#AND I GET WHY. obviously. patrick is just like that a little bit and he was Going Through It. more relevant on truant wave tbh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

egcdeath · 5 months ago

Text

sealing the deal

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: you and patrick make a few unique business proposals to each other.

word count: 7k

warnings: succession au – tomshiv dynamic (pre-failmarriage), proposals (business and romantic), fluff, a little angst, mentions of a dad being very sick/almost dying, lots of exposition/background on the relationship, art cameo, a little domesticity, established relationship

author’s note: you don’t have to know anything about succession to enjoy this fic! i’ll explain everything that you need to know. if you’re a diehard succession fan i can’t promise that everything will be completely faithful to the source material but it definitely takes a lot of inspiration from tom and shiv’s dynamic.

i wanted to give a HUGE thank you to my succession anon who gave me so much help and guidance for this fic and basically ended up being my co-author for this fic! i hope you all enjoy :)

It wasn’t always easy loving the youngest son of the owner of a multi-billion dollar media conglomerate.

In fact, most of the time, it was quite the opposite.

Even without Patrick working in his family’s business, it always felt a little bit like you were in a competition for brain space and time with his family and career, and you were losing. Badly.

You weren’t exactly sure that you knew what you signed up for when you first met Patrick—connected to each other by a mutual friend you went to business school with, whom you’d begged to try to set you two up for career advancement purposes more than anything else.

“You know that guy you keep asking me about?” your friend asked you after taking a hefty sip from the drink the bartender just passed her.

“Patrick Zweig?” you asked, not bothering to pretend like you didn’t know who she was talking about.

“Yeah!” she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You weren’t sure where she was going with this subject, but you were intrigued by her mention of the man and her apparent entertainment at the situation.

“What about him?” you asked, perversely curious as to why she was bringing him up now.

“I invited him to come out with us tonight!” she laughed once more as she divulged this information, as if it wasn’t shocking news to you.

“What? What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me before!” you practically yelled at her over the sound of loud music and other bar patrons. You suddenly felt very self conscious. If you’d known you were going to meet Patrick Zweig tonight, you would’ve put yourself together, rather than coming straight from work to the bar.

“I wanted to surprise you!” she continued with her giggling at a situation that you did not find nearly as humorous. “Oh my god. I wish you could see your face right now.”

“I hate you!” you laughed, thinking that maybe this was some sort of prank. “You’re joking, then?”

“No, he’s really coming. He just got back from D.C. and wanted to meet with me. I asked if my hot friend could come along and he was like, ‘Obviously!’”

You groaned aloud. This wasn’t how you intended to make your first impression on him.

“Okay, well, what’s his type?” you asked her, hoping to get a bit of insight before you were launched right into what might end up being your first date. You were sure that you would make a good impression if you showed up as you were, but you wanted to be better than good. You didn’t want to be just another forgettable notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, taking a sip from her drink. “Hot? A nice ass? A little mean? Isn’t that every guy’s type?”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough for me,” you replied. You wanted to have a strategy going into this. You would’ve appreciated at least a small briefing before meeting someone so intimidating.

“I am, you just check all the boxes already. Just be yourself and I’m sure things will work out fine,” she assured you.

Her assurance was well warranted, considering that things worked out far better than fine. In fact, your friend was overdue for a fruit basket—one that you would be paying for with Patrick’s credit card as you sat in the dining room of your shared penthouse apartment, after you wrapped up a day of work in the skyscraper that was his father’s corporate headquarters.

At the time, you had a slight idea of who he was, but you had an even better idea of who his family was. Anyone who owned a television would be familiar with his family’s corporation—from the causal channel surfers who passed one of their many news channels during their search for the newest episode of The Bachelor, to the thousands of people with their logo burned into their device screen from the hours they spent with their eyes locked on the 24-hour stream of borderline propaganda.

Beyond his impressive family, you’d heard whispers and rumors about Patrick for a long time. Between headlines in gossip magazines and stories from your mutual friend, you learned that he’d entered the political world as an attempt to make a name for himself outside of his family name, but struggled to be taken seriously for many years due to the less than stellar reputation that came with being a Zweig.

Although, rumors about his career were just the tip of the iceberg. Gossip about his tumultuous relationships—if they could even be called that—and history of partying far too hard often ran wild, making you believe that your initial meetings with Patrick would be nothing more than a few hookups and sweet talking yourself into a new job. After all, there was no better pillow talk than an elevator pitch.

At first, your plan seemed like it was right on track. You ended your first night together in the early morning, finding yourself in Patrick’s apartment for hours. Your night hadn’t really ever ended, with the two of you leaving the bar together, having some of the best sex of your life in a bed that felt a little bit like laying on a cloud, then proceeding to talk for hours until it was time for you to go back to work. You smiled to yourself as you sat in the backseat of Patrick’s car, exhausted from the long night and a little uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes, but mostly enthusiastic after your surprisingly eventful night with the man.

It was a strange turn of events from what you initially expected. While you couldn’t be too sure what you were getting yourself into when you learned you were being set up on a date, you assumed that Patrick would be like any other rich asshole you’d gone out on dates with, who got what they wanted from you, sent you off on your merry way, then never spoke to you again. You quickly discovered that he was unlike anyone you’d ever been with before.

Patrick seemed to be full of surprises, and the fact that you were going on multiple dates with him in the first place was one of those very surprises. You hadn’t expected to go on any more than three dates before you asked about working for his family, securing yourself a job, then leaving him alone.

What took you by even greater surprise were the dates themselves. What started as an intimate dinner in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city ended with you at a terrible 24-hour diner, treating Patrick to his first slice of cherry pie as you talked into the wee hours of the morning.

Your subsequent dates went similarly, with the two of you talking endlessly about anything and everything. Patrick was someone full of surprises—he was far from the rich asshole you expected him to be, and more like a knowledgeable politics nerd with a lot of money.

You talked for hours about big things, like why Patrick decided to pursue a career as a political strategist and what brought you to New York City, but you also found it easy to discuss small random things with him, spending an extended period of time discussing how you named your cat, and debating on the best restaurant in the city.

You always thought of yourself as being somewhat agreeable and friendly when it came to conversation, but your discussions with Patrick took you by surprise. You weren’t sure you’d ever clicked with someone the way you clicked with him, and it made you as excited as it made you nervous.

By the time you worked up the nerve to ask Patrick about working for his family, you were already beat to the punch. The two of you were tucked into the booth that you’d recently declared as yours in the same diner that you seemed to be spending all of your all-nighters in, reclining comfortably in the particularly uncomfortable seats.

“Do you like the business side of things?” Patrick asked you, stirring a flattening Diet Coke with a straw.

“It’s fun,” you dismissed. “It’s less fun going to work on a half-hour of sleep.”

“Shut up. You love it,” the man across from you laughed, an admittedly very handsome half-smile on his face. “I mean it though. Do you like what you’re doing?”

“It pays the bills, I guess. I like the work, but I’m not huge on the company. All the politics and the instability with layoffs lately… It isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Would you ever work for my family?” he asked. “I mean, you’re just wasting potential elsewhere. I really think they could use someone like you on their team.”

“Seriously?” you asked, partially surprised at the proposition, but mostly surprised that you weren’t the one to ask in the first place. Across the table, Patrick listened to you intently. “I mean, If they’d have me, I’d love to work for them.”

“My dad mentioned something about them looking for some new blood. I can put in a good word for you, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Is this because I showed you the joys of a slice of diner cherry pie?” you joked, trying not to let on just how overjoyed you were about this opportunity.

“You got me. And now that you mention it, we should probably order another slice,” he suggested, going along with your joke. “You’re smart and you clearly know your shit. Besides, I’m mostly doing it for myself. It’ll be nice to have someone around at company Christmas parties who can actually keep up with me.”

“Well, thank you,” you replied calmly, though you were doing somersaults in your mind. “I look forward to drinking eggnog and singing Mariah Carey songs with you.”

In retrospect, you recognized this action as the first of his many wordless declarations of love. You later learned that Patrick did everything he could to avoid talking business with his family, as it was clearly a sore spot for everyone involved. Realizing that he’d gone out of his way to get you a job had been an even more kind gesture than you knew at the time.

While you initially expected your fling to taper off after Patrick fulfilled his end of the business deal he didn’t even know he was facilitating, your relationship did nothing of the sort. In fact, his favor seemed to have the opposite effect on your bond.

Before you knew it, the two of you were courting each other like lovesick Jane Austen protagonists. In another shocking turn of events, Patrick ordered flowers to your doorstep each morning and took you on lavish dates, while you began to take four-hour long train rides to and from D.C. each weekend to visit him, and frequently sent him rambling love letters.

While you hadn’t expected for your relationship to unfold the way that it did, you genuinely loved Patrick. You loved the way his eyes crinkled when you told him something stupid that he’d laugh at, or how he leaned in to whisper something judgmental in your ear about someone you mutually disliked during family events. You loved the way his hand felt in yours and the way his mind worked, which he frequently displayed to you while discussing his latest political strategy. You even loved when he minced words to describe how he felt about you, knowing that though the word ‘love’ might never leave his lips, his actions spoke far louder than his voice ever could.

It just so happened that you loved his proximity to power, too.

While his money and power might have piqued your interest initially, it didn’t change the fact that the two of you quickly clicked. You had a natural chemistry, with you matching Patrick’s flirty words and actions with ease. It also just so happened that you entered each other's lives at the perfect time, with you in dire need of a career upgrade, and Patrick in need of someone unafraid to show him more affection and care than he was willing to give.

Though he wasn’t the best at communicating his feelings, you quickly became a tenured professor in Patrick-ology. You were certain that this played a role in why Patrick liked you so much in the first place—being somewhat emotionally stunted, he needed someone who could understand his thoughts without him having to explicitly say every detail, and you did exactly that.

This skill worked out surprisingly well for you. You gave him the love and understanding that he’d been looking for and missing for all of his adult life, and you got to reap the benefits that came with being in a relationship with someone in one of the most powerful families in the world.

Despite your more humble beginnings, you quickly became familiar with luxurious items and activities. You also quickly learned that no matter how prepared you thought you were for that level of wealth—you weren’t. You couldn’t even begin to count the amount of times your unfamiliarity with certain norms left you as the laughing stock of the family.

But it wasn’t all corner offices in skyscrapers and helicopter rides. During the honeymoon phase of your relationship, it certainly felt like it, but the cracks in your foundation became more and more evident every day.

The thing was, as much as you two cared about each other, there was a family shaped shadow that loomed over everything that you did. It was clear that you were an outsider in Patrick’s family. Coming from an upper-middle class Midwestern background, you were often made to feel like you were a stupid gold-digger, only staying around your boyfriend for power, rather than love. At times, you wondered if his family knew what love was at all.

The love, or lack thereof in Patrick’s family was what shocked you most of all. It was no secret that his father was unnecessarily cruel to all of his children, but particularly to his siblings trying to work their way into more serious positions in the company. Patrick somehow managed to dodge that particular flavor of cruelty, with him very obviously being his father’s favorite and working outside of the family business, but the emotional scars his father left still lingered.

But his father’s presence didn’t just loom over him, it was beginning to loom over you, too. Not only in the extreme intimidation you felt when having to interact with him, but in the small acts of callousness Patrick showed you throughout the course of your relationship.

It began as small things, things that bothered you less the more you got used to them. Like how he always seemed to unconsciously belittle your work, not even bothering to seem interested in the recaps you gave of your day before he launched into a story of his own about the candidate he was working with. Though you tried your hardest to fight through your smaller pet peeves with him, Patrick’s inability to be straightforward about his emotions felt like the cherry on top of an already painful sundae.

Regardless of all of the flaws, bumps, and roadblocks in your relationship, you promised to yourself that you would be in Patrick’s corner, no matter how ugly things got or how poorly he treated you. Not only out of your own self-interest, but out of your love for the man, and the knowledge of how difficult his upbringing made certain things for him.

Which was why when you got the call from Patrick that something had gone terribly wrong with his father while coming back from his birthday celebration, you didn’t hesitate to rush to the hospital, encouraging your driver to speed all the way to the building.

When you arrived, he and his siblings were in disarray in a way you’d never seen before. His father, who was typically a presence that towered over everyone in the room, was reduced to an old man hooked up to a number of machines. His older sisters, who were always either waiting for the moment to swoop in and make a crude joke or waiting in the wings to discuss the next business strategy, paced back and forth endlessly, clearly feeling the pressure of their sick father.

Patrick sat alone on an uncomfortable chair, peering helplessly into the observation room. It was rare for you to see him with his feelings written so openly across his face, even after years of being in a relationship with him. That concerned you.

You made quick work of walking over to Patrick, whose tensed-up shoulders slightly dropped as you took a seat next to him. Though he wouldn’t ever tell you this, you knew that your presence made him feel more supported and a little more safe, though you being or not being in the hospital clearly wouldn’t have an impact on if his father lived or died.

“Hey,” he greeted you, immediately squeezing your hand. “Thanks for coming,” he said weakly, as if he was fighting off a new round of tears. In that moment, you so desperately wanted to take some of his emotions for yourself, knowing that Patrick hated feeling any feeling, let alone such negative feelings to such a serious degree.

“Of course, honey,” you reassured him, running what you hoped would be a grounding hand up and down his arm. “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water? A snack? I saw that burger place you like on my way over.”

“No, nothing right now,” he sighed. You inspected him cautiously, knowing that he wasn’t exactly one to always say what he meant. “Really,” he assured you, though you didn’t completely buy it.

Since he wasn’t in the mood for more material items, you decided that the best course of action was a little affection. He wasn’t always the biggest fan of receiving affection in front of his family, but you figured that in a time where he was uncertain if his father would live or die, he would appreciate a little outward support.

You laid your head on his shoulder and angled your body closer to his. Not expecting any response, you were surprised when Patrick kissed the top of your head. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told you quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’d be in trouble if someone overheard him.

You held his hand as the two of you sat for hours, only getting up to stretch your legs or take phone calls from friends with insight on other high-end medical facilities that might be able to better accommodate Patrick’s father.

You did your best to give Patrick his space when he needed it, as he floated between two of his siblings—one of which was focused mainly on the future of the company, and the other in a state of denial about the state of her father—then back to you when he could no longer stand the chaos of his sisters.

It was a stressful scene, and one that was clearly too much for your boyfriend, who went back and forth between wanting to be glued at your hip, and wanting to be left completely alone. You’d seen Patrick stressed in the past, with him chatting your ear off as he waited for his candidate’s election results, or as he prepared to give a speech at an event, but you’d never seen him like this.

He almost seemed fragile, like one wrong word or action might break him. It frightened you to see him in such a state. Again, you lamented not being able to take some of his pain for yourself.

In the time that you waited without any word from any doctors, a few gears began to turn in your mind. Life was so fleeting, which was proven by Patrick’s mighty father falling so seemingly easily. Really, it could’ve been any of you sitting on that table with tubes and monitors attached to you. If it were Patrick who was sitting on that gurney, you would be an absolute wreck. If he somehow died, you also wouldn’t technically be a widow, despite your long-term relationship with the man.

All of it made you wonder if you should just bite the bullet and propose to Patrick.

Sure, it wasn’t the best timing ever. Sure, you’d always imagined yourself being on the receiving end of a grand proposal, especially from someone like Patrick. But maybe he would appreciate the gesture—giving him a distraction to take away some of his pain, and giving him one final grand milestone with you while his dad was still alive.

To a lesser extent, being married would provide you with certain protections you didn’t have while you were only his long-term girlfriend. Obviously, you didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to your boyfriend, but accidents and tragedies could happen at any point, and it was better to be prepared than to be sorry.

It felt right that you might be able to join his family during a time where he was losing a family member. Not only for his sake, but because losing their patriarch meant unprecedented instability in his family. You wanted to be sure of your spot amongst them, after you’d grown used to the privileges that came with being Patrick’s girlfriend.

You fidgeted with the ring on your middle finger, a family heirloom passed from generation to generation onto you. It was no expensive piece of jewelry, and it certainly wasn’t an engagement ring, but it was incredibly meaningful to you—a symbol of your family, which was extremely important to you. Patrick knew just how much you valued the ring and exactly what it represented to you, so in turn, you hoped that if you gave it to him, he would understand how much he meant to you.

Getting up from where you’d been sitting for far too long, you began to pace the hallways of the hospital, wondering about the timing of your now imminent proposal. As you shuffled through the sterile building, you surprised yourself as you came across your partner.

“Patrick!” you said with a start after unexpectedly catching a glimpse of him.

