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avwfcstan · 8 months

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Heart Stopper | Leah Williamson

A/N: this was rushed and probs sucks boooo, will probably do a follow up part too (also not proofread lol)

There were many things that gave you a nervous fluttering in your chest; waking up on your birthday, receiving awards, doing interviews and even meeting fans.

But there was also a few things that made that feeling a hundred times more intense. Playing for your country, and whenever Leah looked at you.

It was cliché, but the two of you were completely head over heels for each other. Leah's gaze was the most beautiful thing you ever had the pleasure of catching, but it would always make your heart race a little faster in your chest. Your fiancée often teased you about how nervous you got when you made eye contact especially considering the four years you had been together, but you just couldn't explain it.

Leah looked at you with so much love and affection, a genuine feeling behind her eyes that made you question what you had done to deserve love like hers. Her eyes never failed to make you smile, and appreciate what you had. She was your world, more important than anything in your life; including your career.

You could think of a thousand different examples of times Leah had made you nervous, when you met, when you finally plucked up the courage to ask her out, when you met her family, winning the Euros with her. But nothing would beat how her eyes brimmed with happy tears when you got down on one knee that night in Athens, during a holiday just after England's victory in the summer.

There was a lot of things that made your heart race, beat against your chest as though it was ready to burst, but Leah would always be at the top of your list.

Today was no different, except you had plenty more reasons to be jittery.

Not too long ago, you were called up to represent England at the World Cup and before you knew it, the time was here. Unfortunately, your soon-to-be-wife had sustained an injury to her ACL a few months prior, and it had left her out of the squad indefinitely due to her recovery period. It was tough time for Leah, but you had remained by her side throughout, and she would be forever thankful that you were.

You had played at your best, as well of the rest of the team and it earned you a spot in the semi-finals against France. It was going to be a very tough game, but you had made it this far, and nobody planned on going home early.

No matter how many times you played for your country, it was still scary. Even though you had played well so far, you were so worried it could all go wrong. That feeling in your chest could be a spiteful bastard, and sometimes turn sour at the worst times. It would become a tight feeling, painful and hard to ignore. But in your line of work, it was something that had to be ignored.

"How you feeling, speedy?" A voice had quickly snapped you out of your thoughts. Turning your head to see Millie Bright taking a seat beside you in the changing room that was already full of eager Lionesses prepping for kick off (and listening to ABBA).

You cleared your throat slightly, feeling that familiar twinge in your chest that threatened to turn unpleasant.

"Good." The lie slipped past your lips, not backed up by the fact that your leg was bouncing so quickly against the floor that it could've created a hole.

Millie chuckled beside you before throwing an arm around your shoulder.

"We're gonna kill 'em, save that energy for the pitch kid."

You offered her a quick smile before she patted your back and moved off to have a conversation with Rachel. It was odd, you hadn't quite had this feeling so intense before, but you had figured that the further you got in the competition, the worse it might be. But Millie was right, conserve your energy and let it out when it mattered.

It wouldn't be long before you were due to line up and head out for kick off, and so despite the rules, you pulled out your phone to text Leah. She had managed to convince the physios at Arsenal that she would be fine to fly out for the end of the tournament, promising to cheer you all on from wherever she was sat. She had texted you with the general area, and you told her you'd look for her when you came out.

Putting your phone away, you rose to your feet and followed the team out.

The feeling was ever present in your chest, but it didn't die down. Shaking your head and balling your hands in fists by your sides, it was game time. Win first, worry later.

<><><>

The whistle was blown, and the game kicked off. It was a hard fought battle between both sides. Equal opportunity, but neither could make a real dent in the score line. At the 46th minute, your chest had begun to tighten and your head beginning to hurt, and not in a way you had felt before.

Something was wrong.

An anxiety attack perhaps? Migraine? You had no idea but there was no way in hell you were subbing off this early, not when you were making runs up the wing and crosses into the box that had France's defence all over the place.

One misplaced pass from a French midfielder allowed Lucy to intercept, who passed it promptly to Stanway, sending it you on the left wing where you were already setting up to make the run. Rachel Daly was at the striking position, and after hours of drills, it was about to pay off as an opportunity to score presented itself. By the time the long ball reached your feet, you were off and running it up the line, leaving a stumbling French right back tailing after you. As the end of the pitch appeared, you halted quickly, stopping the ball with you and throwing off the defender for a mere moment.

But that was all you needed.

A sly pass through the legs of said defender allowed you to chip the ball into the rapidly crowding box, but Rachel was there ready to header it in. England, France, the whole stadium held their breath as Daly made contact and sent the shot flying into the top corner. It was though everything was happening in slow motion to you.

Unfortunately, the incredible shot rattled off the woodwork, allowing a defender to clear the ball from the French box, sending both teams back down the pitch.

"France clear the dangerous attempt from England, making safe passes between their back line in order to gain some ground." The commentators were keeping a close eye on this tight-knit game. Their eyes followed every kick of the ball. "-makes a clear pass past Walsh and into the England half, but it appears that Y/L/N has yet to even catch up with her teammates!"

Leah was hyper-focused, prepped for a nasty French counter-attack. With her lower lip between her teeth, she was watching every kick of the ball, hands clenched in hope that the Lioness defence would come through. It was clear that it was neck and neck, and not a single second could be wasted. A French player was closing in on the England box, and Millie was ready to make the tackle, until she noticed a commotion on the pitch.

"France are set on returning the attacking gesture, making good ground- Oh!" The commentator cut himself off. "Is Y/L/N injured? She seems to be stumbling."

The blonde defender's eyes flickered away out the sound of a whistle, the French player halting her attack. Millie's head turned to the sound of the whistle, as did the rest of the players.

There was Rachel, kneeling down beside a body of white kit. Keira stood waving her arms to the side lines, a clear sign of calling for medical aid. The referee had also dropped to her knees, and Leah's heart sank as realisation settled in.

From her position, she was close enough to see that you were lying down on the ground. Still. Unmoving. She didn't see you get tackled, let alone go down. Her throat filled with anxiety, fear. What do I do? Leah couldn't exactly run onto the pitch, but that was her fucking fiancée down there for Christ sake.

"Leah..." Her brother managed out beside her, already knowing. Her brother had come to like you quite a lot, but you were basically part of the family. It was clear the worry was mutual.

The blonde woman heard ringing, her brother's attempts at consoling her falling on deaf ears. She watched as medics ran onto the pitch, and not just team medics, but paramedics. It was clear something was seriously wrong as the ref beckoned them over quickly after her initial examination.

Leah wasn't quite able to process what was going on. Tears pricked in her eyes, and that tight feeling in her own chest had turn into outright panic. Her breathing was staggered, but she was unable to move. She wasn't close enough to hear or see clearly, but she knew.

The English squad all shared a solemn and worrisome look on their faces. Lucy Bronze had her hands on the shoulders of Keira Walsh, seemingly attempting to calm her down. The two of you were close, and seeing you like this was hard. Especially since no-one quite knew what was going on. Lucy pulled Keira away, as the rest of the team quickly stood in a protective circle around yourself and the paramedics, shielding you away from prying eyes in such a vulnerable moment. The French players also joined to fill in the gaps, showing nothing but solidarity for a fellow player.

Your fiancée was only stirred from her panic as her brother grabbed her hand, leading her down from their seats and back inside the stadium. Leah had obviously gained a sort of VIP privilege to watch the match, meaning they had a private area inside before and during the game. As her eyes were torn away from you, her body kicked back into auto drive, ignoring her brother and immediately began searching for someone that could help her.

"Excuse me!" Leah had found what looked like a security guard further down the corridor, just outside the room. "My girlfriend's just been injured and I need to see her!"

The man didn't respond initially, as it seemed he was listening to something being said in his earpiece. "Madam I can't let anyone down there."

Meanwhile, outside the stadium had fallen silent. You were being rushed off the pitch and referee had called a slightly early half-time, sending both teams back to the changing rooms. The Lionesses wasted no time, Sarina was going to have to deliver a game plan at the same time as making sure the rest of the team were okay.

There was a lot of chatter in the changing room.

"Fuck, man!" Lucy stressfully placed her hands on her head. "What the fuck was it?" She asked out loud, hoping for an answer.

"Mate I dunno, she just collapsed." Rachel responded from her seat in her cubby.

Keira just sighed. "It's bad, it's really bad." Emotions threatened to spill over. "She just dropped and she was shaking."

"I heard the paramedics. She was unconscious." Georgia admitted shakily, and the atmosphere in the room changed. But before anyone could say more, Sarina walked in the room alongside some assistant coaching staff.

The girls all shuffled back into their seats, and then Sarina spoke;

"I've been told that Y/N suffered a seizure." The silence in the room was heavy. "We do not know why, but she's on the way to the hospital."

No one knew what to say. Not really.

"Is she going to be okay?" Jess asked what everyone was thinking. The obvious question.

Sarina's gaze dropped.

"I don't know at this time, but it seems that way." Sighs of relief were audible.

Millie then spoke; "Has anyone told Leah?" Heads turned to look at her. "She's here, there's no way she hasn't seen."

"I've sent someone up to grab her, they'll take her to Y/N." The England coach informed her team. "Look ladies, I know you are all gravely concerned about your teammate, and the support and care you showed at their proved it. But Y/N would want you all to go back out there and give it your best."

It was true, the girls all knew how much the game meant to you, and that you were the type of person to never quit. You expected the same thing from everyone else. In truth, it was a part of what made the team so special.

But their hearts also ached for Leah. Watching the person you love have something so horrible happen to them was hard.

So they would go back out there, and win it for you. You and Leah.

<><><>

The match was over. England won 2-1.

Leah couldn't quite bring herself to care, though. For a rare occasion, something in her life had taken precedence over the game.

She was sat alone in a waiting room, in some Australian hospital, waiting to hear anything from you. She had been there for two hours. Before Leah could rip off that security guard's head, an England staff member had grabbed her, telling her everything he knew before helping her get to the hospital. She thanked him profusely, and went inside, trying to find out what was going on with you.

The England captain was told to wait, and that was what she had been doing ever since. Her brother had come in and out, busy making phone calls to his and Leah's mum.

"Leah Y/L/N?" Her head snapped up at that. She had forgotten she had lied about her name, telling them you were married already in fear they wouldn't let her see you. Leah bolted up and headed to the nurse who had called her name, indicating for the woman to follow her.

She pulled out her phone and text her brother that she was going to see you before she was brought outside a door. The nurse opened it and ushered her in, stating she would give some privacy before the nurse came over.

For the first time ever, Leah's gaze on you was one filled with heartache.

Hooked up to wires, pale as anything. Sitting in a bed you had no purpose being in. You didn't look like you.

"Y/N..." The tears that the defender had desperately tried to hold back had breached her eyes once again, flowing freely. You were awake, and the sudden noise had you looking over at your lover.

"Leah." You sighed, seeming a lot more awake than she had been expecting. The girl rushed over and grabbed your hand, before you pulled her into a hug, immediately wrapping your arms around hers. "I'm okay, c'mon, I'm okay."

You attempted to soothe her hurt, ironically. But Leah pulled away, sobbing.

"But you're not! Oh my God, you aren't okay!" Leah hated the word hysterical, she thought it had sexist undertones, but she felt a little hysterical right now.

"Hey! I'm alive! I'm breathing! I'm talking to you right now, aren't I?" You quipped, smiling at her. You still looked pale, slow moving. But still, that was you. "It was a seizure. Stress, they said. They need to do more tests but, I'm all good."

Leah knew you were okay, the evidence was right in front of her. But it didn't make this any less scary.

She didn't even have to say anything, her lip just quivering. You pulled her back into you, mindful of the wires connected to your body. "I know, baby. I'm right here." You ran a soothing hand up and down her back.

"I should be comforting you right now." She mumbled into your neck, making you chuckle.

"Ha, I'm sound." That made her giggle.

"You collapsed." She deadpanned, pulling away slightly again.

"I know."

"You're going to be okay?" She asked, those beautiful eyes finding yours again. "You're going to be okay."

"I know." You repeated, and your fiancée kissed your cheek.

She spent the next minutes asking you how you felt, and you explained how you felt just before you went down and how you remembered nothing whilst you were unconscious.

"I didn't even know I had a fit till I got in the ambulance. I just felt so...tired. Exhausted." Recounting your trip to the hospital, Leah was constantly stroking your hair, looking you in the eyes to make sure you were really there. "But I'm good. I'll be good."

Leah didn't say anything, she just leaned in and kissed you softly on the lips. The two of you shared a sweet embrace until a short beep on your monitor made you both pull away. Leah turned her head and saw your heart rate monitor, and that your BPM had spiked slightly.

Your face went red with realisation, and Leah just bit her lower lip bashfully.

"Do I make you nervous or something?" She teased, and you just sighed at her antics.

"Shut up!" You flopped back into the bed, letting yourself lean against the mattress.

There was a beat of silence.

"I didn't make anything stressful for you, right? I know the last few months have been hard-" You cut Leah's rambling off quickly before she could spiral, knowing what she was like.

"Nope! None of that please. Leah, I've always been shit with dealing with stress. It's my own fault for bottling it up. I'm gonna start seeing someone when we get back, manage my emotions better. Promise." You reassured her, and you meant what you said. You knew Leah had some of the toughest months of her life the past year. Coming off the highs of captaining the team to the Euros win, to being injured and missing out on the biggest tournament in the world was so hard. But you didn't regret helping her through a single minute of that, and no matter how tough it was really, you would never let her take the blame because there was simply none to place on her shoulders.

The two of you were interrupted by a doctor entering the room, apologising for the intrusion.

"Ah, I see your wife found you then, Mrs Y/L/N?" He smiled, walking over to your other side and checking a few machines.

You turned your head sheepishly to Leah.

"Wife, huh?"

She just hummed in response.

"A couple of months, give or take."

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso #woso one shot #engwnt #lionesses #woso community #lionesses x reader #awfc

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scorpiomother · 1 year

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APOCALYPSE (pt. three)

･ﾟ★ . remember that you are dust and to dust, you shall return

summary: there’s no way you can put a label on what you and peter are. friends with benefits aren’t even the proper term. he pisses you off but reels you back in every time...

word count: 10.1k (holy hell)

warnings: explicit content. minors dni (+18) seggsy times w/ dom! peter on x games mode, but nothing too crazy i think ;p

playlist 𓆩♡𓆪 mood board 𓆩♡𓆪 read on ao3 𓆩♡𓆪 series mlist 𓆩♡𓆪 masterlist 𓆩♡𓆪 kofi

← chapter two

ACQUAINTED

You were self-destructive. That’s what you had decided the second time you let Peter into your apartment. The third and fourth times, you decided that this was so very feminist and empowering of you. You were the modern woman! Casual sex was so easy.

It’s been two weeks since your first date with Peter and the nights eventually blended together and you lost count of the times he came over. You couldn’t help it when your social life amounted to nothing, and Peter was not one to deny sex.

You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was ruining everything for you. So technically, you were self-destructive and feminist all at the same time. (Also, very modern woman of you).

The ghost of him lingered. There were bags of coffee in your pantry for him to drink after fucking you. (You assumed it was so that he would have enough energy to make his way back to Queens and avoid sleeping over at all costs). His records started to mix in with your own collection. (His forgetful dumb ass never remembering to take them with him). Your own bed sheets were stained with the smell of him. (A mix of his evergreen shampoo and your own body wash that he would use). It’s like he was deliberately making you addicted to him. He simply ruined the comfort of your own home.

