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peachy-panic · 4 months

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Lonely

Hi everyone, I'm alive! Have some Torley Era Jaime content.

This kind goes along with a (much happier) future piece I'm hoping to finish writing and post soon, so stay tuned for some better vibes. For now:

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-Adjacent, hunger, the sadness of stray cats (no animals were harmed in the making), brief suicidal ideations, gun mention, implied noncon

Restless. That is how Jaime thinks of the long weekdays in the Torley house, when the boys are at school and his Keeper is at work, and Jaime is left on his own until they return home to demand his attention.

It is not that he is without work; Mr. Torley holds high expectations for his home, and Jaime strives to meet them all, even if it means double, triple, cleaning over a room he’s already scrubbed bare or taking all of the glassware out of the cabinets just to polish and arrange them again. But there are days when he finds himself with idle hands, in the time between completing his chores and his keeper’s return. That’s when anxiety creeps in. He knows it’s a conditioned thought, but it’s in him too deep to ignore. He can’t rest, can’t be useless, can’t be found being lazy when Mr. Torley comes home.

It gets lonely, though, these pockets of restlessness. He is so fucking. lonely.

Sometimes he wishes that he had permission to go out on errands—collecting groceries, making returns, dropping off suits at the dry cleaner—just so that he can have a reason to talk to another person. He was trained to believe that many domestic contracts allow for that kind of thing, but Mr. Torley has made it clear that Jaime’s place is in the house. In the month that he has been here, he has never once been allowed to step foot outside, and he knows better than to ask.

He is usually good at avoiding temptation, but on one Friday morning, Jaime is caught off guard.

He is cleaning the sliding glass doors at the back of the house when he catches a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. Jaime flinches, startled, but when he looks into the backyard, he finds that the source of the motion was a fluffy, white cat, now tucked halfway behind a thick tree root, peeking up at Jaime with obvious apprehension. Through the thick glass, he can make out a muffled meow.

It must be the same cat Kade saw last night. Jaime hadn’t seen it himself, but he overheard the argument between him and his father from the next room.

“Dad, we should keep her!”

“It probably already has a home, Kade.”

“No it doesn’t,” he shot back. “Look, she doesn’t have a collar.”

Ubidden, Jaime’s hand rose to the metal band at his own throat. Funny, he thought, how a collar is the mark of a safe home to some.

“That doesn’t mean it’s our responsibility.”

“Daddy,” Jaime recognized the edge of frustrated tears slipping into Kade’s voice. “What if she’s hungry?”

“She’s fine.”

“Can I give her some water at least?”

“Kadence.” Even from the next room, Jaime couldn’t help but flinch at the impatient tone in his Keeper’s voice. “You will not give this cat anything, do you understand me? You feed it once and it will keep coming back. That’s the last thing I need to deal with.”

“But Dad—”

“I said, do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

Without really thinking about it, Jaime stuffs the washrag into his back pocket and crouches down, putting himself closer to eye level. The cat perks his head up in response, fixing him with a steadier stare.

“Hi,” Jaime mouths, lifting one hand to wiggle his fingers in a half-wave. The cat puts a hesitant paw forward, and Jaime smiles. “Hello, there.”

Another soft meow, and then it pulls its paw back.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, struck by the sudden, urgent fear that it will dart away and leave him alone. All at once, it is Jaime’s greatest wish to keep this small animal in his sights, if only for a little while. If only to feel just a little less alone for a few minutes. It's desperate and sad, but it's true.

Jaime’s eyes flick up to the latch on the sliding door, just above his head. It would only be for a moment. Just a moment, just long enough to see if the cat will come closer. He won’t be breaking any rules—not really.

When he looks back to the cat, he sees that it has moved several paces closer, and it’s all the push he needs. Slowly, Jaime reaches up and flips the lock open. The sound is enough to freeze the small animal in place, but it doesn’t retreat. Still, he slows his movements even further as he wraps his fingers around the handle and pulls it to the side. The burst of clean, fresh air on his face is the best thing he’s felt in months.

The noise of the door startles the cat into motion again, but when Jaime stretches out his arm, his palm open, it bounds toward him instead of away. It slows its approach as it gets within a couple feet of him, stretching out its tiny, pink nose to sniff at his hand.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, keeping himself still and steady. When the tip of its nose makes contact with Jaime’s finger, the cat only jumps back for half a second before it twists its neck, pushing its tiny head into Jaime’s outstretched palm.

A sound bubbles out of Jaime’s mouth, and it takes longer than it should to recognize it as his own laugh. Carefully, desperate not to scare it off, he scratches between the small animal’s ears and elicits a soft, vibrating pur.

“Hi,” he says again through another burst of delighted laughter. “Hi, sweet girl.”

He’s not sure if he’s right about that guess, but it feels better than referring to it like an object. He decides to trust Kade’s intuition on this one. She meows up at him, and he chooses to take that as approval enough.

“Are you lost?” Jaime asks, noticing without conscious thought that his voice has risen to a pitch he only ever uses for Kade’s bedtime stories. “Do you have a home around here?”

He knows the answer before he asks it, though. The edges of her white fur are caked with mud and grime, and he can feel her spine a little too prominently through her skin.

Jaime remembers well what that kind of hunger feels like. A dangerous thought begins to take shape.

He glances at the clock in the hallway. He still has a couple of hours before he expects Mr. Torley home. That should be plenty to sneak something out. Even if it’s just some water. Jaime can clean it up and put everything away before his Keeper comes home. He never needs to know.

He flinches as the thought lands. These are the kinds of things he’s not supposed to think about anymore.

But Mr. Torley does plenty he isn’t supposed to do, doesn’t he?

He hesitates, just for a moment, before he stands, knees cracking.

“Will you stay here for a minute?” he asks, scratching under her neck when she raises her head. “If I go to get you something to eat?”

She scuttles back a few steps at the sudden movement but doesn’t run away. He will have to hope for the best.

In the kitchen, he goes straight for the plastic bowl in the cabinet that is designated for Jaime at mealtimes. He used to think about the fork scratches in the bottom when he first arrived at the house, wondering how many boys before him had eaten from the same bowl. He would never use any of Mr. Torley’s good dishes, but this serves him perfectly well as he fills it halfway with water from the tap.

Food is another matter. Jaime has never had a cat before, but he knows the basics. Normally, he would expect to find a can of tuna or two stashed away in the back of someone’s pantry, but Mr. Torley isn’t the pantry staple kind of person. He likes his food fresh and expensive and expertly prepared, and—

Salmon. In the refrigerator, there is a small strip of leftover salmon filet from two nights ago. Mr. Torley never eats leftovers, and the boys hardly touched their fish to begin with. Jaime might have allowed himself to it before he would be expected to throw it away, but this is a far better use. No one will notice it's gone. No one will miss it.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Jaime carries out the bowl of water and the strip of salmon on a paper towel, relieved to find the cat waiting for him in the same spot.

“Here you go,” he says, setting the offering on the cold cement patio. Her hunger becomes more apparent as she dives headfirst for the small piece of fish, tearing away large bites at a time. Jaime feels a pang of guilt that he doesn’t have more to offer her.

She purrs as she eats, poking her head up every few seconds to glance at Jaime—either to check that he is still there, or to make sure he’s not coming close enough to snatch away her food. He sinks into a crouch a couple feet away, happy to watch her filling her belly for the night. In the back of his mind, somewhere well into dangerous territory, he starts to think of ways he might be able to sneak her food in the future. Maybe, if he’s smart about it and he plans his meals right, he will be able to save back small portions of whatever meat they have for dinner. Even if Jaime needs to slim down his own portion, it’s not a big deal to save a little bit for her the next day. Maybe if he only keeps her fed during the daytime, Mr. Torley won’t ever see her when he’s home.

He is pulled from his planning when the cat suddenly stops eating and goes rigid. There are still a few bites left on the napkin, but she has turned her attention toward the side gate, her little ears twitching at something unseen.

It takes Jaime another second, and then he hears it, too: the low, almost silent electric hum of Mr. Torley’s car in the driveway.

He’s home early. Hours early.

Fear ices him over, but Jaime has no time to freeze. He has less than a minute before Mr. Torley will make his way around to the front door.

It breaks his heart to have to pull the last bits of salmon away before she can eat them, but he hurriedly bunches the napkin into a fist, trying to pick up the tiny shreds that have fallen on the patio with shaky fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the cat, who has started meowing in objection. “I’m so sorry. You need to go now. You should go.”

He curses under his breath as he spills a bit of the water bowl, but that’s easily explainable enough, he supposes, if he’s asked about it, he just—

He has one foot through the patio doorway when the sound of the gate latch stops him cold. Mr. Torley never comes through the back gate. Why is he coming through the back gate?

“Stop,” Mr. Torley says simply, low and cold. Not a shout, but a single, flat syllable that raises the hair on the back of his neck. Jaime nearly drops the bowl of water with the lurch of dread that curls in his stomach. In his periphery, he sees a ball of white fur retreat across the yard and disappear.

He knows that, no matter what happens now, the last thing he should do is keep his Keeper waiting, so Jaime pulls in a shuddering breath and turns to face him.

“Put it down,” Mr. Torley says, “And come here.”

Of all the things he could have said, that unexpected directive inspires a spike of fear. Regardless, Jaime places the water bowl and the wadded napkin on the ground at his feet and makes his gallows march across the yard.

He stops a couple of feet away, keeping his eyes trained on Mr. Torley’s expensive shoes. Helpless words race through his mind, scrambling to arrange themselves into a coherent explanation, an apology, anything that might soften the blow of his inevitable punishment.

But his Keeper doesn’t ask for an explanation or an apology. He simply raises a hand to the gate latch—making Jaime flinch—and pulls it open once more.

“Get in the car,” he says.

Jaime’s eyes rise to meet his, confusion and alarm ringing through his skull. “Sir?”

Mr. Torley doesn’t move toward him, doesn’t raise his voice. He simply repeats, a beat slower this time, “Get. In. The car.”

On trembling, boneless legs, Jaime walks through the gate. He hasn’t been this far outside in nearly a month, but the terror and the strangeness of the moment takes away any joy he might have derived from the fresh air and sunlight.

Mr. Torley’s car sits in the driveway, sleek black and still humming quietly. Jaime has never ridden inside, and he hesitates a moment before reaching for the back door handle. It’s locked, much like his throat when he tries to vocalize it. Instead, he stands silent and unwillingly disobedient with his fingers clutching the handle, waiting. Mr. Torley takes his time latching the gate and walking to the driver’s side. He gets in, closes the door, and fastens his seatbelt, all before Jaime hears the quiet click of his lock being undone. He scrambles into the backseat and barely closes the door behind him when the car lurches into motion.

Jaime flattens himself against the leather seat back as they glide faster than what he’s sure is legal down the road. He doesn’t fasten his own seatbelt, too afraid in this heightened unknown to make a single move without explicit permission. His fists curl into the soft material of his pants, and he only realizes then that his feet are still bare.

