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whore-era · 1 year

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infatuation - part 1

☁︎ delinquent!ellie williams x preppyfem!reader, enemies to lovers trope ☁︎ smut, angst, tiny bit of fluff ☁︎ summary: don’t let your boyfriend stop you from finding your girlfriend. ☁︎ warnings: 18+ only. kissing, fingering & oral (r!recieving), masturbation, mentions of weed and smoking weed, mentions relationships w/ men, feelings, kinda mean ellie but then shes nice again, arguing and yelling kinda (let me know if i miss any more necessary warnings ty baes) ☁︎ a/n: i wrote this in like one day. hope u all enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it! ya nasties ;) ☁︎ word count: 4,347 ☁︎ 1/2 - part 2

you swore to yourself you’d never let yourself get involved with the university’s infamous delinquent— ellie williams. but you should’ve known that’d be hard to avoid, knowing she was just in reach as your roommate’s best friend.

ellie was always, and i mean always, there in your dorm. either chilling with dina, talking with dina, or, much to your disliking, smoking with dina.

ever since you ran into her on the first day of dorm move-in, she was constantly there, bickering with you, poking at you, and judging you for every little thing you did.

ellie had this image of you; an image of this perfect, high maintenance, always put-together, prissy, goody-two-shoes. it was far from the truth, well, kind of.

you did pride yourself on being one of the smartest girls on campus, and being very active in numerous extracurriculars at school. you were in the student body, the recycling club, the campus book club, the health club, the cooking club— you were just in a lot of clubs.

but it would be an understatement to say that ellie williams is everything opposite of you. she was on the other side of the spectrum you were on.

ellie williams was aggressive, a smartass, foulmouthed, risky, and usually up to trouble. always going to the dean’s office for a fight she probably started. the only reason why she hadn’t been kicked out from campus was because her stepdad is the dean's brother. don’t get yourself wrong, she was brilliant being an engineering major. but she was always doing something she wasn’t supposed to as if it fueled her drive.

you unlocked the door to your dorm, greeted with a fog of smoke. hacking out a cough, you switch on the lights, “dina!! what’d i tell you?” you lecture, stomping over towards the window to open it, “if you’re gonna smoke in here, at least open the window!”

“sorry, roomie,” dina coughed out, “we were just hotboxing.”

you turned towards the pair, criss-crossed on dina’s bed, and furrow your brows, “what? hotboxing?”

“yea, you know, smoking weed ’til the room fills up with smoke, so the high is more enhanced.” dina explained, you tilted your head to the side, still not fully comprehending whatever hotboxing was.

the brunette girl leaned against the wall, giving you a smirk. “c’mon, dee. don’t waste your breath explaining,” ellie retorted, “i’m sure lil miss perfect here never smoked or drank before.”

you scoffed, crossing your arms, “for your information, i have drank before.”

“oh yea? when was the last time, princess?” god, you hated that nickname. you hated the way it made you red in the cheeks.

“….at church.” you muttered quietly, sending ellie and dina into a fit of laughter.

“did you hear that, dee? at church! she said the last time she drank alcohol was at church!” ellie let out a boisterous laugh, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“good one, princess.”

you huffed, rolled your eyes, and rummaged around your side of the room to search for what you were looking for in the first place.

was it so wrong for you to not drink or smoke weed? you didn’t think negatively about anyone who used it, but you just didn’t feel comfortable using something that had such an effect on you. you wanted autonomy over your body at all times.

bingo. you found the cropped white baby tee you wanted to change into, finding it more comfortable than the scratchy sweater you had on currently. turning away from the chatter of dina and ellie, you lifted the sweater above your head, tossed it in your laundry bag, and slipped into the more fitted and more comfortable white tee.

standing in front of your mirror, you checked your outfit. you thought a simple t-shirt and black yoga pants were cute enough to hang out with jacob in. you fixed your hair, and looked up at the corner of your mirror, your eyes meeting green ones.

ellie bit her lip, watching the beautiful yet stubborn girl in front of her. she couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. you just looked so goddamn beautiful. she couldn’t help but take a peek at the way your bare back curved or how soft your skin looked as your sweater slid off your body. ellie definitely didn’t complain about the yoga pants either and how they hugged your ass and thighs in all the right places.

knowing she was staring at you, you hiked your yoga pants higher and bent over a little, reapplying your favorite shimmering lipgloss in the mirror. you weren’t sure what came over you, but the feeling of knowing ellie was watching you, gave you butterflies in your belly.

you see her smirk and break eye contact with you. picking up your backpack and your ‘Organic Chemistry 101’ textbook, you bid dina a goodbye.

“i’ll be back later tonight dina, don’t wait up for me.” you said, slipping your shoes on.

ellie cleared her throat, “where you headed off to?”

“pi kappa alpha frat.” you met ellie’s eyes. they looked disappointed, but then quickly rolled to the side, masking whatever sadness you thought you saw.

“hm, i see,” ellie commented, “gonna go blow some frat dude’s cock, huh?”

you groaned, “ugh, no, idiot. i’m just gonna go study.”

“mhm, whatever you say, princess.” you open the door and leave, hearing the sound of dina yelling ‘be safe’ right before you left.

walking down the corridor, you thought to yourself ‘jacob isn’t that bad’. i mean, you both aren’t in a relationship by any means. you would describe it as ‘situationship’. jacob was nice, funny sometimes, cute, had a nice body, and was cool. him as a boyfriend though? you weren’t sure about that. he was good company, provided mediocre sex, and was nice to talk to, well, usually he’d talk about hockey and you’d listen. but that’s beside the point. you’re content with this situation, right?

walking back to your dorm from what was probably the worst sex of your life was, quite frankly, embarrassing. you spend time changing into a cute outfit, fixing your makeup, and spritzing on a little bit of your favorite expensive perfume to show up to this dude’s room with him reeking of sweat and ham. you were disappointed, to say the least.

yet, you stayed anyways, unsure of what even compelled you to do that. you stayed for the company, and that company starts rubbing on your ass and tits not even 5 minutes into the netflix show. eventually, you give in, feeling in the mood from a little making out, and you were met with 3 thrusts and cum on your stomach.

needless to say, you left in a hurry. currently cuddled under your pink duvet with your earphones on, you end up scrolling about on instagram, tapping to like and swiping up to comment on your friends posts.

while aimlessly scrolling, a picture from @e.williams pops up on your timeline. you study her picture in fascination.

it was a mirror picture of her in the gym, she had her hair up in her usual half-up half-down style with a tight tank top accentuating her physique as she was flexing her arms. gosh, how could someone so annoying be so gorgeous? your eyes trail to her arms and hands. and so fine? you double-tap on the picture, looking at it for a second more before scrolling past to the next post.

your phone vibrates, and you check the notification from your instagram dm’s.

@e.williams: you checking me out or something ??

you scoff, heat rising to your cheeks. luckily, ellie wasn’t here to see that, or else you would’ve never heard the end of it. you type back.

in ur dreams idiot

you lay in bed closing your eyes, and somehow, your mind drifts off to that annoying green-eyed girl.

your mind goes to the way she looks at you when she thinks you don’t notice, or how even though she comments on everything you do, she’s so attentive about it. your mind plays in your head the way she calls you those stupid nicknames, and as much as you claim to hate them, you can’t deny the way it makes your heart flutter.

then, your mind floats to the corner of your brain that you keep locked away. you think about the way ellie bites her lip when she gets anxious, how better her lips would feel pressed onto yours. you think about the way she flexes her arms and hands, wondering how they would feel stroking your most intimate parts.

you find your hand inside your panties. luckily, dina was in the communal showers, doing her 25-step skincare routine. knowing you had the time, your hand goes down to your wet heat, rubbing your clit in slow circles.

you close your eyes, picturing her in your head, imagining her fingers working on you instead. you think about how perfect she’d look above you, looking down at you with adoring eyes. you knew she’d take good care of you. you suppress the need to moan by biting down on the duvet.

even when she wasn’t here, ellie had a way of drawing out unrecognizable responses from you. your finger still rubbing circles on your clit, an orgasm began to bubble in your stomach. you picked up the pace, legs beginning to shake, “fuck, ellie..” you manage to moan out as you finish on your fingers.

gosh, what was this girl doing to me?

it was saturday night and you had managed to get another date with jacob. you rejected him at first, but he was very persistent and promised ‘mind-blowing sex’ and takeout from one of the best restaurants in town. you obliged, clearly in it only for the takeout.

you thought it’d be a good idea to hang out with him. his hockey stories distracted you from the real person you had your mind stuck on, ellie.

you thought about her all the time, it gave you a migraine. you couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore without feeling nervous. luckily, you managed to avoid her all week, hanging out at one of your good friend’s dorm room ’til you knew the coast was clear.

you didn’t let yourself think about what it would be like being in a relationship with ellie williams. she didn’t like you at all, not in that way anyway. she’d probably make some comment like ‘hell would freeze over before i even look at you like that’. the two of you together would be a recipe for disaster. you literally despised each other.

smoothing down your dress, you smiled at the mirror in satisfaction. you went over to your desk and sat down, getting ready to apply some light makeup.

hearing the door open and close, you assumed it was dina.

“damn, who died?”

your head turns and meets those stupid green eyes and that stupid smirk adorned with those stupid freckles that make your stupid heart race a little faster. god, you were so stupid.

“ha ha, very funny,” you snapped, “what are you doing here, anyways?”

“dina doesn’t get off work for a couple of hours and i didn’t have jackshit to do, so i thought i would wait for her here,” ellie plops down on dina’s bed.

“hell, no. get out,” you demanded, pointing to the door. you really just wanted her to leave so you could let go of the breath you’ve been holding. it made you anxious being alone with her and the fact that she wore that stupid blue button-up that made her look so good didn’t make anything better either.

“chill out, princess,” ellie said leaning back against dina’s head board, “you won’t even notice i’m here.”

you huffed in frustration, trying to hide the crimson creeping up on your cheeks. you proceeded to get your mind off the brunette by continuing your makeup, intently dabbing your concealer in, and carefully curling your lashes. you pat your face gently with some powder and brush out your brows, once in a while looking to the side of your mirror, catching ellie looking at you before she quickly looks away, pretending to be on her phone.

“gettin’ all dolled up for your lil’ boyfriend?” she asks dryly, still looking down at her phone.

“wouldn’t you like to know?”

“please, do enlighten me, princess.” you swallow hard, “i’ll have you know that i’m going out with jacob anderson tonight.”

“no fucking way, is that the shithead you’re seeing from pi kappa alpha?” she says, surprised with wide eyes.

“mhm,” you hummed in confirmation, still rummaging in your makeup.

“why am i even surprised, you did always gravitate towards the assholes.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”, you paused and raised a brow.

“you go for assholes,” she stated, “do i need to spell it out for you?”

“jacob is not an asshole, he’s really nice.” you muttered, patting on some blush. “he’s hell of a lot nicer than you.”

okay, you knew that was a lie. but you had to think of a way to get her off your back.

“m’yeah, i highly doubt that. he’s a fucking tool,” she says nonchalantly, “where’s he even taking you anyways?”

“he asked me to meet up with him at the frat house, we’re gonna watch netflix and eat takeout and stuff,” you admit.

“you fuckin’ with me?” ellie looks surprised and almost pissed.

“no, why would i?”

“are you serious? it’s pouring rain outside and he asked you to come over,” she points out, “the asshole didn’t even have the decency to come over here and walk with you himself.”

your eyes look out the window, barely registering the pitter-patter of the rain hitting your window. you didn’t even know it was raining and you wore a dress. your mind was so consumed with classes, ellie, clubs, ellie, student body, ellie, and ellie. the small details just flew right over your head.

you stay silent, and she just gives you a look. a look you couldn’t decipher.

“you’re a real piece of work, y’know that?” ellie retorts, crossing her arms. jesus, why did she have to look so good like that?

“what’d i do this time? please, share with the class.” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“you just go for guys who treat you like garbage or who’re way out of your league.” she argues, “they’re either too stupid or don’t give a fuck about you.” ouch. that kind of stung.

you close your eyes, waiting before answering back at her, “can you stop it?! just for once. stop judging every single thing i do.” you yell, exasperated.

ellie’s eyes widen and she lets out a laugh, which sets you off even more.

“you think this is funny? you always make some snide comment about me. i’m too high maintenance, i’m a teacher’s pet, i’m spoiled, i go after horrible guys—“

“because you do!” she yells back.

“and why do you care, ellie?!” you yell, becoming out of breath, partly due to the hard pounding of your heartbeat in your chest, “why do you care so much?

she goes silent.

“god, you infuriate me, ellie williams.” you breathe out. you felt almost as if fire was igniting inside of you and your slow breaths were releasing the smoke. you close your eyes, attempting to calm down before opening them again and putting on the last finishing touches on your makeup. as you stand up grabbing your purse, and you hear ellie let out a heavy sigh.

“you’re seriously still gonna go out with that fucking frat bro prick jacob anderson? after everything i said?” she snarks, “i thought girls like you were supposed to be smart.”

“yea, as a matter of fact. i am still going,” you give her a mocking smile.

“why? so, he can fuck you missionary in the dark while he finishes in 3 seconds?” she lets out a harsh laugh, “how fucking romantic.”

“again, why do you even care? you don’t even like me,” you counter, her head spins in your direction.

“who told you that?” ellie appeared angry, her eyes sharp and a serious tone in her voice.

“no one that matters.”

there’s a pregnant pause in the air as if she’s hesitating to say something.

“well, whoever the fuck they are, they’re wrong.” she confessed, her voice wavering.

“what do you mean?”

she sighs in frustration, running a hand through her hair before standing up in front of you.

“i’m infatuated with you.”

“huh?” you manage to croak out in shock. did you hear her correctly?

“yea. you heard me. i’m infatuated with you. you fucking consume every corner of my mind. every capacity of my being.” she comes closer to you, backing you up against the door, “you drive me absolutely insane.”

“then why do you treat me like this?” you ask, looking up at her with big, curious eyes. ellie’s eyes soften at you.

“because— i hate seeing you go on dates with those dicks who don’t deserve you. i hate seeing the way you dress in those short-ass fucking dresses and skirts for them. i hate knowing that they don’t even make you feel good. i hate that you waste your time on those assholes instead of—,” she breathes, “—instead of me.”

you look at her, searching for any sign of doubt in her face. nothing. no. she couldn’t do this. she couldn’t spring this on you. she couldn’t act one way to you for months and then tell you something different the next.

“so what? you think you deserve me? you deserve my attention?” you snap ungraciously.

“as a matter of fact, yes. yes i do.” she whispers, getting closer to you. “you and i both know it,” her breath fans your face, “i’d make you feel better than any of those assholes could.”

you shift uncomfortably in your spot, pulling your eyes away from hers.

“i can give you everything you deserve. i can give you everything you want.” she swears. “i can make your pussy feel so, so good, baby,” you can feel your wetness pool in your panties.

“can make you whimper and moan,” ellie suddenly grabs you by the bare flesh underneath your ass, her warm hands hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around her waist.

“jus’ give me a chance to show you.” she whispers lowly. you smash your lips onto hers, your hands holding onto the nape of her neck. you knew this was probably a bad idea, but god, the way her tongue felt in your mouth felt ungodly. her tongue rubbed against yours, exploring your mouth like it was something she was destined to do.

walking towards your bed, your frame still wrapped up around her, she bent down to lay you on your bed. ellie pulled away from your lips and looked down at you, scattering gentle kisses below your jawline towards your neck, your legs still firmly wrapped around her figure.

with your eyes closed, savoring the feeling of her lips all over your neck, you attempted to put an end to this. “el, we can’t,” you nearly moan out.

“why? ‘cause of jacob?” ellie lets out an amused laugh, before pressing her lips against the weak spot of your neck, sucking on it.

another moan vibrates through you, “god, ellie,” you let out meekly.

“tell me to stop,” she commands, her lips moving to suck on the spot above your collarbone, the tip of her tongue gliding against your skin. don’t stop.

“tell me that i’m wrong,” ellie murmured, “that i don’t deserve you.” you deserve me.

her fingers lift up the hem of your dress, exposing your stomach. her lips pepper sloppy kisses against the supple skin of your stomach, “tell me you don’t want me,” i want you, “that you don’t feel the same for me.” i do feel the same for you.

“tell me, baby,” ellie kisses in the space between your breasts, “tell me you’re not mine.”

your heart was beating in and out of your chest. this was it. this was your chance. getting an opportunity to be with ellie williams was a once-in-a-lifetime offer, and you weren’t passing up your dream girl.

you grab her face, lifting her lips up to yours. “i’m yours, ellie,” you cooed, “i’m all yours.”

leaning her forehead against yours, her lips curled into a smile, before pressing onto yours one more time. her warm hands rubbed against the skin on your waist, exploring every inch of warm, flesh. you whined against her mouth, wanting more. you needed more. you needed her.

ellie’s hands trailed upwards, lifting the dress off you and discarding it somewhere in your room. she took this opportunity to pull away from you for a second, her eyes grazing your body. ellie found it hard to believe she was in this situation, with you underneath her, nearly naked and looking angelic. she took a mental picture of this moment, never wanting to forget how you looked at her— with love.

her fingers went behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it fall and tossing it to the side.

“fuck, you’re so beautiful,” she whispered, “you’re beyond anything i could’ve dreamt of.”

your stomach erupted in butterflies, flushed at this newfound sweet side to ellie. her mouth placed sloppy kisses on your chest, sucking on the soft skin and leaving maroon-colored marks as a reminder of where she had been and where she belongs.

she took your breast in her mouth, letting her tongue wrap around your hardened nipple. “oh my god, ellie,” you hissed. she smirked up at you, letting one of her hands massage and pinch on the other nipple.

“please, ellie,” you begged, “touch me, please.”

she let out a sickening chuckle, the heat of her mouth fanning your skin, sending shivers up your spine.

“where, sweet girl?” she said bringing her lips down to suck on your nipple again, “use your words.”

you bucked your hips up, “please, el, touch my pussy. pretty please.” you breathe out.

“ah, ah, ah, can’t hear you, baby.” she mocked, pulling her lips away from your now sensitive nipples.

“ellie, please,” you whined out, “i want you to touch my pussy. please.”

she smirks, satisfied with where she has you. “that’s my good girl. how obedient, hm?”

she stands up, still in between your legs, and pulls your body to the edge of the mattress. her hands go to the waistband of your panties, using her fingers to ever-so-slowly peel them off of you. she was intentionally moving agonizingly slow. her hands caressed your inner thighs and calves, finally chucking your panties somewhere on the floor.