“Hey,” he greeted unenthusiastically before beginning to walk right past you.

“Wait,” you grabbed onto his arm before he could fully walk away, encouraging him to look right at you. It was now or never, and the words were on the tip of your tongue.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this right now,” he dismissed, his voice monotone and listless.

“You do, though. Patrick, listen,” he didn’t look like he was in the mood to talk, but was prepared to listen to you anyway. You knew you only had a few seconds to pitch your proposition before you lost him, so you spat out your words rather than beating around the bush. “Let’s get married.”

“What?” he looked at you with brows drawn in confusion. It wasn’t exactly the ideal reaction to your proposal, but then again it wasn’t much of a proposal. “Right now?”

“Obviously not now, but… soon?” as you spoke, you began the process of slipping the ring off your middle finger and attempting to present it to him in the palm of your hand. Sure, it wasn’t the most romantic or put together proposal, but it felt right to be offering him such a grand and personal gesture while everything else was going sideways in his life.

“I know it’s probably not the best time, but I thought that maybe I could make things a little better with your dad and… I don’t know. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If something ever happened to you, I wouldn’t want to wonder about what we could’ve been and-” you rambled on before you were interrupted with a sigh.

“Honey, you can’t just make my dad dying better,” he rubbed his temple exasperatedly, then looked between you and the ring you were presenting him with. “If you wanted to make me feel better, you should’ve just brought me coffee.”

You frowned at him, knowing that you’d offered him that very thing earlier and he turned you down. You wondered if your communication would ever improve—or if it even needed to improve, since this proposal was going so poorly that you’d probably leave the hospital single.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you closed your palm and put your hand in the pocket of your jacket, fully prepared for Patrick to tell you to fuck all the way off. It had been stupid for you to think that Patrick would appreciate such a grand gesture during such a terrible time.

“Wait,” Patrick stopped you, now reaching for your arm. “My answer isn’t a no, it’s just… I don’t want this to be the memory. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Doing all the work of getting your hand out of your pocket, he grabbed the ring you presented him with to further prove his words and slipped it on his ringer. It only fit halfway down his finger, but he kept it on regardless.

“Really?” you said, suddenly perking up.

“Duh,” he replied, looking a little shy as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he briefly looked away from you, as if his feelings were so strong that he couldn’t even manage to look you in the eye.

You couldn’t contain your excitement at his answer, jumping and squealing a little bit as you pulled him into an overly enthusiastic hug. You heard the familiar sound of Patrick laughing quietly in your ear as you squeezed him. Though he always seemed to hold back his emotions, you knew that he was just as excited as you were to be promised to one another.

You pulled him into a soft kiss, draping your arms around his neck, holding him as close as you could until he inevitably pushed you away.

Patrick surprised you with how long he was willing to embrace you, clearly in need of a little bit of comfort after such an emotionally exhausting night. You surprised yourself when you ended up being the person to pull away.

“Should we go check on our family?” you asked, not bothering to hide your excitement around finally being in.

“I just need a second,” he told you, glancing down the hallway before pulling you into yet another embrace. He pressed his face into your hair, soothing himself with your scent and presence. You rubbed circles into his back and muttered something about him taking all the time he needed.

You were interrupted by one of Patrick’s sisters, whose voice called out your names down the hallway. “When you two are finished with your snuggle-fest, the doctor has news for us.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick pushed you away quickly, his tune changing in an instant.

“Good news, I think. But move your asses. C’mon,” she directed, already turning away and Patrick quickly following her.

If you were experiencing an emotional rollercoaster, you couldn’t even begin to understand how Patrick was feeling. Finding out his dad was sick, being proposed to, and immediately hearing more news about his father in the span of just a few hours must’ve felt unreal.

You sat quietly and observed from the sidelines as a doctor took them into their father’s room and filled in the siblings on the state of him. They all seemed to share a collective sigh of relief, and though you couldn’t hear the exact news from where you were sitting, you knew that it must’ve been good.

When Patrick came back to you, he had a hint of a sad smile on his face. “Ready to go?” he asked you.

He didn’t need you to ask twice. You were more than prepared to escape the too-bright lights, sickeningly sterile scent, and the feeling of sadness that seemed to be hanging in the air of the hospital.

Your driver was a welcome sight, with him giving you a quiet greeting as the two of you got in the backseat of the car. As he drove, Patrick reached for your hand, which you gladly gave up to him.

In the following minutes, Patrick crept over further into your space until he sat directly beside you, leaning his head on you with his eyes closed. The long day was surely taking its toll, with the anxiety of his dad being in such dire straits, and the excitement and confusion of you proposing to him.

His sleep was well earned. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then closed your own eyes, letting the soft sound of the early morning city traffic lull you to sleep.

In the following days, you could tell that something wasn’t quite right with Patrick. At first, you chalked it up to nerves around his father’s health, but that didn’t seem to be it. Typically, when Patrick was really anxious about something, his silence on the elephant-sized topic gave him away. While you’d heard quite a bit about the state of his father from him—whether it was an update sent to him by his step-mother or an actual visit to the man—you hadn’t heard a peep about your engagement since the day after you got engaged.

On the other hand, you were struggling to keep the news to yourself, despite the request of Patrick. You wanted to scream the announcement from the rooftops, but in the early morning after you returned from the hospital, Patrick made his position very clear: Wait a little while for things to blow over before you started telling people– your friends and family included.

Despite the fact that he wore your ring every day since the day that you’d given it to him, something about his behavior told you that it was that very ring that was giving him so much internal conflict.

In the past few years of knowing Patrick, you learned that he was a bit of a control freak. You wondered how out of control it made him feel for you to be the person to propose to him. Part of you wondered if you should’ve even proposed in the first place if it was going to be an issue. Maybe you should’ve let him do things on his own timeline, rather than making him feel nervous or insecure in your relationship.

But at the same time, Patrick initially seemed rather entertained by the idea of you getting married. In the morning after your engagement, he couldn’t stop referring to you as Mrs. Zweig. At the desk of your brand new office, given to you after a serious promotion, you found a box of expensive chocolates with a note fondly referring to you as his fiancé. As you laid next to him in bed that night, he pulled up the profiles of three separate wedding planners and asked you about your preference in people.

It almost felt like his feelings on your engagement were constantly fluctuating between being excited to be with you forever, and being terrified of that very commitment. Things weren’t made any better by Patrick’s professional-level ability to dodge questions, especially questions related to how he genuinely felt.

“C’mon, you know how I feel,” he replied to you after you directly asked him over breakfast. He lifted his mug casually, subconsciously putting space between the two of you.

“Pat, I don’t. That’s why I asked,” you forced out a laugh, though the situation wasn’t exactly funny to you. If Patrick didn’t want to marry you, you didn’t want to force him to do so.

“But you always know how I feel,” he said with a bit of a pout and a whine—what you called his ‘let me get away with it’ demeanor that he often used with his family—before setting down his coffee and standing up.

“Not this time,” you explained, standing up as well and abandoning the plate of half-eaten eggs in front of you.

“You’ll figure it out,” he dismissed your concerns and stepped close enough to you to hold your face in both of his hands.

“Love you?” you asked, hoping that if he could confirm that at the very least, you might have a better understanding of what was going through his head.

“Of course,” he said genuinely, though he didn’t offer you any parroting of those words. Instead, he dropped his hands from your cheeks and kissed one of them. “Have a good day at work, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” you tried not to look as annoyed as you actually felt as you made quick work of grabbing your work bag and leaving. You needed some time to make sense of it all.

The situation only became more complicated as you sat down in a conference room, mentally preparing yourself to make your first big presentation as the newly vetted Head of Parks and Cruises division. You cared greatly about what your peers thought about you, so you couldn’t deny the nerves running through your veins.

These nerves only increased when you caught a glimpse of Patrick from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the conference room, shaking hands with people on your floor and clearly making cordial small talk.

You desperately hoped that he was there to wish you luck on your presentation, and not to pick your conversation from the morning back up. You bitterly thought about how he couldn’t have picked a worse time as he waved at you from the window. You stiffly waved back, not exactly in the mood to be interrupted right before a big presentation.

“Hey, if I don’t make it back for whatever reason, you can do this presentation, right?” you asked quietly, leaning into your newly-hired assistant’s ear.

“Wait, what?” he asked you, brows furrowing. “I don’t know, I haven’t practiced or anything, and-“

“Perfect,” you replied, not listening to a single word he was rambling out. “Just read off the slides. You’ll be okay.”

You didn’t bother staying to listen to Art ramble in your ear about how he didn’t know what he was doing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the one presenting, and if he absolutely had to, he’d probably be fine.

You shut the door behind you, politely waving at one of your co-workers as they entered the conference room. You made your way to Patrick and stood with your arms crossed against your chest, trying to strike a good balance between showing him how agitated you were, and not trying to further agitate your fiancé, who seemed to be in a particularly fragile mental state lately.

“Hi honey, is anything important going on?” Patrick asked once you stood across from him.

“Actually, yeah. Is there any way we could chat a little later? Like maybe an hour or two?” you suggested. “I can block some time off on my calendar for you and everything.”

“I’m sure whatever it is isn’t more important than this,” he glanced over at the conference room as he spoke to demonstrate his point. You wished you could explain to him how far that was from the truth.

“What is it?” you asked, your patience beginning to grow thin.

“You’ll have to see. Come with me?” he offered.

“Patrick, I’m in the middle of a meeting!” you whisper-shouted, trying to keep your voice down and your body language mostly neutral, so your colleagues couldn’t observe how much you were freaking out as you talked to your partner.

“It hasn’t started yet,” he dismissed casually. “They’ll be fine without you. I won’t be fine without you.”

You eyed him suspiciously.

“Please,” he added, as if you’d ever be able to say no to him—though you were pretty tempted to do so.

“Fine,” you gave in with a small, soft sigh. That didn’t deter Patrick at all, who seemed uncharacteristically excited as the two of you sat in the backseat of his car.

“So where are we going? Or, what are we doing?” you asked, trying to ignore the terrible feeling in your gut that you felt about leaving your meeting.

“It’s a surprise,” Patrick said coyly. “It’ll be more fun than that meeting, though.”

“I’m sure,” you replied, looking out the window. You hoped that whatever romantic gesture Patrick planned would be worth losing the respect of all of your peers. You wondered what you could tell them that would make your absence seem acceptable. Family emergency? It wasn’t exactly a lie. It wasn’t quite the truth either.

When your ride stopped and you stepped out of the vehicle, you were surprised to find yourself at the diner that you spent the majority of your first few dates at, splitting pieces of pie and talking each other’s ears off for hours.

“Craving some cherry pie?” you asked him curiously. Obviously, this seemed like a task he could’ve handled on his own, coming to the diner himself or having his driver buy and deliver him a whole pie, but you figured that maybe he was simply in the mood for some nostalgic comfort. In the midst of such chaos, you would be happy to give that to him.

“It’s been too long,” he shrugged before grabbing your hand.

Patrick led you to the booth that you declared as yours all those years ago, and began to chat your ear off like normal. While you wanted to think about work, it was surprisingly easy to forget about the real world when you were in such a nostalgic place with him.

The two of you ordered your old usual order, only enhancing the feeling of nostalgia as you shared a plate of painfully average pancakes and a slice of cherry pie.

“Ew, what is that?” you laughed after you bit into something hard and gross. “This fucking place,” you muttered, looking for a napkin that you could spit out whatever it was that you almost just consumed.

When you glanced down at the napkin, you were shocked to find what looked like a metal ring covered in cherry syrup. “Oh shit. Do you think this belonged to someone?”

Once you looked up, you were shocked to find Patrick holding a black velvet box, one that you’d seen before nearly a year ago as you deep-cleaned your shared bedroom, one that you chalked up as a gift for his mother or a friend.

“Patrick?” you asked, clearly confused. He parroted your name right back to you and opened up the box, showing you one of the most beautiful rings you ever laid your eyes on.

Suddenly, it made sense why he asked you to come out with him, interrupting you in the middle of the day to take you to a diner where you shared so many memories. Sure, he could’ve waited until you got off work, but you figured he was thinking about your conversation from the morning and wanted to do something that would show you how much he truly cared about you. He’d always been better at bigger gestures than verbally sharing his feelings, so part of you remained unsurprised.

“I first fell in love with you here, so it only felt right to bring you back here to ask you to marry me?” he explained, not breaking eye contact with you. He was never one for a soapbox when it came to sharing his feelings, so his proposal was short and straight to the point. Though, you wondered if he had more words prepared that he simply couldn’t get out. Based on the speed of his leg bouncing under the table, you knew that Patrick was nervous out of his mind—despite him already knowing what your answer was.

You recalled what Patrick told you in the hospital about not wanting your proposal to be the memory—the memory you told others about when you shared the news, or fondly recalled to your kids in ten years when you reminisced on your love story.

If accepting his proposal now, and acting like his proposal was the only proposal made him feel better, you didn’t see any reason why you wouldn’t fully lean into it.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, genuinely being surprised at the offer, but playing up your excitement for the sake of your nervous fiancé. “Of course I’ll marry you, Pat.”

Patrick broke into a toothy grin, his excitement contagious to you. “Give me your hand,” he directed, taking the ring out of the box.

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and it somehow looked even better on your finger than it did in the box. You looked at it in amazement curling and uncurling your hand to look at the ring from all of its angles.

“It’s gorgeous, Patrick. Thank you,” you told him earnestly as you looked from your hand to him. You weren’t surprised by the quality of the ring or even that he found something that you liked so much. Growing up with lavish gifts constantly being given as an expression of ‘love’ made Patrick pretty damn good at giving you gifts. As for the other expressions of love… he wasn’t the best. But he was very obviously trying his best for you, and you loved that about him.

In some ways, your proposals felt like the perfect encapsulation of your roles in your relationship. While you offered Patrick a ring with little monetary, but high emotional value, he gave you a ring that was probably more expensive than you could ever fathom, that didn’t have the same emotional ties that your family heirloom of a ring did.

Beyond the appearance or symbolism behind your rings, and despite your very different proposals, you were ecstatic to be engaged to Patrick. It only felt right that after years of loving the man, you two were finally making things official in the legal sense.

As you peered at your shyly smiling fiancé, you couldn’t help but break out into a grin yourself. You underestimated just how exciting it would be for you to be starting a new chapter of your relationship.

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig headcanon #patrick zweig smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #challengers fic #reader insert #josh o'connor x reader

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zweiginator · 2 months ago

Note

I want crazy ex gf to get patrick jealous with a evil little plan like she’s daxtors laboratory

you devising a little plan as soon as you get home that night. deciding all you want is for patrick to want you again. for him to be as miserable and jealous as you are about him. you know how he is. you know girls fawn over him and you know he’s hooked up with girls since your break up a month and a half ago.

making fake social media accounts and following his accounts to keep up with where he’s going. he’s not very active but his friends are and you know they’re together a lot of the time.

so you see he’s out at a local bar and you have to be fast. getting all dolled up and calling the guy you hooked up with a few days after the breakup to numb your feelings.

of course he answers and agrees to pick you up and you know your plan did the trick when his mouth falls open as he sees you in your tiny skirt and tight top. your lips are glossy and you play along with him even though he’s really just a means to an end.

and when you get to the bar you’re hand in hand with him, standing on your tippy toes to give him a peck on the cheek. his hand rests on your lower back and you crank up the flirtiness, rubbing your hand over his leg and leaning into him, laughing way too hard at jokes that don’t merit it.

and you know patrick is there because you hear his friend group’s conversation falter. clearly, he’s seen you, but you don’t look at him. you don’t want to give him the time of day.

so you get tipsy and you eat dinner and then when your date goes to the bathroom there’s a tap on your shoulder. you swivel around on the barstool, your mouth wrapped around the straw of your drink.

“do you need something?” your heart is beating. fuck he smells good and he looks even better. hair freshly washed, aftershave slapped against his neck. green eyes angry; it’s obvious from the red flush on his cheeks. it’s hard not to sound excited.

“are you fucking serious? did you make a fake instagram account to follow me and my fucking friends?”

you feign surprise and ignorance. “what are you talking about? you set your drink down and eat a fry. “i’m on a date, so.”

patrick sits in the seat next to you and scoots close.

“you think you’re gonna make me jealous?”

“i don’t give a fuck if you’re jealous or not. leave me the fuck alone.” you spit at him, turning the chair away. he doesn’t want to cause a scene or look like a creep but he really wants to get through to you.

