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residenthughes · 3 months

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persuasion - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x fem reader

word count: 5.7k

tags/warnings: college/university au, fluff, slight angst?, fratboy! jack (he's sweet in this, dw), mentions of alcohol/drinking, no mention of y/n

summary: you get a bit more than you bargained for when paired up with all-american hockey star, jack hughes.

notes: hi. it's been a (long) while since i've posted on here. not to mention, i'm back writing about someone a bit different 😭 but i've recently gotten into the nhl and this fic is the result of me drunkenly coming across this photo a few days ago. despite the changes on this blog, i hope this post finds you well and that you enjoy this (poor) attempt of me getting back into writing. much love <3

The end of the semester couldn’t have come sooner. Swapped with what was possibly the busiest you’ve ever been, the sweet relief after submitting your last assignment was unparalleled and lulled you to a much deserved slumber, only to be awoken by a barrage of messages pinging from your bedside table. Disgruntled, your arm extends in search of your phone, groaning into your damp pillow as you blink away the tired film coating your eyes and read the messages from your best friend.

frat house party tonight, presence is mandatory!

all the girlies are onboard, your sexy ass better be ready by 9!

Another groan emits from you, exhaustion seeping through your bones at the mere mention of doing something else besides rotting in bed. You’re about to type some incoherent excuse, but your best friend beats you to it.

apparently, z and his guys are going.

chances are jack’s there too.

There’s a messy stutter in your chest upon reading the message and suddenly, you’re more awake than before as you gingerly sit yourself up in your bed. Of course, she’d mention he was going just to convince you further. You weren’t even aware she knew of your crush. Considering you hadn’t mentioned him much besides when asked, his name being referenced feels more intrusive than it should be. Then again, as perceptive as she is, there was no denying the fact.

Jack and yourself had worked on a group project earlier in the semester, which is how the two of you had crossed paths. Upon hearing of the task at hand, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh because you were never a fan of working with others you didn’t know, but considering none of your friends took your class, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get to know others and build your social circle. When your assigned group had got together towards the end of the lecture to discuss formalities and such, you hadn’t expected the whirlwind that was to come in the presence of a sandy brunette haired boy.

Jack is as easy-going as he is charming. Cracks a couple jokes and suddenly, all the ice isolating your group dissolves to water and there are constant hums of conversation bouncing off every member of your group. He’s nice too, considerate of everyone’s schedule and what tasks they felt confident in completing, never uttering a word of complaint unless warranted. It’s interesting, he’s interesting, you think to yourself. Perhaps due to the fact that since he’d revealed himself to be in a frat, you had some preconceived notions as to what his personality would be like and maybe at times, he’d fit that stereotype to a tee, there were other times he’d stray away from it completely and leave you curious as ever.

Peculiar is what you’d describe those few weeks to be, your interest gravitating towards any relation to Jack. Heart beating as you walked past your university’s ice arena, knowing he practically lived on the ice beyond his time in class. Eyes lighting up when he texted in the group chat, mental fuzziness plaguing you every time you sat across from one another as you completed your portion of work in the university’s library. You’d be a fool to dismiss the budding attraction you felt towards him, spinning your world round but also leaving you feeling so unsure of everything, yourself included. There’s no scarcity of girls who like him, it proved to be difficult resisting the All-American hockey star with looks to match. However, taking into account the sheer volume of attention directed his way everyday, your lingering glances didn’t seem to be much more significant. So, one-sided this crush remains to you, storing away the quiet memories of shared laughs and time spent together in a place close to your heart.

That was until he invited you to his game, shortly after your project had been submitted for assessment. You wanted to go, you wanted to go so badly that you agonised over the decision for longer than necessary, but ultimately, as you laid awake that night, eyes blazing red with fatigue, doom scrolling to further delay your dreams, the evidence for your answer surfaced. It was nothing but a silly Instagram post from one of his friends, Trevor Zegras, the boyfriend to one of your friends. A collection of typical photos: the boys, hockey and more of the antics they got to. It’s in the last slide where in the background of a recent football game is none other than Jack, in all his handsome glory, grinning ear to ear as a girl envelopes him in a hug that feels too intimate to be seen. Embarrassment runs your skin hot and jealousy leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, the thought of you entertaining anything more than platonic with Jack a pipedream at best. Naturally, there can be so many explanations for the photo, but what rings true is that you’ve made yourself vulnerable to heartbreak, which is nowhere to be found on your agenda. So, you call it a night, turning off your phone and hoping to put the crush behind you come tomorrow.

And, it works for a bit. Jack doesn’t text you further and you don’t run into him on campus. Summer soon approaches and the last few days before your break have you buzzing with excitement for all the plans you have lined up. Your world doesn’t hinge on every interaction you have with Jack and your mind is freed from the shackles of mulling over every detail in said interaction. It’s liberating and you’d like to keep it that way. A fleeting crush, you reason, all said and done with. A mantra you repeat to yourself as you respond back to your best friend, gleaming as you and your group chat discuss outfits options and pinterest inspired makeup looks.

There’s nothing better than being with your girls, you’re reminded, as the buzzing excitement never fizzles as the night stretches on. Controlled chaos dominates the night as you pack into one friend’s rooms to get ready together, helping each other with eyelash extensions and annoying back zippers. Someone makes the suggestion to drop by the campus bar for a drink or two, just to ease the nerves, and it turns out to be a great idea because by the time you stumble out of the bar and towards the frat house, the party’s in full swing.

Trashed lawn and red cup galore, the music somehow manages to reach outside the house with hoards of people dotted around and inside the house. With the merry buzz you’ve got from the bar, confidence details your movements as you lead your friends with clasped hands into the packed house, mumbling a thousand ‘sorry’s as you trample on through the crowded hallways to find yourselves in one (?) of the living rooms.

Hands suddenly grasp at yours and you’re thrown into a fit of giggles as your friends tangle themselves up in a messy but fun dance. You follow suit, fully relishing in the euphoria of the night and the found family you have in these girls as you dance and chatter until you have no choice to venture into the kitchen for a refreshment.

Surprisingly, the kitchen is vacant as you push through towards its door you were directed to, scanning the room amongst belongings to find some mixer for your helping of vodka stashed away in your purse. Despite your better judgement, you resort to apprehensively searching through cupboards on your tippy toes in search for mixer and as you’re about to open the last cupboard, the kitchen door opens.

“Looking for something?”

Goosebumps arise and your heart stills. You know that voice like the back of your hand, the same voice that echoes in the back of your mind and whispers sweet nothings in your ear when you dream. The fact that he’s so ingrained in your memory makes you curse at yourself, teeth gnawing on the plumpiness of your bottom lip as you attempt to recollect your racing thoughts. With a quiet breath, you sink back from your elevated posture and turn towards the source of the voice, blinking like a deer caught in the headlights.

It’s comical how such a simple sight renders you a loss for words. In the doorway of the large kitchen stands Jack, shoulder and head leaning against the doorframe as he looks at you with an expectant look and a cheeky grin to match. His legs are crossed at the ankles and he’s holding a beer, but he’s got this pearl white long sleeved polo on with washed out jeans and a black snapback to top it all off. The outfit in itself is so simple and yet, here you are, heart being sent into overdrive as the effortless combo drives you wild. Sets your skin alight and conjures up electricity that pulses through you like wildfire.

“Lemonade,” you gracefully croak out, gesturing towards your empty red cup. “I didn’t bring much to mix my drink with.”

“Here, I’ll help you with that,” he reassures you, bouncing off the door frame as he draws closer to you, your feet absently shifting a few steps backwards. “No need to back up. I don’t bite, you know?”

You huff at the comment, realising how foolish his mere presence makes you and will yourself to relax, shoulders easing down from your ears as you watch Jack search through the cupboards. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for, pulling out a large bottle of lemonade that coasts against the marble of the countertop.

“Feel free to use as much as you like, I never usually have this myself anyways.” insists Jack, turning himself around with his back against the countertop, arms crossed his chest with a peering eye directed to you.

“How thoughtful of you.” you jester as a brief chuckle is shared between the two of you, the loud thumps of heavy bass music sounding from beyond the kitchen door as silence settles between the two of you.

“It’s been a while, how’ve you been?” he asks, undivided attention focused on you as you pour the last of the lemonade. If not for the embarrassment of spilling your drink in front of him, the unsolicited awareness he’s currently given you would have resulted in exactly that, so you stop yourself and give him a convincing smile.

“I’ve been good, thanks. It’s the end of the academic year, I have no more complaints,” you muse, bringing the cup to your lips as you peer over the rim to look at Jack, his long lashes fluttering as his focus remains you. Your heartbeat picks up its pace. “What about you? Frozen four’s a big deal, but winning the championship is even bigger.”

Jack gives a lighthearted laugh, smugness adjusting his posture as his shoulders move back and his chest puffs out. Meanwhile, he gives this half shrug and grin that has heat gravitating towards the apples of your cheeks. It’s one of the things you like about Jack, how confident and sure of himself he is without it being overbearing and unappealing. It feels assuring, not having to dim your own light for the sake of his own comfort.

“Yeah, that was nuts, I can’t lie. We had a really good run and I think our efforts really showed for themselves in that case,” Jack responds, taking a swig of his beer. “Christ, I sound like I’m talking to the media or something.”

“Well, consider this practice for when you join Jersey in the future,” you simper, snickering as you take a sip of your own drink. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of fun speaking to the media.”

He gives an eyeroll, amusement prominent in the way his eyes twinkle and you can't help but laugh more. “So you say. How did you even know about Jersey?”

Your laugh is cut short, ice cold realisation washing over you like a bad hangover as his words hang in the air like a gauntlet waiting for its descent. Of course, this was nothing to be caught off-guard by considering how much your university boasts about how Jack, amongst other talented players, were drafted before committing to your university. However, the painful memory of you awake one late night doesn’t escape you, said night spent hesitantly typing his name into Google to come across all the info you knew to confirm how great of a hockey player he was. You feel shameful even looking him in the eyes right now.

So, your eyes stray from him, the somewhat sticky floor being the source of all your interest. “Who doesn’t know? Our uni does a good job of reminding us of everyone that’s been drafted.”

You decide to spare a glance at Jack, taking in how a pinkish hue decorates the surface of his cheeks as his lone hand goes to scratch the back of his neck. The timidity that clouds his movement evokes a simper out of you, one that you direct into your cup, its contents rapidly draining under the weight of your continued conversation.

“Oh, man. Maybe, I shouldn’t have asked that,” he jokes, smile all pearly white and heart fluttering. “Can’t blame a guy for being nervous, no?”

“Nerv-”

Suddenly, the kitchen door bursts open and a flood of drunken students come barrelling in, hollering as their drinks splash to the floor and chaos ensues. You’re just as confused at their unexpected appearance as you are at the comment Jack made, but before you have a chance to ponder further, a warm hand settles against the small of your back followed by the gentle waft of Jack’s aftershave, a mixture sea salt with a hint of lavender and spicy nutmeg. It takes everything in you for your knees not to buckle.

“Let’s head out back.” he whispers, breath fanning over your neck as his fingertips ignite fire against your skin.

Abruptly, you clear your throat, mindlessly nodding along as you blindly follow him out back, Jack’s larger build serving as a shield of sorts as he seamlessly navigates his way through the hordes of students. He does so with your hand in his and as much as your internal monologue unleashes panicked squeals at the contact, you revel in his touch - calloused hands that hold yours like porcelain, warm hands that match together like the universe and all its stars.

A cool breeze blankets your skin and your focus shifts from your inner thoughts, taking in the generous and lush green outdoor space with sparse camping chairs circling a bonfire and a large tree further up ahead draped in fairy lights. There’s some people here too, but the atmosphere is a 180 from the mayhem inside, hushed light-hearted conversations exchanged beside the lit bonfire with the faint smell of weed filtering through the crisp air. The dazzling fairy lights blind you into bumping into Jack’s back, apologising with a laugh before he collapses onto the daisy white hammock before you.

You follow suit with the carefree attitude Jack gives you, but you miscalculate horrendously because you don’t fall into the place beside your crush, but into his lap. Shock runs through your veins like ice as your bewilderment freezes you in place, mouth gaping open as you turn to face Jack in absolute horror. He seems to fare better with the unexpected contact, enlarged azure eyes showing his awe and yet his hands are in all the right places - supporting your waist as your weightless body struggles to hold its own.

“I’m-“ the hairs on your neck are standing and you’re close to crying, the heat of your mortification burning your body hot like a furnace. “-so sorry. I didn’t-I didn’t even-“

“Relax, you’re good,” the chill of his beer against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, the feeling intensifying by the thousands as Jack’s thumb gives your exposed skin the smallest caress. You’re sure you’re the personification of shock at how every inch of your features displays pure alarm. “Unless this was your plan?”

You’re shoving him before your brain is able to comprehend its commands, your flustered state leaping out of his lap and collapsing back alongside him this time, hands clasped over your eyes as you take the time to maybe calm down. “What frat house even has a hammock anyways?”

“Rachel - Z’s girl - thought it’d be a nice touch for the garden,” you hear Jack mumble, but you’re too busy nursing your ego to fully immerse in conversation. “You’re friends with her, right? You guys came in together.”

“Keeping an eye out for me, Hughes?”

Apparently, your ego isn’t as bruised to make such a comment, a smirk finding itself onto the surface of your face as you’ve yet to remove your hand from your vision.

“It’s hard to keep my eyes off you.”

You freeze in place, the heaviness in your stomach incomparable with the hammering of your heart against your chest as your brain picks apart Jack’s comment at the speed of light. None of the comments Jack has made throughout your entire conversation have gone over your head, the flirty undertones as clear as day. He wasn’t as up front with his compliments when you two first started working together, the furthest compliment he’d given denoting how nice you looked despite rolling out of bed twenty minutes beforehand. His directness makes your eyebrows furrow, or rather his intentions have you looking around as if you could find some answers. Perhaps this is how Jack is at parties - all pleasant with a careful flirtation that gradually pulls you inwards. Or maybe, this simply is the case of him showing his interest in you. The concept is not lost on you, but there is still apprehension that manifests within you, for reasons you are yet to discover.

You’re about to say something, your parted lips issuing a single incoherent syllable that dissolves on your tongue when the faint murmur of country music from a group of guys up ahead takes your notice, Jack’s nose scrunching with delight as he exclaims, “Ah, what a banger.”

Your eyebrow quirks upwards, merriment spreading against your features. “I never pegged you as the country type.”

“Well, I’m not a Drake guy, I’ll tell you that much.” Jack shifts in his seat, extending his arm out behind your back.

“So, a belieber then?” you jester, taunting eyebrows raised as you can’t keep your snicker to yourself when you watch Jack roll his eyes with the same grin.

“If that makes you happy, then yeah,” Jack reasons nonchalantly, whereas you make a pathetic attempt at stopping the stammer in your chest. “But no, that’s pretty much all that plays when my brothers and I wakesurf in the summer, unless Z is on the aux. Then, he and Quinn have a go at each other for it.”

