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55sturn · 2 months

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ SNAP OUT OF IT: CHAPTER 0.01

↳ series masterlist! ↳ main masterlist!

↳ summary: in which y/n receives the news of her life and she feels on top of the world, as if nothing could bring her down, until she meets her dorm mate, rather, until she re-meets him.

↳ pairings: matt sturniolo x fem!reader [eventually, in this chapter, they are not friends]

↳ warnings: swearing, mentions of death, cigarettes, drug usage [weed], alcohol consumption, cocky!matt, flirting, bitchy!reader.

↳ important notes: i’ve been so excited to post this! this is going to be slow burn, and updates will be slow as well while i’m in the process of deciding what i want done with back to december, povs will change regularly between reader’s pov, matt’s pov, and third person pov, each pov is vital to the story and each character’s internal battles throughout the series.

↳ playlist for this series! song below for this chapter below!

READER’S POV

my hands shook as i held the letter that determined whether or not i’d have a chance at landing a job in screenwriting or directing, or literally anything the film industry would give me. landing a spot in this course, was extremely tough. it was only open to twenty five students, and there were thousands of applicants to rifle through each semester. it was a prestigious course, and if you excelled in it, the professor would consider sending out a letter of recommendation to any companies he knew were offering an internship. it was such high demand because the professor had a lot of sway when it came to massive filming and production companies, and would often land one of his students their big break.

but in order to apply, at least three years of training under some sort of local theatre was mandatory, the applicants needed to prove that they understood how screenwriting, production, and set or stage management worked, and there was still more that we needed to cover but those were top three areas of experience this course looked at. each applicant needed to prove that they were completely fit for this course and that they genuinely wanted to pursue a career in this field, and if you didn’t show it well enough, you weren’t even added to the consideration list.

it was a tough spot to land, and i would give anything to land a spot in this course. i had fought tooth and nail throughout all of high school to get grades that proved determination and hard work, the only university i ever had in mind was harvard, and if i didn’t get in, i wouldn’t know what to do with my life.

so here i was, freshly twenty-one, and finally holding the letter that led to the rest of my life, good or bad.

“come on you pussy, open it already.” jocelyn groans, she had been my rock throughout the entire application process. she’s been my best friend since we were six and bonded over having the same pencil case when she moved to boston in first grade. however, she’s been a bit callous to the idea of me being nervous about reading this letter. she was the type that barely scraped in high school, and she had decided pretty early that she didn’t want to go to any college or university. she excelled online and had amounted a huge following.

“joce, i love you but please shut up. this is the most important letter i’ve held in my entire life. i’m scared, what if i don’t get in?”

“please bitch, you’ve worked harder than anyone i know, i’m sure you’re going to get in.”

“thanks joce, but i genuinely don’t trust your judgement after the last guy you hooked up with. so i am going to take a shot and then open it.” i laugh, walking over to the cupboard above the fridge, grabbing the bottle of tequila we had bought in preparation for this very moment. i also grabbed two shot glasses from the mini bar-cart we had beside the fridge of our shared apartment, and began pouring a shot for the both of us.

“oh my fucking god. oh my fucking god!” she gasps from behind me, making quickly turn around, only to see that she held the open letter in her hands.

“what?”

“you fucking got in!” she exclaims, causing goosebumps to rise along my skin as i stand and watch her eyes dart back and forth along the page, reading the words aloud.

“dear miss l/n, i am pleased to inform you that the committee on Film and Visual Studies has voted to offer you a place in the Harvard class of 2025. dude you did it!” she beams, her voice full of pride and excitement, causing tears to well along my waterline as i stare at her.

“oh my fucking god, i did it.” i sob, feeling genuinely accomplished for the first time in my life.

“however it does say that the only available dorm situation is co-ed, since you had applied for on-campus living.”

“that’s fine with me honestly.” i shrug, wiping the tears, unable to rid my face of the smile that resides on it.

“alright, let’s take some shots and then start packing the rest of your shit. i can’t believe i’ll be living without for so long, i can finally walk around naked.” she hums, wrapping her arms around my shoulders as i sigh, my arms winding tightly around her waist.

i let out a loud laugh as i grab the bottle of tequila, followed by the two full shot glasses, sliding jocelyn hers as i stare at her.

“you’re acting as if you don’t already do that.”

“touché, however, here’s to my bitch starting her dream career.”

the next few days blew by in a blur as jocelyn and i finished packing everything i wanted to take. she was going to help take my stuff from boston to cambridge. the eight hour drive was going to be brutal, but it was completely doable, especially know that she’d be along the way. instead of driving sixteen hours total, she was going to spend the first night with me, she also wanted to scope out my dorm mate to make sure they’re not a total freak.

“i can’t believe i leave tomorrow.” i sigh, resting my head on jocelyn’s shoulder, the two of sitting on our balcony while she puffed her joint. jocelyn stifles a laugh before straightening out her expression, and turning to me.

“your mom would be so proud of you.” she says, her face blank as the absurd comment leaves her mouth.

“as fucking if.” i snort, rolling my eyes, taking the joint from her fingers, taking a small hit as she laughs.

“she’d probably ask why it took so long to get a response and then tell you that you didn’t try hard enough and that your acceptance letter was a pity letter.”

“probably.” i whisper, handing the joint back to her as i watch the setting sun, feeling a strong tinge of hurt swelling in my chest at the mention of my mom.

her and i never really had a steady relationship, when i was younger she was never really around, she was a big part of the film industry, quite the requested screenwriter, and was always in high demand which meant she didn’t take time to nurture me.

when she was alive and around more during my high school days after she was forced to retire from the spotlight due to her cancer, she was constantly berating me, the high ninety grades and constant participation in local theatre was never good enough. she always said i wasn’t shooting high enough. but she fell deathly ill my senior year, and that was a rough patch for us. i had snapped and told her that i hope she regrets the way she’s treated my entire life, and that i won’t be found at her deathbed. but when that time came, i was the first one to hold her hand and tell her i love her, but the reply never came from her, she just stared at the wall blankly until her boyfriend showed up and then suddenly she was lively as she could be while dying.

but i’ve moved on from that year, and it took a long time and shit ton of therapy to realize that i was never going to be the daughter she wanted, but my dad and my step-mother, melissa, have been as supportive as they could. they’ve been with melissa’s mom in maine for the last two months, helping her with everything after her husband’s passing.

i sigh again as i look at jocelyn, leaning my head back on her shoulder.

“we should probably head back to bed, we’ve got a long ass drive tomorrow.”

“yeah, wanna eat some ice cream first?”

“sure.”

after our ice cream, we finally crashed, both of us only getting about four hours of sleep after having to wake up at nearly six in the morning. we quickly got dressed, and grabbing the last few bags and boxes that needed to be packed into the car before leaving to grab food and drinks. after that, we finally started on our way to cambridge.

the drive was full of numerous stops, causing to get at the dorms around four in the afternoon.

“alright you stay with the cars while i go to the admissions centre and grab my key and i’ll go unlock the door and then we can start.” i hum in joce’s direction through her open window, grabbing my bag off the front passenger’s seat while jocelyn nods, climbing out, and stretching.

“i hope you get a hot roommate, you need a boyfriend.” she calls out, rolling my eyes, and flipping her off.

“i’m walking away i cant hear you!” i call back, following the signs that direct me toward to admissions office, as i enter i nervously approach the lady at the front.

“hi i’m here to pick up my dorm keys, room 496, y/n l/n.”

“here you go! so you’ll want to turn right, then take two lefts and follow the numbered plaques on the wall to the co-ed section of the dorms! and lastly, welcome to harvard!” the older woman chirps, flashing a warm smile that eases my nerves just the tiniest bit as i begin following the directions that she had called out.

as i reach my door, i fish the key from my pocket, quickly shoving it into the keyhole, wanting to get into my dorm as quick as possible. as i’m about to turn the knob, someone clear their throat from behind me, causing me to turn around. and once i meet the eyes of the person standing behind me, i immediately wish that the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

“this is my dorm?” he coughs, making my skin crawl at the idea of sharing a dorm for a year with the one person that i genuinely wish didn’t exist in my life.

“there’s no way in hell i’m sharing a dorm with you, matt.”

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fortheloveofwonderland · 14 days

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Midnight | Chapter 19 | SR

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - a slight jump forward in time here. For the sake of this, Spencer’s mom lives back in Vegas.

Chapter Summary - after finding a new place to settle down, things finally seem like they might be looking up for you and Spencer. Meanwhile Luke refuses to rest while he continues searching for you.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - cleaning up a crime scene, burying bodies, fingering, handjob, swearing, vomit, brief mention of depression, penetrative, unprotected sex, lying.

WC - 5.7k

Chapter 19 - Stitch Me Up

Two Months Later

The desert city of Twentynine Palms, California was located in the Mojave Desert and sat on the northern side of the Joshua Tree National Park and promoted the motto “a beautiful desert oasis”.

It wasn’t small but it was huge either, with a population of around twenty five thousand, making it a great place for two people to hide in plain sight. And given its desert location, the temperature this time of year was over one hundred and five, a stark contrast from tiny little Colorado mountain towns.

Samuel and Violet Truman of Arizona had moved out west and rented themselves a little fully furnished three bed, single storey home on Chia Avenue in a quiet suburb of Twentynine Palms. They arrived two weeks ago after spending some six weeks travelling the states with their travel companions Jack and Lily Waters.

From the outside their home left a lot to be desired, with its rickety metal fence and lone palm tree in the sandy front yard. But the inside was so modern and sheek that the couple had signed a lease on the spot.

From the outside looking in, you and Spencer were the idyllic all American couple. And admittedly, from the inside you were also pretty damn happy.

Since fleeing Crested Butte in the middle of the night two months ago, things had changed dramatically. That night you’d waited until Luke had stopped patrolling your cabin before getting Mary’s body into the trunk of the Nissan. You’d scrubbed every single inch of the house until it was cleaner than when you’d arrived, tweezed the bullet out of the wall and filled in the hole left behind, before gathering all of your belongings and getting the hell out of dodge.

On the way out of town you had begged Spencer to make one last stop. He wanted to refuse, you could tell, but he was trying so hard to make you happy, to make up for the way he’d been treating you that he agreed and pulled the Nissan to a stop on the street outside of McGills.

It had been late and all the lights were off so you’d ducked down the side alley towards the door that led up to his apartment. You’d had no idea if he’d be there but you’d prayed with every fibre of your being that he would. And by some stroke of luck, he answered the door after you’d knocked twice.

“Rose,” he folded his arms across his chest and leant against the door jamb. “Or should I say, Y/N.”

“I heard Luke spoke to you.” You gnawed on your lip as Jesse regarded you like the stranger you were.

“He did. I have to say, I did not expect you to be FBI.”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “It’s a long story. I just wanted to come by and apologise for everything. I probably really shouldn’t have let myself follow you out of the Nickel that night.”

“I’m glad you did.” He nodded, dropping his arms to his sides. “Even though it didn’t work out between us, it at the very least got me out of my slump. Maybe now I can actually put myself out there again, you know? Now I’ve gotten over that first hurdle.”

“You’re going to make some woman very happy someday.” You smiled, subconsciously taking a step closer.

“It’s a shame it couldn’t have been you.” He shrugged wistfully.

You swallowed thickly, glancing down the alley and noting that you couldn’t see the Nissan from this position, or more importantly, its occupant couldn’t see you. You stepped even closer to Jesse and cupped his cheek.

“In another life maybe.” You whispered. “I’m leaving town.”

“I figured as much.” He nodded as your hand wandered down from his face to bicep. “You could stay, you know? With me. You don’t have to go just because he wants you to.”

“You have no idea how tempting that is. But I can’t.”

“I know.” He sighed, suddenly gripping the back of your neck. “I’m going to miss you.”

Suddenly he’d slammed his lips against yours in a kiss so passionate your legs had buckled. If Spencer knew how you’d said goodbye to Jesse, he most likely would have gone back and killed him. If he’d known you’d let Jesse finger you in his doorway while you jerked him off in return, Spencer would have certainly murdered him and probably enjoyed it.

But clearly you had a better poker face than you realised as Spencer simply drove off as soon as you were back in the car. And on the drive the only thing you’d thought of were Jess’s last words to you.

“I wish I’d gotten a chance to love you, Y/N.”

But at some point you had to let that go.

Mary’s final resting place had been a hole in the ground in the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest in Montana, almost eight hundred miles north of her hometown of Crested Butte. The Nissan met the same fate as Spencer’s Volvo a further five hundred and fifty miles east just outside of Medora, North Dakota.

Spencer purchased three pairs of bus tickets: one down to Texas, one out to Minnesota and one to Iowa, the latter being the ones you actually used. It took the better part of an entire day on a sweaty, smelly bus before you arrived in Cedar Rapids.

You checked into a cheap and dirty motel under the names of Jack and Lily Waters and spent almost the entire night having sex. Thoroughly exhausted in the morning, Spencer found a used car lot and using his Arizona licence in the name Samuel Truman, paid cash for a black Chevy Impala.

For the six weeks that followed you travelled up and down the country in much of a zigzag, alternating between your two pseudonyms, back and forth so the BAU would never find you. You spent six weeks in multiple different cheap motels, fucking like rabbits every step of the way.

You’d never felt so intrinsically linked to someone the way you did to Spencer in those six weeks. And it seemed he’d finally found his bliss as he didn’t kill once.

Eventually when enough time passed you’d choose to settle down in California. But unfortunately the mundane realities of life would ultimately be your downfall.

You stood up from the bathroom floor with a groan, wiping the back of your hand over your mouth and padding over to the sink. You stuck your mouth directly under the faucet and drank from it to wash away the taste of bile on your tongue.

You’d been throwing up on and off for some weeks now but you simply put it down to the residual stress of being on the run. You exhaled heavily before shuffling back out into the bedroom where Spencer still lay naked on top of the sheets.

“I’m mildly offended.” He offered you a wistful smile.

“I’m sorry.” You grumbled, flopping back to the bed next to him.

“It’s ok. Just never had anyone need to throw up whilst sucking my dick before.” He chuckled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“It’ll teach me not to eat hotdogs from a gas-and-go.” You sighed. “I can try again if you’re still in the mood?”

“After I just listened to you puke your guts up? I’m suddenly not very horny.” He pulled you closer so your head was resting on his chest. “But seriously, are you ok? You’ve been getting sick a lot lately.”

“Yeah I guess it’s stress or something. I’ll be fine.” You nuzzled against him, placing your hand flush against his chest over his heart.

You smiled as the ring caught the light and found yourself moving impossibly closer to Spencer. His grandmother's old ring had been upgraded, as had the one he wore, for newer silver matching bands inscribed on the inside with partners in crime.

One of your stops on your travels before you’d made your way to Twentynine Palms had been in Atlantic City at a seedy motel just off the main strip. After a few drinks one night as you walked by a little drive-in chapel, Spencer had a proposition for.

“What would you say I said we should get married?” He pulled you to a stop on the sidewalk.

“Married?” You glared at him.

“Right now. Partners in crime forever.” He grinned at you.

“You’re joking, right?” Your brows furrowed.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. Before we get swallowed up entirely in the lives of Samuel and Violet, I think Spencer and Y/N need to do this one last thing.”

And really there had only been one answer to that. You and Spencer had been bound for life the moment you’d left DC with him, you were as good as married, so why not make it official?

If your old team were to ever find one last trace of Spencer Reid and Y/N Y/L/N it would be the signing of marriage licences in a little Atlantic City chapel.

Spencer purchased you the new rings as a surprise and that along with your rose gold heart necklace, were your most treasured possessions.

“You don’t need to be stressed, sweetheart. It’s over, we’re safe now. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.” He cooed, kissing your head.

It really was amazing the difference a few months could make. Of course things weren’t ideal, you’d always be on the run, never able to return home but things with Spencer were as close to perfect as they could possibly be.

Since fleeing Butte he’d been wonderful, the Spencer you’d known was still in there somewhere. You may be on the run but as long as this was the Spencer you woke up to every morning, you didn’t mind at all.

But Spencer was wrong, things were far from over. At least you’d always have these moments to look back when everything came crumbling down. But for now, despite the stress within you, you knew Spencer was all you needed to feel whole. You and Spencer were two broken halves but maybe together you could patch each other up and finally feel complete.

***

Two days after Luke Alvez arrived back from Crested Butte he received a phone call from the diner owner's son.

Jesse McGill had informed him of the mysterious disappearance of the girl Mary, whom Luke had met at the diner, which was followed in quick succession by you and Spencer’s sudden departure from the town.

It really didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. But unfortunately for Luke it did take a genius to pull it off and Spencer was sure to leave behind no trail, no scrap of evidence. And two months later and Mary still hadn’t been found and the BAU had no leads on you and Spencer’s whereabouts. You’d well and truly outsmarted them.

In his spare time, which was very few and far between these days, he poured over the Duncan Green case file as well as images of the sparkling clean cabin you’d left behind in Butte in the hopes that maybe he’d missed something. He stayed late in the office every single night and looked for any reports of sightings of you and Spencer as Emily had officially registered you as missing persons. He scrolled through police databases for any other occurrences that might point to where the hell you were.

He’d discovered two bodies buried in woodlands across the country which were similar in MO to Green but with no pertinent links between them, the BAU couldn’t investigate.

Lyle Smith was found in a shallow grave with his throat cut in the Hoosier National Forest just north of Jasper, Indiana. The body of Brett Carlisle from Wichita, Kansas was found in the Rita Blanca National Grasslands in Texas. Both bodies had been subject to the elements but deemed to have been dead since before that little Nissan was picked up on Elk Avenue for the first time. So maybe Spencer had been on some kind spree since he’d left DC.

And that brought him onto the discovery of the burnt out Nissan, near identical to how they’d found Spencer’s Volvo. They’d spent three days searching the area surrounding where the vehicle was found for Mary’s body only to come up short. Of course, Spencer wasn’t stupid, he wouldn’t dispose of a body anywhere near the car.

The only lead Luke had really had in the last two months was the filing of a marriage licence in the state of New Jersey. It was like a big middle finger in his face, clearly you’d both wanted him to find it. He’d driven to Atlantic City on one of his rare days off and canvassed the area near the wedding chapels, showing your photographs to anyone who would look. But he knew you’d be long gone.

