#; didn’t know that French people should be insulted like this

[distopea]

😐

#⌇the jester leading the show ( 𝙊𝙊𝘾 ) #; wow opening tumblr or twitter after the football world cup is something #; didn’t know that French people should be insulted like this #; the amount of hate I saw for my country #; tbh I don’t give a shit about football #; but why insulting French people for the sake of it? #; sorry to be French I guess? 😑 #; tbd

[lecl3rcw]

MAGIC IN YOUR VEINS

pairings: Charles Leclerc x sister!reader

summary: Charles comforts his favorite sibling.

warnings: badly translated French, sibling fights, Arthur being a lil mean, just a little tho.

author’s note: this is a lil disappointing, also Thankyou guys so much for 50 followers💗

song recs: none:(

————————————————————————

She didn’t know how a small comment of hers escalated to a full blown argument between her and Arthur.

“Arthur you know I didn’t mean it like that!” She tries to defend herself, “Oh cut the bullshit Y/N, you know how I feel when anyone compares me to Charles, you off all people should know” he yells really upset with his sister’s comment.

“I was just joking! I didn’t Intentionally compare you to him” she sighs out, putting her hand on her face, a little distressed. “No you always have to bring this up, and it’s funny because you’re probably the biggest failure out of all 4 of us, Enzo is starting his own business, Charles is a F1 driver, I’m an F2 driver, meanwhile you can’t even pass a grade 11 exam” he says, finally finishing his rant getting the anger and frustration of his stressful week out.

Her mouth was wide open as tears were visible in his eyes, sure her and Arthur exchanged insults but never had they fought this seriously. “Why are you crying? Cant handle it when it’s directed at you?” He says, “I’m sorry Arthur” she whispered before running to her room and locking the door.

She felt guilty, she wasn’t upset at him because he gave her a taste of her own medicine but it did sting, hearing someone she genuinely looked up to call her a failure was a statement she could never shake off. Although it hurt, it also made her realize that he was right. Once Arthur was cooled down, he did apologize to the girl and she did as well, but despite saying sorry, his words rang in her head. She vowed to herself that she was going to pass this test without anyone’s help no matter what.

“Do you guys know what’s been up with your sister?” Pascale asks placing food on the table, “What do you mean Maman?” Charles asks looking up from his phone, his next race was 3 weeks away so he was happy to spend time with his family, “I don’t know, she seems really distant” their mutters, “I heard she has a big test tomorrow , maybe she’s stressed out?” Lorenzo said, “yeah perhaps, but I would appreciate if you guys could talk to her and make her feel better” she says, the two sibling nodded their heads.

Charles was walking up to his bedroom but he noticed soft music coming from his sister’s room, curiously, he walked in only to find his sister’s head resting on the desk, the dim light of the lamp was the only thing lighting her room up, her papers scattered across her desk. He softly smiled at her, he placed a sweet kiss on her head before turning the light off and letting his sister sleep.

The next morning the girl jerked up in panic, she wasn’t supposed to be sleeping, she was supposed to be preparing for her test. “I’m so fucked” she says her hands on her head. She checks the time and she quickly gets ready to go to school.

“Hey Chérie” Pascale says, “Goodmorning maman” she says rubbing her eyes tiredly, “you alright?” Pascale asks the girl in concern, “I’m good ma, I was supposed to study but I fell asleep” she says, “Oh you’ll do great my love” she says as she goes to give her daughter a tight hug, being in her mother’s arms bright the younger girl a lot of comfort, “I love you Maman, I should be leaving” she says breaking the hug, she gave her a smile before heading out the door.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, after giving her test she actually felt confident, the smile that the past few weeks stole from her made its way back on her face, now all she had to do was wait till 5:00 pm for her results. Charles texted her saying that he could pick her up to which she happily responded.

“Hi Chérie! How was your day” Charles asks, “it was alright” she responds, the siblings talked about irrelevant things the rest of the way, jamming to music, Charles even bought Y/N some food as the two shared the meal. She felt really happy that Charles wanted to spend time with her as he was such a busy man. Unfortunately for her tho, her interactions with Arthur had died down since he was never home, either with his friends or with Carla, which made her really sad.

It was 5:03 when the siblings made it home, “I’m gonna go check my score Charles, I’ll be right back!” She says, “wait! Bring your laptop here, we will check it together” Charles says wanting to be as supportive as ever to which she was more than thankful for.

“Ok…so what did you get” He asks her, the minute she looks her heart drops to her stomach, she felt nauseous, the exhaustion of so many weeks of not sleeping and eating properly catching up to her, she was upset beyond repair, and Arthur’s voice calling her a failure started echoing In her mind.

“I’m a failure” she says mindlessly, before burrying her face in her hands. “What? No you’re not” He says grabbing the laptop. “Oh my god. I’m a screwup” she says as sobs start racking her body, Charles immediately wraps his arms around the girl tightly, her face still in her hands. “I’m so dumb, I studied for nothing” she says as places her head against his shoulder.

“Y/N you’re not a failure, who told you that” Charles says caressing her hair, “It dosent matter Charles, the test results tell me everything I need to know” she says tears still running down her face, “why can’t I be more like you, or Arthur, or Enzo” she wails out, “You’re not a failure Y/N, everyone has ups and downs, you can’t base your worth on test scores, or people’s opinions” he says tightening his hold on her, she stayed quiet wanting him to continue. “You can’t be perfect all the time Chérie, and whoever told you that you’re a failure is probably a failure themselves” Charles says getting a little mad that someone (Arthur) called his sister a failure.

“But-” “no buts, You tried Y/N and that’s what matters, you didn’t give up, everyone has bad days, but you can’t let a test score hold this much power over you” he finishes, she sniffles wiping her nose, “you’re right, I’m sorry, maybe this was a bit of an overreaction” she says, feeling a bit embarrassed, “No never apologize for showing emotions, you were disappointed and that’s ok, use this disappointment as motivation, you’re going to kick that next test’s ass” he says shaking her shoulders as she lets out a laugh. “ I love you Charlie” she mumbled giving him a final hug that he reciprocated, “I love you more” he says. “Now tell me, who said you were a failure? I’ll give them a piece of my mind, I’ll get Arthur on them too” he says confidently,

“………”

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x sister!reader #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x sister!reader #charles lecrelc #charles leclerc x female reader

[carolmunson]

satin spats (steddie x reader)

Hi. This is a semi-prequel to the Good Cop x Bad Cop trilogy. Showing that Steve had been slowly becoming more unhinged overtime about his innate need for control when it comes to feeling powerless against his father. A lead up to why Reader calling Eddie 'Daddy’ in GCxBC: Daddy Lessons was the nail in the coffin for him going off the rails. This features a really, like genuinely emotionally mean Steve and this has a big Eddie to the rescue focus towards the end.

warnings: 18+ smut, fem reader, VERYMEAN!STEVE, intense degradation/humiliation, choking/leash play, swearing, fighting, yelling, rough sex, p in v sex, oral (male receiving), really mean name calling, drinking, controlling behavior, etc.

“I really think you’re the perfect fit. You’re never late, you always know what’s happening in the office, you’re always taking on more than you can chew and then chewing it.” “Are you sure, Mr. Harrington? Is this really happening right now?” you asked, beaming. “I think you’ll make a great Executive Assistant – I’m offering you the promotion,” your boss said with a shrug, “You wanna take up the offer?” “Uh, yes!” you replied, your heart soaring after a year and a half of getting coffees and answering phones, “Absolutely yes! And it’s not…like, this isn’t because I’m with Steve, right?”

“My son has no bearing on where I see excellence, Stella,” he said as if he hadn’t just insulted his only son, “This is all you.” Your smile faltered a bit at the dig, but you were so happy that you didn’t want to let it bother you. You had really wanted this promotion in the office. You and Eddie did practice interviews for weeks (’Yeah, baby, show me how bad you want this promotion.’ ‘Ed be serious, please!’), he helped you streamline your resume, he made you French toast this morning on homemade brioche because he wanted you to ‘get promoted on a full stomach’. (’Ed I’m so nervous, I can’t.’ ‘You have to, sweet thing, you’ll feel so much better – and it took me forever to make that brioche so if you don’t eat it I’ll be really sad.’) “Mr. Harrington, I’m –” you were at a loss for words, “I don’t know what to say. I’m so honored! I promise I won’t let you down.” “I know you won’t. We’ll get you started in a week or so, while we get a new secretary on board,” he explained. “Okay! Great!” you squealed, “It’s really happening!”

“It really is,” he smiled back at you, “Give my son a call, we should celebrate later. We’ll do D’archenzo.” “I will, I will,” you said, getting up from the chair across from his desk, “Thank you so much Mr. Harrington.” “Stel, please, just call me Bill,” he pleaded. “Sorry – ugh, thank you so much Bill,” you said, at the door frame. You left his office, shutting the door behind you. Your face hurt from smiling. You scurried back to your desk and immediately called the boy who would be the most excited to hear from you. “Thanks for calling Danger Records. This is the guy who runs it,” Eddie’s bored voice rang through the phone, “How can I help you?” “Ed.” “Oh shit!” you could hear through his words he was beaming, “You got it. Holy shit, you got it!” “I got it!” you tried not to scream, bouncing up and down in your desk chair. “Oh babe, I am so proud of you. I knew you had it in the bag,” he cheered, “I’m so happy for you. How do you feel? Are you excited? You really earned it, sweet thing.” “I’m so excited, and I’m so nervous. I don’t know, it’s so many feelings,” you explained, jittery with enthusiasm.

“I’m so sad I’m closing, sweetheart,” he moped, “I would’ve had something put together for you for when you got home. Let me take my little Exec out this weekend.” You blushed at his new nickname, “Little Exec makes it sound silly.” “It’s not silly, it could never be silly, it’s you,” he said, adoration pouring through his words like honey. “But baby, I’m so sorry, I have to go. We got a couple people in here that need specifics – collectors. I’ll see you at home, okay?” “Yeah, yeah, okay! Um, Bill wants to take me and Steve out for a drink to celebrate at D’archenzo. But we’ll probably be back before you get home,” you said, sweat prickling under your dress at the thought of calling Steve. “Oooh, D’archenzo? My little miss money bags over here. Ugh, I can’t wait to see you and give you a big fat kiss. I love you,” Eddie’s smile was infectious, even if you couldn’t see it. “Love you too! I’ll see you tonight!”

You heaved a dreamy sigh at the praise and excitement. Sometimes it was nice to be cheered for, instead of the cheer leader. You picked up the phone off the receiver again and dialed Family Video slowly. Steve’s shift ended at 4 and it was 3:55, but you couldn’t will yourself to get the to conversation faster. “Family Video, this is Steve,” his voice was cheery, and accommodating.

“Hi Stevie, I’m sorry to call so close to the end of your shift,” you said. “That’s okay, baby, is everything okay at work?” he asked, concern lacing his tone. “No, no, it’s fine! It’s great!” you said, “I um – I got the job!”

“Oh…” he said, his voice still light but distant, “Was that today?” “Yeah, it was um, it was today,” you said, disappointment creeping into your chest.

“Well hey, congrats baby,” he said, his voice lacking the luster it had when he answered the phone. “Uh, your dad wants to know if you wanted to come meet us for celebratory drinks at 5. Do you wanna come?” you chewed on your lower lip, bouncing your leg anxiously. “And hang out with Bill?” he scoffed, “Oh yeah. That’s how I love spending my Friday nights off.” “Please?” you asked, your voice getting smaller. You heard him sigh, the kind he does when he runs his hand over his face, “Yeah honey, I’ll come. You going to Salvatore’s?” “D’archenzo,” you corrected. “Psht, of course he wants to do D’archenzo,” he muttered, taking a pause, “Yeah baby, I’ll see you there. Might be a little late, have to go home and change.” “That’s okay,” you said, a little breathily, “I’m excited to see you.”

“Me too, princess,” his tone made it sound otherwise. “Love you,” you said, meeker than you expected. “Love you, see you later.” Dial tone. You wished you had called Eddie second. –

You shifted nervously in the half circle booth at D’archenzo, eyes snapping from the door to your boss — nodding and smiling every now and again to pretend you were paying attention. The not so great thing about Bill is that he loved to hear himself talk, so it gave you a lot more time to think about how this night might go.

Steve didn’t like his father, that much was true. It was the grandstanding he did whenever he was around him that frustrated you — needing so desperately to be the King Steve he felt like his father wanted him to be. Cool, confident, a provider: all qualities his dad ingrained in him since he was a kid. The same kind of man he was, coasting through life with a winning smile and a law degree. But instead, Steve didn’t get the grades for college, much less a chance at Harvard. Now he was a Senior Manager at Family Video. Disappointed was the understatement of the century.

Your heart raced as you saw him come in and you sucked in a hard breath of air. He looked stunning, always making sure to look his best when it came to being around Bill. His brown and black sports jacket hugged him expertly over a patterned shirt, the collar undone just a bit so you could see the small gold Mary Magdalene pendant he wore on a chain that his grandmother gave him before she died. His matching pants were perfectly pressed, you could tell he was late because he went to go get them done at the cleaners. His leather shoes shining in the low light of the bar.

There was a mirror at the entrance and he nervously looked at himself in it, running his hands through his hair. You could tell he was tense but trying to appear to not be, trying to appear as cool, calm, and collected as he was when he came home ready to turn your ass bright red. After a final breath, he greeted the host with a stunning Harrington smile, nodding over to you and your dad’s booth.

“Hi, Stevie,” you said, plastering a big smile on your face.

“There’s my girl,” he said, his voice slightly lower than normal. He slid into the booth next to you and immediately put his hand on your thigh under the table. His thumb skittered over the hem of your work skirt, smoothing over your nylons. The touch made you feel safe, but you knew he was grounding himself – you were what was safe here. You wanted to fucking eat him alive on that table.

After a soft kiss on the lips, he turned his attention to his father.

“Bill.”

“Steven.”

You closed your eyes and let a breath out of your nose, trying to ease the tension by just existing between them. “Hi, are you folks dining or just– Oh, hey Mr. Harrington, good to see you again!” your eyes opened to the waiter at the edge of the table. Of course the waiters knew Bill, he came here all the time.  

“Just drinks, Marco,” Bill replied, “Thanks.”

“Ladies first, what can I get started for you?” Marco turned his right smile to you.

“I’ll get–”

“She’ll have a margarita on the rocks, no salt. Patron, please,” Steve responded without a beat. Your cheeks burned, you didn’t think he’d order for you in front of his father, but that was always how it was. Steve craved control around him, and you were the easiest tool. You were embarrassed, even though the the order wasn’t wrong – you could do it yourself – your thighs tightened at the gesture, the edge on his voice just right.

“And for you?” the waiter asked, patiently.

“Do you have Maker’s Gold Label?” he asked, his posture broadening.

“We do, sir,” Marco responded.

“I’ll take a double,” he said, “Thanks.”

“Steve,” you warned while Bill was distracted ordering, “Not tonight.”

He squeezed your thigh hard to remind you who you were talking to. He got in close to your ear, his Paco Rabanne cologne hitting your nose, practically growling, “Watch who you’re talking to.”

You nodded, your eyes falling to the dark walnut table in front of you, “Sorry.”

Steve always got bourbon when he was with Bill, because Bill always got bourbon. But just like Bill, Steve was a mean drunk when he spent the night with Maker’s. Eddie didn’t even allow it in the house anymore.

“Not even a bouquet Steve?” Bill asked after Marco walked away, “Your girl just got a big promotion and you didn’t get her a present?”

You could’ve just died, it was already starting.

“Bill, I don’t need—” you started.

“It’s at the house,” Steve replied coolly, “Not something I want to keep in my pocket in this part of town.”

You kept your eyes on the table, knowing there wasn’t a gift or flowers. You were more surprised he even agreed to come around. He was doing his best, this was always hard for him.

The drinks arrived with a beautiful cocktail waitress that Bill eyed hungrily, you caught her blush. Steve huffed, “Mom couldn’t make it, tonight?”

“Your mom’s at the Miami house,” Bill said with a wink. He picked up his drink.

“A toast,” Bill started, you raised your glass, Steve half raised his, “To Steve’s girl becoming the breadwinner.”

He let out a hearty laugh. Steve didn’t even clink his glass, just downed the double and slammed it back down on the table. Your heart sunk, you knew it stung him.

“Oh, come on Steven, don’t be a sore sport. House husbands are gonna be all the rage in the 90s,” Bill smirked, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. Steve looked dead behind the eyes, only moving to signal to a waiter he’d like another bourbon.

“Speaking of house husbands, your friend Ed, how’s he doing?” Bill asked.

“Eddie’s fine,” you said, “At the record store tonight, closing up shop.”

“And it’s not weird for you? Living there with Steve’s roommate?” he asked.

You shook your head no, heat bubbling in your chest. Steve’s roommate. Not the man who plowed into you on the couch after playing 'interview’ last night, the scratches down his back still bright red the next day. 'Means I did my job right, baby girl,’ he said when you apologized.

“No, no, we’re all really good friends. It works out nicely!” you enthused. Steve had checked out, nursing the new bourbon that was slipped in front of him, his hand still cupped on your thigh.

The next 30 minutes had been grueling. Between the men sitting on either side of you bickering and continuing to drink, to Steve telling the waiter, “She’s had enough,” when you went to order a second margarita, your head was swimming. Then the check came…

Steve reached for it, snatching the waiter wallet and taking out his own.

“Steven–” Bill started.

“I got it, dad, I got it,” he said, not looking up.

“I don’t think Family Video can cover this bill, sport,” Bill said with a chuckle.

“I have the money, it’s fine,” he said, slotting the bills into the folder and putting his leather wallet back in his jacket’s inside pocket.

“You have the money, because I have the money,” Bill’s voice became fatherly, in that know-it-all way. Calm and smooth, but with an air of authority. A waiter came by to collect the check.

“Mr. Harrington, please let Steve cover it,” you cooed, “He’s just trying to be like you.” Steve’s postured straightened, he pinched the inside of your thigh and you stifled a yelp.

“Can’t blame him,” Bill smirked, and down the rest of his whiskey and standing up, “Alright kids, guess it’s time to be heading out. Next time, Stel get’s the check. She’s making more than both of you boys.”

“I’ll be right back, just heading the rest room,” you whispered to Steve, scooting over to get past him out of the booth.

“I’ll meet you in the fucking car,” Steve hissed, slamming his hands on the table to get up. The glasses shook on the table and you flinched, following out of the booth behind him and heading to the bathroom.

