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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

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THE DEAL

a/n: i literally wrote it in less than a day because i was inspired by a movie... of god, i have issues, but ANYWAYS! this one is a classic friends with benefits to lovers story with so much angst and a grandiose love confession at the end so buckle up, you are in for a treat!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEEEEASE give feedback if you enjoyed it!!

pairing: Harry X Reader

warnings: some, drinking, sexual content, a hell lot of it, angst and messy emotions, it’s a lot!!

word count: 11.8k

masterlist

If your life was some romantic comedy his would be the moment where the camera would zoom on you, your eyes blankly glued to the ceiling, makeup from last night smudged under them as a muscular, inked arm gets thrown across your chest, a snoozing man beside you as you have the internal little monologue.

“You’re wondering how I got into this situation, right? Completely naked with one of my best friends after a night spent with heavy drinking and ending up fucking in his apartment until we both fell asleep.”

Yeah, this is probably what the voiceover would say as the camera would slowly get farther from you, Harry’s sleeping figure coming into the frame while you’re still lying like a damn statue. This was not supposed to happen. Not that it was bad, because oh God! Harry really is as good as his ex-girlfriends gushed to you when you met them on night outs. You could never blame the women for falling for him, he has the charm, the personality, the humor and definitely the looks. If you weren’t you, you’d be one of those girls who would do anything to get his attention just for a split second. But you’re not.

Growing up with a single mother that was repeatedly fucked over by several men, you were taught to be the kind of independent woman who needs no man. Who only uses them for whatever reason and throws them away before they could even realize what’s happening. Feelings could never be involved in the equations, those are just not for you.

For a while you thought you weren’t even capable of feeling anything at all. But the way you cried when your hamster you got for your sixteenth birthday died changed your mind and you realized that you are just saving yourself the time of allowing people to make you develop feelings for them and then give them the chance to break your heart. You’ve seen that happen to your mother enough times to know that you don’t want to go through that. It’s not worth it and why would you risk it all when you could easily get what you need and move on to the next one?

Your friends always joked how you’re gonna be the single aunt to their children later who would take them to clubs and honestly? You’re just fine with that. Because you always thought that while your married friends will be busy with keeping their marriage together with whatever pathetic man they chose to marry, you’ll be living your best life without a worry on the world. That sounds pretty good for you.

There’s no need to make it prettier than what it is, you’ve had a lot of hookups the past years but you always tried to keep yourself in check, have some kind of rules to follow so you don’t hurt yourself or anyone else in the process. One of those were that under no circumstances would you ever sleep with a friend. No matter how badly you want to, no matter if they are begging, it can never happen.

But you broke that rule.

Turning your head to the side you look at Harry’s sleeping face squished into the pillow and you almost wince, because you know that when he wakes up, this gonna hurt like a bitch. He’s gonna freak out, or what’s worse, he’ll want to take it further, take you out on a date… be in a relationship with you! And you’ll have to break his heart because none of those will ever happen.

You and Harry went to high school together and he is one of the very few people you stayed in touch after graduation. Though you grew a little apart when you went to different universities, later on you both somehow ended up in New York and while you’re working as a graphic designer at a magazine, Harry is making good money from writing music for other artists. He’s been one of your closest friends these past years and while you’ve always found him attractive, you should have never let this happen, because it will mess everything up and you didn’t want to lose such a good friend.

Harry stirs in his sleep next to you, his hand squeezing your side before his eyes blink open, green irises finding your wide eyes. He stops for a moment, looking around, taking in his surroundings before his eyes fall closed again.

“Wow, must have been one wild night?” he mumbles into the pillow before a raspy chuckle falls from his lips.

Last night, the two of you and a couple of your mutual friends celebrated that Harry has gotten his biggest deal so far, having to write an entire album for an up-and-coming artist, so you all got pretty wasted, especially you and him. It’s a little blurry how the two of you ended up like this, but you do remember wildly making out hidden somewhere behind the bar before he asked if you wanted to come to his place. You stupid little thing, should have said no…

Groaning, Harry rolls to his back, his arm falling from you as he lies sprawled out next to you.

“The tequila shots. Shouldn’t have had them,” you rasp out, a smirk tugging on his lips at your words. “So, um… we both can agree this was a one time thing, right?”

Harry peeks at you, pushing himself up a bit so his head rests against the headboard. The sheets slide down a bit lower on his body, revealing his toned chest and his several tattoos. Memories of you kissing them eagerly last night flash into your mind and you can only hope you’re not blushing like a school girl.

“What if I don’t agree?” Harry cocks an eyebrow and you almost groan. You knew this was going to happen!

“Harry, I’m not going out with you. You know me, I don’t do that. It’s nice that you think that it could work between us, but I don’t do relationships and I’m not changing my rules, not even for you.”

Harry starts laughing, as if you just said the best joke of the century, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. You give him a puzzled look as you sit up, holding the sheets to your chest.

“Who talked about dating, Y/N?” he then asks. “You said last night was a one time thing. We fucked last night. What if that wasn’t the only time we did that?”

You start to put the pieces together, though you’d definitely be sharper if you already had your first coffee of the day.

“Are you trying to start a… friends with benefits thing with me?”

“I mean, you could call it whatever you want. I personally really enjoyed last night and judging from the way you were screaming my name, you did too.” Now you’re for sure blushing. “Why not do it again?”

“This is not a movie, H. I don’t think it’s manageable without ruining our friendship.”

“Have you ever tried something like this?” You shake your head no. “Then how could you know?”

“Have you tried it?”

“Never,” he chuckles. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. We are both cool, smart people. I think we can give it a try and whenever someone is feeling like they had enough, we’re just gonna stop.”

“What if you catch feelings?” you ask, raising eyebrows at him.

“Oh, but what if you fall for me?” he throws the question back with a cocky smirk and you smack his naked chest.

“You know I never do that!”

“I don’t think you can just decide that, but alright,” he chuckles, holding his hands up in defense. “I promise you I won’t catch feelings for you, Y/N. I swear on my…”

“Your mom’s and sister’s life!” you point at him. It’s clear that he thinks it’s silly, but you just keep staring at him until he gives in.

“I swear on my mum’s and my sister’s life that I will not catch feelings for you, Y/N.”

“Alright. And we can end it anytime?”

“Whenever you’ve had enough of me,” he smirks back, so pleased with himself that it’s clear he doesn’t think that could ever happen.

“If you keep that cocky look on your face it’s gonna be a very short deal, Styles,” you warn him, but he just laughs before he quickly pulls you back down to bed, getting on top of you, his hips sinking between your legs and you gasp when you feel that he is already semi-hard.

“Why don’t we get a head start on it then?” he offers, his lips crashing against yours before they travel down your body and soon enough he gives you something that’s a thousand times better than a coffee in the morning.

At first you’re clearly hesitant about it. Not sure if it was a good idea or you just ruined everything between you and Harry, but soon enough you realize that it wasn’t as bad of a decision as you thought it to be.

Harry is the one to call you for the first time, two days after the night you drunkenly hooked up. You’re just leaving the office when he hits you up, asking if you have plans for the night or you’re free to go over to his place. An hour later you find yourself pressed up against the wall of his apartment’s hallway, both of you eager to get each other out of your clothes. Now that it all happens without either of you being drunk, you actually have the chance to think about how good it is with him. He is just the perfect mixture of dominant and soft, knows when to be the boss and when he has to slow down a bit.

He makes you cum three times. Three mind-blowing times, and you also give him two orgasms. You try to make it equal and make it three, but he respectfully says no.

“If you touched my dick again I think I would start crying,” he chuckles jokingly, so you don’t even think about pushing it.

Instead, the two of you order Chinese, have dinner together, talking like you always used to before the deal and then you go home. There’s no awkwardness, no weird situations, not even when you leave. Harry leans closer and for a moment you think he is gonna be corny and kiss you goodbye, but then you feel him smack your ass before pushing you out the door, just like he always did before, joking about how he is gonna charge you rent if you stay any longer.

Nothing has changed, only that you now spend a good chunk of your time together naked, moaning each other’s name before you get back to your usual.

So after that you don’t shy away from reaching out to Harry as well. It becomes a regular thing, the two of you meeting up about two of three times a week. You fuck, hang out a bit and go your separate ways. Slowly, you start to forget about times when you stayed dressed up for more than ten minutes after meeting Harry.

You keep switching between your and his place, but sometimes meet somewhere in the middle. You’ve had sex in a restaurant bathroom, in his car in a parking garage and even in his cousin’s place in Brooklyn. That was a bit odd but still quite pleasing.

Tonight is going to be the first time you’re gonna be out with all your friends and Harry since the deal was made. No one knows about it and you intend to keep it that way.

Once you’re done at work you head home, texting Leticia, another friend from high school to meet you at your place to get ready together. She was Harry’s friend at first, what’s better, she openly hated you at first for some reason.

“You just had a punchable face at fifteen, you can’t blame me,” she used to tell you. It was actually Harry who made the two of you friends and you’ve been close ever since.

You get to your apartment almost at the same time. Leticia starts rambling about her asshole of a boss at the law firm where she works at as you open a bottle of wine to start the evening while you roam through your wardrobe for an outfit.

“Is Leo coming? I owe him a few bucks from last time,” Leticia wonders, digging into your dresser for a pair of tights she can borrow to pair with her leather skirt.

“I think he is, but he is going to be late. He is coming from Staten Island from his dad’s,” you muse, checking yourself out in the red dress you just tried on, not quite pleased with the look, so you quickly work down the zipper and look for something else.

“Um, whose is this?”

Turning around you see that Leticia is holding up a shirt Harry left at yours a few days ago. She is clearly confused about the men’s clothing between your stuff, because you are not one to steal them from the men you sleep with since you don’t really want anything from them to remind you of them.

“Oh, um, that’s… That’s Harry’s. He left it here a few days ago,” you shrug, not making a big deal out of it, but Leticia is nosier than that.

“And why is Harry leaving his clothes around your place?”

“Is that a crime?” you snort, trying to play it cool.

“No, but in what kind of situation did this shirt come off of Harry and end up in your dresser?”

You can’t think of a good answer that would stop her from interrogating you, and the way you’ve just gotten silent is telling her more than words could. She drops the shirt, eyes widening at you and it’s clear that she put two and two together.

“Oh my God! You’re sleeping with Harry!”

“No! I’m… I just—We…”

“You two are totally fucking! What the fuck!” she gasps in complete shock as you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Let me explain it, alright? W-We hooked up on the night when we went out to celebrate his big album deal.”

“When I couldn’t go, right?”

“Yeah. So we were both very drunk and it just happened. And I really thought it would ruin everything but we somehow ended up making a deal.”

“Jesus, you guys are acting out the Friends With Benefits movie? Who are you, Mila fucking Kunis?”

“It’s not like that!” you defend yourself quickly, but then you realize that it’s just like that so far. “Well, it kind of is, but the ending won’t be like that.”

“Do you really think you can just do it with absolutely no strings?” Leticia sighs, her hands coming to her hips as she stares back at you.

“It’s been going great, so I really think it’s doable. And if any of us decides they had enough, we’ll just call it quits.”

“Yeah, because it’s that easy,” she rolls her eyes. “One of you will catch feelings and someone is gonna end up crying, Y/N.”

“No, that’s not gonna happen,” you shake your head stubbornly. “He promised it won’t happen.”

“Feelings don’t give a shit about promises! I hope you really know what you’re doing, because I don’t want to have to choose between the two of you,” she grumbles before throwing Harry’s shirt back into the drawer, grabbing the tights she’s been looking for.

Leticia doesn’t hold a grudge for the news she just found out, but she surely has gotten you thinking. Is it really gonna end bad? Why can’t there be a scenario where it goes perfectly fine and no one gets hurt? Harry promised it’s gonna be alright and he has been proven right so far, so why are you having second guesses now?

Arriving at the bar the majority of your friend group is already there, including Harry. You sit across him in the small booth, just exchanging a quick smile before the first round arrives and the evening starts. You allow yourself to take a better look at him while he listens to Mitch’s story and you can’t say that you don’t find him hot. He is wearing a vintage, floral printed shirt, the first few buttons left undone, so you have a nice view of his chest and his necklace you’ve felt under your lips so many times before when you were kissing down his body. He keeps twisting and playing with his several rings and it makes you stare at his hands for a tad bit longer than you intended to. God, he looks so damn good, you really just want to fuck him here and now.

You keep changing who goes up to the bar to order and the third round is yours, so sliding out of the booth you go to the bar and wait for your turn. A young, handsome guy is making the drinks and you clearly catch his eyes.

“And what can I get for you, beautiful?” he smirks at you when it’s finally your turn.

“Two vodka sodas, a martini and three vodka cranberries,” you smile back at him with a hint of flirting in your tone.

It’s kind of second nature to you, a few charming smiles and winks have gotten a lot of free things for you in your life and you never miss a chance to use your advances.

“All that for one pretty girl?” he teases you.

“I would be all over the floor if I drank all of it,” you chuckle, pulling your card out of your wallet, tapping it on the terminal as he finishes up the drinks, kindly putting them on a tray so you can easily bring them over to the booth.

“Don’t worry, I would surely pick you up then,” he winks at you, placing the last drink to the tray before you thank him and head back.

As you take your previous seat you notice that Harry is watching you intently.

“What?” you mouth him over the conversation at the table.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, turning his gaze away, grabbing his drink and focusing back on everyone else.

You go up to the bar two more times, once to ask for some chips and once for some napkins after a drink has gotten spilt onto the table. Every time you exchange a few words with the bartender and you have to admit, he has a great sense of humor paired with his looks.

Sometime later in the evening you decide to switch to water, so you go up to the bar a fourth time, the bartender coming to you right away at this point. As you wait for him to grab you your drink you feel a hand on your lower back. Turning to the side you see Harry standing next to you.

“Hey, want to come to my place after this?” he asks, leaning closer to your ear. His hot breath hits your exposed skin on your neck and a shudder runs down your spine, especially with his hand still on the small of your back.

“You want a rerun of your first time?” you smirk back at him, referring to the drinks you both have had, though it’s definitely not as wild as that night was.

“No, but this dress is making it hard not to want to rip it off,” he bluntly tells you as you glance down at yourself. At last you decided to wear a black bodycon dress that surely shows every dip and curve of your body and apparently Harry has been enjoying the show.

The bartender arrives with your water, his eyes falling on Harry and you see that he is a little taken aback by his presence.

“Hey man, can you get me another one as well? I’ll pay for both,” Harry nods at him and there’s something foreign in his tone that you can’t really put your finger on. The bartender just nods back and goes to grab another water.

“What if I wasn’t in the mood?” you tease him, continuing the discussion where you left it a moment ago.

“Oh, please!” he chuckles smugly. “I saw you eyeing me from across the table, Y/N. I know you are definitely in the mood.”

He is right. So damn right. You’ve been crossing your legs under the table for a while now, feeling your arousal growing every time you saw him run his tongue over his lips or whenever his finger played with the lip of his glass, imagining him doing the same with your body.

Biting into your bottom lip you need to take a deep breath, but when Harry sees your teeth digging into your lip, he loses his patience.

“Or we can just do it now,” he growls lowly, grabbing your hand before he starts pulling you towards the restrooms. You don’t even have the chance to protest, not that you want to.

He is quick to pull you into an empty restroom, locking the door behind the two of you before his lips attack yours, pushing you against the door with vigor and hunger. His hands are already bunching your dress up around your waist and you moan his name when your hips meet and you feel his hard length through his jeans.

“We have to be quick, so no one notices we disappeared,” he pants as he helps you up to the counter, your back hitting the cold mirror behind you.

“Then shut up and just fuck me,” you challenge him and it makes him absolutely feral.

You don’t have time to enjoy it the way you usually do in bed, but the excitement of the situation alone has gotten you so wet that you’re already dripping when he pushes your panties to the side with one hand while his other works on his own pants.

“Fuck, already so wet for me, huh?” he breathes out, his lips brushing against yours before they kiss you fully.

“Just like how you’re rock hard for me,” you grin against his lips, a hand wandering down to his cock as you pull it out of his boxers, stroking it a few times before he pulls a condom out of his back pocket and wraps himself up. “Were you counting on this quickie, Styles?” you ask when you realize that he just had a condom ready on him.

“I knew for sure I’m gonna fuck you tonight, but wasn’t sure how long I’m gonna last,” he grins, capturing your lips again before he pushes himself inside you with no warning, making you both gasp.

“Fuck! Harry!” you moan as he starts moving rapidly, definitely not taking his time like he usually does. He is pounding into you without mercy, panting against your lips as his ring clad fingers are digging into the flesh of your thighs.

“You like that? Like it when I fuck you somewhere public?” he growls, making your legs curl around his hips.

Your hands move up his chest and neck, fingers tangling into his curls and you give them a tug, earning an animalistic grunt from him as he starts going even harder and faster. You’re rapidly getting closer to your orgasm.

“You close?” he pants and you nod. “Come on, cum all over my cock, Y/N.”

A few more thrusts and your walls tighten around his dick, squeezing him as you gasp, riding your high, your head falling backwards, meeting with the mirror behind you. Harry follows you a few pushes later, moaning your name repeatedly before his movements come to a halt and you both take a moment to catch your breath.

When he pulls out you both just quietly clean yourselves up, fixing your clothes and hair so you don’t entirely scream sex with your appearances.

“My offer to come to mine after still stands,” he smirks, running a hand through his hair before you head out.

“Tempting, but I have some work to do in the morning, so no,” you turn him down, stepping out to the dark hallway that leads back to the bar. Harry grabs your hand and pulls you back, his lips smashing against yours, surprising you with his move. He kisses you deeply, sucking on your bottom lip hard before he pulls back.

“What was that for?” you ask out of breath.

“If you’re not coming over, I needed something to have a good night,” he shrugs with a smug smirk before you return to the bar.

You catch the bartender’s look as you finally get your waters and Harry pays for them. You catch the two men eyeing each other for a moment before you and Harry return to the table and you forget about the whole thing.

A Sunday afternoon you’re lounging at Harry’s. You jumped at each other’s bones when you arrived, but now you’re chilling on his couch, watching a series you both wanted to start so you decided to give it a go together. Your leg is lying across Harry’s lap, his hands absentmindedly kneading your thighs. It feels nice, like a massage, especially after how sore he made you earlier, stretching you out more than he usually does with a new pose you tried out.

Your phone chimes next to you and tearing your gaze away from the TV you check to see who just sent you a text. It was one of your coworkers, Anthony, he sent you a raging text about how he still has no idea what to wear to the company party that’s gonna be next Saturday and you realize that you totally forgot about it.

“Shit!” you curse under your breath.

“What?” Harry asks, pausing the show.

“I have this stupid work party next weekend and I totally forgot about it,” you growl, checking your calendar quickly if you can squeeze in a quick shopping spree before Saturday or you’ll have to find something in your closet.

“Aren’t those things nice with a lot of free food and drinks?” Harry wonders.

“Yeah, but I don’t like it, because all my colleagues bring their partners and I’m usually the only single one and they keep trying to set me up with someone,” you roll your eyes even at the thought of having to suffer through another one of those awkward conversations about your love life. Like it’s any of their concern!

“I can go with you if that helps,” he offers and you give him a look over your phone. “What? I’m sure if you brought someone they wouldn’t bug you.”

“But we are not together,” you remind him narrowing your eyes at him.

“They don’t have to know that. It’s a win-win, Y/N. Your colleagues would stop nagging you and I can eat and drink for free,” he smirks, clearly pleased with his little plan.

“I mean… you’re not wrong,” you sigh.

“See? Then it’s settled,” he pats your legs, smirking widely at you, but you’re still not entirely convinced. “Come on, Y/N. It’s gonna be fun!”

“This is so cliché, Harry!” you groan, your head falling back against the arm of the couch. “Pretending to be a couple? Straight out of a damn movie.”

Harry lifts your legs up so he can get out from under them, placing them back to the cushion before he climbs over to you, half of his body pressing onto yours as he squints his eyes at you.

“We can fuck in the bathroom, if you want,” he bluntly offers and you just start laughing at his dirty mind and technique of convincing you. “What? There’s literally no better offer out there. Free food, free drinks and free sex. Really good sex, if I may add,” he points out and you smack his chest lightly.

“Didn’t know you were thinking about charging me for the sex,” you joke.

“Might as well do, baby. Especially if it’s the best you can get,” he smugly huffs and you’d retort something funny, but you get caught up on the name.

“Baby? Since when are you calling me baby?”

“Since we are gonna be a couple next week. Gotta rehearse, baby,” he repeats the nickname and a foreign feeling bubbles in the pit of your stomach. Why is this one little word making you feel things you haven’t before? “And you know what else we can rehearse?” he continues, oblivious to your inner dialogue.

You don’t get to answer upon feeling his hand slide between your legs, fingers gently pressing onto your clothed clit and though you can’t stop a moan from slipping through your lips, you still grab his wrist and pull him away.

“My legs are too sore, I wouldn’t enjoy another round of you pounding into me,” you tell him and you can see the proud glimmer in his eyes that he was the one who got you into this state, though he luckily doesn’t comment on it.

“It doesn’t have to be pounding, then,” he smirks and leaning down he kisses you, taking his time as his hand frees itself from your grip and slides under your shorts and panties, fingers meeting your already throbbing bud.

He repositions himself so one of his thighs are between your legs, his lips never leaving yours as his fingers start drawing circles on your clit, sending pleasure down your body in waves.

“Fuck,” you breathe out against his lips when two of his fingers tease your entrance before pushing all the way inside, curling them between your clenching, wet walls.

“No, we are not fucking right now,” he smirks, never missing a chance to joke around and you want to retort to his comment, but words get caught in your throat when his thumb starts playing with your clit, fingers sliding in and out of you in a steady rhythm.

“So, are we on for Saturday? It’s gonna be fun, hm?”

The little shit is using his fingers to convince you and he has the audacity to ask you questions when you are about to see stars. Sometimes you really do hate how big of a smug fucker Harry is, but it’s hard to feel hatred for him when he is about to make you cum again.

“I-I don’t… Harry!” you gasp when he abruptly pulls his fingers out of you, right when you were so close. “I was about to fucking cum!” you growl, raging eyes meeting his green irises.

“I know,” he chuckles. “Say that you’re in and I’ll make you cum.”

“You motherfu—“

You don’t get to finish, his lips smashing against yours as his fingers return, moving faster than before, quickly pushing you towards the edge again.

“Say it. Say it, Y/N,” he mumbles against your lips as your chest is heaving and you start buckling your hips to meet his movements.

“Fuck… Okay! I’m in, just please make me cum!” you whine, hands gripping his shoulders like your life depends on it.

“Good girl,” he smirks and finishes you off without any more teasing.

You cry out his name, fingers digging into his muscles as you push your thighs together, trapping his hand between them while he keeps fingering you oh so perfectly. He makes sure you ride out the last waves of your orgasm before he pulls his fingers out and without batting an eye, he just licks them and fixes your panties and shorts before returning to his previous position with your legs across his lap, starting the show like nothing really happened.

Saturday morning you’re able to quickly get your nails done and Leticia comes with you, the two of you having brunch together afterwards. You go to a new place near the nail salon and as the waiter arrives with your orders, you notice that he slides a napkin onto the table with a small smile.

Grabbing it you see a phone number scribbled onto it. Normally, you send back a smile and tug the napkin into your purse, but this time you just leave it on the table and decide to ignore it.

“What the hell is up with you?” Leticia asks and glancing up at her you see her gesturing towards the napkin. “You don’t seem too thrilled about the approach which is very unlike you.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m just… not interested,” you shrug, reaching for your fork.

“Not interested? The dude looks like the lovechild of Chris Hemsworth and Johnny Depp. He is exactly your type, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m just not seeking another hookup right now, that’s it.”

“Oh my God!” Leticia gasps and you give her a puzzled look.

“What?”

“You don’t want other men because of Harry!”

“What? That’s crazy,” you laugh, because she has clearly left her mind at the salon for even thinking that.

“Have you hooked up with anyone else than Harry since you’ve made your little deal?”

“I, uhh… Flirted with the bartender when we were out together.”

“Flirting doesn’t count, not even in relationships.”

“I don’t think many would agree with that, Tish,” you huff.

“Okay, but did you have any interest in fucking someone else?”

“I don’t get it why you are making a big deal out of it. Why would I seek anyone else if I’m perfectly pleased by him?”

“Honey, that’s like… how relationships work.”

“That’s not true,” you shake your head, though what would you know about relationships? Your first and only one was when you were seventeen and it lasted twenty-one pathetic days.

“Are you fucking with anyone else?” She asks, eyebrows raised at you as you shake your head no. “Are you fucking him?”

“Obviously,” you scoff.

“Do you spend time together that doesn’t include sex?”

You are almost quick to say no, but then you realize that would be a big ass lie. Every time he comes over to your place or you’re at his, it’s never just the sex. That’s always primary, but not everything you do. All the dinners, the movies and shows you’ve watched together, when you sit on your tiny balcony with a bottle of wine, talking and laughing like you always did before the deal, something always happens after the sex.

Your silence once again answers Leticia’s question. Reaching over the table she takes your hand in hers, giving it a soft squeeze.

“Girl, you are totally dating Harry.”

Leticia once again manages to put a flea in your ear about this whole Harry thing. You wish she didn’t say a thing, because now you can’t think of anything else than the fact that you really are doing all the things with Harry that people who are dating do.

You get so riled up that you almost cancel on the evening, but you’d hate to have to sit through the evening with your colleagues alone when you said you’d be bringing someone. That would make their usual nagging a hundred times worse. So instead, you suck it up and decide to ignore the issue just for the time being and you get ready.

You were able to find a new dress beforehand, the yellow dress is truly a sight to the sore eyes with the corset-like top and very subtle lace details here and there. It’s a little daring, but everyone goes all out for these parties usually and you definitely don’t want to be underdressed.

Harry texts you that he is in front of the building a little before seven, holding up the taxi he came with so you quickly grab everything you need and head out.

You’re the first one to see him through the glass entrance doors of your building, he is standing next to the car in a simple black suit and a soft yellow shirt underneath. It was actually your idea to match your outfits and he surely understood the assignment, especially seeing his also yellow nails.

Part of you is still hung up on what Leticia told you, but a bigger one is so excited to see him and also very into his look for the evening, that you push your doubts to the back of your mind and step out of the building with a shy smile on your lips as his eyes fall on you and you see his lips part.

“Wow! This dress is… wow!” he breathes out, his eyes raking your frame up and down shamelessly as you walk closer.

