Tumgik
#I started this in October man am I slow
cherryredstars · 3 months
Note
Miguel/Reader request:Recently Miguel is experiencing a lot of pain,stress,his serum was losing effectiveness and his spider were more stronger to the point he transformed into a monster,a man spider:a 15 feet tall creature,full of fur,six clawed arms,hindlegs,spikes,fangs,many eyes and pinchers.One night Miguel was really struggling so y/n decides to “help” (there’s consent from both even if Miguel is a bit scared about it since he’s afraid of hurting her and he transforms while doing it)
Tumblr media
Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Blood, Penetrative Sex, Internal Vaginal Ripping, Sedation, Mating, Mentions of Breeding, Mentions of Reader Developing a Spider Egg Sac, Spiders… Miguel Turning into a Big Spider and Having Monster Sex with You????
Summary: A not so itsy bitsy spider…
A/N: This was requested all the way in October… I am so sorry. And I am so sorry for the warnings.
Word Count: 1.1K (Unedited)
Tumblr media
It had to be a miscalculation of something. 
Maybe the wrong measurements, a switch in chemicals, perhaps some lab equipment in need of replacing. He refuses, absolutely refuses, to believe it is because his body has begun to form a tolerance of the neon chemical. That instead of sedating him, it’s making him stronger. It has been stressing him the fuck out. Everything has been stressing him out. Rapture, the multiverse, Miles Morales, Peter B. Parker. There is only so much a single man can take.
And you know that. The woman of his dreams and the miracle cure to all his problems. You, you, you. You were so sweet to him, leading him to the bedroom the moment he returned from HQ. Your small hand grasped his as you collapsed on the bed and pulled him on top of you. 
“Let me take care of you, Miggy”, you had whispered into his ear. “Let me help you get rid of all that stress.”
How could he say no to that? How could he ever say no to you?
And it was fine. It was going good. His mind was empty and all he could think about was the way you squirmed under him. How good you were at taking his deep thrusts. How easily you were giving him the sweetest mewls. He was hyper focused on the way you moaned into his neck and your fingers tangled into his hair for dear life. Your skin was soft and warm and pliable under him, denting under his fingers and sure to leave bruises in the morning. Your hot cunt clenched and fluttered around his cock, making him moan out. 
And then he felt it: a sharp prickling running down his spine. It burned red hot, shooting pain along all of his nerve endings. It felt like his skin was splitting open and expanding, like something was trying to crawl out of him. And it was. He let out a roar of pain, his thrusts slowing. Hair started to pierce through his skin, sprouting from his neck and down his back. The hair on his arms, legs, and chest expanded and thickened. His joints and muscles popped and rolled as they began to take a new shape and stretch. His skin began to give away to an ugly black that grew larger and swelled. His mouth has split open as his fangs elongated and pinchers began to sprout from his face. His eyes began to sting, his vision doubling, then tripling, and quadrupling. His eyes looked around frantically, watching as his field of vision dented and widened, now painted in a reddish tint. It started to grow more distant as his body began to lift, his back arching as it hit the ceiling. 
Arms, legs, began to sprout from his ribs, sharp and spiky as they punctured the mattress around you. The hands on your body began to grow claws that punctured your skin, making you cry out as the smell of copper filled the air. His cock was the last to change, swelling and thickening. The sounds of your panicked screams echoed in his heightened senses, the smell of blood growing strong as his abnormal cock split you open from the inside in a way that was impossible. Your walls tore in an effort to accommodate him, and you tried to pry yourself off of him as the pain grew stronger. It only served for his morphed claws to dig deeper into your skin and you sobbed heavily. The sounds of your desperate pleas for help and terrified screams echoed in Miguel’s head. He tried to comfort you, apologize, but his words were only inhuman gargles. 
An instinctive surge coursed through his body, his cock throbbing in a need to mate you. The need to have your stomach swell with spider eggs and create the perfect egg sac. He can’t do that if you’re trying to escape and if you’re in pain. 
He leans his face closer to you, making you sob harder and turn away. It provided the perfect access to your neck. His fangs grazed the skin, before he sunk them in. You let out a muffled scream, your body quickly began to sag as the sedative chemical began to fill your bloodstream and make you sleep. Your eyes began to flutter, your mind trying to fight the drowsiness and failing. In a few seconds, your body completely relaxed onto the bed with your eyes closed and erratic breathing turning soft. 
When the sedation wears off, when he turns back, he will cuddle up to you. When you wake up and look around frantically in fear, he will pretend to wake up and reassure you it was only a dream. A horrible nightmare sprung from your wild imagination. But for now, he ruts into you, his bulbous tip smashing against your cervix and jolting your body upwards on the bed. His movements are frantic and slightly disoriented as he tries to maneuver in his new form. Your walls are impossibly tight around him, glued to his length and almost refusing to let him go. It brought him closer to the edge, and with a few sharp thrusts he began to spill into you. 
It surged out of you, overflowing from the edges of your hole in a creamy light pink as it mixed with your blood. When the blood washed out, it began to run a pure white. It soaked into the sheets and began to form a puddle. Then, Miguel’s body began to shift again. All the new additions receded back into his frame until he collapsed on top of your body. He was breathing heavily, his body readjusting to his human form. He groaned softly when he pulled out of you, and a panic welled in his chest. 
He needs to fix this before you wake up. 
He frantically got off of you, moving your unconscious body higher up on the bed so he can remove the sheets. He scours the closet you keep the linens in, picking out the one most similar to the old sheets. He doesn’t have time to go out and buy a new mattress, instead ripping up the cum and blood stained sheets and stuffing the fabric in the holes as a temporary solution and then covering it up with the new sheets. He cleans you up, amazed when the puncture wounds on your body have disappeared, only leaving the crusted trails of blood and discoloration. He can only hope your vaginal walls have repaired themselves and you only have an uncomfortable stretch between your legs. 
When everything looks normal, he tucks you in and crawls in beside you. He holds you tightly to his chest, breathing in your scent and squeezing his eyes shut.
 It was only a dream, he begins to practice in his head. Just a dream.
Tumblr media
This felt like a fever dream to write. I can not explain to you the way I was laughing and ripping at my hair in bizarre astonishment as I typed this shit out LMAO. 
Like ‘Internal Vaginal Ripping’ and ‘Mentions of Reader Developing a Spider Egg Sac’??? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK
565 notes · View notes
siempre-bucky · 1 year
Text
Sweet Dreams
Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader
Summary: After soothing Jake after a nightmare, Jake comforts his son after one of his own
wc: 1.1k
warnings: talks of nightmares
A/n: It's been a HOT minute since I've written anything. Please enjoy some domestic hurt/comfort :')
Tumblr media
“Was the mission successful, Lieutenant?” 
“Rooster and Mav… I-I wasn’t fast enough?” 
Jake jolted awake; cotton-mouthed, and forehead ridden with beads of sweat. He almost forgot he was shaking until he felt the soothing touch of your hand slide down his bare bicep. The fire in his lungs started to subside as you turned him around, the cold from the fabric of your nightgown soothing his chest once he was pressed against you. “What happened?” you whispered into his ear.  
“Same shit as every year, darlin’,” he whispered back, lips dancing along the crook of your neck. You let him stay silent after that, his hands roaming the body he knew almost better than his own. His bloodshot eyes closed, nose pressing deeper into your neck as if it would help him memorize the new perfume you had bought. 
You sighed and held him close, fingertips scratching the nape of his neck for his comfort. It was like this every October since the mission the Navy deemed a miracle. Jake would mark off the days on his calendar with a red pen and the nightmares came back when night fell. “My love?” you spoke after a while, making sure he was still with you. 
“It was the one with Mav and Rooster,” he managed, pulling back to lie down on his pillow. 
You followed him, wrapping your arms and legs around him with your head on his chest. “You could always call Rooster,” you mostly joked, “check in on him.”
“No way in hell am I gonna call Slow Ride,” he pouted. Even though he did once, on the one-year anniversary of the mission when the nightmares were at their peak. The blond rolled his eyes at your knowing giggles, he playfully shoved you away and got up from the bed. “I’m going downstairs for water, you want anythin’?” 
You shook your head and got back under the blanket, turning away from him. Jake smiled kindly in return and made his way out of the room, fingers gliding along the wall to ground him. He was in this house, he was part of a team because he succeeded, Rooster’s a part of that team. It became his mantra as he descended the stairs, eyes glued to the floor. 
The kitchen light was already on, it took Hangman a few seconds to register it. His brows furrowed at the freezer door that was still cracked open from the last user. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he shut both doors and turned towards the island. “Jesus,” he cursed in shock, seeing his son silently sitting there, wrist deep in the tub of ice cream. “What are you doin’ up, son?” he breathed, masking the panic. 
Luke looked up from his phone, matching bloodshot green eyes meeting his. “Late-night snack,” the thirteen-year-old responded. Jake could see beyond his answer, he knew the way his shoulders were hunched and the slight tremor in his hands—he knew it all too well. Plus he wore the faded Navy hoodie that used to be his father's, he wore it whenever you or Jake went on a mission.
“Luke,” Jake said, turning on the dad voice he perfected. He rounded the island and took a seat on the bar tool beside him, stealing his son's spoon. 
“It’s nothing, dad,” Luke grumbled. 
“Bullshit,” Jake smirked, raising his brows. “You know what your ma would say.” 
 Luke rolled his eyes and threw his head back in defeat. “I had a bad dream, but it’s alright! I’m not a baby, we don’t need to talk,” I’m a man now, men don’t talk about bad dreams. 
As if he could hear his thoughts, Jake took his pointer finger and poked the side of his head. He earned a weak smile in return “We don’t talk like that in this house, son, you know that.” Sucking it up was never an option in the Seresin household, not in this Seresin household. 
“I dreamt that you and mom didn’t make it back— no one made it back—grandma and grandpa didn’t want us,” Luke began to say, his grip tightening around his phone. Jake draped an arm around his son's shoulders and pulled him closer. “We had nowhere to go, we were alone.” 
“I’m right here, your mom's right upstairs, and your uncle Javy is a phone call away,” Jake reminded him calmly. Luke’s frame relaxed, his head finally leaning on Jake’s shoulder. “You know there’s a plan if something happens, we’d never leave you alone, kiddo.” 
The two Seresin men sat in silence for a while, the ice cream on the counter beginning to melt in front of them. “I’m afraid to go back to sleep,” Luke admitted after a while. 
“Yeah, me too.” 
“D-did you have a nightmare too?” 
Jake’s lips thinned, his initial reaction was to deny it, suck it up, and move on as his dad beat into him growing up. But even in his darkest time, he was still an example to his children, “Yeah, but it was just a dream,” he nodded along with his words, then he nudged him, “but there’s someone who always makes it better.” 
You felt restless after Jake left the bed, tossing and turning, turning the lamp off and on until it remained permanently on while you waited for your husband. When the door started to creak open, you sat up, the blanket pooling around you. Of course, you expected a six-foot aviator to walk through the door, but you didn’t expect the lanky boy by his side “Hi honey,” you greeted Luke, your eyes fixed on Jake cautiously. 
“Got room for another tonight? told him you’re the best sandman around,” Jake questioned, sending you a look. Taking the hint, you smiled and opened your arms. Your son grinned and crawled into the bed, hugging you tighter than normal. It all made sense. 
Jake climbed in beside you, pressing a kiss to your temple before getting comfortable. 
“Want to talk about it?” you asked, pushing back his hair. 
Luke shook his head, pulling out his dog tags and running his fingers along your name and call sign. “No,” he muttered, “Dad and I already did…I’m feeling better. Just sleepy.”  He pulled the blanket to his nose, slipping off you and finding his place in the middle. You playfully covered his eyes, making him laugh which resulted in Jake turning around to face the action. You and Jake locked eyes, your hand left Luke’s face to brush along your husband's face. 
Jake wrapped his hand around your hand, pulling it closer to kiss your palm. “Goodnight boys, sweet dreams.”
1K notes · View notes
Text
training season's over
chapter 1: Ground Zero
Summary:
After 5 years of service in KorTac, they consider you capable enough to hold yourself in solo missions. Money and freedom, what else could you ask for? But what feels like a good start, progressively starts to backfire.
TF141/female reader, Konig/female reader
spy reader, forced bonding, slow burn, slow build, militar inaccuracies, suggestive language, language, canon typical violence
This is an introductory chapter. Mandatory mention that English isn't my first language so apologies in advance. Hope you enjoy!
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀
Movies were absolutely right in one thing, one of the big parts in the life of a spy consisted in being shoved into small spaces for a bit too much time, mostly air vents. A little fact they forgot to add, is how fucking boring it could be while you waited for the for the moment to act.
They are late. You thought as you rested your head against the wall of the same air vent you’ve been in for the last forty-six minutes.
1900 – You were dropped in a nearby building by a car without a number plate, property of KorTac.
1920 - You’ve managed to catch a maintenance man smoking a cigarette on his break, successfully making him nap with an always handy syringe of tranquilizer, stealing his card, as well as his overall and cap, using it to sneak inside the building. Once you got inside, you saw the maintenance cart, and you used it to hide your tool bag. The way up wasn’t too complicated, as everyone seemed to respect the uniform, probably assuming something just needed to be fixed, and since you had the maintenance key card, you didn’t have to ask for permission to get through doors.
1945 – You were already on the roof, after what felt like a life climbing stairs to avoid most of the cameras, you discarded the uniform, and got everything needed from your bag before letting it hang from your back. You walked to the edge of the roof, big fall but not a big gap between buildings, you knew you could make the jump, but before that, you pressed the comm.
“Sage to Control, how copy?” You said quietly, while taking a moment while you wait to admire the view of the city. Perfect October day, the night already fell, the cold breeze hit your face, making you lift your face mask, only leaving your eyes uncovered. The streets beneath were full of traffic, full of lights, full of life.
“Control to Sage, send traffic.” Your station chief said through the comm, reminding you that you were here for work, not to admire the view.
“I’m in my first position, everything peachy so far. Remind me to check on the tied-up janitor in the alleyway on my way back”.
“For now, just try to get in there without a fuss. Remember---”
“I know, no execution authority, don’t get caught, recovery mission only. Get the intel without the 141 noticing, got it. I’m not a rookie anymore, remember? Playing on the big leagues now” You said with a hint of amusement, and the man behind the comm could hear the smile on your voice, which made him sigh.
“Listen, Sage, I know the first solo mission sounds exciting, but König was right to be worried when we left. The 141 is a dangerous unit, you must avoid contact by any means necessary…I don’t even know why they’re sending you alone in this, I think it’s a bit irrespon---”
“---sible to send a rookie? Don’t worry, I am not planning on getting caught. And for your information, I am being sent because all the other spies from the force are already in other missions, and I’m the only one left that fits into an air vent…but honestly, it’ll be fine, and if not, please bury me with my Sylvanian Families collection.” You said as you were eyeing the jumping distance, letting out a grunt as you throw your tool bag, which landed in the roof of the other building. “141 is supposed to be here at 2030 according to the intel, right? I should get going to get in position. I will listen but I will have to cut contact from my end, update me on the status”.
