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sansaorgana · 15 days
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— THROWN TO THE WOLVES (IV)
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PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE PART FIVE || PART SIX || PART SEVEN PART EIGHT
PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC
SUMMARY — Feyd is not as easy to manipulate as his wife wishes. Her sudden change of behaviour leaves him confused. Na-baroness wants to find out why she's not receiving any letters from her father.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is Paul Atreides’ half-sister. I hope this shows in the tags because there were problems with them for the past two days 😡😡😡 Anyway, I want to thank everyone engaging in this story by liking, reblogging and leaving comments. It means a lot... 😭
WARNINGS — arranged marriage, mentions of sexual activities including non/dub-con (no actual smut), violent behaviour
WORD COUNT — 6,140
ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.
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THROWN TO THE WOLVES (IV)
You woke up earlier than usual when you felt a movement next to your body under the duvet. Your eyes opened lazily as you watched Feyd sitting up on the bed. You assumed that even on the morning after his victory in the arena, he wouldn’t miss a training session.
The light creeping inside through the narrow windows shone on his bare back and you squinted your eyes at the pale scars that were scattered all over. You had noticed them before but you had assumed they were a result of his gladiator fights. Now you weren’t so sure anymore. You had seen him in the arena and his back was not exposed there. All the cuts also did not look like they were made in some frantical fight. They looked too systematic.
You reached your hand out and traced one of the scars on his back with your fingertip. He flinched and turned around immediately, reminding you of a wounded, yet deadly animal.
“Don’t do that,” he ordered in a voice even more deep and raspy than usual. 
“You haven’t gained those scars in the arena, have you?” You asked, carefully.
Feyd’s eyes narrowed as he was trying to read your intentions. But he remained silent and you took your hand away.
“What has he done to you?” You whispered and sat up to face him.
He terrified you. Your body still remembered everything he had done to it. All the awful things that he had said, all those disgusting smiles, creepy stares. His touch was venomous and destructive.
Yet, he had also given you pleasure in those past few days. Your mother was dead, your father too shy to talk about such matters to you. Lady Jessica tried but you didn’t want to listen to her. Your maids had been telling you awful stories about performing marital duties – most of them had never been in a situation like this and they were repeating other people’s stories.
Your marital duties had been worse than whatever they could prepare you for. But none of their stories mentioned the waves of neverending pleasure when you were trapped in your husband’s strong arms like a doll he could break at any moment. Completely at the mercy of that monster and falling apart over and over. The mixture of pain and pleasure.
You began to understand why he liked it so much.
But his craving was unnatural. You couldn’t imagine enjoying being stabbed the way he had been in the arena. It was beyond some sort of twisted sexual desire. It was a trained dog’s behaviour.
“He has done what had to be done,” Feyd told you and moved away, trying to leave the bed but you reached out for him again and grabbed his wrist.
“Stay with me,” you tried to sound seductive. You weren’t that sore on that morning and your plan to break him couldn’t wait for too long.
He looked at you, confused. He was angry at you for trying to stop him but he didn’t push you away.
“Stay with me,” you repeated and let the duvet fall down from your chest, revealing your breasts. “You won yesterday, did you not? Surely, you can miss the training session today,” you tried to convince him.
“No,” his answer was harsh when he left the bed and you had no choice but to let him go. “I don’t fuck before the fight,” he reminded you and went to the bathroom.
You sighed in defeat and laid back down on your pillow. You fell asleep again before he even left the bathroom.
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You were surprised that it was Astra and Cara waking you up to tell you that your breakfast was awaiting on Feyd’s balcony. You let them dress you up and you wondered why he hadn’t come to you after his training. You expected him to come back and fuck you senseless, especially after your teasing.
Perhaps you miscalculated your own charm’s possibilities. Perhaps you didn’t have as much sexual power over him as you liked to think. Perhaps you were a toy he was bored with already, soon to be pushed aside completely.
You couldn’t help but to feel that his recent behaviour had been your fault. Perhaps you started too fast, too boldly. Some of your last night’s and this morning’s actions made him change his attitude towards you.
After breakfast you went back to your own bedroom and sighed at the sight of your desk being empty. Still there were no letters from your father or your brother.
“Girls,” you asked for Astra and Cara and they rushed to you, “why aren’t you bringing me any correspondence?” You asked.
They looked at each other, surprised.
“Oh, my Lady, we would never miss any of your letters,” Cara assured you.
“We were not given any,” Astra shook her head. “We would never hide anything from you, na-baroness.”
“I know,” you smiled sweetly at her. “I was not angry at you,” you added and they sighed out of relief. “I was just simply wondering.”
You looked around, confused. You truly had no idea what to do with your whole day.
“Can you take me to that relaxation area? I am curious about it,” you proposed and they nodded their heads.
You left the room and they followed. The guards looked at you as if they wanted an explanation. You decided not to give them any and let your girls guide you.
They were only guards. They had no right to ask. But they looked stressed as they watched you walk away and disappear in one of the corridors.
Meanwhile, you tried to remember all the corridors on your way but they reminded you of a maze. Perhaps one day you would be able to walk freely and confidently through these halls. Perhaps one day you would be a baroness in this fortress. But that was not that day. In fact, you felt defeated and weak after realising that Feyd hadn’t visited you after his training session.
You were angry at yourself.
“It’s here, my Lady,” Astra pointed at one of the doors.
“Well, what are you waiting for, my sweet girls? Open the door,” you smiled at her.
“We are not allowed inside, na-baroness,” Cara bowed down.
“Why?” You furrowed your brow.
“No servant is allowed there. It’s a relaxation area, it’s for the nobility, my Lady,” Astra added. “We will wait here.”
“What if I want you to join me?” You asked.
“Please… We don’t want to be in trouble, na-baroness,” Cara looked down and you sighed.
You didn’t want them to get in trouble either. So you pushed the door open and entered the room by yourself.
You gasped at the sight of a huge room with a high ceiling. There was a glass dome in the middle of it and inside of it… green grass, trees and flowers. You approached it, mesmerised. You looked up and noticed a big lamp – so bright that it almost burnt your eyes out – some sort of a device to imitate the sun.
But the glass dome was not the only thing in that room. There were doors leading to other, smaller rooms. One of them was a sauna, one of them was a swimming pool with a huge window to watch Giedi Prime from above. There was some sort of a gym, too. And you were completely alone in this whole section.
You assumed the Baron was not here very often, if at all. You couldn’t picture Count Rabban or your husband visiting such a place either. It looked like you had your new favourite place in the whole fortress.
Carefully, you entered the glass dome and took a deep breath in. Oh, it felt so good. The air was so crispy and fresh. Not in a fabricated, filtered way like inside the fortress. It reminded you of the air back home on Caladan.
You basked in the fake sunlight and laid down on the grass lazily, closing your eyes and humming to yourself. You planned to visit the library tomorrow and bring yourself some books here.
But as nice as it was, it made you feel sad, too. You missed the warmth of the sun on your skin, you missed the colours of nature, the sounds… It was unnaturally quiet in that glass dome. It missed the sounds of birds and the waves crashing on the shore, the sound of life. You missed Caladan. But even if something happened and you were sent back to your family, it wouldn’t be Caladan either. It would be Arrakis – another unfriendly world.
You couldn’t believe suddenly that you had used to hate Caladan. You had hated its grey skies and rainy weather. How stupid you had been, how spoiled. You couldn’t wait to live on your grandparents’ planet. How naive.
How could you ever believe that your life would be easy and so simple?
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You spent most of the afternoon in the relaxation area. When you left it, Astra and Cara were still standing by the door. You felt a little sorry for them.
“It’s time for dinner now, na-baroness,” they told you and you nodded your head before following them back to your chambers.
You were surprised to see Feyd on the balcony, too. He was sitting by the table already and eating some steak that looked more raw than cooked. It would be the first time you’d actually share a meal together on his balcony.
You quickly fixed your hair and dress in the mirror and took a deep breath in before joining him by the table. He looked up at you and you gave him a faint smile.
“You didn’t come to me,” you pointed out but he ignored you, “after the training,” you added. “I thought you always wanted to fuck after a fight.”
“Who said I didn’t fuck?” He muttered and still avoided your gaze.
You gritted your teeth at his answer. Was he getting bored of you already? Why was that? He had seemed to be so excited about you the previous night. About your hair, your breasts, everything that made other men on Giedi Prime jealous of him.
That was, until you had started to be nice and gentle to him.
You hesitated before answering him. It could lead you into big trouble and you weren’t sure if your body would be able to handle it.
“I have my needs, too, my Lord,” you risked and batted your eyelashes even though he wasn’t looking at you. Then you began to eat your own piece of steak. Yours was properly cooked, though. For which you were grateful.
Feyd moved his plate away before staring at you as if you were a riddle or a rebus. It was quite amusing.
“What?” You raised an eyebrow.
“You’re playing a game I do not fully understand but I can assure you it will not end well for you,” he threatened and you swallowed thickly.
Oh.
“I’m not playing any game, Feyd-Rautha,” you tried to hide your nervousness but the breath you took was shaky. You hated that in the black-and-white light he looked even more scary and even less human.
“You’re acting weird and I don’t like it,” he pointed out.
“Weird how?” You shook your head. “I don’t want to be here. I hate you, in fact. But I have to be here. I have to be your wife. I thought we could make it a bit more pleasant for the both of us if we were nicer to each other…” you reached out to caress his hand but he flinched away almost aggressively.
“This. I don’t like this,” he explained as his jaw clenched. You saw murder and confusion in his bright eyes.
“You don’t like my touch?” You asked, surprised. “Surely, it doesn’t hurt when I touch you.”
“I would like it better if it did,” he drawled out and your heart sank in your chest.
A wounded animal, you tried to remember.
“I’m sorry, my Lord. I did not mean to cause you any discomfort,” you nodded your head and silently went back to eating.
He remained stiff and observed you for a long while. You tried not to think about anything and left your head empty because if you focused on anything now, you would burst out in tears.
Your plan was not working. Nothing was working. You would be tossed aside soon. They would kill you. You didn’t mean anything to Feyd-Rautha. How could you?
When you finished your meal, you cleaned your lips with a napkin elegantly and cleared your throat before daring to lay your eyes on your husband once again.
“I am experiencing problems with my correspondence,” you told him. “I wish to speak to your uncle.”
You watched his reaction but he did not smirk or laugh. If there was some scheming behind your back to keep you away from your father’s letters, he was clearly not a part of it. It made you nervous. What if there was no scheming?
Feyd only nodded his head and stood up.
“Now?” You asked.
“I thought you wanted to,” he gave you an angry look.
“Well, I do, yes,” you stood up as well and followed him outside your chambers.
This time the guards did not look so stressed. After all, you were accompanied by the man who had owned you.
“Where were you before?” Feyd asked you on the way, sternly.
“Astra and Cara showed me to the relaxation area,” you explained.
“Who?” Feyd stopped and you had to stop as well to avoid bumping into him. He turned around and squinted his eyes at you.
“Astra and Cara. My servant girls,” you answered.
“You named them?” He was visibly surprised but there was lots of contempt in his voice as well.
“Why not? How would I address them otherwise?”
“You don’t address them. You give them orders,” he cupped your cheeks with one of his hands. His touch was rough as he brought your face closer to his. “I will slice their throats next time I see them,” he threatened.
“Wh-what? Why?” Your lower lip trembled at the thought. “You have no right… They are mine. They were given to me by your uncle. They’re my property…” You tried to think of something.
Feyd gave you a twisted smile as his eyes sparkled.
“I like you more like that,” he whispered. “I missed you, pet.”
Then he laughed and pushed you away again. He started walking down the corridor but you remained in your place for a while. When you finally caught your breath back, he was already far away, so you had to run up to him.
“Please, don’t hurt them…!” You begged and tugged on his sleeve.
“They keep you away from me. Maybe I’m jealous,” he teased and then he frowned at the sight of silent tears streaming down your cheeks. “Stop it,” he ordered.
“Stop what? I can’t control that!” You were frustrated with him. You wanted to punch him at the moment but you couldn’t. You couldn’t risk your girls’ lives. You wouldn’t handle losing Astra and Cara.
“I don’t like it when your eyes are wet,” he gritted his teeth and stopped in front of the huge doors leading to his uncle’s chambers.
You stopped, too, and you took a deep breath in, staring into your husband’s cold eyes.
“When my eyes are wet?” You asked in disbelief. “It’s called crying, Feyd,” you explained.
“I don’t like it,” he shook his head. “It makes me feel weird when you do that.”
You sniffed the tears back and dried your cheeks with the palms of your hands. You didn’t want the Baron to see you like this. You had to present yourself in the most dignified form in front of him.
However, you were quite pleased with the new discovery about your husband.
If your tears were making him feel weird, it meant that he still had some humanity buried deep inside. The weird feeling had to be pity or compassion or something of that sort. You could see that in the way his eyes were softening despite the anger, as if he was confused at his own reactions.
You wiped out the last tear and straightened yourself as your face became serious again.
“If you kill them, Feyd-Rautha…” You started and he smirked.
“Then what?” He chuckled.
“Then it will be as if you killed me,” you told him. “And what use is there of a broken pet?”
You didn’t wait for his answer. It was not like he would ever actually promise you not to kill your girls. And his promise would not mean anything anyway.
Your answer was not given to him to convince him. It was given there to confuse him.
Instead of waiting for his reply, you nodded at the guard to open the door and announce you the Baron.
When the Baron allowed you to come inside, you did. Feyd followed you behind and the doors closed behind you two.
You had never been in the personal chambers of Baron Valdimir Harkonnen before. They were awful and empty. There was a big tub full of black, slimy substance and he was sitting inside it. Two of his own slave girls were sitting on the edge alongside all the machinery keeping him alive. You tried very hard not to throw up all your dinner.
“Baroness,” Baron greeted you with a chuckle, “what seems to trouble you?”
You stood in front of the tub and Feyd stood behind you with his hands behind his back as if he was a servant himself. Loyal dog, you thought.
“I have not yet received any letter from my father nor brother. Am I supposed to believe that they are not interested in my fate, my Lord?” You asked. “I don’t understand why you are hiding them from me. I doubt you would let any of my letters leave Giedi Prime without you reading it first.”
“So you think I am hiding letters from you, baroness?” Baron squinted his eyes at you and you moved uncomfortably. You hated more than anything the way he was addressing you. “I’m going to be honest with you. It hurts me deeply that you think of me this way. You are no prisoner on Giedi Prime. It is your home now,” he explained calmly but no words leaving his disgusting mouth were ever honest or sincere.
“I can believe my father chose to discard me. But not my brother,” you shook your head.
“Oh, yes, yes, Prince Paul Atreides,” Baron mentioned his name with a chuckle, “in the last letter, I believe, your father wrote to me that your brother sends his love,” the last word seemed so out of place in his mouth and he looked disgusted to say it, too. “I forgot to mention it yesterday, forgive me, baroness. I was too focused on my darling nephew’s fight.”
“What do you mean in the last letter?” You clenched your fists.
“Tsk, tsk,” Feyd hissed behind you and took a step forward. You could feel his breath on your neck now.
It confused you. Was he there to intimidate you further or… to protect you from his uncle? You relaxed your fists. He was right either way – you shouldn't show the Baron your anger in such an obvious way.
“You are right, baroness. Your father is worried about you. He wrote to me to ask if you are adapting well. I replied that you are doing great,” Baron smirked. “I allowed myself not to mention your rebellious nature. We do not want to disappoint your father, do we?” He mocked.
But it was not that mockery that made your heart shatter. It was the fact – if the Baron was not lying, of course – that your father had chosen to send an official letter to the Baron instead of writing to you personally and asking about your wellbeing.
Baron Harkonnen watched your reaction carefully. You didn’t want him to see how sad it made you but it was probably too difficult to hide.
“I understand, my Lord,” you nodded your head. “I am sorry for making assumptions.”
“You are free to send your father a letter and I have no interest in reading it,” Baron added. “Is that all, baroness?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to bother,” you nodded your head and turned around to leave. Feyd followed you behind.
“Feyd,” Baron called for him, “stay for a moment. I have to talk to you about something.”
Your husband nodded his head and stayed behind as you walked out of the Baron’s chambers.
You didn’t go back to your bedroom yet, though. You waited for Feyd patiently as the guards in front of the door were watching you curiously. You couldn’t hear a word from the inside anyway, though. The walls were soundproof.
When Feyd finally pushed the doors open and left his uncle’s chambers, he was surprised to see you waiting for him. He grabbed your arm and pushed you to the wall as he stood above you in an intimidating manner.
“Eavesdropping, huh?” He asked, angrily.
“How could I with the walls being soundproof?” You drawled out through the gritted teeth. “I was waiting for you,” you explained and his grip loosened a little bit. “Doesn’t it make you angry when he calls me baroness?” You dared to ask, quietly.
“It’s faster to say it this way,” Feyd looked like his silly explanation was not satisfying enough even for himself.
“Am I not your wife, my Lord?” You swallowed thickly as his pupils darkened. “Am I not your property? Why is he trying to take that from you? Is he always making you share everything?” You pretended to ask innocently as you looked at him in a doe-like manner.
“You are my wife,” he let go of you and took a step back, “and you will shut your mouth,” he ordered. “Take her back to her room,” he told the guards and they nodded at him.
When you were being walked back to your chambers, you remembered the Baron telling you that you were no prisoner on Giedi Prime. How funny.
Astra and Cara were waiting in your room and you smiled widely at the sight of them. You approached them to give them a hug and they gladly hugged you back.
You didn’t want to tell them about Feyd’s threat. You hoped he had only threatened you to kill them because he enjoyed the fear in your eyes.
“What about the letters, my lady?” Cara asked.
“They are simply not coming,” you sighed and approached your desk. Your eyes landed on the picture of your father, Paul and you.
You grabbed it and took a better look at it. You were all standing proudly with the Atreides flag waving in the background. Your father – stoic as ever – strong leader and dignified man, looking up proudly. Paul with his boyish charm right behind him, his eyes were as absent as always. The future Duke. You were in the back, wearing one of your mother’s old dresses. You were the only one looking directly in the camera with a piercing gaze.
Suddenly, you got scared looking at your own self in that picture. As if it had always been your destiny to become a Harkonnen. There was something hungry about you in this portrait, something malicious even.
You smashed it on the floor as Astra and Cara widened their eyes.
“M-my lady,” Astra began shakily.
“I don’t want to see it anymore,” you told them and went to the bathroom. “Run me a bath.”
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In the evening your girls dressed you in a sheer, black nightgown of your choice. You waited on your bed, wondering if Feyd would ask for you or come to you himself. You realised that he hadn’t touched you for the whole day and it was making you worried.
Astra and Cara were sitting by your bed and cleaning your jewellery in silence. You wanted them to be with you even though they could be doing that in their rooms.
Finally, the doors leading to Feyd’s bedroom opened and he walked inside. Your heart skipped a beat when he laid his eyes on your servant girls and licked his lips before chuckling contemptuously. Then he looked at you.
“Come to me,” he ordered and turned around to walk away. You sighed with relief and stood up to follow him.
You smiled at your girls and they nodded their heads at you.
The doors closed behind you and you spotted Feyd by the mirror, leaning on it and playing with his short knife.
“Come here,” he beckoned you over.
You walked slowly towards him, letting the fabric of your robe dance on your naked skin as the moonlight shone on you through the narrow windows. Your hair was loose and your nipples were hard already. He watched you with satisfaction and a wicked smile.
“My Lord,” you stood in front of him, a little scared of his next move. You didn’t like it when he was playing with his knife in front of you like that. One swift movement could slice your throat.
“You told me earlier you have your needs, too,” he breathed out and your heart sank in your chest. You had known you would eventually regret saying that. “Show me how much,” he dared you.
“W-what?” You didn’t completely understand what was expected from you.
“Show me how much you want me to fuck you, my Lady,” he explained.
You swallowed thickly at that. You knew that he addressed you sarcastically, but there was something about Feyd-Rautha calling you my Lady that made you itch right in your core.
However, you got shy at his command. You had no idea what to do. Every idea you could think of was suddenly idiotic and pathetic to you. You hated how he twisted the game you had started and now it was him tormenting you. Your lack of previous experience left you paralyzed. It had been easier to imagine such situations in your head. But now, in real life, you just had no idea what to do.
“Aw,” he raised your chin with the tip of his knife and you looked up, scared. “I knew that. My little pet is starting games she can’t finish,” he teased. “Such a timid little demon you are,” he hummed and stood behind you, with the blade still pressed to your throat. You could see him in the mirror’s reflection; standing behind you and placing his free hand on your hip to pull your body closer to his chest. “I was too rough with you,” he admitted. “I broke you,” he whispered into your ear.
“I… I am alright, my Lord,” you stuttered out.
“I don’t mean your body, my pet,” his hand moved to your womb and he pressed it possessively even though it was still empty. “A week ago you were an innocent, scared Princess. Now you’re a hungry whore,” he continued and you felt your cheeks heating up.
You wanted to protest but he pulled the fabric of your nightgown up to reveal your womanhood and he put his hand between your legs. You couldn’t deny his words now. He could already feel that you were excited. He laughed with contempt at you and you clenched your jaw.
