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#i love erika so much that it hurts
khihi · 2 months
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how alien kä and erika moved around in the mv was such a good choice by the director or whoever was responsible for it, aside from just making it more interesting to watch in general i feel like it really made a point of how different/wrong those kind of hateful words probably make them feel
comments like that are dehumanising
just makes me think about the article where jere spoke about wanting to "encourage people to be what they are" and how he wants to make "a safe space" for anyone no matter gender or body shape – they know what it's like to feel outcast and weird – they want to let people know it's okay
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shirtlessradfahrer · 8 days
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So what do you do when your favourite rapper makes a catchy song about the hardships of life that you want to love but upon release can’t connect with at all and after a few listens almost outright dislike because none of the pain and hardship life has put you through has ever made you a better person or given you the energy/motivation to do better and it actually just did the complete opposite and you’ve lost out on precious years of your life and so many opportunities while trying to process the trauma and undo the damage
But everyone else seems to love the song to the point that you start to wonder if maybe you’re just a fucking idiot for not being able to make something good out of said trauma and hardship instead of just being filled with crippling anxiety and depression and bitterness and grief and rage
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feydfuckernation · 3 days
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LION I LOVW THAT YOU LISTENED TO MEAN GIRLS ITS SO FUN
when the obc first came out my sister and i listened to it so much in the car that our dad started knowing the songs 😂😂
i'm gonna be real i'd risk it all for her
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seiwas · 5 months
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₊˚⊹。by expensive tiles and elite gym pools | gojo satoru
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wc: 935
summary: you visit gojo during one of his training sessions for his upcoming swim meet.
contains: written with f!reader in mind but no pronouns stated, only gendered term is ‘boyfriend’ pertaining to gojo, swimmer!satoru, non-curse au
a/n: wrote this as a lil surprise blurb bday gift for @kedsandtubesocks (but it got longer than expected... oops) i know how much you love your sports aus erika!! also inspired by some swim!satoru thoughts i had a few days ago!
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You hear a splash! the moment you enter the doors of the gym pool.
The lanes are empty save for one, vast crystal blue shimmering as it reflects the light passing through the glass ceiling. You don't know much about pool construction, but the tiles here look clean, with each edge perfectly cut to fit seamlessly into the other; the markings of luxury, expensive but simple enough not to distract—
—which is what you shouldn't be doing walking into this exclusive gym pool reserved only for the best of the best, the elite. Top tier professionals.
Ones like your gold-winning pro-swimmer boyfriend, Gojo Satoru.
He's approaching the end of his lap when you settle into a squat in front of the lane he’s on, towel hanging off your shoulders as you cross your arms over your knees, wiggling your toes as you wait. The moment he breaks through the surface, you can't hide the smile on your face.
You haven’t seen him in days. 
Everything about him feels like he was made for this—how the ripples make way to accommodate his breathing, the dips and curves of muscle on his shoulders, flexing; how his fingers glide his goggles atop his head without resistance, smoothly. Even with his hair held back by the elastic, the few wet clumps that fall out still frame his face so perfectly. 
It's unbelievable how your boyfriend can look so much like the water he swims in—brilliant and white like glimmers of reflected light, and clean blue, striking, always glistening the moment your eyes catch his. 
Sometimes, looking at him feels a lot like drowning.
"How did I do?" he smirks, squinting into what would have been a suave wink, if not for a drop of water causing an involuntary eye-twitch. 
He already knows the answer, but you indulge him anyway, "Good, as always."
"Just good?" he pouts.
There's a droplet of water hanging by his lips, desperately clinging as it trembles while he breathes. You know he knows you're looking by the way he runs his tongue over it, taunting. 
You narrow your gaze and shrug, teasing, "Maybe you missed something."
He swims closer to the ledge you're squatting by, palms pressing on tile to hoist himself up. You try not to fixate on the way his triceps flex as they hold him up, but he lives for this kind of attention from you—he’d do anything to keep you looking at him the way you do. 
Half of his left leg remains submerged when he settles himself on the edge of the pool, the other one bent as he tilts his head in mock wonder, “Did I?”
It's your turn to pout now as he pretends not to know what you’re after, and you're about to say something on it until—
"S'toru!"
—you scream, pulled off-balance with your heart nearly dropping to your stomach at the fear of being dragged into the water. Except you aren't, because with a simple tug at the towel around your neck, he's managed to tip you over to fall into his lap, steadying you against his very wet and very broad chest instead.  
You smack his shoulders, mouth agape and eyes wide as you push back to look at him. He looks pleased with himself, almost laughing even as his arms settle on your hips, grabbing the flesh and squeezing.
"Mean," you scrunch your nose, and he chuckles.
"Excuse me," he holds you closer, "who hurt my feelings first?"
You roll your eyes fondly, sliding your hands to clasp at the back of his neck, "Okay, big baby."
"Do you want your kiss or not?"
You glare at him, lips pursed tight, "As if you don't—"
So he does—kiss you, lips soft and a little damp. You can taste the chlorine from the hours he's already spent here prior to you coming, but it's comforting, a taste entirely too familiar that you sometimes find yourself looking for it during the long stretches he’s on break. 
He kisses you because you're right, something was missing, and it's always this same thing.
You smile against his lips before breaking away, heart gleaming like pool water. The moment is tender, soft, touched by the magic of being together amidst expensive tiles and elite gym pools.
But you should have known better than to trust your pro-swimmer boyfriend, Gojo Satoru—full-time athlete, and part-time the most insufferable person you’ve ever met.
Because with the way his arm has been wrapping itself inch-by-inch around your waist, he's managed to shift his body back to face the pool, only to dump the both of you back in the water, together.
"Satoru!"
He laughs, voice carrying throughout the gym. You grumble about still having your slippers on and he dives under to get it off you, throwing it to the side when he emerges. 
"Race me!" he ducks to the other lane, sliding his goggles back on before shooting you a thumbs up.
And you’d think this silly of him, really, because this is your back-to-back-to-back gold-winning pro-swimmer boyfriend asking you, a survival swimmer at best, to race him—but you can tell this is his cover for you. 
You’d get in trouble if anyone caught you here in the first place. His schedule's been tight lately, locked down with the need to focus for his upcoming swim meet. Being focused meant no distractions, and you being the worst of them all meant less time spent with you, too. 
Still, he'd insisted that you come today, so.
You can't technically be a distraction if you're going to 'train' with him anyway, right?
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comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
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Spilled Ink
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Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader
Word Count: 7.5k
Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.
Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it
A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3
Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.
Masterlist
It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.
A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.
No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.
Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.
All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.
“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.
“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested. 
“Why?”
“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”
“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.
“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”
“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights. 
She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly. 
“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”
And here you are. Checking it out.
The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort. 
The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.
He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.
Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.
“Um.”
While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.
“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.
“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”
“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly. 
“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”
“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”
“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”
The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”
Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.
You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.
“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”
There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it. 
“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”
You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”
“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”
“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”
Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”
“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”
Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty. 
A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.
“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”
“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.
“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”
“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”
Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”
“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”
He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.
“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”
“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”
“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”
“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”
“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”
You nod eagerly.
“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”
“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.
“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.
“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside. 
You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.
“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”
“I trust you.”
His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”
“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.
“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”
Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him. 
“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.
And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant. 
“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.
Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.
“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.
“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.
“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?” 
You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.
“That’s perfect.”
“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”
“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm. 
“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin. 
“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”
At your nod, the camera clicks one last time. 
“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”
You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.
“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”
Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.
“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.
Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.
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Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.
Subject: Initial Sketch
Hello,
Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!
Best regards,
Marcus :) 
Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.
It’s beautiful.
Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet. 
At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.
Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.
Subject: Re: Initial Sketch
Marcus,
I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.
Thanks again!
Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.
Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch
I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.
Marcus :) 
You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email. 
Subject: Final Design
Hey there!
Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.
Best regards,
Marcus :) 
Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection. 
Subject: Re: Final Design
Marcus,
If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.
Thank you so much.
After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out. 
You can’t wait.
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As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.
You’re really doing this.
Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely. 
“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner. 
“I’m okay for now.”
“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”
“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table. 
“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”
“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair. 
“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.
You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you. 
“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”
“Yep,” you nod.
“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”
At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve. 
“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.
Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.
You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up. 
Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”
“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”
“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction. 
Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.
“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning. 
“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”
Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”
“What made you leave?” 
He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.
“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.
“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”
And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk. 
Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.
“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully. 
“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”
Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily. 
“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where. 
“Okay.”
The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.
“...That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.
Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”
You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”
His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”
His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.
“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.
“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly. 
“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”
“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly. 
“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”
You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.
In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.
After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.
“You like art, huh?”
It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious. 
Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”
“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.
“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”
“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”
Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root. 
“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”
He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”
“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.
“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”
“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”
“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”
You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”
Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”
“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.
“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you. 
“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.
Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”
You shrug.
The gun switches off.
“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”
“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.
“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”
You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.
“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”
You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.
No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine. 
"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."
"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it. 
"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing. 
"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement. 
"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"
"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.
"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"
You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly. 
"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.
"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you. 
“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.” 
The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.
You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you. 
Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.
Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh. 
“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”
“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.
“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.
His fingers brush yours.
If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…
You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.
Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’
Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.
“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”
Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.
“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”
“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.
“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”
“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”
“So you just… quit?”
“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”
“Did it work?”
“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.
“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”
“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.
An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Wanna keep going?”
Breathlessly, you nod. 
In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.
“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”
It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.
“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest. 
“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.
“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”
You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.
“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.
“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”
You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.
“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”
“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.
Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response. 
“Yes.” 
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As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.
“Break time?” you ask.
Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”
“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right. 
“How’s it feel?” he asks.
“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”
It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.
“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.” 
He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.
After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch. 
“Yes,” you whisper.
“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.
 “You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”
“Don’t pick the scabs.”
“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.
“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.
“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”
“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly. 
Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”
“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”
“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”
Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.
“Marcus…”
“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.
“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”
“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.
It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.
The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.
All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him. 
When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–
He can’t seem to stop kissing you. 
You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.
“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so. 
“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”
To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.
“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”
“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.
“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”
“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”
Another kiss.
“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”
“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.
Another. 
“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”
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crazyinlovewithbucky · 11 months
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“don’t fill your void with me”
PART TWO.
“Свою пустоту мною не заполняй”
Pairings: Villain!The Winter Solider!Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary: this takes place in an alternative universe where Hydra took over the world and the winter soldier killed all Avengers and he became the leader of Hydra and he’s controlling the whole world. He saw you one day and he determined you were his and he made sure of that. and now after you both reunited, he shows you how much he cares for you and admits his feelings at the end.
Part One.
Warnings: smut, lots of fluff, villain bucky turns sweet, some angst, jealousy, dark themes, dark!bucky to soft!bucky, dom bucky, lots of praise + lots of praise in russian, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, speaking in russian.
This was inspired by Яд by Erika Lundmoen
please read my author note it’s very important!
AU/N: hey guys, part two is here. I need to remind you that English is not my first language so excuse any misspelling or mispronunciation of any words or any grammatical mistakes lol. Hope you enjoy this dark fantasy I had of Bucky as I was wondering how he would be still as a villain. Also, this was heavily inspired by ‘yad’ (Яд) by Erika Lundmoen, I love this song so much and it always reminds me of Bucky in his Winter soldier era. Enjoy loves xx
PART ONE
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He buried his face in your neck, attacking the sensitive skin again with kisses, especially that sweet spot that gets you all turned on and horny. As if you’re not going to lose your mind already from how horny you are. You could feel his tip pushing slightly on your clit and you were just a moaning mess at this point. “Ready for me, love?” he lifted his head and rested his head on your forehead, locking eyes with you.
“Always, Bucky” you whispered, his whole expression changed. his eyes widened a bit at the sound of his name slipping out of your mouth like honey. He hadn’t heard this name in so long, and you are saying it like this had his heart beating faster, if he wasn’t in love with you before, he believes now he is.
"What did you say?" he sounded out of breath while looking at you with slightly wide eyes, he lifted himself slowly with his hands on each side of your head, pushing himself up.
You panicked a little and your heart started to beat a little faster, "I-I'm sorry. I- Bucky. No, James. I- I meant to say J-James. I'm sorry-y" your voice cracked as you were stumbling on words. you used your elbows to lift yourself up a little as your heart kept racing, not knowing what you should say or do next. Your body just wanted to feel his breath and touch again, and without thinking, you found yourself moving your lips closer to his and looking him deeply in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Jamie" you whispered against his lips.
In the beginning, He felt so strange, not good strange and not bad strange, just strange. These feelings now, you, your words, the names 'Bucky' and 'Jamie' slipping so sweetly from your mouth, and oh, your mouth, this mouth that looks so delicious and sweet to him. These names you called him just now, reminded him of his old life, before Hydra, before being the winter soldier, even before the war. Where everything was just colorful, he was happy, genuinely happy. He felt so happy at this moment, with you underneath him, so close to him, calling him the name he once cherished and loved. If he felt anything for you before like admiration or if these feelings were mainly sexual, now he's certain that he loves you, hell, he'd do anything for you as if he hasn't been doing that already, but now is different, now he wants you to be happy, he wants you with him, always. But suddenly, he was reminded of his awful present, him being the head of Hydra, and being a cold-blooded murderer. He cannot afford to bring you into this life, because he's sure everyone will use you to get him, to hurt him, to destroy him and he promised himself he won't let this happen again.
"It's okay, but don't say it again." his tone was cold, you actually shivered at these harsh words. "Jamie is nicer, I'm okay with it" he kept leaning towards you, which made you lean back and lay again on the bed, underneath him, while he kept nipping and kissing your neck. You can't stop thinking about his reaction when you called him Bucky, he looked shocked but you found something in his expression that indicates happiness, you swear his lips twitched as he was fighting not to smile. Then suddenly, his gaze darkened and his expression went somehow cold, you hated that. You want him to smile, you want him to remember who he was, and you want to save him from this darkness that surrounds him.
He went back to kissing you all over, making you shiver and whimper under his kisses and touches, his mouth and tongue moved to your boobs, he caressed them with his hands then sucked a hickey on your right nipple while pinching and twisting your left one, you kept whimpering and moaning, feeling more wetter.
He lined his cock to your pussy and started to move it and rub it on your clit and between your folds as he was smearing your juices all over his cock. He pushed in slowly, his head now filling you slowly as you whimpered and whined, "Don't tease, please" You whined and wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in his neck.
"Told you, I'm taking my time with you, кукла" he whispered in your ear before biting your neck while he pushed the rest of his cock inside you. He was very big, and you always take time to adjust to him. you remembered the first time you both did it and you were murmuring to yourself how it wouldn't fit and he laughed and told you, it will and how you are his "good girl" and will take it like "the good girl you are". You clenched around him as you remembered his praises to you.
"Ahh, Fuck, you're squeezing the life out of me, милый, as if you aren't already so tight for me" he was out of breath as he bottomed out and stilled inside you for a while, making you adjust oh him.
