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grlsbstshot · 3 months ago

Text

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: A year has passed since Imani and Jameson's painful breakup. Once again, fate draws the two together again...but it's not as joyful reunion as either thought they'd have.

Warnings: smut (18+), toxic relationship, mentions of therapy, out of control drinking, and emotional breakdowns, sex (p in v, creampie, dirty talk) -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 8k

Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes:

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

Anaïs Lucas sat at her writing desk, the faint scent of her signature jasmine lingering in the air. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall. She flipped through the pile of papers in front of her, gaze landing on the embossed invitations for Jameson’s album release party.

Pride made her smile. Her son had an advantage when he got into the industry, yes. He had her name and his good looks but nobody could ever pretend her baby couldn’t sing or that he didn’t work his ass to keep what he got. After he announced he was pushing back his album last winter, Anaïs watched people doubt him. Come January 2026 – a few short weeks from then – they would know that he was worth the wait.

She picked one up, running her fingers over the gold lettering.

You are cordially invited to the premiere of Midnight & Dawn A celebration of James Lucas’ third album

It was elegant, timeless—everything she’d expect from her son’s team. Yet, as perfect as it seemed, something was missing.

Or rather, someone.

The party was in a matter of days and she knew for a fact that Imani wasn’t on the guest list. It made sense. The two had broken up and hadn’t so much as whispered each other’s name in public. Imani had moved on. Jameson had moved on. The cute little girl she’d seen him out with – but had yet to meet – seemed to be distracting him just enough.

But she knew her son. She knew what he wanted. She tried not to be that kind of mother but she couldn't help herself. He was her only child and she wanted him to be happy. She just wouldn't be mentioning any of this to Toni, Imani's aunt and her closest friend.

Anaïs reached for her phone, dialing a number she knew by heart. “Anderson? It’s Anaïs.” Her voice was warm but commanding, the kind that left little room for argument.

Anderson Allen was the head of public relations at Jameson’s label. He had insisted on signing a deal with a label that didn’t feature his mother but it didn’t mean that she didn’t have connections. “Ms. Lucas! What a surprise. How can I help you?”

“I was getting ready for Jamie’s party,” she began, her tone casual but deliberate. "But I heard that the guest list wasn’t complete. You all work so hard over there. I would hate for an omission to ruin the party."

Anderson hesitated. “Omission?”

“Yes. Imani St. Cirie,” Anaïs said smoothly.

The pause on the other end of the line was longer this time. “I—I wasn’t sure if that would be appropriate, given their history. Jameson hasn’t mentioned—”

Anaïs cut him off with a light laugh. “Oh, Andy, let’s not overthink this. Imani is an important part of Jameson’s life, personally and professionally. Inviting her would be…a gesture of goodwill. Besides, I’m sure she’d appreciate the opportunity to celebrate his success.”

Anderson’s voice was cautious. “I suppose we could add her to the list…”

“Wonderful,” Anaïs said, her smile bright. “I’d like to personally handle delivering her invitation. Consider it my little project.”

“Of course, Ms. Lucas. I’ll have one prepared and sent to your house immediately.”

“You’re a gem, Anderson. Thank you.”

Anaïs ended the call and leaned back in her chair, a satisfied expression on her face. She didn’t need anyone’s permission to do what she believed was right for her baby.

When the invitation arrived later that afternoon, Anaïs carefully wrote Imani’s name on the envelope in her graceful script. She slipped it into a sleek courier envelope and sealed it with a flourish.

“Deliver this directly to Ms. St. Cirie,” she instructed the courier who arrived at her door less than an hour later. “Make sure it’s in her hands before the day is over.”

As the courier left, Anaïs poured herself a celebratory glass of champagne. She wasn’t blind to the complications of Jameson and Imani’s past, but sometimes, fate needed a little help—and Anaïs Lucas was more than happy to provide it.

The studio was alive with energy, even though it was just the two of them. EJ asked for them to run through the albums again. They'd been previewed for the label, accepted, turned in, and there was release party planned for the next night...but still. He wanted to hear the album one more time. Jameson didn't hesitate to go. As the final song climaxed, EJ poured whiskey into two glasses. He slid one across the console to Jameson, who sat slouched in his chair.

“To the masterpiece,” EJ said, raising his glass. “A double-disk album. That’s some legendary-level ambition from my boy.”

Jameson laughed, shaking his head as he reached for the glass. "Very glad I could surprise you all."

EJ snorted. "Hey! I believed in you always. It was touch and go there for a while for everybody else. When you pushed the album back, them niggas started getting nervous. But I knew...my boy was gone get into his bag. I just ain't expect two damn albums at once."

Jameson smirked, tapping his glass against EJ’s before taking a sip. “Here’s hoping they don't flop.”

“Flop?” EJ scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re about to shut the whole industry down. Tomorrow night’s party is gonna be the start of something huge. We need to celebrate. Let’s go grab a drink. Celebrate properly.”

Jameson shook his head, setting the glass down as he finished off the amber liquid. “Un-uh. I’m good, man. I’m tired as fuck. You kept me chained to the recording booth most of the year. I'm going home. Getting in the bed.”

EJ smiled at his friend. “You sure? A little fun won’t kill you.” “Yeah, I’m sure,” Jameson said.

With nothing left to do, EJ finished his drink and threw his hands up. "Alright. I did my best. Aye...I'm proud of you."

Jameson wrinkled his nose, standing from his seat and grabbing his jacket. "Don't get soft on me and shit."

EJ followed his movements, a serious expression on his face. "I'm for real. I was worried about you. Not because of the album. Just because you're my friend. You came out the other side of that shit and I'm proud. I was glad when you stopped drinking every day and started getting fresh air but...therapy? Channeling your shit into music? Camille? You’re looking ahead. I'm happy for you, man."

Even without him saying her name, she lingered between them. Imani was the unspoken, untouched aspect of his life that he still couldn't face. Still, he knew EJ meant well so Jameson smiled. “Thank you. For everything. You been solid while I got myself together. I owe you, E.”

It was a rare moment when the two stopped teasing each other enough to express what they felt. If Genie was his sister, EJ was his brother. He didn’t know who he’d be without either of them. Before he could change his mind, Jameson leaned in and gave EJ a tight hug. It only lasted a second but he could feel the other man hug him back.

“Alright. Enough of that.” EJ muttered, breaking away and shoving Jameson’s shoulder playfully. “Go home. Go be boring. I’m going to kiss my girlfriend until she blushes.”

He still couldn't wrap his head around EJ and Genie. When Genie had shyly told him she was dating EJ, his first reaction had been disbelief. He never felt a vibe between them but over the next few months, EJ had proved he was crazy about Genie. So Jameson stepped back. He didn't kick up a fuss or cause a problem. When he found time to get out of his own head, he was happy for them.

It was an innocent statement but Jameson recoiled, holding his hand over his ears. “Ew. Don’t tell me nothing you and Genie got going on.” He quickly picked up his jacket, shrugging it on while EJ laughed, calling out to him.

“You better lock Camille down so you can learn from us!”

Jameson walked through his front door and immediately noticed something was off. The lights in the dining room were dimmed, candles flickering on the table, and soft jazz played from the speakers. He’d left the house silent and dark before going to meet EJ. Only three people had a key beside him. His mother, who was not going to set a scene. Genie, who never used it. And EJ, who he just left. Jameson rounded the corner of his living room, entering the kitchen. There stood a woman, at his sink, with her back to him. He recognized her immediately. The messy way she piled her dark brown hair on the top of her head gave it away.

Camille.

There was something about the way she carried herself—an effortless elegance like she owned the space around her. As one of the most famous young models in the industry, Camille was a striking woman. She held her head high no matter what, her posture perfect. She moved around his kitchen as if this was her home. It was the same way she had approached him – like he was already hers. He admired it, even if it reminded him of someone else, someone he couldn’t quite shake.

“Camille?” he called, dropping his keys on the counter.

She jumped, whirling around with wide eyes. She was wearing an apron with splashes of water on it over her sleek black dress. “You’re…You’re home early.” There were plates on his table, a romantic dinner for two was the obvious aim and he softened. They were casual. Beyond casual but she always took care of him.

Jameson raised an eyebrow, slipping back into the moment. “Am I not supposed to be here?” He asked her, shrugging out of his jacket as he moved further into the kitchen. “How’d you get in?”

“EJ came to let me in before he met you.” She said softly, her gaze following his movements – lingering on his forearms before she turned back to turn the running water off. “H-He was supposed to keep you out for another hour.”

And then it all made sense. The fact that he’d called him out at all to ‘listen’ to an album they’d been listening to for almost a year. Then to want to go out for drinks afterward? His best friend was trying his hand at matchmaking and Jameson couldn’t blame him. Camille was good to him. He’d be a liar to say she wasn’t.

“Ah,” Jameson said, nodding his head. “So, that’s why he was so insistent on hanging out tonight.” He stepped closer, tossing his jacket onto the counter before leaning against it, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry I ruined the surprise.”

Camille pouted but the second she got a good look at him, she brightened and the annoyance melted away. “I thought we could celebrate your album being finished. Just the two of us. I’m happy for you.”

Jameson smiled, feeling a flicker of warmth in his chest. “Thank you. Thank you for coming. Thank you for caring.” He reached out, tugging her closer using the apron. “What’s for dinner?”

“Caprese salad, seared scallops with risotto, and white chocolate raspberry cheesecake.” “Sounds very impressive.” “It is. I slaved over a stove for you.” “I’m flattered.” “You should be. Not all of my friends get this kind of treatment.” “No?” “Un-uh.” “Damn. I must be really good in bed.”

Camille burst out laughing, slapping her hand against his chest. “You’re aight.”

“That wasn’t a no so I don’t think I was wrong.” Jameson teased her, leaning in to kiss her cheek softly. He released the apron before wrapping his arm around her to untie it. When he brought the strap over her head, he tossed it onto the kitchen island

“Jameson! We have dinner. I already prepared the–” “Put it in the oven. We’ll eat it later.”

He didn’t have to explain any further. She watched him pluck a fork from his kitchen drawer and then she went to do exactly as he told her to do. Jameson waited patiently, taking a seat on a bar stool and pulling the cheesecake toward him. Once she was done and the food was set aside, he patted the stool next to him. “C’mon. Get off your feet.”

In her Chanel dress and high heels, Camille made herself comfortable.

They settled at the kitchen counter, side by side on barstools, sharing bites of the rich dessert. Jameson fed her from his fork, kissed her, and put aside the fact that he felt a twinge of guilt for bringing her into his house. This was good. He was moving forward as EJ said. There was nothing wrong with that.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jameson told her softly, offering her another bite of cheesecake. When she took it, he followed it with a kiss. Light and sweet. She leaned into him, silently asking for more. Instead, Jameson offered her more cheesecake. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”

She glared at him before his confession became clear. Cami gave him a bright smile, her tongue cleaning the whipped cream her mouth left behind on the fork before she spoke. “There is really nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Imani ran her hands over her dress as she looked over her appearance in the mirror. She did a small turn to the left and then the right to see. No flaws. She looked damn good as usual. She sported a new blonde hair color with hints of pink, a brown sheer dress that accented her curves and left little to the imagination, and her wrist and neck were dazzled in diamonds. It was perfect. Undoubtedly, a ten out of ten. Yet, she sighed and turned her body once more like something would change to make it even better.

“Girl, if you don’t get out that mirror and go to that party, I’m a drag you there myself.” Her hairstylist said. Imani chuckled. “You look good. Now go get your man.”

She waved the woman off. “It ain’t even like that!” She hadn’t seen Jameson since their break-up last year. She only knew him through TV screens, magazines, and as a voice blaring through the club speakers. He was no longer the man that held her at night, told her she was beautiful or showered her with kisses. For the first time since they met, he was James Lucas. And she hated it.

Imani said her goodbyes to her glam team as she sauntered to her door and then to the SUV. She slipped inside then the driver shut the door behind her. She pulled the ring on her ring finger on and off then on and off all over again.

It was the ring that Jameson gifted to her for Christmas last year. She pulled it out of her jewelry box when she was anxious, only wearing it at home to avoid speculation from the media and her fans. It was her stress reliever that no one knew about. But tonight, it served a different purpose.

She wanted Jameson back. Bad. And Imani believed wearing his ring to his album release party would show him that she hadn’t forgotten about him. How could she? He was all she ever thought about. She thought she did the right thing when she ended things with him. They were just going to end in heartbreak like they always did. Imani thought breaking the cycle would solve everything. Yes, she was heartbroken when it happened but she always believed she would get over it and feel better. But she didn’t. She never felt more alone.

For the first three months after their breakup, she distracted herself with work. She dove head first into Diary’s promotional rollout. Anything her label or management wanted her to do, she did it to avoid being with her deafening thoughts of regret and being alone. But her promo tour only lasted for so long. Then she tried partying. She tried drinking. She tried being with other people, but they never lasted long. All she did was compare them to Jameson.

Despite all her efforts, nothing and no one could fill the void in her heart left by Jameson. His memory lingered in every corner of her mind. She wrestled with herself over the thought of reaching out to him, hesitant and afraid of what she might find. What if he had moved on? What if he wanted nothing to do with her anymore? She knew little about his current life, only catching glimpses through a few tabloids. According to them, he now resided in the bustling city of New York and was dating a woman named Camille, but they didn’t seem serious at all. Maybe she still had a chance.

When she received a mysterious invite to his album release party, it felt like fate. A sign that she needed to make a move and get him back. She couldn’t let fear hold her back this time. So she booked a flight to New York with her trusted glam squad to help her and now her plan was underway.

She was still fidgeting with her ring once they reached the club. The blinding lights of the paparazzi never phased her. She didn’t mind the attention. But tonight, their presence only added to the growing uneasiness and heat rising in her skin. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself not to let them distract her from her goal — winning Jameson back.

With a sigh, she stepped out of the SUV and was immediately swarmed by a frenzy of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. The familiar chaos only felt like an obstacle in her path.

“Imani, you look stunning! Love the new hair.” “Are you here to see James?” “How do you feel about him and Camille? Do you know that they showed up here together?”

The last question nearly stopped her in her tracks. Her heart fell back into the abyss of despair that hope once saved it from. Jameson and Camille? She thought they weren’t serious, so why the fuck was she at the party with him? Fuck! Imani should have stayed home. Too many eyes were on her to turn back now. Instead, she simply smiled at the question and entered the club.

After she was inside, she made a beeline for the bathroom, ignoring all of the eyes and whispers. Imani needed to take his ring off before anyone noticed. She walked inside, thankful that no one was in there. Then she closed and locked the door so no one could see her lose it.

She felt like such a fool. There was a war raging inside of her. Of course, he moved on. It had been a year. Did she expect him to wait forever? But the other side screamed, how dare he move on? He told her they were soulmates. He said he would never give up on them. Was it all a lie? “Just twenty minutes.” She mumbled to herself. “I can do twenty then I’ll leave and go home.”

Imani exhaled deeply. She pulled the ring off of her finger and shoved it into her clutch. She unlocked the bathroom door, opening it, only to be met with Genie.

She stared at her like a prey making eye contact with its predator. Her mind had been so clouded with thoughts of Jameson that she didn’t even think about their storm of friendship. She hadn’t seen Genie since last year. She ignored her texts and phone calls like her best friend was a scorned lover. One day, Imani was going to explain, she just didn’t imagine that day to be today.

The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Imani finally parted her lips to speak. “Genie, I-” She couldn’t even get her sentence out before the woman moved past her and into the bathroom. Imani sighed, deciding that tonight wasn’t the best time to discuss their broken friendship. She walked back into the club and looked for Toni, the only one she talked to during the whole year. Her energy turned into a dark cloud and she needed someone to brighten it if she was going to make it to twenty minutes.

He heard the whispers before he saw her. Imani had shown up.

And finally, he saw her.

For the first time in a fucking year, he laid eyes on her. Not a picture. Not an interview or a photoshoot. He saw her.

Relief hit him so hard that he exhaled sharply. She was okay. After Christmas last year, she had essentially disappeared from his life. He didn’t call, he didn’t text, he had even chosen to unfollow her on Instagram but Jameson quickly found out that he wasn’t the only one left behind. Genie had lost Imani as well.

The two didn’t talk anymore. He had nothing to go by that she was okay. The blogs reported every lover and every move she made…but none had been able to tell him if she was genuinely doing okay. He could see for himself – in the flesh – that she was doing damn good.

She was standing alone in the quickly filling club, framed by the soft glow of lights. He could see her observing the crowd, looking for someone. Was it him? When their eyes met, she seemed frozen. Her eyes went wide and he knew immediately she wasn’t looking for him.

He felt a hand against his stomach and immediately broke eye contact with her. Camille was gazing up at him, a question in her eyes. Jameson had to steady himself before he smiled at her. “I’ll be back.” He heard himself tell her but knew that he shouldn’t leave. He did it anyway, walking across the room as every thought in the world passed through his mind.

The relief that he felt ended, replaced by anxiety. Why did she come? Was she trying to support him? Was she curious about the music? Did she want to rub it in his face that he had lost her? Did she want him to see how fucking good she looked? All of the questions he asked himself set him on edge but he didn’t stop moving in her direction.

His eyes ran from her blonde hair down to her tan dress. And a wave of lust hit him.

The fabric clung to her body. It was barely there. He could see her body, sculpted abs and thick thighs. Perfectly measured underwear that hid…Well, he knew what it hid. He was so intimately acquainted with her body that he could find her in the damn dark. He couldn’t think like this. Jameson shook his head to clear the thoughts but flashes of memories raced through his mind. Late nights with him sinking his teeth into her thighs as they trembled, the way her abdomen contracted when she was coming around his fingers. The way she called out for him, the word ‘Daddy’ fell from her lips. All of it came rushing back to him with stunning clarity. Shit! No. No!

He wasn’t doing this. Camille was watching him. He had to get right. So many fucking therapy sessions and he was backsliding into chaos already.

By the time he got to her, he had control of himself again. “Hi.” He said softly.

He watched as she slowly turned to look at him. There was no ignoring one another. Not right then. Her lips curved into a smile but he knew right then that something was wrong. It didn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t light up the way she usually did when she was happy.

“Hi, Jameson.” “Thank you for coming. It’s nice to see you.” “I…It’s nice to see you too.”

A lull of silence hit them and awkwardness set in. Before, they could talk about anything and everything but now? He didn’t know what to say.

EJ found Camille standing near the edge of the room, sipping a glass of champagne with practiced ease. She looked every bit the supermodel she was, tall and poised, her sleek black gown clinging to her statuesque frame. But her eyes—dark, searching—betrayed her. She was watching Jameson, observing the way his gaze seemed to drift toward Imani no matter where she stood. Even when he excused himself from her side and greeted other partygoers, everybody in the room knew where he was going.

EJ stepped up beside her, his presence casual but deliberate. “You’re handling this well,” he said, his tone low enough to keep their conversation private from prying ears.

Camille turned her head slightly, offering him a polite smile. “Handling what?”

He gave her a knowing look, one that made her sigh and take another sip of her drink. She broke the pretense that nothing was happening. “You’re not blind, Camille. You see the way he looks at her. And the way she avoids looking at him. There’s history there—deep, messy history. You’ve got to know that.”

Camille’s expression didn’t waver, but she set her glass down on the nearby table, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “I know,” she said simply.

EJ raised an eyebrow. “And you good with that?”

She shrugged, the movement graceful but dismissive. “What am I supposed to do? Pretend it doesn’t exist? Jameson’s been honest with me about Imani. I know what she means to him.”

EJ leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “What she means to him and what she still means to him might not be the same thing. I’m not saying this to scare you off, but if you’re serious about Jameson, you need to be ready to fight for him. Because that connection they have? It’s not something that just disappears.”

Camille tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “Do you think I’m not serious about him?”

EJ hesitated, then shook his head. “I think you care about him. I think you’re good for him, too. But I also think Jameson’s still figuring out what he wants. And if you’re not careful, you might end up hurt. She’s got this... gravitational pull on him, sure. But it’s not healthy. You’ve seen how far he’s come this past year. That’s because of you, Camille. Not her.”

Camille’s lips curved into a small, wry smile. “I appreciate the concern, EJ. Really, I do. But I’m not here to fight anyone for Jameson. If he wants to be with me, he knows where I am. And if he doesn’t?” She spread her hands, her tone light but firm. “Then I’ll let him go. I’m not the kind of woman who clings to someone who doesn’t want to stay.”

EJ studied her, a flicker of respect crossing his face. “You’re a lot calmer about this than I expected.”

Camille chuckled softly, her gaze drifting back toward Jameson, who had finally approached Imani. “I’ve spent my entire career competing—for jobs, for recognition, for respect. But love? That’s not something you should have to fight for. Either it’s there, or it’s not. And if Jameson’s heart is still with Imani, then there’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

EJ nodded slowly, impressed by her composure. “Fair enough. Just... be careful. He’s a good guy, but if things get messy—”

“They won’t,” Camille interrupted gently. “Because I won’t let them. I care about Jameson, but I care about myself too. If he can’t give me what I deserve, I’ll walk away. Simple as that.”

EJ exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Camille smiled again, this time with a touch of warmth. “Thanks, EJ. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, no matter what happens.”

EJ glanced back toward Jameson, then back at Camille. He nodded, a silent acknowledgment of their conversation, and stepped away, leaving her to watch Jameson from afar, her expression unreadable.

“You look good.” He said softly, immediately regretting the words. “I mean, I like your dress.” Nope, that was fucked up too.

“Thanks,” Imani looked at his outfit. It was already difficult for her to face him, but did he have to look handsome too? This may have been the second hardest thing she’s ever done. “You look uh—you look nice too.”

He peered down at his fit. All black, Gucci. Jameson lifted his hand, pressing it to his sleeve as if he just realized he was wearing clothes worth five grand. “Thank you. It’s just…something thrown together. I’m glad you came. Really.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I did too. Congrats on the album, Jameson. I’m—“ she paused, searching for the right words to say. “really happy for you.”

“Really?” He tilted his head, peering down at her. “Then why do you look upset?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” Imani answered quickly. She wasn’t fine at all. She made the wrong decision to come to this party and now, she had to face a best friend who probably hated her and an ex she was still in love with. She was mentally kicking herself. But he didn’t need to know that.

He knew it wasn’t true but he couldn’t exactly call her on it. That wasn’t his place anymore. “Mhm.” He said softly, giving a nod. “I…I really do hope you’re okay, Imani. Things ended between us but I want you to be happy. Always.”

“I..I want you to be happy too,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m glad to see that you are. I really am.”

“Thank you. It…it took a while to get back to being happy.” The conversation between them was so fucking stiff and he hated it. He watched her fold her arms against her chest, knowing there was a wall between them. They talked to each other like strangers. Once upon a time, he could tell her anything. They could say everything to one another – except the shit that really mattered. And now they couldn’t say anything at all. “Finishing the album helped. Wouldn’t have been able to do that without a lot of people. You included.”

She nodded. “Well, I’m glad I could help. I can’t wait to hear it.” Imani smiled. “Uh, I’m going to go look for Toni now. I’ll see you around?”