“What is it that you want, little pet?” He asked you as his nose and tongue slid down your shoulder. His blade was still pointed at you.
“I want you to kiss me,” you dared to say and took a deep breath in, fearing his reaction. He froze for a second and looked up at you. “I want you to kiss me like you did at our wedding,” you explained. “Please, my Lord,” you pleaded.
There was no way he could not hear the way your heart was pounding in your chest. You only hoped he wouldn’t interpret it as fear – even though it was.
After a while of hesitation, he dropped the knife away and turned you around violently in his arms. He cupped your face with both of his hands and leaned in to give you a hungry, sloppy kiss like the one he had given you to seal your marriage union.
But this time you kissed him back. You weren’t just standing there and taking it as you had at your wedding. You wrapped your hands around him and scratched his back with your fingernails, knowing perfectly well it would spur him on. He moaned into your mouth and you smirked.
The way your tongues fought with each other, you couldn’t tell anymore if it was still an act of intimacy or a rivalry. When he broke the kiss, he licked your face slowly, mimicking the act from your wedding. But when he was done, you leaned in to lick him, too.
You surprised yourself that you didn’t find it disgusting. It came natural to you as if there had been some primal and animalistic urge in you, too. But you had never known about it until now.
Feyd’s eyes sparkled and he joined your lips again in another hungry, passionate kiss. This time you started to walk towards the bed and he allowed you to lead him until he felt the bed frame behind and stopped.
“Let me please you, my Lord,” you breathed out.
You hadn’t thought of it. It wasn’t part of your scheming. All those vulgarities were coming to you naturally in the heat of the moment. You couldn’t recognise yourself but you didn’t mind since it seemed to work.
“I thought you hated me,” he teased but his body was trembling from impatience. He was craving you so desperately that it was boosting your ego. The dangerous heathen Feyd-Rautha was craving you.
“I hate you as much as you hate me,” you pushed him down and began to crawl on top of him.
You doubted that he hated you. He just hated the way you would confuse his senses and feelings.
So, exactly like you hated him.
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“I will be back tomorrow,” Feyd woke you up in the morning and you rubbed your eyes lazily.
“Hmm?” You asked and covered your mouth to yawn.
“I’m leaving with my uncle for a day. We will be back tomorrow,” he told you. “I forgot to tell you last night,” he smirked.
“Where are you going?” You asked. “Why am I not going, too?”
He didn’t answer. You assumed it was not an usual diplomatic mission, then.
“You can play with your pets when I’m gone,” he was about to leave the chambers already.
“They’re not my pets,” you denied but he only smirked and walked out.
You laid in bed stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to remember the last night and overthink it in every detail. But it was impossible. It was so primal and unexpected that no logic applied to it.
Feyd had allowed you to be on top of him. He had allowed you to hurt him. To slap his face, to choke him, to scratch his chest until he bled. You marked his neck and shoulders with your lips – bites and hickeys all over. But what you had been feeling inside was not revenge. It had been a desire.
You winced at the memory of how good it felt to be on top of him. To reach your peaks one after another with him under you. You had been so hungry, you hadn’t wanted to stop. And he could stop you any moment but he had not because he had enjoyed it. He had been watching you with contempt but pleasure, too.
Pain and pleasure. What a delicious mix.
You stretched and sat up, sighing. If someone had told you after your wedding night that you’d grow to love it… You’d laugh.
Maybe it was your previous lack of experience. Maybe it made it so easy for him to shape you in the way he wanted to. To turn you into a monster similar to him.
You stood up and approached the mirror. Your body was marked, too. Especially your breasts. You caressed them and remembered how he sucked on them desperately. It was the moment when he visibly softened a little in a very unusual manner. When he had his face buried in your breasts, his guard went down a little, proving that you had been right all along. Your plan was good. You needed to use affection to wrap him around your little finger. You just needed more time and patience.
Astra and Cara carefully sneaked inside the bedroom with the dress already prepared for you to wear on that day. You smiled sweetly at them.
He hadn’t hurt them.
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You took a huge book from the library that was explaining the past hundred years of the Harkonnen wars, conquers and victories. Barely being able to hold it in your hands, you entered the courtyard.
You decided to abandon your plan to spend the day in the relaxation area – it would not run away after all. And it was one of the very rare days when your husband and his uncle couldn’t control you. You had the opportunity to walk around the fortress more freely.
You had seen the courtyard from Feyd’s balcony but you had never been there yet. You sat on the stone bench and opened the book to read it. The black-and-white colours did not make any difference when it came to reading anyway.
After a while you spotted Count Rabban walking through the courtyard. He was watching you from the corner of his eye and you were watching him. When he passed you by, you closed the book loudly and hurried after him.
“Count Rabban,” you called for him and he slowed down for you to approach him. He looked at you with contempt and confusion. “We haven’t talked much yet,” you faked a smile.
“Indeed, my Lady,” he drawled out.
“I’m surprised to see you,” you continued, “I was sure you went with my husband and the Baron.”
“Clearly, I did not,” his jaw clenched. You struck the nerve.
“Can you tell me where they went, perhaps?” You batted your eyelashes, playing stupid and naive. “Feyd did not want to tell me,” you giggled.
You saw disbelief in his brutal eyes. He couldn’t believe you were that stupid and annoying most likely.
“Absolutely not, my Lady,” he nodded and walked away, entering one of the fortress’ corridors.
You followed him inside and changed the tone of your voice to a more serious one.
“You don’t know it either, do you?” You asked him and he turned around, surprised to hear the change in your voice. You spotted his fists clenching and the vein on his forehead popping. He was stopping himself from hurting you. You didn’t want to imagine what would happen to him if he laid his hand on you. You were almost tempted to find out what his uncle and brother would do to him if he hit you or threatened you.
You belonged to Feyd. And to some extent you belonged to the Baron. But poor Count Rabban, despite being a part of the Harkonnen family, could not do anything to you.
“They haven’t told you, my Lord,” you teased and approached him carefully. He was staring at you with so much rage and hatred that you almost started to regret it. “They don’t treat you equally here, do they?” You asked and he remained silent. “I know what it’s like. I have a younger brother who has always been favoured by my father… No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried. He will inherit the title and I am here; discarded, thrown to the wolves. We are very alike, Count Rabban,” you whispered and watched his fists loosening. “I know we will most likely not be friends. But we do not have to be enemies. We are of the same pack now,” you told him softly and looked deep inside his eyes.
A long silence occurred between you two. Had he been ordered not to talk to you? Or was he too scared to answer any of these things? You couldn’t believe it was the man who was called Beast Rabban.
He could kill you in a moment. What was stopping him was simply… your power.
After a few nights with Feyd like the previous one, your power would be even greater.
“Have a good day, Count Rabban,” you nodded your head at him and turned around to go back to the courtyard.
“My Lady,” he nodded at you.
You smiled to yourself. He was terrified of his uncle. He would probably kill the Baron himself if he was not so scared. Count Rabban didn’t have to be eliminated. In fact, he could be useful later, when Feyd would already be a Baron.
And you – his beloved Baroness.
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ashcal99 · 9 months
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Collarbones : Jasper Whitlock Hale IV
Chapter Four
"I can see your collarbones and baby I'm scared, Never thought I'd be so unprepared"
Summary: Camila Johnson was only 16 when she was diagnosed with leukemia. By the time she had turned 17, the doctors had tried everything to save her. Her family is close to giving up hope when they hear of a doctor who may be able to help her. The only problem is, he lives on the opposite side of the country. The small family soon decides to move to the small town in Washington, in efforts to prolong her life. In doing so, her life changes forever.
Warnings: Eventual smut (18+ only), mentions of death, depression, violence, descriptions of disease and weight loss, general angst, slow burn
Words: 7.4k
A/N: Please lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list. Hope you enjoy. Made this chapter extra long for the wait x
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——————
January 29th, 2005
Camila sat there, frozen in time, for what seemed like an eternity trying to process what Jasper had just admitted. So, Jasper sat there, unmoving as well as not breathing. He wasn’t sure how she was taking the new information and suddenly found himself wishing that he held Edward’s power in that moment, willing to give everything just to know the thoughts that were going through her mind. Second best, he knew that she, remarkably, held no fright towards the admission, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she lacked the simple instinct that humans should be born with. The instinct to run away screaming when someone tells you that they’re a monster and could easily kill you. 
At the end of the day, he knew that was what he was. A monster. He may have changed his diet and tried to appear human, but he was far from it. He had killed people. Innocent people. He couldn’t even make the argument that his family had done the same, because their body counts were minuscule compared to his. He had fed off of human blood for nearly eighty-five years before Alice had found him. Even with his new found vegetarianism considered, he still slipped up. More than anybody else, and even though he knew that Camila was safe around him, he also knew that she had every reason in the world to fear him, and it confused the hell out of him that she didn’t.
He couldn’t help himself as he spoke, the silence eating away at his resolve. “Can you please tell me what’s going through your mind?” He asked, nervousness gripping his throat as he croaked the words out. 
Camila’s eyes flashed over to him, eyebrows creased in… confusion maybe? “I don’t know… I feel like I know I shouldn’t believe you, but for some reason, I do?” She said, eyes tracing his serious expression. “Can you prove it? N-not the vampire thing, I guess, but something to prove any of it is true?” She asked. 
Jasper’s mind reeled for a moment trying to think of something quickly, when an idea popped into his head. “Remember how you said I’m really good at reading emotions? Like an empath?” He asked, waiting for her nod before continuing. “It’s a little more than that. Some of us, when we turn, we get… gifts. When I was changed I could not only feel people’s emotions like they were my own, but manipulate them too.” He explained slowly, trying to find the right words.
Given the situation, he figured this was his best bet in not freaking her out any further. Eyes scanning her face to make sure that she was okay with what he was about to do, he pushed a wave of happiness towards her. He watched as the corners of her lips curved upwards, the crease between her eyebrows smoothing as her heart filled with overwhelming joy. 
She didn’t know nor care why she had become so  suddenly happy, but as soon as the emotion was ripped back from her, the pieces clicked together. The smile slowly dropped from her face as her mind returned to where had been just moments before. “Holy shit.” She huffed out. He was telling the truth. As soon as the feeling of joy had hit her, it was gone. 
Her eyes widened suddenly. Maybe this was the explanation as to why she felt so strongly towards him. Maybe it was him all along, manipulating her feelings. “Y-you don’t do that to me often do you?” She asked nervously. 
Jasper shook his head quickly, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “No. I’ve never with you before.” He rushed out, hoping to whatever god that she would believe him.
Letting out a sigh, Camila let her shoulders drop as she let herself relax back into her seat. She had no reason to think he was lying. From what she could tell, all of her feelings and emotions involving him were genuine, no matter how much she wished that they weren’t there to begin with.
“So, is the whole thing about garlic true?” She asked trying to lighten the mood. Everything had suddenly gotten much too daunting.
Throwing his head back with a bark of laughter, Jasper ran his long thin fingers through his golden curls. How in the world was she taking all of this so well? The ball had to drop at some point, right? There’s no way that everything would go this smoothly. Surely after she learned about his past and how much of a monster he really was, surely then, she would run away screaming. But that admission would have to wait for another day, because in that moment, he would give anything keep Camila as far away from that part of him as possible.
——————
January 31st, 2005
The rest of her day with Jasper had flown by, and before Camila knew it, it was the start to her second week at Forks High School. After the exhaustion of her first week, and hanging out with Jasper on Saturday, the rest of her weekend consisted of sleep and cramming in the remainder of her homework. When Monday finally came around, she was well rested, at lest as well rested as she could be. 
Camila had just joined the end of the line in the cafeteria, Eric talking her ear off behind her once again, when her eyes finally met Jasper’s across the crowded room. She hadn’t seen him since he had dropped her back off at home Saturday night. Like a perfect gentleman, he had waited, car pulled against the curb and watched her figure until she had successfully made it fully inside her home, before he drove away. 
Now that her eyes had met his for the first time since she had been given the opportunity to fully, well mostly maybe, process his confession, she felt a weight leave her shoulders that she wasn’t even aware was there in the first place. The rest of their night on Saturday had consisted mostly of more light hearted conversation, so now that she had been given the time to think of more questions to ask him, she had began to grow anxious of waiting. 
She knew the questions would have to wait, however, but seeing his face, that alone, eased that stress and anxiety from her. Everything had happened so quickly that her mind didn’t know how to calculate what his confession actually meant, and over the remainder of the weekend her mind had time to wander. He was dangerous, that much was apparent, but somehow, she also knew that he wouldn’t hurt her. That she was safe with him. 
It felt almost like a fever dream, everything happening so quickly. They had only just met, but suddenly, she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so comfortable with another person. So comfortable with being vulnerable, and content with sharing with him what she had been so keen on keeping from everyone else. Clearly he felt the same, that much she could gather herself, given his blatant honesty with her. 
Eric’s voice broke her from her thoughts as he continued his ramble on about how their trip to La Push Beach had gone and how she ‘had to join them next time’. She had to stop herself from cringing, not looking forward to coming up with another excuse in the future. She turned to him, attempting to give a reassuring smile. She didn’t want to come off rude, especially with the wide grin that was stretched across his face. He was just trying to be friendly, and that’s what she wanted. So, even if his persistence slightly annoyed her, she was still happy to have him around. 
Chills ran up her spine as icy fingertips brushed lightly across her lower back, bringing goosebumps quickly to the surface of her skin. She knew who it was, of course, before she looked up, having already gotten used to the feel of his touch, but that didn’t stop the flutter of her heart as her eyes met Jasper’s once more. He had sensed her unease from across the room and had decided to come to her rescue. 
“Will you sit with us for lunch today?” He asked, giving her a quirked eyebrow as well as a small smile. Alice had been pestering him since his return on Saturday to spend more time with the girl. As usual, she would get what she wanted, she already knew that of course, but that didn’t stop her from reminding him at every chance she got. 
Jasper watched as the gears in her head began to turn, slowly processing his invitation, her heart sputtering at his touch. He couldn’t help his smile from growing bigger across his face, enjoying hearing the reaction he had on her heart. “S-sure.” She stuttered out, turning back to the lunch lady to pay for her tray of food. She sent a small wave and smile to the boy, Eric, and fell in stride by Jasper’s side, his hand ghosting the small of her back as he lead her to the table that held the remainder of his family. 
Eric stood for a moment, mouth agape as he stared at their retreating figures. What was it with the new girls and the Cullens? Why was that family suddenly so sociable after a year of barely speaking to anybody? From across the cafeteria, the two were beginning to attract the stares from the rest of her friend group, and when she finally made it to the table, Jasper pulling her chair out for her to take a seat, the majority of the overcrowded room was practically ogling them. A fact, in which was doing nothing to ease the anxiety that had settled in the pit of her stomach.
Setting her tray down, she slowly dropped into the hard plastic seat, shoulders tensing as she took in the perfect faces sat in front of her. Camila had of course met Alice the week previous, but she had yet to meet Jasper’s other siblings. She wasn’t sure if she should feel more or less comfortable meeting the pale strangers now that she knew their secret, but the fact was, she knew and nothing would change that now. 
Feeling waves of anxiety and stress radiate from Camila, he decided now would be a time to use his powers, one that he hoped she wouldn’t be mad at him for later. He hated seeing the worry in her eyes and knew that her stress was unnecessary, so he did what he could and pushed feelings of calmness and comfortability towards her as he settled into the seat next to her. 
As the anxiety lifted from her shoulders, a polite smile formed on Camila’s lips. Jasper cleared his throat from beside her, gaining the attention of his siblings. “Camila this is my family.” He gestured towards the group. “Alice you met already.” He said pointing to the pixie haired girl on the other side of Camila.
The whole family already knew of his admission, and given the circumstances he was more that content with their reactions. He hadn’t exactly known what to expect from the situation, never having dealt with anything like it before. Carlisle and Esme had been happy for him, and though this slightly unnerved him, he knew it came with good intentions. He knew what coming clean to Camila could mean for her future, for their future, but he still refused to get his hopes up. Her knowing and having the choice to ‘live’ on had no guarantee that she would make that decision, and as much as it pained him, he knew that he would never be able to make that choice for her. 
Alice’s teeth shown brightly as she smiled at the girl, squealing lightly as she pulled her into a tight hug. Camila’s eyes widened, the immortal girl’s antics still surprising her despite already being on the receiving end previously. Before she was given the time to process and reciprocate the hug, Alice had pulled away and had returned to her comfortable position in her seat. 
Alice was of course ecstatic, even though she had seen the whole thing happen already, because now she was free to develop their friendship. She had seen the whole thing play out and knew just how close she would grow to Camila, and like a child on Christmas morning, was practically bouncing with anticipation when he had arrived home Saturday night. 
Jasper continued, stopping to roll his eyes at his sister. “This is Emmet and Rosalie.” He said, gesturing to the couple sitting at the opposite side of the table. Emmet gave a ginormous half smile half smirk to the girl, while Rosalie attempted the give a polite smile as well.
Emmet was of course laid back about the whole thing, only giving him a little bit of shit for finally finding his mate. Rosalie was surprisingly at ease with the situation, unlike her feelings towards Bella. Of course, Jasper knew why. She had always resented her immortality, having her humanity ripped away from her the way that it had been, and she wouldn’t wish that on anybody else. He knew her calm demeanor had to do with the fact that, unlike her human life, Camila had no chance of growing old. No chance of starting a family.
His heart ached at this knowledge, knowing that he would give anything he could to see Camila age into her beauty. To see her grow and start her adult life. To see her get married and have children, even if he wasn’t the one to give her that future. Unfortunately, maybe because God or whatever higher power was cruel or had a sick twisted sense of humor, she had no hope for that life. 
It had been an unexpected punch to the gut to meet her mother. She was such a perfect reflection of her daughter that it was almost like he was glimpsing into that impossible future. He knew that this would be how Camila would look, given the chance. But she didn’t have that chance, and that was his best guess as to why Rosalie had refrained from giving him the same shit she had been giving Edward. 
“And this is Edward.” Jasper said finally, turning to look at displeased expression of his adopted brother.
Edward had seemed slightly bitter about the situation. He obviously knew the differences between the two girls, but couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous at which the ease Jasper came by with telling Camila the truth. He himself would never wish the future of immortality onto Bella, but only wished that he didn’t have to suppress his want for the girl. He knew it was best to stay as far away from Bella as possible, hence why he had been avoiding her to the best of his abilities, but his resolve was beginning to waver. 
Jasper didn’t have to deal with any of this, despite having his own struggles. Camila already knew the truth about them, and soon she would be making that decision on her own. Hell, he didn’t even have to worry about his thirst around the girl, a fact that he couldn’t help but be bitter about. Edward had always had what he considered decent self control with human blood, something that he couldn’t say the same for with Jasper, and the one person that it truly mattered for, he was at his lowest point with self control. It was cruel irony. 
Despite not being able to read Edward’s mind like he could his, Jasper could feel his emotions, and he could fill in the rest himself. He didn’t want any animosity between him and his brother, but he knew that whatever Edward was feeling wouldn’t stop him from growing closer to Camila, and definitely wouldn’t stop Alice from begging him to let her spend more time with her. So that was why he had decided it was time to introduce her. What better time and place to break the ice between Camila and the rest of his family than the controlled environment of a school cafeteria? He had thought, and now, seeing the slight glare on Edward’s face, he couldn’t decide whether or not that had been a bad decision on his part.
As thoughts of anger rushed through Jasper’s mind, Edwards eyes flickered over to his. Edward’s glare softened as he processed Jasper’s internal dialog. He knew that it wasn’t his fault and he knew that it wasn’t Camila’s, but he couldn’t help how he felt. He was jealous and he was finding it difficult to hide his emotions. His eyes flitted across Jasper’s face, neck, and arms. The scars littered across his skin were a reminder to not push things with him. The crescents, nearly invisible to the human eye, were a gigantic red flag to any vampire. Neon lights that flashed bright as a warning to everyone around him to stay back or else. Although he knew that his brother would never hurt him, he also knew not to start a fight, because it would most definitely be one he would lose.
Huffing in irritation, Edward pulled out his chair, rushing to leave the cafeteria. He could try all he wanted to be civil and not start a fight, but he wasn’t about to sit there and take this torture. Over time it would get easier for him to cope, but in that moment, the wound was fresh and he needed to be far from the reminder. 
Jasper sighed in annoyance, rolling his eyes once again as he let his defenses fall back down to their normal level. “Ignore him.” He muttered to the girl beside him, slinging his arm protectively around the back of her chair.
——————
“So what’s with you and Cullen?” Tyler blurted out suddenly. Camila’s head fell to look at her boots that thudded along the hallway towards their last class of the day. She could feel the blood rushing up to her cheeks and knew that it would do little to help her case if he saw the growing blush. 
“What do you mean?” She asked, feigning confusion. It was a matter of time before someone started the inevitable conversation given Jasper’s display in the cafeteria that day, but she had hoped she would have a bit more time to prepare herself. 
Tyler stuffed his hands into his pockets awkwardly. “Yeah, you two seemed… cozy today at lunch.” He muttered.
