#my husband actually (seriously) pointed out to me that you have to filter all of OJ's actions and behaviors through the lens of someone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

breanime · 3 years

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Bre’s Boys Picture Preference: Boy Dads

Disclaimer: None of these babies belong to me, they are Instagram babies!

(With a surprise Bonus Boy!)

Billy Russo: Billy never, not in a million years, imagined himself with a family--let alone with a child. Especially after his...accident. Every glance in the mirror was a sharp reminder of Billy’s mistakes, of his failings, of the fact that he was a parentless monster that no one could ever love. And then you came. And he fell in love. He was terrified when he learned you were pregnant, terrified of the awesome responsibility that came with it, and the closer the due date got, the more specific his fears got. Namely, the fear that his child would look at his face and all of the scars that were on it...and be afraid. But he wasn’t. Your son adored his father; his sweet little face would light up in a toothless smile at the sight of Billy’s face. Billy loved having a son; he loved dressing him up in his comfortable little clothes, he loved his son’s high pitched giggle, he loved the way his son held onto his fingers, trying to wobble his way through his first steps, but most of all... He loved that your son wasn’t afraid of him. From day one, the scars on Billy’s face never bothered the baby. In fact, the day he was born, when Billy first held his son, the baby reached up, eyes still closed, and touched Billy’s face. Billy had flinched, sure that the jagged edges of his scars would hurt the freshly created tiny hand, but all his son did was whine and reach out again until Billy leaned forward and let him touch his face again. And then, in that moment...Billy witnessed his baby boy’s first ever smile, and from then on, he was greeted with that smile every time his son saw his face--his reddened, scarred up face--and every time... Billy smiled back, heart full.

Logan Delos: As far as Logan was concerned, he spawned the most gorgeous baby the world had ever seen. He could stare at your son all day long and never get tired of it. “Look at that face,” he’d gush as your son spit up on him, “That’s the face of an angel!” It got to the point that you wouldn’t even be surprised anymore when you came home to see Logan, dressed to the nines, with a camera in his hands and your son positioned in a basket, posing. Even as a baby, Logan’s son was always camera ready. “Okay,” you said, putting your purse down and coming to stand beside Logan, looking down at your perfect little bundle in his fleece-lined cashmere onesie, “I get that he’s all dressed up for his modeling gig, but why are you wearing a suit?” “He likes when we dress up together,” Logan answered, snapping a pic as he spoke, “We have a ritual, it’s a whole thing.” You laughed, leaning your head on Logan’s shoulder as you looked down at your baby boy. He had his father’s dark, enchanting eyes, and you couldn’t help but smile as he waved a tiny little fist at you. You noticed that he only waved when he knew Logan was in-between clicks. He was as much of a diva as his Dad. “Okay, okay, enough,” you reached into the basket and picked your son up, kissing his soft cheeks, “How is my baby boy? Huh? Did you have a fun day being an Instagram model with Daddy?” Your son answered you with a happy gurgle, reaching over to Logan--to the camera. You and Logan both laughed, and you rolled your eyes. “Seriously?” You asked, looking over at your son. “He wants to see the results,” Logan came over to you, showing you both the camera, “Here, son, I’ve already picked out my top ten favorites, but this one I think will look good with a nice, soft filter.” You watched, laughing, as your son eagerly stretched in your arms to see the pictures. He really was so much like his father.

Jax Teller: The Teller smirk had to be genetic. Because when you looked at your Old Man, that smirk on his face as he leaned against the doorway, and when you looked at your son--you saw that same smirk. He had Jax’s eyes too, shimmering, crystal eyes that could make anyone melt--even Grandma Gemma. “What?” You deadpanned, frowning at them both. Your son stood almost as tall as Jax’s knees now, and he crossed his arms just like his father did above him. “I know you two are up to something,” you went on, trying and failing to keep your growing smile at bay, “So what? What do you want?” Your son looked up at Jax, and you watched them have a silent conversation with their blue eyes--as they often did. Finally, they both looked back at you. “So, darlin’,” Jax began, “we were thinking...” “I doubt it,” you drawled with a smirk, “but go on.” “And well...” “Me and Dad think you should let us have breakfast for dinner.” You paused, confused. “Let you? Why would I stop you?” In an instant, a matching grin grew on both of your boys’ faces. “See?” Jax said, looking down at your son. “I told you she’d be down for it!” Your son pumped his fist eagerly. “Yes! Pancakes for dinner!” You laughed, getting up and following them into the kitchen. “You know I’m not cooking a whole breakfast by myself, right?” You asked. Jax laughed, coming up behind you to smack your ass just as your son reached out and kissed the back of your hand--charmers, both of them. “I got egg duty,” Jax announced, going to the fridge. “I can make orange juice! Grandma showed me how!” You watched them move around the kitchen, smiling proudly at your two boys. They were so much alike and brought so much joy to your heart. Truly, they were best friends as much as father and son, and you knew, as your baby boy continued to grow, you’d have another SAMCRO member on your hands. But you also knew, as dangerous as that life could be, that he would always be safe and taken care of, as long as you and Jax were alive. And even when you were both gone, you were confident that you were raising a smart, thoughtful young man, and you knew--while he would, of course, make mistakes--that he would always do his best to protect his family and friends. After all, it was in his genes.

Coco Cruz: You didn’t know how it happened (okay, you did know: sex), but suddenly, you and Letty were outnumbered. You and Coco had three sons, and just like Coco, they had big ass hair. “Who’s hair is this?!” Letty screamed, brushing hair off of the couch. Coco was on the floor with the boys, teaching them how to build a campfire with stuffed animals and pillows. Your youngest son, who was almost a year old, was more interested in throwing the toys around then the pretend campfire, but still. “It’s probably yours,” Coco answered, grabbing the stuffed lion your youngest son had just thrown and handing it back to him. “No, this is the hair of an inconsiderate MAN,” Letty grumped, hands on her hips. “It’s gotta be one of yours,” you added, “no one sits in that spot but you and the boys.” “I like that spot,” your second son said brightly, his perfect face framed by a huge, curly ponytail, “It’s the best vantage point in the whole living room.” “Yeah,” your oldest son replied, nodding, “You can see the whole room and the you can see the window.” “Remember,” Coco said, picking the baby up and bouncing him on his knee, “The best viewpoint is the one where you see everything, but no one sees you.” “Right,” your second oldest nodded, coping his big brother with the gesture, “You’re s’posed to be secreto, yeah?” Letty rolled her eyes at the antics of her brothers. “Yeah, okay--so what about the hair on the couch, huh? Which one of you snipers-in-training didn’t clean up after himself?” “Not me!” The boys and Coco all yelled at once. The baby also screeched out “baaaaaah”, which you took to be a denial of his guilt as well. “I swear,” you sighed, sitting on the loveseat, smiling at your boys, “I’m just gonna sneak into your beds at night and cut off all your hair.” “No!” The boys all cried out--even the baby (”no” was his new favorite word). Coco laughed, looking over at you, “Come on, baby, we’ll do better, won’t we, mijos?” He turned back to the boys, who all met him with wide, innocent eyes and eager nods, making you laugh. Letty laughed too, plopping down on the once-hair infested couch. “I swear, it’s like you four all share the same braincell,” she paused, looking around, “Huh... This actually is a good spot--” her words were interrupted by your second oldest boy chucking a stuffed duck at her. “You gotta be aware of all your surroundings!” “Dude--” she started. “You too, Mami!” Your oldest son added, throwing a pillow at you so hard, you almost fell off of the loveseat. The boys (and Letty) all erupted in laughter, and you fake glared at your boys. Their response was immediate and, of course, in stereo. “My bad!”

Angel Reyes: “This dude here,” Angel grinned, looking down at your son, “Like.. look at him! Why you got so much sauce, man?” He asked. Your son didn’t answer, he was too busy posing and looking cool. You were nearly in tears, you were laughing so hard. The three of you had decided to walk down to Felipe’s shop, and since it was a bit chilly out, you put a hat on your son and suddenly he was just too damn cool. Angel looked down at your baby boy, grinning wide as he watched your son lean against a building, hands in his pockets. “Papi, stop laughing,” your son said, his little voice making your heart melt, “Momma, take a picture of us!” You laughed, taking out your phone, “Okay, papi, stand right there next to Daddy,” you opened the camera app and felt your heart flip in your chest when you saw them through the lens. Your son was purposefully standing with his hands in his pockets, just like Angel was, and as eager as he was for this photo, he couldn’t hide the smile on his little face. You took a couple of pictures (at one point, they stood back to back with their arms crossed), and laughed as you did. Your boys were so full of life, the physical embodiment of joy. Everyday with your husband and your son was a blessing, so full of laughter and love. You knew what Angel’s childhood had been like, how he’d always thought of himself as the ill-favored son, and you knew he made sure his son never felt unwanted. Your baby boy was the prince of the Reyes family; beloved and cherished and treasured (and okay, maybe a wee bit spoiled), and he knew his Daddy loved him more than anything else in his life because Angel told him every single day. You pocketed your phone and watched as your son reached up for Angel’s hand, and the image of your husband’s big, strong hand carefully holding your baby boy’s had your heart clenching. There was nothing more beautiful than seeing the love between your two boys. Your son looked over at you, a smile--that Angel smile--on his round little face, and held out his other hand. “Come on, Momma, Abuelo is old, we can’t make him wait!” You laughed, taking his hand, and kept walking, you and Angel on either side of your son, your little prince. And you couldn’t be happier.

Miguel Galindo: Miguel had several body guards on hand, a security team, a nanny, and Nestor at his disposal at all times, and yet when it came to buckling your baby boy into the car, only Miguel could do it. “Okay, let’s make sure we’re safe,” Miguel said cheerfully as he strapped your son into his car-seat, pulling at the straps to make sure they were secure, “Daddy isn’t going anywhere until he knows you’re safe.” Your son smiled up at his father, babbling sweetly at him. You sat next to the car-seat, watching Miguel interact with your son. You loved how protective he was of him; Miguel was a man of wealth, and as such, he had his share of enemies, but as time had gone on, and the Galindo businesses stared going legit, the list of enemies got smaller and smaller. Still, you preferred the cautiousness over recklessness, especially when it came to the safety of your family. “What do you think, mijo?” Miguel asked as he got into the car, nodding at the security guard who closed the door behind him. “Should we stop by the ice cream shop on the way home from picking up your brother from school?” Your baby giggled, clapping his hands excitedly at the mention of ice cream, and you and Miguel laughed. “Sounds like a yes,” you said, reaching over to run a finger against your son’s smooth, chubby cheek. Miguel leaned forward for a moment, directing the driver to start moving, before sitting back and smiling over at you and your son. He reached out and smoothed down your son’s hair; it had the same natural curly swoop Miguel’s hair did. “He’s getting big,” he said, “You think it’s time to get a new car-seat?” You smiled, watching as your son reached up and took hold of Miguel’s finger, always happy to be close to his dad. “He’s got another few months in this one,” you answered, “Although it might be time to get a new baby wrap-around. The one you have is starting to get worn out.” “Yeah, that’s cause this one likes to hang off my chest while I work. I’m telling you, he’s gonna be a shrewd businessman, this one!” You both laughed. Miguel adored being close to your son and did everything he could to avoid putting him down. So the head of the Galindo cartel would strap his youngest son to his chest as he handled business and called the shots, because as much of a boss as your husband was, he was powerless when it came to his kids--and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nick Amaro: It had been a long day for Nick. As much as he loved his job, as much as he loved helping and protecting others, it could be incredibly draining. He’d just closed a case he and the squad had been working for a month, and while justice had been served, and Nick was happy with the results, it had taken a lot out of him. The things he saw, the horrific stories, the disgusting perps--it was a lot. Plus he’d been forced to work long days and long nights, and Nick hated being away from you and the kids. So when he came home early in the morning, fresh off of a 12 hour shift, he was ready to give you and the kids a quick kiss in your beds before going to sleep himself. But when he opened the door to your house, he was greeted with soft Cubano music and the best sound of all--his baby boy’s precious laugh. Immediately, before Nick had even stepped fully through the door, a smile grew on his face. It was early, but apparently the baby was wide awake, which of course meant you were wide awake. Nick walked over to the corner of the couch, where your son was sitting up, wearing his favorite bear bib, and laughing at the sight of his little black shoes. “Don’t tell me you pulled another all-nighter?” Nick asked him as he bent over and picked him up. He was immediately greeted with slobbery kisses and sticky fingers pulling at his ears, but Nick didn’t mind. In fact, he loved it. Just by hearing his son’s laugh and holding him in his arms, Nick’s mood had already improved. “He slept through the night, actually,” you answered from your spot in the kitchen, “Which is why he’s the first one up. Zara had a nightmare, so she’s sleeping in our bed, and I let Gil have a few extra hours on the tablet last night, so he’s knocked out.” Nick nodded, kissing your son right on his adorable little dimple. “And so you woke up to help Mama with breakfast, huh? What a gentleman,” he teased. Your baby boy laughed, and Nick laughed back. His son was always happy, always eager for a cuddle and happy to be held, and he just brought so much joy to Nick’s life. You and the kids were everything to Nick; you were why he did what he did. He wanted to make sure the world was as safe as he could make it for his family, and as he looked down at his grinning baby boy and listened to his sweet laugh, he knew his son would grow up to be good. And that was all Nick could ever hope for.

Johnny Tuturro: “Me ready!” Your son announced, coming into the living room with his overalls on, toddling towards you and Johnny. You laughed, and Johnny crouched down to be at eye level with his son. “I think you forgot something, man,” he said, affectionately poking him in his cheek. “No I not! Me ready! Me ready for beach!” Your son argued, his dark brown eyes shining with mischief just like your husband’s. “You did a good job with your hair,” you said, ignoring the trail of moisturizing oil, combs, and brushes your baby had left in the hallway when he did his hair, “and you look so cute in your overalls.” “Tank you for helping with the buttons,” he said, giving you that Tuturro smile that had you ready to give him everything he ever wanted. “You’re welcome, baby,” you cooed back. “But we can’t go to the beach till you’re all ready, big man,” Johnny added, he pointed to his son’s teeny tiny little feet, “Shoes.” Your son gasped, slapping his little hands on either side of his face in total shock. He screeched, waddling off to grab a pair of shoes from the rack, and you and Johnny laughed. An expert father, Johnny sat on the floor and let your son plop down into his lap, holding his shoes and socks in his fat little hands. “Help me peas,” he said, looking up at his dad. Johnny bent down and kissed the top of his head, taking the socks and putting them on your son’s feet--a pretty impressive feat seeing as how your son was incapable of not swinging his feet. You leaned against the wall, a smile on your face, as you watched them together. Johnny was telling your son that they’d play in the water until the sun went down, and your son clapped his hands excitedly. They were both beach bums, your son having inherited his love of the water from Johnny. “Okay,” Johnny slipped the first tiny shoe on, “let’s practice our colors. What color is this?” He pointed to the shoes. “Black!” “Good job! How about Mommy’s shoes. What color are those?” “Mommy’s shoes white!” “Yeah, white! What color is the ocean?” “The ocean blue!” He answered, and Johnny rewarded him by picking him up and spinning him around, “That’s right, big man! You’re so smart! Just like your Mommy!” Holding your baby boy with one hand and taking your hand in the other, Johnny grinned, “Okay, let’s go!” You walked into the sunshine with your own two lovable sources of sunshine, all three of you smiling and excited for another perfect day.

Rio: For you, bathtime was war. Your son was a tiny tyrant, displeased with every part of the procedure. He screamed because the water was too cold, and then when you added hot water to it, he whined at the added heat. He tossed the bath toys you provided him, crying because they weren’t the ones he wanted that night. He splashed at the water angrily, tried of being in the tub, and then when you took him out, he kicked his fat little feet and yelled cause he wanted to play in the water. To be clear, he was a sweet baby most of the time, but bathtime turned him into a little monster. Unless Daddy was bathing him. You stood by the sink, arms crossed, pretending to be offended as you watched Rio bathe your son. Rio was on his knees next to the tub, one hand on your son’s back, steadying him in his little baby tub, the other pushing along a toy boat--that your son had chucked at you in annoyance not five minutes before--and making your son laugh. “Okay, time to rinse off,” Rio said, taking a cup and pouring it over your son, who just giggled at the action, “Yeah, now we’re alllll clean,” Rio sang. You bit back a smile as you watched your husband pick your son up. Your son reached for the tattoo on Rio’s neck and tickled it, making all three of you laugh. Rio sat him down on a towel on the sink, and you leaned in, pressing your nose into the fatness of his neck, sniffing that sweet, clean baby smell on his soft, smooth skin. “God, this is like crack,” you sighed. Rio chuckled as you stepped back, and he covered your son’s head with a fluffy brown towel. “I don’t know why you be telling lies on my son,” he joked, “he was an angel this whole time.” “You’ve seen how he gets when I bathe him! He only likes when you do it, it’s crazy!” You huffed. Rio leaned over and kissed your son’s chubby cheeks a good hundred times, coaxing another round of laughs out of the baby. “That’s cause bathtime is boy’s time,” he said, his voice muffled by your son’s cheeks, “Ain’t that right, son?” Rio stood up and turned to you, kissing your cheek as well. “And bedtime is Mommy time,” he whispered, his voice low, “matter of fact... let’s get this boy in his crib so I can wipe Mommy down and rinse her off...” You laughed at the innuendo...and then hurried to grab your son’s pajamas--bedtime couldn’t come quick enough.

Bonus Boy

EZ Reyes: Felipe and Angel both agreed that your son was exactly like EZ was when he was a kid: friendly, inquisitive, adventurous. EZ joked that he was always just a little nerd, but when you watched him with your son, you could see that inquisitive spirit in EZ bursting through. “What do you think,” EZ asked, crouching down next to your son as he patted the bark on a tree at the park, “is this a good tree?” “Good tree!” Your son repeated, looking over at his Dad. EZ smiled, and you could see every woman within a 10 mile radius collectively swoon at the sight of him (the smile, the arms, the EVERYTHING) next to your incredibly adorable baby boy. Hell, even you weren’t immune; you indulged in a quick little swoon yourself. “Papi, tree big!” Your son reported, stepping back and looking up at the tree, his little head reared back. EZ held your son steady with a hand on his little back; EZ’s hand was just about the width of your son’s back. “Yeah, it is,” EZ agreed, nodding, “You know, the older a tree is, the bigger is is. So this is probably a very old tree.” Your son’s jaw dropped, nodding in awe, “Wowwwwwww.” You sat on the bench and watched as your boys walked around the park, examining the various trees and plants. Your son would point to something and look up at EZ, who would start spewing off any and every fact he knew about the object, impressing the hell out of your baby boy. You loved watching them like this; you loved your son’s curious nature, and you were so happy and proud that EZ not only supported it, but helped nurture it as well. As you watched them walk around the park in their own little world, hand in hand, you felt a strong sense of love come over you. This was your family. They were yours, and you were theirs, and you loved them both so much, and they loved you. You put your hand over your stomach, a small smile pulling at your lips as you thought of your little secret. They loved you...and they would love this next little one just as much.

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Which one was your favorite? Did you think the kids looked enough like their Daddies? Did you have a favorite part? I wanna knooooow!

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#bre's boys preference #bre's boys #billy russo x reader #logan delos x reader #jax teller x reader #coco cruz x reader #angel reyes x reader #miguel galindo x reader #nick amaro x reader #johnny tuturro x reader #rio x reader #ez reyes x reader

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

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The One With The Soulmate

~Notes: Hiya loves! This is a one shot from my The One With The Marauders series and I’m just moving it here to Tumblr<3

Send ME A Friends Episode/Storyline | A Reblog Means The World!!

“You are seriously insatiable tonight,” Remus rebukes, swatting Sirius’s hand away from where he was eagerly grabbing at his arse for another round of fun, positively delicious, bloody remarkable, mind-blowing fun. God Sirius thanks every deity above that he fell in love with such a secretive, little wildcat.

“Oi, wasn’t the whole purpose of this getting married shtick so we could do that whenever we please?” Sirius harrumphs, flopping back on their bed, starfished out as he watches his ridiculously beautiful husband dropping his towel to the floor and digging through their shared drawer for a new pair of pants. He really tries his damndest to not focus on how the dying evening light filters through their room’s open window, bathing Remus in this resplendent, almost heavenly glow, turning the tips of his eyelashes as golden as his hair and caressing the dips and valleys of his lithe muscles, accentuating the smattering of freckles on his thighs and the dimples he’s got on the small of his back. God Sirius can’t take his eyes off of him for even a moment. “Because if not I reckon I can sue for false advertising.”

Remus only sniffs at him, affecting a lofty air as he pulls on the green, turtle net sweater that Sirius especially likes on him for how it brings out the amber flecks in Remus’s emerald eyes and how it hugs his physique in the exact right breath to show off how bloody good looking he is. “We did that right when you came home from the firm, and then again in the shower less than five minutes ago. Don’t tell me it was that forgettable?” He asks with a pointed hiking of the brow.

“Never my lovely little croissant,” Sirius contends hurriedly, popping up from his lounging position to snatch for Remus’s boney wrists, and dragging the shorter man down to sit in his still very naked lap. “You are the best shag and handsomest fellow and—“ Remus claps his hand over Sirius’s mouth, probably trying to come off stern, but Sirius could totally catch the way the corner of his lips begin to flinch upwards— he’s endeared and Sirius knows it.

“Enough of that bollocks, else I’ll get a cavity.”

“But my beautiful crumpet, I want to sing your praises,” Sirius pouts mockingly, kisses the tip of his nose, while one of his well built arms slings around Remus’s slender waste, with his free hand slowly crawling up his inner thigh, thwarted nearly immediately by Remus standing up in a huff.

“Like a bloody mutt.” He scolds.

“Only for you my delightfully delectable cabbage,” Sirius leers, finally standing up and taking the proffered slacks so to get ready for this little soiree Lily’s law firm is holding for their fiftieth anniversary.

“When do you reckon these awful nicknames will drop off?”

“You’re the one who said you like it when I speak French at you,” Sirius goads, smacking Remus’s pert arse as he struts into their master-bath.

“Oi, when it’s spoken in the ruddy language, and not some awful accent you’ve conjured up.” Remus counters moodily before he grabs for one of the colognes on their vanity, and Sirius only smiles privately to himself, so beyond besotted with him that it’s getting detrimental for his health, exhibit A being how he very nearly squirts his aftershave right into his eyes.

But God Remus is so worth it.

The ballroom of the swanky, Mayfair hotel is dressed up in all the opulence that should be expected for a soiree made up of the throng of stuffy, stuck up solicitors that are present. Sirius is not impressed in the slightest, even if he can work the room for one of these parties as effortlessly as breathing thanks to his upbringing as the son of a Lorde and Countess; though he still hates the ambiance of it all, so much so that it makes his skin crawl to this day, but he promised to be here and at least Remus is right besides him, with Sirius’s hand in his back pocket and hazel eyes flickering to him every few minutes or so, as if attuned to Sirius and all his mercurial moods.

God he loves him.

“Alice and I have been shagging non stop,” Frank says, which works well enough to bring Sirius’s attention away from wanting to drag Remus behind the champaign fountain so to have his wicked way with him, and back to the conversation they’re all having; even if that means that instead of looking passive, Sirius is sneering over at Frank.

