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silvershiningtarot · 1 year

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❤️❤️Pac18+ Channeled Letter From FS ❤️💋

* take a minute to get into the mood of this reading. These are Five Piles. All channeled Messages from your Spouses. Some of them were irritated but sweet but a lot of them were funny as hell. They made me laugh. But anyway Take what resonates and what doesn't leave the rest alone. Enjoy them. Inhale and Exhale.. 🥲🥲💋

Dear My Love,

Damn, I've been missing you all day today. I'm sorry I haven't got back to you lately. I've just been busy as always. Did you get my message? I hope that you've been working on yourself and not nobody else bullshit. I wanna make up for all those times I've missed with you. Again thank you for being my rock. I know it is your energy. I can feel it. Make sure you're working out, and staying out of trouble. I'm tired of you doubting our connection. We are meant to be. Don't you feel it? I'm coming home soon. I know don't see it yet but at least try to act like I'm there. I know right who tf am I say that that right. I want someone to complain to right now. There's a lot of pain I've been holding onto that I wanna let go. I can't. I can't even cry right now because I have to make sure my family and others are well. Of course, I wanna meet you. You're my wife. I don't know what the future holds for us. But let's not tend to look over there right now. I know I get caught up in the future as well. You are my favorite person in the world to me. I can't say too much it seems like I am supposed to keep quiet about this. But I just wanna say thank you for holding your ground baby. All the negative people don't pay them any mind because, in the end, they won't even matter anymore to us. I know I sound like I'm shitting on myself but I feel like you are so damn perfect I'm just me. Will you be my bride-to-be? Haha 😂🤣 I know I'm rushing. I just wanna get to know you already. Your energy fulfilled me. You and I are made for each other. What can I say? That I love you, my starlight. You shine so much on your own and you don't even know it. I'm giving you so much credit! You should give it to yourself more often. I can see the potential in you. Always look up at the stars and count them I'm right there looking at them too. Rose is red, violets are blue, I wanted to say, baby, forgive you. I know I suck at rhyme but that's all I can think of. 🤣. Anyways thank you for letting me air out my feelings for you and a little bit about my life. Thank you, my dear. Yours truly Best Friend.

SIGH, My cupcake 🧁

My sweet darling cupcake, Where have you been all my life? Just sitting around. May I be completely honest with you? What the fuck happened to you? I mean I've missed you in my dreams. I don't see you anymore. Are you mad at me or something? Tell me what I did wrong so we can fix the issue. Like Tuh, TODAY! I hope you do not purposely ignore me. That shit is unfair. I’m sorry, I didn't mean to come off as a dickhead but you're being a dickhead to me. So what are you talking to someone else? Is there someone else on your mind? That's right I can say I'm irritated by you. But you're so damn lucky I can't stay mad at you it's so hard for me to stay mad at you. I mean look at you. You're my fucking cupcake. You are the most precious person in the world to me. I get overly possessive over you. I'll hunt someone down if they hurt you! Just say the magic word, my love. I'll fucking do it. You look so goddamn beautiful. You are a fucking goddess to me. My everything, my soulmate, my soul family. Yes! I've been dying to say that but I gotta little choke up for a second. But How are you doing? Are you okay? Whenever you're not feeling okay think of us. Think about our house together, marriage, babies, etc. Whatever you can think of us. Do it! I don't like it when you are feeling down it makes me feel down. Thank you for walking beside me, and now it's my turn to walk beside you. It's okay give me your burden. I'll carry them for you. I know I come off as aggressive, and dominant but that's just me being overly protective and worrying about you. You know damn well you would do the same for me too. Anyways I have to go. But I'll talk to you soon. Keep your head up. Don't let anyone disrespect you at all. Keep it pushing, if the people in your life were meant to fall off then fucking let them don't pick them up after they fucking fall. I'm sorry 💔. Let me catch my breath. I love you my sweet cupcake. (excited) I get so excited saying look at me all giggly now hahaha!!! Always keep your head up. My cupcake, you are forever mine never forget that. Please. Make sure to take it easy on yourself why don't you? I like it when you dress up all pretty. I love your body, face, and everything about you. I just wanna kiss your body. All up and down.

Dear My teddy bear 🧸🧸

Ahhh, I wanna fucking scream 🙀right now but I'm cooling down right now. Okay, I'm calm now. I'm just so excited to talk to you. I don't know maybe it's me or it's just your fucking energy getting me all work up. I love when you are excited and work up like I am💋. Always teddy bear. How are you? I've missed you today. It seems like I haven't talked to you all day today. But what's been going on with your life? I hope you having a good day today. Make sure you are smiling too. I love it when you smile, shoo you probably smile right now as I'm talking to you. Can you hear me? Reach out to me. Oh, there's so much I have to say to you. I do. The first thing is. Did you eat today? I hope you did. Get your strength up. Did anyone fuck with you today? Like trouble you. I get it you have your difficulties to face, but I'm still here. I wanna be your knight and shine Amor. I know I sound like a fairytale dream guy or whatever but here's my thing though! Even if I'm so type of fantasy to you. You can pull me out, right? Whatever that stupid saying you die in the dream you die for real obviously not! Haha, but what I'm trying to say is if you are dreaming about me❤️‍🔥 that means I'm real to you. I'm manifesting you come into my life. I may know your face but I felt you before and your energy. It's is always the same I can tell that it's you. If that makes sense. I know I'm a fucking goofy ball! I think it's your energy I told you it's YOU!! HA! I love it though. But my sweet teddy bear! I wanna cuddle next to you. That's right I am a cuddle! Since I'm tall I like to get a cuddle. That's why I call you my teddy bear. You're so soft and warm 🔅. Whenever you're laying in your bed, you are not alone. Like Michael Jackson's song “You are not alone, I'm Here with You. Though far away I'm here to stay🍒. Because you are not alone.” some shit like that. Well, that's the song that came into my head I wanna send that to you. Holy snap! I think that I just put our wedding song Oops yikes my bad. Or you don't mind. ❤️❤️🧸❤️❤️. My gorgeous darling. How can I ever repay you? Not money but I wish I can snap my finger. You can fall into my arms just like that. Haha! Only like a fairytale movie. To be real! I like the villains more than the heroes. Do you ever realize that? Huh? Funny isn't it? They always make the villains describe our reality. Man! That's hilarious, isn't it? But anyways I wanna send you all the kisses! In the world, I hope you can feel them. Love you! I am coming to you in your dream so gear up. Love ya!

My Hero

Oh, my hero girl! I've been missing your touch lately. This red string is meant for you. I can't attach it to someone else. It's not there, to begin with anyway. I know that I've to overthink a lot about things. I got bad supporters, people, and businesses that have just been fucking me over. I'm trying to wrap my head around this what I'm doing wrong. Do I deserve what I think I deserve? I know deserve you but then I don't sometimes. See! Overthinking again. Maybe if you were here then I won't be feeling this way doubting myself and our connection. I feel that we have something together. I mean look at you and look at me. Would date someone like me? Would you be with someone like me? After everything from my past that you heard all over the blogs, social media, and news. Would you? I know I wouldn't. I'm competing with myself. All the time. The more I think about the bad, the more I trap myself. I wanna wake up from this nightmare I've been working on. My hero, I haven't been okay lately. I had fallen sick not like that if you know what I mean just depressed lately. I've been wanting to talk to you but I figure I wasn't strong enough to do it. Well, I'm here now so that counts. I have a mindset of wanting new beginnings for myself. Because I deserve better than this. You understand me, right? Am I talking too much? I don't want to annoy you. Just want someone to talk to and understand me just for once. I isolated myself away from people. Going through a lot of ups and downs with some business stuff. Don't worry my little hero I got this. I thank you for your concern for me. That's one thing that I love about you. Everything about you is so special. We are match-made from heaven. We were to incarnate down here to be together. Maybe it's time for us to finally meet. What do you think? I mean if I'm toxic for you then stay fuck away from me. If I'm in a dark place why the hell would I want my hero involved with that? I would be hurt because these are my demon to face. But anyway. Can I tell you about my dream about us? I saw us on a beach just laying down on the sand holding you while hearing the beautiful breeze of the ocean. I think back at those dreams all the time. Sorry, I can't tell you to rest because I don't want to give the rest out right now. But my little hero is always here to save my day. I can't wait to see what the future holds for us. I think that sometimes I've burned myself out all the time. But I'm working on myself even more. I'm slowly freeing myself. I feel like someone is betraying me I don't even know who it is. Ugh, you're right. I won't pay them any mind at all. I'll try not to. Again thanks for letting me share my side. Now it seems like I've seen you before. Where did I see you? Hmmm did you go to the same school as I did? Or work at the same place before. Your face I can't get out of my head. I can never get rid of your beautiful face of yours. Yes! See!! Haha, I'm smiling 😂🙃😛you brighten up my day. I hope I did the same thing for you my hero. I love you and take care of yourself, please. Muah 💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

My Moonlight

When our fingers touch, my body goes into shock. Can you feel it? I sure can. There's no doubt in my mind that you are the one for me. I think that I've dreamt about you before. I dedicated songs to you before. Yours and mines are the same our soul. Once the two of us get together we are each other’s perfect match. You are the pieces to my puzzles and I am yours. The way you say things got me all twisted. Whenever I see your face I tried to find you again. But then I go back to sleep you're gone. My moonlight where did you go? Why did you disappear on me? I know isn't your fault. But I think that's crazy to say but you and I are Twin Flame or my other half. I love hearing your voice in my head. I daydream about you all the time. You come to like nobody's business! Don't worry I'm not ashamed of you. I tell my friends and people about you, but they all make fun of me like you aren't real. But to me you are real. I had vivid dreams about you. All the time. The way you say my name is so beautiful. Do you sing opera? It is so magnificent. I love it. When our soul combines. They are singing that we are each other’s forever. I never doubt that for a second. I know I got some bad friends, etc. But I don't pay those bitches no mind. Because they ain't my concern. I am! So you are my favorite person. I don't care if people think I'm crazy, or I need help because I talked to myself. Who doesn't talk to themselves? I'm sorry, I went down to an angry place let me breathe this out. Okay, anyways I look at the stars, I wish all the time for you to come into my life. I won't lie my life sometimes fucking boring. Ha 😂 I know you feel the same way too. But I know that I've been working to hard get my financials shit up. So I won't be able to talk to you. But whenever you're looking at the moon, you'll find me staring back at it. Because when the moon shines on your eyes that's my eyes glimpsing back at you. I know you can't feel me physically but feel me emotionally, and spiritually. We have a spiritual connection between you and me. I know you can feel and so can I. It may not be what you want all the time but it is worth the risk. I don't think you know how much you mean to me. You mean everything to me. I'm so proud of the work you've been doing for yourself. Let me give you around applause 👏🏾👏🏾 that's how much I'm proud of you. Thank you for being that much amazing to yourself. Don't feed into that anger. Whenever you are feeling angry or a negative thought came to mind burst that fucking ego. Shout it out if you have to. Shit call me and we’ll do it together. We are a partner no matter what. I know I come off as this softy but I don't care. I don't want anybody else touching you, or talking to you. I know sound possessive. I don't care I care about you so much. I can be a real fucking dickhead if I want to be but I choose not to be. Make sure you meditate and always remember what I said SELF-Control is important! Man, I gotta start making up homework for your ass! 🤣🤣😂 Anyways my other half I know you mean well. But I just wanna tell you!! You are my favorite person in the world. The Universe already blessed me enough with your light and energy. I'm just ready to enjoy it in person. How amazing you are. Thank you for choosing me. I'm glad you're my other half. Doesn't matter if we are soulmates, twin flames, or whatever. You still are my MOONLIGHT!! Forever & always. Promise me that you'll take good care of yourself. No matter what. Don't be surrounded yourself by toxic people, or energies if they try to block them. Like I said call me I’ll help you push them out of the way. I love you my darling, you already know. 🧸💋💋❤️🧸

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snippychicke · 7 months

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Kinktober Week Two-- Garp

Prompt: Phone Sex

Warnings: these poor communication snails. Otherwise just a lot of dirty talk. Nsfw, 18+, just look at the title.

You sat at the library of the marine headquarters, mindlessly reading quite possibly the only piece of fiction in the entire place. The library was calm, quiet, with just a few soldiers as well as cadets milling about, looking through old journals and log books. Pieces of history to help them plan the future.

The quiet was interrupted by a chirping sound. Not the transponder snail on your desk, but the ear-slug in your purse.

Garp.

Your breath caught, he rarely ever reached out on the private line, usually happy using the official lines even if it was just to whine and tell you how bored he was, or how much he missed you. Often to everyone else's annoyance.

You quickly fished the small conch out of your bag as you stood and retreated into your office, sure whatever he was calling for was private. "Garp?"

"Heh. Wasn't sure you'd answer," Came your husband's reply. "You do still keep the little bugger with you."

"Of course I do!" You said, though relief wasn’t instantaneous. You knew Garp, he'd chit chat before admitting he had a massive hole where his stomach was. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I was just missing you." There was a huskiness to his voice, making you frown. It wasn't pain. But… "Are you able to slip away and talk in private for a little bit?"

Something about the way he said it made you blush, as if he was right there whispering into your ear. "I'm in my office with the door closed."

"Perfect. Have you got a new desk yet?"

You blushed as you looked at your desk, covered with papers and books, it wasn't nearly as grand or large as the last one. Or the one before that. Or the one before that.

All broken by your husband during his… visits.

"I do. It's not very well made, I guess they got annoyed about how many we've broken."

His laughter echoed in your ear. "I can't wait to get back and break that one too. I'll push all those boring dusty reports to the side, throw you up there and start railing you. Whole place is going to hear me fuck my wife."

If your face was't red before it was now as you slumped in your chair. Throat became dry as you listened to his slightly-heavy breathing. "So that's why you called me."

His chuckles echoed down your spine, goosebumps pricking your skin. "I've been out to sea too long. Can you blame me for wanting to hear my wife's voice as I jacked myself off."

You could just imagine him in his quarters, sitting at his desk, legs splayed wide open, cock hard as the mast as he teased himself. After all, how many times had you seen it when you worked as his secretary? First on accident, then on purpose.

"Are you already touching yourself?" You purred, switching mental gears, and heard him groan in response.

"Barely. I wanted to see if I could get you at least breathing heavy first."

You relaxed back in your chair, teasing your nipple through your outfit. "What got you all hard and bothered, sailor?"

"All this goddamn paperwork made me remember the days you used to sit beneath my desk and reward me for doing my reports," He answered. "Talk about initiave when you have a pretty woman giving you head, knowing you get to fuck her wet pussy once you're finished."

Your breath hitched between his words and memories. Hearing him growl in frustration as he tore through his work as you lazily sucked him off. "It was the only way to get you to work," You teased, making him growl.

"You fucking loved it. You start loosening the buttons on your blouse, showing your cleavage as you delivered reports. Bright red lipstick. You were begging me to fuck that pretty mouth of yours."

"I was," You admitted with a sigh, now fully groping yourself. Eyes closed as you focused on his voice and memory. "But could you blame me? I was serving under the vice admiral. Those huge muscles, that smile. I swear your eyes smouldered when you’d eye-fuck me. And then that is cock of yours. So big and girthy. I felt like a cat in heat wanting to be fucked by it."

"I shouldn't have wasted time. I should have just bent you over my desk that first day and claimed you right then and there, instead of hoping you didn't notice me jacking off under my desk while watching you work."

Your pussy clenched at the thought, and your hand pulled up your skirt and brushed the fabric of your underwear. "That would have been some first impression. But I admit, it felt rather nice realizing I had the legendary Monkey D. Garp lusting over little ol' me."

"Turned you into a little brat," He moaned. You had no doubt he was touching himself now from the way he was breathing. Stroking his hard cock, head leaned back with eyes closed. It was such a beautiful image. "It was like you were testing your limits. Seeing how far you could push until I snapped."

"No. I wanted you to snap. I knew you wanted me. I knew the mess you were making beneath your desk--you're hardly quiet with those growls of yours. I wanted to hear those growls in my ear as you fucked me. Those hands gripping my hair."

That growl was cutting every breath now. "Fuck darling. Please tell me I got you a little wet."

"A little?" You moaned as you pushed your underwear aside and teased yourself. "Sir, I am dripping."

"That's my girl," He snarled. "Always so wet and willing. How long would it take for you to come for me?"

"I thought you just wanted my voice," You teased.

"Plans change. I wanna hear you come. I wanna hear you whine and moan as you fuck yourself. I want to hear you begging me to come there and fill your pussy up."

You whimpered as you started to finger fuck yourself, rolling your hips in time with your thrusts. "Please, promise me you will. As soon as you're back to headquarters."

"Oh yes," He panted. "As soon as this ship's close to shore I'm jumping overboard and running straight for you. Fuck everyone else, I'm going to find you first. I'm gonna carry you into that little office and eat that pussy until you're a sobbing mess, and then we're gonna break that damn desk as I fuck you. The whole base will know I'm back just to satisfy my wife."

#garp one piece #vice admiral garp #monkey d garp #garp x reader #monkey d garp x reader #opla garp

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carlossainzwho · 6 months

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get him back!

carlos sainz x ex!reader

warnings: not proof-read and swearing

part one | part two | part three | part four below!

now, y/n doesn't care about him anymore

i met a guy in the summer and I left him in the spring, he argued with me about everything, he had an ego and a temper and a wandering eye, he said he's six-foot-two and I'm like: dude, nice try!

she met him in summer, sun shining

left him in the spring, rain pouring

he wouldn't shut his mouth

about all the other girls he could have

such a big red flag,

lied about his height

and a lot more stuff than y/n liked

but in the end

who gives a shit?

but he was so much fun and he had such weird friends and he would take us out to parties and the night would never end another song, another club, another bar, another dance and when he said something wrong, he'd just fly me to france!

but the night outs with him were so damn fun

his stupid friends with their drunk asses

one party after another

and never-ending nights

one party after another

'feeling down, y/n?'

next destination, monaco!

so i miss him some nights when i'm feeling depressed till i remember every time he made a pass on my friend do i love him? Do i hate him? i guess it's up and down if i had to choose, i would say right now,

and so y/n missed those nights

where things would lead to the bed,

but all those times he slept with her friends

could not leave her head

did she really love him?

or hate him?

well...

i wanna get him back i wanna make him really jealous, wanna make him feel bad oh, i wanna get him back 'cause then again i really miss him and it makes me real sad oh, i want sweet revenge and i want him again i want to get him back, back, back

she wanted vengeance

she wanted to kiss his friends, make him feel sorry

but also

she wanted him for herself

she missed him so damn much

she wanted revenge, she wanted his love

she wanted to get

him

back!

so i write him all these letters, then i throw them in the trash 'cause i miss the way he kisses and the way he made me laugh yeah, i pour my little heart out, but as i'm hitting 'send' i picture all the faces of my disappointed friends

'hi carlos'

'how are you?'

