#which WOULD make since because i just got very bad news and that’s when it always happens pretty much.

[urfavlarry]

A Light That Never Goes Out

Joost Klein x reader

summary: you and Joost are both competing in eurovision, you representing {your country} and Joost representing the Netherlands. When Joost gets disqualified you’re both devastated, but you decide to defend your dear partner once you get to the finals.

A/N: first joost klein fanfic, need your honest opinions :,) hope you enjoy tho💙 and dont be afraid to request something joost klein x reader, requests are currently open!

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Eurovision Song Contest

@Eurovision

We are currently investigating an incident involving the dutch artist. He will not be rehearsing until further notice.

Liked by joostsbeloved, eurovision.lover and 1,482,794 others

@joostswifeyy1 and 402K people commentsd

user210651: WHAT?? WTF HAPPENED

aikoswife: oo drama :0

lorelaixx: eurovision 2024 is so wild

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You looked at the post, shocked, disappointed.. angry? You didn’t know what emotions you were feeling but your first priority was currently Joost. The poor mans feelings and dreams were crushed, his cheerful and bright persona was now forced, and it was more dull than ever. You felt bad for your best friend, the one you started this whole journey with. You met wonderful people, made new memories, and all of it was now thrown away because Joost protected himself from unwanted media. It was unfair, it was quite literally pathetic how the EBU reacted. They shouldn’t be punishing Joost, yet here they were, not letting him rehearse. You walked to Joosts hotel room, things that you thought would cheer him up in hand. You knock softly on the door, loud enough so he could hear, waiting patiently outside the door.

Footsteps could be heard from behind the door a few seconds later the door got opened, revealing a very tired and not so happy looking Joost. He let you in, closing the door behind him as you set the stuff down. You walk over to him and open your arms for a hug, quickly getting tackled into a bear hug. “Mm..s’not fair..” He says, slurring his words as he started to sniffle softly. You pat his back, offering him some comforting words and assurances, trying to cheer him up as best as you could. “Shh.. It’s alright.. you don’t know how proud of you everyone is for coming this far.” He picks you up, walking to his bed and lays down with you, lying down on top of you. “I just failed everyone, I failed my people.” He says and you shush him, playing with his hair. “Hey! Listen to me now.” You say, lifting his head up so he would look at you. “You did not fail anyone. You have a whole community supporting you, so don’t you ever doubt yourself. You did nothing to harm someone, you’re a kind, lovely soul who people cherish.” You say, making him smile softly. He cupped your cheek and kissed you on the lips. It was short, but sweet making your stomach erupt with butterflies.

The next day felt grueling. You barely got up and got ready to go back to arena. You were excited to see all those familiar faces, but it felt forced since you now knew Joost wouldn’t be there by your side for all of it. You walked with Joost, hand in hand trying to talk about random topics like you usually did when you saw a hoard of fans. “We should get out of here.” You say, squeezing his hand. “Oh, but why?” He says, looking towards the crowd who was already standing in line to get in the Arena. Joost was always the social butterfly, you trying your best to not interact with crowds this big, not feeling safe since you didn’t really have a guard with you 24/7. You walk with him, letting him charm the crowd like usual all the fans going crazy. You took some pictures with the fans as well, signing things.. someone even asking you to draw a tattoo for them which you gladly did. Everyone was shouting things like ‘justice for Joost’ or ‘We love you Joost.’ Which warmed your heart knowing people support him, Joosts smile not going unnoticed by you. You walk with him inside the arena when some annoying interviewer had the nerve to comment about his disqualification, in a bad way. You had {your countries name} flag with you, which you used to cover him while you walked to the elevator. You mumble swears in your language, cussing the interviewer out like a mad person. Joost pulled you closer by the waist, planting a quick kiss to your forehead “Ik hou van jou.” (I love you)

After long exhausting hours, listening to the most talented people perform on stage, you go on after Bambie. An idea pops up in your head, smiling mischievously. Joost left already, watching from home since he thought it would be best if he wasn’t here when the incident was fresh. You walk on stage, about 20 or more people rapidly cleaning and getting the props and just everything ready for your performance. You waved at some fans and blew air kisses when the lights dimmed, which meant the cameras were now rolling and it was your time to shine. You pour your heart and passion for music out, the last words of the song slipping from your tongue and you finish it off with one last pose.

Everyone cheers for you, you suddenly take out the Netherlands flag, the words justice for Joost written in black paint on it. You wave it around and you hear cheering, of course some booing as well. You smile one last time before getting off stage, Bambie running up to you to give you a hug. Marina hugged you too, complimenting your performance before rushing on stage since it was her turn to go. “That’s gonna be everywhere babe, good luck.” Bambie says and you nod, joking about it with them. “Well shit, I don’t care if I get disqualified it needed to be said. I don’t even know how I managed to sneak that on stage haha.” You chat for a bit more before heading to a quieter place in the arena. You sat down on the floor, back against a wall as you open your messages to see Apson, and even Stuntje sending you videos. They knew about your little shenanigan and decided to record Joosts reaction.

They were all in Joosts hotel room, Joost cheerinf you on and singing along in your song. You chuckles softly as he mumbled some of the words since he didn’t really speak much of your language. When the song comes to an end he starts to cheer; “That’s my girl!” He screams, jumping up and down and clapping for you. “He’s definitely getting noise complaints.” You think to yourself, smiling at the screen. The TV shows you with the flag only for a few seconds since they tried to hide it as best as possible, but the ultimately failed since it was there for a good five seconds. Joost looked surprised, Apson cheering and Joost looks at him. “Wist u hiervan?” (did you know about this?) “Ja, Ja.” (yes, yes) He says and you see Apson smiling from Stuntjes point of view. The video gets cut off after a few more seconds, Joost visibly emotional so they most likely decided pointing a camera in his face wasn’t a good idea.

{‘My love’ in your language}

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Y/N

Y/N

Y/N

Whatshaiaidhsjja

you’re literally crazy but i still love u

is everything okay?

did they do anything to u?

ik hou zo veel van je schat 💙

sent 11:09pm

I’m alright love, see u soon ❤️

read 7 minutes ago

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You decided to watch the others perform, vibing with Bambie to songs and dance with them. After everyone finishes their song, you all go with your own team, the jury votes about to be announced. You blow an air kiss to Bambie and walk with your team, hyping everyone up. You didn’t expect to win, not after the stunt you pulled but you supported your friends to the very end. The final jury votes were given to Nemo by Sweden, you cheered for them since they really deserved the points. Their song was incredible and their vocals were angelic. You snap put of your thoughts, now the public would be able to vote. You would lie if you said you payed attention the whole time, zoning out almost every few minutes.

It was now between Croatia and Switzerland, your bet was on Nemo even though Croatia also did an amazing job. The atmosphere was tense, the silence being a bit more awkward than you liked, just hoping to get this all over with. You hear cheering, looking towards Nemo who looked like a beam of sunshine. You clapped, cheering your dear friend on and sing along to his performance.

It was done. Months of work and stress was finally over. You get a ride to your hotel with your team, scrolling through the hundreds of photos and videos from this wonderful experience. You saw a new place for the first time; Malmö which you were forever grateful for but you couldn’t wait to go back home to Amsterdam with Joost. Your movements were sluggish, your team laughing and joking about it. You chuckle along with them and wave goodbye to them as you all your separate ways to your hotel rooms. You on the other hand were walking to another room. You knock softly, the seconds feeling like hours when you don’t even register the door getting opened and get spinned around. You giggle like a 12 year old girl, Joost putting you down and kissing your soft lips. He closed the door behind him, walking with you to the bed slowly so you don’t fall since he refused to pull away from the kiss. He sits down with you and brings you into his lap. You finally pull away and he looks at you, love struck.

“When did you manage to get the flag you troublemaker?” He jokes and kisses your jaw, going down to your collar bone. “That my love, is a secret.” You say and he groans, lying down with you. “Doesn’t matter anymore.. You don’t know how much you made my day.” He says and peppers your face with kisses. You giggle softly, having to pull him away so he would stop. “Joost that tickles.” You say and he holds you tighter, burying his face in your hair. “You’re the light I needed in my life.”

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!! Do not copy or repost any of my posts on different platforms !!

#joost klein #joost klein x reader #eurovision x reader #joost klein fanfiction #joost klein x you #joost klein x y/n #joostice #eurovision #eurovision fanfiction #x reader #xreader #x fem!reader #justice for joost #free joost #stand with joost #urfavlarry

[twitchmattenthusiast]

｡°✩ PROVE IT !

pairings: female!reader x matt sturniolo & slight mentions of chris.

summary: when you find your ex making out with somebody at a party two days after you break up, you decide to get some revenge, seeking out the one guy who will piss him off the most—his very own enemy and brotter, Matt Sturiolo.

warnings: drugs, alcohol, toxic chris + toxic matt, mentions of toxic relationship, female + male receiving, doggy style, recording?? dom!matt x switch (mostly sub) reader!

A&N: matt and chris do NOT get along in this btw they’ve got some sibling rivalry this is purely fictional so obvs i don’t think this is how they act in real life!

The house reeked of alcohol, weed, and sex—a combination that you wouldn't complain about on a normal day, but today wasn't a normal day; it was hell. The speakers blared some type of shitty trap music, and if you hadn't introduced your ex to real music, you would think that he was the one on aux tonight. 

You were pissed off, which wasn't something unusual; you were usually in a bad mood, but tonight one particular person put you in an extra bad mood, ruining your entire night. 

your ex.

 christopher sturniolo.

 Chris Sturniolo walked into your life like a storm that was dying to cause some destruction. and as you look back on your year-and-a-half relationship, you realise that's exactly what he had done. You first met each other at a party in your freshman year of college. your roommate, who had finally decided to sleep in your dorm tonight instead of staying at her boyfriends like she did every. single. night. dragged you to some kind of frat party and then ditched you for her boyfriend. You didn't mind. she actually asked you first if you were cool with her leaving, and at first you thought it was a good idea until you realised you didn't actually know anyone here, so you were left alone on your own devices with a full bottle of tequila.

It took you ten minutes to find your way around the frat, but you finally found the kitchen and found refuge in the fact that it was empty, so you did what any freshmen would do: drown your sorrows in alcohol because you were slightly too socially awkward to make new friends.

You were alone for a full twenty-five minutes until a group of obnoxious guys walked in, all talking loudly and pissing you off instantly. You wanted some alone time, and these stupidly drunk guys were ruining that. Your lips were twitching in a frown until your eye caught onto the last guy who walked into the kitchen, and you were instantly mesmerised. 

It took him a minute, since he was so caught up on talking to his friends and laughing too loudly, but his eyes locked into yours, and they twinkled. There was just something about him that drew you to him, and so with some (a lot) of liquid courage since you had managed to down a large amount of the tequila, you walked over to him in attempts to start a conversation, hoping he'd eagerly respond and not laugh in your face. 

He didn't laugh in your face.

Instead, he smiled at you, instantly sparking a conversation that he wordlessly carried, and to your surprise, your anxiety slipped away. You talked to him so easily. The conversation flowed for hours, with his friends biding him goodbye as they were off to meet some other friends or something.

an hour or something into your conversation, he split some tequila onto your white shirt and apolgosied profusely. It was your favourite shirt, but you were too drunk to care, and he was too cute. You didn't want to act dramatic and scare him away, so you let him grab your hand, trying to ignore the sparks as he dragged you gently up the stairs and towards the bathroom, attempting to get the stain away. He was sure it would work.

 It didn't work.

You couldn't help but laugh at him, at how focused he was on getting the stain away when you didn't even care. The next thing you knew, you were staring at each other, and then your lips were connected, and all of a sudden you were making out, and then you were fucking in some random bathroom for what felt like hours. 

and after that, you and Chris spent all your time together. It was like you were stuck by some kind of glue, as you never left each other's sides. You haven't known each other that long, but it felt like you were meant to be. You weren't officially dating yet; you were scared of commitment, and so was Chris, so you just stuck with having sex, and the sex was fucking amazing. You would go to visit Chris after his practice every day. Once they were all packed up and his friends had left, he'd drag you to his room and serenade you with his guitar, resulting in you two fucking. again.

and you guys would repeat the cycle basically every night.

 You started showing up to his practices, deciding you wanted to actually get to know his friends. Chris would occasionally teach you how to play the guitar, and you started to fall in love with music. So you helped him come up with a band name, book gigs, and budget because, god knows, none of the boys knew how to do that and design their outfits. You went to every gig hiding behind the scenes because you hated being on stage, but they all treated you like you were part of the band because, with how much you did, you were part of them. 

You helped with all of it even before Chris finally managed to lock it down a week later.

 With how much time you spent with Chris, you thought you knew everything about him. After all, you guys would stay up all night just watching the stars as you smoked on his roof and talked. But it turned out that Chris had forgotten to mention one tiny little thing to you.

 or rather three.

 It turned out that Chris had a brother. but not just one of them. No, he had three brothers, and he hadn’t told you about a single one of them. Imagine your surprise when you show up at Chris's doorstep wearing nothing but a long trench coat and Chris's favourite lingerie set when someone who looks similar to your boyfriend but isn't quite your boyfriend opens the door with his own surprise etched on his face until he starts smirking.

 That was the first day that you met Matt, and you quickly learned that the reason Chris never spoke about his brothers, especially Matt, was because he didn't get along with him. at. all. 

Every time you showed up at his house, Chris and Matt would get into some kind of argument that lasted for hours and got way out of hand faster than needed. According to Nick, they had some kind of feud and always had.

 At first, you didn't have a problem with Matt. He was your boyfriend's brother, and even if Chris didn't necessarily get along with him, you didn't want to be rude. but eventually the way he'd always talk down to Chris annoyed you, and the way he'd always smirk at you when he'd see you. at parties, at his house, even at the dinner table! He'd sit opposite you, smirking at you as if he knew some kind of secret that you didn't know, and it drove you up the fucking wall.

 You later found out that Matt was a womaniser, and that was a good reason for you to stay far away from him. You decided that if he wasn't going to be nice to you or your boyfriend, then you'd ignore him too. In hindsight, maybe it wasn't the nicest thing to do, but you didn't have much of a choice considering Chris instantly dragged you away when Matt was in sight. 

but things were different now. Sure, back then Chris could have a say and decide what you could do. He had always been annoyingly controlling, but he had fucked you over so you could speak to whoever you wanted and do whatever the fuck you pleased. It was two days ago when Chris broke up with you, claiming he believed the relationship wasn't working out anymore and that you guys were heading down different paths. He had literally dropped out of college only a week ago, and his band, after a year of being together, had only slightly started to pick up, so you weren't even sure what the fuck he was talking about; you were just pissed off.

 Once again, your roommate had dragged you to this party you didn't want to be at. Only this time you bumped into your ex, who was making out with some blonde girl on a couch. His only response when he noticed you caught him was a shrug.

 a fucking shrug!

 Now listen, you and Chris have broken up multiple times in the past year. Whenever an argument went too far, you'd decide to break up, but you'd always find your way to the other's house an hour later, but this time it was different. It had only been two days, Chris hadn't turned up to your house, and now he was making out with some random girl.

 You were pissed off. 

You usually don't smoke much, mostly because of your stupid ex, who always had to have a say in what you did, and you stupidly let him. had a problem with it. That never stopped him from smoking, though. With how annoyed you are now, though, a smoke seems like the only thing that will stop you from either having a breakdown in front of this whole party or killing Chris, so you quickly make your way outside, pushing the door open as you unzip your bag, beginning to fish through it for a cigarette. 

As you finally pulled the cigarette from your bag, a trail of curses left your mouth. your mind going back to your stupid ex, who had apparently moved on just fine, which just pissed you off more. You wanted to piss Chris off and hurt him just like he had hurt you. You needed to find someone to make out with and maybe do a little something more, but you needed it to seem real. God knows, you couldn't fake anything anymore. but who? Sure, you could walk up to a random guy at a party, it wouldn't take much to convince him to makeout with you. but again, you didn't want to fake it. which left your options very limited. 

so who?

nathan?

nah. he was just like chris.

"Need a lighter sweetheart?"

You didn't even need to turn around; the all-too-familiar cocky smooth tone hit your ears, causing your lips to slightly curve into a smirk.

It looks like you found your guy.

Matt leaned against the railings. His arms crossed over his chest as he watched you with a smirk on his face. It was the same smirk he gave you every time you walked past him. It was the same smirk he gave you when he first caught you checking him out when you first met. and it was the same smirk he gave you and Chris when you were all sitting at the table and he sat opposite you.

Matt was a pain in your ass, a thorn in your side, an annoyance you desperately wished you could flick away, but you couldn't, not when you were with Chris. but maybe you could now.

Chris would freak the fuck out if he knew you were even standing this close to Matt, let alone about to smoke a joint with him, but that made it all the more exciting. All you wanted to do right now was piss off Chris, and you knew that's all Matt ever wanted to do too. Before you can drag out the joint to answer him, he acts quicker, brushing his fingertips on your chin, almost tugging you closer to him. He licks his lips, wetting them with a chuckle.

He held the lighter up to the tip of the joint, watching as the flame licked at the dried herb. The smell wafted up, filling the air between them. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening slightly as he took in your appearance. He released the lighter, letting it dangle from its chain around his fingers.

His gaze lingered on your lips, and he wondered how they'd taste. He wondered how they'd feel wrapped around his cock. He wondered if they were as soft as they looked. 