“You have a Sylvanian Families collection?” The voice now sounded confused on the other side of the frequency.
“Unimportant now. Update me on the status of the guests every 15 minutes. Over” You said before cutting communication on your side.
You took a few steps back, before running to the edge and jumping, landing on your feet in the next roof, which made you feel a small sense of pride, and it was a shame no one was there to witness your dexterity skills
The briefing for this mission made it very clear that this was a very important one, hour after hour spent studying the blueprint of the building, the map of the air system, and going through multiple contingency plans for every scenario that could happen. Alone, back in your bunk bed, you felt that the blueprint was already burned into your eyelids. Not only that, but four manila folders were often read back-to-back by you, and four names were constantly in your head.
Price.
Ghost.
Soap.
Gaz.
The folders contained multiple transcriptions of some of their communications, information of previous deployments, and some of their personal data. You also got some files on your work laptop containing security videos obtained of them. They were not only clearly bigger than you, but their form didn’t stop them from being able to be sneaky and fast. If they found you around, for sure you were dead.
From the roof, you went down an air vent with the help of a rope, until you reached a horizontal vent, which allowed you to start crawling. It was easy from here, forward, then left, then right, and straight until you reached the vent over two hallways in the shape of a T, and in the hall at the side there was a large window with view to the city, where the 141 was supposed to arrive any minute now. The hall was empty, as the armed guards were outside, protecting the three doors that connected the main building to the halls, and there it was, a heavy metal door that led to the office when the needed intel was. Some files about imports and exports, you weren’t really given much information about them, only their label to be able to identify them and the order to burn the rest of the papers.
Going down the air vent to the office wasn’t an option, as it would trigger the security system, the only way was to get in from the front with the keycard but get it from the guards directly would get the attention of the rest of them, going against the orders of being subtle. You had to wait for the 141, and use them as a distraction, knock the guard, steal the keycard, create further distractions, steal the files and leave a charge of explosives in the office. Easy-peasy.
“Control to Sage. They were dropped by a helo on the top of the building. Get ready to act. Over” The words snapped you out of your boredom, and you already felt your body pumping adrenaline to get you ready to move.
Soon enough, a loud crash of glass broke the silence, followed by three loud stomps on the floor, making the shattered glass on the floor crack underneath their boots. They seemed even bigger in person but given their entrance they were stealthier in the recorded footage.
“Bravo 0-7 to Watcher-1. We are in position, waiting for contact” A husky voice said, and you recognized the man as Ghost, which wasn’t hard considering he was wearing the same skull mask as in the files. The three men had their arms ready, and you heard the sound of the keycard granting access, soon followed by gunshots. The first ones to go down were the guards of the hall that was beneath you, the two dead bodies falling into the ground. But the group didn’t have a rest as guards started shooting from the other doors, and from the fallen guards corpses you could hear how they others were calling for back ups through the comms.
Shit. Be fast.
You opened the vent grid, the sound of shooting covering the sounds of metal, and taking advantage of the situation, you threw a smoke grenade at their feet.
“Fuck!” Another voice said as smoke starting to cloud the vision of a part of the hall. You quickly dropped from the air vent, your feet barely making any sound against the ground, and you crouched, stealing the key card from the dead guard, and quickly making your way to the office, not before throwing another smoke grenade at them to keep them busy.
The key card granted you access, deactivating the security system, and you quickly entered the empty office, hearing some coughing from the outside, and more shooting and screaming that got muffled as soon as you closed the door. You quickly put a chair on the door, in case they would try to get in, it would grant you some more minutes.
You searched through the office, not bothering to be tidy, just dropping the papers on the floor…and then you found the file, a twinkle of excitement appeared in your eyes as you put the folder in your mouth, stepping over the desk and taking from your bag a little box of tools. You took out a screwdriver, and tried to rapidly, but calmly, unscrew the grid of the air vent. Your eyes widened when you heard a loud “Clear!” from down the hallway, followed by heavy footsteps. You managed to make the grid fell, and you swiftly climbed into it. Once up there, you threw the explosives down the office with a detonator, which grant you three minutes to crawl your way out of the air vent. As you passed by, you could see the task force going through the corpses to find a keycard.
“Found one, LT” You heard underneath you, as one of them stood up, holding a key card. Mohawk = Soap, you thought to yourself.
“Wait, you hear that?” Another one says. Pretty boy = Gaz.
You stopped on your tracks, not even breathing. Before you heard a gasp for air coming from a guard, followed by a shot.
“Found it” Ghost answered.
You felt relief flooding your body, but you couldn’t enjoy your small victory properly as the sound of the explosion left your ears ringing. A heavy warmth flooded the air vent, and under you, the sound of glass, grunts and three heavy bodies falling onto the ground. Your ears were still ringing, the heat was slowly becoming unbearable, and the smell of smoke flooded the narrow space as you tried to crawl faster through it.
As you reached the vertical vent, you used your ascender and quickly got to the top. You gasped for air as you felt the cold autumn breeze on your face. As your eyes adjusted to the night, you saw the ropes and some other equipment the 141 left behind them. It wasn’t time to rest yet, as you took the file out of your mouth, saving it to your bag, before throwing it across the gap and into the roof you came from. Soon enough, you followed after, jumping across the gap between both buildings.
Your fall wasn’t as graceful as the first, accidentally missing a step and landing on your knees with a grunt. But you let yourself fall on your back against the concrete. Your face felt like it was burning, the breeze was pleasant against your flushed skin, your clothes and hair reeking of smoke, but once again oxygen was filling your lungs. As you catch your breath, you pressed your comm.
“Sage to Control. How copy?” You asked in a low voice, panting.
“Control to Sage. Are you okay?” The voice quickly answered.
“Yeah, yeah, got the intel. I’m in one piece. Ready for extraction, a shower, and a nap”
“Copy, Sage. Picking you up on the alley, remember to untie the handy man”.
Back in the base the mission was considered so successful that for the next few months your rank went from sergeant to "Task Force 141 shadow" as the first mission and your survival rate apparently meant that you were the first choice for any mission that involved them. They considered the indirect approach worked better than directly engaging in combat against them, which left casualties between the KorTac ranks in the past.
Every mission for intel they had, you were behind them, lurking in the shadows, waiting for them to just start shooting to use the confrontation as a distraction to get to the target first. It was funny to hear them frustrated and annoyed over the comms when they realized that once more, they lost the intel. And then it's fate was obvious once KorTac put it on the market, selling it to the best bidder, or sometimes even using it to complete their own missions.
"You have to be careful, maus. I know you think it's fun, but they're dangerous, like us" You found cute when König used pet names. It was truly amazing how such a unit of a man was capable of being soft at the same time, ever since you started working there under his command until now.
But lately you didn't feel like a mouse, you felt like a hyena or a vulture, just scavenging while the bigger predators weren't looking.
"It's alright, don't worry, bud. I promise you I'm being as careful as I've always been" You said in a reassuring tone, a soft smile on your lips, and you squeezed his arm as he was sitting across you on the common room, a hot tea brewing in front of you.
"That's why I'm worried" König had an unsure look, under his sniper hood, his eyes fixated on your mug, rather than you. And you could tell he was anxious by the way he was shaking his leg. "Just don't leave any tracks, ja?"
What you weren't going to admit to him, is that you were growing slightly fond of the task force you so dutifully followed around. During these months you learned plenty of things about them, just by staying hidden and listening, like Ghost's dad jokes, Gaz unluckiness with helicopters, Soap's preference to play as a goalkeeper while playing football.
You blamed the growing one-sided familiarity by the fact that your new assignments made you spend lots of hours alone, lurking, stalking, in position ready to strike the moment things unfold. Back in base, and since you started to work alone, it was only in rare occasions you were at the same time as your old unit, the opportunities to catch up with them and being social becoming scarce.
And they seemed to be so close, so used to each other, so comfortable to even use their names sometimes. You had to admit you weren't used to that. You didn't even know König actual name let alone his face, and even if other members were more open about their names, their backgrounds were still vague. Not that you were an open book, as you only went by your callsign, your real name a secret between your contractors and you. But back in KorTac the less you knew, the better. It's probably for the best, anyway. Another very possible reason for your newfound fondness was the fact that after every successful mission came a very generous check. In fact, so generous that it was enough, plus your savings, to purchase a flat. Not too fancy, but cozy and big enough for you and your things, and something to call your own as well.
Moving in was tedious, lots of boxes and newspapers wrapped around the fragile stuff, and you were too tired from work to really unpack everything, leaving only the necessary items out. You definitely needed to have dinner and have a nocturnal nap before you keep on unpacking stuff, and the other things weren't as urgent. Besides, it would be a few weeks before your next mission, so you had plenty of time to enjoy settling down in your new home and looking around the neighbourhood. For now, you could really use some food, and at this hour you certainly weren't going to cook. You grabbed your jacket and went down the street.
Thankfully, there was a Chinese place in a five-minute walk. There were lots of people around, going to pubs, as it was a bit of a commercial area. It was nice, some fairy lights, some decorations, people sharing drinks, laughing, you could get used to walking around here. You ordered a serve of chow mein and three spring rolls, got it in a bag and made your way back to your flat.
The building you lived in now was a bit old, so you had a fob for the main entrance and a key for your flat. The door creaked a bit when you opened it, and you closed it behind you, but as you turned around you bumped into something that felt almost like colliding against a brick wall, you turned around and you saw some hands inside a mailbox.
"So sorry, si---" You said looking up and as soon as your eyes focused on the figure you felt how your face went pale, and how all the blood of your body went to your legs, your mind screaming you to flee.
Black eyes stared back at you, and that was the only part you could see, as the rest of the face was covered by a balaclava with a skull print on it. Fuck...
"Staring is rude" That husky voice you were so used to hearing through a comm sounded so clear, and the grip on the takeaway bag tightened.
The fuck is Ghost doing here.
"I-I..." You had to clear your throat, to manage any words out. "Sorry, I'm usually more polite, you just...caught me off guard."
"Haven't seen you here before" He lives here?! No way. This is a trap.
"Moved in this morning" You answered as flatly as you could.
"Ah" He said in an uninterested tone, as he went back to check the mail.
You couldn't help but stare up at him, completely dumbfounded. He was wearing a hoodie covering his head, blank pants, and heavy boots. Why isn't he attacking me? Does he know who I am? What the fuck is this? Jesus, I could throw up.
"Can I help you with something?" He answered in the same tone, not bothering to look back at you a second time.
"You live here?"
"Third floor" He answered plainly.
"Ah" Does he genuinely just lives here? No way, they're setting me up. "Why check the mail at night?"
"Just arrived" He answered as he broke one of the envelopes and checked it's contents. Light bill, and you heard him cursing under his breath.
He is so much taller up close.
"Right…alright, see you around…" You said before quickly going up the stairs, so taken aback that you completely forgot about the elevator.
You arrived to your flat, a bit agitated, and closed the door with the lock behind you. And added a chair under the doorknob, for good measure.
You left the food on the table, and quickly went to grab one of your guns. A SIG Sauer P320, and you checked every room, not that there were many rooms to check. The bedroom, the living-dining room, and the bathroom. Both for people and for cameras or mics, but everything looked normal, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing out of place. Lock the windows just in case.
After your thorough search, you sat at your dinner table, left the gun next to you, before beginning to unpack your food. You ate as your eyes were fixated on the door, waiting for someone to come in shooting, for a team, for a raid, anything.
0000 – No contact.
0100 – No contact.
0200 – Still no contact.
0300 – Fuck, I’m tired.
Not today, it seems...fuck, this isn't a coincidence, out of all the buildings in this fucking island he lives here? No bloody way. They know.
next: chapter two "charlie foxtrot"
if you like it leave me some kudos or suggestions on ao3! <3
104 notes · View notes
drarrily-we-row-along · 5 months
Text
October 6: Corn Maze
Just a note that Harry's ace in this one (I'm working through a lot with my sexuality atm). There are lots of different ways of being ace, lots of different experiences, and I'm not trying to imply this is everyone's experience (but it is mine, so) just wanted to offer a sensitivity warning.
Harry wasn't overly fond of mazes. Not since fourth year, in particular, but also not since everything in his life seemed to be misdirection.
Lately, he'd been feeling like there'd been one too many turns, one too many dead ends, one too many miss-steps; at some point, it felt like he ought to have been due a break.
Still, he found himself with his friends and his godchildren at a literal corn maze; a race to get to the center. And Harry couldn't really have cared less about winning.
He turned down another way, heard a child a few rows over shriek with delight as they ran past, corn rustling, and wished in the very depth of his bones that he could feel simple joy like that, wondered if he ever would. Realizing it was another dead end, he sighed and started to turn back.
"I was hoping I'd find you," spoken softly, just behind him.
"Circe, Draco," he breathed, "you startled me."
Draco was standing there, wearing an over-sized maroon jumper that covered his fingers, blonde hair slipping out of its braid leaving strands framing his face. And Harry ached with how he loved him, ached with the ways he didn't (couldn't).
"Why were you hoping to find me?"
He tucked a strand of fine blond hair behind his ear as he stepped into his space, "So I could do this," he whispered, leaning in and kissing him sweetly.
And, oh, Harry loved kissing. He loved his friends, loved Draco in particular. He loved being able to touch him, loved holding his hand and carding his fingers through his hair. Kissing him at the pub a few nights ago, he hadn't meant to, it had- "Draco, wait-"
"Oh," he said, taking a step back, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep, after Monday, I thought-"
"Wait," he said, reaching out to take the other man's hand, holding it, "listen. I-" he broke off, shook his head, exhaled. How had his life become this? "I don't want to mislead you."
"Right," he said taking a step back, shaking his head. "You're not interested. You were drinking, we were drinking. It's fine, let's forget about it."
"I'm ace," he blurted, not knowing how else to say it, not knowing how to tell Draco it wasn't about him, it was entirely about Harry. "And I love you, Draco. You are one of my best friends. If you asked me tomorrow if I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, I'd say yes. I love you with my whole heart."
Draco sat down on the ground, staring up at Harry. "I'm-" he shook his head, "I am so confused."
Harry collapsed next to him, wrapped his arms around his knees. "I'm asexual-" he started again.
"No, I heard that," he said, "and I heard you tell me that you love me, that you'd spend the rest of your life with me-"
"I would, Draco," he said earnestly.
"But you don't want to kiss me?" he asked, brow furrowing.
He shook his head, "It's not that I don't want to kiss you." He scrubbed his nails through the short hair at the base of his neck before ruffling the curls at the top of his head. "It's that I love you so much but I'll never be in love with you. Not the way you-" he broke off, choking on the words, "not the way you deserve. I would kiss you, I'd cuddle with you; hell, I'd have sex with you and I would probably like it. But I'd like it because I love you, not because I care about the sex," he rambled, seemingly unable to stop himself now that he started, a freight train rolling down a hill unable to brake, "but I'm not opposed, I just won't think about it. And I won't-"
"Harry," he said, reaching out and putting his hands on both of Harry's shoulders, "hey. Woah. Slow down, take a breath," he said softly. "Can I hold your hands?" he asked, moving a bit to sit in front of him.