'hi bab- oh wait-

you're not my babe anymore'

but i want you so bad

i need you to kiss me and make me laugh

tell me the jokes you tell to her

i want you

come over

here's my address

but oh

goddamn it, y/n

he's not worth anything

your friends will be so disappointed in you

because everyone knew all of the shit that he'd do he said i was the only girl, but that just wasn't the truth and when i told him how he hurt me, he'd tell me i was tripping but i am my father's daughter, so maybe i could fix him!

it was no surprise

that he left y/n

everyone knew he was a son of a bitch

he went with other girls and told her she was the only one

y/n tried so hard

to fix it all, tell him how he'd hurt her

but she was her father's daughter

and her father was no coward

y/n vowed to show carlos what he was missing

oh, i wanna key his car i wanna make him lunch i wanna break his heart stitch it right back up i wanna kiss his face, with an uppercut i wanna meet his mum, and tell her her son sucks, yeah!

f1 car or road car, she wanted to destroy it, destroy him

but y/n wanted to make him lunch, tell him how much she loved him

she wanted to make him jealous, break his heart

but she wanted to be the one

to mend it for him

she wanted to kiss his handsome face

with an uppercut

she wanted to meet his mum

and tell her

how her son is

liar

reyesvdec <;/3

monday, 23rd march

hi reyes, can you ask carlos where he is? he won't answer my calls.

Hello love, of course!

He's out with some friends, he'll be back later!

ok!

thursday, 25th march

reyes, where is carlos?

reyes, i think he's with someone else

what do i do?

reyes, please

please?

today, 3:54 am

i hate your son, reyes

delivered

AHH i love the little text messages in the end, idk why i liked writing that so much?? also i think this might be the last part but i'll defo write some more carlos and oscar fics if you're up for it!!

what can i say, thank you so damn much for reading my fics, it means the world to me <3

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circethesinner · 1 year

Note

Hello. Can I request an ask ? Xavier x vampire female reader. She can read minds and she is the new student at Nevermore Academy.

Thank you so much !❤️🥺

suave

pairing: xavier thorpe x reader oneshot (second person pov - she/her pronouns used for reader - occasional use of Y/N)

warning(s) : mild language, small injury and bl**d mentioned

word count: 2.5k

⭑•⊱✩masterlist✩⊰•⭑

A/N - eee first ever request thank you!!! I hope its okay! full disclosure before we begin - one of my special interests is what we do in the shadows so I've decided that vampires are just chaos gremlins

I support womens rights, but more importantly, womens wrongs 😌💅

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Being a newborn vampire sucked.

Everything was too bright, smells were too strong, and your beloved garlic bread sent you to the hospital on four occasions, but goddamn it, you were going to build up a tolerance if it was the last thing you did. Which, at your rate, it probably would be.

How were you supposed to live, laugh, love in those conditions? Instead, you had to settle for manipulate, mansplain, m̶a̶n̶s̶l̶a̶u̶g̶h̶t̶e̶r̶ mind reading.

Hearing other people’s thoughts when you spoke to them was nothing short of exhausting. It wasn’t that it was difficult or strenuous on your body; it was just boring. People were so boring.

Day in, day out, you heard people’s shopping lists, people wondering if the person they liked would ask them out, people trying to multiply things in their heads; the list was endless and dull and endlessly dull. When the most exciting part of your day was hearing someone have an internal meltdown because they were sure someone had just seen them pick their nose and now thought poorly of them, you knew it was time for a change of pace.

That’s when you ended up at Nevermore.

Well, that and your normie parents were panicking because they didn’t know what to do for their newly turned vampire daughter. Nevermore had teachers who could teach you how to vampire properly and stop antagonising the neighbourhood by flying through people’s houses as a bat and stealing jewellery because no cop would believe them when they said a small, winged rodent-like creature flew through the window and stole their grandma’s necklace.

Your new roommate, Yoko, had taken pity on you and taken you under her wing. She had shown you the ropes of the school, ropes which you had promptly cut just to see what would fall.

It wasn’t that you were lying about being able to read minds; you just conveniently ‘forgot’ to tell anyone about it. So, a few weeks into your time at Nevermore, a Twitter account popped up on everyone’s feeds. It was just your run-of-the-mill anonymous gossip, but what caught people’s eyes was that thoughts and opinions that had never even touched their lips were being shared.

Nothing inherently harmful, of course. You weren’t out to ruin lives; just shake them up a little.

Crushes were spilt, cheating was exposed, friendships were made, and friendships were broken. It was all just playful fun in your eyes.

To divert attention from yourself, you would add some of your ‘thoughts’ to the account. Things that would only be mildly embarrassing that you could easily brush off.

“Looks like you’re the hot topic today,” Yoko smiled, her eyes peeking out from atop her sunglasses as they had slipped down her face. She showed her phone screen to you, and you pretended to act surprised as you read the words ‘Y/N thinks Kent is cute’ as though you hadn’t been the one to write them.

“I won’t deny it; he’s easy on the eyes,” You shrugged, looking over at Kent, catching him looking at you. His face flushed red, and he looked away. “In, like, a puppy way.”

“Are you going to ask him out?” Yoko asked, her eyes looking over at him as well. “He’d say yes, but I think he’s just scared of you.”

“He’s scared of his own shadow,” You laughed, passing her phone back. “Again, he’s cute in a puppy way, not in an ‘I want to date him’ way- sorry, bud!” You called out the last words to Kent, who you knew had been listening in from the other table. Confusion and relief flooded his face, and you knew you’d picked the right person. Anyone else would have been more vocal about it. You would have risked being publicly rejected or, worse, asked out. You hedged your bets on Kent doing nothing about it, and it worked.

You scanned around the quad, hopping into people’s minds to see if you could pull anything out that would be useful to you later. It was like you were channel hopping, hearing bits and clips of people’s thoughts until something grabbed your interest.

“Wonder if Thing would like this new nail polish-” You heard from Enid.

“Who sets homework for-” You skipped Ajax almost immediately as you didn’t want to listen to him internally complain about homework for the seventh time in three days.

“Glad she doesn’t actually like him because I-” From Xavier.

“I just wish I-” You heard the start of Divina’s thoughts but panicked and switched back to Xavier. By the time you had, you had realised you were too late. Whatever he had been thinking had been derailed by Ajax talking to him about homework, and now his thoughts were focused on that.

Could he have been thinking about you? The timing would make sense. He was at the table over with Kent, and he would have been able to hear your conversation just as well. Your mind flooded with possibilities on how his thought could have ended. Against your will, it had fixated on the idea that maybe, just maybe, Xavier was glad you didn’t like Kent because he liked you.

What was also against your will was your mind, for some unknown reason, liked that idea.

You decided that you needed to keep tabs on his mind just to gather proof that you were wrong. There was no way that thought was about you, and even if it was, there was no way that was the reason behind it.

“Earth to Y/N!” Yoko snapped her fingers in front of your face, bringing you back into the moment. “Have you listened to a word I’ve been saying?”

“Yoko, my love, I am sorry, but I have not,” You used the pet name, hoping it would quell her bubbling annoyance at you. It was seemingly successful as she smiled.

“It’s okay! I can repeat myself… again!” She teased. You could only hope that a certain someone would also repeat themselves soon.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

You had been listening in to Xavier’s thoughts almost obsessively for a week, hoping to catch him thinking about you. You were barely paying attention in class as you were so wrapped up in this idea that maybe, just maybe, Xavier liked you. It was driving you crazy not to get the answers you wanted.

Then one day, at dinner, you got an answer.

Well, sort of.

Bianca was upset, and as her friend, you wanted to cheer her up. You didn’t pry far into her mind. You just knew that it was something to do with her mom. It wasn’t your business, and you didn’t make it your business. You were throwing M&Ms up into the air, trying to catch them in your mouth again. It had resulted in stray M&Ms on the floor, which you swore you would pick up when you were done.

After fourteen failed attempts, the fifteenth landed in your mouth, and you very openly cheered. The whole ordeal had put a smile on Bianca’s face, despite her eye-rolls about how mature you were being.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, you heard his thoughts.

“That was cute,” It wasn’t exactly the love confession you had been hoping for, but it was something, and something was better than the whole heaps of nothing you’d been getting up until then. It had left you almost frozen in time for a split second, only snapping out of it when the one who had invaded your thoughts as you invaded his reached over to pluck out a stray M&M that had somehow gotten caught in your hair.

Effortlessly, he threw it up in the air and caught it in his mouth on the first try.

“Show-off,” You teased, trying not to get caught up on how cute and suave that move had been. That idea was thrown when he winked at you as he stood up to return to his dorm.

You realised that in your endeavours to see if he had a crush on you, you’d developed one on him.

But you decided that two could play at the cute and suave game, and you set in motion a plan.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

“What the fuck?” Xavier shouted as you, in your bat form, flew through the window and crashed against the wall. You transformed back to your human form and held your now-pounding head.

“That…” You stumbled slightly, trying to stay upright as you turned around to face him. “That went so much better in my head.” “Why the hell did you even do it?” He was definitely confused, but his voice was also laced with concern. “Shit, your head is bleeding a bit.” He grabbed an old black hoodie he didn’t care too much for anymore and walked up to you. He gently pulled your hands away from where you had been clutching your head and held the hoodie up to it to try and stop the bleeding.

“Vampires in movies are so cool and suave,” You groaned, the reality of your situation hitting you almost as hard as you had hit the wall. “I wanted to be like them.” You avoided adding the ‘and you’ that followed it in your mind. You thanked whatever Gods there were that he couldn’t read your mind in return.

“That really doesn’t explain why you did it in the first place,” Xavier laughed. He had carefully pulled you over to sit down on his bed, which your shaking legs greatly appreciated. You weren’t sure if you were shaking from the shock or the nerves of what was about to come out of your mouth or if it was a horrid mixture of the two that had turned your entire body to jello.

“Okay, so…” You sighed, figuring it would just be easier to say it than dodge around it. As you had just awfully demonstrated, subtlety was not one of your strong suits. “I wanted to be all cute and mysterious so you would be more likely to say yes when I asked you if you wanted to go out on a date.” You felt his muscles stiffen next to you, but his hold on the hoodie hadn’t stopped.

You felt the nerves bubble up in your throat, hoping that rejection would be quick and painless and that you could just laugh it all off.

Then, he started laughing.

Somehow, that made it worse. He was probably laughing at you. You tried to dive into his mind to confirm your suspicions, but you were met with pain and mental static. You almost laughed at the idea that the hoodie was blocking your signal.

“There are so many easier ways to do that,” His laughter had settled down a little after a few seconds. “You could have spoken to me in person, called me, texted me; even a written letter slipped into my bag would have done the trick.”

“My handwriting sucks,” You laughed a little with him. It was easier to laugh off than to let the embarrassment consume you, and his own laughter had helped, even if it was aimed at you rather than with you. “And texts aren’t cool or mysterious.”

“The bleeding has mostly stopped, but you might want to get it checked out at the infirmary in case you have a concussion,” Xavier carefully pulled the hoodie away and tossed it to the side. “So, are you going to do it?”

“Yeah, I’ll go to the infirmary on my way back to my room,” You nodded, wincing at the pain that it caused.

“That’s good, but it's not what I meant,” He held out his arm to prevent you from standing up.

“What do you mean?” You asked, doing your best to avoid eye contact and find some sort of escape plan so you could crawl into a hole and regret the life choices you had made thus far.

“Are you going to ask me out on a date?” Your eyes widened as the words registered in your brain, and you looked up at him, still doing your best to avoid eye contact in case you lost your nerve.

“Depends if you’re going to say yes,” You tried not to look too hopeful, trying to cling onto any sliver of keeping cool after the disaster that the whole interaction had been so far.

“You’ll have to ask me to find out,” He fired back, a sly smile on his face. You took a deep breath.

“Do you… want to go out on a date?” You asked.

“With who?” He teased. Annoyance flashed past your face at how difficult he was making things, but he spoke again. “I’m kidding! It would be an honour to go out on a date with you.”

Relief washed through you. It had worked. Despite the absolute chaos and everything going wrong, it had worked.

“Do you know how many times I had to think about how much I liked you around you until you heard it?” Xavier laughed. You looked at him with confusion.

“Wait, do you know-” You started to ask, but he cut you off. “Do I know that you can read minds?” He finished for you. “Do you remember your second day at Nevermore? I left my hoodie on my chair in botany. I realised it halfway out the door, but before I could turn and grab it, you were behind me, holding it out to me. Then, you said that the torn seam was easily fixable and that I could borrow the sewing kit you’d brought with you.”

“Which you did!” You recalled the memory from the months before. “How did that clue you in, though? I thought I’d been careful and said it as though I’d seen the tear.”

“I’d mistaken the hoodie I had with me for another one,” He explained. “The hoodie I had was fine. The one with the tear was in the wash. I thought it was weird, so I tested things a few times. I’d think about certain things, and you would casually bring them up or direct the conversation so I could be the one to bring them up.”

“And during that time, I guess I fell for you,” Your face flushed as you heard that thought, loud and clear.

“I know you heard that one,” Xavier laughed nervously. “I hope that didn’t overstep any boundaries.”

“Xavier, I just flew in through your window after regularly reading your thoughts. If anyone overstepped boundaries, it was for sure me!” You snorted with laughter as you spoke. Hearing Xavier think it was ‘cute’ made your face feel hot but in a pleasant way. You managed to calm down a little as you made eye contact with him for what was the first time since you’d flung yourself into his room.

“I want to kiss you,” You heard his thoughts again, loud and clear.

“Then do it,” You told him. It was a challenge he was more than to accept as he gently took your chin in his hand, tilting your head up and pressing a soft kiss against your lips which you gladly returned.

A/N - have I beta read this at all? hell no - any mistakes y'all find please lemme know 💀

feel free to send in any requests for xavier or other wednesday characters and I will get to what I can!!

#xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe #xavier x reader #wednesday #xavier thorpe fluff #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe oneshot #wednesday oneshot #xavier thorpe x you #xavier x you #xavier x y/n

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batvvvvv · 4 months

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"and this has nothing to do with the plume of smoke rising from... oh, just about where your lab was, last i checked?" "shut the fuck up"

our plot begins on edward's doorstep! i'm still trying to figure out how i want to format all of this so um... bare with me! but this is what i'm doing for now because i don't have the patience for comics. story introduction below !!

after the world ended (not actually; although gotham had collapsed into ruin, the rest of the world was quite content ignoring their existence. let the city eat itself alive, they reasoned, and the problem would solve itself.) edward found himself incredibly, mind-numbingly bored. with everyone making chaos and scrambling for power, there’s no audience to his crime, and no payoff. money is obsolete, he already has all the power he needs with essentially a monopoly on tech and repair, and there’s no thrill of the chase without a functioning gcpd. he needs someone to BOTHER.

and who better than his old friend (read: guy who wants him dead) jonathan crane to bother while everything else goes to shit! so he heads over to jonathan's last known residence and proposes an alliance. jon tells him where he can stick it, and slams the door in his face.

then, about a week later, jonathan's entire laboratory is blown sky-high. jon has no idea who did it, (a lot of people hate him enough for that) and if ed has a clue he's not going to say a word. but nonetheless jonathan is now homeless and in dire straits! all of his supplies were destroyed, half of his work didn't make it out of the fire, and they're having a pretty bad goddamn day, alright, so their judgement isn't the greatest right now!

his first thought is the sirens. ivy is pretty much his only friend in gotham, but the sirens are at full occupancy right now with plenty of their own problems to solve, and jon knows ivy: she'll just tell him to suck it up and figure it out

again, no one else in the city likes him, so he's pretty much out of luck. until he remembers a... certain someone. and jon hates the idea. he really, really hates it. but they're down on their luck and if they want a chance at finding their footing and saving what's left of their hard work, they need a place to stay, and fast.

so he shows up covered in ash on edward nygma's doorstep, to request a second chance at that offer. edward laughs in his face, obviously, but lets him in nonetheless! he reasons that he could use the entertainment around the house, anyway.

neither of them have any idea what they're getting themselves into, but don't worry! the horrors are just around the corner <3

#first plot post everyone cheer #i mean not technically since it precedes the plot but it's necessary info and it counts #can't say anything about the frequency of these posts. midterms are coming up soon for me #so as always. Who Knows #but i'm excited to keep working on this :D #batman au #batman v #edward nygma #jonathan crane #riddler dc #scarecrow dc #scriddler #technically? they're here and it'll happen eventually #batman v plot #i guess i should tag that too for organization purposes

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f1nalboys · 1 year

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Catch 22 - Bo Sinclair and Nick Jones

Bo Sinclair x GN!Reader x Nick Jones

haiiii so heres the first of (hopefully) a few poly fics!!! bex (@bisexual-horror-fan) is currently running a little something called multi-may where for the month of may, every fic she posts will be polyam focused!!! i HAD to participate and what better way to do it than w stinky bo and stinky nick?? i hope yall enjoy the surprise of nick and the nasty sick little thing i wrote here for you <3 PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS ON THIS ONE GUYS!

