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buckybarnesss · 6 months

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on fire: a teen wolf novel chapters 4-6 chapters 1-3 here

cox communications doesn't respect 3rd shift workers so last night i had to go into my brick and mortar office. i was able to get a lot of reading done but due to rules and regulations i was unable to write down my thoughts as i went. instead i used those little sticky note tabs to mark passages of interest so that's why this post took a little bit longer as i had to review what i had marked.

anyway.

our national nightmare continues.

ngl this book is weird. it's bizarro season 1.

it's non-canon compliant post-episode 5 the tell. i genuinely do not understand why they just didn't tap nancy holder to write a novelization of season 1.

warning: kate argent's existence and general grossness.

so buckle up buttercups here's a preview of what's to come:

we start this chapter from kate's point of view and it makes me feel dirty already. cast it into the fire, isildur. she’s just vile. just look at these nauseating quotes that she has all within the first page:

“nothing beat the feel of cold, hard steel -- unless it was the rippling muscles of a well-built man.”

this bitch.

”god, all those muscles. the last time she’d seen him, he’d still been in high school. still a kid. a stupid, gullible kid, who should have died in the hale house fire along with the rest of his family.”

tell me again how the intention wasn't for derek to have been a minor when kate was grooming him? tell me fucking again.

“maybe she should’ve taken advantage of derek while he’d been down on the floor, writhing from the nine hundred thousand volts she’d sent skittering though his kick-ass body. for old time’s sake.”

chris and victoria are there too, being way more normal about things. they brought egg salad and cold cuts which feels like it’s hitting the beat where victoria comes in with cookies in the show.

despite having grounded allison for her skipping school with scott on her birthday they are perfectly fine with her having not only a study date with lydia but allowing her to sleep over. it’s apparently to cover the arrival of a shipment of weapons. kate isn’t impressed that they’re still hiding everything from allison and disappointed there isn’t some super-special weapon in the shipment.

this entire time she’s being weird and kind of sexual about an uzi. like, fuck off kate.

now we’re back to scott and allison at the seedy motel plot where they are trying to locate jackson. “scott’s first instinct was to throw his arms around allison and duck, but she yanked the door open and barreled inside the motel like a superhero.” uou are goddamn right, scott. that is ally a.

the motel is basically an off the books brothel. one of the patrons supposedly saw something in one of the windows when he went open it for a smoke but saw something that scared him causing a heart attack. allison and scott ask a few people if they’ve seen jackson then have to book it when sheriff stilinski shows up. these two idiots duck down in her car. i think we see stiles and scott do this a few times in the show.

lydia calls allison freaked out that she hadn’t called her back yet and harkens back to the tell by saying “a....window?” when they tell her about the man having a heart attack and scott describes her as sounding odd. i appreciate that lydia's trauma isn't being ignored because that just happened to her in the tell.

all this use of the generic where’s my phone app and using conference calls to sneak around feels like an adaptation of the plot beat in wolf’s bane.

the sterek agenda continues. derek and stiles spend a significant portion of the coming chapters together much like they do in the back half of season 1. it starts with the possible origin of the derek being in stiles’s room trope. stiles muses over the text he’d received from scott about the incident at the motel and as if being summoned derek is just suddenly there in his room. look at this bullshit:

he texted back, muttering, “so, scott, saw what? saw derek?” “yes?” derek said from behind him. “yeaoww!” stiles shouted. he turned around to find derek leaning against the wall. he did that on an irritatingly frequent basis, both at scott’s house and casa stilinski. he was wearing his black leather jacket and he looked especially pouty and broody. “could you not do that anymore? it is so not cool.”

irritatingly frequent basis? how many times has derek randomly appeared in your room stiles? and i’m sorry “especially pouty and broody”? what a totally super casual observation that is.

it gets even better. derek questions what scott is doing and stiles deadass answers “doin’ stuff.” which naturally irritates derek and derek requests stiles tell scott he wants to meet him. they’re interrupted by the sheriff calling for stiles to which we get:

“gotta go get that.” Stiles pointedly shut down his desktop -- Derek actually growled -- and slid his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “don’t touch anything.”

derek why are you growling? weirdo.

stiles talks to his dad and probes for information about the motel guy and they discuss his homework. it's actually a pretty great conversation between the two and pretty much the only time it occurs in the book.

there’s a mention of stiles’s mother and the sheriff asks stiles if he’s taken his adderall that day. so again, clearly whatever notes holder received very much indicated stiles's ADHD.

back in stiles’s room we get derek pointedly having ignored stiles’s directive to not touch anything: “he zoomed back into his room to find derek clacking away on his computer keyboard.” and “hey,” he said. “keep your paws off.” derek gave him one of his trademark sour glares.” this just continues to confirm for me that holder received some kind of outline of character and plot beats. casa stilinski? sour glares? derek and stiles doing investigative work and going to a hospital? stiles having a low key bisexual crisis over derek? it’s all there. i mean bro look at this:

“look,” derek leaned toward him and the hairs on the back of stiles’s neck stood straight up.”

and the banter:

“but don’t do anything wolfy in my jeep,” he said, opening his door and peering into the hallway. the coast was clear. “like stick our head out the window to let your tongue hang out --” “shut up,” derek said.

here's another werewolf moment i find rather intriguing. scott and allison have made it to the preserve by this point still hot on the trail of jackson who lydia had told them was somewhere in the preserve. scott has a moment where in his mind he hears the how of a wolf. it says “an echo inside an echo” and “one wolf calling to another. seeking the pack.” that's pretty cool and it's not something shows up in the show.

jackson has finally arrived. i miss this asshole. he's in the woods being pissy about meeting the private investigator that had left him a note and a picture of his supposed biological father.

jackson’s perspective on what happened in magic bullet is just [chef’s kiss]. he refers to derek as scott’s drug dealer.

“mccall’s creepy drug dealer had shown up at school. when jackson had stood up to him, he’d grabbed him by the neck, and, like, gouged him with his fingernails.”

in jackson’s narration something caught my eye. “things had been fine before the start of the school year. Then it was almost as if McCall had concocted some kind of scheme over the summer to ruin his life.” so not only is this book an AU of season 1, the time frame seems off. the show starts the first day after their winter break in january. wolf moon takes place during the episode. the book places this before wolf moon has occurred which comes up later in derek’s narration.

this is such a good line and is a window into jackson’s mentality: “everyone wanted something jackson had. it was usually money or popularity. the secret? they were exactly the same thing.”

allison and scott are still in the woods. they’ve been kissing for a while but then they run into a wolf. they are really so soppy in this book and it's both accurate and annoying. allison is awed and scott is quietly panicking. allison goes on about how she thought it was beautiful and scott’s mind wonders if he’ll ever turn into a wolf like how Laura did. which, lol, no baby because you never make peace fully with being a werewolf.

annnnd we’re back to the stiles and derek plot line. they’re playing dress up. i kid you not. these two are pulling a dean and sam.

“my new best friend and i are at the hospital.” stiles said, twirling the listening end of a stethoscope in a little circle. so far he’d been unable to hypnotize derek with it.

there’s another small dig about derek not being a real person in stiles’s narration. this book hates derek, okay but i have a lo more on that later. for now these two idiots infiltrated the hospital by pulling the old stand by of Looking Important. stiles has a conversation with scott which is invoking wolf’s bane so hard:

“and you’ll never guess what. you can get past hospital security if you steal a white coat out of the storage room and parade around with it and a clipboard.” derek grunted. he was the one holding the clipboard, but he had passed on wearing a lab coat.”

stiles continues his observations of derek like the freak4freak he is:

“stiles covered the phone, “he can’t talk about wolfie matters,” he reported back to derek. “because he’s with her,” derek said, looking even more dour than usual. stiles had never realized there were so many degrees of the brood until derek hale came into their lives.”

there’s a bit of back and forth regarding scott reporting that he and allison saw an actual wolf. derek’s disbelieving and cranky to which stiles ponders this totally normal thought:

“maybe if he gave derek a sugar cube -- or threw him a piece of raw meat -- derek might cheer up. stiles would have to try that someday. but today wasn’t looking good for that.”

derek then snatches stiles’s phone to question scott’s whereabouts. he is still cranky. meanwhile stiles is reading derek’s body language and it’s way too detailed for a normal person. like, stiles no one cares derek’s hand is in his jacket pocket while he grumps at scott and emphasizes “like always”. stiles how hard have you been watching derek? he may have complained about derek showing up in his room unnaounced but he's like

before we get into derek’s narration which ooh boy guys you aren’t ready. stiles and derek have their classic bickering-bantering some more.

derek’s insisting stiles take him to the preserve so he can scent scott out. stiles is appalled and is like “oh my god derek you weirdo there’s an app for that.” and gets a little red riding hood dig in.

derek refuses to admit stiles has a point but orders stiles to give him his phone. stiles all but says Fuck You No and derek brings out his oldie but goodie:

“tell me or i’ll rip your throat out.”

stiles probably thinks “don’t threaten me with a good time” but instead he says that he knows derek’s not telling him everything and insists he’s going with derek to find scott.

it ends on this exchange:

“all right,” he said, “but we’ll take your jeep.” stiles huffed. “why can’t we ever take your car?”

alas the camero. we barely knew her.

now we switch to derek’s point of view to narrate and so begins a piece of characterization that i don’t like, isn’t actually accurate to the character at any point in the series and frankly chaps my ass. i’m just going to give you all the paragraph as a whole.

“hey, you have to take me with you.,” scott’s annoying little sidekick insisted as derek stalked out of the hospital. derek took a tiny bit of satisfaction in the way the human had to trot along to stay abreast. he was sick to death of taking the weakness of humans into account while formulating his plans. de respected power, and few humans had any.”

besties, this book may very well be the origin of Derek Thinks Humans Are Weak trope. now, i’m sure some of you are like heather aren’t you perhaps being a tad dramatic?

no. no i’m not. at first i considered this might be because of derek’s experience with kate. it would make sense that perhaps based off the information holder had that derek might be wary but than this fucker drops this line:

“werewolves didn’t share information with humans, ever.”

but he follows this thought with this:

“except for him, derek hale. he had shared information with a human. he hadn’t meant to. and the results had been disastrous.”

i will definitely get into more detail about this attitude he has because it really comes out in some later chapters because ooooh boy y’all ain’t prepared for the nonsense ahead. in actual canon derek never behaves this way or express this kind of opinion about humans. it stands out starkly in contrast to the episode this moment is paralleling in wolf’s bane. derek thinks stiles is annoying but not because he’s human.

we end this chapter on jackson’s point of view. de had met with the so-called private investigator and they tit-for-tatted and jackson bolted when he sensed danger in the woods. now he’s lost in the woods. he’s scared, doesn’t want to admit it and sends a text to lydia.

it's here in these chapters where i realized that the character of deaton is missing entirely. since all of season 1's plot past the tell is omitted deaton's significance went with it.

also the mystery of the alpha is present but she's unable to really do anything with it so peter's presence is still regulated to comatose burn victim.