He opened his mouth to say something – anything – but instead, he felt a hand against his arm. Jameson turned to look down at her, surprised by her presence. “There you are.” She said softly.

Imani looked between the couple, still with a smile that he couldn’t tell if it was fake or not. “Hi, I’m Imani.” She reached her hand out. Her eyes glanced down at his wrist. She looked back at Jameson with narrowed eyes. The watch on his wrist looked like the one she had sent him a year. Why the fuck was he wearing that? While he was with another woman?

His head turned so quickly that he almost sprained his damn neck. He watched as Imani introduced herself to Camille, in such a friendly way that he was almost offended. Damn. She could at least pretend to be jealous. Camille gave her a smile in return and reached out to grasp Imani’s hand and Jameson inhaled sharply. He did not see this coming and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

“Nice to meet you.” She said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Imani let go of Camille’s hand. “Nice to meet you as well. You’re very pretty.” She looked back at Jameson. Then at Camille. “Well, I’m going to leave you guys to it. Have a good night.” She said, turning around and walking away quickly before she could hear another word from either of them.

It took a minute for Genie to pull herself together. When she passed Imani, it had broken her heart not to say anything but she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe any of this shit. When Jameson and Imani broke up, her heart broke for them both. She didn’t know the details but knew it was bad. Jamie was drinking heavily and Imani was out of contact. But she kept trying. She would start by sending a message every week. Then it became every single day. She wanted to be there for Imani. She begged her to reach out if she needed anything…and she never did.

It was like she lost her best friend. At first, Genie grieved. Every time something wonderful happened with EJ, she wanted to pick up the phone and call Imani…but she knew she wouldn’t answer. Then the grief turned into anger. She resented being so easy to forget.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she finally said, her voice shaky as she approached EJ. She could see his jovial attitude shift when he saw the look on her face. “I don’t know what I thought I’d feel seeing her again, but this wasn’t it.” She hadn’t even known Imani would be there but she knew that maybe there would be a good chance. Still, seeing her again had been a shock to the system.

EJ ushered her from the main floor, getting her comfortable in an isolated corner as he watched her with a steady, concerned gaze. “You wanted to see your best friend. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“She’s not my best friend anymore,” Genie snapped, then immediately winced at her attitude. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you. I just…” She blinked back tears, pressed her hands against her temples. “I mean... she was. For so long. But now? I can barely look at her. She completely shut me out.”

EJ leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s probably not anything you did, baby. Maybe Imani needed space. It had to hurt ending things with Jay.”

Genie looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Of course she’s hurting. I know that. I just... I’ve tried, EJ. I’ve called, texted, even sent emails. Nothing. And now, after all this time, she shows up here, at Jameson’s party of all places, looking like she’s completely fine. Like she doesn’t even care that I miss her.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and she quickly turned away, pretending to adjust the strap of her dress. EJ sighed and crossed the room to her, his movements slow and deliberate, giving her space but offering his presence.

“She does care,” he said softly, though there was a flicker of something sharper in his tone. “You don’t just forget someone like you, Genie. Maybe she’s just... not ready to face everything yet.”

Genie let out a bitter laugh, swiping at her cheek. “It’s been a year. How much longer do I have to wait? How much longer do I have to pretend it doesn’t hurt that she’s just... gone?”

EJ placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You’re allowed to feel this. It’s okay to be angry, to be sad, to miss her. Just don’t let it eat you up inside.”

Genie turned to him, the tears finally spilling over. “I don’t know how to let it go. She was my person, EJ. And now, it’s like I don’t even exist to her.”

EJ’s jaw tightened as he pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her tightly. He couldn’t help the frustration bubbling in his chest—not just for what Imani’s absence had done to Genie but for the pain she had caused Jameson too. He didn’t say it aloud, but part of him felt like Imani had been selfish, leaving behind the people who had loved her most.

“You exist,” he murmured against her hair, pushing aside his bitterness for Genie’s sake. “And you’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

For a moment, Genie let herself believe him. In the quiet of EJ’s arms, she let herself grieve, not just for the friendship she had lost but for the part of herself that felt like it had been left behind with Imani.

EJ held her tighter, his mind drifting back to Imani’s face at the party. He’d keep his thoughts to himself, but if she ever wanted back into their lives, she’d have to prove she deserved it.

Imani’s patience was wearing thin, and she couldn’t last another minute in this crowded club. What the hell was she thinking, flying thousands of miles to see a man she hadn’t spoken to in a year? She shoved her way through the throngs of people, not bothering to find her aunt in the chaos. All she wanted was to escape, to retreat to her hotel room and try to make sense of everything.

As she burst through the club doors and into the cool night air, Imani finally exhaled the breath she had been holding since running into Genie. But it didn’t bring any relief. Everything felt like shit and it was all her fault. The weight of loneliness settled on her shoulders like a familiar burden, one that always found its way back to her despite her best efforts to keep it at bay. But this time it hit harder than ever before and threatened to swallow her whole.

Before she could fully immerse herself in the depths of her sadness, a familiar voice jolted Imani out of her thoughts. “Mani? Leaving so soon?” It was Jameson, accompanied by Camille, their arms entwined as they walked towards her. Imani’s heart dropped at the sight, knowing that she was once in Camille’s place. A pang of envy and longing washed over her, but she quickly masked it with a forced smile. “Oh, I’m not feeling well, so I’m a head out,” she lied, trying to sound nonchalant. Jameson’s eyes narrowed slightly as if he could sense something was off. But then Camille leaned in closer and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, distracting him. “I know y’all ain’t out here to bring me back.”

Camille’s laughter tinkled through the air, her eyes sparkled as she glanced at Jameson. “No, we decided to leave early.” she said with a grin playing on her lips. Imani squinted at Jameson, studying his facial features intently. There was something off about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Why are you leaving your album release party so soon? Is everything alright?” Imani’s voice was gentle but curious, her gaze searching Jameson’s face for any clues. “I’m just tired,” he answered, but there was a slight quiver in his voice that betrayed his words. Imani could see the lie in his eyes, but she knew better than to press the issue. That was Camille’s job now.

“Jameson and I are going to go get some rest,” Camille said softly, doting on a 6’3 grown ass man like he was a baby. She wanted to hate it...but she knew she'd done the same when they were together. Imani’s eyes flicked back to Camille as she pat his chest and gazed at him. She tried to think of something to say next to the couple, but she was too focused on the way she said his name. It replayed over and over again in her mind. Her stomach was in knots at the sound of it.

She was reminded of all of the times she used to call him that. Then she looked back at Camille. She was still looking at Jameson with the same look Imani used to have. Imani hated how he could invoke that look in another woman. She was the only one who should get to experience the look of love, lust, and admiration. She hated him for it.

Where the fuck was her driver? She pulled her phone out of her clutch, opening it with her Face ID. She tapped over onto her call log, realizing that she never fucking called him. Imani was in such a rush to get away from the couple in the club that she forgot to do it. And yet, she still ended up face-to-face with them again. Fate wanted to torture her tonight.

Imani quickly tapped the contact name and asked the driver to come get her. Luckily, he was just around the corner. There was silence between the three of them. Everything she planned on saying to him before her arrival was thrown out of the window when she first arrived. It all had fallen to shit. Now, her imagination filled those spaces of broken words. All she could see was Camille and Jameson, full of lust, in his house together doing what she would have done to him after his album release party.

Thankfully for her, Imani’s driver finally pulled up and disrupted her thoughts. He got out and opened the door for her. She walked over to the SUV, stepping inside of the car. “I’ll see you guys later…” She said, looking over her shoulder. She hoped her words never came to fruition.

“Be safe and have a good night,” Jameson said lowly, watching her leave. She nodded, sitting down in the passenger seat of the vehicle. The driver closed the door. Once he pulled away from the curve, she pulled out the ring again. She toyed with it in her hands. Imani went into this party, hoping that the ring would spark a new meaning. She had no idea that meaning would be that it was her only connection to Jameson.

"You too quiet." Jameson muttered, pulling his hand from Camille's mouth. She gasped for breath when he did, immediately moaning out his name. "That's much better."

"Yes, baby. Right there. So good."

She was breathless as she clung to him. They were in the middle of his bed, she was on his lap -- long limbs wrapped around his neck and hips as she ground her hips against his.

Jameson groaned, feeling Camille's tightness stretch around him. Her enthusiasm was always a turn on and he let out a long, slow moan as he thrust deeper. Each powerful stroke, sending vibrations through her body that made her whimper in delight. Every time she moved on top of him, her breasts bounced enticingly against his chest, sending shivers down his spine.

"Ooh! D-Don't stop. Jamie! Just like that..."

The scent of sweat and sex filled the air as they moved together in perfect harmony. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mingling with their heavy breathing and tender moans. Camille's nails raked down his neck and back, leaving small trails of pleasure and pain that only fueled his desire further. He gripped her hips tightly, holding her close as they lost themselves in each other's touches.

He lifted his head to capture her mouth, tongue brushing against her own as he plunged deeper into her mouth -- imitating their movements. Their tongues danced together sensually while their bodies moved in rhythm on the bed beneath them. As he felt himself nearing climax, Jameson pulled back from the kiss to look into Camille's eyes - filled with lust and desire - before letting out a long growl.

"You like that, baby?" She asked him softly and Jameson nodded, words escaping him as his grip tightened on her hips. They'd been sleeping together long enough that she knew what it meant. She pushed her hands against his shoulders, legs unwinding from around him as he went crash back onto the bed. "Go ahead. Give it to me, Jamie." she whimpered.

Camille's nails dug into Jameson's skin as she rode him, leaving small crescents that stung but only made him harder. He groaned deeply, his hands finding purchase in the sheets as he arched his hips and thrust into her. He felt every curve of her body against him, every undulation sending shockwaves through his dick.

"That's what you want?" He asked her through gritted teeth. "Yes!" She responded, nodding her head. "I deserve it. I'm your good girl."

He couldn't take it much more. His head fell back onto the bed, eyes closed, but his hands knew where to go. He lifted them from the sheets, grasping her hip with the left and relentlessly rubbing at her clit with his right thumb. Camille's legs tightened against his outer thighs as she crumbled forward and came on top of him with a shout.

With a final thrust, Jameson cried out as he came inside her, their bodies trembling together in unison. As they came down from their high, Camille cuddled against Jameson's chest, their hearts beating in sync. She nibbled on his earlobe softly before pulling away slowly with a satisfied smile on her lips.

He sat in the dark in his living room, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city through the curtains. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards settling. Jameson fiddled with the watch on his wrist, loosening the band and twisting it around, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it off.

Camille had gone to sleep hours ago, slipping into sleep with the ease of someone unburdened. For a couple of hours, he managed to forget…everything.

But when it was over, and Camille’s breathing had evened out beside him, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The weight of his thoughts returned with a vengeance, and they all centered on one person.

Imani.

The way she had looked at the party—poised but distant, like she was shielding herself from the room, from him—was burned into his memory. He couldn’t stop replaying the moment she left, her face unreadable as she slipped into the car. He had been overwhelmed by her presence, thrown off balance by the sight of her after so long.

When she had walked away, leaving him and Camille standing there, all he could do was grab a passing glass of champagne. Then another. He had swallowed down two before he realized what he was doing—regressing, using alcohol to dull the sharp edge of his emotions.

He had told Camille he wanted to leave. She didn’t hesitate, her concern for him evident as she agreed. But as they made their way out, they ran into Imani on the street.

The moment replayed in his mind like a loop he couldn’t escape. The brief, stilted conversation. The way she looked at him like she was holding back a storm of emotions. And then she was gone, slipping away into the night.

Her face was trapped in his mind now, every detail vivid and unrelenting. The way her lips pressed together as if holding back words. The flicker of something—pain? anger?—in her eyes. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

All he wanted to do was fix it.

But that wasn’t his job anymore.

He brushed a hand over his head, exhaling sharply as he tried to shake off the thoughts. The urge to call her was overwhelming, a near-physical pull, but he knew it would be a mistake. One glimpse, one rushed conversation, and he was right back where he’d been months ago—thinking of her, wanting her, needing to know if she was okay.

He needed to get a damn grip.

Jameson sat up, running his hands over his face. The watch shifted on his wrist, its weight a constant reminder of the past he couldn’t quite let go of. The room felt too quiet, too still, and his thoughts too loud.

He stood, padding softly out of the living room and into the kitchen, boxers slung low on his hips. He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, staring out at the city lights.

He had made progress this year, clawing his way out of the darkness that had consumed him after their breakup. He had rebuilt his life piece by piece, and Camille had been a steady presence through it all. But tonight had unraveled something in him, and he hated that it was Imani who had the power to do that.

He sighed, setting the glass down. He couldn’t keep letting her haunt him like this. He wouldn’t.

#aaron pierre #megan thee stallion #aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre x black!oc #megan thee stallion fanfic #megan thee stallion x black!oc #original characters #celebrity fanfic #fic: neon lights #Spotify

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quixotical-lymbo · 9 months ago

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Warnings/Tags: Just some tooth-rotting fluff and very brief mention of mortality. Word Count: 600+ words

Wow! You and the monkey king! What a pair of peaches you two are!

Did he make the first move or you? Surprisingly, I think you would have to be the one to make the first move. Obviously, Wukong could have easily done it—we all know how assertive and confident he is, but perhaps he wanted you to do it to see just how serious you are about courting him.

Sometimes, he'll drop certain hints or try to steer you in the right direction to confess. Things like 'I wouldn't mind if you stayed longer', 'You hungry? I know a great place we can eat at, just the two of us though', or 'We would look really good together wouldn't we? Ehh, maybe not…who knows?'

After you make that first step and confess, he'll act surprised before asking what took you so long to say anything. Wukong will tease you for weeks on end about how long you took to confess if you don't shut him up

Anyway-

Where do y'all usually do dates? Your home, his home(s), festivals, and rarely do the two of you go outside of China for dates unless Wukong is feeling extra adventurous. Since he's retired, Wukong has a lot of time on his hands when he's not helping MK save the world or training his successor. Other than the locations, I think Wukong would have a lot of things on his 'bucket list' for the two of you to do.

Gifts? Oh, oh, be prepared to be swamped with gifts ranging from random flowers that remind him of you, bugs, artifacts, and other extravagant things you couldn't possibly fit in your home. It wasn't until you piped up about the bugs did Wukong stop with the creepy crawlies.

PDA? Of course, but depending on your preference he can be full-on touchy and obnoxiously sweet, or he could be discreet and have a hand on you somewhere. Just expect to be kissed, hugged, or touched in some way every five minutes or so.

If PDA truly bothered you, Wukong would refrain from doing anything–but when the two of you are finally alone he'll stick to your side like glue and it'll take a while for you to peel him off of you. Good luck ^^'

First kiss? Perhaps after the first few dates you two shared your first kiss together.

How he acts around them vs others: I think Wukong would act the same, just more handsy and playful compared to others. Bickering about trivial things, pinching you at random times but not enough to hurt, getting in your face to stare at you whenever you aren't putting your full undivided attention on him, and that kind of stuff.

Of course, there's the omission of information and white lies that you will not tolerate. Wukong could fool others, but you wouldn't stand for dishonesty especially while the two of you were in a committed relationship.

At first, it was hard getting Wukong to understand this boundary, but not every relationship is perfect–still, trying to break habits that have lasted for who knows how long is VERY difficult. That's why the two of you started off with the little things. Sure, Wukong slips up from time to time, but he genuinely is putting in an effort to not withhold information from you whether it's regarding life-threatening situations or things like how he is feeling.

Wukong would definitely take every chance to show off to you, especially whenever he was teaching MK. Sparring without his top, taking a few moments to flex in certain angles–he'll even blow you a few kisses from time to time.

And you'll eat that shit up every.single.time.

Generally, you're going to need to have a lot of patience and be open-minded when dating Sun Wukong. If the relationship could be described with one word then it's a rollercoaster. There's the ups and downs, perhaps a lot of downs (like the fact that he's going to outlive you), but you wouldn't have had it any other way.

🍜 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. sparkle banner(s) by @adornedwithlight !!

#lmk x reader #sun wukong x reader #lmk sun wukong #general dating hcs #headcanon #thanks anon!#ask #i had fun with this one

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samwhump · 1 year ago

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a (very inexhaustive, wincest-heavy) sam whump reclist

@transfemmesam asked me for Sam whump recs a few days ago, and I've had other requests in the same vein before (I can't imagine why.../s) so I thought I would throw this together, since these authors deserve all of the love and support for their contributions to our li'l fandom corner.

like I mentioned in the title, this is not at all a comprehensive list; I have at least ~200 more fics in my to-read queue that could thematically fit here, but alas, I have stupid shit like a job and a body and a dog to take care of, so. I'm always happy to get recs along these lines, so if you notice anything important missing, hit me UP. (and don't take any omissions as any specific commentary by me -- it's likely I just haven't had the chance to read it yet, haha.)

disclaimers:

some (most, honestly) of these contain potentially triggering and dark content, including but not limited to rape/noncon, torture, and suicidal attempts & ideation. I have tried to note content warnings where applicable, and most of the works are hosted on ao3, so the tags should have most of the information you need to make an informed decision. that being said, tread with caution. all of the summaries provided are from the original author, with warnings added after by me.

the list is in alphabetical order and separated into wincest and gen categories. a lot of the gen is also focused on the sam & dean relationship, because...I am what I am. and what I am a sucker for these two dipshits. there is also a brief section at the end with a few fics that don't fit into either category.

gen

All That Goes Unspoken by amnesiawife:

A case forces Sam to confront something long kept buried. (Set nebulously in season 12.)

CW: discussions of past rape/noncon, victim blaming

Beneath the Trees 'verse by Lise (5 works total, starting with Beneath the Trees, Where Nobody Sees):

Sam doesn't go to Stanford. Everything goes downhill from there.

CW: suicidal ideation

a boy is a cage by ad_castra:

After expelling Gadreel from Sam's body, Dean thinks they're in the clear. If only they were that lucky. // S9 fic wherein Gadreel's grace causes some adverse side-effects in Sam's mind.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon, body horror

body of proof by Askance (doomcountry):

There are things Sam hasn't told his brother. They're all in the envelope laid on Dean's pillow.

CW: heavy discussion of past rape/noncon

break these bones 'til they're better by redskyatmorning:

After Sam’s torture at the hands of the British Men of Letters, the latest in a long string of violations, he is rescued by Dean and Mary – and forced to ponder his broken relationship with his own body. Months later, when Sam is resurrected and tormented by Lucifer yet again, Dean confronts Mary and Sam gets his revenge against the devil.

catching my death (staring out an open window) by ad_castra:

Sam gazes at the window, catches the faint pink hue tinting the sky. It’s so realistic - he could breathe in the fresh air if he were really here. ----- They got Sam out. Sometimes, just knowing that isn't enough.

CW: implied past rape/noncon

Death of Convenience by WilsonTheMoose:

It should have been easy. Wendigos are no joke but daylight slows them. The weather's been unpredictable though and perfect, idyllic hunts don't exactly stay that way where they're concerned. Or Sam has one card to play and never stops to think that Dean would care if he killed himself.

CW: suicidal ideation, references to suicide

Echoes of Hell by The_Nightbreaker:

It wasn't real. He wasn't in Hell anymore. That's what he tried to tell himself over and over. But two centuries of torture don't disappear in a day. Sam struggles with visions of Hell, fighting to maintain his grip on reality. Dean hates that he can't protect his brother from what isn't real—but curse him if he doesn't try. When the boys stumble on a case with ties to the Devil himself, will they be able to pull themselves together in time to stop the sacrifices? Or will the echoes of Hell finally overtake them? Aka, season 7, but the plot is Hell trauma, not leviathans.

CW: suicidal ideation

Evening Shadows by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating the monster who tortured him for nearly two centuries, Dean feels like he's failing his brother, and a diner waitress bears witness.

CW: past rape/noncon

Everything Dies Given Time by Lise:

AU from 5.03. Sam discovers something wrong with himself, and learns to live with it. Only a lot less functional.

CW: suicide/temporary character death

The Freedom to Be Loud by jribbing:

It hadn’t occurred to Dean that maybe Sam remembered so much about that little nowhere town because something memorable had happened there.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

golgotha by redskyatmorning:

There’s a vacancy on the throne of hell, and Sam is desperate enough to save Dean from Michael’s possession to give into the abyssal depths of his own darkness.

Head Space by ameliacareful:

A witch curses Sam leaving him blind, deaf, and bedridden. Left with only the inside of his own head and the occasional touch, Sam begins to unravel.

CW: suicidal ideation

Hiraeth by inkandpaperqwerty:

(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past "Dean... I made a really big mistake." For a second, Dean actually thought things were going okay. He was out of Hell, Sam agreed to stop drinking demon blood, they had just wrapped up a successful hunt... for once, everything was okay. And then it wasn't. "I overdosed." Not at all.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

if i could leave (i would've already left) by serendipity0930:

“I have a mission from God for you,” the Angel whispers to the man. “It is time for you to do what you were born to.” The man’s face twists into a smile, delighted over being chosen by Him, a purpose from God digging into his heart, carving out a place to fester. “Hunt.” ... 05x03 AU where Zachariah is even more determined to keep the brothers apart and hunters are all too willing to take Lucifer's True Vessel off the board for good

CW: referenced suicide

It's A River (But Not In Egypt) by Lise:

He's still a liar. Maybe always has been.

CW: toxic Sam/Lucifer dynamics

Kindred Instruments by PinBitch:

They’re in a tug of war and Sam is the rope. He doesn’t need to be alive for that. OR Sam dies in detox, being flung against the walls of a metal box will do that to you. Dean and Ruby pick up the pieces.

CW: temporary main character death, permanent supporting character death

lazarus trick by katsidhe:

Sam's alive, so everything is gonna be okay. 13.22 coda.

Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence by Lise:

Sam's back. He's in one piece. That's the problem.

CW: self-harm

love is like ghosts by redskyatmorning:

I’m poison, Dean had said instead of I’m sorry. Well, Sam wants to say, what does that make me? What the hell does that make me? (A look into Sam's mind in the aftermath of the Gadreel possession.)

The Other Brother by RadioFriday:

Sam and Adam are pulled from the cage at the same time. Sam is not right, and Adam, stuck as his caretaker, is not pleased.

Oxygen by inkandpaperqwerty:

“Cas! Cas, please! Please, answer me! Cas!” Castiel ignores Dean for several minutes, but then Dean gives him an opening that might help him complete his mission. So, he goes to investigate, and what he finds is a very bloody, nearly dead Sam. Dean tells him where the injuries came from, and Castiel quickly becomes confused. It doesn't make sense, but Dean tries to explain it to him, and slowly... Castiel begins to understand.

CW: suicide attempt

Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc by AmberSock:

Sam waits, kneeling, for his execution. What if Dean hadn't missed?