“Do you know any other words than wow?” you tease him, biting into your bottom lip.

“Yeah. How about: I would love to bend you over this taxi and take you here and now in this dress?”

Your face heats up immediately, slapping his arm, but then you leave your hand on his bicep and give it a squeeze as your answer: you’d definitely love that if it wasn’t kind of illegal to have sex out on a busy street.

The ignorance in you is so high that you don’t even mind how Harry keeps a hand on your thigh in the car, what’s more, you’re quite liking the warmth of his touch on you. His fingers are gently tapping against the music the driver is playing and he even hums a little along the songs.

“Hey, how is the album writing going?” you ask to break the silence a little.

“Great! They asked for fifteen songs until the end of August, so I have plenty of time, but I’m already done with six,” he beams, and you smile back at him proudly.

“That’s amazing. Can I hear any of them sometime?”

“I mean… if you buy the album?” he chuckles, making you roll your eyes at him. “I’ll see what I can do about that,” he then adds, giving your leg another squeeze before turning towards the window.

The party is just the same as it always is. A luxurious evening to celebrate the company’s success in the past six months, a way to give back to the employees and make them feel appreciated with all the free stuff. It’s nice, but you don’t feel like it’s necessary, people would be happier with a raise after all, than one night of free food and drinks.

Harry holds your hand as you walk in, the majority of the guests already present, music playing and there are several open buffet tables and bars in the gigantic ballroom that was decorated in a forest-like theme just for tonight.

“So you did not lie about bringing a date!” Anthony beams as soon as he sees you, his boyfriend, Pete following him right behind, both of them wearing matching burgundy suits.

“Have I lied to you about anything?” you chuckle awkwardly.

“Plenty of times,” he points out before turning towards Harry. “Hello handsome, I’m Anthony, Y/N’s favorite coworker, and this is my boyfriend, Pete.” They all shake hands, Harry smiling back at them warmly before his hand finds yours again, his fingers lacing together with yours in an instant.

“Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, I’m Harry.”

“Oh my! The accent!” Anthony gushes, clearly already a fan of Harry’s. “I was really afraid Y/N just said that she is bringing someone so we would get out of her hair this time.”

“I feel offended,” you give him a look, but he just shrugs it off, even though he is more right than he knows.

“Come on, let’s get you guys a drink, we are all sitting over there!”

Joining all your coworkers at the table, you get a head start on the food and drinks, not shying away from stacking everything you like onto your plate. Talking, mixing and mingling, Harry stays right next to you, charming everyone the two of you meet, earning you some approving looks from your colleagues that usually try to set you up with someone they know. This time, you’re left in peace the moment they see Harry with you, his hand always somewhere on you, holding your hand, the small of your back, your hips or waist or, your personal favorite, the back of your neck under your hair. His presence is uplifting already, but his tiny touches just warm you even more on the inside.

“I have to say, Y/N, you are absolutely glowing!” Dianne, one of the editors compliment you when the two of you are at the bar waiting for your drinks to be refilled. Harry stayed back at the table, deep in conversation with Pete about guitars, from what you could understand from their conversation.

“Oh, thank you!” you chuckle softly.

“This man is for sure treating you well. It’s so great to see you finally finding your person.”

She meant well with her comment, but it’s what brings everything you kept hidden in the back of your head out to the front. Tonight was supposed to be all pretending, making everyone believe something that’s not even there, but then why do you feel like it’s real? Like you fooled yourself with everyone else as well?

Your eyes fall back to Harry at the table, who is intently listening to something Pete is telling him and as if he had a sixth sense, his eyes snap at you, a smile stretching across his pretty face at an instant that makes you stomach dance again, heart beating oddly fast.

What is happening to you? This cannot be real, you can’t be having feelings, especially not for Harry. No, you do not allow that for yourself, emotions are off limits for you, because if you fall for someone that gives them the chance to leave you and break you and you’ve seen what it does to a woman. You got enough of the suffering through your mother and you vowed not to let it happen to you. And not even Harry Styles will change that. This is about sex and nothing else, no feelings are involved and that will not change. You won’t let it.

Excusing yourself from Dianne you quickly go back to the table, the refills long forgotten as you take your seat next to Harry. His hand instantly finds your leg as he looks at you with a sweet smile at first that turns into slight confusion.

“Thought you went for a refill?”

“Forget the drinks,” you shake your head, leaning closer to his ear. “You promised me bathroom sex.”

You feel the shift in him right away, how he bites into his bottom lip, his bright green irises darkening at your words, his hold on your leg tightening. His gaze flickers to your eyes and you want to devour him, you want him to take you here and there to prove you that this is all it’s about: sex.

Clearing his throat he mumbles a lame excuse as he pulls you from your chair, tugging you towards the restrooms, you try to keep up with his pace in your heels, but you also can’t wait for him to slam you against the door and fuck you quick and hard.

As soon as you’re locked away from the party in one of the bathrooms, your lips collide with his as he pushes you up against the door, a leg coming between your thighs and you can’t stop yourself from grinding on him.

“Fuck,” he rasps out, hands cupping your jaw as he angles your head just right while your hands are already traveling down his body to reach his pants, eager to get them undone as fast as possible.

However the sudden rush and desperation catches Harry’s eyes and he grabs your hands, stopping you mid-action.

“Hey, everything alright?” he asks, out of breath, concern filling his eyes.

“I just need you to fuck me,” you bluntly reply, but he doesn’t move.

“Okay, but why do you look so shaken up? Did something happen?”

“Harry, stop babying me! I said I’m fine, I just want you to fuck me!” you snap, losing your patience. Not sure if it’s with him or with yourself though.

“You’re obviously not fine! You are snapping at me for being decent and making sure you’re okay!” Harry steps away from you, the moment completely ruined as all physical contact ends with him, his eyes staring back at you in disbelief and you feel like a ticking bomb that’s about to explode.

“It’s not your concern if I’m okay or not. We have a deal, just go with that and leave the rest to me!”

“But above the deal we are friends too. I’m not gonna just… fuck you senseless when you’re obviously upset about something. You’re not in the right mindset.”

“Oh my God, stop being so fucking nice! Stop making these grand gestures and stop pretending like you give a fuck!” You raise your voice and it surely surprises him, but he is still more concerned than angry at your outburst.

“What do you mean pretending? I do care about you! Is that a fucking crime now?!”

“It is because it is for the wrong reasons!” you retort, feeling your throat closing up at the same time. Oh God, you hope you won’t start crying, that will make it even worse. “I think you are taking this pretending a little too far tonight. We are not a couple, this is not real, Harry,” you remind him.

He stares back at you for what feels like eternity and you wish you could read his mind, because you can’t read anything from his eyes, he just stands there like a statue and you feel panic crawling up your spine, slowly digging its claws into your flesh.

And then he finally breaks his silence.

“And would it be so bad if it was real?”

You can’t help a sob that emits from you, feeling like your guts are in a tight grip by his words. This is exactly what you didn’t want to happen.

“No, take that back!” you whine.

“I’m not taking it back! Y/N, what we’ve been doing these past weeks is exactly what a relationship is like and you didn’t seem to have a problem with it until a label was put on it. It doesn’t have to change anything!”

“But it is! And you know I don’t do this!”

“Don’t do what? Feelings? You don’t get to choose that!” he chuckles bitterly.

“I do! I fucking do! And I chose not to have them so… this is ending here, because you clearly caught feelings,” you pant in desperate need of getting out of the bathroom, but when you are about to open the door Harry’s hand snaps against it, keeping it closed. You rest your forehead against the cool surface of it, feeling Harry stand so close to you behind, his chest is touching your back.

“Don’t just walk away, we are in the middle of a conversation,” he growls, his voice filled with anger and warning.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” you whisper, shaking your head as you turn around and face him, your back pressing against the door.

“But I do,” he simply replies. “Why do you think you can just run away from feeling anything for the rest of your life? Why would it be so bad if you fell for someone, huh? I know you do have feelings, I know you well, Y/N. You’re not some cold hearted jerk, you are a caring and loving person, so why won’t you let yourself be happy?”

“I am happy the way I am, have you thought about that?”

“No, you’re not. I’ve known you half my life, I know that you want to be cared for, you want to be loved and cherished, yet you push away everyone who wants to give you that.”

“Because it’s not that easy, Harry!” you snap at him. “It’s never just the lovey-dovey shit! Feelings come with hurt and pain and heartbreaks and I don’t need that! I can’t handle that!”

“It’s not always the case! But if you never put yourself out there, you’ll never find the happiness you’re seeking!”

“Well, for me, it doesn’t worth it! I don’t want to fall for someone, plan my future with them and open up to them completely only for them to fall out of love with me one day and decide they don’t want anything to do with me! I don’t want to give anyone the chance to hurt me like that, because I’ve seen what it does to a person! I witnessed it all, Harry! I will not be a victim to that!”

You’re full on shouting, tears rolling down your cheeks at this point. You are letting everything out that’s been bottled up deep inside of you all this time. Nothing can make you believe in the fairytale that will never become your reality and you rather save the time and pain than experiment with it.

What really hurts is that now you are losing your friend. Your best friend. Because the way Harry is looking at you makes it obvious that you’ll never be like before the deal. The hurt, the shock, the panic and the anger, it all mixes in his wide-eyed gaze and it’s like a knife into your chest.

“You promised me, Harry,” you sob, voice now barely more than just a whisper. “You swore you wouldn’t catch feelings but you lied!”

“I didn’t lie,” he simply answers clenching his jaw. “I said I wouldn’t catch feelings for you, but truth is… I already had them. I was already in love with you, have been for a while. And you know what? I think you love me too, but you’re just too afraid to admit it. I know it because I can feel it. The way you touch me, look at me, the way you talk to me, it’s written all over you, but you choose to ignore it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you shake your head vigorously. “You think you know it, but you don’t.”

“Stop denying it, Y/N! You can’t just switch it off! Loving is not as horrendous as you think it is! Yes, it comes with pain too, but the good is always there to make you forget about it. You have to give it… you have to give yourself a chance!”

“I don’t have to do anything, Harry,” you sass back, pushing him away so you have the chance to sneak out of the room before he could stop you. But he doesn’t let it end that easily. Running after you he catches your wrist before you could get out of the hallway, pulling you back.

“Don’t just fucking walk away, Y/N! We need to talk about this!”

“No, we don’t. And I’m done with this. Done with… you.”

It hurts. The words rolling off of your tongue hurt, but you choose to ignore it once again as you shake his hand off of yourself, marching back to your table to grab your bag and leave.

“What do you mean you’re done with me? Don’t do this, Y/N! Let’s just fucking talk!”

Harry keeps trying to stop you, but you’re determined to leave. Your coworkers notice the little scene, but you don’t pay it any attention as you head out of the room, knowing well they’ll talk shit about you behind your back as soon as you’re out of the building.

“Y/N for fuck’s sake just stop already!” Harry snaps, grabbing your arm once again when you’re outside, pulling you back, but you’ve had enough.

“No! I’m not stopping, you need to stop! Stop trying to make yourself believe this is anything more than just the deal we made! It’s not and it will never be, because you don’t get to have the privilege of hurting me, nobody gets to do that!”

“Who said I want to hurt you?! That’s the last thing I would want to do! It’s not as cruel as you imagine it, Y/N. I know that your mum had a terrible love life when you were younger, but that’s not the only side to love! There are so much good about it, so much to fight for and endure with the bad sides, you can’t just throw all of it out the window because you decided love is just not for you!”

“I can and I will. Watch me!” you bite back, tearing your arm out of his hold as you step to the side of the pavement and wave a taxi down.

“Please don’t get into that car, Y/N, let’s talk!”

“We talked enough,” you huff as the car stops in front of you and you hop inside, but just as you are about to close the door Harry once again stops you.

“Y/N, I love you. Please don’t do this!” he begs, so much sorrow and pain radiating from his face and for a moment you fall weak. You almost reach out to him, because part of you hates seeing him like this, especially knowing that it’s because of you. You just want him to be happy, but you know it’s not gonna be with you. You can never give him what he wants and needs. He’ll be better off without you.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out before pulling the door closed and the car drives away. Turning around you see him stand on the pavement, completely broken and shaken, his hands tangling into his hair as he angrily kicks at the dirt before the car melts into the traffic and he falls out of your sight.

You did it for your and Harry’s sake. It had to be done and you are both better off this way. At least that’s what you’ve been trying to convince you to believe.

But why does it hurt so badly then?

Harry tried you calling a million times after you left him at the party, he even came after you and banged on your door for thirty minutes straight, begging you to let him in and just talk, but you didn’t even answer him. Just waited until he left before you curled up in the shower and cried for about an hour.

The calls and texts kept coming in the next few days, but after a while he gave up. He got nothing but silence from your side and one last, long ass text that you didn’t even read because you knew you’d just start crying again, he finally gave up.

You were left alone with all the pain and emptiness and you realized how big part of your life Harry played before. Somehow, everything reminded you of him and you couldn’t do anything without wishing he was with you.

You truly believed that time will heal you, that soon you’ll realize that you made the right decision, but days turned into weeks and nothing changed, you just learned to live with the pain. You stopped going out with your friends and not just because you were afraid of seeing Harry, but because you genuinely couldn’t get yourself to leave the house. Your evenings consisted of binge eating all the ice-cream you could find in your freezer and watching reruns of your favorite shows, but nothing could really take your mind off of Harry.

Day after day you cancelled on Leticia as well until she had enough of your hermit life. She got fed up watching you sink into your pit of sorrow and decided to take things into her own hands and not let you run away from her.

A Friday evening you’re doing what you’ve been doing for weeks now, lying on your couch in sweatpants, scrolling through Netflix when there’s a knock on your door. You wait, hoping whoever it is will think you’re not home and go away, but another obnoxious knock rips through the apartment and you growl.

“I know you’re in there bitch, open the fucking door!” Leticia shouts from outside and you curse the day you became friends with her. Maybe you would have been better off as enemies.

“I’m busy!” you call out, but make your way to the front door anyway, opening it to reveal her.

“Yeah, I can see that. Busy with being a bag of trash,” she comments on your appearance, walking inside without an invitation.

“Jeez, you really did wake up today and chose violence,” you mutter under your breath as you shut the door closed.

Leticia is quick to turn the TV off and open up the windows as you just stand there, not sure what she is doing here.

“When did you clean this place? And when was the last time you took a shower?” she asks, her nose scrunching when she takes a better look at you.

“Okay, did you come here to offend me? Because I don’t need that so please leave.”

“No, I’m here to beat some sense into you.”

“Good luck with that,” you scoff, taking your spot on the couch once again. You reach for the remote with the intention of turning the TV back on, but Leticia stands in front of the screen, blocking the device completely as she stares down at you with a disapproving look, arms folded on her chest.

“You’re acting like a child, Y/N. Avoiding everyone and being mad at the whole world, are you an emo teenager now or what?”

“I’m not mad at the whole world!”

“Okay, then you’re mad at just Harry, still, it’s a mistake.”

“I’m not mad at only Harry either,” you admit truthfully.

“Who else then?”

“Myself?” you mumble, eyes falling closed as you slide lower down on the couch.

“That makes the two of us, but why are you mad at yourself?” she asks, finally moving from her spot in front of the TV as she sits next to you on the couch, crossing her legs as she waits for your answer.

“Because…” you start with a sigh, opening your eyes, but you avoid looking at her, instead, you stare at the wall across you. “Because I can’t fucking stop thinking about him,” you admit and your lips start trembling instantly, just like every time you think about him. “I miss him so fucking badly, Tish! I miss our conversations, I miss his stupid jokes, I miss him raiding my fucking fridge and I miss…”

You bite your tongue, not wanting to admit the next thoughts loudly. Because you miss kissing him, you miss holding him and be held by him. You miss sex too, but you miss the tiny things even more, the way his lips feel against yours, how he smiles against them when you whimper his name and you miss the awkward little things the most. When he accidentally bumps his head against yours or when say random shit right before he pushes into you just to make you laugh, or when he leans in for a kiss but misses it and ends up kissing your nose or just the corner of your mouth. You miss everything about him and you hate him for that, but you hate yourself even more. It feels like your own conscious has betrayed you.

Shutting your eyes closed you let the tears roll down your cheeks as Leticia scoots closer and wraps her arms around you, cooing soothingly at you.

“It’s alright. It’s totally normal, Y/N.”

“It is not! Not for me at least!” you protest pulling back, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hands.

“Stop with the bullshit already!” she growls in annoyance. “You are not some kind of ice queen who is incapable of loving! You love me, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s different,” you roll your eyes.

“Not really. You love your other friends as well, right?” You nod. “And you love your mom,” she adds and you nod again. “Would you do anything for these people?”

“Of course.”

“Do you like spending time with them? Do you care about them in all kinds of ways?”

“Yes,” you sigh, fumbling with the hem of your shirt.

“Do you feel the same way about Harry? Do you care about him, would you do anything for him to make him happy?”

“Yes,” you whisper truthfully.

“Then don’t complicate it. You love him, no big deal! And he surely loves you back, because he told you, right?” You nod. “Then pull your head out of your ass and just let yourself be happy for once.”

“Why are you coming with this too? I was happy on my own too!”

“No, you were getting by,” she points it out. “You were doing good, but you weren’t… a whole. Harry gave you everything you missed, but for some fucked up reason you think it’s the end of the world to depend on someone else partially when it comes to your happiness. Which can be a smart thing, it’s important to be your own person and be independent, but sometimes we need some help from others. From people that love us and we love them back. It’s not a crime, Y/N.”

“No, but it’s gonna end up with me being heartbroken.”

“You already are,” she ruthlessly replies, bringing your attention to what you’ve been trying to ignore all this time. “Hate to break it to you, but this is what that feels like. So why not just go with it, you already felt the pain, now you could go for the good parts as well.”

“I don’t know if I can do it, Tish,” you breathe out, resting your head against the back of the couch. “Even if I did it, I know I would mess it up and hurt him or maybe he’ll do something stupid and hurt me and I don’t think I can handle that.”

“So what? It’s part of the deal. And besides, you’re already hurting each other, so you better get your shit together,” she scoffs, poking your side playfully.

It’s part of the deal. Are you ready to make a new deal? One that you’ve been avoiding your whole life? Are you ready to cut yourself open for someone else and just hope for the best?

Probably not. And probably you’ll never be. But your tactics didn’t succeed so far, you still ended up in pain so why not give it a chance? Even if it’s gonna be the hardest thing you’ve ever done?

“Do you think he hates me now?” you ask quietly, peeking at her scared of her answer.

“He is a bit mad at you for shutting him out, but he could never hate you. That man loves you so much, it’s almost disgusting,” she admits, making you chuckle. “Just… be honest with him and talk to him. You need it. You both need it.”

Harry’s fingers strum against the chords again, trying to get the tune right, but he fails again, a frustrated growl leaving his lips as he lets his head fall forwards. He’s been trying to finish the song for hours, but it still hasn’t come together the way he imagined and his patience is running short.

It’s been hard for him to focus on writing, with you on his mind all the time, everything seems like a hard task. He has written plenty of songs since the night at the party, but he could never use them for his job. One, because they are so fucking sad and depressive and they asked for upbeat hits from him, and two, because they are all so personal, he could never give them to someone else. He can’t let anyone else sing the lines he wrote to you, but you’ll probably never hear them.

Giving up on finishing the song today, he puts the guitar aside and calls it a day. Walking into the kitchen he opens the fridge and realizes that it’s completely empty aside from a bottle of ketchup and a single banana. He’s been such a mess lately, he forgot to go grocery shopping yesterday. Huffing to himself he grabs the banana and reaches for his phone to order something right when his doorbell rings. He is not expecting anyone, but Mitch has been popping in every few days to check in on him since everything that went down with you, so Harry is convinced it’s him again.

“Great timing, do you want Italian or Chinese?” he asks, walking up to the door, but as he swings it open he freezes when he sees you standing on the doormat. “Y/N…” he breathes out as if he was seeing a ghost.

“Hi! I-I hope I’m not bothering you o-or anything…” you ramble nervously.

“No! No, come on in!” He snaps out of his trance and steps aside, letting you walk inside. A feeling of nostalgia hits you right away as you think back at the last time you were here. Just a few days before the party, when everything was different.

“I’m sorry I came without asking, I just… I would say I was nearby, but that’s not true,” you chuckle anxiously as the two of you walk into the living room. You notice that his place is a little messier than usually, but it’s not nearly as bad as yours was before you did a deep cleaning yesterday after Leticia’s comments on it.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. What… What brought you here?”

“I, uhh… I’ve been thinking. A lot. And I have a few things I need to tell you.”

For a moment Harry’s stomach drops, because he thinks you came here to tell him off one more time for breaking your deal, for everything that happened at the party. He is already bracing himself to just let you lash out on him, but it never comes. And when you speak up again, he nearly faints.

“I love you.”

It’s a strong start, definitely a surprising one. Harry’s lips part and his eyes widen, his look almost comical, but you’re not laughing, not now. You have a lot to tell him and you can only hope he won’t throw you out after everything is said.

“I love you and I’m sorry it took me so long to stop ignoring it, but I promise you I’m done with that. And I’m sorry for everything I said to you that night, I was… mad and confused and I didn’t know how to deal with everything at once. I was delusional and ignorant and… a fool for thinking that I could just choose to never have feelings, especially for you,” you add with a tiny, nervous chuckle. “You were right. About everything. That I can’t live without ever putting myself out there and risking it. And I think deep down I knew that, but I was so afraid of getting hurt that I made myself believe I’m good on my own, but I’m not. Not entirely, to be precise. Because sometimes it is worth risking it and… and I realized that you are the person for me who is worth this risk.”

The tears are already blurring your vision, for the millionth time these past weeks, but it feels right now. Opening up to Harry and telling him all of this is hard, but with every spoken word you feel lighter and more relieved.

“I’m sorry if I made you think that I don’t love you, because I do. I really do. You are my best friend and these past weeks have been hell for me without you. I was so keen on avoiding a heart break that I ended up breaking my own heart,” you chuckle bitterly, the first tear running down your cheek.

Harry reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb and you involuntarily melt into his touch. You’ve been starved for it and now it feels like home. When you look up and your eyes meet his, you see that they are red too and it just makes you want to cry even more.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just thought that I was doing the right thing, but I was so far from that. So I’m really sorry and I understand if you don’t want to see me again for the way I acted. I was… a horrible friend and… an even worse girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah. Because you were right, we were more than just the deal and… if you choose not to throw me out after this, I would… I would love to give it a try with you. I want to be the girlfriend you deserve and though I’m sure I’ll mess it up a lot of times, I promise I’ll try my best, becau—“

He makes your rambling stop in the best way possible, lips smashing against yours as he cups your tear-soaked cheeks in his warm palms, pulling you close to him, your arms curling around his waist immediately.

Harry has kissed you several times before, but none of them compares to this. It’s messy and salty from both your tears, but you wouldn’t change a thing about it, the way his lips move against yours, tongues meeting, devouring each other, making up for the lost time and full of promises for the future. You hold onto his shirt at his back for dear life as he just keeps kissing you over and over again until you both run out of breath.

“So, does this mean you’re not throwing me out?” you joke, breaking the silence once you’ve pulled back.

“Fuck no,” he laughs, pecking your lips a few more times before his lips meet your forehead. “You are not leaving this place, ever. You’re trapped,” he adds to the joke and you break out in a relieved laughter.

“Wait, so I’m stuck with you now?” you whine playfully, but all you get is another kiss on the lips, hard and demanding.

“Yeah, forever, baby. You won’t get rid of me now, not after the speech you just gave me,” he smirks down at you, his arms coming to curl around your shoulders as he keeps you pressed against him tightly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your heart soaring as you hear those words again from him, this time, not even trying to dodge them in any way. In fact, you just want to hear him say it every minute over and over again for the rest of your life. “And I’m happy to be stuck with you,” you add with a shy smile as his grin widens at your words.

“Yeah? So we have a new deal then?” he teases, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Absolutely.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles au #harry styles imagine

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spencersstrawberryjello · 3 years

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Shitty Slasher Film (Spencer Reid + gn!MC - platonic)

Summary: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8 (and minor season 7 spoilers but I figure if you’ve seen season 8 you’ve probably seen season 7 already lmao) MC and Spencer decide to go see a slasher film, but it takes a turn for the worse when the killer begins to stalk his victim.

Content: Hurt/Comfort (because literally what else do I write at this point)

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, depressive thoughts, and swearing

MC’s name and pronouns: Neither explicitly mentioned

Word Count: 2285

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The plan was simple.

We were going to see a new horror movie in the theaters - it seemed similar to a slasher film that Morgan, Garcia, Reid and I had seen like six or seven months ago, so I didn’t think anything of it when we booked the tickets. Morgan and Garcia couldn’t make it tonight, unfortunately, but we still elected to go on our own, thinking it would be a fun little outing. That was, until the film started.

The lights came up on a woman, walking through a back alley alone, at night. Typical. I even glanced over at Spencer and rolled my eyes a bit, and he grinned at the stereotypical horror movie trope.

She died, of course, and for the first half of the movie I genuinely thought it was going to be exactly what we assumed. We were laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, with the stupid special effects and the subpar acting. But everything went off the rails after the first half of the movie.

The killer had revealed his primary target, his endgame, and - much to my horror - he had begun to stalk her.

Scenes of her creating a disguise, moving houses, throwing away her phone, spun a dark web that I didn’t ever want to think about. But I had more pressing things to worry about than my fear at a movie that was literally intended to make you scared.

I glanced over at Spencer, and I could tell that his breathing had picked up. His hands were gripping the arms of the chair, knuckles as white as his face had turned. I put a hand over his, and his attention snapped to me.

“Hey, are you alright?” I asked him. It was a stupid question, and one I already knew the answer to, but it was the first thing I could think to say. He looked like he was weighing his options for a moment before he shook his head.

“Do you want to leave?” I followed. He nodded, eyes wild, and we quickly grabbed our bags and left, just as the stalker had pulled a gun on his victim. Spencer took one last look at the screen, watching with wide eyes as the victim begged for her life. It was like a trainwreck; he couldn’t take his eyes off the movie, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him as the stalker pulled the trigger, and the woman crumpled to the ground. He practically jumped out of his skin when the gunshots fired, and I grabbed his arm to usher him out.

I didn’t realize the full extent of his panic until we made it out of the theater, bursting through the doors into the significantly brighter lights of the hallway. He immediately sat down on the couch near the doors, head in his hands, breathing rapidly.