#my blog #thoughts on teen wolf #teen wolf #on fire: a teen wolf novel #sterek #or the teen wolf AU #heather reads #kate argent is her own trigger warning

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aroaceconfessions · 1 year

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I’m aphobic. I’m sorry. Consider that your cw. Here’s why. I thought I was ace for several years and turned out not to be. I’m still angry at myself for it, especially as I carry on a parasocial fantasy relationship in my head to assuage my own loneliness. Every now and then I wonder if I’m actually grey-ace after all considering how few people I’ve been attracted to. The last label I tried was grey-aroace, again due to minimal actual attraction to people. I still feel a pull towards part of this community, even if it just makes me feel bad about myself. It honestly does leave me feeling broken - I’m older and absolutely should be in a relationship, the problem is 1) meeting people and 2) being attracted enough. I’ve thought about just finding someone to lose my virginity to and on a really good day, it sounds tolerable. Most days, it’s nauseating to the point of sex-aversion. Hell even with relationships, the idea of being so emotionally, spiritually close with someone, so trusting, able to completely be yourself around them and emotionally merge, it just sounds like a dream being something I’ve never really experienced. It just looks so beautiful, I want that but really doubt my capacity for it. When I brought it up to a therapist she asked if I could be aro to explain my lack of attraction - the very concept is actually kind of offensive to me (And I know that’s wrong. I know all the “it doesn’t affect you” explanations and I still feel like it does, actually, if people are going to tell me or just imply that people like me are brainwashed and codependent for wanting a partner). I love love. I’m a complete sucker for romance, beeline for shipping in every fandom I’m in, and a strong believer in love as a powerful thing in people’s lives. I’ve been on a trashy-romance-novel binge and I wish they could stop having the main couple bonk every other chapter and focus on the sweet, emotional stuff because that’s just aaaaa to me. And yes, the cold, “loveless” person getting a crush and their pride taken down a notch by their own romantic vulnerability is one of my favorite tropes. Those common arguments about not needing a relationship or even love to be content and fulfilled almost feel like a personal attack as someone who does. Or at least who has been pretty lonely and unhappy and finds it easy to spin out into shame and self-loathing for being “inferior” or “wrong”. Or those arguments about sex and love being fundamentally human, we need those to justify them. Otherwise you should argue that allos are actually the inferior, broken people because they feel attraction and desire and can’t just choose not to (that was always my biggest pet peeve in aspec spaces - people talking like their identity is a choice). On the other hand, I’ve been scrolling this blog and honestly quite relating to the people who don’t like being aspec and want to experience romance/sexuality. That’s basically how I feel, or used to. The exact content changed. There was one post talking about doing exactly what I’ve thought about doing, hitching up a relationship with anyone because “I’m old and it’s normal and I have no excuses”. Except ruling out aspec labels, I actually don’t have an excuse. All that ranting is the addled, angry thoughts of a 29yo virgin who’s mostly crushed on a handful of fictional characters (which only recently changed) and doesn’t really care about sex but has a very hormonal libido and would like to try it with a romantic partner they trust and love.

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hiccupologist · 5 months

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more fanfic WIP stuff; this one is kind of an anomaly because it's a broad multikink effort!crackfic that I started like right after I finished FaC and was actually considering posting on my main ao3 account as a Totally Joking Guys WINK comedy thing until uh, the outline kind of expanded to a degree of detail that made me reconsider that

anyway these bits don't heavily involve the usual fare for this blog, although there is a fair bit of feederism stuff slated for later. content included (oh boy hold on): established Fionna/Simon, Everyone Lives AU, selfcest, cringe/uncomfortable interactions, sadomasochism, fat fetishism + combined teasing/appreciation, yandere/sex pest!Winter King, poorly negotiated kink, Simon getting dressed up like a doll because his central nervous system paralyzed him out of anxiety like one of those goats that falls over, ...coerced throuple formation??, choking kink reference, okay I think that's everything but like be cautious in there

I plan on still working on this later and I sew stuff to the bones every once in a while, but it's not a main project rn

Dearest (fellow! wink! ;3) Simon,

It’s truly unfortunate that your and your sweet young companion’s visit was cut short by that pesky sleet storm/brain fungus zombie elk stampede, but these things are simply a fact of life on the exciting frozen frontier! I would LOVE it SO MUCH if you and Fionna came to stay in the Winter Kingdom for a while, with no high stakes universe-jumping pressure on us this time. Just the three of us getting to know each other, mano a mano. Maybe you and Fionna could do couple stuff? Maybe we could gain a deeper mutual understanding of our shared Simon-ness? Maybe things would escalate to a little more? WHO KNOWS. But you could easily find out!

Until I hear from you in the form of a timely RSVP and with all my love,

The Winter King xo

To the beautiful Miss Fionna Campbell,

I’ve been thinking about you and the cute little dried up tumbleweed of a man you dragged into my kingdom ever since you left, and under such rushed circumstances! I can’t seem to rid myself of the idea of you and Simon visiting me for a week or so, with the express purpose of exploring our intimate relationship. Which is to say: my princess, you are hereby cordially invited to rule over your two little hapless fuck pets as the iron-willed warlord I feel in my loins that you can be. Any necessary furniture, sexual costuming, etc. will be provided~* Do think about fun and interesting ways to torment us in the intervening!

Awaiting your velvet gloved fist with aching bones,

“Winter” uwu xoxo

“He sent separate invitations.” Simon said, blankly. They were even on separate stationery; an official-looking albeit pastel blue letter decorated with what Simon assumed was his own fabricated royal heraldry, and some kind of diaphanous artisanal paper pressed with tiny flowers and silver sparkles.

“He gave me a photo, too.” Fionna added. “But, um, I don’t think it’s the kind of photo you can show people without asking.” She was clearly a little unsettled, but not enough that Simon felt completely secure in the situation. He supposed that a young woman used to reading fantasy romances, without the prior experience of… that situation, would find the Winter King’s offer appealing.

Yet, Simon felt a disgusting magnetism tugging at his guts, an embedded fish hook he’d forgotten about. He’d been thankful that they left so quickly, really. Not only because he found his double deeply uncanny to interact with and watch, but because also present was a sort of dizzy, nauseated attraction. He wasn’t sure if it was sexual or some kind of psychological glitch, produced by gazing too long into a distorted reflection. “The call of the void” was the only phrase that felt appropriate to describe it. He didn’t know what the equivalent of jumping off a cliff would be in this situation, though.

“Well, we’re certainly not going to dignify that with a response, are we? That would be… ugh.” He grimaced. “It would be insane. Such a poor decision. Right?” Did it sound like he was trying to convince himself?

“I don’t know.” Fionna said. She turned the letters over, giving hers a few inquisitive sniffs. “Cake has been bugging me to go on a road trip so she can shapeshift into a catwoman and pretend her name is on the apartment lease for a few days. Also she wants to bang this one werewolf dude, which is probably the main thing.”

“You want to leave your house so your cat can have sex in private?”

Fionna shrugged. “She’s my roommate.”

---

“Ah! That’s what I was wondering about.” Winter lightly grabbed the roll of fat hanging over Simon’s boxer briefs, and Simon found himself frozen in what he assumed (and hoped) was outrage as his alternate self’s chilly hands roamed exploratorily across his paunch and under his shirt. Finally, Simon came to his senses with a horrified gasp and pushed the curious set of hands away from him.

“What the fuck?” Simon choked out. Even after living through years in an apocalyptic wasteland, he rarely felt a need to drop F bombs, largely due to being kind of a nerd. But this… Sure, fine, he would accept a sex vacation with this unsettling hybrid of him and Ice King and… what? An anime love interest? But for some reason his boundary was at that mindfuck man touching his stomach. Even his dick would have been better. But you don’t touch a person’s fucking stomach. That’s so messed up. Or maybe he was messed up and that was why he felt these things so strongly. Either way. Not cool.

“Sorry!” Winter said brightly, with no hint of remorse. “I was just wondering if you still had a little belly like we did during our antiquarian, pre-crown era. I’ve adopted a more ergonomic form these days, but I do miss it sometimes… And I wasn’t able to get a good look at you last time when you were changing into your suit!”

“You were watching me change?!” Simon was starting to wonder if maybe he wasn’t any better than Ice King after all. In fact, maybe he was worse, since now he had self awareness… Well, a degree of self awareness.

“Oh, don’t be so offended! Sure, it’s a little creepy, but you need to understand that you’re just so cute, I have to be a little creepy sometimes, or I’ll basically die.” He leaned down to Simon’s eye level, still smiling. “But you know that! Because funny enough, I decided to see what I can remember about that Betty girl… and you know what?”

Simon didn’t respond. Beyond how awful it was to hear him say her name with so little respect, there were a number of possible memories he could be referring to and none of them reflected well on him. Objectively, though, why would he be ashamed? He hadn’t done anything that crossed actual physical boundaries, not like peeping on someone naked behind a dressing screen that, in retrospect, seemed like it may have been painted with a motif of nude men being fucked by giant swans. (But that was something to investigate and unpack another day. The screen, specifically, not his unrooted sexual shame.) They were just thoughts. Thoughts and a few entirely self-directed physical actions in the privacy of his own home, which he would never attempt again now that he was more fully aware of the fragility of the human body.

“I remember she touched our hand, and that’s how we met. And I remember that before we even went on our first date, I- we, Simon, thought about how her hand felt, didn’t we? And like, immediately our brain went to her choking us! Wow, we jerked off to that like crazy, huh? Pretty messed up!”

He winced. Well, at least that was a relatively tame entry from his mental archives. Fionna told him (with much consternation) that choking was basically considered mainstream these days. But there was the issue of his tone. And body language. Simon couldn’t tell if he- the other he, god this was semantically and psychologically weird, was disgusted with himself or… what? Everything he was saying sounded inappropriately playful. But clearly he was capable of regulating his- oh, fuck. The grim realization dawned on him. This is how he acts when he’s horny.

Simon knew why he was ashamed, now. Because he was talking to someone with his same brain, as frozen and fucked as that particular copy of it was. The Winter King knew exactly how he felt about himself and those desires, it was just that, maybe he was able to process them better? Or had too little impulse control to feel shame? He couldn’t quite put his finger on what was going on in that vacant, fluffy-haired head yet.

He still couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He realized how stupid and ineffectual he must have looked, sitting paralyzed and probably red-faced on a quilted velvet vanity stool with his pants unbuttoned. He hated himself for it, and that made it harder for him to move, or even make a disapproving sound. It was like his self-consciousness was so focused it was burning. He couldn’t even tell if he hated what was happening or if, well, something else was going on. Or worse; both scenarios applied.

“What I’m getting at here is…” Winter simply continued tugging at Simon’s clothes like he were a doll as he spoke, industrious and cheerful. “I’m very well-acquainted with what makes you ‘tick’, so to speak. And if your mind works the way mine used to… you’re not very confident with girls, are you? Talking about bedroom matters. So I thought I would be the perfect Cyrano to express your deepest desires to your sweet lady love! Although, I suppose this would be a production that ends with Roxane viciously sexually dominating both of our heroes.”

He felt himself becoming hot and sensitive as the Winter King helped him change, still rattling on about their shared sexual fantasies. Yes, he’d come here for the express purpose of having polyamorous sex with the man, but it had just seemed like something he would neutrally experience to broaden his horizons and spend time with Fionna, like when he agreed to take that dubious catfish noodling class held in a culvert runoff that Betty insisted would “provide valuable texture” to their lived experience. But, now that he was examining himself more closely… Was he really telling himself that he was going to be physically intimate with another man- not just another man, another him, just to have a story to tell later? Regardless, his hands were dexterous and gentle, and being paid physical attention to while praised verbally was activating certain chemical processes in his body.

“There we go! Look, we’re so pretty.” The king dragged Simon bodily to an ornate full-length mirror so he could properly admire himself. If his muscles weren’t responding before, now it felt like they were locking up. He had been coerced into some kind of black fuzzy outfit (he wondered for a moment if it was the skin from one of those megafauna penguins he’d seen on the grounds) involving a cupless corset that tied with a thick ribbon just below his navel, uncomfortably emphasizing the soft swell of fat there, and. Something resembling pants? Legwarmers? They weren’t attached to his underwear in any substantial way, that much was clear. “I notice you looking at the pants! Those are for modesty. See? I just want you to feel comfortable.”

