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hunnidmilly · 1 year

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soap |r.r|

(a/n): ill be honest, i never intended to write anything on this blog. as a college student with a job, a bitch be tired asf. but, writing is my happiness. so is delusion ;). complete inspiration comes from @itjazzbicch and their “Cheiftess” series.

enjoy.

*credit to owner. @romanreigns*

Parings: Dom!Roman Reigns x Black!Female Interviewer

Warnings: enemies to lovers????maybe still enemies. Smut. Lots of Smut. Swearing. Don’t interact if you’re under 18. ion like prison.

*NOT EDITED. SPELLING ERRORS AND MISUSE OF PRESENT/PAST TENSE*

—

*takes place in 2021, feud between Roman Reigns vs Kevin Owens.*

It was Friday; Another boring ass Friday. The only difference was that he was here. And today, Jesus was he mad. But that’s just him nowadays anyway. Maybe it was due to the fact of Kevin Owens calling him out repeatedly. If there was one thing Roman Reigns refused to tolerate, it was disrespect. Disrespect to him meant disrespect to his family, his bloodline. Everyone in the arena already knew what he was capable of when he felt his heritage was disrespected. And best believe nobody wanted to engage with those consequences.

Over the last few months, since Roman’s return, he’s had a complete fucking identity change. He came back with a badass attitude, ready to take on anyone who was a threat to him and his family. His ego boost was on 100, with no sight of it coming back down to earth. But between you and your late-night thoughts? His persona, the “Tribal Chief,” had you imaging shit you didn’t even know could be possible. You knew that man could turn and twist you in ways that could be so pleasurable you could forget your name by only thinking about it.

As a backstage interviewer covering for Renee, while she enjoyed the beauty of her pregnancy with her husband, Jon, and you were temporary for now. Still, rumors swirled backstage on whether you’d stay. Stephanie and the other backstage crew mentioned more than once before how they loved how you can get into the superstars' minds during their interview. You gave a talk, unlike other interviewers—who were playing around the bush and being corny. You asked questions that could make them shiver or test their confidence. Or both.

You were on your way to your interview point, to interview Roman. Which you already knew was going to be dreadful. With how he treated Kayla during her interview, you knew he already had multiple insults ready for your questions. Little did he know you had something for his ass had he decided to pull it.

“You’re late.” He growls, readjusting his championship, Paul and Jey behind him

“I’m right on time. I said at 8:30, and it’s currently 8:30.” You smartly answer, taking your mic from one of the production members

“You’re supposed to be here when I’m here. I don’t give a damn about what time it is.” He snarls in your direction, “You have a once in a lifetime opportunity, don’t blow it.”

“I’ll assure you I won’t, Tribal Chief.” You give him a challenging smile

You clear your throat and smooth out the wrinkles in your skirt under his intense gaze at you before looking at the camera.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am currently here right now with our Smackdown WWE Champi—”

You were cut off as Roman placed his hand over the mic stopping the sound, “No, no, no, baby girl. If you want to introduce me, you’re going to do it right. Paul.” He calls for as he stepped aside for the short stubby man to speak

You roll your eyes as you lean your mic over to Paul—who held a grin on his face.

“Ladies and gentlemen, myself, and your lovely interviewer y/n are currently grateful to be in the presence of Head of the table, Smackdown WWE Champion, and ‘your’ Tribal Chief, Roman Reigns.” Paul giddily recites into the mic

“Okay, so Roman, last week you unleashed a brutal attack on Kevin Owens. You believe that you have to make him fear you, but are you starting to think his words are getting into your head?”

Roman lets out a chuckle before turning to Paul and Jey, “You see what I mean now? We give people like her chances in a million, and they blow it on stupid questions. Kevin Owens is irrelevant, just like you’re about to be. Find a better question. Next.”

You kiss your teeth before, letting out an aggravated sigh. With Roman’s new ego boost, you and practically everyone else in the arena wanted to sucker punch him in his face. And you planned to do so on your last day here.

“Do you feel as though, by using Jey as a pawn, you’re allowing yourself to get too comfortable? By using Jey as a backup, you make yourself an easy target to attack. Maybe other superstars think It’ll be easy to use him to make you riled up?” You question with a slight smirk

“Another dumb question. Ever since I took Jey under my wing, he’s been the main event three times in a row. I love my cousin. I’m a provider. I get riled up when I sense disrespect. Disrespect to me is disrespect to my family, my bloodline. Everything my family worked for will only be recognized with respect and decency, not in a silly conversation or this interview. If anybody would like to test that theory of me as a target, they can try; they won’t get too far.” He responds in a healthy, confident tone

“Jey, would you agree? Those people who disrespect your family will be dealt with? Perhaps in the same fashion, he’s dealt with you?”

Strikeout.

You knew that was the easiest way to get to Roman; Through Jey’s head. He also made his blood boil by mentioning the gruesome beating Roman gave to Jey in their matches.

Roman stated multiple times that the beatings Jey endured were well deserved in all aspects. He also hated when Jey answered any questions about it. He knew that by Jey telling his story of their bond, it would be dangerous to take it and misuse the information, making Roman vulnerable.

Roman gave Jey a side glare—silently telling him to choose his words carefully—before turning to Paul with an impatient expression.

“No...you know….” Jey stammers in nervousness, “It takes a lot to understand the pressure my cousin has on his back. He’s a provider to our family. He does what he has to do to take care of the people who matter most to him. People like Kevin Owens, Drew Mcintyre...they threatened that position he has at the table—”

“Do you agree? Roman feels threatened by Kevin Owens and WWE Universal Champion Drew Mcintyre?”

You could see Jey start to shift, meaning he was immensely trying to pick his words before saying anything that could cause Roman’s anger to be retaliated. Again.

“That’s enough for this interview. The Tribal Chief is needed elsewhere.” Paul inserts before moving his hand back and forth over his throat—signaling the production team to cut the cameras

You pop your lips before looking up at Roman’s frustrated brown filled eyes. You notice how his expression softens for almost a second the longer you look at him, “You have some strong confidence, I see. That attitude can get you in some trouble, babygirl.”

“My attitude is wonderful. I’m doing my job, just like you’re doing yours, Roman. The only thing is that I’m not a little bitch, with the urge to belittle everyone because I’m insecure about my potential and qualities.”

Roman gave you a sly smirk that almost makes you want to kick him in his face, “Insecure?” He chuckles devilishly, “That mouth of yours is dangerous. You should close it before I show you how to use it properly.”

He whispers the last part, leaning down to your ear, so Jey and Paul are out of shot, leaving your cheeks flush from embarrassment. Your shift on your feet, shaking your head in amazement.

You were sick of his shit.

You stuck your tongue in the side of your cheek and turned on your heel to walk over to the monitors. You continue watching the rest of the show, occasionally engaging with other superstars who walked by. Your mind continued to lose focus as you thought back to your interview with Roman.

You thought about his body language against you. He consistently sized up and was rigid towards everyone he talked to backstage as if with one wrong move, he’d be ready to bodyslam anybody. But around you, he wasn’t as tense. He was in his natural element; himself. You could see small smirks appearing on his face suggesting he was enjoying getting under your skin.

Roman ended up winning his match against Kevin through Jey handcuffing Kevin to the steel cage. You crack your neck and relax your shoulders. Roman could win a match without Jey or Paul by his side. Of course, that was just his character now. Still, something about seeing how much his dominance shows through his performance and his interactions with everyone else was secretly intriguing to you, how he ditched his vest and began to wrestle shirtless.

He should've been doing this shit when he got out of The Shield with Jon and Colby.

After Smackdown ended, everyone started to clean up. The long drive to the next city was crucial. You’d be driving all night long practically, inside of a small rental car. You could already feel the back cramps, the charlie horses, and the arm strains. You wanted to get your body at least some kind of relaxation before you began the midnight journey, so you head straight to the locker room showers for a hot shower to calm your nerves.

On the way towards the locker rooms, you heard yelling. You turn your head for your eyes to come in direct contact with Roman’s brown ones, completely tensed and filled with rage. You could feel the tension sweating off his muscular body throughout the atmosphere. He was yelling at Jey for interrupting his match when he had it under control. Jey being his current lapdog, he had no choice but to listen to the 6’3 ‘Tribal Chief’.

You swallow harshly under his intense gaze and continue your path to the showers with your luggage in your hand.

You were met with complete silence—thank god.—when you enter the showers. You lock the door behind you and turn the knob to a blazing hot setting. What? Hot showers are good, but blazing hot showers? Even better. Just the feel of your skin under the water steaming off you made your body instantly settle.

You quickly undress from head to toe, cracking your neck to the side. Before you could lift your feet to walk into the shower, you felt a large hand on your lower back shoving you inside, causing you to let out a screech.

The person roughly turns your body to face them, and you come face to face with none other than the Samoan. Nude as the day he was born, with his cock standing at attention against his muscled stomach.

“Ah!” You squeak under his large hand, covering your mouth, with the under holding the arch of your back close to his hard-built and sweaty frame.

“You’ve enjoyed this, haven't you. Were you running around all damn day provoking me? Getting in Jeys head, asking bullshit questions, smart ass remarks, and this tight fucking dress squeezing your body in all the right places? Do you enjoy playing games with me? Why would you play games with me? With your Chief?” He growled close to your face; the showers were now steaming around both your naked bodies.

“Do you enjoy being a little bitch boy? Fucking thinking everyone falls at your beck and call to please you?” His hand on your mouth was lowering as you struggled to get out of his hold on you.

“I don’t think, babygirl. Everyone falls because of who the hell I am! I am the Tribal Chief. I am your Tribal Chief. I am the face of this company, holding it on my back every day. You have no clue what that will ever feel like because you’re too busy running that pretty little smart-ass mouth of yours. Maybe it’s time for me to give you some discipline? For you to acknowledge me?” He pants in a cautious tone

You stop struggling for a moment, letting him pull you closer. You lean up closer to his lips, a mere centimeters away from your lips touching, “Like hell would I ever acknowledge you as anything other than a whiny fucking brat.” You sultrily respond

He lets out a humorless chuckle before responding, “It’s your punishment, babygirl.” With that simple response, he smacks his lips onto yours with force ending any further communication. You kiss him back with just as much roughness.

Your hand slides up to tangle themselves into his long dark black hair, pulling softly. You moan softly as Roman bit down on your lip, gaining entry to your mouth, both your tongues fighting for control.

The control you desperately desired to have.

He let you win for a moment to lower his hands under your ass to lift you around his waist. He takes a handful of your ass, pressing your body into the wall.

“Fuck!” You whine out as he takes a large hand to deliver a smack to your ass.

