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ellionwrites · 5 months

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If Geto and Gojo were so close, why didn't Geto try to convince Gojo to defect with him?

Because Geto knew that Gojo’s support would guarantee his success, but that success would come at the cost of hurting Gojo.

I believe that Geto cared more about protecting Gojo than he cared about building a better world.

Let me explain…

First, let’s talk about why it would’ve made sense for Geto to ask Gojo to join him:

(1) Gojo would’ve been Geto’s most important / most powerful ally

By the time of Geto’s defection, Gojo is already the strongest sorcerer in existence. He and Geto are two of only three special grade sorcerers. Having them both on the same side is essentially an automatic win.

(2) Gojo should’ve been (relatively) easy to persuade

Gojo had already told Geto that he didn't like having to save the weak and didn't care about the moral justifications for it…

…Geto has also seen that Gojo doesn’t always value / protect human life. He was ready to massacre the Time Vessel Association without reason, but ultimately he didn't, because he deferred to Geto's judgement…

…and, most importantly, they are best friends on a DEEP, unparalleled level. Geto is Gojo’s “one and only” best friend.

If Geto was truly dedicated to changing the world order, Gojo should’ve been the first and most important person that he tried to recruit to his insurgency / cult / mission.

BUT

Not only does Geto make zero effort to reach out to / recruit Gojo, he actively avoids him and pushes him away...

- - - - - Keep reading cut - - - - -

After he kills the 112 non-sorcerers, Geto runs into Shoko in Shinjuku. He happily approaches her and willingly answers her questions.

Look at his smiling face in their interactions:

But, when Shoko calls Gojo, Geto leaves before Gojo shows up. Gojo tracks him down anyway and demands an explanation. Geto still doesn’t want to talk about it (“You already heard it.”)

It's strange, right? Geto loves talking about his vision of a better world with everyone else.

Then, there is this confusing progression of dialog:

Geto is hurt/annoyed that Gojo doesn’t believe in him, so he points out that Gojo’s argument against his plan is invalid. The plan is possible (“You could do it”), therefore (according to Gojo’s own logic) it’s not “pointless.”

In a way, Geto is admitting that he knows it would make the most sense for Gojo to join him.

But before Gojo can respond, Geto pivots to saying something extremely hurtful. He's questioning who Gojo is / would be if he wasn't the strongest. Is there really anything more to him? (See more detail in my post here).

Then, in the very next panel Geto turns and starts walking away.

In summary: (1) Geto avoids Gojo, (2) Geto only argues in favor of his plan when Gojo forces/baits him, (3) Upon invalidating Gojo’s opposition to his plan, Geto immediately puts emotional distance between them, (4) Geto then puts physical distance between them.

Why is Geto trying so hard to make sure that Gojo won’t follow him?

Is he just being prideful about doing this on his own? Is he so angry at Gojo's arrogance that he'd jeopardize the success of his life's mission over it?

These arguments aren't in line with Geto's characterization / known motivations (see the end of this post, if you're interested in more on that.)

Geto's main motivation is (a twisted form of) compassion. He wants to end the suffering of sorcerers.

He is a thoughtful, contemplative person, and would've thought about the ramifications of recruiting Gojo.

What are the ramifications?

If Gojo joins the cause, Geto’s plan would succeed, but Gojo would suffer for it.

Like anyone who joins Geto's cult, Gojo would become a pariah / fugitive from Jujutsu society. He’d kill people. He’d kill other sorcerers.

But because Gojo has the singular level of strength/ability to kill non-sorcerers en masse, he would commit the vast majority (or all) of the murder / destruction. The legal, social, and mental impacts would be most severe on Gojo.

(Also, at this point, I think Geto may still question whether he’s made the right choice. It’s difficult to go from a hardline stance on protecting non-sorcerers to wanting to gen0c1de them, within the span of a year, without any lingering ethical qualms. So he may be worried about moral costs to Gojo as well.)

Let’s remember that Geto (canonically) deeply loves Gojo. Gojo is his one and only best friend. Geto worries about Gojo when he overworks himself protecting Riko. Geto is shocked when Toji kills Riko in front of him, but he only flies into a rage when he thinks Toji has killed Gojo. (Again, see my post here for more on how much Geto loves Gojo).

So, it makes sense that Geto is ready to make sacrifices to create a better world, but it’s a cost he’s willing to put on his own head. Not Gojo's.

Ultimately, Geto cares more about Gojo than he cares about achieving the mission he has dedicated his life to.

The last thing Geto says to him is this:

What he's really asking Gojo is: "Have you stopped loving me, now that I've committed myself to this dark path? Would you kill me to save them?"

If Gojo hates Geto enough that he’d kill him, then Geto never had a chance of recruiting Gojo in the first place.

Of course, Gojo can’t make himself hurt Geto. He still loves Geto too much.

Geto protected Gojo by pushing him away.

___

Addendum:

I'll also argue against two other possible explanations for Geto's behavior.

(1) Geto is jealous / prideful /wants to build his own legacy without Gojo stealing the spotlight

Geto has clear motivations for his goals and they’re not egotistical. He wants to end the suffering of sorcerers caused by non-sorcerers’ existence (e.g., Riko’s death, Mimiko & Nanako’s abuse).

Geto’s pride isn’t hurt when Gojo becomes the strongest. The only thing that bothers Geto is that they’re getting sent on separate missions.

After Gojo becomes stronger that him, Geto still has overt affection for Gojo (e.g., he asks Haibara to bring back sweets from his mission so he can share with Gojo).

Although Geto does believe in his superiority over non-sorcerers, he doesn't feel superior over other sorcerers and doesn't struggle with his 'inferiority' to Gojo.

Does Gojo’s lack of faith in Geto’s ability (calling his goal “impossible”), spur Geto to want to prove himself? Yes, probably. But Geto had already been avoiding Gojo before he said that. And I don’t believe that wanting to prove himself to Gojo would overshadow his stronger motivation to build a better world for sorcerers.

(2) He thinks Gojo actually is too moral to join him

After Geto kills the 112 non-sorcerers, Gojo is shocked and upset by what’s happened, but not once does he insult Geto or imply that Geto has done something unforgivable. In fact, he’s practically begging Geto to explain himself because he wants to be able to justify his actions. And, again, Gojo’s argument against Geto’s plan is NOT that “it’s wrong,” it’s that “it’s impossible.”

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kteezy997 · 1 month

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Hi! Could you do one with female reader and Timmy are dating for a while, then he ends up taking her virginity but he’s sooo sweet about it?

Feel free to play with the story line as you wish!

Thanks!! ☺️

the first time, part one//t.c.

Warnings: fluff, virgin reader (obvi), smut, female receiving oral sex, mention of cum, unprotected sex

This is a long one, js.

The last few months of dating Timothée were the happiest you had ever been. You’d fallen so hard for him; he was sweet and gentlemanly, but never corny. He was everything you wanted in a partner, and even more: kind, smart, funny, and dedicated to his work. Even when he had a million things going on in his mind, he still made you feel like the only woman in the world. You were so proud to be his.

He had been away for a couple of weeks as he had begun filming his long-awaited Bob Dylan biopic. You were so happy for him as he had been preparing for the role for literally years, and you knew he was absolutely in his element on that set.

As proud of him as you were, you couldn’t wait for him to return to you, even if it was only for a short weekend. You had a special plan to show him how serious about him that you were, and how in love you were with him. You were going to give your virginity to him.

Timmy didn’t know that you were a virgin. No one else in your life really knew it either. It wasn’t something you talked about, or really thought much about. You weren’t saving it for any particular reason. It just hadn’t happened. You had never gotten to that place with someone. And you weren’t the ‘one night stand’ type.

You knew that maybe some people would make fun or judge you for being a virgin in your 20s, but you knew Timmy wasn’t like that. He had always been loving and respectful, never putting any pressure on you.

Now you were ready. You wanted this so badly with him. You began to wonder if you had unwittingly been waiting all these years for Timmy specifically. You really felt like he could be the person you’d spend the rest of your life with.

……

That evening, he texted you that he was in an Uber from the airport on the way to your place. You had your lingerie on underneath your cute-yet-comfy clothes. You knew he’d be tired from work and travel, but you hoped he wouldn’t be too tired.

You were sat on the couch, waiting for Timmy and watching a movie. You tried not to think too much about how the night would go. You knew you had no reason to be nervous. Timmy cared about you. He hadn't said the words yet, but he always made you feel loved and desirable, and you were certain that this night would be no different.

The knock on the door finally came, and you hurried to open it up for Timmy.

He looked so cute and cozy in his sweats and ball cap that had a fight on its hands trying to contain his wild, fluffy hair. "Hey, I've missed you." he said, his eyes were sleepy, but he smiled widely. He set his bags down on the floor and threw his long arms around you.

"I missed you too." you cooed, squeezing him back, feeling instant comfort, and you giggled as he lifted you off your feet. His warm lips pressed a kiss to your neck.

Once he set you back down on the floor, your eyes met, and it was electric. You felt butterflies looking into his hazel-green eyes many times before, but this time was a little different. It was much more sensual.

He grinned at you before giving you a sweet, soft kiss in your lips.

You were a little lost in the moment and you forgot your manners, so you offered, “Do you need a drink or anything?”

Timmy shook his head ‘no’ politely, “I’m okay for now.” He looked over to the couch briefly, sighed, “I’m so tired, babe.” He took your hand to lead you to the couch.

You sat with him, and he rested his head on your shoulder. There was no space between the two of you and your hormones were raging with him so close.

“What’re you watching?” he asked, and a small yawn fell from his mouth.

…….

Cuddling and watching the movie was nice, Timmy gradually snuggled his way into your lap. You found yourself caressing his messy curls, running your fingertips idly over the sharp lines of his face.

You really didn’t want him to sleep, but you could tell how exhausted he was. His breathing slowed, he fidgeted less and less. He was like putty in your lap. You looked down and his lashes closed up. He hummed lightly in his sleep.

Defeated, you picked another movie to watch as your boyfriend slept on you.

……..

Timmy stirred after about a thirty-minute nap. Your legs were numbed by the weight of him, but you didn’t mind. He was so cute when he was sleeping.

He turned, eyes opened, and looked up at you, “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t wanna fall asleep on you.” His sleepy voice was so sexy, it made you weak.

“It’s okay. You’ve been really busy lately, I get it.” you gently ran your fingers through his tousled hair.

He sat up, “I know but, it’s our time to be together. I feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad. You’re awake now. You weren’t out very long.” Now was your chance. You leaned in and caught his lips in a tender kiss. You rested your hand on his neck and moaned ever so lightly into the kiss.

Timmy opened his mouth, inviting your tongue in.

You swiped your tongue into his warm, wet mouth. His arms slid around your body, and he pulled you onto his lap. His hands went to your hips, and he squeezed your flesh there as you straddled him.

You deepened the kiss and held his face in your hands. Your fingers wove into the soft locks behind his ears.

"Mm," Timmy moaned against your lips, pulled away and said, "when you kiss me like that, my dick gets hard."

You grinned, then took his hat off of his head, letting his curls fall free. "I want you, Timmy." you cooed, kissing him again. You felt his hand on your cheek, and he caressed your face. You placed your hands on his chest, letting them roam down the front of his body. His lean figure was firm to the touch.

As you made out with him and shifted in his lap, you could feel that he definitely wasn't lying. You pulled away from his kiss, but he kept you close to kiss and nibble on your neck. You looked down and there was a tent in his sweatpants.

After seeing how strained he was, how ready he was to fuck you, it all became super real. You weren't going to be a virgin after this night. You had to tell him it was your first time.

"Timmy," you began, your hand holding the back of his head as he sucked on your throat.

"Yeah?" he mumbled against your skin. His breath tickled your neck.

"Um, I have to tell you something. It's a little awkward."

"Y/n," he took his mouth off your neck, and leaned back to look at your face, "what do you mean? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just wanted to tell you that...I'm a virgin."

"Oh, is that all?" his eyes widened a little, but his expression remained unbothered. "There's nothing awkward about that, baby." he held your face in his hand and kissed your cheek. "Are you scared?" his eyes had become a darker, more serious shade of green.

You shook your head, saying, "No. I'm just ready to be with you."

He smiled and leaned in to touch his forehead delicately to yours. "I'm ready too." He kissed you tenderly, slowly getting on top of you.

You laid down underneath your man and watched him take his shirt off. After, he slid his fingers under the waistband of your pants and pulled them down your legs. He caressed your buttery smooth skin and left little kisses up the way of your legs. He stopped then moved up further, his hands on your hips. He started to kiss your lower tummy, along the line of your panties.

You felt yourself getting wet, and unable to stay perfectly still. You took your shirt off, wanting to feel his warm lips all over your body. As if he could read your mind, he trailed his kisses over your stomach. Your breathing became uneven, his little chin hairs tickled your ribs. His fingers splayed over the narrowest part of your waist; you could feel the callouses on them from his guitar lessons. It was a stark contrast the softness of your skin.

Then, his handsome face was nestled between your breasts, kissing and nibbling your exposed cleavage. He brought his hands up to cup them through your bra.

You moaned, feeling your nipples harden. Your pussy was hot and slick at this point. You locked your legs around Timmy, just needing him as close as possible.

He tugged the sides of your panties down, then tossed them onto the floor. He settled down in between your legs, looked up at you as his mouth met your folds. He slid his tongue between them, such a foreign, but thrilling feeling. Only you had ever touched yourself there.

You threw your head back as he lapped up your arousal. He flicked his tongue over your clit, flattened his tongue over your most sensitive area, suckled at it with his lips. You cried out his name, and put your hand in his hair in an effort to keep him from leaving your pussy.

Timmy held your thighs firmly, and moaned against your folds, creating blissful vibrations. You knew he would have skills, but this was unimaginable. He then quickened the pace of his talented tongue, flicking your clit over and over. It was too much, you could feel your heartbeat in your core, your body shook as you came.

