#in what world did you think i’d care about how an anonymous stranger feels about how i describe it when im the one who has to live it

[transmascissues]

hey i know your post about your mom was mostly just a personal vent, but i have to say, do you realize that also happens with trans girls and their fathers? literally happened to one of my friends. i’m not trying to downplay your experience or something but i found it strange that you seem to think this is something that only affects transmascs

i have one question for you: so fucking what?

i don’t doubt that trans girls have experienced similar things and yeah, that’s bad too, but what the fuck does that have to do with me and the specific things i’m facing as a result of being a trans man? i never said “look at this thing that happens to ONLY trans men and NO ONE ELSE,” i just said “hey, isn’t this thing that happens to a lot of trans men, including myself, fucked up?”

i would also like to point out that what you’re talking about is in fact a different (albeit similar) thing. the way cis people treat trans people can differ dramatically based on the cis person’s gender because their commitment to gender roles is, like, a major part of problem. the specific way a cis mother reacts to her trans son’s transition is often going to be very distinct, while a cis father will likely respond to his trans daughter in a different but equally distinct way.

what i’m talking about is a very specific kind of ownership and control and self-victimization and total lack of boundaries masquerading as love and care and maternal concern that cis women (i would argue white cis women in particular) project onto their transmasc kids when we do literally anything to our bodies. i’m talking about a phenomenon which is closely related to the way moms often pass eating disorders onto their daughters (or children they view as daughters) because they see a body that looks something like theirs and project all of their insecurities and ideals onto it. i’m talking about a form of parental transphobia and projection that’s specific to the dynamic of a cis mother and her child who was “supposed to” be her daughter.

if you’ve never felt that, you’re not even remotely qualified to tell me shit about how i should be talking about that experience, and if you couldn’t recognize that experience when you read my post, i’m guessing you probably haven’t experienced it because the replies to that post made it very clear to me that anyone who has experienced it firsthand immediately knew exactly what i meant.

like, yeah, cis dads also project onto their trans daughters, but are they likely to have a reaction like running away with actual tears streaming down their face? do you expect them to passive aggressively make comments about how sad their kid’s transition makes them, how it’s such a difficult emotional time, how it’s so tragic because their kid’s body was so beautiful before? do you think their go-to transphobic reaction will be weaponizing their emotions? i’m sure there are some dads out there who are like that, but i think we can agree they’re in the minority because that’s not how cis men are taught to react and parents like this tend to be pretty damn committed to following the gender roles they were taught.

and even if i’m wrong and our experiences are exactly the same, let me reiterate that i never said this was an experience exclusive to trans men. all i said is that it happens to us. that’s just a statement of objective fact.

this started in my life when i got my hair cut short for the first time almost a decade ago and it has not stopped since. i’ve watched my mom cry over me changing my name and respond to being asked if my happiness matters more to her than my name by saying “i care about both”, i’ve watched her melt down in a mall over me getting a suit for prom and give me the silent treatment for days after, i’ve heard her plead with me to stop t because it “looks unnatural” and she’s just so “concerned for my health”, i’ve watched her stare at me post-op and say “my poor baby” over and over like she’s looking at my corpse in a casket. i’ve watched her turn herself into the victim of every single aspect of my transition. i’ve had to live with this for 9 years and spent the early years of the pandemic literally locked in a house with it. this has been my entire adolescent and adult life, and the question of if i’ll have to cut her off someday (and maybe never see my cat or my little cousins who i love more than anything in the world ever again as a result) haunts me every single day.

who the fuck are you to tell me how to talk about that?

#i hope you weren’t expecting me to take this in good faith and give a nice measured response #because just so we’re clear you didn’t have a chance in hell of doing anything other than pissing me off #like in case you forgot i am a real person who this is happening to #in what world did you think i’d care about how an anonymous stranger feels about how i describe it when im the one who has to live it #idk man. some of y’all clearly do not see me as an actual person capable of emotion and it shows #also like. using a friend’s experience is wild bc 1) how do you know it was the same if it didn’t happen to you #and 2) would that friend really want you using their experience against another trans person experiencing something similar? #anon hate #ask answered #examples of transandrophobia #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia #trans men

[beautifulpersonpeach]

your bff parkparkjeon is throwing the baby out with the bathwater dragging jimin into tae's mess you should talk sense into her instead of liking her posts if you like jimin as you say

***

Lmaoooooooooo.

A lot of you are insane and have no one to tell you.

I suppose after I'd been deleting your asks sent while Anonymous, you decided to take off anon and send in the same BS. Which is a good choice I guess if what you want from me is a response.

I don't typically get or respond to asks about bloggers and I don't actually know PPJ. I don't know anyone on here at all actually, but as I keep saying, if you're not Black, sit this one out. You have no idea, not even an inkling of a reference point, to begin even trying to partake in this conversation.

**

I was initially going to leave my response to you at that, but I've changed my mind. Because though my feelings don't perfectly align with PPJ's and they don't need anyone, least of all me, to defend them, I do want to say something about how generally, people in fandom and community systems are unable to process complex and dissenting opinions based on experiences (other) those people cannot possibly relate to. Especially when it comes to Black experiences.

It's possibly why I've gotten asks from other people wondering why it's such a bad thing to mouth a word if you're just 'singing along' to a song. Honestly, these are questions you should be asking the Black people in your real lives, not a stranger on the internet. But whatevs.

Even if my feelings don't perfectly align with PPJ's, I completely understand their frustration. Whenever Black people express hurt referring to general groups of people and while making sweeping statements like that, the impulse from other people is to point out the exceptions, the anecdotal instances that show Black people (and in this case, PPJ) they could be wrong. But the reality is that Black American experience is riddled with violations to their person, daily, from other Black people, from other POC, from white people, from really everyone, and yet it’s difficult to acknowledge that fact without sounding like a perpetual victim. Which is how most people see Black people when they make such statements. Nobody woke up two days ago and expected to see Tae mouthing "nigga". He could sing along to songs, but he didn’t need to sing along to that word if he cared about the implications. It’s really that simple. He went ahead and did so because he didn’t think it was a big deal. And that’s not uncommon, which I believe is the source of parkparkjeon’s frustration. It’s that so many people have such a superficial idea of what that word means and why Black people want to reclaim it as only theirs, that they don’t actually see the big deal in mouthing or singing along to it.

It feels like fighting a losing battle honestly, because the fact is people will always do what they want, and saying someone can’t say a certain word, for some people just makes them want to say the word even more, or to look for arguments in which saying the word is fine. The civil rights movement ended in the 60s, and yet it's 2023 and we're still here. The world doesn’t actually, really care about Black people, and this includes other Black people themselves I’d say, which I know sounds defeatist and is controversial to say. The lives and experiences of Black people just aren’t taken seriously, at least not to the same degree as other races and classes of people are, and that’s due to the lingering ripple effects from centuries of subjugation, as well as other factors. We have a plethora of literature, spanning centuries, of Black writers detailing their peculiar experience on this note, but someone saying this in plain English is taken as them whining, being annoying, going on and on about how the world isn't fair to them when 'they should know' everyone knows the world isn't fair anyways.

That's bullshit.

I say nigga because that’s what I am, it’s what I look like and it’s how I’ve lived and been treated in America. I don’t feel any special attachment to the word, it’s just a fact of the matter, but the reality that other groups of people refuse to acknowledge what that means for Black people as a group in America, the people who have reclaimed it and use it in their art, even with daily violations against their person in the US, the fact this still happens only reminds people of hurt. I can totally see where PPJ is coming from. And the last thing I'll do from one Black person to another, is try to stifle their self expression. They get to say what they want on this note. Whether or not I like it. And I say this not because I'm Black, not because I'm Korean, but because I'm a person who recognizes that they're not hurting anyone, they are simply expressing feelings of hurt related to an experience that is long-documented and is uniquely theirs.

As to your mention of Jimin, when I said certain crimes in k-pop are 'sticky', this is partly what I meant also, because the fact is Korean society has evolved through a Western imperialist system and is racist. Taehyung doesn't operate in a vacuum and behaved the way he did likely influenced by his own personal beliefs, and environment. Digging far back enough implicates everyone around him, including Jimin who has also made colorist statements. Does this mean I think Taehyung and Jimin are racist? No. Just as I don't think the people sending me asks wondering why they can't mouth "nigga" singing along to a song, are racist. But it does mean I think neither Taehyung nor the people asking these questions in my inbox, care enough about Black experiences to think about why "nigga" is a 'bad word' that only Black people today are supposed to get to use. Other members in the rapline through direct scrutiny, have over the years become more conscious of what this means, but I'm very certain, just by virtue of their environment, that they still have blindspots.

That's it.

And it's okay for a Black fan, to express their discomfort, frustration, and/or anger with this reality. This is something Black fans do by default anyway, critically moving through a world that claims to care and yet the bare minimum, of thinking about why things are the way they are, is too much of an ask. And this is not a condemnation of you, or BTS. It's simply an acknowledgement of the reality Black people inhabit.

So, no. I won't "talk sense" into them. I don't even know why you thought this was a reasonable thing to ask anybody to do. If they choose to no longer associate with the fandom as a result of their experience, that's very much their right. As it is for anyone who comes to such conclusions for whatever reason. Whether or not I agree with it. Whether or not you agree with it.

Welcome to Pluralism 101.

#fuck this

[supimjustwriting]

Hopelessly in Love

Yandere Scaramouche x Reader

Summary: Y/N was a simple civilian. Another face in the crowd. Yet something about them just clicked with him. Their charming smile, kind eyes, the hope they have for the world.  Everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, right? 

Oh how wrong you were….

Warning: General Yandere Themes, implied kidnapping, OOC Scara (?)

“Hopeless? crooked laughter escaped the figure. “Sweetheart. Pigeon. Dove.” His tone grew darker with each endearing pet name. “Don’t you see you’re the one caged here?”

Little things add up. They always do. Flashing a smile at a stranger, offering a helping hand, insisting to help despite being rejected. Everything would’ve been fine if you ignored that feeling of guilt in your gut. He’s a fatui harbinger. He doesn’t even need your help. Why take the risk? 

Yet he looked so helpless. Borderlining pathetic when your eyes landed upon his bruised body in one of the many alleyways of Liyue. Little did you know that you would soon match with the ‘helpless’ victim.

~

Like clockwork, every Monday morning a gift nested itself at your door. Always from an ‘anonymous’ sender. Though the burning feeling in your chest is enough to warn, tell you who the gifter was. 

Today an intricate floral barrette nested upon your welcome mat, being cradled in a lavender box, lined with royal purple silk. The delicate hair piece was adorned with what you guess was glass cherry blossoms. Similar to the flowering branches you’d see in Inazuma travel guides. Only to be attached to a note that simply read; To: My Delicate Flower.

Admiration, gratitude, acknowledgement. Those were the innocent reasons you gave yourself. He simply didn’t know how to properly express his feelings to you. It couldn’t be love. Even if it was. It should fade away quickly. After all, he most likely fell in love with your actions. Not you, right? Continuing to feed yourself these lies. You scurry back into your home, ignoring the growing static in the air.

~

It ate away at him daily. At first he denied it. There’s no universe in which he would fall for such a weakling. Let alone someone who looked down upon him with such naivete. Yet those doe like eyes drew him in, maybe opposites attract after all.

“Sir?” “Did I give you permission to speak? Can’t you see I was busy?” Each word seemed to gather the lingering static in the air, slowly gathering upon his fingertips. Before he could strike, a simple string of words stopped his rage causing it to go static. “She’s caught Childe’s attention.”

~

“One red bean bun to go please ~! Chimed a playful voice announcing their arrival, stealing the welcome bell’s job. “I think we harmonized that time. What do you think?”

Rolling your eyes, you ceremoniously stuff the sweet treat into his mouth. While taking his mora with your free hand.

“Keep the change, sweet. Think of it as a gift from me to you. After all, having me around must scare off the more skittish of patrons,” the silver tongue male reasoned, grinning from ear to ear as you sheepishly smiled back.

“You and I both know how that’ll affect the business if others catch wind. As you said before ‘the walls have ears’. So, be a good child and keep the change,” you chirped, slipping the excess coins into his pocket.

“All work and no play makes for a boring life. I’d hate for you to resemble a certain coworker of mine.”

As if summoned by the Archons themselves a familiar navy haired male entered the quaint bakery. The usual scowl that painted his lips softened upon seeing his sakura blossom. Only to sour once more at the living headache. With the soft sound of geta blanketing the once warm atmosphere. A small storm loomed above.

“Speak of the devil! Y/N, I’ve told you of Scaramouche, right? Oh yes ~!” A lump made home in your throat as you caught the glint in your ‘friend’s’ eye. “This little lady actually saved our dear Scara. Didn’t ya, Y/N? Truly a being too pure for this world,” he mocked softly, wiping a fake tear.

“Indeed. It’d be quite a shame if something were to happen to them.” Scaramouche stated simply, fighting back his grimace at Childe’s obvious bait. 

Any patrons who dared stayed despite the single fatui member, now since fled with the newcomers aura.

“Azuki beans..”

“That’s their native name. It’s quite troublesome to get exports from Inazuma but it’s worth it in the end! I wouldn’t be able to make half of my selection otherwise,” wearing your best customer service smile, you spill out your sales pitch.

Did Scaramouche smile? Not going unnoticed by the younger harbinger, Childe’s Cheshire grin was quickly stopped with a tug of his ear. 

“My apologies for the sudden intrusion but I was simply here to pick up the walking menace. Though I’ll be sure to make time to visit. It’d be a shame if I never got to try any of your baking after all,” with a boyish chuckle, he and Childe left your safe haven.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Just visiting an old friend. Why does my dear superior care so much? The mighty Scaramouche didn’t fall in love, did he?” The navy haired male scoffed at the thought, his cheeks ghosting a shade of pink. “As if. They’re nothing but a distraction. If anything someone should teach them their place,” Scaramouche clicked his tongue with eyes glued forward. Though Childe’s amused grin just fueled his growing agitation.

~

That’s why you were in the position you are now.

Silky ribbon bit and dug into your precious skin. Decorating your canvas with shades of purple, blue, and grey. Each movement voluntary or not simply helped tie the scene together with your captor playing the part of the centrepiece.

“You’re nothing but a hopeless cause. No one will love you if you’re like this,” choked sobs escape your lips, body flinching as Scaramouche cradled your chin within his palm.

“Hopeless?” Crooked laughter escaped the short male. “You think I’m hopeless? Sweetheart. Pigeon. Dove. Don’t you see that you’re the one caged here?” Pulling you into a suffocating kiss, he gingerly wiped your tears with his thumb. “You saved me that day. I’m simply returning the favour. Chin up princess. I’m sure you’ll be happier with me.”

#Genshin Impact #Genshin Impact x reader #Genshin Impact Scaramouche #Genshin Impact Yandere #Genshin Impact Lily of The Valley

[goldenkirstein]

there's no place I'd rather be

or alternatively, you fall in love with jean despite knowing the precarious situation

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

anonymous requested: Hello, long time reader here and glad that you open your request! Can I request a Jean x F! Reader. Reader is a Marleyan nurse who arrived with Yelena, tho she has no hate towards Eldian and feels unfair the stigmatism eldian suffers in Marley. She isnt involved in any plans just do her work. She slowly falls in love with Jean, but has to keep their relationship as she is « the ennemy ». They got secretly engaged before the rumbling. Canonverse, Fluff, slight, love. Thank you in advance ❤️❤️❤️

pairing: jean x fem! reader

wc: 2.1k+

tags: fluff, some angst, manga spoilers, female reader, language, mentions of food and injuries.

a/n: dashes denote timskips

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“Not so tightly, I said firmly, not to cut off my circulation.” You giggled as the man released his grip on your wrist. He looked down, ears tinted red with embarrassment.

“Sorry, got distracted.” Hazel eyes met yours, and a soft chuckle left his mouth.

You were no stranger to the commanding officer; although a great soldier, he was not immune from the occasional bar fight, which often led him to knock at your door with a pleading look and a couple of cuts and bruises that needed your attention.

Over the months, the fights got less frequent, but Jean continued to visit you, leading to the formation of an unlikely friendship. Sometimes, he would come with lunch in hand, knowing how busy you got taking care of the sick and wounded. Other times, like today, he would join you on his days off, helping you complete menial tasks around the clinic.

“You are a terrible student, Kirstein; you know that?” You stood up from the cot and began to place the gauze and antiseptic liquid in the cabinet situated above.

“Maybe you’re just a terrible teacher.” He looked up at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. You whipped your head back to roll your eyes at the man before returning to the task at hand.

“I’d be careful with the choice of words; I don’t see any other nurse here who lets you follow them around like a lost puppy dog.” Closing the cabinet, you stripped the cot of the sheets, bunching them in your hands. Jean’s eyes followed your precise movements before he took the sheets out of your hand and placed them in the laundry hamper at the end of the bed.

“A puppy dog? Seriously? After helping you out at this lonesome clinic, that’s what I’m reduced to?” He placed a hand over his chest, feigning being shot.

You gave him a deadpan look before moving on to the next bed. The tall man remained in your periphery as you continued to work. The silent treatment clearly worked as a sigh left his lips. You glanced up, mouth already open to quip at him in playful annoyance, but found him running his hands through his hair— a nervous tick. You had picked up on it after cleaning his cuts when missions went wrong.

“So, next lesson, I was thinking, maybe you could teach me how to suture a wound?”

This was what he was nervous about?

“You can barely take my pulse without squeezin’ the pulp out of me; you think I’m going to trust you-”

“Okay, how about a date then.”

You blinked your eyes at him, a confused expression painting your face. There were too many complications, you thought. Sure he was attractive and kind, not to mention thoughtful, and his touch would set your skin ablaze, but he was ranked high in the military; would his superiors be okay with this?

There was no denying you did have feelings for him — a tiny part of you was squealing like a schoolgirl; you desperately wanted to lean into that part, but there could be consequences if you accepted.

Worrisome thoughts circled your mind, and you barely heard your name being called out by the man in front of you. Shaking your head to clear your mind, your focus returned to Jean, his eyebrows raised as he waited with bated breath for your response.

It’s just one date.

It could mean nothing.

There’s no harm in saying yes.

“Um, it’s fine if you don’t-” Jean’s voice was hesitant and quiet, but he was quickly cut off when you let out a laugh.

“I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just-you know what? Yeah, Kirstein, I’ll go on a date with you.” His demeanour changed, and you giggled at the awkwardness. “Now, I have a pile of patient files that need sorting. Think you’re up for the job?” You bit your lip as you watched the man quickly nod and follow behind your footsteps.

—

“Seriously? I mean, I don’t see it; guess puberty did you wonders, Jean.” You took a bite of the strawberry shortcake, eyes fluttering shut as the flavours filled your mouth.