#spider's kink wips

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lured-into-wonderland · 1 year

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i. Please be kind & respectful towards the mun, the muse and all other persons and muses interacting on this blog. This blog is 21+. Mun goes by Lizzy, is 25+ and does not feel comfortable to interact with minors.

ii. I am open to interacting with anyone from any fandom. I am not mutual-exclusive and I usually follow back within a few days if I think I can comply with your rules and see the possibility to interact. If I cannot find your age, your rules or basic information about your muses, I most likely will not follow back. I am more hesitant to follow rl fc, but is not an absolute no, either. That being said, I prefer to interact with mutuals.

iii. I tend to write longer than shorter and I usually try to match your length. However, you are not expected to do so. I also write on-liners, but rather for the muses with some established relations. I am not time-bound and I am happy to have tons of open threads. Different time points? Yes, I am for it. Various scenarios for our muses? Yes, I am for it. Various verses? Extremely happy to have them.

iv. I myself have little to no triggering issues, but will try my best to mark everything accordingly. Having said that, please do not send asks on i*****, r***, p******** and any related nauseating issues. #TW and #NSFW asks are accepted provided you and your muse is of age. I will use #nsfw tag for (more) explicit content and #suggestive for all other. #tw tag will be followed by additional tagging. Please do not hesitate to DM me if you need any specific content to be tagged for you. Smut might appear on this blog, but I am only comfortable writing it with persons I talk ooc, and when our muses have established relations.

v. Reasonable level of godmodding is acceptable, especially for starters and developing the plot. Please apply common sense. I do not mind my muse getting hurt if it is a logical consequence of the plot. Also in starters. Again, please apply common sense. Or plot it with me.

vi. If your muses have special abilities, please do use them on my muse. I always read the rules and the bio and I have decided to interact with your muse. But please note that Nunnally is not so defenceless as she might seem, and her responses might also vary.

vii. Nunnally is open for all kind of shipping, but please keep in mind she is not easy to romantically ship with. I prefer ships to be chemistry- and writing-based than pre-established (but these also works for me). Mainly because I am not too good at plotting, if we just started to interact. It becomes much easier later. But if you have any idea, please do share it. I will most likely be there for it.

viii. This blog will address serious issues, among which the most common is child abuse, psychical and psychological violence, drugs, Stockholm syndrome, depression and forced/arranged marriage. Please consider yourself warned at this point. NSFW, mafia and gore themes may also appear on this blog.

ix. Please note I am not Nunnally. And the views expressed here are those of hers. And Nunnally is a troubled individual with specific mindsets.

x. If we follow each other, you are the rp blog, and we do not have any interactions for a longer time, I might unfollow. Although I do understand the need for breaks and periods of inactivity. If I unfollow you, I will soft block you, and I ask for the same courtesy.

xi. I can wait for the reply. I do not mind it. Please work at your own pace. It is a hobby and not a work. If I do not answer for longer time, please feel free to approach me as most likely I did not see your reply. If you do not reply for a longer time and I am unsure if you've seen the post, I might drop in and ask about it. Please note that is not to pester you for a reply, but I have had issues before with my rp partners not being notified about my reply. Please do let me know, if you'd rather me not doing that.

xii. I do not take it personal if you do not follow me back. I understand that you might not be interested in interacting with me or my muse. However, I will probably unfollow after some time as well.

xiii. Please note I will be trimming my posts. You do not have to, but I would like to keep my mutuals' dashes neat and clean. I am on beta editor and I am not able to trim your posts if you are using legacy. If that is the case, I will either reblog without cutting (for shorter replies) or start a new post for the long ones.

xiv. My DM are always open if you'd like to plot or discuss something. I have a discord as well available upon request.

#ooc #rules

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thezfc · 2 years

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I find it curious that the nannies spend 98% of their time defending a rich and famous couple by browbeating ordinary (and yes sometimes stupid/bigoted) people. They scour the internet for any dissenting voice and then gleefully crucify them at length for being either horribly racist or dying of jealousy wanting to fuck tom. Because apparently you can’t be anything less than nauseatingly supportive of T&Z without being one or both of those things. Everything seems to devolve into a diarrhoea of why others are sub-human and can go suck it, enabling them to validate their own egos over and over again within an echo chamber.

There are strict rules - thoughts and words must be carefully policed for the safety of an unborn and (as yet) unconfirmed child. The nanny brigade categorically insist that the couple be left alone in peace and privacy, gently coddled by the warm glow of their fan base’s undying adulation and sycophantic praise (imparted from a safe and respectful distance of course, as specified by the handbook ‘Nanny Nonsense 101’). Meanwhile, the nannies themselves base their entire identity around tracking the couple at an infinitesimal level and defending their every movement in relentless onslaught of online seething that only serves to highlight the unwanted speculation/minority viewpoints. Fear not, the vigilant/vigilante nannies will patrol the internet and deftly kibosh rude or unhinged commentary by being equally rude and unhinged!

Now, it probably sounds like I’ve been burned by the nanny ninnies myself but tbh I know better than to try and engage with such bullshit. I’ve just been watching the shit show for my amusement and steadily losing respect for humankind. This morning, I saw there was some notion that crazed fans would track the couple to the hospital and demand copies of the birth certificate! All marbles are profoundly lost.

For me personally, this saturation of all things tom and Zawe has slowly transformed my ‘fan’ status into an intense disliking of the couple - frankly I’ve had to reach for the sick bucket one too many times at this point. My previous enthusiasm for any new updates on tom has been steadily chipped away at over and over, culminating in this latest nauseating crescendo, so that I now am dreading the pap shots that will no doubt emerge from their escapades in Suffolk this weekend.

So, I’m sitting here, excelling marvellously in avoidance of doing any work, wondering what I am most irritable about. Is it the sanctimonious hypocrisy of the nannies; is it cancel culture; is it the fever pitch hysteria around movements of a couple that I know for an absolute 100% fact to be astoundingly less loved up and kind and unassuming than they portray (baby in tow or not); is it that I can’t stand how two incredibly privileged people have inspired support of an online army (intensionally or otherwise) to bully others in their unnecessary defence; is it the cesspit that is the internet in general; is it PMT; am I racist against my own race; do I just want to fuck Tom; or am I just so bored at work at this point that I’d rather be annoyed about this than the spreadsheet I have to tackle in a minute? Unclear. But in any event, this diatribe of my own was so much fun I might even apply to be a nanny.

Alrighty then 😆

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bylightofdawn · 1 year

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So, today I am planning on going to Wurstfest for the first time since Covid happened. They canceled 2020 obviously and last year I just wasn't comfortable with the idea of being in the crowds with I think at the time only one or two vaccinations.

And I think it's just telling of how much underlying trauma I have from living through this pandemic that the idea of going somewhere in public with HUNDREDS of people is legitimately making be feel nauseated and sick to my stomach. Yeah, it's all outside for the most part but still. This is actual trauma I am dealing with and an actual phobia I've somehow picked up.

I've never been good with crowds of people, I hate the noise and the chaos and my ability to cope with these things before my emotional battery is drained is about an hour or two max and then I am done and ready to get the hell out of Dodge.

But what I'm experiencing now is completely different and ramped up to 1,000. Hell, I hate going to grocery store or Walmart because there are so many people there. I do 90% of my shopping through curbside or delivery because I don't WANT to go into the store and deal with people.

It's not even I'm scared of getting Covid and dying at this point, I'm just overwhelmed by the idea of dealing with that many people. I’m full vaccinated with all my boosters, I’ve done everything I can to protect myself and those around me. And I go into this knowing there is a chance I could catch Omicron but because I work from home, if I do I can self-quarantine with little interruption of my regular life.

And lemme tell you, Wurstfest is the most utterly ridiculous white German diaspora in Texas thing ever which seems to attract thousands of people a year under the guise of celebrating German sausages, beer and polka is an experience you have to see to believe.

It's Oktoberfest on crack suffice it to say. And I generally enjoy it because it's a little kooky and there is good food and interesting vendors selling wares you're not going to see pretty much anywhere else.

So it's sad that I am considering literally FORCING myself to go because the idea of dealing with the sheer press of humanity makes me break out in a cold sweat and makes me want to puke with anxiety. And I don't want to come across like I'm saying I have to FIX this thing wrong with myself because I think everyone who has lived through the past three years is going through some kind of trauma which is going to effect the world as a whole going forward for years to come.

I think it boils down to, am I going to let my fear and anxiety stop me from doing this or other things in the future. I could make the decision to become even more of an introverted hermit who never leaves their home or I can force myself to do things outside of my comfort zone. Again, I don’t think this is something to be ‘fixed’ but I do think there are levels of how much I am going to let this affect my life.

Hell, maybe I am putting the cart before the horse. Maybe there won’t be as many people there because everyone else is afraid of crowds as well. Ahaha no I know that’s not going to be the case because I STG everyone is willfully ignoring Covid and pretending like it’s not a thing still raging on.

And there is a huge part of me screaming that I am contributing to this problem if I do go and how dare I be so irresponsible for going. The guilt is fucking real and eating at me just as much as my anxiety.

But again, am I going to let these negative thoughts and emotions rule my life? Am I supposed to stay home and never go to another event in my life? I feel like this is a question that is impossible to answer and one everyone is struggling to find an answer for.

A part of me just wants to go out and have fun, to enjoy the break from my everyday routine and pretend like the last three years didn’t happen.

I think I am going to go just to push myself and push the limits of my comfort zone. I don’t think I’ll go for very long though. And I’m just going to pray that I don’t get Omicron. I managed to get through the airports, to California and back in September without picking it up so I’ll be sad if I catch it now though at this point I feel like it’s only a matter of time for everyone. Which is a depressing and unsettling train of thought when I stop to think about it.

In three years it’s gone from this terrifying boogeyman that could kill you to a not so major inconvenience you will have to suffer and get through but it’s inevitable that you will catch it.

Yeah I definitely don’t want to go too far down that mental rabbithole or examine that under a microscope.

#el in real life #does this need a trigger warning?#prolly #trigger warning: mental health issues #living in a 'post' covid world #with heavy use of sarcastic air quotes around post

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antiyourwokehomophobia2 · 2 years

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May I ask what parts of radical feminism you disagree with? (I'm honestly just wanting to hear your opinion, I'm asking in good faith)

I got an ask similar to this, but I deleted it on accident 😅

Okay, I would like to say that I know very little about radical feminism outside of how it's been expressed by others. And saying "fundamental" may have been a misuse of the word. With that in mind, though, I would like to say that some of the things I've seen have left a bad taste in my mouth.

It can feel like radfems, in their attempt to offer women the kindness they've been denied all their lives, can often overlook the fact that some women genuinely are terrible people who don't deserve the degree of coddling offered to them. It can feel like radfems often give too much benefit of the doubt to genuinely hateful and bigoted women.

For instance:

If a woman calls her daughter a bitch then I don't think it's appropriate to be like "oh, you poor thing. Look at what patriarchy has done to you. You're the real victim here."

Are you seriously going to look at her daughter and say "yea, your mom called you an ugly bitch throughout your childhood but it's just patriarchy making her act like that!! Don't be too hard on her! Even though she did immense damage to your self-esteem, think about her feelings and the stuff she must've internalized growing up!"