Your red dress that hugs your figure so perfectly that it makes Matt internally groan rides up your thighs when you straighten up. Taking an inhale from the joint, you blow the smoke in his face without a care. He watches each of your movements, the stupid smirk sitting on his lips growing wider the more his eyes move up and down your body. You almost want to chuckle at how easy this is.

He reached out, grabbing your wrist lightly. He pulled you closer to him until your bodies were just barely touching. He leaned in, whispering in your ear.

He knew exactly how to push your buttons, and he loved every second of it.

"You know Chris would lose his shit if he saw us out here together, right?"

His breath tickled your ear as he whispered the words, sending shivers down your spine. You could practically hear the smugness in his voice. He knew exactly how to get under your skin.

You glared at him, pulling away slightly. You took another drag from the joint, blowing the smoke in his direction again. You wanted to provoke him and see what he'd do next.

"Maybe I want him to see us together," you said, your voice low and sultry.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise before a smirk spread across his face. It felt like this was the most important thing that you'd ever said to him. Usually you just glare at him or simply ignore his existence, so to see you like this, smile at him, looking at him all boldly in that slutty red dress. fuck. He stepped closer, his hands finding their way to your hips. He pulled you flush against him, feeling the heat radiating off of you.

"Is that so?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave lower. "You want to make Chris jealous?"

He leaned in, his lips hovering just barely above yours. He could feel your breath hitching, and he knew he had you where he wanted you.

 Little did he know you had him where you wanted him.

Matt was all about the chase. and you knew how to play that game all too well.

You licked your lips slightly, and Matt smirked as he trailed his hand up your arm. "You know... I always thought that you needed someone better to take care of you.”

You raised your eyebrows. "Someone like you?" You asked sarcastically, provoking him even more, and with the way his eyes darkened, you could tell it was working.

His smirk grew wider, his hand trailing down her arm to rest on your hip. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Exactly like me."

Your eyes twinkled. "prove it."

you challenged him, your eyes locked on his. you could feel the tension building between you, and you knew there was no turning back now. but that's exactly what yoy wanted, not that you would admit that to me out loud ever. you just wanted to push him some more and see how far he would go. Would he really kiss his brother's ex-girlfriend? Would he fuck you? God, would he eat you ou-

He chuckled softly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "Always such an angel, hm?"

You smiled devilishly. You were starting to get impatient with all this talk. You weren't much for talking, especially when you felt your panties dappen even more, something Chris had never managed to do with some looks and words. You knew what Matt was doing; he wanted you to make the first move to brag that you had given in first, and if that's what it was going to take, you would do it. You're in his hands now. You grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to meet your lips in a passionate kiss.

He groaned into the kiss, his tongue darting out to tangle with yours. His hands roamed down the sides of your body, moving towards your ass to squeeze it, causing you to moan, leaving Matt to smirk into the kiss.

You pushed Matt against the wall, grinding your hips against his. You could feel his cock throbbing against you, making you moan into the kiss. You broke the kiss only to pant against his lips. "Upstairs," you said breathlessly as Matt reconnected your lips again and again, pulling at them harshly.

Matt pulled away from her lips just enough to say, "Yeah, upstairs." 

He grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. He could feel your hips grinding against him, and he found himself getting harder. He wanted you; he always had. But this was different; this was revenge, and that made it all the sweeter.

you purposely grinded against Matt as you felt Chris's eyes on yoy. before you giggled, dragging Matt upstairs and waving to Chris sweetly as you passed him. disappearing out his sight. 

Matt grinned, following you up the stairs. He watched you, admiring your form. He couldn't wait to have you bent over the bed, begging for him to fuck you. He knew it would be good, but he didn't think it would be this good.

His eyes flicked over to Chris, and he gave him a little wave too, copying your actions before disappearing up the stairs with you. He knew Chris would be furious, and that made him even more smug.

Chris had always told him to stay away from you, and now he was going to do the exact opposite. 

You slammed the door shut behind you, locking it, before pushing Matt against the wall. You pinned him there with your body, pressing your breasts against his chest as you kissed him passionately.

Matt groaned into the kiss, his hands roaming over your body. He squeezed your ass, pulling your hips tighter against his. He could feel your hard nipples pressing against his chest, and he found himself getting harder.

"God, I've wanted you for so long," he murmured against her lips before kissing her again.

"Prove it," you teased again.

 Matt growled, his teeth nipping at your neck. He could smell the alcohol on your breath, and he found himself getting more aroused. He wanted you; he wanted to claim you as his.

"I will," he promised. "How about I prove it to you and Chris?"

Confusion appeared on your face until Matt motioned to what was in his hand. a camera. excitement pooled in your stomach. Did he want to film you? Was he going to send it to Chris? You keep her face neutral, trying not to get your hopes up, knowing that if you were wrong, Matt would tease you for it forever.

Matt grinned, holding the camera up to show you. He leaned in, capturing your faces in the lens. He clicked the button, snapping a picture of you and then him. He then moved the camera down, pointing it at your cleavage.

"Trust me, Chris is going to love seeing this."

Chris wasn't going to love this. He was going to hate both of you. you knew that and so did he get that made it more exicitng. the idea of fucking his britter? the one Chris made sure to keep you away from at all costs? It turned you on so much, and Matt is filming you guys? Chris had never done such a thing, which just showed how different they were.

"You look so fucking hot." Matt murmured as he switched the camera to video and pointed at you, telling you to say hi to Chris, which you did, looking at the camera all shyly.

"Don't be shy, baby." Matt tutted as he lifted your chin up with his finger. "Chris brought this upon himself, being such an ass to you." he taunted.

You bit your lip as Matt slowly unzipped your dress, leaving you in your lacy bra and pants, which made him groan. "fuckk"

You reached behind and unhooked your bra, letting it fall to the floor, exposing your perky tits. "Now you," you said, tugging at the bottom of his shirt as your other hand trailed towards his budge.

Matt smirked as he faced the camera towards you. "See, Chris, your girl is begging to see my cock, but she never begged for yours like that, did she?"

If you weren't so turned on, you would roll your eyes at all the digs Matt was making. He was clearly doing this for the exact same reason as you to get back at Chris, only wanting to extend their britter rivalry longer, but you were literally dropping, so you ignored his digs, just agreeing to whatever he said so he could hurry up and just do something!

Matt must have sensed your desperation as he chuckled slightly, looking at you expectantly as he harshly pushed you onto the floor, making you moan pathetically. Chris had always been too soft when you fucked, which you didn't mind most of the time, but sometimes you wanted to be treated like a slut, and you knew Matt would do exactly that. "Well, go on then," Matt said. "Suck it."

You grinned wickedly as Matt stripped his shirt off. You kneeled before him, reaching for his belt. You undid it quickly, pulling his pants and underwear down enough to free his cock. You looked up at him, your lips wrapping around his length. You began to suck him off, your hand stroking the base of his cock as you bobbed your head up and down his shaft.

Matt moaned, running his fingers through your hair. He could feel your mouth working on him. "Fuck, you're so good at that," he murmured, thrusting his hips forward harshly.

You continued to suck Matt off, taking his thick cock deeper and deeper into your throat. You gagged slightly as you took every inch of his cock into your throat. Your eyes were glazed over with lust as you sucked him off hungrily.

Matt was so big. bigger than Chris. You couldn't wait for the moment his cock was inside you. God, you were literally going dumb thinking at that moment. 

Matt angled the camera down at you, chuckling as you moaned as she took more of his cock. "That's it, baby, you're doing so good."

You moaned at his words. Praise had always been one of your biggest kinks, and hearing Matt praise you surprised turned you on even more. 

You continued to suck Matt off, taking his entire cock into your throat over and over. You moaned softly as you felt him throb in your mouth. You continued to stroke the base of his cock as you sucked him off.

Matt groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair. He could feel himself getting close, and he wasn't sure if he could hold back much longer.

"I'm going to cum," he warned, pulling out of your mouth. He aimed his cock at your chest, groaning as he came. He painted your tits with his cum, watching as it dripped down your skin. He groaned as he pointed the camera at your chest, watching as you swiped some with your fingers and sucked on it, moaning in response.

"Your girl is such a slut, Chris. This is why you've been hiding her from me this whole time, huh?"

You licked up the remnants of Matt's cum from your fingers, smacking your lips. You winked at the camera as you did so, looking seductively into the lens before standing up and seductively walking up to the bed, making sure to sway your hips as Matt chuckled, walking behind you and smacking your ass harshly.

 Matt chuckled, slapping your ass again. He could see the red mark left by his hand, and it only made him want to do it again.

"You're such a bad girl, baby," he purred, his hand trailing down to your pussycat. He rubbed your clit through your panties, feeling how wet you was. "You like that, don't you?" He smirked as he saw the wet spot on your panties. You were enjoying this as much as he was.

You shivered as Matt touched your pussy through your panties. You nodded, biting your lip as you tried to suppress a moan.

Matt chuckled, pulling your panties aside. He slipped two fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out slowly. He curled them, finding your g-spot and rubbing it, still receiving no response as gasps left your mouth. 

"You like that?" he taunted. 

You cried out in pleasure as he rubbed your g-spot. You arched your back, pressing yourself further onto his fingers. You could feel the cold metal of his rings against your clit, and it was driving you insane. 

"words sweetheart." Matt threatened as his pace slowed down.

You whimpered as Matt slowed his pace. You hated that he did that, especially now that you were so close to cumming. You were so desperate for release. "Please... please don't stop," you whined. 

Your voice was shaky as you spoke. You had never been this horny in your life. All you could think about was how badly you needed to cum.

Matt chuckled, speeding up his pace. He could hear the desperation in your voice, and it only spurred him on more.

"That's it; just beg for it," he teased, adding a third finger to stretch your pussy out even more.

you screamed as matt added another finger to your pussy. you couldn't believe how full you were right now. you didn't know whether to be embarrassed or turned on by how loud she was being.

"Oh god! oh fuck!" matt smirked and leaned down licking her pussy.

Matt smiled, licking your pussy again. He could taste how wet you were, and it only made him want to eat you out more. He buried his face between your legs, licking and sucking on your clit.

"You're so fucking tasty," he murmured against your pussy, continuing to lick and suck on your clit.

You screamed out in ecstasy as Matt ate you out. You had never felt anything quite like this before. Even when Chris used to eat you out, it was never anything like this. You could feel an intense wave of pleasure building up inside of you. "oh fuck! i'm gonna-"

Matt kept eating you out. ignoring how you attempted to push him away. "Cum for me, baby," he said.

As Matt told you to, you lost control. You screamed out as your body tensed up. Your pussycat clenched tightly around nothing as you rode out the waves of pleasure coursing through your body. 

Matt watched as you came, your body trembling with pleasure. He could see how much you enjoyed it, and it only made it harder.

"Such a good girl for me, hm?" He smirked as he positioned the camera on the table.

You lay there panting, trying to catch your breath after the intense orgasm. You hated to admit it, but you don't think Chris ever made you come that hard. Before you can reply, Matt suddenly flips you over.

Your eyes widen. "Matt, I don't think I can take it." You shake your head. Your legs were already shaking. Fuck that. your entire body was already shaking simply from Matt eating you out. You're far too sensitive. You don't think you can survive anything else anymore.

 Matt chuckled darkly. "What happened to me proving it to you, baby?" he asked.

Your lips clamp shut as Matt repeats your earlier words back to you. As sensitive as you are, you unfortunately never back down from a. Challenge aside, if Matt is that good at giving an orgasm from that alone, surely getting fucked will be a million times better, so you whine as he smacks your ass again.

Matt smirked as he saw your wetness drop down your thighs. Seeing you on all fours like this made you a million times hotter. Hell, the way you were moaning and whining for him, you were slowly becoming a hot mess for him. The lipstick smudged all over your face, showing that. 

"You're such a dirty little slut," he murmured, sliding his cock into you from behind. He gripped your hips tightly, pounding into you hard.

"And you love every second of it."

You didn't have the energy to argue; you were still trying to catch your breath after your last orgasm, but even if you could argue, you wouldn't deny it; you were loving every second of this.

You gasped as Matt slid his cock into you even deeper. You loved how deep he went inside of you. You could feel every single inch of him filling you up. "Fuck Matt, yes!" you moaned out in pleasure as he pounded into you.

Matt slapped your ass again, figuring out that the last time he did it, you liked it. He smirked as you moaned loudly as the sound echoed through the room. "You love my cock, don't you, baby?" he asked. 

You whined about the pleasure being too much; you couldn't reply until Matt slammed into you even harder, causing you to fall into the mattress. 

"I said, Do you love my cock?" Matt repeated grabbing onto your hair as your ass was in the air and your head was buried in the pillow. tears pooled in your eyes;; thepleasure wase was too much.

"yes matt! yes! I love your cock!" you moaned. 

Matt smirked and reached around, pinching your nipples as he fucked you.

"such a fucking whore loving mine and my brothers cock hm?"

His words made you feel even dirtier. Chris was never that good at small talk, but the filth that was leaving Matt's mouth made you go insane.

You could feel your body responding to each of his movements. You were so turned on right now that you could hardly reply. "Yes!  Fuck yes, Matt!"

Matt chuckled. He loved how fucked up you looked, and he loved even more how fast you were becoming a mess for him. He gripped onto your waist, fucking you even faster from behind if that's even possible, loving the loud moans that leave your mouth. He can't believe his brother was the lucky guy able to fuck Chris; he didn't even do it right. You were probably left unsatisfied, and that just made Matt want to make you even more of a mess for him. 

You let out a loud cry as Matt pulled your hair even harder. You could feel your body shaking as he continued to fuck you. You were so close to losing it again. "Matt!" you gasped, whine falling from your lips as you couldn't even form a sentence correctly. "i’m gonna cum aga-"

Matt chuckled upon hearing you say you were going to cum again. He loved seeing you lose control like this. He quickened his pace, thrusting into you hard.

"Then do it, cum for me."

You screamed out as Matt thrust into you hard. You could feel your entire body tensing up as you got closer and closer to cumming. Finally, you couldn't hold back anymore, and you came. hard.

"oh fuck! i'm cumming!"

Matt could feel your pussycle clenching around his cock, and it pushed him over the edge. He groaned loudly, filling you up with his cum.

"That's it; take my cum." He was praised as you moaned loudly, begging for him to come in.

Matt chuckled, thrusting into you one last time. He filled her up with his hot cum, painting her insides white, and then pulled her out, watching as their cum that was mixed together dropped out of her. 

"There's a good girl," he praised, kissing her back softly.

You were far too out of it to even reply. You just bummed softly as Matt trailed kisses on your collarbone, softly rubbing your sides as he asked, "Are you okay?"

You nodded your head. "Yeah, that was just." You trailed off, hoping he got the hint, and of course the cocky fucker did.

"amazing? the best you ever had? magical?" 

You laughed and pushed him away from you. "Shut the fuck, you freak," you said. You were still trying to catch your breath, so you flopped back onto the bed, lying on the mattress, as Matt chuckled before disappearing somewhere. 

You didn't question him; he was too tired to even ask where he was going, but he returned moments later with a bottle of tequila, a rag to clean you up, and a spare t-shirt of his. 

He smirked up at you as he locked the door and pulled out a joint. "You want to dedicate a joint to that special somebody or what?" 

You rolled your eyes at the boy but let him clean you up, put his t-shirt on you, and the pair of you spent the rest of the night drinking tequila, sharing the joint, and ignoring any calls Chris left either of you. 

｡°✩

BYEE was this too much? i feel like i lowk went overboard but i also feel like this kinda sucks idk but let me know if you guys want a pt 2 or not cause i had an idea of some jealous chris sex☺️

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut

[shuttershocky]

Wouldn't I love for Carnelian to get true dmg with her delta module. Ngl, I feel like that's the only thing that can at least salvage her in the age of Lin.

I theorycrafted a delta module to Carn for fun last December where I thought up how to implement true damage into her kit, but after 6 more months of playing around with her and Lin, I don't think simply adding true damage is the way.

This might be a hot take but I don't think true damage would save Carnelian. Unless she were to get Mlynar levels of DPS which is unlikely, even a massive increase to her damage output will not help her be any more relevant vs Lin than she is now.

I believe there are two main reasons for this. Big post about Carnelian's flawed design and delta module theorycrafting below.

1.) DPS is the most replaceable role - In a tower defense game, everyone and their mother does damage. You can be at the very top by providing an absurd amount of damage, but as time goes on the competition only gets more and more fierce, until even monsters (like Ch'en the Holungday) meet even greater abominations (Wisadel) in the end.

You stand out in this game by dealing damage + doing something else. Even the three DPS gods of Mlynar, Surtr, and Chen the Holungday (whose dynamic is bound to change because of Wisadel) offer gimmicks besides raw damage: Mlynar his always active taunt, Chen her AOE slow and DEF down, and Surtr her immortality. There's a reason why Silverash's module buffed his respawn cd reduction apart from just his damage: your unique utility is your strongest selling point.

Anyone who only has damage/stats to offer needs it to be the highest in the game, or else falls on the wayside. For example, I love Siege, mine is E2L90 and M6, but she is undoubtedly the worst of the three 6 star pioneers, when her (very high) damage potential is compared to Saga's survivability talent + SP support, or Flametail's ridiculously high evasion and fast skill cycling. Sure if you're doing Vanguards only, Siege gets the niche of being the tankbuster with her high DPH, but if you don't restrict yourself like that, why not just bring a Guard?