“already on a fuckin date a month later. and he looks familiar doesn’t he?”

yes, your date does look like patrick. obviously not as tall nor as attractive, but the similarities are there.

“what? he’s just a guy with brown hair.”

and now if patrick wasn’t mad, he is now. he doesn’t know why. he doesn’t care about you or what you’re doing. he doesn’t care that you’re there with another guy and he gets to touch you and you look beautiful and you’re laughing at his jokes and letting him buy you drinks. you’ll probably put out later and he remembers your first date. how you said he needed to wait before having sex with him between heated kisses in the backseat of his car.

“c’mere.” he reaches for your wrist. he doesn’t want to look pushy since you’re in public.

you stare up at him and your lip is almost wobbling upwards in a smile but you try to be cool.

“for what?” you make sure to make your eyes nice and big, staring up at him all naive and dumb. he loves that.

he snakes his hand up your inner thigh and you can’t pretend like you don’t love it. you whimper a bit and his finger brushes against your panties. they’re soaked and you’re wearing his favorite pair, baby pink and lacy with a pretty black bow on the front.

patrick groans as he feels your cunt. so warm and wet and wrapped like a gift for him to open and admire.

“i’ll never talk to you again if you go home with him.” he whispers in your ear and you swallow. he walks away but watches you the whole night.

and he smirks against the lip of his glass as he leaves without you.

#ask #patrick zweig smut

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venus-haze · 1 year ago

Text

Sinnerman (Father Paul Hill x Reader)

Summary: You can’t even see your old life from Crockett Island, but nevertheless it weighs on your conscience like an anchor on the ocean floor. Father Paul Hill tries to pull the anchor up, only to sink your whole damn ship.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Reader is a lapsed Catholic for plot reasons. I also played with the show’s timeline a little bit for this fic. Anyway, 10 years of Catholic school later and this is the result. Inspired by the Nina Simone song. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Brief mentions of blood and violence. Reader’s morals are all over the place. Obviously a lot of Catholic themes (especially guilt) and imagery. Sexually explicit content between a member of the clergy and a lay person. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Unlike pretty much everywhere else in the country, houses on Crockett Island garnered very little interest. There were no frustrating bidding wars or last minute phone calls made to real estate agents. The available houses barely registered on the listings you scrolled through, some having been on the market for years. When you called about a two bedroom you’d never even stepped foot in, offering to pay upfront in cash, the agent on the other end of the line almost hung up on you, assuming it was a scam. No scam. You just wanted to disappear.

To the world, you were gone, a vapor who abruptly quit her incredibly well-paying job with a generous severance package. Painting was a hobby that got increasingly pushed to the backburner as you focused more on your career until you couldn’t remember the last time you touched a paintbrush. Of course, that wasn’t why you quit your job, but it sounded a lot nicer than the reason that ate you alive. You hoped that if you disappeared, the guilt that made its home in your gut would go away too. On Crockett Island, however, you were far from invisible.

Despite the unforgiving ocean wind that raged the day you arrived, you were met with nothing short of a welcome party. The mayor, his wife, the sheriff, and the elderly monsignor of the singular church on the island accompanied by a woman who constantly hovered. Nice enough people who greeted you with a mixture of delight and disbelief that you were moving onto the island instead of off. You shot yourself in the foot the second you mentioned you had been raised Catholic, as everyone but the sheriff extended offers to join them at mass that you awkwardly declined.

Sheriff Hassan gave you a sympathetic look when he left your new home, the last of the informal welcoming committee to do so. Get used to it, his eyes said. You almost asked him to stay for coffee if you could dig your pot out of whichever cardboard box you packed it in. You decided against it. On an island so small, coffee could turn into something else quickly enough.

It took a week or so to get into a comfortable routine. Wake up early, make coffee, take your time eating breakfast, then head out to some new part of the island with your art supplies in tow, only to be held up for fifteen to twenty minutes by someone inevitably stopping you to talk. Usually small talk, but you could tell a lot of people were just happy to have someone new to tell old stories to instead of regurgitating them to the same handful of people all the time.

Some days, when the fog made it almost impossible to see your outstretched hand in front of you, you’d find yourself drawn to St. Patrick’s, painting or sketching the church. The fog would inevitably roll away, and in the distance you’d see the monsignor, sometimes with Beverly and other times by himself. He’d always wave at you, though his face betrayed his confusion as to who you were. Poor guy. You thought the parishioners were crazy to send him over to Jerusalem.

The day after he left for his trip was another foggy one. You made your usual trek out to the church to draw. It was a nice, informal ritual. Spiritual enough for your tastes without the risk of bursting into flames if you stepped foot in the place. With the monsignor gone, mass wasn’t being held, and the area was quieter than usual. Not completely, though.

“You know, you’re always loitering outside of the church, but I never see you in it,” Beverly said while you were sketching the weathered wood building.

You kept your focus on the page you were working on, not sparing her a glance. “Not my thing.”

“At one point it was, though. You said it yourself on the day you moved in that you were raised in the faith.”

“Not my choice.”

Her lips pressed in a thin line, her voice strained, “Well, you’re always welcome at St. Patrick’s. I’m sure when the monsignor returns, he’d be overjoyed to see you in the pews. We all would.”

“Thanks for the offer.”

“Yes, well, have fun doodling.”

Your jaw clenched. Doodling. You shot her a glare over your shoulder when she walked away.

Luckily, you weren’t the focus of the islanders’ attention for much longer, because the Flynns’ son had returned home from prison on the mainland. A quiet guy who kept to himself despite Annie excitedly introducing you to Riley. You were polite, but didn’t pry. It seemed like he wanted to keep to himself too. Then, the following day, the parish was in a tizzy over the unexpected arrival of a new pastor, a temporary replacement for the aging monsignor. You didn’t know the old guy very long, but he wasn’t quite with it. Doubtful the replacement would be temporary. Maybe he said that to soften the blow of not being able to give their monsignor a formal goodbye.

You had mixed feelings about the new guy. The evening following his first mass on the island, Father Paul had sneaked up on you while you were trying to paint an old fishing bungalow. He startled you so bad that you jumped, arm jerking and leaving a green streak on the paper in its wake. He was nice enough, apologizing profusely for scaring you. Still, you felt the pit in your stomach that’d become somewhat more manageable recently threaten to engulf your psyche again when he said that Beverly mentioned you were a lapsed Catholic, because of course she would, and expressed disappointment at not seeing you at mass.

“You’ll be at the potluck at least?” he asked. “Sounds like a lot of fun.”

You laughed. “Yeah, the Crock Pot thing. I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic, maybe we can talk more then. I’ve bothered you enough, nearly ruined your painting.”

“Happy accident. I can make a tree,” you said.

“That’s a nice way to look at it, but really, I’ll be going now.” He smiled. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

You caught his profile as he walked away, handsome in the golden hour. Setting your painting supplies aside, you grabbed your sketchbook and a pencil and began drawing. Maybe the guilt you felt was for finding a priest attractive and not the resurgence of your past sins. The word weighed heavy on your conscience. You could sleep better at night convincing yourself you’d made some mistakes. You could learn and grow from mistakes. Sins held magnitude beyond what you could manage on your own.

The day of the potluck, you slept in, only rolling out of bed an hour before it was supposed to start. When you walked over to the gathering, you felt that pit in your stomach causing you trouble again. The islanders’ devotion left a sour taste in your mouth, and seeing the physical embodiment of it in the form of ashen crosses on their foreheads didn’t help.

You made small talk and wandered around with your plate of food, taking a seat on one of the benches. One huge perk of living on the island was the fresh seafood and dozens of people who knew how to cook it all perfectly. Everything on your plate would’ve cost at least sixty dollars in a nice restaurant on the mainland. You got it all for your five dollar donation.

While tearing apart a piece of bread on your plate, you could hear hushed voices arguing to your left. They were either speaking louder or getting closer to you, but either way, you recognized Beverly and Father Paul’s voices.

“Her? Father, she doesn’t attend mass. The church should not be—“

“I’ve made up my mind, Bev,” Father Paul whispered loudly before waving you over. “Y/N, I have something I’d like to run by you.”

You gave him a hesitant nod as you got up from your seat, leaving your plate to walk closer to where he and Beverly were standing.

“I’d like to commission you to paint a mural on the west-facing wall, where the sun sets. I already discussed the idea with Monsignor Pruitt, and he raved about your talents.”

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna end up being the next monkey Jesus lady.”

He gave you an amused smile. “I’ve seen your work. You’re more than capable of what I have in mind.”

“As long as it’s not that godless abstract nonsense,” Beverly interjected.

“Tell that to Alfred Manessier,” you said.

“I don’t know who that is.”

You scoffed. “He was one of the most celebrated modernist painters of the past century. He created some of his best works using St. John of the Cross’ Spiritual Canticles as inspiration.”

“See?” Father Paul interjected. “I can’t think of anyone better for the job. I made a mock-up, a crude sketch, really. I can show you when you have time to go over some of the details I have in mind.”

“Sounds good.”

“You haven’t given your price.”

“Why don’t we work that out afterward?” you said, not sure if you were even going to go through with this. “I am going to need supplies, though. Different paint and materials depending on the type of mural you had in mind.”

“Yes, of course, whatever you need, we’ll have Sturge bring it from the mainland.”

Not long after that, the festival ended on a heartbreaking note as Joe Collie’s dog died, was poisoned more like it, but there was no proof. You didn’t get much sleep that night. It didn’t matter. Early the next working, you were pulled from your half-slumber by a rapid knocking at the door.

Without thinking, you shuffled over, opening it to find Beverly standing on your front porch, less than impressed with your wrinkled pajamas and dazed expression at the sunlight in your face.

“Yeah?”

“Father Paul has time this afternoon to speak with you about the mural.”

“Okay.”

“Will you be there?”

“I guess, what time is it anyway?”

“Seven-thirty, I wanted to come by before the school day began. If you’re not serious about this, don’t waste his time.”

“Alright, I’ll be there around two.”

You didn’t wait for her to respond, shutting the door in her face and heading back to bed. If you woke up in time to make it to the church, you supposed you’d do it. When you lifted your head from the pillow later on and checked the time on your phone, it was a quarter after one. Damn. You were actually doing this.

The otherwise unassuming church seemed to loom over you as you approached. You sighed. It was just a building. Still, you hesitated outside of St. Patrick’s for a minute or so before building up the courage to walk inside. No hellfire or spontaneous combustion upon your arrival. Though, there should have been, with the way Father Paul was sitting on the steps leading up to the altar, legs splayed out in his jeans. Your mouth almost went dry. Suddenly his eyes were on yours. You panicked, dipping your hand in the font and making a sign of the cross with the holy water. That had to absolve you of thinking a priest looked hot for a split second.

He practically jumped up from where he was sitting, closing the distance between you with an excited smile and a folded up piece of paper that he handed to you.

He spoke animatedly and used sweeping motions in reference to the wall and what he wanted it to look like. “Call it divine inspiration, but I had a vision of an angel. It’s burned into my mind. It needs to be up here for the parish to see.”

You looked at his sketch, tilting your head as you took in the monstrous creature that resembled Nosferatu rather than an angel. Still, it wasn’t like artists regularly were commissioned to paint elaborate church murals anymore. You supposed the prestige of being able to say you did such outweighed the odd nature of his vision.

“I was thinking just on the wood wall here. That shouldn’t be too difficult, should it?”

“No, but I think for the best result, I’ll have to strip the existing paint off the wall and then prime it to paint over. That may take up to a week, depending on how much of the wall you want the mural to take up.”

Father Paul chuckled humorlessly. “Bev’s going to have a heart attack when she hears that. Why don’t you write a list of what you need, and I’ll give it to Sturge.”

You would have been surprised at how quickly he agreed if he weren’t so enthusiastic about his vision coming to life. He kept talking, rambling was more like it, about the angel and his vision. There was an air of conspiracy to his voice, almost as if he was telling you something that was meant to be kept between the two of you. His rambling was interrupted by Beverly’s appearance. You took the opportunity to slip out, claiming you promised your mom you’d call her to catch up before dinner.

By the end of the week, you had all of the supplies you needed, and Father Paul gave you free reign of the church when mass wasn’t going on. You hadn’t expected him to be such a big help in the preparations, figuring you’d be scraping the stripped paint off the wall yourself. It made the process go by faster, even though Beverly looked constipated every time she saw the bare wood wall in contrast to the rest of the church. Father Paul had to remind her it was temporary.

The hours spent with him felt almost natural, like you were talking to an old friend. At least, he was nice enough to let you ramble about art and the mural techniques you read about on your phone the past few days. Though, you didn’t miss his offhand comment about how so many great artists were Catholic. You wanted to clarify that you weren’t Catholic, not anymore. Besides, there were great artists of all faiths. The Catholic Church just had the money to bankroll some of the more prominent ones. Deciding it best not to stir up any unnecessary tension before you even started on the project, you let the comments roll off your back, not bothering to acknowledge them. Things were going great, otherwise. At least, they were until it was time for you to actually start painting.

That pit in your stomach started acting up again as soon as Father Paul told you that he went ahead and primed the wall already, so you could start painting the mural.

“I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you’ll work better if I’m not breathing down your neck. Let me know if you need anything,” he said.

You smiled, giving him a silent nod as he left. Hesitation overtook you, soon followed by dread as you looked at the wall in front of you. There was no way to back out, at least not without drawing the ire of the growing number of devout islanders. You hadn’t witnessed Leeza Scarborough’s miracle, and as much as the skeptics tried to talk circles around it, you couldn’t think of any other explanation for what had happened. It scared you, how real the faith you were raised in felt here.

As soon as your brush touched the primed wall, you nearly passed out. It was a holy place, meant to reflect the power and glory of god. You didn’t feel worthy to alter it in such a significant way, as if you were Michaelangelo or DaVinci and not some corporate flunkie who only got such a big severance package because—no, you couldn’t think about it in this church of all places, not one where god seemed suffocatingly present. The brush then fell from your hand with a clatter that seemed to echo through the church, through your ears.

Father Paul spoke your name softly, tentatively, like you were a wounded animal. “Why are you crying?”

You weren’t sure how long you were in your fugue state of despair for him to find you like that. “I don’t think I’m the right person to do this. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s you. It has to be you.”

Shaking your head frantically as he approached you, you threw your hands over your mouth to muffle your sobs. He outstretched his arms, not forcing you to accept his comfort, but you felt inexplicably pulled to him, to the absolution he offered if you’d just accept it.

“Do you know what St. Teresa of Avila said about prayer?”

“What’s that?”

“She said that prayer is allowing yourself to be loved,” he said. “Pray with me.”

He took your hands in his, bowing his head and closing his eyes. You did the same, though you were unable to focus on his words, not when your mind was racing so much. Too loud, too overwhelming, you couldn’t take it.

In the middle of his prayer, you blurted out, “At my old job, my boss did a lot of illegal stuff, and I helped her cover it up because I knew if I did that I’d be set for life. Except it’s been eating me alive ever since. She offered me this huge severance package if I’d sign an NDA when I quit. I can’t–I feel like it’s gonna drown me one day.”

“What did you—surely it can’t be that bad.”

The cry you let out was akin to a howl. “Father Paul, I can’t—I’m a horrible person—“

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been—“ you paused. “I’ve never truly confessed in my life.”

He nodded, understanding and encouragement in his gaze rather than the judgment you expected.

“My boss was one of those cutthroat types. I admired her for it for the longest time, even when she got indicted. I used to work late nights, so I told her if she gave me a raise and a promotion, I’d testify that she was in the office with me on the days the prosecution had her doing some of the stuff she got charged with,” you said. “I thought it wouldn’t bother me. I’d been screwing people over to claw my way up the corporate ladder for years and learned how to shake it off, but this shit—it might as well be in my veins. Some people lost everything because of me, because I lied.”

You were hyperventilating, and all you could focus on was how tightly Father Paul was gripping your shoulders.

“The worst part is, I thought it’d make up for the emptiness. I spent so much time working that I pushed people away, and I wanted something to show for it. I’d give anything to feel that emptiness again,” you choked out. “I am sorry for these and all my sins.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

“No, it’s not.”

“It is. I promise it is. The bible shows us time and time again that god can use our past sins to glorify him, to show the power of forgiveness in the blood of Christ. You feel guilt, regret, and sorrow. That’s good. Your penance,” he said, pointing to the blank wall. “God brought you here knowing you needed absolution, while this church is on the verge of a renaissance. I don’t think something like this happened by chance.”

“Okay,” you breathed. “I—I’ll do it.”