“Dacorum man.”

Frank apologizes, beyond glum. “We just don’t know what to do. The doctors say that we shouldn’t have this much difficulty with it, but we just checked before coming and still, nothing.”

“I’m sorry mate, that’s awful.” Remus tells him, and Dorcas nods along, but Sirius just rolls his eyes.

“We’re not even thirty yet for fuck’s sake,” he tells him. “Maybe ’s a sign for you both to stop trying to ruin your lives with a baby.”

“Shut it Sirius,” Dorcas hisses, kicking at his ankle hard enough to make him wince.

“Ouch, hey! I’m just saying, a kid’s a lot of responsibility, and commitment.”

“I’ve been with Alice since we were seventeen Black,” Frank tells him hotly . “I think I’m already properly committed.”

“Then what’s the point of the kid!”

Frank raises his brows, floundering with no words as if he just could not comprehend Sirius and all his Sirius-ness, which is fair, the only two people who’s been able to do as much turned out being his brother, (James), and his lover, (Remus)… Speaking of which…

“I’m sorry he’s acting like such an arse Frank, he doesn’t mean it.” the sandy blonde says cooly, giving Sirius one of his looks that he usually keeps designated for his more rowdy students. “Do you.”

Sirius glares at him before looking back at Frank and nodding stiffly. “Sorry mate, you and Flores would be marvelous parents, I’m just being prickish.”

“Nothing knew then,” Frank says, but it’s coupled with an amiable grin so Sirius knows he’s off the hook.

“Right, well why don’t I make it up to you by grabbing you a drink? Yeah?”

“See if they’ve got an iced white?”

“Me too Black,” Dorcas scoffs, doesn’t even bother to look at him to make the command.

“Righto,” Sirius claps Frank’s shoulder with a friendly squeeze, winking at Dorcas and glancing over at Remus before he goes. “Vodka tonic?”

“With lemon please.”

Sirius nods, still pecks him on the lips even if they’re sorta in a fight, as if Sirius could ever stay away for too long.

By the grace of God, the open bar is mostly vacant, except for a familiar head of messy hair he’s considered family for over half his life.

“All right Prongs?”

James pivots around, drinks already in hand and grinning at the sight of him. “Wow, didn’t even recognize you for a tick there Pads, you don’t even have your hand plastered to Moony’s bum!.”

Sirius smirks, tossing him a covert two finger salute as he saddles up besides him and orders the round of drinks. “What can I say Prongsy, the cheeky bugger made me vow to have it there constantly, can’t just jilt my bloke like that, can I?”

James grimaces with a roll of the eyes, and Sirius’s far accustomed to that look of exasperation from him by now. “You’re a mutt.”

“Would you believe you aren’t the first person to say that to me within the last hour?”

“God save our poor Moony.”

“Oh God doesn’t have to worry, I’m taking care of him just fine.”

“Are you being gross about my best friend,” Lily asks as she struts up towards them, looking like an absolute diamond, even if her nose is wrinkled indelicately.

“Aren’t I always in your opinion?” Sirius asks cheekily, trying to balance the four drinks in his grasp before she just rolls her eyes and grabs the flutes of wine for Frank and Dorcas.

“Your impossible prat-ness aside, I actually think you being all grossly territorial over Remus tonight is actually a good thing.”

“THat’s a first,” James says, but Sirius can only glare, suspicious.

“Why’s that? Oi! Don’t tell me that absolute plonker Dearborn is here!”

“Oh God no,” Lily startles, shaking her head as if the thought was too insane to even fathom. “’S just the firm’s just hired this new bloke and I’m really quite positive that he’s Rem’s soulmate.”

“Lily! Don’t say that!” James balks, glancing over at Sirius worriedly, but he in turn only laughs at the magnitude of the statement.

“Jesus, Evans, didn’t think you believed in that ridiculous shite?”

“’S not ridiculous Sirius! And yeah, ‘course I do, like James and I are definitely soulmates.” She twists slightly so to kiss the curve of James’s jaw, making him go a bit blotchy. Poor git’s wrapped around her littlest finger.

“And what? You reckon Remus and I are just here to kill some time?”

“No, don’t be a pillock,” Lily reproves. “’s just he’s his soulmate is all.”

Okay, Sirius’s amusement has officially given way to irritation, and he twists his head so to scowl down at her as they make their way to the others. “Alright Evans, explain yourself then, yeah? Tell me how he’s Moony’s supposed soulmate.

“Well he’s French.”

“I speak French.”

“He’s got amazing, blonde hair.”

“I’ve got amazing, black hair.”

“He majored in literature just like Remus.” Lily says airily, knowing that Sirius can’t match that being an architect himself.

“Well— I read all that snotty shite Remus asks me too.” He huffs, and Lily answers with a shrug to her delicate shoulders.

“Fine then, I’m wrong. You’ve got nothing to worry bout.”

She struts off to their little lump of friends as if to cut the conversation off completely, and Sirius is perfectly find with that. She’s acting off her bloody rocker. But, if Sirius stands closer to Remus than usual for the rest of the night, or if he ends up kissing his temple whenever he feels like someone is watching them, or if he glares at one of the blokes working catering after deigning to offer Remus an empanada— Well that’s Sirius’s business and his alone. He’s not intimidated by this soulmate shite, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like he’s trying to stave off the bastard or something. He does all of that simply because Remus is his husband now, and he loves getting to show that off to all onlookers, even the ones who may or may not be Remus’s soulmate.

“We’ve got dinner with Reggie and his latest girlfriend tonight,” Remus tells Sirius the following Tuesday, tossing the scarf his mother had gifted him last Christmas— with a matching one for Sirius— over his shoulder as they stroll around to the front of the Three Broomsticks for their morning coffees, hands linked and the early winter snow catching in both sets of their lashes.

And God does Sirius love the sound of that, of their schedules overlapping, becoming one almost. Loves the idea that where ever one goes the other follows. Sirius knows that they’ve both have their demons, from Sirius’s neglect and emotional abuse as a child— occasionally sprinkled with a good smack or two if his mother was particularly fuming. To Remus’s complex of never feeling like he can ever be enough, and the way Lyall had acted for years after Remus had come out to his parents as gay, coupled with his multiple hospital visits as a lad until they finally figured out his lupus diagnosis. But they’re better, so much fucking better now. Plenty of the credit going to the remarkable group of friends whom they’ve picked up along the way, but another huge chunk was finding one another, and Sirius knows it in his bones. Knows that there couldn’t be anyone else for him, and sure he knows Remus sometimes deserves more, deserves better— But he’s chosen him, he’s chosen Sirius. He loves Sirius. And it’s remarkable and unbelievable and amazing, and Sirius holds onto the sensation of it with hungry piety.

“Love? Did you hear that?”

Sirius jolts back to the moment, and smiles softly down at him, kissing the corner of Remus’s mouth in penance. “Yes, of course gorgeous. I didn’t forget, I’ll be home early and maybe we can have a lie down before leaving if you’ve finished grading those papers?”

Remus’s laugh right then is like the most splendid instrument Sirius has ever heard, light and magical and warm as a bonfire. “Try to be good and maybe.” He tells him with a cold fingered tapping of his nose before he flounces off to the main counter to order for them.

Sirius doesn’t know how long he stares after him instead of grabbing the gang’s typical seats up front, but is startled when he hear’s a choked out noise coming from behind him and sees Lily, panic faced and eyes wandering frantically.

“Oi, what’s squirming up your arse Evans.” He asks her suspiciously, thick brows furrowed.

“I didn’t know you guys would be here,” she explains so quickly that her words begin to crash into one another. “Oh bloody hell, the one time I have a late start!”

She stomps her foot and Sirius shoots her a fully fledged glower. “What is making you so damn barmy for Christ’s sake.”

Lily parts her lips, but no noise comes out, because right then someone follows her indoors, a very familiar someone if only based off of descriptions. A very tall, very blonde, very smiley looking someone.

Sirius hates him right on sight.

“I’m sorry I took so long at that shop Lily, my mother loves these, how do you say, snow globes?” The stranger says, shaking one for emphasis with Big Ben set in the center.

“Ridiculous tourist trinkets is more like it,” Sirius practically snarls, which earns him a confused look by the blonde and a tired one by Lily.

“Right then, well Sirius this’s Thomas Martin, Thomas this is Sirius Black.”

“Lupin-Black now, ta Lils.”

“Oh,” Thomas says, blue eyes blinking wearily. “Nice to meet you, ah, Sirius.” He extends his hand, and when Sirius shakes it he makes sure to feel the bloke’s bones crushing together, just so he understands who exactly he’s speaking with.

The French arse eventually pulls away, pinning Sirius with a one eyed squint as he curls and stretches his fingers.

“Oh God,” Lily groans, leading them to their spot and depositing herself onto the sofa with absolute exasperation, and Sirius only continues to glare at Thomas as he sits besides her, growing stiffer once Remus returns.

“Oh, hiya Lils,” he smiles, handing Sirius his drink before flickering his gaze to the fucking Frenchman.

“‘lo love, this’s the newest hire at the firm, Thomas. Thomas, this’s my best mate, Remus.” She introduces quickly, the fucking trader.

“Remus?” Thomas asks, dimpling down at Sirius’s fucking husband with bright eyes. And Sirius has to curl his fists so not to punch him right in the sodding face, only growing angrier when Remus chuckles and ducks his head, like he was nervous by him! Like he thought he was in fact very good looking and very charming and his damn soulmate.

“Yeah, blame that on my mum, she was big into the classics.”

Thomas’s grin widens even more and Sirius feels the pulse on his neck beginning to throb. “No, it’s very charming. My Grandfather was very, erm, focussed on those studies as well? Begged my parents to name me Enkidu. They thankfully refused.”

Remus laughs fully now, and Sirius wants to a punch a wall. It took him literal months to make Remus laugh like that— genuine and glimmering and gorgeous. “Lucky bloke. Though I do have to admit that Gilgamesh is a favorite of mine, I think I’ve read the epic twenty times over.”

“Oh mine too,” the fucking Frenchman says, stepping closer to Remus and now in front of Sirius fully, gambling bravely that Sirius wouldn’t try to cap him right here. “If you ask me however, I do believe that he and Enkidu are more than just, friends.” His eyes flicker down to Remus’s lips for a split second and when he looks back up his face is positively leering.

Sirius sees red.

“God, so nice to finally talk to someone who gets it, the professors I work under are usually so painfully heteronormative that it’s crippling.” Remus tells him, smiling kindly.

“Oh, I’m the furthest away from that, I assure you.”

He winks! He fucking winks! Sirius swears to God! He sees the bastard winking at his husband! His fucking husband! What the bloody hell does he think that platinum band on Remus’s finger matching Sirius’s own is suppose to represent! Holy shit!

“I’d love to read anything you have on the subject, most things translated to French are a bit clunky.”

He’s trying to ask him out! Right here! Right in front of Sirius! Sirius is going to strangle his snail swallowing neck! Thankfully, Lily must sense his inner turmoil because she interjects their conversation right then, asking Thomas to grab her a jasmine tea.

“Oh yes of course,” he nods congenially, rounding back on Remus before he leaves. “Would you like a pastry? On me.”

Is he trying to ask Remus to eat it off of him? What the hell! It took nearly a year of them fucking for Sirius to get Remus to bring food in the bedroom, to get to watch Remus lick the chocolate syrup off his cock. And what? Does he think he’s even got a chance so quickly!

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Remus grins and a part of Sirius dies on the inside. “But I’ll come tag along, yeah? I love talking about this stuff and Sirius absolutely hates this ancient rubbish.”

“I do not! I think these dead blokes are very interesting,” he harrumphs, heated, with pouting lips and crossed arms. But Remus only tosses back his head with uninhibited laughter in response, which makes the fucking Frenchman beam that bit brighter.

“After you,” he says with a swish of the hand.

Sirius is going to be tried for murder, and he’s not even sorry about it.

“’s okay love,” Lily reassures him, patting his head dotingly. “We’ll find you someone new.”

“I hate you Evans!”

“Don’t blame the messenger!”

Sirius is about to tell her just how much he does exactly that, but then he catches on the fucking Frenchman putting his hand over Remus’s to prevent him from sliding over his card and all the fight leaves him in an instant.

Sirius ended up not even going to the on sight location for the latest project he’s heading at the firm. He instead spent the bulk of the morning and part of the afternoon grinding his teeth as Remus spoke and barbed and giggled with the fucking Frenchman, like he was enjoying himself. And it was torture, watching the way they naturally clicked and got on— Literal fucking torture.

Sirius is still fuming as they sit in front of his younger brother and his newest bird, a pretty girl named Amal, who’s just graduated from a posh, fashion institute in the north of France. And Christ it’s like he’s being bombarded with the idea of that country all day.

“God that must’ve been such a wonderful experience,” Remus says, smiling as she leans forwards with a grin, speaking louder over the chatter of the busy sushi joint they had all agreed upon.

“Oh yes, the cuisine was simply unmatched, even if I did end up missing London, being home and all. Though I’m afraid my French is seriously dwindling compared to my English and Arabic now.”

“You should ask Reggie to practice with you, I know I love it when Sirius speaks the language.” He winks right then, making Amal crow with laughter and Regulus roll his eyes fondly. But Sirius stays peeved off with his hinged jaw, absolutely seething.

“Bet my hopeless brother recites poetry to you and everything, rose in his mouth and all.”

Remus laughs and Sirius suddenly has the horrid image of the fucking Frenchman doing as much outside the window to their bedroom, and is furious all over again.

“Well Reggie, Remus here does fancy all things French, foods and wines and blokes and just the whole lot.”

“Well good, we have something in common,” Amal snickers, lacing her hand through Regulus’s own over the tabletop. Sirius and Remus haven’t held hands since the waitress brought out their drinks, and remembering as much makes Sirius take a swig of his ail, hating everything.

“Yes well, you can say it’s Remus’s soulmate, France I mean.” He says, words beginning to slur. “He’s meant for French food and wines and blokes, innit true love? You’d prefer a French bloke?”

Amal frowns and Regulus pins him with a one eyed squint, befuddled. But Sirius only gathers his wits about him when Remus clammers noisily out his chair and tugs on his arm to follow suit.

“Reg order us the specials yeah? And a round of spring rolls,” he instructs, words clipped, and a small dent peeking out between his brows, like it does when he’s especially annoyed. “C’mon Sirius we need to talk.”

“But that’d be awfully rude,” Sirius retorts, already hates the flat, fuming tone Remus is speaking with, and feels good and properly nervous for the impending argument.

“They have one another, ’s fine. Now let’s go.”

Sirius concedes and pretends it doesn’t feel like he’s being lead to the gallows.

“All right prick,” Remus huffs, rounding on Sirius right after he locks the door to the single user loo. “What has gotten you in such a bloody awful mood.”

Sirius sniffs, arms crossed against his chest and his head tilted imperiously. “I’m peachy.”

“You’ve been acting like an arse ever since we had coffee with Lily,” Remus counters, reproving.

“Actually love, if you didn’t notice, Lily left about halfway through you and the blonde’s little clucking session.”

Remus furrows his brows now, pillowy lips pinched and looking lost as hell. “You’re angry because Lily left for work?”

“Oh for bloody hell Remus!” Sirius erupts, tossing his arms in the air. “I’m angry because you met your ruddy soulmate and now you’re going to ride off into the sunset with’m and read French poetry together while eating cheese and bread and talking about highbrow shit like Aeneid!”

Remus startles backwards, long lashes flapping and mouth gaped open. “Oh Christ, you’ve gone absolutely barmy. You’re mad.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I feel like I should call someone about my husband going bloody mental.”

“I repeat. Not. Helping.”

“What in hell has convinced you that this random bloke is my soulmate?” Remus asks, back to being patient as ever.

“Lily!” Sirius shouts. “She told me that you and the fucking Frenchman are soulmates! And she’s right okay! She’s bloody spot on.”

Remus rolls back his entire head now, groaning out, “You are such an idiot.”

“Real nice Moons,” Sirius frowns, doesn’t even know how to feel now, the anger seeping out of him the longer he’s standing besides Remus, leaving an awful, clawing abandonment in its wake.

“Did you ever once think to ask me what I think of the damn concept of soulmates? Hmm?” He asks, single brow hiked with pure condescension.

And oh.

Sirius is stuck for a minute there, doesn’t see an out to the question. “Well…. Erm—“

“Well if you had asked, like a normal sodding bloke! I wold’ve told you that I married you because I know your my soulmate you arse! And it isn’t because of some ridiculous notion of stardust or providence or whatever else. It’s because we grew together, and we fight for one another, and even when you’re being a complete prick or we’re arguing like mad you’re the only one I want. Only person I can ever see myself with, the only person I want to try this hard for. The only fucking person I ever want to call my husband! My partner! lover!”

“Oh.” Sirius breathes out, all his fears being strangled by the conviction embedded into Remus’s words.

And it’s like all of Sirius’s insides melt, like all the adoration and love and reverence he holds for Remus is pooling in his stomach and threatening to pour out his every orifice. And God he can’t even inhale, only scrambles to lock his hands around Remus’s cheeks and press his head against Remus’s own.

“Yeah? You really think that.”

“Hell, I thought the wedding and all would’ve made that clear.”

Sirius chuckles, only lightly, his thumb dragging beneath Remus’s eye tenderly. “God I love you, so endlessly. Please forgive me for being an idiot?”

“Yeah, I suppose I’ll keep you around,” Remus teases, bouncing on the balls of his feet to kiss Sirius’s nose and lock his arms around his neck, and the sensation of it— them knotted into one another— could never be replicated in a thousand years, not like this, not like them.

Other Wolfstar One Shots | Send Me A Prompt

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #harry potter series #spilt ink #FIC: Friends AU

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tomorrowsdrama · 3 years

Text

2020 Year in Thirst Pt. 2

Sometimes, I will watch a drama for the plot/premise/substance and be rewarded with a surprise hottie, and it’s the best feeling ever! It’s like finding money in your pocket that you didn’t know about. The following list of dramas can be described as:

Came for the plot, was rewarded with a surprising side of thirst

1. Flower of Evil

Brief Summary: Lee Jun Ki plays Baek Hee Sung and Moon Chae Won plays Cha Ji Won, his wife who is also a detective. What Ji Won doesn’t know is that her husband, Hee Sung, is actually Hyun Soo, a man on the run from a murder that he did not commit and also a suspected accomplice to a series of murders committed by his father in the past. Oh yeah, his dad secretly tried to groom him into being his protege/murder partner. Because of how he was raised, HS believes that he has no emotions and is simply putting on an act as the perfect husband and father. His “parents” are in on the ruse and are actually the ones who forced him into assuming their comatose son’s identity. Anyway, of course things from the past start to catch up with HS and his wife is somehow assigned to investigating his old murder case. She of course feels betrayed, but also conflicted as she discovers her husband is not who he said he was and a prime murder suspect. Things get even more complicated as the real murderer re-appears with fabulous long hair and tries to frame HS for the murders. In between all of this are delicious make outs between the couple and at least one instance where they banged so hard, HS was wiped out the next morning.

Surprise Thirst Factor: I checked out this drama fully expecting to drop it because the promos were so misleading and unappealing. But boy was I in for a pleasant surprise! Not only was the drama super addicting, it also had some nice eye candy in the form of Lee Jun Ki being a completely unrealistic house husband who satisfies in the housework (The man cooks and does the laundry!), childcare, and bedroom and Kim Ji Hoon’s glorious mane of beauty making viewers have a moral crisis over lusting after a homicidal maniac (who turned out to be a real loser without murder daddy around to clean up his mess. It’s ok, we’ll always have his hair).

Yes, work that hair honey. It’s the only good thing you’ve got going on for you (the character, not Kim Ji Hoon)

The chemistry between Lee Jun Ki and Moon Chae Won was fire and the make out scenes were soo believable. Like yes, these two beautiful people are really into being married to each other and understandably want to make out all the time.

He’s the primary caretaker for their daughter and it’s just *swoons.* Not all thirst traps come in the form of sexy abs (although I would not mind if he wanted to flash some).

2. Six Flying Dragons

Brief Summary: The story of young Yi Bang Won (who later becomes King Taejong) and the founding of the Joseon Dynasty. As short as it sounds, that really is an accurate summary of the drama haha.

Surprise Thirst Factor: I started watching this drama because I heard it was a great sageuk and I’m a big fan of Yoo Ah In. Even though I’m a fan of his acting, Yoo Ah In doesn’t necessarily get my hormones raging so I wasn’t expecting to be so thirsty while watching Six Flying Dragons. But then. BUT THEN. Byun Yo Han showed up in all his scruffy tortured deadly killer glory and my hormones woke up and said hi, hello, who are you, what’s your name, what’s your sign, can I get your number? The deadlier and more tortured his character got, the sexier he became to me. Sorry Yoo Ah In, you’ll always be my acting boo, but Byun Yo Han’s got my thirst. Byun Yo Han looks so good when he's sad and/or covered in blood, it makes me feel like a sadist for thinking that I wouldn’t mind if the drama made his character cry some more.

3. Ever Night S1

Brief Summary: As a child, Ning Que witnessed his entire household get massacred because of a prophecy that the child of Hades will be born from the house and bring about the Eternal Night. Somehow, he managed to escape and was the lone survivor. He finds a baby buried in a pile of dead bodies as he’s fleeing and names her Sang Sang. The two orphans grow up inseparable from each other and do whatever it takes to survive in the harsh, cruel world. Ning Que earns money by becoming a deadly mercenary and Sang Sang takes care of the household affairs. At one point, Ning Que becomes a disciple of the powerful Fu Zi and somehow gets entangled in the struggles between the Holy Sect and Demon Sect. A bunch of beautiful women fall for Ning Que, and the drama tries its hardest to convince us that he has chemistry with and reciprocates the feelings of one of them (i.e. Mo Shan Shan), but anybody who was even half paying attention knows that the only one for Ning Que is Sang Sang. They are the OTP of all OTPs and take “ride or die” to a whole other level. Oh also, their height difference is the stuff manga dreams are made of. Ning Que is a “good guy” but also not a “good guy” in the sense that he is not above doing whatever it takes to seek revenge and is only out for himself and Sang Sang (and later, his older brothers and sisters from the academy).

Surprise Thirst Factor: Chen Feiyu is an attractive person but I could not in good conscience thirst after him because he was literally born in the year 2000. It did not help that he was only 18 when he filmed Ever Night and looked every bit his age. My thirst may have no shame, but it does have its own set of principles and one of those principles is thou shalt not lust after those born in the new millennium! Luckily for me, Second Brother is played by Dylan Kuo who is a beautiful, elegant, tall man

and Brother Chao is exactly the type of rugged and manly that I am into.

(you don’t have to be)

who looks better when wet

AHEM. Yeah.

Sixth Brother is also not so bad with his scanty pounding work attire,

4. Novoland: Eagle Flag

Brief Summary: Asule is the prince of a tribe in the grasslands who is held as a royal guest (i.e. hostage) in the Eastland Empire. There he meets his two future best friends, Yu Ran, a free spirited princess who is descended from a race of bird people, and Ji Ye, an emo neglected/shunned son of a concubine who is probably the best fighter in the empire. Ji Ye loves Yu Ran who is a ball of sunshine to his Johnny Raincloud dark emo self. Yu Ran loves Ji Ye back. Asule loves both his friends and will do anything to protect them. The world decides to fuck over best friends Asule, Ji Ye, and Yu Ran for no reason as they try their best to just live a peaceful life away from all the political scheming and fighting.