Chuckles emit from your lips as you picture the image of a sunny summer day out on a boat, Jack’s older brother, Quinn, and Trevor becoming enemies of silence as they bicker over music choices. A warm fuzziness embraces you, the image placing you right beside Jack as laughter bubbles between the two of you whilst Luke wakesurfs in the background. It’s a honeyed depiction, all rose-tinted and for you to hold close to your heart along with other fantasies you allow yourself to entertain.

“We’re planning on going back to our summer house upstate where we do loads of other stuff,” Jack trails off, his fingers tapping against the glass of his bottle as you two share a look between each other. His eyes flicker downwards almost immediately, the top of his ears crimsoning. “You should stop by sometime. It’d be good to see you over the summer.”

For someone as confident as Jack, these rare glimpses of timidity demonstrate themselves as a pure anomaly. So, you can imagine your surprise at not only his incredibly generous offer but also his sheepish demeanour; gaze never aligning with yours as you feel his fingers fiddle with the material of the hammock behind your back. The sight enamours you, a rush of endearment washing over you as you lean into the feeling, not bothering to hide the wide smile growing across the expanse of your face.

If this is what awaits you at their summer house, you’re already packed and ready to go.

“I could be persuaded.” Jack’s already rolling his eyes and against his better judgement, he finds himself chuckling with you too.

When your amusement blends into the night sky, Jack's eyelids fall halfway, gaze steady as he mirrors your prior smirk that’s all but gone with the quiet wind. “And, what would that involve?”

A moment is shared between the two of you. Burning bright like a star and erupting fireworks in your fingertips as your eyes linger on one another longer than explanatory. The landscape of his dotted moles capture your attention first, your sight leading itself to the galaxy-like twinkle dazzling in the ocean blue of his eyes. It’s so precious, this point in time - so delicate and intimate that it feels like a secret, whispers of infatuation pulling you together by their invisible strings as Jack’s extended arm circles your shoulders. You lean in, the temptation of his lips calling your name. Earlier restlessness ceases to exist as your movements read as second nature, the bruising of your chest accompanying the fuzziness that dances in your stomach as Jack leans into too.

“Yo, Jack!”

The moment is all but gone, burst like a bubble as both your heads turn in the direction of the voice, spying one of Jack’s friends, Cole, standing on the porch with a hand clasped around his mouth.

“Get your ass in here, we’re playing Jenga!”

A string of unpleasantries filter through Jack’s mouth in the form of a murmur, remnants of your interrupted kiss lingering as Jack gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and gives you the most apologetic look you’ve ever seen. Puppy eyes and pouty lips, an image you lock away in your heart forever.

“Did you wanna head in?” He gives you the choice, head tilted to the side as he studies your expression whilst you ponder the inquiry.

The almost kiss is something to behold and if this has occurred weeks prior amidst the intensity of your crush, you would have begged and pleaded to stay, hinging on the hopes of whatever this is being fabricated once again to fulfil your fondness dreams. But, this feels different. It feels sold, as opposed to balancing upon shaky possibilities. This is undeniable, a point in time that is infinite and kissed upon by destiny. A junction you can return to time and time again.

“Yeah, I’m sure my friends are looking for me anyways,” you unravel yourself from Jack’s loose grip, hoisting yourself up before you turn to face him with a soft beam. His expression reads unsure, gaze scattered before he looks upwards before your sneakers knock against his impossibly white Air Forces. You nod towards the house, the giddiness building within you exceptional as your hand extends out to meet his. “Let’s head in together?”

It comes out more of a question than a statement, but you could care less when Jack gives you that soft smile that’s only reserved for you, grabbing a hold of your hand after he brings himself off the hammock before you proceed to return back to the party.

The bustling atmosphere appears to have maintained itself in your absence, hundreds of conversations mixing in with the booming sounds of some bass heavy hip hop song. You nod your head to the beat, grinning when you see familiar faces in the crowd as you trail behind Jack yet again, following him in promise of your friends who Cole had mentioned joined their group’s game of Jenga. You make do with getting down the stairs of the basement without tumbling due to their frigid nature, face instantly lighting up as you catch sight of your friends, collapsing into a fit of excited hugs and shared giggles as you all catch up on the events of the party.

Amidst all the dialogue, some of which you’re assuming Jack’s sorority brothers and friends make quick work of getting the bare room ready, arranging beers for everyone as the box of Jenga is brought out. The weight of concentrated eyes seers into your goosebump-riddled skin and by the time you volunteer to assemble the Jenga tower, you’re more than aware of Jack’s attention on you. Even with how overflowing the confidence you possessed was as you left the back garden, the heat of his gaze reduces you to a sheepish mess, antsy hands uncertain of their movements as you attempt to achieve some standard of normalcy, your eyes avoiding his. It’s when your hands accidentally touch that you cannot avoid it much longer, peering through clumpy eyelashes with a flush that feels as vivid as painted glass.

A lone corner of his lips inclines, his look of allurement tangled with blatant attraction enough to make you knock over some of the Jenga pieces. A deep chorus of disapproving sounds holler at your actions, your sheepishness fended off by the laughter amongst you and Jack as you continue to assemble the tower again, this serving as the last of your communication before the Jenga game commences.

Every Jenga piece taken out of the tower involves a dare that has laughter erupting from the pits of your stomach or mouth gaping open at the gull others possess whilst intoxicated. With the muffled sounds of the music upstairs and endless talk in the room, merriment captures your heart in a gentle squeeze as the dares carry on, the harmless fun quickly becoming one of your favourite memories in recent times.

It’s your turn to go and the frat guys are already teasing you with endearing nicknames, putting a smile on your face as your hands steady to pull out a tricky Jenga piece with ease. Wooden block in hand, your line of vision skims the chicken scratch of a dare with an effortless glee that’s swiftly replaced with plentiful surprise.

“What does it say?!’ exclaims Trevor, the anticipation in his voice evident as he squeals his words.

You’re reducing to your meek self again, not daring to look upwards as you enunciate your words to aid your own comprehension. “Spend seven minutes in heaven with the player across from you.”

You’re unsure whether the universe has some really good jokes up their sleeve or this is just fate to begin with because when you lift your head up, already knowing, Jack’s amused facial expression speaks for itself.

Hollers and cheers fill the room, enough pandemonium to make you crimson as you stumble to your feet, casting a peek at your best friend with a cross between disbelief and delight. Your best friend, the same one that texted you about Jack’s presence at the party tonight, bawls her hand into a tight fist, bringing it to her chest as a sign of victory with mischief painted all over her. The ridiculousness of this farce eliminates you from ruminating about what awaits you in the closet a mere metres away. The guy most pleased with the situation opens the closet door, a few brooms pushed back into the compact space that is surprisingly clean with no cobwebs or dust in sight.

“All clean and ready for you two lovebirds,” Trevor grins with the keenness of a kid in a candy store, pushing back his long locks of hair as he sends a wink your way. “Don’t get too carried away in there, you’ve only got seven minutes.”

Jack says something in reply to Trevor’s cheeky comment but you’re too preoccupied by your own thoughts, feet carrying you to the fate of your Jenga dare as the door closes and darkness shrouds you.

It’s silent for a minute, nothing but soft breaths and dulled whispers from outside the closet door. The closet is dangerously compact, your back up against the wall not sparing you from establishing your own personal space, the slightest shift of your shoes inevitably going to knock against Jack’s. Outside in the back garden feels so far away now, slipping through your hands as if sand with the daunting weight of unsaid expectations folding your arms and clearing a stubborn croak in your throat.

As the seconds tick on and no communication is shared, the everlasting laps you round around your mind exhaust you for the last time and you decide to face whatever this is head on, a start being making eye contact with the man that makes it the hardest thing in the world. However, with the tiniest sliver of dimmed light peaking through underneath the closet door, you can see him. Jack, in all his glory - soft and boyish, all charming in nature. The round pool blue of his eyes and the moles that dot his skin like constellations. It’s a rush of emotions, all raw and bare, to overwhelm and comfort you, with the easiness of his smile that directs your way and warms your heart like no other.

“We don’t have to do anything in here, I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable,” Jack explains, his hand reaching to drag down one side of his face as his eyes cast away. “I hope you know that.”

This - you feel resolute in - establishing some sense of security in this room as you smile up at Jack. “The thought didn’t even cross my mind.”

There’s a double meaning in your words and you don’t bother to correct yourself, reading in between the lines cementing itself as your favourite pastime. But, Jack knows and so do you. Perhaps you knew all along that every nook and cranny in your heart was specially reserved for Jack and no other could do. Maybe, you spent so much time in your head because this unexplored territory felt like the birth of the universe, so big and beautiful that it had more questions than answers. A forbidden fruit of sorts - a sweet mirage that the more you pulled away, gravity pulled you right back. A place where you belonged - with him in this moment forever sealed between the two of you.

Jack offers a smile in the wake of your thoughts, timid yet teasing in nature and you can’t resist, in the almost dark of the closet, grin too because this was sealed from the very beginning. Alone with infamous fratboy Jack Hughes, under some sort of awkward pretence bringing you together because you let your fears get the best of you, a stark contrast to what they are now - engulfed in thoughts, feelings of your lips against his and how this charade will come to a close, the building tension boiling till it overflows

“Hey-” you both say at the same time, silencing as you chuckle at the unison you unite in.

“Ladies first.”

“I’m more interested in what you have to say.”

Because there’s no doubt in your mind he’ll steal the words right out of your mouth, the mere thought of those words escaping his lips the centre of all your desires.

He pauses, eyes searching yours for confirmation which presents itself in the toothy grin he struggles not to reflect, canine sinking into the corner of his lips before he responds, “If you insist.”

Jack doesn’t miss a beat as he reaches for your hand, absently tracing patterns into the skin with a thoughtful hum that proceeds his words.

“I think I’ve been a lot more straightforward with how I feel about you, but I’d like to chance to tell you right here that I’m interested in you, in being with you. To the point that the boys get sick of me yapping about it,” you chuckle at his comment, the humour of the joke distracting you from the flood of emotions that submerges you indefinitely. “I felt this way from the time we got assigned to work together. And, if maybe you had any reservations about us, I’d do whatever it takes so that they don’t exist because you’re what matters most and that will never change.”

No feeling can compare to this. It’s almost as if you’re experiencing the full spectrum of emotions for the first time, rejoicing in the sunshine Jack basks upon you in the wake of his confession. A mirage turned reality, the colours are bright and blinding and you’re so elated within yourself that you physically cannot do more than bring Jack’s hand to your cheek to kiss his palm. A confirmation that needs no words.

The warmth of his hand against your cheek melts you into his skin, eyelids falling shut as you revel in the tender caresses of his thumb, of his love and the unspoken words between you. A graze against your throat has your eyes fluttering open, lips parted as Jack secures his hand gently against the nape of your neck. A soft inhale escapes you as his thumb traces the corner of your mouth, dilated pupils flickering between your own and your lips.

“Can I-”

“Yes, please.”

A star is born at the centre of your lips as they fold over one another, blending seamlessly together as you move together in synchronised harmony. You taste the remnants of beer, inhale his musky cologne and send yourself flying into another universe as Jack holds you close for impact. All your brain knows to do is convey your sentiment tenfold, kissing him as if touch starved as your fingers thread through the curls of his hair. You commit this to memory - the slowness of the kiss, the scent of his apple shampoo and his curls around your fingers, the feathery feeling of your fluttering heart and the tenderness of your hearts beating as one. So sickeningly besotted with another that everything pales in comparison.

Reluctantly, you pull away from his soft lips when the shared oxygen between you two vanishes, eyes slow to open but ultimately capturing the part of Jack’s rouge lips that quiver in your wake, his gaze meeting yours moments later.

You kiss him again for good measure.

“Alright, horny bastards. Time’s up!” Cole’s voice thunders from beyond the door.

Lips still pressed against Jack’s, you both smile into one last kiss, just as sweet as the last. Jack savours it for what it’s worth, forehead pressed against yours as you two stand together, bruised chests aching with all the yearning that can fit into your palms.

“Consider me persuaded.”

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bookworm551 · 6 months

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Take the Edge Off | Part 8 | Pillow Talk

You finally get a quiet moment of quality time with Miguel.

A/N: wooooooow It’s been a hot minute. I feel like I’m coming back to my neopets after abandoning them for years. Tbh I just needed to take a break, I’ve been working and going to school, so it’s been a lot. Anyways, I’ve come back to feed you before disappearing again for an unknown amount of time. Also, this is pretty self indulgent ngl, so this is for the praise kink girlies. Enjoy <3

Warnings: smut, overstimulation, the usual

Word count: 6.8k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9 Part 10

You woke up slowly the next morning. The soft light that flooded into the room caused you to stir lazily from your dreamless sleep. You stretched with a deep yawn, feeling a dull a soreness in your arms and shoulders that reminded you of all the things you had done with Miguel the night before.

You shifted under the covers and blinked your bleary eyes open. As your vision adjusted, you registered the figure of Miguel asleep next to you. He was positioned on his stomach with his face half-way buried in his pillow, and his back moved up and down slowly with his deep, even breaths. He had his arms tucked under his pillow, and there were some loose strands of hair that had fallen over his face. It took every ounce of your strength to not brush it aside for fear that you would wake him and break this quiet moment together.

You watched him for a second with a soft smile. Laying on your side, you admired his resting face. This was the first time you had ever woken up with him still there next to you. Every other time he had either left immediately or after you had fallen asleep. It was a nice change, and as you lay there quietly, you couldn't help but wish you woke up like this every day.

"I can feel you staring," Miguel grumbled quietly, startling you out of your reverie. You smiled sheepishly as he blinked his eyes open to look at you. They were still bleary with sleepiness, and his soft gaze warmed your chest.

"I didn't realize you were up," you stated, your own voice hoarse from sleep. He let out a little huff before closing his eyes again, not saying anything in return. "How long have you been awake?" You asked quietly. He sighed, not opening his eyes. "I woke up with your tossing and turning about 20 minutes ago," he replied finally.

You hummed and offered softly, "Sorry." You had gained a reputation in your life as a restless sleeper, and apparently, it didn’t matter how much he had worn you out the night before. "It's fine," Miguel grunted as he shifted and rolled onto his back. "I should've been up earlier than that."

You smiled. You were glad he had chosen to stay here, to let you see him like this. Knowing he was a busy man, it meant a lot to you. "Full schedule today?" you asked.

Miguel sighed, running a hand down his face. "The briefing for our mission is at noon," he said. "After that, I've got a stack of reports I need to review." That sounded boring to you, but you couldn't help but grin at his words: our mission. You had almost forgotten that he added you to the team, and the notion of working with Miguel again excited you.

"Who else is on the team?" You asked casually, fighting a lazy yawn as you stretched out next to him.

"I don't think you know all of them," he stated. You hummed and replied, "Well, who would I know?" He paused a second to consider. "Me, a handful of Peters," he began. "Malala, Jess, and she's been asking to bring Gwen, too."