"J-James, please move. I need you. please, Jamie, please." you whined as you needed more friction. He groaned as he started moving out of you, dragging his length in and out of you in slow strokes, grinding his hips slowly into yours. You swear you can feel his tip hitting that deep soft spot inside you that's so close to your cervix. You remembered he hit your cervix more than once during your rough hard sessions when he was so worked up and just wanted to fuck his stress away. You wished quietly, he would give up on this "love-making" attitude and start fucking your brains out. You wanted that and not that love-making bullshit, you don't want to get attached to him more than you already are.
He started to go a little faster, he groaned and moaned your name as he was sucking more hickeys on your neck. He gripped your hips and moved his hips to change the angle, and oh god, this new angle had you crying out loud, even though he was moving slowly and deeply inside you but it felt so good, this was way better than any hard or rough sex you both had.
He sat up while still rutting and fucking you deeply, then he moved his right hand down your body until it reached your left calf, he pulled it up on his waist and you were quick to wrap it around it, his right hand kept caressing and rubbing on your left thigh while his metal left hand moved and opened your right leg more. That gave him more space to move deeper and now his tip was hitting and rubbing your cervix. You screamed at the sensation and arched your back, feeling your orgasm so close.
"тебе так хорошо рядом со мной, куколка. Я никогда не хочу покидать тебя." he groaned loudly. you felt his cock twitching inside you and you knew that his orgasm is approaching too. His metal hand moved to your clit and he started to rub that sensitive bud in slow circular moves. "Cum for me, персик. I want to feel you soaking my cock with your sweet peach juices" he leaned down on you and kissed you sloppily, using his tongue and teeth while trying to catch his breath.
Everything he did and everything you feel is just so hot and too much for you to hold your orgasm any longer. Your orgasm bursted from you like a waterfall, you were crying out loud, back arching, legs shaking, eyes shut closed, nails scratching his back. He didn't stop his movements, fucking you through your intense orgasm while his hands kept rubbing your clit slowly, you were so sensitive, and unconsciously you kept trying to move away and back away from him and his deadly touches. "Come here, милая девушка. where are you going?" he groaned and held your hips so tight and pinning you underneath him on the bed, never stopping his deep overstimulating thrusts.
"T-Too much. Ahh B-Bucky, b-baby too much" You were so far gone to focus on your words, you were just babbling now and words are getting out of your mouth without thinking. He groaned loudly at your words and his cock twitched hard. He kept holding your hips down and his grip tightened.
With one last deep thrust, he came inside you with loud groans. He threw his head back as his hips kept grinding slowly against yours, unable to control his movements anymore, while his cock kept spilling all of his cum inside you, filling you up to the max. And with that feeling alone, him spilling his load in you, his tip rubbing your soft spot, his cum shooting straight and hitting your cervix, your second orgasm hit you like lightning and you couldn't help but scream as you came all over his cock again.
He collapsed on top of you and slowly moved his torso away to not crush you underneath him and give you space to breathe. you both panted loudly, trying to catch your breath after that very intense sex. You blinked slowly, thinking that this is absolutely the best sex you ever had in your life. After you calmed down a bit, you looked at him and found him already staring at you with a smile on his face. You smiled in return and kept locking eyes with him, the words "I love you" are literally on the tip of your tongue, fighting so hard to be let out.
"Come here" he wrapped his arms around your body and sat on his knees, moving you both up until he rested you and your head on the fluffy white pillows. All of that, while his cock is still inside you. Though, you felt very sensitive and overstimulated and each move he made, made you whimper slowly but you didn't mind it. Actually, you loved feeling him inside you, filling you like this. Feeling so connected to him and so close to him than ever. You loved this feeling so much, hoping in the future, he'd let you cockwarm him more.
"You're so beautiful, Мой король" you said while hugging him tightly. You couldn't see it but he blushed and his smile widened. He really is in love with you, he said to himself. The connection you felt with him, he felt it too, he cherished it and wanted to keep it forever. Keep you forever. He just can't ask something like this from you, can't ask you to give up everything and your life to be with him, as if you haven't already done that. His life is dangerous. He is dangerous, he thought. And he would literally kill himself if anything bad happened to you, but not before burning the whole world to the ground, literally.
He moved his head and kissed you passionately, you felt like he was starved for this kiss from how deep and passionate it is as this was his sweet response to you calling him 'beautiful' and 'my king'. You kissed him back, hungrily and needy. You want to live in this moment forever, like this, with him, surrounded by him, on his bed, and him between your arms. But life is just so unfair.
He moved slowly, pulling himself out of you and being careful not to hurt you as you felt so sensitive. When he got out, he threw himself on the bed next to you but not before taking you into his arms and cuddling silently with you. Your head was on his chest while his arms were wrapped around you, hugging you tightly. You both stayed like this for a while. Him taking in your sweet scent and burying his face in your hair, and you were hugging him while running your finger on his arms and chest and making invisible circles on his chest.
"Can I ask you a question?" you broke the silence with a soft question that's almost a whisper, while still running your fingers on his chest.
"Hmmm?" He hummed in your hair and now he's running his right hand on your arm and rubbing it softly.
"Am I the only one?" you sounded sad, which made him furrow his eyebrows in confusion.
"What do you mean?" he lifted his head up and stopped rubbing your arm.
You lifted your head and looked at him too. He could see that upset look on your face. Not knowing what he did wrong. "Am I the only girl you sleep with? The only one you treat like this? Or there are other girls, you treat the same and make them stay in fancy condos and call them whenever you want to fuck your stress away like you do with me?" Your tone was harsh at these last words, you didn't intend to but you just can't help the anger and the sadness you feel, thinking you are not the only one.
"Do you think I just "fuck my stress away" when I am with you?" his face and expression turned serious, he felt heartbroken you'd actually think that.
"I mean... that's what it feels like every time you call out for me. I'm just wondering if you do this with other girls." you looked away, hoping he wouldn't see the tears gathering up in your eyes and you were trying your hardest not to let them fall down.
"What would that matter to you if I do this with other girls or not?" he said harshly, moving his hands away from your body. "If you think that I just "fuck my stress away" with you and use you like a fucking stress ball then I believe it shouldn't matter to you if there are any other girls or not." your heart broke at his words and you feel your tears falling down slowly. You hate how you fucked up this beautiful moment with him. You just had to run your mouth like a loser, you said to yourself.
"B-Buc-"
"I told you don't call me that" his voice got louder a bit and you felt scared at his tone. You were so upset as more tears started to stream down your face.
"I-I'm sorry. I mean James." you sat up on the bed, going for the silk white covers to cover your body, you felt so ashamed and broken by his words and just wanted to leave him now. You pulled the covers over your body, covering yourself, then you faced him again. He's still staring at you with his arms crossed on his chest. You hate how good he looks right now.
"You know, doll, they say curiosity killed the cat." he looked very deep into your eyes, studying your facial expressions and body language. He knows you are longing for him and understands that what you said is out of jealousy. After figuring this out and connecting the dots, he felt absolutely ashamed of his reaction and regretted raising his voice to you like this. You don't deserve that. After that very beautiful moment you both shared, you deserve all happiness and all your concerns to be pushed away. He hated himself at this current moment. Seeing you, looking at him with sad eyes like he just betrayed you, and he felt like he did. He almost showed you the actual monster inside of him. He hated himself.
He sighed, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude or harsh on you like that. I just couldn't understand why would you say such an awful thing like that about yourself." he exclaimed, you breathed a little, and moved closer to him. "come here, please. Can I touch you?" his hands twitched as he moved this closer to you, you nodded while sniffing. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you on his lap, hugged you tightly, and kissed your forehead. You couldn't help but cry more. "Shhh, It's okay. I'm so sorry, принцесса. I didn't mean to upset you like that. I'm really sorry." he rubbed your arms and back softly while pulling his right hand up to wipe your tears. "Please, please, stop crying, baby. Fine, you can call me Bucky. You can call me whatever you like but please don't cry." he kept wiping the tears that keeps falling from your eyes and kissing your cheeks and lips.
"Really? Can I?" you sniffed and smiled shyly. He mirrored your smile immediately.
"Yes, you crybaby, you can." he kissed your lips and you kissed back while smiling. This was enough for you to know he shares the same feelings as you.
"And to answer your question, yes. You are the only one, принцесса. It was always you and will always be you. Only you." He pecked your lips softly, and you held his face in your hands and deepened the kiss. This is everything you need now as he just proved to you, you're the only one for him as he's the only one for you too.
You've always felt bad for him, as he didn't have any friend or anyone to make him happy or enjoy the good things in life and you've always promised yourself, if he just opened that door for you, you'll compensate him for all the sadness and darkness that took over his life. If he just gave you the green light, you'll speed into his life and bring him nothing but love and joy. You do love him that much and want him to always be happy.
"I love you" you murmured as soon as you broke the kiss, you pushed away all of your doubts and concerns and said to yourself that even if he didn't say it back or feel it back, that's okay. You just want him to hear it from you and to feel it. You just want him to see he's loved.
"You d-do?" his voice shaky and he looked at you with slightly wide eyes as he stopped rubbing your back. He stopped breathing for a moment as you said these magical three words that made him feel shocked and confused. How could someone actually love him? He was a cold-blooded monster, he thought.
"Yes, Bucky, I do. I love you so much," you said softly, you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tightly while kissing his neck, you don't care that his body is stiffened now and his breath is shaky, you are trying to comfort him as you're sure he hadn't heard these 3 words in a very very long time. He needed to hear them. "I love your lips, your arms, your hair, your neck, your eyes, your beautiful beautiful smile," you pulled your head back up and looked at him as your gaze softened at the way he was looking at you with those puppy cute eyes. "I love you, Bucky." you whispered against his lips as you kissed him deeply. You panicked slightly as he didn't kiss back but as you were considering pulling away, his grip tightened around you and he kissed you back harshly and so passionately, you are almost running out of breath.
It took him another moment to pull away and you both panted from how deep the kiss was. "God, Y/N. I love you. I love you so much. I'd literally die for you, моя любовь. I love love love love you." he sounded out of breath as his eyes drifted from your eyes to your lips in a very passionate way. you chuckled sweetly at his words and kept kissing him again. At this moment, all of your concerns and doubts from earlier have been buried deep into the ground and he finally gave you everything you've been wishing and hoping for. You felt like you were in heaven, you swore, you'd never been happier in your life.
For the rest of the night, you both did nothing but make love and sleep in each other's arms. The next morning, you had your best ever morning sex, with him buried deep inside of you and dragging his cock in and out of you like you were just a part of him. You felt so close to him than ever. He canceled all his plans and meetings for the next two days and kept ordering his men to bring you food and anything you want to the bedroom. He also ordered his men to bring you some of your clothes from your apartment in Brooklyn and promised to take you shopping for new clothes and lingerie sets since you're going to stay with him in his mansion. He gave you extra keys to every single house, apartment, and mansion he had that are scattered all over the world and told you they're now your houses too.
He showed you the world and made you his queen. Of course, he still wanted to keep you hidden and your relationship a secret as he explained to you how people could use you or hurt you to get to him and he'd literally murder every single living person if anything bad happened to you. You understood and respected that decision and didn't mind keeping your relationship a secret, actually, that turned you on more, to say the least.
You both, in front of his super soldiers' army and his Hydra superiors and affiliates, were the King and Queen of Hydra. He gave you the power and that title too, even though what you just wanted was him. Only him. You didn't mind nor care about his work or whatever he did, as long as he comes back to you in one piece and sleeps in your arms every night, then the hell with the world. He's your whole world now.
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tag list:
@boofy1998 @pattiemac1 @princezzjasmine @winters1917 @depressed-gays-of-marvel @monicaluski @runi1 @mooievis @stuffyownswrld
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cryonme · 2 years
Text
𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐚
—Steve Harrington x fem!reader
—summary: it's the first year steve decided to leave his family out of his birthday plans, and for some reason, it hurts. based on Matilda by Harry Styles.
—word count: 2.1k
—tw: mentions of abuse, swearing, mentions of alcohol, shitty parents,
—a/n: family isn't always blood, i love you all.🖤this one's for any of you who can relate.
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You were riding your bike to the sound of "It's No Big Deal"
And you're trying to lift off the ground on those old two wheels
Nothing about the way that you were treated ever seemed especially alarming 'til now
So you tie up your hair and you smile like it's no big deal
The first birthday Steve can remember, his parents didn’t care. His father gave him a couple bucks so he could ride his bike to the corner store and pick out any snack he wanted, barely even sparing a glance at his son as the older man threw the green bills on the side table, grumbling something about how birthdays are a scam.
Steve remembers the sidewalk in front of him being blurry as he rode his bike, trying his best to blink away the tears and stop the quivering in his lip.
Steve remembers his parents' car absent from the driveway when he got home.
They came home hours later, insisting he get up and get ready for family dinner at his Aunt’s house, where of course he was showered with gifts and his favorite dinner, and a green and blue birthday cake with candles and his name on it, and Steve almost felt special.
Until his uncles drank too much champagne and his older cousins left early to hang out with their friends and his mom and dad fought. He just felt like another reason to eat fancy dinner and get drunk.
And that’s how it went. Year after year. 
Eventually he drove himself to the corner store, and eventually he used his own money, and eventually, he brought his new girlfriend to the family birthday dinner.
You.
And man, was Steve proud to bring a beautiful gem like you to family dinner. And it was completely perfect. His younger cousins sat on your lap, his Aunts gushed over how gorgeous you were, his Uncle’s nodded with raised eyebrows, impressed, as you talked about your studies, his mom and dad even laughed at a joke you made.
But it was his birthday, and the Universe would always find a way to ruin his birthday.
Steve and his father both had one too many glasses of champagne, and it only started as a small, even humorous argument, something about a movie quote, or which band sang a certain song, and it ended in far too much yelling, and screaming, and eventually a sharp hand to Steve’s cheek.
Steve remembers you crying and fussing over it when you arrived back to your shared apartment, you felt so guilty that you weren’t aware of how bad it was. He also remembers never being that embarrassed in his entire life.
“You’re never going back there.” He remembered you saying, and he agreed. 
He’d do anything you thought was best.
You can let it go
You can throw a party full of everyone you know
And not invite your family, 'cause they never showed you love
You don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up, mmh
“Oh, happy birthday sweet pea!” Joyce gushed, pulling Steve in for a hug as soon as she swung the front door open.
“Thanks, Mrs. Byers.” Steve replied, wrapping his arms around the much smaller woman.
She pulled away and put her finger in his face in mock annoyance, “Joyce. You call me Joyce. Or mom. Oh! Honey!” Joyce was immediately distracted by you behind Steve as she pulled you into a hug of your own. “Oh you just look so beautiful. Come in, come in!”
You and Steve shared humorous smiles before stepping into the Byers’ home, immediately welcomed by several bright, smiling faces, all wishing your boyfriend a happy birthday. Dustin, Lucas, Erika, Max and Mike immediately ran to your boyfriend and tackled him to the ground in a giant group hug, a chorus of “happy birthday”’s ringing from all of them and you laughed before pulling the kids off and helping your boyfriend off so he could greet everyone else.
You opted to stand back for a minute and observe, and your heart nearly exploded as you watched him awkwardly embrace Eleven as she handed him a homemade birthday card, and ruffle Will’s hair after he handed him a messily wrapped gift. You watched as Robin embraced him tightly and planted a kiss on top of his head right before Nancy gave him a gentle hug and a sweet smile, wishing him a happy birthday, and finally he moved on to Jonathan, Eddie, and Hopper who gave him firm handshakes and pats on the back, except for Eddie who fully koala’d him and messed up his hair.