Where are they going? Where is he taking him? Why isn’t Mr. Torley saying anything? The quiet feels like a threat of its own, but Jaime doesn’t dare be the one to break it. Should he? Would an apology gain him any ground? What is expected of him here: his silence or his contrition?

The lump in his throat makes the decision for him, blocking any hope of words along with the ability to draw a full breath.

That is, until, the car jets past a familiar sign on the highway, and cold acid releases into his bloodstream.

“Sir?” The words come out less than a whisper, and are met with more stony silence. Jaime grasps for another pull of oxygen and sits up further in his seat. “Mr. Torley?”

Nothing.

Jaime’s heartbeat pounds in his fingertips, his temples, his throat, his chest. It could be a coincidence. Wherever they are heading could just be in the same direction. The sign doesn’t have to mean anything.

And then they pass another sign, in bold, harsh, undeniable lettering: EXIT - WRU PITTSBURG. The car glides smoothly onto the ramp, and the dam holding back Jaime’s panic bursts wide open.

“Please,” Jaime whispers in horror as the first corner of the concrete hell comes into view. “Mr. Torley, please. Please.”

Nothing.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Jaime babbles, tears blurring the massive wall of false windows that seems to stretch a mile long. He is suddenly struck by the irrational fear that Handler Smith can see him already, that he already knows Jaime is here, is being returned, is being surrendered for early termination.

“Let me catch you back here early from a contract, even once,” Handler Smith had whispered to him a week before he was assigned. “Let me find out you’ve embarrassed me by forgetting your manners, and I promise you, you’ll wish you would have slit your wrists before ever showing up in my training room again.”

Wildly, he pictures the razor sitting out on Mr. Torley’s bathroom counter and thinks, He was right. I should have.

“Please don’t do this,” Jaime cries, tears falling openly now. In a desperate corner of his mind, he wonders if it will help. Jaime so rarely grants him the opportunity to see his tears, and he knows just how much he enjoys them. In any case, he can’t stop them now. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, please, I won’t do it again.”

The car slams to an abrupt stop, hard enough for Jaime to jerk forward, jamming his wrist as he catches himself from slamming his face into the seat in front of him. They are stopped short of the entry booth for incoming cars, veered to the side of the road. Mr. Torley spins around to face him, making Jaime shrink back.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks, eyes hard and resolute.

“F-for—”

“For getting caught?”

Jaime presses his lips together to stop them from quivering. Mr. Torley reaches into his pocket—and Jaime has the wild, hysterical vision of him pulling out a gun and dumping his body on WRU grounds. But he only pulls out his phone, flipping the screen around to show Jaime a camera feed of the back door at the house.

“I have an alert set,” Mr. Torley says, “To monitor all exits of the house. Imagine my surprise when I was on my way home for an early weekend, and received a notification of my backdoor opening, unauthorized.”

“I wasn’t trying to get out,” Jaime rushes to assure him, shaking his head. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t going to run.”

“No?”

“No. I promise.”

“What, then?”

How much will his honesty buy him now? Is it worth anything when Mr. Torley has clearly already seen, already knows? It’s better, at least, than a lie, and it’s all he has at his disposal.

“The cat,” he whispers pathetically. “She seemed… hungry. I fed her the leftovers that would have been thrown out. I gave her water. I’m sorry.”

“And you did so thinking you wouldn’t be caught?”

The affirmation feels like slipping a noose over his head. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’ll have you say it.”

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“And you did so after hearing me explicitly forbid it to my own children?”

He swallows. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Torley inclines his head toward the building ahead of them. “What do you think the people behind those doors would have to say about such abject deceit and disobedience from someone they sent out on a paid contract?”

Jaime pinches his eyes shut, shaking his head.

“Answer me.”

“I…” Jaime begins, his voice pinching. “I would be disciplined.”

“What kind of discipline do you think this warrants?”

Behind his eyelids, he sees the lash of a thick leather cord, a shock clip locked to his throat, a tub of ice cold water.

“I don’t know,” Jaime whispers.

“You don’t know,” he echoes.

Jaime shakes his head, and he can feel Mr. Torley’s stare burning through him.

Then, as abruptly as they had arrived, Mr. Torley faces forward in his seat and turns the gear shift. Jaime opens his eyes as the car rolls into motion once more, making a U-turn away from the facility.

“Well,” Mr. Torley says once they’re back on the highway. “You’ve got thirty minutes to think of a better answer.”

Jaime spends the rest of the night, and the rest of the long weekend that follows, atoning.

On Monday morning, he sees the cat again. When she catches a glimpse of Jaime cleaning in the next room over, hunched on his hands and knees, she raises one tiny paw and scratches against the glass. He forces himself to look away. And when her hungry meows come muffled through the glass panel, he scrubs harder, bending his head closer to the floor so that the scritch scritch scritch of bristles on the hardwood almost manages to drown out the noise.

After that, she gives up on coming back at all.

***

@whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline @anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar-yetagain @thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump @finder-of-rings@melancholy-in-the-morning @insaneinthepaingame @skyhawkwolf @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-world @inpainandsuffering @cicatrix-energy @quietly-by-myself @whumpsday @extemporary-whump @the-whumpers-grimm @thebirdsofgay @firewheeesky @whumperfully @hold-back-on-the-comfort @termsnconditions-apply @cyborg0109 @whumplr-reader @pinkraindropsfell @whatwhumpcomments @honeycollectswhump @pirefyrelight @handsinmotion

#do no harm: jaime & sebastian #bbu #like bbu adjacent?#whump writing #whump #whumplr

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alakeeffectgirl · 10 months

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do we need a cruisequarries primer? yes

Welcome to the old men and their wife fandom, these are the old men (pictured here on the press tour for Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning, Part One [a title I never want to type out fully again])

Yes, that's Tom Cruise. The guy in the John Hammond Jurassic Park cosplay is Chris McQuarrie, aka McQ, who directed MI:DR and also directed the previous two MI movies and Jack Reacher. You might also know Chris McQuarrie as the guy who won an Oscar for writing The Usual Suspects and got nominated for another two Oscars writing/producing Top Gun: Maverick.

McQ willed their friendship into being in 2006, when he was about to quit Hollywood because he was sick of it (McQ's grand dream has been to make a big bisexual Alexander the Great movie but Oliver Stone beat him to it, and after his first directorial endeavor was basically a flop, no one wanted to give him the money to make a huge epic - but you can't blame him for thinking it could work like that, because he watched Bryan Singer make The Usual Suspects and then get handed X-Men), but while out to lunch one day he overheard someone talking about how Tom's career was over because of all his recent shenanigans, and he thought, "I need to meet this guy, because he also sounds like Hollywood's shitting on him at the moment". So he got a couple meetings that got him through to Tom - and for their first meeting he drove over to Tom's house in his bachelor convertible. (No lie. Easily source-able.)

So they hit it off - in the way where they talked about movies for several hours and Tom invited him back again the next day to talk about movies some more. In this same timeline, McQ was shopping the Valkyrie script to United Artists, and when Tom expressed interest, the first thought was that Tom might produce. But then he was like, no, I actually want to play the lead. (Bryan Singer was attached to direct, and I know Bryan Singer sucks, but the backstory here is that McQ and Singer went to high school together, along with Ethan Hawke.) So everyone went to Germany to make the movie in the summer of 2007 - Tom and his family, and McQuarrie and his family.

This is Chris and Heather in 2000 at the premiere of The Way of the Gun, so before they met Tom. I include because they're adorable and also because the glow-up is fantastic. (The story of how they got together is like Jeopardy trivia and I would tell you to google Stephen Chbosky and McQ together to find it except what the fuck, it no longer comes up quickly: anyway, they did a Sundance Labs together and Chbosky gave McQ the Perks of Being a Wallflower manuscript and McQ got to the "we accept the love we think we deserve" line and thought about the woman he'd met a few times before [when they'd flirt at parties? apparently?] but thought was out of his league - Heather - and decided to go for it.)

I should mention that McQ was going to take the producing credit on Valkyrie just in name, for sort of bringing the project together, but then Paula Wagner was like, "I can't go to Germany with Tom, and he needs A Guy on scene, and I think you could be That Guy," so Chris said yes to being an actual producer - and ended up basically being the go-between guy between Tom and Singer on set.

Here's Tom & the McQs at the Valkyrie premiere in Rome:

After spending months together in Germany, the McQuarries end up becoming fast friends with the Cruises. Heather runs around NYC/LA with Katie a lot and works on Holmes & Yang, the fashion line. Here they are looking cute together:

(They're all good enough friends that the McQuarries go to Tom's surprise birthday bash in July of 2011.)

In the interests of saving just a SMALL amount of time here, I will speedrun: McQ gets brought in (by Tom) to help fix Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol, and learns a bunch of stuff about how he doesn't ever want to direct a MI movie. (Lies.) He turns in the Jack Reacher script, which originally wasn't intended for Tom to be in, but when Tom wants to be in your movie, you don't really say no. Reacher films in Pennsylvania in the fall/winter of 2011, and then Tom has to go to promo for MI:GP before he starts work on Oblivion. It's now summer of 2012, and the divorce happens. Tom basically moves to London - and the McQuarries move to London - to work on Edge of Tomorrow. Tom takes Chris with him to Croatia.

Lake, you might be thinking. Is McQ now just Tom's emotional support man? Yeah, probably. They get papped going out to dinner together a lot that fall. A gossip website refers to Tom and Heather walking out of a restaurant together as Tom's "cougar date", which will be funny forever.

Tom got Heather in the divorce, clearly. MOVING ON, McQ does splinter unit work on Edge of Tomorrow and then Tom's like, hey you should direct the next Mission movie, and McQ laughs like Tom is kidding but Tom is not. Tom has gone into the other room to call Brad Grey at Paramount and tell him McQ should be the director on Rogue. (This is how McQ ends up doing all this stuff - he's like, "haha, Tom, you kid" but Tom's not kidding and then suddenly people are strapped to the outsides of airplanes and shit.) In the midst of EoT filming, it's time for Reacher promo, so Tom and the McQuarrries fly all around the world together yet again. And holy shit, am I only up to 2013? Still ten years to cover. (I have about 500 more pictures than I am including here, in case anyone wondered.) More ffwd: They make Rogue Nation. Here's everyone - including Heather - in the Vienna subway:

And here's the three of them at an art gallery in London towards the end of the filming period:

The experience of making Rogue is such that McQ attempts to swear he won't do it again. LIES. Tom goes off to make American Made, Jack Reacher: Never Go Back, and The Mummy all in the space of about two years. McQ officially works on two of those, and from the way they talk about American Made, I wouldn't be surprised if he did some script work there, too.

In August of 2016, pre-production on Fallout pauses because Tom is in a pay dispute with the studio, and McQ decides maybe he doesn't want to do the movie and moves his family back to Los Angeles. SURPRISE, Tom calls him up a week or so later and asks him to come to London to talk about it. Guess what, he ends up doing the movie. (For that full story, which is great and includes Tom saying he loves Heather, please find Jeff Goldsmith's Q&A podcast for Fallout.)