Harry nodded, feeling teary, reaching out and taking the other man's hands in his.
"I hope you know that I would never ask you to do something you're uncomfortable with," he started. "You're so important to me, I'd never ask you to have sex if it wasn't something you wanted-"
"It's not about the sex." He shook his head, "I like orgasms, I'm not sex-repulsed; it's probably why it took me so long to realize that I'm ace in the first place."
Draco squeezed his hands, "Thank you for telling me, for trusting me. But Harry, I can't understand what you meant by misleading me?"
"I don't," he shook his head, "I don't experience attraction the way that most people do, the way that you do. Sex isn't going to be the thing I think about. The way I love you," he shook his head, "I love you so much Draco but it's not the same as how you love me-"
"Does it have to be?" Draco asked. "Harry, you're everything to me," he breathed. "I love you too, I love you so much. And I'm in love with you. Does it have to be the same?"
Harry shook his head, "I don't know," he whispered. "I haven't the foggiest idea," he confessed. "It's never been enough in the past."
"What do you mean?"
"Before I understood my sexuality," he said. "I loved people before and I thought they loved me," he swallowed, "but I haven't been enough, haven't been right-"
"You're enough for me," Draco said, cupping Harry's cheek. "You're right for me. There's nothing wrong with you," he said gently. "I'm sorry that other people have made you feel like there is."
"Oh," he said faintly, equally wanting to brush him off and wanting Draco to give him more gentle reassurances.
"You don't have to believe me right away," Draco said. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm really rather gone on you," he chuckled self consciously.
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Draco's neck, "What if you change your mind?"
"I hear your concern," Draco said, hands soothing over Harry's back, "but what if I don't?"
Harry laughed softly, terrified of even letting himself imagine that as a possibility.
"What if you just let me love you? What if we just," he shrugged, jostling Harry's head, "let ourselves be happy?" he said like a question.
"I'm afraid," Harry confessed.
Draco nodded, wrapping him tighter in his arms, "me too. Terrified that you'll realize that I'm not worthy of your love. So afraid you'll wake up and realize that you don't actually love me."
"Draco," he said softly, pulling back to look at him, "that's not going to happen."
"I'm willing to try to trust you about that, if you're willing to try to trust me," he said with a shrug. "I really want this," he said, gesturing between the two of them, "I promise to be good to you," he added, voice soft and pleading.
"Draco," he whispered again, wanting, wanting, wanting. "Yes."
"Yeah?" he asked, grinning brightly at him.
He nodded, "yeah. Yes, if you're sure."
"Harry, there is nothing not to be sure about. I love you. You love me. We'll figure the rest out."
---------------
written for the @flufftober prompt "Corn Maze"
148 notes · View notes
cowgurrrl · 1 month
Text
Slow It Down Cowboy
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader
Author’s note: this ended up being so chunky but I hope that’s okay
Summary: The wall [5.8k!!!]
Warnings: academic blackmail??, bad administrative decisions, an even worse parent, Joel comforting reader, more art talk, slight angst
Tumblr media
As the sun sets earlier and the weather dips below the usual heat, things actually start looking pretty good. Andie, somehow, found time off of work and is coming home for a few days during the long winter break. You've gotten back to making art you actually care about now that you're in a race with Joel. All your students are settled and starting to come out of their shells, making more experimental art. Ellie continues to show up with cups of coffee with your name on them before anyone else can spill into your classroom, and you continue to text Joel. 
How much are you spending on coffee now?
I thought we agreed to keep certain things secret.
Joel Miller.
Hush. You deserve it.
In between lessons and at lunch, you'll manage to catch each other at the right time and shoot messages off as fast as they come in. He helps you fix a squeaky chair over text, and you help him set up a care package to send to Sarah. It's nice even though you haven't really seen him since the night of the gallery opening. Even things at the bar seem to be doing better, and you're making enough to not have to worry so much. But you're most proud of the list of students whose art will be shown at the winter showcase, Ellie's work among them. 
You make a big deal about it and send in an announcement to be read in the morning, congratulating all the students. You even go out of your way to announce it in all your classes and offer extra credit to any student who shows up to support their classmates. Surprisingly, your rag-tag group of moody teenagers actually seem keen about the opportunity. Things are going well. You're happy, healthy, financially stable(ish), and your guards are down for the first time in a long time.
You're working with quiet music playing over your computer when the knock at your door sounds during planning period. You stand to open it, but before you can, you hear a jangle of keys and the popping of the lock. Principal Martinez walks in, squints at you, and immediately turns on the overhead fluorescent lights that haven't been used in God knows how long. They buzz in protest as your eyes adjust. 
"Hey!" You manage to sound cheery even though she looks like she means business. "I'm assuming you're here about the winter showcase?" You ask, and the line between her brows deepens.
"The what?"
"The showcase? A couple of my kids from the art club got accepted to have their artwork shown in a gallery downtown. It was on the announcements this morning. I can send you the information about when the event is." You offer. Something clicks, and she shakes her head now that she knows what you're talking about. 
"Oh, that," she says. "No, I'm not here about that." 
"Am I in trouble?" 
"Not exactly." She says, and you feel panic pool in your stomach like an unwanted visitor. "Dalton Green's father has brought his grade in your class to my attention."
"He hasn't turned anything in to me since September. I can't grade an empty page," you say, hoping that she's as aware as you are that it's the beginning of November. "I sent an email to his father and football coach back in October, but I still haven't seen any work from him."
"Mr. Green says he's positive his son has turned in work. Are you sure you haven't just misplaced it?" 
"No, I've graded and given back every single assignment from the semester." 
"Let me be clear," she says. "Are you sure you haven't just forgotten to put his grades in? It's an easy mistake to make. You could always just input them now so that he's eligible to continue playing. You wouldn't want to bench a perfectly responsible young man. Would you?"
"Ma'am, are you suggesting I lie about Dalton's grades just so he can keep playing football?" You ask, your panic quickly turning into frustration. 
"It'd be such a silly thing to fail something as simple as art. Especially when the funding for the school comes directly from our team's ability to perform. Sometimes, as teachers, we have to make sacrifices to ensure the greater good of our students." She says. It never fails to surprise you how condescending people can be when it comes to your job. Martinez will be gone in a year to fight for a place on the school board, and it's clear she's not pulling her punches even now. Still, you're floored by the ask. Never in your career have you been asked by a principal to lie about a student's grades. 
"I'd be willing to make certain accommodations, but I'm really not comfortable doing that. If he wanted to turn something in, I could find a way to give him half credit." You say. Her face changes almost imperceptibly before she straightens up with a cynical smile. 
"Well, I think since you had the idea, you should be the one to call his father and tell him the good news," she says it like it's a reward, but it feels like more of a punishment. Your good mood comes crumbling around you as she looks at you expectantly. You have principles as a teacher. This is one of them, but how far are you willing to go to protect it? "I have a meeting with some people from the school board, but please let me know what conclusion you and Mr. Green come to regarding Dalton's grades." She says as she walks out of your room, not even bothering to look at you over her shoulder as she speaks to you.
"Fuck," you mutter as the door closes behind her. You stare at the phone and think about your options. You can't let her walk all over you just because she's your boss, and you won't compromise your values just so the football program will thrive. But you also really don't want to make this phone call. If Dalton's dad is as pleasant as he seems over email, you can't imagine this going well. "Fuck." You say again as you pick up the receiver and search your records for Dalton's dad's phone number. You find it, and in a burst of confidence, dial the number and listen to the line ring, secretly hoping he won't pick up. 
"Green." His dad says in place of a greeting, and you take a deep breath.
"Hi, Mr. Green. This is Dalton's art teacher from school. I understand you had some issues regarding his grade in my class?" You tread very carefully, but even then, he scoffs.
"You're damn right I have some issues. Why are you failin' him? He's gotta pass to play football, and Principal Martinez said you'd get it sorted." 
"Yes, sir, that's why I'm calling," you say. "Dalton hasn't turned in any of the assignments I've given out since September, and because of that, I've been unable to give him a good grade. However, I can make some arrangements to give him half credit for every assignment he turns in before the end of next week. That should give him more than enough time between classes and practice." 
"He told me you lost his assignments."
"No, sir, I haven't received anything from him." You say. He doesn't say anything for a moment, and you almost hope the call dropped before he can respond. 
"Are you sayin' my son's a liar?" 
You spend the next twenty minutes being berated over the phone, not even allowed to get a word in without being cut off. Several times throughout the call, you think about hanging up and unplugging the phone, but you know that'd only make it worse. God forbid he show up at the school and humiliate you in front of the other staff or, worse, students. No wonder Dalton has issues if this is how his father speaks to people. If your day wasn't ruined by your encounter with the principal, it certainly is now. You handle it as well as possible until he gets near the end of his rant and takes a deep breath.
"I just can't believe they'd let a teacher as horrible as you work there. What right do you have to teach anything?" He says, and that's what really gets under your skin. Suddenly, hot tears spring in your eyes, and your throat feels like sandpaper.
"I don't know." It is the only thing you can think to say.
"Call me back when you have a real fuckin' solution and not whatever bullshit this is." He spits before hanging up the phone. You put the receiver down and bury your head in your hands, trying your best not to cry. Your molars buzz, and it feels like your head is swelling with pain. His insults and backhanded comments echo in your ears, and you can't hold the tears back any longer. 
What a fucking shit show. You know Martinez won't do anything about the verbal abuse unless you're willing to lie about grades, which is a ridiculous request in the first place. Dalton's dad won't back down, and you can safely assume Coach Sanders is next up on the roster if you don't do something soon. Why can't you get a kid to turn in a fucking piece of paper? Are you really that bad of a teacher that you're losing an argument with a seventeen-year-old? Is this the hill you want to die on? 
You think about going upstairs and seeking refuge in Mrs. Tomlinson's English class, your favorite coworker and the one who hides the good snacks in her desk, but you know she has a class, and you don't want to embarrass yourself. Andie is seven hours ahead and probably asleep. You're friends with people from the bar but not good enough friends that you could call them crying about a situation like this. The realization that you're alone in this makes you more emotional, and you have to stifle your sobs behind your hand. 
You jump when your doorknob twists open again, and you half-expect Martinez to be there with an I-told-you-so look on her face. You quickly turn so your back is to the door and wipe the tears on your face. You can't stand to be humiliated again today. When you turn back to see who entered your classroom, Joel's big brown eyes soften when he sees how upset you are. 
"Honey," he murmurs, and you almost start sobbing again at his soft tone. "What's goin' on?" 
"I didn't know you were coming today." You sniffle, trying to pull yourself together. He walks over and drops his toolbox on a nearby table so he can pull you up from your chair. 
"Supposed to be a surprise." He says as he tucks you into his chest. You hug him tightly and let him rub your back in the quiet of your classroom. His shirt smells like laundry detergent and the cold wind sweeping through the hill country. He should be wearing a jacket, but he's not, and you can feel goosebumps on his skin. For a minute, you just cling to him and cry, staining his shirt with tears, but he doesn't care. He's patient and shushes you gently as he adjusts his hold on you to bring you closer. You bury your face in his neck, and he kisses your head. 
"What are you doing here?" You ask into his skin. 
"I found your missin' piece for the projector. I thought I'd come install it for you so you'd stop fallin' off things tryna get it to work," he says. He leans back just enough to swipe your hair out of your eyes and rests his hands on either side of your face so you can see him. You want to turn away because you know you look like a crying mess, but he doesn't flinch. "There she is," he whispers fondly when you meet his eyes. "Your turn. What happened that's got you all upset?" He asks, swiping his thumbs under your eyes to catch stray tears. 
"Just… a really shitty call with a parent." You say, not wanting to get into specifics just yet. 
"Anythin' I can do?" He asks, and you shake your head. Just his presence is enough to make you feel better. His big, warm hands holding you like you're precious is a big plus, too. You run your hands over the muscles hidden by his shirt and take a deep breath. 
"Just this," you say, and he smiles. "'S a very nice surprise."
"I might've had ulterior motives." He says sheepishly, and you chuckle.
"What are your ulterior motives, maverick?" You ask. You honestly don't know where the nickname came from, but it's stuck around. You've heard it used by old southern women when talking about someone who's independent or doesn't follow the rules. "There goes maverick again!" They'd say when their unruly son would go speeding by in the kitchen. You think the private name suits him.
"Can I kiss you?" He asks quietly, without a hint of shame or doubt in his voice. You almost fold just because of how he's looking at you through his long eyelashes. Almost. The age-old sound of your projector whirring reminds you where you are, and you straighten up.
"Not here."
"After I fix the projector?" He negotiates, and you laugh at how quickly he bounces back.
"After you fix the projector and we're not on school campus anymore." 
"Deal," he says as he turns away from you and toward his toolbox. "You should time me. This might be the fastest replacement I've ever done."
"You're really that motivated now?" You tease, the levity between you two draining the dredges of your bad afternoon from your brain. He smiles and digs in his toolbox for the right screwdriver. 
"For you? Of course." He says. You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a smile, and he winks at you. He's barely standing on a chair before you grab his arm and stop him.
"Wait," you say. You're not really sure what the plan is, but you also don't care. Joel, however, looks confused. "I found an old step stool in my storage closet the other day, but it's on the top shelf. If you can get it down, that might be a little safer."
"You've had a step stool this whole time, and you're still climbin' on tables?" He asks, raising his eyebrows at you. "You're gonna put me in an early grave one of these days."
"Quit that," you laugh as he steps off the chair. "I didn't have time to get it down whenever I needed it, and I just forgot about it until the other day. C'mon, I'll show you where it is." He sighs dramatically but follows you into the dusty storage room filled floor to ceiling with various art supplies. It's hidden by a suspicious-looking, windowless door just off to the right of your classroom. You think it might've been used as a tornado shelter when the school was much smaller and younger, but since then, it's been renovated into a personal storage room. 
The second the door closes behind him, you turn around, push him against it, and kiss him before you can change your mind. He gasps into you like he wasn't expecting this but quickly grabs your waist, anchoring to you and kissing you back feverishly. You really had planned on making him wait until you were safe, far away from school grounds, instead of pulling him into the nearest private space like a teenager. But you figured if Martinez can break the rules, why can't you? 
Your hand snakes through his hair and plays with the curls at the nape of his neck, drawing a content sigh from Joel. His lips are a little chapped and firm against yours. He tastes like coffee and something sweet, and you want more. You tip your mouth up to him to kiss him deeper, and he grips your hips hard, his fingers grazing the skin just under the hem of your shirt. You test scratching your nails over the back of his neck, and he shudders beautifully under your touch. In one move, he switches places with you and pins you between him and the door. 
With him in control, he slows down just a little, kissing you softly like he's got all the time in the world. You've realized Joel likes treating you like you're made of porcelain. Like all it would take is one wrong move, and you'd fall apart under his touch. He lets you make the first move every time, tying his hands behind his back until you say the word in an impressive show of self-control. Even at the art gallery, when there was so much tension between you, you thought you'd choke on it; he wasn't the one who initiated. The knee-jerk reaction of flipping your positions against the door to take control is his first show of power, and you like it. What do you need to do to get him to do it again?