Camila raised her head, quirking an eyebrow at the dark skinned boy in stride beside her. “Cozy?” She asked, a hint of humor tinting her voice. Tyler was clearly bothered by this whole situation, a fact that she found humorous given the circumstance. From the fact that Tyler had asked her to prom just a few days previous, she could gather herself that he was most likely jealous of Jasper. Not that he had any reason to be. Camila had every intention to stick to her plan of staying single and as much as she was beginning to care for Jasper, she didn’t see that changing.
A scoff sounded from the boy by her side as he rolled his eyes at her teasing. “Yeah. Cozy. You sat with his family at lunch instead of us, and he was practically all over you.” He argued. 
Camila laughed lightly at his words. “He was not all over me.” She argued. In fact, like usual, she had been hyper aware of every touch from the pale immortal. As usual, he had shown to be very hesitant in touching her, only giving the slight graze of his fingertips along her covered back as he lead her to the table. She of course was also extremely aware of the arm that he had slung protectively around the back of her seat after Edward’s whole display, but he had been very precise in not letting his cold skin actually touch her in any way.
Tyler groaned frustratedly. “Whatever it was, I don’t like it.” He complained.
Camila’s eyebrows knitted together. What was it with people at this school being assholes to them? The Cullen’s kept to themselves, sure, but they were never anything but polite to anyone they came into contact with. At this point, all these little comments that everybody kept making were beginning to piss her off. “And why should you not liking it mean anything to me?” She asked incredulously. Sure, she wanted to make friends, and be nice, but she was starting to become defensive over Jasper and she wasn’t just going to stand there and take everybody’s bullshit. Because that’s what it was. Complete and utter bullshit.
Tyler’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to respond in that way, never seeing her angry before. “I mean, he’s kind of creepy isn’t he? I’m just trying to look out for you. He doesn’t seem… good.” He said trailing off towards the end as he took in the expression of anger growing more and more prevalent on her face.
She had to bite back a snide remark as she tried to process how she could respond without sounding like a total bitch. An awkward silence rung between the two teens before she decided that she didn’t really care anymore. If he was going to give unsolicited advice to her when he barely knew her then she would respond accordingly. “No offense Tyler, but I didn’t ask for your shitty advice. I’m a big girl, I can look out for myself, thanks.” She said finitely.
Pushing her aching legs to move her forward at a faster pace, she let out an internal sigh of relief as the door to her calculous class came into view. Lunch had gone well, all things considered. Despite Edward’s little display, the rest of Jasper’s family had welcomed her with open arms. While the conversation mostly consisted of small talk and them asking her questions about herself, she could tell that they were all genuinely nice people. 
Alice had invited her over for the following weekend, in which Camila had immediately agreed to without thinking. Now that she had been given the time to think about the implications of the invite, she realized that she would be meeting their adoptive mother and seeing Carlisle. While she knew Carlisle fairly well, given meeting him the week prior, she realized how nervous she was to meet Esme. Jasper had talked the woman up so highly, but she couldn’t help but feel her nerves eating away at her. She would be meeting his mother soon, ‘adopted’ or not and it was only natural to have that kind of reaction. 
Jasper, as usual, was already seated at their assigned table by the time she had arrived to the classroom. Camila flitted to the back of the room to her seat, letting her body drop into the confines of the cool plastic, as she let out a heavy sigh. 
“Are you okay?” Jasper asked, concern lacing his voice. It was normal for her be exhausted by the end of the school day, but he could also feel her anger and frustration. The feelings set off warning bells in his mind and he was immediately on alert to what had upset her. 
Camila rolled her eyes, raking her slim fingers through the long dark strands of her hair. “Tyler Crowley is an asshole.” She said simply, annoyance still evident on her face as she recalled their conversation that had just taken place moments ago. 
His eyes flickered over to where said boy had just entered the classroom, narrowing as he took in the sight. “What did he say?” He asked, immediately defensive over the girl. 
“He apparently has an issue with you and ‘just wants to look out for me’.” She said, yanking her workbook and and pencil case from her backpack and slamming them down on the desk.
Jasper’s shoulder’s drooped at her words as he hummed in reply. He couldn’t even be mad. What Tyler said was clearly justified, whether or not Camila had realized. She should be warned about him. Just because he didn’t thirst for her blood didn’t mean that he wasn’t a danger towards her. Didn’t mean that he couldn’t hurt her, even if it wasn’t intensional. Didn’t mean that he wasn’t a monster at the end of the day.
Hearing his near silent response, Camila turned her head to see him looking down slightly defeated, eyes refusing to meet her own. “Jasper.” She said, trying and failing to get him to look at her. “Jasper.” She repeated, grasping at his hand  that laid in a tight fist at his thigh. 
Electricity shot through her fingers as they brushed the marble skin of his clenched knuckles, but she pushed on. “Can you look at me, please?” She asked, her soft voice contrasting the anger that had filled it just moments ago. 
His amber eyes flickered up to meet hers. As much as he wanted to sulk in that moment, he wanted more to give her what she wanted. Her eyes softened as she saw the pain that filled his. They were always filled with pain, but this was different. More of an inner torment and seeing it made her chest ache. 
She turned his fist over in her palm, nudging the fingers apart so she could intertwine them with her own. “He’s full of shit, Jazz. I know you would never hurt me.” She said, voice softly ringing in his ears. 
The pain in his heart grew at her words. He didn’t deserve her. She was too perfect for his damned self and he knew it, but that didn’t stop him from being grateful that she was there. It didn’t stop him from selfishly wanting her. He pulled their intertwined fingers up to his lips were he laid a soft kiss on the back of her palm, thanking her for her kindness. Thanking her for her comfort. 
The touch of his chilled lips on her skin sent her heart into overdrive, and knowing that he could he hear his effect on her didn’t help the blush that was creeping onto her cheeks. She had expected him to drop her hold after that, but instead, their hands remained, bound together and laying gently in his lap. 
Class continued, the two working together on finishing the next page in their worksheet. Jasper of course could finish the work in less than a minute, but anything that gave him the excuse to talk to Camila he would gladly do. She sat there, eyebrows furrowed as she worked over a particularly difficult problem on the sheet. Normally, she would have no problem solving the equations, but today her mind was wandering too much. She sighed, giving up as she let her pencil clatter onto the chipped veneer of the desk.
“Do you want to come over to my house today?” She asked suddenly. Clearly seeing that she had caught him off guard, she continued. “I have more questions.” She clarified. 
Jasper groaned internally. As much as he would love to avoid the inevitable conversation, he also knew that it had to happen at some point. At least he would get to spend more time with her, a definite plus. “Sure, I can just drive us after class if you’d like.” He offered. Alice had told him to drive separately to school that day, and now it was clear why. He would have to thank her later. 
Camila nodded, pulling her flip phone from her bag and trying to discreetly type a quick text to her mother letting her know that Jasper would drive her home. Doing so was a bit difficult to do one handed, but she wasn’t about to take her other hand out of his grasp. 
The remainder of the class trudged on slowly to Camila’s dismay. Now that she knew that she would be able to ask all of the questions that had been racing through her mind, she couldn’t seem to clear her head of them. Finally, a bell rang shrilly throughout the class, signaling the end of the school day. An unspoken agreement stood between her and Jasper as they both proceeded to pack away their belongings without undoing the grip on each other’s hands. 
She wasn’t sure what the hand holding meant to him or even herself, but she didn’t exactly care. She already had to constantly remind herself of her promise to keep any romance at bay, but hand holding didn’t necessarily have to mean that. It was comforting, having his cold palm pressed against hers, and despite her internal screaming at herself that it was a bad idea, she didn’t want to pull away. So there they were, walking down the hallway, hand in hand, attracting even more stares than usual. 
Camila let out a sigh as they reached the parking lot, the cool air feeling nice on her feverish skin. Puffs of vapor swirled in front of her mouth as steady breaths of hot air left her parted lips. Jasper had to rip his eyes away from the sight to make sure that he was walking in the right direction. He needed to pull his shit together. Kissing her hand had been bad enough, but he had to stop himself from thinking too much about her lips. Her soft warm plump lips. Jesus Christ, STOP. 
He wished so badly in that moment that he could’ve kissed her. Regardless of the numerous bystanders. However, he knew that it wasn’t safe. He didn’t trust himself enough not to end up accidentally hurting her. He didn’t even know if she would’ve kissed him back for fuck’s sake. And here he was feeling like an absolute creep again. 
Pulling himself from his thoughts, he pulled the passenger door of his car open for her. Reluctantly, she let loose of his grasp, immediately feeling an emptiness without it’s presence. She settled into the plush bucket seat, pulling her bag into her lap as he shut the door softly behind her. 
Flitting quickly, or as quick as seemed human, to the driver’s side, Jasper slid in and turned the key in the ignition. Shifting the car into reverse, he backed out of the parking spot and shifted back into drive as he sped out onto the street. He internally thanked his past self for buying a manual transmission before reaching over to grasp Camila’s hand once more. 
Camila let her hair fall in front of her face, hoping that the curtain of dark strands hid the smile that she couldn’t wipe away. For someone who was so adamant on not dating, she kept finding herself being giddy whenever he touched her. What was she a twelve year-old? He was just holding her hand, she shouldn’t feel like a swarm of butterflies was flying around in her stomach. 
The drive to Camila’s home hadn’t taken long, and by the time they arrived at the small house, he mother’s mini van was still absent from the driveway. She had replied earlier letting her know that she was going to go grocery shopping since she had time before she had to go to work, and Camila was happy to see that she hadn’t returned yet. One less awkward interaction with Jasper and her parents would always be a good thing. 
As they stepped through the threshold of the home, she found herself wishing she had cleaned her room. She hadn’t thought of the mess she had left behind before she had invited him over, albeit a small mess. Either way, she couldn’t help herself but try and hurriedly pick up the few pieces of clothing scattered around the room once they made it through the doorway. 
Once she was content with her ‘cleaning’ she shut the door softly behind her and plopped down on her mattress, the springs squeaking slightly in protest. Scooting backwards until her back met the wall, she patted the empty space beside her, gesturing for Jasper to join her. On one hand, she almost wanted to sit out on the couch in the living room, as it would probably seem less intimate that way, but she also didn’t want to be interrupted by her mother when she inevitably returned home from the store. So there they were sitting side by side awkwardly on her worn out used mattress and now she didn’t know how to start the conversation. 
Sensing her hesitation, Jasper spoke up. “So, you have questions.” He said, wanting to end the torture of waiting any longer. If she was going to run away screaming, he would rather it be sooner than later, because the anticipation was slowly eating away at him. 
Camila sucked in a breath. “How old are you?” She blurted out. Jasper groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. He should’ve expected her to jump right to the point, but, somehow, he hadn’t. “You said it was a conversation for another day. It’s another day now.” She reasoned.
“I know. I know.” He said with a sigh. “I’m just really old, Darlin’.” He said, hoping the nickname would distract her. It didn’t.
She scoffed. “That’s not an answer.” She said bluntly. 
Jasper closed his eyes, sucking in a breath as he braced for the impact of her reaction. “I’m a hundred and sixty-one.” He muttered lowly. Utter silence followed. 
Camila didn’t know what she expected, if the age he had given was younger or older than she had thought it would be, but hearing him say such a precise age made everything seem way more real. She couldn’t find the words to say in response, so instead, she reached over to grasp his hand once more, letting him know that she wasn’t disgusted like he had thought. 
“Will you tell me your story?” She asked, not being able to help her intrigue.
His bright gold eyes met her emerald irises. “It’s kind of gruesome.” He warned, trying his best to prolong the inevitable admission of his past, but knowing that it was just that. Inevitable.
“I want to know.” She said simply. “If you’re willing to tell me.” She clarified. 
Jasper was fucked and he knew it. Anything that she wanted, he would give her in a heartbeat, but she would hate him after this. “I didn't have quite the same upbringing as my adopted siblings.” He said, reaching his free hand over reluctantly, to roll up the sleeve on the arm that she held. 
She wasn’t sure how she hadn’t noticed them before, but there they were. Hundreds of crescent shaped scars shimmering lightly in the dim lighting emitted from her ceiling fan. Now that she knew what to look for, she could see the scars were scattered across every piece of visible skin. Down his arms, onto the hand that was holding hers, a few up his neck to his handsome face. “Are those… bites?” She asked incredulously.
“Battle scars.” He responded, a small smirk gracing his lips. “I was seventeen when I joined the Confederate Army.” He said, pausing when he saw her grimace. “I know. I wish I could say that I didn’t know what I was fighting for, or against, but I knew enough. I’m not proud of it.” He said hanging is head in shame. 
“I was the youngest major in the Texas cavalry. All without having seen any real battle.” He continued.
Camila perked up. “I knew that was a Texas accent.” She said smirking at him, gaining a small smile in repose. Leave it to her to try and lighten the mood as soon as it gets dark.
Still, he pushed on, knowing that it was about to become a much darker conversation. “I was riding back to Galveston...after evacuating a column of women and children. When I saw her.” He said dauntingly. “I immediately offered her my aid.” He continued.
“Maria was creating an army. A newborn vampire army.” He clarified. “Our kind are at their strongest in their first year after changing. Their human blood still lingers in their veins and gives them more speed and strength.” He explained.
“Newborn armies were very common in the South, and cost a brutal battles for territory.” He continued, losing himself in the story. “Maria won them all. She was smart, careful. And she had me. I was the second in command. My abilities to control emotions served her well.” He said, looking down to the warm hand he still had clutched in his own, trying to find comfort in her touch. 
“I trained her newborns. An endless occupation since she never let them live beyond their first year.” He said, cringing from the memory. “It was my job to dispose of them.” He said, voice thick with emotion. It pained him to remember what he had done. To remember their pain. “I could feel everything they felt.”
The crease between Camila’s brows deepened. It clearly hurt for him to recall these memories, and she found herself wishing that she could take that pain away. 
“I thought what Maria and I had was love. But I was her puppet. She pulled the strings. I didn't know there was another way. Until I found Alice in 1948. Now she'd seen me coming, of course.” He paused, remembering that this would wouldn’t make much sense to Camila. 
He gathered his thoughts quickly, trying explain the best he could. “She has visions, of possible futures. They change when decisions are made, but she knew when and where to find me.” He smiled slightly. “She saw you, even though she conveniently didn’t warn me.” He explained.
“I don't know what I'd have become without her. I’d done horrible, unspeakable things, and she helped me get past that. My family choses to feed off of animal blood rather than human blood, but it wasn’t always like that for me. I’ve killed innocent people. I’m not a… good person.” He ended his story with a sigh, unsure of how she was feeling. 
Her mind was filled with conflicting emotions that he couldn’t quite place all together. “I completely understand if you want me to leave.” He said, moving to pull his hand away from hers. 
Her grip tightened as her eyes shot up to his. “No, stay. Please.” She muttered. She knew how her reaction must seem. In truth, she had almost expected worse. As bad as his story was, at least he didn’t actively kill people. It was a horrible argument, she knew, but after being given the rest of the weekend to let her mind wander, she had tried to prepare herself for the worst. 
Her silence was agony and he couldn’t help himself when he asked. “Can you please tell me what you’re thinking?”
Camila sighed, bringing her eyes back to his. “I’m not going to sit here and act like what you did wasn’t wrong, because it was. But I’m also not going to actively try and make you feel any worse for it. You’ve had over fifty years to regret what you did, and you clearly do. I’m not going to judge you for something that you wish you could’ve changed, not when I know you’re a good person now.” She said. 
Jasper shook his head in disbelief. How was she this forgiving? It seemed impossible. He was sure she would be disgusted with him, but here she was forgiving him for something he couldn’t even forgive himself for. “How are you not terrified of me?” He asked.
She looked deep into his eyes as she answered. “I’m not scared because I know you won’t do anything to hurt me.” She said simply.
“I could hurt you on accident. Very easily.” He argued, looking ashamed. “I could crush you just by hugging you too tightly. I know you don’t understand fully, but it would be so easy that I actively have to try and not hurt you.” He said, a deep frown on his face.
Camila’s eyebrows furrowed as she brought her free hand down to trace the crescent shaped scars that littered his arm. “I don’t know what to tell you. I trust you, that’s the best answer I can give you, Jasper. You need to try and have trust in yourself.” She answered.
Jasper shook his head, baffled that she had so much trust in him to begin with. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her. Seeing the sadness still in his eyes, she rushed, trying to find a change of topic to lighten the mood from the darkness that it had reached. “So, if you can manipulate emotions and Alice sees visions of the future, does anyone else in your family have a ‘gift’.” She asked, curiosity peaking once again. 
Jasper was thankful for the change of topic, already feeling himself beginning to spiral from the continuous self hatred. “Yeah, Edward is the only other one in our family. He can, um, read minds… I know it sounds ridiculous.” He said, slightly humiliated at how fictional everything sounded. 
“Oh god. That’s… embarrassing.” She muttered, her mind beginning to wander. Edward had no doubt read her mind and heard her thoughts of Jasper. Those were thoughts she didn’t even want to admit to herself and now he definitely had knew all about them. 
Suddenly her mind went to his exit at lunch. Was that why he had left? Was it something she had thought that had set him off? “What happened with him at lunch today?” She asked.
Rolling his eyes at the memory, Jasper tried to form the most comprehensible explanation. “He’s jealous that I can tell you the truth and he can’t tell Bella.” He said simply. 
“Bella Swan?” Camila asked.
Jasper nodded. “He… has a particular interest in her. He’s been trying to avoid her because he knows that it won’t end well, and he’s jealous that I don’t have to do the same with you.” He explained. 
“Why is it different with me?” She asked, trying to ignore the implication that Jasper had an interest in her.
His eyes trailed across the bare walls of her bedroom, looking anywhere but at her as he continued. “He has a really hard time with the scent of her blood, while yours is different for me.” He said.
“Because of the leukemia?” She asked.
Jasper nodded again. “It’s more dangerous for her than it is for you because of that. It’s hard for him to even be in the same room as her. Either way it would end badly.” He explained.
“End badly how? Surely it could end in more ways than just him killing her right?” She asked. She knew the subject had to be touchy and sensitive, but she couldn’t keep herself from asking.
Here it was. The scariest topic of them all. If he didn’t handle this just right, if he didn’t use the right words, then there went his chance of a future with her. He gulped, mustering the courage to speak. “He could kill her or he could change her. Both which he doesn’t want to do.” 
Camila’s eyed widened. She hadn’t even thought of that. Changing into a vampire. She wasn’t sure why her mind hadn’t gone there, but she hadn’t even considered that a possibility. She couldn’t help it when her mind wandered to what this could mean for her. He had said it like he was trying to imply something else entirely. He had to know the possible endings. Surely Alice had seen. 
“Are there more possible endings for me? Futures where I don’t die from the leukemia?” She asked. She had to know. She had spent a year coming to terms with the fact that her life would be cut short, but now she wasn’t sure. She knew that her illness would in no doubt end up taking her human life, but what if she turned. What if she changed into something else where the cancer didn’t effect her anymore? What if she wasn’t human anymore? She had to know, because suddenly, after a year of withering away, she might have another option. She might have hope.
Jasper turned his eyes back to hers. This was the make it or break it moment. He sucked in a breath, feeling a tightness in his chest regardless of the fact that he didn’t need the oxygen. 
And he spoke. “Yes… Alice has seen it."
Next Chapter
Tag List:
@jasper-the-beloved @parkchaeyoung1997 @bobaopal @izzyisstuff @itsmytimetoodream @soyeonrai @just-browsing101 @demirunner @dkbj14 @iloveramensm @imyelenasexual @bella7866 @ropickle @may-and-lay @breezybeesposts @emily-a13 @mamajaxx2511 @meyrryme @bertholdtswife @swagcopangeloop @idonotcareaboutyouropinion @honey132 @sakurayuki8655-blog @braveangel777 @illogic-ally @obsessed-with-pychopaths @natsvenom @iamveryholyiswear @too-many-fandoms-tbh @loser-syrus
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nina-ya · 5 months
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im obsessed with the law that plays guitar 😍😍
UM so like basicslly my idra was so law is users guitar teacher but user is lowk like REALLY nervous around law bc DAMN hes hot 😭…
also js some random shit (because i play guitar and NEED to add this) bro the reader/me idk gets unmotivated easily cause burnout (😓😓) but once she gets some praise or acknowledgment thats motivation for the next MONTH bro
I LOVE READING UR FICS RAAGGHFHGGF 🫶🫶
A/N: Oh my goddddd you are making me remember the various Law as a guitar player art that ive seen and I simply don’t think I can recover from these thougts
Pairing: Guitar teacher!Law x reader CW: Nothing really, gets suggestive at the end. WC: 1313
You had dabbled with the guitar for a while on your own, trying to teach yourself through youtube videos and various apps, but it was clear that you couldn’t do it on your own and you needed some professional guidancel. The idea of having a guitar teacher had always intrigued you, but when you looked into the options available, it quickly became apparent that the established instructors came with a high price tag. That's when you discovered a newer face at the local music shop: Trafalgar Law. His rates were considerably more reasonable, given his limited reputation. It seemed like an excellent opportunity to learn without breaking the bank. You decided to sign up for weekly lessons on the spot.
