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softlyspector · 1 year

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Promise

Summary: A year after his mother’s death, Marc travels back to Chicago to face his father. He doesn’t expect it to be easy but he also doesn’t expect it to be so hard. He especially doesn’t expect to find refuge from the hard moments in a little known witch’s shop a few blocks over. And definitely not in one keeping watch over the family’s piano.

This chapter: Marc isn't taking you on a date. At least, he's pretty sure he's not.

Tales Untold; Part VI - Series Masterlist

Pairing: eventual Marc Spector x Reader (eventual minor Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings (this chapter): fluff, Marc Spector’s terrible, oblivious flirting, lots of ✨touching✨, mental health issues, tense relationship with a parent, mentions of past child abuse, a touch of angst

A/N: Hello! As always, thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated! If there are any additional warnings that need added, please let me know. If you want to be added to the tag list, you can do so from the series masterlist!

VI.

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago 3:16 PM

“Is that the last one?”

Marc nods, examining the side of the last window box.

It’s still a bit rough around the edges, but you seem to enjoy sanding them down yourself before you paint.

“You did a good job,” Elias says, approaching Marc where he stands at the workbench. “I’m sure it’s appreciated.”

Marc’s guard snaps up at the praise, shoulders raising around his ears, before he takes a breath, nods, and makes an effort to relax. “Yep. I think so.”

His father lies a hand along the wood, his fingers tracing the curved back edge. “I wonder whatever happened to that birdhouse we made.”

He freezes, not expecting his father to mention that. “You…don’t know?”

Elias shakes his head and tucks both hands behind his back. “I’m not sure. We never put it in the backyard.” He frowns and Marc glances up to meet his eyes, “Why didn’t we?”

Marc sucks in a breath and diverts his gaze again, turning back to the bench to clear away the mess he’d made. “Probably because of mom.”

The silence that follows his words lasts more than a few minutes while Marc works. He carefully puts the tools away, then clears away the leftover wood and sawdust. When he’s almost finished, it becomes clear his dad isn’t going to answer him.

Marc turns to Elias. “I gotta go,” he says, because he’d rather not think about it. “I was supposed to be over at Tales Untold a couple hours ago.”

And he misses you. Every second he’s away he thinks about you, and he’s not sure if that’s normal or not.

“Well,” Elias clears his voice, “At least it's over now.” He gestures at the flower box, but Marc is fairly sure he’s talking about something else.

It hurts.

Maybe it's over, but he lives with it everyday.

“Yeah,” he answers. “It’s done now.”

Elias pats his shoulder gently and then turns to walk back up the stairs. Marc doesn’t follow, staring at the last window box, wondering what it meant that it was done.

Tales Untold, Chicago 6:36 PM

Marc can hear you talking to a customer as he comes down the steps.

At the foot of the stairs, he steels himself for any social interaction he might have to participate in.

Usually, the customers ignore him.

But some of them are chatty and others, the regulars, have started to recognize him. He knows they feel rude not speaking to him when they know him, but he’d prefer not to have to talk.

He pushes aside the curtain that you pinned back in the evenings when the shop closed, and steps through.

To his surprise, you’re the one that turns to him excitedly. “Look Marc! Isn’t this perfect?”

You hold up a vintage Cubs t-shirt with a smile. “Cool,” he comments mildly, approaching the counter where the customer stands.

“You guys big Cubs fans?” She asks, her eyes darting over him.

“Marc is,” you answer for him, folding the shirt up carefully on the counter with a smile. “But we’re going to a game soon.”

“Yeah, well, those have been in the back of my closet for years. Can’t keep up with it anymore so it’s time to go.”

You nod knowingly. “Yes, they are ready for a new home.”

If the customer thinks anything of your phrasing, she doesn’t mention it.

Marc tunes out of the rest of your conversation, patiently waiting for you to finish up, and only filtering back into the conversation when he notices the woman inching closer to him. You don’t seem to notice, or maybe you don’t care, but if she steps any closer, her arm is going to brush into his, and he can think of nothing worse.

He moves to trail around the counter, leaning next to you on your side of it. He should have started there in the first place. He fingers the edge of the clothing stacked on the counter, a couple of t-shirts, a sweatshirt, and beneath that a couple of records.

You finish with the woman and follow her to the front of the store to lock the door behind her and flip the open sign to closed.

“Y’know I’m sure I’ve got some vintage stuff somewhere if you want it,” he says when you find your way back to him. “Stuff from when…from before I left.”

You ignore him to note, “She seemed to like you.” For one delusional moment, he thinks you might be jealous, until he looks up at you and catches the expression on your face. You’re trying and failing to suppress a smile. Your tone is teasing.

Marc rolls his eyes.

“Do you want what I have or not?” He huffs.

“Sure,” you step up to the counter to grab the sweatshirt and t-shirts. You leave the records where they lie. “C’mon. I wanna try them on.”

Marc follows you back upstairs anxiously.

You’re talking, something about the weather predictions for the day of the Cubs game - supposedly it was going to rain that Saturday - when you pause at the top of the stairs. “Oh, my god. Marc?” You turn to look back down the steps at him, still halfway down the staircase. “Did you cook dinner?”

“Yeah, well,” he grumbles, tromping up the rest of the stairs to stand beside you in the doorway, “you usually cook for me.”

Your eyes sparkle, something gentle and infinitely fond resting in your gaze. “I didn’t realize you knew how,” you tease.

“Ha ha,” he deadpans, glancing away, “hilarious.”

You nudge your shoulder gently into his and then step into the apartment. His breath catches as you walk away, the scent of you and the heavy cut of your gaze lingering with him.

“You’re too good to me, Marc. How am I ever supposed to pay you back?”

Something inside him twinges. These are things he never wants paid back to him. “You don’t gotta. Just eat.” Then he adds, “You do a lot. For me. Don’t worry about it.”

You hum and tuck the shirts you carry into the hamper just inside the bathroom door. “I always do. You’re much too good to me, honey,” you say with a soft smile. “I mean, without you, the storefront would still be a disaster. You’ve done so much.”

“Don’t cut yourself short, you help all the time” he rumbles, moving back to the stove. You helped too much, like you don’t get why Marc does things for you. “Thought you were gonna try ‘em on?”

“Should probably wash them first,” you amend yourself, washing your hands in the basin.

The water shuts off and silence fills the air.

He’s aware that you’re behind him, moving slowly closer, and he has to repress a smile.

You’re not very stealthy anyways, but the scent of your skin gives you away even if you were. He turns and beckons you closer, reaching out to tug you close into his side.

“How do you always know?” you gripe. “I’m not a loud person.”

He kicks out a foot behind you, hemming you in between him and the stove. Really, it's just so he can touch you. “Go ahead and take a look,” he bumps his chin into your jaw, directing your gaze and not answering your question. You turn your head to meet his eyes instead, the look in them softened and content.

“I stand by what I said. You do too much for me.”

“Well,” he tries to joke, “You are behind on your painting responsibilities.”

So far, you’ve painted two of the three window boxes. You haven’t even considered how you want to paint the sign.

You wrinkle your nose at him and turn to lift the lid on one of the pots.

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago 1:13 PM

“I forgot how much I missed this,” Marc says, twisting the tag off the new Cubs jersey. “Haven’t been to a game in years.” He tosses the tag into the trash and rolls his shoulders. The fabric is a bit staticky, which he doesn’t love.

He fidgets with the hem of it, trying to decide if he should wear something under it so it doesn't stick to him. “Marc,” Steven pipes up, “Bit of water will do the trick to get rid of the static.”

Jake tilts forward, examining the shirt. “We look good,” he comments, oddly mild in tone.

If Marc didn’t know better, he’d say Jake was nervous. “It’s not a date,” he answers as he yanks the shirt off and turns on the tap to run cool water onto a washcloth.

“Well, we can’t be sure since someone didn’t fuckin’ ask,” Jake rolls his eyes.

Marc runs the cloth on the inside of the shirt and then over his skin before putting it back on. It’s much better. He adjusts the collar, decides it would have to do. “I didn’t ask because we’d sound like fucking idiots.”

“Remember to take those shirts with you, yeah?” Steven reminds him, cutting off whatever Jake was about to say that would invariably escalate into an argument.

“Got it,” he says, tugging his Cubs hat on before reaching for the bathroom door.

Marc grabs the shirts that he’d dug out of the back of his closet from the hall side table where he’d left them. He calls out a goodbye to his father but doesn’t pause to listen for a response before he’s out the door and making his way to Tales Untold.

He’s not sure you actually want them, considering you now have a collection of two t-shirts and a sweatshirt of a sport you don’t pay attention to.

Still, he wants you to have them.

He wants you to have them because they used to be his. Maybe it's a tad possessive, but he hopes you’ll want his things over a stranger’s.

Marc had considered briefly if he should give them to you at all, stalled in the mouth of his childhood bedroom’s closet, his teenage wardrobe staring back at him.

He’d been worried about what you might feel or see if you touch them.

But baseball was a balm, a savior in his childhood and teenage years, so he figures their energy must be like the piano’s. Warm and sun drenched and good.

When he thinks of baseball, he thinks of summer, miles of green grass in the park, warm days with his dad, melting ice cream.

It has to be good.

And this is something he wants to share with you after all. This is something that’s important to him.

Halfway down your street, Marc makes a split second decision, and ducks into the florist next to Tales Untold. He’s immediately overwhelmed by what he sees, rows and rows of flowers and arrangements, a riot of color that makes him want to shut his eyes for a moment.

“Can I help you?” The woman behind the counter straightens and smiles at him.

“Good idea,” Jake muses from the glass of one refrigerated case. “Flowers are always good.”

Marc relaxes a fraction, feeling less stupid than seconds before. Still, he has no idea what to get.

It’s not a date, he thinks, and he can get you flowers for no good reason if he damn well pleases.

“Yeah,” he turns to the woman and steps closer. “I think so.”

“What are you looking for? If you don’t have an idea, I can help if you let me know what occasion you’re buying for.”

Occasion? What the fuck was he supposed to say? A maybe date? A baseball game?

You like purple though, that he knows, and tulips.

“I’m, uh, looking for something purple. Or tulips. Whatever you have.”

She smiles and rounds the counter, leading Marc deeper into the shop. “Well, I have either, or both.” She shows him a bouquet wrapped in paper. Purple tulips. “I also have pink or yellow tulips. Or, I have some options that are purple but not tulips.”

Marc glances at where she points and decides to stick with what he knows. “Purple tulips are good.”

“What’s the occasion?” She asks as they move to the counter and Marc pulls out his wallet. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not actually sure,” he grumbles.

She smiles to herself, like she’s heard that before. She makes sure the blooms are securely wrapped before handing them and the receipt over. “Well, good luck then.”

“Thanks,” he manages, feeling odd.

He’s never bought anyone flowers before.

“Not a date,” Jake scoffs, “Who are you kidding, hermano?”

Marc grits his teeth and doesn’t deign to respond.

The shop’s door is unlocked when he tries it, and Marc wishes again that you’d stop doing that. He could knock, he could wait for you to come answer the door.

He finds you upstairs examining yourself in the mirror by the door. “I think I like the vintage t-shirt look,” you say by way of greeting, not glancing at him as you turn and watch your reflection.

“Looks good on you,” he answers, holding up the shirts he'd brought you. “Brought you mine. Washed ‘em and everything.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you smile and turn, grabbing the keys to your truck and the canvas bag you carried everywhere from the side table under the mirror. “Put them there,” you nod toward the counter with your chin, adjusting your shirt again.

You haven’t looked at him properly yet, and he feels the tiniest stab of jealousy when it's clear you probably aren’t going to change, that you’ve settled on the shirt you have on. He crosses the counter to set them down before turning. “Where do you want these?” He brandishes the flowers at you, Jake cursing at him that he’s going to damage the stalks.

You frown and glance at him through the mirror. “Wha- Oh!”

A surprised look pulls over your face and you turn to face him. “Did you get me flowers?”

Marc grits his teeth, wondering why this felt so weird. “Yeah,” he grumbles.

“Oh,” you say again, smiling this time as you move toward him. “That’s - that’s so kind of you.” You take the flowers from him, pressing your nose against them for a moment as you close your eyes and inhale, “I haven’t gotten flowers in forever.”

Marc watches you, watches the sun catch in your lashes before his gaze slips to the shape of your lips. “When was the last time?” He asks, eyes flicking back up to yours in time to see your eyes flick open again.

“My dad got me flowers when I dropped out of college,” you laugh, a bright expression on your face. “It was a joke, y’know. Because people usually get them when they graduate. I’ve never gotten them from, uh-,”

You don’t finish your thought, abruptly hugging Marc instead. It's so sudden and so quick, he doesn’t get to hug you back. He turns, his body automatically twisting to keep you in his eyesight when you slip past him. He watches you pull down a vase and stick them in, still wrapped in paper. “Thank you, Marc. I’ll fix them up properly later,” you say, stroking one petal lightly. “You got my favorite and everything.”

You almost leave them sitting on the counter, but seem to think better of it. You carry them across the room to the window and leave them there, directly below one of the more recent stained glass creations.

“‘Course I did,” he says softly when you just stand there staring at them in the afternoon sun. “We gotta go.”

“We do,” you say excitedly.

Your energy is infectious and Marc finds himself smiling as he follows you down the stairs.

Wrigley Field, Chicago 2:45 PM

Marc is easy for you to read most of the time. But you can’t decide on what the flowers mean, on the slightly nervous way he’d held them out to you.

The whole drive to the stadium, all you could think of was the way he almost kissed you, the way you thought he almost kissed you in the truck at the hardware store, the anxious way he’d asked you if you still wanted to go to a baseball game with him. And now, the flowers before said baseball game.

Was it possible…that you were on a date?

Probably not. You were reading into it too much.