“Right? I guess I was kind of a dick back then, but I swear they only just stopped calling me that.” Jean smiled as he looked over at you, enjoying the dessert. He hopelessly wanted to kiss you there and then, but he decided against it — too early for that.

“Do you miss it? Your training years?” Taking a napkin, you wiped at the corner of your mouth. The smile on Jean’s face faded away as he looked over the meadow, the setting sun casting a brilliant glow over his features. The change in his expression filled you with instant regret; you opened your mouth to utter out an apology for your carelessness but were cut off by Jean’s voice replacing the sudden silence that had taken over between the two of you.

“Yes? No? Sometimes, it feels like a different lifetime; none of us could have anticipated this. We were so young.” He paused for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing, “Sometimes I wish we could have stayed like that for a little longer — I could have cherished it better.” His voice turned into a whisper near the end. You stayed silent before he turned back, flashing a smile at you that made your heartbeat quicken.

“Enough about me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about Marley. Tell me about it.” Jean’s eyes flickered between yours and the different slices of cake laid out on the picnic blanket. Taking a fork, he bit into the decadent cheesecake and let out a moan.

“You really want to hear about Marley? I thought you’d be sick of hearing about the place, Mr. Commanding Officer.” You giggled while he tried to grumble out a response, the food still in his mouth.

“I could never get tired of hearing about you, doll. Now, c’mon tell me.” His expression softened when he looked at you.

“Don’t do that.” You swallowed thickly, the pet name ringing in your ears.

“Do what?” He wiped the crumbs around his mouth with the back of his hand, making you raise your eyebrows and suppress a laugh. He tilted his head and looked at you with a confused expression.

“Say stuff that makes me feel like I got the wind knocked out of my lungs.” You turned your face, attempting to conceal the embarrassment that had taken over your features. Shutting your eyes, you waited for him to laugh at you, but he never did. Hesitantly you turned to face him and found him staring at you, his hazel eyes sparkling.

“You want to know what my diagnosis for that is?” He leaned in, his face inches away from yours. You struggled to meet his gaze.

“What?” It came out breathy; Jean’s eyes flickered down to your lips before returning to your eyes.

“I think you like me. Wanna know what I recommend as treatment?” He smiled when you quickly nodded at his words, the conversation you were having wiped from your mind.

The distance between the two of you closed in; his lips moulded to yours as he captured them in a tender kiss. The taste of the sweet cheesecake was still present on his lips, and you wrapped his hand around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Jean smiled against your lips before pulling away.

“Guess my lessons finally paid off, Kirstein.” A slight blush tinted Jean’s cheeks at your comment, and he grasped your free hand with his own, bringing it to his lips, peppering your knuckles with soft kisses.

—

“Are you listening?”

The Commander’s voice made you sit up straight; you offered a quick apology to them before glancing over at Jean, who was shifting in his seat.

The tension was palpable in the room as the Commander continued to explain the fragility of the situation at hand. With Eren abandoning the scouts, intense scrutiny was placed on the Commander and the Marleyan volunteers — the latter of which included you.

You stared at your hands which rested in your lap, gaze focused downward to avoid the venomous looks that were being thrown in your direction. However, it wasn’t anger that filled your chest but rather a certain heaviness. You couldn’t blame them. Centuries of mistrust and hatred fueled this. They had every right to doubt your intentions, despite them being in no way harmful or deceitful in nature.

Gathering enough courage to lift your head, you locked eyes with Jean, and your heart sank deeper into a pool of anguish.

You were a fool.

A fool for thinking that the world would spare you from the inevitable heartbreak that faced you both.

You hoped that Jean wouldn’t be able to see through the front you were putting up, trying your best to remain neutral, not to worry him during such an important meeting. He ran his fingers through his hair, eyes shifting back to Commander Hange. You knew that if you were worrying about the current predicament, there was no doubt that he probably was as well.

Shifting your focus back on your lap, you ran your thumb over your bare ring finger to soothe yourself for the remainder of the meeting.

Welcoming the cool breeze as you stepped out of the imposing building, you allowed your shoulders to relax. The momentary relief was short-lived, however, as two soldiers trailed behind your footsteps. They were getting closer and closer until you turned around and saw a familiar figure dismiss them.

Jean approached you; although his expression was stiff and stoic, his eyes still held the same tenderness for you as they did years prior. Before accompanying you through the gates and on to the stone-laden path towards your clinic, he gave you a curt nod.

You knew better than to reach out and grasp his hand, interlock your fingers together, despite the ever-growing itch you had to seek comfort in his touch.

Sparing a few glances in his direction, you saw his jaw was clenched — the meeting still heavy on his mind.

Rounding the corner, the steps leading to the clinic came into view; it was secluded enough for both of you to drop the act. You walked over and sat on the steps and watched as Jean sat next to you.

A tired sigh tumbled from his lips, hair falling in front of his face, obstructing you from seeing his pained expression. You reached over and brushed it past his ear, pressing a kiss onto his shoulder before resting your forehead against it.

The both of you sat in silence before Jean took hold of your left hand, thumb brushing over the same spot you were moments prior.

“You know, I was worried you only said yes out of pity for me. I thought you only saw me as some poor Eldian-” Raising your head from Jean’s shoulder, you watched with concern in your eyes.

“Jean, you know I don’t care about that stuff.”

“I know that, doll. I just, just, couldn’t believe you would want to marry me.” His eyes remained focused on your hand until you released it from his grasp. You moved it to his face, turning it to make him face you.

Grazing over his cheekbones, you gave him a soft smile, “I still want to. Marry you that is. Ring or not, the end of the fucking world or not, I’m still going to marry you.” Letting out a chuckle, you pressed your forehead against his.

He turned his head to kiss your palm, voice coming out as a whisper, “I can’t make any promises, and I know you’re scared, but know that I love you more than anything, darling.”

—

Smoothing your hands over your attire, for the umpteenth time doing so, you walked over to join Armin and the others from the ship’s bow.

You instantly smiled when you felt a warm hand on the small of your back, head turning to look at your husband.

“You could have spent a smidge more time fixing your hair, don’t you think so?” Jean shook his head and let out a laugh.

“Gotta look the best for my wife.” He shot you a wink, making you roll your eyes at him despite the action making your mind foggy — even now, he still managed to make you feel like a schoolgirl with a silly little crush.

You pushed into his side, hand snaking up his back as you approached your friends.

“Nervous?”

“You know it.” He removed himself from your side to lean into the railing, but he grabbed onto your hand and pulled you closer to his body.

Jean brought your hand to his lips before he placed a gentle kiss over the cool metal that wrapped around your finger. He flashed you a grin, “but I’m glad I have you here with me.”

a/n: this took me a long time to finish, so I apologize for it taking so long !! I hope you enjoyed it !!

taglist: @c0urtn3y, @clean-soap, @depressedbisexual, @dai-tsukki-desu, @conniesspringersgf, @glittrkink, @amnxsia, @kentos-kinfolk, @ally22042000, @just-that-one-kid00, @jeansbabycake, @fiaficsxo, @aracynthos

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#⚔️ — the titan warriors #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein #jean kirstein #attack on titan #aot #aot x reader #aot fluff #jean kirschtein imagine #jean kirstein fluff #jean kirstein imagine #jean kirschtein x you #jean x y/n #snk #jean x reader #snk x reader #jean kirstein x you #jean kirschtein x y/n #jean kirstein x y/n #attack on titan x reader #my writing #jean kirstein angst #jean angst #jean fluff #jean kirschtein angst #jean kirschtein fluff #aot angst #snk angst #aot manga spoilers

[writingabouteverything]

The Perfect White Flower--and Other Nonexistent Things

a/n YALL THIS IS PROBABLY DUMB BUT I HAD THIS IDEA ABOUT A HARRY STYLES X READER FIC THATS BASED ON THE PLOT OF JANE THE VIRGIN AND I WANTED TO WRITE IT SO BADLY I MADE THIS ACCOUNT

disclaimer--wont follow the show exactly 

Pairing: Harry Styles x latina! reader (a key factor of the show revolves around the lead being latina, and im latina and honestly love writing for us but anyone can still read and understand/hopefully enjoy and the fic doesn’t involve any physical descriptions:)) 

Series Summary: Y/n l/n has had the world figured out since she was a child. She won’t be a writer because it’s risky, she’ll just focus on school and becoming a teacher. She’s never been a child, because her mother had her at sixteen and hasn’t aged a single year since. That’s part of the reason the promise she made to her grandmother means so much to her--if she doesn’t have sex before marriage, her child will never have to grow up as quickly as she did. And Harry Styles is at the top of the world--his music has never been more successful, he has a lovely girlfriend, and he’s never been more in demand. He has everything in the world...except a child, and through a series of unbelievable events--y/n might be his only chance to have one. Ever. 

Chapter One Summary: Who knew getting a pap smear on two hours of sleep and three cups of coffee was as bad as having unprotected sex? 

There’s something dangerous about taking public transportation in LA. And no, I don’t mean it in the ‘there are bad people in the world’ type of way. I mean it in the ‘I live in one of the casual influencer, celebrity, tourist hubs of the world and each time I step onto the bus I find myself mesmerized by all the stories I see in them’ way. Kind of pathetic, I know, but sometimes a child with blonde pig tails or a woman streaming on instagram live will catch my eye and the urge to pull out my lap top and start something I’ll never finish. 

I know that writing isn’t some kind of disease. But I can’t let myself fall in love with it the way I want to. There’s nothing wrong with writing a short story or two, but trying to write a novel? That’s impractical. It will distract me from school, from the four year plan I’m almost done with.

Sighing, I brave taking at my surroundings. I deserve this today, after the anonymous, rude costumer at the hotel today, I need positivity. No one is particularly inspiring. The bus stops and I watch out the window. At first the crowd is ordinary, and then i see them...paparazzi. Flashing cameras from all angles, grown men violating all rules of personal space. It never sits right with me, but I guess it’s just part of living in LA. The bus starts moving again. When it stops again, I see even more paparazzis, but their cameras aren’t flashing. Good for whoever escaped that. 

The bus door opens and I snap my attention back to my computer screen. I rub my eyes as I stare at my word document. How is there more that needs to be edited? This professor is the harshest grader I’ve ever had, and my friend, Gisa, is kind for giving me even more notes. But I’m exhausted. Two tests and an essay due before 12:00. And it’s...11:38. Great--I have to upload it the second I’m at my doctor’s office and have WiFi again. 

I spend some time highlighting and rewording sentences, and once I’m done I reward myself with more people watching because I deserve it and I can’t fall asleep here. I’m kind of invested in the girl live streaming her bus ride...maybe she’ll say her instagram handle. 

But when I look up, she’s not on the bus anymore. Almost no one is. An elderly couple is sitting towards the back. A woman with a toddler sit two rows in front of me...and there’s now a man directly across from me. I blink for a moment, imagining a story for someone who’s face I can’t quite see beneath such dark sun glasses. His dark waves and strong jaw do most of the imagining for me--he deserves a mystery, a dramatic one with a happy ending and just enough romance to keep the people interested. A good romance, too--not too sappy. Enemies to lovers, maybe. A mysterious stranger that’s not really a stranger because something about him is just...familiar. 

He turns his head and I drop my gaze immediately. There’s no doubt he caught that, but I still pretend to edit the title of my essay. “You’ve been typing stubbornly since I first got on the bus.” There’s an accent--of course he’s english. But it’s more than that, I’ve heard that voice before. I’ve been...soothed by it. And--oh my god, I’m sitting across from Harry Styles.

Okay, don’t freak out. Don’t freak him out. He’s probably on here to escape the the whole ‘oh my god, you’re Harry Styles!’ thing.  

“What are you writing?” Harry Styles just spoke to me. I greeted my one direction poster every single day in middle school, and Harry Styles just spoke to me. Okay--relax, breathe--it’s only weird if you make it weird. 

There’s a kind of curt curiosity to his question. He could have been ruder, considering how blatantly I was staring at him. “I um...an essay.” I’m temped to turn the screen so that he can see I’m telling the truth. Though he wasn’t hostile, a part of me is paranoid that he thinks I am writing about him. It’s a fair assumption, for all he knows I’m drafting a tweet about who I saw on the bus this morning or preparing to send something in to some gossip girl-esque blog. “It’s due today at noon and normally I’m way more on top of things, but I had this last minute doctor’s appointment rescheduling because my usual doctor is out of town and--” I cut myself off before I can tell Harry Styles that I’m ovulating and that if I don’t go to my OBGYN now, I have to wait an entire month and I’ve already been off birth control longer than I’d like. I might not have actual sex in my near future, but my cramps have been extra terrible. “An essay, I just finished an essay.”

He nods once. Maybe he feels bad for so thoroughly startling me into such a rambling, because the corner of his mouth tilts upwards. A soft smile adds even more grace to his features, I focus on the dimple that appears in his cheek. “An aggravating essay, I take it, considering the death glares you’ve been giving your laptop screen.”

I smile at his polite humor. “It’s for the harshest grader on campus. She took three points off of my first essay freshman year because I spaced my bibliography wrong.” 

He cringes in sympathy. “Good luck.” 

“Thanks,” I hum, proud of myself for not letting him know that I know who he is. The bus stops, I can see my doctor’s office behind a few paparazzi. “This is my stop.” 

Harry nods once, ducking his head slightly. A tiny part of me feels sympathy for him; from what I’ve gathered, he genuinely loves his fans and the relationship they have, but it must be draining to never have a moment of privacy. Especially when it’s people who care more about selling your picture than your mental health. 

I linger on the bus’s step, watching the men with large cameras look around. “Excuse me, are you guys looking for Harry Styles?” Most of the men disregard me, but one looks at me. “I know he’s near here because I’m a really big fan and my friend just texted that she saw him.” This gets me the attention I wanted. “He’s at Northfield--a cafe like three blocks down. I just know that if she got a picture with Harry in like a magazine or something she’d totally lose it--in a good way, and she’s been having a bad time so if you see her can you try to make it happen? Knowing her she’ll be at his side, she’s blonde, shortish hair.” 

The men seem skeptical, but I guess they realize that this is the best lead they have. I think the fact that I gave a reason to justify selling Harry out for no reason helped. They disperse together, heading at least three blocks away from Harry. I don’t know if I’ve actually helped him, but I hope I have. 

“Essay girl.” I freeze, half cringing. Did he hear that? That’s embarrassing. I consider darting away, but decide that would just make me cringe more. So I turn on my heels. “You...you forgot your phone.” 

He just saved my life. “Thank you.” I take my phone from his outstretched hand, ignoring the slight thrill that runs through me when our fingers brush. “You’re my hero--the last thing I needed today was to run all over the city searching for my phone.” I finish the awkward admission with a partial laugh. 

“Least I could do,” he mumbles, “especially considering what you just did.” 

...He did see that. “Oh um--it was nothing, I just kind of made a connection and assumed the only reason you’d be on a public bus is because you were trying to avoid some things, and you make really great music and a lot of people happy, so you deserve that break.” Why does it feel like I’ve been talking forever? “Anyways, thanks for the whole phone thing, and I hope I got them off your tail.” 

My joke seems to somewhat land. His lips part, like he’s planning on saying something else. A timer on my phone interrupts him. I instinctually look down--great, the alarm on my phone warning me that I’m only ten minutes away from being late. “I’m late.” I turn towards the bus’s exit. “I gotta go, but thanks again, and I hope you have a good day.” 

I disappear after that, still not sure that that whole thing wasn’t some kind of hallucination. Did I just meet Harry Styles? He...he gave me my phone. Harry Styles has touched my phone. I can’t wait to tell Gisa, she’ll lose it.

I’m still thinking about Harry Styles when I finally reach my OBGYN’s office. When I get there, things are a lot more hectic than I thought they’d be. Many people crowd the waiting area and the receptionist’s desk is clearly understaffed. Two young girls are trying to address multiple upset pregnant women and take phone calls at the same time, all while practically buried in a sea pf paperwork. Wow, I didn’t realize that transferring was such chaos. One of the girls waves me over and barely checks my name before shoving a form towards me. I fill out as quickly as possible. 

 I upload my essay quickly after checking in. Who knows, maybe Harry Styles’s blessing will get me an A? A third person in scrubs emerges from the back after a moment and ushers me into a room. I tell myself to focus on going over the facts I need for the test I have to take in a little over an hour. Or to focus on the fact that I just met Harry Styles. But instead, I feel my heavy eyelids fall shut. 

I don’t know how long I sleep, but I know that I wake up during the middle of a doctor’s sentence, “...I know I’m not your usual, so I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” 

“Hm...Yeah, yeah I’m comfortable.” She nods once, her wide eyes slightly red. “But I do have a class today in like an hour, so I was wondering if this was going to take longer because of the office’s move?” 

“Oh, no,” she shakes her head. “Just because Dr. Rodriguez gave us no notice before deciding that she no longer wanted to work here...or in the country. Or even live in the US, despite the fact that we just signed a lease on a place together...” Tears well in the stranger’s eyes, pity settles in my stomach. 

“That sounds incredibly complicated, I didn’t mean to rush you.” 

She blinks twice, her expression blanking as she fights against the pain of what’s clearly a terrible break up. “No, no--you have every right. Today is your day and if..honestly, if you’re strong enough to go to a class after this, and do what you’re about to do by yourself, then I’m strong enough to get through today.” 

Um...didn’t realize a pap smear counted as something that needs moral support, but I’ll chalk it up to her heightened emotions. “Thanks.” 

She snaps on her medical gloves. “No, thank you for your patience. Now lay down.” 

I do as told, preparing for a sensation I haven’t often experienced. A moment passes and I know she’s started. She’s moving away from me much faster than expected. Oh--I guess pap smears are a lot shorter than I expected. 

“That’s it?” 

“Yep,” she hums, pulling her gloves off. “Now just take it easy, and hydrate.”

Weird...but that’s like general doctor advice. “Thanks!” 

--

I’ve never wanted to keep a secret from Gisa, but sometimes I really regret telling her I met Harry Styles. It’s been almost a month and I find my mind wandering back to the moment in which our fingers brushed more than I should. Sometimes I let myself wonder what he might have said if my phone hadn’t rang. I was probably just imagining the way his lips parted, but my ind refuses to let it go. 

“...You know it’s kind of sad, I read an interview in which he spoke about the fact that he has some genetic condition that makes it hard to have kids. He has so many godchildren, and I feel like he’d make such a great father.” 

I try to keep up with Gisa’s words, but the dull ache in my head makes it feel so far away. “Yeah...he seemed really patient.” 

Gisa nods, turning to face me. “You alright, you’re looking kinda green?” 

“Yeah...” I reach for my canvas bag. “I think I just...I probably just need some water.” 

My hand grazes the metal of my water bottle and then the corners of my vision blur into blackness. I sway, Gisa’s hand is on my shoulder...and then it all goes black. 