You rolled over onto your side, resting your head on your hand with a smirk. "Me," you added smugly. Miguel rolled his eyes. "You," he conceded. "And I think that's it."

You gave a short, thoughtful hum. There was one name you noticed was missing from the list, someone you thought deserved to be on the team as well. You knew trying to change the roster would upset Miguel, but you couldn't ignore the gut feeling you had telling you that there was one more person who should be added to the mission.

Miguel seemed to notice that you were thinking about something. "What?" He questioned, an eyebrow raised suspiciously. You looked up at him and smiled reluctantly. "You're not gonna like it," you told him. His dark eyes narrowed. "What?" He repeated, sounding even more suspicious than before.

"Promise you won't be mad?" You asked. "No," he responded evenly. "You probably piss me off more than anyone here."

You chuckled at that. "That's probably true," you admitted, moving closer to him as you did. He had a few faint scars that were littered across his shoulders and chest, and you began absently tracing your fingers over them.

After a quiet second, he prompted gently, "What is it?"

You didn't reply for a moment as your fingers danced over the faint lines on his skin. Finally, you looked back up at his face and found he was gazing down at you expectantly. With a sigh, you finally said, "You need to add Ben to the team."

Miguel's face hardened immediately. "No," he replied sharply. You sighed again. "I already know what you're gonna say," you stated. Miguel huffed an irritated breath. "He's the reason we're in this mess. He's the reason this anomaly has been able to cause all that damage."

"That wasn't his fault," you defended gently. "It could have happened to anyone, and I know how badly he wants to make it right." Miguel scoffed, and he sat up from the bed. "Nothing he can do will bring back Earth-2319," he stated sharply. "All those lives are gone forever."

He turned his body to step out of bed, and you sat up with him, allowing the covers to slip off your bare torso. You had known he would to be upset by your suggestion, but you didn't want this to turn into an argument.

Reaching a hand out, you gently grabbed his shoulder to keep him from leaving. "And don't you think he knows that?" You pointed out softly. "Can't you imagine how terrible he feels?"

Miguel felt tense under your palm, and he didn't reply. You were afraid that he was going to shrug you off, and you wouldn't have blamed him. You could still remember his haunted gaze when he came to you after the loss of Earth-2319. This mission was personal for him, and you knew Miguel wasn't going to do anything he thought would jeopardize it.

After a silent second, he sighed heavily, and his stiff shoulders sagged under your hand. "I don't have to imagine," he muttered quietly.

A taut silence followed his words. The air around you suddenly felt fragile, and you were afraid of breathing for fear of breaking it. You didn't know what he was referring to, and you wanted desperately to ask, but it seemed almost disrespectful to do so. So instead, you waited.

Miguel seemed to sense your curiosity and breathed out another sigh. "When I first traveled across the multiverse," he began slowly, "I found something I wanted—badly. I thought it was harmless, so...I decided to take it for myself."

You closed your eyes regretfully, understanding that what he was implying broke the canon of that universe. You shifted your body closer to the edge of the bed so you could see his face. His eyes were downcast with the memory replaying in his head, a faraway look on his face.

"I didn't know what would happen until it was too late," he finished softly.

You let his words hang in the air for a moment before taking the hand that was still resting on his shoulder, raising it up to cup his cheek, and turning his face toward yours. His eyes were still fixed downward, but he allowed himself to be guided by your hand.

"You didn't know any better," you said finally. "You can't blame yourself for what you didn't know." He let out a small huff and turned his face away from you again, pulling away from your hand. "It was reckless and stupid," he muttered. "I was stupid."

"You weren't stu—"

"I destroyed a universe," he snapped, his eyes finally flashing up to your face. Grief and anger were etched in his face, and in his eyes, you saw the same pain the night after Earth-2319 was lost. You realized now how much worse it must have been for him that day, and your chest ached for him.

"I understand," you whispered softly. "And I’m sorry, I didn't know." He scoffed. "It's not exactly something I brag about," he stated darkly. "And it's not something I ever plan on repeating. I can't afford to be wrong. Being wrong costs lives."

You didn't say anything for a moment, and Miguel’s shoulders slumped in defeat. There was that quiet openness again, the subtle vulnerability that seemed to be showing more and more. He obviously meant what he said, and you understood that his words came from painful experience.

Your hand raised up to rest on his bare chest, and your thumb brushed his skin gently. "You can't put it all on yourself," you whispered to him. "Nobody is that strong." Miguel didn't reply for a second before whispering back, "I have to be."

You sighed quietly and shook your head. "No, you don't," you insisted. "That's why you have all of us. Jess, Peter, me, everyone—we're all here for you."

Miguel had been staring at the ground as you spoke, but his eyes moved up to meet yours at your last sentence. His gaze was piercing, almost overwhelming. It made you almost nervous to say what you were going to say, but you held his stare as you emphasized your next words: "I'm here for you."

Your statement hovered in the air, leaving the silence that followed to rest heavy around you. Your chest tightened anxiously as Miguel stared at you wordlessly. His eyes were impossible to read. Had you gone too far? You knew he didn't want a relationship. Were your words too close to a confession?

Finally, your worries were allayed when Miguel leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a tender kiss. It was different than the passionate way he usually made out with you when you were fucking. This was slow, like he was taking his time just to appreciate how your lips felt against his. It almost felt like a token of gratitude.

"You make it easier," he whispered when he finally broke away from your mouth. Your chest swelled as you smiled softly at him. “Good,” you replied quietly. “That’s what I’m here for.” A small smile cracked the grave expression he wore, and you kissed him again.

When you pulled back again, he studied your face for a second. “You still want me to add Ben, don’t you?” He guessed.

You sighed softly and nodded. “Wouldn't you do anything to make it right?” You asked him quietly. His eyes were still fixed on your lips, but you could tell he was thinking about your words. Without replying, he simply nodded his head.

“So would Ben,” you continued. “Please let him come.”

He still didn’t say anything for a moment. He sat quietly for a few heartbeats before letting out a deep sigh. “I'll think about it,” he said finally. You smiled at him, knowing that even him contemplating your plea was victory enough. “Thank you,” you told him, closing the space between you with a kiss. He hummed against your lip before murmuring, “You know, I thought I said I don't want you to talk about Ben around me.”

You smiled mischievously. “Well, we're breaking my rule about not discussing work in bed,” you pointed out. A faint smirk appeared on his lips. “Well, maybe I don't care about your rules,” he stated with a hint of humor in his voice.

“Then why should I care about yours?” You shot back. Miguel shifted from off the edge of the bed to lean forward over you, forcing you to lay down slowly under him. “Because there are consequences to breaking my rules, remember?” He said in a low voice, his eyes darkening with desire.

Your heart began to race as he trapped your body under his. “No,” you replied coyly, “I think I forgot.” Raising a hand to his head, you pulled his face down just above yours. “You'll have to remind me,” you whispered to him before pulling him down into a hard kiss.

You brought your hand around his head to run your fingers through his hair as he deepened the kiss. After a second, he moved his lips down to your neck while one of his hands traveled up your stomach to palm your breast, earning a quiet moan from you. Even after all the things he had done to you last night, you were ready for more.

You pushed yourself up off the mattress, forcing Miguel to roll back over onto his back as you straddled his waist. The seriousness from his face had disappeared when you settled on top of him. A smug grin pulled at his lips as the covers slipped off of your body, and his eyes drank in the sight of your bare body before him.

"Not too tired after last night?" He asked in an amused tone. You leaned forward and planted your hands on either side of his head as you brought your face close to his. "Baby, I could go all day," you purred before pressing your lips to his and slipping your tongue between them.

Miguel's hands gripped at your thighs, and his breathing deepened as he shifted under you. You brought one hand up to run your fingers through his hair, and when you broke away from his mouth, you moved your lips down to kiss under his jaw. He tilted his head back with a soft sigh to allow you better access to the soft skin of his neck.

Before you could go any further, Miguel's watch began beeping, disturbing the growing anticipation you both felt. You groaned, and he sighed regretfully as he raised his arm up to read the message he had received. You lifted your head up slightly to look at his face. He was clearly irritated by the interruption, and his eyes flicked back and forth as he quickly read the message.

"It's Jess," he explained. "She's asking about the meeting later." You rolled your eyes. There was always somebody or something that demanded his attention, and you were sick of it. You didn't want to let him go this time.

"You know," you began slowly, "there's this cool feature on these gizmos." You grabbed his arm and raised it up so you could see the screen. Miguel watched in amusement as you pressed the screen until you found what you were looking for.

"There," you said proudly, pressing the 'silent' button in his watch's configuration. "Much better." His eyes moved from your face to the watch and then back to your face with a raised eyebrow. "Is that why you never respond to my messages?" He asked suspiciously. You gave him a sly smile. "I just like it better when you tell me in person," you defended innocently.

"Mhmm," he hummed in response, a subtle smirk pulling on his lips as you kissed them again. You were eager to pick up the momentum you had lost to Jess's message, and you quickly returned your mouth to his neck again.

"We can't," he murmured, the bass of his voice vibrating against your lips. "I need to get up."

You hummed softly before whispering against his skin, "No."

You heard him breathe out a chuckle, and his hands came up to pull your arms gently off his body. "I know," he replied, sitting up as he did. "But people are going to notice I'm missing."

A spike of determination shot up in you, the frustration at his constant leaving finally showing. With both hands, you shoved him back down against the mattress by his chest, using most of your weight to keep him down. "Let them notice," you told him. "You're not going anywhere."

Under your hands, Miguel's breathing deepened, and his eyes flashed with lust at your assertion. His desire for you was clearly painted on his face, but with a clenched jaw, he sighed regretfully. "I can't stay," he insisted. "There's too much to do."

Despite his words, his fingers were gripping at your thighs, and he shifted under you restlessly. His resolve was hanging by a thread, and you knew exactly how to snap it.

Your mouth curled in a wicked grin as you lowered your face to hover over his own. "You're gonna stay right here with me until I'm through with you," you whispered to him. "You know why?"

Miguel was obviously fighting to keep his breathing steady, and his eyes were fixed on your lips when he managed to ask, "Why?" You lowered your face just above his, your eyes locking and noses brushing against each other. Then, softly, smugly, you said, "Because this pussy is yours, and I know how much you love it."

Miguel's jaw clenched at your words, and when you pressed your lips to his again, he was no longer holding back. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth aggressively as his fingers dug into your hips. From beneath you, his body shifted as he propped himself more upright and pushed your hips down to where his hardened cock was waiting.

You smiled deviously as he kissed you. The feeling of power rushed to your head at being able to distract him from his work with only a few words. Your heart was pounding in anticipation, and with the soft breathy moans you were both making, the ache between your legs was growing almost painful.

You allowed yourself to be guided back by his hard, gripping hands. A thrill ran up through your body when you felt his cock brush against your hot entrance. You could see the unfocused look in Miguel's eyes, like the only thing he could think about was being inside you.

To be mischievous, you teased your pussy around his length. Miguel groaned ever so softly, and his eyes burned with lust. "I don't have time for your fucking teasing," he growled. You smirked, always enjoying getting him riled up. He was even better when he was frustrated.

"You're so impatient," you observed with an amused voice. "I'm gonna have to teach you how to wait nicely one day." Miguel wasn't so amused. "I don't have time for this," he replied, shifting under you to try and align himself to you. You laughed. "That's the point," you said. "You need to learn how to—"

You cut yourself off with a sharp gasp. Miguel clearly had enough of your lecture and finally slammed himself into you, causing you to fall forward so that your head rested against his. The sudden feeling of him stretching you out so unexpectedly had made your mind freeze, and for a second, you couldn't speak.

"You were saying?" Miguel muttered smugly when you opened your eyes again. You couldn't even remember what you were saying. The only thing on your mind now was how badly you needed to fuck him.

With Miguel's hands still on your hips, you began moving eagerly along the length of his cock. You rocked your hips against his, grinding your pussy hard against him. Quiet whines began to rise up from your throat as you raised yourself up and down, slowly at first, but you soon increased your pace as he began grunting from the feeling of you riding him.

Miguel was gripping your waist tightly and gasping quietly as he helped you move up and down his length. You fell forward, planting your hands on his chest as you moved your hips against his. His eyes met yours with an electrifying gaze that only encouraged your movements.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on your face with a lustful sort of reverence as his hands slowly slid up the sides of your torso. "You're so fucking pretty."

Damn him and his words that sent your heart fluttering. Even there, in the midst of riding him, you felt your face grow warm from his praise. Of course, you had heard him say things like that before, but for some reason, it hit you in a different way that turned you into a blushing mess on top of him.

Miguel apparently noticed the effect his praise had over you because his lips twisted in a half-smirk, and he sat up off the bed to bring his face up to yours. "My pretty girl," he murmured, his voice deep as he spoke the words against your lips.

You seemed to forget how to breathe. Your heart was pounding furiously in your chest as you locked eyes with him. His dark, piercing gaze that once seemed like an impenetrable wall was now soft and warm. The way he was staring at you made you feel like he could see into your soul, like he knew what you felt for him, what you wanted from him. And in his eyes, you could almost swear that you could see it, too.

His strong arms wrapped themselves slowly around your torso to hold you against him, and his lips pressed against yours gently. You didn't even realize that he was rolling you over until you were on your back beneath him, and he began driving his hips into yours.

You let out a soft moan and broke away from his lips. Miguel's head fell to your shoulder as he moved steadily inside you, his cock pumping in and out of your soaking cunt. His hot breath fanned against your collarbones, and you could hear how he grunted softly with each thrust.

"God, I can't get enough of you," he panted, his voice hoarse and quiet. "Fucking you is—it's like Rapture."

You nearly came apart right there. His words and his cock had you completely at his mercy. One of your hands gripped at his muscular back while the other slid up the back of his neck to run through his dark hair. It took most of your effort to even form a coherent thought, and speaking felt next to impossible.

"Only you—," you started, cutting yourself off with a moan. "Only you can m-make me feel like this. You fuck me so good."

Miguel groaned quietly at your words. Lifting his face up from your shoulder, he rested his forehead against yours. "You know why?" He asked quietly. You opened your eyes to meet his, not even bothering to respond. "Because you're my pretty girl," he asserted. "And this pussy is mine." As he spoke, Miguel's hand slipped down between your bodies until he found your clit with his thumb.

You cried out in ecstasy as he circled his thumb around while still driving his cock deep inside you. Your hand moved from his back to grip the headboard above you as he fucked you relentlessly. The sounds of his hips slapping against yours were in-time with each whining moan you made. You barely had time to register that you were cumming until it took over your whole body.

You were practically screaming his name as your body shook uncontrollably. You pulled him close to you while his hips continued thrusting into you ceaselessly. Bliss completely overtook your every faculty, and the only thing your mind could process was Miguel.

His eyes never left your face as he watched you completely unravel under him. He gave a long, deep moan at the feeling of you clenching around him. His lips brushed against yours as he slowed down his pace for you, aware of how your body was beginning to grow overstimulated, and he murmured your name under his breath softly.