"Fuck," he huffed as he removed his face from between your legs, "that was hot, baby girl. Your cum tastes so good." His lips and chin were glossy, because of you. He then pulled his pants off and his boxers.

You caught glimpse of his hard cock, impressive in length and pink at the tip. Your pussy throbbed at the sight.

“Is it okay if I put in you?” Timmy asked, taking his dick in his hand, ready.

You nodded eagerly, “Yes, please.”

He placed his thick tip at your hole, then slowly started to slide in. Your wetness made him glide easily, but he was tight fit inside you. He nestled his lower body between your legs and held your hips in his hands.

You gasped as his cock filled you up. The stretch was painful, but as he thrusted in and out more, it became bearable, then after about a minute, it felt really good.

“How’s it feel, love?” he asked you, looking down at you as he pumped his hips a little faster.

You put your hands on his back, “Mm, it’s so good.”

Timmy then kissed your face, your neck, your lips. “I’ve dreamt of your tight pussy on my cock.” he said, his voice low, and so sensual.

“Yeah? You wanted to fuck my little pussy?” you purred, then squeezed his body with your legs. You then remembered your vagina has muscles, so you squeezed around his cock too.

“Ah, fuck!” he cried, then bucked his hips faster.

There was more friction inside you now, and more pleasure. “Oh my god!” you whimpered.

He stopped after a couple of minutes, pushed your legs apart so he could move out of their grip. He turned you over, smacking your ass along the way.

You giggled, not knowing until then how much you liked being spanked.

Timmy grabbed you by the hips, pulling your ass back toward him. Then you felt his fingers at the clasp of your bra, and your breasts were free in a matter of seconds. He teased your wet entrance with the tip of his cock, he circled your clit with it, making you tremble with need.

A/N: sorry to end it there, but this chapter was getting too long, i think. part two coming soon!

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @bitchyunknownuser @lixzey @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @mel-vaz @thatoneweirdgirl17 @iwishchalamet @jindongdongie @elloise0 @rennyd26 @briefkittenearthquake @that-one-fangirl69

#timothée chalamet #timmy chalamet #timothée imagine #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet smut #timothée chalamet fanfic #timothee fanfic #lil timmy tim

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atopvisenyashill · 5 months

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i was thinking more about characters Performing Gender, but not necessarily Transgressing Gender. I wound up focusing on Ned and Sansa bc I feel like I understand them the most but-

Sansa as a hostage is imo the most obvious (bc it’s so well done) moment of someone clearly Performing Gender but not being transgressive in that performance. Which isn’t to say it’s not a complicated performance; it’s a fine line Sansa walks between weaponizing her gender to protect herself without seeming too fake. She’s trying to placate the Lannisters by playing the perfect, dedicated, air headed betrothed because it’s the only defense she has - if she outwardly rebels, she will be punished in a likely violent and/or sexual way (which isn’t even conjecture - when she says “or maybe he’ll give me yours” Joffrey has her struck with an armored hand). She’s not quite successful in being convincing but that’s because it’s a rather extreme situation; despite no one believing her, she does make herself seem meek and stupid enough that no one suspects she’s plotting to escape with Dontos until she’s well away from KL. The fact that she even has Dontos to confide in is because of Sansa’s relationship with gender! When she saves him, she covers her rebellious slip by playing up Joffrey’s intelligence & his role as King; she reaches for “tools” of her gender AND of ~proper manhood~ to save a life and herself from another beating. Her retreats into the godswood and silence are very much Sansa attempting to recharge from these draining interactions, the same way a knight would need to stop and eat and rest after a fight. She is fighting, constantly, by forcing herself to stay within the narrow confines of a specific type of gender performance as a way of shielding herself from harm.

Ned yelling at Cat is another big one, and I’ve seen the scene referred to as Ned using his patriarchal power to scare Cat, which is a great description. It feels like a Performance because Ned is putting on this terrifying Lord Stark mask in an attempt to get Catelyn to stop asking about Jon (and Lyanna). This is not how he usually acts with those he loves! When Ned is with His People, he is welcoming of questions, curiosity, emotion, even transgressive thought (to a point! the idea that Ned is a feminist because he lets Arya learn to fight is Not accurate but you can’t deny he allows significantly more flexibility wrt gender expression than most of the fathers we meet in this series. the bar is in hell tho). Yet when Cat asks him about Jon’s mother, Ned scares her so well she stops asking & still remembers the moment bitterly over a decade later. And if that snippet we see through Bran’s eyes of Ned praying that Cat will forgive him does come after she asks (like it’s suspected), it’s clear not only that this is a performance he’s putting on & weaponizing against Cat, it’s one he does not like using as a weapon against someone he is close to. After using the power his gender gives him to cause harm, he retreats to the godswood and silence to pray and rest, much like Sansa. A spiritual cleanse, the way a soldier may pray after battle, to reset and reconnect Being A Proper Man to Being A Kind Man.

I think there’s something interesting in that two of the characters most widely defined by how well they adhere to Westerosi gender norms both dislike feeling like they had to weaponize their gender. They are exhausted by the performance, because it’s a performance. This isn’t Sansa getting excited over tourneys, or Ned teaching his sons to fight; it’s toxic masculinity, it’s structural misogyny. It’s something they’re good at, excel at, and connected to something they enjoy but when it’s paired with violence, whether done by Ned or done to Sansa, it crosses over in their minds from an innate part of themselves (The Gender) to a performance necessary due to survival (The Gender Role). And that after these performances, both retreat to nature & god as a way of resting and cleansing from the experience.

#valyrianscrolls #ned stark #sansa stark #getting on my soap box #there’s something here too about romanticism. like shelley and coleridge and whitman. the need to return to nature to undo society’s harm.#especially with the way various romance movements and romantic tropes are played with by their characters.#i can’t even remember who said it which just shows u how shitty an english major i am aksjd but about how.#like society is necessary but just as necessary is the ability to escape into nature. i *think* it was coleridge i’m probably wrong.#the gender war makes corpses of us all #gender politics in asoiaf #obviously you can point to several moments for both of them. sansa calling petyr father. ned’s relationship with theon. wherein they both #are clearly performing something for an audience.#there’s like 12 other branches of this in my head. jaime’s romanticism. being knighted bloody & the sacrilegious nature of the sept sex.#and his inability to escape his gender performance the way ned & sansa do. ned being willing to cry in front of others but robb only ever #crying in the dark with his baby brother after he loses ned. cat’s tower stuff & finding solace in sewing.#i’m gonna try to write up something about loras & renly here too. tomorrow.#also i wrote this at the train station after work so if there’s errors or it makes no sense just pretend u never saw it skskdj

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mirroredmemoriez · 5 months

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Amanda and Cecilia think thonks (THIS IS NOW GENERAL RANDOM SAW THOUGHTS)

“I grifted off his name. Shitting on his legacy was just a bonus I’ll admit that.” - Cecilia on her fathers work/legacy

“It is I who will carry on John’s work after he dies.” - Amanda on John, who basically is her father and his work/legacy.

Don’t know why these lines intrigue me, however I’ve kinda stated before how I find the comparisons between these two interesting. I don’t believe they are perfect mirrors but there are some similarities to look at, alongside their major differences as well. Cecilia uses her fathers name to benefit herself, she takes advantage of it and others to get what she wants. She is aware that what she is doing is wrong and if found out, would tarnish the Pederson name. Whereas if we turn to Amanda, she heavily dedicates herself to continuing John's work and the Jigsaw legacy. However, obviously throughout the Saw franchise, she begins to question his methods and goes against them. One takes advantage, the other is taken advantage of.

“I rob, I steal and I cheat.” - Cecilia

“I’m a murderer. He took my life from me, so I just returned the fucking favour.” - Amanda

They both admit what they're doing isn't correct to a degree. However, neither has or likely will stop what they're doing. Cecilia scams and Amanda rigs her traps to be impossible, in a way her own form of scamming? What I mean by that is, the whole point of the traps is to be a lesson- It's supposed to be escapable, any survivor of it will tell you that... Obviously, there are some places to question the tests/traps even outside of Amanda, but we're not looking at that right now. Anyway! She basically scams people out of a chance of surviving due to her own past experiences. Lynn Denlon in Saw 3 being a perfect example of this really? She died due to the shotgun collar going off yes, but she likely would have anyway due to Amanda shooting her- Which Lynn had already PASSED her test by that point really.

(Honorary Angel Trap mention) I don't think I have to go too in depth about how Cecilia scams people, but she doesn't just take their money. She also in her own way takes their lives- They leave thinking the treatment will help them, spending savings and such when really it's fake. We’ve also got the fact that Cecilia outright murdered Gabriela. This comparison of their characters and the reception to them by the fandom/audience is something I find fun! Yes, people dislike Cecilia for being a scammer, but the main cause of people's hatred that I've seen isn't even what she did to John? At least here on Tumblr, it's the fact that she killed Gabriela.... The reason I find this ''fun'' is because well, Amanda was the one who put Gabriela in that scenario in the first place and yes of course- We have to acknowledge that Gabriela was part of the scamming which is why she was tested alongside her being a drug addict, however at the end of the day I think it's agreed upon that base level, she isn't a terrible person. She did what she did to survive. So I wonder, if Gabriela had just died in her trap, whether there would be uproar about her death? Would people be angry at John and Amanda the same way they are at Cecilia? And to answer my own question, I don't actually think so. I believe this because of the circumstances of death, reactions and the reason why. Cecilia didn't just kill Gabriela whilst she was in her trap, she did it afterwards. She effectively stole her ''second chance'' because of how money hungry she was. Cecilia also showed no remorse for doing such. Then we have Amanda's reaction.

It goes without saying she was likely rooting for Gabriela the entire time, she reminds Amanda of herself for one and she's also distraught because Gabriela did WIN. I see this as a catalyst to Amanda's future behaviour alongside deaths such as when she ''mercy'' killed Adam and then Laura from Saw 2.

I'm also going to drop this link to a previous post I made, which I think fits in to what I'm saying here and possibly adds to other points. (I have a tendency to repeat myself or ramble)

Almost nobody in the Saw franchise is either fully ''good'' or ''bad.'' That's what I like about it, they are people with faults- Some characters have more redeeming qualities/traits, others not so much. The most beloved characters are likely the Jigsaw apprentices (And Adam). At least the MAIN three ones. Which, let's go over their crimes!

Fun fact! These kinds of crimes are the type that would land you in PRISON. It goes without saying that the moral compasses of all 3 of these characters are basically broken or spinning constantly. Yet, as I stated before- Amanda, Mark and Lawrence are some of the fan favourites of the Saw franchise.... And don't get me wrong, I'm an Amanda fan myself for example! However, it's so interesting the reception these guys get compared to other characters in media and generally in the Saw universe. If we go black and white/narrow our views, they are actually the villains at some points. The crimes speak for themselves and generally whilst watching the movies, you're supposed to be rooting for the people to get out of their traps- Not always mind you, but a good percentage of the time. So many people justify their actions due to their backstories, a common thing for villains and or ''bad guys''. It's understandable, because the shit all of them have gone through would definitely leave anybody unhinged... At the end of the day though, that doesn't mean they should be excused. I think I'll end this here because I've gotten so sidetracked? As I always say at the end of something like this, these are all just my thoughts and opinions- Not fact or concrete either, I'm open to discussions with people who disagree with me for example! IF YOU'VE GOTTEN THIS FAR DOWN! THANKS FOR READING, ANYBODY WHO LIKES AND REBLOGS MY RAMBLINGS DO MAKE MY DAY. -MAL OUT

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kurgy · 4 months

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Casey Sziska is a struggling musician finally cashing in on what he hopes is his big break by moving to a new city and signing a contract. His struggles come to a head when he meets and falls for the strange friend of his manager, Josh. The further Casey falls the more he uncovers about Josh's life that compels him to have to choose between his life, friends, and career, or saving him.

Casey was getting ready backstage in a small brick room with old concrete floors, fluorescents beaming overhead giving him just the slightest of headaches when coupled with the bright bulbs lining his dressing room mirror. An electric buzz of noise sounded just beyond the door that separated him from the rest of the packed club.

He was tired, wanted to sleep, but the previous night's attempt hadn't done him any favors in that regard either.

Looking over his appearance, turning his face from side to side and examining his shoddy work, he figured what he had going on was good enough.

His hair's thick and messy, sticking out like he'd just gotten out of bed (not entirely false, he supposed). He learned early on that keeping it shorter was easy, though wrestling it into styled submission not so much; so brushing out any tangles and just letting the wild mop of black be what it was suited him just fine.

He peered at his reflection in the mirror, scribbling some last touches of messy eyeliner around his eyes, hand pulling lightly at peach skin to make drawing the lines easier, even if it didn't.

His own green eyes stared back at him, a bright green that contrasts the black that surrounds them. His eyes studied the various silver piercings decorating his face.

He was fond of piercings; had a labret below his lip, a bridge across his nose, nostril piercings on both sides, and matching brow piercings to boot. His ears held their own matching black piercings.

He gave his reflection a solid glare, then wiggled his eyebrows with a grin before his face fell back to neutral.

Eh, good enough.

His eyes flickered to the left, the upper corner of the mirror reflecting Julie's back to him as she put up her pale blonde hair in a messy bun just visible in the mirror opposite his.

Julie's his friend, his best friend, and their band's bassist, and the band was the whole reason they were here.

A few years ago Casey started a small band with his friends, Julie and Devin.

He'd known Julie since kindergarten, she was practically family. She was thin, pale, long blonde hair always kept tied, and a few piercings of her own. She and Casey had more history than could be covered in such a short time, but Julie always had his back.