You fumbled your way through the Act of Contrition, Father Paul guiding you through the short prayer you’d embarrassingly forgotten most of the words to. In his name, my god, have mercy.

“God, the Father of mercies, through the death and the resurrection of his son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the church may god give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” he said, making a sign of the cross over you.

You nodded, making a sign of the cross. “Amen.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when he brushed his thumbs along your cheeks, wiping away the tear tracks that’d begun to dry. He smiled kindly, warmly, and you felt warm too. Taking a deep breath, you brought the paintbrush to the wall, making the first stroke of what would become Angulus autem Crockett Insulus, the Angel of Crockett Island.

Work on the mural went smoothly after the roadbump the first day, and you felt better than you had in months. The guilt that’d tethered itself to you for so long had vanished. You’d never received so many compliments on your art in your life. Suddenly dozens of people were admiring your work, regarding it with awe as if it were in a cathedral rather than a small fishing town’s wooden church. Erin even had you come to the school and teach an art class for the students. It helped that Father Paul took every opportunity to talk up your skills whenever someone would mention the mural.

While the lighting in the church was undoubtedly better during the day, you’d work at night sometimes, just to get an idea of how it’d look when no one was around to see it. The shadows that fell over Father Paul’s angel made it appear almost sinister. You wondered if it was something you could fix in the morning, soften it a bit to not be as harsh and imposing.

You almost laughed when you saw Father Paul standing in the door of the sacristy, knocking on the door frame as if it weren’t his church the two of you were standing in.

“I know it’s late, but do you want coffee? I’m about to brew a pot,” he said.

You smiled. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

“Door will be open, just let yourself in when you’re finished here.”

“Oh, in the rectory?”

“Yes, but if that makes you uncomfortable–”

“No, of course not. I’ll be there in a few.”

He made his leave, and you grabbed a paintbrush, noticing an odd, shadowy spot on the angel that wasn’t due to the lighting. You winced a bit. Your hand had started cramping recently. Of course carpal tunnel would catch up with you, working almost non-stop on an elaborate mural would do that.

The last thing you wanted to do was take a break on the progress you’d made. Father Paul’s enthusiasm was infectious, and you didn’t want to lose the inspiration you were running on to bring his vision to life.

Taking a step back, you frowned. The shadow over the angel almost looked worse. You set your brush down, figuring you’d have a better idea of what to do with a fresh set of eyes in the morning.

You kept your supplies on a plastic tarp to avoid getting paint elsewhere, and so it could be easily moved out of the way for mass. From what you’d heard, there was a full house every Sunday, and daily mass actually had decent attendance. You could remember seeing only Beverly, Annie, and Leeza making their way into the old church for the early morning services during the week.

The lights were off in the sacristy, and you took a few tentative steps toward it. You knew there was a door through there that led out back toward the rectory, but something in you hesitated at entering that part of the church. Instead, you walked out the main doors and around the building.

There was an eeriness to the lone house not too far off in the distance. You’d learned from your time on the island that lighthouses were meant to warn incoming ships that they were nearing cliffs or rough waters, not so much welcoming them in as advising them to stay at arms’ length, be aware and alert. The light that shone from the rectory gave you a similar impression.

You walked up to the small house, finding the door open for you. A staticy oldies station played in the living room, Father Paul leaning against the kitchen counter as he waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

“All of this stuff is so old. Radio barely picks up any reception,” he said bashfully.

“It has its charm. This whole island does. I feel like I’m really starting to be part of things.”

“You are!” he exclaimed. “Our resident artist. Everyone’s wondering when they’ll see you at mass.”

“Maybe next Sunday,” you said unconvincingly.

“I think you’ll be impressed at how different it is from what you remember growing up with. Things are changing—for the better,” he said. “How do you take your coffee?”

He grabbed a mug from the cabinet, older and chipped with a faded ‘Crock Pot 2003’ printed on it. He poured the coffee, preparing it to your liking and handing you the mug. You followed him over to the kitchen table, taking the chair next to him rather than on the other side of it.

The radio became the slightest bit clearer a few notes into Dusty Springfield’s version of Son of a Preacher Man. It was one of those songs you grew up hearing, but never truly understood the lyrics until you got older and really listened.

“You know, growing up, I didn’t know Protestant pastors could get married. I thought they were like priests where that wasn’t allowed,” you said. “Do you think it makes that much of a difference? Not being married, or even romantically involved?”

He paused, furrowing his eyebrows before giving you the non-convincing answer of, “It allows me to devote myself to God and focus on my congregation.”

“Yeah, but the Catholic Church is so pro-family, saying all that crap about not using contraception. Why not lead by example? Isn’t it natural to do that?” you asked, stopping yourself before you could go on talking about pregnancy with a priest. “I overstepped, sorry.”

“No, they’re good questions. I’ve thought about them myself.”

“Have you ever wanted to have your Sound of Music moment? Y’know, how Julie Andrews just says ‘Fuck it’ and gives in to her feelings for Christopher Plummer?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Maybe not Christopher Plummer specifically, but in more or less words, yes.”

“Do you ever feel lonely?” you asked softly.

He didn’t speak, only reaching over to squeeze your hand. The suddenness of the tender gesture sent a shock through your system, and you could feel your heart skip a beat. Whoever was the late night DJ at the oldies station must have had it out for you as Roy Orbison’s Only the Lonely started to play.

You squeezed his hand in return. “So do I.”

He stood up, murmuring something about refilling his cup. You kept your slight grip on his hand, standing up from your seat at the table. You shouldn’t have even been thinking about it, not when you’d finally rid yourself of a guilty conscience. The corners of his lips quirked up, and he tilted his head slightly, a silent inquiry as to what you were going to do next.

You kissed him. You kissed a priest, and it didn’t even feel wrong. Father Paul pulled you closer by your entwined hands, releasing it when your chest was pressed against his. He was a bit clumsy, but you’d have been surprised if he weren’t. You opened your mouth for him the slightest bit, feeling his tongue on your lips, inside your mouth, a hesitancy behind his actions still.

Pulling away from him, you caressed his cheek. You couldn’t absolve any guilt he may feel, but you could keep it at bay, only if for a night.

“I want this, Father,” you assured him. “I want you.”

His eyes searched your face for any indication that your words weren’t sincere, and finding none, he pressed his lips to yours with more confidence than before. Still, you took the lead on deepening the kiss as he became more comfortable with how you felt, his nose brushing against the soft skin of your face. His hands held onto your hips, fingers digging gently into your jeans. Your tongue gently swiped at his lips, and he opened his mouth, allowing you access.

Your lips curled into a smile when you finally pulled away, but only to divert your attention to his throat. His breath hitched upon feeling your hand on the side of his neck, thumb pressing into the base of his throat. You bit into the crook of his neck, sucking and biting the same spot until he made a pained noise of protest.

“Don’t worry, Father. I won’t leave a mark,” you whispered, proud of the way he reacted to you, to your touch, feeling his length pressing against you through his pants.

You kissed his neck again, gentle this time, though you slid your hand from his neck, down his torso, to his crotch. Palming him through his pants, you lifted your gaze to see his eyes hooded, head tilted back a bit. He was still holding back, you could tell that much, so you squeezed a bit, feeling his cock twitch against the fabric, his hips involuntarily thrusting.

“Bedroom,” he choked out to your surprise.

Your hands were still on him, groping his crotch, his ass, the softness of his belly as he clumsily led you to the small, sparsely decorated bedroom. He kissed you again, barely managing to shut the door behind him. He moaned into your mouth as you began unbuckling his belt, unzipping his fly and relieving some of the pressure from his hard cock.

His passivity didn’t last long after that. He pushed you onto his bed, lustful determination in his eyes as he undressed you, hesitating just a moment when he reached your panties. As soon as his fingers hooked beneath the waistband, it was like a switch flipped. You watched as he rid himself of his clothes, your fingers teasing your wet pussy when he pulled off his clerical collar and unbuttoned his shirt.

You laid back as he climbed on top of you, allowing him to take the lead. He fondled your breasts, his thumbs brushing your sensitive nipples, making you gasp.

“You’re so soft, honey,” he murmured.

You smiled. Honey. Too sweet for you, what you were doing. Taking one of his hands, you guided it down to your pussy, making him feel your wetness, velvety between your folds. “Softer,” you whispered.

“Fuck,” he groaned, sliding his index and middle fingers inside you.

He pumped them in and out, almost cautiously before you lifted your hips for more. His thumb brushed your clit, rubbing it as he curled his fingers drawing a ragged moan from you. A groan escaped his lips as he felt your pussy clench around his fingers, wet and wanting for something more.

“Father, I need you,” you moaned. “Inside me—I—“

You choked out a gasp as he slid his cock inside you, your pussy clenching around his length as he thrust into you. He pressed your hands into the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours, loving and intimate. You whimpered beneath his intense gaze.

“You’re so good,” he whispered, his voice a bit husky. “Feel good. Take me so well.”

A harsh thrust, and you cried out, throwing your head back on his pillow. He kissed your open mouth, greedy for you. He released your hands, and you immediately grabbed at his forearms, digging your nails into his skin as your body began to tense up before its release.

“I’m close. Father–fuck–I’m gonna—“

“Let go, honey,” he moaned. “I’m there too.”

He came inside you, his cock pumping his cum into your pussy, his thrusts sloppy as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. Your orgasm followed the brief, scandalous realization that you’d let a priest cum in you. Tangling your fingers in his dark hair, you tugged at it as you rode out your orgasm on his cock, not as hard, but still buried inside you.

After a few moments, he pulled out, lying down next to you. His eyes didn’t show any regret or guilt, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

He traced your features with his fingertips, softly, mindlessly, as if he were in a haze until he whispered. “How long have you wanted to do this?”

“Since golden hour.”

“Golden hour,” he repeated softly

“When you first came to see me, I was working on the painting of the fishing hut at sunset. Artists call it golden hour, when the natural light is perfect, like liquid gold.”

“I think I’ve always wanted to, it’s come and gone in waves, but it’s always been there. You—you’re something else.”

“You’ve done this before,” you said, an observation, not in judgment.

He closed his eyes, exhaling as if he were about to make a confession to you. “You asked me earlier if I ever wanted to have my Sound of Music moment. I did. I should have. That mural you’re painting, the angel. It’ll make things right.”

The church bell chimed its midnight tune, and you sighed, reminded of where you were, who you were with. “I should go.”

He gave you a sad smile. “I’m sorry. I wish things were different, that you could stay and—“

“Hey, it’s alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You hastily threw on your clothes and gave him one more kiss before cracking open the front door. Glancing around briefly, you didn’t see anyone else around, and slipped away into the night. The overwhelming guilt you expected to feel never manifested. Instead, you felt almost giddy at the thrill of what you and Father Paul had just done.

When you returned home, you let out a laugh in disbelief. You had no expectations of it becoming a regular thing, that it’d even happen again, you having sex with Father Paul. The subtle intimacy that had coiled around your relationship with him from the start had only magnified with this. Perhaps once was all you needed, but you secretly hoped it’d devolve into something far more torrid.

Bright and early the next morning, you woke up feeling light, almost wanting to chalk up the past night to an unusually vivid wet dream, if it weren’t for the ache between your legs. You decided to detour from the church for the day, opting to work on something else temporarily while you were in a great mood. A smaller part of you worried things would be awkward with Father Paul. He didn’t seem guilty or regretful when you left, but he still had plenty of time to overthink.

You ran into Father Paul as he was leaving the Gunnings’ house, an odd expression on his face as he looked back at the place briefly.

“Would you mind coming by the church later tonight?” he asked. “I have something—it’ll be easier to explain there.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said. “See you later, Father.”

For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, you sat at the docks, sketching portraits of the fishermen as they came and went. They were all so expressive, their weathered skin and deep lines in their faces betraying the decades of hard work they did. You’d heard from the islanders how difficult things had become for the fishermen between the oil spill and restrictions on what they could catch. Still, the ones who recognized you from St. Patrick’s smiled, stopped and talked to you despite being busy. Maybe you really would go to mass on Sunday.

Your stomach reminded you that you’d missed lunch, so you headed back to your house to get something to eat and look over your work from the day. Tonight. Father Paul wanted you to meet him at the church, but didn’t give a time, just at night, after dark. You wondered what he was going to tell you. Surely if it were about the two of you having sex, it could be said privately in the light of day.

Around nine o’clock, you left home again, heading for the church. It was dark. The rectory too. Was he even there? You walked up to the building, opening the front door to near pitch black. For some reason, you stood there, not bothering to call out for him.

The only light in the church came from the sacristy. Your eyes were drawn to your mural for a moment. Somehow, the angel looked like it was enrobed in shadows, far more sinister than when you’d started painting it. Your attention was soon returned to the sacristy. You could hear shuffling, low murmuring, and something almost like a strong gust of wind. Your brow furrowed. Maybe some of the local kids sneaking communion wine.

You took a cautious step toward the illuminated room, and for the first time in years, you truly prayed to god that none of the old wooden floorboards would creak and give you away. Not that you deserved his favor, having repented of your sins and then turning around and sleeping with a priest. The light only grew brighter as you approached, your heart in your throat as you peered into the room where the priest and altar servers would prepare for mass.

Father Paul stood in front of the communion wine. Your eyes were glued to the creature by his side. It looked like it could hardly fit in the room between its height and the width of its wingspan. Huge, imposing, sickeningly pale. It opened its mouth, razor-sharp teeth in full display.

You nearly gasped at the realization of what it was. The angel from the mural. Monstrous, otherworldly in a way that made you want to vomit. Surely even Beverly would regard something like that as demonic. In either shock or self-preservation, you weren’t screaming, though your brain was howling for you to leave. Get the fuck out of there while you still could.

Father Paul looked inexplicably calm around the thing, comfortable, even. You didn’t know how. There was no way you could ever look at something like that and consider it holy. You held your breath as you retreated, internally begging god for enough mercy to get out of the church alive. A floorboard creaked just as you got to the door. You ran.

The cool night air stung your eyes as you bolted down the unpaved roads, too afraid to look back and see if you were even being followed. Aside from a few porch lights, the island was pitch black. All you needed to do was make it home, and you’d be safe. No. You needed to get the fuck off of Crockett Island. Then you’d be safe.

You may have been a shitty person and an even shittier Catholic, but you knew things like this weren’t acts of god. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing all along, a power-hungry false prophet intent on turning the whole island to fit his corrupted vision of holiness.

With a final push of adrenaline pumping through your veins, you sprinted to your house in the distance. As soon as you got inside, you locked the door, pushing one of the kitchen chairs in front of it. Realistically, it wouldn’t do much to stop the angel if it were coming after you. At least you could say you’d done something.

Grabbing your suitcases from under your bed, you opened them on top of your comforter, considering what to pack. You wouldn’t be coming back to Crockett Island. Soon enough, there wouldn’t be anything to come back to. You could tell as much. That thing you saw, the monster in the mural, it couldn’t mean anything good for the islanders. They deserved some kind of warning, even if they didn’t believe you.

You paused for a moment. Your mural was their warning. They could see the grotesque angel materializing for themselves, and they praised it, full of wonder and awe. A voice in the back of your mind said it wasn’t enough, it was a cop-out, another way to shirk responsibility for your actions, falling into old cycles all over again. You drowned out the voice with a bottle of wine you’d kept around for cooking, and shoved clothes and painting supplies in your suitcases in your half-drunk stupor.

Pale, golden light filled your bedroom as the sun rose. With a shaky breath, you looked around your house for the last time. In the weeks you’d been living on Crockett Island, it’d become a home. You should have known it was all too good to be true.

The suitcases in your hands made your fleeing the island appear less conspicuous, going on a short trip with the intention of returning rather than abandoning the community that had taken you in, leaving them at the mercy of the creature that was waiting to pounce.

You bought a round-trip ticket for the Breeze’s morning voyage back to the mainland. Round-trip. As if you’d be coming back.

“Father Paul know you’re headed back to the mainland?” Sturge asked, helping you with your bags.

He’s just a priest. It’s none of his business, you wanted to snap back. Instead, you gave him a small smile. “Yeah, my mom’s come down with pneumonia. I’m gonna help her around the house for a week or two.”

“Late in the season to get pneumonia.”

“Her immune system isn’t great.”

“Maybe bring her on over to the island. Miracles happening here every day.”

You knew your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I think she’d really like that.”

As you watched the island shrink on the horizon, the guilt that settled back in your gut felt comfortably familiar. Maybe you weren’t meant for absolution.