Work on Fallout takes up basically the next two years. At the Tokyo premiere, Tom makes Heather cry when he says she takes care of McQ, and takes care of him, too. (Let me know if you want the video.)

Trying to speedrun this is NOT working, and I need to go stare at the ceiling for a while to process today's Sydney premiere kiss happenings. Part two coming eventually?!!? PART TWO PART THREE

#cruisequarries

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webanglikethat · 2 months

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ABOUT PUNZ

TW // RACISM, DUB CON, ED, INVALIDATION OF MENTAL ILLNESSES

! Andi talks about her year-long relationship with Punz and she recounts enduring emotional neglect, gaslighting, verbal abuse, and a troubling instance of dubious consent. the relationship began with Andi facing harassment from Punz's fanbase, leading to the decision to keep their relationship private for Punz's benefit rather than genuine concern for Andi's well-being.

! Punz's racist remarks, mockery of Andi's accent, and reluctance to visit Andi's family in Puerto Rico contributed to feelings of inferiority and insecurity. He called a slur and said “oh you’re my little b3an3r”. He also said - while watching Bridgerton - that the sharma sisters weren’t attractive because of their dark skins.

! Punz made Andi feel embarrassed and insignificant, refusing to associate with her publicly and belittling her in private CONSTANTLY. He knew she had BPD and he even promise her MOM he would take care of her but he constantly dismissed her depressive episodes and made her feel like she was the problem. He said she did it so she would get his attention.

! His berating behavior and insults exacerbated her feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness obviously and additionally, he exhibited a very very controlling behavior, dictating changes to Andi's personality and content to appease his own freaking audience. “There were also some smaller things like the fact that he made me feel really guilty whenever he would spend money on me.”

! Andi also describes instances of body shaming regarding her eating habits, and criticism of her interests and appearance. “For context, i used to suffer from an eating disorder. I was anorexic and had a really unhealthy relationship with food during high school and my first year of uni. […] So i had certain comfort foods that, while sometimes unhealthy, at least it was something to eat when i didn’t feel like eating anything. He knew this. Yet, whenever i would crave some of these foods he would call me fat”

! he also had a consistent lack of effort and empathy towards Andi. he never took the initiative to plan dates, leaving Andi feeling unappreciated and longing for romantic gestures like receiving flowers, which he only did once, despite her PLEAS. he also exhibited disrespectful behavior towards Andi in front of his friends, using her as a source of amusement to elevate his own image “For example, once when i was showering, i overheard him on a discord call with George and Sapnap and i heard George say “if you don’t go in the shower and have sex with Andi, i will”. Once, when i was really struggling with my legs”

! when Andi was experiencing severe physical pain due to undiagnosed arthritis, didnt care and he initially refused to take her to the emergency room, prioritizing his own comfort and streaming schedule over her health. he said he wanted to stream while his gf was in pain. insane. and even after relenting and accompanying her to the ER, Punz complained about the inconvenience she was.

! the relationship ended on one-year anniversary, where Andi blacked out after consuming alcohol provided by Punz, leading to an encounter that she can’t fully recall. she gets drunk very easily and when she woke up, she was naked and he was joking about it. “Then he mentioned that i fell off the bed at some point in the night and that it was funny how drunk I was. I then questioned him. Because if he thought that me tripping and falling off the bed because i was so drunk was funny, how did he not know that i was too drunk? “ to this day she doesn’t know what happened that night

! after the breakup, Andi confided in Punz's friend about the incident on their anniversary. however, instead of offering support, the friend warned her to like be cautious about discussing it, suggesting that speaking out could have consequences. he basically said she shouldn’t imply she didn’t remember the sexual encounter because it would mean its rape. and when Andi sought validation from other friends, they downplayed the seriousness of the situation, suggesting that Punz couldn't be blamed for not realizing how drunk Andi was.

IN THE OLD POST SHE TWEETED:

she described her relationship with Punz as complicated and tumultuous from the start. they initially became friends due to shared social circles, and their friendship gradually developed into romantic feelings, although Andi suspected that Punz might not have reciprocated her emotions fully. despite this, they began dating, but Andi felt like she was constantly begging for Punz's attention and affection. she noticed that Punz seemed disinterested and distracted when they were together, which led her to feel neglected and invisible in the relationship.

! One very significant source of tension was Andi's friendship with another guy, whom she considered one of her closest friends. She had a lot of guy friends btw and Punz was jealous and disapproval of this friendship, which lead Andi to eventually cut off contact with her friend in an attempt to salvage her relationship with Punz. “i basically felt invisible to him. that is, when i wasn’t hanging out with my guy friends.”

! Punz abruptly broke up with Andi via text. Despite the breakup, they continued to engage in behaviors typical of a relationship, although without the commitment. So basically they were friends but doing couple stuff. when one of Punz's friends showed interest in Andi, Punz reacted with jealousy and ended their "friendship" over it. “his friend and i talked about it and poked fun at the fact that he broke up with me but got mad at someone else paying attention to me. when 1 saw this (he ended up forcing me to show him the screenshots of the conversation) he was even more pissed and even more done with me. the next day he called me and we were basically back together again.”

! during their “reconciliation”, Punz made Andi feel like she had to EARN his affection because of something he deemed unforgivable that /she/ had done. as a result, Punz treated her poorly, often canceling plans to hang out with friends and only seeing her late at nigh and Andi basically felt at Punz's mercy, with their interactions and plans dictated solely by his whims.

! this treatment took a severe toll on Andi's mental health, leading her into a deep depression and causing her to relapse into SH after three years of being clean. despite seeking therapy and making efforts to address her mental health, Punz dismissed her struggles and saw them as just another problem in their relationship. when they argued, which was frequent, Punz would use Andi's mental health against her, belittling her and making her feel guilty for her emotions.

! Punz would also dismiss Andi's emotional needs, labeling her as needy and clingy whenever she sought reassurance or expressed her desires. instead of providing comfort, Punz would respond with indifference or hostility.

! He broke promises, he would go against his commitments, such as going to Las Vegas with friends on her birthday after promising not to. Andi also noticed Punz looking at “provocative” pictures of other girls on social media.

! “but there was a long period of time in our relationship where we had zero intimacy, and it wasn’t because of me. this fucked with my head a lot because i had this idea that because i was so emotional and needy that i could compensate physically. but when that stopped, my thoughts looked something like “the only thing i was useful for was sex and now he doesn’t even want that from me”

! She also thinks he was cheating on her during that time.

! after their breakup, Punz said he wanted to improve himself and the relationship, promising to go to the gym, consider therapy, adopt a healthier lifestyle, and plan dates to treat Andi better. However, Andi had reached her limit and no longer believed in Punz's ability to change.

! Punz shifted blame onto Andi, making her feel responsible for his lack of effort and dissatisfaction in the relationship. He would victimize himself and bring up past mistakes, such as Andi flirting with one of his friends, to deflect from his own shortcomings.

! It took therapy for her to realize that Punz was not genuinely interested in her and only valued her attention when it suited him. And despite claiming not to want her, Punz would become possessive when others showed interest in Andi “he didn’t want me but he didn’t want anyone else to have me and that was the bottom line. that was the base off all the problems and toxicity that happened while we were together. “

#Punz #andi #fuck punz #TW SA #TW RACISM

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eupheme · 1 year

Text

You Make Me Feel Like Dancing | Day 21: Wedding

modern!obi-wan kenobi (‘ben’) x f!reader

Rated E | 5.1k

Tags: semi-fake-dating, chronic semi-platonic wedding dates, mutual yearning and pining, implied use of the force, jealousy, brief misunderstanding, fingering, hickies, PiV, smut and lots of feelings

Heartfelt thank you to @obiknights for lending an ear! ❄️💕

On paper, it sounds perfect. You’ll be his date, as long as he’ll be yours. Never having to be alone, no awkward moments with a stranger.

It’s just too bad that you are hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with him.

Until a year or so ago, you found weddings near unbearable.

You’d go - of course you would. It meant so to support your friends and family, you’d never miss it. But there was something to be said about the traveling, the long line of introductions, the feeling of being so alone as you watched loved ones express their feelings - for always and forever.

That changed - when you made the agreement.

Ben was an acquaintance, friendly enough when you bumped into him. Never someone you’d invite out on your own - far too nervous to do so, too afraid of the rejection.

So when he had overheard you - sighing to your roommate about your coworkers wedding, how you’re always going to them by yourself - it had come as a surprise. The way he had leaned against the high top of the table, his easy smile.

“I’ll go with you.”

You had though he was joking. Looking at him with a scoff of a laugh, eyes flicking to your roommate’s.

But he had insisted. Saying he had always enjoyed weddings and why not? They were always better with a friend.

And so, small agreement had been made.

He’d be your date, and you’d be his. Shaking hands on it, so it would be official.

Now - you find you don’t mind weddings, all that much.

You think you might even like them.

———

So far, tonight had been one you’ll remember for a long time. An energy sparking throughout, beginning even before you even arrived.

No traffic on the drive down - one long enough that you had to book hotel rooms. Ending up with connecting ones, just enough time for you to slip into your dress, touch up your hair, before he was knocking on your door, sighing for you to hurry up.

Managing to slide in with the last of the guests, finding a seat together towards the back. The room almost too warm with the tight pack of people, but the ceremony that went on for a little too long was bearable with the way his legs spread in the pew, his thigh tucked against yours.

Letting your mind wander during the sermon - you’d pay attention for the actual vows - thinking about the dance videos he had texted you. Trying to remember the moves, because you were damned if you were going to let anyone else try them out with him.

You don’t tear up the dance floor or anything, but you have fun.

Everything seems to be, with him.

Not noticing you had been drumming out the internal beat against your knee, until he’s grasping your wrist - a sharp, warning exhale of breath from his nose as he side-eyes you.

Remembering how Ben said he liked this part, how he said he could feel the love in the room.

You thought he was full of it, as your own nose wrinkled in response to his silent disapproval. Until his fingers slid down to wrap around yours, holding them tight. Pulling them, entwined, until they rested against his thigh.

Yes, that had been nice.

Now, dinner is clearing up, the dishes whisked away from under your nose - as he charms the older couple that still sits across from you with his tales of being a middle school teacher.

“Yes, thirty-seven. And all angels of course, when they aren’t driving me mad.” Ben says with a mock sigh, leaning back in his chair, “But they aren’t the biggest source of my grief.”

“What could be more stressful than that?” The woman asks, and he smiles.

“Two godchildren learning how to drive. Twins. It’s enough to turn me old and grey.” Fingers stroke at the edge of his beard, tugging on a patch for emphasis.

It makes you smile, as there’s the squeal of a microphone, the best man inviting everyone back out to the dance floor.