“fuck, i’ve been waiting so long to do this,” ellie said, crouching down on the floor in front of you. you could feel her hot breath against your pussy, and you couldn’t bear it any longer.

“please, i need you, el,” you beg, hoping for some relief. her hands lifted your thighs and placed them on her shoulders, her lips pressing soft kisses in between your thighs. she presses a kiss against your inner thigh, on your pussy lips, and then finally on your clit.

ellie works slow and patiently, using her fingers to steadily spread your pussy lips apart and gather your wetness with her tongue. she uses one finger and inserts it inside you, eliciting a gasp from your lips.

you throw your head back, “oh my god, ellie, yes,” you moan out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“look at you, getting what you want, you spoiled girl,” she mutters against your pussy, before putting her lips on your clit again, sucking on your sensitive core. her finger pumping in and out of you easily, the slick sound of your wetness reverberating throughout the room.

“you taste so fucking good, baby,” ellie hums against you, slurping up every drop of your juices. she adds a second finger, stretching you out a bit, but still sliding in and out of you with ease.

her tongue flicking against your clit combined with her fingers fucking you was enough to almost send you over the edge, you cover your mouth with your hand, suppressing a loud moan that was tempted to come out.

“no, let me hear you, sweet girl,” ellie orders, “let everyone in this whole goddamn hall hear how good i’m fingerfucking you right now.”

you let your hand drop to your side, relishing in the ecstasy, and letting out a moan you were holding back.

“that’s my girl.”

you hear your phone ring, knowing it’s jacob, probably wondering why you haven’t shown up by now. but here you were, with ellie, knuckles deep inside your pussy.

she grabs your phone from the nightstand with her free hand, while the other is picking up the pace with her fingers, eliciting another moan from your parted lips, “hey fucker, leave a message. she’s busy right now.”

you should’ve scolded her about how she answered your phone, but right now, any consequences you thought about vanished as she continued licking circles against your swollen clit while simultaneously curling her fingers up inside your leaking hole.

“el—“ you barely choked out, “m’gonna— gonna—“

she kept the same pace, not for a second slowing down, “you gonna cum, baby? huh? you gonna cum for me?”

you nodded weakly, clenching your pussy around her fingers and tightening your thighs around her head.

“go ‘head, angel,” her pace never misses a beat, “show me who you belong to.”

your back arches off the mattress and you cry out, riding out your orgasm and letting your juices flow out of you.

after cleaning your thighs with a wet wipe and towel, ellie comes up to hover above your face, planting a tender kiss on your lips.

“is it too late to ask you to be my girlfriend?” she asks, letting out a sincere laugh.

“i thought we already established this, idiot.”

read part 2 here

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams tlou #the last of us #the last of us ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x reader #tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst

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emeritusemeritus · 3 months

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No Good Deeds [George Weasley x Reader]

Part 5

Part 1 2 3 4 5

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. George calls us Angel. Drinking. SMUT. The smut has arrived! P in V, oral (both). Angst, sadness, grief. Tags will be updated with each chapter. Not Beta-read or spell checked.

Honeymoon time 💕

Your wedding to George was a jubilant celebration with your family and friends, a chance to bask in the love you were so thankful to receive from everyone around you. You'd honoured Fred in many ways that day, including photos of him, an empty chair with his name on and many other little ways to make it seem like he was there. You'd noticed George had worn his chain under his suit shirt and the sight of it made butterflies flutter inside you.

It was a small and quaint wedding that had admittedly been rushed in planning, only two weeks after you'd announced your engagement, but it was perfect. No one had doubted your intentions and the day had gone completely to plan, except for the regular hiccups that seem to occur when a group of people are brought together. Muriel had been characteristically foul as usual and had clashed with your great aunt Ariadne though she'd avoided the more triggering topics which was one consolation.

You danced with your friends and your now blended family late into the night, with George eventually stealing you back from dancing with Bill for one final dance.

"Have you had a good day Mrs Weasley?" He asks, holding you close as you sway with surprising grace even with the healthy amount of alcohol you'd both consumed.

"The best, Mr Weasley," you beam up at him, his handsomeness once again hitting you as you look upon his smiling face.

"Couldn't have asked for better. I don't think you've ever looked more beautiful."

The night you'd spent together had not been repeated since, nor had you really spoken about it. There was a lingering tension between you, growing increasingly stronger throughout the day as you thought of your wedding night and honeymoon, the anticipation almost consuming you.

Ginny and Fleur had whisked you away from George not long after your final dance to get you ready to leave for your honeymoon, which you'd be departing for very soon. It was tradition in the Weasley family to immediately begin your honeymoon the night of the wedding and you had readily accepted the chance to exit out of the wedding a little earlier into the night, giving you and George some time alone.

You'd chosen to honeymoon in the U.K. to keep costs down, after all this whole situation was based upon George reclaiming the shop as sole owner and any unnecessary spending would only increase the amount of time you'd be married. Bill and Fleur had graciously offered for you to stay in Shell Cottage with them but George had instead chosen to surprise you with your destination. He'd tactfully evaded every single one of your questions, relishing in his power of knowledge but had thankfully given you a few clues as to what you should pack. Clothes for all weather, from hot to bitter cold, a couple of 'nice' outfits and a bathing suit. So, nothing to really go off.

Percy had arranged a ministry car for you to borrow for the week, his gift for you both and you'd decided to travel like muggles for the week, taking your time and only using magic when necessary. George was driving to your destination, the luggage and travel necessities having been packed up earlier that day by the Weasley boys and Harry.

The crowd cheered as you both walked towards the car that was waiting for you, your family and friends gathered around with jubilant faces as you walked hand in hand towards the car. You both paused to thank and embrace Mr and Mrs Weasley before climbing into the car, George opening the door for you before getting in on his side. You waved at the gathering of people in front of you as George pulled away and as you pulled away from the Burrow, you peered through the back window, squirming around the freshly painted 'just married' sign to see your loved ones fading further away as they carried on the party.

"Are you okay?" George asks gently as he drives out of Ottery St Catchpole, the rolling Devonshire fields passing you by as the sun begins to set.

"I'm... incredible, I don't think there are words for how I'm feeling," you say with a wide smile, giggling a little at your inability to get your words out. He chuckles and reaches for your hand, pulling it onto the gear stick to join his.

"I know what you mean, I feel like I'm floating," he says, flashing you a smile before turning his attention back to the road. You take the opportunity of his attention being elsewhere to really look at him, the plains of his face looking unbelievably handsome to you. He looked stunning in his suit, the colour and cut of the material only serving as a compliment to his gorgeous red hair and sharp features.

"Checking me out Mrs Weasley?" He says with a smirk, eyes still fixed on the road. You fight to hide the creeping blush that appears on your cheeks, realising that he'd caught you staring. You bite your lip and turn away, choosing to look out of the window at the rolling hills instead. "You can you know, I'm yours now."

You turn to look at him and the smile he has plastered on his face fills you with warmth and nervous excitement.

"You look so handsome, I feel like I can't take my eyes off you," you admit, a little bashfully.

He gives a deep chuckle and squeezes your hand that is still held by his own.

"You have no idea how hard it is to drive right now, all I want to do is stare at you," he admits, though he sounds completely unashamed of his words. You blush and look away again, this time out of pure bliss, wanting to remember everything about this moment.

"Get some sleep Angel, it's quite a drive," he says softly a few minutes later, turning down the radio that was playing music in the background.

"I'm okay," you lightly protest, despite feeling relaxed by the drive. "I wish I'd taken this dress off though, not the best travelling outfit."

"And take that joy away from me? How dare you," he jokes, sounding a little outraged. Your stomach instantly fills with nerves and butterflies at his words; he intended to take your dress off.

You fell asleep a short while later, just as the last slither of sunlight had disappeared into the horizon, the long stretch of road ahead now only lit by car lights and the faint cats eyes on the ground. The mixture of the low humming from the radio, the gentle rocking of the car and the presence of George was enough to lull you into a much needed sleep as you cuddled into a pillow you'd thought to pack, wishing that you were wearing something much less restrictive but that couldn't be helped.

When you woke again, it was still pitch black and George was still driving, the car lights ahead of you the only clue to where you were.

"Hi Angel," George says, noticing you staring as he briefly looks over at you with a smile.

"Mmm, hi Georgie," you mumble back, still fighting off the last embers of sleep. "Where are we?"

"Nice try," he says, not falling at the last hurdle and you give a little huff, hoping that one would have worked. "About an hour away."

"Is there time to stop for a coffee somewhere?" You ask, sitting straighten in your seat as you abandon the pillow into your lap.

"I don't know anywhere that would be open," he says, flicking his eyes to the dashboard clock, prompting you to do so and realising that it was now past midnight, much to your surprise.

"McDonald's will be," you say with a little shrug, trying to see any hints from signposts as to where you were of where the next services would be.

"McDonald's?" He asks, completely oblivious and you can't help but laugh, never having thought about how the notion of 24 hour fast food had not yet entered the wizarding world, making George completely oblivious.

"It's a 24 hour restaurant, usually around road services, it's fast food," you explain. He immediately gets it and let's out a little 'ahhh' of understanding, telling you that there was a services coming up and you could check if there was one there. There was.

Introducing George Weasley to drive-through ordering was nothing short of hilarious and you'd briefly lamented the fact that his first McDonald's experience wouldn't be inside an actual McDonald's building but you were not about to enter a fast food joint at a service station in a wedding dress. You'd both ordered a coffee, yourself a medium coke and then you had excitedly introduced him to not only a Big Mac but also chicken nuggets, both of which were a complete revelation to him and you had to hold back serious giggles at his reactions. Half an hour later and you were on your way, coffees in hand and belly's a little fuller as you prepared for the last part of your journey.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take over? I don't mind driving to give you a break," you offered as you watch him put on his seatbelt.

"You don't know where we're going," he says with a devilish smirk but you feign innocence.

"Then just tell me and I'll get us there," you say innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.

"Nice try baby," he says with an even more sinister smirk, his eyes roaming your face briefly before he turns on the car and begins to pull away after one last sip of coffee.

You were transfixed as George turned right up a long winding path entirely shielded by trees, the long road leading you deeper under the canopy of trees until you were completely surrounded by woodland. You could make out a small, warm light at the end of the long road and became transfixed on the approaching light, trying to focus your eyes hard on that point, trying to make sense of it. The car swerved a little to avoid a large twig in the road which brought your destination into clear view.

You gasped at the beauty of the scene in front of you, looking excitedly at George who looked more than pleased at your reaction.

"George," you say breathlessly as he parks up in the little clearing beside the place you'd be staying.

It was a rustic log cabin, completely shielded away from everything by a large canopy of trees, a beautiful escape completely hidden away from the outside world. The cabin was almost entirely made of wood with wooden shutters and a wrap around deck.

"George it's beautiful," you say, completely gobsmacked as you look at the gorgeous lodge in front of you, seeing it illuminated by the multiple lanterns that offered a stark contrast against the pitch black night.

"Only the best for my bride," he teases, opening up his car door, prompting you to do the same.

"Want to explore whilst I unload the car?" He asks with a grin, holding the keys to the cabin out in front of you, the little wooden keyring clinking against the two old fashioned keys. You nod enthusiastically and reach out to grab them, pulling George in and without much thought, you leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. Instantly, you realised what you'd done and took a step back, blushing a little as you avoided his gaze. His hand had instinctively wrapped around your back and he gave your back a little rub as you parted, showing no ill will as you turned and walked excitedly towards the cabin.

Opening the door, you were immediately met with an illuminated room thanks to the warm lighting from multiple lamps and light fixtures. The cabin was warm, as if there was a log fire already burning and the smell was heavenly, clean and fresh but with an indisputable scent of wood and pine, a natural consequence of it's idyllic surroundings. You walked through a little entrance hall that houses a utility room before stepping into an open living room, dining room and kitchen, all of which were warm and inviting with natural wood features throughout and neutral colours, highlighting the windows which you knew would almost certainly have beautiful views in the morning. There were two brown leather sofas that looked absolutely lush and a single armchair underneath a window that looked perfect for reading, a tall lamp beside it and a little table for drinks. There was a television and a cabinet in the corner and beside that was a beautiful log burner that was indeed lit, radiating heat throughout the home. You couldn't see much through the side door that was half glass but the outside light did illuminate the decking a little, highlighting a rather impressive sunken hot tub that was covered, eliciting a little excited squeal from you.

You walked down a small corridor that led off from the main atrium through a beautifully carved wooden door with an old metal latch which led you to the bathroom on the left and two bedrooms. You crept into the bathroom to take a peak and saw a big bathtub to the left and a built in shower to the right, as if every need was catered for. One bedroom has two single beds partitioned with a beautiful shelving unit and the other bedroom was almost certainly the master.

There was a huge four poster bed against the back wall bookended by two beside tables with lamps that looked entirely too inviting. The bedding was sheer white and completely crease free, only adding to its appeal. There was a smaller television in here too, along with a dressing table and a large, ornate wardrobe that looked older than the cabin itself.

"What do you think Mrs Weasley?" George asks from behind you as you pause to run your hand over the ornately carved bed frame. You turn to see him leaning against the doorframe with a smirk, still wearing his wedding suit but now with his tie removed and a few buttons open near his collar.

"I think it's absolutely beautiful Mr Weasley," you reply, turning to him with a look of pure elation.

"Just like my wife then," he says with a look in his eyes that makes your pulse race. He steps towards you with clear conviction and it's all you can do not to melt into a puddle, the look in his eye so dangerously arousing that you're almost frozen to the spot. It was the first time he'd called you his wife and the reaction that it pulled from your body was almost unbelievable, the sound of it almost heavenly in your mind.

As soon as he reaches you, there's a brief pause as if he's searching your face for any hint of resistance, not that he'd find any. When he sees the look in your eye, knowing that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, he steps even closer and wraps his hand around the back of your neck before leaning down and kissing you with a burning passion.

Your hands slip up to his chest, feeling the material of his lapels under your fingers and pull slightly, needing to feel him as close to you as possible as you pull his jacket off. His fingers tangle in your hair as the kiss deepens, tongues working together to fuel the burning desire between you both.

With his right hand cradling your head and his left clutching as your waist, he begins leading you to the side of the bed, silently asking if it was okay to go further.

"Make love to me George," you say against his lips, hardly wanting to pull away for even a second. You hear him groan against your lips before his hand slips from your hair and down to your butt, cradling you and taking your weight. In a move that would otherwise impress you if you'd seen it in person, he sweeps you off your feet whilst climbing onto the bed and lays you down softly before climbing over you, kicking off his shoes in the process.

"I've waited all day to rip this dress off of you," he mumbles against your skin as he begins kissing down your neck, onto your bare shoulders where your dress straps began, the soft layers of the gown suddenly feeling much too restrictive as your skin burnt up with desire. He kisses down your chest as your hands tangle in his slightly grown out hair. There's a single moment where your eyes meet, just as he hovers over your panting cleavage and it takes your breath away how absolutely sexy he looks, the desire and admiration in his eyes mirroring your own. His long fingers drag against your rib cage as they dance over to your covered breasts before he reaches in to pull down the cup of dress, exposing your right breast to him, your dusky pink nipple already hard and waiting for him. He groans, watching your breast spring free and immediately bends down to run his tongue over the pebbled nipple, eliciting a deep, breathy moan from you before his lips wrap about the little bud and begin sucking. You moan out again, throwing your head back into the pillows at the overwhelming sensation and suddenly you feel the whole atmosphere change. There's no trepidation anymore, no resistance or questioning but rather just a primal urge between both of you.

You can tell that George is feeling for the opening your dress so you divert his fingers to the small, concealed zipper on the side and help him drag it down, much too slowly for your liking. He pulls away the dress after you slip your arms out and you watch carefully as his mouth slips open to a little 'o' shape as he pulls the dress from your body, exposing you completely to his gaze. You couldn't wear a bra with your dress thanks to the unique straps but you had thought you buy a tiny white lace thong that you'd had embroidered with a little 'W' on the left side of the crotch, knowing it would either make him laugh or make him growl. Luckily for you, it was most certainly the latter as he groaned as he spotted it, momentarily fixated on your naked breasts that were exposed completely for his view, his eyes travelling down your body with acute precision before he eventually noticed your little customisation. He groans and leans down to press a kiss directly to where the 'W' was situated, just above your mound and you can't help but squirm as the sensation of having him so close to where you needed him. He notices, of course he does, and his eyes flick up to yours with a look of pure mischief as he begins kissing the inside of your thigh and across your bikini line, teasing you. You groan and can't help but roll your hips as he flutters kisses everywhere apart from where you need them.

"My beautiful wife needs something?" He teases, acting completely oblivious when you knew he was very aware.

"Please George," you beg, "need you."

Like a switch had been flicked in George's mind, his long fingers begin tracing your pussy through the very thin and nearly transparent lace, groaning once again when he feels the wetness seeping through the lace. You feel his fingers hook into the side of your thong, catching your labia with a little stroke before he pulls them away from your burning pussy, exposing you completely to his view. He wastes no time and leans down, licking a long stripe across your pussy, catching your swollen clit with the til of his tongue in the most perfect way that has you gasping and moaning.

"Fuck you taste good, so sweet," he whines into your pussy, resting his forehead against your mound for a moment before he slips down again, this time licking you with vigour. "So wet baby."

His tongue is everywhere, delicately stroking and teasing whilst also hitting every spot you need him in perfectly. It's a perfect juxtaposition between his igniting a fire inside of you, making you burn with desire and pure torment whilst also extinguishing the flames with his tongue. As soon as his finger traces your inner lips as it moves down, gently pressing into your waiting hole before he slips one of his long, deft fingers inside of you, you're gone. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, hips rising of their own accord as you grope your breasts, completely consumed by your pleasure. He slips a second finger into you as you cry out, fucking yourself on his fingers as he circles your clit with his tongue, putting pressure on the left side just as he's discovered drives you crazy.

"George, George!" You chant as you feel the beginning of your orgasm rising in you very quickly, consuming you and burning you from the inside out. Your pussy is drenched and you can feel more arousal gushing from you as your climax crests, George's own moans ringing out in your mind as he pushes you over the edge. It's like you're falling, the crescendo of light and burning arousal overtaking your whole body and mind, the only capable thought in your mind is of George. He licks you slowly as you come down, careful to avoid your sensitive clit as he laps up your cum, fingers still slowly fucking you bath and forth with gentle strokes, extending your pleasure.