Not to mention, it was nearly impossible for you to focus on work anymore. Harry often found you with a blank stare and you had a hard time keeping up with the endless amount of emails and paperwork. You were either daydreaming about having sensual sex with him or if he liked you the way that you liked him (which you easily doubted).

You have never been so mentally absent in your life. It was like Peter took that sane part of you with him. That bastard.

Today was no different. The work day went by slowly and for a long while, Peter’s veined hands on your hips were the topic of interest in your mind. It was an early symptom of your impeding love sick disease. Not that you were in love with Peter or anything.

It always began like that. A superficial, sometimes aroused, thought. And then it would snowball into something more skin-deep.

You were filing paperwork, something you would normally push to the side, but with your wandering mind, you needed to do something that required less amount of thinking so that you could think about more important things. Like self-reflection and relationships. Like how the fuck did you let this happen. This being your somewhat of a relationship with Peter.

After that rainy afternoon to evening sex, you thought you would never see Peter again, and eventually, at two in the morning, you convinced yourself that you liked it that way before falling asleep. Two perfect orgasms in one night by handsome and mysterious Peter Parker? Who cared if you didn’t click? You definitely clicked in your apartment. And that’s a big win!

Peter Parker was nothing and you were going to move about your weekend like he wasn’t life-altering or anything! It was a one-night stand and people had one-night stands all of the time.

What was crazy and possibly unfortunate, was that Peter was at your front door the next morning. It was too early for you to be awake, your Sunday’s normally not starting until the afternoon. You hadn’t expected anyone at your door, let alone Peter. If you knew it was Peter, you would’ve fixed your hair a bit better.

When you opened the door, your breath immediately hitched at the sight of your unannounced guest.

Peter was donned in casual wear with the same backpack from the day before hanging on his shoulder, now dry. While you were adoring him in his gray sweatpants, you could feel his gaze on your body. Your pajamas, short and sheer, revealed to Peter all of the marks he made on you. You bit your lip before acknowledging his presence.

Your cheeks buzzed with a combination of shyness and eagerness. “Peter? Did you forget something?”

His eyes clung to your breasts for another second before granting you his full attention.

“I got you… um, something, and I didn’t have your number,” he shrugged. You looked at his hand and saw the plastic Walgreens bag in his grasp.

“I know the sex was really good-”

“Really, really good,” he corrected.

His quick interjection made a laugh bubble in your chest. “Right. But, my hand in marriage, Peter?”

“I know, I’m such a romantic,” he shrugged..

“I have such a shit memory…How’d you remember where I live?”

“Put a tracker on you. You know, nothing crazy,” Peter said, putting the bag in your possession, the crinkles making your ears tingle.

“Smart,” you said taking the plastic in your hands. When you opened up the bag there was a small purple box causing you to let out a snicker. “Wow. Hand delivered Plan B? What a gentleman…”

Peter rubbed the back of his head, clearly embarrassed.

“I just felt really bad about not offering to use a condom or anything. And I’m clean, no doubt about it. So you don’t have to worry about it,” he said.

“Oh, thank you! I mean according to my period tracker I shouldn’t be ovulating, but I’ll take this anyways,” you found yourself oversharing, accommodating for his own discomfort.

“Yeah, can’t have mini me’s running around,” he smirked.

Your grin turned into a full-fledged, teeth and all smile. “Definitely not.”

Although the awkwardness of the situation made you cringe, it didn’t stop you from noticing how Peter looked so cute and sleepy-eyed. His messy tussles of hair were begging you to just hold on. It was sickening how terribly gravitated you were by him.

Your mouth was doing that thing again. Speaking without permission. “Don’t you think we should get your money’s worth?”

Peter tilted his head and soon after grinned, quick to unscramble your riddle. “Ah you don’t mean…”

“I do mean...” You pressed your thighs together at the thought of having him in you again. He had to have spent about fifty dollars on the small pill. Living in New York wasn’t cheap and neither was being a full-time student for Peter! It was in both of your best interests to make this count.

“I have class in an hour.” His words held no meaning when his eyes wandered to your thighs. It was just words and actions meant more. His feet were planted, unyielding, not ready to leave your apartment. You took a mental note that Peter noticed everything. And you were going to use it to your advantage

It wasn’t in your nature to be so bold, but every part of your body begged to please Peter. Let me your good girl, your neurons snapped and fired and pleaded.

“We don’t have to take an hour,” you said licking your lips.

Peter shook his head with a sinful grin before he took a step into your apartment, his backpack already flung to the floor to be forgotten for the next fifteen minutes.“You and your bright ideas…”

That was the third time Peter Parker came inside of you. Out of God who knows many times! The only difference was that you were now on birth control, an easy pick-up with your covered insurance. Thank you OSCORP!

When you reflect back, all you can do is blame it all on Peter. Though, you often noticed how you were always the one to initiate the sex. But it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for him and his eyes that made you feel like you were drunk all the time.

It was easier to be the victim than to purge all contact from Peter. Because that was what you would have to do if you weren’t the victim.

Finally, you had finished filing the large stack of paper on your desk. At least you could go home today and say that you completed something successfully. It was a Friday and you were antsy to go home. Not because of anything particular, but you were barely sleeping whether it was up from late nights with Peter or nights alone and thinking of Peter, both equally leaving you with a lack of restful nights.

As you sat back comfortably in your chair, you let out a sigh as if you were working yourself to the bone.

“You’ve been really tired recently, huh?”

When you look up, your eyes fixated on Harry in a well-fitted, navy suit.

“Blue suits you,” you said as he sat on your desk.

“Don’t tell me, you and Parker are having late nights,” he grinned, leaning forward on his knees. Perhaps to assert dominance. Show off the way that he knows what you have been up to.

“No, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you scoffed.

“Right. From all of your late nights with him,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Respectfully, fuck off, Mr. Osborn.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N.” Harry hopped off the desk and proceeded to crack his knuckles. You watched as he walked around the foyer.

“Did you bring lunch today?” He said.

“No, I didn’t have time to pack anything.”

“Great. Join me? My treat,” Harry flashed a smug smirk.

It was a douchebag’s peace offering. One that you weren’t going to pass up.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

The cherry pie in front of Harry taunted you as you nibbled on the leafy greens and ruby red tomatoes on your plate.

“Pie for lunch. You’re living the life.”

“I told you to order whatever you like,” Harry laughed, pointing his sugar-coated fork at you to emphasize his words.

Harry had decided on a small bistro a couple of blocks away from OSCORP. You had expected to walk to lunch, but Prince Harry had other plans that involved a black Mercedes Benz and a personal driver. Spoiled, you thought to yourself in the luxurious car.

“And I like this,” you gestured to your vibrant salad.

Harry scoffed, preceding to shake his head at your remark. “Yeah right.”

“Bite me,” you said after taking a mouthful of the arugula in your mouth, giving Harry a dorky smile with greens in between your teeth. “Careful for what you wish for.”

In a way, you were thankful that Harry continued with the snide comments and flirty remarks even though you were seeing his best friend. It was the only normalcy you had at the moment and you knew you could count on his smart mouth. Harry would burst at the seams if he knew how you looked forward to his banter.

Harry placed the fork down and rested his chin on his palm. “So what are you guys?”

You let out an aggravated sigh. “Harry, I’m not going to talk to you about this.”

“Fuck professionalism, I set you up on that date. I deserve to know what’s the deal with you two.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Harry,” you said plainly.

What was there to say to Harry? You clearly weren’t dating Peter Parker, but you wouldn’t go out of your way to say that you were friends with benefits. It was hard to find the exact terminology for what you two were to each other. You could say “fuck buddies” but that didn’t feel right either. It felt like you were sex acquaintances. Acquainted with each other through sex, that’s all. Because saying “friends with benefits” would entail that you were friends or that you know remotely anything about each other.

You didn’t know how to comprehend the situation-ship.

What was worse was that you were suppressing any feelings for him because it was easy to enjoy someone's company when they were making you cum. He touched you like he loved and worshipped you, but despite everything, he continued to be distant and mentally absent from you aside from the banter you shared. It was confusing.

It all felt like shallow banter and hollow flirting.

When it came down to it, you both didn’t know much about one another. When you don’t share a real conversation with one another, but spend a consequential amount of time together, that leaves room for observation. He didn’t have to say a thing for you to know him. You could tell when he was anxious or had a lot on his mind. It was simple observation and emotional cognition, but it felt like he didn’t have that same understanding for you. He didn’t watch and study you the way that you did.

It felt silly to search for a fleeting moment of bliss with him. You were chasing that recklessly. Somehow it was worse to be in love with Peter than be with Harry you realize. Peter was secretive and you were greedy. It didn’t mix well.

You were embarrassed to admit that you wanted more of him.

“Why don’t you ask Peter?”

“He won’t tell me a thing,” he shrugged.

Peter didn’t talk about you. It was both relieving and hurtful. But maybe it was for the best that Harry had nothing to say about it so he couldn’t tell you that this was a bad idea or that Peter was just using you. Both equally terrible news.

Harry’s eyes searched for the reason that caused you visible distress. All you could do was let out a breath that brought no real relief and give Harry a response.“I don’t know what we are, okay?”

Harry’s eyes softened. “What do you want to be?”

A snort escaped from you. It was a hilarious question, something you never let yourself truly think about. “Again, I don’t know.”

The sexual compatibility was transpicuous and it was so unbelievably clear how easy it was to fall into one another. Yet, there was always something holding Peter back. The way that he would part his lips and momentarily light up, just to throw away a semblance of spark in himself. It seemed as though he was constantly at war with himself.

You wanted to tell him to snap out of it and quit holding back.

You started to fork around the vegetables. Pushed the lettuce to the outer rim and rolled the tomatoes in circles. Poked and prodded at the cucumber. You lost your appetite.

“I’m just curious, Y/N. Need to know if I have to beat his ass or not,” Harry said with his eyes stuck on your plate. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bare to see his pity.

You gave him a hollow laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

The sunlight was what woke you up at first.

The luster of amber had seeped into your bedroom and stirred you awake. It was Saturday morning, and you didn’t catch up on any sleep. In Harry’s words, you had another late night with Peter. You threw your bedsheets over your head. You partially dozed off before an arm slung around your body, stirring your consciousness to be more present.

The sudden warmth and presence of another confused you. You propped yourself up with your elbow and looked at the mess of brown hair on the adjacent pillow.

“Peter?” You said bewildered at the sight.

Peter was sleeping on his stomach, the white comforter draped along his lower back like a gossamer robe on a Grecian. His face was away from you and all you could see was his naked back and mop of hair. It wasn’t his glorious, toned back that had your heart racing, but more so that he was there at all.

“Hmmm?” Peter’s hand softly rubbed on your hip to acknowledge you. Your instincts were to grab his hand and hold it tightly, kiss his knuckles even. His touch burned into you.

It was hard to recall how last night ended. You don’t remember specifically falling asleep with Peter. You just remember falling asleep immediately. Whether Peter stayed or not wasn’t a question you were thinking about anymore, you just knew that he was going to leave. That was the routine.

You felt your voice go meek, but you forced the words out. “You stayed over?”

“I guess I did…” He mumbled, his face still smothered in pillows and sheets. His morning voice was raspy and made your stomach churn. “I’m sorry. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just surprised.” You were talking to a head of hair, but it somehow made it easier to talk to him. His eyes weren’t coercing you or turning you into a babbling idiot.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Peter and all of his apologies. It made you want to hold him in your arms and tell him that he has nothing to be sorry about. Instead, you soaked up the view of him in the morning. Here. With you.

“It’s okay, Peter.”

“Can I stay a bit longer?”

“You’re an idiot,” you said, falling back into bed.

You snaked your arm around his back, his skin hot to the touch, and spooned him, something you had never dared to do.

His skin smelled warm. Aromatic.

Lavender and tonka bean perfumed your sheets, turning Peter into a casualty.

He smelled like your lotion.

You understood what he meant when he said he wanted to eat you. You wanted to bite into his shoulder and inhale him until there was no more room in your lungs.

You hoped your embrace was enough to convey that you wanted him to stay more than anything. For once you didn’t care what he thought and you didn’t care if you were overstepping boundaries. You only wanted to let the morning sun kiss your back as your eyelashes fluttered against Peter’s shoulder blades.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

An hour later, you properly woke up, but this time Peter wasn’t with you and the sun was no longer seeping through the blinds. A sense of relief flooded you. The idea that you didn’t have to confront him about his stay and try to make sense of everything brought you comfort, even if it would’ve been nice to wake up to him and his sleepy eyes.

The Peter-shaped dent in the mattress was proof that he had slept over. With your foolish heart and tired eyes, you were unsure if what you saw had been an apparition, a dream at best. Your eyes searched for further evidence.

When you looked at the nightstand on his side, you saw a Polaroid and a single picture. Stretching out your arm, you took the photo between your fingers and examined it. Oddly enough, it was a picture of you.

The morning light illuminated the room with a halo-like essence around you, the yellow sheen bouncing off from your shoulder blades. There was the slightest visual of your lips past all of the hair, your bottom lip protruding- a pretty pout for Peter. It was almost angelic.

For a long time, you lay in bed with your hand in the air, the picture staring back at you. You have never had such a pretty photograph of yourself before and you wanted to memorize each detail.

Did this mean anything?

Normally, you held up the dam of your feelings with ease, but for some reason, your hold was slipping. The water was making its way past the cracks, the barrier useless against all of the thoughts flooding your mind. It was overwhelming. You were losing your control over a picture. Peter sleeping over didn’t even make you this dizzy.

In your mind, the sleepover was merely an accident, but implementing the two-thirds composition rule and pressing the shutter button wasn’t an accident. How could that be an accident?

You held it in your hand as you left your bedroom, unable to part with such an offering. Walking to the kitchen with the photo in one hand, you began to hear some noises and realized that Peter had never left. This sudden realization made you grasp tighter onto the photo as if Peter was going to snatch it out of your hand.

Peter finally came into view— a tummy-turning view at that. Shirtless and focused, he moved fluidly around your kitchen as if it was his kitchen. He was rummaging through cabinets, pouring liquid, and playing with mugs, all the while his back flexing with each movement. The marks you left from last night were still red on his skin.

“Oh, I thought you left,” you said.

“You always think I’m leaving or something,” he chuckled without looking back at you.

Because you always leave, your mind hissed back. You swatted the intrusive and petty thoughts away, pushing them behind all of your unpacked feelings about Peter.

You sat at the dining table and tried your best to remain calm as if this was another ordinary morning with Peter. Another ordinary morning with Peter who took pretty photos of you while you slept.

Didn’t he know? Candids were for people you cared about.

You took the photo and put it behind your thigh. The slick film was cool to the touch. A reminder that you were something so beautiful that Peter stopped to take a picture. It was a stretch, but furthermore, you didn't know how to talk about it yet. It was better to hide it beneath you than talk to Peter about his actions.

“Am I overstaying my welcome?” he asked, continuing his task at hand.

“Not at all.”

You were lying. If he knew you any better, he would’ve known the way that you wiggled your nose. A small bluff that even Harry knows.

Of course, you were lying! He changed the routine. He’s getting your hopes up.

“Good, 'cause I was about to pour your tea down the drain if that was the case.”

Your heart fluttered. Peter at the very least cared about you! Who makes tea for someone you don’t care about? Psychos?

“You made me tea?”

He turned around, his front side now a view to you, with the two mugs in his hands and a grin on his face. “Figured you didn’t want any coffee,” he said before setting your mug on the table.

“You figured right,” you murmured, taking a deep inhale of the cup.

Rather than sit at the table with you, Peter leaned on the counter and took a sip of his drink.