In that same manner, Carnelian's niche is being the damage-focused Phalanx. She's got the highest arts burst among them, but without Beeswax's regen, Mint's shift, or Lin's shield, damage is ALL she offers, and given that being an Arts DPS in Arknights sucks ass when you don't have RES reduction and have to deal with Eyjafjalla/Logos/Goldenglow existing, things look really bad for Carnelian's use cases even if she did have the damage to justify her terrible weaknesses, which she doesn't.

2.) Carnelian's kit is inherently flawed - Carnelian's kit was HG playing around with the Charged mechanic, where you could double charge your skills to get extra effects. Unfortunately, the base charge time for Carnelian's skills are as long as regular skills, but aren't particularly strong without their overcharged effects. This means you always want to overcharge her talents.

This means her talents are trying to compensate for her weaknesses instead of allow her to do something new. Her first talent heals her on skill activation since she's a Phalanx and will be taking damage, but without the constant regen that Beeswax has, this makes Carnelian reliant on her skills cycling fast (which conflicts with Charged doubling her SP costs) or having a medic (making the first talent useless), while her second talent speeds up her SP gain (which is diluted since it only works once the skill is already charged).

This is why boosting her damage isn't going to save her from Lin. She's a DPS unit in a tank class making her meh at both jobs, and actually increasing the damage she deals isn't going to help how she struggles to deal it in the first place due to her Charged mechanic and lack of self-sustain.

_____

So what does Carnelian need in a delta module?

I believe Carn needs a delta module that gives her new features that let her play like a Phalanx. It should increase her damage of course, but needs a feature that lets her be placed as aggressively as Beeswax or Lin. She shouldn't be exactly like Lin, but she should at least have a different take on Lin's playstyle of taking enemy aggro while in the highground tile.

I want to propose a new mechanic. If your units can now place elemental debuffs on enemies just like enemies could place debuffs on them, I propose elemental buffs, where filling the elemental bar will apply powerful buffs on your units, powerful because it's harder to apply than a normal buff.

______

Theorycrafting

Carnelian Delta Module - When this unit takes damage, gain 100 points of Sandstorm. If an enemy dies inside its attack range, gain 200 points of Sandstorm.

Sandstorm - Triggers when 1000 points are accumulated. This unit regenerates 5% max HP/s and +1 SP/s, and deal 400 elemental damage per second. Sandstorm loses 100 points per second and ends once all points are gone, but points can still be gained from enemies dying while Sandstorm is active.

Talent Upgrade at level 3: Meal of Life - Restores 40% Max HP when skill is activated; Effect is doubled when Charged. When Sandstorm is active, slow enemy movement speed within ATK range by 30% and deal 30% of damage dealt as bonus Elemental Damage.

With this buff, even if Carnelian doesn't nullify damage the way Lin does, if she can survive taking 10 hits (a lot!), she gets a 5% Max HP regen buff and a 1 SP/s buff for 10 seconds, which helps her charge her skills faster and survive. She cannot take on powerful attacks the way Lin can, but surviving lots of minor hits helps her sustain without a medic while dealing small amounts of AOE elemental damage.

When activating her skills while Sandstorm is active, the HP regen from Sandstorm should help her survive despite removing her Phalanx buffs, while killing enemies extends the length of Sandstorm by 2 seconds each, allowing her to prey on large crowds like Lin does without cramping Lin's style. The movement speed slow and elemental damage on her talent upgrade should help Carnelian get kills on enemies while keeping them within her attack range to keep Sandstorm going.

This way, Carnelian actually wants enemies to attack her, can survive mild-aggro when she finally activates her skill, and provides utility beyond just damage in the form of her AOE slows (which would make for killer crowd control with her Bind on S2) and her self-sufficiency allowing her to finally be placed very far forward the way Lin does.

#Carnelian #Arknights

[randomwriteronline]

Bionicle and Plato's Cave: Mata Nui help us Random has been thinking again

HI. MY BRAIN HAS ONCE AGAIN BEEN SCRAMBLED. WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING.

A thing about stories is that there aren't really fully, one-hundred percent original ones. This is not a bad thing, it just happens.

Stories keep repeating one another whether we like it or not, maintaining their own identities through a variety of changes, and Bionicle repeats many, many stories within itself: you've got Polynesian mythos, fantasy epics, dystopian fiction, cosmic horrors, torahic and/or biblical episodes, a subversion of Pinocchio, an Odissey cut short... The works. I'm half certain one would manage to fit some parts of the Divine Comedy in there, probably.

But speaking of deeply allegorical works, the Organic Annal is that too - specifically bearing a resemblance to one of Greek philosopher Plato's most famous allegorical myths, that of the cave.

For those who do not know it, please have a simplistic bastardized version of its first half, which is the most relevant in this case:

A group of men have been, since birth, shackled within the deepest recesses of a cave. They are sat facing a wall upon which a fire casts the shadows of figurines (a tree, a donkey, a vase, etc) placed before it: this is all they've ever known, what they perceive to be reality. Imagine, then, that one of these prisoners manages to free themself from their restraints, and for the first time looks back. Thus they discover the figurines, the fire, and the lie they thought was truth; and though it would be easy to consider these new idols the "true" reality, the prisoner looks past them and sees that the cave stretches forward. As such they crawl through it until they reach the outside world: the sunlight forces their eyes down as they are not used to it yet, and their first taste of this new environment is a reflection in a puddle, or maybe a lake, wobbly and not quite clear. Only when they've accustomed to the Sun they can raise their head and properly discover the real world.

The myth of the cave is an allegory for the philosopher's quest in search of true knowledge, which resides not in the imperfect physical world, but in the perfect metaphysical realm of ideas.

This is not, necessarily, the allegory I believe the Innard Scoresheet represents.

The Biological Chronicle is, to me, a story about stories. About making stories, about being swept in the flow of a story, about recreating ourselves in stories over and over and over again.

I promise it will probably make more sense later.

But back to the point: the myth and the Flesh Record follow a similar structure and have a similar message. That is the thesis of this post until I inevitably get derailed again. Let's look at that.

In applying the steps (shadow, copy, reflection, reality) of the philosopher's journey towards enlightenment to the Meat Diaries, I'll do what Plato would bludgeon my head with a stick for and take them much more literally: the places described are physical ones, and the characters actively move between them. This is not because of any personal wish to specifically spite some dead Athenian fuck, but because that is literally what happens in the Entrail Annotations, whether through actual movement or changes of perspective.

The island of Mata Nui is of course the first step: shadows cast upon a cave wall.

There is a certain irony in this. Mata Nui shares the same allegorical location as the cave, yet physically is its complete opposite - an open space signaling the end of an enormous interconnected system of caves. The journey starts from the end. Great job everybody, we've found reality! This philosophy shit is easy.

But the island is still very much the cave. It looks prettier and livelier than the cave, but it's still a prison in which the Matoran have been confined with no chance of escaping; it's still cut off from the world at large, be it beneath it ir around it; it's still a place where beings who do not know any better blindly believe what is told to them. Only seven people know the truth (or what they believe to be the truth) and spin it in tales of shadow puppets: simplistic retellings full of gaps to fill with magic and terror and prophecies. The Turaga mean no harm - they had no way to know when or if they would have ever returned to Metru Nui, and it made no sense reminding the Matoran of a place they may end up agonizing to see without being able to - but it remains that Mata Nui is a cave, a prison of ignorance.

Things change after Mask of Light: shackles broken and door opened, the silver sea stretches before the Matoran and offers them a sight familiar yet different, more defined.

Metru Nui is the figurine, the copy held in front of the fire. It's the first introduction to the Matoran Universe proper, the first step towards the cave's exit. Here we see how the Matoran are supposed to work, how this sort of society is meant to function, and it... well, it sort of sucks the joy out of it, doesn't it? The soft edges of the figurine's shadow have been replaced by hard protodermis sides that leave no room to the imagination, letting us see the craftmanship clearly. And it's... it's kind of unpleasant. Kind of dull and mean and so... unmagical. I'd like the shadows again please. Those were nicer.

(Plato describes this exact happenstance in the philosopher's journey - upon seeing something closer to the truth one might feel repelled and want to return to simpler times. But we persevere. We must.)

Or perhaps this step is not Metru Nui itself, but the Turaga's recollection of it. The city they knew is now gone, abandoned to itself and rotting miserably alone for a thousand years, and yet they still cling to that pristine image their minds have sculpted for it, forgetting details, crafting imperfect copies of its reality: their own stories place it in a time before time, turn it as they say in a "city of legends", of great minds and a great hero and a strange tension pervading it that they might not consciously recognize. This is their basis for the stories they told, and they believe it to be the truth. It is not. The truth is deeper behind them.

The Matoran Universe as a whole is a reflection in the water. We've gotten out of that cave, but it's still too bright and our eyes can't adapt quickly enough: this will have to do for now.

But what is it a reflection of? A body? That's a given, since the whole thing is housed inside one. Yet this body does not behave like a body, its organs don't act like organs. They are landmarks and settlements, and there are species and parties involved in their own more or less treacherous businesses, and death is everywhere and seldom spares anybody, and evil isn't a singular incomprehensible thing but many perfectly identical pieces, and everything is happening all the time and I would like a break. Please. I can't handle all of this. It's too close to how everything already is. Let's go back to the figurines. They were worse than the shadows, but not to this extent. Please. I just don't want to see the bad guys win. I just don't want to see my friends die.

(Upon seeing something closer to the truth one might feel repelled and want to return to simpler times. But we persevere. We must.)

The Matoran Universe is a terrible place, but it's still far away. The edges are wobbly when the surface shifts: the stakes are universal in size, the rivalries are exaggerated, the situations are fantastical, the evil so terrible and terribly simple. It does what it does because it simply does it, and after all why else should it do it? In its increasing complexity it's still simple and sometimes a bit silly. It's still dolls that you can hold in your hand to make fly around.

As @sepublic mentions briefly here, Bara Magna is by contrast just so human. Before the big bombastic Rock-Em-Sock-Em Jumbo Edition ending and peeling away the sci-fi elements, these are stories of people trying to live. This is reality.

People are sleazy. People have priorities that not always include the well-being of other being put first. People are evil for reasons beyond just "power" or "money" or "why not". Strakk is a massive selfish bastard and also he is the one motherfucker who gets me because to be very honest I too would not want to wade through a desert crawling with quicksand and huge bat winged serpents and raptor riding marauders and spartans so bloodthirsty they don't even name their children until they make a new body count record without being paid well enough. Mata Nui's idealized honor makes him a complete anomaly because nobody is a prince in shining armor here. They're all covered in bones and doing their best not to start a war again.

Even his quest, despite what it entails and how solemnly he presents it and the information we as readers have (his identity as a usurped god exiled from his own body), is surprisingly real - in fact, his struggle is actually the same as Kiina's: both of them are strangers to the region suddenly separated from their people during a time of great strife and desperately wanting to reunite with them. The difference being that while Kiina had no chance to do such a thing, Mata Nui was built to fix both of their problems.

This is what the Matoran Universe is made in the image of. And while it very much deviated across time, the core of it remained the same: elemental tribes and variegated species caught in a dance of death, biting each other's tails endlessly.

This is the world the MU beings find once fully free. It's rough, but they've been through something like this before.

They'll handle it.

They always have.

That is the will of the Non-Mineral Journal.

Of Bionicle, the story-that-ended.

BUT.

Not necessarily of Bionicle, the story-that-does-not-end.

Now we are getting into "Random Experiences Getting The Brain Scrubbed By The Hard Back Of A Sponge And Makes It The Problem Of Everybody Listening To The Inane Yelling" territory. I'm talking walking into headcanon if not straight up just fanfiction territory. Possibly also sensible speculation but I don't know how to tell. Please do come smack me if you feel it is needed.

It's wild that Bionicle has managed to endure for what now (2024) are 23 years. The endless rebuildable possibilities intrinsic to being a LEGO product have certainly helped, but at the same time I really do feel like it wouldn't have held this strongly without its story.

I will admit I'm not a building kind of person. I had some ancient LEGO bricks when I was little and what I usually did with them was stacking them in a really tall line and try to keep it upright until they fell and scattered like lemmings booking it for a cliff. Getting into Bionicle would have never been possible for me had my dear beautiful friend @cantankerouscanuck not innocently dropped me links to Legends of Metru Nui, Web of Shadows, and the Crosswired Geeks website asking if I could have please considered skimming through it. This was back in september 2023. These pieces of plastic have been irreversibly fucking up my brain for nine months, and it was only possible because the plot and characters were written in a way that actively sunk its teeth into my skull and did an alligator death spin so potent that I'm still reeling from it, thinking about it.

I do think that's one of the main reasons why it's still going, why people still talk about it. It lives on through fans who still look at all the enormous potential left by the gaps and holes in the story and work on them, analyze them, make their own versions of them. So this second section is about that part of Bionicle, the story that just does not end, carried on by others.

So back to the point, what actually kickstarted this entire line of thought (the Squishy Note and the allegory of the cave are sort of the same lol) was a headcanon I have about the characters that have been actually missing from this analysis: the Great Beings.

You Know.

The Guys Who Kickstarted Every Single Thing, And Notably Continuously Did All Of It Wrong.

From my own prior knowledge I had understood that they are all Glatorian, and I just learned that they also were, apparently, given their incredible weird fucked up mental powers that made them into godly creatures by a space octopus.

I am going to take both pieces of information and discard them.

There is nothing necessarily wrong with them, except maybe coming from the leftest field available like a sack of granite to the face, but I feel like this kind of explanation for who and what they are isn't really satisfactory to me specifically. It does fit with the allegory of the cave still, technically - they are part of the real world, the ones who created every layer of detachment from it on purpose (somebody must have shackled those prisoners at the bottom of the cave, after all) and have managed to get to a higher level of reality still, following the platonic quest for knowledge into something that resembles the iperuranium, the perfect metaphysical world in which ideas reside.

But also... I'd like for there to be a limit to how higher we can go, you know? Into the cosmic horror? Because everything is cosmic horror in the Doctor's Report already. We live on a god's face. We live in a god's body. We are a god's cells. Our universe is a tiny manmade action figure in a larger universe. Our god is just a synthetic soul. The real older gods made it and sent it around to do their bidding. Also they're all gonna kill us when we figure out our universe is fake. Cosmic horror. Cosmic horror for miles. These are fucking LEGOs. Why is there so much existentialism in them.

So yeah, at the cost of sounding boring the psychic octopus from outer space might be a little bit too far for my personal tastes.

This does not mean I am immune to adding onto the cosmic horror.

Because my personal interpretation of who/what they are still adds onto the cosmic horror.

It just doesn't also include "giant aquatic fauna with psychic powers" in the already very large salad of sentient sapient species who have stakes in this universe, because I think we have enough of those.

So what is my platonic ideal form for them?

The Great Beings are human beings. Straight up just people. They're the readers, the players, the writers, the designers, the creators and tellers of the chronicle itself - they have this immense dominion over everything around them because they are the origin of everything around them in a sense, but their constant failings make sense because for all the influence and power they are still human, and that makes them very, very fallible. I mean, mr Greg "I will rewire your brain chemistry forever with some of the best stuff you'll read as a kid, and also for undiscernible reasons doors aren't canon" Farshtey would be one of them. Things make a lot of sense.

(this is impossible in Stone Cold Canon by the way and I am aware, because if we got to properly see the Great Beings they would have needed to be products to sell, but this is not a matter of probability it's a matter of Vision. like can you imagine how fucking cool would have been a Bonkle movie where the characters finally meet the Great Beings face to face and when it happens the style just completely shifts from 3D animation to a stop-motion and live-action combo with the Great Beings played by people and the characters portrayed by their actual sets with all of the lack of expression and stiff hands and all. do you see it. im about to blow up)

And so, we return to the allegory.

What are the shadows on the wall? Are they still the Turaga's tales? Then shouldn't they be their memories, as well? Everything that comes out of their mouth is hazy either with nostalgia or simplification, and none of it can be real. Yet they present it as such, because to them it is. Their ignorance is the same as the Matoran's, but they do not grasp it because they can't. Mata Nui to them is not the cave, it's the reflection in a lake: an imperfect mirror of reality. They cannot see the fire nor the figurines.

They are the figurines. Man-made creations confined under artificial light in a vast underground system, as large as a whole galaxy and yet so small, so isolated, so far back into the cave they are never meant to know anything other than. The shadows were their own but they can't realize that, and they can't realize they themselves are copies. The Matoran Universe is a puppet show that Teridax shuts down as he takes its reigns: he banishes its fire, Mata Nui (who is a gnostic Demiurge, a god made by gods demanding worship despite its falsehood - another copy not fully aware of being a copy) and shuts the entrance, plunging it all into darkness. No more knowledge. It is not something dolls need, after all.

Bara Magna is not the last step. It is not yet reality, not yet the truth. It's closer, much closer, but it's not: it's the lake, the puddle, the reflection that distorts when something is thrown into it. The stakes are more realistic, the characters and motivations, but not yet real. There is still a layer of separation: the elemental powers, the alien setting, the strange beasts, the supernatural history, the secrets pointing to things much bigger and more fantastical than anything reality could be, the way it is cut short by no fault of its own. What does it reflect? It's not the Matoran Universe, since that is a model based on Bara/Spherus Magna. It's not Mata Nui, because that is an attempt at recreating what the Matoran Universe was, at least in part. So... Is it the real world? Our, world?

It must be.

The Great Beings (us, the players and readers and writers and artists) shaped all of this. This universe is their creation, their work, and it is based on what they know, on their reality, because all stories are.