CW: temporary character death

Safety In Distance by GalaxyThreads and SpiritClusters:

The Mark of Cain is a brand of violence. Sam was an idiot to think that he'd be exempt from it, just because he and Dean are siblings.

sometimes a kind of singing by adi_rotynd:

Sam gets cursed. They're dealing with it. Jack can see souls. That one they're not dealing with quite as well.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon

Soul Windows by GalaxyThreads and Spirit Clusters:

A few months after his birth, Jack learns how to see souls. Then he comes to a realization about the Winchester brothers, Sam in particular, and it's not a pleasant one. (gen)

Starry Night by keepcalmsmile:

Sam attempts suicide-by-monster. Dean tries to help. It sort of works...until it doesn't.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

such fragile, broken things by The_Bookkeeper:

Sam wishes that Dean would just get it over with already.

The Tale of Sir Galahad by keepcalmsmile:

Sam once said he could never be clean like Sir Galahad. Dean assumed he was just talking about the demon blood. Turns out, Sam was talking about something else too. WARNING: Extended discussions of the aftermath of rape and childhood sexual abuse (but NO description of the actual events). Happy(ish) ending, but potentially very triggering.

CW: past rape/noncon, mentioned CSA

They Hammered in His Teeth by jribbing:

Sam has a secret.

CW: suicidal ideation

today's troubles (are history tomorrow) by a_good_soldier:

"It's not really something I know how to share," Sam had said. In which Dean figures he ought to help Sam out a bit.

Touch and Go by themegalosaurus:

Tag to 9.19 (Alex Annie Alexis Ann) in which Dean realises why, exactly, Sam is so angry about what happened with Gadreel.

trust fall by ad_castra:

“I’m nothing like you,” Sam hisses. Nevermind relating to the anguish of going it alone. Nevermind that he knows what it is to be strapped down and forcibly cleansed against his will. Sam wonders if these trials are purifying Crowley as well.

Words Like Glass by broken_cinders:

Dean never figured the cage wouldn't leave a mark. He was prepared for memories, flashbacks, and nightmares. He wasn't expecting the words Sam brought back with him or the way they made him seem just a breath beyond Dean's reach.

Wound and Unwound by fascra:

Sam stops eating spring of his freshman year.

CW: eating disorder

wincest (dean/sam)

Brittle by thecapn:

Sam Winchester has an eating disorder.

CW: eating disorder

Don't You Cry No More by sixtysevenlmpala (schittyfic):

The first time Sam gets badly hurt on a hunt, he doesn’t cry. Dean does.

Fall On Your Knees by dollylux:

Sam doesn't quite make it home on the last day of school before winter break.

The Fall Will Probably Kill You by killabeez:

Set between 7.04 and the aftermath of 7.07. Dean is not as okay as he'd like you to think. Neither is Sam.

CW: self-harm

Feels so good to feel again by Trojie:

The pain keeps Lucifer at bay, at least to start with.

Follow In Your Form by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating Lucifer in the wake of Cas bringing his Hell Wall crashing down. To make matters worse, it seems like this has his dormant powers flaring back to life.

Last Temptation by merle_p:

Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state. Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

leeches by Anonymous:

Sam discovers a spell to make everybody forget him. He’s convinced it’s for the best. Pre-Stanford.

CW: attempted kidnapping/torture

Make Thick My Blood by themegalosaurus:

“You’re going to kill me, Dean,” Sam says, eventually. And all Dean can say is, “I think I am.” A season 10 AU, set after 10x14 ('The Executioner's Song'). Cas finds a solution that might cure the Mark of Cain; but if they're going to go through with it, Sam has a terrible price to pay.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Prophecy of an Abomination by ashitanoyuki:

Sam is kidnapped by fanatically religious hunters and crucified. Coming back from this won't be easy. Canon-divergent from midway through season 2.

Recall by De_Nugis:

Sam's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't, especially when it comes to some voicemails from Dean.

The Room Upstairs by brokenlittleboy:

Sam comes back from hell, but he’s inside-out and all wrong, and Dean can’t fix him.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Ruin You (and its companion fic Worth) by Mumble_Bee:

Cole fucks Sam with Demon!Dean watching from a devil's trap, snarling that anyone would dare touch what was his. “I told you I don’t care what you do to his face or his blood or his fucking nose,” Dean growled, “but you put your dick anywhere near him and I will end you.” “Better hurry up then, Dean, because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

CW: explicit rape/noncon

Snowed In by HelloStarlingFics:

When working a case, Sam and Dean get stuck out in a shack in the woods when the snow comes in hard and fast. Trouble is, Sam’s hated the cold ever since the Cage. Time for Dean to step up and look after him.

Wake by minchout:

Gadreel has had Sam for four years, and Dean, lost in guilt and obsessed with finding a way to get his brother back, has isolated himself in a cabin in the Missouri Ozarks with nothing but the woods, a stray dog, some chickens, and all the books the Men of Letters had to offer to keep him company. Then Sam shows up one day without his passenger, and Dean learns quickly that it doesn't matter that Sam is with him again - there is still a lot of work to be done before they can find their way back to each other.

Wanting to Forget by morganaDW (morgana07):

1-shot. S1 fic. After getting Sam freed from the Benders Dean thinks all he has to cope with is some bruises and cuts. He learns quickly just how wrong he is when Sam wakes up with a nightmare, reliving his brief but bad captivity in every detail. Sam just wants to forget & Dean has to try to get him to let him help. Will one night of cruelty and pain ruin what’s been formed between them?

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

when I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place by quake_quiver:

Sam doesn’t remember the last time he cried for Dean like he did that night. And now it’s been…two weeks. Maybe more. Sam is tired, and in pain, and starting to doubt that Dean’s going to show up. He’s weak and shaking from a combination of constant pain and hunger. Sam longs for Dean. Dean would make it better. Dean would fix it.

CW: rape/noncon, body horror

Wire Inside Me by merle_p:

There are a lot of things Sam hates about his current condition, to the point where he sometimes feels for the gun under his pillow at night, blindly toys with the safety, imagines pressing the muzzle into the underside of his chin and pulling the trigger just to make it stop. But there’s nothing he hates as much as the shadows he sees in Dean’s eyes whenever his brother is looking at him these days. It’s not an expression he remembers ever seeing before, but Sam thinks it’s probably something like revulsion. Horror. Disgust. What else could it be.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon, body horror, forced pregnancy

Worth (and its companion fic Ruin You) by Mumble_Bee:

Episode 10x01 "Black" where Dean is a human, and very, very, pissed off to hear someone has hands on his brother. “It’s nothing personal,” Cole whispered into Sam's ear, too quietly for Dean to hear, “but I need to kill your brother, and I need him off his game when he gets here. I don’t wanna hurt you, kid, but I’m going to, anyway. I’m going to hurt you a lot."

CW: explicit rape/noncon

you'll never see us again by according2thelore:

Then finally, his eyes trail over to Dean. His pupils are pin-point thin, and his hair is straggling in his face so Dean can’t see most of what expression lies there. Sam usually wakes up from nightmares in one of three attitudes: confusion, fear, or calm. A scary, sense-prickling calm that Dean hates more than anything else. Resignation, almost. Or: Sam suffers from nightmares and touch starvation post-Cage. They do their best to deal.

other Sam/Lucifer noncon

Cage Fight (No Way To Do This Right) by Dyed_Red:

Sam’s visit to the cage is already going awry, but Dean’s one-man rescue ends up skidding it sideways into territory neither him or Sam are ready for. (Gratuitous episode scene re-write. If Cas hadn’t come till after, if he hadn’t been there yet when Dean ran down to the 'parole' cage after hearing Sam scream - how bad could it have got for the brothers before he made it?)

CW: graphic rape/noncon

Into Being by withthekeyisking:

When Sam wakes up in the cave on Apocalypse World after having been killed by vamps, it's not just to find Lucifer there with him. It's to find him in him.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, necrophilia, forced pregnancy

Reggie/Tim/Sam noncon

a pointless resistance for you by withthekeyisking:

Sam doesn't know how long he's been with Tim and Reggie by the time Dean shows up and tries to take him out of there. Long enough that's he's already lost one baby and is pregnant with the next. Long enough that this life is starting to feel like all he knows.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, forced pregnancy & miscarriage, victim blaming

screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing by withthekeyisking:

Sam has done his best to move past what Tim and Reggie did to him, pretending it never happened at all. But running into them again makes that very difficult—especially when Dean gets involved.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

Waste 'Em All by withthekeyisking:

When Tim and Reggie try to force the demon blood down Sam's throat, he spits it back out. He has no interest in being turned into their own personal attack dog. They don't...take it well.

CW: explicit rape/noncon

#sam winchester #sam whump #supernatural #supernatural fic rec #wincest

285 notes · View notes

mountttmase · 1 year ago

Text

Winter Sun - Chapter 7

Note - the last chapter 🥺 from the bottom of my heart thank you all so much for all your kind words on this series. It’s been overwhelming seeing how involved you guys are, the last chapter especially and I hope this makes up for it. Feedback would be appreciated as usual and until next time, let’s enjoy our babies 🥺🩷

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 8k

Warnings - series will contain fluff, smut & angst

Masterlist

‘So I have a little favour to ask’ Carly sang down the phone to you and you couldn't deny the sound of her voice filled you with joy. You'd been home from Portugal for two weeks now and you’d missed being around her everyday. Your mood significantly dropping since you’d got back home but it wasn’t just the absence of your best friend in your life that was making you miserable.

Not a word had been exchanged between you and Mason since that night he left you in bed. Not a call or a text. Nothing. No sign of life from him at all and the longer it went on the more your heart broke.

‘Oh yeah, what’s up?’ You asked her, hoping it was nothing too much as you weren’t in the mood.

‘Welllll, Ben and I were hoping to host a little gathering at the weekend and I was hoping you’d come’ she asked sweetly but you could tell there was something else.

‘You know I will, so what’s the catch’

‘Fine’ she laughed. ‘We were hoping to make it a pizza making party, like do something a little different? Bens just got the new oven installed and wants to try it out’ she explained.

‘Let me guess, you want me to make the pizza dough?’

‘Well you are a professional baker’ she giggled. ‘Pleaseeee I’ll make sure I’ve got all your favourite toppings and I’ll get you a bottle of that fancy gin you like’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘I mean you’ll have to share it with me but of course’

‘It’s fine i’ll do it you’ laughed, thinking it would probably be a good idea to socialise again after keeping to yourself for a little while but there was a thought itching away in the back of your brain. ‘Hey, Carly. Who else is gonna be there?’

‘Oh the usuals, Dec, Lauren, Woody, Kayla’ she listed off and the omission of a certain someone’s name made you relax. ‘Bens also got a friend from home here and possibly a couple of the Chelsea boys might come. Oh and Mason too, he’s free that weekend’

‘Oh so quite a few then’ you breathed, your heart sinking as she finally listed his name off but you’d already agreed to go and couldn’t back out now no matter how much you wanted to.

You thought about it the whole afternoon though. It felt too soon to see him but you knew you’d have to get it over with eventually. It’s not like you didn’t want to talk to him, often finding yourself typing something out for him to message but you were too scared to hit send on anything as he was yet to make a move himself.

When you made it home, your concierge waved you over before handing you a parcel. You took it with a smile, the box being heavier than you first anticipated as it wasn’t overly big but you managed to get it upstairs and once you were in you tore into it. Unsure of what was inside until you’d taken all the bubble wrap off to reveal the hand decorated tip jar that Mason had painted for you. Your heart leaping at the memory of when he first showed you his design and you spent the next few minutes giving it a proper look over.

It was all still there, the pretty flowers and little cakes, the heart with gwens face in but what really made you melt was the detail on the bottom you missed. His initials, MM, in a little heart and you had to bite your bottom lip to hold your emotions in.

All you could think about was messaging him, just wanting to hear his voice but after how things were left you were still feeling unsure of yourself and if he’d want to talk so you resisted. Instead looking back at videos you’d taken of the pair of you on your week away, your favourite being the one from a pool day in the middle of the week where he was giving you a tutorial on how to dive into the pool. You could hear your voice over the speaker telling him there was no chance in hell you’d ever get in there and the sarcastic pout he gave you made you smile.

You managed to hold it together but as the days became closer to seeing him you could feel yourself freaking out. You decided to throw yourself into work and the night before you distracted yourself by making all the dough for the next day. Making way more than you needed to but it seemed to be your coping mechanism for the night so you didn’t think about looking back into his brown eyes again.

When you arrived at Bens the next night you were thankful that Woody and Kayla arrived at the same time and helped you carry everything inside and once in, you made the rounds and said hello to everyone. There were a few faces you didn’t recognise and when you were sat with Carly you watched a girl come from downstairs and lounge over the back of the sofa like it was her own.

You were constantly watching the door, waiting for a specific person to show and just like usual he turned up late so you were semi caught off guard.

You heard his voice before you turned to give him a once over and you hated the way your tummy sunk at the sight of him. The last time you’d seen him he was abandoning you in your bed as he made it clear you were nothing more than someone he wanted to fuck for the week. Now he was just Mason again and you weren’t sure you’d be able to differentiate between the two.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him though, watching him say hello to everyone before he got to the girl who’d come from upstairs and they both looked thrilled to see each other. Him wrapping his arms around her waist as she buried her face his neck and you had to turn away before you burst into tears.

Who was she? And why were they so cosy? You knew the pout on your face was visible and before you could stop yourself you were tugging on Carly’s arm.

‘Hey, Carly? who’s that girl?’

‘Who, Kenny?’ She asked but you could tell she wanted to roll her eyes a bit. ‘Ben invited her, they’re old friends and she’s here for the weekend’

‘Oh right… What’s she like?

‘She fine’ she shrugged but you knew there was more to the story. ‘I wish she wouldn’t lay all over the sofa like that though’ she laughed and even though it was in jest you knew she was serious. ‘I think Ben’s been trying to set her and Mason up for a while now but I’m not sure how well it’s working’ she told you and you felt your heart sink. You didn’t push her for anything else though and soon enough you felt a hand on your shoulder that was gone as soon as it came.

‘Ladies, how are we?’ Mason smirked, leaning over to give Carly a quick kiss on the cheek before looking down at you. ‘You alright?’

‘Good thanks, you?’ You asked, keeping still just in case he tried to kiss your cheek too but he didn’t move a muscle. Looking down at you with a blank expression and you hated not being able to read him.

‘Yeah not bad. It’s good to see you’

‘You too’ you whispered. Not sure how good it was to see him right now and his standoffishness was making your heart shatter.

Mason was about to say something else when the sound of his name being called across the room startled you both. Looking to see Kenny waving him over and he gave you a sympathetic smile before leaving you alone.

You couldn’t lie, his apparent coldness hurt and you had to turn away from Carly so as not to let it show how upset you were. The fact that he couldn’t even seem to touch you in some way for more than a second made you feel rubbish and you knew you’d be in for a long night which was only made worse by the fact Mason and Kenny seemed to know each other and Ben was trying to set them up. You felt him slipping through your fingers even more and you had to give yourself a mini pep talk to carry on.

Not wanting to be a party pooper you put on your brave face and went to sit with Kayla and Woody. Catching up with everything they’d been up to and reliving your favourite holiday moments before Dec, Lauren and a few others joined you. Dec giving you a sympathetic smile but you just shrugged your shoulders. Not wanting to speak about any of it.

You could see Mason out of the corner of your eye, standing with Kenny as they chatted just the two of them and you wondered why he never came to join you until Carly called you into the kitchen and they finally joined everyone else. Realising you must have been the reason he didn't want to sit with everyone and you felt your eyes sting.

You kept away from him on purpose after that, not wanting to keep him away from his friends so you stuck into helping Carly in the kitchen until she got hot and said she wanted to go and change. Leaving you on your own to finish up cutting the pizza toppings.

‘Sorry, y/n’ you suddenly heard behind you, the sound of Mason's voice making you jump but when you turned to face him, he was standing as far away from you as he could get. ‘Shit sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump. I was just wondering if you could grab me a glass?’ He asked quietly. Head nodding to the cupboard above your head so with a quick nod you pulled one out and handed it to him.

Your fingers brushed, just for a second, but when you looked up he was looking down still. Unable to meet your eyes so you turned back around to continue chopping.

You heard him move, thinking he would be leaving but when you felt him next to you your heart gave a thud. Carrying on chopping as he faced inwards towards the kitchen but you were waiting for him to speak first.

‘Sorry we haven’t spoken much lately, I’ve just had a lot on’ he told you quietly and you knew it was the worst excuse in the world from him. The way he didn’t care enough to be honest with you made you feel sick and you had no idea how to respond

‘S’fine’ you shrugged, eyes down as you bit the inside of your cheek.

‘No it’s not. I know I just left and that wasn't cool’

‘Its fine’

‘Y/n-‘

‘Mase?’ Ben suddenly called, head popping into the kitchen and his eyes lit up at the sight of him. ‘Ahh there you are. We’re playing Pictionary and Kenny needs a partner. You coming?’

Mason didn’t respond, his eyes flashing down to you first but you just gave him a forced smile.

‘It’s fine, go’

‘Y/n-‘

‘Y/n, you wanna come join? I’m sure we can find you someone’ Ben interjected, cutting Mason off thankfully but you just shook your head.

‘No thanks, I’ve got some stuff to finish in here’ you told Ben before looking back up into Mason's soft eyes. An unreadable expression behind them but you knew you couldn’t look at him for too long. ‘Go on, I won’t get finished otherwise’

‘You sure?’ He asked but you just sent him a nod back. Looking back down to what you were chopping before you felt him sigh and push himself up to leave. The feel of his hand on your waist making you freeze as you felt him press a fleeting kiss to the crown of your head before walking out the door to leave you on your own. Your eyes filled up immediately but you blinked the tears away and took a deep breath in to steady yourself.

He was so confusing and truth be told, you couldn’t face watching Mason with her so you kept yourself out of the way on purpose. Making up jobs in the kitchen and setting everything out for everyone else so that when Carly came back everything was good to go and it was worth it to see the smile on her face.

You let everyone else make their pizzas first, helping Woody out a little bit as he seemed to have no idea what he was doing but you didn’t dare look in Masons direction as Kenny was half draped over him. Soon enough the kitchen was clearing as people took theirs out to the new pizza oven to be cooked and you felt like you were able to take a breath.

After everything that had happened tonight you weren’t very hungry but now everyone had left you could make yours in peace and you were almost done when you felt a presence beside you and you knew who it was immediately

‘You still going?’ Mason asked, taking a seat beside you as you popped the last of your toppings on

‘I’m almost done, I want it to be perfect’ you told him quietly ‘I take pizza very seriously’

‘Well yours looks way better than mine’ he huffed and you sent him a small smile. ‘Are we okay?’ He asked carefully, his voice small and scared almost and when you finally made eye contact with him you saw how sad he looked.

‘Why wouldn’t we be?’

‘You just seem… quiet’

‘Long day’ you shrugged, gulping back your emotions but before you could say anything else you heard people start to filter back inside. ‘Go on, yours is probably done. I’ll just cook mine and be in’

He didn’t reply, just stood up with a sigh as you were already making your way outside where now only Ben and Carly were. You told them you were fine to finish up if they wanted to go inside and you were left with just your thoughts.

You were being miserable and you knew you were and you knew you had to snap out of it. You were the one who caught feelings, clearly he hadn’t so this was a you issue and if you didn’t fix up you were risking ruining the whole friendship group.

Before any of this Mason was a friend and the friendship came first. There was no point dwelling on what had happened and the fact that nothing probably ever would again but you missed being civil with him more than anything so after a quick pep talk you told yourself you’d make an effort with him to be normal. You’d leave the past in the past and move on so you could have your friend back as that was the most important thing. Even if that meant watching him fawn over someone else.

These things don’t work out like you want them too sometimes and that’s okay. But your mood wasn’t and after the realisation hit you, you made sure you’d be cherpier when you went back inside.

You felt lighter as you made your way back in, stopping in the kitchen to cut your pizza up and as if by magic Mason appeared. Walking over to the fridge to grab a drink before standing opposite you.

‘I came to check up on your masterpiece’ he smiled sweetly but he seemed taken aback as you looked back at him with a bright smile.

‘Oh yeah? What do you think’ you asked, showing it to him proudly with a wide smile and your sudden change of demeanour had him looking at you bewildered but he soon mirrored your expression and smiled back at you widely.

‘I think, I probably should have asked you to make mine’ he laughed, eyes wide as he looked over your food and you figured this would be a good time to give him an olive branch and let him know everything was okay.

‘Here, why don’t you take this bit’ you told him, popping a slice on his plate and the rosy blush that took over his cheeks made you smile.

‘No I-I couldn’t’ he stuttered, looking at you like he was in shock but you nodded at him encouragingly.

‘Please? I’ll never finish it all. I want you to have some’ you told him, placing your hand on his arm and his eyes flashed to where you were touching him before looking at you with a soft smile.

‘Thank you’ he whispered but before anything else could be said, Carly was calling you over to sit with her.

‘I’m gonna go eat, but I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?’

‘Okay’ he breathed, a huge smile on his face as he looked at you and you hated the fact that all you wanted to do was kiss him but with one last smile you let him go and took your seat next to Carly.

You sat and listened to everyone talking, chipping in when you needed to but your eyes were on Mason and Kenny, hating the way she looked at him and even worse the way he was looking at her. You told yourself outside you’d have to get used to it but it was going to take more than one evening to do that.

You ignored it though until you couldn’t, watching them discuss the pizza on his plate before she picked up the slice you’d given him from yours and take a massive bite from it.

You were filled with rage instantly. That slice was meant for him, a peace offering of sorts to let him know that the pair of you would be okay and he’d just handed it over to his new play thing like it was nothing.

Your appetite was gone in an instant so you let Carly know you were quickly running to the loo so you could sort yourself out but memories of you and Mason getting physical on this very counter made your blood boil and you just wanted to go home.

Everywhere you looked you could see him and you knew you couldn’t stick around much longer.

Everyone had disbursed by the time you got back downstairs but you found Carly as quickly as you could so you could say goodbye before slipping out.

‘I don’t wanna cause a fuss, I’ll just go it’s fine’ you told her with a weak smile. ‘It’s been a long day and I just don’t feel great’

‘Oh no’ she pouted, pulling you into her body for a hug and you had to bite your lip so you didn’t cry. ‘You sure you’re alright?’

‘I’m fine. I’m just gonna head out before anyone sees. Just tell them I don’t feel good if anyone asks’ you told her and even though she was pouting at you tried not to let it bother you too much as you hated upsetting her and if you carried on seeing how sad she was you’d end up staying.

You’d almost made it out the door when a voice you didn’t recognise called your name and you turned to see Kenny smiling at you sweetly.

‘Hey, I don't believe we’ve met. I’m Kenny, you’re y/n right?’

‘Uh yeah, that’s me’

‘I thought so, I recognised you from everyone’s holiday pictures. I was so jealous but I’m so happy my spot wasn’t wasted’ she smiled but her words confused you.

‘What do you mean, your spot?’