WORD COUNT: 2526

WARNINGS: nsfw, dub-con to be safe but reader is (sadly and not really happy about it) into it, poly!relationship, toxic relationships, reader and nick used to date before ambrose and now bo is in the mix, bo comes as his own warning and honestly in this one, so does nick! oral (amab receiving,) unprotected sex, spit-roasting, heavy degradation, light praise but it's really just to make the degradation hit harder, slight humiliation, blood, biting, sadism and slight masochism, toy usage, slight dumbification, training mention (aka bo trains nick to be as sadistic as him and they train you to be good for them.) reader is called pet/sugar/freak/a good little bitch/baby/a pretty dumb thing.

It was hard to think about how exactly you got here, squished between both men with an ache deep in your gut as their hands roamed your body. How long had it been since you and he had come to town? A few days? A few weeks? Months? You weren’t sure anymore. Time in the basement had all but stopped for you the moment you had gotten strapped to the chair and it was hard for you to even think about before, especially when what was happening now was so good.

“Like that, doncha?” Bo asks, grinding against your ass, his face nuzzled into your neck. You make a noise resembling an agreement and you can feel his laugh rumble in his chest. He’s still clothed and you wish he weren’t, you wish he were naked and doing this to you so that you could at least pretend it was more for his own pleasure than yours. “Yeah, I bet you do. Like having two sets of hands on you, don’t you, my greedy little pet?”

He’s right, you do, and you hate that you do. You hate how much you’re loving this, having four hands grabbing and groping and pulling at you however they please. “They do love it,” Nick’s voice is in front of you and his forehead is pressed against your own. You blink, getting rid of the haze that had begun to collect in the edges of your vision, and are met with his icy stare. He resembled Bo here, a sharp stare with eyes that seemed to sparkle in a way that made your gut swim in both anxiety and lust. “Tell him, baby. Admit that you like when we treat you like this.”

You swallow thickly, your mouth dry. You nod and both men tsk at the same time, something you wish you could laugh at. You wish that their accidental synchronicity could ease your worries a bit, and could result in the briefest moments of normalcy. But their being in sync meant they were the same and that they had the same idea floating through their heads. Nick smiles at you, the corner of his lip curling upwards into a snarl. You’re sure Bo has a matching one.

“He told you to say it, sugar,” Bo’s grip on your hip tightens, grime-covered nails digging into your bare flesh, right over the last remnants of finger-print shaped bruises. It hurts but it was meant to. His touch was always meant to. Bo wanted the pain and pleasure to be uneven, coming in waves, making you crave the pain knowing that the sweeping and overwhelming end of the pleasure would come for you eventually. And god, did you crave that ‘eventually.’ “So… fuckin’ say it. Unless you want me to cut that tongue outta your mouth? Might do some good; you talk so goddamn much.”

“Yeah, but then how are we gonna let ‘em suck our cocks, Bo?” Nick asks, ignoring your squirming. You felt claustrophobic in between these two. Everything they did was almost too much, too intense and too rough and too hurried, but the thought of them leaving you after all this, aching for their touch, was enough to kill you. His voice was light as if he were discussing the weather with the other man and not about whether or not your tongue should be cut from your fucking mouth. “Wouldn’t you miss it, man? How warm and tight their throat is? So perfect…”

Nick drags his hands down your neck as if he were imagining you on your knees for him then and there, taking his cock like you had done hundreds of times before, some before Bo but most after. Bo liked to watch, liked seeing how he brought this sick sadistic side of Nick out. You remember the first time they both used you, when Nick didn’t pay attention to your whimpers of pain as he pushed inside, how he seemed focused only on his own pleasure, looking at you only to call you a name that you had never seen pass his lips before, the same name Bo had called you before. Pet. Bo had been watching, directing, and had met your eye after the third round with a smile. “Seems he got the hang of it all, doncha think?”

Bo hums. They had been touching you everywhere except where you needed them and you were getting desperate and they knew you were too. It would be embarrassing if they hadn’t already trained you to enjoy it. “Guess you’re right. Maybe we can get one last good one in before we do it.” He sinks his teeth into your shoulder and you yelp in pain, feeling the skin break underneath his teeth. He keeps biting for a moment longer just to hear your cries, just to smell the fear seep out of the wound before he pulls away. You look up at him, tears spilling down your cheeks, and he grins. Blood covers his teeth.

You knew if given the chance - if given a reason - Bo would be more than happy to rip your throat out with his teeth, pull and tear the muscle from your body, feel the warm blood cover his mouth and the front of his shirt, savor the taste. When you look at Nick, his eyes are on the shallow wound of your shoulder and he swallows hard, eyes trained on the blood dripping from the mark. You wonder what would happen to him if you were gone. Nick and Bo didn’t seem to interact much unless you were involved. Would Bo kill him too? Would Nick even want to live?

The idea of the two of them moving on and finding someone new to replace you fills your gut with a slow-moving panic, one that you suppose is always there inside you, just under the surface. And then Nick is looking at you and you're taken back to before Ambrose, to the guy you had thought about marrying, to the late nights and soft kisses and praise that dripped from his tongue like honey. It’s all gone now. That Nick had died the moment Bo had met him and had seen himself inside, festering under Nick’s skin like an infection. Maybe that version of Nick never really existed at all.

The moment is gone and you’re back in the dusty house between the stranger and your lover and you don't know either one anymore.

“Please,” you say and both men stay silent, waiting for you to continue. Your voice sounds foreign to you now, thrown far behind you like a puppet on a string. “I wanna be good.” Nick smiles and again, for just a moment, it’s like you’re back home with him, but then the glint in his eye is back and you know you’re so very far from home even when you’re pressed against it. “I like when you both touch me.” Your face is hot at the admittance but you’re rewarded with a soft groan behind you as Bo finally loosens his grip. Your hip feels numb. “Please don’t stop.”

“See?” Bo coo’s in your ear, pulling away from you for a second to undo his belt. The sound is Pavlovian and you whimper, falling into Nick's arms, mouth filling with saliva, ass sticking out. Both men laugh at you but you can’t bother to care now. The dam holding back your panic from bubbling to the surface had broken and you were ready to cry, to beg, to do anything and everything they asked. “Was that so hard?”

His voice reminds you of what it was like to be scolded as a child and you feel a wave of humiliation wash over you as Nick cradles your head in his hands. He presses his fingers into your neck and you whimper, pain shooting down your spine. “Doing so good,” he says, kissing your forehead. Instead of comforting you, it does the opposite, sending goosebumps up your arms. You had been in this situation with the two of them countless times and you knew better than to let Nick's praise be just that. It was always a ploy, shielding the true reason behind his kind words and actions. “Gonna let us use you, aren’t you?”

“‘Course they are, the freak.” You feel Bo’s cock press against you and he groans, cursing under his breath as one hand lines himself up to your entrance, the other pressing down onto your lower back, forcing you to bend over a bit more. Nick lets go of you and you cling to his jeans, face pressed against his crotch as you feel a glob of spit land on you followed by Bo’s thick fingers smearing it across your hole before pushing inside. The force of his thrust and the pain ripping through you at the intrusion despite all of the teasing has you jolting forward with a cry and Nick takes advantage, grabbing the back of your head and pushing you into his crotch harder. “Gettin’ off on this, fuck, they’re so fuckin’-”

Bo cuts himself off with a groan, finally all the way in, and he wastes no time in setting a rhythm. It was for his pleasure and you knew better than to expect him to touch you, not while he’s busy chasing his own high, his pants around his ankles and his blood-stained shirt in his teeth. “So fuckin’ obedient, right?” Nick finishes, letting your head go and nodding at you. Your hands are shaky as you work on his jeans, your face still pressed against the denim. “Gonna be good and take our cocks just like they were made too, right? Just like we taught ‘em?”

“If they know what’s good for them they will,” Bo replies, sentence muffled by his shirt still in his mouth. When you finally fish Nick’s cock out of his jeans you don’t wait for permission, instead taking him into your mouth with a fervor. You felt complete like this, Bo inside you, fucking you with reckless abandon, Nick in your mouth, moving with slow and deep thrusts, reveling in the feeling of you choking around him.

Drool was spilling from your mouth onto the wooden floor underneath you, dripping down your chin and chest. Your hands were on Nick's thighs in a weak attempt to keep him from plunging his cock down your throat, but you and he both knew that if he really wanted to, you’d let him. Not that you had much choice in that matter, of course.

“Could stay like this all day,” Nick grunts, tilting his head down at you to watch as you take more of his cock with each sharp thrust Bo does. “A pretty dumb thing on my cock getting split open… yeah, could do this all night. How ‘bout you, Bo?” Bo grunts in agreement, too caught up in the feeling of you squeezing around him. Nick grins, sucking in a shakey breath before pulling you off of him and bending down to be face-to-face with you.

There are tears spilling from your eyes and your lips are swollen, spit covering the bottom half of your face, and you’re looking at him with such a needy look that he almost feels bad enough to help you out. Almost. “You’re gonna play with yourself and make yourself cum before Bo and I do or you don’t cum the rest of the night, okay, baby?” He asks, waiting for you to acknowledge what he said.

“O-okay,” you choke out, hand reaching in between your legs. Nick’s eyes light up and he stands, giving Bo a sick smile before tapping his cock onto your wet cheeks. Your hand moved quickly, not moving in any particular rhythm or pattern, mouth opening for Nick. Now that your own orgasm was on the line, all three of you were doing whatever you could to cum first and you knew you were in for a long night.

The pleasure that had been building in your gut all night with their teasing finally comes to a head and you cum quickly, hands sputtering in their movement. Your eyes are squeezed shut, a gargled moan leaving your body as Nick face fucks you, holding the back of your head to keep you still, Bo and he working in tangent to keep you full at all times. Bo is the first to cum, doing so with a choked moan. He wraps an arm around your waist to keep you fully sat on him as Nick finishes deep in your throat, pulling out enough to leave the tip in so you can swallow around him.

“Good little bitch, doin’ what they’re told,” Bo finally says after Nick pulls out of your mouth, running a hand down your back in an almost soothing gesture. You give Nick a weak and pleased smile, exhausted. “Ready to switch, man?” Your eyes widen as Nick nods, looking down at you with a faux-apologetic smile.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says, taking his calloused thumb and wiping spit from the side of your mouth. “You get to cum as much as you like tonight.” And then the men are moving positions, Nick using his slender fingers to push Bo’s cum, which had begun to leak out of your hole, back inside. Bo takes a moment to walk off, further into the bedroom where you can’t see him, and you close your eyes, focusing on the feeling of Nick behind you, touching you. If you try hard enough, you could maybe go back to before all of this, to before Ambrose and Bo and this strange relationship. Your stomach twists at the thought. When your eyes open again, Bo is there.

He stands in front of you and you look up, lip quivering at the sight of him. Bo’s sadistic smile doesn’t fade, just grows a little more knowing how afraid you were of him, of how rough he’d be. “Such a good pet,” Bo says in a mocking tone. “You can cum as much as you can.” And then you see the toy he’s holding in his hand and realize that you were about to cum until it hurt to do so. Bo hands it off to you and you take it with a shaky hand knowing that it would be your downfall tonight. “Ready?” You nod before realizing he was asking Nick and not you; you had forgotten that you were here for them, not the other way around.

“More than I’ve ever been,” Nick says and as the two men line themselves up, ready to use you the way that they had molded you to be used, you briefly wonder if you were ready. Bo shoves himself into your mouth first and you realize that no, you weren’t ready, and maybe you wouldn't ever be really ready for this, for them, but it was happening. And as Nick pushes himself inside you slowly, hands soothing the bruises Bo had left, you think that somewhere down the line, you would probably learn to get used to this.

#f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys works #multi may #house of wax #bo sinclair #nick jones #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair x reader #nick jones x reader #bo sinclair x reader x nick jones #nick jones x reader x bo sinclair #theres a niche here and i found it #slashers #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x you #slasher one shot #bo sinclair fic

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year

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The Root of All Ransom (5)

Last part UGH, second to last part (see previous or series). Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader WC 4k

Summary: A revelation at Harlan's 85th birthday threatens everything Ransom has.

Warnings: canon threats and arguments (altered for story obvi (credit to the original screenwriter for the dialogue I worked around!)), cursing (would you even consider it me or the same story if there wasn't?) oh, and canon Thrombey family racism/bigotry/douchebaggery--little fuckers. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. There is plenty else for you to read on my Light Masterlist.

The colors are stunning.

Violently splashed swaths of gold, orange, and chocolate laced with summer green coat the landscape. The trees blur past the windows, so the only other color Ransom can focus on is burgundy—your dress, the dress he rustled up after realizing you had nothing planned to wear.

Unacceptable. Ransom fixed that.

For Harlan Thrombey’s birthday it’s only right that you wear Harlan’s favorite color, hardly a revelation when the man’s company is named ‘Blood Like Wine.’ The fact that you look picture perfect decked out in designer, replete with your Birkin in hand (suck it, Linda) is a bonus. His family will shit themselves when they see he’s done it. Ransom Drysdale fucking nailed it.

He dates a millionaire, one that genuinely smiles at him, one that gives great head and fucks like a goddamn sin, one that actually likes him. Ran won the lottery, and he is overjoyed to be a complete dick about it to his family.

You sigh heavily, recovering from the long journey home, tired but seemingly less tired than an hour ago. You recharge next to him. He’s seen it before. You’re usually laying on his chest after he wrings the last of that stressed energy right out of your cunt, but there’s no time for that right now.

“I’ve been advised to sell the penthouse here,” you throw out absently in the silence. You two talk so frequently that there isn’t much to catch up on.

Ran snorts. “But who would buy your shitty furniture?”

You smack at his hand on the gear shift, but that won’t stop him.

“No, I’m serious. It’s fucking warehouse shit.”

That jab gets ignored, as he suspected it might. “At this rate, it’ll be cheaper to simply stay at a hotel downtown instead. I’m hardly here long enough to warrant a house out in the burbs and a penthouse.”

He simply hums in agreement and watches the road.

You could stay at his place, Ran thinks. That’s nonsense when you own a fucking mansion and have a car service on call 24/7, but you could. He’d even allow some of your furniture…and maybe some of your kitchen gadgets…maybe.

“Gosh, I haven’t even seen Harlan since your birthday—“ the swatting hand comes to rest over his again “—through the window, no less.”

“You’ll recognize him. He’s still old and still a shit.”

You giggle and squeeze. Ran flips his palm up to cup yours.

He’s in a mood to gloat. He’s ready to put on a bit of a show, prepared to use oversized PDA to stir the pot, and knows the whole thing will amuse you, too. Ran has readied himself to be more affectionate. He doesn’t normally touch you without reason or potential of escalation. He was even more hesitant to do so after your bitchy peers’ dinner where some asshat took it the wrong way.

His family won’t, however. They’ll take it just as hard as he hopes. Fuck those guys.

His relatives have scoured every article about you this whole time. Ran has been enthusiastically ignoring any and all questions with the sole purpose of twisting that knife deeper. His, not theirs. He’s casual in his dismissal of what it all means. He doesn’t have to think about that. No one believed this would still be a thing, not his family, not you, not him. The shock hasn’t worn off yet, but underneath that buzz is a soothing, peaceful feeling that makes Ransom fucking jumpy. He plays it off as he does any other nervous energy—annoyance.

“Right. How long we considering this a thing now anyway?” He doesn’t say the word relationship. He doesn’t call you his girlfriend. You have never mentioned one word about it either, but he’s curious why that is. Obviously, he won’t simply ask why.

You think for a few moments, propping your arm against the car door to look at him, arm stretching to stay connected to his, eyes sparkling. “Definitely start the clock after you stuck your dick in someone else.” After another split second, you clarify, “ass or vagina, thank you.”

It’s not a surprising answer, but Ran rolls his eyes anyway. Fair. He cannot argue with that. Still, this is the longest thing he’s been involved in.

“So that makes it…what? A month?” you joke.

He’s not sure if that’s a pure jab or if you fish for assurance that you two are…exclusive. Ran can use that word. That one is okay. That one qualifies stuff you own and use. It describes things, not people. This is a thing, an exclusive thing.

He shoots you a hard glare across the seats of the beamer.

“No,” he hits back. “Four and a half.”

From the cheeky wink he gets back, you know damn well how long it’s been. You wanted to hear him say it probably. He wiggles in the seat, further annoyed, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the road.

That color on you, though, is distracting.

He keeps his hand where it is, relaxed and in yours.

Ransom pulls out the chair beside his mother for you to sit in. He didn’t think about how you’d leave your bag by his coat in the foyer. You’re not like Linda in that way; she carried the Birkin at her side everywhere, even in the house. The least he can do is sit the beautiful young woman right next to the white-haired wench and preen at his exclusive upgrade.

You are one-of-a-kind, and you’re his. His gut flutters with that knowledge. He needs a drink.

You look so feminine and regal compared to his mother’s teal, power jumpsuit or whatever half-velvet, half-satin monstrosity she chose.

“Oh, hello, dear,” Linda chirps to you, watching Ransom sit on your other side, “don’t you look lovely.”

His mother twitches her fingers like she needs a cigarette, faking an adjustment of her thick spectacles to hide the tremor, and the whole night is already worth skipping hanky panky before arrival.

You do look lovely. It makes him look good. He’s winning. He needs a victory drink.

When food is set down in front of you all by a catering staff, you immediately offer appreciation and Ran parrots the ‘thank you.’ He doesn’t think much of it. He just takes your cue. Ransom has always known how to be decent; he chooses not to be out of spite…except near you. He likes looking good around you. It makes him feel like he could be good.

Meg, subtle as ever, word vomits “holy shit” in response to Hugh Ransom Drysdale thanking the fucking help. When Ran catches her eye, Meg raises her brows and snaps her wrist like she’s cracking a whip.

He scowls back, but his cousin is too far across the table to curse without upsetting you, so he just mouths ‘get fucked’ at her.

“Well, Dad,” Walt starts too loudly for the table, “in celebration of your big day, I hope you don’t mind me sharing some news about our amazing quarter at the publisher’s.”

Harlan cuts into his meal, wearing his signature, catch-all smirk.

“‘Our,’ my ass,” Linda whispers to you, wine glass raised to cover her lips.

You very, very quietly giggle, and Ran doesn’t fucking like that one bit. Fuck off, Linda. That’s his giggle.