“Ok, you’ve gotta breathe, Reid. You’ve gotta breathe, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth, can you do that?” I adjusted my breathing to fit the pattern, and saw that he had started to slow his as well. “Good, ok… we can sit here for as long as you need to, just focus on your breathing.”

He gave me an almost imperceptible nod, continuing to breathe slowly before lifting his head from his hands. His eyes were red, and it was clear he’d been trying to fight off tears.

“Reid, I’m so sorry -”

It was at that moment that he cut me off with a hug, tucking his head in the crook of my neck as I felt his body lightly shake with sobs. After a second I hugged him back, not used to physical affection from him, but not opposed as long as he was ok with it.

“It reminded you too much of Maeve, didn’t it?” I asked, trying to ensure that the story I had in my head was correct. He nodded, his breath coming in short gasps again, and I hugged him a bit tighter. “Reid, I’m so sorry, I never would’ve suggested this movie if I’d known the turn the story was going to take.”

He shook his head, sucking in deep breaths before finally attempting to speak. “No, no, it��s ok, I know that you wouldn’t have done this on purpose. It’s just…”

He trailed off, but I knew what he was trying to say. “I was there that day, Reid. I know how much she meant to you.”

“The girl in the movie kind of looked like her. You know? Same hair, same face shape… when I saw the fear in her eyes, all I could imagine was Maeve, terrified, with a gun to her head. The woman I love - loved. The woman I loved. Scared, and alone.”

“Oh, Reid… you know it’s not your fault, right? You did everything you could to save her.”

“No. No, I didn’t. I should’ve closed my eyes, I should’ve tackled Diane - hell, I should’ve shot that bitch the minute I walked into the room! Instead I stood there. I stood there while the woman I loved died in front of me, and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

“Spencer.” I put my hands on his shoulders, pulling back from the hug to look into his eyes. “You absolutely cannot blame yourself for this. What happened to Maeve was horrible, but it was not your fault. And you can’t live your life with that on your conscience.”

“Maybe I deserve to.” His voice was soft as he tucked his head back into the crook of my neck, and I put my arms around him, one hand lightly rubbing his back. My heart broke for the man in my arms - my best friend - as he sniffled, a few stray tears still trickling down his face.

“You don’t deserve to live with that kind of guilt, Spencer. Guilt for something you didn’t even do. And I’m so, so sorry that you feel that way. And I’m so sorry about what happened.”

“Sorry doesn’t make it go away,” He argued, his voice muffled by the fabric of my t-shirt, “Sorry doesn’t bring her back.”

I heard his voice hitch when he said it, and I held him a bit tighter. “I know it doesn’t.”

He was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice thick with tears begging to be released. “I just wish I could bring her back.”

It was as if saying it broke something in him, and I felt his body shake as he cried again, consumed by grief and guilt unlike anything I could ever imagine. He was usually so closed off about his emotions that having him crying in my arms was a rare occurrence, even after years of friendship. The last time he was like this was after Emily’s… “death,” and even that wasn’t near as intense.

I wasn’t sure how long we sat on that bench, the orange lights of the movie theater hallway creating a strange liminal sensation as I held Spencer, finally releasing the emotions he’d clearly been pushing away since Maeve’s death.

Eventually, he stopped crying, his breathing returning to something close to normal, and he pulled away from me, his eyes red from tears.

“I’m sor -”

“Nope, do not even start to apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

He closed his mouth, contemplating saying something else for a second before nodding, hugging me again.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Reid. Do you want to go back to my place? We can order a pizza, and watch a movie - something we know this time. If you need to be alone, I understand, but -”

He shook his head. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” I sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady my own breathing after everything that just happened, “Good. Are you ok to walk to the car?”

“Yeah… I’m not sure how talkative I’m going to be tonight though…” He kind of trailed off, clearly drained, but not wanting to be alone.

“I understand; you know there’s no expectations with me, Reid. If you want to just wrap yourself up in a blanket and eat junk food, I get it. I just want to be there, to make sure that you’re ok.”

He gave me a small smile, and I grinned, grabbing his hand to help him off the bench. We made our way out to my car, and I climbed in, starting it before turning on the radio.

Spencer was pretty much silent the entire drive back to my apartment, the noise in the car mostly consisting of the music and my less than stellar singing. When we finally pulled into the complex, we headed upstairs to my place.

“I’m gonna order the food. Do you wanna find something on Netflix you like?” I asked as I unlocked the door. He nodded, and I threw my keys on the kitchen counter, putting in the pizza order on my computer. I saw him grab a blanket from the basket in the living room, wrapping it around his shoulders and plopping down on my couch.

I expected to return to the living room to see whatever movie we were watching cued up on the TV. Instead, I saw Spencer, staring at the wall across from him, remote untouched on the coffee table.

“Hey,” I sat down next to him, gently putting one hand on his shoulder, “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

He was silent for a moment, and I could see the mental battle he was fighting. Eventually, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m afraid… I’m afraid that if I allow myself to grieve, if I allow myself to think about what happened, I won’t be able to stop. It’s been almost four months, I thought the pain would be gone by now. But it isn’t, it’s… I just miss her. I miss her so much.”

“I know, Reid. I know.”

He leaned into me, and I didn’t hesitate to wrap my arms around him, the thoughts of pizza and a movie completely abandoned in my mind. Instead, all of my attention was on Spencer as he spoke again.

“On the last case, Rossi talked to me. I told him that I wasn’t sleeping because whenever I did, I would dream of her. Of Maeve. And everytime I saw her, I felt nothing but relief flooding my mind. I told him how she would always ask me to dance, and how I always said no. I never even got to hold her when she was alive, and I was scared that if I gave into the fantasy, I would be lost forever,” He took in a shaky breath before he continued, “And he said I should. He said, ‘just let it happen, Spencer.’ So I did. I danced with her, I held her, and when I woke up, she was all I could think about. The way it felt to wrap my arms around her, the way her head fit perfectly into the crook of my neck while we danced. It took another day before I could think about anything but her, before I could stop wallowing in my grief enough to function. And since that night, I haven’t allowed myself to give into the fantasy again, the fantasy of having her back. I think… I think that if I let it happen again, I won’t be able to come back from it. It’ll just consume me.”

“Spencer…” I trailed off, unsure of what to say. He just shook his head, telling me I didn’t need to say anything as we sat there on my couch in silence. He wasn’t crying, he hadn’t cried since we left the theater. He was just… hollow. Everything that he’d been trying to repress - to compartmentalize - had finally caught up to him, in the form of a shitty slasher movie that we’d gotten cheap tickets to see.

I held him tighter, wishing that I could figure out something to say to comfort him, to take away his pain. But I knew there was nothing I could do. Nothing I could do but just be there.

“Have you ever considered talking to someone? Like, not someone from the team - a professional?” I asked.

“I’ve thought about it. But… we’re experts in human behavior, you know? What’s a therapist going to be able to tell me that I can’t already profile myself?”

“Well, it might be helpful to have a licensed professional to talk to about this stuff. Someone who can actually give you advice on how to handle your emotions. Because as much as I am absolutely here for you no matter what, I’m afraid I’m not great at mental health advice.”

“Yeah… maybe.” He sounded dubious about the idea, and while I wanted to encourage him further, I didn’t want to push him today. So I settled for just gently rubbing his back as he laid in my arms, staring at the wall. Eventually, the doorbell rang, and I got up to get the pizza, bringing it back into the living room and setting it down on the coffee table. By now, he’d sat up, the blanket still pulled around his shoulders, but at least a bit more present.

“Thank you,” He said, for the second time that day. I just smiled at him.

“Of course. I love you, Reid. And I’m always here, whatever you need.”

“I love you too,” He gave me a small smile back before turning his attention to the coffee table, “But I also love food - I’m starving.”

I laughed as I handed him a plate, joining him on the couch as we both dug in.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #best friends with spencer #platonic spencer reid #platonic hurt/comfort #angst #hurt/comfort #gn!MC #gender neutral mc

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zosociologist · 4 years

Text

"Dating Eddie (Vedder✨) Would be Like..." Headcannon

(a/n: written with a black reader in mind🍸)

Warnings?: Just a smidgen (just a.....a lil crumb👌) of smut👀👉👈

ABSOLUTE......C H A O S ! ! !

but a good kinda chaos

Eddie usually has himself together (sometimes) around others and the same thing goes for you

But when you two fucknuts get together......it's like someone dropped 50 mentos into a punch bowl full of diet coke(caine)

But you two are honestly the cutest, especially when you both haven't seen each other in a long time💞

At first you didn't take him for the cuddling type?

That shit got nipped in the bud REAL quick

HE LOVES PHYSICAL TOUCH!!!

ADORES IT

Any chance he gets he likes to hold onto you😭

You were watching 'A Different World' together at your shared apartment and you were sprawled out on the couch.....

DIS BOY.....had the au-d a c i t y to just lay on you!

"Sir, what are you doing?"

"I was cold and you're very warm and soft and you smell nice (:"

"Babe, it's 85 degrees outside-"

*you try to move* *he just shifts his head*

"Fuck it, go ahead😌"

You both have your parental moments where you have each other's back

Eddie pushes himself a lot, so you're always there to make sure he doesn't overdo it on certain things

And he knows when to pull the plug when he believes you're going past your limits

You're his biggest fan (Chris says otherwise👀👉👈 you all got drunk one night and you two had a showdown on who was the biggest Pearl Jam fan....Chris won 😂)

Live events? You're there hyping up the band at soundcheck and during performances, you know all the lyrics and play a mean air guitar👌

Of course you're cool with The Boys™, they think you're good for him yada yada yada all of that wholesome shit😏

EDDIE IS A BIG FAT HYPOCRITE

I'LL TELL YOU WHY

THIS MAN IS WILD ON STAGE. YOU'VE SEEN THIS. WITH YOUR OWN FUCKING VISION ORBS.

BUT WHEN IT COMES TO Y O U doing the simplest stuff?!

He won't let you do SHIT!

Exhibit A: *climbs a counter in the Kitchen to get something high up that HE MOST LIKELY PUT THERE*

"y/n what are you doing!? Get down you're gonna hurt yourself!!!"

"OH SO I CAN'T DO THIS BUT YOU CAN DANGLE OFF OF A FUCKING STAGE CEILING!?!?!?!?"

Looooots of adventures together!

Impromptu dates at hole in the wall restaurants

Record store trips: Gotta love music hunts!

You were heartbroken when you stood in line for literal hours for the new 'Tribe Called Quest' album and they sold out

Little did you know, Eddie got you a copy from the same shop a day in advance and really just fucking waited so you'd "appreciate it more".

"Don't worry, you don't have to thank me..........I lied, yes you do. Cash is accepted."

"I don't have cash, do you take sex?👀"

Speaking of Seeeeexxxxxxx😏

He's a freak (we been knew💀)

He'd take you ANYWHERE HE POSSIBLY COULD

Oh are you both at a party?

"You better keep that pretty mouth shut unless you want everyone to hear how fucking slutty you are~"

"~Okay~"

*pulls out completely* "Okay what."

"Okay Daddy~"

BUT Y'ALL AREN'T READY FOR THAT CONVERSATION😇🍸

Wash day for you? A pain. Only because he uses up your special hair products and shit when you decide to deep condition your hair

"EDDIE DID YOU USE ALL OF MY CREME OF NATURE CONDITIONER?!"

"I......................................but my curls-"

"FUCK YOUR CURLS I HAVE 4C HAIR BITCH!"

Of course, this leads to you having to make a stop to the beauty supply store!✨

Eddie loves going with you Every. Single. Time. U w U.

*gasps seeing a poster of a black woman with burgundy box braids* "Babe you'd look so cute with these!"

He loves watching you plat and fix your hair and take care of it, it's a culturally enriching experience for him that he appreciates😊

*watches you fix your hair in Bantu knots* "Oh those are BADASS!!!"

He thinks the world of you and who you are as a person, and would literally curbstomp a fucker if they had something insensitive or disrespectful to say about you. Then He'd tell folks. Then THEY'D curbstomp the fuck out of em.

EDDIE JEROME VEDDER DOES NOT PLAY ABOUT HIS BABY. PERIOOOOD!

You two get each other, and if it's good enough for you both...that's all that matters💕

But ummm......yeah! Y'ALL CUTE!!! OR WHATEVA!!!!

#yay i did it!#THE JIMMY PAGE HEADCANNON NOW HAS A SIBLING!!!#eddie vedder #pearl jam #grunge #90's rock #eddie vedder fanfic #pearl jam fanfiction #grunge fanfiction #my writing #lay speaks #x black!reader #headcannon #eddie vedder x reader #pearl jam x reader

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adamgeorgiou · 3 years

Text

Arthur, My Cousin and Me

I don’t know how to detangle Arthur from myself enough to write dispassionately or accurately. Instead, what follows is something like half him, half me. It’s more journal entry than elegy. To a general audience, that might make this less interesting than it otherwise could be, but it’s what I’ve got. Remember this if and when you get to the end.

Anyway…

I feel like I knew Arthur. Then I heard what others had to say and saw what others had to feel. Following his death, I still feel like I know him. In certain ways better than most or all. But there’s a part of me that’s often strained to believe that I was in more of his inner circle than I actually was, and his death exposed the truth of my position.

It’s a practical observation, not a dramatic one. I’m not saying he had a dominating and hidden alter ego or that he pitied me. It’s simpler: his death revealed my confidence in our bond as an illusion innocuously leftover from being kids together, from back when we actually spent serious time together. I want him back now like I’ve continuously wanted back what we lost long ago, but now it’s double-permanent and legible. Before it was remediable and blissfully hidden — embarrassing in hindsight, like most nostalgia.

But he also had that same nostalgia and held onto it, too, which makes me feel better. That mutual thread to our shared past was strong for both of us. It gave us a lot to lean on, but we leaned on it a little too heavily. Without that crutch, our adult lives were mostly opaque to one another, but also we were getting close again, involving each other again. Building anew. The left hook following the right. It’s a shame we weren’t closer than we were, when he died. It’s a shame our getting closer was cut short.

I guess it makes sense, generally: as adults, we’re all doing niche things, and niches are small and excluding, so everything else trends towards becomes small talk. (And that’s fine and right, because focus is necessary for growth. Just try and stay loyal, which Arthur did and my cousins do.)

Maybe it wasn’t so much that I was uniquely outside of Arthur’s confidence, but more that we had both (or all) grown a bit into our own isolation. In any case, I mourn the loss and its new finality.

So that’s him and I as adults, apart. Who was he, though? What can I tell you?

Well, I’ll briefly start with me, for context. Who I am is still him, the result of his influence, for sure. Of growing with, then adjacent to him, then apart, then converging again (more on the converging, later). If you distilled me down and got rid of all the litter and trivia, the rare and potent stuff remaining would be similar to what I knew of Arthur. We had the same essence, as I saw it. So I can show you that reflection, and you can tell me if it’s accurate (See: first paragraph’s disclaimer). (Also, note my calling out our similarity is carefully placed right before I go on to flatter him best I can — tactics, baby — but don’t read my ego into this. What follows is all my cousin.)

Arthur and confidence. Old saying: the pro fails more often than the amateur tries.

The subtleties of his personality were sophisticated and complicated. He could spar at an exceptional level from an early age. But he started out lazy and overthrowing a lot of his punches, gassing out quickly.

As a kid, he was autistically independent, preoccupied and hyper focused, but without any of the social hangups. He could talk to anyone and impressed everyone. He was adored, and rightfully so, but he also marched to the beat of his own nunchucks, exclusively. You couldn’t bullshit him, and you couldn’t placate him unless he was genuinely fascinated with what you offered. This is how kids should be, insatiably curious and wild. It was my favorite era of his, and where we spent the most time together. I was such an asshole to him, and he still always hung out with me. And we followed each other into a lot of similar interests.

Then he got his first hit of testosterone, and followed a phase where he literally held a fist up in every photo taken of him. Ha. Puberty’s a bitch. That didn’t last long. Reality checked and he stabilized. The important thing is that he knew he wasn’t going to watch, he was going to play. I loved him here, jealously and from a further distance. I couldn’t hang.

Then maturity: The firm handshake, the direct eye contact, the bright teeth, the smiling cheeks. Approachable, but not daffy. If anything his charisma was a prank and shrewd tactic; a car salesman during the first act, a playful subversion before the intellect and wit made their debut; or, worse for you, they didn’t. You’d start talking to Arthur and think you were walking in on a frat-boy breakfast table, then he’d go on to tell you why your problem was really because of what Robert Moses did back in ‘56, or he’d ask if you thought the The States were in a similar stage of decadence as Rome before its fall.

To him, your reason was more important than your choice, which is an axiom of all good conversation, one that most people are afraid to admit because doing so requires the ability to tread water. It’s easier to talk about the weather or watch sports. But Arthur wasn’t afraid of going deeper, and he had the tact to know when it was the right thing to do.

He was a man of appetite. A true traveling gourmand. He could scoff at you from within a seersucker, but he never compared oysters. If a menu offered Seattle’s or Rhode Island’s, he’d reply, “keep ‘em coming” and demand littlenecks or (and) crawfish to follow. He was less interested in varieties of wine, more in varieties of tomato and whether you had a good coarse salt.

He was spoiled rotten — as we all were, and mostly by the same sources — but he lacked pretension, except for that deliberately wielded for ironic effect. Underneath all his developed and developing taste was a lot of comical stoicism — laughing at gross injustice and absurdity, but also doing something about it, literally. His principles were conjured up from experience with the trappings of pleasure, with readings of history, with a variety of surprisingly worldly stories. I always wondered where and how he got it all. The guy had seen things, but not that many things. How was he always so versed? I don’t know, but if you’ve ever watched him eat a box of clementines straight up, wide-eyed in a wrinkled rugby shirt, then you would also know he was more pensive than pleasure seeking.

Entertainment was a defense, one he was growing out of as he realized it interfered with his goals and their requirements. A defense against what? I don’t know for sure, but I suspect the typical. On one hand, a lack of patience and a petulant refusal to be bored. On the other, the existential and solipsistic. A defense against the subconscious shame and pain of cynicism. Was love real? Was wealth worth anything? Was the world bogus? Was anyone authentic? Ethical? Himself? Others?

Look, I’m not saying he was overwhelmed with this gooey crap. He was a thinker, not a navel gazer. I don’t know if he even said any of this stuff out loud, but anyone with a brain is going to ask some questions about the life they’re living and the society they’re in, and most of us don’t like the first obvious answers we come up with. Then we do something about not liking those answers. We put fingers in our ears some of the time, we do what’s easy some of the time, and we do what’s difficult some of the time. And also, anyone with any talent is going to find themselves bored among the average, and falling short of their own standards. These were Arthur’s struggles, I think. At least, they’re kind of my struggles, and Arthur seemed to harmonize with me when we’d commiserate. Or maybe we were both pompous assholes, wannabe aristocrats from the suburbs. Or maybe that was just me. Ha.

To some, it might seem appropriate to haunt him here in this postscript, as if to justify his death as the terminal approach of a depression into cessation. Let me be clear: this was totally not the case, from my vantage. Instead, the above attitudes are more like the required cost-of-entry to a great show. If the unexamined life isn’t worth living, it does not mean the examined one is easy to live. The alternative is Judge Judy and a monogrammed armchair. Not for Arthur. Caulfield eventually quits his bitching, but he has to eat a lot of shit first. Siddhartha finally leaves the brothel, but he had to walk in that door in order to walk out of it later. Hard times are the prerequisite to epiphany. Painful and confusing; but hopeful, not despairing.

And you could tell Arthur was among this company because the personas he employed became increasingly sophisticated, useful, attractive, and comfortable. From the brawling, pack-leading, indulgent, jokester/show-off into the relaxed, independent, luxurious, conversationalist who wasn’t as afraid to let his guard down, who was increasingly responsible. He was cultivated. He had a tamed self-consciousness (as we all aspire). It was impressive to watch him pull his own strings, to compare that with your own attempts and be humbled.

And thus, as I see it, the irony, hard to swallow, is that Arthur was finding answers to life’s hard questions in fistfuls. Love was possible. Work was worth it. Viktor Frankl was right. And he was learning patience and conviction, already better at their practice than most (e.g. me). As Dan put it, he was just taking off. He jumped and then a hand reached up from the almost escaped gravity and cut him by the heel.

A complete, but simple tragedy.

Complete, because the good guy lost.

Simple, because Arthur’s life was not some melodramatic airport novel. His death was a lightning strike, a deus ex machina in reverse. A two sentence accident, not an assassination. Not much more to be read from it. Mortality is hard, right? (See: Genesis).

And for all my elaboration, I don’t even think Arthur was all that noxiously introspective or exceptionally self destructive either. The guy knew how to love and be loved. How to let his hair down, appropriately. How to shift gears and drive forward. How to resist temptation. How to find and be good company. How to stare at a fish tank. How to sit and read. How to eat fruit in the sun. He was typically bright, with a lot of flair and personality. I know he was grateful.

Or I’m wrong. Maybe I’m inventing a story to make sense of something more concealed or of pure chaos. I don’t know. I don’t think so.

In any case, it’s a tragedy. And regardless of what is true, I’m still glad I got to hear his story and be part of some of it. He was and remains a good influence to me, a fellow bright eyed boy attempting to sustain himself in the body of a straight-backed man. He’ll live on for a long, long time. And I keep talking to him.

That’s some of what I knew of him. And given this is my catharsis, forgive me further, but more about me:

Sadness, gratitude, and disappointment.

I’m sad. Still? Yes. Always? Probably not. The inevitability of death hits a certain emotional bedrock after enough love is lost. I’m probably not there yet, still more distance to fall, but things are tapering off, in the aggregate. Maybe I’m just cold.

Sadness is the least interesting. I am separated from someone I love, and that sucks. We all have people we’ve loved, and we are all damned to lose them. But yes, I get those black bile clutches to the chest as I’m reminded that Arthur (et al.) is gone. And I wanna hold your hand, if you’re feeling it too.

It’s a curse that requires gratitude. Time keeps on slipping, and the portion of time that one spends with good people is shorter still. I’m thankful for Arthur’s good company. From childhood to peerdom. This is what I’ll try and focus on. It’s the mantra I’ll repeat. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Then there’s the sulking disappointment. My head slowly shaking, my eyes unfocused contemplating the loss of the unpredictable conversations, the refreshingly interesting trivia, the uniqueness, the independence, the honed never impersonated taste, the great breadth of knowledge, the artful ball busting, the avoidance of cliches, the shared recommendations, the belly laughs. Obnoxious mutual indulgence — food and talk — during Thanksgiving at Stacy’s table, the shared past at Everit Ave, the just started planning. The feeling of a just missed answer to the question of how to get it back, continuously nagging.

More on that: I’m dealing with a huge mess of unanswerable questions and impotence. There’s so much broken by his leaving, least of all in me, and I can’t fix any of it. No way to organize it. I can’t even help others fix it. Acknowledging the impossibility of the situation seems better than ignoring it, so I will (…acknowledge that death breaks the world and makes inconsistent a lot taken as granted). Arthur’s death is an oily surreal void in the middle of the road. A portal to nowhere. And sure, life will go on. We will preserve. Time heals all wounds. That’s all true. But any schmuck can offer a platitude. I want to be responsible for what he’s left behind, in precise detail. I want to pick up the slack, fill in the blank. But what was his remains his, locked up behind whatever door his soul is now shut. It’s maddening.

I went so far as to tell Olivia that I was her brother, too, and that I would be there for her. Idiot. I love her, she knows I love her, I know she loves me. Yada, yada. I need no pity for my vomiting on the rug. My point is: I can’t be Arthur. I can’t even be close to Arthur. Adam — while still pretty good — isn’t a substitute for Arthur. I apologized for being so naive and sloppy, but the moment taught me what I was trying to say above: that I am ignorant of so much of Arthur’s life, and in ways that can’t be remedied by interviewing his friends or reading his book or wearing his shoes, sort of speak. A lot of it isn’t just unknown, it’s unknowable.

This requires more thought. Surely something can be done. Entropy can’t be rewound, but duct tape can keep a plane in the air. So here’s something I’m going to try: I’m going to be more vulnerable. I’m going to expose myself the way a brother or a son might, and see what happens. It won’t transform me into a replacement, and I’ll probably make a clown of myself. But it’s worth a shot. To build different connections, instead of replicas. I can already see that the cousins have been hammered stronger by this. Now it’s time to be deliberate, and keep that train going, if possible. And yea, I’ll do the practical stuff. You can’t call Barb, enough. And I’ll call Liv, too, but with finesse, without overdoing it. And the rest of our family, as well, because we all lost something. For some a spleen; for others, more vital organs.

Moving on.

It’s further maddening to have Arthur’s death aligned and intertwined with so much of my pleasure. I’m a week into marriage. I’m ecstatic and overwhelmed by the potential of my future. I’m also newly terrified of losing a child not yet even conceived. That’s a fun one. Probably a lot more neurosis to come. But, yea… it’s a violent set of waves to endure and ride. It’s exhilarating and crushing, and guiltily I’ll admit, more of the former. I’m pronoid.

The guilt compounds as I realize that I’m only comparing the conflict between my pleasure and pain, when the actual accounting includes my pleasure, my pain, and all the pain of all the others he left behind, those we both loved. What about Alexandra? Barb? Liv? Dan? A dominating, trailing factor; ego-hidden and selfishly deprioritized. What would Jesus do? Not have a wedding during shiva, although I appreciate all the encouragement and insistence from the also mourning invitees.

Back to Arthur and I having grown apart and then, more recently, back together:

There exists a line separating most relationships. On one side of the line you have people who have a reasonably complete model of you in their head. (See: Theory of Mind.) On the other side of the line are people who have a functional model; they know what they need to know to get the job done, but they don’t know, perhaps have never seen, the whole thing. For ex., a spouse vs a colleague (most of the time).

The line is called intimacy, and relationships on both sides of the line can be valuable, but the intimate ones have more potential in both directions, fat tails; the intimate ones can yield fortunes and bankruptcies. Acquaintances are tepid.

I described it above, how Arthur’s and my relationship moved from the intimate to the distant. I’ll skip further detailing that transition, and just get to the thing that hurts now: we were getting markedly closer, again. I could see the trajectory of our friendship and would bet on our returning to intimacy and confidence.

If the isolation of vocation and growth drives most bourgeois adults apart and into impersonal silos, then eventual mastery and plateau allows room for a focus on humanity, again. And humanity is universal and objective. People can stand on it, together, and get to know each other (again). That’s where I felt Arthur and I were.