“Woah, woah, Steve, you good to drive…” you heard Bill say, and a semblance of a frustrated, ’Jesus Christ dad, I’m fine,’ as you moved further to the back of the bar.

—

The car ride was silent, Steve wasn’t drunk but you could tell he was feeling the bourbon. He was morose, leaning back in his seat with one hand on the wheel and the other on his lap. He cast a few glances over at you while you leaned your head on your hand, elbow propped up on the ledge the car door window. You weren’t necessarily pouty, but annoyed that this whole day had become about Steve. You started it off so happy, and now you just wanted to take a shower and go to bed.

He pulled into the drive way and swiftly got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. You followed suit, taking small steps in your patent leather work heels, your hands jammed into your trench coat pockets in the cold fall air. You both met in the front hall, shedding yourself of layers, Steve tossing his keys noisily into the bowl on the cabinet by the door.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you said, your brows furrowing, “You had your little melt down, grow up Steve.”

He let out a dark chuckle, “Yeah, okay. Thanks big shot.”

“What is your problem?” you asked, incredulous.

“I am so sick of you coming to the rescue for me around him. You always do this. You embarrass me every, single, time,” he said, his voice raising, his hands animated while he spoke.

“I think you were embarrassing enough on your own! Slamming your hands down, shouting – what, are you a fucking child?” you asked, “And don’t get me started on ordering for me and telling me when I’ve had enough. We were with your fucking dad, Steve. I’m a big girl, I think I got it.”

“Oh yeah, my big girl and her big new job, how could I fucking forget? Remind me again how much fucking better you think you are than me,” he hissed. He slung his suit jacket over the coat rack and huffed into the kitchen, wrenching open the fridge and taking out a beer, slamming it closed.

Fine, two could play at this game.

“Sure,” you shrilled, following him into the kitchen. You reached into your purse, grabbing a wad of $20s, “Here’s your fucking money back.”

The bills showered over him, some hitting him in the face. He leaned his lower back against the counter. Nodding slowly, his face stoic and cold.

“I asked the waiter to put it on my card, instead,” you said, your eyes boring into him, “Because I knew it was too much for you until you got paid again.”

“Hm,” he said, his jaw tense. Still nodding slowly while he put his beer down behind him and rolled up his sleeves. He pushed himself off the counter, and walked through the archway into the living room, placing himself on his favorite arm chair. You looked at him with your arms crossed, walking through the living room to the stairs.

“Don’t forget, you’re still free use this week,” Steve asked, his voice low and menacing. Your back straightened hearing the quiet anger in his voice. Fuck, you were free use this week.

“C'mere, big shot,” he said. You obeyed with a huff, walking over the to arm chair and looking down at him.

“What? What do you want?” you asked haughtily.

“Get on those knees before I make you,” he said, pointing at the ground between his feet. You began to kneel before he stopped you.

“Take this working girl shit off, first,” he said, tugging at your skirt and blazer. You stripped while he watched, blankness behind his eyes, it made you nervous. Maybe you went too far. No, fuck it, he went too far. He was being ridiculous.

You got down on your knees, naked, in front of him. Sure he’d make you suck his cock and then you go take a shower and go to bed.

He let a finger trace over your lower lip, pulled it back, and unbuckled his belt, slipping it around your neck. Not too tight, but just enough. You understood now that this was punishment, not funishment. He needed to feel in control again.

“Does he know?” he asked, pushing your hair out of your face. “Does who know what, Steve?” you asked, annoyed. He pulled at your make shift leash, gagging you in the process. “Does Bill know that you come home from being a know-it-all at work and call his loser son, 'Daddy’?” his voice boarding the line between salacious and scary.

“Does he know that you get punished when you don’t follow my rules? That Daddy makes you do chores and behave just like he wants?” he leaned forward in his seat resting his forearms on his knees. The leather of the belt hanging loosely between his legs in front of you. 

“That you like getting put over my knee and spanked like a little girl?” he got right in your face, you whimpered as the pressure on your throat tightened.

“Big shot, huh?” he said, “What, can’t take it?”

“Steve, the last t-time you–” he pulled tighter, your face reddened as you choked.

“Don’t fucking call me Steve when you’re in my fuckin’ house,” he hissed, “I own this fuckin’ house.”

He loosened the pull of the belt, “Sorry, Daddy,” you whisper softly.

“Good, that’s what I wanna hear,” he said, tapping your cheek with his fingers. He stood up, leaving some slack in the leather he held in his hands. You followed suit.

“Sit on the couch,” he said. You gingerly sat on the center cushion, your hands on your lap, waiting for your next instruction. Steve stood in front of you parting your legs with his knee, he undid his pants parting his own legs so his slacks and underwear would rest on his thighs.

“So, big league exec assistant. Show Daddy how sorry you are,” he said.

Your eyes brimmed with tears. So this is what he thought of your accomplishment. You took his cock in your hands, silky and smooth to the touch, achingly hard – you were almost scared of it. You let your flattened tongue glide from the base to the tip, sucking softly on his head, then mid shaft, and back to his head. Your tongue gliding expertly in your mouth, sucking in your cheeks just tightly enough, but not all the way. Not until you pulled him all the way into your mouth, his tip dipping down the back of your throat. You opened up your throat to accommodate him, groaning as you did, looking up begging him to make eye contact with you, to tell you that you were doing so good. He didn’t.

“Shit, that’s it. That’s how you got that promotion, hm?” he groaned, gripping your hair, “Suckin’ all the guys at the office like this? So they’ll all report to my dad how good you are?”

You moved your head back, taking him out of your mouth, you wanted to cry, “That’s not…That’s not how I got the job…”

“Must be, how else you get so good at putting dick that far down your throat?” his glare down at you was brutal, “I see those little outfits you wear to work, of course you’re the office whore.”

“I’m not,” you said, tears starting to spill down your cheeks. He tightened his pull on the belt again, you gagged out of your cry.

“You don’t get to tell me what you are,” he said, a chill whipped through your chest. “I do,” he said, pulling at the belt so you stood up. He hoisted up his pants, leaving them undone. He walked you over to the credenza, leaning you over it so you looked in the big ornate mirror on the wall, seeing him behind you. You watched him in the reflection tug his pants down again. He didn’t check if you were wet or not, just slammed himself into you, looking down at your ass, leaving a hard smack on it to watch it bounce back against his hips and hand.

“You know what you are, big shot?” he asked, looking at you in the mirror, “You’re a worthless fucking whore. C'mon, I wanna hear you say it, look at me in the mirror and say it.” “I’m a…I’m a worthless fucking whore,” you whimpered. “That’s right,” he grumbled, rutting mindlessly into you, “A stupid fucking slut.”

“Steve…” you said, hurt from his words paining your face. You watched the belt tighten on you neck in the mirror. You watched your face bloom red.

“Respect me in my fuckin’ house,” he said.

“Daddy, that’s…you’re being really mean,” you choked out.

“Really mean? Yeah?” he mocked, a sly grin pulling up his lips, “You wanna hear really mean, baby doll?”

His pace quickened while he held the pressure on the belt around your neck.

“You got that fuckin’ job because of me. You didn’t get all obedient without Daddy telling you what to do all the time. You didn’t work harder without me telling you what you needed to do. You didn’t get all that extra work done at home without me staying up and helping you figure out the fuckin’ budget books. I made you, you ungrateful bitch,” his voice getting more ragged with every sentence. The belt getting pulled a little tighter with every thrust.

“Talked you up to my mom so she’d talk you up to my dad. You didn’t do shit for that job,” he spat, “All you’re good for is being Daddy’s toy.” You tapped out.

Unable to speak, barely able to breathe, you slammed your hand down three times on the cradenza to get him to stop. He let go, gently taking the belt off and sliding out of you, you winced at the burn.

“Baby…” he said, his voice soft, “Baby, I didn’t mean…” You turned around, sobbing, “Yes you did, you did mean it.” “No, no,” he wrapped his arms around you, “I was just…you know how I get after I see Bill.” “You weren’t playing the p-p-part St-steve, that’s-that’s-s-s what you really th-thiiiiink,” your last words drawn out as another sob poured out of your body. “Oh baby girl, no, I promise,” he said, pulling back, “Hey, hey, let me look at your neck, okay?” “No, no,” you said, squirming out of his touch, “I don’t want you right now. I–” The front door opened, Eddie pushing it open with his hip, his hands full with a big bouquet of roses and a couple of records, “Where’s my little exeeeeccccc!” he sang out, a smile on his face. As he turned to kick off his shoes, he saw you both standing in the living room. His smile fell. “What’s going on in here?” he asked, gently placing the roses and records down on the cabinet. He slid his sneakers off and padded into the living room, his eyes filled with concern at you crying, naked in the mirror. “Oh sweet thing, what happened?” he asked, wrapping you up in his arms. You fell apart in his chest. 'Is she okay?’ he mouthed to Steve over your shoulder. Steve walked away and laced his fingers over his forehead, his head leaning back slightly. “What happened, baby?” he asked, pulling you a little away from his chest to look you over, “Were you playing and it was too much?” “She tapped out, Ed,” Steve said from the kitchen, in the same position. “He said I only got this job because I’m a whore,” you cried, “He said he made me. He–he leashed me with his b-belt again.” Eddie looked up at Steve, he was pissed. This was supposed to be your day. Eddie pressed a kiss to your temple, “Go upstairs, sweet girl. I’ll come make it better in a minute.” “I’m gonna take a shower,” you said. You felt dirty and degraded. The day was ruined, you padded up the stairs, stopping when you heard Eddie talking again. “That’s the third time in a week and a half that she’s safe’d out with you, Steve,” Eddie was livid, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” “Nothing, Ed, we’re just trying new things,” Steve muttered, he was quiet. “Bullshit, Harrington! Don’t lie to my face, come on!” Ed was full on yelling, “I saw her fucking neck, man. You know she hates that shit. She fucking hates it.”

“She was breaking my r–” Steve’s voice cracked. “I don’t care man. I don’t CARE what rules she was breaking. She doesn’t like the belt around her neck, so we don’t do it. Why can’t you just–Is this–wait is this all cause of Bill? Was tonight about Bill?” Ed’s voice shrilled up through the hall way and through the stairs. “Tell me this shit tonight isn’t about drinks with your dad,” You could tell by the sound of his voice that Eddie got to the point of being so mad he was smiling. If you were a betting woman, you’d guess he’d punch Steve next. Steve didn’t say anything for a minute, “She just…every time she just makes it worse.” “Steve, whatever shit you have going on with your dad is YOUR PROBLEM! She’s not the PROBLEM! She is a PERSON!” he yelled, “You can’t come home and beat on her just because you’re mad at your dad, that’s not how this shit works! She’s not your fucking punching bag when your feelings get hurt, Harrington! She’s your girl. She’s our girl.”

“This was such a big fucking day for her and I come home to her crying?! Cause her boyfriend said she’s an office whore? What’s wrong with you, man?” Ed’s voice was high and angry. “Go take a walk, man. Go figure it out,” he said, you could hear him heading over to the stairs. You scurried to the bathroom to shower before Ed could catch you listening. When you got out of the shower and into the bedroom, Ed was sitting on the bed in his boxers re-reading The Two Towers (for the millionth time). The bouquet of roses in a vase on on the dresser. He looked up from his book at you, “Angel vanimelda.” “Beautiful Angel?,” you asked, wrapped in your towel at the door. “See, the more elvish I speak to you, the quicker you’re learning it,” he said, closing the book and putting it on the side table. He got up, getting chest to chest with you and without a word pulled you into a deep kiss. One hand resting gently on your face, the other snaking around your waist. When he pulled away, he looked at you sweetly, “Congratulations, baby. I’m so proud of you.” Tears filled your eyes again, that’s all you really wanted to hear. “Thanks, Ed, thank you,” you said with a quick sniffle, wiping them away. “I don’t think Steve meant what he said, I think he’s just – I don’t – figuring his shit out. But I’m here,” he pointed to himself, “And I’m saying fuck that guy, and you’re the most badass girl I know, aside from Nancy Wheeler because she has guns, and you earned that job.” You laughed, and let him kiss you again, he broke away and tilted your chin up, “Just checking out your neck, baby. I think it’s okay. Definitely gonna be red tomorrow, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t bruise up.” “Better not bruise up, I have to go be an executive assistant next week,” you smiled, the cry from earlier settling down in your chest. “That’s my girl! My little exec!” he cheered, pulling a bit at your towel so that it dropped to the floor, putting his hands on the smallest part of your waist. He looked you over and bit his bottom lip, his stare made you squeeze your thighs together. “So, since you got the job, can we not play 'interview practice’ anymore?” he asked, “Cause I really liked that game.” “We can play, on one condition,” you smirked, pulling him in, feeling his warm chest against yours. You pushed up on your tip toes and got in his face, “I get to be the boss this time.” Eddie became stupid almost immediately, barely containing his excitement, “Oh fuck yes, baby. Yes. Fuck. Oh my god, fuck. Be my fuckin’ boss any day, Jesus Christ.” — You had fallen asleep long before Steve had gotten back in the house. The forty minutes you spent sitting on Eddie’s face while he devoured you into, and you counted, seven orgasms, really tired you out. He definitely would’ve gotten the promotion if you were the boss. You slept soundly while the front door opened, the moonlight shining into the front hall. Steve closing it gently behind him, and taking his shoes off. You didn’t hear him sniffling or see him wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand while he sat in the dark in the living room. Cradling his head in his hands. Looking over at the money on the floor in the kitchen, his belt still on the cradenza, wracking his body with another flurry of breathy silent cries. “Pull it together, Harrington,” he whispered, the grogginess of his sobbing staining his voice, “Pull it together for her.” He got up, tears still pooled in his eyes, and reached into the inside pocket of the sports jacket he slung over the coat rack earlier that night. Fishing past his wallet, he pulled out a card and a little velvet box that had been there the whole night. He trudged into the kitchen and put them on the kitchen table, popping the box open to reveal the contents, leaving the card next to it with the note open. He picked up the money and neatly organized it, shoving it into his pants pocket. He slid his belt into his pants and trudged up the stairs, resigning himself to the man-cave couch that night. There was a reason Steve couldn’t totally afford to buy drinks tonight, but it wasn’t because he wasn’t making enough money. On the kitchen table, in the velvet box, sat a pair of ruby stud earrings you saw at the jewelers a month ago when Steve stopped in to get his watch cleaned. He watched you coo over them and knew you had to have them, he bought them two weeks later when you said you were going up for the Exec job. He knew you’d get it, you were too good. Next to the box, a simple note: To my best girl, You never fail to impress me. Love, Steve

#steddie x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #steddie smut #steddie x reader smut #strangering things fan fiction #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fan fiction #eddie munson fan fiction #the steddieverse

[rehfan]

New Billy Knight Fic!

.gif by @princess-josephina

Hope in the Darkness

Pairing: Billy Knight X Fem!Reader; Billy Knight X AFAB!Reader

Fandom: CB Strike (TV) — and JK Rowling can still kiss my anti-TERF ass.

A/N: Based on a Nonnie prompt I got who wanted to see Billy take care of Reader during a bout of seasonal depression, so here’s my best effort. I actually don’t really suffer from any depression that I know of, so I’ve had to go off of what friends and the Internet could tell me. If anything is offensive/insulting/out-and-out incorrect, PLEASE let me know. Depression can hit differently for different people, but I hope I got the main parts right.

ALSO — if you liked this, consider this a continuation of the story BILLY’S PETAL which can be found on Tumblr HERE and on AO3 HERE. This story as well as Billy’s Petal may be read together or separately.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY PLEASE (minor children DNI); fluff; depressive symptoms; seasonal depression; seasonal affective disorder; discussion of past physical abuse/trauma; mental illness; physical tics; emotional hurt/comfort; established relationship; cuddling; spontaneous dancing; cute fluff; kissing; French kissing; neck kissing; vaginal fingering; light Dom/sub; cock warming

Find this work on AO3 HERE — I do not post any of my other work to any other site, nor do I give permission for anyone to do so.

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You had always been the strong one. The one everyone could lean on. Not that you were superhuman, but you did your best. Most things came naturally to you and you could cope with most of your daily life with few exceptions.

You were also the one your boyfriend Billy could count on. And he was lovely. He tried so hard to support himself and loved you with all his strength, but there were times when he couldn’t handle certain things. Billy had his triggers. Any male voice shouting abuse at anyone about anything seemed to be the biggest one to send him into a tailspin. But these were simple things for you to manage.

You understood his sadness, the dreams that would trouble him. He had explained as best he was able about his father and brother and their specific brand of cruelty. The thought of them and their abuse made your blood boil. Two men, having some responsibility for a boy younger than they, through whose emotional immaturity led them to crush that beautiful soul and almost turn him completely mad. They should both be in jail instead of one in the grave and the other god only knew where.

And good riddance. You got the best of the Knight clan. Billy, beautiful boy, sweet soul, and all yours. He picked wild flowers for you. He danced to no music in your living room. He held your hand during thunderstorms. And he loved you unconditionally. The same way you loved him.

You didn’t plan on testing his love for you. You hadn’t expected to, at any rate. As much as you felt the need to support him, you had no intention of causing him to have to support you. But let’s face it, no one plans on being a burden except those that hold their own lives more precious than others’ lives. And you weren’t like that. Neither was Billy. The word ‘sorry’ was perpetually on his lips - even when things weren’t his fault.

But you understood that it came from a need for self-preservation on his part. Blame for things, real and imagined, had been piled on Billy’s shoulders for the whole of his life. The old man used to kick him like a dog and treat the actual dogs better. The brother would tell him the kick was all Billy’s fault when it wasn’t true. Billy learned that life was meant to be hidden from and people were to be avoided. Yet, there was something of the hopeful about him.

He hadn’t heard of the legend Pandora’s Box before you came along. Why would he have? His childhood was barely there and contained nothing but harsh reality rather than fairy stories. So late one night, you told him. You saw his eyes fill with fear at the thought of all the evil in the box released out into the world in the split second the box was opened, the unleashing of all things dark and vile worming their way through and over, up and around, down and down and down until the brightness of the world was dimmed and thunder crashed and lightning split the sky. “But,” you told him, as you two lay there in the dark listening to the rain outside, “there was one thing that didn’t get out. One thing that remained as a perpetual candle against the dark. Do you know what that was, darling?”

He shook his head. “Was it something worse?”