Surprise Thirst-worthiness: I was completely content with enjoying Eagle Flag purely for its story and substance. It’s seriously a wonderful, yet heartbreaking drama and the scale of the production is amazing. No cheap $10 costumes here. Also, the direction is beautiful/artistic and not the run of mill “let’s shoot it and complete it as fast as we can.” The two main actors were cute, but not really my type. Then the drama decided to give Ji Ye the “Sexy Bloody Tormented Killer Makeover” and all of a sudden your girl was rushing to MDL to check Chen Ruo Xuan’s birthday and calculating his age. I am simple, predictable, and consistent when it comes to my thirst and give a character some scruff, long hair, angst, and some bloodlust and I’m all yours. I am literally:

Is it wrong that when Ji Ye showed up looking like this ready to kill his mother’s torturer

I thought, yes, can we have him kill another?

5. Run On

Brief Summary: Im Siwan plays Ki Seon Geom, a national track runner from a rich family who is a bit of an oddball and marches to his own beat. Although his words can sometimes be construed as rude since he has no filter, they are also completely honest and have no hidden meaning. He also has his own personal code that he lives by and he will stick to it no matter how negatively it may impact himself. He meets Oh Mi Joo, a translator with her own strange quirks and sparks fly as Mi Joo is assigned to be his interpreter.

Surprise Thirst-worthiness: I kind of watched this drama by accident. I had read about Im Siwan starring in a new drama but nothing I saw from the description or promos for Run On appealed to me. Nor did it give me any information about what the drama would be about. Then one day, I just happened to be browsing Netflix for something to play in the background and decided on Run on since I thought I wouldn’t be that invested. What a happy accident that turned out to be because I’m so in love with this drama right now. This is a case where the thirst does not stem from the character’s physical appearance, but from the intensity/charisma the actor brings to the character and the character himself. Ki Seon Geom is so odd, but so appealing at the same time and Im Siwan is so magnetic in the role. Prior to Run On, Im Siwan wasn’t really my type physically. In fact, I always scratched my head whenever people called him handsome in dramas (I know, I know, forgive me). So color me shocked when I found myself swooning all over Im Siwan in the second episode of Run On. Now, it’s like I have “Im Siwan is attractive” glasses on and he looks attractive in everything to me. I want to gobble up all the dramas he’s been in.

#flower of evil #lee jun ki #six flying dragons #byun yo han #ever night #novoland eagle flag #run on #jtbc run on #im siwan #kdrama #cdrama

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marvelfansince08love · 4 years

Text

Secret Love

Word Count: 1720

Pairing: Tammy x Female!Reader

Prompts “I can’t live...not without you” “Wait, say that again?” “How could you be so irresponsible?!”

Warning: Some mention of injuries, angst with happy ending.

A/N: For anon, thank you for sending in the request! Sorry for the slow posting I’ve had a hectic week and finally got to see my girlfriend after 14 weeks! I should be posting a lot more this coming week so enjoy! :)

Also Tammy’s husband is called Hank in this.. if you know you know. Since we don’t know what he’s called and what HER LAST NAME IS Lmao

Permanent Tags: @waitingfortheendtocome @natasha-danvers

Thank you @imnotasuperhero for reading over this, a diamond always💛

I do not own this gif! 🖤

Prompts 17,18,20

"Oh, my god! Y/N, what happened to your face?!" Tammy exclaims, her face distraught at the sight of your cut up lip and bruised face as you walk through the door of her suburban home. She races forward and tenderly reaches out to touch the hot skin making you flinch away from her touch before muttering.

"I'm fine Tam, the guy got lucky and managed one good hit. I'm okay," you reassure her while gently removing her weary hands away from your face. She wrenches her hand free from your grasp and paces angrily in front of you while the others awkwardly filter into the house and head towards the kitchen area, leaving you with the angry blonde in the hallway.

“What the hell happened?!” She exclaims hands placed on her hips, a worrying frown in place.

"Look me, Lou, Deb and Daph were out in a bar and some guys tried hitting on Debbie and Daphne, so Lou and I tried stepping in to get them to leave them alone. Turns out, some guys don't like being told to back off by a pair of "girls" and you know I bruise like a peach," you murmur, wincing slightly as the cut on your bottom lip rubs against your top lip as you speak.

"How could you be so irresponsible?!" She exasperated wearing a hole into the floor from her pacing. You watch as Tammy's big brown eyes scan every inch of you with worry making you squirm slightly under her tense gaze. Her eyes finally meet yours and soften at your lost puppy, doe-eyed look.

"Come on, let's get you seated in the living room and cleaned up, maybe get you some pain killers. Are you hurting elsewhere?" She asks softly, gently wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you close. You bask in her warm embrace for a moment, loving the close contact before stepping away slightly realising your place.

She's married Y/N, get over yourself.

She frowns confused at your quick retreat but focuses on getting you seated and grabbing ice from the kitchen. You hear low voices arguing between one another from the kitchen area making you grin softly, knowing that Tammy is probably scolding Debbie and Lou for bringing you back in this state. ‘Ever the mother hen of the group’ you smile to yourself.

A few moments later Tammy renters the room, alone.

"Where are the other two? You haven't sent them to their rooms, have you?" You tease trying to ease the tension, it seems to work a little as a small smile spreads across her face making your heart flutter at the sight.

God, she's beautiful.

"No, I've sent them to the bottom step so they can think about what they've done.” She jokes before continuing “I’ve sent them home actually. I’m sure I can take care of you by myself," She teases back before taking a seat on the leg rest in front of you and making quick work at cleaning your cut lip. She gently daps at the dried-up blood making you wince causing her to hush you softly.

"You were big enough to get into a fight, so you can brave me cleaning your lip." She chastised.

"Hey! I didn't just get 'into a fight' Tam. He started it, I was just defending Daph- "

She laughs out loud humorlessly and shakes her head interrupting your defence.

"Why am I not surprised that as soon as Daphne bloody Kluger is in a spec of trouble you come running in like the knight in shining armour. That guy could have seriously hurt you Y/N." she mutters, finishing up her work. You quickly take hold of her wrist stopping her from continuing. You lean back enough to meet her eyes as she tries to avoid your gaze.

"What do you mean by that, Tam? You just expected me to let them hit on her or worse? And by the way, I was defending her and Debbie, not just her." you retort, suddenly feeling angry at her accusation. You stand up abruptly making Tammy mimic your stance, confused at your sudden change in mood.

"Why do you care so much Tam? One minute you act like you don't give a shit about me and then all of a sudden you're like this overbearing jealous lover which I'm sure your husband loves by the way.” You pause for a breath, unable to help the following words. “Speaking of, your deadbeat husband shouldn't you be out on date night or something?" You grumble all too aware of the late-night phone calls you have been receiving from the blonde lately, complaining about his lack of interest in her and the kids, always out later than needing to be with a mysterious brunette. You’d sit and listen to her worries while reassuring her through truthful subtle words while secretly biting your tongue from saying what you really think of the asshole and that she could do so much better. You, more specifically.

“Trust me Tammy he’d be an idiot to cheat on you, you’re the best thing that guy has apart from your two beautiful children.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I appreciate you staying up and listening to me moan on,”

“Not the usual moaning I like to hear at 2am but I guess since it’s you,” you teased one late night, while lying in your king-size bed alone wishing to have the woman currently on the phone in bed with you.

You're brought back from your thoughts by a loud scoff.

“Oh, please Y/N. Stop being such a child!” She reprimanded making you gape at her in shock, pointing a finger to your chest.

“Me?! I'm a child! You're the one who’s acting like a jealous girlfriend right now. I mean Daphne? Really Tammy?” You dumbfounded.

“Of course, Daphne! Ever since you joined the team last year she’s been onto you like a dog in heat, I’m surprised you haven’t slept with her yet with the way you two look at each other. And now look at you, all bruised up for some airheaded brunette.” She spats an ugly frown in place.

“Again, I’ll ask why do you care so much?! And before you call her an airhead, remember she’s your friend too, Tammy. Besides, you’re still over here pretending to play happy families with a guy who couldn’t care less about you. So before you go judging me for my relations, think about your own first.” You retaliate instantly regretting your remark as you watch her worry her top lip while folding her arms across her chest, guarding herself. A deafening silence falls across the living room for a moment before Tammy speaks again, her voice low and trembly.

“Of course, I care about you, trust me... I care so fucking much about you. If anything bad had happened to you tonight I… I would have never forgiven myself. I’m sorry for going at Daphne like that… that was cruel of me. You mean so much to me Y/N, ever since we were introduced on that heist last year I knew there was something there between us that connected us, you know? You lit something inside of me that made me feel alive again. I haven’t felt like that since… for a long time.” Tammy rambles, stepping closer to you trying to reach for your hand making you step back needing the space.

“In case you have forgotten Tam, you're married and my single ass can do what the hell it wants but I choose not to go around sleeping with any woman especially my friends, Tam! Daphne and I are just friends nothing more nothing less.” You reassure, your voice trembling slightly feeling the truth boiling inside of you.

‘No woman compares to you,’ You secretly confess internally, huffing in frustration.

“Well, what if I don’t like those roles very much.” She whispers, her eyes filling with unushered tears and a small sad smile.

“What are you saying?” You ask dumbfounded.

“What I’m saying is, I’m sick of this pussyfooting around, these longing looks between us. I can’t stay in a loveless marriage anymore. Not when I’m so in love with you,” she cups your cheek. “Me and Hank, we… we’re getting a divorce Y/N, that’s why he isn’t here tonight. He moved out last week. I’m waiting on the papers,”

“Wait, say that again?” You demand quietly, needing to make sure you heard correctly. Your heart beats rapidly, hoping that you heard her right.

“Hank and I are getting a divor-”

“No, the other thing.” You rushed, needing to hear her say it again. A soft smile appears on her full lips.

“I’m in love with you Y/N. And if you’ll have me, I’d like to make something between us work. I don't care how long it takes, I… I just want you.” She vows.

Without a second thought, you launch forward just as she does. Lips clashing hard against one another as you cradle the sides of her head softly with both hands, wincing slightly from the aching pain on your bottom lip making her pull away slightly only for you to pull her closer needing to savour the moment. Her arms wrap tightly around your waist resting against your back. The feeling of those soft lips that taste of cherry chapstick makes your heart burst with love and passion for this wonderful human being that you’ve been secretly longing for all this time.

You both pull away simultaneously leaning your foreheads against one another as you both catch your breath, you laugh breathlessly finding this whole situation surreal.

“I can’t believe all this time and I-” Tammy hovers her slim finger against your lip carefully to hush you.

“Just promise me one thing?” She asks quietly.

“Anything,”

“Promise you won’t get into another fight like this again? I can’t live...not without you,” She teases towards the end but the seriousness behind those sparkling brown eyes speak differently, making you nod in acknowledgement placing a light kiss to her forehead.

“As long as I have you by my side Tam, you’ll never have to worry about that.” You promise.

With those secret love confessions said and done you seal that last promise with a kiss.

#sarah paulson x reader #tammy x reader #oceans 8 #lou miller #debbie ocean #tammy is an angel #but what is her surname #sarah paulson #prompt request #daphne kluger

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amydancepants-peralta · 3 years

Note

10 and 24 for the festive prompts :)

(please excuse me while I hang my head in shame, for this was 1: received last year, and 2: still didn’t manage to appear before Christmas this year.) 🤦🏼‍♀️ Best laid plans really do be elusive, huh? @ Anon, I'm sorry this is so late, and I hope you’re still around! ♥️

Prompts - 10: I don’t care what you say, The Nightmare Before Christmas works for Christmas and Halloween! and 24: Secret Santa is bullshit.

(for the sake of this story and b99′s vague timelines, this is set pre-manhunter and post-casecation). (ao3)

all the lights are shining (so brightly everywhere)

Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la lah, la la lah lahhh …

Amy sighs, tapping her feet - sadly, trapped in a curled up shoe, and does her best to ignore the jingle that comes from its dangling bell.

Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la lah, la la lah lahhh …

Christmas Carols have always been a favourite of hers, forever singing along to the melody despite being told by many that she really shouldn’t. They were joyful and uplifting and reminders of everything wonderful about the holiday season. But tonight, she’s been standing post for three hours, listening to Z-List celebrity covers of sacred songs of hope; and as a result has spent 85% of her time hatching a plan to find the source of the music and put an end to everyone’s misery.

Don we now our gay apparel, fa la la, fa la la, fa la lahhh …

Jake’s off-key singing voice filters in through her earpiece, and a tiny smile finds it’s way onto her face.

“Troll the ancient yule-tide carol, fa la la la laaaa, la la la laaa! … Wait, troll? That can’t be right! Hey Ames, do you think trolls celebrate Christmas?”

Knowing that answering would blow her cover, Amy remains quiet; nodding slowly both to the beat and her husband’s question as the track fades away and a new atrocity begins.

Seriously, she needs to find out where this music is coming from.

From underneath her undercover position as Head Elf of Candy Cane Lane, Amy shifts uncomfortably, resisting the urge to tug down the tinsel edged skirt that hovered just a little too high for her liking. She wanted to burn the bra she had chosen to wear tonight (digging into her ribcage like it did), save for the fact that it was very expensive and very beautiful, and very much worn this evening with the sole purpose of seducing her husband.

Work had descended into pure madness in the past fortnight, with both her and Jake’s schedules descending from holding relative similarities to polar opposites. And maybe it was the surplus of romantic movies on every single TV channel, or the scores of advertisements reminding her that the holiday season was for being together with loved ones (for Jake Peralta was most certainly Amy’s Loved One) - either way, Amy had begun to miss spending nights alone with her husband something fierce.

Tonight’s plan had been so simple, it had barely required a binder. Wait until it’s nearly Jake’s finish time, don sexy lingerie, cover up with comfy clothes and go pick up her unsuspecting husband from work. Let him unlock the door when finally home, then jump his bones right there on the couch - giving Jake just enough time to discover the red lacy set and look at her the way he always manages to do - like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. Then, sexy timez. Lots of sexy timez.

And it had all been working so well - until she’d shown up at the precinct unannounced (Jake being too distracted to notice the text she’d sent him), and immediately found herself getting wrapped up in a sting her old squad were devising.

In a spark of true evil, one of Brooklyn’s most elusive drug runners - Art Akemi - had invented a new way to dodge any of his drug shipments from being discovered; deciding to build candy canes around the narcotics so that to the unaware eye, they would appear completely innocuous.

Unfortunately, one of his most recent handovers had gotten mixed up with actual candy canes, resulting in several innocent members of the public ending up in hospital with mysterious drug overdoses. It had taken the 99 and their neighbouring precincts days to piece together Akemi’s plans, and just this afternoon Rosa had been given a lead that suggested a handoff with the kingpin and one of his henchmen would be happening at Santa’s Village that very evening.

It was brazen, to set up an exchange of illegal narcotics in a public access area - particularly, one frequented by children and families alike - but also completely on brand for someone like Akemi. The squad needed to work fast, and work smart; running through the finer details of their mission when Amy had arrived.

And yes, perhaps her FOMOW had reached an all-new peak as she listened to the detectives speak, and perhaps she hadn’t really thought about what she was volunteering herself for - but the next thing Amy knew she was Holly the Christmas Elf, toes squeezed into surprisingly curly shoes as she fielded questions from children and waited for any signs of wrong-doing.

It has been twenty-five minutes since Santa had disappeared to ‘feed the reindeer’ (aka disappearing to the back docks for a quick drag of a cigarette), and just as Amy was beginning to wonder if a search party needs to be called, she feels a gentle tug on her hand, looking down to find a little boy no older than five gazing up at her with awe.

“D’ya think Santa is busy making da presents?"

His eyes are wide - filled with the kind of awe that every child seems to get when they are lulled by the magic of Christmas - and as Amy crouches to match his diminutive height, she can’t help but notice how the unkempt curls on his head remind her of a photo with a similar aged Jake that Karen had once shown her.

(He had been mid-discovery of a fairy garden, one built by his Nana and immediately claimed as his own, and the sheer joy in his face had made Amy’s heart swell, even years later through the faded colours of an oft-cherished photograph.)

“You know, I bet he is.” Scanning the crowd for that familiar mixture of red and white but coming up blank, she turns her attention back to the little boy. “Santa’s magic like that, don’t you think?”

The child’s nod is so enthusiastic the tiny curls on his head begin to bounce, turning quickly as his searching father calls out his name. “Just a little longer, and you can tell him all of your wishes, okay?”

“Da elf said Santa’d building da presents Daddy!” The child runs back towards his father’s outstretched hand, and Amy gives the adult an understanding smile as he lifts his son back into his arms. From his undercover position at a nearby popcorn stand; Jake catches Amy’s eye as she returns to her earlier position, giving him a tiny smile when he throws her a wink.

The topic of parenthood - of them trying to have a baby, one day - had been mentioned by both more than a few times since their anniversary; and the regular use of the word when rather than if ignited a sense of hope in Amy that made her stomach flutter every single time. While the enormity of it all still scared Jake - still scared Amy, if she were to be completely honest - what always seemed to remain after each conversation was the understanding that even if it scared them: together they’d figure out how to get through it.

(Last month’s arrival of Miguel’s baby girl Adamaris, and the sight of Jake cradling her in his careful arms, had definitely not helped, playing on a loop in Amy’s mind for several days after their visit.)

“Nothing beats a bit of Santa magic, hey Santiago?” Jake’s tone is light and playful, and only serves to remind Amy just how much she’s missed talking to him these last few weeks.

Rolling her eyes slightly, she tucks her head downward, playing the pretence of adjusting her costume as she speaks into the hidden mic. “Ha ha, Peralta. Santa is magic, especially to cute kids like that one. No way was I going to be the one to burst the Santa bubble.”

With a stuttered gasp, Jake slaps a hand against his chest, and a passing stranger gives him the side eye. “Wait a minute. Are you suggesting that Santa is fake?!”

“Santa is real, Peralta. As is this very real mission to take down Akemi. Time to focus up.” Terry’s firm tone breaks through the earpiece, busting into Jake and Amy’s conversation, and a sheepish grin breaks out on Jake’s face.

“Right you are, sarge. This is Super Serious Santa Shutdown Situation.” Shoving several pieces of popcorn into his mouth, Jake waits a beat before continuing. “Ames wasn’t wrong, tho. That kid was a cutie.”

The unspoken addition of but ours will be cuter lingers between them, and Amy feels her skin warm up under Jake’s faraway gaze.

Maybe this bra was going to come in use after all.

Rosa’s voice cuts through the unsaid, her tone steady as she moves in closer from her position at a nearby payphone. “Heads up - Santa’s back. And it looks like they’ve swapped out their player.”

Immediately switching into detective mode, Jake shields his face from the new Santa’s sight as he passes, already very aware of earlier (unsuccessful) run-in’s with the kingpin. “That really looks like Akemi.”

“Santiago, can you get close enough to confirm?”

Handing out Christmas tree shaped cookies to the children milling around her position, Amy glances up just in time to catch the replacement Santa as he walks into the village. With the cocky swagger of a man who rarely pays any consequences for his actions, this version of Father Christmas looked paler and far more arrogant than the man wearing the costume earlier.

Pushing past the waiting children with barely any acknowledgment of their tiny hellos, New Santa pauses on his way to his plush red throne; snapping his gum and giving Amy a very jolly (read: creepy) once-over with his eyes. Glancing quickly in Terry’s direction, she gives a subtle nod. Akemi’s case file has landed on almost every detective in New York’s desk at one point or another, and she’d recognised that hard gaze anywhere.

“Well, well, well … don’t you look good enough to sit atop my Christmas tree.”

Acutely aware of their audience, and knowing that the red and white striped stockings covering her legs would definitely be restrictive if she needed to go full ninja on Santa’s ass, Amy quickly chooses to plaster on a bright and shiny grin. “So glad you’ve made it back from the North Pole, Santa. We’ve got lots of excited children just bursting to see you!”

“Yeah, whatever.” Akemi leans in, an unwelcome mixture of tobacco and sweat washing over Amy, and it’s all she can do to not recoil in disgust as he lowers his voice. “I’m only interested in one thing, lady, and once I got it I’m outta here. But don’t you worry, there’ll be plenty of room on my sleigh for you.”

“Ok. I don’t give a damn about any Christmas magic, Ames. If he tries to make you kiss him under that mistletoe, I swear to god I will punch Santa right in the face.”

“Cool it, Peralta.” Terry’s clenching jaw is almost audible in his response, and Amy takes a slow and calming breath, safe in the knowledge that her squad most definitely has her back.

“Right. Yep. Cool it. Cool cool cooling it.” Each member of the team watches from their position as Santa saunters over to his seat, throwing several finger guns to waiting mothers as he goes; and Jake lets out a snort of disgust. “So … has everyone gotten their Secret Santa present organised yet? Rosa, you need some shopping tips?”

“No. Secret Santa is bullshit.”

“It’s a fun holiday tradition that you are definitely participating in and if you picked my name I’d really love a voucher for that sneaker store on 28th.”

“I don’t have you, Peralta.”

“Yep. No problemo. Just saying. In case you do.”

To her right, Amy notices Terry’s unmissable frame break through the crowd. “Heads up, guys. Looks like Santa’s buddy has found his way into the queue.” With his wooly beanie and scores of shopping bags clutched in his hands, their sergeant blended in relatively easily as just another father doing some last minute panic shopping; but they all knew one flex of his oversized muscles would break that facade fairly easily.

A silence falls over the comms as they watch Santa breeze through child after child, giving them barely any attention as his target draws closer; and slowly both Jake and Rosa close the gap from the other sides.

Pulling out a poorly wrapped parcel and handing the gift to Akemi, the unshaven man at the front of the queue feigns surprise when Santa reaches into the sack next to his throne, handing the supposed stranger an oversized bag of ‘candy canes’.

“There’s the exchange. Boyle, can you confirm you got the footage?”

“With a beautiful slow zoom that really captures the thrum of festive anticipation hovering amongst the crowd, sarge.”

Cringing slightly, Jake shakes his head at Charles’ description as his eyes follow the bag of candy canes, their new recipient now walking at a steady pace towards the exit. “We’re going to lose this guy if we don’t move now.”

“Go, Peralta. Diaz, you run backup. Amy and I will take care of Santa.”

With a grin, Jake breaks into a fast walk, already focused in his pursuit. “Alright, taking down a bad Santa in a public environment. Now it feels like Christmas!”

“We’re going to wait until Akemi has left the village, Peralta. You know, try not to break a bunch of children’s hearts?”

“You do you, Terry!”

There are still remnants of festive glitter in Amy’s hair as she and Jake walk up the stairs of their apartment building several hours later, both of them slightly weary from the hours of paperwork and debriefing that took place after Santa’s Village.

“Boy, bet thats the last time you come to the precinct and pick me up on your night off, huh Ames?” The apology is obvious in Jake’s tone, and Amy glances over her shoulder to give him a reassuring smile. Even if it hadn’t been in her original plan, she still got to spend the night hanging with her husband (although in a slightly different capacity than originally planned), and she was choosing to count that as a win. (A small win, but a win all the same.)