You laughed and wiped a stray tear from your face as fast as possible, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable or embarrassed if he turned and saw you crying.
You pretended like something was in your eye as Joyce approached and bumped her shoulder to yours, shooting you a knowing smile, which you returned.
“It’s his first birthday without his family.” You said, and Joyce sighed.
“I know they aren’t great, but it has to be hard.”
You nodded, it was hard. You could see the internal battle through his eyes. Feeling guilty, then feeling stupid for even feeling guilty, it was a constant back and forth, and you could see it.
“I’m really happy he has you guys, though. My family’s no picnic basket either, I don’t know what either of us would do if it wasn’t for all of you.”
“Well luckily,” A deeper, much gruffer voice sounded from behind you as a long arm draped around your neck, you looked up to see Hopper, unlit cigarette between his teeth and an opened beer in hand. “You don’t have to think about that.” He finished his sentence with a wink as he handed the beer, which you took gladly.
“Touche.” –
It was about an hour into the party when you couldn’t find Steve, your mind was slightly clouded from the buzz from all the beers Hopper kept handing you, and you were trying your best to focus and find your boyfriend, when you felt a light squeeze on your shoulder and you turned to see Robin, who was pointing towards the closed door to the kitchen.
“Kitchen.”
“Lifesaver.”
You wasted no time heading to the kitchen, where lo and behold, revealed your boyfriend. His hands were grasped onto the kitchen counter, his knuckles turning white, with his head hung low.
“Baby…”
“I’m a shitty son.”
“Steve, you know that’s not true.”
He didn’t respond. He still hadn’t looked up at you, fully focused on the flooring in the Byers’ kitchen.
“Steve-”
“I know.”
The silence hung heavily in the kitchen, and it continued that way for a while. You didn’t want to push him to talk about anything he didn’t want to on his birthday.
“Why do I feel so goddamn guilty?” He finally said, pushing himself off of the counter and looking at you, his eyes brimmed with tears and his voice shook.
“Steve…” You cooed as your feet carried you to your boyfriend so you could pull him into you, and once your skin touched his he broke, and his body shook with sobs in your arms.
“I want them to be here.” He cried, “I want them to want to be here.”
You tried to hold back your own tears as you pulled him closer, his face buried into your neck and his arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you as tight as he could.
“I know, my love. I’m so sorry.”
Matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright
But I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead inside
You showed me a power that is strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days
It's none of my business, but it's just been on my mind
Steve eventually pulled away from you, hastily wiping the tears from his face and taking a deep breath.
“It’s fine, it’s not even a big deal.”
You rolled your eyes and planted your hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at you. He says it’s fine, but you can see the hurt, it’s plastered all over his pretty face.
“It’s okay to feel sad. Every year, you’ve done the same thing for your birthday with your family, whether or not it’s happy memories, it always hurts to cut ties.”
Steve nodded and you placed a small kiss on the tip of his nose.
“STEVE!!” You heard what was most definitely Robin’s voice screech from the living room and you chuckled. 
“I think it’s time for cake.”
If anyone took notice to Steve’s absence or overheard his muffled breakdown through the kitchen door, they didn’t mention or acknowledge it, they simply carried on with the party, which you knew Steve appreciated greatly. 
You couldn’t help but reminisce on all you and Steve had been through together as you watched him with his friends, his family, with the biggest smile on his face as he held his mouth wide open for Eddie to throw M&M’s into.
When you first started dating Steve, you were in a bad place with your family too, you had just graduated from Hawkin’s high, and your family was ready to move on, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go with them. The abuse from your father and the manipulation from your mother and the constant nitpicking from your brother was all too much, and you didn’t know how much more of it you could take. Steve helped you find the courage to stand firm, and tell them something you never had before, “No.”
Of course, it didn’t go over well. Your father fought you, your mother cried and claimed you were breaking her heart, but with Steve by your side, and some surprising help from your brother, you gathered up your things, and moved in with Joyce, until you and Steve were both financially ready for an apartment of your own.
He’d never know, and he’d never believe it because of what his family made him believe of himself, but he was your sun. He showed you peace, and solace, and brightness that could pull you out of your darkest days, and he didn’t even know. He would never be able to wrap his mind around just how much you adored him.
You're just in time, make your tea and your toast
You framed all your posters and dyed your clothes, ooh
You don't have to go
You don't have to go home
Oh, there's a long way to go
I don't believe that time will change your mind
In other words
I know they won't hurt you anymore as long as you can let them go
“Man, those kids look at you like you hung the moon, Steve.”
The two of you had just returned to your apartment, stacks of leftover food piled in your hands, and hearts full.
Steve chuckled and shook his head. “Eh, they’d look at anyone who’s slightly older than them and saved their asses multiple times like that.”
You shook your head, “You’re special, baby. They don’t look at Robin like that.”
“They love Robin-”
“Of course they do, but you’re something else, Steve. That’s your family.”
Steve nodded and rolled his lips into his mouth, you could tell he was holding back tears.
“Hey,” You grabbed the wrapped leftovers from his hands and set them down on the kitchen counter, before grabbing his hand and leading him to sit with you on the couch.
“Your blood family may be absolute shit, in fact they are. But your chosen family, those kids and your friends and Jim and Joyce, are wonderful. And they love you, and they want you to accept them as family. The assholes can’t hurt you anymore if you just let them go, honey.”
“It’s hard.” Steve’s voice broke as a tear slipped from his eye, which you were quick to get rid of with a swipe of your thumb.
“I know. I know because I’ve done it. But you helped me, Steve. They all helped me. Let us help you, baby, please.”
Your hand cradled his face and he leaned into your touch, leaving a sweet kiss on the palm of your hand as he brought his own hand up to hold your wrist. His breaths were getting shorter by the second, so you situated yourself into his lap and laid your head on his chest, maneuvering his hand that was previously holding your wrist to rest above your heart, so he could feel you, feel that you were right there.
“You can let it go.”
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taglist: @waszuka @icarus-star @stariightjoyy @dava-demoan @athenapotter @moonlitmeeks @maddisoninnit @moonlighy @mirclealignr @jellycolors @milkiane @tiaamberxx  @kashee-h
and tagging @sortagaysortahigh cuz something tells me they wanna read some angsty steve...
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blueeyesatnight · 7 months
Text
I Thought I Could Be Someone
title: I thought I Could Be Someone
Pairing: Implied/Background Joel Miller x Middle Aged Reader
Word Count: 5700
Rating: Teen (but in compliance with Last of Us so references to death)
Warnings: Language, if not teen pregnancy still a young pregnancy, mentions of death, lots of crying, hurt/comfort
A/N: Part of the "The Over the Hill Crowd" series but can be read independently. The reader is middle aged (over 40) but still a little younger than Joel's 58 so I say "reasonable age gap". Though this part is a building block and the romance is more pining and more hurt/comfort .
If you aren't listening to Tracy Chapman with this you are doing it wrong.
Joel Miller Masterlist (has the links to the other parts)
Author Masterlist
Series:
I Like My Girls A Little Bit Older
I Know Just What You're Saying
I Thought That I Could Be Someone
(I have never outgrown songfic)
Tumblr media
 
Joel Miller had a song stuck in his head. 
Like most songs like that this was an accident. It had started a few days ago. Again the woman that was like an older version of Sarah (who was most definitely not Sarah but a lovely woman named Erika with her husband Curtis and their little girl Dani) had walked through town but she had changed her hair. It was the sort of thing nobody could know would trigger a memory. 
It started with her hair. Her pillowy cloud of curls was half braided and pulled into two buns. 
She had no way of knowing that was Keya's hair when Joel met her. He thought it was supposed to be like that Star Wars princess but Keya gave him a death glare and said Iman wore her hair like this. Joel didn't know Iman from Adam but he knew David Bowie and that conversation had somehow led a young Joel to lean against his car and offer a girl a ride home. 
His truck had been a Ford and he loved it even though it broke his heart a lot. He had felt very similar ways about the girl as well. 
A song had played when he and Keya were young and hopeful and stupid and angry and proud. It had felt like their song and might've been if Keya liked it but she couldn't be fucked to remember the title or any of the words. For a long time after the split Joel had buried the lyrics too. 
For some reason the song had come back even though the woman hadn't. 
At first it was surprising. It had been a long time and he had never thought he had the thing committed to memory even though he had a good head for music. Then it was a little annoying because he wished very much he could just check he remembered it the right way. Check if that was the chord. Not that he had a guitar to test it against his ear. When he had had the time to be fastidious about his music he had been– he had records, A tracks, cassettes, and CDs. Tommy had sent him a shuffle but he hated the grainy quality of the pirated songs and he stuck to the CDs figuring they'd never go out of style. It was hard, with Sarah CDs had become treats and he would have to forego other things to get them. He went without fixing his watch or buying new socks. He liked knowing where his music was and every part of it. At home he'd sometimes sit up and go through a sleeve and see the lyrics and the timeline and the little notes from the band. He would see if he could replay and replay and replay until his fingers caught the chords correctly. He used to know a dozen songs by heart. He had tried to write his own but found he didn't have a poetic mind even if his heart was in the right place. He figured if he could find himself a song writer he could be decent but such things were buried in the backyard. 
Right now all that was left of those times was this particular song. This song that was in his head. He wished he knew why the phoenix picked now to rise from the ash but it had and that was that.
After nearly a week he had tried to figure out what to do. His humming bothered Ellie who had taken to telling him to shit or get off the pot with singing but he wasn't ready for that with her quite yet. Not quite yet. He had mentioned, casually, to Tommy that he saw a few guys with guitars and didn't know if there was a spare one. 
"Well shit, I didn't even think….I'll see about it." He had promised but Joel didn't want to get his hopes up. He had a couple songs he thought his fingers might remember that he would love to play for Ellie but that was all dependent on other things. 
And this song wasn't really an "Ellie" song. He had a different song for her. 
A week of this song meant he now thought he remembered it all and as well as he was ever going to. He could almost be there in his mind, in his truck, fiddling the radio to get it to tune better, and hearing Tracy Chapman croon a version of Joel's life. 
It was a thing that didn't matter anymore and yet that made it matter. Who cared about young love turned sad and people doing the wrong thing even if it started for naively good reasons? In the End Times did it matter that Joel had become a dad so young? Keya a mother even younger? Did it matter that that beautiful girl got spooked or sad or some bit of both and couldn't take what she found herself with? Did it matter that he got left holding the check? Did it matter that he loved her even though he had lost her? 
He sighed. He hadn't been the innocent victim either. He had been the only one working and he could get mean about it– he didn't take care of Keya and had scolded her for not taking care of herself. He had turned it into an accusation– you can't expect me to carry my weight and yours. 
Times like now that seemed a particularly heinous thing to lob at a kid, even if you'd had a kid with that kid when you were little more than a kid yourself. Keya had wanted more support and he had told her to nut up because that was about all the guidance his father had ever given him. He only lost the ghost of his father's voice when be lost Keya.
The song was the perfect sort of time capsule. It was by now clear as day to him.
Why, he couldn't say, but he got a mind to go tell you about the song. Not because he had the barn to work on, not because your gutters were shit and it was starting to bother him enough to handle it for you, not because he figured you could use a hand with the harvest. 
He wanted to tell you he knew the song because it was a  small and joyful triumph: new music! And he thought you might have the appropriately sized reaction. He thought you might like it. He thought he has promised you a song once, anyway and while at the time it felt an empty promise if he could deliver he would. 
He thought about whether or nor he would sing. 
He was halfway to your house still considering what key to sing it in if he did decide to sing. 
If he was anything other than excited he had lost the right word for it. 
 _____________🎶🎶🎶___________
You and Joel Miller had had very different weeks. You were crying and had lost track of time, sanity, and probably oxygen. You'd been holding it at bay for as long as you could and somehow it made it worse and now you were thickly sobbing so hard your whole face was swollen.
When you heard a knock at the door you frankly tried to ignore it.
Then his voice sounded, "Hey! You alive in there?" 
Oh this was just great all you needed right now was for Joel Miller to mistake your ugly crying for the first signs of becoming a clicker. He'd bash your brains in but right about now that sounded vaguely acceptable. Likely easier than the headache this would all give you. 
Still, Joel was owed a response. He was a good man and whether or not he would admit it he was a worrier and you'd worry him if you didn't answer.
"I'm sorry it's not a good time." You didn't open the door the full way. 
Joel's hair stood up on the back of his neck because he knew the sound of a woman crying and didn't know what the fuck could make you cry or if he had enough ammunition for it. 
"You alright?" He started looking around– over his shoulder and over hers, "What's wrong?" 
"Nothing, I promise just…post apocalyptic malaise. Please just let me be." 
It was the way you said let me be. It was self conscious. You didn't want to be seen crying, felt silly, felt exposed– but you didn't really want to be alone. 
"You sure?" He offered. 
You nodded because you were too upset and just closed the door. If you had ever harbored a hope that Joel Miller would be attracted to you, you were certain you had killed it dead. 
_____________🎶🎶🎶___________
You needed air and needed to feel big and exposed and grounded and free and a thousand things that, at best, you could only feel as pale imitations of what they had been twenty years ago. 
You waited until you figured Joel was gone. You snuck out the front door as though the cobwebs judged you and found the ladder just a few feet down. 
Joel had used it on the barn and you asked he leave it there so you could get to your gutters. You hadn't yet gotten to the gutters and were debating asking Joel to stick around and do them but to seemed a transparent request. You liked that man and you liked him being around. The apocalypse was a young man's game and you didn't think, want, or expect these green twenty five year olds to be good partners to you. Sue you for wanting the man with gray hair because it matched yours. You had learned not to hang your hopes on much of anything and Joel was hardly an exception. 
You climbed the ladder onto your roof and let yourself collapse flat onto it to look at the stars. You hadn't brought your jacket because your brain was fluff that had been all shaken up and was good for almost nothing right now but you hoped the night air would help. 
You expected to be alone. 
Then you heard the ladder creak. 
If a clicker could climb a ladder now you'd have to give it to them– you had no fight. But it wasn't danger that was coming– it was something else. 
Someone else.
"You could break your neck up here like this." Joel's voice reached you as his head came up over the threshold and he tried to sound less concerned than he was, "You should at least have a witness." 
"Might as well be you." You were able to talk a little now but has passed the threshold of crying where you were more likely to sob than stop. You expected if he did stay you would start up again but you had so little energy left to argue with him. 
You weren't mad he was there but neither were you happy. You weren't sure what his motives were and it meant your relation to him remained foggy and hard to read. 
But if he was here was your friend that was better than being up here all alone. As long as he wasn't there to mock you, you'd be fine, and Joel didn't seem the mockery type. Still, your fuzzy brain feared that. You didn't need the only place left on Earth for you ruined by one bad night. 
"Why are you here?" You asked a bit sharply. It came across like an accusation. 
"Thinking." 
"Sounds dangerous for you." 
There were many things Joel could have done. You had cajoled him before but normally about Ellie and normally about happier topics. You honestly didn't expect Joel to say anything if he were here now, silence was your best guess. 