You glance at Ben, where he’s dipping his head in goodbye - the mic too loud for them to hear his words from across the table. The legs of his chair scraping against the tile as he pushes back, uncrossing his legs to stand.

“Old and grey, huh?” You tease, as his hand extends. “Think you can keep up tonight?”

He tugs you out of your chair, his other hand on your elbow to steady you, “Funny.”

Out of everything, you still liked this part the best.

When everyone had eaten, tears and joy and laughter bouncing over the walls, soaking into your skin. When the lights die back down, and the music starts, again.

How he’ll pull you out to the dance floor, then.

Bright eyes, his hand warm and strong in yours. Sleeves rolled up, a button on his shirt popped for every hour that has gone by. His jacket slung neatly over his seat where it sat tucked next to yours.

You’ll hunt down his tie before you leave, finding it curled somewhere safe - in the sleeve of your coat, tucked into your purse.

Until then, you treasure this.

When it’s dark and the food and fun are fueling the floor, when the DJ reads the room and picks the perfect songs.

One moment facing him, all smiles as he spins you in his arms. The next, when his hands are on your hips as you move together. His front pressed against your back, the rough exhale of his breath in your ear just audible over the thud of the music.

It does something to you, an ache in your chest and then much lower.

Each evening together leaving you feeling like Cinderella, dancing with the Prince. Until the clock is striking midnight, and the magic and music has come to and end, and you’re just you again.

Alone, and pining.

Because this is just a fun, ongoing favor.

It won’t be anything more, even if you wish for it.

———

As the songs swirl around you, you realize how easy it is. How the two of you move, just how much you like dancing with Ben.

Nudging you, leading you effortlessly - not shying away from tugging you flush against him when you drift too far away, or get off-beat. Always watching, making sure you’re having a much fun as he is - the bright shine of his smile when he does a move that makes you laugh.

It’s slow - the way you have mapped out each others bodies in such a gradual, intimate way.

Hands that would hover in the beginning, the ghost of his hand against your shoulder, now grip on. With the comfort comes the familiarity - the thigh that slides between yours when it gets late and the songs turn dirty.

Your hands grasping at his waist, before raising above your head, encouraging his to wander. Spinning you around, a broad hand splaying under your breasts, pressing you back against his chest as the twist of your hips turns into a grind.

When everything seems to narrow down to just the two of you, that brief point of connection as his hips move with yours.

It’s a moment you crave, but for now - it’s still early.

Each song bleeding into the next. The last verse slowing as his fingers press against the curve of your hip - sliding down your thigh to hike it up against his as he dips you. Your hand splayed against the back of his neck, holding on.

Trusting him to pull you back up, his palm resting on the small of your back. Your heels sliding against the floor when he does, a squeak as you lose your balance - but you were never in any danger.

With a low laugh, his hand raising to the space between your shoulders as he tugs you flush against him.

Your fingers still scramble, clutching at the back of his neck, the other splaying across his chest.

His bare chest - your palm accidentally sliding where his shirt has become unbuttoned over the course of the evening, hanging loose and open down to his abdomen.

Steadied, you snatch your hand away, heat in your cheeks as you smile with embarrassment, as you apologize.

Even if you don’t mean it - for slipping, or for touching him.

His hand on your thigh moves, his fingers catching your own. Those pretty blue eyes under thick, lowered lashes watching as he draws it back, pressing your palm against him again.

Your fingers spreading out, against the coarse, auburn hair and hot, sticky skin - just above his thudding heart.

Lately, at the past few weddings, there had been a different kind of dance.

Ones that you didn’t know the steps to, carefully feelings the moves out on your own.

Like now - the lightest press of your palm against his neck, the way his head dips as if he can read your thoughts. The point of his nose brushing your cheek, followed by the lightest scratch of his beard.

The arm still curled around you shifting, raising higher, nudging you just a little bit closer as he sways.

If you just moved your mouth, you think your lips could brush. You feel your hand tremble against him, nerves and hope and longing as your fingers press into skin.

The music fades. The sultry tone shifting into something cheerful, a whoop from a group of men nearby as they recognize the line dance.

And just like that - the magic is broken.

You step back, blinking - your hand still warm as it smoothes down your dress, as his fingers trail after you.

Trying to think of something to say, so he doesn’t realize just how head-over-heels you are. Missing the way his lips stay parted, the way he’d drag you right back if you’d let him.

“Cake?” You manage, finally meeting his gaze, and he smiles.

A hand taking through his hair, pushing the long strands back from his forehead, “Yes, please. Vanilla, unless-”

“-unless they have strawberry.” You interrupt with a smile, “I know.”

Leaving him, the back of your hand pressed against a burning cheek as you make your way to the dessert table.

Waiting in line to grab your two pieces, making chit-chat with friends and faces you recognize. Smiling, when they have what he wants, wanting to watch the way his eyes light up when he sees.

But, he’s not at your table when you return. You frown as you set the plates down, glancing back to where you left him. Scanning the crowd, the messy lines of dancers copying each others moves, until you see it.

See him, his head thrown back as he laughs - a hand braced on his thigh as he tugs the arm of his partner, getting her back on beat. The flash of skin you can see from here as he moves - the peek of his chest that you had just had your hands on.

You feel frozen in place as you watch, a jolt of something sharp and scorching hot arcing through you. Burning up in a new kind of way when she clutches at his shoulders, as the rhythm of the dance turns in them in a new direction.

Facing you - where his eyes meet yours in the crowd. Where he can see how your lips press together, the blinking of your eyes as you process.

You know you’re holding him back.

He’s a good dancer. You can see the looks, the way people watch him. Sometimes they made you feel like you did now, but sometimes you felt… guilty.

Worried that he felt a noble obligation to indulge you, worried that your agreement meant he wasn’t bringing a real date like he’d prefer.

Sometimes you can smile and push those thoughts down. Ignoring them, as you’ve learned to do so well.

But tonight, it feels like too big of a burden to bear.

The grin slipping from his face as he watches you abandon the desserts on the nearest table - the forks clattering against the plastic plates as they drop.

As you turn on your heel, setting off for just about anywhere else.

Eyes focusing on the wide set of double-doors in the back, the hallway leading to the bathrooms.

He’s catching up with you - the touch of his fingers against your arm, sliding down until they wrap around your wrist. Its electric, in spite of everything, your stomach still flipping from the contact.

You turn, and Ben is looking at you curiously, and that feels like another betrayal. A confirmation that he doesn’t see you that way, and your throat is feeling tight as you shake your head, tugging away from his grasp.

“What’s going on?” He persists, a crease deepening between his brows, a tilt to his head.

You’re still in the middle of the room, lost in the islands of tables and skewed chairs. Not about to get into here, so instead you’re tugging him now - fingers catching the rolled edge of a sleeve as you steer him towards one of the carved out alcoves set along the walls.

“You can’t tell me it’s nothing, I’ve never seen you abandon a dessert like that.” He’s smiling, lacing his concern with jokes to ease you.

It almost works, the familiarity, the closeness, but then you’re looking at him and remembering - your eyes darting away.

“Nothing is wrong. I just wasn’t-,” You stumble, before taking a breath - finding your words, “You looked busy.”

They come out a little firmer, a little more pointed that you were expecting. He looks at you, eyebrows raised.

Your words, expression, too transparent because he gets it, and there’s a short bark of laughter as you turn to leave. As he’s stepping closer, and you find yourself tucked further into the nook.

“Sweetheart.” The nickname would normally make you melt, but you’re too busy trying to be brave, “Honestly, It was a line dance. I would’ve taught your grandmother how to do it.”

His exasperated look turns thoughtful, “You know, I think I actually did? Last summer, at your cousin’s-”

You shake your head, annoyed and enamored and hurt, your hands spreading wide, “It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. It could be nice, you know?”

Ben’s smile fades, as your back presses against the the wall, your eyes darting away as you clarify, “For you to dance with someone you actually want to be with.”

There’s a beat of silence. Stretching out, agonizing.

And then he laughs again, and it embarrasses you further - his fingers coming to catch your chin and tilt it upwards as he steps closer.

“Is that what you think, darling?” He breathes, as his words draw your eyes back. Meeting his heavy-lidded gaze, as his head dips level with yours.

“That I haven’t wanted this?”

He presses against you then, eyes still on yours as his hips roll. Guiding your hands up to lock around his neck as his forehead bumps against yours, a low sigh when you start to sway with him.

To dance, with him - again.

Tucked away in this little corner, just the two of you. And when your fingers wrap into his hair and tug - he groans. Unable to help himself as his head dips.

As his lips finally press against yours.

A hand cupping your jaw, warm and strong as his body follows, pulling you to him. Your own moan soft in your throat as it feels like weeks, months, years, of want is released, pushing yourself onto tip-toe in an attempt to get closer.

Your body seeming to move on instinct, rolling against his, until the soft fabric of your dress is crushing against his chest. A hand gripping your hip as your body shifts against his, until he’s gasping into your mouth.

The kiss deepening and you’re clinging to him as he traps you between his body and the wall. Soft against him and sweet on his tongue when he’s brushing against your lips and you’re opening for him.

Pulling away, letting your hands wander from his hair, to his strong shoulders, to his chest again. His own mouth hot as he kisses your jaw, feeling the moan in your throat as his lips move to just under your ear.

He always said he could feel the love in the room. You wonder if he can feel you - the sharp ache of desire and pent up longing.

You think maybe - he just might - from the way he groans against your neck, lips pressing against a spot where your pulse thuds.

A hand is resting against the small of your back, and now it pushes - angling your hips until they’re flush with him. Where you can feel the press of something hard, as his mouth hovers just next to your ear.

“That I haven’t wanted you?” He rasps, making you shiver, “That I haven’t been yours, only yours, this entire time?”

It making you moan, the ache between your thighs deepening, a clenching in your abdomen. The admission making you feel reckless, making you want even more.

“Can we get out of here?” You ask him, breathless - and you can hear his sharp exhale, the scrape of his beard against your cheek.

“Yes, darling.” He says against your mouth, pressing a quick kiss before he steps back from the wall - bringing you with him, “Your room or mine?”

Your eyes are shining as you move with him, smiling as you shake your head, “I don’t care. Anywhere. As long as it’s with you.”

His hand finding yours, bringing your knuckles up to us mouth, pressing his lips against the first two.

“I think I can manage that, darling.”

Feeling infinitely lighter, your own laugh bubbling up, as he tugs you toward the exit.

———

Your stomach is full of butterflies as he lays you down on the bed - his room, though it doesn’t really matter.

He follows, his weight pressing into you, mouth finding yours again as his fingers pluck at the layers of your dress, making room for himself between your thighs.

Soft, gasping breaths as you cling to him, a hand pressed against the back of his neck as you inhale a breath before tugging him back down again.

Those nerves twisting into something much more pleasurable as he finds the slit in your dress, fingers tracing along skin to hook a hand under your knee - draw your thigh around his hip.