“Hell of a year,” Walt continues, oblivious, “hell of a year, but particularly great because we hit just shy of one point eight million in the last few months.”

“Oh wow,” Joni moans, pressing a bony hand into the ruffles of her blouse, and it is good news. Her eyes may as well morph into dollar signs.

“‘Night of the Dead Phoneline’ was a fun one,” Harlan mutters before another bite.

It is a tidy sum, one that his family would absolutely drool over, one that has taken decades to build to, but also one that Ransom knows pales in comparison to what you handle on a daily basis.

He knows not to speak of your money, however, not a single word.

Unsurprisingly, his mother hasn’t picked up on your modesty and exuberantly swats her little brother back into place.

“That is nice, Walt,” Linda barely tilts the glass in his direction before turning to you, resting her head on a bejeweled fist and clucking. “Tell me, dear, I read that your home offices are being fully renovated for the first time since you took over the building. Must be costing a pretty penny…”

Your fork and knife halt on the china.

“Uh huh,” you dodge while Ransom stares daggers over your shoulder.

Subtlety is not Linda Drysdale’s forté. “How much?”

You sigh again, resting your silverware to the side while studying the ornate, vaulted ceiling. “The last estimate I got was forty-three but was missing final approval from Tech so…I’m preparing for fifty.”

“Thousand?” Jacob, Walt's son, asks in the fleeting moment he’s not looking down at his phone. Idiot.

“No,” you sigh, “million.”

Linda relishes Walt’s shock while Meg’s eyes bug out. Jacob simply scoffs, back to staring at his screen instantly. Ran’s annoyed—furious actually—that Linda claims your success as her own. Gears turn to plot revenge in your honor.

“And that’s out of how many facilities worldwide now?” Linda hums. “Twenty-two?”

“Enough!” Harlan slaps his hand on the table. “This is my birthday, and I say we have none of this ham-fisted, money talk at the table.”

“So we can talk about it after dinner?” Joni suggests from down the line. She’s ignored save for a grumble of Walt’s beside her.

“Sorry, sir,” you apologize.

“You,” his grandfather coos, “are not the one who started it.”

Harlan’s smile is kind and amused. He knows there’s no real foul that’s been played, but Harlan is intuitive enough to sense what Ransom knows: lording money over others is your last fucking resort, and it is never in public or among a group. There is, however, a slight sadness beyond excusing his children’s behavior that wilts his grandfather’s expression. Ran assumes it’s simple embarrassment. He’s seen you deal with much worse though, so Harlan shouldn’t worry. Since he is most like Harlan himself, Ransom also assumes his grandfather will be over this tiff tartar by dessert.

“Either way, you should all be proud of that figure,” you add softly, aiming that genuine smile at Ran’s uncle. Fucking gross. “Really, Walt. And that’s without any merchandise, too? Very impressive.”

Walt snaps and points at you while jumping right back at Harlan, zero clue when to quit. “You know, Dad, we could be talking about profits more like hers if you’d let me—“

Linda takes the time to lean in and whisper. “I could help you sell the penthouse apartment, you know? Easily.”

And there it is, Linda’s endgame. How the fuck did she find out? She doesn’t even handle corporate real estate, but even a whiff of wanting to move a property of yours is enough to aim her nails directly at your clout.

You tiptoe around an actual answer and manage to shift Linda to talking about her own business. Ransom lays his hand over yours on the table at some point and pets his thumb across your knuckles.

He focuses on that for what feels like seconds but who knows how long it is when he misses the entire lead in to this fucking chestnut.

His Stepford Aunt Donna clears her birdlike throat and says, “you should start now so you can have at least two.”

Your hand jerks to grip his before dropping down to your lap.

What the fuck?

His father’s fork clatters onto the china. “Now hold up there, Donna. Let the kids just enjoy the honeymoon phase—“

Linda pipes in over Richard. “Every one of us had only one child including you.”

“I would have had more—” Joni flips a hand into the air before twirling one of her bohemian curls “—but my husband died.”

“Then it’s not about you, is it?” Walt booms.

Ransom watches you take a very large breath and lean into your chair. “I think I preferred the money talk.”

Donna waves her martini in the air, defensively. “She just seems so busy out in the middle of nowhere while her biological clock—“

“Shut up, bitch. We’re sitting right goddamn here,” Ran snaps.

Walt stands, scraping the chair backward. “That’s my wife you’re talking to!”

Ransom doesn’t give a shit who said it. No one disrespects you like that. “What fucking right does she—“

“Son, please, calm down.” Richard

“Thank god you guys didn’t make this family bigger,” Meg shout-mumbles, stealing her mom’s wine without Joni noticing. She’s too busy describing the ‘bad vibes’ coming from all the masculine energy in the room.

Jacob takes a video on his phone before Meg swats it right out of his hands and into his food. The boy panics.

Ran hears Harlan and you sigh simultaneously.

Then the coup-de-gras. God, it’s like you were made to fuck with his family, and Ran is pleased as fucking punch.

You stand casually, chair silent in its retreat, and hold up a hand. They quiet, mercifully, allowing you to stick one savage fucking knife through the whole lot of them.

“You’re all going to laugh at this quarrel in a year—“ you pass your almost full wine over to Meg conspicuously before both your hands smooth flat down your stomach “—or less.”

The table goes so deadly still Ran could hear a pin drop on the carpet upstairs, and it’s funny because Ransom knows you. He knows you well enough that he doesn’t have even the most fleeting thought that you could be pregnant. You would never, ever choose this way to hint at it. You would keep them far away from your business and your business, but it’s so goddamn genius that he grins like an idiot.

The whole room misinterprets his joy as confirmation.

Owl eyes blink over gaping mouths, but Ran notices Harlan’s knowing smirk. Grandpa is the only one who gets the joke. Perfect.

Harlan snorts from his own seat and winks at you again. That’s good. Harlan deeply approves of you. You’re something Ransom has done right—as well as six ways to Sunday, not including the implied knocking up—and he can use that. Continent hopping is getting costly; he’s going to need his grandfather to raise his allowance.

Ran leans back in his seat, cardigan spreading open as he stretches one arm over the back of your chair and softly drawls, “sweetheart.”

He could not have fucking timed it better.

Harlan’s cake arrives seconds later, topped with eighty-five sizzling sparklers that will probably call the fire department in a matter of minutes, and the rest of the adults at the table scurry to flank the birthday boy. They look like hyenas cornering prey.

Ransom doesn’t join. He stays right there, smiling up at you.

You flop into your seat, so close that soft burgundy fabric drapes over his thigh, and lean in to whisper, “give me your fucking wine.”

He slaps a quick kiss on your cheek before grabbing your prize from the other side of his plate. You two stay huddled, shielded from view by the smoke and greed clouding the head of the table.

Despite a resounding win at dinner, drinks in the sitting room afterward are torturous.

There is no way to get out of conversation with the Thrombeys except through conversation with the Thrombeys. Dinner was actual cake comparatively.

This is a slog. It’s been a slog Ransom’s whole life. Is it bad he derives pleasure sharing this pain with you? That’s bad, right? He shouldn’t enjoy this.

Jacob, a piece of shit, Alt-Right troll of a child who would drop dead if his socks didn’t match—piddly bitch—fucking sniffs you on his way to the settee behind his parents, musing how good it is that you don’t smell after so much time in China.

You know, from the food.

What a fucking shock that’s the little Nazi’s take away…

Joni laments the smog and pollution dulling your skin—which it fucking did not— but she has a mask for that. It’s even specific aligned to your chakra, whatever the fuck that means, and Ransom bites his tongue, watching your deep sigh fogging the inside of the glass you sink deep into instead of respond.

No one says shit concerning your one alcoholic beverage though because the hint of you (and by-proxy, Ransom) immediately dominating the whole clan has set the adults on edge.

Because you would. You already eclipse them in every capacity. The only trump card left to play is raising Ran to your level, which he is climbing to, slowly, at his own pace, by his own rules.

You hit the bottom of that glass—and all your limits, based on the exact level of strain between your lips—when his family debates Marta’s country of origin and the American Dream of legal fucking citizenship. All you say is “excuse me” and walk off.

He stands, too, and not to be a puppy dog following you around. He thinks the conversation is stupid. He wants to leave the room. His glass is empty, and he wants another piece of cake.

You gently take Marta’s arm and guide her with you until you’re tucked on the other side of the wall. Ransom tells Franny to get him cake.

“Is something wrong?” Marta seems alarmed and glances at your stomach. She’s a nurse and doesn’t get the joke.

“Oh, no, hun. I just wanted to save you from the vultures,” you say, smiling.

You like Marta but hell if Ran knows why. He thinks Harlan fakes how much his shoulder still bothers him because the old man’s range of motion isn’t stunted in any way. Though, Ran admits, he’d keep up an easy supply of morphine if he could, too.

Sour-faced Fran returns with a tiny plate and shoves it into Ransom’s hand.

“What? No fork?”

The housekeeper barely opens her mouth before Harlan interrupts with a deep and booming voice.

“A moment, Ran, my boy. I have something to discuss with you.”

On instinct, Ransom turns to meet your eye. You’re happily in conversation with the help but pet a gentle hand down the sleeve of his cardigan. It’s fine. It’s not as if you’re trapped in another money argument with his uncle—Ran would break Walt’s other foot if that fucker tried again anyway—so off to the study he goes.

“Shut the door,” Harlan insists, waiting while the last thing Ran sees is Great Nana staring off into space by the front door. “Have a seat.”

“I’m fine.”

Harlan takes a power pose at his enormous desk and tips white, bushy eyebrows in his grandson’s direction. “You seem happy.”

Ran props his hands on his hips. “Is that a question?”

“Merely an observation. It makes this easier to know you are in a…better situation than a year ago.”

Ransom prepares to explain how his expenses have skyrocketed in the wake of so much travel. He’s coordinated several design houses to work with you in Beijing to ensure you are properly dressed even when he’s not there. That shit ain’t cheap, but it’s worth it. God help him if your assistant tries to put you in another local potato sack.

Yes, Ran sets himself up to ask for more money until this.

“I have written you out of my will. The whole family.”

Ransom blinks. The fuck is the old man playing at?! “You can’t be serious.”

“Not a red dime or word of my work to a single one of them, you included.”

That’s not…

That’s not going to help. That’s not going to work for what Ransom needs. “We’re your family,” he starts, brain swimming in freezing depths yet running eighty miles an hour. His face heats like the surface of the sun, and his lungs are void of oxygen. All extremes exist simultaneously. “You are not this crazy. You would not just throw your fortune away.”

“No. I’m giving it to Marta. All of it.”

Panic creeps into the blurring edges of Ran’s vision, his voice boiling over. “To your Brazilian nurse? Are you goddamn insane.”

He is. He has to be, but the old man just digs farther in.

“I’m sane for the first time in my life,” the patriarch of the soon-to-be-penniless Thrombeys announces with vibrating gusto, “and I’ve done it.”

“I’m going to stop this, Harlan.” What the hell else is Ran supposed to say? He can’t just do this?

”I’ve made the change to my will. It’s done.”

“I’m warning you,” Ransom explodes, charging toward the weighty desk and tempted to chuck the nearest, sharpest nicknack right into the withering hand spread over his papers, determined. He knows that look; it’s the stubborn look Ran himself inherited. Apparently, it is the sum total of his Thrombey inheritance as of this very moment. That, and the urge to shaft his family.

His whole world is ablaze and it started in the tinderbox of a stack of cash. He is fucked. There’s nowhere for Ran to run but damned if he isn’t going to try.

The wail of the door latch as he swings it open echos in his skull, and there you are across the hall, deep in conversation with the little shit about climb over him in the pantheon of your prowess. Fucking Marta.

This cannot get any worse. This cannot happen.

But Ran doesn’t know what to do yet. He only knows he doesn’t want to be fucking here anymore. He can’t think here. He’s seeing red, and it’s not your dress. It’s not beautiful or something he’s proud of. He’s just pissed, and you know it. You see it easily.

Ransom grabs his overcoat and shoves the plate of birthday cake beside it into his Great Nana’s hand, slamming the door hard behind him.

You’re behind him yelling in a flash asking what’s happened but he can’t tell you or it will be real. He has to fix this. He has to do something. But what? What the fuck can he do?

He doesn’t answer until you touch his shoulder and he spins in the gravel, eyes rolling over your coatless form and empty hands.

“Where is your bag?”

“Stop focusing on the fucking bag, Ransom,” you snip back.

“Stop leaving your things behind.” Shit. Back to ‘Ransom.’ It’s already started. This is a nightmare inside a disaster. He will lose everything in a single day if he doesn’t think of something.

Your hand shoots up before snapping to your chest in a death grip.

You almost hit him. You almost slapped him because he scared you. He’s seen that look before, but he’s never caused it.

Instead of lashing out, you hiss, “stop leaving me behind.”

That cuts at him, making him feel weak. Ran hates weakness. He retaliates. The steel of his previous skin—the armor plating he wore proudly before you came along—creeps back over his tight chest.

“You’ll be fine.”

You step forward and reach for his cheek, softly. “Why did you walk out?”

He keeps huffing, floundering for a lie, smothering the truth. That’s just it: it hasn’t started. You don’t know yet. You have no idea that he has nothing and is no one. Maybe you never have to know. Maybe he can salvage this.

He pauses too long.

You yank his coat off of his arm and stomp back toward the house.

“What the fuck,” he calls.

“I’m getting the fucking bag—“ you shake his coat in the air “—but you aren’t fucking driving off without me.” When you hit the porch steps, you swing around to lay down a threat.

“If you leave now, no one will blame me for murdering you. I won’t even bother to make it look like an accident,” and you disappear into Thrombey Manor.

Something…occurs to Ransom at that moment, and wisps of a plan start to cloud his swirling mind.

a/n: I feel so bad that there is no smut in this chapter. I have failed you all. I must go flog myself in the basement as penance. 😭 I'm so nervous that everyone's fave reason isn't even in here, omg, please don't flame me!

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit

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#hugh ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #knives out fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x you #18+#18+ fanfic

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 2 years

Text

The Trouble of Love Languages

Dean Winchester x plus size reader

Dean’s love language is quality time and acts of service while the woman he loves most in this world craves physical touch, which is the one thing he can’t stand.

Warnings: angst to fluff, they’re both in a bit of the wrong here, Dean has touch aversion, arguing, Dean is definitely an asshole with lots of unresolved issues, slightly toxic relationship?, break up, reader is ever so slightly touch starved, lovers to ex’s to lovers again, drinking, crying, comfort, hopeful ending, Sam is a good wingman

WC: 4.7k

Minors DNI

Dean Winchester hated to be touched. After spending all of his life with minimal kind physical touch with the people he cared about, it was no wonder he had an aversion to it. He could put up with a hug or slap on the back to his brother and fleeting kisses to his girlfriend’s cheek or forehead but everything else was off limits.

She did her best with what she got but sometimes, she just wanted to be held against his broad chest and inhale his unique scent of cheap cologne and gunpowder with just a hint of cherry pie. She wanted to feel the warmth of his body pressed tightly to her but her love for the hunter kept those needs locked behind a steel door that she never noticed had begun to rust.

Y/N sighed, putting down the massive book on werewolves that she had been studying for the past few hours. There was a tight band around her head that was slowly drawing tighter and tighter as a killer tension headache set in. She glanced over to the other side of the library where Dean had his feet perched up on the table as he leaned back in his chair, mindlessly sucking one of the lollipops Y/N had bought for Halloween.

He was only wearing a gray henley today instead of his usual many layers of plaids and shirts so she could see, very clearly, the way his muscles moved under the fabric and the slight pudge of his belly. Those dazzling green eyes were fixed on a new edition of some car magazine he picked up on the way back from a hunt. Y/N couldn’t help it.

Slipping from her own chair, she glided over to him. “What’cha reading?”

“Magazine.” He grunted but she knew he wasn’t being mean, sometimes Dean just didn’t want to talk. Without thinking, she laid her hands on his thick shoulder and gave them a squeeze.

Dean flinched out of her grasp, turning so quickly that Y/N had to take a step back to avoid being knocked over. His chair clattered to the floor as the library settled into an explosive silence. Y/N knew Dean could be scary, he’s been through so much trauma, seen and experienced things twenty times over that no human should ever have to see or experience even once. He told her of his time in hell and as a demon but promised that she would never be scared of him because he would protect her.

But now, as his chest heaved with heavy breaths, he was positively terrifying. “How many times have I told you not to do that?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “You know I don’t like to be touched and yet you still continue to do it. How long is it going to take before you get it? I. Don’t. Want. To. Touch. You.” His voice was level but filled with anger, a rage she had only seen when he confronted the worst kinds of monsters imaginable.

“Dean I’m sorry I-“

“You know maybe we shouldn’t even be together. Time and time again, you do this and you always say you’re sorry and that you won’t do it again but then a couple days later, you do.” Y/N’s heart was breaking right in front of the hunter but he was too blind with fury he couldn’t see it. “I can’t be with someone as fucking needy as you. It’s every goddamn day! I can’t get one second of peace with you being so clingy.”

That was the last straw. Y/N pushed a finger into his chest, shoving him backwards. He knew how insecure she was about her need for affection and constant reassurance, but until now, he never made her feel like it was an inconvenience. “Then yeah we shouldn’t be together. But you’re not going to be the one to break us up, I am. You’re a selfish man Dean Winchester. I don’t ask a lot from you. I ask that you take care of yourself, that you don’t cheat on me, that you treat me with respect and maybe the occasional hug so I don’t feel like one of your one night stands when you roll off of me after sex.

“I deserve someone who wants to be near me, who tries to understand what I need instead of brushing me off because you don’t want to make the effort. I am sick of being treated like a toy you can pick up and put down whenever you want a quick fuck or comfort. So Dean, you got your wish, we’re done.” Y/N turned and stormed off, her eyes burning with tears that didn’t fall until she could no longer hear her now ex destroying the library.

It was sad how quickly her bags were packed, only a duffle bag and a backpack that housed her entire life. She paused as she lifted the flannel she often wore to bed, the red and black fabric was soaked in Dean’s scent and never failed to make her feel safe every time she wore it.