If he could just find a way to connect any of these crimes to Spencer, or to find Mary’s body then maybe he could convince you to come home. He was sure you had nothing to do with any of this and if had solid proof that Spencer had murdered one of these people maybe it could be his way to form a wedge between the two of you. No matter what happened, Luke would never stop trying to protect you.

But god if it wasn’t taking its toll on him.

Luke Alvez was, in no uncertain terms, coming apart at the seams. The stitching holding him together had been removed thread by thread and at this point there was barely anything holding him together. Emily had expressed her concerns for his mental health, suggesting he seek medical help for what she had dubbed a depressive spiral.

His response had been simply, “you’d be depressed too if your best friend had married a murderer” which had pretty much shut down the conversation.

He knew he was devolving, he’d seen it hundred of times before. His apartment was a mess of case files, innocuous accounts of possible sightings and potential victims of Spencer. He barely slept, running mostly on coffee and energy bars. He was almost certain he was getting an ulcer.

But he wouldn’t let this go. He couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t safe and he couldn’t rest until he knew you were. Maybe this obsession would eventually kill him, but it would be worth it to be able to free you from the clutches of Spencer Reid.

***

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You scurried back to the car with your best apologetic smile as you slid into the passenger’s seat and Spencer pulled a face.

“Did you puke again?” He frowned at you.

“No.” You shook your head.

“You were peeing again? You went when we got here.” He started the engine.

You weren’t exactly sure where you were headed, Spencer had simply told you that you were going out for the day and with nothing better to do you’d followed along. You were somewhere along the I-15 heading north about two hours away from Twentynine Palms, at a gas station. You’d only stopped long enough for Spencer to fill up the Chevy and have a coffee and you’d used the bathroom twice, which was very unlike you.

“I know, I think I drank too much coffee this morning.” You mused, putting on your seatbelt.

“You always drink too much coffee, but that’s an entirely different conversation.” He chuckled, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the space.

As he merged back onto the interstate you twirled your wedding band around your finger, watching the way his caught the sunlight through the windscreen and you smiled to yourself.

“Where are we going, Spence? Not that I don’t like a spontaneous road trip but I thought we’d settled now? Driving long distances usually only equals bad things where we’re concerned.” You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth.

Spencer removed one hand from the wheel and brought it to rest on your knee while he smiled at you softly.

“We’re going to see my mom.” He spoke happily.

“Oh.” You nodded with a soft laugh. “Ok, good. You had me worried for a second.”

“I told you sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about anything. Not anymore.” He gave your leg a squeeze, the adrenaline pulsing through his veins.

His bloodlust had been sated for the past two months but now it had come back with avengence. He needed to kill and he had a particular target in mind who he was sure would satisfy his urges more so than any that had come before.

But it was better to keep you in the dark. You were so happy lately and Spencer loved it when you were happy. He’d use visiting his mom as a distraction and he’d sneak off and extract his plan solo. You’d never need to know and your blissful little bubble didn’t need to be popped.

It was a win-win.

He ran over his plan in his head as he drove, making sure he had all the little details secure in his mind. There was no margin for error here, this had to be the perfect kill.

The two of you mostly stayed silent until he’d made it about another half hour up the interstate and you huffed out a loud breath.

“Goddamnit,” you grumbled. “I need to pee again.”

***

Visiting Spencer’s mom had been pretty safe for the two of you given that if anyone ever asked her if you’d been here, she most likely wouldn’t remember. You spent a few hours with her upon your arrival in Vegas before Spencer took you for a three course meal at the very expensive Capital Grille on Las Vegas strip.

After he walked you down to Caesars Palace in which you expected to be having drinks and were extremely surprised when Spencer strolled up to the reception desk stating he had a room reserved under his other alias Jack Waters.

A bellboy led you up to one of the top floors and showed you to the Palace Premium Suite. You stood in the middle of the grand living room while Spencer tipped the young man and once the door was closed and the two of you were alone, he sidled up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“You like it?” He spoke as he kissed the side of your face.

“Wh-what is happening?” You laughed, still in awe. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Consider it a belated, one night honeymoon.” His lips trailed down your neck. “And I guess just a small token of my gratitude for everything you’ve done for me. I know I have a hard time saying how I feel but I love you so fucking much and I am the luckiest man in the world to call you my wife.”

“Spencer,” you sighed happily in your arms. “I love you too. And I’m the lucky one.”

“Ok, now we’ve got that out of the way, tell me Mrs Reid, where would you like me to fuck you first?”

You moaned at his words, turning yourself around in his arms and attaching your lips together.

“What are my options?” You spoke against his lips, feeling his dick growing hard as he pressed into you.

“Well there are multiple couches, a four poster king sized bed, a pretty decadent bathtub, or there’s my personal favourite option…” his hands wandered under the hem of your shirt and over your back.

“Which is?” You took hold of his lapels, tearing your lips away from his so you could look at him.

His pupils were already blown out with his lust, his lip quirked up into a sinful smirk.

“We’re way up high, with some of the best views of Vegas.” He tugged your shirt up, quickly getting it over your head and tossing it aside. He took hold of your biceps and turned you back around to face the huge floor to ceiling windows overlooking the strip, his lips moving back to your ear. “My choice would be to fuck you up against the window. But that’s just me.”

He was already leading you towards the windows, lips sucking the flesh of your neck, his free reaching between your bodies and unhooking your bra. He quickly got it off your arms and dropped it on the floor, and you made no protest when he pushed your front up against the window. You hissed slightly at the cool glass as it touched your nipples and Spencer smiled to himself.

It was all a part of his plan. He would render you dumb with sex then run you an indulgent bubble bath with a large glass of wine to soothe your post-coital muscles. Then he’d tell you he’d left something at his mother's facility which was purposefully on the other side of town to buy him some time.

He’d tell you he hopefully wouldn’t be gone long, but traffic on the strip at night could be a nightmare and he’d be back as soon as possible. He’d inform you of the bar and the spa downstairs if you wanted to use either while he was gone.

And while you were preoccupied having a drink or getting a massage or whatever, he would seek out his target, slice his throat and be back before you knew it, with any luck rejuvenated enough for round two.

He continued kissing your neck while he started unbuttoning your pants and you helped him wiggle them down your legs and kick them off. You could see Spencer in the reflection in the window start to work on the buttons of his shirt. You caught his eye and he smiled at you.

He shucked his shirt off and pressed his bare chest against your back, caging you against the window with his hips, his hard cock pressing into your back. His lips moved back to your neck and worked on sucking deep bruises into your flesh whilst one hand wandered over your stomach and quickly dipped inside your panties.

You closed your eyes as two fingers were soon pressing inside of you, his thumb massaging your clit. You rolled your ass backwards, grinding against his erection but you wobbled a little on your legs at the feeling of his fingers inside you.

With your eyes closed your mind wandered of its own accord. There were times when you and Spencer were together that you found yourself thinking of Jesse, most specifically the last time you’d seen him when he’d fingered you in his doorway.

It was entirely involuntary, you certainly didn’t mean to think about him and his strong tattooed arms and the large vein in his forearm that pulsed when his fingers were inside of you. You didn’t mean to imagine his wiry beard scratching your face as he kissed you. And you most definitely didn’t mean to picture him fucking you whilst Spencer was. Sometimes it just happened.

Spencer was by no means an idiot and he knew you still thought about GI Mountain Man. He knew exactly what you looked like post orgasm and he’d known what the two of you had been doing when you’d said goodbye to him, even if you’d tried hard to hide it. There had been three, maybe four times when you’d said his name under your breath when he was fucking you but you’d never seemed to notice.

Of course it bothered him, a part of him wanted to drive back to Butte and kill Jesse just to make himself feel better. But he was trying to be better for you and so he ignored the occasional slip of the tongue.

Your hand snaked around his wrist, holding him firmly in place in your panties. He knew you were thinking about Jesse now, call it intuition, or gut instinct, but whatever it was Spencer knew.

He used his free hand to relieve himself from his pants and move them down his thighs enough so they were out of his way. He was almost positive that Jesse wasn’t as big as him, couldn’t fill you up the way he could.

In one swift move, he removed his fingers from inside of you and hurriedly plunged his cock between your legs, causing you to gasp and fall flat against the window. Your eyes sprung open at the sudden intrusion and you made eye contact with him in the reflection.

“Jesus Christ, Spence.” You panted as he bottomed out. “A little warning next to him.”

He chose to ignore you, placing his hands flush on the glass either side of your head as he started thrusting into you. He kept eye contact through the glass, not letting you close your eyes for fear you would start thinking of Jesse again.

It’s not fair. I’ve done everything for her, I fucking married her and it’s still not enough. What makes him better than me? Why is he still on her mind?

He tried not to let his anger cloud his judgement and had to rein himself back from fucking you too hard. He forced himself to slow down, thrusting you languidly against the window. You moaned in sync with one another while the Strip below illuminated you both in its chaotic glow.

You kept your eyes on his in the reflection while he fucked you and all thoughts of Jesse left your head. When you were clenching around him, legs shaking from your impending orgasm, he took hold of your left hand and ran his fingers over your wedding band.

“You’re mine.” He mumbled, his face contorting as his own orgasm snuck up on him. “Mine. My partner in crime, my wife, my…fuck.”

He groaned the last word, head falling to your shoulder as he suddenly came inside of you. You whimpered as he filled you up, pushing you over the edge and your legs almost gave up with the force of your orgasm.

You fell back against Spencer’s chest, his arms holding you up right even though his own legs were shaking. As you fought to catch your breath he peeled you away from the window as he slid out of you and helped you over to the couch.

You collapsed onto it, panting heavily and pulling Spencer down with you. He laid his head on your chest and listened to the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

You laid like this for a while until you were both breathing at a normal rhythm and Spencer untangled himself from your arms and got to his feet. He tucked himself away and tugged his pants back up before buttoning them.

“I’m gonna run you a bubble bath.” He smiled softly down at you.

“You gonna join me in it?” You smiled back sleepily.

“Sadly not, I realised I left my wallet at Bennington.” He went to head towards the bathroom but he didn’t get far.

“You had your wallet at dinner.” You sat up, frowning at the back of his head.

Spencer froze in his tracks. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

“Uh,” he turned back to face you, quickly trying to think on his feet, which would be a lot easier if his head wasn’t still hazy from his orgasm. “Not my wallet, I meant the burner phone. I should go and get it.”

You scrutinised him for a moment but thankfully for him your own head was also bleary and wouldn’t allow you to think too much into it.

“Ok.” You shrugged, flopping back to the couch.

Spencer exhaled heavily, continuing on his way to the bathroom. He started the water, pouring in an ample amount of bubble bath and leaving the tub to fill.

“There’s a bar downstairs and a spa, even a casino. If you get bored with the bath and I’m not back, go nuts.” He spoke as headed back into the room, locating the bottle of red wine he’d had sent to the room before you arrived.

He made quick work of the cork and poured you a large glass before coming back over to the couch and dropping down next to you. He handed you the glass and you sat yourself up against the cushions again.

“Hmm I like honeymoons.” You smiled, bringing your glass to your lips and taking a small sip.

Moments later your face fell and you gagged, thrusting the glass back at Spencer before leaping from the couch and running as fast as your legs could carry you to the bathroom.

Spencer heard the toilet seat slam back against the cistern and then the distinctive sound of vomiting echoed around the room.

Realistically he was smart enough to figure out what was going on, as were you, but both of your heads were clouded by other thoughts and so you both missed the obvious.

Spencer padded back to the bathroom and found you on your knees, wiping your hand over your mouth. You looked up at him with large, sad eyes.

“The wine turned against me.” You whined. “Goddamn gas-and-go hotdogs.”

Spencer smiled sadly at you and slid to the floor next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as the bath continued to fill behind him.

“Are you going to be ok if I pop out?” Please god say yes, I need this, it has to be tonight.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’s passed again now, I guess I just won’t be drinking any wine tonight.” You sighed. “You go, do your thing.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Spencer pushed himself back to his feet and then held his hands out to help you up.

“Of course. Do you think you’ll be gone for long?”

“No idea, traffic at this time of night will probably be a pain, but I promise I’ll hurry.” He stroked your hair back from your face.

“Ok.” You nodded, lowering yourself to sit on the edge of the tub. “Go, I’m fine. I can run a bath.”

“I won’t be long.” He went to kiss you but then thought better of it as your breath smelt like vomit. Instead he kissed his first and middle finger and then placed them on your lips making you chuckle.

Soon he was heading out of the room in search of his bag so he could change into jeans and t-shirt. The weapons were in the Chevvy’s glovebox, ready for their next assignment.

He dressed quickly and got his shoes on, throwing on a hoodie before grabbing the car keys and heading to the door.

“Be safe, sweetheart.” He called as he reached for the handle.

“Love you.” You replied and it made his heart swell every time he heard you say that.

As he opened the door, his wedding ring caught his eye and he rolled his lip between his teeth. He forced open the door, ignoring the way his heart practically exploded when he looked at his ring. He had a job to focus on.

But the truth was, you were the only thing keeping him together. He was lost and you’d found him, taken him in and patched him up. His scars both mental and physical didn’t phase you, if anything you’d loved him harder because of them. You’d fixed him up in ways you’d never understand and he hoped he wasn’t making a huge mistake in what he was about to do.

He was fairly certain you’d never walk away from him, that nothing he could do could be worse than the things he’d already put you through. Because he was sure one day all that thread keeping him together would come unravelled and if he had no one there to stitch him back up again he would be torn so deeply there would be no repairing him. And god only knows how quickly a broken man would devolve.

No, it's no wonder I feel broken,

Are you the one to fix me up, patching up the work they done?

Try and sew me,

So thread the needle, tie it off, teach me how to trust someone.

Really hoping that you stay,

That you never walk away,

Every word I shouldn't say, I shouldn't say, I shouldn't say it.

Do you feel the stress in me,

Steady bursting at the seams?

You're the only one I need to make me complete, yeah.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, don't tear me apart,

I've been stuck in the rut, patched up in the dark.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, there's pins in my heart, oh,

Pardon all my precious scars.

No, it's no wonder you've been feeling,

Like a doll in lost and found, so mistreated, thrown around.

Who you kidding? (You kidding),

Every flaw and every fray, that's what makes you sexy to me.

Really hoping that I stay,

I could never walk away,

Every word we shouldn't say, we shouldn't say, we shouldn't say it.

Do you feel the stress in me,

Steady bursting at the seams?

You're the only one I need to make me complete, yeah.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, don't tear me apart,

I've been stuck in the rut, patched up in the dark.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, there's pins in my heart, oh,

Pardon all my precious scars.

Elegant and broken, tasteful, tattered clothing,

I guess we've been caught in the middle of love.

Motive through emotion, damaged but we're golden,

I guess we've been caught in the middle of love.

Elegant and broken, tasteful, tattered clothing,

I guess we've been caught in the middle of love.

Motive through emotion, damaged but we're golden,

I guess we've been caught in the middle of love.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, don't tear me apart,

I've been stuck in the rut, patched up in the dark.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, there's pins in my heart, oh,

Pardon all my precious scars.

Really hoping that you stay,

Pray you never walk away,

Pardon all my precious scars.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, there's pins in my heart,

Oh, pardon all my precious scars.

@bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world @daddy-dotcom @nomajdetective

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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heyidkyay · 1 year

Note

Just wondering if you would ever consider writing a Matty fic where he falls in love with a fan in the audience of a show? Maybe he writes songs about it all? It’s very cliche but man does it pull on my heart strings, the Cinderella of it all. Getting swept up into his life like that would be so romantic.

Tag along |

Part one

Strayed a little but it’s still very much fluff filled, maybe not what you’d first expect? Idk, that sounds strange but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thank you for the prompt!<3

Part Two

It was official.

After days of relentless pleading and having been so blatantly coerced into it by my mum and younger sister, I’d finally relented and given in to attending the concert. And I sort of hated myself for it. Strange, I know, but now I had no choice but to see some fuck-off band- I’d never even heard of- with my teenage sister and her best mate, who were practically mad about them.

I mean, I love the girls, I truly do. With all my heart. But having to spend an entire evening with them, surrounded by a thousand other screaming fans, just wasn’t something I was looking too forward to.

And who could honestly blame me?

You see, it had all begun earlier that same week. I’d been on my lunch break, grateful to have just a minute to myself, when my mum had called. We’d gone through the motions, happy to catch up; she told me the gossip whirling round back home (next door were back to rowing again and Tracey in the post office had fallen pregnant for the seventh time); she’d asked after me, like she always did, questioned if I was eating enough, sleeping alright, if I’d met anyone new…

My mum and I had always been pretty close. She’d had me young, I was her first baby- something she never failed to remind me of- and we’d sort of grown up together. Seeing as how my father (nickname: The Sperm-Doner- yes, the caps were necessary) had gone and fallen into all kinds of shit and ultimately decided to fuck off when things had gotten too real. She was my rock, the one person I could count on to defend my corner, and always believed in everything I ever set my mind to.

It had been hard on the both of us when I’d left home, especially seeing as I was now a couple dozen cities away. But life continued on and we adapted, I went back to visit as much as I possibly could, and called whenever I had the time. Even though in moments when all I really needed was a good hug from her, it was easy to remember what I was doing this all for, and that my family was only a train journey away. They were a constant, even if they lived a couple hundred miles from me.

So she had phoned, I’d immediately noticed the stress which underlined her tone and I’d asked what was up. She’d danced around the topic as much as she could- she hated asking for things, ‘that’s my job,’ she liked to reiterate whenever something occurred and I tried to help out. But I’d dragged it out of her in the end. And oh how I now wished that I’d just left it.

Because here I was, stood in the freezing cold, outside of the O2 arena, in a line full of a couple hundred other excited fans who were all waiting eagerly for the gates to open.

The two girls were squirming beside me, so ecstatic you’d have thought that I’d gone and laced their drinks with something other than sugar, jumping all about the place whilst they squealed to one another in such a high pitched tone that anyone else would’ve believed that they were conversing in another language all together.

It was amusing to a point, because I could honestly recall the same euphoric high I’d felt when I’d finally gotten tickets to an Arctic Monkeys gig almost a decade ago now.