--

I sit uncomfortably on the hospital’s cot. Gisa is a traitor for telling my mom that I fainted. I knew she’d just drag me here--hispanic mothers, they either believe they can cure you with vic’s vapor rub or they want you in the ER. No in between. 

“I know you didn’t want another test, but you’ve been throwing up in the morning for days and now you’re fainting.” 

“Fainted,” I correct, “it happened once.” 

“C’mon, mija, it’s just one doctor’s appointment.” 

Speaking of, an ER nurse returns. “Fainting and nausea spells explained,” he says, glancing at his clipboard, “you’re pregnant.” 

My mom and I can’t help but exchange a look before bursting into laughter. Pregnant. If I’m pregnant then the second coming is here. “That’s impossible, I’m a virgin.” 

He glances at my mom, “maybe we should have this conversation in private.” 

“No, what you say in front of me you can say in front of my mom.” 

My mom raises an eyebrow. “Y/n, did you and that guy from your english class--” 

“No! No, we did not. I am a virgin and there’s no way I’m pregnant.” I glare at the nurse. 

He then ushers me to a bathroom so that I can provide a urine sample. After I’m finished, he shows me a pregnancy test strip. “Pink means pregnant.” I bite my tongue as he tests the strip in my sample. He pulls it out and it’s...it’s bright pink.

“I’m calling my doctor, because this has to be a mistake. It has to be like a hormonal thing.” 

“Exactly, pregnancy hormones.” 

I glare even harder, calling the doctor that I saw last week. “Hello, Dr. Ash? I was wondering if I could get a consultation because I’m in the ER and some crazy doctor is trying to tell me I’m pregnant.” 

Silence on the line for a long second. “...I actually cleared my calendar for you.” 

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #jane the virgin #jane the virgin AU #lot #hslot st louis

[tarysande]

Do you think there is any point to staying alive? Between covid and climate change and all the other never ending crises in the world, it feels hopeless and pointless to continue. I'm wondering if it would be better to kill myself now rather than wait and see how much worse it will get.

Please, please don't kill yourself. Please.

I get it. I understand that hopelessness--I really do. And I completely get the feeling of helplessness that trots along at hopelessness's heels. It's come up a lot with my therapist over the last two years.

I'm not a therapist, but something mine told me really resonated. She noticed that I get the most discouraged and hopeless when I talk about problems that are too huge and overwhelming for any one person to fix ... because somewhere in my (overwhelmed yet still arrogant) brain, I feel like I MUST FIX ALL THE THINGS and that if I'm not FIXING EVERYTHING I must be failing. Basically, I forget that I'm only one person and a LOT of the big problems aren't things I can control.

She reminded me that the antidote to feeling helpless in the face of things outside my control is to take a lot of steps back and focus on what I can control. Because you can't control other people. You can only control your actions and how you respond to the actions of others.

In the last election, I volunteered for a candidate I respected and believed in. Did she win? Oh hell no she did not. But her party doubled--almost tripled--the number of votes it had received in my riding in the previous election. And I helped.

I can't control covid, but I controlled getting vaccinated as soon as it was possible, and I control the precautions I take.

I control how much news and news-related media I consume. And ... right now? It ain't much. Because the news--even from reputable sources--is still produced for an audience. And that means it's always a bit sensationalized. More than that, fear pulls in an audience more than joy. So the news focuses disproportionately on bad news.

But there's so much good happening in the world. And you can be a part of that good in some small way. Even if it's just telling someone they look nice or leaving a dollar where a stranger will find it or liking posts on tumblr or sending anonymous love out there.

Negativity bias is a real thing. It probably helped us survive, evolutionarily speaking. But it's just protective. We invest more time ruminating on negative things. We remember insults more clearly than compliments.

So yeah. There's a lot of bad. But there's also a lot of good. I live for things like petting dogs and wanting to read the future books my favorite authors put out and listening to the new music I wouldn't get to hear if I died right now. I live for whatever my next new favorite show or movie or character will be. I live because even when I feel cripplingly lonely--and I've felt that a lot lately--I know people would miss me if I disappeared. I have stories still in me to tell. I have cups of tea to drink and cookies to eat and videogames to play. I have memes to laugh at and arguments to argue with idiots in the comments sections. I have asks to answer and people to meet and care about and help. I could list a thousand things I would still like to experience--or that I'd like to experience again.

A few days ago, I was so depressed, I told myself I couldn't think of anything good. And I lived with that feeling and I cried and I felt like shit and a few days later ... there's still stuff I'm depressed about, but the hopeless feeling has shifted. Like the wind changing. And now I see all the things I love peeking out at me again and I can't believe I didn't see them there for a bit, you know?

Please don't kill yourself. You reached out to me; that's a step toward clinging to life. Hold on to that. Please live. This world needs people who care. It does.

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ (US)

https://www.crisisservicescanada.ca/en/ (Canada)

#asks and answers #cw suicide

[alienoresimagines]

Heart Meet Break | Eugene Sledge x Gender Neutral!Reader

Requested by Anonymous :  Hi could you please write number 1 prompt list imagines “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it" with Eugene Sledge?

A/N : Here we are after 9 weeks without posting and more than one year after receiving this request!😂😅 Hope y’all didn’t forget about me 🤣 and that you are all safe for this holidays season To be honest I had written this in october but I’m posting it just now because.. well I have no idea but it’s here now ;) (actually I do and it’s because @inglourious-imagines​ kicked my a**) I started so many times and I’m not completely pleased with how it turned out but I hope you’ll enjoy! Also a big thank you to @punkgeekchic​ for beta reading, hope you’re doing okay darling see you in January!💙💙Title from Heart Meet Break de Liam Payne, also stream his songs please!😘

Taglist : @murphyism​ @mavysnavy​ @speirs-sexy-ass​ @order-of-river-phoenix​ @inglourious-imagines​ @liebegott​ @tvserie-s-world @stressedinadress​ @warrior-healer​ 

Posted : 23/12/2020

Masterlist Taglist Prompts

-----

You could feel the beginning of a headache building behind your eyelids, and the welcomed pain in your feet after hours of passing on your bedroom's floor in a circle. Bringing a hand to your face to pinch the bridge of your nose and let out a long sigh, you let yourself fall onto your bed with a quiet flop. As soon as your back hit the soft sheet, the urge to go back to your feet and do something came back in a rush. A distraction would save your floor.

"[Y/N]! Could you take out the trash, please, dear?" Her sudden call startled you, too lost in your thoughts but you were quick to answer, knowing already there was only one good answer. 

"I'm coming, mom!" You shouted back, putting on your shoes in a slow pace. A distraction was your floor's savior but definitely not your heart's or mind's. You could only pray you'd meet your neighbor while walking through the yard. 

The stairs were cracking under your steps, as you still didn't know if you should feel nervous or hopeful. The twist in your stomach was a mix of both, the sweat on your palms said it all. 

Always so thoughtful, your mother had put the trash bag just next to the front door, ready to be taken out. 

"Ah, [Y/N], while you're out, could you bring this to the Sledges? Mary has been kind enough to share her pie with us, the least I can do is bake her one too." Your mother appeared at the door between the entrance and the kitchen with what you guessed was a plate wrapped in a clean cloth. 

The years passing didn't do her past beauty's justice but her eyes hadn't changed, nor did the way she looked at your father. 

"Sure, I'll go to the library after, do you know if Father needs anything?" You smiled, taking the package from her wrinkled hands carefully as she smiled at you, shaking her head in denial. 

With the black trash bag in one hand and the white cloth covering the quite heavy pie, you went out, but not before kissing your mother's cheek.

The warm air of this beginning of autumn was like the wind of freedom after having spent the day in your bedroom like a lion in a cage. You were about to take a deep breath when you remembered the trash bag in your hand. Right. No matter how good and sweet your mother's pie was and smelled, your nose still felt attacked by the trash. When you finally had put the black bag where it belonged you started to walk out of your parents' property, heading to the house next door. His house. All the feelings and thoughts you had forgotten came back, overwhelming you and making your legs shake. 

"Deacon! Deacon, where are you going?" Either your lucky star was laughing at you or pitying you. You'll decide tonight, hidden under your sheets with all your dreams and hopes. 

Just a few seconds later, a small dog went panting at your legs, presenting his head for ruffles. You chuckled and kneeled down to his level, giving him what he craved for.

"Good boy aren't ya, Deacon?" Cooing, you couldn help the warmth that spreaded through your chest, and refused to acknowledge the man with the bicycle approaching you. 

"[Y/N]! I didn't think I'd found you here." His tone was nervous and unsure as if he would've rather stayed silent. In some ways, you would've wished too.

"Fortunate we're neighbors, huh?" You heard him gulp and, with all the strength you could muster, you found in yourself all the treason, sadness, anger, uncertainty, confusion and hurt to finally face Eugene. Getting up, you looked at the sweet boy from next door in the eyes, searching for his thoughts.

"You've been avoiding me." He flinched. Your tone was harsher and colder than you intended, making you feel a pang of guilt but you didn't let it show. Instead, you crossed your arms on your chest, to protect yourself from things you didn't know.

"I- Hurting you was never my intention, it was actually what I wanted to avoid the most. But it'd seem I only hurt you more, I'm sorry, [Y/N]. " He was sincere, you could see it and it was harder to stay bitter about it. Your pride and feelings have been wounded, that much was a fact, but deep inside, you knew you simply couldn't be mad at sweet, loving boy Eugene. Heart and legal things.

"Can we be friends and not strangers again?" If you were in the right state of mind, you probably would've answered something witty and watch him laugh at you but you had enough of your games. The said and the unsaid, the little gestures and the avoidance. 

"We're not just friends and you fucking know it, Gene. We've always been more and if you don't want anything to do with it, it's okay. But don't you dare act as if we don't know each other and the next day as if we were best friends. We're more than that, you are more than that to me." And I hope I'm more than that to you too. From the sad and wounded look on Eugene's face, your unspoken thoughts must've been obvious. Like a fish out of water, he opened then closed his mouth, furrowing his eyebrows as he fumbled over his words. Finally, he spoke a meteors shower over your fragile world, crushing and burning it down.

"I enlisted. I'm leaving tomorrow." Whatever was left from your previous anger died in your throat and your heart started beating faster and faster in your chest.

"What? When? What about your condition?" You blurted out, not believing what Eugene just said. He smiled thinly at you, like he didn't know if he should let you see just how happy and proud he was to finally be able to enlist.

"I went to the marines office two weeks ago; as soon as I knew it was gone." Tears started to well in your eyes, your entire body to shake uncontrollably.

"Oh. That's... that's good. You must be relieved." You forced yourself to add just a bit of happiness in your tone for him, for you knew just how important it was to him, no matter how much your heart was breaking. Eugene gave a small nod, his fingers playing with the handlebars of his bike. At your feet, Deacon was sitting still, his tongue out and his head going from you to Eugene, and from Eugene to you, as if he was understanding far more than he was letting you know.

"I'll do my part." There it was. The pride, excitement of a young man going straight into a wolf's open mouth. What felt like hours was in fact just a few minutes, not even 5 but your mind was replaying it like a movie in a theater. At that moment, it hit you like a truck. Two weeks. The last time you've both been yourself together also was two weeks ago. You swallowed back the knot in your throat and prayed your voice wouldn't shake as much as your hands were, hidden behind your back in an awkward formal position.

"When were you going to tell me?" His silence said everything you needed to know as he shifted uncomfortably, his head down in shame and sorrow. He looked at you again through his eyelashes, apologies and guilt in his eyes but you couldn't take it anymore. Eugene was too kind for his own sake, wouldn't hurt a fly and by wanting not to hurt you ended up harming you in one of the most twisted ways. It hurt because you couldn't be mad at him, that his intentions were good and genuine. You took a deep breath and made a step ahead, one hand clenching on Eugene's white shirt, looking at him in the eyes. If yours were narrowed and dark, his were widened and looking everywhere but at your face. 

"You better not die, you hear me? You come back, in one piece and we'll sort it out. At all costs, you come back!" You almost shouted to his face, not caring if the whole street had gone out to see you. Eugene's gentle hands came over yours, squeezing it lightly. In your wounded pride and building fear, you refused to face him and see his reaction, knowing perfectly you'd find compassion, and sweet understanding.

Forcing the once forgotten home-made pie wrapped in a white clean cloth onto Eugene's chest, you've waited to see his hand cover it before you turned around, fighting the urge to rub your eyes so the moisture in them would go. 

"For your mother. From mine." You whispered between two heavy breaths, nails digging into your palms painfully.

Before Eugene could fully apprehend what was happening and get out of the trance he was in, you were already in front of your house, looking at the floor.

"[Y/N], wait, [Y/N]!" You didn't look back, even though you ached to. But in a few hours he wouldn't even be in town anymore so what was the point? You just felt numb and empty, as if floating over your own body. Closing the door behind you, you walked up the stairs in silence and came into your room, your legs giving up on you as soon as the door closed.

You weren't sure how long you stood there, knees up to your chest, arms surrounding them and head buried in the safe spot it made. Your throat was still tight, making it hard to breathe.

Perhaps, it all would've been better if you hadn't spoken to him. 

Silence would've been preserved, fragile but there. Now all you could hear were those words said with so much pride and relief over and over again. 

I enlisted.

All you could hear was the sound of your heart breaking.

#the pacific fanfic #the pacific imagine #the pacific x reader #eugene sledge imagine #eugene sledge x reader #my writing

[bangchanswolfpelt]

Hi! I really appreciate that your blog does a lot of kink friendly stuff, and also that you make sure to seperate fantasy from reality. However, do you mind tagging some of the more hardcore/taboo stuff with something I can filter out? It doesn't have to be specific, just some general content warning for the extreme stuff. I have pretty bad PTSD and I love your blog a lot, I just need to filter out stuff like the bro!beomgyu post thats coming up, or anything similar honestly.

hey!! first off—thank you for being so polite?? that feels condescending to type, but i genuinely mean it. i really appreciate you reaching out and being honest and simultaneously being really very chill, doing just one of those things takes a lot and you did all three! this is going to be a really long response, because i've had a lot of thoughts about content warnings, so buckle up, i'm sorry i don't know how to be more succinct. 💀

when i started this blog, i actually thought about adding warnings for hardcore/dark content; i ended up deciding against it, because i honestly don't think warnings as vague as that are actually helpful. it's like warning for spicy food—it only works so long as everyone's expectations match up. if they don't, then at some point someone's going to step into a fic they think is safe and chill and end up having a very bad time. that's part of the reason i have a general 'here be dragons' warning in my pinned post; i'd rather people be cautious and maybe just make the decision to not read my stuff then be lulled into a false sense of security and end up getting triggered because something that's taboo or extreme to them doesn't register as such to me.

i DO want you to be able to stick around, tho, so long as that's what you want! in my pinned post, i have a list of content that i always warn for, and if there is anything you would like me to add to that list, please please please drop a message in my inbox. i legitimately do not care if it's a list of twenty different things, or if it's something hyper-specific, or something that's not even sexual—if you need me to tag for 'penguin mention', i'll tag for it, yo. having a clear-cut list that i can scan and go 'yes-no-yes-no' is a lot easier on my dysfunctional brainpan, and it will probably be a lot more helpful for you.

i was absolutely planning on tagging/warning for the incest in the brother!gyu fic (and anything else i write in that vein), however! i did just realize that while i haven't posted any actual bro!gyu fic yet, i have been talking about it and i don't think i actually tagged that with any warnings—that's my bad because i absolutely should've been! i'm really sorry if that made you uncomfortable, that was careless of me and i'll be tagging any posts that mention it at all moving forward.

also: i usually put warnings in the tags of my posts, because in my experience, blacklisting tags has usually been how people avoid things they don't want to see in fandom; the way i do that is with 'cw [thing being warned for]'. if this is a method that's no longer effective, or if there's something i can do in addition to that, please let me know!

if you don't feel comfortable dropping a list of things for me to tag (which is totally fair, dropping a bunch of potential triggers in a stranger's lap is a lot, even if you're doing it anonymously), then please just block my blog. i am saying that with all the love in the world—i appreciate that you are here and that you enjoy my writing, but there are plenty of people peddling good smut on the internet and your mental health is vastly more important than a few paragraphs about a kpop idol getting railed that i wrote at two in the morning. i'll miss you, but i'd rather you stay safe than risk getting triggered by staying around.

i wanna thank you again for being so polite and so chill; i know that can be hard to do when we're talking about stuff like this. i hope that you're having a good day, stay safe and take care of yourself💕

#this is for nonnie #but also for literally anyone who would like me to warn for anything specific #or would like to see warnings in the form of something besides tags #mail corner 📬 #adventures in tagging🏷

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 10: Stay, I Need To Be Myself]

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the fluffy times while they lasted. 😉

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Where Were You When The Sky Opened Up” by The Dangerous Summer.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual references (not graphic), angstttttttttt.

Word Count: 6k. 

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​​​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​​​​​ @maggieroseevans​​​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​​​ @escabell​​​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​​​​ @queenlover05​​​​ @someforeigntragedy​​​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​​​ @deacyblues​​​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​​ @brianssixpence​​​​ @some-major-ishues​​​ @haileymorelikestupid​​​ @youngpastafanmug​​​ @simonedk​

Uninvited

“Hey, it’s our song!” Joe turned up the radio as he steered his Subaru down the Lees’ cobblestone driveway and into a parking spot facing the woods. We’d been back from Chicago for a full week now, and—with the notable exceptions of classes and the early morning hours when Joe soundlessly crept out of my bedroom window—were very rarely apart.

“And I would do anything for love

I’d run right into hell and back

I would do anything for love

I’d never lie to you and that's a fact.”

“Uh, this is not our song,” I objected, the soles of my shoes propped against the dashboard. “I was not consulted. A couple’s official song cannot be a unilateral decision.”

“But I'll never forget the way you feel right now

Oh no, no way

And I would do anything for love

Oh I would do anything for love

I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that

No, I won’t do that.”

“Oh okay, what are you, the relationship police? Alright, Chief Baby Swan, let’s hear your brilliant suggestion. Wait, let me guess. Something by The Killers. Vampire Weekend. My Bloody Valentine. Is there a band called Chipotle Veggie Bowl?”

“Never Gonna Give You Up?” I suggested.

He laughed, dragging me over the center console and into his lap. “Oh, you are the worst!”

I straddled him in the driver’s seat, cupped his face in my palms, giggled as I touched my lips to his, soft and cool and lithe and inviting. When I broke the kiss, Joe pulled me back in, knotting his fingers through my hair. The way my thighs fit perfectly around him; that sharp, instinctual, now so familiar ache of longing. “I want you,” I breathed.

He pretended to be scandalized. “Right now? At this exact moment? In my parents’ driveway?”

“Yeah,” I confessed.

He grinned, unbuckling his belt. “Okay.”

“Really?!”