It felt like a reminder of her faults, of all the things wrong with her that he couldn’t put up with. Scoffing, she threw it onto the bed they had shared only a couple hours ago. There was a quick knock on the door jam.

Sam, the gentle giant that he was, leaned on the wood, brown eyes big with concern. “Where’s Dean?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” She snapped, quickly zipping up her bag and tossing it over her shoulder, barging past him.

“Hey hey, what’s going on? Did you and Dean have a fight?” He trailed after her like a puppy, sadly watching as she stomped towards the garage which notably was missing the prized Impala. A cruel part of her mind cooed that it was probably parked at some bar where he would find someone better than her.

“If you can call it that.” She muttered, throwing open the door to her truck and shoving her stuff in. Just as she was about to climb in herself, Sam’s hand wrapped around her forearm to hold her back.

“What happened?” Tears quickly rolled down her full cheeks, wetting the shirt she was wearing as they made their way down her neck. She turned to look at the men who had become her best friend, her voice firm with a slight quiver of sadness.

“We broke up.”

With a quick pull of her arm, Sam released her and she stepped into the cab of the truck. She rolled down the window, giving him a somber look. “Take care of him, ok. And-“ Y/N debated her next words carefully before speaking again. “Tell him I love him, even if he doesn’t believe it. He needs to know he’s loved.”

And with that, she drove off, leaving behind a very confused Sam and a life that she wished she could have kept.

——————

Another town, another hunt, another bar. That’s how it always went and for a long time, Dean was content to keep it that way. Then she blew into his life like a hurricane, knocking everything off path and forging her own. No more random hookups or drinking beer with every meal. She even made him get rid of all the guns he mounted on the wall in his room.

And now, the hurricane had passed, leaving behind destruction and a hole the shape of her in his heart. But she would not come back, he made sure of that when he called her clingy. He knew it was wrong but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it. He regretted it the moment it left his mouth and watched as the light in her eyes died.

She was gone, because of him, because of his stupidity he lost the best thing that has ever happened to him and the only thing he could do was accept it. So, he went back to his old ways, paving over the path of destruction in his soul the only way he knew how, beer, hunts, and women.

Sam decided to stay in the motel that night, shooting his older brother a look so devastating that Dean couldn’t meet his eye for fear he would see the disappointment and pity he already felt in himself. But Dean slipped out the door anyway and headed for the closest bar, truly not giving a shit if it was any good or not.

The music was too loud, the lights too dim, the beer too stale. Dean, however, was determined to stay, trying to convince himself that he could go on without her. He downed his first drink quickly, not letting the taste hit his tongue before his glass was drained. Signaling for another one, he rested his elbow against the sticky bar counter.

It was familiar, like returning to your childhood home. But it felt wrong. The voice in the back of his mind was screaming at him to leave, to find her and crawl on his knees begging for forgiveness until she came back. That voice was silenced with another glass of cheap whiskey.

The hand planted on his chest was familiar too. A touch he could tolerate because he knew what came after, sweaty bodies rutting together until that rush of dopamine hit him and he could feel like a normal person for a while. She was pretty, young too and obviously enamoured by the sexy older man with a gruff voice that bought her drinks and made her feel special.

Another drink. She asked him to go back to hers and he agreed, following blindly after her as she led him away. He couldn’t remember the walk to the non descript apartment, only coming back to himself when she took his hand in her own, shooting him a wink that he supposed was meant to be sultry but just served to lessen the ache in his cock.

Her slender fingers hooked into the belt loops of his jeans, tugging his thin hips into hers and pulled him into her home. The door slammed shut behind him, blindly following her.

A grunt was knocked from his lungs as she moved him onto her bed, sinking to her knees with hooded eyes. “Lemme take care of you baby.” Her voice was grating on his ears. Dean resisted the urge to flinch when her palms were laid on his muscular thighs.

It was so wrong, a nightmare he couldn’t escape but at the same time, didn’t want to because he wanted to prove something to himself, to validate his anger and his rage at the woman that loved him so much. Dean felt her tug at his belt and was broken from his thoughts.

“Stop. Just stop.” He all but shoved the girl off of him in his haste.

“What the hell!” She chastised, quite obviously offended at having been rejected by this man that until a few seconds ago, seemed very keen to have a night of fun with her. Dean shook his head and with a muttered ‘sorry’ left her kneeling on the bedroom floor.

“You fucking dick!” She called after him, and he couldn’t help but agree.

——————

Jody’s home was pleasant enough to live in. With home cooked meals every single night and a deluge of girl talk with not only the Sheriff but the two teens in her charge. It was a good distraction for a while, getting caught up in the usual antics of the young women that Y/N imagined Sam and Dean were like when they were younger.

But even the best distractions can only last for a little while. And each night, as she settled into the small bed graciously given to her, Y/N just felt alone. She was out of place here, a passing visitor that had overstayed her welcome long ago. No matter how much Jody may have protested the opposite and Claire and Alex insisted that they loved having her there, this wasn’t Y/N’s home.

Her home had always been Dean. His presence had soothed her soul in a way that nothing had ever done before. She lived for nights where they would drink and laugh themselves silly or when he would prepare her coffee just the way she liked it in the morning. She desperately missed how his face would break out into an uneven and frankly goofy smile when she teased Sam.

In a vain attempt to stop her mind from going down a road that she knew would make her spiral, Y/N shoved her headphones in her ears and blasted a random playlist. The soft guitar and crooning voice so similar to Dean’s had her eyes burning with tears. Her chest ached as she thought about the way he sang to her in the car, his hand on the seat beside her plump thigh, not quite touching her but close enough she knew it was there.

Tears rolled down her temples wetting the pillow beneath her head as she let herself mourn the love she had lost. Her sobs were silent, mere hiccups as she forced herself not to make any noise to alert the others. She couldn’t take anymore of their pitying looks.

She hugged herself tightly as her nails dug into her soft forearms, her chest heaving with her cries. Images of the man she considered her soulmate with another woman sent her deeper down the rabbit hole of self-despair. She could only imagine what he had gotten up to in the weeks since she left and it was driving her crazy.

The song faded out, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts for a second too long. The brightness of the screen blinded her for just a moment before she clicked on the last text exchange in her phone.

I love you sweetheart

The low buzz of the outgoing call rumbled against her chest where she placed her phone face down. In the silence between each ring, she was doubting her decision more and more. Why should she reach out first when he was the one that broke them?

“Hello?” His raspy voice came out crackled through her head phones, making her heart jump slightly.

“S-sorry butt dial.” She panicked, quickly hanging up but not before hearing him call out, “Wait! Plea-“ Y/N threw her phone onto the pile of her clothes in the corner of the room, ignoring how it was now ringing again, a photo of her and Dean lighting the screen.

Sleep did not come easily that night even after her cries ceased, her eyes finally fluttering closed as the sun began to peak over the horizon, dousing the room in a soft pink.

——————

It was rare that music didn’t play in the Impala. There was almost always a constant stream of classic rock that spewed from the radio, yet the silence was more overwhelming than the usual loud songs Dean sang along to.

Sam was deeply concerned for his older brother. He knew the break up hit him hard, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, but the younger Winchester didn’t think it was this bad. Dean reeked of the same whiskey he religiously drank after they lost Bobby. His clothes were rumpled and dirty, the Impala, his prized possession looked dull and lifeless, caked with dirt and dead bugs.

Dean hadn’t shaved in the weeks since she left so he now sported a semi-impressive beard which Sam attempted to make fun of just the same as his own facial hair had been but Dean had merely grunted and ignored him. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” He attempted to start a conversation.

“Jody’s.”

“Why?” The one word answers were nothing new, but at least he was talking. Dean’s green eyes flicked briefly over to his brother before returning to the road.

“Hunt.” Sam sighed, slumping back against the leather bench of the car, his focus shifting to the world that was speeding past them. He was sick of this self-pitying attitude that was slowly driving the older man to madness when it could be solved so easily.

“If you pulled your head out of your ass, you could get her back.” The air in the car turned to ice. “Don’t act like I didn’t hear you frantically calling her last night.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He growled, knuckles turning white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. But Sam kept pushing.

“She’s the best thing to have ever happened to you and you just let her leave. Or maybe you just never loved her since you went home with someone only a week ago, that’s why you didn’t put up a fight.”

“Shut up Sam.” Sam, that should have made him worry. He was only called Sam when Dean was pissed and on the edge of an almost toddler-like melt down.

“I’m just saying, if you really wanted to, and I mean really really wanted to, she would forgive you. But you don’t want to make the effort.” The tires screamed as Dean pulled off the road with a flick of his wrists. Sam was jerked sideways with the force but then was sent the other direction as Dean fisted the front of his flannel and shoved him back against the car door.

His eyes were wild with fury and his next words came out in a snarl. “I can’t get her back. Don’t you understand that. I just can’t.”

“Why not?” He pushed, desperate to get his brother to finally come to his senses. “You know she loves you and that she would do anything for you. What made this fight so terrible?”

“Because I can’t touch her!” The silence quickly returned as Sam tried to comprehend what he was just told. “I can’t touch her Sammy.” Dean was on the edge of tears. He released his shirt from his grasp like the fabric had burnt him and buried his head in his hands.

Sam had never witnessed Dean like this before, like his world was crumbling down before him and he wasn’t doing anything to stop it because he had just given up. No matter the circumstances or insurmountable odds that had faced him, he always pushed through with his can-do attitude and unwavering loyalty to those he loved. But now he was being consumed by a hopelessness so many monsters had attempted to instill in him but never could.

He was heartbroken and suffering. He lost the woman who knew his soul and yet still loved him. Sam knew what that despair felt like, to have such a great love ripped away and not giving yourself time to lament on that loss.

“Dean.” He started but was quickly interrupted.

“I couldn’t give her what she deserved. I couldn’t be that loving boyfriend she wanted so badly. I couldn’t even fucking hug her without feeling like I wanted to push her away. And I knew it was hurting her but she was right, I am selfish. I wanted her to myself even if I could see her slowly dying inside.”

The sun was quickly setting over the brothers, the reds and purples giving way to a deep blue. They watched, for a moment, as the stars began to appear and the darkness surrounded them. “I’ve hurt so many people in my life. My hands have been stained red with blood for so long and she was the one person I couldn’t stand to hurt. Yet I hurt her so badly that she ran away from me.”

“But you do want her back don’t you?”

Tearful green eyes looked back at him. “More than anything.”

“Then we need to make a pitstop, I have an idea.”

——————

Y/N couldn’t help but notice Jody’s worried glances towards the front door as they ate dinner. “Alright Mills, that’s the eighth time you’ve looked at the door in five minutes. What’s going on? Do you have a secret lover coming over?” Claire snorted in her drink but quickly recovered as her surrogate mom shot her a glare.

“No, I do not have a secret lover. Thank you very much. I’m just waiting for a package.” Y/N raised an eyebrow at the older woman, still incredibly doubtful.

“It’s almost 10 at night, why would a package be delivered this late?”

“Well, I-“ The doorbell rang, saving her from having to give another lame excuse. “Excuse me a moment, there’s my package.” Y/N narrowed her eyes at the Sheriff, not saying anything else.

Alex sighed, shaking her head, like she was in on some conspiracy that Jody had set up. “Have you got anything to add?” Y/N teased.

“Nope, nothing at all. Isn’t that right Claire?” Said girl, who was sitting to Y/N’s left, just huffed and took another large bite of her food.

Y/N ignored the muffled voices coming from the entryway, assuming that Jody, being her usual friendly self, was making conversation with whoever was at the door. Then, “hey girls, I need your help for a minute.” And without so much as a groan of annoyance, both teens stood and rushed from the room.

Before Y/N could follow after them, she heard the front door slam shut and the obvious sound of a car engine starting up and then driving away. “What the hell?” Just as she stood from the table to investigate, a large figure blocked the doorway.

“Dean?”

“Hi sweetheart.” She melted at the sound of his voice clearly after so long and not through the crackly and broken version she heard through the dozens of voicemails he left her the night before. She itched to run into his strong arms but remained in place, her hand absentmindedly falling to the table, laying her palm flat against the butter knife she had been using. “I hope you’re not planning on using that on me.”

Dean gestured to her hand in a joking manner but only succeeded in making her scowl at him. “You look like shit.” He winced at her tone.

“I deserved that.”

“You deserve a lot worse. What the hell do you want Winchester?” Dean sighed. His body tilted forward, like he wanted to get closer. Running a hand through his hair, which was slightly longer than he normally kept it, his eyes dropped to the ground.

Y/N watched as he deflated, the usually stoic image of the hunter before her crumbling to dust and leaving a man that looked truly broken. “I didn’t mean to call you clingy.” Straight to business, good. She thought.

“But you did. And you did it knowing full well how I feel about that word.” Unconsciously, her voice softened as he nodded along to what she was saying.

“I know and I’m sorry about that. I’m- fuck- I’m sorry about everything.” Y/N didn’t object when he took a tentative step forward and she cursed her body for not recoiling as he drew closer. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to move away. “I wish I could be the man you want, the one you deserve, but I’m not and I don’t think I will ever be.”

“Not really selling your case here Dean.”

“Just- just let me get to my point and then you can cuss me out. I love you and I want to change for you. I want to get better at touching you and I’ll do whatever it takes to bring you home. Besides Sammy’s been pouting a lot without you there and it’s getting really fucking annoying.” Of course the man couldn’t get through a serious discussion without being a dumbass.

Dean stood inches from her now, and Y/N could see how his hands trembled, either from anxiety or the copious amounts of alcohol she smelt from him, she didn’t know. “I don’t want you to change, Dean. I love you for who you are but you really hurt me and-“

“I know.” He cut her off. “I know and I want to make it right, if you’ll let me.” His green eyes shone with tears

“Goddamn you and your stupid puppy dog eyes.” She grumbled. Dean smirked. “Alright! Jesus, we can try again but I expect so much fucking grovelling, like ten times more than I had to do when I accidentally ate the last slice of pecan pie.”

He smiled and nodded, placing his hand on the dining room table mere millimeters from her own. “Anything you want sweetheart.”

“And no sex for the foreseeable future, not even over the clothes stuff.” He winced at that but still, his smile did not waver.

“And, and, fuck I can’t think of anything else with you looking at me like that.” She whined and turned her head so she didn’t have to look into his eyes anymore. Y/N gasped as a finger hooked under her chin, guiding her gaze back to the man she still loved so much. His smile was even softer now, almost dopey with love.

“I’ll do whatever it takes, even if that means never getting to see you in anything less than fully clothed for the rest of my life and giving you all of my pie. I just need you, sweetheart.” His forehead dropped to her own, the tips of their noses brushing together in an act so intimate it made her chest burn with affection.

“Did you sleep with anyone else?” The question hung heavily in the air, pressing down on both of their chests like a massive weight. Dean breathed out harshly through his nose and Y/N froze, already fearing his answer, she began to pull away. But without any hesitation, his right arm wound around her thick waist and tugged her into his chest. Caught off guard, Y/N planted her hands on his chest.

She felt the way his body tensed beneath her palms, still so unused to being touched but he didn’t let her go like he would have before. “The short answer: no.”

“And the long answer?” Her throat felt like it was closing up with the onslaught of tear building behind her eyes.

“A girl brought me back to her place and tried to go down on me but I didn’t even kiss her. I left before she got my belt off.” Unable to stop herself, Y/N chuckled.

“You just left?”

Dean’s cheeks coloured with a rare flush. “Yeah, I walked out the door and she was still on her knees calling me a dick.”

“Well she was right about that.” And they stayed like that for a moment, letting themselves be reminded about how much they loved each other. Pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, Dean stepped away.

“Wait here, I have something for you.” With a few long strides, he left the room and then quickly reappeared holding a canvas bag with the phrase ‘act like a lady, think like a boss’ printed on the side in big, bold lettering. “Don’t diss the bag sweetheart.”

And before she could snark something back, he pulled a teddy bear from the bag. The bear seemed to be a regular plush at first glance, but when Dean handed it to her, Y/N couldn’t help but smile brightly. The toy easily weighed 5 pounds and suspiciously smelt of Dean’s cologne. “I thought that this could be a substitute for when you want to cuddle. But this is temporary, cause I will get better. He’s just a placeholder.”

“He?”

“Yeah.” He sighed happily. “Little Dean Jr.” Holding the bear tighter to her chest, Y/N stood on her tiptoes and finally planted her lips on his. Her skin burned as the soft kiss quickly turned more passionate and his newly grown beard scraped against her. Fingers curled into his hair, Y/N yanked him even closer as Dean’s hands fell to her generous ass, giving her cheeks a light squeeze.

Reluctantly, she pulled away first, her lungs screaming for oxygen and her brain telling her that if she kissed him any more, she would end up in the back seat of Baby with her legs over his shoulders. “This is a start. But I will not have you talk to me like that again. If you do, I’m gone and you won’t ever see me again.”

“I promise, I’ll do better.” Content with his answer, Y/N pecked his swollen lips.

“The bear was Sam’s idea wasn’t it?”

“But I named him!”

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asafeplaceforus112 · 5 months

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awwweeee nooooooooooo

I'm gonna be so sad when I found out about James sucking, like I just, "I'm sorry if I ruin your favourite youtuber" you don't understand, I'm so worried.

This is my reaction, because I need somewhere to vent it,

overall, go check out Hbombergay, its so good, regardless of if you don't want to get to the James Somerton part.

youtube

I typed this bit after but I wanted to put it here rather than at the end where noone could see it:

Ummmm overall I don't know, I'm just really sad, I really respected Somerton, I thought he was someone like Contrapoints or Shanspeare or Philosphy tube and he wasn't

I'm sad about it, I also just hope he's okay? Thats weird but regardless of the shitty thing hes done he's human, and I'd like it if he could be okay overall, obviously now would be a tough time, but I just don't want to see him gone because of this

People are bad but I also know the power of people who sometimes go too far and end up cruel so you know? I just hope everything ends up okay

Reaction bit

Oh lord,

oH my god, I was a patreon supporter, thats how much I liked James, I just looked, holy shit he's deleted the patreon holy shit

ooooo Tinker bell and evil queens look like an interesting book, i will be reading that later

oh nooooooo

)): I'm so sad

"Wow you're ditching ship quick" (wrong phasing but you know)

ughhh because gut feeling and I can see the evidence.