You gasp to catch your breath, chest rising and falling rapidly as your heart pounds, the effects of your orgasm still lingering as you feel a tingle across your whole body. It takes all of ten seconds for you to focus your attention back to George who has pulled his fingers out of you and began kissing your inner thigh again, soothing you as you return to him.

You sit up and reach for him, pulling him on top of you as you kiss him feverishly, moaning as you taste yourself on his lips. He notices and groans deeply against your lips, almost growling as you lick at his lips, desperate for a taste. You claw at his shirt, desperate to even out your nudity and feel his skin against yours and as if he can sense the sheer desperation, reaches down and completely rips the front of his shirt, the flying and falling buttons only an afterthought as you fight to get the shredded shirt away from his body. Your hands slip to his smooth shoulders and down his back as you kiss him desperately, pulling his tongue into your mouth so you can suck on it, relishing in his deep groans and little whines. Your hands rest on his collarbones as you slowly pull away from him, pushing him slightly until he realises was you want. You overpower him with just enough force that he rolls onto his back as you immediately latch to his chest, kissing and biting as you make your way down to your destination.

His suit trousers are completely tented, the sheer size an excitement of him almost intimidating to you as you fight to open the fastenings of his trousers. You don't wait even a moment after they are open to slide them down his hips, along with his black boxer briefs until he was completely bare, except from his sentimental chain and your wedding rings. You crawl back up the bed after throwing aside his bottoms and flick your eyes up to see his own desperate look as you come face to face with his rather impressive member. His lips are parted and he looks completely desperate as he watches you carefully, silently pleading for you to take his aching length in your mouth. You grant him reprieve almost instantly, licking straight from the crest of his balls to the engorged tip of his cock, tracing the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock, following the gentle curve. He cries out at the contact and it makes you want to do everything in your power to hear it over and over again.

You gave into him completely, taking his tip in your mouth and licking all around, earning another heavenly noise from him before you sucked in your cheeks and bobbed up and down his length, taking him deeper and deeper with each fall; never stopping your tongue from running along the length of him. You were addicted to him, the taste, the weight of his length against your tongue, the feel of his smooth skin against your lips. You fought to go further with each bob, sucking him down like the most delicious treat from Honeydukes, giving everything you could.

George was moaning mess before you, desperately searching for any part of your body he could reach as he fought to stop his hips from rising each time you'd pull off, like he never wanted to leave your hot, wet mouth. Sweet names, curses and a load more expletives fell from his mouth as you pleasured him until he reached out, leaning forward to pull you closer to him.

You were dripping, more aroused than ever and so desperate for him to fill you that it was all you could think about. He pauses, looking at the little strip of lace that was still misplaced, concealing nothing of yourself and ripped the thin strings on the sides, tearing it away from your body, both of you complete bare to the other's gaze.

It was so intimate and intense that it stole the breath from your lungs, just how adoringly he was gazing at you. His hand grabbed around your neck, holding your face and threading into your hair as he kissed you completely without abandon, your chests pressed together as your leg slipped between his, desperately seeking friction.

"Ride me baby," he mumbles against your lips and as if acting directly on command, you comply. You lift your hips and straddle him, his narrow hips allowing your thighs to rest against his comfortably as your centres align, the heat and sensitivity joining together to make you both gasp.

He reaches down and holds his perfect cock at the bottom, ready for you to climb onto and you can hardly contain your cries as you slowly sink down, feeling him stretching you out. He pulls his hand away, moaning at the sensation as his hand rests on your bum, the large hand and long fingers wrapping around your bum and thigh.

It's sinful how well he stretches you out, filling you completely without any pain or discomfort, like you'd been moulded perfectly for his cock alone.

When your hips rise again and you sink back down, this time much more confidently, your head flips back at the sensation. George grunts and tightens his grip on you as you slowly begin to ride him, hips undulating and breasts bouncing as you fall into a perfect rhythm. Your hair fans out across your back and you've never felt sexier in that moment, feeling adored under his gaze and praised by not only his words but also his moans and growls.

You're both so worked up, so perfectly in sync that you can hardly contain yourself, not even caring to try and hold off the impending climax that threatens you, creeping up slowly until it's impossible to resist. You can feel your walls clenching around him, your arousal peaking as it leaks out around his cock and you're rewarded with the most incredible moans that spill from his lips at the sensation.

"George, Georgie I'm gonna," you stagger, completely breathless as you keep riding him, finding the perfect spot and movement so that he hits every single pleasure point inside you.

"Cum Angel, fuck, cum around my cock," he pants, groaning and tightening his grip on your hips as he fucks up into you. "Godric you're tight, perfect little pussy squeezing my cock so good. Cum for me Angel."

You chant his name as the heat of your second orgasm consumes you, never once stopping as you bounce on his cock. He takes over fucking up into you as you ride out your climax, filling you completely as he shoves his entire length into you before pulling almost completely out and repeating the motion. You're in complete bliss, overwhelmingly so, and can hardly stop tears of overstimulation brimming at your eyes, blurring your vision only slightly. George lets out a roar as he cums, fucking up into you with a brutal pace that is sinful at best. His hands pull you close to him, bruises forming under his grip but it's perfect.

His thrust stop slowly as he comes down from his high, riding out the last of his pleasure as he pulls you down to rest on him, softening cock slipping out at the angle. You breathe deeply as you feel the evidence of his pleasure slipping out of you slowly, trickling down until it dripped onto your inner thighs.

He cranes his neck to reach out to kiss you again, though this time it's like a warm down, gentle and sensitive.

"Welcome to the family," he wheezes after a few moments of comfortable silence and you let out a loud belly laugh at the absurdity of his words, tapping his chest as you slink down to rest beside him, his arm still keeping you pressed to him. He's covered you both with the duvet and you can't resist slipping into a very comfortable sleep, too comfortable and worn out from the day to fight it.

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#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #george weasley masterlist #George Weasley x you #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley smut #George Weasley fluff #no good deeds

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ironstrange1991 · 7 months

Text

Human

Pairing: Defender!Strange x PregnantWife!Reader

Synopsis: Stephen is not acting like himself when he returns from a very hard mission.

Word Count: 1,6k

Warnings: None. Basically the hurt/comfort trope.

A/N: I needed a fic with Stephen being vulnerable and soft and ended up with this. Hope you guys like it.

You liked to think you knew Stephen as well as you knew yourself. You knew when he was happy or sad, when he was tired or excited without him having to say a word to you. And it was exactly Stephen's inability to talk about his feelings that made you get into the habit of reading him so well.

You had been together for a few years, married and expecting your first child and as the weeks progressed and you approached the end of the pregnancy you noticed that Stephen began to become more restless, worried. Work didn't help. In fact, for the past three months work had taken up most of Stephen's time and you believed that was one of the reasons he was so restless. He blamed himself for not spending as much time as he wanted with you.

It was Friday night and you were finishing dinner when Stephen and his Defender friends left the meeting room after being there for hours. They had arrived from a mission that afternoon and locked themselves in that room without you even having time to say hi to your husband.

Hearing the familiar chattering in the entrance hall you went to them in time to say goodbye to Jessica Jones and Clint Barton.

"My god, Y/n you look gorgeous. When will the baby arrive?" Jones asked smiling and trying to look like everything was fine, but you could see from the expressions on Barton and Stephen's faces that something was wrong. Sometimes it happened. Something would go wrong with their missions, and they would return home with those tired and sad faces.

You smiled wrapping your arms around Stephen’s waist. "Later this month. We can't wait." You said glancing at Stephen, but he was serious and just nodded without adding any comment.

When Jones and Barton said goodbye and you were finally alone with your husband you took the time to actually look at him. He was well enough. Some cuts on his face as usual, but what was worrying you was not his physical condition. He seemed tired, yes, but something was off, he was different.

"Are you okay?" You asked a little unsure.

He cupped your cheeks and kissed your forehead avoiding your question. "I am going to take a shower." He said pulling away.

"Dinner is ready. I can help you shower..."

"That won't be necessary, baby. I'm sorry, I should have warned you. I'm not hungry. I'm going straight to bed."

You stood there watching him walk away and go up the stairs. You weren't upset because he wouldn't eat, but rather worried about his behavior. Stephen never refused your help when he arrived on a mission. Most of the time he asked you to help him, always eager to have his wife's hands on him.

It was safe to say that by now you had also lost your hunger, so you put all the food in the fridge and went upstairs to find Stephen already in bed, his back resting in a pile of pillows, wearing his reading glasses - which he almost never did in your presence - reading a huge book of spells that he had probably brought with him from Kamar Taj. You sighed, still standing in the doorway and then decided to enter and closed the door behind you.

You went to the bathroom and brushed your teeth and changed out of your clothes into some comfortable pajamas and then went back to the bedroom, but instead of lying down on your side of the bed you stood next to Stephen and held out your hand. "Give me the book. Now is not the time to work. You just arrived and I need to talk to my husband."

He stared at you over his reading glasses and you had to hold yourself back to keep a straight face. He looked so cute when he wore glasses. "I need to find a specific spell..."

"I didn't ask what you needed to do, Stephen. Give me the book."

He sighed, closing the book and handing it into your hands. It was a heavy leather-bound book with symbols that you had no idea what they meant. You placed it on the bedside table and took his reading glasses off, placing them carefully on top of the book.

"I'm fine by the way. I had a great week at work. The baby is fine too. Thank you so much for asking." You said, sitting next to him on the side of the bed.

He ran his hand over his face, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry."

He cupped your face and pulled you to his lips kissing you softly. "Baby, I'm so sorry."

You held his hand on your face.

"Tell me what's going on. I've noticed you've been more taciturn the last few weeks. But I've never seen you like this, Stephen."

He nodded. "I just... I've had a lot of work the last few weeks. I'm tired, that's all."

You didn't believe that. Surely there was something more he didn't want to say.

"I've seen you tired. Hurt, drained of magic, but I've never seen you like this and I need you to tell me what's going on so I can help you."

He took your hands and held them tight in his and then to your astonishment he gave in to a silent cry. You had never seen Stephen cry in all the years you were together. You cupped his face, wiping the tears from his cheek with your thumb.

"Hey! What's wrong? Tell me what's going on."

He sniffed trying to compose himself and then began to speak with a choked voice.

"I'm tired of losing people. Tired of fighting battles that seem to have no end. Tired of seeing innocent people die. This burden is very heavy sometimes and I don't feel like I can carry it at the moment."

You swallowed thickly, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. "You're human, baby. It's normal to feel this way sometimes, there's nothing wrong with that."

He shook his head. "No, I can't. I'm the Sorcerer Supreme, I'm the leader of the Defenders. I don't have the right to succumb because if I do, more people will die and it will be my fault. It's always my fault..."

You shushed him. "Baby that's not true. You always do your best, but it's not possible to save everyone and I'm sorry you feel this way."

You got up and walked around the bed and got comfortable resting your back on a pile of pillows. "Come here. Lay your head in my lap."

He wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hands and surrendered, doing as you asked. You took off the hair tie and started combing the strands gently with your fingers and he let out a heavy sigh.

"Want to tell me what happened on that last mission?"

He shook his head.

"You know you can tell me anything, Stephen."

"I know, but right now I just want to forget everything. I'm so tired. My body is sore from the fight and my head feels like it's going to explode."

You hummed listening and continued stroking his hair. "When was the last time you ate something?"

He did not answer.

"Breakfast? Dinner?" You insisted.

"I don't remember, to be honest."

"Stephen! Let me get you something to eat."

But he held you in place before you could even think about getting up.

"Tomorrow. I don't think I'll be able to hold anything on my stomach tonight, baby. I just want to stay here with you. Please. Want to feel your hands in me."

You sighed, knowing there was no point in insisting.

"You're not going to work tomorrow. I'll talk to Wong in the morning."

He didn't say anything, which made you even more worried. Normally he would have been reluctant to accept your suggestion.

It broke your heart to see Stephen like that. You knew he gave his all to his work, he always put everyone first, in fact that was one of the reasons for your arguments, but it still seemed like it wasn't enough. He overcharged himself, blamed himself for things that weren't his fault. You just wanted him to see himself through your eyes, for him to see himself the way you saw him: a true selfless hero.

"I love you, Stephen. I know you're mad at yourself right now, but I want you to know that I'm proud of you and everything you do to keep me and everyone in this world safe. It's a very heavy burden, baby, but you know I'll always be here to help you carry it."

He turned to look at you. "I love you. So much. More than anything."

You smiled tracing his beard with the tip of your finger. "I know that out there you have to be the Sorcerer Supreme and the Leader of the Defenders, but here, you are allowed to be human, to be Stephen, my sweet husband."

He sighed reaching to touch your cheek.

"There is nothing in the world I want to be more than your husband."

You smiled, holding his hand and lowering it to your belly. "You’re sure?"

And like magic you saw the corner of his lips curl up in a discreet smile that widened and transformed into a wide and beautiful smile when he felt the baby kicking against his hand.

He pressed his lips against your belly and whispered. "I love you so much little one. Can't wait to finally meet you."

You smiled, stroking his hair. "And she loves you. She always starts kicking when she hears your voice. I know she is proud of you just as I am."

Stephen sat up and held your face in his hands. "Thank you, baby, for taking such a good care of me. Everything I do is for my girls."

You leaned in one of his hands. "And I’m so grateful for that. We'll always be here for you in good or bad times. Your two girls will always be here for you.”

Stephen kissed you softly.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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wildechildwrites · 8 months

Text

Corn Syrup

Johnny "Soap" McTavish/Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+, Miscommunication Trope, Light Injury/Violence, Angst, Smut (lol)

No Use of Y/N

Summary: You get injured in combat and Soap has been acting weird since. He won't even talk to you.

A/N: I hate the no communication Trope as much as the rest of you but I promise the pay off is good. Kensington Gore is a short companion piece to this fic that's Unrequited! Ghost/Soap/Reader

AO3 Link: Corn Syrup

The blood seeping through your uniform is bright red, and as you idly dip your hand lower, scooping some up on your fingers, all you can think is how fake it looks. Corn syrup blood, like in the movies. You let out a disbelieving laugh, locking eyes with Soap before a feverish pain slams through you like a ton of bricks and you crumple.

Your team fusses around you, hurrying to get you back to base while Soap holds steady pressure on your wound. You can’t stop laughing about the blood, about how unreal it is that it’s yours and that there’s so much.

“Jesus lass, you’d think bein’ shot would be enough ta shut you up,” Soap said, his voice sounding floaty and above your head. You blink hard to clear the fuzziness around your eyes. Another laugh bubbles out of your throat.

“If you’d prefer me silent, Sergeant, I can think of a few ways you could shut me up,” you slur back provocatively. Johnny doesn't laugh like he’s supposed to, only presses his mouth into a thin line. His face is the last thing you see before everything fades to black.

— — — —

It’s your first time back on base since you’ve been shot. Your recovery had been relatively quick, but you were still itching to get back into the field, and back to your squad. They had all visited you while you were recovering, aside from one glaring omission.

Johnny.

You’d seen neither hide nor hair of the Scotsman for the duration of your hospital stay. Even Ghost had come to see you, looking stark and ridiculous in the fluorescent lights. You had tried to broach the subject with him, meekly asking after Soap, but Ghost had just stared at you, his light blue eyes unreadable, until you had dropped the subject.

You and Johnny had always had a close relationship. He had been the first to fully embrace you as a member of 141, and you two had been attached at the hip since then. You trained together more than with anyone, constantly cracking jokes and poking fun at each other.

You also had a deep, intense infatuation with him.

You tried to keep it under wraps, terrified of making him feel uncomfortable and ruining the deep friendship you two had. You tried to avoid any physical contact unless absolutely necessary, keeping things platonic to the extreme and constantly dodging the sexual innuendos Soap was always lobbing at you.

There had been moments of tension of course, mostly under heavy stress, where it had felt as if his gaze had lingered longer than usual, but you knew it was all in your head. There had been a single drunken kiss after a successful mission, but it hadn’t meant anything to him.

The unit had gone out to celebrate, and Soap, not being one to shirk a Scottish stereotype, had gotten absolutely sloshed. The rest of the team had left the booth you were occupying to try their hand at beating Ghost at pool, and Soap, unable to stand, had scooted closer to you, grabbing your waist with his large hands and pulling you into him, smelling strongly of liquor and muttering about how you were ‘bonnie’. Then he kissed you, and your world ended because he tasted like whiskey and made your brain turn to goo and your toes tingle, so you retreated to the bathroom like a coward and never brought it up again.

You had wished desperately that he would visit you in the hospital. You were restless and couldn’t figure out why he would be avoiding you, eventually coming to the conclusion that you had scared him off, that your delirious joke had made him uncomfortable enough that he needed to distance himself from you. Your chest ached at the thought. You had managed to do the one thing you had been trying desperately to avoid, ruining the best friendship you’ve ever had in a careless, blood-soaked moment.

Debriefing made it painfully obvious that Soap avoiding you was not just in your head. Everyone was excited to see you, and even Captain Price had given you a quick but firm hug.

“Good to have you back,” he said gruffly. Gaz beamed at you from where he sat and you felt yourself grinning, before your eyes fluttered to Soap and your face fell. Soap sat in the corner of the room next to Ghost, staring resolutely at his boots. You spent the entire briefing half listening, trying to get Johnny to at least meet your eye. After the meeting, he darted out of the room and you decided to go after him, running out the door.

“Soap!” You called out, but the Scottish man just turned the corner like he hadn’t heard you. It felt like someone had sucker punched you in the chest. You really had ruined everything. He wouldn’t even acknowledge your existence. Ghost silently slid in place beside you, and you looked up at him desperately, the confusion evident in your eyes. He put a hesitant hand on your shoulder. Your throat felt tight, and you ducked away from him, making a break for your room.

Days have gone by, and Soap continues to ignore your existence. You were an over tuned guitar string, constantly close to snapping. Soap and Ghost were training in the gym together throwing punches when you walked through the door, intent on the treadmills to help relieve some stress. Both men looked up at you and Soap immediately turned and headed towards the locker room.

You felt tears well up in your eyes. You don’t understand why he hated you this much. It hurt. You just wanted your friend back but he wouldn’t even let you close enough to apologize for whatever you did wrong. You could feel Ghost’s eyes on you again and you turn away, trying to hide your tears. You leave the gym and walk quickly back to your room, your head down. You closed the door and let out a sob.

You cry until your chest hurts and your nose runs like a facet, curled up in your bed under the covers. When you were out of tears, you lay there silently, staring blankly at the wall. Someone knocks, but you don’t react. Your door creaks open.

