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munsons-hellfire · 2 years ago

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Chapter 2: Damsel In Distress

SUMMARY: You've settled down into your apartment now its time for you to find a teaching job, and Eddie wants to take you out to get to know you better and more about your past. All while your dad and brother set up a little welcome home party as well as a meet the crew party, but things seem to take a sideways turn and not in a good way.

PAIRINGS: Biker!Eddie Munson x Teacher!Fem!Reader

PART 2 IN THE DARK PARADISE SERIES

CONTENT WARNINGS: MFW (can still be read at work), a little angsty towards the end, Part 2, Biker!Eddie Munson, Teacher!Reader, no use of y/n (though bug is used), implied pet names, she/her pronouns (but barley used), Reader is 24 (turning 25 soon), Eddie is 26, post-upside down, vecna is defeated (will be mentioned in later parts), language, angst, mentions of drugs, mentions of murder, rival biker gang

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here is part 2, I hope you enjoyed it and are enjoying this series so far. I hope you enjoy this part, I apologize for it being so long, I thought about splitting it up but my gut was just telling me to keep going and end on a slight cliff hanger. It’ll be picked up in part 3 though so fear not. The ending that I had was not the intended direction I was heading for but I like how it ended so it's sticking, I just really got into writing this part which is why it's so long. Plus I’m a sucker for angst, so I had to have something in this part. As we progress through this series it will start to get more mature and will eventually be for readers over 18+ with eventual smut as well. I just haven't decided when it’ll get more mature and when the eventual smut will happen. I did make a playlist for this series, the link to the playlist can be found in the series masterlist under "word count". And if you’d like to be added to the permanent tags let me know in the comments or send me a message. And please feel free to send some asks if you wanna know more about Eddie and Reader’s relationship or other characters in the series. I would love that a lot, it makes me excited and happy about my series.

WORD COUNT: 6.2K Words

THE DARK PARADISE SERIES MASTERLIST

The birds were chirping outside, you could hear them through the open window in your apartment. It was a warm night in the middle of August, which you thought was odd considering August seemed to have some hot days already. You turned on your air mattress and reached out for your phone that rested on the floor and had been connected to the charger. You watched the screen pop up so you could look at the time.

There was a text message from your brother and one from your dad. Luckily there was no text message from your ex. You had blocked the number she had used last night to contact you, but you wouldn't put it past her to get another number and start texting and calling you again. If that were the case you knew you would be turning your phone off a lot until you could get a new one.

After looking at the messages left from your dad and brother you decided to get ready so you could head out and look for a new teaching position. Your old school would be sending over whatever paperwork that would be needed for your hire. You had your resumé and portfolio ready. After getting ready for the day you grabbed everything you needed and headed towards your front door.

You opened the door and went to walk out only to see Eddie standing at your door ready to knock. A sudden gasp left your lips as Eddie stared down at you. You looked pretty today, Eddie couldn't deny that. The way you had dressed caused the man to smile and try and hide the blush that was creeping up his neck. You held onto your bag tightly. Your phone was in your pocket and your keys were in your left hand.

"What are you doing here?" You questioned, eyes scanning Eddie for any trace of a lie he might throw out.

"I came to see you, Bug." Eddie said, smirking after watching the roll of her eyes. So she likes to be a brat? He thought to himself as he continued to stare at you.

"Please don't call me Bug, that name is only reserved for Sam and my dad." You were stern when you told Eddie how you felt about the nickname.

"Okay, so what can I call you?" Eddie clearly wanted to know your name and you were definitely hesitant to tell him. Without a second thought crossing your mind your name dropped from your lips. Eddie smiled triumphantly. He repeated your name like he had been saying it all his life, and if you were being honest with yourself you really like how your name rolled off his tongue.

Then you wondered what he'd be like in the sheets, what he would be like with his tongue on you. Before you could get any further into the little thoughts you were having your phone started to ring. You forgot you had turned the sound back on. You answered the phone without checking who was calling you.

"Hello." You called out, Eddie was waiting for the phone call to end so he ended up leaning against the wall while you turned around and closed your door to look up.

"You are some bitch, you know that. You really think you can skip town on me and leave me behind."

You sighed and turned away from Eddie. He would still be able to hear everything but you didn't want him to see your face. You didn't want to see him the way she was making you feel.

"Jules, look, we broke up, I moved on, and you need to do the same." You tried to keep your voice calm and collected with Eddie right behind you but he could hear the break in your voice, he was sure Jules could hear it too.

"I'm not moving on, not until I have you back in my arms." Her tone of voice made you flinch slightly, something Eddie has also seen.

"That's never going to happen."

"You better believe it will. I'll-"

You ended the call before Jules could say another word to you. Your phone was quickly turned to silent and you shoved it back into your back pocket. Jules would definitely be calling you again, which meant you had to get a new phone now. Gathering yourself together you exhaled and turned around to look back at Eddie. He was still leaning against the wall.

His arms were crossed over his chest and a tattoo was peaking through slightly, not to mention you could get a better look at the few tattoos that rested on his fingers. It made him look super sexier, and it really helped that he was a biker.

"Sorry about that." You paused, while Eddie adjusted himself slightly. "It was my ex, she won't leave me alone. Jules, she thinks we're meant to be with each other, soulmates and all that bullshit."

"And you don't?" Eddie asked, he knew that maybe this was his way to get to know more about Sam's little sister.

"Well, my first ex before Jules, Mikey, he believed in all that crap and I did too. Thought he was the one I was supposed to be with but then the shit hit the window and things got bad so we broke up. Now he's in Cali fucking whoever and doing all the drugs, at least that's what I heard. Then I met Jules not even a few weeks after Mikey and I ended things and I thought she was perfect, but she was too perfect. Anyway, one thing after another happened and now here I am."

The two of you started walking down the steps. Eddie was right on your trail as he digested the new information you had given him. You still weren't going into much detail with the break-up between you and Jules but it was clear how much it was taking a toll on you. Then you stopped on the steps remembering that neither your dad nor Sam knew. Eddie stopped on the step above her, he was looking down at you and honestly it was kinda sexy.

"Please don't tell my dad, or Sam. I don't want them knowing that's the real reason I'm back in Hawkins. As far as they knew I had to leave my mom and step-father behind." You had only known this man less than a day and already you were making him keep a secret from his boss.

"You got it, princess." Though Eddie was certain that Allen and Sam would know before the week was out. It would either come out of his mouth, or you would slip, it was going to happen one way or another.

The two of you continued down the stairs of your apartment building until you finally made it to the sidewalk that led you to your car. Eddie had managed to park his bike next to your car. This allowed you to get a better look at it. His bike was a Harley Davidson, that much was clear. It also contained a design on it, most of the bike had been covered in webbing.

A large spider was in the center of the bike, standing still on the web that it seemed to have created. You looked closer at it and noticed that the spider must've been a Black Widow, because you could see the hourglass peeking through. Not to mention there were a few other hourglasses on his bike, but most were small and barely noticeable. The bike really seemed to suit Eddie, and honestly you kind of liked the way it looked.

"So where are you off to today?" Eddie questioned, as he leaned up against his bike at the same time you leaned against the hood of your car.

"I have to go to Hawkins Middle School to make sure they have all the paperwork for my transfer and I have to give them my resumé and portfolio." You paused for a minute. "They just wanted to make sure everything is good before I start working at the end of August."

You watched Eddie smile at the way you had yourself prepared for your job and you still had a few weeks to get ready. The only thing that really seemed to be crossing Eddie's mind was that he wanted to spend the day with you. It's why he had shown up at your door, hand ready to send a knock on the door at full throttle.

"Mind if I tag along with ya, princess?" Just the way his question rolled off his tongue had you a hot mess on the inside. Never in your life had someone made you feel this way. You didn't feel it with any one night stands and you definitely didn't feel it with Mikey or Jules. It was different with Eddie. You felt safe with him.

"I don't see why not." You looked at your car and then Eddie's bike. If you were being honest with yourself you wanted to ride on his bike. "Whose vehicle are we taking?" You had questioned, all while hoping he would just say his.

"We can take my bike." Eddie said softly, with a smile jumping to his lips as he stared at you.

"I guess it's a good thing I decided to go for a book bag today." You mumbled.

Eddie snickered at you. Meanwhile, you took your phone out of your pocket and placed it in your book bag with your keys. Before you dropped your keys into the bag you popped open the trunk. Walking to the back you grabbed the helmet that Sam had gifted you as an early birthday present. He gave it to you last night after Eddie and Steve had left and you felt that it would be safe and sound in the trunk of your car rather than your apartment.

When you closed your trunk and placed the helmet over your head, Eddie seemed shocked that you had come prepared. He stared at it, seeing their signature logo on the front of the helmet. Which prompted even more confusion. While you weren't a biker, you had ties to the club because your dead lead it and your brother was the second in command with Eddie and Steve right below him.

"Sam got it for me. An early birthday gift, I guess. Or maybe a welcome home gift." You smiled at Eddie as he turned on his bike and you climbed onto the back.

"When's your birthday?" Eddie adjusted himself slightly as you wrapped your arms around his waist tightly.

"At the end of August. August 31st to be exact."

"I'm glad I get to be here when you celebrate it."

"I'm turning 25, there's not much to celebrate. I'm just another year older that's all."

"I get that." Eddie paused as he backed up his bike out of the parking spot. "Better hold on tight, princess, don't want you fallin' off." You smiled, tightening your grip just a little more. Once Eddie knew you were secure around his waist he drove off heading for Hawkins Middle School.

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Eddie pulled up to the middle school and turned off his bike. You climbed off and took the helmet off, setting it where you had just been sitting. You looked at Eddie as he placed his brown eyes on you.

"I'll be waiting here when you're done. And when you're done I'm taking you into town, my treat." Eddie said, sternly.

"Eddie, you don't have to do that." You didn't want to turn him down but you also didn't want him to go out of his way to make plans with you. "Besides I'm sure Sam and my dad probably need your help with whatever they normally do." In that sense you were honestly completely clueless to what they actually did.

You knew that the club was big and that they often went out of their way to take care of things that Chief Hopper might not be able to take care of. You also knew that sometimes your dad and brother would go home with a bloody face or bloody knuckles, you knew not to ask questions when you saw it if you were on FaceTime. Basically you knew not to ask questions about work.

If they wanted to tell you they would. And you honestly didn't have a problem with that. You didn't want to really know about the horrors that they might be facing, or that they might be putting their lives on the line for the job. But at the end of the day you knew that they knew how to protect themselves. Eddie started to shake his head at you.

"Nonsense, if Allen or Sam need me they'll call me. If I'm needed for a job they know how to get in touch. But until that happens I'll be waiting here for you when you get out." There was that smile that Eddie already loved, he watched as it brightened your face. You found yourself sucking your bottom lip in-between your teeth to hide the smile on your lips.

"Okay, I shouldn't be too long. I'll be back in a little while." With those words you turned around and walked towards the front door of Hawkins Middle school. Back in New York you had spent the last two years teaching 8th grade. It was the grade that you wanted to teach and had been approved to teach in Hawkins.

As you walked into the school you headed towards the front looking for the office where you met with the principal and the assistant principal. It had been so long since you had stepped foot in the middle school, it was honestly strange to be back here as a teacher this time rather than a student. As you turned the corner you walked right into someone whom you assumed was another teacher.

"I'm sorry." You said, leaning down to help pick the papers from the ground.

"It's all right." She lifted from the ground as you did too. The woman in front of you had blond hair, it was a short length just above her shoulders. She was wearing a floral dress, and had nude heels on. "I'm Amy Willow, I teach 8th Science." She said introducing herself, then holding her hand out in front of you.

You took her hand in yours and shook it while telling her your name. "I will most likely be teaching 8th grade English. That's actually why I'm here, to get everything sorted out. I have a meeting with the principal and assistant principal." You explained.

"Oh, I can take you there. And then afterwards I can take you to your room. It's only a few doors down from mine."

"You know about me?" You were confused, but then again you wouldn't be surprised if they had already made a statement about how you would be joining them for the school year.

"Oh yeah, you're the gossip around here. Something new, we haven't had something new since the Earthquake a few years ago. Not to mention the Biker club around town. Though that one biker is kinda cute." You looked at her as you walked next to her.

"Which biker are you talking about?" You were hoping that she wasn't talking about Eddie, because you wanted nothing more than to have him to yourself. Though that thought would never see the day of light.

"He's probably a little taller than you, I think his dad runs the Wolves and he's like his second in command." You had the biggest shit eating grin on your face and Amy definitely picked up on it. "What?" She asked, with a chuckle falling out of her mouth after the chuckle.

"That is Sam, and he's my older brother."

"Oh, my god. That's embarrassing. I am so sorry."

"No, god, please don't be. Sam needs someone in his life other than my dad, and me, and the Wolves. I'd be happy to put in a good word for you." You looked at Amy, watching as her smile got bigger.

"You would do that?" The shock that dripped from her voice surprised you.

"Yes, I think you and Sam would be great together. Plus I am in dire need of some friends."

"I need some friends too. Most of the teachers don't like me. Guess cause I'm either too young or I'm too weird for them."

"How could you be too young? And honestly who cares if you're weird. Everyone's weird in their own way."

Amy gave a shrug, the two of you eventually coming to a stop outside the office. "I'm in my 20's, I went to school here a few years ago so it's weird for the teachers that know me. But anyway, here is the office. And this is my number. Feel free to text or call, or FaceTime, whatever your comfortable with and definitely give it to your brother."

"I will make sure your number makes its way into his phone. Thank you for showing me the way."

"You're welcome. I'll be just down the hall making some copies, please come get me when you're done and I'll show you to your room."

"Sounds like a plan." You took the piece of paper that had her number on it and shoved it in your pocket. Then after saying your goodbye to Amy you headed into the office to sit down and talk with the principal's. All went well and they gave you keys to get into the school and to get into your room. Afterwards you met up with Amy and she walked you to your room.

It was a little bigger than the room you had in New York. You couldn't wait to decorate and make the room yours. On the desk that rested at the front of the classroom had your work laptop as well as the curriculum for what you would be teaching this year. As you glanced over it you noticed that it was a little different from the curriculum that you had been teaching in New York.

This was the fresh start you desperately needed. And now that you had your classroom and your work computer, everything was falling into place. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you turned around in the classroom. While you had a lot of setting up to do for the classroom you knew it would be worth it in the long run. There was a knock at your door and you looked to see Amy.

"I'm heading out for the day, just wanted to say goodbye." Amy said.

"I'll walk with you, just give me a sec." Amy gave a nod of her head. You turned towards your desk and unzipped your book bag putting your laptop and the papers into it. Once it was zipped you walked out of the classroom walking with Amy.

"So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" Amy questioned.

"Oh, I'm going to see the town, I don't really have a choice in the matter. And then my dad wants me to stop by later for something." You explained as the two of you walked out of the school. Your eyes found Eddie who was still leaning against his bike. "Do you wanna meet someone?" You asked, placing your eyes on Amy.

"Sure." She saw Eddie and seemed to be hesitant but followed behind her. Eddie picked himself up from his bike.

"Eddie, this is Amy Willow. We'll be working together in the next few weeks. Amy, this is Eddie Munson."

"Oh, you work with her brother Sam right?" Amy was in all smiles as she asked the question. Eddie was staring at her with a blank look, it seemed that he was studying her to determine if she would be safe enough around you.

"I do. He's one of my best friends." Eddie answered, causing you to look at him with a serious but playful look. Something of which Eddie took note of. You knew now that if you wanted to do something with Eddie you might just have to sneak around, it got you hot and bothered just thinking about it.

"Oooh that's so exciting. Well I should get going. I'll see you around." Amy turned to look at you. "If you need help setting up your room, just call down to my room or shoot me a text. And if you want to hang out over a glass of wine please let me know." Your laughter filled Eddie's ears as your smiled brightly at her. He couldn't help the little small smile that appeared on his lips.