That's genuinely so fucked up. I'm a firm believer in the idea that being abused doesn't give you the right to abuse someone else. The way radfeminism oftentimes seems to coddle abusive women and explain away their terrible behavior as patriarchy is genuinely nauseating and off-putting. I can't even begin to explain how it's literally no comfort to a daughter to learn that patriarchy made her mother call her an ugly bitch while she was growing up.

Furthermore, I keep posing this question, but I'll ask it again: if women's separatism were to become a real thing, how would every single women feel safe in a woman's land? Would a woman feel comfortable living down the street from her female abuser? Like, women's land is supposed to feel safe for all women to go to, right? If they don't want to deal with men, they can just come here, right? But there in lies the problem. If every woman is safe to go there, then not every woman is safe to go there. You think I want to be around the women who have been homophobic and racist towards me? You think I would feel safe there or like it's an escape? An escape from male violence, maybe. But it wasn't a male who asked me, with disgust, if I was gay. It wasn't a male who randomly called me "nigga" out of the blue. It wasn't a male who gave me the worst homophobic experience of my entire life.

Like, I just genuinely feel like a place dedicated to female separatism wouldn't be the haven it's made out to be. Even if you were to create a rule for no racist, homophobic, or bigoted women to enter women's land, that still kind of goes against the promise that all women would belong there.

Moving on to something else:

Homophobic TIF's.

The way in which radfems coddle homophobic TIF's is disgusting. Radfems will genuinely go IN on a homophobic TIM. They'll tear him to shreds and feel no remorse. However, let a gay man dare say something negative about a TIF and his notes are filled with people tearing him to pieces. Homophobia is homophobia. Why do you coddle homophobic women? Like, those TIF's hate lesbians, too? There's no reason why a homophobic TIF should be shown more kindness than a homophobic TIM.

Tell me what part of patriarchy makes women watch so much gay porn that they convince themselves to not only fetishize gay men, but that they ARE gay men?

All of this to say, I feel like radfeminism can often ignore, coddle, and excuse genuinely abusive and bigoted women.

I hope I don't sound too mean. In truth, I don't mind if people want to come and refute what I've said. I don't mind hearing differing opinions. I don't despise radfems or anything of the likes. These are just some things that have concerned me and left me scowling is all.

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weelittleweasley · 3 years

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Rules and Responsibilities | Fred x Reader

Prompt as requested by anon: Umbridge’s reign has taken its toll on the students of Hogwarts, especially you. Since her arrival, it seems like she has had a personal vendetta against some students in particular, you being one of them Falling victim to the brunt of Umbridge’s punishments, you try your best to keep your injuries a secret to most, especially that of your boyfriend, Fred. When Fred sees you talking more to Draco, your housemate, Fred’s jealousy rises and curiosity gets the best of him. What’s going on?

Warnings: cruel punishments of Umbridge, blood, scars, language

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: This was such a fun prompt! Thank you to the sweet ‘nonnie who sent it in! Xo

The nauseating color of bubblegum pink whisked down the hall, doling out orders before waving her wand as Filch ran behind her, trying to keep the pace. Students glared at the woman they begrudgingly called Head Master. Dolores Umbridge was a curse on Hogwarts, that was for certain. New rules were placed daily which limited the students to just studying and breathing. There was no room for relaxing or fun. A place where everyone once loved became miserable for all.

Not only were Umbridge’s rules unnecessary and pointless, her punishments for breaking her rules were uncalled for and cruel. You had first saw it on Harry Potter’s hand, scar that read I must not tell lies. He brushed it off as it was nothing, but you knew that this woman was a monster in pink. The most horrifying part about it all is that you didn’t know when her reign would end.

But Harry wasn’t the only receiving cruel punishments like this. You sat down in your Defense Against the Dark Arts class, next to your housemate, Draco. The two of you had a certain distaste for this class, even more so now that Umbridge was the professor. As you sat back in the class, you constantly checked your wristwatch, hoping that it would be over soon so you could bust out of the classroom, do your prefect duties, and meet your boyfriend at the Black Lake.

“How long is this class again?” you groan to Draco quietly, earning a small smile from him, him trying to stifle a chuckle. “Seriously. We aren’t learning a damned thing and you expect me to sit here and do nothing?”

“Something to add, Miss (Y/L/N)?” Umbridge's voice reverberates in the classroom. In that moment, everyone shifts in their seats to look at you at the back of the classroom. You had been caught. You gulp as you mouth goes dry and Draco just smirks, knowing that you were in trouble now. Finally, it wasn’t him for once.

You couldn’t let Umbridge know that she made you nervous or scared. Instead, you swallowed your fears and calmly replied, “Nothing from me, Professor. Continue.” Your reply was polite, but had a certain kind of snarky tone that made Umbridge’s skin crawl with frustration. She gave you an angry smile and you knew that you had gotten under her skin. But the conversation wasn’t going to stop here.

She starts to walk from the front of the classroom to the back where you sat, relaxed in your chair. Draco looks at you with fear for you in his eyes. “I’ll determine when it’s appropriate for me to continue the lesson,” she simply states, her heels clicking as she slowly walks towards you like a ticking time bomb. “Maybe I should rephrase my statement. You should share what you were saying to Mr. Malfoy with the rest of class. I’m sure it was something very important since you couldn’t wait until the end of the class to talk. Not only are you wasting my time, but your classmates time.”

The false sweetness in her voice made your stomach churn and blood boil. This woman was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Yet you maintained your poise. You smooth out your Slytherin robes and simply speak. “I would love to share,” you sit up, much to Draco and Umbridge’s surprise. “I was just telling Draco that we haven’t learned a damned thing in this class. We have not learned a single thing about magic in the class, so how do you expect us to properly defend ourselves in the face of evil?” you spit.

The students in the class immediately erupt into chatter, knowing that you were right. No one was learning how to protect themselves, especially if He was back. You were speaking the truth that everyone was afraid to speak of. Draco sat next to you with a proud smile on his face, but he kept quiet and simply looked down at his hands.

Umbridge on the other hand was infuriated by your words. “Well,” she breathed out, eyes burning into yours as a mischievous smile danced across your cherry red lips. “There is no need for you to use magic when there is no direct threat. Not to mention, this class is teaching you very valuable life lessons. Maybe if you listened to my lessons rather than chatting with Mr. Malfoy, you would understand that.”

“Maybe if you taught something worth listening to, I would listen,” you sharply retort earning some ooohs and laughs from your housemates as other students from other houses chatter, laugh, or even clap. Your heart swells with pride at the sight and you smile devilishly at the professor who is shaken at the sight before you.

Umbridge looks around her at the mess of students cheering at your outburst. She musters up a sentence over the cheering crowd and speaks, “That’s quite enough!” Her exclamation makes students stop talking and clapping, slowly dissolving into silence again. “Miss (Y/L/N), you have earned yourself two weeks of detention. After this class, you will report directly to my office.”

She scurries back to the front of the classroom to continue her lecture as you just roll your eyes and sit back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest. Draco looks at you with worried eyes, Now you’ve really done it. You shake your head and scoff, trying to blow off his and your anxieties. You knew what the woman was capable of, but you had to keep your mind from wondering what punishment she would dole out to you. But you couldn’t help it as your palms started to sweat and mouth became dry. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

-------

Like she had instructed, you knocked on Umbridge’s office door after class, your heart beating a thousand miles a minute. Before you left, Draco looked at you scared, asking if you’d be alright. He knew of what Umbridge had done to other students. Even though he hadn’t suffered from those punishments, he knew that students had horror stories of her. You insisted that you would be fine, when in reality you were going mental over the situation.

But it was too late now. Her voice chimed in from the other side of the door to come in. As you pushed the door open, you stood in the door way as she falsely smiled at you. “Ah, Miss (Y/L/N),” she sighed. “So you can follow direction. Splendid. Close the door and take a seat.”

Obeying her request, you shut the door and sit on the chair next to the desk in her office. Your heart is thumping at a mile a minute. Your confidence from before is gone and you can’t stop thinking about what is going to happen. There was no escaping now.

She places a quill on your desk and a sheet of parchment. You knew where this was going. You remember Harry talking about this in the Great Hall. Now it was happening to you. Fear flooded your head and you tried to keep your breathing steady and even.

“Now,” Umbridge starts. “I want you to write, I will not speak out of line. The whole sentence. Whenever you’re ready.”

You look at the quill and take a deep breath before picking it up. You hand shook as you carried it to the parchment, gulping nervously. You had to do this. If you didn’t, who knows what Umbridge would do to you. “No ink?” you shakily asked, knowing exactly what the quill did and how it wrote, but asking the question any way to confirm your fears.

Without looking at you, Umbridge says, “No need. Again, whoever you’re ready. The whole sentence. Just once. Then you can be dismissed.”

“But Professor, I’m Head Girl. I’m going to be late for my duties,” you try to get out of your punishment. But you weren’t lying. You were a prefect which meant that you certain responsibilities you had to take care of after class. If you stayed here, you would certainly be late for those duties and you would be stripped of your title.

“The quicker you start, the quicker you can leave and accomplish your prefect duties with no problem, Miss (Y/L/N),” she simply states.

There was no escape. She wasn’t going to let you leave until you did what needed to be done. You take a deep breath and think, The quicker you do it, the quicker it’ll be over. With that, you start to write across the parchment and your hand starts to sting badly, like someone took a needle and was carving into it. You ignore the sensation and drag the quill across the parchment faster, which only makes the sensation grow and burn and itch more. You let out a pained groan as you suck in a breath through gritted teeth. Keep going, it’s almost over. You continue to scribble and tears start to prick at your eyes as you painfully drag the quill across the parchment.

Finally done, you slam the quill down and look at your hand. Etched into your skin is I will not speak out of line just like it was on the paper. You look at Umbridge, swallowing the lump in your throat and standing up from your seat. “I��m done,” you speak dully.

She smiles and speak, “Wonderful. You are dismissed. You will be back here again at the same time for the next two weeks. Have a lovely evening, Miss (Y/L/N).”

Not saying another word, you storm out of her office and down the stairs, scurrying to the Slytherin common room to meet Draco for your prefect duties. This was absolutely absurd. She couldn’t get away with this. A professor physically hurting students? This was cruel. The punishment did not fit the crime. She made Professor Snape look pleasant.

You burst into the Slytherin common room, Draco waiting for you by the couch. He immediately stands up when you enter, not bothering asking why you were a couple of minutes late. There was no time for teasing you. He was more concerned about if you were alright. But before he could ask you what happened, you held up a hand to get him to stop talking. “I really don’t feel like talking about it. I just wanna get my duties done so I can go see Fred.” The thought of seeing your boyfriend instantly made you feel better, but you knew that you couldn’t tell him what happened. Fred had a bad tempter when it came to you and you knew that if you told him what Umbridge did, he would blow a gasket.

Draco grabs your hand and examines it, looking at the fresh scars on your hand, blood traced on them. “(Y/N)...” he starts. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, “I don’t need your pity, Draco, I’m fine. Where are the first years?”

He sighs, “I already took care of it. I didn’t know how long you were going to be, so I dealt with it.” You groan and put your head in your hands, feeling guilty that you left Draco with the bulk of the work of the head boy and girl duties. “It’s no worries, (Y/N). I didn’t expect you to get out of Umbridge’s detention to do your prefect duties.”

“That’s the thing, Malfoy. I don’t want you to expect me to be a slacker ‘cause of what I did in class that earned me detention. I’m supposed to be head girl. I was given this position for a reason. There’s a certain image I’m supposed to maintain. I have rules and responsibilities like the rest of the students here,” you ramble as Draco grabs your sides.