The bell sounding through the intercom breaks you apart, and you groan at the intrusion. Nothing is keeping you after school today but you aren't ready to separate from Joel just yet. You rest your head on the door and stare at him as you vaguely hear the sounds of rowdy kids flooding the hallways. His lips are swollen and a little pink, and his hair is messy from all your pulling. 
"What?" He questions your staring and you shake your head.
"I just like looking at you," you say. "Your hair is also a mess, but that's a completely different story." 
"And whose fault is that?" He laughs and musses his curls back into place. You help with a few strands at the back and smile when everything is tame again. 
"Good as new." You say. Now, it's his turn to peer at you, and you give him a confused look. You swipe under your eyes as if there's mascara stuck there and fix your hair, waiting for him to give you the all-clear, but he just chuckles.
"I can't believe you pulled me into a closet to make out." 
"Me neither, honestly." You admit as the both of you dissolve into delirious laughter. You wait in the closet for a few more minutes so the hallways can clear out (and you can kiss a little more) before you finally exit, checking that it's clear and then opening the door wider for Joel. When he sees his toolbox sitting on the desk where he left it, he sighs and glances between you and the ceiling. 
"I'm never gonna get to fix that goddamn projector." He mutters, and you laugh as you pass in front of him and pat his shoulder. 
"Next time, maverick." You say. His grumbles disappear as you pack up your stuff side-by-side in silence. It's nice to not feel like you always have to fill the space with conversation. It's enough for papers to rustle as they land in your bag and his tools to clink as they find their proper homes. The hallways have gone quiet, and the eerie silence of an empty school slowly creeps up on you. 
Joel's boots squeaking catch your attention as you unplug your computer and start turning off various lamps around the classroom. He stands in front of the whiteboard where you have a big print of a Rothko painting displayed for today's art history lesson. He tilts his head as he looks at it like he's trying to find some hidden meaning or perspective, and you smile to yourself at the motion. 
"Lots of people think it's not much to look at." You break the silence from the back of the room, and he looks at you over your shoulder.
"I didn't say that."
"I know. I'm just letting you know what certain historians say," you say. You finish with all the lamps, and the only light coming into the classroom is the little bit of natural light streaming in from the windows near the ceiling. Stray dust spins in the air as you join him in looking at the poster of the Rothko, and you try to imagine what he's thinking. 
It's a little unnerving, like most of the ones Rothko made towards the end of his life. The vast darkness on the top half of the painting is daunting, while the gray at the bottom helps ground the viewer, at least a little. If you look closely enough, you can see the various washes and brushstrokes he used to create the painting. Obviously, a lot of skill and time went into something like this, even though not everyone wants to see it. "It's hard to know what it meant to him. It probably didn't mean anything, honestly. He wanted people to have sensory experiences with his art, so you only get as much as you put into it." You explain, and Joel nods but doesn't look away from the painting.
"Is it the surface of the moon?" He asks. 
"What makes you say that?" You interrogate, trying to hide your excitement at getting to hear him tell you what he thinks of art. 
"Well, it kinda looks like I'm standin' on the moon and lookin' out into space." He says as he runs his finger over the divide between the two colors. 
"Where's the Earth, then?"
"Maybe I'm on the dark side of the moon." 
"Why?"
"I don't know," he says. "Maybe the Earth is just too far away, and I can't reach it, but I know it's there. If the moon started spinnin' faster or somethin', I could see it, but maybe it's not for me to see..." It's incredibly profound, even if he doesn't realize it. You see where he's coming from based on what you know about his past and almost want to reach for his hand, but you don't. "But I don't know. What do I know bout art?"
"A lot," you answer quickly, hating how he talks about himself like he's stupid. "You know a lot. That was a really good analysis." He hums noncommittally and bumps your shoulder with his. 
"What bout you? What's it to you?" He asks, and you sigh as you look the colors over again.
"A wall and the night sky." 
"A wall?" 
"Yeah. It's either protecting me or keeping me in, but either way, it's there, and there's not much I can do about it. I could stay where I am and never find out what's beyond it and be safe, or I could climb the wall and never be the same again. I wouldn't know what's behind it or what's out there— that's why it's all black at the top— but maybe that's what's so interesting about it. The unknown." You say, and Joel hums. 
"You should be a teacher or somethin'." He says, and you laugh and move to grab your backpack off your desk. 
"It just might be in the cards for me," you say. "What's Ellie doing tonight? Don't you have to pick her up?" 
"She's actually going to the movies with some friends tonight." He says, beaming with pride, and you gasp dramatically.
"Is she really?"
"Sent her with twenty dollars and everythin'."
"Oh, that's so good! She's doing so good! I knew art club would get her out of her shell." You clap your hands, and he nods, smiling.
"She certainly ain't shy anymore. It feels like she's always on the phone with someone these days." He's a little nostalgic for the little girl who used to cling to her dad, and you make a sympathetic sound. 
"Don't you worry. I'm sure she'll want to hang out with her old dad during winter break."
"Old?!" He parrots as you usher him out of the room, your keys jingling on your arm. 
"Her words, not mine." You say as you walk out into the empty hallway with him and lock your classroom door behind you. He scoffs and grumbles something under his breath but doesn't push you for any insider information on Ellie. You like having your secrets with her, and as long as she's not a threat to herself or others, you'll keep those secrets until she's ready to tell him. 
You walk out to the parking lot together to catch the last few rays of sun scattering across the sky and smile when you see that Joel somehow managed to park close to your car. He loads his tools up in his truck bed while you throw your backpack in the backseat, but neither of you gets in your car immediately after things are settled. Instead, you wander back over to his truck and lean against one of the doors. 
"So, if Ellie's out with friends, what are you doing for the rest of the night?" You ask, and he smirks, stepping into your space. You think about scolding him, but the parking lot is practically empty. Plus, you like having him close. In the orange light of dusk, you feel safe next to him and his truck. He quirks an eyebrow at you and looks serious. 
"Are you askin' me on a date?"
"It's not a date."
"Is this the same thing like you weren't gonna kiss me, and then you did?" He teases. You roll your eyes and push off his truck, putting your arms up in defeat. 
"I didn't realize Joel Miller hated spontaneity so much. Fine, I'll stop doing it." You start walking back toward your car, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you back before you can get far. You smile when your chest collides with his and look up at him. 
"Now, I didn't say all that," he says. "'M just surprised. You're gettin' ballsy."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"I don't think so," he says as he leans forward like he's about to tell you a secret. "I think it's pretty hot, actually." He whispers lowly in your ear, his breath fanning out across your neck and making your face hot. You shove at his shoulder, but he just laughs and grabs your hand. "What? You don't like me callin' you hot?" 
"You're ridiculous, you know that?" 
"I ain't hearin' a 'no.'" 
"Yes, Joel, I like it. Is that what you wanna hear?" You finally relent, and he shrugs with every ounce of sass.
"Maybe," he says. "I also wanna hear what you were thinkin' for our not date."
"Oh, something super romantic." 
"Yeah?"
"Oh, yeah. Whataburger meals and milkshakes." You say, and he makes a play at his knees giving out under him. 
"A woman after my own heart." He groans, and you roll your eyes. 
You could take separate cars. It'd probably be easier for getting home and take away an extra stop, but you don't really care about that when you climb into the passenger's side of his truck. He doesn't seem surprised by your decision to ride with him and rests a hand on your thigh the second he pulls out of the school parking lot. He asks about your day, painting, and even if you've heard anything else from Henry as he drives. You rant a little about Principal Martinez and ask about his day, so he gets a turn ranting about headers and structural issues. You're not exactly sure what he's talking about, but you nod and listen anyway, and he doesn't critique you for not knowing. 
When you get to Whataburger, you have to scout to make sure there are no teenagers you recognize before going in. Of course, he opens the door and lets you order first like a gentleman, but you elbow him out of the way so you can pay before he can even reach for his wallet. By the look on his face, you would've thought you ripped a cookie out of his hands. "It's my turn!" You say, but he still looks shocked when you hand him his orange and white striped cup. You choose a booth near the back and continue talking about your days or recent developments until your food comes, and then you talk in between bites. It's not romantic, but it is comfortable. 
He updates you on Sarah's progress in medical school and even shows you pictures on his phone of the last time the three of them were all together. He looks lighter when he's with the both of them like all the pieces of his heart are bound in those girls. You like to think it is. He tells you how he's looking at grants for small-business owners in Austin and is eligible to apply for a good amount. "'M just nervous I won't get any." He says, and you shake your head.
"They've got insane amounts of money they're looking to give to hardworking people. I bet you'll be a millionaire by the end of this bet." You say, and he chuckles as he pops a fry in his mouth. 
"What bout you?" He asks.
"What about me?"
"How's the search for a gallery goin'?" You take a deep breath at his question and shrug.
"I don't really have anything to submit just yet, but some places are taking rolling submissions, so I can send something in whenever. I just want it to be good." 
"'M sure it will be." He says, and you give him a look. 
"You haven't even seen any of my work. What if it's awful?"
"Then I'd lie and say it's the best thing I've ever seen." 
"So you’re a iiar." 
"At least, I'd be a considerate liar." He says. You're about to start arguing with him about it when a pair of familiar eyes meet yours across the restaurant. Before you can even think about a tactic to get out of the situation, she's already up and walking toward your booth.
"Oh, shit," you mutter, and Joel's eyebrows furrow until he finds who you're looking at. His face falls exactly the same way you're sure yours did.
"Hi!" Marnie greets as she lands in front of you. "I haven't seen you in a minute!"
"I know! I've been meaning to text you about getting drinks, but I keep forgetting!" It's a lie. A considerate lie, but a lie nevertheless. 
"Oh, you're too sweet. We'll set somethin' up," she says as she turns to Joel. "And you! I haven't seen you since Sarah moved. How is she?" Oh, shit. How does she know you and Joel? He recovers quickly with a charming smile and a nod.
"Yes, ma'am. She's doin' real good up in Boston. Keepin' outta trouble and everythin'." 
"And Ellie? How's she doin'? She still makin' art?" 900,000 people in Austin and countless Whataburgers within 100 square miles, and the person who walks into the one you're in is the one you used to work with at school. Not only that, but she knows Joel's kids. She knows Joel. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Yeah, she's still doin' art. She's good at it. She's seein' a movie with some friends from school tonight." He says, and Marnie's eyes light up at the mention of the high school while Joel tenses.
"Oh, my gosh, how's the new classroom? I completely forgot they renovated that old teacher's lounge a couple years ago." 
"It's good. The equipment's a little old, but nothing's fallen apart yet. You'll have to come see it sometime."
"We'll have to find a time!" She says, always insanely cheerful. "Well, I'll let y'all get back to your meal, but I'd be kickin' myself if I didn't come over here and say hello to you two. Joel, please tell the girls I said hi."
"Yes, ma'am," Joel says politely. With that, Marnie turns and walks back to her waiting husband and says something that sounds like, "I know them!" Your food is suddenly cold and unappetizing when you look at it, and your stomach is in knots. The warm bubble around you and Joel has burst, and you're left in the stark light of the truth. "D'you wanna go?" Joel whispers, and you nod. 
He takes your trays and throws away the food before opening the door for you to walk out into the cool night air, avoiding Marnie's stare the whole time. He doesn't reach for you or help you into the truck. He barely looks at you until you're in the safety of the cab. The world is spinning around you, and alarms are sounding in your brain. What the fuck just happened?
"How do you know her?" You ask Joel, staring straight ahead, and he swallows hard.
"She was Sarah and Ellie's science tutor," he says, and your eyes flutter shut. "How do you know her?"
"She was the science teacher at the high school during my first year there. She left to go to a different school after that, but we were pretty close."  
"So, she knows you're a teacher at the same school my kid goes to."
"And she knows Ellie does art, so she knows she would be one of my students." You slowly piece together how bad this could be. You got caught having dinner with the parents of one of your students. If Marnie says anything, word could travel through the district until Martinez hears about it. You'd be in much more trouble than you already are with her. You could be accused of giving Ellie special treatment and violating school policy. 
"Fuck." Joel mumbles, mirroring your exact thoughts, and you nod. 
"We can't do this." You whisper, not wanting to admit it, especially after such a nice day with him. He doesn't protest. He feels the gravity of the situation. You want to put your hand over his. You want to hug him. You want to comfort him the way he comforted you, but you can't. 
"I know." His voice is even and controlled like he's choosing his words carefully, but you can hear the disappointment in his words. You can't go back to an hour ago when you were laughing and pulling him into storage rooms. You have to stay where you are. You have to stay safe. He is the personification of your wall and you have to be okay with not knowing what’s beyond it.
You can't do this.
TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia
122 notes · View notes
Text
The Captain's Girls
October 11th, 2023
"What am I supposed to do? Pack orange slices? Send in juice boxes?"
Quinn's hands find my hips, slowing my pacing and quickly wrapping their way around my body to keep me in place.
"No one is asking you to do that, Rue. You're my girlfriend, not their mom, you don't have to pack snacks or organize carpool like you do for Ellie," He assures, trying to light it up with a joke, but this is no joke. This is important to me.
"Quintin Hughes-"
"Still not my name, and you know that, but carry on."
"-This is my first game going as the captain's girlfriend. I missed all of the preseason games because of visiting my parents and things for Ellie. And I had to facetime your mom to help me pick out outfits good enough for Ellie and I to be seen in, and don't even get me started on how long that took because only half my wardrobe fits over this stupid bump-"
"Not stupid, we love that bump, that bump is our son."
"Yes, you know I love him," I respond, not even slowing down. "But what if the guys don't think I'm good enough? What should I-"
I don't get to continue my rambling, his lips meeting mine and wiping any spiraling thoughts from my head. And as he pulls away, he smiles with so much love in his eyes it makes my anxious nausea settle.
"You, Ruthie Jane, are overthinking with that - gorgeous - big - incredible brain of yours," Each word punctuated with a kiss to my head, his hands coming to rest on my cheeks, making sure my eyes meet his. "No one is expecting you to be perfect. To bring snacks or drinks or anything like that to the games. You know the rink provides foods for the families anyways. And you're going to be gorgeous in whatever you wear to the game. You could show up in a garbage bag and still be the most beautiful woman in a room," He assures, his hands running from my cheeks and down my arms, taking ahold of hands and stepping back to look over my outfit, a simple Canucks blue jumpsuit that makes my five month bump even more apparent, a Canucks bomber jacket with Q's last name and number on the back keeping me warm, his captains C staring back at him.
"You look gorgeous," He assures, pulling me back in, wrapping me up tight.
"What about me Daddy!" Ellie's voice interrupts our moment, her body hurling at our legs. Always a daddy's girl.
"You're are just as beautiful as your momma, baby," Q compliments, bending and pulling her up into our hug, her little blue bell bottoms and a miniature version of her father's Canucks jersey keeping her matching the both of us, with a white longsleeve to keep her warm.