Realizing with a start that it doesn’t feel that far from before, the same sort of fluttering when he dipped you. From excitement - the thrill of it. Knowing you could trust him, and he had shown you he could.

You could trust him here, too.

Let him lead, like you always did.

His hips drop, grinding himself against you - the thick length of his in his trousers pressing in the against your inner thigh as you groan into his mouth.

Tugging on the strands of hair again, parting your lips so his tongue can stroke yours, just as your own hips roll up to meet his.

It’s not long before your make-out turns sloppy, the scratch of his beard against your neck as his teeth just press against the hollow under your ear.

An ache that blooms into pleasure as his teeth pinch, lip suck. The swipe of his tongue afterwards, leaving a pretty mark for later.

All while you tear at those last two buttons that hold together his white, wrinkled dress shirt - greedily mapping the warm, freckled skin beneath with eager fingers.

“I’ve thought about this,” His breath is warm against your throat, a soft sigh as he searches blindly for the closure of your dress.“Endlessly. Hoping every time that we might end the night together.”

“Me too.” You echo the relief in his voice, helping him with the zipper, his body only lifting for the few moment it takes for you to rid the fabric from your body.

The ache of want thuds between your thighs, his leg sliding back into place as you tug him back down on top of you. Your sigh then - feeling the strong muscles press against you, as his nose brushes your cheek, his lips pressing against your jaw.

Fingers that trace from your shoulder, to a breast. A gentle squeeze, marveling in the way you feel in his hand. The brush of a thumb against against a taut nipple before it ghosts further down.

The welcome weight of him shifting as he lifts himself off you, just enough for his fingers to slide and press against your center. Feeling where the fabric dampens for him, his breath warm against your skin as his mouth opens in a groans.

“So wet, darling.” He says it like it’s a gift, something special just for him. And tonight - it is.

Your hips rock on their own, until he’s pressing, circling his fingers. Smearing your arousal against the soft silk, your own fingers biting into the muscles of his biceps.

“Only you.” The answer comes breathy, needy. Reaching with one hand to catch the waistband, pushing them down to your thighs.

“Mmm. Impatient, are we?” He coos, pleased, and you make a low sound in your throat - drawn out and sharp.

As if you haven’t waited ages. Days and weeks and months.

“Please.” You beg, and mercifully - he listens.

Lips pressing open-mouthed against your neck before they seal against the skin again. Fingers that cup you, feeling the heat, before one teases at your slit. Sliding easily over your slick folds, before the tip of a finger presses into you.

It’s bliss, after the wait. Your head tilts back with a groan, baring more of your neck for him to mark. His hips rolling against yours in time with the way he fucks you with his finger. A steady pump, a curl. His panting breath growing just as loud as yours in the quiet hotel room.

“Ben.” You groan, and he treasures the way it sounds on your lips, the way they part for him while he’s buried in you.

It’s affects him, his name on your lips - his fingers still moving as he shifts, easing himself down the bed. Until he’s level with your hips, nudging your thighs apart with a shoulder.

Touching you like he did on your first wedding date together. Fingers that began with the barest ghost, tease - now firm and sure. Finding what you like, what makes your hands curl into fists as his mouth lowers.

The peek of his tongue as it presses against you, warm and soft against your clit. You’re choking on your breath as he hums, the sound turning into a low, needy groan as he tastes you.

Eyes fluttering shut for a moment before they’re fixing on you, ensnaring. As he encourages you to move, pressing yourself against his tongue, his mouth. Watching you, like he does when you dance.

With eyes had only ever been on yours.

It’s too much - his attention, his touch - after all the waiting. Overwhelming you with the steady plunge of his fingers and the pointed flick of his tongue - it’s not long at all before you’re crying out, his hand pinning down one of your thighs as they threaten to close around him.

As he feels your release, how you gush for him. Tongue dipping down to taste you, fingers withdrawing to press and circle against your clit. Relishing in the sound of your moan, the sound drawn out in the darkened room, one he’s thought often about hearing.

It’s as lovely as he imagined, a tightness in his trousers that borders on uncomfortable, now.

You tremble against him, rocking into the press of his fingers and swipe of his tongue, as the last waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you breathless, eyes half-lidded.

Loose-limbed now, fingers uncurling from where your nails bit into your palms, leaving little marks. Lazily pushing yourself up as you reach for him, your hand searching clumsily for his belt as his mouth meets yours.

It’s a heady feeling, tasting yourself on Ben as his tongue sweeps against your lip. Feeling him, your palm pressing against the front of his trousers, before you’re working open his belt.

Shoving the fabric down with you, and then off - leaving his cock to hang heavy between his thighs, swollen and thick. A smiling flash of teeth as he catches you looking, your own mental confirmation that every inch of him is pretty.

His skin velvet-soft when you reach out, fingertips sliding along his shaft. As he hovers over you, lowering you down to the mattress once more, as you open eagerly for him.

Kneeling between your thighs as his fingers press against your center, coming back slick. Wrapping his hand around his cock, a rough, low sigh as his fist jerks.

You’re imagining what it would be like to taste him, to hold him in your mouth, against your tongue. Seeing if the the sounds he’d make would be as beautiful as his voice, his laugh.

He brings you back with a touch, his palm cupping your face, drawing your gaze to his soft, blue eyes, “Do you still want this, darling?”

The this sliding hot and hard against your center, a low moan that comes from your chest as your thighs nudge wider, as your body arches into his. Close enough that your chin can lift, that your mouth can press against his in the seconds after your answer.

“God, yes.”

There’s a groan in his throat as his hips shift forward, as he finally sinks into you - where you’re soaked from his mouth and your release. The stretch pleasurable as he eases in with a slow thrust, burying himself in your heat.

“Oh, darling. I should have made you jealous ages ago,” He sighs, as you clutch as his shoulders, as he fills you, “You feel incredible.”

Your laugh turns into a sharp inhale of breath when he find himself pressed deep, your thighs clamping against his hips unconsciously.

“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut with your gasp, opening again just in time to see him smile.

Fingers cup the back of his neck, like before. His lips on yours, sharing the same breath as he eases out, before snapping back in. A gasp that begins in your throat and ends in his as he does it again, the ridges of his cock stroking inside you so perfectly.

Holding himself above you, so he can watch your face, before you’re both watching the way his cock disappears into you. You’re already feeling the coiling in your belly, the sated ache returning - fueled by receiving the thing you’ve been wanting for so long.

Him.

Because tonight, he is yours. All yours. You can see it now, how he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. The scrape of teeth against his lip before they’re parting, panting when he feels you clench around him.

As he lowers himself, the heavy thrust of his hips turning into a rough grind, his chest pressed to yours. Your face buried in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around another until you’re not sure where he ends, and you begin.

The tip of his cock nudging against a spot that steals your breath, until you’re clutching at him, your hips rolling in time with his.

“Will you give me another, love?” He coos in your ear, a kiss pressed to the skin just beneath, “Can you come for me again?”

You’re nodding, eyes closed tight as you focus on the narrowed point of pleasure, swiftly building, “Yes. Ben, please-”

“Show me then, darling. Let me feel you.”

Everything winding up tight, as he shift just a bit. Fitting a hand between you, fingers curling over your mound to press at your clit, as your mouth searches for his.

Moving together, like you have been, all this time. The circle of his fingers and grind of his cock have your head tilting back, his name on your lips, then, “Oh my god, I’m so close-”

His breath short and harsh as you tremble, then come undone for him. Your cunt pulsing around him, as you moan - your cheek pressed against the coarse stubble of his beard.

Ben’s moan echoing yours, as if he can feel the tight throb in your core, the way your vision goes soft and hazy. His own release on the cusp of yours, his thrusts going sloppy, rutting into your heat.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m going to come.” He rasps, voice tight with a sharp inhale of breath, “Will you take me?”

Still coming down from your own high, your heart pounding in your ears as you gasp out your agreement, “Yes, I want all of you.”

There’s a shudder of breath, a blinking, widening of his eyes. His fingers press into your flesh, hitching your thigh around his hip as groans, thrusts going quick and shallow. The sound from his throat drawing out long and low as his cock throbs, his release spilling inside you.

It’s prettier than you’ve imagined. His sounds, the pinch of his brow, his parted lips as he comes. Chest flexing with the effort, your fingers pressing flat against it again as he hovers over you, now spent.

The dance ends with his forehead brushing yours, before finding your mouth with his. Sighs and smiling and wandering fingers, leisurely mapping over skin.

Making up for all the lost time.

Later - his voice is a rumble beneath your ear, as your head rests on his chest. The sound soothing, as fingers brush the back of your head, down the column of your neck, then your bare shoulder.

“I received an invitation, last week. The RSVP isn’t due yet, but the wedding is in March.”

Your head tilts, chin scraping over the skin before you rest it on a bent arm, “Sounds good. I don’t have anything for March yet.”

His lips twitch, a soft smile, “Well, I wanted to ask if you’d go with me.”

A crease forms between your brow, an eye closing so you can see him better in the dim light, “You don’t have to ask, you know I’d come.”

The smile deepens, a dimple forming just below the little mark on his cheek that you long to press your lips against.

“I want to ask you, darling.” Ben tells you, the hand curling around, thumb brushing against your cheek, “Come with me. Not as part of our agreement.”

A pause, before he clarifies, “As my date.”

It makes your stomach flip, your teeth sinking into your lower lip, “Yeah?”

He nods, and then you’re bracing against him, pushing up. Your mouth pressing to his, stealing a kiss before you answer.

“Then, yes. Always, yes.”

[dilfcember masterlist]

(Tags: @andrewrussgarfield, @luxuryberzatto)

#wwdilfcember #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x you #obi wan kenobi x f!reader #obi wan imagine

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teenageheartthrob · 2 years

Text

I'm in Deep with This Girl (Bruce Banner x Reader)

Category: Fluff, tiny bit of angst

Ship: Bruce Banner x Reader

Trigger Warnings: Mention of attempted suicide (Bruce)

Summary: Bruce recalls how you met and got to where you are today.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: My baby boy Bruce does not get enough love and it makes me sad, he's one of my favourites in the MCU :( So I wrote something for him

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Bruce Banner had only three or four defining moments in his life that made him feel like he wasn’t himself, wasn’t a coward. That’s how he used to define himself- cowardly. A man much more likely to choose flight than fight. In his very scientific opinion, he would’ve been a much better person if he had of been born as someone other than himself.

As such, there has been many times when the doctor felt he wasn’t in control of his own life, not least because he had two consciousnesses occupying his mind, body and soul.

In Bruce’s mind, any time he wasn’t acting like himself, it was a good thing, except, of course, for the times Hulk felt mass destruction was in order. For the first few decades of his life, he was fully supportive of this philosophy. Little did he know, all it would take to begin to crumble this fragile mentality was a few short weeks with an unlikely source of happiness for the man.

...