He looks at you, “You can take a break. If this whole fucking thing with Umbridge makes you late for the next two weeks, it’s no problem. The first years are easy. I can sign off on your duties so there will be nobody suspect. Alright?” You sigh, thankful for Draco’s kindness that came once in a blue moon. “Now, go, run along with your Weasel-bee.”

You roll your eyes and slap his arm, thanking him before running off to the Black Lake. As you ran out of the castle and down to the Lake, excitement replaced the anxiety in your chest. Seeing your boyfriend was always something to look forward to. You and Fred had been dating for almost seven months and yet each day he made it feel like the first day you met. Being with Fred was exciting; he likes hanging around, crackling jokes, and laughing. He was a breath of fresh air. You loved the bloke. People gave you shit for dating the older Gryffindor, but that didn’t stop you; it just made things more exciting.

Soon enough, the red head’s figure came into sight which made you smile. You remembered about the scars on your hands and quickly dug into your pockets and pulled out the leather gloves you had gotten from Draco last week after placing a bet on a quidditch match. You covered your scarred hand and sighed, hating keeping secrets from Fred, but you knew it had to be done.

“There’s my angel,” he smiles as you approach him, him scooping you up in a tight hug. You smile brightly as he places a sweet kiss on your lips, smiling into the kiss. He pulls away and asks, “You’re late. Everything alright?”

You already felt guilty and you haven’t even said anything yet. “Yeah, prefect duties just took longer than I had anticipated,” you brushed it off, giving him another kiss. He squeezes your frame closer to his body, holding you close. Even though you saw each other everyday, Fred missed you. You didn’t have any classes together, him being older than you, so when you did spend time together, he cherished every moment, every smile, every kiss, every glance. You were Fred’s whole world. When you came into Fred’s life, he didn’t realize how much he needed someone like you. Someone who could keep up with his banter, challenge him, balance him out. You were made for him and Fred loved you with his whole heart. “I missed you today,” you tell him, wiping your lip gloss off of Fred’s lips as he kisses your glove covered thumb. He furrows his brows at your covered hands. “I’m cold. Plus I just won these from Malfoy,” you laugh.

Fred smiles, “’Atta girl. I missed you, darling. Come, I wanna tell you about an idea that George and I had for a new product. It’s brilliant.”

Fred’s cluelessness about your detention sat with you uncomfortably, but in a way it was for the best. He got your mind off of the bad things and let you focus on the happiness in your life. Listening to Fred talk about him and George’s up and coming business and the ideas for products made your heart swell with love. You felt badly lying to him, but you did it to protect him from the unfortunate truth. You were sure he would do the same if he was in your shoes.

--------

As the week went on, you had more detentions with Umbridge and they were getting worse. When your scars would fade, she would make you write again with her special quill and new ones would erupt. She would make you clean her office, sort parchment and other files, and yet continue to make you late for prefect duties. You would tell her that you were late and yet she gave you the same excuse. “The quicker you work, the quicker you get to leave,” she would say cheerily which just made your blood boil.

In turn, Draco would take on more of your prefect duties due to your detentions. You would run from detention to find that he had accomplished everything already, earning a frustrated groan from you and laugh from Draco. He would just give you a tight side hug and tell you that it would all be okay. Even though you knew he would use this as leverage when he wanted something out of you next week.

But with the detentions and prefect duties, you had put your hang outs and meet ups with Fred on pause. It made you sad to do so because Fred was your happiness, but if you didn’t take care of what you needed to, you would surely get yourself into more trouble than you had signed up for. That being said, Fred started to get suspicious of why you suddenly put your relationship on hold.

After prefect meetings became a rarity now, most of your encounters were just passing each other on the moving staircases or in the Great Hall for meals. He started to become worried that you were becoming bored or annoyed with him. Fred would try to pull you aside to talk to you or steal a quick, but you always managed to find an excuse about how you couldn’t stay longer.

“I have to go, Freddie. I have prefect duties to take care of,” you would simply say, stroking his cheek before placing a quick kiss on his lips.

Before you could turn away, he would grab your hand. “What about after class? Do you wanna meet at the lake?” he would try to get you to be with him. “I feel like it’s been ages since we got to be together alone,” he confesses. His heart yearned for your attention and love. He needed to know now more than ever that you still loved him.

Sighing, guilt rose in your throat at the words that were going to come out of your mouth. After class, you had detention. Your last one with Umbridge. If you missed it, she would surely give you month’s worth of detention. “I really can’t, I have responsibilities to follow, Freddie,” you say, trying not to give much away.

Fred’s heart sank as you told him what he least wanted to hear. “Fine, I understand,” he huffed. “Couldn’t you just tell Malfoy to cover for you for once? The guy’s a prick, but he can cover you for one day, can’t he?”

You lightly laughed. If only Fred knew. “That would be asking too much,” you lie through your teeth. “I have to go now, but I promise I’ll see you soon, okay?” you look at him, genuinely searching his eyes to know that he understood. He just gives you a sad smile and nods his head. “I love you.”

Before he can respond, you were gone, disappeared down the halls. As you left, Fred couldn’t help but feel off. You were hiding something from him and he was going to get to the bottom of it. He was not going to be lied to about something when it came to your relationship of all things.

Fred started down the halls, down the staircases to the dungeons, to the Slytherin common room. He knew that you would surely be there of all places. But there was no need to even make it to the entrance. Right outside of the entrance, you stood with Draco as Fred ducked behind a wall, watching the encounter.

“This is the last time, I swear,” you tell Draco who just shakes his head.

“I know, (Y/N), you made that very clear this morning, and then again at lunch, and just now. You know I don’t mind, but you’ll have to pay me back in some way,” Draco smirks as you slap his shoulder, rolling your eyes, earning a laugh from him. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. No one’s gonna know that we did this in the first place.”

To you, this sounded like a normal conversation between you and Draco. But to Fred, this sounded horribly. Were you cheating on him with Draco? Were you sneaking around with him, not trying to get caught by anyone? It made sense, the two of you being prefects, you spent a lot of time together.

Fred couldn’t bare the sight of this anymore. He left as quickly and as quietly as he came, his heart sunk into his stomach, but anger that welled up in his chest at Malfoy was palpable. If he ever saw him in the halls alone, Draco was in for a nasty treat from Fred.

You left your short meeting with Draco and braced yourself for your last detention with Umbridge. As you walked to her office, the guilt of lying to Fred was weighing on you more than ever today. Fred looked so disappointed and so sad when you had spoke to him and when you told him you couldn’t see him much today, he looked crush. You didn’t want to give him the impression that you didn’t want to be with him or avoided hanging out with him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. You would spent every waking moment with your love if you could. But you couldn’t swell on the situation too much or else it would make you more miserable than you already were.

---------

“Alright, Miss (Y/L/N),” Umbridge smiles as you sit at the desk, hand stinging from the pain of writing more lines on her parchment. “You’ve served your two weeks diligently. Have you learned your lesson?”

You glare at the woman dressed in cheery pink, contrary to her personality. “Yes, ma’am,” you speak with unfaltering eye contact. Bitch. “Since I’ve done my time and done it all perfectly, can I go now?” you give a sarcastic smile.

Umbridge sits behind her desk. “As long as you have learned your lesson, you may leave,” she says as you immediately rise from the desk and grab your book bag. “Before you go Miss (Y/L/N),” she stops you, “you should know, since you’re a prefect, that order is imperative to create a diligent work environment. I will have order. Do I make myself clear?”

Opening the door without a single care, you speak, “Crystal,” before slamming it closed and leaving the wench’s quarters. “Finally,” you breathe out as you leave that wing of the castle, walking through the halls feeling relived that you detention sentence was over. Now you could finally get back on track with your prefect duties and spending more quality time with Fred.

As you walk the halls, you hear what seems like younger kid crying alongside with a familiar voice comforting them. Turning the corner, you see a young Gryffindor boy rubbing his eyes, probably a first year. Sat next to him was your Fred, he hand his arm around the small boy, trying to comfort him. The sight made your heart swell. Fred was always so good with the younger kids, which just made you fall more in love with him. “It’s all awful, mate, I know,” Fred speaks to the small boy who is cuddled up next to Fred now. “Umbridge is terrible, everyone knows that. But you can’t let her uptight, nasty behavior get the best of you. We can still make the most out of this. She won’t last long, trust me,” he rubs the small boy’s back.

The boy looks up at Fred, eyes red and teary eyed. “I don’t want her to hurt me like she did to Harry Potter,” he sniffles. “She’s so mean. Why, Fred?”

Fred wished he knew the answer to the poor boy’s question. “Because some people are born evil. That’s the way some people are. It’s terrible, but we can try our best to show them the good. You understand?” Fred looks at the child as he nods.

Before Fred can say anything else, you appear from down the hall and speak, “She’s not as tough as you think.” Fred looks at you and gulps. He didn’t know how to feel. Were you still seeing Malfoy? Were you going to break up with him? Should he break up with you? “Umbridge is nasty, sure, but she’s not invincible,” you walk over to where the boy is sat on the bench with Fred. “Do you wanna know a secret?” you ask the small boy, who is a little weary of you and your Slytherin robes. He looks to Fred for comfort and approval to which Fred offers his a soft smile and a gentle nod, letting him know that you were to be trusted. The child looks back at you and nods, rubbing his nose. Slowly, you show him your gloved hand before pulling the glove off to reveal your scar from punishments with Umbridge.

The child’s eyes go wide and Fred looks at you mouth agape in shock. “(Y/N), what is going on? What happened?”

You ignore Fred for a moment and look at the child. “Umbridge did this to me. I know it looks bad and that’s because it is. But she taught me that I want to be nothing like her. She’s cruel and nasty and sick and twisted. She taught me that I want to fight harder against her and everything she stands for,” you tell the boy. “If she wants order, then I want chaos. I won’t settle for anything else.” This makes the small boy giggle. “We can follow her silly rules, but at the end of the day, we fight back against her and against her wayward system. So, you just follow alongside your other first years and when the time comes, we fight back. Sound good?”

The small boy nods and gives you a smile. “Thank you,” he softly speaks looking at you and Fred.

“Now, run back to your dormitory. It’s past curfew. We don’t need any more trouble, darling,” you tell the child as he nods his head and scurries down the hall back to his room as you instructed.

You and Fred were now alone on the bench, your scarred hand resting in your lap as you looked at Fred who’s eyes were fixed on your hand. “Darling, what is going on?” Fred nervously asked you. Fred never really let you see him scared because he wanted to be strong for you. But this was genuinely terrifying to him.

Scooting closer to your boyfriend you tell him everything. “I spoke out of line in class two weeks ago. Umbridge gave me two week’s detention and this has been my punishment. Like Harry’s. She has a special quill that writes in the person’s blood and leaves scarring on their hand. It stings when I’m around her and the quill,” you confess. Fred looks at you, scared for you and he feels horribly that he couldn’t have been there to protect you. “The scars heal, but they hurt like hell.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he implores. “If I had known, I would have-”

“Would have what, Fred? Gotten in trouble and been in the same position as me?” you retort and that makes Fred go quiet. “I kept it a secret because I didn’t want you to worry about me. You would have done the same if it were you in my position. I stayed quiet because I didn’t think it was a big deal. I’m on student among many that’s getting punished like this, Harry included. I know it’s not right, but it’s not like we can stop it. She’s head master now.”

Fred sighs, “I know it’s happening to a lot of students, but it’s you I care about. I want to know that you are alright. I would never forgive myself if something horrible happened to you.”

You place your hand on Fred’s cheek as he leans into your touch, melting into you. “I know, darling, but I can’t have you worried about me all the time.”

