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16bruises · 1 year

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Descent

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A conversation between Miles and Peter B after the events of Across the Spider-Verse

”Truth without love is brutality, and love without truth is hypocrisy”

-Warren Wiersbe

“Hey-hey Miles, buddy listen-“ Peter B took a moment to catch his breath and check on Mayday before continuing, “when Miguel gets pushback he tends to.. uhm overreact.”

Miles stared deadpan at Peter before mumbling, “I feel like I, of all spider-people, would know that.”

“Well- Yeah- Well, you know- Miguel just- He” Peter fumbled with his words for a good minute before combing his fingers gently through Mayday’s bright red hair and started over slowly.

“I know you have some idea of what happened with Miguel’s daughter, he just… has a really really really hard time listening to alternatives when it comes to this kinda stuff Miles. And hey, don’t get me wrong, you were makin’ more sense to me than he usually does.” Peter chuckled lightly.

“I thought he was going to kill me” Miles fully turned to face Peter, “I thought he was going to kill me for not being bit by a spider that got into MY universe or for not being my universe’s Peter Parker and then I thought he’d go after my Dad.” Miles’ voice grew hoarse towards the end of his words, his eyes starting to water as he remembered the pure fear and adrenaline that had pumped through his veins while being chased down by Miguel O’Hara.

Peter, careful to not upset the young boy further, tugged Miles close and wrapped a strong arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry Miles, if.. If I’d known I swear to god I would’ve done something- gotten you home so fast, kid. I would’ve done something I swear.” He spoke softly, mindful of his sleeping baby.

Miles glanced down at Mayday before leaning into Peter’s shoulder, accepting his safe hold. “I believe you, I trust you, ok? I know it might not be your place but could you just explain Miguel’s situation? At least a little bit more to me, if you’re alright with that.”

Miles’ eyes darted down to the ground awkwardly as he waited for Peter to respond.

Peter patted Miles’ shoulder and sighed, “Yeah, I don’t see why not. Most of the spider society knows about it anyways”

Miles faced back towards Peter, “I just wanna understand his situation a little better so maybe I could see where he’s coming from… you get me?”

Peter smiled sadly and patted Miles’ shoulder again, “Yeah Miles, I get you.”

“As you know- Miguel took the place of another man. He stole that man’s life and he paid the price for doing so.” Peter’s eyes stare out into the cityscape as he speaks,

“Miguel had a daughter, Gabriella. She was pretty young when… everything fell apart.

He had a wife there too, a really lovely lady.”

“Anyways, when that universe fell apart Miguel wasn’t able to save Gabriella, she disappeared straight out of his arms.” Peter leans down to press a quick kiss onto Mayday’s little forehead, “I think that’s always been a hard thing for him to grasp, that he genuinely couldn’t DO anything to save her at that moment.”

“But his wife, (y/n), he got her out. He got her to his actual universe. I don’t think you met her, I only met her once or twice. She lives in 2099 now.”

“How did he get (y/n) out?”

“I think he panicked at the first sign of the end and told her some stuff but who really knows? The only facts we do know is that she’s the only survivor from her universe and she had a dimensional travel watch thingy on when her universe kicked the bucket.”

“Do you think Miguel told her to wear the watch?” Miles stared down at his hands as he whispered.

“…yeah, he probably did. He probably did the same with Gabriella too. But, what little girl is gonna happily wear a hunk of metal while she plays soccer? Y’know?”

Miles hummed in response and glanced at Peter, catching him with his shoulders slumped and his face sad.

“Anyways.. back to what I was saying— Miguel’s wife, (y/n), survives the destruction of her universe. He’s heartbroken over Gabriella but he’s trying to focus on his wife. He goes to console her about the literal death of everything and everyone she’s ever known…

and she doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. In fact, she doesn’t know where they are, why he seemed so upset, where Gabriella was.”

Miles squinted, “I’m confused”

“She didn’t remember anything. She didn’t remember Miguel, the one we both know. Her memory.. her memory only went up to a certain point. Come to find out she can’t remember anything past Miguel -her Miguel’s death.” Peter huffed,

“Miguel was already losing it because his baby girl was gone and now the love of his life didn’t remember him.”

“But that wasn’t HIS daughter or wife”

Peter turned to face Miles, “He still loves them, a lot. A ton.” Peter responded sternly.

Miles looked back down at his hands, “You said (y/n) lives in 2099 still but she still doesn’t remember what happened to her kid?”

“Yeah, it’s… rough.” Peter tilted his head upwards, looking at the sky

“And you said you’ve met her”

“I have.” Peter could see the curious tilt of Miles’ head in the corner of his eye.

“The first time I met her was a little before MJ told me she was pregnant so it didn’t hit as close. Thinking back on it though, I-I couldn’t imagine.” Peter sounded distraught,

“I was gonna ask Miguel something, I honestly can’t remember what, it’s not important. And she, (y/n), was just… there. Miguel was showing her these videos of their daughter and (y/n) kept asking when Gabriella’s soccer practice would be over because she couldn’t remember what time they ended.” Peter looked downwards at Mayday before carding his fingers through his hair and deeply sighing.

“If (y/n)’s been away from her kid for so long wouldn’t she catch on? At least notice that something was up?”

“You’d think so but I think having your universe of origin wiped from existence probably messes with your brain. She glitches out even though she’s basically shackled, nobody’s ever seen her without the dimensional watch on.”

“Do you think she’s gonna.. not.. be around as long?”

“I’ve heard she’s been glitching more frequently so, she probably won’t be around for as long as she should’ve been.”

“What was the second time you met her like?” Miles fidgeted with his fingers nervously. He could tell Peter was sad about and for Miguel and (y/n).

“Hm… Miguel wasn’t there that time, it was just her. And it was after Mayday had been born. I wanna say it was like the 3rd or 4th time I’d brought her with me. Mayday gets loved on LOTS by spider-people but (y/n) just melted. She adored Mayday. Mayday liked her too, it was really cute. I got a ton of pictures by the way… if you wanna see later.” Peter grinned

“I’ve seen more pictures of your baby than I’ve seen spider-people!” Miles groaned playfully.

“HA! Well, anyways not to kick a dead horse- but that whole.. all of that is kinda why Miguel is so hellbent on keeping this canon stuff. We’re all pretty sure (y/n) doesn’t have very long left and that’s not your fault Miles but he’s been getting worse as she gets more and more… uh glitchy? I guess.” Peter patted Miles in the shoulder before pulling his arm away to wrap both around Mayday.

“Do you think she knows about the canon stuff at all?” Miles cracked his knuckles, glanced between his hands and Peter.

Peter kissed Mayday’s hair, “Doubt it” Peter frowned. “Miguel… he’s a hypocrite Miles.”

Miles turned to fully face Peter once again, this time he didn’t know what to say.

“He loves her, I know it. It’s sad. Heartbreaking what he’s gone through.” Peter tucked a loose strand of hair carefully behind Mayday’s ear, “But he’s spiraling, his wife is.. his wife’s dying and he’s not handling it well. Who would? That doesn’t mean he should ever have done what he didn’t to you Miles.” Peter reached a firm hand out to Miles shoulder.

Peter looked up, cleared his throat, “Not to ramble, but my point is: he would and has broken canon for his wife. She, and again I think she’s lovely, should not exist anymore. But he went against everything he claims he stands for to keep her. So.. we’ll get you home Miles, and we’ll make sure you and your dad are safe. If Miguel tries anything.. I don’t think I’d enjoy it but if it comes down to it I will get (y/n) involved if I had to.”

part 2 - Remembrance

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thepatchycat · 5 months

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hellooo! 👋

i hope it as okay to tag you in the WIP game!!! 😅😅 you have so many cool projects underway!!

I would love to hear more about your Defiance series! Side stories and spin offs?! What a world you must be creating! 🤩

thanks and have a lovely day !!☀️

Certainly! :D I don't always respond to tag games, but I do always appreciate being tagged in them. This one especially makes for a nice excuse to ramble about projects, and I'm delighted to talk about Defiance~

I'm pretty sure Defiance (the main fic) is the second fanfiction I've ever worked on in earnest and also my first and only longfic (not counting some sort of journal thing for Pokemon X I think I started many years ago, as I quickly lost interest in that project; otherwise, I hadn't really tried my hand at writing fic until 2020, despite reading it for much longer). Back in early 2021, with far too much time on my hands and having recently finished binge-watching all of The Clone Wars TV show, I felt very strongly that Fives needed to live and everyone deserved a happier ending, so I started planning a fix-it (actually the idea may have begun cooking back even before I finished the show, but February 2021 is apparently when I created the first doc).

It, uh, spiraled a little.

The planning/notes document is currently sitting at 102 pages (~46k words) of loose outline, worldbuilding notes, character notes, media notes, etc. The fic document itself is at 127 pages (~49k words) of stuff ranging from rough outline to fully written chapters and outtakes. There is also a Sheets file with timelines so I can track who is where, and when. The Sidestories doc is for ideas that would probably take place during Defiance but not be part of the more central plot, like bonus side chapters, and the Spin-offs doc is for other fic ideas that would take place in the same universe—some of which have graduated to their own documents. Though I've not been making consistent progress in the actual writing and have a very long way to go, I am lost in this sauce.

Anyway, the general plot of Defiance is as follows: unbeknownst to Palpatine and the general public, a timely intervention saves Fives' life. This allows him to actually explain himself to the Jedi, who along with the clones investigate the chips further and work behind the scenes to prevent Order 66 from happening while trying to figure out how to take down who's behind it. Critically, despite their suspicions they do not have hard evidence of Palpatine's involvement, so most events parallel canon up through ROTS with the investigation/preparation taking place discreetly, until the train hops off the rails to avoid sailing off the cliff.

If you'd like a sneak peak snippet, here's the first page or so of the main fic below the cut!

Something is wrong. The Force is muddled with a constant and indistinct unease, as it has been for years now—moreso on Coruscant than anywhere else, to Shaak Ti's perceptions. Its warnings are difficult to discern with any specificity. Even so, it murmurs them now. And Shaak possesses her own instincts, enhanced by the Force but extant outside her connection to it; these, too, whisper to her that something is wrong, as she watches Knight Skywalker leave the Jedi Temple conference room to find Captain Rex and investigate the situation with Fives. They are the best fit to track him down and the most likely to confront the rogue clone without further violence. Shaak warned Skywalker that Fives has been acting differently without his chip, that he may not be the man they knew—though she herself is reluctant to believe it—and the Knight and Captain are plenty capable of handling themselves. They will be all right. Still, something is wrong in a way she cannot yet define, and so Shaak Ti decides to join the hunt. Since the Jedi have not been asked to search for Fives, she does not contact the Coruscant Guard when she leaves the Temple. Instead she steps out of the building, pulls up the hood of her cloak, and makes for one of the speeder bikes kept at the Temple for general use. It whirs to life under her hands, and she rides to the nearest transportation portal leading down into the undercity. As she descends, passing speeders of all makes and sizes, Shaak Ti considers what she knows. She is well aware of her own struggles in becoming emotionally attached to the clones; her role on Kamino requires her to balance her care for them as people with the need to defend the galaxy. But many of them, such as Domino Squad, inevitably leave an impression. She watched Echo and Fives grow from bickering cadets to determined protectors, some of the best of their brothers. Her belief in their character during their final tests had not been misplaced. And yet, over these past few days Fives repeatedly defied the Kaminoan doctors, removed his chip, claimed something about a conspiracy, then attacked the Chancellor and fled. Shaak cannot deny these facts, and she must not allow personal feelings to cloud the truth. Then there are the Kaminoans. Shaak clashes frequently with their attitudes toward the clones, the way they view them as products rather than sentients. Nala Se’s arguments for terminating Tup and assurance that the chips are not a problem fall in line with her position as a manufacturer. And Shaak is well aware that the Kaminoans have not shared all of their secrets with her, as she is not owed them. But the medical scientist's resistance had been… spirited. None of this paints a clear picture. As they concluded in the meeting back at the Temple, the Jedi need more information. The familiar sound of a military engine hums past, and Shaak turns her head to watch a pair of gunships heading down the portal through one of the military lanes. She swerves out of the civilian traffic and dives after them, further and further below the surface of the city.

#Thanks for asking! :D #I'm really excited about this 'verse even though it's quite far from getting published #I want to finish at least the first draft of the whole thing before starting to post but that's gonna take quite some time #It'll probably be somewhere between 35 and 50 chapters #Out of which I have...maybe 10-ish written (and around 20 more vaguely outlined). So. Long way to go.#But by golly we're gonna get there!#Patchy Babbles #Patchy Writes #Tag Games

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cambriancrew · 2 months

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So we've always used Earth years to denote the ages of people in our system. But a lot of the time, that's still really an approximation and I'm not talking about mental age. I mean more like, how do you state the age of someone who spends a good deal of time using portals that take you somewhere and you stay there for however long then you come back through the same portal and return a moment after you left? Or in some cases, before you left?

How do you estimate age when you're talking about a person native to a planet where the years are longer than Earth's? And with time flowing faster on that planet than on Earth, how do you handle it when someone goes back and forth between Earth and that other planet?

Makes me glad our innerworld and the outerworld are more or less connected, timewise. We can stretch it a little - connect with Jas in the innerworld but she's busy so we try again a moment later outerworld time and hours later innerworld time. And sometimes we check in and it's been a few days since we've checked and they're still watching the same movie/doing the same thing they were last time we checked. This goes the other way too - sometimes they'll check in on us and it'll be a bad time and so they check back in a few hours later for us and only a moment later for them. Per tests, the most we can stretch this out in either direction is about a couple Earth months of experienced time, local to the Earth time of the main universe of the paracosm.

And there's one further wrinkle in all of this, relating specifically to portals. When you go through a portal, your body is broken down inside and reformed as you leave based on the pattern of it that exists in the Void. This normally isn't an issue - if you stick to your own universe. Which Jas doesn't, nor does Doc. (Though Doc we don't even try to estimate his age.) When you leave your home universe, a copy of your pattern is placed in the Void of the universe you go to. You use that when you teleport in that universe. But when you come back, you get reformed based on the pattern of you when you left. So if you go and spend months in another universe, as Jas did a lot growing up, you come back into a body that hasn't aged at all. But you still, heart and mind and soul, have the lived experience of being that other age.

Kinda like Narnia - the Pevensies grew up into adults in Narnia before coming back to Earth as children again.

So some of our ages are more just educated guesses than anything else lol.

Kinda makes me glad that at least for me, my inner age is basically just "I feel younger than the body. By how much varies."