Internally I winced as the memory drifted to the forefront of my mind, feeling far too old for my twenty-three years.

But I could also admit that I was honestly in a tad bit of a mood, had been for the last half hour or so, because I truly fucking hated the cold. And right now? It was baltic and I was freezing my tits off.

I’d already buried my face into the opening of the leather jacket I’d thrown on that morning and wrapped my arms around my torso to enclose some of my remaining heat, but it was of little use. I was still shivering away with a frown.

I’d gotten a couple of lingering looks whilst here, something I’d noticed but could’ve cared less about. It was far too cold to be stood about waiting in any sort of line, so they could all excuse me for not being overly delighted with the whole ordeal.

I sighed and peered down at my phone screen, glancing at the time, then double checked my pockets for the tickets I’d been handed on arrival and told to guard with my life.

It was probably the twentieth time I’d done so, because who in their right mind would give me, of all people, something important to look after? I was the least irresponsible person I knew when it came to being organised.

Because listen, I could get anywhere on time, I was insanely good at that- a job interview, an airport, a school play… But nine times out of ten, I’d almost always forget the one thing I’d needed most. My resume, everybody’s passports, the wig I’d worn one halloween and promised to my younger brother so that he could complete his costume in time for his class assembly…

Yeah, so I was a bit of a mess. But who wasn’t?

Albeit saying that, I had ultimately been the one to score these tickets. My mum and step-dad had gifted them to my younger sister as an early Christmas present after she’d literally begged for months on end during the lead up to the drop of the presale.

It had just been the three of us, all sat down in the family living room, back home up north, earlier this year. We’d counted down the minutes, a dozen devices in hand and at the ready, and it had been something short of a miracle, in all truth.

The website had crashed a couple times, my step-dad’s phone had died, and then my laptop had quickly followed. The dog had knocked over a freshly made brew and almost pissed itself. And then the postman had scared the absolute life out of us when he’d knocked on the front door.

So to say that we had all breathed in sudden relief when I’d loudly announced that I’d managed it, was a MASSIVE understatement.

Note. The worst part to seeing your favourite band live; Ticketmaster.

Even the thought of doing it again had me riddled with anxiety. I shivered involuntary, whether it was from the mere idea of it, or the cold, I’d never know.

But being stood here now, I was cursing myself for having been the one to officially bag the stupid things. I sighed inwardly, if only I wasn’t such a brilliant, caring and amazing older sister. But it was a hard life, I supposed.

“I’m so excited!” My sister, Rosie, squealed, drawing me from my thoughts. She’d gripped onto Tea’s arm in her sudden bout of elation, and the two shared a maddening grin. The other girl didn’t seem to mind the tight grip her best friend held, and so I figured it was probably down to the anticipation of it all- or the fact that it was still so bloody cold.

The thing about Rosie and Tea was, they had been as thick as thieves for as long as I could remember. There’d never been one without the other, and so it was sweet to see the pair looking so forward to something like this, something which they both shared such an obvious love for.

“I know!” Tea breathed dramatically, looking a little flushed, “I want to meet them so bad, it actually hurts.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes at the pair, in good fun of course, because they were both so adorably obsessed.

Oh, to be a teen again.

“You two are really looking forward to this,” I commented with a light chuckle, watching on as the two girls danced around happily in the small section we’d claimed. “I just don’t get it.”

Once those words had left my lips, I instantly regretted it. Having been met with the deathly glare of two teenage girls was not something I’d offer up to just anyone.

“Are you serious?” My sister outrightly demanded, staring up at me with a face of utter bewilderment. Scarily, she looked a lot like our mum in that moment. “They’re The 1975, Y/n. They’re- incredible! You must have heard at least one of their songs!”

Tea nodded her head alongside Rosie, bobbing up and down in agreement.

I simply shrugged at the pair of them, finding amusement in their infatuation. “Can’t say that I have, Ro.”

“But, Y/n/n, you love bands! Music in general- I’d bet my whole vinyl collection that you’ll love them too!” Rosie stressed, she then smiled brightly up at me when I merely quirked a brow in retort. I dug my hands deeper into my pockets.

“I like bands, yeah. Band’s like The Stone Roses, The Kooks, Joy Division… The type that make music for music’s sake, you know? Not the kind that strive to get on the top ten, babe.”

I shook my head fondly at the two.

This band they were so enamoured by were probably just as decent as they claimed, and I could admit that simply because, well, they’d have to be to have all these crazy fans gathered in one place. But they just weren’t my cup of tea.

Ooh, talking of tea, I was proper gagging for one. I’d yet to have my daily fix, and after having been rudely rushed out of my flat early this morning, I’d been unable to stop off at any sort of coffee shop on the way over in fear of losing a spot in line.

The two teens rolled their eyes at me, and my forehead pinched when my sister pulled out a pair of headphones and all but shoved them into my ears. “Look, just listen, okay?”

I reeled back in alarm, having not expected the sudden ambush. “Christ, Ro!” I exclaimed, but the girl only huffed at me before turning to press play on her phone. She gave me a stern look. I relented.

At first, I couldn’t hear anything but the slow intro to an unfamiliar song- even with the swarm of fans gathered around me. But I continued to listen, honing in on the tempo and its melody. And as the song went on, I begun to understand why so many people enjoyed it. The lyrics, although a bit out there and entertainingly vulgar at parts, were smart and witty, they fell with the instrumental perfectly and the singer’s voice was pretty different to what I’d first expected. It made me want to really listen, to follow along, to understand the backstory.

Honestly, they weren’t half as terrible as I’d first believed. And once the outro had faded out, I actually felt a little conflicted. The song obviously had a much deeper meaning to it, but its instrumental made it so lively and energetic that I’d found myself bobbing along almost subconsciously. It was something I could see myself getting lost in, and I wondered whether or not they’d made anything more raw, or emotional.

The songwriter was definitely talented, I couldn’t deny that, they’d had gone through some shit, and I found myself longing to read deeper into their words.

“They’re sick, right?”

The headphones being ripped out of my ears brought me back to the present and I blinked slowly at my sister’s question.

“Yeah.” I shrugged a shoulder, handing over the wire. “Yeah, they’re alright. Can sort of see why you two like them so much.”

I laughed to myself when the girls faces lit up.

“They’re amazing! And you’ll so enjoy this show- as well as the boys! They’re proper nice deep down, like really care about us as fans and all that.” Tea encouraged, seemingly quite happy that I hadn’t just gone and shit all over her favourite band.

“Yeah, they’re so lovely, Y/n!” Rosie added, eyes alive as she barrelled on to explain further, “There’s four of them, right? First, we have Adam, he plays the guitar mainly- blonde, tall, only one who’s started his own little family. And then there’s Ross and George-”

“Ross is on bass, long haired with a beard, whilst George plays the drums.” Tea weighed in, before Rosie was back to chattering away again.

I was honestly beginning to feel as though I was watching an extreme game of tennis with the way my attention kept batting back and forth between them.

“Tea’s obsessed with him.” Rosie felt the need to inform me, before her face immediately brightened, “Oh, and then there’s Matty of course!”

My sister was wearing one of the biggest grins I’d ever witnessed on any singular person and I snorted when Tea rolled her eyes and made a slight dig, “You can see who Ro’s claimed.”

“Hardy har.” Rosie deadpanned, jutting a light elbow into her friend’s side before she gave me a serious look, “I haven’t ‘claimed’ him. I just…”

“You just want to have his children. Yeah, I know, Rose. You never fail to not mention it.”

Rosie stuck her tongue out in retort whilst I tried to bite back my rising amusement when they continued to bicker. The two made a right pair.

“So, what’s this Matty like then?” I questioned, wanting to know a little bit more about the guy who’d caught my sister’s eye, but mainly just eager to poke a bit more fun at her. “Come on, what’s so great about him that you’ve gone and dubbed yourself a tribute to birth his prodigy spawn?”

The girls wrinkled their noses at me, Rosie’s upper lip curled in faint disgust. “Why’ve you gotta word it like that?” She scoffed, shaking her head at me.

I chuckled, shrugging a singular shoulder. “Because I live to annoy you. So, are you gonna tell me or do I have to ask about?”

I made the effort then to pretend as though I was about to disrupt the group behind us’s conversation, but the girls were quick to waylay me, jumping hastily to grab at my outstretched hand. I smirked.

“Stop it!” Rosie all but hissed, her worried eyes flicking back over towards the people beside us before falling on me again, this time they were slitted. “God, you’re so embarrassing.”

Me, embarrassing? Hah. She should be thankful that I knew when to stop. I could still vividly recall the days when my mum had attempted the same shit with me, except she’s the type to actually follow through, leaving her daughter to stand sheepishly behind her, internally cursing the day her mother had decided to forgo an abortion. Dark, yes, but I’d also been a hormonal fifteen year old girl, so sue me.

I rolled my eyes instead of voicing this though, knowing it would only go in one ear and out the other. And ultimately, my sister sighed allowing me to prompt her on further with the rise of my brows.

“Matty, he’s the frontman basically.” She said, back to talking with her hands, forgetting about the whole ordeal.

That made sense, I thought to myself, although I’d always been a drummer sort of girl. Helders, Taylor, Fleetwood, Bonham, Moretti… I could go on.

No honestly, I could, so I was just glad that Rosie chose that moment to stop me.

“He’s a proper performer, you know? Like he just belongs up there, on stage.” My sister breathed, and she wore the sweetest look of admiration on her face. “He’s got this mop of messy black curls and he’s covered in tattoos. Wears all this cool shit and he’s-”

“-also a bit of an arsehole.” Tea summarised for her, before Rosie could get too carried away.

I blinked at my sister’s best friend in surprise, before a loud laugh bubbled out of me.

In all the years I’d known this girl, this deceivingly sweet girl, not once- once, I stress!- had I ever heard something so shameless spill from out her mouth, and with the exasperated look she had paired with it, I couldn’t hold in my delight.

“Tea!” I exclaimed, and was so tickled to see the younger girl’s cheeks redden when she turned to give me a sheepish sort of smile. “How crass! I always thought it was Rosie who’d been the bad influence between the pair of you, but now I see quite a few secrets are coming to light tonight.”

Rosie snorted in reply, “She’s done worse. Trust me.”

Tea swatted at my sister’s arm upon hearing that, widening her eyes in a silent warning.

“Oh, come off it.” Rosie waved away with a roll of her eyes. “It’s just Y/n.”

I decided to leave off of the teasing, feeling a bit bad for embarrassing the younger girl. “Yeah, I’m just messing, lovie.” I told Tea with a soft smile as I draped an arm over her shoulders to draw her in for a hug. “You can relax, nothing that happens tonight will be getting back to your mum, alright?”

“Yeah, ‘cause we all know what she’s like.” Rosie tittered under her breath and I slapped lightly at her bicep to scold her. “What?” The girl exaggerated with a high-pitched drawl, rubbing at her arm with a narrowed eyed glare that was directed towards both Tea and I. “I was just saying! And what’s with you two and smacking me about today?”

Tea giggled and I squeezed her lightly before letting go.

“Don’t talk about things that have nothing to do with you.” I told my sister simply, “Freya’s a perfectly lovely woman, just a tad…”

“Insane?” Rosie offered, at the same time Tea said, “Extreme.”

“Eccentric- was what I was going to say.” I shook my head at the duo. “Honestly, the two of you.”

The girls only laughed.

The line started to move a little while later, slowly mind, but it was a progress I was grateful to see.

Anything to get out of this chilly wind in truth.

And as we waddled along, the two teens I was with continued to speak of the band, trying to catch me up on anything and everything I’d missed before the show officially started.

Not that it helped at all. I was beyond crap when it came to things like that- recalling anything trivial- I could hardly even remember the band’s actual name and it was plastered practically everywhere around me. As well as this big box thing.

I breathed out a loud sigh of relief when I realised that we were up next, and when we were signalled over towards the gates by one of the arenas guards I could see just how nervous Rosie and Tea had grown, giddy but mostly eager to just get inside. I couldn’t help the fond smile which limned my lips then, happy to see them so excited.

“You three.” A large man, branded in a security uniform, called, jerking his head over at us. I heard the girls take a deep breath as we approached and I quietly chuckled at them. “Tickets?” He stated.

Oh shit, yeah. The tickets.

“Tickets…” I murmured quietly to myself, patting down my pockets to find them, “Tickets, tickets, tickets…”

I could feel the apprehension radiating off of my younger sister as I continued to riffle around for the poxy things, and so I flashed the bloke a wry smile before I started to unload the contents of my jacket pockets into both Rosie and Tea’s hands...

Gum, house keys, a stray tampon. Pack of haribo (because you never knew when you’d need those), ID, bank card, phone, charger. A few spare pound coins-

Oh God, that was where my Argos receipt had got to! I could finally return that shitty Nespresso machine my cousin and her fiancé had talked me into buying now.

I grinned in quiet victory whilst tucking the slip into the back pocket of my trousers.

“Y/n.” My sister stressed out in a hushed whisper, I just simply waved her off.

“They’re here somewhere. I felt them like, twenty minutes ago.” I assured her and- “Aha, told you! Three tickets, all here!”

I wore a triumphant grin when I held out the wrinkled papers towards the guard, who appeared to have been throughly amused by my prolonged charade. He took them from me to scan with a toothy smile.

“Oh cheer up, we’ll be in there in a sec.” I huffed at the girls, tucking all of my belongings back into their rightful place. Rosie didn’t look too cheerful though, but I could see that Tea’s lips had started to twitch, so I have her a conspiratorial wink in turn. Then glanced back towards the bloke, “We all good here?”

“Yeah, all good, love.” He exhaled on a faint chuckle, waving us in through the barrier without further issue. “You girls enjoy your night.”

“We will!” I promised, gifting him a gleeful smile, “You too- hope you don’t have to spend too much longer out in that cold!”

He just nodded at me, still looking rather entertained by all our antics.

“So embarrassing.” My sister felt the need to reiterate as we wondered further into the arena, practically growling.

“Oh, loosen up, would you? He was proper nice about it all. Fit too, don’t you think?” I said, glancing back over my shoulder.

But Rosie just rolled her eyes at me. Fed up, I was about to bite back at her when Tea’s unexpected gasp broke us from our little quarrel.

“Oh my god. They have the limited edition LP!”

Rosie’s eyes widened dramatically and before I knew it the two were scurrying away from me and over towards the merch stand. I sighed to myself and glanced about, hoping to see a sign that would lead me to where the bar might be.

—

We were here. In the middle of a fucking mass of people, but we’d actually done it. We’d finally managed to swindle our way near the front of standing, practically touching the barriers, even after having loaded up on snacks and drinks- mine mostly alcoholic.

The girls were buzzing. Looking all cute and excited in the outfits they’d planned months in advance, singing along to the set that was playing through the speakers to keep the crowd entertained before things begun.

And me? I was getting swept up in the atmosphere. Unable to believe that I’d almost forgotten how good it all felt. Because live music was truly unmatched.

There was just something about the heavy thud you felt in your veins, how being this close to the amps could make your chest ache in the very best way, and how’d you’d have to scream just to be heard over all the noise whilst you got lost in an avalanche of happy people.

It really had been too long.

I was already a fair few drinks in by the time the opening act came out, and was chatting away to the couple crowded beside us. They were both a year older than me and studying down in Bournemouth. They’d bought their tickets off of a mate, who hadn’t been able to make it, on a whim when they’d had the cash to spare, and had decided to make a weekend out of it.

We’d actually only gotten to talking when they’d almost sloshed a canned cocktail all down my back.

I’d been startled at first, rightfully so, as this giant of a man had all but stumbled right into me, eyes as wide as saucers. His boyfriend had come to his rescue though, offered me up one in apology, and who would I have been to deny?

So I’d cracked it open, found myself pleasantly surprised by the taste, and one thing had quickly led to another and they’d ended up letting me share the bagged vodka they’d also managed to smuggle into the stadium in the bands of their socks.

To say that I’d been impressed wouldn’t have been a lie, I sort of felt like I’d found my people in truth. Because the price of alcohol at these kind of events was always extortionate. Practically daylight robbery, there was no other way about it.

And my bank account had taken quite the hit from the first trip to the stands alone. And with two teenage girls, who could care less about money unless it was their own, I’d almost wanted to shed a tear when I’d handed over my card to the boy behind the till- he’d sympathised with me, I’d seen it in his eyes as he wished us a good time.

So here I now was, pissing it up in the pit with a bunch of strangers, a medical bag full of spirits clutched tightly in one hand.

“Oh, God! Y/n, Y/n! It’s starting!”

I turned away from one of the boys to glance back towards my sister, who was staring up at the stage with this starry eyed expression, Tea was right beside her wearing the exact same face. I chuckled beneath my breath.

“You girls ever been to a show before?” Lewis, one half of the couple I’d met earlier, asked Rosie.

My sister shook her head at his question whilst the screens above us begun to distort and screams overwhelmed the arena. Lewis merely chuckled at Rosie's nonverbal reply, she only had eyes for the stage it seemed.

“It’s her first gig ever. She’s been dying to see these lot for years.” I answered for her, leaning in close so that he could hear.

I saw his eyebrows lift at the information before he was grinning against my ear. “She’ll never want to see anyone else after this!”

My forehead pinched, silently questioning his statement, but just laughed it off when a row of boxes flashed brightly above us.

Lewis and I separated on cue, just as the world around us hushed for a split second and the sudden intro of a loud guitar pierced the veil.

“Please welcome, my favourite band, The 1975!” A voice then announced and I looked up, right into the eyes of a man who’d seemingly taken claim of the stage.

His smile was wide, unmatched, as he pranced up and down the front, his hair a mess of curls as a set of drums picked up the pace of the opening beat. I had to be reminded to close my gawping mouth.

Who the fuck’s that?

And I must’ve said it out loud, because I heard Lewis snort obnoxiously from right beside me, continuing to sing away whilst the girls immediately turned towards me to shout, “Matty!”

Shockingly, their loud exclamation also managed to garner the attention of the man himself when he danced by, and I watched on as the dark-haired frontman smiled down at Rosie and Tea. Waving hello.