As you finished riding out your high, your body was still alight with pleasure, and your heart was still beating wildly in your chest, but you finally managed to breathe properly again. Blinking your eyes open, Miguel's dark gaze was hypnotizing. He was clearly proud of how he had caused you to come so undone, and he whispered, "You're so pretty when you cum."

All you could do to respond was moan softly. He never failed to get you off, and he never failed to praise you when you did.

With one hand still entangled in his hair, you pulled his face down to yours in a sloppy kiss. As Miguel's tongue danced against yours, he pulled himself out of you. You were still breathing hard when he sat up off your body. Taking advantage of the fact that you were still recovering from your high, he turned you over so that you were on your stomach and lifted your ass up to him.

Even if you had wanted to resist him, your mind was still hazy from all the pleasure buzzing through your body. Following his prompts, you obediently propped yourself up on your knees, your back arched as you held onto the sheets.

"What a good girl you are," he murmured, running his hand down your back. You hummed softly at his touch and turned your head to look at him from the corner of your eye. "Only for you," you whispered. You heard him give a heavy sigh, and you felt the head of his cock teasing the entrance of your soaking cunt.

"That's right," he purred. "You're my good girl."

That was the last thing he said before slamming his cock back into you. You gasped sharply, startled by his sudden movements as he picked up an eager pace. Still sensitive from your orgasm, you whimpered softly against the sheets.

"It's too much," you whined, gripping the comforter to try and pull yourself forward to escape the sensations overpowering you. "You can take it, babygirl," he assured you gently, his cock moving faster and harder inside you. "I know you can."

You couldn't say anything in response. You were high on his words and drunk off his cock. Your eyes were clenched shut as he pounded into you. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass filled the air, and with each thrust into you, he hit against your G-spot over and over again. Your body felt weak, and you were completely at his mercy.

"Miguel," you moaned, unable to say anything else. He cursed softly under his breath, and his hands gripped your hips tightly to keep you steady. "You're doing so good, cariño," he told you, his fingers digging into your skin. "Just a little more."

His gentle tone contrasted sharply against the almost savage way he was fucking you. Your breathing came in shallow gasps, and your legs started to give out from under you. Miguel dropped one of his hands to support himself on the mattress. His large body seemed to envelope yours, and you could feel the heat from his skin warming your back. His panting breath tickled your ear as he continued ramming into you relentlessly.

You turned your face toward his, your noses brushing against each other. His lips were grazing the corner of your mouth in feather-light touches. Your eyes, blurred and unfocused, met his, and in that moment, a three-word phrase entered your mind that you had sworn to yourself you would never say to him.

"Miguel, I-I—"

You couldn't finish your sentence before your body was racked by another orgasm. You hadn't expected it, and it hit you hard and fast. A strangled cry emerged from your throat as your body trembled under his.

Miguel became desperate when he saw you were cumming again. With each thrust, he grunted loudly, overpowering the sound of your quiet gasping. Your whole body was shaking, and just when it was getting to be too much for you to handle, Miguel grew still with a ragged moan as he came inside you.

For a moment, there was just the sounds of your rapid breathing as you were both lost in the intoxicating feeling of finishing together. His head rested against yours, his skin hot to the touch. The sounds of his panting still tickled your ear while his hand slowly roamed from your waist up your back. Finally, with a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he pulled out of you.

Your hands released the vise grip they had on the sheets as you slumped down against the bed. Your mind was still flooded with the pleasure you felt, and you didn't have the capacity to do anything besides lay there and try to recover your breath.

Turning onto your back, you looked up at Miguel. His hair had fallen into his face in a messy way that made him even more handsome. Raising your free hand up to his face, you brushed his hair back so that you could see him clearly. His eyes seemed unfocused as his mind was clouded with pleasure. After a quiet second of staring at each other, he lowered his face to place a lazy kiss on your mouth.

God, how you wanted this to last. You wanted him to fuck you senseless every day. You wanted him to kiss you every hour, to think of you every minute, to be with you every second. Being together like this, open and vulnerable and comfortable with each other, it was the first time you felt a sense of connection with another person since you became Spider-Woman.

When he broke away from your lips, he slumped down beside you with a deep sigh. You glanced over at his face, a faint glimmer of sweat shining on his forehead, and admired for the millionth time just how good he looked.

As your breathing was finally evening out, you closed your eyes and felt like you could fall right back to sleep next to him again.

"Don't even think about it," Miguel mumbled, breaking the silence between you. "Hmm?" You questioned, opening your eyes to look at him.

"You're not falling asleep again," he said with a pointed look.

You groaned, rolling onto your side to face him better. "Why not?" You asked innocently. Miguel stretched his arms before answering, his muscles flexing in a way that made you crave another round with him. "Because I need to go," he sighed. "And that means you do, too."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "You can't just fuck me like that and expect me to be able to get up and leave after," you told him wryly.

Miguel huffed out a laugh, a cocky smile on his face. "I'm serious," you insisted, unable to suppress your own grin. The rare sight of Miguel's smile paired with the high you were still feeling made you giddy. "I'm sure you are," he replied, "but I'm also serious about needing to go."

You rolled your eyes. "Then go," you told him theatrically. "I won't beg for your company." Despite your words, you did indeed want to beg for his company. Every time he left, it was harder and harder for you to let him go.

He huffed again. "I'm not going to leave you alone in my room," he replied dryly.

You smirked at him. "Afraid I'm gonna steal your stuff?" You joked. Miguel's eyes turned to you with an amused gleam. "It's a possibility," he said evenly. "You still haven't given me my shirt back." You closed your eyes for a moment with a sigh. "Oh, yeah," you mumbled as you stretched out like a cat. "I definitely meant to do that."

Miguel hummed his disbelief, but there was humor in his subtle smile. "If I didn't know any better," he began slowly, reaching over to wrap his arm around you and pull you closer to him, "I would say you're lying."

Your own smile widened as you looked up at him mischievously, and you rolled over so that you rested on his chest. "Oh, you think you know better?" You asked in a sly tone, hovering your face over his.

His mouth was pulled in a crooked grin as his fingers brushed lazily across your bare back. "I know I do," he replied with a deep voice, his eyes fixed on your lips.

You hummed thoughtfully. "Well, maybe you're wrong," you asserted.

"I'm never wrong."

"I don't believe that."

"Name one time."

You paused, trying to think of a time when he did or said something incorrect, but unfortunately, nothing came to mind. You rolled your eyes. "I don't know," you admitted finally, earning a smug look from Miguel. "But one day, you'll have to admit you were wrong about something," you insisted, "and I'll make sure I'm there to see when you do."

"You may be waiting for a while," he remarked. You hummed thoughtfully, tracing a finger over the outlines of his face. "I’m a patient person," you stated simply. "And you never know. That day could come sooner than you think."

He stared up at you in amusement. "If you say so," he replied. "Though, I wouldn't use 'patient' as a word to describe you." You raised an eyebrow in interest. "Oh? And what would you use?" You asked smoothly.

Miguel pretended to think as he slowly stroked his fingers up and down your back. "There are a lot of words I could use," he began. "Stubborn is probably at the top of the list." You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to suppress a smile. "And?" You prompted, feeling genuine interest in how he perceived you.

"And..." he thought for a second, "passionate."

You smirked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah?" You said smugly. Miguel's lips also turned upwards in a subtle smile. "Not just sex," he clarified. "You're passionate about being Spider-Woman, and you care about the people around you. You're...kind."

Your stomach fluttered a little bit. You could tell he wasn't just saying that. The sincerity in his voice as he spoke was perfectly clear.

You smiled softly at him. "Keep going," you urged, though you were still trying to seem aloof at his words. He hummed thoughtfully. "You're strong," he listed. "You're fast. You're smart."

"Don't forget funny," you added.

Miguel gave you a skeptical look. "I didn't," he said. "It's just not on the list."

You couldn't stop yourself from laughing at that. "Shut up," you chastised, lightly smacking his chest as you recovered from his joke. His eyes gleamed as he stared up at your laughing face. There was a brief moment of silence as he looked up at you with half a smile on his lips before he murmured, "You're beautiful."

Two words and your heart was beating furiously in your chest. You were struck dumb, unable to think of what you could say to appropriately respond to him. He had called you pretty a dozen times, and you logically knew that he found you attractive based on your many encounters, but it wasn't just the words he spoke, it was how he said it—softly, earnestly, like it was something too precious to be said aloud.

And there was that three-word phrase again whispering in your mind. You could never say it, you knew that. It would be awkward, uncomfortable, and even potentially ruin your standing in the Society, but none of those reasons could stop you from thinking it when he was gazing up at you with his soft, brown eyes with a subtle smile on his full lips.

Miguel must've realized you were having trouble coming up with a response. Breaking the half-awkward silence around you, he said, "But you know what word I would use to describe you right now?"

You were pulled out of your stupor by his question, your face growing warm in embarrassment. "Hmm?" You hummed curiously.

"Treacherous," he replied simply.

Your eyebrows scrunched in surprise. "Treacherous?" You repeated. "How so?"

He lifted his head up just enough so that your lips were barely touching before whispering, "Don't think I don't know what you're doing right now."

You blinked down at him innocently. "What am I doing?" You whispered back, your lips grazing his softly.

He let you place a ghost of a kiss to his lips before finally replying, "Stalling." With that, he began sitting up off the bed, forcing you to roll off his body. "We have to go.”

You draped your arm over your eyes with a groan. He knew you too well. You had hoped he wouldn't notice you trying to drag on the pillow talk to keep him there with you. Now, it seems you’ve run out of time.

Miguel sat up off the bed and stretched. You watched how the muscles in his back flexed tightly before he stood to get dressed. Sighing, you also sat up, grabbing your underwear from off the floor where Miguel had discarded it the previous night before walking to the bathroom.

When you came back out, Miguel was already dressed in his suit, his hair slicked back in his typical fashion. He noticed you emerging from the bathroom and tossed you your web shooters. Catching them, you placed them on your wrists and watched as your suit enveloped your body.

He must’ve seen the wonder on your face because he said, “I told you it’s cooler than nanotech.” You smiled at him. “It is,” you conceded, stepping over toward him. “I don’t think I ever said thank you.”

He smirked down at you, his gaze flickering back and forth between your eyes and your lips. “I don’t recall that you ever did,” he replied. You placed one hand on his chest and let it wander up to his neck. Even on your tiptoes, he was too tall for you to kiss, so he had to follow your prompting hands and lean over to kiss you.

When you broke away from Miguel, you whispered, “Thank you.” He wore a soft smile on his lips as he whispered back, “You’re welcome,” before pressing them back to your mouth. Kissing him was so addicting, and you regretted having to leave once again.

Pulling away from you, Miguel sighed. “Listen,” he started, “finding the anomaly needs to be our first priority now.” You nodded in agreement, but you could sense there was more he was going to say. “That means,” he continued slowly, “no distractions.”

You studied his face for a second before you understood his implication. “You mean this?” You asked, your stomach tightening anxiously as you thought about him cutting you off. “Yes,” he replied before quickly adding, “until the anomaly is caught.”

You frowned. You had no idea how long that could take. The anomaly, ‘Ghost’ as he had been nicknamed, had already been at large far longer than any of you could have guessed, and he could stay in hiding between universes for far longer.

Miguel apparently could tell what you were thinking, and he raised one of his hands up to hold your chin gently. “You are a distraction for me,” he told you. “Now, I put you on the team because you can be useful, but I can’t be here lounging around with you when I need to be preparing for this, understand?”

You sighed in resignation. It made sense. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, it made sense. He was trying to run this whole operation by himself, and even though you wanted him to stay with you, you knew that you were just being selfish.

“Yes,” you replied reluctantly. He nodded, his thumb running back and forth along your chin gently. “Good,” he said. “I’ll see you at the meeting at 12.”

You sighed again. “Alright, I’ll see you there.” You turned to walk toward the door, but when Miguel called out your name, you paused and turned back around. He stepped toward you purposefully, and your heart leapt as you thought he was going to let you stay a while longer.

With his body hovering close to yours, he reached a hand out to grab your arm gently. You let him lift it up, your eyes never leaving his face as you noted how close his lips were to yours, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking down at your gizmo and was tapping away at the screen.

Confused, you looked down to see what he was doing. You watched as he pressed the button marked ‘silent,’ effectively disabling the setting you had it on. “No more of that either,” he told you with pointed look.

You gave a guilty smile. “Fair enough,” you conceded, taking back your arm. “But just so you know, I think this new rule of yours is a good idea, because now I’m going to catch this anomaly so fast, it’ll make your head spin.”

He smiled in amusement at your statement. “If you do,” he said, “I’ll fuck you until you can’t speak.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “You already do that,” you pointed out. He shrugged. “Not anymore,” he countered evenly. You shrugged back at him and replied casually, “But soon enough.”

With that, you turned back to the door with a smirk on your face and the determined notion that you were going to be the one to catch the anomaly.

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snarky-art · 4 months

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Thriving vs Survivng, am I right, lads?

Bloom and Stella eventually get married, Daphne and the woman with her, Nadia, an oc I made and have mentioned a few times, get married with Daphne to be next in line as Queen of Domino, and Aisha and Musa get married one day, but are currently in this pic going through some Shit that’s putting a huge damper on that.

More info on everyone and political drama stuff below the cut!

Bloom and Stella are thriving.

Polyamory is super duper normalized in a decent amount of places, and is considered a norm on Solaria. Stella is eventually married both to Brandon and Bloom. Both of Bloom’s sets of parents love Stella and are incredibly happy for her. After much talk and deliberation between Daphne, Bloom, Marion, and Oritel to see how Bloom and Daphne are feeling after Daphne is healed up and in a good place and has processed shit, it’s decided Daphne will continue as heir and shall be next in line for rulership. Bloom meanwhile shall continue her role as guardian fairy, Holder of The Flame, and eventually upon her marriage to Stella will be Queen Regent of Solaria. She has a lot more flexibility this way too to go where she feels most comfortable, between Earth and other areas in The Magical Realm. Oritel and Marion don’t want Bloom or Daphne to feel trapped or be stifled with immense pressure if they can help it, and Bloom is still most comfortable on Earth, so having the option to go back and forth is important and something Marion and Oritel want her to not feel cut off from it, a mistake they made early on when they first got brought back from their stasis.

Formal picture of Nadia finally! An oc from Earth I made who’s Daphne’s gf and eventual wife. I thought it would be nice for Daphne to not worry about contextualizing her grief and trauma with someone who already had preconceived notions of her from myths and legends over the last 1000+ years.

Nadia: so you’re Bloom’s sister! That’s so cool! Do you have magic too?

Daphne, who at this point while not the holder of the flame anymore is still an incredibly powerful fire elemental who retains her nymphix and could hand bloom’s ass to her and call upon The Dragon at will whenever she wants: uh, yeah, some I guess.