I felt like Arthur and I had taken two separate tracks at a fork 15 years ago, and just recently those two roads started to merge back into the same path. We had stories to tell each other, of our time in the wild. It was the basis for a new bond, perhaps stronger than the old one.

Unsolicited phone calls. Talks of marriage, health, wealth. Suggestions of books and podcasts that were actually followed through with, instead of disappearing into the void like most cocktail party prescriptions. We’d follow back. Not rushing each other past awkward silence. Being patiently invested in one another. Showing up. Talking about vulnerable topics, like fears and aspirations for careers, and relationships, and family. And then, right during the peak of this rekindling, this jubilee, he died. And I doubt that I was the only one whose newfound growth and compatibility were cut short. You’re not alone.

So I hurt for the spent love, yes, like that of most grief. But I hurt more for the lost potential. I had so many fresh dreams that included him. It’s disappointing and sad.

To be clear, I’m disappointed in what’s lost, not disappointment in him. I blame him for nothing, even if maybe I should or others do. But any of his mistakes could have easily been mine, and so I sympathize. I’m not angry. Ambition implies risk. Vice is vice is inevitable. Growth means growth from something. Different contexts, need not apply.

Anyway, what else? The thing I linger on now is a weird faith. I have little faith or rather I have difficulty finding faith. I scrutinize faith until it’s demoralized. And yet, the discontinuity introduced by Arthur’s absence gives me faith, illogically but compellingly. I don’t strive for it, it’s simply there, point blank. I can’t explain it, but I can describe it.

Arthur is gone forever, and Arthur is part of my future. Both irrevocably true, yet incompatible. What to do about it? Apparently, not much. My mind absolutely and happily refuses to budge. The feeling that Arthur is part of my future supersedes the knowledge that he’s not. Knowing he’s gone does nothing to my belief that my future includes him. So it continues to. Sue me, I can’t help it.

See you in the funnies, Arthur. (More trivia: I never called him Artie or Art or Archo. He was always Arthur to me.)

Lastly, some good, more recent memories (skipping some that have already been shared):

The last thing I spoke to Arthur about was extensive advice, over the phone, on how to structure a prenup. “Don’t put anything about kids in there, because the courts won’t accept that you understood what you were agreeing to, prior to actually having the kids.” Smart. “Everyone should get one! The courts encourage it! Helps ungunk the works.” Ha. Kelly and I never got a prenup, but the candid advice on such a touchy subject makes me laugh.

Eating a whole pig at a communal table, biergarten style, at Saxon and Parole, in New York. Arthur talking the whole table’s ear off about everything, and then after discussing eating brains, we asked the chef to bring the pig’s over, and he did. Afterwards, walking to our trains, jolly, drunk.

Visiting Arthur in Scotland. Going out to some Uni warehouse party, and me getting lost with some bird. I didn’t have a working European phone, and so when I got home at dawn, seeing him and his big bravado looking like a worried mother goose made me laugh and proud, like a big brother again. Him cooking the two of us mussels and linguine with three whole heads of garlic. Delicious. Steak in Edinburgh, and him showing me the castles like he was himself a duke, personal friends of Hume and Smith.

I wished we went on more walks together.

Us planning on going to Joe Beef, in Montreal, with Alexandra and Kelly.

Him calling me to tell me Anthony Bourdain had died, and subsequently talking about it. “If he can’t make it, who can?” There’s that cynicism again. But it was a candid moment. And we ended that talk, more or less, believing we could make it, even if Bourdain couldn’t.

Discussing whether we were fated to end up like our parents.

Him shooting the .38 up in Gilboa.

Legos, spanky, ice box bedroom, V8-turbo toilet, the pool, the trampoline, the screen porch and its green furniture, endless chicken rolls followed by cold pizza, karate in the basement (no shoes on the mats), rolling on the carpet (i.e. roll mosh), forts, the Barbie game on the gateway computer in Izzy’s room, Snood, army men in the mud ripping up sod by the square foot unit, jealousy listening to Timberlake camp stories, the suburban with 100 blankets in the third row and Don McLean on the radio, toxic farts, the Pokemon store, the Pokemon cards I’d steal from him after going to the Pokemon store, a million cups of Lipton at Barb’s table, Rage Against the Machine in Dan’s car, lanyards, fishing in the Hewlett Bay, Harry Potter, him never sleeping over my house and getting rides home at 2am after attempting to (me pissed), hiding in that lone pine tree in the front yard, making window art out glitter glue, salamanders, watching him attempt to ride a bike in the driveway.

A menial history, but ours. Anyway…

Arthur, you were great. It’s not for me to say that you’re now resting in peace, because I think you were pretty zen while you were alive, in your own pastel-colored kimono kind of way. So instead, I hope you’re as satisfied there as you were interested here. I’ll see you soon, and until then, I’ll try and hold the line for you. Love ya’.

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andr0leda · 4 years

Text

THE CHOICE

What will you choose? Will you live to regret it?

Pre-Sidestep Era, Rangers have a cameo at the end | ~2,400 words CW: violence, guns, blood, strangulation, light stabbing, but no one dies! [READ ON AO3]

You wouldn't be able to say how long you've been standing here. Staring at the desserts through the smudged glass door of the freezer. Could be two minutes, could be twenty. It was around two am on this uncomfortably hot night when you walked in here but you're not sure what time it is now.

The only thing that you are sure of is that the finalists are rainbow and cookies & cream.

The cookies & cream have little cookie pieces that you discovered that you really like a couple weeks ago, but the fun mascot of the rainbow seems to beckon you, the spectrum of colors blending together when your eyes slide out of focus.

The tinny radio in the convenient store is tuned to a station that's playing looping easy listening music. The budget fluorescent lighting buzzes faintly overhead, one flickers occasionally, and you wonder, in a distant sort of way, if you have entered a liminal space. It's possible you need to sort out your sleep schedule.

You open the freezer door and the brisk air whispers over your face, the tubs are cold in your hands, but it doesn't seem to be helping you decide any quicker.

You are staring unblinkingly into the black lifeless eyes of the cartoon mascot on the rainbow ice cream when you hear it.

The intent before the voice. You step back until you're against the aisle behind you, hidden from the front of the store.

“Money. Now,” gun, raised.

Gun held up to the level of your head-

No, not your head. The head on the shoulders of the young teen behind the counter, they’re only a year younger than you are supposed to be. They are terrified.

You are terrified. There’s five-

No, there’s only two thieves and only one gun.

You’ve gone up against worse odds.

You put the ice cream tubs on a shelf and move to the end of the aisle, silent. Your hoodie has been up since you entered the store and you pull the collar of your turtleneck up over the bridge of your nose to cover the lower half of your face.

At the end of the aisle you pause, the door is only a couple feet to your left, you know you’re silent, you could make it. If you chose to make a run for it.

The cashier is trembling trying to put the cash and cigarettes into the backpack, they are clumsy in their terror and the thieves are getting impatient.

You chose no to run.

Red and black at the level of your eyes catch your attention, you take a bottle of cola off the shelf, a glass one. It flips easily over itself in your hands, as you weigh it up, weigh your options. The one with the gun seems fresh to this, plan already forming in your mind.

Your heart-rate picks up, the adrenaline before a fight is reassuring in its familiarity.

Fuck it, you step out from behind the isle and shout “Hey!”

The armed thief turns his whole torso, including the hand with the gun, towards you and away from the cashier, like you knew he would.

You have already thrown the bottle and it explodes on impact, opens up and scatters sugar coated glass, knocks the gun out of his grasp. It hits the floor and spins away and you're already running.

Your knee lands in the second guy's chest, throwing him hard into the aisle behind him, packets and tins tumble off the shelf.

The first, nursing the hand that formerly held the gun, swings at you with his less dominant hand. You kick him in the solar plexus and he crashes into a display to the side of the counter, a tower of sunglasses landing on top of him and he’s down but not out.

The second, still currently has the use of both his hands, and they are closed fist and coming for you. You dodge, spin on reflex, strike him under the ribs, kick him into the shelf opposite the one he was in before.

You know he’s going to take out the knife and lunge at you so you duck, easily, as he slices open packets where your neck was. Contents spilling down onto the linoleum. You tackle him to the floor of the aisle and it only takes one hit to get him to stay down. You stand above him full of some wild, unnamed thing, heartbeat racing.

The first is finally managing to extract himself from the heap, so you move back to the front of the store. He‘s slow, fishes out his own larger knife and you’re grinning behind the black fabric.

You grab his wrist with one hand, put your other into his nose hard enough that it cracks, and he falls boneless back into the mess and everything becomes silent. A wet heat slowly drips down your knuckles. You have won.

The cashier is knees to chest behind the counter, shaking. You don't get too close.

“Are you ok?” because that's what you’re meant to ask.

No, is what you hear.

You try to send them feelings of safety, of relief, but they just break apart against the wall of blinding fear. You’re not sure what those things feel like anyway. So you pull down the mask instead, show them your face, try to wear something reassuring instead.

“You’ll be ok,” because that's what you’re meant to say. They just look up at you with big brown eyes, so scared.

They aren’t ok so instead you tell them, “You’re going to make it out the other side of this.” You flip the knife you took from first so you’re holding the blade, hold it out to them to take, offer them the weapon of those that wanted to hurt them.

You don't know how to say out loud what you want this to mean.

What you want this to mean to them? Or to yourself?

They look at the knife for a long moment before they take it.

Before a noise behind you startles them, and you look over your shoulder to watch a third larger man walk out of the bathroom.

You yank up your mask, how could you be so fucking stupid.

You stand in front of the cashier who gets under the counter to hide.

He is built, muscles just as strong as the walls around his mind.

Fuck.

You shake out your hands, ignore the ache of oncoming swelling, take up a stance, you haven’t had a proper fight since-

You don’t know where the gun is.

He takes in your pulled up turtleneck, his guys out cold on the floor and drawls, “You want to play hero?”

“I just wanted my fucking rainbow ice cream you son of a bitch.”

You see the gun on the ground when he does, and you lunge for it, kick it hard and it slides away and under the shelves.

He strikes faster than you expected but you still turn and duck and kick him in the back of the knees. He buckles, but turns just as quick and you’re too close to avoid his fist and you catch it in the ribs. Punching the air from your lungs and you stagger back. He is up again, too quick.

Or are you just too slow?

No.

You’re gasping under cold fluorescent lights, past a fractured rib, slow is not acceptable, if the unit does not meet directive standards it will be recycled-

No.

You straighten up, through the pain in your ribs and snarl, underneath the fabric so that it reaches your eyes, so that he can see.

He sneers at you, and you run at him, using a freezer box to kick off, you deliver a punch down across his face that sends him reeling and you are alive.

So you punch him again, and again. And you dodge and sidestep and punch him harder.

Feel your knuckles open up, feel adrenaline rush to your head in exhilaration.

And this is where you slip up. Literally, on the spilled guts of the coke bottle.

He has already grabbed you by your jacket front to slam you down onto the freezer boxes hard enough that you hear it crack. He wraps his gold ringed fingers around your neck, and you feel the cold caress of the freezer seeping into you as you struggle. You bring your forearm down to buckle his elbow and slam your forehead into his nose, he doesn't let go. Just straightens his arms and looks down at you, a warped smile on his cruel features, and he squeezes and-

And How Dare HE.

He recoils and you know at once that you couldn’t have spoken that, you couldn't get air past your throat for a noise let alone words.

His smile is gone. He’s afraid now, afraid of what will happen if you get back up.

You always get back up.

You release your death grip on his wrist to pull your knife from your hoodie, flick it open and bury it into his guts.

His hands vanish from your throat and you gasp down a wretched sound.

Gripping the edge of the box you bring your legs up between you and launch him off.

He’s flung backwards, clips the end of an aisle and goes down, spits out a curse, clutches a scarlet hand to his side.

You get up, unhurriedly in a way you know unnerves him. You don't wipe the blood dripping down your forehead and that unnerves him too. His shields decay with the panic. You see yourself in his mind's eye, a dark silhouette looming above him back lit by the flickering fluorescent light above you.

Your breath pants out in half gasps, half growls, past the bruising in your throat. You’re not sure whose blood drips from your knuckles and off the blades drop point.

He manages to stand only to receive your right hook to his jaw and he’s down once more. He doesn’t try standing again. Instead scrambles back towards the bathroom, leaving a fragmented red streak behind.

He’s not fast enough.

The cheap wooden door splinters as you kick him through it. You sink the knife into the door frame and stand over him, sprawled onto the dirty tile floor. You put a heel hard onto the side where you put your knife and he screams.

You feed him back his own fear, the terror of the cashier, feed him your own horror from somewhere dark and deep, until you see it consume him, until it’s up to his eyes. Then with a bloody hand you smash the back of his head into the tile.

And it's over. It’s a mess, it’s-

Five bloodied soldiers dead on the cold tiled floor of a gas station in desert Nevada, painting the walls red-

No. It’s just three unconscious thieves in a convenient store.

You take a deep breath through your aching throat, and pull the knife from the frame. The soft looping music of the radio drifts back into your awareness. Then exhaustion creeps back, you feel more tired than you were holding the ice cream. You can feel a headache forming at the base of your skull and you’d rather spend what little money you have on a smoke, or several.

Stepping over first on your way to the counter you pick one of the almost stolen cigarette packs and drop it by the register.

You’re opening your wallet to get your only twenty dollar note with red and aching hands when the cashier says.

“Just take it,” they’re looking directly at you like you grew a second head, they're standing up now, white knuckling the knife you gave them, like an anchor, a lifeline. It’s the first thing you’ve heard them speak.

You check upstairs to make sure they're going to be ok. You’re startled to see they’re wondering the same of you. They're having a hard time processing the deadbeat mess that stood for half an hour in front of the frozen desserts with the brawler that just took down three guys and possibly saved their life.

Was it really half an hour?

“And don’t choose rainbow, my boss changed the dates. Take the cookies and cream instead” they say, voice no longer shaking. Cookies & cream is their favourite.

“Thanks,” your voice is almost unrecognisable, you’ll have a necklace of bruises for sure.

"No, thank you. I don't know what would've happened but you probably saved my life." A hero , they think, their hero.

And you don't know what to say to that so you just thank them again and tell them they should probably call an ambulance for the guy bleeding over the bathroom floor. Then you take the cigarettes and the ice cream and you leave.

You go home, rest your split and swollen knuckles, hold the frozen tub against your violet throat and eat your dessert.

It was a good choice.

***

Marshal Charge stands in the Rangers Headquarters kitchen, arms crossed and staring at the tv mounted on the wall.

“Chen, have you seen this?” she throws over her shoulder, eyes not leaving the screen.

Steel looks up from cutting fruit to see grainy footage showing a figure in black kicking a larger man into a convenient store shelf. Text rolls across the bottom of the screen that reads, “Citizen hero takes down 3 armed men in attempted robbery.”

He continues with making breakfast, “we already deal with too many vigilantes.”

Anathema walks past him, “but this one’s weird,” she steals a strawberry to which Steel makes a face.

The Marshal turns and looks back for the first time in a while, eyebrow raised.

Anathema just looks pleased that she’s hooked an audience, “I looked into it, the full security footage shows them staring at the frozen desserts for like 35 minutes before they take down 3 guys with what I believe to be a variety of martial arts. Their reflexes seem unnatural too,” she steals another strawberry and Steel frowns harder.

“There's a point where the guy pulls down their mask to calm the cashier, but when the police questioned them all they would say was that they ‘couldn’t remember’ what the masked person looked like,” which is said sarcastically, her disbelief evident. “They just seem… interesting,” she finishes.

Steel throws the strawberries into the blender before she can steal a third, “Los Diablos is interesting enough.”

“Hmm,” comes the reply from the Marshal, a small smile hidden in the corner of her mouth as she watches the footage again. The figure appears to move faster than they should. Her smile grows wider.

#Fallen Hero #fallen hero fanfic #sidestep #or well pre-sidestep #Ramona Chase #fhr #fallen hero: retribution spoilers #i thought i'd begin posting links to my word garbage because it keeps happening #full content warnings are on the site #saraparilla writes #now and no one is as surprised as me

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bates--boy · 4 years

Text

The summoning site was in order, replicating everything like the first time, from the (now-stained) tin bowl sitting in its trivet above the candle, to the instructions he had written placed next to him for reference, to the camera rolling in front of him for more documentation to look through -- though, this wasn’t about research.

And because of that, Peter went to his bedroom, crouching in the closet to push aside everything until he found what he needed, tucked away in the dark corner. As the curious, syrupy pillars of light stood behind him and watched over his shoulder, Peter picked up one of the bundles of black velvet and untied its corners.

The gaping twin cavities bore into him as soon as the fabric fell away, its soulless and empty stare still somehow mocking him, made worse by the lipless smirk of its crooked and chipped teeth. Whoever this person was, they did not practice proper dental hygiene. Peter bounced the skull to feel the weight with his palm, more an absentminded tic than anything, as his thoughts raced with the half-formulated plan and doubts that it would even work. But he had to trust it, and he had to make this trip count: he had only three of these skulls, and his old medical research buddy had already asked a lit of questions during the first request.

Next, he went to his bedside table, holding the skull in the fold of his arm as he would a soccer ball. Peter yanked it open and reached inside to unfold the satin wrap. There, lying on its side, glinting in the morning light fighting its way through the blackout curtains Peter had drawn together to curb any source of heat, was the S.A.C.M. 1935A. Hers; he still remembered the weight of it in his tiny hands when she shoved it to him, and the instructions -- shoot any kraut bastard that gets near you -- she whispered to him when she forced him into a closet to hide. It had since been plated a rose gold like the slender crucifix that dangled from her neck, the cracks and chips in the wooden handle filled and the thing coated over with a white and gold marble paint. The bullets were hidden away, and the only use the gun had was to be polished on the occasions Peter felt truly nostalgic.

He carried both back to the kitchen table, sitting the skull in the bowl and the pistol directly in front of him. He lit the candle underneath the bowl and, unwrapping the bandage from one of his hands, wrung and tensed up his palms until the blood he needed trickled into the empty sockets. His vision began to warp, twisting at the outer edges. The souls that had gathered in his house turned to him, he could sense their stares, but none seemed important, when underneath his nose, the gun started to emit a glow, faint, a little weak after nearly eighty years, but showing that it was indeed her leftover energy.

His body locked up, anticipating the dragging and flying between planes like last time. The souls that inhabited his flat screamed, converging, reaching for him to pull him away and hold him down.

Peter took a dry, ragged breath.

And he was in. No dramatics, no tricks, no flashing horrors that rivaled psychedelic drugs or religious-themed nightmares instilled in him by having religion literally beat into him throughout his tender ages. It was similar to walking into the next room, albeit one that sucked the air out of him and left his insides feeling cold while his skin still burned with a fever of millions of suns.

Why do you keep coming back?!

She was right there in front of him, recognizable even though her form was indistinguishable from the numberless mass of souls around them. It was her voice that made him want to lose himself in the childish love he had for her, to wrap his arms around this pillar of light and bury his face into her, let his body burn to ash just so he could hold her and be held by her once more.

Then the Black Hole howled, and his descent into childish longing cut short.

“I'm getting you out of here.” And apparently dozens more, he could see out of the corner of his eye as they clambered towards him, the beacon. But his eyes were fixed on her. He took a step closer, reaching a hand out to her. “I... I know that when I take you back to earth, to the other side... you can be reborn. Reincarnation, Marion! It’s real!”

No, Peter, it’s--

“Yes, it is!” It may have been the exhaustion that drove his voice up a couple octaves, or the sense of being broiled alive as the souls drew around him, latching onto him and to his promise of safety from the hungry black holes and a second, third, or fourth life. He was partially aware that he had no need to screech, because the Black Hole wasn’t loud right now, even this close to feeding time.

Still, he screamed, “I see it happening all the time! With my own two eyes!” And due to what he was sure was dehydration, his voice cracked when he asked, “Why are you fighting me with this?”

Peter sensed a sigh from Marion, an impatience riddled with barely-kept frustration.

‘Cause you’re messing with things that you don’t understand. You think it’s simple as dragging me back to the living and forcing me to be born again so all of your attachment issues are fixed? Do you think this will fix how I died? IT WON’T!

If there had been oxygen in this hellhole, that blow to Peter’s chest would have knocked the air out of him. He blinked, feeling the threat of tears tickling the back of his eyes; they were probably already falling in the physical realm.

The Black Hole’s howl rang throughout his body, and he felt the beginning tug of the Black Hole’s inhalation. But an emptiness had already washed over him, and it felt like there was nothing about him for the Black Hole to consume.

“...You don’t want to come back.” It felt like a question, like he was begging her to say no, that she wanted to come back, despite her coming back to this place and dwelling here for how long time snaps or oozes here..

Her voice, stretched and nearly drowned out in the rushing wind of the Black Hole’s inhalation, was gentle this time, soothing. Even though she did not say what he wanted her to say.

What happens if I do come back? How would you even find me in my new life? You plan on coming back here over and over, pulling me out and making me live different lives until the universe ends?

Peter knew it was a rhetorical question, a challenge to the shortsightedness he went into this rescue mission with. He felt foolish and embarrassed when he answered with all the certainty left in his chest.

“Yes.”

The souls that didn’t get away fast enough lifted up to the screaming Void, Marion among them. The ones latching onto Peter urged him to leave this plane and take them with him.

No.

She said it with such a heaviness that it shocked Peter. It wasn’t just resignation, or a parental exhaustion that came with raising a difficult child. It was a long-held acceptance. Peter felt her energy push against him, trying to force him back into the living world, and shoving away the souls constricting him so he could escape faster.

I love you, baby blue. Go home.

The void around him began to fuzz, overlaying with the brightness of his living room; he even felt the tickle of a rug and the oh-so needed coolness of his hardwood floor along his back. There was a moment that he felt he was choking on a hardness that won’t go down, and heard the faint cry of his cat next to his ear. He watched, gaping, as Marion’s soul lifted to the waiting, apathetic, selfish monster that was all of their end. In the living realm, he swallowed that lump and stuck his nails into the open bite until he felt the warm, coppery liquid fill his palm.

In the void, he screamed.

He screamed, flinging himself up and grabbing a surprised Marion, He screamed, throwing his weight down until Marion was ripped from the event horizon. He screamed, using that same momentum to throw her out of harm’s way and fly upwards into the Black Hole. He screamed, even louder than the Black Hole, his fist reaching out to sock it and, in the process, the atoms of his arm slowly pulling apart and getting sucked into the blackness.

He was all thirst for blood and mindless violence, thrashing against the dark surface that crawled all over his body. Peter didn’t know if he was trying to escape, yanking himself out of the mass like a drowning swimmer in a body of unforgiving and ravenous water, or if he was fighting it, clawing his way deeper inside until he found the core of this son of a bitch that he could rip apart with his teeth. Finally, finally, he had something to unleash his everything onto, with no consequences. This Black Hole is so hungry? Let it feast on eight decades of powerlessness as his brothers and sisters run the world to ruin, and the loneliness of being tolerated but not loved -- never loved. He fed this Black Hole the wild confusion born from, well shit, everything, all the big life questions he was always told to turn to this figment God for answers -- here was his God, here was everyone’s God: an uncaring universe that will rip itself apart no matter what helpless creature inhabited it, uncaring of its hopes and dreams and family and friends.

Peter blinked in and out of his black-out rage, catching snippets of the universe beyond the event horizon as it will happen: planets crashing into each other, stars spinning and forming as one, then galaxies; the water of Earth rising, the North Sea crashing into his fort until nothing -- nothing-- stood there, then the giant ocean drying, and extraterrestrial creatures finally responding to the calls and pleas of a long-dead planet. The creatures from the other planets waging war against each other -- have they learned nothing from Earth?!-- until they, too, are extinct.

And then, the Collapse.

And it all made Peter madder! It made him scream louder, made him rip further into the Black Hole -- yes, this is a fight! -- made him claw apart this giant mass which he knew felt like nothing more than a flea biting a horse, but he will be damned if he didn’t become the most murderous little flea this Black Hole has ever dealt with!

With a final buzz, the Black Hole swallowed him.

This thing... what is this thing? This foreign object that sunk itself into the mass along with some of the other sources of energy and potential it had to collect and save. It felt odd and out of place, like it tried to rip itself out of the timeline from which it was born, a thing that tried to rip Fate and put it together to its liking.

It was stuck in a pose mid-thrashing, eyes squeezed shut tight, thin body twisted, hands gnarled into claws and legs stuck out wildly. It looked like a confused and scared infant, and the last of its dying screams made it sound like one, too. Perhaps a taste...

Eugh! No! Wretched! This thing, it tastes too... alive. A fruit that was a paradox of unripe and spoiled, with the sourness of not meeting his end yet and the arrogant taint of its attempt to rewrite the way of the universe. But it has the potential to be bursting with flavor of all the experiences it will live back on its right plane, a rich and delectable story to feed on when it meets its rightful end.

Until then...

And the Void spat him back out.

#droid noodles ( writing )#hetalia #rage against the singularity saga

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xoruffitup · 5 years

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Adam in Burn This (6/12)

I saw Burn This again on June 12th and HOO BOY, for this show I’ve got nothing but flail! I think I’ve already worked through most of my critical analyst urges already, so this is gonna be just pure, chaotic Adam fangirling. :’)

The man was robbed of his Tony. Pale is this character who I would absolutely hate on the page or in abstract. But then Adam, the utter jerk, barges and flails his way on stage and makes Pale so human and compelling and just absolutely riveting to watch that hating him becomes physically impossible. I mentioned before how the play functions to make the audience Anna’s proxy (down towards the end of the second section here), and never has that been truer than last night. I literally was Anna, okay. I was repelled and intimidated and scandalized by Pale’s uncontrollable, massive presence; his encroaching, searing physicality; his unpretentious, guileless anger and passions and frenetic creative energy.

One second, you’re watching this massive brickhouse tumble into crying, sniffling pieces so vulnerable and wrecked it could tear your heart out. The next he’s cracking a joke, flirting, cussing, and every single swing is so bracingly authentic that you’re literally pulled to the edge of your seat, unsure if in attraction or revulsion. Either way, you’re along for the wild ride with him every step of the way, feeling the same conflicted and unwilling compulsion towards him Anna is. Pale doesn’t just unwittingly seduce Anna; Adam absorbs every single audience member’s attention like a black hole and before you know it the audience is caring for him even before they have any hope of deciding whether they even like him. (Evidenced by the collective gasp of fear that rises from the audience when Pale, drunk, climbs outside onto a fire escape.) To call him magnetic, electric, a revelation to watch – They’re all woefully inadequate descriptions. He’s a literal inferno, blazing even when he’s silent.