#Plurality #Innerworld stuff #Headmate ages #Innerworld shenanigans #Sunni Willow.txt #Baby Bear.txt

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hitheside · 5 months

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i want to preface this post with saying thank you so much to everyone who applied. i wasn't sure how well this rp would go down in the tags and i've had an issue with the promo blog being sh*dowb*nned so the fact i've still been able to get interest in it and have all of you apply is so lovely. i also want to mention that if your app wasn't accepted at this time, please do not take this personally !! we did receive more than one app for some of the skeletons so it was just a case of having no choice but to choose one, and i was also unable to accept any apps that didn't have the requested minimum amount of information & i wasn't able to get this when reaching out. for any unsuccessful applications, rest assured that if you'd like to try again for another open skeleton, you are more than welcome to do so. <3

without further ado, acceptances can be found below the cut. please send in accounts within 24 hrs.

another post to follow very shortly will confirm ooc opening.

presley warren, the insouciant ( madelyn cline fc ) written by el.

el, i love presley so much already. i love your interpretation of the skeleton, how their insouciant nature comes in the form of a sort of nonchalant indifference to everything and in particular i loved their aesthetics section because it really gave a taste of who they are as a person. obsessed.

dezirae alvarez, the halcyon ( lizeth selene fc ) written by nova.

nova, dezra ( cute nickname for her btw ) is such a well-rounded muse, to me. they seem as though they wake up every single day just knowing that no matter what happens, they need to have fun, and nothing can get in her way of doing so. a true halcyon. bonus points for the pics of your dogs that you blessed me with in the ooc info portion <3

sage cháng, the sanguine ( havana rose liu fc ) written by corrie.

corrie, sage is a ray of sunshine beaming over hitheside. she seems so lovable with a childlike wonder. her decision to drop out of university damning her to a loss of direction can't bring her down, because she takes her mind off of things by filling her life with light-heartedness and fun. i love that, as i feel like it not only embodies the skeleton but a shared attituded within the gang as a whole.

noelle woodbury, the fervour ( yandeh salleh fc ) written by becca.

becca, the attention to detail in your app blew me away. there wasn't a stone left unturned and i finished reading it with the sense that noelle was such a real, living, breathing person. i loved the section at the end of the doc where you expanded on your ideas about each of the pre-established connections — it showed you weren't just thinking about your muse, but also her place in relation to others.

arlo harris, the crepehanger ( hero fiennes-tiffin fc ) written by j.

j, your app made me so sad?! in the best way. it felt like watching a tear-jerker film / episode of your favourite tv show that is just so sad and tragic. everyone loves angst and it's no surprise that arlo is full of it after everything he's been through. i hope the group can show him how loved he is despite his past & i'm so excited to see him develop!

cerise van mol, the libertine ( casimere jollette fc ) written by sera.

sera, what a take on the libertine skeleton. cherry is an absolute bombshell. alexa, play "slut!" by taylor swift, the lyrics in that song sprung to mind when i read your application. she also sounds like a lana del rey song needs to be written about her asap. your characterisation was great and i'm so excited to see it go even further as she interacts with others.

alexander dundas-aguirre, the amaranth ( taylor zakhar perez fc ) written by archie.

archie, i love alec so much. your app was concise and straight to the point but had so many amazing details i wanted to grab onto with both hands. his dad being an MP that he'll do anything in his power not to end up like is sooo good. also, the fact that felix catton and jay gatsby are listed as inspiration for him has me so excited to see more as well. what an icon

sullivan jarvis, the firebrand ( jacob elordi fc ) written by felix.

felix, where can i start? your writing prowess and knack for creating a character shines so brightly through sullivan's application. love the way the gang calls him by his surname, seemed very on brand. loved all of the descriptors you used especially in the letter from his subconscious section you chose to include. 10/10 no notes

jason bergeron, the paladin ( joe keery fc ) written by nicole.

nicole, i love jace. i feel like he perfectly personifies the 'chaotic older sibling energy' that i mentioned on the paladin skeleton page. i can see him leading other members of the group into all kind of silly hijinks and chaos. i love the cosiness of him being a captain too, very seaside town appropriate <3

everyone please complete the checklist. thank you all so much and i'll see you very soon !!

#new rp #oc rp #town rp #semi appless rp #skeleton rp #hitheimportant

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himynameis4 · 1 year

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@andiwriteordie @bottomlessabyssposts @wibble-wobbegong i can’t tell who if anyone will find this entertaining, lol, but i figured you guys might be the most likely to? Of tumblr people i know lol. 🤷‍♀️ so. Tada!

I have this idea I’m very attached to in the Spidey-Will genre… PROBABLY won’t ever be written, but lives rent-free in my head & makes me happy, so figured i’d share it.

So there’s this El-as-X-11 idea, which I’m quite attached to, because I feel that she and X-23 are quite similar in backstory with the Weapon X government program assassin thing, even if their powers are wildly different. Can’t figure out how to sibling-ify Will & El yet, but I’ll get there.

So let’s say, hypothetically, X-11 escapes.

And, hypothetically, she might encounter/live with this universe’s version of Hop, first. But then she has to run, for lab-related reasons.

Perhaps, after an injury she ends up breaking into an apartment, in an attempt to find a place to sleep.

And so, our favorite college student, Mike Wheeler, returns to his cheap-ass apartment to find a bloody body lying on his couch.

He tries to see if she’s alive/has any wounds, and she throws him half across the room.

It’s the start of a beautiful friendship.

From there, El continues to be a cryptid.

Mike can never tell when she’s actually IN the apartment, so he starts, like, talking to himself aloud as he enters as if she is, which makes him feel a little bananas, but that’s okay. He still jumps every time he turns a corner & finds her standing there, though. Every. Time.

They come to a compromise on the sleeping situation? Kind of? El has the couch whenever she needs it, she just… if she’s going to come over bloody, could she clean it up? Mike invests in heavy duty cleaning supplies, and worries vaguely about being charged with murder. He figures El would probably break him out.

Here’s the thing, though. El doesn’t want to go out in public, and she doesn’t want Mike to tell his friends about her. Which is… fine. No, really, it is. Like, evil lab people, Mike totally gets it—he’s met Doc Ock, okay?

But college has been, like, really weird, and it’s hard to keep in touch, apparently, and—whatever, obviously Mike assumed everybody was closer than the were or something, but the point is—the point is—keeping secrets is hard, and he doesn’t think the whole “keeping this a secret” thing is HELPING the distance between everybody.

And also, El keeps stealing his clothes. Her excuse is that she can’t go shopping in public, which is probably bullshit, but El’s wardrobe is… eclectic. Mike’s not sure where she acquired it all, but there are a lot of men’s flannels and jeans mixed in with punk clothes, so Mike’s pretty sure stealing people’s clothes is just a Thing El Does. It’s kind of sweet. Still, that sweatshirt was a present from Will, alright, so he’s gonna need it back.

Another Thing El Does? Fucking monopolize the TV. And like, Mike’s trying to be accommodating, but certain shows run at certain times, El, and Mike needs his emotional support characters, damn it.

And then there’s the cats. So. Many. Cats. Is Mike ALLOWED to have cats in this shitty-ass apartment? Fuck no, not that anyone’s gonna call him out on it, apparently. Does Mike WANT cats in his apartment? Well. Hypothetically, how would you feel about having to dodge these creepy bastards, constantly getting scratched, watching reflective eyes blink out at you from the shadows, having to pull apart LITERAL cat fights… look, El heals fast, right? She has a skewed idea of which cats are “friendly.” These assholes are feral, stray, and most likely diseased, and Mike does NOT have the luxury of super-rapid healing, and he’s already running low on clothes because of El so having the cats attack his wardrobe is Not Helping The Situation, AND! And one of the assholes fucking tried to eat Roary, okay, he’s all chewed up & Mike had to hide him to keep him from acquiring further damage, & he’s, like, traumatized now. Yes he’s a plastic dino. He still has feelings.

Besides, they can’t AFFORD this much cat food, el, or the vet, it’s not like you’re paying rent—

No, that does not mean you steal more cat food—

Also El keeps eating ice cream directly from the carton & putting it back in the freezer & it’s driving Mike batshit.

Anyway. Mike’s… mostly sure he has a roommate now? She’s around often enough, and he kind of thinks they’re best friends at this point? Maybe? El sometimes doesn’t understand like, boundaries & privacy & stuff, but Mike knows he pushes her buttons, too—they get snippy with each other, a lot, but like, in a friendly way? Kinda like him & Max, except the ex-assassin (he thinks she’s stopped? Probably?) is definitely nicer. Mike talked to Joyce about it—WITHOUT exposing El, obviously—and she said open conversations about boundaries are important with roommates? So Mike’s gonna talk to El about that when he gets home, and neither of them are going to be defensive or dismissive, and it’s gonna be great.

Honestly, having an ex-assassin sort-of-accidentally become his roommate isn’t even the WEIRDEST thing Mike’s ever done.

He used to flirt with Spider-Man.

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just-a-re-blog · 1 year

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ALRIGHT THAT’S IT—I’VE REACHED MY LIMIT! MY PATIENCE HAS RUN OUT!!

I’m sharing my Haikyuu!! Pokémon!AU because I’ve been seeing everyone else’s and now mine demands to break free of the confines of Google Docs!

To start, I’m just gonna post my thoughts on the Karasuno kids, but I have. A Lot Of Other Ideas.

As a universe note, I have done my best to reconcile the passage of time in the PokéAni world, the passage of time for us irl viewers who grew up watching it, and the canon passage of time in Haikyuu!! Why the hell would I do all of that?

✨Because my particular brand of autism demands that I establish those kinds of rules!✨

I also have a ton of quirky calculations I’ve done to figure out how many Pokémon it makes sense for everyone to have and how the evolution rates work because, again, my particular brand of autism demands that I establish those kinds of rules! But I’ll post those at a much later date.

The important info for now is that I’ve included the year everyone starts their journey, their home region (listed first and noted again with their starter/partner), plus other regions they’ve been to. My little imagining ultimately takes place with everyone congregated in Kalos in 2009, so Kalos is included for everyone.

Teams are in dex order within the order of the regions they were caught. So a Johto kid who goes to Hoenn has all their Johto catches listed in dex order before they have all of their Hoenn catches listed in dex order. (This is not a super important detail, but it is one that I would want to know in order to understand why an Applin is listed before a Roggenrola.) Also worth noting that some evolutions are listed earlier or later than their national dex number if an evolutionary stage was first introduced in a different regional dex (i.e., the retroactive addition of a baby Pokémon stage).

Last notation notes:

* — Evolved with Trainer through one previous stage

** — Evolved with Trainer through two previous stages

Without further ado!

Daichi (2006, Kanto, Unova, Kalos)

Trainer: Kanto: Charizard**

Type Preferences: Ground

Team: Charizard**, Raticate*, Fearow*, Sandslash*, Growlithe, Poliwrath**, Victreebel**, Onix, Rhyhorn, Pinsir, Tauros, Hoppip, Cherrim, Palpitoad, Sandile, Crustle*, Diggersby, Litleo

Daichi got a late start as a Trainer because of family matters and the care of his younger siblings, but he has more than made up for it with his disciplined approach; when the third-year guys challenged the Indigo League, he made it the farthest, and his Charmeleon partner was the last standing member of his team, despite the fact that it had not yet reached its final evolution

Suga (2004, Hoenn, Kanto, Unova, Kalos)

Trainer: Hoenn: Swampert**

Type Preferences: None

Team: Swampert**, Dustox**, Ludicolo**, Pelipper*, Skitty, Roserade*, Swalot*, Torkoal, Cacnea, Milotic*, Kecleon, Snorunt, Butterfree**, Gengar**, Exeggutor*, Tauros, Whimsicott, Foongus, Goomy, Carbink

Loves, and I mean LOVES, to catch the first Pokémon in an evolutionary line so that he can try to raise it through every stage—especially if it’s a split line; this is why, despite being the first of the third-years to set out, he doesn’t have that many Pokémon to show he had a head start; feels like someone who prefers to rotate his walking buddies so they don’t spend all their time in Pokéballs if he can help it

Asahi (2005, Johto, Kanto, Unova, Kalos)

Trainer: Johto: Audino, Meganium

Type Preferences: Normal Types

Team: Audino, Meganium, Ampharos*, Ambipom*, Sunflora, Quagsire*, Forretress*, Granbull*, Ursaring*, Piloswine*, Phanpy, Beedrill, Gloom*, Marowak*, Tauros (20), Happiny, Patrat, Minccino, Deerling, Bouffalant, Furfrou, Phantump

Despite being from Johto, his unofficial starting partner is actually an Audino that his older sister caught for him in her own travels; Asahi was really anxious about possibly breaking rules by having a “non-official Starter,” so his sister basically demanded Audino back, made him go get a regular-degular Starter, and then forced him to take Audino back, like “Congrats, now you’ve got two”; one of Asahi’s most notable moments in his journey thus far was when he and his friends went to the Safari Zone where Asahi ended up catching 22 Tauros, giving two to his friends, and getting his picture hung next to one of World Coronation Series Monarch Ash Ketchum in The Safari Zone offices (Ash caught 30 in The Safari Zone when he passed through)

Noya (2005, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, Unova, Kalos)

Trainer: Johto: Jolteon*

Type Preferences: Electric

Team: Jolteon*, Scyther, Gliscor*, Qwilfish, Skarmory, Electabuzz*, Magmar*, Nosepass, Electrike, Plusle, Minun, Dusclops*, Porygon, Luxio*, Bronzor*, Karrablast, Joltik, Galvantula, Binacle, Dedenne

Has a partner Jolteon that his grandfather raised as an Eevee alongside Yuu and then gave to him (yes, Noya does his hair Like That so that they can match); was inspired by Ash Ketchum to try and be the youngest guy to ever traverse the routes of every region—so he is speed-running the Pokémon world and having a great time with it

Tanaka (2006, Hoenn, Sinnoh, Unova, Kalos)

Trainer: Hoenn: Honchkrow* (influenced by @devilcakebunny)

Type Preferences: Fighting

Team: Honchkrow*, Dodrio*, Houndoom*, Mightyena*, Ralts, Vigoroth*, Hariyama*, Carvanha, Relicanth, Mankey*, Cubone, Tyrogue, Snover, Kingler*, Scrafty*, Spritzee

His partner is a Murkrow that used to be part of Saeko’s crew, but he met Ryuu, and they became instant antagonists and also inseparable; please, he 158% has a Scrafty; met the Second Year Squad when Noya came through Hoenn and insisted that Ryuu join him on his trek to the Sinnoh Region; wants to take over Dewford Town’s Fighting-Type Gym one day

Ennoshita (2005, Sinnoh, Kalos)

Breeder: Sinnoh: Prinplup*

Type Preferences: None

Team: Prinplup*, Rapidash*, Hypno*, Dragonair*, Espeon*, Gallade*, Numel, Staraptor**, Glameow, Lucario*, Gible, Lumineon*, Flabébé

Ennoshita has had his heart set on breeding for his whole life—caretaking comes naturally to him, and he loves the challenge of puzzling out the best ways to care for Pokémon as members of their type, species, and as individuals; he’s very strict with the care of his Pokémon, and as such, he prefers to keep a comparatively small roster so he can give them each adequate attention and affection; a few of his Pokémon are definitely rescues; battling is harder for him, but he’s spent enough time with his Pokémon that he can communicate with them VERY effectively, which makes him a more dangerous opponent than people expect

Kinoshita (2005, Sinnoh, Kalos)

Coordinator: Sinnoh: Monferno*

Type Preferences: None

Team: Monferno*, Arbok*, Pikachu, Electrode*, Lickitung, Illumise, Bibarel*, Pachirisu, Shellos (West), Buneary, Chatot, Hippopotas, Skrelp, Bergmite

All of the Karasuno boys love their Pokémon dearly, but I think Kinoshita would have some of the highest friendship ratings out of anyone; this is just a fun assortment of little guys, most of whom you might not immediately picture as contest material, but Kinoshita sees a lot of potential in each of them; he’s gotten a lot of care tips from Ennoshita to help his team be their best, and while he has yet to become anything close to a Top Coordinator, he and his team do VERY well in the Performance Stage and have been steadily improving in the Battle Stage

Narita (2005, Sinnoh, Kalos)

Trainer: Sinnoh: Grotle*

Type Preferences: None

Team: Grotle*, Venomoth, Weavile*, Volbeat, Grumpig, Seviper, Absol, Floatzel, Bastiodon*, Shellos (East), Drifblim*, Mismagius, Clauncher

I cannot think of Narita without remembering that Furudate said, “This kid’s into some weird stuff,” so I literally just gave him a balance of totally normal dudes and funky little guys that feel underrepresented to me (vs., like, MatsuHana, who have, like, exclusively funky little guys)