“Lass?” Soap calls out, his voice a mere whisper. His heavy footsteps draw nearer to your blanketed sanctuary. You let out an audible sigh, turning over and sitting up to glare at him, hair mussed and nose puffy.

“You've been avoiding me.” You croak. Soap has the decency to look ashamed of himself. “You didn’t even visit me in the hospital. Not even once.”

You level him with a stare he’s only ever seen when you’d slotted a knife in between a man’s ribs, and Johnny feels the same distinct sensation of agony stabbing in his chest.

Then everything is spilling out of him at once, words tumbling between his lips before his brain can hope to catch up.

“I couldn’t stand ta face you. Seeing you like that nearly made me lose my fuckin’ mind. Cacklin’ like a banshee, bleedin’ everywhere and then you looked up at me with those eyes… Christ lass, I was unraveling.” Soap’s knees hit the bed, and suddenly he's kneeling next to you, closer than he’d been since that fateful mission.

You stare at him in shock. His voice is edging near hysterical. “Could barely keep it together enough to keep the pressure on the bleedin’. And then you blurt out that stupid fuckin’ line, something you'd never say, damn near delirious, and I realized that the girl I’d been pinin’ after for months was gonna die in my arms.”

“Johnny,” you whisper, but he carries on, the waterfall of words continuing without interruption.

Then his lips are on yours, and you don’t taste the whiskey this time, but your toes tingle and your brain melts just the same. Your hands go for his hair, fingers curling in his mohawk, and he lets out a keening sound against your lips, dragging you closer to him. His hands are warm and everywhere, holding you like you’ll disappear in between his fingers.

“I'm in agony. You don' understand what I'd for you. What I’d do to you. And it wasn’ until I’d almost lost you that I realized how much I fuckin’ burn for you,” he whispers, fervent as a hymn.

Soap’s got you pinned under him, and you can feel him, hard against your thigh, feel it twitch when he pulls back just so he can look at you, lips swollen from the kiss, his eyes wild.

“Tell me you don’ want me too,” he pants, but you can’t do anything but stare, because you’ve never really let yourself truly look at him before, not so openly, and he’s so goddamn beautiful.

“You’ve got lovely eyelashes,” you finally say, and reach up to gently touch his face. He leans in again, recaptures your lips with enough force to bruise, crushing you against him like he’s trying to shove you into his ribcage, like with enough force he can fuse your skin together, and you think you may break from the weight of it all, drown in the tidal wave of his sudden affection without complaint.

He wanders, his mouth moving to your neck, and he bites down and grinds his hips into yours, swallowing the gasp you make at the contact. You rake your nails down his back and he positively whimpers, melting further into you, sucking and nipping at any exposed skin he can reach, a hand wandering in between your thighs, thick fingers pressing against your clothed sex.

You feel like you're being consumed by the sun, warm and blinding as Soap makes practiced work of your pants, stripping you bare, letting out a quiet groan at the sight of you. Eagerly he begins kissing his way down your chest and stomach, landing between your thighs. You clench them together almost instinctively, suddenly shy, and as he pries your legs apart with a cocky grin, it hits you just how much you've missed him.

Johnny devours you like he hasn't had a meal in weeks, wet and messy, and you feel yourself coming towards the edge, a warm knot building inside you even as you pull on his hair, trying to get him to come up for air.

"You're gonna suffocate if you don't breathe," you gasp out, and you can feel him smirk against you. He pulls back, slightly out of breath, his mouth wet and hair tousled.

“I ken think of no sweeter place ta die,” he says playfully, kissing the inside of your thigh before diving back in.

You almost fall over the edge the minute that Johnny shoves one of his thick fingers inside you, curling it just right, hitting the perfect spot and making you see stars. He moans along with you, eyes bright, watching you come undone from in between your thighs. Your legs shake and you clench around his head as he coaxes you through it, and you're still seeing stars when he pulls himself up to pull you into another searing kiss. You can feel the hardness of him bumping your clit, and that's all the warning you get before he lines himself up with your entrance and presses into you.

He’s big and it stretches and hurts even though you're soaking. Everything is just too much, too fast. Things you've been suppressing for months are all bubbling up, and all you can feel and taste and see is him, the blinding sun to your lonely moon. Johnny shushes you gently, touching your face even as his body is trembling with the effort of resisting the urge to drive his hips into you as hard as he can.

“I don’ mean to be so eager,” he says, dropping his forehead to yours. “I’ve missed you, lass.” He kisses you lightly, and you realize there are tears running down your cheeks.

"I thought you hated me," you whimper, "I thought I had scared you off or annoyed you and that you didn't care about me."

Johnny stares at you with a look that shatters you into pieces, agony and tenderness tangled together in equal measure.

“Christ,” he says, voice gravelly, “don’ you know I’m in love with you?” And then he pushes his hips forward, filling you up, his hips meeting yours as he sheaths himself completely inside of you. You gasp, tears still flowing as he kisses you, soft and slow. Then he begins to move, drawing his hips back before bottoming out again, and it hurts less now, a familiar heat building low in your stomach.

Johnny’s rough but gentle, his own restraint on a razor thin wire, too aware of the scar tissue just above his coarse hands even as he’s slamming his hips into yours, feeling you clench down and squirm, your nails tearing into his shoulders and raking down his back.

Everything feels so good, you’re so warm and alive beneath him, the skin he’s been dying to touch for ages and the sounds you’re making are driving him wild, the whimpers and gasps making him feel like a teenager, ruining his stamina and pushing his control. You’re pretty even in tears and even as Johnny swears under his breath that he’ll never make you cry again, he admires the glassiness of your eyes, the tremble of your bottom lip.

“I-it’s so b-ig” you whine, your breath hitching with every thrust. Your walls are fluttering around him as he stretches you open, your hips rolling up to meet his thrusts. Johnny moans, his hips stuttering.

“-m’not gonna last much longer” he pants, “want you ta cum on my cock first.” Your breath hitches and his heart flutters along with it, reaching down to thumb your clit, making you whimper and tighten around him. You grab his face, pulling him down to kiss you as you feel yourself falling over the edge, moaning against his mouth as you feel his cock twitch inside you, filling you up. Soap slumps against you, his cock still sheathed in you as he delicately kisses your mouth. You kiss him back in a daze, your legs trembling and brain foggy.

“I love you too,” you whisper, words muffled by his soft lips on yours, and Johnny sighs wistfully, pulling back to look at you. One of his warm hands reaches up to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.

Unrequited Ghost Part 2

#soap #johnny mctavish #john soap mactavish #soap/reader #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #soap mw2 #johhny soap mactavish #reader insert #john soap mactavish x reader

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gyuwoncheol · 3 months

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Vantage Point | Chapter 10

Status: Ongoing

Pair: Mingyu x f.reader

Genre: College au. BFFs to FWB trope. Fluff, Humor, Angst, Smut [chapters with smut will be indicated and will contain the necessary warnings]

Summary: Pulling off the “No Strings Attached” arrangement with his best-friend-turned-best-friend-with-benefits was easy, but when a new condition is added onto the mix, Mingyu didn’t realise just how much he held onto you when you finally let go.

Chapter Warnings: mentions of oral sex

WC: 1.4k

Author’s Note: just your normal bestie conversations. Ten chapters in already answered still so so much to happen. This series is a long one 😉

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“Stop that,” your best friend scolds.

“What?”

“That. The pacing back and forth, checking out the window, pace back and forth, checking out the window again…”

“Oh. Sorry,” you lower your head down, and face the window again, trying to stay in one spot instead. Slowly, your hands find each other and in no time, your fingers are fidgeting and you start to gently bounce on the balls of your feet just looking at your street covered in all white. Another day stranded in the storm means another day cooped up in your apartment with your best friend.

Soon enough, heavy hands are felt on your shoulder as you’re being turned away from the view out the window and onto a face with the most accurate puppy dog eyes, “Cam, what’s wrong?” There’s a look of worry in Mingyu’s eyes as it scans over you, “we’re going to be fine, we’ve had worse snow storms.”

“No, it’s not that,” you sigh, “I just… can it stop already? We have to go soon.”

Mingyu tilts his head at your statement, a questioning look on his face, “but you were the one who said we should avoid the roads first?”

“Yeah but… I thought it would be over by now. We have to leave soon, Gyu!!!” You sulk.

“What’s with the sudden rush?”

“Because you need to be home,” you sigh in defeat, “you should’ve been home a while back if I wasn’t being a crap best friend.”

Mingyu mimics your sigh as he’s hit with the realization of your worries and he pulls you in against his chest, his arms wrapping around your shoulders, “Oh Cam…”

You groan before sticking your chin up and looking at him with a full pout, “I’m sorry…”

“You don’t need to apologize, this isn’t your fault.”

“It is! You could’ve gone home as soon as the term was over but you decided to stay and make amends with dramatic me and now you’re stuck in the city in the middle of a snow storm and Christmas is three days away,” you rambled so fast that if it had been someone else listening, they wouldn’t understand you. “I’m sorry Gyu, I know you really wanted to be home and spend time with family.”

Your best friend looks down at you, pats your head and simply smiles, “Like I said, stop apologizing. I’m not blaming you. Staying a few more days was my decision and I don’t regret it. I would’ve had a terrible Christmas if I knew I wasn’t on good terms with my best friend. And we still have a few more days okay, we’ll make it home, have faith. And you know what, even if we don’t make it, then we’ll make do! I know mom’s cheesecake recipe”

That was the thing about Mingyu, he’s always the most positive person in the room, and in your life, if you’re being honest. He could brighten up every situation while still being sensitive enough to everyone's feelings. He’s optimistic and always knows what to say to cheer you up.

“Hey, don’t give me that face,” he scolds as he looks at the pout still etched on your face, “stop feeling bad. Please? You know if I was really upset about all this, I’d be honest with you and tell you but I’m really not. It’s gonna be okay, yeah?”

Mingyu waited for your answer and at this point in time, if there was one thing left to hold onto, it would be your best friend’s hope. You nod slowly and offer him a smile before kissing his cheek, your usual way of saying thanks, which he knew.

“Now, cmon. Let’s make breakfast, don’t think I haven’t noticed the quiet grumble your stomach is making.”

“Okay, what about her?” You flash your phone in front of Mingyu as you both sit on your couch.

“Rina? Never.”

“Really??? Not even a kiss?!” You gasp in shock.

“Nope, we’re only on hi-hello terms.”

“Noooo way! You know she has a big fat crush on you?”

“I’ve been told.”

“And? You can’t even give her time of day? She seems nice.”

The conversation on ‘how far have you gone with x person’ was a usual one you had with Mingyu, and now that he’s known you were a virgin until two weeks ago, he’s indulged you with naming more people than he did. Right now, as you both stayed warm in your living room with a cup of hot chocolate, seemed to be the perfect time to play the game again.

“Ehh, not my type,” Mingyu shrugs, “besides, Soonyoung told me she doesn’t like dogs.”

“How does Soonie even know— you know what, nevermind, point taken. She has to love dogs. Okay next,” you scroll through your Instagram feed to find more girls from your university.

“Hey, no. My turn. Him,” Mingyu shows you a photo from his phone and immediately, you’re rolling your eyes in annoyance and shoving him playfully.

“Stop that!” The whiny tone in your voice only makes Mingyu laugh boisterously. He defends himself by saying he really just wanted to ask but you know your best friend and it’s almost too easy to tell when mischief lies behind his eyes.

“What?”

“Pretending like you don’t know I have history with him!”

A dramatic gasp emanates from Mingyu, complete with a hand on his mouth, “you have history with James?!”

“Gyu!” You laugh but the deathly squint you throw at him is unmissable.

“Oh come oooon, Cam! Don’t you think it’s high time I finally know what really went down with you two? What happened to ‘I’ll tell you everything soon’?”

If there were two things in this world Mingyu has learned to perfect, it was his pout and the sad doe eyes, although the latter is already a given thanks to the puppy DNA that flowed through his veins. And right now, he’s taking full advantage of the fact that you can’t resist the way his lower lip juts out.

“Okay, fiiiiiine,” you concede and Mingyu’s already crossing his legs and giving you his full attention, ready to hear the story. Boys, you thought, they love to gossip just as much as girls do.

“Well we went on several dates after I broke things off—“

“With Dae,” Mingyu interrupts, “yeah. yeah I know that part. So??? What else?”

“Well,” a pause and you study his face, making sure now was the right time to divulge this information to him, “when we decided it wasn’t the right time for either of us to take things to the next step, we also realised that the fun didn’t really have to stop.”

If CGI effects were something you could see in real life, there would be multiple question marks flying around Mingyu’s head right now. “And fun means what exactly?”

You take a deep breath, thinking about not saying anything anymore and then thinking, what the heck! Your best friend literally knows everything about you and has seen all of you, why is this suddenly the one last thing kept secret from him?? You don’t know either.

“Right before he’d go to basketball practice and I’d go home, I’d suck him off in his car and he’d return the favor.” Your best friend’s jaw simply falls slack. “It didn’t happen every practice, okay. But it happened a lot. Until of course I got really busy, he started to get back on the dating scene and eventually got with that Finance major. It just ran its course, I guess.”

“But you two never had sex?!” Mingyu questions in disbelief.

“Nope. I don’t know. Neither of us never really tried to reach that point either. No forcing anyone with anything, ya know? We’re still good friends. Fun while it lasted, helped me get over Dae and well… perfect the skill and practice the gag reflex.”

“You are crazy! I can’t believe you hid this from me!”

You scoff, “You were too preoccupied with Claudia! Whom by the way, still thinks I was fucking you while you two were together.”

“She was wrong then, but she’s right now,” the man across you wiggles his eyebrows playfully, “So am I the only one who knows this?”

“Mmm… second. Wonwoo always knew,” you shrug and Mingyu gasps in offense yet again, “BEFORE you start with your dramatics, I didn’t tell him okay. You know he’s in the same year as James and they had a couple classes together and James accidentally slipped with him. There just was no point denying anymore when Wonwoo asked me.”

Your best friend nods skeptically, “So I’m still the first one you told?”

“Yes, Gyu. You always are.”

A satisfied grin graces his lips and he throws you a wink, hands suddenly pulling your leg over his lap, “so about that skill… care to show me just how much you’ve perfected it?”

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Taglist: If you want to be tagged in succeeding parts, leave me an ask or reply to the series masterlist!

@wongyuseokie @strawberryya @idyllic-ghost @septemberskies @ladyblablabla @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @christinewithluv @everyone-em @phenomenalgirl9 @itza-meee @myghobi @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @doubleshoticedshakenespresso @writingbarnes @darijiwagra @gyuguys @multi-kpop-fanfics @whoa-jo @keeboismine @gaslysainz @the-boy-meets-evil @such-a-wh0re @wooahaeproductions @p-dwiddle

#Vantage Point #Snap Shoot Universe #paula writes ✨#svthub #svt #seventeen #mingyu fic #mingyu smau #mingyu fluff #mingyu x oc #svt fic #svt smau #svt x oc #svt fluff

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bettsfic · 1 year

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writers' block can have many causes, but one of the most common and insidious is what i call the Bad Faith Audience: the mass of anonymous readers in your head who make fun of and belittle your work. the Bad Faith Audience happens when you're staring at a document, you want to write something, but you think to yourself, "who's going to read this? why should i bother?" it also happens when you restrict yourself: "that's a stupid idea. it's bad writing." that's what's so messed up about the Bad Faith Audience--it's an assumption of a homogenous population of people who somehow get to decide what Good Writing is. "this isn't very good," you think to yourself of your own work. but by what standard are you judging yourself? how exactly have you reached that conclusion? you've built up a non-existent audience of people to attempt to appease. the harder you try to appease that Bad Faith Audience, the more you concede your own ideals and flatten your writing to appeal to the largest common denominator.

you stare at a blank document, and before you've even written a word, you've reached the conclusion it's not worth existing. that it won't be good enough based on an unidentifiable standard. it won't be perfect. and then you don't write it.

possibly you think, "but there are all these writers i admire and i'll never be as good as them." there will always be writers you think are better than you. always. that does not invalidate your work. you have improved from where you began and you will continue to improve as long as you keep writing. the author you admire may be on a different mile marker on their own journey, but you'll get there too eventually. or maybe you won't; maybe you'll walk down a different path than them and be able to acknowledge that their voice and aesthetics are just not what you write, and that's okay. you don't have to be able to write everything. you can admire something and not adopt it into your own goals.

here's a thought experiment that's gotten me to close the curtain on the Bad Faith Audience:

don't imagine many readers. imagine one reader. i call this reader Aunt Janet. Aunt Janet can look down on anything, no matter how lauded or famous. van gogh's sunflowers? "it's just flowers. who cares?" the mona lisa? "she's not even smiling."

Aunt Janet looks at your work and says, "what's the point? go do something better with your time." but the thing about Aunt Janet is that she doesn't know anything about writing or art or music, has no knowledge to help frame her understanding of your work, and so why does her opinion matter? you can never make Aunt Janet happy.

so whenever i think, "i'm not good enough," i ask myself, says who? Aunt Janet says who. and Aunt Janet doesn't know jackshit.

now let's look at the other side of the spectrum: the very opposite of Aunt Janet, the reader who just gets you, gets what you're doing, and loves it. i call this person the Ideal Reader. they're in awe of everything you write. they read your work and leave dozens of keysmash comments in the margins. they can't wait to see what you write next.

Aunt Janet doesn't exist and Ideal Reader doesn't exist either, but in the same way you can define Aunt Janet's tastes by reasons she would hate your work, you can define the Ideal Reader by the reasons they would love it.

Ideal Reader is exceptionally well-read in your genre. they know all the tropes and expectations. they know what authors your work is in conversation with. they have an intimate understanding of where your work belongs and the frame of reference necessary to understand the context of your work. all writing has context; when we dislike something, it's usually because we don't understand its context, and if we were to understand it, it may not be for us, but we can at least understand the kind of person who values it. we can fathom its Ideal Reader and avoid becoming Aunt Janets ourselves by acknowledging that every piece of writing can be loved.

whenever you dismiss an idea as ridiculous or stupid, Ideal Reader is there going, "no, wait, i want to read that." when you can't take your work seriously, Ideal Reader is shaking you by the shoulders saying, "it's serious to me."

now imagine Ideal Reader has a platform. they have authority. they're a BNF who recs your fic. they're an acquisitions editor at your dream publisher. they're a producer asking to buy the rights to your manuscript. imagine Ideal Reader is someone who can champion your work and take it to its highest possible place.