Peter Parker in the morning was strangely generous, or at least more generous than normal. This pit of feelings was getting deeper and deeper within the hour. Your imminent descent was going to be fatal, you thought as you blew on the mug.

Peter’s brown tufts of hair were out of place and he wore a lazy, yet satisfied grin. He was the poster child for the sexy morning look. You wanted to avert your eyes and save yourself from all the drool, but who knew when was the next time you would see Peter like this?

This interaction was all too casual for you. All too domestic.

Shuffling around your kitchen as if it was his. Making you tea with his own free will as if he knew you like the back of his hand. Photographing small moments that he wanted as a keepsake as if you were his and someone he would want to treasure.

And it would’ve been so easy for you to give everything up to him.

For fuck’s sake, he made you tea, and now, you’re willing to do anything for him?

No, you weren’t that weak and you weren’t that hypnotized. Peter was a man, who only comes to you for one thing and one thing only.

Your eyes fell from the rim of his glasses to his toned abs and the faint bulge in his shorts, convincing yourself that you wanted him for one thing and one thing only. You definitely did not want to stare into his eyes and exchange intimate secrets with Peter. Only partake in physical activities with him.

A certain quietness sat still between you two. The only sound in the kitchen was alternating sounds of Peter taking sips and you blowing your tea. Not even the normal New York white noise was apparent to you. You were completely absorbed with this small pod of yours that just so happened to have Peter Parker.

Were you supposed to be acting like everything was okay? When in fact you weren’t okay?

The herbal steam mixed in with your breath, the air around you warm. Normally that warmth would be relaxing, but you felt sticky. You were oddly hyper-aware of the polaroid beneath your thighs, the film adhering to your skin. You peeled it off and held it in your lap, still hidden from Peter. The border felt grainy between your fingers. What did this mean? You felt dull compared to the girl who was golden and sun-soaked in the picture.

You had this certain itch that urged you to let the questions spill right out, but that would be so fully you. Your impulsive mouth was what got you here.

You watched Peter take a sip from his mug, his eyes on the wood floor. If you don’t say anything, Peter will stay quiet and stare at the ground until he realizes it’s his time to leave.

Maybe your mouth was a good thing.

“Is this me?” You asked, finally holding the picture up.

When his eyes reached the photo in your hands, he took another sip. Peter was unfazed. There was no change in his posture, your findings deeming no surprise to him. He was still enjoying his coffee like someone does when they have no secrets to hide.

For some reason, that didn’t sit well with you. A part of you yearned for a reaction out of him, something that told you more about him. A smile that said, you found it. Or rosy cheeks that wished he hid it properly.

“Oh, right. I hope you don’t mind,” he said cooly. “It’s for a class of mine.”

For a class. Not recreational enjoyment or holding any sentiment.

You couldn’t help but frown at him. “Kind of creepy, Peter.”

He tilted his head in confusion. “Shit, really?”

You wanted to turn this around and make him feel silly. What are you doing taking pictures of unconscious girls? Make him feel like the asshole. ‘Cause he was an asshole. An asshole for making you feel crazy.

Instead, you relinquished the photo to the table. “I’m just joking with you. It’s a nice photo.”

“Thank you.”

You swirled the mug in your hands, the liquid nearly spilling. Disappointment sat in your chest and you yearned for reassurance. You wished he was different.

One would assume that after spending a couple of weeks together, your connection with Peter would have grown, even minutely. But it feels like the first day of your meeting with him. Physically near, yet so far away.

"You know, it felt like you didn’t like me at the coffee shop.” You find yourself admitting.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm, weird.”

“Right,” you squinted your eyes at him, searching for his thoughts. “Weird.”

You expected him to say kind, heartfelt words. Words that fit around your syllabus. Of course, I liked you on our first date. Or I like you now, don’t I? But he was never one to omit that type of stuff. He couldn't even lie about it. Instead, he says, weird.

The sleepover. The photo. It was all changing your perception and expectations of this relationship. It was criminal.

“I like you on top of me.”

God, did this guy know how to read a room. You didn’t know what to feel with his sudden proclamation. You reluctantly took a sip of your tea, your body unsure what to do with itself. The tea hit the back of your throat, cold and bitter. The warmth had disappeared leaving you disappointed. The warmth in the tea and in Peter.

“I’m sure you like any girl on top of you,” you said unamused while you tried to get over the bitterness in your mouth.

He shrugged, clearly unaware of your feelings. “I will take anything I get.”

Asshole.

You hated moments like this. Uninterested Peter. Peter, who gives you nothing to work with. You couldn’t even make excuses for him.

“Ya’ know... I especially like you under me.”

When you looked up, Peter was taking a long sip from his mug. Past the steam, his eyes were glued on you. He was like a lion watching his prey. Ready to devour you.

And these moments were worse. Peter Parker, who resorts to sex. And you, who lets him use you.

Whether he liked you or not on the first date (or even, right now) didn’t matter. It was the answer that he withheld from you. It was the way he never let you in, not even for a moment. You deserved the truth, didn’t you?

You felt irritated. Irritated that he couldn’t be honest and couldn’t go further than having sex with you, as if sex isn’t far enough. Normally, you would push away his indifference or welcome the new sexual tension. But, today wasn’t like all the other days where you accept the role as Peter’s lap dog.

“Why would I like that?” You scoffed at your mug. Brave enough to challenge him and yet you couldn’t bring your eyes to him. It was a pathetic attempt at gaining control, but being confrontational wasn’t your thing. Being Peter’s good girl was your thing.

“Like what?” He said.

You dragged your tongue across your teeth, the lack of amusement clear on your face. “Being under you,” you said, rolling your eyes.

Your defiance caused a wicked laugh to come out of him.

“You’re serious right now?" His voice was deep and intense making your stomach quick to stir.

You could hear Peter walk closer, making the space between you lessen until his feet were in your eyesight.

"Why wouldn't I be?" You said softly. You meant to be more confident and use your anger as fuel, but your irritation was replaced with anticipation.

"You're funny." His tone continued to be stern and heavy on your chest. Heavy in your abdomen.

His hand skimmed your cheek, a barely-there touch before his lips pressed against your forehead like a blessing. Like smudging ash in the shape of a cross on your forehead.

You felt like dust, crumbling into nothing.

“Can I show you?” He whispered.

You opened your mouth to say no, but Peter didn’t give you the chance to answer. He wasn’t asking you, he was warning you. He hoisted you up onto him in one swift motion from the chair to his chest. A whimper had escaped you and so did your aggravation. It was a quick exchange, a flustered feeling now warming your cheeks with this sensation of not knowing what to do with yourself and all of your thoughts.

With a tight grip, he suspended you in the air at the waist. The act said it is so easy to make you mine. You were in his whole possession.

Peter turned you into an atomic bomb compressed into a woman who has no choice but to stay calm as if you were anything but an overwhelmed and confused woman. All you could do was let him pepper kisses along your jaw, hoping that it would burn the turmoil away.

You could never think straight when it came to Peter. You were putty in his hands, and all you could do was dig your nails into his back. You so desperately wanted to be strong, but the way that he held you up by your waist so easily made you aroused.

“Peter...” You moaned.

“Want me to stop?” His lips moved gently against your soft flesh, the kiss of air prickling at the spots Peter sucked on. The way that he dragged his tongue along your neck made your hips buck.

“I’ll stop if you ask me to.” He assured you again. It was meaningless words that you didn’t know if you could trust. His roaming hands said he had no intention of stopping. He just wanted to parade his power in front of you. Like a new, shiny toy on Christmas Day. Look at this. Look at the way I make you needy. He was just waiting patiently for your surrender.

Peter continued to make you lightheaded with his hands and his lips and his tongue. After weeks of late-night hookups, he knew what made you weak. He was taking advantage of your sensitivity knowing that you would never dare to ask him to stop.

He kneaded your ass, his middle finger dragging near your slit in the process. It was clear how wet you were for him when he traced the hem of your moist panties.

He shifted the thin layer of fabric to the side, your pussy now exposed and vulnerable to him. When his ring finger brushed against your needy hole, he could feel your chest expand with all the air in the room.

“Didn’t think so,” he mumbled against your neck. “If you wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be this wet.”

His lips trailed along your shoulder, leaving sloppy kisses, coaxing out sighs from you. It was like each time he pressed a kiss to you, he was putting oxygen into you and the only thing you could do was exhale it out with a moan before you became overfilled with him.

He was right, you didn’t want him to stop. You just wanted to know if he liked you. That’s all. So you took it out on him with bitter remarks, attempting to shoot bullets in his chest, and instead, he turned the gun around on you.

Peter’s middle finger found it’s way to your entrance, your voice getting caught in your throat. It easily slipped in, your treacherous pussy sucking it in. To your dismay, he wasn’t gentle at all, vigorously inserting it in and out of you. As your nails dug into his back and his finger pumped into you, your whimpers echoed.

“So sensitive,” he chuckled. Peter’s lips feathered against your ear, a chill tingling at your spine.

“It’s not funny,” you pouted with your lips pressed against his neck.

He pulled his finger out of you, abandoning your pussy. The emptiness made you whimper. “I mean, it’s pretty funny to me.”

Peter kept one hand around your ass, holding your weight up while he took his middle finger into his mouth and tasted you. He looked at you with glazed eyes causing a release of butterflies in your stomach. “Be a good girl for me, will you?”

“Maybe, I’ll let you taste yourself on my cock,” he said before spanking your ass. You yelped at the impact, your arms helplessly clenching his chest as if he wasn’t the one who spanked you. God, he was going to make you eat your words.

“You’re not being very nice,” you mewled, the spot where he slapped beginning to burn.

“Good girls get good things,” he whispered before setting you down on the countertop.

The wood was a cold shock to you, your pussy now flush to the table. You were suddenly aware of how naked and raw you were right now, the air around you so / sharp.

He took a step back and examined you like you were his morning meal. His eyes had turned from a hazelnut brown to obsidian black. There was a glint in his eyes that scared you. Gave you fear that pulsed in your empty slit.

He pulled you into him by your hips and your dripping cunt immediately found his hard length. Though you were sitting on the table now, Peter towered over you. He had all the power. He always has. So, you let him do everything. You were too weak to do anything but ball his waistband into your fist. He wanted to put you in your place, and you let him. You were his to kiss and ruin.

He grabbed your hair and ushered you to his lips. His tongue lapped into your mouth and his hands wandered. You could taste the bitter coffee and it transported you back to the first day you met him.

He has always been disinterested and detached Peter. You never knew what to make out of him back then and you still don’t.

Kissing him for the first time was unexpected. Unforeseen. But it still felt that way when you were with him, even with him inching closer to you. Your mind constantly thinking, oh, he’s kissing me again as if it was a goddam miracle for him to still want you.

God, were you lost in his touch. Dissolving into his mouth, each kiss to your skin an attempt to get to the center of you like a damn tootsie pop. He kissed you once on the nape of your neck. Twice on your jaw. And the third time, he took you by your lips.

It was like he was trying to find the answer to the age-old question: how many licks to the center of a tootsie pop? Except it was how many kisses till you fall apart?

For you it wasn’t about how many kisses, but which kiss? Because you fell apart a long time ago. Probably the day he kissed you in the rain. The day he washed your back and pressed a delicate kiss right behind your ear, a place meant for secrets, not kisses. But maybe he was telling you something in another language. Sharing a vulnerability with you that you didn’t know.

Your head was dizzy with the thought. The feeling that Peter had broken you apart was enough to make you shudder. He was peeling back your skin till you were nothing but a skeleton and taking it upon himself to carve his name into the bone. He was always taking. Taking your mind. Your attention. Your orgasms… It wasn’t fair.

You mustered up all the strength in you to gain control.

“Peter, you can’t...” You mewled in a weak attempt.

He nipped at your shoulder, a mean bite to your flesh.

A desperate ahhh came from your throat when his canines pressed into you, sending a thick jolt up your chest. The sudden pain created an embarrassing stimulation to your slit. You buckled you hips, your pussy begging for Peter’s lips to reattach to it.

“When did you become such a brat?” His groan vibrated against your collarbone, his voice traveling to your core.

Humiliation spread across your face. But for all the wrong reasons. He made you feel so small. Terribly submissive. And you liked it. You attempted to squeeze your thighs together, but Peter felt your slight shift and immediately brought it to a halt, clutching at your leg.

He lowered his head in a way that his lips lightly brush against your ear. “I’ll take good care of you if you’ll let me.

The heat from his mouth made your nipples harden all the while, the butterflies in your stomach were traveling to your wet cunt.

Once again, Peter slid your panties to the side and started tending to your clit. His fingers were electricity, your body just a host for all the pleasure Peter granted you. The tempo was slow and reeling like the fire in his eyes. He had an appetite for you. You could tell by the darkened look in his eyes and the way he licked his lips.

“Take off your shirt,” he demanded. His fingers circled around your pussy, an agonizing repetition from rubbing over your empty hole to your swelling bud. Your index finger twitched, ready to be compliant, but the little demon in the back of your head quickly terminated the movement.

“Or what,” you said shaky, occasionally shuddering when his fingers reached your clit. You were high off of disobedience, the act of challenging him bringing you butterflies. You were desperate to see what he’ll do to you.

“Or else,” he murmured.

“That’s not a real answer,” you said further provoking him.

You could see his jaw clench, the light flicker in his eyes. Your pussy was throbbing at the sight. He blinked his eyes once, before working your shorts and panties off of you. He made up his mind. He figured out your punishment within seconds.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he deadpanned. Peter threw the clothing to the floor, leaving you in your flimsy tank. Peter stared at your cunt for a long time, licking his lips. Your instincts told you to cover your pussy, but decided against it and left your legs open for him. It was too late to be shy. And what was there to be shy about when he looked at you like something worth looking at? Wasn’t that what you wanted?

When he finally brought his eyes to your face, he bent down and kneeled at your feet. It happened so fast, yet so slow. Like your brain couldn’t register what was happening.

Your cheeks turned crimson seeing that he was close enough to smell your cunt. Preemptively, you dug your fingernails into the table and bit your lip. “Peter… What are you doing?”

He answered, but not the way that you expected him to. You gasped as he took your bud into his mouth, experimentally scraping the bundle of nerves with his teeth. “Peter!”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He said, eyes overcome with lust. He stared you down while his lips pressed a wet kiss to your heat. He never failed to make you feel so small, even though he was the one kneeling down before you.

He hummed with satisfaction as he dipped his tongue into you, soaking your folds with his saliva.

You hoisted yourself up by your palm, watching him work with awe. He introduced two fingers into you, stretching you wider, as he used every part of his mouth to please you. You couldn’t identify Peter’s saliva and your juices separately. They mixed like red and blue turning it into an unrecognizable, purple mess that you created together.

Before you know it, the pleasure turned into something that moved you. You were rocking into him, trying to catch the gratification. His position was perfect and any second longer, you were going to see stars. His arms anchored around your hips, a thumb lazily dragging across your clit while your legs hung on his shoulders. You kept rocking, bucking your hips up and down, using his face and fingers like a toy. How could he have all the power when you were violating him like this?

“Am I doing a good job?” His raggedy voice vibrated against your skin.

What do you think, you laughed to yourself. You were riding his face, hips shifting and pussy quivering. You were immobilized in his hands, enjoying every lick he gave you. You wished you could take a picture of the sight. Peter kneeling for you with his mouth enveloping your cunt, a thick tent in between his legs.