I lost a close friend who was a gay man like James Somerton, I specifically lost this friend because he was a gay man that would do whatever it took to get a leg up, it didn't matter if it was against his ethics, as long as he got closer to his career goal he didn't care. For example, wokring under a politician that believed in conversion therapy specifically the use of medical castration. So yeah, lost that friend, went "omg a gay man thats not a boot licker" aaaannndddd

attached to a gay men that uses other people's work to get up in his career

-deep sigh- Goddamn

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH he did it twice??? UUUGUUGGHGHGHHGHGHH

I have so much more of a respect for plagerism stuff in university, like I know but I also have come to a realisation that some of my uni work can be considered as plagerism, if I'm running late with stuff, I find stuff I like, I reword, find another thing, reword, and then make a frankenstein (I do always reference and intext reference and say who said what but after learning this stuff, yeah thats not good enough

NOOOOO not society and queer horror )))): It was one of my favourite vi

god its word for word ))):

Holy shit it never connected in my brain how misogynistic he was

xDDD

"it wAS THEM'LL"

holy shit thats funny

.... How can batman be too woke???

no fucking way

not are they gay )):

A. that pheonix Wright sprite looks amazing

B. HOLY SHIT DD: HE LITERALLY HAD IT ON THE PHOTO HOW

OH SHIT MY ICON SHANSPEAR WAS MENTIONED HELL YEAH

"tHATS RIGHT SHE'S REAL YOU DONT KNOW ME" thats so fun xDDD

urinating tree???

"Too dark for a plagirism" BOI PLAGERISM IS DARK

"MIST" PANTHEON MIST??? -Brain rot activated-

Good video, sad vibes ):

#hbomberguy #contreversy #plagerism #james somerton #Youtube

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blueskittlesart · 1 year

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Never thought about it before but goddamn you're right, Betty would be a MUCH better song story-wise if it was sung by a girl like "Then I saw you dance with him" hanging out with your best friend that you've been pining for for ages and she's dancing with a guy and you can't stand it, can't help how the assumption she doesn't like girls makes you so bitter and angry, but you can see the way she's looking at the guy she's dancing with so you ditch her and go have a fling with another girl, ignoring every time she tries to talk to you, refusing to tell her what she did wrong the entire summer, but the truth is she's always on your mind and you're doing both Betty and this other girl that you refuse to even name wrong in using her to replace Betty, and it also removes the shitty cheating aspect of the song to make it about a repressed, closeted lesbian (Betty) and a less repressed but very frustrated lesbian (the POV character), still sucks for the unnamed girl though. But anyway lesbianism would improve the story part of it so much (I don't mean this in a way of shitting on the original song because it's one of my favourites, it's just lesbians would make it even better)

sorry im going to act insane for a second i PROMISE i am not one of those lesbian taylor truthers i am just a lesbian who loves to relate to music ok please remember this as you read this post i promise i am normal

BETTY IS ABOUT LESBIANISM TO ME. "you heard the rumors from inez, you can't believe a word she says most times but this time it was true" inez knows the speaker likes girls and can't keep her mouth shut about it. the speaker desperately tries to discredit inez's rumors to everyone EXCEPT betty, who she WANTS to know on some level. "I saw you dance with him" is the inherent pain of being a girl in love with your best friend and watching her dance with a guy and knowing you will never be enough for her. she will always want something you can't give her even though all you've ever wanted is her. the speaker tries to replace betty with another girl and ignores her and betty is suddenly jealous in a way she doesn't understand. while the speaker spends the summer trying to replace betty with another girl and pretend like she doesn't care, betty spends the summer coming to terms with the fact that their friendship meant something more and that she likes girls too. "the worst thing that i ever did is what i did to you" has 2 meanings in my mind, one is the intended meaning of the speaker leaving betty without ever telling her why, but if the speaker is a girl it goes deeper--befriending her & loving her in the first place was the worst thing the speaker ever did, because it leaves her with only two choices: leave betty without explaining and hurt her, or tell betty how she feels and, if betty feels the same way, risk being ostracized by their peers for being gay. (there are lines that allude to betty being under some pressure to not date the speaker--"in front of all your stupid friends," specifically, but "switching her homeroom" could be switching AWAY from the speaker so that she won't be tempted, depending on how you want to interpret it.) one more line that i think is very lesbian is the whole "right now is the last time i can dream about what happens when you see my face again." like. maybe this isn't EXCLUSIVELY a lesbian experience but i think most of us had a tumultuous almost-relationship friendship that never got closure and so we daydream about seeing her again and telling her everything that went unsaid. right. im not the only one who does that right

#asks #this miiiiight just be me projecting like an insane person. but betty is lesbianism TO ME

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 year

Text

Homophobia feat. Queer Teacher Alliance

Prompts: hi, sorry if requests aren’t open, but you wrote a fic called Homphobia feat. A Two Hour Math Test and it’s honestly been one of my comfort fics, and I wanted to request something kind of similar? A human au where one of the sides (preferably patton but you can do whichever character you want!) accidentally outs himself while arguing with a homophobic teacher about LGBTQ stuff and starts getting bullied for it by the students and the teacher. The other sides (actually good teachers) find him having a breakdown and comfort him and stand up for him against the other teacher, and it’s just emotional hurt/comfort and validation all around. Absolutely no pressure to do this if you don’t want to/it’s too similar to the other one /gen! wishing you a lovely day :D - anon

hello there! first not-anon fic request so I'm kind of panicking a little but it's fine!! anyway, I've recently reread Homophobia feat. a 2-hour Math Test, and it's been really comforting for a person who grew up and went to school in a very rural part of America (eugh republicans everywhere). I was wondering if you would be willing to write another work in that realm of Virgil suddenly having this insanely elaborate (insanely gay) support system that he didn't think was possible. or him turn table-ing on that support system and helping them with their problems. idk just something I've been thinking about! love ur stuff and I hope you'll take my request into consideration!! <3 - vinnbee631

Read on Ao3

Warnings: homophobic language, outing, panic attacks/anxiety attacks

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 5851

Listen, all high school days suck, this one was just shaping up to suck more than literally all of the other ones ever. Namely, he was stuck in a class where not only was there a homophobic argument going on—as in, both sides are being homophobic and just debating on how best to be homophobic—but the teacher is doing literally fucking nothing to stop them.

Okay, first off? There’s actually nothing wrong with not being straight. Big mind shock there to some people apparently, but yeah, nope. Nothing wrong with not wanting to get into a relationship or have sex with the opposite gender.

Second, there’s no curing it because there’s nothing wrong with not being straight. There aren’t some fucking factory settings you can just reset to default and everything’s all heterosexual and cisgender again.

And third, there’s never a good reason to be using slurs in a classroom. Never.

All things that Virgil would love to say out loud but he’s currently seething a bit too much at no one else saying a goddamn thing. Especially the teacher. Come on, the teacher is supposed to be the one educating everyone, that includes educating bigots on their ignorance so they can, you know, not be ignorant and bigoted anymore? Ring any bells literally at all?

Apparently not because it’s been ten fucking minutes of this shit and the teacher hasn’t even so much as blinked.

Eventually, Virgil gets fucking sick of this—fair—and raises his hand to ask to go to the bathroom. Which is another stupid thing about high school because why in the fuck should I have to ask to go to the bathroom? What else am I gonna do, fucking piss myself in the middle of the classroom? Hell no.

The teacher waves offhandedly and he gets up to go, but not before one of them catches sight of him leaving and decides, like an idiot, to try and involve him in the conversation.

“Hey, Virgil! Virgil, you think I’m right, don’t you?”

“Uh, I haven’t super been paying attention.” Which is true.

“Where’re you going? Class isn’t over yet.”

Oh, don’t I know it. “Bathroom.”

“You’re not going to meet up with someone for, y’know, reasons are you?”

There are somehow more discreet and much better ways to ask if someone in your high school class is going to hook up with someone in the bathroom, and Virgil would prefer hearing literally any of them right now.

“Oh my god, Kyle, you can’t just say something like that.”

Thank you, other homophobe.

“Besides, Virgil would never be gay. He’s a good person!”

Okay, back to fuck you, other homophobe.

“You can’t just blame sexuality on morality! You can’t just automatically assume all bad people are going to be gay or that all good people aren’t gay!”

That on its own as a sentence? Fine. Sure. Whatever. In the context of this conversation? Virgil really wants to throw a desk at Kyle’s head. He tries to just continue out of the classroom, but Kyle catches him by the sleeve and he grits his teeth.

“Dude, seriously I’m just trying to use the bathroom. Lemme go.”

“Wait, wait, hold on, you gotta convince Leslie that I’m right.”

Virgil doesn’t have to do shit.

“Look,” Leslie says like she’s talking to a person incapable of understanding any sort of logic, “if you make bad choices, you just have to recognize why they’re bad and then you’ll come to your senses enough not to do it anymore. If you just give someone the space and support they need to understand why the choices they’re making are bad for them, they’ll realize that they need to stop making those choices.”

“You do realize that most of them don’t give a shit about what’s good or bad, right? They like it, they enjoy it, they’re not gonna want to change. You can’t just make someone change their sexuality, that’s not how it works.”

Again, single sentences by itself? Fine. Hell, Virgil might say something similar. But right now? The way it’s being used? Kyle’s face really looks like it needs a desk in it right now.

“Virgil, you agree with me, right?”

No, Leslie, I sure the fuck don’t.

“If gay people would just…understand that their lifestyle is unsustainable and unsatisfying, they wouldn’t be gay anymore. It’s the same with alcohol and drugs and all that stuff. If you understand why it’s bad for you, you won’t do it anymore.”

Virgil blinks once. Twice.

You ever just…need a moment to process how much stupid someone just said to you? Like you need to take a second to look at the massive suitcase in front of you before deciding it’s too much to unpack and just throwing it all in the dumpster?

“That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard,” Kyle says—which is fair— “gay people are criminals. They’re breaking the law and they should be punished for it,” which is not fair.

“Actually,” Virgil says, still trying to tug his sleeve away, “it is legal now. Gay marriage is legal, Kyle.”

“Yeah, but so was slavery at one point. Doesn’t make it right.”

“Did you just compare gay marriage to slavery and think it was a good comparison?”

Kyle waves his hand like that just dismisses Virgil’s very good point about false equivalence. “And it’s against religious law too.”

“You do realize that we live in a secular state, right?”

“What’s that mean?”

“There’s a separation of church and state. Religion doesn’t govern, it doesn’t make the laws. We have religious freedom for a reason. And there are plenty of other religions in the country that—“

“Okay, okay, but like, it’s still wrong.”

“Why?”

Kyle looks at him strangely. “Dude, why are you so upset?”

“I dunno, maybe because both of you are being idiots? There’s nothing wrong with being gay!”

“There’s nothing wrong with people who are gay, no,” Leslie says quickly, as if he’s agreeing with her, “but if they made better choices then—“

“You’re wrong too,” Virgil says, “being gay isn’t a choice. You don’t just wake up and choose to be gay.”

“Hah! See?”

“I’m not agreeing with either of you, you’re both wrong. Now I really need to pee so if you’ll excuse me—“

“Dude, just tell us why you’re so upset about this and we’ll—“

He sees the moment Kyle’s eyes widen and his sleeve is let go like it’s gonna burn him.

“No,” he says, shaking his head, “no, no, no, you can’t be, we’ve—we’ve shared a locker room, there’s no way.”

“What are you talking about, Kyle? I told you, there’s no way Virgil’s gay, he’s a good person.”

“What part of sexuality isn’t morality did you not get,” Kyle hisses, “he’s—oh my god, I’m gonna throw up.”

“Virgil, just tell him you’re not gay.” Leslie looks up at him. “You’re not, right? You’re not gay, are you?”

Now, see, here’s what Virgil should do. He should just shake his head and tell them they’re both fucking idiots and go to the bathroom. He should be like ‘that’s none of your goddamn business’ and leave. Hell, maybe he should just say that no, he’s not gay, so they’ll let him get out.

He doesn’t do any of those things. He just stands there.

“Oh goodness,” Leslie mumbles like she’s about to faint, “no, no, Virgil, you can’t.”

“Get the hell away from me,” Kyle spits, shoving himself into another chair, “get your goddamn hands off me.”

“You grabbed me,” Virgil points out, “I was just trying to leave.”

“Virgil, Virgil, sit down—“

“Don’t fucking tell him to sit down! I don’t want that anywhere near me!”

“Excuse me,” the teacher says, finally, like he’s just pulled his head out of his goddamned ass, “you three need to be quiet. Virgil, if you’re going to the bathroom, go.”

“Go and don’t come back,” Kyle spits, “I don’t want any of your gay shit near me.”

See, now, Virgil expects the teacher to, you know, maybe tell him off for swearing, at least?

“…Kyle, it’s not nice to be throwing around accusations like that.”

“It’s not an accusation if it’s true!”

The teacher looks up at Virgil. Virgil looks back at him.

Come on, man, just…just don’t be a piece of shit.

“…Virgil, when you return, why don’t you and I take a walk down to the counselor’s office so we can discuss your…mental health. I understand that high school is a very challenging time—“

Virgil tunes out the rest of whatever the fuck the teacher is spouting because oh my fucking god. He turns around and flees to the safety of the hallway.

Fucking go. Doesn’t matter where just fucking get the fuck out of this place and away from those assholes before you die.

His heart is fucking pounding and he wants to slam his head into the wall until he gets their stupid fucking voices out of his head and he hates this, he hates this.

He doesn’t know where his feet are taking him but a chill breeze tells him he’s near the east wing. The science classrooms and art classrooms are over here. They keep the windows open for the fumes. Right. That’s where he is. That’s all the way on the other side of the school. Great. Fun. This is fine.

He sinks into a crouch near one of the corners out of sight of the rest of the hallway. His lungs still aren’t cooperating. This is fine. This is fine. This is fine.

He curls himself into a ball. He pulls his hoodie tightly around him. He yanks on the strings until he can feel the hood digging into his head.

If he just stays here, if he stays a little bad where no one can find him, he’ll be safe.

“Whoa, hey, pretty sure you can’t be here, bud.”

Nope. No more teachers. He’s just gonna stay still and not move.

“C’mon, you don’t want detention, I don’t wanna write you up, let’s just get you back to where you need to go, okay?”

There’s a hand on his shoulder that’s trying to get him to look up and Virgil doesn’t care anymore, he’d rather be in detention than go back to his class right now.

“Hey, it’s—wait, V?”

That’s Mr. Dagenheart, isn’t it? He’s the art teacher, right. Okay. Probably not gonna get dragged off to the principal right away.

“V, can you look at me?”

Virgil peels himself up from where his face is plastered in his knees and stares up at Mr. Dagenheart. There’s a green streak across his mustache.

“You…got paint,” he mumbles in a ruined voice, raising a trembling hand to tap his upper lip.

Mr. Dagenheart just stares down at him. “V, you look awful.”

“…’anks.”

“No, wait, what happened? C’mon, come up off the floor, it’s even grosser than me. C’mere, come in here, come talk to me.”

Virgil lets himself get scraped off the floor and helped into the art room, sat on a stool as Mr. Dagenheart blusters around trying to find a cup that hasn’t got paint or paint thinner in it. Eventually there’s a clean plastic cup shoved gently into his hands as he tries to get the shaking back under control.

“Drink up, it’s safe. Promise. Got a fresh one just for you.”

“Thanks.”

Mr. Dagenheart watches as he drains the cup, quickly filling it up with more and setting it on the table. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing all the way over here? I’m not supposed to catch sight of you until after lunch when you and your other gremlins go bother Mackenzie next door.”

“I, um…”

How in the fuck is he supposed to explain what just happened?

“…I was trying to go to the bathroom.”

“Bathroom ain’t over her, V.”

“I know.”

“Did you get lost? Did you have a panic attack?”

“…kind of?”

Mr. Dagenheart nudges him gently. “I’m only gonna be able to do so much if you don’t tell me what’s going on, V.”

Virgil toys with the plastic cup, one of the edges almost tearing under his fingers. “I’m…I’m not bad, am I?”

“Are you bad? Whoa, hey, no, no, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly, reaching out to put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, “I just…you just surprised me, that’s all. No, V, you’re not bad.”

“I’m not a bad person?”

Mr. Dagenheart frowns but shakes his head. “No, Virgil, you’re not a bad person. Why are you asking me that?”

“E-even if I’m…if I’m gay?”

Silence.

Fuck. I fucked it up. I fucked it up so bad and now I’m gonna have to run again.

“Virgil,” Mr. Dagenheart says, looking more serious than he’s ever seen him before, “you are not a bad person. You are not a bad person, do you hear me? It doesn’t matter what your sexuality is, you are not a bad person. Being gay does not make you a bad person, you understand?”

Virgil just nods, a bit dazed by the sudden intensity.

“Can you say that with me?”

“Being gay d-doesn’t make me a bad person,” Virgil stammers, “but—“

“No buts, V. Being gay doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No, Virgil. Being gay isn’t bad. It’s just gay. Nothing wrong with being gay. Promise.”

And to his absolute horror, Virgil sniffles.

“Oh, hey, c’mere, come gimme a hug. Oh, hey…” Mr. Dagenheart gathers him in for a gross and messy hug and it’s the best thing that’s happened to Virgil all day. “There, that’s better, right?”

“‘M sorry for—for crying you.”

“Hey, it’s my job to be gross, I don’t care.” He pulls back and pushes the cup of water at him. “Drink. I’ll get you a tissue.”

One tissue box and several cups of water later, Virgil rubs his eyes and takes a deep breath. Mr. Dagenheart watches him carefully, nodding when Virgil glances over at him.

“Did someone say something to you? Is that why—“ he waves a hand at Virgil’s general messiness— “this happened?”

“…yeah.”