Ideal Reader has been in the business a long time. Ideal Reader is confident and doesn't take shit from anybody. Ideal Reader stands up for what they believe in.

imagine bringing Ideal Reader to a party and introducing them to Aunt Janet. Aunt Janet immediately tries to belittle Ideal Reader: "so you publish books, so what, who cares about books?" "so you have a million followers. why don't you do something real with your time?" "you're a producer? go to med school and do something meaningful."

Ideal Reader is amused by Aunt Janet and her gross misperceptions. but then Aunt Janet goes after your work, and that is too far. Ideal Reader points at Aunt Janet and goes, "you have no idea what you're talking about." and they proceed to list off all the things they value about your work.

imagine the things Ideal Reader would say to Aunt Janet, and write out that list.

that list is your value. it's what you're giving to your community when you share your work. it's why you write.

the sad truth is that you'll encounter far more Aunt Janets than you ever will Ideal Readers. sometimes Aunt Janets are actually very knowledgeable and still demean your work, but it's because they're jaded and insecure and maybe a little pretentious. that's okay. your Ideal Readers, or the people closest to it, are the only ones who matter.

i had trouble fathoming the Ideal Reader for a long time until i published my first story and the editor went wild over it. it was the first time someone i didn't even know read my work and saw merit in it, all on its own. i once got into a pretty prestigious residency and it honestly kind of baffled me, until i got there and found out the woman who ran it was a fangirl. when i workshop a story, usually only one or two people in the group will Get It. the rest will try and they'll mean well, but ultimately they're coming at it from a different context and different personal tastes, and that doesn't mean the work is bad, but that they're not my audience. when my agent offered to sign me, she wrote me this long, lovely email about how much she loved my manuscript, and she appreciated the same things i appreciated about it. becoming a successful writer, however you measure success, isn't about being Good. Good Writing is a myth. there's only the stubborn insistence of staying true to yourself, and the long journey of putting your work in the hands of people you hope are Ideal Readers.

there will always be people out there who will understand your work and champion it. there are people whose personal tastes align exactly with yours. but you'll never be able to find those people if you don't write the ideas that are dearest to you and share them with the world.

#writing advice #the ideal reader also frames my approach to editing but that's a different essay

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prince-liest · 9 months

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more self-indulgent jgy abo headcanons

I read a fic so long ago that I no longer remember the fandom nor characters involved, but the thing about it that really stuck in my mind was that it was an abo-verse fic that used the concept that omegas have an ingrained biological need for physical (including platonic) affection, to the point where “touch-starvation” was a medical diagnosis

this is obviously extremely up my alley for ALL my blorbos, but consider jin guangyao in particular:

unlike the usual ‘omega pretending to be a beta’ trope, I think that once he is established at jinlintai, he would not really try to let people assume that he’s a beta. being an omega leads people not only into underestimating him, but also into offering him a certain degree of safety in providing a veil of stereotype-associated demureness, placidity, etc. it is more to his benefit for people to see him as a polite young man, perhaps even one who, yes, is a war hero - but people can’t quite imagine what kinds of things he must have done for that. surely nothing too bad.

but at the same time, this is the character who couldn't even serve tea to people as nie mingjue’s deputy without people making a show of wiping off their fingers after touching the cups. people know he is an omega, people judge him for being an omega on top of all the other things he is already judged for, but I suspect that most of the relevant and appropriate people in jinlintai avoid touching him unless absolutely necessary. in a world where casual contact is thoroughly commonplace just due to the socialities set up by their biology, jin guangyao has a personal space bubble of like 2-3 feet because he's the dirty son of a prostitute.

he walks through the halls, ostensibly the second young master of the tower, and feels like he is drowning in the physical manifestation of loneliness.

who does he have left? family? jin zixuan is not close to him, and frankly is likely an alpha raised by alphas to whom it would not even occur to that such needs need to be minded. jin guangshan certainly is aware, but is using it as leverage, allowing and denying contact as he see fits to manipulate jin guangyao the same way he does with his fatherly affection. there are his sworn brothers, but his relationship with nie mingjue is fraught: certainly da-ge wouldn’t withhold contact as punishment or leverage, but that doesn’t mean he wants to touch jin guangyao anymore, nor does he really understand how the necessity of it feels when he grew up with nie huaisang, an omega who has never been shy about taking whatever affection he wants. and er-ge... he just isn’t around enough.

lan xichen is still the best option, and by the time they have the opportunities to see each other, jin guangyao is pressing nails into his palms to stop from just plastering himself up against lan xichen’s side, which surely would be humiliating for both of them. but still, he’s so aware of it any time they’re in the same room, meting out as many small touches as he can get away with without embarrassing himself. lan xichen slips his fingers over jin guangyao’s wrists as he pulls him up from a bow, intending warm affection. jin guangyao doesn’t want to let him know that it feels like being allowed to gasp for a single breath of air before his head is shoved back underwater.

(with nie mingjue, it is worse. da-ge is just as aware as jin guangyao is when they touch, but for all the worst reasons.)

it is the strangest blessing whenever jin guangyao sees nie huaisang. it’s embarrassing, a little - the knowledge that nie huaisang understands, unlike most people in jin guangyao’s life. but nie huaisang takes that embarrassment onto his own self willingly, never hesitating before making a fool of himself in the way that only a terminally younger brother can, and simply flinging himself into his san-ge’s arms. it’s nostalgic, too: nie mingjue isn’t quite so aware of how important touch is with how proactive nie huaisang can be, and so during his days as deputy, it was often nie huaisang who gave meng yao what he could not ask for.

the cultivators at jinlintai look down on him just as the ones in the unclean realm did, but now there is no willing young master to soothe away the tangible, physical ache of it. more often than not, jin guangyao tucks his hands into his sleeves to hide the way his fingertips shake.

anyway this is my petition for jiang yanli to take two looks at this situation and promptly wrinkle her brows just the slightest amount, expressing quiet concern to jin zixuan that it’s strange how she doesn’t see anybody touch his half-brother very much, does she? and jin zixuan is a little confused, a little embarrassed, a little off-balance - he doesn’t feel close enough to jin guangyao to be that casual, but he’s an alpha, he doesn’t get it until jiang yanli explains to him, with a beta’s patience, the value of family bonds to an omega as well as jin zixuan’s responsibility as a brother (older brother? younger? his father claims older, but there’s no way to truly know - ), and isn’t it wonderful, having a little brother?

and then someone pats jin guangyao over the head until he’s feeling a little less strung-thin and out of options, he realizes he has to keep jin zixuan and jiang yanli alive lest he actually lose his mind (sympathy for da-ge? oh no...), and etc etc things end happily ever after, the end, QED.

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captainsimagines · 1 year

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pretty woman, this is me trying || one

Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader

Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers

Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

(1/14)

Mini-Series / AO3 Link

Warnings: PTSD themes; past sexual abuse (Hydra); strong language; panic attacks; nightmares

Word Count: 2,950+

Author’s Note: A holiday fanfic! You know I couldn’t leave you all hanging! I’m excited for this one. I know it deals with a lot more heavy situations, but I wanted to write something angsty/romantic. PLUS, I wrote this in 3 days so I’m sorry if it’s bad lol

I hope I do you justice. Love you all. xxMoni

Bucky Barnes did not like to be touched.

He did not shake hands, he did not hug, he did not do well with even the slightest brush of someone’s body. The faintest of touches froze him. Paralyzed in the faint sensation. Memories of harsh hands and machines, demented laughter and sedated foreplay, echoed through his mind.

The only person he allowed to touch him when necessary was Steve, and even then Bucky had to remind himself that it was his best friend. The size of Steve’s body was not a danger. The command of his voice was for safety only, and not to order him to strip. The friendly claps on the back were meant to ease Bucky into the world, not to bend him over from behind.

Sometimes he believed he was getting better. Mornings were beautiful, food tasted great, and everyone greeted him with a smile. On those special days, Bucky's heart filled with hope. Hope he could sit in close proximity to someone else, hope he could travel outside the compound and not rely on his super soldier skills, hope he could get out of his head for one second.

But when someone entered a room too loudly, or when he was forced to physically fight an enemy—those special days crumbled to ash, now cruel illusions that sent Bucky on a downward spiral. A spiral Steve usually had to coax him out of with gentle words, words that scarily resembled begging.

So Bucky has given up on trying to fit in. On trying to find the light at the end of the tunnel. On trying to feel human again.

And fuck all that bullshit about being human was to feel pain.

Pain was not a good emotion, and it was mean to give it relevance to the human condition.

It wasn’t an emotion every human had to suffer in order to be considered living. It was an emotion that was cruel and unforgiving and completely, completely exhausting.

If Bucky Barnes had to live his life without touch again, then so be it. If he had to step out of a room to calm his nerves with the repetition of his tapping fingers, then so be it. He did not want to feel trapped, or abused, or ridiculed ever again. He did not believe in soft touches or love making anymore.

First, the war stole his boyhood.

Then the Swiss Alps stole his life.

And Hydra stole his dignity.

His time with Hydra had been documented to horrible extremes. Extremes Bucky was certain were going to be plastered on media outlets and history books. But he had discovered one night, while on a solo-mission to the compound’s lounge, that those theories were unlikely.

Because he had found Tony Stark and Natalia Romanov scouring every database and paper trail about his torture… and completely destroying it. With help from Jarvis, Bucky’s recorded nightmares were erased. Washed out. Encrypted, set on fire, and utterly gone.

Neither Tony or Natalia ever spoke to him of it. He assumed Stark was simply avoiding an awkward conversation, and that he didn’t exactly do good with such rough topics. Natalia did write down the number of her therapist for him.

He threw the piece of paper away.

And on nights like these, he really wished he hadn’t.

Bucky curled up in his thin bedsheets and clutched them close, willing his body to stop sweating. He tried to touch his knees to his chest but he was too large. If he could feel pressure there, then he could fall asleep. If there was added pressure to his back, then the sleep would be immaculate.

He turned and piled the pillows high, setting them behind his back. The coldness of the cotton seeped into his skin, instantly relaxing him. He clutched a throw pillow to his chest and pressed it down, counting by even numbers.

Pressure, a sequence, and breathing.

He could tell by the bright white light shining through his curtains that it was still night. No light that bright could be anything but the moon. That was a reassuring constant for him.

“Shall I ring for Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes?” Jarvis whispered over the speakers in Bucky’s room.

Jarvis’s random voice didn’t scare Bucky anymore. At first, it had caused Bucky to spring into a full blown panic attack. But as time went on and Jarvis continued to speak with him randomly, at odd times, Bucky’s body got used to it. Expected it.

“No, Jarvis. I’m good.”

Jarvis hummed, pausing a little before saying, “Let me know if you need anything.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He never took Jarvis up on that offer anyway.

He curled further into his mound of sheets and pillows and shut his eyes, forcing himself into a dreamless sleep.

He succeeded in sleeping, but relived memories twice over in the dark.

“Twenty bucks says you don’t ask her,” Steve declared, pulling his wallet from his coat.

Wanda giggled from behind the kitchen counter, pouring coffee into her impossibly large mug. Pietro saddled up beside her, stealing the mug for himself.

Sam clicked his tongue. “Bet. I’ll do it today after dinner.”

Steve scoffs, “Fuck off. Another twenty says you won’t have the balls to ask until next week.”

Bucky snickered as he looked between his two friends. He sat with his left leg bent so he could rest his chin on his knee, comfortable enough to be casual this morning. He sipped at his hot chocolate, grateful Wanda gave him one of the festive mugs. It was December 1st, after all.

“After dinner,” Sam promised, slapping his own twenty onto the dining table.

Wanda leaned forward and snatched the money for herself. “I’ll keep this bet safe for the time being.”

“You think she’ll say yes?” Bucky asked, overly curious.

Sam asking Natasha to the annual Avengers Christmas ball? Yeah, right.

Sam puffed out his chest, his smile wide. “I’ll bet more money, Barnes. That’s how confident I am.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He finally picked up his fork and dug into his eggs. With his mouth full, he said, “If you think you know Romanoff, you don’t.”

It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Like I said, Cap. I’m confident about this.”

“Well, I think that’s a good attitude to have,” Pietro commented, sitting down beside Steve with own full plate of eggs and bacon. “And when it all crashes and fails, we get to be the ones to tell you ‘I told you so!’”

Sam flung a piece of bacon across the table, cursing Pietro’s name.

Bucky watched it all unfold, feeling both inside and outside the circle at once. He was a part of the conversation, but he still felt benched. His body would lurch forward on its own accord and try to join in—maybe to thump Pietro on the back of the head, slap Steve on the back, grab a mug of coffee from Wanda’s delicate hands.

It was funny, really. Being afraid of Wanda’s hands because of his own history and not because of the power she held within them.

He was both included, and not. There, and nowhere. Inside his head but forcing himself to step out of it. Dissociating for too long until the conversation was on another topic entirely.

Jarvis’s voice snapped them from their play fighting. “Sergeant Barnes, Sir has asked me to tell you that he would like your opinion on something.”

Bucky grumbled, drinking from his hot chocolate. “What does he want?”

“Oh, that’s the wonder of standing up and finding out for yourself, isn’t it, Sergeant Barnes?”

Sam howled, nearly choking on his last piece of bacon. “Jarvis really is Stark’s creation. Jesus fucking Christ.”

Bucky sighed, having been left with no choice. He placed his half-drunk mug in the sink and waved goodbye to everyone, trying hard not to stomp to Stark’s lab.

Stark was under a massive machine with six arms and blue lasers when Bucky walked into the lab later that afternoon. He had ignored Jarvis’s constant badgering and decided to visit the lab after his morning run. Only after it Bucky was certain he wouldn’t physically fight Stark if what he had to say was idiotic.

“My one and only!”

Bucky rolled his eyes and sat at the farthest chair from the monster machine. “You called?”

“And you diddle-daddled.”

To this, Bucky actually laughs. Sometimes Stark got on his nerves, other times he was a breath of fresh, realist air.

Stark climbed out from underneath the metal monstrosity, wiping oil from his hands. Bucky waited patiently as Stark finally sat, cracking his neck three times before speaking.

“So… The Christmas Ball.”

“Uh huh.”

Stark adjusted his seating, slowly lowering himself in his rolly-chair. Bucky watched him become shorter, awkwardly staring at him and the walls simultaneously. Whatever Stark wanted to talk to him about, it was becoming less interesting to Bucky.

“Pepper has informed me that there is going to be an auction. A, donate thousands of dollars to take me out on a date, type thing.”

Bucky grimaced. “Isn’t that prostitution?”

“No, it’s escorting. Prostitution is the other honorable profession.”

Bucky hummed.

Stark wiped a stressed hand down his face, curling his lips as he continued speaking. “Pepper has also informed me that only Thor is being auctioned for real. Meaning, everyone else isn't actually on the roster. Their dates are going to be the highest bidder regardless of what anyone bids that night.”

Bucky frowned, stumped. “So, we’re denying money from actual bidders and rigging this thing?”

“No. Private donors have already given their fair share of money. We’ve flown past our goal for the evening.”

“Then why have the Ball in the first place?”

“Appearances, photo ops, meeting new people—You name it.”

So Steve and Sam were going to be “sold” to their highest bidder, who will also happen to be their dates for that evening. That nice coffee shop girl Steve has been dating for the past six months was already invited…

That meant she was bidding whatever amount she needed to, regardless of the price, for a date with Steve. Money that was already donated before the damn Ball even started.

Bucky looked to the white, marble floor for answers. But all he saw was his distorted reflection, staring back at him with creeping realization.

“What… What about me?”

Stark sighed, shrugging his shoulders empathetically. “I tried everything, Barnes. But the higher-ups forced us to include you, too.”

Bucky was going to throw up. That ball of nausea that often stuck to the back of his throat was crawling upward, scratching his tongue, begging to be let free. To spill all over this damned marble floor.

He whimpered silently, turning his face to his metal shoulder. His hair covered his anguished expression, but it was pointless to assume Stark hadn’t noticed. Bucky’s neck was already redder than the original color itself.

“Barnes, listen to me.” Bucky tried to follow the direction of Stark’s voice. When he blinked, his vision seemed to get blurrier. “Breathe. Tap those fingers. You remember you got fingers, right?”

Bucky counted to three, then began to tap his index and thumb together. He relished in the feel of his skin, in the lifted edges of his fingerprints, of his filed fingernails. Slowly, the world stopped spinning. The chair didn’t feel like it was caving in anymore. The walls stopped stretching and his ears stopped ringing.

The remnants of his panic attack settled in his chest, pulsing uncomfortably. But he could finally open his eyes long enough and not feel like passing out.

“Good, good. Now if you would just let me finish.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, easily amused by Stark’s sarcasm. It was a surprise how quickly the two fell into step after Bucky moved into the compound, seeking each other out for random answers and opinions. Steve had questioned it, but accepted that if Bucky was alright with it, he wouldn’t budge.

“I spoke with Pepper. You have two options: Let me find you a date who I promise will not leak anything to the press, touch you without permission, or annoy you until you feel like swallowing a bullet.”

Bucky blinked at him, eyebrows scrunching. Stark getting him a date? Bucky didn’t want to date any of Stark’s past flings or strangers he might pull off the streets. The rational part of his brain understands that this person will be vetted and practically stalked, but it’s the irrational side that’s telling him this person might just hurt him. They could convince the world they’re the most innocent thing ever, but when he’s alone with them that mask could easily fall off and reveal eight tentacles and a flaming skull.

“Or,” Stark enunciates, standing from his incredibly low chair. He blew a fast raspberry before saying, “You and Sam attend together, or you and Natasha.”

Okay, that seemed like the better option. He trusts both Sam and Natalia, trusts them to keep their hands to themselves and protect him. Yeah, that was obviously the better choice—

But Sam wanted to ask Natalia. Sam has been wanting to ask her a million things before the Ball was ever a reality. His friend had all this insane amount of exhilarating excitement when he even thought about the red head.

Bucky couldn’t take that away from him. Even if his own comfort was the victim in this situation.

“This… person. Will they be an escort?”

Stark’s eyes widened momentarily before he steadied himself. “Yes, and maybe no. They’ll be the person I believe can be most trusted. Are you okay with the possibility of taking a hooker to the Ball?”

Bucky grunted, “Don’t use that word.”

“It’s the 21st century, Barnes. Hooker means prostitute, prostitute means sex worker, and sex worker has a positive connotation nowadays.”

“Just say escort.”