“Admit it. You like how I touch you,” he pressed a kiss to your cunt, a temporary break from the unrelenting friction. He gave you begging words with a candied peck, but you knew it wasn’t free. It’s intentions were to make you submit, create a more vulnerable you so he can take you in his powerful hold and torment you. Your words were a binding contract, your statement forever on the record. You couldn’t bare to incriminate yourself.

But then his fingers were knuckles deep in you, rapidly moving in a blinding pace. In the meantime, his kisses turned you into a bite of the fist. He started to move his face left and right, his tongue putting more and more pressure on you.

You wanted to cry. Cry out in pleasure and let the tears fall from the overwhelming pressure of everything. Your true feelings for Peter were thumping at your chest and you wanted to ignore them. You wanted to tell him that he made you feel so good. That animalistic inclination to please Peter was eating at you from the inside.

“You like the way I kiss you.” He started to slow his rhythm down, the vigorous pumps of his fingers dying down and his tongue gently sweeping your clit. “The way I eat you out.”

You hummed with desire, a lazy and vague response to the cruel Peter. You were used to his cruelty, but this was a different type of cruel. Deliberate and mocking.

“I need to hear you say it,” he said, his unmoving fingers now soaking in you. Your hips grinded against them, needy to be pumped full.

“I can’t,” you managed to get out past the broken breaths.

“Must be doing a bad job, then, huh?”

“Should stop since I’m so shit,” he said, pulling his fingers out and using them to trail along your opening. You could feel your pussy clenching, searching for something to pulsate around.

You whined desperately for him, your heart plummeting down your ribcage like a falling from a flight of stairs, each ribcage a rigged step.

He released you from his hold, your body suddenly so empty without his touch.

“I’m sorry, did you want me to keep going?” He feigned innocence.

He was an annoying and persistent salesman at the door, ringing the bell and knocking violently, and you hide in your room with your hands over your ear. No one’s home! Go away! I don’t want to buy your terribly manufactured product!

Go away, Peter. I don’t know how to talk to you.

Admitting you wanted him was dangerous for your headspace even if it was just a sex thing. It was like once you started talking, you weren’t going to stop. A small admission of the sexual pleasure he gave you would snowball into how much you wanted him to like you. Or worse, the act of saying it out loud turned it into something that you couldn't take back. Your feelings coming to fruition. But at the moment, denying yourself of an orgasm felt worse.

“Peter, don’t,” you uttered, your voice broken up and small. This awarded you with the insertion of a finger, the slow thrust pushing a satisfied moan out of you.

“Peter, don’t what,” he rasped, his voice like sandpaper against your skin making you curl into him. You tried to catch your breath, find your voice, come to your senses. But it was hard when Peter’s eyes bore into you, patiently waiting for your answer. He put pressure on you with this already there burden in your gut.

“Don’t stop,” you blushed. “Want you to make me cum…”

“Where?” He looked at you with a newfound softness, a face that said please tell me more.

“Need to cum on your face,” you sighed with eyes hazy as you could feel Peter draw closer to you. His presence was like static, his lips emitting this energy that you can feel inches away.

His lips finally reached you again. That energy surged through you like you were an outlet and him, the plug, your collision creating glints of light.

Peter flicked his tongue up and down eagerly, taking your confession to heart. Immediately, the familiar sensation of arousal bubbled up from your slit to your chest. The pleasure was pumping into you, building up to something that you couldn’t handle, turning you squeamish. You jolted and tried to adjust your hips, your body unconsciously fighting Peter.

He was so cruel. Holding you down like you were the canvas during an earthquake and he, the determined painter, continues to stroke till his work is complete.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he said between licks.

You’re purple all over, the matrimonial union of red and blue occurring over and over. Your shared secretions intertwine with each other. The sweat and saliva. The glossiness of your cunt. All of it. If thoughts could transcend through bodily fluids, then Peter would already know all of your secrets. All of the things you want to tell him. All of the things you can’t say.

Peter’s tongue had found a hurried tempo that makes your hips buckle. It was getting harder and harder to hold yourself up. You put so much pressure onto your hands, trying to grip the rigid wood, the shock of each lick to your bottom half aiming no mercy to your arms.

You swear there’s a fire in your bloodstream and all you do is scream Peter’s name, him being the one who committed the arson. The flames traveled from up your legs to your face, an outpour of pleasure coursing through your body.

“I’m coming!” You cried, your grasp full of his thick hair.

“Come for me, baby,” he cooed, letting you convulse on his face.

The arsonist in him has a smug smile watching you tremble and your pussy twitch, your whole body up in flames. You arched your back, gratification advancing through the channels in your spine.

Your chest was heavy as you attempted to balance your numb legs on his shoulders. Catching your breath was nearly impossible with your throbbing heart and the tremors rolling through your cunt. Peter’s hands held onto your hips, keeping you steady and from falling.

When you finally reeled back to your senses, you brushed Peter’s hair back to get a good look at his face. “Peter…” You purred.

“How do you want it?”

“What?”

“You don’t think we’re done, do you?”

The blood from your swollen pussy rushed up to your face, the unbearable heat blooming in your cheeks. “Peter, I really don’t thi-”

“Fine, I’ll choose for you,” he declared calmly.

Peter’s hands were faster than your declines. He pulled you off the table and turned your around so that your ass was flush with his cock. His hand nudged your weak body into the table and started to spread your legs.

Your whole body was tingling with anticipation. He has never fucked you with such dominance and it made you feel exhilarated. Your logic was fighting against him, unsure if you could take any more.

“Peter,” you croaked out. “M’ so weak.”

“I told you, I’ll take care of you, didn’t I?” The cloy tone he bared to you made your stomach turn as his hands snaked to your hips, his grip gnawing into your flesh.

He uses his cock to tap on your entrance like knocks at a door.

You dug your nails into the table again, bracing yourself for his length. You expect him to shove it in, hard and unforgiving, but instead, he nudged his leaking tip into you, swirling the head in your wetness.

And then he fucks you agonizingly slow.

He winded his cock all the way out, just to inch it back in, coating every part of your walls with his precum. Peter’s calculated thrusts rendered him balls deep into you, nearly hitting your cervix with his length.

You were enamored by the sedated cadence and the sensations of Peter. You could hear his labored breaths and feel the moisture on his palms. The occasional grunts in your ears. Somehow, it wasn’t enough.

“More,” you muttered under your breath.

A part of you hoped he didn’t hear it, and the sick and twisted part of you does.

There was a soft chuckle coming from Peter. When his voice comes out, it sounds candy coated to you.

“You think you can take it?”

“No,” you told him. He didn’t understand you most of the time, but he understood you now. You wanted to feel the pleasure and the hurt that came with his cock. You wanted as much of Peter as you could get. You wanted it all.

The snap of his hips was like a whip made out of lightning, a thunderstorm collecting in your apartment. The electricity of his touch and the claps of his thrusts had echoed. The overstimulation had created you into a babbling mouth of nonsense.

“Gonna fuck the brat out of you,” he groaned, the words coming across like a warning.

You were someone else at that moment, pleading and begging with tears in your eyes. Please, please, please was drooling from your mouth, a recitation as if it was the only word you knew and couldn’t bare to lose it. You knew you were someone else because your hand reached out for his. You were already intertwined in his body, but it wasn’t enough. You needed to feel his grip, interlock his fingers with yours.

Before the hand of uncertainty reaches you, you place your palm over his knuckles. His thrusts were violent and your legs were already ready to give out from you. It’s for stability, not yearning, you convince yourself.

To your surprise, he pulled his hand from under yours and seized it in one fast motion, his large hands clenching onto you like you wanted.

Your heart stirred. Not from the previous orgasm and not from being railed, but from holding hands with him, the most intimate act you have experienced with him. “Peter…” You whispered.

“Say it again,” he groaned into your ear.

You repeat his name with each thrust. It was an exorcism of him, a ritual to fuck the thoughts of him right out. So you give in, desperately needing it to work. To appease the choir and rid yourself of the spirit. His name was guiding you to your catharsis.

You were entirely enraptured by his dick, your walls starting to clench again.

“Feel you getting tighter,” he pressed wet kisses against the curve of your shoulder. “Gonna come, aren’t you?”

“Maybe...” Your voice came out strained and tiny, like a butterfly with a broken wing unsteady in flight.

“Maybe?” He growled and proceeded to massage your cunt with an intensity that made you almost fall over. “Such a brat. You want me to stop?”

“No!” You cried out immediately.

“Prove it.” His thrust came to a halt and his mean voice commanded you.

You shoved his cock into you, straight to the hilt, and started to push against his cock to your wits ends. It felt like all of the oxygen in your brain had left so that it can make a new home in your core. You moved against him like each pump would grant you a small supply of oxygen.

“Fuck. Look at you making a mess on my cock,” he hissed.

It’s like he put you in a trance. Your body was fatigued and you could barely stand without your legs shaking. Yet you did as you were told and fucked his cock.

His hands were heaven against you. His thumb trailed along your knuckles while you pushed back against him. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

That was the second time he called you baby. The first time, you were too absorbed in your orgasm to register it. And now, you were more coherent than you were and holding his hand. Hearing baby felt taunting and mean, but you held it close to your chest anyways.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised you with that same endearment. “You’re gonna make me cum like that.”

You could feel his cock pulsate and throb at your walls. It felt like you were set ablaze, the fire sizzling at your skin. The name-calling. The hand holding. The thick, pulsating member. The accumulation of it all had collected into your core, your orgasm blossoming at the sensation overload.

“Can you get any tighter?” He groaned.

“Peter…” You tried to warn him, but it was lodged in your throat.

His hand was clutching onto yours as if you threatened to take it away from him. His grip was strong, too strong. He was hurting you, but you didn’t care when it felt so good. You dug your nails into your palm as Peter coaxed your orgasm out.

You came to the summit again with sweat beading at your pores and shaky legs. Fragmented curses were drawn out from you as you reached the peak of your high.

“Fuck, I’m cumming!” You gasped, frantically moving on Peter’s cock for the sole purpose of your satisfaction.

“Oh, baby…” he moaned. “Fucking milk me.”

You turned your head back to watch Peter, to look at him use you. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes mesmerized by your greedy pussy eating him whole. Your mouth was agape as he thrust into you, soft moans vibrating in your throat. God, he was so pretty.

When he caught you aimlessly staring, his eyebrows knit together in agony. “Don’t give me those eyes, baby.”

“Gonna make me cum just from your pretty eyes,” he rasped.

Peter reached out to your neck, his hands covering it completely, pulling you closer to him so that your back was against his chest.

You arched your back, giving Peter a better angle to ram his cock into you. He used your clenching pussy to find his release and slammed against your walls repeatedly. You desperately bit your lip to smother the sobs that were on the precipice of forming.

“Fuck! Gonna cum in you!” He was panting, his breath hot against your skin.

Encouraging words were spilling from your mouth like God, yes, and fucking cum in me and Peter, just like that.

Peter felt like hot wax on your body, the molten liquid trickling all over you until you were a mold of a version of yourself that you didn’t like. The candle wax sculpture of you encapsulates thoughts of only Peter. He was all-consuming, marking every part of your body as his.

He rocked into you slowly as he pumped his spill into you. You could feel Peter’s cum fill you up, the liquid practically leaking from your hole.

When the thrusts became nothing but cock warming, a thank you escaped from your lips before you could retract it. Though it felt impossible, your cheeks reddened further from your intrusive gratitude. Thank you for making me cum, Peter. How dorky of you.

“You’re so weird,” Peter laughed with his face resting on your shoulder.

“I guess you really did fuck the brat out of me,” you huffed out.

He pressed a delicate kiss on the arch of your lower back before undoing himself from you.

After cleaning you up, Peter guided you to the couch, letting you use his chest as a pillow.

It was a quiet afternoon that seemed to stand still like this. You didn’t expect Peter to still be here. A part of you was waiting for him to get up and leave.

While Peter had buried his face into your hair and continuously traced the outline of your body, you were drawing invincible constellations on his sinewy chest and listening to his heart attempt to regulate itself. You tried to focus on the rhythm to avoid the thoughts that were at the forefront of your mind.

You and Peter didn’t need a label, not when the sex was that amazing. Peter wasn’t complaining and you weren’t going to start. Who needed mental stability anyways?

You could feel a certain type of drowsiness slowly sinking into your body with your eyelids becoming heavy. You let out a sluggish yawn.

“Tired?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Can I be honest with you before you go to sleep?”

You shook your head in approval, too worn out to use your words.

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m addicted to you,” Peter said quitely.

There was an immediate reanimation of your heart, the words shocking it awake like Frankenstein’s monster.

You craned your neck back to look at him, trying to see if he was playing a prank on you. If he was sleep talking.

He looked almost disappointed with his head back and his lips slack in disinterest. You watched as he kept his eyes closed and adam's apple dramatically bob as if he took a big gulp. Somehow, despite the visible discomfort and forlornness, his words were euphonious. You could already feel your future self berate you. Stupid girl.

A hum of acknowledgment floated in the air. Your thoughts were in an indecipherable frenzy while in conjunction, any response you had was trapped in your throat. You were short-circuiting. Failing to comprehend anything at all.

It was throwing vodka back. A burn from your throat, slowly trickling down to the pit of your stomach. The liquid courage coursing through you. Your body overflowing with heat and comfort. But somewhere in your brain were saying this was a bad idea.

It felt good to be with Peter, but that didn’t mean that it was good to be with him.

And yet you were replaying his words over and over again.

I’m addicted to you.

You were going to desperately hang onto that, a reminder for any future regret. It made regret feel like a smaller, less important feeling to Peter Parker’s personal addiction. Even if he never made it feel that way.

Peter’s confession was branded on you, tattooed and etched all over your eyelids, and you had no words to brand onto him.

You didn’t fight the heavy lids and the lead in your blood. You let sleep take you before you could tell him that you had it worse than him.

a/n: please forgive me, children. a lot of internal conflict for y/n in this one since petey baby is just so difficult. i was trying so hard to push this out that halfway through i started to listen to mario kart music.

this was so agonizing to write for the longest time and then it wasn’t! after two months, i finally found a rhythm and wrote away… please enjoy and let me know your thoughts! it’s the flame to a candle for me (the support and motivation the flame and me the candle… lolz) fire it up boizzz xoxo

reblog to be put on the taglist

@http.teddy00 @mojesticworlds @blackbirdds

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bouncydragon · 9 months

Text

warm winter

I wrote something again! It is soft and fluffy. It was inspired by this amazing fanart by @whentommymetalfie. I hope you like it!

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy x Alfie

Word count: 1447

Summary: On a very snowy day, Alfie and Tommy enjoy some soft time together.

Warnings: None, it's just some sweet domestic fluff.

AO3

It was one of those rare afternoons that were just so very calm and completely devoid of any responsibilities. Alfie liked those days under normal circumstances already but today was special because Tommy—the lovely bastard—was in London for the whole weekend, and they’d get to spend it together, able to just be them and be close without fear of judgement and persecution. That was also a very rare thing, a very nice thing but unfortunately rare. At least in the sense that they didn’t have business to deal with. Any chance they got to be themselves, they cherished and enjoyed to the fullest.

Although the circumstance that led to their much desired time together this weekend was not ideal. Far from it and Alfie hoped it would not be repeated in the future.

It hadn’t actually been the plan that Tommy would be here this weekend. Alfie hadn’t even known that he was coming to London. Apparently, Tommy had come to drop off a Christmas present for his nephew and then decided to visit Alfie—after all, he was already in London, so he might as well. Alfie was somewhat convinced that the story about the nephew’s present was just a cover for his family back in Birmingham—the only one who knew of them at this point was Tommy’s sister Ada—just to give them a reason why exactly he was going to London on Christmas Eve, especially since there had been warnings of heavy snowfall on the radio.