He gulps before asking the question that’s been bothering him all day. “So, the detention has gotten in your way of being with me. But...is there someone else that has gotten in your way as well?”

You furrow your brows for a moment and then it clicks. “Oh, Freddie...you mean Draco?” you question as he nods, you lightly laughing. “There is nothing going on there. He was taking over my prefect duties as I was in detention. He’s been covering for me so my responsibilities there are taken care of. It was a simple favor and that’s it. Nothing more. He’ll probably ask me to do his Potions homework for the next two weeks as recompense, but it’s alright.”

Fred lets out a large sigh of relief, relaxing that he knows all of the truth now. “Alright,” he sighs. “I just...I didn’t know if you were avoiding me or just trying to get away from me all together.”

Grabbing both of his hands, you look at him, “No, Fred. I’m so sorry that I made you feel that way. I love you so much and I never want to make you feel like that ever again. You mean the world to me and I never want you to believe that I resent you. I’m so sorry, love.”

Without saying another word, Fred kisses you with all the love he can muster up in that moment. His hand cups your cheek, pulling you close to him as you snake your arms around his neck. You sigh into the kiss as Fred’s touch makes you melt into him. His lips are gentle, but passionate against yours as he kisses you. He pulls away to look into your eyes, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I’m gonna make that bitch pay for what she did to you,” he growls as you laugh. “I’m serious. No one messes with my girl.”

“Godric, I love you, Freddie.”

#Fred and George #fred weasley #Fred and Goerge Weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader imagine #fred weasley x muggle!reader #fred weasley x female reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley x slytherin!reader #HP #harry potter #harry potter imagine

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ppersonna · 4 years

Text

planning forever - myg

↳ summary- you have special news to deliver to your husband, yoongi. and you find your inspiration to do so in a unique way.

↳ rating- PG

↳ pairing- min yoongi x reader

↳ word count-

↳ genre- fluff, oh my god the fluff

↳ warnings- mentions of sex, some swearing, min yoongi is D A D D Y

↳ a/n- happy birthday to @carly-bean-blog ! my sweet angel who has been with me through nearly my entire blog life. you’re so special to me! myself, @chimoona and @sombreboy wanted to do something special for you. together, we created your future ;). we hope you enjoy your day, sweet peony!

"You forgot your lunch.”

The voice of your husband, Yoongi, chuckles lightly through the phone in an amused tone.

“Shit,” you sigh, walking into work with arms packed full. Keys, your jacket, nametag, and an energy drink fumble in your grasp.

“Good thing you’re married to the nicest man in the world,” he goads. You roll your eyes, but he’s right. Min Yoongi is simply the sweetest, most kind man you’ve ever met. It’s why you married him.

“Hmm,” you tease as you shove your items into your locker, “Did I marry Namjoon?”

Yoongi grunts through the phone and it forces you to laugh.

“Not funny,” he sighs. You know he’s holding back laughter, maintaining his stoicism.

“I love you, Yoongi,” you smile. “My break is in about four hours.”

“I’ll bring it then. We can eat together.”

Your heart warms at the idea of sharing your simple sandwich and chip combo with the quiet man—the one who so easily captured your heart. You love that he’s willing to spend time during his day to sit at your boring job and eat lunch with you, all to make you happy.

“I’ll see you then.” The smile that's on your face nearly makes up for the fact that you have to suffer through a grueling eight-hour shift. Yoongi makes all the bad things in your life good. He takes those bad days and holds them tight in his arms until the bad melts away and you’re simply left with nothing but bliss.

“I love you.” He says it so easily, so much easier than when you first met him. Yoongi’s icy demeanor quickly melted after he spent time with you. Your infectious laughter, kind heart, and easy-going attitude had the man falling fast.

“I love you too, Yoongi.”

As you press ‘end’ on the phone, one hand drops to your stomach. You rub it idly. Consciously, you know it’s early and that you’re showing no signs of growing a life inside of you, but you can’t help but smile at the tiny fluttering in your belly.

---

Work goes by slower than you’d like. You’re excited at the idea of seeing Yoongi, but four hours suddenly seems too far away.

It’s as you’re arranging the new shipment of artisan, 100% organic cotton diapers that you’re forced to pause.

On the box of the far-too-expensive diapers, is the cutest baby model you’ve ever seen in your life.

You stare dumbly at the box for what feels like hours, unblinking as you take in the baby’s chubby cheeks and silly grin.

Maybe it’s the new pregnancy hormones coursing through your veins, or maybe this baby is sincerely so cute it’s making you cry—either way, tears slip down your face and a dumb, deliriously happy grin spreads across your face.

You’re pregnant. You’re going to have a baby with Yoongi. Maybe your baby won’t look like the tiny one on the display box, but it doesn’t matter. You’re going to have a child with the man of your dreams and you suddenly want the next eight months to go by faster.

The only problem that remains is, well, you haven’t told your husband.

It’s not like you two meant to get pregnant. You weren’t opposed to the idea but having sex was never with an end-goal of conception in mind. Yoongi wanted kids and assured you of that before you agreed to marry him. You both knew they would come at a time that felt right, when the universe and stars aligned.

And it appeared that they had. You noticed the symptoms a few weeks ago. Missed period, a little nauseated in the mornings, increased hormones. So, during a lunch break at work, you bought a pregnancy test and scurried to the staff bathrooms, only to come out with a positive reading and a grin on your face.

It wasn’t that you were scared to tell your husband. Frankly, you were far from it. You wanted to make sure the moment was just right. The pressure of telling your husband he was about to become a father was overwhelming. You couldn’t just tell him casually, as if discussing the weather. No, you wanted something more. And you agonized for weeks about how to make it happen.

But now, standing in front of the diaper section with tears pouring from your eyes, you throw any need of extravagant celebrations aside. Seize the day—it’ll happen at lunch and there’s no use backing out now.

The next fews hours creep by painfully. You take note of every ticking minute as it passes, practically hopping on your heels with excitement, waiting until you can pop the news. You finish stocking the nursery aisles with a happy heart and a smile on your face. You’re so engrossed in stocking shelves and running through the dialogue in your mind that you slowly lose track of time.

Hours pass and—

“_____,” Yoongi’s low voice bounces off the tall aisles behind you.

You turn on your heel and come face-to-face with the most familiar, welcoming pair of deep brown eyes.

“Baby,” you laugh, amused at how domestic he looks with both hands full of sack lunches like a father at a soccer game half-time.

He pulls off the look well. It reminds you why you fell in love with him in the first place. So kind and doting on those he loves most. Gosh, he’s going to make a great father.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he says with an eye-crinkling grin. “You love this department.”

“Love? I’m assigned to this department.” You close the distance with a small peck and tug your lunch from his hand. “But I guess you can say I have a fondness for it.”

He takes a step back and reclines in a nursing glider, motioning for you to join him in a neighboring seat.

“It’s the graveyard shift—do you think anyone will mind if we eat here?”

You look around the completely vacant store like a covert agent, then answer in a hushed tone. “For the time being, it looks like we’re off their radar. The coast is clear.”

“You’re an idiot,” he laughs, “I love you.”

“Love you too, rule breaker.”

It felt good to be bad in the most wholesome way in the most wholesome department of the entire store. Well, aside from the home decor section. Those fragrant eucalyptus candles and plush throw pillows in the shape of wild animals melts your heart to no end.

The two of you empty your bags into your laps and make small talk about your days. While you were toiling over the display case for Jessica Alba’s latest line of gluten-free, non GMO shampoo for thin baby hair, Yoongi watered the plants and did the dishes.

Real riveting stuff.

No, really, there is nothing sexier than a man who takes care of the home. It only makes you want to pop the news sooner, but the sandwich clutched in your hands makes for a less glamorous prop in your otherwise fairytale picture-perfect moment.

“Oh! I also did the laundry and folded it the way you like.”

“Bunched up and tossed in the drawer?”

He winks and points his finger at you. “That’s my girl—nothing gets past her.”

“Nothing does, nothing does…” You stare off blankly at the display behind Yoongi and notice a package of diapers is slightly askew. You begin to make a mental note to fix it later, but are abruptly snapped from your thoughts at Yoongi’s words—

“Nothing gets past me either, ______.” He sighs and reclines, belly full of sandwich. He closes his eyes and rests his head against clasped hands. “I know you’ve been keeping a secret from me, I can sense it like a bloodhound.”

With that, you pop the rest of the sandwich into your mouth and chew quickly. It seems the moment to savor has quickly evaporated and it was time to come clean.

“I wanted to tell you sooner, but—”

“—You got me that Pioneer DJ System for my birthday. I knew it! When I saw a purchase on our credit card for $500, I knew I caught you red-handed,” He looks at you for confirmation and assumes he’s right based on the reddish hue of your cheeks.

“You’re the idiot,” you snicker, nervously biting your lip between your teeth. “That wasn’t a DJ System, that was a crib.”

He holds up his finger in an AH-HA moment of victory, but pauses mid-celebration and looks at you with a crooked smile. “C-crib?”

“I’m pregnant, Yoongi.”

You can’t keep the butterflies from fluttering, seeing his face slowly shift from slightly amused to tear-dabbed and nearly shaking.

“You’re...you mean...we’re…” He stands from his seat and takes a knee beside you on your rocker and places his hand gently on your stomach.

“Yes,” you confirm through a strained voice, edging back tears of your own. “We’re having a baby.”

“This is, I mean,” He stammers and verbally struggles to come up with the right words to say that properly shows the multitude of emotions coursing through his body.

“Are you happy?” You ask despite the answer being written plainly on his face.

Of course he’s happy. It’s the happiest moment of his life and it’s all happening under the watchful gaze of a Peppa Pig cardboard cutout.

“Beyond,” he confirms, stroking your belly gently as if you were made of glass. “And excited, and scared.”

“Me too.”

“But mostly happy.” He strokes his hand through your hair and curls the loose strands behind your ear to place a soft kiss on your cheek. “God, I can’t wait to spend forever with you two.”

“Already? You haven’t even met the kid. What if he/she is a brat?”

“Too late, I love them already.”

You lean forward and kiss your husband, capturing his plush lips with your own. It’s warm and soft and reminds you of home.

“I love you,” you whisper, lips still touching his.

“I love you too,” he smiles, “Forever.”

#bts fluff #min yoongi #yoongi fluff #suga #suga fluff #bts fic #bts imagine #min yoongi fluff #bts sfw #agust d #agust d fluff #bts imagines #min yoongi imagines

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whats-rambled-rambled · 3 years

Text

Smoke & Mirrors - part 2

Neil x Reader

Chapter 2: What kind of man

(see chapter 1)

summary: the matchmaking trio changes their strategy, and you end up on a sparring mat with Neil

warnings: language and other explicit things, 18+ and I MEAN IT

author’s note: ...you know what? I don’t want to take any responsibility for where this chapter ended up going. Those characters have mind of their own and at this point I can just write it down and try not to die on the way. (I know it’s far from what we’ve discussed A, but it’s best I could do with what these two had given me, promise to do better next time)

The song for this chapter is Florence + The Machine - “What kind of man” (changed from “Undisclosed desires”, don’t ask me, I don’t know either)

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

___

“...and you really think this is a good idea?”

“It sure beats yours,” said Ives and took a sip from his cup.

TP huffed and smacked his arm. “Hey, I thought it was our idea!”

“What matters is,” - Wheeler chimed in, fighting a losing battle to hide the annoyance in her voice - “it was a terrible one, and we have to do better if you want them to not get each other killed on the field.”

Ives pondered for a while. When he looked at Wheeler, his eyes were full of concern. “Honestly? This sounds like a recipe for someone getting hurt.”