You considered this. “In a way, it could be, I suppose,” you finally said, “but according to the story, it wasn’t. It was the best thing. It was Hope.” You gave him a moment to let it sink in before adding, “Hope was the last thing left in Pandora’s box. It was small. It was fragile. But it glowed with an everlasting brightness that pushed away all the dark around it. And that, Pandora preserved for all humanity. To this day, it is the one thing that fights the darkness everywhere we look. “And Billy,” you said, kissing him on the cheek before burying your face in his neck to sleep against his warmth, “it’s the thing I love the most about you. Your hope. The thing that helps you fight the darkness that surrounds you. Don’t ever give up the fight, my darling. You’re worth it.”

He embraced you and you fell into the feel of him, comfort and softness leading you into your dreams that night and every night since you two had gotten together.

The overcast sky was muting the sunlight for the umpteenth time on a snap-cold day in late January as it attempted to lighten your shared bedroom. Billy was up with his alarm and turned to you across the pillow. “Good morning, lovely,” he whispered. “Shall I get the brekkie started?”

“M’not hungry, thanks,” you said. You felt awful. If you were honest, you had been feeling this way for a while. At first, you suspected a flu, but no sore throat or cough made an appearance. You only knew that you were more and more drained of energy as the days grew shorter and the nights grew longer. This morning, your body had had enough.

“You need something for breakfast,” he said. “You have to work today, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “don’t want to though. Going to call in today. Need to sleep.”

“You feeling peaky?” His hand was at your forehead.

“I’m fine, babes,” you reassured him. “Just tired.”

“Oh,” he said. “Okay.” You could hear the dismay and concern in his voice and you wished you had the strength to smile brightly at him, to fool him and yourself that you really felt much better than you did. Thing is, you had already been doing that. Today, the cupboard that contained all your fakery was bare. All you had were raw emotions. You were an exposed nerve and you needed to cover yourself in blankets and drown the world out with layers of cotton.

He got up and showered. As he was quietly dressing, you could hear him thinking. His mind was so loud sometimes. But he didn’t say anything to you. He simply padded his way to the kitchen where you heard him preparing something. Somewhere between the pan hitting the hob and water running in the sink, you drifted back off to sleep.

He spoke your name softly from the door of your bedroom and your eyes snapped open. Stocking feet came forward and a mug of tea was at your bedside table with some biscuits. He knelt down, his face close to yours. “Have some tea, petal.” He brushed your hair out of your eyes, caressing your face. “I’m off to my job now. Have you called in yet? You want me to?”

Damn. You had forgotten to call in. Your brain was made of mush and everything was too slow. “Please call Jackie for me,” you said. “Tell her I’m sorry.” It wasn’t like you to be irresponsible. You were the dependable one. How could you be so thoughtless and unprofessional? Tears welled up in your eyes and you let out a sob.

Billy’s forehead was against yours as he pet your hair and hushed you. “Please tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart? Did I do something? Did I forget something?”

“No no, Billy,” you said. “Nothing to do with you. It’s all me. Don’t know what my problem is. Just feel so fucking horrid. Just call Jackie for me and get to work, eh? I’ll be alright tomorrow.”

He didn’t want to leave you. But he did call Jacks. She was surprised but understanding. You never took days off that weren’t planned, so she knew if you did, you really needed it. You could hear him on the phone with her, thanking her profusely. Bit much, darling, you thought. You’re not asking for her to spare your life. But that was your Billy: always grateful for the least thing anyone could do for him. Another remnant of his past trauma morphed into something society would brand as ultra-polite and more than acceptable.

“Now go to work,” you insisted. “I’m the one feeling grotty. Not you. Go. Go earn a living.”

He gave you a tight smile. “I hate to,” he said. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

You didn’t say anything. What fight you had left was gone. Sleep called for you again. He came to you once more and kissed your forehead. “I’ll check back with you at lunch.” He made sure your phone was on the charge and within reach before saying, “Drink your tea. It’s getting cold. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The front door closed behind him and the house was silent. You slept.

A hand on your forehead woke you. “Shh, love. S’just me,” he said. You didn’t open your eyes. It took too much effort. “Still feeling poorly?” You uttered a grunt and felt him slide behind you in the bed above the covers.

“I’m on lunch, but I told Eric you needed me at home. That you weren’t yourself.”

A twist of guilt filled your gut. You groaned again, disparaging his decision. He hugged you tighter, the long line of his body braced you from behind and you couldn’t help but sigh a little. “I know, I know,” he said into the shell of your ear, “but you’d do the same for me. In fact, you have! Remember last October? You stayed with me for days after I ran into Jimmy.”

“You were off your meds,” you mumbled. “You needed me.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and you need me now. You always take care of me. It’s my turn to take care of you. I just want to know what’s wrong.” He rubbed your arm and kissed your ear. “You said you’re not sick. You don’t have a fever that I can tell.”

“I’m tired,” you said. You felt small and fragile.

“Do you feel like you want to wrap your whole body in cotton wool?”

“Uh-huh,” you mumbled.

“I think I know what’s wrong,” he said. “You’re starved.”

“M’not hungry, Billy,” you said.

“Not for food,” he said, “for sunshine.”

Suddenly, you were moved onto your back and Billy hovered above. “I’ll dance for you, shall I?”

“Wha-? What?”

He pulled out his phone and fiddled with an app, moved to your stereo, and soon Katrina and the Waves were blasting “Walking on Sunshine” from the speakers. His arms flailed and his feet stomped. He had this comical way of biting his lower lip as his head bopped to the music and his eyes were screwed shut with the joy of feeling the music pulsing through the room. Eventually he caught your eye and smiled at you, shaking his hands toward you, then his hips, then wiggling his ass in your face.

It was all so sudden and ridiculous and over-the-top you couldn’t help but burst into uncontrollable laughter. By the time the song ended, you had tears coming down your face and you cheered and applauded your boyfriend as he took a deep bow. Hands on his knees and breathless, he stopped the music and smiled shyly at you, asking, “Did that help any?”

“I think it might have, yeah,” you said, hoping that your words would be the truth. You had never felt so overwhelmed by such sadness before. Only you weren’t grieving. It wasn’t “sad” as you had known it to be. It was as if you were longing for something that didn’t exist. Your body was in desperate need of a thing no one had invented yet. It took away your ability to breathe properly, to exist properly. You hated the feel of it, the slipping away of your power and control, leaving you a husk of yourself.

Billy was watching you carefully, his knuckles coming to his nose in his worry. His tic didn’t reveal itself often these days, but when it did, it always signaled agitation or nerves. A pang of guilt ran through you and you reached out to him. He came to you readily and you hugged him tightly, thanking him over and over for his kindness.

“I’m going to get you more sunshine, alright?” He pressed his forehead to yours. “You let me? You let me help you forget the brain gremlins?”

“Brain gremlins?”

“Yeah,” he said, kissing you sweetly on the mouth. “It’s what I call it when the meds aren’t working the way they should and I have my symptoms return. The whispers and the images, the memories of the pain. The brain gremlins convince you that you’re never going to get well. That you don’t deserve the good things you have. Brain gremlins always lie. You need to forget them.”

“And so you’re going to drown them out with-“

“More sunshine!” he said, a gleeful glint in his eye. “Stay right there. Don’t move.” He dashed madly about the room searching in the bottoms of all the drawers and digging in the wardrobe until he pulled out your floppy sun hat, sunglasses for you both, zinc sun cream that smeared bright yellow on your skin, and your bathing suits.

He threw your suit at you demanding you ‘get dressed’ and ran out of the room searching for something else. You had no idea what was happening, but slowly you peeled your sleep shirt off and slipped your panties down, arguing with him from across the flat that it was the middle of winter. It’s as far as you got when he came thundering back in the room with your Polaroid camera and a beach towel that had the image of a postcard with the word MIAMI written across it.

“What are you doing? What are we doing?” you asked as he leapt on the bed and tacked up the towel just above the headboard letting the material drape over it.

“Backdrop!” he said. “For the photo shoot!” as if it were the most self-explanatory thing in the world.

“Photo shoot,” you repeated dumbly.

His intentions were readily explained once you both had donned your swim suits. He intended to take selfies with the Polaroid as if you two were on vacation somewhere tropical. You couldn’t help but smile at all his efforts. He had you making silly faces, smearing each other’s noses with the zinc, sipping on fake tropical drinks he Frankensteined together in the kitchen, and other silliness. After a while, you grabbed the Polaroid from him and started taking snaps of him while flexing his muscles. He took ones of you in shy poses because without his strong arm around you, you didn’t have the energy for much more.

“God you’re pretty,” he smiled at you, snapping just one more to capture the blush that spread across your face. He collapsed next to you and kissed your cheek. Polaroid pictures were everywhere. “We’ll have to buy a scrapbook for all of these. You can look at them when you’re not feeling yourself.”

Tears welled in your eyes, a mixture of adoration and exhaustion. His efforts were wonderful, but you were done with activity. “Want to just cuddle now, babes. Can we do that?”

Slight alarm registered in his big doe eyes. “Of course! But first, let’s get you cleaned up? And you never touched your tea from before. Your blood sugar is probably low. Let me get you a cuppa, yeah?” He got up and brought back a warm washcloth to wipe the sun cream off then went to make some tea. After settling you in with your beaker and one for himself, you relished the warmth of both the tea and of his arm around your shoulders.

“Thank you, my love,” you said. The bone-weary feeling you had been fighting all day still had not let up, but knowing that you weren’t a burden, that you were loved and doted on, somehow made the weight you carried just that much lighter. You didn’t know when these doldrums would lift, when the ‘brain gremlins’ would stop their torture. You had no foolproof solution to your problem. But you did have a wonderful human who gave a damn about you and the longer he held you and gave you gentle kisses in your hair between sips of tea, the more your heart swelled with love for him.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured as you finished your tea. “That’s my good good girl.” His praise was warming certain other parts of you. He took the cup from you and returned them both to the kitchen before coming back to you, forming a warm, solid barrier against your back and wrapping a protective arm around your waist, hand splayed on your lower belly.

His mouth found your neck, pressing stubbly kisses into your skin. You hummed your approval, letting yourself fall into his touch. “Mind if i join you in there? I’m kind of cold now.”

“Please, baby,” you said softly. Sleep was calling you and you were torn between loving on your boyfriend and falling into slumber. The duvet ruffled and the mattress bounced with Billy’s fidgeting to get under and close to you once more. Once settled, he kissed you on the shoulder, nosing along your neck to kiss at your ear.

“You really are wonderful, you know,” you murmured.

“And you’re everything to me,” he said, his hand moving south to rest on your thigh. “I just want you to feel better, love. Can I do that?” He sucked at the pulse point on your neck and slid his hand between your thighs. “Say if you’d rather I didn’t, alright? Tell me to stop.”

“No, baby,” you said, pushing back toward him and raising your leg to give him better access. “You always make me feel so good.” And you wanted him. You wanted to feel better because of his touch. You needed it more than you could ever express.

His hand rested on your sex and you moaned a kiss into his mouth. He was in no rush, however. Your kiss was languid and deep. His hand held you, not pressing in, just resting, warming your mound, fingertips resting just above your clit as his tongue explored your mouth. You felt yourself get wet.

You kissed down his jawline as he said, “Love you so much, petal. You’re such a good woman to me. Want to do everything I can for you. We don’t need to have sex. Just want to please you. Make you sleepy and warm. Comfortable. Okay?” His hand smoothed against you, rubbing you gently with his whole palm. Your hips canted against his touch, instinctively seeking friction.

“Make me cum, Billy,” you sighed. “Your hands are amazing. Please, my love.”

Fatigue didn’t allow you to do too much except lay there and take Billy’s ministrations. And you were fine with that. His hands had become more and more familiar as your relationship had developed. Now he could make you mewl like a kitten with the suggestion of fingering you. And now here he was, willing to do just that. You felt a coil of heat in your belly as the scratch from his stubble rubbed against your neck and his middle finger pressed ever-so gently deeper, seeking out the depths of your folds from outside your bathing suit.

His breath was loud in your ear, your small whimpers joining it as he continued to massage your vulva, matching the rhythm your hips set. “So beautiful. My precious girl. Thank you for letting me help you. Only want good things for you.”

“Need your hands on me properly, Billy,” you said and he slipped his hand under your suit.

“Can never say no to you, can I?” he asked, huffing a laugh into your neck. Gasping at his touch, your hand came up, fingers weaving into his hair and coming around to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

He mouthed at your ear again. “Can never resist you. Always want to do what you say. But today? Today I want to distract you. You need to get out of your head. It helps. You stop me if it’s bad, okay?”

“Such a good boy, Billy. Always my good b-boy. Thank you, ” His finger grazed your clit, just brushing it gently, teasing it. You bucked toward him for more contact and he pulled back.

“No, darling, no. Easy. Just be still. Let me do this,” he said. “Listen to your Billy, yeah? My turn to take care of you.” You shivered as he pressed again, not enough to satisfy, but just enough to turn your skin to goose flesh. You turned your face to him, eyes wide, watching him concentrate on you, his lips parted, pink tongue coming out to lick at his lower lip as he traced his thick finger lower against your inner folds, giving just enough sensation to your pussy to make you keen with want.

Your legs spread even farther apart. Your knee was now balanced on his thigh behind you as you dropped your foot to the mattress behind him. Your lower hand pulled the swimsuit material all the way over, giving him full access to every part of your cunt. The rest of you tried not to move as he had asked. It wasn’t easy.

All you wanted him to do was plunge his fingers deep inside you and give you every reason to scream his name. As it was, he was just barely touching you and it was pure delicious torture. Your breath was unsteady as you waited for him to explore further, but the less he gave, the more sensitive you became to anything he was giving you. It was as if the ridges of his fingerprint were the only friction you were going to ever get from him and your clit could feel each individual loop and whorl.

“M’barely touching you. You’re falling apart on me already, petal?” he teased. He was enjoying himself. “So gorgeous and all mine, yeah? Tell me? You are mine, aren’t you?”

Your words weren’t coming. You could only communicate through the helplessness in your eyes. Your mouth opened to speak but only your stuttered breath came out. When you didn’t verbally answer him, he sought your eyes. “Petal? Are you mine?” His hand stilled.

You swallowed hard. The depths of his eyes threatened to drown you. “I am yours,” you whispered. “I am always yours, Billy Knight. Yours to love forever. Are you mine?”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “I don’t know who I’d be without you. You make me want to be a better person every day. You pull it out of me. And now I’m going to give back to you. Because you deserve it. You deserve all the good things, love. My sweet understanding girl.” His thick finger fell into your wet folds as his mouth captured yours, tongue sliding along yours thick and heavy as he drew his digit’s length along your valley eliciting a groaning moan from your mouth as he finally gave your body the friction it had needed.

There was nothing languid about his motions now. Now he was driven to give you everything you wanted. He was smoothly aggressive, fingertip seeking your stiffened clit and circling it, flicking over it, only to circle back around it again. Your earlobe was being worked by his lips, tongue and teeth as he held you captive, your body ready to writhe, but your heart not wanting to disobey. It was all you could do to keep as still as you could and endure his touch, his exploration of every crevice and your heart skipped a beat when he plunged his finger two knuckles deep inside you, thumb hitting your clit and working it until you were keening again.

Tears were starting in your eyes with the strain it took not to buck into him and you cried into your pillow. “Baby?” he asked, his hand stilling again.

You grabbed his hand and urged him onward. “Please, Billy. Darling. Please.”

“B-but you’re crying, love?” he said, clearly terrified. “Have I hurt you?”

You answered him by kissing him passionately. “No, please. It’s so good. Please. I just can’t move, remember? It’s torture, but beautiful torture.”

He kissed you and eased you fully onto your back, his finger still inside you. “You were still doing as I told you?” He marveled at you. “What a good girl you are. Those tears were for me? Fuck.” He pressed further into you and you arched your back at the pressure. “Can you take another finger? I think you can. You’re really wet.” A second finger joined the first and he stilled them inside you waiting for you to adjust, kissing down your neck to your breasts.

“More, Billy baby,” you said, your body shaking again, hands carding through his curls at his mouth made its way down the valley between your breasts. Sighing at his movement, his fingers curled inside you, pulling at the coil of heat in your belly, your hips undulated, reacting without your permission, his thumb deliberately sending heat boiling through your veins.

His head came up. “Naughty,” he warned. You huffed a nervous laugh and pressed your ass to the mattress, willing your body to be still for him.

“Sorry, Billy,” you said. “W-won’t do it again. Please don’t stop. Please. Love this.” You never suspected he would be so willing to take charge, or that he would be just a little good at it. It was hot.

His brown eyes were already dark but they blew wider at your words. A feral look came upon him and he whispered: “Promise?”

“Promise.”

He smiled at you and his mouth was on your clit in a moment, tongue teasing, flicking, and pulling your next orgasm out of your body. You cried out, aching to move against him, begging him to cum. “Billy please. Please let me cum. Please- God! Fuck!”

He met your pleas with a grunt, then said: “So wet. So fucking delicious. Cum, petal. Come on. Cum for me. All over my hand.”

And you did. You let go with a scream of his name and a string of epithets. Billy sucked your clit through it all, his fingers and mouth finally scratching that proverbial itch that you had needed him to scratch for the better part of the last hour. You pulled his hair gently as you panted, needing to taste yourself on his mouth. He complied happily, humming into your mouth as he withdrew his fingers from your cunt. He fed them to you. They were glistening with your slick. He withdrew them slowly, his eyes devouring the sight.

“Can I put my cock in you? I’m really quite hard, love. All your fault, I’m afraid,” he laughed shyly.

And you would have loved nothing more, but your fatigue was through the roof. You were incredibly spent. “Don’t really have anything left for you, Billy, honey,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh but you don’t have to do a thing,” he said. “Here, let me just…” He rolled you back over to your side, your knee back on his thigh. You could hear him pulling his cock out, hissing with the sensitivity of it. For as long as he had been finger-fucking you, he had to have been hard for a long time. His self-restraint was remarkable.

The tip of his cock felt delicious against your opening and you closed your eyes. His breathy whisper was in your ear, “This is all I want. Just to rest here inside you.” His head entered you with that distinctive pressure-and-release followed by his shaft. The dizzying feel of him inside you, throbbing there, resting along your walls, filling you was everything you wanted. How did he know? You didn’t even know that this was something you wanted. “Just like this… Just this much… So warm. So beautiful and warm.”