I was caught by utter surprise when I then found myself trapped in his heady gaze, still giggling away at the girls' hysterical reactions.

Okay. Before I continue on, I truly am putting this all down to the alcohol that was streaming through my system, because it was then that Matty appeared to pause before me for the briefest of moments.

And I didn’t dare look away. I couldn’t.

He smirked down at me, eyes so observant, and I found myself shaking my head at him with a smile of my own. But sadly he only left me with a sly wink as he traipsed away to sing out into the rest of the audience.

Rosie and Tea had squealed beside me, excited to have captured the singer's focus, whilst I tried to catch my breath.

The show continued on after that and I allowed myself to relax and get lost in the people, their heat, the music. I danced, the girls and I swayed, twirling about, Lewis and I laughed, and I even managed to sing along to a couple of songs I sort of recognised.

The current one came to an end though soon enough, and Rosie informed me with a glossy eyed smile and smudged liner that the last song was fast approaching, whilst Tea just pulled out her phone to record again.

I nodded at my sister, squeezing her close before she pivoted away back towards her best mate, leaving me to sip at the drink I’d been trying not to spill all down myself due to the constant shoving and pushing.

Minutes went by and Matty engaged with the burly bloke on bass- whose hair I found I’d rather like to touch (because honestly, how did he get it so glossy?). Before he continued on, pointing out signs here and there, and sparking up another massive round of cheers by vocalising the inner workings of his mind, which was something he supposedly did quite often. Enough for the rest of the band to begin playing again only to shut him up. That had made me giggle.

Dozens of faces passed over the main screen, most of them beaming, or crying, there wasn’t much of an inbetween. And Matty interacted with them all, grinning and joking in such a way that only screamed sincerity.

The shouts around us only started to double then when he made his way over to our section, and even my own heartbeat sped up as I watched his eyes drag over the absurdly large crowd. He was unfairly attractive, okay? I could easily see why my sister had taken such a shine to him.

He was smiling and my pulse stuttered then stopped altogether when Matty paused right by us, to look me directly in the eye, his eyebrows drawn tightly together.

“Alright, darling? Having a good night?” He quizzed me, the sudden weight of his attention making me jump even though the surrounding screams had yet to cease. “What’s in the bag?”

I glanced down at the liquid filled bag I was still holding, gaze drifting to Lewis for a split second before it darted back up towards the singer. “Vodka.” I told him before I could think better of it.

The sound Matty produced then was almost inhuman and I was actually quite proud of myself for having been the cause of it.

“Definitely snuck that in.” He accused, quieter this time around and with a growing smile. The audience laughed.

Rosie and Tea spun around to face me, huge smiles threatening to split their faces in half, as my brows pinched.

“Way to out me to an entire arena!” I instantly called back, ducking slightly to avoid the eyes of the hefty security man stood on the other side of the barricade. Matty’s cackle echoed out around me, coming from all directions.

“Oi, mate! Escort her out, will you?” Matty ordered, nodding down at the same man I’d previously noticed. “Ruining it for everyone.”

I gaped, eyes widening in sudden alarm whilst he just shook his head at me, feigning disappointment.

Thankfully though the singer was quick to go back on his word, waving the guard (who had actually begun to MOVE) off with a sway of his hand and a thoroughly amused grin.

Fuck, this man was really going to be the death of me, I thought.

I willed my racing heart to slow.

“I’m just joking, love.” Matty reassured me, eyes twinkling under the array of lights. “Spotted you a couple times tonight, actually. Like to stand out, don’t you?”

It didn’t sound like much of a question.

“Might do.”

I could physically feel my brain struggling to make my mouth cooperate, and I figured I might’ve drunk a tad too much, because I usually wasn’t this tactless. Which was how I managed to surprise even myself with the next sentence I fired back.

“Or maybe it’s just you.”

“Just me?” Matty queried with a tilt of his head, and he squatted down then, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a moment before he took perch on the side of the stage. “What do you mean?”

“You’re the one who spotted me.” I retorted with a smug smile, raising my voice to be heard. “I’m just one face in a thousand. Nothing I did.”

He hummed, mouth quirked to one side. “So this is all on me then?”

I shrugged casually, but my mind was reeling.

Matty laughed before he motioned me closer. “Here’re.” He prompted, jutting his chin out and willing the crowd to woefully part. “Come on, let her through. Let her through.”

I frowned but did as I was told, slipping my way past the few who had actually managed to claim the metal fence before us, quirking a confused brow up at him.

He towered above me, even from where he was seated on the stage, and I willed back my shock when he proceeded to jump down from off his perch and approach me. My heart hammered and a lump formed in my throat.

“Have you got a favourite song of ours?” He asked and I actually felt how embarrassed I must have looked in that moment, gifting the singer a sheepish smile before I quietly informed him that I didn't have one.

His head jerked back, “What do you mean, you don’t have one?”

The sudden crow of Rosie's voice sounded above the rest of the buzzing noise then and I was unsure on whether or not to be grateful for it.

“She’d never heard any of them before tonight!”

I grimaced slightly from behind the hand that had come up to hide my face, silently hoping for the ground to just open up and swallow me whole. I could feel the heat radiating in my cheeks and the tips of my ears, knowing full well that Tea was definitely recording every inch of this mortifying moment.

“Oh, so we have a fake fan within our midsts?” Matty voiced and it was full of mirth, he found pleasure in his teasing.

A soft brush touched my skin and before I even knew what was occurring my hand was being pried away from my flushed cheeks by the singer himself, who looked me dead in the eye and had the utter nerve to wear the most devastating grin.

“Is this all part of your plan? Lure me in and then break my heart. How’re you at my gig, after never having heard a single one of our songs?”

“I’ve heard a few!”

But my attempt to defend myself was waylaid, it seemed Matty had other ideas.

The frontman nodded over towards Rosie, who blanched under his gaze. “Go on. Tell me more. What’s her motive here?”

I watched on as Tea nudged my younger sister into talking, Rosie too shellshocked to remember that she had the biggest gob I’d known to man.

“Um,” My sister startled, blinking away before she took a deep breath, “I dragged her along tonight. Me and my friend, we’re huge fans!”

“Lovely to meet you. Glad you could make it- only wish you’d made a listener out of this one beforehand!”

“We’ve tried!” Rosie exclaimed with an exasperated sigh that had me rolling my eyes. It appeared as though she'd reverted back to her usual self, despite being under the gaze of her favourite person in the entire world. Yes, you could be assured that that was an actual quote.

“Oh it’s like that is it?” Matty asked, peering down at me. I couldn’t tear my gaze away, his brown eyes smudged with kohl making them that much more enticing.

His attention differed then, flitting back towards my sister.

“She seemed to be enjoying the set whenever I looked over though, so what happened?”

“She’s stubborn!” Rosie shouted back, and I could hear her muffled laughter through the crowd, probably upon seeing me so put out.

“Stubborn, are we?” Matty smirked, and his lips were by my ear before I knew any better, his mic long forgotten. “I like a challenge.”

And then he was gone, back to wooing the crowd and making the most of having all this attention.

I let myself slip back into the seams, breathing heavily as my sister and Tea joggled me about, Lewis and his boyfriend beaming madly from ear to ear. I tried to focus.

What had just happened?

Part Two>

198 notes · View notes

jamneuromain · 1 year

Text

Creative Writing

Andy Barber x Reader (You)

Warning: Professor-Student relationship (possibly?), College AU, a lot of curses. A bit enemy to friends(?)lovers(?) vibe

W/C: ~4k

Summary: based on this prompt

A/N: dividers are from @firefly-graphics, and I spend another couple of hours on fanfic instead of my deadlines, yay!

Dancing in the Daydream M. List

Week 1

Three minutes into the class, you feel like not only you are listening to complete nonsense, but also you disagree with each and every word that comes out of your professor, who is currently standing on the podium, criticizing the shit out of your favorite author.

You regret selecting Creative Writing just because it sounds fun. Although you have been fairly warned by seniors, who took this class last year, Professor Andy Barber who taught Creative Writing runs his class with a tight fist, and of course, not kind with his comments and his marking. Not only does he want the “best” answer from students in class, but also ask everyone in the class to address him as “sir” or “Professor”.

Though he is fairly hot, as the seniors have warned you, with the trimmed beard and occasionally slipped-out Bostonian accent, with the suit and shirt and tie.

To be honest with yourself, you have been writing fanfic and whatnot for over five years, and you hoped that you could learn something from this class to improve your writing. And you love writing. If anything, this awful Professor Barber just gave you more reason to stay, because you want his approval, even if it would only be demonstrated via your grades.

You are not a quitter.

“Now speaking of a writing example that I highly recommend; this is a work I recently come across. Twenty thousand e-copies have been sold so far, now that’s a pretty good number for an author. I don’t expect you to read it thoroughly after class, but the writing style and the balance between story-telling and own reflections of the main characters are something that you should learn from.” Professor Barber takes off his glasses, twirling the frame between his fingers, hitting the button that would let the computer display the next slide.

You huff. You seriously doubt he would present anything barely readable to actual humans. Considering his comments on your favorite book, you take a rough guess that the only thing he will recommend is ancient European Lit.

Except ancient European Lit wouldn’t be in creative writing class.

You lift your head from your iPad, and you widen your eyes, unable to contain the astonishment on your face. Your jaw slams on the table – if it could, while in reality, you press your palm to your mouth, crushing your cheekbones so hard, that you feel your jaw will disconnect the next second.

Your mind blank, unable to come up with any thoughts. Apart from “THIS IS NOT HAPPENING”. In all caps.

On the slide, there is one picture, cropped out from a chapter online. Two paragraphs on the picture, the first describes the action and the verbal communication of two characters; the second describes the mental activity of one character. Below the picture, there is a bracket that contains the source of this snapshot.

The bracket and what’s in it catch your eyes, before the picture.

Well, if it isn’t your damn penname from 9th grade staring right at you in the face.

(A. Vulpecula, 2020)

Your dumb idiot self wanted something unique and stand out among all the writers in the world. You were, unfortunately, in your Harry Potter phase, and wouldn’t it be a brilliant idea to pick your penname out of constellations, just like a lot of Slytherins?

You ponder what on earth have you written in 2020, raising your head to read your own writing.

Shit, at least it wasn’t your College AU.

This piece is a long story about a witch and a demon. The paragraphs he cropped out happened to be where the witch and the demon didn’t know each other’s true identity.

Your face is burning. You don’t know if you are humiliated by reading your own fanfic in your fucking college class, or if you are gloating because the man who criticized your favorite author thinks your writing is exceptional.

Yes, that “thing” on the screen started out as fanfic.

You also don’t know whether you want to quit this class right this second or stay to hear his opinion on your work.

Or if there’s any value in his comments at all.

Your humiliation doesn’t stop there.

Oh no, it gets way worse.

At least ten slides are focused on your witch/demon au. Barber actually likes your concept of a magical world. He goes on to explain the importance of details, which runs along your story, complimenting how your designs fit perfectly into your story and your characters.

You are flattered, you guess?

But also extremely awkward when he pulls more examples from your fanfic to illustrate his idea.

“Alright, for the upcoming three weeks, we are going to look into more stories. Here is the reference reading, remember to take notes. If you want to, send me a short story or a few paragraphs you have written via email before Wednesday, no more than 500 words, and I’ll see you here next week.”

Before you even notice, the class is over. You, however, are still shocked over the fact that your mean professor likes your work.

You grab your iPad and your bag slowly, scoffing as a bunch of girls swarm up to the podium and giggling, asking Professor Barber for his contact information.

“My email address is in the course handbook, so are the office hours. If you have questions, send an email or make an appointment prior.” He nods them off coldly, though this does not discourage the girls from swooning over his broad shoulders and back under his navy-blue suit.

Your barely-friend sighs, jumping off the podium, obviously displeased by Barber’s cold demeanor. She counts as a “barely friend” because she’s just as active in class as you. Though you sometimes don’t like the way she disregards the lecturer and whisper-yell in your ear when she doesn’t understand.

She pouts: “Can’t get a hold of him.”

“You can always book an appointment for his office hour.” You swing your bag over your shoulder, shrugging, “seniors said he was harsh. I wouldn’t recommend you ‘contact’ him too much.”

“Can’t hurt to try.”

“True.” You wave your hand as a goodbye, leaving the lecture room and a bunch of disappointed girls.

Week 2

On second thought, you should have quitted this class.

Because then you wouldn’t be listening to this ridiculous remark about description over characters.

“I’m just going to let you sit on it for a minute.” Professor Barber pauses his lecture, “think about why Vulpecula describes the man’s blue eyes and red flannel.”

Then there’s silence in the room.

Knowing how easily he gets disappointed, you are not surprised.

Barber wants the “answer”, the best one, the correct one. Well, shocker that students don’t know what he has in mind.

However, in your opinion, which is: For Christ’s sake, the celebrity, Chris Evans, on whom you are basing this fanfic, has a red flannel.

What else are you going to write? Him wearing a suit being a lumberjack? In the middle of nowhere? In a fucking forest?

“What do you think?” Your barely-friend whisper-yells to your ear. Sitting in the front row, she probably makes herself heard for Professor Barber.

You lean away from her, toying with the hem of your sweatshirt, whispering back: “No idea. I’d probably say brings out the characteristics and stuff like tha-”

“Is there something interesting you’d like to share with the class, Miss …?”

Professor Barber lands his piercing sharp gaze on the two of you. Your friend ducks her head to read on her laptop. While you spare a glance at her, you silently spew a curse in your mind.

“Well, Miss…? What do you want to share with the class?”

Great. Now his gaze lands solemnly on you.

You state your name, most unwillingly, and usher out the only reasonable response you can think of: “… because the character the author is basing on has blue eyes and red flannel?”

He repeats your name, “I’d like you to address me as Professor, or Sir. Anybody else?”

He didn’t even say if your theory was interesting, needs work, or some other commentary, which he normally does, trying to inspire thinking and criticality. Like that’s going to work with his tight fist.

You roll your eyes out loud.

“I think red flannel brings out the main character’s – Christopher’s -warm and welcoming character. Red symbols the feeling of fire and warmth, and it’s only plausible that he’s wearing that color, Professor.” Your barely-friend fake coughs, then chirps “her” answer with great confidence.

Professor Barber nods, humming with approval, “very well, you are on the right track. Anybody else?”

Yeah, like anybody is going to know better than you, the author, about how and why you choose to describe his red flannel.

You begin to ponder the question, how is it possible that people interpret too much into the text they are reading? How much people are reading these days are actually the thoughts of critics instead of the authors?

But you are not standing up and revealing that you are A. Vulpecula.

Maybe in your next life but not now.

However, seeing the shocked expression on Barber’s face would be worthwhile.

You can almost imagine how his red lips form an “O” and he stutters due to the bomb you deliberately drop in front of him.

You bite your lips from smiling, too indulged in your imagination to notice Barber glaring at you a couple of times.

“Just a quick reminder that I wouldn’t be looking into more works that are submitted after today. If you want a little feedback on what you have written, send me an email before 12 o’clock midnight. Again, this is not compulsory, it wouldn’t affect your marking, think of it as a fun exercise.” Professor Barber announces once more, shutting off the projector, “we will discuss the coursework for this week next time. Class dismissed.”

Students take their belonging and move slowly toward the exit. You are sitting in the middle of the front row, which means, you are going to be stuck here for a while. A few girls go to the podium to ask questions, which you tune out completely when their questions become giggles.

You are scrolling through your phone when someone calls you by your last name.

Surprise, surprise, it’s Andy Fucking Barber.

“Yes?” You put your phone away, confused as to why he is talking to you.

“Yes, Professor. And I would expect you to pay more attention in class,” his blue eyes feel like ice, numbing your body inch by inch, “that’s all.”

Mother – Fucking - Idiot dickhead - Thickest skull in the fucking galaxy - Every curse word inside your head is cut off by one another, tangling together because none of them is able to describe your fury.

How dares he?

You were paying attention to class compared to at least two-thirds of the students present here. Focus on the word “present”, because you are fairly certain some of them skip this class because Andy Shithead Barber is too harsh.

So what you didn’t provide the answer he had in mind? And the answer he liked was not even close to your thoughts when you wrote that chapter.

You are fuming. You grab your bag and go to the library, sit there for the next two hours, and post a chapter on your Tumblr account about a love story between two vampires.

Your anger blend into your motivation to write. You wrote four thousand words in two hours, which is a record.

Yeah, you will show Mr. Professor Sir your “attention to the class”, see if he likes it next week.

Week 3

You are sure this would be the death of you.

He sent you an email two days prior, asking you whether you have time to discuss your piece of writing in his office, right after his class.

Of course, you RSVP-ed yes, but you have completely no idea why he wanted to talk to you, while other students have already received their feedback.

“OOOOOhhhhhhh, he said I am creative, but my descriptions are a little too detailed.” Your barely-friend squeaks dramatically, earning herself a silent eye-roll from you.

You can’t think of any reason that could explain his email. You wrote as yourself, you have given him a piece of your ongoing work, which was about two vampires. You are satisfied with your work. He could have just written feedback and sent it to you, even if he didn’t like your writing. What could possibly be the problem here?

Professor Barber takes off his suit jacket, rolling his shirt sleeves to his elbow, his calm voice circles the classroom, “coursework from last week, anyone has any idea about why the author wrote ‘There are two trees in the yard. One is a jujube tree. The other is also a jujube tree’?”

You turn to the page of your notes, not looking up at him, “because that’s exactly what the author sees when he looks out of his house?”

As if it couldn’t have been worse, with an extra reminder for you to call him “Professor”, his cold blue eyes glide over you, commenting on your answers to his questions that your ways of thinking and dissecting texts are “far from those of an author”.

His words, not yours.

At this point, you don’t even bother listening to his comments, instead, you start writing on your iPad.

Might as well use the time to do something at least meaningful.

“Did you make an appointment with him before, like during office hours?” When the class is over, you ask your barely-friend in a low voice.

“No.” She shakes her head, a smirk on her face, “I’m trying my best not to get on his bad side. Why? Why’d you ask?”

Like you were trying to. You get on his bad side so very easily. You grunt a “nothing”, waiting for Barber to finish packing his things.