Devin was a high school friend. Taller than Julie, though still not quite as tall as Casey. Warm brown skin and styled curled hair. He joined their little group freshman year and settled in seamlessly. He took Casey to his first concert, played his first song, and practically leapt at the chance to be their drummer.

Casey had always been a singer, and had dedicated himself to being a guitarist as well, and once each of their preferred roles were filled, the three have been inseparable ever since. Starting a band was one of the first things they did as teenagers, even if they didn't do anything, and didn't seriously pursue it until later. They didn't get serious about actually releasing music until their first paid gig, a local rock festival, and the thrill of the whole experience is what made the three of them truly want this.

Their band name "Nowhere" didn't really have meaning, it was more of a placeholder than a real name, later on a running joke about how their little band was going "nowhere."

After a while it just stuck.

A sharp knock on the dressing room door startled him out of his thoughts before it opened, not waiting for their answer as an assistant he recognized from their new managers payroll waltzed in, not looking up from their clipboard before saying;

"Hey, Nowhere! It's time, you're on."

And walking out of the room.

Casey sighed, placing his head in his hands before running them loosely through his hair, the eyeliner smudging a bit around his eyes. It looked better that way.

A smaller hand patted him on the back, Julie.

"You ready?" She asked, the bags under her eyes noticeable even under her makeup.

He shrugged, standing and stretching his arms above his head in a more exaggerated move than needed, towering over the girl as he reached for his guitar, all the signal the other two needed to follow.

They waltzed out the door in no real hurry, Julie chewing lazily on a piece of gum that had long since lost its flavor, scrolling on her phone as she followed behind Casey.

Devin seemed largely uninterested in the whole thing, the same dark circles under his eyes, and curled hair somewhat frazzled as he followed behind Julie, staring blankly at the passing overhead lights lining the cement hallway leading to the stage.

Casey leading the way looked no better.

None of them seemed entirely up for this last minute performance, it being none of their ideas. No, their new manager Evan scheduled this show, despite the band's exhausted objections.

In truth they'd just moved to the city a little over a month ago, and Casey's apartment deal had immediately fallen through. He'd been crashing on Julie and Devin’s couch for 3 weeks before he found another apartment for rent in his price range.

For a while he wondered if he were stupid for not electing for a 3 bedroom with his bandmates, who had settled for a 2 bedroom once Casey had declined them, but really he preferred his privacy, and he found he appreciated that comfort even in the tiny studio he hauled his belongings into just 2 weeks ago. But with the leaky pipes and draft and more expenses pilling up, in-between work meetings and recording sessions, he'd found little time for rest.

So here they were, mere feet away from stepping in front of a crowd in some exclusive live music club they'd never get into otherwise, exhausted.

His back ached from moving boxes and sleeping on a couch much smaller than him much longer than he'd wanted. The only thing he's eaten in two days is a couple stale slices of pizza.

But he smiled, stepping hurriedly on stage with a flare and the screech of his guitar while a half attentive crowd turned. He played an improvised solo before Julie was screaming an enthusiastic greeting while their audience cheered.

Casey was nothing if not an excellent performer, he knew how to work a crowd. Charisma and flare were as easy as breathing on stage. He could barely see beyond the lights, blurring his vision of the faces staring at him, and here he could be as free as he wanted.

He announced a song, strumming a chord as Devin tapped his drumsticks, music starting strong before they were playing with more energy than they actually had to a delighted audience.

Yeah, good enough.

_____

They had a 3 song set, and although their follow-up act seemed to fit the vibe of a nightclub better than they had, the crowd wasn't as invested, which was a definite pickup in his mood.

He doubts any of these people would really remember their little punk band or the drinks in their hands by tomorrow morning.

He didn't mind, even exhausted he had fun playing, at least, and they enjoyed it enough for the whole thing not to go tits up. The sizable paycheck helped when rent was going to be due.

His voice was a bit hoarse and he was tired, but work was done and he was getting paid, so really it was a win.

He didn't have the luck of just leaving however. His manager decided an impromptu meet and greet was in order, and he didn't have the privilege of saying no.

His new manager was a man named Evan Danse, a real clean cut looking guy, kind of looks like he just stepped off a yacht party at any given moment, and his sweater and coiffed hair didn't really give him the "I manage a punk band" vibe you might expect.

Still, he wanted to manage them, and had done more for their actual careers in a short time than they had ever managed to do themselves in several, and they owed him. So, here Casey was, towering over the man as he walked him down a line of people waiting to meet him, all pleasant smiles and dainty handshakes with no real clue or care for who he was, which was fine; they shared the sentiment.

Casey was a big guy, always has been, and measuring at a steady 6’6” gave him a tendency to stand out. His build he'd worked for, he enjoyed the stability a workout gave him, and though he wouldn't describe himself this way, he had on occasion been told his stature and style were a bit intimidating.

He thought of that as Evan introduced him one by one to a variety of coworkers, colleagues, and all sorts of Evan's work related relationships that weren't expecting his latest work project to look quite like Casey.

People dispersed as they went along; introduction, smile, handshake, leave; rinse and repeat. The line tapered off in a mix of confusion and surprise until Evan presented him with the last, different from the others in Evan's presentation; a guy who caught Casey's eye with just how plainly he didn't seem to give a shit at what was happening.

He was shorter than Casey, not uncommon. Still, the guy was a good head shorter than him; skinny looking under too big clothes that only made him look smaller.

Casey's eyes met a head full of unruly hair, sandy blond and messily cropped, almost reaching the guy's shoulders. Hair was brushed to cover his face, like he were using it all like a curtain.

"Casey, I'd like to introduce you to a personal friend of mine." Evan said cheerfully, gesturing to the guy as he went to stand beside him, patting a hand against the guys back playfully. "This is Joshua."

Casey smiled even when Joshua failed to react, instead keeping a pleasant air about him as his sort-of boss introduced him to the weird little dude who wouldn't look at them; holding out his hand for the typical smile, handshake, leave, but Joshua didn't take it. He didn't look at Casey at all actually, his eyes downcast to stare at the phone he held in his hand. The screen illuminated what little of his face wasn't hidden under his hair, the shadows giving his blank stare an eerie sort of vibe.

Something felt off.

Casey was enamored with it all.

Joshua was thin, wearing oversized clothes; a big winter coat, a loose fitting shirt, and dark jeans, the cuffs were rolled up, whether for style or comfort he wasn't really sure, but it was a nice look on him.

He was pale, dark tiredness under his eyes like bruises, pink lips, sharp chin, face expressionless as he typed away furiously on his phone, still keeping his head down as the other two men stared expectantly.

Casey thought he was cute. Fluffy hair, long eyelashes, slender face..

He gave his best smile.

Evan was saying something about Joshua, apologizing for his attitude, but Casey stopped listening.

When it came to focusing his attention between his semi-annoying overly familiar ‘boss’ and the cute if a little standoffish stranger, there was really no competition.

He leaned forward ever so slightly, raising his hand close enough to Joshua for him to notice, but not so close to violate any boundaries, holding his hand at Joshua's rye level, certain it was visible.

Casey casually waved his hand, effectively gaining the smaller guy's attention.

His eyes shot up, seemingly put off by the action and ready to argue, gaze instantly locking with Casey's who kept the smile bright on his face.

His glare faltered a bit at that, cheeks growing slightly pink and looking away with a frown.

"Hey there." Casey said, voice smooth as he once again offered his hand. "I'm Casey."

Joshua nodded his head, carefully reaching out and taking Casey's hand in his.

" 'm Joshua." He muttered in response.

His voice was a little deeper than Casey expected, kind of raw, harsh; he liked it.

Evan watched the exchange with a curious, almost suspicious look, but he didn't speak up as Casey gave the smaller guy's hand a short, firm shake. Joshua's hand was small, bony, and cold.

"Joshua." Casey repeated, testing the sound on his tongue. "Josh?"

Joshua flustered a bit at the suggested nickname, face dusted pink as he shrugged, giving him a vague Okay.

Casey grinned as Josh continued on his phone, if a bit clumsier.

Casey liked being direct, especially when he liked someone, and he liked Josh. He was cute. If they clicked, tonight could end on a really high note.

"So, uh," Evan said suddenly, loudly, an unplaceable emotion behind his voice before clearing his throat purely to gain the two's attention. "Like I was saying Joshua is a friend of mine, it's sort of tradition to bring him along to performances from my artists, especially new ones."

"Yeah?" Casey cut him off almost immediately to turn back to Josh with a smile. "You saw us play?"

It sounded like a fun pastime, honestly. All sorts of music and venues for free? He knew at least he'd be down.

Josh started fidgeting awkwardly at Casey's question, a semi-sour expression on his face as he pulled his phone a little closer to his face, muttering; "Not…exactly, no."

Casey faltered for a fraction of a second, but that's fine. Sure, not the response he was expecting, but he can work with this.

"Hey, that's okay." He grinned. "Means next time I can really put my all in for you."

Josh was actually blushing now, his reactions to Casey's casual flirting was something to behold.

Evan cleared his throat at the two again, Casey suppressing a groan and just wanting him to go away, but the two looked to him regardless as he began boasting Casey's band and accomplishments like he were making some kind of sales pitch. It was directed more at Josh than him, obviously, but hearing someone else talk him up like this was just weird, and brought the building atmosphere to a screeching halt.

The surprise interruption from one of Evan's assistants was a definite blessing in disguise that had Casey sighing in relief, the woman walking up and whispering something in Evan's ear that caused him to give a dramatic roll of his eyes before shooing her away.

"Sorry, technical stuff." He said, turning to Josh. "Why don't you have a seat Joshua? Order some drinks, it's on me."

And with that he walked away, disappearing into the crowd and leaving Casey and Josh alone.

They stood in silence for a moment, music playing loud as bodies were crowded everywhere, some moving and swaying along on the dance floor, others grouped together with drinks and conversation while Casey on the other hand contemplated.

None of this really seemed Josh's speed at all, if the fact that he'd been squirreling away in a corner all night was any indication, and Casey was more than happy to chat it up somewhere the guy was more comfortable, if he wanted to; so he maneuvered to Josh's side, leaning in a little closer to speak low.

"There are some tables over there." He said, pointing a little ways towards the bar. "Wanna sit for a bit?"

Josh was less fidgety, and although the red returned to his face at the suggestion, he gave a casual shrug of confirmation anyway. Casey happily leads him towards the bar and chooses a table that leads into a larger lounge, a small couch on either side of their small table with a few chairs scattered here and there.

They both sat on the far left couch, side by side. Josh relaxed back, stretching his legs slightly with his eyes still fixed on his phone as he kept typing, Casey sitting beside him and stretching his arms a bit before relaxing back into the sofa as well.

They sat in silence for another moment. Josh was quiet, caught up in his phone, and Casey awkwardly rubbed at his neck while he tried to think of something to talk about, regain their previously derailed energy.

He peeked over Josh's shoulder, curious what was keeping him so focused on his phone.

He wasn't typing, he was playing one of those clicker app games. He wondered how something so repetitively boring could keep the guy's attention so thoroughly, then again who was he to judge? He seemed to enjoy it enough.

If Josh noticed him, he didn't seem to care, so he kept watching.

Casey didn't play these things personally, he wasn't into app games and didn't really know a lot about how these ones worked, but if it were possible to be good at it Josh certainly was. It was kind of fun to watch actually, better than zoning out in a loud club.

It was some kind of photography game, taking pictures was the goal, different targets popping up on screen as Josh quickly tapped each for a photo.

He sort of just watched Josh for a bit. Tapping and clicking his phone as pop-ups and scores flashed on screen.

Josh had an odd air about him, Casey couldn't exactly place it.

He's pretty, his features were so striking in Casey's eyes he wondered how the man went completely unnoticed; his fluttering sandy hair with bright strands catching in the light, slender face and soft lips a complimented contrast to his pale skin and dark eyes, heavily lidded with long pretty lashes. Together with the lights glowing off his skin, the tiredness under his eyes and just how still he was other than the movement of his fingers, the near emptiness illuminated in his eyes from the screens harsh glow, the way he could just barely tell he was breathing, it all felt so odd.

So interesting.

"You're pretty good at that." Casey smiled, a hint more of flirtation to his tone than before.

Josh stopped for a moment, eyes glancing at Casey before shifting back to the screen unfazed.

"Thanks." He murmured. “It's just tapping really fast I guess, passes the time though."

Josh prompting the conversation further had Casey delighted.

"You say that like you don't like it that much." He chuckled, Josh did too.

"Eh, it's so-so." He said. "This keeps my hands busy when I'm bored, but it's not exactly thrilling, just something to do."

"Well what do you like to do?"

Josh lowered his phone at the question, looking at him with a raised brow and his full attention.

"Stuff." He answered tentatively, only continuing when Casey's eager grin waited for elaboration. "Uh, games? Books? I like…coding.”

To his surprise Josh started talking about computer programming and code.

Casey sat almost dumbfounded while Josh spoke about programming far more eloquently than he'd believed he would, or could.

He wondered if Josh studied this kind of stuff, where his interest started, what he does for a living…the longer he talked the more Casey was interested in the guy.

"What about you? You're a musician, aren't you? You said you play. What do you play?" Josh asked suddenly.

Then Casey was grinning like an idiot.

"Well," he began. "I play guitar, mainly. Sometimes I play some backing instruments, like keyboard, drums, and I played piano when I was younger, but…"

Josh perked up a bit, looking curious and expectant as Casey eyed him with a smile.

Casey was most comfortable with a guitar, but he had a fondness for the piano. Telling Josh about his first time ever touching an instrument, being encouraged to listen and watch the church pianist play while he mimicked, catching on quickly and playing frequently at school, Josh looked at him in a sort of wonder like it were the most meaningful story he'd ever heard.

Josh was leaning closer to listen while Casey spoke, Casey did too until their shoulders were touching, neither minded much at all.