‘Oh Mason didn't tell you?’ She asked, brows raising in shock like she couldn’t believe you didn’t know but you could tell she was about to take some satisfaction in filling you in. ‘I was meant to go with him originally but like a week before I had a really important job come up and I had to back out. I told Mason to find someone else to take and he mentioned you guys were friends. You know what Masons like he probably didn’t want to say anything and upset you’

Her words sliced through you, gaping holes left in your chest at the idea of being just an afterthought for Mason. Second choice, just like normal. You felt like you couldn’t take in a proper breath and you were hoping she didn’t notice how her words were tearing to pieces but even if she did you weren’t sure she would have cared. ‘Don’t worry though, he’s promised me a solo trip just the two of us soon to make up for it’ she laughed before her eyes were back on you. ‘You're leaving so soon?’

‘Yeah I’m not feeling great, I'm just gonna head home’ you said quietly, eyes on the floor so she couldn’t see the pain in them and you stuffed yourself into your coat so you could leave.

‘Oh okay, well hopefully see you around’ she told you sweetly but all you could do was nod before rushing out of the door.

You could barely focus as you drove home. Feeling even more used now that you knew you were his back up. Probably only sleeping with you as you were all he had to choose from and you felt even dirtier than before.

You’d really let yourself believe you meant a little something to him but you couldn’t stand thinking about him anymore. Even if you were only friends you thought he would have treated you with a bit more respect than this.

You were even more emotional when you finally got to the safety of your flat. Tears filling your eyes but you resisted the urge to let them escape. Jumping in the shower before changing into a comfy pair of pjs so you could get ready for bed and cry your little heart out but fate wasn’t on your side tonight.

You thought about ignoring the knock on your door, but it was late so you knew it wasn’t random. Opening up the door with a huff to reveal the last person you wanted to see and the sight of him raised your blood pressure.

‘Mason, what do you want?’ You asked with furrowed brows and you knew you looked pissed from the way he was looking back at you.

‘Charming’ he laughed, but you didn’t react. Watching his face drop a little bit but he carried on. ‘Carly said you weren’t feeling too well I was just coming to check on you’

‘There’s no need, I’m fine’ you told him bluntly but just like usual Mason was giving up without a fight.

‘Can I come in then?’

‘Where’s Kenny’ you questioned, eyebrow raised but he looked even more confused at this.

‘How should I know?’ He scoffed, looking at you like you’d lost your mind and you realised you couldn't send him away no matter how much you wanted to. Hoping he’d see you weren’t in the mood for visitors and leave but this was Mason you were talking about and as soon as you moved aside to let him in you wished you hadn’t of.

He walked through your flat, making his way to the living room where he perched himself on the arm of the sofa so he could face you as you stood far away from him in the doorway. Hands behind your back as he played with his in his lap, both in silence for a beat until he looked up at you with his big eyes and you nearly lost it.

‘Are you gonna tell me what’s really wrong? Cause you look fine’ he told you and you felt your anger rise up in your throat.

‘Oh and you’re the authority on who’s sick then are you? Sorry I didn't realise I had to meet your standards to pass. What do you want me to do, cough up a lung? Would you believe me then?’

‘What the hells gotten into you?’ He laughed, a look of disbelief on his face and you knew you had to tone it down a little bit.

‘Nothing’ you huffed, eyes on the floor so he couldn't read you but you saw him shuffle about uncomfortably.

‘Well it has. Look I know things have been a little weird since Portugal but I’m only here for a few days and I…’

‘And what?’

‘I miss you’ he whispered. You heart breaking at the sound of his voice but you knew you had to stay firm. ‘Things aren’t the same as they used to be. What happened to the contract? Friendship comes first and all that shit? You can barely look at me now’ he told you, unable to hide the hurt in his voice but you were too upset to let it affect you. ‘Last time we spoke at Ben's things seemed better and now you’ve gone all cold again’

‘I said already, I don’t feel well’

‘You don’t expect me to believe that’

‘Believe what you want’ you mumbled and the sigh that he let out almost broke your heart.

‘I hate all this, being off with each other and stuff. Why can’t we just go back to how it was?’

‘Cause I fucking like you, you idiot!’ you suddenly exploded, silencing him immediately as he stared at you in shock and you knew you needed to take it down a peg. ‘I like you’ you told him, your voice sounding vulnerable and small as your eyes fell to the floor. ‘I know about the contract and I remember the rules but I like you. And I’ve been trying to make it stop but I can’t and then you shared my pizza that I gave you with some random girl I’ve never seen before right in front of me’

‘It’s just pizza, Muffin’ he said quietly, trying to hide the smile on his face but you saw it clear as day. He hadn’t called you Muffin since the second to last day in Portugal, the sound making your knees weak and your eyes water but you were determined not to show him what he was doing to you.

‘It’s the principle’ you huffed shakily, wanting him to understand how insignificant he’d made you feel and by the way his eyes dropped you think he got the picture. ‘It hurt, Mase’

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you’ he told you softly, standing up to be closer to you and when he reached for your hand you let him take it. ‘That’s the last thing I’d want to do. Truth is I never actually gave it to her, she picked it up off my plate before I could say anything. I was actually pretty pissed cause I wanted to eat it, like I’d saved it till last on purpose and I knew I couldn’t ask you for another bit’ he laughed, trying to make you smile and you almost conceded. ‘There’s something else though, isn’t there’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s not just the pizza you’re upset about. Something else is wrong’ he stated and you froze.

What did he expect you to say?

You’d admitted you liked him and even though he hadn’t said it back he also hadn't shot you down. If anything he looked lighter from your confession and you figured you had nothing left to lose so you decided to be honest.

‘That girl.. the one who stole my pizza’

‘Kenny?’

‘Who is she?’ You whispered. Your voice sounding scared like you might not like the answer but from the way Mason was looking at you you felt yourself settling down.

‘A friend of Bens from back home. I didn’t meet her that long ago but he introduced us cause she lives in Manchester now’ he explained and you hated the fact she lived so close to him.

‘Oh, so you haven’t known her long?’

‘Not really. Why?’ He asked and even though it was petty you just shrugged your shoulders. ‘Hey come on. What happened?’ He asked, pulling you back towards the arm of the sofa and in between his legs so he could hold your waist but you kept your arms crossed in front of you. ‘Please tell me, Muffin. I can’t help if I don’t know’

‘When you told me you’d paid for my part of the holiday already and were waiting to convince me, were you telling the truth?’ You asked quietly, not wanting to look him in the eyes so you focused on his shoulder instead but you could see from the corner of your eye the confused look on his face.

‘Of course I was. Why? Did someone say something different?’

‘She told me that space was booked for her. That you’d invited her first but a job came up and she couldn’t go so that’s why you never asked me sooner cause it never really was for me. I was just back up but you didn’t want to upset me’

‘First of all, that’s bullshit. It was always meant for you and I’ve got the texts to prove it’ he told you, reaching for his phone to prove his point but you felt a little silly now.

‘Mase it’s fine-‘

‘No, I wanna show you. I don’t want you to think that when it wasn’t that at all’ he told you, his voice hard but you knew his frustrations weren’t aimed at you.

‘See, it was always for you’ he told you gently, your heart sinking at the fact you’d believed her so easily.

‘Why did she say that to me then?’

‘Cause she’s probably annoyed you ended up going’ he laughed. ‘Look, I’ll admit I took her out on a date a few weeks before I came down that weekend we… you know for the first time’ he explained. ‘Nothing special, just dinner and some drinks and she asked about any plans over the winter break and this came up. I think Ben must have mentioned it already and she told me she was up for it if your space was available and I said I’d let her know. Obviously it wasn’t and she got a bit jealous I guess and wanted to make you feel a bit shit about it’

‘Well mission accomplished’ you laughed, uncrossing your arms so you didn’t look so defensive but you were still a little uncomfortable so you just played with your fingers and he let out a gentle sigh.

‘Muffin, who are we trying to kid?’ He asked you softly, your eyes on his face immediately and the soft look on his face made your knees weak.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, there’s clearly something here. Why are we trying so hard to fight it?’ He asked quietly and you felt your breath catch in the back of your throat. ‘Did you mean what you said earlier?’

‘Depends, what did I say?’ You laughed and he squeezed your hips softly.

‘When you said you liked me, did you mean it?’ He questioned, wanting an answer but you weren’t ready to speak so you just nodded, hoping that would be enough for him. ‘Well, I like you too. A lot in fact, more than I ever intended to. And I know it’s against the rules but fuck all that’ he laughed. ‘Why are we fighting so hard against what we want?’

‘I’m not sure’ you whispered, eyes finally meeting his and you smiled at him but his last words to you in Portugal were still ringing in your ears. ‘I guess after what you said on our last night away and how you were for that whole day, I just didn’t think you’d ever want anything more from me. You made me feel like crap, like you got what you wanted and you were done’

You watched the hurt flash over his features, reliving his words to you from that night and even though he hadn’t said a lot, he knew his words along with his actions had really upset you.

‘I didn’t say any of that stuff cause I believed it’ he sighed. ‘You don’t know how many times that night I came back to your door ready to knock it down and tell you how I was feeling. Why do you think I left that night like I was going out of my mind and I was crying like a baby’ he laughed but your heart broke at the sound of his confession. ‘I was so caught up in you and then reality hit that I probably can’t give you what you want. What you deserve’

‘What do you mean?’ You asked quietly, hands finally resting on his chest as you reached out to touch him and he smiled and pulled you in closer at the gesture.

‘You’re this big scary boss lady who’s got so much going for her, you know? Like you’ve got your whole little empire and that’s your world. I thought being with me would be too much for you or something. I’m so far away now and I can’t give you the time you deserve. Maybe I’m not making that much sense’

‘You’re really not’ you laughed, thinking he looked adorable when he rambled but you knew he wanted to carry on so you let him.

‘I’m so proud of you and everything you are and everything that you have. I guess I don’t want to get in the way of that’

‘What if I want you in the way?’ You asked and he looked up at you hopefully. Flashing you your favourite smile that you hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime and you had to really hold back to not kiss him. ‘Yes I’m busy and yes I have a lot of stuff to do but do you remember what you said to me on the stairs at Ben's house before we went away?’

‘I said a lot of stuff’ he winked, clearly reliving all the ways he’d tried to woo you on the stairs and you blushed as you remembered his words.

‘You did’ you laughed, nodding your head as you moved your hands to his shoulders. ‘But you said everyone’s got time, you just have to make it. And you Mason, I’d be more than willing to make time for you’

‘Yeah?’ he questioned with a laugh and you nodded reassuring him before his face fell. ‘I’m really sorry. I feel like I’ve acted like such a brat’

‘Did I do something?’ You whispered, wanting to get to the bottom of what really happened. ‘I feel like that last day it went all wrong. You just left without a word and didn’t even try to make it right’

‘I know, I was trying to run away I think. I knew I pushed it too far that night before and we broke all the rules but I was past the point of caring. All I wanted was to wake up next to you that morning, kiss you and tell you how I really felt. But you’d gone and then I saw you in the pool with Chilly and it drove me mad’

‘He was teaching me how to swim, Mase’

‘I know’ he laughed, looking like he realised how silly he sounded but you knew there was more to it. ‘But you told me you wouldn’t ever get in the pool for me and after we’d had the day before and it was so perfect, I could feel myself caring more than I knew I should. It fucking hurt that you didn’t ask me and I know it sounds stupid cause it is so I thought it was best to shut it down. I should of handled it differently though I’m sorry’

‘I’m sorry Mase, I didn’t even think. I never meant to make you feel like that’

‘I know you didn’t’ he smiled, pulling you in closer so that your bodies were flush against each other now. ‘There’s nothing to be sorry for I was just jealous’

‘Is that why you spoke to those girls that night?’

‘That looked worse than it was, but I get it didn’t look great so I’m sorry’ he whispered, looking at you with eyes full of guilt but you just nodded. ‘The guys were going in at me at the bar about you and asking why I hadn’t spoken to any other girls that week and then she practically crashed into me. She was as drunk as anything but she told me she was a fan so I spoke to her hoping the boys would leave me alone. She was falling all over me though and I could barely hear her so I tried to steady her and let her know I’d walk her back to her table but you with your incredible timing popped up at the worst possible moment’ he laughed. ‘But I walked her back and then her friends were asking me loads of questions about United so I just sat with them for a bit to get the others off my back but as soon as Dec told me you were out of it I left them’

‘I know’ you whispered, silently relieved that things weren’t as they seemed. ‘Thank you for looking after me’

‘You don’t have to thank me, all I care about is you being okay and I get it didn’t seem like that sometimes’ he sighed. ‘That whole day I knew it was gonna be my last with you and I was miserable. Didn’t wanna do anything or speak to anyone, like once I was over my strop that morning I just wanted to hold you cause I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to the next day. I was terrified of talking to you about anything cause I knew I’d get upset so I just didn’t and then when we went out I thought if I wasn’t around you then I could push it all down and move on and maybe by the time we saw each other again it’d be alright but as soon as I saw you earlier I knew I’d messed up. I don't think I can be just friends with you now Muffin, it’s not gonna work. Not when I know I want so much more from you’

‘Really?’ You breathed, your bottom lip wobbling as his worlds sunk in.

‘Promise. That holiday just proved to me I’d do absolutely anything for you and these last few weeks without you have been hell’ he confessed. ‘I’ve missed you. So much’ he whispered, kissing your cheek and you blushed at his words. ‘Missed holding you and kissing you and pretending that you’re mine. I’m fed up with pretending though like I’ve had enough of it’

‘Me too’ you laughed, thinking his stroppy expression was adorable but your smile made him smile too.

‘So we’re gonna do this then?’ He asked hopefully and you knew you couldn’t deny him.

‘I think so’ you nodded, holding him close as you squeezed each other tightly. ‘I have no idea how or anything but we can sort it out. I just know I want you’

‘We’ll find a way, I’d do anything to make this work’ he assured you and you couldn’t take it anymore. Leaning forward to finally kiss him like you’d wanted to for the longest time and he reciprocated straight away. Lightly brushing his lips against yours as the pair of you tried to not smile but it was too difficult. Giggling onto each other's lips before you pulled away and you just hoped you mirrored the joy that was so plainly written over Mason's face.

‘How I’ve gone that long without kissing you I’ll never know’ he told you, pressing another heavy kiss to your lips. ‘How about we start a Sugar Mumma franchise in Manchester?’ He teased, eyebrows wiggling to let you know he was only half joking but you quite liked the sound of it.

‘I mean I’m always looking for opportunities to expand’ you laughed, pulling back to look into his eyes and they were the happiest you’d seen him all evening and knowing it was because of you made you blush.

‘You gonna let me be your muffin man, then?’ He joked, referencing the fact he always asked if you had found your Mr. Muffin but little did he know he’d been your muffin man all along.

You quickly escaped from his arms so you could grab your phone, wanting to show him something he’d never seen before and when you returned he sat you down in his lap with his arms crossed over your front before he kissed your neck softly.

‘I wanna show you something’ you laughed, quickly opening up your messages to reveal to him the name you had him under in your contacts and you watched his face as the realisation hit him before he looked at you softly. ‘You’ve always been my muffin man’

‘How long has it been like that?’ He laughed, squeezing you a little tighter as he kissed your cheek but you didn’t have time to answer him as a notification from Dec came through and you were left confused.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ You questioned aloud. Looking up at Mason but you could tell from his shy face that he knew what was going on. ‘Mase?’

‘Well I realised pretty quickly you’d gone but I didn’t know what to do so I waited until Woody asked and when Carly said you didn’t feel well I knew something was off’ he shrugged. ‘You were fine before we ate so I went into another room to try and call you but Dec found me before I got a chance and when I told him what I was doing he gave me a bit of a talking to’ he gulped, his face going as red as you’d ever seen it and you weren’t sure if you wanted to hear anymore. ‘Don’t be upset with him but he told me about when you spoke after I’d left. I don't think he told me everything but I got the main parts and I felt like such a knob. He told me he’d bang our heads together if I didn’t come over and make things right so I left and I guess he thinks if we’ve worked it out then it’s all down to him’

‘Well he’s been suspicious from the start I guess’ you shrugged. ‘You know he told me he’d love for you to have someone like me? That I could be just what you need’

‘I mean he’s not wrong but when did he say that?’

‘Day of the boat trip, when we got back from dinner and you had a word with him. I think he only kept teasing cause he was trying to push us together’

‘Well he should have saved himself the bother, I’ve been yours for a while’ he winked and you felt yourself cuddle into him as you blushed.

‘Really?’

‘Of course, had me hooked since that first chocolate muffin’ he confessed. ‘I like you a lot and I didn’t want you to think I’m like what everyone else sees me as. I love having you in my life and I love having you as a friend but lately I couldn’t help but see you as more’ he told you truthfully. ‘And then you showed up at my birthday looking hot as hell like you’re enough to drive anyone insane’ he teased and his words made you giggle as you tried to hide your face in your hands.

‘I never thought you’d see me as more than a friend’ you laughed, holding him tighter as he peppered kisses to your cheek. ‘And I love being your friend but I’ve always had a soft spot for you’

‘We can still be friends’ he told you softly. Kissing your cheek gently before smiling down at you. ‘Well just be extra special friends who kiss and get to see each other naked’ he teased and you rolled your eyes playfully. ‘Plus now you're my girl you get a prime face time slot’

‘Are you ever serious?’ You laughed, turning in his arms so you could pull him into a hug and you shivered at the way he tucked himself into your neck.

‘I’m serious about you’ he whispered into your skin and you couldn’t contain your smile but you knew in the back of your mind this wouldn’t be as simple as you wanted it to be. ‘What’s wrong, muffin?’

You gave him a sad smile, your heart thumping at how he was able to read you so easily before shrugging lightly. ‘Just worrying’

‘Well don’t, there’s nothing to worry about’

‘Well there is. What’s everyone gonna say? I know Carly will be upset I kept this from her’

‘Wanna know a secret?’ He whispered, his voice sounding playful and you looked up at him in confusion. ‘I think she knows’

‘How? Did you say something?’

‘Of course not, but just like my best friend figured it out I think yours has too. Probably knew before we knew ourselves. Remember when we were at the airport and you made your big entrance?’ He teased, making you hide your face in embarrassment but he was quick to pull your hands apart. ‘She came over to speak to me, mainly just to say thank you for the surprise but she asked me if something was going on between us as she knew you always keep your cards close to your chest’

‘Well now I feel even worse’

‘You don’t have to, she knows you’ll tell her when you’re ready’ he reassured you. Kissing you softly before squeezing your hip. ‘Are you working tomorrow?’

‘Gave myself the day off’ you told him, shaking your head into his neck and you felt him squeeze you tighter.

‘Well I’m staying at Woodlands Park, treated myself to a suite but it’s a bit pointless on my own. Will you come and stay with me tonight?’

‘Really?’ You asked, excitement bubbling through you as you knew it was super fancy there and you’d always wanted to go but the fact you got to spend the night with Mason after so long was even more appealing. You pulled back to look at him, laughing as he gave your bum a cheeky pinch and he nodded at you shyly.

‘Of course, I don’t wanna go back there without you’ he whispered and you knew you didn’t want to leave him either. ‘I promise I’ll get you room service in the morning’ he laughed, trying to convince you further but you were already wanting to free yourself from his grip so you could grab your things.

‘Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready’ you laughed, reaching down so you could kiss him again quickly before sorting yourself out but he held you close to him so you couldn’t move. His face serious when you looked at him

‘Thank you, Muffin. I’ve honestly been miserable without you and I’m really glad we get to start again’ he told you truthfully. Your eyes stinging as you nodded back at him softly before he kissed your forehead. ‘We’ll do it the right way this time, yeah? No more secrets or ground rules or whatever else. We’ll just be honest with each other about our feelings and we’ll go from there okay?’

‘Okay’ you whispered, loving the way Mason made it sound so easy when you knew it probably wouldn’t be but you also knew there was no one else you wanted to try this hard with and when he lent forward to capture your lips again, you let him. Content being back in his arms and thankful you’d broken all your rules for him.

y/n

liked by masonmount, carlywlms_, declanrice and others

y/n My muffin man 🥹🩷

view comments

masonmount all this time I’ve been muffin without you 😘

y/n you’re lucky you’re cute 😩

declanrice I called it (congrats)

y/n 🙄 (thanks)

carlywlms_ so happy for you 🩷

y/n love you 🩷 calling you right now

carlywlms_ you better 😉

okaylaaa oh she’s hard launching 😏

y/n were starting as we mean to go on 😌

benchilwell okay I did not see this coming but I love it

carlywlms_ well you must be the only one who didn’t Jesus Ben where have you been?

y/n yeah Ben, get with it

laurenfryer_ so it really was a couples holiday after all 🥹

y/n we just felt a bit left out

masonmount yeah it’s nothing serious, she’ll be done with me in a week

y/n cute he thinks I’m gonna give him a week

woody_ can you two just get married already? You make me sick

masonmount as joyous as ever woody

nadds__ well I can’t say I didn’t see this coming but I’m so happy for you 🥹

y/n thank you 🩷 I’m concerned as to why everyone could see it but us

masonmount love is blind, muffin. And you need you eyes tested 🤪

lukeshaw23 finally we can go on double dates now you don’t know how long I’ve waited

y/n ooooo yes please 🤭

masonmount not luke asking you out on a date before I did

kaihavertz29 okay I’m so out of the loop, can’t believe my boyfriend has a girlfriend

y/n how did I not know my boyfriend has a boyfriend

masonmount miss you bro ☹️

Tagged: @footiehoemcfc @prideofpd @yoursselo @chelseachilly @willow-writer-ivy @katharinanadiaa @mmountseb @carlottawllms @saltyheartnightmare @masonmtxo @harvestmount @chillymountsjess @treblebluesblog @pulisicsgirl @bluesswift @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps

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fake-ascension · 6 months ago

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this was just supposed to a quick post about how i think mr reca is a cremator but it ended up becoming a longer theory so here it is:

im not trying to offend anyone but i completely disagree with the 'reca is just a memokeeper' and the 'reca is a history fictionologist' truthers

if this man isnt a cremator im gonna fuckin EXPLODE

*also,sorry for typos..... its almost 6 am and im half asleep writing this

from the clockie dreamjoy memoir event:

black swan is obviously talking abt mr reca here........... cremators ARE just an extreme group of memokeepers and operation IN the garden of recollection.

from the scorchsand vacation adventure quest:

cremators believe that memories have varying levels of importance and only the most important memories should be preserved, every thing else is just fodder

despite the movie being a record of trailblazer & firefly's adventures during the scorchland auditions (main quest) he doesnt want to be associated with the film because its boring to him because he finds the topic boring and not good enough to be recorded on film

new light cone:

disclaimer: i don't know if the full LC description is out officially, the hsr wiki only has the very last line listed on the page so far, but this was the full description from the leaks subreddit a few weeks ago:

i don't think i even need to explain this....... he's LITERALLY burning the memories recorded on the film saying that boring and trivial memories aren't worth keeping, that all memories have different levels of importance.