The first lesson finally arrived, and as you entered the small room where your lessons were to take place, your eyes fell upon Trafalgar Law, and you felt your heartbeat quicken, and an unexplainable wave of flustered nerves washed over you. Was it stage fright, the fear of messing up, or the anticipation of embarrassing yourself in front of your new teacher? These were the excuses you tried to convince yourself with, but deep down, you knew there was something else at play. 
It wasn't just the usual nerves one might experience when meeting a new instructor. No, it was something more. Trafalgar Law was not just any teacher; he was, to put it mildly, extremely good-looking. His charming attitude and striking features made it impossible for you to deny that his presence had left you feeling more than a little flustered. You tried to focus on the task at hand, convincing yourself that it was merely a case of first-day jitters.
As you settled in for your first lesson, you couldn't help but notice the effortless way his fingers moved across the fretboard, coaxing out gorgeous melodies and tunes. You hung on to his every word, absorbing the knowledge he gave to you like a sponge. 
You desperately clung to the hope that your attraction to your guitar teacher was a temporary thing, a mere crush that would dissipate over time. After all, you were there to learn music, not to fall for your instructor. Or so you tried to tell yourself.
The weekly lessons persisted, and to your frustration, the initial infatuation with Law had not dissipated. His presence remained a constant distraction, making it challenging to concentrate on the music. Despite your internal struggles, the two of you gradually developed a small friendship, exchanging stories and getting to know each other beyond the realm of music. While the interactions were enjoyable, the persistent thoughts about Law continued to linger in the back of your mind.
On this particular day, you found yourself in the lesson room, tuning your guitar, running through different chords and riffs as a warm-up while waiting for Law to arrive. The sound of rain tapping against the windowpane outside added a calming ambiance to the room. When Law finally rushed in, apologizing for his tardiness, he swiftly peeled off his rain-soaked hoodie, revealing a sight you hadn't witnessed before. As the fabric caught on his shirt, it rode up just enough to expose an almost teasing glimpse of his well-defined abs and the faint happy trail leading down his stomach, not to mention the v-lines that subtly drew your attention. Typically obscured by his hoodies during lessons, now you were granted an unexpected visual feast, taking in not just the ink decorating his hands but also the tattoos covering his arms and the one teasingly peeking from the collar of his shirt across his chest. The eyeful you had just observed made your face flush with heat and your heart rate quicken. How were you supposed to concentrate on the music now? As Law set his sweater aside, he shot a sly look in your direction, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he seemed to catch on to your flustered state, evidently aware of the effect his unintentional exposure had on you.
Law continued the lesson, attempting to maintain a semblance of normalcy despite the obvious distraction. However, this time, you couldn't seem to get your act together. It was as though all your prior knowledge of the guitar had simply vanished, leaving you in a constant state of disarray. Frustration and fluster took hold of you as you fumbled through chords and riffs, repeatedly missing the mark. It was a struggle to concentrate, and your attempts to impress your exceptionally attractive teacher were continually ruined, leaving you feeling like a hopeless mess in his presence.
Law's perceptive nature became evident as he sensed your growing frustration. Setting aside his guitar, he rose from his seat and crossed the room to where a piano bench was located. He dragged it closer to both of you, taking a seat on it, his legs straddling each side of the bench. "Come here," he beckoned, tapping the space in front of him. Confusion flickered across your face, but you complied, rising from your seat and making your way over to the piano bench. He gestured for you to sit down, and as you did, he corrected you, "Backwards, sit so that your back is facing me."
Making the adjustment, you settled in, and as you did, you couldn't help but notice Law subtly shifting closer until your back was pressed against his chest. The proximity was closer than you'd ever expected, and as if this lesson couldn't become any more complicated, you found yourself in this incredibly intimate position, your mind racing as the lines between the professional and personal blurred further as the lesson went on.
Your thoughts were abruptly halted as Law's arms wound around you. His took control of your hands, positioning your fingers on the frets and guiding the pick into the correct grip His touch gentle yet firm, as he navigated you through the challenging passages. Yet, amidst the guidance, your focus shifted away from the music, your attention caught by his closeness and the feeling of Law's hands enveloping yours. The overwhelming feelings seemed to dominate your thoughts, distracting you from the task at hand.
Coming back to reality when Law released your hands, he encouraged you to attempt the passage once more. You followed his instructions, albeit with a slightly trembling start, but as you persisted, the notes began to flow more smoothly. A smirk slowly spread across his face, accompanied by an encouraging comment, "Good job, you're improving." The praise raised a surge of confidence within you, a genuine smile gracing your lips as you replayed the passage once again. Law's smirk grew, his words of affirmation continuing to fall from his lips.
A bold idea took root in your mind, and you decided to make a daring move. Pointing to a particular riff, you claimed that you needed help with it. You had played that riff numerous times before without issue, and Law was undoubtedly aware of this, yet, he didn't hesitate to oblige, his arms once again snaking around your body, his chest pressing firmly against your back. As his hands guided yours over the strings, his lips inched closer to your ear, his voice taking on a sultry and intimate tone. He whispered a string of phrases that transitioned from the typical encouragements like 'you've got this' and 'you're doing very well' to something far more provocative, like 'you're doing so well for me,' 'such a good, good student' and ‘you’re so lucky to have me as your teacher.’ The boundary between professionalism and personal attraction blurred even further.
The increasingly intimate moment was interrupted by the chime of an alarm, signaling the end of your lesson and the start of Law's next appointment. As you made your way home, your guitar teacher's presence continued to occupy your mind, leaving you eagerly anticipating next week's lesson.
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worflesbian · 1 year
Text
right okay i dont know exactly how persistent an issue this is bc i almost never go into the tags on this website, but even ive noticed this happening so i feel like that’s justification to make a post about it. the whitewashing of julian bashir as an established Thing not just in the fandom but in official merch has been discussed before, but recently i’ve noticed the inverse happening with martok and b’elanna, a white character and a lighter latina character who people seem to often draw darker than they are in canon. and there’s like. a Lot going on there to unpack.
so this video goes into some detail about the racism baked into the origins and design of the klingons in tos, it’s very informative about the anti-asian stereotypes especially in a 60s context but i feel like it doesnt really cover the way that antiblackness becomes a more significant factor in the next gen era so like. if you didn’t know, the majority of the klingon characters in the next gen-ds9-voyager era are either played by actors with dark skin or Very frequently by white actors in heavy dark makeup. if you look up the actors of grilka, alexander, kehleyr, and sirella for example you’ll see what im talking about like the difference is Stark and these are some of the main recurring klingons across both shows. hopefully i do not need to explain why packing white actors in brown makeup to play members of a species characterised as violent, warlike and animalistic is racist. i say hopefully bc who knows with this website. anyway i’d recommend this video for a wider context on the legacy of blackface in tv!
martok is a rare example of a klingon played by a white actor who, as far as i can tell, does not have his skin significantly darkened. so to see him frequently being drawn with darker skin is uh Slightly Concerning given everything in the previous paragraph! ive even seen art where he’s drawn darker than julian in the same post which... anyway im not trying to blanket condemn reinterpreting the design of alien characters in fanart, but i am asking white fans like myself in particular to think critically as to why, out of all the white characters and aliens on ds9, martok is the one you want to do that with.
because b’elanna is not a white character i think its a slightly different situation, but at the same time she does have lighter skin and i have seen fanart of her drawn much much darker and once again, im not condeming it especially in works ive seen which explore the relationship bewteen her latina and klingon identities, but its something white fans need to handle carefully. in the voyager episode Faces where she gets split into a human and klingon version of her (dont have time to unpack all that) you can see the difference in undertones between human b’elanna and klingon b’elanna (also included a pic of regular b’elanna for reference). the brown makeup is obvious here too and if you can see why it might be racist to attribute a person’s rage and violent impulses to a part of themself that is then personified as darker skinned/more brown, then you might also see some of the wider problems going on here and can understand that this is something that demands a lot of thought and consideration.
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i’d like to reiterate that this is a very complex and nuanced issue, especially considering the intersection of fictional race within the setting and the racial biases operating behind the scenes/metatextually, and i’d love to discuss it more (and to cite better sources than youtube videos when i have the time). but for now i’d just like to say yeah just ask yourself what the implications might be to drawing these characters in particular darker than they are in canon, especially if theyre the only characters you do that for, or you’re intentionally contrasting them with other characters (e.g. b/7 fanart) or yk. drawing a white character darker than a character of colour like ive seen people do with julian and martok.
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livisart · 18 days
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Can I ask what happened with Datakits, I'm in the species and I'm concerned.
this ask is like half a year old at this point so idk if ur still interested. but basically:
(tw suicide)
my ex (who is a datakits moderator) conducted a smear campaign against me. this included completely made up and ridiculous stalking accusations (which were based on me doing things like "talking about a video game with someone" and "following someone on artfight") accusations of "harassment" (because i "vagueposted" by referencing my trauma in the tags of ONE tumblr post. why my ex has such in depth knowledge of everything i post on tumblr when he claimed to want nothing to do with me, i dont know. lmao) etc. he even went so far as to take my attempts at recovery and improving myself after a traumatic event and twist that to be me trying to get back on his good side or whatever. he also outright told ppl to just block me and not talk to me, i'm guessing because his narrative required no one getting my side of things.
some of the people he spread this to were the datakit owners, because me being "too active" in that server was apparently malicious according to him (the actual reason i was very active in the datakits server was because datakits were and still are a special interest of mine and a HUGE comfort to me, and this was abt 2 weeks after i attempted suicide, hence me trying to cope using things i take comfort in???? also i was not given a warning abt being too active, if i was being too active and causing discomfort i should have just been told so)
the datakit owners took his inane bs as 100% fact, did not talk to me abt it, banned and blocked me, and sent my ex to tell me about it. which is horrible species management, but i digress.
once again, this all took place abt 2 weeks after i tried to jump in front of a god damn train. and my ex springing all this on me and spreading shit abt me made me suicidal again. which my ex used to spread that i was "using suicide to guilt him", which is a fucking vile thing to say abt someone who literally just attempted suicide.
i eventually got one of the owners to talk to me and explained the situation.
here's the kicker. even though the owners are now aware of, and fully believe and acknowledge that the shit spread abt me was false, i remain banned, because apparently the shit my ex spread abt me made one of the owners too ~uncomfortable~ with me due to ~associations~/banning me is "irreversible" for some unexplained reason. meanwhile my ex remains a mod and did not face any disciplinary action because "hE gEnUiNelY tHouGht yOu wErE sTaLkiNg hIm" and "he has paranoia and experiences delusions so you being mad at him is ableist actually uwu" (i'm BARELY paraphrasing here)
as someone who ALSO has paranoia and experiences delusions, i honestly find the notion of "mentally ill ppl cant help but spread lies abt ppl uwu" really insulting. but whatever. especially since his actions ACTUALLY ALMOST CAUSED SOMEONE'S DEATH because his little smear campaign caused me enough distress that i attempted suicide again :))))
the owner did keep in contact with me while i was in the psych ward, which was nice i guess except our conversations almost entirely consisted of him defending his and the other owners actions because "ummm in our defense the allegations were ~serious~" and insisting that i shouldnt hold any of this against him or the other owner.
ive been very afraid to talk abt this because my ex also made a point to tell me that he "could do a lot worse to ruin my life if he wanted to", and i believe him. but honestly i dont fucking care anymore
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melit0n · 3 months
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I read ur tags about the new ST masks and honestly, I agree, it's very different (very Slipknot and gore-ish) and right now, the discography and overall vibe doesn't match(like a handful of songs have a true metal quality to it) and unless they're gonna start releasing new stuff the vibes kind of...clash? And so far Vessel is the same, so I'm wondering if the others just wanted to stand out more and were given creative freedom or if everything is going to shift at some point :/ I also think its a bit been there done that (but the simpler black and gold mask I like) the others remind me of the Joker or a Shrunken Head
Thank you for the ask anon! To be honest, I saw 'I read it tags about the new ST mask...' and I panicked thinking I was about to get left-right-goodnighted in an ask, but I'm glad it wasn't so, lol.
Further, I'm glad someone agrees with me. I said what I said in my tags on twt and within the hour I had 20+ people in my replies quote tweeting me saying how I 'wasn't a proper fan for not liking the change', how I 'should leave and stop listening if I was going to be negative', and (my personal favourite because it was so absurd) 'you're so one of the people that found them through TikTok. Good to have a cleanse of the fandom if you were only here because you have a mask kink'.
Even had someone tell me to off myself! Which was, y'know, lovely. I don't have any screenshots because I was just sat there trying to figure out how to reply to them, then saw the one that told me to off myself and just had a little overwhelmed cry and deleted the tweet, in which I then got tagged in a now deleted tweet calling me a pussy. You are so loved my ass.
I deleted it because it made me feel really shit about myself (for obvious reasons), but it made me feel more shit when I woke up the next day seeing people say the same things I did (like hoping it was only a Wembly thing, but considering the amount of detail and effort that's been put into those outfits and masks, I think not), and getting nothing but acceptance and neutrality in the replies. I'm not particularly popular on twt since people are fond of copy and pasting my post about Euclid, not giving credits, blocking me when I ask them to, and when their mutuals see that I'm blocked by them they just have at me for no reason, but I think it says a lot about a fandom if they can go from getting everyone to hold up a three for iii at the concerts out of pure adoration to telling someone to off themselves because they don't like the new designs. (sorry for the rant about twt anon)
I'll repeat what I said in my tags; they feel very out of place to me. Again, maybe it's just the fact I'm used to the balaclavas since I've been around here for a while, so all I've really known is Vessel's custom mask and the collective of balaclavas, but they just don't match. They stick out more than Vessel does, both design and colour pallet wise. Vessel is in full black with white accents and a white, red and gold mask, the Esperas are in full black with white accents and a red mask. And then the guys are there, y'know? Don't get me wrong, the amount of detail and effort that's been put into the designs are amazing, and they definitely have to have given each member creative freedom because each mask and design matches the lad's vibe immaculately (especially iii's), but it doesn't match Sleep Token's vibe as a collective. I like IV's design best because his matches his stage presence and ST's vibe (as you said, the simpler gold and black mask), as well as ii's (minus the hair).
I think maybe the hair on ii's and iii's masks in general are throwing me off lol.
Furthermore, Sleep Token's only full on trad metal songs are Gods from Sundowning and Vore from TMBTE, so I got really surprised when I was basically looking at Slipknot masks curated for Sleep Token. ST are known to genre bend constantly, so maybe we will get new stuff. But, considering they've had the same vibe in their music since 2016, I'd be a bit surprised if their new single/new album was just all trad metal, or at least has a lot of aspects of it, but who knows! Maybe change for them is inevitable.
I think it's well known on this blog that the passing of time and change in literally anything is my mortal enemy so seeing this kind of randomly happen gave me whiplash. I don't think I can love the new designs as much as I loved the old balaclavas, but that doesn't mean I don't like Sleep Token anymore, y'know? All I can really do is apologise for having a non super positive opinion and hope people don't hound me on here for it (which, so far, they haven't, and I appreciate you very much for being really chill about this anon). Give me a week and I'll probably be on the boat of liking them and making analysis posts on all the little details, lol
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neoarchipelago · 3 months
Note
tw for rape and sorta mentions of suicide (just basically saying kys in context ) for those very sensitive or triggered by these!!
but like i went through all the posts i could find and they never said anything bad about non con or dubcon she said rape fics were bad- and the point of her being a “hypocrite” for writing dubcon confuses me as why would someone who didnt support that stuff write it? it doesn’t make sense to me. i understand not liking her point on the kys bit but you guys got really hung up on it and completely missed the point of it about literal rape being romanticized and used as a fetish, not noncon and the likes used as a coping mechanism. it breaks my heart to see especially from people i supported and enjoyed a lot and got me into this community supporting rape. ive dealt with lots of sexual assults and have been raped myself a few times starting from a young age and let me tell you, its horrible. me and my boyfriend do get quite rough at times and do indulge in things like noncon- something that is used to cope and can help- and it is so much different than actually being raped. if you like it rough and dirty trust me girl i completely get it but actually being raped is the most demeaning, violating, and live devastating things that can happen- not to mention the other physical side affects of it. not trying to spread hate, maybe i should be for supporting it, but im more just sad? like seeing a community im so into and my biggest comfort character ( who also has dealt with rape) supporting and defending it all just feels like a betrayal and so debilitating. so many of my safe spaces have been ruined in a physical and metaphysical sense and it just reminds me of the sa when i was a teenager and other boys on my team (i was raped and abused by multiple wrestlers as i was the only girl in the sport in a very large state wide tournament hosted by my school) joking about it and making it not serious not taking me serious and sexualizing the whole situation and thinking i was lucky for a chick. just sickening and heartbreaking to see and the worst throwback thursday ever.
Hi love. First of all, I'm truly sorry of what happened to you. No one should ever have to go through that and you are truly amazingly strong.
Thank you for sharing your point through respect and calm.
I'd like to throw you back to this essay that explains my point of view here. Of course, it's understandable if you don't accept it. I'm not here to convince anyone on this. This is sharing a point of view.
Here, hoping that you fully understand.
This will however be the last time I'll debate on this subject, further comment or anons will simply get a copy paste.
THIS CONTAINS SA , SH AND SEXUAL CONTENT, BE CAREFUL
I- dub-con, non-con and CNC kink in fiction.
A- the place of these themes in fiction and how it separated from reality.
I think the line has to be drawn. A line people seem to forget too easily. Obviously, rape is a horrible thing. This fact has never been refuted in any fics or novels or books. No writer will ever tell you, ‘rape is awesome and soooo romantic’.
Fiction is absolutely fiction. We are aware of it. There's a big difference. This obviously something readers choose to read being aware of fiction. Being aware that the real thing is horrible. Warnings and tags are always there to avoid readers unaware of it.
B- the differences with other themes
One thing I've been asked is what kind of difference writing rape is from writing dub-con or even pedophilia?
On dub-con, the line is blurred. Softer, protagonist may be in a path where the sexual action is wanted but blocked by the mind or pushed to it by the other protagonist, forcing their own need to give in. It is still seen as rape as consent is not fully given. There's not much difference from non-con. Writers usually use this tag to avoid any triggers to people.
For pedophilia, let's see this in a more details. I think we can all agree that all these themes, dub-con, CNC, non con, always involve adults. Whatever it is the kink, or in stories, it’s adults. Adults who are aware of what sex is and what this kink it. Children should never be near any of those themes. It's not about kinks anymore, children don't have kinks.
II- the reality of voicing your opinion on internet
A- SA victims and SH victims, sexual shame
Now there's something we need to talk about. Writing theses themes are used by many as a coming mechanism. SA victims may often use these writings to help the aftermath of these events in their own life.
In the kink itself it's something that obviously causes a lot of shame towards people who are not part of it. But many things need to be said. It's a need for a control of a situation that is dangerous and traumatizing. It's a sign of truth with your partner. Fiction is a way to live that fantasy in full safety as they are clearly aware of the truth of that situation in real life.
Now the thing that has started this whole conversation was the ‘don’t forget to tell rape kink writers to off themselves’.
It is not a small detail. Not at all!
This is where fiction is separated from reality. You are telling a real person to commit a real act that could lead to fatal consequences.
Obviously I think we’re all aware that many people on this website suffer from depression, self harm tendencies and bullying. I do too. Your words matter. Trust me. We’ve seen it with Inquisitor’s death while a live TikTok.
Many other tiktokers who had helped not only spread rumors but bully the creator only realized their mistake once he killed himself.
This is a no turn back situation.
Do you think you have the guts to wake up in the morning, knowing someone killed themselves because they wrote something you were against? That you are the reason they died? Their families are grieving?
You can find an article on the CNC kink here:
-https://www.choosingtherapy.com/consensual-non-consent/
B- respect even through anger
We have established one thing. The internet is a wild, free universe. Anyone can say or write or post whatever they want.
You are free to voice out your opinion, anger amongst these binary and servers. But one thing that is not ok is the way you say it.
A point doesn't need to be full of hate or threats to be said. Especially when serious consequences could be blown by it.
Everyone has their opinion, things they don't like. You are free to avoid tags, not read, block people. Protect yourself first. But attacking isn't protecting yourself. You’re simply causing another kind of harm.
People need to own up to their words and actions.
If you tell someone to kill themselves, it's horrible. It's an actual crime. A full crime.
-
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The Girl He Left Behind [Part Twenty Three]
Fandom: American Actor, RPF, Elvis Presley, Elvis Movie 2022
Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character
Characters: Elvis Presley, Addison Goodwin, Gladys Presley, Vernon Presley, Minnie May ‘Dodger’ Presley, Red West, Sonny West, Gene Smith, Billy Smith, Original Female Characters, Colonel Tom Parker, Billy Smith, Marci Cunningham, Steve Cunningham, Jerry Schilling, Mary Jenkins, Alan Fortas, Marty Lacker, Original Male Characters, Mona Goodwin, Joe Goodwin
Word Count: 4530 // Rating: Mature
Summary: When Elvis returns home to Graceland from the Army he’s followed by the headlines ‘The Girl He Left Behind’ but what the media don’t know is that Priscilla wasn’t the first. No, that title belongs to someone Elvis will never forget.