Said snowfall was also the reason why Tommy was staying the whole weekend now because it had been strongly discouraged to drive in this weather—not that either of them was complaining, mind you, it was rather convenient. A very welcome change indeed and Alfie was not ashamed about hoping that Tommy’s stay would somehow be extended beyond the weekend.

But Alfie did not like that Tommy had walked to his house in the snow and freezing cold. He had been uncontrollable shivering when he had arrived, standing on Alfie’s doorstop covered in snow, dangerously looking like he was about to become a snowman. The snowflakes in his dark hair—Tommy had forgotten his cap at his sister’s place—had reminded Alfie of stars in the night sky, which was unfortunate because although Tommy still looked very, very pretty, he also looked utterly and completely miserable, which was not a good look on him to be honest; looked like a kicked puppy, that was also freezing its tail off.

So Alfie had quickly pulled Tommy inside and got him out of his clothes, something he really loved doing but not in this context. Tommy had been shivering so much that he had been unable to talk, he had just kept holding on to Alfie as the man had helped him undress. Alfie cursed his stubborn lover for choosing good-looking clothes over practical ones. A suit simply was not the right choice of clothing in the middle of winter. Sure, he had a coat but evidently that hadn’t helped much after a certain point.

Alfie had given Tommy something warm to wear and then started a fire in the fireplace in his living room—the general heating could be unreliable sometimes, and a fire was cosier anyway. He had made some camomile tea in the kitchen while Tommy had gotten comfortable on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

It was quite the sight he walked in on when he brought the tea to the living room.

Tommy was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, a blanket loosely wrapped around his shoulders and clad in one of Alfie’s knitted jumpers—it was a very nice shade of blue, which brought out Tommy’s eyes nicely—and some comfy trousers. The jumper was a size or two too big for Tommy and his hands disappeared in the sleeves. Cyril was curled up next to him. All in all, Tommy looked cosy and very soft—and Alfie might have just fallen a little bit more in love with him.

Alfie sat down next to him and immediately Tommy rested his head on his shoulder. Alfie smiled, rubbing his back. “Better?”

Tommy just simply nodded and Alfie was starting to worry because Tommy still hadn’t said a single word since turning up at his door. He hoped he wouldn’t get sick. Alfie got the impression that Tommy was difficult and a right fucking arse when sick. As much as he loved him, and even though he’d still take care of him of course, he was not entirely sure if he’d have the patience to deal with Tommy when he had a cold, or worse. But there was not much he could do about it right now, just wait and see.

He gave Tommy a cup of tea and watched as he took it gingerly, trying not to spill anything as his hands were still trembling slightly. Tommy just held the cup in his hands for a while, letting it warm his frozen hands. Eventually he relaxed and took a sip, followed by a content and pleased hum—Tommy was quite particular about his tea and it had taken Alfie ages to get it right.

Alfie smiled. “Now?”

Tommy just nodded again and just focused on enjoying his tea. Alfie decided to continue the book he had been reading when Tommy had rung the bell. Tommy was leaning into him, just drinking one cup of camomile tea after another until the pitcher was empty.

Alfie shook his head amused. “You need to go easy on the camomile. You’re gonna get crazy.”

Tommy flashed him a tiny smile but it got interrupted by a big yawn, which he unsuccessfully tried to hide.

“How about a nap?” Alfie suggested, tenderly carding his fingers through Tommy’s soft, tousled hair. He received another short nod as answer and then Tommy gently made Alfie lie down so he could positively flop on top of him.

Alfie chuckled and waited until Tommy had gotten comfortable—which was an actual lengthy process that included using his chest as pillow (something he always did anyway), hugging him as best as the position allowed and snuggling into him with an effort that Alfie only knew from Cyril, to be honest. Seriously, this process took a lot longer than one might imagine because somehow Tommy made a science out of it. Once Tommy was finally comfortable—Alfie could tell by the way he melted into the warmth of his body—Alfie pulled the blanket over him, all the way up to his chin, and wrapped his arms around him.

Cyril lifted his head and looked at Alfie, tilting his head to the side in question. Alfie put a finger to his lips. “Shh. Nap time, boy,” he whispered. Cyril yawned and curled back into a ball by their feet. Alfie smiled and decided to give his eyes a little rest as well.

When he opened them again, a quick glance to the clock on the mantle of the fireplace told him that it was a couple of hours later. Thankfully the fire was still going, if weakly, and the room was comfortably warm. Tommy was still asleep and practically wrapped around Alfie, his face smooshed into his chest. Alfie smiled and played with his hair while watching the snow fall outside. It was getting dark and the snowfall had calmed down a little at least but it did not look like it would actually stop anytime soon.

Some tiny movement made Alfie pay attention to his now slowly awakening partner. Tommy made a soft sound, a sleepy hum, and opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times. He yawned, burying his face in Alfie’s chest to hide it again.

“Hello there, treacle. Did you sleep well?” Alfie greeted him softly, brushing away some locks of hair from his forehead.

“Mhmmm.” At least that was more than a nod, finally. Sometimes Tommy’s silent nature infuriated Alfie. “You’re very comfy. Soft and warm. Good pillow,” he added drowsily.

Alfie chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I always do.” Tommy raised his head a little so he could look at Alfie. He smiled softly. “I love you.”

Alfie smiled back, kissing his forehead tenderly. “I love you too.”

Tommy hummed and just snuggled into Alfie again, nuzzling his neck, and quickly fell asleep again. Alfie sighed smiling. As long as Tommy was comfortable, he didn’t mind. At latest, he’d have to wake Tommy when the fire went out, so he could rekindle it. That was still a little while away, so Alfie just held Tommy and closed his eyes again too.

#the title is the direct translation of a k-pop song that i rly love #no I did not also get inspired by that one interview with Cillian and Emily and the camomile tea; what makes you think that...#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #tommy x alfie #alfie x tommy #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #tofie #sholomons

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madnessreruns · 1 year

Text

You won’t be like the others

Gotham! Jervis Tetch x G/N reader

Note: I know this isn’t a request, but something possessed and compelled me to write this. I’ve been wanting to write this for a very very long time, and I’ve finally put it into this fic. Aggahagah also not proof-read.

Requests: Open

Warnings: Stalking, murder, kidnapping, obsessive and possessive behavior, mentions of rape although it isn’t performed at all implied or not, and Jervis being an absolute creep.

Summery: A kidnapping and murder, an unfortunate accident causes a Jervis to spiral down a rabbit hole of grief, anger, despair and envy, he offers everything and gets nothing in return. He thinks it’s hopeless, thinks everything’s falling apart, but a trip to the park rocks his world as he tries one more time at courtship.. via more kidnapping.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

He’s been so lonely.. so lonely for so long..

It’s been years since his dearest sister has passed in the most horrific way. He’s been lied to, beat, shot, he’s killed, hypnotized, terrorized and all because of that faithful day. He thought he would never love another again, because no one could live up to her.

Even though he tried, he took countless people, men, woman, everyone in between. He just wanted to be loved again, he convinced his twisted mind to think that she reciprocated her affections. Deep in his mind though, he knew she never loved him.

Sometimes he would beg and cry, to no avail, he was always alone. Always rejected and looked down upon for he need to be cared for, he always got rid of them, realizing that they weren’t the one, very rarely does that mean they left alive.

He was so lonely, and so cold. He longed for the bubbly warmth he would get when someone would love him, the touch of another person, the affection from his beloved, his beloved that didn’t exist.

No one would ever love him, why would they love him? He was a monster.

He disgusting inhuman creature, a murderer. He was a cold hearted murderer, and he knew. His lack of empathy for his victims and care for the life of other humans drove potential lovers away, despite his loyalty and care for them. But they never understood.

Everyone else was at risk besides from them. He would never lay a harming hand on their delicate flesh, it was everyone else that was the problem, and they needed to understand that. He adored them, he treated them like an angel, a god he needed to worship.

But his actions towards others were the problem. His torment and anger directed at anyone else, and everyone else. He just couldn’t help it.

Throughout his entire life when he was romantically involved with someone, another person on the outside would swoop in a ruin it all, and he couldn’t let that happen again. He was lost in his own madness, his own reality.

They were his damsel in distress, and he was the heroic white knight who swooped in and saved them, the two of them riding away on his horse as they became madly in love with him through it their adventure.

They could travel back to his castle, where they could live happily ever after. People waiting on the both of them hand and foot, him and his darling living in nothing but comfort, peace and happiness.

He just wanted to treat someone to a life they couldn’t even dream of, they wouldn’t have to worry about anything. Servants and slaves doing everything they can to serve them properly, making extravagant meals, making sure their house is spotless, and making sure they feel nothing but safety and comfort in his home.

In return? All he wanted was love, care and affection. He wanted to love and be loved, is that so much to ask for? A life of luxury sounded wonderful to everyone, and he was willing to give it to them, all they needed to do, was to give him themselves, their life and their love.

But none of his objects of affection would take up his offer, they would all call him a creep, an asshole, a bastard. Some rapist predator, even though he would never touch them like that without their permission, he would never touch anyone like that without their permission.

But the suspicions after his previous pursuit gave everyone a bias against him. But all of treat was false, it was all false.

He was done with it, he was done. He was done with the tantrums, the yelling, the pain, the tears, the hatred and anger, it was all because he wanted to love. That’s it! He just wanted to love and be loved, he just wanted to love, but no. He could never, no one gave him the time of day and he was DONE!

The tears ran down his face as he curled up into a ball, head stuffed into his knees as he sobbed. He was overwhelmed with every negative emotion in the book. Anger, sadness, grief, sorrow, and most of all, he was shaking with jealousy and green in envy.

He was angry, all of his time, and effort put to waste.

He was terribly sad as he recalled the disposal of his most recent collection from the street.

He was filled with grief as their screams reminded him of the loss he’s experiences before.

He was overwhelmed with sorrow as he realized no one would ever truly love him as he loved them.

His jealousy overwhelmed his body, as he envied the people who had partners, partners to cater and loved them unconditionally without bribery or materiel objects, his emotions drained a little more everyday.

But tomorrow was another day.

He had decided to go on a walk, get some fresh air, perhaps scoop out a new building to prey on and rob. He started from his house, down the block, down the dirty, disgusting streets of gotham. Every happy couple he passed his heart broke a little more, he was surprised it hadn’t shattered into millions of bleeding pieces at this point.

The summer heat blazes into him, his several clothing layers he dawned made him sweat bullets as he internally cursed himself. He was sweating, but he wasn’t warm, he was never warm. A cold feeling seeped into his stomach, and his heart.

His feet lead him to the local park, several children played on a playground, people hand-in-hand strolled down the cobble walkways, other fed pigeons or walked their dogs. It was like a whole different world, the green grass and flourishing trees, ponds and fountains with beautiful clear water. The wall between this part of town and the ghoul and grim outside.

He began to walk, the dark sky still loomed overhead, that didn’t change ever, if it was in Gotham, no matter how much the sunshined, it was always dark and gloomy. Unfortunately he had gotten used to this.

He strolled through, couple together in a run, big happy families and excited children ran by him, he smiled, the same feeling of envy creeped into his heart.

It felt like it was suffocating his organs, he felt breathless as it choked him. The feeling, the need, the want, the desire, to be happy. To have a family, a partner. Fuck it made his insides feel like they were deteriorating under the grip of his own jealousy.

He approached a bench, taking a seat, he gazed around, watching the birds fly from tree to tree, occasionally spotting another little woodland creature that somehow made its way into this hellhole of a city, at least it made its way to the most forest-y part.

Sometimes he felt like he should leave, leave it all behind. But he knew he could never. He grew up on the outskirts of the city, he had some friends here, most of all he had one person he needed to exact his revenge on, and maybe then he could leave, but probably not. Even if he did, he’d been captured and sent back to that asylum, he’s always have a way of getting back here.

As he thought, his eyes wandered away, and found, oh dear.

You was sitting on a bench, not to far away from him, but not next to. He felt the envy wash away, nothing but bliss filled his heart as he watched you, a soft smile on your face as you typed away at your computer. You must’ve come here to work, he thought. He tried to rip his eyes away from them, but he couldn’t, you were perfect.

Perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect eyes, a perfect body, you had all of it. He wish he could hear your voice, his stomach turned and flipped, a slight nausea flooded it as he watched, it wasn’t just a few butterflies, it was a whole storm of them.

He stared, mouth slightly agape as he watched your every movements, your hands clicking away at the keyboard, following your eyes as you looked up every now and then to gaze at the fountain.

He stared you all day, just watching them, occasionally averting his gaze to make sure you didn’t notice. As you got up, packed everything you had taken, and began to walk away. He got up and followed them, all the way back to your home.

The next thing he knew, his men were about to arrive at your home, a car parked in front of the building to take you away, take you back to his home. He was conflicted.

He told himself again and again to not do this. To leave you alone, he knew how this ended. But you were something new, he felt a sense of madness filling him as he watched you, it made him realize how much he desired you alone.

Everyone else in the world faded away, a spotlight was shining on your, a spotlight only he could see. And that’s why he had to take you away.

If someone else got to you, they wouldn’t be able to see that, to see how special you are. They’d just dim your light, and he couldn’t have that. He needed you, he was the only one who could truly love and appreciate you for your importance.

It broke his heart as they took you, you were terrified, screaming for someone to help, you didn’t notice that he was helping. He was going to bring you to his fantasy land, bring you to a home where you’d be loved for your entire existence, like you deserved.

He approached the car, and got into the passengers side. The car was a van, you had been CAREFULLY placed in the back, lots of pillows had been placed to insure your comfort. He could hear your soft sniffles, he glanced back there through the rear view mirror, you looked gorgeous when you cried.

When the car arrived at his home you were quiet, your arms tied behind your back. He instructed his men to open the front door, and close it behind him. As he got out and approached the back door of the van, he inhaled excitedly, before swinging the doors open.

You sat their, tears stained your face, voice hoarse from crying, hunched over and looking down. But your eyes snapped up to him, a soft red tone surrounding the flesh of your eyes. He smiled softly, climbing up into the car. You didn’t move, just scrunching your eyes.

He touch was soft as he picked you up, but as he did he paused, through his gloved hand he could feel a warmth radiating from your skin, not just your body heat, but something more. He hastily rushed you inside.

He sat you down in your room, a room he specially designed for you, and you only. Not even his men were allowed in your room, but you and him. You scrambled back to the end of the bed, pushing yourself up against the intricate headboard he had hand crafted for you.

He held his hands out, showing he wasn’t holding anything, removing his coat off of his body and onto a dresser, neatly folded. He approached you, climbing onto the bed. He grabbed your sides, gently placing you in his lap as he sat down on the bed, removing his shoes beforehand.

He placed his hand on your cheek, the warmth was stronger, but still blocked by something, he realized what it was, and quickly removed the gloves, sitting them on your nightstand. His hand returned to your cheek, he sharply inhaled.

It felt like his hand was on fire, and he loved it. He grabbed your other cheek, an adoring smile on his face as he watched you. He was no longer cold, you were like a sun, shining your rays onto a lonely man, making him feel appreciated.

He placed a kiss onto your forehead, he wouldn’t let you be like they others. He would never, and I mean never, let you go. He is a poisoned man, and you are the cure. He’s drowning and your fresh air, his starving and your platters full of his favorite mood.

You were nothing like the others, you were an angel, his angel, his darling, his precious, his treasure, his love, his dear, his perfect sweet little thing, he would never let anyone else even gaze upon your perfect body, as you were his now.