'we don't transport memories. we only create the past'

cremators don't collect and store memories, they throw out the garbage to craft a worthy past to be preserved by fuli.....

i can see WHY folks come to the history fictionologist conclusion, besides looking similar to gallagher, reca IS weaving a false narrative about the past through the omission of trivial memories. but what sets him apart from the history fictionoloists mindset is that he WANTS to preserve his carefully crafted narrative, to remember it as the past.

history fictionologists seek to destroy and distort the past, so history cannot repeat itself, but it doesn't seem that reca is interested in that. hes trying to preserve what he thinks are the most important pieces of the past via film.

but tl;dr: i am 99% convinced mr reca is apart of the cremators. please i am BEGGING to have a character associated with the cremators, they were the first faction i was very 👀 about and im dying while waiting.

#fool.txt #fool on the space train #honkai star rail #mr reca #reca hsr

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branwyn-the-half-witch · 4 months ago

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Hadestown West End Recording

Hadestown West End recording is on Amazon - Hadestown Live From London! It’s a live recording rather than studio, and it’s not the full show, which is pretty heartbreaking. Would love to know the reason why it’s only a selection of songs??

UK release date: 6 Dec 2024 (confirmed to be global!)

From the inside cover:

‘This album almost didn't happen

Between the original studio album, the live off-Broadway recording and the OBCR, Hadestown and its evolution was already well-documented; we weren't sure we needed another. But the London company, with its feast of nationalities, accents and jaw-dropping performances, seemed to beg for immortalisation and the hunger for it from audiences was clear.

The choice came to a head when two of our original West End case members, Grace Hodgett-Young (Eurydice) and Dónal Finn (Orpheus) announced their departure from the company at the end of August. We made an 11th hour decision to record a few shows live and then pick and choose the songs that most vividly represented this extraordinary company and era of Hadestown. There was some back-and-forth about how many shows to record, and whether or not Grace and Dónal's final performance should be among them. Emotions might be high, we thought. Was it more humane to let them savor their last show "off the record"? We went ahead and taped it. Todd (from our producer team), whose language is usually radio-friendly, texted me at intermission, describing the show as “f** king definitive.”

"They have mania level energy" He said of the entire cast, "but they're putting it straight into clarity and patience and pure emotion.” ’

Track listing:

Some big omissions here, quite tragically for me no ‘Doubt Comes In’, RIP panic-attack!Orpheus.

Really hoping there is some other information we are missing, because it’s a little heartbreaking to not have the whole show with this amazing cast preserved forever and for everyone that couldn’t make it to London.

#hadestown uk #hadestown west end #hadestown #dónal finn #grace hodgett-young

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dreamingofbucky · 2 years ago

Text

Inescapable

chapter one

summary: moving to a new neighborhood in Nueva York meant new places to see and new people to meet. Miguel O'Hara is an enigma. and after having a failed date attempt with him, you find out he's your coworker. but he's not the same man you've been pining over the last few weeks. He's much more cruel and something's not right.

warnings: uhhh dick!miguel? lol red flags but reader's blind and just thinks of him between her thighs despite his cocky attitude ayoo.

wordcount: 2.3k

author's note: mainly intro to series sorry if it's boring 😭 i can't wait to amp up the tension in the next chapter!

tag list: @yehet-moi-ohorat @127aliciia

series masterlist

It all happened so abruptly.

Moving to a new part of Nueva York wasn’t something you expected. Getting a new job meant a higher salary, which meant you could afford a little better than most with what you’ve been able to save up and then what you’d be earning. But even ‘better’ wasn’t great.

You unpacked your bags into your one bedroom apartment that seemed bigger and better maintained on the photos online. It didn’t pass you by the way the door in the bathroom jiggles a little out of the door hinges as if one more slam will make the whole damn thing fall down.

And you didn’t have the energy to deal with the damn outlet in the kitchen that would reset any device connected to it every two hours. You definitely weren’t going to put your coffee pot there. You liked to wake up to a freshly brewed pot with an automatic timer.

The apartment next door sat vacant since you moved in. You enjoyed it quite a bit, remembering how your last set of neighbors were up all hours of the night either blasting music, fucking, or arguing. You enjoyed the peace and quiet a little too much.

Quite frankly, you’ve become comfortable with the silence pertaining to Unit 209.

Despite that, things have been moving along swiftly and pleasantly in your life. You even bumped into someone three weeks ago walking down the street and it wasn’t just someone. He was sweet and kind, laughing at the mistake of you switching phones by accident after the collision. Thinking his phone was yours until you realized your phone didn’t have the cutest princess as the one on the lock screen. He fumbled for a little, with his stance and his words, as you both switched phones to the appropriate owners. He said it was his daughter on the screen.

His name was Miguel O’Hara, he’d said. You told him yours and his eyes lit up like he’s never heard a name quite like yours before. And it sounded like rich honey coming off his lips when he repeated it. This just made your cheeks burn and flutters swarm all over your body.

Next thing you knew, you bumped into him in all parts of your new town. The grocery store, the park where you like to run, and even the flower shop. He swore he knew nothing about flowers and was just trying to get some for his daughter for some school project. You’d laughed and helped him pick out the best kinds.

All of these chance encounters that really led to nothing were starting to bug you until that one day he finally asked for your number. It took him a while to finally do so, but you were thankful that the universe somehow made it its mission to collide your pathways to constantly see him.

You texted here and there, not much different to your dismay from the collisions in town that made you think he wanted more. You didn’t even know much else about the man besides he had a daughter and he liked that steakhouse a few blocks from your place.

You hoped to change that soon, and that’s when it seemed like the universe was on your side.

He asked you out for dinner at that steakhouse.

And then stood you up.

***

You wanted to believe that there was good in people. Even the most honest ones. But there seemed to always be an anomaly that infected everyone.

You had your flaws and your omissions. You had your quirks that only you’d ever witness within the walls of your apartment. And you had your utter disappointment in people that lied and dragged you along. Like him.

Miguel O’Hara.

You waited for one hour in that damn steakhouse before you gave up, asked for a check and then went home. You thought he’d at least pick you up from your place, finally get to see your new place. Funny now, he’s the least of who you’d like entering it.

That humiliating night only fed your anger more until it was time to start your new job. You took the following weekend to relax, take a bath in that glorious tub that might have some scratches and chipping, but it was divine. You didn’t have a tub in your old place.

Monday morning came abruptly and you were excited for new things. New job, new you as you liked to joke.

Slipping on your favorite flower dress and golden necklace for good luck and you were out of the door, heading to the campus that would hold your new job title. Alchemax was bigger than you remembered from your interview and tour and your division was in the skyscraper on a tippy top floor. There seemed to be endless halls to lose yourself in. Even your department was large. To the point where if there was a project that needed to be completed, they had to break you guys off into groups to get multiple done at once.

But you liked your job. You liked being able to focus on what you studied your ass off for years at school. It wasn’t everyday that people in your city could say the same. With the effects of the Rapture that took over the city ages ago, crime and violence had only heightened. You leaned heavily on those action packed superhero films sometimes wondering if Nueva York would ever get better.

You knew superheroes weren’t real. They didn’t exist. But you still hoped that there was something better coming for your city. You loved it, really. But you also hated it.

***

“Here’s your project packet with your team members listed,” a loud voice boomed behind you. It was your supervisor and he looked annoyed.

It was your fourth day, so you slapped on a smile and nodded, grabbing the packet. You’d only met the few coworkers that milled about your office space, but there was a whole floor to get to know. You buried yourself in your work, with it just being your first week, so you didn’t really socialize even when it came to lunchtime. You liked to take your lunch outside anyway to watch the birds in the sky or dream about a life where there wasn’t always crime afoot.

You sighed and plopped the packet on your desk and flipped to the first page where your team member’s names would be listed. Your eyes scanned the first line and your eyes bugged out.

Miguel O’Hara.

This must be some cruel joke, right?

You haven’t heard from this man in a week and here he is. In plain black letters on your desk. You didn’t miss the way your heart skipped a beat and your cheeks burned.

His was the only name next to yours. It’d just be you two. You took a deep breath and mentally prepared yourself. The packet thankfully showed which office area he works under, so you stood up and made your way to it. The packet was clutched tightly between your arms and hugged your chest. Your purple dress today flowed a little around your thighs. You liked wearing dresses to work, despite some of the looks you’d get.

You even heard one coworker joke that this wasn’t some kind of Victoria’s Secret runway which just didn’t make sense. Every outfit you chose fit the guidelines that were given to you upon your first day. You didn’t like the way slacks molded to your body. You felt much more comfortable with a flowy dress and heels.

Your steps echoed down the hall until you took a right and were met with a few other workers muttering at their screen, their phones, or each other. You scanned the faces until you saw the one you needed all the way in the back. He was staring at his screen, hunched over with his wide shoulders. You couldn’t see his face just yet, but you already knew how he looked.

Handsome as ever. You’d never forget a face like that. It only bummed you out more that things didn’t progress and the date ultimately ended with you cursing him forever. You had a twinge of guilt that maybe something happened with his daughter that made him not show. But he would’ve texted or called, right?

You shook your head, not wanting to think about the failed attempt to get to know the man and marched your way over to his area. He doesn’t turn around or look up when you make your final step. Your hip is aligned with his shoulder and you clear your throat.

He finally turns to look, not amused in the slightest. Not even an indication that he recognized you or blew you off. Two can play at that game.

What was once an idea to play off the horrible date and start off fresh by introducing yourself and striking conversation and even making a joke that you didn’t realize he worked at Alchemax, you bit your tongue.

His eyes glance a little at your dress and your waist, but then flickers back to your face.

Your breath hitches in the slightest at his remarkable beauty. Fuck, you forgot how good he looked up close. His brown eyes narrowed a bit, watching you silently. You swallowed, but it seemed like there was cotton stuck in your mouth.

“We’ve got that project to work on,” you finally mutter, tapping your heeled toe on the ground.

“What project?” He replied with a bitter tone. He turns back to look at his computer and your impatience flares.

“The one that we were assigned to,” you huff. To prove a point, you slam the packet down on his table and he pushes his chair back. You hold your breath as you watch his features change. From confused to annoyed, to outright cold.

You want to say something, anything. Even possibly bring up the fact that he still hasn’t apologized or made up an excuse for the missed date. And that he’s acting like a complete ass right now, not even acknowledging you!

Your anxious habits come back to life as your toe continues to tap. A scowl forms on his face. He runs thick fingers through his wavy brown hair. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t imagine your own hands running through those strands. Either when you kissed him or you had him in between your thighs. But those were just dreams that never came to fruition because of this asshole.

You bet his hair was soft too.

You shake your head, attempting to pull yourself out of your own misery.

“I was transferred to this department last minute,” he finally says. “Not supposed to be in any of these ‘group projects’. I’ve got other things to do. Not being tied to anyone.”

And with that, he lifts his hand and waves you off. That fucker waves you off. Like you’re his butler or something waiting for his command to go.

It takes everything in you to not slap that smug look off his face. To not make a scene. But it’s your first week and you’re already finding coziness in your new apartment you wouldn’t be able to afford without this job. That was something you couldn’t give up. Also not the best choice to drain almost all your savings on that damn security deposit and rent payment.

This prick was not going to ruin that for you.

“I’ll do the work then, and you can do whatever the hell it is that you do.”

His head snaps to look at you and his lips twitch. Without warning, he rises. And that’s when you forget how tall the man is. But it seems like he’d gotten taller since the last time you saw him in person. You think it was the flower shop or the park when you’d last seen Miguel O’Hara. He also looked more muscular. Arms protruding a little more in his button down and his shoulders seemed to have little more meat to them. He’s even got some faint scars on his neck.

Did you ever notice those before?

You were definitely losing it.

He peers down at you like you’re some child being lectured for stealing candy out of the cupboard. His hands go to his waist and he leans, hovering over you. It feels almost predatory like. You swallow again.

“You do that,” he finally says.

That’s it. That’s all he says.

“I can’t believe you,” the words tumble out of your mouth without warning. You bite your lip, hoping no one else heard that. You don’t want to have to start rivalries with coworkers during your first week. But this man enrages you.

“Believe it,” he spits before taking a side step. You watch as he shakes his head and walks out of the office area. You don’t know where the hell he’s going.

You glance over at his desk and see that he’s got some things set up around the space. A card with a watercolor rose petal over it. Possibly something his daughter got for him for his birthday or something. A picture of his daughter sits by the computer monitor and made your heart lurch in your chest.

And then something else that caught your eye. You look around the area to only see busy workers paying you no mind before you extend your hand and pull it out from under a manual guide.

It’s a tiny piece of paper, in the same shape as a business card. There was some chicken scratch on it, but when you peer closer to read you gasp.

Dinner at 7 at the Steakhouse. Don’t forget flowers for her. Wear your best suit. It matches her eyes.

It was all there. The date you were supposed to have with Miguel.

Why did he still have the reminder card on his desk if he completely forgot about it?

And why did he act like he didn’t know you at all?

#miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara atsv #dreamingofbuckyfics

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fatgirlonadate-blog · 6 months ago

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21 Days

Xavier x MC (unnamed) This is the first chapter of eventually 21 chapters. One new trope in every chapter. Summary: What exactly did Xavier and MC do for the 21 days they were on their undercover mission? Well, they fell in love, of course. Not that they weren't already.

Prologue

The undercover mission that's currently posted on the Hunter's Association task board is not a job that anyone particularly wants to do. It has been open for weeks and everyone seems to be pointedly ignoring its existence even as it rises in priority. The payout has nearly tripled since it was posted, but it still is not enough to tempt you into touching that thing with a 10-foot pole. Undercover stakeout missions were long and boring, and you weren't exactly excited about the idea of being away from home for that long. It just seemed like the worst of all possible worlds: no real action, lots of aimless waiting, and none of the satisfaction of kicking ass. The first and last stakeout you ever signed up for was a few months ago, and all you had really gained from that experience was five extra pounds from eating your feelings and a pat on the back for extensive note taking.

At this point, you are basically blind to the listing as you scroll through the open investigations for the day, until your eyes happen to catch on the participant counter: 1 of 2. Curiosity gets the best of you - who would willingly sign up for this thing - and you absently tap the listing on your phone.

Undercover Mission - Linkon Suburbs

- Minimum 2 Hunters - 3 months on-site, 24/7 monitoring - Priority: HIGH - Participants: 1 of 2 - Status: Open - Payout: 200,000 credits per hunter - Requirements: - Must be willing to live on-site for up to 3 months - Must be willing to cohabitate - Minimum 1 Alpha Team hunter - High level of discretion and attention to detail - Participants: - Xavier (Alpha Team)

You nearly drop your phone in surprise as the name is displayed as clear as day: Xavier. He signed up without telling you. It's not as if the two of you are particularly close, but you had started spending more time together recently after finding out that you are neighbors. His omission stings more than you'd care to admit.

The mission isn't slated to start until the end of the week. There's a chance he just didn't get around to mentioning it. You try to think of the reason why he might not have brought it up, but you can't come up with one, and it drives you crazy. If he didn't tell you, you think to yourself, then maybe it's because he didn't want you to take it as an invitation to join him. But that's ridiculous, isn't it? The two of you make a great team. You're partners. It would be weird for him to go on this mission with anyone else, right?

Unease unfurls in your gut as you think of Xavier not only being gone for three months, but being gone for three months and living with someone who isn't you. You know rationally that you do not have any sort of claim to him, but the idea of him being so far away and out of reach makes you feel sick. He's always been there for you when you really need him. And what if he likes this other hunter more than you? What if the two of them make a better team? What if it's a girl? God, what if it's a pretty girl? What if he abandons you completely?

You're being crazy, you tell yourself, because there is no way that Xavier would be that cold. He's your friend, and you're pretty sure he's fond of you, in his own aloof way. You're sure of it. The same way you’re sure that you’d drop dead before you let anyone go on this mission with him but you.

The phone is already ringing before you have time to second guess yourself.

"Hello?" Xavier answers in his typical sleepy monotone. "What's up?"

"You're taking the undercover mission, Xav?" You blurt out immediately, not even bothering with pleasantries.

Xavier is silent for a long moment, and your mind works quickly to fill in the pause. Maybe it was a mistake? Maybe he got auto-assigned to the mission due to the urgency and doesn't even know about it yet. He would have told you otherwise.

"Yeah, I was going to tell you," he says slowly, "I guess I forgot."

You exhale the breath you were holding and try to temper the disappointment you feel. He had forgotten to tell you. It's true that he was forgetful and his mind always seemed like it was somewhere else. But you had thought that you were important enough now for him to remember.

"Why didn't you sign up to join me?" he asks.

Oh.

"Wait... what?" you sputter.

"I thought you would sign up once you saw that I was on the mission. You haven't yet. I was hoping you would come with me."

He had been expecting you to join him the entire time. A warm feeling blooms in your chest at the sound of the slight pout in his voice. He had been waiting for you. He wanted you. At least in some capacity.

"Oh," you finally manage to say, "Oh, yeah, I was planning to sign up, I was just calling to make sure you were okay with me joining you."

Xavier chuckles softly on the other end of the line. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason," you reply, feeling a little bit embarrassed, but also a little bit relieved, "I'll assign myself now. Looks like you're stuck with me."

Xavier laughs a bit again, and his voice takes on that low tone that makes your heart race, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Your face heats at his almost-compliment, and you can't help but smile. You never know quite what to make of Xavier's offhandedly sweet comments. You are sure that he doesn't even realize the effect that they have on you. That's just how he is - distant but sweet. Easy to like, but hard to get to know.

"Me, too," You agree after a moment, "I guess I'll see you later today with Jenna for the briefing?"

"You got it, partner. See you there." Xavier says with a smile in his voice.

"See you there," you echo, and hang up. You stare at the phone in your hand for a long moment before remembering that you had been on the Association's app in the first place. You assign yourself to the request quickly, as if someone else might beat you to it.

The listing status changes from "Open" to "Full" and you feel a sense of relief mixed with dread. Three months. It's a long time. You're not really sure you want to be away for that long. Dr. Zayne will have a conniption if you miss your monthly appointments, you can never quite sleep well in any bed that isn’t your own, and there are not enough books in the world to keep you entertained for that long. But then you remember the happiness in Xavier's voice and the way he said he said he wanted you there. He wants you there. And that, somehow, is enough to make the rest of it not matter.

You walk into Jenna's office a few hours later to find Xavier already there. He is nodding off in his seat as Jenna rifles through papers on her desk.

"Hey, mister." You say to him, nudging him in the shoulder as you take the open chair beside him. He startles awake and smiles when he sees you.

"Hey," he says quietly, “it’s you.”

"Finally," Jenna chimes in, not looking up from the papers. "Now we can start. This mission is hot and we need to get a move on it pronto. You guys are gonna have to move fast. We've already got your aliases, an apartment, and your backstory set up. You'll be acting as a married couple - the Shen's."

Jenna drops a huge binder onto the table in front of you. "You will be the adoring, newlywed wife to Mr. Shen here," Jenna slides a similar binder to Xavier from across the table, "And Xavier will be playing the part of the tortured author suffering from writer's block. You're vacationing in the countryside to find inspiration for your next best-selling novel, Mr. Shen." She flashes Xavier a smile, and you can tell from her eyes that she's making fun of him a bit.

Xavier simply shrugs, seeming not to mind at all.

"You'll need to be on-site as much as possible to gather intel, but make it look real. Don't stay holed up in the house all day. We've taken care of the rent for the next few months, and you can expense anything you need during your stay, within reason," Jenna emphasizes.

You reach into your bag and pull out a notebook and a pen, and begin to take notes. You flip through the pages of the binder and try to take in as much information as you possibly can, because you're sure that Xavier is not going to. You are to play the part of a young couple who have recently moved to the neighborhood from the city. You are the doting, affectionate wife to a brooding author. Your husband is distant and aloof. This isn't exactly going to take a lot of acting skills.

"That about covers it. You can find the specifics of the mission and persons of interest in your binders. I expect weekly check-ins, but notify me immediately if you find a lead we can follow. Got it?" Jenna finishes.

Xavier nods and yawns while listening. He is leaning back in the chair, looking as bored and sleepy as always. His long legs are stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

You nod, too, and close the notebook. You shove it into your bag and stand to leave, reaching out to take Xavier's hand to pull him to his feet.

"We're on the case, boss," you say to Jenna, who smiles and gives you an encouraging thumbs up. You drag Xavier from the office with you, still holding onto his hand as you walk down the hallway and out into the crisp Autumn evening.

You expect Xavier to drop your hand as you exit the building, but he doesn't seem to mind. His fingers curl more securely around your own as you walk in companionable silence for several minutes.

"You okay with all this, Xav?" you ask, breaking the silence.

He looks down at you and shrugs. "Yeah. Why not? It's just another mission."

"I dunno," you counter, "It's pretty different from killing wanderers. I mean, we're gonna have to pretend to be married and stuff. It's kinda weird, huh?"

"It's not that weird," he answers easily without offering any other thoughts. You glance up at him out of the corner of your eye. He looks tired, but his expression is unreadable otherwise.

"Do you think you can handle pretending to be married to me for three whole months?" You joke playfully.

"I think so, Mrs. Shen," he answers with a nod and a slight squeeze of your hand.

Day 1

The next few days pass quickly and before you know it you're standing in front of a white duplex in the suburbs of Linkon City. The house is small and old, but looks cozy from the outside. According to your mission binders, this is the latest residence of a contact person responsible for certain underground businesses in Linkon.

The landlady, who looks somewhere between 80 and 105-years-old, wastes no time in showing you and Xavier around the cramped apartment. She begins to rattle off details about the place after you exchange a few pleasantries. You're only half-listening to her ramble, but trying to nod along politely anyway. You're more nervous than you expected to be. You're many things, but a good liar is not one of them.

"What a lovely couple the two of you make. So young and in love. How exactly did the two of you meet?" She asks, looking you both over with critical interest.

"I met her when we were at school. I was the one who made the first move." Xavier says smoothly, as if he's genuinely recalling the memory.

When her attention turns to you, you babble out quickly, "We're in a good relationship, our incomes are stable. We graduated from University. Our credit scores are flawless."

Xavier leans fractionally closer to you and slips his arm around your waist. You're not sure if it's supposed to be comforting or if he's just acting, but it works. The anxiety buzzing through your veins quiets as you feel him rub his thumb in small circles against your hip.

The landlady's expression softens slightly and she admits, "I normally prohibit young people from renting, but you two don't look suspicious. I'll make an exception this time. You have three months paid in advance, but don't forget you also need to water the lawn once a week and prune the flowers in the backyard."

Xavier opens his mouth to speak, but the landlady drones onward, "You're not allowed to use the vacuum cleaner after 7:00PM, have parties, or own pets. You also can't..."

You tune out as she continues to list off rules. The feel of Xavier's hand on your hip is distracting, and so is the warm, clean scent that's coming off of him. Has he always smelled like that? It takes all of your self control to keep from leaning in closer to sniff him. You're sure that he's never worn cologne before. You'd have noticed. Maybe he wore it to make a good first impression, you think. He did dress up today in those khaki slacks and white button down shirt. He's handsome, you realize, though you already knew that. But much more handsome than usual today. He looks so...