“You will acknowledge me. Do you understand me? You will fucking respect your Tribal Chiff, or I’m going to make you respect me. Am I clear?” He moans in your ear as your lips latch onto his neck, leaving love bites.

You were so caught up in the clouds of your head, with the thought of him fucking you that you didn’t even think twice about what he said, “Am. I. Clear?” He reiterates each word with a smack to your ass

“You’re such a jackass!” You mewl loudly, feeling him rub his long thick cock between your wet folds; lifting your legs to wrap around his muscular torso

“What was that?”

“I said you’re such a—Fuck, Roman!” You scream as the feeling of him stretching out your pussy to accommodate his cock overtook you to places you haven’t visited in a long time. You were anything but a virgin. But working at WWE had its downsides to finding good dick. Deciding to focus on your career, you decide to pause on sex for a while

Roman gave you a second to get used to the feeling of you being so painfully stretched out around his cock. “You wanna finish that sentence, babygirl?”

You could barely pay attention with his cock slamming in and out of you, already fucking at a furious and rough pace so quickly. Breathing in harshly as he pulls out to split you open on his cock again.

“Don’t stop! Roman, please don’t stop!” You moan, gripping onto his stiff shoulders

“Fuck! Look at you moaning my name like the slut you are. What happened to all that shit you were saying a moment ago?” Roman pants deeply in your ear

“I—Ah!” You squeal as Romans hands grip your thighs, bouncing you up and down his thick cock

“Shit, where am I, baby? Do you feel me in those guts? Deep inside that pretty little pussy? It’s my pussy now. The Tribal Chiefs pussy.” He deeply chuckles into your ear, his cock rubbing over your g-spot at every thrust, letting silent screams come out your mouth “All that bratty ass attitude...talking to me like you’re above me. Giving me nothing but fucking sass. The whole time you’re nothing but a slut for my cock, aren’t you? Letting me fuck you in the showers? You’re gonna give me this pussy anytime I fucking want it.”

You let out a loud salacious whine as Roman slowly pulls out. He sets you down on your feet, flipping your body around letting your hard nipples collide with the cold and wet glass wall. He uses his foot to spread your legs apart. Roman slides a hand into your hair, yanking while simultaneously sliding his cock back into you.

“Fuck! You’re so fuck–“ You swallow a silent gasp as you felt him bite down on your shoulder. “You’re so fucking aggravating!”

“I'm aggravating, but who's taking this dick right now? Who’s dripping more than a faucet?” His confidence booms into your ear in a grunt

“Good dick doesn’t stop you from being an asshole.”

“But it makes you satisfied, doesn’t it?” He responds breathlessly before speeding up, cutting off your next reply

You place both your hands on the glass attempting to throw your ass back on him.If he thought he was controlling the situation, you were definity about to show him otherwise, by making him cum first. As breathless pant’s begin to leave his mouth, you feel him lean forward pressing his front against your back. You work hard at the thought of not cumming. Roman’s left hand comes down to rub your clit at a fast pace making that thought…just a thought. You bite down on your lip until the blood drains from it to stop yourself from relishing in the euphoric bliss you knew Roman was about to grant you.

“I can feel you clenching around me. Look at you. Fighting the urge to cum right now. Come on, babygirl. I know you’re good for it, let go. Acknowledge me as your chief. Let me see how fucked out you turn for me.” His voice sends shocks through your spine that leads to your core.

You gasp as your leg turns inwards, you throw your head back mewling to the ceiling for mercy as you finally let your orgasm crest. Not too far behind you; Roman allows his orgasm to follow through deep into your pussy. Primal roar’s coming deep from his chest bounce off the walls.

If anyone else was showering, they're certainly gone now.

With Roman holding your body in a death grip tight to his chest, you allow yourself to take a moment to let the following events settle in your mind. Having sex with Roman wasn’t the problem; it was the what if’s that clouded your already fucked out brain. Sex didn’t change how you felt about him. He was still an entitled brat with no sympathy for anyone. And he was definitely the last person you’d fall in love with.

“I think you should get going. I’m sure your entourage is going to come looking for you soon.” You choke out, attempting to break from his hold.

“They’re fine wherever they're at. They don’t do anything unless I give them the ok for it.” He sighs into your neck leaving kisses behind

Before falling too deep into his trap, you muster up enough strength to remove his arms from your body, “Okay, stop it.”

“Oh c'mon. Are you seriously about to ruin an amazing time here?” He snaps leaning onto the shower wall

“Did you think fucking me was going to make us best friends forever?” You question turning off the shower

“I see it didn’t work too well. You’re still the same old Y/N. Don’t act like this wasn’t the best thing to disturb your night.” He says returning back into his asshole self

“Oh no, trust me. That was amazing. Maybe you can get permission from your Daddy again to come and play again.” You laugh grabbing your body towel to dry yourself off

“Oh we’ll have to see about that. The next time you’re in need of me to make you forget your own name, just call me. I’ll always come running, baby.”

You drop your towel as you bend over with hysteric laughs coming out your mouth, “Oh fucking please. Me? Beg you? I wouldn’t hold my breath on that.”

“We’ll see. You know where to find me.”

#roman reigns imagine #roman empire #roman reigns one shot #roman reigns smut #wwe #wwe one shot #wwe smut #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns head cannon #jey uso #royal rumble #kevin owens #jey uso smut #jey uso imagine #paul heyman

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drowninginblox · 3 months

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HideDuo HCs bc we are going through it

The March drought is getting to me y'all. I don't know about all y'all but the anniversary isn't the best thing ever, especially with the Hatsune Miku incident.

I think we deserve a little treat for being dedicated to our favorite roommates. Hence these ramblings.

The following applies to the OSMP characters, not actual streamers themselves. This is gonna be very all over the place, overall cursed, and is projecting. I hope yall enjoy-

Fit:

Can play any sport, but hates all of them (except for ice skating, he fucking loves it but he'll never admit it and he can't skate for shit)

Has read fanfiction before

Knows about dreamsmp lore but doesn't know what it all means in context, very much "Did you know a guy fucked a salmon and had a fox as a child?" "He started a country later? The fish fucker???"

Is into more fru fru coffee drinks than he lets on. Like- fuck yea 9/10 times that mother fucker be drinking that shit black, but he loves some good pumpkin spice- tooty fruity-cuchie deluci frappuccino. He'd only give in around sunny tho.

Was a smoker for a hot minute, quit tho when the ashes nearly lit a TNT. Hasn't picked it up since

Is a slut for pig step

Has read The Art of War

Had a celebrity crush on Philza. He still has it but it's defo diminished since he knows him personally.

Showers daily. I don't care that he's a war-torn mf, that man loves taking showers and will never pass up the opportunity to get one.

Has a poster of Miku Binder Jefferson. Someone gave it to him as a secret Santa present and he has no idea who or what to do with it. He's tempted to burn it but he's kind of afraid of it. It's so cursed that it shows up in his nightmares.

He thinks about Forever a lot more than he wants to admit. He's afraid of the possibility of turning into a monster since he was exposed to the black concert a lot. He understands the fear is irrational since it was long ago but the intrusive thought lingers.

He's thought about marriage in general and with Pac. He'd never admit it but he planned out everything from the venue to the music to the vows. He'd easily swipe it all away if Pac said he had an idea of what he wanted it to be like.

is fluent in Morse code

Knows sign language

Hearing aids mf

Has a family somewhere out there, one that he lost or left only to be dumped into TB2T

Loves crosswords, especially during breakfast and right after Ramon goes to bed.

His favorite smell is cinnamon and cocoa butter

Believes in Herobrine

Can't do long division to save his life

Hates the sound of Velcro

Pac:

Likes the Pacman TV show

Smells like cinnamon and cocoa butter

Has too many scars from the cats he's owned over the years.

Married Mike for tax reasons in the past. They play it up that they're bitter divorcés from time to time

Doesn't shower as often as he should, not because he hates it but because he has a long routine and enjoys baths far more

Enjoys tea and coffee equally

Was a homestuck fan (yesIFUCKINGDIDTHATTOHIMWHATAREYAGONNADO???)

Gay awakening was Rufio from Hook

watches Reading Rainbow as an adult

paints on his prosthetic all the damn time

Has a Post-it note collection. He barely uses them but he has a rainbow of them and each color represents a member of the island.

Has a sticker collection

Always carries small snacks for his pocket dude (I heard about this through the wiki, apparently Pac has a pocket boy? If not then he does now lmao) mostly gummy bears and crackers

Is afraid of the ocean. Idk why that just sounds right for him and if it is it recontextualizes the date he had w fit lol

knows Morse code

Knows some phrases in American sign language (fit is teaching him / is learning for fit, whichever is cuter)

Has hacked into a government-locked server, left lobster porn in place of any files he took. Idk which government it was or why he did it, but he did and they haven't recovered since

Is the type to listen to Jon Bellion and Talor Swift. No, i will not elaborate

Has very vivid daydreams. Aside from drugs and PTSD, he has some really nice ones all on his own. Mostly about Fit tbh.

#hideduo #fitpac #qsmp fitmc #pactw #fitmc #qsmp #qsmp headcanons #headcanon #Hideduo headcanons #i am unhinged

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hitlikehammers · 3 months

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party staples

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar husbands, wedding plans, soul-deep love, slice of life, seriously: the softness

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-one: Love is letting him pick the music (@sparklyslug)

look look it's the rockstar husbands' third wedding! ♥️

He wants this for Steve.

Like, it’s all for Steve. Kind of…not in a way that’s, y’know, where Eddie’s not living for himself, but in the way where who and what he is, the life he has: it’s something he’s woven alongside Steve into this tapestry that’s…that’s them and so every breath he takes is from those threads, right, so all of him, all he has and all he feels and all he does: it’s them, because they’re stitched together not so that you can’t tell the difference, but so that you…you can’t unravel them. They’re too entwined.

And it is glorious.

But so, here’s the thing: they’ve exchanged rings? Twice, now. Maybe kinda-more if you want to get technical: they’d asked each other for forever, though, well—

Technically, Eddie thinks they do that every day. So, fine, but—

They have managed two formal-ish proposals. As formal as you can get if one’s the morning after you moved in together and christened the new bed, with a bread-bag twisty-tie, and the other the night after a graduation from community college with an acceptance to the night educators program in hand from IU East, fresh off the most promising label talks Eddie’s had with anybody ever, and they both just felt it, y’know, like they wanted to mark this as always, that they were growing and changing and their lives were moving and the momentum of them both was the momentum of them both, their life together was this beautiful always they were actively taking steps into, and it was just: they were dizzy with it, they were overfull of it, they were so happy and the only thing they could do was stop at a 7-11 and buy goddamn Ring Pops but they’d laughed and they’d kissed so fucking drenched in that feeling and if Eddie’d ripped off Steve’s gown to the point where it was really good they hadn’t rented it?