Bloom: glad to see being a useless lesbian is a universal trait instead of just earth specific

Daphne: exCUSE ME-

Royal balls be like “The Incarnation of God Itself, heir to The Great Pillar of all of Magic Domino, The Dragon Reborn, Supreme Nymph of Magix, Princess Daphne, and Nadia, Barista on Tuesday, Thursday, and Weekends, of the plant Earth”

Like, oh boy, THEE DAPHNE, and Nadia from Starbucks.

Also don’t worry it’s not actually a Starbucks. It’s a small local cafe and bakery spot that Bloom really likes. Daphne went with her once, saw Nadia, and went 👀. Daphne doesn’t even like coffee also she just goes there for Nadia and was too anxious to ask about any other drinks so she just gets what Bloom got, would makes Bloom, who is not at all rich on Earth, pay for it, and then didn’t actually drink it.

Also, Nadia is definitely wearing heels here.

She’s only around 5’9 or ~175cm, while as I’ve mentioned before, Daphne is 6’7 or ~200cm.

She like to wear different heels and go “ok NOW how close am I to being taller than you” or sometimes go “ok, I think I beat you this time” when she tries on a new pair

She’s never close obviously and they both know that because hehe funny joke, but Daphne will still go “oh, you just might’ve this time.”

Musa and Aisha meanwhile are Struggling. Not only is Musa someone who is already insanely anti-monarch in her governmental views, even one that operates more as a democracy, the government she’s working with can’t stand her.

I’ve mentioned in these posts how marriage works on Andros, and Musa is Not It. She’s not even a Land Androsian, which would’ve been considered a bit of a scandal because of how their government structure is set up. No it’s much worse, for oh no, she’s not an Androsian at all! Truly horrific (I say this sarcastically, but that’s genuinely what the nobles and a chunk of the population feel).

Musa is doing what she can to appease Androsian court.

Gold is a big fucking no no on Andros, but she doesn’t want to give that up since it’s a really important part of her culture.

Aisha is standing with her on that, but it doesn’t make it easier to deal with the assholes in court.

She’s even muted her reds to lean more towards purples and blues.

Muting the reds was a huge olive branch of sorts and she’s pissed about it and doesn’t like doing it (but she did it, and it wasn’t even appreciated, but WHATEVER), but she refuses to get rid of the golds (good for her).

Aisha has gold nail polish here also. She’s doing what she can, and eventually is just gonna say fuck it and start wearing straight up gold with her silvers and tell Musa to get back in the bright red or so help me-

Stella let’s Aisha borrow her stash specifically when she first start and immediately commissions some custom ones done for Aisha’s measurements.

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queerfanfiction · 1 year

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Love Notes (Ch. 5)

Larissa Weems x musicteacher!Reader We have an angsty chapter here, oops. Also, thank you all for being patient as I got back to writing! It took getting pneumonia to unblock writer's block somehow? Idk. Make it make sense.

AO3 link

In between moments not with Larissa, you worked on orchestrating the big reveal and scavenger hunt. There were a lot of moving parts to your plan, and it would take some secrecy to enact, because you were pretty sure you’d have to involve other people. The question remained of who you could trust to involve…

Eventually you and Larissa go into Jericho together. It felt like the most normal outing, the two of you laughing about something in the car ride over and planning how to continue your adventures and treats into the new semester. Spending time with Larissa came so naturally. Sure, you still felt killer butterflies when she stole a glance at you, but it felt right. That’s the only way you knew how to describe it.

While she briefly meets with the mayor and does a follow up interview with a new affiliate therapist for Nevermore, you planned to check out the florist shop for her favorite flowers. Even though you’re a few weeks out from your ideal time to unveil the mystery, you’re not sure if securing lilies would be possible so early in the spring.

Through the windows of the town hall, Larissa sees you chatting outside with the local florist. A man with an apron on and the kind of scruffy looking beard that seemed like it was naturally charming but actually took work to achieve. Larissa knew almost everyone in Jericho personally by now, but all she had known about him is that many of the women around town fancied him.

At that moment, you had casually touched his arm, like he was an old friend. What was that? she mused, oblivious that the therapist in front of her had finished answering her question. Her mind wandered to whether or not you fancied him.

“Larissa?” The voice brought you out of your pondering.

“Apologies! I was simply considering how wonderful it will be for students to be able to confide in someone again, especially after the year they’ve had.” Larissa’s scrambling to save her indiscretion was believable, so believable that her conversation partner smiled wide and thanked her for her consideration and support in their employment.

Placated and wrapping up the meeting, Larissa resumed pilling through her memories to discern if you had ever mentioned the florist before. She was certain you hadn’t. An ache began to creep into her heart when she considered, Is this why you pushed to come to Jericho?

After finishing her conversation with the mayor, Larissa waits in the foyer of the town hall to watch your interaction with the man before heading to the Weathervane. Larissa began to get lost in thought again, Why do I care? I’m not involved. In fact, you owed me nothing. You’re not mine. I mean, no one has a claim over anyone. That notion is an archaic and patriarchal way of thinking—one that doesn’t value consent and agency. Larissa sighed and pushed open the heavy wooden door to leave.

Not knowing Larissa had been watching you, you chatted with James, the florist you had just met. While you didn’t offer the identity of the person, you let him in on your entire plan and hopes for the flowers in the scavenger hunt.

At first you thought he would be more rugged and standoffish, but his eyes lit up at the mention of using his flowers in a surprise. He promised he would have as many lilies available that I needed and that he could help arrange anything else for the reveal.

“A hopeless romantic, huh?” you gleamed at him, not knowing how to explain what his kindness and support meant to you. James blushed a bit and peered at you between strands of hair falling in his eyes. He finally confessed, “I suppose so” accompanied by a massive grin.

It felt nice to be able to plan with someone. You’ve been holding your feelings close to your chest around others; you weren’t sure if Larissa felt similarly or if she would be guarded against public acknowledgement being the head of the academy. Overwhelmed with gratitude, you risked holding out your arms for a hug while muttering a quick “thank you” that was warmly received.

You meet Larissa in the Weathervane about 15 minutes later after getting James’s number to coordinate for later. You practically skip in and kiss her on the cheek, having been so excited to have set a plan in motion for the scavenger hunt.

“Hello!” Peck. “How was the interview?”

“Productive,” Larissa gives in a slightly standoffish tone. You wonder if she is angry you kept her waiting. She had just finished ordering when you came in from the flower shop, possibly growing frustrated of sitting around waiting.

Worry nestles in your chest when you hear her respond to the barista that her drink is to go. You and Larissa had planned to drink your beverages in a booth to chat and then stroll around town before heading over to the local book shop together. When Larissa ordered the drink to go, it felt like confirmation that you had done something to upset her.

Larissa didn’t have a lot of experience with the feeling that she could only consider jealousy. She would normally be over the moon to have been gifted a cheek kiss by you. Instead, Larissa could feel herself shifting into irritable bitch mode due to not knowing what to make of your flirting with the florist. She felt powerless to stop the mood change. A million thoughts run through Larissa’s mind, but she’s not in the mood for talking—she feels too vulnerable.

“Are you okay, Larissa?” Your voice rings out, marked with concern, when Larissa didn’t turn to you or explain more about her meeting.

“Yes, why?”

Her curt response made you feel hopeless, made you question whether or not you were being too sensitive to the difference in her demeanor. “I thought we were going to stay and drink our hot chocolates here.” You aimed for a hopeful tone, not knowing if you succeeded.

Still not meeting your gaze, Larissa answered exasperatedly, “I have too much work to do after the meeting with the mayor. I can’t waste time with you anymore. I need to get back to Nevermore; would you like a ride?”

You looked as though you were just slapped across the face. Waste time? Where was this coming from? You were a waste of time to her? Thoughts engulfed you, and you felt a knob begin to form in your throat. Has Larissa been biding the time until students return and save her from spending time with you? You couldn’t speak; you knew your voice would betray you. Your eyes were beginning to sting.

All you could muster in response to Larissa’s question was a vigorous head shake and a “mmm-mm” to signal that no ride was needed. You couldn’t sit through the ride back to Nevermore with her and be detached to your emotions bubbling up right now.

You decided to risk a glance at Larissa to study her face. Maybe you were imagining this? Her features were hardened with no legible expression as she waited to receive her hot chocolate.

The seconds that you two stood there in silence seemed to drag on. The certitude of her statement and following question made you feel like you were expected to leave her side or sit back down unaffected. You’ve had moments where you were sheepish or awkward around the woman in front of you, but none of those times could compare to the thick, uncomfortable quality that surrounded you now.

When the worker behind the counter called out that a hot chocolate was ready, Larissa surged forward to seize the drink and turn on her heels in departure. No goodbye, just the fading clicks of her shoes against the floor tiles.

You watched her go, suddenly not craving the drink you were excited to imbibe minutes before. The ease and comfort you felt and championed in her presence shrank away. Confusion and hurt took its place. You shuffle to another booth than the usual one you and Larissa sat at. It felt too fragile to slide into the familiar space, as if it would flake away and crumble the memories you had there.

Taking a few moments to process, you turned to watching people come in and out of the Weathervane. A few families, teens, surprisingly more people in business suits than you’ve ever seen before. You had hoped to feel comforted by sharing space out in the world instead of retreating, but loneliness still gnawed at you—invaded you.

After about 20 minutes of waiting for the sadness to pass, you resigned to going back to campus grounds. You made your way home from the cafe, luckily giving Larissa enough time to drive back and get settled, which ensured you wouldn’t run into her when you arrived. You didn’t know if you could handle that.

Finally shuffling into your living quarters, you collapsed on the bed, not bothering to change or remove your boots. Your hands made their way to your scrunched up, wet face but not before pulling the covers far up around your head as they could go.

—

Larissa felt regret seep up her chest immediately. Her jaw locked as she waited for her drink, sensing how absurd her behavior was. She bit down on the flesh of her cheek inside her mouth in an attempt to silence her racing thoughts. When her drink was ready, she snatched it and fled. She couldn’t bear to look into your eyes or see the hurt or confusion on your face that she knew would be there.

Once in the vehicle and driving out of the town square, she reviewed her tone, the coldness she used with you. How could she explain that it was a front—a scramble for control? How could she repair the damage without addressing why she lashed out in the first place? Did she just ruin the most consistent source of joy and support she’s ever had in her life?

The questions in her head became too much, and she had to pull off the road to steady her ragged breathing. Her grip on the steering wheel showcased the whitest knuckles she’d ever seen. She felt like she had to escape but no amount of distance was enough.

Memories of your time together over the last few weeks darted behind her eyelids. She had grown so close to you, never considering that she was falling into old patterns. Getting over Morticia almost broke her. If she came unraveled by losing a high school love, what chance did she have of making it out of whatever she had for you? Seeing how close you and the florist were evoked a reaction that she couldn’t have anticipated.

Rather, your utter endearing nature with her after witnessing you with the florist is what solidified her outburst. It felt tragic and unfair to be in such close proximity to what she desired yet completely out of reach. To make it back to Nevermore, she had to dissociate—give herself over to some sort of autopilot. Once she arrived, Larissa rushed inside the large wooden doors to her office and leaned exhaustedly against the door, finally giving herself over to her emotions now that she was in the safety and seclusion of her office.

For the first time in nights, you both occupied your respective rooms, crawling into otherwise empty beds.

—

The following morning, you feel how tight and raw your eyes are from crying through the night. Leaving the bed doesn’t seem in the cards today. Instead, you curl up trying to keep warm now that you don’t have Larissa’s body heat to wake up to.

Knowing its a bad idea, you roll over and let your mind think of yesterday. Maybe she was just using you to distract herself while she recovered. She’s not exactly spoiled for choice with everyone gone for winter break. You probably haven’t meant as much to her as she has meant to you. …Would coming clean about authoring the mix CDs be ill advised then? Or should you still put the mystery to rest, allowing closure for you both? As your mind went back and forth, you couldn’t help but consider how authentic Larissa seemed when you two spent time together. You wanted to hold onto that.

Time passed so slowly laying there. You were scared to leave your room to shower, to eat, to go to the orchestra room. Of course you didn’t want to see the object of your pain and hurt, but you also couldn’t muster up the energy to do anything—even within the confines of your living space.

Days went by until you finally had to get up to shower and do laundry. Your room was starting to stink and you didn’t want students coming back to campus to suspect anything is remiss. You gathered your things and tiptoed to the faculty showers. Thankfully it was empty for you to slip into the farthest stall away with a half crescent stained glass window.

You stand in the corner of the stall to turn on the water and wait for it to warm up. Once you deemed the water hot enough, you stepped into the stream and closed your eyes, rolling your neck in and out of the water. For a few minutes you stood still, letting the the water run down your back, scorching the skin. Steam rose to caress the stained glass above you.

Meanwhile, what you didn’t know was that Larissa treaded carefully too. She had tried not to seek you out, yet she was wary of and half expected to see you everywhere she went. She took tabs of where you might be, and you weren’t in the faculty lounge, the library, the courtyard, the entrance hall, or even the shared dorm spaces when she was there. Larissa even found herself walking past the orchestra room only to be met with silence.

—

About a week after the incident at the Weathervane and a couple days after your shower and laundry excursion, you decide to attempt to leave your room again. With students arriving back on campus and a new semester rapidly approaching, you needed to figure out your syllabus and compositions. You slid on a blazer over a crisp white button up and slowly headed to your once familiar safe haven—the music room.

Once inside the space, you immediately feel terrible for being away from it for so long. There it was waiting patiently to comfort you and build new soundscapes with you. Your hands wander across the various instruments set out about the space. Your fingers touch piano keys, guitar strings, wooden reeds, metal valves, cherishing the notes that emitted from them as you skimmed past each collection.

You attempted to hold back your flurry of emotions and focus on various scores and arrangements for your syllabus, but each note made your heart ache for what catharsis could be spilling from you instead.

It wasn’t long until the music shifted from pointed instruction that corresponded to specific weeks within the semester to raw, unruly emotion. You began to sob while composing soft, slow tunes that built into delicate and resonant peaks. The instruments you commanded had a measured grace about them that filled the room with its rich melody.

As the music pouring from you continued, it burned slowly, not unlike a campfire that blazes one moment and crackles with reverb the next. Rhythm rang out and orchestral layers began to pile up, transporting the song to cinematic heights full of fragility and a holy, spiritual quality that you’ve never heard before from your own music.

Making her daily rounds across the academy grounds, Larissa notices the emotional tune emitting from the music room that has been vacant up until this point. Her heart catches in her throat as the music pulls indecipherable feelings from her core. A air of melancholy and longing overwhelms Larissa. She had hoped to see you, but she wasn’t expecting this. The song radiating from the room to her eardrums had stopped Larissa in her tracks. The showcase of gentle tones that blossomed into shimmering instrumental passages had brought tears to her eyes.

Larissa had lingered here many times before, stealing away compositions from the hall outside your domain. However, this time she wanted to burst through the doors and apologize. She wanted to usher in a vibrant symphony rather than the lonesome notes currently leaking out of the room. She could overhear this change in you. It was apparent, and Larissa knew she was the cause.