#father paul x reader #father paul hill x reader #midnight mass #father paul hill #slasher x reader #for my own blog organization sorry

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princess-glassred · 25 days ago

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I was listening to Mean Girls the musical last night and I got the idea for a whole semi-cannon compliant Mean Girls IT AU so here's like every single idea had for the au last night

-Alright so obviously the Bowers gang are the titular plastics, but I have decided Richie is our Cady Heron cause I think he is the loser who could have most feasibly ended up in the bowers gang had things gone bad enough for him.

-He's lived in Los Angeles his entire life and was homeschooled growing up too, so going to a shitty small town high school obviously is something he's unfamiliar with. Much like Cady his background has informed his view on social cliques and talking to people, although unlike Cady's who's back ground makes her think of things in an athropological way, Richie's childhood of playing video games, watching movies, and growing up around showbiz types makes him see everything through the lens of the media he consumes. To him, the Bowers gang are not animals, but the big bosses at the end of a video game or every stock villain character he's ever seen in a bad family movie.

-Similarly, Eddie is our Janis (but we're going for semi cannon compliant here, so he is sadly not goth 😔)

-Eddie hates Henry a lot for essentially ruining his life when they were in middle school, they were never friends but they used to ignore each other. Until Henry noticed how close Eddie was with Bill and thought it was important for everyone to know that he was a total fag before they went on a class field trip to a waterpark. There were going to be BOYS in their BATHING SUITS. Everyone had the right to know if Eddie was going to creep on them. His mom ended up forcing him to stay home anyways (which only made the rumor worse), and after Eddie started getting bullied for it Sonia pulled him out of school until high school. When he came back he had his stupid inhaler and all his allergies and he was even weirder than before so obviously he was a total freak to everyone now. Eddie has had a bone to pick with Henry ever since.

-Every other member of the losers club kind of alternates the damian role and have various damien esque traits, Bill gives Eddie rides, Stan's pretty sassy, Bev is concerned with the event planning committee, Ben is made fun of by Henry's gang a lot, and Mike offers like the only sensible advise anyone gets in this entire au.

-Richie is quickly scouted out by the Bowers gang just like Regina scouts Cady, but unlike Cady who is scouted for her beauty, the bowers gang sees Richie's potential as a bully. They're not too concerned with image (i mean look at how they dress) but they see him calling people weird nicknames, intentionally pissing people off, getting under Eddie Kaspbrak's skin and they want him in. They even take a liking to his shitty impressions, in the same way they laugh at Belch's weird habit of belching on people. They just think he seems funny so they wanna invite him to have lunch with them every day for the rest of the week.

-The plastic equivalents are Henry as Regina, Belch as Karen, and Vic as Gretchen. Patricks not really part of the clique but he is here, we will get to him in a bit.

-Belch: So if you're from hollywood, why are you ugly? Vic: omg, Belch you can't just ask people why they're ugly Belch: Well shouldn't he have had like a plastic surgeon out the womb or something???

-The "on wednesdays we wear pink" line stays the same due to Henry's pink leather jacke he wears in the book. Vic's got pink camo pants and Belch has a pink def leopard shirt.

-Richie is very resistant to sitting with the Bowers gang, he can tell they're bad news and awful people but Eddie eggs him on about it. He says he's just a little curious to know what they do all the time, but secretly he's hoping for some kind of big thing to happen that blows the group apart.

-Bev gets judged for hanging out in the boys bathroom like how Damian gets judged for hanging out in the girls bathroom

-Richie: Does anyone have anything in pink I can borrow? Bev: eugh, no. Eddie: I do.

-Richie gets a big gay crush on Connor Bowers, although he doesn't realize he's Henry's cousin until Vic asks if there's anyone at school he likes. Richie very calmly admits he likes a guy since he grew up in a big city full of gays but Vic hushes him about it since they're "friends" and doesn't want him to embarass himself. The fact the guy is Henry's cousin only makes Vic more insistant he keep it quiet, not just because it's taboo to be gay in places like Derry, but because "family members are off limits to friends".

-Connor doesn't seem interested in Richie at all, unless it's platonic Connor isn't interested. Part of it is his own choice, but another part of it is that he genuinely respects and values Henry's opinion. Sure, Henry isn't a saint or anything, but he's his big cousin and if he doesn't want him dating anyone for his own good than he'll listen.

-Still though, Richie will do just about anything for Connor's attention. Despite being a straight A student and generally very good at video games, he flubs both of these things on purpose in hopes Connor will try to teach him. Connor's hardly good at math, and he's definitely worse at street fighter than Richie, but it's worth it to act like he isn't. What's a few bad grades if it means he gets to spend a few minutes staring into Connors eyes or feel his hand wrap against the joystick at the same time as his?

-At Henry's house his dad offers them alcoholic drinks despite still being minors, and his justification is he'd rather kids drink in his house than at other peoples. Henry is kind of embarrassed by this and just tells his dad to go do something "parenty" and leave them alone for a minute.

-The burn book in this is a leather book that's much more understated looking thsn the actual mean girls burn book. Inside of it are most of the kids at school and some of the losers. Eddie is in there with the words "Sissy queer" scribbled all over the page. Henry notes that they haven't thought of anything good for Bill yet and Richie blurts out a quip Eddie made about Bill sounding like Elmer Fudd when he stutters. Richie instantly feels ashamed about repeating it and wonders if that was just one of those things Eddie was allowed to say but no one else, but it's too late and Henry wants him to write it down anyways.

-For halloween all the bowers gang members go as slasher villains and then Richie just goes as a ventriloquest dummy as a joke. All of the BG are confused as to why he's dressed so ridiculous and poor clueless Richie is just like "???? It's halloween???"

-At the party, Henry tells Connor that Richie has a huge crush on him and while Connor thinks it's "kind of cute" Henry immediately tells him off and tells him to shut it down NOW. This sends Richie into a jealous RAGE that gets him ready to commit to the Henry Bowers revenge scheme the rest of the losers are forming.

-Richie's mom has these kalteen bars that she's been using to gain back some weight after losing so much it's unhealthy, so Richie and the rest of the losers use this to mess with Henry. He tells him that he's "sooo scrawny, and weak, all i'm eating are these foreign protein bars that build muscle" and Henry demands he brings him a whole box.

-Also as part of their revenge they dye his hair white, just like book/90's Henry. Vic tries to make him feel better about the weight gain and the white hair by telling him it doesn't look all that bad, but henry just yells "Are you fucking kidding me Vic?! I look like i'm 65!".

-They also find out from making Vic completely crack and spill all of Henry's secrets that Henry cheats on his girlfriend Greta all the time with his friend Patrick Hockstetter. They hook up in the mascot costume in the gym storage closet on top of the sawdust bags, it's really weird. This is an especially rich development considering what he said about Eddie all those years ago proved to just be projection, same for his insistence connor stay single.

-Richie and the losers proceed to use this to their advantage in the most fucked up way possible, by essentially outing Henry to his cousin so Connor will feel betrayed and less likely to listen to him. After all, if Connor feels disillusioned with Henry once he finds out he's not only a big ol cheater but also just projecting, he might consider rebelling and going after Richie.

-Richie is definitely turning into Henry's mini me the longer time goes on, at first it was just talking about Henry all the time, even when Eddie wanted him to shut the fuck up, but things just continued to get worse and worse. Soon he started making fun of Henry behind his back for being fat, being an idiot, being poor, ect. Obviously Henry's said worse things, but Richie says all this mean shit about him while still pretending to he his friend, and he doesn't seem to care if making fun of Henry's weight or financial status hurts Ben or Bev in anyway.

-He can also feel himself becoming more image obsessed, the Bowers gang aren't too concerned with clothes or looks (aside from their lunchtable rules and just general beauty standard stuff) but Richie feels like he has to get more attractive just to make Henry feel worse about his hair and weight. He has to lose his glasses, and comb his hair, and wear cool punk clothes. Who cares if he looks totally unlike himself, Henry's insecure and everybody LOVES Richie, that's all that really matters.

The other losers seem to recognize his ever growing vanity, but Richie makes a lot for excuses for it. He pretends like it's just part of the bit but that completely ignores the fact he is actually kind of liking being hot and the center of attention.

-The sweatpants scene is really sad. Henry is stuffing his face, partly because he's hungry from a diet of nothing but candy bars but also because he's emotionally eating to cope with being outed and all his other problems. Vic and Belch coldly inform him that he's wearing sweatpants on a monday and he needs to go sit somewhere else. Henry all but begs for his friends to let it slide, but when Belch and Vic ask what the big deal is Henry has to shamefully admit he's too fat for any of his jeans anymore. They still don't give a shit though, and what's worse is Richie sits there and says nothing while Henry's life falls apart.

-Right after this Richie becomes aware od his state as the new leader of the Bowers gang when Vic and Belch start asking him advise on who they should pick on next

-The party scene is a total nightmare as to be expected. Maggie and Wentworth are going to be PISSED when they find out their son threw a rager. Part of this is Vic's fault for inviting everyone they knew though.

-Richie gets blasted drunk, vomits all over Connors shoes, chases him outside, then falls to the ground, when he gets back up Eddie and Bill are there and Eddie is furious.

-Bill is in the background riding Silver around in circles pretty aimlessly, every once in a while he'll tell Eddie that he needs to be home in like two minutes and if he doesn't give Eddie a ride home Sonia will probably murder him.

-Eds and Rich have a really disasterous fight.

-"oh my god Eddie, you know i couldn't invite you. I had to still pretend like I was part of the gang." "Buddy it's not pretend! You are part of the gang! You think you're so cool and powerful when really you're just an idiot who talks too much!" "You're the one who made me like this so you could use me for your middle school revenge fantasy!" "Oh my god- you know at least me and Henry Bowers KNOW we're mean. You try to act so fucking innocent like "Oohhh i'm just a widdle nerd, look at my buck teeth and silly voices. Watch me use my sense of humor to never take accountability for the stupid shit I say!"" "You know what Eddie? I'm not your fucking boyfriend, it's not my fault you're in love with me!".

-That was enough to make Bill stop moving his bike right in the middle of the street and just stare at Richie like :0

-Eddie is utterly incesned by this. He is enraged. The betrayal. The audacity. The drama.

-"God, that is just the thing with all of you Bowers goons, you think everyone is in love with you when actually everyone hates you. Like Connor Bowers for example, you drove a wedge between him and his cousin and guess what? HE STILL DOESN'T WANT YOU RICHIE. So why are you still messing with Henry, Richie? I'll tell you why, because you're an asshole! You're a fucking bully!"

-This is a rather pivotal moment for Richie, as it's clear Eddie (and all the other losers mind you) are deeply hurt by how far he's taken this, and it makes him seriously reconsider it all.

-Greta finally informs Henry that those Kalteen bars make you gain weight, but she does it in probably the worst way possible

-"Why are you eating a kalteen bar?" "Because i'm hungry Greta, what the fuck do you think?" "Man I hate those things, my mom's making me eat those to go up a cupsize." "... what?" "My dad sells them at the pharmacy, they're usually for underweight people who wanna gain a lot of weight quickly. My mom thinks it'll make me curvier." "..." "Are you okay, Henry?" "..."

-cue girly over the top scream

-Henry goes home and proceeds to write himself into the burn book with the words "Faggy cow" scribbled around a cut out picture of him with Richie.

-He makes copies of the pages and spreads them all around. Then heads right to the principles office and starts fake sobbing about being called the f slur.

-Ofc everyone goes nuts, Eddie's mad he's being called gay again, Bill's mad the burn book makes fun of his stutter, and everyone is 100% certain this is Richie, Belch, and Vic's fault.

-the whole assembly goes about the same as a movie, Henry says they don't have a clique problem, Vic says he's sorry everyone's so jealous of him for being smarter than everyone else, Henry says something homophobic about Eddie so he admits to all the horrible things he and Richie did to him. And you know... Henry gets hit by a bus. As per usual.

-The whole third act of the movie basically the same with just a few things changed, Richie and Eddie BOTH apologize for what they've said, Connor and Richie decide there's too much toxcicity there for them to date but they decide to be friends anyways, and Henry gets some therapy. Hooraaaaaay.

I now must leave you all with this image which I think is just perfect for this au given the emphasis on lunch tables:

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unknown--author · 9 months ago

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Sewing Clothes and Drinking Tea

I apologize for being gone so long, life got busy. I finished this WIP while in science class because I hate science and decided to post it.

Feedback and criticism are welcome! Just please be nice about it.

QUICK SYNOPSIS or whatever it's called: Professor Crewel and Prefect Yuu bonding over sewing and tea because of a secret influence (you'll know by the end).

CW: Yuu is anxious (probably, it's just my thought process, they might just come off as nervous), I don't know how to describe tea or sewing, this takes place before Book 5 (VDC is referenced but Yuu doesn't know what it is)

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

It's the day of my people :D

Yuu trudged toward the school store, their messenger bag shrugged over their shoulder. Ace and Deuce had torn holes into their uniforms by getting into a scrap with Octavinelle students (read: Floyd). Not only that, but Grim had a spat with Leona, tearing his bow.

Now the trio was employing the prefect to fix their clothes. Yuu sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose. They were going to end up in debt because of their idiots.

As soon as they entered the store, Mr. S was at their side, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry, little devil. We just ran out.”

Yuu had learned not to question how he knew these things. Though, they suspected the shadows had something to do with it. “Really?” Sam always had what they needed in stock. “Did a delivery not come in?”

He shook his head. “No, Divus bought the last of the sewing materials. From how much he got, he’s either working on a new project or a large group of imps wrecked their clothes.”

“Oh.” The prefect clicked their tongue. Dammit, tomorrow was Monday. If Grim didn’t have his bow fixed, Crowley wouldn’t be pleased with them. And while Ace and Deuce weren’t in Ramshackle and, technically, weren’t their responsibility, Yuu would rather not let their friends down. Also, hearing Ace whine about a collar for a week sounded like hell.

“Well, little devil, I’m sure if you asked politely enough, Divus would lend you some.” Sam had obviously noticed their downcast expression.

Yuu perked up. “Do you think?”

“Yes, yes.” Sam went back to stocking behind the counter.

“Wait.” They deflated a bit. “Won’t Professor Crewel be at home? It is the weekend, Mr. S.”

"He keeps all his projects and sewing materials at his school office."

"Why?"

Sam shot a small smile their way. "He works on them in between classes and after school."

"Doesn't he have paperwork to do during those times?" Yuu asked, feeling bemused.

His small smile turned into a cheeky one. "Maybe," he shrugged.

They shook their head in amusement. "Thank you, Mr. S." They turned to leave. "I'll tell you how it goes!"