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I’m really sorry you got pulled into all of that, babe. I just didn’t see your message in time, or I would have … hey, Ames?” The touch of his hand against her forearm is gentle, pulling her in with the quiet strength she knows her husband to possess, and Amy turns towards Jake without hesitation. His eyes search her face, immediately seeing through her concealed defeat, and he really is the only one for her. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I just …” she feels a blush rush over her cheeks again, suddenly feeling ridiculous as she thinks of how to divulge her secret plan. The underwire from the damn bra digs into her skin again as she squirms, and if tonight has taught Amy anything, it’s why lingerie like this is only designed to stay on until your partner rips it off seconds after reveal.

“Babe?”

“It just feels like forever since we’ve had a night at home, just the two of us.” Jake’s brows knit, and Amy leans in to rest both hands against her husbands chest. “And I know that work has been crazy lately, and that it’ll eventually calm down again, I just … I’d sorta planned on tonight going differently once you were home.”

“Oh god, and instead you ended up in a glittery elf costume with a creep leering at you.” Left hand slapping against his face in shame, Jake shakes his head in obvious frustration.

“I mean, we can mainly blame my FOMOW for that, babe. It doesn’t matter, really. If I hadn’t been there, you might have gotten home even later so when you think about it, it’s way better we - mmfph -” the rest of Amy’s argument stops in it’s tracks as Jake pulls her in for a kiss, the gentle but insistent press of his lips against hers casting any other thoughts far to the side.

The familiar touch of his hands as they roam against the outline of her butt causes Amy to melt entirely in Jake’s arms, resting her arms against his steady shoulders as her fingers slide into his hair. This - these tiny moments where the world seemed to fade away and all she could feel was Jake - was what she’d been craving for weeks.

Jake sighs against her lips, letting her tongue slip into his mouth as he shuffles ever so closer to her, and maybe he’d been missing this just as much as she.

“So,” Jake whispers as he pulls away from the kiss, leaning in to brush his lips against Amy’s once more. “Time to get this night back in track.” Another kiss. “What kind of plans did you make for us, Santiago?”

“Lets just say … the lingerie I’ve got on under here is going to blow your mind, Peralta.”

“Going to blow your mind, title of our sex tape.”

Amy nods, biting her lower lip as she steps out of Jake’s embrace, gesturing towards their apartment. “But it’s also really uncomfortable. C’mon, let's get inside before it ends up in the dumpster.”

Jake’s footsteps echo behind Amy’s, hands landing on her hips as she digs for the keys. “I’m declaring it now, Ames. Tomorrow night we’re both leaving early and staying in for movie night at home. Phones off, popcorn, everything for the full movie experience. We can watch Die Hard and Love Actually and Nightmare before Christmas …”

Amy’s nose crinkles at the last movie, unlocking their front door and tugging her husband through as it swings open. “Didn’t we watch that last one for Halloween?”

“I don’t care what you say, The Nightmare Before Christmas works for Christmas and Halloween!”

“Jake …”

“Christmas is literally in the title, babe!”

Pulling him closer, Amy takes a leaf out of her husband’s handbook, silencing him with a definitely not PG rated kiss now that the risk of being discovered by a neighbour had slimmed to none.

Jake’s arms wrap around her middle in response, holding Amy close as her fingers begin to trace the edge of his buttons, and she lets out a sigh of satisfaction that finally her initial plan was coming to fruition.

Next time, though, she might add a sub-section into the binder about potential diversions, and how to avoid them (not join them) - FOMOW be damned. This stuff was way more fun.

#my writing #very delayed #peraltiago Christmas #pre-mac #sorry anon #undercover peraltiago taking down bad guys #b99 fic #b99 fanfic #peraltiago fic #peraltiago fluff #jake x amy fic #not tagging the prompts as its too long ago

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stereksecretsanta · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas, ravenclawkward-art!

For @ravenclawkward-art. Happy Christmas! I hope you enjoy!!

Read On AO3

*****

Derek catches the first hint of the scent as he fits the key into the lock. Traces of vanilla, cinnamon and the earthy tang of petrichor hang in the air— it’s a scent he’s become thoroughly acquainted with over the last few years.

He pushes open the front door, prompting the scent to waft through and envelope him like a warm hug.

“How did you get in?” He asks, not even looking at the figure sprawled across his couch. Moving through to the kitchen, Derek sets down his paper bag of groceries. “Actually, how did you get here?” He asks, turning. He hadn’t seen the Jeep on his way in.

“Oh, you know.” Stiles wanders in after him, hopping up onto the counter beside the fridge. “Magic.” He punctuates the word with jazz hands.

Derek huffs fondly, rolling his eyes and reaching for the milk. “Don’t you have friends you can annoy instead?”

“Good try big guy,” Stiles teases, helping Derek by handing him things out of the bag. “I’m here for the pack meeting.”

“You’re three hours early.”

“I’m super punctual.” Stiles swings his legs, knocking his heels into the cupboard door beneath him. “Oh.” His legs still suddenly and he drops down from the counter. “You got mail.” He disappears out of the room for a minute, returning with a letter, still talking. “Like, who even sends mail anymore? I swear werewolves live in the stone ages.”

Derek snatches the envelope Stiles is waving in his face, tearing it open to scan the letter inside.

“It’s the Robertson pack.”

“The who pack?” Stiles peers at the letter over Derek’s shoulder, trying to read along. Saving him the effort, Derek passes it over when he’s done.

“The Robertson pack took me and Laura in after the fire,” Derek explains, moving to lean against the bench. “Their Alpha, Sarah, knew my mom when they were young.”

“Why didn’t you stay with them?” Stiles asks, folding up the letter. “You and Laura lived in New York on your own. Wouldn’t it have been better to stay with another pack?”

Derek shakes his head. “I wanted to, but- Laura had just become Alpha. It made things difficult. So, we left. We kept in touch for a while, but after coming back here, after Laura’s death and everything that happened with Peter… we just lost touch.”

“Until now?” Stiles hands back the letter. “They’re asking permission to enter the territory.”

Nodding, Derek takes it, unfolding and refolding the paper carefully in his hands. “I’ve never hosted another pack before. Mom did it a couple of times.”

“What does it involve?”

“It varies depending on the pack. We would offer them a place to stay and a meal. The Robertson are old family friends so it will probably be a little more informal. More like… what does your dad do when extended family comes around?”

“He hides the good whiskey,” Stiles jokes. “But seriously, this is awesome and, as your emissary, I can help you plan.”

With a roll of his eyes, Derek turns from the kitchen. “You’re not my emissary.”

“Why not?” Stiles whines, trailing behind the werewolf. “I’d be so good at it.”

“At planning or being my emissary?”

“Por qué no los dos?” Stiles says it with an exaggerated wink, dropping back down onto the couch.

***

By six pm the rest of the pack have arrived, and the house is full of loud voices, lively conversation and laughter.

It’s taken a long time to reach this point—a point where the pack trust Derek as their Alpha, and each other. A point where a pack get together feels like… family.

Looking around the room, something swells in Derek’s chest at the sight of Kira and her swollen belly. Sandwiched between Stiles and Erica on the couch, she’s guiding their hands to feel the baby’s kicking.

His gaze flicks across Stiles, laughing at something Erica says, his head thrown back exposing the long line of his neck. A lot of this was Stiles’ doing.

Stiles was the one who had instituted pack night. He’d called it compulsory fun night. He’d begged and bullied every single one of them into gathering at the site of the old Hale house and had turned up with Lacrosse sticks and movies. He’d forced Derek to use his words when he was feeling frustrated and encouraged communication with the pack.

Derek had wanted nothing more than for the pack to bond together properly, so he had done as Stiles told him and in doing so, he’d built his confidence as an Alpha.

Stiles looks up suddenly, catching Derek’s eye from across the room, and winks, before turning back to Kira without even breaking from their conversation. Derek feels his face flush and ducks back into the kitchen to finish cooking.

This was something Derek had initiated. Everyone takes a turn providing for the pack, whether it’s a home cooked meal or take out.

Derek’s made tacos. He sets out meat and salsa and guacamole on the counter so that everyone can serve themselves and starts building his own before the literal wolves descend.

It becomes a free for all after that. Derek snatches his plate and his beer and escapes to the living room. The rest of the pack follow suit, finding places to perch and eat. The house has a more formal dining room, but they really only eat in there on special occasions, preferring to sprawl out in front of the TV.

“Hey.” Stiles drops down onto the couch beside Derek, almost toppling his tacos off his plate. He rescues one, jamming it onto his mouth and crunching down. “So, I spoke to Lydia and she said she can help with planning this pack get together thing.” He continues to talk around another mouthful of food, and it should be gross, but it’s just so Stiles.

“Uh huh.” Derek rescues Stiles’ beer before he sends it flying. “So, if Lydia’s in charge I guess should I be pulling out the tux?”

With a snort, Stiles retrieves his drink and drains the bottle. “You own a tuxedo? I don’t believe you have ever worn a suit in your life.”

“Hey, I have hidden depths,” Derek counters. “I could own a tux.”

“I’d like to see that.” Stiles smirks and brings his beer back to his lips, seemingly forgetting that the bottle is empty. He lowers it quickly, face flushing—though, maybe that’s just the glow from the TV. Derek tries not to dwell on it.

Sometime around midnight the pack start to either filter out or upstairs. The house is big enough for everyone to stay over if need be, Derek made sure of that when building it, but he’s the only one who lives there full time—most of the pack have houses closer to town.

Derek doesn’t mind that they’re all spread out. There’s always someone over at any given time—usually Stiles. Speaking of, Stiles is sprawled out on the couch, snoring gently.

“Hey.” Derek wakes the spark gently. “You want to crash here?”

Stiles stretches on the couch, his shirt riding up to reveal the pale skin of his stomach. “Wha’ time izzit?”

“Almost one.”

“Oh.” Stiles sits up slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, thanks.” He shuffles off towards the downstairs bathroom and Derek finishes unpacking the dishwasher. “Can I borrow a sweater?” He asks when he returns, his hands wrapped around his body to ward off the chill in the air. It’s two weeks until Christmas and winter has finally settled across Beacon Hills.

“Sure, come on.” Derek puts the last plate away and leaves the kitchen, heading to his bedroom. Stiles follows him upstairs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed while Derek digs through his drawers. “Here.”

Stiles takes the sweater and shrugs it on over his head. They’re the same height, but Stiles is not as broad as Derek so the sweater hangs, just a little, on his lanky frame. He paws his hands up in the sleeves and flops back onto the bed.

“I’m so tired,” he whines.

“Then go find your bed,” Derek tells him, nudging Stiles to move. “This one’s mine.”

“Can’t move. Too sleepy.”

“Stiles.”

“Can’t hear you. I’m already asleep.”

With a quick shove, Derek sends Stiles tumbling to the floor.

“Rude.” Picking himself up off the floor, Stiles sticks his tongue out at Derek and trots off to his room.

***

Three days later the whole pack gathers at Derek’s house.

Lydia, as always, has outdone herself with the spread. There is enough food and meat to feed a small army and she has the wolves all rotating through shifts on the spit. The rest of the pack are put to work moving tables and chairs out onto the wide green lawn.

Up on the porch, Isaac has set up speakers to play music while they work.

“One of the wards just triggered,” Stiles says, grinning as he sets down his armload of plates and cutlery. “Must be them.”

Twenty minutes later Boyd is the first to cock his head to catch the faint rumble of a car turning on to the winding track that leads up to the house. By the time their visitors pull up onto the grass, everyone (bar Scott and Jackson on spit duty) is gathered around on the porch.

“Alpha Robertson,” Derek greets walking up to the newly arrived group.

“Alpha Hale.” The werewolf’s mouth ticks up in a smile. “It’s good to see you Derek. It’s been too long.”

“It has.” Derek returns the smile. “Sarah, this is my pack,” he says, turning and gesturing to the curious faces lining the porch. He almost knocks his hands into Stiles, who is hovering a half-step behind him.”

“Stiles Stilinski,” he says pushing forward, arm outstretched in greeting. “Pack emissary.”

Derek barely restrains rolling his eyes in front of the older Alpha, turning to hide his face under the guise of beckoning forward the rest of the pack. After they’ve made their introductions, Sarah introduces the pack to her husband and three children, Alex, Mark and Lilah.

“So, what brings you out our way?” Stiles asks as they all walk back up to the house.

“My eldest joined the Thomson pack earlier this year,” Sarah explains. “We’re heading up to visit for Christmas.”

“She’s gonna have a baby,” the youngest kid, Alex, offers shyly from behind his mom.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Stiles tells him. “So, you’re going to be an uncle. I’m going to be an uncle soon too,” he says with a conspiratorial whisper and a head nod towards Kira.

“We’re not much for flying,” Sarah continues, “and we thought the trip might be a good opportunity to visit.”

Nodding, Stiles leads the way into the house. “Derek said you were friends with Talia.”

“We’re actually related.” Sarah grins when Stiles skids to an abrupt halt. “Third cousins?”

“Through Dad,” Derek confirms.

“What?” Stiles turns to Derek. “But you said- I thought your dad was human.”

“He was.”

“Huh. Cool.”

They show their visitors to their guest rooms so they can put down their bags and then take them outside.

Dinner is a rowdy affair.

There are fifteen of them crowded around the two long tables that have been dragged onto the grass. Once the younger members of the Robertson pack, namely Alex and his older brother Mark, get over the shyness of meeting strangers it’s every man for himself as the food is laid out.

“So, who’s manning the fort back home?” Stiles asks, leaning across Derek to talk to Sarah.

“Stiles,” Derek warns, nudging the human away from his plate. “You can’t ask that, it’s not polite.”

“Oh, sorry,” Stiles says, looking genuinely apologetic, but then he barrels on anyway. “I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just this guy here-” he pauses to bat at Derek’s shoulder “-keeps telling me we can’t leave the territory unguarded whenever I try to suggest getting away for a few days.”

“It’s fine,” Sarah is quick to reassure them. “My sister is looking after things while we’re gone. And Derek’s right when it comes to new packs.”

Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles as if to say, ‘I told you so’ and ducks another playful swipe.

“But you’ve been Alpha for what, seven years now?” She asks. “And Beacon Hills has been Hale Pack territory for, I don’t know, generations, not to mention those wards we passed on the way in.” Sarah points to Stiles. “That was you?”

Stiles nods quickly. “Yep.” He accepts the bowl of baked potatoes from Boyd. “So, what you’re saying is that Derek needs to get out more? ‘Cos that’s what I’m hearing.”

“I’m saying that it’s okay to take a break occasionally.”

Stiles laughs, his knees knocking into Derek’s under the table. “Derek doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

***

The full moon falls two days after the Robertson’s arrive and Derek invites Sarah and her family to run with them through the preserve.

It’s a Saturday and most of the pack have taken the weekend off, so they spend the day at the pack house, working off the restless energy that comes with a full moon. As the afternoon rolls on the games get rougher and someone digs out the lacrosse sticks.

“Count me in.” Stiles jogs over with Scott and Isaac and snatches up one of the sticks, twirling it in his hands.

“Is that a good idea?” Mark, the middle Robertson child, asks. “A human playing against werewolves?” He looks to Derek, tone dripping with cocky arrogance but Derek just shrugs.

“Oh, to have the confidence of a fifteen-year-old werewolf,” Stiles sighs, scooping up the ball. “I could have used some of that as a teenager.”

“Could have used some of the athleticism too,” Derek quips, knocking Stiles with one shoulder.

“Oh, you can shove it,” Stiles grins stumbling away, still in possession of the ball. “You playing or what kid?”

“Fine,” the young werewolf shrugs. “It’s your funeral.” His eyes flash gold.

“That’s not that impressive,” Stiles tells him. “I can do it too.”

“But you’re not a wolf.”

“So many doubters today.” He closes his eyes for a moment and when they re-open they shine bright with the power of his spark.

“You going to play or just keep showing off?” Boyd asks.

Stiles grins, playfully baring his teeth “Oh, it’s on.”

The moon finally breaches the horizon just after four pm. It’s not yet dark enough to go running through the preserve, but some wolves start shedding clothes and skin, sprouting fur as they shift from two legs to four.

The lacrosse game is forgotten in favour of chasing each other around the clearing.

“Don’t even think about it,” Stiles warns, backing away from Derek. “We will not be playing chase the human tonight.”

Grinning wolfishly, smile wide and full of teeth, Derek makes a big show of slowing kicking his sneakers off.

“I’m not kidding Der, I will end you.”

“Better start running,” Derek teases, pulling his shirt up over his head. From the corner of his eye, he can see the rest of his pack watching with various shades of amusement.

“Fuck you buddy.”

Derek can tell there’s no heat behind the words and Stiles is trying to hold back a smile. He’s bolting off around the house before Derek’s shirt has even hit the ground.

“Go on then,” Stiles says once it’s finally dark enough to enter the preserve. “Pick on Stiles time is over; I need a nap after that.” He sprawls out on his back in the grass, staring up at the sky. It’s a clear, cool night.

Derek stands over him, nosing at Stiles’ hair then swinging his head towards the trees. He takes a half step, waiting for Stiles to follow.

“I think I’m going to hang here with the women and children,” Stiles says, craning his head back. “I’ll just slow you down. You have fun though.” He reaches up to tangle his fingers in Derek’s coarse fur before giving him a gentle shove towards the forest. “Go on.”

With one final glance over his shoulder, Derek trots off into the trees.

***

By the time they return to the house, everyone is exhausted. Derek immediately searches out Stiles as he re-enters the clearing. He’s easy enough to find, sitting by the dying bonfire chatting to Kira. The red glowing embers illuminate their faces and cast deep shadows across the lawn.

Derek pads over to them, drawn to Stiles like a moth to flame, flopping down in the grass beside Stiles.

“Good run?” Stiles asks, slumping back so that he’s half leaning against Derek. The werewolf lets out a soft contented rumble. “Mm, glad to hear it,” Stiles mumbles around a yawn.

“Ugh, it’s late,” Kira complains from where she sits. “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’ll see you boys tomorrow.” She stands with Scott’s help, and waddles back towards the house.

“I think I’m going to call it too.” Stiles pats Derek on the shoulder and stands slowly, taking the time to stretch before heading inside.

Derek waits until he’s inside before he heads off in search of his discarded clothes, still sitting and collecting dew on the grass. He shifts, picking up his sweatpants and shaking them out. He pulls them on and makes his way towards the porch.

“You should be proud of what you’ve created here.” Sarah joins him at the top of the steps. They lean against the porch railing and watch the wolves still sprawled out in the grass after the run. “You’ve built a strong pack. I know Talia would be proud of you.”

Derek ducks his head. There’s a warm feeling in his stomach at the Alpha’s words. “I didn’t think I’d find this again.” He confesses, voice low. “And, for a while I didn’t think deserved it.”

There’s a familiar footfall behind them and the comforting scent of cinnamon and vanilla.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt.” Stiles wanders up beside them. “Can I borrow a sweater?”

“Did you return the last one you ‘borrowed’?” Derek asks.

“Hey,” Stiles leans against him, one arm slung across Derek’s shoulders. “It’s not my fault your clothes are so damn comfy. If you didn’t want me taking them, you should have bought cheaper, scratchier sweaters. Ever think about that Der?”

“Fine,” Derek gives in quickly, waving Stiles off before he can launch into another tirade on the superiority of Derek’s sweaters.

“Thanks.” Stiles trots off, letting his hand trail across Derek’s back.

“You guys are good together,” Sarah says, her voice warm. “You’re lucky to have found a mate like Stiles.”

“Mm,” Derek nods, eyes following Stiles back towards the house. The words sink in and he freezes, mind frantically replaying every interaction he’s had with Stiles over the last few days, wondering how they could have possibly given her that impression.

Stiles is- he’s Stiles. He’s funny and smart and kind and— they’re not mates, no matter how much Derek might wish otherwise.

Still, he doesn’t correct her.

Instead, he makes some mumbled excuse about being tired and escapes to his bedroom.

That, at least, is the truth. It’s been a long night and now the sun is just beginning to peek up over the horizon. Derek feels as though he could sleep for a week as he climbs the stairs to the second level and throws his bedroom door open ready to crawl beneath the covers.

“Stiles.” He nudges the lump half hidden under the covers. “This isn’t your bed.”

The younger man murmurs something unintelligible and rolls onto his side.

With a sigh, Derek pulls back the covers, and climbs into bed.

***

He’s warm when he wakes.

So, very warm.

There’s a line of cinnamon scented heat pressed down the length his chest. Lying there in the soft space between sleep and wakefulness, Derek feels more comfortable that he ever has in his life.

And then the warm body in front of him shifts and Derek is suddenly very aware that Stiles is that warm body. He must have pulled him in to his chest at some point while they slept.

Carefully drawing back the arm that had been casually slung across Stiles’ waist, Derek wiggles back on the bed so that he’s no longer pressed up against his packmate. The sheets are gathered around their waists, hiding Derek’s rather unfortunate issue, but it doesn’t hide the pale expanse of skin where Stiles’ sweater has ridden up over his side.

With a bitten-off sigh Derek rolls out of bed and stumbles across to the bathroom.

He stands, head bowed beneath the spray and lets the pounding water rinse away the dirt and sweat that still clung from the full moon run. He tries not to think about the fact he’s still hard, and lets his mind drift, but his thoughts keep coming back to Stiles, stretched out in Derek’s own bed.

With one hand coming up to brace against the wall, Derek palms himself with the other. He allows a single flash of guilt before letting his thoughts drift back to the bed, to the hollow of Stiles throat. He starts slow, working up to a quick rhythm and biting back a soft moan.

He’s close, the pleasure starting to pool in his gut and Derek increases the pace. His mind wanders to the dip of Stiles’ hips between the ruched-up shirt and the low-slung sleep shorts. His own hips jerk in short aborted thrusts and he comes with a swallowed curse.

After washing away the evidence, Derek cuts the running water and reaches for a towel.

Stiles is still asleep when Derek re-enters the room, so he dresses quickly and slips out the door. The house is quiet, with most wolves having only gone to bed a few hours ago, but there’s a soft clatter of someone moving about downstairs.

“You’re up early,” Derek says, stepping into the kitchen.

Scott stifles a yawn with the back of his hand and gestures to the coffee maker that has just beeped. “The baby is awake,” he mutters, reaching for the pot. “Which means Kira is awake, which means I am awake.” He pours himself a generous serving, filling the mug up to the rim, then passes the pot over. “Why are you up?”

“Sarah thinks Stiles is my mate.” The words come out in a rush.

“Yeah? And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?”

“I mean…” Scott looks uncertain. “What’s the problem? Was that all she said?”

“She said we’re good together.”

“Okay.”

“Scott.”

“What?” Scott leans back against the counter. “You are! You’re like the pack mom and dad.”

Derek waves him off. “Stiles doesn’t even like me like that!”

Scott scoffs against the rim of his mug. “What are you talking about? Stiles is crazy about you.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Dude, can’t you smell it? He’s like, super aroused around you, like all the time.”

“That’s just Stiles’ scent. He always smells like that.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Derek’s expression goes blank. “He doesn’t?”

Shaking his head, Scott continues. “It’s only when he’s around you… or talking about you… or thinking about you. It’s super gross.”

“I didn’t know.”