Eddie’ll forever pretend that was planned in advance.

Point being: Eddie’d worn Steve’s ring—his grandpa’s, who’d loved Steve right and Eddie wished he’d have known him, if only to tell him thank you—and Steve’s worn a cheap ass band Eddie’s tried to upgrade probably every-other-month for a while now but Steve won’t have it, the sentimental bastards still wears the probably-rusting remains of the twisty-tie—but they’re…they’re already married in every way that matters. So the idea of doing it again? Isn’t…isn’t stressful.

It’s kinda…exciting.

Because they’re going to share this with all their friends, their family. They’re going to bring everyone to their little house when the kids are back from school and Robin and Nance can make it in, hell: Jon just left with the intention to spend the next month roadtripping his way from California for the occasion. They’re making real money, now; the band’s doing more than he ever would have expected, Steve’s beloved—of course he is, as he damn well should be—at school, he’s the kind of counselor Eddie might have made it through senior year the first time with, if he’d had someone that invested, showing that much care for him. They’re…they’re in such a good place, and it’s only looking brighter on the horizons to come, all the way into forever: and that isn’t more than Eddie could have expected.

No: that is more than he ever even knew to hope for, it’s…it’s so much bigger than anything he ever knew existed.

But Robin’s going to officiate. Hopper and Joyce, and Claudia too: they nearly squared off for who could stand up for Steve, not to give him away so much as to hold him close and make sure he knows what he means and Eddie could kiss them for it, because the look in Steve’s eyes when they’d asked if they could share the job, it was…

Eddie might just kiss them all for it, when the day comes. Hopper included.

But everybody: Wayne’ll be there, for him, the boys are coming, gonna play requests for a couple hours, which should be fucking hilarious, and then hand it over to a band Steve insisted they hire so everyone could enjoy the evening, and it’s gonna be in their backyard, with the barbecue and a bonfire, just this mastic joyful potluck and—

“You finish the playlist, so we can send it off? I figure we’ll let the three finalists react to the song selection, might make the decision easier if any of them hate it,” Steve’s leaning over his shoulder and he turns, bumps into Steve’s cheek and Steve ducks his head to kiss Eddie’s jaw: because he was supposed to be finalizing the list for the band that would come on to give Jeff, Dougie, and Gareth the rest of the night off. Because Eddie was the musician, here. Eddie would of course pick the songs.

Except…he’s not the only person who loved music, in this relationship. And…he doesn’t know what specifically makes it so strong, and obvious in his chest, but: Eddie…wants this, for Steve.

He wants to dance to the songs Steve picks, he wants his heartbeat to waltz in time with Steve’s, first-and-foremost-and-always, but then find the rhythms Steve likes most to pick up the downbeat, he…

He wants to drown in Steve, in as many ways as he can find.

So he hands the paper over and pops the pen out of his mouth, which Steve only eyes for the movement, doesn’t even bother chastising him for chewing on the plastic cap anymore, knows to pick his battles: but Eddie hands it over, wordless—an offering, and a request at once:

Let me dance to your music, with you in my arms.

Steve look at him for a long stretch of moments, and his lips are plush around the soft smile that settles on his mouth: contented. So wreathed in love.

He leans in and Eddie’s ready this time, tilts his neck so Steve can kiss him full at the neck, wrapping arms around Eddie’s waist so he can squeeze him close and breath against his jaw:

“I’ve got just the thing.”

And then he’s gone, and Eddie stares after him, just…lost in thought except it’s not lost, even inside his head: he knows exactly where he’s at in his thoughts. Same place he always is.

With Steve.

And then the genuine article is back, grinning a little…not nervous exactly, but something, as he walks over to the stereo and pops the cassette into the deck.

And Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, curious, as he reaches an arm out toward Steve, not really an invitation just a knowing, that Steve will come to him and settle in his lap, in his arms.

Which he does. Because that’s who they are.

“Strings?” Eddie asks as the sound fills the room and Steve just grins, a little bashful; huh. “And piano,” because the keys are swelling on the track and it’s pretty, no, it’s kinda beautiful, but Eddie doesn’t know what it…is.

“Seemed appropriate,” Steve mouths next to Eddie’s ear, warm and kinda almost impish.

“It’s perfect,” Eddie whispers close but what is it, I don’t…” but: oh.

Oh: but he does.

That’s…that’s his music. His song. The band, but this is, he’s—

“Stevie?” he asks, a little breathless, a little wondering because, because—

“I’d kinda hoped you might not fill the whole list,” Steve murmurs, lips pressed against his skin so warm, so firm, so…

Perfect.

Perfect, and it sends the most delightful shivers up Eddie’s spine.

“What,” Eddie starts, shakes his head, feels his cheeks start to ache a little as he smiles bigger and bigger because…this is classical, and this is fucking professional, and it’s goddamn Corroded Coffin, in orchestral…splendor.

“Friend of Robin’s is at Berklee, in Boston,” Steve nuzzles against his neck a little as he explains; “studying composition, I asked if she could,” and he sighs a little, the softest little breath and he drags his lips to catch against Eddie’s skin, wanting nothing from it; almost lazy as he exhales: “just if she could arrange some things.”

Some things, he says, like Eddie’s heart—which was already overfull—isn’t trying to burst not just out of Eddie’s chest, but out of its own size and shape, a glorious tender explosion of just, just…

Feeling.

“I thought we could have someone to play, these,” Steve nods toward the speakers; “and then Dustin said he’d play DJ for, you know. Party staples.”

Eddie leans so he can look Steve in the eye to ask the most important question:

“Love Shack?”

He is not ashamed to say he fucking loves when that song comes on at a wedding. Steve huffs.

“Of course, baby.”

“Van Halen?” and Steve grins. “All sorts of Van Halen,” which is as it should be. Steve wooed Eddie too fucking well with Why Can't This Be Love; “also some George Michael,” and that’s perfect, Eddie doesn’t even care, he just loves the sly grin Steve gets when he says it, wants to eat that grin, if he gets to see that mouth look so soft and happy he can sure as hell appreciate some George fucking Michael; “but if I miss anything, you’ll see it before Dustin gets his paws on it, you can add whatever I overlooked,” and he leans in again, this time claiming Eddie’s lips and Eddie gives willingly, gratefully—as always.

And it settles, all around Eddie in that moment: the way he’d wanted Steve to have this thing that’s so him on the outside, but if it is, then it’s them at its core, like all of it is.

And what did this magnificent bastard go and do, but give Eddie his own songs right back as a…a gift; songs that are all Steve, anyway.

He can’t help the laughter, this buoyant thing with its own velocity: he can’t help but let it shake out of him against Steve’s lips as he kisses him harder, deeper, as he tries to get lost in the feeling, in the reality of this man: his husband.

Because wherever he gets lost? Steve’s right there, always and forever.

He’ll be just fine.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

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whatdoeseverybodywant · 6 months

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You're the Only Girl for Me - Chapter 4

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

All OC Characters belong to me

Taglist: @christinabae@southerngirl41@reci24@jeyusos-girl@jeyusosgirl@melaninsugababy@baconeggndcheez@bemybabiibish@jstarr86@nbanenefrmdao@purplehairgawdess@arination99@alyyaanna@m3llowww@gomussy@jeysbae@hennyyybarb@babysyhsy @bebesobrielo @jeysbae @empressdede @alyyaanna @venusesworld @harmshake @mustafumilf

“You know I love you. You my favorite cousin - don’t tell Ashley that.” She said, making Airielle crack a grin. Airielle had run out of the building and into her rental car to call Yasmine. She had gloated the first 3 minutes of the phone call, much to Airielle’s dismay. “But to be honest fuck Kayla. I get it she was nice to you when you first started but they were never a thing. And you and I both know that you’re using her as an excuse.” Airielle let out a huff and rolled her eyes.

“It’s not an excuse -”

“Okay so when was the last time you talked to Kayla about something not work or Josh being an asshole related?” Yasmine said and Airielle paused, trying to remember the last time she actually had a friendly conversation with Kayla. “Exactly. Go back into that arena, tell that man how you feel, take him back to your hotel room and fuck his brains out.” Yasmine said before hanging up. Airielle snorted, there was no way in hell she was doing any of that.

Airielle pushed all thoughts of Josh out her head as she headed back inside the arena. She had a job to do and she did not need to be distracted. She was headed towards hair and make-up to get a retouch when she bumped into Trinity.

“Hey Trin, I didn’t know you were going to be here.” Airielle said smiling at Trinity but it quickly dropped at the serious expression on face. “What happened?”

“Come step into my office.” Trinity said, crooking her finger and Airielle and walking back out towards the parking lot, where Airielle had just come from.

“Damn, you got one of those.” Airielle said laughing, trying to make a joke. She cleared her throat when Trinity just stared at her.

“What happened between you and Josh?” Airielle groaned. “No forreal like whatever you did got him tight.” Airielle groaned louder and leaned against the wall covering her face with her hands. “Airi?”

“I fucked up,” She said, her voice muffled by her hands. Trinity pulled her hands off of her face.

“Huh?” Airielle huffed and looked down at the ground.

“I like him and I’m not supposed to. We were only supposed to just be friends. I’ve been ignoring all his phone call and messages the past two days” She rushed out.

“Airi” Trinity sighs and pulls her into a hug. “Why can’t you like him?” Airielle sighed and released Trinity and leaned back against the wall.

“Because he’s my coworker and I've been here for what, 2 months?” Trinity narrowed her eyes at Airielle.

“So what. I started dating Jon 2 months into me being in development.”

“And I love that for y’all. But not for me I mean, a coupla weeks ago I thought he was the world's biggest asshole.”

“And he’s been doing everything he can to prove to you that he isn't right?” Airielle shrugged and avoided Trinity’s eyes. “I mean, the dates, the flowers falling asleep on the phone. Y’all basically dating already.”

“He’s only brought me flowers one time.” Trinity rolled her eyes

“Girlll..” Trinity sighed as she rubbed her temples. Airielle was stressing her all the way out. “Listen, we just became friends so I don’t know you all that well. But if I would’ve listened to my brain instead of my heart I would’ve never married Jon and he’s like the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Trinity gave her a reassuring smile before walking back into the arena, leaving Airielle with her thoughts.

Airielle ran into Josh as he was walking to Joe’s locker room to film their segment.

“Hey,” She called out, running as fast as she could in her heels. “Josh!.” He raised his eyes from the ground and looked up at her. He waited until she caught up with him before talking to her.

“So you not ignoring me nomore?” He asked sarcastically and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, he had a right to be passive aggressive towards her right now.