You would grow to realize you loved him to, but, not just yet.

You would shake and cry as he told you sweet words, his honeyed voice dripping with soft affection as he confessed.

“I apologize for the abrupt departure my dear but, I have been unable to deny, I am madly in love with you. One day, you will grow to love me too, just give it time. But for now, just rest your head in my chest, allow your eyes to close, it’s time to rest,”

#cas.txt #jervis tetch #jervis tetch x reader #gotham #gotham fox #gotham tv #gotham x reader #gotham jervis tetch #gotham Jervis Tetch x reader #I’m going to kill myself this took forever

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nickyroethemarinebiologist · 9 months

Text

My BBC ghosts ocs!!

(In order from the oldest to the youngest)

TW: slight gore descriptions??

Original versions

Basic story premise

Roan (he/him): A caveman, died from a disease in his late 20s/early 30s, doesn't speak much and prefers to talk with his hands or in noises, or with simpler words if at all (he's not stupid!! They're just easier), absolutely LOVES dinosaurs, wishes he could have seen one, no powers!

Cornelius (he/him): Roman soldier who died in 83 AD ish, mid 20s, he died to his own dagger after an accident in battle, very stupid, very close with Philip, no powers!

Maud (she/her): Villager from the 1300s, in her 30s, died from a lack of air after being shut in the basement of her house (an accident, of course), speaks very rarely or very quietly, likes birds, mostly keeps to herself, her power is that her breathing can be heard by the living

Philip (he/him): 17th century highwayman, late 20s, died while on the run from the authorities when he fell into a ditch and broke his neck (it's embarrassing for him though, so he just tells everyone he was executed instead), he's a bastard (affectionate), no powers!

Hattie (she/her): A maid, died in 1822 after her food was poisoned, in her 40s, very loud, critical, outspoken, etc, has cool aunt vibes, gives surprisingly great advice

Thomas (he/him): A chimney sweep from 1844, about 15/16 when he died, died from a sort of lung-related disease from all the chimney sweeping, can be rude or blunt but he's very well-meaning!! He just never really learned proper manners, really looks up to Francis, very grubby, he can leave sooty marks with his fingers (like writing and stuff)

Nellie (she/her): Upper class, drowned in 1912 after falling into the lake, is convinced she was pushed, in her 20s, used to be rich and is now very annoying about it, will sometimes act as if she's better than everyone...but she loves them really, Nellie is short for Eleanor, she's annoying (affectionate), ADORES cats, very protective of Maud, her reflection (in water, but maybe also mirrors) can be seen by the living

Francis (he/him): A 20th century historian/archeologist, died of a heart attack caused by stress and exhaustion, in his 40s, mostly just tired and annoyed, asks Roan a whole BUNCH of questions, absolutely fed up of the afterlife, a little judgey, has a walking stick and will hit you with it

Michael (he/him): An electrician from the 80s, in his 30s, died from electrocution after an unfortunate accident, doesn't remember much about his death (or life), pretty forgetful but very sweet, cheerful wingman sort of vibes, a little naïve, mostly just goes along with what people tell him, always up for pranks or shenanigans, can sort of manipulate electricity in that he can give people little shocks and he made the whole house lose power at one point

#the stupidest family ever #i love them all #and i hope you love them too #oc #bbc ghosts #oc tag #ghosts #bbc ghosts oc #oc: roan #oc: cornelius #oc: maud #oc: philip #oc: hattie #oc: thomas #oc: nellie #oc: francis #oc: michael

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ibelieveinthejrsupremecy · 11 months

Note

Rick and a reader that worries about his suicidal tendencies and refuses to leave him during an episode? Like, they have to be sitting on the other side of the room or following to the bar or wherever to make sure he stays safe? (i worry about him :( )

TW AHEAD: Canonical mentions of suicide attempt and substance abuse.

Thank you so much for the request, this blog of mine has been dead for a little too long for my liking 😭😭

P.S, since you didn't specify if you wanted this as romantic or platonic, imma keep the nature of the relationship ambiguous, so it can be read aither way!

Rick struggling with his mental health and Reader stays to keep an eye on him

Everyone basically knows Rick is an asshole to anyone and everyone, very few people ever know why.

You are one of those few people.

The only way you'd be close to him at all is if you've known the guy for a long time. Long enough to learn when he is and isn't okay.

Cursing out someone?? Jerry That's normal.

Drinking excessively?? That shouldn't be normal but unfortunately to Rick's standards it is.

Yelling and ranting about something he's fixated on in the moment?? Normal.

Bring excessively quiet and withdrawn?? Now that is something you have to worry about.

You don't live with the Smith's, so you visit often, hanging around Rick and getting him to talk about anything and everything to get his mind out of any bad head space. Hell, even getting him to take you on an adventure! Dangerous or not.

Obviously, Rick is gonna notice this.

He might get mad at you if he does, not willing to admit that he secretly appreciates your efforts. Chances of him apologizing after getting mad and blowing up in your face is slim.

However! He might do little things as a non-verbal apology like making you a small gadget to help with your everyday stuff, buying you some of your favorite snack, etc.

Depending on how long you've known him, Rick might open up about Unity...

Hearing about his attempt to self-unalive when Unity left him is hard.

Rick struggles to find the words to articulate how he felt on that day, but the way he describes it to you just feels-- mortifying.

Hell, the only way he's probably telling you all this is probably he's had enough to drink. It's too much to talk about it sober.

Rick is not immortal, or a God, or anything more than human.

Moments like this reminds you that he's just a man.

You don't talk over him, you don't try to give advice, or to console him. At least not at first. All he needs in the moment is to just have someone to listen.

If you notice Rick is acting off due to more burping, drooling, his stutter is worse than usual, you know for a fact he was using.

You can't really stop him from drinking or using any alien drugs.

But at the very least you take care of him or convince him to use less than he normally does.

Which is not gonna be easy to do.

If you also struggle with your own mental health, sticking around for Rick is probably not the best thing to do unless you notice he's genuinely trying to make an effort to change and seek help.

Putting your own mental health at risk should not be worth the risk.

Rick is s stubborn old bastard.

He can be cynical, cold, downright awful sometimes.

But he's a jaded man that lost everything, now that he has a family again which includes you, he's willing to make an attempt to do better.

If he says any of that, you won't let him live that down, lets be for real-

"Awwe, Rick, you fucking softy--"

"[Name], shut the fuck up."

#samEEL's writing #rick and morty #rick c137 #tw mental health #substance abuse #tw substance abuse #headcanons #gn reader #gender neutral reader #platonic headcanons #romantic headcanons #sameel's post

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moonfurthetemmie · 8 months

Text

The Maelstrom and the beasts

Beasts

Those most at risk to turn into beasts are those who have trouble regulating their emotions. This is one of the things that Nightmare and Dream managed to find out before they died, though it had only been a theory. The others have since seen this proven as fact.

People like Cross and Error, who were close to a spirit, happen to have a slight immunity buff, but if it won’t save them if they can’t keep calm. There’s also only a handful of people like that. Finch and Ink may be the only other ones.

Hacker and Bobby are probably high risk wuh oh

Xena is very high risk and Cross is trying very hard to help her work on that, but Xena doesn’t want to work on it. She doesn’t want to fight this thing! No one else can seem to convince her to at least try.

The radiance beasts are called ‘radibeasts’ (said like ‘ray-dee-I beasts’), and the corruption beasts are ‘negabeasts’. Totally did not base the radibeasts off of the Sin Eaters from FFXIV: Shadowbringers. Me? Never

None of the beasts are sentient.

The radibeasts’ blood glows gold, and the negabeasts’ tend to glow purple, but not always. Similarly, the radibeasts tend to come mostly in white, yellow/gold, and sometimes orange, while the negabeasts’ can come in any number of colors. This is because radiance and positivity are gold, and while negativity is purple, corruption’s color somewhat depends on the user. At least in DS and other kai + frey involved AU/MVs

The radibeasts and negabeasts will go after each other at any and every opportunity. The only thing they want to kill more are humans, monsters, and Corvus and Orion.

The Maelstrom

The Maelstrom, after it absorbs the old Tree’s magic, is able to form tentacle-like appendages from its body, made of it’s super toxic corruption or radiance. That’s why Orion was mumbling about calamari and squid

The Maelstrom might be sentient, but it couldn’t understand its surroundings for a while. It can only sense emotions, positivity, negativity, radiance, and corruption. It didn’t know Corvus and Orion were statues, and then destroying them would destroy the magic it wanted.

The Maelstrom controls the beasts. It directs them to certain places or people during a fight, and can command them to ‘retrieve’ things, such as the statues of a couple of spirits

The Maelstrom also acts almost entirely on instinct. It seeks out strong sources of positive or negative emotions and takes it for itself, turning it into magic for itself. It has no real goal except to ‘survive’, and as it’s own magic is constantly warring against itself, it needs to consume large amounts of magic frequently.

It would likely spread to another multiverse if given the chance.

Due to the Maelstrom’s nature, the multiverse is actually sitting in a balance between positivity and negativity! Unfortunately that balance is still fucked up right now somehow.

The Maelstrom, oddly enough, will leave unusually strong spirits alone until it can find a source of the opposing magic. For example, Dream’s radiance might’ve been a tempting target, but it didn’t have an equally powerful source of negativity, so it didn’t go after him right away. If it knocks its own shit out of balance, that’s not going to be good for it! Or anyone else, with how powerful it’s gotten. If it becomes purely negative or positive the whole multiverse will probably crash and burn. So that’s a fun thought.

Origin story!

In Corvus and Orion’s universe, a very small settlement of priests lived near the Tree. They had decided to try to help protect it, as a tree with this sort of magic must surely be very important. Lots of people, human and monster, seem to want to take the apples, too.

Two of those people have been hatching a plan for a while now. And while they’re working out how to distract the priests, not realizing that there’s a guardian spirit as well, the humans run into this little creature. A little impish dude. A trickster. A little bastard, if you will.

The imp had tried to steal apples from the Tree before, evading the priests but being chased off by the guardian with a few scratches. They’re not too happy with the spirit guarding the Tree, and decide to be a little bitch about it. The humans don’t know this, though.

The imp, disguised as a regular monster, asks the humans what they’re up to, and goes “oh? You wanna steal the apples? Well, I tried that once. I failed, but I’ve been working on a way to deal with the spirit. I can help you, if you promise to share.”

The humans agree, not realizing that by ‘share’ the imp meant ‘give them all to me’, and they all make a plan.

The imp has been painstakingly working on a weapon that can deal with the Tree’s guardian. An ornate magic dagger, which they refuse to show the humans until the time comes.

During a short lapse in the priests’ active watches, they attack. The imp goes for the spirit, only for her to jump out of the way. They wind up stabbing the Tree itself instead, and before they can pull it out the spirit kills them, their hand still clasped around the hilt of the dagger. That’s um. Not good for the spirit.

The priests had heard a commotion and come running, and the humans are forced to flee, but the spirit’s fuuucked. The priests can’t seem to heal her.

She tells them the Tree is going to need a new guardian, and they’re all like “yes, yes, we will steal their firstborn children.”

“That’s. Oddly specific. and kind of medieval. But whatever i guess, as long as they can protect the Tree.”

The spirit expires, and they begin looking for the two humans that attacked with that little imp fucker.

…It seems like there’s still a presence inside the Tree, though.

They study the imp’s dagger and learn about many of the enchantments on it, but do not notice that it was also very capable of transferring certain energies. Guess what little bastard in stuck inside the tree

The process caused them to lose a lot of themself, though, and they’re essentially asleep. Once they wake up…weird shit starts happening, eventually leading up to the Maelstrom’s ‘birth.’ Anything of the person it once was is gone, now. They paid a much bigger price for their greed than they could’ve known.

#Sunfall DS #The Maelstrom #The Beasts #it’s a whole ass Thing #I made the draft like yesterday I think and then had to deal with Things(TM) and forgot to post it SKDJFJDH #the thing I wanted to draw ain’t getting done any time soon I think but whatever #my headphones broke and now I’ve lost motivation for all creative things that aren’t writing or writing-adjacent #I don’t know why that includes drawing and not writing #I’m just going to skulk in the corner and wail about the headphones

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randomestfandoms-ocs · 11 months

Note

Anyway info-dump about Rosabelle please? 🥺

Anytime yes pls I love her 🥺 Okay so Rosabelle Legume is Gaston’s youngest official child (I hc him having a lot of bastards raised by their moms but he only raised his three eldest sons and his first daughter; also her mom is a Bimbette but she doesn’t know or care which but I have all the faces figured out) and yes, her name is actually just Rose + Belle because Gaston is nothing if not an obsessive bitch, hence why she never uses her full name. She’s a part of Uma’s crew and third in command after she and Harry, though that spot goes to Gil when she gets called to Auradon. She’s fiercely loyal, violent, cunning, and will do anything for her crew. She never shows emotion, Harry is the only person who has seen her cry since she was a child, and even that was a very extenuating situation. She lives on the ship and spends her days running schemes and collecting money for the crew, though she occasionally does work for Gaston to keep him from going after Gil.

Gaston terrifies her. He goes from being a loving (if sometimes disturbingly obsessive) father to violent and temperamental in a split second and she never knows what to expect, she also doesn’t know which is worse. Her hair is naturally a darker blonde but she’s been dyeing it brown for as long as she can remember, first at her father’s insistence and then as a matter of comfort and familiarity, but she switched between the two in Auradon.

She picks up a few jobs on the isle to support her crew, some of which are definitely better than others (the main two jobs are for Stromboli and at her dad’s tavern) but to her crew is the only family that matters so she’ll do whatever it takes to take care of them. She and Harry have been an item (as much as anyone is an official item on the isle) for a couple of years before she gets called to Auradon, but even before that they’ve always been two peas in a pod, working in perfect sync to support Uma, the kind of close that can have a full conversation with just their eyebrows. Harry is violently protective of her but also respects that Ro doesn’t usually want his protection because it makes it look like she can’t protect herself.

She is genuinely terrified of a few villains on the isle (her father, Stromboli, Maleficent, Hook, and Jafar in particular), but there are also some that she’s unfortunately fond of, and she considers LeFou to have been more of a father to her than Gaston.

She’s among those summoned to Auradon because Ben realizes that he can’t justifiably invite the children of other villains without inviting a child of his parents’ villain, but god damn she doesn’t want to go.

She doesn’t want to leave her crew, and she’s afraid of what Auradon might do to her to punish her for her father’s crimes, but it’ll get her away from Gaston and she and Uma already have a few plans of their own for it, so she goes. She doesn’t trust Mal’s crew in the slightest but they’re all on the same page about the wand (though Ro doesn’t want to bring down the barrier — she wants to get the kids and pettier criminals/sidekicks off and the villains who’ve redeemed themselves or were never really villains, but she thinks a lot of the villains can’t just be let loose or it’ll be a living hell for everyone) so they can tolerate each other. She’s put in a dorm with an Auradon kid but I’m not sure who yet, so she only has to see the gang to plot and that’s good enough for her.

She and Belle actually hit it off pretty early on, Belle knows what Gaston is like and that there’s no way he was a decent father to her, and sort of takes Ro under her wing, which is how she gets to know Ben better. She and Ben have kind of started to get along before the love potion situation but Ro still doesn’t fully trust him and truly can’t believe that he would ever actually trust her. When the love potion plan comes into play, Ro convinces Mal that she should use it because a) there’s four of them and one of her so if they screw her over she’s fucked but if she screws them over they still have strength in numbers and b) because she and Ben have already been seen forming a bond so it’ll draw the least suspicion and prevent anyone from suspecting magical interference, but the truth is that she doesn’t actually like the plan and she’s learned that Ben already wants to let all the kids off the isle so if she uses it then it means that Mal can’t take advantage or try to get the actually bad villains off the isle and also she really does believe that Ben wouldn’t trust her enough to take food from her so she thinks the whole mess can be avoided.