But, you had said it’s a date, the day you first talked about going to a game. Had you accidentally asked him on a date?

It makes you giggle a little.

It’s stupid and funny, and you’re a little bit giddy that he wanted to go on a date with you if that’s what had happened.

Marc’s hand is at the small of your back now, gently but pointedly moving you through the throngs of people already inside the stadium.

“I had no idea so many people liked baseball,” you remark lightly.

Marc snorts. “You think you’re funny.”

“I am funny. You laughed.”

He rolls his eyes, guiding you into line at a concession stand.

If it had been anyone other than Marc, you would have been annoyed at the hand against your spine. But you like his touch, the warmth of his palm soaking through your shirt, slightly possessive and entirely protective. Though you have a sneaking suspicion that it’s more for his benefit, to ground himself in the crowd, than anything else.

You watch Marc’s eyes scan the crowd, before they snap back to you. “So,” you start, Marc’s hand finally dropping from your back. You immediately miss the warmth of his touch. “Steven told me he works at a museum in London.” He’d also told you a funny little half story about how he’d been fired from his other museum job, so many details left out it hardly made sense. Something about a bathroom, something about security cameras.

Marc goes still at your words, like he knows what you’re going to ask next.

“But you never said what you do. Or is Steven the breadwinner?” You nudge your hip into his side. “Military?”

“How-,”

“It’s in the way you stand. It’s in the way you watch the crowd.”

He scoffs at you but there’s no malice in it. “Think that’s just the general PTSD.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a laugh as you inch forward in line. Marc tugs you out of the way of a group of drunk friends, already swaying and boisterous, cups of beer sloshing in their hands. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He sighs, hand retreating once more. “It’s a little complicated.”

You shift closer to him and loop your arm through his, tightening your fingers on his bicep. The muscle is firm beneath your touch, skin hot under the soft fabric of the Cubs jersey. You glance at his hand, wondering how weird, or how obvious, you might be if you tangled your fingers with his.

You push down the urge, instead watching the twist of tendon in his forearm, the vein that runs to his elbow, the shape of his hands. He has beautiful hands, veined, the skin darker than when you’d met him from hours spent outside over the last weeks and months.

Just like when you’d first met him, you get the sense that he doesn’t know, or at least doesn’t think about, how beautiful he is. Unfairly gorgeous, really.

“But you were in the military,” you glance back to his eyes.

“I was,” he answers and avoids your gaze, raven eyes focused on the cement beneath his feet, brow furrowed.

You let it drop after that, when he seems uncomfortable with admitting it. It’s quiet for a moment, but Marc reaches up with his other hand to lie his fingers over yours. He squeezes your hand. “So, what did you do? You told my dad you were a server.”

You grin and try to hide it by pressing your face into his shoulder. “Can you believe,” you murmur, “that we know so many things about each other and not this?”

You think Marc will just roll his eyes, but he chuckles lowly, fingers tightening on yours before he lets go. “So?”

“I tried college. I hated it. I tried working in offices. I hated it. I didn’t like serving but I also didn’t mind it as much as the other things. Less monotony with it, I guess. So, that’s what I did.”

You reach the front of the line then, and Marc insists on paying for what you order. He carries your drinks while you juggle the food. “Do you ever wish you’d finished school?”

“No,” you tilt your head as Marc navigates the crowd. “I would have been miserable. I know I’m lucky to have ended up where I have.” He’s slightly ahead of you, leading more than walking with you.

A smile tugs at your mouth when he seems to realize it, slowing his pace so you can walk next to him. “I’m lucky you ended up where you are.”

The words are weighted, though Marc tries to assume a casualness about it.

Your heart gives a strange little pulse, and you remember again the way he’d almost kissed you outside the hardware store. The humid, sun warmed little world, the push of his skin against yours.

Or, maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe you were just hopeful and willing to believe what you wanted to be true.

Certainly either Steven or Jake hadn’t been too thrilled about it. Your stomach clenches when you remember the violent way he’d jerked away from your hand.

Or, maybe you were reading into that too, and Marc hadn’t wanted to kiss you.

You’d rather not risk what you have with Marc trying to decipher it.

You’ve still even yet to meet the elusive Jake.

The air is sticky with moisture, but not hot, and when Marc leads you to the mouth of the stairs that lead down into the seating, a warm breeze blows over you that alleviates some of the mugginess.

On the horizon dark clouds crowd the sky, fat, and heavy with rain. “Think we’ll get rained on?” You ask Marc as you descend the steps carefully to your seats.

Marc reaches out to steady you, setting the cups aside so you can balance one hand on his arm and take some of the snacks from you with the other. “Nah,” he answers when you’re seated. “I won’t let it.”

“Oh, you control the weather now?”

“No,” he smirks, “But this is the midwest and the weather reports are never right. It won’t rain.”

You nudge your shoulder into his, “Okay, I think I might agree with you.” Marc's mouth twitches again into what you’ve come to realize is a smile, more relaxed now, and hooks his arm behind your shoulders along the back of your seat.

Immediately you’re overwhelmed by his scent, the clean soapy smell of him. He’s wearing his usual cologne, earthy with sage and bergamot.

Despite your best intentions, you lean into him a little while resisting the urge to just press your face into his shoulder, his neck.

It doesn't help that he’s unfairly handsome. No person should look that good in a baseball jersey. He’s looking out at the field, a muscle jumping in his cheek, sharp jaw flexing every few seconds with lingering anxiety. The tendons stand out in his neck and you wonder again if Marc is ever at ease.

The top few buttons of the jersey are undone, the smooth expanse of skin beneath enticing. You catch the glitter of the necklace that always hangs around his throat. You’ve yet to see it in its entirety, curious as to what hangs on the end or if it was only a chain.

He’s beautiful. And it makes you sick with longing. He’s too pretty for his own good.

You clear your throat, shaking yourself a little.

“Are you going to explain what’s going on to me?” You ask, plucking up the basket of french fries you’d ordered.

He glances over at you in surprise and you have to resist the urge to reach up and pull his baseball cap off. His eyes are shaded, darker than usual in the shadow of the bill. You want to see the shades of brown in the sun, you want to see his dark curls slip across his forehead and his brows to wrinkle in irritation when they do. “You’ve never been to a baseball game.”

“This is my very first,” you confirm.

“Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“Well,” you shrug, “because it didn’t matter. I wanted to go. With you.”

Marc rolls his eyes at you, “Right, but I woulda done more if I’d known, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches in your lungs at the endearment on his tongue. Marc seems surprised too, but you brush past it quickly. You call him honey, afterall. “And what would you have done, Marc?”

“Gave you a lesson on baseball,” he deadpans, not looking away from you.

“Glad I didn’t say anything then,” you note and Marc’s face breaks into a half suppressed smile. He looks away from you, shaking his head. “So, are you gonna explain what’s going on to me?”

“Of course I will.”

You try to hide your smile and fail, instead offering the basket of fries to him as you wait for the game to start. “Okay, so go ahead.”

Wrigley Field, Chicago 5:53 PM

Marc makes a fairly funny companion for a baseball game.

You usually don’t witness such intense displays of emotion from him. You’d expected him to watch with his usual passive grumpiness, but to your surprise, he’s on his feet and shouting along with the rest of the spectators when it's called for, tugging you up with him.

You’re a good sport about it, cheering along with him.

It’s funny and very endearing and incredibly fun.

The people sitting next to you make conversation with you when they notice your vintage t-shirt, which you’re very proud of, and find out it's your first game. Marc’s mouth only twitches when they endeavor to make your first game memorable. They buy you a cup of beer and make enough noise to get you on the jumbotron once.

Marc even chats with them, pokes lightly at you with them for not being a lifelong fan. He seems at ease talking to them, either because they’re also native Chicagoans or because it's the familiar subject of baseball, you aren’t sure.

You like how open he is, how he doesn’t try to hide anything in those moments. You wonder what he’d be like if he weren’t always so self contained, if he didn’t feel like he always had to hide.

He periodically hooks an arm around your waist and tugs you close so he can explain what’s going on, his mouth pressed against your ear.

You catch onto the rules pretty quickly but you don’t tell Marc that. You like the way his arm feels around your waist too much, the heavy warmth of his touch.

Even when he lets go of you, one hand usually stays hooked into the fabric of your shirt at your waist. Marc doesn’t seem to realize that he’s doing it, fidgeting with the material in a self soothing way and inadvertently keeping you close to him.

When those heavy clouds on the horizon eventually obscure the sun as the game nears its end, Marc takes his cap off and you get the very real pleasure of seeing his loose curls flop forward. “I love your hair,” you tell him before you can stop yourself, reaching up to tug on the end of one lock.

“You’re supposed to be payin’ attention to the game,” he grumbles as he tilts his chin down, letting you brush them back into place for him. “Not me.”

“Can’t I do both?”

Marc shakes his head, looking faintly amused. “What am I gonna do with you?” He asks, his gaze not wavering from yours as the game ends and the crowd erupts in cheers.

“Cubs won,” you say, finally glancing away over the excited crowd. The purple clouds have rolled ever closer, darkening the stadium as people begin moving en masse towards the exits. “It’s gonna rain.”

“It’s not gonna rain,” Marc says, and this time when he leads you into the crowd, he reaches down and tangles his fingers with yours. “It’s gonna blow over like it always does.”

You snort but don’t contradict him.

The fork of lightning that cuts through the sky makes you laugh, and Marc squeezes your fingers in response.

The air has that sweet, sharp smell it always does right before it rains. When you reach the road, the clouds overhead look like they’ve settled in, heavy and stormy, over the city. A distant rumble of thunder makes you lift your brow, but Marc pointedly avoids your gaze.

You glance at your companion, the sharp cut of his jaw, the line of his nose, dark eyes that scan the street around you, tugging you a bit closer whenever anyone invades the little bubble Marc seems to create around you. He has an intense stare that keeps most people at a distance.

But he seems calm now, despite the crowd, the tiny smile he tries to suppress is still pulling at his lips.

It makes you happy, and you wonder again about how he’d asked you if you still wanted to do this at all. You wonder again at the flowers. You wonder again at what you think was a near kiss.

Maybe, that day in the truck, he’d questioned himself, thought he was misreading you, like you had with this.

You’re fairly sure you’re on a date.

You certainly hope you are.

Marc is so unsure of himself, questions and questions, not only others, but himself and how he interprets what others say to him. Reality is fluid to Marc, like things might change at a second's notice. “Marc,” you tighten your fingers around his. “I’m having a really good time,” you assure him as you walk. “I’m happy we decided to do this.”

“Glad to hear it,” he hums. You’re a couple blocks from the stadium now, nearing the lot you’d parked in.

You open your mouth to say more, when the sky suddenly opens up. The rain you had warned against, slams down on you in an instant.

The shock of it is cold and uncomfortable but you laugh anyways. “Ha!” You shout over the din, thunder following in the distance. “I told you it was gonna rain!”

Marc is scanning the street again, “Yeah, yeah, c’mon,” he yanks you along, not unkindly, until you’re sheltered beneath an awning of a shop along with other fans departing the game.

It’s uncomfortable and close, but you and Marc end up shoved into a corner, against a brick wall. Marc turns his back to the people behind him, curling an arm around your waist.

Your entire world is subsumed by Marc.

He smells like rain, the coppery scent of bare skin, the usual scent of him washed away. You reach up and swipe some of the rainwater off of his face. “I was right.”

“You were right,” he concedes, only slightly grouchy in tone. “It’s raining.”

A man bumps into Marc, jostles you a little, and he slides closer to you with an irritated growl. “Where’s that pizza place?” You ask to distract him. “Do we need the truck? Can we walk?”

“You wanna walk in this?”

“No, honey,” you roll your eyes, “but if it's like a street over-,”

“We were headed there,” he interrupts. “It’s a couple blocks over. Not worth it to move the truck.”

The air is warm and humid, the brick walled corner you’re backed against, chilled. Marc is so close to you, that you would only need to tilt your head a little to brush your forehead against his.

His fingers tighten on your hip, “Y’know,” he swallows, head tilting to the side, listening to voices you can’t hear. “Steven and Jake have been hounding me to ask you if this was a date.”

Your belly lurches, heart in your throat. “Oh?”

Marc’s chest rises and falls quickly, the sound of the rain and the chatter so loud it makes him hard to hear. “Yeah.”

“And is it?” You lean closer, heart pounding a hard rhythm against your sternum.

Marc blinks at you. “I-,”

“Can I be honest?” You ask, raising one hand to balance on his shoulder. Marc gives a tight nod of his head, his guard already up, shoulders hiking up around his ears. “I didn’t think this was a date.” Marc ducks his head at your words, opening his mouth to say something you’re sure is going to break your heart, but you don’t let him speak. “But I would be…really, terribly, overjoyed if it was.”

Marc only looks up at you when you push a gentle finger beneath his chin.

You smile at him, then laugh when his frown deepens. “I mean it.”

The rain is still bucketing down, the pocket of people you’re sequestered behind not paying you any attention, and you suddenly can’t stop laughing.

You fall forward into Marc, locking your arms around him tightly. “Don’t think about it too hard. I meant exactly what I said,” you chuckle into his ear. “I want this to be a date so bad, honey.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, one arm still around your waist while the other hangs loosely at his side.

When the silence shows no sign of ending, you start to pull back, worried you’d severely misread the situation.

But Marc doesn’t let you pull away, his free hand reaching up to cradle your jaw. He searches your eyes, fingers slipping back behind your ear, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone, the touch possessive and desperate.

He’s the only thing you can see again, wedged between the corner of the wall and the solidity of his body.

“Marc?”

“This is a date,” he says, his voice quiet, eyes drifting to your mouth. “It’s…yeah. It’s a date.”

You laugh again, the sound a little wild. He looks a little feral, water webbing his lashes together, his curls standing out more than ever, eyes hooded and focused entirely on you. His skin is still damp and you aren’t entirely sure what you’re going to say when you open your mouth.