Kageyama (2007, Galar, Kalos)

Trainer: Galar: Corvisquire*

Type Preferences: Dragon

Team: Corvisquire*, Vulpix, Slowking (Galarian)**, Weezing (Galarian), Zigzagoon (Galarian), Nuzleaf, Gabite*, Sawk, Deino, Drampa, Applin, Runerigus, Snom, Arctovish, Duraludon, Roggenrola, Tynamo, Swirlix, Noibat

@soyochii said Kageyama has Kazuyo’s Corviknight, and they were right, except that I’ve put a bit of a spin on it; picture, if you will, Kazuyo, his Corviknight, and two Corviknight eggs Kazuyo procures a little before Tobio is about to start on his Pokémon journey; Miwa, who was then competing in Kalos as a Performer, gets one, and Tobio gets the other so that the grandkids will always feel connected to home; Tobio hatches his and then takes Rookidee with him, and they train HARD together, though Rookidee is slow to evolve because—like trainer, like partner—he’s got some inner roadblocks to work through; they grieve together when, only a year into Tobio’s journey, they lose both Kazuyo and his Corviknight; just as Tobio is to Shoyo, so too Kags’ Corvisquire is instantly and adamantly frenemies with Shoyo’s Fletchinder, and it reaches its final evolution first just to stick it to them

Hinata (2006, Alola, Kalos)

Trainer: Alola: Fletchinder* (credit to @kimbapisnotsushi’s excellent takes)

Type Preferences: None

Team: Fletchinder*, Vulpix (Alolan), Geodude (Alolan), Marowak (Alolan), Blitzle, Pancham, Klefki, Crabrawler, Jangmo-o, Tangela, Scatterbug, Skiddo, Helioptile

So I did this because I feel like it’s exceptionally funny if Shoyo doesn’t realize that the Alolan variations of Pokémon are Alolan variations and totally thinks ALL Vulpix are Ice Types and ALL Digletts have hair and ALL Geodudes are half-Electric; additionally, the fact that Hinata grew up on the Island Trial system means that traditional Pokémon battles are not his forte, but he excels at creative problem-solving, which makes him a formidable foe on the battlefield; while there is a lot of merit to the idea that Hinata likes to specialize in a certain type like Fire or Flying, I just think about Hinata next to Ash, and I feel like their pure love of all Pokémon would unite them so deeply; Ash is in fact Shoyo’s Little Giant in this AU; Kageyama, King of Strategy, Appalled by Hinata’s Lack-Thereof, stuck around ‘cuz he really likes Shoyo’s Jangmo-o

Tsukishima (2006, Unova, Kalos)

Trainer: Unova: Servine*

Type Preferences: Rock & Poison

Team: Servine*, Nidorina*, Weepinbell*, Starmie*, Lunatone, Solrock, Croagunk, Purrloin, Pansear, Woobat, Maractus, Dwebble, Archen, Swanna*, Klank, Deino, Oddish, Bagon, Roselia

Kei aspired to be an Ace Trainer like his brother for years and years, but when he found out that Akiteru had been lying about beating the Icirrus and Opelucid gyms to earn Ace class status, his love and excitement about Pokemon was replaced by apathy; surprisingly, deep down, he’s a real Gotta-Catch-‘Em-All kid, but he keeps that desire a secret; does desperately want to study Unowns; courtesy of @volleybuoys, this kid DESPISES the Galar fossil system

Yamaguchi (2006, Sinnoh, Unova, Kalos)

Trainer: Sinnoh: Grotle*

Type Preferences: Bug & Flying

Team: Grotle*, Wobuffet, Surskit, Burmy (Trash Cloak), Sudowoodo*, Delibird, Woobat, Swadloon*, Whirlipede*, Emolga, Pawniard, Ponyta, Heracross, Swablu, Skorupi

Tadashi started his journey in Sinnoh, selecting Turtwig as his new partner, and while Tadashi and Turtwig became fast friends, they struggled when it came to catching new Pokémon and battling; Tadashi quickly became the subject of teasing due to his small roster of Pokémon that lacked highly effective movesets; desperate to prove himself to all those who suspected he was not tough enough to be a trainer—including himself—Tadashi decided that he and his team would travel to Unova; a near-disastrous encounter outside Striaton City led to a fateful meeting with Tsukki, who saved him from a strong and aggressive Watchog (because I think it’s so funny that along that route, there’s level 5 Patrat in BW and level 60 Watchog in BW2); after studying alongside Tsukki at the Trainers’ School, the two took turns defeating the Striaton Gym and decided to continue traveling together to defeat the Nacrene Gym and so on and so forth

Kiyoko (2004, Unova, Kalos)

Trainer: Unova: Samurott**

Type Preferences: Ghost & Psychic

Team: Samurott**, Slowking**, Goldeen, Ariados, Shuckle, Kirlia*, Sableye, Mawile, Tropius, Chimecho, Sigilyph, Gothitelle, Duosion, Frillish, Litwick, Mandibuzz, Drowzee, Axew

Everyone in Kiyoko’s hometown assumed she would be a Breeder or a Coordinator or even move to Kalos to be a Performer because “Oh, you’re so beautiful! I’m sure you’ll do great bringing out the beauty of your Pokémon!” but she got sick of that real quick and said “How about I show you the fierceness of our battle strategies instead?”; so she trains primarily Psychic-types because they either look really weird or their beauty belies their awesome power; came SO, so close to beating the Elite Four in Unova

Yachi (2006, Alola, Kalos)

Trainer: Alola: Popplio

Type Preferences: Psychic & Fairy

Team: Popplio, Exeggutor (Alolan), Ledyba, Spinda, Snorunt, Mime Jr., Sigilyph, Garbodor*, Frillish, Elgyem, Flabébé, Doublade, Spritzee, Pumpkaboo (Average)

I’M GIVING YACHI THE ONLY LEGENDARY INTERACTION OF THE GANG BECAUSE SHE DESERVES IT; so she’s interacted with Cosmog because I want that to be true <3; courtesy of the Island Trial system, Yachi is another kid who excels at creative problem-solving but flounders a bit with battling, so she has a touch of imposter syndrome when it comes to calling herself a Trainer; but while she tends to forget all she knows if she is challenged to battle, she has a great mind for understanding the ins and outs of battle, so she’s coaching Shoyo to help him reach his goals of mastery; she’s evaluating her goals along the way, too, trying to figure out if being a Trainer is the right way for her to find herself

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dragonsarecool · 14 hours

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June of Doom Day 7 - Stumbling

A/N: Rescuing your grandfather is hard enough without having to stop yourself from disappearing. Set during Episode II: Get Tannen.

He thought he'd never experience this sensation again.

And yet, fate seemed to enjoy messing with his sense of security and permanency in the space-time continuum.

It scared him how suddenly it had appeared. He hadn't even been able to finish answering Doc about Einstein's whereabouts when he was forced to drop to his knees, panting as an indescribable - but eerily familiar - pain began rippling through his body. All it took was a look at his translucent hand and he found himself reduced to a hyperventilating wreck, the memories of his near-disappearance in 1955 suddenly rushing back to him. For a moment he was back on stage, the guitar hanging loosely around his neck as he watched his fingers and hand ripple away into oblivion.

The sudden appearance of Office Parker meant that he had no time to properly discuss these memories with Doc, or to even process what the hell he was supposed to do to save his grandfather. Do I stop him from getting jumped in the first place? Do I take him to the hospital?!

That cop just happened to show up right when I needed to talk to Doc the most…

Adrenaline seemed to keep the ripple effect away enough for him to secretly park the Delorean before he collapsed into the steering wheel, bracing his abdomen as his body rapidly flickered. The feeling of how the individual cells in his body were scrubbed away as his physical form faded was already bad enough, but what terrified him more was how he seemed to be disappearing faster than the previous occasion. I had a week with my parents before it started to happen, so why is it different this time?!

Part of him wondered if it had something to do with how much time travel he'd done at this point. The other part of him decided that was a question for another day, and as soon as the latest wave of agony had rolled over, he secured the Delorean before making a beeline for the courthouse.

In peak physical condition he knew he could finish the journey barely breaking a sweat, yet now he found himself having to pause as his body spasmed. At one point he had to curl up underneath a windowsill, a hand firmly pressed against his mouth to stop the home's occupants from hearing his croaky gasps of pain.

When he finally came across the familiar sight of the clock tower, he couldn't stop the weak sigh of relief that left his throat. That was way harder than it should've been. And though he wanted nothing more than to curl up on one of the park benches and regain his breathe, Marty forced his uncooperative (and possibly nonexistent) legs to continue onward.

It was only when he spotted his past self and had to adopt a nearby tree as a hiding spot that he suddenly realised just how weak his body had become in such a short timeframe. A cold dread washed over him when he couldn't pull himself upright; his quads were seemingly locked in a squatting position, his torso trembling violently as he gripped the tree bark. But Grandpa isn't dead yet! What the hell is going on?!

He felt his stomach drop even further as he caught sight of Einstein, the faithful canine bounding away from Past Marty's side as his nose finally detected his hiding spot. "Shit!"

Shit shit no!

If he sees me then I see me and then the whole universe blows up!

At least, I think that's how Doc said it works…

Marty's panicked eyes quickly landed on a fallen twig, and he prayed to every deity that he'd ever heard of that his plan worked. He gritted his teeth as he leaned as far forward as his body would tolerate, the tips of his fingers brushing uselessly against the twig. Come on, move you stupid thing!

Einstein's steps grew steadily louder, as did his panting.

A strained groan left his lips, sweat brewing on his forehead. For God's sake, I should be able to pick up a damn twig!

As if the universe had heard his internal monologue, the thin stick rolled towards him, allowing his trembling fingers to finally grasp it just as Einstein came to a stop. Oh, thank God…

"What's up, Einy? Is it a squirrel?"

SHIT! It's me!

Marty tossed the stick as far as he could from his twisted position, sighing as he heard the telltale pitter-patter of Einstein's paws running across the grass. Please don't bring it back please don't bring it back please don't-

A shrill scream erupted from the far side of the park, and he couldn't help but smile to himself as he realised just where he'd thrown the stick: right at the foot of Edna Strickland, cowering in fear as an aggressive Einstein barked furiously at her. You deserve it, you old bat.

Wait, how did I manage to throw it that far?

"Einstein!" Past Marty shouted, his voice fading as he sprinted past the tree. "Get away from the…uh, nice lady!"

Marty chuckled. "Nice lady, my ass. Now, to get into that courtho-Gahh!"

He found himself doubling over, clutching at - or rather, through - his transparent torso. God, this is getting really annoying.

Without warning his legs finally gave way, the rest of his body tumbling to the ground as his forehead scraped along the side of the tree. He wanted to be relieved, to be reassured that his body wasn't completely screwed at this point; that he hadn't run out of time.

But the suspicious tingling in his extremities did not inspire confidence, nor did the sudden tightness of his chest. Marty sucked in as big a breath as he could, straining to pull his failing body from the ground. I'm so sick of this shit.

Let's go stop another paradox…

#bttf #back to the future #fanfiction #whump #juneofdoom #june of doom 2024

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docholligay · 2 years

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AHahahahaha if I were talking to someone and they started sobbing like this, I’d be like, “Uh, would you like me to respectfully leave and/or kill you, because I know that’s what I would want if I started sobbing in front of three strangers.”

I have never seen this anime and don’t want to be spoiled! Please avoid anything like hinting, correcting, explaining, even if its cultural or otherwise!

#Eight Days 2021 #Doc watches a Place Further than the Universe #APFTU ep 3

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evilphrog · 3 years

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Watching Wheel of Time without reading the books: Episode 5

Wow. Damn. That was a powerful episode. I needed some time to recover before I could write this up. This one hit home for several reasons. Advance warning, this is 4 entire pages long on my google doc, and much less funny than previous ones.

So we start off with the burial scene, which for some reason these people bury their dead about 2 inches below ground level? Why???? Is there an in-universe reason for leaving corpses completely accessible to the local wildlife? Is this some sort of eco-friendly thing? Is the ground too frozen to dig further, even with magic? Are they afraid of digging too deep and accidentally awakening the Dark One? Is that why the Dark One had followers in the mining town? Is his power stronger in places closer to the core of the planet? Did the set designer just think it would look cool on camera? This really broke my immersion, but then I was brought right back in when the guys actually had visibly longer hair after a month of travel. Yes, thank you! But also, this bit of world building confirms that Rand isn’t capable of growing facial hair. Don’t worry, Rand. You’ll get there in time.

The way they could introduce a character halfway through last episode and then dedicate the majority of this episode to his emotional battle, and have me actually care and then be devastated when he died? What fucking brilliant acting, brilliant scriptwriting, brilliant direction, just wow wow wow. Kudos to everyone involved, because I think this is a super rare thing for any TV show. You could see Stepin’s pain reflected in Lan and Moiraine, who we already cared about. But that wasn’t the only reason I cared. He gave such a realistic portrayal of grief in the early days. Just the absolute, shell-shocked numbness, the monotone recitations of his memories that conveyed so much emotion. The way all the other warders came together to support him because he was currently living their worst fear. He was so lost and scared and hopeless. And on the outside, his friends see him start to reach out for support, and think “Hey, he’s getting better.” But it’s just an illusion because the reason he feels better is that he has made his decision.

“Love is usually a bad idea. Still, we allow it to happen, or this life would be intolerable.” And then he kills himself. That isn’t someone who thinks he will never be happy again. That is someone who understands his capacity for healing and moving on, and makes a deliberate choice not to, because he never wants to feel further away from the person he loves. He isn’t scared of losing someone again. He is scared of finding peace and comfort, and that doing so would be a base betrayal. He is choosing not to let himself love again, knowing that it will mean his life is no longer worth living. Grief and loss are done so badly so often in media, but this show really gets what it means to everyone left behind.

Moiraine got a lot more depth in this one. I said to my husband “Oh wow, so Moiraine has a sense of humor. Is that new, or is it just because this is the first time I’ve seen her not actively dying?” He said that was actually the part of the show that had been bothering him most. He thought Moiraine was too serious, and is now relieved to see that was an intentional choice to drive home how badly hurt she was. As a nonreader, that didn’t really translate for me. I just thought she was a doom and gloom type person until now. It’s good to see her a bit more comfortable, even in a setting where she says she is least comfortable. I loved her interactions with Nynaeve juxtaposed with the other Aes Sedai. She may act like she doesn’t pick up on subtext or human emotions at all, but that’s not true. She is just way better at one-on-one interactions than in groups. No wonder she ran away. Her scenes with JK Rowling were so hilarious because JK is just trying her best to give backhanded compliments and keep everything as subtextual threats, and then Moiraine just drops a lead brick through the entire conversation like “You hate men, and my new bff thinks you’re a loser.”

She told the green Aes Sedai who I’m deciding to call Polly (genuinely, Moiraine is the only one I’ve met so far with a unique name. The rest of them were named by someone filling a bag with Scrabble tiles that only contain vowels and the letters N, L, D, and R, and then just drawing at random. I swear at least 4 of them are named Allana.) that she read about a way to break a bond between an Aes Sedai and her warder. That seems like foreshadowing. She and Lan really care about each other. I think that, as much as she wants to spare Lan the pain of potentially losing her, she also wants to spare herself the pain of losing him. Bad news for you though, Moiraine. Breaking your psychic bond won’t break your love for each other. You are going to be devastated either way. As a side note, everyone is saying it’s rare for an Aes Sedai to die before her warder. How long is their life expectancy? Because I have not seen a single woman over 50 here. Do they age more slowly? Are all these ladies actually like a hundred years old? Is this conversation hinting that Moiraine is actually dying? Or is it just that she’s the reckless one of the group, and therefore voted Most Likely to Die Violently in the Aes Sedai yearbook? She and Lan are in tears at the end, and I am wondering if they know something about each other’s fate/health status.