Tags/ Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Graceland, Poverty, Friends to Lovers, 1950s Elvis, Bad Parenting, Surprise Surprise the Colonel Is a Colossal Prick, Parental Loss, Grief, Fun Fairs, Kissing, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Movie Nights, Arguing, Tension, Denial of Feelings, Age Gap Romance, Underage, Addison is 17 Elvis is 22, Guilt, Betrayal, Extortion, Blackmail, Jealous, Army Elvis, American Draft, US Army, Lying, Time Shift with Elvis moving to Memphis, Flashbacks, Caught
Notes: This is the saddest Ive ever been writing something
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LINK TO ALL PARTS // AO3 LINK // PINTEREST LINK
@girlblogger2002 @sania562 @caitlin1996​ @literally-just-elvis-fics @notstefaniepresley​ @artlesson8892 @18lkpeters​
Addison stared at herself in the mirror. She looked pretty she had to admit, and she loved the way the dress fell on her frame, it even matched the necklace Elvis had bought her perfectly, but there was one thing missing: a smile. With people around it was easier to plaster a smile on her face and act like she was enjoying the holiday but on her own it was harder to pretend. She didn’t even try and hide the sadness on her face as Elvis poked his head around the door his face one of awe as he clocked her.   ‘Wow you look beautiful,’ he said with a smile though it faded as she said nothing and looked back towards the mirror busying herself with tidying the makeup she had been using away. Elvis sighed. ‘I can tell everyone to go if you’re not in the mood,’ he said coming to stand behind her though he was afraid to reach out and touch her. Since he had told her about the draft they had been on a rollercoaster of emotions. They’d been through denial and anger. She’d even had a go at bargaining though she knew it was fruitless. Now she seemed to have given up, her sadness not budging no matter how hard he tried to keep things normal. ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘Because it’s really not a big deal. Me and you can-’ ‘I said it’s fine,’ she said snappily though she winced as she heard how she sounded, ‘sorry, sorry.’ ‘It’s okay,’ Elvis said wrapping his arms around her and kissing her temple. ‘No it’s not,’ she said with a sniffle that made his heart ache, ‘none of this is okay Elvis.’ ‘I know,’ Elvis said sadly. She closed her eyes trying to force away the tears that were forming at seeing his heartbroken face watching her in the mirror. He closed his eyes burying his face in her hair as he tried to savour how it felt to hold her which was something he’d been doing more often the closer his deadline grew.   ‘It just feels more real don’t you think?’ she said after a moment. Her breath was shaky and quiet but it was enough to make him open his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, instead, he just waited for her to explain herself figuring whatever she was going to say had been weighing on her mind for a while, ‘I mean it’s not next year now. We’re gonna be in the same month. Twenty days. It just feels soon that’s all.’ ‘I know,’ he said, ‘I wish we had longer too.’ ‘I wish you didn’t have to go at all,’ she said quietly. ‘Me either,’ he said. She turned around to look at him then, her hazel eyes watching him sadly as she fixed his collar and straightened his tie. He leaned in to kiss her, capturing her lips gently with his. It wasn’t hot or steamy but it was chalked full of love, as if he was trying to pour two years’ worth of devotion into one moment.   When he pulled away they were both a little breathless but Addison didn’t let it phase her.   ‘Come on they won’t hold the ball drop forever you know,’ she said as she headed out of the bathroom. He was surprised how easily the mask she had used to use to protect herself could slip into place when needed. She hadn’t used it with him but as she geared herself up to head downstairs he watched as her sadness turned to a faux joviality with an absence of mirth behind her eyes. ‘Not even for little ol’ me?’ Elvis joked trying to get a genuine laugh out of her but she didn’t bite. ‘Not even for Elvis Presley,’ she said.   When they got downstairs Addison found that everyone was already there. Friends, family and the odd famous face filled every corner, laughing and joking as they buzzed from alcohol and the wonder of what was to come in the anticipated year ahead. As her foot hit the bottom step she stopped, slipping her hand out of his, making Elvis turn to look at her puzzled. Before he could ask her what was wrong however Billy appeared, breathless and with arms laden with fireworks.   ‘EP I’ve been wonderin’ where you’ve been man,’ he said, ‘firework war startin’ in 5 minutes.’ ‘Billy I don’t think-’ ‘He’ll be out in a minute,’ Addison said smiling softly at Billy. ‘Don’t be too long all the good ones will be gone,’ he said before he took off heading towards the back of the house. Elvis went to protest but she stepped down onto the floor away from him. ‘I think I’m gonna go find Mar,’ she said moving away from him. ‘Addie,’ he said going to reach for her but stopping as he noticed her pull away quickly her gaze going past him as she said, ‘you should mingle. It’s your party after all. It’ll look weird if you don’t.’   He followed her gaze to the huddle of people in the living room. For a moment he didn’t understand what had gotten her so tense but as a camera flash lit up the hallway Elvis got the memo. This wasn’t a family affair as Christmas had been. This wasn’t an evening he could enjoy without wondering who was watching him or what they were going to say if they saw them together. No, this was a PR stunt.   He should’ve known when the Colonel had suggested he throw a New Year’s Eve party that it wasn’t going to be some low-key affair and he should’ve realised that he’d find a way to spin it into good press. As he looked around he found the number of people he knew, people he actually liked, got no higher than a number of twenty and that was at a push. The rest was made up of record bigwigs and their wives or stars who would no doubt rehash their tale about their night to tabloids or whoever would listen. He had to admit as a snowman the Colonel excelled. Not many people could take a publicity nightmare and spin it on its head as fast as he could. But that meant that Elvis had to play his part too. He had to act as the honoured soldier, excited to be gearing up to head off to the service. It meant that he had to schmooze. To watch what he said or did should anyone start asking questions. It meant he had to stay away from Addison.   ‘Tell Mar I said hey,’ he said forcing a smile. She nodded and watched him head out to find Billy and the others on the back porch. After taking a moment to calm herself she headed into the living room manoeuvring around people unnoticed until she was in the music room. Jerry and Mar were cuddled up on an armchair in the corner their heads pressed together as they spoke in low giggled whispers that were interspersed by chaste kisses whilst a very irritated Steve perched on the arm of the couch beside them.   ‘Hey,’ she said as she pushed through the huddle of men standing by the piano. ‘I was wondering when you were going to show up!’ Marci said leaning up off Jerry who winced as she used him as a springboard, ‘oh my God that dress is amazing.’ ‘Thanks,’ Addison said, ‘yeah sorry I got a little tied up. You guys having fun?’ ‘Yeah these two have been a riot,’ Steve said sarcastically. ‘Just because you couldn’t get a date,’ Marci said, ‘besides Addie’s here now. You and Jer are free to talk about football all you like.’ ‘You hear that Jer you’ve got permission!’ Steve teased earning a swift kick in the shin from Jerry. ‘Actually, I think the guys are playing firework wars in the backyard,’ Addison said earning confused looks from the younger boys that quickly turned into excitement.   ‘Firework wars?’ Steve asked giddily. ‘Yeah, you get a bunch of fireworks and shoot them at one another, you know dumb boy stuff,’ Addison chuckled as their smiles widened. Steve leapt up, offering his half-drunken drink to Addison who took it with a roll of her eyes. Jerry tried to scramble off the chair too seemingly forgetting Marci was on his knee until she squealed at being thrust forward. ‘Jer!’ she chastised. ‘Sorry,’ Jerry said, ‘uh you don’t mind if…’ ‘Just go,’ Marci said standing up so Jerry could get to his feet. ‘Thanks babe,’ he said pressing a kiss onto her cheek before he and Steve took off disappearing into the throng of people and out of sight.   ‘Boys really are dumb,’ Marci said sitting back down into the chair Jerry had now vacated whilst Addison took Steve’s place. She took a swig of his drink too wincing as the taste of alcohol burned the back of her throat however she didn’t put it down. Instead, she took another sip hoping that the liquid would at some point in the night be able to replace the ache inside her with some form of buzz. ‘You’re saying you don’t want to go and shoot rockets at one another? Mar you surprise me,’ Addison chuckled. ‘I did not get myself dolled up to go run about in some mud and it’d be a crime to ruin yours,’ she said feeling the skirt of Addison’s dress in awe. ‘It’s nice huh,’ she replied though it was lacklustre. ‘Yeah, I’m surprised it’s not already on Elvis’ bedroom floor,’ Marci giggled. Addison’s face fell. Before Marci could speak Addison was up out of her seat and peeling through the living room at pace, Marci trying to keep up as she called her name. ‘Addie slow down!’ Marci said as Addison moved through the crowds of people into the hallway. Once the crowd had thinned her friend was able to catch up with her, grasping her elbow as she pulled her to a stop. ‘What the hell’s the matter with you?!’ she asked. ‘Not here,’ Addison said, her mouth quivering as she tried to suppress tears that were daring to breach her lash line though Marci didn’t see that as she turned away from her and headed towards her own room. Once safely in her room, Addison dropped to the floor hugging her knees to her chest in an attempt to hold herself together. Marci shut the door and came to sit beside her watching her friend with confusion. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you with the dress comment,’ Marci said unsure of what had caused her friend so much irritation. ‘It’s not you,’ Addison said quietly. That much was true. The joke itself hadn’t bothered her but the normalcy of which Marci spoke about her and Elvis had. Because that wasn’t going to be their norm anymore. It wasn’t going to be like that again for a long time. ‘Then what’s going on? I mean I know it hasn’t been easy lately, gosh I had to beg my dad to even let me come tonight after what happened at the Russwood Park show, but from what you said the other day I thought things were okay,’ Marci said. ‘They were,’ Addison said, ‘and then they weren’t.’ ‘What happened?’ ‘Elvis is being drafted.’ Her words hung in the air as Marci’s mouth fell open as she tried to process the news and failed. ‘Drafted? Like drafted drafted? Like united states army drafted?’ she asked agog. ‘Yes Mar,’ Addison said rolling her tongue between her teeth exasperatedly, ‘like united states army drafted. Like two years away drafted. Like moving to Germany  drafted .’ ‘When? How? I mean doesn’t he get like special treatment or something?’ Marci said, ‘this is ridiculous. They can’t expect him to go away for two damn years!’ ‘Believe me, they can,’ Addison said bitterly. ‘I don’t understand,’ Marci said flopping back against the bed next to her friend. ‘Trust me you’re not the only one trying to wrap their head around it,’ Addison said. Neither of them spoke for a minute. Marci was still in shock trying to get the news to sink in all the while trying to scramble for something to say to her friend. Her friend who had already had her life shattered more times than she could count. Addison didn’t blame her. After all, she hadn’t exactly come to terms with it so easily when Elvis had told her.
‘Good night you two,’ Vernon said as he headed towards the door, ‘try not to be too loud in here your mama needs her rest.’ ‘Of course not, night Daddy,’ Elvis said ignoring the pang of guilt that run through him at the mention of his mother. ‘Yeah, night Vernon,’ Addison said watching as he left the living room, flipping the light switch as he went which should have left the pair of them in darkness though the roar of the fire, the twinkle of the Christmas tree lights and the glare of the TV was enough to keep the room almost fully lit. When she turned she found Elvis watching her dolefully.   ‘What?’ she asked. ‘Nuthin’,’ he said allowing her to take his hand in hers. ‘You wanna go to bed?’ she asked dropping her gaze to where she was now tracing small patterns on his skin. ‘Nah,’ he said, ‘I’m good here.’ ‘I thought you said if you ever said no to that offer I was to take that pistol out of your nightstand and shoot you because you’ve obviously gone crazy,’ she said looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. ‘Well it’s Christmas,’ he chuckled, ‘the exception to the rule.’ ‘Is that so,’ she smirked. They stayed quiet for a moment just the crackle of the fire and the low murmur of the television making noise.   ‘Did you have a nice day?’ Elvis said after a moment. ‘Yeah it was nice,’ Addison said. ‘Santa bring you everything you wanted huh?’ he ribbed though Addison’s smile didn’t match his. ‘Not everything,’ she said. ‘Oh yeah?’ ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘there’s still something I want.’ ‘Oh this I gotta know,’ Elvis said leaning forward with anticipation. ‘You really want to know what I want?’ Addison said chewing on her lip. She watched as his brows knitted together as he tried to put together what on earth she could mean. After all it wasn’t as if he hadn’t gone above and beyond in the present department despite her protests. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to fit everything he had bought her into her room. ‘Please enlighten me,’ Elvis said.   ‘I want you to tell me whatever it is you’ve been hiding from me,’ she said making Elvis’ smile disappear immediately which only confirmed her fears. As he went to protest she shook her head, ‘and don’t tell me it’s nothing. I don’t need protecting. I just need to know the truth, Elvis.’ ‘Addie,’ he said sadly. ‘It’s bad, isn’t it? I knew it,’ she whispered sighing as his face fell, ‘I could tell from the way you and your daddy clam up whenever I walk into a room. The way your mama hasn’t stopped fretting over every little thing you do. The fact you can’t stop looking at me like it’s the last time we’re ever going to see each other like you’re doing right now.’ ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I wanted to tell you…I just…I wanted to have Christmas you know? Just one day we could enjoy and think about before-’ ‘Everything’s ruined?’ she asked. Elvis nodded. She heaved a heavy sigh as she tried to form some semblance of coherence in her brain from the questions that were swirling around in it.   ‘Is it to do with Russwood Park?’ she asked. ‘Partly,’ Elvis said. ‘I thought you said the Colonel fixed it,’ she said recalling the evening after when he had assured her that the Colonel had managed to pull some strings with the police department to get things smoothed over. ‘He did, well, he managed to fix the police thing but that’s not the problem,’ he said. ‘What is?’ she asked. ‘Addie I fucked up. I didn’t listen and now the damage is too far gone,’ he said. ‘But it can be fixed right? I mean whatever it is we can fix it,’ she said grasping for any scrap of hope she could. ‘Addie I’m being drafted,’ he said flatly making her fall silent.   Drafted. The words bounced around in her brain refusing to land because if they landed it would mean they were real.   ‘I don’t understand,’ she said after a moment trying to ignore the way her heart was squeezed so tight in her chest she could barely breathe. ‘That’s the fix,’ he said a current of bitterness running through his tone He watched confusion befall her face making him continue as he tried to explain, ‘it’s a way to change my image. Turn me from rabble-rouser into all-American boy or whatever.’ ‘How is flying off to another damn country going to help this!’ she said. ‘It’s not like I have much of a choice Addie,’ he said loudly sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration as he realised he was nearly shouting, ‘I’m sorry. Baby if I could do this any other way I would but I’m over a barrel here. We both know it. And if this is the thing that lets us be together-’ ‘But we’re not going to be together Elvis!’ ‘It’s not forever,’ Elvis said holding her small hands in his as he rested his forehead against hers, ‘and if that’s what it takes so that we can be together I’ll do it.’   She closed her eyes hoping he wouldn’t be able to see the tears that were threatening to breach her lash line but she could feel him watching her closely.                                                                 ‘How long?’ she asked shakily. ‘Two years,’ he said, ‘but it’ll be over in no time, hell you could even go to school or something I mean from the way you figured out something was going on there’s no arguing you’re as smart as a whip.’ ‘Nah, I just know you too well,’ she laughed sadly. ‘Still,’ he whispered pulling back so he could wipe an errant tear off her cheek. ‘Two years huh?’ she said quietly. ‘It’ll be over before you know it,’ he promised.
Marci didn’t know how long they’d been sitting in silence and though she figured it would probably be better to break it and pull her friend out of whatever thoughts she was having she didn’t know what to say. Addison seemed to sense her apprehension as she sighed.
‘I was going to tell you,’ she said as if she needed to explain, ‘but-’ ‘You don’t have to explain yourself,’ Marci said placing a hand on Addison’s velvet-covered knee, ‘are you okay?’ ‘No,’ Addison said honestly. It was easier to be herself with Marci. Not as easy as it was with Elvis but still, easier. ‘When did you find out?’ ‘Christmas,’ she said. ‘What a lousy present that was,’ Marci said. ‘You’re telling me,’ Addison said wistfully. ‘At least you’re not the only one bummed out anymore,’ Marci said nudging her, ‘always nice to share grim news with friends huh?’ ‘What do you think this party is for?’ Addison said explaining as Marci looked confused, ‘the Colonel arranged it. Thinks a party is the best way to break the news. Leave everyone on a high about him going.’ ‘When is he going?’ Marci asked. ‘Twentieth of January,’ Addison said, ‘feels like forever and tomorrow all at once.’ ‘At least you’ve got a little bit of time,’ Marci said. ‘Yeah, I guess,’ Addison said.
The two fell silent again but this time Marci moved to sit close beside her friend, interlocking her arm in hers as she lay her head on Addison’s shoulder. It wasn’t a full hug but it was comforting all the same. They were still in the same position when Jerry found them.
He came bursting in, the door hitting the wall with a thump as he opened it with too much force though Addison didn’t know if that was from giddiness or alcohol. He looked almost blue in the low lighting though there was still an icy pink tinge to his ears and the tip of his nose from the frost outside.
‘There you two are! I’ve been looking all over for you!’ he said though his smile faded as he noted the girl’s sombre expressions, ‘what’s going on?’ ‘Nothing,’ Marci said pulling away from Addison as she stood up. Addison climbed up too though she loitered awkwardly as she kept her gaze away from Jerry’s curious one. Marci however threw herself in front of her friend, determined not to let him give her the third degree, and asked, ‘why’ve you been looking for us?’ ‘What? Oh, apparently E’s making a speech or something,’ he said, ‘he wants both of you there.’ ‘We’ll be a minute,’ Marci said, ‘fix us a drink okay?’ ‘But-’ Jerry protested as Marci pushed him out of the room. ‘Two ticks!’ she said before she shut the door in her boyfriend’s face and turned to look at her friend.
‘You didn’t need to do that,’ Addison mumbled. ‘I know,’ Marci said grabbing a tissue off her friend’s bedside table and dabbing her under-eyes with it before she moved a couple of hairs off her face, ‘but that’s what friends are for right? C’mon.’
Addison nodded and allowed her friend to slip her arm into hers once more as the pair made their way to the front of the house though as they got to the hallway they realised they were already too late. Elvis was standing on the stairs, the Colonel by his side as everyone crammed themselves around the fringes of the living and dining room to listen in. Jerry appeared from the kitchen a couple of seconds later, the glasses in his hands clinking noisily which caused a few disapproving stares to fall their way. Addison shrunk back towards the wall, allowing Marci and Jerry to shield her from view. From where she was standing she couldn’t really see Elvis. His back was to her which she thanked god for, fearing that if he were to look at her she’d break into a million pieces. ‘…he would like to thank you all for the support you have all given him over the past few years. Lord knows without it the prospect of leaving his life behind for the next two years wouldn’t seem doable if he didn’t know he had such a firm and stable support system waiting for him when he comes home,’ the Colonel said.
‘Two years?’ Jerry whispered earning himself a dig in the ribs from Marci. ‘I’m sure he is just as grateful for all of you as we are for him,’ the Colonel said, ‘so let us raise a glass and make a toast to our nation and its newest protector. To Elvis.’ ‘To Elvis,’ the crowd parroted as they raised their glasses in the air. Addison didn’t follow. ‘And Happy New Year,’ Elvis said raising a toast himself before he tipped the glass of champagne down his throat in one long glug.
As the Colonel wrapped his arm around Elvis and herded him downstairs and into the pit of vultures waiting to encircle him with their congratulations Addison moved toward him. Neither Marci nor Jerry noticed as she slipped past them and went to stand near the banister rail. She wanted to speak to him but there was no way. He was trapped.  
‘My dad was a marine. He could’ve gone down a different path, if he had I wouldn’t be here today, it really was the making of him,’ she heard some RCA Victor executive say as he stood beside Elvis. ‘I thought I’d already made something of myself,’ Elvis said bitterly. Addison watched the Colonel’s grip tighten on his shoulder. ‘Well I’m sure there’s still plenty the army can do with a boy like yourself,’ the Colonel said. ‘He’s right,’ the executive said though whatever else he had to say was cut short as Billy came in the front door capturing everyone’s attention. ‘Alright listen up!’ he said, ‘the balls about to drop and we’ve got a firework show locked and loaded so everyone in the backyard now!’
There was a grumble of annoyance from those who didn’t want to traipse into the cold alongside a buzz of excitement as those who had gotten a little merry anticipating the countdown to the new year. As people filtered past her Addison shrunk back to the wall allowing the flow of the crowd to move past her hoping she would be able to catch Elvis in the wave but when she looked around he was nowhere to be seen. Fearing she must have missed him she started to follow the crowd outside. The air was cold out and though her dress was thick without her coat she started to shiver. Not to mention amongst the sea of people she couldn’t locate Elvis or Marci. As everyone filtered out into a rough semicircle Addison remained on the steps straining to see through the darkness where her friends were.