But it doesn’t matter, because Marc leans forward and presses his mouth to yours.

You suck in a shaky breath as Marc releases your waist, his hand pressing to the other side of your face to mirror the first.

For a long second, you can’t catch your breath, overwhelmed by the suddenness of it, the elation spiderwebbing across your chest. Your heart feels like it may actually stop, the gallop of your pulse loud in your ears.

He starts to pull away when your mind catches up to the moment. You fist your hands in the smooth, damp fabric of the jersey against his ribs, steadying yourself against him. You kiss him back, moving your lips with his.

He tastes like rain, and like the lemon chill you’d shared during the seventh inning stretch.

Marc’s kiss is slow and steady and deliberate. It pulls you apart, sends sparks skittering along your skin. He tilts your head back, skims his lips across your cheek, nose brushing yours when he moves back to your mouth.

The inky umber of his eyes lock onto yours for a moment, his breath fanning across your lips. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs before he kisses you again, his tongue briefly teasing at your bottom lip. He only tastes you for a moment, meeting your tongue, before he pulls back, aware of where you are, that you aren’t alone.

He releases your face to wrap his arms around you, tucking you close to him, face buried against your neck as he breathes you in.

Your breath comes in little pants, your body only realizing then that it needed oxygen, like Marc would have been enough to sustain you if he just kept kissing you.

You peer at the people behind Marc, but none of them are paying you any attention, their backs turned as they huddle in their own little groups, their own little worlds.

“I didn’t know if it was a date either,” he says when he pulls back. His gaze is oddly light, a weight that was usually settled in them gone.

“Yeah,” you tuck a loose, damp curl back from his forehead. “But you’re glad it is?”

He laughs.

It’s not a low chuckle or a snort, but a full, loud laugh.

A few heads turn your way at the sound and you grin so big your face hurts. “Yeah. You could say that.”

The rain begins to slow then, and some people brave the wet, giving you a bit more space. “Good.”

Marc loosens himself from around you, taking your hand to fold between his fingers. “Wanna go get that pizza now? We can still make the reservation.”

“You made a reservation?”

“Yeah,” he rumbles, glancing out at the raindrops still falling. “You need one after a game. Too many people.”

Something about it, the thoughtfulness, the little things Marc did that he hardly saw the value in, makes your throat close. “Okay. Yes,” your voice cracks.

“You okay?” His voice is low and concerned.

You nod, and tug on his hand. “I promise. Let’s go.”

He searches your eyes, and you reach up to lie a hand on his cheek, pressing a kiss to his mouth carefully. “I said I promise.”

“Let’s go,” he agrees, fighting another smile.

Tales Untold, Chicago 1:15 AM

The storm clouds haven’t quite left the area when Marc parks your truck at the curb outside Tales Untold.

He comes to the door with you but says he should go home. You step up to the door while he remains on the sidewalk, several paces back from you.

You don’t argue with him, sliding the key into the lock and twisting it, before you turn back to him. Marc’s usual frown is in place beneath the street light, the divot between his brows deep. You reach for him and Marc immediately steps closer to you, taking your hand.

You tilt your head down to kiss him again, thumbing at the line between his brows until it dissolves beneath your touch.

Marc moves up onto the step with you, cages you against the door.

His kisses are still slow and deliberate, laden with a quiet passion that makes your blood sing.

You bury your hands in his hair, the strands soft and loose in the humid air. “I think I like baseball.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing yours. “We’ll go again. Sometime. Before the season is over.”

You smile and Marc pushes his forehead against yours briefly, the act strangely intimate, before he pulls away entirely. “Goodnight, honey,” you say, reluctantly releasing him.

“‘Night, baby,” he steps back onto the sidewalk.

You’re not sure your heart can handle any more surprises. Certainly not him calling you baby.

Marc turns and starts to walk away when he pauses and pivots back. “Go inside,” he juts his chin toward the door.

You know he’s not going to budge while you’re still on the street. “Only if you wait ‘til I’m upstairs so I can watch you walk down the street.”

He rolls his eyes and stuffs his hands in his pockets, feigning annoyance, “Fine. Go.”

You hastily pull the shop’s door open, making sure to twist the lock back into place so Marc won’t have a cow about safety again, before you dart through the dark shop. You feel giddy, filled to the brim with nerves.

You trip up the steps and throw open the window to search for him.

He’s still standing there, arms crossed over his chest now, and if you didn’t know better you’d say he’s smiling. “Okay,” you call down, propping your chin on your hand on the window sill. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

You watch him walk down the street until he turns down an alley to cut through to the next street.

The road is quiet after that, but you don’t move for a long moment, letting the warm breeze kiss your skin.

Your clothes have long since dried and are now oddly stiff. You feel sticky and gross all at once, from being in the sun and then rained on before spending way too much time in a pizza place. “Made sure they have vegetarian shit,” he’d said as you sat down, his voice gruff.

And once again, you’d been shocked by the thoughtfulness, the way he considered things carefully where you were concerned.

The pizza was good, the ice cream you went for after even better.

He’d tasted like chocolate when you kissed him in the truck, awkwardly making out over the center console like teenagers afraid of being caught by their parents.

Marc kisses like a man starved though, like it’s his last night on earth. He left you breathless.

You smile, feeling stupid with affection as you stand and shut the window. The tulips are perky and beautiful in their vase, a lovely reminder of the day. You take a mental note to save one of the blooms to press and preserve, as you carry the glass to the sink to fill with water.

You remove the flowers and unwrap the paper, cut the stems and put them back.

When you turn to place the tulips back in the window, you spot the shirts Marc had brought you.

Vintage t-shirts from his teenage years.

You smile and place the vase on the kitchen island instead, reaching for the shirts.

He’d said he washed them for you, and you can only hope they smell like him. Maybe it's pathetic, but you want to sleep wrapped in his scent. You want to feel like he’s there even if he isn’t.

You wish he would have stayed the night, but you haven’t been able to convince him to stay since that night you fell asleep together under the piano.

You have a suspicion that Marc is still worried he’s taking too much from you.

You’re distracted, still thinking of Marc, when you absently touch the shirt.

When you touch the folded shirt, you don’t recognize the feeling that ripples through you, completely at odds to your mood. And then it hits you. An intense pain and grief rocks through you, a confused swirl of emotion that’s impossible to decipher.

It fucking hurts.

Touching things has never hurt before.

You let out a scream no one will ever hear and drop to the floor, yanking your hand away from the fabric.

It’s too late, because the memory hits you a second later, and the pain doesn't fade from your mind for hours afterwards.

Tales Untold, Chicago 8:13 AM

The door is locked.

Good. Maybe you were finally learning to keep it shut.

The sign is flipped to closed.

Not unusual. You don’t open until eleven on Sundays.

Marc knocks.

And you don’t answer.

“Marc,” Steven points from the reflection in the front window. “Left a note, I think.”

He leans forward, squinting against the glare. Your handwriting is scrawled across a sheet of notebook paper, the edges roughly ripped.

Marc,

If you come by and see this, I’m not feeling so well. Won’t be opening the shop today.

You sign the note with your name with no further explanation.

“Not feeling well?” Steven asks, sounding confused.

Marc feels confused.

His heart sinks into his gut. It’s too much of a coincidence. Today, the day after he’d finally fucking got it together and -

He pulls out his phone. He has your number saved from when you’d insisted he have it.

Why hadn’t you called him?

He presses your contact and lifts the phone to his ear, glancing up at your apartment window. The call goes to voicemail after two rings and so it's obvious you’ve declined his call.

He tries again, but this time it rings into oblivion, until your voicemail message trills out. “Hey,” he says into the speaker, voice creaking. “Hey,” he clears his throat, “I - uh - I saw your note. If you need anything - just - text me. Text me anyway. Lemme know you’re okay.”

He winces, he’s never said the words text me in his life.

“Or call me. Look, I, if I did something wrong. Tell me. I’ll fix it. I hope you’re okay.”

He hangs up before he can say anything else, anything more pathetic.

Still, it’s hard to breathe, hard to swallow around the knot of worry in his throat.

He watches your window, then blinks down at the bag of pastries he’d gotten from Flour Up. He’d almost stopped for coffee too, but he much preferred it when you made it for him, when he got to use that white mocha whatever in his coffee.

Marc’s phone buzzes.

I’m okay.

Buzz.

You didn’t do anything wrong.

Buzz.

I promise.

He waits for another message that doesn’t come.

Marc looks back up at your window, but the curtains don’t so much as twitch.

Thank you for reading! A special thank you to those keeping up with the series, and for all the continued love and support.

Comments and feedback are so appreciated. New parts will be posted Saturdays at 3PM EST! You can add yourself to the tag list on the series masterlist.

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#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic

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half-oz-eddie · 4 months

Text

This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race! ✨

⌚️ Show me you LO:VE me 🥀

Billy Hargrove. Punctual. Sometimes 15 minutes early. He beats the lines, beats the rush, beats someone's face in if they get in his way because Billy is never late.

Steve Harrington. Never on time. The party doesn't start 'til he walks in. He's 15-30 minutes late, almost always. Never finds parking, but never worries. Steve is always late.

Oh, but if Steve thinks he's going to be anything but punctual, he'll be everything but Billy's boyfriend.

Oddly, this was one of Billy's few dealbreakers. "Don't lie to me, don't show up late, don't waste my time. Being late for anything is wasting my time. So don't try it."

Steve knew Billy meant serious business. Billy never showed up late when they made plans. Steve wanted to impress Billy, so he did everything he could to show up on time, but on the one day, their most important day since they got together, there was a chance he was going to be late.

If Steve showed up even one minute late for this 6 monthiversary dinner, Billy would think Steve didn't take their relationship seriously.

Billy already had trust issues. The first time Steve said I love you, Billy side-eyed the fuck out of him, interrogated him, threatened to punch him, cried, then finally said it back.

This night had to be perfect.

As he was getting ready, Steve accidentally used cooking spray instead of hairspray in his hair.

"How'd that happen?!" Robin exclaimed when Steve called her in a panic.

"No time to explain, but I really screwed up. I smell like a kitchen!"

"Go wash your hair, dingus."

Steve groaned. "I hardly have time."

"Make time! Go! Go!"

Steve hung up the phone and rushed into the shower, eventually washing the oil out of his hair.

He half-assed his hairstyle and got his clothes on, then hurried to his car with a rose in hand, rehearsing what he would tell Billy when he picked him up.

"You look nice, your eyes look exceptionally blue tonight—wait, he might think that's cheesy. Maybe I should just tell him he looks good—" Steve yelped when one of his tires blew out, and he pulled over on the side of the road, staring at his car in disbelief. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!"

He glanced down at his watch. He had 2 minutes to get to Billy's house, which was 15 minutes away by car.

He sighed, he pondered, and then he started running.

He'd be damned if he let Billy down. Billy never let him down, not once. He showed up, he showed out, he kept his word and he loved Steve with his whole heart. All he wanted Steve to do was fucking show up on time.

Steve ran and ran, breaking a sweat in his blazer, crushing the stem of the rose in his hand, the thorns pricking his sweaty palm.

When he finally reached Billy's house, it was nearly 30 minutes after the time he agreed to pick Billy up.

"Aw, shit, he's gonna be pissed." He knocked on the door, heaving and trying to catch his breath so he could profusely apologize to Billy.

"Oh, now you show—why are you breathing so heavy?"

Steve stood up straight, his bangs dripping sweat beads as he heavily exhaled. "I'm...I'm so sorry. My...my tire blew out and...I...accidentally put cooking spray in my hair instead of hairspray...but...I tried...I really, really tried to get here on time. I ran...all the way here."

Billy glanced down at the rose tightly gripped in Steve's hand. "You did all that for me?"

"Course I did, babe. All you asked me to do was...show up on time. I wanted to...do the right thing."

Billy chuckled, eventually breaking out into a fit of laughter. "...You put cooking spray in your hair? God, you're such an idiot!"

"I left it on the counter the night we baked cookies, and I went in the kitchen to check the time, because I couldn't find my watch, so—" Steve waved his hand. "Never mind, I'm an idiot."

"But you're my idiot." Billy pulled Steve in for a kiss. "And you stink."

"C'mon, I ran all the way here." Steve pouted.

"I know. Let's get you in here and cleaned up."

"You sure? You're not pissed at me?"

Billy shook his head. "You made a hell of an effort for me, pretty boy. That's all I wanted." He grabbed Steve's hand. "Now c'mon, Neil's not here so we can hop in the shower together."

"Wow, I'm late and I get rewarded?" Steve cheekily smiled.

"Don't push your luck." Billy yanked him into the house and closed the door.

Thank you for reading 💕

Please look forward to an incredible piece from the next contributor, @avalonlights!