Stark grumbled beneath his breath, turning to a nearby computer and typing something into the search bar. “Jarvis, make sure this web search is wiped from the center of the earth after I’m done with it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tony.” Stark knew that when Bucky used his first name, it was a call to turn around and look him in the eye. So that’s exactly what Stark did. “A sex worker expects sex, don’t they? I’m not giving them that, so how can you expect me to be fine with it?”

Stark tapped his fingers against random keys, deep in thought. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding offensive. Jarvis, help me out. How do I say, ‘You don’t have to fuck the person, you can just pay them,’ kindly?”

“We will be searching for people who have voluntarily enrolled in sex work, Sergeant Barnes. Any meeting you set up with them is consensual. And the beauty of consensual sex work is, without a doubt, the freedom of choice. So think about it like this, Sergeant Barnes: They will not touch you if you do not ask. You are investing time, and they will accept the money without a kiss exchanged if that is what you wanted.”

A companion?

Bucky had only ever had Steve and Sam after he returned to the compound. Only ever hung out with them outside in the real world, too. A random person entering the compound and pretending to be his date seemed a little extreme, no? Like he couldn’t make friends of his own.

But wasn’t that the real reason behind all this? Bucky didn’t have many contacts or love interests to take to this damn Christmas Ball so he was being punished for it. Forced to interact with a stranger and the stranger forced to interact with him.

“I can do a proper search of these websites with Jarvis’s and Hill’s help and get back to you in the morning, okay? Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I only have to meet them tomorrow and that’s it?”

Stark wobbled a flat hand in the air. “Kind of. Spend one day with them and tell me if you think you can last a whole night with them as your date. I don’t want you to be paired with someone I thought was great but you find repulsive.”

Okay, that was somewhat considerate. But a whole day? At best, Bucky will last a few hours before wanting to run under a hill.

“Okay,” he surrendered.

Stark sighed, “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Barnes. It’s just… Maybe it’s not the ideal way, but meeting new people isn’t always a bad thing, you know?”

“Oh?” Bucky replied sarcastically.

“Oh. You think I didn’t suffer the same thing? People I knew since birth betrayed me. I’ve got trust issues too, my man.”

“We’re not comparing sad little tales, Stark.”

“Find it in your ice cold heart to be compassionate, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “So, tomorrow then?”

Stark nodded. “I’ll do my best to find you a hot piece of ass.”

“Stark!”

“Sorry! I joke. I kid. I jest.”

Bucky watched Stark toy with his experiments for ten minutes more before bidding him a good rest of his day.

Maybe a companion wouldn’t be so bad. He’d have someone to talk to after all. Text, get coffee with, watch movies with. He could do all those things with Steve and Sam but they were busy. Busy with work, busy with life, busy with everything Bucky avoided for good reason.

And even though his body is physically repulsed by the idea of being in close proximity with an absolute stranger, perhaps someone who was forced to be nice to him wasn’t exactly a lousy idea.

Maybe it was necessary.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes fanfic #holiday fanfic #bucky barnes au #pretty woman au #avengers au #marvel fanfiction #mini-series #captainsimagines #by Moni

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prolix-yuy · 1 year

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Whiskey, Dark and Deep

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: In the short time you've known Jack Daniels, he's disappointed you three times.

Warnings: M, violence, blood, injuries, gunfights, so so so much yearning, full on cowboy tropes.

Notes: Hello @blueeyesatnight! I'm your not-so-secret-anymore Santa for the Pedrostories Secret Santa! When I got your prompt I instantly was so excited because I adore Jack and I love old westerns. My personal favorite is Open Range with Kevin Costner and Annette Benning (and a baby Diego Luna!), so I've taken some inspiration from that film. Not necessary to watch for context, but I highly recommend it if you haven't.

I've kept our reader character fairly non-descriptive save for the fact that she is "not a young lady" and referenced as being older. This is a nod to the movie that I always loved and has stayed with me. I've also included Diego Luna as the faceclaim for the character of his same name.

Happy Holidays!

Since you’ve met Jack Daniels, he’s disappointed you three times.

The first time was shortly after he rolled into town, a shadow clinging to his face and whispers trailing his bootprints. Most unsavory types don’t come into your general store, but he needed supplies, and discretion. You were willing to give him both.

It was clear he was a gunslinger, heavy pistols hanging from narrow hips and a nasty rifle slung across his back. But the way he tipped his black hat low, the polite thanks and quiet requests that fell from his chapped lips, made you wonder if that’s all Jack Daniels had to offer. He seemed more than quick-fingered and sharp-eyed, and cool-headed was a trait rare to most outlaws.

“Thankin’ you kindly, ma’am,” he said as you bundled his goods together, hands that spanned the parcels easily dropping the requested coin on your counter. He’d avoided your eye over the last few trips in, but as he turned to leave he caught your gaze, and your heart dropped.

Jack Daniels may have worn the countenance of a lawless man, but his eyes held gentleness and pain that reached for you in silence.

“There’s a quieter place to dine on the edge of town,” you blurted out, ordering your hands to lay still on the countertop. “Should you need a drink, or a hot meal before leaving.”

“Is it an establishment you frequent, ma’am?” he asked, your heart fluttering unexpectedly at the richness of his voice.

“I may tonight, should the company be kind,” you replied, jutting your chin and standing tall. You may be no Annie Oakley, but you were old enough and strong enough for few to cross you in town. And you were bold enough to keep his stare when he skimmed his eyes over your simple dress, your practical style. No young lady, but still fair enough in the mirror that his appraisal did not make you shirk away. He nodded once, leaving to gather his horse outside. A whoosh of air left your lungs soon after.

You waited for him at your usual table, Mathilda passing by often to start, then less as the night grew darker and your hopes dimmed to nothing. What did you expect from a man you only met a handful of times? Paying your bill, trying to ignore her sympathetic smile, you returned home telling yourself you expected nothing from the mysterious man and should not give this evening another thought.

And that was the first time Jack Daniels disappointed you.

The second time Jack Daniels disappointed you, it was preceded by blood.

The Golden Circle gang was causing trouble, news coming in from neighboring towns of their deeds. Robberies, saloon shootouts, women treated roughly, men left to die in the dirt. A cloud was looming over your town and the days brought dread, listening for the thunder of hooves.

A stranger would have been met with hostility at this time, but when Jack Daniels burst in with a boy barely old enough to shave slumped against him, you didn’t hesitate.

“Bring him here,” you ordered briskly, leading them to the back room you called home. Stretched on your dining table, blood blooming on the white doilies your grandmother gifted you, the boy wheezed and groaned while you sent for the doctor. Jack stood vigil at the boy’s side, a curious shadow that did not move, or eat, or rest.

“Who is the boy?” you asked, eyes on the gasping youth. His flop of brown hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, thin angular face pinched with pain. When you go to soothe it later he’ll wheeze his thanks, and call you his angelic nurse. You’ll tell him you’re too old for his japery.

“Diego,” Jack said, his voice a rumble of far-off thunder.

“How did he get into this much trouble?” you asked, the doctor finding the worst of the wounds - twin bullet holes in his abdomen. Your hands clenched against your roiling stomach.

“Ran his mouth a bit too loud too close to some who took offense.” Jack’s voice remained neutral but the tick in his jaw chilled your heart.

“The Circle?” you asked, voice quiet as if to say their name would conjure them out of thin air. He didn’t speak, but the contemplative way he chewed on his mustache was all the confirmation you needed. Silence blanketed the room as Diego slipped into fitful sleep.

“Only time will tell,” was the doctor’s cryptic answer before exiting your home. While you were watching over the boy, your store had filled with lawmen and able hands, the steady hum of conversation rising and falling outside the little room. Men you knew well - Denton, Percy, Charley - checked on you and shot distrustful glances at the strange man filling one of your dining chairs.

When Diego’s chest finally fell into a gentler rhythm, Jack moved to join the men and their plans outside your room. Before he did, he wrapped a hand around your shoulder, urging your eyes up to his. Again, the kindness and desperation you saw before lingered in his stare, but now you saw it threaded through with gratefulness.

“Thank you for opening your home to us. I didn’t know where to take him. But…I remembered you.” His thumb came up to softly stroke your cheek, knuckle tucked under your chin. You couldn’t remember the last time a man put his hands on you with this much reverence.

“Will you stay?” you asked, and once more you steeled yourself against the growing desire to have this man near you, heat burrowing into your chest and taking root.

“I’m not the right man for that, ma’am. I know all too well what the Golden Circle is about, and if this town is in their sights you should get as far away from here as you can. They’ll blow in and blow out, but you can be miles away. Safe.” There was no lie on his lips, but maybe a flicker of fear in his eyes.

“This is my home. I’ll stand by it until I can’t any longer.”

Jack smiled ruefully.

“I reckon I shouldn’t have expected anything less.”

He turned to leave the room.

“Will you stay, Jack?” you asked once more. He paused at your door before turning back.

“For you.”

It’s a promise that fueled you through the night, watching over Diego as he pulled in and out of consciousness. The murmur of voices faded, men peeking in to give you well wishes and tell you to stay inside. You bade them good night, catching some hours of sleep in the dining chair Jack occupied for a time. It would be more comfortable if he still occupied it. Diego slept easier as the sun rose, his chest less staccato and his brow finally smooth. Leaving him to venture into your shop, you found Percy standing guard at your door.

“Any news?” you asked when you brought him a hot cup of coffee. He sipped it with a sigh, dewy drops lingering on his sable mustache.

“No word on the Circle yet. Seems they might be having their fun somewhere else. At least it gives us time to plan.” Percy quieted for a beat as you watched the road for the man you hoped would stride back to you. A polite cough interrupted your search.

“Jack Daniels left town in the early morning. No word as to why.” Percy at least had the decency to not look at your face when he told you this. You’re not sure you would have been able to control the crumple, the shine in your eyes.

And that is the second time Jack Daniels disappointed you.

The third time Jack Daniels disappointed you was not far off, though the days that ticked by felt like an eternity. Weeks passed with no sign of the Golden Circle, every noise a precursor to hands on weapons and windows shuttered closed. You busied yourself with caring for Diego, who in turn told you what he knew of Jack and what had led to his stomach being filled with lead.

Diego had run into Jack at a saloon, and while grumbling about his presence being more a nuisance than anything, did not shoo the boy away. Instead they rode together, Diego unsure if he’d wake one day and Jack would be gone, secretly surprised when another morning rose on the man’s shoulders hunched over the fire. Little by little Jack opened up, told Diego he’d been in a bad crowd for a time and was looking for a fresh start. That he’d loved and lost and then lost even more. That he felt like trouble was following him like rifle crosshairs, waiting to strike when he dared enjoy the sun on his back.

His eyes made more sense now.

The doctor declared Diego out of the woods, but to rest until his strength returned. You made him up a little bed in your kitchen and he made himself useful at the store. An extra pair of hands were a dream for you, and to have someone young and sharp-witted to banter with lifted years of loneliness off your shoulders.

But the storm clouds still clouded the horizon, electricity crackling in the air as the town waited for the other shoe to drop. Thankfully, a messenger came first.

Jack Daniels rode into town one morning, dark jacket whipping behind him as he dismounted. Your heart pounded as you watched him from the store window, his broad shoulders entering the sheriff’s office. Busying yourself with menial tasks and chatting with Diego, you tried not to think about your anger, your hurt, the two words souring your tongue.

For you.

Why did he leave? Was a town in peril not enough? Were you not enough? With your aging face and your work-hardened hands and your careful heart? Diego knew better than to speak of his return, your stony silence proof of your indifference at Jack’s return.

He didn’t believe it, but he respected you too much to say otherwise.

Diego asked to step out at noon, not giving a reason why beyond his eyes darting towards the sheriff’s office. Suppressing a sigh, you gave him his leave. He almost broke the Sheriff’s door in his excitement, and through your window you watched Diego stand, gasping, in front of Jack. Words were exchanged, his unruly locks ruffled, before his eyes darted to your store, Jack’s slowly following them. You quickly turned your back, feigning an inventory check to cover your nosiness, the hot prick of tears well hidden.

He didn’t come to you until the shop was closed, your hand on the knob to draw the door shut. Melting forth from the shadows, you almost screamed. Some days you managed to convince yourself he was a dream, a ghost that wandered into your life before dissipating into the ether. And with his shoulders filling your door and his warm brown eyes apologetic, you allowed him in once more.

Refusing to speak first, you busied yourself with putting on the kettle, soothed by the steady chop-thunk of Diego cutting wood outside. Jack sat in the same dining chair he held vigil in weeks before, his elbows braced on the table and hat respectfully removed. Without the shadow darkening his face he looked so tired, shoulders sagging under the heavy coat that eats the candlelight. The silence grew from angry to suffocating as you ran out of ways to avoid his presence, cups of tea laid out and poured.

Jack finally spoke.

“You should leave town for a few days, ride west with Diego until this blows over. Bound to be a lot of bloodshed.” His hands surrounded the delicate teacup, a fortress against the world around it and savoring the warmth it offered his palms.

“I’ve got nowhere to go besides here. This is my life, Jack, and I got nothing to abandon it for.”

He cast a sidelong glance at you that you held, shoulders squared and hands firmly planted on your hips. Your resolution set his mouth in a firm line.

“They’re coming, and they won’t be leaving without a fight.”

Nodding curtly, you moved about your kitchen with renewed energy.

“Then all the more reason to stay. They’ll need supplies, ammunition, a foxhole if need be - Percy, Charley, the deputies. I’ll not abandon the brave men of my town while there’s work to be done.”

Jack’s chair scraped along the floor, two strides bringing him chest to chest with you. His hands clenched at his side, jaw tight as you met his stance defiantly.

“Is that what you think I did? Abandoned you?” he growled, but it only fueled the anger bubbling in your throat.

“No, Jack Daniels, I think you made an empty, unnecessary vow. I didn’t expect anything from you before you said you’d stay. If you had no intention, I’d rather not be lied to.” You spun to leave but Jack caught your arm, holding you firmly in place.

“I stayed in the only way I know how!” he shouted, baring his teeth. In a flash you understood, in the sickening way a secret revealed could garner no surprise, but needed to hear it from his lips.

“I was a member of the Golden Circle for a time. I’ve done things I’ve come to hate, taken and given what I had no right to. When it all became too much my conscience finally caught up to me, and I tried to leave. Pop Harlow put a bullet in my head for my troubles.” Your eyes darted to his temple, a pink scar revealed where the brim of his hat normally covered. Fighting your trembling lower lip, you listened.

“They left me for the vultures, but I came out of that god-forsaken desert. I planned to be a dead man the rest of my life, payment for the days given back to me. But the Circle still haunts my conscience, and I need to make right what I gave fuel to.” His hands slowly cupped your face, rough and cracked along your softer skin. “And then the desert gave me another reason to right my wrongs. One I never expected.”

You pulled back from his hands, tears threatening to shed.

“Don’t pin your absolution on me, Jack. By my account all you’ve ever done is disappoint,” you said bitterly, but even with barbs falling from your lips his hands chased you, cradled your head and wove his fingers between yours.

“I know I’ve left you more times than stayed,” he said, a snort of derision coming unbidden from your nose. “But I’m staying this time, and once this business is sorted I hope you’ll let me stay a lot longer.” He pressed your foreheads together and the tears came, no matter how angrily you tried to hold them at bay.

“I don’t believe you,” you choked out, “You’ve given me no reason to believe you.”

Jack leaned in close and pressed a kiss to your cheek, the curve of his nose tracing a soft path to your temple to leave another.

“I’m sorry. And I hope this will be the last time I disappoint you,” he whispered in your ear. Holding your breath, you dreaded what will come next. “Because I have to leave you one more time. The night will be long, the day longer, and I can’t come to you until it’s done.” With a final kiss to your forehead he swept out of your kitchen, striding to exit the store. You stood there in a daze, the marks of his lips still hot on your skin, before you stumbled after him.

“And what if you don’t come back?” you called after him, his silhouette darkening your door. The wind whipped outside, a storm truly on your doorstep now. He turned, hat back on his head with a grim countenance.

“Then I’m a dead man again,” he said before the door shut behind him.

And that is the third time Jack Daniels disappointed you. But not really. It’s the third time he broke your heart.

The night before the Golden Circle’s arrival is long, Diego and you trading wakefulness with rifles across your lap. He paces the storefront on watch, while you sit behind the counter with sightless eyes. It won’t be a quiet invasion if they come. You’ll hear the gunfire like lightning, the thunder of boots, the screams and whoops approaching. It will not be gentle. It will likely not be swift. You’ll go down shooting, though.

When the Golden Circle rides into town with the first glimmers of sunlight, it’s so still you’d think no one’s around to witness it. The silence is shredded by spurs and whinnies, but none of the hustle and bustle of a proper morning. No Sue Ellen on your doorstep to buy flour, or Billy trying to sneak sweeties. You wonder if maybe, if it’s silent enough, they would think it a ghost town and ride on through.

The first shout, followed by gunshot and hollers, dashes that hope away.

Diego strains against the orders Jack gave him - “Keep her safe” - and the youthful desire to fight. But he stays by your side through the seemingly endless rounds of gunfire, the whizz and thumps of bullets landing true to their target, and the shatter of glass. Two bullets break a window, and the way he grunts at the sound makes you think he felt them in his guts.

Another living dead boy, you realize. No wonder why Jack took a shining to him.

The fight drags along, long periods of silence punctuated by cries and murmured monologues you couldn’t give a damn about. You dare not peek out the window to see if Jack lies among the dead, that glimmer of hope keeping you vigilant.

A hammering at your back door almost makes you drop your rifle, the frantic voice of the doctor rasping through the wood frame. Slipping him in, he carries Percy, blood staining one arm crimson as he slumps in a chair.

“I’m sorry dear, I’ve told them to bring the injured here,” the doctor whispers, rifling through his medical bag as you hurry to gather supplies. Percy is pale but talking, Diego putting his anxious energy to work by helping stop the bleeding.

More knocks come to your door, more neighbors secreted into your makeshift hospital. Wounds are treated, water and food shared, whispers the only way you hear news of the battle outside.

“Pop Harlow shot the sheriff square in the eye.”

“Jack Daniels killed every men that set foot in the saloon.”

“Charley got all the children into the schoolhouse and is standing guard.”

“Jack challenged Harlow to a shootout.”

“I think it’s just the two of them now. The others from the Circle are dead or fled.”

You steal away to the privy to stifle sobs in the crook of your elbow, splashing your face to hide evidence of your tears. Diego notices, and when you sneak outside for more firewood he pulls you into a hug.

“He’ll come back,” he assures you, this boy barely fifteen and already looking death in the face.