The day Bruce finally decided to stick that damn gun down his throat rather than just staring at it, he was comforted by the thought that he would be doing…it, his way- not through Hulk’s recklessness or someone else’s means. Of course when Hulk spit Banner’s bullet straight back out, Bruce resigned himself to living a sub-standard life. One devoid of any real joy or passion, save for his work.

He knew the day Hulk first appeared in his life, he would never find love again. Not that he had really found requited love before. In high school, being the nerdy kid got him into more trouble than it was worth. Of course now he is successful and his bullies are struggling with their 9-5, minimum wage lives.

Bruce found himself laughing quietly over this thought as he, Thor and Scott walked down the streets surrounding Stark Tower. Scott, as per usual, was hungry and for the past week, had been trying desperately to convince anyone that would listen, to try a new Japanese restaurant that opened up nearby with him. The Asgardian god was intrigued by the promise of raw fish and a drink that Scott had assured him rivalled the quality of Asgardian mead.

Thor would later find out Scott Lang was simply a light-weight due to his constantly changing metabolism. This was a heartbreak the God of Thunder would not soon recover from.

It was a brisk morning in New York City when Bruce had overheard this conversation and decided he could use some air.

This was how he found himself walking the same route he did most days. Despite living in a tower with unlimited technology, one of the simple pleasures in Bruce’s day was a short walk to get coffee from his favourite hole-in-the-wall cafe. It made him feel normal, like he wasn’t sticking out like a big green thumb.

In order to reach the quaint location, Bruce had to pass by an establishment by the name of Murphy’s. Despite the implication, it was not an Irish pub. This usually made Bruce chuckle and as such, it stuck out in his brilliant mind, however this was not the only reason for its notability. Murphy’s was also where Bruce found his other simple pleasure in his otherwise stressful and frankly one-dimensional life.

You.

Each day he passed, Bruce snuck a look into the cafe to see if the girl who had caught his eye all those months ago was there. The first time he saw you, you were serving drinks to an older couple. You had obviously been working a few hours already. Your hair had fallen slightly out of place, meaning you were constantly brushing it out of your eyes, and your apron was covered in what he could only assume was powered sugar from the cakes in the cabinet of the shop.

Bruce looked up by chance. He noticed how tired you appeared, yet you still took the time to connect with your customers, smiling and laughing. Listening to them. Perhaps this was drew Bruce to you, your ability to listen instead of dominating the conservation, something he was not typically used to having himself.

Bruce watched you smile again at the couple as he walked on. He knew he was doomed from the minute the voice of the green giant himself uttered “pretty lady.”

...

Since then, his habit had become routine, and despite passing by a little later than usual, the doctor hoped you were still there.

Scott and Thor continued their quite frankly, childish, discussion about whether or not Thor could have taken down a T-Rex when Bruce’s eyes wandered to the cafe.

His heart dropped a little as his quick glance for you was unyielding.

“Banner, the insect does not believe I fought Hulk. Tell him about the Grand…Banner?” Thor spoke, trailing off when Bruce didn’t respond.

Shit. He’d been caught.

Thor stopped walking and followed Bruce’s gaze. Just his luck, you emerged from the kitchen as the Norse god realised what was happening.

A smile spread across the blond’s face. “She is a fine maiden, Banner.”

In response to Thor’s comment, a blush appeared on the shorter’s face. This was for two reasons. Firstly, because it was true. You were gorgeous and Bruce suddenly realised how stupid he was to think that you wouldn’t have someone at home waiting for you. Secondly, he realised how idiotic he’d been to even think that he had a chance with you.

Scott, who had finally realised he was walking alone, had quickly retreated back to the group and assessed the situation.

“Bruce, go talk to her. What’s the worst that can happen?” Lang suggested sincerely.

“I don’t know, you guys. I’m not that type of person.”

“Banner,” Thor said softly to his friend, “no reward ever comes from chances not taken.”

“What he said,” Scott concurred, “Go get her, buddy. We’ll see you at the tower later!”

The superhero quickly grabbed Thor’s arm and dragged him away, leaving Bruce outside the cafe wondering what to do.

In the end, Bruce decided he didn’t feel like being himself today.

It was a blur as he walked into Murphy’s. The sweet smell of caramel and coffee enveloped him, thankfully even in his panic-driven state, Bruce decided a table by the back wall was a safe choice.

At least that way he could see the whole room. It seemed some habits couldn’t be broken and he realised, that was in fact, the very thing that had gotten him where he was now.

He eyed off the other patrons as you came over to greet your new customer.

“Hi, welcome to Murphy’s. What can I get you?” Bruce realised he had to speak but the words were caught in his throat, you were even more beautiful up close. “Sir, are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine, I’m so sorry about that.” Bruce willed himself to take deep breaths. “I was actually wondering when your shift finishes. I was hoping that you’d maybe like to sit together and um, have a coffee possibly? Or not, considering it’s your whole job. Never mind, forget I asked.”

“I’d love to,” you interrupted Bruce’s rambling. He didn’t think it was possible but your smile grew even wider and he quickly discovered it was infectious.

“Wow, um, great! Sorry I’m just surprised.”

“I finish in 10 minutes. Can I get you something in the meantime?” You had asked him, heart fluttering.

“Oh, um, no thank you. But what’s your name if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Of course not. It’s Y/N L/N.”

‘Y/N,’ Bruce repeated in his mind, ‘beautiful.’

…

Bruce emerged from the memory as you changed your position in his lap. He had been reading to you, and knowing you would fall asleep, he had the pair of you wrapped in the warmest blankets he could find.

He started down at the unbelievable woman in his arms and placing a loving kiss to your hairline, reminisced about how he got so lucky.

…

From day one, you’d always managed to surprise him, the man of science who thought he knew his fair share about the world. And maybe that was why you worked so well together. You provided Bruce with the flare he felt his life was lacking. You were the spark he needed to re-ignite his passion for life.

Quickly after you’d agreed to have coffee with the doctor, Bruce realised he was about to have his first date with you, and as he’d already been proven to do, he rambled nervously. He was pleasantly taken-aback as later on, you recounted information he’d told you, back to him. Not only did you listen to him but you asked questions. You were genuinely interested in him and to take it one step further, you did something not many people dared to do with him, you sassed him.

“Save your breath, Banner,” you’d told him, “you’ve got me.”

In that moment, he thought maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so bad to be Bruce Banner after all. But oh boy, there was two moments in the doctor’s life with you that surpassed those easily, making him feel like being Bruce Banner was the best thing he could ever be.

…

“I’m sorry, I’m probably not the guy you were expecting. It’s just that my friends told me to come and talk to you and well, here I am.”

“Bruce,” you started, “is it okay if I call you that?”

He nodded.

You knew who we was, of course you did, and you wanted to respect the title he’d worked so hard to get. Scribbling on a nearby napkin, you continued talking, happy with his consent.

“I’m really happy your friends told you to come in. Truth is, I’ve noticed you too, but I can’t exactly chase a man down the street in the middle of my shift,” you chuckled, sliding him the napkin. “I’m really sorry, I have to go. I’m not ghosting you I swear, this was really great. I just have a thing.”

Bruce took the napkin, feeling his heart sink a little. He never wanted the moment to end. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s my number. Call me yeah? I know where you get your coffee if you don’t.”

Bruce, who was still in shock that you even wanted to see him again, simply smiled as you walked out of the cafe, offering him a final wave.

It’s usually a sign that it has been a good day for Bruce when he returns to the tower and Tony Stark asks him if he’s okay because he’s ‘smiling like a mad man.’

For a week Tony asked him that question, and from that day onwards, Tony knew the key to Banner’s good mood had something to do with you.

…

The second moment, Bruce remembered, was in his opinion, the best of his life so far. It was the night you told him about your feelings for him.

As he himself was falling asleep on the couch, book abandoned, he recalled how utterly stunning you were the night of Tony’s last fundraiser ball.

…

You had thought long and hard about your dress choice. You wanted to impress Bruce as this was the first time he would be seeing you in anything like this outfit. Not to mention that you’d also planned on taking things to the next level with him.

This was your seventh date and when he’d asked you to be his during date number three, you were over the moon. A month later and you were ready to say it, the thing you’d felt since your first date with the gorgeous doctor. The ‘L’ word.

Bruce, naturally, was oblivious to your feelings and was still reeling that you’d even said yes in the first place. But the moment he saw you in that stunning split-leg red dress, he felt his heart swell with pride. All these people in the room with their eyes on you and you were his. You chose him.

You quickly made your way over to your boyfriend, hiding in his arms and muttering that everyone was watching you.

He’d simply said ‘of course they are, look at you’ and kissed you so sweetly you thought you might swoon. You were sure your cheeks matched the colour of your dress.

You mingled with everyone for a while, talking with Dr. Cho about new medical technological advances, and Steve Rogers about the ‘good old days.’ Everyone was polite and accommodating, you realised you felt more at ease than you thought you would.

Across the room, Thor patted Banner’s back, smiling like a proud big brother, and secretly congratulating himself for being responsible for the connection between you two.

You managed to catch Bruce’s eye soon after and motioned to the bar, moving over after saying your goodbyes to Steve.

“Having a good time?” Your boyfriend asked you. He knew you sometimes struggled with new people and crowds.

“Yeah, I am,” you replied, holding his hand from the adjacent seat.

“I’m glad honey. Now let’s get you a drink and pretend I’m the man of your dreams,” Bruce chuckled nervously, it was a joke from a dinner you’d had a few weeks back.

As he flagged down the bartender, you realised this was your chance.

“I think you just might be, Doctor Banner.”

“Wait, what? Really?!” he questioned, trying to recover from choking on his own spit.

“Yes, Bruce,” you laughed softly. You placed a hand on his cheek and moved so your knees were touching, “In fact, I think I love you…”

You searched the brunet’s face for any signs of a reaction as he stared at you, mouth agape. Before you could apologise or ask if he was okay, you felt your lips being pulled against his.

You had never felt so much passion, let alone known Bruce was even capable of kissing like that.

“I love you too, Y/N, so much.”

…

You stirred and realised Bruce’s snoring was the cause of your rude awakening. He had shifted down the couch so that he was lying flat, with you still wrapped in his arms, ear to his chest.

“The only benefit of the other guy,” he’d once told you, “is that I can protect you from anything.”

You smiled to yourself as the words rang in your ears. Lifting your head, you placed a kiss on the doctor’s cheek.

“I love you,” you whispered before sleep took you again.

Despite you constantly reminding him of your love, over the coming months , Bruce would often experience doubt about why you were with him. You knew who he was and who he became when he hasn’t himself.

It had taken a long time for you to convince Bruce that Hulk made him a better person, he was not a seperate entity to be feared but a part of him, and that loving Bruce meant loving Hulk too. Hulk very much liked the sound of that and slowly came out to spend more time with ‘his Y/N.’

You trusted Bruce. He saw your demons as you saw his and you knew that was what likely made your relationship feel so effortless, so natural. You didn’t think of Hulk as a demon though, simply an extension of Bruce and it gave you more of him to love. Loving Bruce Banner was all you wanted to do for the rest of your life.