"Hey, stop me if I'm overstepping okay?” He said. “But as fun as talking with you is, this whole club scene doesn't really feel like your thing."

Josh chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess that's pretty obvious huh?"

Casey smiled, and took the next step.

"Wanna go somewhere?"

Josh looked at him a little confused, Casey kept talking.

"We could get something to eat, late night burger? I don't know the area that well but I'm pretty sure there's an arcade a few blocks away."

Josh's eyes widened a bit with realization, Casey couldn't tell if this was going good or bad, but he'd be damned if he backed out now.

"Or we could go to my place if you're cool with it, I don't have much, but I do have a ps5 and some movies, if you want."

"Sure."

The answer came faster and more steadfast than he thought it might, honestly, but Josh looked almost determined, his face more expressive than it had been before; his heavily lidded eyes and the pink blush of his cheeks gave him the feeling they were on the same wavelength here.

Casey smiled, leaning even closer, heart skipping when Josh leaned a bit as well. "You should shoot Evan a text, so he's not worried."

Josh nodded while they both stood up, he didn't seem to mind Casey keeping a bit closer while they head for the door.

#oc tag #Nowhere City #chapter 1 #horror romance #writing #queer fiction #artists on tumblr #anxiety posting my writing? its more likely than you think #now im gonna go stare at fire #Casey Sziska #Josh Anders #my doodles #New Harbor

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shewholovestoread · 3 months

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Story of Kunning Palace - Jiang Xue Ning - Part 2

Part is here

NING'S ALLIANCES AND INFLUENCE - FIRST AND SECOND LIFE:

The one thing that stayed consistent with both 'lives' was Ning's ability to cultivate relationships with people around her. There is something about her that draws people to her.

In the first life, she had Zhou Yinzhi and You Fangyin. Zhou Yinzhi was never truly trustworthy, always more interested in furthering his own ambition and keeping his neck safe. The only reason he stayed loyal to Ning was because her ambition far outpaced his own. You Fangyin's loyalty was purer, she stayed by Ning's side even at the cost of her own life and safety.

In the second life, things are very different, with Ning trying to actively make changes and in doing so, she won over and also changed so many people she came into contact with.

There was of course You Fangyin, who remained steadfast as ever. But her relationship with Yan Lin matured. She was open and upfront that while she cared immensely for him, she was not in love with him and he took it well. (I'll do a deep dive on the relationships in a separate post) Same with Shen Zhi Yi, she went from someone who actively harassed Ning in life 1 to becoming one of her staunchest supporters and protected her in the court (true love and probably the healthiest of all her potential suitors). Then we have Xie Wei, who probably underwent the greatest amount of growth. And finally Zhang Zhe and with him, she actively tried to undo the mistakes of her past.

NING'S PERSONALITY:

One of the aspects that I loved about Ning is that, whether it was life 1 or 2, she was very clear when it came to her objective. She pursues her goal with a single-minded focus and is capable of thinking ten steps ahead while keeping track of possible obstacles. In the novel, we have access to her thoughts quite a bit of it is just inner monologue) and they’re great insight into her character and her growth through the story.

Her arc in life 1 is a great example of just how dedicated she in when she sets her mind on something. Think about it, she becomes the empress with all of the cards stacked against her, with no backing at all, it was all her own doing. That is admirable and impressive.

Ning thinks that in life 1, she was too clever for her own good and all she wants to do in life 2, is stay under the radar and live a boring life. In most other stories, there would have been a perceivable shift in her thinking, like she would be more noble after being humbled in her first life, and that’s just not the case. She is still very much the same person, capable of being just as callous and cruel as she used to be. This aspect is more clear in the books because we have access to her thoughts. I was concerned about how they would pull this off in the show, but thankfully they did a great job.

She remains cunning and conniving throughout the story, it’s just that she chooses to focus her considerable mental resources to protect she comes to care about. And she is single-minded in that regard as well, even willing to put her life on the line if it means that she can save them (when she was willing to whisk away Shen Zhi Yi, while fully aware of what it would cost her.)

CONCLUSION:

Was Ning “evil” in her first life? She did what everyone around her was doing and continued to do throughout the narrative with the Xue family vying for control of the court, Xie Wei with his own vengeful vendetta among others. Are her actions somehow more heinous because she dared to be ambitious and work to make that ambition a reality?

Under that hardened shell was someone who was deeply hurt and let down by all those around her, it is any surprise then that she would want a modicum of control over the course of her own life? We have this idea in our heads that people, specifically women, should be kind to the people around them and I reject that idea. Ning didn’t have to be kind and if she did, who should she be kind to, her useless family, the people who mocked her or the women who tried to trip her up?

Ning tells us that, in the previous life, she reached the zenith of power by using people indiscriminately and she very clearly views this in a negative light. But I don't think that's necessarily true.

Let's review shall we, the person she dumped most callously was Yan Lin. After he loses his family and is exiled, Ning tries to convince Shen Lang to bring him back, in fact, this was something she always intended to do.

We can assume (like in life 2) that she actively took care of and protected You Fangyin which is why she stayed by her side. I think Fangyin is an inherently decent person, if she found Ning being genuinely evil (like the Xue family) I don't think she would have stuck around.

When she realised that she was at the end of her rope in life 1, she chose to sacrifice herself to save Zhang Zhe's life. She didn't need to do that. If she was truly as callous as she thought she was, she would not have spared another thought for him.

I think that Ning is her own greatest critic. Taking into account, the setting of the story, Ning sees her ambition as dishonourable. Women are meant to work behind the scenes and not make too much noise. Power struggle within the harem? Perfectly fine, because that is a woman's space. But the wider society? How dare a woman have ambitions beyond marriage and children! While Ning is fairly progressive, she's not immune to the subconscious social prejudices of her time.

It is no surprise then that Ning thinks she was evil but as the viewer/reader, we know that she’s far from that. She’s not the conventional, dull, do-gooder female lead we usually get. Instead, in Ning, we have a nuanced and complicated female protagonist who takes back the reins of her life. She is calculating and manipulative but she is also capable of being incredibly selfless. She uses her skills to protect her loved ones but also does not shy away from using those same skills to take down people who would do her and hers harm.

#the story of kunning palace #cdrama #sokp #jiang xuening #bai lu #palace romance #xie wei #shen zhiyi #you fangyin #character meta #character breakdown #kunning palace #chinese drama #chinese dramas

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slasherrcentral · 1 year

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Run, Rabbit, Run — Bo Sinclair. (18+)

Summary: after attempting to run away from him again, maybe you will finally learn your lesson this time around.

Note: this is so fucking filthy and i’m not the least bit sorry for it, bo sinclair has fully rotted my brain. please don’t read if you are sensitive to any of the triggers involving violence, stockholm syndrome, spit and blood or talks of murder. this is some shit below the cut and viewer discretion is very much advised.

Dedications: the wonderful @visceravalentines for inspiring this work with her fic “I’m so dirty, babe” because it’s changed my entire life. and also to the beautiful @bosinclairz , who inspires me to have a blog even half as cool as theirs. thank you !!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Warnings: predator/prey play, name calling and abuse, heavy stockholm syndrome implications, spitting, blood, choking, bdsm elements, topics that elude to past murders, slight voice kink ( if you squint ) ( not even if you squint ), extremely heavy and violent sexual content.

The morning air was frigid while your bare feet pattered against the concrete, your breath leaving your chest in heaving, tired gasps. He was right behind you, the tell-tale pattering of old, worn out black work boots was as clear as the day you’d stumbled into the tiny, vacant town of Ambrose, when he had to chase you down for the first time after discovering his horrible, malicious intentions. You’d been so stupid then, too naive and entirely too trusting. His low, sultry drawl had given you a false sense of contentment. Those piercing, wild blue eyes had drawn you in like bee’s to honeysuckle. He’d even gone as far as to call you darlin’, that wolffish grin peeking out behind sharp canine’s as his eyes scanned your figure, making you fidget in place. Denim shorts, white spaghetti strapped tank with a crimson red bra visible underneath the flimsy cloth. You should’ve ran right then and there, should have found something to clobber him over the head with. But you didn’t. You’d been begging for it then like you’re begging for it now.

“Run, little rabbit! Run!” Bo laughed manically behind you, sending a series of chills down your spine. He was taunting you now, always taunting and menacing. His disease lusted for the chase, for the terror he inflicted upon you. The deep, rumbling chortles and your pants were the only sound ringing through the abandoned, haunted town. Nobody was coming to save you. There was nobody for miles and miles. You should know, you tried to escape him before. Look at where that got you, restrained in an old medical chair and tortured for two weeks straight with no reprieve from your misery. Your body was still blanketed with scars from that incident, constant reminder’s of who you slept next to at night.

You could still feel the stitched up wounds, courtesy of Vincent, on your inner thighs, rubbing against the denim of your washed jeans, blue jeans that had belonged to another girl before you, a girl that had thought she could escape too. Her worn, tattered Polaroid picture was still hanging up inside of Bo’s makeshift workshop. It was taken not long before he’d grown tired of her whining, and put her out of her misery with the sharpened blade of his hunter’s knife. You wanted to rip up that picture, chew it to pieces and spit it out on the ground. You did not like the idea of him still looking at her after you fell asleep at night, when your hole was of no further use, thinking about all the things that he did to her.

He was right, when he’d spat in your face that you never learn, duct tape digging viciously into your wrists. You didn’t think he’d be in the house this morning, didn’t think he would catch you making a bee-line for the open porch door. But he did, and now you knew, he was not going to make the same mistake again. You were dead. Another poor soul forever incased in wax, just like all the others, and you could practically hear them laughing at you as well. Stupid, stupid girl. Thinking you ever even had a chance. Stealing a glimpse over your shoulder, he looked murderous. Pointed, narrowed blue eyes burning into the back of your head. His top lip was curled up into a snarl, growls burrowed deep in his chest, canine teeth exposed to the dewy morning air. You knew Bo wasn’t running as fast as he could be, choosing to make a fun little game out of this instead. You hated his games. It’s because of them that you’ve almost been killed, strung up from the ceilings with ropes and leather straps as he took his careful time ruining your body. A body that was no longer yours — a body that he molded to his darkest, most unfathomable desires.

You were tired. You wished he’d kill you, get it over with once and for all. Vincent would make you look beautiful again, maybe he’d put you in the movie theater, where you could always watch a film. Where you’d never, ever be alone again. Where you could fade into nothingness. Where you could forget about how pitiful you were and how disgusting it was for you to love the very man who stole everything from you. Your goals, ambitions, drive for the future. You’d been on your way back to campus from your spring break trip when your car broke down, leading you here. Leading you to him. Hell, you’d even heard your name on the radio some months ago. Your parents were looking for you, your friends are worried, your teachers insisted that it wasn’t like you to vanish. Bo had laughed when he saw the tears on your cheeks, spitting that they’ll never find you here, that you’re his.

In a move that surprised the both of you, and because the little spitfire that Bo came to adore so much is still buried somewhere deep down inside of you, you hook your heels into the gravel and duck to the left, where a house was awaiting your heady arrival. Slipping on the morning muck—you crash right in front of the steps, a pained groan leaving your chest. Get the fuck up now, he’s right behind you, are the only two things your mind kept shouting. Despite your gasps for air and the pain, you manage to dodge Bo just as he gets within’ arms length of you. He leered at you, twisting to follow you up the stairs and into the shabby, white house. You’d flung yourself into the residence, pressing your frame against the door. It doesn’t have a fucking lock, you’re fucking stupid to think that it did. Barreling all of your weight against the door, which wasn’t much because you’ve lost a considerable amount since arriving here, sustaining a diet of eggs and sandwiches. Your teeth rattled within’ your gums as Bo pounded on the front door behind your aching back, screaming expletives, demanding that you open it up or he’ll carve you like a thanksgiving turkey.

“You’re really in for it now, little bunny.” He huffed out a callous chuckle. And then like rumbling thunder on hot summer nights or heat lightning cracking in the air, he slammed up against the door with his elbow. You’re whimpering now, scanning the house for an exit, but it seems like there’s none. There is, however, a staircase. Hearing the wood split, knowing that he was getting in, you slipped away from the door and made a run for the stairs. He was inside in a matter of moments, his chest heaving and his fists clenched tight at his sides. You’re certain that he’s going to kill you. You’d die here, in the little sad house on the corner, staring into those ocean blue eyes all the while. You hoped that when he does it, that he looks at you. That he see’s you, one more time, and that you’d sit with him for the rest of his days. It’s the very least that he could do for you. You bolted, his glare burning into your back, clambering up the stairs.

It took no time at all for him to reach you, wrapping a meaty fist around your bruised, scarred ankle. You’ve screamed, you’re sure of it, throat burning and warm, wet tears streaming down your cheeks as you began sending hard kicks behind you— hoping one of them would land. One had to land. Had to give you time to make an escape from his rage. “Let me go right now, you fucking psychopath! Let me go! I hate you, I hate you and this fucking haunted town so fucking much!” You’re rambling now, jumbled and frantic. He laughs, that bastard laughed at your hysteria—dragging you down the stairs, slowly now, one at a time. Taunting, always taunting, his malice gave you enough time to send a brutal kick right at his nose. Your kick landed, right on the bridge of his prominent nose. He yelped, surprised for a fraction of a moment, then he roared. Blood poured from the wound, dripping onto his tee, down onto the dirty, blue carpet below. You gaped, waiting, terrified. And when Bo’s gaze fixed back on yours, you knew that you were in for a world of pain. You’d knocked his favorite truckers cap off his head, made him bleed his own blood. Good, you thought. Means you hadn’t lost every piece of your soul—yet.