"I will let you know. Thank you for being a huge help today. And I promise I'll put in a good word with Sam. I'll make sure you two have a date by the end of the week."

Shock ran across Amy's face, as Eddie exchanged a glance with you. You felt that this had been the most happy you had been since leaving New York. You were with a guy that you definitely felt growing feelings towards, and you had made your first friend.

"You really don't have to do that." Amy was insistent on it.

"Nonsense, I think it's the least I can do for someone whom I know will be my best friend, and maybe one day my sister-in-law." You and Eddie both saw the blush that crept on her face as she looked between you two. Amy gave a nod and eventually walked away. You moved over to Eddie and he looked at you.

"Give me one minute." Eddie said, he left you on his bike confused as he called out Amy's name. From a distance you watched the two make a brief interaction with each other. You watched her give Eddie a nod before they both turned away from each other. Amy was heading to her car again and Eddie was heading back to you.

"What was that all about?" You asked curiously, staring at the biker with soft eyes.

He gave a tight lipped smile, "just wanted to ask her something, that's all. You ready for the town tour?" Eddie questioned, trying to change the subject quickly.

"You know that I lived in Hawkins when I was younger, right?"

"I know, but I'm sure it's changed since you were last here."

You gave a slight nod with a shrug of your shoulders. Eddie climbed on his bike and turned it on. You placed your helmet over your hair and climbed onto the back of the bike, eventually wrapping your arms around Eddie's slim waist tightly. He smirked to himself, taking off heading down the road towards town.

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Your travels into the town had been short lived. Though what you had seen, you could tell just how much the town of Hawkins had changed since you had last visited it. You and Eddie were now heading to your dad's house as requested. Though you were still clueless as to why you were even going there. You had a small smile on your lips when Eddie pulled up to your dad's house.

"Here we are, princess." Eddie said, kicking the stand out and turning his bike off. You pulled your arms from Eddie's waist, and turned to look at the house you hadn't seen in so long.

"Home sweet home." You said, pulling your helmet off and holding onto the straps after you clipped them back together.

"How longs it been since you were here?" Eddie questioned as he placed his brown eyes on you.

Your eyes found his, "uh, I think about 10 maybe more than that, maybe less. I came for a few summers but then my mother didn't want me seeing my dad or brother anymore so I didn't see them for a long time, or this house. The only time I really saw my brother and dad was when I could FaceTime with them when I got a phone."

"Are you excited to be back home?" You walked towards the front door with Eddie following right behind you.

"Of course I am. I hated living in New York. Teaching up there was okay, but I hated everything the city had to offer. So yes, I am very happy to be back home with this quiet life."

"Hopefully it won't be such a quiet life." Eddie smirked at you. You looked back at him playfully.

"I don't think I will, not if you're planning to stay around."

"Well, I don't plan on going anywhere princess."

The door opens and you turn back around to see your older brother standing at the front door with a bright smile on his face.

"Why are you smiling like that, Sam?" You asked quizzically.

Sam looked at you and then at Eddie, but then his eyes fell back on you. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Bug." Sam grabbed your arm and pulled you into the house.

Eddie followed behind the two of you watching the sibling interaction. The lights turned on and everyone jumped out yelling surprise. The sudden noise caused you to panic slightly, you backed up into Eddie. The biker took notice of the way you suddenly changed at the voices that ran through your ears. But you calmed down when you felt Eddie slid his fingers into yours for just a brief moment.

You were quick to replace your panicked look with a happy one. Sam didn't take notice of the way you had reacted but like Eddie your dad had seen it too. He would make sure to pull you aside later and have a talk with you about it. Deep down it brought you back to the times where you and Jules would constantly argue with each other, not to mention the amount of times that your step-father would raise his voice to you.

Sam pulled you around to everyone, your fingers disconnected from Eddie's as you were pulled away. You were introduced to Chief Hopper and his wife Joyce. After you had meant them you had met the kids that Steve used to babysit before he became a part of the Wolves. Though they were in college now, you met all of them. Dustin Henderson was the first you had met followed by Mike Wheeler who was Nancy Wheeler's younger brother.

You met Will and El who were step-siblings, and their older brother Jonathan who was dating Nancy. Then you finally met Lucas and Erica Sinclair who had been standing with Max Mayfield. Eventually you noticed all the kids were hanging out with each other and talking about a game while they ate some food. Steve introduced you to his girlfriend, Becca Reynolds.

She was nice and you like her a lot. After you had met her, you finally met Robin and you knew almost instantly that you two would be best friends. The last person you least expected to be there had been one you already knew.

"Amy?" You asked, as she stuffed her face with a burger. She turned away from your father and looked at you and Sam. Eddie was elsewhere, most likely talking to Steve and Becca. She dropped her burger onto her plate and placed it on the counter. Your dad turned around and looked at you and your brother. "What are you doing here?" You questioned as the two of you hugged each other.

Sure you had just met earlier in the morning, but she was already your first real friend here in Hawkins. Like Eddie, and your dad and brother she was making Hawkins feel like a home again.

"Uh, Eddie, he invited me this morning. He thought you might like having someone you know here at the party." Amy answered, when she pulled back from the hug. You had a bubbly smile on your lips, your eyes found Eddie. He had been watching the entire interaction.

"Thank you." You whispered to him. Eddie only gave a nod and smiled back at you.

"So who is this? She seems to be the only one that we don't know." Sam said, pulling your attention back to the already ongoing conversation.

"This is Amy Willow, we'll be working together soon." You answered.

"It's nice to meet you Amy, I'm Sam. Bug's older brother." Sam said introducing himself to her. It seemed like you didn't need to do anything else because Sam was already so interested in Amy. You dad took that as a perfect opportunity to talk to you in his office. He excused himself as well as you and grabbed a hold of your hand pulling him with you.

"Dad, what are you doing?" You questioned, completely confused as to what was happening.

"We need to talk in my office." His words cut through your ears and you suddenly feared what he wanted to talk about. When you two were in his office and the door was closed and locked he sat down at the edge of his desk looking at you. "Tell me why you're really here, Bug." Allen said.

Your eyes found your father and took in the frame of his stance, he had locked the door so you knew neither of you would be leaving until you came out with the truth. You hadn't even been here for a week and he had already picked up on something. Though to be fair your dad could read you like a book. When you were involved you couldn't hide your emotions from him like you could with others.

Though you weren't doing a good job hiding it from Eddie because you had already spilled the news to Eddie. A deep sigh rippled through your chest, you walked over to one of the chairs in front of his desk and sat down. You tried to keep yourself calm but you found that didn't help much when you started bouncing your leg.

"Would you be okay if Eddie were in here?" You questioned, not looking up from your hands.

You dad didn't say anything, he stood up and walked towards the door and walked out leaving you alone with your thoughts. Allen knew that the second you came here that Eddie would be interested in you, because you were everything he wanted. And he knew it would be the same for you and by the look of it you two were already tugging at something.

"Munson!" Allen called out, Sam looked at Allen with a serious look on his face as he stopped the conversation between him and Amy.

"Everything okay, dad?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Make sure the guests are well fed, or get them in the pool." Allen ordered as Eddie walked up to him.

"Everything okay, sir?" Eddie inquired when he stopped in front of Allen.

"Come with me." Allen turned back around and walked down the hallway with Eddie following behind him. Sam did as told and got their guest and the rest of the Wolves outside where the pool was. Most of them had gone outside anyway but the rest were still inside. You looked up when your dad walked back into his office with Eddie on his trail.

"What's happening?" Eddie asked another question as the door was shut and locked.

Allen looked at Eddie and then at you. "I know what trouble looks like when I see it. So tell me, Bug, what did Jules do to you that made you run back home?" Allen questioned you.

"How do you know about Jules?" You were now utterly confused. You had only told your brother about Jules, you didn't want either of your parents to know. You knew both would be a pain because you were jumping into another relationship rather than taking a pause. "Sam told you, didn't he?"

"He did, and when I found out I had Hopper find everything he could find on her. Turns out Jules isn't her real name and she doesn't have a pretty past." Eddie looked at your dad with wide eyes, you having the same look on your face as well.

"What does that mean?" The question left Eddie's lips before he could stop it.

"It means that you're going to stay with my daughter and protect her until we can locate Jules and have her arrested for some kind of charge. You're the only boy I trust enough to protect my baby. I knew what was happening the second you told Sam you were coming back to Hawkins." Your dad explained.

"What did she do?" You asked, fearful of what you might learn about Jules.

"For starters her name isn't Jules, it's Jessica. She kept the same last name but changed her first name. If someone wants to go into hiding the way she did she should've changed her entire name. Secondly, Jessica Hartley killed her mother and father, and pleaded guilty to insanity. Before the trail was finished she escaped. She had the help of her ex-girlfriend before you, and well she didn't live to see another day because she's dead too. Now Jessica won't stop until you're dead and I'm not going to let her hurt you."

So much for a fresh start. You thought that to yourself, your dad and Eddie were talking to each other but you couldn't hear their voices. The only thing you could actually hear was a ringing in your ears that wouldn't seem to go away. Not only had she lied to you about who she was but now she might just be on her way to kill you. The panic was starting to settle in the pit of your stomach. You took a deep breath in and exhaled.

"Where is Jessica now? Is she still in New York?" You heard Eddie ask your father.

"I have some of the boys up in New York checking out her apartment. I'm hoping that she's still there and we don't have to prepare for any kind of war that she might want to start."

You stood up from your chair, keeping your eyes on your father. Eddie and Allen were staring at you. "Why would you have to prepare for a war?"

"Because Jessica Hartley is the actual daughter of one of our largest and painfully annoying rival groups. They are mostly located in California, but they have some in New York too. They're the reason Jessica killed her parents, her ex was a part of the group but her dad had her kill her. And well now he wants you dead because he can't get anywhere near me or Sam."

"Fuck." You breathed out, now you really wished you had seen the red flags. You lifted your hand to your throat and started rubbing it.

"Honey, you're gonna be okay. Eddie's gonna stay with you and watch out for you. Not to mention Amy will be watching you while you're at work, and Robin will be there too. Eddie can make as many stops to the school as he needs to if that's something you want."

"What? Are you saying Amy fucking works for you?" Allen could see that what he had said wasn't helping you.

"She does and doesn't. Her dad was a ranger out in Texas before he moved out here. I trusted her father and I trust her, she knows how to use a gun and how to fight. She's still a teacher but she will protect you if needed."

"No." You said sternly, eyeing your father.

"If Jules is coming after me then you're going to use me as bait. You're going to train me how to protect myself and I expect to be a part of this after it's over."

"No, I'm not letting you get in on this, I barely wanted your brother with me. You have a good life as a teacher."

"I can barely afford the apartment I'm living in. And yes I love teaching the kids and for the remainder of this year I'll still teach, but I want in dad. I'm not going to be some damsel in distress. I'm not gonna sit on the sidelines while Eddie, Amy, and Robin try to protect me from my psycho ex girlfriend who I wished I had seen the red flags before I got involved with her. I am doing this."

Eddie and Allen exchanged a look with each other. "What do you think, Munson?" Allen questioned, hoping he would side with him.

"I think your daughter is tough, and I think this plan would work. Maybe Bug here is the key to taking down the Stingers. Maybe this is how we get on top of them. I can't believe I'm saying this but I agree with princess over there." Eddie said, having your back.

Allen released an angry sigh as he looked at the two. This is not what he had in mind at all. But he knew deep down that this plan might just allow them to put a stop to the Stingers before any more damage could be done.

"Okay, fine. But your training starts tomorrow. Eddie is still staying with you. And we have to wait for the call to decide where we go from there." Allen explained.

"What call?"

"We're waiting to see if Hartley is still in New York."

"And if she's not?"

"Then you're gonna have to be a damsel in distress."

TAGS: @funsonmunson-again @inhumanssxx @lma1986 @corrodedcoffincumslut @squidscottjeans

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ask-good-cop-bad-cop · 9 months ago

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▫️ It has occurred to us that we should probably make an introductory post, so visitors to our blog know what to expect here. So without further ado-

▫️ Welcome, and thanks for stopping by!

▫️ We're open to most questions, though we do ask that you remain respectful toward us and those who will see our responses to your asks. This is a public space, after all.

▪️ Abuse of the anonymous function will result in it being turned off. Questions we find inappropriate will be left unanswered and deleted. This is mostly aimed at NSFW/suggestive asks. Others will be judged inappropriate at our discretion.

▫️ Usually we'll both answer an ask unless it's specified which of us you would prefer to answer.

▪️ We're also very busy so we can't always answer asks or messages right away. Be patient and we'll get back to you eventually.

▫️ We look forward to hearing from you! (And please don't let Bad intimidate you, I promise he's not as grouchy as he seems.)

🔸️ Please note that mun is very much an adult and will not be responding to rp prompts of a more shippy nature as they are also aware much of the active fandom these days are minors. (To be honest they probably still won't even if they know you're an adult.)

🔸️ Mun is also Not Great at art but is trying to get better so feel free to send in requests or asks that would otherwise prompt a drawn answer!

🔸️ In addition to GCBC, their second and third in command are available for asks as well. Feel free to direct some questions to Frank and AJ! Ma and Pa will also make guest appearances from time to time.

🔸️ Please do check out the Tags page! You can find a variety of answered asks, some lore tidbits (under "Cop Facts"), some lovely art of GCBC by other fans, and my own handful of fics and pics. (The Lore page is as much there for Mun's own reference as for visitors, ha...)

#The Lego Movie #GCBC #Good Cop Bad Cop #ask blog #rp blog

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lovesickbaker · 2 years ago

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬.

Welcome! I'm simply a lovesick baker. It's a pleasure of mine to meet you, dearest.

♡ ⸺ I have no intention of openly sharing my name, as it's one which I consider to be dead, and I haven't found a suitable replacement yet. However, you may refer to me as simply Baker.

♡ ⸺ My pronouns are they/them & he/him.

♡ ⸺ I'm currently twenty.

♡ ⸺ I will be using this blog of mine as the void in which I can write about my thoughts and feelings, with the use of Yanderecore as a coping mechanism. I'll be doing my best to tag everything properly, but still, be aware of any potential triggers, please. ♡ ⸺ On this matter, don't hesitate to let me know if you find anything that needs to be tagged as a possible trigger, as it might have escaped my mind. ♡ ⸺ I have no intention within my heart of glorifying these issues; this is purely a safe place where I can write, vent about these matters which consume my mind. Please, do not think for a second that I am unware of the unpleasant nature of such thoughts, feelings, sensations, behaviours; it's that there's not enough being capable of simply rationalizing the essence of those that can talk one out of mental illness. As is only natural to expect, block this blog of mine if it feels right, but do not report.

✦ . ♡　 . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ♡　 . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Oh, looking for a specific baked sweet? Here's the small menu. 「 🍰 」 A Baker's Recipes. Chattering about anything and everything; though, this little blog of mine is more centered around being a place for me to talk about my mental health.

「 🍪 」 My Sweetest One and Only. My writings regarding my past darling — most of which are private now.

「 🥧 」 Sweet C(o)urse laced with Poison. These are my lovesick thoughts, my writings about all those red and pink colored feelings that reside within me.

「 🥞 」 Sweetest-Poisonous Relief. These are my feelings and thoughts which are not necessarily related to the aforementioned lovesickness. Between violence and a distorted perception of self, it's a sweet poison that encompasses more things; all the taste of blood coming from the pieces of broken mirror reflecting yours truly here.

「 💌 」 Ask. I promise I will respond to your sweet asks as soon as possible! Certainly, it's always an immense pleasure, covered in the magnificent taste of honey, to receive any and all writings and questions. Having said that, please, feel free to send them whenever you wish. The delight is entirely mine to read and respond. Naturally, my direct messages are—also—always open to anyone who wishes to talk.