“He’s over here all the time! He’s asleep in your bed right now- don’t give me that look, you reek of Stiles.” Scott refills his mug and moves to pat Derek on the arm. “He likes you man, like, really, really likes you. Honestly, you’d have to be blind not to see it.”

***

The Robertson pack head off the next morning once everyone is well rested. There are fewer people around to see them off— Scott had been called in to an emergency at the vet and Erica had dragged Boyd off to visit her parents.

“It was really good to see you Derek. Please don’t be a stranger.” Derek lets himself be bundled up in a hug before Sarah moves on to say goodbye to the rest of the pack. “Stiles, you make sure to remind that stubborn mate of yours to take a break every now and then.”

Watching from the corner of his eye, Derek can’t quite read Stiles’ facial expression. If he’s surprised, he certainly doesn’t say anything, just returns the Alpha’s hug and cheerfully waves until the car disappears down the driveway.

Once they’re gone, Derek makes his excuses and escapes to his bedroom. Despite Scott’s assurances, he still hasn’t said anything to Stiles.

“We need to talk.”

Derek starts so badly at the voice in his room. “How do you keep getting in?” He asks, turning to face the doorway.

“Magic.”

“Still not funny.”

“Uh, it’s hilarious,” Stiles says, grinning.

“The door was locked Stiles.”

“I know, figured you were either moping about something or jerking off. Decided to take my chances.” He walks into the room, shutting the door behind him and leans against the far wall. “Anyway, you’re dressed, so you probably weren’t jerking off, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’ve been avoiding me since yesterday, something’s wrong.” He’s still smiling, but Stiles’ scent has turned tart with concern.

“It was nothing, just something Alpha Robertson said.”

“I like her.” Stiles gazes at Derek thoughtfully. He pushes away from the wall and crosses the room to sit on the bed. “She seems like a good Alpha.”

“She is.”

“You’re a good Alpha too.”

Derek smiles, ducking his head. It’s high praise coming from Stiles.

“A little clueless sometimes...”

The smile drops from his face.

“Let me guess.” Stiles leans forward, his arms braced against his knees. “Your current mopey face has something to do with what Sarah said before?”

Derek can’t look at him, he stares at the patterns in the carpet instead.

“The other night, she called us mates and you didn’t correct her.”

Derek’s stomach drops as his head jerks up. “You heard that?”

“It wasn’t exactly whispered. She said it right as I was leaving. Why-” Stiles swallows audibly. “Why didn’t you correct her?”

Letting out the breath he’s been holding, Derek asks, “Why didn’t you?”

He watches Stiles’ face carefully, scrutinising every little expression that flickers across his face in that second, reading the exact moment he makes up his mind with the slight lift of one brow and the uptick at the corners of his mouth.

“I wanted it to be true.”

Derek can only imagine what his own face must look like, caught someplace between shock and joy at Stiles’ words. His grin is probably bordering on manic when he says, “me too.”

“Oh. That’s-” Stiles licks his lips and tries again. “Good. That’s good. I’m, uh-” His gaze flick from Derek’s eyes to his lips. “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles’ hand hooks into the Derek’s shirt, drawing him in. Fingers tangle in his hair and then Stiles’ lips are on his, warm and urgent.

When they pull away from each other Stiles laughs, knocking his knees into Derek’s.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long.

*Epilogue*

The glare from the window falls right across Derek’s face and he shifts, slowly surfacing from the depths of sleep. He drags his arm up to cover his face, provoking a grunt from the person who’d been using it as a pillow.

Stiles shifts, rolling over to blink up at Derek.

“Morning.”

Derek throws his arm over Stiles’ hip, dragging him in so their bodies are flush. “You’re in my bed.”

“Nuh uh, it’s my bed now,” Stiles teases sleepily, stealing a quick kiss before tucking his head under Derek’s chin. “Oh.” He pulls away suddenly and rolls to the edge of the bed, leaning over to rummage around underneath it. Sitting back up, he holds out a present wrapped in brightly coloured paper. “Happy birthday.”

Derek sits up against the pillows and takes the parcel. “Thank you.”

“I got you a Christmas present too,” Stiles says. “But you can’t open it until we get to Dad’s.” He gestures for Derek to unwrap the paper. “It’s not much.”

“It’s perfect.”

#ravenclawkward-art #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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little-red-toyota · 3 years

Text

Final good bye to the fandom

TW//Trauma, triggers, nsfw, sexual themes, rape, domestic abuse e.g.

This is gonna be a long ass post…

It has taken me a while to get emotionally strong enough to do this, as I will have to think back at some traumatic events from my past to address some of these things. That's why I waited until I got home from vacation with my family, as it will seriously affect my mood and mental health, and I want to be near my doctor and therapist, just in case.

And also, I know that the majority of those reading this will invalidate me and tell me I am making things up to clear my name. So, I literally have to torment myself to write a blog post people will just brush off as bogus anyway. But I will do it now that I am in safe surroundings. Then it will be off my chest, and I can finally move on. If people will continue stirring up the past, it will be their problem, not mine.

I think I should write one last blog post where I address everything. I have left the TTTE-fandom, but I will write that one as my final goodbye to the fandom. I just have to find out everything I've been accused of so I can properly address them all in order. I might leave out details of my life that is too hard for me to open up about. I know most of you will just invalidate me anyway.

1. The Stepney fic and glorifying rape.

2. My mafia-AU.

3. The Darin incident.

4. Being a pedophile. (Where do they get this from anyway??)

5. Running the NSFW-blog.

6. Drawing penises/boobs on trains. Drawing age-regression art.

Is there more?

Ah... yes! Faking my own suicide, of course!

7. "Faking" being suicidal.

8. Having the audacity to survive and go on living.

9. "Making up" my past trauma to justify writing fics to cope with it.

10. Being a nazi for being interested in WW2 history and for being Norwegian and having so-called nazi-letters in my last name (actual letters of the Norwegian alphabet).

11. Putting a white-supremacist flag (the actual flag of Norway) on my porch on family birthdays and our national day.

12. Being a danger to my daughter.

Anything else that needs to be addressed? What else am I being accused of? Send me a dm and I will add it to the post.

Okay, I will bump the Stepney fic down a bit as it is the most traumatic thing for me to address, I will save that one for last.

2 and 3. The dark au/mafia au where I gave some TTTE characters some rather dark and unpleasant character traits, and the whole incident with Darin and the pedo-Salty was addressed in this blog post written by my husband last year, so I am not opening that can of worms again: https://little-red-toyota.tumblr.com/post/623743183795470336/in-light-of-recent-events

Even the thing about Toby cheating on Henrietta is addressed there.

As for the au, I never fully explored it as I started losing interest in TTTE around the same time. I found other things to enjoy and TTTE faded into the background and the au was dropped before I even wrote any stories, apart from the one about Toby and Henrietta.

Some people claim, like this lovely individual, that most of the characters were rapists and pedos. No, not most. Only one of each. And I did not write more than one story about rape and suicide. Where does this person even get that from? Someone who told someone who had heard from someone who might have heard….?

Don't spread rumors unless you are sure that they are true.

Anyway, it's all addressed in that blog post in that link. I don't see how this mafia au is any worse than other dark post-apocalyptic or violent aus. It mostly was about the diesel mafia and their illegal businesses, not about sex, even if it did occur now and then. I find the substance abuse in it to be more problematic tbh…

4. Being a pedophile.

I don't even know how to defend myself against this one, as I don't even know why people think I am pedophile. They only throw the accusation out with no backing evidence, so I have no idea where it comes from or what it is that makes people think I am one.

Apart from one claim that I had faved "porn" alongside "strangers'" baby photos on DA. I addressed that earlier though. As DeviantArt doesn't sort what you click "like" on, it all ends up in the same folder unless you actively go through it and sort it into categories, which I don't bother most of the time. It also doesn't say WHEN it was added to your faves. So, I can have faved an artistic nude on Saturday, and then faved my friend's family photo on Thursday. It's not like I actively search for porn, get all steamed up and then look at pictures of children. WTF.

The few children I have faved are not from complete strangers, but long-term friends of mine. Yes, it is possible to have friends on the same website. I have actually met a lot of my RL friends through DeviantArt. I posted photos of my daughter when she was a baby, they would fave it and congratulate me. So, I did the same when they had a baby. As simple as that. Nothing weird or perverted about it. Due to people doxxing me last year however, I deleted the photos of me, my husband and my daughter from DeviantArt, so it's no longer there.

Porn isn't allowed on DeviantArt anyway. The nudes there are so-called artistic nudes, and for the most part I use them as pose-references when I draw as it is easier to draw a pose using a nude base and then dress them up once you got the pose right.

"The very naked" centaurs I have faved. Well, I like the mythological creature Centaur. And as far as I know… they do not wear clothes, so how are they NOT nude? Look it up, it's a horse body with a human torso instead of horse head. I don't see them as sexual, but what do I know? Maybe YOU do?

I have no sexual interest in children whatsoever.

5. Running the NSFW-blog on Tumblr and Twitter.

Yes. I was one of six people modding that blog. ONE of six, so I refuse to take the full blame here.

MerciResolution has openly admitted to being the founder, and she recruited me and some others to modify as the confession load became too heavy for one person to handle alone.

The original blog on Tumblr worked as follows: People would anonymously send a confession to our askbox, we would add a picture (sometimes photoshopped) to the text and post it on the blog. Always tagged as NSFW and with proper trigger warnings if necessary! The blog itself was also marked as explicit, so it didn't appear in searches and such.

For us, this blog was nothing but a joke. We did it for shits and giggles. If anyone took it seriously and thought we got off to the stuff that was posted, we apologize for that, but to us it was just for laughs. And we DID laugh a lot, you guys should have seen the weird shit people sent us sometimes!

We had fun and we never thought anyone would take it seriously, so we never thought of writing "joke" in the description or anything. It never occurred to us that it could be anything but a joke.

We also made a Twitter account for it, also locked for minors. But it was quickly hacked, and someone changed the password so we could no longer access it. We made another account and forgot about the old one…

After a while, the original mods started losing interest and the blog (both on Tumblr and Twitter) became less active. That's when a person I had known for years, and wrongfully trusted, came forward and wanted to take over ownership. So, the ownership was handed over to Russalita/Charlie.

That turned out to be huge mistake!

Me and the other mods had more or less forgotten that the blogs existed, when suddenly someone started bashing me and getting up in my arms over it. I got seriously confused as I hadn't been active on it in almost a year. But as it turned out, Russalita had removed the mature filters and made the accounts open for all the see. Even minors.

And as people knew I was one of the mods, they fired their guns at me. I can see why though, so I'm not pointing any fingers here.

I tried contacting her by phone, asking her to lock the accounts again, but she gave me a less than polite response, hung up and then blocked my number…

So, I decided to try to shut the blogs down on my own, trying the old passwords. It worked on the Tumblr-account, and I managed to password protect it, for some reason it couldn't be fully deleted. But the Twitter account had gotten its password changed by Russalita. I was however able to get a new password by logging into the e-mail we had used to create it. I deleted the Twitter blog fully. It can't be re-activated even if we wanted to. It's gone.

But it turns out the old, hacked one is still up and now open for everyone. And this one poses a huge problem as we have no way of getting into it to delete it. Only thing we have been able to do so far is reporting it and hope it will be removed by Twitter. So I only have one thing to say about it: report it.

I am no longer running any NSFW TTTE blog anywhere, nor do I have interest in doing so. So, if you come across one, claiming to be me or any of the other mods, it is false.

6. Drawing penises/boobs on trains. Drawing age-regression art.

People seem to believe I have drawn genitals on trains. I have never done such. Any art on the NSFW-blog with genitalia on the trains were sent in by confessors and was not drawn by me. Most of them seems to have been drawn by someone who goes by the name "The Lance".

I HAVE drawn things for the NSFW blog, but there were no genitalia in those drawings. I drew Frank of Arlesdale looking grossed out by (I don't know what the part is named in English, but it is connected to the brakes of the engine) that stick-like thing on his bufferbeam being wet from whatever the confessor did to him. I drew an over-exaggerated comical pic of a horrified Peter Sam getting his face licked by his driver, who had an enormous tongue. I also did a couple of manips. Mostly maniping engine faces on humans, like the one where Gordon's face is on a less than fit guy flailing his shirt around, and the Arlesdale smallies' faces on a movie poster from Magic Mike. One with Mr.Conductor in a giant bun while Pinchy is applying ketchup on him, for a confession about eating him, I think? I've done some more, but I forgot what it was, I only know I loved making them comical rather than erotic, as I saw the blog as a joke overall.

I HAVE also drawn aheago faces on engines because it looks hilarious. Though I have only drawn them on my OCs and the NRS engines, not TTTE characters.

Point is I have never drawn genitalia on trains. Ever. And I likely never will. It's not THAT much fun drawing NSFW stuff.

I see from this screenshot that a certain MK-Instrumentalist claim that all my personal art is age-regression art and infantilism…

Whose art have you been looking at? Because it's definitely not mine. I have drawn a couple of baby/chibi diesels… But claiming that all of my 700 or so artworks are depicting infantilism and age-regression stuff? I suggest people go have a look for themselves. I haven't drawn that. That MK-guy has been desperately trying to cancel me for ages for reasons only himself know. I don't even know the guy, and he doesn't know me, yet he wants to see me beheaded. Go figure.

I was for a long time bothered by some age-regressor on Tumblr who just wouldn't leave me alone with their weird asks, who tried to force themselves on me and some other artists here. They claim age-regression isn't a fetish, but the shit they sent to my askbox certainly looked like a fetish to me.

I don't want anything to do with that stuff. It weirds me out.

And no. I have never drawn pedophilia or rape art either. This guy can't even make up his mind on which one to accuse me of.

7 and 8. Faking suicide and having the audacity to survive and go on living.

As many know, after the intense shitstorm against me last summer, thanks to Darin, I attempted suicide. I didn't succeed as my husband came home early. I was gone for a few days but returned when a young boy reached out to me for help as he was being groomed and didn't know who else to turn to.

Recently I saw a screenshot where someone claimed me to have faked suicide, and that I just came back after a few days when everything had died down.

Wow.

I am truly sorry I survived.

I don't remember much from those days to be honest, but as the load became too heavy and the bullying too intense, piling up on 30 years of old trauma… I decided to end it. I must warn you guys who might get triggered now; there are detailed descriptions of a suicide attempt. Proceed with caution. People told me I was a bad mother among other things, having had those same thoughts myself (according to my husband, I am a good mom) and people just confirming them, I thought that my daughter would be better off growing up without me. I could have chosen a more effective suicide method, but I was afraid my daughter would be the first to find me, so I wanted it to be clean and look like I was just sleeping. That way it could be explained as natural causes.

So, I decided to overdose on pills. I downed all pills I could find in the house that had a warning triangle on it (strong pain meds etc.) and then went to my computer to delete my online existence, especially the personal data.

As a former paramedic, I should have known better. Because after half an hour, my body started reacting. But not the way I had hoped and wanted. I started retching and almost vomiting. That's when my husband came home from work and found me. He immediately saw the empty packages and knowing my past suicidal tendencies, he reacted instinctively. He put his fingers down my throat and had me puke everything up, then he called an ambulance and had me admitted to the hospital.

I don't remember anything from the days I spent there. But I have been told they emptied my stomach and gave me lots of fluids. I was then assigned a psychiatrist which I am still seeing today.

I was gone for those days because I was in hospital, not because I was pulling some kind of trick and pretending to have ended myself.

So… I am sorry I "faked" my suicide.

I'm sorry my husband saved me. I am sorry the medics and doctors succeeded in saving my life.

I am sorry I survived and proceeded to live on. If I ever make another attempt, I promise to do better.

Why are you guys so persistent in trying to push people to suicide anyway? Do you get a kick out of it? Why do people have to be pushed to that point before you care?

What did we tell our daughter? Simply that I got sick and had to go to the hospital. She took that well.

I've seen a lot of people wonder why I am still around. Why shouldn't I? Does my daughter deserve to lose her mother over some online crap she doesn't even know about? I owe her to live and watch her grow up, to help her with her homework and whatever else a parent needs to do. I also owe my husband to stay by his side, like I promised him the day we got married. Even if I do not wish to live.

I'm sorry I survived, guys. Really, I am.

9. "Making up" my past trauma to justify writing fics to cope with it. And 1. The Stepney fic and glorifying rape.

First… why would anyone make up trauma? It's not like it's a competition to have the worst life, is it?

Sadly, I don't have to make up anything. My life HAS been rocky up until the birth of my daughter. I have been through so much trauma I couldn't even fathom it myself before my therapist listed it all up to me. Until then, I had just been casually talking to her about it, like I would talk about the weather. I didn't cry or get in touch with my emotions even once while telling everything, because I was taught from an early age to never complain, to suck it up and go on. So, no matter what people did to me, I would just smile and go on, even if it killed me inside. I did not want to show any sign of weakness, because then they would attack me. A habit I developed through years of being bullied in school. Never show feelings, just pretend nothing could hurt you, then they would eventually grow tired of it and stop.

Except they never did. They kept going through all my years at school. To such an extent, my boyfriend didn't dare to show himself hanging out with me out of fear of being bullied himself… And as we grew older, he would start cheating on me too. And I kept smiling…

My next boyfriend was a bit older than me, and while that didn't bother me, as we were both well over legal age, it bothered him. We only lasted one year before he bailed out and ditched me out of the blue via an sms.

The next guy… was the one who scarred me for life. Both physically and mentally. A charmer at first of course, until I was trapped. He was unemployed, so he moved in with me, and I paid for everything from food to phone bills. All while he was dating several women behind my back, calling various pay-phone services and in general acted like a manwhore. As I worked as an electrician (also being subject to massive bullying and sexual harassment at work), he would be jealous of all my co-workers and if I ever came home late or worked overtime, he accused me of cheating and was extremely violent about it. He would also isolate me from my friends and family, making me think I couldn't get any other than him. If any of my male friends (almost all my friends are male…) came over, he would give me such hell afterwards, it was easier just to tell them it was a bad time to visit. And after a while, they stopped asking. This guy also demanded sex. Every single day. If I refused, he would punish me, mostly by flogging me with lampcords, belts or whatever else he had at hand. My back is a criss cross map of old, faded scars even now nearly 20 years later. I would have shown you a photo, but I am so self-concious about my body after all the bullying, I hardly even show my face in photos. Maybe one day… but I certainly need more therapy before being able to show naked skin to strangers, even if it's just my back. So I had non-consensual sex with him more often than consensual. It has taken me hours in therapy to even take the word in my mouth and call it by its proper name: rape. I was raped, almost every single day for little over a year, before I found the strength to break out of the relationship and finally throw him out of my house. It all ended when I found some revealing texts on his cellphone, which he was extremely protective of… Texts that revealed that he had engaged in a relationship with a 12 year old girl, and it had been going on for a while. Not only was he cheating on me, but he was a pedophile too. Needless to say, I didn't even let him pack his stuff before I fetched my shotgun and chased him out of the house. I don't know where I got the courage and strength from… but I was furious.

I thought I had gotten rid of him, but no. He started stalking me in public. Hiding behind shelves when I was shopping, his car following mine everywhere I went. I received weird letters in the mail with cut-out letters from newspapers, glued together. On top of all, his creepy, old uncle called me with some rather disgusting suggestions and tried to come on to me really hard. I had to change my phone number, and after coming home to my house and finding out someone had entered my home using a key, only to empty the drawer of my night table, I also had to change the locks of my doors as he had clearly copied the key.

He didn't stop until I got the police involved.

So, when I finally met the guy who would become my husband (or rather, we found out we were made for each other, we had known each other since we were 11 years old), I had major trust issues towards men especially and it took him endless patience and love to break me out of that shell.

But the trauma doesn't stop… or start there.

In the year 2000, on January 4th, I would experience something that made me unable to even look at a train for over 10 years. The Åsta accident (google it). I was a volunteer in the Norwegian Red Cross then, and a paramedic in training. Back then, you were allowed to start training the year you would turn 16. So, I was still 15 when I witnessed the most traumatic event of my life. The day started out calm, we were stocking up the ambulance after delivering a patient to the hospital when we got a call with the code "500", which means "catastrophe". Normally when we get that code it is a rehearsal… so we drove towards the coordinates with the thoughts that this was just an exercise, nothing real… we didn't prepare ourselves mentally… And we ended up in the closest thing to hell I have ever been… The sight of the burning trains, the smells, the sounds, the screaming… I still wake up by nightmares to this day. Though the moment that haunts me the most is when the screaming stopped… because we all knew why… I don't want to go into details, but 19 people died that day. But we also saved 67 people. I try to hold on to that thought. The age limit for starting paramedic training was raised after this, as I wasn't the only one who was too young for an accident of that scale. Today it is 18. A memorial stone has been placed on the site, but I still haven't been able to bring myself to visit it, even if we drive past the site every year on our way to visit family further north in the country. I needed hours of therapy to even be able to ride a train after this. To have gotten to the point where I now volunteer at a heritage railway and is in training to become a driver, is a HUGE step for me. My next goal is to visit the site of the accident.

On to next trauma… A previous employer, a rather large electric company in Norway, whom I worked for 8 years. The first five years were great, we were a close-knit bunch of electricians, and we had a great relationship with the bosses and higher-ups. Our labor union was strong.

It all started changing in 2009 when we got new leaders… and those decided to get rid of everyone who were a member of the union. One by one, they started harassing workers in various ways, trying to get them to quit. In Norway, they need a legal reason to fire you, it's not enough to not like someone. There has to be a good reason to fire someone e.g. theft, neglecting work… Since they didn't have any reasons to fire us, they started making our work lives gradually harder and harder until we would break and find another job. Sadly, one of my co-workers couldn't stand the pressure… He bid us all farewell as normal one Friday and hung himself the following day.. But as I was a girl in a male-dominated profession, I had been taught at an early stage to ignore anything that would hurt me emotionally, just arch my neck and plow through. I kept doing that, despite starting to feel more and more mental and physical pains… even my co-workers pointed out how I was being mistreated before I acknowledged it myself. I tried to tell my boss, but he reacted by treating me worse. So, I went to his boss… and that's when things went to hell. Instead of doing his job and listen, he started harassing me too. He deemed my over-weight a problem, and he started demanding I gave him detailed lists of what I ate and how much I worked out… Completely illegal of course, but by this point I was broken down to the point I thought I was useless and couldn't get another job… so I accepted. He started accusing me of lying about my exercise, so I started training at the gym in the basement at work instead. One day, while I was there, he locked the doors and turned the lights off. There were no windows, no cellphone reception and hardly anyone walking by in that part of the building… I sat there in the pitch dark for 3 hours before I was let back out. I still get badly triggered by narrow, dark rooms and rooms with no windows. To such an extent, I jumped out of a small window on the second floor of a gym when I was in boot camp. I was allowed to train downstairs in the bigger gym with windows on all walls after that incident…

The harassment at work went on for years until I finally snapped, ended up at the hospital and got into therapy for the first time. I don't want to go into depth about what more happened, I just can't… I can't bring myself to write it all. Luckily, I had gotten more education while working, so when I graduated, another company called and gave me an offer I just couldn't refuse. So, I quit my job and never looked back, even if the traumas I suffered there still haunts me to this day.