She looked at the figures in the distance only able to make out Red, Billy and Alan as they huddled around a couple dozen boxes of fireworks but as the crowd started counting down she felt a hand slip into hers. When she turned around she expected to see Elvis but it was Sonny instead and before she could say anything he yanked her back through the open back door not stopping as he hurtled into the house.
‘Son what are you doing!?’ she asked as he dragged her through the house behind him until they were in the kitchen. Elvis was leaning against the kitchen counter but he stood up properly as she came in a smile on his face. Before she could say anything he was in front of her, wrapping his arms around her, as the door swung shut signalling Sonny had left or was more than likely standing guard on the other side.
‘Now I figure I’ve got about oh, say, fifteen seconds before people start to realise I’m missing,’ he said leaning down until their faces were inches apart. ‘A lot you can do in fifteen seconds,’ she whispered. ‘I agree,’ he murmured before he leaned in and kissed her. She wrapped her around his neck, her fingers knotting in his hair as he deepened the kiss, pulling her in until she was flush up against him. It had been all he had wanted to do all night. All he ever wanted to do.
Yet time wasn’t on their side as the singing of auld lang syne started to die down and the pop and whizzes of fireworks got less and less ‘oohs and ahs’ they pulled apart knowing that sooner or later people would start filtering back into the house to escape the cold.
‘Happy New Year honey,’ Elvis said stroking her cheek tenderly. ‘Happy New Year,’ Addison replied.
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nowandajenn · 2 years
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Blue Christmas- Eleven (Healing)
Pairing: Chris Evans/OC Kelly
Summary: After almost three years of marriage, everyone would tell you that Chris and his wife Kelly are the most stable, solid couple they know. But behind closed doors, things are tense as they keep trying for a baby, to no avail. When a secret threatens to shake their solid marriage to it’s core, will they be able to pick up the pieces?
I do not consent to have my content, whether it be this story or anything else of my creation, posted by a third party on any other platform other than right here without my permission. This blog is 18+ and is not intended for minors. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Heed the warnings. This is a work of FICTION. I do not claim to know Chris Evans, his family, friends, or anyone on his team personally.
Warnings for this chapter: Heavy, heavy angst. Language. Mentions of adultery. Mentions of miscarriage. Pregnancy. Allusions to abortion but nothing is stated outright.
This beast is clocking in at just over 6.7k words. Probably the single longest chapter I've ever written. The tag list for this story was getting out of control, and more than half the people on it had no interaction with the story at all, so I discontinued it. I'm tagging my nearest and dearest though. I may, MAY, create a google form for a new tag list. We'll see.
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January 8th (Six days post accident)
The pain meds they give people in the hospital following surgery pack a wallop, especially when given through an IV. They make me have crazy dreams, turn my attention span paper thin, and have the added bonus of turning my brain/mouth filter virtually non-existent.
I’m trying to pay attention to the conversation that Chris is trying to have with me. I really am. To be fair, he knew when he got here an hour ago that I had just gotten another dose. 
“What about this one?”
 Chris turns the iPad towards me so I can see yet another picture and resume’ of a home health nurse. It was an idea that he was originally against, but both Lisa and Andi, my main nurse, had both suggested that maybe having someone come in for a few hours a day a couple times a week would be a good thing. As much as he wants to do everything he possibly can for you, he also knows he’s only one person. After not hearing a response, and thinking maybe I had dozed off into a narcotic induced nap, he looks up to see me using my good hand to fiddle with the end of the braid that the nurse had put my hair into earlier after the shower that I’d finally been allowed to have after days of bed baths. 
Showers used to be glorious things. Water turned up to near scalding levels, music playing loud with me singing loudly (and badly) along, and nice shampoo and shower gel that smells amazing. This was not that. This was an entire process that took nearly an hour, starting with my casted leg and equally casted arm being wrapped in waterproof plastic and ending with me in tears because washing long hair takes two functional hands, and I only had one. There’s zero dignity in having another person give you a shower when you’re a grown woman who’s been showering and bathing by herself for many years now without issue. The nurse had been amazingly sweet and sympathetic and helped me with whatever I couldn’t do on my own (which was a lot), but the whole experience just left me feeling useless and depressed. 
 A soft touch to my hand brings me back to the present. 
“Where’d you go?” he asks softly. 
”My hair smells weird.” 
He leans forward a bit so he can get a whiff of my hair. “It smells okay to me.” 
“It’s not the same. It’s weird, clinical hospital shampoo. It doesn’t smell good like mine.” I lament. “I couldn’t even wash my own hair today. It’s too long, and I couldn’t do it with one hand. I can’t even-”
My voice starts to waver and I look down at my arm that’s laying useless in a sling across my chest. Even my fingers are so swollen and bruised that I couldn’t even put my rings on if I tried. My ring finger, which hasn’t been naked since Chris slipped my engagement ring on it some four and a half years ago, feels very bare and just wrong. Everything about the accident and my injuries keeps hitting me in different ways. 
I look over at Chris and then down at the iPad that he’s still holding. “Hire whoever you want. I honestly don’t care, and it’s not like I have any choice in the matter.”
He sighs softly, knowing that this conversation was never going to go over well. He knows that I know that I’m going to need as much help as I can get when I finally get released to go home, but he also knows that being as stubborn and self sufficient as I am, my worst nightmare is having someone have to help me do something as simple as get out of fucking bed. 
“This is the one thing that’s happened lately that you do get to choose. I want to get someone that you’re going to like and be comfortable with. I can’t imagine what this is like for you right now, and I’m just trying to make life as easy as it can get when you’re home.”
“I don’t know if I’m going to like someone from a goddamn resume’. As long as they can do the job without fucking me up more than I already am, great.” My back is starting to ache because of the position that I’m laying in, and when I go to slide further up the bed, I’m rewarded with a searing pain in my stomach from the movement pulling at my still healing splenectomy incisions. 
“Fuck, honey-”
I fall back on the pillows, irritated as hell and over this damn conversation, and the words fly out of my mouth before I can even think about stopping them. 
“Just pick someone! Maybe you’ll get lucky and you’ll get another girl who’s going to fall for the irresistible Chris Evans charm, who has no moral compass and no compunction about sleeping with married men. Then you can throw a shot into her too.”
I watch as his face falls, his hand pulling back from where it’s been resting on my arm and a lump the size of a golf ball forms in my throat. I didn’t mean to say that. I might as well just be wearing a name tag that says Hi, I’m: Here To Make Things Worse. I cover my mouth with my hand and glance up towards the ceiling, trying to blink the tears away before they can fully form. 
“I’m…..I’m sorry. I didn’t mean….” I start, but the words don’t want to come out. 
“It’s okay.” he tries to assure me. 
“No, it’s not.” I look down at the fluffy blue blanket that Chris brought me from home and I play with the slightly frayed edge, ashamed and unable to look at the broken look on his face. “This is a bad idea.” 
He pops a shoulder. “Could always hire a male nurse.” he says, raising his eyebrow. 
I let out a small snort, knowing he said it to try and lighten the mood, but all I can feel right now is trepidation at the thought of coming home with Chris to recover and him taking the brunt of all of my frustrations and emotional eruptions. 
He turns the iPad off and puts it on the side table and I watch as he stands up and grabs his jacket off the back of the chair, and my eyes widen.
“Don’t leave. Please, I-” I sputter out, trying to push down my panic. 
“I’m not. I’m just going to run down and get a coffee and check in with Shanna and see how Dodger’s doing. Are you getting hungry? You want me to grab you something?” 
I squint, trying to remember the dinner options on the meal sheet they give me every day and which one I might have picked. 
“Uhhhhh….no. I’ll be okay. They should be bringing whatever I picked out soon anyway. I’ll live.” 
“Okay. Text me if you change your mind. I’ll be back. No more than half an hour, I promise.” he says, resting his palm on the top of my head gently. 
---------------------
When Chris gets back twenty or so minutes later, I’m honestly sort of surprised he came back instead of just going home and getting away from my emotional, broken ass for a while. And even more surprised that his mom is with him, since I didn’t know she was planning on coming by today. 
When they walk in, I’m sitting in one of the chairs in the room with my leg propped up, poking at a dish of red jello with a spoon. 
“What are you doing out of bed?” Chris asks, surprised. 
“I had to pee after you left, and being in bed was making my back hurt, so I asked if they could just park me here for a while. There’s not a ton of options when all you can really do is sit, so…I’ll be ready to get back in bed in a while.” 
Lisa starts towards me and I push the wheeled table away from me slightly so she can bend down and give me a hug, which I return with a strength that takes her by surprise a little bit. Knowing how hard the last few days (hell, weeks for that matter) have been and the fact that your mom isn’t around, she just had a feeling today that you could probably use a big dose of love that only a mama can provide, which is why she decided to pop by and surprise both you and Chris. 
She tilts my cheek to the side gently as she examines my face. “Your bruises are looking better.” 
“Mmm. Still hurts. Airbags will save your life, but you’re going to feel like you went twelve rounds with Mike Tyson after they go off in your face.”
“So, Chris and I were talking downstairs, and I had an idea.” I swallow my mouthful of jello and look towards Chris, really hoping that he didn’t tell her about what I said. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly and the anxiety in my gut loosens up a bit. 
“What would you think about me coming to stay with you guys for a bit when you got home?” 
“Chris, tell me you didn’t ask your mom to come home with us to be my babysitter.” I groan. Lisa snorts slightly. “He didn’t ask. I’m offering. I know you’re not crazy about someone you don’t know being in your house and….” she searches for the right words “helping you. And it wouldn’t be for too long; just until you guys get yourselves situated at home and get into a routine with things. It’s just to make the transition a little smoother.” she assures me. 
I look over at Chris and he shrugs, gesturing to me. “This is your call.” 
I sigh, looking over at my mother in law, who I adore more than anyone in the world. “I’m not great to be around lately. I’m still not convinced that coming home after this is the right thing to do, and I’m afraid it’s really just going to make things worse. I don’t want you both to have to deal with my psychotic mood swings.”
“Sweetheart, if your mood was completely stable after everything that’s happened, I’d be terrified. You’re hurt, and you can’t do the things that everyone else takes for granted without help, and everyone knows how frustrating that is. I know you’re angry and sad and frustrated. And that’s okay. We’re-” she gestures between herself and her eldest son “made of tough stuff. Well, I’m tougher than him. We all know he’s a big baby who cries at the drop of a Hallmark movie.” I sputter out a laugh while wiping my eyes. 
“We all love you, and we’re all here for you no matter what.”
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January 17th (Fifteen days post accident)
“They would release you on the coldest day of the year.” Chris says as he makes a final sweep around the hospital room that I’ve called home for the last two weeks. 
I huff out a small laugh. “Let’s just get the hell out of here before they come back here and tell me that they’ve decided to keep me for another week.”
“They should be back any minute with your discharge papers, and then we’ll go. The doc said he was going to call in your prescriptions to Walgreens, so hopefully they’ll be ready by the time we get there. Or I can get you home and settled in and run back out and grab them.” 
“We can wait for them. It’s too cold to be running back and forth.”
I look down at my “going home” outfit and can’t help but feel completely ridiculous. A pair of pink flannel pajama pants with penguins on them (they’re the only thing besides sweats that I can get up over the cast on my leg), a long sleeved white shirt, and one of Chris’ hoodies that’s zipped up over my sling, leaving just my good arm in the sleeve. They removed the stitches from my arm yesterday, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to look at it. The compression bandage that I’ve been instructed to wear all the time (with the exception of showers) is a lot more comfortable than the layers of wrapping my arm was encased in, but still annoying. And it itches like the devil. My right foot is encased in fluffy socks and a shoe, and my left leg is of course still in a cast, a sock pulled down over my exposed toes so they don’t freeze off when I go outside. 
My eyes go to the small black wheelchair that’s coming home with me and I squeeze my eyes shut. Because I’ve been instructed not to use my damaged arm for ANYTHING more strenuous than moving it gently to maneuver a shirt on and off, I can’t use crutches. 
Chris finishes packing up my backpack, and stops when he sees me staring vacantly at the wheelchair. He frowns, and walks over slowly, sitting on his heels in front of me. 
“Hey.” he murmurs softly, snapping me out of my reverie. 
“Hmm?”
“This isn’t going to be forever. They said the cast is going to come off hopefully in a couple of weeks, and then they’re going to put you in a walking boot. At least then you’ll be able to get up and move around. I know, I know how much you hate this. I do. But it is not forever.”
“I know.” I hate how small my voice is. “I hate how I have to think about every move I make. I can’t reach for anything because I can’t use my arm. I have to be careful when I stretch or it hurts my stomach. I have to cough or sneeze as soft as I can or else my ribs hurt. It’s just….I feel like a prisoner in my own body right now.” 
“But you’re going to get the chance to get stronger and recover.” I look up at him and our eyes meet, and I know we’re both thinking about the fact that the driver of the car that hit me died four days ago from his injuries sustained in the crash, and how that could have been me instead. 
---------------------------
When the nurse comes in with my discharge papers and the litany of aftercare instructions, Chris takes them and heads downstairs with my stuff so he can bring the car around to the front entrance. The nurse helps me put my coat and hat on before helping me maneuver myself into the wheelchair and we head down to the first floor. 
“You excited you’re finally out of here?” she asks me with a smile. 
“And nervous. It was kind of comforting knowing that even though I was stuck in here, if anything went wrong, I was in the right place.”
I see Chris pull up at the curb, and the nurse wheels me outside, and I gasp at the biting cold. It’s the first time I’ve felt fresh air on my skin since the day of the accident, and although it’s beyond freezing, it still feels amazing to breathe it in. It isn’t until I get situated in the passenger seat and we’re ready to drive home that the panic sets in. 
“The last time I was in a car I almost died.”
Chris takes his hands off the steering wheel and reaches over to hold my right hand. 
“I know.”
“You drive like an insane person.” 
Despite the seriousness of the conversation, he snorts, because he knows the amount of speeding tickets he’s accumulated since he started driving is ridiculous. But he also knows that since the accident, he’s been almost hyper aware of his speed and everything going on around him, when he usually just goes on autopilot when he’s driving, like anyone else who drives every day. 
“I promise I won’t drive like an insane person with you in the car.” 
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“Don’t drive like an insane person ever. You can’t control the way other idiots drive, but you can control how you do. I need you around.”
Those words make hope bloom in his chest. 
“I promise.”
When we get home, relief washes over me. As promised, Chris drove very carefully and obeyed the speed limit, but I was still a nervous wreck the whole 25 minute drive. Plus, being scrunched in the roomy, but limited space of the passenger seat isn’t very comfortable with my injuries. One the car is parked inside the garage and Chris has my door open, he realizes that he didn’t really think this part through very well. 
The furniture inside has been arranged and re-arranged about a dozen times in different configurations to accommodate the wheelchair in the house. He purchased a shower chair for me to make showers easier, he got cast wraps to keep the cast on my leg dry, he set up a perfect little nest with pillows and blankets on our sectional so I’d be comfortable, with remotes and chargers and books, and even a little cooler within reach. 
I notice the look on his face that he gets when he’s confused about something or trying to find a solution to a problem, and turn to him. 
“You’re trying to figure out how you’re going to get me in the house, aren’t you?”
The sheepish, yet slightly guilty look on his face tells me I’m right. “I have guys coming on Monday to put in a temporary ramp over the stairs in front. But I didn’t think about today.”
There’s two steps to get from the garage into the house, and the wheelchair isn’t going to make it up them. 
“You’re going to have to carry me in the house.”
“I was thinking that, but I don’t want to hurt you. You’re still really sore.” he says, gesturing to his chest and stomach. 
“I’m pretty sure everything I do for a while is going to be somewhat painful, but I think this is our only option. Why don’t you grab the wheelchair and bring it in, put Dodger in the bedroom until we get inside so he doesn’t knock me down when he sees me, and then come back out and grab me?”
He exhales slowly. “Okay. I’ll be right back. Just…..” he trails off, gesturing vaguely at me. 
“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.” 
When Chris comes back out, he comes around to the passenger side and opens the door for me. I turn in the seat, angling myself as much as I can to make it easier for him to grab me and carry me inside. I’m slightly nervous about how much this is going to hurt, but I’m determined to not let it show. 
“You ready?” 
I take a deep breath and nod. He stoops down and slides his left arm around my back, while his right arm loops under my legs and he lifts me gently, my good arm going around his neck. He’s carried me like this about a million times in the years that we’ve been together, but for some reason, all I can think about is how he carried me (both of us slightly tipsy)  like this up to our hotel room after our wedding reception, and me laughing and telling him not to drop me or else I’d get our marriage annulled. I squeeze my eyes shut at the memory. 
I open them back up when I feel Chris setting me down on the end of the sofa and helping me get comfortable. 
“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks nervously. 
“I’m okay. Can you just grab a couple pillows so I can put my leg up though?” 
He hits the button on the side of the couch for the foot rest to come up and slides a couple throw pillows under my leg. 
“Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?” 
“I”m okay for right now. Can you go get Dodger though? I missed him like crazy.”
He smiles and goes to the bedroom to let the dog out, and a second later, I hear the sound of his nails clicking rapidly on the hardwood. 
“Hi, baby!” I exclaim, holding my arm out. 
“Dodge, be gentle, okay? Careful.” Chris warns. 
Dodger jumps up on the couch next to me and immediately snuggles into my side. Luckily enough, he’s on my good side so I can give him pets and belly rubs. 
“Mom’s going to be over in a few hours. She said she wanted to give us a little bit of time to get settled in and such. I’m gonna go and unpack our stuff and start some laundry. You have the remotes and your phone and charger nearby….if you need anything, just yell. Or tell Dodger to come get me.” 
“I will. I think I’m going to try and take a nap though, honestly. The trip home kind of took it out of me.”
“Okay.” He grabs a blanket from the back of the sofa and drapes it over me, dropping a kiss to my head before he leaves to go get started on unpacking our stuff. As he walks away, he stops to look back at me again, thinking to himself how it seems like it’s been a lifetime since the last time the both of us were in this house together, even though it’s only been about three weeks. As much as he wanted you back home, he never in a million years thought this would be how it happened. 
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January 25th (23 days post accident)
“God, that feels nice.” I moan at the feeling of Chris’ fingers in my hair, massaging the shampoo in. 
“Why do you think I always beg you to wash my hair?” he says, smirking. I catch his use of the present tense, and try and think about how long it’s been since the last shower we took together before the accident. I’m damn near positive it was way different than the ones that have happened since I’ve been home, and probably ended in orgasms all around. 
“This is infinitely better than the showers in the hospital. The nurse who always used to do mine had long ass nails. I’m pretty sure one of them is still embedded in my brain somewhere.” 
He laughs as he rinses my hair with the detachable shower head. After working conditioner through my hair and helping me scrub myself down and even shaving my right leg and under my arms for me, he steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist before grabbing another one to dry me off. I’m sitting on the toilet lid in my underwear while Chris smooths lotion on me, letting me do what I can reach with my good arm when I say his name softly. 
“Thank you.” I watch his eyebrow quirk up in confusion. 
“What for?”
“This. The- everything. When we got married, I bet you never imagined you’d have to help me shower and put on clean underwear and take me to go pee.”
He looks down as he continues to rub the lotion into my leg. “No, but I don’t think anyone goes in ever thinking about the worst case scenario where those things would ever come up. But that’s part of the deal, right? For better or worse? That covers everything; not just the good stuff. You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job.” 
“You could have just let my mom have her way and let them take me home.” I point out. 
He scoffs and shakes his head. 
“Absolutely not. For one thing, you and your mom would have ended up killing each other. And for another…..your head is giving you enough grief as it is right now, and being around her would have just made it worse. I couldn’t do that to you.” 
I see Chris reach for my shirt and groan, knowing how much it hurts my arm to put a damn shirt on. 
“How bad does it look?”
“Your arm?” 
I nod slightly and he sighs. “It’s still really raw and red. It’s going to fade, but it’s going to take some time. The doctor recommended some stuff that’s supposed to help with scars. Make them less visible over time.” 
“Can I see it?” I ask. 
“Are you sure?” he asks. I shrug a bit. 
He picks me up off the toilet seat and walks us in front of the bathroom mirror and turns so I can see my arm. I suck in a shuddering breath and close my eyes. It’s ugly. A roughly five inch or so vertical incision straight down my upper arm, red and raw and glaringly obvious. Even when it’s fully healed, it’s going to be ugly. 
“If you want, I can always talk to Josh. We can see if he can draw something up so you can cover it up once it’s fully healed.”
I nod as tears leak out of my eyes. Chris tilts my chin up. “It’s just a scar. It doesn’t define you and it’s not the end of the world. It doesn’t make you any less beautiful.” He pivots so my ass is sat on the bathroom vanity and once I’m settled, he pulls the shirt over my head, being gentle with  my arm, and then helps me into a clean pair of pajama pants. 
“You know, we’re actually getting kind of good at this.” he says as he carries me out of the bathroom and sets me down in our bed. 
“I hate that that’s something to brag about.” I tell him, rolling my eyes. “Although, I guess after doing the same thing day after day for a couple weeks, it’s to be expected. You don’t look quite as terrified now as you did the first time we did this.” 