✦ . ♡　 . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ♡　 . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

❝𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.❞

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ohmylcve · 10 months ago

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{ 𝒗𝒆𝒆, 𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒔𝒉𝒆/𝒉𝒆𝒓 }

guidelines under the cut. all muses are oc, plots vary from slice of life to fantasy to apocalypse to whatever i'm feeling like writing ✨

𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚜 ⋯ 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚜 ⋯ 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 ⋯ 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛

- - 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲 ;

i study and work, so i'll be here on my free time, whenever i feel like it! for you to know if i forgot your reply or if i'm working on it, i've developed my thread tracker! you can check the status of our thread here :) it's always updated, so if i didn't put something of yours in the right status, you can always let me know ♡

i roleplay over tumblr and discord; usually on discord my muses tend to be more in-depth. for more easy going kind of threads, i would recommend rping with me on tumblr :)

if i posted you a starter and you haven't replied in a month, i will be deleting the starter! if you'd like to take more time, that's no problem, really! just let me know that you're going to reply to it, because it's easier for me to keep track of things this way :)

- - 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ;

i just wanted you to know that i do love to communicate. by that i don't only mean plotting, but also talking about things we do not like. for example: did i turn the plot to a different direction and you were expecting us to keep on the same path? you can always tell me. basically, i wanted you to know that i will not judge you if you had other plans. we can always talk about whatever it is that we've been writing okay?

- - 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 ;

i tend to follow my mutuals (people i'm writing or have written with)! don't take it personally: it's just because it's easier for me to keep track of them and understand my own organization :)

if you follow me and i didn't follow you back but you still wanna write with me, send me a message! i'm always open for that and would love to get to plotting with you ♡

- - 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 ;

i'm sorry but i won't be tagging triggers at first, because it's too much information for me and i tend to miss it sometimes. STILL, if there's anything you'd like me to tag i will do so! i want this place to be safe and cuddly and warm for you as well, just let me know, okay?

as for my triggers, i don't really have a trigger, but there's a few things i won't write nor read about, okay? those are: self mutilation, suicide, death, rape, incest. i don't mind those subjects being on your muse's past, i just don't feel comfortable with those being written in plot.

- - 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 ;

this blog will contain mature themes. but i won't be tagging posts, threads neither will i put it under a read more. i think by now it's pretty clear but minors dni, please.

this is not a smut-centered blog! that means i possibly won't be replying to your smut opens. i do write smut, though, but i prefer if i have some kind of connection with the partner in order to write or if our muses have high chemistry. i'm also 100% okay with fading to black :)

- - 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 ;

i love developing and exploring characters: their flaws, insecurities, weaknesses… all of it! i get a bit bored when everything’s perfect either in a muse or in a relationship, so please: throw your broken and messy muses at me! if you wanna plot first, perfect! if you wanna throw a starter at me, perfect! let's do it :p

muse is different than mun! i might not agree to my muses' statements, acts, and i am not my muses.

that might be all. thanks for reading :)

#pinned post

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years ago

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Pink Scarf - PART 16 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Rough SEXXX. Restraints. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: Woo, boy, y'all. Get yourselves ready, cuz the snowball is rollin' and the shit storm is comin'. This part is a little bit of everything--a little sweet, a little salty, a little smutty. It's what y'all deserve!

For the flashback, I had E's 1960 It Feels So Right playing in my head on repeat, so if you are one who likes music to set the mood, then you might give it a listen before/during/after you read that part!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

Graceland, Christmas 1960

The mansion is finally quiet, or at least you’ve managed to find a quiet part of it in the midst of all the holiday revelry. Elvis loves Christmas, and this is his first one home in two years. And the first one without Gladys.

You had thought that maybe his grief would make the holiday a more solemn affair, but he’s gone in the opposite direction. It’s as though his loss has fueled him to make Christmas as joyful as humanly possible. Even though he’s been away filming for most of the month, he still directed the mansion should be decked out in all the Christmas finery for his return. And so it is.

You wish you were more in the spirit to enjoy it. Usually, you would be—Christmas is one of your favorite times of the year—but this year it sits heavy for you. Heavy because if all had gone well, you’d be sharing it with your newborn baby.

The thought brings you to tears again.

You’ve been hiding your grief as much as possible, sliding on a quaint smile, singing carols, and making cookies with the rest of them, but in these solitary moments, you grieve. You cannot help it. You know it’s futile and silly. How can you grieve someone who barely even existed, someone who was never born? And yet, here you are, alone, sitting in a quiet corner of the house at the piano, a couple of glasses too many of champagne in, being sad over what could have been.

So you begin to play. You know practically every carol and hymn by heart, so you just close your eyes and let the music take you away. It doesn’t erase your grief, but it does help you let it out in some way. You barely notice the tears rolling down your cheeks as you play Away In A Manger and What Child Is This?. You let the dramatic chords of O Holy Night linger in the air at the push of the pedals.

And after a bit of playing, that image of a baby in your arms feels fuzzy and faraway. Or maybe that’s the champagne. Maybe it’s both.

The air shifts. You notice it but play on anyway. You’re not sure how, but you are able to sense him, his presence, his essence, as it pushes in around you. But he remains quiet, and your eyes remain closed as your hands continue to fly over the keys.

Elvis does not interrupt, he only watches. You’re not sure why. You feel as though he barely speaks to you anymore. Yes, he is away and busy and all the usual excuses. But he used to seek you out when he returned. He’d bring you silly little trinkets and sing to you and tell you stupid, off-color jokes.

Now, since that horrible day in March, it’s as though an invisible wall has come between you two, and you don’t understand why. It’s nothing overt—he treats you kindly in the group and doesn’t outwardly ignore you. But something significant has changed, you swear it. Perhaps it is your ultimate failure as a woman that has turned him away. Or maybe with the explosion of his stardom since returning from Germany, he just doesn’t have time for you anymore. Maybe it has nothing to do with you at all; maybe he’s just a different man now.

Your tears of grief now include the loss of him, too. Losing your friend is heartbreaking in its own right, much less coupled with the loss of your child, of your fertility. It doesn’t help that Jack has been gone with Elvis on his travels and feels distant, too. You’d initially thought the space would be good for you two, but instead you just feel achingly lonely.

God, you wish you’d never been pregnant at all, as all it seemed to bring you is heartache.

You stop playing and open your eyes. The room is dim, lit only by one of the many Christmas trees in the house, but when you turn towards the door, Elvis is still there, his blue eyes shining with emotion as he leans in the doorway. The man looks ready to weep, which takes you by surprise, as he’s only shown enthusiasm and excitement since being home. You recognize the look though: it’s grief and melancholy, similar to your own.

Then Elvis looks at you unabashedly for a moment, almost like he is really, truly seeing you for the first time in months. The air sits heavy and silent. You don’t bother wiping the tears off your cheeks, though your heart races a bit. Must be the champagne, you think. It certainly isn’t the way he is looking at you now, how you are being laid bare and vulnerable by his intense gaze.

Something builds between you, though you are not exactly sure what, and he suddenly straightens and crosses the room to you. He towers over you now at the end of the piano bench and an overwhelming need to be near him comes over you. It’s as though you are both magnetized to each other, so when he holds out his hand, you cannot help but take it. The warmth of his hand surrounds yours as he pulls you up and into his waiting arms.

You fold into him, your arms tucked into your chest and your head buried into his collarbone as he wraps his arms around you. His spicy, distinct scent surrounds you and his warmth engulfs you and you cannot help the sob that escapes you at the comfort of it.

Elvis holds you close and lets you cry, and you feel his chest shudder and his breath hitch as though he is as emotional as you are. His mother, you think; he’s been hiding his grief as you’ve been hiding yours. You can feel the wetness of his tears against your temple as they run down his face and onto yours, and this prompts you to unfold your arms and wrap them around his torso, comforting him as he is comforting you.

He sways you, moving to the unheard music you assume is always playing in his mind, and pressed against him like this, you can feel the quick and steady beat of his heart pounding in his chest. You don’t remember the last time you were this close to him. He feels bigger, broader than the boy who went to Germany, but is no less Elvis. His sensitive spirit is the same after all.

You are not sure how long you sway there, crying in each other’s arms at your respective losses. But you know it’s more than just that. You know because as your tears start to ebb and you move back the slightest bit, he grabs your hand and pulls you in close, unwilling to part with you. He dances with you now, slowly pulling you back into his silent rhythm.

And you let him. You let his hand clasp yours and he draws it over his heart, holding it there. His heart beats quicker, you think. It’s too intimate now, the way his warm, damp cheek presses to yours, the saltiness of your tears mixing and binding your grief together. The air shifts again, still heavy and thick, but with a million unsaid words hanging there in the silence.

Your heart skips, flutters, and your breath catches. You’re not exactly sure what is happening. But you still let him hold you and sway you in slow circles. His hand splays hot on your lower back, burning through you, setting your body aflame in a way you don’t understand.

But you are a few glasses in and on a roller coaster of emotion and right now the feel of his strong, lean body pressed against yours makes you feel alive in a certain kind of way. You’ve been lonely and you’ve missed him more than you thought. It’s almost as if this is a silent plea for forgiveness from him.

Yes, that’s all it is.

You feel hyperaware of him and his closeness, so when Elvis nuzzles his head against the side of yours, you feel breathless. Your mouth pops open with a puff which, considering his proximity, he must feel, but he does not stop, and you cannot help the way you return the gesture in kind.

His breath is warm in your ear, and you can feel the softness of his lips brush against it, sending a decidedly inappropriate cascade of shivers dancing through you.

Oh, god.

Involuntarily, your hand contracts in his, your nails scraping lightly at his button-down shirt. Elvis presses your palm down onto his heart in response. You feel out of control, completely at his mercy, knowing this is too much, too close, too intimate but you can’t seem to stop, intoxicated by his strength, his affection, his essence.

Elvis’ still-damp cheek lingers against your own, and he presses his forehead gently to yours with a soft sigh. Then he pulls back slowly, just far enough to look at you, and you feel knocked over by his pure beauty. Honestly, you feel absolutely heady as you threaten to tip over and lose yourself in those churning, deep blue eyes of his. And, boy, they are churning, with things you can’t quite grasp. You watch as they search your face, his impossibly long lashes punctuating their every slow move. Holding your breath, your heart speeds up ever faster, and you wonder what it is he seeks in you.

Your sadness and grief feel far away now as he plunders your soul, his gaze so alluring that you cannot even begin to piece through what is going on in any sort of logical way. You don’t understand any of it. All you know is you want more, and that feels forbidden in every way.

As if reading your thoughts somehow, his lips part. His eyes flutter down your face and land at your mouth. A shock runs through you as you think Elvis just might kiss you, and that terrifies you, not just because it would be crossing a line but because in this moment you want him to.

You want to feel his lips soft and sweet against you, then crushing into you. You want his body passionately pressed into yours as you cling to each other in the sparkling light of the Christmas tree. You want his large hands roaming your curves. You want to feel the strands of his dark hair between your fingers as you tug him closer. You want him to make you forget everything but the taste and feel of him.

These wants flash through you in an instant, shocking your system because he is so close that you almost can taste him and panic shoots through you. Never have you let your thoughts truly drift to that place with him, and opening that door feels very dangerous. Suddenly, with a wave of absolute certainty, an intuition you cannot explain at all exclaims that Elvis wants you more than anything in this world.

And that makes you gasp and pull away.

That cannot possibly be true. Nothing about the way he’s acted this past year supports that but something inside you screams that it’s real. It makes no sense. None of it makes any sense.

Elvis blinks and shakes his head as though snapping himself out of a daze. His hand falls from your waist, the spell broken. The soulful look in his eyes flashes with what almost seems like hurt, then apology, then regret. Without a single word, he turns and leaves.

Your heart plummets for reasons you don’t understand.

You must be confused. You are drunk. You are emotional. You couldn’t possibly have read the situation correctly. And yet the feelings awakened in your body surprise you and the look in his eyes haunts you as you sink back onto the piano bench, left alone in the silence.

Your eyes pop open at the memory. You had been very drunk that night and hadn’t remembered that moment until this very minute, yet another hidden facet of your long and suddenly complex relationship with your friend making itself known. Elvis had continued to keep his distance from you after that Christmas and had never even alluded to such an intimate moment happening, so you’d had no reason to think anything strange had happened at all. In hindsight, it seems awfully significant and feels like yet another thing he’s keeping from you.

Running it through your mind again, you swear he’d almost kissed you that night or at least had wanted to, which is shocking to you because 1960 was a long time ago. Still more shocking was that certainty you’d had about him wanting you more than anything, which couldn’t possibly be true.

Could it?

You shake off the thought. Emotions were high for both of you that night, and he obviously had thought better of it, but still…that prickle at the back of your mind keeps gnawing at you, those pieces of the puzzle attempting to slot into place. Maybe if you weren’t so damn tired and emotionally spent, you’d be able to figure out what your mind is trying to tell you. Maybe if your body wasn’t still aching with the memory of losing your child and almost dying, you’d be able to think clearly.

And your conversation with Sandy also sits uneasily in your mind. Running away ain’t gonna solve anything, her voice echoes in your head. You wish you had the strength she hoped you did, the strength to tell Jack to fuck off, to tell Elvis how you really feel, but it all feels so overwhelmingly insurmountable that you can barely even entertain the thought.

Heart pounding and wheels turning, you know sleep is out of the question and sit up in the bed. You get up and busy yourself instead. You feel as though you are racing the clock. It doesn’t take long to pack your bag, and while you are not frantic, you are determined. Mentally, you are ready to go. You have to go.

Unfortunately, things are not working out as you hoped they would. When the concierge calls you back with your fight arrangements, he informs you that there are no flights out of Vegas until 7:30am tomorrow morning. It being a Sunday night and with such short notice, there were no seats headed back east to be had. You thank him and reply that of course the morning flight would be acceptable before you set the receiver back on the hook and let out an aggravated scream.

You need out now. You are half inclined to rent a car and drive back to Memphis, but you know that is a terrible idea for a variety of reasons, namely being that you had no idea how to get to Memphis from here and being alone on the road for so long with no preparation sounded dangerous.

Fine, you think, I can make it through the night. I should tell Elvis in person anyway.

The thought makes your stomach churn because you know he will not be happy with this development. You’d rather not see the look on his face, but you also know it is the right thing to do. You just need to steel yourself to see your decision through and not be swayed by his charms.

Easier said than done.

And it doesn’t help that you are running on fumes and adrenaline. With everything that happened last night, the only sleep you’ve had was on the roof and that was short-lived and filled with nightmares. You took a shower after getting back to the room, but your mind is spinning too much to sleep, plagued with returning memories and creeping doubt.

You decide to get ready for the show as originally planned. It’ll be easier to gain access to Elvis between shows to talk if you do so. You dress accordingly, carefully putting on your makeup and doing your hair up nicely to give yourself as much confidence as possible. After repacking your toiletries, you grab your clutch and see the silky pink scarf folded neatly inside.

It takes only a moment for you to decide to put it around your neck. It’ll guarantee that Elvis will make time to see you, and you try not to shiver at the fact that the last time you wore this scarf, it led to a decidedly different outcome than it will tonight. The thought sends both warmth to your core and dread into your heart. You don’t want to leave him.

But I have to.

You shift your thoughts instead to Red, wondering and fearing whatever he might have planned. You don’t know if he is planning to sit on the information he gleaned from your leaving Elvis’ suite this morning, or if he is looking to cause mayhem immediately, though considering Jack has not burst in angrily, you don’t think anything has been said yet.

Either way, you have to warn E, and you have to get the hell out before the shit hits the fan.

The afternoon quickly turns to evening, and you pump yourself up on the way downstairs, despite the nausea in your stomach, the exhaustion in your body, and the ache in your heart. Now that you are somewhat a part of the show, it is easy to get backstage, and while you’re not sure how you are going to be able to wait the few hours the show will take, you continually remind yourself that this is what you must do. You have no choice.