And you were wrong.
He smirked at you and nodded at the joke, "Probably….been thinking about my ex. From before. Before-before, you know? Yeah." 
"Ex?" 
"Ex-wife. I was married. Young." He cringed, "And divorced young too." 
"What happened?" 
"Lots of things." He sighed. 
Should he go into the gritty? How they'd been unsure of what to do when a condom broke or if they'd even put it on right? How they'd been friends unsure if they were dating then decided might as well be you if I trust you. They were so young and it was so far away from the now he sometimes wished he could reach back and shake himself. Stop fucking around and tell her how you fucking feel. He hadn't been a great communicator at any point in his life but he'd been worse at it then. He thought Keya was in for the ride with him and looking back she was probably constantly looking for validation he never gave and started thinking she was the problem. 
But that was dust long blown to a thousand places. He could sit here and mope about it and lay himself out as the villain. Truth could take a lot of time and it wasn't that he wasn't going to give it to you if you asked but you were clearly upset. The time wasn't for Joel to go fishing for compliments or assurances but to give you enough information that you could trust him and maybe unburden yourself. 
"She started drinking a lot, we drank together at first but I slowed down and she sped up." Joel sighed, "I didn't rightly know how to help her and I wasn't the nicest. I ignored it or I yelled about it. I laid into her–" he eyed you with intent and insisted, "--verbally, that is. I don't hit women." 
He swallowed thickly. Murdered a few…but I don't hit them. 
"Anyway I caught her trying to start the truck, too drunk to do it, with Sarah in the back and I lost my fucking mind. Told her things were about to change, big time. We were done living like that and things were going to tighten up."  He sucked in a breath, "I was going to join the army." 
You shook your head, "Thought Tommy was Army?" 
"Took every good idea he ever had from me." The humor was stale but it was meant to be, "I wasn't so excited about it as he was. He thought it would change things. I thought it had health care and day care and places could help us out. I didn't want to be my dad and just say fuck it figure it out here's a spare key. I wanted resources. Help…for her too. She was alone watching a baby a lot and lonely and maybe mad at everything because she didn't want to be her mom and her grandma was too damn old to watch another baby. I just thought it would really help her and us but I didn't read the room." 
"Didn't take you for former military." Your eyes were on his beard. You couldn't imagine Joel clean shaven.
He saw you looking and rubbed the scruff with his hand, "Yeah well….didn't. Told Keya I would bring over the papers and buy a razor, shave it all off. And she said…" He sighed like he was still sore he hasn't caught the trick, "Oh I'll run and do that for you and I let her. She'd been dried out like two or three days at that point so I figured she was fine. Month later she still has my truck and she never put in my papers or came back with a razor…or at all. She went to her friend and then another friend and until she mailed me the divorce papers I didn't know she still thought about me at all." 
It was hard to respond to that. 
"Still hurts. Still feel guilty, even ashamed, that I did that to someone." 
"Doesn't sound like you did much." 
"Nobody acts really alone. I got her into my car and I bought her six packs to split with me and I put blankets and pillows in the truck bed and I said no you stay and I'll go and I never asked a thing. Too young and dumb to understand I wasn't actually helping. Dawned on me a few months into being a single parent that she wanted to feel like herself and I had sorta said: tough luck go figure that out alone. Then she did. Don't mistake me I was a lot angrier about it all then. Time changes things. You know, then this all did." 
He didn't say time don't change shit but the things you take from time do change but you seemed to understand and nod. 
"I wasn't at home when it happened. I was at college. Close but not home. They evacuated the dorms and we thought it was a drill then it wasn't and I wasn't even the first to leave it took me hours to finally think I gotta go. And I tried to go home. They weren't home when I got there so I waited. I didn't pack I just put on the TV. I didn't fucking pack, it's so…." You could punch younger you. Grab the pictures asshole, grab the water bottle you liked, grab the blanket she made you when you were a baby, grab one of dad's shirts to smell, grab it. But you never magically woke to find any of it there. Mom came home shell shocked and bloody and shaken, dad was gone and you never knew how. Never said goodbye. Mom was bitten and you didn't know that was contagious or anything you just kept cleaning it. They didn't warn people in the early days. 
You would have done it all differently if you were given the chance but that's the rub. 
"I'm sorry… I get it. I can play like I was some angel at the time but I wasn't. Doesn't mean I was the villain or anything just I wasn't that nice. Spoiled. At college– thought I was hot smart shit and really throwing it around at my folks. I didn't know better." 
Joel nodded, "You liked college?" 
"Yeah." You said and laughed, something that confused the tears and they threatened to return, "I didn't have a major yet and I was mad because I should've been close to done but I was gonna need another year and they didn't want to pay for it and I was….an ass." You took a deep breath, "You didn't join the Army?" 
          "Nobody left to take care of Sarah." He shrugged and you couldn't see it but you felt it. 
          "What happened to your ex?" 
          "Dunno." Joel admitted, "I assume she didn't make it. She was never really in touch much. Before the Outbreak I think she was up to three years and only the odd birthday card." He was quiet, "Sarah had her eyes. It was weird. Loving those eyes in one face but feeling so broken by them in a different one. Sarah looked like her a lot but Sarah got me where it counted. She got me in her heart. She was a good kid, a really….a good kid." 
You felt the tears welling in you because it was known what happened. Gunned down by fucking FEDRA, fucking animals, "Fuck I'm sorry." 
He didn't say it was ok. Sarah's death was never and would never be ok. It was a wound that festered when the wind blew different. 
"Showed you mine…show me yours?" 
If it was meant to be a flirtation you were beyond caring. You figured this would be the trade. 
You knew you'd cry again.
You didn't know if you'd now feel foolish about the crying. 
"This isn't even about them it is much much dumber." 
 "Dumb's not a crime." Joel offered. 
You threw your head back hard enough to hit it and stared at the sky, "You can't laugh." 
"I thought I was broody? Broody don't laugh." 
You felt he would laugh because you had gotten destroyed by a silly thing. 
But life was about risks you didn't realize you were taking, going forward not fully knowing if it was the right call. 
 "Team brought back some CDs." You offered. 
"Tommy's team? Been a few days." 
"Yeah this was…maybe Tuesday. You ever figure that if someone counted wrong it's actually not Tuesday and we are all just living a lie until it's so old it just is? Anyway, yeah they come back and it's late and Tommy brings me the CDs. Four empty jewel cases and three intact. He said one was stuck in the player and he didn't know if they scratched it bad getting it out and I figure I would start there. It's just called Family Vacay 2003."  The first tears fell again, "Tommy said the van was torn apart. Cordyceps, blood. Bones." 
Joel just nodded: par for the course.
"I just thought it wouldn't work or it would be warped or whatever." You felt it choke you, "And it was mostly fine and it just hit me. Hit me hard. I forgot how these things worked. You remember, right? You remember making a mixtape. It was so silly and small but huge. You could plot every event in my year by my mixtapes. You'd give them to someone and it was like please love me or be my friend or fuck yourself and it was shorthand for your feelings. You could put the weirdest stuff on there. Those shuffles and MP3 players tried to make it so you could have fifty songs but that wasn't the point. The point was depending on length you had maybe fifteen songs to make your point. You had to be choosy, you had to make the call, then it was the order! Shuffle button was the worst thing that ever happened. Shuffle? You fucking kidding? It was about the journey down the list." 
You paused to catch your breath. You were looking at the stars and shivered, Joel pulled off his coat and laid it over you, re-settling himself close enough that he was half under it too. It was cold enough he wasn't going to freeze to death just to be chivalrous. 
He didn't scoff. He understood. He didn't interrupt, he let you find your pace. 
"This family made a mix and it was separated by family member. Dad got the first four. Then mom got three. Daughter got four. Son had three before it scratched out. I think he had four. I don't know." You made yourself breathe. In and out. Steady. 
Joel wasn't sure what you were getting at, "Bad taste in music?" 
"Maybe. I can't tell anymore. It's all wonderful because it lived. This is Beethoven," you said pulling at your shirt. You were wearing a Prince shirt you had found on the Road years ago. At the time it had been big on you but it sat differently these days.
"Prince can be Beethoven." Joel shrugged, "Why not?" 
“Because he’s not Beethoven.”
This didn’t bother Joel one bit, “To some people he always was.”
You wondered if Joel was one of those people too, “I mean I’m not complaining except for the fact that nobody put fucking Prince on anything yet, but it’s just…”
You had lost the tears for a moment because Joel had managed to distract you but you had to tell the story so you had to walk on the glass again.
“The dad liked rock. Maybe he was the cool type, maybe he had a band once, but he had these cool-dad rock songs. And the mom? She had like Abba and these 80s pop songs. Like she danced in the kitchen. And the girl had these like Fuck Yeah Girl Power songs and the brother. I just….I got this picture in my head. Of this little brother. Who thinks they’re all lame. And he has these 90s hip-hop and R&B type things. He has on I wish. You remember? I wish I was a little bit taller, I wish I was a baller–”
You sucked at rapping and were worse when you were also almost crying again. 
You couldn’t help it.
“And he just…I could feel it, you know? I felt like I knew that kid. Riding in the backseat dressed like he’s a little mini scene man and he is dreaming about being big and he thinks he was dope and then–t-then.” You gulped, “It scratched and I couldn’t hear his last song. I couldn’t hear it. It scratched. And that kid is—" 
A wail escaped you– deep and powerfully mournful. The sort people felt and Joel knew that kind of cry. 
"Dead." He offered as you couldn't say it. 
"He died." You moaned, "Died.  He died before he was anything more than this list and everything he wanted and he fucking died. He died. He's dead and he was just a fucking kid and I – I can't hear his last song." 
Joel thought of highways with memorials. Used to be you could drive along the road and suddenly, without warning, a teddy bear or a Power Ranger poster behind plastic was mounted up at a specific place with flowers. He hadn't gotten to bury Sarah the right way but there was a part of him that thought he'd have had butterflies on her casket and her tombstone and she would be thirteen forever and never outgrow butterflies. Even now he saw one and a woman that might have grown to be thirty five by bow would tease Dad I don't even like those anymore. But that Sarah was a figment of his grief. His Sarah would've gotten a new soccer ball on her grave and blue butterflies and that damn werewolf movie's stupid toys. She would've been given all those because Death came in cold– it froze you where you stood. His girl was a girl forever. 
You were absolutely in tatters over a dead boy you did not know. 
"That whole family is dead. Did the mom get to dance or did this they skip it when the kids complained? Did the daughter think she was lame? Did they have a good marriage? Was the boy happy?" You were hardly easy to understand but Joel followed, "Was…was he scared? You know? Would it be better if he wasn't? What if it was like how planes went down because pilots got it and they got decapitated by debris?" 
Joel shivered, "That shit was not fun." 
"What?" You turned your head and he shook his: no. Dead ex you could have tonight but the plane was not on his agenda.
"I…I want to know what his song was and I want to know if he maybe didn't die and if he still likes it and I…I hate getting these sometimes. This isn't mine, I wanna return it, I feel bad. I feel…" you were crying thickly again and shaking your hands like you could fling off dirt, "This…this isn't mine." 
You weren't talking about the CD anymore, and Joel knew that. 
"I was supposed to be changing majors and then getting a job and moving in with my parents for a year and then I was supposed to do all this stuff. I'm not… I'm not like you or Tommy. I have no good goddamn idea how I survived. I'm not good at it and I ….this isn't mine. None of this is supposed to be mine. This is supposed to be that kid's. And he's dead now." 
Joel took a deep breath and adjusted his position to accommodate you coming closer and he cleared his throat, "Well…it is yours now."
           You buried your face against his shirt and whispered, "What if I don't deserve it?" 
He smirked, a gentle laugh bubbled in his chest, "Yours all the same." 
Nights like this the guilt was overwhelming. Joel had seen enough people do this and, hell, he had once tried to shoot himself and missed over very similar sentiments. He had no idea why he was alive and his baby girl wasn't. None at all. Thinking about it could make him crazy. Did make him crazy. But then he had no idea how he'd gotten a girl pregnant and some of his friends hadn't, all out there behaving the same if not worse. He had no idea why Keya had been with him and broken his heart. If either one of them had been a little bit better it could've all looked different. He had no idea why his dad had been a hardass and his mom had not taken them with her when she left. Why did he get to live when life was often so painful? 
But he had Ellie. 
Ellie and her giraffe and her dinosaurs and her spaceship and her cussing fit to make a pirate blush. He remembered that life not being fair was the fork in the road between joy and sorrow, you never knew which road was which. That was the fun and the agony of it all, but there was no choosing just one. 
You didn't have an Ellie. 
He thought maybe that was why you tried to feed people and had taken on the task of the music. Maybe organizing it and keeping it safe gave you a gateway into caring for someone. 
He thought you'd be good at caring for someone, you had the kinda heart that cried for long dead boys. 
"I'm a mess." You apologized, "I'm sorry." 
"Don't worry,"Joel assured you, "I cry in the shower. You let it out."
Because you trusted him you let it out. 
He held you. Just held you because it was sad and he knew you needed it. 
You were positive this was a sign that Joel would never be anything more than a friend to you but maybe you were wrong. Sometimes a song only sounded sad and it was joyful, triumphant, hopeful. You could confuse the two feelings if you weren’t careful. 
Because you didn't know if he was stroking your back in a type of way or just to do it you simply felt the feeling you had from it. Joel was a good man and he was a safe man and you hadn't had to explain any number of things to him when you cried. Some of the kids in Jackson they only saw loss when someone got pneumonia or died on a supply run, both of which were rare. This place hadn't seen more than five deaths in the last five years and one was simple old age. The sort of things that haunted people your age, Joel's age, only existed for a small percentage of the survivors that grew smaller every day. 
It meant there was something that stitched you two closer together whether or not you realized it. There was a shorthand. There was a melody, a rhythm, that those who had lived with Limewire and AOL had that the new ones didn't. 
You stopped talking and your crying faded. The silence stood watch for a while. Your hiccups and breathing slowly to normal. You stopped sniffling.
You calmed by inches.
Joel Miller was absently touching your cheek.     
Then Joel was singing. At first you thought he was just humming but he was only giving himself the opening chords. 
 You got a fast car
And I want a ticket to anywhere
Maybe we make a deal
Maybe together we can get somewhere
Any place is better
Starting from zero, got nothing to lose
Maybe we'll make something
Me, myself, I got nothing to prove
God help you you thought you remembered this song but you would never remember it any other way. 
You got a fast car
Is it fast enough so we can fly away?
Still gotta make a decision
Leave tonight, or live and die this way
So, I remember when we were driving, driving in your car
Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped around my shoulder
And I, I, I had a feeling that I belonged
I, I, I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone
You listened to the desire to go. The dismal burn of staying. The regret that there was a different life out there for you and maybe, if you looked back, you could find the choice that had brought you here. 
The kids now will never really know cars like that…
No. Stop it. Don’t make yourself cry again.
You didn't remember if the song ended happily. You thought it did. You didn't get to hear the lyrics as you fell asleep, exhausted by the tears and lulled by the comfort. Joel had a deep voice with gravel in the back of it that made you think of ashtrays on your parent's coffee table and some sorta thing your dad played on his record player he wouldn't get rid of because it sounded better. 