“Yes. I’ve lost all sense of decency. I’m an animal. You’ve absolutely ruined me.” His hands travelled beneath my U Chicago sweatshirt and tore it over my head. Yes, he had converted me to Chicago apparel. It was very embarrassing. Let’s move on.

“I’m sorry,” I moaned softly. I lied. I wasn’t sorry at all.  

“I think we might need to get our own place.”

“Why?”

“Because I love the way you ruin me. And I want you to do it...” He went on, kissing me after each word: “All. The. Fucking. Time.”

I yanked off his Cubs t-shirt in one vicious tug. “We’re okay out here?” I didn’t really care; I should have, I was aware of that. But I didn’t. The Lees, most likely, would not call my dad to report us for public indecency. I could imagine Scarlett’s voice in my head, warm with approval: Get it, girl.

“Totally. And we’re far enough away from the house, Rami shouldn’t be able to hear us.” Joe nipped lightly down the side of my neck: carefully, always so carefully.

“He’d only get your side of things anyway.”

“Well yeah, that’s what I’m worried about! Your thoughts wouldn’t be so intrusive. I don’t care if he knows I’m a fantastic lay.”

“Oh, are you?” I teased, grinding my hips against him. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Joe smiled as he unbuttoned my jeans, deliciously slowly. “Well let me...just...refresh your...memory...”

I kissed him, roughly and deeply, arching into him, biting his lower lip. Yes, yes, yes...

Joe pulled away, still smiling but blinking and dazed. “Wow, all the sudden I feel...like...really calm.”

“Thanks...?” A week of almost constant sex might do that to a person. Sure, maybe, what did I know? My lips found his again. My hand skated down his bare stomach and into the waistband of his boxers. Joe began to help me peel off my jeans; then he stopped.

“Wait wait wait, I know this feeling.” Joe lifted me off of him and pushed me back into the passenger’s seat, gently but stubbornly. I tried not to be offended.

“What—?”

“Shhh.” He grabbed the headrest of my seat and twisted around to peer out of the rear windshield. I followed his gaze. There was a new car in the driveway, parked up by the front porch: an anonymous black Honda Civic. The plate said California. It was probably a rental. “Oh fuck,” Joe whispered. His eyes were enormous, glassy, horrified.

“What is it?”

“Stay here.” He threw on his Cubs t-shirt, zipped his pants, fastened his belt. “Stay down, stay quiet. And no matter what happens do not get out of this car, do you understand me?”

“Joe, why—?”

“Do you understand me?” His voice was low but severe, so incredibly unlike him; his dark eyes were flinty. Just like that night with the apples in Mercy’s kitchen, that night when Ben almost...

“I understand,” I heard myself reply.  

“Good.” Joe climbed out of the Subaru—smoothing his shirt and then his tousled hair—and rushed over to intercept the unsolicited guest. I peeked around my headrest to watch, my right palm braced against the center console, that feverish lust that had been rushing through my bloodstream gradually weakening, perishing, vanishing like seawater baked from the sand under a rising sun.  

The stranger stepped out of the Honda Civic, and although I knew his face, it took me a moment to place him. It was like—I could only imagine, having never been myself—a child stumbling into their movie heroines and beloved stuffed animals come to life during their first trip to Disneyland, amazed and yet somehow gut-twistingly uneasy as they gawked up at that grotesquely inflated cartoon face, that mask of lipstick and rouge that didn’t quite match their recollections, that dreamlike mirage plucked from pages or screens and impelled into a physical form that suddenly swallowed up space and gravity and oxygen. I had seen this stranger before in the massive painting that adorned Gwilym Lee’s upstairs office.

Cato.

He was very tall and very beautiful, classically beautiful, Ben-level beautiful. Joe often jokingly referred to him as Idris Elba within the Lee household, and a mid-thirties version of Idris Elba was just about right. He wore an immaculately tailored grey suit and aviator sunglasses, which he removed to greet Joe, folding and then sliding them smoothly into the front pocket of his suit jacket. His face was solemn and observant; he had a closely-trimmed beard without a fleck of silver. He extended a hand, which Joe shook.

“Hey, Cato!” I heard Joe say, muffled through the walls of the Subaru. I couldn’t make out Cato’s replies; his voice sounded deep, rumbling, extremely level. “So nice of you to stop by! I didn’t know you were in town. Yeah, everyone’s doing great. Even Ben. Hahaha, yeah, you know how he is. You know exactly how he is. But it’s all good. Well look, I’m just gonna go run a friend home and then I’ll be back in fifteen, maybe twenty minutes and we can all chat. Okay? Awesome. Feel free to head inside, I’m sure Mercy would be thrilled to play hostess. There’s sweet tea in the fridge and a hummingbird cake on the counter and...oh, something else too...some weird type of cookies she baked this morning. Help yourself. I’ll be back before you can say ‘tyrannical vampire murder cult.’”

“Tyrannical vampire murder cult,” it looked like Cato replied without a hint of a smile. But he wasn’t paying attention to Joe anymore. His eyes had found the Subaru, and then me; he was staring with that intense, seeking bewilderment that reminded me of Rami and Lucy and Ben when I’d first met them, when they were still trying to puzzle out why my mind (and my mind alone) was a night-draped, silent ocean of the unknown.

He's trying to read me, I realized. He’s trying to read me and he can’t.

Joe was jogging back to the Subaru now. At last, Cato turned away from me and headed into the house. The carved pumpkins from Weber’s Farm still lined the front porch: Scarlett’s Thunderbird, Archer’s Vantage, Rami’s swooping bat, Lucy’s moon and stars, Joe’s moustached jack-o-lantern, my (but actually Gwil’s) snapshot under the sea, Ben’s miniature Lee residence complete with the winding cobblestone driveway. Joe swept into the driver’s seat, adjusted his rearview mirror, and spun out of the parking spot.

“Goddammit,” he hissed as we barreled down the driveway.

“Why is Cato here?”

“I have no idea.” Joe looked straight ahead as he drove, preoccupied, consumed with possibilities. His fingers drummed the steering wheel. “We have to pay dues to them, all the covens do. Gwil cuts a check. But that’s not until around the New Year. That’s almost always when Cato stops by. Collects the payment, interrogates us in a way that masquerades as conversation, hangs around town for a few days, reports back whatever we’re up to...which usually isn’t much. Holidays with the extended family, gotta love it. I don’t know why he would be here now.” Joe shook his head. “Maybe something to do with Ben. It would have to be Ben. There’s no other reason.”

“And you don’t want him to know about me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“But...Cato isn’t all that dangerous,” I said, not understanding. “Is he?”

“Not alone, no. But the people he works for are.” Joe sighed, glancing over at me as he drove, serious and sorry and sad. “There’s a lot of violence in my world. A lot of darkness. I’ve tried to protect you from that as much as possible. And maybe I’ve done too good a job, maybe it’s too easy for you to forget what we really are. Most vampires aren’t like Gwil’s coven. They’re not like me. They kill easily and unrepentantly. And I don’t want any of them knowing that you exist, that you’re a weakness of ours. I want them to know as little about you as physically possible.”

“A weakness,” I repeated. I didn’t like that.

He smiled faintly. “It’s a compliment to be somebody’s weakness, Baby Swan.”

“I guess so.” The towering pine trees whipped by in a verdant blur. The sky above was thick and grey and churning. “You’ll be okay, right? Ben will be okay?”

Joe seemed to find that amusing, ridiculous even. “You don’t need to worry about us.”

“But I still do.”

“We’ll work it out, whatever it is. Cato is a reasonable guy. And Ben is definitely capable of...well. Advocating for himself.”

Capable of unparalleled carnage, he means. The memory of the first day I’d met Ben hit me like a hurled stone, illuminated my mind like a pulsing neon sign: the coiled tension in his muscles, that mindless, animalistic hatred in his eyes. Yes, he must be quite the monster when he wants to be. But he didn’t want to be anymore. I knew that completely, unquestioningly.

Joe pulled into Charlie’s driveway. The police car was gone; my 1999 Honda Accord and Charlie’s Toyota Corolla rested idly side by side. My dad would be working late tonight, until eight or nine at least. A pang of loneliness struck in my gut, just beneath the ribs; I had grown so accustomed to the absence of solitude, of quiet. The silence suddenly felt so loud.

“Don’t let it ruin your night,” Joe said as I got out of the Subaru. His words were affectionate; but his voice was still distracted, distant. “Don’t let it bother you. Everything will be fine, I promise. And as soon as Cato’s gone, everything will go back to the way it should be.”

“Okay,” I replied, not feeling very comforted at all. I don’t like the way he pushed me off him when he saw the car. The way he’s barely looked at me since. The way he called me a weakness.

Joe was already checking his mirrors, preparing to leave.

“Hey. Mob guy.” I leaned into the rolled-down window. “I love you.”

And the grin lit up Joe’s face like the sun. He crawled across the passenger’s seat, drew me into him by the collar of my brand new U Chicago hoodie, kissed me until that wild, interrupted desire was flaring up again in my arteries and nerve endings and everywhere else. The thunderous clouds in my skull split open. Everything’s still okay. It really is. “I love you to death. And then back again.” He retreated and shifted the Subaru into reverse. “I’ll see you soon. But maybe not too soon, I might be tied up with this family thing for a while. Don’t wait up tonight.”

“No problem. I’ll just call one of my other monster boyfriends to keep me company. The werewolf should be free. It’s not a full moon, is it?”

“No bestiality,” Joe retorted sternly. “That’s illegal, ma’am.”

I smiled and waved as the Subaru swerved out of the driveway and disappeared. Everything’s okay, I told myself, standing in the front yard under darkening skies. Everything will be okay.

And I kept telling myself that, again and again like Hail Marys, until I was dozing off in my bed alone six hours later.

Hit It And Quit It

I dreamed of the beach at La Push—my toes wriggling beneath the cold sand, the ricocheting cries of seagulls, the primordial growl of the frothing waves—and woke up with the ghost of saltwater in my sinuses. I grabbed my iPhone off the nightstand. Two new texts: one from Archer—Hey would it be distasteful or hilarious to dress up as Dracula for the Lee Halloween party? Asking for a friend.—and one from Jessica asking if she could copy my Marine Botany homework. Absolutely nothing from Joe.

When was the last time I didn’t have a text from Joe waiting for me in the morning? I struggled to remember, my mind still foggy with snippets of dreams. A week? Two weeks? A month? It felt like forever.

I tapped out a text to Joe with my clumsy, just-waking-up thumbs: I am resolved. No more nights with my werewolf boyfriend. Dude scratched the hell out of me and then barked at the mailman. Had to drop him off at the SPCA for neutering. See you soon! xxxx

I tried not to obsessively check my phone as I showered, got dressed, gathered my textbooks and notepads and pens. And yet still, I noticed: Joe didn’t text me back.

The rain poured from a grey sky all through my drive to Calawah University, Marine Botany class with Jessica, our frantic dash across campus beneath her hot pink umbrella to Forks And Spoons. My human friends had custody of me during lunchtime today. Angela was studying for a Computer Science quiz, Eric working on an article for the Calawah Chatterbox, Mike histrionically lamenting a sprained ankle coming just on the cusp of basketball season. Jessica bought me a chocolate chip muffin as thanks for texting her a picture of our Marine Botany homework this morning. Ah, the sweet taste of academic dishonesty.

I was relieved—more than I would have liked to admit—that all five Lees were at their usual lunch table, looking worn and tired but normal enough. Ben was hiding behind a pair of sunglasses and his black U Chicago hoodie that Joe and I had bought for him last weekend, sipping steaming tea out of a mug that he gripped with both hands. Scarlett flipped moodily through an astrophysics textbook. Rami repeatedly tapped the tabletop with a pen while Lucy knitted a lavender sweater, never raising her eyes from the jumble of yarn in her lap. They all murmured to each other in low, furtive voices, their mouths barely moving. Joe gave me a wave and a drawn smile; but only after I waved first.

Angela was now scolding Jessica for her lack of moral integrity.

Jess rolled her eyes, gnawing on a chicken finger that was burned black around the edges. “I’m here ostensibly to become an anthropologist and in actuality to find a hot rich husband, not to learn how to identify like sixty different types of algae.”

“Then why even take Marine Botany?” Angela asked, confounded.

“Calawah University forces every student to take at least two science classes, even if you’re a humanities major. Because they’re fucking fascists.”

“Oh, fascists, a big word for you!” I congratulated Jessica, patting her shoulder before returning my attention to my homemade veggie quesadilla and leftover slice of Mercy’s hummingbird cake. I was getting so good at this eating respectable meals thing. Joe would be proud.

Angela chuckled. “How’s that finding a husband thing going, by the way?”

“Awfully,” Jessica sighed. “I had this really promising flirtationship going with a frat boy in my Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class. Ellsworth Jonathan Griffin, gorgeous blue eyes, blond man bun, his dad is a partner at a corporate law firm in Los Angeles. That’s the stuff dreams are made of. But I’m pretty sure he dropped out because I haven’t seen him in a few days. Also he would bring Absolut vodka to class in an Aquafina bottle.”

“You can probably do better,” I said.

“Well we can’t all end up with Lee boys, now can we?” Jess snapped irritably.

When it was time to depart for our afternoon classes, I met Joe in the doorway of Forks And Spoons, linked my fingers around the back of his neck, tugged at his dark, auburn-tinted hair.

“You okay, mob guy? You seem a little...” Exhausted? Edgy? Sad? “...Distracted.”

“I’m good. I’m great.” He kissed me briefly, fleetingly. No big deal; after all, we were in public. Right? “Are you cool to hang out later?”

“Absolutely. Can we go to La Push if it stops raining? I know it’ll be cold, but I woke up with the beach on my mind and haven’t been able get it out all day.”

“You got it. Can I meet you there? I have to take care of a few things first. Have to, uh, hunt.”

I stared up at him, feeling my stomach drop, feeling rapidly and jarringly off-kilter. Joe rarely mentioned hunting around me...not in a serious way, at least. It was one of those things that knocked me out of the fantasy of how compatible we were, how possible. It was a reminder of all those interminable differences that lived in the hushed space between us. “Okay.”

“I’ll...I’ll explain everything then. At La Push.”

“Okay,” I said again, very uncleverly. What’s going on here? What exactly did Cato say?

Joe smirked; finally a flash of playfulness, that contagious light he was built of. He smoothed my hair with one feather-light stroke of his hand, touched his lips to my forehead. “Don’t be late to Chemistry. I can’t have you failing out.”

“Of course not. How would I be able to get my Marine Biology PhD from U Chicago?”

But Joe didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile; he just left.

Ben was hunched over our table in Professor Belvin’s classroom, his arms encircling his notebook, the pen in his hand scribbling frenziedly. The window was wide open; the rain outside had weakened to a docile drizzle. He was still wearing his sunglasses. He didn’t acknowledge me at all.

“Rough night?” I asked, sliding into the seat beside him.

“Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I definitely do not.”

“I’m sorry,” I told him. Ben glanced up, his thick eyebrows raised; they peaked just above the rims of his opaque sunglasses. “Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

For a long time, Ben just looked at me; maybe wanting to say something, maybe just feeling that decorum necessitated it. “You shouldn’t be,” he replied at last. And he spent the rest of class paying no attention whatsoever to Professor Belvin’s lecture on the Pauli exclusion principle and instead scrawling untidy Welsh phrases into the formerly pristine pages of his notebook.

It was just after 5 p.m. when I arrived at La Push, the tires of my 1999 Honda Accord crunching over the gravel of the small parking area, the wind whipping ferociously. Joe had gotten there first; he was sitting on a rock down by the water with his back to me, peering out over the Pacific Ocean, tossing pebbles and shells into the waves. We had an hour of daylight left. The sky was obscure, grey, dim. Fine droplets of rain like mist sailed through the biting autumn air and clung to my skin.

When Joe spotted me, he leapt off the rock and watched me approach with his hands in the pockets of his North Face jacket. He wasn’t wearing anything Chicago-related today, which was highly unusual. I waited for him to touch me, to hold me, to tell me that everything was okay and always would be...at least for the next ten to fifteen years. He didn’t. “Hey,” he said instead.

“Hi.”

Joe nodded down the beach. “Let’s walk.”

I have never been especially good at mundane, monotonous rambling. That’s a Scorpio thing. And yet monotonous rambling is exactly what I did: I prattled on about my classes, Charlie’s bowling league, Renee’s new life in Florida with Paul, the ocean, the weather, anything to fill that space between us that all at once felt so enormously significant. I was vaguely aware that I was afraid to stop talking; I didn’t want Joe to have the chance to say whatever was on his mind.

Finally, Joe stopped walking. He took my hand, ran his thumb over the faint scar from when I accidentally cut myself in Mercy’s kitchen. His shoes sank into the wet sand, left imprints there like fingerprints. He turned to face me, pained, grave, and oh god, far worse: guilty.

“What?” I asked, terror swelling in my lungs, my bones, some inborn warning of impending ruin.

Joe gazed out over the crashing sea, then came back to me, like a dislocated joint popping back into place. “I am so sorry.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I...” He spoke slowly, haltingly. “I thought that this was something that was doable. But I was wrong.”

“What...?” And then a possibility occurred to me, a glorious possibility. Of course. A grin erupted across my face. “This is a joke, right? You’re joking, you’re always joking, this is just—”

He shook his head. He wasn’t joking. I wrenched my hand out of his and stared up at him in furious disbelief.

“It’s not fair to you,” Joe said. “This thing, being with someone like me. I can’t give you a future. I can’t give you an uncomplicated existence. I mean, come on, you have to worry about getting murdered around my own family—”

“Do you have fucking amnesia?” I demanded, incredulous. “Joe, we just talked about this. We just made plans to move to Chicago after graduation, we agreed that it was what we both wanted. I don’t want a normal human boyfriend. I don’t want normal human in-laws. I want you, Joe, and Ben, and Mercy and Gwil, and Rami and Lucy and Scarlett, I want the whole ridiculous Lee family package and there’s nothing you could say to make me decide that this isn’t worth it.”

“Look—”

“No, something happened, right? Something happened with Cato, or Ben, or someone, something happened and now you think that you have to do this but I’m telling you that whatever it is we can figure it out, we can figure it out together, isn’t that what you promised me?” He said he wouldn’t leave. He promised me he wouldn’t leave. All those things...all those things he said...

“Listen.” And now his eyes were stony. He didn’t call me Baby Swan. Oh, this is bad. This is so bad. “It’s not fair to me either.”

“And that’s what this is really about,” I realized. My voice was abruptly fierce, caustic. All those other women; those beautiful, graceful, immortal women. How did I ever think I could compare?

“It’s not personal.”

“It’s the most personal thing there is, Joe, it’s pasts and futures and love—”

“It’s not though.” He smiled, just barely. “Maybe we thought it was, but it’s not.”

It hit me like a brick, like a bullet; I couldn’t catch my breath. I was drowning in thin air, like a sawfish, like a shark. “Well I’m glad you figured that out on your own fucking schedule.”