"There's no need; I'll know," Sam chuckled.

~~~~~~~~~~~

As Yuu walked through the desolate halls, some doubts filled their mind. What if Professor Crewel wasn't there? And if he was, would he listen to them? Would he help? Or would he turn them away with the flick of his wrist? The prefect was quite intimidated by the fur-coat-wearing teacher. And for good reason!

Divus Crewel had a strict way of teaching. He never stood for tardiness or horsing around. Any student who went against him would be punished severely. He taught with a whip and a terrifying glare. And last but not least, he reminded Yuu of Cruella De Vil. She had scared them shitless as a kid. With her freaky design and her intent to kill puppies and skin them for their coats, how could she not have?

They hesitated outside the alchemy classroom door. If they wanted, they could turn back now. They could buy a new bow for Grim. Ace and Deuce aren't precisely their problems, the duo have a housewarden and should know how to care for themselves.

A voice cut off their thoughts. "Come in, pup!" It called through the door.

Yuu creaked the door open at the invitation. The infamous Professor Crewel sat at a desk at the front of the room. He had a needle in his hand while fabric floated around him. "Hello, professor."

"Sam told me you were coming." The shadows seemed to dance when he said that. "What is it that you need?"

"Um, well..." Yuu looked at his forehead, avoiding eye contact. "Uh, you see, Grim and my friends tore a few stitches in their clothing and asked me to fix it up, again. I ran out of the thread and patches I needed, so I went to Mr. S's shop. And, well, you got the last of it.

"Mr. S then said that you maybe, probably, might let me borrow some of the materials?" Their rambling got quicker and quieter the more they went on.

Divus quirked an eyebrow. It was obvious that the prefect was nervous around him. It was no wonder considering his reputation with the student body. "Let me take a look at the damage those pups have done."

Yuu fumbled with their bag before pulling the torn clothing out. They walked over and handed it over to the teacher. He inspected the tears.

Most of Grim's vow was now shredded ribbons, Leona had got him good. Ace had gotten the brunt of Floyd's attack; Deuce's uniform wasn't as bad. Their clothes were torn from a force pulling at them and there were claw marks here and there.

Divus sighed. These pups were always so reckless. "I'll mend these. Pull up a chair." He waved his hand to the side, gesturing toward a seat.

Yuu immediately grabbed one, bringing it over to the side of the teacher's desk. They sat down, watching Professor Crewel work silently.

Some of the black fabric overhead floated down and scissors cut patches out of it. Magic threaded the needle for Divus. He grabbed it out of the air and began sewing the uniforms back into their proper form. The Ramshackle prefect watched in awe at the teacher's skill, but they felt a bit confused.

"Professor," they said, pulling his concentration away from his work. "Why don't you just use magic to sew?"

He sighed, expecting this question. "I don't want to build up too much blot."

"But you're making the fabrics and material float?"

"It's easier to organize them if they're not all dumped on my desk," he answered, a loud snip coming from his scissors. One patch down.

The prefect was about to ask another question but Crewel interrupted them. "Would you like some tea, pup?"

Yuu, caught off-guard by the sudden question, takes a moment to answer. "Um, yes please." After the whole Azul fiasco, they were suspicious of any free things offered to them.

Divus opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a teapot and two teacups seemingly out of nowhere. From Yuu's perspective, the drawer looked like a void. "How did you do that?" they blurted out, amazement on their face.

The teacher stifled a chuckle. "It's an enchantment so the drawer has unlimited space. I cast it back when I started teaching here." He poured tea into the two cups and pushed one toward the teen.

The smell wafted up to their nostrils. They could've died happy then and there; it smelt so wonderful. They couldn't quite put their finger on it even though it was familiar. "What type of tea is this? It smells fantastic!"

"It's a walnut and almond green tea. I had it imported from the Queendom of Roses," Divus said proudly, taking a sip before going back to work.

Yuu took a sip as well, humming in delight. "Is it specially made there?"

He nods, focusing on the needle in his hand. "It's said that the Mad Hatter drank it at his unbirthday parties. Only the people of the queendom know how to brew it."

They muttered something about Riddle and his mother before speaking again. "Hmm, green tea's quite common back home. It's easy to get; you don't need to import it from another country."

"How interesting, pup." Two more loud snips sounded through the room. Two more patches done.

After his indifferent response, Yuu goes quiet. They take a sip of their tea and inspect the cup for something to do. It was plain white with little green leaves attached to thin vines. Each leaf was different in shape and size, but still similar. As they examined the teacup, they realized it looked authentic.

"Professor Crewel, is this handmade?" They held the teacup up so he knew what they were talking about.

Snip. Snip. Snip. Three patches and two uniforms done. "Yes, this set was handmade by an old friend of mine," he said as he grabbed his magic pen. The black fabric floated back up into the air. In its place, strips of grey and white fabric dropped onto the professor's desk.

Yuu watched with fascination as Divus lined up the material meticulously. "Who was the friend?"

"A friend from college, Ansel. He actually went to RSA. We met when I was in my second year and he was in his first." He sounded nostalgic as he spoke. "We met at that year's VDC. Ansel was performing for his team while I was a costume for mine. We went all out that year," he chuckled, now sewing the strips together.

"VDC?" the prefect mumbled before shaking their head. They'll ask about what that is later. "Were you good friends with him? Do you both still talk?"

The man sighed. "Yes, we were good friends. No, I don't talk with him much anymore, pup. We still text every once in a while. Before you ask, the last time we actually talked was at his wedding." He had finished fashioning the strips into a grey and white striped ribbon. Instead of fixing Grim's old bow, he had made a new one.

Yuu quickly downed the rest of their tea before they were handed the new and improved school uniforms. "Ah, thank you, sir."

Divus nodded curtly. "You're welcome, pup. Now run along." He got right back to work mending other clothing articles.

The prefect was about to walk out the door when he called out to them. "Pu- Prefect Yuu?"

They turned around to face him. "Yeah?"

"My door is always open if you need anything." He shot them a small, warm smile.

"Okay, thank you," they said, smiling brightly back at him before leaving.

Unbeknownst to the two, a certain shadow darted out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam was closing up shop when a shadow appeared next to him. It looked lively as it waved its arms around and seemingly danced.

Same glanced at it every now and then, wiping the store's front counter as he "heard" what took place in the alchemy teacher's classroom.

He chuckled afterward. "I knew they'd get along!"

The shadow shook its head in response.

"Look, I know it was bad to lie to the little devil, but hey, it ended up benefitting them. Now they have someone responsible that they can rely on." The shopkeeper bent under his counter and pulled out sewing materials.

"I better go put these back now, huh?"

~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! I'm sorry for any OOC behavior and anything I get wrong about the slight mention of VDC. I haven't made it past book 4 yet. This is my second time writing an actual fic for this fandom and my first time actually posting one! On Sunday, I might post a drawing/painting that goes with this fic. I don't have my sketchbook on me right now.

Belongs to @unknown--author

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ON TUMBLR, AO3, WATTPAD, OR ANY OTHER SITES (yes, I'm this cocky that my work could be stolen)

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst mc #twst yuu #divus crewel #twst crewel #twst fanfic #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland yuu #twst sam #twisted wonderland sam #unknown--author's fic #first fic

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marchsfreakshow · 6 months ago

Text

Poems - Ophelia [James Patrick March]

Part 5 to my poems series. Find the others in my masterlist.

You've won a local award for your poems! You were invited to read a poem out when accepting the award. So you asked your friend to record it for you, James just has to see it!

This is me trying to get back into the flow of writing, and I felt like the poems series needs an update.

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

You sat up, waiting for the man you called your husband to appear. Your news was exciting, and you had to tell James now, since you had been out of town for a few days. Those days were long, tedious and incredibly dull according to him. Not having you around almost brought everything back down to that depressing, boring state of the Cortez.

"James! I have to show you something!" You squealed excitingly as he stepped into the room. His arms holding you tightly. Admiring you still, the ghost hummed. "I know you don't like phones but it's on my phone."

"Is it related to the reason why you had to leave?" He seethed slightly, not particularly revelling in the fact that you kept your trip a secret. But you nodded happily and sat him down. As soon as you sat next to him, you unlocked your phone and opened up your gallery to a sweet picture of you, dressed to the nines standing next to a presenter. You were holding what seemed to be an award, and the largest smile on your face. Your happiness and nervousness was noticed by James, who stared at it for a few moments. "My dear, what is that?" He pointed to the award in your hands, curious as to what it was.

"that's what I want to show you!" You chuckled with a wide smile. Turning the volume on, you presented the video to James, who was immediately encaptured by the video:

"So! This poem I am going to read to you all, is called Ophelia." Applause rumbled as your friend behind the camera gave a little 'whoo!' you cleared your throat and begun; "her eyes, enchanting. That's the only good, to come out of her. It's not that fun you know? Having her, as a lover. Cold heart, never melting. Warm brown eyes...capturing her smile. Love her, seduce her, with those eyes. Ophelia is dangerous. Keep wary, of those... beautiful eyes." Applause brought up again when you finished speaking, your eyes obviously admiring the crowd before you.

James sat there in silence for a bit. "Is.. that why you had to leave my dear? You won an award?" You nodded and James immediately captured you in a kiss, keeping you held tight. "I am very proud of you my hummingbird. More than you could imagine." A bashful smile made it's way onto your face, and you couldn't help but be swayed into such a kiss. A possessiveness that told you to never leave again, but also, pride for the fact his darling now had an award for their work.

"thank you James." He nodded and kissed you again, pressing your body onto the bed below you. So, you had an idea of how James wanted to show his pride for you.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tag: @babygorewhore @taintandviolent @coentinim @nahoyasboyfriend @bluerthanvelvet444 / @yandereunsolved @slutforgarlogan @slvt4jamesmarch @fear-is-truth

#ahs #evan peters #american horror story #james patrick march #james march #james march x reader #jpm x reader #jpm x you #JPM #james march x you #hotel #ahs hotel #ahs imagine

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totally-a-different-person · 5 months ago

Note

The paultryk stans are dying for some nsfw content aka me just me I beg for more 🫧🖤

I love writing for Paul and Pat man they're so underrated, we really need more characters that so fucking silly, we need more goofy idiots, more absolute fools. So I'm always happy to provide! (Nsft past this point, proceed at your own risk)

Paul pretty much ran back to his quarters once he got back, he didn't care how it looked or what the other soldiers would think if they saw him. He had been out getting supplies with Yuu when he got a call from red leader. Patrick also worked today but he was on an actual mission instead of just maintenance jobs. Their cover got blown and Pat didn't know at first so they were able to spike his drink with an aphrodisiac. It was likely just an attempt to make it harder for him to be a threat, but thankfully they made it back fine.

Tord didn't give him much information over the phone, just that he should get back quickly. He'd done the examination himself, after all Patrick was one of his most important soldiers and a close friend, he wanted to make sure he was alright.

Paul tried to be quiet as he opened the door to their bedroom, their living quarters were nicer than most of the others simply because they were high ranking. They didn't even have to have any bunkmates if they didn't want to, Paul and Pat just liked sharing a room though.

Pat was laying in the bed but he wasn't asleep, just shifting and trying to get comfortable, but honestly it felt impossible like this. He was happy to see Paul though, the shorter shutting the door behind him and walking up to the bed to put a hand on his lover's face, mostly to check if he was warm. "Hey, I'm here" he spoke softly, Pat smiling a bit and leaning up to meet his lips in a gentle kiss.

One thing Patrick would always appreciate so much about his boyfriend was that while he was often silly and more laid back in a way that helped Pat balance out some, he also knew just how to be serious when it mattered. The kiss was short, and incredibly sweet and tender, Paul breaking the connection but not moving away from the other "So what's going on? Are you gonna be ok?"

Pat swallowed thickly and nodded "Y-yeah, I'm gonna be fine, Tord said it was some kind of aphrodisiac, but there's nothing we can do to stop it" his already rather flushed cheeks just went more red as he explained, again shifting his legs under the covers. Paul nodded sympathetically, he wanted to hug his boyfriend and squeeze him, but didn't know if that would make it worse, it was so nice to know he was ok though.

"alright, good, is there anything I can do to help then?" He offered with a little smile, but the taller just blushed deeper, ears bright red at this point "Uh, well... Tord said that as far as he knew there would be no harm in... Indulging" obviously it was terribly embarrassing, but he was so hard it hurt and felt like he was on fire, desperate to have his boyfriend's cool hands on his body. Paul laughed softly, getting on the bed as well, on his knees over his boyfriend who stared up at him with his beautiful green eyes.

"You want me to touch you? Do you think it will help?" Patrick nodded quickly, and in truth sure he had absolutely no idea if it would but his body was begging for it. Paul shifted some and sure enough he could feel the taller man's erection under him in the blankets. "Why don't you say please then?" He smirked slightly as he started gently removing the covers from Pat.

The look he received from his lover told him right away that it was not the fucking time, and he backed down right away, doing his best not to laugh "alright alright, I'm sorry. But you shouldn't act so proud, you know you'll be begging later, I bet I won't even have to tell you to" he smirked as he spoke, gently running his hands down Pat's ribcage making him shudder as he mumbled "sh... Shut up"

Paul's rough hands squeezed and caressed the taller's hips for a moment before gently taking his leaking cock in one hand, giving a little sigh and mumbling "oh sweetheart..." an expression of sympathy settling on his features before glancing back up to Pat's face as he started carefully stroking the shaft "will you hand me the lube love?" The other soldier didn't say anything, just quickly reaching into the drawer next to their bed and handing Paul the bottle.

Paul knew that he likely wasn't in the mood to be toyed with, laughing softly and getting comfortable between his legs once the covers were out of the way. The shorter leaned in to place a kiss on Pat's chest, said man turning a deep shade of red. He didn't say anything, but his lover had a sneaking suspicion he just didn't wanna admit that Paul had been right

He was thanked with a kiss on the cheek, which doubled as an apology for having to let his dick go for the moment. Sure enough Pat seemed very sad, but just gave a sad desperate huff and laid down completely again. The shorter opened the lubricant, pouring some on his fingers, then some directly onto his boyfriend's cock making him jump a bit.

"Calm down, don't worry, I'll take care of you~" He spoke sweetly, using his clean hand to take Pat's twitching member again to start stroking again, much more comfortably now with the lube. "O-oh, oh Paul~" He breathed, biting his lip and moaning softly, seeming beyond relieved to finally receive the stimulation he was so desperate for.

"That's right" Paul said softly, having the other spread his legs a little more before slipping two fingers in which earned him a very happy sounding gasp. He stroked Pat with the same pace that he moved his fingers, gently stretching him and opening him up as he moaned and buried his face and the pillow next to him, gripping it tight with one hand. He was even more responsive than usual, it was cute though.

The lanky soldier melted when he added a third, it felt so unbelievably good but the pressure from before wasn't being released, if anything it felt like it was building up more. "F-fuck... Paul, more, please" he requested softly, peeking out of the pillow to give his lover a desperate look that was impossible to refuse.

Paul was searching for the man's prostate as he curled his fingers and received a loud moan. He felt Pat's cock twitch in his hand as he found the little bundle of nerves, the polish man nearly screaming into the pillow as he bucked his hips. The shorter only got to press against it once more before Pat came, blowing his load all over the pilots hand with a sweet and shaking moan.

He was breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling with hazy eyes before gently letting them flutter shut. He could feel feel his fantastic lover gently stroking him through his orgasm. Though the dull green eyes shot open when he felt the fingers pull out of him and Paul's hand let his dick go. He quickly sat up a bit, urgency in his eyes as he did "w-wait don't st-" "I know, I know" Paul quietly hushed him, having only taken his hand back to take his own pants off.

"I've got you..." The mumbled as he pressed his completely hard dick against Pat's hole, watching as he calmed back down, nodding quickly and spreading his legs more. The shorter took that as a sign that it was fine, pushing inside of him relatively slowly and watching as Patrick threw his head back.

"Oh fuck- P-Paul more, please" he was panting, and Paul didn't hesitate to comply with the request, pushing it the rest of the way in moving right away, holding his hips as he gave a few long hard thrusts. Patrick arched his back and squeezed his eyes shut, one hand grabbing desperately onto the blanket and the other coming up to hold Paul's shoulder, gripping tight and pulling him a little closer.

The soldier moaned and cried out every time Paul shoved it inside of him. He whimpered and spread his legs further, not looking his lover in the eyes as he panted, sheepishly asking him to go faster. The shorter felt his heart flutter in his chest listening to the sweet tone of Pat's voice. Paul just thought he sounded so cute, he sped up right away, earning a loud, gorgeous moan with his name comfortably laced in.

He felt his lover's legs hook around his waist, only encouraging him to go harder. Patrick felt like his skin was on fire everywhere his boyfriend's hands touched him and it was the most addicting feeling in the world. He needed it to survive, if he couldn't breathe Paul in for one second it would surely kill him.

As Paul set his brutal and rough pace that he stayed consistent with Pat just allowed himself to melt. He gave desperate, whiney moans every time it was pushed into him, voice starting to get slightly hoarse as he felt his peak approach again, not really used to being so loud. But he hardly cared.

The feeling of his orgasm building was so much more satisfying with Paul inside of him. Being able to hear the pleasure in his boyfriend's voice as he huffed and grunted, his fantastic cock pounding into Pat's warm tight hole. This was perfect. This was what he needed. And then he felt it pull out, and his previously half lidded eyes that were glazed over with bliss shot open.