But I do, I do have a choice, a pesky little voice chimes in. Stay.

Shut up.

By the time Elvis makes his way backstage, you feel like you’re about to jump out of your skin. The way his bright eyes light up when he sees you and then how they flash heat when he sees the pink silk knotted around your neck fills you with both desire and anxiety. Being near him weakens your resolve because his charismatic energy rolls over you even from this distance, and he just looks so damn good in that white suit of his, but you knew that this would test you. You force what you hope is a normal a smile, but you see a look of confusion flash over his pretty face before his usual pre-show nerves take over. But he does not come over to you, for which you are grateful.

The show begins with the usual fanfare, and you are surprised that even with everything going on in your head (or perhaps because of it), you still get swept up in the music, still sing the parts quietly that you have so diligently practiced. Regret hits you from another angle, one you did not anticipate. In leaving Vegas, you’ll also be leaving this—the show, the music.

Doubt creeps in in earnest throughout the show, putting your nerves even more on edge. You don’t really want to leave this opportunity, but the problem is you don’t think you have the fortitude to stay and to be able to resist Elvis.

The curtain closes and Elvis is surrounded, soaked with sweat, riding that post-show high that makes him nearly glow from the inside out. He wipes his face with the towel someone has draped over him, and you watch as he pulls Jerry aside with a glint in his eye, presumably to arrange your meet with him. But Jerry leans back and whispers something into E’s ear and that handsome face clouds with dark emotion. Then Elvis finds you past the crowd and his eyes lock on and you know. You know he knows by the hurt and angry look in his piercing blue eyes.

Sandy.

Goddammit.

As Elvis stalks over to you, pushing through musicians and instruments, it’s evident that Sandy has betrayed you. She told Jerry. And whether she meant for him to tell Elvis, you do not know, but your heart speeds up as Elvis crosses the backstage area in long, quick strides, with a wounded and feral look in his eyes that frightens you. It is not at all the same as the jealousy from the night prior; no, this is damage done on another scale.

You cannot help but back up as he approaches, nearly falling back over your chair, but he is on you in an instant, grabbing your arm firmly with one hand and your waist with the other, seemingly uncaring of the confused looks of his entourage that has been left behind so uncharacteristically. Luckily, Jack is nowhere to been seen, but you catch Red’s smirk before Elvis manhandles you into the hallway.

He doesn’t speak, not yet, though you see his brewing temper play over his face. Your heart drops because it is so obvious how you’ve truly hurt him, and he practically carries you back to the dressing room so quickly that you barely have time to register what that means. Once inside, he releases you and you tumble forward before he slams the door with too much force and flicks the lock.

As you straighten, you attempt to brace yourself for what you think you know is coming. Your nerves are on pins and needles, and you can’t help the lightheaded feeling that comes over you as you watch him fume. His chest heaves with both the exertion from his performance and his building fury, which makes for a dangerous combination.

You realize too late that perhaps you didn’t think this through.

“Is it true?” Elvis growls, rounding on you. “Are you trying to leave?” The pain is palpable in his stormy eyes and is layered with indignation.

The words catch in your throat. You finally force yourself to nod, attempting to find your voice in the meantime.

“What the fuck, y/n? What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” his voice raises, as he paces the room like a caged animal. His eyes are icy now, glaring at you in such a way that you feel it to your toes. His white suit clings to him with the moisture of his sweat, which gleams off his tan skin, distracting you.

You finally find your voice. “I’m leaving, Elvis. For my sake and for yours,” you breathe out. Your heart threatens to shatter at the words.

“The fuck you are,” he flips back at you.

“Excuse me?” you huff.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, honey,” he points at you sternly.

“That’s not up to you,” you sputter, blinking rapidly.

“The hell it ain’t,” he glares.

Elvis’ eyes flash and he advances towards you. Your heart thunders in your ears and you counter backwards until he has your back against the wall. He grabs your chin with his hand, his rings cutting into you.

“I thought I fucked some sense into you last night, but it seems I fucked it out of you instead,” he purrs dark and low, but it is laced with threat.

You hold back a groan at his words. The sound of his voice and the look on his gorgeous face as he rakes his eyes over you sends both dread and heat through you all at once. You should have known he’d put up a fight. This is why you’d wanted to leave right away. Resisting him feels insane and futile.

“E, Red knows. He caught me coming out of your room this morning, and I just know he’s gonna make trouble,” you ramble out, trying to skirt around him. He boxes you in with his arms.

“Fuck Red. I’ll take care of him,” Elvis spits, eyes flashing but barely giving it a second thought because his sole focus is you. Then you see him eyeing his scarf around your neck. Wordlessly, slowly, he unties it, his calloused fingers brushing the skin of your neck and making you shiver. “Now tell me why you’re really leavin’, honey,” he commands, but the lilt in pitch betrays his sensitivity to those who know him well enough. And you do.

Oh, god, the way his smokey eyes bore into you, intoxicate you, has you frozen and your mouth dry. All the words you prepared to say are gone in an instant. You can’t tell him everything (you can’t), but his hurt and his need to dominate you because of it drives his actions, and you know he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.

“Hmm,” he shakes his head, a darkness overcoming him. “Guess I gotta find another way to get it out of you. Give me your hands,” he orders. You are caught in his gaze and feel powerless to deny him. Begrudgingly, you obey, holding out your hands.

You watch as he ties one end of the silky scarf to your left wrist. It’s tight, but not uncomfortable. Your brow furrows in confusion as he pulls your arms up, and it is then that you notice the bar, which must be used as a clothing rack, attached to the wall above your head.

Your eyes widen and your heart thunders in your chest. “Elvis, what’re you doing?” you squeak out as he wraps the scarf over the bar and attaches it tightly to your other wrist. Your arms are loose and your feet remain planted on the floor, as the bar is not that high up, but you are effectively trapped.

“Well, honey, you keep tryin’ to run away from me and I need answers,” he glowers, amusement playing under his anger.

“Goddammit, this isn’t funny, let me go!” you say shrilly, yanking your arms but only succeeding in making the scarf tighter around your wrists.

“No, you’re right, it ain’t funny at all. Were you just gonna steal away in the dead of night without talkin’ to me?” he asks, the hurt back in his voice.

“No, I…no, that’s not what I wanted…” But it is almost what you did, and he seems to know it.

His eyes flash with realization at your unspoken words, then narrow as he moves closer. You look away, shamed. He grabs your chin again, his rings cold against your skin, and forces you to look at him.

“You are all I’ve been able to concentrate on, ya know that? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I want you. I want you to be with me. Be with me.” He says it like a pleading promise and a stark demand all at once.

Oh, Jesus, it makes you ache for him in every way. You can feel your resolve crumbling around you, all your reasons for leaving melting into a puddle at your feet.

“We can’t Elvis. We can’t keep doing this. I’m losing my mind,” you say but Elvis has his head buried in your neck now, his lips and tongue dragging across your skin and setting your entire body aflame. Resisting him is like resisting gravity—an impossible feat.

“Why would you do this to me, lil’ mama?” he whispers in your ear, his hand brushing away your hair so his breath tickles against you. The sensation immediately has your body at attention, like a switch has been flipped. Your nerves tingle, your nipples stand at attention with just the temptation of that raspy baritone.

Despite yourself, despite the angel on your shoulder screaming at you, once again, that this is a bad idea, your mouth pops open with a sigh. His other hand cups your cheek as his lips travel over your face, so close that those long, dark lashes brush against you in their wake. This sends another thrill of sensation through you.

It’s agonizing that you can’t touch him, which you know is exactly the point.

Elvis presses you against the wall, and his thumb is dragging slowly over your bottom lip. It takes everything you have to not disintegrate right there and then. The way he makes you feel—it’s like you have no sense of reality when around him like this. He is your drug of choice. And you keep coming back to him again and again.

“Tell me why you don’t want me,” he asks in a boyish whisper, his bedroom eyes deadly serious, filled with anger and hurt and need and lust. All for you. Only Elvis could look so entirely innocent and completely sinful all at once.

His words cut you, as you think he intended. You wish you could make him understand, but your breathing is fast, too fast. You are dizzy from the scent of him, all sweat and musk. He’s dripping with it. Your eyes roll back.

“Dammit, E, of course I want you,” you breathe, “but when we get caught, which we are seconds away from, I’m the one who’s life blows up. I’m the one who’ll have to face the consequences. It all comes back on me, and…I don’t have anything without Jack.” You can’t let yourself forget it.

The way Elvis looks at you now is fierce. He grabs both of your cheeks roughly, his hands like fire against them.

“Baby, you have me, you’ll always have me. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.”

The sentiment hits you sideways, flooring you. He’s staring at you so intensely you feel completely gone, weak. There is nothing else but him.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathes seductively, nuzzling your nose. “Let me be your everything.”

Oh, sweet lord…

“Elvis…” His name escapes you like a hushed prayer. You are defenseless against him, your heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird, stealing your breath away completely.

The temptation of what he is saying is so strong that you want to give in to him immediately. It’s almost everything you want to hear, which is the problem. You think he’ll say anything to get what he wants. You love him, but you know he’s a master at manipulation—it’s how he’s so damn good at his craft. It’s how he so effectively hypnotizes the masses. You think half the time he doesn’t even realize what’s he’s doing, but knowing him as you do, you know he is too shrewd for ignorance.

But part of you refuses to believe him, what he’s saying, even now. Part of you is still reeling from the pain and the fear of your recently uncovered memories. And the fact is, he is still hiding things from you, and you are still married to Jack.

Elvis bows his head, his soft lips now mere millimeters from yours, his hot breath mingling with the heat of your own. But he does not close the gap. He’s waiting, waiting for you to decide. He’s impatient, nearly shaking with anticipation.

You came here to end it, you did (didn’t I?), but he’s like the sun, pulling you into his orbit. Desperate, you find your voice, doing your best to be strong.

“Elvis, I am still married. You know as well as I do how complicated it is with Jack, and he’s not going to take kindly to this when he finds out. And he will. We both know he will. He’s your friend. You can’t have it both ways, and neither can I. But I can’t be near you without wanting you, so something’s gotta give. That’s why I have to go. That, and all the secrets, the lies…It’s tearing me apart inside,” you plead with him. And I know you’re keeping something from me, but those words don’t make it out of your mouth.

His brow furrows and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head. Then something significant shifts, that dark look clouding his eyes once more.

“Jack ain’t shit. Fuck him. And, baby, I’ll tear your marriage to shreds and throw it in the trash, just like that,” Elvis snarls, snapping his fingers in your face, his endless eyes burning into yours. His vehemence has you shaking, your eyes going big. “I don’t care what I have to do or who I have to pay off. I thought I told you, honey—I always get what I want, and I think I’ve made it quite fuckin’ clear who I want.”

Holy shit.

A shocked beat, your breath held in a pause before it quickens again. Elvis is choosing you over Jack. Elvis wants you to end your marriage for him (or more accurately, wants to end it for you). This means that he is much more serious about this, about you, than you thought. Your heart plummets into your stomach and warmth blossoms over your body. You are both elated and terrified by what he is asking of you. All words escape you.

“Still need a little more convincing, huh?” His lip curls into a smirk, sending a coil of desire into your belly. Pushing you up against the wall, he grinds his hips into you, your arms straining against their bonds. You know now that this is his way, his way of proving to you the truth of his words. A whimper escapes your lips, causing him to grin even more. He has you right where he wants you, which is infuriating and exhilarating.

Elvis gets close, his full lips so tantalizingly near that you can almost taste their pillowy sweetness, but he still does not kiss you, only tempts you as his breath blends with yours. As much as you want to, you do not submit, you do not close the gap, your stubbornness and lingering doubt dampening your near-consuming desire.

All your churning emotions of the past few days keep you silent. Confusion, fear, anger, shock, love—all of it only fuels your passion for him, a love so consuming it eats you alive. But you also don’t want him to have the satisfaction of you giving into him. He’s right: he does usually get what he wants, but that doesn’t mean you have to make it easy on him.

Elvis watches your reaction carefully as he yanks your dress up over your hips. Then he groans, a deep, carnal sound as he grinds into you once more, his arousal evident and the metal of his ornate belt biting against your pelvis. You bite your lip to keep from making the noises that threaten to escape you, but your breathing is starting to become even more labored. There is an element of calculated control in his flaming eyes, combined with power and need. He doesn’t let you look away.

Elvis grabs the back of one of your thighs, pulling it up to his hip, running his hand over your bare flesh from your knee up to your panties, his fingers dancing just under the elastic. You hold back the hiss that wants to escape you. God, you want to touch him, to claw at his bare chest, but the scarf holds you fast and you grip its strong silk for dear life.

When he lets go just long enough to pull the zipper of his fly, pulling out his cock, your eyes widen, then fall closed. You feel as he tugs your underwear to the side, his fingers swiping through your folds. You bite your lip at the feel of his fingers prodding at you so roughly. But with your churning emotions desperately trying to keep your desire at bay, you are not nearly wet enough to take him yet.

“Look at me,” he demands, and you do. You are powerless not to.

Reaching his hand up, he looks you right in the eye as he spits in it, then reaches down to cover his cock, lubricating it fully. You gulp. A shiver of anticipation races down your spine. Taking a long moment to gather more saliva, he spits in his hand again before snaking it between your thighs to smear your pussy with it, watching your reaction carefully. You can’t help but moan at the sensation of the warm slick.

True to his word, nothing stops him from taking what he wants as he brusquely lifts your legs around his waist and enters you with a quick, hard thrust and a deep grunt.

You gasp loudly at how Elvis fills you so completely, both with surprise and with pain of the pleasurable sort. You are so tight, too tight, and while your arousal pools, it has not yet coated your walls, making his saliva the only lubrication to ease the friction. You claw at the silk scarf, trying to push back against the wall in retreat, but he chases you, pausing for only a moment as you attempt to adjust to him. He starts rocking into you, but his thrusts are not gentle—they are powerful, claiming. You continue to hold back the noises that want to escape your mouth, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing your pleasure.

“Why ya gotta be so fuckin’ stubborn, baby? You really makin’ me take you this damn hard to remind ya just who ya belong to?” he growls seductively into your ear as he drives into you harder. Your head falls back onto the wall and your eyes flutter. This shouldn’t be so satisfying, but you can’t deny how it makes you feel, how he makes you feel. Your arousal pools around him at his words, at his audacity, and it gives you away as he slides more easily in and out of you. Then that damn lip of his dares to curl up again into a knowing smile.

His baritone rumbles in your ear as he fucks you more vigorously, each thrust punctuating his words, as if driving them deeply into your body and mind. “I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight after this little stunt of yours, honey, not for one damn minute. In fact,” he chuckles darkly, “you’re going on stage with me for the rest of my shows, starting tonight. Your debut performance.”

You can’t hold back your choked gasp at that.

“You’re all mine now.” Elvis’ hand comes up and wraps around your throat, just tight enough to let you know he means it. “Now, be a good girl and say it for me.”

Your brain fights against him—possession is not love! Sex is not love! it screams at you—and you don’t want to give him this, but you know the truth of it: you are his. You’ve been his for a while now. And you relish in it. You want so desperately for it to be more than that, but you are too weary of denying yourself of the obvious.

“I’m…y-yours,” you gasp out. He fucks it out of you.

The corner of his mouth briefly lifts in satisfaction before returning to his relentless railing of you and his ongoing, heated diatribe: “You’ll stay in my room, my bed, and we’ll fuck whenever we damn please, honey. I don’t care who fuckin’ knows. Let Jack try and come for you…see what happens,” he threatens, grunting as his thrusts become more erratic.

You don’t even recognize the moan that comes from you at that. The fact that he will take Jack head on for you sends an inexplicable rush through your system. The coil in your belly tightens rapidly now, but Elvis is too far ahead of you, too consumed with his lust and his need to claim you as his own.