You're jolted from your ogling by the sound of his voice, and you quickly tear your eyes away from him to look at the landlady.

"You're very kind," Xavier says to her, tightening his grip on your waist.

"Here is your key," the landlady says, handing it to Xavier, "Enjoy your stay."

She shuffles off and leaves the two of you alone in the living room. Xavier releases his hold on your waist immediately and begins to unpack. You watch him curiously for a moment. You'd have never guessed he was such a good actor. That's what he was doing, after all, when he wrapped his arm around your waist - acting.

"...Did you write down all of those rules she mentioned?" You ask, trying to distract yourself from the conflicting emotions you know you shouldn't even be feeling.

Xavier flips through the contract on the table. The last few pages are densely packed with "prohibited things." He scans through them while humming faintly.

"Doesn't say anything about us not being allowed to go undercover, so I think we're good," he jokes, the edges of his lips tilting up in a half smile.

You can't help but return his smile, despite how nervous you feel. You turn to your boxes and begin unpacking with him in silence. The longer you unpack, the more you realize that you have never seen some of these items before. Did the Hunter Association plant these? There are framed photos of you and Xavier together. You are holding hands in a park and smiling happily at the camera in one. Xavier is kissing your forehead as you stand in front of an ice cream truck in the other.

"Where did they get these?" you ask him curiously.

"Hmm?" He asks, turning toward you to see what you're holding. He glances over the photos and shrugs. "Must be some sort of advanced editing software, I guess," he says, and returns to his boxes.

You stare at the pictures for a little while longer before putting them aside. The two of you look good together - happy.

There's a door down the hall that looks most like a bedroom, and you grab your luggage and wheel it toward the room. Upon entering, you aren't surprised that your guess was correct, but you are surprised to find that there's only one bed in the room. It's a large, king-sized bed that can easily accommodate two people. But a blush still rises to your cheeks and deepens further as you hear Xavier enter the room behind you.

"There's only one bed," you say somewhat dumbly, looking between it and Xavier.

He nods in agreement and gives you an apologetic smile. "There is, yeah. We are married after all, dear."

It takes a second for his words to register in your brain, but when it does your face heats up further. Of course there would only be one bed; we are supposed to be madly-in-love newlyweds. Despite the three days you had to plan for this trip, it hadn't ever occurred to you what the sleeping arrangements might be like.

"Oh, yeah, right. That makes sense,” you say to yourself more so than to him.

"I'll take the couch," Xavier offers easily, seemingly immune to the greatest romance trope of all time.

You mull over the idea. At this point in your partnership, it seems a bit silly to be picky about sleeping near each other. The two of you have nearly died together countless times, and the bed is pretty big. You know he'd never try anything anyway; you aren't even sure if he has those kinds of desires.

"No," You say, shaking your head, "We're going to be here for months. We might as well just share it. It's a big bed. I promise I won't steal all of the blankets if you promise not to snore."

Xavier chuckles and nods, "You've got a deal."

He unzips his suitcase and begins to unpack his clothes. You join him and start unpacking your own, hanging them beside his in the small closet. It's all so domestic and familiar, you can't help but think. It's almost like we're actually a couple.

You push the thought to the back of your mind and focus instead on finishing the task at hand. The bedroom, while small, is cozy like the rest of the apartment. The walls are painted a warm beige color and the hardwood floor is a rich brown. The furniture is simple and functional, and a vase with fresh flowers rests on the bedside table. The window overlooks the street, and the sun has nearly set in the distance.

The two of you move through the small apartment chatting idly now and then as you both continue to settle in. Xavier is quiet, but relaxed, and his easy confidence makes you feel more comfortable. As you enter the bedroom to change into your pajamas, you notice the framed photograph of you and Xavier prominently displayed on the bedside table. He must have put it there at some point. It's the one of him kissing you on the forehead, and you feel your heart give a strange lurch at the sight of it. You're not sure if it's the image of him being affectionate, or the thought of him placing it there that has you smiling.

You change into your pajamas, black shorts and a tank top, and eye the bed. Are you supposed to announce you are going to bed? Wait up for him? What is the etiquette for this fake marriage? You deliberate for a few moments longer before cursing yourself and climbing into the bed with a huff. This is normal. This isn't weird. You will just lay in bed and scroll on your phone like any other night until you fall asleep. You are an adult, damn it. You can handle this.

You pull the blankets over your legs and lay back on the pillows, pulling your phone out to check your messages. There are half a dozen messages from Rafayel about jellyfish walking naked, and one from Jenna asking how the mission is going. You send her a quick update to let her know that the two of you have gotten settled in.

Around 30 minutes later, you hear the sound of Xavier's feet padding toward the bedroom. You panic as the door starts to open and, for some reason completely unbeknownst to you, pretend to be fast asleep.

You can hear him moving around in the dark room, but you keep your breathing slow and steady. You're not sure what you're playing at or why. This had seemed like a good idea just a few moments ago. But now that he is in the room, it feels more than a little foolish. What are you going to do? Are you really just going to pretend to be asleep?

Laughter begins to bubble up in your chest and you ruthlessly tamp it down. This is ridiculous. You cautiously squint one eye open and catch sight of him from under your lashes. You watch as he strips his white shirt off and throws it into the laundry basket in the corner of the room. Your breath catches in your throat. You've seen him shirtless before. It should not have an effect on you. And yet here you are, your traitorous body responding as if you’ve never seen a man undress before.

He's lean and muscular and his ash-blonde hair falls messily around his face in the dim light. You watch him pull on a gray t-shirt, and you're not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that you can no longer see his toned back. He catches your eyes as he turns to face the bed, and you close them immediately and will your body to be still. The weight of his gaze lingers on you and the urge to giggle becomes overwhelming. You try to hold your breath, but it comes out in a quiet snort anyway. Maybe he will think that was a snore?

"You're so obvious," he says, and, even though you cannot see his smile, you can hear it.

His voice breaks the tenuous hold you had on your willpower, and you burst into laughter.

"Did you know the whole time?" You gasp out between giggles.

Xavier chuckles and slides under the covers on the opposite side of the bed, settling in comfortably. "Yeah. You're a terrible liar. It's a good thing you became a hunter and not an actress."

You laugh again and turn onto your side to look at him. "I'm sorry, I kind of panicked. Is there etiquette for fake marriages we should try to follow? Rules? Guidelines?"

Xavier rolls on his side to face you, only a few feet away from you on the bed. "I guess it depends. What kind of fake marriage would you like us to have?"

You roll your eyes at his question, but soon begin rattling off standard things you think a married couple would want, "Well, for starters, when I go out, I want you to say, 'Come back soon' and 'stay safe'. When I return, I want you to greet me with a hug and say 'Welcome home' and 'Would you like anything to eat?'"

He smiles at you with those soft, blue eyes of his, and hums thoughtfully as he relaxes back into the pillows. "I can do that," he agrees in a sleepy voice.

"Is there anything you want?" You prod, curious about what things he thinks would make a good fake marriage.

Xavier's eyes close and he's silent for a long moment. You wonder if he’s actually fallen asleep until he finally murmurs, "No, not really. Just you."

You stare at him in silence as your mind tries to process his statement. You know he didn't mean it to sound like... well, that. He's just tired and not really thinking clearly. But still, you can't help the fluttering of your heart and the way it seems to beat faster.

Xavier stretches his arm across the bed and brushes his fingers against yours. Not quite holding hands, but touching. Contact. It somehow feels sweeter and more wholesome than if he had just grabbed your hand.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Shen," he mumbles quietly.

"Goodnight, Mr. Shen," You reply softly.

You don't have the energy or desire to second guess and over analyze this. The comfort of the moment holds you, and within a few minutes you drift into an easy sleep.

#lads fanfic #lads x reader #lads xavier #love and deepspace #fanfic

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utilitycaster · 2 years ago

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Level 10!

You may or may not know the drill:

Corrections about actually wrong items or major omissions are welcome. "Um, actually"-ing because I did not list every single spell or feat available or speculate the exact same things you did is not.

Because the cast usually does a brief video shortly before the episode for level-ups now (as they did today!), rather than announcing it at the end of an episode, this includes speculation and a bit of editorializing on my thoughts for the next few levels. This isn't necessarily meant to be accurate to what the cast will do, so don't quote me on it - it's just my thoughts on what I think might make sense or will be interesting. Those thoughts may very well change significantly as the story continues.

Anyway, level 10: it's a subclass-centric level for most of the players.

Chetney: His rogue level means he's blood hunter 9, which means Grim Psychometry, the coolest ability, which grants advantage on knowledge checks surrounding tragic or dark histories, with the potential for the DM to grant visions. Looking forward: assuming Chet keeps moving forward with blood hunter, L10 is a big one for him, as his speed increases by 5 feet, he gets another blood curse, and he gains a +3 (INT modifier) to all physical saves.

Laudna: She took a level in sorcerer, so she gets another sorcery point and another spell, this time up to 4th level; I drafted this post a while back and forgot to check the spell list for sorcerer so you're invited go nuts on your spell thoughts in the notes! Looking forward: Look. I've covered my mechanical concerns about this multiclass. Personally, had I been playing a character with this build from level 3 in a party with another sorcerer, I'd have stopped at 3 sorcerer levels and leveled exclusively in warlock. However, she's now 7 levels into sorcerer and so stopping that to go warlock will probably hamstring her mechanically, especially since the 6th level Undead feature is not terribly impressive. I think one last warlock level might be good for the ASI and the known spell, since warlocks have a more interesting spell list, and it makes narrative sense at this point now that Delilah is reawakened, but then I'd probably continue to take the rest in sorcerer. I AM very interested in how Laudna will deal with Delilah since I don't see her getting another undead patron to replace her, but that's so speculative that I'll hold off until something changes.

FCG: FCG gets a new cantrip, a new 5th level spell slot, and the ability to roll for divine intervention, which promises to be a fucking trip (complimentary). Looking forward: 6th level cleric spells, which he'll get at level 11, have a lot of bangers, but I am personally most invested in FCG's Heroes' Feast.

Fearne: with a 9th level in druid she gets access to 5th level spells, and her circle spells are Mass Cure Wounds and Flame Strike, both of which are excellent. As always for druid levels, Little Mister's HP goes up by 5. Looking forward: I'm assuming Fearne's continuing with druid levels, and if so, the level 10 feature of Cauterizing Flames allows her to use the death of a creature (enemy, ally, or bystander) to create a spectral flame that can either heal or harm others who enter that space. This is amazing and I'm excited.

Imogen: At level 10, she gains another cantrip and another metamagic option. I personally think subtle spell is the best one (and given the Vanguard's tendency to collar mages they dislike, could be huge if they come into conflict), but quickened, which Laudna has, can also be clutch. Looking forward: Chain Lightning does seem like an apt spell for her to take, but personally I'd love True Seeing as more interesting and higher utility while still thematic.

Orym: At level 10, he learns two more maneuvers, and his superiority dice become d10s. There are a ton of maneuvers and I will freely admit I don't know them all, but I do like the idea of Commander's Strike (let Ashton and Chet do more damage), Distracting Strike, or Maneuvering attack. Looking forward: Level 11 grants Orym three attacks per turn, which is really the most fun fighter feature.

Ashton: Level 10 is a path feature level, and we don't know the details of their subclass, so it's up in the air! I'm excited to see what it is. Looking forward: level 11 grants relentless rage; if he drops to 0 HP while raging (for the record Ashton has only gone out 3 times; two were during the Otohan fight and one in the Ratanish fight) he can make a con save to remain conscious.

#bells hells #critical role

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justinspoliticalcorner · 4 months ago

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Qasim Rashid at Let's Address This:

After refusing to endorse a Presidential candidate last month, the Washington Post Editorial Board (“The Post”) published their encore abdication of duty by defending Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu against an ICC arrest warrant. “The ICC is not the Venue to hold Israel to account” the editorial board proclaimed. I took the time to carefully read their argument, hoping for some semblance of fact or truth in their words. What I found was a poorly written, illogically argued, propaganda piece full of deceptive omissions, out of context claims, bizarre contradictions, and flat out lies. “Democracy Dies in Darkness” is apparently no longer the The Post’s slogan, but instead their mission statement. The Post’s Editorial Board has done a disservice to journalism, to human rights, and to international law. Below I dismantle each of their arguments one by one, with receipts, and provide the facts that they refuse to cite, let alone acknowledge.

[...] The Post lists numerous known dictators and war criminals and the mass atrocities and genocide they’ve committed or enabled. This appears to be an attempt to accuse the ICC of hypocrisy, because the ICC has apparently not issued arrest warrants of those whom the Post lists. [...] As mentioned, the ICC is not engaging in selective prosecution. But if there is hypocrisy, it is The Post holding Netanyahu to one standard of immunity, and al-Assad to another, when in reality both should be prosecuted for war crimes. Likewise, The Post inexplicably seems to suggest that just because a country has democratically elected leaders with an independent judiciary, they somehow cannot commit war crimes and genocide. The logic is as confounding as it is utterly stupid. What, pray tell, can The Post cite to as evidence that just because a politician is elected, they are somehow exempt from being able to commit war crimes?

[...] I repeat, this report was published on October 6, 2023. But The Post would have us believe that none of the above happened and October 7 was a spontaneous attack. In reality, October 7 was a war crime, in response to Israeli war crimes. War crimes do not justify more war crimes, but one would hope that “the elected leaders of a democratic country with its own independent judiciary” would not engage in the mass murder of Palestinian children. Yet sadly, that is the reality we are witnessing, and the reality The Post continues to ignore.

[...] Again, The Post makes a claim with zero evidence. The ‘conflict’ has been ongoing for more than half a century of Israel’s illegal military occupation of Palestinian land. Pray tell, when has there been any accountability for Israel building nearly 1 million illegal settlements, for killing more than 2200 Palestinian children since the year 2000, or even for killing Hind Rajab with more than 300 bullets from a tank at close range in late 2023? The Post cites zero examples of accountability, because it knows zero such examples exist. What magical judicial, parliamentary, and military commissions of inquiry does The Post refer to? These are all hypotheticals The Post has convinced itself exist, but only exist as a figment of their own imagination. It is reprehensible for The Post to pretend accountability exists when the overwhelming evidence from more than a half century of human rights law violations demonstrate no such thing.

[...] Indeed, this is the case in Israel. As mentioned, violations of Palestinian human rights and sovereignty has perpetuated for decades without relief. Settlement expansion continues, and the Israeli government’s promise to annex Gaza continues. The IDF has even smuggled into Gaza Israeli land developers to start planning for future illegal Israeli settlements. The arrest of a few soldiers is hardly accountability for mass war crimes and genocide of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians. The Post acknowledges one torture camp, but ignores that more than 10,000 Palestinian civilians are held in indefinite detention in Israeli prisons without charge, trial, due process, access to counsel, or means of relief. The Post ignores that extremist Israeli settlers in the West Bank are exempt from indefinite detention, but Palestinians are not. The Post ignores that according to B’TSalem, an Israeli human rights org, more than 1000 children suffer in Israeli prisons. The Post ignores that according to Save the Children These imprisoned children are further denied access to counsel or parents, while suffering ongoing physical and sexual abuse.

[...] The facts are clear. The ICC is perfectly within its jurisdiction, right, and obligation to hold Netanyahu, Gallant, and Hamas leaders accountable for war crimes. That the ICC has not yet reached the point of filing arrest warrants for each of the despots mentioned by The Post is nothing more than an argument for increased ICC funding so it can fulfill its mandate of prosecuting war crimes. Rather than excuse war crimes committed by people The Post likes, perhaps its editorial board can remember that their job as journalists is not to capitulate in the face of atrocity, but to hold fast the call for democracy. If this is a task too difficult for The Post’s board, then maybe it’s time to resign and let actual journalists take the lead.

Qasim Rashid debunks the Washington Post’s Gaza Genocide-whitewashing editorial loaded with pro-Israel Apartheid/AIPAC-backed propaganda criticizing the ICC for rightly prosecuting war criminals Yoav Gallant and Benjamin Netanyahu.

#The Washington Post #ICC #Benjamin Netanyahu #Israel/Hamas War #Israel #Israel Apartheid State #International Criminal Court #Syria #Russia #Myanmar #Sudan #Editorials #Yoav Gallant

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vixstarria · 3 months ago

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2024 Writing Retrospect

I was tagged by @marlowethebard, thank you so much!

What's been your biggest learning point this past year?

I think the main thing I've come to realise is that discipline and simply sitting down to write something is more important than and will often surpass a lack of inspiration or writer's block - the ideas will often start flowing once you just get started.

...Whether or not I've learned how to actually be consistently disciplined is an entirely different question.

How has your writing developed this past year?

It's difficult to measure it. One thing that I can say is that re-reading the fics I published in 2023 now makes me cringe, which I suppose is a sign that I've (hopefully) improved.

I will add that I am currently actively working on learning and improving (i.e. reading / watching lectures on the more theoretical aspects of writing, story building, etc) - and it's been interesting. There are some things that I've already been doing intuitively, and others that I only realise now that they've been explained to me. Hopefully it will show in my writing soon.

Good writing habits?

Just sitting down to write even when I don't feel like it. Chances are, I will start feeling like it soon after I start, and even if I don't - at least I will know that I have accomplished something that day.

Bad writing habits?

I feel I've gotten so used to and spoiled by my writing software (scrivener) that I can no longer just open a google doc on my phone or work computer and jot down a few lines whenever an idea hits me - I leave it for later, and when the later comes it's all washed out. I need to stop being so damn picky.

Favorite thing you wrote?

Bloodbang Chronicles my beloved longfic.

Favorite reads?

This is a very tricky question, because I have a lot of very talented friends in the fandom, whose works I love and always look forward to seeing updated, and 1) I don't want to offend anyone by omission, and 2) I don't want to make the list a mile long.

I will only list the fics that are completely unlike anything else that I've read:

Direct from Hell Logistics by @ineadhyn - modern AU Raphael/Haarlep - Raphael is killed by Tav and is sent to our world as a DHL delivery man as punishment. Hilarity ensues. But also, the slow burn romance? (well, the romantic aspect of it, anyway) And the angst? And the action? Mwah. This is the fic that made me love Raphael.

Thy People Shall Be My People by @leomonae - postgame Astarion/Tav. What makes it so different from other Tavstarion fics? Well, Tav is an illithid. Also, this is a fic where every single word and sentence is full of meaning, nothing is irrelevant, and I read with bated breath to make sure I don't miss anything.

Ruins by @marlowethebard - modern AU but not really, the setting is Faerun 1,000 years in the future, and it is close to the modern world, but not quite. Astarion is in the centre of it all, with some 'friends' from BG3 increasingly making appearances. The mystery, the drama, the amazing characterisation, the unique setting, the absolute love with which it is written. I squeal happily every time I get an email about a new chapter.

Biggest win?

"The real treasure was the friends we made along the way", lol.

But quite seriously, it's being part of the community here and on Discord - having the opportunity to bounce ideas and inspire each another, as well as the general support (relating to writing and otherwise) I've had throughout the year - it's been amazing and I doubt I'd still be writing or creating if I hadn't met so many lovely people here. ❤

Goals for the new year?

Publish winter big bang fic in February

Continue writing Bloodbang Chronicles (I'm not going to commit to actually wrapping it up - I've got way too many ideas to fit inside it before the end)

Publish some original works and try to actually make some money with it - that would be nice

Your favorite words of the year, aka the words you check each chapter for, making sure you didn't repeat them 788 times?

I should probably come up with a way to depict that a character was surprised or momentarily caught off guard, other than having them "blink". They tend to "sigh" entirely too often as well.

What are you excited for in the new year?

Accomplishing the above goals and reading more of the fics I love.

tagging @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @snowfolly @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate @mj-bites

@leomonae @ineadhyn @bardic-inspo and whoever else wants to share their thoughts

#tag game #writing tag game #2024 writing recap #vix musings

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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Async mugwump linkdump

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in ANAHEIM at WONDERCON: YA Fantasy, Room 207, 10 a.m.; Signing, 11 a.m.; Teaching Writing, 2 p.m., Room 213CD.

For 20+ years, I've processed all the information that came over my transom by blogging – mulling on why something I saw in the world caught my attention and trying to summarize it for strangers. This turns out to be a very powerful way to do a lot of different kinds of mental work:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

With Pluralistic, the solo blog I founded 4 years ago, I've moved into longer, more synthetic essays that try to connect the things that caught my attention today with all those things I've written about for the past two decades. That's also proven very fruitful:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

But this move to longer works has a downside: sometimes I'll arrive at the week's end and have a list of things that caught my attention without there being any obvious way to connect them, and when that happens, I devote a Saturday edition to a linkdump. There's been 15 of these so far:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Welcome, then, to the 16th Pluralistic linkdump, and a warning, this one starts with an obituary.

Ross Anderson was one of the heroes of the cryptographic revolution, a brilliant scientist and communicator, a fantastic activist, and a scorching curmudgeon. Ross died this week. He was 67, and had chronic heart issues as well as long covid:

https://www.lightbluetouchpaper.org/2024/03/29/rip-ross-anderson/

There's so much that's been written about Ross and his legacy already, and there's doubtless more to come, but I've picked out two pieces to point you to. The first is from Danny O'Brien, who was also the guy who talked me down off the ledge the first time Ross flamed me on a public mailing list, leaving me bleeding and furious:

https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=39868983

As Danny says, Ross was "the model of a politically and socially involved computer scientist," a man whose blazing intellect, fierce moral center and relentless curiosity inspired a generation of technologists to think about politics, and a generation of political activists to think about technology. Few of Ross's eulogizers (thus far) have mentioned how Ross's passion came out as fury, and – as someone who counted Ross as a friend and inspiration – I think this is a serious omission. It's hard to imagine Ross doing all that he did without understanding the anger that – along with his ethics – fueled his passion.

(Compare with @neil-gaiman's classic essay on the anger of Terry Pratchett:)

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/sep/24/terry-pratchett-angry-not-jolly-neil-gaiman

The other obit that I want to point you to comes from Bill Buchanan, one of Ross's closest collaborators. Buchanan's memorial for Ross does a superb job of rounding up Ross's technical contributions to the field of security engineering:

https://medium.com/asecuritysite-when-bob-met-alice/ross-anderson-rip-59233c75fadf

Buchanan embeds videos for some of Ross's best speeches, links to his key papers (including the classic "Programming Satan's Computer," on "programming a computer which gives answers that are subtly and maliciously wrong at the most inconvenient moment possible), reminiscences of Great Moments In Ross Anderson, and terrific, lay-friendly breakdowns of some of Ross's key mathematical work.

As an unreasonable, angry person, I take great inspiration from people who channel their unreasonable anger to socially beneficial conduct – like whistleblowers. After Baltimore's Francis Scott Key Bridge was totaled by the 95,000-ton cargo ship MV *Dali(, a vast cohort of instant experts in structural engineering, sea freight and shipbuilding has taken to the internet with a slurry of takes on the Meaning Of the Bridge.