“This was my fault,” he said. “All of it. And I am so profoundly sorry for the pain I’ve caused you, and I take full responsibility for it. I hope you’re able to move on knowing that there’s nothing you could have done differently. These are just the realities of my world. You’re better off in your own. And you’re going to make someone very happy someday.”

It's all so empty, so excruciatingly generic. “You’re a monster,” I seethed at him, tears stinging in my eyes.

“Yes,” Joe agreed softly.

“I hate you.” I wasn’t sure if I meant that, but I still said it. Maybe I could will it into being true, like how people find God after a particularly grim diagnosis; there’s no harm in trying to make it real. There’s nothing left to lose.

“That would be more than fair, given the circumstances,” he said. “I won’t bother you again. I’ll ask you to do the same for me.”

“Sure.” Tears were streaming down my cheeks now; my breaths were ragged, hitching. I need to get out of here. I need to get away from him.

A shadow of concern crossed his face, the first one I had noticed since yesterday afternoon. “If you need someone to drive you home, I’d be happy to—”

“I’d literally rather die.” And I left Joseph Francis Mazzello standing on the beach with the twilight wind in his hair and the sun setting behind him like time slipping through an hourglass.

I fled to my Honda, turned the keys in the ignition, covered my face with my hands and wept in raw, heaving shudders as Hungry Like The Wolf played from the mixtape that Joe had left in my cassette player. I ejected the mixtape, rolled down my window, tossed it out onto the rain-slick gravel. I couldn’t stand the thought of going home. Charlie would be at work until late tonight; Joe would never set foot in the house again.

I have to go somewhere. I can’t just sit in that goddamn bedroom. I can’t be alone.

I wheeled my car onto the main road and drove until I came to an unceremonious mechanic’s garage with a fractured concrete floor and cracks like spider legs across the windows. When I stepped out of my Honda, Archer raced over to meet me, beaming and wiping his hands clean with an oil rag.

“Hey, you know you’re not allowed to come here unless you bring Taco Bell with you...” Then he saw me, he really saw me. “Whoa, what—?”

And Archer caught me as I collapsed into his arms, sobs ripping through my throat like fangs.

Benjamin, 24 Hours Earlier

It was bad. Whatever this was, it was bad.

I knew because Rami could read Cato, and I could read Rami; the hazy wisps of color that unfurled from him were a hectic, wrestling electric blue: distress, grief, anxiety, denial. Cato’s own aura had always been rather unforthcoming—he tended towards deep, mellow greens and purples of congruence and contemplation—and forever tinted with an opalescent quality that spread like wildfire to the people around him, the people who were under his influence, that intangible calming and harmonizing effect, that irrational sense of wellbeing. Everyone in the room had that faint opalescence shimmering around them now, even Rami, whose unspoken turmoil remained a roiling rather than a storm. And I thought—not for the first time—that if Larkin was a spade that hollowed you out, scraped along the jagged snags of your split bones to empty you of any ambitions and loyalties that had come before, then Cato was the anesthetic that made the mangling go down smoother, the promise that you would someday still catch glimpses of innocence. Larkin was a purger, a purifier; Cato made you believe again.

There were pitchers of sweet tea and a heaping tray of butter pecan cookies on the living room coffee table. Cato sat on the neat white sofa, one leg crossed over the other, stoic, waiting. Rami stared vacantly from the loveseat; Lucy was beside him, her delicate bare feet tucked beneath her and her fingers laced through Rami’s, her brow knit into grooves of worry. Scarlett was next to me on the largest couch, her boots propped up on the edge of the coffee table, her hair in a long French braid, periodically cracking her knuckles. It was nearly the only sound. Mercy bustled around the room gifting everyone tall chilled glasses of sweet tea; Gwil stood by the virtual fireplace on the big-screen tv, his hands in his pockets, his lips pressed into a rigid line.

The front door opened, and Joe stepped inside, his car keys rattling in his fist. For as long as I’d known him, his color had so often been a bright and buttery yellow, his aura more visible and constant than anyone else’s. Lately, he was increasingly cloaked in the rosy pinks of love or the vivid, shifting, crimson reds of lust; and Rami and I bonded over our shared efforts to politely ignore that particular variety of thoughts.

Joe pointed to Cato. “What’s going on?”  

“How long?” Cato asked him.

Joe feigned cluelessness. “Huh? What do you mean? Oh, car chick?! That’s nothing. She’s just a friend.”

Cato blinked. “Do you really think I just arrived in Forks today?”

It rolled through Joe like a wave: surrender, apprehension, dread. The realization that Cato had been watching us for days, weeks even, meticulously keeping just enough distance to stay out of Rami’s range of hearing. Joe’s now-opalescent aura dipped from cerise to an agitated mahogany. “Two months.”

“And she’s talented.” Cato’s voice was impatient, incredulous; How could you be this stupid? that voice said.

“No,” Joe flared, like shards of wood cracking in a fire. “No, she’s got nothing to do with you, with us. With our world. She’s got nothing to do with it.”

Cato circled the fingerprint of his index finger around the rim of his misted glass of sweet tea, meditative. “In one hundred and seventy years, I have never met someone who I couldn’t find if I wanted to. And yet the second I turned my back on that girl, she was gone. Vanished. The world was a blank map. How is that possible?”

No one said anything. Finally, Cato looked to Rami.

“You can’t hear her thoughts, can you?”

“No,” Rami admitted.

“And how many times has that happened in...how old are you now, the same as Ben? How many times in the past century have you met someone who made you feel normal, weak even? Who made you feel human again?”

“Never,” Rami conceded.

“You too, right?” Cato asked me. “You can’t see what she’s feeling. She’s nothing but white noise.”

I nodded reluctantly.

“She’s talented,” Cato said again, decisive.

“Oh god,” I choked out, burying my face in my hands. Now I knew what Rami had heard. I knew everything.

Joe shook his head almost violently. “No, that’s not fair. There’s no way of knowing if that would translate to life as a vampire or how it would manifest. There’s no way of knowing if she would survive the transition at all. And none of us are ever going to find out because she has nothing to do with our world.”

“She does,” Cato insisted. “Because you brought her into it.”

Scarlett shivered beside me, crossed her arms over her chest, clutched her leather jacket tighter. “You can’t be serious, Cato. You’re not a monster, you know she might not survive—”

“And that would stop Gwil. It would stop me, sure. When has it ever stopped Larkin?” Cato gestured to me. “With him? With me? With Akari or Araminta or Liesl or Rigel or all the ones who didn’t make it, who died screaming as they scorched from the inside out? It has never stopped him because he doesn’t care. He finds talented people. He covets them, covets them jealously, like jewels or money or lovers. And they either become one of his possessions or they become nothing at all.”

“No,” Joe whispered. “No, no, no...”

Rami was shrinking into the loveseat, overwhelmed by the emotions in the room that were dragging his aura into whirling greys, those desperate and dark thoughts; not even Cato could mute them entirely. Lucy tried to soothe him, laid the back of her fine-boned hand against his cheek. Mercy covered her gaping mouth. Gwil studied the floor, thunderstruck, absorbing it all.

“This is a courtesy that I’m doing you right now,” Cato told Joe, his large palms clasped together, his voice sorrowful and yet unyielding, almost pleading. “This is a warning. If he finds out about her, about what she can do...he’s going to want her. And he gets everything he wants.”

“He can’t find out,” Gwil said hoarsely.

“No,” I agreed. Death or a hundred-year sentence. Either way, a part of you dies. Either way, a part of you ends up in a box six feet underground and clawing for the sun.

“What can we do?” Scarlett asked Cato. “I mean...is there anything we can do?”

“You have to get rid of her. That’s her only chance. Get her out of your orbit, away from our world, away from where Larkin or anyone who serves him would ever cross her path. I won’t tell him about the girl. I’ll try to deflect his attention. If she’s already been spotted, I’ll tell him that she’s useless, just another one of Joe’s litany of casual liaisons. And that’s a risk I’ll take, I’ll do it out of respect for your coven, Dr. Lee, and for Ben. But there is absolutely nothing I can do for you if Larkin finds out for himself. I don’t think I’m the only one he has watching you.”

“Of course not,” I said bitterly. “I’m sure he has all sorts of eyes on me. The white whale. The one that got away.” This is my fault. It’s all my fucking fault.

“It’s not,” Rami murmured; and nobody else heard my side of it, but I think they understood.

Joe’s aura was now murky, sunless, almost black. It was a color I hadn’t thought he was capable of. His eyes were slick and bleary.

“Son?” Gwil prompted. Mercy was sobbing into a handkerchief patterned with roses. Mom, I ached instinctively, before pushing the thought away.

“I won’t do it,” Joe said. “You’re asking me to break her heart and I won’t do it.”

I begged: “Joe, you don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand! You don’t understand what this will do to her, what it’s going to do to her for the weeks and months and years that come after, she might never forget—”

“Do you want her to end up dead or in a hundred-year contract?” Cato shot back. “Do you want to see how much of that girl you care about so much is left after a century with Larkin?”

Everyone’s eyes fell on me. I could feel them, full of pity and horror. I’m what’s left. Someone gutted of everything but rage and bloodlust.

“No, of course not,” Joe said. Thanks a lot, brother.

Cato smirked without any humor at all. He had known. “Then the choice is easy.”

“Son,” Gwil said again.

Joe gazed back at him with huge, agonized eyes. His words were brittle, raspy, hollow. “Dad, I love her.”

“I know,” Gwil replied. His aura was a blue like cobalt: profound sympathy, compassion, mourning. “And that’s why you’ll do the right thing.”

Twenty minutes later, I was puffing on my vape pen as I paced back and forth across the wrap-around porch like a caged bear, watching the sun disappear behind the western hemlock trees that raked the clouds. Gwil, Rami, Lucy, and Scarlett were with Joe; Mercy was trying to convince Cato to stay the night in one of the guest bedrooms. I could hear her ludicrously gracious protestations through the walls. “We know it’s not your fault, dear, this...this...situation. We know you’re just the messenger. And you’ve been so important to Ben all these years, so kind. It’s really no trouble at all...here, let me at least wrap up some cake for you to take...”

The front door opened and closed. Scarlett appeared beside me, resting her forearms on the porch railing. She sighed, closed her eyes, said nothing.

“This is going to destroy him,” I told her.

Scarlett nodded, her face bathed in silvery moonlight, marvelous and yet forlorn. The aura that surrounded her was a deep, despondent indigo. It matched the sky. “Yeah.”

“And to think...” I exhaled heavily, nicotine-tinged vapor vanishing into the damp night air. Rain was coming; I could feel it in my bones. “I was just beginning to like it here.”

[misstrashchan]

Since @im-the-king-of-the-ocean did a post about what TMA fear entities the RWBY characters are aligned/avatars of, I’ve been itching to do one myself because as a result of overlapping hyper fixations I think about this A LOT

The basic concept is that avatars in TMA become what they fear most or embrace a fear they have developed the most complex relationship with that plays into their motivations and drive as a character. What negative impulses they have to constantly fight themselves on, the shape of the monster that lives in their heart.

To quote the RWBY song Fear, “But our greatest fear will be realised, if we fall and lose ourselves to fear, we’ll become what we’ve feared all our lives” yeah that’s a very loose definition of what becoming an avatar is.

Since MAG s5 has proven that you can be an avatar of more than one fear, (Like Martin serving both the Eye and the Lonely) some of the RWBY characters might have more than one, but I’ll try to limit it to two to avoid getting complicated, but at the end of the day it’s all fear soup, we might categorise them according to Robert Smirke’s 14, but they all bleed into one another, like Gerard’s colour analogy in 111:

GERARD

I always think it helps to imagine them like colours. The edges bleed together, and you can talk about little differences: “oh, that’s indigo, that’s more lilac”, but they’re both purple. I mean, I guess there are technically infinite colours, but you group them together into a few big ones. A lot of it’s kind of arbitrary. I mean, why are navy blue and sky blue both called blue, when pink’s an entirely different colour from red? Y’know? I don’t know, that’s just how it works.

And like colours, some of these powers, they feed into or balance each other. Some really clash, and you just can’t put them together. I mean, you could see them all as just one thing, I guess, but it would be pretty much meaningless, y’know, like… like trying to describe a… shirt by talking about the concept of colour.

O-Of course, with these things it’s not a simple spectrum, y’know, it’s more like –

ARCHIVIST

An infinite amorphous blob of terror bleeding out in every direction at once.

GERARD

Now you’re getting it.

ARCHIVIST

Like colours, but if colours hated me. Got it. 

Ruby Rose: The End. The fear of death itself, uncaring and unstoppable. Man this was hard to think about but I have a lot of Big Feelings about this one. Initially I really, really wanted to give Ruby the Eye simply because “can laser beam monsters with their eyeballs once they become powerful enough” and there is a fascinating overlap in how the Beholding powers and Silver Eyes function in the same way, (especially in how Cinder being exposed to the Silver Eyes fills her with an overpowering fear and reopens old wounds from trauma that have never properly healed; which is VERY similar in the psychological affect Jon’s has on his victims when he Beholds them) they’re both direct enemies/opposites to the Dark that expose their enemies/victims true nature and destroying them in the process at times. Only one feeds on fear and the trauma of others while the other feeds off of hope and love (Gerard says there’s no such thing as an avatar of hope and love, clearly he’s never heard of Ruby). 

But nope! The fear and nature of the Beholding just doesn’t really match with Ruby at all. She isn’t driven by a need of knowledge, nor does she fear being watched, followed or having her secrets exposed. The End though? Death itself? Ruby outright states that’s her biggest fear in volume 5 to Oscar “It doesn’t matter if you’re standing in Salem’s way or not. She’ll kill anyone. And that, scares me most of all” to me Ruby’s fear of death itself is projected onto Salem here, I think. It’s uncaring, unstoppable, it doesn’t discriminate, and it could come for the people she cares about at any time. What matters though is the context she says this is in explaining her motives to Oscar. Her whole life has been shaped by her inability to process death, her relationship with grief, all starting with the tragic and abrupt death of her mother Summer as a child. She’s also surrounded by a lot of death motif too, the hooded cape, mostly wearing black, the giant grim reaper scythe. She’s the End. 

Of course, her being an Avatar of the End means having to imagine the worst version of Ruby, one that is fully consumed by that fear. Avatars of the End are not malicious or destructive in nature but instead are… very apathetic. They don’t need to seek out victims to feed off of, nor do they have a ritual, because the End comes for all. And that fits with what Ruby would be like if that fear fully consumed her. It’s more or less established in vol6 during the apathy arc when she tries so hard to fight against their influence and how horrified she is when everyone around her falls prey to it. Giving up, not caring, accepting the inevitable demise of everyone and yourself? Ruby was terrified of that. And when looking at the vol8 opening where we see Ruby being dragged down by what looks like the arms of the apathy? She fights the hardest against it because it’s what she’s most afraid of, but because of her inability to process her grief properly is ultimately what will make her the most vulnerable to it when she’s pushed to her limit. All Salem needs to do to break Ruby is to remind her of Summer’s death. Not even what actually happened to her or how she died, just the death itself. Hell, the first time we see Ruby in the Red trailer, she’s at her mother’s grave, the first verse in Red like Roses that’s about Ruby “Red like Roses fills my dreams and brings me to the place you rest” in which we come to understand that the “Red like roses” lyrics in both part one and two of the song is referring to Summer’s abrupt death which Ruby apparently dreams about, which brings to mind Oliver Banks, our most prominent Avatar of the End, whose first statement to The Magnus Institute in 011 (underneath the fake alias of “Antonio Blake”) is concerning how he started dreaming about the deaths of others, which he didn’t begin to take seriously- until it was his father that he saw in his dream. Upon which Oliver realised how terrifying death really was and that fear began to consume him. 

Okay I’ve probably gone off long enough about this but yeah. Ruby is the End. I mean, she also just got a song in the v7 soundtrack called Until the End 

Weiss Schnee: The Lonely. The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone or disconnected from the rest of society. I don’t really have to go too deeply into this one. It’s pretty cut and dry. “The loneliest of all”? And the Schnees basically are the Lukas family. Actually thinking about it the Lukas’ are actually somewhat better? They were the only ones in the whole of TMA that understood to raise a child to be an heir/avatar of their fear they needed room to reject it or actively choose it, even if that had an 80% success rate. Both are still awful though. (Damn, I can’t believe Jaques is an actively worse parent than an eldritch fear avatar)

When Weiss comes back to Atlas in v4 she’s more aware of her loneliness than ever, feels more aware of how she and atlas high society as a whole is disconnected from the rest of the world and its struggles. Whitley commenting on her being in her room for months implies she’s purposefully been isolating herself during this time as well, in order to avoid her family members “A pleasure to see you out of your room for a change” (sidenote; the fact that whenever Whitley shows up it always catches Weiss off guard, like she didn’t even notice his presence until he wanted her too. That’s. That’s a BIG Lonely thing. Given Peter’s siblings eventually ran away and he was the only heir I can imagine Peter being what Whitley would end up like if no one intervenes)

I’d say they might also be an possibility of the Stranger due to her struggling to find her own identity and inability to recognise oneself, but that can be an aspect of the Lonely too, as we see when Martin is in a house that is a domain of the Lonely in s5, and is unable to recognise himself in the mirror or recall who he is.

What I do have to say about this is it’s pretty interesting considering at this point in the show Weiss’ relationship with loneliness is actually somewhat healthy and something she can use to relate to and help others. She understands other people’s loneliness, that Blake in v5 needed space and in time she’d come back, and Weiss would be ready to be there for her when she did. And she also understands Yang’s loneliness in the same volume and that she needed someone there to support her.

“But you’re right. I don’t know loneliness like you do. I have my own version. And I bet  Blake has her own version too.” 

Speaking of Blake…

 Blake Belladonna: The Stranger, I Do Not Know You. The fear that you cannot trust the perception of yourself or of others. The creeping sense that something isn’t right. I considered the Spiral, but the Stranger and the Spiral overlap more than any other two entities so I’m just gonna go with the Stranger. Especially with her semblance being a metaphor for disassociation, a coping mechanism for the abuse and gaslighting from her relationship with Adam being kind of the biggest thing here, since the Stranger and Spiral deal with that a lot. She literally creates false copies of herself, shadow clones which she uses to feint, distract and evade. As well as statues/mannequins when dust is involved, which the Stranger is known for manifesting. Her fighting style centres around misdirection, stealth and fooling people’s senses. She also used to be part of the White Fang, known within Sienna and Adam’s faction to wear the masks of monsters, appearing anonymous. And she literally disguises her identity as a Faunus in order to escape the White Fang and enroll at Beacon. Blake at first was hesitant to trust and rely on the others in the earlier volumes, to let her guard down, and when she finally did, the worst happened and her fears were proven right. In s2 Jonathan becomes more paranoid due to being marked and in close daily proximity to the Stranger (as Not-Sasha), much like how Blake in v2 becomes far more paranoid and less trusting of her team. She also does seek knowledge or answers even at the cost of her wellbeing, which is an Eye thing, but Blake’s desire for knowledge and answers isn’t really consistent or important enough with her character and motives beyond vol2 for me personally to consider her an Avatar of it, but I do think she is Eye aligned. 