“Okay, see ya!”

Your barely-friend slips out of the room.

You highly doubt if Barber wants you in his office because he would like to give you a compliment.

Andy Barber calls your name to snap you out of your mind. He has shrugged on his suit jacket, his lecture notes in hand, “shall we?”

At least his office is in this building so you don’t have to endure the long and awkward silence when you are walking.

You follow him into his office.

His office is a small room. Three desks are put together, taking up most of the space. His desk is by the window, equipped with computers and office supplies, while he points at the empty desk near the door, “please, have a seat.”

He drags his chair over to sit on the same side of the same desk as you. He sighs, taking off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. Finally, he puts on his glasses again, rubbing his bearded chin, “do you know why you are here?”

“The homework of 500 words …?” You chew on your lower lip, hesitant to give him the answer.

“It’s Professor or Sir. And yes.” He sits straight on his chair, his blue eyes staring into you, his voice sterner than ever, “and?”

You let out a long breath, gathering enough courage to say what you have always wanted to say in the last three weeks, “to be honest, I have completely not the slightest clue what you want me to say.” You pause, then add a word for good measure, “Sir.”

He sighs again, taking a moment to organize his words, “the reason you are here today is that I want to talk to you about academic malpractice. Now it might not be stressed enough in your past studies, but the university takes academic malpractice very seriously.” He slows down as if trying to imprint you with each and every word he says.

Your brows furrow: “And how does that have to do with…”

He is NOT implying what you think he means, right?

He is NOT implying that you copied someone’s work, right?

Or you let someone copy your work?

“I don’t understand what you mean.” You cross your arms, almost defensive, looking back at him in disbelief, “I can guarantee there’s no academic malpractice.”

Pause.

Oh right, you nearly forget, “Sir.”

“I’m gonna cut to the chase here.” Sir Professor Andy Barber pulls over his own laptop, turning it toward you so that you can clearly see the content on his screen, “the document on the left is your work, the one on the right is a chapter of A. Vulpecula’s stories.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms too, allowing what he said to sink in, “can you see the similarity?”

Um.

Okay.

You did not expect this. Not one bit.

Of course, what he shows you are two identical snippets.

But since when is “presenting something that you have personally written” a crime?

You cannot hide the amusement on your face. No matter how hard you try to suppress your grin, it just keeps getting wider and wider.

“I know that it’s only homework, a practice at writing, if you will,” he gestures at the screen, unaware of your grin at first, “it won’t be reported to the university, but I strongly suggest you, not to copy other’s work just because you would like to impress your lecturer.”

He stops talking when he sees your expression, which must be a mix of half-laugh and holding back, though none of the above successful.

“I’m sorry, is there something funny?”

His voice ice-cold, clearly not pleased with your reaction, your behavior, and you as a human being.

Yeah, you can tell he is pissed.

“No, nothing,” you nearly snort out because of suppressing your laugh, “please, continue.”

“No. Indulge me.” He purses his lips into a thin line, blue eyes so sharp that they could pierce your skin.

Silence.

You thought about letting the misunderstanding of “academic malpractice” grow, but if there’s one thing you simply could not abandon, it would be your academic integrity.

You cross your legs, loosening your arms, “I just … I find it funny because I submitted my own work.”

You wait for your words to sink in.

Barber shakes his head in disappointment, “academic malpractice is what -”

“I have submitted my own work.” You cut him off, “I am A. Vulpecula.”

You really don’t mind beating the information into his thick skull.

But, alas, battery & assault is a crime here.

You pull out your iPad, opening the folder of manuscripts. Clicking on the vampire AU, you show him your own manuscript and what you have written in the past hours.

“I can post this chapter early to prove my point, if you like.” You lay your iPad in front of him, leaning back in your chair, “anything else, Professor?”

More silence.

“No. Nothing.” His mouth slightly agape, not entirely what you had in mind, but close enough, “thank you for coming by.”

“No worries.” You pack your things, heading to the door. “For the record,” you turn on your heels before stepping out of his office, “week 2, the discussion about the red flannel?”

“Yes?” He raises his head.

“That was really because Chris Evans has a red flannel, Sir.” You look at him one more time, then lower your eyes, “goodbye, sir.”

Two months later, you are celebrating with your friends in a pub, that the finals are over.

Your real friends, not your barely-friends.

“Phew! Tell me about what you wrote for your Creative Writing!” Your friend fans her tongue for having swallowed a shot, nudging you to tell them more about your major and your classes.

You down your shot in one gulp, wincing due to the burn in your throat, “well, I did learn my lesson. I wrote a new piece, about a cheesy princess-bodyguard romance.”

Your friends don’t know about the full story. You altered the details a little, not telling them about you being a part-time some-what-famous writer, but enough for them to understand your situation.

“We also had this ridiculous lecturer, a skinny guy, who keeps asking you why about everything and every question-” Your friend rambles about her life story, with a round of “No way” “No shit” “What???”.

“I’m gonna need drinks, not shots.” Another one of your friends stands up, dragging you along with her to get drinks, only for her to dump you at the bar while she hurries to the bathroom.

You wait for the bartender, slightly bored.

“Hey,” your first name was called, a slight tap on your shoulder having you turn around. Andy Barber is standing in front of you. He is wearing a casual shirt without ties, and denim from the waist down. With a beer in hand, he smiles at you, “fancy meeting you here.”

“Likewise,” you nod curtly, “Sir.”

He waves his hand as if it was nothing, “please, no need for that, Sir or… just no.” He smiles nearly apologetically, “I never get the chance to say I enjoy your writing. I’m sorry for discouraging you in class. You are an exceptional writer.”

This takes you by surprise.

“Oh! Okay…? Thanks?” You twist your fingers together, unable to think of anything that could respond to him, “I’m … flattered?”

“Please, if anyone is flattered, it’s me. I am very glad to meet an author I appreciate.” He extends your hand for you to shake. You shake his hands lightly, engulfed in his large and warm hand for a second.

The friend who abandoned you for bathroom slings an arm around your shoulders, although she can barely walk straight, “oooohhhhhh, I think he’s cute!” She yells in your ear, giggling, “you should sleep with him!”

You are pretty sure Professor Barber heard that.

He looks flustered, his neck a shade redder than before, mumbling, “I suppose I’ll leave you with your friends.”

Speaking of your friend, she disappeared – more like dashed - to your table with your drinks, yelling to your other friends about how you are “getting laaaaaaaaid” tonight.

“There goes my ‘said’ friend.” You chuckle, “it’s nice seeing you, Professor.”

Barber lowers his eyes before looking into yours, his blue eyes sparkling with joy, “please, I’m not teaching you anymore. Call me Andy.”

#andy barber #defending jacob #andy barber x you #andy barber x reader #andy barber x female reader #andy barber fanfiction #college au #angst with a happy ending #sort of?#enemies to friends to lovers (?)#also sort of #professor andy barber #student reader #creative writing #dancing in the daydream

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trollprincess · 4 months

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Okay, so some of you might not know this because I did this before I returned to Tumblr from the bird site, BUT. Last year I dictated almost two entire books to my phone.

Let me explain. One of my jobs is a twelve-hour weekend night shift. Six PM to six AM Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, so thirty-six hours with the other four hours paid just as long as we do the entire weekend. I first took it so I could have the rest of the week off, and then proceeded to go back to work at dog camp those days. For the most part, over the last five years, I have only have Mondays completely off solely because that’s when my therapy sessions are.

Anyway, my weekend job is full-time, dog camp is part-time. The weekend job is factory work, making helmets, a lot of which are for the military. (Which, as a pacifist, I manage to stomach because hey, it’s just protective gear.) The thing is, like a lot of manufacturing work, it’s boring and repetitive. Think about how bored you are after five or so hours of an eight-hour shift. Now imagine it’s one o’clock in the morning, you still have five hours to work, and you would literally rather shove nails in your eyes than work. It sucks.

Meanwhile, my free time is spent trying to work at my third job (making @disasterarea-podcast) and attempting to work on getting published. I had all these grand ideas about getting traditionally published back in my twenties, and now I’m 46 and I’m struggling just to come up with any ideas at all a lot of the time. Three jobs doesn’t help. Depression and anxiety don’t help. So for a while there, I had terrible writer’s block when it came to my novels.

So last year, I decided to try something. I have these massive baby-pink noise-canceling Bluetooth gaming headphones with a mic which I wear to work. Why not try dictating a first draft to my phone? Obviously it wouldn’t be exact, since voice-to-text dictation isn’t perfect under the best of situations, and certainly not with loud factory noises around you. But I tried it on dictating notes for my podcast a few times and it worked pretty well, all things considered. And a bad first draft is still a first draft.

So I figured, fuck it, and one night I just started dictating a story off the top of my head. No preparation, no outlining, no worldbuilding - just pantsing HARD with nothing but an annoyance following a Teen Wolf rewatch and a resolution not to edit until after I churned out a first draft.

It took fifty-one days.

Eighty thousand words or so later, I had a dreadful first draft which needed an absolute fuckton of editing and continuity correction and character work. BUT I had a finished first draft of a novel. Which is something I hadn’t had in a good long while.

So I tried it again for NaNoWriMo. I got up to 65k words. So I won NaNoWriMo, but I put the story aside because I hit a bit of a wall. Still! That’s almost two full fiction manuscripts in one year, AND the nonfiction memoir I wrote about my road trip to disaster sites during the pandemic. 2022 was a good writing year.

So I did what I do with first drafts and put them aside for a while. I knew they were awful. I knew they needed a ton of work. And maybe that was a tad intimidating, which is why I only JUST picked up the NaNoWriMo first draft to work on it and finish it off. It’s queer, it’s got time travel, it’s got disasters. It is right up my fucking alley. I may be just a tiny bit obsessed with that story.

Unsurprisingly, going through it now is taking more than a little while. I sit down, I spend an hour working on it, I maaaaaaybe get two paragraphs polished. If that.

But the fact that I’m working on ANY fiction is kind of remarkable. And fingers crossed, maybe I can get this damn thing, and the other manuscript, AND my road trip book, finished and polished over the next year so I can submit the fuck out of them.

NOW. Someone send me a twenty-pound bag of rooibos vanilla chai and ten pounds of red licorice laces. Mama’s gonna need it. *cracks knuckles*

#writing

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pastel-omegas-blog · 1 year

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Chapter one

CHAPTER TWO

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️WARNING!!! THIS BOOK WILL CONTAIN MATURE THEMES AND VIOLENCE PLEASE LEAVE IF IT WILL MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. I DO NOT NEED THIS BOOK TO BE REPORTED . YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.( Mentions of suicide, bullying, blood/torture ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️( This book is going to have more matured themes compared to my others, from smut scenes to non-con, lactation, drugging, hypnosis, abuse of power and over obsessiveness. This particular chapter contains forced miscarriage. Again please stop reading if you find this upsetting or too hard to stomach down.

¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶

The h/c omega had become accustomed to waking up In a void of eternal darkness at this point and how long he had been floating alone in this one. Well him and thousands pretty pearl like orbs his misery had created, he didn't know.

He also didn't care.

At least here he was free from all the worries and responsibilities being alive brought him. Here he didn't have to worry about what people would say. Didn't have to listen to them scrutinizing everything little he did. Didn't have to hear them judging his worth like he was some sort of live stock. He didn't need to visit that God forsaken temple anymore in hopes of.

' Having his core cleansed from the despicable devil inside and finally becoming a decent human being worth of any rights '. He wasn't dealing with any of that bullshit anymore. He was just here.

At least that was what he liked to think.

Floating endlessly in an equally endless void with only his thoughts to keep him company. The thoughts that reminded him of his gruesome torture of over a year. The images of that helpless stage in life he had to endure, vividly flashing in his mind.

At first whenever it happened he would cry. His voice echoing through the emptiness and becoming disoriented. His wails and cries coming back to haunt him even more.

The tears streaming down his cheeks floating away from him to form the tiny pearl like orbs around him, that reflected the poor state he was in. He hated having to be surrounded by tiny little orbs that acted as a mirror that showed him how pitiful he has become. He hated how sickly he looked, how souless his eyes had become. He hated it. It made him feel worthless. Made him feel more inferior than he ever had in his whole life.

He had screamed and cried like a pup throwing a tantrum, desperately seeking comfort from anything that would come and aid. That would come and keep him company as he was being ravaged by his horrifying memories.

Being dragged through the muddy cobblestone streets and whipped in front of the people he had worked himself to the bone for to make sure they had a comfortable life, while they jeered and threw fruit at him.

He whimpered

Had been locked in the lowest level of the dungeon. Thrown in rat infested cell with the rotting corpse of the last victim strown a few feet away from where he was chained. The putrid smell making his eyes w, his arms and legs chained helplessly to the cold stone walls.

He sobbed.

Was treated worse than prisoners who had done unthinkable crimes. He was whipped almost ten time a day, the rope leaving scars along his formally soft smooth skin. He was hardly feed, the prison wardens would make him go days with out food, only forcing dirty smelling water down his throat every three days so he wouldn't die from dehydration. And when he was feed, he was given soup that was so watered down it looked like the murky brown liquid he was being made to drink with chunks of carrots floating on top. He knew fighting was useless it would only make them angrier. Would make them spite his shriveled up form even more. So he took it all with little complaints. The abuse was so often that after the first three months he got used to. They didn't like it.

So they did the unthinkable.

He wailed.

One day a number of twenty guards were sent to his holding cell and his weak from was prepared for a more brutal beat down than usual, but instead they started taking off their clothes, confusing the h/c male at first before his mind quickly piecing together what was happening, his dull eyes growing wide in fear as he tried in vain to back away from them as they laughed at his pathetic attempts.

He always wondered if anyone heard his broken screams as his first rapist forced the head of his hard dick into his dry entrance. Wondered what they thought of him as he body unwilling accepted the pleasure as a way to cope so he wouldn't go mad there and then from having the purity he had left robbed from. Wondered how they found it funny as the continuous sound of skin slapping against skin and the merry laughs of his beta assulters carried on through the night, before they finally discarded his passed out limp body in the early hours of the morning. They left him there, covered in drying semen, hickeys and bite marks drawing blood decorating his already scared body. When he came too again he cried himself to exhaustion with what little strength he had gathered before passing out again. His thoughts hoping it would never happen again as he faded into darkness.

He was wrong.

it became a daily torture method. After been whipped until he was barely conscious, the guards were let in to have their way with his limp body till he passed out and the events repeated exactly the same way the next day. And the next. And the next. And the next. And the next . And the next...............

He yelled.

So one morning when he woke up with a pounding headache and a sudden bout of nauseous that seemed stronger than normal as it left him puking over his dirty rag clothes he knew he was pregnant. Pregnancy that was supposed to be seen as a joyous moment for omegas did nothing more than increase the miserable state he was in. It made him cry and feel disgusted with his own body for carrying the seed of one of the people who had helped to make his life a living hell. He wanted to get rid of it, but had no way too and he was forced to carry the thing inside him for four months, before anyone took notice of what was actually going. I'm the four months he had with been to thoughts of he was going to be a mother he had stopped hating the pup growing in him, his maternal instincts taking over as he cooed softly and talked to the growing bulge of his stomach. When the guards took notice they stopped their ' fun' activities. They even gave him a loaf of stale bread and a quick wash with some water and undid his chains before they left him alone in solitude. The only thing keeping him from losing his mental state once and for all with the lack of human interaction, was the same child he had resented carrying.

⚠️⚠️ WARNING AGAIN PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE IF MISCARRIAGES TRIGGER YOU⚠️⚠️

And he went like that undisturbed for two more months, until one day three ridiculously large men ( they remained him of orcs with their size ) entered his holding cell, all wearing the ceremonial grabs of the temple surrounding the tiny pregnant omega and pushing him to a corner. One got a hold him, making him stand up on his now twig like legs, the second clamped his large hands around the petite man's mouth and nose while the third knelt down in front of him, mumbling a prayer under his breath, but the s/c male caught the words.

" The devil's spawn must not be allowed to breed"

Those were words that the h/c man would never forget as the man drew his fist back, before landing a hard solid punch on his pregnant stomach. Fortunately or unfortunately, he didn't know. The shock from the first hit knocked him out, fading into the save haven of unconsciousness so he wouldn't break down while he watched and felt the whole gruelling process. It was the burning pain between his legs that woke him up to the aftermath of the whole thing. Lying in a small pool of his own blood the first thing his shaky hands went to touch was his now flat stomach.

The whole place became deathly still. The sound of rodents usually scampering around stopped,the annoying chirping of crickets the drunken laughter of the guards behind his cell. The scream that resounded in the empty night was gut wrenching and full of pain and hatred.

He had tried to bite his own tongue off after the incident. He had wanted to just end it all. Luck wasn't on his side as the guard on duty that day actually did his shitty job and managed to stop him from his pitiful suicide. After that he was made to wear a muzzle and his chains were rebound, even tighter than before. He stayed like that until the day of his execution.

All the while he was suffering that bastard Alpha who he had dedicated his whole life to was enjoying his own stupid happily ever after with that blue whore. They were doing things he had hoped he would be able to do when they while they we're married. Then he's stupid personal guard who had even taken a magic oath, to swore to protect him till his dying breath. But he turned his back on him. Broken the trust and hope he had put in him. Running to that blue wench like a loyal dog.

Enjoying his misery and using it to elevate their own lives. Using their blessed lives to mock him.

He hated it.

HE HATED IT.

How dare they.

How dare they!

HOW DARE THEY!!!

How dare they put him in such a state and they got away scott free for their crimes!! How was that fair. How had the so called god he had been forced to dedicate his life too, see him suffer like that and still chose to turn his back on him!!! He wanted them all dead

The Imperial family!

Those stupid Nobles!

The fucking temple!

His damned family!

That life stealing whore!

He wanted them all to face worse than he had. Wanted them beg at his feet for mercy that he would never grant!

He wanted to erase everyone of them from the face of the earth!

He didn't care what it would take-

" AnYThiNG~ "

A deep smooth voice purred under in darkness, startling the h/c male from his thoughts.

He turned around to search the darkness, looking for any signs of life, but once again the only thing other than him were his pearl like tears floating around his form like a cage.