Some of these are very stupid indeed, like the idea that somehow "DEI" caused the collision. But you don't have to be an expert in maritime issues or civil engineering to understand the importance of this report from The Lever about shipping giant Maersk's culture of retaliation against whistleblowers:

https://www.levernews.com/feds-recently-hit-cargo-giant-in-baltimore-disaster-for-silencing-whistleblowers/

Maersk is the company that chartered the MV Dali; Maersk is also a key player in the cartel that controls the world's shipping. Maersk was just sanctioned by the Labor Department for retaliating against a whistleblower who complained of unsafe conditions on the ships that Maersk chartered:

https://www.dol.gov/sites/dolgov/files/OPA/news%20releases/Maersk-Sec%20Findings%20-FINAL%20071423_Redacted.pdf

Maersk's policy required employees to bring concerns to their supervisors before alerting the Coast Guard or others. This is not how that stuff is supposed to work. OSHA called this policy “repugnant” and a “reprehensible and an egregious violation of the rights of employees,” which “chills them from contacting the [Coast Guard] or other authorities without contacting the company first.”

The whistleblower – chief mate on the Safmarine Mafadi – complained of "unrepaired leaks, unpermitted alcohol consumption onboard, inoperable lifeboats, faulty emergency fire suppression equipment, and other issues." We don't know (yet) what happened on the Dali, but it's obvious that a company that retaliates against whistleblowers, rather than heeding their warnings, is prioritizing covering its ass, not operating safely.

Which brings me (inevitably) to Boeing, and to poor John "Swampy" Barnett, the Boeing whistleblower who took his own life earlier this month. Barnett's suicide has stirred up similar low-yield online chatter focused on whether Boeing assassinated Barnett, a question that categorically cannot be answered through the method of arguing with internet strangers.

But there is a lot to say about Barnett: in particular, there's the substance of his whistleblowing, the specifics of his complaints about Boeing. For that, we can turn to the always-fantastic Maureen Tkacik, whose American Prospect piece "Suicide Mission" is definitive:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-03-28-suicide-mission-boeing/

Tkacik does a great job of painting a picture of Swampy as a member of the tribe of unreasonable and angry people who refuse to sideline principle in order to get along. More importantly, Tkacik shows us what made Swampy so angry: a company that was hell-bent on lobotimizing itself by forcing out any technical expert who might point out inconvenient truths about the safety risks of high-profit strategies.

As Tkacik writes, Boeing once thought about "knowledge" in terms of expertise that could be brought to bear on the unimaginably complex task of making reliable, airworthy jets. But under the "value-engineering" financialized culture that arose after the McDonnell-Douglas merger, the company viewed knowledge as "intellectual property, trade secrets, and data." In other words, the point of knowledge was rent-extraction, not safety.

At the root of this transformation was the Jack Welch protege Jim "Prince Jim" McNerney, the former 3M CEO who took the helm at Boeing. McNerney was openly contemptuous of the company's senior engineers, branding them "phenomenally talented assholes" and rewarding managers who found ways to force them out of the company. It was McNerney who decided to produce the 787 "Dreamliner" in non-union shops, far from Seattle and its phenomenally talented assholes. Instead of these engineers, McNerney turned to Boeing suppliers to do the major engineering work on the 787 – despite the fact that many of these suppliers "lacked engineering departments."

The 787 was, infamously, a $80b-over-budget boondoggle, haunted by technical failures. Swampy was part of the "cleanup crew" that tried to salvage the 787, and witnessed first-hand how the company purged all the engineers who managed to ship the 787 despite McNerney and his "value engineers" and retaliated against workers who tried to unionize the South Carolina facility.

In particular, it was safety inspector who came in for the most savage punishment. When the FAA decided to let Boeing mark its own homework – hiring in-house safety inspectors to replace government inspectors – they pretended to believe that these Boeing-payrolled inspectors would be able to operate independently of Boeing's leadership. The inspectors tried to operate this way (not least because they were criminally liable for oversights that occurred on their watch) and McNerney's Boeing came down on them like a ton of aviation-grade aluminum.

To further neuter these inspectors, Boeing management ordered the inspectors to outsource their work to the mechanics they were supposed to be supervising – that is, the FAA outsourced safety checks to Boeing inspectors, and the inspectors outsourced those checks to the mechanics themselves. Tkacik: "Swampy believed relying on mechanics to self-inspect their work was not only insane but illegal under the Federal Aviation Administration charter."

Swampy kept careful records of every way in which this system produced unsafe aircraft and an unsafe workplace – including the day he discovered that someone had removed 400+ defective parts from the rejects box and installed them in aircraft in order to meet deadlines. Swampy's reports were key to establishing that the company's much-trumpeted "improvements" in safety reports were down to a culture of "bullying" – not any improvement in safety itself.

When Boeing went to war against Swampy, they barely bothered to pretend that they were playing by the rules. He was told one day that he was four-weeks into a 60-day "corrective action" that no one had told him about. The "corrective action" paperwork had a blank for Swampy's comments. He wrote, "Leadership wants nothing in email so they maintain plausible deniability. It is obvious leadership is just looking for items to criticize me on so I stop identifying issues. I will conform!"

Shortly thereafter, he was forced out altogether. Managers who tried to bring him on their teams were told that no one was allowed to hire John Barnett. His name appeared on a secret internal memo entitled "Quality Managers to Fire." Meanwhile, the value of Boeing shares had tripled.

After Boeing's 737 Maxes started falling out of the sky, Swampy's painstaking documentation of the flaws in the 787's production took on a new urgency. A program of random inspections of 787s found major defects in all of them ("Boeing Looked for Flaws in Its Dreamliner and Couldn’t Stop Finding Them" –WSJ). An Aviation Week diagram of problem spots with the 787 marked red arrows over "every single section, from the tip of the nose to the horizontal stabilizers":

https://aviationweek.com/air-transport/new-boeing-787-fix-details-reveal-extent-gap-check-challenge

Boeing's war on "brilliance" did its work: after everyone who understood how to make a safe aircraft was forced out of the company, financialized CEOs were able to cut corners on safety, triple the share-price, scoop up billions in government subsidies and bailouts, all without those pesky "phenomenally talented assholes" pointing out that they were going get (lots of) people killed.

Tkacik closes by saying that Swampy's former work colleagues refuse to believe he killed himself. A former executive told her "I don’t think one can be cynical enough when it comes to these guys…It’s a top-secret military contractor, remember; there are spies everywhere." I confess that I don't know what to make of that, but I'll say this: if Boeing killed Swampy, that's just one of hundreds of murders they committed. Whether or not Swampy's death was their fault, the deaths of everyone who went down on the 737 Maxes that crashed is on their hands.

That's what "profits before people" means, after all: sacrificing human lives to make yourself richer. It's the foundational tenet of the conservative movement, though that impulse is often checked by other factors, like human decency. It's only when sociopaths get a sustained run at leadership that you see what they really want.

Which brings me to the UK, which has been governed by the Conservative Party for 14 years. The Tories are tipped to get destroyed in the next election, and a long article in the New Yorker by Sam Knight catalogs the many ways in which Tory rule has devastated the UK:

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2024/04/01/what-have-fourteen-years-of-conservative-rule-done-to-britain

The thing is, after 14 years, it's impossible for the Tories to blame anyone else for the state of the UK. With strong Parliamentary majorities, Conservatives were able to govern as they pleased – the only compromises they made were between their own internal factions. The ideological commitment to making the rich richer, privatizing everything, subordinating governance to market forces – that's all them.

It's all them: the worst period for wage growth since the Napoleonic Wars, on them. The catastrophic traffic, housing, jobs market, and precarity, on them. Plummeting health, on them. The austerity, on them. The withering of the country's courts and prisons and police, its wilderness, its programs for young people and pensioners, its public health, its diplomatic corps, its road maintenance – on them.

A country where the police can't afford to prosecute burglaries – on them (4% of burglaries are prosecuted). The 2.5 year delay between a rape arrest and its trial? On them. Mass closures of schools that are literally crumbling? On them.

43% of the countries courts have closed. On them. Cuts to prison funding, coupled with longer sentences? On them.

And of course, Brexit – on them. Every part of it. The referendum. The referendum question. The failure to negotiate a deal with the EU. All on them. The collapse in British living standards, all on them. The fact that the 20% richest households in the UK have been untouched by all this? Also on them. But you might not notice it in London, where people earn an average of 400% more than people in Nottingham.

The only growth sector outside of London are the Citizens Advice Bureaux, whose client rosters are growing even as their funding is cut. Where the CAB once primarily catered to people who couldn't make ends meet due to disability, unemployment and other reliable predictors of economic distress, today, CAB advisors are seeing homeowners, people working two jobs. Desperation is "like a black hole, dragging more and more people in,"

More Conservative growth: Tories presided over a doubling in the rate of NHS antidepressant prescriptions, and a 20% rise in long-term health conditions. No wonder Tory Britain had the world's worst pandemic outcomes for a wealthy nation – that's on them, too.

Knight's article closes with a Tory MP who believes that "the key thing for the Conservatives now is to be more conservative…Toryism must have its day again."

We can't count on oligarchs to rescue us from oligarchy – not even when oligarchy's failures push society to the breaking point. There's always a rationalization explaining why we just had to lean harder into oligarchy.

You hear echoes of this in the pro-monopoly choir, whose squeals of outrage at the rise of a new anti-monopoly movement grow louder even as monopolism's failures grow clearer. One of the more tangible expressions of monopoly's failures is the Ticketmaster/Livenation octopus, which controls the entire live music industry – key venues, promotions, and ticketing. Ticketmaster fucks over music fans, but it also cheats famous musicians, the kinds of people with big microphones, so we know a lot about how bad it is:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/20/anything-that-cant-go-on-forever-will-eventually-stop/

Of course, the fact that Swifties hate Ticketmaster lets the pro-monopolists dismiss critics as foolish young girls, not Very Serious People Who Understand Economics and thus can see that Ticketmaster's monopoly is Good, Actually.

Last week, Congressman Bill Pascrell dumped a ton of litigation documents related to Ticketmaster's sleaze, and Matt Stoller broke them down:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/explosive-new-documents-unearthed

The docs reveal how Ticketmaster's system of (formerly) secret kickbacks let it choke out any competitor, so that it could charge fans more and pay artists less. The mechanics of the scam are beautifully laid out in Stoller's post – as is the many ways in which it violated both the law and Ticketmaster's numerous consent decrees arising from its previous lawbreaking.

This kind of scam breakdown is essential. It's easy to think that we, as mere normies, can't hope to understand the machinations of the corporations that prey on us. But once you pierce the veil of performative complexity, what's left behind is a set of crude tricks and transparent ruses.

Here's one of those transparent ruses: Discord's terms of service require Discord users to actively opt out of its "binding arbitration" system. Binding arbitration is when you sign a contract saying you can't sue the company no matter how much it harms you – instead, you promise to have your disputes heard by an "arbitrator" (a fake judge paid by the company that screwed you). Unsurprisingly, these fake judges are awfully tolerant of their employers' crimes.

Discord says that once you click through its garbage legalese novella, you have just a few days to opt out of this binding arbitration clause – if you happen to miss that fine print, you have "consented" to giving up your legal rights.

But every time Discord changes its ToS, the clock for opting out starts ticking again, and Discord has just changed (that is, worsened) its ToS again:

https://discord.com/terms

That means that if you send an email right now to [email protected] with "I am confirming that as of the date of this email, I am choosing to opt out of binding arbitration to settle disputes with Discord" in the body, you can escape this consent theater:

https://mamot.fr/@[email protected]/112175832989845038

Consent theater is a particularly galling corporate ruse – the idea that we chose to allow them to abuse us. Consent theater gets more outrageous by the day. Take Soofa, who operate streetside digital kiosks that identify you by grabbing your phone's unique wifi and Bluetooth identifiers:

https://gizmodo.com/digital-kiosks-snatch-your-phones-data-when-you-walk-by-1851368948

Soofa sells this data to advertisers – claiming that by walking down a public street, you "consented" to being tracked and sold.

The only reason this flies is that the US hasn't passed a federal consumer privacy law since 1988's Video Privacy Protection Act, which bans video-store clerks from telling people which VHS cassettes you took home. Congress keeps on failing to pass a privacy law, despite garbage companies like Soofa.

But that hasn't stopped the administrative agencies from acting to defend your privacy! The FTC just dropped its latest Privacy and Data Security Update, a greatest hits list of the actions the Commission took while Congress failed:

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/2024.03.21-PrivacyandDataSecurityUpdate-508.pdf

One of the best things about the current administration is the number of extremely competent regulators who know exactly how much power they have and aren't afraid to use it to help the American people:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

The new FTC report, which details how the Commission's existing powers let it go after the commercial surveillance industry from smart doorbells to review fraud, from kids' programming to medical data, from lax security to data-breaches, is a bright spot in an otherwise grim week.

One more bright spot, then, before I wind up this linkdump. All week, I've been humming a half-remembered lyric, "come on baby/you're a link in this chain/put your hands together/and get free of the pain." For the life of me, I couldn't place it.

Last night, I searched for it (using Kagi, the post-Google search engine I've been paying for for the past month, and which I'm loving) and discovered that I had somehow completely forgotten a whole-ass band that I once loved: Toronto's Bourbon Tabernacle Choir, whom I saw live on many occasions.

The mystery lyric came from "Death is the Great Awakener," a fucking banger of a post-gospel track that I've been listening to on nonstop repeat as I wrote this. It's a hell of a tune and I'm intensely grateful to have it back in my life:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6RUb63Tx3w

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/30/dewey-502/#rip-ross-anderson

Image: Waffleboy https://www.flickr.com/photos/waffleboy/28198395465/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

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nanawaffles · 4 months ago

Note

This ask is your chance to talk or rant about anything at all for as long as you want. Need inspiration? What is the nicest thing that happened to you today? What is your opinion about whatever media you've watched or read recently? Talk about your favorite character. Finish this sentence 'In a hole in the ground there lived...'

Hi darling! Thank you for sending this I've been saving it for a rainy day. And it's cloudy with a chance of salt today. I'm a little upset, fandom centric yet again ( because it's usually fandom that gets my goat ) based on shipping and the concept of new fans vs old fans. Is this about Tolkien and rings of power, yes... yes it is.

So in a hole in the ground there lived a 6 year old girl who fell in love with Lord of the Rings, and spent every December reading it for the next ten years. Then at 16 she found out this fantasy series had more content, she devoured it, then at 18 found another book in a secondhand shop and spent way too much money to get it because it was a book from this series and world she ( at that time ) could not find anywhere else. Bit by bit her library grew, at 21 she found the second part of that extra material, and added it to her collection. Now at 29, with two kids, a home based job, and a love of writing, this woman has a shelf dedicated to that piece of fiction, and is passing that love on to her niece, nephew, and children.

Now, as a result I've seen the fandom develop. At 6 I was equal parts enthralled and upset by the Peter Jackson trilogy because there were parts i wish he hadn't changed. Faramir being tempted, Samwise being tempted, the lack of Tom Bombadil and Glorfindel, the changes of Aragorns personality, the seriousness of elves, the omission of the entirety of the Scouring of the Shire. I grew to eventually see these things as different, the books were the books, the movies the movies, similar on many levels but different at certain core things that even now I gotta sigh and go "that isn't right". The Hobbit came out, even more changes occurred. Thranduil was painted with a brush so darkened that many of the fans hated him, Kili fell in love with an elf and instead of dying to defend Thorin he died defending her, Azog in his entirety-- but by now I'd learned that they are separate entities. No adaptation will ever measure up. There will always be creative liberties, there will always be bias and change, and there will always be fans that will tear it apart because they can't handle this reality. Ultimately all adaptations are a form of fanfiction. Is it ideal? No. It just is.

Now we get to the source of my contention. With every adaptation and form of media created off of something, there will inevitably be new fans. These fans do not have the same base, they don't know about obscure lore, they base their experience off the singular media that brought them in. This means their opinions will be very different. Their ships will be different, their canon will be different. And there's two ways to deal with this, and unfortunately I have seen both in the last few months. We either embrace them and attempt to bring them more into the world so they can share what we've been sharing for decades---or we are rude, obnoxious, harassing, attacking and all around unwelcoming, painting ourselves and our fellow fans as if we are these "canon nazis" who cannot bear to see another form of the story we love. How hypocritical we seem. Did we not accept the changes of Peter Jackson's versions? Did we not and do not still tout them as exemplary forms of media? Loyal to the book, right? Jackson missed crucial bits of Tolkiens themes, his own biases showing through. I could give lists with receipts on this if anyone is interested because as a die hard fan I watched the BTS interviews, and realized the reasons my favorite things were omitted.

So now we have Rings of Power, which lacks on finer details, and makes certain decisions which are questionable but it hits on key things. Is it loyal in a literal sense? No. But it's loyal in spirit in many ways. Elrond and Sauron are perfectly done, Celebrimbor is deep and compelling, and no younger casting could have done him with such perfect complexity. We have built so much of this fandom on scraps, sometimes I've realized there's stuff we see as canon that actually isn't because one beautiful thing about this world is how in many ways we have the ability to build it. There is canon, typically that was originally published in the appendices and then the Silmarillion, but there's so much conflicting "canon" that it's not completely wrong for Rings of Power to have made the decisions they did. So Gandalf is hanging with proto hobbits, and Tom Bombadil is there. Show me where it says that cannot happen. Is it fanfic? Yes in a way, but given Amazon has very few rights ( don't get me started on this I'm not happy about it ) it's not surprising.

But Tolkien Fandom... what -- and I mean this most sincerely -- the ever loving fuck.

For the older fans, you're letting the fandom down. Attacking those who were not interested in the movies or books but this is their gateway. I'll repeat that you're insulting and unwelcoming, and giving us who want new blood a horrific name. You've scared so many people do you realize that? So many who want to get into this world but are too afraid of you. Hate Rings of Power if you wish, but do not forget there's a person on the other side of those screens. Artists, writers-- you complain about lack of content and yet kill off anyone else who might be sparked in inspiration because they're new! You should embrace and encourage them to get as deeply into this world as you are not bash them because of what they don't know. Stay humble. Remember that once upon a time you didn't know a Finwe from a Finarfin, elves seemed eternally ethereal and not the absolute dumpster fires that they are. Remember the days, for those who began with the movies, that you thought Arwen saved Frodo not Glorfindel, an elf who you didn't even know his name. Imagine if there had been a hoard of angry fans ready to roast you on a spit because you dared to ship Legolas and Gimli ( for those of you who do ). So, respectfully, take a seat and think about it.

Now to you newbies I have this to say. You're welcome to be here, please don't get discouraged. However, keep humble yourselves, remember that there's a lot of canon you're ignorant of, canon that is precious to us OG fans. Canon like Celebrian and Celeborn, aaand yes I'm looking at you Elrondiel shippers. Ship what you want, but quit bashing those characters. Elrond is not some creep just because he loves Celebrian, he did not watch Celebrian grow up, he met her after she was well over a thousand years old. He loved her so deeply, keeping it to himself for a thousand years until the war was over, and her capture and eventual sailing was big to his character. He did not love Galadriel in that way, no matter what you ship, and Celebrian was not some kind of replacement.

Celeborn is not boring, he's a Sinda with a temper and a hatred of dwarves who loves his wife, is very giving, and is essential to supporting Galadriel to do what she does. Do not mistake PJ's sloooow talking "where is Gandalf for I much desire to speak with him" Celeborn for Celeborn. He married an elf who though welcome in the kingdom of Doriath was involved in the Kinslaying at Alqualondë. If anything she would have been a slightly forbidden character, who lied by the way to Melian regarding her involvement for years. He married in spite of that, and they built and built and survived and fought together.

Now I will say this version of Galadriel does bring up some questions mainly because they actually nerfed her true power. This elf is the most powerful elf to ever exist, save Fëanor himself. Galadriel is not a sword wielding badass in the second age because she learned at the hand of Melian the Maia, aka she was literally the apprentice to a demigod. The complaints you see about her and our view is because the eldritch horror witch who rules a forest and can literally speak in your mind and unsettle you with how much she knows, got demoted to a commander with a sword who cannot even perceive Sauron himself and leads him straight to Celebrimbor. This Galadriel perhaps would be true to the first age, haughty and arrogant and flipping the Vala off because she doesn't wish to be subject to anyone. The second age however... wellll... no. Sorry. No. Now I suspend my disbelief, and I let myself enjoy the show regardless, but do not think for one second that that's Galadriel. She isn't. Hate that as you will.

Moving on.

Celebrian is not useless but rather essential to the main plot in ways you do not yet understand. Without Celebrian, it's very possible that certain aspects of Rivendell would not be there. Additionally, there would be no Arwen who gives hope to Aragorn, no Elladan and Elrohir who although omitted from film play a major role in the Return of the King. Just because a character is supportive to other characters does not mean she's useless. She is the Lady of Imladris, her capture marked a beginning of Saurons return. Her sailing was tragic, but indicative of a future for Elrond and a reason for him to get through it all. Do not throw out a loveliness that even the actors of Rings of Power acknowledge for your presuppositions on characters you do not understand.

Now I shall quickly address Elrond x Galadriel and why there's so much pushback. Apart from aforementioned stuff it mainly exists in that these two characters have such glorious arcs on their own with their ships that to cut those arcs out seems as if we're gutting the characters for the future. There is now no Lorien, no Celebrian, no Celeborn. Elrond who is millennia younger than Galadriel ( for all you folks who want to bash him for a "canon creep factor" please remember she was hundreds of years old before he was born and according to show canon found him at sirion as a child ) who in canon has a kind of relationship that one would see among colleagues. He respects her, but that's as far as it goes. He marries her daughter which then would infer a mother/son relationship, not one of "he can't get Galadriel so he settles for her kid". Like please... no. So ship what you want but that's what I see in terms of us. The kiss was what pushed y'all over the edge on that score, which tbh is a shame. All that work Rob Aramayo put in, and that's what you got out. Even he said it was platonic and to distract. I'll digress though, I know you don't like hearing that.

And OG fans, quit attacking them. You're not helping us, you're just making things worse.

With that... I'll end this. Thank you for reading.

#the rings of power #celeborn #celebrian #elrond #Galadriel #elrondiel #elrond x Galadriel #celeborn x Galadriel #Tolkien #elrond x celebrian #trop season 2 #trop

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maccreadysbaby · 6 months ago

Text

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: lots of violence, gore, s**cide, emeto, panic attacks, major & minor character death, insane amounts of angst

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

that list of tw's sounds so scary. i'd tell you it wasn't that bad, but... y'know...

CRY, I DARE YOU >:(

part twenty-three

❝ HIGHLIGHT REEL FROM HELL ❞

TUESDAY — JULY 24 — 2:40AM

BENTLEY FLINCHED HIMSELF AWAKE IN HIS BED FOR WHAT HAD TO BE THE FIFTIETH TIME SINCE HE STARTED TRYING TO FALL ASLEEP HOURS AGO.

He wasn’t sure why he was struggling with it so much that particular Monday night — especially since he and Koa had engaged in lots more physical activity than he was used to. He should’ve been exhausted. He was exhausted, but sleep seemed to be eluding him, just like it always did.