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February 2nd (one month post accident)
“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner….I was in a pretty serious car accident a month ago and things have been a little hectic since then. I haven’t been cleared by my doctor to fly yet, so there’s no way we can make it out there. Mmmmhmmm. Yeah, the reservation is under Kelly Evans.” 
Chris walks into the kitchen and starts making himself a cup of coffee while I’m on hold with the resort to cancel the Valentines Day reservations I had made back in November. I had a solid plan that I had cooked up with Meghan and his team so he wouldn’t have anything scheduled for the three days I had booked at Post Ranch Inn, but then between finding out about the affair and the accident, my carefully made plan got blown straight to hell, leaving me feeling a little (lot) angry. 
“Okay. Thank you again for all your help. I’m sorry again for the late notice.” 
I end the call and toss my cell phone onto the island, irritation bubbling up inside me. 
“Who was that?” 
“Canceling the reservation I made for us for Valentines Day at Post Ranch Inn. I made it before I found out about you fucking someone else. That kind of took the romance out of it a little bit. Well, that and the fact that my body’s still mostly useless.” 
My newly (as of two days ago) uncasted leg starts itching to high hell under the walking boot and compression sock I have on, and I start the process of unstrapping the boot one handed so I can enjoy scratching my leg to my heart’s content. I wish I could have gotten a picture of Chris and the doctor’s faces when my cast was finally cut off and a fork, two pens, and a plastic ruler came tumbling out of it, all lost in my attempt to wedge something down there to scratch the itch. 
He sighs lightly and turns so his back is to the counter, giving me what I’ve coined his “kicked puppy look.” Most of the time, I feel guilty for whatever I said to make that look appear, but today I’m just too agitated to care. 
“Don’t give me that look. You do it every single time I mention the fact that you had sex with someone else. You know what you did. You don’t get to make that face and look like I just told you that Disneyland is closing down forever.”
He walks over to where I’m sitting with a sigh, and reaches to help me with the straps on my boot. “Can we not fight? Please? I know that there’s an ocean of stuff we have to work through, and I know none of this is easy…I just don’t want to fight with you.” 
“Just stop. I can do it myself." I tell him, brushing his hand away softly. "You know, just because I still need you to help with most of my basic human functions doesn’t mean that I necessarily like being around you all the time. You’re my husband and for some God forsaken reason, even though you did what you did, I still love you, despite me calling you a cheating shitbag in my head at least once a day. So, just leave me alone for a little while, okay? I was really excited about having this trip happen, and it all got blown to hell in a really magnificent fashion, so let me just sit here and be pissed off and sad about it.” 
He holds his hands up and backs away. “Okay. I can do that. Just, we have your doctor’s appointment at 2, so let me know when you need me to come help you get ready.” I look up at him and nod, spinning my phone on the table. He starts to walk away, but then turns back towards me. 
“You know, when the accident happened and you were out of surgery, I kind of went into crisis mode. I called my team and canceled everything, because I knew that you were going to need someone to be there for you and help take care of you until you were stronger. And I know that you have a million people that are in our lives that would drop everything and do that for you, because you’re amazing and everyone loves you so much. The parade of people that have come and gone through here since you’ve been home is proof of that. I kind of just took charge, because I didn’t know what else to do….and I don’t think I took the time to stop and ask myself if you even wanted it to be me, given everything that happened.”
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“Chris….I did. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable having anyone else do it.” 
He nods. “I know that it’s hard for you to be around me sometimes. I know that you’re still angry, and hurt and upset and you have every right to be. I know we’re a mess, but once things settle down a little bit, we’ll get in to go see that therapist that Carly told me about, and we’ll start working through it. That is, if you still want to.”
“I do.”
-------------------------
A few hours later, we’re sitting in the waiting room of my gynecologist’s office, and Chris is just staring around the room at the posters on the wall, and occasionally glancing at the couple of pregnant women that are in the waiting room with us. 
“Why did you need to see her?” he asks softly. 
“I’m overdue for my annual exam, and since all I do lately is go to the doctor, I figured I should probably just get it out of the way.” It’s a half truth. Well, ⅓ truth. If the doctor was right about my hcG levels when I was in the hospital, I’m about six weeks pregnant, and it’s probably time to get official confirmation in black and white. And if I am, Chris deserves to be there to hear it. But first, he needs to get something done himself. 
The nurse comes by and hands us both a clipboard with paperwork on it, and Chris’ eyebrows raise. “Why do I get paperwork?”
The nurse clears her throat nervously and taps a section on the paperwork. STD test, with the works. She walks away to let us fill out the papers, and his eyes shoot to mine. 
“I used a condom. I told you that. I'm not an idiot.” he says softly.
“I don’t care. I need to see it for myself, for my own peace of mind.”
He’s called back first, and with a nervous swallow and a look back at me, he follows the nurse. I’m called back shortly after, and after blood work, urine test, and the internal exam, Chris is allowed back into the exam room to wait with me while the results come back. 
“You want to grab something to eat after this? You didn’t have much for breakfast earlier.” he asks. 
“Uh, yeah, I-” I’m interrupted by a knock on the door followed by Dr. Hartman coming back in. By the look on her face, I just know. 
“Congratulations, you guys are pregnant.”
Chris is lucky that there’s a chair right behind him, or he would have been in a world of pain when he landed. When I see him basically collapse into the chair, I get worried. 
“Mr. Evans, are you okay?” Dr. Hartman asks, reaching for his wrist to check his pulse. His face is a look of pure shock, like he can’t begin to comprehend what he just heard. 
“Chris?” I ask, my own emotions threatening to spill out despite knowing this was coming. I instantly feel bad for not giving him a heads up that this was a very real chance. His eyes find mine and we just stare at each other. 
“I’m okay. I just- it’s- are you sure?” he asks, his voice unsteady. The doctor steps away, seemingly convinced that a movie star isn’t going to drop dead of shock in one of her exam rooms. “The tests are extremely accurate, but I’m going to go ahead and do a transvaginal ultrasound so we can take a look. If you’re far enough along, we should be able to hear the heartbeat.” 
Since I’m still in the gown and haven’t gotten dressed yet, I lay back on the table and assume the position again as she pulls the ultrasound machine towards her. Chris gets up on unsteady legs and stands next to me, still looking shell shocked. 
“Okay, this is going to be a little uncomfortable. Just take a nice deep breath.” she warns. I do as she says, but I still make a face when the probe is inserted. Chris is torn between watching my face and wanting to see what’s happening on the screen. Me, I’m too afraid to look anywhere but his face. For as much trepidation as I’m feeling over this pregnancy, I’m overcome with the sudden fear that she’s going to find the baby and there’s not going to be a heartbeat, just like last time, and I honestly don’t know if I can go through that twice.
“There it is.” I hear from next to me. I watch as his eyes move from mine to the screen, seeing the tiny blob in the middle of my uterus with the little flicker in the middle. A heartbeat. I still can’t bring myself to look though. Dr. Hartman, who was the one who told me that I had miscarried and performed my D&C, senses my fear, and quietly hits a button on the machine. The sound is almost overwhelming as it fills the room. I have a crazy thought that it almost sounds like clothes in the washer as it’s agitating. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. It's loud and fast and sounds strong. My eyes snap to the screen, and I immediately bring my hand to my mouth and burst into tears. 
“From the size, it looks like you’re about six or seven weeks. Which is going to put the due date at about….” she stops to put some numbers into the computer. September 23rd, give or take.”
After printing off some pictures and leaving the room to let me get cleaned up and get dressed, we leave the office feeling a million different emotions. We’re both quiet on the drive home, both lost in thought. How many times have we wished for this? How many negative pregnancy tests have we seen and tossed angrily into the trash, tears threatening to spill. How many times did we say “It’s okay. It’ll happen. I know it.” only for it to happen during the worst period in our marriage? 
-------------------------------
When we get home, I slowly waddle into the house, still enjoying the feeling of being able to (somewhat) walk instead of being chained to that damn wheelchair. I make my way to the back door to let Dodger out, passing Lisa, who’s watching both Chris and I with a curious, careful gaze. 
I feel him behind me as I turn on the tap, filling a glass with water and downing it almost all in one gulp. 
“How are you feeling?” he asks softly. He can see my hand trembling slightly as I hold the glass, and he knows he has to tread lightly. 
“In general? Or about the fact that we found out I’m pregnant in the middle of our personal shit storm?” 
“Both.” I drop my head. Truth be told, I’m exhausted. My arm is killing me, the nerve pain making burning pins and needles radiate over my whole arm. My leg is aching from being on it for an extended amount of time. 
I’ve been trying to roll it over and around in my head for weeks. What to do if I really did have the shittiest luck in the world, and I did end up actually pregnant in this situation. I keep coming back to the bad joke that my brother made the night I found out about Chris about me not having to deal with all of this while I was pregnant. 
“I don’t know if I can do this.” My voice is soft, but he hears it like I’m screaming it. “I don’t know if I can have this baby. I don’t know if my body can handle it, and I don’t know if I can handle it emotionally.” 
The words punch through him like a hit from a prize fighter. He knows exactly when it happened; the night that you had come over to get a dress from your closet and we had ended up defling quite a few surfaces in the house. There’s a good chance that our baby was conceived on the dining room table. 
“Are you talking about-” he can’t even bring himself to say the words. He KNOWS this the worst timing for this to happen. He KNOWS that no matter what, it’s your choice. But the thought of not having this baby with you almost brings him to his knees. 
My breath hitches. “Chris, look at us. Take a good look at me, at my body. I’m broken. I’m still recovering. I’d have to be monitored more closely to make sure that everything is okay. Because we don’t know if it will be.” The thought of finally getting everything I wanted with my husband and then not having it makes my chest hurt. 
“I’ve wanted kids with you since the moment you told me you loved me for the first time, and that I was it for you. I knew that you were going to be the father of my kids one day. But now, with everything, I don’t know if that’s the case anymore.” 
The tears are burning my eyes, and I can feel the sobs starting to build in my throat, and I know if I don’t get out of this room right now, I’m going to lose it. I’m pretty sure that Lisa heard at least part of our conversation, and I can’t talk about it anymore without losing my mind. I set my glass in the sink and silently make my way upstairs, thinking that two of the worst conversations I’ve had in my life have come within months of each other and have both taken place in the kitchen that I loved. Now I can barely stand to be in it. 
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bigcutebutt · 3 months
Text
oh yes, i wanted to talk about this. omegle shut down last year. i only found out in the last week or so
i'm going to be weirdly honest about something i would have otherwise kept to myself forever, but i spent far too much time there, for many, many years of my life. only in text chat, i dont know who in their right mind would want to do the video chat lol. mostly, it was a fruitless and self-destructive behavior that left me feeling not good, but i can't help feeling sad it's just outright gone now, since it was always there for me on and off over so long
as you can probably guess, i used it to talk about what i like to call "weird things" and what now most people call "kinks" - but it's always more complicated than that for me. generally i would roleplay as some exaggerated ideal self - deliberately too exaggerated to be believable, of course (i wasn't trying to deceive). i didn't like to "roleplay" as if i was actually physically interacting with people, i just liked to roleplay that i was someone else, an ideal me, typing on a computer on omegle.com
what made it so special to me was that it was completely ephemeral. usually i'm someone who likes to hoard data, but the way omegle worked was absolutely ideal for exploring myself. every conversation was fresh, and i could try new approaches to "being myself" that had generally zero consequences (with the caveat that of course i never tried to upset or hurt anyone!). nobody had a pre-existing idea of who i was. there was no false image i could possibly build around myself. i could try out human interaction in a distinctly private way. (when people wished to keep in touch outside of omegle, i almost invariably failed completely at keeping anything going)
the relation this has to gender is blindingly obvious, of course. just like literally everything i post about
(though the recurring faces who would show up in the same tags over years and years were an exception to this, but interesting to think about. a weird sense of texture, other lonely people repeating the same fantasies over years of their lives just as i was, for better or worse. fuck you, michael) (sorry to any michaels reading this)
it is probably a good thing that the temptation to go on omegle can never recur for me, given how many nights i ended up disgusted with myself. but again, something is lost forever. a kind of opportunity for self-exploration is lost - one uniquely suited to my own neuroses about being observed. not to mention the general trend of the internet of my youth vanishing piece by piece
as i often complain about, im not sure how to explore myself now when im on my own. its harder for me than it is for others. i dont masturbate, so i cant do what literally everyone else ive met does. i guess i'm just saying that publicly now. i might be too old to even need to explore myself now (but a philosophy of "its never too late" is certainly admirable). but damn it, sometimes i'm just in a mood!
i can only hope that i keep evolving and changing, indefinitely. and hopefully in a way that involves becoming even weirder
theres so much more to say about omegle culture - there were truly so many little quirks that will remain with me forever, especially in the weirder tags. it's an embarrassing part of my life, but also, i think, an important and telling one. sometimes i wanted desperately to have close friends who would keep me from going on it, as if helping me with an addiction - but i never quite achieved that with anyone. but it's still sad. it's an ending. and like most endings on the internet for me, nothing takes its place. i refuse to adapt to the new internet, the web of smartphone apps. its just another part of me that is now vanished. sealed. retired
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Note
OC asks: 5, 9, and 18 for Mura please!
heheh thank you!!! for this tag game
5. How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?
its her character defining trait and the answer is wayy further than is sane. literally any distance. only caveat is if it will hurt her she will be wary, but normally it just means she gets other people hurt instead of herself. not sure what to say for this other than that!
luckily for most people her goals are do interesting things and gain power, not world domination [yet]
but if it serves either her long term goal of strength and power, or her shorter term goals that will lead to strength and power then it will be done, unless it hinders the goals to. [e.g. killing the leaders of the crusades and taking control she she can rule her own city state would get her power and strength but also a long line of people trying to kill her]
her goals are long term stable strength and power, not short lived & unstable, shes got a long lifetime, and if making nice or even just civil and making a few sacrifices gets her respect and power then thats fine for her.
tldr: she will do anything to get what she wants, but given what she wants is so vague/distant she does'nt always seem it as shes willing to compromise on short term wants that are normally just curiosity to benefit her long term wants.
9. Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?
ohh this is hard to pin down.
for the quotes: theres one spesific screenshot that floats around tumblr about how people misunderstand ruthlessness and it describes the goal oriented nature of it and its so her<3 i cannot find it rn and thats a tragedy
for song lyrics: my playlist is here so ill just do my fav:
"He'll wrap you in his arms, tell you that you've been a good boy/He'll rekindle all the dreams/it took you a lifetime to destroy [...] but there won't be a single thing that you can do" from red right hand. it fits her so well but the last bit where it shows that you have no choice in whatever is happening to you<3 its her perfectly
the thing is shes so complex that its hard to think of something that so her that isnt very long, and her type of quote isnt the kind ive collected
18. Is your OC more cold and detached or up close and personal?
ohhh this is making me think.... mura makes these questions so unnecessarily complicated...
the thing is im leaning cold and detached because i can see her inner thoughts, where she is cold and detached most of the time, but externally, she is often detached, but cold not so much: and not very detached either, shes an observer when shes not the center of attention, and uses small gestures to mold someones view of her more than big gestures.
ok so actually answering: on her own, or in a situation where peoples long term opinion on her will never matter: cold and detached all the way. however, that rarely happens, and with the crusade, its happening even less, so she is outwardly personal but still a bit detached
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alfheimr · 1 year
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Please tell us more about Asfrith, or the Of Silver Spring setting in general, that art was so beautiful and intriguing, and there’s so little in the tag! I must know more 😍
oouuuughhh ;o; i am very shy about sharing original stuff but im trying to be more open about these things.. im very happy you asked!!! of silver spring (oss for short) is the title of a story ive had in my brain for years that i am trying to make Real and Into A Comic. which as it turns out is a lot of work!!! oss follows the story of luka, who more or less wakes up from a 500 year nap and has no idea whats going on.
im trying to think of what i can share about asfrith that wont just be a jumbled mess without full context… HMMM… well… in the world of oss, gods are given form & power relative to belief, whether that be in reverence or fear. cities, towns, etc tend to be built around a god's given geographical domain. Back In The Day, these places would either elect or experience Divine Intervention Or Whatever To Choose a single person to commune with their gods. asfrith was one such person (titled warden, elected). luka served a similar role (titled speaker, which is the more common term, and was chosen through Divine Intervention Or Whatever). eventually people realized this was a bad system and abandoned it. in conjunction with the whole God Being Eaten thing, asfrith's city no longer exists as it was swallowed and eroded by a migrating sand dune. asfrith is probably the only person who remembers their god's name now……………
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why luka would hang out with such a villain who would eat god…………………….well………..hopefully everyone will find out when. the comic is made. hahahah (bursts into tears)
also - there is some more oss lore and concept stuff in this digital sketchbook!!! it's free unless you happen to want to pay more than $0 for it, in which case it's not free.
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Chemistry
That Which Binds You IV
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Pairing: Stark!Peter x Blackcat!Reader
A/N: Just wanted to drop in and say that if anyone wants to be tagged you can join my taglist (linked below) or just let me know xx
Summary: You and Peter grow closer while working on some homework
Taglist
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
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You knit your brows, studying the canvas in front of you with critical eyes. You’d been given an assignment to paint the view outside of one of your windows. Landscapes had always given you trouble and while it wasn’t a totally horrendous view, you were still miserable. They wanted you to prove your technical skills, which seemed pointless since you’d already made it into the school. Luckily MJ’s classes ran later than yours, so you’d had a couple hours of quiet time to work on your base before she got home.
“Knock, knock, I brought coffee, and Peter,” MJ cracked the door with a smile.
You glanced over your shoulder, giving them a quick nod of acknowledgement before you turned back to the painting, “Hey.”
“Oh,” MJ looked over the art supplies you’d sprawled under the window “What are you painting?”
“I’m supposed to paint the view outside of one of my windows,” you sighed, “It’s not going well.”
“I think it looks great so far,” Peter smiled brightly and held a coffee out to you, “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I just got you what I like.”
“It’s basically just caramel syrup,” MJ wrinkled her nose, “Disgusting.”
“Well I’ve got a sweet tooth so I’m sure I’ll like it,” you smiled and took a sip of the sugary drink, “Thanks Peter.”
“You’re welcome,” his eyes were glued to your painting, “I can’t believe you can do all that, it’s really amazing.”
“Thanks, that’s really sweet of you,” you chewed on your bottom lip while you tried to color match some windows, “It’s kind of shitty right now, but hopefully it’ll look better when I finish.”
“It looks fantastic as is, you’re just your own worst critic you know?” Peter tried to assure you.
You nodded, “Yeah, I’ve never liked doing landscapes, I think that’s probably what’s making me hate it.”
“What do you like to paint then?” Peter questioned.
You felt your cheeks warming as you spoke, “People mostly.”
“Oh like portraits or something?” MJ asked.
“Uh, yeah, sometimes,” it felt awkward to explain your art in front of Peter, it made you nervous for some reason, “I do all sorts of stuff, just more oriented around people.”
“I’d love to see your work sometime,” Peter smiled innocently, unaware of the butterflies that he had filled your stomach with, “I bet it’s all really amazing.”
“Well the canvases take up a lot of room so I keep them in storage, but I’ll show you my sketchbook sometime,” you promised.
You didn’t know why you agreed to actually show him your art when just talking about it had made you nervous. If he would stop smiling at you all the time it would have made it a lot easier to tell him no.
Peter’s eyes lit up excitedly at your promise, “I can’t wait.”
“Peter’s a pretty good artist,” MJ added, “He helps his dad design stuff sometimes.”
“Really?” you furrowed your brows. Peter had never struck you as the artsy type, “That’s cool Peter.”
“Thanks,” he flushed, “I mean it’s pretty simple stuff, not like that,” he motioned back to your painting.
“What do you help him with? Like weapons or something else?” you questioned.
“Sometimes, I’ve helped him more on the superhero side of things,” he explained, “Some logos and stuff…”
“Huh,” you cocked your head curiously, “I always wondered if there was a super suit design team or something.”
“No, it’s just my dad,” Peter chuckled, “He gets really into it. I bet you’d be really good at stuff like that.”
You fought the urge to laugh, “Clothing design would be new for me, but maybe I’ll give it a try sometime.”
Unbeknownst to Peter you actually had plenty of experience in the area. Before Fisk you didn’t have an identity, but your jobs got a lot more dangerous after he’d come along. Blackcat was born out of necessity, you need some way to protect yourself and conceal your identity. You had designed and later built the suit yourself, inspired by the superheroes you’d watched growing up. You’d even stolen the idea for the grappling hooks directly from Spiderman.
“I think I’ve earned a little break,” you sat your brush down once you realized you weren’t getting any work done and stretched your arms above your head, “If I stare at this any longer I’m gonna go crazy.”
“Good call,” MJ fell onto her bed while you cleaned up, “Are you going out again tonight?”
“I’ve got a few things to finish then I was going to head to Heathers,” you hummed, “I can head to the library though if I’m going to be in your way.”
Peter shook his head and interjected, “No, you should stay, we can all study together, it’ll be fun.”