#harringrove relay race #harringrove

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lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 8 months

Text

I have a really weird hyperfixation on The Mummy, but not the Boris Karloff or the Brendan Fraser versions, those would be completely acceptable movies to enjoy (and I do so enjoy them)

but I cannot stop thinking about The Mummy 2017 starring Tom Cruise and it's a problem

I love bad movies, I love them so much, I own so many b-grade horror flicks, old classic films with terrible acting and awful special effects, I love absolutely shit tier cgi, I love Ed Wood disasters, I love cult classic bad movies, I love really weird niche bad movies

but this one is like, such a special kind of bad movie, I can't really put my finger on exactly why though?? but I am damn well going to try, in this essay I will-

they fucked up from the get go by casting Tom Cruise, like this movie is sometimes deliberately goofy, but a lot of the time it takes itself very seriously, SO seriously, and I cannot physically take Tom Cruise seriously, he turns every single scene he is in into a joke by virtue of his mere presence

but when they have actual jokes, they are so not funny they cycle back around to being really fucking funny

I am watching this movie fucking whiff every god damn beat it tries to hit and it does it so beautifully it's a god damn marvel

Russel Crowe as Jekyll and Hyde??? I actually somehow missed the part where he introduced himself as Jekyll on my first watch, so the Hyde reveal was a true surprise to me and I was very genuinely disappointed on my second watch when I realised it was not supposed to be a surprise, because that was a really fun reveal

and Russel Crowe seemed to be having an absolute fucking whale of a time as Hyde, I loved every moment he was on screen with his stupid cockney accent, I would watch his movie, I know it would be bad, that's why I want it, because there is nothing quite like a bad movie with an actor still giving 110%

and the mummy character herself? she was supposed to be pharaoh and then her dad had a son with someone else and now this baby is jumping all up in her place like, okay baby murder might not be the coolest thing in the world but like, she's got ambition, she's getting shit done, she's hustlin' like go get it girl I'm rooting for you babe

also when she sucked the life out of some dude and turned him into a shrivelled husk my roommate said 'she could do that to me and I'd thank her' so she's got that going for her, like girl's a half rotten corpse wrapped in decaying bandages and she still slays

and then we have the completely ridiculous female rivalry??? like this mummy could kill this woman SO MANY TIMES and just doesn't???? for reasons?????? like she could literally kill her in an instant at any moment but no they gotta girl fight for a bit because Tom Cruise is at stake and why wouldn't two hot women fight over Tom Cruise right?? right????

nevermind the fact that he has been practically nothing but ✨The WooOOOOooorst✨ to her the WHOLE first act of the movie, oh and uh let's not forget the 'duh huh guy bad at sex' jokes that they just could not put down for a good chunk there (but wait! uh he's good at sex actually she's just being mean because he hurt her feewings)

like, this movie hits every fucking branch of the bad trope tree, this movie is playing bad trope bingo, it is collecting bad tropes like pokemon, it has to have them all

also a really bizarre ongoing American Werewolf in London reference?? it was not unwelcome, it was some of the best comedy in the movie (that is an easy bar to jump btw), the actor had some great wry line delivery, I enjoyed it

I think the biggest issue, and the reason I can't stop chewing on this magnum opus of garbage, is that it reminds me of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, in several different ways

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen also happens to be another of my favourite bad movies, but it falls into the particular genre of bad movies, a fucking cool as shit concept, and some really cool as shit visuals, and some very cool as shit characters, but an absolute swing and a miss on the delivery

The Mummy 2017 starring Tom Cruise has That Vibe to me, there is some cool shit here, we know this because the previous version utilised that cool shit very very well, but this one was the only one who made the villain a woman pursuing a man, and not just any man, the ✨worst✨ man, you did not feel very sorry for this guy, honestly watching him go through the constant torment of being stalked by a bodacious supernatural babe who put a sexy little curse kiss on him was fun, he's a sopping wet little meow meow and I wanna see him thrown at a wall, and I get to see that several times, and it is a delight every time

in the previous movie the mummy went after really likeable characters, people who were just generally nice, a roguish scamp with a heart of gold, or just really hot, seriously that cast was beyond smoking what the fu

I did not like Tom Cruise as a character, and to be fair that was the point, he was supposed to have a redemption arc, the story and his sacrifice at the end were supposed to be about him becoming a better person

but he fucking doesn't??? it's like 'oh boo hoo I have made this great sacrifice and now I am a monster and I did it to save my lady love's life even though we had zero chemistry and I was just ✨The Worst✨ to her' and then he fucks off to go and do the exact same shit he was doing at the start of the movie, fucking around in the desert looking for boy adventures

it was a great ending and I loved it because it was so dumb and also he abandoned the woman he brought back to life to go fuck around with his bro who he also brought back to life, I love that for them, go have some boy adventures you madlads you sure didn't earn it but don't let that stop you, just heterosexually ride off into the sunset together it's fine, she is literally better off without you in every way you made the Correct Decision

and then there's these moments, moments that are treated like big moments, and could be really cool moments, but just don't fucking land

there's a part where Tom Cruise starts talking to the mummy in her own language (they got a psychic bond and shit which is it's own cool little thing we'll get back to that) and everyone is watching like 😮 oooh didn't know he could do that wow there really IS magic bond between them oooh, and it's like a Big Deal and Very Cool

but Tom Cruise just sounds like he's speaking gibberish with a mouth full of novocain???? it doesn't sound cool at all??? it sounds really goofy???? I half expected him to start drooling on himself

then there is the ending, leading lady dies, he completes the ritual to invite the god of death into his body (a fucking baller move honestly), he fights it for control as the mummy attempts to sway the beast inside him to her side, but when he sees his beloved laying dead he fights her off, using his newfound powers to defeat her, and then weeps over his lady love begging for her to wake up

and then as he lets the god inside him loose, a terrible monstrous visage takes him over as he bloodcurdlingly screams in her face WAKE UP!!! and the power within him that he doesn't understand and can barely control listens

she wakes, and sees him hiding in the shadows, unable to face her now that he has become something terrifying

at least that's what I think they thought the scene would be like, it was a little more like, some crappy flashback and speed up effects as he becomes the god of death, a really pathetic and uneventful 1 minute of him fighting for control, after which he has a really pathetic and uneventful 1 minute of fighting the mummy, and then as he screams for his lady love to wake up, we get a shot of some absolutely fucking god awful cgi and the most uninspired monster face I've ever seen

I mean, half seen, it was a very dark shot, in fact most of the movie is shot in the dark, a very blatant attempt to obscure the shithouse cgi

except in one scene where it kinda fucking slapped, where the mummy sucks the life out of some guys, and then reanimates their husky corpses as thralls, the way they stand like jerky unstable puppets being dragged to their feet by unseen strings was actually pretty fuckin' dope and the dark scene obscured the details in just the right amount to make their uncannily decrepit silhouettes appear super creepy

this is the only time that trick works, every other time I just want someone to turn on a fucking torch so I can actually see what the hell's going on

okay now let's get back to that psychic bond thing

our main character was chosen not because he was a descendant, or a reincarnation, or just Looked Real Pretty (although I think she did have the hots for him a leeetle bit which is like, girl raise your standards, it's Tom Cruise, he's about as sexually appealing as a wet potato, you can do better), he had absolutely zero in common with the mummy's original choice for this ritual, in fact that guy was not significant to the story at all, I think he was just some dude who was down for some ritual shenanigans 'cause a hot lady asked him (also he was hotter than Tom Cruise so this is a significant downgrade, I feel like if she had the opportunity to shop around a little she might have picked better)

so Tom Cruise wasn't chosen for any reason other than that he's the one who released her, and she sees this as her way of saying thank you, and I love that, it's real sweet, would love if I opened a door for someone and they repaid me by summoning a god of death into my body, that really shows they care you know?

she gives him a little hallucinatory kissy kiss and then manages to follow him everywhere, while also compelling him to follow her without him really knowing it, there is a very cool part where he's trying to drive away from her, but somehow ends up driving in a circle and falling right back into her clutches, that was cool, that had the potential to even be super fucking creepy, she can manipulate him without him even realising, it doesn't matter where he goes or what he does, he will always somehow find his way back to her, that's so good, I love that

and then back to the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen comparisons

The Mummy 2017 starring Tom Cruise established a concept of an organisation who hunt down, collect, and research supernatural phenomena, with a leader (Jekyll) who also has ulterior motives and is actually not really the good guy, this movie was also supposed to be part of a monster movie cinematic universe, so this really could have become like, the Universal Monster Movie equivalent of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, and I would have watched the hell out of that, and I am crushed that this movie bombed so bad and ruined the whole plan

like could you imagine a whole series as bad as this movie? all culminating together as the most god awful Avengers style team up? fuuuck I want to live in that universe so bad

I think my fascination comes from this ungodly mix of real pure potential, those fleeting super fucking cool moments and concepts that, if given to literally any other actor, could have really been something, and the just pure insane failure to make literally anything in this plot successfully land a hit

somehow this movie felt like the completely dead and soulless corpse of a cheap party clown, while the ghost of something incredible flickered in its eyes

#the mummy 2017 #movie breakdown #I have Things To Say

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things-arent-what-they-seem66 · 5 days

Note

Idk if you're up for writing angsty shit with the prompts, but I got some for you ✨

“I fucking hate you.” “No you don’t. Take that back right now.”

“I want to believe you, but I don’t know if I can.”

“Fuck, you’re such a wreck, and because of me, too.”

“Who’s laughing now?” “…Clearly not you. You’re crying, dear God.”

My thoughts/ideas: Adam was deeply hurt by both his wives (who were made for him) cheating on him with Lucifer, and is scared of being close to people in fear of being left behind again. Luci jokingly saying he hates him after they've been dating for a while (weeks? months? up to you) sets him off really bad, and makes him scared Luci doesn't actually care about him.

You're free to leave out any of the prompts if there's too many, or add more if you want to, I'm just curious to see what you make of this and always love to get some more angsty feels :D

Indigo (loves your writing)

Oooou thank you for this! Feed me with more angsty prompts! 😈

Gotta make that babies suffer lol

"I fucking hate you." It was meant to be a joke, Lucifer thought his tone of voice even conveyed that when he spoke the words. Though, when he turned to look at Adam, his face dropped when he saw the very real hurt on his boyfriends face.

Adam's chest felt tight, like he couldn't breathe. He hated him? They've been dating for six months now and the devil didn't even like him, was he just wasting his time? "No you don't, take it back right now." He voice wobbled and he cursed himself, fuck it shouldn't hurt this bad but it felt like he was just gutted by a few mere words. "I thought, I thought you loved me. Or were those more lies!" Adam didn't have to put up with this.

"I do-, Adam! Adam, come on come back." Lucifer chased after his boyfriend as he stormed away from him. He didn't miss the water that lined those golden eyes. "I'm sorry! It was just a joke. I do love you! Duckie, please."

"Don't you duckie me, asshole!" Adam just had to make it to his room and lock the fucking door. He should have known he was only being used, that he was nothing more than a plaything for the king to throw away when he got bored. A tear fell from his eye and he roughly got rid of it. Fuck, he didn't want to cry. "I should have known you're just a fucking liar!"

Everyone leaves, no one has ever wanted him. He might have said that Lucifer was the most hated being in all of creation, but clearly it was him. All people do is leave and hurt him. How could he have been so fucking stupid to think that maybe, MAYBE, he found a slice of happiness with the devil here in Hell.

Adam grunted as he was pushed into the wall, Lucifer holding him in place by his arms. "I'm not lying! Adam, I do love you I always fucking have."

He's lying, his mind screamed and Adam felt his damn lip quiver. He only wants to fuck you to check it off his list, he knew you'd be easy enough to sway. Then there was the smaller part of him that was whispering under everything. Luci saved your life, of course he loves you.

"I want to believe you, but I don't know if I can." Adam felt so conflicted, after everything they had been through they had managed to hold onto the positives and give dating a shot.

"I shouldn't have said that. I'm eternally sorry. You know I would never leave you right? You're too important to me." Lucifer confessed, he could see the war raging in those beautiful golden eyes. How could he have fucked this up so bad, everything was going great until he said that. He knew Adam had abandonment issues since Eden, hell he's the one that fucking gave them to him!

Adam couldn't stop the onslaught of tears that broke free and rolled down his face. No wonder he hates you, who would want a sniveling little bitch like you? Not a king that's for fucking sure. "Important? Like I've ever meant anything to you!" Adam sobbed his throat closing with emotion. Fuck, he shouldn't be crying!

"You mean everything to me!" Lucifer cupped his face. "Fuck you're such a wreck and because of me too. I'm so sorry."

"Ha! Jokes on you, I was a wreck before all of this! Who's laughing now?"

"Clearly not you, you're crying. Dear god, what have I done?" Lucifer said that last part more to himself. He pulled Adam down into a bruising kiss, he wanted to convey all of his emotions for the sinner in a single kiss.

Adam gasped, he felt his tongue enter his mouth, a hand in his hair keeping him in place. Against his better judgement, Adam melted into the kiss returning it, his hands gripping the king's shoulders. His heart fluttered when he felt himself get picked up, his legs instantly wrapped around his boyfriends waist.

The cruel voice in his head died away.

When the kiss ended, Adam was panting as he looked into those red and yellow eyes glowing bright, boring into his own. Fuck he loved him. The devil was going to be the untilmate death of him, to shatter his heart and put it back together again over and over.

And Adam would let him. Like an idiot.

"I love you so much, Adam. Let me make it up to you." Lucifer never wanted to hurt him. He would fight all of Heaven and Hell if it meant they could be together.

Another tear fell. "How?" Another kiss pressed to his lips, more after that. The king was a drug Adam didn't want to quit.

"How about we go see that movie you wanted? And then, we can get dinner at that new meat place across town. We could even go to the mall and I could get you that guitar you've had your eyes on. Maybe do more shopping after? Anything you want, darling." He placed another kiss on Adams lips and smiled when he got one back. "I never want you to doubt my love for you again. I love you, duckie."

Adam smiled, his heart was doing flips and his stomach full of butterflies. "I love you too, Luci."

"What do you say? Does that sound good, would you like to do that?"

How could Adam turn it down? "Okay."

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x adam #ask

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inkstainedhandswithrings · 9 days

Text

TBB S3 Ep 12 Thoughts!!

Gotta remember to look up what the title means

But starting off with rainy Tantiss and dark music

Setting the tone and I’m here for it!!

Ah yes

There he is

hemcock

I guess this joke is getting old but at this point I refuse to spell his name correctly

Yanno bitch really showed up with an undercut and an eyebrow slit right from the get go, like some well payed criminal

I never noticed that tbh

Ey yo Tech don’t shove your sister like that

The eye contact between omega and Emerie right of the bat got me like 👀

Girls are cooking

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re save.”