Joel wouldn't have been much help anyway, he didn't finish once he felt you were asleep. He stopped singing, thinking over and over on the music which he heard clear as a bell in his head, and couldn't for the life of him remember, in this moment, if he had listened to it because he was happy or sad or angry or all three at once. He couldn't remember how it got stuck in his head in the first place just that it felt nice to share it.
But he thought that maybe, just this once, it would be enough to feel satisfied that he had made you less sad, and that made him less sad, and he could sit here for a second with you asleep on him and just enjoy this. He couldn't remember the last time it had been like this and if there was a word for this it might have been happy. Might have been content. Might have been many things. 
You were the first person he had sung in front of in twenty years. 
Tonight it was enough that he had given you a song. 
You still gotta make a decision
Leave tonight, or live and die this way
____________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: I have at least one more, maybe two. I dont quite know how many there will be. The next one is after The Cure's "Just Like Heaven"
Not Beta Read, we die like hapless extras in a mob scene.
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wanderingsquirrelgirl · 4 months
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i'll say it. i love erika but my GOD is ava the most triggering mother figure i've encountered in media. i know what they're doing is funny for folks, but jesus, the gaslighting and selfishness reminds me so much of the shit i endured in childhood that was deeply demeaning and hurtful. i only wish i had a tula or viola in my life to help lovingly guide me through dealing with someone like her.
erika is absolutely crushing this character design, but it's just a smidgeeeee too real for me.
or maybe i'm just built a little too gentle. idk.
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aqua-memories · 5 months
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I'm actually glad I didn't spend much money on Eldarya A New Era, because what kind of end was that? I'm not sure who is in charge of the story now but it's unbelievable how they kept thinking of ways to make people spend real money on such a shitty game making 0 effort (specifically the second part of the story). I was always trying to be positive about it, giving them the benefit of the doubt, waiting for it to get better and when i thought it was finally happening, they gave it a boring emotionless ending. I play the Nevra route, so you can imagine i've always been lowkey disappointed on how they developed the character and his relationship with Erika compared to other routes (like he was still a f*ckboy but only yours). Still, I was glad they gave Nevra an important role in ANE, highlighting his virtues as a leader and a friend, but something i will never forget is how they were so lazy to never touch the topic of Nevra basically treating Erika like a stranger when she came out of the crystal. Like yeah, I can imagine how traumatic it was for him, how hard it's been for so many years, he lost basically everyone he loved including her, I know he was actually there for her for a while when she was still "asleep" and of course i understand he had to "eat something" else, but none of these are enough reasons to just ignore the whole topic during the story. We could understand his extremely cold first reaction, but they perfectly could have got into that topic later like... he had a strong unique bond with Erika, they went trough hardships together, she sacrificed herself to save his world, he was in pain for a long time and had to continue with his life, but he loved her and missed her deeply. Even if he struggled at first because of how hard that process was in the past and how the news hit him in the present, he's showing feelings for her again (more likely those feelings never actually stopped), he worries about her, he likes her, he loves her, so WHY WOULD HE NEVER TALK ABOUT THEIR EARLY MESSY AND HURTFUL REUNION TO HER??? if he's so scared of letting his feelings flow again because he could lose someone again, why would he avoid to explain his side of the story to the person he trusted so much and didn't even hurt him or abandon him intentionally, so she can understand he's struggling but he is trying because he's actually interested??? and now this lazy ending, after such a traumatic experience (many difficult battles, risking their lives, losing their home and friends) he's just like "ah, i love you, do you want to live together?". If these people like money so much they could have extended the story for all routes and build something called "character development". I still treasure Nevra in my heart, but I feel like they left him incomplete, they made him dirty until the end.
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curator-on-ao3 · 8 months
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I never came back from Among the Lotus Eaters
I see now, in hindsight of SNW season two, that Among the Lotus Eaters was a breaking point for me.
First, that episode needed to transition Batel and Pike from … whatever they were … to a deeper relationship. And what did the episode do?
It hung their issues on not enough time for each other. (How many dinner parties has this man thrown?)
It made Pike a commitment-phobe. (Really? Pike? Y’all sure you meant second season Pike not second season Picard?)
It undercut Pike as a captain as well as his pain dating back to The Cage. (Say, fellas, is it okay to leave your yeoman behind if someone at some point said he looked kinda dead?)
Here’s the thing. I would have bought the episode starting with Batel and Pike having an adult discussion about how they could have hated each other after Una’s arrest and trial but they don’t. They’re still drawn to each other. Then I would have bought Pike’s relationship hesitancy being due to his concerns about his fate — and Una later calling him out on his potential fears for longer-term intimacy when he believes his days are numbered. (And if the show backtracks to make this Pike’s motivation, I’m gonna call bullshit because it should have been there from the start. I’ve seen a thousand stories about commitment-phobes. But a story about a person frightened to hurt someone they might be falling for because of a known timeline to the end? That’s actually interesting.)
Then, I would have bought Pike on the planet holding the necklace and feeling that he had unfinished business — the adult discussion with Batel (as opposed to love that, due to his own fears, hadn’t yet been grounded in the reality of the episode).
Second, the episode has the hero moment of Erica figuring out that she flies the ship. Okay, putting aside that other people can and do fly the ship (ahem, Una), this was an incredible opportunity for Erica to have a totem to remind her of why she cares about flying, not just that she does it. Give us a goddamn model airplane or a book about birds or an action figure of Erika Hernandez — something. Anything. Let us get to know Erica better. This missed opportunity stings.
Third, the trauma repetition was painful. The guy on the planet lost his whole family? Dude, he’s the three-way pointing Spider-Man meme with two members of the away team — M’Benga and La’an. What are the odds of all three of them having the same trauma (and not discussing it)? I don’t know, but it was lazy as shit. (Note: Uhura has the same trauma. Una might, per her service record. Enough already.) Make that guy the former king and he’s somehow responsible for the memory loss rock landing and plaguing the planet. Make him a doctor who saved Zac’s life and therefore plunged the planet into tyrannical rule. Again — something. Anything. Just make it unique instead of repetitive. (And if he had saved Zac’s life by some extreme means, that could even possibly excuse Pike for breaking the essential promise of Starfleet by leaving a crewmember behind.)
There’s more. There’s so much more. There should have been a line, at least, about Una being affected by the radiation when her body could clear radiation before. There should have been recognition that Pike was going down to the planet underprepared — again — by cutting the number of people on the away team. There should have been console warnings flashing that, I don’t know, the warp core was in danger since no one in engineering knew who they were or how to do their jobs.
This episode began the season’s beats of Pike being a crummy captain and a crummy boyfriend. It continued the trend of underutilizing Erica, even when she’s there. It forgot the show’s own internal realities. And I am big mad about that because this clutch point of an episode could have been different. It could have been better.
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angelsdemonsandhumans · 8 months
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❝𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧; 𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲❞
I am planning to write a story. A story that could be made up of several parts.
In this story you will be a human player, an unbridled fan of obey me, who doesn't realize that after all, the mc won't remain only inside game.
Plot;
The love you had for that game was colossal, so much to become obsessed with it. There wasn't a day that you didn't think about them, you wanted to live with them more than anything else, you were much better off with those animated characters than with your own friends. What you didn't realize, was that what you dreamed about was right in front of you. And that maybe, you were not as "normal" as you thought you were. But that will soon lead you to live the way you had always dreamed of; you always wanted to be with the brothers, with the angels, and finally you had the opportunity to do it. You could not be happier. Let's say that all that happened was; on a normal day of your normal life, someone found out that you aren't someone to be left alone that way. You had to control whatever ball of power you had inside you, since it still didn't manifest; it meant you were still in right time to take control of it. However, don't expect your life to be the same, after that. It all started during an apparently casual school day, where you met a rather peculiar boy. Belphegor.
What do you think? Let me know with comments! Asks, everything! If you like it, I might also use that as a motivation to keep it going.
The start under the cut! (This is just a little part, the next parts will be longer)
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You loved Obey me.
You passionately loved all the characters, you deeply loved the engaging story, and you loved every single detail of that game. Especially the characters, of course. Their lively personalities, the actions they take, and the way they interact with you, the player, were simply mesmerizing. You loved them intensely, you felt a deep connection with them, almost as if they were real friends. You were ashamed to talk about it openly in front of your friends, after all it was just a game right? But you almost preferred to stay indoors playing Obey me than to go out.
You had an incredibly crowded group of friends, to be honest. But you never really felt like a part of it; they hung out frequently, and the times you spent time together were mostly at school. You also went out with them outside school, but only rarely. And then, browsing their stories on Instagram, you always saw all of them together, while the only person missing in those images was always you. In any case, you never really felt integrated into that group, so you preferred to remain confined to the comfort of your solitude.
You were closely attached to all the characters, so when they were hurt it hurt you too, you were happy with them. It was like a second family. They were your second family.
At that moment, you were sitting in your school desk, surrounded by a busy atmosphere. Next to you was your "best friend", animatedly conversing with your crush. Like any teenager your age, you were engulfed in love. But that crush was something extraordinary, even if the girl you liked was not yet a full-fledged acquaintance. Thus, you understood that it was necessary to approach her to find out if the interest was destined to fade or transform into something more lasting. Meanwhile, your phone placed in front of the case, (cleverly placed to avoid the professor to notice it) turned on; a notification from Obey me. But you didn't see it anyway.
Your best friend, Cristiano, was deep in conversation with Erika. In your eyes, she was a beautiful girl. Her black wavy hair framed her face, while her blue eyes shone with a magnetic fascination. Every time she smiled, she was just lovely. She had a unique style, and you admired every single one of her outfits when she arrived at school. You didn't even realize you were staring at her again, enraptured by her beauty.
«Mc, you need something?» Her angelic voice made you jump, and you blinked, looking at her. She really was gorgeous... your best friend gave you a slight, provocative smile. You didn't know how to answer, the words were taken out of your mouth at that moment.
«Ah.. uhm.. sorry» You suddenly felt like apologizing for staring at her in a disconcerting way, and you immediately lowered your gaze towards the counter, feeling a wave of embarrassment overwhelm you. Suddenly, you jumped as the start-up sound of Obey Me blasted loudly from your phone. The home screen lit up, revealing the charming face of the white-haired demon. Your momentary fear prompted you to quit the game quickly, your heart racing like a speeding train.
Your best friend watched you with a puzzled look, as did Erika and the other classmates, while the professor also focused on the scene that was unfolding.
Then, other than the adult inside the classroom, the whole room erupted in uproarious laughter, while you were left with cheeks burning with a vivid blush, a mix of shame and embarrassment that enveloped you like a thick fog.
The white-haired boy stuck in your head after that unwanted apparition. You couldn't deny your soft spot for all the white haired boys in the game; Mammon, Solomon and Raphael had won your heart with their unique charm (and you knew they'd be flattered to know). However, at that moment, you would have given anything to disappear from the face of the earth, wishing you could just erase your existence.
༺💜༻
«What was that?!» once again, your best friend put a hand on your shoulder outside the classroom, bursting out laughing thinking back to the moment lived and your priceless expression. It had been a hilarious episode for him.
However, you remained silent, not saying a word. You just took your headphones out of your pocket and plugged them into your phone, eager to isolate yourself from the outside world and immerse yourself in the music. «Oh come on Mc, it was fun!» Cristiano gave you a light shake on the shoulder, still laughing, while you just grimaced and muttered that it wasn't funny for you at all.
Finally he ventured towards the rest of the group, stepping outside quickly. They had also asked you to join them, but aware that Cristiano would speak about your embarrassing moment in class, you had decided to avoid further discussions and had preferred to spend recess alone.
While you were immersed in your thoughts, staring at the screen of your cell phone, a voice interrupted your isolation: «Hey, can I sit?» You looked up and noticed that you weren't going to spend recess exactly alone...
You had settled on the garden bench outside school, taking off your headphones. You would have opened Obey Me in minutes.
In front of you was a mysterious boy. Though you never noticed him before, it was clear he couldn't be a newcomer. Perhaps you had simply never paid attention to him... his hair, probably dyed, had a blue tinge to it and gave off a strange aura. He looked especially tired, as if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. Having no reason to object his question, you made room for him on the bench and he took a seat next to you. His voice was incredibly soft. It was a striking contrast to your friends, who had loud, thick voices. Some didn't even sound like they were supposed to sound (Cristiano was 18 years old and had the voice of a 25 year old).
He didn't seem interested in having a conversation, or maybe he just wasn't even awake. He had literally dropped onto the bench. His position seemed extremely uncomfortable, but it was as if sleep had overtaken him with no consideration for comfort.
Sighing, you turned your attention to your phone. Leaning back comfortably on the bench, you opened Obey Me and made sure the volume was turned down. You wanted to immerse yourself in that world again, even if for a few minutes.
Belphegor appeared on the main screen. You appreciated him, albeit reluctantly, but the indomitable chaos of lesson 16 could not be forgotten. It was he, after all, who had ended your existence without apology.
In the D.D.D's home Simeon appeared. He hastened to give you a warm greeting, and you would have loved if you could hear his voice, but you didn't have much time to play before recess was to end. Just 10 minutes more. A spontaneous smile painted itself on your face, illuminating your eyes for some seconds.
you had 99+ messages, 5 calls, 2 friend requests on the left side, and the daemons at :D jobs had done their job, and you could use nightmare 1 time. But you weren't interested; your instant destination was RAD, so you pressed for tasks. You were in lesson 52; stuck, from days. Because you couldn't beat those dancing little black demons.
But you decided to try anyway, hoping for a more positive result that time. Or rather, those times since you were obviously losing, it was the 5th time you tried again, and you felt like the phone was going to fly at any moment.
And victory slipped through your fingers again as time was up, and the demons had won. You let out a frustrated sigh.
«Want some help?» You jumped so violently that the phone almost slipped out of your hand, as you turned around to face the boy you thought was asleep only seconds before. But when did he wake up? And how had he managed to approach so silently? He could have rested his head on your shoulder, his closeness was almost intimate. The tuft that partially covered his right eye looked a little annoying, but maybe it was simply a feature he was used to.
«E-excuse me?»
«Ah, sorry» the boy settled down comfortably, pulling back and leaving you enough personal space. «My name is Belphegor, nice to meet you» He declared with a lazy smile. «I was attempting to sleep but.. I guess I can't. I saw you having a little mental breakdown over that dance battle» he explained in a slightly sarcastic tone of voice, tilting his head to the side as he stared disinterestedly at your phone.
A boy you've never seen comes to ask if he can sit next to you, he collapses on the bench to sleep, has blue hair and a tuft that covers half his face, and his name is Belphegor.
It's a joke, right?
«What are you, an exchange student?»
«Actually yes, I am. The principal told me not to talk about it» he shrugged indifferently.
You stared at him.
You stared at him for a long time.
You stared at him for a long time without looking away.
«You are what?»
He seemed to start to get annoyed, so you decided to stop; you didn't have the slightest idea who he was and, although it was a stupid idea (and it could also have been your friend playing a joke on you but this was too good an actor), you were a little afraid that his words matched what you thought.
«Um.. you wanted to help me?»