She kept forgetting how protective he could be over his friend. Although this time, she thought, the one at risk was definitely Neil.

Wheeler smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, it’s gonna work.”

_________________

There was a certain peace in the emptiness of the HQ’s shooting range in the early morning. It always helped you clear your head - there was no place for emotions while you were holding a gun. And you always knew when to come there to be alone.

At least up until today.

Just as you finished your routine and grabbed your bag, the door opened and you were greeted by the smirk from under the messy blonde mane.

Bloody perfect.

A week had passed since the bar encounter, seven long days filled with Neil’s tiresome presence during your work time. If it wasn’t a merged mission of your squads, there were training sessions. The shooting range was your last place free from the walking reminder of your recent failure.

Not anymore, apparently.

“Going out already? Too bad, I was hoping to get some tips from you.”

“Aim and pull the trigger. Repeat. It’s really that simple,” you said, shrugging.

The blue eyes narrowed behind yellow-tinted lenses of the safety glasses as Neil sent a forced smile your way. “Never would have guessed,” he deadpanned.

You passed by him, not willing to allow him to get under your skin. But then, just as you were about to exit the room, you stopped and cursed internally at yourself. Closing the door and turning around, you placed your bag quietly on the ground and leaned back against the wall. With your arms crossed, you watched Neil as he prepared his pistol and started the practice.

You studied his posture, the way he held the gun in his gloved hands, trying to find any weak points in his technical side. There wasn’t too much to improve, his problem with shooting during the missions must have been elsewhere. You briefly glanced over the rolled sleeves of his navy blue shirt and the way his jaw tightened when he checked the target to grade his accuracy.

“Look at that, you actually can hit a target,” you said and the corner of your lips twitched. “An easy one and not quite lethally but still, I’d call that a progress.”

Neil scoffed and glared at you over the shoulder. “I thought you were done for today.”

The subtle hints of frustration rang in his voice, catching you by surprise. You didn’t know why, but all of the sudden, the satisfaction you felt had a bitter aftertaste.

You eyed him carefully before speaking again, this time easing up on the mocking tone. Just a bit. “Maybe you just need to train in a more stressful environment.”

A sardonic smile tainted Neil’s lips as he focused on the target again.

“Keep talking then.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you left the shooting range.

Fucking hell, he was just infuriating.

_________________

You stared at the bulletin board in disbelief. The new training lineup added one-on-one sparring sessions, and your name was all the way at the bottom of the list, which only meant more late evenings at the headquarters. And as for the choice of your sparring partner-...

With the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar figure, trying to sneak by you unnoticed. You turned around quickly. “Ives, why do you guys hate me so much?”

He sighed slowly and patted you on the arm. “It’s nothing personal,” he said, his voice almost sincere. But you knew better, and after the crap they’d pulled on you last time, you had every right to be suspicious.

“You could have picked anyone else for him,” you complained, quite desperate to try anything to avoid spending more time with that blonde pain in the ass.

“I didn’t pick shit,” Ives scoffed. “Besides, it’s just the combat practice, the usual training rotation stays the same.”

“And it’s a coincidence-”

“It’s not,” TP’s voice rang from behind you. “It’s the result of your recent evaluation.”

You stifled a curse.

_________________

Neil’s brows furrowed in fake concern while he looked you up and down as you kicked off your shoes and stepped on the mat. The fact that you accidentally matched your black tank top and shorts to his black t-shirt and sweatpants didn’t get lost on him.

“What’s with the frown, sweetheart?” he teased. “I thought you might enjoy it, I saw the way you look at me.”

You smacked your lips as you began to stretch your arms and sneered, “Good, so you know how much I want to punch your stupid face.”

Neil kept his features casual, but the taunting sparks in his eyes were saying plenty.

“I can’t wait to see you try.”

You started circling each other slowly. After seeing him in combat, you knew that you were in his domain. You tapped into all your bottled anger to cover the lack of confidence you suddenly felt in his calm presence.

“Ground rules?” you asked, putting your guard up.

Neil’s shoulders raised in a slight shrug as he mirrored your pose nonchalantly.

“Just show me what you got.”

And that’s what you did.

You always considered your close combat skills adequate. Good enough to let you get out of most of the situations you’d found yourselves into during missions. But after yet another blocked hit, you weren’t so sure about that anymore.

Meanwhile, Neil was clearly having fun watching you struggle to break through his defense. “You don’t like hand-to-hand combat,” he rather stated the fact than asked as he dodged under swing aimed for his head and lunged forward, tapping your right side to mark the exposed area.

“If you’re that close, it means I’ve failed to shoot you,” huffing in frustration, you spun around and kicked, missing him just barely. Neil didn’t give you too much time to regain your balance, making you jump out of the way of his flying knee. He flitted around you and grabbed your wrist, twisting it quickly and pressing it to your back, quickly adding your other one there before you could do anything about it.

“You never let anyone near you, huh?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you tried to wriggle your way out. Neil was definitely too close for comfort, both literally and figuratively. “You’re not my therapist, blondie,” you uttered through gritted teeth, taking a sudden step back right into his arms, a change of direction finally allowing you to escape his grasp.

“Thank god, because I feel sorry for them already,” Neil laughed dryly. His eyes narrowed as he watched your mouth open in disbelief at his remark and a shit-eating grin crept on his face.

You don’t know what pissed you off more - the fact that he was bent on driving you mad, or the sudden realization that the fucker was clearly holding back. It didn’t matter that you were struggling enough with the moderate effort from his side; to you, it was an insult worse than the comment.

You brushed a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead. “Aren’t you tired?” you snarled, shifting your balance back and forth. The question was vague enough, but from the way his expression changed, you knew he got the hint. The predatory flare in his eyes made the heart race in your chest.

Neil sprung at you, faking a misstep on the way to throw you off balance. Your senses sharpened enough to predict his next move and you were there to deflect a lightning-quick hit to your abdomen. You returned with a strike at his side but to no luck. Neil ducked under your elbow and closed in on you, giving himself enough momentum to knock you down and pin you to the mat.

The self-satisfied stare just a few inches from your face was making the blood boil in your veins. Cursing internally at both his reach and flexibility, you squirmed under Neil and that only made him press his forearm to your chest even harder, a roguish smile tainting his lips. “See, there’s one thing you need to learn. You need to work smarter, not harder.”

An outraged cry built in your throat as you clenched your hands on his arms, trying to gain any leverage in your position. You glared into the blue eyes, the nauseating hate burning in every cell of your body.

Neil raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Oh no, did I hit a nerve?”

You let out a frustrated groan. Of course, that son of a bitch hit a fucking bullseye. And to make matters worse - he had a point, too.

Neil spotted a change in your expression a second too late. You swiftly moved your hands and sneaked them under his t-shirt, sliding them up his stomach. His eyes widened as he gasped, reducing the pressure on your chest. That gave you enough room to maneuver, rolling him off you and pinning him with his wrists above his head.

With your faces again just inches away from each other, both of you panted heavily; a part of you enjoyed Neil’s amused gaze, his mouth slightly open as he tried to level his breath. And then -

“Good girl. Just like that.”

...fuck.

You didn’t know what exactly made your brain short-circuit. Was it the hoarse voice combined with the praise? The way the blue eyes suddenly got darker? Or both together?

And you didn’t even know how you found yourself underneath Neil again, flipped on your stomach, your hands behind your back. With one cheek pressed against the cold mat, you shivered at the sudden warmth of his uneven breath on your neck.

A throaty chuckle made your heart skip a bit. “Two can play the game, darling,” he purred as his lips brushed against your ear.

Your mind went blank again.

Somehow, you made your way back to the shared locker room.

You leaned your back against the wall, crossing your arms. The tension between the two of you was almost volatile, elevating your heartbeat with every second passed and every step Neil made your way.

“You’re insufferable.”

You grinned slyly as your eyes flared up.

“The feeling is mutual, blondie.”

The way his gaze got even darker made your breath hitch. The burning sensation inside of you was something more than hatred now, not caring if you were ready to admit it or not.

He smacked his tongue, a vicious smile dangled in the corner of his lips.

“You really should stop calling me that.”

The hidden threat in his tone made your mouth dry. You raised a brow and held your breath.

“Or?”

He closed in on you and grabbed your chin harshly.

“Or I’ll make you.”

You flashed your teeth and taunted him again.

“Can’t wait to see you try.”

Neil hummed and moved a pad of his thumb against your lips, making you gasp breathlessly and lose all the resolve you had left. A dry chuckle in response to your expression was enough to haze your mind. You tilted your head as Neil leaned in, drawing his attention just where you wanted him. It took all your willpower not to sigh when he sucked at the skin just below your ear and your fingers raked through blonde hair, pulling Neil even closer.

His hands roamed your body hungrily while his mouth moved down your neck. When you felt his fingers going up your thigh, you tugged at his t-shirt, and as they moved even higher, your hips bucked involuntarily, so eager to feel him where you needed him the most.

A sharp chuckle against your collarbone as he palmed over the almost completely soaked-through fabric of your shorts sent a bolt of pleasure through your every nerve. You could feel your core pulsing even harder as his long fingers rubbed you just right.

Your hand flew back up and yanked at his hair, making him look at you just before you trailed his jawline with your mouth. Neil groaned and a laugh rattled in your chest.

You reached for his waistband, but he was faster. Next thing you knew, your shorts and panties were gone and Neil lifted you and pinned you to the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he slid his arm around your lower back. You nearly cried out when he thrust into you mercilessly; instead, you dug your nails into his back and sank your teeth in your bottom lip. As Neil picked up the pace, you clung to him for dear life. The heat radiating from his body carried the musky smell mixed with the almost fade-out scent of his cologne, the combination so intoxicating it made you lightheaded. You felt yourself tighten around him as he ground into you relentlessly, and pathetic whine escaped your mouth. Hearing that, Neil slowed down, almost stopping and you groaned in frustration when you realized what he was doing.

“I hate you,” you uttered through gritted teeth, panting heavily, rolling your hips, longing for the friction that son of a bitch was purposely denying you.

Neil pulled back enough so you could see the roguish sparks in his eyes accompanied by a mischievous grin.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he teased, his voice low and raspy.

You huffed, outraged by the audacity and he laughed, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he picked up where he’d left off. The fire he’d just fueled blazed in your veins, your heart raced in your chest and you felt yourself climbing the peak again. Wrapping your arms around him and pulling yourself closer, you frantically gasped for air and squeezed your eyes shut as you came undone with a loud moan, the pleasure hitting every fiber of your body in violent shockwaves. That was enough to send Neil over the edge, a deep groan escaping his mouth as he came into you, tightening his grasp on you almost painfully.

At that moment, you were nothing but a trembling mess in his arms. Coming down, you pressed your forehead to his, enjoying the way your breaths intertwined.

When both of you regained your senses, you pushed him away and picked up your clothes. As you were both decent enough, you glared at Neil.

“This changes nothing,” you said.

The self-satisfied look in his eyes made you realize your mistake.

No nickname.

You cursed internally, but it was already too late. He’d had it his way, in the end.

Neil’s lips curled in a half-smile.

“How tragic.”

(next chapter ->)

#neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #tenet #robert pattinson #neil tenet fanfiction #tenet fanfiction #the protagonist tenet #ives tenet #wheeler tenet #neil tenet imagine #smoke & mirrors

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i-like-plan-m · 3 years

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If you're accepting prompts, how about one where people either can't lie to LWJ or he can tell when they're lying, and he inadvertently discovers a whole bunch of stuff WWX would rather he didn't (could be either WWX's low self worth, or his intense LWJ-based thirst!)

such a good prompt omg thank you [Posted to Ao3]

It was a curse, some said. A gift, according to others. The sect debated for years on the technicalities and argued their differing opinions over Lan Zhan’s head until Lan Qiren insisted the sect leave his nephew alone.