Seeing Lan express his emotions more openly was fantastic. I don’t just mean the screaming at the end. I am not sure whether that was part of the ritual or not, so I’m not counting it. I mean him talking about how he feels, hugging his friends, crying in front of others, etc. He isn’t Mr. Stoic all the time. He just focuses on the task at hand when there is one.

Perrin and Egwene’s arc:

Damn, lots going on there. When Aram led Egwene and Perrin off to run I was scratching my head at how they could possibly not be noticed running through such sparse woods dressed in bright rainbows. Then they were immediately intercepted and I was like "ah, yep. Not a plot hole after all."

Perrin is finally starting to share his thoughts, rather than just asking more questions to get more data/context. And all it took was literal torture. I knew it was coming, but Perrin begging to die because he thinks he deserves it was so sad and hard to watch. I adore Egwene’s ability to absorb all that information in .05 seconds before coming to the response of “No, it wasn’t your fault, and I’m going to make sure you live long enough to believe that.” And Perrin thought she meant she was going to sacrifice herself, but she had a Plan.

I can really see now why Nynaeve thought Egwene would make a good Wisdom. She too gets absolutely feral when she needs to, but has the self-control to turn it on and off as the situation demands. Props to her for learning the lesson of strategic non-truthing right out of the gate.

Egwene: Look at me trying my best to channel this tiny little fireball. I’m so helpless and pathetic. Oh, and I also freed my very pissed off best friend who could easily kill you. Oh, but I am also going to go ahead and be the one to kill you because I know his conscience couldn't handle having to make that decision. And now I have successfully taken care of the problem and am going to take this moment to fall back into panic mode.

And then the Wolf Friends came to the rescue, and I may have scared my husband a bit by gleefully laughing and cheering every time a Whitecloak got brutally torn to shreds. "Haha that's what you fucking get! Go wolf friends!" I typically cry when anyone dies, including villains, so that can tell you a bit about my opinion on the Whitecloaks.

Perrin has clearly been observing and thinking about this mysterious connection to his wolf friends for quite some time, without communicating it. He ran from the wolves with Egwene earlier, but only because she wanted to run. He was still processing and thinking about what it all meant. When he first had his hidden leg wound and the wolves were being so friendly to him, I was a bit worried he was slowly turning into a trolloc. They seem like they could be the type of species that propagates similar to zombies. Get bitten by a trolloc, the trolloc poison turns you slowly into one unless you get treated. But this appears to be a wrong conclusion. The cut was maybe a red herring, and Wolf Friends are just a coincidence? Is he like Aquaman but for wolves? His eyes glow gold when he’s in distress, but it doesn’t seem to unlock any superhuman strength. He’s strong, but just regular “My day job is blacksmith” strong. Is that how he channels the One Power? By psychically shouting for help from all nearby wolves? Does this work on other animals also? Are wolves the only ones we see because he has a special connection to them specifically, or are they just in a place where wolves are the most common species?

Mat and Rand: Dumb and Dumber but with more gay subtext.

Mat may say he has been stealing to try and get home to his family, but I’m now 90% sure he is actually just starting a Cursed Objects collection. Items in the collection so far: demon knife, magic crystal, dog figurine, doll that definitely isn’t possessed. Hard to say which one is affecting him the most right now, but my money is on the knife. He pushed the little kid, and my initial reaction was “Hey, no, Mat would NEVER” but then I realized he is terrified of himself because he thinks he will black out and commit murders. Rand is the only one allowed near him, and I do not think it’s because he trusts himself to not hurt Rand. It’s because he trusts Rand to beat the shit out of him if he tries. His broken little voice as he asks Rand to tell him he wasn’t the murderer, and Rand emphatically assuring him that he saw the Fade kill the family when he in fact did NOT see any such thing just drives home how strong Rand’s loyalty and faith in his friends goes. He knows full well it could have been Mat, but just like Egwene and Perrin, he knows the only possible way Mat would have done it would be if he wasn’t in control of his own body.

When Mat makes Rand promise to kill him if he goes mad, I get the feeling Rand did not realize what he was agreeing to. I think Rand interpreted it as “Keep me sane and protect me from being caught” instead of “Murder me so I don’t end up as a sad caricature of all my worst traits.”

Rand meeting the ogier person, fantastic bit of levity that was desperately needed. Loial reminds me of my grandparents explaining American culture to us. He’s very passionate and excited about learning a new culture, but he’s also a bit condescending, and that leads to gaps in knowledge that have hilarious results. “Oh, you are missing a girl from the Two Rivers? I saw this girl with a braid, she is obviously who you’re looking for!” This is now the second hint at Rand being an Aiel, so I’m wondering about some things. We don’t know too much about his parents at this point.

The reunion with Nynaeve and the boys was so beautiful. Rand is so overjoyed and relieved, and I think a large part of that is “Oh thank the Light, finally there’s an adultier adult. Nynaeve can handle this!” He is not someone who is used to keeping secrets, or being the responsible one in the friend group. Props to him for doing the best he could, and even more props to him for asking for help the second he found someone he could trust.

Watching Nynaeve interact with these kids she grew up with versus the Aes Sedai and the warders is really beautiful. She slips right into Mom Friend mode and provides comfort and support. I am wondering how old she was when Egwene was sick. She tells the story as though she was an adult at the time, but she was 15 tops, maybe younger if she or someone else was lying about her actual age like I suspect. Must have been horrifying for her to watch a close friend nearly die, and I wonder if she unconsciously used her healing super powers for the first time then. Or maybe even consciously. Maybe she knew all along she had that much capability, but either didn’t know how to access it, or was warned not to ever use it because of the risk of burning out or something. Rewatching the end of episode 4, her facial expressions look less like “Holy cow I can’t believe I did this” and more “Oh shit, now things are going to suck forever.”

I adore the way this show portrays healthy platonic relationships. This entire culture seems to be very tactile with displays of affection. Holding hands, hugging, etc. It’s all just the way people show they care. That makes a lot of sense for a world where bisexuality and polyamory are so common. There would be less rigid distinctions between types of affection. Lan and Moiraine aren’t necessarily oddballs for this. Nynaeve and Rand can hold hands. Egwene can hang off Perrin’s arm. Rand and Mat can snuggle at night. Sometimes these are romantic, sometimes they aren’t. It depends on the context. Everything is so structured around community bonds and mutual aid. Men express their feelings and nobody mocks them for it. People ask for help when they need it, and actually expect to receive it because they have consistently received help in the past. It’s basically a giant middle finger to self-sufficiency. I love to see it. I want to live in this world.

Other episode reviews

#wheel of time #wot prime spoilers #nonreader #liveblog #meta #evilphrog reviews

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honeyhenry · 3 years

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Captain Confusion

A/N: Inspired by this video that makes me weep with its cuteness! I just had to write this okay 🥺🥺🥺 This is in the same universe as Homeward Bound, which happens after this story. Feel free to give it a read after this, if you haven’t already! ALSO should note that the lovely @ohmygoodie is my Sy partner in crime and without them this fic would not be made possible :)

Warning: mention of operations/hospitals, and a whole lot of fluff!

It was a simple procedure and so it hadn't worried you too much, other than the usual fears when a loved one is under the knife while in the hands of trained doctors. Sy’s hernia had been authorised for operation only five minutes into the doctor’s appointment you had all but dragged him to, and scheduled for 4 days later. Not really much time to prepare mentally, but you knew it was necessary with your big bear of a man in pain. Despite the painkillers prescribed, he was walking with a limp and groaning in bed for all the wrong reasons.

In the waiting room, you and his Ma kept busy during the 45 minute wait by looking through magazines, talking about how the Captain’s quality of life will improve, and what kind of minor jobs you’ll have him do around the house while he’s recovering as you continue to work.

“I hope the recovery isn’t as long as some people have said. I know for a fact he’ll not want to be cooped up all day. If he’s anything, he’s stubborn” you sigh, knowingly.

Ma smiles, looking at you pointedly, knowing that she is in the presence of the only other soul who knows what is best for her son. “He knows better now that his health is his wealth. He’s got a lot more riding on being well now. After all, it’s not just him he’s gotta be there for anymore.”

“Yeah, I mean I always tell him, he’s not 25 anymore. Or even 30. I’ll need you to back me up, he does anything you say. I’m his equal, you’re his Mom.”

You both laugh a little, hers warm and kind, while yours tinges with the remaining hopeful nerves of an army Captain’s wife. You don’t like not knowing about your Sy, especially since you spent all those years apart, not knowing if he was safe, or even alive. The waiting, in any capacity, is the hardest part.

You’re flipping through a random tabloid magazine, when the surgeon in charge walks through to the waiting room.

“Everything went really well with Captain Syverson. He’s coming to from the anaesthetic and asking for his Ma?”

Ma grins before sucking her teeth between her lips watching as your mouth drops. You both move from the waiting area to follow the surgeon towards where your husband is resting. You speak under your breath, only wanting Sy’s Ma to hear you; “I hope he still remembers how to grovel after this.”

Ma enters the room with you following her, arriving only a couple more corridors along from where you’d last seen him earlier that morning. He may not have asked for you but you were going to see Sy whether he wanted it or not. A grand push of the door allows it to swing open, and suddenly there he is. A little disoriented but has a large dopey smile plastered on his face as soon as he sees his Ma. His heavy head lolls to one side as he rests it on the plush hospital pillow.

“Hey Ma” he groans out as she bends over her large son to give his forehead a kiss, taking his hand in hers. He spends a moment just gazing at her for a while, the love he has for her evident on his face, as she tells him that everything went well, and that he can go home tomorrow.

It’s only after this tender mother and son moment, that he notices you.

“Ma.... why ya bringing a beautiful girl here when I’m like this...oh god I’m not wearing underwear Ma!”

His feeble attempt at trying to cover himself means that you actually end up seeing far more of him than you expected. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but it definitely hasn't happened in front of his own mother before. The whole situation makes you blush and giggle a little as you try your best to avoid eye contact with Ma. You can only imagine the look on her face, and you don’t want to get any more involved with Sy’s naked form than you need to right now.

Rather than put you and your poor Sy through any further embarrassment, Ma speaks up.

“Oh darlin’, this is y/n. You remember her, right?”

And while he’s listening - or at least pretending to listen to his Ma fussing over him again - he’s just staring at you, gazing in awe as if you were the one to hang the stars in the sky.

“You are.... so pretty” he slurs, making you break out a genuine smile that he mirrors, glad that he was the one to make you look even more pretty.

“Well thanks handsome. How do you feel?” you perch on the edge of the bed and hold his hand. To him, the gesture feels warm and inviting - even if he doesn't know you, he recognises something about you in the comfort that you bring.

“Feel like shit. Oh fuck i said ‘shit’ in front of the lady” he whines again, scrunching his eyes closed as hangs his head in shame. It looks like he might even cry with the realisation that he’s made such a foolish impression of himself. It takes Ma shushing him and making him take a sip of juice from his bedside to calm down, dabbing his face with a cloth when his juice spills from his mouth.

“Oh Logan Daniel Syverson...what did they do to ya?” she lightly scolds as she helps clean up the mess he’s unknowingly created around him. That’s your Sy, a hurricane of mess that somehow fits into order just how he likes it.

You giggle a little more at his shameful expression, before he refocuses, giving you his undivided attention once more.

“How is it that ya know my Ma and we’ve never met? Or have we? ‘Cause I think i’d remember a face like yours”

“Well...” you start, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear to let him see your entire face, hoping it would jog his memory. As you do so, the ring on your fourth finger glints in the hospital light, and for the first time since you've entered the room, he’s noticed.

“Oh...man...knew a girl like you would be snatched up already. Whoever has the honour of being yours is a very lucky man.” He smiles softly, a wistful look in his eye, while makes you realise that you can’t wait for the drugs to leave his system, you have to remind him who you are and who he is, right this very moment.

“Sy honey... we’re married. You’re my husband, and I’m your wife. I think the drugs are making you more than a bit loopy.”

It’s his turn for his jaw to drop, his eyes are unblinking as he takes in what you’ve just said. He turns sharply - more than his doctor would have probably liked - to his Ma, and then back to you, and then his Ma again, waiting for one of you to burst out laughing at the prank you surely must be playing on him.

“Wha-? A wife? I have a wife?” you nod and he exhales a deep breath of air in amazement.

“YOU’RE my wife? Really?” you nod again and Ma smiles at you as she watches the scene of Logan meeting you all over again.

“Am I still in the army? I’m a Captain ya know”

“You left just a few months ago. You still work in the local camps, of course. You like it there, and you’re home every night and most weekends.”

“Does Ma like you?” You don’t even get a chance to finish as he turns to his mother “Do you like her? is she nice? Does she like your new kitchen? I built it y’know.”

You knew when you met, dated, and married him, that Sy was a Momma’s boy. He loves his mother so much, that her opinion will always mean the world to him.

Ma nods “You two are the sweetest couple. She’s the best addition to the family, gives you a run for your money alright. She’s my new favourite.” You get a soft hug from her as she says this, with her wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. She’s always felt so grateful that her Logan found you, because my goodness did he love you ferociously, and he needed you in his life. You were the making of him, and the whole Syverson clan will forever be grateful to you for it.

"And where did we get married? If we really are married.” He continues his line of questioning.

“At the ranch, on your family’s land. it was such a special day. We had the reception there too. And we went to Italy for our honeymoon.”

Sy is basking in every word you say, praying it to be true, as if he could will it into existence if it hadn’t already happened, wanting badly to remember sunset kisses and italian food and beach days all spent with you. He perks up at the last thing you say, taken by complete surprise.

“Honeymoon?! Oh my god have we...ya know..?” A blush fades over Sy’s face, and even though you love his Ma, you really wish she wasn’t finding out so many details about your personal life today, like how your son rails you on the regular in many ways, and in many places. He must somehow remember or at least accurately imagine your past endeavours, as he grins like a little shit.

You smack his arm, lightly but with a firm hand.

“Be quiet, or the whole ward will know about our sex life” you threaten. “Yes we’ve had sex. i’d hope so given that we have a kid on the way.”

If Ma had had to deal with her son getting horny over his “new”wife, she was being fully compensated for it as she witnessed him fall head over heels in love with you, all over again.

“A kid?...Tell me ya not messing with me...are we really- I-” he swallows and his tears come even easier than before “We’re havin’ a baby?” With the sudden realisation, he turns to his Ma. “This beautiful woman right here’s havin’ my kid, Ma?” He looks between the two of you again, watching as you both nod and beam from ear to ear.

“You know you cried just as much when i told you for the first time too. i promise when the drugs are out your system it’ll all make sense again.”

Sy smiles, clutching your hand in his warm palm, almost scared to let go as the door is knocked and he feels you might be taken away. Instead, it’s a welcome visitor.

“Hey doc,” Sy greets the man who reenters the room, now freshly out of scrubs to visit his patient - who if anything is now simply love sick, no hernia to be found. “This is my wife, and she’s having a baby.” he looks back to you with a quirk of his eyebrow “My baby?” You roll your eyes and he confirms it; “my baby.”

“Oh, congratulations...again.”

The doctor’s evaluation and explanations don’t take long, and while Sy is being informed, you start rubbing your belly as a form of self-comfort. You will need to remind your child that while their father looks incredibly stern and impossibly large, he is silly and goofy and already loves them with his entire being. Over the course of the afternoon, Sy talks with you while the anaesthetic wears off. It turns out they had given him a pretty high dosage based on his height and muscle mass, so he would be out of action for a couple of hours at least.