Thank God for Ellen constantly sending us knew clothes as she grows. We've already had to ask the team for a new jersey twice since Ellie and I came back into Quinn's life.
"You hear that Momma? I'm just like you! Will CJ be just like Daddy?" She asks, hand reaching down to pat where she knows her brother to be.
"One can only hope baby," I answer, my eyes catching Quinn's, his eyes the shape of hearts before he steps back, still holding Ellie and bouncing her around.
"Ok, I'm just gonna put Ellie in my equipment bag and then we can head to the game," Quinn tells me, starting to swing the little girl towards the disgusting bag that typically takes residence in the garage, her giggles filling the room and my heart.
"Daddy! No! No! I sit with Momma during game!" She squeals, Q pausing and holding her in front of him, eyes jokingly wide.
"Oh, so you don't come with me?"
"No Daddy," She's still giggling, digging her head into his chest and giving us a moment to catch eyes, and God I can't help but love this man.
"Well, we need to get going, cause otherwise Daddy will be late," He prompts, but before he's even done speaking we're both grabbing our bags, his to play and mine for Ellie, his body nudging mine as he draws close. And he smiles, his classic Quinn smile. "And I don't think they'll be okay with it, even if it was the Captain's girls who caused it."
102 notes · View notes
0fth34byss · 2 months
Text
(Un)welcome Distraction | Part 5
Nick Folio x female reader
Minors, please DNI
🔞⚠️: fingering, p in v sex, choking, minor act of dominance, unconsensual kiss
1,493 words
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Tumblr media
Soundcheck in Chicago had gone well - apart from Jolly barely taking his eyes off you. He hadn't said it out loud, but you knew Nick had noticed too by the way he let his hands linger on your ass and the sheer volume of kisses he left over your face and neck. It was clear to you now that there was more to Jolly's disdain than meets the eye.
“I don't think he has a problem with you, and that's the problem.”
Nick's words were rattling around in your brain and you knew exactly what he was getting at. You could only hope Jolly wouldn't become an issue. They were as close as brothers. You couldn't come between them.
Most of the guys decided to go work out or get something to eat between soundcheck and needing to get back to the venue to finish prepping for the show. Nick wanted to take you back to the bus, after calling dibs on it, and deep down you knew he didn't want to risk seeing the way Jolly had started looking at you if he could help it.
You both slipped out of the venue and climbed on the bus, barely managing to not be seen by fans who were waiting to catch a glimpse of their idols coming and going.
Once inside, he pulled you in close to him and whispered in your ear, “Am I still enough for you, baby?”
You felt your heart shatter into a thousand pieces, before replying, “More than you'll ever understand, Nick. Wait, why are you even asking this? Is it because of… him?”
“I know you've seen it too. The way he looks at you,” he muttered.
“Baby, you don't have anything to worry about. Just, look, try not to think about him. I'm here for you. I'm here with you.”
“I trust you, I really do, but it's like he’s mad about us dating -”
“I mean, he can’t be that mad about us being together. He got us talking the night we met,” you cut in, sensing he was spiralling.
You'd met Nick at a bar in Seattle on a rainy October night a few years ago. You were visiting a friend who'd moved there right after college, and as it was your first time in the city, you'd spent most of the day exploring. Exhausted and windswept, you found yourself in a cosy bar on the waterfront with a much needed glass of red wine in hand. Then you saw Nick. You made eye contact for a few seconds then looked away, both blushing and grinning. After about 45 minutes of this little game, Nick was yanked up by the man you soon learnt to be Jolly, and carted over to where you were sitting with your friend. Jolly had made him introduce himself and prompted him to ask questions. You'd found his shyness endearing and agreed to give him your number. A few weeks later you went on your first date, and six months after that you were living together.
Nick moved his hands down to the hem of your skirt, his fingertips brushing your thighs. He left a trail of soft kisses from your lips, over your chin and down your throat. His hands soon made their way under your skirt to your underwear.
“So this is why you asked me to wear a skirt today?”
“No comment,” he said, before nipping at the skin of your neck with his teeth.
“You don't have to fuck me to prove I'm yours, you know?”
“I know. I just want to make you cum. Can I take off your underwear?”
You nodded, prompting Nick to pull the little lacy shorts you were wearing down to your ankles so you could step out of them. He backed you into the small table which was bolted to the floor and lifted you on to it. As he pulled you forward, he spread your legs so he could stand between them. His tongue was in your mouth a moment later. His desperate kiss had you needing more. Next he ran his index finger up and down your pussy, but it wasn't enough. You grabbed his finger and pressed it to your clit. He understood. Adding his middle finger to the mix, he began making slow circular motions. Once he felt you were wet enough, he slid his fingers inside of you, knuckle deep. You couldn't help but gasp as he moved them round and round, and they brushed over the most sensitive spot of your walls with every rotation. The pressure was building fast as the sensation Nick was creating between your legs became almost unbearable. Lost in the moment you dug your nails into his arms as you gave into the orgasm that ripped through you.
You felt Nick's erection against your inner thigh as he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips.
“I love the way you taste, baby,” he said after licking them clean.
“Take off your pants,” you ordered.
Nick took a few steps back and did as he was told. You couldn't help but bite your bottom lip as his hard cock sprang free. You slid off the table and turned around. Placing your palms down on the table for support you pushed your ass towards Nick, inviting him in. He entered you with ease, making you feel so full and all his. He wrapped one arm around your abdomen, relying on you to hold up his body weight, as he began fucking you.
“Choke. Me,” you managed to get out as he slammed into you.
“If you can't use our safe word, bang twice on the table, okay?”
His free hand ran up the length of your body to your neck, his strong fingers wrapping around it. He had total control over you, something you both needed from time to time. You were soon close to cumming again. His inches massaging your inner walls with every stroke, and his hand around your throat reducing how much air you could take in had you a complete mess. The warmth in your belly swelled and you slapped your hand on the tabletop twice as in instructed.
“NICK!” You let out as you came undone.
“I’m. Almost. There. Give. Me. Ahhh. Give. Me. A. Second.” Nick growled, his pace beginning to falter.
With a few more hard thrusts, he spilled his load and you felt that comforting warm sensation as he filled you.
He never said it, but you knew Nick needed that to reinforce what he already knew - Jolly wasn't a threat.
***
The show that night was insane. The energy from the crowd could be felt backstage and they'd eaten up everything the band had thrown at them. Nick gave your hand a squeeze as you excused yourself to go get some fresh air after helping pack up the equipment they’d actually let you touch. As you walked past the door to the green room, you noticed it was open and that Jolly was sitting alone on the couch.
“Hey, Jolly? Can I talk to you?” You asked as you took a step inside and leaned back against the wall closest to the door.
“Eh, sure. What's up?” He replied, not bothering to look up at you.
“I don't get you, Jolly. One minute you're happy for Nick and I, the next you're trying to convince Nick to leave me behind, and then you're giving me come to bed eyes from across the room!”
He made his way over to you, placing his hands on the wall either side of your head. His hair fell in front of his face as he looked down at you. His breathing was heavy and his jaw slightly clenched. He licked his lips. He tensed his arms like he was stopping himself from getting any closer to you.
“I was the one who noticed you first. I heard that laugh of yours and then I saw you smile. I can't really explain it but it was like you were the only person in the room. Now I've gotten to know you a little, it’s getting even harder to be around you, or see you with Nick.” Jolly confessed.
Jolly leant down now so he was eye level with you. Your heart was pounding in your ears as frustration and confusion whirled around in your head. You wanted him to take the words back but he couldn't. The pair of you just stood staring into each other's eyes.
“Then why did you make him come talk to me that night in Seattle?”
Jolly sighed, “He looked at you like you were the only woman on the planet and I knew. Look, Folio's like my kid brother, I'd do anything for him. Even if that means not having a chance with you.”
“Jolly,” you said, barely audibly.
Then Jolly slammed his lips into yours.
Part 6
66 notes · View notes
foreverindreamlandd · 2 years
Text
Paddles and Purists
Tumblr media
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Librarian!Reader
WC: 3.3k
Summary: Steve begrudgingly goes with Dustin to drop off severely overdue books, but when he sees you lingering between the shelves, he quickly realizes that libraries aren't as lame as he thought. But can he keep his favorite librarian safe when Hawkins is under attack a third time?
Warnings: Canon level violence, mentions of blood, takes place before and during season 3 (with a few plot points/timelines muddled about because fanfic lol).
Note: This fic was inspired by Nat's amazing prompt here! I am completely gone for this man it's ridiculous.
------
JANUARY
“Listen Henderson,” Steve started, getting out of the car and resting his arm on top as he waited for his friend to gather his things, “I know that we’re buddies and all now, but you do realize that being seen here is going to hurt my already fragile cool status at Hawkins?”
“Oh, cut the shit, Harrington. You’re literally hanging out with a thirteen year-old. Your cool status is on the floor buddy.” He pulled his backpack over his shoulder. “Besides, I need whatever smooth moves you have left to sweet talk Marissa into forgiving me for borrowing those books in the fall.”
Steve’s left eyebrow shot up. “You mean the ones you stole-”
“For the last time I did not steal them! I just needed them for the curiosity voyage! I needed my paddles, Steve! And now that we fought and defeated the Demodogs, I can return my paddles.”
He turned and headed toward the Hawkins Library, ignoring Steve as he rolled his eyes and followed behind.
“This kid,” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.
Dustin’s steps slowed as he walked inside, hesitant to meet the wrath of Marissa. He kept his gaze on the books the two of them passed.
Steve didn’t care about the books, though. His attention was completely and unapologetically on you.
You were in the corner of the children’s section, handing a book to a young boy with a smile on your face that outshined the sun. The boy jumped to give you a hug and your laugh traveled all the way down Steve’s body.
“Marissa doesn’t seem so bad,” he whispered to Dustin with an awestruck smile.
Dustin looked over at you as you walked to the front desk. “Oh thank god,” he breathed, quickly walking over to you. “Y/n!” he called out.
Oh, Steve thought. This isn’t Marissa then. 
You looked up when you heard Dustin called your name and glared.
It was the fiercest, cutest look Steve had ever seen.
“Henderson,” you said, looking around the open room and over your shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here? Marissa is going to be back from lunch any minute and she is out for your head after the shi- stuff you pulled in October.”
“But my paddles-”
“You know the lame paddles metaphor doesn’t work on me, bud.” You sighed, arms leaning on the desk as you whispered, “Look, if you have the books, I can try to say that they had been misshelved and this was all some big misunderstanding. Do you have them with you?”
Dustin nodded, pulling out his bag and digging for the various textbooks. “You’re a lifesaver, Y/n. I’m naming my firstborn after you.”
You giggled, and the sound was so amazing that Steve started chuckling himself.
Your eyes flashed to him and his laughter died on his throat, and his face suddenly burned.
“Who’s your friend, Henderson?” you asked, keeping your eyes on Steve.
Steve stood straight, clearing his throat and holding out a hand while giving you his best, swoonworthy smile.
“I’m Steve Harrington.”
Your brows shot up, and Steve watched as you bit the inside of your cheek and he suddenly wished that he could crawl into the Upside Down and never emerge because of how unimpressed you were by his moves.
Still, you took his hand and shook it. The feel of your skin against his was electric.
“Steve Harrington, I’m Y/n.” You looked over at Dustin. “Aren’t you too old for a babysitter?”
Both of them groaned. “He’s not my babysitter-”
“More like his chauffeur,” Steve muttered, and the corners of your lips twitched. He shrugged. “We’re buds.”
You softened at that, giving Steve a genuine smile that made him melt. “Well, nice to meet you, Steve. Are you a reader?”
His immediate reaction was to lie in order to impress you, but he had a feeling you’d be able to read through his bullshit.
“Only when forced, and even then, not really,” he replied sheepishly.
He braced himself for judgment from you, whether it be a disappointed scoff, or a you’re such a loser cackle.
Instead, your smile widened and you bit your bottom lip.
“I bet we can change that.”
MARCH
Dustin plopped his finished books on the counter, a satisfied grin on his face as Marissa scowled.
“See?” he said, gesturing at the pile. “All five safely returned! Again!”
“You’re not going to win me over that easily, Dustin,” she said, taking the pile.
“Someday,” Dustin said, then ran off to find his next round of tomes.
Steve, on the other hand, kept his one book in hand as he walked by the shelves, scanning the area for the other librarian.
He stopped short once he got to the history section, smiling as he watched you carrying a massive stack of books in one hand, balancing it under your chin as you shelved one of the books.
You were standing on your tiptoes, tongue sticking out as you reached up to one of the higher shelves. At first it seemed like you had everything under control.
Then, the stack in your hand wobbled, and your eyes widened as they started tipping over-
Steve jumped forward, grabbing the stack from you and securing it in his arms.
You gasped from the smooth, fluid motion, staring up at him in surprise.
“Harrington,” you breathed out a relieved laugh. “Good catch.”
He smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, well, after years of being the star athlete of Hawkins, I better have great reflexes.”
You rolled your eyes, still smiling. “Is that supposed to impress me?”
A chuckle. “Nah, if I really wanted to impress you,” he lifted up the stack of books, “I would go home and spend the weekend reading these bad boys.”
Your nose scrunched in disgust. “That would be quite the feat, even for me Harrington. I’m more of a fiction girl myself.”
You tried to make a move to grab the stack but Steve just shook his head, so instead you just grabbed the book at the top, turning to the shelves and running your fingers over the spines until you found its proper home.
It was such a small, seemingly insignificant gesture, but Steve found himself mesmerized by the tenderness of your fingertips as they touched each book, as if you were handing precious jewels.
“I finished Hitchhiker’s Guide, by the way,” he said after a few moments of silence.
Your eyes lit up as you turned to him. “And?”
He nodded. “It was good! Gotta admit I got lost during a few moments, but overall I liked it.”
“Totally fair. I had to reread it a few times to fully understand some parts. It sure gets wild.”
“I’d definitely read it again. Kind of wish it was a movie, too. That would be wild.”
“Well,” you said, taking another book to the shelf, “I don’t know about a movie, but they did make a tv show a few years back.”
Steve’s eyes widened. “What! How did I miss that?”
“Probably all that athlete stuff you were doing,” you said, smile widening.
He narrowed his eyes at you. “Alright, sassypants. Well, is it worth the watch?”
You shrugged. “Not sure, I never saw it.”
Steve barked out a laugh loud enough for you to whip your head around at him, clamping your hand over his mouth. 
The two of you went wide-eyed at the sudden and unexpected contact and you pulled away as soon as the realization of what you had done sank in. Your eyes then averted from his as you looked around for any angry glares from the loud noise.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “I just can’t believe you just gave me shi- crap about not seeing it when you haven’t either!”
You scoffed. “What? Maybe I’m a purist who believes the book will always be better!”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Steve’s lips turned downward. “We could….find out together?”
There was a pause as you shelved the next book, and Steve wondered if he had taken your witty banter too far, misreading the situation.
But when you turned to look at him, there was a light in your eyes that made his heart flutter.
“I’d be down for that.”