“Tell me you’ll stay,” he says in your ear. It comes out more needy, breathless, pleading, than you think he intended, which tugs at your heart, telling you what you need to know, at least for now.

You have no choice, not anymore. Neither your heart nor Elvis’ will allow it.

“I’ll stay,” you whisper, finally conceding.

“There’s my girl,” he groans, then plunges in so deep and fast that the wind is knocked out of you. You both cry out as he pulses again and again, filling and coating you with his need, his teeth digging into your shoulder as he climaxes.

You both gasp for breath, him from his release, you from the shock of his words as they settle within you. After a moment of recovery, he unceremoniously pulls out of you, sets you gently back on the ground, and unties your hands. Your legs feel wobbly and your hands tingle with a burning sensation, rubbed a little raw at the wrists. Elvis kisses each wrist softly, making that unrelieved coil in your belly cinch even tighter as he wraps the scarf around your neck. You wince at the pins and needles in your arms as you shake them to regain circulation.

You wait to see what he has in store for you next, but he just looks a little jaded, uncharacteristically making no effort to alleviate your need. He turns and walks all the way back into the bathroom, and you follow silently.

You look at him questioningly in the mirror as he cleans off, that coil in your belly poised and ready, but unfed. He’s never left you unsatisfied before. But you also don’t want to push him right now. Things still feel too tenuous.

He finally acknowledges you in the mirror, looking over your mussed and flustered state and immediately gleaning the reason for your hovering. “Honey…I’ll deal with you later,” Elvis tuts in a reprimanding tone, his left eyebrow raising, his blues still chilly towards you.

He’s being petty, but you suppose you deserve that to an extent. You resist the urge to pout, instead choosing to wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pressing against the sweaty heat of his back. You want him to forgive you, want to be in his warmth, want him to love you as you love him. But for now, you’ll accept the relief of not having to leave him.

Let me take care of you…Let me be your everything.

The memory of his words sends warmth radiating through your chest, even if he just said it to get you to stay. Even if he didn’t really mean it.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. And you are.

Elvis doesn’t move for a moment, just letting you cling to him. Then he turns, bringing you close, and he finally kisses you, his pliant lips pressing hard and fierce and wanting against yours.

“Don’t ever try to leave me like that again, baby,” he says, pulling away, looking deeply into your eyes. He is trying, you think, to be as possessive and demanding as before, but the edge of his anger has been tempered, quelled, and has turned into something more imploring. Then, with that quintessentially Elvispuppy-dog look on his face, he blinks slowly and quietly adds, “I need you,” as though just realizing it himself.

And, with that, you realize for the first time that despite all your doubts, despite what he is hiding from you, despite every obstacle that wants to pile against you, the shitstorm that is coming is still going to hit hard, but it will hit you two together.

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

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@jazmin2211 @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy @amiets2 @saintmagx

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mimzy-writing-online · 3 years ago

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You probably know this by now, I don't know if you keep up with Whumptober, but one of the prompts this year includes "blindness". I'm not blind but based on your posts about writing blind characters, and based on how I would feel if one of my disabilities were used as a whump prompt, I'm not super comfortable with it. I was wondering what your thoughts are on blindness being a Whumptober prompt.

(unironically and with feeling) thanks, I hate it.

Yes, I’m familiar with Whumptober, but I’ve never participated myself and I haven’t seen this year’s prompts.

Edit: I later did see the prompts and check out the blog. I think it's a good set of prompts and I look forward to all the promising content, especially since some of my favorite tropes are there. To be clear before you read this, I have no problem with Whumptober2021 or whump in general. This is not the first time blindness has been included for a list of whump prompts, and it won't be the last.

This post directed at the concept of "blindness" as a whump prompt and why I think it's a bad idea. The intended audience is individual writers thinking about future projects.

The timing of this is almost too perfect because I read a fanfic earlier this week that would meet that prompt exactly. Tags included whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. Now whump, hurt/comfort, and angst with a happy ending are tags I enjoy reading, but blindness as whump has a specific message to it.

To explain that message, I want to discuss what whump is. Many readers are already familiar with the genre, but I think taking the specific definitions and picking apart what it means and what expectations we carry when reading whump fanfiction

Urban Dictionary defines it as: taking a character and putting them through physical and/or mental torment and is typically followed by the same character being treated for their traumas. To indicate the characters place in the situation they’d typically be called a whumpee (the character being hurt/comforted), the whumper (the character that causes harm and trauma), and the caretaker (the character designated the helping/healing/comforting the whumpee).

Fanlore has a page for whump that explains it in depth, including where it started in fanfiction, examples of whump, and even a list of “popular targets” in different fandoms. (Warning: you might find yourself called out on the popular targets list)

“The term whump (or whumping) generally refers to a form of Hurt/Comfort that is heavy on the hurt and is often found in gen stories. The exact definition varies and has evolved over time. Essentially, whump involves taking a canon character, and placing them in physically painful or psychologically-damaging scenarios. Often this character is a fan favorite…”

To add to that, I think an important detail is the distinction Fanlore makes between hurt/comfort and whump:

“While some communities and fandoms may use whump as a synonym for hurt/comfort, there is still a recognition that whump refers to darker and more extreme scenarios. And there are still whump fics been written that have very little, or no comfort at the end of the story.”

The big appeal of hurt/comfort is getting to both explore the darker sides of pain and then experience the catharsis of being taken care of, of being supported by your loved ones as you recover from the trauma. The character is the proxy for experiencing those highs and lows while you yourself are safe at home.

I personally don’t read much/any whump without some h/c involved, but I’m happy there are stories out there for people who do enjoy it. I’m not here to judge what you like reading or what you do to your characters.

What I want is to express how blindness, my disability, used as a whump prompt personally makes me feel and what message it sends to me, to others, and how that message affects my daily life.

Whump undeniably involves watching a character suffer through something painful and traumatic.

My use of the word “suffer” is what I want you to focus on.

Vision loss can be painful and traumatic. I personally developed an anxiety disorder in response to vision loss. Others experience depression. For some it might result in relapsing into old, maladaptive coping mechanisms like drug use, self harm, or eating disorders.

A big part of my anxiety was how people reacted to my vision loss. It was a cause of their stress. They were worried because they genuinely believed I would never live a happy life without normal vision, and that my life would only be struggle and pain.

I recently saw an old friend who hadn’t heard about my vision loss. The conversation was awkward, but the worst part was how they reacted as though I had experienced an insurmountable tragedy. And even when I assured them I’m happy with my life, they clearly didn’t believe me. They acted like I was just lying or in denial.

I love that people want to empathize with my situation and ask themselves what they would do in my situation, but I hate when the conclusion they come to is something along the lines of “I could never do that, I’d be too miserable thinking about everything I lost, I’d never be able to do anything I enjoyed ever again.” But I did go blind. And I’m not miserable, I’m actually happy with the direction my life is going, and I still enjoy my hobbies, even if I engage with them differently.

I’m not suffering. My life didn’t end with vision loss. It’s not ruined, broken, or worthless.

I read a fanfic that was tagged with whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. A general synopsis of the plot: the whumpee had gone blind due to a curse. It was true love’s kiss that broke the curse. Even from the summary I knew it was going to end with whumpee being cured somehow and that I’d leave that fanfic vaguely dissatisfied no matter how good the rest of the fanfic was.

I can say this for the fanfic: the whumpee had already accepted that they would likely be blind for the rest of their life, but everyone around them was treating it as a tragedy that needed to be fixed, working tirelessly for a cure despite the whumpee’s protests that they didn’t have to.

It actually hit home to my personal experience.

I still left it dissatisfied with the ending. I might love curse fics in that fandom, and I love the “true love’s kiss” trope, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from the fact that: an actual person out in the world thought the best happy ending, maybe the only happy ending, would be if the character got their sight back.

(note: I clicked kudos and exited out of the story's page because no fanfic writer deserves unsolicited critique or hate, especially for content I consumed for free and at my own volition.)

Why read a story I knew would disappoint me?

Because blindness representation is so damn rare that I feel like I’m wandering in a desert, dying from thirst and desperate for that oasis. But sometimes that oasis is a mirage and the author is unintentionally telling you that your life is actually awful and you’ll never be fully happy like this. And that is a shit mentality to walk through life with.

I don’t appreciate blindness being a whump plot. I hate it. Hundreds (thousands?) of fanfictions featuring blind characters are about to enter the internet and the overall message is going to be “You poor thing! You must be in so much pain, you must be miserable! Who’s going to save you? Who’s going to comfort you? Wouldn’t it be terrible if there was no one in your life to take care of you? You poor helpless thing!”

And I feel objectified. I feel trivialized. The mirage in the desert is going to become a starch, empty room filled with dozens of water bottles, almost all of them poisoned. My representation is going to hurt me personally, and it’s going to reinforce that idea strangers have about how awful my life must be.

(I returned to school this past month, and every day I’m hesitant to tell someone I’m visually impaired because I don’t want to be treated differently. If I’ve managed to pass as sighted this whole time and then suddenly reveal “oh yeah, I’m visually impaired” I feel this instant silence, this pause of awkwardness as people suddenly question how they’re supposed to treat me. They treated me like a person, and now I’m something strange and unfamiliar.)

I’ve worked so hard to improve representation for blind people, to give internet strangers the exposure to a blind person they need to normalize blindness because I hope that if they’re ever so lucky as to meet a blind person, they’ll treat that person with respect. That hope that another person in the blind community will find a friend they feel comfortable and accepted with. I hope that I’ll meet people who accept my blindness as just another aspect of me (like being bisexual or gender fluid or a writer or a cat lover).

Please don’t turn me and my community into a caricature. Don’t erase everything I’ve worked for with this blog.

To be clear, this is not just me saying "I hate the cure trope" again. This is me saying "the purpose of whump is to painfully hurt your favorite character, and I hate that your idea of pain and suffering is my daily (wonderful) life."

#blindness #whumptober #fanfiction #whump #whumptober 2021 #blind character #disability #ableism #anon

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asktheconductors · 2 years ago

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🚂🚇All Aboard!🚇🚂

Welcome to Gear Station, Passenger!

Please Mind the Yellow line whilst boarding our trains, and we hope to see you on the Battle Subway! We wanted to give our Passengers a place to learn more about the Subway and its Staff in a fun and interactive way. As such, we created this Ask Blog. Please read the Instructions below to get started!

MODS; This blog is a side-blog of @Deisycore so follows will be from there.

This is ran by two system members who are fictives of the Subway Bosses. This was started as a way to let them still connect with their Identities and bring them some comfort. This is still a ROLEPLAY account, but OOC questions directed to these two are also welcome.

Mod Sparky- 25 | He/Him | Main Owner!

Mod Indie- 30 | He/Him | Keeps things in check!

RULES: -Please do not send in any material that may be less than PG 13 friendly. Suggestiveness is allowed to an extent, but please exercise restraint! -Basic DNI ; Terfs/Transmeds, Racists/Sexists/LGBT-Phobes, Blankshippers, Fake-Claimers. We don't go out of our way to vet Passengers- but if we catch you we will block liberally. -We may delete or ignore asks as we please. Please keep in mind that we are people behind a screen, just as you are. Be courteous and respectful. -Please be Patient. Some asks may be answered with words, where as some may be better answered with Art. This takes time no-matter what. If its been a month, feel free to bump but if it remains unanswered, we have probably skipped it.

ETIQUETTE: -Ship related asks are welcome, though again we do not want Explicit NSFW asks. Blank-shipping and Any Ship involving an Underaged Character will be blocked. Other than that- Go Ahead. -OOC questions for our Mods are also encouraged and allowed! -This Ask blog is mainly focused on our Subway Bosses Emmet and Ingo, However we may introduce the Depot agents and other Characters at a later date. -In additions to asks, we are VERY Interested in this becoming an RP account! If you are a Pokemon RP blog, Feel free to try set some things up with us, we would love to have a go! -Asks relating to others AUs are welcome, However please be sure to link to an AU in some way so we can read up on it first! Even just the User it originated from is fine! AU asks will be tagged. -This is not a discourse blog- Do not argue the rules set in place or attempt to by-pass them. They are there for our safety and Comfort. -If you would like to be a re-occurring anon/asker, feel free to leave an Emoji in your message as a Tag! CHARACTER INFO: (Will be Updated with links to posts later) TAGGING SYSTEM: #Conductors Inbox - Asks for the Subway Bosses #OOC Inbox - Asks for the Mods #Not an Ask - Posts that do not fall under RP or OOC asks #Conductor Update - RP post that isn't attached to an Ask

ANON TAGS: None Yet!

(Updated; 29/10/22)

#ask blog #pokemon #submas #subway bosses #subway boss emmet #subway boss ingo #asks open #pokemon roleplay #submas roleplay #pokemon ask blog #Ask blog introduction #ask box open #rp blog

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1dkinkfest · 3 years ago

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Author Sign-Ups Are Open!

You can choose one kink or fetish (henceforth will be written as k/f) from our list of prompts or sign up with your own. K/fs will be assigned on a first come, first serve basis. Find the signup form here!

Find our list of prompts here!

You can find all the info about this fest here.

Wondering the rules and schedule? Check below!

Schedule

May 16 - Jul 1st (or until prompts run out) → Author Sign Ups

Oct 1st → Fics Due

Oct 3rd → Posting Begins

Rules

You need to be 18 years old or over to participate.

The minimum word count is 2,000. There is no maximum.

At least one current or former member of One Direction must be a main character in your story.

You may write with a co-author.

All kinks and fetishes are allowed, but fics must fully focus on one, which should be the prompt you sign up with. If you choose to include different k/fs than that from your prompt, it must be clear which is the main one.

All pairings are welcome, including girl Direction.

Though we are not considering it a specific k/f, writing ABO is allowed.

Non-sexual kinks are welcome. But since kink is for adults, we require you to tag your fic as mature on AO3 even if it does not contain sexual acts.

On that note, fics must be tagged appropriately. That way, readers can decide whether or not to engage with the content.

Using a beta is not required but strongly recommended.

Fics must be completed upon submission. If you happen to need an extension, please message us.

All authors are responsible for their own fic posts, which should include a moodboard, gifset, fanart or original fic visuals of some kind. However, you can reach out to us if you need help with it.

You can write up to two fics for this fest, but please keep in mind:

You cannot write two fics with the same primary k/f.

If your second k/f is uncommon and not on our list, feel free to sign up whenever you want using a different sign up form.

If your second k/f is on our list, we ask you to please wait until the end of sign ups to see if it’s still available. This is to prevent people from hogging several popular k/fs for themselves.

This fest will not be anonymous. Please feel free to post snippets and challenges regarding the fest. You can tag @1dkinkfest or use the hashtag #1dkinkfest if you want us to reblog your posts! If your snippets contain content that may trigger others, please add a trigger warning.

This fest is moderated by @larry-hiatus and @polaroidlouis. We are here if you have any questions, but please note! This Tumblr cannot receive direct messages. You can send an ask, or you can reach out to the mods on our individual blogs.

REMEMBER This fest exists as a safe space. We will not tolerate any form of kink shaming or disrespect to people’s preferences in any way. If you are uncomfortable with someone’s chosen kink, you can choose to not interact with them and/or block them. If you have any other issues, please come talk to us.

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finelinevogue · 3 years ago

Note

hiii ! could you write something about harry stalking y/n's Instagram but her account is private, so he sends a request and she accepts and she follows him back, and harry likes her pics (which aren't many) and tries to find out if she do you have a boyfriend or something?

this might be quite short but i hope this is alright for you;

“What’s the correct reaction I should use when Harry Styles requests to follow me?”

You asked your best friend, Heather, as you were both lounging on your bed. She was sat up against the headboard and you lay the opposite way around, holding you phone to the ceiling.