So even though I have yet to reach a personal resolution on whether I accept Pale from an ethical perspective, I am nevertheless complete trash for him because Adam really leaves me no choice in the matter. Damn him. <3

Last night I sat in the upper balcony for the first time, but my friend brought binoculars we passed back and forth (lol, yes really) and I actually saw so many new, detailed nuances to Adam’s acting. I’ll go through the moments that really stood out – though it’s honestly hard to pick because he really is that Extra during the entire damn play.

Act 1

When he puts his leg up on the couch to show Anna how “fucked up” his pants are, then kind of realizes he’s standing there with his leg all weird up on the couch, asking her to look at his pants… Then just smoothly lifts his leg over the table before he lowers it, then makes the coyest face ever at her while he does this slow, deliberate twirl with the most shit-eating look on his face. The audience dies, then he cracks “I coulda been the dancer,” and the audience falls apart again.

The way you can feel his momentum and buzzing energy begin to darken, right before he breaks down completely. When he stops pacing around for the first time and his voice changes, going soft as the guilt and sorrow creeps up on him in the form of physical pain he feels driving straight through his heart. And it’s alarming, when he goes still for the first time.

I swear I’ve never seen him cry so much as last night. Once he broke down, the sniffling was constant, with these utterly, completely broken sounds mixed in whenever he tried to talk.

“Nah, this ain’t me…” “I’m trying to picture him here.”

And he keeps aggressively pushing his hair back while he’s crying, as if he can force the tears away with brute force.

OKAY so watching their first kissing scene through a pair of binoculars was like being personally undressed and ravished, holy god. A bomb could have gone off in the theater and he wouldn’t have looked away from her, he had such consuming focus. When he slides close to her, the first thing he does is slowly lift a hand to touch her hair, his eyes darting between where his fingers brush the strands and her face, gauging her reaction. And then when he leans in so slowly for the kiss, watching her first before his attention shifts to her mouth, and the kiss is slow and deep and….

Yeah I felt things.

From up in the balcony.

Adam’s kissing sex appeal is literally so flaming strong, I felt that heat from the damn balcony. I dare you to show me another man with such raw, intense sex appeal. Go on, I’ll wait. He asks her, “You okay?” when he pulls back, and she says in a sort of daze, “I’m fine.”

….Girl, I feel it too.

AHEM ANYWAY MOVING ON.

And then in the next scene, as if totally oblivious that he’s a literal tornado of sex, he just sweeps out the door with an over-the-shoulder “Alright I’m outta here” and it’s so blasé and masterfully hilarious.

Act 2 When he’s laying on the couch alone, half-asleep, and starts vaguely waving his arm in an attempt to remove invisible blankets. Then, without a single word, he reduces the entire audience to hysterics when he spends a solid two minutes pulling at the collar of his coat in a completely futile effort to take it off. That’s the level acting we’re dealing with here. He’s one-hand fighting his own coat and trying so damn hard and it’s the most entertaining thing of your entire year like WHAT EVEN.

God alsdfjsdlakjf okay when he comes out in the kimono robe and it’s open at first, for like 30 blissful seconds that massive, toned chest is out there to see above those tight black briefs and it is SO MUCH I blacked out and couldn’t even process the sight the first time I saw the play. …. Then he closes the robe, carefully ties it, fights with the sleeves because they clearly aren’t built for massive fuckin arms like his, and in an instant he’s the softest being I’ve ever seen and I’m confused as hell as to how I’m aroused and ‘omg bb’ adoring at the same time??? I think I need therapy? Or Adam needs to stop being massive and sexy but also awkward and soft at the same time, for the sake of my sanity?

I fail to imagine an image that will make my life more than giant Adam in this tiny bright purple silk kimono that barely reaches his thighs, bare foot, tying a dish towel around a pot of tea he just made like a tea cozy, then oh so carefully carrying the tea pot over to the table with his one arm still out of the sleeve and this look of intense focus on his face. I was overwhelmed and could not even begin to name the feels.

Let’s make it even WORSE shall we? When he hands Anna a cup of tea, kisses her forehead twice, says “That tea’s no good for a bad stomach. You want some milk?” then strokes her hair back, then asks “You want some eggs?”

GOD PALE GET OUT WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT

(^ We are all Anna)

The part where he sneakily picks up the phone to eavesdrop on Anna and Burton’s phone conversation, and stays completely silent for a long minute before hilariously bursting out, “YA GOT SOMETHIN’ TO SAY, BRUCE?!” And then AND THEN Anna angrily storms out of the bedroom and the bastard hides his face behind the empty robe sleeve and bats his eyelashes at her and bends at the knees in this cutesy little sorority girl squat and IM….?! “Real cute,” Anna says, trying real hard to be unimpressed, while the audience is in an uproar and everyone’s desperately trying to process all these newfound perplexing Adam Driver feels (WELCOME TO HELL, BITCHES. IT DOESN’T GET BETTER)

Okay okay there are SO many juicy bits during the exchange when Anna’s explaining she wants things to end between them. I was watching through the binoculars and when Anna says, “We’re apples and oranges.” He immediately gets this hella adorable smirk when he goes, “Oh yeah? Who’s the apple and who’s the orange?” Then the smirk grows when he’s all “Ever had an apple tart glazed with marmalade?” And then he’s just grinning because he’s so damn proud of how clever he is and he’s still in the FUCKIN purple kimono and he is ridiculous, I’d hate it if he didn’t own me body and soul.

Then it gets BETTER when he says, “You told me you ain’t been with no one else since you was with me a month ago. Me either. I figure one more time and we’ll have ourselves a hat trick.” And oh my GOD the shit eating grin! He looks at Larry, just grinning like a 5 year old and Larry gives him this hysterical disapproving, unamused shake of his head, but Pale just looks back at Anna full-on sunshine smiling and I’m like WHY ARE U MY PERSONAL BABY

(PS: JJ – That is what we need to see on Ben Solo’s face in TROS. You better deliver!)

He says some of my favorite dialogue here – The bit about “people walking down the street don’t mean a thing they’re doing.” He grows somber here, and this is a portion of the play’s call to its characters to strive for both emotional and artistic authenticity no matter what the price.

And then the scene gets heavy…. He stands up, disappears to get partially dressed, comes out, they start arguing, he’s still determined to make her see what’s clearly between them… And then she drops the definitive bomb over everything: “I don’t like you and I’m frightened of you.”

I watched his face through the binoculars while she delivered the blows, and it was literally like seeing a candle snuffed out. His expression melted like ice – Resolute and hard and determined one moment, and the next moment her words rush over and visibly crush him as the certainty melts from his face and leaves him empty and shell-shocked. Three seconds of silence when nothing moves but the set of his mouth and the light and strength in his face, but you’ve seen a grown man utterly crushed.

Ah, the last scene. In the first performance it was devastatingly, beautifully heartbreaking. In later performances it was humorous even while tragically inevitable. Either way, it’s brilliantly written and exquisitely acted. (Though as I’ve expressed before, I do prefer the more serious, helplessly sad versions.) I’ve never seen the two of them clutch each other as desperately and heart-rendering tenderly as they did in this performance. She fell into him on the couch, and he cradled her entire body to himself – Reaching a hand down to her thigh to pull her across his lap so his arms could engulf her entirely. They rocked together, and she clutched his arms still tighter to herself, and he kissed all over her hair while they made sounds near tears. And then Pale does break open a bit with something approaching a sob, before he curses and objects “I’m gonna cry all over your hair.”

But he only holds her tighter, as if they’ve both lost all conscious control over their bodies at this point, in the face of the all-powerful compulsion drawing them into each other’s orbits. The ending of this performance was absolutely stunning, leaving you with a myriad of unraveled emotions that are at once painfully incomplete and ill-defined, and yet just as bitingly complex and untamable as the most compelling moments of reality.

Over all, it’s nothing short of incredible to see how Adam continuously succeeds in upping his game throughout the course of the play’s run. He already brought the house down at the very first preview, and yet he manages to find new twists and interpretations to embody each and every time. What struck me this time is how boldly natural he’s become in the role – The way he leans into the accent like he’s really spent his entire damn life using the hard edges of the pronunciation like verbal brass knuckles. Adam has gotten to the point where just a single emphasized vowel sound brings the audience to hysterics:

“I heard that mollaaases you were pourin’ over maaam. Needed a shot o’ insulin.”

“Good niiiight, sleep tiiiiight.”

“Drinkin’ and thinkin’, man. Worse than drinkin’ and drivin’.”

“Fuckin’ hate Christmas. Look out… ribbons.”

“Get outta here; You’re useless!”

“Lemon will kill yaaa!”

“That was me and youuu up there.”

He has mastered how to pitch his voice for perfect, killer comedic effect. What’s more is how effortless he makes it seem; How utterly guileless. How he can swing from ugly crying to casual insensitive quip in the span of a minute, and make it just seem like the routine (if highly irregular) over-active synapses of a guy on coke. Even just his body language, the way he paces around the apartment in Act 1, completely out of sorts and out of his depth, like he’s never seen a coat rack or a stove before; A physical embodiment of his discomfiture with the emotions that don’t feel like they belong within him. His presence is imposing and even threatening, and yet his body language is alert and defensive, sometimes even self-flagellate. He embodies so many idiosyncrasies and tensions, it’s easy to see why his emotions burst from him in such tidal, chaotic floods.

I’m so thankful to have tickets to the final performance next month! I shudder to think of the feels I will drown in over how absolutely legend-level powerful Adam’s performance will be at that point. What a talent. What a man.

I’d be overjoyed to receive any and all questions/thoughts about the play! :) Thanks for reading!

#Adam Driver #Burn This #Burn This Broadway #driverdaily #Pale

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sharkmobster · 5 years

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spider verse coffee shop au??

Anon im sorry i wanted to draw the coffeeshop au but ive been so tired lately so imma just overshare about what goes down bc this au is just (thick tombstone voice) : “everybody’s traumatized bitch lets get you a latte”

• this au is incredibly villain centric bc uhhhhh all i do is think about villains

• its also very aaron davis centric bc time to project my anxiety onto a grown ass man babey!!

• anyway this takes place in a normal world where there’s no superheros or avengers or what have you, everyone’s super average

• like i said this is more or less aaron centric and focuses on him readjusting to society and making connections with other people, and just healing in general. Aaron’s whole deal is that he was wrongfully arrested for defending himself against an off duty cop who was harassing him and ended up with a 10 year sentence (but was let off a year earlier for good behaviour). He’s got a lot of guilt bc of this if only for the fact that he feels like he let down his brother and Miles (who was a small lad at the time).

• Fun Fact! Jefferson was the one that picked up Aaron at the jail when he served out his sentence! The ride back to brooklyn was awkward! but also jefferson loves his brother and even tho they’ve had their falling outs he never once stopped believing that his brother was innocent. Jefferson also made sure to pull some strings and ended up getting an apartment set up for Aaron (even though jefferson and rio were 100% down to open their home to him for as long as it took him to get back onto his feet but of course aaron denied them bc he didnt want to be a burden) Aaron’s grateful but he tends to avoid his own family…a lot….

• it’s ridiculously hard to find a job bc nobody wants to hire an ex convict no matter the circumstances and Aaron’s legitimately about to lose hope when he spots an expensive looking shop nestled in between an old arcade and a knick knack shop

• ‘Vanessa’s Cafe’ is neatly printed above the door in fancy gold lettering. it’s obvious that the owner has serious cash bc the shop looks too damn good and too well maintained to be a regular mom and pop shop. there’s a help wanted sign hastily scribbled on a piece of notebook paper in the middle of the window which is odd since it off sets the professional vibe of the place. But hey it’s worth a shot so Aaron walks in ready to be denied another job only to find the weirdest looking group of people he’s ever seen.

• The first guy that catches his attention is the very large albino man who looks way too stressed out and manic to be working in a coffeeshop, but the job must pay well because he’s very well dressed.

• “Liv, for fuck’s sake! Clean your goddamn station!” he’s whisper shouting? Is that even a thing? oh look at that he’s got a full set of razor sharp teeth. huh. that’s a hell of an aesthetic he’s going for.

• The lady in question isn’t even giving him the time of day, just enthralled by her phone with a smile that looks too peaceful given what’s happening around her. She’s got wild hair tied up messily in a knitted bandana, weird glasses (custom made??) and when she glances up at aaron, her eyes widen in interest like he’s some anomaly to be cracked open. aaron looks anywhere that isnt the wild eyed lady at the counter.

• Theres another big guy that’s hanging around the back, heavily tattooed and lifting stacks of heavy boxes. Aaron takes notice of his prosthetic hand and the tattoo guy takes notice of Aaron.

• “Lonnie. Customer.” The Tattoo guy seems nonplussed about Aaron and walks into the back. aaron assumes that he’s offended him by staring at his prosthetic for longer than necessary which yeah….yeah he’s probably not happy about the staring.

• lonnie’s got a bad case of resting bitch face so he’s glaring at aaron without actually glaring and he’s just rough around ALL the edges so his tones got that nice bite to it as he shouts from across the counter (which is not something you do to a customer but it’s lonnie…..) "Hey! Ya looking for a job, skinny jeans?!“

• Aaron blanches at the idea of working with these people but he is absolutely desperate for a job at this point.

•"Yeah. I just got out of-”

•"Great, you’re hired! We’re speed running this whole introduction thing, string bean.“

•and that’s all i got other than like small details like:

•Peter B Parker owns a ”“’'cafe”“” across from Vanessa’s and its literally just a burger joint that h a p p e n s to sell coffee and Parker will fight you if you call his place a deli ahdhdj

•Liv and May are dating (big shock) and peter b has to constantly deal with seeing his competition over at his place all the time and it’s yikes

• Tombstone and Noir will 100% throw hands on contact. They don’t hate each other tho??? Its weird they just like to fight. gives them a chance to work on their banter i guess. Noir works the coffee machine at Peter’s “'cafe”’ so i guess he’s the “”barista”” of the joint but he drinks the coffee more than the customers do

• Miles and the rest of the spider kids “”“”“"intern”“”“” at the cafe which basically translates to free labor

• spider ham works there but he isnt a pig he’s just john mulaney. i know its weird. nobody actually sees him tho so he’s a complete mystery as to what he looks like so he could be john mulaney you never know. the only person who’s seen him is noir and that’s only bc they’re a thing???

•oh speaking of everyone being gay: everyone’s gay

• Lonnie and Gargan (tombstone and scorpion) are 100% dating but everyone legitimately thinks that the both of them are straight old men despite the fact that they live together, go to work together, hang out afterwards together, and they’re just always together

• lonnie’s daughter (janice) visits every other week (def the product of a divorce he went through years ago) she’s alright with gargan but she’s very distant towards her dad and def has that teen angst phase that she’s going through

• (lonnie can and will talk to you for hours about how much he loves and supports his daughter despite the fact that their relationship is very estranged)

• you can find janice hanging out with the cute blond punk girl at that weird burger/coffee place across the street

• oh gargan’s big and strong despite the fact that he’s missing three limbs, liv works in robotics on the side and constantly tweaks and repairs his prosthetics when they start acting up which leads to them having this weird friendship where they both borrow each other when they need something and dont really expect anything in return (like gargan’s good for getting her supplies and doing heavy lifting when she needs it and liv’s always down to run check ups on gargan)

• oh yeah liv used to be a scientist but immediately lost her license and phd when she started going above some board members heads to buy less than legal things through super illegal sources

.• that’s another thing, kingpin tends to just hire ex cons and criminals to work in his cafe just bc he believes that a person willing to work hard to better themselves deserves a chance to re enter society again.

• like they’ve all done bad things but still ended up with a job at the cafe. aaron fought a cop, liv did some shady deals for an illegal experiment, gargan used to run a drug ring years ago due to personal reasons but once he was free from jail he never dealt with the stuff again, and lonnie killed a dude (allegedly. he never went to jail bc they couldn’t prove anything but hey word spread around quick and everyone knew not to go anywhere near this guy)

• kingpin is in this au btw he’s just……a very depressed man who’s still grieving over his wife and son dying in a car accident

.• he rarely shows up to run the cafe bc its too much for him being in the place that his wife loved and built up from the ground. he used to be the manager after she died but couldn’t handle it and mostly left lonnie to take care of it

• which holy fuck lonnie is trying his best to keep this cafe alive and well and there’s only two other people working there so like its enough to have him scrambling all over the place trying to find more help (thanks aaron)

•miles doesn’t know aaron’s working at the cafe across the street and aaron def wants it that way bc even tho he’s out of jail he hasn’t actually……visited miles yet….. it’s the shame that’s keeping aaron from reaching out to him which is….sad bc miles doesn’t care what happened he just wants his uncle back.

• oh oh one more thing RIPeter used to run the deli across the street but had to leave brooklyn to go volunteer at homeless shelters across the states indefinitely so theres no telling when he’ll be back, so he left the cafe under the guidance of pb parker (peter b parker voice: my cafe now)

•and uhhh thats all i got, like i said this au is just found family trope + the healing we all want + bad people getting redemption which is all the tropes that i love all compacted together in the most cliche au you can imagine!

#itsv #aaron davis #the prowler #liv octavius #doctor octopus #lonnie lincoln #mac gargan #hi i work at a starbucks and it's hell so this is how i cope babey!!#spider verse #spiderman #the life and times of a robot prince

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scaryscarecrows · 5 years

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Who Protects the Protector?

Cherry can smell a rookie a mile away. Their sense of self-importance, of, ‘I’ll be the one to bring law and order to Gotham!’ is practically a cheap cologne.

This one is no exception. And he’s not local, she can tell. It’s the swagger. Newbies put it on to try and seem bigger, not worth the trouble of an attempted mugging. (They’re always worth the trouble of an attempted mugging. Every damn time.)

She and Mia are standing on the corner, debating on whether or not to go for Korean or Greek. Korean’s closer, but they had that last time. And then their quiet conversation is interrupted by this asshole with his aviators sticking out of his pocket and his hat painstakingly adjusted to look cocky-but-not-too-cocky. No playful flirting, then. He’ll take it seriously and haul them to the station, like a dick.

“Officer.”

“Ladies.” He glances at her boobs. They’re nice boobs. It took her twenty minutes to get them into position earlier. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Uh-huh.” She gives him that special judgmental look she reserves for dummies, just so he doesn’t go thinking he can manhandle the merch without paying. “Watcha want, hon.”

He looks a little taken aback, but he recovers fast enough and says, all gung-ho, “The Red Hood.”

One, either his superiors hate him or he’s just that stupid. Two, fuck this guy. Red got himself stabbed last week chasing after a serial killer that’s been running wild for a month. He got the guy, but still.

“Why?” She twists over and he steps back juuuust fast enough to look nervous. He should be. The girls working the other side of town carry tasers. Painful, but not as painful as the switchblades they carry down here. You won’t lose treasured pieces of anatomy to a taser. “Are you going to send reliable officers to patrol down here after you arrest him?”

“I—”

They never do. They don’t come for hostage situations, homicides, none of it. Batman does, sometimes, but half the time he’s busy with the Freak of the Week. He’s not around, not really. Red’s always here, if you look hard enough, if you really need him.

If you scream loud enough, he’ll come.

“You’re just pissy that someone had to take over your damn job,” she snaps. “And that you and your buddies ain’t gettin’ to skim a little off the top anymore.”

“Look, lady, he’s wanted in connection to several murders—”

“So was the guy in two-fourteen Palm Plaza.” She points at the apartment building in question. “People called and called and called about that one, sugar-lamb, and nobody came. Tell him, Mia.”

“Yeah, officer.” Mia bats her lashes at him, but she may as well be trying to kill the guy with her eyes. “He was gonna cut me up in his bathtub, ‘til he got yanked out the window.”

“That’s not—”

“I would have been number four.”

“I’m only asking nicely one more time—”

“Number. Four.” There’s an awkward silence. “Not that you care.”

“I--”

“Go fuck yourself,” Cherry says, grabbing Mia’s elbow in one hand and preparing to draw her switchblade with the other. “We don’t know shit, ‘cept for that the boys in blue don’t give a rat’s ass about coming down here. And if you harass me again, I’ll be making a report.”

“This isn’t harassment, lady, but it’s about to be—”

That’s it. That is it.

She drops Mia’s elbow, turns around, and invades the guy’s space boobs-first. He steps back and ends up with his back against the crosswalk button.

“Red’s done more for us in eight months than you jackasses have managed in decades,” she snarls. “And now that you can stick a toe out of your car without being chopped up and sent back to the station in a box, you want to haul him in and take all the credit. Lemme tell you something, kid, I’ve had to pay for the privilege of keeping my teeth with my body until very recently. Filing a report won’t get me anything, and we both know it. So get back in your car, drive away, and don’t come back.”

He stutters and reddens and for a minute, she thinks he might hit her. But he doesn’t, just squeezes out from between her and the button, and walks away. She turns back to Mia once she’s sure he’s gone and says, “Greek?”

* * *

Abdoul prides himself on his poker face. He’s lived here his whole life, and it’s a valuable life skill.

He’s faced down mobsters before. He knows the type. They come rolling into his coffee shop like they own the place, terrorizing the other customers and making a mess. But these ones are looking for the man currently bleeding out on the floor behind the counter.

Abdoul’s not even sure Red’s conscious. He’d staggered in under his own power, blood leaking through his fingers, and they’d run to help him back here. And then he’d gone down with a low groan and hadn’t moved again, even when Lina pressed a handful of kitchen towels against the wound near his hip. Not two minutes later, these monkeys had stormed the place, screamed for everybody to stay where they were, and started demanding information.

“I’m tellin’ ya, old man, he came in here.”

“I’m sorry. I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

The police aren’t coming. The panic button under the counter has been here for years, and it hasn’t worked yet. The shotgun under the counter, on the other hand, works just fine. And if these idiots don’t turn around and walk away, he’s going to pull it out.

“Listen, old-timer—”

It takes everything he’s got not to look down when Lina tugs at a towel that’s caught under his shoe. He does shift his weight though, just a bit. Enough for her to pull it free.

“Get out of my establishment.” He narrows his eyes at the gun pointed at him. “You are mistaken. If you lost an injured man, that’s on you for being too slow and too stupid to keep up. Try the roof, he might have gone up there.”

“There’s no blood, boss,” one of them, nearer to the door, whispers. Damn straight. One of his regulars, Dexter Murphy, a nurse practitioner, had accidentally knocked over the mop bucket Lina had been using when the men had started shouting. Any blood on the tile has long been hit with the small flood of soapy water.

The leader moves his head side to side, like a hunting dog, and finally sighs.

“If I find out you were lyin’ to me, I’ll be back.”

“Maybe you’ll buy something next time.”

The man snarls but stalks out, barking orders to the others. Once they’re gone, Abdoul sighs and crouches down to see what he can do. Red, as it turns out, is conscious; his head lolls towards them and he says, voice weak despite the modulator his helmet must have, “C’n I get whatever th’ pastry of th’ day is?”

“Red,” Abdoul says gently, “you come back in here when you’re not bleeding, and you can have whatever you want.”

“Lemme see.” Dexter’s suddenly there, too, batting Lina’s hands away. “Okay, Red…yeah, that’s not really that bad, man, just stay still for me, okay? Okay…”

* * *

Whoever this new guy is, he’s good.

And by good, Alex means they’re fucked. Okay, so she maybe should have waited for backup before climbing in the window. There was a little boy up there, man, she had to try and get him. So that’s on her. But it takes skill to catch a Bat, and smarts to keep one from breaking out and ruining your life.

But this guy, whoever he is, has done it. Her hands are cuffed (her own cuffs!), the little boy is literally like seven, and the Red Hood is…

He’s…

They’ve been calling this guy the Butterfly Collector. And right now, he’s living up to his name; Hood’s been attached the floor courtesy of what looks like a giant railroad spike through his torso. Probably custom, like the others have been. He’s still alive, still conscious, even, but every too-deep breath makes him whimper and he’s clearly trying desperately not to move so much as an inch.

“Hey.” The helmet turns carefully towards her. “You. Okay?”

She said it when she came here and she says it now; vigilantes are a special sort of stupid. She makes her way to him anyway, wishes the bastard would have at least cuffed her hands in front of her, and says, “Yeah. Backup’ll be here soon.”

“Mm. F’you s-s-s-seeeeeee.” He gulps hard like he’s swallowing something. Blood, maybe. “A chance ta get Tommy outta here. Go.”

“You got it.”

“C’mere, kiddo.” The kid-Tommy-moves closer. He looks terrified and blotchy and puffy, like he’s been crying. She can’t blame him. He gets as close to Hood as he probably dares, though, and tilts his head. “This’s. Officer Clemmens.”

“Alex,” she supplies. The little boy glances at her but doesn’t say anything.

“She’s gonna get you outta here, ‘kay?” Maybe. Hopefully. “T-Tommy’s. Mute. S-s-so—”

“Okay, Hood. Maybe shut up now, okay?”

“Mm…”

The door opens and she’s on her feet, shepherding Tommy as far away from the Butterfly Collector as possible. The man doesn’t even look at them. He’s looking at Hood, who’s still trying to regulate his breathing and to stay still.

“How long does it take you to die?” He stalks forward and drops down, hands pressing Hood’s shoulders down until he yelps. “You’ve been—”

It may not be fighting fair, but neither is cuffing a girl’s hands behind her back, and Mama didn’t raise no weak bitch. Alex takes her shot and brings her foot up between the bastard’s legs, straight into his balls. The noise he makes would be funny…okay, yeah, it’s kinda funny. Petty vengeance and all.

It’s not funny when he gets up, still sort of hunched over. She kicks him again, this time in the stomach, and he staggers a few feet away.

“Get the hell out of here, asshole.”

He pulls a gun-her gun, that dick-and this is it, this is how she dies-

-where’d he go.

Seriously, where’d he go.

Tommy pulls on her pants and when she turns around, she recognizes the sign he makes. Every cop knows that sign, just like every cop knows pretty much every translation of the word it’s for.

Batman.

About time.

She shrieks when he’s suddenly behind her, unlocking the cuffs before teleporting to Hood’s side. There’s sirens a few blocks away.

Wait. They don’t get along, do they.

“I’ll kick you, too, if you try anything,” she warns. The Bat doesn’t even pretend to care. Hood makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“Th-thought you’d. ‘Rest me.”

Just for that, she’s tempted.

“Shut up and don’t die, Hood.”