JUNE 
“Well, well, well, look who we have here,” you said as you approached the kid’s section, crossing your arms at the man sitting on the U.S. map rug reading a picture book.
Steve looked up at you with feigned annoyance. “Can you wait a second, please? I gotta find out what the hell this brown bear sees.”
“Harrington, you know you’re welcome to join me at storytime any Saturday morning you’d like. I’m sure it’s been lonely since Dustin left for science camp.”
He frowned, closing the book and standing up. “I’m not lonely!” he lied. “How can I be lonely when I have a million books and a stellar librarian to keep me company?”
You shrugged. “Or maybe it’s that you’ve now found better things to do and more interesting people to hang out with?” Though you were joking, he could hear the hurt in your voice. “Maybe that’s why you haven’t been here in months.”
Steve’s eyes widened, guilt and shame washing through him. “What? No way! I just-” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, Y/n. Shit- stuff with my parents haven’t been great and I had to get a job at the new mall and….” now I’m just some loser.
“Hey,” you said, resting a hand on his shoulder. He tried not to make a big deal about you touching him so as to not scare you off, and luckily, it worked. “It’s okay, Steve. Life happens. The books will always be here when you need them.”
He cocked an eyebrow up and smiled at the meaning behind your words. “Well, I’m grateful for the books’ support.”
A sudden boldness that Steve had not felt in months washed over him and he rested his hand over yours, squeezing it gently.
You smiled.
“Alright, Harrington, are you finished with the bear yet? I have a whole pile of books I’ve been saving for you…” 
JULY
Steve’s eye felt like it was going to pop out of its socket.
When he first got beat to shit in the underground Russian lab, the pain as numbed due to the adrenaline rush, replaced quickly by the crazy truth serum shit they injected into him and Robin.
Now, as the drugs slowly left his system, he began to feel the pain pulsing through his body.
But he couldn’t focus on that right now. He needed to focus on keeping his legs moving as he, Robin, Dustin, and Erica ran full speed down the streets of Hawkins.
“We gotta hide somewhere!” Robin said in between curses.
“The library!” Dustin offered. “It’s not far-”
“No,” Steve growled, shooting a glare at his friend.
Henderson sighed. “Look, Harrington, it’s the closest thing we got! Besides, it closed hours ago. No one will be there.”
Steve read between the lines of what the twerp was saying. You wouldn’t be there.
It was still too dangerous. He didn’t want any of this to go anywhere near any part of your life if he could help it. “If it’s closed, that means it’s locked. So we can’t get in anyway!”
“Not a problem. I’ve broken in multiple times.”
Steve groaned. “What do you mean you’ve broken into the library-”
“PADDLES STEVE. FOR THE PADDLES!” 
Steve didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t let his friends get hurt any more than they already had, and an the Mindflayer army was readying an invasion through Hawkins any moment.
His brain was going fuzzy again from exhaustion and pain, and he had no more strength to fight.
“Fine.”
They continued down the streets, keeping their eyes and ears peeled for any approaching danger. Luckily, the coast seemed clear.
Until they made it to the main road where the library was, and Steve felt his heart stop mid-beat as they all scrambled to hide behind one of the buildings. 
He leaned over to look at the three figures on the other end of the street walking toward the library, bodies moving almost unnaturally, the expressions on their faces borderline lifeless.
Marissa was at the helm.
Panic rushed through him like a tidal wave.
Why would Marissa be heading towards a supposedly empty building?
Unless it wasn’t empty….
Steve turned to Dustin. “We need to get in there. Now.”
Dustin nodded. “Back door. Follow me.”
They crept behind the buildings until they reached the library. Dustin pulled out a key from his bag - because apparently he had a key to the library somehow- and unlocked it.
The door slowly opened with an aged creak to a dimly lit office space.
Steve stormed in, whipping his head around frantically as he looked for you.
“Stay in the office, run if shit goes down,” he said to the group before opening the office door.
He made his way into the library itself, jumping between shelves.
“Hello?” you called out, a hint of fear in your voice and Steve almost let out a whimper.
“Y/n!” he followed your voice to the classics section and didn’t stop until you were a foot in front of him.
“Steve, what the hell happened to you?” Your eyes widened and a hand reached up to his swollen eye.
He shook his head, hands grasping your arms as his eyes bore into yours.
“You need to go. Right now. It isn’t safe.”
“Steve we need to get you to a hospital-”
“We can’t-” the panic was unrelenting. “Please, Y/n. Please you can’t be here I need to get you out of here I need you to be safe-”
“Steve, breathe,” you whispered, caging his face in your hands. You took a deep breath in and out, wordlessly telling him to do the same.
He took one breath in-
BANG
The two of you jumped as the entrance door slammed open, Steve covering your mouth before you could scream. He pulled you deeper into the shelves.
“Ohhhhh Y/n,” Marissa called as if coaxing a cat from underneath the bed. “Where are you?”
You let out the tiniest cry, muffled by Steve’s hand. His other arm wrapped around your waist as he clung to you, ready to pull or push you wherever you needed to go in order to be safe.
Marissa’s voice echoed through the room as she continued, and Steve used it as a path to escape. As her voice went left, you went right. She came closer, you moved back.
“I just wanted to have a little chat. I just met the most interesting people. They’ve got some big ideas and dreams that you might really like. Doesn’t take that much to join.”
You and Steve were close to the entrance now. He looked over the corner of a shelf, his hand securely around yours.
Marissa was gone.
“All it costs is your soul,” the possessed librarian said from right behind him. He whirled around just as she wrapped her arm around your throat, you gasping while she ripped you away from him.
Steve moved to jump to your aid, but was suddenly restrained by the two large men Marissa had been walking with.
“Y/N!,” he screamed, using every ounce of strength to try and pull away. One of the guys punched him in the stomach and he keeled over.
“STEVE,” you screamed back, arm extending out toward him. Marissa slammed your body against one of the shelves, hand wrapping around your neck as she lifted you in the air with superhuman strength.
“Now, now, Y/n,” Marissa cooed, head cocking to the side as a smile crept up her face. “You know the rules. No. Yelling-”
The guys holding Steve back let out a simultaneous oof as their hold on him loosened and they fell to the ground. Steve looked at Robin, Erica, and Dustin, who were holding those large busts usually displayed at the desk.
And then, he launched himself at Marissa, slamming his body into hers. The momentum knocked her off her feet and onto the ground, and you fell back against the shelf, gasping for air.
Marissa growled, standing up and crashing her fist into Steve’s jaw. He fell onto his back with a groan and she took the opportunity to straddle his waist and wrap both hands around his neck and squeezing with all her might.
“Well if it isn’t Steve Harrington,” she hissed, her eyes nearly black. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble with the boss trying to keep these kids safe over the years. He’d love it if I took care of the problem by killing you now-”
A thunk echoed in the library as Marissa’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and she fell to the side, unconscious.
Steve turned from her to see you standing over him, panting from adrenaline, a giant history book in your hand like a weapon.
He scrambled up to standing as you dropped the book. “Are you oka-”
His question was cut off as you lunged forward, crashing your lips to his.
Steve hissed in pain.
You pulled back in horror. “I’m sorry I’m sorry-”
His hands wrapped around your face and he smiled. “Nononowaitwaitwait,” he murmured as he pulled your mouth back till it connected with his.
A small sigh left your body as you leaned into him, and Steve felt like he was floating. 
When he finally pulled back, his eyes opened slowly, expression dreamlike.
Your eyes, however, were still wide and you bit your bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” you said again, softly this time. “I just…nothing like an unexpected near death experience to make you finally have the balls to kiss the guy you like.”
Steve chuckled, forehead leaning against yours. “Well, I hope it won’t take another near death experience for you to do it again. You can kiss me anytime you like.”
You smiled. “Really?”
He kissed you again in response.
“Uh, guys?” Dustin whined from behind as he continued kissing you. “Can we go back to saving the world again?”
AUGUST
Steve strolled into the library, plastic bag in hand.
As per usual, instead of being at your station at the front desk, he found you helping a group of young students pick out their last summer reads before school started.
He leaned against the desk, arms crossed as he watched you with a content smile on his face. It never got old, the joy spread across your face doing the things you loved most.
Nothing beat the way your smile grew as you looked up to see him there, the brightness in your eyes somehow becoming brighter. 
The way you scrunched your nose when he winked at you.
You handed the last student their book and patted them on the shoulder before walking over to him. He was about to say hello when you grabbed his arm and pulled him into the empty reference section, pushing him against the spines and leaning in for a deep, head spinning kiss.
“Man,” he said when you pulled away, the two of you a bit breathless. “I had no idea libraries were this much fun.”
You rolled your eyes, lightly slapping his chest. “Did you get the goods?”
He held up the plastic bag. “The first season of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Surprisingly easy to get my hands on, seeing that it apparently hasn’t been checked out in years.”
You shook your head. “Some people are such purists,” you muttered before pulling Steve’s smiling lips back to yours.
-------
Thank you for reading! :)
2K notes · View notes
otdiaftg · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media
The Raven King - Chapter Eight
Day: Friday, October 13th Time: 9:25 PM EST
"Foxes," Riko said as the Ravens came up at their backs. All the Foxes save Kevin turned to face him. "I admit I'm at a loss as to what to do now. I cannot thank you for the night's game because I can't call this debacle a game. I thought I knew what to expect when we came here tonight, but I am still embarrassed on your behalf. You have fallen so far, Kevin. You should have stayed down and saved us the trouble of forcing you back to your knees." "I'm satisfied," Kevin said. It was the last response any of the Foxes expected from him. They forgot about Riko in favor of gaping at Kevin. "Not with their score or performance, but with their spirit. I was right. There's more than enough here for me to work with." "How many balls did you take to the helmet?" a Raven asked. Kevin only smiled, slow and sure and pleased, and offered Andrew a hand. Andrew looked at it, then at Kevin, and let Kevin haul him to his feet. Renee was ready when Kevin let go and looped her arms around Andrew in a fierce hug. It had to be awkward with all the armor Andrew was still wearing, but it gave Andrew a couple seconds to find his balance. Kevin distracted the Ravens from Andrew's unsteadiness by facing them. "Thank you for the game tonight," he said. "We will see you again at semifinals. It will be an interesting rematch, I promise." Riko wasn't expecting that calm confidence after tonight's awful results. "One man cannot carry you that far," he said, sounding torn between incredulity and disgust. "Even you are not stupid enough to believe that. You should give up now." It was a threat, not friendly advice, but Kevin said, "One is enough to start with."
Art used with permission by llstarcasterll. Thank you @llstarcasterll
95 notes · View notes
girlactionfigure · 5 months
Text
DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF HAMAS MASSACRE
GRAPHIC CONTENT
LEE KERN
WARNING - GRAPHIC CONTENT
My name’s Lee Kern. I’m 45 years old. I’m a writer from London. Having seen footage of some of the crimes commited by Hamas against Israeli civilians on October 7th, 2023, I flew to Israel and requested permission to join a press screening that included footage families have asked not to be released to the general public. This is not what I want to do with my life. I’m a civilian. I’m an artist. I have mental health to protect. But it became clear we’re experiencing Holocaust denial in live time. Those who wish to destroy Israel and hold ill feeling towards Jews are not my audience. They’ve embraced an anti-intellectuallism in pursuit of mendacious goals. But I still believe the civilised world holds an edge over those debilitated by hate and conspiracism. It’s for those that I write this, and also for the victims.
Below are the notes I made during the screening, which lasted forty five minutes. It starts off extreme and gets more extreme. I am remaining in Israel so I can interview survivors and those affected by the massacres. If you are able to support my trip and my work, please subscribe.
DESCRIPTIONS OF OCTOBER 7th MASSACRE
The following are descriptions of footage shot by Hamas terrorists on their bodycams and mobile phones. It also incudes footage filmed on dash-cams, CCTV cameras and by the victims with their mobile phones.
The footage starts with Hamas breaking into Israel. They are on trucks and motorcycles. They shout Allahu Akbar. Over and over again. Allahu Akbar. Their faces are beaming with joy. They’re so happy.
We see terrorists standing in a road in Israel. A civilian car drives towards them. They begin firing. There are masses of them standing in the road. A long line of men with rifles all shooting at one car. The damaged car continues to move, but slowly now. A terrorist gestures his hand at the vehicle - almost as if he’s pretending to be their friend - kindly asking them to slow down even more so he can shoot them. He fires more bullets at them. The occupants of the car - a man and woman - are dead. Their bodies are pulled out of the vehicle and dropped lifelessly into the road.
Read More: Here
54 notes · View notes
steddiebang · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media
Crossroads (Hellfire on my Trail)
Author: @nevertheless_5 l Artist: @hels._art l Artist: @sunflowerharrington Posting on Tuesday, October 10
Like the infamous urban legend, Eddie meets the Devil at a crossroads and cuts a deal to become a rockstar. In exchange, Henry Creel wants to be his occasional puppetmaster. He grants Eddie one year of his shiny new life to choose to either finalize his deal or break it. As he grows more famous, makes a record, and starts a nationwide U.S. tour, Eddie thinks he’s gotten everything he ever wanted. Then he meets Steve Harrington and realizes how wrong he was. He also didn’t get all the fine print of his contract with the Devil. An explicit, slow burn, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers tale. Tagline: Love be the Devil but it won’t get me.
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
Eddie kept looking because the guy was hot. Those boring clothes were a little too tight and all Eddie could process was the bulge in his jeans, toned muscles that were obvious under his pastel shirt, and hard forearms. He looked strong, like he worked out. Probably exactly that douchey type, yeah. His face was kind of ridiculous too. Thick, dark eyebrows, defined jaw, moles or freckles dotting his neck and face like beauty marks. He was pretty.
So maybe he was a little taken aback by the guy’s looks. He wasn’t about to show it. Good-looking guys like him were a dime a dozen. Probably straight as an arrow too. He looked it. Boring. 
“And who are you?” Eddie said and looked down like he wasn’t interested in the answer. He watched himself strum the guitar. 
“Who are you?” 
Eddie laughed. “If you’re here you should probably know that already.” He looked up to another bitchy expression and hands still on hips. “What are you, venue staff?”
The man scoffed. Eddie strummed again and turned one of the tuning pegs to adjust the sound, strummed again.
“Hey, stop that.” 
The man placed his hand on the neck of the guitar like he was going to take it and Eddie stood up quickly, pushing the guy back with his body, the guitar between them. He didn’t like people touching his baby, certainly not some random dude with a chip on his shoulder. He wasn’t afraid of his size either. They were the same height anyway, even if pretty boy had 20 lbs or more on him. 
“Back off,” Eddie said, eyes locked on the man, but he wasn’t backing down either. 
The guy’s annoyed expression was angry now, and yeah there was green in his eyes. Eddie could see it really well now that they were so much closer. His dark eyelashes were kind of absurdly long too. Christ, he looked like a girl. Eddie’s gaze fell to pretty boy’s lips without his consent. The hard line of them right now couldn’t hide how they’d probably be soft and sweet to kiss, and Eddie wanted to kiss them, well, if he didn’t rip the guy’s hand off his arm first.