“I’m sorry about that,” She said, wringing her hands together- something she did when she was incredibly nervous. “Can we talk?” She asked, trying and failing at making eye contact with him. She absolutely hated being vulnerable, especially with men.

He sucked in a deep breath. “I can’t right now, I got a segment.” When he saw the dejected look on her face he quickly added, “Come with me, and we’ll talk after.” She nodded and followed him down the hall toward the filming location. She sat on an equipment box that was behind the camera, so she wouldn't be in the way.

She wasn’t even paying attention to the segment. She kept going over what she was going to say to Josh. She was so deep in thought that she jumped when he placed his hand on her thigh.

“I like you,” She blurted out.

“Well, shit. I like you too.” He said. “That’s why you was ignoring me? Cause you like me?” He said with a teasing smile.

“I mean, yeah?” she said as more of a question.

“I don’t take my friends out on dates or give them flowers and I definitely don’t stay up late as hell talking on the phone with them.” Airielle was speechless, she just sat there, gaping at him.

“But, you said they were friend dates, to get to know one another.” He shrugged

“I lied, I mean you said I was an asshole so I mean obviously I had to change ya opinion of me.” She opened her mouth to say something but he cut her off and grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Go out on a real date with me.” She looked down at their hands and nodded feeling the butterflies in her stomach intensify.

“Yeah, I'll go out with you.” Josh smiled,

“Aight cool. Um- tomorrow. I’ll text you.” She nodded again and felt her breath hitch in her throat when he leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek and squeezed her hand before walking off.

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

#wwe #jey uso #jey uso imagine #jey uso x black reader #main event jey uso #whatdoeseverybodywant writes #jey uso smut #jey uso x reader #the usos #jey uso fluff #jey uso one shot #jey uso fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #wwe x black reader #wwe x oc #wwe x reader #wwe x you #wwe x y/n #black reader

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karuvapatta · 2 months

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so hey, remember when I said I wasn't going to write any more Jonelias? but then things happened, we started chatting about a fantasy AU on the Jonelias discord server, and, uh. I wrote a short ficlet set in said AU...?

***

Jon knocked on the door, once, twice; his hands shook slightly, so the rhythm of it was unpleasantly erratic. Should he knock again? He didn’t want to appear rude or impatient, but he also didn’t want to risk being too quiet. If the man didn’t hear him, if he thought Jon was running late—

“Come in.”

He took in a steadying breath and pushed the door open. Immediately he stepped into a patch of sunlight, streaming directly from the huge, ornate window on the opposite wall. He blinked, narrowed his eyes; the desk was silhouetted against the bright sky, and it took him a moment to adjust.

“Mr Sims, I presume?”

“I—yes. Jonathan Sims. Er.” Jon cleared his throat. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Master Bouchard. It’s an. An honour.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” Master Bouchard said smoothly. “Please, take a seat.”

He gestured at a chair in front of his desk. Jon took a few careful steps in its direction, and then sat down on the edge of the seat, taking care not to slouch. The bag he forgot to take off his shoulder dangled awkwardly. He had to shuffle around to remove it, and first placed it on his lap, before setting it down on the floor next to the chair. His hands were sweaty; he wiped them off on his trousers before he could think better of it, and then attempted to smooth the resultant creases in the fabric. His left cuff rode up an inch, so he tugged it down, and made sure it laid snug and secure around his wrist. Only then did he manage to look up.

Master Bouchard was watching him, the corner of his mouth twitching momentarily before settling into a polite smile. His steel-grey eyes flickered down to Jon’s hands, no doubt noting all the nervous gestures. His gaze felt—weighty. Not unsympathetic, just—

Jon swallowed.

“Shall we begin, then?” Bouchard asked. “Your resume is quite impressive for one so young, Mr Sims. Five publications across two journals…”

“Three,” Jon said. “I mean—I wrote three articles. For the other two, I was a co-author… mostly editorial input…” Again, he tried to clear his throat. He shouldn’t have interrupted a Master; he should have kept his mouth shut. Damn.

But Bouchard didn’t seem frazzled by the blatant disrespect. He opened a file on his desk – Jon’s file. Jon’s resume, his letter of recommendation, a printout of the articles, his diploma… Bouchard skimmed the contents. Had he read them before? He must have had. Or maybe he didn’t have time in his busy schedule to review every single applicant. But, then again – why invite Jon for a meeting?

“Why do you want to study Divination, Mr Sims?” Bouchard asked.

This question, Jon knew to expect. He managed to recite his well-rehearsed answer with no incriminating pauses or unnecessary repetitions. Finally.

“What about practical spellwork?” Bouchard asked.

Jon paused for a second. “I don’t—I’m not really well-versed in that area. I prefer theory to practice.”

“Did you take any of the relevant courses?”

Damn. Damn.

“I, uh,” Jon stammered. “I took one semester of the introductory module. It was—well—it wasn’t a subject I wanted to pursue.”

Let that be it, Jon thought. Obviously it came up; it had to come up. Very few people enrolled at the Institute to study theory.

“Can you show me what you have learned?”

“I didn’t learn anything,” Jon said sharply. He flinched, then, at the tone of his voice, and at the implications – that he was too lazy or too stupid to learn. It made him look exceedingly unprofessional. “I meant—I don’t see how this is relevant to the position I’m applying for,” he amended. Then, hastily: “Master.”

“A peculiar question,” Bouchard said. “You yourself wrote several paragraphs on the potential interference of errant magic on pre-existing enchantments.”

“I do not use magic,” Jon said. “I won’t be causing any interferences.”

“Even so. Accidents happen.”

“They won’t.” Jon grabbed his sleeve and shoved it upwards, exposing his wrist, and the thin, silver bracelet encircling it, with its webbing of faintly pulsating strands. “Whatever magic I might accidentally use will be fully suppressed. It’s not going to be a problem.”

Bouchard was watching him attentively, gaze flickering between the bracelet and Jon’s face. He didn’t seem surprised; was it written down somewhere in Jon’s file, then? Or did he have some other means of detecting such objects? Some mages were reportedly able to sense the subtle alterations in a person’s aura, the miniscule difference between absent and suppressed magic, even without the relevant spells or implements. But Jon could hardly believe those reports. They seemed rather far-fetched.

“May I?” Bouchard asked. His meaning became clear when he leaned forward and extended his hand, palm up, inviting. Jon examined it, warily. Was he expected to remove the bracelet? Bouchard wasn’t expecting him to do something that foolish, did he?

It seemed rude to keep him waiting, though. And Jon was on thin enough ground as it was. So, slowly, he placed his hand on the desk, within range of Bouchard’s touch.

He couldn’t help flinching in his seat when the man’s long, slender fingers brushed his bare skin. Bouchard’s hand was warm, textured with callouses, scars and imperfections; its movements were clever and purposeful, as he examined the bracelet. He wasn’t using magic, as far as Jon could tell. Or maybe he was, and it was too subtle for Jon to notice.

“Remarkable,” Bouchard said under his breath.

Jon slipped his hand from the man’s hold and drew back, tugging the sleeve down, nearly to the level of his knuckles, to make sure the thing was completely covered. He didn’t want to meet Bouchard’s gaze. Mostly, he just wanted to go home.

#jonelias #the magnus archives #elias bouchard #jonathan sims

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krogerkryptid · 2 months

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In my relisten of TMA I am struck, truly and honestly, with how similar Jon and I react to the situations that happen to us. My eye aligned fear is a solid thing for sure but the fact that the steps Jon takes are so similar to ones I would also take is insane. I am in S2 right now which means he's in his silly little paranoia era and damn he's just like me. He spent all of S1 being all serious and stoic and doing his best at a job he's lowkey not qualified for only to find out his predecessor was found shot dead in the tunnels beneath the Institute and then immediately pivots to 'I am going to isolate so that doesn't happen to me and also I will find out everything ever in hopes to prevent it while also being highly suspicious that every single person here is against me' and that tracks in my mind so correctly. Because I too would need to know what happened to her and need to know who did it and why. If I'd just learned that these statements I thought were ramblings of the mentally unwell are in fact real and tangible I would want to know EVERYTHING I possibly could about them to protect myself. I just crave knowing which is of course placing me right in the category where I belong but damn man I did not feel this called out my first time through... P.S. The scene where Tim thinks Jon is hooking up with Basira only for Jon to go "god no! I am just helping her with the investigation" which causes Tim to double down and congratulate him was the Ace Rep™ I like to see bc me too bestie me too

#tma podcast #the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #the archivist #no bc I will be listening and I just know I'd make the same mistakes #shoutout to jon for being one of the craziest characters I relate to #but also Martin bc the Lonely #and the tea #and the being ginger

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secretsandwriting · 9 months

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Part Two: Half Human Half Whatever

Thirteen dead reapers, Thirteen spears, Thirteen bodies devoured by mushrooms, Thirteen days, Thirteen hours, Fourteen People.

Previous -- Masterlist -- Next

“I would’ve thought it would be harder to get to Death.” Dick inspected the map Danny had found.

“This Death has made it easier to visit. From what I heard, the previous Death was almost impossible to go to.” Danny took the map back. “While easier, it’s still dangerous, more than half who go, don’t come back… This Death may be nicer, but she’s still the ruler of the reapers and someone who's capable of killing anyone she wants.”

“You’re going to see Lady Death as well?” An old man with a blindfold questioned them. “I guess most of us need something from her huh.” He smiled softly as he looked at the ground. “It’s been said Lady Death likes collecting eyes, and she’ll trade souls for them. I’m hoping I’ll be able to get my wife back. What are you visiting her for?”

“He keeps finding dead reapers at the foot of his bed so we're trying to find out why.” Another man whistled at that.

“Damn, and I thought the assassins coming after me were bad.” He looked at his watch. “Thirteen hours exactly.” Everyone looked at their watches or phones. It had been thirteen hours to the exact second. “Well, the city’s right over here through this tunnel. Let's go before we get too close to 14 hours, when it comes to death 14 is the worst number. I’m Michel by the way.”

“Danny.”

“Dick.”

“Jason”

“Tim.”

“Bruce.”

“Steph, she’s Cass.”

“Damian.”

“Clark.”

“Jon.”

“Conner.”

“Fred.”

“Marcus.”

“Make sure you're careful in the city. The city itself was founded on a blood sacrifice and needs blood to survive. Normally it doesn’t need much, but every thirteen weeks it requires thirteen human sacrifices. If my timeline is correct, this week is the thirteenth week. Meaning piss of Lady Death and you might end up a sacrifice.”