Maybe it was a story as close to real as possible that turned fantastic and wild until it became mythical, or maybe it was a simple story that grew so complex and grounded that it became life-like. It doesn't matter. It's a long story, a really, really long one, and maybe they're tired of it, or maybe they don't know what to do with it, or maybe they just think it has run its course, or maybe... Maybe they don't know how to tell it again. Tell it like this again.

So... I guess the thing to do is clean up.

Full tabula rasa.

And once we're done we can take these figurines we still have left, the last proof of all this immense work, this spiraling dive into who and what we are, how we function, how we create, how we imitate and recreate ourselves in fictional worlds that are our own and yet completely alien over and over, and make new ones. Distorted reflections that become imperfect copies to place before a fire so that their shadows can play out a new story upon a cave wall, for those same dolls to believe they are real.

God I got sidetracked severely

#bionicle #random talks #HELLO this took me TWO DAYS to write and i somehow reached conclusions i hadnt thought of during the writing process. Help Me #it also brought me Thoughts about g2 that i need to write down in a fic Right Now. it is Fucking Late In The Night. Shit. #also i finished this while watching an in-depth analysis of Emesis Blue (tf2 psych-horror movie) thats TWO HOURS LONG and very interesting #just to give you an idea of my current state #anyways its a mess. enjoy.

[unknownmads]

CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT INMATE TOJI AND CUTE LITTLE Y/N WHOS SO NAIVE TO BIG BAD TOJI

CW: Slight smut (mentions of his pp🤭)

☆☆☆

thinking about Prison toji who you met when your college has you do a little project in your criminal psychology class. The project was make a penpal get to know them ask why they are in prision, what their lives before was like, do they regret what they did etc. basic questions of course all you had to do was get the most information out of the penpal about their personal lives as you could.

Prison Toji who only signed up for the program because it was part of his latest court order saying he ‘needed more understanding’ so a penpal would give him a friend while they stay safe😭 he ofc hated the idea and thought it was the dumbest shit ever. until he got his first letter, from you (duh).

Prison toji who got mail for the first time and it was a little white envelope with a cute little sticker sealing it. He deadpanned *is my penpal an idiot these letters are for a prison not a daycare* he silently judges examining every detail as he opened the letter. i read the letter taking in every little personal detail you shared with him, your cute little name, how you loved your cat, how you’re new to the city only just moving for school, of course the boring questions for him as well. But at the very end of the letter he noticed an extra little note.

Ps. i left a few photos of myself along with some of my cat! i think it’s only fair since i got to see your photo on the website

Prison toji who grabs the envelope he previously had thrown to the side and pulls out 3 polaroids. One of you and probably your cat you’re dragging it into the photo with a big grin on your face. the second is a photo of your face a soft smile on your lips meant for whoever took the photo but Toji couldn’t help but wonder if that little smile was for him. Until he pulls out the third photo it’s a full view of you, you’re out in the city dressed all out, and Toji couldn’t help but know you chose that photo just for him.

Prison Toji who can’t wait to finally get some alone time so he can truly appreciate your pretty photos. And immediately goes to write you back answering all your cute little questions. Telling you where he lived before, how he ended up there, telling you what he did for work before (Surprise he sold drugs😍), telling you what he does to occupy his time here (he works out he just wanted an excuse to tell you how strong he is), and he asks you some questions.

Prison Toji who has been relentlessly flirting with since you started writing to him, asking if you had a boyfriend, how your school was going, why you moved to the city, how a cute lil thing like you is still single. You had been writing each other for a few weeks now which is a lot less than you think when you know how long mail takes. But your letters to each other are long. answering every little thing each other asks, learning about one another more and more. You had really connected so you finally ask him the big question he read the words as clear as day.

~Do you think i could come pay you a visit? ~

Prison Toji who had to immediately write back answering the most important question first.

~ And doll, you can come visit me anytime id love to finally meet you and see your pretty face in person~

he wanted to be nonchalant.

Prison Toji who was sitting in bed looking at your photos when he was called

“Zenin, you’ve got a visitor. away from the door.”

Prison Toji silently followed standing on the other side of the cell while the guard came in to handcuff him and bring him to the visiting area. Once he was in the room his cuffs connecting him to the table he waited. until he heard the door open again. He felt his cock twitch in his pants as he saw the guard guide you in. You were wide eyed taking in the new environment until they landed on him.

Prison Toji was large, you knew he was tall and muscular thanks to his letters and photo but nothing could have prepared you for the real deal. Eyes widening even more when you fully take him in. seated At the grey metal table his hands on the table as the guard had told him to. his hair poking at his eyes which were staring drinking you in. his lip in a smirk helping you notice the scar on it which you couldn’t really see from the grainy prison photos. His shirt stretched against his muscles showing off a few tattoos hidden along his skin. the view making you squeeze your thighs together to release some of the pressure building.

Prison Toji who took in as much of you as he could as he watched you shuffle into your seat across from him, enjoying how you squirmed slightly within his gaze, his smirk growing into an almost full smile.

“hey doll it’s good to finally meet you.”

#toji fushiguro #toji zenin #toji x reader #jjk #jjk toji #toji smut #toji x you #jujutsu kaisen toji #prison #prison toji #inmate #inmate toji #pen pals #jail #jail toji #toji x y/n #jujutsu toji #feral #i need him #I LOVE TERRIBLE MEN #toji headcanons #smutish

[ocpdzim]

“what’s with more drawings in like 2 days than in the past month” you may wonder. well i think i’m having some sort of episode but like a kind of disappointing one that is not a problem

#you haven’t even seen all the drawings either i did more than that. #and updated my website and my toyhouse and my artfight #and cleaned my room and got new furniture. and did all the dishes without even meaning to #i have had a lot of energy but can barely eat or sleep. so all that points to hypomania #which WOULD make since because i just got very bad news and that’s when it always happens pretty much. #however i don’t have any of the usual mood effects as far as i can tell. #just feels like normal but with energy for once and not hungry. whatever #which is disappointing bc i LIKE the elevated mood. i look forward to it. oh well maybe it’ll hit eventually #make sense….. i mean. i promise i can spell #not going back to correct that tag though i don’t wanna retype it #every now and then i think well maybe the bipolar disorder went away or i didn’t actually have it or something. #but no it’s just kind of lame bipolar disorder that only happens when there’s a major event in my life #like probably having lead poisoning

[louisa-gc]

how to start reading again

from someone who was a voracious reader until high school and is now getting back into it in her twenties.

start with an old favourite. even though it felt a little silly, i re-read the harry potter series one christmas and it wiped away my worry that i wasn't capable of reading anymore. they are long books, but i was still able to get completely immersed and to read just as fast as i had years and years ago.

don't be afraid of "easier" books. before high school i was reading the french existentialists, but when getting back into reading, i picked up lucinda riley and sally rooney. not my favourite authors by far, but easier to read while not being totally terrible. i needed to remind myself that only choosing classics would not make me a better or smarter person. if a book requires a slower pace of reading to be understood, it's easier to just drop it, which is exactly what i wanted to avoid at first.

go for essays and short stories. no need to explain this one: the shorter the whole, the less daunting it is. i definitely avoided all books over 350 pages at first and stuck to essay collections until i suddenly devoured donna tartt's goldfinch.

remember it's okay not to finish. i was one of those people who finished every book they started, but not anymore! if i pick up a book at the library and after a few chapters realise i'd rather not read it, i just return it. (another good reason to use your local library! no money spent on books you might end up disliking.)

analyse — or don't. some people enjoy reading more when they take notes or really stop to think about the contents. for me, at first, it was more important to build the habit of reading, and the thought of analysing what i read felt daunting. once i let go of that expectation, i realised i naturally analyse and process what i read anyway.

read when you would usually use your phone. just as i did when i was a child, i try to read when eating, in the bathroom, on public transport, right before sleeping. i even read when i walk, because that's normally a time i stare at my screen anyway. those few pages you read when you brush your teeth and wait for a friend very quickly stack up.

finish the chapter. if you have time, try to finish the part you're reading before closing the book. usually i find i actually don't want to stop reading once i get to the end of a chapter — and if i do, it feels like a good place to pick up again later.

try different languages. i was quickly approaching a reading slump towards the end of my exchange year, until i realised i had only had access to books in english and that, despite my fluency, i was tired of the language. so as soon as i got back home i started picking up books in my native tongue, which made reading feel much easier and more fun again! after some nine months, i'm starting to read in english again without it feeling like a huge task.

forget what's popular. i thought social media would be a fun way to find interesting books to read, but i quickly grew frustrated after hating every single book i picked up on some influencer's recommendation. it's certainly more time-consuming to find new books on your own, but this way i don't despise every novel i pick up.

remember it isn't about quantity. the online book community's endless posts about reading 150 books each year or 6 books in a single day easily make us feel like we're slow, bad readers, but here's the thing: it does not matter at all how many books you read or what your reading pace is. we all lead different lives, just be proud of yourself for reading at all!

stop stressing about it. we all know why reading is important, and since the pandemic reading has become an even more popular hobby than it was before (which is wonderful!). however, there's no need to force yourself to be "a reader". pick up a book every now and then and keep reading if you enjoy it, but not reading regularly doesn't make you any less of a good person. i find the pressure to become "a person who reads" or to rediscover my inner bookworm only distances me from the very act of reading.

#louisa-gc #academia #studyblr #aesthetic #book #books #reading #read #advice #help #university #study #uni #library #bibliophile #it girl #that girl #habits #booktok #booktube #bookstagram

[mvth3r]

daryl doesn’t think he’s anything special. he never has. but to you? he’s everything.

or

5 times daryl feels your affection down to his core and the many 1 time he unconsciously returns the favor.

cw: 18+ MDNI, p-in-v, mention of injury, swearing, mostly fluff, 4283 words

a/n: this draft got the most votes in the poll, which was surprising tbh! next up medieval au, princess reader, forbidden romance?? hmmmm

one.

daryl hears you coming before he sees you. he knows it’s on purpose, so you don’t startle him (“and get an arrow in the tit or something, i don’t know!” you had explained, laughing). he’s long since taught you how to be quiet when walking over leaves and branches.

his eyes drifted in the direction of the noise, watching you melt out of the trees, water bottle in one hand and knife in the other. you had a bad habit of speeding through or ignoring your own duties in favor of tracking him out into the woods while he was hunting. the teasing looks from rick and carol when they saw the gates open in the evening, revealing the two of you instead of just him, were enough to have him blushing up to his ears, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop you. if anything, daryl found himself lingering closer to the prison when he was first setting out for the day and making his tracks a little easier for you to follow as he went on. he liked to think of it as a teaching moment, encouraging you to follow his lessons, but he knew what it really was.

he liked having you here with him, away from prying eyes and ears. daryl wasn’t big on pda, he’d never been, and you knew that, but you could be as affectionate as you wanted out here.

the smile that split you face when you saw daryl was blinding, creasing your eyes and cheeks, “hey, handsome.”

daryl felt his heart start to pound immediately in his chest and warmth radiate through his belly and down his limbs. he had the distant, bizarre thought that any walker for a few miles would probably be able to smell his blood as it rose rapidly to his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

he scoffed quietly to keep the words he really wanted to say from spilling unbidden from his throat as you caught up to him, instead deadpanning, “handsome? really?”

you hummed, raising a hand to card through his long bangs, eyes tender when they met his, “mhm, very handsome. don’t i tell you every day?”

you leaned up to press a sweet kiss to his lips, no longer than a moment. you hand drifted from his hair down to cup his jaw as you did, and daryl found himself leaning into your palm, his own hand coming up to grip your wrist loosely.

you pulled away with a smaller, more intimate smile, one that daryl had only ever seen directed at him. and, if you had felt the pounding of his heart through his shirt or seen the intensity of his flush, you didn’t say a word.

two.

daryl was distracted.

this council meeting was dragging on much longer than intended. what was initially supposed to be a quick conversation about planning a run to get supplies for judith and a few of the other kids had turned into a heated debate about possibly opening up the council to a few of the people from woodbury. he could understand why. there was still a stark divide between their group and the new people, but daryl had been content to sit back and let the situation mend itself, so long as it didn't escalate.

the discussion was split down the middle. or.. maybe there were more in favor of maintaining the current council? daryl couldn’t tell because he couldn’t focus and he couldn’t focus because every time he tried to lock in on the conversation, he could feel your fingers brush over his knuckles.

earlier, when the meeting started, you had sat yourself right next to daryl, reached under the table, and grabbed his hand where it was resting on his knee. no fanfare, no lovesick gazes, just your fingers intertwined with his calloused ones like they belonged there. which, he mused to himself, maybe they do.

and so there your hand had remained as the meeting went on. every so often, you would brush your fingers lightly over his knuckles, or give his fingers a squeeze if you happened to catch his eyes… which would lead to you chuckling quietly to yourself when his neutral expression would warm over with a blush.

the meeting had been going on for at least an hour. god.

“daryl, what do you think?”

glenn’s voice cut through daryl’s thoughts like a knife. he jerked a little, almost dislodging your hand when he looked across the table, meeting the expectant stares of the council.

“uhh,” he grunted eloquently, “‘bout bringin’ some of them folks on?”

hershel nodded expectantly, his voice thoughtful, “don’t you think we could afford their input? after all, this is their home now just as much as it is ours.”

your fingers brushed again over his knuckles and daryl willed himself not to lose focus. not to allow his mind to run on with thoughts about the softness of your fingers and how much he liked the feeling of your palm against his. how comfortable-

no.

daryl blinked and cleared his throat, “we don’ even have rick on the council right now, i’on think it’s a good idea.”

glenn nodded along with maggie and, reluctantly a moment later, hershel did too, though his mouth had settled into a thin frown.

daryl felt your hand squeeze his twice, taking it as a nonverbal ‘good job!’, and paused only a moment before squeezing back his own nonverbal ‘thank you’. he saw a small smile flit across your face out the corner of his eye.

before the debate could start up again, you were leaning forward and speaking up, saying, “alright, let’s table this for next time then. the run is already planned for the baby stuff, so—?”

hershel’s eyes swept across the table and he nodded, “meeting adjourned, i suppose.”

three.

the woods were clear as daryl looked out over the gate. he could see everything from the watchtower, as was intended, but for once the calm darkness was not a comfort.

instead, every moment that passed heightened the panic that had been swirling in his gut since earlier that evening.

it had been roughly fourteen hours since you had left on a run with glenn and maggie. there was a small gas station a little ways out that looked to be mostly untouched, and you had been pulled to fill in daryl’s usual slot since he was already slated to go hunting.

he was regretting it now, though, as he continued to watch the road leading up to the gate for any sign of maggie’s headlights.

while the general rule of thumb was to be back to the prison before dark, everyone knew that sometimes shit happens, whether it be walkers appearing at the worst possible time, or not being able to secure the haul. hell, shit happened more often than it didn't, as far as daryl was concerned.

maybe the haul had been much larger than the three of you had planned for, and you had to hide some of it away for a return trip.

maybe y'all had come across a herd large enough to block the car's path and had to find a way around it to get home without leading them back behind you.

maybe the gas station had been a bust all together and you’d gone further out in hopes of not returning empty handed.

the thoughts swimming through his mind sent daryl pacing across the small area of the watchtower. back and forth he went, eyes flashing over to the gate of the prison every few seconds.

“you’re gonna wear out your shoes like that.”

oh right. daryl isn’t even on watch, not officially at least. he’d joined carol a little after the sun went down and been up here ever since.

carol continues on despite his brooding silence, “they’re okay. something probably held them up, it happens.”

daryl turned to face carol, scrubbing a hand down his face. he opening his mouth to respond, but before he could, the sound of wheels crunching across gravel made him whip back around.

he barely registered that it was maggie’s car before he was yanking the floor hatch open and climbing down. rick, who’d been poking around the farm despite the late hour, unwilling to admit his own anxiety, was already pulling the gate open to let the car in.

daryl stopped further up the hill to meet you, and, as soon as you popped the lock on your door, he was tugging it open with one hand and reaching for you with the other.

you went willingly, a sheepish smile on your face as you let him turn you this way and that, checking for any injuries or bites, neither of which you had.

“sorry i’m late, handsome,” you whispered, “i didn’t mean to worry you.”

daryl grunted in response, resisting the urge to press himself against you and feel your heart beat against his skin. he understood that you were capable, and that you had lasted just as long in the apocalypse as he had, but he can't help but wonder if he'll ever get used to this, or if he'll spend any moment you aren't within his reach on the edge of a panic attack.

by then, rick had made his way up the hill to the car and was helping unload their findings from the boot. all things considered, the three of you had brought back a pretty decent amount of stuff.

“everyone alright?” rick questioned, eyes skirting over the contents of the trunk to scan the three of you instead. "what held y'all up?"

maggie shook her head with a smile, “nothing like that. we found a good bit at that gas station, but there was a map of a small trailer park a little ways away, and we thought it was better to go for it while we were right down the road.”

“and we had the space anyway. didn’t make sense to waste a second trip, but it took a little longer to search than we thought,” you added. you had turned to face the group and, under the cover of the dark, you leaned back just slightly into daryl’s side.

carol, who had followed daryl down from the watchtower, hummed, and rick nodded thoughtfully. they both followed behind maggie and glenn, grabbing as much as they could carry from the car and heading up to deposit it for sorting tomorrow.

now alone, daryl took a moment to breathe you in, but he was moving soon as well, heading for the trunk to grab what was left.

he didn’t notice you coming up next to him until he felt your fingers slipping into his pocket.