He tried to sit up some to look at Paul alarmed "What are you doing?? Y-you said you wouldn't-" he was cut off as the shorter flipped him over, putting him on his knees then slamming back into him causing him to nearly scream as it pressed right into his sweet spot. It was embarrassing, but Patrick kind of forgot how easily Paul could toss him around like that just since he was taller. But really he was very light, and the soldier had pretty great upper body strength so it should have been no surprise.

The sub didn't think it could possibly get better, but now he could stuff his face in a pillow, and it was so much deeper, and Paul had the mobility to fuck him even harder. The shortest of the two was starting to get really close as well, one hand tightly gripping Pat's hip as he jammed it into him, and the other came up to grab his hair, the man's eyes shooting open as he realized what was coming.

Paul got a good grip on the dark locks then tugged hard enough to lift Patrick's head out of the pillow as he pushed it as deep as he could. Pat screamed, loud enough that the other soldiers could definitely hear them if it was quiet enough, and came pretty much right away, making a mess of the bedsheets beneath him.

The pilot didn't let go of his hair, but stopped pulling and just shoved his face into a pillow. He thrusts were getting sloppy and inconsistent before finally pushing as deep as he could and releasing inside of his lover, the man giving a pleasant little whimper. They stayed put for a little while, and Pat couldn't have been happier. He felt so much better now. Paul pulled out, affectionately rubbing his hips before guiding him to properly lay down. He cleaned the other up gently with tissues on their bedside table before throwing them away and coming to lay down with him.

He wrapped his arms around Pat from behind and rested his chin on the man's shoulder and feeling the way the other leaned into him. "You feeling any better?" He asked, looking up at him. The green eyed man nodded with a little smile "Yeah, a lot better, thank you"

#sinsworld #sw paul #sw pat #sw paultrick #my writing

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just-another-author-i-guess · 2 years ago

Note

Judd's childhood headcanons?

You betcha 🤭

Tags: idk like mentions of violence and such, Judd being a pyromaniac from a very young age, dead bugs?

Author's note: if we don’t get a baby judd episode in the new season I will riot (,:

Judd childhood hc's

Word count: 1,2K

Both of his parents were absolutely over the moon when he was born

Imagine being an only child in the Birch household, like ngl that sounds pretty sweet

He had their attention aaalll to himself, and he thoroughly enjoyed it

He was quite an active child too, not like hyper but always doing something he was definitely not supposed to do, so he needed either one of his parents to watch him constantly anyways

I feel like he was a pretty “normal” child until Leah was born, sure he was a bit harder to watch than average 2-year-olds but it wasn’t to like a concerning degree or anything

That was until Leah was born

Suddenly having to deal with a new sister, unleashed little monster-gremlin Judd

Not even like five minutes after she was born, when he got to see her in the hospital, did he call her ugly and bald

He probably had an identity crisis when his dad told him he looked like that too

Anyways, Elliot was really empathic towards him, even though he was definitely becoming a bit of a spoiled brat

Like, he sat him down and was like “I know it’s hard for you to get a new sister, but think about how much she’s going to look up to you, blah blah..”

Judd did not listen

So for the next few years, his mission became causing as much trouble for everyone around him as possible and then finding a way to blame it on Leah

Obviously, no one believed that an infant thrashed the house and set fire to a bunch of ants in the backyard

(It was hard to believe toddler Judd even managed to do it lmfao)

That’s another thing, like he wouldn’t hurt big animals, like cats, dogs, raccoons, ect cause he likes those

But he’s definitely responsible for the bug population in town drastically decreasing lol

He would be that type of little kid who burns ants, crushes snails and squeezes bugs to death

I was reading IT right, and patrick apparently has a whole pencil case filled with dead flies AND WHY IS THAT SO JUDD

I could see him bringing that into kindergarten, and when it’s art time he pulls it out and shows the teacher’s kinda proudly and they’re all like 😧✋

This was how he ended in therapy, too

Diane getting a call like “Yeah, uh, your son has a pencil case full of dead bugs and he’s scaring everyone pls come pick him up”

She wasn’t even mad, bc if you’ve seen my other headcannons, yk it would just be even more confirmation that Judd definitely inherited a lot of things from her

He was definitely a very stab-happy kid too

I’m talking deliberately sharpening his pencils to a point and using them as weapons

I can see him having a slingshot too, he would sit somewhere his dad couldn’t see and just shoot rocks at him

Poor Elliot, Judd’s abuse and gremlin behaviours definitely affected him the most

Diane could actually get angry so Judd didn’t dare mess too much with her, and Leah was just a baby so her reactions were usually pretty boring

She didn’t even care when Judd showed her the dead flies smh 🫤

So Elliot was the only good target

Judd was very, very annoyed though, at how he never really got angry, like he’d always just praise Judd for his creativity

If he’s too mean to his dad, Diane will also get mad at him lol

So it’s about finding a balance yk

But back to the therapy thing

I don’t really think Judd got diagnosed with anything, besides being a creepy ass kid

If being creepy is a mental illness, count me in too idc

But like, there’s nothing inherently wrong with him, he just really enjoys causing trouble

So the only thing the therapist recommended was stricter parenting

As both him and Leah got older, his plans of getting rid of her became more thought out as well

There’s that one scene where Nick is a newborn and Judd tries to set fire to Leah’s hair

That is definitely a recurring thing, like he realised if he truly wanted to get rid of Leah he’d have to try something,,, more effective than leaving her random places and trying to get his parents to hate her

So setting her hair on fire seemed like a good idea

I don’t think he grasped the idea that she could actually die, but like if her hair burned off she would be ugly and their parents wouldn’t like her anymore yk? Something like that

Where did a six year old get lighters?? I would like to fucking know

This was also around the time he started to realise, that maybe murder and thrashing the house all the time was not a good idea

Diane probably had a talking to him, and was like “Now you’ve got a new brother, you can’t be trying to set his crib on fire or anything, you’re too old for that now”

That made him switch out his lighter for scissors and that was when is Chucky arc properly started

He cut a b i g chunk of Leah’s hair off while she slept, he cut up a lot of his dad’s clothes and tried to stab multiple of his teachers

Like, one of his teachers would go on to have Leah and Nick later, and would always tell them the story of how much of a menace Judd was and show them their scissor scars

Judd was definitely very spoiled too, he used to act kinda like Nick when he was younger

Little man’s thought he was king of the kindergarten fr

Probably carried over into his first years at school too, like 1st to 5th grade Judd was not much different

Omg,, he was a biter too

Like I can see Diane getting mad at him and hoisting him up by his shirt or something, to carry him to his room, but he would just try to bite her the whole time

The same with his teachers, you touch him, you get bitten

I can see him getting into a lot of fights with other boys at school too, either for making fun of him or his dad

Elliot came to pick him up one day and was like singing a little goofy song or whatever, and the other kids wouldn’t stop making fun of him

(Aw, that’s so cute, little Judd secretly defending his dad’s honour at school)

Bc he definitely wouldn’t tell his parents the real reason he got into a fight

Also, if anyone was bullying Leah in the schoolyard, Judd would straight up just spawn

His spidey senses was tingling fr

But he wouldn’t (And still won’t) hesitate to knock anyone who’s mean to his sister the fuck out

I feel like he’d also secretly slip something delicious he got in his lunchbox into Leah’s

Like, if she had a bad day at school and Judd so happened to have a candy bar (probably stolen lets be honest) He would make it suddenly appear in Leah’s lunch box and act all oblivious about it

That’s another thing, Judd was straight up just born w/o a moral compass

Even as a kid, he didn’t really see stealing, violence, ect as wrong

Well it all depends who he’s stealing from or beating up or whatever

But yk, Diane was (and is probably still) like that lol

Tags: @dlfvrr , @bxbyyyjocelyn

(Lemme know if you want to be tagged!)

#judd birch #big mouth #judd birch x reader #headcannons #big mouth x reader

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flowercrowngods · 9 months ago

Note

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

hmm i don’t know about reading, but writing i can tell you: a the rest of us just live here-esque wayne munson/scott clarke story of how they find each other through the years of canon events

for context, the rest of us just live here is a beautiful YA novel by patrick ness in which the protagonists live in a city where The Chosen Ones kinda wreak havoc every now and then and they’re really just kids who don’t have special powers and who are just dealing with teenage angst and stuff, essentially shining a light on the lives of those who don’t get to change the world but have to live in a world that’s changed

all the canon events still happen, except we get an outsider pov that’s unaware of everything at best, and ignorant of it at worst.

for the sake of ✨hyper specificity✨ let me paint you a picture

the story would start in a little corner café, early enough in the day for scott to stop and grab a coffee because it’s something he used to do in university and then later as a teacher student and then when he started out, and he can’t shake the habit and at this point he doesn’t want to anymore, appreciating the extra bit of time in the morning taken to read up on the news or latest scientific breakthroughs or work on his children’s book series about a bunch of kids who investigate supernatural phenomena in their rural town and get help from their science teacher (he’s a sillyman and i love him)

wayne frequents the same cafe, either in the morning after he worked the graveyard shift and he just wants some good fucking coffee before going home and passing out just as eddie leaves for school, or in the mornings before he has to work the day shift. he almost always runs into scott, but it’s more of a polite nod situation than anything else because they never really have anything to say to each other and scott is always preoccupied while wayne is just dead to the world and here to enjoy the silence

but then one day will goes missing, and they both hear about it. when hawkins PD organises and mobilises the whole town to comb the forest for any traces of will, scott and wayne end up finding each other, spending the search together, and they get talking about will — whether scott knew him, whether he was a good kid, whether scott thinks the kid just up and left or if something terrible must have happened. they also talk about eddie, after an hour or two, about why wayne is here if he doesn’t even know will.

“that kid is someone’s boy. if anything were to happen to my boy, i’d want the whole town on its damn feet looking for him.”

they don’t find will, but with that first instance of talking, the two of them don’t really stop. they gravitate toward each other in the mornings; wayne finding a table with two chairs, inviting scott to take a seat even if they sit in silence as scott reads or writes or grades some tests. they instantly fall into a comfortable dynamic that shouldn’t work but it does.

at some point they like really get talking and sometimes when scott has a free first period wayne will stay as long as he can and they’ll just talk the whole time and scott finds that wayne is super smart but more in a practical way and wayne finds that scott is obviously smart in the hypotheticals and the natural sciences and explains things in a way that doesn’t feel too draining or too much. and sometimes when scott is writing or stuck at a particular scene or plot point, wayne helps him out. because eddie gets his storytelling ways from wayne actually. the man’s an avid storyteller if he wants to be; he just usually has a deadpan way about it now that eddie’s a teen, doesn’t make a big deal of the vivid imagination he has, but scott learns to appreciate it anyway.

and wayne tells stories about mysterious monster dogs living in the junkyard (bc the man sees shit that man is aware that man is nocturnal by trade and this town can’t fool him!!!!) — and it’s fine while it stays like that, but soon they’re talking about will again; about kids and teenagers dying in this town. first the holland girl, then so many others. scott knew them all, is haunted by it, gets oddly quiet and wayne wants to change the topic, but he knows something’s wrong in this town.

he talks about moving, too, wants to take eddie with him and leave, but then he ends up not doing it when things calm down in the summer of ‘85 and the mayor resigns and the police is more present. even though the chief is dead. and that hargrove boy. still he decides he’ll stay, knows eddie wants to try one more time even though wayne doesn’t care about shit like that, knows that eddie’ll fall through the system and still find his way — scott agrees every time, speaks of eddie in the highest praise, adoring the way he thinks and the strategies he has to turn everything he learns into some sort of story setting. scott feels for both eddie and wayne every time he hears that the boy flunked a test again, failed his finals, skipped school for a week. he knows how cruel it is, this system, to boys like eddie munson.

things are fine when eddie starts senior year again, wayne says the boy is determined that this time it’ll work out, this time he’ll make him proud and stick it to the rest of hawkins. scott believes him. believes in eddie. lays his hand on wayne’s and smiles, and wayne smiles back.

and then kids are dying again. one of them in his home. and eddie is gone and people don’t talk to wayne anymore because he’s the Devil’s blood, but scott finds him anyway and holds him and tells him that “i’m here.” and “i’m sorry.” and “let’s go look for your eddie.”

and then eddie is dead but not really, and then there are so many kids in that tiny hospital room who didn’t die but look like they’ve looked death in the eye anyway, and maybe this town is cursed, but eddie is back and he’s alive and scott never left wayne’s side, not even in this claustrophobic hospital room that’s posing a fire hazard — but they’ve learned that a fire hazard is the least of their problems, especially when it’s caused by people caring for his boy.

and when that harrington boy is holding eddie’s hand in the hospital bed and on the living room couch like he’s afraid the boy will disappear if he looks away, wayne reaches for scott’s hand, too, because he doesn’t want the man to disappear either. ever again.

and he keeps holding that hand when his kids disappear again to save the world, leaving him with haunted looks that pull up into teary-eyed smiles and the pale promise to come back. and he keeps holding that hand when they come back, when it’s the harrington boy who needs his hand held in a hospital room with eddie refusing to let go. and he keeps holding that hand when scott joins eddie by steve’s bed and takes over with the storytelling. and he keeps holding that hand when he joins in. and he keeps holding that hand when the kids start crying because it’s scott’s tale that makes them realise that they’ve won. that it’s over.

he pulls scott out of the hospital room into the dark and empty hallway and tells him, “i love you.”

because the man is more than ridiculous sweater vests and wholesome funny quirky stories and an ever sunny disposition and scientific tangents about aliens and their existence over his fifth cup of coffee that afternoon that makes wayne contemplate whether he should consider grabbing decaf the next time he’s out for groceries.

the man also makes him dinner and lunch and breakfast and coffee when his nephew is missing and presumed dead. the man massages his shoulders and scalp when wayne’s been on the brink of tears for too many hours now. the man will talk in quiet hushed tones when the police sirens are too loud, and he will shut up when wayne needs nothing but silence.

they have become attuned to each other over the course of 3 years without realising it.

and they can hold hands about it if they want to because the world ended and children died and the government screwed them all over, so maybe it doesn’t matter if two men in their late forties or early fifties decide that each other is what they want next in life.

scott kisses him for the first time in that dark hallway outside that hospital room, holding wayne to his chest as they wait for the kids to trail out of the room one by one so they can drive them home.

the world ended and then it didn’t, and scott and wayne fell in love along the way.

🤍🌷 come ask me questions for writers

#scott clarke #wayne munson #scott clarke/wayne munson #clarkson #steddie #it’s always background steddie for my clarkson fics what do you meaannnnnn #i think this post is the epitome of ‘hyperspecific au i am the only audience for’ hdhdhd #ask game answered

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egcdeath · 7 months ago

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hello hello how are u!!?

i’ve been rereading a few of ur fics hehe i just wanna say that i love ur writing omfg like yes plz i wanna eat the words

ok ok so i’d love to know ur thoughts on a bully!patrick x reader?? he’s just so cocky and i’d love to see what would happen if he pushed *juuuuuust* a bit further…

maybe it’s their college years and he is practically jeering and ragging at the reader while she’s at her sports practice. i think patrick would like the way her face scrunches up in anger, but she ignores him because she knows better than to go back and forth due to his quick wit. he’d act like a schoolboy. i think he’d also like getting real up close and personal w her, but never touching. and maybe he’d even go as far as to pull at her hair. “accidentally”. hooooooo boy, and the sexual undertones within it all. reasons seemingly unknown, but i believe he just has a crush on the reader, he’s being a hellish brat about it.

and reader enjoys is cuz patrick has a certain charm and he’s just so irresistible xxx but sometimes she wishes he was nicer to her but also where’s the fun in that?? and at certain times maybe he shows that he cares about her…like omg my heart

…ok i am so sorry for rambling i did NOT expect to go into such detail and also sorry if it’s a little corny😭😭😭 anyway, you don’t necessarily have to write headcanons or a fic, i more so would just love to hear ur thoughts on it, the whole bully aspect is really interesting (and hot) to me 🫢 ok again sorry for writing a whole novel in here hope ur having a good day! ur most recent fic was [chefs kiss] and im excited to read what u have cooking up x

omg i absolutely LOVE this concept!! what i immediately thought of was patrick and the reader being in very similar tennis circles (idk how tennis works so lets just assume that they're playing at similar events and reader is obviously playing w women) and like, at first, you cannot stand this man at all. like he always seems to find you before you play, or at your hotel after you've played, or at parties for the players, and he ALWAYS has something to say. a comment on your technique. a snide remark on how you played that day. a taunt about how you're never gonna beat the opponent you're playing against that day.

but the thing is... in a way, his bullying kinda helps you perform better? like he gets you so riled up and feeling so spiteful that you goes out onto the court and demolishes whoever you're playing against. so in a way it's kinda helpful... but also fucking annoying.

and like, at first you try to go back and forth with him but you literally never win the verbal spars so one day you just give up. and also part of you knows that he doesn't genuinely mean it?? maybe he even knows that his pestering is helpful to you and maybe thats why he does it?? but he is being an annoying pest regardless and you can't deal with him buzzing around your ear all the time and getting in your head before you play. so you just stop entertaining it.

but once you stop entertaining it, he gets kinda worried. like you've had this thing going on for a while and now suddenly you just don't care anymore. so now his gibes turn into questioning you CONSTANTLY. are you seeing someone? are you planning something?? what changed?? and when that doesn't work out for him he starts being nice to you. and thats when you start getting worried. i think this would make them have to admit their feelings to each other then BOOM happily ever after!!