“I can’t…” you try to argue.

“He will. He has something he desperately wants to come back to. I’ve never seen him have that before, but I’ve seen him fight like hell for less.”

The sun begins to set, and it’s as if the whole town holds its breath. The faint clink of spurs advance from opposite ends of main street. Words are exchanged that barely rise above the whistle of wind. A laugh, ugly and sharp. Sliding down to sit between the store shelves, you clutch your hands together in a prayer to whoever will listen.

Silence.

Then.

Two shots so close as to be one sound.

And you wait.

Wait to know if there’s a bullet in Pop Harlow’s heart or one in yours.

The silence fades into deafening noise, but you still wait until Diego scrambles around the corner, landing hard on his knees beside you.

“Harlow’s dead,” he says, beaming with relief.

“Jack?” you ask, and his nod releases waves of emotion that distill into tears running down your smiling face.

After all you’ve waited through today, Jack still makes you wait until night, when all of the men and women gathered in your store have gone to their own beds. You’re left with piles of bloodied rags and sheets, your home more threadbare than ever. Diego leaves to get you clean bedding from the hotel, promising to return shortly. He knows your nerves are still shot, hands shaking when they have nothing to do.

The door opens, and you turn to thank him for going out late, for being there for you when everything was slipping through your fingers. But instead there stands Jack, favoring one leg with his hat in his hand. For a long moment you both just look at each other, mirroring hope in each other’s eyes.

“You saved us,” you finally say, taking a step towards him. A closer look at his clothing reveals the blood seeping into his jeans. “You’re hurt,” you add, turning to look for more supplies.

“It can wait,” Jack rumbles, hand catching yours. It’s the first time in a full day you feel at ease, with his skin under your fingers. ‘I’ve got things that need to be said.” You let him tug you closer, taking your hands into his palms to regard how much gentler they are than his roughened ones.

“I’m in love with you,” he says, thumbs smoothing over the backs of your palms. The admission is just like Jack - to the point, and true. “I’ve been in love with you since I first laid eyes on you. I should have gone to dinner with you. I should have stayed. I hope I still have a chance to stay.” Now it’s your turn to slide your fingers under his chin and turn his face up to you, longing so clear in his eyes you don’t know how you didn’t see it before.

“I’m not a young lady anymore, Jack.”

“You’re about the handsomest woman I’ve ever known.”

Your throat constricts, a smile fighting against the emotion threatening to rend you in two.

“I can’t offer you much beyond what’s under this roof,” you say with a watery sigh, creeping fear and your lifelong habit of protecting your heart rearing its head. “And you’ve got a bad habit of disappointing me.”

“Never again,” Jack says, the largest promise he’s ever made to you. This one he seals with a kiss, then another, and another as he takes you in his arms. As his coat falls from his shoulders, bandoliers left forgotten on the floor, you make him repeat it.

“Promise me.”

“I'll promise it a thousand times more.”

Today when someone enters your general store, they’ll see a rifle and twin pistols hung above the cash box, and a man by the name of Jack Daniels restocking the shelves or talking to your neighbors about new feed shipments. He’s filled out handsomely, hands still rough but with a penchant for gentle touches. He saves the best of those for your face when he gives you a sweet kiss, and for the privacy of the bed you share.

Diego runs your errands and deliveries around town, the friendly boy with the roguish smile and saucy winks. When the dust settled and he held his hat in his hand you scolded him for even thinking he could get away from you after all that. He was an employee of your shop now, and better work like it. The grin that plastered his face ear to ear came close to matching your own.

Jack did indeed keep his largest promise to you, though two more soon after almost eclipsed it. The first being inked into fine white paper at the sheriff’s office with Diego scrubbing at his eyes - paperwork that made you his family in the eyes of the law. In your own eyes he was your boy the moment he laid on your table.

The second promise is a ring of gold Jack slipped around your finger under the setting sun, and kisses every morning when he wakes. A promise so precious you looked at it every day.

When rough men come into town asking about the one surviving member of the Golden Circle, most folks don’t recall what happened to him. They said he turned on Pop Harlow and crawled into the desert to die. Any remnant of him left was nothing more than a memory. Or a spirit.

Maybe you do live in a ghost town after all.

END

Thank you to @pedrostories for organizing this fantastic exchange, and happy holidays everyone!

#pedrostoriesgift22 #pedrostories #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman fanfiction #prolix fics

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halogenwarrior · 2 months

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Ok I've promised this before... Chernobyl HBO retrospective

Well I mentioned before that I wanted to eventually delve into this, so here is my retrospective on the HBO Chernobyl show. Why it was my favorite work of art ever, why it is still irredeemable trash that the world would be better without due to inaccuracies and misleading claims, why most of the criticism of it completely misses why this was (or just says things that are downright unfair to it), and how it ruined my mental health.

If you ever see this show discussed on the internet, it’s usually a bunch of people praising it and calling it the best show ever, a person or two saying it’s just typical manipulative Hollywood tripe lying about history and science for propaganda/making things more dramatic, and the original people dogpiling said dissenter with downvotes. And… neither of these sides are really right, or at least the latter is very much misattributing the motives behind the problems with the show.

The thing is that, it’s clear from listening to the supplementary podcasts and discussions that Mazin was not trying to lie for clout, and was genuinely deeply thoughtful (unlike a lot of people making “based on a true story” works) about representing the truth, and about carefully considering before adding anything inaccurate into the story, and if he did he would always justify it with it being necessary to convey a greater truth within the limits of 5 hours of television, rather than for coolness or tropes or drama or making nuclear power look bad (the latter of which he is explicitly against). He made a clear attempt to read multiple sources rather than basing everything on one source and getting into trouble for that (Hamilton looking at you). The common criticism trope that gets leveled is that the show is hypocritical for being about the danger of lies and misinformation but peddling lies and misinformation itself, but he was fully aware for the potential for hypocrisy in the show’s premise and made the podcasts where he would give an honest breakdown of all of his decisions specifically to avoid such hypocrisy. And thus people who have listened to said podcasts are often the show’s loudest defenders, because of that uncommon thoughtfulness it shows making it seem very unfair to lump it in with Hollywood’s typical crass and mercenary manipulation of truth. He even explicitly went with the least dramatic story whenever there was a contradiction between sources.

Except the problem is that all of that care… wasn’t enough. Like wasn’t even nearly enough. Not only the things he admits to changing but half of the things he cites as being “ok this one is shocking but real” actually still turned out not to be true. In some ways it’s not a surprise why. He mentions reading 20 sources that said the three people who went into the reactor to drain the water died before reading one correct report that they survived, and it’s not hard to believe that these other cases were ones where he never found that one correct one. My read on it is that the problem is that, as sincere as he was, he is not a historian with the ability to not just read a huge number of sources but locate the most important and reliable ones and prioritize them over the less so.

But in the end, it doesn’t really matter, does it? From a death of the author perspective – if you are sincere and careful but the end result is completely indistinguishable for manipulative tripe and/or propaganda, who cares what your intentions are, it’s still trash! All that knowing the motivations behind it does is make you mad, because rather than being something you can dismiss, it’s something where the creator made an effort to know the truth they were based on the story on, played their hand brilliantly at, within the constraints of the format and fact, making a powerful and haunting story, a masterpiece, and none of it matters in the end anyway. Which brings me into why it was executed so brilliantly…

Besides being very well done, Chernobyl captivated me because it perfectly appealed to things I had always wanted to see but never really got to. I had always dreamed of a reinvention of the disaster movie genre that could touch at the heart of the tragedy and horror and awe of disaster for the ones living in it and dying from it; not merely a cheap excuse to have fun thrills at the death of nameless victims or (as seems to be the fashion everyone is begging for in disaster/apocalyptic types of things now) narratively bypass that people died, that something happened that cannot be reversed, altogether to focus on the hopeful fantasy of being a survivor. And this seemed exactly what I was looking for. And then there was the amazing way it incorporated complex scientific explanations in its finale, something that excited me so much as a Chemistry major in college at the time who really wanted to devote myself to science. At last, a work that didn’t treat its audience as dumb, that incorporated an intricate and fascinating explanation (with an actual nuclear physicist hired as a consultant) in a way that added to the story rather than ever dragging it! Nothing has ever really compared to that; any time I see a movie where science is an aspect of the plot I find myself disappointed in comparison with how there is no real science in it. Come on, I want to see the real fascinating complexities of the world explained with the excitement people devote to their fictional magic systems. This show had spoiled me forever on that to the point where I was just watching the Oppenheimer movie complaining that they never actually explain the science at all, let alone in an amazing and riveting way. The atmosphere was well-executed and uniquely executed, and it was like I was there in the long days, the deserted nature, the machinery and the dread of the radiation that permeated everything.

And then the characters… wow, they were well done, I had never been this invested in characters that had such a short time to be built up, and I have very rarely been this invested in characters period. Legasov was amazing, I will talk more about him later, and Shcherbina was, well… my ultimate blorbo from my shows who I thought of all the time and, if I was on Tumblr then, probably would have been posting analysis posts of nonstop. The way he was the harsh and practical bureaucrat and provider of materials but subtly, in a way I picked up before with his genuine excitement over things like the moon rovers but had big payoff in his final scene, a sort of lapsed idealist who sometimes betrayed a genuine excitement for making things work. Someone for with all his bluster of having power, was fundamentally helpless, a cog in the system who knew it and tried to shut and deny everything away like everyone in the show. And the beautiful irony of how only when he’s thrust away from normal life and into this twisted, haunting, as some reviewers had said cosmic-horror like/small scale apocalyptic realm where the life he had built and future he had hoped for is forfeit, where he is nothing more than a ghost and he’s walked into a trap from which there is no return, but within this realm has power that he can grab onto and fight for something with, then he’s able to live up the idea of the benevolent authority figure he had tried to in the past and gotten crushed for. That’s when he’s able to show all of his cleverness and drive and an honesty that the supposedly more “innocent” Legasov struggles with, a cold and frightening honesty that both sees the ridiculousness of Soviet ideals of sacrifice that got them into this situation in the first place and knows that is still exactly what is necessary in this time and place and is willing to follow it to the bitter end, enacting exactly the heroic ideal he had once thought he could be. One criticism I have seen of this show is that it romanticizes the ideals of sacrifice too much to be anything but a lukewarm criticism of the system it purports to criticize, but that part, particularly in relation to this character, was really impactful for me. Not an easy and unquestioned lauding of those values, not solely a detached cynicism either, but a knowledge it was cruel and ironic and partly the fault of these ideals in the first place that it had come to this, that there was (as Mazin said in the podcast) no beautiful realm to sacrifice oneself for and just more bitterness, but there was still something noble and meaningful in what now had to be done, and in a way that made it hit harder than a more straightforward story.

And that wasn’t the only case I noticed where a common criticism seemed to “miss the point”, there are two other big examples of that. One is the argument that the show distorts history by making Dyatlov and co. into the sole villains who were individually responsible for everything, ignoring the reality of the government and system as a whole being responsible. This seems to betray a lack of comprehension of a lot that was not only implied, but sometimes outright stated in the text. The starting framing device sets up the explicit expectation that Dyatlov did bad things and isn’t going to be a likable character, but he’s still fundamentally a scapegoat whose individual failings are used to obscure the greater problems within the whole system, and the finale follows up on that. Using the explicit framing device of Legasov starting off by telling the part of the story that is true but not the whole truth, only the part his audience wants to here because it focuses on the failings of a few individual people, only to go off-script at the end and reveal the problems go far deeper. The same goes for another big criticism I’ve seen, that the show lacks understanding of the psychology and experience of people living under an oppressive government for how Legasov somehow remains innocent and sheltered and just shocked that people would lie like that. To me it seemed pretty clear that said character was portrayed brilliantly as someone who, by nature of his high rank in such a system, has to know the politics and make cynical moves and lies all the time just by virtue of existing there, but keeps that part of him as an instinct rather than something he consciously makes part of his identity so his self-concept can be one of nobly truth-seeking innocence. He can’t do politics when he tries to to it “consciously”, and refers to himself as someone who must not understand how horrible people can be because he’s so sheltered, but when he needs to get people to die for his cause his first instinct is lies and bribes, and the more we know about him the more it becomes clear that he has done plenty of bad, cynical moves to keep his position of power and esteem and avoid the horrible consequences that would come with defying those with greater power, it’s just that he does it on autopilot and separates it from the part of his identity that he acknowledges and gives him internal moral justification for existing. His character arc is about being forced to confront this contradiction in himself in the most horrific of circumstances and actually, hesitantly, very humanly, become what he believed himself to be, even if it destroys him, and I think that’s really brilliant character writing!

Now, a lot of the sources of criticism are from people who are knowledgeable about history or lived in the Soviet Union themselves, and so, if they had acknowledged these subtleties but said the show was not realistic or honest in these ways in spite of them, I would concede they knew more than I do about these topics and the criticisms were justified. Such as if they had said “Yes, I know the show is trying to point out that someone who is genuinely unlikeable and did bad things can still be a cynically used scapegoat to hide systemic problems, but the real person wasn’t that unlikeable and bad in the first place” or “Yes, I know there is a very specific reason with regards to the framing device that the criticism of the government gets saved for the end of the last episode but giving it so little screen time still undersold how that was the main point”, or “Yes, I know Legasov’s character was significantly more nuanced than an innocent noble truth-teller but it still didn’t do enough to read as how a real person would act in the Soviet Union”, but it never seems to be that, it always seems to be the critics seeing the show as playing these tropes straight, unsubtly and unironically, which just seems to be bad comprehension to me.

So I’m just going to finish it off with why I care so much, which is the impact the show had on me. At the time it came out, I was going through a horrible time mentally, having constant obsessive thoughts devaluing anything I cared about or found meaning about in life, and I was just for the first time starting to get to a more stable point where I could actually find value in life. At the time I was in college doing an internship in a lab I really loved. And I know people will see me as a freak for finding any comfort in a show infamous for being a grueling an depressing exploration of a real-life disaster, but it made me feel real emotions for the first time in a while. Sadness and haunting awe and real suspense and fear that no supernatural horror thing could ever dream of striking in me (the roof scene was just wow…). But also a kind of bitter hope and sense of purpose that I alluded to earlier. What has always compelled me most in media, in terms of making me feel enthusiastic just to live, is not the things that get labeled as “optimistic tm”, but the things that throw you against a wall and twist everything and then there is still a hope and value in it that exists purely, beyond words or any pretensions.

And the more I looked into the show and the various criticisms of it, the more I began to suspect that none of the value, none of the thoughts and feelings I had, even mattered. It didn’t matter the creator’s honesty and scruples and good intentions, or how it was just about the perfect work of art that I loved more than anything. Because fundamentally this was a story about truth, one in which the horror and meaning of it relied on it being real, and if enough of the plot points and key emotional beats weren’t really real, then that’s an irreparably failed work, in fact one that can do harm in the real world, and nothing else it does right even matters. Sure the sequence where the danger to all of Europe of a second explosion is outlined is an immensely well-crafted scene in an immensely well-crafted episode, and it made me feel more strongly than anything had made me feel in perhaps two years, but it didn’t really happen so the whole thing is a farce and I’m wrong to feel that way. Mazin believed it was real, he clearly got it from real sources due to people believing at the time and some sources still perpetuating it rather than making it up for the sake of drama, but accidental manipulation is still manipulation. I’m still not an expert so I may be wrong on this, but one can easily read both the supposed drama and the supposed meaningful actions, actions that mattered, that appealed to me as someone who wanted to find a purpose as a scientist, as a farce rather than a tragedy; the drama was all from people at the time thinking the situation was worse than it was (i.e in real life, they overestimated the likely deaths by a factor of 10 at the time), and all the actions that seemed to be meaningful were done on so little knowledge that they didn’t really make a difference. Probably Legasov saying that Shcherbina’s actions mattered in the end despite everything would be laughable in light of what really happened (I don’t know this for sure and this is just the sense I get from limited information, but I wouldn’t be surprised…) And really at the time, I had had enough of farces. Sometimes it seems like that’s all life was, and drama and tragedy would at least have some kind of meaning. I had gone so long obsessively punishing myself for liking and valuing anything. The more passionately I cared the more greatly I would punish myself, arguing that the flaws in whatever I cared for not only demanded a more nuanced view but completely erased anything good or valuable in whatever it was, making it objectively wrong to care. I would do this for anything from my favorite books to life itself. And the more I realized that my obsessive thoughts on this show, which I felt more intensely about than anything, were actually objectively right, that it really was irredeemable and none of the things it did right even mattered, the easier it was to believe that the same was true about all those other thoughts. I feel like, more than anything, this show ruined what would have been my recovery from my years of depression and made me like that for more years to come. And the worst thing was that I didn’t want to tell anyone about this, I felt horribly embarrassed that my view of the world could so depend on something so frivolous as a TV show, rather than be determined solely by grand philosophical questions about life itself. Honestly being on Tumblr has helped me be more comfortable with the part of me that can get very focused on fiction in this way, for how everyone else is willing to be that passionate, but at the time I didn’t have that.

In conclusion I would just want to note that I know it seems to be the fashion nowadays to say “well who cares about historical fiction/things based on a true story being accurate, it’s actually better the more ridiculous and disconnected from the truth it is and accuracy is just laziness”. But I’ve never felt that way, I have always felt there is value in telling a story with solemnity and compassion about true events, with the fictionalization allowing one to endow it with a technique and most of all humanity that can still be preserved without deviating from the important details. This has always been my personal white whale, because most creators don’t seem to care a bit about being faithful to the truth, or as much as they can within the constraints of the format, or they think the truth is boring (when actually the made-up details are inevitably far more cliché, weaker, and well, boring than the fascinating truth is). And then, when you have a one-in-a-million case where the creator is actually disciplined and honest, people are still idiots and probably I should give up on hoping anyone who isn’t a trained historian (and scientist) themselves will be able to conduct their research so as to not make so many mistakes it completely ruins the whole project. But still, they had the resources of a TV show, they actually hired experts, it is still mind-boggling how something done with such good intentions and care could go so wrong? Probably I will never be satisfied. But I will still wish for something that as amazingly tackles real events as this show does with the events as its creator believed were real, as something that in a different world I would have easily named as my favorite work of art ever. In the end, though, that’s probably another false hope.

#chernobyl hbo #chernobyl 2019

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jeonstellate · 6 months

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timestamp: inverse

it’s 6:36 am when you let wonwoo go.