—

Eventually, students began to return. You had attempted to stay a recluse in your room for as long as you could. That is, until a day swiftly came when you heard excited knocks rapt against the door to your living space.

With a knowing sigh, you heaved yourself from your desk towards the door. You knew the pink cheeks and bouncing hair that would open up before you beyond the door. Enid had come to say hello after returning from break.

“Professor!”

“Hello there, Enid.” You mustered up the sweetest smile you could for the girl, even though you still felt lackluster. “How was your break?”

“Oh, it was so good! Well, it was kind of kooky staying with Wednesday and her family. They’re so different from my family. My brothers are sure to tackle each other to the ground as soon as possible, but Wednesday and Pugsley hardly touch! You can still tell she has a soft spot for him, though. They ha-”

You let Enid ramble on about her winter break and the things she and the Addams’s got up to. To be honest, the lack of effort needed to continue the conversation was nice; you weren’t sure you had it in you for explaining elaborate stories or… any details right now.

“Um, anyway, I wanted to ask you a question, actually.” Her forthcoming demeanor slowed, and you could tell she was nervous.

“Anything for my favorite resident.” Your words were enough to melt the young werewolf’s fears. Her shoulders relax, and she happily pushes her way into your room.

Slightly taken aback at the gesture, you leave the door ajar and take a seat in one of the armchairs across from where she has elected to sit. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, it’s kind of about Wednesday.” You stay quiet, letting Enid know she has the floor and that you won’t rush her.

“We had a really good break. I mean, we got on each others’ nerves a lot. She always scoffs like she is better off alone and is annoyed, but I could tell she liked having me there.”

You nod, willing yourself to have empathetic eyes that signal for her to continue.

She finally blurts out, “We almost kissed, and now Wednesday won’t talk to me.” Enid seems panicked and almost in tears at this revelation.

“Hey, hey.” You rise from your chair to place a comforting hand on the young girl’s shoulder. “Take some deep breaths. You’re okay, and we’re going to talk about it. It’s okay.”

Enid wipes her eyes, and you continue supportively, “I know being vulnerable is hard, especially when you can’t control how other people react or feel. Is that how you are feeling?”

“Yeah. Wednesday is so hard to read and gives me mixed signals. She goes back and forth between being standoffish and blunt but also charming and kind of open to being close. Sometimes it seems like she won’t let herself be happy,” Enid ends with a frown.

“I see how conflicted you feel, and I’m sorry you are going through this. What I will say is that you are more likely to regret not honoring your own feelings than communicating your needs. Nothing good ever happened from shrinking away from what you truly wanted.”

“Wow, that’s so deep.” Enid takes a moment. “So even if things don’t work out the way I hope, I know I did what I could to be true to myself?”

“Exactly. That’s all we can do sometimes. Yes, it could be hard to not have feelings reciprocated, but you’re not happy not knowing either.”

“Okay, I think I know what I’m gonna do. Thank you!” Enid is standing and reaching out to you in a firm embrace now. You reciprocate, hoping the best for the young girl. You knew how close she and Wednesday were, even if Wednesday puts on a front.

A few moments pass, and Enid is over by your desk now, picking up everything in sight and inspecting it. “So, what’s wrong with you and Principal Weems?” Enid’s nosy, chipper demeanor is back.

A puzzled look appears on your face. “What do you mean? Principal Weems and I haven’t seen each other?”

“You two were always together before we all left for break.” She shrugs and raises her eyes, playing with your pens before moving onto your swinging, metal pendulum.

Geez, students could not be fooled. They are far more perceptive than other faculty give them credit for. Your head swam, and you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what you could say, given that Larissa was the principal and would likely not support students gossiping about her personal life. At your long pause, Enid continued.

“Now you two both seem sad. I could tell when you opened the door since almost the whole dorm is back and hasn’t seen you. And Principal Weems is way more irritable than normal. Ajax, Yoko, and I were throwing around a ball in the courtyard and almost hit one of the gargoyles. Principal Weems confiscated the ball and gave us a lecture on the history of the gargoyles at Nevermore. Something about them being 1,300 year old hand-crafted stone?”

“Oh, Enid, I’m not sure…” It was all you could think to say to both Enid’s original and follow up question.

“Like you said, nothing good will happen from shrinking away from what you want. Your words.” Enid states this as if she is wielding a giant philosophical answer. You can’t help but feel pride in her quick use of the same line. Okay, why did you have to give such great advice?

The earnest nature of the young werewolf was admirable and made your weak heart grow. Enid begins to walk out of your room muttering a combination of “just saying” and “thanks again!”

As the door closes, you slump into your chair, deep in thought. Maybe you should put it all out there. What is the worst that could happen? It’s the least you could do for yourself. Otherwise, you’re back to where you started. Your discussion with Enid inadvertently encourages you to step up and continue the scavenger hunt.

—

Tagging: @lilsmeaux, @suckerforcate, @rickistheman, @tundra1029, @aster-loves-gwen, @justcallmelittleone, @poorwritingandstalecoffee, @lvinhs, @one-pining-queer, @kimiinou, @bobia13. Let me know if anyone else wants tagged in the future. :)

#love notes #chapter 5 #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #principal weems #larissa x reader #principal larissa weems #wednesday #ao3 #fanfiction #gwendoline christie #music teacher #nevermore academy #boss/employee relationship #principal/teacher #mix cd #slow burn #mutual pining #angst

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mychemicalraymance · 1 year

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i’m really curious to see the connections between gerard and joan of arc that people make, because their interest seems twofold, but i see a lot of people only making the connection of like gender non conformity (which is there!!! and huge). but to me, a larger part of it is like.... the intermixing of contemporary reaction and myth (and like, martyrdom) with a modern context of what was probably “going on” with her. i also think it’s important to not dwell on christian symbols TOO much when making these connections, because while the root of this is a connection from mental illness to a certain sense of spirituality that comes from ideas within christian mythology, i don’t think any of the notions here are meant to be taken as fundamentally christian concepts, or that gerard necessarily believe joan’s crusade to be righteous in the fact that it’s christian. i think we can take the baby out of the bathwater here.

Gerard is a spiritual person, and like, seems to have a huge relationship with christianity (obviously, and a very catholic, righteous one at that). I think in that quote where he is describing joan of arc as “probably fucking crazy” and touched by the hand of god at the same time is really important. The connection he seems to make with his own mental illness and a sort of chosen-one narrative feels directly influenced from his understanding of stuff like this, of apostles and oracles, etc. We know he later on connected Maya the Psychic with a personal experience of auditory hallucinations (though the major source i can find on this is the genius annotation with a link to a concert video where he doesn’t actually say what the annotation is claiming, so it’s up for debate?). It feels like you can make a much deeper connection between the two (gerard and joan) when considering the fact that he seems to be overlapping and mixing the idea of being a spiritual and religous martyr with being a mentally ill person who feels so strongly about something that they make themselves a target for what is right. i feel like gerard perhaps understands or understood himself as someone who in a previous era would be receiving visions and then being persecuted for it. that makes themes of like revenge and mortality also tie in nicely to the joan narrative but that’s probably less related.

I think it’s not uncalled for also to draw out a discussion of gerard’s gender non conformity as a sort of “martyrdom” via the hands of the popular consensus. Like to me it really feels like gerard being so sort of flagrantly a target in the public understanding of mcr in order to be a figure for gay and/or fucked up teens is like. his noble cause that he was burned at the stake for. like literally a social martyr for the cause! i think he knew that the whole time. and if he wasnt doing that he didn’t want to do it anymore.

so like to me joan is more of a philosophy than anything else to gerard, and there’s far more loops than just the fact that the two sort of overlap in terms of androgyny or gerard has an interest in her. and gerard HAS become a myth to us just like joan. gerard did sort of burn at the stake a little bit and you can honest to god see people understand gerard either as “Gerard” or like the person he actually is day to day. and “Gerard” is Joan of Arc. the gerard that isn’t aligned with the way we see him in terms of mcr isn’t “Gerard” to a lot of people, which is why you see people reacting to recent mcr so strongly, he’s “Gerard” to them again, and it’s like seeing a dead saint.

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padfootastic · 6 months

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please say more about jilypad + diverging parenting styles... perhaps even a possible scenario >:) i imagine harry has very cunning tactics for using this to his advantage

helloooooo <3 thank u for this ask bc i love talking about these three and harry. i went looking thru the archives to find this post; my first foray into this side, and really, i’ve never looked back after that.

so i’ve talked ab this a bit before but i fully think that james was a very overprotective ‘mother hen’ type parent. i tend to read his behaviour in lily’s bday letter to sirius as being scared of his child on a broomstick and i fully, fully think he’ll never be able to let go of that as harry grows up. he’ll be anxious and suspicious and paranoid, and his first instant will always be to wrap harry up in cotton wool and hide him away. (i low-key connect this to his childhood as well; going from being spoiled and sheltered to dropped in the middle of a war, black & white thinking, living in extremes etc etc makes it v hard for him to be Normal about his child. as he shouldn’t be, really, but yeah) that’s why he thrives during the initial years; he never minds the hard parts of being a new parent, loves it in fact, and it makes it better that he can keep harry close to him at all times w/o coming off as a helicopter parent (not that the notion bothers him ofc).

it’s good, then, that he has two partners to even the scales, no? i think lily was the most…balanced out of the three. she had a relatively normal childhood, grew up in a working class family/neighbourhood and had to deal w adversity from a young age so she’s developed a nice, thick skin. she also has a sibling with whom she has a v rocky relationship so she knows that kids are, ykno, a bit unhinged. and a little bit of hardship is not a problem. i hc her as needing time to get used to parenthood, unlike james who stepped into it natural as breathing, or even sirius who loved harry on much on first sight that it made up for everything else. ofc lily loved her son, but it didn’t come w the same blinding intensity of her partners and made her feel really shitty in the beginning. but, i think she’d shine during his teen years actually, because she’s not overbearing or intense and becomes the quiet, calm strength that a hormonal, spotty teen boy would probably need.

and sirius <3 our poor baby falls in love with harry, perhaps even more quickly than james, with such startling speed that it shakes his entire foundation. he doesn’t regret it but he’s constantly discombobulated. i also imagine that…it takes him longer to settle into the role of parent, esp bc he’s not biologically one ykno? not like it matters to anyone, ofc, but it takes him a long time to truly accept his authority and place, to believe that he has just as much right as j&l to be there, to parent harry. this has the consequence of him always being more indulgent than the other two; after all, he considered himself a godfather before a parent and a lot of that thinking stayed. he lets harry get away with stuff the others might not (and the little mf figures this out later); some of it also comes from sirius seeing so much shit, and facing so much shit himself, that he rationalises a lot of stuff as ‘well, this isn’t the worst it can be, so what’s the harm’ (because his life has been such a roller coaster that he’s forgotten that not everyone’s like that, if that makes sense?)

its obviously not this clear cut but i imagine harry looks at it like this: if he needs unconditional love, he goes to james; rationality and logic, lily; acceptance and calm, sirius. when someone has to be beat up for hurting harry, james steps in. if he needs help burying a body, it’s sirius. dealing with some asshole boss/teacher/classmate’s mother who’s making harry’s life hell? lily. i can keep going but,,,u get the idea, right? this makes sense, i hope lol

i actually think harry’s first birthday is a great example. sirius pushes the boundaries by gifting lil harry a broom; james loses his mind running after him; lily places an industrial sticking charm on harry’s butt, leans back with a glass of wine, and enjoys the show. even as he grows up, lily and james act as the disciplinarian, and sirius is the emotional outlet. all of them fill in each other’s cracks so well, and it’s only when harry grows up that he realises how effortlessly they worked off each other to parent him.

also oh man o man. harry being cunning is,,,,,see, i’ve not considered it this far but it makes perfect sense. i think canon harry actually had so much manipulative energy and it’s often overlooked for his goofier traits but! this is the same dude who used his dead parents to trick slughorn into revealing sensitive info! imagine if that could be channelled into his jilypad interactions 😈

it’s like, it takes him a bit, because his three parents r so smooth, but once he realises that all of them have certain weak spots, he does NOT hesitate to exploit them. (it has the unintended consequence of truly strengthening the jilypad relationship into an unbreakable one bc one thing their kid taught them is to have ironclad communication going at all times so nothing they’ve said, or not said, is used against them). so like, he knows if he wants to sneak out to a party, it has to be sirius and in a specific way—‘i’ll be totally safe, papa, plus i really wanna see what it’s like and idk when it’ll get a chance to again’. if he widens his eyes to pitiful levels, pouts a little, and blinks faster than usual, then james is putty in his arms as long as he’s separated from the other two. divide and conquer becomes the main tool in harry’s arsenal, actually. lily’s the toughest nut to crack, purely bc she doesn’t run on emotions or irreverence, but harry soon learns that if he comes up with a solid, logical case that proves his argument has unbiased merit then he has a good chance of getting her to say yes. (this is good, bc u can arrange words in the correct order, but u can’t always control emotions)

so overall yeah, you’d think one kid + 3 parents would be an easy bet, but harry keeps them on their toes all the fkn time.

#sirius black #james potter #lily evans #jilypad #harry potter #i knew before i even started this that it would be ridiculously long lmao #i just cannot bring myself to shut up #wrt lily and harry’s baby years #i feel v v strongly ab motherhood not coming naturally to her #and becoming a very sore point for her. bc she sees james and sirius and she keeps blaming herself for being an unfeeling robot #when she’s not. she just thinks more logically than them and doesn’t feel as strongly. that doesn’t make her a bad mother #and no matter what j & s say a small part of always thinks like that. until the teen years. and suddenly the dynamics r reversed #bruh i think i need help it’s not even funny how not hinged i am for this trio lmao #there also! padfoot!#a while ago i wrote a lil thing. but i fully believe that whenever harry was emotionally distraught he’d actually go to padfoot #bc he needed someone to just. sit. and be there. while he’s processed emotions #and lily would be too ruthlessly logical and james would be fretting and trying to fix it and sirius would panic. just a little.#but padfoot is a warm comforting weight agains this side and he just lets him be. it’s grounding.#so harry always. without fail. does that #it’s actually 3.5 parents lmao #i do wonder what their parenting fights would about if any. hmmmm. my glasses are too rose tinted for me to consider it #a thought for another day #anyway. hope this endless rambling made sense! and that u liked it!#would love to hear ur thoughts too <3 #pen’s notes #pen’s asks

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thevilqueen · 3 months

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What really gets me about Vil and his overblot is that he spent his entire life dedicating himself to not being ugly both inside and outside despite being constantly reduced to the villain. He worked extremely hard to nurture his appearance but also his intellect and his heart.

Despite a harsh exterior he tried to spread his notion of beauty to the people around him with their best interest in mind. He tried very hard to be good but in the end, he became the exact thing that he feared, the villain.