“The nice thing is that we don’t have to worry about the reapers. Once you're in the city, you're off limits unless Lady Death herself gives the command.” Jason helped Fred over the bumps in the ground. He refused to take off his blindfold, wanting to be prepared to never see again. “Here we are, the gates of Okadus.” Michel ushered all of them in.

“It’s this way to her palace.” He led the way, weaving through the streets until they came to a gate with a sign next to it.

To gain entrance to the castle you must sacrifice one of your bones, choose quickly or the city will choose for you.

All of them chose the same bone, the tailbone. A completely unnecessary bone, but a bone. Entrance was granted and the gates opened. The group walked through the hallway until they reached the large double doors at the end.

“This is the throne room. You just have to announce who you are and what you're here f-” He was cut off by the door opening. “Or not?” They stepped in and were met with Lady Death herself. She was lounging in a throne built of bones, a long black dress that seemed to melt into the floor, the color darker than anything they had ever seen. Her hands were black, it went up her arms fading out into the palest of white broken up by the black of her veins. Her eyes were somehow even darker than her dress, and her black hair hung down straight, framing the pale skin of her face.

“Let’s save the fun one for last, what can I do for you Fred?” The old man stepped forwards.

“I’m here to trade my eyes for my wife’s soul.” Death visibly softened. Fred pulled the blindfold off and looked Death in the eye. “I love her more than anything and I want to be with her again.”

“Unfortunately I can’t give you her soul. It’s too late for that. The only thing I can do is move your death closer so you can join her sooner. For one of your eyes, I’ll move your death to thirteen days from now and you’ll be escorted straight to your wife.”

“Yes! That would be wonderful!” With the snap of Death’s fingers Fred was gone and a reaper was in his place.

“Fred’s moved up, you are to reap his soul in thirteen days and escort him directly to Anna. You can do the paperwork on the way if you want or you can do it in your office before you take him. Just make sure it’s done on time.”

“Alright, Marcus.”

“I want to trade my eyes for immortality!”

“No. Don’t argue or I’ll have you placed in the dungeons and used for the next city sacrifice.” She waved her hand and Marcus was removed by one of the reapers. "I swear everybody wants to be immortal." She muttered under her breath.

“Michel. If you ask the same damn thing you’ve asked every month I will kill you myself.” Michel walked himself out.

“If I had known this is what I would be dealing with everyday I wouldn’t have taken this position…” Danny knew the feeling well. “So, what brings the Ghost King to Okadus?”

“One of my friends has been having some serious trouble so I wanted to get it sorted as soon as possible.” He stepped aside and everyone pushed Bruce forward.

“Bruce Wayne. What seems to be the problem and why do you think I can help?” Bruce explained everything that had happened the past thirteen days and they all waited, hoping she would have some answers. Good answers.

“Well, the mushrooms everywhere were probably because I’ve been in Gotham the past thirteen days and with everything else going on they probably grew from the concentrated death magic. The thirteen bodies are from the sacrifices. I normally pick a city and find people who won’t be missed and this time it was Gotham so that’s nothing too bad. As for the dead reapers, and presence watching you, I’ll have to double check but I’m pretty sure it’s just a side effect of you escaping death a few too many times.”

“Normally people can’t see the reapers and just spend thirteen days overly paranoid and then it goes away. I’m not sure why it happens but everything should be fine tonight. I’ll double check a few things but that's probably it. If anything else happens, have Ghost King send me a message and I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“And how would I get in contact with you?” Danny raised an eyebrow. It had taken him a year to even figure out how to even get to Okadus and now he has to learn how to contact her?

“I told the reaper you grabbed to give you my phone number, you’re not the only half human half whatever you know. Anyways, if that’s all I’ll send you home.”

#danny phantom x reader #danny phantom social media au #danny phantom #dp x dc #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #stephanie brown #bruce wayne #dc social media au

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therainscene · 1 year

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I’ve been rolling the Mike thinks Will is in love with El theory around in my head some more. I like it, but it’s not without its flaws.

One especially damning counter-argument a few folks have brought up is that Mike heard Will refer to himself as El’s brother at the police station:

Will’s line contrasts Jonathan’s earlier “I’m her brother... uh, step-brother...”, indicating that Will has fully embraced her as family where Jon doesn’t quite see her that way yet.

It’s a great point. The only justification I’ve seen for it is that Mike wasn’t put off from kissing El after he’d already implied he wanted to be her brother... but that doesn’t wash with me. Just because he had no idea how to reconcile his feelings with heteronormative expectations at 12 doesn’t mean he's still clueless at 15.

So let’s give him some credit and try a different angle: When we step outside of the Byers POV, Will’s line is actually quite ambiguous.

The unsympathetic receptionist refused to let them see El on the grounds they weren’t a parent or legal guardian, so Will jumped in with an argument he hoped would win her over: we’re her legal next of kin. He’s just saying whatever he thinks will grant them access to El -- there’s no reason it has to be reflective of his true feelings.

After all, it’s not as though Will “be gay do crime” Byers has any qualms about being dishonest with authorities when it suits him.

Mike was present for both of the above moments, so he definitely knows this about Will. And this is only one piece of evidence amongst many -- the rest of it is undeniably suggesting that Will’s in love with one half of Milevn:

Will’s been acting weird in a likes-someone way around El;

Will sulked at Rink-o-Mania over getting third-wheeled by Milevn and rarely took his eyes off El;

Will is always eager to talk about El and brings her up in conversations with Mike more than Mike does;

Will hinted that he was hiding an uncomfortable secret from Mike in the scrapyard heart-to-heart;

Will is the more trustworthy party in the “maybe it is for [someone he likes]”/“El commissioned it” painting lie conflict;

Will was on the verge of tears the whole time he was pushing Mike back into El’s arms in the van and the pizzeria.

It’s obvious to the audience what conclusion to draw here because we had the benefit of seeing it all through Will��s sad gay puppy eyes...

...But Mike is forced to assess the evidence through his own biased POV.

This kid has severe self-worth issues, which are tied up in his feelings for El, which are in turn tied up in heteronormativity. It’s also been hinted that he has depression -- messy room, slipping grades, parallels with Max -- an illness that’s notorious for twisting your thought processes into the most pessimistic directions possible.

So while Mike may very well suspect the truth, I’m not sure he’s in the right headspace to accept it. There’s a good chance he’s torn between the two interpretations:

Will likes El: Mike is forced to choose between making Will happy vs. holding on to the one thing that makes him feel like he has value. But he can tell that El doesn’t need him anymore, and he couldn’t live with himself if he hurt Will... after all, aren’t a straight boy’s feelings more important than some pathetic queer who’s lying to himself?

Will likes Mike: Mike gets to make Will happy and he gets to make himself happy. Letting go of El might be difficult, but he knows she’ll be fine without him, and Will has already proven that his unbridled love can help Mike see his inherent self-worth -- a much healthier approach than tying his self-worth up in being someone’s boyfriend.

The first interpretation reinforces Mike’s heteronormative beliefs and ensures he continues to feel worthless, whereas the second allows him to feel hope that things can get better.

Which interpretation would a depressed brain find more appealing? Or, more to the point, since Stranger Things tends to explore these struggles through metaphor--

--which interpretation would give Mr. Everyone-is-Just-Waiting-For-it-All-To-Be-Over an opportunity to break through Mike’s defenses?

#stranger things #willelmike #byler #willel #elmike #mike wheeler #will byers #el hopper #my analysis

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updatebug · 3 months

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I've seen the theories about how Chester and Norris aren't actually Jon and Martin following the most recent episode (or are and are evil / controlled by the web) and I'm not ruling it out but IDK.

To me, this could still be another case of Jon trying to warn Sam away (albeit one that goes horribly, horribly wrong). Like the statement starting immediately after Celia sort of convinces Sam to give up looking into the Magnus Institute is kinda damning and I can see why people are seeing it as a lure. But on the other side of things, Sam is still doing the same stuff that Alice keeps warning him is going to get him into trouble, he's engaging with the weird shit in the office. He's filling out the deeply cursed paper work and answering the deeply concerning questions.

So a statement about someone doing something seemingly innocuous (rolling a pair of dice) and being met with costly rewards and horrible misfortune doesn't exactly seem out of place. (we can all see the parallels between 'I refuse to give it the satisfaction of giving up', 'It's kind of compelling at this point.' and 'I still don't really know if they made me roll them' and 'I don't think I ever felt them calling me' right?)

Also insert small domino to big domino meme here but the first step to Jon destroying the world and possibly dooming the multiverse was literally him signing a contract (and the contract itself does have some supernatural significance based on the way daisy joined). I also think - given we don't know how much control Jon and Martin have over their statements (but there are thematic parallels) the Magnus Institute link might be at least in part Jon's own trauma - (please for the love of god this place is deeply cursed and the worse nothing good can come from this it only has eye mutilation and cursed dice) and part hey Sam remember your horrible hidden trauma about this place, it is so much worse than you think pls stop poking around while you still can.

Like I think the first statement, the 'canaries should stay above ground' was just a general warning. Look at this horrible thing that happened but don't look to hard, let's just move on, we're not even going to tell you what happened just allude to the horrors. Only Sam didn't take that warning. And Jon's been here before, in this exact position in fact, being kept ignorant never did him any favours it just meant he made things worse in his search for answers. So I think this is his way of saying look, this is the kind of thing the Magnus institute dealt with. This is how horrible it was, and how terrible it could be for you. STOP.

(I actually kind of think that the Gerry thing was another attempt to do this that backfired. Gerry was the one who properly clued Jon in about the world and if we assume that Jon has access to the supernatural files but only the supernatural files then he knows that Gerry was involved with the MI but not what happened to him after. So he might have been hoping that Gerry would give Sam this universe's version of colour theory only for Gerry to turn out to be a happy, friendly painter - better for Gerry but not as helpful as a haunted encyclopaedia)

#The Magnus Institute #The Magnus Protocol #samama khalid #Jon #Computer Jon #the magnus archives #Jon Sims #Rolling With it #Avatars #Supernatural #Musings #Kinda Funny if even in his future life as a magic AI everything Jon touches still turns to ash #The Magnus Protocol Theories

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nightswatchdisbandmentera · 10 months

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Seven, Brienne thought again, despairing. She had no chance against seven, she knew. No chance, and no choice.

She stepped out into the rain, Oathkeeper in hand. “Leave her be. If you want to rape someone, try me.”

- Brienne VII, AFFC

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning … burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing. “If Joffrey should die … what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”

“Everything,” said Davos, softly.

- Davos V, ASOS

Ned had heard enough. “You send hired knives to kill a fourteen-year-old girl and still quibble about honor?” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least.”

[…]

“I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to it.”