Right.

Damn occupied pabu hurts my heart

But hey batcher and hunter are okay

Crosshairs hand tremor acting up in a stressful convo with his bros

🥺🥺🥺🥺

my heart

Crosshair having potential info on Tantiss and not sharing it is… complicated. On the one hand he had the option to save his brothers and actively chose not to. On the other hand it is very clear that Crosshair suffers from PTSD as a result of the trauma he sustained there. Trauma is rarely something that allows you to act based on logic or even your own morals. It puts you in survival mode, not because you’re not strong enough to withstand it, but because it’s necessary. That’s why it’s called survival mode. Very likely every instinct within him told him not to return there and that can be hard to overcome. But he’s willing to take that step for Omega. Severe and unyielding, indeed.

Also, Omega not having that issue, not being scared to return to Tantiss isn’t a show of her strength or Crosshair’s weakness. They had different experiences and have different brains, therefore they process and deal differently. Crosshair is not the weaker link because he was unable to muster up the courage to return before now. He’s simply in a different place than she is.

PHEE AND AZI!!!

“Tech told me all about your sparkeling personality.”

PARDONNE MOI???

I BEG YOUR BIGGEST PARDON

JUST TECH???

NOT “YOUR BROTHERS TOLD ME ALL ABOUT…”???

NO JUST TECH HUH??

SPENT SOME ALONE TIME WITH HIM DID YA PHEE???

Also Phee and Cross bickering hihihehe

They have good sibling energy already (sister in law vibes huh)

Why did Hunter sound like Rex during the briefing?

Like he just put his “man in charge” hat on for the first time

Phee just straight up turning the ship off to get in undetected is such a Tech thing tbh

Obsessed

Gotta watch that again

Beautiful

Oh wait fuck RAMPART is WORKING THERE???

Serves him right

I love seeing this trio work together tbh

Hunter, Cross and Wrecker bring such a different vibe without Echo, Tech and/or Omega there and idk why or how to describe it but I am here for it

“Anything?”

“Yup.” *clocks him* “Clear.”

Baby <3

“You remembered. How touching.”

Queen💅😪✨

“Are you here to kill me?”

“Tempting. But, no.”

FUCK ME.

KING SHIT 👑

Rampart is still a whore then, huh?

“Oh, please. You’re not going to kill me.”

“Not yet.”

GO OFF

“We’re in this together.”

Yo buddy saying shit like that seems like a nice way to loose some teeth

“This is your new home.”

The fact that they left us on THAT line

Fr most of my thoughts on this are Crosshair brain rot and if I wasn’t so busy today you’d get to read it. (No u probably PROBABLY won’t get it another time bc I am adhd and I either forget or don’t have the motivation later so… lots of good thoughts get lost in the void unfortunately)

#cross is really making a run for the pedestal I put rex on huh #still low-key disappointed that he and echo weren’t there today but seeing as this is headed to an attack on Tantiss I can’t imagine we’re #far from that happening #star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #tbb echo #captain rex #tbb spoilers #tbb s3 #tbb s3 spoilers #star wars the bad batch

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chrisadew · 2 years

Text

Chiron & healing ❤️‍🩹

Chiron in our charts shows our pain points; the things that have or continue to wound us, but also allow us to heal ourselves and others. With Chiron, the healing never really ends. My original posts are up on my Instagram (@chrisadew) and include videos. Check it out if you feel like it ✨

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Healing with Chiron in Aries: the wound of self

♈️ Wounds =

Issues around independence or taking charge, lack of faith in your ability to lead; excessively impulsive, defensive and selfish tendencies, or constantly serving others before yourself. Seeing yourself through the eyes of others. Fear of following the things that ignite passion in you.

♈️ How to heal =

Start by learning to trust your instincts; take initiative and volunteer to be first sometimes. Act based on your constructive self interests. “I gotta put me first” is valid, because nothing should be at the expense of your well-being. Do things that have nothing to do with anyone else, things that honestly make you happy, light you up and nurture you. Your gift is showing others that harmony starts with being fair to yourself.

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Healing with Chiron in Taurus: the wound of loss

♉️ Wounds =

Issues around stability and sensuality, not knowing where you stand or not recognising your value. Fear of not having access to resources or a tangible foundation. Stubbornly holding on to things you’ve outgrown out of a fear of lack.

♉️ How to heal =

Start by fully committing to the things you already have by showing appreciation. Appraise them and be willing to let them go if necessary. Learn to cultivate patience by taking on something that takes time to grow - i.e. making investments into things that you really want. Think about what your value system is or what you want it to be. Think about the things that make you feel worthy, things that require steady growth and accumulation over time. Things that regularly engage and stimulate your senses. Your gift is the ability to create on your own that which was not given to you.

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Healing with Chiron in Gemini: the wound of intelligence

♊️ Wounds =

Issues with communicating or expressing your thoughts and knowledge; denying your curiosity or ignoring the facts in favour of 'being right'. Taking life too seriously or entertaining gossip. Fear of being wrong or not being heard.

♊️ How to heal =

Start by writing down or recording your own thoughts and using that to plan out what you want to express. Journaling can be therapeutic too. Practice speaking up and put yourself in places where you feel comfortable raising your voice. Seek out people who respect you and value what it is that you have to say. You can say what’s on your mind! Your gift is showing others how healthy communication opens the door to new ideas and experiences.

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Healing with Chiron in Cancer: the wound of family

♋️ Wounds =

Issues around emotional openness, feeling closed off or blocked, like you don’t belong or finding it difficult to connect with those you consider family. Feeling neglected or instinctively responding with excessive self-preservation and hiding your feelings. Fear of truly letting people in.

♋️ How to heal =

Start by learning to sit with your emotions and center them. Write them down to help you process them. Use your favourite memories to put you in a good mood and remind you of what you need to feel nurtured and protected. Make new memories with purpose. Connect with positive influences that make you feel safe enough to be vulnerable and help stabilise your emotional state. Above all, don’t deny your intuition - work with it. Your gift is showing others how to accept the dimensions within moods and feelings without judgement.

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Healing with Chiron in Leo: the wound of talent

♌️ Wounds =

Issues around attention or recognition; fear of pride and being seen as self-centered. Being made to feel like you’re not special. Seeking validation in the wrong places.

♌️ How to heal =

Start by figuring out what it is that you’re good at and love to do. Use that to start your own passion project as a way of taking the spotlight and feeding your creativity. Don’t be afraid to show it off, whatever it is. Putting yourself out there builds up your courage! Nobody else can do what you do like you. Your gift is showing others how following your heart brings you strength.

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Healing with Chiron in Virgo: the wound of perfection

♍️ Wounds =

Issues surrounding not feeling like you’re good enough; fear of being wrong, inadequate or ineffective. Overly critical (self and others), or paying attention to the wrong things. Putting your dreams on hold to take care of others; overworking yourself.

♍️ How to heal =

Start by releasing the idea of ‘perfection’; whose standards are you living by? It should be yours and nobody else’s. Do the thing that you want to do for you…just do it! The more you do, the more the anxiety around it is released. You are not responsible for the chaos. Pick up what’s yours and yours alone. There’s evidence all around you of how good you already are, don’t discount that, no matter how small, no matter how many times you may have had to reconstruct it. Your gift is showing others how to refine and build on practical wisdom.

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Healing with Chiron in Libra: the wound of relationships

♎️ Wounds =

Issues surrounding partnerships, relationships, collaboration or compromise. Giving too much where your needs aren’t being met or excessive self-centeredness. Resisting compromise in extremes, one-sided thinking or misdirected anger and passive aggression. Fear of accepting and honouring your wants and needs.

♎️ How to heal =

Start by acknowledging that while not everything should be done alone, you are your own person and worthy of reciprocity. It’s okay to invite people in and compromise, but before you do - analyse whether it’s a good match for you. There should be no imbalances. Ask for help, work with a partner, but honouring your self-identity also means clearly communicating who’s supposed to be giving what, so that things remain equal and fair. Your gift is showing others that cultivating win-win situations is possible.

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Healing with Chiron in Scorpio: the wound of depth

♏️ Wounds =

Issues around intimacy, being vulnerable with others, deep hurts and traumas; secretly taking intense measures against the people in your life to counteract feelings of distrust or holding on to meaningless grudges. Fear of powerlessness.

♏️ How to heal =

Start by asking yourself: what are you afraid of? Acknowledge that true vulnerability has its benefits. Get invested in something that requires an exchange of resources as a way of letting go of what keeps you feeling heavy. Commit to a process that takes time, but produces an outcome that makes you feel powerful in the end; get comfortable with accepting support from others and trusting them. Your gift is showing others that you can transform and develop through focus.

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Healing with chiron in Sagittarius: the wound of belief

♐️ Wounds =

Issues with limiting beliefs, fear of experiences outside your comfort zone, or taking on the truths of others as your own. Being too blunt and relying on logic over your higher mind or faith.

♐️ How to heal =

Start by assessing yourself; what is your truth? What do you believe? Break free from the indoctrination that keeps you stuck. Don’t be afraid to experience new things, environments and new journeys that give you a sense of your truth. Develop your own morals, ideals and philosophies by asking yourself honest questions. Acknowledge alternative perspectives without diminishing your own. Your gift is showing others how to expand beyond what you’ve been taught.

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Healing with Chiron in Capricorn: the wound of accomplishment

♑️ Wounds =

Issues with authority, challenge and success; feeling burdened (and resentful) with responsibility. Focusing too much on the past. Feeling like you have to ‘control’ your emotions. Fear of not meeting your potential.

♑️ How to heal =

Start by defining what success looks like to you. Make small goals and take the steps needed to achieve them. Align yourself with people that have the kind of reputation you aspire to, personally and professionally. There’s nothing wrong with letting people take care of you sometimes. Do not mistake taking on the responsibility of others as your purpose. 'Can' does not mean 'should'. Everything doesn’t have to fall on your shoulders alone. Your purpose is your purpose. Your gift is showing others how to keep the promises they make to themselves.

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Healing with Chiron in Aquarius: the wound of belonging

♒️ Wounds =

Issues with fitting in and feeling included or accepted. Distancing yourself on purpose or inflated self-importance. Seeking approval in groups that don’t understand you to begin with. Fear of alienation and being seen as ‘weird’.

♒️ How to heal =

Don’t be afraid to do things differently and on your own terms. Start by embracing your quirkiness and people will gravitate towards you. If you’re not feeling represented in the group you’re in, start your own! Seek out others with similar ideologies. The more you experiment, the more confidence has the potential to grow. You have a lot to offer and that doesn’t change based on the opinions of other people. Your gift is showing others what’s possible by being your authentic self.

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Healing with Chiron in Pisces: the wound of trust

♓️ Wounds =

Issues with selflessness, being taken advantage of or feeling misunderstood; not believing your dreams are attainable. Overindulgence in fantasy and escapism as self undoing, avoiding reality; fear of suffering.

♓️ How to heal =

Start by assessing whether what you do in the here and now supports what you want and truly desire. If not, take action on it! Denying your dreams does not serve you. Like Virgo, you are not responsible for everyone or everything. Express yourself through creation; this helps channel what you’re feeling or sensing to make it a tangible reality and avoid feeling disconnected. Trust yourself and surrender; letting go is not giving up. Your gift is showing people that if you can dream it, you can be it.

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pjisskullourful · 1 year

Text

𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓼

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

🌼Damiano × reader

part 20 of ???? [parts 1-19] NSFW🔥smuttastic smuttery of a perverted degree

° Damiano David/female reader insert ✨ cameo by: Victoria De Angelis wordcount::: 3,897 ° anon request x2 with the corruption kink request that began the series& this request: Damiano and his lady getting down and dirty in front of a mirror and he’s making her watch the whole time. [requests are open!]

“Is your boyfriend on the same planet as us?” Victoria asked.

Damiano had zoned out during the informal group dinner you were currently attending. Tucked away in the corner of the Japanese restaurant, he sat silently, with the screen of his phone illuminating his face. He was oblivious to any of the conversations taking place around him as his concentration went purely to his device.

He was tired and probably over-stimulated after another jam-packed day in Tokyo. Looking across the table at him put you in the mindset of a carer - all you wanted to do was take him to a bed and bring him a cup of chamomile tea. If you looked at him for too long you would begin to crave cuddles.

“No, he’s still with us… kind of…” You told her. “He’s looking up tattoo studios.”

“Of course he is.” She said. “Does it ever bother you how spontaneous he is with all of that? Do you wish he would chill for a second and give you a vote, or whatever? ‘Cause you’ve gotta see them just as much as he does, imagine if you hated one of the designs…”

“Well that hasn’t been an issue yet.”

“He’s lucky he’s got a girlfriend who likes surprises.” She said. “A control freak with that? But that’s why you two are perfect for each other.”

“At the end of the day, they’re just tattoos and if they make him happy, that’s the only thing that really matters to me.” You said. “Literally my only concern is that he’s gonna run out of skin.”

She laughed, having a sip of her beer. “Tell me you don’t have any tattoos without telling me you don’t have any tattoos…”

“Really, did I just out myself?” You asked.

“Pretty much. It’s so addictive that once you start, you stop caring about shit like running out of bodily real estate, you just want another and another and it’s your new favourite hobby.” She said. “And we should stop talking about this before I start trying to find an artist with availability.”

But that wasn’t the end of your discussing tattoos for the night.

After the restaurant, you and Damiano climbed into the van that was bound for return to the hotel. Other members of the entourage joined you in the vehicle. You settled into the backseat with your boyfriend.

“Did you have fun at dinner?” He asked, placing an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, I did. I’d ask you the same, but it looked like you were getting into your research again.”

He showed you a sheepish smile, knowing exactly what you were referring to. “I couldn’t help myself, I started looking at flash sheets.” He readjusted in his seat, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Do you wanna see what I found?”

“Sure.”