Yang Xiao Long- The Eye. The Ceaseless Watcher, It Knows You, as well as The Hunt. For the Eye, the first time we see Yang is her trying to find information on her mother, and we see Raven in bird form at the beginning too, as she has followed Yang her whole life, never actually interacting or doing anything for her, just… watching her. We learn in vol2 that her search for answers surrounding her mother has been a part of her entire life, almost overwhelmingly so to the point where in her childhood she and Ruby nearly lost their lives to the Grimm when she decided to journey to a shack in the woods she thought would lead to clues in finding her mother. She is adamant because of that experience to never let her need for the truth and answers control her, but it is a need that is always there. When she finally meets Raven, she’s encouraged to “start questioning everything she knows” which, she does. Questioning and knowledge is a big part of Yang’s character, even now. She’s the one who questions Ozpin the most, as well as Raven herself, and in the recent volumes is the one who challenges and questions Ruby’s leadership the most. There’s also a moment in vol7 of her drawing parallels between herself and Robyn and relating to her when she says “I won’t stop until I find out the truth” Her being the one to take the relic of knowledge is hugely significant in this too, especially given the context that she acquires it right after confronting her mother, getting the answers she’s searched for her whole life, holding an artefact possessing infinite knowledge, and she sinks to her knees and cries because there is no sense of closure, that anything is better because of her knowing who and what her mother is, and that her choosing this path might have cost her ever having a relationship with Raven (which is more Raven’s fault of course, and Yang knows that, but that’s not how she’s feeling at that exact moment). 

For the Hunt, this one’s a bit simpler. The thrill seeker aspect to Yang’s character and motives in becoming a huntress and enjoying the chase and fighting in of itself. There’s another element in that as most Avatars of the Hunt start out as monster hunters who then develop the need to hunt and kill monsters, and gradually what qualifies as “monster” starts to blur more and more as they become consumed by the need and thrill of the chase and hunt itself. I bring this up because in vol3 Blake draws parallels between Yang and Adam after she is disqualified for attacking and injuring Mercury, worries with how familiar this all feels and that Yang might turn out the same as him (and just for the record Adam is a full blown Avatar of the Hunt, and the Slaughter too most like) 

 “I had someone very dear to me change. It wasn’t in an instant, it was gradual. Little choices that began to pile up. He told me not to worry. At first they were accidents, then it was self-defence. Before long, even I began to think he was right. This is all just… very familiar.” What Blake describes is… kind of similar to Basira’s relationship with Daisy with how Daisy, an Avatar of the Hunt, would justify to Basira and explain away how the violence and murders she committed as being for the greater good. 

Also just one more, because I have to

 Pyrrha Nikos: WebwebWEBWEB. Hoo boi Pyrrha is the Webbiest of Web Avatars as they come. Her whole character’s themes surrounding destiny, control and agency, feeling like her whole life had been decided for her, the fact she’d been blessed with incredible talents and opportunities meant she was supposed to be a huntress, the fact her talent as a world champion meant she was placed on a pedestal without her realising, becoming separate from the people who placed her there in the first place, that Ozpin and his inner circle tell her she has been chosen as the next Fall Maiden, but the method in which she must become so might result in the loss of her identity, that though they ultimately leave the choice to her do pressure and manipulate her into it. The idea of destiny being a predetermined fate you can’t escape is Pyrrha’s greatest fear, and rejects that idea in that she will not let her life be manipulated but will be the one to take control it instead, which is manifested in her having a semblance that she uses to subtly control and manipulate her surroundings. As Cinder puts it, “People assume she’s fated for victory when really she’s really taken fate into her own hands”.  

#tma spoilers #gerard keay #jonathan sims #the magnus archives #rwby #ruby rose #summer rose #smirkes 14 #weiss schnee #whitley schnee #blake belladonna #adam taurus #yang xiao long #raven branwen #pyrrha nikos #wow this was actually a really fun way to do a mini character study almost #I guess becaue you're categorising them but it's with a broad concept like fear #one of the most primal emotions #and trying to think about what that character fears? and how it motivates them? #I love tma and rwby so much #I think I've changed my mind on yang being more The Flesh than The Hunt but eh I'm tired

[straycat-writes]

jiāoqiǎnyánshēn // 交浅言深 (fyodor dostoevsky)

jiāoqiǎnyánshēn // 交浅言深 (chinese, v.) - to have a deep and intimate conversation with a stranger 

requested by: anonymous

notes: i haven’t had this much fun writing anything in a long while! I hope whoever requested it is still around, and pleeease do tell me what you think!

You look down at the thin file in your hand, a frown lining your face.

Name: Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

Origins: unknown (presumed Russian)

Age: unknown (presumed early to mid-twenties)

Ability: unknown

“Is that really all we know? His name?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Ango Sakaguchi is leaning against the wall across from you, arms crossed in front of him, “We don’t even have a photograph. He won’t let us take one.”

You look up, “Won’t ‘let’ you?”

He shrugs, “No one wants to take the risk of forcing him.”

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips. Perhaps that is understandable, though, you think. You had heard of what happened when Ango and his team had gone to apprehend him.

He was supposed to be transferred to a maximum-security prison in Europe, especially made to contain dangerous ability users. But before that, the Special Abilities Division wanted to see if they could get anything out of him.

That’s where you came in. Specializing in criminal psychology and one of the best in your field, there had rarely ever been a person who didn’t talk when you asked the questions. And since you owed a favour to Ango, here you were, having abandoned whatever job you had previously been occupied with.

Ango straightens himself and motions for you to follow him. Tucking the practically useless file under your arm, you let him lead you through the level until you arrive at a pair of twin metal doors. He opens one of them, and you follow him inside. There was nothing inside the small room except for the door you just came in from, and a large glass window through one of the walls.

On the other side of that window was Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Your eyes widen. Whatever you had been expecting him to look like, you certainly hadn’t thought it would be this. A tall, emaciated, and sickly pale man with dark eyes and even darker hair. He is sitting with his head bowed, hands bound by metal cuffs fastened to the table in front of him.

Very slowly, he looks up, as if feeling your gaze on him even through the two-way mirror. With eyes that you could have sworn are staring directly at yours, a thin smile stretches its way across his pallid lips. You unconsciously take a step back, trying to suppress the shiver that runs down your spine.

Ango shifts beside you, “Unsettling, isn’t he?”

“That’s…one way to put it.” You murmur. Unsettling, yes, but also so fascinating. “What do you need from him?”

“Anything you can get.”

You sigh, “I’m a psychologist, Ango, not a magician.”

“I know.” He replies, “That’s why I said anything you can get.”

You stare through the window for a few more seconds, before inhaling deeply and leaving the room. The other door you had seen on your way in is quite a bit sturdier than the one you had just left through, and it creaks on its hinges as you push it open.

Fyodor doesn’t move at all, continuing to stare at the two-way mirror that showed him nothing but his own pallid countenance. It’s only when you saunter directly into the centre of his field of vision that his eyes finally flit to you.

You clear your throat discreetly, “Good evening. I’m – “

“The shrink they sent to make me ‘talk’.” He tilts his head slightly to one side and smiles, “Pleasure to meet you.”

His voice is deep, and heavily accented, with a rich but unnerving timbre to it. Up close, you can see his eyes much better, and realize that they are actually of a deep and unnatural shade of violet. It suits him, you find yourself thinking, even if he does look like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

Berating yourself for getting distracted, you flip open the file, “So, Mr. Dostoevsky – “

“Please, devushka.” He interrupts, then smiles, “Call me Fyodor.”

You look up at him, unimpressed, “I’m not here to make friends with you, Dostoevsky. I’m here to gather information.”

He chuckles, “Ah, that’s right. Information. And what exactly do you want from me?”

Ignoring his question, you look back down at the file, “Multiple first degree murders, attempted murders, acts of terrorism, assault….you have a rather impressive portfolio here, no?”

“I’m delighted you think so,” he trills, “But that’s not quite the aesthetic I’m going for, I’m afraid. It’s a little too, well, beneath me.”

“You strap bombs to children and use them to manipulate people far better than you, and then have the nerve to say it’s ‘beneath you’?”

“Am I supposed to feel bad about that?”

Your gaze snaps back to him sharply, and you try not to get too angry, “You know what? Let’s begin with that. Why did – “

“Let’s make a deal, devushka.” He interrupts you yet again, leaning slightly forward, his shoulder length hair slightly obscuring his face, “A game of sorts, if you will. I will answer one question of yours, and in return, you’ll answer one of mine.”

“You’re in no position to make any demands from me.”

“I know.” He says simply, “But if you’re really as good as they say you are, you’ll humour me.”

You narrow your eyes at him, his confident tone never faltering for a minute. “…Fine. You’ll answer first. How long have you been in Yokohama?”

“A month, give or take. What did they tell you about me?”

“Enough. Who are your collaborators?”

“I don’t have any collaborators. Only accessories.” The handcuffs jingle as he leans back languidly in his chair, “What is your name?”

You pause. “That’s…none of your business.”

“Come on, milaya.” He smiles in amusement, “You already know my name, it’s only fair I know yours.”

You frown at the overly intimate nickname. He just blinks slowly, long lashes shadowing the tired violet hues that never seem to leave yours. You swallow, “It’s…it’s (y/n).”

The way his face brightens, confident and victorious, makes you want to berate yourself for giving in. He’s sitting in a chair handcuffed to the damn table, you’re supposed to have the upper hand in this conversation!

“Lovely name, indeed.” He murmurs. “Tell me something, (y/n). Do you think there is a god above?”

What?

“I…I don’t know.” You say, after some thought, “It’s my turn. What is your ability?”

“I do believe there is a god.” He says, completely ignoring your question, “But he’s tired. Tired of caring about this sin of ability users that is devouring the world.”

“Answer the fucking question.”

He tilts his head, “All abilities are born of sin. Does it really matter what mine is?”

“You used it to murder dozens of people in cold blood.” You state coldly, “So, I’d say yes.”

“Fair enough.” He says with a chuckle, then leans slightly forward, “But tell me this, was it really murder if I only freed them from a cruel existence?”

Your psychologist brain went into overdrive. That single sentence reeked of delusion and a hundred unresolved issues, and even through your professional excitement, you were getting kind of scared, “…What?”

“It’s a rotten world, devushka.” He states matter-of-factly, “It’s better to die than to live amongst this steaming pile of filthy sin called humanity.”

You look at his sickly pale countenance in mute wonder. He really is beyond fascinating, a corrupted enigma, and there’s nothing you want more than to stay and unravel him painstakingly slowly, layer by layer. Unfortunately, you have a job to do.

“That’s really not true, you know.”

“Oh? You don’t think the world is full of sin?”

You shake your head, and he laughs.

“Tell me about yourself, then. Have you never committed a single despicable act in your life?”

The question takes you by surprise, and you find yourself at a loss for words. His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second, making a chill run down your spine, and you unconsciously lean back a little, “I…that’s not – “

“Are you really telling me you have never hurt anyone? Never acted cruelly or callously? Never stepped on anyone weaker than you to get where you are? Are you really telling me your soul is completely free of any blackness?”

For every inch you leaned back, he leaned forward, until you were staring at him with wide eyes, and heart hammering in your chest.

“Ah. So, I am right.” He smirks once he sees the look in your eyes, “You are just as tainted as the rest of them. What was it? Did you tell some heinous lie? Did you destroy someone? Did you kill someone?”

“I – I didn’t – “

He’s right, he’s right, you did lie and ruin and destroy and kill –

“Tell me what you did, milaya.”

Your breath is coming out short bursts now. “Nothing! I didn’t do an – “

He’s right, he’s right and you know it. There’s no sin you haven’t committed, no sacrilege you’re not guilty of. There’s no forgiveness for you.

“That’s not true! Stop it!” you cry, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

He looks at you something almost akin to sympathy in his eyes, “Fragile little humans. You’re all the same. Covered in sin from head to toe and yet pretending you’re holy.”

“Stop it, please!”

You try to push yourself away from the table, but he grips your shaking hands with his cuffed ones and pulls you back forward. His hands feel icy cold on yours. He takes one look at your wide eyes and trembling lips and laughs.

Just the sound of it makes every single drop of blood freeze in your veins.

Evil, cruel, sinner, with your tainted, misshapen, and blackened soul, forever damned to hell. He’ s right, he’srighthesright -

“Sin, my love...lives in your very veins.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream just as the door is kicked open, several armed people rushing in at once.

“That’s enough! Restrain him!” you hear someone yell and immediately, Fyodor is ripped from his chair and away from you. They push him forward roughly onto the table, releasing his hands from the attached cuffs and binding them behind his back instead.  

Your hands still feel cold where he had gripped them, and you can’t bring yourself to move.

“Get him out of here, now!” You hear the voice yell again, and think that it might be Ango, but you’re not sure.

You’re not sure of anything anymore.

Fyodor smirks at you one last time as they drag him away, a look of utmost satisfaction on his face, as if he had just won some unspoken competition between the two of you. Perhaps he had.

Someone puts a hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently. Maybe someone is even saying something to you, but it doesn’t really reach you. Your vision is glitching in and out of focus, and your head is filled with static and screaming.

You stare straight ahead at the wall, your gaze dazed, blank, and empty. A lone tear slips down your cheek.

Sin, my love...lives in your very veins.

#fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #bsd x reader #one shot #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #imagines #fanfiction #straycat's 1k follower celebration

[cywscross]

From @lightveils on Twitter (free to use wherever!). I’ve been meaning to do this for a while. I definitely have enough fics to fill it lol~

-0-

A Fic You Love Without Knowing The Source Material:

I was born for this by esama (Assassin’s Creed | Altair x Desmond | M)

Juno did her best to lead him to her preferred fate, but the end is coming and Desmond has doubts.

A Fic With A Premise That Shouldn’t Work But Does:

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24 (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | G)

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he'll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn't know who this kid is, but he's cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He's not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn't really mind.

A Fic You’ve Reread Several Times:

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | E)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

A Fic You Still Remember Many Years Later:

All True-Hearted Souls by mardia (Temeraire | Laurence x Granby | G)

“For God's sake, if someone doesn't talk Laurence out of these constant heroics, I wouldn't bet a farthing on his chances; no, and not ours either.” Four times that John Granby helped save William Laurence's life. Laurence/Granby. Spoilers up to Empire of Ivory.

A Comfort Fic:

Nothing Improper by Bunnywest (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | G)

“How long since someone touched you, sweet boy?” Peter asks, his voice barely a breath in Stiles’ ear. “Days? Weeks? Months?” Stiles nods imperceptibly at that last one.

“After…after everything, after Allison,” is all Stiles manages to get out.

A Cathartic Fic:

Swing by ShippersList (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles wants to fly.

A Fic You’d Print And Put On Your Bookshelf:

Nose to the Wind by Batsutousai (HP | Tom x Harry | M)

While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?

A Fic You Associate With A Song (x2):

Strange Duet by BelleAmante, thiliart (thilia) (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | M)

The past three years have been a series of shocking, or not so shocking, successes for 2018 Tony award winner and two time Grammy nominee, Stiles Stilinski. You don’t typically find classically trained opera singers singing alternative folk rock to crowds at Coachella. Nor do you find indie singer/songwriters winning best actor awards at the Tony’s for their Broadway debuts. Stilinski has made it his lifetime habit to defy and exceed all expectations.

-or-

A Steter fic loosely based on Phantom of the Opera

~

Full Circle by Nike Femme (FMA | Roy x Ed | T)

Edward Elric returns with amnesia. He has lived the past four years as Auric, a Gatekeeper. But there are some battles that only he can fight. Will his friends be able to awaken Ed, and what happens to Auric if they do?

A Fic That Inspires You:

Off the Line by esama (FFVII | Cloud x Vincent | T)

In which Cloud gets a Virtual Reality Dream Console – ShinRa's latest in virtual reality technology. Aaand everything pretty much goes downhill from there.

A Fic That Brought You On Board A New Ship:

Me and Mine by linndechir (Fast and the Furious | Deckard x Owen | E)

The last time they'd spoken, Deckard had told Owen that he was tired of cleaning up his messes. But the first thing he did after breaking out of prison was to take Owen to the other end of the world so they could lick their wounds and start planning their revenge.

A Fic You Wish Could Be A Movie:

Moving In (To Every Single Aspect of Danny’s Life, Including the Boring Bits like Dry-Cleaning) by westgirl (Hawaii Five-0 | Steve x Danny | T)

It felt wrong for Steve to sound unsure of his place in Danny’s life. His place in Danny’s life was at Danny’s side, driving him slowly insane. Steve should feel secure about that.

A Fic That Led To You Making Friends With The Author:

Begin and End by Rikkamaru (Log Horizon x HP | G)

This is how it begins: a boy rejected by his family, a boy reunited with his brother by his sister-in-law's intervention. A boy who found a family in an online game. But how will it end?

FREE SPACE:

Reverti Ad Praeteritum by Batsutousai (Fullmetal Alchemist | Roy x Edward | M)

Unwillingly forced to serve as a human trial for a crazy alchemist experimenting with time travel, Edward Elric finds himself standing across from Truth in the moment it takes his leg from him. Armed with the knowledge of what's to come and burdened with guilt for the choices he'd made as an adult, Ed sets out to fix every mistake he ever made and save every life they ever lost, no matter what it takes.

A Fic You’ve Gushed About IRL:

Designation: Miracle by umisabaku (Kuroko no Basket | M)

It's been three years since seven human experiments, called "Miracles," escaped Teiko Industries, alerting the world to the presence of super-powered children. Now they're finally integrating into society-- going to normal high schools, playing basketball, falling in love-- and trying to find out if it's possible to truly escape their past.

A Fic You Associate With A Place (have to self-rec for this one):

Safe Harbour by cywscross (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles x Chris | T)

Peter didn't think he'd find a home here. He certainly didn't think he'd find a home with two other men.

Chris and Stiles prove him wrong.

A Fic That Made You Gasp Out Loud (kind of? it was suspenseful):

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | E)

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

A Fic You Found At The Right Time:

slow increments by Areiton (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles)

Peter is enigmatic, egotistical, sometimes barely sane. He's sharp and cutting and takes more time to care for the pack than anyone.And sometimes, John catches him watching Stiles.

A Fic That You Would Read Fic Of:

if you try to break me, you will bleed by Dialux (Game of Thrones | Jon x Sansa | T)

It had been a slash across her chest from a White Walker’s sword that finally ended her life. Sansa’d landed in a puddle of her own blood, and she’d died quickly, quietly.