“Oh, i have your ring” you pipe up before he starts getting too sleepy again, taking the thick gold band off of the necklace around your neck, placing it on his finger carefully.

“That feels better already” he sighs, as he begins to doze in and out of consciousness. Before he closes his eyes once more to rest peacefully, a small tear slides down his cheek, which you of course, notice. Sy has cried maybe 5 times in the time you’ve known him and three of those times have been in this very room.

“Honey what’s wrong? Are you in pain? i can call the doctor-”

“No i’m fine i’m fine i just-” he sniffs and tries to clear his throat from the sad, heavy pain he feels in his chest. “I’m gonna be real sad when I wake up from this dream. What if I can’t find you when I wake up?”

Oh your sweet, silly man.

“Bear it’s not a dream, I’ll be right here when you get up properly and we can go home and cuddle and I’ll heat up your favourite meal. I’ll be right there with you.”

“And the baby?” he asks, eyes wide. almost nervous to ask.

“Well they have to come too, they're with me. We can look at their pictures again so you can get reacquainted. And Aika will be so happy you’re back. We’ve been gone the whole day.”

“Aika!” your husband perks up, “Oh Aika, man....I love that dog..”

“I know you do bear, you just get some rest for now and then we can go home.”

Before you know it, he’s fallen back to sleep, his mouth wide open as he slumps against his pillow, completely out of it.

It’s dark outside when Sy opens his eyes again, watching as his Ma passes you a small herbal tea in the dimly lit hospital room. Technically visiting hours are over, but no one was going to argue with the Captain’s family. You smile, and he feels like he can finally relax, in your presence

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he growls lowly, and you look up at him from your phone, beaming in surprise, glad that your husband had woken up feeling a bit more like himself.

“Oh hello again” you smile and squeeze his hand, his slow blinking already indicating a much clearer mind, and that he knows exactly who you are.

“Again? What’d I miss?”

“The drugs” he stops you mid-sentence for a sweet kiss, acting as though a minute more without your lips would be the source of his downfall. “Mmmh, the drugs made you so loopy, it was the sweetest thing, Sy.” You grin as he pulls you up beside him on the bed.

He raises his eyebrows, clearly with no recollection of any of the past events. Yet still, he smiles.

“Yeah? How’s baby?” he holds you close to his side, wrapping an arm around your waist so he can cover your tummy with his palm.

“They’re great. Glad to have daddy back and sane.”

You swear that as you say that, he starts tearing up again, this time however he doesn’t let them fall. He was openly weeping earlier, but you won’t tell him that. Not yet.

“Damnit. Must be something in these drugs they got me on.”

“Mm-hmm sure bear.”

You stay close that evening, both curled up on a hospital bed that is already quite a tight fit for your husband alone. But as always, he makes it work. You’re half on top of him, both of you fast asleep, when the nurses come to do their rounds. Ma had left just after he had woken up, sneaking off into the night to let the rest of the family know how her most middle son is keeping after the operation. You’d cuddled and doted on each other until you’d fallen asleep, Sy following not long after as he bid goodnight to you and your precious cargo with a soft kiss to your lips, and protective rub of your stomach.

He counts himself more than lucky to have something so good, that it would pain him to forget. He was living the life that he’d been too scared to ever dream of, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

taglist: @ohmygoodie @michelehansel @la-cey @palaiasaurus64 @sassy-pelican @brandycranby

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#captain syverson x reader #captain syverson #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #dad!syverson #dad!sy #cavillary #my writing #syverson x reader

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teatitty · 2 years

Text

Sparbossa Brainrot Part 9: I Do The Most

Okay so I meant to put this up way earlier but I kept fucking forgetting because I just keep staring at my docs and trying to will myself to write something but alas it isn’t happening. So more pirate gays it is!

Starting off with more divorcee bickering! Everyone present is watching them like a tennis match and it’s the funniest fucking thing to me this is prime time pirate entertainment I bet their divorce was front line gossip for months. On a more serious note though, it amuses me that Barbossa says this despite not seeing Jack for like 10 years post-mutiny. And he’s right, is the thing; Jack does prioritize getting the hell out of dodge rather than seeing a fight through. The only time (up till now at least) that he didn’t was when he was hellbent on killing Barbossa. The things obssession will do to you eh :)

This is the equivalent of if a couple world leaders interrupted a world summit on live TV to have a marital fight btw

I used to quote this a lot growing up. The dramatic zoom in on him is what really makes it

Most everyone in the room agree with him so wholeheartedly and Barbossa is just "I fucking hate every single one of you and I hate him the most"

Ya gotta know the main parts of the Code to know how to bend the rules the way he does so it doesn't surprise me that he's aware of this. Way to up the stakes by calling in your exes dad though. Also makes you wonder when Barbossa read through the Code so thoroughly :3

Universal emotion for when your Dad gets called into school

Gibbs and Barbossa know the dude talking shit is about to be shot

"I'm fucked"

Teague's musical motif is almost identical to Jack's just played slightly "off" in tone (best way I can describe it)

I love that Elizabeth also makes background faces like Will does it’s so much fun

They drop quite a few clues as to Teague and Jack's relation before it’s properly revealed: their appearance, the musical motif, Jack's reaction to Teague being called upon, and now the sea turtles line - which we have, of course, heard Jack use before and was something Will picked up in DMC

Look at Barbossa bowing all pleased with himself. And Jack's just "absolutely not lemme look at this fucking book" and Teague - who definitely knows these two are divorcees - backs up to let him (this acts as another hint to their relation, btw, since Teague allows him to touch the book without permission first)

Chevalle and Teague: nobody will become Pirate King Jack, about to cause chaos:

I WISH I COULD CATCH THE TONGUE CLICK BARBOSSA MAKES HERE IT CRACKS ME UP. Being a long-suffering husband never ends even when you're divorced I guess

The reactions following this are simply sublime. Even Elizabeth and Gibbs are stunned. Barbossa called in Teague to enforce the code and Jack's gonna use that to his advantage for no other reason than to piss off Barbossa honestly

"Aww Hector you called my Dad in to one-up me? Watch this"

Lets just say its a good thing he can't lunge for Jack right now

Isn't it sweet that he gives Elizabeth a nod of pride and approval?

He looks like a wet cat here lol

Teague's words here, I think, are what ultimately cause Jack to save Will's life in the end. Because as much as he acts the part of being aloof and uncaring he really wouldn't be able to live with himself if he let Will die. He likes the kid too much

The crew: raucous battle cries Barbossa: now how can I use this to free Calypso

Jack is the first to notice the size of the armada

EVERYONE TURNING TO BLAME JACK BECAUSE HE'S THE ONE WHO MADE ELIZABETH KING LMAO

Obviously it's extremely badass for Elizabeth to have these two on either side of her acting as guards and helpful liasons but Jack is placing himself away from Barbossa for strategic reasons because he does, in fact, plan on being bargained away himself which was a big part of why he voted Elizabeth for King and Barbossa can't immediately throttle him for it like this lol

Barbossa is stepping further forward in this shot, putting him in front of the other two, and Jack is also moving faster than Elizabeth - given they have a lot more experience than her in such affairs it makes sense they would be in front of her as they walk so they can react quicker

Took me a couple of attempts to get this but our boys are near perfectly in time with their steps and even plant their feet the exact same way, widening their stances, where Elizabeth keeps hers closer together, because she is still a woman from high class and you can't get rid of those traits just by knowing pirates for a year

Barbossa is the first to roll his head lazily over to Jack's direction, whereas Elizabeth is more of a quick snap. It took her a second or two longer than Barbossa - who immediately got Beckett's meaning - to catch up with what was being said which is why her head snaps so hard to the side in comparison to Barbossa's seething roll

Will basically outright acknowledging that he's been following Jack's lead on this ever since their talk on The Pearl before Jack had him fall overboard is a nice way to show that the lengths he's willing to go to achieve his ends

Beckett revealing he is in possession of Jack's compass is the only thing Barbossa needs to connect the dots here and figure out what Jack's trying to do. This is around the moment you see him decide to just cut the Piece of Eight off himself the second he gets the chance

Barbossa being set off the side from this trio shows that, while Elizabeth is mainly focused on Jack's involvment with Will, Barbossa himself is analysing the bigger play going on behind the scenes

Elizabeth finally catches up to what Jack's plan is the moment Davy mentions the debt and thus this is why she is so quick to bargain Jack. Will himself even offers her a sly smirk when he sees that recognition. Willzabeth parallel Sparbossa with the wordless convo that passes between them here

Barbossa's attention is, as we've seen many times now, completely focused on Jack but he does do a rapidfire double take that is too quick for me to catch when Elizabeth "proposes an exchange"

While he was trying to analyse whatever the fuck Jack was planning, ultimately he ended up being a step behind because he was so focused on Jack that he failed to see the microexpressions passing between Willzabeth. Neat parallels to when Willzabeth were so focused on eachother in BP they never took notice of what Sparbossa were doing

Now obviously Jack is playing up that he is "against" this ploy buuuut he can't resist giving Barbossa a smug smirk anyways before turning his attention back to Elizabeth which

Leads us to this (notice how Jack's positioning when he bowed means his bow was meant to be a mocking gesture to Barbossa rather than a respectful one to Elizabeth) and I can't help but feel that this was a personal revenge for when Jack cut his hat feather back in BP

Naturally, because this is an ongoing 10D chess game where everyone around them are the pieces on the board and Sparbossa are the players, Jack's smugness doesn't last for long once his Piece is taken from him but what we do get

Is whatever the fuck kinda tension and foreplay they got going on here now that they're back on even ground again (for real though can you back up a bit fellas because you'd be in kissing distance if Jack leant forward even a little good god there's bystanders present)

Bonus live Will reaction to the above

Genuinely I think Will's face here is him going "what the fuck is up with you two" and Jack's answering reply is basically ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

Doesn't fear it enough to abandon Will though! You could do a whole separate meta about how Jack's loyalty runs deep once given but alas I'm not here for that

Elizabeth and Inigo Montoya would be friends I think. Also look at Barbossa watching his fledgling threatening a man they grow up so fast :')

Now that Will has proven himself to be as shrewd a man as Jack himself, Barbossa gives him a mean, distrustful look as he turns to follow Elizabeth and even takes extra steps to back himself up so he's standing in front of Will to give him The Full Stare before walking past him. It's about the theatrics it's about the drama

Elizabeth is now leading because she's fully embraced being the King whereas before she was walking side by side with Jack and Barbossa but her steps were a little behind their own. And now Will is walking in Jack's place so symbolically he is no longer Jack's "pupil" you could say (there's a reason I'm not saying the same for Elizabeth yet I'm waiting for a specific moment to happen shhh)

Barbossa may have gotten what he wanted from Jack but he is pissed about not having Jack himself here and even turns to throw one last near-snarl in Jack's direction. Kinda funny how both him and Beckett want Jack in this movie. Food for thought on that one, eh?

Remember in the past when Jack said he tells the truth quite often but people never believe him? I think that's applicable here actually. A lot of the time he does genuinely know what he's doing it's just that his thought process is so crazy to an outside perspective (barring Barbossa's of course) it's easy to see him as a lucky idiot instead of a fucking genius

Love the little detail here where you can see exactly where Barbossa cut his bandana to get the Piece of Eight just like how Barbossa's hat is still missing the big Ostrich feather that Jack cut back in the first movie

Barbossa has kept himself in boiling silence this whole time and only speaks again when Elizabeth mentions using The Pearl as a flagship. Course by this point his crew have begun bringing Tia Dalma to the deck for The Ritual (this also means that at some point on the way back he overtook Willzabeth and marched to The Pearl by himself)

There's a sharp head turn when Will speaks up but his anger doesn't truly spike until Jack is mentioned. Hell hath no fury like a divorcee scorned

Jack seeks immortality because he fears death and though it is never outright stated like it was with Jack this scene tells us why Barbossa seeks the same thing:

#potc #meta post #long post #only one part left to post and then I'm DONE #the longest investment of my life

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works-of-fanfiction · 3 years

Text

“He’s the Best.” - 90s!Graham Coxon x Reader

Summary: Graham struggles with his self-esteem within the band and the reader tries to cheer him up.

Requested by: Anon. I hope you like this <3

Warnings: Swearing (literally once).

Word Count: 3.3k - a bit of a longer oneshot from me! I didn’t mean for it to be this long.

A/N: I’ve been writing this and putting it off for days because I just don’t know if I like it, but I don’t want to restart it. Argh… I hope someone enjoys this cheese fest.

* Gif credits to the linked creator

_______________

No one in this life is born ‘better’ than anybody else. It’s not a competition or a game of comparison. Every single human on this planet has their own unique qualities that make them interesting and most importantly, worthy. However, humans sadly aren’t wired to see those qualities in themselves. They spend the majority of their lives obsessing over others; wondering if they’re as talented as the next man, or if they’ll ever look as good as whatshername. Sometimes, it gets to a point where even the deepest of friendships can become strained due to one or more parties comparing themselves to another’s achievements.

And seeing Graham go through exactly that, has been killing me. There was a time when everything Graham and Damon did together, was truly that - together. Every single melody, riff, lyric - it was theirs. Neither one did more work than the other, neither was more musically talented. They were both kids crammed inside a Portakabin with their very first instruments, strumming and plucking and making probably rather bothersome noise. They had no idea what was to become of their lunchtime jam sessions and after school practices. Both were just excited to have a friend that liked the same things as them, and enjoyed the noise the other was making.

But Graham has since become a shadow of who he once was around Damon - he’s become Damon’s shadow. Or so he thinks.

Being in a band with a boisterous frontman like Damon was bound to become hard work for the other members at one point or another, but I never thought it would affect Graham like this. It’s getting harder to communicate with him, and I know it’s not his fault but I’m running out of things to say to fill the silences. There’s only so many times I can ask if he wants a cup of tea, or tell him about the encounter I had at the bus stop earlier that day. I’m sick of hearing my own voice, so I can’t imagine how he must feel. The silence seems to be the only thing he wants; he doesn’t write anymore, he hardly plays guitar outside of work commitments, and he hasn’t picked up his sketchbook in weeks. He just seems to stare at the TV or sit on the sofa with his head buried in a book that’s stuck on the first chapter. I watched him the other day and in forty-five minutes, he turned the page once. I bet if I asked him about the story he wouldn’t be able to recall a single character’s name, never mind the plot.

Watching him struggle with his self-esteem is crushing, and I don’t want him to live another second feeling the way he does. I know it may take a while for him to find himself again, but if I can do anything to help move things along, it’s worth a try. I’d drop everything for Graham in a heartbeat.

“I dropped those music stands off today. Did you get them?” Dave asks, his voice a little crackly on the other end of the phone.

“I did, thank you!” I chime, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I assemble the very same stands.

“Oh, good. I was a little worried about leaving them outside. I thought somebody would take them… What do you need them for anyway?”

“That’s something for me to know and you to find out, Dave.” I laugh, tightening one last knob on the second stand and straightening it out. I stand back and admire my handy work, smiling at the prospect of what they are to become.

“Alright, alright. Well, I hope they come in handy! I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks again. See you next week!”

We both hang up and I grab the stands, climbing up the stairs and into the spare room, placing them in their desired places. Grabbing two pieces of sheet music, I slot them onto the stands neatly and adjust them until they’re perfect. With one last thing to check, I turn on the projector I borrowed from an old university friend and let the film play out on the blank wall opposite. I mess with the sound a little, making sure it’s loud enough before rewinding the footage to the beginning and turning it off until later.