“Can I call your homeroom teacher? He should know about it.”

“W-wait, what?”

“Virgil, if someone’s being openly homophobic, I need to tell someone. Especially since it led to you getting hurt.”

“B-but I’m fine.” Mr. Dagenheart gives him a look. “…do you really have to tell him?”

“I should,” he says, softer now, “but we can wait a bit if you’d rather do that.”

Virgil toys with the strings on his hoodie. “…you can tell him.”

“Thanks.” Mr. Dagenheart picks up the phone and dials a number. “Mr. Everheart? Patton, yeah, listen, can you come down to my room? Need to talk to you about something. Okay, great.”

He hangs up the phone and turns back to Virgil.

“He’ll be down in a moment.”

“And he—“ god, this is such a stupid question— “he’ll be—he’ll be fine?”

Mr. Dagenheart rests a hand on his shoulder again. “Yeah, V. He’s gonna be on your side about all this, I promise.”

Virgil nods, his eyes on the door.

“Hey.” Mr. Dagenheart nudges him. “I’m really proud of you, okay? Coming out is really hard, especially when it’s like this. Thank you for being willing to share this with me.”

“…didn’t feel fair not to?”

Mr. Dagenheart shakes his head. “It’s your life, Virgil. Your moment. Your coming out. There’s no shame in staying in the closet if it isn’t safe to be out of it.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

A few seconds later, there’s a knock on the door, swinging open to reveal a concerned-looking Mr. Everheart who only grows more concerned when he sees Virgil sitting there, very obviously have-been-crying.

“Virgil? What’s going on, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine, I just—“ goddamnit, why is your soft concern making me cry again— “I jus’—I—“

“Hey, it’s alright, kiddo, you take your time.” Mr. Everheart rubs his back as he glances up, watching Mr. Dagenheart push more water toward him. “What happened? Panic attack?”

“Do you want me to tell him,” Mr. Dagenheart asks quietly, “or do you want to?”

Virgil shuffles, pulling his hoodie a bit tighter around his shoulders refusing to meet their gazes.

“Got outed during a homophonic argument,” he mumbles, “went…bad.”

“Oh, kiddo, I’m so sorry that happened. Are you okay?” Virgil just shrugs. “Yeah, well, I suppose that’s fair.”

“Better now.”

“I’m glad.”

“…do I still have to go back to class?”

“No,” Mr. Dagenheart says just as Mr. Everheart says, “goodness, no.”

“Yay.”

“It’s almost lunch, anyway,” Mr. Everheart continues, glancing at the clock, “if Mr. Dagenheart doesn’t mind us invading his classroom a little longer…”

“God no. Stay all you want. I don’t have anyone in here until last period.”

“Thanks.”

He pats Virgil’s shoulder. “’Course. Do you want to get your lunch? You hungry?”

“Not really. ‘M fine.”

“You should try and eat something,” Mr. Everheart encourages, “just to keep your strength up.”

“Maybe later.”

“Alright, later it is, then.”

Virgil has a sneaking suspicion he’s gonna get held to that.

“Who was it,” Mr. Everheart continues, “that was involved?”

“…um…”

“I get not being a snitch,” Mr. Dagenheart says, “but these people are using homophobic language on campus and they’re bullying you. That’s not acceptable, Virgil.”

“No, it’s not. And I can’t let it happen. Especially if they start doing it more.”

Virgil chews his lip. “K-Kyle and Leslie,” he mumbles, “a-and…”

“And…?” Mr. Everheart prompts. “I can keep your name out of it, if that’ll make you feel better.”

“…the, um…the teacher kinda…joined in too.”

“He did fucking what?”

“Remus,” Mr. Everheart hisses even though the hand on Virgil’s shoulder has tightened significantly, “language.”

“I’m not gonna give a shit about language if I’m getting told one of my colleagues is being homophobic,” Mr. Dagenheart seethes, “especially to a student!”

“Guys,” Virgil says a bit desperately, “it’s not—“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Virgil. This is a big deal and it’s not okay.”

“He’s right,” Mr. Everheart says, “this is unacceptable, Virgil.”

He gentles a bit when he sees how obviously upset Virgil is about all of this.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his back again, “thank you for telling us. We’re not going to bring your name into it when we take it up with the Dean, but you know we can’t let this happen again, right?”

Virgil nods, feeling tears well up behind his eyes again as he fiddles with the empty plastic cup. Mr. Everheart makes a sympathetic noise.

“Do you want a hug?”

“…sure.”

Why does he give such good hugs? This isn’t fair. I’m just gonna cry again. Nope, no more crying over those assholes, they don’t deserve it.

“There’s another sink in the back,” Mr. Dagenheart suggests, taking the now-mangled cup from him, “it’s cleaner. There are towels back there too, clean ones. Why don’t you go wash your face off? It might feel better.”

“O-okay.” He glances up with a watery smile. “Are you gonna wash the paint off too?”

“I think I like it, actually. Makes my face look more interesting.”

Virgil manages a laugh as he heads to the back room, listening to the two of them start talking quietly. Okay. Okay, this is fine. This actually turned out…kind of okay. Mr. Dagenheart seems pissed but not at him and Mr. Everheart seems like he wants to help and not make a big deal out of it. Good. These are both good things. He can work with this. Everything might actually turn out okay.

He turns on the tap and shoves up his sleeves, splashing the cold water on his face and dabbing it off with a towel. He’s just about to hang it back over the rail when he hears the door open again.

“There you are, I thought we’d have to search the whole building for you!”

“He left a note saying he’d be down here, it wasn’t exactly a stellar deduction.”

“Mm, and we all know who the expert at those is.”

Nope. Nevermind. He takes it back. This is not okay. This is very much no okay. No okays here.

He knows who just walked in.

That was Mr. Prince, Mr. Mackenzie, and Mr. DeLuca. Shit.

What in the fuck are they all doing here? Do they all meet up for lunch or some shit? Fuck, that’s exactly what’s going on, isn’t it? They’re all here for their lunch break and that means Virgil’s gonna have to find somewhere else to hide for the rest of the day and shit, he’s not gonna be able to make it out of this room without anyone noticing, is he?

Fuck, why did it have to be them?

‘Cause Mr. Prince is gonna wanna know exactly what’s going on and he’s—god, extra doesn’t even begin to cover it and he may or may not be part of the reason Virgil realized he was gay in the first place, how in the fuck is he supposed to explain what’s going on?

And Mr. Mackenzie is super fucking serious and no-laughing all the time, he’s not gonna react well to Virgil being all emotional and crying and being upset about things, not when he’s got work to do and he has his class later, fuck.

And Mr. DeLuca is fucking scary. Fuck, he’s given Virgil panic attacks before, he fucking eats students alive if they try and pull dramatics in his classroom, he’s so fucked.

“What are you doing here, anyway? Normally, we’re the ones who come to meet you.”

Don’t tell them I’m here. Please, for the love of god, don’t tell them.

“I got called down,” Mr. Everheart says, “Remus wanted to talk about something.”

“Oh?” Mr. Prince must pull out a stool or something. “Do tell.”

No. Don’t tell. Don’t say shit.

“Whatever it is, surely it can wait until we’re at lunch,” Mr. DeLuca says smoothly—yes, please, leave so I can run out of here— “now, if you don’t mind, shall we?”

“Gimme a second.”

Virgil has about two seconds before Mr. Dagenheart appears around the corner and shuts the door to the back room, coming over and taking the towel from his hands.

“Hey,” he says quietly, “look at me, Virgil.”

The others are still here. They could hear him.

“Hey.” Virgil’s eyes snap to his. “There. Good. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

Breathing is stupid.

“Come on, in and out, you can do it.”

He can hear them talking through the door. Did Mr. Everheart just say there’s a student back there? Shit, he did. They’re talking about it now. Fuck, why did they have to talk about it?

“Virgil,” Mr. Dagenheart says firmly, “you’re panicking. Come on, just focus on me. Breathe in…”

Slowly, Virgil lets him walk him through a breathing exercise, squeezing his hands to make sure he can still move them and everything. But Virgil can still hear the others talking so his gaze keeps darting to the side and eventually Mr. Dagenheart asks if he wants them kicked out.

“N-no, you’ve—you have lunch plans—“

“You’re more important than my damn lunch plans, Virgil, now do you want me to kick them out?”

“…can you just make them be quiet?”

And of course he goes right over to the door, throws it open, and yells: “all of you shut the fuck up, you’re making it worse.”

“That is not what I meant,” Virgil hisses when he comes back over looking way too pleased with himself.

“Yeah, but I don’t get enough excuses to do that anyway. Now,” he says, reaching out to take his shoulders, “you doing okay? If you wanna hide in here for the rest of the day that’s fine with me, we just gotta get some food in you first.”

As appealing as it sounds, it does smell like paint fumes in here and Virgil’s few remaining braincells would appreciate not being murdered.

“Okay,” is the response he gets when he says as much—slightly edited, thank you— “do you wanna come back to the front now? You don’t have to tell ‘em anything, but they are gonna ask you what’s wrong.”

“Why?”

“Aside from the fact that you’ve kinda obviously been having a panic attack—“ rude but okay— “they’re gonna care, Virgil. And they’ll be on your side too, okay?”

“…they will?”

“Yeah, V. Promise they will.”

“How obvious is it that I’ve been crying?”

“…listen I’m not a very good liar, V, but you do look okay.”

Virgil glances around for anything that might be vaguely a mirror and gives up, pulling his hoodie down to cover his shaking hands and following Mr. Dagenheart back to the front of the art room.

As soon as he gets through the doorway and feels all of the eyes looking at him, though, he wants to shrivel up and disappear.

“Virgil?” Oh, hey, Mr. Prince, what’s going on? “Virgil, is that you? Are you alright?”

No, as a matter of fact, I am most certainly not. “…yeah.”

“You don’t have to lie to us, Virgil,” comes Mr. DeLuca’s voice and Virgil isn’t quick enough to stop his flinch.

“What’s happened,” Mr. Prince asks as really fucking warm hands land on his shoulders and steer him to a stool, “what’s wrong?”

“Let’s not overwhelm him,” he hears Mr. Dageheart hiss, “c’mon, Ro, don’t be an idiot.”

“Oh, y’know,” Virgil tries, aiming for casual nihilism and missing by a few major philosophical paradigm shifts, “getting homophobic comments hurled at me, trying not to have an existential breakdown, just your every day high school things.”

“Someone was using homophobic language to bully you?” Mr. Prince’s grip suddenly tightens on his shoulder. “Did they out you as well?”

“…kinda outed myself by accident, but…”

“No, Virgil that’s not—look at me.”

He looks up because he’s a fucking idiot and sees Mr. Prince staring at him all soft and concerned and he is going to die, this is how.

“Do not ever blame yourself for other people’s ignorance,” he says firmly, holding eye contact, “you are not to blame for their shortcomings and it is not your job to make them understand just how little they know. That’s not your responsibility nor should you feel like it is.”

“…okay.”

“He’s right,” Mr. DeLuca says and since fucking when has he been that soft, “don’t spend your time trying to make other people better, it’s a thankless job with no reward.”

“…aren’t you a teacher?”

“I said better, not smarter.” But then he’s reaching over and carefully pulling Virgil’s collar away from his neck so it doesn’t choke him, and he’s still looking at him with a soft expression and Virgil is really confused, because why is Mr. DeLuca not skinning him alive right now, “Virgil, look at me.”

The concern is getting stronger, he can see it.

“Hey,” he says and how is his voice getting softer, “hey, what’s the matter? What’s scaring you right now?”

“I believe we are.”

Mr. Mackenzie, always there with the great observation skills. No wonder he’s a science teacher.

“Give him some space,” he says, and sure enough everyone except Mr. Prince backs up a little, “let him breathe.”

“Hey,” Mr. Prince murmurs, still rubbing Virgil’s back, “it’s okay. We’re right here. You just take your time, okay? No rush.”

Fuck it. I just got outed, had homophobic insults hurled at me, and I’m currently in the middle of a bunch of mental breakdowns. I’m allowed to be a mess.

Virgil buries his face in his hands and takes several heaving breaths, trying to focus more on the faint waxy smell of oil pastels and the warmth of the hand between his shoulders. There are a few quiet murmurs around him but other than that, he’s given the space he needs to process what’s going on.

When he finally raises his head, it’s to a tissue box and another cup of water, both of which he accepts gratefully and tries to be a bit more of a person. When he’s gotten as far as he’s gonna get with that, Mr. Prince ruffles his hair and smiles at him.

Not now, gay panic. Please for the love of fuck not now.

“Virgil,” Mr. Mackenzie says, also speaking softly, what the fuck is this, “aside from my class, what else do you have this afternoon?”

“Uh…a study period.”

“Are any of you free this last period?”

“I am,” Mr. DeLuca says, “I’ve got one class and that’s it.”

“I would not be opposed to you skipping class today,” and what in the actual good fuck is happening, who are you and what have you done with my science teacher, “considering this is just to be a recap mainly for students who failed coursework for the last week and your scores were exemplary.”

“I—uh—what?”

“He’s saying there’s no reason for you to sit next to homophobes if you don’t want to,” Mr. Dagenheart says, “and so you can spend the first period here with me—if you want, and then Janus’ll take you for the second one.”

“Or we can go see Dr. Picani and see if he’ll write you a note to let you go early.”

Hold on. Back up.

Slow down.

“What’s going on?”

“You’ve just been through a traumatizing experience,” Mr. Mackenzie says, “and therefore are not in an opportune place to learn or benefit in any way from school. The solution I’m proposing is that you spend the rest of the day away from any of the students who could harm you further, be that spending time with Mr. Dagenheart and Mr. DeLuca, or by being excused for the rest of the day.”

Virgil blinks. Okay, yeah, that makes sense, but… “Why?”

“Because your well-being should come before your academics.” He tilts his head when Virgil stares at him like he’s grown two. “What’s that look for?”

“I dunno,” he says warily, “something about one teacher being homophobic and then a whole bunch of them being weirdly out-of-character supportive.”

“A teacher was part of this?”

“Name, Virgil,” Mr. DeLuca says firmly, “now.”

“Don’t scare him,” Mr. Mackenzie chides, seemingly focusing on the second part of that, “Virgil, if we have behaved or acted in any sort of way to make you believe that we would not support you for something like this, we deeply apologize.”

“It’s our job to make students feel like they have a safe learning environment,” Mr. Everheart says—right, he’s here too.

“Though I do want to know the teacher’s name,” Mr. Prince adds.

“…why are you guys doing this?”

Mr. Prince looks at him for a second, before a small smile comes to his face. “Raise your hand if you’re gay.”

Virgil’s eyes widen as every single one of their hands goes up.

“Virgil,” he prompts gently, “did you hear me?”

“Do not pressure someone to come out,” Mr. Dagenheart hisses, “what is wrong with you, Ro?”

“Right, right, sorry.”

“N-no, no, I—“ Virgil slowly raises his hand too— “I got it.”

“See?” Mr. Mackenzie smiles. “We’re with you, Virgil.”

“And whoever that teacher is,” Mr. DeLuca says in his scary voice, “he most certainly will be taught a lesson of his own.”

The cheesy villain line makes Virgil snort as he lowers his hand. “Thanks, guys.”

“Think nothing of it.” Mr. Dagenheart taps the table. “Now, I need food and I’m pretty sure everyone else does too.”

“Virgil, did you bring a lunch?”

“…nope.”

“Great, what’s your favorite kind of pizza?”

“My what now?”

“Thursday is pizza day,” Mr. Prince says by way of explanation as Mr. Mackenzie starts typing on his phone, “and it’s not my week to pay.”

“Excuse you?”

“No, I looked at the calendar, I’m next week.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hey, no, wait, I paid last week, so it is Ro’s week.”

“It is not!”

Mr. DeLuca rolls his eyes fondly as the others dissolve into bickering, beckoning a baffled Virgil over to him. “Are you alright, now?”

“…still a bit confused and upset, but…yeah? I think so? I mean, pizza sounds good.”

“I mean it, Virgil,” Mr. DeLuca says, reaching out to ruffle his hair, “if anyone ever says something like that to you again, I don’t care who it is. You come and you tell one of us, do you understand?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

“You…you really don’t mind me being in your classroom at the end of the day?”

“Of course not, sweetie.”

What the fuck—why are petnames happening? Oh, shit, I’m crying again. Oh, fuck, that’s why. Shit.

“It’s going to be okay,” Mr. DeLuca murmurs as he slides the tissue box back over, “everything’s going to be okay.”

Maybe…maybe yeah. Maybe it will. Maybe this day won’t be so bad after all.

Maybe this day is going to be pizza with his cool gay teachers. Maybe it’s going to be spending one period helping Mr. Dagenheart go through some of the old artwork from long-graduated students to decide what to put up on the wall and what to toss. Maybe it’s going to be spending the other with Mr. DeLuca who is secretly a big dorky goofball who likes bad math puns and the same science fiction TV shows that Virgil does.

Maybe today’s gonna be okay.

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#sanders sides #dragonbabbles #fic #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #patton sanders #logan sanders

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penguinmerchant · 1 year

Text

Return to Sender--failed attempt

Well, this did not turn out well. I'm deciding to post it anyway because the front cover is so pretty I can't stand it and I'm hoping that maybe if I detail what went wrong it will either help someone else or prevent me from making the same mistake again. So here she is, my first failed binding of the first fic I've ever done for my own stuff (and goddamn I hope that's not a metaphor for something)

Just look at her. Gorgeous. Inspiration taken directly from this version of a Shakespeare book that I found on Pinterest. I just loved the cutout text in gold, the triangle in the middle that seemed like an envelope. Perfect for an epistolary novel, right? And the boyfriend did the graphic design again this time, carrying his burden of knowing exactly how crappy these things are to weed, and made it so that weeding was a particularly easy process. Now, actually getting this stuff to stick---that still sucked. The black went down really easy but the gold took forever to stick down, and I'm not really sure why. It took 30 seconds for the black to stick and probably 6 different sets of 30 seconds for the gold, same heat and everything. If anyone has any insights into how to get this cricut vinyl to act better, I'd appreciate it forever.