“You wanna play fuckin’ games with me, sugar? We’ll play, then. Disobedient little bitch, forgettin’ all of the manners I’ve taught you.” Before you had any time to prepare for the blow, he sent a monstrous kick with a steel-toed boot directly to your rib cage. You gasped, couldn’t help it, your lungs attempting to suck in the sweet air that had just been knocked from you. Your head was swimming— small mewls leaving your lips, sputtering out some thick coughs. “Look at ya, poor thang. Writhin’ around, helpless and achin’. Soundin’ sweet for me, singin’ like a bitch in heat down there.”

You were flung onto your back, eyes wide and scared, still dazed from the blow to your mid-section. Bo’s on top of you within’ mere moments, hands now latched tightly around your throat. You’re squirming under the weight of him, heels digging into the carpet and your mind beginning to haze over. It was brutal, you were almost certain that your eyes were going to pop out from their sockets if he pressed down any harder. He was showing sick, twisted restraint— you hated him, hated him so much for it too. He could just end your misery and get it over with. He could extinguish that inferno that builds up inside of your gut when you’re sitting in the passenger’s seat of his truck, windows down and taking in the breeze on back road’s, sandy curls that framed the nape of his neck swaying in the wind, pillowy pink lips curled into a grin as you sang along, obnoxiously, with whatever song he’d chosen.

Or when you’re both in bed, crushed against his chest, strong hand clasped against the swell of your hip bone whilst the other cradles a cigarette and he’d murmur praises in your hair and the crickets sang outside your window. Or when he made you true Louisiana cuisine, snapping at you to stop munching on his goddamned vegetables and grab him a beer from the fridge. When you did, he’d kiss the crown of your head. You needed, desperately, to get away from him. You’re in love with him inconsolably so, to the point where it’s killing you, right here and right now.

He let go. He fucking let go of you and then wrenched calloused fingers into your mouth, hooking the long, ringed digits over your bottom teeth and under your tongue, pulling down with such force that your head rattled. Your mouth popped open—slick and waiting, sobs bubbling in the back of your throat. His iris’ are pitch black now, the dark has swallowed up the light, primality glinting in pools of midnight hues. So busy gasping for air after his attack on your neck, Bo was anything if a man of true opportunity. He hadn’t yet made up his mind what he was going to do with you, what he would have to do to break you. You noticed gears turning in his head, pillowy pink tongue jutting out, running across his bottom lip. He wanted to hurt you, he was going to .. but there was something else, something that you couldn’t quite pin.

“Keep that fuckin’ filthy mouth open, ya hear?” Bo’s leaned down now, snarling into your ear, the smell of sweat and blood swimming in your nostrils. It was so overwhelming, so intoxicating. Made you burn down below, made you wither into yourself with shame. “I don’t wanna have ta’ ruin this perfect little face, that beautiful little mouth. My cock has always looked so good nestled in that throat, don’t ya think so, sugar? Makin’ me hurt ya’, thought ya’ knew better by now.”

A white glob of his spit pushed past his lips; dangled past his chin, slowly lowering into your plump mouth, one of his personal favorite assets on you. Now you’re squirming again, keening at him, a silent beg to cease his infernal teasing and sink his knife into your throat, but you should’ve known. He wouldn’t let you go that easily, not without proving his point first. His saliva’s drooling into your mouth — sliding it’s way down your throat and you’re swallowing it without any command, with meticulously trained obedience, courtesy of the man currently pinning you down to the dirty floor. He was smirking again, tongue poking out to wet his lips, and sanguine curls sticking to his damp, tan forehead.

“That’s fuckin’ right.” He crooned, “There’s my good, dumb little baby. Just how I want ya’. Don’t need one thought in this pretty head.” And then he backhands you, sharp and fierce. It busted your lip, throws your head to the side, makes you cry out in terror as pain radiates in your cheekbone. One hand made a quick work of hooking into your jaw again, keeping meaty fingers pushed invasively into your tongue while the other slid into your flimsy underwear. It hurt so bad, those fingers in your mouth and pushing against the newly opened wound on your bottom lip. And it felt good, too. So fucking good. He made a house inside decay and rot, and you lived there with him, singing songs on the radio and making breakfast in his shirt. Those wax figures were all laughing at you now, you could hear them. You were filthy, utterly grotesque.

Two calloused, rough fingers were on your clit. You’re strained and babbling into his hand, whimpering like some bitch in heat, as Bo so kindly put it. His deep, thundering groans does nothing to help your current state, only aiding your back in further arching, heart thudding wildly against his own. Slow, slicked circles around your swollen bud sent you reeling, exhausted legs still kicking underneath of his weight, white dots speckling your vision. His fingers were still locked on your jaw and stuffed inside of your mouth, and when you’d whined at him again because you felt like your teeth were giving way to his brute strength— he had taken his hand out of your battered mouth to send a ferocious slap to the same cheekbone as before. Bo knew that it would only hurt more that way … it did.

“B-Bo! Stop, p-please, just fucking kill me!” You cried, fingers digging into his white v-neck, as if attempting to anchor yourself into him, into that moment. Sticky, warm tears were freely flowing now, and he leaned in your face to lick them off your bruised cheekbone. He always did love how quickly bruises blossomed on you, like paint to canvas. His breath, always so hot and wet, invaded your rattled senses. Then, all at once, he sinks two fingers into your core, giving you no time to adjust before setting a brutal pace that had your legs shaking, your head thrown back against the staircase. “Stop Bo, stop, stop! F-fuck, I can’t take it! Please, please!”

“I know you’re lyin’ to me, angel.” He kissed your inner earlobe—sloppy wet kisses careening down your neck, before he stopped at your jaw to bite down. It hurt so bad, the skin breaking, your moans turning into sharp, bellowing shouts of agony. The dig of his fingers were keeping you grounded, expertly finding the sweet spot inside of your body like all the times before, calloused fingertips rubbing into the sponge of your g-spot and pulling an animal-like wail from the back of your throat, hips wrenching in an attempt to throw him off. “Christ, this cunt is fuckin’ droolin’. Makin’ a big ‘ole mess. You don’t know what to do with yourself whenever ya ain’t gettin’ stuffed fuckin’ full, do ya? Fuckin’ empty inside, needin’ somethin’ to scratch that itch.”

Tears continued blurring your vision- chest heaving as you struggled to intake enough air underneath of Bo’s braun. Your heels have stopped digging into the filthy, dusted blue carpet beneath your feet. Your fingernails have stopped assaulting his neck and chest, leaving a litter of angry, crimson red welts and scratches behind, which had only seemed to spur him on. His lips found yours, another all too familiar occurrence, gnashing of tongues and teeth and blood and spit and regret and stone-cold hatred and unspoken love all at once, your peak lurking dangerously close to the surface. He was right, always right. You needed him, needed this. You craved it, actually, and the realization only made your tear ducts well up more. When he broke away, he was feral looking as he loomed above you. And when Bo’s lips pursed to send another big, white glob of his spit directly into your face; spittle hitting your sore cheek, chapped lips and bruised chin, you screamed out for him, fingers digging into his back and arching off the floor with a steady groan, eyes rolling in your skull as wave after wave of euphoria overtook your body. His teeth were digging into your collar bone now, tearing skin and growling like a rabid dog, his arm was under your back and holding you against him as the rest of your orgasm has turned you into a mewling, squirming mess in his tight hold. Like a little kitten, you thought, trying to wriggle free from grasp and scamper off into the woods.

“Right there, angel. Jus’ like that. Feels so good when you’re cummin’ all ‘over my fingers, don’t it, my sweet girl? Almost made me forget about your punishment.” His southern drawl, filled with false comfort and low, rumbling honey, turned venomous again. “I’m gonna fuck ‘ya into the ground now, little bunny. When I get done with ya, maybe you’ll finally fuckin’ understand exactly where this sloppy cunt belongs, after I fuck it stupid. Not that you need any fuckin’ help with that.”

You were thrown onto your stomach, head smacking against the staircase and making you simper in pain; although, not as much as the hard knee pressing into your spine suddenly did. You cried out, legs aimlessly flailing once again. You could hear him making hasty, frantic work of his black leather belt behind you, and grumbled curses leaving his blood-stained lips. Your entire body was sore and stinging, eyes filled up with tears and dried tears staining your purple and yellow cheekbones. Your lip was split, your cunt was aching, sputtering and clenching around nothing, your spine threatened to give way underneath the weight of his clothed knee. “I-I’m so sorry, B-Bo! Please, please, I won’t ever run from you again!”

And when you heard the metal buckle release, before that same belt looped around your hands — securing them to the small of your back, you felt the weight of Bo’s love for you. He didn’t want to kill you, he didn’t want you to leave him. He couldn’t fathom what he’d ever do without your scrambled eggs and toast thats always just a little too burnt in the mornings, without your pattering footsteps behind him while he worked about Ambrose, always lingering and always wanting, eager for any chance to be near him. Or without your perpetual, infuriating kindness, how you’d cradle the nape of his neck and press kisses to his sweaty head, whispering in his ear how good he is, how he’s worth something. No, he couldn’t kill you, couldn’t ruin this, but he could make it hurt— he’d always make it hurt. Snarling, he took his boot off of your spine and made quick work of shedding your denim jeans and undies, pulling them down your legs with jarring force. You’d arched back into him without realizing it, seeking his warmth and his embrace. He laughed at you— again, reaching down to pull himself free from the confined black slacks around his waist.

“Ya ain’t sorry for nothin’ yet, angel.” He made a noise similar to annoyance in the back of his throat, “But ya will be, that I can promise ‘ya. If ‘ya wanna act like yer some disobedient little mutt with no fuckin’ common sense or house trainin’, forgettin’ what i’ve taught ‘ya, that’s how yer gonna get fucked.” With one big hand pressing in between your shoulder blades, whilst the other found purchase underneath of your waist, Bo’s cock was pressed up against your heat. Your stained face was pressed down into the carpet, which smells soured and stale from years of abandonment. You’re holding your breath, still trembling, waiting for Bo to sheath himself inside of you. “Here I was, fixin’ to be sweet on ‘ya tonight for being so good ‘fer me lately, only to find my angel tryin’ to run away. Mama must have been right, i’m a damn fool. You wanna break it, darlin’? Break this old heart of mine?”

You sobbed into the carpet—fingers digging into the fabric. You felt guilty, felt so damned guilty. It’s part of your sickness, part of who you are now. You never wanted to hurt him, even when you had opportunity, even when he made you bleed and scream and beg. Never wanted to know a world without him, without ocean blue eyes and calloused hands and the smell motor oil left behind on his clothes. If you ever were found, a therapist would tell you that you have what normal people call Stockholm Syndrome. All of your friends would plead with you to see reason and stop thinking about him. Your parents would want him to spend his life in prison. And all the while, you would dream of being back here with him. You’d be in that small cell with him, refusing to leave his side. You’re filthy, and fucked up, and dirty, belonging all to him.

Your tongue wanted to stick out childishly, at all the ghosts who’ve been taunting you since your arrival; wanted to tell them all to shove it. He was yours, he cared about you. You had him in a way that nobody would ever have him again. You ruined him just like you’re ruined now, bound together by your vileness, something not even Trudy could say from her grave.

“N-no! I never want to break your heart, please,” You didn’t know what you were pleading for, pushing the warm clench of your pussy into the head of his cock, “Bo! I need you, I need you so bad, p-please fuck me hard and make it hurt! I-I need it to hurt please, sir.”

The levee broke. Bo slid into your wet, willing hole with an ease that was almost embarrassing. Almost. This is where you were meant to be, right here- pinned under the man who you loved more than life itself, even if it’s never going to make sense again, even if it’s so wrong. Even when you felt him push your body into the carpet, even more so than it already was, his breath steady on your goosebump-ridden back as he gains his bearings, hissing through clenched teeth at the feeling. You held your breath, wanting to savor the sound, knowing that it’s your body that makes him lose his composure. His ringed fingers dug painfully into your shoulder blades, but you didn’t mind. Your face was smushed down into mildew-coated carpet, and you still didn’t mind. You’d pry open your chest and wrap your fingers around your still-beating heart, handing it over to him if that’s what he wanted from you. When he grants you with another bone-shattering thrust, hard and deep, stopping for a moment to grind his pubic bone into the flesh of your ass, you snapped back to reality with a loud wail, that bounced from the walls of the small home and makes Bo’s pillowy top lip curl up into a pleasured sneer.

“That’s my fuckin’ angel. My good fuckin’ girl, always ready to be pumped full ‘o me, aren’t ya?” That damn southern drawl, you could live inside of it if he’d allow you to. You nodded, the best that you could with your face shoved so brutally into the floor. But that wasn’t good enough, not for the man behind you. Bo’s thick, veined hand took mercy on your shoulder blades and grabbed a fistful of your matted hair, whilst the other locks itself around your waist in an iron clad grip that made drool start pooling in the corners of your dried, cracked open lips. “Speak up when I’m talking to ‘ya, girl. Won’t bother sayin’ it twice, either. Use ‘yer cute little lips and start singin’ pretty for me, sugar.”

“P-please, sir! I need it so bad, need to be full of you, need to be yours! Please, fuck me, please!” You were absolutely wrecked before he even started, babbling directly into the carpet while his hand held your face there by your hair, scalp stinging so pleasantly, your mouth drooling and hanging opened, waiting for yet another sticky, wet surprise from his mouth. And he began fucking you, in earnest, balls slapping against your ass with a volume that should be disgusting, so damned raunchy that it could’ve hit top views on the latest porn channel. You couldn’t get enough, didn’t want to ever get enough — wanted to feel that cock, always so thick and angry, plunging into your achin’, soaked little hole for the rest of your life.