๑彡 jeon wonwoo x gender neutral!reader

๑彡 royal!au, greek mythology-inspired!au — depictions of physical violence — angst

๑彡 paragraph format — 0.8K words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 whenever my muse shifts to darker angst, i usually avoid writing anything for idols. (opting to write for superheroes instead.) but, uh . . . i haven't posted for kpop for like 3 months, so . . .

๑彡 i'm not entirely satisfied with this, but i hope you guys still find it satisfying enough anw :]

In another life, you and Wonwoo would be a successful case of the enemies-to-lovers trope. The one where ‘leave me alone’ eventually turned into ‘never leave me.’ The one where ‘you against me’ eventually turned into ‘you and I against the world.’

In another life, you and Wonwoo would be your own Hades and Persephone. A child of the dark and of the light. A child of the moon and the sun. Complete opposites, but in love nevertheless.

In another life, you and Wonwoo would be cuddling as you read your respective books. Unbothered by the world that existed outside your shared home. Satisfied that your love was strong enough to triumph over the eons long divide between your people.

In another life, you and Wonwoo would be living without fear of being forced apart.

But, alas, not in this life.

In this life, you and Wonwoo were still a case of the enemies-to-lovers trope. The one where ‘I can’t stand you’s eventually turned into ‘I love you’s. The one where ‘my immortal enemy’ eventually turned into ‘my eternal companion.’

In this life, you and Wonwoo were still your own Hades and Persephone. A child of the underworld and of the sky. A child of hell and of heaven. Complete opposites, but in love just the same.

Except—

In this life, you and Wonwoo weren’t enough to overcome the eons long divide between your people.

In this life, you and Wonwoo were left with no choice but to hide in a remote corner of his people’s realm. Just to have a chance to love each other in peace.

In this life, you and Wonwoo lived with fear of being forced apart.

And then you were.

"Wonwoo!" You screamed his name when men of your realm drove a punch right onto his gut, making him double over in pain. You stepped toward him, but was immediately caged by two others. "Unhand me! Now!"

"Your Highness," one of the men that trapped you with his arm addressed you. Try as you might, no amount of trashing around shook your guards away, "we were ordered to take you back by any means necessary — including hurting you."

Neither of you knew how they found your hideaway, as you had been thorough with your undercover, but they did. And they decided to storm inside without any warning.

Neither of you knew what their game plan was, but it was easy to guess how they plotted their so-called rescue mission. They wanted to restrain each of you and keep you separated until they could drag you away.

"Don’t hurt them," Wonwoo pleaded as blood dripped from his mouth. "I swear to Thanatos, if you hurt [First name]—"

Another punch landed on him, effectively cutting the rest of his sentence. "You aren’t worthy to have their name grace your filthy mouth, Prince."

"Stop!" Your voice held a strong authority in it, yet also desperate. "Leave him alone!"

You looked at Wonwoo. You took in his bloodied appearance: his busted lip, the black eye threatening to form, the cut on his cheek.

He looked nothing like the boy that constantly got under your skin. Nor the man you love with your whole heart.

All because you didn’t love him enough to let him go.

Wonwoo’s expression changed the same time yours did. As if he could read what your mind just decided on. "No. [First name]. Don’t—"

You looked away from him. As you wouldn’t be able to build your resolve strong enough otherwise. "Release him and—"

"Look at me, [First name]." Wonwoo demanded, his voice pleading. He knew you were avoiding his gaze for a reason. "Look at me!"

"—and I’ll come back with you," you finished. Your voice broke by the end, which you thought lessened your credibility. Thus, to make up for it, you repeated your demand with more conviction. "Let him live and I’ll return with you. I swear on the River Styx."

No one expected you to make an unbreakable oath. Not the deities curious enough to watch everything unfold. Not the men your father sent to retrieve you. And certainly not Wonwoo.

Thunder rumbled outside, notifying you and everyone else that your oath had been sealed.

In another life, you would swear the opposite. You would swear to never leave; to never be apart from Wonwoo.

In another life, you would tie your lifeline with his. So neither of you would need to live without the other.

In another life, you wouldn’t need to concern yourself with looking at the man you love one last time. Because there would never be such.

It was only then did you look back at Wonwoo. No one was holding him anymore, but he stayed kneeled on the ground, as if he couldn’t command his legs move. His eyes were wide, disbelieved.

What did you do?

In this life, you swore to leave Wonwoo. You swore off your own happiness. You swore off your own freedom — your own life. All because you thought that was the least you could do, after you selfishly returned his affections and ruined his life.

In this life, you swore to let him go, in exchange for Wonwoo’s second chance at life. A life without you in it.

I’m sorry. I love you.

#jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #jeon wonwoo imagines #wonwoo imagines #seventeen imagines #jeon wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenarios #jeon wonwoo oneshots #wonwoo oneshots #seventeen oneshots #royal!au #greek mythology!au #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #seventeen

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lucem-stellarum · 7 months

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I want to draw your attention to some contrasts between our two rope wielding boys, Hush and Ivan. Their actions are similar, but are they truly so alike? It may be a common ASMR trope to wake up tied up in a bed, but Mr Redacted can't have done all of this by accident.

Under the cut because of canon typical violence and creepiness.

Ivan spends a lot of time reassuring Baby that they're safe with him. That he won't hurt them (unless they make him do it). If they were just good, he wouldn't have to treat them the way he does in their nightmares. He's only doing it to help them, to make them put themselves first and learn how to be loved and appreciated.

Hush on the other hand explicitly says that Doc shouldn't feel safe anywhere. That they're always in danger (though he doesn't really specify what that danger is, at the time of posting this; rn there are only the 2 videos) and should temper their expectations accordingly. After a bit of waffling back and forth he eventually decides he doesn't want to hurt Doc [physically], but later says that saving him from Reticuli will be something they regret, implying something very bad is going to happen because he's free.

This focus on safety and pain draws two very different pictures of these two characters. They both avoid responsibility for their actions but in very different ways. Ivan will only hurt Baby if they "deserve" it, emphasizing the gaslighting in order to subtly threaten them into compliance. Ill also draw attention to Ivan saying he won't hurt Baby "unless they want him to" with the clearly sexual implication. He wants Baby to belong to him, to give up their independence and freedom and submit to his will. Ivan wields pain and fear for the power it gives him over Baby. In contrast, Hush doesn't want to hurt Doc, but pain will almost certainly happen to someone(s) because of his purpose; it's not his fault he's doing what he was made to do. It depersonalizes Hush from the pain he will cause; it's a side effect rather than the end goal. He warns Doc that they're not going to like the "complicated answer" to what he is, but he doesn't seem particularly remorseful when they are hurt because of it. He doesn't have the usual sort of smug condescension when he says [I told you so] that you'd normally expect. He accepts that what he is hurts people. "Maybe someday knowing me won't have to hurt." Hush wields pain and violence as a matter of course, he will do whatever is necessary to achieve his goal. [He's only ever experienced physical contact through violence]; He doesn't know any other way to behave.

The way they both react to the listener struggling against the ropes is also very telling. Ivan tries to convince Baby to stop, that it’s in their best interest to relax and accept the restrictions. Ivan becomes distressed when Baby tries to escape, breaking the delusions he's built up about their "relationship", resorting to manipulations, threats, and gaslighting to force Baby to comply with his broken view of reality. Hush respects Doc's agency (I do understand how ironic that phrase is considering that he has them tied down) and doesn't seem to mind if they hurt themselves. He just says, "That's a conversation to be had between you and your epidermis"; he's willing to allow Doc the freedom to struggle even though it's useless and will only hurt them. He only uses the force necessary to keep Doc contained until he decides what to do with them; he's eminently practical about it all. Hush has no delusions about what he's doing, it's just the most expedient way to get what he wants. Ivan causes pain for it's own sake, sadistically enjoying the responses it gets (fair mention, he is being manipulated by a Sadism demon at the time, but they can't exaggerate what isn't already there).

Even their tone and word choice are very different. Ivan, especially in his first video, knows what he's doing is wrong. Listen to the way he speaks when talking about what happened to the listener's phone or why the ropes are necessary vs. talking about their friends ignoring them (basically the second half of the first 'kidnapped' video. It's more hesitant and almost questioning, like he's trying to come up with lies on the spot to convince the both of them that his actions are necessary, but he does believe in his own justifications. Ivan is a selfish man. He wants Baby, and does terrible things to keep them.

Hush, on the other hand, doesn't have any hesitation towards restraining Doc or killing Reticuli. He's very direct, actually, about when he won't answer a question or wants to change the subject. Instead, Hush gets more hesitant, less forthright in his word choice when talking about his own feelings and wants. "I think I want you to remember me," "I'm starting to think there's a lot of things I'd like to give you". His tone is only minorly different in those phrases compared to others; it's that same soft, even tone and cadence. There's no second guessing, no embarrassment. As far as we know, Hush hasn't lied to us. Can he even lie? It takes a lot of skill to lie well, and I'm not sure if he could pull it off. It's worrisome how he's "drunk the Kool aid" about his purpose; that unshakeable belief in his lack of individuality, that he's a force not a person, the ends justifying the means. He's a zealot on a mission, leaving the cult to carry out his master's plan.

Even though they start out taking similar actions (kidnapping and tying up the listener, invading personal space, hurting them) they both have very different motivations and relationships with pain and violence. I don't think we're getting another yandere kidnapper character with Hush, despite his actions so far. His way of reacting and reasoning is just too different from what we'd normally see in that archetype; besides, Blake and Regulus are still out there causing problems. I think Hush's personality traits align more with the Android Listener or James. Direct, impersonal, beholden to their creators/boss for a specific outcome. More powerful in different ways than the people around them. Doing whatever is necessary to achieve their purpose.

And just for the sake of posterity, Adam was also a creep who tied up the listener. For the purposes of this post he's similar enough to Ivan that I'm not going to repeat myself; Adam's motivations are pretty clear and simple, and his hedonism is close enough to Ivan's selfish sadism to not be worth more than a footnote.

#redacted asmr #redacted hush #redacted ivan #i was thinking my thoughts and came up with this #redacted android #redacted james

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lea-andres · 3 months

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To the anon preaching the joys and wonders of Espio x Warm Blooded Partner ships:

I see you, I see what you're laying down and I'm all here for it... But I assume you're new here and didn't realize the way you worded your ask you accidentally signed me up for a world of pain had I answered it.

To catch you up, I now have a spicy relationship with one of the ships you mentioned. Mediocre takes of boiling away their personalities until it's the same old same old tropes where you could plug literally any other two people who have gone through the same boiled peanut personality process into their spots AND NOTHING WOULD CHANGE wore me out, but the final nail in the coffin was when they'd fucking show up on other ship posts going "But [ship] is better!" Like they expected that to end any other way than with a one way ticket to the void (blocked).

So... Yeah. You see my problem. I'm sorry your ask turned into this because again: I'm assuming you meant well.

Back to actually addressing the meat and potatoes of your ask, which is giving Espio a warm blooded partner, I'm always down for this. I love any excuse where the cuddles become medically necessary. I feel like at first Espio would mutter about it because he doesn't require warm cuddles because he's a stoic ninja or whatever absolute nonsense he'd pull out of his ass, only to get used to it and begin requiring it lmao. He's like me sleeping with an electric blanket AND a heating pad, except it's his partner lmao.

(Hell he probably sleeps with the electric blanket and heating pad too when he's by himself.)

You made the terrible mistake of mentioning Espnah as a good example of one of these ships in your ask so I'm gonna get annoying in THAT direction now. 😈 Between being an oupy and being a slightly bigger girl in general (not in height though lmao), Dinah runs very warm. Espio can't bring an electric blanket or heating pad anywhere near her without a lot of complaining on her part, but she does the job well enough on her own. Hot water bottle girlfriend lmao.

Wave is an interesting inclusion on this list. Swallows are warm blooded, yes, but they also usually avoid the cold. Flying south for the winter and all that. But hey, Wave can always just take Espio with her to warmer climates. That certainly solves the issue of being cold. What winter? We're going to the Bahamas, bitch! Can't get cold if it's not fucking cold. Espio deserves a vacation, assuming he can focus on vacation when robberies that definitely aren't the Rogues' doing happen. 🤔😂

Lanolin I imagine is like a sentient wool blanket lmao. *Maybe* she's a little itchy, but she traps heat in like crazy. Beats being cold.

#espio the chameleon #wave the swallow #lanolin the sheep #lea's ocs #dinah the spaniel #espave #espolin #espnah

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apollos-boyfriend · 10 months

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im writing an au that is supposed to include everyone in the dsmp. but i am a humble enjoyer and dont know about lots of characters, purpled included. can i get a guidebook to writing cpurpled? any tropes to avoid, motivations you see people getting wrong, etc?

okay so. purpled is Interesting bc there's a lot of depth to his character in the sense that he himself is not self-aware of his own actions/wants, making for there being three purpleds: the purpled that he shows to others, the purpled he feels he is, and the true purpled he himself isn't even fully aware of. and depending on how deep you wanna explore into his character, that third one likely won't even come into play, because that is more of an instance of a character study/purpled-centric piece, but i'll go over it anyways, just in case! splitting this into parts below the cut to make categorizing things a bit easier :]

first, the basics:

purpled has a very. unique way of talking. in serious moments, he's calm, collected, and intimidating, and will act like you'd expect a broody teenaged mercenary to. most of the time, though, his speech pattern is the world's most ungodly mixture of teenage boy and starving victorian orphan.

in fight or flight, he chooses fight 100% of the time, even if that fight is not immediate.

purpled only cares about a handful of things: self-preservation, his image, and money. this doesn't necessarily mean he won't do "good" things, just that his motives are less about saving people and more about advancing his own agenda. during the red banquet, for example, he only saved the attendants because he was paid to. eret called him a hero for it, but it was nothing more than a matter of who paid more. his morals are extremely skewed,

but he's not inherently malicious. he's indifferent. his actions are logical, not emotional, so despite harming others for his own gain, he typically holds no ill-will towards them. for example, the wiki cites that he and bad have a negative relationship for betraying the eggpire during the banquet, but in reality, purpled really doesn't see bad in anything but a neutral way. there are very few people he holds either positive or negative emotions towards, as his default state is indifferent, but willing to go along with the other person's emotions if they pay enough.

the only people he does feel a semblance of strong emotions towards are: hannah, boomer, ponk, tubbo, jack, and quackity. he has positive personal relationships with hannah, boomer, ponk, and tubbo, seeing them as genuine friends. additionally, ponk, tubbo, and jack are fellow businessmen, which he very much admires. quackity, of course, is the one person on the list he has overtly negative feelings towards, something that possibly extended towards slime after the ln finale, as well. he has an Odd relationship with tommy in the sense that they're somewhat rivals, but not in the usual fandom sense where "oh they secretly care about each other because they're sworn rivals". purpled would sell tommy to satan for a single cornchip and not even blink. there's also dogchamp, his dog, which is i think the one True attachment he's ever had on the server.

business is very important to him! purpled only really cares to talk to people who he sees on a similar intellectual level as him, and business is the closest way to his heart, as seen with his relationship with ponk.

anyone he doesn't see on his level is "lesser". this is specifically highlighted with his viewpoint on slime, as he sees slime as nothing but a child who can't fend for himself and has to rely on quackity for everything. this viewpoint is, obviously, extremely untrue, because purpled is an unreliable narrator in every sense of the word.

he's very smart and extremely capable. if he sets his mind to something, he Will accomplish it through any means necessary, even at the cost of others.

he is also. just sillie. at least around those he trusts or is pretending to allow to get close to him (like fundy in ln). he pulls stupid pranks for stupid prizes. he's just a boy that really loves his dog. he's the server's strongest warrior yet he runs screaming from boomer because they threatened to child-leash him. do not be afraid to make him a freak (because trust me he Is one)

some deeper stuff! all of these things are unspoken, and things he himself is not aware of. a dive into his subconscious thoughts, if you will. if you're writing something deeper with him, these are things i recommend alluding towards/highlighting, but in a sense that only the audience is aware of. they're not things that should be Explicitly Stated, at least not by him/his pov. purpled has little to no true self-awareness, and when he does have moments of introspection, he Still manages to fuck that up, which i'll be getting into

purpled does not really feel any negative emotions other than rage and spite. or, more accurately, he doesn't let himself feel anything other than rage or spite. when lamenting about his loneliness on the server, he immediately spins it into a revenge plot, believing it'll be solved as soon as he gets his just desserts. he does feel and process positive emotions, it's just negative ones he pushes aside for the sake of anger.

this is because, inherently, purpled does not believe he is in the wrong. ever. everything is always the fault of others, which is why he results to anger, because that's what happens when he pushes blame onto other people. he doesn't ever accept that his actions can be detrimental to himself, and that his issues are always the fault of others. for example, he believes that the reason his legacy on the server was "ruined" was because of quackity's intervention. while quackity's destruction of his ufo certainly didn't help, purpled's core issue was himself. his own self-isolation is what started the downfall of his legacy, and his continued isolation is what sealed its fate.

his inability to process his true emotions/wants makes him very prone to self-sabotage, although he believes the path he chooses is the right one. due to quackity's intervention, he believes that he wants a legacy to have power and to be remembered. when he laid out his issues, however, his biggest hang-up was that "if he asked people on the server to name three things about him, none of them could". deep down, what he wanted was a sense of connection, of building a legacy through the bonds formed with others, but he was unable to realize that.

he's so fucking stupid. all of this is me trying to say he's a fucking idiot. he has the emotional capacity of a pet rock with angry eyebrows drawn onto it. he's hypocritical and not even aware of it. i don't think he has the emotional ability to know what hypocrisy is.

the most important thing, though, is to not woobify him into the "manipulated minors" trope. purpled was not manipulated, and although his age plays into the tragedy of his character on a meta-level, it has no true importance to his actions/story. and although i gush about him a lot, and there are reasons to why he acts the way he does, he is not a good person. i can explain why he does what he does all i want, but at his core he is flawed and antagonistic. that's what makes him so good!! he is not a good person, he knows he's not a good person, and unless he's purposefully playing that role in order to deceive someone, he doesn't pretend to be one, and is up-front with others about that fact.

#muse talk #cellburs #oh my god i'm so sorry i just realized how long this is.......#im so fuckign unwell #i have a Lot more cpurpled analysis laying around on my blog somewhere if u need more info!#i think it should be under 'midnight analysis'?#long story short. he's emotionally inept. he does not realize this fact. this is the catalyst to Every Issue He Ever Has #and also the reason he Never Fucking Wins #if u have any more specific questions i'd be happy to answer!!#i. really hope this is comprehensible

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