And then she’d awoken with a gasp, trembling, in a bed that had burned under Theon’s betrayal.

A Fic That Made You Laugh Out Loud:

The Path towards Unwilling Godhood by Sky_King (Bleach | Kisuke x Ichigo | G)

Ichigo has never had the most normal life, and this latest chapter of it is no different.

"I'm not a god!"

A Fic With A Line (Or Two) That You’ve Memorized By Heart:

Atlas by distractedKat (Star Trek | Spock x Jim | T)

Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning.

A Fic That Gave You Butterflies:

The Rest of Our Lives by mia6363 (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

“I don’t know, as a kid I watched a lot of movies, you know? And at first I figured like… I’d be on some great adventure that would take me away from it all, you know? Like Indiana Jones comes around and is all, ‘Hey Stiles, buddy, come with me we’ve got to go save the world.’ Then… you and… everything happened… then I just… I figured I’d die before I was eighteen.”

A Fic That Embodies Something You Value In Life:

The Boy Sleuth by Shey (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles is eight when he discovers a box of his mom’s old Nancy Drew Mysteries in the back of the guest bedroom closet.

A Favourite AU:

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | M)

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

A Fic You Stayed Up Too Late To Finish Reading:

Of Dwobbits, Dragons and Dwarves by ISeeFire (The Hobbit | Fem!Bilbo x Fili | T)

Bilba has been a slave her entire life. All she knows of the outside world is what she sees from time to time outside the gates of Moria and the stories her mother used to tell her. Stories of a place called the Shire where her mother once lived and a placed called Erebor where, as far as she knows, her father still lives. Stories of dragons a thousand times larger, and more intelligent, than the beasts the orcs rode and of a strange concept called freedom where one was allowed to live as they wished with no one to tell them what they could, or could not do.

The stories meant little to Bilba. The only future she had was to live, and die, as a slave as countless number had before her.

And then the orcs dragged an injured female firedrake through the gates, her rider screaming obscenities behind her as he fought to reach her side...and everything changed.

A Fic That Made You Feel Seen (another self-rec lol):

i am addicted to death (so remind me what it’s like to live) by cywscross (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles is sixteen years old. He has already died seventy-eight times.

#Fic Rec Bingo #Bingo #Misc Fanfic Rec

[kiealer]

truth serum // god this is days old anonymous said:

‘ TRUTH ‘  + If you could say absolutely anything to your father about how he failed as a parent, what would you say?

She takes a long pause, thinking pensively. To say anything to father without fear of repercussion sounds like a wonderful bout of therapy, even if it is simulated. In fact, this is likely the only way in which she would ever spout these words as viciously as she wished to.

❝... You didn’t tell me anything. You never talked to me. You left me and Mom in the dark without a single fucking qualm. Hell, you basically outright abandoned us! Being physically there doesn’t mean a damn thing if you don’t do anything!

❝You know Vegeta, right? Of course you do.❞ A hint of venom drips from those words, the implication obvious. ❝He wasn’t the best parent either, but at least he was fucking there for his kid! At least he taught him about his alien heritage so he didn’t have to traverse this world not knowing a goddamn thing about how he works! Do you even understand how much stress not knowing anything put me under? I had to learn on my own. I had to learn from a complete stranger, someone who I eventually saw as more of my father than you. I made my own family because you wouldn’t give me one.❞

❝--You could have helped Mom more. She doesn’t even ask for much. And I know she isn’t a guiltless party in this either, but for god’s sake, you both fucked up and you need to own up to it. Take responsibility for what you’ve caused. You could have at least talked to each other more about it when you knew I was coming, even after I was already there.

❝Apparently you did the bare minimum when I was really little -- congratu-fucking-lations. You did what you were supposed to do when you have a small child. What about the rest of my childhood? My adolescence? You could’ve tried harder, there was no reason to give up after I’d made the friends I did. They taught me more about myself than you ever did. Not only that -- they protected me! I’ve nearly died, Dad! More than once! The only one who seemed to even care was Mom! For your constant preaching about family loyalty, that’s sure a load of shit!

❝And let me reiterate that I had to learn everything about myself on my own, including facts about my own race that I damn well should have known from the get-go! I’ve dealt with such bullshit because I didn’t know anything about how I work fundamentally!❞

❝... And yet, somehow, I still have it in me to actually give a damn about you. I don’t know if that’s in my biology to keep what’s left of us protected, or if that’s how I actually feel, but it doesn’t matter -- because that’s just how it is. I can’t call you my father. I can’t even call you my friend, but I can call you someone that I care about.❞

#║ ✰〳asks. #║ ✰〳ic. #anonymous #[ god she got wordy #she had A LOT to say and she COULD have gone on but she's tired of this gfdkjg ] #║ ✰〳queue.

[ofmythsandmadness]

prompts & requests.

SO...I never meant to delay this for so long, I’m so sorry for this, but I’m excited to rejuvenate this page -- I’m quite bad with tumblr, but I just hit 350 followers and I figured I’d put in a second dime for trying to make this little account work. People seem to like my little writings (which surprises me tbh, but I appreciate the love) and I’ve gotten a lot of questions about requests, so here’s the masterpost of all that for here!

PLEASE NOTE: I don’t use Tumblr too regularly, I’m trying to be more active but because of life & stuff, I’m not always active to write. Plus, just because you request something, doesn’t mean I will automatically be able to give that! It takes time, inspiration, and often the ability to form a sentence, which weirdly I struggle with. Way too often.

ALSO! please feel free to check out the kofi link in my bio (can’t link it here bc tumblr doesn’t like links and this won’t show up at all) and buy me a coffee if you feel like it! please don’t if you can’t and i’m not trying to force, guilt or forcibly nudge anyone to do it, it’s just if you can and want to support me, that’d be real sweet. :)

WHO I WRITE FOR...most people look at this acc for tua writings, which i’ve got an abundance of! I’m quite fine with any requests of any characters, except for five (unless like it’s some aged up version of him; I don’t feel comfy writing about him and I just don’t care to). I also will write for a lot of other fandoms if you ask for them: those including marvel, stranger things (those of age, i’m not writing stories about minors), harry potter and a couple others. Just ask me, I’ll let you know if I write for the fandom & we can move from there, darling. :)

HOW TO REQUEST...I prefer not too many details in a request, just so I still feel inspired to write the piece. So, if you’re asking based on a prompt below, tell me the number(s), the character you’re looking for, and any details you feel necessary to add! Remember, nothing too specific, like don’t give me the entire plot but things like genre, atmosphere, details on the reader are okay. I usually write either genderless or female reader (I try to stick with the former to be accommodating) but you can ask for a specifically gender-neutral or female/male reader too. This also applies to fics you want garnered to a specific section of the LGBTQIA+ community (for example, if you wanted a lesbian reader with Vanya Hargreeves). I try not to add any details to appearance to the story so that everyone can enjoy the fic, but again you can ask for any specific and I will try my best to accomodate for you lovelies.

REQUEST EXAMPLE - “Can you write something with prompt number 3 and 17? Preferably with a gender-neutral reader, and with Allison Hargreeves? I’d like it to be a happy fic, please, and for the reader to not have any powers. Also, they’re a cat person! Thanks!”

Obviously, I know most people know what’s up and are respectful. But just in case you wanted an example, there you go. :)

PROMPTS LIST

(these were made by me and to my knowledge, they’re not used elsewhere, only some were taken off my last requests list. also, feel free to mix + match and ask for as many as you want)

Quote Based Prompts:

1. ‘I think I’m falling for you,’ clumsy character. 2. ‘C’mon, this is definitely safe!’ 3. ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ + ‘Why, is there something you want to tell me?’ 4. ‘Shut up about your black coffee aesthetic and try my (insert here) drink.’ 5. ‘I’m only asking for a hug because I forgot my coat and you’re like a human furnace...don’t get any ideas.’ 6. ‘Just five more minutes.’ 7. ‘And you’re sure this isn’t illegal?’ 8. ‘Wanna go get married?’ 9. ‘I love you” “don’t lie to me’ 10. ‘I hate you’ + ‘no, you don’t.’ 11. ‘let’s dance to taylor swift and forget about reality for a moment, please.’ 12. ‘why don’t you trust me?’ 13. ‘promise me, we’ll make it out of this alive.’ 14. ‘we can’t just pushing each other away and expecting things are going to change.’ 15. ‘why are you helping me?’ 16. ‘tell me a secret.’ 17. ‘you can’t friend-zone me, we’re married!’ 18. ‘is this the end?’ 19. ‘I let you win.’ 20. ‘go away’ + ‘no, not until I know you’re okay’ 21. ‘we were supposed to be forever.’ 22. ‘nothing’s fair in love and war.’ 23. ‘I want to be here for the good and the bad.’ 24. ‘So...what happened this time?’ 25. ‘I just really wanted to see you.’ 26. ‘Uh, that’s the whole point?!’ 27. ‘You cut your hair?’ + ‘I just needed a change.’ 28. ‘I can’t lose you too, dammit!’ 29. ‘Don’t lie, you’re a hopeless romantic at heart.’ 30. ‘Can we keep it?!’ 31. ‘Why can’t this happen like it does in the movies?!’ 32. ‘Can you come with me? It’s just to get gum, but I don’t want to be alone.’ 33. ‘I made muffins!’ + ‘You can bake?!’ 34. ‘I can’t sleep.’ + ‘We can share.’ 35. ‘It used to be so simple...’ 36. ‘STOP SINGING THAT SONG OR-’ + ‘-or what?’ 37. ‘I just wanted to tell you...you look really nice tonight.’ 38. ‘Ooh, show me, show me!’ 39. ‘I really wish I could paint, because you’re the perfect muse right now.’ 40. ‘Where’d you learn how to do that?’ 41. ‘Hey, it’s okay...you’re safe now.’ 42. ‘Am I in heaven?’ + ‘Aw, you think I’m your idea of heaven?’ 43. ‘I’m not crying!’ + ‘Oh, so it’s normal for your eyes to leak like that?’ 44. ‘Why wouldn’t you tell me that sooner?!’ 45. ‘What do you think of kids?’ 46. ‘Do you think I’m a good person?’ 47. ‘Don’t look down.’ + ‘You’re only telling me that now?!’ 48. ‘It’s okay...it’s going to be okay...’ 49. ‘I didn’t think it would hurt so much to do this.’ 50. ‘Nerd.’ + ‘Loser.’ 51. ‘Wait, you actually came?’ 52. ‘You didn’t notice the one bed before?!’ + ‘It didn’t say on the website!’ 53. ‘I’m in the hospital, but don’t worry--’ + ‘Don’t worry?!’ 54. ‘Yeah, I was jealous. So what?’ 55. ‘Did you know you talk when you sleep?’ 56. ‘Of course I kept it. Why wouldn’t I?’ 57. ‘I can’t get you out of my head...’ 58. ‘I made you it because I love you, duh.’ 59. ‘I trust you.’ 60. ‘How am I supposed to trust you?!’ 61. ‘You have to start getting better excuses.’ 62. ‘I think they like you!’ 63. ‘I swear if you sing baby it’s cold outside ONE MORE TIME--’ 64. ‘You’re telling me you don’t know all the words to Promiscuous? Who are you?!’ 65. ‘I only went along with it for your sake, you know I hate (insert here).’ 66. ‘Hold my hand but only so we don’t get lost. I don’t need you getting any ideas about us.’ 67. ‘Loosen up, jackass, and give in to evil a little more!’ 68. ‘You didn’t respond to any of my texts, so I assumed you were either dying or crying. I brought answers to both situations.’ 69. ‘That’s it. I’m officially convinced that you’re actually three years old.’

Situation Based Prompts: 1. Person A refuses to dress for the cold and gets sick; Person B is stuck taking care of them afterwards. 2. Person A finds a stray and wants to take it home, but Person B isn’t so interested. 3. Coffee Shop AU; Person A shows up every Saturday to work, and Person B becomes infatuated with the mysterious person. 4. Person A wants to watch a scary movie. Person B accepts, too chicken to admit they’re terrified of horror movies. 5. Person A falls asleep, and Person B plays with their hair. 6. Person A and B wake up hungover and realise that they got married last night. 7. ‘Oh...you love them’, where Person A realises that their real feelings for Person B. 8. Person A is a Christmas enthusiast, but Person B hates the holiday season. 9. (School Based Prompt); Person A doesn’t know how to talk to Person B, and decides to pretend to need help in a subject they definitely don’t need help with. 10. Person A decides to confess their feelings to Person B through a series of anonymous gifts...only they aren’t who B suspects behind it all... 11. Person A and B have a Catwoman/Batman type relationship, dancing around one another and ignoring their obvious feelings. 12. Younger!Person A and B shared their first kiss with each other -- not because of feelings, JUST to get it over with. It never meant anything, right? 13. There’s only a little bit of time left for Person A...will they make it to B, in time? 14. (Flower Shop AU) Person A comes in every day to purchase the same single flower every time, and Person B has no clue why. 15. (Villain/Hero AU) Person A goes home to find B in their bed, bleeding and fast asleep. 16. Person A has a fear of driving. Person B finally asks why. 17. (School Based AU) Person A and B get paired together to complete a project worth a lot of their grade. The only problem? They hate each other. 18. (Coffee Shop AU) Person A comes in every day with a different name and sunglasses on, ordering the same thing every time. And Person B is obsessed. 19. Person A has a hard day at work. Person B doesn’t know what they should do to help. 20. Person A finally finds out about Person B’s big secret -- only, it doesn’t come from Person B. 21. Person A is the most oblivious person in the world. Person B is slowly losing their mind over it. 22. Everyone thinks that Person A and C are meant to be together, and it’s only A and B who really, really don’t see it. 23. And they were roommates (oh my god, they were roommates...) 24. Person A’s roommate’s boyfriend is over again, and they escape to Person B’s for peace of mind. 25. Person A finds a random bag and is determined to return it to the owner -- only, all the clues she has for who the person really is, is in the contents of the bag. 26. (Party Based Prompt) Person A and B really, really didn’t want to go to the party. But maybe meeting one another makes it worth it. 27. Person A and B go laser-tagging for some stress relief. 28. There’s a Halloween party and neither A or B knows who the other is going as. But the (insert costume) standing in the corner is looking rather suspicious... 29. (Apocalypse AU) Person A and B have been struggling for months alone, and finally reach something that gives them hope.  30. Person A and B both head to the roof for some escape. They definitely didn’t expect to see someone in their special place... 31. Person A works really late shifts downtown; Person B always makes sure they’re there to give them a ride, no matter how inconvenient it is. 32. Person A forgets about changing their emergency contact, and this backfires when they end up in the hospital... 33. (Soulmate AU) In a world where people don’t age past 21 until they meet their soulmate, Person A is surprised to learn that the partner they’ve been with for four years hasn’t aged a day -- but they have. 34. (Airport AU) Everything shuts down in a last-minute snowstorm, leaving two strangers stranded. 35. (School AU) Everyone ships Teacher A and B together, and scheme to finally set them up. 36. Person A and B ride the train together every day. 37. (Doctor AU) Person A has to take Person C to the doctors. Much to both surprise, Person A falls quickly for the Doctor who comes in (Person B) -- and Person C takes it upon themselves to let B know. 38. (Neighbours AU) Person A is tired of hearing Person B being so loud so late at night -- especially when they have to get up super early. They finally decide to confront them on it. 39. (Soulmate AU) Everyone has the same cuts, bruises and scars as their soulmate, which really freaks out Person A, who becomes determined to find their soulmate to make them stop getting hurt. 40. Person A and B are hiding their relationship from everyone. They’re not very good at it. 41. Person A finally trusts Person B to meet their (insert here); the last step in their relationship. 42. Person A sends their text to the LAST person they wanted to send it to: Person B. 43. (Delivery Person AU) Person A somehow always manages to be the one to sign for the office packages...does Person B have anything to do with it? (Also, why does A keep buying so much stuff?!) 44. (Arranged Marriage) Person A is being forced into a marriage to Person C neither they or Person B wants. But B might just have a plan out... 45. (Bodyguard AU) Person A always knew that Person C was rich, but never rich enough to need a legit bodyguard. But when C’s father’s company is threatened, they call in the big dogs -- and they’re cute, too. Aka...A makes a point to catch the attention of Person B at any time possible, much to their upset. 46. (University AU) Person A needs a model. Person B needs a way to occupy their afternoon. Thus, a deal is struck. 47. Person A is a private detective hired to work the case on a mysterious murder (that strangely, Person C doesn’t want getting out). Person B is C’s lead suspect, but A can’t help but feel like they’re not the real culprit... 48. Person A drags Person B along onto a roadtrip across the country to go visit their oddball grandparents. But things go south quickly. 49. Person A gets robbed, and has no one to call when they can’t shake the nightmares but Person B. 50. Person A can manipulate time, but only by an hour. Person B doesn’t know this, but gets suspicious when they see A do something very, very weird... (you can supply more details for this one) 51. (Neighbours AU) Person A and B have the thinnest walls ever, which would suck, but they both oddly have the exact same taste in music. It’s nice; if only they got to meet. 52. (Store AU) Person A and B get locked into their work’s freezer for the night. 53. (Coffee Shop AU) Person B has never met Person A; they always miss them by only a minute. They do, however, manage to sit at the exact same table every day and pick up the piece of art they leave for the next customer. 54. Person A has loved Person B their entire life. Too bad they’ll never get to tell them. 55. (Diner AU) Person A meets Person B at three in the morning when they stumble in soaked. They’re surprised, when they show up again...and again...at the exact same time. 56. (5+1) Five times Person A told Person B they loved them, and the one time Person B finally said it back. 57. (5+1) The five times Person A surprises Person B, and the one time Person B surprises A. 58. (5+1) The five times Person A broke Person B’s heart, and the one time they didn’t.  59. (5+1) The five times Person A saved Person B...and the one time Person B couldn’t save A. 60. (5+1) The five times A and B almost meet, and the first time they finally do. 61. (5+1) The five times Person A lies to Person B, and the one time they finally tell the truth. 62. Person B is like, super allergic to dogs. But Person A doesn’t need to know that. 63. Person A has no clue how to tell Person B how they feel. So, they make a playlist. 64. Person A and B accidentally switch luggage at the airport.

Happy requesting, darlings.

#diego hargreeves x reader #luther hargreeves x reader #allison hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves x reader #vanya hargreeves x reader #lila pitts x reader #mine #requests #peter parker x reader #michelle jones x reader #ned leeds x reader #harry potter x reader #hp x reader

[kuriboo]

Hugsaku 2021

Day 3 - Things You Said in a Dream | Three Things | Favorite Food | “Oh no I seem to have fallen on top of you and now am too lazy to move. What a tragedy.”