Bruce still passed by Murphy’s every day. But now, it was to get coffee from his girl.

And he knew he was the luckiest person in the world as you threw a kiss in with every cup.

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

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heavyhitterheaux · 1 year

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Lipstick Alley Preview

AN: Keep in mind that all of this is a work of fiction and it is in no way associated with the actual website

You had been thinking long and hard of how to get Jack and his friends back for playing with your emotions all those years ago and having you second guess your worth. You were biding your time and waited until he became more famous to make your move. You had been nothing but kind to them and all hell broke loose when you realized that Jack had only dated you because his friends dared him to.

You were an easy target.

Quiet, smart, kept to herself, didn’t have a lot of friends (Literally one for that matter, Nadia), stayed out of trouble.

Literally the perfect poster child.

You found out later that he ended up winning 300 dollars for it when you overheard Urban talking about it in the hallway one day.

Was that all you were worth to him?

A lousy 300 dollars?

One can admit that you were surprised that he had shown interest in you and the red flags were coming in left and right. However, you really did like him and thought that all that he was doing was genuine when in fact, he would smile in your face and be laughing with his friends behind your back.

You had definitely now grown into your own.

Ditched the glasses, skin cleared up, eating better, working out, taking care of yourself.

You looked like a completely different person than you were in high school

Oh, and you owned one of the biggest gossip websites on the planet.

Everyone would run to your website first in order to spill the tea, start rumors, as well as clear them up.

You never revealed who your sources were, or your identity for that matter.

Everything was done under your alias and had no connection to your real name so no one would even suspect that it was you.

Not even your closest friends and family knew that you had been the mastermind behind the empire you had built all based on the rise and the fall of different celebrities.

And you had now found your next victim,

Your ex-boyfriend (or if you could even call him that)

You Have 1 New Message

Jack Harlow

I’ll be in D.C. soon and I can’t wait to meet you in person

All you could do was smile to yourself

He had no idea what was in store for him and you were going to make sure that he suffered.

I’m coming for you Jack

Love, The Lipstick Bandit

#jack harlow #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow angst #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x you #jack harlow fic #jack harlow fanfic #ree's writings

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nontrivialproof · 3 months

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Breaking my tumblr silence to say this. I overheard someone talking about Eve Babitz today and was thinking about how her name is pronounced Babich but no one says it that way. I then started googling this and could not find a source on this fact. After going so far as to download an epub of Eve's Hollywood, I'm pretty sure that what happened is that in that book she says that her grandfather's name was pronounced Bahbich. But not her name. I've just been saying it wrong since I was in high school. It's a phonetic name. Raina L.

#raina.txt

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 months

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NYC :: Looking down 5th avenue to Battery Park. Woolworth's Tower, NYC, 1919]

* * * *

Overheard in New York.May 2019. Man in his thirties:

–"I'm very suspicious of the people who loved high school. It's a real red flag for me." ////

Overheard in Brooklyn. May 2019. Women in their early thirties on a stroll:

–"Ok, so what are the things we need to figure out?"

–"The economic business model of a cash only restaurant. [pause] Where Apple sources its weather data from. [pause] And why guys add you as a friend on FB after 10 years."

////

Overheard at the Park Slope food coop. May 2019. Cashier in his mid-fifties to stranger:

–"Why is everyone buying red cabbage today? Did the NYT publish a recipe or something?"

////

[mi niu york :: Irene Pedruelo's weekly newsletter :: expired]

#Mi niu york #Irene Pedruelo #NYC #vintage NYC #overheard in NY

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minusboy · 23 days

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18, 7, 22, 4

hi alistair!!

4. with dialogue i'm proud of

any scene from french exit with the flags but especially this one

”Stop talking about the Roman Empire, Lippmann, no one wants to hear about the Roman Empire,” Tross says, building a jenga tower out of cigarettes. Lippmann gasps, affronted, holding his hand over his heart, his face going through a variety of expressions. He sets down his glass of wine, a determined look on his face. ”We’re not going to be this young forever, you know. We can’t be the Young Bloods when we’re in our fifties,” he says, gesturing somewhat wildly with his hands. ”I’m just saying we should consider-” ”Forever young,” Doc murmurs. The entire table falls silent apart from Lippmann, who just groans, his head in his hands. ”Hoping for the best,” Chuuya says after a pause, taking a sip of his beer to hide his smile and nudging Tross’s feet under the table. ”Expecting the worst?”

18. from that one wip everyone has that has no plot, just vibes

from that currently untitled high school au

”Did you hear that they found a dismembered body in the woods?” Dazai pauses chewing on the end of his pencil just long enough to raise a dubious eyebrow ”Aren’t you getting a little old for ghost stories, Tachihara-kun.” ”I’m serious,” Tachihara says ”I overheard Shun on the phone about it this morning,” Tachihara says, near whisper. Shun was his older brother, three years their senior. He worked as an EMT for the local hospital, which meant that Tachihara was often the first source of any local gossip. Chuuya lifts his head from the desk, suddenly wide awake. ”Anyone we know?” he asks. ”Not that I’m aware of,” Tachihara says with a shrug, leaning dangerously back in his chair. ”Just some guy.” ”Huh,” Chuuya says and blinks several times. His cheek is creased from using his school bag as a pillow. ”So how dismembered are we talkin’,” he asks, lowering his voice. ”Do you think they found all the parts.” ”Huh,” Dazai echoes.

#waves politely back at u #anyway the flags share one braincell in my universe #7 and 22 already taken i'm afraid #a man can only have so much self indulgence #before u ask yeah those are the vibes #ask games

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akkpipitphattana · 1 year

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What is going on with these Thai actors? What is all the drama about, I'm so out of the loop.

i am so not a reliable source for this bc i just get my info from skimming twitter but skdkskd basically the last couple days a BUNCH of gmmtv actors have done some shitty things. i’m gonna say names and assume you know who i’m talking about bc idk you or what shows you’ve seen or what actors you know

so basically two days ago, there was a video posted with prom, mond, sing, and white, and it looked kind of podcast style where they were all just talking? and aside from the fact that they were saying some derogatory and shitty things about women’s bodies, prom admitted to having spied on a toddler in the bathroom when he was in high school (he’s nineteen so it wasn’t even that long ago), and the others weren’t exactly disgusted from what i gather, more confused. also white has done a bunch of other shit like make transphobic comments and made a homophobic rape joke with foei about first during safe house. also apparently foei reposted an anti-lgbt video to his insta story??? bro you work for the gayest company in the world

and then on top of that, mark the next day was overheard in a video telling prom not to worry because “it’s normal.” that’s one i’m least confident on cause it was apparently a rough translation and the full context wasn’t there ig but yikes if true. and completely unrelated but while all this was going on, a video of phuwin saying the r word and calling someone dyslexic resurfaced from a few years ago, but he posted an apology immediately and explained how he has since learned and blah blah blah. and also apparently captain did something?? but idk him and also dk what he did so

like tbh i don’t keep up with most of them, so none of this really bothers me on a personal level, but it’s like damn y’all fucking suck. where are gmmtv getting their actors, the sewers???

#also i’m assuming you know about ohm’s thing cause that was months ago #but also him and phuwin are the two i’m like. it’s really not that big of a deal #like not that what they did doesn’t suck but it was literal years ago and they’ve both apologized and from what we can observe they’ve #changed etc etc #but this whole prom thing 💀 fucking christ #gmmtv #asks #nonnies

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vecnasrevengerp · 11 months

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Dear Readers,

As some of you know, I've worked at Enzo's for the past several years. (Just on weekends, and mostly because Enzo himself begged not to leave when my publication took off. I have a heart for the people!) As a waiter-extraordinaire, I keep my eyes and ears open for information and leads.

I never expected to be dished up the biggest story of the weekend, but lo and behold, some unfortunately familiar faces waltzed into our back room on Saturday eve. Readers, the wannabe private eyes (several of whom tried to kick me out of Joyce Byer's wake just last week), looked bad. Like they'd crawled up from hell!

Here are the facts:

A break-in was reported at Hawkins High School on Saturday night, just after sundown.

Early reports mention substantial damage to the gym floor, and even tampering with the 1986 time capsule.

ABC pest control was seen outside of the school in hazmat suits, loading up trashbags of what looked to be dead rodents.

Now, far be it from me to jump to conclusions, but.... with eccentric folks like Murray Bauman, known thieves like Max Mayfield, and certified loony tunes like Mike Wheeler and Jonathan Byers in their midst, one can assume that the unlikely crew and the break-in are connected.

Especially given the state of a few seemingly-innocent citizens. Sources say Suzie Bingham and Evan Beckett, both allegedly in town for the funeral, checked in to the after-hours clinic for routine checkups and rabies shots.

Still think it's a coincidence? Well, worry not, I saved the best for last. I overheard several comments throughout the duration of my service to this ill-fated group, including:

"That was crazy"

"Is everyone okay?"

"Anybody trying to f*ck up the ancestral plane?"

"That was f*cked."

I also heard whispers of a letter unearthed in the time capsule? It seemed to be weighing heavily on several of the diners, which only made me wonder-- what was it? The Zimmerman telegram? What international espionage are these teenyboppers involved in?

Though, I suppose you can't trust just anything from a table where drug paraphernalia was openly passed around. I'm pretty sure I saw a needle in this man's pocket! I mean, the horror! Enzo's is a family establishment! I even tried to call Hakwins P.D., but the line was busy. What is our town coming to?

Anywho, once again I've gotten off topic. The night took a rather... dramatic turn of events when it was revealed that we have a missing persons case right in our backyard.

Luke Wheeler was last seen at approximately 5:12 p.m. by Mike Wheeler (father of the year). He was scheduled to arrive at the Gillespie house at 6:30 p.m., and Sherri called the precinct when he was more than forty minutes late. Chief Powell canvassed the area and put out an alert at approximately 9:17 p.m.

If you see anything, do call in to the precinct. I will be sending out updates when they are available. Parents, it's best to keep a close eye on your young. Remember-- always assume the worst! Use the buddy system! (Nancy, should you need an armed escort, I am available.) STAY ALERT TO STAY ALIVE!

Signing off,

Editor-in-Keith

THE STATS

SUZIE BINGHAM lost -60 HP and has sustained substantial injuries from the swarm of bats. She is expected to suffer from night terrors, shivers, and poorly-placed rashes.

EVAN BECKETT lost -60 HP and has sustained substantial injuries from the swarm of bats. He is expected to suffer from full-body shivers, vivid flashbacks, and constipation.

MAX MAYFIELD lost -25 HP by the end of the night. She sustained cuts on her hands and face from the bats, and gashes on her knees from her fall in the parking lot. She will experience mild symptoms of psychosis as a result of the vision.

#vr:admin #vr:event #event:002 #what you seek is seeking you

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youllallriseintheink · 2 years

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An Obedient Son, chapter 4: Death and Redemption

The following is the story of Michael Afton, his relationship with his father, and how it affected him.