He had made some wiggle-room in his schedule for this work trip, finding enough free time to get a new tattoo. He had checked with you first, ensuring you didn’t mind losing out on an hour or two of other activities. You had told him it was fine, not wanting to hold him back from any of his experience of this country.

“There’s kinda a theme, which wasn’t on purpose. I just took screenshots of whatever caught my eye, but…” He said.

The theme was dragons, with the majority of the designs that you swiped through featuring the mythical beasts. There was some variety in the selection he had presented you with, and you looked at a couple of different flower designs, along with a sword, one drawing of a cat, another of a moth, and a rat.

“I know that it’s clichéd to get a dragon tattoo while in Japan. But they’ve just been on my mind lately…” He said.

You smiled as you looked at him. “Oh yeah, you’ve just been thinking about dragons?”

You were feeling proud of yourself after successfully getting him to listen to the audiobook of one of your favourite books - The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

This hadn’t been an easy undertaking. You had broken his lifelong streak of never reading a book if he had already seen a movie adaptation. The phrase ‘the book is so much better than the movie’ had never meant anything to him.

He had watched the David Fincher movie with you during an at-home movie night in the early stages of your relationship. It was your pick. You had gotten into the series following the recommendation of your older sister, devouring the three books in high school in an effort to catch up to Petra’s coolness.

You had convinced him that it would be the perfect book to listen to on the flight to Japan and he had thoroughly enjoyed it. He wanted to discuss the major plot points with you. It was decided that he would listen to The Girl Who Played with Fire on the way home, with his eagerness increasing when you had told him it was your favourite of the trilogy.

His arm around your shoulders tightened a little. “I guess they remind me of someone.”

You leaned in closer, closing the distance between the two of you with a kiss. You had forgotten about everyone else in the van, feeling like the only woman in the world as you learned of your boyfriend’s plans to wear a permanent tribute to you. He would have a physical representation of how much he thought of you, your interests and everything that you were.

“Your appointment is booked in?” You asked.

“Yep, Gianna got it confirmed for me.” He said of one of the travelling assistants. “You didn’t tell me which you like best.”

“I think all of the designs are cool…”

He gave you a gentle shake. “Babygirl…”

“Is that the wrong answer?” You asked.

You spent the rest of the drive back to the hotel looking through his selection again. But this time, he told you his favourite features of each dragon and you contributed your opinion.

By the time that you left the van, you had helped him narrow it down to the best two dragons. Hand-in-hand, you made your way to your suite, bidding the others goodnight.

He joined you in front of the bathroom mirror as you wiped away the day’s makeup. “Have you decided what you’re gonna do while I’m at the appointment? Are you gonna go sight-seeing with the others, or will you just stay here and rest up? Or, you could always come with me and watch me squirm while I let my mum down…”

You deposited the dirty face wipe into the trash can. “Well the whole point of this trip was to spend as much time as possible with you…” You turned to face him, draping your arms around his neck. “So I’m gonna make you and your new dragon the top sight to see on my list. You can squeeze my hand through the pain.”

“I’m not worried about the pain.” He said. “But I’ll take any excuse to hold your hand.” You kissed him and he squeezed your body to him. “Come on, strip down, it’s bedtime.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Under the covers, you cuddled up to him, sharing a few lingering kisses.

“While we’re at the studio, we could check how much time my artist has and if there’s an option, you could get a tattoo as well.” He said, making you laugh out loud.

… … …

The relentless buzzing of the tattoo machines didn’t intimidate or otherwise make you uncomfortable. Dating Damiano meant that this was a noise you were somewhat familiar with.

It didn’t distract you as you flipped through something of a catalogue in the waiting room. As he filled out the consent form, you looked at the many designs compiled into a folder. You looked across the drawings of snakes, stars, anchors and butterflies (and there were plenty of dragons to be spotted, as well).

“Getting any ideas?” He asked as you lingered on a page.

“Oh, come on…” You rolled your eyes.

“Are you really thinking that you’ll have this virgin-skin forever?” He asked, referring to your untattooed body. “I thought you were interested in getting at least one.”

“Yeah, eventually.” You said.

He twisted his body around in his chair so that he could face you. “I don’t know what perfect moment you’re waiting for, but I think this is a great occasion for it. You can get a tattoo to remind you of our first trip to Japan together.”

You forgot about the open book in your lap as you smiled at him. “Our first? What, like, there’s gonna be more?”

“Most definitely, but not while I’m doing the whole Måneskin thing. We’re gonna come strictly for a vacation, just you and me.” He said. “This would be a pretty perfect place for a honeymoon.”

Your eyes grew wide and you were speechless for a moment. He was thinking ahead to a wedding and honeymoon with you?

For a long time, you had viewed you and Damiano as a forever kind of relationship. But to so easily gain this reassurance that he was on the same page as you was worth its weight in gold. You couldn’t help but smile a bit wider at him.

“Yeah, we should come back.” You said.

“So, what’s on this page?” He asked, indicating to how your pointer finger was wedged between two pages, placed there as a makeshift bookmark.

You flipped back to the page of drawings and circled a dragon with your finger. “I like this little guy. I know that you’ve got your design all set and I love your dragon, it’s gonna look amazing. But this caught my eye.” It was the outline of a dragon mid-flight, its wings outstretched on either side of its serpent-like body.

“Get it tattooed.” He said simply. “They said they’ve got time.”

“Damiano…”

He innocently showed you the palms of his hands. “It’s up to you. But let me ask you this- what do you think your high school-self would think of this, would think of you getting a tattoo just like your favourite fictional character of all-time?”

You didn’t roll your eyes at him this time. “She would love it. She would be so excited and think it was the most kick-ass thing ever.”

“Interesting.” He said.

“You’re a terrible influence on me.” You said as he smirked.

“Are you saying that my influence is working?” He asked, eagerly leaning forward.

“I’m saying that you should get me one of those forms before I can talk myself out of this decision.”

He grabbed your face and pulled you in for a kiss. Between your own adrenaline and his enthusiasm, you were filled with a rush that carried you above any worries. Your sense of consequences and reality was dulled in the face of this excitement.

“I’m so proud of you.” He said.

He set everything up - organising that your tattoo would happen first, taking care of the payment and communicating to the artist what you wanted.

As you filled out your own consent form, the sounds of the machines grew far more noticeable. The buzzing became intimidating as you wondered what the Hell you were walking into.

“You’ll hold my hand, right?” You asked as he returned to the chair next to yours.

He grabbed your hand with both of his. “Of course I will. But it’s like anything else in life, it seems way scarier than it actually is.”

“I’m not scared.” You defended, trying not to squirm in your seat. “It’s just a bit daunting.”

“Right, but I know that you can take it.” He said. Quickly, he glanced around to see how far everyone else was from the two of you. When he turned back to you, it was to look deeply into your eyes. “Do you wanna know how I know?”

“How?”

He licked his lips. “Because my baby always does exceptionally well at pain-play.”

Your cheeks turned bright pink. “Dami…”

“It’s true.” He said quietly.

“But this is totally different.” You said, also keeping your voice low.

“Alright.” He said. “But you might find that you like how this feels and that can lead us to so much more.”

… … …

Exhilaration still filled your body as you continued to ride the highs of pride and relief.

The tattoo parlour was hours behind you, but you hadn’t stopped buzzing from the excitement of your impulsive change of mind. You still felt incredible as you and Damiano showered, rinsing clean the fresh tattoos. His design was huge, spanning the entire side of his torso. Your dragon was only about five inches long and easy to hide on the side of your hip.

It was a new part of you and you were absolutely thrilled to have it, the synchronisation with your boyfriend only adding to your infatuation.

His dragon fit in perfectly with his other tattoos. Even though you had watched the whole thing being applied to his skin, you couldn’t help but admire it further. You enjoyed letting your eyes roam the curves of the beast’s body. You had to admit that your boyfriend’s sex appeal was off the charts at the moment.

“How does it feel?” He asked.

“It’s tender, but it’s okay.”

“It might swell a bit overnight, but that’s all normal.” He said.

“How about yours?”

“It’s sore, it’s not exactly comfortable right now.” He said.

“My poor Daddy.” You cooed, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips. “Maybe I should distract you?”

He showed you a small smile as you moved in closer. He lowered his arm, done with rinsing his tattoo for the moment. You used your fingers under his chin to guide him in, until he was close enough to kiss.

Loosely, he placed an arm around your waist as the two of you kissed under the consistent stream of water. You felt his body reacting to yours as you teased his mouth open with your tongue. Wanting more, you wrapped your arm around his shoulders. You were paying no attention to the water slipping down your back, instead focusing on how his chest was pressed to yours - enjoying the closeness more with each passing second.

You were licking your lips as he gently pulled back so that he could speak. “We should get out of this shower.”

You had no opposition to this decision. You pushed your damp hair away from your face as he turned the water off. You stepped out of the shower first, but you didn’t get much further than this. You smiled and turned to your side in front of the vanity.

“Ooh, I like this mirror, I can see my tattoo in it.” You said, eagerly giving the design another look over.

He came up behind you, also neglecting to grab a towel. “That’s a nice part of the reflection, but I’m more interested in this…” He completed this sentence by cupping your breast in his hand, making you giggle.

You were guided to face the mirror and the low countertop in front of it. He placed himself directly behind you, skin touching skin as you looked at the reflection of his handsome face. He held your breast firmer, his fingers conforming to its shape.

“Yep, I like this mirror too.” He said. “It lets me see so much of my good girl, my perfect kitty.” Your heart fluttered a little as he leaned down, kissing you on the cheek and lingering here. “This mirror makes sure I can see from your beautiful hair to your delicious lips and those gorgeous tits.” He trailed his fingers down the side of your breast. “To this adorable tummy.” He moved his hand down lower and began to bring it forward. “All the way down to these cute little curls…”

His hand reached its destination: your pubic mound. He allowed his fingers to stretch out and you watched them disappear, reaching beyond the frame of the mirror. The tips of his fingers started to stroke the curly hair here as he pressed more kisses to your cheek. You lifted your eyes up to his face, finding that his eyes were shut as he explored your body in this way. You leaned back against him and were greeted by the feel of his stiffening dick.

He kissed a trail over to your ear, whispering. “I like this mirror so much that I wanna fuck you in front of it. That way I can be such a pervert and watch how well you take this cock from multiple angles. Don’t you think it’s the perfect mirror for that?” His eyes opened, meeting yours in the reflection.

“Whatever my master wants.” You said, your voice was quiet as you surrendered to the urge to submit.

He grinned, kissing you on the cheek a few more times. “I want you to watch too. I wanna see your eyes on me, on this mirror. Can you do that?”

You had never had any kind of intimate experience in front of a mirror before, nor had you ever fantasised about it. The adrenaline beckoned you forward, persistent through the insecurities of maybe seeing something you wouldn’t like. You were too turned on to give the inhibitions much attention, you just nodded your head for him.

“Good girl.”

He moved a hand down to your untattooed hip, holding you here while his other hand went to his cock. In the mirror, you watched as he made some minor adjustments.

At a new angle, he pushed his pelvis into you. And you felt his dick slide in between your thighs. You saw the look of concentration on his face.

You moaned as he began to stuff his cock into you. You watched his mouth open and heard how his breathing came in shallower as he continued to ease forward. A new expression came onto his face as his more primal side took over.

“Don’t you look away.” He coached once he was nestled the whole way in between your walls.

In the reflection, you saw his dark eyes fixed on you. He wrapped his arms around your middle and you arched your back, pushing into him harder.

He held you up, breathing heavily as he started to pump into you. You watched your body bounce with each of his movements as you allowed him to set the rhythm.

“You look as incredible as you feel.” He said, getting faster.

You liked that you didn’t have to twist around uncomfortably and interrupt the flow in order to see him. You could stare straight at him, completely captivated by the lust he could inspire. You savoured the way that you could clearly see the passion on his face - an effort and a determination that only you got to see, no matter how much the world wanted from him.

You leaned forward, grabbing for the counter to brace yourself in the face of his merciless pacing. But you kept your head pushed back, absolutely unwilling to break his rules.

“Oh my God, look at how they bounce.” He said, his eyes on your breasts. “I can’t help it, I’ve gotta…”

He reached both of his hands up, securing a breast in each and giving them some playful squeezes. A shiver raced down your spine. His fingers moved to your nipples, which were very firm. You whined as he pinched and started to toy with the hard peaks. Your muscles tensed and you could feel more sensitivities rushing into your body.

You began to move quicker, ready to meet each of his thrusts as they landed. Your hands grasped the edge of the countertop as your elbows shook.

“Are you still watching?” He asked.

“Yes.” You rasped.

“I can’t get enough. Do you wanna know what I see?” He asked. “I see a perfect pet who is doing such an amazing job of taking this cock that it’s like- it’s almost as if this is what she was made to do.”

“It is, it is. I was made to take your cock, Daddy. Please give it to me, please.”

As he kept rocking into you, you slipped further forward, the strength starting to leave your body.

On his next jolt forward, you felt the head of his dick rub against your g-spot. You gave an elated cry as your pussy walls spasmed and clenched around him.

“Yes.” You said, reaching around to grab his ass. You held on, encouraging his current tempo. “Fuck me like that, just like that, please. Please.”

Your bodies moved together at this impassioned rhythm, working for the mutual goal with unshakeable determination. He moved one hand up to your shoulder, gripping.

“Eyes on me.” He said between heavy breaths.

You opened your eyes again and lifted your head. You could see the fire in his eyes, beneath his brows that were knotted with effort.

Steadily, a change began to take place. His mouth opened, hanging slack as one heavy exhale followed another. His eyes became unfocused and you saw his body twitching in different places. At the same time, you felt his cum shooting into you.

He moaned, his own eyes shutting as he rocked his head back. You kept your hand on his butt, easing him forward as you continued to grind on him.