(But god, look at it. It's so pretty).

The back.

The spine.

And now to the horrors, under the cut.

So I guess the textblock came out crooked, or maybe I cut it crooked. I don't know where the badness came from, but look at how these endsheets (the beautiful, beautiful endsheets) came out.

Look how far down the left side of the block sits, and how high the right is. And to get it like that, the bottom looks like this:

It's practically falling out of the case. Also these headbands suck. I keep using them because they're the only gold ones I have but they just shred themselves to pieces, I hate them.

It's so bad, you guys. I could not get this block to sit straight no matter what I did. And to make it even worse, I figured out the way that it fit in the least horribly, and made a mark on it and everything, and then promptly attached the cover to the wrong side. I don't think it would have mattered much, but it would have only been like 80% bad instead of 90%.

I think--If I'm guessing here--that I somehow pressed the spine out of whack during one of the glue applications. Because by the numbers--and I did measure this thing about ten thousand times--it should have been even. But I think the spine kicked out in a really funny way that made it so it wouldn't lay flat on the boards, and so when I tried to case it in the spine pushed on the crooked part and wonked out the whole thing. And what I should have done was 1) Make boards that fit the wonkiness, try to even it out a little (even if it would have made the book itself sit funny), or, better yet, 2) redo the textblock and try and fit it into the already made boards. But I didn't. I just forged ahead and now I'm going to have to make another one from scratch because this is my story and I can't have it looking like this, it feels like too much to take that disrespect and/or laziness.

But at least I won't have to set the text again. Look at it. I found different handwritten fonts for each character that I felt like expressed their personalities. Laurent's is tidy and clean but with a few little flourishes.

Damen's is a little looser, a little scribblier.

And then Auguste's is my favorite, it's curly and sweepy and completely over the top.

There's a few more, these were just the most prominent ones. And the whole of the actual text is italicized. I know it's kind of annoying to read but just regular text looked way too jarring against the handwritten flourishes at the beginning and end, and the handwritten fonts were impossible to read once there was more than like, six words. I even tried putting in a typewriter-esque font, but that did not look right either. The italicized font bridged the gap, I think, and it's not too annoying to read in context, honestly.

Ugh, I'm so disappointed, even though I'll probably try to display this somewhere because the cover is so pretty lol. I think the lesson I need to take away from this and remember is that I need to stop when I see a problem come up. I knew from the time that I cut the boards that this wasn't going to work right, and I still went ahead and did it anyway because I thought I could force it and I wanted it to be done. And now I've wasted my beautiful duo cloth, those gorgeous marbled endpapers, and I'm going to have to do this again. Patience is definitely not something I have in spades but I'm going to keep this as a testament to how important it is to take your time and make sure that things are right before continuing.

#fic binding #my own fic!#fanfic bookbinding #captive prince #lesson learned #book binding gone wrong

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intergalacticaquarium · 2 years

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Part 6-Alone Here Together

Eddie Munson x soon-to-be-step!Henderson! female original character

Summary: Samantha stayed at Rick's cabin with Eddie, shenanigans and heartfelt nervous breakdowns ensue. Steve and Dustin have a heart to heart. (reading the past parts would probably be good but u can probably get what's going on from context)

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(Series masterpost/chapter links here!)

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Eventually Dustin, Steve, Max, and Robin made their way out, leaving Samantha and Eddie alone in the secluded lakehouse, but neither of of were the type to admire the scenery. Within moments she was rustling through her bag for her stash, and when Eddie saw her pulling out the familiar tin box he groaned in relief.

“Thank fuck your holding, Campbell. You didn’t leave me with much last night.” He said, waiting for her to take her turn on the one hitter and pack him one.

“Sorry, I didn't know I needed to prepare a go bag. And did you check around this house? If there’s anywhere in Hawkins that would have a removable floorboard it would be Reefer Rick’s house.” She said in a joking manner, passing him the bat and seeing him light it shakily, clearly not in the mood for any kind of banter.

“It’s gonna be okay, Eddie.” She said calmly, and he looked at her with more disbelief than when they had alternate dimensions explained to them a few minutes ago.

“Is it? Because I’m wanted for murder that was commited by an evil wizard that I thought I made up-” He paused, beginning to spiral “-did Dustin just name it that or is it actually a wizard? And apparently I’m being hunted by the basketball team now? What the fuck? What part of any of that makes you think that this was going to end well?” he said hysterically, waving his hands.

“Okay- yeah- shit’s weird, but apparently Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler have been doing it for years so it can’t be that hard!’ she said encouragingly, but he only looked at her like she was speaking nonsense.

“Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler don’t spend all their time on the couch smoking weed watching horror movies! Do you think that either of us still has the fucking lung capacity to run away from real monsters? I don’t!” He said, pacing wildly, lighting the bat again and gesturing to the dugout, digging the little metal tube in to pack the end of it. “Campbell, you gotta have something that can hold more than this this fuckin sucks.”

“My pipes are in the van.” she said sadly.

“You lost the damn van? That’s the most helpful thing you bring to the table!” He said, exasperated, his limbs going every which way.

“Wow. Rude.” She said, eyebrows shooting up, and he paused.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that the van is very very helpful. It has everything in there. Every time I’ve ever mentioned something being useful you’re like ‘hold on let me get it out of my van’. How does everything even fit in there? It’s like a goddamn bag of holding!” he said, running out of breath, unable to stop talking. His thoughts were clearly scattered and overwhelming him and Sam stood up, grabbing his shoulders to stop the pacing.

“Eddie, you need to calm down. You’ve got a lot on your plate right now, you don’t need to also worry about all my possessions being left in an unlocked van with Jason and his handsy buddy.” She scolded, the sentence making her wonder why she wasn’t more worried. That seemed to break Eddie out of his panic for a moment.

“Handsy?” He asked, suddenly looking more worried and angry than before, and she rolled her eyes.

“Alright, I don’t need that macho protective man thing. It’s bad enough that Steve’s macho protective man instinct is what got me out of the situation. Getting saved by him felt, like, unfeminist or something.” She complained, but that wasn’t enough to keep Eddie from worrying.

“Saved you from what, though?” He asked, still nervous.

“Nothing, I mean, not nothing- I’m fine. They just boxed me in against the van and then grabbed me and, kinda…picked me up when I tried to run away.” She said, and saw Eddie clench and unclench his fist. “Okay, yeah, it was super scary and definitely wasn’t going to end well but I’m fine.”

“I don’t think I can take Jason in a fight but I’m gonna try and fuck him up next time I see him. That’s so fucked up- that they’d fucking attack you like that just because you know me.” He said, his energy ramping up again, but she held onto him firmly to keep him from starting to pace again.

“I can handle myself, and Steve was there-” she tried, but he shook his head in annoyance.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like being the one that put you in danger in the first place.” He shouted, and closed his mouth quickly, all of a sudden remembering that he was in hiding.

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill Chrissy.” She said with as much comfort as she could. She wasn’t used to this. Comforting people. Other people’s feelings had never come naturally to her. She had always told herself that it was because she didn’t care, but now she did. She desperately cared, and she hated that she couldn’t show him that.

“I know that- but why are you so sure? I mean- I didn’t see any monsters. I could still be lying as far as you know.” He said, clearly unsure what he was even saying but getting more agitated by the moment anyway.

Sam bit her lip and swayed back and forth for a moment, thinking.

“Y’know, I want to say it’s because I know you pretty well at this point, that you’re actually really gentle despite appearances, that you always can tell that I’m having a bad day and make it a personal goal to cheer me up, that you’re just about the only friend I’ve got and even when I stopped trying you never did, and that I know in my heart that you would never hurt a fly.” She said, and he cocked his head. “All those things are true, but I feel like every time somebody gets murdered there’s some schmuck saying that Ted Bundy was actually really nice when he wasn’t killing people so maybe that’s not enough.” She said, and walked up to him so he would look at her.

“I don’t think you did this, Eddie Munson,” She said, looking into his eyes. “because from the bottom of my heart, I don’t believe that you’re strong enough to break every bone in a person's body in the ten minutes between taking Chrissy into your place and you running out of it.” She said, and his mouth dropped open in surprise and incredibly guilty amusement.

“You don’t have the upper arm strength or the lung capacity, I’m 100% sure of it.” She said so matter of factly that he couldn’t stop himself from laughing, and she joined in, appropriately ashamed, they stopped laughing with effort, but the moment they made eye contact it came involuntarily spilling back out, despite how they fought the giggles, they were winning.

“I mean the fact that the Hawkins police took a look at your skinny ass and said yeah that’s our guy is insane.” She said, losing herself in the laughter that was going between them. It was nothing less than hysterical, letting out the immeasurable stress that had built up in the last 24 hours. It wasn’t contagious laughter, an onlooking person might see it and would know that they were in the middle of a crisis, but they still couldn’t stop.

“I get bullied in gym class for six fuckin years by Jason and even that wasn’t enough to convince him I couldn’t do it.” He said, leaning against the wall laughing and sliding to the floor where she quickly joined them.

“I once saw you get tired trying to open a damn jar of peanut butter” she said, still out of breath, until their ribs hurt and they had run out of breath and the present had come back to them all at once.

“Shit, what am I gonna fuckin do, Sam? Like, even if they find this Vecna…guy? Creature? Whatever it is that still doesn’t help me. You can’t bring a real monster to the Hawkins PD and say ‘arrest him, Sir!’”

“Even if they tried it would probably just…kill them. Because it’s a monster?” She said with another hit off the bat, and he sighed in agreement.

“I was about to say I’d be losing my damn mind if you hadn’t stayed, but I think that’s happening anyway.” He said, running his fingers through his hair and staring at her. “But I’m really glad that I didn’t get left here alone, and that…you were the one that stayed.”

“I know, that’s why I’m here.” She said cooly and looked him in the eye, leaning their heads against the walls and smiling at each other. “That way we can go insane together. I’ve been practicing for a while so I can give you tips.”

Eddie smiled a little bit and fidgeted, having calmed down now but still having the energy built up, and Sam frowned at the sound it made when he tapped his hands on the floor they sat on.

“Eddie, move over.” She said, and he scooted away from the floor tile that she then grabbed at the edges and pulled up, revealing a cache of whatever they needed to make this stay more bearable. Besides each other, Sam mused, before immediately getting embarrassed and shaking the thought away.

---

Back in Hawkins, Dustin and Steve sat in his car talking.

"Your face is so red dude. You haven't hit it off with any other girls, and since you steadfastly refuse to date Robin for some reason it's the only explanation."

"There are other explanations."

"Like what? Do you like somebody else? I can totally be your wingman if you need one." Prodded Dustin, and Steve rubbed his eyes.

"Don't need a wingman but thanks, I guess. I got plenty of charm. I just haven't met the right girl yet."

"Then maybe talk to different kinds of girls. What about Sam?" Dustin suggested, and Steve looked at him a little scandalized and sorta flattered.

"You really want me to date your sister, Henderson?"

"She's not really my sister. I just mean maybe you should try somebody that's doing a sort of punk thing- I don't know!"

Steve couldn't help but laugh. "Didn't know I'd grown on you so much that you want me to join the family."

"Again, she's not my sister. Maybe you'd make her nicer."

Steve was flattered but still giving Dustin shit.

"That's sweet, kid- but if you were gonna make this suggestion you probably should've done it before you set your sister up in an empty secluded house with her stoner buddy with the puppy eyes."

"Puppy eyes?" Dustin questioned, and Steve shrugged his shoulders, and he rolled past it. "They're just friends right? Thats gross, Sam and Eddie wouldn’t- I mean-" Dustin floundered with a grossed out look, and Steve raised an eyebrow, counting down until he figured it out.

“They would. They totally would. Gross.” He complained.

"Well looks like your new buddy is gonna be hangin around a lot more." Steve consoled and patted Dustin on the shoulder.

"That would require Samantha to ever be at my house in the first place." Dustin countered.

"She doesn't, like, live with you?"

"Nah man she lives in the van."

“Seriously? That’s kinda fucked up isn’t she like, nineteen?” Steve said, and Dustin shrugged.

“My mom cleaned out her whole office for her and it’s just sitting here. I had to move my av shit into my room, it takes up so much space and she’s only slept there, like, once.” Dustin complained. “She pretty much wants nothing to do with us.”

Steve leaned back a little sadly, noticing the little bit of sadness in Dustin’s voice.

“Look, man, I’m sure it’s not about you.” He tried to say comfortingly. “Is that why you wanted to set me up with her? So she’d come around more? Because-”

“What? No? I don’t care that she’s not around because I don’t even know her. I’m an only child, I like it that way. I’m just lookin out for you, man, don’t read too much into it.”

Before Steve could respond there was a crackle of static from the walkie talkie in the back seat, and Dustin grabbed it.

“Hellooooo?” Came a sing-songy voice that was broken up by laughter.

“Sam? You need to say over when you’re done talking.” Dustin scolded.

“Over.” Sam said, snorting a giggle again.

“You guys alright?” Steve asked, taking the radio from Dustin.

“Uh, yeah, pfft-” her words were broken up by background noise. “Eddie shut up-yeah I’ll ask- can you bring us some food soon? And also some beers. And also some more weed. And also some movies. And also my van.” She said, and they heard more laughter behind her, making Dustin roll his eyes.

“You guys think it’s a good time to be doin that stuff? Like, aside from the danger it’s 2 in the afternoon.” Steve asked.

“Ask him to get some kfc-” “Can you get us some kfc?” Eddie started and Sam finished.

“At least they’re done freaking out.” Steve mused.

“I guess, but now they’re useless.” Dustin said, frowning.

“Hey! Over.” Said the radio, and Dustin glared at Steve, who realized he was still holding down the button.

“We’ll bring you supplies as soon as we can but right now you guys should probably sober up, things are getting way worse for Eddie here in Hawkins. Over.” Dustin said.

“It’s medicinal. We’re very anxious.” Sam said as seriously as she could manage. “Over” she quickly added.

“Anxiety’s not so bad when you're in mortal danger. Keeps the motivation up. Over.”

“Boo. Fine. Just bring me my van bye! Eddie, stop it oh my god!” Was how she ended the conversation, their giggles filling up the radio before cutting out.

Both of them were silent for a moment, processing.

“Maybe we should’ve left somebody else.” Dustin said cautiously, and Steve nodded

“Over- HA! Eddie, shut up!” The radio interrupted one more time, and the two boys sighed in defeat.

“Drink a cup of coffee, you two!” Steve shouted into the radio, and leaned back, glancing at Dustin.

“Maybe you should be my wingman- seems like you’re a half-decent matchmaker.” Steve said, and Dustin groaned in annoyance.

---

Eddie and Sam frowned at the radio between them between their giggles. He sat up against the cupboards bouncing a ball and she lay on the ground with her legs pointed upward, leaning against the cabinets.

“We should probably listen to Steve.” Sam said with a sigh, and Eddie screwed up his face.

“I don’t wanna listen to Steve. Since when do you roll with Steve Harrington anyway?”

“Since, like, this afternoon. But Dustin trusts him, so I guess that’s enough for me.”

Eddie groaned exaggeratedly. “God, I know that Dustin trusts him, he never shuts up about him.” he complained, and Sam chuckled.

“That’s funny, because now that he’s buddies with you he thinks he knows everything and it’s driving Steve insane.”

“That’s good. I’m glad he’s weaponizing that hero worship in my favor. Kind of.” He said, bouncing a ball he had found across the floor.

“Am I sensing a personal grudge with ol’ Steve? Or is this just an anti establishment anti popularity thing?” She asked, and he chuckled.

“You always go the poser route for those little jabs of yours and it always hurts.” He said, hand over heart.

“Well, maybe you should’ve considered that before you told me how much you love it when people call you a freak.” she said affectionately.

“Badge of pride, baby.” He said proudly, putting out his arms. She kicked her legs on the counter to push herself away enough to sit up and look at him with a sneaky smile.

“Baby? Is that what we’re doing now?” She asked, and he leaned forward with a grin, trying to call his bluff.

“You can call me baby any day of the week, Sam. You should’ve realized that by now.” He said with a laugh and a puff off the joint they just had rolled. Her face was a little stunned, like she wasn’t sure how to take what he had said. Normally, he’d have been nervous saying that to Sam. He had liked her for a while but knew that she didn’t have a lot of people around her and didn’t want to risk scaring her away, but after today he knew they’d be fine whether she felt the same or not.

He leaned back and grinned at her stunned face, taking the joint and placing it between her slightly open lips until she inhaled, then took it back for himself. That snapped her out of it and she rolled her eyes predictably.

“In your dreams, Munson.” She said with false bravado, leaning back onto her hands.

“Oh yeah, on the regular.” he said quickly, and she shook her head, hating that he always had a better comeback if she didn’t have the opening to call him a sellout.

“You’re just stoned.” She said, laughing and glancing away.

“I mean, I always am a little bit. So are you.” He said, and she laughed, still a bit confused.

Her lack of reaction was enough to dampen his enthusiasm and he decided to backpedal.

“Hey- just forget I said anything. You’re right, I’m baked.” He started, but frowned at the same time she did. “I mean, what I said was true, literally last night I had a dream that we were lost in a maze but actually it was the highschool? I think we ended up fighting something and then afterward it got- heh- uh, Whatever, I just- I know this is a weird situation. I don’t need to make it any weirder. We’re just hangin out, like normal.” He rambled to take the pressure off, and it worked, but as Sam thought about it, she thought that maybe she didn’t mind the pressure.

Sam looked at him and tilted her head, all of a sudden wondering why she had never considered Eddie that way before, and when he looked at her again she realized that maybe she had actually thought about it a lot.

“Eddie…” she said, playfully but serious enough that as she leaned closer he would know what to do.

He leaned in as well, and glanced down at her lips. Just as they were about to connect they heard the crackle of the radio again, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh at their continued interruptions with her head on his shoulder.

“You two having that cup of coffee yet?” Steve’s voice came from the other end, followed by a very soft ‘you have to say over.’

Sam just grinned and offered Eddie a hang up before he went to the radio and she went to the coffee maker.

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