Standing in the middle of the room, I turn around and admire everything on the walls. Everything from lyrics to old album art concepts, to still life paintings from Graham’s time at Goldsmith’s. Beside the music stands, there’s crates filled with records, decorated with lyrics scribbled onto scraps of paper, some in Graham’s handwriting and others in mine. I of course, couldn’t resist writing them out in various colours and covering them in star-shaped stickers. The finishing touch is a large beanbag against the wall for us to sit and watch the projector from. I fluff up the beanbag for the thousandth time before heading downstairs to wait for Graham to get back.

It takes around two hours for Graham to arrive home. As soon as I hear his taxi pull up outside, I jump up from the sofa and head into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. Nerves bubble through me as I anticipate his entry. It’s impossible to predict how Graham’s going to be feeling on any given day. He could come through the door and speak to me as normal, or he could disappear into his studio until he’s tired enough to head to bed. Through the rumbling of the kettle I listen out for the door, fingers impatiently tapping on the counter as my gaze fixates on a magpie outside, shakily balancing on the washing line. A second joins it and I smile, muscle memory taking over as I pour the boiled water into two cups, not taking my eyes off of the birds.

“Hi.” Graham’s voice peeps behind me. Putting the kettle down, I turn around with a warm smile on my face. Despite everything Graham has been going through, seeing him come through that door every day is still my favourite sight. Having him come home to me will simply never get old. I don’t know what I’ll do when he has to go out on tour again in a few months.

“Hey.” I breathe, the sides of my face already beginning to feel sore from the ridiculous grin stuck on it. He smiles back, the expression not quite reaching his eyes but I know he means well. He’s trying. “You go and sit down. I’ll bring these in.” I gesture to the brewing teas on the counter and he nods, hanging his bag on the nearest kitchen chair and leaving the room without another word. I finish the drinks as quickly as possible, grabbing the stack of takeaway menus from the junk drawer and bringing them with me, the pieces of paper clamped between my teeth as I concentrate on carrying the two steaming hot cups in my hands.

Setting the cups down on the coffee table, I toss the menus onto the sofa next to where Graham is very aggressively, trying to pull his Docs off. “Need a little help?” I ask, laughing as I kneel down and bat his hands out of the way. “It would help if you untied them.”

“It’s easier to leave them tied.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, gesturing to his feet still stuck in the cherry red boots. The laces are a complete mess with three bulky knots in them. I sit down cross-legged on the carpet, carefully plucking and unravelling each knot whilst Graham buries his head in the takeaway menus. “How do you even - “ I struggle, pulling at the frayed shoelace whilst trying not to damage it further, “- get these things on?” With one last tug, the first lace loosens and I’m able to slide the boot off with ease. Graham’s face pops out from behind the menu, a side-smile plastered onto his lips and a cheeky glint in his eyes. I know he wants to laugh.

“Shall we get Indian tonight?” He changes the subject, flipping over the tatty piece of bright orange paper as he squints at the options. He always orders the same thing, yet still insists on reading the whole menu front to back. He does it for every restaurant.

“Indian sounds good.” I nod, pulling the second boot off and shoving them to the side. “I’ll call them now.” Jumping up to grab the phone, I type the number in from memory and hold it up to my ear.

“What’s the rush?” Graham mouths and I hush him when somebody answers. I order the usual along with some extras and give them our address, despite them not even really needing it anymore. The phone call is no longer than a minute and Graham sits staring at me, nose scrunched in confusion. “Are you going to tell me what’s going - “

“Follow me.” I blurt out, stretching my arm towards him and rising onto my tiptoes out of excitement. He stands slowly, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it on the sofa. “I was going to wait until we’d had our food, but I have to show you now.”

“Show me what?” He asks as I grab his wrist and drag him up the stairs. We squeeze up the narrow staircase, almost tripping each other over a couple times until we stop on the landing, feet overlapping one another’s on the small square of carpet.

“I know you haven’t really been yourself lately.” I start, my fingers slipping from Graham’s wrist to entwine with his. He looks down, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes watch our hands as I lightly stroke the back of his thumb in an attempt to relax him. He has a habit of tensing up whenever I broach the subject. “So I wanted to remind you just how great you are.”

I watch his face intently, the corners of his mouth twitching and trying to smile. With my free hand, I open the door and flick the light on, pulling Graham into the room with me. His hand slips from my grasp and I back up to stand against the wall, watching as he takes in the room around him and everything in it.

He walks to the music stands first, fingers tracing the notes on the pages, flipping them over then back again. He walks towards the canvas on the back wall - a woodland painting he’d won a prize for back in college - running his hand over the textured patch of paint that forms the trees. I nervously bite the back of my thumb as he kneels down to sift through the records in the large black case below, flicking through every Blur album and single released to this day. My favourite lyrics are scattered on sheets of paper all over the ground, and he picks up the second verse from Coffee & TV. “You’ve always loved this one.” He says, turning to me and smiling.

“I happen to really like the guy who sings it.”

“He must be pretty good then.”

“Oh, he’s the best.” Resting my foot against the wall, I kick my body forward and stand straight, joining Graham beside the projector.

“What’s this for?” He asks, hands hovering near the buttons but not daring to touch anything. I take his hands in mine and give them a loving squeeze.

“Sit down and I’ll show you.” I chirp and he sinks down onto the beanbag. I mess with the projector until the sound starts to creep in, stretching over to switch off the light. Graham shuffles to the side to make some room for me on the beanbag and I flop down beside him, nestling into his side.

The image from the projector is surprisingly clear against the wall, although could’ve been improved had I borrowed a screen from somewhere. A variety of different clips play out in front of us, ranging from Graham performing onstage to snippets of his band members talking and praising their guitarist. I try my hardest to focus on the film in front of me, but I can’t help glancing over at Graham to see his reactions. His brows are furrowed, but not necessarily in a bad way - he’s focused, fully concentrating on everything he’s seeing and hearing.

I fidget with my hands, twiddling my thumbs and quietly cracking my knuckles. Graham notices this and grabs my left hand, squeezing it tightly and bringing it over to rest in his lap. Laying my head on his shoulder, I press a kiss onto his sleeve, rubbing my head against him and breathing in his familiar scent. He lays his head on top of mine, but never looks away from the video playing on the wall. Absentmindedly, his fingertips dance on the back of my hand, the drumming following the beat of Song 2 as it plays from the projector. I too can’t help bopping along to the beat, my foot tapping softly on the carpet.

The video closes with one final clip, a message I recorded for Graham. Too embarrassed to watch myself, my focus stays on him as I squeeze his hand a little tighter and snuggle up as close as possible. The picture begins to fade and the sound plays out until there’s no footage left, and the whirring of the projector becomes background noise in the room. Graham doesn’t say anything at first, but as I try to stand to turn the projector off, he pulls me back down onto the beanbag and rotates his body to face mine.

“Hey.” I whisper, my right hand supporting his cheek as he leans into me, his eyes closed and lips pressed into a line. Our bodies slot into one another’s on the beanbag, the very little space between us growing warmer by the second.

Graham releases a deep breath, his eyes slowly opening again with a small smile spreading across his face. It’s hard to see him properly in the dimly lit room, but I could never mistake those big brown eyes staring at me. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” He says, his voice low as he leans in close to speak like we’re the only two people who matter inside a crowded room.

“I wanted to show you how incredible you are. You’ve been so hard on yourself and I just - “ As I speak, tears start to well up in my eyes and I look up to the ceiling to try and stop them from falling. I’d already told myself earlier that I wouldn’t cry, because I don’t want Graham to think he’s upset me. I press at my eyes lightly with my fingertips in an attempt to push the tears away. “I can’t stand seeing you this way because you don’t deserve to feel like this. If it wasn’t for you, Blur wouldn’t exist! Everything you’ve all achieved wouldn’t have happened.” My voice begins to shake and I feel Graham’s hand on my arm, rubbing it gently to try and calm me down.

“Y/N.” He starts, before reaching up to turn on the light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, before my gaze falls to the ground to avoid his. If I look at him properly, I know I’ll start bawling. “Look at me. Please.”

“I can’t. I can’t because I’ll cry, and then you’ll get upset and I don’t want to make you feel any worse than wha - “

“You won’t upset me. Y/N, I’m sorry I’ve - “

“No, Graham. Don’t apologise.” I grip onto his shirt tightly, my fingers tangling in the fabric. Graham bows his head and nudges it against mine, edging closer until he pushes my head up with his and our noses are almost touching. We both open our eyes, our faces too close that my vision is distorted and I’m seeing double. I pull back, sniffling once and dabbing at my eyes again, still not allowing any tears to actually emerge.

“I’m sorry,“ he starts and I sigh at his words, but he hushes me by holding his finger up to my face, “for putting you through this. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t realise how it was making you feel.”

“Graham, this isn’t about me.”

“But it affects you. Bloody hell, if I had to live with this miserable twat - “ he points to himself and I scoff, slapping the back of his hand playfully. “ - I’d have given up by now.”

“I would never give up on you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. Graham goes silent again, staring down at our joined hands and moving his thumbs around. I nudge his head with mine in the same way he did previously and he sniffles, his chest rising and immediately falling again. “Graham?” I bring my hand to his chin and push his face up to find his eyes watery, and cheeks significantly more red compared to a moment ago.

“God, look at me. What the hell are you still doing with me, ay? I’m a bleeding mess.” He sniffs, roughly wiping tears off of his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Because I wouldn’t want to be with anybody else.”

“Not even - “

“Ah! Stop right there. There’ll be no more of that.” I take his hands away from his face, holding onto them loosely. “Graham Coxon, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. And I’ll give you a free pass to slap me silly for being so cheesy.” I laugh, his grip on my hands tightening as he awkwardly slides closer on the beanbag, his body sinking into it at a strange angle and pulling me with him. “I love you.”

Within a second, Graham’s hands are on both sides of my face, pulling me in for a kiss; the kind of kiss that feels like the person is pouring their entire heart out to you. Like the kiss between the main characters of a movie, when they’ve just ran across a field or a busy road to collide with another at the centre. His lips messily press against mine and I can feel the stray tears running down his face as they dampen my cheeks. My hands rest on his legs, holding on firmly as his thumbs dig into my face a little. It doesn’t hurt, but he soon pulls away and swipes at my face softly as if to apologise for it. He uses his sleeve to dry my face and I do the same for him, small gasps of laughter exchanging between us.

“Thank you for doing this. If you can’t tell, I really love it.” He says sincerely with a genuine smile, the biggest smile I’ve seen from him in weeks. The expression is infectious and I can’t help mimicking him as I grin back like the Cheshire Cat. The faint sound of knocking from downstairs pulls us out of our romance film-esque daydream and we both clamber to our feet.

As we approach the stairs, Graham stops and spins me around, pulling me into him. I land against his chest with a huff, before adjusting my hair and looking up at him. “After we eat, can you show me the film again?” He asks, his hand meeting mine to help me fix the loose hairs falling in my eyes.

“We can watch it as many times as you like.”

#graham coxon #graham coxon x reader #oneshot #blur #request #anon request

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theaxolotlkween · 3 years

Text

Corn Maze

Disclaimer: Writer has never been to a corn maze

You didn’t think that your detour would be worth it. But it was a decent amount of autumny, Halloween-y fun. You hadn’t been to a corn maze since you were younger, or so you think. The experience was too familiar and nostalgic for you to have not been at least once. You exit the maze and walk up to the farmer who runs the place. You hand him a crisp $5.

“You already paid your due,” the farmer insists, trying to shove the bill back into your hand.

“No, no, I wanted to tip that one actor. They really frightened me! And it doesn’t seem like you get many visitors here anyway.” You say. The farmer visibly pales, his pupils constrict. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his waxy face.

“We don’t have any actors here.” He says, holding the dollar out to you. You awkwardly laugh at first. He’s got to be joking, right?

But the look in the farmer’s eyes is serious. Dead serious. You shakily take back the dollar, shoving it back into your pocket. Your doc martens crunch on the gravel as you make your way to the car, and you pull your thick, sherpa-lined flannel jacket closer to you. Night is falling now. You get into your car and give one last sheepish wave to the farmer. He just grimly stares at you, not waving back. Not moving at all. You swear he’s not even breathing. You jam the keys into your car, starting the engine and driving away.

You tell your roommates about the interesting corn maze you went to, leaving out the eerie experience you had at the end. One of your roommates pulls out their phone.

“What’s the name of the farm?” They ask you. You can’t remember.

“It was down the back road. The one that goes to the university.” You answer. How can you not remember the name of the farm? You drive past it almost every day, going to and from your classes.

Your roommates look at you suspiciously. The one with the phone out looks along the road in Google Maps.

“There’s nothing there that says that there’s a corn maze open.” They announce. You blink, bewildered.

“Are you sure? There should be a farm along the road.” You say. Your roommate shakes their head.

“No, nothing.” They conclude.

Neither you or your roommates talk about it for the rest of the evening, opting to watch Hocus Pocus. You laugh and point out the cheesiness with them. But you know that they’re all thinking about what you said. You’re thinking about it too.

The next day, you try to put the corn field out of your mind as you drive to your morning classes, avoiding even looking at the farm. You go throughout your day normally, as if nothing was wrong. But thoughts about the corn maze hums in the back of your brain, drawing you back.

As you drive back home, you pull up into the farm’s parking lot again, looking for answers. It’s the same farm, but you notice things you haven’t before.

The wood on the house and barn is bloated and rotting. The painted signs advertising pumpkin picking and the corn maze are so worn that you can barely read what they’re for. The maze itself is nothing more than dry, withered stalks. You see the farmer in the distance in what you think used to be the pumpkin patch. You walk over to him.

“Sir?” You ask as you walk up to him. He doesn’t answer. You approach further.

“Sir!” You say again, but your jaw drops. The farmer is a withered corpse, propped up like a scarecrow. You want to scream but your throat tightens as you freeze. Out of the corner of your eye, you see something, tall and shadowy, stumbling where the corn maze used to be. Husky, ragged breathing rings in your ears.

You sprint to your car.

#halloween #short horror story #corn maze

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kiki-shortsnout · 3 years

Note

Intimacy prompt 34 and 37 for IronStrange pleaze?.

Oh I think Have I Ever is my favorite work of yours in intimacy because there's no way those 2 will get together without being dramatic first haha XD

Hey! Thank you for the ask, and thank you for the compliment, I'm happy you're enjoying these prompts!

Whew! I'm making some progress on these prompts!

***

‘Do you regret it?’

Tony pulled up his sunglasses so he could give him the full effect of his unimpressed stare.

‘Am I supposed to pluck the context out of thin air, Strange? Regret what?’ he asked, flicking his sunglasses back into place, and sinking his feet further into the scorching sand. He heard the breath leaving the wizard’s lungs as he sat up on the blanket, the shift of bare skin across the fibers of it.

‘No, because you know exactly what I’m talking about.’

Groaning dramatically, Tony flung his arms out behind him to support his weight as he leant back, palms stinging from the heat of the sand, glorious, smoldering heat. He didn’t answer straight away, keeping his gaze locked on Morgan leaping through the frothy waves, Peter a few seconds behind her, just as excited.

‘No. No, I don’t regret it.’

His divorce with Pepper wasn’t something he liked to talk about, but their relationship was well past the point of idle chitchat. Hours wedged together on an alien spaceship would do that. They’d stared at death incarnate together, had given everything they could to stop Thanos, and that formed a connection between people, regardless of their backgrounds.

Magical or not.