“found something for you,” you said quietly, standing at his side.

daryl patted his pocket, feeling the dented box of what he assumed to be cigarettes and looked over at you, brows furrowed in confusion.

“i noticed you ran out the other day,” you answered his unasked question, a small smile lifting your cheeks, “combed through every trailer looking for ‘em.”

with that, you turned away from him and back to the trunk.

daryl stood speechless, his heart building up to that rapid thrum he only seemed to feel in your presence.

you had brought something back for him. had spent the daylight rummaging through dirty trailers on the off chance that you’d find a pack of cigarettes to replace his empty one that he himself hadn't even bothered to go searching to replace.

he wanted to think he didn’t understand why you would do something like this, why you would care, but he did. he’d done the same for you, time and time again on the road, if only to see you smile. he understood exactly why.

“‘preciate it,” he grunted, thankful that the darkness surrounding you kept his blush from being too obvious.

you hummed in acknowledgment, and daryl could your small smile growing out the corner of his eye.

four.

having sex in the prison was no easy feat, mostly due to the lack of privacy. a sheet could only provide so much, and even then it did nothing for the noise echoing constantly off the concrete walls.

as far as most were concerned, maggie and glenn had found the best spot early on, making the most unused watchtower their designated private retreat, but you and daryl knew otherwise.

deep in the tombs, which were no longer a threat as they had long since been cleared and sealed, there were a few tucked away offices that had sat empty even after the woodbury residents had been moved in. noise didn’t escape the tombs, and no one ever just wandered in, especially not in the middle of the night, so despite the cell that you and daryl shared, you both much preferred spending your more intimate moments here.

well, daryl did. you weren’t picky, and could be quiet when you really tried, but it made daryl more comfortable.

he’d like to think it was just because he was wary of any listening ears, especially with all the children roaming around, but he knew the truth of his resolve.

daryl had never been a selfish man, and certainly not after the world fell. everything he had, everything he was, he would give to his family in a heartbeat.

but this.. this was just for him.

your body arched beautifully under his, legs falling open to accommodate his weight settling against you. daryl’s hand left your heat, fingers dripping with wetness, to squeeze your hips, using them to guide you as your moved against him.

you were already bare, both of you having stripped each other of your clothes between heated kisses while you stumbled in the office. you hadn’t even made it to the double-stacked cot in the corner, daryl instead pushing you firmly down on the dusty desk and leaning in to mouth at your neck.

you moaned under him now, a breathy sigh of his name, and the sound sent a shiver down daryl’s spine.

“needy girl,” he grunted teasingly, reaching down to grasp his hardness. he dragged the head of his cock up your slit, collecting your wetness and smearing it over your clit.

your head knocked back against the desk and a loud groan burst out of your throat. your knees tried to close around daryl’s waist as if to keep him away, but you arms came up to wrap around him, pulling him closer to your body, and he leaned into you willingly.

your voice trembled when you spoke into his ear, want dripping from every syllable, “please, baby. need you inside me so bad.”

and god, daryl wanted to make you beg for it. he wanted to wait until he could see the desperation in your eyes and then wait some more, but he couldn’t. not when you looked so pretty spread out beneath him and your hands were petting over his shoulders and neck just how he liked. he almost thought you were doing it on purpose, but he knew better. this was just you.

you couldn’t stay off him when he was in you, always tugging at his hair or rubbing his chest, hands scrabbling for any skin you could reach. it used to send him reeling, flustered and blushing bright, but now he looked forward to it. he could feel the want in your touches like physical imprints of your affection.

daryl pushed into your slowly, groaning deep in his chest. your slick walls felt heavenly around him, but daryl was more focused on you right now.

soft whimpers fell from your lips as your hands drifted over his sweat slicked skin. daryl’s thrusts were slow but purposeful, and he ignored your legs squeezing around his waist, trying to urge him to speed up.

“relax, peach,” he soothed, hands drifting up and down your sides in pace with his thrusts, “i’ma take care of you.”

“kiss, please,” you whispered, voice floating past daryl’s ear. he would have missed it if you weren’t pressed together like this.

daryl would not describe himself as a selfish man. he might have had his moments in the past, but now, with the dead walking and a prison full of survivors to protect, it was virtually out of the question.

but as he leaned down to press his lips to yours, feeling your hands finally make their way up into his long strands, daryl thought that he might be a possessive man.

he’d sooner spread you out deep in the woods than have you where anyone could see you like this or hear the noises you make.

no, daryl thought, tongue sliding in your mouth to tangle with yours, this would always be just for him.

five.

daryl came into awareness slowly and then all at once. he startled, trying to sit up, but a searing pain made itself known in his abdomen. the pain clouded his senses, blooming out across his torso and down his limbs. he flops uselessly, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of him.

hearing bits of voices above him, daryl wills himself to focus. he’s hurt, obviously, and it’s pretty fucking bad, but he’ll have to suck it up and figure out a way home if he’s in bad company.

the voices start to filter in. the volume makes his temples throb in rhythm with his abdomen and his heart as the situation starts to force adrenaline through his body.

“—harder! put more pressure on it!”

daryl relaxes just a bit. that’s rick. frantic, angry, but rick all the same.

“what the fuck do you think i’m doing?!” the other voice, higher, snarls in response, “just drive the damn truck!”

and daryl feels his body try to relax all together. he would recognize your voice in his sleep, and this milky haze of pain is no different. he can feel your hands pressing a wad of something soft into his abdomen.

he can hear your panicked breaths and feel the way your fingers flex continuously against his skin. whatever’s wrong with him must be bad, and it definitely hurts like hell, but daryl takes comfort in the weight of your body against his. you won’t let anything happen to him if you can help it, you’d sworn that fiercely, and if you can’t help it then he doesn’t think anyone could have.

daryl can just barely make out the creaking of the gate being pulled open over the sound of rick laying on the horn.

as they pull in, the gravel of the path rocks the truck and daryl feels the ache in his abdomen bloom again, distracting him from his thoughts, but here, knowing he’s safe and back with his family, he allows himself to drift away.

—

this time, when daryl comes into awareness, the first thing he feels is fingers carding through his hair, tugging gently as if to untangle a couple of knots and snarls.

without even opening his eyes he knows it’s you. he can feel the heat of your body settled next to him and smell the soap you like to bathe with. daryl leans towards you, chasing the warmth of your hand against his skin.

the bandages on his stomach are wrapped tight, but it’s more annoying than anything and the pain has finally, thankfully, subsided to a dull ache. daryl stretches on the cot, trying to loosen him limbs from their inactivity, but what he focuses on is your fingers immediately pulling away.

“daryl?” your voice prods quietly, “you awake?”

he opens his eyes slowly, squinting at the sunlight that streams through the bars of the cell. the privacy sheet isn’t down, actually there’s no sheet at all, daryl notes as he looks out. he must be in one of the cells near hershel’s.

“‘m up,” he grumbles, a cough working its way out of his throat. before he can attempt to clear the dryness, you’re standing to grab a bottle of water off some boxes stacked nearby and pressing it into his hand.

your fingers linger against his wrist as you pull away, but you’re resuming your previous position anyway, in a chair brought right up to his bedside.

daryl hasn’t sat up yet, staring instead at you as one of your hands return to his hair and the other rubs down his arm.

a few quiet moments pass before you speak again, head bowed and voice a little choked, “we almost lost you. i almost lost you.”

“didn’t though,” daryl croaks. he feels your grip tighten on his arm and just knows. knows that you’ve been sitting right here every moment that you could since he went down. knows that you probably haven’t had your hands off him. knows you’ve spent the time, however long it’s been, agonizing over what went wrong and how to keep it from happening ever again. he knows.

“i didn’t,” you agree with a barely restrained sniffle. you refuse to allow the tears beading your waterline to fall, but daryl sees them all the same.

oddly, he feels that familiar warmth blossom in his chest. he hates to see you upset, but to see your love, your heart laid so bare for him? daryl thinks he can finally understand the depth of your affections.

plus one.

to anybody who knew what to look for, it was obvious that you and daryl were.. something.

you remembered when the woodbury residents had really began to settle in, how they began to whisper about ‘the hunter and his lady’.

it had confused you at first. the group knew, of course, nothing could be kept a secret from them for too long, but for strangers? it was odd, given that you weren’t very public with your affections.

regardless, with an entire prison to secure and almost triple the amount of people to provide for, it was nothing to think too hard about. there was always something that needed to be done or something bigger to think about. you couldn't afford to think about it now.

eventually, though, you ended up mentioning it to carol, and the older woman had laughed, a teasing edge to her smile as she considered you.

“i think it has less to do with you and more with him, if i’m being honest,” she said.

“more to do with.. daryl?” you said slowly, raising an incredulous eyebrow, “nah, no way.”

carol hummed, her smile turning knowing, “just watch. he’s more affectionate than he gives himself credit for.”

you’d left the conversation feeling like carol had no idea what she was talking about. later that evening, though, when you were sitting with the group for dinner and daryl was sliding a couple pieces of meat from his plate to yours despite your multiple protests, you understood.

your face must have been the textbook picture of a lightbulb going off because carol sent you a wink from across the table, lips twitching like she was hiding a laugh.

it wasn’t that the woodbury residents were over analyzing the very minimal physical affection that passed between you and daryl in a day, no. instead they were observing his quieter, more unconscious actions.

they saw the way that daryl always took care to come and find you before leaving for a run, even if it meant holding everyone up a little.

and how every so often they could find daryl sharpening a knife that was far too small for him to be wielding safely while you sat nearby, watching with a grateful smile.

and how whenever you were in the same room, you always had his eye. daryl had been adamant about keeping you within his sights while you were on the road, and the habit hadn’t left him just because you were behind walls now.

even now, months later, the newer additions to the prison were starting to catch on quicker and quicker.

they overheard daryl talking to glenn about taking your place on the run later today because you’d overdone it in the sun earlier and he wanted you to get some rest.

they saw you gush excitedly every time daryl brought you back any kind of gift, whether it be a pretty rock that he thought you’d like, or your favorite animal to cook into the stew.

they watched him watch the road every time you left for a run, regardless of who was with you, and also saw him come back to be the first to greet you when you returned if he could help it.

daryl was a quiet lover and a private man if you didn’t know what to look for, but if you did, you’d see that his affections ran just as deep as yours.

your thoughts brought a sleep smile to your face as you stretched out on the cot in your shared cell, waiting for daryl to shut off the lantern on your makeshift nightstand in the corner.

you could barely make him out in the dark, but the weight of him settling in next to you sent you right into his arms, your head pillowed on his chest while his arms came up to wrap around your back.

you tilted your head up to place a small kiss to the bottom of his jaw, mumbling a quiet, “love you.”

daryl’s arms tightened around you momentarily before loosening again. you felt him lean down to press a kiss to your hair in turn.

just over the steady thumping of his heart against your ear, you could hear him whisper back, “love you too.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd imagine #daryl x reader

[bigfatbimbo]

silly low effort dating Lucifer headcanons —

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH HE’S THE SILLIEST EVER. Anyways, now that we have that out of the way. He is very touchy with you, especially after you guys start dating. He constantly has his hand on your shoulder, arm, in your hair, or on your leg. He’s been so touch starved ever since Lilith left him. So he’s always chasing that kinda of comforting physical touch. Also, probably just always clinging to your arm, no matter what you’re doing too. He’s just there, hanging around. I said in another post he likes to play with your fingers, rings, hands, bracelets, etc when he rambles on about whatever is interesting him. ”I had another Idea for a rubber duck that blows bubbles but I never really got around to it, plus there’s always—“ and he’d be fiddling with your hands the entire time. He also has a thing for being called really lovey-dovey pet names. Princess, sweetheart, babycakes, pretty boy, things like that. I swear they have him on the floor blushing every time, especially if you play it up well enough. ”You look so good today,” and then you strut over to him and tilt his head up to look at you, “my pretty boy.” Hes in shambles oh my god. Probably giggling and putting his hand over his mouth to conceal his dorky grin. Up the stakes by taking his hand and kissing it gently, never breaking eye contact. “Oh— oh my—“ he would stutter out. “Darling how… charming.” But he’d be tomato red and giggling the whole time. Not a lot of people acknowledge this, but he can be very snobby too. Of course, he’s the king of hell. Why shouldn’t he be? He also hold himself to a standard above sinners because, in his words, ‘they’re just the worst.’ So he’d be lowkey snooty and proud in public sometimes. And he’s a little rich boy too so don’t be surprised if he complains about how: “This restaurant serves their lamb too cold. You know, we don’t have to eat here. I have pancake batter at home sooo…” If you end up calling him out on it he’d feel bad about being so bratty and tip the waitress an outrageous amount. Also, i’m sorry this man is a little spoon through and through. Let’s be real right now. He’s so tiny he absolutely dissolved in your arms. Which is very comforting for him on bad days when he just wants to be held by you. He also, even though he acts all high and mighty when it happens, loves being manhandled by you. Maybe he’s overworking himself and so you just sneak up behind him and throw him over your shoulder. He'd bang his fists on your back and demand to be treated with dignity, as if he couldn’t overpower you in seconds. Also, you catch him talking to his rubber ducks A LOT. For a while they were probably all that he talked to it’s kind of sad to watch. But in a cute way? He has names for them all and specific personalities. He’ll be showing you his collection and be like “Oh, george likes you!” after forcing you to hold a rubber duck for him. Also a good cook, I don’t know why I just feel like he is. But like very oddly specific dishes too. He makes a mean gourmet mac and cheese with parmesan on the top. He likes to dance with you too, whether it’s slow dancing or you two are just being silly, he likes to feel your body warmth on him while you two move together. Also, i’m pretty sure we all ready know… autism. I’m not even projecting this time either, it just might as well be canon. So he comes you to about any new hyperfixations he has at the time because he trusts that you, above all people, will listen to him. Once again he’ll play with your bracelets, or fiddle with his hands while he talks to you. And of course, you listen, and even do your research later to make him feel like you really care. He also loves making arts and crafts with you. Sometimes even with some friendly competition (incredibly competitive high-energy contests on who’s contraption works better.) I also imagine you have to say things to him multiple times for him to hear you. It’s not that he can’t hear you, he’s just in his own little world, not paying attention at all to his surroundings.

”What, honey? Sorry, didn’t catch that last part—“ 

Then he’ll focus so hard on paying attention, that he’ll forget to actually pay attention and make you explain it another time.

I imagine he likes doing little tasks for you, so he can feel useful. Like running your laundry for you, doing the dishes, anything to keep him busy.

Also, it’d it earns words of affirmations from you, then it’s worth it. 

Say you catch him scrubbing pots and pans to save you the effort. Come up behind him, put your hands on his hips and kiss his head before telling him how amazing he is. And how great full you are for him.

He’s beaming and smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

I also think he’s a morning person, so more often than not, he wakes you up with breakfast in bed.

He falls asleep so early at night it’s literally crazy. 

Like you could be hugging him, even standing up, at nighttime and he would immediately get so drowsy.

You’d have to pick him up bridal style and carry him to bed, all the while he’s whining about how he’s “Not tired, yet! I still have so much to do.” I think he also is a huge giggler like he just gets a kick out of everything you say and thinks you’re the funniest person alive. Also, he’s a terrible ugly crier. Like his face scrunches all the way up, snot comes out of his noise, he makes god awful chocking noises. It be kinda funny if it wasn’t so sad to watch to be honest. Cries at super stupid things too, those dog commercials for example. But it’s so bad he could be being his goofy self and like making the milk and the carton of eggs talk to each other. And he would get so invested in their ‘lives’ that he would start crying. ”No, Mr. Milk i’m sorry we can’t—“ sniff sniff “—be together. I DON’T LOVE YOU!” and now he’s crying. He buries his face in your shirt when he cries and just, I have a specific noise in mind, violently squeaks and sniffs.

a/n — My tumblr was tweaking out when I wrote this. I don’t know what happened but if you saw this posted last night, no you didn’t.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel fluff #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #silly low effort headcanons

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do. 

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating. 

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business. 

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it. 

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table. 

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee. 

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty. 

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it’s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her. 

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed.  “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything. 

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window. 

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them. 

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble. 

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food. 

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed. 

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock. 

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.” 

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements. 

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him. 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city. 

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now. 

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows. 

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows. 

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask. 

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are. 

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?” 

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. “Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you. 

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he’s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off. 

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar. 

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day. 

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy. 

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.” 

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead. 

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried. 

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away. 

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks. 

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?” 

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile. 