He was as good as his word, his cock hardly moving inside you. Just small little adjustments that caused his breath to catch. You moaned when he did, sleep winning the fight between itself and your body getting fucked properly. You drifted off to sleep with him inside you, feeling satisfied and full and grateful for the man who held you and nuzzled his nose into your neck, kissing the skin there softly and loving you with his whole heart.

You may have been struggling in the darkness all day long, but Billy was your Hope, your candle against the evils of the world, real and imagined. And as long as you were together, neither one of you would struggle in the darkness alone.

************************************

Tagged readers: @chaoticgood-munson ; @h-ness1944

#fanfic #writing #fandom #joseph quinn #joe quinn #billy knight smut #billy knight x y/n #billy knight #billy knight strike #billy knight x reader #cb strike #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #ao3 author

[pommunist]

My ass preparing "AND ANOTHR THING"

People being mean about pommes relationship with bbh is so fucked!!!

It bothered me that people didn't care as much about her BEFORE she started hanging out with BBH.

It's bizarre to me!

The value of eggs for some reason in this Fandom was weirdly adjusted by exposure and time spent with BBH. Which is the most frustrating thing in my personal opinion.

They are all important and were important before they did or didn't hang out with BBH.

Even lullah only started getting more praise after she started showing up later in the evenings to hang out. This Fandom was mean to her over and over.

Outright saw someone GLAD she was gone. Called her a "cop out player bait" character. She got so much backlash for having arguments or disagreeing. Her, Pomme, Leo, Em and Sunny all played very complex characters who didn't fit the mold perfectly on how little girls should act and this Fandom hated them all differently for it.

Actual insane behavior.

This is entirely Fandom neg here lmao. Image an annoyance shaking their head at the tags frequently. Yall don't know how to behave sometimes. I'm not asking you all to like every single character ever and like everything that they do. But sending death threats and wishing characters would die or be removed entirely is some of the most selfish pissbaby behavior in existence. Sometimes characters you don't like exist! Your opinions are not universal! You are not the center of the universe!

Let people play this stupid fucking game how they choose! Stop living vicariously through streamers and characters! You can absolutely relate to them ect but at the end of the day they are their own people. Knock that shit off. I hope next run of whatever the fuck gets going people stop backseating and wishing people died. Stop taking everything everyone does so fucking seriously. People tease one another they're literally playing a game with their friends and are all adults.

Sorry, tangent over.

Sorry for rambling in your askbox. Not for what I said >:| I mean it MCYT Fandom. Chill the fuck out.

Tbh from what I’ve seen, a lot of people who disliked Pomme being adopted by bbh were from the french side of the fandom and it came from their criticism of cc!bbh (which I would argue was quite valid to an extent) but in some cases it got too intense

Pomme’s character in general is overlooked a lot and aaaah man :(((( it’s okay shes my number 1 forever though ❤️

DEFENDING THE FEM EGGS ONLINE ISNT ENOUGH I NEED A GUN /j Especially Pomme, Sunny and Em I’ve seen them being hated for absolutely no reason, to the point that some people were being insulting and hateful to their admins ???????????

Big up to their admins btw these three were some of my favourite (tbf I liked all the eggs just some I didn’t get too attached to due to timezones conflicting)

I think in general, sometimes some fans let their dislike of some characters (which is fan btw we all have our tastes) bleed into hate for the admins/cc playing them and ugh let’s not ?????? (fandom treatment of baghera and bagi amongst others, your crimes shall never be forgiven).

Especially sometimes, things would be said between ccs as just funny ahah moments and they would be interpreted as a bad character action that would lead to hate to the ccs and ??? hello ??? i love overanalysing things as much as the next person but lets take a step back sometimes

#qsmp fandom neg #thanks for precising anon LMAO

[bella-goths-wife]

hii idk if requests were open or not but i was wondering if you could possibly do slashers with a french s/o ??

Slashers with French S/O

Michael Myers

You were in America for a cousins wedding and you were staying in a local motel

Michael had not killed anyone in a week so he decided to go into the motel to make up for lost time

You were just coming out of the shower and you were covered with a towel when you walked into your room and found a random man in you room

Cue angry French sounds

“qu'est-ce que tu fous tu ne peux pas être ici imbécile” (what are you doing in here you can’t be in here you fool)

He was intrigued but found himself annoyed when you shoved him outside of the room and locked the door yet he could still hear you yelling

You come back in clothes and in attempt to get an apology but Michael just picks you up and takes you back the Myers house

And that kids is how I met your mother

You started dating after a while and you drive him insane

Whenever your in an argument you shout at him in French which he obviously can’t understand so he just walks out the door

Does find it funny when you mistake an English word for French

Bo Sinclair

You were touring America with a group of other French people

When you reached Ambrose Bo saw you all as sitting ducks so he offered to give you a tour

He made comments about how the French should “speak a less confusing language” to which you responded

“les américains stupides pensent toujours qu'ils savent mieux que les gens de notre pays” (stupid Americans think they know better than the people actually from our country)

He didn’t understand what you said but judging from the others laughs he knew it wasn’t good

So when he kills off the rest of your group he gives you the excuse that they left you in Ambrose

You both eventually grow closer after a lot of arguments so he decided to keep you around for a while

While dating him you try and teach him some French but it turned out like in friends when phoebe tries to teach joey French

He won’t admit it but he actually enjoys watching the French romances you out on, with subtitles obviously

Vincent Sinclair

You were an art major and you wanted to explore America and see all of its art

When you reach the house of wax Vincent is watching you and when you meet him you say one thing to him

“êtes-vous l'artiste? tes figures de cire sont une oeuvre d'art” (are you the artist? Your wax figures are a work of art)

You quickly repeat in English and he blushes under his mask

You quickly bond over your love of art

When he finds out you paint as well it becomes the hobby you do together

Your art is displayed in the house of wax no matter if it’s amazing or terrible

After you start dating he makes a figure that looks exactly like a girl you saw come into the town a few days ago so you wanted Vincent to make a figure of you as well

He quickly refused and just told you that he doesn’t want to insult you if the works bad, definitely not because the process would put you in extreme pain and kill you

Thomas Hewitt

Your car broke down in front of the Hewitts home so you knocked on the door and asked for help

Luda may was already charmed by your accent and called it “beautiful”

When you met Thomas Luda may asked to say something in French to him

So you said

“tu es très beau et fort” (you are very handsome and strong)

When you explain what you said to Luda may she’s practically planning the wedding

You spend the night with the Hewitts and you and Thomas quickly bond

He adores when you cook food from you country for the family dinners

Granted he’ll never tell you what kind of meat is in the freezer

Asa Emory

He was your college professor after you moved to America to get a better education in your chosen field

There was a small language barrier between you and your classmates which always left you feeling isolated

But asa actually spoke French so you saw him as your escape

His need to take you stemmed from one thing you said to him

“au moins les rumeurs sont vraies sur l'Amérique. tous les professeurs sont beaux” (al least the rumours about America are true. All the teachers are handsome)

This prompted asa to take you, not to torture you but to treat you like pet

You develop Stockholm syndrome pretty quickly after you already trusted the man

He tries to teach you more English but understands if you feel more comfortable speaking in French

Tiffany valentine

You had met while Tiffany was in doll form, she was accidentally shipped to France because she resembles an old doll brand

You bought her at the antique store and she quickly became obsessed with you

So when she snuck off and transferred her soul into Jennifer tillys body she quickly returned for you

She asked you on a date and you excepted

She resembled a doll you had lost so you called her “ma petite poupée” (my little dolly)

She would adore if you baked for her and made traditional French dishes for here

You show her French fashion and teach her some French so she understands basic phrases and some swear words

She even moves to France to be with you and wants to get to know the French lifestyle a lot more

Hopefully that ginger doll fucker won’t find her in France

Jason voorhees

You had gotten lost when you were looking for a different campsite but ended up at Jason’s

He was going to originally kill you off but after hearing your accent he would remember those French films his mother would watch and you brought some nostalgia back for him

But when you said this phrase that’s when he fell in love with you

“ce camping est très beau comme vous” (this campsite is very beautiful just like you)

He loves listening to you talk, even if he can’t understand it

He just finds your voice and accent so soothing for him and he will sit there for hours on end reacting to a story he doesn’t actually understand

Baby firefly

You met when you were studying abroad, you were studying American fashion and origins of traditional wear

She found you in some seedy bar and the first thing you said to her was

“Es-tu un ange” (are you an angel)

You found her stunning and she found you to be the most intoxicating sound in the world

She took you on a date and you quickly bonded over your love for fashion

She wants to know everything about French fashion and asks you every question in the book

She’ll sometimes use phrases you’ve said to drive Otis up the wall

Otis driftwood

You met in a run down bar after you were thrown out for being “too aggressive”

You weren’t being aggressive the bar owner just didn’t like that you were French

Otis thought you would be an easy victim so he started talking to you

You said to him “éloigne toi sale pervers” (get away you dirty pervert)

He kidnaps you but you quickly fall head over heels for each other after a heavy make out session that came from an aggressive argument

Want to drive him crazy in bed? Start speaking French he finds it so sexy

Any other scenario it just annoys him

You would constantly swear at him in French

This and your asthma earned you the nickname “my French bulldog) which he only gave you to piss you off

#bo sinclair x reader #michael myers x reader #asa emory x reader #bo sinclair #thomas hewitt x reader #michael myers #thomas hewitt #vincent sinclair x reader #asa emory #vincent sinclair #otis driftwood #otis driftwood x reader #baby firefly x. reader #baby firefly #slashers x gender neutral reader #slashers x reader #slashers x French reader #french reader #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #jason voorhees #jason x reader #Jason x French reader

[my-mt-heart]

Hi MT. I saw a leaked version of the trailer for the French spinoff a few days back—five minutes long—which is different to the one they showed last night and the one from which screenshots were previously leaked.

1. In the one I saw, Isabelle and Laurent’s backstory is shown. Her sister is bitten (the female walker in the collage posted by various accs on Twitter) and dies after/during Laurent’s birth. The implication is that he is immune as a result, and thus he is the hope for all humankind. Lifted directly and blatantly and embarrassingly from TLOU.

2. Shipbaiting was unspectacular. There was brief clip from the bath scene and then a conversation at the fireside in which Daryl agrees to escort Little Buddha Laurent to wherever he needs to go in exchange for returning to where he landed in France.

3. The primary emphasis in the version I saw was on Daryl’s relationship with Laurent. Lots of shots of the two of them, alone or with Isabelle and their other companions in the background.

4. There was Edith Piaf, and I laughed and laughed.

5. The version shown at SDCC was an objectively less embarrassing trailer, so well done to whoever made that choice. But Daryl is, in both versions, inescapably NOT the Daryl we know and love.

I’m sharing this because the same people who shared tired, repetitive trailer spoilers multiple times on Twitter are again claiming to have secret knowledge despite admitting they didn’t see the longer trailer containing these shots 💀 And for the three people who haven’t yet realised those tweeters are full of shit, I am here to tell you that they are.

Thank you for sharing. You’re right, it’s a blatant ripoff of TLOU and like @rubberchickeny said, it doesn’t work without a character connection we’re deeply invested in. Edith Piaf was used in big films like Inception and Mission Impossible, so it seems the spinoff is thinking a little too highly of itself 🙄

The friends I talked to who were in Hall H said the bath scene was horrifically OOC and both Caryl and Daryl stans will probably hate it. There may be context we’re missing or parallels to come, but I still find it offensive they’re giving away explicit beats Caryl fans have wanted *for years* to unknown characters while the Caryl beats are only through suggestion. I know how to read subtext, but it’s not enough anymore. They cannot pull off a bait and switch without the audience’s trust. Someone dropping SDCC 22 photos and Norman liking caryl fanart is not reassuring, it just adds insult to injury. “We’re going to make Melissa our dirty secret for a while longer, we’re going to keep a title that makes her character seem less important, we’re going to gaslight her fans with shipbaiting, but here’s a photo of her from a year ago. See how much we care? So please stop complaining and watch our shows?” 😑 It doesn’t bode well for Carol’s appearance in 106 if they think they don’t need it to have any substance at all.

AMC should be prioritizing their target audience’s needs (the one that’s crucial for the show’s longevity), not subjecting them and Melissa herself to more online bullying.

#caryl #darylneedscarol

[rasparagus]

the bus stop on main st.

pairing: minghao x gn!reader

summary: you find comfort in the arms of the man you least expect

wc: one word shy of 2.5k

extras: university!au, enemies2lovers (i guess???), comfort fic i suppose, reader is doin a whole lotta cryin, emotionally unaware minghao, lowkey dumb minghao, angst but honestly barely, fluff

His silence mocked you. Sometimes you wish he would spew a mean remark at you, be truly mean to you; instead, his indifference infuriated you, made you feel unworthy of even a fleeting thought in his mind. Even as you sit here now, you know your mind should be celebrating Seungkwan’s achievements, but your mind can’t help but wander to Minghao’s smug expression.

You remember when you first met him. Minghao, Seungkwan, Chan, and you all sat near each other in a French culture class your freshman year, and naturally when finals season came you guys begrudgingly formed a study group together. Yours and Minghao’s obvious knowledge for the subject prompted the other two to seek guidance from you both. And to be fair, you were happy to help. You had been looking to diversify your friend groups beyond your old high school classmates and the people on your dorm room hallway. It seemed everyone else felt the same—except Minghao. 

The first time you guys met for a study session, you and Joshua arrived to the study room first. Your enthusiastic greeting was met with a dry “Hi,” and any attempt at small talk was thwarted by short, uninteresting responses. Every conversation you had with him gave you the impression that he was perpetually trying to stop talking to you as soon as possible.

“I’m not surprised you and I are the first ones here,” you’d said. “Seungkwan and Chan can’t be on time to save their lives. I mean, haven’t you noticed they always show up to class at least five minutes late. And they don’t even walk together!” 

“I tend to pay attention to the professor, not them.” You halted your giggles and cleared your throat.

“Yeah, me too,” you replied, averting your eyes from him as he peeked at you above the frame of his glasses. Even after the two younger guys showed up, you couldn’t help your face from feeling warm and your hands from shaking whenever you needed to explain a topic.

But that was a year and a half ago. Over time, as the group began to hang out beyond study sessions, the embarrassment dissolved into resentment. Who was he to make you feel inferior? Why should you feel like you’ve been put under a microscope every time you make a silly joke around him? You reasoned that if he would ignore you, you could do the same. This behavior didn’t go unnoticed by Chan and Seungkwan who, both being mood-makers, made it their mission to relax the tension during every group interaction, only to be met with childish silence.

You manage to snap yourself back into reality and away from thoughts of Minghao and his off-putting attitude. It’s the night of Seungkwan’s choral ensemble performance, and he’s invited you, along with a ton of his other friends, to his apartment to celebrate. You’d noticed a few familiar faces upon arriving and chose to sit in the open space between Nayeon and Soonyoung on the couch, catching up with the two friends who you’ve missed due to all of your busy schedules. As soon as your eyes had landed on Minghao sitting on the ground next to a taller man in glasses, your grin momentarily fell and since then, you’ve been making a conscious effort to keep your eyes on the other half of the room. 

When a game of Cards Against Humanity breaks out, you roll your eyes at the cliche party game, but you’re excited to take your mind off of him. Unfortunately, you find yourself taking every turn of his as an opportunity to passive-aggressively place the most insulting card, ignoring every other offensive or taboo card in your hand. And each time, without fail, he manages to pick your card as the winner, despite the anonymity of the cards. You brush off each win with a snarky remark.

“God, how do you manage to win every single time Minghao is the card czar?” Seungcheol asks, throwing his hands in the air with exaggerated exasperation. “Is your humor that similar?”

“You’ll start winning when you really mean what you put down.” Everyone laughs in response, glancing at the white card on the coffee table. Minghao glares at you in response. 

A few more rounds go by and you casually pull your phone out, lazily scrolling through Instagram as every one else shuffles to find an appropriate card. Dino begins to grab the white cards when your thumb stops in its tracks, as your eyes zero in on your ex’s latest Instagram post. Jaehyun is looking lovingly into the eyes of his new partner, with his gently draped across their shoulder. They look happy in a way you never were with him, in a way that you doubt you’re capable of being with anyone. Suddenly, Seungkwan’s living room feels a lot smaller and the air seems a lot thinner. Dino’s comments about this being a throwaway round bring your attention back to the scene in front of you, but your mind refuses to focus on the task at hand. You shove the phone back in your pocket and try to play the next few rounds with the same smile and wit you had before, but your brain is incapable of forming any funny quips. When Minghao’s turn comes and you don’t win the round, a few people joke at your lack of focus; you just shrug and laugh weakly. You don’t even make it a full ten minutes before you excuse yourself in a small voice, saying you need to catch some sleep so you can wake up for an early-morning study session. Minghao eyes you suspiciously as you stand and leave the group while everyone whines at you to stay just one more round. You give Seungkwan your well wishes and leave early, repeating you excuse incessantly, despite his obvious concern. 

“Did something happen?”

You can only find it in yourself to apologize to the host profusely while quickly backing up toward the door. When you walk out you gasp in the humid air, placing your hands on your knees as if you’d just trudged through a marathon. The sun is almost fully set and a misty rain has begun to fall. You start to make the trek back to your own apartment, kicking rocks on the sidewalk as you start your journey. 

By the time you make it to the bus stop, you’re practically sobbing, and you have to force yourself to quiet down every time a stranger passes you. This is the bus stop you used to meet Jaehyun at to walk to campus together. The bus stop where your past lover begged you to believe his loyalty to you despite the clear video’s you’d seen of him kissing another person at some small, dingy house party. The same person whose pretty face stared back at you in his Instagram post. You don’t blame his new partner, and you feel icky for even being slightly envious of them. You know you’re better without him, but you can’t help the suffocating feeling in your chest. Feeling the cold metal of the bench causes the memories to feel ten times more vivid, and your sobs grow more uncontrollable. Since you’ve started walking the misty rain has begun to fall in steady, fat drops. You pull the hood of your jacket taut against your head and look down at your hands, both in self-pity and in an attempt to avoid getting rain in your eyes.

“What the hell? What are you doing out here?” Perfect timing. The one who would revel in your pain most is here to see you at your worst.

“Be real. Am I pathetic?” Instead of responding with a simple yes and moving forward like you expected him to, Minghao takes a seat next to you, leaving less than an inch between his thigh and yours. He moves the umbrella he’s holding to cover your body.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“‘Cus I feel pretty fuckin’ pathetic right now. And you may hate me, but at least you’re honest.”