Tony sat up, inching closer to the shade Stephen had refused to leave the whole time they’d been at Malibu, and taking a moment to eye up his milky white skin. The man looked like he could get sunburnt in the shade. Using magic to tilt the umbrella so Tony could share, Stephen scooped up the seashells Morgan had found earlier, gleaming treasure she had entrusted him with their safekeeping.

It made him smile, how seriously Stephen treated her, and it made an unusual sensation stir in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time, not since he’d first started dating Pepper.

‘I think she loved the idea of me, what I could be, what I would’ve been if not for Iron Man,’ Tony said suddenly, watching his kids screech as the Cloak chased after them, shaking water from its fabric, indicating it’d been dunked in saltwater.

‘I wanted to be that man for her, I really did, and she’s still one of the most important people to me, not because she’s the mother of my child, but because I love her. I always will, just not in the way she deserves.’

‘Tony, this wasn’t an excuse for you to start tearing your self-esteem into ribbons,’ Stephen scolded.

‘I’m not, I’m answering your question. I knew, we both knew as soon as I leapt aboard the alien doughnut that it was over. We tried to work past it, all of us left behind in the five years you guys were gone tried to cobble our lives back together, but it…’ Tony sighed, scooping up a handful of sand and gazing at the millions of sun-kissed gems, fragments that created a whole.

‘I get it, I suppose it’s hard to love a hero, it’s hard to understand…unless you’re one yourself.’

‘I don’t blame her for wanting me to give up Iron Man, I get it, I just…couldn’t. I tried, but as soon as you came to me about Thanos, I knew I had to go…I didn’t stop to think about how it might affect her, jumping on another suicide mission.’

Tony reached over Stephen’s ridiculously long legs to reach his can of lemonade he’d left there earlier, grimacing at the warmth of the liquid, but grateful for the way it soothed his dry throat.

‘What about you, asshole, you got a special lady?’ Tony asked, deflecting the conversation.

‘Nope, no special someone,’ Stephen stressed the last part, watching the kids in the water and inhaling deeply.

Now that Tony didn’t know. He should’ve really, after the flirty little wink he’d given when they’d first met, but Tony had chalked that up to the man showing off his impressive skills. Tony wasn’t arrogant enough that he couldn’t admit Stephen had an extraordinary repertoire of skills, and the man could fight…but he didn’t have to verbalize it.

Strange had a big enough head already.

‘You were right, this…this was needed,’ Stephen said, waving a hand at the beach, indicating the this. Tony was distracted by the tremble in his fingers, the slender scars across his fingers and the back of his hands, revealing the trauma, the pain he must have felt having pins in his bones.

He could understand that, the story scars left behind, the proof of their hubris.

‘Well, I promised you both, didn’t I? Once we got back to Earth and everyone was saved, we were going to have a holiday. No outer space travels, no insane alien overlords trying to destroy us. Just us, the sun, sea and warm lemonade,’ Tony held his up in a toast, grinning as Stephen grabbed his own can and clinked the side of it.

Morgan had stopped running in the sea and was now digging a hole in the sand with her bare hands, watching as the tide came in and filled it, trying to create a moat of sorts. Lifting her head, Tony watched the briny breeze tease her salt-crusted tangles away from her face. His love for her startled him at times, how he could love another being as much as this. He loved Peter too, the kid had been his driving force to discover the trick behind time travel, and he’d risked everything to bring him home.

Thinking about them both made other feelings surface too, black oozing things that he tried to suppress, negative feelings about why his own father couldn’t have felt the same, if one day he would treat Morgan and Peter with the same cold-hearted disregard.

‘Tony, hey douchebag, you alright?’

The sun overhead burnt his gaze gold as he lifted his eyes, leaving him dazed and blinking back tears.

‘Yeah, sorry, I’m good.’

‘You drifted away there…anything you want to talk about?’ Stephen asked, his tone careful, trying not to probe.

‘Nah, Doc, just my daddy issues rearing their ugly head again.’

Stephen looked at him then, his aquamarine eyes glowing from the sun’s reflection, and Tony felt like his gaze was burning back the layers he swathed himself in, piercing his body and reading his mind. He couldn’t explain it, but he’d always had the sense Stephen knew more than what he revealed, that he could see things in the fabric of the universe that Tony was blind to.

Fourteen million futures, each a glimpse of a possibility, how many more of them were out there? What else had Stephen seen?

‘Tony, you’re a wonderful parent,’ Stephen argued.

‘How would you know!’ He regretted the snap, knowing it was part of his self-defense mechanism, but Stephen didn’t know him that well yet to recognize it for what it was, and he opened his mouth to apologize when he suddenly found a trembling hand across his mouth.

‘Because I’ve watched you with them. I saw you with Peter on the ship, the sheer horror in your eyes when you thought you’d brought him to his death, I could literally hear your brain trying to think of a way to send him home. With Morgan, Tony, you worship the ground she walks on, you’re caring, attentive…’ Stephen trailed off, a slight redness to his cheeks as he let his hand fall.

Tony went to warn him that he was burning from the sun when he caught sight of Stephen’s gaze fixed on his lips. Feeling daunting, he let the tip of his tongue come out to wet his bottom lip, suppressing his laugh when he saw Stephen’s blush deepen, his gaze turning back towards the sea.

He could do one of two things here. Ignore what had just happened and go back to the carefree attitude they were enjoying at the beach, or address the issue and explore the possibilities of what it could mean for them. Despite how quickly his brain tended to work, the way it could create possible scenarios and see them through in order for him to select the best one, Tony found himself hesitating.

‘When you said it’s hard to love a hero…were you referring to yourself?’ Tony asked.

Stephen didn’t answer for a moment, his gaze now on the Cloak shielding the kids from the worst of the sunshine, its collar dipping down as it tried to examine the castle Peter was building beside Morgan’s moat.

‘It’s not hard to love you,’ Stephen answered, his words nearly lost in the breeze.

‘I’ll have you know it’s near impossible to love me,’ Tony joked, his mouth moving faster than his brain. ‘I’m a mess, I forget about people when I’m inventing, I’ll always put the safety of Earth before my partner-’

Stephen’s mouth on his made his ramblings stop, the touch of shaking fingers on his jaw felt like wind brushing over sunburnt skin, blistering and soothing in equal measure.

‘It’s because of those things that I like you,’ Stephen murmured against his lips. ‘It’s not the idea of you I love, Tony Stark, I know who you are. Fourteen million versions of you.’

Despite the surprise he felt at this revelation, the clench in his gut from the anticipation of what this could mean, Tony smiled against his lips, leaning closer.

‘Sorry I didn’t ask,’ Stephen whispered across his mouth. ‘Can I kiss you again, Tony?’ His free hand covered Tony’s on the sand as the other continued to sweep across his jawbone, down to his throat and back again.

‘I could be persuaded,’ Tony agreed with a laugh, pretending to fight off Stephen’s tongue invading his mouth, falling back to the ground dramatically. ‘Why, Doctor Strange, I didn’t know you had it in you!’ he mock gasped, wriggling away from Stephen’s lunge, and getting to his feet as he scrambled down to the water.

‘Prepare to eat seawater, Stark,’ Stephen growled from behind him, giving chase.

He’d never seen himself in this position five years ago, hadn’t been able to see past the frigid metal walls of the doughnut ship as he hurtled forward on his suicide mission, but he was glad events had led him here. Looking over his shoulder at Stephen’s skin gleaming in the light as he pelted after Tony on the beach, he screamed for Morgan to save him, cackling as she ordered the Cloak to stop the Sorcerer Supreme.

This wasn’t where he saw his life at all, divorced, a beautiful daughter, an all but adopted mutant child, a sentient Cloak and a potential wizard boyfriend, but he was happy.

For the first time in years, he could say with complete honesty that he was content with his life.

#ironstrange #Fanfiction #anon ask #thanks anon!#thanks for the ask!

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thothouse · 2 years

Text

Marigold - Cliff/F!Reader

All credits for Cliff go to @yandere-flower

Warnings: This is Cliff when he's had to work for it, so EXTREMELY dubious consent. Also, dirty talk.

Words: 5k+

Links: AO3

Summary: You were two credits short of a full semester and absolutely, irrevocably, fucked.

You were two credits short of a full semester and absolutely, irrevocably, fucked.

“Yes, yes, I understand,” you say to the utterly unsympathetic woman on the other end of the phone, “There was just a last minute cancellation, it’s not like I didn’t sign up—Yes, I know I was supposed to have a backup class, that backup got canceled too, so—The other backup. The backup’s backup. I didn’t have time to talk to that professor at office hours, I had to take my finals. I know. Yes, I know, you’re not allowed to make exceptions. I know this is a prestigious scholarship. Yes, I know there’s a waiting list but I’ve been in this program for two whole years, can’t I just get just one goddamn break—“

Your answer came in the form of a dial tone.

Well.

You placed the old-school landline phone back in its receiver and started massaging your temples. Two credits. You just needed two credits. You’d already scoured all the courses the university had and the few that were available conflicted heavily with your part time job. Anything left conflicted with your second part time job.

Taking out your crappy smartphone, you held it up to see if there were any response emails from the listserv’s worth of professors you’d contacted. Taking an independent study course could could get you out of this, but you needed an advisor for it. And yours decided this was the year for a sabbatical. Figures.

No signal. You pursed your lips and moved to stand on the couch arm. No signal. Balancing on a foot, you leaned forward and held the ‘X-phone' knockoff to the highest corner you could reach and hoped the laundromat hadn’t changed their wifi password. Again.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” you muttered, swaying in place. One signal bar, flickering in and out. A little further…two! Two whole bars! Feeling oddly like the Count from Sesame Street, you slowly breathed out and watched the notifications flow in. Or, well, trickle in. A slow stream, really.

Frowning, you saw reminder after reminder to renew your lease followed by an overdue notice from the auto repair shop and—an answer. Short and succinct.

Sure. Let’s talk details in my office at noon.

You clambered down from the couch immediately, relief mixing with sheer giddiness. “Yes!. Yes, thank the—oh, no.”

Your face fell as you read the email sign off, distinctive and charming and hundred percent—

Cheers, Cliff

You groaned. There was no way you could take that course.

Professor Milano had been the bane of your existence the moment you’d started your PHD at the university, his inane ‘did-you-know’ and condescending prattle taking up entirely too much of your precious time running between buildings. He’d always asked about your research and always, no matter how much you sped up, had time to fit some patronizing comment about a book or paper he was sure you didn’t know about and would be more than happy to lend.

And you seemed to be the only one who disliked him. All the undergraduates — hell, most of the post-docs — hung off his every word. His nickname was even 'Prof DILF’. Everyone you’d ever tried to even remotely bring up the idea of him being an ass to just stared at you in stark disbelief.

It really was a mistake to pick baroque music as the subject of your audio classification research. Between the lack of any kind of first hand source that didn’t cost your entire arm to see and the elitist professors, you'd just about had it. It was only the years you’d already sunk into the thesis and the generous grant you’d gotten for the topic that kept you anymore. And now the grant was almost gone. And those years were about to be down the drain.And Professor Milano had always been the most overtly kind of the history department professors...

Screw it.

You glanced at the clock - just enough time if you power walked - and threw on one of your pashmina scarf for the cold road. They were really your only vice, at least vice you could afford. There was something about how a good scarf wrapped you up that was just calming and you’d been accessorizing what little crappy wardrobe you had with them since you moved here, finding a thick pashmina over even the thinnest t-shirt was enough to stave off the night chill. And have you looking good doing it.

Your apartment was close to the university and dirt cheap to boot, courtesy of being the only person willing to put up living under a 24/7 laundromat. Sure, it was always busy and more than few stabbings had happened on the premises, but the owners let you throw your stuff in the machines for free every now and then and it always smelled like fresh sheets. You were fan of the smell of fresh sheets.

It took less time than you’d thought to reach the history building, so you took a moment to breath and center yourself as you walked up the stairs to Professor Milano’s top floor corner office.

Composed. Calm. Don’t beg. Unless you absolutely had to, in which case you needed to figure out a way to swallow your pride stat.

You knocked.

“Door’s open!”

The office was a jarring switch from the white and blue tiled hallway that you’d just abandoned. The floor was carpeted, for one, and the walls were filled with shelf after wooden shelf of books and…was that a fireplace? How did the man get a fireplace in here? There was no time to think on it, not with the tenured owner of the office already standing and shooting you a thousand kilowatt smile.

You went to shake his hand and say, “Hello, Professor. Thanks again for getting back to me, I really appreciate it.”

Professor Milano’s hand held yours just a second longer than appropriate, his fingers surprisingly callused. Your smile turned awkward. His only widened, that crinkle in his jaw dimpling as you caught sight of all his teeth.

It was a perfectly genial expression, but you found a spark of static rolling down your spine. You pulled your hand away sharply.

He didn’t react, hand still hanging and just smiling as he said, “Anything for a student in need, especially a doctoral one. I remember my first post-graduate degree…” There was a nostalgic light in his eyes as he trails off. “Feels like just yesterday I was interviewing old Prussian dowagers in Parisian tea shops, charming them into giving me access to family archives. Rather hard to satisfy, I will say, but the research results were certainly worth it."

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Did the man need to bring up his connections in every conversation? He was loaded. You knew. The college knew. “It’s nice to see you understand. Now, about the independent study? Did you have a topic already in mind, cause that’s fine, otherwise I can probably draft up a research proposal by end of—“

“Woah, sweetheart, slow down,” he says, chuckling a little. Your face falls. “Getting a little ahead of yourself. Let’s start with why you need these credits. Your email said something about being some credits short, but to my knowledge you’re taking far more than the recommended course load already, correct?”

You wonder how he knows that. Curling your hands into scarf, you force yourself to reply, “My grant needs me to take two more credits. And I didn’t have time to set a backup class up. Now, are you—“

“Really?” He interrupts without so much as a hint of guilt, callused hand rubbing the five o’clock shadow on his chin. “There are no available classes left? I know that Professor Wallace has at least one class still available. He was complaining about the turnout just the other day over drinks.”

“All the classes left conflict with my part time jobs,” you say through gritted teeth. “I wasn’t able to receive a fully paid grant, so I need to work in the available hours I have. Once you take those into consideration, there are no available classes left. I wouldn’t be doing this if I had another choice .” There’s an odd light in his eyes as you force the confession out.

The tingle down your back becomes a fully fledged shiver.

You snap, “Are you able to offer an independent study course, or not, Professor Milano? If not, then I have other professors to talk you. Ones that won’t waste my time.”

Professor Milano only smiles in response, no hint of reproach anywhere in his lax demeanor. His voice is off as he says, “No, I don’t believe there are any other professors you can approach. Kurt is busy with that seminar of his and with Abigail never takes any independent study. And with your advisor, Richard, on sabbatical…I’m afraid I’m really the only professor available.”

Your stomach turns. There’s something in his eyes that’s not sympathetic at all, despite his words.

You open your mouth to speak and then close it. There's really nothing to say. He either offers you the study course or you drop out. All those years of research. All that money you’ve already poured into the study.

Your life’s work. Gone.

Professor Milano doesn't stop smiling as he sees the realization play out on your face. “Yes, unfortunate, I know. Especially for such a bright student such as yourself.”

There’s a note of fake pity that zings through you, an odd lilt that’s almost…offering. His meaning hits you then.

Your voice is quiet, “What do you want, then? For the course?”

“What do you think I want?” He leans back in his chair, clasping his hands together as he looks at you in all the austere manner he possess.

You scramble your head a moment and bite your lip. You didn’t want to..but…

“Second author,” you say firmly. That should be enough. “I won’t share first author, not after all this time. Second author is the best I can do.”

Professor Milano looks at you with a hint of surprise in his expression and for a moment, you think he’s going to accept.