“Right there, sir! Oh, fuck yes!” You’d moaned into the creaking staircase—your body moving on it’s very own accord, pushing yourself back against his brutal thrust, desperate for any release that he we going to give you; crimson blood still leaking from his nose and falling on your bare back with little droplets that makes your toes curl into themselves, cracking at the bone. There was a prominent warmth in your belly, a dam that was sheer minutes away from breaking, a heat that made the chill, morning breeze seem piping hot. You’re clinging to the surface, grasping at whatever purchase you can find on the floor, screaming for him like a banshee. He felt too good, he felt so good, and you wanted to kill him for it, make him bite down on your rage and on your searing, weightless devotion to him. Get a taste of his medicine, make him bleed for your loyalty. He was pawing at you now, keeping you in place against him, driving his cock into you at a speed that should be considered brutality, hisses and low, thundering groans echoing. But you’re alive, your body on fire, your heart swelling.

“And If ‘ya really think that I’d let ‘ya slip away from me, you’re dead fuckin’ wrong.” Bo hisses into your ear as a coil began to tighten in your stomach. “Ain’t nothin’ on god’s green earth as sweet as this cunt and she knows who she belongs to. You’d just come back to me, baby, beggin’ me to take ‘ya back again. Thats if, ya don’t go blabbin’ to the pigs—like the fuckin’ bitch that ‘ya are.”

“I-I love you, Bo,” you’re sniffling into the floor, “Love you, so fuckin’ much. I’m not leaving- I need you, you make me so happy, sir.” You weren’t lying to him, and that’s the most devastating part. Bo hummed and he seemed pleased by your dramatic confession and the genuine sound of your voice, flipping you with a force that rattled your bones. You were dazed, whining and confused, the back of your head slapping against the staircase and further aiding your current state, all the white dots that danced in your vision returned, and it made Bo squeeze your inner thighs like he was trying hard to maintain his own composure, the sight of you reduced to nothing but a pliant, squealing little toy to use like a fleshlight was enough to make him tail spin.

Bo sits back on his broad haunches, pushing your thighs up against your chest and effectively folding you in half, before drilling into your core at a numbing pace that has your watery, puffed up eyes rolling back into your skull and screams that ran your throat ragged in seconds, the air between you both becoming so thick that you could practically taste it when you opened your mouth to keen for him, your hands reaching up to tangle in his tee-shirt, which you wanted to pull from his skin. He used the ball of his thumb to rub tight circles onto your clit, granting you one step closer to sweet, unabashed release. When Bo brought his hand up from his assault on your clit, to slap it without mercy, you began to spasm in his grasp.

“Keep those fuckin’ eyes open,” He snapped down at you, “Look at ‘ya, filthy fuckin’ bitch. Spread wide for me, cummin’ all over the carpet. You feel that, angel? Feel ‘yerself creamin’ nice and hard ‘fer me?” You do, could feel it starting in your toes, splintering it’s way through your body, spurting at the seams. You were delirious with pleasure— could hardly manage more jumbled whimpers and pleas for his mercy, for what heaven he’d be willing to give to you in this little hell, something that would be yours to keep.

“Y-yes, sir! It feels so fucking good,” You wheezed, “I’m gonna cum, sir! I’m gonna cum!” Jaw slackened, eyes squeezed shut, toes curled up, fingers bunched up into his old work tee-shirt. Your orgasm was a violent thing, turbulent and licking up your spinal cord. You felt your sticky, hot release spill down your thighs and onto his thighs, the wet clapping of your skin meeting his own sounded akin to the sweetest music you’ve heard, the symphony of your bodies colliding with a passion that you’d never, ever known before. Bo groaned, his peak wasn’t far behind, lurking just underneath the surface, his head lulling backwards to stare up at the cracking, white water-stained ceiling. This has to be his heaven, his own place of worship nestled between your thighs.

“Baby,” Bo’s body folded over your own, lips closed on your neck, red hot kisses left in his wake. “Gonna cum, gonna fill ‘ya up. Mark ‘ya from the inside out. ‘Ya ever pull this shit on me again, I’ll slit that fuckin’ gorgeous throat ‘an bleed ‘ya out like a snuffed deer. Hear me?” When Bo kissed you again, smooth as butter, tasting blissfully of copper and cigarettes — you hooked two trembling legs around his waist and pulled him deep, your hands finding purchase in his damp curls. Curls that you wanted to root your fingers through forever, anchoring yourself to him. You loved him, wanted to burrow into his skin and stay there for good.

“I-I hear you, sir! I’m so sorry, p-please forgive me Bo, wanna be so good for you.” You hiccuped, “Wanna be your angel. Please, let me be good for you, daddy. I’m empty without you, make it feel better.” It wasn’t very often that you flipped the daddy switch, made him so hot under the collar. But when you did, you knew you had him right where you wanted him. His groans, the resounding grumble that vibrated deep in Bo’s chest, was confirmation that you had him on a wire. There’s nothing left to do but send him teetering on the edge. When your hips came up to meet his thrusts, you did exactly that, wide eyes staring up in awe as his damp, disheveled frame succumbed to bliss.

“Jus’ like that, sweet girl, fuck!” Bo clenched his teeth, brows furrowed in concentration and head lulled while spurt after spurt of his spend painted your walls in the essence of him, marking his territory, making sure you understand who you belonged to. This was his, no one else’s, not even yours. After he collapses on top of you, panting and thoroughly exhausted from the chase you put him through and from fucking you into the carpet; he placed little, gentle kisses on your chest, up to your collar bone and neck line before finding your sore lips.

“Never run from me again, angel.”

“I won’t.”

With the world waking up outside and basking you in a glow of golden hue, you smiled up at him through dark, crimson blood stained teeth and when he returned the same smile back to you— his bloody canine’s showing, you know that you weren’t lying to him.

author’s note:

how are we doing? are we okay? yeah, me either. thank you all so, so much for reading! i have a lot more of ‘ole Bo sitting in my draft’s, more to come from yours truly.

#bo sinclair #brian van holt #horror #slasher #house of wax #bo sinclair brain rot #bo sinclair x reader #gore #blood #house of wax 2005 #house of wax fanfiction

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chumpovodir · 3 months

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Man I have so many Thoughts about Hector and Julia

Like. In a vacuum, they'd be cute together, right? Hector is kind and considerate to her. Julia is a little irriverent, but also cares about him and helps him through his journey. They can relate to each other, as outcasts, as people who knew Isaac, as people who have lost a dear one.

But man everything else around them ensures that a hypothetical relationship between them would be fucked up lmao. Hector just went on a rampage to avenge her recently dead lover - he's so dedicated and devoted, can he truly move on so easily? Julia just so happens to look like her - would Hector see her as her, or as a mockery of Rosaly? She's also Isaac's sister, with all that it entails. And then there's what Hector is for Julia...

The thing is, can he be considered Isaac's killer? That's ambiguous. What killed Isaac: being slashed by Hector's sword while his body was inhabited by Dracula's soul, or the ritual itself? I suspect Isaac died the moment Death put Dracula's soul inside him. If that's the case, Hector is not the direct cause of Isaac's death. But... Julia asked Hector to please save Isaac, and only kill him if there was no other choice. Hector didn't care. He did sympathize with her sadness, but then the cursed thoughts took hold of him again, and he kept insisting that Isaac had to die by his hand. He never tried to take a pacifist option, even after he realized that with his power he could nullify the Curse. By the time he put two and two together, Isaac's fate was already sealed.

So imagine from Julia's perspective. Hector reassures her that only he can "dispel the vile curse": this might make her hope that Isaac could be saved. An hour or so later, she sees his corpse abandoned on the floor, and Hector ready to die under the crumbling castle. He managed to save himself and Wallachia, but not her big brother.

I do believe part of her, in her grief, would blame Hector for not doing enough. But she would never express it, because if there's one thing that's certain about Julia, is that she represses a lot.

I think they'd stay friends. They'd be able to joke around and visit each other and maybe even open up to each other. But the ghosts of Rosaly and Isaac would always hang between them. Yes, it's complicated, and messy, and bittersweet.

(and hey, the ending of the game only shows Hector going to live with her. Nothing says they'd have to be together lol. Or that Hector won't be able to find himself a new arrangement later on.)

thoughts so Huge™ tumblr wouldn't dare show me this ask notification 'til i got back on desktop lmao

The thing is, can he be considered Isaac's killer? That's ambiguous

it's funny because even if Hector did spare Isaac, he really had no reason to after making that mistake the first time, in PtR, which arguably kicks off the whole chain of events in the first place

I do believe part of her, in her grief, would blame Hector for not doing enough. But she would never express it, because if there's one thing that's certain about Julia, is that she represses a lot.

oh, absolutely. she'd know it wouldn't be fair to begrudge Hector after putting his life on the line, doing Trevor's job for him, and basically saving the entirety of Wallachia by breaking the curse, all the while suffering from his own loss. what are her own personal desires to see her only living relative spared, compared to acting for the greater good, right? i see her as the kind of person that never complains about her lot in life, which is how she managed to survive living on the fringes of society without growing a misanthropic bone about it like Isaac did.

and yeah, honestly it's just such a disservice to relegate her to the new love interest. rosaly at least got fleshed out as her own person in both the mangas, but we don't get much insight to julia's character or how she feels about everything that went down. to make matters worse, it seems like the fanbase doesn't see much value in her so there's so little, if any, fanworks that feature her POV

#castlevaniaposting

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tsukuharuko · 26 days

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Starter for @xamassed

A couple of weeks had passed since her meeting with Tamaki, and one more after the most exciting event in her life since she moved to Tokyo -- being saved by a professional hero.

Both events had left a strong, yet different mark on Haruko. After her encounter with Fat Gum, she had started collecting any newspaper mentioning her saviour, holding her breath whenever he appeared on TV and asking her parents to turn the volume up when he spoke. Her mother obliged with a smile, while her younger brother, Keitaro, answered with an eyeroll while Haruko listened to her hero with her lips pressed in a tight line and her eyes shining at the sight of his wide grin -- the same he had dedicated her on the day she met him.

At school, she had found out Fat Gum was popular among girls, but not as much as other pro-heroes. Her female classmates liked to fawn more about guys like Hawks or Best Jeanist -- Fat Gum had a different kind of charm, to them.

"He's cute," they agreed, "kinda like Totoro!"

"Yeah! He's all big and cuddly, right?"

Haruko nodded, not too convinced. To her, Fat Gum was way more than cuddly -- he was valiant, reassuring, bright, charming... And whenever she recalled being in his arms, her heart started racing like crazy, making her cheeks burn.

Ever since he had promised her he'd visit her at the Coffee Bean, Haruko's head kept jerking up and her heart missed a beat whenever the bell on the door announced a new client walking in. But day after day, her hopes started vanishing, and she kept lowering her head with a sigh and a disappointed pout when the face on the door wasn't the one she wished to see. She had been a stupid for really hoping for him to pass by; he was a pro-hero, and certainly a busy one too. It made sense for him to be short on time, and he was certainly not going to dedicate her the little spare one he had on hand.

Tamaki, on the other hand...

She hadn't seen the shy boy in a while, but their meeting had rooted in Haruko's head in a surprising way, making a hundred questions bloom inside it. She kept wondering about quirks, how strong they could get, how they could be trained... And even more weirdly, she kept coming up with questions about his quirk specifically, so much she even kept a small list of them under the counter, where she noted them down each time a new one popped up in her mind in the hope to discuss them someday. She was looking forward to seeing him again, to asking him more about his skills... But Tamaki hadn't showed up again. And while she could understand he might be busy too, just like Fat Gum (he was his pupil, after all, as she had found out), she also wondered if she maybe hadn't put the shy boy at unease without realising it, and maybe that was the reason why he hadn't shown his face at the Coffee Bean anymore. The mere thought made her stomach twist with guilt and disappointment -- she had hoped she had made a friend, but clearly, she had read too much into it.

So, after some days, Haruko had stopped perking up with excitement whenever the door to the cafe rang open. And it felt just as an ordinary, dull day when, one afternoon, her boss called for her while she was busy preparing some mixtures in the back of the store.

"Are you busy?" He asked. "A bunch of clients just arrived, I think they are looking for you."

"I'm coming," Haruko replied, without particular enthusiasm, too busy dosing the juices to notice the amused grin under the man's moustache.

But when she walked back to the counter, her heart did a sommersault -- no, a double sommersault. Because not only Tamaki was back, but his whole squad was with him. Fat Gum included!

"I... Uh..." Haruko stammered, face burning bright. "We-Welcome to the Coffee Bean! What can I serve you??"

#xamassed #(she gets the whole package)

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fan-mans · 11 months

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Punch out boxer's relationship with their dads

Doing this too since dads deserve love as well!

Glass Joe:

Never knew the man. He vanished before Joe was born. Based on his mother and sister's recollections of him, he thinks they'd get along. He takes a lot of comfort in the fact that his dad was an absolute maniac and very weird.

Joe always thought his dad was cool and has in many ways subconsciously emulated him (taking up fencing, playing accordion, knowing how to pick locks, etc.). As much as he claims his father's absence doesn't bother him, sometimes he'll let himself mourn the fact that he never got to know him.

Von Kaiser:

Fucking hates him. He and his brother played the Benny hill theme while the man was on his deathbed and wrote ASSHOLE on his coffin. Kaiser spent his entire life protecting his brother from their father. Even after he saved the man from dying in an explosion, his father had the audacity to still treat him like shit.

The closest thing to an actual father Kaiser had was between his first boxing coach and a neighbor who taught him everything he knew about engineering and clock making. Both men were wonderful and made Kaiser believe that he had a life worth living- inspiring him to do what he loved and be a better man than his father. Both have since passed, but were constant presences in Kaiser's adult life and proud of his career.

Disco Kid:

Dad died when he was a baby. He isn't sure if they'd get along, considering his dad (And the rest of that side of the family) disowned his uncle for being gay. Still, part of him wishes he got to meet his dad to really know who he was. Disco sees his uncle as a surrogate father and they get along very well- being basically a carbon copy of the guy.