It was just another simple day for the two of you. You’d worked a long shift at the local supermarket and Heather had worker her long shift at the cat shelter, both of you now just having some down time to relax and regroup your thoughts before you even thought to start on dinner. Heather, your best friend and roommate, was an absolute tyrant in the kitchen which meant you were often the one to cook dinner. Tonight was shrimp risotto, if you could be bothered to get out of bed to actually make it. However you were no grounded to your bed more than ever, shocked with the current notification staring you square in the eyes.

“Why?” Heather laughed at you, not noticing your heavily serious face to your question, “you having your daily dreams over the man again?”

Okay, you didn’t have daily dreams… Nightly dreams, maybe. You had liked Harry for a while actually, perhaps since he had cut his hair for a movie he had done. You weren’t a huge fan of his and listened to his music occasionally - like when you were folding laundry or on a long train ride - but you weren’t dedicated to him. He was cute and his voice sounded really lovely. He was definitely the face you used in your nighttime scenarios, but you would never admit that out loud.

“No,” you briefly paused to find the right words to say, “because Harry Styles just requested to follow me.”

“You— What!” Heather sprung up from her position on the bed, but you stayed still and eyes fixed to your phone.

“Appropriate reaction?” You asked again, handing her your phone so she could see for herself.

“Um, ascending into heaven, I don’t know do I? The really question is why the fuck haven’t you accepted it?” She was quick to answer your question and even quicker to ask hers, looking at you as if you’d just told her you were born with only one tit.

“Maybe because it’s Harry Styles!” You exclaimed, sitting up and looking at her now the same way she had just done you.

“Babe, honey, that’s exactly why you need to accept him.” Tossing you back your phone you caught it as you looked to her. God, what was happening? You’d been stacking shelves at a supermarket 3 hours ago and now you were about to accept a follow request from Harry Styles - like the same man who you think about every night before bed and yet know barely anything about.

“Oh fuck it.” You clicked accept and then followed him back, switching your phone off and throwing it down onto the bed.

“Did you..”

“Yeah.”

“So…”

“Yeah.”

Then you started to freak.

It hit you that Harry Styles could see all of your instagram photos - even the ones you were tagged in. Then you questioned whether he would even bother to stalk you? Was he that kind of person? How did he even find you in the first place? You had 489 followers to his near 50 million, so it’s not exactly like he just saw you appear in his notifications - you didn’t even follow him until 30 seconds ago. Let’s say he did see your photos, what would he see? For starters there’s the photos of you and your parents dogs and then just your parents. There’s you on the beach and you in the snow. There’s you with friends and still some posted of people you didn’t like anymore. It was okay.

“Do you think he’s wanking off to that picture of you in your lingerie?” Heather broke the silence.

“What?” You looked at her baffled by such a question.

“You know? The one you just posted like two days ago because it was body positivity week at the gym?”

Fuck.

You’d completely forgotten about that photo and you scrambled quick for your phone. God, you couldn’t let Harry see you like that. You’d felt really, really, good when you’d posted it, dressed in your black lingerie from Victorias Secret, but now you were insecure that Harry could’ve looked at the photo and… well, vomited maybe?

“Oh no, no, no.” You repeated as you went back onto Instagram, only to freeze. “Holy fuck balls.”

If your mother heard the tone of your tongue from the past 5 minutes, she would have you strung up on her washing line by your toes. Okay not literally, but something similar.

“What? What’s happened?” Heather pressed, nosy to the current situation.

“He liked the photo.”

“He what?” Heather shouted, a shit eating grin on her face.

“Oh my fuck he liked the photo.” You put the phone on the bed and got up off to stand up, pacing whilst your rubbed your hands over your stressed temples. “He liked the look.” You repeated to yourself, trying to convince yourself that this was actually happening.

Harry Styles had seen a photo of you in your lingerie. That is not something you’d ever thought you’d ever say, but there’s the fact. Like he’d seen you - your body. You paced the length of your bedroom, completely in your own head wondering where you’d go in your life past this moment. Crawling under a heavy rock to live forever sounded pretty good right now though.

“Have you done freaking out yet?” Heather asked sarcastically, watching you pace with your phone in her hands.

“No. Yes. Maybe. Is this an acceptable reaction?” You stressed your hands through your hair and cupped your hand over your mouth in shock that this was genuinely happening.

“So I shouldn’t tell you that he’s also sent a direct message?” She asked rhetorically, making you stop wearing a track into your carpet.

“He…”

“Yeah.”

“Saying?”

“Do you want to sit down first or…” Heather asked, clearly concerned you weren’t handling this all very well.

“No. I’d rather just collapse afterwards.” You nodded your head, egging her to continue.

“Okay…” She rolled her eyes and returned her eyes to the screen to start reading out the message. “Y/N—”

“Oh jesus.” You interrupted, clutching onto your desk chair as your legs went weak and you had to sit down. Heather laughed at you before continuing, her eyes lighting up as she skim read the message.

“I hope you’re having a lovely day. I hope you don’t find my follow request or liking of your photos too creepy or forward, it’s just I think you’re really beautiful and ever since I heard about you I just had to know who you were. If you don’t want to reply, that’s alright I understand, but if you would like to know me a bit more as I would like to get to know you then feel free to call me or just message back. If, however, you are already seeing someone I apologise for this message to both you and your partner. Wishing you all the best, H. x”

Breathe check. Yes, still breathing.

“Y/N?” Heather asked, noticing you were struck still.

“Okay…” You let out a shaky breathe, doing some internal meditation to try and calm the buzzing of nerves that were rushing throughout your entire body.

“Y/N?” Heather snapped you out of your attempt of peace. “What do you want to do now?”

“He called me beautiful.” You smiled at her she smiled back, happy that you were happy.

“He also said he had heard about you from somewhere?” Heather asked, having picked up on that important bit of information.

“And he wants to get to know me.”

“Yes, okay lover-woman, let’s focus here.”

“Right, yes. Focus.” You nodded your head, still in a dreamy daze.

“Should we call him?” Heather asked.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” You threw your hands up in the air, which shocked you both. “Woah, sorry. Do you seriously think he’s going to want to listen to me paralysed at the lips? No.”

“So, text?”

“Text, yes.” You sighed, coming to sit on the bed next to her and draft a message back to the man who was about to change your life.

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thesolferino · 4 years ago

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True Calling

⤷ dream x f!reader.

⤷ word count: 3.9k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon!

— summary: dream meets his favorite singer on an among us livestream.

“Dude, what could go wrong? Just do it.”

“What could go wrong?! Literally so many things, you ass.”

Dream heard Sapnap sigh through the mic right into his headphones, the dim grey of his Discord background doing barely anything to illuminate his features as he stared at his open messages blankly.

“First of all, don’t.. speak to me like that, I am doing you a favour by sitting here and listening to you panic about stupid shit. Second of all, nothing big could go wrong. What, you’re a little awkward in the beginning, maybe, and that’s it.” Dream adjusted his headphones a little bit, Sapnap’s rant flowing into his ears but dissipating somewhere halfway to his brain, because, yes, things could go wrong and he can’t be proven otherwise.

“Did you forget that I’m a public figure? And that my fans are insane? I say one wrong thing and it’ll be memed and haunt me in my dreams. Did you forget that SHE’s a public figure? And that this is live? God…” he retorts back, listening to Sapnap helplessly sigh once again in response. He anxiously switches from his Discord to Twitter, then to YouTube, to Twitch and then back to Discord, frantically clicking around. In reality, he knows Sapnap is right, and it’s anxiety whispering into his ear that he’s gonna somehow fuck up, but maybe it’s simply easier to stay and argue with him into the night instead of actually responding to that message.

The stream is still going. Quackity’s voice speaks over Sapnap’s quiet breathing. “Damn, he’s still not responding. Um, let me try Tubbo, maybe?”

Before he knows it, the opportunity to join the stream is slipping out of his fingers, and Dream isn’t sure if he’s happy about that or not. On one hand, he gets to meet one of his favorite artists whose album he’s played way too many times to count, and on the other, the chances of him embarrassing himself in front of that same artist and a hundred thousand other people are extremely high, and he’s not sure if he likes the odds of that.

“Man, I don’t know. You won’t listen to me, anyway. Don’t join if you don’t want to.” Dream hears the annoyed tinge in Sapnap’s voice, and that’s what pours the last bit of courage into his veins because the best way to do anything in life is to follow Sapnap’s advice after you’ve already irritated him to the point of defeat, and he murmurs a quick “bye” and hangs up before the other can even respond, typing a rapid “Sure, send me the VC link” back to Quackity.

He hears a delighted exhale coming from his Twitch tab just as Quackity forwards him the link. “Okay, nevermind, we’ve got Dream! He’ll join in a second.”

With that, he swiftly closes the Twitch tab and with an encouraging sip of water, he finally joins the Discord voice chat with the rest of the players. Your Discord image sticks out like a sore thumb to him despite being a super basic, Googleable picture of you that he’s probably seen a million times by now, and upon seeing it, reality slaps him right over the face and he realises that, oh shit, he actually joined.

“Hey everyone.” Dream speaks into the mic and a mix of excited voices greets him at the same time as he loads up the game. Your icon is missing the green halo. He stares at it, as if you’ll magically speak up if he stares long and hard enough. That, apparently, works.

Pokimane’s “Dream, hi!” seems to set something off in your brain, and you speak again.

“Oh, Dream?” the green halo appears, and Dream resists the urge to say something stupid or bite his hand or anything of the sort when you say his name. “Aren’t you the guy who listens to my music all the time?” you giggle.

Quackity laughs loudly in his usual fashion, and Dream feels his hands go cold as the Among Us loading page pops up. “Wh-huh?”

“Yeah, you-you listen to my music a lot! Your fans always tag me under that… ‘Dream’s Spotify’ Twitter account, I remember you.” Dream swears his heart is about to jump out of his chest and start bouncing around on the floor because his ribs are way too restrictive for that type of movement, but he tries his best to play it cool and laughs lightheartedly.

“I do! I’m, like, your biggest fan.” he grins, as if you can see him, and you laugh in return.

“Yeah, man, you pay my rent. Thanks.” you say and a couple of people laugh while Dream inputs the code and his character finally pops up, immediately running around like the rest of the group. He runs around your purple character and hears you chuckle as you run around him too, but not for long, because the game starts and everyone mutes themselves. He audibly sighs, because he can afford to, considering he’s not streaming and nobody can hear the amount of courage this whole thing is taking him.

A notification pops up on his screen - the Dream Team group chat seems to be talking. Must’ve already found some way to make fun of me, he thinks to himself as he huffs out a large breath and runs through cafeteria and weapons to do his tasks in navigation. Corpse is hot on his tail the whole time, and not to say he’s an untrustworthy guy, but Dream isn’t really looking forward to getting killed before even speaking to you properly, so he runs around, trying to find somebody to stick with so Corpse doesn’t shove a knife in his back while he’s doing a task.

Thankfully, Karl emerges somewhere from the direction of storage right into communications where Dream was going, too. Just as Dream starts finishing download and Corpse and Karl line up behind him, his screen flashes bright red and white and the bold letters “Dead body reported” pop up. Everyone unmutes themselves and his eyes bore into your character, immediately.

“Alright, the body was in top left of the… uh, upper engine. I need everyone’s positions.” Rae immediately spoke.

“I was in electrical, I-I went through cafeteria to the upper engine with Poki, there was nobody there, we did our tasks, went down to lower engine, then Poki left with Toast, and I went to electrical and the body was reported.” Sykkuno said, and Pokimane confirmed with a hum of agreement.

“Dream?” Rae asked, and he spoke up.

“I never even went that way, I went through weapons to nav, and then to communications, and then the body was found. Corpse can vouch for me because he was following me the entire time and I kinda thought he was gonna kill me. And Karl saw me in communications, us three were all together when you… reported the body.” He rambled, trying to defend himself.

“Yeah, it’s true, he was with me the whole time.” Corpse supported.

“Karl, which way did you get to communications?” Toast asked.

“Uh, through storage.” Karl replied quickly.

“That’s funny, ‘cause I was in security, and I could swear I saw you walk past.” Toast said, and a couple of “ooh”s echo through the call.

“That makes no sense because even if I did go that way, I wouldn’t have time to get to communications and start doing my task with Dream and Corpse if I killed Ethan! And Rae, you-you saw me do my task in storage!” Karl loudly defended himself.

“...that… that’s true, yeah.” she said.

“If you ask me, Toast, you’re being real sus for lying about that.” Karl threw it back at Toast, who protested.

“Listen, I didn’t say you killed anybody, I just said I saw someone run past!” he claimed.

“Bretman and Y/N are being real quiet, though.” Corpse points out, and the green halo around your icon lights up once again.

“Oh shit, I didn’t realise I was muted. Sorry, guys.” you laughed. “Um, I was with… Quackity, in… what’s that shit on the right called?”

“O2.” Quackity quickly jumped in.

“Right, O2. I went to… top left, first, and I did my tasks there, and then to weapons and then to O2, and then the body was reported.”

“You were in top left?” Rae repeated.

“Yeah.”

“And was there anyone with you?”

“Um… no? I was alone, and then I saw Quackity in top right, and then we went to, uh, O2 together.” you said and Corpse sighed loudly.

“That means she could’ve had the time to kill Ethan and run.” Toast points out.

“Hey! I didn’t kill anyone! I don’t even know how this game works…” you whined into the mic and Quackity laughed.

“Yeah, I dunno Y/N, you were dancing real suspiciously around me…” he said, causing you to defend yourself louder.

“Why would I kill anyone?! I don’t even know how to do that, I’m a nice person!”

“I don’t think she did it, guys.” Dream pipes up, tugging at the wire of his headphones absentmindedly.

“Shut up, you simp.” Quackity fires back instantly, making everyone in the call laugh, including Dream.

“Damn right, I’m a Y/N simp. She can do no wrong. I mean, look at that innocent face! She did nothing, I’m-I’m sure.” He argued, making you cover your mouth and giggle.

“Their face is literally the same as everyone’s! We’re all astronauts!” Rae protested, but Dream kept shaking his head.

“No, hers is more innocent.” he said. “Toast, why are you so set on accusing everyone, anyway?”

“Oh, you’re so not attacking Toast right now-”

“Guys, I think we should skip.” Sykkuno pipes up to calm the conversation, and everyone agrees, even though most of them mumble “sus” under their breath as soon as they mute their mics.

Dream’s tiny green astronaut stomps his way over to the left side immediately, changing paths this time and making his way into the Upper Engine, trying to finish his tasks in time and possibly find someone to accompany him so he at least doesn’t have to argue over his alibi. He had four tasks left, two of them in Upper Engine, so after that he was free to roam around wherever his heart desired. Just as he started doing one of them, he watched your purple character step in and run circles around him, earning you a quiet laugh that he didn’t know he uttered until he heard himself do it and silently scolded himself for getting that flustered at something so simple.

The two of you did your tasks together before going down to reactor. Just as Dream started doing one of his tasks, a dead body was reported again and he unmuted himself as Toast immediately started borderline yelling into his headphones.

“Bretman just killed Sykkuno RIGHT in front of me. I literally watched him do it. He killed Sykkuno in COLD BLOOD.” he confidently claimed and Dream, quite uninterested, grabbed his bottle of water and lightly sipped on it, wiping beads of sweat resting right above his eyebrows with his forearm, blindly looking around the darkness, trying to get his eyes to adjust looking away from the computer screen. His eyes searched for the window - it was open, just enough to let a fresh breeze inside, but it never seemed to do that, letting humid air in with open arms like a welcome guest. Florida is fucking hell, he thinks, gulping down some more water.

“No, I didn’t! I seriously did not, he’s the one who killed him and is trying to frame me now. I swear to God, Toast…” Bretman shouted into his worn mic, trying to argue back.

“Yeah, to be honest, Bretman, you were silent the whole time when Ethan died.” Rae reasoned, earning quite a lot of “ooh”s and causing little “voted” signs to appear next to Poki, Toast and Karl’s names as Bretman tried his best to fight back.