“Well, no, I don’t think you’re pathetic,” he says. There’s an unfamiliar affection laced in the way he emphasizes his words.

“I’m sitting here crying over a guy that I haven’t spoken to in months. I don’t even like him as a person anymore, but somehow the thought of him being with someone else hurts like hell.”

“That’s natural. You and Jaehyun dated for like a year. And after what he did to you, it’s probably weird to see him happy with someone else.”

“You’re right,” you agree. You pause mid-nod. “I didn’t know you knew anything about me, let alone my terrible dating history.”

“I’m not completely oblivious to you, you know. The whole reason I followed you out here was because I knew you were lying about that study session. You’ve always been a night studier.” Suddenly, the raindrops falling by his feet seem to be more interesting than your eyes, as he lowers his head to avoid your gaze. “And as far as Jaehyun is concerned, it’s pretty hard to ignore your relationship when I’m beating myself up wishing it was me.”

You wipe your teary eyes with a fist and stare at Minghao, eyes wide and mouth agape. 

“Are you confessing to me right now?” Your voice raises in pitch. 

“I guess I am.” He breathes out an airy chuckle.

“Wow. I thought you hated my guts.”

You start to assess every interaction you’ve had with Minghao since the day you met. Somehow along this trip down memory lane, you think of every moment you brought Jaehyun around. How Minghao always seemed to disappear. How Jaehyun would whisper that some prim-looking guy was eyeing him like he wanted to fight—you attributed to “typical Minghao superiority complex” at the time. In the back of your head, you realize you realize that you may liked him this whole time, too. Despite Minghao’s distance you didn’t miss his loving qualities. You observed constantly how he doted on Seungkwan and Chan, making it his personal responsibility that they stayed fed and passed their classes. You noticed the sketches in his notebook, the intricate lines and colors that bled beautifully into each other, and you thought—just for a second—that this was a man capable of understanding love and pain and joy in a way that you didn’t know was possible. Then, you start to self-reflect. You’re not proud of it, but every time you cracked a joke at lunch, you realize you glanced at him, secretly (a secret to him and your own conscious mind) hoping that it would be the first one of yours that elicited a chuckle from him. Every time you announced an accomplishment in the group chat, the bitterness you felt was not merely anger at Minghao’s lack of response; it was a longing to be congratulated by the one whose words you truly valued. Even tonight while playing cards, in the midst of trying to place the most scathing card, you note the way you had to push down a deep desire to see him smile at your jokes.

“You have a pretty terrible way of showing people you like them,” you sniffle, always willing to take a jab at him even when your head aches from the crying.

“I know,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to come off as rude at first. As soon as you walked in for that first study session freshman year, I knew I liked you. But I don’t know,” he sighs and looks at his hands. “The idea of being open about it scared me. You’re so bright and funny, and I’m generally pretty reserved. I didn’t have the confidence in myself to think you could like me back. I know it sounds stupid but—“ 

“Yeah, it is stupid.” You both know there’s no true malice in your words.

“But I thought that distancing myself was the easiest way to cope. If I never talked to you then you wouldn’t know that I liked you. And I could watch you be happy from afar in group settings. It was comfortable being a coward. But it hurt both of us more in the long-run.”

“And here I was thinking you were some wise and rational guy. Look at what the heart will make some people do.” You smile and poke his side. He throws an arm over your shoulder and you lean into him comfortably.

“I’m sorry. I really am. It was childish for me to keep this up for so long and probably make you feel bad in the process.”

“You’re right, but I accept your apology. Believe it or not, despite your very awful ways of showing affection, I came to like you, too. You may be bad at processing feelings, but I’m bad at even recognizing mine. Who knew I was capable of liking Xu Minghao?”

“I’m glad you are.”

“Me too.” You give him a cheesy, love-laced grin. In a fit of confidence and recklessness flowing through your veins you crane your neck to give him a peck on the cheek. You watch him closely as plump lips expand into a wide smile and the hand resting on your arm starts to feel a little clammy against your skin. The two of you giggle as if he hadn’t just found you crying yourself into a frenzy.

“They’re gonna make fun of us so bad aren’t they.”

“They’ve been clowning me since they found out I liked you. Which was like a week after we met. So…be prepared for the worst.” 

As a silence falls between the two of you, Minghao asks a question that brings your attention back to him.

“Can I walk you to your place tonight?”

“You know how many times I’ve gone home drunk from Seungkwan’s by myself. I’m fine, honestly, you should go back to your place and get some rest. It’s not dangerous, really.”

“I know,” he says, looking up at the darkening sky. “I just don’t wanna leave your side just yet.” Your mouth goes dry and your heart flutters. You nod and give him a fake pout, poking fun at his sudden romanticism.

“Well, since we have so much time on our hands,” you muse. “There’s something I’ve always been interested in about you.” Before Minghao can express his confusion in words you follow up with, “your art.”

He smiles shyly before pulling up a hidden photo album on his phone and scrolls through. You decide not to tease about the impressionist sketches and paintings that anyone could tell were modeled after you. Instead, you find yourself content with being next to him, feeling the warmth of his body, taking in the fresh scent of the rain, and allowing the cool metal of the bus stop bench to take on new memories.

a/n: thanks a lot for all the love on the vernon fic. i wont lie i feel a lot less confident about this one than the vernon one. this plot just felt corny and underdeveloped to me. im still working on my plot writing skills so be patient lol im not used to writing long creative things. this fic was edited in a rush so pls let me know if you see anything that needs to be corrected. this lowkey took a lot out of me since i made myself write and edit it so quickly just to get it out of my brain lmao. anyways, this was originally a joshua fic but something made me make it a minghao fic cus he’s just on the brain these days xoxo.

feel free to like, reblog, reply, or send in asks to give feedback <3

#minghao x reader #xu minghao #svt myungho #svt minghao #minghao x gender neutral reader #minghao x poc!reader #seventeeen x poc!reader #race neutral reader #seventeen fic #seventeen fluff #minghao fluff #seventeen angst #ro's.fics

[fe-fictions]

As one of the people who asked for a Virion reupload, I am glad that you have uncovered the "shocking" amount of saved stories. Like, I knew where to find them, but that goodness needs to shared with the about 3 other people that like him and also bring it to the masses here for others. As it stands, only two Viri fics on wayback are reduced to initial few sentence previews: newborn Morgan fluff and Morgan unthinkingly speaking French. If we all sat down one day to obsessively catalouge the fic of our faves, the wayback would be a very full place.

(I totally agree!! So for now, here's Virion finding out Robin has feelings for him...!!!!)

Virion had always been impressed by you, and always admired your quick wit and adaptive intelligence. Yet even you could be prone to the occasional human mistake, which he enjoyed almost as much as your otherwise perfect demeanor.

Such was his joy when he saw you stumble, having been surprised when he called out to you in greeting. He cringed slightly, feeling bad that he startled you by calling “Good morning!” to you without your suspecting it.

“My, my, it appears our petite tacticienne is a bit unbalanced this morning, non?” He mused, walking up to you and stooping to retrieve the lances that clattered to the ground.

“S-sorry, Virion. You really did give me a scare! I wasn’t expecting your greeting.”

“If I knew you were so unsettled by my presence, I would never have done such a thing. You must forgive me, as offended as I am.” Virion said jokingly, pressing a hand to his chest. Your face lit up in a bright blush, clutching the laces tighter.

“O-oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. I was just…surprised. Pleasantly surprised! I just didn’t know what to do, so…yes. Sorry.”

“Please, mon cher, you needn’t apologize so profusely. I simply jest.” He grinned at you, placing a hand on your shoulder in a reassuring manner. Yet even that seemed to catch you off-guard, your whole body tensing under his touch.

He furrowed his brow ever so slightly, but didn’t get a chance to ask why you were so tense. Lissa called out to him, waving frantically for him to join her.

“It appears I am needed elsewhere, mon ange. I shall reconvene with you, later.”

“Please do.” You smiled at him politely, recovering yourself enough to not make too much more f f a fool of yourself. “O-oh, and we’ll be playing chess tonight, right?”

“But of course.” He grinned at you, which basically shot an arrow through your heart.

How one man was so ruthlessly charming, you didn’t know.

“Princess, how may I be of service?” VIrion asked Lissa as he approached, leaving you to try and gather your wits while the young princess grinned cheekily at him .

“You know exactly what I want, Virion- you’ve harassed Robin enough for one morning!”

“I haven’t done any such thing!” Virion replied with an amused smile, “What would give you that idea?”

“You know full well that Robin fancies you! Yet there you go, teasing her like you couldn’t care less.”

“What?” Virion’s eyebrows rose, “Please. You are as much the joker as I am; Robin hardly fancies me. Why should she, when so many eligible bachelors gaze at her so longingly?”

“I’m not joking, Virion! Robin seriously has a crush on you. Just think about it, okay? Watch Robin’s interactions with others and then think about how she acts around you. She’s totally going You should know better than anyone how a lovestruck fool behaves!”

“I suppose I do have more experience than others do, and- hey!”

Lissa scampered off before he could get another word in, but she had made her point. He shook his head in disbelief., hands on his hips.

“Mon dieu…what am I going to do with that troublesome little girl?” He asked himself, returning his attention to the tactician.

He watched as you carefully stocked the lances, storing them properly and not dropping them as you had before.

He tilted his head some, humming thoughtfully.

Perhaps Lissa was onto something…or perhaps she was simply full of it, as usual.

———————————————

As the days wore on, Lissa’s message began to ring true.

Virion had begun to observe Robin more carefully. She seemed to grow so quiet around him, yet was so boisterous with the other men. You joked with Chrom and Vaike would with him, as if you were the best of friends.

Yet when he played chess with you, he realized you were nearly dead silent, save for the occasional red cheeks and frustrated groans when he bested you yet again.

He found this both intriguing and perplexing. What if Lissa was wrong about you fancying him? What if you behaved this way because you did not wish to be around him?

Yet the way you tensed in his presence was like that of a crushing school girl. He recognized the symptoms all too well. Yet oddly enough, it was even more adorable than it was when other women acted this way.

How you tensed up and fidgeted, looking at your feet and playing with your hands as you tried your best to form a coherent sentence…my, how charming it was.

Virion kept this to himself, of course. He didn’t wish to make more of it than he thought, and didn’t wish to scare you away.

He would be tactful about handling the tactician.

It felt as though he was the only person doing so.

“When are you going to confess to her?”

An impatient taguel’s voice sounded beneath him, the huntress he had been allowed to ride into the woods asking him in a distorted, impatient tone.

“Whatever do you mean, my dear Panne?”

“I speak of the tactician. Don’t be coy, human; we both know how you feel about her.”

“You must elaborate, I’m afraid. Though perhaps we ought to wait until after we’ve secured the army’s dinner?”

“Don’t be foolish. I can take a bear down without your help. You’re simply a lookout.”

“You need one, with ears like those?”

“You test me.”

“I apologize.” Virion laughed, nocking an arrow as he spotted a blur of animal hair a few yards away. “Please, do tell me what you mean.”

“I mean,” Panne launched forwards, pouncing on an unsuspecting deer and allowing Virion the finishing blow, “That Robin wishes to be your mate. You seem to feel similarly, do you not?”

“My dear Panne, I do not know how familiar you are with human relations, but…it is not uncommon for me to feel romantic emotions towards most women. You’re included, you know.”

“I would rather be skinned alive before I entertained those feelings.” She said in such a cold tone, he felt threatened. He shivered involuntarily, preparing another shot. “I can hear how your heartbeat quickens in her presence. I see the change of your movements, and how you tease her relentlessly.”

“I wouldn’t say relentless-”

“You make it a personal mission to see her blushing before she can even react to your presence. You are far worse than that insufferable Vaike or Gaius could ever be.”

“I suppose you have a point…” He agreed with a grin, motioning her towards the bear lumbering around several meters out. “And so your solution to this is to have me confess to her?”

“We both know she would want that.”

“Would she, really…?” Virion hummed in thought, “Yet I am not entirely certain my feelings are as passionate as you’d suggest.”

“I’ve seen you flirt with other female Archer. I know what it looks like for a man to try, and for a man to simply chase an open tail.”

“You needn’t be so vulgar…”

“You have hard my thoughts on this matter. Make a decision soon. It is annoying to deatry and have a conversation with Robin where she does not trail off because she is drooling over you.”

“She is mesmerized by me, you say?” Virion was way too happy about this. “You know, I’m starting to think you had me accompany you so you could tell me all these things.

“You are an insufferable human.” Panne muttered as she dragged the carcasses along, prompting a chuckle from the archer.

“What can I say?”

“You can say that you’ll start pursuing one particular female a little more seriously.” She told him dubiously, and Virion just laughed.

“But of course, mon cher lapin. I will do all I can to ensure your warnings are not wasted.”

“Hmph.” She grumbled, “I don’t know what she sees in you, at all…yet she insists on babbling about how great this strange nobleman Virion is…”

Virion smiled to himself, pleasantly surprised by her quiet admissions. Perhaps this Robin thing was running a little deeper than he first thought.

———————————————

Maybe it was because he realized you liked him.

That might be why he was struggling with this sudden change of his. There was a new feeling in his heart, whenever he spotted you. That adorable expression of frustration when you lost another chess game seemed to be even more precious than before.

The way your hair was always so soft and carefully styled, how your skin was so soft and smooth…my how he longed to touch you. He couldn’t quite understand where it was coming from.

He hadn’t felt this way about someone in years… He shook his head as he headed out on his errand, looking to fetch something of particular importance he thought you might enjoy.

A ring, meticulously picked out, and lavish in its payment. It was expensive, and precious, but it was simple in its construction. Virion had been spending so much time with you. Never once did he think you were the type to want an elaborate or overly expensive ring. 

Yet the more thought about it, the more he wanted to simply drown you in lavish things. He would need to control himself; after all, who was to say all of this would work out?

Perhaps it was all an elaborate prank…ah, well. He dismissed the thought, reminding himself that it was high time he considered marriage, anyways. Gallivanting around only had so much appeal.

Although…he did enjoy the idea of gallivanting around with you.

So he returned to camp with just the slightest skip in his step, and went about his business to try and hunt you down. He needed to get ahold of you, figure out the plan and where he would be able to go and take you romantically, to win your heart over once and for all.

Of this, he was sure; months of spending time with you, fighting beside you, and realizing that now you might care for him as much as the others said, it was perfect.

Virion couldn’t fight the smile on his lips, nor the excitement in his heart; you were the one. 

“For the last time, Ricken! He doesn’t think about me that way and you mustn’t try and force anything out of anyone!” “But he does, Robin!! Panne and Lissa said so, and I guarantee he does! That archer doesn’t look at anyone the way he looks at you!!” 

Virion tilted his head, curious about whatever it was he’d just walked into. You were marching away in the campsite, clearly displeased with Ricken, who practically nipped at your heels.

You seemed to be in need of rescue, he thought to himself, moving to meet with you.

“You gotta believe me, Robin- if you just talk to him then I’m sure-!”

“Who do you think we’re talking about? He’d never feel that way! Why won’t you people just leave me in peace? Leave us alone for a second, won’t you?”

“If you’d quit being so hard-headed you’d see that you’re wrong, for once!”

“Non, Ricken, she’s right.” Virion’s entrance into the conversation made you both gasp. You earned a pleasant smile with that shocked expression on your face, and an embarrassed look from Ricken. “It is none of your business, meddling in other people’s affairs.”

“But-!” Ricken was interrupted when Virion took the boy’s arm, guiding him away from you. 

“You do not know what Robin wants or thinks, nor myself. What if she’s right? For all you know this could all be nonsense! You must not push so hard for things you think are true.” Virion scolded him. He didn’t hear the soft gasp behind him, but Ricken seemed to notice.

“Virion, I…”

“Now, now, Ricken. I admire your desire to help your friends as much as anyone, but there is great value in minding your own business, as well. I mean that in the kindest terms, mon ami.”

“N-no, Virion, I…I think you made it worse.”

Virion’s brow furrowed, and he turned to follow the man’s concerned gaze, only to find that you had disappeared. He caught the tail-end of your coat, as if you had hurried away from the both of them without letting Virion finish.

“…Oh, dear.” 

“I can’t believe this- you’re worse than she is!” Ricken cried, “Why would you say that? I know how you feel about her!”

“Merde- Ricken, you…are such a strange little man.” Virion sighed to himself, “I did not say you were wrong, I said that you might be- why does no one give me a chance to finish anything in this camp…” 

Virion released the boy and turned on his heel, pausing only to point back at him.

“Do not involve yourself further, understand? I will fix this mess!”

He knew people liked to get involved with other people, but this was too much. He sped up, the ring in his pocket heavier than before. He chased after you, pursuing you until you reached a place he could not freely enter. You latched onto your tent shut, and he paused, waiting for just a moment before continuing the chase.

“Robin? Mon cher, are you all right?”

“Fine!” 

“Oh hon, now I know you lie. You never respond so coldly to me. Can’t I come in?”

“I don’t think that’s s-such a good idea.” Your voice hitched, and at that moment he knew he had made a critical error. His heart crumbled ever so slightly, and he swallowed thickly. He fidgeted with the ring in his hand, wishing he could be running it through that lovely hair instead of suffering through this strange situation.

“…Please, Robin?” 

There was silence for a few moments, and then the sound of canvas being shifted, allowing him into your tent. He breathed a sigh of relief, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to make it more lovely than usual, and then he entered.

“I wish to speak to you about many things, but…most importantly, what you heard me say to Ricken. Please, do not think that I hold no affection for you, that is not what I meant in the slightest!” 

You were standing before him, yet your arms were crossed, and you looked incredibly sad. You looked so very lost…oh, how it hurt him.

He knew he loved you, in that moment, because he never wanted to see such a sorrowful expression on your face, ever again. He wanted to be the one to make it go away.

He steeled his resolve; he would be the one to make it disappear.

“I know it wasn’t true, Virion. It just…made me realize that I was wrong. I’m sure you’ve heard all about how I hold feelings for you of some sort or another…but it was my mistake to tell them about it. They took it upon themselves to try and put us together.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, cher.”

“I didn’t, either. But it wasn’t their place, and in turn it puts a lot of pressure on you when I don’t even know if you feel a modicum of what I do. It’s just a silly crush, Virion. You don’t have to entertain it if you don’t want to. I’m just upset that you had to find out about it through everyone else but me. It’s so embarrassing…” You trailed off, burying your face in your hands.