For a moment Robert did not seem to understand what Ned was saying. Defiance was not a dish he tasted often. Slowly his face changed as comprehension came. His eyes narrowed and a flush crept up his neck past the velvet collar. He pointed an angry finger at Ned. “You are the King’s Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I’ll find me a Hand who will.”

“I wish him every success.” Ned unfastened the heavy clasp that clutched at the folds of his cloak, the ornate silver hand that was his badge of office. He laid it on the table in front of the king, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the friend he had loved. “I thought you a better man than this, Robert. I thought we had made a nobler king.”

Robert’s face was purple. “Out,” he croaked, choking on his rage. “Out, damn you, I’m done with you. What are you waiting for? Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I never look on your face again, or I swear, I’ll have your head on a spike!”

Ned bowed, and turned on his heel without another word.

- Eddard VIII, AGOT

“I know what I swore.” Jon said the words. “I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. Were those the same words you said when you took your vows?”

“They were. As the lord commander knows.”

“Are you certain that I have not forgotten some? The ones about the king and his laws, and how we must defend every foot of his land and cling to each ruined castle? How does that part go?” Jon waited for an answer. None came. “I am the shield that guards the realms of men. Those are the words. So tell me, my lord—what are these wildlings, if not men?”

- Jon XI, ADWD

Them 🫶🏽

#jon snow #brienne of tarth #davos seaworth #eddard stark #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #yeah it’s about defiance #you have tradition of trampling over people who are lesser or weaker #but each of them said no ❤️#Brienne could’ve left the children on their own but decided to make a stand #Ned is told that one must do terrible things for the good of the realm but he refuses because this little girl’s life is important #davos is told that he must sacrifice one child to save an entire kingdom but he thinks this one child’s life matters #Jon is told that to save the watch he must leave the wildlings to their doom because who will feed them and the watch but Jon says #I swore to protect all men I will not sacrifice some to save others #it’s love and empathy and compassion and the defiance that comes with it #at the great personal cost of one’s own life

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anonymousoneshots · 1 year

Text

Groupie

Jon Moxley x Reader

Rating: 18+ NSFW

A/N: Might run with this, please let me know if you want me to write the steamy part.

Warnings: Swearing, Suggestible Actions, Implied Public Sex? Please don’t interact if you’re uncomfortable with forceful, dominant male behavior or implied smut.

Find part 2 here:

It’s warm outside the arena. You couldn’t get tickets to the show today, but you were hoping to see him. It’s the first time AEW has come to your city, and you’d be damned if you missed a chance to see Mox. He made your stomach flutter, along with other things. Watching him week in and week out, grabbing at the waistline of his pants with that smirk, the smug way he saunters through the crowd and squares up with his opponents, even him all covered in blood, everything about Jon’s mannerisms undeniably turned you on. And every part of your body ached for him. You couldn’t help but hope that just seeing him in person would help quell your desire.

You could only hear muffled cheers and music from where you were outside, but it had to be close to the end of the show. You’ve been out here for hours, pacing the building, scrolling through Tumblr on your phone. You had snuck around to the back where you assumed the doors were that led to the back of the arena. It’s then that you hear the opening and slamming of said door just around the corner. Your heart stutters. Is that the door from backstage?

“Fuck! Fucking bullshit.”

Oh my god. That’s him. You’d know his voice anywhere. You freeze where you stand. He comes into your field of view. He’s shirtless with his gear on, running his hands through his hair. He stops and places his hands on his hips, looking skyward. He’s mumbling to himself now, pacing back and fourth.

You step around the corner just a bit, your heart hammering. Moxley. He must have just finished a match, you could see the sweat glistening on his body and the marks on his skin from battle. Fuck me. You were gaping at him, in disbelief that he’s actually in front of you. He turns around and spots you.

“No shit. You some kind of fan? How’d you get back here?”

You can’t do anything but stare. You’re fully aware that your mouth is slightly open and your heart is hammering out of your chest. He looks at you expectantly.

“I don’t have time for fan girls. Run along,” he gestures with his hands for you to move.

“Mox,” you breathe. Your bones are shaking.

“Yeah. That’s my fucking name.” He turns around and looks back up, then sighs. “You want an autograph or something?”

You’re watching him intently, the movement of the muscles on his back and shoulders, the placement of his hands on his hips. He moves with complete control, his fingers tapping impatiently on his waist.

“Not exactly.” You take a step forward, more into the light.

He chuckles and turns towards you, eyeing you up and down. “What, then?” He seems to take notice of the way your eyeing him like candy. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip and takes a step toward you.

“You seem like the kind of girl who’s looking for trouble. You some kind of groupie?”

“Not exactly,” you repeat. You’re almost sure he can physically see your heart racing, each beat punching through your ribs. It might have just been you, but you could sense a tension in the air. Your knew you were insanely attracted to this god of a man, but was he attracted to you?

“Alright, I’ll play. You got two options, alright? One, I back your pretty ass up against that wall. Two, you turn around and walk away.” He takes a sauntering few steps toward you. Now it’s his turn to eye you like candy. “What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?”

He’s still sauntering towards you in that cocky way. This is insane. You take a few involuntary steps backwards until you feel the cool stone of the building wall on your shoulders and back. Fuck.

“You got three fucking seconds before I decide for you,” he husks.

“One.” He places his left hand on the wall next to your head. You flinch at his sudden movement. You swear you can feel the heat coming off his body. He’s so close to you, without actually touching you. A small moan escapes from your lips.

“Mm, Two.” He places his right hand on the wall. Your gasp and your eyes widen as you look up into his blues that seem to be dancing with lust.

“Three.” He’s looking down at you, his frame towering over your own petite one. You were standing there, pinned to the wall, questioning your morals. Was he serious? Right here?

“I’m gonna be blunt, sweetheart. I’m willing to fuck you right here, right now. You down for that ride?”

#jon moxley x reader #fanfic #x reader #reader insert #smut #aew x reader #one shot #wwe x reader #dean ambrose x reader

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dreamcatcher2113 · 2 years

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The Dragon Dance

Summary: What if Rhaenyra had another child? What if Rhaenyra had a daughter with white hair and purple eyes? What if she was betrothed to Aemond as an alliance with Greens?

You are the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, unlike your brothers you have white hair and purple eyes. You are the twin sister of Jacaerys. You were close with Aemond when you were kids, you two attached to the hip. Ten years later after your family left to Dragonstone, your family reunites with the Greens. You see a familiar face, Aemond Targaryen. Even though it's been years since you last saw him, let's just say you are not the same little girl you were once before.

Warnings: The reader and Jacaerys are aged up, they would be eighteen. Uncle/niece insect. 18+ smut(eventually). Language. Mentions of assault(mainly from Aegon). Violence. And possible other warnings that I can’t think of. There is a happy ending.

Part 13

Masterlist

_______________________________________

The Dragon Dance Part 14:

Few weeks passed, Aemond’s and Jace’s gifts were finally finished. Jon and Mary-Weather came to the castle to drop it off. Aemond’s gift for Y/N is the stone that glows and the same sapphire that replaced his eye. Both stones were cut in half and forgerd together, Mary-Weather took it the next step. She made the forgered stones look like a dragon egg, which fits Y/N completely. The necklace design is similar to Rhaenyra’s necklace that Daemon gave to her. Aemond knows that you look up to your mother, and he notices how you admire her necklace. Aemond made the design so you can match with your mother as well. For Aemond’s half, he had the other two halves of the two stones cut in half into a pin, so he can wear it everywhere; it also looked like a dragon egg as well. Now he has something that reminds him of you.

Jace’s gift is similar to Y/N’s necklace. The white crystal was designed to look like a dragon egg, and the necklace mimicked a dragon's wing flying to the sky. Jace knew Baela would love the necklace. He knows Baela is proud to be a dragon rider, and he knows how much she loves her dragon. The necklace was perfect for her. Aemond and Jace thanked Jon and Mary-Weather and escorted them out. Aemond made his way to the council room, there were some things that needed to be discussed.

The meeting was long and tedious, but it needed to be done. Rhaenyra was made to be queen, she was meant to rule. Every decision she thought of the people in King’s Landing, Winterfell, Stromends, and more. Everyone can tell she cares, and wants the best for everyone. She listened to what people had to say and considered every decision that was made. Rhaenyra would ask Aemond and Alicent for advice and what they think would be best. She would listen to them carefully and think it through before making a decision.

There was one last thing to discuss. “Aemond. I know you and Y/N agreed on having an Old Valyrian wedding, and you two will have that.” Rhaenyra explained.

“I feel like there is a but coming in.” Aemond remarked.

“We think you two should have a Westeros Wedding.” One of the council members said.

Everyone can feel the chill in the air from Aemond, Rhaenyra, and Daemon. Aemond looked at the council member with a cold look. “Why does my wedding have to do with you? It only matters to me, my betrothed, my mother, Queen Rhaenyra, and Daemon.” He said coldly.

“Well. You see. We just thought-” The council member started to stutter.

“Hm.” Aemond scoffed. “Let’s time I checked, this was mine and my betrotheds wedding.”

“I think he means young prince, that the other Lords want to celebrate the marriage.” Another member speaks up.

Aemond turned to look at the other council member, if looks could kill. “Do I look like I give a damn about the other Lords?” Aemond asked coldly.

“Aemond.” Alicent spoke.

“More like the other Lords just want an excuse to get drunk.” Daemon added.

“Daemon.” Rhaenyra scolded her husband.

One of the council members spoke. “Can we have two weddings, one where Aemond and Y/N want, and the other for the Lords.”

“That would be a waste of resources. Besides, Y/N doesn’t want a big wedding and neither do I. We just want people who are close to us there.” Aemond explains.

“Why don’t we have a celebration after the wedding?” Rhaenyra asked. “That way the Lords can celebrate and we are not wasting resources.”

“I don’t see the problem with it, but I am going to ask Y/N. If she says no, then that will be final.” Aemond said.

“Agreed.” Rhaenyra agreed. “If that is all, you are dismissed.”

Everyone left the room, except for Rhaenyra, Daemon and Alicent. Rhaenyra is still sitting next to Alicent, holding one of her hands. “Alicent, are you sure you don’t want to invite your father to the wedding?” Rhaenyra asked, worried for her friend.

Alicent nodded her head yes. “I’m sure Queen Rhaenyra. I don’t want him here.”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Alicent just call me Rhaenyra when we are alone. We are still friends.”

Alicent gave Rhaenyra a small smile, holding her hand back. She didn’t know that she needed that comfort. It’s weird not having her father by her side, she was so used to having him here. Now that he is gone, she hates to admit it but it feels like a dark cloud has been lifted.

“Are you okay with your father not being here Alicent. I’ll understand if you want him-” Rhaenyra tried to ask.