He was driven to the point that he attempted to take out his rival which is the exact opposite behaviour of what he has always stood for. Vil’s pet peeve is cutting corners. This is the behaviour he despises and on top of that, he almost took someone else’s life.

When Vil overblot he knew he was wrong, he knew that he became what he feared, he was the villain, the true villain and that was unforgivable to him. All this time and effort he put into striving for perfection and beauty just vanished like that.

Because before his overblot he could still conceal the imperfection and polish it but after his overblot, there was no going back. Because nothing would ever erase the truth about him which is that there is in fact darkness and ugliness inside him like he feared.

This just goes to show that the truest form of healing for Vil is going to be self-acceptance. He needs to accept that he’s imperfect, that he will never be perfect and also that he can be the fairest one of all but he is the one that has to believe he is first just like Rook pointed out.

Vil thought that if others saw him as the fairest one of all then he would be but the only person that is never satisfied with him is himself. He has plenty of admirers and he has loved ones too.

He’s extremely accomplished for his age yet that was never enough to satisfy only one person and that is him. Except that now he has done something that he can never truly make up for. There’s a darkness and ugliness in him that he has to acknowledge.

It’s just there and it almost hurt him and others. I think there’s much to think about when it comes to Vil’s healing and self-acceptance considering it’s not deeply discussed in canon. I’m happy that he does get better canonically and I think that’s incredible but the idea of having to accept that side of him must be so difficult for him. Yet I think the journey would be so nice to witness.

#👑.the evil queen talks #twisted wonderland #twst #vil schoenheit

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starflungwaddledee · 2 months

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do you have any tips for leaving compliments on other people's art ?? your tags are always so well phrased !

oooo oooooooooooooo uuhhhhhhhh hmmm!

firstly, thank you!! i'm rather glad to hear that! i try quite hard to leave meaningful comments so it's nice when folks notice or appreciate it!

outside of commenting on the work, i first consider the tone of what i'm saying and who i'm saying it to.

i always try to make sure that what i'm saying will be appreciated by the person! that's the point. for the most part i leave comments to bring joy to the op, and thank them for their hard work, for being here and sharing art that made me happy! if i'm speaking to a mutual or friend, there's gonna be inside jokes and probably an amount of casual yelling. possibly even a little friendly roast, if i know them well enough. if i'm speaking with someone i don't know as well i try to keep it a little more professional, but i keep in mind that this is a fandom so an amount of yelling and screaming is expected. i tend to think about what i would like from someone else.

also if i notice that a caption or a blogs about is not in english i double check. if english is not the first language of the artist i make sure to construct tags that are easily translated and i use only and exclusively positive phrases. saying things like "delete this!!!! /pos" or "eating my own hands" can be totally lost in translation. i also keep in mind the age of the OP. don't tag as though you're Looking Disrespectfully at the art of a minor, even if that's your favourite blorbo.

as for how to comment on art or storytelling itself, this is indeed a learned skill, and it can be helped by training your eye to understand different things in artwork. but it's easy to start practicing! this is intuitive to me now, but an easy way to begin is to pick out one or two things that really stand out to you on a piece. (examples could be line quality; is it smooth? neat? textured? full of emotion?, shading: is it crisp? atmospheric? realistically rendered?, or colour choice: is it vibrant? is it moody? is it perfectly on model?) and draw attention to them and how the artist successfully used them to make the piece work.

if the piece includes design-work, pick something of that which you like as well. (clothes, colour choices, abilities, parallels to other characters, totally new or unique concepts that you haven't seen before. if you see your favourite colour combos or notions, let them know, but if it's a stranger remember they made the design for themselves, and you just share (good) tastes!) if you really want to make an artist/designer/storyteller's day, try to find the Little Thing that they've snuck into their art or design that ties into the story or lore that they are telling. even guesses to this end tend to be appreciated!

generally useful things you can also comment on are how well an artist has utilised a medium for its strengths, especially if the medium is a little unusual. if someone @'d me in particular i make sure to acknowledge that too because they probably read me for something and i should acknowledge the effort!

another thing i also always, always encourage, is to try to periodically share and comment on the work of people who are either less experienced or who have less visibility than you. especially if you have more of a platform! if you want to keep your blog clean of too many reblogs for aesthetic or professional reasons you can even go through and remove them later, but sharing the work of smaller accounts- even temporarily- makes such a huge difference! and encouraging + supporting younger or beginner artists is something we should be endeavouring to do as much as possible!

at the end of the day, i always just try to be very earnest in my tags.

there is generally no reason to withhold any praises i can think of, because it's usually nice to have your work perceived and appreciated! i personally loooovvve long rambling tags, screaming tags, stuff like "AAHH NOOOOOOO (THE BLORBO)" and so on. i try to leave the kind of thoughtful comments that i like (and am lucky enough) to receive, and i try to share artwork from a wide variety of people!

#asks #it's something you can get better at with practice and with training your eye to see Little Things in artwork #at understanding the components that an artwork is made up of; and picking the bits that are actually Popping Out to you in the moment!#i hope this helps?? it just takes a bit of Time. moreso than just hitting the reblog button! so i understand why not everyone can do it #i tend to shove stuff into my drafts for weeks/months and will go through and add tags when i have some downtime.#but all my stuff is also queued for the most part.#also if i ever tag something an OP is uncomfortable with; i am trusting they would reach out to me!!#sorry to all the folks who's pictures of galacta knight i have reblogged just going like UHHHHHHH because my brain short circuited #starflungs personal tag #<- sorta?

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genericpuff · 7 months

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Sorry but I think you’re being super negative about the whole “Rachel Presents” announcement.

Rick Riordan is a white author who is passionate about mythology. After Greek mythology and briefly going into egyptology, he used his influence to give People of color a chance to write modern mythology stories from their own culture and experiences—and most importantly he stayed in his lane.

I think Rachel choosing to step back and give other people a voice is a great outcome, considering you guys all joked about how horrific it would be if she tried to appropriate another culture in her next series.

You also said she should have given LO to another creator who had the passion and dicipline to finish for her. That’s ESSENTIALLY what she’s going to be doing with RP. Maybe her true calling is just…being an Idea guy. She has wonderful concepts and cool ideas, but lacks commitment. In this scenario, we could end up with super amazing stories, with proper editing from Random house and proper commitment from new creators. I don’t really see the issue here, everyone wins.

(And lots of authors do the whole “___ presents” format. I don’t think she deliberately copied RR. Most likely her books sales did well and Penguin House approached her with this offer.)

lmao what? I was against the folks saying she should give it to another creator. I don't think not liking the series should mean she's obligated to "give it to someone else." The series is hers and so it's her responsibility to finish it. I do think she should have ended it a long time ago or if she was really miserable making it then she should step away, but she shouldn't be giving it to someone else to finish for her just because "boo you suck at writing your own comic". She started this, she should finish it.

And this is literally her doing exactly that - appropriating other cultures - with extra steps. Just instead of being on the front lines with her own work, she's sponsoring other works based on her own bar for quality (which we know is EXTREMELY low) and slapping her name on them so she can take a "backseat". It's really icky to see from a creator who practically failed upwards and is now using "herself" as a selling point, when she has no real legitimacy outside of LO, which was only as successful as it was because of WT constantly sinking money into it and advertising it over other series on the platform (and because it's based off a story that was VERY popular to romanticize at the time, the H x P myth. Like it was literally what was popular on Tumblr when it started as a hobby comic on Tumblr.)

I'm outlining all of these posts with "speculation" because obviously I don't know what's really going on behind the scenes here, but I think it's really disingenuous of Rachel to sell herself as some top tier brand name for mythological works as a whole when she's caused so much actual harm to the Greek myth community and its sources. It's furthering the notion that she has any credibility as a "folklorist" when really she just pulls whatever comes off the front page of Google. And the similarities between herself and Rick Riordan do matter here because of how commonplace it is these days for Rachel to rip off other works rather than take inspiration and make it into something that's organically her own.

That's my two cents. It's not me trying to be "negative", it's me being genuinely concerned over the blatant appropriation from a white woman gaining even more control over the depictions of cultures and mythologies that she claims she's educated on and isn't. Unlike Rick Riordan, Rachel does not have any formal education in the subject she's claiming to be educated about. Unlike Rick Riordan, Rachel allows her fanbase to use her work as a source on Greek myth and she obfuscates the line between "fiction" and "fact". Rick Riordan started Rick Riordan Presents after he had multiple hits under his belt that were celebrated and loved. Rachel is starting Rachel Smythe Presents after a one hit wonder that could be chalked up to a total fluke that wasn't even able to go out with a bang.

Rick Riordan writes fictional stories inspired by Greek myth for children. Rachel is writing fictional stories claiming to be "retellings" of Greek myth - and now other mythologies if the implications of this project follow through - for adults. It's disingenuous and it frankly deserves to be paid attention to and called out.

I do genuinely want to see creators given an avenue to monetize their work and that's why I think the thought of it is nice, but any amount of further digging just makes this feel like a grift that will lead young and inexperienced creators down a path that won't benefit them (or take advantage of them) due to the blatant lack of care and management exhibited by Rachel over the past 5 years. Just because Rachel had one massive hit that lined her pockets for years does NOT qualify her to be a titan of the industry. Not by a long shot.

To quote Super Eyepatch Wolf,

"Let's say you decide you want to become a carpenter, and particularly, how to build a nice chair. Think about the kind of person you'd want to learn that skill from - would it be from someone who's built nice chairs every day for 30 years, or would it be the guy who built ONE nice chair 5 years ago out of a special kind of wood that doesn't exist anymore, who has NO experience with the kind of wood available to you now?"

EDIT to add: it was more likely Rachel's representative, Britt Seiss who landed this deal for her, not Penguin House themselves. That's what agents are for.

EDIT EDIT: this is ALL assuming she even FOLLOWS THROUGH with this project, because god knows the only reason LO has even gone on as long as it has was because she was being held responsible via a contract, she's NOTORIOUSLY bad for committing to things and has even admitted to it in interviews. She barely even works on LO as it is. Spring of 2024 could roll around and this project could entirely fizzle out. Again, not me trying to be a negative nancy here, I'm just stating my own concerns based on what we all know about Rachel at this point and how she operates.

#ask me anything #ama #antiloreolympus #anon ama #lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #anon ask me anything

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aro-rambles · 3 months

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Hello! My Blog isn't aspec related so I thought I'd share my two cents here

The recent aro hate on this website is INSANE. As someone who is new to tumblr, seeing this in a predominantly queer-centred website is unfathomable.

Equating aro people to "no strings attached" is illogical and stems from the allo-amato notion that there are strings to be attached in the first place. Physical pleasure and emotional fulfilment are two completely separate concepts.

Portraying cishet aro men as people who are just leading on the poor women infantilizes women. This is just misogyny packed as discourse. If a cishet aro person is indeed being a dickhead, they're just a dickhead and we can all call them out on that like we call out any other dickhead

To the queer people equating aromanticism to pedophilia, how do y'all not remember that how gay men were treated back in the day? How we were cordoned off from society to "protect the children"? Do better, people

To the aspec people being accused of doing this just to be able to use a slur, fuck that. The exclsionists seem to have forgotten what a reclaimed slur means, or what queer means. Queer simply mean strange. Have they.. forgotten that aroace people are the queerest ones out there. Challenging not only heteronormativity but also allonormatovity and amatonormativity. They're the ones being called weird for not dating or having crushes or swooning over the random hot guy on the street or fantasizing about a white wedding. The ones treated as immature by their peers for not having a partner yet. And people think they aren't queer?

Fuck the exclsionists. I LOVE your posts. I'm sure I'm surrounded by people hating in anon in your ask box and I'm sending them all the hate in my heart. I love your blog and the aro community is one of the most inclusive I've seen on here. Love y'all and stay strongggg

ok so I'm very sleepy and my brain is like some sort of sauce currently so I'm gonna put numbers before each thing I say bc it's easier, don't worry about it

1 thank you for sharing your two cents, I think I agree with everything you said (can't be sure bc my brain is some sort of sauce currently but I'm sure I'd have noticed if I disagreed)

2 I want to go on The Slur Rant (tm) so bad but the internet is simply not prepared for it and I would rather not have to deal with the annoying fucks who'd disagree with me. not sure why I said this or why I got so aggressive at the end of that last sentence but here we are.

3 I'm sure there was something else I wanted to say before what I'm gonna say next but I forgot, sorry

4 my dude you are not in fact surrounded by hate in my askbox!! there's actually more nice messages than anything else <2 and also whenever I get anon hate I just block on sight now so it's fine. but yeah I would like to thank everyone for the kind words and everything. I love yall except for the ones who rather I didn't, in which case take your pick, we got uhhh cherish, appreciate, like but stronger, and. :3 (<- consider this a verb).

5 thank youuuuuuuu <222

6 sorry I took a while to answer this ask hope you see it even though I'm posting this at horrible hours gdhdjdjdk

#ask

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tartrazeen · 7 months

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You know what usually isn't left at a crime scene?

Pets.

You know what CyberLife has on guard duty at their warehouses?

Dogs.

You know how Connor absolutely lies about liking dogs to Hank in a forced attempt at building positive rapport, because he only mentions them after having in-person data-mined the guy for possible interests, and would've said 'hamsters' instead of dogs if that'd been the fur he found? And then how he breaks into Hank's house, sees Sumo, and so absolutely and utterly loses his shit that he faceplants inside, immediately switching to "omg please don't kill me 😭" mode? And then how Sumo doesn't attack him either way, and Connor has the option to go over to Sumo chilling in the corner and pet him, and is like, "Hm, this dog is nice 🤔"?

I think Connor has only ever had one of two experiences with dogs before that:

He's never met one before at all

He has met dogs, and they're the ones that CyberLife uses to guard their shit

In other words, I think Sumo is the first dog Connor's encountered that wasn't immediately set on ripping him apart. And while I agree his instability is from that standard "🤔 hm, maybe I like dogs after all" feeling...

... it's interesting to consider Sumo might be his first opportunity to challenge any of his preconstructed (😏) notions ever.

He's done his 'homework' on Hank by this point, and knows who the man is. He knows everything there is to know about these 'deviants,' too. He hasn't had the confrontations with a deviant that make him second-guess himself yet, as even letting Rupert go in order to save Hank is arguably following instructions to prioritize human life (which doesn't hold up to what he's designed for, but certainly doesn't lead to any existential epiphanies).

It's nice thinking that one of the early, tiny steps towards Deviant!Connor realizing CyberLife lied to him, used him, weaponized him against people... is that they also inadvertently lied to him about dogs exclusively being threats. And only through total chance did he stumble across someone with a dog that just wanted to boof at him and go get kibble like, "ya he's fine, leave hank there, he'll get up eventually."

It's even better when you realize Connor's attempt at - uh... 'firmly reasoning' with Sumo was to appeal to the dog's inherent state of protectiveness and fierce loyalty towards his owner. Y'know, guarding him. Like dogs were bred to do.