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your “something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

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Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #marvel #avengers #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel angst #marvel fanfic #marvel reader insert #mafia au #arranged marriage #sebastian stan #avengers fanfiction #avengers reader insert #avengers fanfic

[astonmartinii]

bad blood (lando's version) | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem carlos ex!reader

band aid's don't fix bullet holes but his best friend might

based on this request:so reader is a famous model who’s also carlos ex (dated YEARS) and after the breakup he jumped straight to rebeca (we just need a tiny bit of bad blood). soo she and lando always got along, ever since carlos was in mclaren. the point is they get together and come hand in hand to a gp out of nowhere so drama and more bad blood surface - you can lead this to whatever you want hehe, thanks!!! - @lorenakaspersen

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

vogue

liked by hunterschafer, landonorris and 1,209,433 others

tagged: yourusername

vogue: y/n y/ln takes the cover for this month, where she talks re-discovering herself and giving yourself time to move on. copies in stores everywhere this friday.

view all comments

user1: i am once again asking how the fuck that man fumbled a bad bitch like her

user2: do not bring that man up here, he actually boils my blood

user3: honestly thank god they wear helmets in f1 cause if i saw his smug little face i may have smashed by tv

yourusername: thank you for having me hehehehhe xx

vogue: you dropped this queen 👑

user4: not vogue supporting her more than carlos ever did 🤨

user5: at least lando still supports her

user6: i'm glad the friends she made... i.e lando, charles, max, daniel, etc did also abandon her when carlos just dropped her

hunterschafer: you're the person i see in your dreams

yourusername: are you sure i'm not just your sleep paralysis demon?

hunterschafer: you're welcome to stalk mine dreams anytime

user7: how am i meant to care about f1 without y/n?

user8: she's the reason i learnt about the sport but at leats now i have an excuse to support someone else LOL

landonorris: tinkerbell looks a little bit different here

yourusername: i thought you were too old to watch peter pan?

landonorris: i just said that so you would think i'm a big macho man :(

yourusername: that is tragic

landonorris: can i interest you in a movie night some time soon then

yourusername: you might

user9: WHAT IS GOING ON HERE ^^

user10: idk but i am excited

f1wagupdates

liked by user11, user12 and 4,032 others

f1wagsupdates: carlos sainz debuts his new girlfriend rebecca donaldson at the bahrain grand prix, just one month after breaking up with model y/n y/ln. sainz and y/ln were together for three years, and sainz was seen with donaldson for the first time just a week after the breakup.

view all comments

user13: lol the wag accounts are done with his ass

f1wagsupdates: i am a y/n y/ln stan first and foremost

user14: anyone see the absolute stink eye charles and lando gave carlos LOL

user15: that's the thing when you're together for so long, the friends get attached as well

user16: i mean if certified homie hopper charles leclerc is calling your bluff then you know you've fucked up

user17: i will never understand how he jumped into a relationship with her after three years ?? LIKE IT WAS NOTHING

user18: things like that make me glad i'm single

user19: the thing that is bothering me that no one has said yet is the fact that he's been with her what a month? and he's already brought her to a race when he made y/n wait months to go to a race?

user20: screams insecurity - like "look i have moved on, i'm an alpha male who can get whoever i want"

user21: i never understood why he didn't let her come to races for months when they first got together, like not even his home race?

user22: i've always got the vibe that he thought that he was better than her and that she was using him?

user23: the way if he ever posted her (which was not very often) he never tagged her

user24: which is ironic because she's one of the most celebrated models in recent history, she has millions more followers than him and has a bigger network than him, so really if anyone was using anyone it was carlos using her

user25: anyone else pulling for her to get with lando?

user26: i always thought they got on more in the videos of them all together but honestly i just want her to be happy

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 2,018,552 others

yourusername: not much going on recently

view all comments

user27: SHE'S SO HOT

user28: i need her to give me one chance please

charles_leclerc: are we still down for the road trip to lourdes?

yourusername: needed now more than ever

charles_leclerc: trust and believe

user29: charles and y/n friendship you mean so much to me

user30: need her to sit in charles' side of the garage

user31: mother went to the university of servington where she got a degree is cuntology with a minor in slaying the haus down

danielricciardo: miss ma'am, leave some for the rest of us

yourusername: why thank you good sir

danielricciardo: where do i procure a veil as such?

yourusername: i may source one for you if you promise not to shave that moustache

heidiberger: preach

user32: i bet carlos just thought everyone would just forget about y/n when he dropped her, but he forgot that she's probably more liked on the grid than he is LOL

landonorris: why are you staring into my soul like that

yourusername: why are you lurking in my comment section

landonorris: i thought we were friends :(

yourusername: always and forever

user33: but he wants it to be more

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo

user33: I SAW THAT LANDO X Y/N COMING SOON?

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 803,774 others

landonorris: hostess with the most-ess?

view all comments

user34: is that a ... WOMAN?

user35: he's saying he's a host ... maybe he's hosting a friend who is a girl, it's not illegal

user36: i get your sentiment, but that photo is straight out of the soft launch girlfriend pinterest boards

user37: well now i'm picturing lando scrolling through pinterest and asking ??? to recreate the pics 😭

carlossainz55: missing my golf partner, round this weekend? ⛳️

landonorris: let me check my schedule buddy 👍

user38: okay... well someone else tell me that they can feel the vibe shift

user39: it's their first online interaction after the breakup, i think we can guess who's side lando is on

oscarpiastri: someone needs to debrief me asap

landonorris: someone forgot that he owns a phone

oscarpiastri: needed the added pressure of the public call out to make you actually do it

landonorris: fine, but you get three questions and that's it

user40: if the call out was public can't we get the public answers

yourusername: are you coming for my job?

landonorris: you saying i could model 😊

yourusername: i'm definitely saying you should let me give my agent your number

landonorris: you already have my number babe

yourusername: okay pretty boy

user41: i need this type of nepotism in my life

user42: i need the nepotism and the sexual tension cause PHEW it is through the roof

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and 2,760,521 others

yourusername: enjoy the picture of me fucking up a pretzel

view all comments

user46: okay where are the detective freaks from f1twt?

user47: reporting for duty 🫡

user46: what car is that?

user47: it looks strikingly similar to a jolly, but i don't know if that's just my brain pushing me to make it lando. but there is a florist in monaco that wraps their flowers just like that as well ....

user46: thank you for your service

danielricciardo: this is very ballerina core 🩰

yourusername: has the old man been spending time on the internet?

danielricciardo: yes he has 😃

yourusername: omg proud

danielricciardo: no but seriously how did you do it? it looks sick

yourusername: very fiddly, needed an extra pair of hands

danielricciardo: an extra pair of hands [wiggles eyebrows]

yourusername: did you just comment your own stage directions?

danielricciardo: funny 😄

user48: okay i am glad we're not being deprived of the y/n and daniel friendship.

landonorris: i am enjoying this picture of you fucking up a pretzel

yourusername: i am a whore for carbs

landonorris: i am a whore for you

this comment was deleted

landonorris: i am also a whore for carbs (don't tell jon)

maxverstappen1: 📸📸📸 saw that mister !!

landonorris: you didn't see NOTHING

user49: we saw everything. i am so disappointed in lando, he's carlos' bestfriend and he's doing this?

liked by carlossainz55

user50: oh i know this man aint speaking

f1teaandgossip

liked by user51, user52 and 10,945 others

ftteaandgossip: carlos sainz was caught liking this tweet about his ex girlfriend y/n y/ln and his (former?) best friend lando norris. what do you think?

view all comments

user53: the audacity of men never fails to astound me

user54: you know what, i feel like a guilty man only acts this bold. so i'm saying it. i think there was overlap between his relationship with y/n and his relationship with rebecca

user55: you're right and you should say it

user56: carlos got with rebecca within a WEEK of the end of a three year relationship but is angry that she's finally moving on after months ?

user57: for real the first sight of lando and y/n was after at least two months

user58: i know people will say she's in the wrong because it is lando but honestly carlos has no leg to stand on with him parading rebecca around the paddock

user59: i really couldn't give a fuck if lando is his best buddy you act like a fool expect to get treated like a fool

user60: also the whole "whoring around the grid" is so dumb. you mean her FRIENDS? you know the friends she had to make when you would just leave her in the paddock or ignore her at parties ?

user61: babe really thought he was more loved in the paddock and expected everyone to go along with his messiness

user62: men don't talk about women this way challenge

user63: imagine talking about a girl you were with for THREE tears like this

user64: i wish lando and y/n all the best and i hope they're together for a long time, she deserves a good man after all of this

user65: i have faith 🤞

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 3,109,413 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: sloppy seconds you say? i never come second with him. pun intended x

view all comments

user66: SERVE

user67: user67 found dead in her home, cause of death: this post

landonorris: what can i say i'm a giver 🤷‍♂️

yourusername: i'll say 😮‍💨

oscarpiastri: ENOUGH

landonorris: i thought you were happy for us oscar :(

oscarpiastri: i am !! i even took the second picture. but i think you forget that i am staying with you in monaco :/

yourusername: whoops my bad

landonorris: i swear my hospitality is usually better

yourusername: i can attest to his hospitality

oscarpiastri: STOP PLEASE STOP

user68: poor oscar being traumatised by y/n and lando 😭

carlossainz55: real mature

yourusername: how about instead of liking shady tweets and commenting on my instagram posts, you come confront me like a real fucking person.

carlossainz55: you'd love that wouldn't you

yourusername: i really would because if i said everything you needed to hear i'd be banned from this app

carlossainz55: you really are the gold digging slut my parents warned me about

landonorris: you will absolutely not talk to her that way. if you do so again we'll have a very real problem

carlossainz55: you have no sense of loyalty lando

landonorris: the call is coming from inside the house

user69: the girls are FIGHTING

comments on this post have been limited.

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 1,866,398 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: nothing better than a podium at home and time with family

view all comments

user72: the sky camera shady as fuck for cutting straight to y/n in the mclaren garage when carlos crashed LOL

user73: her and lando's dad trying not to laugh had me creasing

yourusername: beyond proud of you baby

landonorris: your support means everything pretty girl

yourusername: and your family are the loveliest, tell mama i said thank you for having me (and my sandwiches for the plane)

landonorris: she say's thank you and come back soon (i also want you to come home asap)

user74: he already refers to his house at their home

user75: and y/n has been accepted by the family - the sainzs could take notes

oscarpiastri: oscar piastri erasure

yourusername: sorry osc, you're our favourite pookie on the grid

landonorris: also mama made you sandwiches too

oscarpiastri: i know they were very yummy 😋

danielricciardo: HOLD ON, oscar is your favourite pookie, where am i ???

maxverstappen1: i think you'll find i am their favourite full stop

charles_leclerc: nuh uh it's clearly me

yourusername: i'll just say lando is my favourite

landonorris: and i'll say y/n is my favourite

yourusername: and that's that

danielricciardo: boooooooo.

maxverstappen1: cop out :(

charles_leclerc: 🍅🍅🍅

user76: i am so confused right now

yourusername

liked by bellahadid, landonorris and 3,109,766 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: you are in love, true love.

view all comments

user77: omg the letters? i swear there were letters in her first post after carlos took rebecca to the first race of the season

user78: wait so do you think they were from lando the whole time?

yourusername: yes they are from lando ! after the carlos stuff had somewhat died down he had them all delivered to me and it definitely swayed me for a first date

user79: but i thought some of those letters looked pretty old

landonorris: i won't deny that i liked y/n for a long time but i obviously couldn't express that so i put them in letters. an idiot was an idiot and i'll never not take my chance

user80: okay that makes this whole thing so much cuter

user81: y/n is the definition of never letting your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband

landonorris: you're my best friend and i love you so much

yourusername: i'd go through all this mess and all this heartbreak again if it meant i still end up with you

landonorris: but i'm by your side forever now you can't get rid of me

yourusername: i wouldn't dream of it

user82: lord i have seen it all, please bless me with a relationship like this

danielricciardo: god you people are ridiculously cute

oscarpiastri: just think yourself lucky that you no longer share a garage with them

landonorris: we're not THAT bad

oscarpiastri: i have working ears

yourusername: sorry not sorry osc x

fin.

note: hope you all enjoyed. i am dying trying to do 75 soft but i also signed up for burlesque class !!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #lando norris x reader #lando norris insta au #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #lando norris #f1 social media au

[softtdaisy]

🌲 a found family l max verstappen

summary. you and max can't spend Christmas together but a trip to his dad and the love he has for you make him realize that he deserves better. a better life. a better love. a better family.

words count. 2,596

a/n. and this is the last piece for this Christmas series. Thanks to all of you for sticking me through December. and a massive thanks to my favorite person @monzabee for encouraging me and for giving me this beautiful idea to end the series 🫶

a very angsty Christmas l masterlist

You looked absolutely gorgeous, wearing a dress Max had bought you this year during one of your holidays. One of the many gifts he did to you this year, because if there were one thing that could describe your boyfriend it would be his generiosity. That man could buy you the world if you wanted it. 

And that was maybe what was making him the saddest tonight.

He could see you wearing it and neither could he offer you his gift. 

Because you were not spending Christmas’ eve together. But in each other’s family.

“You know this look is a great excuse to skip the diner at my dad’s?” Max asked which made you laughed. He was still sit on your bed, his shirt barely closed and his hair absolutely not styled. He was the closest to his place, compared to you who had to drive for almost two hours. 

He watched you as you walked to your phone, that you had put on your wardrobe to show your whole look. “You’re such a flirt, Maxie.” you kept laughing, specially when he started making his poutty face that you absolutely love. You always found it funny how most people saw him as this arrogant guy when he was such a sweetheart. 

“Ain’t I allowed to flirt with my girl?” 

“You are. It’s a shame you won’t enjoy the result of this flirt tonight.” 

This hasn’t been an easy decision for either of you. It’s was only your first christmas together since you started dating on january. And you really wish you could have spend the evening together. But you learn one thing through this past year: never go against Jos Verstappen’s plan. 

From the first race you attended, you got the feeling Jos didn’t really appreciate you. You tried to talk about it with Max without making a whole drama out of it but he didn’t really react. Or say anything, actually.

Not that Max didn’t care. It was even far from it. He just didn’t know what to do. He never talked about his personnal life with his dad and it wouldn’t be a first now. Specially not with these type of question. Max always assumed that his father only care about his racing career. It couldn’t be that bad if he wasn’t interested in his son’s couple. Right?

“I have to go” you told Max, who was lost on his thoughts. He enjoyed for the last few seconds to sight of you before you had to hung up. “Call me if you need, alright?” 

“Even if I don’t need it.” he laughed before letting you go.

Every time he had to say goodbye to you, on the phone or because you couldn’t follow him for the next race, Max felt a little hole in his heart. He never thought one day he’ll met someone that could complete him like you did. 

That’s all he thought about until he arrived at his dad’s place. All the thing he wanted to do with you before the new season starts, where he would take you during the holiday, which races you could be there and what places he wanted to show you during these weekend. More than just happiness for your couple, Max realised how important you were for his anxiety. Before he met you, most of the time he had to drive to see his father, he was anticipated all the bad things that could happen. The critics, the disapproval, the yelling if they really did disagree on something. And the worst part was that, in the end, he was just living the nightmare before it happened.

And maybe it was the fact he didn’t think about all these things before arriving, but Max felt good when he arrived.

“Uncle Maxie!” And being around his nephew was definitely a good help.

For many years, Max never consider having children. The anxiety he developped because of his own childhood was a perfect argument to avoid trying. How could he give a child what he needs if he doesn’t know himself what a kid should have? He knew what he shouldn’t do, that’s all.

But these past weeks, from seeing his nephews and calling them, he realized that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

And maybe, you weren’t for nothing in this change of mind.

“You’re shinny, uncle Maxie.” 

“Shinny?” he laughed, still playing with the little cars that represent all the Formula one drivers.

“Yep. You’re happy.” 

Max didn’t know what to answer to that. But then he felt two hands on his shoulders and a kiss from Victoria on his hair. “He’s right.” He turned around to look at her. He guessed that the look she had was just another proof that indeed, he was lookier happier. “It’s for the toast, come.”

It was some kind of tradition. Everyone had to say what they were grateful for at the end of this year. Kids, health, career… each other always revolved around these subjects. Max was not going to break the circle. Not today.

“Well I’m grateful for the amazing year I spend. Winning the championship again was more than I could expect at the beginning of the season. So yeah I’m grateful for the team, for the work we did to win the races and create such amazing memories all together.” 

Max stopped for a few seconds, thinking about what he could be grateful for. There was one thing, obviously.

If he met his father’s eyes, he wouldn’t have continued. But he didn’t. He looked at Victoria and her massive smile. 

“And I’m grateful for my girlfriend. I couldn’t have go through this crazy year without her. She’s my rock, she’s my best friend, she’s without a doubt my soulmate and I’m glad I could finally found the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Max heard all the lovely and loudly sound from his family. And before he could notice her, Victoria was already in his arms, telling him how proud she was that he finally found the happiness he deserved.

Again, he could have focus on the good thing, all the congratulations and excitement about this new family member that they all couldn’t wait to meet. But this time, Max did saw Jos look on him. One that he sadly knew by heart: disappointment. 

At first, Max decided to ignore the situation and spend most of the evening playing with his nephews, pretending to be a car himself to drive them around the house. But he couldn’t escape the heavy atmosphere forever.

Max saw that Jos was sitting by himself in the living room, with a whisky in his hand. He hesitated, did he really wanted to break all the good vibes for a talk for his dad? And then again, he was too nice to avoid him. No matter if he knew he would end this conversation with some broken feelings, Max couldn’t escape it. Because if there was one thing he was sure about, it was that he never wanted to become like his father. A man that would rather ignore the people he love for the sake of disappointment. Silence was never the solution.

“So, how do we feel about new season?” Max asked, sitting next to him. If there was one subject they couldn’t really argue about was his career. Or at least, even if there was some disagreement, it wouldn’t end up badly.

“You have to leave her.” It was simple. Five words. Said with a hard tone. Like an order. “You’re already losing your man over that…stupid girl. You can’t let yourself fail for a woman, Max.”

Maybe he should have gone with the swerve, in the end. “What do you mean? I’ve been with her for a year and I still won.” He could have, maybe, understand if the season was a pure fail. But it wasn’t. The car was amazing and he won almost every races. There was not single doubt that not only you weren’t a burden but you were a motivation for him. It didn’t make sense. But still, Max knew where all of this came from. Because he knew his father.