Most people guess his uncle is his dad, which always surprises Disco since they don't look much alike. Either way, he owes his uncle everything and does put him on a bit of a pedestal. Disco's uncle is so proud of anything he does- he often cries with the pure joy it brings him to see the boy he raised be so stable and healthy.

King Hippo:

Was always close with his dad. When he wasn't talking to his mom, his dad was his only line of knowledge about the island and her. Hippo owes his love of boxing to his dad and the man is the only reason he entered the ring at all. He died suddenly when Hippo was in his 20s.

The event made him consider stepping away from boxing altogether and he still hasn't fully recovered from his father's death. A part of him still thinks he should step out of the ring and take up his father's role as a storyteller of the island, but his mother encourages him to stay in the ring since his father was so proud of him as a boxer.

Piston Hondo:

Loves him, but is less forgiving of his faults than he is to his mom. His dad was less inclined to let him be sporty, thinking Hondo would be good at academics like his sister. Even with his solid career, like his mom, Hondo's dad is harsh on his accomplishments. He's less concerned with Hondo's love life than his mom and more concerned about how much he's working/how much money he's making- in his opinion, Hondo should be just as dedicated to work as his sister (Even though he most definitely is)!

They were closer when Hondo was a kid, but age has made him more than a little bitter. His dad loves him, truly, but doesn't actually know how to express that love other than pushing his son to be the best man he could be. In all honesty, a long conversation between the two would be really good for everyone, but their family is emotionally constipated so it won't be happening anytime soon.

Bear Hugger:

Very close. They're basically besties, just like Bear and his mom. His dad loves to do survival type things and bear owes his love of nature to the man. They look nothing alike, aside from their big beards and balding heads, an love to joke about not actually being related.

He's very proud of his son for 'surviving' life in the city and being so high up in the world of boxing- even if it means some people are very obsessed with their family. They aren't very physically affectionate with each other but there's a lot of love there.

Great Tiger:

His dad is overbearing, but less so than his mom. Very trusting and close to each other. He won't accept big gifts like Tiger's mom does, but he does like taking trips with his son. Tiger learned magic from his dad and they often discuss new things they've figured out.

He wasn't too happy when Tiger let slip the whole 'real magic' thing- having lived under the guise of just being a magician for years. He's cool about it now, though. As for his boxing career, he was very surprised knowing his son's interest in music. Still him and Tiger's mom are supportive since it's less fickle than his prospects as a self-made musician.

Don Flamenco:

Loves him, but they have a bit of distance between them. His dad is still really bitter that Don ended up choosing boxing over being a matador- especially after he chose Don to take on his legacy over his older brother. The fact that Don boxes in America and spends months there makes him even more angry. He keeps his anger hidden, but bottling it all up won't end well.

Like his wife, Don's dad will not allow Don to marry before 29- him and his wife didn't experience their 20s before being married off and having kids, so they don't want the same for their own kids. They don't show much affection to each other but there's definitely still love between them, even if the relationship is very strained.

Aran Ryan:

Very close. Just like with his mom, they've always loved each other a lot but their relationship dipped in his late teens and early 20s. Now though, they're closer than ever. Unlike his mom, his dad is more accepting of gifts. His dad is always the first person he goes to when he needs comfort and Aran trusts him with emotions before anyone else. Some people give Aran serious shit for being so affectionate and emotionally open with his dad, but he just beats them up.

His dad is very protective of his boy and won't hesitate to throw hands if someone shit talks or misgenders him. Dad is very proud of his boxing career and finds the cheating funny- even if the flail and horseshoes were a bit much.

Soda Popinski:

HATES his bio dad. According to his mother, he walked out one day and never came back. Thinks the man is disgusting and were he to encounter him, he'd beat his ass.

The same goes for his sister's dad as well, who was pretty bad to them (If he's honest, he may hate his sister's dad more than his own). He's had a few surrogate dads, but he doesn't really consider anyone to be a real father figure to him.

Bald Bull:

Doesn't hate his dad as much as his mom, but they're distant. Thinks his dad is cowardly for never standing up to his mother's bad behavior, but understands why he never did. Would like to repair their relationship to some degree.

Unfortunately, he doesn't think it's ever going to be the case so long as his mother is still in their lives. Still, he has much more hope for him than his mom. His dad is just happy that Bull isn't like his mother and actively rejects press attention.

Super Macho Man:

Besties. Always been close and very open with each other. Dad is extremely chill and supportive of Macho as much as possible. Macho never hesitates to go to parties with him or one of his movie premiers. Very much attached at the hip- everyone who sees them together knows they're father and son.

Macho really looks up to him, to the point of struggling to see his faults. He's one of the few people he trusts to talk about his emotional issues and though his dad can do little to help, an open ear is all Macho needs. They're quite affectionate in private but keep their distance as to avoid scrutiny from the public. He loves his son's boxing career as much as Macho loves his movies, he always takes time to attend when he can.

Mr. Sandman:

They were closer when he was young, but they've drifted as he's grown. They never fully recovered from Sandy's nasty teenage years and he always wonders how his relationship would be had he not been such a shithead.

His mother is trying to get them to be closer, but both are a bit stubborn on showing affection. Despite that, though, they love each other a lot and when push comes to shove they've got each others backs. His dad is supportive, of his son's career, even if he doesn't understand the appeal.

Little Mac:

Never knew his bio dad, and gets sad when he tries to think of him or his mom. Doc is the best adoptive father he could ask for and the two are attached at the hip. Still, he's always surprised when people point out how much like doc he is, or are shocked when they find doc is his dad. Doc is the proudest man he could ever be about Mac- even if he wasn't a boxer he'd still love his baby boy to bits.

#glass joe #von kaiser #disco kid #king hippo #piston hondo #bear hugger #great tiger #don flamenco #aran ryan #soda popinski #bald bull #super macho man #mr. sandman #little mac #punch out #punch out wii #headcanons #father's day #my hcs

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glamsmine · 5 months

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[unnamed/prompt| MHA/BNHA]

{Mitsuki convinces Inko to finally try out online dating and gets her on Tinder💀}

Mitsuki decides that Inko has been single for far too long after her husband passed and wants to help her find her next soulmate, however Mitsuki was very daring and that on its own was what got Inko in these situations in the first place. Inko reluctantly let her friend create an account for her after taking a photoshoot of her trying on Masaru’s new clothing line that he was working on. (Which Mitsuki happily tagged and sponsored in her bio) If she had to hand over her designer clothing and accessories to make it happen, then she would not hesitate to just give her a set of bags and clothes, she had plenty to spare and was well aware Inko could pull off any look.

It wasn’t until Mitsuki started swiping like crazy at every attractive and or rich man that popped up, Inko had nearly passed out and given the fact that Mitsuki had purchased the premium version for her, she was going at it for but half an hour before Inko finally managed to regain control and beg her to stop from the embarrassment she felt.

Fuyumi really thought of it as a joke first but it all changed when she got a taste of the romantic drama she had put her father in. Endeavor, or in this case Enji, was pulled into an online dating app that Natsuo had suggested to Fuyumi at first and she relayed it to their father. He frankly didn’t care or expect anything to come out of it since he didn’t view himself as “dateable” to begin with, so he was confident nothing would happen. However, he forgot to factor in that Fuyumi is the hopeless romantic type and would become dead set on seeing the task through, even if she had to force him to go on at least one date.

Bubblegirl only got it to pass her time and see just how many people Sir Nighteye could pull, had he been interested in dating. He refused at first, but let her manage and make him an account since he could care less about whether or not he would end up having a one night stand or going on a small date he would make sure to have no interest in and let it end before a relationship could take off. Things like these weren’t what concerned him and he was far too busy in the hero world to even consider it as an option.

Tsukauchi was getting real tired of All Might being stressed over the crimes happening recently and just wants him to enjoy his retired life, but he honestly had no clue why he thought he knew what he was doing. Getting Toshinori to relax was one thing, but DATING??!? He didn’t even think he had any experience in that field since he had dedicated his life to being a hero and saving others. So when he finally manages to get him “out there” and on a dating platform, he utterly regrets creating the profile, sure, there were some good people on there, but with having the premium version and seeing all the people that had swiped on him only for quick hookups was draining and honestly disappointing(not to mention that some of them weren’t a good fit with his personality and others seemed sketchy). So when he finally managed to snag him a date with an adorable woman (Inko) he was about to go insane with his attempts at getting Toshinori to show up and give him confidence he never before needed in his life, Toshi was beyond embarrassed, way too shy, and inexperienced to have a grasp on what a relationship consisted of, his refusal to go through with the simple date had Tsukauchi sleepless for an entire week before Toshi finally gave in and agreed to the meeting (he could thank Grand Torino scolding him for that later).

Hawks had the app because he was really only in it for the hookups, but when an older woman catches his eye his mind is sent into overdrive. Admittedly he had a thing for older women, the hookups were just something he kept as an option because he never had the time to actually have a stable relationship. He found his heart skipping a beat and his hand had moved before he could process his actions and he was now matched with a cute lady five cities over. {Inko} He was pretty tame around older women(he acts like a dude-bro around women his age or younger)and she was no exception, he probably looked like a lovestruck teen right about now. His tastes were really only known by Jeanist, who had shared a similar preference(👀) , and had ruthlessly made his secret a topic of conversation when there was no one else around. Jeanist is really forward with how he speaks so he really just points out Hawks’ flaws that women would find unappealing and he should consider working on, other than that he has also /slightly/ teased him for it. All in good intention, but Hawks dreaded when he brought it up during a mission or casually after a meeting.

There really was no reason for Aizawa being on the app in the first place, he hated dealing with people in general, so a relationship was out of the question. It was Midnight who was bored out of her mind from the lack of juicy stories she gets to hear in the office at school. Sure, Mic was not the type to shy away from risky topics that satisfied Midnights dose of curiosity and drama, and Snipe had an interesting enough life to share crazy stories at work. It was the lack of hearing about romantic failures and adventures that really did her in. She wasn’t the romantic type and it wasn’t her intention to pry into their lives, but it was okay to bother Aizawa to this level at least once a year and now was the chance she wanted to use. Nevermind the details, there were so many locals that admitted to wanting to get down with the underground hero and an endless supply of options to actually pair him up with a decent date. Forget about the part where he has to consciously know about himself being put on such a public platform and potentially having to go on a date without his knowledge of it not being a casual outing he usually goes on. He should’ve known something was off when Midnight and Mic kindly suggested he join them in dinner at a nice restaurant, promptly ditching him to “go to the bathroom” at the time before someone sits down at his table and introduces themself.

I wrote this YEARS AGO and decided to post it, it was kept in my drafts and is probably the goofiest idea I ever wrote but it would be hilarious if somebody managed to take this idea and make an actual fic with it. I was going to but never did and I no longer feel like writing it anymore lmao. The main was going to be Nighteye, I considered having Aizawa be in the final considerations too but the fact that he’s Izuku’s teacher complicates things and makes it weird😂. Everyone else was just random options that amped up the goofiness.

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fenicenera83 · 11 months

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Would I be here or anywhere else if it were not for you?

Oh boy, to think I've been wanting to do this post for a long time, but I always put it off. Now it has already happened that for the Marius/Daniel ship I have argued, mainly because of what is written in those two lines in, I simply call it, 'Atlantis'. Forgive the little dedication I have for that book. I was told that 'Marius lost Daniel to Armand' has only one meaning, and only one way of interpretation, that there is no room for anything else, except of course the throwing away of one for the other. And I make no apologies for saying that this pisses me off. First of all, because I love Daniel's character, and his journey of pain and loss of self is something that has always made me think a lot. The thing that causes me more annoyance, however, than those who support this theory, is the fact that in my eyes, it creates a Daniel Molloy, who is a profiteering, carrion, and emotionless bastard, and Daniel IS NOT THAT. We can talk endlessly, meta, canon, headcanon, there is no way you can convince me that this is the case and that it is justified that it is so. Daniel has his flaws, like everyone else, but he's a loving, giving character, even when it hurts. What actually happened, I personally think, is because of Daniel's good heart. In fact, at that moment in the story, everyone was against Armand, no one shared his vision, no one wanted to listen to him, so much so that, as we know, even Marius gets into a very serious discussion with him, which leads to harsh sentences. What I think, is that Daniel understood Armand's loneliness and isolation and also his anger and frustration, that he sensed how he was suffering from that situation, how being openly against Marius marked him, because only Marius has the power to generate such strong feelings in Armand. Conflictual and non-conflictual. I think that the moment Daniel understood, he decided to comfort Armand. Perhaps, it could be that even Daniel himself shared Armand's view on this problem. Be that as it may, I am not talking about love in the romantic/passionate sense but about a different kind of love, seeing someone we love suffer is destructive, seeing their pain and inability to make themselves understood, together with the fear of what they fear might happen to those he loves as well. This is a Daniel I like, one who is him, a Daniel who, in order not to leave someone dear to him alone, decides to separate himself from the One who saved him, and loved and protected and cherished him. An act of altruism, dictated by the need to live up to the one who brought him back to life. Marius taught him to trust again, to open up again, to love again. So what I think those words mean is this, that Daniel followed Armand because he feared for him, so as not to leave him alone.

Also because in fact, those two lines do not speak of love, no romantic/sensual love is mentioned. There are no references to anyone's heart or need. Yes exactly I'm drawing a parallel with Blood Communion and where Anne Rice, clearly spoke of, an Armand needing Marius and an Armand reopening his heart to Marius. In 'Atlantis' there is none of this. I firmly believe that the only reason Daniel decided to follow Armand is out of empathy, and it is perhaps also because seeing Marius so convinced, so committed, so dedicated, he thought that at that moment Marius did not need him there. Which, as we know, is not true, Marius suffered greatly from that detachment. I believe that in good faith Daniel did not realise this. And obviously, because I always have to put tenderness between Marius and Daniel, Marius let him go, because he loves him, respects him, trusts him and his judgement, and would never impose anything on him. And this is love, the dedicated kind, the strong and pure kind, where you are afraid, you feel pain, but you leave it up to the one you love to embrace his or her own life, with his or her own decisions.There, that is my final and personal thought on this. The way I see Daniel Molloy, and the way I see how he would never hurt Marius, how he would never go against him, how everything they went through together supporting each other created a unique and unbreakable bond between them, blessed by love.