He doesn’t answer. She ushers Tommy away so he can’t see what Batman’s doing to him. And by the time backup arrives, they’re both gone. How? Who knows. But she worries, a little teeny tiny bit, that Hood’s dead. He doesn’t appear after that for a good month and a half.

Maybe it’s bad, but when a serial rapist turns up tied to a stoplight, intestines looped around the pole, she feels a little relief. Not a lot, because damn that’s brutal and really, really illegal, but a bit.

It’s Gotham, after all.

THE END

#Jason Todd #Red Hood #the Jason Todd Protection Squad: Gotham edition #Batman #the Crime Alley denizens will fight you #that's their local asshole get your own

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ca1e70-deactivated · 4 years

Text

a list of my entirely way too niche headcanons ive actually implemented for everyones imagination:

name options ive used and refuse to retire: david elizabeth strider (sometimes i dont feel like being a douche to others and saying thats not his name), harley davidson strider, and david james strider for the sake of simplicity

im not gonna tell yall the like. oc exes ive given him bc thatll take eighteen years.

i dont rlly have an explanation on the ghost thing besides the fact he just can? ive occasionally pulled from family ghost stories and experiences bc i somehow got landed with family members who lived in a haunted house for a decade and enjoy scaring me with all the stories (including the time my cousin literally died on the kitchen floor from a bronchial spasm and one of the friends that was over asked my aunt later what was up with the old man she saw in the corner of the room that night - my cousin is fine btw shes just a huge bitch and a third grade teacher and i dont like her)

whether or not hes done drugs is based on absolutely nothing besides how im feeling in that moment. either hes the designated driver and sober friend forever or he got fired from his job after doing a line at work during graveyard with some random customers theres no inbetween (this absolutely happened @ waho. if dave works at waho hes a mess of a person and thats on the diner itself.)

ok look i hc dave w/schizophrenia besides when i was 14 i had a hyperfixation with learning about it and then at 16 was prescribed a medication and had side effects so wack my therapist genuinely thought 14 yr old me was onto something and its a weird way to cope with the idea that lady put in my head that i might “develop it in my twenties” which i turn 20 this year and i havent been able to stop obsessing and panicking over the prospect so PLEASE dont come in my inbox calling me ableist im not out here all harley quinn in suicide squad with the voices ok hes medicated, he goes to therapy, the hard fast delusion that lil cal was nearly sentient and informed bro of every single thing dave did no matter how asinine it was is no longer a debilitatingly affecting him ANYWAYS

i actually use the chicken/egg farming family pretty often just because its hilarious to me to give dave like. an actual mom and dad. hes literally an uncle to like three different kids he just never visits because they make fun of his skinny jeans and he hates one of his (incredibly bare-bones ocs all of them) brothers who threatened to bash his head in with a little league bat after dave broke his star wars lego set apart on accident (but not rlly) so their parents were like “why dont you stay with your brother in the big city for a lil while champ” and then they just never picked him back up? and thats on favoritism

the other one is that his name is actually david reed and hes the middle child of a family of three who literally live the standard golden retriever white middle class life only they went to disney land or something equally as dumb one year when dave was like 6 and he wandered off so bro literally just went “huh free game” because frankly he was an idiot who thought maybe i should take this kid home because its real dangerous in parking lots and then it was too late to NOT have it seem like a kidnapping and thats why daves never had a summer job, seen his birth certificate, or gone to school. but vaguely remembers what kindergarten was like and having a pet dog and calling someone mom as a kid.

im not making a bullet point about his sex life headcanons just use your imagination and acknowledge the fact bro essentially worked within the sex industry and i enjoy putting dave through trauma as a catharsis

i stopped doing this one usually but if he did go to school hes been in percussion since fifth grade and played the drums in his high schools jazz band as well as various edgy teenager garage bands he likes to pretend dont have a youtube presence and that hes absolutely never been shirtless in front of plenty of his classmates because he wore a hoodie to a show like an idiot. idk occasionally ill put him in an actual band he doesnt hate but keeps separate from his lil turntechGodhead internet persona (which i will ALSO touch upon in a sec) until they wind up getting looped into a tour with some bigger named band that has a show in *insert beta kid here*’s city and hes gotta come clean solely so he can visit his online friend. sorry derseasterous thats the one time weve ever run into each other and i made him have a crush on one of his bandmates i was in my anti-daverose phase where i made dave a hoe and also didnt want to admit i still loved the ship all these years later

i hate it so much but you know the whole vr loli trap voice shit that was popular a while ago? hes fucking baller at it for some reason. he did it as a joke while talking to bro and they both about shat their pants. if im feeling real ambitious, hes got a separate soundcloud solely dedicated to doing dumbass rap covers or making his own but in the voice under the pseudonym elizabeth “beth” davids that he will never admit is his. well, he will, but hes gonna be really fucking embarrassed about it. irony or not.

talking abt seperate soundclouds and stuff ive always had it where turntechGodhead was his like. essentially internet fucking persona facade shit he used because we all had that phase where we wanted memorable urls and stuff but also didnt want to totally ignore the nagging fear of people finding you in real life, until it turned into real life ppl finding you on the internet. so he also has basically an adjacent set of social media under the same name but its just a boring username i havent decided on so everyone he knows irl doesnt mix up with what hes made for himself as TG and the people he knows as TG dont know what highschool he goes to. (this occasionally comes with the territory of ppl on parp being pissed that daves “lying” or “hiding things” from his friends as if he was doing it out of spite instead of just keeping embarrassing tagged photos and videos from football games or when he ate shit at the skatepark from fucking with his “rap career”)

every once in a while i get on a kick where hes just german. like, i just replace houston texas with hamburg germany and have him apply to a university in whatever state is applicable for whoever im chatting with and it goes from there? sometimes he moved when he was little and went through the whole visa thing, sometimes he didnt go through the visa thing, sometimes hes a dual citizen because of family and shit, its all dependent on what suits the situation best.

one that ive been fucking with for a while but hardly break out (until recently with like 5 roses in the span of one day hell yeah) is that he has a neighbor at the end of the hall who is like a thousand year old witch lady that hes basically adopted as his mother figure in lieu of not having one and shes totally cool with it, especially bc when she kicks the bucket she fully plans on giving dave all her occult stuff so her figure-skating coach and realtor daughter doesnt sell it at a garage sale and lets it all go to waste. she also once brought rose up by name in a conversation without any prompting of her existence which dave didnt realize for days, and then one time cryptically stopped and stared at an empty space in the wall, went “she has potential, you know.” then looked at him sitting on her kitchen counter with a smile “lots of it” and hes thought about that weekly ever since. (it is important to note one of the occult items he leaves her is literally her own personal book of shadows shes been filling out for decades its like a 600 page leatherbound book dave has no idea what its used for but the sheer amount of homemade spells and etc in it is like. gonna murder rose the second this chick gets her hands on it i promise you.)

theres the standard strife shit? im not rlly gonna get into those theyre all basically cookie cutter bullshit. its just standard bro and dave abuse talk. i like to inclulde the whole 24hr live cam up in the apartment that definitely watches dave in every room besides his own and the bathroom, but that quickly delves into the prospect of middle-aged men stalking him online and basically sexually harassing him in his own god damn home by talking about how they can see him just trying to take his shoes off in the living room after getting home and frankly? its not one of my best takes! but once you throw it into the headcanon bin, its there forever.

he actually really does do something with his photography but not enough to warrant anything exciting, but he has his own branding for it and regularly takes pictures of his friends or anything else he thinks is moderately interesting enough to take pictures of, but those are just thrown into shoeboxes under his bed in favor of posting genuine shots because he wants to keep his image intact and blurry photos of jade smiling in the tree they climbed up together while bec paws at the base of it while whining isnt exactly something he wants the whole world to see.

i also pretty often but him into either paleontology OR i put him down as trying to become a mortician because he thinks handing roadkill once he graduated from museum giftshop specimens to doing his own taxidermy on the side has prepared him enough to perform an occasional autopsy and start embalming real human corpses. (sometimes i put my own desires in and make them his bc i have to project at some point and put him through the same EMT course i dropped out of bc it was one semester and he already has pretty decent first aid skills, but he definitely didnt expect it to be as fucking wild at times as it is, but whats he gonna do? get a job back at waffle house? the company hes working for just offered to pay like half his associates in paramedicine tuition and hes already got all his pre-recs done when he started for paleo. at least its a stable job and hes got the ability to be compassionate in the moment)

im running out of things that ive done to the poor kid. OH

hes not a virgin he had a girlfriend all four years of high school (shes also one of his optional and designated exes plz keep up) and their relationship ends in one of two ways: she dies in a car accident a week before their high school graduation, or she stops talking to him entirely a week after their high school graduation until a couple years later she gets into (guess what) a car accident with her current wife/girlfriend and dies which leaves behind their daughter. who just so happens to also be daves daughter. her name is hannah and i love her like my own but no one ever likes her and thats on the conditioning of dirk. does dave end up taking her in? yes. shes awesome and the first time he takes her to the park to like run off some fucking steam she disappears for two minutes and dave is moderately terrified until she comes back holding a dead baby squirrel and thats the moment he realizes huh maybe things really do be genetic.

ok at the bottom of the list im gonna add the couple of times hes been a camboy which usually coincides with the live apartment cam thing and the amount of people in his dms calling him hot or whatever, but typically its more of a started the day he turned 18 and basically dipped around 20 in favor of showing up randomly with no warning to complain about a video game dick in hand because it gives him an outlet that wont annoy his friends bc this is the fifteenth time hes had a lot to say this week about a certain boss battle and also the comments fuel his ego and daddy issues.

the last one wasnt the bottom but literally unless its explicitly proven otherwise every time anyone rps with me there is the underlying fact dave strider was a goalie on his high school lacrosse teams all four years and (shocker another one) definitely had the hots for one of his teammates like major hots like first gay experience hots. like it was painfully obvious that teammate also liked him back hots. like one night at a team sleepover one of the other guys was like can yall just makeout and get it over with were fucking tired and dave really had the balls to be offended and ask what the fuck they were talking about while literally sitting halfway in the mans lap bc for some reason they had to share the same chair.

he is also guilty until proven innocent of being the worlds biggest loner outside of that sports team and even though hes literally a jock he still opts to eat his lunch alone in the hallway or something like that and has a tendency to leave girls on read, but bc hes got an in with the rest of the jocks hes basically drug around to plenty of parties and since hes conventionally attractive enough and popular in the aloof way that he is, hes got plenty of tagged insta posts and twitter directs and snapchat streaks going.

THESE WERE ALL NO GAME AND DONT INVOLVE SHIPS BC I LIKE TO KEEP MY OPTIONS OPEN AND THEYRE LITERALLY ALL BASED OFF RPS IVE DONE I HOPE YALL JUDGE ME ACCORDINGLY

#theres probably so many more i mean #ive been on parp for at least 5-6 years now #ive been on cherubplay probably the same amount of time #and my memory is totally shot to fuck but these are just what i know ive done in the last YEAR #or thought were wild enough to remember #i put it under a read more bc frankly its really fucking long #and i dont want this to represent me entirely #these are also heavily situational based and not like. emotion or reaction based much?#some of them are #i guess i could rename this to like. things ive done on parp #but theyre technically still headcanons a lot of them can coincide with whatever #so theyre not very specific situations #anyways #this took me an hour

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neonganymede · 6 years

Note

OH SHIT 4 AND 14 FOR REAPER76

OH SHIT YOU GOT IT!

4. “I can’t lose you. I couldn’t even fathom it.”

14. “Don’t call me that.”

Gabriel Reyes was in deepshit.

He walked toward his room,bones weary, shoulders sagging from the night’s stress. At the moment, all hewanted to do was crawl in his room and pretend Rialto never happened. That thewhole fucking Blackwatch mission had never happened. Then maybe he could getJack’s face out of his head—that stunned look of disbelief, of frustration, of anger.

Betrayal. Gabe had made apretty big mess of things, and he still wasn’t sure if he was sorry or not. Heshould be feeling a little guilty, right? It should bother him that he starteda literal shitstorm that they would all suffer from for—for—for how long?

It didn’t matter. Antoniowas dead. Somebody would step up to take his place, but at least that was oneless Talon son of a bitch in the world.

When Gabriel entered hisroom, he was surprised to find Jack there. The blond was sitting on the bed,shoes off, dressed down in a pair of sweatpants and one of Gabriel’s oldOverwatch shirts. The logo, though faded into nothing but a splotchy design againstgrey cotton, still looked inspiring from its place on Jack’s chest.

Jack could inspireanybody, even dressed casually. Hell, Gabewas pretty sure he would follow Jack into battle with that on. He wasprobably a little biased, but Jack—Jack was the golden boy. The one with thestatue, and it was well-deserved. He was the light in the darkness after along, long day, even when the prospect of night looked even longer.

Belatedly, once he’dstopped and stared his fill of the Strike Commander, Gabe hoped that Jackwasn’t there to yell at him some more. He’d heard enough of it in thedebriefing room, and he just wasn’t in the mood. Everybody was mad at him.McCree wouldn’t talk to him. Moira kept wearing that disconcerting smile ofhers that made Gabriel’s skin crawl. Genji… well, he wasn’t quite sure what wasgoing through the quiet ninja’s mind.

And Jack was justdisappointed. He hadn’t said as much, but Gabe could real him like an openbook. There had been disappointment in the hard, almost detached narrow of hisblue eyes, in the tight press of his mouth as he tried not to tell Gabriel whathe really thought of the mission. Inthe hunch of his shoulders, his perfect posture bending at last under theweight of what Gabe had done.

And that had just been atthe meeting. Now, Jack just looked tired. He kept his head down, not looking atGabriel. Not even flinching as Gabe began the tedious task of removing hisarmor. His gear went next, and he winced at the sight of his wild, greasy hairwhen he removed his beanie. He ran his fingers through it, giving up after thefirst try, and then ambled over to the dresser to find something morecomfortable to wear. He almost went commando, but Jack didn’t look like he wasin the mood.

Hell, Gabriel wasn’t evenin the mood. He just felt too bone-weary, his limbs growing too heavy to do muchmore than tug on a pair of sweatpants. These must’ve been Jack’s; they felt alittle tight in the thighs and they were covered in American flags. Gabe didn’tcare; if Jack was allowed to wear his shirt, then Gabe was allowed to wear hispants. They’d arrived at that point in their relationship a long time ago.

Unless Gabriel had fuckedthat up, too. He could almost feel it—a canyon-sized rift forming between them,tugging and pulling them apart. Gabe had to wonder how much longer until one ofthem gave up and let go. If Jack wasn’t so damn stubborn, Gabe would’ve put hismoney on him, but Jack never letanything go. Not without a fight. Gabe could only hope that meant theirrelationship as well.

Finally, Gabe couldn’ttake it anymore. He broke the silence, stuck between putting on a shirt andjust forgoing one for the night. It wasn’t like he ever got cold. And if Jackwas in the mood to cuddle, Gabriel would get to feel those strong, callousedhands mapping familiar locations on his chest, his arms, his back—

This was, of course, inthe event Jack wasn’t there to break up with him for risking everything they’dworked so hard to achieve. Wearing Gabriel’sshirt to do it was an interesting choice. Probably a power move or somesht.

“So, Strike Commander Morrison,to what do I owe this pleasure? Here to yell at me some more?” Gabe asked,trying his best to sound nonchalant. Gabe thought he just sounded pathetic.

Jack turned his head awayand inhaled a short, sharp breath of air through his nose. “Don’t call me that. Not here.”

Gabriel sighed himself,walking over to sit beside Jack on the bed. He left ample room between them,giving Jack the option to close the distance if he wanted. “Sorry, Jackie. It’sbeen a long—” Gabe cut himself off and never finished. Life was just long right now. “Anyway, if you are hereto yell at me more, can it wait until morning? I’m fucking tired.”

“I’m not here to yell atyou,” Jack murmured, still staring off at some unknown object in the far cornerof the room.

Gabriel nodded a little.“Well if you’re here to break up with me—”

“What?” Jack turned tolook at him now, his brow furrowed in surprise.

Gabe shrugged and rubbedat the back of his neck. “You heard me, Jackie. If you wanna break up, waituntil tomorrow morning for that, too. I’m at my limit for tonight.”

Jack was silent for a longtime, blue eyes incredulous when Gabriel risked a glance. He didn’t want toknow what was going through Jack’s head. Whatever it was, it was probably goingto ruin his night. What he didn’t expect was Jack to angrily grumble, “Gabriel,you’re a fucking idiot.”

He couldn’t help a smallchuckle. “So you’ve told me. At least fifteen times earlier.”

“Yeah, but this tops everythingyou’ve done in the past twenty-four hours.”

“Now, hold on a minute—”

“I could’ve lost you, Gabriel.” Jack’s voicechanged, hardened into that of Strike Commander Morrison. This conversation wasinching closer to either another lecture or a speech by the golden boy.Usually, Gabriel liked hearing his speeches. Usually, they weren’t directed at him.

“I told you, I had thesituation—”

“If you tell me you hadthe situation under control one more time,”Jack all but growled, grabbing Gabe by the shoulders and forcing him to facehim at last. Jack looked completely distraught,his eyes shining and his jaw clenched tight to keep his lips from trembling.Guilt pooled in the pit of Gabriel’s stomach.

Finally. Guilt. But notguilt for killing Antonio. Guilt for hurting Jack, for filling him with suchanguish that Gabriel could feel it in the shake of his fingertips. He reached ahand out, wondering if he was allowed to touch, to comfort, to pull Jack close andlet him know that it would all be okay. He just didn’t want to piss Jack offmore.

But Jack was eager, accepting,still infuriated but desperate enough to feel Gabriel’s touch that he grabbedhis wrist and placed his hand on Jack’s cheek. Gabriel raised his other hand tomirror the first, cradling Jack’s perfect jawline in his hands and watching asJack melted against him.

“Do you have any idea whatit was like for me? I had to listen to Fio report everything that was happening,and I couldn’t do a damn thing to help you,” Jack whispered, his voice stillharsh and cutting but softening. He was losing his stride, his anger ebbingaway bit by bit.

“I’m sorry,” Gabrielmurmured, and he was. Still not sorry for what had happened, but more than forwhat it was doing to them.

“You could have died.”

Gabriel scoffed, watchingthe spark of fury reignite in Jack’s eyes. He chose his next words carefully. “I’vebeen through worse. Hell, we both have.”

“But I was always with youthen. Through the training, through the war, through everything—I was with you, watching your back, makingsure you were covered when you did something stupid and reckless.”

“Are you saying you don’ttrust my team?” Gabriel felt a little affronted by that. He thought they workedpretty well together, even in the shitstorm that was Rialto. Even if they wereangry at him (McCree, especially), they still watched out for him.

Jack heaved a sigh andturned his face to press a kiss first to one of Gabriel’s palms and then theother. “You don’t get it. Your team’s fine. Great, even. Impressive. Some ofthe best led by the best. But theyaren’t me. They might care about you, but they don’t—” He cut himself off witha deep breath.

He didn’t need to say anymore; Gabriel understood very well. He’d felt much the same, watching Jack runoff into battle against omnics with only a handful of people that could betrusted to take care of the commander. He knew Ana would watch out for Jack.And Angela, Reinhardt—but none of them were as invested as Gabriel was. None ofthem made Jack their sole focus, let their world revolve around him in the heatof battle the way that Gabe did, and that alone drove him up the fucking wallsometimes.

They did better together.They always had, even before their relationship developed into something more. Gabetrusted Jack implicitly. Jack… he wasn’t so sure anymore. Not after Rialto. Notafter Gabriel exposed everything they’d worked so hard to achieve.

Not after Gabe put himselfin such danger like that.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Gabesaid again.

Jack shook his head. Hereached up to cup Gabriel’s face, holding him tightly as if to make sure he wasstill real, still solid, still Jack’s. Gabriel would always be Jack’s, certainthat nothing could ever happen between them that would make Gabriel turn hisback on him.

Later, when everything wentto shit and the Reaper walking in Gabriel’s place had been sure that he’d been wrong, he stillbelonged to Jack Morrison. That would never change.

“I can’t lose you,” said Jack, his words a heavy shroud weighing onGabriel’s shoulders. “I couldn’t evenfathom it.”

“Hey, you won’t lose me. I’mright here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Gabriel pulled him closer topepper soft kisses along his cheeks and nose.

“No more stupid stunts,” Jackinsisted, closing his eyes against the affection as if it might weaken his resolve.“No more killing people.”

“Even if they deserve it?”Gabe meant it as a joke, but then Jack fixed him with a bland look.

“Especially if they deserve it. Givejustice a chance to work its miracles.”

Jackwas a fool if he thought justicewould win out in the end. That honorable men like them could go forth and keeptheir hands clean of blame, of the stains of blood, so long as they followedthe rules and didn’t step out of line. A fool’s dream and one that Gabe hadstopped indulging in long ago.

ButJack was his fool, and so Gabe pulledhim in at last for a kiss, all slow and sweet and everything Jack needed rightthen. Everything they both needed. Akiss to remind themselves that they were alive, together, and still in love. Akiss to ground Gabe and a kiss to give Jack peace of mind.

Thatkiss was a promise.

Apromise Gabriel wouldn’t keep.

Ifonly he’d known then that their kisses were numbered.

#reaper76 #r76 #overwatch #writing prompt #retribution aftermath #angst #sorry this took so long #iceblurg

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survivor-guyana · 5 years

Text

Immunity Results #3

Meet Your Judges!

DAN

Hi sisters, it’s Dan, king of half faced selfies, here to roast your lip syncs

NEHE

Hi sisters, it's Nehemiah, king of not winning a game he deserves to win, here to judge you guys like you never been judged before, p.s Tim stop stealing my role as the one straight black guy in the org community

CHARLOTTE

hi sisters, i’m back from the dead and ready to roast some bitches. i honestly don’t remember if i’ve played more than one main season but i was in kuang si and really that’s the only one that matters. not sorry!

CONNOR

hey sisters, hope you missed me because im still not coming back.

DENNIS

Hi sisters, I was forced to write this start. But entertain me

JESS

About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him-and I didn't know how potent that part might be-that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

HOSORORO

youtube

Dan: 31/50

Theme: 5 - No real theme tbh, I guess the editing incorporated some nice colors and stuff. I wish y'all could have been more in sync with a theme tho. Maybe I'm just being critical.

Creativity: 5 - The editing was creative, I liked the effects and the added little bits that went along with the lyrics. I think the difference between this video and the others tho was that the others tried something new and exciting to spice up their videos. Was it more creative? Maybe? There's nothing wrong with picking a bop and lip syncing, but it's 2019 ladies, spice it up.

Effort: 7 - She may have bought that hair, but y’all yanked it right off. I think some of you really tried harder than others, but I stan when people just do their best and record where and when they can. It shows dedication and I like that shit. I think that the effort into learning the lyrics without reading them off the screen and dedication to filming in the car kind of showed y'all want this.

Composition: 7 - BITCHHHHH I’M GAGGGGGT. It’s 240p, but honestly Ariana Grande who? Whoever edited this made it seemless, but honestly the low quality needs to get clocked a few points.

Entertainment Value: 7 - The dancing, the outfits, the lip sync skills? A bitch was entertained. While the other videos tried to make things new and exciting, y'all delivered what I think of as more of a successful project.

Jess: 34/50

Theme 8/10. If I had to say the theme, I'd guess that it's "bad bitches" which you all are.

Creativity 5/10. If a 0 is 1 person playing basketball instead of lip syncing at all, and a 10 is a full out choreographed dance number done by your entire tribe, I think this falls solidly in the middle. I don't think there is a lot about this that sets it apart from past music videos I've seen, but I don't think it is bad.

Effort 8/10. It seems like most of your tribe members were at least majorly involved and tried to make this good! And you all put effort into the dancing/attitude you had, it felt like everyone tried to match their actions to the song.

Composition 6/10. I think the editing is good and it matches the timing of the music which is nice, the cuts are usually on the beats! But it did get a little repetitive after a while, like I felt as though the same thing was happening throughout the whole video and there wasn't a variety in the images/cutting style/etc. I also think it was hard to tell if the video was in sync because for some reason y'all are in 2007 and only uploaded this at 240p???? Are you guys all over the age of 45 why did you do that. Finally, the flickering glitter filter was cool at the start, but I wish you'd spiced it up and not just used that throughout the entire video, also at points it was a little distracting due to the bright colours that would pop up.

Entertainment Value 7/10. Six of these points are for the girl who was in the car because she was killing it and I loved her. I took points off for a similar reason I had above -- it felt like the video was one note and I wish you guys had a little more variety throughout.

Dennis: 38/50

Theme: 6/10 Creativity: 8/10 Effort: 8/10 Composition: 8/10 Entertainment: 8/10

I know I will get alot of hate comments for this, but this in general is not really a song to lipsync too. EITHER WAY I think you did a good pretty good job with it. All of you seemed to enjoy yourself and the editing was enough to keep my attention throughout the whole video. I didn't really get the theme, but overall it was a very entertaining Lipsync!

Connor: 35/50

Ok this is good. You clearly all worked together artistically so that your individual shots were coherent. Im not crazy about the pink strobe kinda thing going on through the entire video but you were all performing and this is well done. Theme: 7 Creativity: 6 Effort: 8 Composition: 7 Entertainment Value: 7

Charlotte: 42/50

Theme: IF THE THEME WAS FABULOUSNESS YOU ACHIEVED IT. ARIANA WOULD BE PROUD. 8/10

Creativity: I feel like you could have done a little bit more with some of the lyrics but all in all I loved this video and now I'm just being picky. 7/10

Effort: See above. I think you could have done a little but more but keeping the pink aesthetic through your editing and ALL THAT DANCING werk werk werk. 8/10

Composition: Love. That. Aesthetic. 10/10 PLUS YOU'RE ALL IN THE SAME CAMERA ORIENTATION I LOVE THAT. LOVE THAT FOR YOU.

Entertainment Value: FUN, ENJOYABLE, FLAWLESS, NEVER BEEN DONE BEFORE. 9/10

Nehe: 44/50

7 8 9 10 10

Now this is a fucking music video work bitches work

TOTAL: 224

ARAKAKA

youtube

Dan: 29/50

Theme: 7 - Annoying advertisements? Trying to show the effects of product placement on our every day life? I loved it haha I was shook.

Creativity: 6 - V creative, but was it really a music video? I guess parts were but I also was like so lost after a while. I think song choice is always important and I was so bored during the song parts. I wish you had made the song part as creative as the ad parts.