“I didn’t know I was muted the whole time! You know I’m bad at this! Why would I... you know what, nevermind! Vote me! Vote me! You’ll see when Toast kills you all, I don’t care anymore. I literally saw-”

Dream slumps further into his chair, sure that the foam would have a dent of his body shape imprinted even when he’s long gone from it, and unlocks his phone with a quiet sigh. He opens Discord, and wishes he hadn’t, because Sapnap and George are always on the front lines and ready to make fun of him at any chance possible. He types back a stupid joke, calling them losers, but before he can press send, a Twitter notification pops up on his phone that almost makes his painfully sweaty hands lose grip of the phone.

“this is so boring” your message reads, from your official Twitter account. Dream blinks a few times, and looks up from his phone to observe his murky, empty room, eyes flashing from the window to the ripped chocolate bar wrapper that somehow made its way onto the floor to a cup of coffee from this afternoon. Did the humid air finally get to him? Hallucinations?

He clicks on the notification - it proves to not be a product of his imagination, after all. Three dots dance around on his screen cheerfully, but they suddenly stop. His ears tune in. Bretman is still defending his honor. Something else must’ve interrupted you. His shaky hands barely hit the right letters.

He takes a handful of screenshots amidst his euphoria, and forwards them to the group chat with no caption besides an emoji sticking its tongue out - he wants to tell them to suck his dick, or something along those lines, but your message remains a priority as he rushes back to the Twitter app to reply.

“Right” he manages to write without a typo. “They’re annoying”

Three dots immediately return to his screen like a happy memory, and he almost can’t believe you’re texting back so fast. George would probably humble him by saying it’s because you have nothing better to do, but what George doesn’t know can’t hurt him, Dream supposes, and clicks on your profile instinctively as he adjusts his headphones on one ear. By the time you finish typing your message, the group decided to vote out Bretman, who ended up not being an imposter.

The three dots disappear as quick as they came, and so does the anticipation that bubbled up in Dream’s throat as he sourly leaves to finish the rest of his tasks. The rest of the game stays as boring as it started, save for the giggles and hushed laughter that came from you at every few jokes he made - of which he made quite a lot, in a desperate attempt to make you laugh, at least a little bit. Of course, Quackity was there every step of the way to accidentally mention how Dream sounded a lot more hype and alive during this game than he does ever, but you win some, you lose some, eh?

In the next game you actually decided to set up proximity chat, so of course Dream followed you around everywhere, hot on your tail at all times - what else is he supposed to do, when the chance presented itself, really?

“Are you imposter?” His character obnoxiously ran circles around you as you did your wires task slowly and unsurely since this stream was your first time playing.

“No, but I wouldn’t tell you even if I was, dummy.” You replied, running around his own character briefly before running up to do the rest of your tasks, watching the green astronaut follow you close behind.

“Why not?” Dream questioned, eyes following all your movements since he didn’t have anything better to do considering he finished all his tasks.

“Do you not know how this game works?”

“Yeah, but you’d tell me, right? I wouldn’t… rat you out.” He heard a sigh coming through his headphones in response, and his grin widened just a little, watching your character walk away from him.

“I know you wouldn’t.” you replied. “I’ll tell you if I’m imposter, I guess.”

“You wouldn’t kill me, would you?” Dream spoke into his mic, reaching to fix it and realising the way his hand trembled a little, fully aware he was walking the line between flirty and obnoxious more than usual. He lowered his gaze just to see his keyboard reflect the light of the computer back to him - the sweat from his palms seemed to seep onto the keyboard. He refused to think about the mocking things his best friends would say if they found out how nervous he was just to talk to you.

“No, of course not! I wouldn’t be able to kill you.” You chirped just as a dead body was discovered and the two of you were torn from the conversation.

In the next one, his screen flashed an ominous black and red with the word “Impostor” and your purple character stood proudly next to his green one, and he snickered to himself, adjusting his headphones one more time (the more he did it, the more he was convinced it was one of those anxious habits of his).

Shifting in his chair, he started moving and couldn’t believe his eyes when he realised the two of you managed to lock yourselves in a room with Corpse and Sykkuno, accomplishing a double kill in barely the first two minutes of the game. The two of you vented while Dream muttered curses under his breath, breaking out in a sweat wondering if you’re going to get caught or not as you casually hummed to a random tune while faking tasks, hitting the notes in such an effortless way that it made Dream relax and get even more nervous at the same time. It didn’t take too long before the body was found, and you seemed to adapt to the game very quickly, as Dream just sat back most of the time and watched you stretch out a whole essay on why you and Dream could NOT have been imposters.

“Why would they stick together the whole time? Couldn’t they get at least someone else to vouch for them?” Toast complained.

“Girl, Dream wants some… alone time with Y/N, obviously.” Bretman said, despite being the one most sus of you in the first place, forcing laughter out of the whole lobby, Dream’s sticking out the most as his mood constantly swayed from finding the whole thing funny to being worried sick if you actually find him weird.

“Exactly! And we’re gonna have our alone time if we want to, thank you very much.”

Well, Dream thinks, taking a stressed gulp of water from his bottle, at least we cleared that one up.

“I don’t think that sounded the way you wanted it to, Y/N.” Karl pipes up, making Quackity burst into another fit of loud laughter, and you immediately protested.

“It sounded exactly the way I wanted it to! Now, vote Rae or else.”

When the meeting was over, he ran after you through cafeteria, grin splitting out on his face before he even spoke.

“You’re pretty…” his silence extended as he watched your character stare at his. “...pretty smart.”

You snorted. “Right. You’re pretty…” you extended your silence in return, mocking him. “...too.”

His heart jumps. “You forgot a word there.” he says as you stomp out to storage.

“I said what I said, Dreamy.”

He swears this can’t be healthy for his blood pressure. In the corner of his eye, Discord notifications pop up like crazy. The boys must be watching your stream. His heart swells with both pride and dread, knowing he’s about to be called something along the lines of pretty Dreamy for the next two months.

“How do you know I’m pretty? You’ve never even seen my face.” Dream replies as heat creeps up like a spirit rising from soil, from the back of his neck, seeping into his ears and cheeks somewhat equally. His eyes dart to the window again. Of course it’s the stupid Florida weather that has him burning up, flustered. Maybe he should open another window.

“Is this an invitation to see it?” you say, a teasing tone clinging off your voice and he can practically hear you smiling.

“No, I’m just saying! If you want to see it, though, that… that can be arranged.” he bites his lip as a physical attempt of holding back the smile that breaks out as he waits for your response, chest puffing in both nervousness and odd confidence.

“Can it? I mean, I don’t need to see it, I just know already, you have those… pretty boy vibes. But I wouldn’t…” you chuckle. “...be opposed to seeing it, for sure. Don’t count on me not to leak the pictures, though. I want the clout.”

“What do you MEAN you want the clout, you’re Y/N! You don’t need clout from a Minecraft YouTuber!” He argues back, a small wheeze escaping him mid sentence as you giggle and run around, with him following your every move.

“You keep my fucking lights on, man! Whenever your Spotify Twitter account thingy tweets that you’re listening to my stuff, the streams go up! I need your clout.” you say as you run into admin and snap Toast’s neck and run back out casually, as if nothing happened.

“Yeah, that’s how me listening to your songs on repeat works.” he says and you let out some sort of irritated groan.

“Shut up, smartass.” Just as you say that, somebody seems to find the body and you’re pulled into a meeting, where Rae susses both of you immediately.

“No, because both of you are always together! And someone always spots you walking by the place where the bodies are found! At some point that can’t be a coincidence, right?” she accuses, practically yelling into the mic.

“Of course they’re always together, check- check fuckin’ Twitter! They’re trending on like three different spots already!” Quackity jumps in, loud as always, and the lobby gives off mixed reactions.

“What? We are?” Dream asks, and Quackity confirms with a “yeah, man! Check!” and so he complies, quickly pulling out his phone to check the trending tabs. Sure enough, among the politics and sports, “DREAM Y/N”, “PRETTY BOY” and “DREAM FACE” are crammed, sat at 7th, 14th and 18th place, respectfully. A satisfied grin breaks out on his face. At least they see it, too.

“This has to be the first time Dream has trended for something heterosexual.” Karl points out, earning loud laughter from Quackity and Bretman, less loud on your part.

“Exactly! We’re a power couple! Stay mad!” You shouted, with Dream supporting you in the background, although still shyly adjusting his headphones every few seconds, unable to comprehend that oh, this is actually happening.

Both of you get voted out during the next few minutes, but that really means nothing to Dream - they actually do him quite a favor, because the two of you get to excuse yourselves and he sees those three familiar dots dance on his screen again as he leans back into his chair with a dopey grin, playing with the strings of his sweatpants, waiting for your next and next and next message.

He opens Discord on his computer to type one last message into the groupchat before turning it off for the night:

Dream (03:14): maybe Minecraft wasn’t my calling after all

Dream (03:14): can’t believe I just met my soulmate on Among Us

#dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream imagine #dreamwastaken imagine #dream fanfic #dreamwastaken fanfic #dream fluff #dream x you #dreamwastaken x you #dream x y/n #dreamwastaken x y/n #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfic #mcyt x reader

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starlessea · 4 years ago

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Sleepless Nights (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Prompt: “Well, I never thought we’d get here. But here we are.” By @witch-of-letters

Summary: They say that your firstborn opens your eyes to the world; but Daryl looked at her like she was the world.

Words: 1249

Warnings: So much fluff... and Dog somehow teleports into S5

"Well, I never thought we'd get here. But here we are." You whispered into the open air, watching as your husband held his child for the first time.

Despite the pain, despite all those sleepless nights where you'd cry to him that your feet were swollen, or that your belly got in the way, you wouldn't trade it for the world. Daryl cradled that world against his chest, completely enamoured. Her cries didn't faze him in the slightest, as he continued to rock her gently as though she were glass in his grasp.

He looked over at you, wide-eyed and speechless, and suddenly you wished for time to trickle along just a little slower. Your baby girl wailed so loudly, and you wondered how many people had their ears pressed up against the door, waiting to be allowed back in. Daryl had ushered them all out, not so gently, as soon as he knew you were okay. He'd said that you needed your rest - but in reality, you knew that he'd just wanted this moment to himself.

The man took careful steps towards where you lay, propped up on too many plumped pillows, staring at him trying to lull your daughter. He held her in one of his arms, and she looked so tiny tucked away there. With his free hand, he pushed your sweat-soaked hair from your forehead, leaning down to press a kiss against it and taste the salt on his lips.

You gave him an exhausted smile, fighting against the heaviness of your eyelids so that you could savour this image in your mind.

"Please remind me to never do that again." You chuckled quietly, as he took your hand in his.

Your fingers interlocked with each other, and he took a seat on the small stool near the bedside, letting you see your baby again.

"She's worth it." He mumbled, his expression proving just that.

Daryl stroked the back of his thumb gently over her cheek, noticing how his hand was bigger than her little face. She'd stopped crying at some point, and slept soundly against his chest, completely unaware of the parents who stared dotingly at her.

"Jus' look at 'er." The man said softly, almost like he was talking to himself.

You were looking at her, but you were also looking at him. The way his eyes lit up, and a smile tugged at his cheeks like he was unable to hold it back - it all made you realise just how much you loved him. You felt sleep creep up further, but you held it back, preferring to stay awake over even dreaming.

Daryl glanced over at you, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and sweaty skin - and the way your eyelids fluttered closed every few seconds.

"Yer amazin'. The both of ya."

Your husband brought your hand to his lips, and placed a kiss over each of your knuckles. You giggled, trailing your fingers along his jaw and feeling the prickle of his beard.

There was a scratching at the door, and the two of you looked over just in time to see it fly open, and a familiar german shepherd bound into the room. Daryl stood up instantly, bringing your daughter closer to his chest and holding his other hand out to keep Dog at bay. Except, he didn't need to. He sat patiently at the foot of your bed, wagging his tail and sending lopsided looks in your direction.

You let out a genuine laugh this time, wincing at the soreness it brought with it. Daryl raised an eyebrow, looking over at the mutt whose tongue lolled out of his mouth.

"An' look." The man muttered, leaning down slightly to show off the baby in his arms. "Even Dog's excited to have a lil' sister."

You beamed a smile you didn't even know you had in you. With what little energy you had left, you peered over at the exchange, wishing to be closer so that you could be a part of it.

Denise came stumbling through the door not a minute later, looking rather flustered as she whipped her head around to look for the dog.

"Sorry!" She whispered, and shot you an apologetic look.

You waved her off, and watched amused as she grabbed him by his collar and dragged him to the door. His paws slid across the marble, and he whimpered in fear of missing out.

"Just outside." Denise reminded you, before closing the door and giving you your privacy. "Call me if you need me." She said, through the wall.

And suddenly, it was just the three of you again. You thought you'd never get used to saying that - three, instead of two.

"Daryl-" you whispered, and he was by your side in an instant. "Can I see her?"

The man wasted no time laying your daughter over your chest gently, and you supported her head under your arm.

"Ya don't have to ask, Sunshine." He mumbled, close to your ear. "She's yours."

Her cheek pressed against the bare skin of your neck, and you felt her lips tremble against you as she started to let out quiet whimpers.

"Dear god, she's going to be such a daddy's girl." You sighed, as her cries picked up again.

Daryl's eyes widened like he'd never even considered the fact.

"Ya think?" He asked, and you nodded.

"Dixon, I can already tell."

Everyone had come and gone within the hour, and you'd surprised yourself by managing to stay awake. They cooed over your daughter, and then cooed over you for doing so well. At this point, you could barely remember who you'd even spoken to. You could briefly recall Carol placing a damp rag over your forehead and getting you to drink some water, and Carl joking about how your baby could probably fit comfortably in his hat.

After a while, however, they'd filtered out at the request of Denise, who saw the way your eyes drooped and head sunk back into the pillow when no one was looking. She'd put the baby down in her crib, coaxing Daryl by telling him he'd have to let her go at some point.

Once everyone had left, the two of you lay pressed together in that single bed. You'd had to plead with the man to get him to lie next to you - and even now he stayed perfectly still in fear of accidentally hurting you. You were just grateful for the warmth, and rested your cheek over his chest as he played with your hair. He watched you fight sleep and chuckled, pulling the sheets higher to cover your shoulders.

"She's so beautiful." He whispered into your hair, noticing you tiredly gazing in the direction of the crib.

You nodded against him, staying silent.

"I hoped it'd be a girl." He admitted, to your surprise.

You'd always thought he'd be more comfortable with a son, first. You could imagine Daryl teaching him to hunt, or fix up cars. It wasn't that your daughter wouldn't be able to do that, too - but you could already see how protective he'd be over her.

"Really?" You mumbled. "And why's that?"

A small yawn escaped your lips as you asked him, and you kept your eyes closed as you listened to his heartbeat.

"'Cos I wanted 'er to look jus' like her mother."

A/N Dear lord, who let me listen to soppy spotify playlists whilst writing?

Send me a message if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

Tag List:

@xxboesefrauxx @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @teel-dinosaur @speakinglikeconstellations @bunnymother93 @alularae3 @death-becomes-her @royaleclown @alex-sulli @julesmalek @fuseburner @riverscyberwife @browneyes528 @julesclues @diaryofkali @solinarimoon @ssonia13 @phoenixblack89 @srhxpci @jocyc1997 @bvbwestfall @graniairish @bitchynicole

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stereopticons · 2 years ago

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Get to Know Me Better

Hi, friends. I was tagged by @hippolotamus

First, some general stuff about me:

I hated Schitt’s Creek when I watched the first episode years ago when it first came to Netflix. I don’t do well with unexpected screaming and didn’t like the characters much. I decided to give it another chance sometime early last year and was hooked, though I didn’t descend into the full obsession until about September of last year.

I started writing SC fic last October (you can find it all here) and it was the first time I’d written fic in 15 years!