It’s a bigger mess when he actually does take it and Ro is torn because Ben is very much growing on her but she’s also still in love with and loyal to Harry but Uma did say to do whatever it took to get the kids off the isle so fuck if she knows what to do, she’s kind of just riding this wave and waiting to see what happens and accidentally befriending both Mal’s crew (especially Jay) and Auradon kids (especially Lonnie and Aziz) along the way

And that’s before we get into the absolute fucking shitshow that is descendants 2 but this got wayyyy longer than it was meant to be so I’m just going to shut up now 😅

Also Ben is just so in love with her it makes him fucking stupid but to be fair so is harry and like so am I so like, I get it

Also I’m sorry if any of this is incoherent I wrote most of it at 6am while getting ready for work rip

#ask #answered #the witching ash #rosabelle legume #about rosabelle

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draftmare · 1 year

Text

3.01.23

Okay, sooooo saddle drama.

Remember that saddle that I made the post on about saying, hey, look at the flocking of this saddle? This is why we don’t store our saddles on saddle racks? Well, it got way worse than just the flocking being f-ed. The tree was also broken. Well, the head plate was. Thankfully in a super obvious way that I was able to catch just by flipping the saddle over and looking at it. I was already feeling a little sus-y of the saddle because it was being a little too flexible when I pulled it out of the box and did my usual check over. So, here is a friendly reminder that when you get your saddle out of the box, flex the tree. Listen for any weird creaks, squeaks, or if the tree is moving more than you think it should. If you aren’t sure how to flex a tree for soundness, there are tons of resources online on how to check. That said, sometimes the only way to find cracks, loose stitching, or broken screws is to have your saddle fitter take the panels off, but this is generally a good place to start.

Broken head plate:

That saddle went back into the box and back from whence it came. Except the place I got it from opened a PayPal dispute against me. I usually rant and rave against PayPal because they are a bunch of rotten bastards out to steal your money, but this one time they did the right thing and everything settled in my favor, it was just a hassle, and it took way longer than it should have for me to get my money back.

A couple of weeks ago I had her measured/traced for a WOW saddle, and she very clearly was meant for their hoop tree plate. I also got to try one of their saddles, but felt very meh about it. Their saddles are modular in that you can swap out different panels, different headplates, different seats, and different flaps, so it could have been just me needing a different combination of seat and flap, but they are also NOT cheap. I have seen a couple come up at tack shops in my price range, but the tack shops generally don’t seem to know what combination of parts they have on the saddle they are selling, so I would need to go directly through a rep, which would be a lot more expensive. Anyway, after that experience I pivoted to looking for just hoop tree saddles for her, which has been a bit of a struggle. You see, not all saddles that look like hoops are truly a hoop tree, which means a lot of asking people for serial numbers, contacting the manufacturer, and then waiting to hear back on if that model/tree is a hoop or not.

I ended up going for a saddle...that ended up not being what it said it was...which was a bit of an awkward adventure...and unfortunately it is not going to work for us either. They had the brand wrong, the tree size wrong, and I don’t honestly know if it is a true hoop tree or not, but the company has gone out of business, so no way of checking for sure. The pictures made it look very hoop like, so I broke my rule above of emailing companies serial numbers, because of course I did (rule was broken because this saddle was waaaay under budget).

It looked really promising to start, but once feeling around under it, there was a lot of pressure under the back of the panel, especially on the left side. I hemmed and hawed on if maybe this was something that could be fixed with flocking since the right side felt better, so I decided to completely tack her up with pad and half pad and that made things MUCH worse. Kind of totally took the wind out of my sails. I ended up not riding in this saddle, or even riding at all on this particular night, I was so bummed. For some reason in the 3 days leading up to this saddle arriving I had convinced myself that just getting a hoop tree saddle would magically fit her and fix all of our problems.

I am starting to feel like maybe the saddle that seems like it shouldn’t fit her, and doesn’t fit me 100% (the County Fusion) is just what we should stick with. She seems fine in it (she’s been gone over with a fine tooth comb lately with her lameness) and it fits me okay-ish. Maybe I should stop trying to fix what isn’t exactly broken? Ugh.

#equestrian blogging #horse blogging #horsblr

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tiredassmage · 1 year

Note

I continue to love Tyr SO MUCH every time I read more about him. Just think he deserves some appreciation in ~the ask box~ and maybe a break. He sounds like he needs a break.

(Tbh he and my cipher agent Five sound like they’re in a very similar boat of “can we catch a fucking breather please?” “No” “okay thanks”) and love that for them

;_; I HAVE NO WORDS. MY ENDLESS APPRECIATION BACK TO YOU. Jkahdjdjfufjfkf. This literally means the world to me and let me also just say, you in my asks is always an absolute treat, I cannot thank you enough.

I really, really do love him, so like... unfortunately for him, he's suffering from my infamous main obsession syndrome and that means I also spend lots of time on his problems jsjdjdkfkf. He really could absolutely use a break. WHY isn't this man retired, honestly? Get out of the game, Nine. You lived. You literally evicted the Sith Emperor. Find a nice, remote planet and just fuck off, dude, take your husband with you. You deserve it, bestie!! (I give him maybe two weeks, tops, before he'd lose his patience. Someone tell him how to turn off all those spy instincts and that nasty sense of responsibility to see the conflict to its end because he can't help but feel he has to do something, knowing what he does of the Empire. Seriously. Tell him to stop. He worries me sometimes. Don’t you dare self-destruct like that, you dumb bastard. I’m watching you, Tyr.)

Imperial Agent support club tbh. They've done enough, damn it. 😔🤣 I probably owe them drinks, if Five would also like. xD

Okay, Tyr appreciation without me babbling off about him because while we’re here. I love playing pixel dress up with this man, so like, favorite ‘fits time!!!!

This is still my favorite look for him, I think. He’d never confess, but ‘the Red Blade’ is still probably one of his favorite covers and returning to a level of that persona on Rishi was way more fun than it had any right being.

It’d also be remiss of me to not mention his absolute classic(tm) - this eventually served primarily as a cold weather ‘fit, but was one of the earliest sets I acquired for him, so it’s one of the default outfits/color schemes I imagine him in.

I would say he has the most outfit slots unlocked of all my toons so far, but I think Lensan’s starting to give him a run for his credits, if he hasn’t already won. Tyr was really like... my descent into outfitter madness. The beginning. The first time I finally grasped the absolute potential of giving them different outfits for different occasions. It’s all been downhill from there, man. What do I play games for - and especially their money markets - if not to play pixel dress up, tbh? (Lensan has an absolutely outrageous amount of blasters I keep in his inventory for the sole purpose of stamping them to outfitter slots, it’s kinda hilarious.)

Also kudos to him for being the only character I have that hasn’t snatched a 2nd combat style bc I may have no idea if I’m doing half of it right, but you can pry Operative out of my cold, dead hands. Superior solo experience. It has stealth. It has a combat roll (that I miss when I play literally every other game, ngl, I’ve been corrupted). Solid single target output for my purposes of story content. I picked it up as a second for Len simply to make Section X dailies less a pain in the ass and I haven’t swapped back to Merc for him in ages, oops. >.>

I also need to go off about him and Shara one day because this bitch STILL probably hasn’t processed his feelings about how all of that went down and, honestly, Tyr, please. C’mon. I’m still judging him for how he tried to convince himself Nathema and Umbara and all of that was just like. Not an issue he needed to talk about. He was fine. Obviously. Theron was back!!! Alive!!! End of story, right???!!!! No!!! Absolutely not!!!! Shakes him by the shoulders, stop repressing your own feelings, you know you can talk to Theron!!!

Idiot. I love him. I love this man so much. I want to spin him around like a Rubix Cube.

#answered #dot talk #ch: tyr #literally like adskfndslfndsf you've slain me i love and appreciate you for supporting my... idk kdasfnlsanfdsd #swtor #imperial agent #swtor oc

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the-rainbow-lesbian · 2 years

Note

1, 4, 11, 13, 24, 27

1. is cat hating misogyny

I think it's a little more complex than cat hating directly equals misogyny, it's a combination of how little we value and respect animals, and owning cats as pets being associated with women. people compare cats to dogs and expect cats to behave and respond in the same way dogs do, there is very little effort to understand cat behavior and a lot of undesirable behavior in cats is a direct response to their environment and the way they are treated, animals are a lot of effort and cats in particular get a reputation for being "easy" and aloof. also women need to be conditioned to fear being single in order to pressure them into relationships with men no matter how unsatisfactory they are, a woman putting herself and her pets above all else is demonized and this is why the crazy cat lady is used as a tool to scare women from becoming like that stereotype.

4. political lesbians

I think the concept is absolutely despicable. straight feminists have the tendency to associate lesbian attraction with the perverse ways men behave towards women and therefore they demonize lesbians and their desire for women and try to strip away the neutrality of the lesbian identity and politicize it disregarding the harm this does to actual lesbians. lesbianism is a sexual orientation and not a political statement, and when political "lesbians" eventually desert the term and enter into relationships with men again (because there is no way in hell you can convince yourself to be attracted to women when you are not) it's used against lesbians to prove that we can't be really lesbians cause they knew this other lesbian who is now married to a man. political lesbianism is also not the same as being a febfem or a heterosexual woman who chooses to remain celibate, I think women should do their best to de-center men from their lives and that can be achieved without bastardizing lesbianism.

11. polyamory/polygamy

it's incredibly annoying that liberals blindly accept polyamory without addressing its history (and event present) as a tool used by men to own as many women as possible, without the women's consent as it's not needed. you can't expect multiple individuals to enter into a poly agreement without anticipating that power dynamics due to misogyny will play out, I am very critical of it but I am also critical of monogamous heterosexual relationships but I don't want this ask to get too long lol.

13. who is a better lesbian ally: straight women vs gay men

gay men will understand your struggles as a fellow gay person but as men they can still be misogynistic af, it's the same with straight women we share a class as women but many of them are homophobic unfortunately, this is why I think lesbians are the only ones who can understand each other.

24. t-slur

not a fan of slurs in general specially the ones used in porn, I am just tired of the hypocrisy of having the t-slur as the one slur you never ever say but then all gay people are called "queer" against their will and the genderists liberally use f*g and dyke against gays and lesbians unchecked. sometimes I don't have it in me to care about a group of men who make women and especially lesbians' lives so much harder.

27. do butch/femme couples imitate heterosexuality

no, it's stupid that this is even a discourse in the "queer" community by people who themselves are in het relationships, it's just lesbophobia

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watching-pictures-move · 1 year

Text

Movie Review | Exit the Dragon, Enter the Tiger (Lee, 1976)

Normally when these Bruceploitation movies try to differentiate between their star and the real thing, we get recycled footage from an actual Bruce Lee movie, sometimes spliced in awkwardly, pretty much always dubbed over. Here, Bruce Li plays both Bruce Lee, AKA the Dragon, and the hero of this movie, David Lee, AKA the Tiger, seen conversing with each other in the same frame through movie magic. “Bruce” mentions he’s been getting some threats lately, and that if anything should happen to him, David is his true successor. At this point he might as well have turned to the audience, as this is one of many gestures in this genre to convince us that what we’re watching is a continuation of Bruce Lee’s legacy. (My favourite is the trailer for Enter the Game of Death, in which the narrator assures us that “he’s back…and he’s up to his old tricks!”, only to conflate the careers of Bruces Lee and Le, and then insists that this movie contains “the greatest cast ever assembled in one motion picture.”) Later it throws in a scene where Li is glimpsed in a disco standing next to a picture of the real Lee, and is mobbed by every single woman in the establishment when they mistake him for the real Lee. Neither gesture is terribly convincing.

After Bruce Lee dies, the movie pulls up the same funeral footage from Bruce Lee: The Man and The Legend and then proceeds to a conspiracy-tinged crime plot which alleges that Lee was murdered by a drug smuggling ring hoping to use him and other martial artists to sneak their wares past customs. Both the funeral footage and conspiracy theories are unfortunately genre mainstays, although given how shameless the genre is by definition, at a certain point you stop being shocked. In this respect, the crime movie framing probably tempers some of the grossness, at least compared to the faux-documentary framing of Fist of Fear, Touch of Death, in which multiple interview subjects insist with nary a doubt that Lee was murdered using the technique in its title.

I do think this is pretty entertaining as far as this genre goes, in that the fights come frequently and are executed with a good amount of verve. Li halfheartedly tries to imitate Lee at points, but without the gusto of Le (who often looks like he might pop a vein), but for the most part the fights have a nice spontaneity to their choreography. Highlights include a fight with a giant, a fight on top of a high rise (which ends with some poor bastard falling to his death), a final fight beside the sea, and a fight with a gymnast. The gymnast is clad in a yellow striped tracksuit, not unlike the one Lee wore in Game of Death*, and in this moment the movie maybe serves as an unintentional critique of the genre, Bruce Lee iconography as a villain to Bruce Li’s attempts to carve out his own identity. Also, I don’t know if it was print damage or if these were actual jump cuts, but there’s a very nice sense of speed to this altercation. That and the characters are often in extremely ‘70s fashions**, with giant collars and loud, abrasive prints, means that the fights often play like a more competent version of the Johnny Wadd action montage from Exhausted. This is obviously a good thing.

*Many Bruceploitation films pull out the tracksuit, but not many get the shoes right. In Game of Death, Lee wears yellow and black Onitsuka Tigers. Here, the character wears white and back Adidas. Perhaps this is the movie giving away that it can never match the real thing. Yes, let’s go with that.

**Such taste extends to the décor, which consists of framed pictures of nude women and (clothed) Bruce Lee.

#film #movie review #exit the dragon enter the tiger #lee tso nam

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crqelsummer · 1 year

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aiko “im not like my dad but exactly like my dad” yamada is having the time of her life as i slowly finish off the released episodes of mha

- about 5 at the time of mha (she effectively grows up with shinso as an older brother and eri as a slightly older sister)

- around 30 by the time the events of ‘our hero academia’ start

- has a siren quirk (that i really shouldve given to yuto, shinso’s kid). she has to make eye contact with someone and then she can use her voice to manipulate them into doing things. she used it the first time to get mina to give her cookies (which is how class 1-a discovered her existence by accident sometime prior to the overhaul arc)

- does not get paid enough to teach the next generation of class 1-a. is about to start greying at her big age.

- oh yeah — her dad (shota, who she addresses as father most of the time) almost dies the last time they go out together on a job. hes had a lot of close calls lately, but she hasnt been in the country for a while so most shes only now just hearing about.

- she and eri are best friends!! their quirks arent really mushing together well, but they love each other like sisters and are so normal about each other. aiko loves the art eri makes and eri loves the music aiko makes.

- she and hitoshi are interestingly enough, sort of close? considering she teaches his son these days it makes some sense she supposes, but usually she can rely on him for more emotional/logical matters.

- all three of them are mischievous bastards. they gave shota and hizashi a run for their money before aiko left home. hitoshi would usually claim complete innocence even though he usually convinced the girls to help him with some pretty inane plans lol.