#Marius de Romanus #Daniel Molloy #Marius/Daniel #VC #Thoughts #meta

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favchalamet · 2 years

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timothee chalamet x fem!reader

synopsis; Timmy lost the love of his life, his best friend, his girlfriend, the woman he loved (and still loves), and now he's trying to move on. in the form of thanks for being your happiness and as the closing of their love story, timothee decides to dedicate his Oscar to the woman of his life.

warnings; mentions of death, blood, sex, car accident and english is not my first language.

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔; 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐄 𝐂.

Timothee Chalamet sat anxiously in his chair that night illuminated by the stars. It was as if a memoir movie passed behind the beautiful girl holding the role with the name of the actor who would win the Oscar that night. A movie of memories he could never forget. After all, how would he forget the time when he was happy? From when was his beloved, the love of his life, still with him?

His first and only girlfriend, his first and only best friend, the person he's dreamed of every night since he was 10, his first crush, his first kiss, his first fuck, the love of his life. Timothee was completely in love with her, and still is. He planned every sunny morning what he would say on the day he would ask his girl to marry him, which never happened. Maybe that's the main reason he blamed himself. Chalamet knows he could have been happier if he had done everything differently. If he had not been silly, had not acted out of jealousy or had not lost so many moments, perhaps they could have had more time.

Time. It's a silly thing to think about, isn't it? We know that we can die at any time, that anyone can die at any minute, that we have to put aside silly words and live life as if death is approaching more and more, because it is. But we will never act like this until we are fully aware of the weather, how cruel the weather can be.

Car accident. That's how she died. Not because of her, ever. The beautiful girl never crossed the line, she was really an angel. One car collided with another, ambulances ran quickly in time to save the lives of young women, terrified people and blood, lots of blood. Timothee knew nothing until exactly 3:33 p.m., when an unknown number called his cell phone. At first he thought it would be nobody or that they had called wrong, not least because his number was strictly confidential, but when his cell phone rang for the third time followed by the same unknown number, he became concerned. After the rails of questions from people who claimed to be doctors, they finally talked about what had happened. His beloved and guarded had suffered a car accident.

Timothee never ran with his car as fast as that beautiful afternoon. His hands trembled and his eyes constantly closed because of the numerous tears that soaked his face. He couldn't believe it. Wasn't there at least two hours that they were in connection, exchanging words of affection and loving each other, and now the boy in love discovers that the love of his life was on the verge of death? It didn't seem real.

Timothee had planned a romantic dinner at his future wife's favorite restaurant that same night, and when the girl found out she was filled with happiness to learn that she could finally take a break from the tapings of her next film to love and be loved by her boyfriend. Little did she know that Chalamet had everything planned to propose to her. Little did the two of them know that the marriage plans would remain only in the dreams of the most commented couple on the internet.

Marriage. It's a strong word, isn't it? Especially when we know all the bad things about marriage. Timothee did not think of marrying, especially at the age of 25. It seemed crazy to think of living a lifetime alongside a single person for the rest of every day of your life. But it seemed right with her. She created the feeling of passion in everyone who would have the simple pleasure of meeting her, and Timothee did not escape from this spell. So for everyone it was very obvious that the boy was completely in love and his whole family knew what he was going to propose that night, and they couldn't be happier. Happy to know how happy Timothee was.

Hearing those three simple words was the hardest thing Chalamet had to go through. She passed away. His world has collapsed entirely. It was as if they had taken a part of his soul, his happiness and everything he loved most. And they had. They had taken the love of their life, their best friend, their girlfriend and their wife. All the dating ideas passed through his mind, the future engagement request, the wedding, his maybe children, the movies they were going to make together, the nights they were going to spend watching the stars like they always did after they had sex... so many moments he could have lived if he wasn't so afraid of the future. And now, the future he dreamed of so much was what he wanted most.

“Timothee Chalamet!” The beautiful girl said cheerfully through the microphone attracting Timothee's attention that she thought of the only girl who has ever been stuck in her thoughts.And now, the boy was more nervous than before. He hadn't thought of anything to say that night because everything told him he wasn't going to win that prize. After being exactly nine months without participating in any films, not even appearing on the internet, after a single film shot after so long trying to overcome the death of his girl, would he win an Academy Award for Best Actor? To him it seemed impossible and Timothee knew that if his wife were here she would rebuke him for having so many negative thoughts about himself.

Timothee clumsily climbed the stairs as he rhetorically arranges his clothes by feeling the exact thousands of stares etched on his back. He quickly hugged his wife and thanked her for her dream Oscar, now he was facing the world, being teleported by thousands of electronic devices to thousands of people in thousands of countries. His anxiety increased much more than expected and his record fell from what had happened in the last year.

“I've been thinking about who to dedicate this award or what I could talk about the moment I stepped on this stage. To be honest, I never thought that was going to happen and so I didn't prepare a text or something...” He laughed ironically.

his lines were interrupted by laughter from the audience, all thinking how ironic it was that probably the only person who had not prepared a speech would win the prize.

“I know exactly who I should thank and dedicate this long-dreamed Oscar to.” Timothee continued to stop abruptly as he looked down.

The silence was extravagant. People expected him to continue his speech, but his mind was wandering around the sunrise mornings he spent watching his lover, laughing at how he unconsciously threw his head back when he truly laughed at something, wandering through the memories of the nights, the passionate kisses, the hugs, the beautiful words, the promises dedicated to the stars. Just wandering around to the one person who ever made him happy.

Timothee began, his voice coming out like a whisper from the angels, thrilling everyone: “Your brown eyes and white smile as paper made me discover that scientists are dumb, because you are a galaxy, which only I have seen. You were so passionate about life that you made me want to live and made me love you. For those who didn't know you, exaggerated speaking, really, not lying and, not denying, I dare say that you were the most unbelievable human being I have ever known. One day, I was yours, and I've been dreaming of living that day again for exactly 368 days. I still miss you, every day, everywhere and anytime. I will love you in all hours, places, lives, universes...”

People were completely moved by Timothee's beautiful speech. Tears descended from the eyes of some people and everyone in the whole world understood the boy in love. Everyone knew who Timothee's infamous girlfriend was, after all she was spectacular. Not only is she known like that, but she is also considered one of the best actresses on the internet. All the people who had the incredible pleasure of meeting the girl were already entirely in love, because no one could fail to see how incredibly brilliant she was. Now, everyone, with tears in their eyes and mind in grief, has managed to feel what Timothee felt in 368 days.

“I know you'd be a little angry with me for the huge public statement, because you were an absurdly shy person, and you'd be even more angry to know that I dedicated this award to you. But, after all, who would I dedicate myself to if it wasn't my future wife?” He ended up raising the prize and sending everyone sad smiles.

And now yes, what started in two happy smiles ended up with a sad smile.

#timothée chalamet imagine #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee x you #timothee chamalet #timothee x y/n #timothee x reader #timothee imagine #timothee edit #armie x timothee #timothee chalamet #imagine #fandom #fanfic

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masterwords · 1 year

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I’m back!

I was thinking about Derek and Aaron having to put together some kind of toy or project for Jack (you know kids always do it the night before it’s due). I’m just picturing some sweet and sarcastic time together doing something for Jack that should be easier but is probably harder than they thought.

Super excited for May now!

Starting May off with this one! And yeah, it got a LOT sappier than I meant for it to...that happens I suppose.

Summary: Jack needs to build a rocket and he has two dads who can help him out. Lucky kid.

Warnings: mention of Derek's dad's death and financial troubles after

Words: 1.3k

Read below the cut or on AO3!

** Blast Off **

“You're doing it wrong,” Derek says from the floor. He's on his second set of one hundred pushups, maybe the third, Hotch has lost count. Up and down up and down.

“The directions said...”

“Read them again.”

He can't. Jack lost them about an hour before when Hotch told him to clean up all of the mess he'd made that didn't have anything to do with the damn rocket so they could focus. He can manage chaos on a grand scale, but in his own home it's just a little too much. The sad truth is, those instructions are probably in the trash can beneath the scraps from dinner.

In other words, long gone. He's not digging through the trash to figure this little thing out.

He doesn't think it should matter. There are not that many pieces. They're all laid out, side by side, just like he would set it up if he was taking apart one of his guns to be cleaned. It looks so simple, and it probably is it's just that he's afraid to commit and make a mistake. They don't have time to go buy another kit, they waited until the last minute. Not because anyone forgot, just because Hotch had been a little extra busy at work. Story of his life.

Derek finishes his push-ups and spends almost a full minute drinking every drop from his water bottle. Hotch envies his dedication to fitness, the way he always manages to get these things in without excuse. Hotch hasn't done push-ups in days even though they entered into this monthly challenge some of the guys at the Academy started together. This month is push-ups, next month is running. He'll make them up, no way he's going to come in last or just give up, but he's definitely not making it easy on himself.

“This part goes here,” Derek says, pointing. “I watched my dad and Sarah make one of these.”

“I made one when I was a kid but not from a kit. My dad almost cut his hand off helping me with mine. He wasn't much of an engineer...” In other words, his rocket had looked pretty cool but had been an epic fail. It blew to bits when it hit the ground.

Derek's mom didn't have the money to buy him a kit when it was his turn. It wasn't that expensive, but it would have over drafted her account. If it had been a week later maybe she could have been able to swing it, pinch a few pennies, but things were just tight. Her job didn't pay much and the hospital and funeral expenses were still weighing her down so he was home sick on rocket day to save face. Being the only kid who showed up empty handed would have killed him and Fran knew it. He already had to be the kid whose dad died, he didn't need that too. Things were hard enough on him.

Derek doesn't bring it up but Hotch can see it on his face, he can see it written in the lines on his forehead. He doesn't dwell on these things but they still sting when confronted with them.

“Do you want to take my place?” Hotch asks without a hint of frustration. He thinks maybe Derek might like a do-over. “I could use a few minutes to get some push-ups in before I'm at the bottom of the pile.”

Derek doesn't need the instructions. He can reconstruct a bomb from scraps, he can see the way the pieces fit together and instinctively knows what each of them does. Hotch knows that even if it's not exactly the way the instructions say to do it, Jack's rocket will probably win.

The only thing Derek can think is that this feels huge. This is a father son project, Jack has been talking about it for weeks. The fact that Hotch isn't home often and Jack was worried he'd have to build it with aunt Jessica had been at the forefront of his mind. Not that he would hate that, he just...it was all Jack wanted. Building a rocket with daddy. It's a whole thing. After they build the rockets his whole class will go to a field and launch them, there are even prizes for the winners. Highest, farthest, best paint job. There are about a million categories, enough that each kid in the class will probably get something for their trouble. But Jack just wants to build it with Hotch. And after launch day, to further the experience, they get to go to the air and space museum. It's not the sort of thing some random guy just gets to jump in on. He knows he isn't just some random guy, but until this moment he wasn't really sure where he fit. Jack likes him, or at least tolerates him, and he's careful not to infringe on Jack's precious time with his dad.

This makes him feel like part of the family in a way he hasn't before.

“You sure?”

He expects Jack to politely refuse. He wouldn't mind it. If he could have done this with his father...

“YEAH! PLEASE DEREK!”

Jack's enthusiasm nearly makes him cry. It's all he can do to hold himself together as he takes a seat beside the kid and starts rearranging the pieces into an order that makes sense to him. No hesitation. If Jack wants him to do it, then he's going to do it and he's going to do it right. He thinks about that stupid Inside Out movie that makes him cry every time Jack wants to watch it and he knows this is a core memory.

Maybe for both of them.

They work all evening, laughing and making a mess while Hotch makes up for lost time on his damn push-ups. His arms feel like jelly, his elbows are creaking, but he's back in the running again. He pops a few Tylenol PM so the ache in his arms doesn't keep him up that night but he feels good otherwise. Could probably do more if he wanted but he didn't want. It's late and all he wants to do is read Jack a chapter from their bedtime story and go to bed.

By the time he comes to the table to check on things, they've got it painted with the wildest set of tiger stripes he's ever seen. It looks fast and mean. And the most shocking part? The table is mostly cleaned up.

“Will it fly?” Hotch asks in awe. Derek and Jack laugh in unison and he can't get over how good that sound is.

“Not only will it fly,” Derek starts, standing and arching his sore back. He hates sitting so long. “It's gonna win.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

Hotch takes Jack to get ready for bed while Derek finishes shutting down the apartment, checking locks, turning off lights. He gives the glue a test, tugs at the fins, pulls the nose off and checks that the parachute is intact. It all looks good. He knows the engine is solid, it's in there, it's going places. Once he's satisfied with the work they put in, he heads off toward Hotch's room to wait for him to finish, but hears his name called from Jack's room.

“Yeah?” he asks, leaning in the doorway. Jack is tucked into his bed, Hotch kneeling on the floor beside him with the book in his hand.

“Would you come with me tomorrow?” Jack asks with a hopeful smile. “Since you helped me build it.”

Derek can't stop the tears this time. They obscure his vision and for a moment he's speechless. Hotch nods and smiles.

“Yeah, buddy. If the boss says I can have the morning off, I'd love to.”

“Can he dad? Please?”

“I'll think about it.” He's posturing. It's a done deal. Derek already knows it.

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddddddddddddddddddddddd...”

Hotch smiles in a way that lights his eyes up and he nods. “Of course. But only if he brings me lunch.”

“Deal.”

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jack hotchner #hotchgan

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