For Hugsaku 2021, I’ve been writing a continuous story with the prompts from each day. The general story is: Yusaku ends up in Heartland with no idea how he got there and Yuma decides try to help Yusaku get home. If you’d like to read the story so far, it’s available in either my previous posts or on ao3. I’ll link to the story on ao3 in the notes.

I ended up using four different prompts for this part, which was more than I expected I’d be using when I first started writing it. I don’t think I ever used this many prompts in future parts, but it ended up working very well for this one. I hpoe you enjoy!

--

Yusaku woke up screaming.

When his eyes were closed, all he could see was a completely white room. All he could remember was the duels he was constantly forced to go through, all he could feel was desperation, the pain and punishment that came with losing. He couldn’t breathe. Now he was awake and he didn’t recognize anything in the room around him. That only made him feel worse. Where was he? He couldn’t calm down, he couldn’t breathe.

A face floated in front of his. He didn’t recognize it. The face glowed white, with different colored eyes. “Is he sick again?” the face asked. “He doesn’t look good.”

Yusaku screamed again and scooted back on the floor, away from the stranger. This wasn’t home. Why wasn’t he home?

“What’s going on?” A different voice, off to the side. Another face entered Yusaku’s field of vision. He recognized this one: Yuma. Yuma looked towards the stranger.

“He woke up and kept screaming,” the stranger reported. “He did say he gets nightmares. For a second, though, it appeared he was looking directly at me, as if he could see me. Then he screamed again.”

“That’s silly, no one else can see you,” Yuma muttered. He looked at Yusaku. “It must have been a nightmare? But, um, I don’t know what to do?” His voice got louder . “I should do something, right??”

Yusaku’s heart was racing. Breathing was difficult. He felt like Yuma and the stranger were several rooms away. But slowly, his mind started working again. This was Yuma’s room. Yuma was letting him stay here. He’d been dreaming before. The incident was in the past. He had to pull himself out of it.

“Three reasons,” Yusaku managed to get out, “to keep going.” He looked down at his hands. Shakily, he held up a finger. “We need to save Kolter’s brother. We have to help him.” Another. “Ai and Kolter don’t know where I am.” Another. “There’s still a chance… I can get back to Den City.” With each reason, he calmed down a little bit. Breathing got easier. The world around him felt more real. He forced himself to take deep breaths. He took in the scene around him.

Yuma was crouched on the floor next to him. That stranger Yusaku had seen before was real, apparently, and still there. The floating was real, too, so apparently whoever this was could just float in the air, which was weird. Yusaku could feel how sweaty he was. The blankets and the sleeping bag he must’ve thrown off himself in his sleep, because he didn’t feel any different now than he had before he backed away. No difference in the amount of weight on him or how warm he was. It was dark, probably the middle of the night. Yuma looked tired, but still concerned. Yusaku felt bad for waking him.

Yusaku rubbed the back of his neck, feeling itchy. “It’s nothing,” he told Yuma. “Just a nightmare. I get them all the time. Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I’m worried about it!” Yuma shot back. “‘Just’ a nightmare? You don’t look good at all, for a moment you looked more like a cornered wild animal or something than someone who just woke up. You looked scared. You shouldn’t have to feel scared.”

“Doesn’t matter if I should or not. It’s just the way it is.” Yusaku shrugged. Whatever was ideal meant nothing compared to reality. “I’m probably just not used to waking up in your room. This happened multiple times after I moved to my apartment. It’s nothing.”

“It’s something all right.” Yuma sighed. “What kind of nightmares are you even getting that you’re reacting this badly to them?”

“Real world experience. From the past.”

“What happened?”

Yusaku looked away. As a rule, he didn’t talk to anyone about the Lost Incident besides people that were involved and understood, like Kolter, or Ai. Yusaku didn’t open up to people. He generally avoided interacting with people at all. Nobody uninvolved could really understand. Plus, now he had his identity as Playmaker to worry about. Opening up to people, connecting himself to the Lost Incident, it ran the risk of someone figuring out who he was. And Playmaker needed to be anonymous. Playmaker was a criminal. Yusaku couldn’t keep doing what he was doing if the wrong person figured him out, and anyone could be that wrong person.

But here, in Heartland City, the Lost Incident didn’t exist. It never happened. Yusaku didn’t exist, and neither did Playmaker. So discussing the Lost Incident couldn’t possibly get him in trouble here. He looked at Yuma again. Something told him that Yuma might not understand, but he’d at least try. At least, he wouldn’t judge Yusaku badly. Usually opening up backfired for Yusaku, but maybe this time it wouldn’t. 

“I was kidnapped when I was 6.” With those words out, Yusaku couldn’t stop, so he kept going. He didn’t look at Yuma as he explained what happened, but out of the corner of the eye he could see the stranger floating above them. The stranger didn’t seem judgemental, though, they just looked down at him and listened with a curious expression on their face. “After a few months, we were found and rescued,” Yusaku finished. “But I still have nightmares about it 10 years later. I’ve never really been able to move on.”

“That’s awful.” Yuma teared up. “I’m sorry something like that happened. If I was there, I’d…”

“You would have been way too young to do anything about it if you were even alive then,” Yusaku pointed out. 

“Hey, I would have been 1!!” Yuma puffed out his cheeks. “Who cares how old I was, I would’ve done something no matter what! Age means nothing if I’m feeling the flow.”

“Whatever.” Yusaku rolled his eyes. “What’s done is done. It doesn’t matter either way.”

“Of course it matters,” Yuma protested. “If you have nightmares about it and it still hurts you, then it matters, because you matter.  Well, in this case, there’s only one thing to do.” Yuma collapsed on the floor next to Yusaku.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh no, it looks like I’ve accidentally fallen on top of you, and now I’m too lazy to move. Guess I’m stuck here all night. Maybe you’ll sleep better if I’m here next to you.”

Yuma wrapped his arms around Yusaku in a hug, further cementing the fact that he was really going to stay there all night.

Yusaku sighed. He wasn’t going to be able to push Yuma away from him, and even if he did he knew by now that Yuma would just come back. He might as well live with it.

Still, something was bothering him. He pointed up at the stranger above them. “Do you know who that is?”

Yuma looked from Yusaku, to the stranger, then back to Yusaku, then to the stranger again. “Wait, you can see Astral??”

“Most peculiar.” The stranger-- Astral-- brought a hand up to his chin. “No humans besides Yuma have been able to see me so far. Have you been able to see me the whole time, or is now the first time?”

“I saw you when I woke up. Not before then.”

“I wonder what prompted this change?” Astral asked. “I’ve spent more time around Yuma’s other friends than you, but they still cannot see me. Maybe there’s something special about you.”

It seemed like Astral wasn’t an imaginary friend after all. Yusaku didn’t appreciate the comment about Yuma being his friend, but he was too tired to point it out or to think about why he could suddenly see Astral when he couldn’t before. All he could do was fall back asleep, pulled back towards it by the extra warmth Yuma’s arms provided him.

--

Yusaku woke up to the smell of something burning. He checked the time: it was fairly early in the day. Who was burning something this early? He looked around the room. Astral and Yuma weren’t here, so it was entirely possible that Yuma was the culprit. Figuring he better go check on him, Yusaku got up and followed the smell to its source in the kitchen.

He found Yuma in the house’s kitchen, perched over a pot on the stove. In a panic, he tried to grab it off the stove before yelping from pain. Yusaku sighed. If something had been cooking in the pot, then clearly it was hot and not to be touched with bare hands. Only a fool would do something like that.

Astral floated above Yuma, watching his work. “Interesting. Observation: contact with metal can sometimes cause pain to humans.”

“It’s because it’s hot,” Yusaku clarified. He walked across the kitchen to close the distance between himself and Yuma and Astral. “If you touch something really hot, it burns you.” Yusaku stared at Yuma. “What���s going on?”

“Oh. Uh.” Yuma blew on the part of his hand that touched the pot. “It’s kind of a complicated story.”

“I have time.” 

“Well… You were talking in your sleep. About hot dogs?? It sounded kind of like you liked them, or at least, that’s what Astral thought. So I thought maybe if I made some hot dogs it would cheer you up? I mean, you had a bad nightmare last night, and being stranded in some other world has to be stressful for you. You know? But I kind of accidentally burned them…” Yuma laughed nervously. “So much for that, huh?”

“You never cooked hot dogs for me, Yuma.”

“You can’t eat human food, Astral! We already tried!”

Talking in his sleep? As far as Yusaku was aware, he didn’t talk in his sleep much. Maybe being in Heartland City was causing something weird to happen to him. Maybe that was why he could see Astral now. But he had been dreaming. It had been a nicer dream for once. He was visiting Kolter at Cafe Nom, like none of this ever happened. It was...nice, actually. He missed that more than he’d think he would. And Kolter did give him a hot dog in his dream…

Yusaku spent more time around Kolter than he did anyone else. He included school in that as well, since Yusaku skipped classes occasionally and Kolter and Yusaku pulled more all-nighters together than anyone else probably should. And now, Kolter wouldn’t let Yusaku pay for hot dogs and coffee anymore (though he did try to limit the amount of coffee Yusaku drank). He pretended to keep some sort of running tab for Yusaku while refusing to let him pay any amount of it off. And Yusaku only started eating hot dogs in the first place to have a reason to be at Cafe Nom that was actually legal, but by now they’d grown to be his favorite food. Yusaku did tend to stick to eating cheaper food anyway. Yet, hot dogs were still the winner. Some days he barely ate anything else.

Yusaku stared at the pot of burnt hot dogs. All burnt food smelled bad, and hot dogs were no exception. They weren’t going to be edible. It was a disaster on all accounts. But Yuma had done it thinking of him. Yuma’d gone out of his way to do something he wasn’t asked to do for him, with nothing for Yuma himself to gain from it. Yusaku didn’t know how to respond to that. Friends did this kind of thing for each other, right? Yusaku was rarely on the receiving end of something like this, and never on the giving end. That required having friends at all.

“Thank you,” Yusaku managed. Hopefully that was good enough.

“For what?” Yuma sounded confused. “For burning your hot dogs? That’s a weird thing to thank someone for. What, do they eat burnt hot dogs where you’re from?”

“No.”

“Then what are you thanking me for?”

Yusaku sighed. “Nevermind.”

“I believe that Yusaku was actually thanking you for the sentiment rather than the hot dogs themselves, Yuma,” Astral explained.

“I didn’t send anyone mints,” Yuma said.

“Nevermind.” Astral sighed.

--

Yusaku dreamed again the next night. It wasn’t a nightmare. It wasn’t a dream of what he missed.

Earlier that day, Yuma had helped Yusaku look for a way home after school. It was difficult without having idea how Yusaku arrived in this world in the first place. The only idea they could think of was based on Astral being from another world as well. Apparently, as Yuma and Astral gathered Number cards, Astral began to regain memories as well. (Interesting, that Yusaku and Astral had both lost memories upon arriving in his world.) Astral suggested that the key might be within his lost memories. So, Yusaku ended up actually helping Yuma and Astral look for Numbers. They had no luck that day, though.

The dream Yusaku had wasn’t far off. He was trying to help Yuma deal with Numbers. Dreams could be nonsensical, however, and Yusaku’s dream often didn’t make sense. Sometimes, rather than Heartland City, he found himself in Den City, Link Vrains, and other places Yusaku couldn’t remember ever seeing before. 

No matter where they were, Yuma kept dragging Yusaku along with him in his search. They seemed to be in a rush. But even though they never found anything before Yusaku woke up, Yusaku never felt too annoyed about the whole situation.

#hugsaku #hugsaku2021 #yugioh vrains #yugioh zexal #tater writes #this one starts out with yusaku waking up from a nightmare... #i've really enjoyed writing the banter between yuma and astral and i think this chapter really shows it off #as for yusaku being able to see astral... i've intentionally interpreted his abilities loosely for this fic #yusaku can sort of sense what's happening in vrains so i've decided to interpret that as #yusaku being able to sense things from other connected worlds #with vrains being connected to den city and astral world being connected to heartland #which is almost certainly not how it works but? i wanted yusaku to meet astral

[piratewithvigor]

The Big Five

Summary: A newcomer to L.A., Y/N isn’t much for anonymous sexual encounters, but there are 5 exceptions.

Word Count: 1530

A/N: @niksixx​ and her story Number 73 spurred a big list of comments and ideas and I got this idea as a result of the discussion. Also my first attempt for a reader insert, so we’ll see how this goes. 

It’d been a lifelong dream of mine to move to California. The beaches were my original motivation when I was really young. My landlocked home state offered no such luxuries and they were too far away to visit, save for a few very special family vacations through the years. As I got older, the music scene began to be my enticement. Beaches were nice and all, but the guys who walked them were somehow growing nicer in my eyes. 

My Sweet 16 Birthday trip was when I decided I had to make a place for myself in LA. They were my kind of people. The crazies, the weird, the musicians, the lovers, the dreamers, the shakers, the movers… It was my city. The trip had taken months to save up for, both on my and Y/B/F’s parts, but on our final day, we made a pact that we’d return in a few years, with more savings. Enough to carve ourselves out a little place in the city. 

It took a while. A lot longer than either of us anticipated when we were thinking with our dream-clogged teenaged brains, but we made it a reality. The jobs we found after we made the move weren’t great, and neither was the apartment we were sharing, but it was our new home. Two bedrooms, a bathroom and a communal room that connected the entryway with pretty much everything else. At first, I’d been skeptical over getting a two-bedroom instead of saving a little by sharing a bedroom. Once Y/B/F started getting her nails into the beach boys we ogled as kids, I was only rueing not getting more rooms between us. 

That wasn’t to say she was the only one having all the fun. I was much more careful about getting myself into situations, but I slipped up once or twice. Or exactly five times, as Y/B/F liked to remind me. Five anonymous, deeply animalistic, frequently kinky, occasionally intimate sexual encounters. I never took them to our place. I never got so carefree that I trusted the hookups with my address. That was something only official boyfriends got to know. Y/B/F could always just tell what I’d gotten up to. My walk of shame was painfully obvious, but never so shameful that she didn’t press for details over breakfast. 

I knew the first one was going to be a hit-and-run the moment I saw him. He was the California man I was mentally lusting over since the idea first hit me. Long hair, eyes that oozed sex appeal once he caught you in his gaze, and had likely fucked everything with legs in that bar, stools and tables included. A second shot gave me the nerve to go over to him, but it turned out to not be needed. He was on the stool beside me at the bar once I turned to go over. I can’t remember what we said, only that his unfairly deep voice was lowering my inhibitions more than the alcohol ever could. Less than an hour later, I was gripping handfuls of his soft red hair and he was fucking the last of my coherency away. He was the first, and Y/B/F spent the next month pointing out every ginger she could to try and find the man whose name I couldn’t remember if I tried to get herself a taste of the honey.

Number two was different in every way imaginable. He was the California man I would have pictured as a kid. Blonde, toned, smiling brighter than the sun, and giving me the feeling that he could have been my best friend in the world. He probably could have been if I hadn’t left his place in a hurry after realising that it was Monday morning, and not Sunday morning, like I had thought. His address melted away from my memory with the hangover and by the next weekend, I was just hoping I’d never see him again, way too embarrassed to have been the one to run away before the other woke up without even a note. 

My desperate attempts to avoid blondie coincidentally knocked me into the arms of number three, whose name, I learned, was Duff. His was the first name I learned, but I was never sure if he was fucking around with me or not. I’d been staring across the room at the back of his head for so long, debating if it was in fact blondie or if I was just being paranoid. His own paranoia made him look back at me a few times and eventually stalk towards me, demanding why I was staring. I wanted to laugh off the mistake, but so many things about him caught me off-guard that I couldn’t do anything besides chuckle awkwardly. I didn’t intend to go home with Duff, but he lured me in quick and mercilessly. I left him my number, but without him calling back, he was resigned to number three.

Number four was the first encounter that came from a completely clear head. Clear from alcohol, anyway. Turns out, adrenaline is a mighty powerful aphrodisiac. LA had gotten me fairly used to regular catcalls. Catcalls, and sometimes even being followed down the street, Somehow, it never got me used to a stranger nearby turning onto my catcaller and threatening him with a new pet snake he had been carrying fairly secretly under his pile of hair. He insisted I come up to his apartment so I could call someone and he could make sure I wasn’t alone going home. He would, he said, but his snake needed to be fed immediately and not left unsupervised in a brand new environment. The call kept getting pushed further back as he introduced me to all his snakes, later including the one in his pants. Y/B/F didn’t say anything when she picked me up, but her eye roll spoke volumes. 

The siren call of the music scene had been beckoning me for ages, but I had always sworn to myself that I would never sleep with a guy just because he was a musician. That was a major fucking lie. Why wouldn’t I want to sleep with a guy who had dedicated his life to moving his fingers as swiftly and precisely as possible? It made number five a dream come true. He didn’t even need to bring me home to turn me into a mess inside and out. Innocent gazes and hands slipped under my skirt were all I needed at the table, and once he pulled me into the band’s dressing room, he got his turn. 

I’d hooked up other times, of course, but they were the only five I never heard from again. Never saw again, either, even when I was looking for them. It didn’t discourage me from still having fun. The only thing that did was the sounds of Y/B/F and her new boy toy duking it out all night every night. I knew I was just as bad when I got my shot at them, but it was almost depressing every time I came home empty-handed. After the third week of going out with nothing to show for it, Y/B/F almost had to drag me out for the last Friday of the month. 

“Is it a crime to just want to stay in on a Friday night for once?”

“It is when the only reason for that is because you keep striking out. It’s not happening tonight,” she insisted as we stood in line for the club.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Five bands tonight, including Izzy’s. With four to five guys per band, that’ll make twenty to twenty-five guys desperate to score with a hot piece of ass like you.”

“And a hundred girls for other options.”

“So you might get sloppy seconds tonight. At least you’ll get some,” she shrugged as we entered. I hadn’t met her boyfriend, Izzy, yet. Our schedules only seemed to line up when they were in bed together, and I had absolutely no desire to meet a guy right before or right after he scored. The only reason I had allowed her to take me out tonight was because this was his band’s biggest bill to date. Sure, they had to share it with other bands, but the crowd was going to be worth it. According to her, the other four guys in his band were almost as cute. 

We took our spots in the front row. With Izzy’s band opening, we had to be at the top of our game. Cheerleading was the name of the game. If they were actually good, it would be all the easier. 

The anticipation was eating me alive, but was promptly replaced with a mixture of nausea and arousal when Guns N Roses, as they called themselves, took the stage. My knees buckled the instant I caught a glimpse of the red hair. Ginger didn’t seem to take much notice of me, but Duff, Blondie, Snake Boy and Izzy all seemed to get the same kind of realisation I did when our eyes met. The Big Five. All together as a band.

#Writing #The Big Five #GNR #Classic Rock #Axl Rose #Izzy Stradlin #Duff McKagan #Steven Adler #Slash #self insert