IRL, I’m an epidemiologist

Otters are my favorite animal and have been since I was 8! My dream job as a third grader was running a seal and otter rescue.

My inbox is always open! Feel free to send me messages or prompts or whatever. I know I’m slow to get to them sometime (I know there are still quite a few in my inbox that I haven’t gotten to!) but I will get to them eventually! And I love new friends!

On to the meme! I should have probably added to the above statements that when I get asked for my favorite thing, I immediately forget everything I’ve ever liked, so take these answers with a grain of salt.

Favorite time of year: Fall! I used to hate fall because it made me sad, but I love it now. Give me all the sweaters and warm beverages and apples and spooky things!

Comfort food: Mac and cheese, pizza, or anything chocolate

Do you collect something?: Mugs, much to my partner’s chagrin. We definitely have more mugs than we have space for but I just love them so much.

Favorite drink: London fog latte, and just so many kinds of tea. If it’s coffee, it needs to be like melted ice cream. Alcoholic drinks (including wine) should taste like juice.

Favorite song: Oh god. I’ll just give you the three I’ve listened to a lot this week. Fluorescent Light by Stars, Hallelujah (Jeff Buckley version), and Tidal Wave by the Mountain Goats.

Favorite Fic: Okay, no, how can I pick one fic? That’s impossible. I can’t even direct you to my bookmarks list because I am so bad at bookmarking fics. Something I read recently and really enjoyed was back to the drawing board by mycleverusername. I know that’s not an answer, but it’s still a good fic. I could also give a list of fics I haven’t stopped thinking about since I read them? Idk, does anyone want that list lmao

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artificialqueens · 2 years ago

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New Fic Challenge: PEN PAL CHALLENGE TAKE TWO (AKA ULTIMATE RARE PAIRS)

New Deadline: September 15, 2022

Hello Friends!!

Well, listen. I can admit when I’ve made a mistake. 🙈

While people here are very into rare pairs, normally, it seems like the parameters for this challenge (as they were first posted) may have made things a little TOO difficult. Or at least, not very exciting because it took the “chemistry” element out of the equation. Which is like, 97% of the fun of fanfiction. Oops. My bad. Sorry 'bout that. I really thought y'all would be more into crack ships. 😂

Anyway, here’s an attempt to modify those guidelines so that it’s a bit more relaxed, but still encourages people to play with those international franchises that don’t get as much attention. And also, still keeps the spirit of @laineecope’s original suggestion.

Revised Guidelines, Submission Instructions, Randomizer Tool, and a little Prompt List below after the cut. Feel free to send an ask if you have more questions, requests, prompts, headcanons, thoughts, artwork, playlists, or anything to contribute. XOXO

***NOTE: If you have begun writing something based on the original guidelines, you can absolutely still use it!! These rules are less restrictive, but following the old rules would still make your fic perfectly fine.***

Revised Guidelines:

So, we’re still trying to find rare pairs, and we’re still trying to put a spotlight on international queens. Here’s another way to get there that’s hopefully less rigid: Choose a pairing, romantic or not, where at LEAST one of the queens:

> Appeared on a Televised Drag Competition that was *not* the flagship US RPDR Seasons 1-14 (An International Season of Drag Race, Dragula, Queen of Drags, Queen of the Universe, etc).

> Appeared on US RPDR but was born outside of the USA, or is not a citizen of the US/was not a citizen when they competed*

Write a fic - any length, any genre - using the theme of “pen pals.” (If you’re not sure where to begin, there’s a list of prompts below to help you get started. And YES, ‘pen pal’ can be any form of written communication, not just postal letters. So online friends, people who meet on social media/messageboards/etc would 100% qualify here.)

Suggestion (not a requirement, just an idea) - though you could go in a romantic direction with any of these, it would be a cool challenge to really explore gen fic and the power and importance of friendship and found family.

If the other queen(s) in your main ship are from the same franchise, then consider adding in supporting character(s) from a 2nd or even 3rd franchise as friends, coworkers, classmates, etc.

For a fun alternate/speed challenge: Set a timer for an hour or two and write one round of “letters” back and forth.

Remember that the above guidelines are not enforceable. No one is grading you and this is all just for fun. Basically, if you submit anything and tag it with the fic challenge, then that’s awesome and I love you and so will anyone who reads it.

*Please keep in mind that Puerto Ricans are United States Citizens. But also, See the last bullet point.

Submission Instructions: Please tag your stories with “fic challenge” and “pen pals.” In your author’s note, tell us which franchises your queens are from and what nationalities they are, if relevant. Have fun! XOXO

Randomizer to help select queens from across the RPDR franchises.

Revised Prompt List:

Queens began as pen pals when they were younger and are now roommates.

Queens began as pen pals and it’s a friends to lovers type scenario.

Using a literary device of the actual letters or messages back and forth, possibly over the course of a long time period to see how feelings and their writing styles and personalities change as the years go by.

A catfishing situation with one queen getting suspicious and an eventual confrontation.

“Pen Pal” used in a more modern sense to mean “met online and became friends through social media or another messaging platform”

Meeting in person and eventually figuring out that they’d been pen pals many years earlier as children or teenagers. Possibly having helped each other through very rough times.

#fic challenge guidelines

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ura-writes · 4 years ago

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Trampolinist

Summary - You’re a player who jumps from server to server, often revisiting several and always trying to find access to new ones. When a victorious game of duos Skywars on Hypixel wins you an invitation to one of the most famous yet exclusive servers in the community, you find a world you never knew existed, allies you’re not certain you can trust, and enemies that may not be just that. Oh, yeah, and an anarchist piglin hybrid.

(c!technoblade/server jumper!reader)

Basic warnings: minor blood, swearing, light threats

A/N - hello! I decided to start this series as a result of a sporadic idea at midnight after quite an odd dream. Some information you might need:

A few select people can jump servers without using portals, and you (the reader) are one of them.

Some servers are public and some require invites. Hypixel and a lot of the other bigger servers are public, while SMPs such as the Dream SMP are private and require an invite.

Jumpers, as they are commonly referred to throughout the series, still require an invite to private servers, though some have figured out loopholes to this process and actively exploit it, earning the title of “Crashers”. You have figured it out but don’t use the ability.

The rating for this series is 14-15+, most likely including minor to graphic descriptions of blood/injuries, violence, swearing, minor manipulation and death.

There are select groups of people who hate Jumpers and actively try to perma-kill them or get them source-banned from servers, leaving them stuck in single player and isolation.

From the author:

This will be in second person.

There will be no use of Y/N or (Y/N) or anything along those lines. I understand some people use them as a descriptor, but in my opinion, it looks a bit messy/choppy.

Feel free to criticize, though don’t be super harsh.

Also gl free to point out spelling mistakes.

I love love LOVE feedback! Gimme it! Please! /lh /gen

Anyway, those are the basics that you need to know! For now, at least… hehe.

Enjoy the first part!

-ura

——

The familiar particles signalling a personal portal opening in the lobby sends a few people scattering, but most just move to the side, though there are a fair few that stay to watch the person step out of the rip in reality.

The person stumbles out, cursing the deities to high heaven, brushing dirt and sweat and even a bug off of their face, certainly looking a bit worse for wear.

This was certainly not what the audience was expecting. They were expecting a prim, proper or at least somewhat distinguished person to step out of the actively sparking spiral, as most Jumpers are that way, even just a bit.

Nope.

“What are you looking at?”

The people step back a bit, noticing the sword the person clutches in their hand.

That person is you.

“Fuck off, would you? You probably see Jumpers on the daily! Fuckin’ annoying.” you grumble, sheathing the sword at your side. “Fuck… is this Hypixel?”

With a cursory sweep of the attire of the people surrounding you and buildings towering over everyone, you determine that yes, it is, in fact, Hypixel.

Of course, that may have also been the big-ass sign in the sky with the server’s name on it. That too.

With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you pull your inventory up. The typical “please place your personal belongings in a safe place before playing a match, otherwise they may be wiped.” message pops up when you do. You huff, wave your fingers to dismiss the text. Not like you’ve been here a hundred thousand times or anything like that.

The Netherite blade at your side, your armor and any sentimental belongings you have on you go straight into your enderchest, categorized in one of the shulker boxes designated specifically for this purpose.

As you walk along, trying to sort your inventory out (fortunately the server provides a free repair and replace to anyone’s clothing, as yours are beaten pretty much beyond self-help), deciding what match you might want to play, the crowd that was surrounding you quickly scurries off with a few screams.

A quick glance upwards catches your gaze on a red and white nametag.

Huh. Don’t see those often.

Whispers of the name you can’t quite see from where you stand rapidly reach your ears, ringing with slight familiarity.

Dream.

Odd. The masked man doesn’t often come onto public servers, mainly sticking to his own private server, named after him. The Dream SMP. How egotistical.

Without another glance towards the fan-people, you select a game idly. The blue text pops up in front of you, confirming your want to play the match.

Skywars Duos.

Before you know it, you’re whisked off to the arena, a bit dizzy from your landing, but fine nonetheless. The timer for the start slowly counts down, ticking slowly as people pop into existence with increasing frequency.

A presence behind you alerts you to your teammate. You nod at them just as the beeping of the final ten seconds counts down.

After a few repeated sessions, most being losses, you decide on one more match before you head to a tavern for the night, preferably one with a view.

This time you’re the second one to arrive. And for once, you take a longer look at your teammate.

He’s the guy everyone was freaking out about a few hours earlier… what was his name again? Dr-something. Or was it a Tr-something? Ah, who knows. It doesn’t matter as long as he’s good. You don’t bother to look at his nametag; he’s probably just some hotshot who thinks he’s all that.

“Not going to freak out?” he asks you. You snort at the question, shaking your head with a glance at the timer.

“Just here to kick ass.”

“Fair enough,” he replies. “You any good?”

A laugh from you echoes as the beeping of the countdown starts.

“We’ll see.”

The barrier below you drops, sending you hurtling to the floating island below. You quickly hit the ground, rolling into a crouch while your teammate raids the chest beside you, tossing a few bits of armor and a stone axe as well as a golden apple, which you catch and nod gratefully.

The hood on his head drops when another player attempts to take him out of the game. He ducks, barely avoiding the glimmer of the enchanted sword, sweeping her legs out from under her. The enemy player narrowly rolls out of the way with her shield being knocked out of her hands into the dark blue void below the floating island.

She curses loudly as his axe lands beside her head, kicking it to the side.

In that moment, you shove her hard off of the crumbling stone, jabbing your axe in her shoulder for final measure. Her falling figure flashes red with the loss of hearts, and eventually, she disintegrates into dust, the announcement of her tag being eliminated in the chat making you smirk.

“Well, you are good.”

You send him a smirk and collect the spoils of your kill, mostly a few potions and the iron blade, tossing a few of the former to your teammate and splashing a speed potion on yourself.

With practiced movements you begin to build to the middle islands, your teammate throwing the occasional snowball at any approaching enemy players, even knocking one off their bridge. The message of their death rings in the chat, being the fifth elimination.

The chests there contain better loot, even a diamond sword and chestplate, a strength II potion and a Power I bow with fifteen arrows. You take the bow and chestplate (with permission from your teammate, who gladly takes the sword and potion) and book it to the center chests, almost laughing at the amount of snowballs and arrows lying there.

“Well, I’m not complaining,” you muse.

You hear a yell of your tag, quickly spinning around to block the swing of an enchanted axe, their teammate quickly turning to gang up on you after finishing off another person.

Great. You’re fighting two people now.

Swing, duck, dodge, swipe, duck, swipe, block—shit, you got stabbed! Two hearts disappear from your health bar, sending a flurry of curses flying from your lips.

But luckily, your teammate is fast enough to eliminate the weaker of the two.

The tables turn.

The clash of blades, splash of potions and grunts of pain quickly move to the edge of the center island. It’s two verses one now, and the three of you are the last competitors in the match.

Block the swing, return the blow, duck, block, dodge—

A sudden stab in your shoulder alerts you to an arrow stuck in the skin there, slowly depleting your health.

It’s merely a distraction.

The enemy player barrels into you, sending you stumbling backwards right at the edge of crumbling gravel.

Poison becomes your downfall.

The smack of another half heart.

As one last resort, you grip onto the block with one hand, the other dangling with your bow into the void. Gritting your teeth, you do your damndest to drag yourself up, the poison wreaking havoc through your body and strength.

Shit. I’m not going to survive this, am I?

The one-handed grip on your bow tightens, nocked arrow slipping between your dirt-covered fingers.

You make a decision.

Just as the enemy player comes over, smirking but low on health, you let go of the block, drawing your arrow back as you fall into the void.

The broadhead meets its mark just in time, signalling a victory with a dragon appearing underneath you right before you hit the death line. A sigh of relief escapes your lips; you direct the dragon upwards with a rush of gratefulness soaring through your body. Respawning isn’t a pleasant process.

Twenty or so seconds later, you appear back in the lobby with your teammate at your side. The lobby is nearly empty, only a few people milling around, most having traveled elsewhere or checked into a tavern or hotel.

“You’re good. We could use you on our side.”

“ ‘We’?”

Two other figures appear out of seemingly nowhere, one wearing white-rimmed black sunglasses with a blue hoodie, the other a bandana and a white hoodie with flames on the front of it.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, calling up a portal in your mind, ready to dash through it at the slightest hint of a threat. Sparks form by your palms, their signature color drawing the leader’s attention.

“Calm down. I have no interest in killing you.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” you retort. “Three versus one isn’t exactly fair y’know.” The sparks grow brighter; though they are primarily used to call up portals, they can deal quite a blow to anyone who forcefully comes into contact with them.

Dream (you now read off his nametag, getting sick of referring to him by random aliases) extends a hand in front of his body. Something hovers in it, glowing a soft white and reading something you can’t quite make out.

“It’s not going to kill you.”

Bandanna laughs at that.

“Reassuring,” you snap, taking a closer look at it.

Invitation: Dream SMP

Active?: Yes

Expires: Never

Taken aback, you sputter out a few jumbled sentences before asking why they’d invite you of all people. Sure, you may be okay at Skywars, but that doesn’t warrant an invitation to literally the most exclusive server in the network.

“Uh—what?”

You take a quick glance at the two others, noting their tags are red and white as well, reading Sapnap and Georgenotfound.

“You don’t have to accept.” Dream steps forward to set the glowing orb in your hands. “Just know that we picked you for a very good reason.

How… interesting.

“Is it ‘cause I’m an inactive Crasher?”

The three stiffen at the moniker used for the infamous Jumpers, the ones who figure out ways around the system, the lines of fate that make up the different servers, finding loopholes that not even the best Mender can. They exploit them, gaining almost god-like abilities on the server only to wreak absolute anarchy on the infrastructure until the admin can step in, if they haven’t been eliminated from the system or perma-killed already.

From what little you know about the Dream SMP, you know the admin is a god of sorts, mostly staying out of the way but occasionally fixing matters that need it. Otherwise they stay… wherever gods stay.

“No,” George pipes up. You note his accent, odd and slightly out of place, but not unpleasant. “You being a Jumper does help, however.”

You’ve heard of elusive servers where Jumpers have access to a lot of power and near-unlimited resources, though no one can quite figure out why. Those servers are typically entirely anarchy.

“Yeah, sure.” But you clutch the invitation closer to your person anyway. It glows a bit brighter at the increased contact.

“Think on it.”

Those words echo through your mind throughout the rest of the night, in your bed, subconsciously in your dreams and into the next morning.

It’s no easy decision. You know you’ll be dragged into all sorts of politics, conflict and battles unlike the Skywars ones you usually find yourself dealing with.

Your hand grips the glowing ball a bit tighter, reading the same three statements engraved on it repeatedly until the words are branded into your mind.

And then it disappears.

“Invitation accepted.”

#mcyt x reader #reader insert #xreader #x reader #mcyt x you #technoblade x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #Trampolinist: Series

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