«...I am sleepy again»
You watched him intently as he leaned back against the solid bench, before turning his head to one side and reclining there with apparent comfort (a position that was incomprehensible to you). He seemed to fall asleep again, sinking into a deep sleep. You jumped up, and almost made an awkward jog arriving inside the corridors of the school, where a sudden breath caught you, leading you to reflect on the idea of ​​dedicating yourself for some gym, after all.
«Beel would not have all these problems..» you huffed, pulling yourself straight and jumping «Why people keep spwaning in front of me like this?!» Cristina, Cristiano's twin, looked at you perplexed, then smiled slightly amused.
«Sorry Mc.. I just wanted to go out and you happened to come in. see you later» she walked out of the school, and you followed her with your eyes before turning in front of you and start to walk again.
More and more each day you yearned to live with those brothers. Belphegor certainly wouldn't have killed you, you wouldn't even have actually climbed those stairs. Lucifer had said no, and Lucifer was scary!
«What a burden...» you whispered to yourself, as you put the headphones back on your head, immersing yourself in your playlist dedicated to the game. "Choose me" was the selected track that time.
There were 5 minutes left of recess and you hadn't touched any food unfortunately. You weren't even hungry if you came to think of it; you decided to go directly to class, sitting in your seat.
If it was true that Belphegor was the avatar of Sloth and he was there as an exchange student (so Lucifer didn't chain him in the attic), was there a human who was took as an exchange student in the devildom? So the game would have been real, it would have been cool.. right? You sighed. Even if they were real, you'd never be like the "Mc" in the game.
Come on, you couldn't even make human friends, how could you think that demons could accept you better than those friends of your did?
You rested your head on your arms, slumped wearily in your desk, sighing bitterly. You were hopelessly alone, in the end you were always alone.
They didn't exist, and your friends weren't friends.
You turned slowly towards the window that overlooked the garden; from that perspective, it was possible to clearly see the bench where you had spent moments in the company of Belphegor. There he was, in all his solitude. He lay carelessly on the bench, one arm behind his head and the other resting on his stomach. His flowing hair enveloped 70% of his face, particularly in the position he was in at the time.
You wondered if he really was a demon… and then, without warning, you jerked your head up.
A smile crossed your face, almost like a child looking for trouble.
You had a plan in mind, a way to provoke and test him.
And depending on how he evolved, if he was a real demon… well, you would have seen his loss of control, his transformation.
Obviously you didn't think it would actually happen... you just wanted to do something different that year, you wanted to have a new experience, and keep your mind busy. And you knew exactly how. (You didn't even think he was really Belphegor, the avatar of sloth. I mean you had a fear at first, but it was such a remote reality, so unimaginable... demons didn't exist, did they? You just took it as a fun thing to do... But what you didn't expect, and what would shock you, was that it wouldn't turn out the way you thought.)
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all-de-fandoms · 2 months
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MEAN GIRLS MUSICAL MOVIE LESGOOO
I literally just found out about this today and- yeah yeah yeah I know the musical got a lot of hate but genuinely I adored it (and it was one of my go-tos whenever I got dragged to a scary horror movie!). So to find out that they're making a movie out of it..... I mean yes, I've got some mixed feelings, but mostly I'm excited!
I've listened to the movie album on Spotify already, and held it up against the original. I have lots of opinions.
Cast Performance
Erika Henningsen vs Angourie Rice as Cady Heron: I’m sorry Angourie I’m sure you’re great but Erika really put her soul into her Broadway performance. So much emotion, so much energy and personality in her voice. By comparison, Angourie mostly seems to be singing to sound good rather than to communicate parts of the story in the musical. (I will say however that she did do pretty good in her last song, “I See Stars”.)
Taylor Louderman vs Renee Rap as Regina George: Renee! She did actually play Regina on Broadway after Taylor Louderman. Truth be told, I love Taylor’s version (lol) the best but Renee’s is nothing to sneeze at either. 10/10, no notes.
Ashley Park vs Bebe Wood as Gretchen: Ashley Park did it better. Bebe’s songs are.. okay. But they did cut a lot of Gretchen’s lines in the MG 2024 Spotify album, so that does affect her rating.
Kate Rockwell vs Avantika as Karen: I can’t choose, they both did a good job with their roles. I feel like Kate’s Karen really echoed Amanda Seyfried’s Karen in the original movie, but from what I could tell in the Spotify album, Avantika’s spin on Karen sounds equally good. I do wish they’d given her more songs/lines!
Barrett Wilbert Weed vs Auliʻi Cravalho as Janis!! OH MY FUCKING GOD you guys. If Renee gets a 10/10 Auli gets an 11/10 from me. Auli'i definitely did her homework. Amazing, amazing, amazing.
Grey Henson vs Jaquel Spivey as Damien: There's absolutely nothing wrong with Grey's version of Damien, it's a very good match for the movie one. But Jaquel’s Damien? He had such a beautiful voice, he really went above and beyond for Damien. My vote’s for Jaquel all the way.
The Songs
I won’t be listing them all because that would make this post much too long but here are my highlights:
They cut “It Roars” for “What Ifs” in the movie. Booo. “It Roars” told a good story, “What Ifs” is forgettable, in my opinion.
Auliʻi Cravalho’s version of “Revenge Party” is awesome. She absolutely killed it (/positive) and although I’m not one to usually approve lyric changes, I love the enhancement to Janis’ character by making the song more bloodthirsty.
Renee Rap nailed “Someone Gets Hurt” but I expected no less of course.
They changed some of the lyrics in some of the songs. Some of the lyric changes were just one line, or shifting around of roles ("Apex Predator").
“Meet the Plastics” got pared down in the movie album. Actually, a lot of songs got pared down for the movie album, or just moved altogether. I guess it was to adjust for time, and also to accommodate Angourie Rice’s vocal range. Aaron apparently has no singing roles at all.
"What's Wrong With Me" is another one that got pared down. The original song from the Broadway version tops this one, hands down. Had more plot and characterisation to it, this one was. Not it.
They cut Karen's funny lines in the beginning of the song "Sexy" which. Again, is such a shame. Avantika did amazing though.
They changed parts of "I See Stars", but I'm not mad at it tbh
Final Thoughts
I think my main gripe with the movie (from what I can tell based on the Spotify album) is that Angourie Rice is just not built for the powerful belting songs that Cady sings in the musical. That’s not bad, but I just. Surely they could have found another actress to play Cady? One who could actually perform in a musical? I’m a little tired of people being cast in a movie musical and still singing as if they’re trying to record an album. They’re two different things, people.
I guess they were trying to communicate Cady’s innocent and naïve personality in the original movie? but they cut out the rest of her personality in the new songs, making her just. So flat. This is particularly noticeable in the Broadway version of “Stupid With Love” vs the movie one. We were also robbed of Cady's growl in the line "watch me shake my mane" from "Apex Predator" (which is one of my favourite parts of the musical!) It’s tragic, is what it is. I don’t think this is necessarily all Angourie’s fault- mostly, this is poor writing and/or directing.
Similar gripe with Christopher Briney, Aaron’s actor in the movie. Apparently, he didn’t even want the role when he found out it would be a musical, so they cut out Aaron’s singing parts for him. Like?? Just? Hire someone else? It’s a musical, they ought to be committing to it.
Auliʻi has such a freakin beautiful voice, and as far as her singing performance goes she is the perfect casting for Broadway-Janis. Her performance is on parr with Barett’s in my opinion. She is the perfect example of someone who almost certainly did her homework: she understands the role, she puts in the attitude, the grunge, the “fuck you” attitude that made Barett’s version so damn good. I freakin love her.
Honestly from what I can tell I do love most of the people in this album (Jaquel Spivey!!) except for Cady and Aaron. Which is kind of a shame.
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strawberry-cowmilk · 2 years
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the flower of loneliness
-> brothers x Mc
a/n: I don't know how many of you guys listen to vocaloid, but this is based off of the songs Erica and Heath by Okame-P. My japanese is pretty rusty but I'm sure Erika is about a deceased person watching over their loved one, wishing for them to forget them so they can be happy again and Heath is from the alive person's perspective, who is obviously mourning. They are really pretty songs, I recommend listening to them! But have comfort items nearby.
Part 2 with side characters here.
Mc's gender is not mentioned and this is not proof read.
Content warnings: angst, death (Mc), mentions of forgetting, mourning, thoughts of suicide (Levi's part), not eating (Levi's and Beel's parts), vague lesson 5 spoilers (Beel's part), long sleep as escapism (Belphie's part)
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You had died. It was all do sudden to everyone. It was like one minute you were alive and well, and in the blink of an eye, you had vanished. Forever. It especially hit your partner hard, of course. Every time, when they visited your grave, or when you decided to watch over them for a while, you'd see him utterly broken by despair. It hurt to see, so much to the point you'd think he'd be better off if you didn't meet. It would be fine to you if he eventually forgot about the times you shared, just to see his smile again. And, even though you couldn't stand the thought, you knew one day you were going to forget him. The only way nobody would get hurt, is if you both forget the other.
A day before you had died, you had gifted him a bouquet of Erica flowers. The flowers were pretty much the only trace he had left of you now. If they were to wither, your last memory together would be erased, there would be nothing but loneliness left. That's why you hope somebody is listening to your prayers.
'Let us forget each other. It is fine with me.'
But you knew he would do anything to remember you.
Lucifer:
Lucifer still can't believe you're actually gone, reality hits him when he visits your grave.
There was this one chair he had in his room, specially decorated to your tastes. He didn't get rid of it. He didn't let anyone sit in it or touch it.
He did not get any paperwork done at all, he missed you too much to focus. The eldest brother would stare in front of him, hoping to see a glimpse of you. Diavolo had to hire new people to stand in.
The avatar of pride didn't cry when he found out. He bottled it up, until during one dinner he broke down. None of his brothers knew what to do.
The flowers. He took them to your grave, to plant them next to it.
Then, he came by every day to care for them. They must not wither.
Mammon
This man cried for 2 months straight. He was supposed to protect you, and he failed.
He stopped listening to the witches, nothing mattered to him anymore.
Mammon at first refused to see your grave, he could not bear it. About a week after your funeral, he snuck out of the house to visit it.
He was so in denial, he started calling out your name, hoping for a reply.
The demon proceeded to not leave the cemetery for the rest of the night, he wanted to stay with you. Lucifer had to search for him the next morning.
Mammon could not keep a plant alive for 2 minutes, but he did everything he could for the flowers to keep them alive.
A year after your passing, they were still in tact.
Leviathan
He did not want to be alive anymore, he wanted to see you again or be freed from the pain.
Levi was already a shut-in, but now he did not leave his room. Not even to eat or shower.
His brothers left food outside of the room for him, but he almost never ate it.
In his room, he did not leave the bed. He stopped playing games. He stopped watching anime.
Eventually, having noticed his owner's sadness, Henry the fish tried cheering the third born up in his own way.
The only thing that was stopping him from killing himself were the flowers.
He had submerged them under water, in Henry's tank, in the hopes of preserving them.
The flowers were the last trace of you Levi had.
Satan
Sometimes, when he is too deep in thought about the times you had and he snaps out of his daydream, he nearly wrecks the whole house.
Why were you taken from him so soon? It made him angry.
It was a different type of anger he usually felt though, it stemmed from sadness.
Satan always visited your grave alone, because he'd cry uncontrollably every time. And of course didn't want anyone else to see that.
Tried his ultimate hardest to find a way to bring you back, but those spells are really complicated. Even Solomon can't do them.
He dried some of the flowers and laminated them to use as a bookmark, as to preserve them, and to get a feeling that you're still there with him.
Asmodeus
He did not leave the house, he stopped posting things on Devilgram or any other platform. He was too busy crying over your death.
His brothers knew it was bad when he started neglecting his self-care routine.
Asmo was on his knees, begging Solomon, Diavolo, anyone really who could possibly bring you back, to do so almost every day.
When the especially bad months were over, Asmo went to Majolish to buy you a whole outfit you would love, and would go over to your grave to leave it there as a gift. It gave him the feeling that you were still alive in some way.
He turned the flowers into a perfume, but never used it. It sat on his bedside table, decorated with a pretty ribbon.
Beelzebub
He did not eat for a whole day. Beel couldn't bear to knowing you would never taste anything ever again. It didn't matter how much it hurt, the guilt was too much.
He had to go through the whole grief cycle again, and felt like it wouldn't end this time.
He would look at the stars, and wonder which one was you every time he visited your grave.
Beel would sometimes have full-on conversations with the tombstone, just to feel you next to him again.
He planted the flowers in the garden. The demon built a nice fence around the area and everything. Every day, he would water them. His little flower field was the only keepsake of you he had left.
Belphegor
Okay, that was it for him. He went to sleep and did not wake up for months.
In his dreams, he could see you and be with you. It was way better than reality.
Every time somebody woke him up, even if it was Beel, he'd get mad at them. How dare they strip him away from you in sleep again?
He didn't know how long he was sleeping for, but when he was finally ready to face life again, he saw the flowers were somehow alive and well.
Beel had taken care of them for him, he knew his twin would be sad if they died too.
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lyranova · 2 months
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Happy 3 year anniversary for your blog, Lyra~! That's so exciting! For your ask game, lemme ask...
1, 5, and 18 for Yuno?
And to go with Yuno, how about 3, 10, and 14 for Neva~?
Hiya Erika, thank you so much 😁! Ooo yay a question for YuNeva, I’m sorry this took a bit to answer today but I still hope you enjoy 🥰!
Yuno:
1 What is your favorite canon fact about this character?
That he wasn’t always “super powerful” and “aloof”. That he was once just an ordinary, shy, and quiet kid like everyone else, who wasn’t really good at fighting or standing up for himself.
5 What is one thing you would change with this character (it can be their appearance, arc, personality, etc;)?
Hmm, for Yuno I think it would be his personality 🤔. At least a bit. I’ve said it before, but I would like him to be able/to have been able to emote more 😔. I’m not saying to make him cry at the drop of a hat all the time, but just…have him show a bit more emotion. Like for example in the Golden Dawn filler episode (note: my memory of the episode is a little hazy) but he showed a *bit* of emotion in it when he confronted Langris and when he went on the mission with them. I think it was a good little “snippet” of emotion, but maybe there could have been more 😅?
Although on the other hand if he showed *too* much emotion it wouldn’t really be in character for him😅🤷🏻‍♀️. So I want him to show a bit more emotion, but not *too* much if that makes sense.
8 Is there a ship that makes the most sense for this character (can be romantic or platonic)?
Hm, Romantically it would be Neva /lh+j. But since she doesn’t exist in Tabata’s canon, and I don’t ship him romantically with anyone in canon, I’m going with a platonic relationship. Which is Asta 😆!
I think the reason why I love their relationship platonically is because they just seem like two best friends who support each other 100% even though they share the same dream/goal! Their rivalary seems very “healthy” to me, as in neither one is putting the other down, instead they’re lifting each other up and are encouraging each other while still keeping their “competitiveness” 😆!
Neva:
3 What is your favorite fanon/fandom fact or headcanon about this character?
My favorite fanon/fandom fact about Neva is that she gets shy whenever her friends/the Captain’s wives are talking about their romantic lives 😆! She’s usually kind of…stoic and serious, or at least she tries to be, so when she hears anyone talking about romance or “spicier” subjects she starts blushing and stammering which is kind of the opposite of her “normal” personality!