You nodded, “Right, well just let me know if I get in your way.”
“You won’t,” he assured, “We don’t have much to work on anyway.”
“Yeah, we’ll actually be done pretty quick, maybe we could all go party together,” MJ suggested, smiling hopefully at you.
If you were actually going to a party you might have said yes, but unfortunately you’d actually be working.
You scrambled to think of some sort of excuse, “Uh, yeah, maybe sometime, but I don’t know if we can tonight. We’re going to a club, so you guys would need fakes.”
“Oh, yeah, we definitely don’t have those,” MJ frowned, “Well maybe next time you go to a regular party we can all go together.”
“Yeah, next time we’ll all go together,” you knew you should have told them no, but you actually liked the idea of all going out together, “You guys don’t really strike me as partiers.”
“We aren’t really, our friends are all more the stay at home type,” Peter admitted, “But it’d probably be fun with you.”
“I’m sure we’d have fun Peter,” you agreed, trying to imagine where he might fit in at a party, “I mean you're a Stark aren’t you? Partying is in your blood.”
“Yeah, I guess it is,” he bit his lip, “But I don’t think I’m really a good dancer or anything.”
“I’m sure (y/n) can give you some pointers,” MJ winked at him as she began to empty her backpack, “What other classes did you need to work on (y/n)?”
“Chemistry,” you sighed and shook your head, “Which I suck at. I don’t understand why I need all these preliminaries for an art degree.”
“I could help you if you need,” Peter volunteered eagerly, “I-I mean I know that stuff pretty well.”
His pink cheeks and his big, hopeful brown eyes were too much for you. You felt like you might melt as you accepted the offer.
“That would be really nice actually, science definitely isn’t my strong spot.”
“I’m happy to help.”
“Thanks Peter.”
You dug out your chemistry book and invited him to sit beside you on your bed. He gave you his full attention while you did your best to explain the assignment but you barely understood it. Peter nodded along, seeming to understand exactly what they were asking for. It seemed much easier when he began explaining everything to you, he was a lot easier to listen to than your professor.
“Can you explain the difference between an ion and an isotope?” you questioned, failing to notice that MJ had climbed off of her bed.
“Yeah, an ion has either gained or lost electrons, so they have an electrical charge,” he pointed to the pictures in the book as he explained, “And an isotope is a version of an element with a different number of neutrons that it normally has.”
“Ah, okay,” you scribbled down his explanation in your notes.
MJ had to clear her throat to finally gain your attention, “I’m gonna run downstairs and grab some snacks, do you guys want anything?”
Peter shook his head, “No, thank you though.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you turned to Peter as she left, “Thank you so much Peter, I hope I’m not cutting into your study time too much.”
Peter shook his head, “You aren’t, I don’t have much to do.”
“You’re really sweet,” you complimented, his cheeks flushed almost instantly, “I think I can finish it up. Would you mind checking it out when I’m done though?”
“Of course not,” Peter made no move to leave your bed when he pulled out his own work, “I’m gonna work on some stuff while you finish up then.”
“Yeah, of course, thank you so much.”
You sat together quietly until MJ returned. She held a bag of Hot Cheetos in her arm, which caught Peter’s eye right away.
“Oh Cheetos, sweet,” Peter smiled and reached for the bag.
“No way,” she swatted his hand away, “You said you didn’t want anything, these are all mine.”
“Well I didn’t know they had Hot Cheetos,” he argued, emphasizing the word hot like it might strengthen his plea, “Come on, just a couple?”
“No way,” she shook her head, “Get back to your homework.”
You giggled, “You guys remind me of me and Heather.”
MJ fell onto her bed with a hum, “Heather was the girl we met at your right?”
You nodded, “Yep.”
“Cool, and you guys are related right?”
“Not by blood, but we were in a group home together,” you explained, “She’s like my sister, but she's technically my foster sister. Do you guys have any siblings?”
“I’m an only sibling,” MJ answered, “They got it perfect on the first go so there was no need for them to try again.”
Peter rolled his eyes at her before answering, “I have a little sister, well half sister, she’s only 5 though.”
“She’s adorable,” MJ added, “And totally obsessed with Peter, she thinks he’s like the coolest person alive.”
“That’s sweet,” you laughed, imagining some cute little version of Peter that followed him around everywhere, “I always thought it’d be fun to have a younger sibling.”
“Heather’s older than you right?” MJ glanced back down at her notes, trying to seem uninterested in the answer.
“Only by like nine months, but if you ask her, those nine months have made her infinitely wiser.”
“So is she in school or something too?”
“No, school was never really her thing,” you narrowed her eyes suspiciously, MJ had never had an interest in Heather any other time you’d mentioned her, “I stayed with her the summer before I moved in here.”
“Really?” MJ inquired, her eyes only darted from her book for a moment, “Does she live alone or with a boyfriend or something?”
You shook your head, your lips drawing to a smirk as she confirmed your suspicions, “No, she lives alone. She almost moved in with a guy she was seeing in high school, but luckily she didn’t.”
MJ frowned, “Yeah, high school sweethearts don’t usually last.”
“Mhh hmm,” you hummed, glancing towards Peter to see if he’d caught on but he’d already turned his attention back to his textbook, “Well he was a total douche when she came out so, you know.”
MJ perked up again, her eyes darting up to meet yours, “Bi?”
You shook her head, “Pan.”
“Ah,” MJ nodded and turned right back to her homework, “He sounds like a douche.”
“Yeah he totally was, not even cute either,” you knew Heather would be mad if you didn’t put in a good word for her, “She thought you were pretty cute though, so I guess she’s gotten better taste since then huh?”
MJ flushed, “I guess she did.”
“I thought so,” you noticed Peter had perked up, his corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he realized what was going on.
“You should bring her when we all go out together,” he suggested.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure she’d love to tag along,” you agreed.
A part of your brain was screaming at you to stop, reminding you that you shouldn’t be joking around with them or planning nights out together. You really liked hanging out with MJ and Peter though, and they were always inviting you along with them. Was it really so bad if you wanted to return the favor?
The ugly image of Wilson Fisk flashed in your mind, reminding you of exactly why you weren’t supposed to befriend them. He had made it clear to you that he wouldn’t accept another mess up on your next job. Hammerhead had cargo coming in on Wednesday, and Fisk wanted you to slip in there and steal some shipment plans coming with it. The job was easy enough, the only real challenge was figuring out where exactly he’d be bringing everything in. It was the kind of job you’d done for Fisk a million times, but you couldn’t help being a bit more nervous than you usually were. Fisk had told you multiple times that he had eyes everywhere, and you knew he’d have no problem hurting Peter or MJ or anyone else if he thought they were distracting you.
“(y/n)?” Peter called your name, bringing you back to reality with the sweet sound of his voice, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry, I just zoned out for a second,” you cleared your throat and glanced back at your homework, “Could you look this over now? I think I got it but I want to be sure.”
Peter nodded, “Yeah, no problem.”
next chapter
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Taglist:
@spideyssunshine​ @spideyspeaches​ @niallsvirgosun​ @namoreno​ @thevery-firstpage​ @roseke​ @tomsirishgirlx​ @emistrash​ @peachyafshawn​ @andreagf956​ @agbspidey​ @zspideyy​ @sleepybesson​ @misshale21​ @nj01​ @raajali3​ @prancerrparkerr​ @ellabellabus07​ @xoxomaterialgirl​ @belovedholland​ @mayal0pez​ @rednights​ @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah​ @minjix​ @holyhumorliteraturelight
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ownerofthisaccount · 7 months
Text
Hello again everyone! This was probably not the next part you hoped for but I hope I can explain well.
@raisans-art has made some really good AUs, such as the Human Illusion Au. One of them is the Chimera Emmet Au where Emmet is captured and experimented on, turning him into Agee after being fused with his Pokémon. Those who watched episode 4 of Fullmetal Alchemist are getting flashbacks
Well, they made a quick sketch of if Ingo was the one turned, called Chei, and I made a drawing for that afterwards because I have enjoyed both designs. As a child I loved transformations and stories of experiment or body horror, so that’s probably a factor. I later drew a mini comic for it detailing how the first night would go down, as well as a side comic of ghost Emmet. I made hints that a part two would come, and even released a WIP of one of the images. Well…I can’t say it won’t ever happen, perhaps months later, but I don’t think I will finish it right now(most of the betas were deleted anyway, either on purpose for space or by accident because of fat fingers). I have Aspergers, and I can hyperfixate on things. This can be for weeks, months, years, even forever in a couple cases. Chimera Emmet happened to be one of those(the twins are still an interest, but I got into several AUs based on them because of it) and I been seeing it since it’s early stages when Emmet was still himself in there. I just didn’t have the courage to fanart it till Chei came out as I love both but lean more to drawing Ingo. I have really enjoyed drawing the two and seeing their interactions, how this bad end line would go, and mentally thinking up things. It was also nice to see other people’s excitement over this and sees their asks created more drawings and pieces. Not recently I’ve been feeling the start of the interest drop. I hate when this happens because you love the thing but you can feel yourself slowly drift from it and it…sucks. I have the outlines ready to be draw but not the push or energy to complete it. I did managed to finish one, being a drawing of the remaining four Pokémon and Pels going to Juniper and Drayden, but unfortunately this was one of the ones that got accidentally deleted and I can’t recover it(which was possibly another push). On top of that I have actually started doing commissions, and being these and the two projects I’m working on(my graphic novel and my favorite list), Ive been a bit drained myself. I have betas for a couple though that were detailed enough to be salvageable, so I won’t put them to waste.
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This was supposed to be Chei reading the floor apology made by Agee, anxiously waiting for a response.
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This one was supposed to be Ingo’s spirit sensing something wrong, while Agee comforts a weakened Chei while they think of a way to escape.
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And my personal favorite, Ingo’s spirit panicking while Emmet’s spirit starts trying to piece together what happened while wishing he was still alive because Chei and Agee would make for an interesting double battle duo(even in death he thinks of battle strategies)
It saddens me to not have full pictures to share, but I won’t leave you empty handed. I’ll share what I was thinking up if I made the final two parts: so after the first night, Chei wakes up to find a poorly drawn apology on the floor from Agee, who still feels guilty for hurting their friend(and shocked when they see Chei is healed) by accident. Though not fully forgiving yet, Chei accepts the apology and slowly starts being less cautious around Agee. Eventually this comes to head when Agee protects Chei from a threat(most likely the scientists) which fully gains the latter’s trust so the two begin to become friends. During this the remaining four mons meet up with Pels(given this Au has mostly the same beginning, Pels still tagged along and escaped the scientists during the chaos that was capturing Ingo) and reluctantly decide the best course of action is to try to tell others, as they feel with Pels with the they could possibly convince someone. Ingo and Emmet’s souls are in limbo, not having moved on due to the circumstances of their deaths(I headcanoned in my ghost Emmet comic that he couldn’t move on until he knew that Ingo was alright and moving forward, so here the two likely wouldn’t till they both pieced together what happened and got justice for the experiments) watch as time pass and the fusions truly become family. However Ingo senses something is amiss and sure enough Chei is growing weaker. Unlike Agee, Chei is an unstable fusion due to the damage before the experiment. Agee colors dull in these bad conditions but Chei’s body and especially souls struggle to handle it, and start to unravel. Agee refuses to let his buddy die and decide to work with Chei to try to escape. That would’ve been part two. The final part would’ve been Chei and Agee combining their moves(multi train style) to break through the glass and begin and escape. They start breaking out everyone and fighting back the scientists when Chei grows too weak to fight and Agee protects him. Before they can be detained, Rescue arrive with the remaining Pokémon, Pels, and the humans fighting to incapacitate the scientists. Chei is wary around them since trust issues, but Agee is grateful for their help and lifts Chei onto his back to carry him. Once the scientists are defeated. The others help Agee out getting everyone outside where the chimera lays Chei down. The fusion would’ve curled up under a tree with Agee and the others by, leaving it ambiguous if Chei was getting better and healing, or peacefully passing away in a nicer area that wasn’t a cell. The final frame would’ve been the twins, now satisfied the experiments were freed and given justice, walking off into the afterlife together. Not a perfect story but I had fun with it. Now…I did prepare something to give you a nugget anyway:
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And here it is! Marshrill design was recently released and as someone who loves and theorize the twins becoming Pokémon, this was certainly up my alley and I had to draw at least a quick sketch. Hopefully it makes up for no huge comic update.
But anyway, final huge props to @raisans-art again and I hope you all still enjoyed this. Thank you all, and have a great rest of your day
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Last 7 Lines Tag
Third and final tag game, this one a combination. And just like every other time Ive done these tags, I will not listen to the rules <3 
So without furhter ado, @vacantgodling here are a selection of snippets for you, hope you’ll like them !
Maledictus (Book 1 : Translated)
Emilio looked down at the queen piece in hand. Cut from obsidian with what he could only describe as a thunderstorm swirling within. There was a connection, that he couldn't deny. But still, he couldn't fully believe that the Curio had chosen him.
"Tell me," he began, without looking at Ivan, "How did you find the pieces, and how were you so sure they'd chosen you?"
Emilio could make out Ivan's grin from the corner of his eye. "I found them in an antique store in Stockholm a couple of years ago. It did feel odd that they were selling a third of a chess set. Bit you have to agree they're really pretty." he turned to Emilio who gave him a puzzled look. "And what use do you have with a third of a chess set?"
"The aesthetic," Ivan said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "But to answer your second question. I felt a pull the moment I held the box. Almost like they were calling to me. We didn't understand we'd been chosen until I showed the gang when they were at my place one time. When everyone got to hold their piece."
Emilio didn't try to hide his snort. A group of friends all become chosen by powerful curious, what are the odds?
"And now you're here"
"Excuse me?"
Ivan shifted in his position. With his arm on the bench's backrest, he looked at Emilio. "And now you're here. The Queen piece chose you."
"Which means? That I should join your group and do... whatever it is you do?" Ivan shrugged. "If you want to there is no one stopping you."
Emilio shook his head with an unimpressed grin. He handed the piece over to Ivan. "No thank you. You'll have to find someone else." Ivan's gaze never left Emilio’s brown eyes. Completely uninterested in the piece. Completely engulfed in something else. Emilio arched his eyebrow, qmd decided them and there that Ivan Fellin was a mystery he was eager to forget.
"You do as you will." Ivan said at last and reached his hand out to Emilio. But instead of taking the piece he curled Emilio's fingers around it. "But the Curio chose you. That you will have to live with." he stood up and adjusted the color of his jacket before looking back at Emilio.
"You know where you can find me, Emi." with a quick wink, Ivan was gone. And Emilio qas left with his hand tightly wrapped around the chess piece.
'Three conversations,' he thought. 'And you have gotten on my nerves every single time.'
Gammellunden
“Hello there.” Ruben smiled widely and knelt down beside the tomte. He smiled back, tipping his red hat in a silent greeting. “I think this is yours, if I’m not mistaken,” Ruben held out his hand, presenting the small wicker basket. “It’s a little broken, I’m sorry about that.” the tomte waved his hand dismissively and took the basket from Ruben’s palm. He ran his old hand over the snapped straws, sizing up the damage with well-trained eyes. Then, he moved his hands in quick, flowing motions; Tomte sign, given how only small children could hear them speak. 
“An easy fix. Thank you for retrieving it, my boy.” 
“Oh, it was nothing,” Ruben assured. “Is there anything you need help with?”
“No, not this time. But if I may?” the tomte put the basket down and reached for the small leather pouch secured at his hip. Pulling something out, he held his closed fist up to Ruben. The human held his freckled hand out once more, and the tomte placed a small item in the middle of his palm. A closer inspection revealed it to be a seed, shimmering like dew in the early morning sun.
“I’ve heard you've got quite the garden,” the tomte signed. “This one should do well in your collection. Though make sure to keep it in its own pot, the roots tend to get feisty with strangers.”
Ruben giggled, “I will. Thank you!”
To The End
No one ended up being little spoon. Instead they all clung to each other in a massive tangle with Samir in the middle. They lied in silence, way past the strike of midnight. All unsure if they the other’s were still awake. None brave enough to speak up. They simply snuggled up closer. Finding comfort in the way their scents mixed together almost too perfectly. How their slow breathing sung an almost too perfect symphony. 
It was comforting. It always was. And that night comfort was all they needed. Was all it took for their determination and courage to be fueled, almost overflowing. This was what they were fighting for. This is was made it all worth it. Every reset, every trial. If it just meant they could see each other again. Hear their voices, and touch their skins. It would be worth it. And when they’d make it out, they’d be free. To grow and learn to become better. To hear, see and touch more. 
This was it. Their final night.
Neon Lights (Book 2)
Their eyes turned tender, a faint creese forming between their brows.
"I know I haven't been honest. I know you feel hurt by what I've done, I'm not telling you to feel anything else. But please, just this one last time,” they reached their hand out further. “Trust me."
And he did. 
He stood on shaking legs, and ran. Forcing down the pain in his sprained ankle, kept his strides as even as he could- and once he’d made it to the edge, he jumped. Eyes locked on Epsilon he reached out, hanging above the dark pit with his heart in his throat. Hoping, praying, that Epsilon would catch him. And they did. 
“I got you!” their strong grip caught onto his lower arm, pulled him up to the landing. In an instant they'd wrapped their arms around him. André could feel Epsilon trembling, despite the Apex trying to hide it. And André couldn’t claim he was doing any better himself. 
“I got you, kid.” he heard Epsilon say in a hushed voice. Most likely only meant for them to hear. André let out a shaky breath, and returned the Narvartin’s hold. Held them tight as his nerves broke free, and the dread could finally be felt.
His eyes burnt, and before he knew tears were escaping.
"Hey, kid, it's alright," Epsilon said, their thumb drawing gentle circles on his shoulder. "You're safe now, I promise."
"I'm sorry-" André choked, not quite sure what he was apologizing for.
“There’s no need for that.”
Thank you for reading and I wish you the best year to come <3
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whitepassingpocs · 1 year
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i feel like a lot of native asks have come through lately, so here’s mine? in short, i feel conflicted about reconnecting as im more than just a couple of generations separated from my native ancestors.
ive grown up my whole life knowing about my indigenous ancestry and while understanding of the specifics was somewhat limited in the past few years ive managed to learn a lot. however despite all this, i feel as though because my ancestors are so many generations apart from me i don't have the "right" to reconnect? however on the other hand i also feel as though my family has managed to keep many cultural traditions, values, and teachings alive and well in our line. there's a lot of things as to why, from how you're supposed to treat elders, to how to hunt and the honor you owe the animal(s), and even so i have relatives who don't use their birth names but go entirely by nicknames they were given/earned later on, etc. i know blood quantum is made up and such but i feel like/wonder how many generations removed you are from your ancestry has to have some sort of significance? right? i am the first generation out of my family who doesn't live on what is our (forgive me for not knowing the correct term) "traditional homeland", im the first to live in a different state, different areas, etc. i feel like if i don't take the steps to try to get back in contact with our indigenous community then the opportunity may be lost for each generation after me, as im the first who is unlikely to be able to raise children in the community the generations before me had because of where i live now compared to my family. it makes me sad to think that i am potentially leaving behind my ancestors, or choosing a future where i don't remember or honor them and their values but at the same time i can't help but feel like it's unnecessary or unwanted for me to try to reconnect because there are other people who are "more native" who belong more/should have the opportunity over me. i feel like just because i want something doesn't mean i should get to have it? i want to learn more about traditions my family lost and be more in touch with traditional teachings, and arts, and so much more not only just for myself but to be able to pass these things on to my children and truly honor where we came from i just feel conflicted as to whether or not it's my place to (have the opportunity) do so and am looking for some guidance from someone who's been somewhere similar or maybe even the same place? i know that nobody can make any choices for me, but i feel like between you and the community you've built here that could potentially help me somehow- whether it be through everyone's own experiences or just links to places where others have been through something similar and i would be incredibly grateful for that. thank you.
tldr: i worry i am not native enough/too far generationally from my native ancestors to bother reconnecting/be worthy of such an opportunity that i wonder if doing so is something i should even attempt or continue to consider. is there some truth to what i am saying or is it just blood quantum related stuff i should unlearn? are there any other people here who have many generations of separation between them and their indigenous ancestors who would like to weigh in with what they did? etc.
hello there. apart from checking out this blog's reconnecting tag for more advice, remember your culture is yours. it's as simple as that. it's not a pie chart or percentage, it's either something you have by blood or it isn't. your culture is yours because your ancestors are yours and their culture is yours, even with time between you. all those generations mean you have an unbroken ancestoral connection that's complicated, not diluted. adding milk to coffee doesn't mean the coffee isn't there anymore. I can't tell you how to live your life but I like to remind people that blood quantum is a colonial measurement that has nothing useful to say about WHO you are. It was the coloniser's tool. to paraphrase a great saying, the colonisers tools will never dismantle the colonisers house. you will never find reconnection in a paradigm designed for genocide. it's YOUR culture, your community and your family's culture - if you approach your learning and reconnection from a place of treating your initial connection as a fact rather than a fraction, that connection will only become stronger. wishing you all the best! If anyone has advice for anon, pls share!
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