“No.” Alicent interrupted her. “I don’t want him here. I don't want him near my children, my grandchildren, or near you.”

Rhaenyra saw the seriousness in Alicent's eyes, she still doesn’t know what they fought about, and till this day she will not ask. Rhaenyra can tell whatever they argued about was really serious, to the point where Alicent has no contact with him.

“Alright. I am here for Alicent, not as a queen but as your friend.” Rhaenyra comforted her.

“Thank you, Rhaenyra. If you excuse me, I’m going to spend time with my grandchildren.” Alicent gave Rhaenyra a quick hug and excused herself.

As Alicent walked out of the door, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but feel worried about her friend. There was something more Alicent won’t say, and she doesn’t want to push her friend. Rhaenyra has a bad feeling, and usually that feeling is correct.

“She’ll be fine my love.” Daemon came behind her, putting both his hands on her shoulders.

“I know Daemon. I just can’t help but to worry.” Rhaenyra sighed, holding one of Daemon’s hands.

“She’ll talk about it when she is ready.” Daemon pointed out.

“I know you’re right darling. I just wish I could do more for her.” Rhaenyra explained her worries to her husband.

“I think being her friend again is enough my dear.” Daemon replied.

Rhaenyra leans into Daemon, hoping he is right. Alicent and her relationship has gotten better. It was like they were young again. Rhaenyra noticed they have been together a lot since she became queen. It reminded her about the old times before Alicent married her father. It felt like the bond they once shared was broken and now it’s being repaired. Both Daemon and Rhaenyra both left the council room, and started to walk off side by side. Rhaenyra hopes she can help Alicent. For now she is going to be by her side and be there for her when she needs her.

______________________________________

Taglist: @mikariell95 @random-human02 @buttercupstrand @rosaryos @whitejuliana1204 @schniiipsel @jeyramarie @erylilly @mingiholic @klutzyfreak

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cherrydreamer · 2 years

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(Warning: Contains rookie!cop Steve which I know is very much not to everyone's tastes. Also some description of Neil Hargrove inflicted abuse. Nothing overly graphic but just be aware.)

🎃 Harringrove Harvest Day 2- Gone Feral 🎃

Steve's at a loss.

It had been easy enough for him when he was right in the thick of it. Easy to know what to do. To trust his gut. Because, really, all it boiled down to was that fact that there'd been a bunch of monsters he needed to fight and a bunch of kids he needed to protect.

But now it's all over. Monsters fought. Kids protected. Everything squared away, neat and tidy.

And Steve isn't quite sure where he fits anymore. He hovers in doorways, on the edge of the groups, drifting from the kitchen with a mug of Joyce's hot cocoa in hand- loaded with extra marshmallows because, "you look like you need the sugar, honey," over to the table where Dustin is restating his theories about d'Art and the potential domestication of Demodogs, sneaking a look back towards the couch where Nancy and Jon are huddled, heads together, in a world of their own.

So when Hopper beckons him over, it's easiest for Steve just to follow him, to step out onto the porch and accept the cigarette held out in front of him and wait for whatever favour it was that Hopper needed him to do next. Drive the kids home, probably, or maybe run out for some more food. Something useful. Helpful.

But instead of asking for anything, Hopper rests a firm hand on Steve's shoulder. It feels good. Grounding. Reassuring in a way that Steve didn't even know he needed.

"You did good out there, kid," Hopper says, quiet but serious in a way that has Steve's gut squirming, "I know it can't've been easy, keeping those brats safe, but y'did it. And I heard the whole thing, about what you did in those tunnels. Trust me, Dustin won't stop yapping on about it, and I gotta say it was damn brave of you, son"

It's a lot. Too much praise for something that anyone would've done, most likely, so Steve tries to dismiss it, to shake it off, not feeling like he really deserves the warm glow of pride blooming in his chest. He manage to mumble something about how it'd been dangerous, really, dangerous and stupid, and Hopper laughs, a proper, deep in the gut rumble of laughter that ends in a cough.

"Dangerous, stupid and brave, huh? Not the worst combination in the world, hell, it may as well be the damn motto of the Hawkins Police Department. Might get Flo to make one of her cross stitch pictures. Have it framed for the office."

Hopper laughs again, and then he pauses, and Steve swears he can almost see the cartoon bulb lighting up above his head.

"Look, kid, I don't know what you've got lined up for after graduation. College? Or a job? Something with your dad's place, maybe?"

Steve can only shake his head, already waiting for Hopper's look of disappointment, only it never comes. Instead he nods, satisfied, like a plan is coming together.

"Well, it'd be good to have another person down at the station who knows what we're actually up against," and then he snorts, amused, "And someone like you? Someone with a bit of common sense? Well that would make a hell of a difference too. I can't say it's always this exciting," he shrugs, "But it ain't a bad job. And you've got more potential than a hell of a lot of the rookies I've seen. You think on it, son,"

And that, seemingly, is that. Hopper gives Steve's shoulder another one of those warm, firm pats, and then he stubs his cigarette out on Joyce Byers' porch railing and heads back inside.

But Steve stays put for a while longer.

Just thinking.

—

He goes back to Hopper the very next day, asking if he was serious, surprised when Hopper doesn't even blink before he's sliding Steve an application form and a pen. And so, within a week, Steve is sitting in the break room of the Hawkins Police Station in a brand new blue shirt and a tie that Hopper had taken one look at and re-tied for him, his eyes growing wider and wider as Flo hands over a thick, official looking book.

"Just a little light reading, dear," she says, "Make sure you know exactly what you're signing up for."

Steve's regretting it all already. A regret that only grows as he scans through the first page of his new training handbook.

As expected, he starts right at the bottom of the heap, with no more responsibility than fetching coffees, washing the cars and helping Flo with the filing. But Steve doesn't mind that. That sounds doable. Achievable.

What's worrying him is what happens next, if he proves that he can manage not to fuck up those simple tasks. Because then it gets tough. There's a whole program of training, months and months of it covering all the procedures and codes and policies that Steve is expected to learn before he can even begin to shadow an officer.

There's reading. Studying. Questions he needs to be able to answer. Tons of shit to remember.

Just the thought of it has him feeling sick.

"Hey, uh, Chief?" he's standing up the moment that Hopper enters the room, tripping over his own feet in his haste to try and shove the training manual back into Hopper's hands, "Look, I think, uh, I think I made a mistake, I can't…I can't do this," Steve thumbs through the book, his face growing paler with every new page, "And there's a test? Like a proper, pen and paper- yeah, no, no, I'm not, I'm not gonna be able to do that."

He shakes his head, already feeling like a failure before he's even been here half an hour, but Hopper only smiles,

"We got Callahan through it and that guy locks himself out of his car at least twice a month."

"Locked himself in it last week," Flo calls out cheerily.

"There you go." Hopper grins, "And let me tell you this. None of this crap-" he tugs the book from Steve's hands, flinging it down onto an already overflowing desk, -actually matters." His hand is back on Steve's shoulder. Heavy but reassuring, just like before. "Look kid, far as I can see? You've done more than enough to prove that you've got what it takes. And I'm in charge here, so you pay attention to me and not that book, and you'll be just fine. Now c'mon, we've got our first case of the day and I reckon you're just the person to help solve it."

From the way Hopper's smirking, Steve knows it's a trap, but he can't help keep the eagerness from his voice when he answers, "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah, big mystery alright. There's an empty space in my cup, right where my coffee oughta be. Reckon you can figure that one out, rookie?"

And, with a sigh, Steve starts his first day.

—-

Slowly but surely, Steve finds his feet.

There is a lot of coffee fetching and filing with Flo and car washing, but he doesn't mind that. He likes chatting with Flo, hearing her talk proudly about her grandsons and their important jobs in the city and her husband, Harold and the rowboat he's been fixing up so he can go out fishing; and he likes the hum of appreciation that Powell lets out whenever Steve's spent a good couple of hours shining up his car. And it's really not long at all before Hopper is inviting Steve along with him when he goes out on a job. It's routine stuff at first, of course, dealing with shaken up drivers that misjudged the sharp corner of Cartersville and Cornwallis, or helping to calm down arguments about a few inches of encroaching ivy between otherwise civilised neighbours and, of course, there's the memorable times when Hopper gets Steve to dress up as McGruff the Crime Dog and accompany him along on his visits to Hawkins Elementary to talk to a gaggle of over excited little kids, and the even more memorable time when Hopper owed him one and ended up being the one donning the dog costume.

It's fun. And Steve finds that he's not too bad at it. In fact, he's pretty good. He learns how to approach situations. How to calm angry guys and comfort hysterical women or- more often than he'd expect- vice versa. He learns when to talk, to take control of a situation, and when to hold back and just listen. He learns what to look for, how to read rooms and faces and body language and situations.

And he learns, most of all, that usually people just want to know that someone is there and sees them and understands them. People just want someone to help.

—

It's sometime around mid December when things ramp up. A lot. It's an evening shift, the two of them parked up in the Blazer, coffee in hand as they keep an eye out for teens speeding their way down to the Quarry, when their peace is interrupted by a crackle on the radio.

"Here we go then, kid," Hopper says, unhooking the receiver, "First call of the night. Bet you dollars to doughnuts it'll be Beth Landingham calling to complain about her neighbours' Christmas lights being too damn bright again."

But it isn't. Flo's crackly voice informs them both that Hopper's presence is required immediately at a domestic disturbance over at Cherry Lane, and Hopper fills Steve in on the most important detail.

"Hargrove place," he clarifies with a groan, "Not the first time, probably won't be the last."

"It'll be Billy being an asshole," Steve says confidently. "Probably came home drunk or something. Or maybe he's finally snapped, gone feral. Wouldn't surprise me."

"Maybe," Hopper muses, his jaw set grimly, and Steve can't deny the thrill he's feeling at the thought of being there to see Billy get put in his place. He wonders if Hopper will yell. If he'll need to restrain Billy or hit him. He bets Billy will resist and put up a fight, and maybe Steve will need to step in and-

"Hey, Hop, you think I can be the one to, y'know, give him a warning or whatever?"

And Steve's already imagining it, how he'd have the upper hand. How he could flash his ID badge and stand right in front of Billy, maybe even order him to sit down, make him listen and obey. A small part of him is hoping that Billy doesn't listen, so that Hopper has no choice but to cuff him, and maybe he'sd even let Steve do that but too and Steve already knows he cinch those cuffs just a little bit too tight, enough to be really uncomfortable. Enough to pinch.

He can't wait to make Billy squirm. Make him pay.

But Hopper's face is blank, "Let's see what we're dealing with first, Harrington."

"I'm gonna call him William," Steve says, thinking out loud, "Bet he'll hate that."