Effort: 4 - Honestly the effort was misfocused on the ads and less on the music video, was I mad about it? only like 50%. the song was boring and just kinda blah so it was interesting

Composition: 5 - Choppy, but I can’t edit so rip

Entertainment Value: 7 - Honestly this how to video taught me so much and I’m shook. THE POPCORN I LITERALLY SCREAMED. While I nodded off during the music video portion, I stanned the ads

Jess: 32/50

Theme 6/10. I think your theme was ads? I didn't really understand it but it was fun and unique.

Creativity 8/10. I have never seen anything like this that's for sure.

Effort 4/10. It seemed like everyone in your tribe was in the video I think? But most of the stuff you guys submitted was 1 take/shot and wouldn't have required a lot of editing, which is the most time consuming/effort requiring portion of the challenge so...

Composition 5/10 The editing of the commercials was pretty good, but it didn't flow as well as it should have because the audio levels were a bit all over the place. Also at one point it was in colour and out of focus but I wasn't sure why? Also a+ for doing your video in 1080p (@ other tribes take note). Since the actual music video portion was just one shot, I feel like I can't really give you a higher rating than the other tribes in this category.

Entertainment Value 9/10 First frame: a guy in a Stitch onesie with a bottle of tequila and a mug that says "ray of fucking sunshine"?? I laughed immediately. Then I was shook when later I realized it was actually a shot glass and was close to the camera and it got even better. This whole video was wild and I had no idea what was going to happen so I was pretty entertained.

Dennis: 45/50

Theme: 8/10 Creativity: 10/10 Effort: 8/10 Composition: 9/10 Entertainment: 10/10

This is probably the last kind of video which I expected in a challenge like this. I think it was really creative and connected entertainment with comedy and a nice little theme. I am very impressed good job!

Connor: 20/50

“””””Acting””””””” “””””””Edgy”””””””” Eggs?? Im vegan. What was the point of this? Was there a point? Pop corn girl gets you an extra point but this is not a music video. To quote bandersnatch, you chose the wrong path.

Theme: 3 Creativity: 6 Effort: 4 Composition: 4 Entertainment Value: 3

Charlotte: 34/50

Theme: I've been out of the ORG world for awhile but is this what music videos are now??? I feel like the music video of your video was sorely lacking. YouTube loves ads but not that many!!!!! I did think the ads were pretty creative though so I marked up points for that below. 6/10

Creativity: See above. 9/10

Effort: It wasn't just straight up lip syncing so I gotta reward you guys for that. 8/10

Composition: That black and white switching to color towards the end got me fucked up. 6/10

Entertainment Value: To quote the person sitting beside me: "OMG another ad?"Cute concept, not sure it works as a music video but you tried. 5/10

Nehe: 35/50

Honestly this was something i never seen before and i enjoyed it hahaha

TOTAL: 195

TAKAMA

youtube

Dan: 26/50

Theme: 6 - Cats? Bikes? Awkward White People Dancing? Are these the themes you went for? If so, y’all killed it haha, but it wasn't cohesive and I don't get what y'all were going for really.

Creativity: 5 - honestly, I stan an original song choice bc I haven’t seen this before, but also, a song like this needs to be sold and I don't know if y'all pulled out all the stops. I would have liked to see more passion from some of you in the props and theatrics department.

Effort: 5 - Some of you seemed to try a little harder than others, but overall y’all were feelin it

Composition: 5 - A little choppy, but I can’t edit for shit so like good job?

Entertainment Value: 5 - Okay Miss Tim with that bike balance, idk your name sis (maybe Jones) but striped sweater, pm me on skype – dan.disbrow so I can buy it ty. Other than that I don't really remember much besides a lot of cringey dancing.

Jess: 29/50

Theme 1/10. Tbh I don't really know what the theme was here, did you guys forget this category??

Creativity 4/10. Pretty much the same reason that I gave Hororo's tribe a 5, I'm giving you a 4. I am taking one point off because they at least did some stuff to make their video more unique/specific to their song whereas I think you guys could have used this editing style/dancing/etc to any song and it would have also worked, so it wasn't super unique.

Effort 9/10. Everyone who was in the video seemed really into it and did a good job having fun! But this is a 6 person tribe... one person wasn't in it and they weren't the editor?? You should vote them out if you lose.

Composition 9/10. The editing flowed well, you showed everyone on the tribe a pretty decent amount, and everyone's individual videos were pretty on point for lip sync? Usually when people film on their webcams it's not in sync, but these were all really good! You lose one point because the video quality was low and wasn't 1080p which it really should be.

Entertainment Value 6/10. I liked everyone's attitude and dancing and I loved the cats. I originally had 5 but then I remembered the cats and went back and added another point. But I wish you guys had done something unique for each mini song, like maybe divided them up amongst your tribe, or had people change outfits or something? If you had done that, I'd have given you way more points for theme and entertainment value. But because it was kind of repetitive/one note, it's hard to say I was REALLY entertained the whole time.

Dennis: 37/50

Theme: 9/10 Creativity: 7/10 Effort: 8/10 Composition: 7/10 Entertainment: 6/10

Comment: What stood out for me in your video was the theme. I assume that you wanted to mimic the fans v faves theme with a riff off and I thought that was actually quite smart. Everything else seemed to be for me what I would expect from a lipsync, but besides the theme nothing that stood out to me especially.

Connor: 27/50

The lip sinking is a little off at times (im coming back to this part, in the middle / two ish minute point-on it is not good) and I think the transitions from song to songs could have been smoother, but I think this is creative in terms of it being a mashup. I think there could have been more “music video” aspects to it. In addition to y’all singing. EXTRA POINT FOR THE CATS ( stripped sweater??? who is this??? Queen????)

Theme: 5 Creativity: 6 Effort: 6 Composition: 4 Entertainment Value: 6

Charlotte: 28/50

Theme: Was your theme Pitch Perfect? Like, I'm not sure whether or not there was anything you guys planned out but it really just seemed kind of randomly thrown together. 5/10

Creativity: I liked the cats? 6/10

Effort: See above. I feel like y'all just kind of threw this together? It was missing something for me. The person in the stripes pulled it together for you though so 7/10

Composition: Y'all really out here in 2019 not filming in the same orientation? I'm deducting 50% for that. It's a travesty. Also, if one person does a filter and no one else does, does it really make sense? IDK. 3/10

Entertainment Value: ... again, I liked the cats. Plus the stuff with the bicycle was weirdly entertaining. 7/10

Nehe: 31/50

TOTAL: 178

Thank you judges!

That means, Takama, I will be seeing you that tribal council on January 28 at 10 pm est.

1 note · View note

vide0-nasties · 6 years

Text

if you were an ocean, i’d learn to float

Pairings: Asra/MC, extremely NSFW

Content Warnings: Pegging, anal fingering, anal sex, brief cunnilingus, brief simulated blowjob on sex toy, some coarse language, blindfolding, overstimulation, edging

Word Count: 5057

Author’s Note: Pre-game, pre-memory loss, lots of loving sex and praise. Kind of a whopper, a little emotional, and a lot of stuff I’ve never written before. Big learning experience lol. Hope you enjoy!

---

Asra is her home—first and only.

Eustacia doesn’t feel the wind tugging at the wide-brimmed cavalier hat she keeps clamped on her head, or the rain pelting her back, or the pack strapped over her shoulder that weighs heavy with coin, interesting Nevivon blown glass, and others gifts for Asra. Offerings to throw on his altar, hoping to please him. A bigger offering—the biggest offering she’s ever made to anyone.

No, her entire world narrows down to a corona of pearl-colored hair, the most capable hands she’s ever seen in her life, and a mouth of beauty beyond her limited reckoning hanging open in disbelief.

All of this stands beyond the threshold of her inherited, shuttered shop, barefoot and at ease.

Hello, beautiful, she wants to say, like tradition, but she can’t. The words, with ten thousand more, crowd in her stoppered throat. Paralyzed, stymied, bewitched, she looks and looks, all her suave plans and flirtations gone straight to hell.

With no warning and a running start, Asra leaps at her, throwing his arms around her necks, his legs around her waist. The collision knocks her back, takes some of the wind from her lungs, but she catches him and holds tight. “Asra, the rain!”

He laughs, and trembles, and buries his face against her neck, and she mirrors all of it in tandem. She angles the brim of her hat to shield the both of them as best it can, their heads drawn down and together.

“You’re home,” he wheezes, fingers scrabbling all over, like he can’t touch enough of her to make sure she’s real. It makes her weak—no one has ever touched her like that, and she would now ridicule the hands of any other that dared to try. “You’re home.”

Why she had fought this so bitterly—a dream the better part forgotten.

Melting against the warmth of him, squeezing her free arm around his waist and grabbing a handful of his ass with comfortable familiarity, she kisses the shoulder laid bare by his slipped shirt. She could be on the blank and barren surface of the fucking moon and be home, so long as he was there beside her.

“What?” she teases, teeth against skin, spinning their ensnared bodies in a slow circle through the downpour. “Did you worry that I forgot whose hands I left my heart in?”

Always, she’s thought the lines that make up Asra are stunning. Beautiful as her golden threads, but coming together to create something wonderful, not to break apart something living.

The vulpine tilt of his lips, the fanning arc of his eyelashes, the carved-marble cut of his calf muscles, the elegant arches of his feet. The fine bones that make up his wrists, the shadowed dip between his collarbones.

She hopes her staring doesn’t feel heavy, doesn’t looked wild-eyed. She hopes her looks aren’t a burden.

It makes her feel guilty.

Stripped of her newly tattered coat, the victim of a truly nasty thicket of thorns, the rest of her clothes still drip on the floor, water pooling dark around her pointed boots. The boards are already warped, so it doesn’t worry her overmuch. Great Aunt Koulmia had run an antiquities business, and then she died. In between, she’d stagnated, bitched endlessly, and let the place come to smell of mold, tarnished brass, and hoarded coin. Many artifacts remain in the cobwebbed ground floor, packed away in trunks and burlap.

It all reeks of iron, and Eustacia can’t find many reasons to linger very often as-is.

“Exactly right,” she tells Asra, flicking her hat in the vague direction of a steamer trunk, gently setting her pack in front of a stove that hadn’t known fire in years until they’d begun to haunt the place. Giving her lip a sly curl, she glances at him from the corner of her eye and points down at the leather bag. “I wanted to surprise you with surprises.”

“I like surprises,” he says, cunning as she, and game as can be. There’s a dare in his eyes, and he doesn’t let go of hers as he starts for the bag in lazy, sweeping steps. Such quiet feet, quiet as little fox paws when he wants them to be.

Only when he reaches for it, does she stop him, with two index fingers under his jaw to draw him back up to height. Rumbling, she leans down to him and brushes her lips against his mouth, “You know damn well I’ve cursed my pack to the burning kingdom and back.”

“What kind of curse?” he asks, trying to surge forward. He doesn’t care much about the curse or the pack, he only wants to find his limits and push them. She lets him, it’s something he’s good at.

“If a single finger that doesn’t belong to my hand touches it, that finger and its sisters will blacken and wither to nothing,” she tells him, cocking her head. She darts her tongue out to skim his bottom lip, a shiver running up his body and turning his eyes dark, and she snaps her teeth shut with a crash.

“Teach me?” he asks, wrapping his arms around her neck, standing on his tiptoes to pull her closer.

She puts her hands flat on his waist under his shirt and nods. All that and more, she’ll teach him. It’s part of the deal—in return for teaching him curses, sigils, and a few uglier things, he will teach her gentler, more practical magic. Healing, fortune telling, dream work, a sweeter transmogrification than she knows now.

She teaches him grifter magic tricks—coins and cards and pulling rabbits out of hats if he desires—and he teaches her reading and writing—almost belligerently, demanding she shed her shame so that she may learn.

Asra takes her hand, and leads it below his waist. He bucks against her palm and cuts a gasp off at the knees by biting into his lower lip when she lands over the strain in his trousers. Her eyes could roll in the back of her head, and she fails to stifle the pleased growl in her throat.

“Euffie…do you want to…?” he breathes, swallowing hard. He nods his head, perhaps hoping she’ll mirror the motion, but she does the opposite and withdraws completely.

“Yes,” she croaks, body almost too electrified to let her run on anything more than instinct to retrieve the wooden box from her pack. She plunks it on the counter to add emphasis, “But—baths, and a present first.”

He looks affronted—shocked and appalled—but she’s delighted. Everything is how she wants it. “I’m an idiot—you’re the cruelest person I’ve ever met, and I’m in love with you,” he accuses.

She drops a fleeting and intentionally unsatisfactory kiss to his lips. “That one’s on you, Cottontail,” she hums, shrugging. “You first. No touching yourself in the bath.”

She opts to switch into her finer jewelry—the gold and abalone pieces, because they both like them better than the steel rings and comparably cheaper quartz plugs in her lobes—while he bathes. When it’s her turn, she uses an armada of enchanted concoctions to fade bruises, heal nicks, and disappear the broken blisters on her hands and heels.

An equal amount of lotions bring her skin a little closer to luminosity, and she emerges, less worse for the wear, to the mouth-parching image of Asra in her dressing robe. The black silk one, with a shawl collar and eyelash-edged viridian lace trimming the hems. It’s short-short on her, silk coming up near to the ass and elbows, but on Asra? Perfect.

He studies the interesting Nevivon blown-glass, and smirks up at her. “Please, tell me this is for me?”

“No, sorry,” she croaks, drawing closer. “That’s for the other white-haired magician in my life.”

“Aren’t they the luckiest,” he hums, lifting the piece out of its velvet lining. Six inches long, with ridges spiraling up the shaft in a pretty shade of blue, and a flared base to be worn in her harness. He could take bigger—she’s used bigger on him before, to wonderful effect—but this pretty chunk of glass had cost a pretty chunk of change, and could be used forever if taken care of.

Asra isn’t short compared to most people, but he’s half a foot shorter than her, and very easy to wrap around from behind. Looping her arms around his waist, she takes the pendant around his neck and sucks on it, clicking against her teeth and tongue stud. “You like it?”

“Eustacia,” he near-pouts, turning his head to speak against her cheek, “I really, really want this inside me.”

“Mm. Alright. That other wizard can go to hell, then. They’re not nearly as lovely as you,” she chirrups, grinning with his pendant between her teeth. She slips a hand under the robe, circling one of his nipples with two fingertips, and then she grinds against his backside. “We’re going to need you somewhat relaxed first.”

His breath catches the tiniest bit, but he lolls his head back against her shoulder and grins with the same intensity. “Are we?”

“Negotiation before even that,” she adds, ignoring his bemused frown. “I was thinking blindfold, bound hands, some fingering, aaand I’d really, really love to tease you.”

“If you work in some denial,” he proposes, hissing and pressing against her hand when she pinches the nipple, “and if you untie me, and take the blindfold off when I ask—yes, I’m all for everything.”

“Excellent, I accept you terms. Now, what kind of oil do we have? Any we wouldn’t mourn the loss of.”

“Coconut, I think.”

She drops the pendant, ducks her head, and finds his pulse point with her lips. Brushing a gold-capped wolf tooth against his heartbeat, she runs a hand down his belly, below the sash of the robe. “Let’s say we grab it, and move along to the bedroom? Is that agreeable to you?”

Great Aunt Koulmia’s bed stank of spinster, so she and Asra threw it out.

They literally kicked the mattress down the stairs and left it on the curb, dusting their hands and using their thumbs to draw sigils on their foreheads to ward off evil spirits. Eustacia never felt bad about ridding the shop of the woman’s personal belongings—she was a massive twat in the mortal realm, and Eustacia is sure she’s being a massive twat in hell.

Fuck her, Gods bless, amen.

They’d kept the bedframe though, that was of the highest quality. Beautiful ebony behemoth with carvings of sea monsters and intricate knotwork. They keep it piled high with blankets and over-sized jewel-toned cushions.

Asra helps her step into her harness, starting by ridding her of the towel around her torso, kissing a line south from her lips, down her chest. He holds onto her hips as he kneels in front of her, pressing his mouth to her navel, dipping his tongue into the divot. She can feel his nose, eyelashes, and grin when she laughs and tries to jolt away, kept close by his hands.

He drops the leather and brass harness at his knees, and laughter—nervous and gleeful—jags up her throat at the sight of him. Hands still on her hips, eyes heavy with haze, lips turning rosy. The fabric of the robe pooling over his thighs catches like lightning under the glow of the witch lights in the bedroom.

He wraps his hands around the small of her back, pulls her close enough to nuzzle against her sex and press a kiss to her labia. “Mm—Asra,” she almost seethes, fingers in his hair. The muscles in her torso clench and unclench without reason, her entire body an ember being blown into a flame. She nearly wants to go onto her tiptoes.

“You taste good,” he mutters against her skin, kissing her two and three more times, darting his tongue between her lips to barely catch her clit, digging his fingers into her muscle. “Eustacia, you taste so good.”

And he thinks her cock tastes good, too. Greedy and impatient once the glass cock is loaded into the harness, pulled up and tightened around her hips, he takes the shaft in hand and closes his lips around the tip, never once breaking his line of sight to her eyes. With every bob of his head, he takes more into his mouth, closing his eyes as if in ecstasy.

It’s amazing that she can feel so much through something that isn’t physically a part of her body. That she can feel the drag of his lips over her cock through even a piece of leather. That she finds herself wanting to buck into his mouth, that she moans when he takes it to the base without gagging, and that he grunts and nods to encourage her noises.

“Asra, you’re going to kill me like that,” she complains, but there isn’t an actual grievance backing it. Maybe she would like to die with Asra sucking her cock. There are worse ways to leave the world.

She can feel his tongue run flat against the bottom as he pulls back, and the piece shines brilliantly with his spit. Lips gone rosy and swollen, face glistening with her slick, he smiles the way he does when he’s drunk, and tells her, “Are you going to fuck me, Eustacia? I want you to fuck me.”

As you wish, Asra.

Asra is always pretty.

He’s pretty with his hands bound to the headboard with a thread she weaves from the cosmic nothing—shining, gold, nearly impossible to break, and weightless as spider silk.

Pretty in her lingerie, silk and lace folded between his legs, dropping away from his chest, pooling around his raised arms, all of it striking in contrast and complement. She’s never seen him in a color that doesn’t favor his tones.

Pretty-pretty-pretty with her oil-drenched fingers inside of him, bucking and wriggling against and into her touch. His murmurs and gasps override the silver clatter of rain falling on the rooftop and the window. The sweet scent of the silky coconut oil and the sweat of their skin mingles in the humid air between them, a pleasant cloud that grounds her, keeps her focused on her work.

Oh, he’s going to look exquisite taking her cock, riding it, begging for it.

She leans over him in nothing but her harness and skin, teasing kisses to his swollen lips. She lets her fingers do their work, taking turns either brushing the sweet spot that makes his back arch and toes curl, or laying into it so relentless she thinks he’s liable to scream—veins and tendons standing out on his neck, head thrown back against the cushions.

In a voice backed with the kind of smoke that rises from house-fires, she growls against the shell of his ear, “Asra, I have some very important things to confess to you.”

“Tell me,” he breathes, almost a whine. Tries to turn and catch her mouth, or maybe dislodge the magenta scarf she’s tied around his eyes. “You can tell me anything—anything.”

Rearing away, she bites the inside of her cheek when he realizes she’s moved and pipes his complaint loud and wordlessly—a drawn out, full-body keen that finds the other point of contact, bearing down on the fingers inside him and clenching. The keen turns into a gasp when she runs the flat of her tongue over his nipple, pinching it sweet and gentle between her teeth before a firm suck that leaves his arms straining against his bindings.

“Here is the beginning of my confessions,” she tells him, kissing his stomach and working him so hard her fingers and wrist might snap. “I know I don’t tell you enough that I love you—”

“You—you don’t have to,” he croaks, “I know. I know you do.”

She slows almost to the point of halting, savoring his yelp. “You deserve to hear it more,” she insists, rewarding him with speed.

Asra twitches, and pants, and gasps, sucking on his lower lip, the muscles in his stomach jolting. She can see ever hard swallow that moves his throat, every instance that his pink tongue darts out to relieve his bitten lips. Admittedly, her mouth goes dry seeing him try to clamp his legs shut, the robe gathered up between his thighs, the sash around his waist coming untied from his fidgeting.

“Eustacia!” he nearly howls the moment she retreats completely, leaving him panting and empty.

Taking hold of his hips, she settles between his knees, letting the head of her false cock brush against the swell of his ass until she takes it in hand. With an obscene amount of oil, she strokes the length and tells him, “I’m ready to go, Asra. Do you want my cock in you?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, she presses her cock against him, until he’s taken the head of it within himself. His sigh is pleased and fraught with excitement, mouth slightly slack with surprise and relief. She works through the burn in her hip flexors as she fills him, stroking his lean obliques and the curve of his ribs under the robe, asking constantly whether he’s okay, if the slide is smooth enough, does he need more oil.

“How do you feel? Are you alright?” She wants him taken care of—safe and comfortable, and that need eclipses the desire to see him fucked apart and babbling. Even when every drop of blood in her veins dumps directly into her crotch with painful velocity—so fast she’s gone light in the head and sopping between the legs.

“Full,” he murmurs, shifting against her hips as if he can take more, though he’s taken her to the base. “Fuck, Eustacia, it feels so good. So fucking good.”

If that isn’t the most heart-stopping thing she’s ever been told. Another delighted bout of laughter surges up her throat, and Asra smiles and pants, “I love that sound—love your laughs, all of them.”

Tentatively, she draws back to test him with an easy thrust. His breath hisses and he nods—more, please, more—and she gives him what he wants. Setting a languid, easy pace to the roll of her hips as she draws her thrusts longer, drives them deeper. Her hand wraps around his cock, stroking it in a loose, teasing grip, and she counts every instance he nods, makes a sound, or his breathing catches.

The first time she’d ever laid eyes on him, she’d thought him too beautiful, like staring at the sun. She’d almost disliked him for it, for being the kind of beautiful that was hard to process into a long term memory, but she didn’t, and never did. She’d felt bad for it. He was, and is, so much more than his looks.

“You’re clever, Asra, so damned clever,” she tells him, picking up speed, eating up his muttered needs for assurance. “The cleverest person I know. Even quicker than a four-century sea witch. You think in ways I couldn’t conjure in the most virile quarters of my imaginings. When I cursed myself dead—you broke apart what I knew, showed me something different, and it worked, Asra. You gave me what I needed to take back my heartbeat—”

“Close,” he wheezes, straining tight against the headboard and his bindings, “close-close—!”

“Oh!” Eustacia stops altogether, gaping down at him. He swallows hard, breathing in shallow laps. She reaches up to stroke the column of his throat, making soothing sounds. “Champing at the bit, Rah? I’m glad you said something, I’m enjoying myself. Are you?”

Another swallow passes under her hands, and he nods, a smile showing off the gleam of his wonderful teeth. “Very much so,” he purrs, relaxing again. “I can’t even think when you get going like that. You must’ve had some practice out in the great, wide world.”

“Didn’t,” she admits willingly, “haven’t. I didn’t take anyone else to bed this time. They all looked gray. I just…wanted to get back to you.”

“Me neither. No one else,” he says, licking his lips. “I really don’t want anyone else. Ever.”

She could play flip or coy, but she doesn’t. Too much time has already been spent skirting this thing between them, and that’s what this last trip was for in the first place. One last trip, and never again would they be apart. “Good.” Her hands settle back on his hips. “I don’t either. Ready?”

They come together again. She picks up the pace, slows it, stops when he calls close, again and again. Teasing him mercilessly, grinding against the harness to chase what she is denying him, only to be denied herself. Praise spills from her lips like a water spigot cranked to flow and forgotten. You are generous, you are considerate, you are brave, you are funny.

Your laugh sounds safe like guardian bells. Sun- and moonlight feels at home in your hair. You stand up for the lonely monsters even when they’ve never needed your help.

You are the sun, and you burn away the shadows.

“You make sure I eat, Rah. No one has ever made sure that I’ve had enough to eat,” she rasps, throat dry, eyes wet, fucking him in earnest. Sweat rolls down her back in beads, down her forehead, and down her chest. Her legs are on fire, her back is screaming, her arms buzz near numbing as she keeps herself propped over him.

He doesn’t bother keeping quiet anymore, his moans bouncing off the walls when he isn’t sucking on the fingers she offers him, or biting his lips and the inside of his cheek. He’s hoarse, too, when he shouts for the fifth time, “Close! F-fuck, close!”

Again, she stops, hanging her head and breathing in ragged bursts. She can’t even think, and it’s a sweetly painful blessing. She can’t think, all she can do is pour her heart out onto him, split open all her veins and bleed for him.

Treat him right, fuck him right. Fuck him like she loves him, because she does love him. She loves him so fucking much it goes beyond frightening her.

She loves him so much it quiets her. It undoes the bone that makes up her spine, and puts it back together with the polished steel of swords. It makes her a courageous monster, a monster with a purpose.

Her thrusts begin again, slow and forceful, and he bites back on a sound that sends lightning up her spine, straight into the cotton her brain has turned into.

Maybe that’s part of why she loves him so badly—the fact that he does quiet her, that her hands go still around him, that he can put all of her nervous tics to rest, and never judges her for them in the first place. He makes the world stop hurtling around her.

There’s a talent in him for drawing out the better part of her, teasing that beaten and starved dog over a warm threshold. Come here, come closer. I’m not going to hurt you, even when you bite me. You’re more than skin and bones. I know the shape of your soul. I know it is lovely.

How the hell had anyone like Asra seen anything worthy in her? This is a question she thinks she will wrestle the rest of her mortal life.

“I love you,” she says, voice pitching high into a plea. “I love you, Asra.”

“Mm-muh, I love you,” he moans, using the entirety of his throat, nodding feverishly as he cants his hips to find a little more friction.

Her rhythm stops without his asking, and she ignores his indignant bark, pulling the scarf from his eyes. She cradles his jaw in both hands, waits until his eyes focus and meet hers—such brilliant gemstone violet striking against ocean-bottom black—and she bores into them with all the gravity and urgency she can muster. “I love you, Asra. Do you understand that?”

Do you know how impossible that is? How grateful I am?

On their lonesome this way, he’s easy to read. He wants to ask if she’s okay, and call her Euffie doing it. But he won’t, because she hates that attention and doesn’t want that name attached to it. Because she hates that he fears the armor she named anger, and that he knows she built it around a pale and feeble thing he names fear without using words.

“Untie me, please,” is what he asks of her instead.