Sadly, even after switching jobs, now getting a safe job with sane leaders… I started to relax, and that's when all my past trauma came washing over me. And one day, on while driving to work, I had my first serious panic attack. It started as this feeling I used to have at the old company; getting sick to my stomach and having the sense of someone being out to get me… then it developed to breathing problems… and I had to pull the car over. I broke into tears, struggling to breathe, stumbling out of the car to read the logo on its side just to reassure my body and brain that I worked for a different company now and there was no reason for panic. I called my boss and let him know, because he also was a "refugee" from that other company, so he knew what me and several others had gone through. He managed to talk me down enough for me to come to the office to talk to him. That helped.

I got back into therapy. A better therapist this time. But sadly, it got apparent that I could no longer work as an electrician as there was too many triggers. I was diagnosed with PTSD, severe depression, and social anxiety. I'm still working on these and get better slowly.

I have been in therapy for a long time now, and it was my therapist that suggested I wrote fics to cope and "write it out". I tried to make up my own characters for this, but never felt any connection. I was by this time in the TTTE fandom and had met people with similar trauma and pasts like myself, and I started roleplaying with some of them. Me and a girl from UK then agreed to try to rp/co-write a fic to cope with our trauma. We both found it easier to write about pre-established characters we had a connection to, even if it was an au that made it barely recognizable from the original source material. Only the names and some minor things were similar.

That fic was Stepney's Virginity Gets Lost.

Do we regret writing it? No. It helped us write out our traumas and helped us overcome some mental obstacles in out therapy process. Our therapists cheering us on, because we finally managed to break through the hard shell surrounding us. We both cried for the first time in years while writing it, some of it through roleplay, because some parts were extremely graphic and brutal and very mentally exhausting. We had to take long breaks between each writing session, so the fic wasn't written in just a weekend. But we got a lot of darkness out of our minds by writing all this. And we were definitely NOT aroused by it, like this pervert here claims.

It's when you dare to touch and feel the difficult and dark emotions, you can finally move along in the grieving process.

Should it have been posted online?

In retrospect, no. But at the time, we thought it might help other trauma victims, as we also found reading about other people's experiences and fictions touching painful subjects helpful to ourselves. So, we posted it, never expecting it to cause such a controversy 3 years later. In fact, we had more or less forgotten about it until it came back to bit us in the ass. Or rather, bite ME in the ass, as I am getting the full blame alone.

Also, despite what people claim, it was not posted openly for children to read. It was tagged properly and hidden behind mature content walls. If a minor chooses to break that wall, that's not the author's fault. It's the same as watching a movie with an age restriction way above your age, not the filmmaker's fault.

I think MerciResolution puts it nicely here:

"If your problem lies with you KNOWINGLY entering adult spaces when you’re a minor, ignoring all mature warnings that are literally SCREAMING at you “hey, this is what you’re getting into. Are you sure you want to proceed?”

That’s ENTIRELY on you. YOU are the fucking problem.

We’re marking mature things as best as we properly can. If you decide to ignore them, that’s your own damn fault. We’re not your fucking babysitters."

Also, I never posted the story on Wattpad, so if anyone has done that, it's not me. I posted the story on Fanfiction.net, DeviantArt and AO3, that's all. If it's posted anywhere else, it's not done by me.

I had honestly moved on from it when people pulled me back into it.

Other people who have done questionable shit in that fandom are easily forgiven because "they have moved on" or "changed". Yet, nobody believes I can move on or change…?

I had moved on; my interests had changed. But people won't let me, so here I am… Having to defend some crap I did years ago. A fic I no longer have any interest in.

I'm not even interested in TTTE anymore. I have moved on with my own book project now and I would like to focus on that.

So, deleting my TTTE content, whether it was the SFW or NSFW stuff, didn't cost me a penny. It actually felt like a relief. The only downside with it is that people now can't read it and make up their own opinion about it, but will solely believe in what others say, and those things are often seriously bent out of shape and blown out of proportions to such an extent it's barely recognizable.

If people claim that Arry and Bert rape Stepney in the fic, they have never seen it or read it. That's not what happens. That's just an assumption made by looking at the title and knowing there is a rape/torture scene in it. But I'm not gonna tell who the victim is or who performed it, because this is the only way I am able to tell who has actually read the fic or not, who is just trying to spread bullshit and who is actually telling the truth. The person in that screenshot, has no idea what he's talking about.

Does SVGL romanticize rape and abuse?

No, not in the least. It's described as the horrible, heinous acts it is and is in no way meant to be cute or romantic and definitely NOT something anyone should get off to. If anyone finds it sexy, that's their problem, not the authors'. If anything, SVGL might romanticize suicide, because one of the characters isn't able to cope with his trauma and chooses to end their life. Which is something I considered doing myself when I was in the darkest pit of depression. So, I apologize for maybe romanticizing suicide. The following chapters describe how friends and family handle the loss and grief.

It also describes a toxic relationship, where one of the parts struggles to get out of it. They eventually manage to break free, but it is not easy. This can easily be translated to my previously mentioned relationship, as it was my way of writing out my experience about how hard it is to break out of a relation when your partner has broken you down to the point where you no longer believe in yourself and your self-worth.

The last chapters start to gradually become brighter, as both our lives started getting better too. But we never really wrote the end because we both lost interest in writing TTTE content by that time and just left it hanging.

I'm not the only one who has written NSFW TTTE fanfics out there. But it seems like violence and murder is more acceptable than sexual things? I do wonder how brutally mutilating children's show characters are more tolerable than sexually abusing them. Neither should be okay.

Some content creators hide behind "it was a joke". I have been told that such topics that SVGL touches upon shouldn't be joked about… so I didn't do that, and yet it was wrong? So how should such topics be treated? Be hidden like it's a shame, like in the old days when rape victims were told to suck things up and keep it to themselves? When those subject to abuse didn't dare to speak up because people would judge them?

I think it is important to talk about these subjects and why they are so problematic. Victims shouldn't have to hide their trauma; they should be allowed to talk openly about it without fearing judgement.

Some of you claim that writing isn't a good way to cope… You're trying to dictate how trauma victims deal with their trauma, and that's a dangerous path to walk down. Nobody handles trauma the same way. You might have your thoughts on how you would react, but you'll never know until trauma hits you… and you might not react the way you had expected or planned. Trauma messes with your head and you won't be able to think clearly. It makes you do thinks you normally wouldn't have done and can make you act out of character. So, do not judge people without having been in the same situation yourself. Ever.

Someone wrote that I have "more problems that just a rape".

Read that again.

Just a rape.

This person does not know how damaging a rape can be. And if you made it this far in this post, you know I didn't only go through one, but several. Not just by my ex, but also being ambushed while I was walking home from a party, and later; a co-worker forcing himself onto me at a building site. I can't go into depth about them all, I just can't.

Just a rape…

"Just" the feeling of not being in control of your own body and your own decisions. "Just" being robbed off your dignity and self-worth. "Just" having someone intrude into your private zone, tear your clothes off and claim your body against your will. "Just" feeling how your life force leave you as you realize that fighting against it won't help you, and you silently give up and just lay down waiting for it all to be over. "Just" spending hours in the shower, scrubbing your skin until you bleed because you can't wash the filth away and you keep feeling dirty no matter how much you clean yourself. "Just" waking up at night, after having relived the scene again in a nightmare. "Just" looking over your shoulder wherever you walk because you heard something or thought you saw something or simply because someone is walking behind you. "Just" the fact that you'll never feel comfortable walking alone at night again or have someone walk behind you. "Just" never being able to relax because your body constantly think you're in grave danger. "Just" a rape…

That's such a neck-beard thing to say. Someone who clearly think of other people's bodies as property or things. Not taking into consideration that we are living, breathing individuals with feelings. And that having another person violate us isn't something we like or that we'll easily get over. We want to choose who we give ourselves to, nobody should be forced. We didn't ask to be raped. We didn't want it. We didn't like it.

Rape is trauma.

Yes, we should have chosen other characters for the story, but we did what we did, and it cannot be undone now. So, if the only thing I will be remembered for in the fandom is that ONE fic, instead of all my other content, that's what it will be. That's what people chose to. I'm moving on.

10. Being a nazi for being interested in WW2 history and for being Norwegian and having so-called nazi-letters in my last name (actual letters of the Norwegian alphabet).

*sigh*

This is something that could only happen in America, isn't it?

Some people don't bother educating themselves. The "nazi-letters" you guys are talking about is actually part of the Norwegian alphabet and has nothing to do with Nazism or white-supremacy to do at all. The Norwegian alphabet has 29 letters, the three extra is æ,ø,å or in capital letters: Æ,Ø,Å.

We can't help it if some morons over in the US abuse these letters as symbol of their twisted mindset.

Yes, my name contains one of those letters. It is my name… and I didn't choose it. It is a common Norwegian name.

As for me being a Nazi?

Those who knows me knows that I am as far from a Nazi as one can get. I despise Nazism with all my heart.

But the reason some people choose to believe so… was that some guy who has no hobbies or life went through every single fave I've made on DeviantArt since I joined the site in 2006, which is well over 20000 faves. And he found a few Nazi-characters from a web series I was following about ten years ago. I am very interested in history and especially WW2-history, so I found that particular web-series interesting and faved some artwork related to it. What this guy failed to notice is that I also faved the Allied characters… That's ALL there is to that story.

I has also faved a pic someone made of Joseph Goebbels (I think it was?) as a Pixar Car. That's not because I have any nazi-sympathies, but I simply found the concept of turning historical persons, both good and bad, into Cars as an interesting project. I would have faved any other historical Carsified person as well.

As for me being a Norwegian and have a natural pale complexion, that's not something I can help. That's nothing I choose. And it doesn't make me racist or Nazi. Period.

11. Putting a white-supremacist flag (the actual flag of Norway) on my porch on family birthdays and our national day.

Again. Get educated.

This flag… is the actual flag of my country. The Kingdom of Norway.

There is nothing Nazi about it. It is not a symbol of white-supremacy. IT IS THE FLAG OF NORWAY.

During WW2 it was even illegal, so people would paint it everywhere in a protest against the Nazi-occpation and the SS. We even decorated our Christmas trees with it, and that is a tradition that has followed us into the modern day.

Again, if some idiots in the US choose to use it as a symbol for their disgusting logic, it is not Norway or the Norwegians' fault.

12. Being a danger to my daughter.

I need people to elaborate here.

What exactly do you think I do to my daughter? What is the cause of your concern here?

The fact that I have made NSFW content? How is that harmful to her as long as I keep it away from her? You DO realize that even authors, pornstars and moviemakers have children and that they can be good parents, right?

Do you think I read pornographic content for her as bedtime stories? Or show her porn instead of kids TV? How sick are you guys, really…?

Some people even wanted CPS to take my child away from me… Have a look at these screenshots…

You want a happy, healthy, innocent child to be taken away from a stable, safe home with loving parents just because you don't like the content the mother made? You want her to be placed in foster care, where there is no guarantee that she will have a happy upbringing rather than have her stay with her parents who love her and care for her, for reasons she'll never understand and wasn't even aware of?

"Think of the children!" a lot of you say when it comes to my content. May I ask why this doesn't apply to my daughter?

Why do some of you go as far as to wishing her dead or wanting her to be removed from the home she feels safe and loved in? How is that thinking of the children?

As for the douchebag in that screenshot. You claim that if your mother did something like that you would want nothing to do with her… I have a question: Do you know EVERYTHING your mother do? Does she include you in each aspect of her life? Even her sexual life? No?

How do you know she doesn't do thing you don't approve of when you're not around? She could be a rabid pornmag reader for all you know. But stuff like that is something adults hide from their kids. So, you wouldn't know, unless you go snooping around in her business.

Everyone is entitled to privacy. What I and my husband do when our kid is not around is our business, not hers, and certainly not yours.

Porn and parenting are to be kept separate from each other. Period.

And we do.

There is absolutely no reason to be worried about my daughter. She is a happy, healthy child in a safe, stable home with family that loves her and cares for her. Not just me and my husband, but also grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

If you want to remove her from that over a stupid fanfic behind a mature content wall, you're the deranged person, not me.

This is all I have to say about all this and my time in the TTTE fandom. I have left by my own, free will. Yes, I am aware that many people don't want me there. That's fine. I don't want to be there.

I am a bit disappointed in those people who just blindly unfollowed me and unfriended me without any questions asked, just followed the leader. Big users tend to dictate who and what is worth following in that fandom. They will even protect real predators, but I'm not going to open that can of worms now. I'm done with the fandom.

Some of those people, I have been talking to regularly, even supported when they faced hardships in the fandom themselves. But when I got in trouble, they ditched me without a word…

If anything, this whole ordeal showed me who to trust and not, and who were true to their word when it came to how deep our friendship was. True friends at least give you the chance to explain before they drop you. I hold no ill feelings to those who did, at least they asked me before judging.

And those who still stayed with me, are the ones who truly know me and who I really am.

Some of the worst libels posted about me might be reported to the police, but I haven't made up my mind yet. I am not mentally strong at the moment, so I don't know if I have the strength to legally follow it all up. I will ask the cops at work for advice on the matter.

All I ask for now is some peace.

You don't have to like me. You don't have to follow me. You don't have to like my content. Feel free to invalidate me, I know a lot of you will.

But please, stop bullying me and my family.

Please stop sending me horrid messages and death threats.

Please stop doxxing me and calling me.

Please leave my family alone. If you don't care about me, at least care about them.

Please just ignore me. I have already left the fandom, there is no reason to keep hunting me.

I just want to move on and go on with my life and the content I am currently working on. After years in therapy, my life has gotten better, and I want to move on.

Please let me.

#good bye to ttte #tw//suicide #tw//rape #tw// bullying #tw//depression #tw//ptsd #tw//ttte #tw//sex #tw//abuse #tw//domestic abuse #I'm done

5 notes · View notes

abluvicn · 4 years

Note

Hi, I was wondering if you have any tips for being self taught (You're like, extremely brilliant, by the way)

hi, thank you so much, that’s so sweet!!<3 here you are:

a guide to be self-taught for all the knowledge lovers out there

1. Listen to yourself. Don’t judge your thoughts and their form. Most people are MUCH more intelligent and creative than they think they are. They just don’t notice it as they don’t pay attention to their thoughts, don’t value them the way they should.

Buy a notebook. Note every thought that has any meaning, however weird, bad or unsignificant it may seem. Don’t make it a diary, a diary is filtered. It gives you an objective, makes you try to shape your ideas a certain way. Screw the dates, calligraphy, aesthetic, screw making any sense. The whole point is to contain an unchanged stream of consciousness, to keep it unedited, so you wouldn’t lose anything. I call it A documentation of existence - you neither have to agree with what you write, nor believe it’s yours, simply acknowledge it exists.

You have no idea how many times I made a stupid note at 4am that everyone else would ignore but that later on got transformed into a whole project.

2. Sleep well and USE THAT TIME. I’m surprised how few people understand and appreciate the power of sleep. Come on, it’s literally the door to your unconsciousness, the amount of opportunities it gives is astonishing!

I used to not get it. When I was a kid I hated sleep so much, I would refuse to go to bed sometimes as I thought of it as a waste of time. In primary school I wanted to reduce my sleep time so much, I started to highly experiment on it and even followed the Uberman Schedule for some time. Now I know sleep is actually a powerful instrument that can help you increase your potential.

Learn about it, research LD, OOBE (be careful with it though) and most importantly sleep programming. They can all be extremely beneficial! Statistically we’re asleep for 1/3 of our lives so don’t waste that time.

3. Mnemotechnics. Find out what way of remembering information works best for your brain and use it. I especially recommend The Mind Palace Technique. You may’ve seen it on Sherlock and thought it’s pure fiction but I assure you it’s very much real and it’s the most effective mnemotechnic I’ve ever used. Seriously, I’m surprised how much I remember thanks to it.

If you use it right, it’s actually so efficient you may remember those things for years, if not forever - so don’t put useless and stupid stuff there. I once did it and I regret it SO much, it’s been years and this idiotic picture has just engraved in my brain... anyway, MNEMOTECHNICS!

4. Read. Read things you don’t agree with. Read things you hate. Read everything that makes you feel something. Same way with movies, plays, music, etc. Consume as much culture as you can, surround yourself with it. Let your knowledge grow, your viewpoint change, allow yourself to be influenced by the world.

5. Use drugs wisely. And yes, caffeine, theine, nicotine and alcohol do count. They have a massive influence on your brain, please don’t let them destroy it. Be especially careful with cannabis, it lowers your IQ significantly, even used only a handful of times.

6. Acknowledge that you will lose motivation and know what to do about it. It’s perfectly normal! Please never beat yourself up for it, it will only make everything worse. It’s important that you find your own way to deal with it, but if you want to know mine: I just romanticize the hell out of everything. Learning is so much easier and more enjoyable when you do it on your own terms and do it with passion.

Working on a maths assignment an hour before the deadline, irritated you have to do so, trembling in fear that you won’t make it on time? terrible, horrendous, worst experience ever.

BUT

Sitting under a tree, birds singing in the background, while you’re doing mathematical equations, thus using a beautiful way of allowing yourself to explore the universe you’re so fascinated by? - marvelous, astonishing, groundbreaking.

Seriously, just love what you do. Love everything.

7. Learn what you WANT to learn about, not only what you have to. Look for the quirks.

Usually the reason why people hate a subject is that the only way they look at it is through the eyes of the education system. Come on, ancient history is boring? Sappho had a fake husband whose name was literally Dick Allcock from Men Island. Most schools teach to stay inside the box and consume only what is useful or necessary, stripping you off any passion. Screw them. Useless facts are amazing.

8. Sudoku and chess. They increase your IQ, improve memory, creativity, problem-solving, reading skills, concentration... even fuel dendrite growth! Great excercises for planning and foreseeing. Also, they’re kinda cool, 10/10.

9. A HEALTHY DIET, REPEAT IT AFTER ME.

10. Never be scared of making mistakes or sounding stupid. Ask for help. It’s crucial, especially when you’re learning a new language. You’ll never speak it if you’re scared of twisting pronunciation or making a grammatical error. Something done not perfectly is still so much better than not done at all.

bonus: Don’t trust Duolingo. I just had to say it.

That’s it, hope this helps! If anyone has any more questions, feel free to ask.

#dark academia #culture #science #literature #art #guide #intelligence #self-taught #academia #learning tips #school #collage #university #learning #lit #knowledge

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imagining-supernatural · 4 years

Text

The Airport

Part 24 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary: You surprise Seb at the airport, eager to celebrate the good news from earlier. The next day, your demons rear up and send you spiraling again.

Word Count: 2,425

The crowd was making you nervous, but you tamped it down. It would all be worth it in a few minutes.

Sitting on the hard chair, you glanced up at the flight board, checking the plane arriving from Atlanta. It had arrived fifteen minutes ago and passengers were just now debarking. You tapped your fingers on the poster board Josselin insisted that you make. As soon as she heard you were going to surprise Sebastian at the airport, she ran out to buy supplies and the two of you (along with Brenda when she didn’t have patients) got covered in glitter and marker as you created your masterpiece.

Glitter now fell to the floor of the airport as you tap-tap-tapped the sign.

You knew there would be pictures. Your flashy sign with Sebastian Stan’s name on it was sure to draw attention. But somehow, you didn’t give a damn. You’d gotten good news this week and he wasn’t there to hold your hand. You weren’t about to waste another second without celebrating it with him.

Passengers started filtering out towards the bag carousel and you stood, waiting to see the short, dark hair you’d grown to love. As soon as you spotted him, you held the sign just below your face, not quite ready to hold it higher and draw even more attention.

Before he spotted you, he drew his phone to his ear and, a second later, yours started ringing. It was slightly awkward to hold the large poster board and grab your phone, but you managed it quickly enough.

“Hey honey,” you greeted.

“Hey. I just landed. I’m headed out to grab a cab. Should be home soon.”

“Cabs?” you asked, infusing your tone with disgust. “Aren’t those dirty? I bet you’d rather have Sean drive you, huh? Don’t wanna get that stylish tan leather jacket you have on dirty, do ya?”

His gait slowed and, even from this distance, you noticed his brow furl in confusion. It was a brief moment, then he started looking around. “You think this jacket looks good, huh?”

“I think the guy inside looks even better.”

You could see the exact moment he saw you. God, you wish you could have captured that smile on his face on film. Then his eyes slipped down to your sign and he let out a full-bodied laugh. Just the sound of it brought your own laughter and god it felt good.

The crowd between you was nothing as he pushed his way to you. A few feet in front of you, he stopped to study the sign. “Baby, how much glitter did you use on that Christmas tree?”

“Josselin,” you said, “Went a bit overboard. And pulled me and Brenda in with her. ‘Sides, I’m from Utah. You can’t go to the airport without seeing signs like these ones welcoming missionaries home. I drew on my memories of those. Glitter’s a staple in Mormon households and I had plenty of friends in the church.”

He chuckled, grabbed the sign from you to hold it to the side, and wrapped his other arm around you. “I love it.”

“I’m glad.” Pulling back just enough to look up at him, your smile took over your face. “I’ve been waiting to celebrate the good news Dr. Chowdhury gave us on Tuesday with you. Couldn’t wait for you to get home.”

“Can’t wait ‘til we get home either,” he murmured, dropping the thick poster board to the ground. It hit the floor and leaned against your legs with a wobble. Within the next moment, his hands were on your face, drawing it up to his.

There was a slight moment where you saw his eyes asking if you were okay with this, but you really didn’t give a damn about the paparazzi. You’d gotten good news and you were finally with the one person you wanted to celebrate it with. So you gripped his shirt in your fingers and raised up on your toes to press your lips to his.

You were never one for PDA, but you sure as hell weren’t one to break a kiss with Sebastian either. The entire would could go to hell for all you cared. You had a great shot at being cancer free in a month, a fuckin’ amazing husband to celebrate with, and life couldn’t get any better for you.

“Sean’s waiting outside,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Mmm… mentioning another guy… kinda kills the mood, sweetheart.”

With a giggle, you stepped out of his arms just long enough to direct him in the right direction. He wrapped an arm around your waist and grabbed your sign with his other hand. Your own arm found its place around his waist and you let him support most of your weight. Sure, you were still buzzing with excitement, but that didn’t negate the exhaustion your treatment was still causing.

“How’re you feeling? Feel up to grabbing dinner somewhere?”

“Mmm.” You considered for a moment. “Yeah. Long as I can get some decent pasta.”

He grinned down at your upturned face and pressed a quick kiss to your brow. “Anything for you.”

“Okay, girl, how are you and that sexy husband of yours so fuckin’ cute?”

Jasmin’s question made you laugh. “Did pictures from yesterday get posted?”

“I just sent you links. Seriously. You guys at the Met? At Thanksgiving? Now at the fuckin’ airport?” You put your phone on speaker and set it beside you. Maybe it was the exertion of surprising Seb at the airport yesterday, but you were so exhausted. Your entire body was pudding. Holding your phone up to your ear was hard enough. “Seriously, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you two got married for real. For, like, true love or some shit like that. Cause that’s what the pictures online make it look like.”

“True love. Like in Enchanted? Seb would be Giselle, and I’d be… whoever McDreamy plays. I forgot his name. Obviously I’m far too logical to be Giselle.”

“And Seb brought you into his wonderful, magical life of hope and optimism.”

“Oh, fuckin’ shut up. Don’t make this cheesy analogy worse than I intended it to be.”