How funny would it be if part of Connor's relief/shock over Sumo shuffling away was 'cause Connor thought, "You're not gonna rip my face off? Bad dog 😠"?

Followed by, "Hm. 🤔 Maybe not all dogs do that." (Instability ^)

Bonus: the real big-brained take is to say Connor did like dogs when he said that to Hank, but only 'cause he thought all dogs were like CyberLife's loyal, murder machines - like him. 😌

Bonus-Bonus: did you forget hank had a dog wtf dude u even analyzed the type of dog it was, that's the shit we should be making fun of u for, not just the faceplanting (but still continue to make fun of him for that as well lmao)

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh connor #my stuff #good job tartra

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dawndelion-winery · 1 year

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Call My Bluff

He wasn't supposed to get attached...and you weren't supposed to be the one leaving

Alhaitham × GN! Reader

Warning: Angst

He'd always considered you a reliable partner, someone convenient to have around as much as possible. He simply hadn't considered that your reasons for proving your usefulness would be to catch his eye, hence the surprise at your confession. Alhaitham has always been a person driven by logic, and he knew this would be a pivotal moment in your relationship, a point of no return. So he lied. He lied because he didn't want to lose the one companion he had grown to appreciate.

"Let's date then, because I like you too."

He didn't. He couldn't imagine falling for you and letting himself act the way he'd seen so many fools in love did. But he could put on an act for you, just until he got all the help he needed from you. And so he would. He'd hold your hand when no one was around, and you let him keep you like a secret while you kept him like an oath. He'd smile at you, never closing his eyes fully so he could enjoy seeing the effect it had on you. All just so he'd know exactly what he had to do to keep you wrapped around his finger without letting you get too close to him.

How unfortunate that he hadn't considered the shallowness of it all would be the thing that drove you away. Even more so when it was the loss of you that helped him realise his own feelings.

Slowly, you could feel your love running dry, unable to love someone you barely even knew. You hated yourself for it, wondering if you just weren't tyring hard enough because he seemed to know everything to do to get your heart to flutter, but you never could return the favour. Still, you stuck around, hoping you could salvage it.

Yet there he was, oblivious to your efforts. "I never thought I'd see the day anyone could put up with you enough to date you let alone see you equally smitten," Kaveh scoffed, still in disbelief despite how you had been dating his roommate for a good month by then. Alhaitham scoffed at the notion. Him? Smitten with you? He doubted it, but as ridiculous as it seemed, he couldn't shake away the thought entirely, leaving it to fester and grow at the back of his mind. And grow it did, until he began thinking of you randomly, remembering things you mentioned in passing and missing you when you were gone. It was strange, so he started to randomly distance himself from you at times if only to see how he'd feel about it.

You felt bad for considering breaking things off with him, especially since you'd asked him first. He's never been known to be the affectionate sort, so really, what else were you expecting? Perhaps you truly had just been viewing him through rose-tinted lens because when you were closer to him than ever before, he'd somehow felt even more distant. So, ever so hesitantly, you approached him. He'd prefer if you cut to the chase, right?

And for the first time, Alhaitham knows he's messed up, he knows he was dreadfully, catastrophically wrong. He'd been looking forward to seeing you, having grown accustomed to always having you smiling softly when you were around him, like there was nowhere else you'd rather be. It felt nice to feel so wanted, and he had come to want you too. So why was it that the first words that left your lips - the same lips he regrets not kissing with a more tender care - a goodbye and an apology? Where was the devoted smile and unfaltering adoration in your eyes?

"I think you meant to say hello?"

If he'd let you know him just a little better, you would've been able to catch on to the subtle waver in his tone which he tried so hard to keep in his usual apathetic manner. But he hadn't, and there you were, laying your heart bare to him for the last time, confessing how difficult it had been for you because of him all while never actually blaming him, as though you didn't want to tarnish the image you had as your final memory of him. And for once he had nothing to say, his mouth running dry.

Alhaitham would've preferred if you'd blamed him and demanded he grovel. He would've preferred if you expected him to beg to make amends. Would it be too late for him to get on his knees and plead for you to stay? He felt stupid, having such pathetic thoughts for someone about to turn their back on him, and though he couldn't understand it, he was sure he'd regret if he didn't.

Yet he couldn't.

"Alhaitham, could you...I don't want to ask for too much, so feel free to decline, but could you kiss me one last time? So I can have a final happy memory with you..."

He wanted to say no, to tell you he wasn't going to let you go just yet, and that he could fix it...but he couldn't, not when you looked so hurt. It would be too selfish of him to ask for your trust when he'd already betrayed it so ruthlessly. So he kissed you. He kissed you like it was his dying breath, as though the light in his world were fading and you'd disappear the moment he could no longer feel your lips on his. He kissed you with one hand on your cheek, caressing it like you were all he ever wanted, and his other hand at the back of your head, keeping your from pulling away.

He kissed you with fervour, as the hand on your cheek trailed down - never once leaving your person - and came down to hold your hand. He hoped it was enough to show you.

But Alhaitham had always been a convincing actor, so who were you to believe any of his passion if he had been unable to show it in the months you'd been together?

Taglist: @myluvkeiji @aqui-soba @favonius-captain @tiredsleep @raincxtter @gensimping-for-all @irethepotato @almond-adeptus @mx-kamisato @yuzuricebun @chaosinanutshell @heizours @haliyamori @callmemeelah @sadlonelybagel @plinkuro @thevictoriousmoon @mastering-procrastinating @missesclaus @cxlrosii @miss-fantazmagoria @astrequa @kokomist @lemonswriting @eowinthetraveller @ajaxstar @boundedbyfate @the-lost-anime-dad @ash-astrophel @moonbyunniee @greyrain23

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #genshin alhaitham #winery specials

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entomolog-t · 4 months

Note

Ohh we’re being evaluated huh?

My favorite scenarios are ones involving curious giants and tinies that desperately want to run away but can’t

A tiny is trapped and a giant finds them, helping them out of the trap and offering safety, food, even letting them go. The tiny is suspicious— what could this giant possibly want? There’s no way that they’re just being kind for the sake of it, everything they’d ever been told suggested that all giants were evil and they should be dead or in a jar right now. The tentative curiosity and choice to stay of the tiny toasts my eggs and scrambles my bread. The initial terror turned confusion turned curiosity turned delight. Mwah, chef’s kiss.

Also the reverse, where a giant who hates tinies gets stuck with one and slowly comes to realize that they absolutely adore them. I love those equally as much.

Dying to know if this says anything about me, assuming you’re still doing these ^^ /nf

BACK IN OFFICE BABY

This is quite the interesting scenario to discect.

So the main theme of note would be subverted expectations- interestingly, this tends to crop up quite frequently in G/t media.

Typically, this can imply some sort of projection of the self, or some reframing of another.

The main thing I would suggest to consider are the traits associated with the giant, as well as what the tiny/and possibly others think of the giant.

Even if you are more tiny aligned, I would still take the time to consider what traits are shown, and ask yourself if any of those reflect personal feelings.

A regularly occurring theme is to project ones own attributes that we see as misunderstood or overlooked onto the giant. Being shy, or intimidating can lead to us feeling unapproachable, and plant that seed in our subconscious that "If only someone got to know me, they would see that I'm [Defining Trait]"

Though that is certainly not the only route. There is another common trend in G/t, and fantasy as a whole, to reframe negative emotions- even fantasizing a different resolution. Do the "scary" traits of the giant remind you of a time you were wronged by someone? It might be that your brain is trying to reframe it to help with coping. The reframing allows for fantastical leeway to suggest they were not actually wronging you- their intentions were just misunderstood. Those thoughts help the mind to feel more in control because it shifts the blame from someone not liking you or intentionally hurting you to being a misunderstanding- a far more comforting concept that being malicious.

Reframing doesn't have to just occur with the giant archetype either. The tiny holds bias and preconceived notions of how they anticipate someone "dangerous" to act. Does the tiny remind you of anyone? perhaps someone that judged you over something you could not change?

As weird as it may be to say, the brain likes metaphors. There is a great deal of meaning within our subconscious imagery. Peeling back the layers and trying to determine what each character represent is quite the peak into the inner workings of our psyches.

Theres also another very interesting projection that could be occurring on the tiny. Do they share any negative or mistaken traits? Are these traits mirroring traits of your own?

The fact the tiny cannot comprehend why someone would be nice for the sake of being nice to them could be very telling about our own internal self reflection- and its important to analyze what traits of our own we might see of as unworthy of unconditional love/kindness.

I hope this breakdown could offer you some insight into the inner workings of this dynamic trope!

Thank you for attending this session, please see my secretary on the way out to book any follow up appointments.

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t community #g/t prompts #g/t shitpost #G/t tropes #G/t trope psychology

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sword-and-lance · 4 months

Text

so I wound up having a whole Thought Process in replying to a fic comment and just

okay fair warning this probably leans heavily on my own interpretations of Cazador and also Astarion and a bunch of the Cazador backstory in particular is pure headcanon

also fair warning there's discussion of abuse and sexual assault in here

BUT

man these two actually have quite a bit in common--the "my Master is an abusive asshole" thing being the big obvious one

also neither of 'em seem to have a great relationship with their families: Astarion never even mentions his in the slightest, ever, so I remain unconvinced that there was anything good there, and Cazador uh

well

Amanita's notes imply that there were only a grand total of like four remaining living Szarrs despite having multiple estates and a huge fuckoff castle smack in the middle of the city and yeah I absolutely headcanon that Cazador had most of them merc'd because none of them did a damn thing while Vellioth--who only married in and who Donnela picked for vampire-ing over her own grandkid because she held Cazador responsible for his dad (her son) going AWOL as a vampire hunter, it's a whole Thing I should really write it down at some point--basically ran the family reputation into the ground with his insistence on indulging his own brutal assholery over anything else (instead of balancing it with blackmail/politics so they don't get Found Out)

so yeah he is fairly obsessed with his family but in the sense that it's his and belongs to him and he gets to own it and shape it and bring it back to how it was when he was a kid and they owned damn near the entire Upper City in one capacity or another

so really no he isn't fond of his family but more the idea of it and being able to control it which is. uh. quite different!

and that kinda leads into my next point that they are both fucking Obsessed with power, "over people" specifically to quote Astarion in-game

I mean after all on Cazador's side of things: that was how Vellioth got to be where he was, that was what Vellioth wielded over him and all the other spawn whenever he decided to torture/sexually assault/etc them as he pleased, and that was how Cazador himself finally got Vellioth killed, too, and turned himself into a full vampire finally--it wasn't dry politics it wasn't law it was just interpersonal trickery wielding Vellioth's personal desires against him, and Cazador not only wanted his own abuser dead but wanted to make damn sure that it never happened again, that no one would ever be able to hurt him like he did

even when it meant hurting other people--LOTS OF THEM in all sorts of horrifying new ways!--to do it

and that's why he really just is not fuckin redeemable by the time we see him: he's molded his entire fucking existence around that notion, he cannot will not trust anyone but himself, he tried over and over with that as a spawn and always got punished for it--his family was not kind, his lone friend died for his kindness, and considering that his general social circle was a bunch of rich people, I'm willing to fuckin wager he probably didn't get any notion of it outside, either, and in fact it probably made it even easier to just think of people in general like things--cattle, even

so all that's left for him is (what has to look to him) like stone-cold objective knowledge that everything sucks, the world is vicious and cruel and the only good things you can have you have to TAKE by force or trickery from someone else and they don't matter, they'll only take from you the second they get a chance

and yeah Astarion clearly had a bit of a similar problem over the past 200-something years, considering--he was also tortured quite extensively for years, despite Cazador genuinely thinking he's being nice about it in an I HAD IT WORSE SUCK IT UP sort of way; he got faced with an utterly impossible task to constantly hunt down prey for his Master while fuckin starving the whole time, and eventually in sheer desperation resorted to literal prostitution only to be met with a very blase okay that works I guess keep it up from Cazador since it wasn't like Cazador really thought Astarion had much in the way of other talents to lure people in and all he cared about was having people lured in

shit, Astarion's entire approval set damn near until the last act of the damn game are just reflecting that mindset--the world is vicious and cruel and the only good things you can have you have to TAKE by force or trickery from someone else

...thing is, Cazador was basically surrounded by enablers and even outside of that is also hellishly stubborn and molded his entire existence around the pursuit of power because he thought that was literally all there was to anything, even to the point of making deals with not just a devil but one of THE devils, one of the Big Boys and one who's pretty damn tricky at that

he was not and is not going to give up on any of his plans, even if someone SOMEHOW gave him a chance to, and if we ignore the whole VAMPIRES EVIL LOL thing for a sec--far as Cazador's concerned, the kind are weak and murdered and tortured by the strong, and that is just how it is. that was how it always was and always would be and he's been surrounded by it literally all his life, personal and political, with basically no evidence to the contrary that doesn't immediately get ruined, whether at his hand or someone else's

if this isn't what he should do in life, then what else is there? just being a horribly broken person for literally eternity or until someone up and stakes him? he can't afford to let this go because it would obliterate his whole fucking identity in the process

...Astarion though at least has the benefit of running around with people who do not in fact enable his FUCK EVERYONE ELSE BUT ME! bullshit, and in fact (can be, anyway) relentlessly kind to him and show him that yes, actually, there is a life beyond what happened to him

there's a whole lotta life beyond it, actually! even while he's trying to "just" be manipulative, because the kind are weak and he can't afford to be weak when his Master HAS to be hunting for him by now, he fuckin fails at that and actually gets attached to the people trying to get him to knock off his assholery--they treat him like an actual person and he actually gets pretty into that despite himself, even though it clearly scares the hell out of him to have to make his own identity over again beyond just...being the flirty vampire

but thing is

he's at least brave enough to try doing it (presuming the non-ascended route--the ascended route he just refuses and falls right into Cazador's own neuroses), and when he's given the chance he takes it despite being terrified of it

he's seen more, he wants more and he's willing to risk himself to get it because it was worth it

Cazador though

lol nah

ultimately he's a coward about doing that exact thing

he's petrified of having nothing left of him if he gives up on what he's doing so he just never even tries and would pretty violently refuse any attempt to make him, for that matter--to him, it can't possibly be worth it

Astarion at least believes a small selection of people would be worth trying for

but Cazador's got none of that because he gave the fuck up on ever finding that and split the world into people he owned and people he would eventually own when he got what he deserved in Ascending after so many years of pure shit--and after his existence had turned into a meaningless morass of violence and horror that he inflicted on literally everyone around him like the walking nuclear fallout of a man that he is

part of being better is wanting to BE better, and (non-ascended) Astarion at least eventually wants to

but Cazador would very literally rather die instead

tl;dr yeah one of these two is a "small pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything"

but it ain't Astarion

#; musing #bg3 #cazador szarr #astarion #cazadorposting #astarionposting #long post #jesus that went on for way too long and probably is HELLA disorganized but #that ain't stopped me before and it ain't gonna stop me now #thank you elysiians on AO3 for prompting this meandering train of thought it was hella fun to do

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