10 How do they perceive themselves and their actions?
Hm, I think Neva perceive’s herself as someone who is emotionally “strong, capable, and okay” and that her actions reflect that. For example, after she found out that William was the one that betrayed them she did her best to potray herself as this strong and “unshakeable” person. Because in her mind, if she showed any kind of emotion (such as sadness, hurt, etc) the Squad members would label her as weak and either wouldn’t trust her, or would see her as “less then them”. If that makes sense 😆!
14 What trait do they find most admirable and how often do they find it?
I think honesty is a trait Neva finds most admirable! She herself isn’t very honest, and she’s found that even those around her (*cough* William *cough*$ aren’t as honest as she thought they were. So i think that’s why whenever she see’s/finds someone thats honest, even to a fault, she automatically admires them and is pulled towards them. As for how often she finds it, not very. Whenever she’s thought she’s found it she’s usually proven to be wrong, at least until Yuno shows up.
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majesticwren · 9 days
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due to high demand - me. I'm high demand. this entire project is being written entirely for my pleasure, be warned I'm being extremely self-indulgent - I've decided to write a little prequel to the events that take place here. this is set in 2018 and is the beginning of Fletch x OFC. billy will have his own little prequel at some point. enjoy.
Trigger Warning/s: alcohol consumption, mention of addiction, mention of sex, mention of trauma, sexual harassment, swearing, OFC is her own trigger warning she is damaged goods and slightly toxic, kyle is a little baby, mark is being overprotective and extremely toxic sorry not sorry, angst, mainly friends to lovers/impossible relationship dynamics.
nuclear season: part I -> | part II -> | part III -> prequel: part II -> | part 3 -> Masterlist
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January 2018
There was always something melancholically romantic about an empty venue after a show. Seeing a place that had been crowded, hot and loud for hours suddenly empty and silent had a particular bittersweet vibe to it.
Erika sat on one of the foldable chairs at ringside, one leg crossed over her knee, swinging her foot to the beat of the seconds, looking around as she waited. Trying to pass the time, she fiddled with a lock of her hair.
The lights of the venue were now all switched on, making the ring at the centre of the room look extremely surgical. A couple of RevPro workers were dismantling it, pulling the apron and starting to take down the ropes. Erika moved her attention to another person on the other side of the room who was folding up the chairs, ready to load them away.
Erika tapped her foot on the floor. It was sticky under the sole of her show because of the spilt over drinks. She took some time to count the abandoned plastic cups and forgotten items she could see all over the place, making it look like the crowd partied hard. Which wasn’t far from reality. They had a good crowd at the show that night and everyone seemed to have enjoyed themselves wrestlers and guests alike.
She was proud of many of the pictures she had taken. There was a content smile nested on her lips as she was aware she had probably made rent with that event.
There were many pros to working in wrestling. It was a career she hadn’t considered before, even though she had been around the scene for years since her brother was such a massive fan and had been wrestling already for over ten years. So, she had her fair bit of knowledge and was charmed by that world but had never thought it possible to make a career out of it.
Still, now she wasn’t entirely convinced her dream had come true. Somehow, she thought she didn’t deserve it and considered it a privilege. She had hurt and disappointed so many people before, too used to being a problematic teenager than this new responsible adult that Erika was convinced it was only a matter of time before she fell into her old habits again.
But, at the moment, she was enjoying doing what she was doing and paying her living doing liked most. Photography was her life. She loved taking pictures, framing moments and making them hers forever. Plus, her job was fun and granted her the possibility not only to travel and meet many people, but she got to do it all with her dear big brother.
The most important part of following that dream, though, was that it gave her the chance to leave Australia for good. She had followed Mark to the UK only for a few weeks now and yet she hadn’t missed home once. She was always convinced that remaining in Brisbane would have meant the withering of her. There was too much of her past there and she just knew she would have never escaped it.
But, no matter how far she travelled, there was a fear always hidden inside of her that painfully reminded her how easily she could have slipped and ruined her life again.
So easy. So tempting.
“Hey, there,”
She jumped, startled when she heard that voice so close. Erika gasped, placing a hand on her chest as her gaze distractedly lifted on the tall, slim boy approaching her.
“Sorry, mate, didn’t mean to scare ya,”
Erika focused her attention on Kyle and melted into a smile, shaking her head. “Please, don’t be sorry. I was miles away.”
He approached her with a soft smile crossing his fair features. He looked like an elf, with his sharp edges, high cheekbones and glimmering, light eyes. There was something about the boy she was attracted to like a magnet. She couldn’t explain it but she couldn’t take her attention off him either. Although she didn’t trust herself enough to let herself go in that feeling. She and boys weren’t a good match. Her past was full of bad decisions and she had no intention of making another one.
Especially with a pretty, sweet boy like Kyle seemed to be. Especially since he was so close to Mark not only as his colleague and team partner but being taken in like a little brother as well. She just couldn’t risk it.
“Can I sit?” He pointed at the chair to her side.
“Of course,” Erika nodded, trying to shake the cringe off herself. Her skin rippled in goosebumps only thinking about having him too close. She couldn’t think too clearly when he looked at her, which was just ridiculous.
He dropped his bag with his ring gear on the floor and fell heavily on the little chair distending his long legs. “So, what do you think about the show?”
“I think it was great!” Erika smiled, looking at him and damning herself for the excitement it gave her to share a moment alone with Kyle. She felt the butterflies in her stomach warming up. “That move you did,” she tried to regain focus, looking back on the ring, “off the top buckle? That was so good!”
“You think?” He wondered following her eyes to the ring. “I thought I landed badly and everyone noticed.”
“Well, if you did, I didn’t see it.” Erika didn’t mention how closely she was looking at his moves. She cleared her voice, lifting her professional camera. “I took a cool shot of your front flip mid-air, wanna see?”
“Hell yeah,” Kyle scooted closer, looking over her shoulder as she fiddled with her camera.
Erika tried her best to remain calm and not react to his closeness but it was hard. His scent was inebriating, he smelled of clean linen and lavender. It made her mouth water and her hands shake with the desire to push her face into his neck and inhale.
She shrugged off a shiver, concentrating on the dozens and dozens of pictures she was scrolling through and then smiled when she finally found the one, showing it to him from the small camera screen. “There it is. It will look a thousand times better once I develop it. But even like this, it looks pretty good.”
“Shit me,” Kyle attentively took her camera into his hands, handling it with care as he looked into the screen, examining the picture she took. “Is that how I look when I do it?”
Erika nodded. “Cool uh? You look very good.”
“Could I have a copy of the picture once you develop it?”
“Of course! I mean, I generally do give the guys I work for a hard copy and a file copy that I share with the wrestlers too. So, you’ll be good to go.”
“Can I have a look at the rest of the pictures?”
“Yes,” Erika cleared her voice, “I mean, I haven’t peaked through them so most of them will be off-focus or blurry but sure.”
As he pressed the little arrow button, starting to look at all the pictures she had taken of the evening, Erika slowly started to feel a warm feeling spread through her. She was suddenly fidgety, wondering what went on in his mind as he looked at what she could do. It was somehow intimate, showing to him. Erika’s pictures were used by companies and wrestlers alike on their socials, but no one knew it came from her, there. This felt like Kyle just had access to a very personal window of how she viewed the world.
“Wow, you are good at this,” Kyle smiled distractedly, still scrolling through her work. “These are so good.”
Erika blushed. And immediately froze, feeling panic settling in her nerves. She looked away, imposing herself to find some control over her emotions. She had never blushed before, not for a boy anyway.
“Thank you,” she pushed her hand out, hinting to him to give her back the camera. “It won’t take me long to get the pictures fixed up and printed, so you can see them once they are done.”
“Do you have a studio?” He wondered with interest stretching on the chairs by his side.
Erika shook her head. “I will in a few weeks. I am trying to get a lease on a tiny hole of an office from where I’ll be able to work. I am planning to have a proper dark room and maybe even a desk space to hire an assistant. But for now, I am doing it the old-fashioned way,”
“What’s that?”
“My laptop.” She explained shrugging, “It’s a bit of a hit or miss kind of job, sometimes it pays well, sometimes it doesn’t. But I think I can make it work better If I get access to an office space.”
“Like an investment.”
“Yes,” Erika smiled, appreciating his care to know details about her more than what she was supposed to. “Exactly that.”
“Are you coming out with us tonight?” He then wondered leaning his head to the side.
She felt his eyes on her and wanted to bask under his attention. She had never had a problem with that. Generally, she thrived when she was under the spotlight. She was a very confident young woman aware of her appearance. Maybe too much, sometimes. She had won many things, in the past, because of her pretty face. Especially hearts. She was used to having it her way, but when she decided she wanted someone there wasn’t escaping it. Except with Kyle felt different. She didn’t want to conquer him or win him over. She liked him. Not only his appearance, even though his large smile made her feel things she had never felt before. The real deal was the kindness of heart he had; he was so polite in the way he behaved, and he wore his heart on his sleeve and wasn’t apologetic about it.
Plus, he was spoiling her. Kyle made her feel seen and listened to in ways she wasn’t used to. Which said a lot about the relationships or situationships she had in the past.
And that was precisely why it was so dangerous to play with that fire and she did everything in her power to fight against it. She could see it would lead to ruin for all parties involved.
“Nah, I don’t think so,” She looked away, sadness settling in, aching in her chest.
She wanted to go. She wanted to spend some time socialising. She wanted to be around him. But precisely because he seemed to want her there, she was better off staying away from booze and pretty boys.
“What!? Really? There’s a darts tournament between the guys, sure you want to miss that? I mean not to brag, but I’d beat you at darts.” He winked.
Erika felt flushed. “I’d love that because I think I might be good a darts” she damned herself as soon as she said that, “But I have an early train in the morning. Can’t miss it.”
“Oh, I see. Well. that’s a shame,”
“Next time, maybe?”
“You are on.”
“Oi,” A deep, thunderous voice echoed through the empty venue. Both she and Kyle jumped on their seat, turning over to find Mark waiting. “Ready to go?”
Erika huffed, looking over at her brother studying them. He didn’t seem too happy and she knew why. So, even before he could say anything, she jumped up and grabbed her back and jacket, putting some distance with Kyle.
“What were you doing?” He wondered quietly once she was close.
Erika shrugged. “Nothing, we were waiting for you.”
Before he could say anything more, Kyle approached her side and the two exchanged a fist bump. Mark didn’t continue, but she could see the concern hiding in his gaze. And it hurt her.
Mark hid behind a smile as he welcomed the boy, “Hey, mate,” he was so affectionate to Kyle that it made her heartache. She was happy they met. Kyle was a good friend to her brother. But, again, that was yet another complication and another reason for her to stay as far from the Aussie as she could.
“I’m gonna head home,” she started, hinting at the door as she fixed her bag on her shoulder.
“Yeah?” Mark looked at her, “I thought you were coming to the pub?”
“Nah,” Erika shook her head. She wished she didn’t but her gaze wandered on Kyle briefly. “I am quite tired. I think it’s for the best.”
“Okay,” Mark pulled her into a hug, kissing her forehead. “Grab a cab though. I don’t want you around the underground alone at this hour.”
“I’ll call one now. You boys go ahead and have fun. I’ll leave the light on in the hall for you when you come home.”
She watched them approaching the venue door. Mark pulled Kyle under his arm as they walked and they merged with some of the other wrestlers on the show that same night. A few of the boys waved goodbye at her before they left. Just then, she approached the bar counter, releasing a soft sigh.
“Hey,” she hinted at the barman cleaning up, “would you be so kind to call me a cab, mate?” She wasn’t even trying to hide her disappointment. Just thinking about all that she may be missing made her heartache. It felt like the more distance there was between her and Kyle, the more she hurt.
Pathetic. She had to snap out of that little crush and get over it. And fast.
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he stepped towards her, “can I get you a drink while you wait? On the house,” the boy winked at her. His flirtatious behaviour bounced right off her. His charm too, didn’t bother her.
“Nah, thank you, I am good.”
She could see the barman’s interest following her movements as he leaned on the counter in front of her. He was an attractive man, sure, and she had no doubt his pretty face and that little stunt of chatting up the ladies probably got him places before. She knew it all too well. She was it too. But even though she knew well how it worked and she felt like she should have been fluttered by his attention, maybe even intrigued, it just slid off her without making her feel a thing. If not slight discomfort.
Before he could say or ask something else, Kyle ran back in, approaching her. “Hey, Erika?”
“Yes?” She immediately turned towards him, not even noticing how much her heart and body moved for the Aussie. “What is it? You ok?”
“Yes, yeah,” he nodded, sliding a hand to the back of his neck. He was blushing so sweetly it made her think about strawberries. Though his eyes were bright and sharp as he looked at her. “I was wondering, could I have your number?”
Erika choked. She knew everything wrong with that. It was the same reason why she wasn’t allowing herself to go out. It was why she avoided being around the house alone with Fletch when Mark wasn’t around. It was why she had avoided being around him in general. Except when she didn’t and fell into whatever it was that attracted them like magnets.
It was stronger than her common sense, she was nodding even before she could think straight and kept being selfish as Kyle offered her his phone for her to type her number in.
He was smiling like an idiot. Or maybe it was her.
When he got his phone back, he held it like a trophy. “Thanks,”
“Don’t tell Mark,” She suggested, probably saying the first smart thing in a minute.  
Kyle offered her the largest of smiles and then dashed off.
As he left, she felt all the warmth he brought with him leaving her body and making her feel empty.
“That little prick has balls,” the guy behind the bar chuckled.
Erika smiled, still looking at the door. “That he does.”
“So, how is it that a pretty girl like you is not going out celebrating with all those boys?”
Erika tapped her nails on the wood, starting to feel an itch under her skin. She wanted to be vague, she knew what was the polite, British way of just generally saying stuff without actually saying anything to strangers. But she was too tired for that too. Politeness hardly got her anywhere.
“Well, let me tell you,” She began, “Got a crush on that little prick,” she vaguely pointed at the door, “he is my brother’s best friend and I can’t afford to fuck that up so,” she huffed, “I am staying well clear and doing everything in my power to get over him.”
“But you just gave him your number.”
“Yes, I never said I was smart at it.”
The guy behind the bar smiled. “I’m Matt, by the way,”
“Erika,” she said as they shook hands.
“So, Erika,” he looked up at her, hitting her up with a gaze she was sure had conquered many hearts before, “Want some help forgetting about the little prick?”
The proper way was to politely decline, get a cab, go home and do her best to accept going to bed alone. That would have been the new adult, mature way to deal with the situation. She was well aware of what was expected of her. But still chose otherwise.
The comfort of her old ways, knowing exactly what would have happened and how she would have felt was much better than knowing how much she was going to be eaten up by regrets, alone, in her little room.
“What time do you get off?” She wondered melting into a smile.
She didn’t much care for the guy himself. But he offered a distraction and it seemed like a valid idea not to think about Kyle.
“Half an hour.”
She nodded and took a seat on one of the stools, “In that case, I’ll take that drink, thank you.”