Virion chuckled at your bashfulness, and stepped forward, taking your wrists gently in his hands and lowering them from your face.

“Now, now, mon amour…you needn’t be embarrassed. It’s quite charming, really. Besides, I’d rather not discuss things like this, here. There is somewhere else I would very much like to take you.” He replied mysteriously, and you quirked an eyebrow, unsure if you could swallow your pride long enough to let him take you anywhere.

Slowly, you conceded, letting him lead you from the camp and up into the forest beyond. There were a great number of hills outside of the set up, and you were surprised to find how lovely the wooded terrain could be in the glow of sunset.

You didn’t have enough time to appreciate it, you guessed, though being there with Virion likely had a large impact in how you looked at it, as well.

“I have so much I wish to say to you, Robin. I simply wonder if there will be enough time to…or I will be able to find the words. We have such wonderful conversations, and yet here I am, struggling to tell you everything I can.”

“We have plenty of time to chat, now, don’t we?” You pointed out, “Though I’m not sure what all there is…tactics, chess, war…there’s not much we haven’t talked about in terms of things we have in common.”

“And what of the feelings we hold for each other?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about that now.” You said, uneasy. Virion chuckled as he took your hand, helping you up through a thicker part of the brush before it opened up into a lovely view of the camp far below.

“I did not wish to talk about it in your tent. I wished to speak to you somewhere more…idyllic. Will this suffice?”

“Well…it’s certainly beautiful.” You breathed as you stared out at the open expanse beneath you, gazing at the warm glow that the world was bathed in.

Yet even as you enjoyed the view and your company to the highest degree, you weren’t sure you wanted to deal with what was supposed to come next.

“Robin, if I may…” Virion began, and you audibly gulped. “We both know that I can be a bit…generous in my advances, more so than others. It has always been my behavior since before I can recall. It is unlike me to feel anything more than simple attraction, and nothing deeper.”

“I know.” You confirmed with a sadness in your voice. Another thing to wipe away.

“Yet I have found myself, over the past few days, coming to the realization that perhaps the time has come for more. That I ought to open myself up, if only a little bit, to the prospect of letting another person closer to me than simply a physical sense. I wish to be with someone who I can trust, and talk to about anything.”

“Didn’t we already go over the few things we discuss?” You joked, to which he smirked.

“We talk about far more than those simple things, mon ange. You just haven’t noticed because of how easily we lose time when we are together.”

“I suppose…” You replied as if you were unconvinced. He turned to face you, taking your hands in his.

“I speak the truth, Robin. You see…all of those things that I speak of…I feel as though there is a person I need to settle down with. And the last few days, the last few conversations with our friends…they made me realize that you are that person, to me.”

“You…come again?” Your mouth fell open, your cheeks alight with a blush that he found positively delightful. “W-what do you…you’re not doing this out of pity, are you?”

“Pity? Non, non, amour, never. Never would I play with a woman’s emotions in such a way, let alone yours. I am being entirely sincere, Robin. You are the one I hold dear in my heart.”

“I-I…would like to believe that…but if it’s only come of Lissa’s or Panne’s or Ricken’s harassment…I mean…it’s not sincere, is it?”

“If I were not sincere I would not have done this.” He said as he got down on one knee, and produced the ring. You clapped a hand over your mouth, trying to cover the gasp of shock when you saw the beautiful, glittery jewelry he held.

“Virion…!!” 

“I have never felt more strongly about someone until I met you, Robin. I am simply sorry that I had to be given so many hints before I realized it, myself. Can you ever forgive me?”

“I-I…I can…if you promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“You stay with me, always, and…you never take a hint from our nosy friends, ever again.”

“Heh- here I am, down on one knee…yet you’re the one proposing to me. How appropriate.” He laughed to himself, but he nodded all the same, sliding the ring onto your finger with a happy sigh. “I will do everything you ask of me and more, mon tacticienne…everything and more.”

#virion #robin #fe 13 #fire emblem awakening #fe awakening #virion x robin #fe fictions #fe-fictions #f!robin #fem!robin #f!mu #fluff #just a TON of fluff ok #a sweet sweet commission that i found in the archive!!!!

[kurosefr]

Oi, I’m making that cake from scratch, you know!! I’m making the strawberry syrup from scratch with the strawberries I have; it’s not some sort of bottled syrup from the store. I’m also making the buttercream frosting from scratch. I just got done making the batter. I had to double the recipe since I had so many apples. I’m making the cake a certain way—in other words I’m looking at recipes and haphazardly doing whatever I want instead of following it exactly as is. I didn’t want whole chunks of apples, so I grated it with a microplane until it looked like applesauce so I could cream it with the sugar. Then I added a bunch of other things since the recipe I was referencing felt rather bland (YES, IRONIC FOR ME, INNIT? /s). /lh /nm

And what is that supposed to mean—that it sounds “English”? Are you saying it sounds bad?! Is it the apples? I love apples, they’re good! I’m using strawberries to make syrup because I don’t want to waste them. The syrup (I’m going to make it a thicker consistency) and the buttercream will be in between the layers. I also felt it may be an odd combination, but they’re both fruits so it shouldn’t be that bad, right? /lh /nm

I wasn’t going to respond so soon, but I felt the need to defend myself you know 🙏? By the way, I’m not upset (if it wasn’t already apparent). /gen /nm

Well, uh, you said your blog is primarily about France soooooo, here’s my compulsory question about Francis: what would his opinion be about being called a “frog”? You can also add in how you feel if you’d like. I personally feel it’s not a very good insult if you ask me, but that’s because I think frogs are cute (TALKING ABOUT THE AMPHIBIAN HERE, DON’T YOU GET ANY IDEAS). I understand why some may find it offensive due to the history of the insult, so I’m not trying to downplay anyone’s feelings! However, I have seen some French people call themselves frogs. So, to get back to my point, how would Francis feel about being called a “frog”? Doesn’t have to be in any particular way; it can be affectionate, neutral, as an insult, etc.

I should probably have some sort of anonymous sign off at this point, right? Although, I’m the main person sending you asks as of now.

- Cheers, Arthur (Yes, that is my name, it’s not that uncommon of a name if you ask me 🙏. Depends on where you’re from. It does sometimes make it a bit awkward when referring to England by his human-name, though).

Je pense que Francis serait fier, car tous les français sont des grenouilles et les grenouilles c'est mignon 💪✨

Et ne t'inquiètes pas pour ton nom, c'est aussi l'un des plus populaires en France donc je ne suis pas choquée que tu t'appelles comme ça

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Reboot: Miraculous: Heroes of Miracles: The Dupain-Cheng Family

-So not to diss the family, with there being less focus on the Agreste family drama (it’s still there but it’s not the Main show), I figured I should add some depth to Marinette’s family. Specifically the pasts of Tom and Sabine.

-Tom Grew up in Provins. A small town in France near Paris. His father liked to keep things simple, and Paris was complicated.

-Rolland, (Tom’s dad) and Tom had a falling out when Tom was a teen.

-Rolland was very Traditional, believing in the Legacy of Bread Makers. He didn’t believe in making desserts, it was only bread. For “Bread was the foundation of life.” The Dupain family motto.

-Tom loved making bread, but he also loved Baking desserts, Cakes, cookies, macarons.

-To Rolland, Tom’s ‘hobby’ of making sweets was shameful, and unmanly. But so long as he kept it out of the store, he would let it be. Tom however planned on making desserts for his Fathers bakery when he took over. Saying it would bring new customers

-Rolland thought it an insult to the craft. Telling his son that the modern trend of sweet breads was just that, a trend. And Tradition must stand strong. The Dupain legacy was 5 generations strong.

-Tom told his father he will keep making bread, that won’t be lost. But the store is suffering, the customers that remain loyal are getting older and they haven’t attracted new customers in decades.

-Rolland told Tom that if he wanted to make bread he could stay, but if he insisted on baking cakes… he must leave.

-Tom hadn’t spoken to his father since the day he left.

-Tom’s mom, Gine heard about what happened. She tried to give Tom money, but he refused. Instead selling all of his things before heading to Paris. He managed to buy a dingy hole in the wall that needed repairs thanks to a mix of his life savings and loans.

-Tom Cleaned it up and Called it “Tom’s Bakery”

____________________________________________

-Xia Bing Cheng (later known as Sabine) was born in Shanghai. Her parents passed away when she was 10 due to a tragic accident. Ever since, she and her sister were raised by her uncle. Helping out at his Restaurant.

-Wang was not a famous chef. He was incredibly talented, but his place was not as famous as in canon. He worked hard and long hours. Having Xia Bing and her sister do errands to help out.

-Xia Bing was fierce and independent. She felt she was trapped, forced to work for her uncle, and wanting her own life.

-Xia Bing was of course was also resentful and rebellious. Often going out late as a teen and causing trouble. She often got into trouble with the police despite that She was never caught, but a lot of her friends were. Burned a lot of bridges by leaving them out to dry.

-It broke Wang’s heart to see her go out of control. Trying to reign her in. But Xia Bing always seemed to ignore him.

-In truth, Xia Bing knew the struggles Wang dealt with, knowing some nights he would be up wondering how to provide for them. It’s why Xia would go out. Conning people and committing petty theft. So she could provide for herself and not take away from Wang and her sister.

-At 17, Xia managed to leave Shanghai and found herself bouncing from country to country until she ended up in France. She had caused a bit too much trouble and didn’t want her uncle and sister to suffer due to her own actions.

-At this time Xia was nearly broke, and her cons didn’t work so great as her charming wit was not heard due to her inability to speak French well. So she decided to find work wherever she could to take care of herself.

-Xia Bing changed her Name to Sabine, and worked at numerous places, all long hours for little pay, and often no pay as they would threaten to report her to the police.

-Sabine found herself at rock bottom, close to being evicted. She wondered how her uncle and sister were doing. She was weighing her options all of which weren’t good. She hoped they were better off. Her stomach growled and her nose caught on the smell of something sweet.

-She found herself inside a small bakery, very bare bones. Clearly still in the midst of repairs, but it was clean, and the goods smelled heavenly.

-There she saw a young man, no older than her, working behind a counter. He could tell she was hungry and got her some macarons, free of charge.

-She learned his name was Tom. She told him she would pay him back.

-“Seeing the delight you took in my dessert is pay enough for today”

-This was the first genuine act of kindness she had received from someone since coming to Paris.

-She asked if he was hiring. He told her he was looking for help, but he couldn’t pay much.

-She accepted it.

__________________________________________

-Tom and Sabine ended up working together and thanks to their dedication, they were able to start making profit. Tom helped Sabine learn French, Sabine showed Tom tricks in cooking and baking that he had not been privy to. Having worked at her uncles restaurant and other French cafe’s, kitchens and so on.

-Tom changed the name of the bakery to “Tom and Sabine’s” as he felt she was just as much part of the bakery as he was.

-They ended up falling in love. Tom proposing and Sabine happily Accepting.

-Shortly after the bakery started getting recognition and Tom was able to really start paying back the loans he took.

-Marinette was born a year after their marriage,

________________________________________

-Marinette knew very much that Tom and Sabine put their heart and soul into the bakery, and figured one day she would take over, as their daughter.

-But as Marinette discovered her desire to go into fashion, she felt guilt. How could she just abandon her parents labor to pursue her own path.

-This comes to a head in season 3 where after her breakdown. She tells her father her dream. She apologizes to him, saying she knows how ungrateful she sounds tears forming in her eyes. Because she feels she is breaking his heart

-Tom hugs her.

-Because he knows the pain she is feeling, and he never wanted her to feel obligated

-Tears in his eyes, he tells her he never wanted her to feel obligated to the bakery. This bakery is not meant to be her shackles.

-“Tradition should never come before love.”

-Marinette gets to pursue her dream, the bakery would be there as a means to have her have employment should she need it, or if she decides that the bakery is where she wants to be. But that is her choice. Something both Tom and Sabine agree on wholeheartedly.

#miraculous: heroes of miracles #sabine cheng #tom dupain #ml #marinette dupain cheng

[sarahhillips]

This Just In, We’re Back to Libertys Kids While Higher Than Ben Franklins Kite

New York New York

Gotta be one of my favorites because of how smooth that guy was

Why isn’t this the national anthem? I want someone singing this before every football game

American history but make it so sugarcoated that everyone gets diabetes

Mom I like your friends house

Black Dick, your telescope sir

James that collar looks great, stop whining and be the queen you are

James is like fuck she’s conservative af too

Omg that cute yankee soldiers looking at me ☺️

I’m just gonna get out if this march to try an get some

James should have started cackling after her ‘I’m English’ comment. It would make Udneys comeback way smoother.

“I give you my strong arm for your protection” “BRO WTF GET BACK IN LINE”

Almost got it Udney.

“Can I come?” “NO”

Strategy is important

“This is a PAID internship” “Ok hell ya”

“What do they know about running a country?” Mrs. Radcliffe spitting facts.

Whot are you doin in ma swamp?

They really let Henri get snatched like that 

“Because they can’t fly” Damn

“General Howe is welcome to him” DAMN

Henri wtf

Henri blew up the Sept, not Cersei

“I found Ugly and he told me what happened.”

Welp, the British have New York

Black Dick took Manhatten.

One Life To Lose

Ah yes, this was when they saw a nice man get hanged for creepin’

I feel like the sound of his neck snapping and the sight of his limp body would make Sarah faint if they were ballsy enough to include that

Wow these dudes were fat

And the proof is in the pudding

Oy the drunkin sailor be back

Sarah is so bored

The Brits are stealing American men

The old man was like “Get tf out of here”

Nathan cuts in so randomly it does not feel natural.

She did the full curtsy for him

Mr. Hale so hot he’s got all the girls curtsying.

Nathan, why are you telling them all this?

Sarah is totally flirting with him.

So wait, Admiral Howe and General Howe are different people

God damn it how did I not know this

They’re spying on a spy. The irony

Nathan WTF

Don’t tell me this is actually how he got caught is it

There come these three stooges

I think James has been kidnapped way more than Sarah could ever be despite her damsel in distress demeanor

Nathan is ballsy af

James said I’m staying

Sarah said I’m gonna hitchhike.

Here it comes ya’ll

“He’s actually quite gracious and cultured when you get to know him.” Ok Jane Austin.

And now they’re Hillips shippers

“So, when is the big day?” And then it transitions to them years later at the alter, Sarah wearing a nice green dress with gold butterflies and a veil and James in a nice blue suit with a hat, and you hear the priest say ‘I pronounce thee Man and Wife.’

“Anyways, Nathan’s hangin out with the redcoats today.”

These men are so burning in hell for how they treated these people

They wouldn’t even draw in a noose

The sight of Nathan at the gallows causing Sarah to cling to James’ arm tho

Alright James time to write this article

Captain Molly

Ok but an episode where Henri accidentally joins a mafia

THE JAM STAYS

Ben be going on another cruise

Sarah’s insulted Washington won’t let her come

And here comes Molly

Henri giving off autistic vibes here

Rosemary, that is French silk you crotch goblin

Damn Molly

“Sarah, she’s English!”

“I don’t ask permission to do nothin’!” Sarah, let those words inspire your character.

Dad Moses mode activated

James got passionate there

You can forget about those eight to ten kids Molly

Well Sarah now you’re seeing a lil bit about why King George is evil

They brought in tHe bagpipes for their funerals.

I’m surprised the redcoats didn’t hold all those women and children hostage.

James is so happy Sarah’s alive

Molly was another woman school didn’t teach me about.

American Crisis

Henri has a soldiers spirit

Moses you’re too calm about Henri running away

Traveling by ship must have been mentally trying for everyone.

These dudes are not ok

Henri 😭

When a little French boy smelling of onions sneaks into your camp in a barrel.

Thomas Paine is back 🩷

Writers block is a bitch

Do you think Paine would like the movie Soul

“We’re walking to Philadelphia.”

Omg Moses no

A printing press is large enough to bone on. Just saying.

Tom said “I will beat yo ass in with this log.”

Imagine putting all those letters together by hand

“Hold your breeches”

#sarah phillips #libertys kids #james hiller #american history #liberty's kids #henri lefebvre #george washington #thomas paine #moses #ben franklin #john adams

[sparklecryptid]

More of the reincarnated!Finwions!In Middle-Earth AU?

So here’s the thing.

No one thinks that Ace is Fëanor. They think he’s Fingolfin. And Ace - having only a vague memory of the streets in Tirion and finally understanding his aversion to French and English cooking styles - does not know enough to correct them.

None of the brothers do. They have brainstorming ideas about who is who and what exactly they are going to do when they get all their ducks in a row.

(Listen. They didn’t want to be dragged through space and time and regain memories of a past life. They didn’t! But now that they’re here and their memories are fuzzy they might as well remember everything, cause chaos, and then wish their family a good healthy life before leaving again.

They have no intention to stay.

Beside, Ardyn is probably half way to Tirion by now.)

Which means that when Ace does remember who he was it’s when someone who believes he was Fingolfin is trying to sweet talk him into condemning himself.

“Well,” Ace’s smile is sharp and Ardor is looking on amusedly, “You believe that I should condemn myself? For what? I will admit the murder and theft were a bit much, but at least I was willing to do something.”

The elf before Ace pales and looks disgusted.

“There is one thing you should know,” Ace continues, “It’s that I don’t like people who make assumptions.”

“And I like it less when people try to put words in my mouth.” Ardor’s voice bring with it a chilling breeze and his eyes freeze the elf in place. “You are lucky it was Ace you were trying to convince and not me.”

“What?” The elf stutters.

Ardor grins, sharp canines showing. “He has more restraint than I do when someone insults my family.”

#all the bastards verse #ace: hmmm -hit with memories- gonna assume Ardor was hit with them too so #let’s see how this goes #Ardor: what if I stabbed - gets hit with memories- what if I stabbed real hard #it’s not a threat if it’s implied - house of caelum motto

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat It, Too - Chapter Three: Double-Stitched

In which Georgie rocks, Jon is marked by the Slaughter, Elias is a bigger bastard than usual, and Michael tries its hand at some nifty new surgical techniques...

>>> NOW ON AO3!

Bastard Elias warning.

Slaughter-typical violence.

(Masterpost including playlist)

*

CHAPTER THREE

Going to work is the last thing he wants to do right now.

Jon wants to find the “last resort” Gertrude supposedly left behind.

Jon wants to avoid his coworkers, who no doubt hate his guts and will believe nothing he says.