He gasped and squirmed against you. “You gonna come, kitty?”

“Yes, I’m so close.” You said. “Please, please.”

He snapped his hips into you as you rode out the heightening pleasure. Your whole body was filled with tingles as he massaged the head against your sweet spot.

Your knees buckled as you let go, coming undone in his arms. Your eyes shut as the pleasure took over. You moaned through the climax.

When you opened your eyes, it was to find that the world was still all around you. Your body felt heavy and you sighed now that the giddy heights had been conquered.

In the mirror, you saw that his eyes remained on you. He was smiling, his hand stroking through the drying strands of your hair.

“Let’s go lay down, hm?” He said.

You straightened up, your hand sliding into his as you turned away from the mirror. “Yeah.” You started to leave the bathroom together.

“I love you.” He said.

“I love you too.”

You laid down on the bed, each of you resting your heads on the pillows. Briefly, you wondered how late at night it was.

“How do you feel?” He asked.

“I’m great.” You said, rolling onto your side so that you could face him. “How’s your tattoo?”

“As amazing as that distraction was…” He said, making you smile. “It’s still sore. We should put the aftercare cream on.”

The tube of ointment was retrieved from your handbag. After sanitising your hands, he helped you with applying the cream to your tattoo first. He had advice, making you feel very safe in this, the beginning of your healing process.

He watched as you cautiously massaged the cream onto the tattoo. “It’s so sexy, babygirl.”

You looked up and smiled, getting a rush of pride again. You realised that it was more than just a tattoo. This memento of this trip, this chemistry and connection, this happiness, it would never fade away.

»»————-　♡　————-««

🍑 taglist: @thegeminisgirl - @ha-la-ansia - @icarodamiano - @floral-recs - @gr8rainbowpunk - @idyllicbutterfly - @maneskindiva - @maneslut - @saschenkaaa - @slavicgoddess13 - @elvirabelle - @maneskintifoso - @butkutee - @ursulalurks - @itsmaneskinbitch - @crwnnjules - @paralianeyes - @fand0mskullfa1ry - @lizzylynch1 - @kammerstx - @myleftsock - @tellmesomething01 [join here!]

#maneskin x reader #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin smut #maneskin fic #manesmut #damiano david fic #damiano x reader #dom dami corruption fic #damiano x you #damiano x y/n

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dc418writes · 2 years

Text

Doctor’s Orders

✨Pairing✨: trucker!Ari Levinsonxblack!reader

Summary🪄: Ari takes care of you while your sick

⚠️: pretty much all fluff💕, mention of sickness (but just a cold, no covid)

A/N🎙: Hey guys! A little update on me; I was sick and then got better to then test positive for Covid🙃 lol (and for those wondering, I’m fine just kinda dealing with a little sinus issues and feeling warm, but nothing serious). So this is something completely self indulgent and short since I’m finally in the mood to write again, and I hope you like it☺️!

A muffled voice from the bathroom prompts you to lift your head—carefully that is, as to not further agitate the dull pounding within your skull—just in time to see your husband place his cell phone in the back pocket of his jeans. Eyebrows furrowed, you try to sit up the best you can before his smooth, hushed voice instructs you to lie back down.

“You’re supposed to be at work,” you state settling against the propped pillows he was sweet enough to help you with last night. Your voice strained due to your irritated and raw throat.

“I took some time off since you’re sick. You don’t need to be here dealing with this by yourself.”

“Ari it’s just a cold I’m-,” you start before being rudely interrupted by your need to cough followed by more pounding to your poor head.

“You were saying?” Pulling his shirt over his head, he misses you sticking out your tongue.

“I’ve been sick and by myself before, I managed pretty okay. Plus you’re gonna get sick being around me.”

“I’ll be fine, now you sit there and rest. I’ll be back.”

“Wait, you’re leaving me?” Your sad eyes causes him to lightly chuckle to himself crossing his strong arms in front of his wide chest.

“To go to the store for you gorgeous,” he smiles with a light shake to his head. “What happened to ‘I managed pretty okay by myself’ huh?”

This just earns him your adorably narrowed eyes before another coughing fit roughly hits your chest.

“I’ll be back,” he whispers against your warm forehead before leaving a peck in the same spot.

It feels like minutes later you’re waking up to running water and watching Ari remove what looked like salt rocks from a plastic bag before pouring it in the tub. Looking at your phone with squinted eyes, you groan realizing you’ve actually been asleep longer than you thought now seeing it’s close to one o’clock in the afternoon.

“Hey, you’re up. I was just about to wake you.”

“How long was I out?”

“Well since I came back, about an hour,” he answers coming towards you with a smaller plastic bag. “Now I know this isn’t your favorite, but we gotta get some medicine in you sweetheart.”

Ever since you were small, this was probably what you hated most about being sick. The thick, syrupy liquid posing as something sweet always made you gag even just thinking about it, and it’s smell wasn’t any better. Sure it was reminiscent of cherries, bubblegum, or whatever scent it was supposed to be, but that underlying medicinal waft couldn’t be masked no matter how hard they tried.

You wondered if that’s why you hardly ever got sick. Your body already knowing, and sharing in, your disdain so it made extra efforts to stay healthy to avoid that 30 milliliters of torture.

“They didn’t have a pill?,” you ask with pouted lips as he shakes the clear bottle and prepares the right dosage for you.

“Pharmacist said the liquid was better since it gets to work faster.” Handing you a bottle of Gatorade and the small plastic cup, you groan sitting against the headboard peering down at the orange liquid.

“I know honey, but the quicker you take it, the quicker you get better. Here, open-,”

“Wait I’m not ready!,” you panic making him chuckle.

“Trust me it’s a trick my mom used with my sister. Now put some of the Gatorade in your mouth, but don’t fill it. Good, now I’m gonna pour in the medicine and you swallow as soon as I’m done. Ready?” After you nod, he’s lifting the plastic cup to your lips and letting the medicine run into your open mouth. Your eyes immediately shutting as tight as they can while you wait for the taste to eventually hit your tongue, but surprisingly it doesn’t come. Well, not as strong as usual that is.

“That’s my girl,” he smiles kissing your temple. “See? Not bad right?”

Shaking your head, you’re soon weakly giggling feeling Ari lift your body to carry you towards the bathroom. They’re short lived though with the return of your short bout of coughs. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a bath,” he answers sitting you on the toilet so he can remove his shirt from your slightly sweaty body. The warm water and bubbles caressing your skin along with the strong scent of Vicks opening your nose so you can breath has you comfortably sighing as you sit back against the cool porcelain.

“Feel good?”

“Mhm, thank you,” you smile with eyes half shut already while he begins cleaning your arms and chest. “Was this your plan all along? Call out so you can help and see me naked in the process?”

Deeply chuckling with the bite of his lip, his hand grips your ankle bringing it out of the water so he can show the same attention to your leg before moving on to the rest of your body.

“Well…”

“Really?!”

“I’m kidding! You should already know gorgeous,” he winks pecking the top of your damp knee before placing it back in the water.

“So it was the neighbor all along..,” Ari states with eyes still glued to the television screen showing the end credits to some movie he happened to find scrolling through the channels. His arm snuggly wrapped around your waist the whole time as you lied on his chest. “You see that coming?”

Peering down, he finds you asleep and softly snoring making him quietly chuckle to himself. He shouldn’t be surprised though with you being sick and surely fatigued. And not to toot his own horn, but the complete body massage he gave after your bath, rubbing your favorite lavender scented lotion all around your achy body was pretty good judging from your soft sighs and moans.

He guessed he just had the magic touch.

As soon as he’s done gently shifting your body so you’d be under the covers, your lashes are fluttering open and arms stretching above your head tapping against the wooden headboard.

“Aw I missed it,” you tiredly yawn covering your mouth with the thinner sheet of the bed.

“S’alright, we can watch it again tomorrow. Get your rest gorgeous.”

“Did you eat?” You’re the one who’s sick, but still checking on him to make sure he’s okay. You really were too cute.

“Not yet, but I was about to make a sandwich,” he answers standing so he can stretch himself. The muscles of his tank covered back tightening and lengthening respectively before coming to rest together. “What about you though, you hungry?”

“A little,” you shrug.

“How about I make you some soup then? I got the kind you like and those crackers you always get too.”

“Mkay. Thank you.”

“Of course,” he winks striding towards the room door. Before he can enter the hall, your soft voice calling his name has him halting with hand on the silver doorknob as he patiently waits for what you would say next.

“Love you,” you sleepily smile settling your cheek deeper into your plush pillow.

“Love you too gorgeous.”

Taglist: @adoreyouusugar @lovebittenbyevans @royalwriteroftheuniverse @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @theartisticqueen @chrisevans-world @literaturelove @ivorylei @elrw24 @pono-pura-vida @yinx1 @justile @sunsetfreedom05 @jackiekae @luvingmyships @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @bekinds @maxcullen @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @damnitta @literaturefeen @bamondomesticity @scoop93535 @secretmysteriousperson

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for (can be found in masterlist), or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know! Also, if you’d rather opt to turn on notifications for my page you can do that as well🤓!

#ari levinson #ari levinson x black!reader #ari levinson x reader #chris evans x woc!reader #ari levinson x woc #red sea diving resort #ari levinson au #chris evans #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 2 years

Note

hey hun u gotta write something in celebration of jays win tonight 😩

Hi baby! Ok, so after seeing Jay’s press conference thing (or whatever it’s called lol) a little something sparkled in my mind (especially after his little temper tantrum 👀🌊) and I HAD to write this today during my long ass bus trip.

So here it is, I hope you enjoy it and fair warning: this is UNEDITED so you know, mistakes - ignore them 🤷‍♀️😂

Temper, Temper ✨

Word Count: 832 words

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @letsgivethisonemoreshot , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @starwithaheart , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @whenimakeitshine1234, @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @cuzimacomedian , @thebestintheworld , @josiewrites , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

ALL GIF CREDIT GOES TO: @rusevday

Sitting on one of the many press conference chairs, your eyebrows shot up once you heard a little outburst coming from the IWGP Champion:

“I CLEARLY WANT IT TO PUT ON THIS FUCKING THING!”

Taking your notepad in hand and quickly scrambling a note for later, you felt his eyes on you. Watching and daring you to look up. You were never one to run from a challenge so you looked up to stare back at his icy gray eyes.

From your privileged position in the front row, you saw Jay’s jaw clenching and a vein popping out on his neck the minute your gaze connected with his.

*Oh yes, this will be fun* You thought to yourself while waiting for the other reporters to finish up their questions so you could have your turn.

Jay sighed heavily “Any more questions?”, you waited for it, waited until he was certain you weren’t going to ask him anything so you could then raise your hand up “Mr. White?”. His whole posture changed, Jay squared off his shoulders, his head was slightly raised up and he sat up straight before looking at you “Yes?”.

“Do you think your anger management issues can be harmful to your title reign or your wrestling career in the future?”

The white t-shirt clung to Jay’s chest the more erratic his breath became, his eyes were so intense and anger filled that anyone could see how much your question had irritated him. “Anger management issues? You think I have anger issues just because people can’t seem to do their fucking job properly?!”

“No, I’m presuming you have emotional control problems since you’re almost always on edge and can’t seem to control your temper”.

“Maybe I don’t want to control my temper around idiotic people who won’t help the champion to put his fucking IWGP title in its holder as well as unprofessional reporters who ask dumb fucking questions!”

“I’m sorry, sir. But the only unprofessional we’re all seeing here is you, with your little PMS mood swings and incredibly rude behavior”

“You fucking bitch, you really have the nerve to-”

“Okay, I think that’s enough” Tony intervened and placed a hand on Jay’s chest when he stood up from his chair to walk towards you.

The clicking sound of your heels echoed through the small conference room when you were the one who closed the distance between you and Jay “I apologize if being called out on your shitty behavior hurts your fragile ego, Mr. White” A fake sweet smile adorned your lips “Congratulations on your victory though…Mr. Khan” A quick nod at Tony’s direction was your silent goodbye before you took your purse and left the conference room.

You slid the card key in your hotel bedroom door, eager for a warm, long bath and room service. The door closed behind you and a relieved sigh left your lips once you took off your heels and placed them by the door. The feeling of comfort soon disappeared and a sharp pain took over your scalp, “You fucking bitch!”, Jay’s voice growled against the pulse point of your neck “PMS mood swings, huh? Fucking anger management problems?! You’ll fucking regret that!”.

A satisfied smile was plastered on your lips when Jay forcefully pushed you on your stomach on top of the mattress. His hands tugged the pencil skirt up your hips and ripped the bright yellow lace panties in half, “That was one of my favorite pairs, you know?” Your giggle was joyful but it didn’t last long after Jay spat “Oh, yeah? And what makes you think that I give a fuck?! You know what? You’re talking to much, shut the fuck up!” He slid the damp lace panties in your mouth as far as he could without choking you, “See? Much better! We keep that pretty little mouth full so you stop talking shit but at the same time I can still hear your little slutty moans that make me so fucking hard for you”.

Jay pulled back, gripped your hips and pulled you up on your knees as your upper body continued down on the mattress. He let a glob of spit fall on your puckered hole and pumped his cock while his eyes watched the saliva travel down to your folds. “I’m fucking that ass later tonight, honeybee”. His heavy palm connected to your ass cheek as he aimed his tip against your entrance. He slid in with one sharp thrust until his pelvic bone was glued to your ass.

Your fingers desperately pulled the panties out of your lips “Jay, let me see you. Please, baby. I want to see your face”

“Jay, let me see you” He mocked before his hand closed around the nape of your neck, sinking your head further down on the mattress “Shut up, slut. You are only good for being fucked like this. On your knees, from behind like the cheap whore that you are, little bee”.