No one ever asked Lan Zhan what he thought.

He considered it neither a gift nor a curse. It was simply a part of him, the same as his golden core.

Except while a golden core was perfectly normal, Lan Zhan’s ability to detect any lie— spoken or unspoken— was less so. He heard falsehoods like music; words were notes, conversations were harmonies, and lies were the jarring wrong note that scraped harshly across his ears.

The hardest part was learning the reasons for a lie. Lan Zhan did not understand people the way his brother did, could only hear their lies and quietly disapprove. But Lan Xichen spent hours upon hours with him, testing the bounds of the skill and gently pointing out the different types of lies, and why the distinctions were important.

Sometimes, he’d said, people lie to protect themselves or others. Sometimes a lie is kinder than the truth. They were not all born of malicious intent, and he’d taught Lan Zhan how to distinguish between them. How to identify the dangerous lies, the harmful ones, and those that were best left unacknowledged out of kindness or respect.

Lan Xichen had been eternally patient, remarkably encouraging, and quietly concerned about the effect this curse would have on his little brother. Lan Zhan had seen it in his face, the nonverbal lie reading to him like a whisper every time Lan Xichen smiled to hide his worry.

His brother had never asked about the source of the curse or gift or whatever the sect considered it; Lan Zhan suspected he had his own theories, and Lan Xichen’s guesses would most certainly be better than the elders’.

But only Lan Zhan knew its origins for sure.

His mother had been lied to, once, and as a result had spent the rest of her days a prisoner in a small, lonely house. His clearest memory of his mother was her holding him close, tucking him into her lap and wrapping her arms around him in a loving, protective cocoon. It was the safest he had ever felt.

He’d been too young to recognize his mother’s sorrow for what it was at the time, the way she’d clearly known her death was approaching. But he remembered the quiet words she’d whispered to him, words of love and fear and protectiveness. The way her golden core had enveloped him, warm and steady, as she made sure her youngest son would not live in a house of lies and silence like her.

It was her greatest gift to him, and her last.

~*~

Lan Zhan knew the sound of a lie. So when a particularly irritating disciple arrived and immediately began causing trouble, Lan Zhan expected any number of lies from the boy. He was eager, even, for vindication for his own prejudice against such a disrespectful nuisance.

But Wei Ying had a way of talking that sounded like slurred notes to Lan Zhan’s highly trained ear. He was all chaos and deflection, and Lan Zhan experienced something uncomfortably like whiplash trying to keep up with the words in Wei Ying’s never-ending chatter.

It could not have been deliberate— no one outside of the Lan Sect’s elders and his own family knew of Lan Zhan’s particular skill— but nonetheless Wei Ying avoided giving straight answers, topics sliding sideways and off course with a joke, a question of his own, or some wildly inappropriate comment that made Lan Zhan too furious to focus.

He was infuriating.

He was beautiful.

Somehow that was worse.

Lan Zhan did not bother to look over as Wei Ying bickered with his sect brother, not in any mood to deal with him or his own feelings about the biggest troublemaker he’d ever met in his life.

Wei Ying’s laugh rang over the courtyard, bright and happy as he slung an arm over Jiang Wanyin’s shoulders, ignoring the sect heir’s incensed protests. “Don’t lie, shidi, I know you love me!”

The lie sounded like a gong in Lan Zhan’s head, startling him so badly that he stumbled to an awkward stop and snapped his head around to stare at Wei Ying, who was for once paying him no attention.

His ever-present smile was in place, nothing false or fixed about it. Wei Ying wore happiness and humor like armor, and Lan Zhan wondered if anyone had ever seen past it. He hadn’t… until now.

Lies were interesting things. Sometimes entire speeches were a lie (for instance, everything that came out of Jin Guangshan’s mouth). Sometimes gestures held the lie, such as Nie Huaisang’s amiable nod of agreement whenever his older brother ordered him to go train with his saber. And sometimes the lie was only a single word.

I know you love me. The low, booming signal of Wei Ying’s lie was significant for two reasons: the timing, and the strength of the sound. The greater the lie, the louder the noise, and this one had left a painful echo in Lan Zhan’s ears from the force of it. And the timing… the lie had been marked on a single word: love.

I know you love me. But Wei Ying did not believe this, not even a little.

Lan Zhan… did not know what to do with this revelation.

By the end of class that day, during which Wei Ying had been bellowed at by Lan Qiren and handed off to Lan Zhan for yet another punishment, he still had not figured out what to do about it. He would have gone to his brother for advice, because Xichen always helped him find the right thing to do, but lately his brother had a terrible light of laughter in his eyes every time Lan Zhan mentioned Wei Ying, and he was not about to willingly subject himself to that indignity.

So he was left to his own devices. Lan Zhan stared down at his scroll, not reading a single word of it because of to Wei Ying’s indecent sprawl across a nearby desk. He was humming innocently, like Lan Zhan couldn’t see him urging a tiny paper man on a march towards Lan Zhan’s pot of ink.

“Focus on your work,” Lan Zhan said sternly, capturing the figure just before it dipped its little arms in the bowl and went on a rampage.

“Ugh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whined, flopping over the desk. “This is so boring, how can you stand it? Not even Madam Yu would make me do all this!”

Lan Zhan studied the paper man in the cage of his fingers. This was a chance to learn more, he thought, about Wei Wuxian’s life in Yunmeng. Maybe even about why he did not believe his own brother loved him.

Why do you care? This does not concern you. Lan Zhan mutinously banished the thought and set the paper man free to explore the stack of books on his desk.

Hesitantly, he asked, “Do you like Lotus Pier?”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying laughed. “What kind of question is that?”

Lan Zhan felt the familiar surge of frustration at the deflection; he could never get a straight answer out of Wei Ying, and it was a source of much aggravation.

“You mention punishments at Lotus Pier frequently,” he said instead of pinning Wei Ying to the floor until he got a truthful answer. The image sent a flash of heat through him, and he held himself very, very still until he had control over himself again.

“Eh.” Wei Ying waved a dismissive hand. “I get in trouble everywhere, Lan Zhan, whether I mean to or not.”

Truth.

“Are you punished in similar ways?” Lan Zhan asked, looking pointedly at Wei Ying’s abandoned paper of half-copied rules.

“No one gives punishments like the Lans. Don’t worry, your sect’s reputation is still the most feared of all!”

Not true, because anyone with half a brain knew to be wary of Wen Ruohan. This lie was like a slipped finger on the string of a qin, a short, wavering note that was discordant and vaguely unsettling. An untruth, technically, but said as a joke, as a sort-of truth because both of them knew the statement wasn’t genuine and that they other knew it as well.

Lan Zhan had a headache.

He tried a different track. “You were adopted by Sect Leader Jiang?”

Wei Ying sat up, propping his elbows on his desk and studying him for a moment before grinning. “So many questions, Lan Zhan! If I didn’t know better, I’d think you want to be friends.”

It was said teasingly, and the lie was held in the latter part of the sentence— Wei Ying did not believe Lan Zhan wanted to be friends. That, combined with the frustration of yet another question avoided, made Lan Zhan say, “It seems you do not know better.”

Embarrassingly, his heart was pounding at the admission. Lan Zhan had never had a friend before, other than his brother, and he certainly did not know how to make them. But he knew that he wanted to spend time with Wei Ying more and more often, even though part of him rebelled at the thought.

It was oddly silent in the library. Lan Zhan knew his ears were flushed red with embarrassment and uncertainty, and he waited with bated breath for Wei Ying to tease him again, to deflect with another laugh or joke that kindly disguised the fact that he did not want to be Lan Zhan’s friend, that Lan Zhan was too stiff and weird and boring to be anyone’s friend.

A little nauseated, Lan Zhan lifted his eyes from his paper and gathered his courage to look at the other boy.

Wei Ying was gaping at him like a fish.

“Friends?” He finally managed. Lan Zhan dropped his eyes back to the desk and said nothing, couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. “You don’t want to be my friend!”

His gaze flickered back towards Wei Ying. The statement was untrue, obviously, but it was a lie that Wei Ying believed to be true, so it sounded like a half-missed note on a flute. Easily corrected, quickly covered, but there nonetheless.

“Says who?” Lan Zhan asked, wondering… hoping…

Wei Ying blinked at him for a moment, visibly stumped. Ridiculously, it made Lan Zhan feel as though he’d won something. Triumph over being the one to shock Wei Ying into uncharacteristic silence for once.

As expected, it didn’t last long.

Traitorous fondness glowed in his chest as Wei Ying planted his hands on the desk and raised himself onto his knees with an indignant expression. His hair fell in disarray around his face, a half-tied red ribbon spilling over his shoulder and against rumpled robes.

“You did!” Wei Ying said, outraged. “I said we should be friends on the first night!”

He’d said a lot of things that first night, Lan Zhan thought with reluctant amusement. Lan Zhan had forgotten most of it thanks to the veil of rage that had overtaken him as he chased a beautiful boy under the moonlight.

“Hm,” Lan Zhan said, dismissive, mostly just to watch Wei Ying’s expression contort into disbelief. “Did you ask?”

Wei Ying spluttered. “Of course I asked!” He said too loudly, and then cocked his head like he’d heard the ring of the lie, too. “Oh. Huh, I guess I didn’t ask, now that I think about it.”

He looked at Lan Zhan with a gleam in his eye. Lan Zhan had only a second to think, uh oh, and then Wei Ying had vaulted over his desk to land on his knees across from him.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered, leaning in like they were sharing secrets. Lan Zhan’s hear thundered in his ears as Wei Ying grinned conspiratorially at him and leaned in close enough that Lan Zhan could smell the floral scent of his hair oil, the tinge of chili oil that he’d smuggled into the Cloud Recesses and then at some point spilled on his sleeve. “I want to be your friend. Do you want to be friends?”

Lan Zhan savored the silence around his words— I want to be your friend, he’d said, with no single hint of a lie— and tried not to let the mischievous glint in Wei Ying’s eye distract him.

It was too late, though. The seed of mischief had taken root in Lan Zhan, which was why he said with a perfectly straight face, “Hm. I will have to think about it.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying squawked with indignation, and then must have caught the tiny curl of Lan Zhan’s mouth because he exploded into laughter a second later. “Were you teasing me just now? Lan Zhan, I can’t believe this.”

Quietly pleased with himself, Lan Zhan watched as Wei Ying laughed until he ran out of air, falling onto his back with his usual exuberant expressiveness. The laughter was a joyous sound, bright and honest, and hearing it in one of his favorite places made Lan Zhan’s chest feel warm and tight.

His mother would have liked him, Lan Zhan thought wistfully. For his humor, his irrepressible love of life, his fearlessness. His heart felt too big for his chest as he listened to Wei Ying laugh, unrestrained emotion where only disciplined constraint had ever been permitted.

He would investigate Wei Ying’s beliefs about his own worth later, he decided. They were friends now, so this was allowed.

For now, though, he let the clear, ringing music of Wei Ying’s laughter fill the room. Basked in the warmth he hadn’t felt since his mother had been alive, and softened enough to smile back at Wei Ying.

#y'all have sent me some fantastic prompts #this one was fun #the untamed #wangxian #lan zhan #lan wangji #wei ying #wei wuxian #mdzs #asks #anon #prompts #my writing #my fics

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