“That’s Munson’s guitar and I’m in charge of it, so hand it over.”
Eddie laughed. “You’re not in charge of it.”
“I’m his guitar tech actually, so yes I am in charge of it, and I don’t appreciate you fucking with the instrument.”
The heat in his voice and that he’d cursed made Eddie smile now. He would never deign to let it show, but he decided he liked how this guy didn’t back down. Also, he was pretty amused that he didn’t have a clue who Eddie was. Idiot. A pretty idiot though. He could work with that, could push this game a little further. 
“Oh, you don’t want me fucking with your instrument huh? You sure? I’m pretty good at it.”
The guy seemed to flatline for a moment before narrowing his eyes, getting the gist of what Eddie was saying. Eddie looked him up and down slowly, acted like he was considering it and, oh, this guy didn’t like that at all. They were still so close, and Eddie ran his hand up the collar of the guy’s shirt. Pretty boy stopped Eddie’s hand immediately, gripping it tight, and that actually hurt a little. Strong, yeah. Eddie grinned.
“Watch it.”
“Or maybe I’ll let you fuck with mine instead. You might like that.”
The guy practically sneered at him, disgusted. Eddie grinned and shrugged. It didn’t bother him. Typical straight guy reaction. Eddie knew he was attractive, so it wasn’t any skin off his back. If anything, it made this more fun. 
“But either way, Adonis, I’ll be tuning my own guitar, thanks. Don’t need your help.”
The guy looked a little confused by that, especially when Eddie stepped away to sit back down and mess around with his guitar.
“Uh.” Eddie looked up and the guy seemed a little lost now. He swallowed and followed that eloquence with, “I’m Steve. What’s…your name?”
Eddie grinned. “I think you might have guessed. Smarter than you look, huh?”
A flash of anger passed over the man’s features before he composed himself. “Eddie Munson?”
Eddie nodded and started to hum along to the song he was playing now. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him and wondered what he was thinking. Probably freaking out that he’d pissed off the boss. The boss who had kind of hit on him. Eddie decided he’d put him out of his misery. He didn’t look up when he spoke. 
“I’ll take care of the Warlock and my acoustic too. You can handle the backup guitars, cords, amps, all the other fun stuff. Got it, Steve?”
“Harrington.”
Eddie looked up and a little of the defiance was back in Steve’s expression. He found it funny that he was correcting himself now, wanted to be called Harrington instead apparently.
“Harrington then. My other offer still stands by the way.” Eddie grinned at him and Steve looked confused for a second. Just one.
“I don’t mess around with rockstars.”
Eddie glanced at him, raising his eyebrows as he strummed. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Lots of reasons. Plenty of other people around who are up for that. Men, women, whatever you want.”
“But not you?” Eddie pressed, letting his gaze slide over Steve’s features again. He really was beautiful. Not Eddie’s type at all but there was something about him. Maybe he just liked what he couldn’t have. Steve stared back and seemed to have shut a wall down over his expression. It made Eddie so curious. What was he afraid to show?
“No, I…ah, relationships are kinda bullshit and casual stuff, well, I don’t fuck around on the job.”
That wasn’t what Eddie had meant with his question, and he couldn’t tell if Harrington was avoiding saying whether he was straight or not by deflecting. But if the guy was queer Eddie felt he would have gotten Eddie’s point. So yeah, probably straight. That wouldn’t deter him from flirting in the future though.
Read more on October 10!
65 notes · View notes
slow-writer · 2 months
Text
TMAGP (and TMA, indirectly) Spoilers and Thoughts...
You have been warned...
I wasn't part of the original TMA crowd back when it was first airing. I'd heard mutterings of it, but never really thought much about it. To be honest, I probably wasn't mentally ready for it back then. Instead, my younger sister started listening to it last year and then kept talking about it until something she said made me go, "Y'know what? Okay. I'm in."
I ended up bingeing through it during work this past October, and holy sh*t. I fell down the rabbit hole hard. (Maybe, in this case, it would be more akin to running face first down those coffin stairs? I digress.) Being so new to it when everyone else had already been swallowed up by the sky, it was cool to dig into the Wikis that had already been made, to see the links and foreshadowing.
But now, it's the beginning of TMAGP, and I actually get to listen the day they release, to jump on here, or reddit, or tiktok, or wherever to be a part of the theorizing AS IT HAPPENS. And boy oh boy, I'm happier than Simon Fairchild in the stratosphere.
Do I have a notebook to jot down my thoughts as I listen? Of course, I do. Do I have multiple tabs open, some with ARG info, some with TMA info, and yet more with references to alchemical symbols and practices? Duh. Have I started my own spreadsheet for it all? Well, if you knew about my Lego Dimensions spreadsheet.... nevermind. Yes, I have.
But nothing beats being able to talk (or type) about it with other fans, like my sister, or those faceless avatars (lol) of the interwebs. And man, has my brain been CHURNING.
First, let me get out of the way that I wasn't able to take part in the ARG as it was happening, and my goodness! I'm so happy there are other people out there like me who were able to sum up and load it up for the rest of us to learn about. No idea how much of it will be *necessary* to unlock all the secrets, but I'm the kind who loves to know trivia just cos. And the details I am learning definitely pull me deeper.
Second, I feel like in the beginning of TMA, there was barely anything for the listeners to dig through. One guy working on behalf of an organization, trying to dig through seemingly implausible and overly spooktastic first-hand statements dating back centuries that are in crazy disarray from the previous archivist, and he's laying on a hefty helping of "this is utter balderdash, complete poppycock, and absolute piffle" opinion. It was a slow burn, something that (as an American, and being exposed to so much more instant gratification in storytelling than necessary) UK storytellers seem to be experts in, and was even more expertly done in this case, since so many little things had to eventually build up without listeners automatically assuming what would happen next, without them getting bored.
But TMAGP is already so full of so much extra stuff, so many little things (even before it was released) that we may all get BURIED in the sheer amount of data we think is vital. We're not listening to tapes this time, we're definitely listening via internet-connected devices, like computers, mobile phones, and security cameras. So, while TMA had old tape recorders magically appearing (or were they being dragged by hordes of spiders?) and switching themselves on so they could hear all the random happenings within the archive, TMAGP is no longer reliant on such hand-wavery. Whatever/whoever is listening can do so from anywhere to anyone they want. That makes the world of TMAGP
SO MUCH BIGGER.
Third, I know not everyone who listens to these things is like me (or, let's face it: us--there are so many fans doing regular deep dives on here, we should have our own categorization on the wiki). There are bound to be listeners who just leave everything at face value and wait for the story to unfold itself organically, and when it's done, it's done. But even as an adolescent, when I got into something, I did my best to listen to, watch, or read everything I could find on that very niche thing. At least for a while. (Hello, undiagnosed ADHD!)
So, I watched/listened to a couple interviews and Q&As regarding the new show prior to release. And while both Alex and Jonny have been clear saying you don't have to have listened to TMA to enjoy TMAGP, I kind of think just saying that is leading us TMA fans in a very specific direction. And I think it's very intentional, and that a lot of fans either haven't heard about it yet, or are choosing to ignore it.
They say that TMAGP is tangentially related to TMA in that there will be familiar themes, but
it's taking place in a completely different universe from TMA;
time in TMA worked differently (especially during the Entity Torturepalooza in S5) towards the end, so dates of events there may not line up with dates or events in this universe; and
the main or overarching theme is different.
In TMA, the story was "what makes a monster a monster?" As in, is there a line one crosses that they can't return from? Is it a physical manifestation, like it alters their appearance? Is it an action they have to take? And does that action have to be done willingly, or can it be coerced? Does becoming the monster to protect someone else, or to achieve a greater good... does any of that matter?
In TMAGP, they've already said that the story will be "what makes a person a person?"
The implications of that sentence are many and mind-boggling.
I first thought it had something to do with the idea of the humane (not human): kindness, empathy, compassion. The ties that bind us together as people (like being fans of a little horror podcast from across the pond) could be part of this.
But, now that we have 5 episodes out, and a metaphorical army of lore-deep-divers digging through every word and sound effect and episode title, I think we can truly start to figure out where we're heading.
Artificial Intelligence.
It struck me as I was re-listening to the first episode this morning. (I really am trying to fill out my spreadsheet in a semi-logical manner and with as many pertinent details as possible, really. That's the main reason I was doing that this morning. At least, that's what I tell myself.) We are hearing all these happenings over web-connected devices (don't think I don't see you, Alex and Jonny, and your oh-so-hilarious punning!), the OIAR employees are working on a modified business-forward version of Windows NT 4.0 that precedes Windows 95 that has a name that we interpret as 'Freddy' (or Freddie, depending on where you are in the transcripts), one of the documents from the ARG was a spreadsheet called 'Klaus' (which IS the name of the former IT guy Gwen's asking about because she heard/saw young Lena arguing with him), and we have at least 3 text-to-speech "voices" that Alice has given names (Chester, Norris, and Augustus).
All of that was running through my brain, and then I heard this passage within the first few minutes of the episode:
LENA - Nonsense. Sam is the only one who has had any cake so far. GWEN - And that was only because you practically forced it down his throat. SAM - No, no, it was… nice. LENA - People like chocolate cake.
People like chocolate cake? She didn't even ask her employees (all 5 of them at that time) what flavor they'd prefer, or if they'd want something else? No. She just knows a fact that "people" like chocolate cake, so of course, her employees--who are people--would like chocolate cake.
Almost like a computer following a logic-based workflow, perhaps?
Lots of people have been trying to figure out who in the office is the Big Bad, and many are saying Gwen just because of her ambition and her last name (Bouchard), but I think her name is a red herring. Others are saying Alice knows more than she lets on (and so many are hating on her, and I will NOT ABIDE THE ALICE DYER SHADE because I love her and I would very probably hide bodies for her) but I agree that certain things she's said are a little sus, though they really could just be her personality. I really have known some women like her, and they are some of my favorite people. (Plus, the fact that we now know that she's the most tenured employee at the OIAR--save possibly Lena--does make the brain churn some more.)
But with this line about chocolate cake, and how she was unable to join them at the pub, and how we haven't had a scene with her outside of the OIAR office, it makes me think that Lena might just be part code.
[Let me also add this really quick: I've seen A LOT of people trying to make the current episodes fit into Smirke's 14 +Dekker's 1, but I don't think the Entities as we codified them are what we're dealing with in this universe. I think trying to link everything back to that show will be a lot of wasted thought, because as they said, this isn't a direct sequel. (Do I think it's actually Jon, Martin, and Jonah--yes, Jonah, not Jurgen--trapped in the computer system? A bit, but it won't shatter my appreciation if the voices are something else entirely.)
Plus, I've seen others saying that the statements we've heard, while creepy, aren't all necessarily to do with fear. Most of them are about desires and obsessions.
The woman who wanted so desperately to see her dead husband again that she'd get scammed over and over to possibly resurrect him;
the person who wanted to spelunk an 'unsolved' site to the point of crime;
the woman who wanted to finally feel comfortable in her skin to the point of disfiguring herself;
the man who wanted so badly to climb out of his assigned station and achieve fame that he'd regularly 'feed' his violin blood from other people;
and the man who wanted to feel the same terror he felt when watching scary movies with his dad when he was a kid to the point of chasing down 'borderline illegal films' and ignoring LITERALLY ALL the red flags to the end.
I think that theory is the closest to what we may actually encounter.]
I've seen others on reddit saying they think that this series will be about the race to create the philosopher's stone--the stone that creates the elixir of life and, essentially, immortality. I think it's a valid idea. But, what if it went further than that?
Because with all the alchemical hints dropping in the show's logo, the ARG, and the 3-category system to the statements (yes, I'm keeping track) that could make one think of the spirit, the mind, and the body in alchemy....
What if they're trying to create life from software?
What if these entities or desires or whatevers have been working through some ancient busted code, feeding off statements from "real" humans experiencing strong emotions, watching the employees that work with it every single night, so they can create something as close to a human as possible from just wires and 3 decades of unreadable code?
Oh lord... it just occurred to me that--due to this being a HORROR podcast--they might need to collect a skin suit for the Not Quite Human. Is that what happened to Klaus? Ick. And now I'm hoping I'm wrong.
36 notes · View notes
loniface · 2 months
Text
As Fate Would Have It
Series: Team Fortress 2
Pairing: Sniper x Scout
Rating: G (for now)
Summary: Chance encounters can happen anywhere, at any time. However, Fate can be a cruel mistress. From the Scout's perspective.
Author's Note: It's been years since I've written anything, but this idea and theme popped into my head recently, demanding to be written into existence. Will be multiple chapters, probably. Be gentle with me.
Chapter 1: I Saw Him Standing There
I will never forget that fleeting moment, as if Fate herself was smiling upon me.  It’s really cliche when you think about it–and think about it, I have!  In fact, I have pictured the scene in my head over and over again for the past week, and it’s driving me absolutely mental.
I suppose I should elaborate.
Picture this: I’m in the subway station on a chilly evening in October.  There’s a few people walking about, so there’s a slight display of activity–a typical fussy child, a man loudly snoring on a bench, some no-name musician strumming a guitar for pocket change, a couple arguing over some mundane issue…  It all blends into a loud hum in my ears, and I’m glad to have worn headphones on my excursion to soften the blow of sound.
One hand is firmly holding a suitcase, the other stuffed in my jacket pocket, and my chin is resting against my scarf as I wait for my scheduled train to arrive.  I’m early today–Ma said it would look better if I arrived in a timely manner.  I told her it wouldn’t make the train arrive or depart any faster, but she insisted, so here I am, standing in the cold breeze with very few possessions tucked away in my luggage.
I got a job offer, you see.  Details are very scarce, but so are the jobs around here, and I can’t expect to live off Ma forever.  So, the best thing I could do was head West–some place called the Badlands, working for a man by the name of Redmond Mann.
I know; it sounds sketchy, but the job promises good pay.  I can figure out the fine print later.  Worst-case scenario, I’m stuck in an office job for a little while.  It’s nothing I can’t handle.
But, back to the important part of the story–I’m huddled against the cold, and I hear the train approaching through the tunnel, so I make a quick, mental checklist of everything.  Toothbrush, check.  Socks, check.  Underwear, ch–wait, did I forget that?  Oh, nevermind, the train’s almost here, so I shake my head and step up to the platform.  Other passengers begin to fill the space around me as our ride begins grinding to a halt.
The doors slide open, and that’s when I saw him standing aboard the train.
He was a tall man–like, really tall.  Ridiculously tall.  Granted, I can easily hover over most people, but this guy made me look average.  He had a face full of scruff, and a frown that would have made the aforementioned infant start wailing in terror.  Curiously enough, he wore yellow-tinted sunglasses and a hat I’ve only seen on television.  He stuck out like a very tall and very sore thumb, but, with my mouth agape, I probably did as well.
And, just like that, our eyes met. And, my heart skipped.  Or, did it jump into my throat?  Either way, it began pummeling the inner wall of my chest something fierce.