—

But when he gets there, Steve doesn't call Billy 'William'. He doesn't flash his ID badge or order Billy to sit down or slap the cold, metal cuffs around Billy's thrashing wrists. He doesn't do any of the things he'd imagined.

Instead, Steve stands in the middle of it all, staring round. He doesn't know where to look first, where to even start. He's still coming to terms with the very real, very visceral shock of what his job could actually entrail. He knows he's been naive, and he's seeing now that it's not just going to be school visits and speeding fines and even the occasional infestation of supernatural monsters, but that some of it is going to be this kind of fucked up shit too.

Fucked up shit like Billy Hargrove being on the kitchen floor, curled up in the middle of a whole table-worth of broken crockery, his face a mess of blood and tears. The more Steve looks, the worse it gets. He takes it in, in that way he can now, picking up on the details: like how Billy's shirt is hanging open, some buttons torn and others hanging from threads, and how he has one arm twisted against his chest, bent at a sickeningly wrong angle, while the other one is raised above his head in a desperate attempt to protect himself from the man standing over him. Steve manages to pull his gaze away, checking in on everyone else: Susan, standing off to the side, her arms tight around Max who sports a scarlet red handprint on her cheek.

And then Steve turns his attention to Mr. Hargrove, Max's stepdad. Steve only really knows him by sight, but even then he'd always seemed… off, a little too calm, too controlled. Stiffly polite, but with a flicker of something cold and mean behind his eyes.

He had known he could be a hardass though. Steve had picked that up just from overhearing Max's grumblings about him, how Neil was always more concerned with Max seeming respectable and being a 'good girl' for Susan than having any real interest in her as a person, and how he was even harder on Billy.

Good, Steve had thought at the time. If anyone needs a firm hand, it's Billy.

Steve feels sick to think about it now. Because this man here, this Mr. Hargrove, is more than just a hardass. He's a whole different beast, and whatever facade of 'respectful family man' he once tried to project is gone entirely. His face is red, his eyes are bulging, and flecks of saliva are falling from his mouth as he spits insults after insult in Billy's face, before turning to Hopper and telling him, in no uncertain terms, exactly 'what kind of filth that son of mine really is'.

He lets fly with a whole host of slurs and accusations, each one more graphic than the last, and Steve winces at Neil Hargrove's particular choice of words, a sick feeling churning in his gut when he thinks about how often he's said some of them himself, back before. Back when he needed to prove how much better he was than the kids who didn't fit, the weird kids, the quiet ones, the ones with the wrong clothes or haircut or who lived in the wrong part of town. Back when certain insults, certain implications, were enough to have rumours flying quickly enough to turn a socially awkward kid into a social pariah by the end of the school day.

But Neil Hargrove isn't just throwing them out as casual insults. Steve can tell, from the utter disgust dripping from his voice, that Neil means them. And that, worst of all, Neil thinks that those words, those accusations, are more than enough to excuse what he's done to Billy. The mess he's made of his own son.

And maybe they had been before, Steve thinks with a dawning horror, wondering just how long Billy's been living with this. Maybe this isn't the first time something like this had happened, and maybe Neil got away with it then, maybe he even had the police on his side because what Billy was and what he was accused of doing, was seen as so much worse than whatever punishment Neil had doled out.

Because Billy isn't fighting back. Even now Hopper's shoved Neil away, Billy isn't showing any of the spark that Steve associates with him. He isn't even standing up. Instead he's huddling right down, curled away as much from Hopper as he was from Neil, trying to make himself smaller, trembling but not making a sound. Neil is shouting and Max is yelling and Susan's crying but Billy is eerily silent.

Like he's given up.

Like he knows there's no point asking for help.

Like he's resigned to this.

Like it might only get worse, now that the police are here.

And that's what shakes Steve out of his stupor. Because he got into this job to help people and that's what he's always wanted to do. All he can do. All he's been good at. And even though he has absolutely no idea how to help with this, no idea how to even start with Billy, he needs to try.

So he does.

He lets his instinct take over, and he steps carefully over broken glass, kneeling down just a few steps away from Billy. And when Billy turns to face him, his eyes clouded with fear and his lashes clumped together with a mix of tears and the blood that runs from a still bleeding gash on his brow, Steve says the first thing that comes into his head,

"So, uh, guess your Dad's kind of a huge asshole then, Hargrove?"

And god it's dumb. So dumb. Steve knows it's dumb even as he's saying it. He's following absolutely none of what little sensitivity training he's had, and he's probably made a terrible situation even worse.

But it gets a snorty, watery huff out of Billy. And there's even a flicker of a smile, despite everything.

And Steve thinks that maybe he is helping here, after all.

#harringrove #cherrywrites #harringroveweek #maybe not quite harringrove but you know steve's gonna be keeping one hell of an eye on billy now #and billy obviously needs a safe place to stay...#so let the cliches begin!#also‚ if it helps #maybe steve doesn't stay a cop for long #maybe he realises he can help more in other ways #maybe he stands guard at the hospital and realises he wants to go into nursing #maybe seeing what neil did‚ what's going on in some houses‚ makes him want to go into social care #maybe he loved those elementary school visits and realises he wants to work with little kids

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amazingmsme · 7 months

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Like Magic

AN: So this is a bit of a different spin on the prompt, but anything to write more TMA! Idk how the rest of this month is shaping out to look like for me, but I’m gonna try to finish things. Please be patient as I try to finish these fics. Here’s my fic for day 18!

Martin rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time as Tim droned on about how such great friends he apparently was with one Jonathan Sims. Of course he wasn't buying any of it. But that didn't mean he wouldn't play along.

"Wow, ya don't say?" Martin said breathily, sarcasm still evident.

"Yup! He even said so himself!" Tim proudly proclaimed. Martin raised his brows in shock.

"He said that you are the funniest one here?" he asked skeptically. Tim scoffed.

"Why'd you say that like it's hard to believe?"

Martin shrugged. "B-because it is! I mean, it's Jon we're talking about. Does... does he even have a sense of humor?"

Tim shook his head with an amused chuckle. "Oh Martin, always so naive. Everyone has a sense of humor if you know what tickles their funny bone," he winked, nudging him with his elbow.

"Yeah but, he just doesn't seem like the giddy type," he reasoned.

"Well, you just don't know Jon like I do. What can I say? We have an unspoken bond between us. I can make him crack up with a single look," he boasted, and that was where Martin called it.

"Oh you can not!"

"Wanna bet?" he asked with a crooked grin, wiggling his eyebrows at him. Martin opened his mouth but abruptly snapped it shut when Jon walked into the break room. Tim also shut up, hands shoved in his pockets. Jon looked between them and snorted, walking to the counter.

"If you're going to talk behind my back, I suggest making it less apparent," he casually teased.

"N-no, it's nothing like that!" Martin assured him.

"I was just telling Martin what great friends we are!"

"Hm, that's news to me." Jon barely hid his smirk at the way Tim cried out indignantly.

"Ouch. I'm hurt Jon. You hurt me," he said, pointing an accusing finger. Jon grinned smugly, turning back to the kettle. He poured himself a cup as Tim walked back to the couch, flopping down next to Martin with a pout. Martin looked about as smug as Jon.

"What?" he snapped.

"You're so full of it," he said softly, an amused smile firmly in place. Tim shoved his shoulder.

"Oh sod off! You know, that last part was actually true," he said, and something in his voice seemed genuine enough for Martin to feel inclined to believe him.

"Really?" he asked, casting a quick glance Jon's direction. Tim followed it, nodding.

“Oh yeah. It’s a little magic power of mine,” he bragged, wiggling his fingers in a twinkly magic kind of way. Martin snorted in amusement.

“Magic, okay, sure,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh you don’t believe me? Here, I’ll prove it,” he said matter of factly. He hopped to his feet, sauntering over to the counter next to Jon. He looked over his shoulder at Martin, smug smirk already in place. He turned his attention to Jon, leaning his hip against the countertop.

“So how’s your day been so far?” he asked casually. Jon snorted.

“The same as every other damn day, what do you think?” When he looked up from adding the smallest amount of sugar to his tea, he froze like a deer in headlights.

Tim was giving him The Look. The one he always gave him before he pounced and turned him into a hysterical mess. His eyes were glowing with mischievous intent, deviously smug smirk peaking out from behind his mustache. Jon took a step back, a nervous grin already tugging at his lips. He glanced over at Martin- oh God, he was going to do it in front of Martin! He looked at Tim with wide eyes, shaking his head. His smile stretched ear to ear and quite literally lit up the room. Martin stared on in shock, a faint blush dusting his cheeks at the sight of their boss looking so adorable.

“Tim-“ Jon started, hoping to negotiate his way out of this.

“You sure it’s just another boring day?” he asked, cutting him off. When he wiggled his eyebrows at him, Jon giggled, actually giggled, bumping into the corner of the fridge when he backed up further.

“Tim I swear-“

“What? I’m just asking about your day. You seem to be rather chipper, thought I’d see what that’s all about,” he teased further. Jon was starting to visibly flush, and he was at a loss for words.

“Oh you bastard,” he huffed, turning away. Tim stepped in front of him.

“Where did this hostility come from? I think someone ought to teach you some manners,” he said, winking at him. Jon felt his blood run cold.

He turned to run, but Tim hooked an arm around his waist, immediately digging his fingers in his sides. Jon doubled over, choking back laughter that still forced its way out through quick bursts of giggles, snorts, and uncharacteristic shrieks. Martin was in awe.

But he couldn’t let himself look or act as lovestruck as he felt, so he just sat there in shock.

“Tihihim! Wha- whahahat dihid I dohoho?” he asked through an onslaught of helpless snickers. Tim brought his other hand into the fray, kneading his sides like a cat making biscuits. Jon snorted, knees buckling when devious hands made contact with his ribs. Those torturous fingers prodded every space between the bones, leaving him sputtering through laughter.

“Oh nothing, nothing at all. You just looked like an easy target,” he reasoned and Jon whined. He found the uppermost ribs and Jon arched his back with a giggly squeal.

Tim only kept at it for a while longer before he released him. He gave Jon a pat on the back as he caught his breath. Tim looked over at Martin and flashed a wide, cocky grin.

“See, what’d I tell ya? Magic,” he said with a grand flourish, making Martin snort in amusement. And if he noticed the way Jon was slowly creeping up behind Tim, fingers flexed and ready to strike, well, he didn’t say anything.

Where would be the fun in that?

#tickletober #tickletober 2023 #tickletober day 18 #tim stoker #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jon sims #the magnus archives #tma #the magnus archives fic #tma fic #the magnus archives tickle fic #tma tickle fic #ticklish!jon

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