“A woman is always a burden in a career.” 

“This is why you got married thrice?” It left his mouth without Max had time to notice it. Truth is, he got tired as he grow older of the need to think about his words. What could he say what he mean to his dad? Why should he still be afraid? “Trust me, you terrible at giving relationship advices.” 

“You should watch your mouth.” Jos replied, taking a stew towards his son. For many years, Max used to step back to avoid the confrontation. Not anymore.

Instead, he took at step towards too. “You should watch yours. I won that fucking championiship, again. And you can’t even congratulate me? All you think about is the woman that want to spend her life with me? Not you, me.”

He noticed the change, again, in Jos look. It was getting darker and darker, like his anger was taking over himself and he was close to not be able to contain himself. Usually, Max was scared of the moment he would explode. There was just one change in his mind. You.

Max could accept any criticism about his career or life choices, he didn’t care. It was his life. Sometimes he might be wrong and he could deal with his dad saying that he warned him. He was still young and could deal with some mistakes.

But there was one thing he could never let Jos critcize or give his opinion on it: you.

“I won’t let you ruin your career for some stupid woman.” Jos got the time to grab his wrist. Max hated feeling like a child, all over again. Looking for his dad approval. 

Expect that this time, he didn’t want it. “Fine. It’s my career. I don’t need your opinion.” he managed to free himself and was already leaving the room. He couldn’t continue this without letting it become some shit show. No matter the situation, his family didn’t deserve it. Specially not on Christmas eve. 

“If you don’t leave her, then i’m not supporting you anymore.” 

Max stopped in the middle of the room. He heard the sound of a glass falling in the kitchen sink. He heard the sudden silence in the children’s playroom. This was the results of year of fighting for Jos seeing him as an equal, as a real driver and not a child who wants to grow older and be consider an adult. This was the results of feeling like his dad loved him.

Max was hurt. But he couldn’t fight anymore. “Fine.” he didn’t turn around, didn’t want to look at his father. It wasn’t the idea of seeing him. It was the idea of Jos seeing how bad he broke him, again. “I’ll do better without you.” 

The silence was still everywhere when Max walked to his sister to kiss her and said goodbye to his nephew. It was for the better, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to fight if they asked him to stay. But Victoria knew his brother, and what he deserves was to be in a place where he felt loved. 

And there was one where he knew he would never be ignored and rejected.

When you opened the door, you imagined different scenarios. But never one where you would see Max on your doorstep. “Baby?” you asked with confusion, almost like you were sure he was real.

“I’m sorry, I should have called, I know i wasn’t invited but…” he didn’t need to continue. Because you recognized the look in his eyes. One you sadly saw before. When he argued with his dad on the circuit and you couldn’t do anything than holding him in your arms. Telling me it would get better. That he wasn’t alone.

That was the only truth Max needed. He was far from being alone.

So you offered your hand to him. “Come in baby.” you noticed the little hesitation in his look, on that sadden you. It wasn’t that Max didn’t want to come in. It was a pur fear of opening his heart to you and losing you after. It didn’t last long, because he knew deep down that you were here to stay. But you were scared that this was a kind of thought that would never leave his mind.

You gave him a small and simple kiss on the lips, a kind of silent promise that you were supporting him. It wasn’t much, but it was more than Max even asked for. He was so not used of being understood and loved, this simple attention was enough to light up his heart again.

“Sweetie, who’s th… Oh Max! What a lovely surprise!” 

You were interrupted by your dad who almost push you away to take Max in his arms. You weren’t surprised. First, because your dad was a very lovely and tactile person who couldn’t resist this type of greeting. Second, because he appreciated Max so much, he was probably the one praying every day for a wedding. Third, because he had been asking you all night why you didn’t bring him. 

But Max, on the contrary, was more than surprised by that. Was he really that happy to see him? “Come in, you’re getting cold. Did you eat? We have…” you didn’t even hear the rest of the sentence that your dad had already pulled Max to the living room. Your boyfriend just had the time to turn around and give you a curious look. To which you replied with a smile. It felt right to see him being appreciated and treated like he should.

All your family spend the night talking to him, asking questions and making him feel like he was home. That was the truth, actually: this place was also a home for him. It was yours. And your family already considered him as a part of it. There was no reason for Max to not be a full member. 

It wasn’t until you got to bed, in your bedroom, that he let his mind speak. You were laying on his chest while he was looking at the ceiling and caressing your hair. It was relaxing for both of you to stay in silence after the crazy night you had. 

“I’ve felt much more at home here in a few hours than in all my life with my dad.” Max said slowly, in a whisper.

You turned your head just enough to look at him while he was still focused on his thoughts. You were making a whole speech in your head to make him feel better. You had no idea how he felt about this. This must be such a strange situation to feel more loved by your family-in-law than your own. 

But then he put a kiss on your hair and started to smile. “Thank you.” he whispered, like he was scared to be heard by anyone else. “For finding me and for loving me.”

You could feel your heart melt at this confession. “Thank you for opening your heart to me.” you replied. 

And you stayed like that for a good minute before you made a debrief of the whole evening here. When you both fell asleep, you realised you had the greatest gift you could ever dream of. Happiness in the arms of your loved one.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen story #max verstappen fic #max verstappen angst #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #my writing

[phas3d]

hi i really love your works and i saw that ur req is open so if it's okay w u can i ask slytherin boys reaction if reader just give them something "just because" (maybe flowers, accessory, plushy, etc. and reader said they just reminded them of the boys), which they think is very unusual since supposed to be it's them who should give presents to you since u r the most wonderful person they have.

Just Because || Slytherin Boys

type :: fluff

tw/cw :: none

contains :: draco malfoy, tom riddle, mattheo riddle, theodore nott, lorenzo berkshire

summary :: you gift them something randomly and they're all traumatized so they don't know how to react

DRACO MALFOY

He's pretty used to getting random gifts from his parents as a reward or an apology

So when you give him two brand new ties from his favorite brand, he's confused

He can't recall any fights with you within the past few days

And he also hasn't done anything "reward-able" within a while

So he instantly assumes you must have done something bad

He gets anxious and asks you what the gift was for

When you say it's "just because" he doesn't believe you

Asks you more questions and your replies don't help him understand

Once you fully explain that you got him those just because you love him, no other reason, he's shocked

"Oh wow, well thank you then. I'll get you something soon too."

You reassure him that he doesn't need to but he insists

Comes to you the next day with a stack of boxes filled with purses, heels, dresses, and more

TOM RIDDLE

"Why?" He asks instantly as you hand him the box of chocolates

He's fully convinced you're either trying to

A.) Spike him with a lotion potion (which he doesn't think is needed)

Or

B.) Spat in it and wiped your boogers on it because he did something bad

The first one is due to his past of girls trying to get him to like them because even though he was evil and emo, he was still hot

The second one is due to Mattheo traumatizing him as a kid by doing every gross action possible in order to call dibs on food

You explain that you did it because you love him and that's it

But he doesn't trust you fully yet

He cuts open all of the chocolates one by one, putting them under a microscope

He does this for about an hour before he finally realizes that you were right, it's just plain chocolate for him

"Thank you." He says as he eats one, making you smile that he finally tried it

The next day, he does the same for you except WAY more expensive

Brand new purses, heels, dresses, and makeup all for you

If you reject it, he'll just force you to take it by slowly sneaking it into your wardrobe

MATTHEO RIDDLE

Knows about this purely from romantic movies and TikTok

He was fully convinced it was just a girl thing and that guys never got it back

So when you get him a pair of brand new shoes, he's confused

"It's not my birthday yet?" He's trying to think of why this gift is for him

Thinks it's a prank at first

Tom used to give Mattheo "gifts" when they were younger and eventually those "gifts" would light on fire, get glued onto his skin, or morphed into something hideous

He's super cautious at first to even touch the shoes because he thinks it might bite him

Tom really traumatized him (canon older sibling event)

But when you coax him enough to trust you, he tries the shoes on and loves it

Wears it 24/7 and brags to everyone that you got him them

He then realizes he should gift you something too as a surprise

So he gets you a cute plushie and some cute hair accessories

Always feels so proud when you wear his hair accessories

This sparks an addiction in him, kinda like a gambling addiction LMAO

Starts to buy a bunch of clothes, shoes, accessories, and more just so you can always be wearing something he got

It's like claiming you as his and showing off to other guys that if they wanna steal you from him, they gotta spoil you rotten

THEODORE NOTT

Before his mom passed, he was raised to always treat a woman like a queen

His father, despite being a raging death eater and murderer, also believed the "happy wife, happy life" phrase

So his father would make sure to force Theo to gift his mother flowers, "pay" for his mother's meals with his father's card, and more

With you, he's no different except now he does it with his own money

Buys you flowers, chocolates, pays for all the dates you go on, etc

So when you surprise him with a fully planned date that you paid for in advance, he's super shocked

"But why? That's my job :(" He's genuinely upset that you did this

Thinks that you weren't happy with the dates and gifts he gotten you

But you explain that you loved those all but you wanted to treat HIM for once

And he's so flattered, he gets all giddy - Like "Awww shuckss" kinda giddy LOL

Enjoys the whole night with you and treats you out to an even more fun date next week

It becomes a little schedule for you guys, that you take turns planning your weekly dates

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

Was never treated to much as a child since his parents left him in the care of the Malfoys

Of course they cared for him and were super kind, but they would obviously gift their own child the better toys and foods instead of him

He grew up knowing that this was normal, so when you gifted him something super lavish for once, he was paranoid

He instantly assumes that you got an even better gift for someone else

But you shut down his worries and say it's just for him

But now knowing that it was just for him, he feels guilty for some reason - as if he's not supposed to have this

Tries to gift it back to you and deny it but you insist

Will keep fighting with you until you smack him on the head and yell at him to just accept it

He'll accept it, but he always feels some guilt attached to it since he doesn't feel worthy of you buying him anything expensive

But you reassure him that you wanted to get him a gift because of how amazing of a boyfriend he is to you

So he'll accept it, finally, but he definitely buys you something next time you two go out

masterlist || recommended :: annoying habits

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x y/n #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo x reader #slytherin #slytherin boys

[finelinevogue]

spreading the love

summary - harry’s fans LOVE you

pairing - fiancé!harry x reader

word count - ~2k

The fans absolutely loved you.

Probably more so than Harry sometimes.

You were often the subject headline of news articles that were actually about Harry. You were often asked about in interviews that Harry was doing. You were often stopped before Harry on the streets. Not that Harry minded in the slightest because, well, he understood.

Obviously, no one could love you more than he did but he understood the publics addiction towards you.

You hadn’t come from much and you weren’t a name people knew before you started dating Harry. Somehow, somewhere, along the way you had become a somebody.

And everyone adored you.

Whether it was your kind nature, you loving heart, your gorgeous smile or your generous soul, you never went unloved by anyone. Not even the cruelest hearted person could have anything bad to say about you.

You loved being involved with the fans too. You often gave a lot back to them just because they were the most dedicated and loyal people you knew.

You loved how much they loved your Harry.

“Hello, hello!” You tucked your hair behind your ear as you started your Instagram live.

Your viewers shot up from 3k to 104k in ten seconds - that’s how popular you had become with the fans and media.

“How are we all today? Feeling good? I’m feeling good since it’s a Friday. It’s my weekend off tomorrow.”

Everyone knew that you were an NHS nurse and did so much for the people you worked with and beside, which only added to the cause of people loving you.

ellaking107: what are you doing with your weekend off?💛

“Hi Ella! This weekend I am staying home with Harry. We have got a very boring weekend planned unfortunately. Our bathroom is having a redecoration and so we need to wait for the tile man to pop in at some point so he can start measuring up bits and pieces. I’m sure H will drag me for a run or to a pilates class too.”

You were situated in your lounge, lots of plants and good lighting surrounding you.

harryissmiling101: Where is Harry?

“Ummm, so Harry is currently at his mum’s. Maybe this is too much information, but his mum’s fridge broke and so all her food went off. Harry and I made loads of dishes though last night for her, so Harry’s dropped them all off along with a spare fridge we had. I know… Don’t ask why we had a spare fridge.”

You watched as you cat, Kira, came through the lounge door and hopped up onto the sofa you were sat on. You turned the camera so everyone could see her.

“My child says hello to you all. Don’t you Ki?” You began stroking her little black and white chin. “Oh you’re so gorgeous. I love you so much.”

haileyjudd: Harry or Kira?

“Hailey I can’t believe you’re even asking me that… Hailey said, choose between Harry and Kira. Honey, there’s no doubt about it. Obviously, Kira.” You laughed.

You knew some magazine would twist your words later and make it seem like you and Harry were going through a rocky patch in your relationship, but you knew the truth. Harry was completely whipped for you and there wasn’t a single chance he was leaving you. Ever. Then again, the feeling is very mutual.

Kira came closer to you and sat in your lap, nestling herself deep into the blanket you had draped over the top of you.

jammiiie: Are you single please?

“Hi Jamie, potentially.. maybe… Uh, no. I am not single and this will remain my answer indefinitely.” You smiled, thinking about how clingy Harry would get if you had read that out whilst he was say next to you.

Harry doesn’t get jealous, oh no.

He gets clingy. And you love it.

You love when he’s constantly doting on you; kissing you. He loved on you like he has to remind you your his (even though you always will be).

harriesassemble: Y/N can I ask you a question? My boyfriend told me that I have to shave (you know where) but I don’t feel comfortable doing that. How do I tell him? (Don’t answer if you feel uncomfortable)🤍

“Wait.. Hang on a second..” You spoke slowly, slowing the speed of the comments as you traced back to a comment that caught your attention.

“Hi, sorry I’m not sure what your name is, but I hope you are still here and know I’m speaking to you!“ You re-read out loud the comment posted so everyone knew what you were going to talk about. “So, first of all, girl to girl, if he is forcing you to do something as personal as shaving yourself then, my love, he’s not worth your time or breath.”

ophelialover: oh i am so here for y/n’s girl talk time

harrielover: y/n is so big sister coded

“Don’t do anything that you don’t want to do. Do not force yourself to be making changes to yourself just to please a man, or any significant other for that matter. If Harry ever forced me to make a change to myself I didn’t want, he knows where the door is. Seriously, honey, you’re perfect and never change unless you want to.”

harriesassemble: Thank you!🩷

kingsofharry: You’re amazinf Y/N <33

justkeepdriving: WE LOVE YOU Y/N

liked by y/nl/nofficial and 1,976 others

harriesassemble i can’t believe y/n just followed me i am in shock right now :((( she’s my favourite person in the whole world and everything they said to me this evening was just so special:(( im shaking so bad i love y/n so much❤️

view all 394 comments

harryfan1 OH THIS IS SO COOL

harryfan2 omg you were who y/n was talking to??? congrats!!!!!

y/nl/nofficial You’re amazing!💛

harryfan3 we stan y/n

••••••••••

London was quite busy today.

Lots of tourists bustling through the city as well as the daily commuters wandering around on their lunch breaks.

Harry had decided to take the afternoon off since you also had it off, organising to take you for a bite to eat and a coffee at your favourite cafe.

It was a cafe bookstore, so you got to browse books whilst waiting for your food and then got to sit amongst the books whilst you ate. It was a dream fantasy of yours as a child and you’re grateful someone brought that fantasy to life.

Harry held your hand securely as you wandered through the London streets.

Luckily Harry had secured a paparazzi ban years ago that meant that no paps were legally allowed to take photos of Harry in London, so it was just fan photos that you had to be aware of.

“Angela asked me to give her your number again today.” You said to Harry.

“She’s relentless.” Harry laughed.

“She just wants to know when her future grandson-in law is going to become her in-law.”

“Baby, I’ve told you before - I’m not asking until I’m ready.” He squeezed your hand.

“No, I know. I just want Nana Angela to be alive when we get married.”

“She will be. I promise.”

You both came to a stop at a red pedestrian light. Harry pulled you back slightly, because he knew that you liked to stand far too close to the edge of the pavement.

You looked up to Harry, watching as he took in his surroundings through a pair of brown sunglasses.

“C’mere a minute.” You said, directing his head to face you.

You reached up and unclipped your claw clip from his hair and ruffled the locks until he had a messy middle parting. You bit the clip between your teeth as you messed with his hair.

“What was wrong with m’hair?” He chuckled.

“Prefer it down like this.” You shrugged your shoulders and clipped the claw clip to the top of your jumper.

You smiled at your handy work.

He looked even more handsome now.

As you crossed the road, you spotted someone with a Love on Tour tote bag. It was one of the newest ones. It was being carried by a girl in her early 20s, maybe.

You poked Harry and pointed him towards the girl.

“She had good taste in music.” He joked.

You didn’t mean to follow this girl, but only happened to stop at another pedestrian red light next to her. You stood beside her and noticed she had headphones on.

You couldn’t help yourself from nudging her shoulder. As you prodded her, she gasped and cupped a hand over her mouth in shock. She quickly took off her headphones and giggled a hi out.

“Love the tote bag!” You smiled brightly.

“Ha ha thank you! Oh my God I can’t believe you’re actually here right now.” She laughed.

“Yup. Both of us.” You pulled Harry a little closer into you.

“Hi, you alright?” He spoke shyly, as ever when he is introduced to someone new.

“This isn’t real! Holy shit.” The girl laughed the situation off. “I was nearly not going to wear this tote bag today as well.”

“Well it must be a good luck charm then.” You laughed. “Which show did you go to?”

