how risky the job. He just won't think too far ahead.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Abbacchio is very passive aggressive. He'll be very lenient when it comes to making decisions in the relationship but can obviously step it up if needed. Most of the decision making will be in the hands of his partner for sure.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

He bottles things up until they explode at the surface. He'll yell and most likely something will come out harsher than intended, this ends up with him being in a position where he has some serious explaining to do. Things will work out eventually, but things might be rough for a while.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He loves you for showing him that living wasn't all that bad to begin with. Life hasn't been very kind to him and you know that. When he's having very low moments, you remind him of his team and you who both love him very much. You are one of the only reasons that he keeps on going.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Getting Abbacchio to open up and speak about the things that he's experienced in this lifetime will take a lot of coaxing and convincing. In time, he'll tell you when he's ready, but for a good while he'll be very selective with what he wants to share with you. Only when the time comes and he feels that you're worthy of knowing will he come clean. Be ready.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

He has a hard time seeing the positives of a situation, and before he met you, he was truly unhappy with his life. It took him so many years to learn that seeing things from a different, more optimistic point of view really made a huge difference. He thanks you for opening him up to new experiences.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Abbacchio does not mess around when it comes to you getting attention from other people. He may appear passive at first, but he’s had an eye on the two of you this whole time, don’t worry. If things get out of hand, he’ll just drag you out of there so fast you won’t even have time to process what just happened.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Abbacchio is a very rough kisser, to the point where you have to remind him not to leave marks on your lips. There's a time and a place for everything, but it takes some reminders to let him know that a simple showing of affection shouldn't result in your face being all but ripped off. Other than that, he's got quite the natural talent.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

The funny thing that sets Abbacchio apart from the others is that he won't outright tell you that he loves you. He very much so believes in the concept of tough love, and even though he can be unbearable at some points, it's very rarely that he verbally expresses that he loves you. It's rather expressed in the actions that he does.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He's going to wait for ages until he pops the question, so long in fact that you had thought about proposing to him just to get it over with. He'll ask for the help of his team to put the wedding together since he doesn't have much to work with in terms of family. When it's all said and done, he'll totally have to fight the urge to break down into tears when he sees you walking down the aisle. You just look so beautiful!

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Abbaccchio really doesn't need nicknames, unless you ask him to call you something specific. If not, he's content with referring to you by your name. After all, it is the most sincere form of flattery as they say.😳

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Only a few people can tell that something is up with Abbacchio (mainly, Bruno and Fugo) and once they figure out what's going on with their teammate they can't help but smile. They'll leave teasing out of it because they know that the others might go too far, but whenever you enter a room they share a knowing glance as they watch him clam up on the spot.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He's not very fond of showing his affection in public, and sometimes this really gets on your nerves. There are times where he doesn't even feel comfortable holding hands with you, but you try to respect his wishes. You know that he's just a little awkward and shy when it comes to these things and that his actions in the outside world are completely different compared to when you share alone time.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

(I know this might be one you guys have heard of before but it can't leave my brain so-) Abbacchio can sing, and he can sing quite well. But he will never do so in front of people, and even in front of you. The only times that you can hear him is when he thinks that you have left for the store and sneaks into the bathroom. One time you had your ear pressed against the door so hard that it accidentally opened. He was holding a hairbrush like a microphone and was less than pleased that you had found him.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

It may not seem like it, but Abbacchio can be quite romantic. When the two of you are alone he might offer to give you a massage or might shower you in kisses of his own accord. Both of those might end up leading to something else, of course ;)

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

He will always make sure to make sure that you have complete confidence in whatever you decide to pursue. If you succeed, then he will be the proudest man you've ever seen. Even if you experience some shortcomings he'll encourage you to keep trying and re-adjust your goals so they can be more attainable.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Abbacchio doesn't really come across as the type of person that's spontaneous. While he doesn't like surprises, whenever he does have a nice gesture planned he wants to make sure that you're prepared for (possibly) one of the best days of your life. He hypes it up in subtle ways like "Pack your bags" and "Make sure to bring your swimsuit". 😉

U nderstanding - How well do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Don't let his emotional unavailability at times fool you, for he can understand your emotions quite well. He'll pay attention to details that could decipher your moods, like the slam of a door or heavy sighs as you shuffle your feet into the living room. Of course, he'll ask you how to make you feel better, but he secretly prides himself on his awareness when it comes to you.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Abbacchio isn't the best at maintaining relationships with people, unless they're very special to him. You are easily one of the best things that's ever happened to him, and if you weren't in his life he'd be extra grumpy and then some. You are his rock, and he cherishes you every single day the two of you are together.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

When the two of you aren't busy, you insist on having a "couple's night" which consists of watching a movie together. He’s a bit of a “fun killer” when it comes to having a movie night, turning down almost every idea and suggestion that you have. You eventually decide on a basic horror movie, with Abbacchio grumbling through it the whole time. He does enjoy when you cling to him during the scary parts, though.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Abbacchio can be affectionate when he wants to be (only when you’re ALONE). There are times when he doesn't want to be in the same room as you, and then others when he's clinging to you no matter how hard you try to escape. Catch him in a good mood and he'll even nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Whenever you've been away for a bit, Abbacchio will seemingly be unfazed by your lack of presence, almost to the point where it bothers you. Your man really doesn't show that many emotions, huh. When you walk through the door; however, he'll be there in the doorway ready to greet you and wrap you in a giant hug. You smile, knowing that he secretly missed you after all.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

He's not the type of guy to give gifts or do anything extravagant outside of special occasions. If you're having a bad day he will bring you dinner and listen to you vent. If you're the one, he's willing to go the extra mile in maintaining the relationship and wanting to keep you as happy as possible.

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