i loveee this idea and it was so fun to think about! i'm usually a little iffy about bullying stuff buttt i could totally see it working in this context.

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #josh o'connor x reader #challengers

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clockworkouroboros · 1 year ago

Text

Now that the 60th anniversary specials are all out, I guess I'm gonna share my thoughts about them all, because it's the internet or whatever. Overall, I do think there's a lot of good in these specials. The fan service is absolutely there, but it's been done in a different way than some of the past special episodes, and it really acknowledges I think the many different kinds of Doctor Who fans, from the people who just watch the revived series (or even just bits and pieces of the revived series) to fans of Classic Who and even those of us crazy enough to get into the extended universe. I mean, featuring Beep the Meep and the Toymaker as your two Big Villains is both ridiculous and speaks to the nature of Doctor Who fans that we were all so excited for them. So. A lot of really nice things about these specials all around.

In The Star Beast, we got a really nice blend of nostalgia for the original Tennant era with new, interesting characters and a healthy amount of fan service towards Beep the Meep's half a dozen fans. Between those three things and RTD's obvious love letter to and heartfelt (if perhaps a little clunky) support of queer (and especially trans) people, it's easy to look past the episode's flaws; namely, that it's very light on the plot, and the handwavey bullshit that retcons Donna losing her memories completely undercuts the emotional heavy hitting of Donna losing her memories. You mean it was *always* that easy? Fuck right off.

Wild Blue Yonder really brought in, for me, more than a hint of Wilderness Years Who. The bottle episode slightly claustrophobic feel, the terrifying unexplainable Not-Things, the goddamn salt—I thought this story was the strongest in the set. I think RTD, like many writers, has a tendency to try and make things bigger and bigger and bigger, when really, his best stories tend to be like this. Consider Midnight as another example—brilliant, terrifying, and also very similar to some of the more experimental stories of the wilderness years. If I had a complaint about this story, it's that I would want it to play into more of the sense of sensory deprivation that stories like Midnight and Scherzo did. But honestly, that's a nitpick. It infuriates me a little bit—RTD likes to go in for some spectacle, as seen in The Star Beast and especially in The Giggle (and also the s3 and s4 finales, and also DT's regeneration story, and also and also and also)—but some of his best work is done when he doesn't allow himself the spectacle and instead really pares everything down to the barest of bare bones.

And, honestly? The Giggle was a bit of a letdown. There are so many ways you could bring the Toymaker into Who again, and he ended up sort of being an afterthought. Neil Patrick Harris was obviously having a grand old time in the role, which is great—so why not give him a little more to chew on? I thought there was a lot that was great—Donna and the Doctor in the Toymaker's domain, as an example. I think, building off of Wild Blue Yonder, coming back again and again to just how much the Doctor has been through and how that has affected them, was also a really nice thing to include, and something that I wish had been brought up more during Thirteen's run, because she really went through it.

But that also brings me to my biggest issue with The Giggle, and that is the way David Tennant's Doctor (Fourteen? TenThree? TenTeen?) has been written in a way that still is overshadowing Ncuti Gatwa's Doctor. This was honestly one of my biggest concerns as soon as Tennant's return was announced, and one of RTD's past issues in Who has been his chronic overshadowing of characters of color in favor of a white fan favorite. (Martha and Mickey both get this treatment.) The regeneration scene pissed me off in a way that I didn't think Doctor Who could piss me off—generally speaking, I'm pretty level-headed about most Doctor Who things because this show is ridiculous enough that you sort of have to just roll with it. I already adore Ncuti's Doctor (from his extremely limited amount of screentime), but I can't help but feel that he's been cheated out of a proper introduction because he had to share his limited screentime with David Tennant, the most popular Doctor to ever exist in the show's 60-year history. Likewise, because of this ridiculous Journey's End 2: This Time It's Stupider nonsense, I'm genuinely concerned RTD will randomly bring DT back for some fun multi-Doctor fanwanks, and sort of write all over the first Doctor of color's era with David Tennant. Not that that will happen (I certainly hope not, anyway), but the fact that he's leaving it open as an option already has me worried.

So. Yeah. Maybe I'm being harsher on RTD than I would otherwise be, because the nostalgia for having him back is so ridiculously high that it's driving me a little insane, or maybe these are genuine issues. I'm not upset that he's back, but these specials—and especially The Giggle—left me extremely wary that we're going to get the same exact issues that he brought to Who in his first run. Overall it'll be fine, and again, I did get a lot of enjoyment out of these specials! There's a lot about RTD's writing that is objectively both good and consistent. That doesn't mean I'm not holding my breath going forward.

#dw spoilers #the star beast #wild blue yonder #the giggle #russel t davies #doctor who #fourteenth doctor #fifteenth doctor #sorry for the wall of text #and a reminder to everyone that you do NOT have to agree with anything that i say even a little!#i genuinely am not trying to shit on rtd i'm just concerned #so. yeah.

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thefourchimes · 7 months ago

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Can you tell me more about the Four Chimes AU?

What paths did you originally have planned for Robin? I wanna see how close my own ideas are lol :D :D :D

And tell us more about the Chimes themselves please? Like what are they like? What kind of abilities do they have? I may need some ideas for a fight scene... hehe

so. four chimes au my beloved. the reason why my url name is the way it is, even when im an encanto centered blog AHSFUIAHSF but yeah, here we go then! also, finn mentioned you can send him asks too, he would love to answer you about this as well yeye

anywho, lore dump time! made with a tag team between me and finn

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Can you tell me more about the Four Chimes AU?

the four chimes verse is essentially an amalgamation of my want—need—for badass max, max angst, elumax angst, just general party and co angst, apocalypse four shenanigans, several unexplored character interactions and dynamics, the four horsemen of the apocalypse concept, and everything else that comes with this plus things i wasnt able to mention its very self indulgent ngl

but yes, it's about the apocalypse four (max, patrick, fred, and chrissy) and how they get turned into the upside down four horsemen of the apocalypse aka the four chimes of catastrophe by vecna, and they become his way of furthering chaos and destruction in hawkins, while also using them to get rid of his thorns aka the party and co

nobody's having a fun time lol

i've already got a lot of it planned out, i just need to write it lmao asufhaishdf

its funny because this all started when finn sent an ask to his friend about how the four victims of vecna are paralleled to the four horsemen of the apocalypse

on top of me already thinking about this, i saw the ask and pretty much ran with it

also, here's a bonus just for you! the following are the arc names of the og four chimes au (and technically still the general arc names regardless of the sub aus, tho ofc with some differences here and there):

pre-shattering

during catastrophe - the four chimes

during catastrophe - contact to familiarity

during catastrophe - jailbreak

during catastrophe - void dark

during catastrophe - escape the dark

during catastrophe - resonance

during catastrophe - the end

post-apocalypse

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What paths did you originally have planned for Robin? I wanna see how close my own ideas are lol :D :D :D

so robin is very feral yes AHSIFUHASf

im pretty sure i explained it a bit before but robin got hit by an arrow that was meant for nancy in the ciquest au, and because of nancy, she's able to find the will to fight back against the infection instead of succumbing to it, making it her own

One and the chimes sees how she's evolving and don't like it, so lence's suggestion of getting nancy takes priority, and so it happens

nance becomes quest and now the battle is on

robin is obviously devastated and the gang is slightly in shambles because of how much nancy brings to the table, and now she's gone—no, worse, she's being used for the other side

so robin steps up to the plate in multiple ways, trying her best to fill the void nancy was forced to leave behind

the burden on her is so heavy considering she got a power she technically never expected to have nor wanted, but now it's on her to make the most use of it

she usually questions why it was her who was in this situation and literally not anybody else who she thinks could definitely do better

lots of questions and wondering for her

now, unlike with renegade, she doesn't lose herself technically, but she gets close, like a lot

though should i mention that there was a little kidnapping that happened? the person who was kidnapped in question being someone who is very important to robin and may have caused a some strain and conflict for her and the chimes?

yeah, the chimes kidnapped steve to lure robin to them so that they can take her down

it was conquest's idea :)

robin was very much not happy about that btw

lots of things happen and as said, robin was very much close to losing it so many times but she doesn't for a couple of reasons

renegade is a completely new take and direction of ciquest and just four chimes in general, and im so interested in seeing where it goes, so very interested <333

i feel like im not able to tell robin's full story here, both because we want to keep some things hidden and also because my brain is kinda not working rn AHSFUHASF mb on that one

but yeah, that's generally it, tho if you got more questions, feel free to send an ask to either me or finn, and if we remember something in particular, we'll make sure to mention it

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And tell us more about the Chimes themselves please? Like what are they like? What kind of abilities do they have? I may need some ideas for a fight scene… hehe

here's the longest part because...lore dump yes

the chimes our beloveds <33

so the chimes. in our 68600 messages (as of the moment) of a four chimes dump, we've built up the characters and personalities of the chimes, and somewhere in this thread is the scattered information on them

now, i unfortunately dont have the time and patience to go through the thread to find all of the little information, but we'll do our best to give a good rundown of their characters

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here you go with the characters and personalities first:

famine

wields throwing knives

very loyal to One (meaning he gaslit her so much for that loyalty to come to be, a consequence of being his first chime)

wants to be the leader because she thinks (and is gaslit to think) that she deserves it (One really likes to cause discord between his chimes)

having no prior connection to the main gang—or thorns as they call the gang—besides eddie who is dead and a spectre here, so she's the one who has the least moments of "remembering their past life" before

is very brutal and ruthless and likely the one the gang got the most injuries from in a general sense

death

wields a large scythe

my secret blorb

most likely to actually defy One, and fun fact, he has an au called the runaway au where he, a chime in the middle of the battle between the upside down and right side up, got to run and escape from One before certain things happened, which then causes a chain reaction in this au ofc

he's a coward, and this plays a lot into his actions and interactions

technically had a connection with nancy in the gang, but with conquest here, it gets harder for him to connect, but robin actually steps up to the plate here

war

wields a sword

is the most balanced out of everyone when looking at his loyalty and his defiance to One, in the middle of the pack in that sense

his past life of abuse shows up a lot when it comes to One, so he tends to throw others under the bus to not get caught in the crossfire (not that he wants to do this, but he also doesnt want to gain One's ire)

just generally very chill, the most chill out of every one here

is the medic of the team because of how he's the personification of war

has a connection with lucas in the gang, so that's something that gets him to "remember" some stuff in a way

pestilence

wields bow and arrows

finn and mine's blorb

leader in og, former leader in ciquest/conquest

if you can only see the rambles we have on her…it will take days to get through

will take the bullet for the other chimes when it comes to One's ire

vec has a tighter hold on her because she's max

literally connected with everyone, will have a lot of moments where she feels familiarity (and will subsequently get punished for it later)

second most gaslit by One in a way, which is big oof

conquest

wields a sawed-off shotgun

the leader in ciquest/conquest aus

very protective of all the chimes and especially lence

vec also has tighter hold on her because she's nancy

last one to fall, was suggested by lence to be taken

more aware of things than the other chimes, but still completely controlled by One

same case as lence, but even more so considering she's been there since the start of it all (does her best to take most of lence's punishments as her own when One goes after them)

gets very hyperfocused with robin (vaguely aware the thorn makes her weak in some sense but quest doesn't care), but is frustrated she cant hurt her too much because lence will get hurt too (and maybe another reason deep down, but she doesnt acknowledge it)

all of them

they're all dog coded

One can summon them/call them whenever and its shown through the shivering cold in their necks, like what happens with will

One wants them to be just the way he wants them, meaning the way they died and got transformed into chimes must be how they are no matter what (this includes clothes, hair, weapons, and everything in general)

the only new addition he accepts them to have are new scars :')

the chimes have such a complicated relationship, but at the end of the day, post-vec, they love each other

note for them individually: there's a lot more that i want to add but my brain is blanking a little and i am probably forgetting some things, but here are some of the important things to note (remember this is incomplete to everything we wanna add ASFHUIASFh)

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some relationship notes (by pairs, groups are another story)

min clashes with death when it comes to lence, but otherwise are fine with each other, neutral in general but are connected as the first two chimes of One

min and war are not quite friends, more distant than friends but closer than allies… (very interesting when you note how they were in their Before)

has a very one-sided antagonistic rivalry with lence, especially when it comes to the leadership position (this changes a bit when quest is in play as she's the leader, but there's still the rivalry with lence despite not being leader in ciquest/conquest), will be very callous in a way with her, but they actually work well together, especially as the similar twin concepts of famine and pestilence

quest is able to take min's bitterness mostly in a stride and keeps her in check from being too antagonistic when it comes to leadership roles and just generally (helps because quest understands them in a way, though she doesnt understand why she does)

death and war are more or less chill with each other, most cordial relationship out of every single chime relationship and the least tension filled, just vibing so real (though war knows death is a coward and death knows that war knows it)

death and lence are surprisingly close, only second to quest for lence (and death too technically, which is inspired by their Before), this relationship is due to the fact that in canon, max got to see and technically interact with chrissy, patrick, and nancy, but never with fred, so we saw it and ran with it and now they're close here

death and quest are more or less okay with each other, and their Before helped them understand each other better, unlike the other chimes' Before affecting their relationships in another way

war and lence are complicated, since war throws lence under the bus the most (especially in og) to avoid One's ire, and lence understands why, because of her own Before (and it doesnt help that she takes bullets for the other chimes), but they're both fine more or less

war and quest are similar to min and lence with the similar concepts, war and conquest, fire and lava, war follows quest to the T (just like he does with lence in og but more so here with quest), and they work well together because of their similar concepts

lence and quest are the closest out of everyone, helped by their Before and their instincts with each other, confides with each other a lot and are just helping each other no matter what, tho ofc this comes with the consequence of One seeing this "weakness" of theirs and using this bond between them to punish them when he sees fit

although here's a note about this too: finn said "honestly tho their relationships r So complicated its hard to capture in a few sentences", and i agree, what you just read is just some general thoughts on their relationships, but god is there so much more to them all, and if we want to really show you the relationships in full, we would have to ramble it all out ASHUFIUASHF but yeah

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here you go with their abilities:

famine

knife throwing, very fast and precise

the fastest of the chimes

can cripple the energy and power of a person

takes down the food supply and wilts crops

can take the energy and vitality of a being and/or object

death

scythe proficiency

is the slowest of the chimes

everything related to death

teleportation through the shadows

summon bone beings

forming shadow tendrils kinda

exudes the ambiance of the end of life, striking a deep sense of fear

war

fireeeee

flame sword, very proficient with swords

second fastest of the chimes

use the molotovs and flamethrowers against the gang because fire for real

hot skin, literally

can cause a sense of crisis and rage in those near

lence

causes sickness (through arrows) and disorientation of people (through aura exuded)

poison arrows

has a balisong (one she had as max—this is an hc we have) and uses it as an extra weapon

second slowest of the chimes

infect people to insanity or to do her bidding

also wilts flowers and plants in general

aura vision (she's blind because of her interrupted transformation due to el but she can see the sort of "auras" of beings, especially the upside down ones)

quest

gun proficient (obviously)

very precise shots

her gun can either fire in a scattered way like a shotgun or only one bullet at a time, it depends on quest herself

lava (we were thinking mix of fire and earth for conquest, hence lava)

also hot skin, literally

in the middle of the fast and slow spectrum

can summon different types of guns, smaller guns takes less energy for her actually, but One doesn't like that so she doesn't do it much, if at all

all

sort of intangibility (only works when they're full on chime mindset, if their anchor selves start waking up and breaching the surface, they become vulnerable and the intangibility doesnt work)

connected to One's power

summoning their weapons

connected to their hounds (their horses)

faster healing

technically immortality (as long as One is around)

and bonus!

robin

connected to lence, draws power from her

trying to infect her even more causes robin to grow stronger and lence to grow weaker (this is important to note heheheh)

means she's a bit more feral though (she gets close to losing herself but doesnt fully)

becomes more durable and stronger and the best at dealing with the chimes in the long run

also faster healing

another note: i am very sure i forgot some things so yeah, assume this list is incomplete AHSFIUHASF but thats what we can remember off the top of our heads

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anywho, yeah! that's pretty much a lore dump and a half, except i also know its not complete and there's still so much more we want to say but are unable to mention it for several reasons

but maybe those are asks for another day (wink wink, go check out @lumaxramblings' askbox too yesyes)

thank you for the ask! and i hope this helped with the renegade au yesyes <33

see ya around

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