The other passengers began filing into the cabin, brushing past the two of us, but it was in a weird, slow-motion kind of way.  At least, it seemed that way to me.  Just like the movies–minus the chorus of angels singing from on high.  Let’s not get too weird about it.
But, what felt like a century was mere moments, and I found myself stumbling for words, as well as the ability to read the strange man’s expression.  Was it confusion?  Aggression?  Annoyance?  Or was he entirely oblivious to my gawking?  Those eyes of his–they bore into my very soul and shook me to the core.
Why did I suddenly want to forget about getting on that train?  But, what was I going to do–run up to a complete stranger and start a conversation about how I could see eternity in his eyes?  Is that what it was?  Was that what I was thinking?
He made a grunting sound and moved a hand to the back of his head, giving a slight scratch to his scalp.  And, then, he shifted to the side and moved past me.  Something about that snapped me back to reality and I grabbed the suitcase I had apparently dropped, quickly moving into the cabin just as the door slid shut.
I whip around, pressing my free hand to the window.  He was still there, still frowning, and still staring at me.  A shift indicated the train was beginning to move, and within seconds, all I could see was the blur of the subway walls.
But, for the duration of that ride, the man’s face would be all I could fixate on.
I readjust my headphones, give a slight sigh, and move to one of the empty seats.  It was going to be a very long night.  And, an even longer trip to New Mexico.  I close my eyes and lean against a very unforgivingly cold rail, but that scowling expression is practically burned into my eyelids.
Why?  Why him?  Why me?  Questions plague my brain, and suddenly, I’m daydreaming about a cozy little cabin somewhere far away from the hustle and bustle of the city.  It’s just the two of us–the strange man and myself–and we’re laying it thick on the domesticated stuff.  We’re sitting at a little table with a checkered tablecloth, finishing a meal of wine and–is it spaghetti?  We’ll go with that.  Either way, our eyes meet once more, but a very peculiar thing happens.
He smiles.
It’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, one that could have ended world hunger or at least brought forth world peace.  Look, it’s absolutely stunning, alright?  But, then, his mouth opens wide and he lets out a deafening howl, something akin to a train horn.  My eyes fly open and I’m back on the subway train as it signals its next stop.  I look around; people are filing in and out at a rapid pace.  But, my mind is once again going back to that one last image of the strange man’s smile, and I’m suddenly filled with the regret of not being able to see it beyond my imagination.
I sigh again, hiding my now-blushing face in my scarf.  Fate was playing a cruel joke on me today.  She blessed me with a moment and dangled it right above my reach only to yank it away with a vicious smirk.  But, it was dumb of me to think there was anything more to the shared gaze with a complete stranger in the subway on a cold day in the middle of October.  Just coincidence, two people happened to look at one another at the same exact moment…  Time standing still…  How I long to see his smile…  
Goddamnit.  
There was no way around it.  It was love at first sight.
It was a shame I would never see this man again.
24 notes · View notes
deancasbigbang · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media
Title: Ready To Run
Author: Inkblooded Witch
Artist: CrzyDemona
Rating: Explicit
Pairings: Jimmy/Balthazar, Benny/Meg, Bobby/Ellen, Sam/Eileen, Ishim/Naomi, mentioned past Dean/Others.
Length: 114500
Warnings: Cannon-grade violence, dub-con.
Tags: Western AU, Omegaverse, Set Primarily in 1875, Angst with Happy Ending, Dean Has Anger Issues, Slow Burn, Fluff, Smut, Collar AU, Alcohol Consumption.
Posting Date: October 27, 2023
Summary:   Castiel and Jimmy have always been close, on opposite sides of a single coin. While Jimmy’s rebellions have been loud, blatantly throwing every indiscretion in their father’s face, Castiel’s have been quiet, easier to hide, less publicly embarrassing. For this reason it’s no surprise when he is slated to be married off first. Something they’re informed of right as Jimmy has decided he wants to marry Balthazar, an Alpha he’s been courting on the sly for some time.    Neither of them have been optimistic about their fates should they be left to their father’s tender mercies. Castiel knows that once Jimmy is gone, he will be next. He likes Balthazar, and sees no reason why they should both be condemned, so they hatch a plan. While Jimmy elopes and boards a steamer to Europe, Castiel boards a train to Nebraska as his twin.    Knowing your life will never be the same is one thing, but Castiel never could have predicted what chaos would come of him getting on that train. Starting when plans to slip away before he reaches his intended destination quickly go awry.
Excerpt:   “I’m marrying Balthazar.”    His brother’s teacup froze halfway to his lips. “You’re what?”    “We’ve been planning it for weeks anyway, we’ll just have to hurry things along. I won’t stay here, brother, I can’t. You know that as well as I do.”    “Why didn’t you tell me Balthazar asked you to marry him?” Castiel protested, setting his cup down.    “Actually, I asked him,” Jimmy admitted, smiling sheepishly. “Bal took it rather well. He did ask that he be allowed to propose with a ring he gets to surprise me with.”    Castiel beamed, rising to come around and embrace his brother. Despite their mutual turmoil, Jimmy cracked a smile of his own, rising to return the hug. When they parted, he smacked Jimmy in the arm, hard.    “Ow! Hey, why- ”    “That is for not telling me,” Castiel informed him, retaking his seat. “Some brother you are. Now, how do you expect to get away with that. You’ve pulled some impressive stunts before, but this will be a true trick.”    “Bal knows where we can get a quick wedding, all we have to do is tell them I’m pregnant.”    “Are you?”    Jimmy gave him an insulted look. “I’m brazen, not foolish, brother. No, we just have to tell the priest that and he will get us married very quickly, complete with legal documentation. Which we will then take on a steamer to London.”    Castiel considered that. “I suppose you have always wanted to travel.”    “Yes, and Bal intends to show me Europe, maybe Asia. But he did promise to introduce me to his family first.”    Balthazar Grace was British by birth, the son of a rich family that allowed him to indulge in a lifestyle Jimmy also participated in. He had been seeing the Alpha for nearly a year now. Castiel had met him, and while he found the man to be…much, he clearly adored Jimmy, would give him the world if he asked. For that alone Castiel approved.    “I am happy for you, truly. But how do you expect to get away for this? You know father, he won’t trust you, he will put you on that train personally.”    “I don’t know, I just found out about all this.” Jimmy gestured vaguely with his liquor bottle, still gripped by the neck, which he began drinking out of directly. “What if he puts me on lockdown? How will I tell Bal about this?”    Castiel stared into his own cup, worrying his lip. “Father never cares what I do. I can liaison with him for you if need be.”    Jimmy paused mid-gulp, cobalt eyes sliding over to him. Slowly lowering the bottle’s mouth from his lips, tone thoughtful, he said, “You.”    “Me?”
DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule
32 notes · View notes
kikiskramz · 4 months
Text
Trist (2003-2012)
Tumblr media
Not skramz but DSBM
Trist was a Depressive Suicidal Black Metal (DSBM) band from Olomouc, Czech Republic, formed in 2003, went on hold from 2007 to 2009, and disbanded in 2012. Led by one-man multi-instrumentalist Jan Šincl, the band featured PestKrist, Vincek (2007-2011), with Julius.K (2007-2008) on drums. Tragically, Julius.K committed suicide in 2021. RIP. Koronas (2007) and Kim Carlsson (2010-2011) were vocalists. DSBM, a sub-genre of Black Metal, focuses on suicide, anti-humanity, self-mutilation, nihilism, and emotional imbalance, characterized by slow tempos, distorted riffs, and raw production.
Trist once expressed, "I am more focused on the nocturnal melancholic city, hidden under a lamp or in seclusion, observing as someone passes by from time to time without noticing me. I convince myself that I am just a shadow."
Trist produced 4 albums, 6 demos, 7 splits, and 2 EPs, gaining recognition for Stíny (2006), Sebevražední andělé (2007), Slunce v snovém kraji, rozplývání, echa… (2007), Zrcadlení melancholie (2007). Their last show was in Germany in October 2011.
The reasons behind Trist's decision to halt the project remain unknown. Kim mentioned that Trist shared a similar outlook on life, stating, "when the time is right." Trist also mentioned that alcohol is his life now and will take him. Despite the nature of the DSBM genre, many mistakenly thought Trist had taken his own life, but he is still alive and expresses a desire to start a proper black metal project with the right equipment.
A random fact: when Trist was producing Snění (7 December 2007), he shared on Facebook on 3 June 2017, "It was supposed to be about daydreaming, a time to relax from all the misery, kind of. I don't know what was going through my mind; it was in 2006, and I was 17 or 18, a teenager."
You can still listen to them on Spotify and Last.fm.
Source:
21 notes · View notes
finniestoncrane · 1 year
Note
Hello. I am here to request Yandere Ozzie being overprotective of his sweet princess 🗣️ Perhaps she is kidnapped by someone in hopes of extorting Oswald and get more than a pretty penny out of him but him being the perfect man he is does not lose a single cent and gets his baby back but not before beating the crap out of the kidnappers for hurting her. Thank you and have a great day, friend 🫂
Rescue Me
Farrell!Penguin x Female!Reader, word count: 1.2k what if i did that but made it two parts and i am incredibly slow at getting to the conclusion of things and i'm also very sorry about it anon but you should know that already because this request is from october (i am so sorry i knew this prompt was good so it needed to have justice done to it) 🥴💜🐧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: angst, threats, kidnapping, sad ozzie boo ;-;
Tumblr media
“Uh huh. Sure. Uh-huh. And just so I know I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt, because I’m a nice guy. You know who you’re talking to here, huh?”
Two goons on either side of the office door watched Oswald as he tapped his fingers casually on his desk. He held the phone to his right ear, listening patiently. One of the men who watched had answered. Taken the brief message, and then followed the instructions.
“We’ve got your boss’ girl. We’re looking to exchange her for a reasonable sum, given that she’s tainted goods. You taking all of this down? Ok, go hand the phone to your boss and tell him we want to speak to him.”
“Oh, is that so? Ok. That’s all fine on my end. I’ll bring the money. You bring my girl. We’ll see how smooth things go. You better not waste my fuckin’ time neither.”
Oswald hung up the call, rubbing his face in his palms before he tossed the phone against the wall. He got up from his desk, grabbing his long leather jacket from the coat stand. A cigar, the metal briefcase from the safe in the closet, his own cell phone, and a handgun. That was all he was taking with him.
“You’re going personally, boss?”
“Course I am! And don’t neither of you two clowns follow me. I’m going alone.”
Brushing past them on his way out of the door, Oswald felt calm, collected, but he took a deep breath in before he started his car and began heading to the meeting point. He drove fast, but not fast enough that any cops would bother to interfere. He wanted to get there safe and sound, as quickly as possible. Your life wasn’t in danger, no one was that stupid, but he was still worried.
Pulling up to the farthest end of the docks, territory he felt safe in, Falcone’s territory at that, he noticed another car with dimmed headlights. With an air of confidence he didn’t need to muster up, he got out of his own vehicle, walking steadily towards them, making a concerted effort to conceal his limp as best as he could. He worried it made him look weak, like an easier target. Like he could be toppled over much easier than was likely.
A voice from the shadows, calling out to him. One he only recognised from the phone call, unable to place it to anyone he knew, or knew of.
“You actually came alone?”
“What can I say, I’m a man of my word.”
“Seems risky.”
“Should I be worried? This is business, chief. And I’d like to get on with it.”
“Not much for small talk, hm? What difference does it make how quick we commence the business? The damage has been done.”
Oswald narrowed his eyes, taking another step forward, hand reaching for his pocket, ready to grab his gun if need be.
“Listen, business is business. I’m a busy guy. I know how this shit goes. But I swear to you, if you touched a single hair on her body I will take everything you have and everyone you have ever loved.”
“Relax, Penguin.”
He flinched at the word. Fingers relaxing and tensing by his side.
“Toss the money over and you can have her. In exactly the same condition she was in when we brought her here.”
The briefcase landed with a metallic clunk on the ground, bouncing slightly before settling askew on the wet ground. The stranger took a few steps towards it, stopping when Oswald shouted out over the short distance between them.
“Don’t you touch that thing with your filthy funckin’ hands until I’ve seen her.”
Hands up, displaying his intentions, the stranger clicked his fingers and summoned two men from the vehicle, who dragged out another figure from the back seat. Clad in a large, ill-fitting stained shirt, no shoes, and with a bag over their head, they were walked over to the stranger who pushed them forwards, sending them stumbling into Oswald’s arms. He brought them in close, holding them behind him.
“Hey, you’re ok now, just keep quiet and follow my lead, kid.”
The stranger clicked open the briefcase, scoffing as they realised that there was nothing inside. But by the time he had glanced up towards Oswald, he was met with the handgun pointing at him.
“Shameful tactics, Oswald.”
“This isn’t my girl.”
Shaking his head, the stranger smiled, standing up slowly as Oswald traced his movements with the gun.
“Of course it isn’t. Looks like we both came up short on our ends of the bargain.”
“You bring her to me, or I swear to god!”
Oswald was shouting now, his voice breaking as he tried to conceal the raw emotion. Fear, rage, a deep sorrow, panic and worry.
“How about this time, you come to us. You bring the money to my warehouse, and we’ll give you what you want this time. Promise.”
He winked, a cruel grin briefly flashing over his up until now bland and neutral face.
“I don’t even know who you are or where you operate from. How am I supposed to find you?”
“Think of a way. You’ve got twenty-four hours.”
As he walked to the car, entering it as his men held the door open for him, he called back.
“And don’t worry about it, you’ll know who I am soon enough. Everyone will.”
As their car sped away, Oswald turned his attentions to the figure behind him. Peeling the bag slowly from her head, he stood back, giving her enough space to get accustomed to her surroundings. It didn’t take long, and before he knew it she had her arms around him, thanking him, sobbing into his jacket.
“It’s ok, hey. You’re fine. I recognise you, kid. You one of my dancers?”
“Y-yeah Mister Cobblepot, sir. I… I was coming out of work with your-”
“They took her too? You saw her!? You gotta let me know if they hurt her, ok?”
“They didn’t hurt none of us, she’s ok. Just… scared Mister Cobblepot. We all were.”
Sighing, trying to hold back the tears in a bid to remain the safe space for the girl he now held in the freezing cold, Oswald tried to think on his feet, willing his brain to move past the initial flurry of pain and anxiety that flooded him.
“Listen, sweetheart. I’ll get you home. We’ll make sure you’re safe, ok? I’ll get one of my guys on your door and he’ll stick with you till we have this creep dealt with. But you gotta help me. You think you can do that?”
“A-anything, Mister Cobblepot. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me, kid. But I need to know where you were. Anything you can tell me.”
She started to speak but he silenced her with a gesture.
“Not right now, you need to be warm, safe, before you even think about doing anything else. You need a drink. We’ll go back to the club, ok?”
Nodding quietly, sniffling back some tears, Oswald’s new ward got into the back seat of the car, resting her head against the window as Oswald drove back to the club to formulate his plan.
Everyone would know who this stranger was. He’d be the guy that Oswald Cobblepot strung up in pieces across Gotham. They idiot who crossed the wrong man.
99 notes · View notes