A breathless laugh left the omega's lips

" looks like your finally going mad M/N " he muttered to himself as he ran a hand through his face, getting ready to try and sleep away his thoughts and hope he wouldn't be haunted by nightmares this time around only for the same laugh to ring out. The hairs on the h/c male's neck stood as he felt very small all of a sudden, like he was in the presence of something far greater than he had ever known.

" ThAT's RIghT CHILD~ "

The voice- No.

Now that he had heard it better it sounded like multiple people were talking together, the voices of the elderly and young, men and women woven together to make one terrifying entity of speech.

" OH~ You WoUNd mE CHILD. I DoN't sOUnD thAT baD "

They moaned out a bellowing laughter following after putting the petite male on edge.

Looking around him and still seeing nothing he shakily called out

" Where are you?. What are you?! "

The silence that followed after was deafening. The void was back to its sickeningly calm State and immediately M/N regretted opening his big mouth, his was back alone in this lonely state. That regret soon turned to hatred.

He wasn't going to blame himself. How dare whatever that thing was give him hope. How dare it poke for at him. How dare they all do it.

He hated it

HE HATED IT

Fuck everyone trying to make him feel worse.

He wasn't going to go down like this. He wouldn't. He was going to get the last laugh. He would make sure he would.

NOTHING WOULD STOP HIM!!!

ANYTHING THAT TO WOULD MEET A FATE WORSE THAN HIS!!

The petite male hadn't noticed it himself, but his was raging, his canines biting into his bottom lip, drawing blood,l. Veins popped out from the side of his head, trailing his neck and arms. His dull e/c eyes flashed a flurry of vivid colours, from yellow to orange then gold before settling in blood red, the same coloured liquid falling out of the corner of his eyes and running down his cheeks like tears. The metallic smell of it making his pupils dilate giving him feral look.

The small orbs around him shook violently their pure white colour changing to match the blood red of their creators eyes, before the swirled around furiously around his changing form, all suddenly stopping at once and they began glowing brightly, the blinding lights making the h/c have to squint and cover his eyes, only opening them went he felt a hand tilt his face upwards , shock taking his features when he stared in blood red eyes. The iris taking him by surprise. It was a cross shape. The only being ever said to have such eyes was.

The entity as if knowing the Omega had figured it out smirked sinisterly at him, razor sharp teeth that looked like they could tear through flesh peeking out of their thin lips.

" LOOKS LIKE THAT CRYBABY VESSEL I USED TO HAVE IS GONE ONCE AND FOR ALL ....."

They started purring out with joy as their clawed hand went up to squish the omega's cheeks, not caring that their claws were digging into the skin of his face and drawing out blood.

" SO M/N. ARE YOU READY TO CARRY OUT THAT PROMISE YOU MADE~ "

All the being received in response was a crazed grin from the human, so wild in matched their own and they watching how blood dripped out his mouth and into the void forming ruby like crystals that began floating around the two of them.

That was all they needed to see for confirmation.

The words M/N heard before blacking out sent a thrill to his core.

" NOW THAT I'M FREE IN THIS LIFE TIME, I'LL LEND YOU MY POWER.

GO FUCK THOSE BITCHES UP~

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Aria had lost count of how many time she had nearly passed out from high blood pressure as she screamed at the useless doctors to help her baby cousin.

It was clear they weren't purposely trying their best, they would only peer at the sweat dreanched p h/c male from a distance before shaking their heads and claiming there was nothing they could do. They wouldn't examine him properly to check just how much the poison had actually affected him. They had never once administered drugs from him to help with the pain. From the way their eyes gleamed that they were enjoying this. They we're their to watch the so called ' devil omega ' in his final moments and they probably felt like some stupid saviour helping humanity get rid of a foul beast. Oh she wanted to drive her fist up their asses and beat them to a bloody pulp. But she couldn't.

She had tried to plead with the imperial family to let her bring her own personal doctor, but they refused. The stupid excuse they gave was that the person who had done the poisoning hadn't still been caught. That it was to risky to bring in outsiders.

It was clear bullshit and they all knew it. The incident had happened over more than a month ago, yet the imperial guards still hadn't managed to catch the suspect. It was obvious they weren't ever going too. She ad swallowed her pride and begged them, yet they refused to listen to her, the princess laughing in her face while the former empress asked for the guards to drag her out. She had even gone to ever forgiving saint to ask for help, but he only gave her a comforting smile and placed a comforting handing on her shoulder.

If it wasn't because she would have ended up getting herself and M/N killed she would have slapped him.

" It's for the best~ "

She was losing hope at this point. She had been the only one taking care of him. No maids or butler had been assigned to help her, the stress was beginning to show on her features, her eyes were getting bags underneath them, her usually neat appearance was haggard and barely put together. Her normally homey scent had started to go stale. She feared she herself would be experiencing an omega drop soon, but she didn't care. M/N came first.

Here she was sitting at the edge of M/N's bed as she held on to his limp hand,tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn't get why he was been treated like this. M/N had been nothing but kind ever since he was young, yet because of his unique h/c hair and looks matching the appearance of a fallen god that once wreaked havoc on the world he was being mistreated. It wasn't fair. Her baby cousin had been nothing but pure and kind. He didn't deserve to just waste away in a room like this.

" Lord Aquilo..." The omega started, using her other hand to grasp the the male omega's own tightly as she bowed her head in prayer.

" ... Please if your listening to me, just this once. Heal him please. He's innocent. He doesn't deserve this. I know I'm not a faithful follower of your teaching, but please. Just give me this just this once. I just want him to recover safe and sound. " At this point she was full on sobbing her head buried in the bed sheets. She wasn't one to believe in miracles. She believed good hard work got people to were they were in life. But this once she was hoping for a miracle.

And it happened. At least she thought so

The petite male let out a pained moan on the bed and turned weakly, his thick e/c lashes fluttering open, his groggy h/c eyes fixed on the shock tear stained face of the woman. A groan left his lips as he parted them to speak, only for a cough to rack his form. That sprung her into action.

Aria didn't even know when she stood up and throw her arms around the petite male's sickly form, being careful not to crush him in her hug, but still bringing him closer to her. The soft scent of peach and honey making her relax as a soft sob racked through her body.

She was so relieved.

Through her crying she missed how his normally e/c eyes flashed blood red for a split second, a sinister smirk resting in his lips.

M/N giggled to himself as he hugged his cousin closer, not liking how broken she looked, but his smile grow wider, rage bubbling in his eyes.

Oh they were going to regret not killing him while they had the chance.

#x omega male reader #x male reader #omegaverse #mc #nobility #omega male reader #historical x male reader #leon #aria #fantasy #Dearly Detested

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yallemagne · 2 years

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the reincarnation plot from every bad dracula movie but make it queer

Preface:

Every time I go out for a walk I think about the goddamn reincarnation plot that movies use and I ask to myself “but what if it was Jonathan--” and then twenty years get taken off of my life as retribution. Basically most story ideas I have are “what if the bad thing happened to Jonathan”, and I refuse to reflect on what that entails.

How most reincarnation plots go is that Dracula rifles through Jonathan’s bag and finds a picture of Mina and suddenly goes batshit as if he’s not seen a women in a thousand years (he totally has, he has three roommates). This happened in Nosferatu (don’t recall if it was bc she looked like his dead wife or he’s just an incel) and way too many other adaptations while having never actually happened in the book.

But I can make the reincarnation plot gay AND stick more faithfully to the book.

Okay lessgo--

When Jonathan finds the study:

Here I am, sitting at a little oak table where in old times possibly some fair lady sat to pen, with much thought and many blushes, her ill-spelt love letter, and writing in my diary in shorthand all that has happened since I closed it last.

and

I determined not to return tonight to the gloom-haunted rooms, but to sleep here, where, of old, ladies had sat and sung and lived sweet lives whilst their gentle breasts were sad for their menfolk away in the midst of remorseless wars.

Besides just screaming femme Jonathan, that’s perfect reincarnation fodder. You can play this as if he’s recalling his own memories of being Dracula’s forlorn wife worrying about him as he goes off to war.

And then he meets the Weird Sisters, and he recognizes one of them:

The other was fair, as fair as can be, with great wavy masses of golden hair and eyes like pale sapphires. I seemed somehow to know her face, and to know it in connection with some dreamy fear, but I could not recollect at the moment how or where.

Most people interpret the blonde vampire as being Dracula’s original wife and the two dark-haired vampires his daughters. Totally see that. Now, why does Jonathan recognize her? Blah, blah, she’s him, he’s her.

The thing about most reincarnation plots though is that they always have the Sisters but they have no bearing on the plot. Hey Mina, your “hubby” has three women he keeps as pets, why don’t you ask WHO THEY ARE AND WHY HE DOES THAT TO THEM. But those would be rational questions.

So anyway, how do dead vampire wife and living Jonathan wife exist at the same time? I mean, it could be that Dracula’s original wife wasn’t turned when she was alive. Perhaps the same deal with Satan he did to become immortal reanimated his wife’s corpse. But of course, her soul was gone.

Whoopsies Dracula, you fucked up.

"How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you'll have to deal with me." The fair girl, with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer him:—

"You yourself never loved; you never love!" On this the other women joined, and such a mirthless, hard, soulless laughter rang through the room that it almost made me faint to hear; it seemed like the pleasure of fiends. Then the Count turned, after looking at my face attentively, and said in a soft whisper:—

"Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not so?"

I’m just gonna say, the blonde vampire’s response to Dracula staking his claim in Jonathan being “you’ve never loved”... foreshadowing. Even the corpse bride over here is like “bitch, I know you’re not gonna treat my soul right this time”. And I’m not the only one who has said Dracula looking at Jonathan and saying softly “Yes, I too can love” is pretty homosexual.

Now you may think I’m veering towards Dracula/Jonathan, but Dracula is still an abuser, so no.

With that said-- MINA!

She fetches Jonathan from the convent and they travel back to England, and Jonathan can’t help feeling severely out of place now. He spent so much time as a damsel in that castle, having past memories come to him in the form of nightmares, and then he spent his recovery surrounded by women who were sympathetic towards him and promise to keep the weird memory dreams secret.

But now he’s in England, and he can hardly walk down the street without being a little genderqueer about it.

And what is he supposed to think about his relationship with his gender when he’s not even sure these are his own feelings? Is he experiencing actual gender dysphoria towards being a man or are these just the thoughts of a long-dead woman? Doesn’t help if this is still set in Victorian England where if he were to confide these feelings in anyone, he could be institutionalized.

Not to mention his relationship with Mina. Is he being deceptive towards her? He doesn’t know. He feels guilty for these newfound feelings. Does having a woman’s soul invalidate their relationship somehow? Does his previous relationship with Dracula invalidate it? Should he let her go so she can seek out a more worthy partner? The answer to all the questions are no of course, but this is a drama.

I could go on and try to plot out an actual story on the spot, but the original intent of this was just to make a point that the reincarnation plot has more backing it if Jonathan is the reincarnated bride of Dracula instead. Which plenty of people have already said, but I'm giving my own talking points because I’ve been dying to okay.

#dracula #it's been forever since the last entry I am grasping at straws #dracula daily #jonathan harker #writing ideas #I can't think of any more tags

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sideshow-tornado · 4 months

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Thinking about this year, the year of our Lord Two-Thousand and Twenty-three, as it begins its final countdown; As one is want to do in such times. I look down and see I’m still standing on two feet. Still breathing. Still here. Even on the best of years I consider that a win, but with a year as “rocky” as this one it’s akin to a miracle.

Lost some important people this year. My last two grandparents gone one after another in few short months time; if not for one more great aunt still alive and kicking I’d be down to no more familial reach beyond my parents generation. That’s quite striking considering I was lucky enough to know and have memories as a kid of great-grandparents who were born at the turn of the 20th century.

Lost a pair of great friends, Danne & Sam, both of them after lengthy battles with cancer. They were both older than even my parents, but I got to know them as men and fellow artists. I treasure the time I spent with them and the memories and theatre we created together.

Chronologically the last death was the most tragic, my niece Zoe.. Only 26 years old. She had been diagnosed with a Glioblastoma almost two years ago, a rare form of brain cancer. She was brave and remained herself throughout the entire time, and now she leaves behind a 3 year old daughter.

Zoe was technically not my niece, and not even a blood relative, but when her mother died tragically in a flooding accident when Zoe was just 4 years old my cousin took her in and she became part of our family. It’s still hard to believe she is gone. I walk by a painting of hers everyday in my kitchen. Life can be so cruel and unfair to people who don’t deserve it, but I hope she left this world knowing how much we loved her. If such a thing can provide any solace to someone in her position.

2024, the bar is pretty low. But maybe we can set our sights higher than just clearing the bar.

Happy New Years my friends. Auld Lang Syne.

#umm me i guess

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waveringiridescence · 2 months

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❝ … get to know me meme ! … ❞ ─

TAG NINE PEOPLE YOU’D LIKE TO KNOW BETTER !

「 … tagged by… 」 ─ @nvrcmplt & @deathsprofit ❤︎ (it's not all the same questions, but they were a few repeats, so I'm wrapping them up)

「 … tagging … 」 ─ @intcritus, @everdaring, @despairforme & my dear followers, you can steal it ! Tag me if you want me to know you a little better.

「 … Alias/Name … 」 ─ writerinafoxhole, aka fox.

「 … birthday … 」 ─ 17th May.

「 … zodiac sign … 」 ─ taurus.

「 … height … 」 ─ 168 cm.

「 … hobbies … 」 ─ writing, photography, video games, learning languages and procrastinating.

「 … favorite colors … 」 ─ sea green and the colour of the Pacific Ocean.

「 … favorite flavors … 」 ─ spicy, cheese, salty stuff, chocolate, creamy Earl Grey and matcha.

「 … favorite genres … 」 ─ tough one, but I'm slowly sliding back in my action/adventure phase, crime fiction is also a big thing and if they are in the steampunk or urban fantasy subgenre, I'm in.

「 … favorite book … 」 ─ hard pick, but I'm going to say Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas by Jules Verne. Captain Nemo stand here.

「 … favorite music … 」 ─ l'm mister eclectic, I'm into alternative rock, sea shanties, movie soundtracks and musicals if you look at my vinyl collection, but my playlist goes from the The Pokemon Theme to The Show Must Go On, via Sacré Bordel (French Rap), so really it barely scratches the surface.

「 … favorite movies … 」 ─ another hard pick, but Amadeus would be my classic movie pick, The Lord of the Rings my trilogy pick, The Last Crusade my if I was stuck on an island movie, Beauty & The Beast the classic Disney movies I would save, but Mulan and Atlantis The Lost Empire are my favourite. My top three movies last year are Nimona, Asteroid City and Past Lives. I can go on...

「 … favorite series … 」 ─ as in ? Tv Show ? Our Flag Means Death, Chernobyl, Band of Brothers and Pushing Daisies. Manga ? One Piece, Fullmetal Alchemist & Gintama. Anime ? Cowboy Bebop & Psycho Pass. Books ? The Aubrey-Maturin by Patrick O-Brian...

「 … last song … 」 ─ China Reggaeton (feat. 黃秋生) by Namewee.

「 … last series … 」 ─ Death In Paradise.

「 … last movie … 」 ─ Poor Things.

「 … recent reads … 」 ─ Terra Incognita by Vladimir Nabokov.

「 … currently reading … 」 ─ Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston, The City of Stardust by Georgia Summers and Kenobi by John Jackson Miller.

「 … currently watching … 」 ─ a YouTube video, usually it's a TV show I know playing in the background while I RP.

「 … currently working on … 」 ─ too many things, I am all over the place and I need to focus instead of procrastinating. Aiming to set a few objectives, the two big one are: taking care of myself and get back into working on my book.

「 … inspiration … 」 ─ art, people watching and stories, old rpg characters and songs.

「 … story behind url … 」 ─ oof it is a hard one, if I remember correctly, when I moved blog, I wanted something a little more poetic for Greaves. I think both words sounded pretty, I liked the definition and their union made me think of a katana with wave patterns or the light in Greaves eyes... And that is it.

「 … fun fact about me … 」 ─ I have a Mickey Mouse watch from my last trip to Disneyland Paris which I think was in 2009 or 2010 and I love it so much, I always wear it when I go out. I picked it because it looked like the Robert Langdon's Mickey Mouse watch in Angels & Demons movie.

#(ooc.out of the shadows)#bonsoir it is late (for me)#but look at me doing a meme #I apologise for last weekend I'm a bit of a mess #but I'll make it up to you guys this weekend #I kept it as short as I could #much love to all of you #I'll try to remember your birthdays #(ooc.trivia)#I tried not to repeat people that were tagged

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darklydeliciousdesires · 1 year

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Beyond the Blood Tie - Chapter Twenty Four.

Enjoy, besties! :)

Previous Chapters - One Two, Part One Part Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three

Words - 3,234

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Edie's POV

“Better now?” Angel asks me, having to battle the still very hard erection he has back into his jeans. He’ll be stuck with that for a while, too, until I return to him to put it to further good use.

“Yeah, that’s taken the edge off a little. I’m still feral for you, though.” Running my nails down his perfect chest, I share kisses with him, humming happily against his tongue. “I’d better get in there, then. Meet you upstairs in a bit.” He winks, walking me in, hands still all over me until we part at the stairs, him heading to his room while I walk around to Ursula’s lounge, softly knocking the door.

"Edie, do come in,” she speaks, giving me a knowing smile as I enter. Oh yeah... she knows what we did.

“Sorry,” I snort with laughter, covering my face partially with my hand, Ursula chuckling softly.

“What for, little dove?”

“Fucking your offspring against the front of your house,” I exclaim softly, taking a seat when she rises from her desk and gestures towards the sofa.

“Well, it likely gave the neighbours something to twitch their curtains over,” she laughs, resting her hand atop mine. “Now, as for why I have requested this. I feel it is important that we get to know one another a little better, now that you're in a relationship with my boy.” I didn’t notice it before, just how lovely her accent is. She has the softest Irish tones I've ever heard, mixed in with a slight American twang, but you can definitely tell that Ireland was the place she was born.

I smile, nodding. It’s nice that she’s even taken the interest. "What would you like to know?"