Then, with a chuckle, he says, “I was thinking more along the lines of an intimate partnership, not an academic one.”

It takes a second to digest. “What.”

The sun casts an odd light in his hair, a brief shine that of his regal features that’s completely at odds with his next words, “Or, in layman’s terms, bending you over this desk and fucking that perky little ass of yours red and raw.”

A sharp breath.

Your eyes flit between the desk in question and his completely unperturbed expression.

There’s an odd ringing in your ears. No. This couldn’t be happening.

Some sense fills you and you reply coldly, “I don’t think that’s appropriate, Professor.”

He just keeps smiling, and you see it as the mocking expression it always was. “Ah, but we all must charm a few key figures in the quest for knowledge, no? At least this way is straight forward.”

You abruptly stand and heave out, “Fuck you!”

“That is the offer,” he replies.

You’re done with this, done with him, done with the stupid swarm look on his face, done with the condescension and — was this another one of his games? To make you feel inferior? It wasn’t funny. You weren’t doing this.

You’re halfway through your march to the door before he calls out, “Of course, I understand if you’re not truly dedicated to your work like the rest of us. It’s a shame, though. Such good research. I’m sure your advisor will be more than happy to pick off where you left off.”

You freeze.

He’s right.

As if to drive it in, he continues, “It will be sad to see you go, of course, but I’m sure you have plenty more waiting for you. Just a year or two off to get back on your feet, then three, then five, and before you know it you’re reading your own paper in the research catalog and credited as fourth author. If at all. Ah, to have all that effort got to waste. To make nothing of yourself.”

Your chest is tight at the image he paints, the all too realistic image. Your work was your life. There was nothing else, nowhere else to go. You haven’t talked with your shit parents in nearly a decade and any friends you might have made had fallen by the wayside during your mad sprint to academic. This was all you had.

The sick churning in your gut goes cold with the realization of what you’ll have to do.

You slowly turn and start to walk back to the desk, keeping your eyes downcast. You can still spot his patronizing expression but you force the instinctual disgust down. He says nothing and you’re forced to speak, “You’ll sign off on the course? If I do this?”

Professor Milano’s blue eyes are shining. “Sweetheart, if we do this, I can promise you you’ll never have to worry about grants again.”

Your scarf is slipping from your shoulders and you don’t go to adjust it. Let it fall. Might as fucking well. “Fine,” you say through clenched teeth, “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Glad to hear,” Professor Milano responds, pulling out a neat bound notebook, “I’ll work on submitting everything and it should be cleared by the end of the week. You don’t have to lift a finger.”

His tone rankles, but you push it away. “Fine.” You turn to leave, done with the conversation.

“And where are you going?”

His voice sounds almost amused. You turn and glare. “I’m leaving. Is that alright with you? Professor?”

The reminder of his status does little to guilt him, in fact it looks like his lips stretch further in that patronizing smirk of his. “Ah, kids these days. In such a hurry to leave despite not being dismissed.”

Okay, boomer.

“May I leave your office, Professor Milano?”

“As a matter of fact, you may not. At least not before helping with a little situation of my own.” He leans back in his chair a moment and you’re confused, at least until the vantage point brings the tent in his trousers to light.

You freeze, again.

The rebuttal is on your lips before you’ve realized, only to die at the daring look in his eyes. He’s not joking. Your morals and ambition war with each other inside your head.

Shamefully, the typical winner emerges.

You walk towards his desk in silence, already shuffling off your pants. A mantra builds in your head. Just go quiet and do the work. Just go quiet and do the work.

A hand on your wrist stops you from pulling down your underwear. “Ah, ah, not yet. I was thinking of something a little more verbal.” The way his other hand goes to cradle your chin, thick pad of his thumb brushing your bottom lip, tells you exactly what he’s thinking. He affirms it with, “With so much that comes out of this lovely mouth of yours, I’m eager to see what it can do.”

You fight the urge to bite. “Fine.”

He makes room by sliding his chair around towards you, his hand now coming to press your shoulder down. Your mind spins. Okay, just give him a blowjob. You could do this. Sure, you’ve never done this before - you’d always been more concerned about getting off yourself - but it wasn’t like it was impossible. People did this all the time.

Pursing your lips, you kneel between his legs and reach for his zipper. You almost flinch at the feel of his length, already a hard line in the material underneath. The professor widens his legs, giving you more space to work. You carefully disengage as you pull aside his fabric of his underwear and expose—

What the fuck. You stare at the cock before you, part of your brain fizzling out at the size. It’s so thick you doubt your hand could fit around it and whatever dark, spiteful prayers you’d had of the professor being less endowed go out the window. For the first time, you feel something other than disgust, mixed as it is with a rising fear into a spark of something that settles in your gut.

There’s a chuckle above and your head snaps up. He’s staring down, a wide smile on his chiseled face. There’s something both mocking and heavy in his eyes. “What, sweat pea, is it too much for you to handle? And here I thought you were a hardworking student.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you snap back, “I am! Just give me, give me a second.” He raises his palms and settles back, dark eyes still following your every move. You consciously choose to shut them out. This is not the time. This is just an assignment. You just had to shut up and do the work.

Taking a deep breath, you take him in hand. He’s that same steel soft that all cocks were and it emboldens you. You can do this.

Peering up at him, you lean forward and lick the head. It’s an odd taste, something you’re not sure you like, but the way his cock bobs at the action makes you reconsider. There’s a sharp breath above you.

“Teasing, hmmm, “ he says, voice low, “well, you might want to hurry. You never know when someone could walk in.”

You realize the door was still unlocked. And you were on the floor on your knees, half naked and holding Professor Milanos cock, in plain sight to anyone barging in. You purse your lips and ignore him. Fine, this had to be fast.

You begin stroking him with a hand, the other bracing itself on his thigh. You start for a moment when you realize how thick his leg is, braided with muscle. You avert your eyes as he starts to hum above you, making small sounds of approval.

“That’s right, apply yourself. Might want to starting your mouth soon. Unless you’d prefer to stretch this out."

The thought of someone walking in combined with the odd tension sitting in our gut from being surrounded by him in every way makes you snap. “Just give me a second! It’s not like I’ve ever done this before!”

There’s a pause to his humming. A hand stops yours, circling it around his length. He squeezes hard, pressing your palm tight between his skin. You flush, something strange about the sensation about having him hold you while you do him.

“Is that so,” Cliff says, an odd breathless note in his voice, “You’ve never had a man in your mouth.”

You don’t answer, blush now reaching your ears. His other hand goes to cradle your chin, bringing it up to face him. His eyes are somehow darker than before. “Well, as the profession suggests, I’m more than happy to teach you how this goes.”

You start to respond that you don't want his instruction, only for his hand to press your cheeks together, forcing open your lips. “First off, you shouldn’t be afraid to truly explore the sensation, darling.”

He guides your mouth towards his leaking cock. You feel the heat of it on your lip, guided by both his hand and yours. “And of course, experience is the best teacher.”

For a moment you’re afraid he’s going to just shove it in, start facefucking you without any warning, but his hand goes loose around your chin and he simply places you gingerly at the start of his length. “Well?”

You take a breath and press your lips around him, taking in as much as you can. He’s so thick that your lips strain a little and you find yourself choking less than halfway down. You break away and cough. The sound he makes at this is condescending. You hate it.

Spurred, you continue, this time pressing the flat of your tongue against the weeping head of his cock, all while his other hand guides yours in jerking off the bottom half. You fit the bulbous head easily enough and force yourself to not gag as you move for more. Just when you think it’s enough, that this was all you could take, there’s a hand on your neck.

“Good girl, take it all,” he says with a chuckle. There’s a rasp in his voice that wasn’t there before. Something sings in your gut, the same pit of tension coiling tighter in a way you didn’t imagine. You force yourself to relax and loosen your jaw.

“Such a good student,” he continues, “So dedicated to her work.”

You try your best to shut out the sound of his voice but can’t, something about the hint of praise making you flush. This should not be the context for it….and yet. His cock is heavy and thick in your mouth, already nearing the back of your throat and you’re not even done.

You swallow in instinct and feel, more than hear, the groan he gives in response. The hand on the back of your neck tightens. “Such a good girl, taking me so well…”

There’s a rush of wetness between your thighs and you suddenly feel the thin fabric of your underwear begin to cling.

No. This couldn’t be happening. You try to pull away a bit, get some space, some air, but his hand holds you tight - impaled. You’re not quite sure how to work now, but it seems your part of his is done anyways. His hand on your neck splays out, fingers digging into your nape, and he begins to move your head, bobbing slowly on his thick cock.

You can feel his hips push forward and the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag, only for him to pause and chuckle, “Come now, sweetheart, breathe through your nose. You’ve been doing so well..”

You feel that same rush of pleasure at being praised and force yourself to adjust, a strange madness making you grip his pants to steady yourself. He pushes his hips forward again, this time holding your head still. “Just relax your throat, sweetie….that’s a good girl.” He grunted, his cock throbbing a moment when you finally manage to relax enough for him to slip further in. There’s tears in your eyes now, but the wetness between your thighs is a near flood. “Good girl.”

You squeeze your thighs together. Something that doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

He pauses his rolling hips a moment, smile growing. “Ah, you’re enjoying me too. Are you getting off on this, hmm, sweetie? On your knees, sucking your professor off, where everyone could see you? Openings your mouth like a filthy slut and letting your professor fuck your throat? Is this what you’ve always wanted?”

You make a sound, for denial of acceptance of his words you’re not sure, but Profesor Milano only pushes your head further down on his hard cock and begins to thrust between every word. “Ah, sweetie, don’t you know you’re not supposed. To. Talk. With. Your. Mouth. Full.”

There’s a burn in your throat now, something harsh that make you feel dizzy. Your eyes are tearing up so much that they’re beginning to trickle down your cheeks, vision blurry and senses dulled to everything but the feel of his pounding your throat and the slow drawl of his voice as he coos, “Such a good girl, taking my cock so well. Just like I knew you would.”

His words are accompanied by a particular harsh thrust that makes you gag. He holds there a moment, long enough that you feel dark spots in your vision, lungs bursting with the need for air. He brushes away a tear from your cheek and then starts to pull away. You mentally thank what luck you have for the break.

Except it isn’t a break.

Professor Milano’s voice is less breathless, more controlled as he says, “Against the desk."

You freeze. What. “No,” you start to say, voice raspy, “This was just—“

He raises a brow. “This is all up to you, sweetheart. Do you want the credit or not?”

If you’d known it’d come with getting facefucked and then rutted against a desk for, you may have given it another second’s thought. Pursing your lips, you turn and place both hands on the desk.

You try to look over you shoulder to see, only for Professor Milano to place another hand on your nape and hold your head forward, in place.

“Patience, sweet pea.”

You clench your fingers into the wood of the desk and hope it’s quick.

You’re prepared for the sudden pressure cock splitting you open, less so for the sudden sensation of thick fingers pressed against your soaking folds.

You flush at the squelching sound it makes when he peels your underwear away. “You really did enjoy that, huh? Such a good girl.”

His words are punctuated with a quick thrust of his fingers, spearing you. You gasp, clutching the desk tighter and refusing to sink into the feeling of him scissoring his fingers in your wet heat. “You’re absolutely dripping,” he comments, almost clinically, and you resist the urge to snap at him. “Is this all for me?”

You bite your lip to keep your mouth closed, only for him to thrust another finger in and repeat, “An answer, sweet pea, is only polite.”

Your knees feel like they’re about to buckle. “ Yes,” you grit out, "It is. Professor Milano.” You hastily tack on, the little barb of his position a good reminder of the inappropriateness of the situation. Why that only serves to make you wetter, though, you’re not willing to think about.

He noticed, if his chuckle is anything to go by, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Just Cliff, please. I think we’re … reasonably well acquainted.”

Another thrust, this time with his thumb added to it, brushing against your clit. You hiss, leaning further forward on your hands. Professor Milano only chuckles, the reverberation of it heavy against your back and sending another spike of arousal pooling in your gut. He’s surrounding you again, only this time where you can’t even see him, only feel what he’s doing to you. He draws his fingers in and out almost languorously as he speaks. “I bet you want to be stuffed, don’t you, sweetheart. My fingers not enough for you? Do you want your professor to fill you. Up?

More thrusts to punctuate and at this point you can feel the wetness of your slick drip down your thighs. It’ a cold rush when the air hits it, but it’s nothing to the sensation of his cock, now pressed between your thighs. You gasp only for him to thrust forward, slipping between your folds. Not inside, but so, so close.

“Don’t you, sweetheart? I’d like an answer.”

You’re wrecked, arms already trembling from the weight of keeping yourself up and between the feel of his throbbing member burning against your cunt and the knowledge of how it’d felt, smelt, tasted in your mouth, you’re soon rendered insatiate. He repeats, Say it.”

Your mouth opens, senselessly, head thrown back as you try to force him inside. The hand on your neck grips tighter. “No, no, you’re going to have to say it. Who do you want inside you.”

Your words feel slow, thick. “You, Professor Milano.” Some part of your brain is screaming at you at this loss of power, but the rest of you feels too damn good to resist. “Please, please, Fill me up. Please, Cliff—“

It’s barely before you finish speaking his name before you feel the stretch of his cock, slipping easily to the hilt. His balls slap against your clit and you make a needy sound. He presses you down onto the desk now, your strength gone, only free now to take. His pulls out and thrusts back in, hips slapping against yours.

He coos, “Good girl.”

You try to hide your face at the sudden clench your cunt gives at his words, but he forces it to the side, your cheek pressed against the papers on his desk as you stare back him. “You like that, don’t you? Being called a good girl.” He’s pulling out again, this time slower, only to bottom out in one quick stroke. "Don't you?"

You make a choked noise and slowly nod.

“Thought so. I knew you were a good girl, from the first moment I saw you all prim and proper at that mixer. Knew that you’d love this, being fucked by your professor. So smart and independent, but not here, hmm?” He’s starting up a low slow pace, something that barely satisfies the fire raging in your blood. You press your ass back, only for him to give it a quick slap on the next stroke.

You moan, watching him still dressed, watch you, his eyes laser focused on your expression as he keeps fucking into your needy heat. “No, you love this. Bending over for me. Maybe next time I’ll show the class? You would like that, I think, a filthy girl like you. Tie you up with those ridiculous scarves of yours and show just how good you can be for your professor, how much you can please him, in front of everyone else. I bet some part of you wants someone to walk in now, just so they can see how well you’re taking your professor’s cock.”

The tension from before is rising, coiling, sharpening into something feral and unrestrained in your gut with his every word. Your toes start to curl. “Such a sloppy cunt, but such a good. Little. Girl.”

It’s that final line that did you in, the way his deep voice almost broke, the way he seemed to mean it that pushed you over the edge. You came, clenching hard on his still pounding dick, harder than you’ve ever come before. You can’t even move, trapped against the desk, but it only makes every sense heightened, every continued slap of his hips against yours a marvel.

You’re drooling you realize, face pressed against the desk as it is, your spit ruining what was probably a few important papers, but Professor Milano doesn’t seem to notice. He just continues thrusting, focused only at the feel of your cunt. It’s exhilarating.

When he comes, it’s with barely a grunt, although the hard thrust of his hips almost sends the desk over. Your walls are still pulsing around him and you can feel your cheeks flush harder at the feel of his thick load inside you. When he pulls away some trickles out, rendering you a mess from both ends.

There’s a moment he seems to take you in, panting and flushed on his desk, cum trickling out of one end and tears and spit from the other.

“Yes, I think this independent study will be very productive.”

#yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere-flower #my stuff

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