Jon wants to go back to bed and sleep, except that will mean traveling through other people’s dreams again, watching their suffering.

Two were missing last night. He knows what that means. It means they died. The Fears finally caught them.

He’s ill as he tries to explain to Georgie what happened over toast and tea.

Not last night. No. He won’t touch that. She may not be able to feel fear, but he knows she’d call him an idiot, and she’d be right.

“What good are all these eye powers if nobody could find you for a month?” Georgie says.

“I’m still not completely sure they couldn��t,” Jon mutters. “Elias might have just left me there.”

Georgie looks suitably horrified. “You could have died.”

“Welcome to my life.”

“Jon. Quit. I keep telling you—”

“You know I can’t. We can’t. None of us can. It… it’s been taken from us, somehow.” He sighs. “Besides… I have to stop the Circus.”

“It shouldn’t all be on you, Jon,” says Georgie, and the look she gives him is why he fell in love years ago, it’s why he thought he could make it work even though he was made of spikes and sorrow.

“Well. It is,” he says. “Anyway, I… still need to look for a new place today.”

She sips tea. “Careful. The last time you said you were moving out at once, you disappeared taking trash to the bins.”

Kidnapped again, is what she isn’t saying. “Well, that was hardly my plan, was it?” he says.

“I don’t know. Was it?” And that look is why it did not work, and why their parting was less than amicable. “You weren’t being careful.”

“I didn’t know they were going to do that!”

“I think you should expect it, by now. Make your default mode going to be kidnapped.” She sips her tea. “I haven’t seen a lot of wise choices from you since you got here, Sims.”

Jon sighs. Definitely not telling her about last night. “I’m sorry, Georgie. About all of this.”

“Well, I’m not.” She clears the plates. “Let me know where you move.”

“No. You don’t deserve to be dragged any further into this.”

She plants her hands on the table and leans into his face. “Don’t insult me,” says Georgie Barker, What the Ghost podcast host, once the love of his life, and now the only person he truly counts as a friend. “You’re not the only one who gets to make choices here.”

“Now who’s making unwise decisions?”

“Not me. I’m not the one late for work.” She pauses, putting dishes in the sink. “If you’re gone before I get back, at least… feed the Admiral one more time. Put the key in the mail slot.”

“I will.” I still love you, but not like that. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” She doesn’t look at him again before leaving to dress for work.

#

It’s later that day that Jon realizes he can read French.

But he can’t read French. He was always rubbish at other languages, lacking the focus (or whatever magic it requires) to think through words in something other than his mother tongue.

But that didn’t stop him from reading and living François Deschamps’ recollection of the shit-show that was The Corruption seducing Benoît Maçon, filling him with bugs crawling out from under his fingernails and bliss he never realized was false as he let the thing consume him from within and become, become, become.

Jon read it. In French. And didn’t even notice.

It takes him a moment, but Jon decides this falls into creepy more than it does useful.

At least he knows where Gertrude went from there. Her laptop was finally proving itself worth the effort it took to crack.

New Zealand. Huh. “Right,” he mutters, scribbling notes. “Date range and country—maybe we can find something, some statement showing where she—”

“Jon?”

Jon hunches.

He’d managed to avoid everyone so far, but sure enough, Martin tracked him down. (In his office. Not much of a hiding spot.)

And he brought tea. “I… hello.” Martin inches in, stepping so quietly for such a large man, and places the tea on the desk.

“Martin,” says Jon softly, already feeling awful, the guilt from months of stalking and paranoia just lingering like disease.

Martin suddenly bursts. “I’m so sorry, John, I – Elias didn’t even tell any of us that you’d been kidnapped. I didn’t know –”

This is worse.

Jon raises his hands. “It’s all right! Martin, it… Elias didn’t tell anyone. There’s no way you could have known, and I wasn’t exactly here before, anyway.”

“No, you weren’t.”

It’s weird, that confirmation. Jon half-wanted the lie of social acceptability, the denial of his bad behavior, but Martin didn’t do that.

Jon decides that’s good.

“I mean,” Martin suddenly continues, “I’m sure you would have been, if you could.”

Jon makes a sound. He doesn’t deserve that grace.

“Are you all right? They… didn’t hurt you?”

Jon touches the bruises on his chin, hidden by poor lighting and dark skin. Thinks of warped calliope music, choking on a spray of water, plastic hands and violation. “No, I… I’m okay,” he lies, desperately searching for words, and suddenly has to laugh. “I mean, my skin’s in better condition than… ever. Is that… a weird thing to say?”

“A bit?” says Martin.

Jon could hug him right now. “It was basically all she talked about,” he says, floodgates opening with foolishness and enthusiasm. “Orsinov. I… it was…”

Martin’s face is a journey.

Don’t be so honest, Sims, he upbraids himself, lessons he learned as a child and has apparently forgotten now. “How has everyone been?” he asks instead.

And it’s about what he thought.

Tim is not okay. That’s an ache almost as bad as Sasha, except as long as Tim’s alive, maybe he can fix it.

Melanie (damn you, Elias, for hiring her) is a mess, subtly mutinous.

Basira is vibing. Who knew?

“And I don’t know where Daisy is, and that’s fine by me,” says Martin with the sweetest vindictiveness Jon has ever heard.

“All right.” Questions bubble, trying to burst from him like cooking oil, but he keeps himself to just one more. “Martin, does the rest of the Institute even know what’s going on down here?”

“Not really? I mean, Tim’s been going on about it to anyone who listens, but they just think he had a bit of a breakdown. I mean, they can quit.”

Jon sighs.

And then Martin talks about someone named Hannah whom Jon’s never seen in his life leaving to have her baby, and something about a milk incident in the breakroom, and he is lost, lost, and wonders if this is how people feel when they talk to him.

Martin seems to sense it and jumps back on topic. “So, are you coming back?”

New Zealand, Jon thinks. “I… I’m not sure. I may have to travel. Sort of a treasure hunt.”

“Oh?”

“In the sense of the world not ending, I mean.”

Martin looks exactly as shocked as Jon thinks is appropriate for that. “Oh.”

“I’ll keep in touch,” Jon promises, too little, too late, and then when Martin warms, makes it impersonal. “I need you digging into things. Researching for me.”

Martin’s warmth dims.

Jon misses it. “Um. Here. Anywhere in mid-2014, anything mentioning New Zealand. Can you, ah…”

“Sure, Jon,” says Martin, taking the post-it and brushing his fingers.

Martin goes red, stammers something indecipherable, and runs out of the office.

Jon stares at the door. “All right.”

At least Martin doesn’t hate him.

Jon doesn’t know why. Martin should. But he doesn’t.

Jon takes up all the statements he can find on the Spiral, and turns the tape recorder on.

#

Jon did not go to see Elias, and now, it’s far too late. Past eight; he’s missed his chance to look for a new place to live, too, and he’s kicking himself for it.

“Couldn’t just leave at a reasonable hour, could I,” he mutters, packing his things away with unnecessary aggression. “No, I had to stay until dark fell, because that’s the smart way to handle this, that’s the way to avoid getting kidnapped again.”

Fitting, he supposes, to lose track of time while studying the Spiral.

So many victims. The horror of doubting everything, from whether they really found a child’s tooth in their coffee to their own actual existence. It’s about fear, after all—the slow and terrifying loss of sanity, with awareness, bit by bit—and sometimes, Michael shows up. He’s not the only manifestation of the Spiral, but he is memorable: a charming, handsome blond man, smiling at them and invading their homes and laughing as they go mad and then die.

Elias was right. This was a terrible idea.

He’s not right, and he can go to hell, Jon retorts, shoving it aside, and checks the cheap, prepaid phone he just finished charging. He’s proud of himself for remembering to pick this up on the way in.

(Not so proud of the fact that he thought burner phone like the spy novels, but it was thrilling at the time.)

His bank account is, fortunately, all right. Elias continued to pay him while he was on the run for murder. Go figure. Jon can afford a cab, and that seems a much better idea than dealing with public transport right now. He thinks he has enough for a deposit on a new apartment, too, if he doesn’t stay too close to the Institute—gods know, it’s expensive in Chelsea.

“Not fair, is it?” he mutters to no one as he stalks from his office, glaring around like an angry badger in case he runs into anyone else. “Not enough to deal with the end of the world, no, not enough to sleep with mind-eating monsters and dancing mannequins, but we’ve got to pay bills on top of it. Ridiculous.”

Up the stairs (maybe it’s all those Buried statements, but elevators feel bad right now), through the quiet, dark library, and he’s almost to the front door when he hears the shouting.

It’s Melanie. She’s screaming?

She’s cursing.

Someone is getting their ears torn out, anyway.

Jon’s hand is on the door. A step from freedom. He could just go. He could just do it—

“I’ll kill you!” he hears, and runs in that direction before he can think.

Her raging turns to true screams, and he drops his bag to run faster.

Rosie’s gone home, desk empty, but Elias’s office is lit, the door open, its glass shattered all over the floor.

The screaming stops just as he leaps in.

Melanie is on her knees.

She’s gripping a wicked-looking knife.

She’s also gripping her head, digging in with her nails so hard that she’s making her scalp bleed, and whatever she’s staring at is nowhere in this room.

“Melanie!” Jon cries, going to her.

Elias sits behind his desk, unruffled, eyebrows up. “I was wondering when you’d pop in for our chat. Pity you didn’t come sooner.”

What was this? What was this? “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing I would do to you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” says Elias.

Melanie screams.

It’s long, drawn until she’s out of breath, and then she just goes quiet again.

She’s cut into her own ear with the knife. Jon pulls it from her hand and drops it on the floor, relieved that she doesn’t fight him. “Melanie. Melanie, look at—”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Jon,” says Elias, who’s already gone back to scribbling on paperwork. “You don’t want her associating her current… predicament with your face, I assure you.”

“What. Did. You. Do?”

Elias sighs, puts down his pen, and steeples his fingers with a long-suffering look. “While you’ve been gone—”

“Kidnapped!”

“Yes. While you’ve been gone, she has tried to kill me three times.”

Jon blinks at him. “What?”

“She doesn’t believe me, you see—that my death would result in your death, and Basira’s, and everybody’s. Though the part of her that does believe considers it a fair trade.”

Jon looks back and forth, back and forth, out of words, feeling his experience being eaten by the Eye, feeling pleasure coursing through him as a sick and unwanted thank you for all the new horror, and turns away from them both, panting.

“What did you do, Elias?” he says to the floor.

“I showed her something she did not want to see.” So casual, backed by the scratch of pen on paper.

“Showed her? What, you… shoved… images into her brain?” Another power he knew nothing about?

“I warned her last time that if she did it again, I’d burn them into her memory,” Elias says in a near-whisper. “Well, here we are.” And he makes a genteel shrug, hands to either side, politely regretful with his whole body.

Melanie is shaking, crying silently. She seems completely disconnected, drowned in whatever Elias did.

Jon wonders if any of the Eye’s glaring gifts include setting people on fire.

“That’s more the Devastation’s thing, I think,” says Elias. “Now, we need to continue our discussion from last night.”

“We damn well do not,” says Jon, trying to lift her. “She needs a doctor.”

“She needs to sit in it and learn,” snaps Elias. “And we need to talk.”

“Go to hell, Elias,” Jon says, and pulls her up anyway.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Elias calls after them, but does not follow.

Melanie is hard to move. She’s stiff, unresponsive. Her whole body is a rictus of misery. And she’s panting.

“Come on, Melanie,” he mutters, knowing she can’t hear him. “Almost there. Don’t scream again. We don’t need police attention, or some… predator, drawn toward the sound. You’re all right. You can do this.”

She makes no noise at all.

He looks for a cab. No way she’s good for the tube right now, absolutely no—

Melanie attacks him.

She had a second knife somewhere (and he knew that, he knew that, some part of his Eye-brain knew that she did, but he’d ignored it), and she gets him deep in the shoulder and he goes down with a cry.

She screams at him, roars, raising both hands with the knife overhead like some kind of vampire slayer, and against the streetlights and cloud-dark sky, she looks completely insane.

Instinct curls Jon up, making himself as small a target as possible.

Silence.

He peeks.

She is gone. Off, into the night, who knows where.

“What?” he gasps. “She stopped?”

Did she go back after Elias?

No, he thinks. Even in her current state (and he knows somehow that  this madness isn’t Elias’ fault, but he doesn’t want to believe that, so he doesn’t), she will go nowhere near the “heart of the Institute” for a while. In fact, Elias’ proximity might be why she ran.

His shoulder is beginning to feel…not good.

Jon sits up, panting. His hand comes away very wet and very red.

“I leave you alone for a few minutes, Archivist, and look what you’ve gotten yourself into,” purrs Michael from behind him, sounding on the edge of laughter. “But then, I suppose you can’t be blamed for the Slaughter’s attentions.”

Fear leaps, juddering his already rapid heart.

All the statements he’s read flood through him, there and known in an instant, a half-dozen traumas in the blink of an eye. He swallows. “The Slaughter? Melanie? Since when?”

“Oh, I don’t know that,” says Michael, now crouching in front of him. His human guise is an insult, cherubic, still a large man, but far too innocent for the monster it hides.

Jon blinks once.

Michael is significantly closer without having seemed to move.

That, or blood loss is doing a number on him. I’m blacking out, he thinks, slightly panicked.

Elias has to be seeing this whole thing. They’re still on Institute property.

Jon knows he won’t be given aid. Not when all of this can feed the damned Eye.

I can do it myself, he thinks as he stands.That’s a lot of blood, he thinks as goes back down to his knees.

“It’s almost sad to see you like this,” says Michael, watching him with complete fascination. “Almost.”

“Either help me, or go away,” Jon snaps.

Michael laughs. “No?” it says, because both suggestions are funny, and Jon tries to crawl down the last of the stairs.

Melanie. He has to find her.

He has no chance of finding her.

The Eye could help him find her.

She’s infected by the Slaughter, somehow.

If he finds her, she’ll kill him.

If he doesn’t find her, she’ll kill someone else—or worse, infect other people.

Jon chokes and looks at his shoulder. Is he infected? Is he about to go mad, slashing at innocents?

“You do have some protections, you know,” says Michael, who has crouched again on each step as Jon’s achieved it, watching him at eye-height with the same unblinking interest. “A little wound like that won’t make you their servant.”

“Oh, good, I’ll bleed out with my own mind intact,” Jon says, and tries to stand again.

A car passes. A cab—

Jon couldn’t get its attention in time. Just raising his good hand is… a lot. “Ugh,” he says, and decides to lie down on the cold, stone step, facing the sky, and hope that rain comes to wash the blood away.

Michael leans over, ruining the view. “Are you done already?” it says, hair curtaining Jon’s face.

“If I say yes, will you go away?” Jon says.

Michael laughs, and Jon closes his eyes, riding it through, trying to find some place within it that doesn’t hurt so much.

And then Michael is close, so close that its breath tickles his face, and it has no odor at all. “You. Need. A door,” it whispers, and Jon falls through.

#

He lands in the Corridors with a thud and stares as a ceiling-door—yellow, of course—slams shut and disappears.

Or was it a ceiling-door?

Wait.

Is he on the ceiling?

Wait.

Michael laughs. “I do so love these first few moments, Archivist. I would keep you like this forever, if I could.”

His shoulder is throbbing. His heart is racing. “Let’s see Elias talk to me in here,” Jon challenges no one for no discernable reason, and then moans as Michael prods the wound.

“S-stop that,” Jon says. “It hurts.”

“No,” it says.

Prod, poke, stab.

Jon decides he has enough energy to roll away from it.

Michael stays crouched there. Blood paints its long fingers—his blood—and it seems more interested in him than ever.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Jon says with more courage than he feels, and then realizes what Michael did.

His shoulder has been stitched.

No, not sane stitches. That pattern means something, makes the eyes spin if looked at too long, but by gum, the wound is closed.

He’s stunned.

“I have made you speechless,” observes Michael, deeply pleased. “We’ll add that to the tally, shall we?”

“Wh… why did you…”

“What will you do now, Archivist?”

Jon scowls. “How should I know? I… I need to find Melanie.”

“You do know she’ll return on her own, don’t you?” says Michael. “She is marked by the Slaughter, but she still belongs to the Ceaseless Watcher. You only need wait.”

“You are not the reasonable one in this conversation,” snaps Jon, thinking of a victim who couldn’t sleep until her heart gave out, thinking of a priest convinced he was possessed because the Spiral tricked him into eating parishioners, thinking of—

“You’re very concerned with my dietary choices,” says Michael.

“You had no right to eat them,” he snaps. “They were innocent.”

“Innocent? What is innocent? I am fear, Archivist; fear of madness and delusion, fear that they create themselves. I only drink it, like a flower drinks the light. What is innocent? They create, I take. That is the natural order of things.”

“It’s wrong, is what it is,” Jon says, shaky, aware he’s inside Michael right now, aware that he’ll have no egress unless Michael lets him go. “Those people didn’t deserve to be driven mad and then destroyed.”

“Oh?” Michael tilts its head and smiles, smiles, its face splitting like some sort of alien’s, its darkness spilling out through its lips and its ears and its eyes and its pores until it is a writhing mass of smudgy black, veiling the human form. “And who, in your opinion, does? Not that your opinion will change things, you understand. But I am curious.”

“I am not assigning victims for you!” Jon says, pressing back against the wall (it’s papered, why does it feel like flesh, why does it feel like skin) and then lurching forward again, shuddering.

“Then you cannot critique my choice of them.”

How did this happen, how did he get himself into this mess, is Michael actually asking, will it take advice if given, would it ever stop taking people (Jon knows that’s a no), does he actually have the right to declare who deserves death and who does not—

“Archivist,” sings Michael.

“I’m thinking,” Jon says.

“Do you wish to sleep here?”

That takes a moment to parse. “What, in your stomach? No!”

“Then I shall take you away. If I leave you bleeding on the street tonight, something will just come and kill you. And that pleasure is mine, someday.”

Jon groans. Returning to Georgie’s now feels like some kind of defeat. “I don’t want to.”

“Oh, Archivist,” says Michael, having gone back to looking human. “I don’t want you there. You have to be quiet there, and I dislike it.”

“I said I’m not sleeping in the Corridors.”

Michael grins. Behind it opens a door.

There is a room. A fancy one.

It’s some kind of penthouse. High up, the far wall entirely of glass and framing London’s skyline, a stunning view across the Thames and a glimpse of Westminster Palace.

The only lights are ambient, from the city, and he can only see what’s immediately beyond the door.