- closer to hizashi, very Sunshine-y lovey kinda gal, but she also bleached her hair at 18 and never looked back. made music in america for a while (tried to make it big in L.A) before she moved back to get her license to teach. yet she has a lot of shota’s tendencies, she cares about her students a great deal and will often to go to any lengths to protect them. but oftentimes she lets her heart run away with things, unlike how shota gets things done. they butt heads over this a lot.

- but, aiko was never a big pro hero. she was more local when she did make it back to japan and in the years between arriving home and then teaching at UA (around four years, 22-26) even though hizashi thought she could make it big. the siren perk was just that, a perk. though she did attend UA, she was in class 1-c like shinso. she has to rely on her cables (unfortunately, think aot) to get around as a hero.

- she and shota argue a lot because he thinks she wasted a lot of her prime years a hero just to spite him. logically hes right but she hates that hes right. she didnt want to be a big name like them, but the gentle (and not so gentle) push towards it in the high school shoved her over the edge and she never actually went back to the iida agency after work studying there for years.

#oc: yamada aiko #oc #original character #au: our hero academia

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zizz-asdf-re-r-o-u · 2 years

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Underrated Openly Queer Audio Dramas

So you know The Penumbra Podcast, Welcome to Nightvale, The Bright Sessions, Alice Isn’t Dead, Ars Paradoxica, Archive81, The Two Princes, Moonbase Theta Out, Unwell, The Magnus Archives, etc. You might have heard of Mabel, Strange Case of Starship Iris, Dining in the Void, Blood Crow Stories, Caravan, Dreamboy, Love&Luck, Kaleidotrope, etc. Maybe you’ve even heard of Sidequesting, Desperado, Folxlore, Return Home, The Flame, The Beacon, Valence, other shows from Procyon Podcast Network, etc. They’re all either well known, somewhat known, or at least frequently recommended audio dramas with openly queer characterS. If you haven’t, you should! Well, here is a post of underrated audio dramas with IN YOUR FACE unapologetically queer characters. No characters in the closet or “only mildly queer coded or wait until the 3rd season to find out or there’s a blink & you’ll miss it clue” kind of queer. Like if you take away the gayness, almost the entire story is gone.

Last updated Sept 2022. As I discover more, or as stories develop, I’ll likely update this! Let me know if you have other underrated recommendations! For the time being, these are the shows I’ve personally listened to.

Bastard Fur: NSFW 18+ Did you like Caravan? Do you like gay werewolves? Sammy gets bitten by a werewolf and joins a found family cult to handle the situation. Unfortunately this is stuck in a hiatus just as the plot starts, so there isn’t much going on yet, but it is very promising!

@burstpodcast: Bubble tea cafe in space with shenanigans. Beth is a shameless lesbian, and she is so unapologetically present and irreplaceable that I can’t leave Burst off this list. I believe this is a student/amateur project so the audio/storytelling is very rough, but the storyline is whacky and wild enough that I forgive it.

Dash: Slight NSFW, some 1940s homophobia. The story is a typical noir detective solving a crime. But DASH IS GAY AND WILL NOT LET YOU FORGET IT, even though it’s the 1940s. I love it. Cue “this woman tried to hit on me but sorry you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Dos After You: A gay assassin/serial killer sleeps with a god and then chases across Europe seeking to kill him. This is for those who want chaotic disaster gays. It’s also a bilingual Spanish show and, maybe it’s the accents, but everyone is sooo flirty. The audio is a bit rough sometimes though.

Electromancy: Student mages attend the Royal Institute for the Study of Sorcery. Lots of superpowered action, tasty world building, and several queer and nonbinary characters. Also, it features a large number of well known indie queer audio drama creators, but I see so little buzz about it!

Fuck Humans: NSFW 18+ Explicit erotica BUT believe me when I say it’s very plot driven first. A fantasy world where humans & monsters live separated by a wall. This also has a diverse range of relationship styles and sexualities (yes there’s at least 1 asexual character that’s important to the plot). I will forever shout endless eternal praise about this show to whoever is 18+.

@gayfuturepod-blog : Gay Future is exactly as it says on the can. Satire about a dystopian future with reverse prosecution where the entire world is gay or lesbian. Why oh why does this not have more attention!

The Glass Appeal: Jason Cawfield has been imprisoned at Confederacy Supermax for a crime he claims he didn't commit. Married gay protagonist with cute banter and tries to explore prison/rebellion/healthcare themes. Unique audio storytelling method but misses the mark in convincing me of the prison setting.

@hinaypod : Mari Datuin is a babaylan that deals with spoopy stuff happening in Toronto with a group of friends. There’s a few humans, magic and normal, and spirits of various queer identities. (Also yay for more immigrant and first generation Asian rep!)

Hulm @go-hulm: “Anyone need a fantasy himbo/lesbian power dynamic?” The whole plot kicks off with Brant, the himbo who got trapped in Hulm via portal, and Meydinyor searching for her girlfriend to solve some interdimensional problems. It starts out silly enough, but the sound design is solid, voice acting is great, and the plot definitely gains more depth. This show has only 42 twitter followers, has less than 2-5 dedicated posts on tumblr, and I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else talk about it!

@jarofrebukepodcast : Dr Jared Hel is an immortal scientist with amnesia that encounters spoopy cryptids. Lots of gays and several nonbinary/trans characters.

@khorapodcast : Space adventure meets adaptation of various Greek/Roman mythological characters AND it keeps or expands on their queer origins.

The Line: (NSFW & drugs) from @pendantaudio . A troubled girl is caught in the war between Heaven and Hell, and learns she is humanity’s only chance at survival. I only just started this show, Kitty Shadow is a very interesting character and great casual lesbian. And Thomas Davies is also interesting so far, but warning for priest-grooming-young-boys (Thomas being a horny young boy) situation. It is an early era audio drama and you can tell how rough it is, but the storyline is very interesting, wonderfully violent, the music is really really catchy & epic, and it’s weirdly sex positive.

Mage and Machine: from @pendantaudio . A cyberpunk + magic story, with some steampunk vibes, featuring a half cyborg Mack, and a mysterious mage, Kailira. Mack’s ex-boyfriend/mechanic, Plinio, plays a fairly important role too. The worldbuilding is amazing, the mystery and tension is done well, and you really feel the character’s struggles. I noticed this show, and many of Pendant’s shows don’t have much, if any, online attention, including the ones that have been around since before 2009.

Mission Rejected: The backups of a spy agency do shenanigans. Zelda & Pat are THE lesbian power couple and if you take them away, shit hits the fan. Bowden is recently confirmed bisexual, and there’s other characters whose identities haven’t been confirmed “onscreen” yet. I’ve never seen it on a queer audio drama rec list. If you liked how Juno Steel broke noir detective tropes, you will like how this breaks spy/agents movie tropes.

Monstica: NSFW 18+ Ok these are all just very creative sexy monster fucking scenarios. But I’m serious when I say its creative queer erotica. Many trans characters, many relationship styles, etc. Bonus points that it actually includes/hires POC, queer, & trans voice actors, as well as sex workers.

Moonface: Slight NSFW. Come for a good balance of gay issues and Korean American disapora issues. It seriously deserves a listen, because there’s already very little queer Asian American media, both in mainstream US and audio drama land. Note that there are a few explicit onscreen sex scenes that are plot relevant, but easier to skip than Caravan & Bastard Fur. And it does end kind of Kdrama-y though. Nonetheless, I will shout about this constantly.

Murray Mysteries: Dracula modern day adaptation, where the characters are all queer and some are genderflipped. Their personalities translate perfectly to the 21st century and it explicitly canonizes any queer coded characters from the original book.

The Night Post: The story of a spoopy postal service. To be honest, the only things about this show I remember is when the characters are being gay drama™, which happens often enough that I remember it. So it’s on this list.

Null/Void: “I’m in a closet.” “Thanks for coming out, but is this the right time?” “No I’m actually hiding in a closet, but not the homophobic kind. Someone is about to catch me.” Just. Listen to this show.

Rifted: Set in a military state fantasy world, with rebels, bounty hunters and revolutionaries. Aurora & Daniel are childhood friends turned opposite-sides-of-the-rebellion turned escapees in love. Many other characters are openly queer as well.

@7ofheartspod : “What happens when you get a group of gays together and half of them have a crush?” - sums it up. I’m still listening, and it’s a very minimalist sound design/story about a group of friends in a town where an evil voice might be killing people/luring people away.

@skillsetpodcast : By the same creators as Under the Electric Stars, this kind-of scifi urban fantasy follows four college friends after an action-packed disaster in the very first episode. So far there’s only 3 episodes but holy MOLY the sound design is phenomenal, most creative monster SFX in a while, the voice actors are distinct, and it seems like there’s a lot of world building & mystery that will be revealed. You also really feel for the trauma that the characters are going through. Also none of the 4 friends are cis, straight, or white.

@undertheelectricstarspodcast : Do you like Penumbra Podcast but kinda annoyed at how they handle race? Do you also like Hi Nay? This is a cyberpunk dystopia with themes of healthcare and revolutionaries, and lots of action. Several main characters are nonbinary using a mix of different pronouns, at least 1 m/m guy, and more. Also all the leads are multilingual POC with several southeast Asians, and it does address POC issues! There were hints at a queer romance in the beginning, but I think romance has taken a back seat for the plot. Anyways, this one has very little attention at the moment, so I will keep shouting about it everywhere too.

Vacant Arcadia: Here just read my very thorough review on why you should listen to it (but skip the second half where I have major spoilers). https://zizz-asdf-re-r-o-u.tumblr.com/post/693520183249305600 Basically its a dystopian future where a group of people are playing a dangerous game to get new bodies with a hacker hikikomori game master. Also it’s a musical with vocalists who are SO SO skilled (even if it’s not my taste in music). There are 0 tumblr, twitter, & instagram fan posts. And its instagram page has less than 150 followers. So yeah, please check it out.

WOE.BEGONE : Mike Walters attempts to play a violent ARG only to get involved in a lot of time travel. He is the chaotic unhinged gay antihero that we all delight in his torture but also feel sorry for him. HE’S GOT A BOYFRIENDhusband AND NO ONE WILL LET YOU FORGET IT. Also, the writing and humor is so clever for a scifi/horror show, created by 1 person nonetheless.

Bonus 1: Bonus 2 will be shows that you recommended, although I have not listened myself. Now here are some shows that unfortunately are NOT unapologetically in your face queer, but I’ve *rarely* see them on any “queer audio drama recommendations” list or just personally want to recommend them. Note, some of them might actually be pretty popular, but if you blink & missed it, you might have never realized there are queer characters here:

Brass: This is the neo-Victorian steampunk show that I’ve been looking for, and is about a “badass” British family. Fictional versions of Oscar Wilde (infamous gay) and Nikola Tesla (sexuality wildly debated) happen to be supporting characters in here, so this show has queer characters by default. (The show luckily doesn’t straightwash, but also doesn’t explore their sexualities.) And then there’s the gay priest and Cyril Brass. Cyril gave me gay vibes from the very beginning, but i put this show in the bonus because it’s not explored until the season finale. Like c’mon, if Gwendolyn could be making out with dudes, Cyril & the priest could’ve kissed- the show notes explicitly describe it as a “romantic trip”. Otherwise, this is a well made show, including an entire multi-media universe, and I hardly see any recommendations for it.

Bloodthirsty Hearts: This is by Qcode, which is a big mainstream podcast company. The 5 female main characters are former friends who were big fans of Bloodthirsty Hearts, an in-universe show, and circumstances bring them together at a convention that goes badly. Two of that friend group end up asking each other out by the end and it’s actually a very nice arc for them. As a fandom convention attendee, this appealed to my nerdy lil heart. The danger did not live up to my expectations unfortunately, but it could be good if you’re looking for this very specific niche.

Darkest Night: It’s very well known for horror, however it rarely gets attention for Morgan and Kirby, the only gay guys in the show. There’s also a few other characters that I personally headcanon as being queer coded.

The Deep Vault: Post-apocalyptic story by the creators of Archive81. Carson & Jeremy are exes but that’s it. It’s not as well known as Archive 81, but the action & plot is just as good.

Down: Deep sea submarine thriller adventure! Did you know half the entire main crew is queer? Unfortunately, you only find out if you really pay attention to the lines. The circumstances of the plot focuses entirely on their survival (or lack of it).

Fall of the House of Sunshine: See the many reviews I’ve already left behind of it. So this falls in the case of last minute gays or “don’t find out until season 2!” gays. Luckily Pangla, Feltina, Humph, Professor Y, and Sondra are openly trans or lesbian when they appear, but I also rarely see this crazy wild show on list of openly queer media. I think there’s 1 podchaser list this appears in.

Gay Pride and Prejudice: This was made by Spotify and the plot is preetty much the same. It’s the characters of Pride & Prejudice, moved into the modern day, and a bunch of gay dudes. I think it’s a Great adaptation.

How I Died: Forensic pathologist can talk to ghosts and tries to solve murder cases. Ok so this actually has *several* openly queer characters, both living and ghosts. However, I think it’s pretty mainstream/popular/not underrated. However x2, I also don’t see it on many queer audio drama recommendation lists. If you liked Woe.begone for the unhinged corrupted disaster gay, then you will like this unhinged corrupted disaster bi. Warning for several episodes with themes of child/sexual abuse.

Omen Podcast: Pathfinder ocean adventure with pirates/privateers but it’s actually really really good. The world, writing, characters, and their dynamics are really great. With great action SFX and music to boot. None of them are confirmed queer, but Lola & Gwen are extremely flirty. Tobias & Quentin’s relationship also develops really deeply. And there’s some very flirty demons.

Putting 2 & 2 Together: This is the prequel/spinoff to a stage play that the creators also made. It’s basically a drama about Tommy & David navigating their life through jobs & moving & trauma. I really like it and highly recommend it! Considering how very gay it is, I’m surprised it’s not recommended more often!

Rebel Robin Surviving Hawkins: Robin Buckley from Stranger Things is canonically lesbian, and this Netflix official audio drama, written by Lauren Shippen (featuring several The Bright Sessions voice actors!), mentions it (and some other queer characters) many times in 1980s-style obvious subtext. It makes great use of Lauren’s script writing skills buuuuut it’s obviously a marketing tactic for the Rebel Robin book.

Splintered Caravan: Oh boy! The premise of this show is heist after heist after heist, along with lots of body modifications. There aren’t that many openly queer characters here, but there is a lot of genderfuckery, including a shapeshifter transwoman. People are swapping genders & body parts left and right (slight exaggeration). Just a note that because there is so much switching, there’s a lot of confused deadnaming too. But the main focus is still LOTS and LOTS of heists.

Stonesinger Chronicles: There are 2 sentences in a short scene where Whisper says he likes guys and Talee says she doesn’t like people romantically. I think we’re supposed to assume that Whisper is gay and Talee is aroace, but nothing happens beyond that. This is a very new show though, so there’s hope for the future!

The Vanishing Act: This is a very chaotic historical comedy?satire?parody? about a wannabe scriptwriter and his shenanigans in 20th century Europe. No one sounds European, everyone sounds modern, it’s just... pure chaos. The gays aren’t confirmed until season 2, but its a very satisfying slow burn when it finally happened. And very hilarious given the context (the 2 guys that have been pining after each other since season 1 finally kiss onstage in front of... Hitler. I know. Context what?)

Bonus 2: I haven’t listened to these shows yet, but you’ve recommended them so I suggest check them out as well.

All Vampires are Gay (note: this one seems more like an audiobook?) Hello from the Hallowoods Me and AU Pasithea Powder The Pilgrimage Saga Roll Gay Roleplay Second Star to the Left Tales of Swordfall Where the Stars Fell

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