“Wembley night 4.”

“Ahh!! The best one then!” You exclaimed, Harry chuckling from behind you.

You always did this.

You managed to make friends with absolutely anybody on the streets, over the smallest of connections. You especially loved making friends with Harry’s fans.

“Well I think so, but I might be biased.” She shrugged.

“It was one of our favourite shows, wasn’t it H?” You nudged him into the conversation, knowing that he struggles with that.

“Yeah definitely. Wembley was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.” He nodded with a smile, looking at you more so than the girl. “I’m glad you enjoyed it and thank you for the support, it means a lot.”

You internally smiled at the small spiel that you had prepped with him for occasions where he might bump into a fan.

“What was your favourite part?” You asked curiously.

“Sign of The Times in the rain.”

“Oh stop! You’re going to make me force Harry into to going on another tour ASAP just to experience that again.”

“Oh, because of course I can control the rain too love.” Harry laughed, which made you both chuckle with him.

“Shut up.” You judged him in the ribs. “Well it was lovely to meet you…”

“Emma.”

“Emma.” You smiled.

“Thank you for your continued support, Emma.” Harry added. “Would you like a photo?”

“Uh.. Y-yes? Yes please! If that’s okay with you?” Emma politely checked.

“Of course. Just as long as you wait a little bit to post it so our location isn’t instantly publicised.”

“Yes. Of course! Thank you.”

“Here, honey, give me your phone.” You held out your hand, thinking that she would have wanted you to take a photo of just her and Harry.

“You have to be in it too, Y/N!” Emma exclaimed.

“Yeah, Y/N/N.” Harry rolled his eyes at your silliness. “C’mere.” Harry roped his arm around your waist and brought you to stand slightly in front of him. Emma was directly next to you and you all smiled as she lifted her arm to take a selfie. Harry’s cheek was pressed near against yours.

“They okay?” Harry asked.

“Perfect. Thank you guys so much.” Emma smiled so brightly.

After you parted ways you couldn’t help but imagine how electric Emma must be feeling right now. Harry seemed to be happy too, because you were happy after such a heartwarming conversation.

Positive interactions just made for better days.

Later, Emma would post that photo and the comments were even more wholesome.

comment 1: the way y/n and harry are stood so close to each other

comment 2: the fact harry has his literal cheek pressed against y/ns makes me WEEP

comment 3: they look so happy i will cry

•••••••

Another place where you would find wholesome content from the fans was the world of social media.

Normally, with Harry’s previous relationship’s, they would get absolutely hated on social media. There would always be something that would get dug out from someone’s past which meant they weren’t “right” for Harry. All of it was bullshit and Harry’s previous relationships had ended because he never felt “right” with anyone.

Until you.

You were now sat with Harry’s family around a small fire pit in Anne’s back garden.

Her lovely house had a beautiful garden that was perfect for dinner evening drinks and conversations. You often think about returning here with Harry and his last name one day.

“Top up, Y/N?” Anne asked, holding out the bottle red wine up to your wine glass that empty on the table.

“Oh, no thanks Anne.” You warmly smiled.

You were comfortably nestled in Harry’s lap with a blanket drawn over the two of you. Harry was nursing his own red wine with one hand, whilst the other supported your back from where you were sat sideways across his legs. Your head was nuzzled just below his chin and your hands were busy fiddling with his necklaces.

“You okay, m’love?” Harry asked you, so only you could hear.

“Mhm. Wine has made me sleepy.”

“Rest if you need to, i’m right here.” He kissed the top of your head.

You pulled your phone out of your hoodie pocket and opened it up to Twitter.

You followed a multitude of Harry’s fans on Twitter, simply for the shits and giggles. It had become a challenge to see who would be the next person that you would follow.

Scrolling through Twitter you noticed a lot of people reposting a photo of you and Harry that got leaked today. You were both simply walking through the park, but the photo clearly showed you wearing Harry’s hoodie and everyone was screaming over it.

harriesunite: these are my parents

“H, baby, look.” You giggled as you showed him the tweet.

“Hmm?” He tucked his face down into your neck as he read your phone, and leaving your neck warm after he laughed.

“You’re such a dad, apparently.”

“Not yet I’m not.” He kissed your exposed neck, but only once when he remembered he was sat in front of his mum.

“Y’want to be?” You turned your head a little to the side to see him better.

“Whenever you want to be a mum, yeah.” He smiled so brightly.

“Soon.”

“Yeah, soon.” Harry nodded in agreement.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fic #fic rec harry styles #harry styles fluff

[trashfangirlsworld]

Hello! I've been inactive due to the current events in the mcyt community, but I've been keeping up with the qsmp admin situation and I thought I'd share some opinions because the amount of doomposting I've seen the last few weeks has been more than I've seen in any fandom in a while and I feel like it's reached the point where people really need to chill the fuck out because they're not thinking straight and actively not helping. Everything I'm gonna say is based on stuff I've seen on both tumblr and twitter.

they should not promote/release merch! : one of the things that baffles me the most tbh; how do you expect any employee to be payed then? Merch is so far the only big source of income for the server besides q's own cc salary or whatever income they get through the official qsmp channel on twitch and youtube (which I don't think is a lot). "I get that they said they have no funds, but still it doesn't feel right"... sorry but at this point I don't know what to tell you, do you expect them to pull money out of their asses? You can't demand that they stop making merch and then complain that they can't afford the twitter admins at the same time. If you don't feel comfortable buying anything from them it's fine obviously, but if your reason for it is that you're helping the admins then I have bad news for you. I have seen people propose that quackity sets up a patreon, and while I think it would be a good idea, I understand why he's not doing it, since with the merch he can at least give something back to the people that choose to support his project instead of people just giving him money for free, especially with what's happening now. Also with how much hate he's been receiving simply for the merch I can't imagine that a patreon would be recieved well.

we don't know if the money is going to the admins/ they should not use pomme's likeness! : the money is definitely going to go to the employees and admins because otherwise the server would not last. And as much as I understand people feeling protective over pomme's admin, quackity studios is very much allowed to sell merch of the character because it is not the likeness of the admin, it's a minecraft model made by the people that work there. Would you have rathered they skip her character entirely? Do you really think that would have been okay?. Also correct me if I'm wrong, but I've seen posts and tweets saying that pomme's admin has been confirmed to come back with the other eggs whenever it happens by pierre, who talked with her admin.

the admins of the update accounts got fired, it means they want to fire everyone, they aren't making things better! : it sucks that the updates accounts had to end and I feel bad for every twitter admin that clearly cared a lot about the project, but unfortunately it had to happen if there simply isn't enough money to pay them adequately like they deserved and ultimately the update accounts were not essential to keep the project going, so it makes sense that they were let go unfortunately. This is not gonna be the case for the egg admins because if they got fired (which they didn't), the server would basically end. Just because a cc does not know when they will be back does not mean it's not gonna happen. Just because tubbo randomly said that he's not sure if they will be back does not mean they were fired; tubbo is normally not a reliable source of information, even less so when he's been live nonstop for the past 20 days, which is prior to everything happening. If you genuinely didn't expect a reduction in non essential staff considering everything, then you have unreasonable expectations on how this stuff goes. As I write this, I'm seeing people saying that "they would understand this decision if q had set up a patreon to pay the admins", and once again I don't understand how people don't realize why quackity might not be keen on the idea of having his fans pay his own employees for his own project instead of, you know, doing it himself; and, again, do not fool yourself into thinking it would be recieved well. That being said, it's fair to criticize how everything was communicated to the admins, but I'll get to this in more detail later.

quackity should not have uninstalled social media, he's trying to avoid everything! : he's not avoiding anything, he's been off social media for a while now, which is why it took him that long to remove wilbur from the server. He has every right to not want to look at social media, as his focus should be on restructuring his server instead of doomscrolling on twitter because people think he needs to see how much people dislike him. The only people that he should talk to are those that have important information to tell him, like josè with the document. He explicitly said on stream where to contact him if you have helpful information and I'm sure that despite multiple well liked posts saying not to spam his email, people are definitely doing it anyway, which is probably gonna slow the whole thing down even more. I hope josè's document is able to be seen with pierre's help as well.

quackity studios is not communicating with their employees and leaving them in the dark and that's not okay : I agree with this. i think a huge chunk of doomposting lately has been due the lack of communication not with the audience, but with the admins, and they deserve to know what is happening behind the scenes more then us since this is about their current or future job.... that being said, I do kind of understand why they're being so secretive and shutting everyone out, and that's due to all the "leaks" that have been spread online. I understand the anger but I really wish some people would realize that discussing leaked bts lore stuff in ccs discord servers does not help the situation at all and instead makes it seem like they're only doing this to rile up the fandom against quackity studios by using the lore of people's fav characters.

At the end of the day, I think people just aren't used to dealing with a situation that does not have a clear cut solution and someone to clearly hate, so the result is this doomposting and the over aggressiveness toward anything related to the project. Personally, I haven't witnessed anything that made me lose faith in the qsmp like some people have been saying, as every change that we've seen so far coincides with what quackity said on stream a while ago. I only wish things were communicated properly to the admins clearly, as they're the ones most affected, so I hope that's resolved soon. Ultimately quackity is singlehandedly restructuring the server from basically zero, has had to fire people that were misusing money and power and, depending on what josè's document said, is probably gonna have to fire some more. This is not an easy process, nor a quick one, you're not gonna hear about sunshine and rainbows for a while and doomposting about everything you hear because you expected quick change is useless. Think before you speak, have a clear head and most importantly have empathy.

#I have anons turned off btw #qsmp #qsmp discourse #qsmp admins #qadmin situation #qsmp critical #qsmp fandom critical

[herlondonboy]

unclaimed, clarisse la rue

summary: after being unclaimed for seven years, your father claims you when a new kid arrives and is claimed.

warnings: bullying a little, i guess… they’ll be a part 2 if anyone likes this one. there’s not very much clarisse x reader, but there will be in part 2

wc: 1.6k

a/n: guys it’s my bday in three days… i wanna be 16 forever

you were barely ten when you arrived at camp half-blood. you were scared, shaking, and cold as your satyr protector led you away from the body of your mother and to the entrance of the camp.

with no idea of what was happening, you followed him blindly, hoping for an answer, but the second you crossed the threshold, you collapsed.

when you awoke, there was a blonde kid above you with a wide smile. “hi,” he said, “i’m will!”

you sat up in confusion, murmuring, “where am i?”

“camp half-blood,” will responded. “your satyr didn’t tell you?”

you shook your head. “what’s a satyr?”

since then, you and will had been friends. he was your only constant at camp. in the seven years you’d been there, you hadn’t been claimed by a god. it was understandable. you didn’t do anything to make them proud. you weren’t good at archery or sword fighting, you didn’t get along with nature nor were you heroic.

but, in those seven years, you had been claimed by someone else.

clarisse la rue was the daughter of ares. she knew how to get what she wanted and at 15 what she wanted was you. clarisse became a constant in your life. breakfasts would be spent feeling her eyes on you, archery practice she was purposefully tease you as if you weren’t already bad enough with a bow as it was.

then, she asked you out. you had been supporting a crush on her for a year at that point, so it was a no-brainer. you loved your girlfriend more than anything.

will and clarisse were the only people you were devoted to. the only people you really trusted.

as of now, your seventeenth birthday was quickly approaching. clarisse and will wanted to make it special since you hadn’t really celebrated any birthdays since you were ten. three days before your mother died getting you to safety.

it seemed like their efforts were futile because three days before your birthday, a curly-haired blond boy walked through the entrance after supposedly killing a minotaur. all celebrations had been pushed to the back of everyone’s minds. to the back of clarisse’s mind.

you didn’t care though, your birthday wasn’t a fun celebration. it didn’t even hurt that you weren’t anyone’s first priority. in fact, you were happy.

percy came with a reputation already hung over his head. he had killed a minotaur, though clarisse would tell everyone that it was bull crap. he was like ten, there was no way. you didn’t care that much. if they say he killed a monster, then he killed a monster.

as you sat at lunch, three days before your birthday, you were shot looks of pity. whether it was because your girlfriend was ignoring you or because you hadn’t been claimed in nearly seven years, you had no idea.

with a sigh, you got up and retreated back to the hermes cabin. you wished chiron would have let you choose which one you wanted to stay in. it was clear you had overstayed your welcome. they didn’t like you very much.

later that day, after sparring, it was dinner and your girlfriend was nowhere to be found. and of course, neither was percy jackson.

you got up and walked down to the outhouse where two of clarisse’s half-siblings were guarding the outside.

“let me past,” you ordered. they shared a look so you just pushed past, in time to see clarisse be soaked head to toe with what you hoped was tap water.

she glared at the boy before turning and storming out past you, followed by another two of her siblings. you’d comfort her in a minute.

“i’m sorry about her,” you said sincerely. “clarisse doesn’t like liars and she doesn’t believe that you killed the minotaur.”

“i’m not lying!”

“i didn’t say you were,” you furrowed your eyebrows. “but, uh, water powers, eh?”

“what?”

you shook your head. “i’m y/n.”

the boy nodded. “i know who you are.”

that made you frown. “you mean you know i’ve been unclaimed for seven years?”

“i-i,” he stammered, making you scoff.

“no worries. see you around, percy jackson, minotaur killer, orphan.”

“ouch.”

“don’t worry. i got here the same way, only hades didn’t save my mother, i don’t think. i didn’t see, too busy running and not killing,” you said. “welcome to camp half-blood.”

you walked out and to the ares cabin, knocking on the door.

your girlfriend opened with a glare, “what?” she asked.

“hello to you, too. i missed you too,” you mocked. clarisse just raised an eyebrow so you dropped your facade. “what was that back there? he’s a child, clarisse.”

“he’s a liar.”

you rolled your eyes and pushed her into the cabin. clarisse held back a smile as you made it dark and brought her over to her bed before kissing her lips softly. “leave him alone, please. i have a feeling he’s not the type of person that you want to mess with.”

clarisse scoffed at your reasoning and didn’t make any promises, but held you close.

“has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?” clarisse asked suddenly, making you roll your eyes. “not… not in the way the aphrodite kids are. more like… like deathly beautiful.”

“thanks… i think?”

-

capture the flag was something that camp took very seriously. you were obviously on clarisse’s team, red team. even though you hadn’t won since a child of athena started leading the blue team. part of you hoped that percy would join your team, but knew he wouldn’t.

you forced a smile onto your face when you saw him. will had told you to smile more. that it makes one more approachable. it didn’t feel right to you, though.

you coughed and got in position.

you were by the water when percy came, clarisse hot on his tail. it was a fight you didn’t want to get in the middle of. you flinch when you heard your girlfriend’s spear snap then again when she screamed. you felt bad for the kid, he didn’t know what he had just started.

luke then ran down with the rest of the blue team cheering him on as he dug the red flag into the pebbles. clarisse stormed away once again, leaving you, yet again, with percy jackson.

you saw a colourful outline of a person, before annabeth took off her cap and revealed herself. she congratulated and her cursed her out for not helping him. you watched from afar as annabeth showed him way.

percy was suddenly in the water.

when annabeth pushed percy into the water, everyone watched intently. his cuts healed instantly as he yelled at her. he didn’t even know the gravity of the situation. the crowds went silent as everyone’s gaze moved from percy to above him.

another demigod claimed within days, when you hadn’t been claimed in years.

percy jackson, son of poseidon. a forbidden child. the only one, as thalia had died.

you knew it was only a matter of time before he was sent on a quest. you prayed for him.

that night, you tossed and turned in bed. sleep never came easy, but now it was like something was forcing you to stay awake. you groaned and opened your eyes, confused.

this didn’t look like the hermes cabin.

“hello, child,” you heard a deep voice say, making you turn around.

“who are you?” you asked. you knew who he was, though. he was hades. you were in the underworld, somehow. what you wanted to know, was who he was to you. “is it you?”

“is what me?”

“my father. are you him?” you asked bitterly. seven years. seven years curious and he only now claimed you out of pure jealousy.

“you know the answer.”

you nodded. “why now? why not seven years ago?”

“you know the answer to that, too.”

you were becoming seriously irate. your father was a prick.

“the boy didn’t just take something from my brother. he took something from me, too. i need you to get it back,” you father ordered. “before you say no, i have something you want.”

he nodded to an area behind you and you turned to see a golden statue, like someone had been touched my midas. the statue looked eerily familiar. then it clicked. “my mother?” you whispered.

“get me my helm of darkness.”

you shot awake in a cold sweat, blinking at the light. was it morning already?

“someone get luke,” you heard a hermes kid whisper. “quickly!”

everyone was looking at you. or rather, above you. you looked up at your father’s symbol glowing above your head, a three-headed dog. you felt sick.

not only were you a forbidden child, but you were the forbidden child of hades. when word got around to luke, he had practically dragged you to chiron’s office. it didn’t take long, so your father’s symbol was still over your head before quickly disappearing after chiron saw it.

luke had been asked to leave and you were alone with chiron and mr. d. “i-“

“we have a quest for you,” mr. d cut you off. “with peter johnson.”

“we would like to you to go and retrieve the master bolt from your father,” chiron told you. “you leave with percy and two others of his choosing tomorrow.”

“do i not have a choice?” you asked.

“you’re the only way they’re going to get out of the underworld. they need you.”

you sighed and nodded. “okay.”

this was not you wanted when you said you wanted to be claimed.

suddenly, you had forgotten all about what your father asked of you. your only job now was protecting percy jackson.

#clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue #elijah writes #please reblog