Jon could not fight this curiosity to save his life. He has to snoop.

It’s largely empty, furniture wrapped in sheets, dark and cool and slightly golden from the nightlights of the city. Jon wanders to the windows and stares down at the narrow, tree-lined street without cars, across the glittering water, at the distant lighted places of government.

He barely hears traffic. It smells like nothing.

He turns.

Michael has commandeered one of the sheet-covered couches and lies there, watching him.

Don’t do it, Jon tells himself, then goes to explore, anyway.

The kitchen has more (and fancier) cooking implements than he could use for the rest of his life.

The bedrooms have the same glass walls, but darker, as if covered with some kind of film for privacy. They are also furnished, and one closet is full of clothes.

The bathroom is bigger than Georgie’s whole apartment.

He looks for a sign of who owns it, tries to determine if it’s someone Michael has killed, tries to find any indication of what the hell this is.

Nothing. He storms back out. “What is this?”

“It belongs to one of us who is.”

“You’ll have to explain better than that.”

“The worker-of-clay is gone, Archivist,” says Michael, and its tone is bad again, its tone bitter, like when it told its story in the Circus,  and Jon listened without breath. “When Gertrude succeeded, and the altar to me fell, he tore out his veins to dissolve himself in crimson mud, and all we had built was scattered. Some of us were cast to all the places that aren’t. Some… survived, though Sanikov Land did not. One of those who lived owns this place. I asked, and he has given it to me.”

“Given it to you? What—someone touched by the Distortion has a job?” Jon has no idea why that didn’t occur to him before. Even Gabriel (the worker-of-clay, indeed) must have had a source of income. Still, it seems absurd. “I doubt you’ll be paying the property tax,” he snaps, fighting the sorrow he hears in its voice, striving not to know the regret and loss at the failure of its ritual, but he cannot help it, cannot push it aside, and he sits on another sheeted thing as he takes it all in.

It had been so happy when the Great Twisting almost came true. Weirdly, innocently happy.

Ivo Lensik's father, he reminds himself, fighting compassion. The man on the stair who wasn’t there. Deborah Madaki and her entire sculpting class.

“Do you think I deserved to fall, Archivist?” says Michael in a light tone.

“Yes,” says Jon, softly. “But I’m…” Not sure? “You’re evil.”

“What is evil? Do you blame the sun for for burning? The water for drowning? Lions, for hunting gazelle? I am a what, Archivist, not a who—and cannot be bound by your definitions.”

“Michael, that’s not true,” Jon says, frustrated.

Michael laughs. “That is a name.”

Jon puts his face in his hands. His shoulder hurts. He feels woozy. “Take me back,” he says, muffled. “I can’t handle your conundrums tonight.”

“No,” says Michael.

“Then I’ll walk out of here,” says Jon.

“Any door you choose will become me, Archivist,” says Michael.

“Why? Why would you do that? You’re trapping me here until I go mad?”

Michael finds his panic hilarious, apparently, and gives it voice.

Jon leans forward, breath shallow, riding it out. He’s almost found it, he thinks: the place to go where Michael’s laugh isn’t so horrid, though he’d be hard-pressed to explain it to anyone.

And Michael answers him. “Because you are not well. Because you will try to chase down a servant of the Slaughter who knows your face and blames you for her pain. Because you have lost more blood than you realize—believe me, your delirium is delicious—and while I will eventually kill you, I do not wish you to die tonight. You are far more pleasing alive, for now.”

Jon sighs and lies back on the sheet. He thinks this might be some kind of settee.

“Rest, Archivist,” Michael soothes.

This is suicidal.

On the other hand, Jon’s not sure he has the strength to go anywhere else right now.

The Eye will do its thing; by morning, he’ll be fine, wound halfway to scarring, blood renewed. Tonight, he thinks he’d make it halfway down whatever fire-escape stairway he could find before passing out.

Assuming Michael even let him enter the fire escape.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” he murmurs, and just to be stubborn: “I don’t even have my things.”

Michael dangles his bag. When the creature had a chance to grab that, he’ll never know.

An idea surfaces.

It feels awful. Worse than worse, like he’s betraying a friend—but like so many moments in his life right now, he feels he has no choice. “Could you hand me my phone, please?”

Michael does, the small, black rectangle delicately pinched between its sharp fingers.

Jon dials.

“Basira,” he says. “I’m sorry to bother you. Do you know where Daisy is? Right. There’s… something you need to know.” He rubs his face. “Please tell Daisy… don’t kill her. I don’t know what’s happened, but Melanie’s been infected by the Slaughter.”

(part four)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #the magnus archives fic #tma fanfic #long fic #jonathan sims #michael distortion #melanie king #the slaughter #and eat it too

[dancing-with-the-madmen]

The Art of Buggery, redux

Strap in, my very dears. We’re getting cheeky today. All of this has been a mere preamble to what I really want to talk about: the “you wear fine things well” almost-kiss and what follows after. I know it’s Word of God that Stede is unwittingly and unintentionally seducing Ed, and I've seen others talking about how confused Ed must be about all of Stede's mixed signals. I’m not convinced Stede is so guileless as all that. In fact, I think he’s thirsty af, and I have receipts.

So let's set the stage prior to the Moment. We’ve had a very full day for the boys, and watch them making good on their bargain to show one another their respective worlds. Ed takes Stede on a proper raid, and while they’re there, Stede avails himself of the captain’s dining service to teach Ed about the pageantry of dining. Then the French captain has to open his vile mouth and spit poison into Ed’s heart. Even after Ed’s initial fight-response reaction, the sting stays with him, sending him into an emotional flashback, 

His mother shows him the scrap of silk she stole - tells him that it’s God’s will that some people should have fine things like this, and some (them) shouldn’t. But is it not by the grace of God that she didn’t get caught taking it? So she could bring it home and give it to Ed? Doesn’t that mean that God WANTS Ed to have nice things like this? Doesn’t that mean he’s just as good as those fancy people on the estate? Then Frenchie shows up. He’s got an invitation! To a fancy party for hoity-toity people! And Ed immediately lights up. He’s anxious to put all of Stede’s posh lessons to the test, but even more, he’s emotionally raw from the French captain’s insult and desperate to prove him wrong and fulfill the promise of his mother’s scrap of silk. This is Ed’s Cinderella moment. They pull the big guns out of Stede’s closet and dress Ed in purple velvet and satin like a Phoenician prince with enough thread-of-gold embroidery and sequins to ransom a small island nation, the frothiest of impeccable white Mechlin lace, flowers in his hair and bows in his beard.

And then it all goes to shit. Cinderfella’s metaphorical gown turns back to rags right in front of all of those fine people and they laugh him out of the party. Turns out he never belonged after all, doesn’t it? But wait! Here’s Abshir and Frenchie to unveil all the shameful secrets the hoi-polloi conceal beneath their finery and painted faces. And here’s Stede to work with them and hold his fellow fancy folk to account. Embezzlement and piracy are just two fancy words for stealing. Doesn’t that mean these hoity-toity people are no better than Ed? Maybe he’s even better in some ways? At least Ed isn’t fucking his sister.

But still the poison is under his skin, and he toys with his silk when back on the deck of the Revenge. Does he not belong with “those kind of people”? Does he not deserve fine things? And then there’s Stede. Telling him “I think you’re very sophisticated.” Telling him his tatty old scrap of silk is lovely, and “sometimes old things are the best,” gently pulling the silk from between his fingers, the tactile sensation as it slides across his fingertips soft and sweet as a lover's sigh. Closing the distance between them to tuck the silk over his strangely pounding heart. Telling him “You wear fine things well,” and giving him a smile so warm and sincere Ed feels himself melting into it. Maybe Stede is the fulfillment of the promise of his mother’s silk. Maybe Stede is the nice thing that he can have. He leans in.

Allow me a small digression as I unlock personal backstory for strangers on the internet. When I was a freshman in college, I went with some friends to a winter dance. As the music was truly awful, we spent most the night chatting amongst ourselves in a corner of the vestibule, but at one point, I broke away from the group to go get myself some punch at the table across the room. It was at this point that an unknown person grabbed my arm and dragged me beneath one of the arches that led to the dance floor. Reader, my brain froze. He stood before me and pointed up, which I robotically followed with my eyes. I noted that there was something hanging above our heads, but my frozen brain refused to decipher what it was. I looked back down, and he walked away. All of this took maybe 5 seconds, but it wasn’t until he was gone that my brain unfroze and I realized, “Oh. That was mistletoe.” Reader, I submit that this?

Is “Someone wants. To kiss? Me??? Does not compute. Unrealistic. Computer, end simulation” brain-freeze face. Raised eyebrows, and jaw slack in surprise, not leaning in, but more importantly, NOT leaning away. In the stress of an unfamiliar situation (someone expressing desire for him, when everyone, his whole life through, has made it clear that nothing could possibly compensate for his many and storied deficiencies), Stede’s traitor brain opts for the Freeze coping mechanism that it turns to so frequently and RUINS EVERYTHING.

And this?

5 seconds later, lips pressed together but not turned down, eyes soft and averted from where he’s going as though focused inward? That’s introspection face. This is his “Oh. That was mistletoe” moment.

And then he turns back! If he really was an “unwitting seducer,” oblivious to the vibe, why would he turn back? If it was the writer’s intention to convey that dynamic, it would more likely go something like: Stede blithely bumbles off to his cabin with a smile on his face, secure in the knowledge that, in spite of a rough patch, the night has turned out just fine, and he made his best bro Ed happy; focus shifts over his shoulder to Ed looking back at him from across the deck, longing painted plainly on his face. The fact that he looks back TOO implicitly signals that the pining is MUTUAL. This is Stede going “”Wait - that was a Moment! Maybe I can still…? No.  It’s over. Fuuuuuuuu….”

Which leads us directly into the Art of F**kery. Arguably? The horniest episode, with its surfeit of blades and masts and tentacles and insert your metaphor for penises here (no, a little to the left). A few quick tableaus overlaid with Izzy’s aggrieved narration and then we get to the first extended scene: swordplay between Stede and Ed. And, yes, “Advanced trick of the trade,” and “Stab me” and “How does one get it out?” and Izzy’s gay panic freak out about what he assumes he overhears, and all that ripe, delicious innuendo, but I want to focus on one very small moment that comes before all that. Ed’s parry throws Stede off his balance, finding Stede bent over a cannon, and Ed swiftly pivots before swatting Stede on his ass with the flat of his blade to which Stede exclaims:

It’s a very deliberate choice of curse word in a show replete with fucks and shits, and liberally peppered with all manner of other invectives. Bugger is, by comparison, to a modern viewer's ears, a bit of a silly, old-fashioned kind of swear, which has lost much of its original weight of meaning, to the point where it would not be out of place in a children’s movie, out of the mouths of children (e.g. - “Bludgers. Nasty little buggers.” says Oliver Wood in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, 2002). And, interestingly, it’s only employed three times in the whole of the first season of the show, twice in this episode, both times by Stede.

The first time, obviously, is during the sword fight as described above. I don’t think it’s a mistake that Ed swats Stede across the ass with his metaphorical penis and Stede’s mind jumps to “Bugger!” He missed his moment in the moonlight, dammit, and in the meantime, he and Ed have only been spending more time together and growing closer, and yet, still not as close as he so very desperately wants. Later, Frenchie is sent to collect Ed in advance of the fuckery. “So Captain figures that this will be the best view for you when they come aboard,” he says. And where is “this”? The nook where Stede’s bed is built into the wall. Stede thinks the best place for Ed to experience the fuckery is in his bed with the opaque draperies drawn. I mean to say, really. Abandon all subtlety ye who enter here.

Stede joins him after the preliminary scene on the deck, and this is where we get the second instance of “Bugger.”

He’s referring to Lucius who has just cut off his engorged member finger and spurted across the faces of the unsuspecting Dutch. And yes, Lucius is the most unapologetic and (bravely) openly gay member of the crew, so the terminology is apt, but still. Stede has sectioned himself off from the rest of the crew with Ed mere inches from his bed, and what term springs to his thirsty, thirsty lips? Bugger.

But what clinches the intentionality of the use of the word bugger for me is this asshole:

Stede’s word out of this scoundrel’s mouth, but now it has teeth. Now it’s unavoidably, unquestionably given the weight of its original meaning. And in doing so, it recontextualizes the times when Stede was using it earlier.

Just before Jack drops this bugger bomb into Stede’s psyche, he asks Stede what’s going on between him and Ed. Stede’s face is solemn, almost sullen; his brows are drawn, eyes downcast. Then Jack asks if they’re buggering one another, and Stede’s eyes FLY open. Remember, he’s not a delicate flower who fusses about cursing, and this is a word he’s used himself, so it’s not the shock of hearing naughty language. He knows and loves his crew, so doubtless he has at least some idea what goes on below decks, so I doubt this is shock about the implications of male relations. No, I think this is the surprised face of a man who has had his secrets laid bare. And by this guy? THIS guy? This loud, vulgar lout has somehow READ his MIND and just put his deepest desire out there so casually? HOW did he KNOW? Stede has been SO. CHILL!

And, tellingly, Stede doesn’t say no. He doesn’t get nervous or insist that “it’s not like that” or “we’re just friends” or any of the no homo safewords we’ve come to expect from countless queerbaiting shows in the past. What he says is “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” in a light, offhanded way, which is rich, white dude for “I am not going to talk about this with YOU.” And when Jack tries to bait him with implications about his sexual history with Ed, Stede says “Ed’s past is Ed’s business, and I respect that.” He clearly has no problem with Ed being intimate with other men.

His problem is believing Ed could ever want that with HIM.

Yes, they had that Moment in the moonlight, but Ed had quite a lot of champagne at the party, and was emotionally vulnerable, and Stede was just being SO SLUTTY and OBVIOUS, wasn’t he, and Ed pulled himself back anyway, didn’t he? And Ed has credibly threatened to kill Stede TWICE since then (pulling a gun on him when Stede was reluctant to run him through, and then the whole confession in the bathtub). And so what if he’s flirty with Stede? He’s just a flirty guy. I mean, the others didn’t see him at the party, so full of esprit, so charming, that even brother-fucker Antoinette said he could finger her dents any time like an absolute TROLLOP.

Consider the scary story Stede tells the crew the night before Ed shows them how to stage a fuckery. What does he find scary? What’s his greatest fear? A weird, old guy who no one likes, and no one wants to kiss.

(my sweet baby boy. Please stop telling on yourself. Also, can we please take a moment to appreciate the HARD side-eye Lucius is giving Ed here? Epic.)

So it’s not that Stede is an unwitting seducer, or even that he’s the king of mixed signals. It’s devastatingly low self esteem come to ruin the day once more. He wants Ed SO BADLY, that it’s spurting out of him in ways he can’t control, and is apparently obvious even to the most casual observer, But a gentleman doesn’t press his suit unwanted. And who could possibly want a weak, soft-bellied, yellow, craven, weak-hearted, soft-handed, lily-livered little rich boy like him?

#ofmd #ofmd meta #stede bonnet #I maybe identify a little too much with Stede...

[finitefall]

hope you dont take this the wrong way.. but maybe dont get involved when you dont know the people in the post..

Hi, anon. I'm sure plenty of people agree with you: "Catherine, you don't know the people who were first involved, just because you saw the post on your dashboard since two people you follow answered doesn't mean you should too". And in certain circumstances, you would be right. In those circumstances, however, I don't agree with you.

I've read the entire post, and I did hesitate to reblog and add my own answer. Why? Because I got death threats myself both IRL and online. Because I'm suffering from mental illness and as someone who attempted suicide, I asked myself if it would be in my interest to risk having someone telling me to kill myself. It wouldn't be the first time, either. I even considered ignoring your message, anon. Avoid answering to this, because I'm not stupid: that answer isn't gonna make me popular. But... if people want to hate me, they will anyway.

Here's the original post @lady-phasma answered to:

I deserve a dark haired lover with soft eyes and a heart full of love

Nothing, I repeat, nothing in this post mention being white or a BIPOC. Nothing. Having dark hair doesn't mean crap. And what does this woman who thought they were only answering to a post about your tastes got? Insults. Accusations of racism. Death threats. When OP could have just said it wasn't for white people. Those who didn't want to understand that deserved to be blocked, but she didn't get an opportunity to realize she had answered on a post that wasn't for her and her tastes.

Then, someone who's actually a mutual, @la-pheacienne, was accused of using the n word. A black woman said she used the n word twice, when she absolutely never did such a thing. I would have blocked her myself and reblogged the post just to warn people of who she truly was if she had done such a thing. People have to realize how serious that accusation is. You can't just accuse people of being racists like it's a joke.

I'm not from the US. I'm French and have always lived in France, but I learned to check my white privilege very often. I'm not being colorblind like many people saying they're "not racist": you're either racist or antiracist. There's racism here too, hi. We're not the US, thank God, but still.

Have you watched Fruitvale Station, a 2013 movie inspired by the murder of a 22 years-old African-American by a police officer? Or a more popular one, When They See Us, a 2019 miniseries about the arrest and conviction of five young boys? Do you remember Trayvon Martin? George Floyd? Breonna Taylor? All the others I want to name here but I'm not sure how their names are spelled? Those aren't trick questions, it's only leading to this one: would you like their families to see this post? Honestly?

You know why I got involved? Because it was the right thing to do. Because I've never been a quiet witness to those things. I don't care whether or not I know the person who's being insulted and threatened. I've defended someone who used to bully me in school, once. Why? Because it was right at that time, when that person was being threatened. I still don’t have a high opinion of them, but that didn’t mean what was happening right in front of me was all right. If you only say something because it's your friend and you like them, I don't know if you actually believe in anything besides defending your friend.

People have unfollowed me. I'm glad. I don't want people who think what happened was all right to follow me. If people want to send me threats, I have a strong moral support now that I didn't have years ago. What's important for me is to not pretend I didn't see something going against what I believe in. I know people love to look the other way, but I've never done it and I'm not about to start now just because it would make my life easier and because more people would like me.

I've checked that woman's blog and apparently she'll be all right. With someone else, that might not have been the case. You know people do commit suicide because of what they're being told online? It's not just about @lady-phasma. It's not just about one of my mutuals having been accused of being a racist. Perhaps it's about me, in fact. About the fact that I can't imagine seeing this, think "lol it's ridiculous" and go watch TV. Believe me, people have told me to back off enough times in my life for me to realize that this isn't an attractive personality trait, but that's how I am.

#here we go i guess #answered