“Since when are you two kissing, huh? Little Miss Independent? Little Miss I-Can’t-Let-Anyone-Into-My-Life-Because-I’ll-Ruin-Their-Lives? Little Miss I-Don’t-Need-Love—”

“Okay, okay, you can stop it right there.”

“Stop it right where?” She asked petulantly. “Right at looooove? Huh? Now why would you be touchy about that word? Gee, I wonder…”

“Okay stop this little bit you goin’ on. It’s not cute.”

You could just see her shit-eating grin from thousands of miles away. “Babe.”

“Babe,” you returned, glancing towards the door. Sebastian was working out. He wouldn’t join you at the hospital for another fifteen minutes at least. There was no way he would overhear this conversation. “I know what you’re getting at.”

“And?”

“And stop it. Look, I—” you cut off and took a deep breath to collect your thoughts and feelings. “I’m not stupid. I-I-I know this isn’t just… just a fake marriage anymore. Not really. There’s… there are feelings. And I’m not the best at feelings, but even I know that this isn’t really the best situation to, you know, develop actual feelings for people.”

“Shut up. Just shut up, Y/N.”

Geez. You’d never heard her so sharp.

“Look, Y/N. I love you. You know that. You’re my best friend—hell you’re practically my sister. And I know that the logical part of your brain has been analyzing every interaction you’ve been having with Sebastian and looking for any reason to yeet the fuck right out of his life as soon as you can to minimize damage, but take a fucking step back, babe.”

“To take a step back, I’d have to know where I’m actually standing.”

“Look at those pictures people posted from the airport, Y/N. Look at how Seb looks at you. How you look at him. He’s an amazing actor, but no one could fake that look.” She paused, probably for dramatic effect. “You know where you stand. Neither of you have the balls to say it yet, but you both know.”

You stared at the bag of chemicals being pumped into your body. What did it say about you that the only way to stay alive was to have chemicals pumped into your body that literally made your own cells attack each other?

“Babe?” Jaz’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You’re real quiet over there.”

“I’m just thinkin’.”

“Think out loud. I can’t help you if you’re silent.”

I think that’s the point. “I just guess I never really thought about what would happen when this is all over, you know? I let Seb con me into hoping it’d end well and that I’d have the surgery and I’d live… but I don’t think I ever really believed. Not until this week.”

“And? What do you want to happen?”

“I don’t k—”

“You do know. Y/N. You know. It’s just you and me here. What do you want to happen?”

“Jaz, it’s not that eas—”

“It is that easy, Y/N. After your surgery, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t kn—”

“Y/N!”

“I wanna stay here!” You gasped as soon as the words were out of your mouth.

“And?” Jasmin prompted quietly.

“I wanna stay with Seb,” you said, more quietly. “Holy shit.”

The silence was far too loud and, for the first time in this conversation, you were glad when Jasmin spoke. “Feels good to say it out loud, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, closing your eyes against the sudden head rush. “Yeah it does. Fuck. Shit, I think I’m gonna puke.”

Jasmin had the gall to laugh at you. “I’ve been waiting for you to fall in love with someone forever. You’ll never make fun of me for eating ice cream and watching Criminal Minds for two weeks after a breakup again.”

Breakup?

“Though,” she continued, “I sincerely believe that you won’t go through a heartbreak with Sebastian.”

“I need you to shut up right the fuck now, Jaz.”

“Look, babe, you know I’m your guide to self-realization. You can’t—”

“No, seriously Jaz. Shut up. I-I-I don’t know if it’s the conversation or the tumor, but my head is swimming right now. I’m…” You took in a deep breath, hoping it would help. It didn’t. “I think I need to… take a nap, maybe. Eat some food. Forget about all this emotional shit for a hot minute.”

“You’re not gonna forget.”

“I’m gonna sure as hell try.” You considered how long that would last and rolled your eyes. The motion caused the pain in your head to spike and you immediately regretted it. “Until I see his stupid face, I guess. Then it’ll all come right back.”

“Mmhmm. Well, take it easy, okay? All joking aside, I’m super happy for you and you know that my number one priority is seeing that cancer eat its own ass, right? Whatever else happens in your life, we can handle. Good or bad.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re the reason I stayed alive long enough to actually get out of Wyoming. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

“You’re makin’ me blush, Y/N/N. Take a nap, okay? When you wake up, you’ll be back to your anti-emotional, super-logical self and the world will be right again.”

Her words forced a soft laugh from you, even as your eyes stayed closed. “Yeah, okay. Hey, I’m sure we’ll talk before then, but if we don’t… I’ll see you on the twenty-seventh.”

“Celebrating New Years in New York, bitch!” She crowed, punctuating her statement with a loud Wooo!

“New Years in New York,” you agreed, lips pulling up into a smile. “Just like we’ve dreamt of.”

Jasmin was quiet for a minute before she laughed. “Dreams do come true. You just got my dream of marrying a celebrity.”

And your dream of…

“I’ve never really had a dream.”

“We both got out of that shitty town. That was your dream. You got away from your family’s chains.”

“Did I?” You asked bitterly. “Fuckin’ reporters brought up that drama as soon as they figured out who I was. ‘Sides, Jaz… I have blood on my hands.”

“You didn’t have a choice”

“We always have a choice.”

“Your father had a choice. And he made the wrong choice every damn day.”

“I still took that choice away from him. Just like he did to me and my sister.”

“No, no, no, no. Babe, you are not going down this road again. Not now. You got amazing news earlier this week. Stop letting your dead dad ruin it.”

“My dead dad is dead because of me, Jaz.”

“It was self-defense, Y/N. Self-fucking-defense.”

This was definitely not the way you wanted your mood to go today, but you had years of practice going into this hole and your few months trying a healthier way with Sebastian just faded away. There was no crying baby to draw you from your thoughts. “There was no imminent threat. Self-defense wouldn’t hold up in court, Jaz. He was asleep. I should have just run away.”

“And leave your mom with him?”

This was an argument you and Jasmin had many times. She was the only person who knew the truth. Well, her and your sister.

You huffed heavily, ready to repeat your lines in the scene. “Well, she killed herself a few years later, so what does it fucking matter.”

You killed your abusive father, your emotionally distant mother killed herself, and your sister, who abused her own sons, killed her own abusive boyfriend.

God, why did you ever think you would end up any different?

A brittle, bitter laugh escaped your lips, sending a spark of pain from your head down to your chest. “I’m gonna take that nap now, Jaz. See you in a week.”

“Y/N, we are not ending this conversation like—”

You hung up your phone and immediately set it on silent.

It was just your luck to find an amazing guy, a guy who actually made you fall in love with him, and then realize at the last moment that you would never be able to deserve him. You would always be walking on glass, waiting for some latent gene to spark and turn you into a monster.

Yes, you wanted to stay with Seb after the surgery… but you couldn’t.

The original deal was to get a divorce after this was all over.

You had to make sure that’s what happened.

You guys didn’t really think I’d keep everyone happy forever, did you? And what about that bombshell about her killing her dad? Anyone see that coming?? Where will they go from here?

CHAPTER 25: THE COLLAPSE

#sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian x you #sebastianxyou #sebastianxreader #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader

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lefaystrent · 5 years

Text

Nursing Home au

Patton works at the nursing home as a registered nurse, because the man truly cares for people.

He oversees the activities of the rest of the nursing staff, and he’s always keeping them in high spirits.

There’s a vacancy for a nursing aide. Who could possibly fill that position?

It’s Virgil.

At first, Patton honestly doesn’t think Virgil should have been hired there.

Patton had seen Virgil during the hiring process, and his personality didn’t seem like a … good fit. Too closed-off and kinda gruff, and probably not a good bedside manner, right?

Plus there was that criminal record to consider …

But the nursing home administrator hires him anyway, and Virgil joins the staff.

Patton keeps a close eye on Virgil.

Yes he feels guilty, but even Patton isn’t free from prejudices.

Virgil goes about his work very meticulously.

He arrives five minutes early every day, without fail.

He never complains about the tasks he’s been given, just quietly accepts them in a way that makes Patton and the others wonder what he’s really thinking.

He doesn’t talk casually with the other staff much, giving short answers whenever prompted.

Patton worries about the staff’s morale as a team.

Surprisingly, he starts hearing a lot of praise about Virgil. Not from the other staff members, but from the patients themselves.

One of them, a man named Roman, sounds like he’s complaining about him.

“And then he started criticizing my favorite movies!”

“I’m so sorry sir, I’ll talk to him about that.”

“What are you talking about? Kid had some good points. I like him.”

Patton starts subtly bringing up Virgil in conversations while visiting with the patients. For some, he doesn’t even have to warm up to the subject. They stop him in the hallway.

“Patton hun, you know that new boy with the eye-makeup?”

“Yes ma’am, that would be Virgil.”

“He’s so sweet. He helped me with my phone, it’s one of those smart ones? It wasn’t working right, and he fixed it. He’s a smart boy.”

The biggest sign is when one patient—Logan Crofters, who’s a notorious nitpicker—actually voices his approval of Virgil.

“He’s not an idiot,” is all Logan says on the matter, which coming from him, it’s high praise.

Patton doesn’t really understand yet why the patients have taken such a liking to him, but he endeavors to try harder to see who Virgil really is. Mostly he’s glad that his first impression seems to be wrong.

Virgil, for his part, doesn’t understand why the patients like him either.

He just knows that they do.

One of them goes out of their way to call him over to ask for his opinion on what color scarf to knit for their granddaughter.

Another one makes a point to introduce him to their visiting family.

Lots of them seem to like to talk his ear off in general and give him life advice.

Virgil doesn’t really mind it. He’s not used to people wanting to talk to him so much, and to be honest he could use some of the advice.

And the stories they have to share are kinda wild.

He likes bantering with the one old dude, Roman.

“I’ll have you know I’ve killed many a dragon witch in my day.”

“Was this before or after you went senile?”

“Brat.”

“Old fart.”

And then there’s Logan, the elderly man in a wheelchair. He’s probably the smartest man Virgil has ever talked to.

“You’d be surprised how many people assume I’m stupid.”

“You’re in a wheelchair, not braindead dude.”

“Yes, but I am old and crippled, and many people cannot separate physical inadequacy from mentality.”

“Well most people are idiots.”

Logan shows off his dentures in a rare grin.

After those two, there’s Remus.

Even the other staff members warn Virgil in advance about him.

It takes Virgil a month into working there to realize that he’s Roman’s brother.

It really should have been obvious.

“Virgil, where would you bury a body?”

“Why bury it when you can just burn it? Or feed it to some pigs; they’ll eat anything.”

“… oh, I like you.”

Okay, not so obvious, because Remus is a crazy old coot. But he’s got a lot of ideas and grand stories like Roman, only darker themed.

Virgil is convinced Remus is fucking with him to get a reaction out of him.

“He only says all that to get a rise out of you,” Logan confirms.

Challenge accepted.

Virgil continues being a bomb ass nurse.

He’s always super self conscious around his superior, Patton.

He knows Patton is wary of him and Virgil is terrified of messing up in front of him.

Or messing up in general. Poor babe really is too hard on himself.

Even the patients worry about him from time to time.

“You getting enough sleep at night, son? Ya got bags under your eyes!”

“That’s makeup, sir. You know that’s my makeup.”

“Hahaha, but it was funny, right? But seriously, are you sleeping enough?”

And Virgil can’t count how many times they’ve thrown food at him.

“You’re too skinny. You need to eat more.”

“I already eat a lot. I’ve got a high metabolism.”

“Is that one of those social media sites?”

“Roman, if you don’t stop acting stupid—”

“Kidding! I have an Instagram after all. Which you should totally follow me, by the way.”

It’s like suddenly being adopted and Virgil is now the grandson to many old folk.

He’s not even surprised when someone tries to set him up with one of their grandchildren.

What does surprise him is that it’s Logan.

“You should meet my grandson, Remy. Judging from what I’ve observed of your personality, you two would be compatible.”

“Huh, that’s funny, Roman’s got a grandson named Remy too.”

“Yes, Remy is both our grandson.”

“Wait, what?”

“We used to be married, Roman and I. Didn’t you know he was my ex-husband?”

Somehow Virgil has missed that.

But he is so going to grill them for details, because Roman with Logan?

Roman jumps on board when Virgil brings it up.

“Yes! Remy! You would be perfect for him! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it first!”

Virgil laughs it off because they can’t be serious.

Of course, they’re very serious.

Virgil is doing his rounds when he walks into Roman’s room and a guy not too far off from his own age standing there in a leather jacket and shades.

“Oh, you are cute,” the guy says in a way that lets Virgil know that he’s clearly heard about Virgil before.

Roman is exceedingly proud.

Virgil officially meets Remy, the grandson.

It’s awkward.

By the end of it, Virgil apparently has a date after work that he swears he doesn’t remember agreeing to.

Remy’s waiting for him in the lobby.

“You ready for the night of your life, babe?”

“…”

“Wait, you’re walking the opposite direction. Come back.”

Virgil goes out to eat with Remy.

Remy actually apologizes for his grandfathers.

“They’re cool old gay dudes, but they can be really pushy. They’ve been complaining about me being single for like yeaaars. Um, maybe I like being single?”

“Do you?”

“Okay, a bitch is lonely, but gurl, I can find a man or whoever on my own, amirite?”

“Why’d you agree to this then?”

“’Cause you really are cute and seem cool. Plus can we just talk about your aesthetic for a sec? What products do you use on your hair? The purple dye is perf.”

It’s not really a date.

But Virgil might have made a friend out of it, at least.

Virgil finds himself talking about it the next day with Patton.

It just sort of happens.

“They set me up with their grandson.”

“Oh Remy? You’ve met him?”

“Yeah…”

“Well? How’d it go?”

“Uh … I’m not sure? Like, I’m pretty sure we established it wasn’t really a date. But I think we might …”

“Might what?”

“Be … friends?”

“That’s nice, Virgil,” Patton says in a way that Virgil can tell he means it.

Virgil shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t know what I’m gonna tell his granddads though. Their gonna jump on me as soon as they see me. God old people love to gossip more than teenagers.”

“Just try to let them down easy, okay? They really adore Remy and just want him to be happy.”

It’s the first conversation Virgil has with him that doesn’t make him nervous.

The days go by and Virgil is starting to feel like he’s really settling in.

He still doesn’t understand why the patients like him so much.

Not until Patton finally sheds some insight.

It’s a busy enough day, and then Remus has one of his episodes.

He’s screaming and the other staff members who are more experienced with dealing with him are trying to settle him down.

Virgil hears the commotion from down the hall and comes running into the day room where all the patients gather and visit or watch tv.

“He gets like this sometimes,” Logan tells him. Roman sits silently beside him holding his hand, lips pressed in a thin white line and eyes not looking away from the chaotic scene.

Remus is throwing things at the nurses, yelling something about how the lights are trying to eat him.

“It’s best to stay back, Virgil,” Logan tells him.

Virgil doesn’t listen.

He goes and turns off the lights.

There’s still enough sunlight filtering in through the windows, enough to see. But everyone looks around.

Virgil pushes through the other staff.

He nudges Patton aside who had been attempting to console him.

Patton wants to pull him back. Remus is in a vulnerable state of mind right now and it could be bad for either of them.

But Virgil leans in and starts talking in a low voice to Remus.

And … it’s working.

Remus’s screams taper off.

He doesn’t look any less confused or scared. Just subdued.

“I want to go,” he says, eyes looking through everyone there. “Want to go back to my room now. Want to go back.”

“Okay, we can go, Remus. Let’s go,” Virgil says and guides him out.

It’s a slow process, but they make it to his room, Patton hovering close the entire way.

They give Remus a mild sedative to help him relax.

When Virgil walks out of the room, Roman is standing there.

He doesn’t say anything to Virgil, but he claps a hand on his shoulder.

There’s gratitude glistening in his eyes.

Roman goes into the room.

Virgil leaves for the break room. He’s definitely earned a break.

Plus his hands are kind of shaking, but shhhhh, don’t tell anyone.

After a long time, Patton comes into the room.

He sits at the table with Virgil.

“He’ll be fine,” Patton assures him.

“I didn’t say I was worried for him.”

Patton smiles and shakes his head.

“They all love you, you know?” he surprises Virgil by saying. “The patients. You do a lot of good by them.”

Virgil shrugs. “I don’t see why. I’m just me. Just doing my job. Nothing special.”

“You treat them like people.”

Patton leans closer over the table. Virgil doesn’t look away.

“You listen to them. And you talk to them, like they’re people. And for them, these people who have lost a lot of their independence and are often left forgotten here by even their own families—that’s worth a lot.”

Virgil doesn’t know if he believes all that.

But it’s a nice thought.

#sanders sides #patton #patton sanders #virgil #virgil sanders #roman #roman sanders #logan #logan sanders #remus #remus sanders #remy #remy sanders #nursing home au

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Let’s Do Something Different Tonight (Or Not)

Type: One-shot, Reader Insert Word count: 1840

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Characters: Matt Murdock, Reader, few others mentioned

Summary: It’s been two years since the day you married Matt and tonight, you’re going out to celebrate, like normal couples do. --Yeah, about that...

Warnings: blood and injury, mention of alcohol, attempt at humour (bordering on crack-ish)

A/N: A post Valentine’s day fic for everyone who has deals with loveable idiots. It’s hard to with them sometimes. Often, it’s even harder without them. Enjoy!

Matt was almost on time. You had your reservation for eight and it was five after eight when he finally showed up at his – and for a while now, also yours – apartment, so you would be able to make it to the restaurant only a little late.

Key word? ‘Would’. That would be if he hadn’t used the rooftop access instead of the front door and hadn’t been clutching his side when he stumbled in with his hair being a perfect mess with a smear of blood in it.

You stood in the middle of the living room, staring at him as he walked down the stairs with an apologizing expression.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said out, hissing as he stepped down the last stair with not so much grace. You just kept staring, this time incredulously. “I got mugged,” he explained, his lips turning into a reversed U. Also, blood was now soaking though his suit under his fingers.

You shook your head to snap yourself from your trance, reaching for the hem of your dress only to pull it over your head. When you tossed them over one of the armchairs and turned to Matt to give him the attention he deserved and needed, he looked utterly taken aback.

“What are you doing?” he asked, perfectly baffled.

“I’m not playing doctor with you in this dress. It’s new. I don’t want blood on it.”

It was expensive. You had chosen it carefully – just like the rest of your new clothes ever since you had gotten together with Matt –, paying extra attention to the material, anxious about the fabric feeling good under Matt’s fingers. Shopping had kinda become a nightmare since you had to pick clothes which not only looked good, but mainly felt good; however, with the way Matt appreciated it, it was totally worth it.

“The material sounded really soft. You looked beautiful in it.”

You scratched your forehead, abashed, as you walked to the bathroom to get the first aid kit, returning to Matt who seated himself on the couch, stripping his jacket to reveal a huge bloodstain on his shirt.

“Jesus, Matt.”

The man in question honest to god pouted. “You’ll wear that dress again, right?”

“Of course I will,” you reassured him tiredly as he took off the shirt as well. “That was the whole point of stripping it – keep it clean of bloodstains so I can wear it again…. for our like, thirtieth anniversary when you won’t be coming home bleeding anymore.”

“I had to let them cut me. I didn’t even call the police to make it home faster. I was trying-“

“I’m sorry, you what?” you asked incredulously, unable to believe what you were hearing.

“I was trying?” he repeated hesitantly, well-aware that it wasn’t the part that caught your… ear, so to speak.

“No, no, did you just say you let them cut you, didn’t call the police, so you could be home faster? Are you insane?”

“I didn’t want you to wait. We rarely get out for a dinner or something else. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Though I did come after the guys to chase down my wallet because that would mean a whole new set of time-demanding problems. But don’t worry, I crashed the lights before I went down on them,” he added hastily as if it would made the whole situation better.

You wordlessly let the gloves smack against your skin louder than necessary. Matt winced.

“Matt Murdock, I love you, I love what you’re willing to do for me and the world, but I swear to God, sometimes you’re just being utterly, utterly stupid. Priorities, Matt. Now show me.”

It turned out that Matt hadn’t let them cut him once, but twice. And by ‘cut’ he meant what could almost be called a stab wound. You silently worked your way through it, reminding yourself to buy Claire another fruit basket. A year supply of chocolate. Spa weekend, maybe. She had not only taught you the basics of the first aid to reckless loveable idiots, but also had shared her tips and tricks that she had discovered during the years of working on ER, making your life easier.

Matt was wisely silent while you were stitched him up – whether it was because he was controlling himself not to let out a single sound of distress or because he didn’t want to piss you off by saying something to make you snap, you didn’t know.

“Do you really think I prefer you getting home earlier so we wouldn’t miss our reservation coming with the price of you being injured to actually showing up healthy?” you asked as you finished your work of art.

His pout grew bigger, providing you the answer.

“Christ, Matt.”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly fight them off, at least not completely. Identity and stuff,” Matt defended his actions. You couldn’t shake off the feeling of something being a little strange about him. Like… stranger than usual. The way he talked…

“Well, you still didn’t need to get cut or— or at least you could have deflect it partly, this is awfully deep. Was. All done now.” Truth to your words, you stripped the gloves, rolling them up and placing them on the coffee table. You looked at his face, running your hand through his sweaty hair. He leaned into it slightly, like always. “Oh Matt… what do I do with a man like you?”

“Kiss the pain better?” he offered shyly, the corners of his lips twitching. You rolled your eyes at this ridiculous man.

“Ha! You’re hilarious!” His expression changed, transferring into- “Oh crap, not the puppy eyes. Come on, Matt, don’t-”

You sighed, leaning in, kissing him lightly on the lips. You were never able to resist the huge imploring eyes of his.

“I hate you,” you murmured as you withdrew – or wanted to, his lips following yours instead, sinking into them, caressing gently, testing your will when nibbling on your lower lip.

Oh, he always knew what to do to keep your fingers tingling, to have your heart fluttering – the feeling might have faded a little with the years, but it was still here. You opened your mouth for him, a clear invitation for his tongue. He didn’t hesitate.

“And I love you,” he breathed into your mouth, his hand rising.

“Don’t touch the bra-“ you warned him, curling your fingers around his wrist to stop him. You withdrew so it didn’t temp him. The bra wasn’t nearly as expensive as the dress, but it wasn’t cheap either.

“But it’s laced and they always feel so, so nice-“ he whimpered and you blinked. Okay, that was new. Seriously, where had his brain (possibly lower brain)-mouth filter left to?

“Maybe, but it’s also skin-toned. Not blood-toned. You smear it with blood and I’m not wearing it again.”

“But you said we were playing doctor,” he noted, looking honestly confused. You had really said that? And what the hell was it with him…?

You gaped at him when the realization finally hit you.

“Oh my god. Are you drunk?”

Matt was silent for a short moment; the kind of an answer that spoke volumes. Matt Murdock was drunk.

“…the client insisted on two glasses of scotch…,” Matt admitted with hesitation and you sensed some sort of a ‘but’ coming. “And then said the third time was a charm.”

Three glasses of scotch?!