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February 2018
A few weeks later, Erika stood in the centre of the small room she could call an office.
The place was a little dishevelled. It was dark, cold and a little dump; the rent was overpriced, but it was hers. The walls could have done with a new touch of paint, and she was convinced the space would have looked much more welcoming and personal with pictures hanging up; the carpet seriously needed a deep cleaning, and the sad curtains by the windows needed to be retired, but she still looked at it with the most pride.
A smile crossed her lips, and her heart was leaping out of her chest as she toyed with the set of keys the agency gave her. She still didn’t feel secure enough to trust her dream coming true, but that was a pretty big step forward compared to where she had come from only six months before.
“Hey-o,” she recognised Kyle’s voice immediately as he chirped from the entrance door, “anybody in there? Erika?”
Her heart jumped out of her chest.
“Come on in!” She welcomed him, skipping back to the door where she found the Aussie. “What are you doing here?”
As soon as he saw her, he whipped out a massive smile and pulled, from behind his back, a big bunch of colourful flowers and a bottle of bubbles. “Well, I thought the situation required celebrating!” He offered her his presents.
Erika’s chest tightened as she took the flowers and brought them up so she could smell them. Then she took the bottle too, looking at it with interest. She melted into a sweet smile, immediately damning herself for what she was feeling.
Whatever tied her to Kyle only got stronger and deeper day by day. She tried to fight it. She tried to deflect and lie to herself, pretending that ignoring it all was enough to make it disappear. And yet, Kyle was constantly there to remind her how wrong she was.
She just needed to look at him to feel a magnetism pulling her towards him, making her hands tremble with the need to touch him. But it was a constant battle she fought, leaving her feeling cold and empty every time she denied herself her wish.
And yet, he kept coming. He kept being there, around her, everywhere, even when they were far from each other, she still felt him. Every day he made it a point to wish her good morning and good night. He’d ask her about her day and listen with interest to everything she had to say. He’d make her laugh. He’d give her compliments. He was just present in her life. How she wished she could say confidently they were only friends.
But friends didn’t desperately wish to kiss each other.
Thinking about that made her realise she was looking at his lips and she had to force herself off the thought.
“Thank you, Fletch, this is so sweet of you,” she looked up at him, leaning her head to the side, “I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Why did you think I asked you the address of this place?” He chuckled, “I wanted to make sure you welcomed this new chapter with the right energy.”
Erika smiled, absolutely smitten by him and his selfless, unashamed caring.
“Thank you,” before she could even think clearly and stop herself, she leaned in for a hug. Her intention was for it to be quick and polite. That was what friends did, wasn’t it? She couldn’t be further from the truth.
Kyle welcomed her with a soft hold and, by the time she wrapped her arms loosely around his waist and pressed her face into his chest, the world stopped spinning.
Erika tightened her hold around him, only for Kyle to do the same, taking the initiative to lean his chin on the top of her head, cradling her softly.
There was no salvation after that for her. Erika was toasted. Her heart was beating so fast inside her chest that she was sure he could feel it too. Her stomach twisted as warmth flooded through her, fuzzing her thoughts and waking up a hunger, a desire in her lower abdomen that would only hurt with every second she wouldn’t give into it.
“I wanted to be here for you, today,” he gave away, brushing a soft, intimate kiss on her temple.
Erika looked up at him and Kyle’s bright gaze fell into hers as he dived into her eyes. He was so close his scent was inebriating her senses. He looked so pretty she couldn’t take it.
“Did you come alone?”
Kyle nodded, “Your brother doesn’t even know I am here.”
Erika felt so dirty for lying to Mark.
They had kept a low profile, pretending nothing was going on and they hadn’t spent the past weeks texting. Sometimes they’d text from across the same room and Mark would take the piss out of Kyle for texting his “little lady”, not knowing she was the one receiving his interest. They made a little joke out of it, but Erika didn’t find it funny.
She hated shutting Mark out. He knew everything about her and could read her like a book. But he didn’t know that part. She was terrified of his reaction if he had known what was going on between her and Kyle, which was nothing. She lied to herself too, constantly. Even though the second she found herself around Kyle it was undeniable she was the most clueless of them all.
Erika gulped, looking down at Kyle’s lips again, unable not to, his mouth was so attractive to her. Especially when he was so close.
Kyle dared to cup her face in his palms. Erika sighed, closing her eyes and letting herself go in his soft hold. His hands were big and warm. And she was dying to feel them all over her.
“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, so close to her face she tasted his breath on her tongue. A hot shiver crossed her. “I like you, Erika. Been liking you a while.”
“Kyle,” she tried to find some common sense, although only the idea of refusing him ripped her chest apart. “We can’t.”
“Why?”
“Mark,” she was still holding the flowers and the bottle of bubbly in her hands, and even though she was trying to fight for her life not to succumb to him, she didn’t even dare to move an inch away. “He’d never approve.”
“Leave him to me. I am sure if there’s someone he’d like to be with his sister, that would be me.”
“No, Kyle, it’s not you the one he wouldn’t approve of. It’s me. I am not good for you,”
“Let me decide that.”
“You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me,”
“Then tell me. I want to know you.”
Erika chuckled dryly, quickly dismissing him. He would have run away, as far as possible from her if he had known half of the things she did.
“I mean it,” he continued, “I want to know everything about you.”
“You make it so hard,” she whispered, moulding herself in his hold as Kyle softly caressed her jawline.
“I am not hearing a good reason to stop.” He leaned in, brushing his lips on her forehead, “Tell me no and I’ll fuck off. But if you want it too,” as he moved, hovering above her, Erika moved her head, raising her chin only so their lips would touch. “Then,” he continued, whispering so close to her mouth it gave her goosebumps.
Before he could continue, Erika took the worst decision of her life and, dropping the flowers on the floor, she grabbed him by his t-shirt and pulled him down in a kiss, desperately clinging onto him and releasing everything she had stopped herself from feeling for so long. Selfishly taking everything she wanted from him.
Kyle blindly closed the door behind him and then his arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him. His hands ran across her body, feeling her curves, grabbing on her clothes, only to pull her tighter against him.
Unapologetically, Kyle slipped a hand into her hair grabbing a handful and made her bend underneath him, deepening their kiss. As soon as their tongues crossed and his flavour exploded into her mouth, Erika released a soft moan, feeling her body waking up completely.
However, before she could slip into deeper waters of desire and future regrets, Erika gathered the strength to push him off herself.
“Kyle, please stop,” her breath was heavy as she kept her hand on his chest, not to keep him far from her but to feel him.
“Did I do something wrong?” He wondered, checking she was ok.
Erika shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. Because the only wrong she could identify in that entire situation was the distance between them.
She had a taste. She scratched the itch. That was going to be it. It was going to have to be enough.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. We can’t happen. Please,” her heart shattered into a million pieces seeing the look he gave her. “Please,” she whispered again, almost getting lost in his eyes.
Kyle accepted her choice and let her go, taking two steps back. He leaned picking up the flowers and passed them over to her, shrugging awkwardly. “Here, take them.”
She felt defeated as she accepted the flowers back. She couldn’t bear the idea of seeing him leave and didn’t want to accept them being done. It was supposed to be the way, just severing their little fling or whatever, but she was stupid and selfish.
“Do you want a little tour?” She wondered, hoping Kyle would indulge her.
He didn’t disappoint and melted into a gentle smile, nodding. “I’d love to.”
They held hands as she showed him around, telling him everything about how she envisioned her studio.
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March 2018
Erika stood ringside, her trusted camera at hand as she watched the match through its lenses.
The crowd was hot tonight. They clapped and booed, chanted and roared and were generally super involved in the matches, which was something she always loved to see.
Erika moved around the ring, taking every occasion to grab a shot, just like she always did, capturing as much of the energy in the ring as she could.
The two boys going at it right now were new in the company, she never met them before, but that didn’t change a single thing in the way the crowd perceived them. The heel was doing his job, flipping everyone off at any given occasion only to get everyone’s boos up. And the other, being the good guy he was, was there to make him regret it every time.
How she loved wrestling. It was such a theatrical, highly athletic pantomime.
The match ended with the good guy pinning the heel. The crowd went wild. Erika too, smiled, as she kept taking her shots of the guy celebrating.
Then, as the guys cleared out and the announcer moved back to the ring, starting to explain the next match on the mic, Erika moved too towards the wrestlers’ entrance, readying her camera to capture Aussie Open’s entrance.
Of course, she was working for the wrestling company and her work needed to be equally good for all the participants in the events. But she couldn’t help herself from having favourites. The number of pictures she had taken of Kyle and her brother that she had never sold because they were candid shots of two guys and had nothing to do with wrestling was embarrassing. Especially of Kyle’s. She loved taking his pictures. But that was a secret, of course.
Still, she patiently waited there, camera at hand, kneeling to take a good shot of them coming out in their new shiny, matchy gear.
Aussie Open was announced and their music started as they rolled out, basking in the crowd's welcome.
Erika smiled behind the camera, taking her pictures as the two posed and then moved with them to the ring.
Mark and Kyle slipped through the ropes and circled the apron, looking into the room, and pointing at people in the crowd only to get a reaction. They were both talking some shit either to the crowd or to each other, fully committed to their role.
Then, as Kyle confidently strode by the corner she was hanging around, he broke character one moment to look down at her, offering her one of his sweet smiles. “Hey, baby,”
Erika took a picture of him, grabbing that moment for herself. He called her baby now. Not always, but when he did it made her feel warm all over. It was so hard for her not to reach out and touch him.
Mark approached Kyle and landed a heavy hand on his shoulder, bringing him to turn as the announcer presented their competitors. Erika moved around the ring again, towards the entrance, ready to go back to being a hundred per cent professional.
She kneeled by the crowd, exchanging a quick, polite smile with a couple of guys by her side who seemed to be enjoying the show just like everyone else. She leaned ready to take her shots.
And then Erika was stricken. Nothing could have prepared her for the frosty feeling taking over her as the heavy hand of a stranger landed on her ass, giving her an unrequired smack. She felt the stranger’s touch straight into her stomach and it made her twitch as his fingers dared to squeeze on her.
She turned quickly towards him and raised her camera, taking a shot of his face. She acted out of instinct, not thinking about the consequences. It was the only thing she could consciously think of doing. No words were coming out. Not even anger. Just pure, disgusted surprise.
“Hey,” he angrily confronted her, trying to grab her camera, “Cancel that, you bitch. I haven’t permitted you to take a picture of my face.”
She wanted to say she hadn’t permitted him to squeeze her ass either. It was on the tip of her tongue. And yet. Nothing came out.
Erika stepped away, hiding her camera behind her back, feeling something close to fear choke her as the guy stood up, ready to chase her. She truly thought he was going to hurt her.
“Hey, hey, you prick,” Kyle shouted, jumping off the ring, and intervening. By then, everyone’s attention was on what was happening there.
Mark followed Kyle as they both stepped in between Erika and the guy in the crowd, who was proud and drunk enough to face them, even when he was no match for either of the Aussies.
“I’ll break that hand of yours, you cunt,” Mark barked.
Kyle stepped in between them, shielding Erika with his body. “You ok?” He touched her face, looking down at her.
Erika didn’t refuse him. Her hands travelled to his wrists, as she moulded under his touch appreciating his closeness. “Yes,” she huffed, her eyes escaping Kyle’s as she looked back at her brother, making sure he didn’t do anything stupid. “I’m ok,” She then tapped on Mark’s shoulder, “Don’t bother,” she suggested, even though the guys seemed to be ecstatic to receive attention. “Mark? Please, leave it alone.”
“Maybe you should get her to wear something more covering. You can’t blame me.” The guy was drunk. He was mumbling his nonsense only looking for a fight and Erika hated that she didn’t want her brother to give it to him. “When they look like sluts, I say they look for it-”
There was no stopping Mark after that.
Before she could even think about trying and stop him from jumping to the guy’s throat, Kyle scooped her away, trapping her in between his arms, and protecting her. This time, she hid in between his arms, closing her eyes. She didn’t want to see what she had caused.
The crowd shouted so loudly it made her head hurt.
The announcer, from the ring called for security that came through to break the fight and to kick out the people who disturbed the show.
“I’m sorry,” she shook her head, “I am sorry, I didn’t mean it.”
Kyle shook his head, kissing her forehead tenderly. “Don’t you dare to apologise,” he chanted to her ear, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
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Later on, that same evening the mood was off.
After the incident, going back to the regular flow of the show had been difficult. While Kyle and Mark were supposed the be heels and treated as such, the crowd started loving them after they displayed chivalry. Everyone kept asking her if she was ok from that point on. And she hated it. Erika just hid behind her camera the rest of the evening, pretending detached politeness, but didn’t ever move from ringside.
Now they were gathered for a drink and some late food at a local pub just around the corner from the venue where the show took place. Erika sat in her booth enjoying a plate of steaming hot chips as she watched Kyle play pool with two of the boys from the show.
When he smiled, she smiled too, wondering what had been said to make him laugh.
Mark heavily dropped himself next to her, placing his beer and a massive portion of nachos, blocking her view.
“Hey,” she welcomed him with a smile.
Mark was deadly serious. “I know something is happening between you and Kyle.”
“OK?” Erika frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t be vague with me, I’ve suspected it for a while. I see the way you two look at each other. And tonight, with the way he protected you-”
“Mark,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “You did the same thing.”
“Look me in the eye and tell me the way you two were hugging was nothing.”
She didn’t look at him. “It was just a hug.”
“I love you. I will always love you. You know that. And believe me, it hurts me to say this. I know I’m being an ass right now, but I want you to stay away from Kyle.”
Every word that came out of Mark’s mouth slashed through her like a knife. It was a painful reminder of everything she had been, everything she had done. Everything her brother had to fix for her. Not leaving any space for the person she was desperately trying to become.
“Why?” She challenged him, gulping down her pain, and looking straight into his eyes.
“You know why. I can’t stand the idea of watching you hurt him. Because you will. Maybe not willingly. But he doesn’t deserve it all the same.”
Erika's chest ached. She looked away, trying to hide away her pain. She wanted to shout and cry and kick, but couldn’t. Somehow, she trusted her brother more than how she trusted herself. It was easier to accept that he must have been right about her. It must be like he said. She wasn’t good for Kyle and would have never been good.
“I mean it, Erika. I’d break the world for you. But I’d do the same for Kyle.”
“You are breaking me right now,” she shook her head and then looked back at him, anger flooding through her gaze, lighting her up. “You think I haven’t tried to stay away? See? I knew you’d end up telling me this and I did. Stayed as far as I could. Pretty difficult to do when we live together, travel together and work together,” Erika shrugged. “But it is as you said. I obviously can’t offer anything better to someone than failure.”
“That’s not what I meant,”
“Don’t you dare try and justify your cruelty. You said it, loud and clear. I am not good enough for Kyle. Thank you, brother, for reminding me.”
She grabbed her stuff and got up, storming out.
Something stirred inside of her. It was an old, familiar feeling of how she was used to dealing with strong emotions from before. Part of her was trying so hard to be better. But she didn’t know how when even her brother, her only anchor in that world, didn’t believe in her.
Anger and pain were easy to suppress or ignore when she was self-destructing, taking everyone else down with her in the process. 
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