After Summer had healed Koa (thank goodness for her powers.) all seven of them stayed in their room for the rest of the evening, save Valor who was the best roommate ever and brought dinner to the dorm for everyone. Between getting punched, exploding Tyler’s gatorade, and having Koa black out on him, Bentley could confidently say he’d never had a more eventful first day in his life. (Not that he’d had lots of first days.) (He sort of hoped it wasn’t setting the tone for the rest of the schoolyear.)

Bruce called him after dinner to ask how the day went. Bentley told him the bare minimum. (A lie of omission is still a lie, his subconscious oh-so-helpfully reminded him.)

With the realization that he’d technically been lying to Bruce more lately than he ever had before, he tossed and turned in his bed for literal hours. It was edging on three in the morning when he pushed himself upright and glanced around his and Asten’s bedroom. It was pitch black besides the tiny sliver of dim light coming from beneath the door, and when he tapped his phone, it said it was 2:42am.

He had to be up in, like, three hours.

With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes and forced himself out of his bed, glancing at the lump on the top bunk that was sound asleep, unlike him. (Sometimes he envied Asten’s uncanny ability to sleep through anything.)

He moved across their room slowly and opened their door as quietly as he could, stepping out into the living area, and he was on a rooftop.

… And he was on a rooftop?

He glanced backward at what would’ve been the door he’d just stepped through, but was greeted by nothing more than roof and Gotham skyline. It was nighttime, and the sky was cloudy, with tons of stars twinkling through. A bitter cold settled into his bones and he shivered — winter wind howled around him, tugging at his hair and his clothes, and an onslaught of tiny freezing raindrops began pelting his exposed skin.

He tucked his (immediately frozen) hands into the pocket of his red hoodie, and did a spin, glancing across the rooftop as he did so.

There was someone on the edge of the roof, standing unsteadily atop a very sketchy, slick-looking metal railing, the breeze whipping and tearing at their clothes and hair. They weren’t much bigger than Bentley, and they were… familiar.

Bentley went forwards toward them, but he couldn’t move all that well. Like the cold was sinking into his bones and freezing his blood inside of him — like he was slowly solidifying.

Despite that, it only took a few grueling steps forward for the color of the other person’s hair to catch on the glimmering city lights in the distance.

“Asten?” Bentley questioned softly, a wave of fear surging through him when he realized what exactly was happening, again. “Asten, what… what are you doing?”

Bentley grew nearer to the edge at a glacial pace, having to put every ounce of willpower in his body into moving one leg at a time to get to him. The closer he got, he realized Asten had a paper balled up into his left fist. Similar to the first time this happened. Didn’t he have a picture of his parents, then?

“Asten?” Bentley tried again, continuously forcing himself forward. “Can you hear me? It’s Bentley, Asten. I’m here.”

He finally got close enough to hear his quiet sobs, and a few more steps revealed that Asten was trembling, though Bentley wasn’t sure how much of it was from the cold and how much wasn’t. Asten’s shaky breaths rose from his mouth in clouds of vapor. Bentley’s did not. Like he didn’t even exist.

When Asten didn’t move, Bentley exhaled shakily, adrenaline burning through his veins like gasoline. “Asten, please. Can you hear me?”

Again, he seemed to be the only one capable of hearing himself just like last time. He glanced around the rooftop for any signs of Nico or Jason or somebody Asten could hear, but Bentley was the only one there.

Asten let go of the paper, and it blew back onto the roof toward him. It was a newspaper clipping, crumbled and haphazardly torn from its original paper.

It stopped blowing in the wind when it hit Bentley’s shoe — he knelt down and grabbed it, flipping it to the backside. There was a list there that said: Gotham Tragedy Casualties. Beneath that heading was a long list of names, hundreds in tiny print just on the small sliver of paper he could see. Right in the middle of the list, circled by a red pen, were five names: Nico Rockefeller, Bentley Whittaker, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne.

Gotham Tragedy. That was the name given to the mass destruction Asten had caused after his uncle died.

When Bentley stood back up was about the time Gotham came into focus below them. The city lights were shining in the distance, but the closer Bentley looked, the more destruction he noticed. Buildings reduced to rubble, burned into nothing more than smoking piles of ash in a large radius around the building they were standing on. Roads covered from one end to the other in debris and rubble, police and firetrucks and emergency response vehicles still sifting through the long fizzled-out wreckage for survivors.

That’s about when Bentley realized they were back on top of the exact building Asten had taken Jason’s gun on. The one he’d stood on the edge of once before, a long time ago. The one where he’d destroyed… everything.

“Asten…” Bentley tried again, taking another glance at the boy across the rooftop. He had the sudden urge to cry but fought it down, for the other boy’s sake, on the off chance he started hearing him. “Please get down, buddy.”

Asten turned around unsteadily on the railing, facing Bentley with his back toward the city, but he didn’t look at him. He was looking more… through him. Bentley noticed that his gaze was focused on the piece of paper that was blowing across the rooftop. His nose and cheeks were red from both the crying and the cold, making his green eyes look greener in the same weird way Dick’s eyes looked bluer when he cried.

“Asten, please,” Bentley tried, stepping forward again, though it was no use. He was invisible.

Asten only stared forward, the despair and sorrow that had been painted across his features fading into an expression that was freakishly numb and empty.

Bentley took one last step forward, close enough that he could probably touch Asten’s legs, and he felt his eyes start to burn. “Please get down. What am I gonna do if you’re not here?”

The wind whipped at Asten’s blue hair, and with the city lights behind him, it sort of looked like he had a halo of light. He shifted his weight only slightly, and he took a shaky breath in. Then he closed his eyes.

“Asten!” Bentley shouted, trying to move forward, but his feet wouldn’t lift. “Please, Asten, please, I’m right here. I’m right here, I’m not dead. Please.”

Asten’s hands went from fists to loose by his sides, the tension leaving his shoulders and body. He exhaled a long puff of vapor that floated away in the wind.

Then he let himself fall backwards.

“No!”

Bentley lurched forward, grappling for Asten’s ankle, his foot, his pants, anything. But his hands went straight through his legs like they weren’t even there, and he disappeared over the edge and left Bentley on the rooftop alone. He tried to summon water but he couldn’t feel any. The whole city went quiet.

Bentley stood eerily still, his mouth hanging open, and he didn’t dare look over the edge no matter how close he was to it. He swallowed thickly, his hand drifting up to cover his mouth. He stared blankly at his own feet.

He couldn’t… why couldn’t Asten…

Bentley’s knees hit the rooftop with a thud, and he suddenly felt kind of like he was drowning. Like the world was moving without him. He couldn’t hear, he couldn’t see. He knew he was sobbing now, so hard it actually, physically hurt, but he couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear anything.

The world blurred and moved around him, and suddenly, he was somewhere else. On his knees, choking on his own sobs in the middle of a road full of rubble. Smoke was rising in plumes on all sides of him, and everything seemed to be roaring like the day Asten destroyed Gotham.

Bentley couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. What was he supposed to do? His breaths kept getting caught in his throat like there was something blocking the way, and after a few moments of that, he started coughing, which made everything ten times worse. He tried to breathe but all that came out were wheezy, violent sort of half-sobs-half-hyperventilating thingys that left him kind of dizzy. His body wasn’t listening to him anymore. He could feel himself trembling so hard he was probably vibrating across the ground, and he could feel his stomach churning inside of him, but there wasn’t anything he could do.

Asten had…

Asten… his brother… he… he was…

“Come here, you little prick!”

Bentley’s eyes flicked up when a small figure staggered toward him, stumbling and hobbling all over the place. He wiped his eyes and blinked, and upon closer inspection, he realized it was… Nico. He was covered in blood and dirt and ash, his blonde hair no longer blonde but a mixture of colors bestowed upon him by the warzone. He kept trying to use his powers to no avail, the yellow lightning crackling at his feet but only sending him a few yards forward before it stopped and he stumbled, and Bentley quickly noticed why — because his leg was broken.

Like, broken broken. Like part of his left calf and foot was mangled and not facing the right way broken. Bentley could see the strange angles even with his sweatpants on, and his entire left pant leg was soaked through with blood. He was crying, tear-streaks cutting through the rest of the blood and grime on his face and making pitiful little dots all over the front of his hoodie.

“Nico?” Bentley breathed, nearly inaudibly, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them just like he used to. “Asten, he…”

Nico went straight past him without even a glance in his direction.

So no one could see him.

Bentley just sat. He brought his knees in tighter and stared blankly, hiccuping and spluttering pitifully to nobody but himself. He wanted to glance around but he was afraid he’d see Asten if he did, so he didn’t.

His own voice pierced the air before he could even comprehend what he was saying. All it was was a broken sounding little:

“Dad…”

There was a shout from behind Bentley that was so shrill he flinched, whirling his head around to check what was going on.

Nico shouted in terror and staggered backwards when a purple portal spun to life ahead of him, The Void stepping out of it right in his face. Her purple hair was still half cut where Damian had gotten it with his katana, and she was bruised and cut up and dirty, too.

Before he could as much as think, The Void grabbed Nico by the head and shoved him into the rubble, hard, face first. Bentley thought about moving toward them, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move, like his body was cemented to the ground.

He shouted: “Nico!” But no one heard.

All he could do was watch as she climbed on top of Nico, who kicked and thrashed under her weight, crying and screaming the names of what seemed to be every person he knew, but finally settling on yelling for his parents again and again. Bentley tried so hard to pick his feet up, to move, to scoot, to crawl, to something, but he couldn’t. He couldn't move. He couldn't think.

“Nico, no!”

The Void grabbed Nico by the hair and started slamming the back of his head into the rubble over and over and over and over and over again until they were both red, and his face was blank, his shouting silenced, eyes open but unseeing.

Bentley turned his head away and closed his eyes, slapping his hands over his mouth, the sudden but powerful urge to vomit taking ahold of him full-force. A sort of strange, stunned numbness sprang to life inside of him. He’d never really felt like that before. Like… like he was so stunned and scared and grieved and enraged and traumatized that it all sort of boiled into one big… nothing. Feelings that were so strong his body just… canceled them out for his own good.

He coughed a few times that almost resulted in him throwing up all over himself.

“I…” He whispered. Who was he talking to? He didn’t know. No one could hear him. No one could see him. No one could touch him. He was a ghost. “I wanna go home.”

And then a voice came. A voice he recognized from a long time ago, that came from everywhere and nowhere. A voice that made his hair stand up, that made him want to crawl in a hole and never come out again.

“You got lucky, babybird. The choices you made prevented these… unfortunate events from taking place. But what’s the fun in keeping them to myself? After all, no one ever realizes how lucky they are until they see the alternative,”

Bentley was suddenly in a solid white plane of emptiness, still sitting, still unable to move, to think, to breathe, still feeling like he might throw up and pass out and die. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move, in fear of her being there. He thought she was dead. He thought she was dead.

“But everything makes a ripple, babybird. You know that better than anyone. Down to the smallest detail — who you say hi to in the hall, where you sit in class. You may have closed the door on the circumstances I just showed you, yes… but now you’ve opened doors much, much worse. Would you like to sneak a peek into your future?”

Bentley didn’t get time to respond — not that he would’ve anyways — because, suddenly, the white was changing and moving around him, smoke swirling and making images, a flurry of scenes flashing in front of him like a highlight reel straight from hell.

First, Rockie appeared in the white nothing with him, crouched next to him, looking panicked. In a split second, there was a BANG! BANG! and though Bentley couldn’t see where the shots came from, two big stains of crimson began to form and grow on the front of Rockie’s t-shirt, and his green eyes blew wide. He opened his mouth to speak and blood came out.

Bentley gasped and shouted: “Rockie!”

Rockie fell. Bentley made some sound of terror he didn’t really hear, but the second he reached for his roommate's body, it disappeared.

Bentley spun around, hiccuping, wiping the ever-flowing tears off of his face. He scanned the rest of the white. “…Rockie?”

“No! No! Please, don’t — no, Bentley! Help! Help me!”

Bentley whipped around at the voice. The smoke swirled and spun until three people emerged from thin air — two adults in white suits and a small child they were dragging by the arms. It only took Bentley a split second to realize that it was Bellamy.

He was fighting against them as hard as he could with his tiny self, while simultaneously bawling his eyeballs out and screaming as loud as he possibly could. They slammed him into a wall and began to put something on him. Something yellow, and tight — a straight jacket.

Bellamy fought against them hard, sobs wracking his tiny body as his brown eyes flew everywhere they could. “No! Please, No! Bentley!”

“Leave him alone!” Bentley tried, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t take a single step.

There was a shnnk, and one of the people pulled out a massive knife from absolutely nowhere, pressing it to Bellamy’s throat.

He went dead silent. Bentley tried to speak, to shout for him, to move between him and the person, but nothing happened. He couldn’t move. Everything fizzled away instead.

In their place appeared Valor, who was laying on the floor, facing away from Bentley. His hands were cuffed behind his back and his wings were all curled and folded up in a way that looked immensely painful, secured by thick metal wiring. He was missing a myriad of feathers and the wires were digging in, leaving the platinum feathers stained and splotchy with blood. In fact, all of him seemed bloody — he was wearing a white jumpsuit Bentley had never seen before, but most of it was dotted with crimson.

Bentley crouched where he was, scanning his bloodied figure with a sniffle. “Valor?”

Suddenly, a person in white showed up and kicked him straight in the stomach, hard, sending him onto his back instead. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his entire face was bruised and cut and bloody. His nose was pouring blood everywhere, his one open eye was bloodshot, and he was trembling. He hardly even reacted to the kick besides a slight wince and a small noise.

Bentley sobbed. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”

The second kick, and Valor did nothing but curl in on himself pitifully. As soon as Bentley reached out for him, they fizzled away.

“Stop it!” Bentley sobbed, bringing his knees back up and burying his head in them. “Please, stop it. I… I want to go home. Please.”

“Oh my God!”

Bentley couldn’t help but glance up at the distraught voice ahead of him, if only a little bit.

There was someone he didn’t recognize on the ground in front of him, huge, red bullet wounds littering their torso. It was a boy — an older boy, maybe Jason’s age, with tan skin, dark hair, and brown, dull eyes. A puddle of blood was pooling on the white floor beneath him. His chest was still rising and falling inconsistently, but it looked difficult, forced.

And suddenly, someone else appeared — the one who’d yelled. Koa.

He was all scraped and bruised up, dawning a bloody nose and a big gash on his eyebrow. His seafoam green eyes were wide with disbelief as he crouched down next to the boy on the floor.

“Artimi,” He started, his eyes immediately welling up as he gathered the older boy up into his arms the best he could. “Oh my God, you-“

Artimi.

Artimi’s dull eyes flicked up to Koa, slowly. A look of gentle relief washed across his features. “Koa.”

“They sh… shot you,” Koa stammered, his breathing growing increasingly ragged when he realized his hands were stained red with the blood of his guardian. He sobbed lightly and turned to look into the white abyss. “Summer!”

“Koa-“

“Summer!”

“Koa, Koa, it’s okay,” Artimi reached up as far as he could manage, balling up the front of Koa’s shirt in one hand, turning it red. “There’s not enough time.”

“Don’t say that!” Koa all but shouted, turning to look the other way again. Artimi tugged on his shirt to gain his attention.

“You’re my brother. I… love you,” He forced out between strange sounds, rattly breaths. “I love you.”

Koa shook his head, a few more silent but violent sobs wracking his body. “You’re going to be fine.”

Artimi frowned, managing to bring his hand up to rest it on the back of Koa’s head and leave a bloody print there. “I love you, Koa.”

“I…” Koa blinked, voice breaking when he continued, shakily: “I love you.”

Artimi smiled, and then his expression faded, the shine leaving his brown eyes… empty.

“Artimi?” Koa said, nearly inaudibly, pulling the older boy’s body closer to himself and holding it there, eyes wide and stunned, rocking back and forth in the slightest. “No. God, please, no. Artimi... Artimi, wake up!”

Artimi did not.

“Artimi, wake up!”

If Bentley hadn’t already been crying his absolute eyeballs out, he definitely would’ve been, come Koa’s incessant, heart-wrenching sobbing and screaming that he was forced to listen to for at least fifteen entire grueling minutes. It was all iterations of his previous words -- begging Artimi to wake up, repetitive intervals of no and oh my God and please, please, please that eventually faded into indecipherable and heart-shattering weeping.

Bentley didn’t even try to move that time.

But eventually, that image faded, and was replaced with a new one.

Varian. He was bloody and beat up and bruised like the rest of them, his skin a ghastly pale, eyes dulling by the second. He was walking -- more like staggering. His entire shirt was stained red, and a knife had been plunged into his abdomen, only visible by the protruding handle. He was leaving bloody footprints on the ground and was having a hard time standing up.

“Varian!”

Varian looked up, sort of past Bentley, realization and recognition crossing his face. “Nightwing?”

That's when Dick faded into view in his Nightwing suit, lunging for Varian. At a good time, too, because the child collapsed directly into his arms. Dick lowered him down to the floor, holding onto him sort of bridal style.

“I don’t want to die,” Varian muttered weakly, quickly, his dark eyes flicking down to the knife, then up to Dick. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not going to die,” Dick reassured, glancing around. He would've sounded calm to anyone who wasn’t Bentley, but Bentley was able to catch the underlying quiver in his voice and tremble in his hands. “You’re okay, you’re okay… B, I need medevac at my location now. There's… Varian, he…”

Bentley saw Dick tense when Varian started crying softly. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not going to-”

“I don’t want to die!” Varian repeated, a bit louder, his cries increasing steadily in volume. “I just started living, I… I can’t… I can’t die yet!”

Bentley sobbed softly, his hand finding his mouth again, and even though he wanted to look away, he couldn’t.

Dick pushed Varian’s hair back away from his forehead. Bentley heard a voice on the other side of his comms -- it was Bruce’s voice.

“Nightwing, you’re behind the barrier. We… can’t get to your location,”

“What?” Dick questioned, numbly, and Bentley saw the way his expression shifted behind his mask as he looked down at Varian. “Bruce… he’s…”

“Stay with him, Dick,”

“I don’t want to die,” Varian repeated, hiccuping lightly, reaching out for nothing in particular. Dick took his hand.

“You’re okay,” He replied, though it was obvious his voice was thick with emotion. He reached up briefly with the other hand and ripped his domino mask off, tossing it to the side, revealing very watery, very blue eyes. “I’m here with you, Varian.”

Varian just sort of stared at him for a while. “You’re Bentley’s brother. And Nightwing.”

Dick sniffled lightly, nodding. “I am.”

Varian took a deep, shaky breath that ended in a few wet coughs, blood splattering across his chin that Dick quickly wiped off with his own sleeve.

“You have… to tell my parents. Not… not Batman,” Varian said softly, eyes drifting down to the knife. “Please.”

“Okay,” Was Dick’s response, though it was hardly audible. He reached up and pushed Varian’s hair back again.

“I don’t wanna die,” Varian finalized, shaking his head with a sniffle. “Can you hug me?”

Dick didn’t even say anything. He just sat down comfortably and pulled Varian into his lap like he’d done to Bentley on countless occasions before, slinking his arms around him softly. Varian cried quietly like that for a while, and Dick did, too.

Until Varian fell eerily silent. Eerily still.

Dick just held onto him and cried.

Bentley sobbed and turned away, bringing a hand up to grab at his chest. “Please, let me go home. I want to go home.”

“Poor Bentley,” Her voice came. “Scared to face the truth? Scared to face your future?”

Bentley cried quietly, a sudden feeling of rage blossoming inside of him. (Maybe he wished he killed her when he had the chance.)

“Let me out!” He screamed.

“Oh, come on, Babybird. What’s the fun in-”

“Bentley!”

Bentley glanced up at the sound of the voice, but it was distant and muffled, like he was underwater. Everything was white and no one was there but Varian and Dick. A sharp pain stabbed through his head like someone was playing with a drill inside of his skull.

“Bentley, wake up!”

Varian and Dick disappeared, and a person in white fizzled into existence in front of Bentley, with pistol in their hand. Silently, they brought it up to aim directly at his head.

BANG!

Bentley woke up screaming.

He couldn’t even comprehend his surroundings. He could feel that someone was touching him, maybe even two or three someones, and he could tell everything wasn’t white anymore. He was sitting on his bed, he knew that much. And he couldn’t breathe. And he was crying. And he was about to-

One of the someones shoved something in his hands, and he hardly even recognized that it was their little trash can before he retched miserably into it.

One of the someones had their hand on the back of his neck, and another one had their hands on both of his knees. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t hear.

It had to have been ten minutes until he became coherent enough to vaguely comprehend what was going on around him. He was in his and Asten’s bedroom at Redwood Academy. Sitting on the edge of his bed. The lights were on, and the door was standing slightly ajar. It was raining outside — he could hear it pecking on the window. He was crying. Hard.

Asten was kneeling on the floor ahead of him with an alert, worried expression on his face. He was the one who was holding onto Bentley’s knees, watching intently as his brown eyes flicked about the room. The other someone was Valor, who was sitting on his right side, supporting him by holding onto the back of his neck. He could feel the slight weight of his big wing getting draped around his shoulders.

There was a third and fourth someones in the room Bentley hadn’t noticed because they weren’t touching him — one was Varian, crouched down next to Asten, eyes watery and looking kind of terrified, and the other was Rockie, who was standing behind them. Shadows were moving in the light beneath the door that indicated others were outside of their room.

“There you are,” Asten said softly, taking the nasty trash can from Bentley’s hands and putting it back in the floor.

Asten. Asten. He wasn’t… and Varian, he…

“It was just a nightmare,” Asten continued. Bentley hadn’t noticed how much he was trembling until Asten reached up and put a hand on his shaky shoulder. “You’re okay.”

Bentley put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees so he was folded over on himself, tucking his face away so he wasn’t crying in front of everybody. He wasn’t sure how much use it was, given he was sobbing so violently it was shaking his entire body. (At least he was managing to keep it silent.)

He felt Valor’s hand move to rub circles on his back, and Asten’s took its place on the back of his head. “You’re awake now. You’re okay.”

Bentley shook his head lightly. “It was her.”

He couldn’t see Asten, but the way he fell eerily silent for a few moments let him imagine the closely bridled shock that crossed his face.

“No it wasn’t, B. She’s dead,” Asten said lowly, coming in closer to Bentley’s head so Valor and Varian couldn’t hear him.

“She-“ Bentley hiccupped lightly, shaking his head again. “She showed me… stuff. I saw you…”

“Bentley, she’s dead. Bruce saw it with his own eyes. She’s dead,” Asten replied, smoothing down the hair on the back of his head. “It was just a nightmare about her… about what she used to do.”

Bentley said nothing, but dipped his head down until it was resting on his knees, and he cried there.

After a few moments, he heard Varian say something to Asten, and he heard Asten say yes. Then a second later and he was being gently hugged by someone else who was also crying. He didn’t hug Varian back, but he did let his head rest on his shoulder.

If she was really dead, why did it all feel so… real?

tag list that never works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

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