“So you’re not only late for our anniversary dinner, you’ve not only gotten yourself half-stabbed, but you’re also drunk. Wow. I want a divorce,” you stated resolutely, only joking of course. Still, you couldn’t believe him. It should have been your night out. Together as a couple. To celebrate the two years you had been together as husband and wife. And he… wow. You probably should be mad, anyone else would be, but… you were kinda used to dealing with Matt’s bullshit (to be fair, Matt also had to deal with yours) and it was usually more scary and life-threatening. This was actually kinda funny. The drunk part anyway. “You think Foggy will charge me a fortune if I hire him?”

Matt frowned. “You don’t mean that. And if you did, do you honestly think he would represent you?”

You raised your eyebrow, waiting for him to realize what he had just said. Of course Foggy would represent you. You were plotting against Matt together oh so often… he would take your side. Matt probably came to same conclusion, because he grimaced.

“Yeah, he probably would. Well, would want to and then Marci would bully him so she could take your side instead of him.”

“I barely know Marci,” you noted, confused.

“Yeah, but she’s up to a challenge and she always claimed me and Foggy will get married one day and was actually jealous of me. She would take any opportunity to take our duo down in one strike.”

“I thought Foggy was friends with her.”

“They are somewhere between friends and frenemies. I guess that happens when you end the whole friends with benefits thing.”

Huh. Marci was still bitter about that? Who would think Mrs. No Strings Attached had feelings? To be fair, Foggy was insanely likeable, so you could really blame her-

…why were you thinking about Marci?

“After all this time… you still manage to distract me perfectly,” you complained, actually ashamed. Damn you, Murdock. And Murdock.

Matt tilted his head slightly, challenging. “I know a whole lot more ways of distracting you. If I wash my hands, can I touch the bra? I mean, we’re already too late for the dinner, aren’t we?”

You watched him incredulously for a minute; his messy hair which was the result of him rushing home, his absolutely not kissable lips inconspicuously pursed, his hopeful eyes with a spark of mischievousness somehow seeing you even after losing sight. Your gaze flickered to the fine suit he had prepared for the dinner. It was too late to go to the restaurant, wasn’t it?

When you looked back at him, you could tell he knew he had won, because a tiny smile appeared on his face, a careful elevation of the corners of his lips.

You sighed. You were so weak. “Go wash your bloody hands, you overgrown child. We’re going to bed.”

“Love you,” he chipped happily and kissed your cheek, rushing to the bathroom. You rolled your eyes at him fondly.

“I’m on top, you’re injured!” you shouted after him, closing the box with medical supplies and walking to the fridge to get Matt a glass of juice. He needed liquids and sugar dammit.

“Whatever you say, honey!”

You blinked, taken aback. ‘Honey?’ Matt had never called you that – mostly he stuck to your name or a nickname, occasionally calling you ‘love’ if he was being particularly tender. Endearments weren’t his thing.

Oh boy, he really was so royally drunk, wasn’t he?

You smiled for yourself at the idea. This should be fun.

◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦

Thank you for reading!

If you enjoy Matt fics, I’ll be posting a few more RI, but mostly I’ve written for Matt x OFC.

If interested, check out my M.M. masterlist ;)

#marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #reader insert #imagine #marvel imagine

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hiirolangley · 4 years

Text

Okay, we’re discussing Maruma ships now so here are some not on the main list yet! + my rambling and disjointed thoughts as they occurred to me.

So there was the brief Flynn x Yuuri mutual crush thing that happened in Shimaron. The almost-touch in Big Shimaron when Flynn reaches out to him springs to mind as well as the 'kiss' to knock Yuuri out and their dance at the ball where they just end up holding each other. Although Yuuri very clearly decides in his brain not to like her in the end and Flynn is like, I'm married to Caloria, there was still a little something there (and it probably partially contributed to how much Wolf hates her XD). Throwing in my thoughts about this one here... it's kinda ehhhhhhhhhhhhh..... I mean, Wolfram is one thing because the whole mazoku aging thing, but Flynn is a human in her twenties and Yuuri is sixteen. It's definitely ehhhhhh.......... I’m not calling the police or anything especially since nothing happened, just giving it a major side-eye. In any case, this crush is significant because once Yuuri decides in words in his head not to fall in love with her, he stops looking at women altogether. Name another woman from that point on that he fanboys over like he did all the time prior to meeting Flynn.

Sticking to Flynn, Flynn x Norman were a married couple and they did truly seem to be in love. Just by how much she fights for her late husband's land and people and talks about how she regrets never having the chance to have his children and how she completely betrayed her family's expectations to infiltrate Norman's family for political fuckery, I think it's pretty obvious.

Also Conrad x Maidmer Princess!!! How could you forget the most iconic pairing of the entire series!! XDDD She's the one and only woman Conrad out loud admits to being in love with (although honestly not sure how that worked because they couldn't even have a conversation, but oh well). The story this came from also gave us many fun moments ranging from Josak trying to set extremely obviously straight Conrad up with a group of crossdressers, Gwendal's mind getting blown like 10x in a row thinking that extremely obviously straight Conrad was sleeping with men (including Josak) but then trying to assure Conrad through his shock that he’ll be okay with it while Conrad freaks out, Gwendal wholeheartedly ready to accept a fish lady as his sister in law, Yuuri accidentally insulting the fuck out of Conrad's room, Conrad being worried that Yuuri was calling him boring for a minute before getting mentally smacked in the face by Yuuri complaining about being rated 88% unfuckable (and Conrad thinking to himself, well yeah of course), and just Conrad's POV in general which is always fun because he is a little shit XDDD Also I love when he was thinking to himself, I spent the war sleeping with all sorts of women, some of whom were married, and when the war was over people called me a Whore Prince... and then the first complaint he makes about that is along the lines of I’m not a prince, dumbasses. What a fucking gift to humanity that story was.

Getting off my Crack!otp, there’s Cherie's 3 husbands! I think volume 5's prologue sums that up best so I’ll just direct people there.

And then, Yuuri’s parents! Shouma x Miko. The couple that should not have lasted because they literally went on like 5 dates before Shouma confessed to being a mazoku and Miko was like OMG MARRY ME NOW SO I CAN HAVE MAZOKU BABIES despite thinking he was lame af beforehand... and then they got married XDD I feel like every time they appear on page together they get into an argument or misunderstanding, but they’re still together so /shrug

That’s all I can think of right now~

Moving on...

My otp for this series is the royal couple. How often is my otp the official endgame couple!? NEVER! Lord knows I get Second Lead Syndrome on every damn story I read/watch, but for this series I’m not rooting for Conrad. Way back in my early maruma fangirling days, I liked Yuuram and Conyuu equally because who doesn’t love anyone Morikawa Toshiyuki voices? I know that could be hard to believe I liked opposing ships the same amount, but that’s an actual thing that happened. Once I grew up, the Conyuu went away. That kinda sounds insulting to Conyuu shippers, but it’s not. Let me explain~ Psychoanalyzing myself, me liking Conyuu was more me being like, Conrad would be the perfect boyfriend! instead of Conrad and Yuuri are great together!, but when I got older I was like, holy hell he would actually be the worst boyfriend after a while no thanks??? XDDDDD That’s a whoooole other post I probably won’t make~ Anyway, we all have embarrassing college-aged memories whether you attended or not so let’s move on.

Anyway, I know Conyuu is baited all the time and rereading the Maidmer Princess story reminded me that Conrad says looking at Yuuri’s sleeping face gave him the same feeling as looking at the maidmer he fell in love with, but there’s no way that relationship’s gonna pan out canonically. I feel like I’m playing with fire saying that though o.o

Moving on again, ships I fully support would be:

Yuuri x Wolf

Gwendal x Anissina

Adalbert x Julia (you know, in a posthumous way)

And you know what??? Josak x Murata. The chaos. The pure Bisexual Chaos™. I’m here for that.

Also on the topic of couples! Let’s talk about Nicola and Hube. I have feelings here. Say what you want about Wolfram, at least he’s mentally on the same page as Yuuri. Gegenhuber is a whole ass man who knocked up a 15/16 year old. I know they made her older in the anime, but don’t believe those lies! Do I need to elaborate how he’s gross? I don’t think so. BUT, I do like how sensei filtered it through Yuuri’s POV. (Fyi, I realize the following is partially headcanon) As an also 16yo, this grossness does not cross Yuuri’s mind at all. In fact, the only thing he remarks on is that he can’t believe she was pregnant and getting married to another man ... but it crosses Gwendal’s. Adult Gwendal is FURIOUS when he finds out Nicola is pregnant. He was already mad because he hates Gegenhuber and was getting irritated that he and Nicola were in love/told her he’d use the mateki to help humans, but when he finds out she’s preggers and they totally had sex he loses his shit. I dunno, it’s like sensei properly communicated that a teenager wouldn’t necessarily recognize the fucked-up nature of a man in his twenties (or the mazoku version of that) starting a relationship with a 15yo and that they also might misinterpret the anger of the older people who do know better.

And like a cherry on top, Gwen’s anger is solely directed at Gegenhuber, not Nicola. After this adventure, Gwendal personally takes super good care of Nicola and makes sure she’s set up nicely with the Grisela family and even visits her regularly... and then when Gegenhuber wakes up, Gwendal almost kicks him to death. Seriously, he literally kicked him so much Anissina had to heal him so he wouldn’t die (and while she was healing him she was like, you’re fucking gross and I wouldn’t care if you dropped dead here, but I kinda have to do this.) I dunno, I feel like there are so many reasons for people to hate Gegenhuber, I can’t make the claim that this is 100% significantly adding to the hatred. Would you notice another drop in a bucket? But this is my opinion on the matter~ Anyway, it’s 1:30am and I need to stop typing!

#manniversary 2020 #MA event #kyou kara maou #maruma

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cescalr · 4 years

Text

Why Is Draco Malfoy So Underrated?

A repost of a Quora answer because Quora hates me for some reason

@vivithefolle i take little convincing here I go -

SO!

You. Yeah, you. You, nebulous quora questioner, you think Malfoy is underrated, do you? Well I, CescaLR, am here to set the record straight. The following is the answer I posted to Quora, that was flagged with ‘answer may need improvement’, which means some asshole was trawling the answers to the question posted and didn’t like mine so they had the moderators hide it because said person doesn’t like differing opinions. This post is thereby an archive, so if my answer is never again allowed to see the light of day on Quora, at least my maths is visible elsewhere.

Hopefully, this entertains you, tumblr user reading this post. Also, as fair warning, if you do like Draco Malfoy and somehow stumbled across this post, I recommend skipping it.

Why is Draco Malfoy so underrated?

Fleur Lee-Ranger

Author of 857406 words of fanfiction and counting.

ANSWER:

HAHAHAHA.

Ha.

hah…..

For god’s sake, I hope you’re not serious.

Let’s look at YouTube, first:

Does 2.2 million f*cking views on a woobie Draco edit seem like he’s underrated to you? Any character that gets 2.2 million views on an edit that interprets the character in a sympathetic, caring light…. Jesus Christ. They’re not underrated.

You could make a clear argument for them being overrated, by matter of fact!

The first result is his entire life story, and a redemption of the Malfoy family as a whole, and it’s… super popular!

look at that! 70k likes versus 1.7k dislikes. Let’s use my favourite maths thing once again: Ratios!!

(I hate ratios. The things I do to prove a point, eh?)

This video has 5201431 million views. It has around 70k likes, 1.1k dislikes. We’ll round 5201431, as 70k and 1.1k are both rounded numbers and I can’t be bothered to deal with numbers that are too complicated right now, it’s nearly nine pm. 5201431 -> 5.2 million. It’s the rounded number YouTube itself uses on the search page - check the first image if you don’t believe me, and since YouTube thinks that’s good enough, so will we.

5200000 : 70000 : 1100

52000 : 700 : 11

Divide all by 11 (and round awkward numbers, because we’re already dealing in rounded numbers anyway, which is kind of bad practice, but it’ll do for this context):

4,727 : 64 : 1

As I’ve proven before (not on Quora, you can probably find it in the comments of one of my fanfictions, I’ll end up moving it over here one day when I find the right question), fandom content engagement rates are always pretty bad. But honestly? every four thousand or so views, you get 64 likes, compared to just one dislike. That’s great! That’s incredible! I’d kill for those kinds of ratings!!

(Draco’d probably wimp out, though. hehe. Jokes, jokes.)

As for his woobie video:

2.3m : 152k : 715

2300000 : 153000 : 715

Nice, don’t need to remove any superfluous zeroes. Bad, for… well, your hypothesis, to put it nicely, since that means there are only seven hundred and fifteen goddamn dislikes on this video, what the f*ck, why do so many people like this b*stard child.

Ahem. Sorry, that’s rude to illegitimate children like myself. There is nothing wrong with having unmarried parents.

…Anyway, lets slim down that ratio:

3217 : 214 : 1

Holy sh*t. I would do more than kill for this ratio. Oh my god.

That’s some great engagement there. So many likes! Clearly, Draco dearie is a very popular boy! He’d love that. I hate this on principle. God am I glad 13 year old me didn’t really use YouTube (I watched gaming content and little else, didn’t even find fandom content until 2015) or I’d have contributed one of those likes, probably.

Oh wait, no! Never mind! I can’t have contributed one of those likes, because this f*cking video was posted last year!!!!!

LAST GODDAMN YEAR!!!!

Do you understand that? Do you - do you have any idea how - just how difficult it is to get that many views that quickly and with that good an engagement???? Do you???????? It has been, get this, seven, seven whole f*cking months, Less time than it takes to make a baby, and this f*cking video has 2,265,900!!! million!!!! views!!!! With a ratio of 214 likes to one goddamn dislike.

oh my god.

oh my god

I’m having a minor mental breakdown. Jesus f*cking H Christ on a goddamn bike.

Look at these comments! Look at how many likes they have!! Oh my god!!!! Draco Malfoy might just be one of the most beloved characters ever to get this sort of reaction, for hell’s sake!

I don’t know what kind of dunderhead you are to not notice how f*cking popular this jackass little b*stard boy is, but god, the whiny little sh*t has more fans than oh, I don’t know. Someone really popular. Tom Holland? I don’t know celebrities. Sorry.

But my point is, for god’s sake, Malfoy isn’t underrated. I don’t know what rock you’ve been living under, my friend, but that sheer idolisation you so crave of your wimpy f*cking husband is right there in front of you! Just search his name, and you’ll see it front and goddamn centre. Those of us that don’t worship the ground he walks on are generally much more background.

For god’s sake, he’s a trope namer.

Draco In Leather Pants.

How much more evidence do you need than that?

Of course, I could be jumping the gun. You could be a fan of his that is frustrated by the fanon interpretation of his character. ‘Why is he reduced to a bad boy with a heart of gold when actually he’s a more complicated asshole with sh*tty morality and no backbone that gives a whole ass damn about his family but not much else?’ Good question! Blame Cassie Claire, though I suppose that’s my go-to for most things.

Seriously though; Draco Malfoy is not even remotely overrated. He’s a whiny, terrible, useless waste of space in the books; and in fandom, he’s transformed into a cool, collected, redeemable or outright good person who’s smart and talented and like, super hot you guys, doesn’t he look cute with Hermione/Harry/Insert Author’s Projected Character Here?!!!!

Also: Y’all are f*cking creeps for this shit:

THAT’S A SCENE FROM WHEN THE KID IS TWELVE, FOR GOD’S SAKE. I’m not even joking, half of you are nonces and I want nothing to do with you! ‘hot draco malfoy edits’ HE’S TWELVE

HE’S TWELVE

HE’S TWELVE.

Hot take time:

Draco Malfoy is overhyped, overrated, and oversexualised and I want all of this to stop, because you’re doing it to Tom Felton, when he was a child. A child! That’s creepy! Please do not make hot edits of children, thank you!!!!!

Someone call the police. I’m done with this f*cking fandom, oh my god.

(Also, if you think I edited that in like some sick weirdo might do, just go find that video and give it a watch. I wouldn’t if I were you, I’d believe me, because watching that video probably puts you on a watchlist somewhere.

It should.)

Okay. Deep breaths. It’s been a few months, this answer was flagged with the wonderfully opaque ‘this answer may need improvement’, and I’m back to refine this. I’m not taking anything out, but I’m adding some extra investigation. For posterity’s sake; the original answer only contained YouTube analysis. Let’s look through Archive Of Our Own, shall we?

As I showed in my answer re: the well-liked-ness of Lilly and Hermione, this is the number of total fics within the HP tag.

This is the number of tags when ‘Draco Malfoy’ is added to the ‘included characters’ filter.

So, in terms of ‘fandom work presence’ (AO3 is mostly fanfic, but it is not all fanfic, there are a few vids and some art on there, too) Malfoy’s ratio is thus:

254603:65469

3.8889… : 1

4 : 1

So, rounding up, for every four works on AO3, there is one that includes Draco dearie. Good lord, he’s pervasive, isn’t he? Can’t turn a corner in the fandom without seeing his pasty ferret face plastered all over the walls… lovely.

Now, once again - that wasn’t the best ratio. I didn’t remove bashing, for example, so not all those works will be positive (as in, since you think he’s underrated, that means - I assume - you think people don’t like him enough) so let’s go the long mile:

I will find a ratio for Mr Malfoy Jr’s fans, versus his haters, in terms of - how many fics bash Malfoy, and how many greatly enjoy his existence?

Add the bashing tag, and now let’s see how many fics there are with a) Draco in it, and b) Draco Bashing:

hahahhahagag;k;asdkf

Oh no!

Oh my god I dodn’t…. one second… give me just one second….

Right. Laughing fit over, okay. 17.

So, 65469 works with Draco present, 17 of which don’t like him overmuch, and 65452 like him just fine/present him as he appears in canon! Awesome. Of course, people who present him as he is in canon may not like him the way you want him to, so, not awesome? Hmm. I’m not sure how to filter for that. I suppose you wouldn’t want people who write him OOC, though, because that’s not rating him properly, is it? Should we add OOC to the bashing, to get people who don’t appreciate his… many positive character traits… to the extent that you would like?

Yes, I think we should.

Now, there’s no tag for ‘OOC Draco Malfoy’, because that would make my life too easy. And, I’m not going through 151 works to figure out which ones have Draco being the one OOC. If they’ve written one person OOC, and they’re self-aware enough to tag it, then I’m going to meanly assume they’ve written Draco OOC as well. When one person’s out of whack, I’ve found everyone else is, too, so I’m not just doing this to be a dick, I promise, it’s for a real, good, understandable reason, one that is not only because I really don’t want to have to do any maths more complicated than basic ratios.

So. 151 OOC works, 17 bashing works. 168 works of not properly appreciated Draco Malfoy, coming up, which takes our 65469 Draco works down to… 65301.

Well, that’s a lot, still.

So, there’s still some tags to remove, like Evil, and Abusive, and all that lark. I’ll go do that quickly, and come back with the maths.

(okay, but I do have to show this:)

(fourteen works in the ‘Evil’ draco tag?? are you serious???)

(oh and you can’t filter by Abusive Draco Malfoy, like that’s not a tag, so I can’t exclude it, but it really adds to the general atmosphere of ‘Draco Malfoy? Yeah he’s cool I like him’ that this fandom has going on, doesn’t it?)

Alright so! We really only could take away those 14 works. Okay.

By the way, just so you know - I didn’t exclude tags like ‘Death Eater Draco Malfoy’ and ‘Bully Draco Malfoy’ (if the latter even exists), because those are things that happen in canon, and when I think of a character as being ‘underrated’ I include not acknowledging their canon actions, the bad and the good. A character is only as good as their complexities run deep.

So.

For the ratio, I guess;

65469 : 151 : 17 : 14

4,676.3571… : 10.7857… : 1.2142… : 1

4,676 : 11 : 1 : 1

…

Hmm.

For every 4 thousand 6 hundred fics Draco appears in, 11 of them have OOC tagged, 1 of them has Draco Bashing tagged, and 1 of them has Evil Draco tagged. That is…

That is unfathomably good. I’m really, genuinely having a hard time picturing it. I really, honestly, don’t think there’s been a character as unquestionably overrated as Draco Malfoy in all of fandom, because, good lord, look at that ratio! People love the guy!

Let’s see the good draco malfoy tag, shall we?

Now, to be fair, most people don’t bother tagging any of this sort of thing, usually, so that’s a minor flaw in my ratio-ing. We can’t actually know exactly how many works laud Malfoy, or hate him, or feel ambivalent, because people don’t tag their shit properly. But I’m hoping this helps, at least a little. Anyway, 905! That’s a few. Not many, but certainly more than Evil or Bashing or even OOC.

65469 : 905 : 151 : 17 : 14

4,676.3571… : 64.6428 : 10.7857… : 1.2142… : 1

4,676 : 65 : 11 : 1 : 1

Yep. That’s not bad, not bad at all.

So. Most people seem to like him, if we’re honest. As I pointed out above, he’s a trope namer. If you didn’t click on the link for Draco In Leather Pants, here’s a brief summary from the TV Tropes page:

[ Transcription:

Sometimes, a fanwork will portray a villainous character in a more positive light. It can be done out of sympathy for the character, for shipping reasons, as a part of a role-reversal story, several of the aforementioned or for the variety of other reasons.

The common subjects of this treatment are characters who are wicked in a classy or cool way. A physically attractive villain is much more likely to be subject to this trope than a physically ugly one; Beauty = Goodness, after all, and shallow as it may be, it seems that, for some fans, this is the case even when the character's beauty only extends to their appearance. All Girls Want Bad Boys may be a factor with male villains getting a female fandom that views them through this lens. A badass villain will naturally be preferred by many of these over meeker heroic characters at times, as well. Ugly Cute villains also get this pretty easily. ]

So! There’s that. He named a trope all about appreciating a character perhaps (usually definitely) more than they deserve, so I wouldn’t call him ‘underrated’ by most general definitions of the word:

People seem to mostly believe him to be quite good, actually! Certainly enough to write about him a lot, to draw him a lot, to edit him a lot, to theorise about him a lot, to ship him with the main character so much that the 99th filter ever on AO3 was Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.

Hey, actually, that’s a good idea! Which filter id is Draco Malfoy?

Now, if I’m not mistaken, it’s been a while since I had to do this -

Draco Malfoy was the 1589th tag canonised in the tag system of AO3. Let’s check the Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter tag (which I know for certain was 99) to make sure:

And lo and behold, I was right. That’s mad. That’s mad!!!!

Ooh, I’ve found a fun trick

To change which rss feed you’re looking at, copy the https:// link up to .atom in the speech marks, and change the highlighted number. That shows you what uses that tag_ids: - in this case, 93 is Draco himself. The 93rd tag, dedicated to Draco Malfoy. Good lord, that’s insane! I guess there really weren’t many other things to prioritize at the time, but that’s still silly to me.

Fluff and Angst appears to be the fiftieth tag canonised, for comparison. Sometimes when you replace the rss feed’s ‘tag’ in the address bar it takes you to the tag’s page instead of the feed, because that tag doesn’t have an rss feed. The more you know!

Anyway, back on track: I think all of that, rss feeds, youtube analytics, fandom presence, all kind of proves my point:

Draco Malfoy is not underrated. He is, arguably, overrated as a character, but unarguably very popular within the greater Harry Potter fandom. Unpopular characters don’t tend to get paired with the lead, at the very least - and you can’t turn around in the Harry Potter fandom without seeing Drarry somewhere, can you?

#anyway #anti draco malfoy #hp #hp fandom #harry potter #meta #fandom meta #quora #fandom bullshit #long post #sorry mobile users!! very sorry

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