#jay white fanfiction #jay white imagine #jay white x ofc #jay white x reader #jay white #switchblade jay white #masochist writes

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aria-ashryver · 3 months

Note

Bursts through the door then neatly fixes it back up again

Any hc’s you can spare us for the Starlight trio? 🫣

MY DOOR!!— oh. Oh, okay, thank youuu here have some trio stuffs 😊

Quickfire HCs!

❤ Cas has the most violent sounding sneezes

❤ Gabe and Luca like to pull silly faces at each other from across the room sometimes (if Cas notices them, they both pretend like nothing happened)

❤ Cas is lowkey scared of moths

❤ A few years down the line, Luca takes up ice skating / figure skating as a hobby

❤ Gabriel’s car is a classic muscle car in a deep burnt orange shade (like a Dodge Charger or something, idk, I don’t speak car), and he knows enough about automotive repair to work on it himself

❤ (Its the one thing Cas could never bring himself to insult when they were in their “enemies” era, bc Cas thought it was just objectively cool)

❤ CAS IS TICKLISH

❤ Gabriel is sometimes hit by an overwhelming urge to go floss his teeth, and if he can’t do it then and there he gets really annoyed and antsy

❤ All three of them grow out their hair at some point (not necessarily at the same time, but Cas keeps a bun for the longest time)

❤ Luca maintains that the single most supernatural thing about Gabriel is that he knows how to fold a fitted sheet

❤ Luca likes snuggling into Gabriel’s lap while Gabe is reading a book (he doesn’t read with Gabe, he just likes vibing in Gabriel’s calm)

❤ In fact, all three of them are HUGE on parallel play/body doubling. Sometimes ya just gotta be near the ones you love, while also quietly doing your own thing, you know?

❤ But that’s not to say they don’t do stuff together too. The next chapter coming up in SICSIG will feature Cas hooking up his PS4 to Gabe’s TV and he and Luca gaming together — there will be a lot of that sort of thing in their future.

❤ They also turn really dumb things into a competition (like who can carry the most grocery bags in one trip)

❤ Gabriel regularly has to put up with coming home to find out Cas and Luca have hatched a plan in their joint idiocy and they’ll have like… idk, bought a paintball gun and they are in the yard taking turns shooting each other with it lol (once Luca is past their trauma ofc)

❤ It takes a loooong time, but Gabriel eventually lets Cas bleach his hair (there are lots of Ken doll/surfer/himbo jokes) (he looks gorgeous bc of course he does)

❤ Cas still insists on doing his own hair for a good decade, he does NOT trust Luca with the bleach (for good reason), but he eventually lets Gabriel touch up the back for him

❤ After a few years Cas learns bass guitar so the three of them can jam together

❤ Luca collects socks with cute patterns and characters and stuff, but doesn’t wear half of them because of sensory issues.

❤ Cas has no such qualms, and will often steal Luca’s socks when he hasn’t got around to doing laundry. Please picture for a moment, if you will, Cas in his standard leather jacket and massive black boots, but secretly underneath all that, he’s wearing a teensy pair of baby blue socks with the Squirtle Squad on them.

Longer, ramblier domestic trio HCs!

✨ Gabriel gets a little particular and fussy about how certain things are done — like, he had been doing things on his own, in his own way for years now. It doesn’t especially matter to him whether certain condiments are left on the second or third shelf in the refrigerator, it’s just force of habit that they go at the top. Cas quickly realises he has an entire household of mundane objects he can use to wind Gabriel up by always leaving them in slightly the wrong place. Making the bed marginally wrong. Not quite drawing the curtains all the way. Leaving a drawer just a teensy bit open. It drives Gabriel mad… but all three of them know they are only bickering for the sake of bickering, and it never gets old. (In fact, they actually look forward to it)

✨ Speaking of kitchens — Gabriel still very much loves to cook, both for a love of cooking itself and the connection it gives him to his father, but he loves taking care of Cas and Luca too! Cas complains a lot that Gabe keeps serving them vegan food now and then, but he’s still the first one to ask when the next time they are having tortilla soup is. There are a bunch of recipes Gabriel’s dad and grandma used to make, and it thrills him to no end that they turn out to be some of Cas and Luca’s favourites out of all the meals he makes.

✨ After living together for a little while, the boys quickly found out that they were all really into the idea of DIY? Gabriel really likes finishing details of interior design, Luca did a lot of little carpentry projects with his grandda in his childhood/teens, and for Cas, getting stuck in to gardening and exterior work is deeply therapeutic, rewarding, and reminds him of his life in South Korea with his grandparents. The Adalhard family home very much turns into a big renovation project (that takes them like a decade to really “complete”, though there’s always little things to be done, a room to be painted here, a window frame to replace there. They start with the garden planter boxes in the front yard —Cas’s initiative— and this is probably something you’ll see in future Starlight chapters!)

Gabriel likes to ogle Cas when he’s out digging in the gardens shirtless in the sun. He brings him iced tea and sliced fruit and stuff, it’s a bit cute :)

...hey this door is still busted FIX MY DOOR NONNY 💖💖💖

#SICSIG #choices immortal desires #immortal desires #cas harlow #gabe adalhard #luca o'rinn

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ethecookednoodle · 11 months

Text

Imma be honest, I wasn't sure if I was gonna do a post about my classpect choices for my TrigunxHomestuck AU but I kept rereading Homestuck and started thinking about things and thought "why the hell not?"

Also @stuck-in-the-ghost-zone and @anachronistic-falsehood tags kept going around my head since I saw them, so this is partially because your tags were very nice thank u guys <3

All that being said, this is just gonna cover Vash and Knives because turns out tired as shit me has a lot to say and no self control so I wrote a lot and if I got into why I made Meryl and Wolfwood's classpects what they are in my AU this was gonna be way too damn long, so I'm cutting it.

Anyway, whole ass essay under the keep reading. Keep in mind I wrote this last night when I was very tired and with a raging headache (still haven't recovered from that) so this might be a bit ✨dramatic✨(and also a bit of a character analysis because, like I said, I had a lot to say but not a lot of self control.)

To begin with, I guess the reason I put Knives and Vash as the Lord of Time and Muse of Space respectively has to do with the fact that they remind me of Calliope and Caliborn for obvious reasons. They're twins of an alien species which, while not extinct per se, they're very much alone since either the other members of their species are not quite like them or, in Calliope and Caliborn's case, they are the only one's of their species in a good, universe-sized radius, among other things I’ll get to later.

But aside from that there's the fact that…I don't really see, or can't see, Vash as a Hope player. Like, sure, he's all about hope and believing in a bright future but Hope players have a very black and white way of thinking (see: Eridan and Jake). And Vash doesn’t really see things that way, he's very much aware that there are layers to the issues between humans and plants, but his insistence doesn't just come from a blind hope that maybe things will work themselves out if he believes hard enough. His insistence comes from the fact that he has spent a good amount of his 150 years of life going around No Man's Land and realizing that yes, humans are stupid and can hurt others just for the sake of hurting people, but the vast majority of them that hurt people do it because they've been cornered and are really out of options in the department of survival (see: Wolfwood, Rosa, and pretty much any petty bandit, since they’re not really out for murder but out for fucking money because they gotta eat), and that even if there are people who go out of their way to hurt others for funsies, there's just as much people out there willing to help others out (Meryl, Luida, Brad (even if he’s a prick at the beginning), Rem). It's all about circumstances and Vash knows this, he just acts dumb as a coping mechanism. Him believing things can work out comes from a place of tribute towards Rem and the knowledge that there is a way things can get better as long as it is given the time and space to be worked on (pun not intended). His vision is nuanced and his feelings towards what his brother does are complicated because he knows he has a reason to act the way he does.

Knives either knows there are layers and doesn't care or he hasn't let himself think about them, because otherwise it would shatter his idea that there's only one true ultimate villain (humanity) that must be defeated in order to attain peace, which the latter is what probably goes through his mind. And this is oversimplifying his point of view, because his disregard of human issues come from the fear of seeing Tesla's body all fucked up by humans on a relatively peaceful environment and thinking that if he doesn’t do something quick they might be next, or more specifically, that Vash will be next. If anything, Knives actually fits better as a Hope player than Vash does. He believes plants to be superior and humans the trash of creation, and thus, he must do what’s right in order to protect what he loves. It might also be because all of the Hope players we see also have this…weird way of seeing themselves as the greatest heroes in their fucked-up/stupid stories, and also because two of them are big, self absorbed assholes. Even Jake is his own kind of self absorbed asshole. One would argue that could be said of Vriska and Meenah as well, but the difference is that they actually have ground to stand on. They say they’re the shit not just for the sake of saying it, they can actually back up that claim. What I’m trying to say is that Knives sees himself as a savior to his species while failing to see that in the process he’s hurting the one person he swore to protect while also subjecting the plants and his brother to become a means to producing his “paradise”, essentially enslaving them, just as humans would have done. And if he does see it, then he justifies it by saying “there’s no other way.” Which, to be honest, reminds me a lot of Eridan in the sense that he, as the Prince of Hope, decided all hopes of beating Jack and bringing back their people were lost, so he decided to destroy the matriorb and go on a murderous rampage. It’s a very “all or nothing” mentality, which is exactly what happens with Knives. He fails to see (or decides no to see) the layers and the nuance of the situation and refuses to listen to any kind of argument against his belief. Because, let’s be real for a hot second here, when was the last time Knives really tried to hear Vash out instead of brushing him off and telling him he’s being delusional/he’s sick and needs to wake up? And by the time he actually listens to Vash when they’re flying up into space, it’s in this high-stress, very emotional moment because he’s trying not to blow a city up. But I digress.

All that being said, I don’t really think the Hope aspect fits Knives either.

The reason I think Time and Space fit the twins so much is because of the fact that the aspects seem to encompass the rest to some extent. They’re, to quote the wiki, “the two basic fabrics of reality” which means that without them, nothing else can exist. It’s why every successful Sburb session needs to have a Time and Space player. And if you think about it, it makes sense. For example, Space seems to be similar to the Hope aspect in the sense that their players have a very strong hold on their beliefs, they also resemble the Light aspect because their players also seem to be very knowledgeable (to some extent, i.e: the messages in the clouds in Skia and how Space players seemed to be the ones that paid the most attention to them) about stuff other aspects are not, and of course, it also has a strong relationship with the Life aspect, since it’s the Space player’s duty to breed and care for the frog that will eventually become the new universe in which life will proliferate (and not to mention, all space players have been somewhat related to life, with Jade being a botanist, Kanaya and Porrim being in charge of bringing back trollkind and Calliope being fascinated by the lives of other beings (i.e: trolls and humans) in general, despite her kind being extremely asocial). And the same can be said of the Time aspect: it’s related to death, this of course being a direct relation to the Doom aspect, the Time and Heart aspect seem to share this ability to become splintered (one with time loops and the other via soul splinters), and even though it’s more of a reach, you could say Time and Rage have relation because of the fact that both seem to be related to destruction (although the instances we’ve seen the aspect being used are by destructive classes, that’s why I say it’s more of a reach). I put very specific things as examples, but with the exception of the life and death thing (and maybe the Heart aspect thing), I think the things the Time and Space aspects encompass of other aspects are on a spectrum, and may even vary from player to player.

Obviously, all of the above is more my personal speculation than anything else, but that aside, now that I finally got to the point in my re-read of Homestuck where I’m reacquainted enough with Calliope that I understand why I think her and Vash are similar. And wouldn’t you guess it, it has to do with the fact that they were hoping for their brothers to change. Like, to be fair, in Calliope’s case, she was straight-up lying to herself, but again, to be fair, this stemmed from the fact that she had hope the game would help them understand each other and…well, you can see where I’m going with this. Vash hoped his brother would change, even if deep down he knew he wouldn’t, or at the very least, he wouldn’t change without things going south first. And it wasn’t until things started to go very south where they, both Calliope (the version that overpowered Caliborn) and Vash decided it was enough and sprung into action. I am well aware that the brother thing can also be applied to Knives and to his situation, but you get what I’m saying.

If I wanted to go through the Caliborn and Knives comparison, then I would point out that Knives, as far as I can tell, was never squeamish about killing (at least not after the Tesla incident), and sees it as something necessary in order to make sure his plans come to fruition. That being said, I think the other thing I would point out is how driven he is. To quote the wiki yet again, Time players “value action over passive acceptance” and “tend to value the destination over the journey”, and what is Knives if not someone with a huge drive to make his dreams of a peaceful paradise for him, his brother and the rest of his kind come true, even it comes at the expense of the human race and the happiness, free will and general freedom of his brother and his kind. Since day one he’s been scheming and finding ways to make things happen, and I don’t know about you guys, but I think at the very least the amount of research he put on to Vash’s powers and how to unlock his gate despite how unbelievably limited the data on Independents were, without actually having Vash captive for 150 to study him is very impressive (and kind of (very) scary). But that’s where the similarities with them end, at the end of the day Knives is 1000 times smarter than Caliborn (and more likable, even if he’s a genocidal maniac). I just think that Knives possesses a lot of the qualities that make up a Time player, and him being a Master Class is because both Vash and Knives are stupidly powerful.

In the end, I guess it’s because the duality of both Vash and Knives’ ideals and personalities can be perfectly encompassed by the duality of the Time and Space aspects.

(And also because I thought of a great scene between Vashwood and the image has been ingrained in my brain to such a degree that I refuse to change the classpects to something else. It’s like 50% all those things I said 50% gay stuff, ngl.)

Anyway stay tuned for the “why did you make Wolfwood the Knight of Doom and Meryl the Rouge of Light” post. It’ll hopefully be a lot shorter and less convoluted lol.

#this is the longest post i have ever writen and of course it's fucking homestuck (and trigun but that one's new in my brain)#trigun #homestuck #homestuck au #trigunxhomestuck au #classpect #vash the stampede #millions knives #this is seriously long as shit

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