I hope you all enjoy this.

---

The next morning, not long after 10 AM, William called over to Luanne’s and found out that Liz had stood her up. William sighed and remembered his own adolescence, when he would tell his parents he was in one place when really he was running off to deal drugs or kiss girls. Liz was getting to that age... he’d have to make sure that either he or Mike were home at all times in case she tried to call.

As of that evening, they still had no word from her and worry was setting in. The next day, he and Michael were driving around town, putting up missing person posters. Michael was holding himself together admirably well. William could tell that he was concerned, but an onlooker would have been none the wiser.

“Do you have any idea why she might have done this?” William asked while they were driving around.

“I don’t know. She overheard us talking about the police and was really freaking out about it. Maybe she went to them or ran away. I really don’t think she’s out having fun.”

“God, I hope you’re wrong.”

William spent the night wide awake, scared for his freedom as much as his daughter. The day after, William came into work and found out that his freedom was safe and his daughter was dead.

It was a regular day of class. Michael was called to the principal’s office. Thankfully, it seemed as though seniors were too old to “ooo” at him.

“Phone for you,” the secretary explained.

Michael was glad he wasn’t in trouble, but he had a bad feeling about the phone call. He took the phone stiffly and put it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mike,” William said in a worryingly gentle voice, “I found Liz. She’s not missing. She’s dead.”

“Oh.” Michael said dumbly. He felt like he’d just had his power source removed. Like he couldn’t think. Like a sudden movement might make him fall apart.

“Don’t come to work today. In fact, take the whole week off work. Maybe more than that. I’m sorry about this.”

A week passed. It was strange- when Evan had died, Mike had had his own problems to deal with. It had felt strangely fitting that he should be punished for a while after a death had occurred. This time, he had nothing but Liz’s absence.

A string of too-easy classes passed by. A funeral, another comfort visit from Henry, and a few sleepless, lonely nights did the same. William wasn’t home much, but maybe that was good- having an empty house meant Mike could cry if he wanted to. Maybe William was avoiding the house for the same reason, and they were both playing stoic for each other. But it was also good when Michael could finally get back to work and get his mind off of that empty house.

---

Months passed. Things came to feel almost normal again, or as normal as they could be.

It was just another day at work when William finally decided to show Michael the promised something that he was ready for now. Michael was installing wires in an exoskeleton when William came in.

“Hey,” he said brightly. “You remember how, before all of this, I promised to show you something? Well, would you like to see it now?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Michael answered. He’d honestly forgotten about it.

“Alright. Come with me.” William led Michael through to the back end of the warehouse, where he unlocked a very heavy-duty steel lock and led him through a door.

The room on the other side of the door reminded Michael of his high school chemistry lab. Two of the walls were lined with glass cupboards full of glassware while the other two sported whiteboards full of writing Michael didn’t understand. The counters and sinks were immaculate and had boxes of rubber gloves, safety goggles, and sanitizer left on them. It puzzled Michael as to why his dad was treating this place as such a secret.

“Son, I’ve been studying immortality. I know that sounds far-fetched, but I’ve actually had some success with it. This is clearance-level number one. You’re the sixth person I’ve shown this to. But it goes deeper than this, and I want to bring you into its depths. Come with me.”

William started to the other side of the room and Michael followed. Michael looked for some cue that William was kidding, but found no such sign of it on his stony face. He looked a bit nervous if anything. Nervous Michael wouldn’t believe him, maybe?

The two stopped in front of a refrigerator, which William opened to reveal a bottle of scotch and a shelf full of test tubes containing a clearish blue-white substance. William pulled out a test tube of it, his eyes alight with pride.

“This is remnant. You know the stories about ghosts getting stuck on earth because of unfinished business? Well, remnant is the scientific mechanism behind that. It’s essentially unresolved trauma in liquid form, and it has soul-binding properties. Too much of it in a body, and a ghost can’t move on after death. But it can also be harvested from the newly dead, and then it has all kinds of uses. I put it on the animatronics as a safety measure, so that those who die in accidents from them will have their souls caught within them. That way, once I learn to transfer souls, it will be like they never died. That’s why there are so many ghost stories about my locations- they’re true. I’ve captured souls.” William looked at Michael. “Do you believe me?”

Michael wasn’t sure what to say. It all seemed so absurd, but William was clearly serious about it. “Yes,” he said.

William smiled. “Good. Tomorrow I’ll show you the next room. For now, go get us some shot glasses. They’re in the far cupboard. Go on, I know it won’t be your first time. I was young once, too.”

Michael did as he was told. William poured them both a shot of scotch and put a small syringe of remnant in each of them. “To make us two hard-to-kill motherfuckers,” William explained.

“Yep, liquid trauma- gotta be a lot of health benefits to that,” Michael replied. Drinking the weird stuff was a little nerve-wracking, but hey, if his dad was drinking it, it couldn’t be too bad.

“Hasn’t hurt me yet! Cheers!”

The two clinked their glasses and drank. Remnant, as it turned out, was flavourless.

---

The next day, William had met up with Michael as soon as he came in for work and insisted that he watch a security tape before he saw the next room. He led Michael to an empty room with a computer in it and left him to watch it alone. Michael inserted the tape and pressed play.

The tape showed the room in which Circus Baby was being kept. Liz opened the door, still carrying the overnight bag she’d had with her on the day she went missing.

“Hey,” she called to the robot, as though to see if it would react. She stayed in the doorway, too cautious to come closer. “I won’t be long- I don’t want to keep Luanne waiting. I know I’m not supposed to see you, but... I just needed to talk to somebody. It’s not exactly the easiest thing to talk about...”

The robot’s blue eyes focused on her.

“Okay. The problem is, my family is a bloody mess. I already lost my mom and my little brother, and now my dad and my brother are talking about doing illegal shit, my dad went missing, and no one will tell me what’s going on. He’s probably in jail. I’m scared that something’ll happen and I’m gonna lose em’. I just want things to be normal again.” Liz’s voice cracked. She was trembling. She let the door close behind her so that she could sit down and cry.

Unbeknownst to her, she’d gotten just close enough to let the robot scan her face.

“Guest profile: Elizabeth Afton,” the robot said in its creepy, female voice. “Playing recorded message.” With that, William’s voice came out of the robot’s speakers.

“Hi, honey! Do you like what I did with your design? She can sing. She can dance. She can make balloons, and she even serves ice-cream. She’s one of my favourite animatronics I’ve made, because she’ll always remind me of you. I hope you love her.” With that, Circus Baby whipped an ice-cream cone out of its chest cavity.

Elizabeth smiled. “Yeah. Like that.” She wiped away her tears. And then, maybe in a moment of forgetfulness, she stepped towards the robot to get her ice cream.

A metal claw emerged from the machine, grabbing onto Elizabeth, dragging her into its chest cavity, and crushing her alive as she screamed. The tape cut out.

Michael wiped away a couple tears and repressed the heaviness that had set in from watching his sister die. His dad had wanted him to watch this. But why? Then Michael realized: she had been killed by an animatronic. That meant, assuming that the immortality stuff was true, they had her soul.

Michael swung open the door to see his father, who had been waiting right outside of it.

“We have her soul, don’t we?” he asked.

“Yes! But let’s not talk about it here. Come with me.”

William quickly took Michael through the warehouse. He was walking quickly- Michael had to jog to keep up.

“I also showed you that because I wanted to show you that you’re not the only one who’s broken this family. If I hadn’t kept Liz out of the loop, she might still be alive. But I’m going to show you how we’re going to fix our mistakes.”

William unlocked the door to the chemistry lab, and then unlocked another door at the far side of it, which led into a much smaller room. The room was grey and concrete, the only furnishings being a computer on a desk, an object covered in black tarp, and two gurneys with constraints, one which currently held Circus Baby. William walked to the far side of the room and threw the tarp off of what looked like an unmoving but perfectly preserved Evan Afton.

Michael’s jaw dropped. It looked so real- real hair, real-looking eyes and skin, even Evan’s clothes from when he was alive. “Uh. Dad, what... is that?”

“It’s an android. A hyper-realistic android with lungs that breathe and blood that comes out if you cut him. Henry made it. He said it was giving him some unhealthy thoughts, so he gave it to me. Then I had a contractor do the decor using photographs. I’m having the two of them make one for Elizabeth as we speak.”

“Why?”

“Well, while I do plan on making a fortune by helping people become immortal, and I don’t plan on dying myself, I’m also looking forward to bringing this family back together once I master the remnant. Watch this.”

William plugged Circus Baby into the wall, causing her eyes to light up in green. Then, he hooked her up to the computer and opened up her files. The code immediately replaced itself with words.

Daddy, when will you get me out of here? She’s making me have awful thoughts and I’m scared.

I’ll do it as soon as I can, sweetheart, William typed. The two of us are working on it. I’m sorry that this happened.

Okay.

I’m sorry that there isn’t much we can do to make you more comfortable. Could you show Mike your code? I’m doing a demonstration.

Okay. Hi Mike.

For a second or two, the text disappeared and was replaced by computer code. Then it flashed back.

“Liz. Oh my God. She really is still there.” And she was scared. They really did have to do this.

Michael’s eyes then landed on Evan’s android. “And we have Evan’s soul, too?”

“Yep. I don’t know how it happened, but he’s in Golden Freddy. It’s best not to disturb them- the combination of programming and souls doesn’t make for terribly safe beings- but they’re there. ”

Michael was too overwhelmed to speak. Elizabeth’s death had barely sunk in, but he’d thought a lot about Evan. Evan had been relatively normal once, and then Michael had found out about his weird delusions about the animatronics and tormented him with them for years. Michael was at least part of the reason he’d been such a frightened, miserable mess. And then he’d killed him. Evan deserved a second chance at life. It would be better this time.

“Do you think that Evan’ll be scared of me once he comes back?”

“I don’t know. You don’t look like the person who killed him. And you don’t act like him, either."

“Yeah. Why would he be scared of a smaller version of you?” Evan had always seen William as someone strong and brave enough to face all the things he was scared of. A potential protector. And now, Michael had his father’s face and a lot of his mannerisms, and he didn’t feel so out of control anymore. “Well, no matter what they think, we’re going to be their saviours.”

“Exactly.” William nodded and put a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “You know, Henry is a great man. But when Charlie died, he fell apart. It’s a rare person who can go through losses like this and go right on and find a way to make it right again. And you’re that kind of man- you just watched your sister die, and instead of crying, you put the pieces together. I’m proud of you.”

Michael turned around and gave his father a hug. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I was going to leave the last door for tomorrow. But if you’d like, we could do it today. You’ll be the only one I’ve ever shown the process of harvesting remnant. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Let’s do it,” Michael said without hesitation, and William started towards that last door.

#five nights at freddy's #my fanfiction #william afton #michael afton #elizabeth afton #tw: child death

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