"About you and your life, of course.” Her request is delivered with a smile, jamming her elbow against the back of the couch, resting her head against her hand as she gets comfortable.

I begin by telling her pretty much the same story as I did Angel, how I was born in 2073 down in Bullhead City, and the life that followed. I tell her of my evil mother, my father who wasn't my biological one, and my years as a truant and then juvenile delinquent, and how I got into my job as a punisher by being punished firstly myself. I detail all the people who came and went from my life, old relationships and lovers, my friends who stuck around, too. She just nods and listens without interjection, letting me talk and talk. When I'm finished, she has plenty to say, though.

"In all my time on this planet I have never understood the mindless cruelty that is violence towards children. I would have loved to have had the chance to bear young when I was human, but it was denied to me. People like your mother, and I use that term loosely, because no person who indulges in such barbarity as to beat their own child should deserve the title, well, they just don't realise how lucky they are. They have the precious gift of a little one to love and nurture, to guide them through the world around them and they just waste it. I cannot even begin to express how sorry I am that it happened to you, darling girl," she laments, shaking her head sadly.

I shrug, crinkling my nose a little. "It happened, and it was a long time ago. I'm fine with it now. I mean, I still get angry about her. If anything, I wish I could resurrect her and kick the bitch to death all over again for what she did, but I don't let her hold me back.”

She inclines her head forward just a touch, looking out from under her enviably long eyelashes, completely unconvinced. "Yes, you do.” Hmm, yeah, who am I kidding? A vampire over a thousand years old has the kind of sharp senses to smell out the truth instantly.

"How do you think that I do?" I ask, wondering if her perceptions match the uncomfortable truth I mostly try to hide.

"I can tell quite strongly that you thought your mother didn’t love you, and you'd probably be right in thinking that. Linda loved herself more than anyone else, I can gauge. Because of that, I strongly feel that you have never really opened yourself up to receive love and in turn, never really truly let yourself love anyone else either. I mean romantically, because it is very clear that you love people such as Vic, Ahmed, Aileen, Miley and Sasha. I do feel through what you told me of your romantic relationships though, that you never really loved them, or let them love you.” Damn, that’s perceptive.

"Because you think I'm scared to get hurt again, like she hurt me?" I take a breath, nodding. ”I suppose that is true.”

She is kind in her words, so very nurturing, just like Angel detailed. "Perhaps in part, but I think you know that just because she didn't give a shit, it doesn't mean everyone else who comes into your life will be like that. I think quite simply, you don't really know how to love someone, because the love you should have had lavished upon you as a child was never there, so that part of you is slightly stunted. It will come to you, if you allow it. Not that you'll have much choice with Angel. He loves you limitlessly and boundlessly, you know. You'll find that it'll grow with a love as strong as his. When we vampires love, we do so on a completely different level to humans.” Her words certainly have given me a lot to think about, and immediately I do begin to mentally question myself. Maybe that is why my relationships never really went anywhere, and why for the most part I really didn't care.

I've never had my heart broken, even when Sarah and I split up and I thought she was the love of my life, but then again, I never used those terms to describe it, not even to myself. I think the ancient and high susceptible vampire just may have a point with what she picks up on. Angel did tell me one time that it's a little frightening, how well Ursula can read a person so accurately when going on such little information. Perhaps this is why relationships, or rather the importance of being in one, has never been all that important to me either, because as she stated, that part of me is stunted.

"Yes, I know he does. I feel awful every time he tells me in as many words too, when I don't return the sentiment to him. I know he'd really like me to, but he'd never push me to say it before I felt it," I answer after a few thoughtful moments.

"He absolutely wouldn't, you're right. He'll give you all the time in the world to settle comfortably into the love you both will share one day. He thinks you're worth it," she vouches, while I sit and wonder just how much of this she knows through discussion with him, or just feels intuitively because she understands the vampire he is like no other ever will.

"You know him through and through, don't you?" I ask, wanting to steer away from the subject of me. It feels like only a short time has passed since I arrived, when in fact forty-five minutes have gone by since now and then. Talking to Ursula is like a nice, warm mug of hot chocolate; you feel very comforted by her, warm and relaxed inside.

"I do, and let me tell you, he hated it at first. He didn't like to be so easily read, or the fact that I could always feel his moods. It takes a long time to become used to being a vampire fully, and he hated that I had such a direct link to his emotions. EZ told me that as a human he could be very… well let's just say he jokingly referred to Angel as Mariah on occasion," she chuckles, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

I shake my head a little, not immediately catching on. "Mariah? I'm sorry, but I don't get the reference.”

"Have you ever heard of the old singer, Mariah Carey?"

"Yes, I have."

"Have you heard what a stroppy little diva she could be?"

I can’t help the snort of laughter. "Yes, I have.”

"There you have it." I'm laughing too much to reply to her at first. Stroppy diva, oh damn that sums him up perfectly when he isn't getting his own way!

"Yes, I've experienced him when he's acting like that! Not getting his own way," I finally exclaim, composing my laughter.

"No doubt when he was your detainee," she observes. Something flickers through her eyes there, just for a second, something dark and foreboding. Something I never, ever want to see amplified. God, I bet she’s truly terrifying when enraged, and I don’t blame her at all for perhaps holding a little bit of such because of what I did to her son, regardless of her magnanimity and kindness towards me now.

"I did. He was truly horrible. I still can't believe he's the same vampire now," I confess, watching her nod.

"He's much less bad tempered now than when he went into the Correctional Department, and I really have to credit you with that fully, Edie. You did a superb job. All of you punishers do such good work. The reoffending statistics have fallen so dramatically since this kind of punishment was introduced, and that's just testament to your work," she states emphatically, nodding as she clasps my hand softly.

"Was he as bad tempered as a human? Or wouldn't you know, since you didn't know him for long when he was?" I then ask, curling my legs up and hugging my knees to my chest as I begin to feel a lot more comfortable around Angel's 'mom', pulling my dress down over my knees, save giving her an eye full of the fact I forewent undies tonight.

"No, he was quite easy going, but like EZ told me, he could be very dramatic. It was being made vampire that caused the awful temper, it brought out the darkness in him, as it does to us all when we're turned. Also, it was because he was very powerful, being made by me, of course. The older the vampire who makes you, the stronger you are. Angel has the strength of your average three-hundred-year-old, and he's only one hundred and thirty-six. I think this was why he was quite difficult as a young vampire, before his hundredth year. My other vampire children were much the same, being made with blood containing such power. Mind you, Angel can be very, very difficult even now, when it suits him to be," she explains.

I snort softly, nodding. “Oh, yes he can.”

She’s entertained by my assertion. “How well you are coming to know my boy.”

I nod in agreement, for I do feel like I’m really getting to know him quite well by now. “How many other vampire children do you have then?" I choose to ask her next.

"I only have Angel now. My other two children are no longer here with us. Adeline chose to end her own life when her human companion died, and Ivan met his final death in a vampire war. I miss them," she sighs, her eyes seeming to go misty for a few moments as she fondly remembers them.

"I'm sorry you had to lose them," I sympathise, watching her nod as she looks back at me.

"Thank you, that's kind, dear. Do you hope to become a mother some day?"

I shake my head, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear. "No, I have no maternal instincts.”

"Ahhh, then aren't you just with the perfect person right now, hmm? I suppose vampiric infertility is quite the draw to women such as yourself who do not wish to become mothers.” I suppose she's right there.

"Yeah, I guess I am really since there's more chance of the sun freezing than Angel knocking me up," I chuckle, making her laugh loudly. "Do you mind me asking why you didn't have children when you were human?" I then add, honestly wondering why a woman who seems so maternal didn't ever have kids of her own.

"It's quite simple, my parents died young and as the eldest child of twelve, it was my responsibility to look after them. I was fifteen when they died, and of course back then as long as a girl was menstruating, she was considered a woman, so I could have and should have been starting a family of my own. Sadly, my youngest sister was just a baby in arms when our parents died of disease. I had to raise her like she was my own, until she was fifteen, and the rest in the late teens and twenties. I was glad that when I was made, they didn't need me any longer," she reveals, looking nostalgic.

"Wow, and I thought I'd had a hard life," I comment, really quite taken aback by Ursula's brief story. I didn't expect her to embellish much more, she is a vampire after all, and they don't open up easily to those they don't know well.

"We've both come through our time of suffering well, and into much happier times. Well, my time was happy before all the bother I went through recently with being held at the AVA Nevada headquarters where I work, and being accused with conspiracy," she confides, while I feel my eyes widen.

"I did mean to ask you about that, well to ask if you're okay and not actually expect you to tell me the ins and outs of it, I should say," I clarify, giving my hands a little massage where they ache from work. It does take a toll on the fingers, repeated punching.

"May I?" Ursula begins, gesturing to my hands. I nod, and she takes them gently, her fingers beginning to ease over the tense muscles and sore ligaments, the feeling immediately soothing. "As for what you asked, I am more than happy to tell you what is going on. Angel trusts you and therefore, so do I. You're the woman he loves, so by default I shall place my trust in you."

She explains to me that she thinks the chief of Nevada, a vampire named Elias Weston, who has never trusted her and wants her out because of that, is behind her being questioned, and she thinks this is his way of beginning to sow the seeds of doubt over her, by having her questioned regarding her alleged involvement with a group called the TVM, the True Vampire Movement. These are the vampires who do not believe in socialisation, integration of vampires into human society. The TVM, so Ursula tells me, work against that. They believe vampires should be superior to us.

"So, you really think it's him then?" I ask, her fingers gently rotating my thumb until it clicks.

"I am nothing short of certain that it's him, I just need to find more tangible proof. I doubt my being taken in for questioning is the last of it, so as he tries to discredit me in other ways, I shall have to be on the ball in finding evidence that these attempts to cast doubt over me and my status, and that of my family too, as I expect he will attempt next, all come from him.” She looks a little pissed off, but her calmness in explaining the situation makes me see that she’s unmoved by it, other than anyone attempting to threaten her family. Her innocence is clear. “Anyway, I’ve kept you from Angel for long enough. I can feel the need for you radiating from him, so let me keep you no longer.”

“Well, thanks for the hand massage,” I begin, Ursula nodding with a wink.

“Before you go and cramp them up again, grasping various parts of him.”

I can’t help but laugh. “True, true. It was really nice, getting to know you better.”

“You too, lovely dove. You too.”

I head upstairs, entering the bedroom to find a gorgeous, naked vampire lying on his bed, greeting me with a wink and a big smile as I remove my boots and socks.

"How did your chat with Ursula go?" I climb astride him, Angel lifting my dress over my head, fingers stroking my back as he plants soft, deft kisses at my throat.

It takes a moment to reply, as always, my vampire pulling me headlong into the kind of arousal that’s been bubbling away since our very hot tryst outside earlier on. God, the things he does to me. “It went well, yeah. She’s remarkably perceptive, she picked up on so much.”

His mouth skims over my collarbones, head lowering, sucking on my nipple with a hungry moan. “Such as?”

“Such as, um... I.. ahhhh,” I mutter, his hand pushing between my legs, fingers laying long, slow strokes to my clit. “I think I might have to tell you later.”

“No, tell me now.”

“It’s a little difficult, with what you’re currently doing to me,” I gasp, his fingers pushing inside of my, mouth returning to my neck as my body begins to hum with the warmth of arousal.

“I’m sure you’ll manage.” He knows what he’s doing. He’s so, so bad. His fingers return to my clit, and fuck, fuck! He’s too good with them.

“She, um... she, ahhhh, fuck, she...”

He hums a chuckle. “Use your words, baby.”

“She basically said that I... ahhhh, fuck! Angel can you...” Oh god, the preciseness of those fingers! “She said that it was my past, what my mother put me through, that meant I had such a hard time with loving or being loved.”

I can feel him smile against my neck. “Told you she was perceptive,” he begins, kisses trailing from one side of my throat to the other. “I’m probably not doing much for myself here, am I, in awaiting your feelings to flourish?”

“You’re being both a very good and very bad vampire,” I chide softly, Angel looking at me with a raised eyebrow and a big grin.

“Ahhh, it’s that duality that keeps you coming back for more, ain’t it?”

Reaching between us, I grasp his cock, his abs trembling in response. “Well, this might play a not so small part in that, too.”

“Ahhh, I did wonder.”

“You did?”

“Mmhmm.”

“In between being an awful tease?”

He chuckles deeply, pulling his fingers from me, allowing me to position his cock at my opening and sink down on him with a satisfied sigh. “I think I’m done now.” We fall into kisses edged in fire and honey, my nails trailing through his hair as he bounces me on his cock at a languid pace, suddenly gripping my waist and lifting me off, lying me back on the bed, his body swathing mine in a blanket of tattoos and muscles. “Or am I?”

His creator was correct. Angel truly can be very, very difficult. Contexts extremely interchangeable.

#angel reyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes smut #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fic #angel reyes x ofc #vampire!angel reyes #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc smut #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic

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xxxdoppel · 7 months

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6th Anniversary Experience (Part 1)

Although things started pretty slow… she delivered.

Hi, all! It’s been a while since I’ve talk to you and I wanted to begin apologizing for my absence. The past few months I’ve had this hard-to-let-go-of lethargy that has kept me away from wanting to do anything. All I could focus on was my job cuz I need food for this body of mine. Other than that I’ve literally been sleeping my life away.

~Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s clinical depression~

Anyway, since the anniversary rolls are officially over, I wanted to share with everyone all the cool units I got this year. I got a total of twenty-one four star units including doubles! That’s unbelievable. Unexpected. Wild. Exciting!

This was my first year actually spending money on the game, so it was really fun to enjoy the various little privileges it offers. I mean, I had a good reason to do so. There was no way I could come out of this anni without HER.

So, without further ado. Let me begin sharing the goal of these $160 dollars I put on this game:

Devil Homura

She’s so precious! The beautiful queen of ai yo! Oh ma gah only a fool would not roll for her tbh cuz she’s IT. I tried the step-up gacha and it felt like glory when I got her on the first step. Thank you, algorithm, you did so well! Accele gorilla babe!

But things didn’t stop there! After three years, I, was blessed with the presence of no other, but…

Ren Isuzu was my first four star unit that I rolled in the NA server. That is after Mitama, of course. F2P heh! She’s kind of special to me, but the bitch kept evading me in the JP server. I actually had to pinch myself just to make sure this was real.

I also got this girl no one cares about. Yes.

Now, I have A TON of forest units, too many for my own good. That being said, if there’s one girl I would not mind getting a thousand times is…

Lavi Himuro

This girl is a combination between the cutest character Umi Aoki has designed with the ugliest magical girl outfit Ume Aoki could come up with. It’s not just that the outfit is controversial, but the outfit is absolute garbage as well. You’re welcome. Still, that face and that hairstyle is chef kiss adorbz!

I got spooked by these two on the unlimited gacha…

Can’t complain, I’m very happy with them. You can’t really have enough accele gorillas in this game.

Last and definitely not least:

P O W E R

My original goal for the unlimited gacha was Mikoto because I am still hurt that I didn’t get her when her banner came, but we had to do some last minute changes. After a couple of years, I noticed that Fart had become a little outdated so it was time to move on to the next goddess of fight.

Now, I know what you’re gonna say: But aren’t you a Kanagi stan?! How could you do this betrayal to Darkness Kanagi blastness, you monster?!

Hear me out, sis. I wanted the diagonal blast. Period.

Yeah, and that’s all the new units I got! Not many, but I got more doubles than new units and that’s WAY more exciting to me. You guys know ;) I’ll be back tomorrow with part 2! Talk to you later, sis!

#Magia Record #Devil Homura #Lavi Himuro (Kimochi ver.)#xxxDOPPEL Rambles

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kissmejusttokissme · 2 years

Text

Right, lads, you know that twilight steddie au I keep banging on about? Well, I might have actually started writing it... just, a lil bit. And I'm not sure how long before I'll have enough to start posting it on AO3 (I think I want to make sure smoke signals and waiting room are finished before anything else) but I do have a lil prologue teaser to post and here it is:

On his first night back in Hawkins, Steve Harrington climbs out of his bedroom window and takes his car out for a ride.

It’s been almost a year since he’d last driven it and he can tell by the way it’s handling that his dad hasn’t kept up his promise to take it out now and then. But, then again, why would he? The only promise that Steven Harrington Sr has ever kept in his life is the one he made the first time Steve failed a class. “Do it again and I’ll make your life hell.” And, well, the rest is pretty self-explanatory.

Once or twice, Steve has wondered if his dad ever actually loved him. He’d put money on the answer being no. That the only reason that Steve even knows his father is down to obligation. His grandfather was the same. So, maybe it’s a generational thing. Maybe Harringtons aren’t built to love each other. There’s a thought. Maybe they aren’t built to love anyone.

Except Steve kind of loves his mom. In that very hands-off way that his mom has built up over years of only seeing him during the summer and limiting conversations to three sentences or less. But Steve would be sad if something happened to her and that in itself feels like a success.

He needs to call her and tell her that he got back safely.

She probably won’t answer but it’s the thought that counts.

Steve drives aimlessly for a bit, circling the streets around his house, before turning off towards the town centre feeling bittersweet. Two years ago and there would have been a long list of people dying to see the prodigal son of Hawkins High. God, there might have even been a party to welcome him home.

They weren’t good people and he probably would have ditched the party halfway through the night, but there’s something to be said about being wanted.

Hawkins hasn’t changed much in the year that Steve has been away. Small towns never do. It’s the same thousand buildings and the same thousand families that have lived in them for decades. Most of Steve’s teachers had taught his dad and if they haven’t, they’ve taught some other person whose standard he’s supposed to live up to.

He pulls into the one twenty-four-hour gas station that Hawkins has to offer and fills his tank. It’s hot out despite being the first week of September. Checking first to make sure no one is around, Steve lifts the bottom of his t-shirt and wipes at his face. It’s not like he has much of a reputation to protect anymore but old habits die hard. He’s supposed to be the ultimate cool guy after all and cool guys don’t wear nerd shirts gifted to them by the fifteen-year-old they babysit and melt in the autumn heat.

Brushing a hand through his hair, Steve opens the gas station door and grabs a soda on his way to the counter. If he plays it right, he could spend at least two hours at Skull Rock before his dad even notices that he’s gone. Smokeless for once but Steve’s a big boy. He can sit with his thoughts for a couple of hours if it means not going home.