She does, making the thread around his wrists dissolve back into the nothingness from whence it was summoned, trying not to move much as she does it.

“Can you—mm, can you—ah,” he sighs, nodding as she pulls out of him, rubbing her arms and not letting her back away too far. “Can you…I want to finish on top, if that’s alright. If there’s an easy way to make the pillows, you know, like a chair?”

“That can be done,” she says, and it is. The pillows are easy enough to manage, even around her self-inflicted and insipid sentimentality, and she sinks back against them more lounging than perching, but that works well enough for Asra. He straddles her pelvis, the slip of silk whispering over her skin, and wraps his arms around her neck, bringing their chests together.

With a palmful of oil, she slicks the piece up for the last time, and he sinks down on it inch by slow inch. He buries his face against her neck, dropping sloppy kisses in an upward trail until he finds her mouth.

“I’m, pffaha, I’m probably not gonna last for much longer,” he warns, grinning and red through the face.

He doesn’t, keeping wrapped around her python-tight and barely doing more than rolling his hips, hissing yes-yes-yes when she thrusts up into him. When he cums hot over her stomach, it’s with a wordless shout into the crook of her neck, and she fucks him through it until he’s had as much as he wants, trembling and long-gone past overstimulated.

He hisses when he rises off the cock, telling her to lift her hips. She obeys, helping him with the buckles on the harness, and dropping it on the floor. “Come here,” she says, reaching for him, but he shakes his head and sinks between her knees. “Asra, come on. I can bring myself off.”

“You took care of me,” he laughs sleepily. “I want to take care of you.”

And he does. With his fingers, with his lips, with his tongue, he takes care of her one—two—three times in rapid succession.

Boneless and knowing she will ache like she’d been trampled in a riot come morning, she leaves Asra shed of the robe and melting into the pillows under her rabbit fur blanket. All she can see is his face nuzzled into the red satin lining, the scantest flash of white hair and bronze skin lovely against the gray-brown hare pelt, perched on the edge of sleep, to the chorus of the rain still pouring outdoors.

Carrying a flower vase of water and her pack, she settles down next to him. They’d cleaned up the bare minimum they would need to stand themselves through what will likely be a deep and long sleep, and did no more. She passes him the water first, hearing more than seeing him guzzle it down, and pats her pack. “I have more surprises,” she hums, arching a brow his direction.

Swallowing and smacking his lips, he laughs, “I don’t think I can take any more surprises tonight.”

“I think you’ll be wanting to. This is the sort of surprise that needs two to agree upon.”

“Well,” he sighs, passing her the vase and propping up his head on one hand. “I do like surprises.”

Without further prompting, and after setting the vase aside, she opens the pack and renders the curse on it inert. Hundreds of coins gleam in the belly of it like gilded seeds, mixed through with a magpie’s bounty of jewelry and other trinkets. It all catches in the light of the remaining witch lights, and, though she has no knack for divination nor the desire to learn it, she sees a future spelled out in the gleam.

“We could do it,” she whispers, hoarse and ridiculously hopeful. “We could have a place here. Together. No more…trips, or working out of booths, or odd jobs.”

“You mean the shop?” he asks, saucers for eyes, a hand squeezing her wrist as if in want of an anchor. “You want to open the shop?”

If she’d known then all the suffering they were going to shoulder on this path, she would’ve scraped her earnings back into the bag, taken his hand, and run until the soles of their feet bled.

But she didn’t, and she wanted to give him a home—a proper home, something he’d never had until she gave him a key to Great Aunt Koulmia’s mothballed shop and told him to do as he pleased.

He’d already given her more than she ever dared to want, and the wedding-ring, teeth-mark scars on the web between her thumb and index finger pulse in a thick way. Superstition, old wives tale: bite and bite and bleed, then true shall your love ever be.

“That’s your choice to make, Asra,” she tells him, pushing the pack off the bed and hunkering close to him, pulling the blanket over her flank. “I love you, and I’m as settled as I ever want to be. We could open the shop, or catch the first ship out of Vesuvia, and I’d be happy either way.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, low and warm and satisfied, taking up her hands and leaning to meet her mouth halfway. Against her lips, he laughs, “Let’s do it. Let’s open the shop.”

She puts her arms around his back, curls into him the way he curls into her, and lets the world go quiet apart from the rain and his breathing.

Asra is her home—first and favorite.

#the arcana #the arcana fanfic #NSFW//#Asra #Asra x MC #this is pretty much the filthiest thing i've ever written and i'm nervous af haha #rags wrote a thing

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage Review: Behind the Scenes of a Musical Disaster

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That ain’t teenage spirit you’re smelling. HBO’s Music Box documentary Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage reeks of righteous condemnation, judicial indiscretion, and conspiratorial obfuscation. But it’s okay. This is a disaster film masquerading as a documentary, and the found footage makes it all pay off. Director Garrett Price personally opens the film in the voiceover, explaining how the 1999 celebration itself was written to be a comedy, but “played out much more like a horror film.”

Music festivals have come to represent generations. The original Woodstock: an Aquarian Exposition: 3 Days of Peace & Music concert in the summer of 1969 brought half a million people together with the artists who spoke for and to them in a communal love bond. The organizers lost money, the capacity was underestimated, but the audience came together to share what they had to make the weekend legendary. In December that year, the Rolling Stones concert at Altamont was marred by the pool cues and knives of the security team, the Hells Angels. It was deemed the end of the ‘60s.

Woodstock ‘94 happened at the height of the Grunge Revolution, when Kurt Cobain wore a dress but didn’t shave his stubble, and Riot Grrrls blasted personal dissent with the passion of the punk elite and no one cared if they shaved their legs. The organizers lost money, but the fans and the bands were one unit who achieved the common goal of joy. Woodstock ‘99 happened five years later and enjoyed the accessibility of the mainstream’s greatest unifier: MTV. The organizers made money and 200,000 people attended, but the audience got such a raw deal, even the musicians who played got scared. It is remembered as “the day the ’90s died.”

Opening on the 22nd anniversary of the festival, the documentary deems Woodstock ’99 a disaster. They even call in a guy from FEMA, who says it was worse than Hurricane Katrina and the great flood. Told chronologically, Price, who previously directed Love, Antosha, the 2019 tribute to Anton Yelchin, begins with the excitement of a three-day festival. Held on a former military installation in Rome, New York, the Griffiss Air Base was set up to keep the grounds free of ticketless celebrants.

The security team is exposed as a bunch of amateurs specially trained on which boxes to check in a multiple-choice test, and how to find someone’s personal stash of bottled water in a backpack. “There’s a festival grounds in Germany that was literally built by Hitler,” The Offspring’s guitarist Noodles says in an interview. “It’s a great venue, a lot of fun. The air base was less hospitable than the venue built by Nazis.”

There were nonstop performances held a mile apart from each other on the grounds. One highlighted its mosh pits, the other the dance floor. The biggest electronic artist in the Rave Tent proves his genre’s atmosphere opens doorways to perception. “There is a sixth sense that you develop when you spend your life going to venues,” Moby says in an interview. “We got off the bus and I was like, ‘Something is not right.'”

The film is very generous with behind-the-scenes footage. We are treated to aerial shots of cramped campsites, long ATM lines, leaky Port-O-Potties oozing something that only looked like mud, and $4 water bottles, which sold as much as beer in temperatures over 100 degrees. We are told in advance three people died, 44 were arrested. There were 10 reported sexual assaults.

The lineup for the concert was a mix of hard rock bands, pop stars, and hip-hop acts like The Roots, and ICP. Rapper DMX’s epithetic call and response performance gets special notice. “The Black performer is essentially licensing the people in the crowd to say this word with him,” New York Times’ Wesley Morris says in an interview. “If you got each one of these guys after the show, and pulled them aside and said, ‘is it OK to say the N-word under any circumstances?’ They would, to a person, say, ‘I mean, the right answer is no, right?’”

For returning music aficionados with remnants of the first gathering still in their memories, organizers booked jam bands and a few older acts like Elvis Costello, Willie Nelson, and The Who’s John Entwistle. “The ’99 Woodstock seemed like it was trying to relive a nostalgic moment, along with commercialism and capitalism, but not having a real soulful purpose for the show,” singer-songwriter Jewel says in an interview.

As the documentary points out, a lot of the younger attendees had no idea what Wyclef Jean was referencing in his solo guitar performance of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” They ask one kid, who can’t remember who did it first even though he’s standing directly under a huge stencil of Jimi Hendrix’s name. When Bush’s Gavin Rossdale begins Country Joe & the Fish’s “Gimme an F,” the chanters only seek Amy.

Music is supposed to have charms which soothe the savage breast. Many people think the final word of the phrase is “beast,” and the documentary further blurs the line. The early ‘90s music artists were anti-misogynist, anti-racist, anti-homophobic and radically informed. Happening at the end of the Clinton era, when MTV pitted boy bands and pop girls against nü-metal rockers, a fur-coated Kid Rock could call Monica Lewinsky a ho and pass it off as a political statement.

Toxic masculinity’s dirty sister framed Britney Spears as a “Girls Gone Wild” extra, and magazines like Maxim and FHM encouraged the idea young men could shout “show your tits” to Rosie Perez without getting bitch-slapped, the documentary posits. Only three women were invited to perform at the weekend-long, two-stage festival: Jewel, Alanis Morrissette, and Sheryl Crow. “I’m baffled how it went from the progressive, enlightened values of Kurt Cobain and Michael Stipe to misogyny and homophobia and the rape-frat boy culture that was at Woodstock ‘99,” Moby ponders in the film.

Of course, none of wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t all pre-staged. This is where Price dips into the era’s obsession with paranoia. It was the end of the millennium, the Columbine shootings had happened, and the Y2K bug was coming. It was finally time to party like it’s 1999. “Really, the biggest problem was that MTV set the tone,” organizer John Scher says in an interview.

But he downplays it, like he might have been warned by Cigarette Smoking Man from The X-Files. “There’s no question that a few incidents took place. But if you go back in the records of the police and state police and stuff, we’re not talking about 100. Or even 50. We’re talking about 10. I am critical of the hundreds of women that were walking around with no clothes on, and expecting not to be touched. They shouldn’t have been touched, and I condemn it. But you know, I think that women that were running around naked, you know, are at least partially to blame for that.”

Partial blame is all the rage in Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage. The documentary points out how history paints the original Woodstock like it really was a return to the garden, with peace and love and former flower children having babies to Santana’s “Soul Sacrifice.” But music journalist Steven Hyden reminds us about a group of disgruntled shoppers called “’The Up Against the Wall Motherfuckers,” who didn’t like food prices and burned dozens of stands down.

After Woodstock ’99 grounds started smoking when the candles handed out for a vigil for Columbine victims became torches to burn the place down, the documentary says Rome Mayor Joseph Griffo asked Anthony Kiedis to douse the crowd’s misplaced enthusiasm. The Red Hot Chili Peppers launched into a scorching rendition of Jimi Hendrix’s “Fire.” History blames bands like Limp Bizkit, Korn, and Rage Against the Machine for the destruction. But really, the artistic decision of that song to those circumstances is a no-brainer. “Smoke on the Water” would have been too easy. “Disco Inferno” would have been too obvious.

The documentary talks with the event’s organizers, as well as performers like Korn’s Jonathan Davis, The Offspring, Scott Stapp of Creed, The Roots’ Black Thought. Wesley Morris and Spin‘s Maureen Callahan put things into perspective. The only person the documentary doesn’t talk with is Fred Durst, the frontman for Limp Bizkit, who became the poster boy for the event’s bad behavior. Oh, they talk about him, though. They talk about him like he’s not there, and because he’s not there they must think he won’t see it. At the height of Limp Bizkit’s set, the singer encouraged the crowd to “Break Stuff.” But let’s be fair, it is the name of their song, and Durst is the guy who told the crowd to pick someone up if they fall, not to grope them.

This is what happens when the counterculture makes money. Everyone wants a piece. Woodstock 99: Love, Peace, and Rage is an even-handed dispenser of blame, and has slices for all. The first in a series of music-based documentaries from Bill Simmons’ Ringer Films, this immersive journey bodes well for upcoming tunes.

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Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage is available to stream on HBO Max now.

The post Woodstock 99: Peace, Love, and Rage Review: Behind the Scenes of a Musical Disaster appeared first on Den of Geek.

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ts-akhmim · 4 years

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Episode 14 (Finale) | “All of this and more, but only in Autumn's World” - Autumn

So I figured out that Amir does have the idol and Jakey originally had it that round... damn I wish I looked a little more but I just didn't think Jakey had it. So that probably means that Autumn is going this round, and then I just need to find a way to win this next challenge over Amir. I know Kendall and I will vote together next round regardless, so worst case scenario next round for me is that I am in some kind of fire-making challenge, but I at least see there being a good chance that me and Kendall could be sitting in FTC together, and I'm just hoping at this point that it's Augusto sitting there with us. P.S. In the event that I make FTC... I really hope I'm not seen as a goat. Like, I don't think I am, but I'm not sure how much respect I'll get for my game. I'm hoping people see how savvy I had to be to continuously work my way back up after a couple blindsides and being pushed to the bottom, but you never know with this jury / cast. P.P.S. Please no pressure cooker next round. I'm not ready to have to beat Amir THAT way.

So I'll count that as half of a success. I was at least able to help convince Amir to play the idol he told me about to flush that, and with Autumn safe, the next option was to do Adam. Knowing that if Autumn did have the merge idol, she probably wasn't playing it on Adam, this was the next best option. I need Kendall and Augusto around because those are the two I'd like to bring to FTC if I can make it there. It makes sense to take them to the end as our games are all very similar, so at least we aren't against a winner at the end. Part of me thinks that bringing Amir may not be the worst thing in the world given he has screwed over a decent bit of that jury, but also, I'd rather not take that risk.

So now that that's done and I'm cute and immune, I can confirm it all. Yes I do have the merge idol, yes I've had it since Final 7 but planned not to play it until Final 5, and yes that makes me the most powerful person here. Deadass everyone wants my head on a stick and I don't give a single fuck. I'm chilling all weekend, letting them think they're doing something if/when I lose win immunity, and then I'm sending a man out on one vote Monday night. You think they hate me now? Wait til they find out they can't take a shot at me until Final 4 lmaaaaoo. Be blessed!

youtube

So Amir blames me for playing his idol... I think that's a win for me then, right?

I'm so glad I was able to take this challenge win! I needed to win this to guarantee I wasn't some kind of contingency plan. But now, it's about how can I guarantee a winner goes home. I've already kind of told Autumn she was in trouble (literally 0 point in lying to her about it) and have explained to both Kendall and Augusto that we should find a way to split the votes / guarantee that Autumn and Amir have no shot of working with one another and sending home one of the two people I want with me at FTC. I feel so close, yet so far away from the title of Sole Tumblr Survivor. I want this win so badly. I can't describe how much I want this win. I didn't come back just to have fun; I didn't come back just for maybe an ounce of redemption from Guyana, I came to win this mother-effer. I have at least a 25% shot at the moment, but I want to increase that number.

Final 5... it's so insane honestly because I never expected this of myself but I've played my ASS off (literally, that's why I'm flatter than a table top) especially these past few rounds. I'm kinda shocked that the clear targets are Autumn/Amir/TJ just given I have been a force in the game (subtly ofc) so its def a gag... but yeah. TJ winning the immunity was WORST case scenario because I wanted to come for that man's neck SO bad but we'll just have to get him next time. Amir having the merge idol isn't a SHOCK but it was interesting to say the least like rip telling me that but both his idol plays are gonna be kinda useless which helps my case! I know that Autumn said me and Kendall have been up Amir's ass but first of all... i'm a bottom so I would never BUT also I feel I've held my own this entire game so it isn't my truth in the slightest but I'll just have to prove her, TJ, and the jurors wrong if I got to. I've gone from flop (16th in Bhutan, 17th in Great Lakes, 12th in Socotra) to the top (6th in Flops, 2nd in Seychelles) but I am trying to WIN and wear my deserved crown, it's time I won something yknow.

Amir and I when my plan worked and NEITHER of us walked into jury yet again https://twitter.com/abridrakegraham/status/1222552252357005313 The kids HURTIN yall and I will 100% respect their privacy at this time. Like they really thought!!! They really thought they finally killed me and were probably singing ding dong the witch is dead all day and now look at em. They done lost the boy they all wanted to go to the end with, got severely played by me, AND still gotta see my face everyday. Someone check on Jordan Pines I wanna make sure he's not still holding his breath waiting for my demise. And I've teamed up with his other least favorite person? HOES MAD. But it's not just him- Kendall ready to fight Amir in PM's, TJ in his feelings on call during tribal, Augusto couldn't even find the words he was that shocked. It's all so glorious and I truly fucking love wrecking everyone's games. Amir was like I've never felt these emotions before/ this is one of the wildest moves I've ever been apart of and tbh I agree with Amir. This was batshit crazy but you know what the gag is? This is literally just another day in the mind of Autumn Hill Jury mad, the mayos mad, Augusto mad, and I'm literally on top on the world right now. Like I love Augusto yes but that move was the definition of powerful. Like it's not just playing an idol correctly. It's the fact that Amir came to me begging that I forgive him and that we work together again, I then agreed and admitted to having the idol to A WHOLE ASS WINNER, convinced Amir to tell the kids he had the idol, got everyone to feel super comfortable around me all night and day cause I knew "I was going," snapped in the tribe chat at 2:00 because I "just wanted people to be honest about voting me," got the kids to essentially then tell on themselves since they listed all the reasons why they were voting me, and then idoled out their king using his once closest ally. Liiiikkkee?? STIFF WHERE?? DEAD WHERE??? Bitch I'm playing to win ok I hope yall enjoying this master class I've put on cause I'm hanging it up after this. Unless yall get serious about having a TS version of Winners at War, then call me. But otherwise, yes I'm going ham because I have every intention of walking into the 2 time winners chat. I WANT TO ASCEND!!! So PSA: if my funeral is public knowledge, that means I ain't dying hahaha. Apparently everyone has nicknames for me and that might actually be my favorite part. Jakey calling the game Autumn's World all merge to the boys and TJ only referring to me as the Godmother?? iconic! You know I'd hate me too if I wasn't me, which is why I'm flattered by it all. They know damn well they're almost out of time to get rid of me and they've spent the entire fucking game hoping and wishing and praying and still can't pull it off. And them not targeting me out the gate like Jordan wanted has gotten soooo many people killed. But most importantly I have successfully played an idol now TWICE at Final 5.. And I sure did win back to back immunities at Final 4 and Final 3 in Crossroads so finding out this season has a final 2? Perfect let me dust off the blueprint real quick

https://twitter.com/rcgersnatalia/status/1168071613763342336

okay im going to work my ass of to win this but autumn and tj have both claimed they can do this really well, so like basically, tj cannot win immunity, i need to win or i may be absolutely screwed https://66.media.tumblr.com/583667e85060a36a2cccb8551baa27d5/tumblr_inline_oh5slaYgdO1tr4u58_500.jpg but as of rn, i was going no matter what if i didnt win immunity, i tried to make a story to autumn and we called for like 3 hours and i did my damnest to sell that tj is the problem with everything that happened last round and that i was down to vote augusto for real until tj really sold the plan out to augusto and i didnt want to go to rocks, but i played the idol out of fear that augusto-kendall-tj would 3-2-1 me so she believed there is a true rift in the beauties right now and has more of a reason to hate tj she is so fucking smart so she may have sussed it out and went along with it, but im hoping it worked??? idek but she said if she wins immunity she'll idol me she did admit she has the idol to me but maybe because she knew i already knew

I just... do I even have words anymore? Like, time and time again, I'm getting screwed over and I just... it's a good underdog story now. I just have to win this next challenge. I guess regardless I had to win this next challenge, but also, I was really hoping to not have to have as much concern as I do right now.

What was that?? oh cause I thought the yts who can't successfully kill me had said something https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Wux4HnZRY0 Another day, another body bag. THEY WERE SO SURE THEY HAD ME AHHHH I really have to laugh. Kendall was certain this was my funeral and I'm like nah baby it's yours. I'm still screaming that TJ would keep immunity for himself and let Kendall go to firemaking where she would 100% lose that's wild. Only for me to find out after that sis really was THE RAT??? Y'all set her up lmaaaooo. Now I really don't feel bad cause she ran from her karma long enough and if Amir had told me that shit before firemaking I really would've smoked her in the comp. Kendall had no business snitching to Jordan about an airtight unanimous vote and blowing up all her allies' games just to do right by an egom aniac. Then Jordan still died and she falls in love with his bestie boo TJ (he's playing you sis!!) who sensed she could die this round but didn't give a single fuck?? Absolute mess. She really got Devon, TJ, Amir, and Augusto to lie about it the whole game and they agreed because they knew if I ever find out the truth, I'd kill her on sight. Bitch I killed her anyway!!! So was it even worth it? Cause she still walked into jury but she got a better placement and a noble death, which miss Devon and Augusto cannot say. Too busy being lying https://media3.giphy.com/media/6DMfLQEhixGdW/source.gif I feel so affirmed though- every person who has come for me is either sitting in jury or is about to walk in. That's power- that's RANGE! Also I just wanna say to Devon while I'm here: you really gave me all that grief for considering you could be the rat when you, Amir, and Augusto were in on it and protecting Kendall the whole time??? Fuck outta here. Like whose fault is it really that you died Devon? I wanna know. You mad at me and Amir when you need to be mad at yourself for picking the wrong girl, which is on brand for straight white men but y'all not ready to have that conversation. Anyway! Kendall trying to undermine me the ENTIRE merge and using all these men to do it only to still get killed by me in the end?? Fucking love that shit. All of this and more, but only in Autumn's World

https://66.media.tumblr.com/143402720bb2766ebe14eb1d657e2ca6/tumblr_inline_o8662rxDt11tr4u58_250.gifv

Me before the challenge https://peopletalk.ru/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/tumblr_n49eidw5Zk1rsrbdko1_500.gif

Me after I went beast mode and embarrassed the men https://twitter.com/intoragnarok/status/1233477557565173762

I'm screaming at Amir asking me after if kept him strategically or out of loyalty and I'm like sis what do you think. I was not about to let the white knights get their way and give TJ the win all because he's a good car salesman. Like y'all should've seen that 1 hr plus discussion of TJ and Amir going back and forth on camera about who I have a better chance of beating and I'm just sitting there IMMUNE taking notes, knowing neither of them wanted this. The power that that has, the intelligence that that has, the clearance that that has, the access that that has. Amir and TJ planning to kill me and then being thwarted once again is arguably my two favorite storylines. TJ wanted to do this the ENTIRE MERGE and I never let him succeed. And Amir wanted to be the one to say he killed me cause he's Mr. Smith when I'm Mrs. Smith and my ass spared him and helped him several times. Now look at em, getting third and second. I made a joke at Final 5 that Amir and I are the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith and it's so true. I adore him as a person and I know he loves me too but we're not above killing each other. Hell we genuinely want to kill each other but time and time again we chose to kill everyone else instead lmao.

So please enjoy this visual walkthrough of our wild ass partnership

(when we met at merge) https://i.pinimg.com/originals/3f/48/5e/3f485e53a56fb43c62c22c0790e8afd7.gif

(when we voted together at Final 11 and Final 10) https://media1.giphy.com/media/l3Ucho9gtq4b7SLok/source.gif

(when I caught Amir in a lie and killed Devon as retaliation but still wanted to work with Amir) https://media0.giphy.com/media/l3UcotueAJQAW0zjW/source.gif

(when Amir killed Ali and Adam to piss me off) https://66.media.tumblr.com/eebc1dc0a509a652ea543aba82bcb1c5/tumblr_ojjk22iVXM1uhcmrao1_250.gifv

(when Amir tried to get back in my good graces at Final 5) https://66.media.tumblr.com/3b157a36601820370897ace6673af493/tumblr_n17egq7Hdq1r7fawxo4_r3_250.gifv

(when I agreed to the winners pact and got him to kill Augusto and Kendall with me) https://thumbs.gfycat.com/DefiniteVapidDogwoodtwigborer-size_restricted.gif

(when he kept trying me at Final 4 and Final 3/ saying he'd kill me) https://i.gifer.com/3lie.gif

(when I snapped and took Amir to Final 2, like I said I would, and we both knew he'd lose beside me) https://66.media.tumblr.com/d1f3506fc873a7d2393d705a7f58065d/tumblr_mgooqovRHw1qkdoj2o1_500.gif

mood after everything that's happened and me making FTC again- we out here. Coming out of retirement has been good to me https://twitter.com/emrific/status/1235072497055227907

(final 4) oh dear me this one is a tuffyyyy wuffyyy.... okay okay. so its f4, tj thinks im voting with him and kendall to vote autumn. Autumn thinks im voting with her against kendall to make it firemaking. basically, i was originally gonna vote autumn, and i told autumn and she was like fk no so i told her im convinced but i am STILL UNSURE So if I vote kendall: autumn has to win fire making which like statistically i do not see kendall beating autumn, but then tj takes me to final 2 over autumn, and autumn will take me to final 2 over tj, she also threatened to make jury hate me if I cut her now which doesn’t really scare me tbh if I’m next to kendall anyway, but regardless of that threat, me going with tj and autumn gives me a 66% chance of winning this game. If me or Tj win final immunity, I think I win this game. If Autumn wins, then uhhhhggg she will probs take me but like we will thee i just hope she doesnt win final immunity If I vote autumn: me or kendall have to win final immunity, because if tj wins, then I’m getting third place, and kendall would probably take tj as well, so like, yeah i would beat them both at the end but i would be putting myself in a position where i have to win immunity but idk . i think voting kendall is better as i type dis

final 3 oh my gooooodddd, the fact that i am here is so surreal 2 me, and idk idk this immunity is gonna be the deciding factor of my game and im so nervous but also happy and proud of myself however this game turns out. hoyoyoyooyoy

SO MISSS AUTUMN JUST UHHHHHHHH wooped me arse in immunity and me and Tj had to PLEAD for ourlives but she ended up TAKING MEEEEEEEEE so partyyy Honslee tho, while this is gonna make winning 90x times harder, I am pretty happy to be sitting next to Autumn cuz our end game mr. and mrs. smith alliance is highkey iconic af ewnfewkjfnewkjnf like we killed each others allies and somehow have been aligned since early merge and I lied to her and somehow we always came back and protected each other and if i don't win im happy she will <3 but with that said, i gotta take her DOOOWNNN

AUTUMN WINS 8-1

#BackWithVengeance

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