“Pack of Marlboro Lights as well thanks,” he says, putting the soda down on the counter. “And, uh, full tank on pump four.”

It’s rude of him, he knows that, but it’s only when he finishes speaking that he actually looks at the clerk for the first time. Too easily distracted, that’s Steve’s problem. So he spends most of his time ticking off the steps in his head while doing them. Easier that way but manners get lost sometimes.

Then again, considering how his brain turns to mush the minute he does look at the clerk, maybe it’s not such a bad idea.

Standing behind the counter is the most handsome man that Steve has ever seen. He’s about Steve’s height but his mess of brown curls, so long that it’d make Steve’s mom lose her mind, adds a couple of extra inches. He blinks at Steve lazily, eyes so dark brown that someone could get lost trying to find where the colour meets the black, before turning and reaching for the cigarettes, the bottom of his work shirt riding up so that Steve gets a glimpse of black ink against pale skin.

Steve knows that he has to pull himself together because in a minute the clerk is going to turn back around, but damn if it isn’t hard to pull his eyes away from where that tattoo disappears under the fabric of his jeans.

“Got an ID for that?” The clerk asks as he puts the cigarettes down on the counter.

Steve nods and fumbles with the fake ID in his wallet. If his heart is beating a fraction too quickly, it’s just because he’s worried that the clerk is some graduated senior who’ll remember him. Not that Steve can imagine this guy has ever stepped foot in Hawkin’s high. He looks like he’s been ripped from a million-dollar oil in the Louvre.

“Harrington,” the clerk says, his voice low. “Sounds familiar.”

“Probably cause of a cousin or something.” Steve swallows down the feeling he gets when the clerk gives him a once-over. It's jet lag. That’s the only answer as to why he’s acting like this guy is some girl he’s hoping to impress. He’s just a guy, Steve reminds himself. A beautiful guy with shining silver rings on each of his fingers and another tattoo poking out from under his collar, but a guy nonetheless. “Or someone else. I think it’s a common name.”

“Or,” the clerk leans forward so that he’s inches away from Steve’s face. “I know you from Nancy Wheeler’s stories.”

“You know Nancy?”

“That surprise you or something?”

“What? No, I, uh-” And, yeah, it’s closed-minded but the idea of Nancy being friends with this does surprise Steve. The whole time that Steve has known Nancy, she has never strayed far from the academically minded folk that share her AP classes and spend their free time bulking their college applications with extracurricular activities. Steve had been the one exception and that had been a blip.

“Are they bad stories?” Steve asks, desperate to escape the awkward silence that has fallen over them. “Not that it matters, cause- I mean- If they’re bad it’s because I was a dick, so, it’s my own fault.”

The clerk is still leaning forward, hands gripping the edge of the counter to keep him from falling, and he takes a long moment to just look at Steve. Those dark eyes searching Steve’s face for something. And then he steps back and shrugs.

“Some of them.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Uh, well that’s better than all of them. Right?”

The clerk tilts his head to the side and Steve wants desperately to reach out and push the hair that has fallen across his face.

“Am I alright to get those, then?” Steve asks when the clerk doesn’t say anything. “Just cause I’ve got somewhere to be.”

That seems to shake the clerk out of whatever thought he’s stuck on because he runs a hand down his face and then nods. “That’ll be seventy-five dollars, cash or card?”

Steve hands him a wad of cash left over from his mom and reaches out for his ID but the clerk gets there first. He brushes his hand, pale skin as cold as the soda Steve is holding, and pulls back quickly.

“Sorry.”

“Are you?” The clerk asks and Steve hasn’t got a clue what to make of that. He just stands there awkwardly and waits for his change. Like a kid standing in his parent's doorway waiting to tell them he’s thrown up.

“This is a shitty fake, by the way, hope you didn’t pay much for it.” The clerk says, pressing both the ID and change into the palm of Steve’s hand. “I know a guy and if you paid more than thirty for that, you got ripped off.”

“You think?” Steve asks, shoving the contents of his hand into his pocket.

“I know,” the clerk says. “I can get you a better one if you want.”

“This really the sort of thing you should be saying at work?”

The clerk grins, pearly white teeth sharp against his lip, and Steve feels blessed to have seen it. “You’re so right, Stevie. Oh, how I’ve seen the light.” He shakes his head, still smiling. “Just think about it, alright?”

“Alright,” Steve says and he knows that he’ll be thinking about this whole thing for the rest of his life.

#steddie fic #steddie twilight au #steddie #vampire eddie munson #the googling i had to do for some of the stuff in this #steve knows two things smoke cigarettes and simp for eddie and who can blame him #THE FIRST VERISION OF THIS POST SAID NAME INSTEAD OF NIGHT IM GOING TO CRY

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malltms · 11 months

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maia mitchell, bisexual biromantic, nonbinary + they/she ― hey look, it’s drusilla 'drew' grimes! they’re twenty-five years old, they’ve lived in shrike heights for three months, and they’re currently working at the black cat in shrike mall. i heard they’re pretty lackadaisical, but i think they’re so clever at the same time. can they make it out alive?

stats. pinterest.

TW: ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP / PHYSICAL ABUSE

drusilla grimes had always been less than exceptional. at least, that’s what their family would say. no one ever expected anything grand from them — so in return they didn’t do anything that warranted attention. they flew under the radar, more concerned with what was on tv and what was for breakfast rather than their schoolwork or making any friends. that was until they watched a soccer match once when flipping through channels and was suddenly enchanted. at age seven, they were put into soccer for the autumn season of ‘71.

finally, drew had a passion for something. it had taken long enough, murmured her parents, who internally didn’t have much hope that this would stick for her. as a result they didn’t attend many of her games, leaving her under the supervision of her older sister that always cheered her on no matter what. but it didn’t really matter if anyone had shown up or not, as drew’s passion for the sport is what ultimately drove her to succeed.

they would bring home trophies and awards season after season, carrying their team to victory almost every match. soon their parents had begun noticing their potential and put more pressure on them to perform better at school, however they discovered that the reason for drew’s disinterest in all things academic had been because of undiagnosed dyslexia.

after they were given a tutor and an ultimatum that they kept good grades in order to stay in soccer, they truly started to shine. they reached their peak at seventeen, when they were offered a scholarship to the university of adelaide, two thousand miles away from their hometown of brisbane. they graduated with a hard earned a 75 atar and made the move away from everything they’d ever known.

she wound up studying human sciences, where she would meet her first serious boyfriend in a shared class. they were hardly seen without one another, finding they had more in common than what they were taught at school — everyone underestimated him, too, and he did always have a soft spot for soccer, but especially now that he knew she was an athlete — he was perfect.

until he wasn’t. a few months into the relationship, drew had been given a set of rules that they had to follow in order not to upset their boyfriend: no parties, no revealing clothing ( unless he liked it, of course ), no talking to people that they didn’t know, and especially no talking to other men. whenever they fought back against these restrictions, they were initially verbally berated before it escalated into a physical issue and drew knew they needed to get out.

he wouldn’t leave her without a mark, though. the night she planned on leaving he discovered her packing her bags and attacked her, throwing her out of their shared apartment where she sustained internal injuries. she kept quiet at first, until her unchecked injuries ultimately led to a severe acl tear during a game that she couldn’t bounce back from, permanently suspending her from playing sports again.

drew was left without a purpose in the world, and did what she once knew best — run away from everyone and pretend like she didn’t care. she backpacked around australia for a while, until moving onto europe and eventually made her way to shrike heights, where she’s been for the past few months.

#shrikeintro

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judgeanon · 1 year

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Plastic Skies - Model 4.5: Wishy-Washy

I’ve mentioned before in previous parts of this journal how one of the top three most satisfying things about getting into model kits was learning a new skill and/or buying a new tool that helped improve not just the model I was working on, but also could be used retroactively on every other one. And so far, the most powerful of these moments has to be when I learned to use washes. Or at least, started to learn.

For those who’ve made models before, I’m sure you’ve noticed that, among the thousand other small mistakes and shortcomings of the kits I’ve posted so far, I don’t do panel lines or weathering. The simple explanation was that I thought they were absolutely beyond me. Weathering sounded like the kind of stuff absolute maniacs with eighty volumes of wartime photographs and fifty different kinds of paints do, and panel lines... this is gonna sound very dumb, but for some reason, I held the belief that doing panel lines involved grabbing a very fine tip marker and just manually painting them one by one. I think some GunPla models do that, and it’s possible that’s where I first heard it, but what matters is that to me, the whole thing sounded absolutely nutso. Especially at the 1/144 scale I’d been working lately.

But then I stumbled into a couple of videos about panel lines made easy, which led me to discover the “Sludge Wash” technique. For those who haven’t made models before, this means making or buying a paint wash (a severely thinned, watered-down paint), painting it all over the model, waiting until it dries and then using some thinner on a napkin to clean the surface excess. Idea being that the wash goes inside the panel lines, and when the thinner wipes away the surface excess, only the lines remain. It turned out to be a slightly more delicate procedure than I thought, but when I saw it, all I could think of was that this wasn’t so hard. I could do this. I could totally do this.

The next time I went to the shop, I didn’t buy any models. What I got was a bottle of black wash, a matte varnish, paint thinner and a few more brushes. And then I got to work. As I mentioned, sludge washing wasn’t as easy as I figured. There was much more sludge than wash, if that makes any sense. And yet, while none of my attempts were close to perfect, I was still deeply impressed by the sheer immediacy of the change. Call me a hopped-up impatient little kid, but few things are as satisfying as making a decision and seeing it blossom into an instant improvement.

My first pick for experimentation purposes was the Tomcat, because out of all the planes I’d built so far, it had the most visible panel lines by far. And the results were as impressive as they were swift.

Kinda wish Tumblr would let folks zoom in on these pictures in text posts, but even like this, the change should be pretty obvious. Instantly, the wash added like two whole dimensions to this model, not to mention making it look like I’ve owned it for twenty years instead of half a month. It wasn’t actually my intention to weather it like this, but I couldn’t really argue with the results. So naturally, I did it again.

The wash’s effect on the Flanker wasn’t quite as extreme as with the F-14, but it still helped endear me to what I still saw as a botched job. It does make the edges of where I tried using masking tape for paint stand out a fair bit more, but the accidental weathering added a lot to it. And I also took the opportunity to try out different kinds of varnishes, giving the Flanker a coat of matte and the Tomcat a glossy one. As with the wash, the results were instant.

The odd man out was the Mirage. As an older, cheaper mold, it didn’t have as many panel lines to grab the paint, so it ended up looking more sludge than anything. And I didn’t even try doing the MiG-21, mostly because the wash I bought was black, so it sounded a little pointless. Still, I do know that there are washes in other colors and that there are far more precise ways to apply them. Haven’t gone and bought them yet, but they’ll be the first thing I get as soon as my next paycheck arrives.

Tomorrow, you’ll see exactly why.

#My Stuff #Hobbies #Journals #Even my mom said #'Wow it makes it look like it was in a war!'#So you know #Mistakes into miracles #Sorta

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ofmelancholys · 1 year

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⋆ : ⊱ spotted ! elizabeth ‘ libby ‘ van gelder on the cover of this week’s most recent tabloid !! many say that the twenty - three year old looks like pam hughes , but i don’t really see it . while the oil heiress and model is known for being dependable my inside sources say that they have a tendency to be fussy . i swear , every time i think of them , i hear the song summer child by conan gray .

FULL NAME , elizabeth eloise van gelder . NAME MEANING , god is my oath , healthy , wide . NICKNAME(S) , libby , bee . BIRTH DATE , october 6th . AGE , twenty - three . ZODIAC SIGN , libra . GENDER , cis woman . PRONOUNS , she and her . SEXUAL ORIENTATION , heterosexual . PLACE OF BIRTH , malibu , california , usa . CURRENT RESIDENCE , new york city ( soho ) , new york , usa . OCCUPATION , heiress and fashion model . FACECLAIM , pam hughes . CAREER CLAIM , kendall jenner .

you are a VAN GELDER , you bleed privilege : you are a girl with wounds ——— trying to survive , to break free and look damn good doing it .

a throne of gold dated 1933 , plastered in oil , handed down ( privilege ) : a golden countenance sculpted of allurement , siren songs the product of parted petals , hard work , perfection , being a credit to the family name ——— you are a VAN GELDER , this is your foundation : your LEGACY .

a silver spoon hung from petals . . . private tutors , house staff , first class , expensive fabric a bow wrapped around the van gelder girls : edith , you , and evelyn . . . BE A CREDIT TO THE FAMILY are chains on jeweled wrist . ❛ we are van gelder’s . ❜ and to be a van gelder was to suffer in silence and thrive in the attention of thousands . to fix imperfections no matter the cost . to perform , pearly whites on full display . to LOVE in loyalty , protectiveness , without bounds and limits .

madelyn and alastor van gelder are full of love , generosity , expectations . alastor is a king to an empire : rooted with a wide value in education , in upholding a reputation . a sharp tongue and looks that could kill . greedy and avoidant . . . a good father but a bad man ——— a good man but a bad father , what was it again ? madelyn is america’s sweetheart , a charitable woman who does what must be done . a woman who created a home with four walls that didn’t lack tenderness but OPENNESS . as vulnerability is to wait for closed doors : the bad haunting the van gelder’s is to not be discussed , instead ignored , tucked far far far away . . . . you love your parents , but there’s been one too many times where you did not like them .

youthful and submerged in eliteness , ❛ libby van gelder ? she’s one of the elite , rich brats with rich parents . ❜ a nepo baby . . . a van gelder ——— two titles that guaranteed a continued life of privilege , but you were always taught to shoot for the stars and making a name for yourself was air in your lungs : you NEEDED it .

FASHION . a calling you ignored as your father raved about harvard , princeton , yale . . . never dared to let it roll off your tongue , ❛ i don’t want to go to college . ❜ would instead close pretty brown hues and see the life you wanted to live TAUNTING you : paris . new york . london . vogue covers . a list celebrity parties . fashion week . your own clothing line . a life of your own . you would shove the feeling down for seventeen years . you would stuff your mouth with lies and pretend . slave over school work and apply to every college your parents talked fondly over . . . and then you would throw it all away for a modeling contract and two years of your parents not being able to look at you without ANGER , DISGUST , DISAPPOINTMENT .

libby feels like a bird in a cage . . it’s bars a need to please her parents , to keep herself from the world so expectations are succeed . she buries her impulses and her sense of adventures in back doors of clubs and private jets and fake names . . . lets her poised in control demeanor paint her as something she’s not . elizabeth van gelder is a longing just out of her grasp , a child watching a clock : how much longer can she keep this up ?

a doll countenance root for the mannequin label . a constant in being spotted in fashionable , brand named clothing , assecrories , etc : whether it be on the streets , a billboard , or a magazine cover . her resting bitch face brings forth an intimidation that warns control , distance , and unfriendliness . she was raised to care about her image , and being a credit to the family name has made her cautious : the libby van gelder the media knows is not the real libby van gelder .

a found freedom in privacy . warmness behind pools of brown . . . elizabeth is a presence to drown in . loving . loyal . animated . she’s the girl who comes running no matter the time or how big or small . she talks until a tongue grows tired and has laughter that's rain on a hot summer day . she’s a trained middle child : keep it in , suck it up , hold your head high . and she tries to deny it , will wear a mask to hide it . . but her feelings are hands wrapped around her throat , always threatening to choke her . . .

wanted connections

⅔ OF THE VAN GELDER’S SISTERS , the van gelder sisters are heavily based around the sinclair sisters from family of liars ! which is your typical spoiled brats from a family that’s old money . libby and her two other sisters dynamic i see being filled with a lot of love but complexity : growing up in a house like the van gelder’s household was a lot at times and i would assume that , that would bleed into all of their relationships . however , i am a sucker for that sibling bond of being each others ride or dies , keepers , etc and am so open to fleshing out dynamics that fall on either side together ! i do though see them on at least speaking terms as they just a few years ago dropped a clothing brand inspired by their family’s summer island . the brand is all about summer things so their main focus are bathing suits , coverups , bucket hats , anklets , sun dresses , basically all that good stuff . libby is 23 so i see her older sister being in the age range of 24-26 and the little sister 21-22 . faces are utp ( as long as they’re half black and half white ) but some suggestions are ange jose , zendaya , edie liberty rose , lisa onuoha . i just ask that any name you pick it starts with an e as it’s kind of the theme asdfgh . contact mun

THE LOST LOVE , this is a relationship that fell apart because of libby’s parents and their disapproval of your muse . i have the picture of the notebook in mind for these two ? that intense & passionate love that burns bright and fell apart after constantly being picked at by libby’s parents : their disapproval stemming from their occupation , reputation , or the fact that they simply could’ve just thought that your muse was not on their daughters level and/or encouraging a lifestyle they don't approve of for her . all of the big and small details can be discussed together !! that’s just the basics i have in mind . open

THE BELLA TO HER KENDALL , this is a twin flame , a platonic soulmate . i see instagram feeds filled with each other . walking in shows together . being each other's number one fans . girls trips . shit talking . just a dynamic duo who are highkey inseparable . open

THE TOXIC FRIEND , inspired by the lyrics ❛ you need a friend , and i’ve been off the pills again . ❜ i picture a situation that stemmed from a sort of partner in crime dynamic but overtime got messy . because libby has to keep her family reputation in mind , most of their shenanigans would have to be kept under wraps which i’m assuming would’ve gotten harder and harder as time went on ? and with that i feel as though it went from something that used to make libby feel alive and in control of her own life to instead to kind of like haunting her ? whether your muse’s personality plays into this feeling can be decided ( that as in if they’re toxic themselves or if their friendship just got too out of hand ) ! but as of recent terms i feel like it would be so fun to explore libby trying not to get sucked in your muses's chaos which you’d think would be easy but . . . for her is just not . open

THE FAMILY FRIEND , picture a family friend who parents are always pushing together to be close ( perhaps even more then close ) because of their own personal relationships and/or gain !! whether they’re actually friends or ‘ friends ‘ we can discuss . open

#hillzhqsintro

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