#Tis a bad idea I shouldn’t go

[dinosnaurnuggets]

Why is my go-to thing when I’m bored/understimulated going for a drive? And why do I always want to go when it’s dark?

[webslingingslasher]

Care less

for the frat!peter girlies.

Peter blames his aunt. 

May went and raised him to look forward to the middle of february. She would make little boxes and handwritten notes tied up with a fun-sized candy bar. May told him it was a day to celebrate love in its entirety. For a friend, for a teacher, for just the sake of love existing everywhere you went. 

Except, not everyone likes valentine's day. Some even hate it. Some would loathe the day so much that Peter feels like an idiot for caring. Dinner reservations that were going to be ignored, flowers that would go wilted and chocolates that were never going to get eaten. 

Peter has a handful of nothing and the one time he really wanted to outperform himself, it was brushed off and it was his aunt’s fault for getting his hopes up about valentine’s day. He had been so thoughtful too, planning weeks ahead to book a dinner slot and a fun date. Not to mention the mini fortune he spent on roses, not that you were a giant fan of roses but every girl deserves a bouquet on valentine’s, even if they triple in price. Peter even bought a second bunch of your favorite kind, just to prove he cared. 

It meant nothing. His efforts meant nothing and maybe he shouldn’t have assumed, but he never thought that you’d hate the holiday. It was a day entirely built around feelings, around love- and you just rolled your eyes at him. 

“I fucking hate valentine’s day.” You said it like it was nothing, taking two bites of a banana and handing it over to Peter. He asked if you were excited, maybe even hinting at that you should be excited. Peter Parker was about to romance the hell out of you. But not anymore. 

“Explain that one for me?” A toss, the peel falls into the trash can. You shrug as if you’ve never thought about it before, but it’s something you’ve held in your chest for as long as you can remember. 

“It was a holiday created by girls who didn’t feel loved enough by their boyfriends, or something. I think the practice is stupid, you should treat me good and do nice things for me everyday, not just once a year. And everything is crowded! Everyone has the same lame idea about dinner and a movie and flowers and… it’s just not something I buy into.” 

Peter feels every bit of him curl up and die inside. Valentines is his third favorite holiday, he adores the pinks, reds, and purples. He loves seeing couples of every stage, the beginning stages or lifelong partners. They all love the same; with everything in them. 

“Well, actually, I do have a confession. Chocolate covered strawberries. They’re outrageously expensive, but I buy them every year. If you’re wondering, I was hoping we could boycott the baby holiday and eat some strawberries or something.” 

A small lift in his heart, it’s something. You’d be happy with one thing and he could deliver that, but first he has to try and sway you, right? Peter needs to preach what valentine’s is about, he needs you to understand how lovely it is. 

“I’m surprised you hate it so much. I figured you’d love it, since it’s pink and feelings, and stuff.” You wink at him, you think it’s a joke and Peter’s in the same boat as you. “I know, right? It always seemed so gimmicky to me, I think.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s bad.” You pretend gag, Peter feels his heart sink into the hollow of his chest. “You’re right, it’s cringy and that makes it so much worse.” Peter doesn’t agree, not even in the slightest. Nothing about it is cringy, there’s nothing embarrassing about showing you love someone. 

“Right. It’s cringy and a gimmick and everyone who participates is stupid.” Maybe he’s a little cynical, it hits harder when you nod with exaggeration. “So glad you agree, petey!” He doesn’t. Peter couldn’t be further away from your opinion but he’s really not in the mood to be shut down or judged, so, he just changes the subject and tries to ignore everything crumbling apart in the back of his mind. 

“Isn’t this cute?” 

You squint your eyes when you read the card, a tiny smile shows. “It’s cute. Not worth…” You snatch the glorified cardstock and flip it, your eyes widen, you pretend to choke on the dollar amount. “Ten dollars, holy shit. For some glitter? Fuck that.” 

You want it out of your hold, scared that if even a speckle spread you’d be forced to buy it. “What happened to the good old days of making your own card? My mom used to eat that up.” 

Peter delicately sets the card down, he tries to see it how you do, but he can’t. Sure, it’s wildly marked up, but wouldn’t your partner be worth the price? Peter would buy the moon for you if he could, a ten dollar Hallmark card won’t be his holdup. 

But, maybe you’d like a handmade one more. He can do that. 

Peter’s trying to be mindful of your opinion while also planting the seed that valentine’s isn’t all that bad into your brain. It’s days away and all he can hear in the back of his mind is ‘I fucking hate valentine’s day.’ 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Peter- do you fucking see this?” 

A romantic gesture? A public display of love and admiration? Dozens of carefully inflated heart shaped balloons? A girl crying into the arms of her friend while her partner showers her with flowers. Is it the love? Is that what you’re pointing out? 

“Yeah, it’s-” 

“Disgusting.” 

“-cute.” Peter frowns, is that what you really thought of valentines? Nothing was swaying your mind, Peter thinks that you’re more solidified in your mindset than before. 

“I’m sorry, trouble, but I’m finding it hard believing you hate valentine’s day.” It’s like he just called you a slur, you pull your hand from his and stuff it into your jacket pocket. 

“I don’t hate it, I loathe it. What do you see watching that? Personally, I’m seeing gravel covered flowers and wasted space that turns into deflated balloons. Fuck that.” Peter shakes his head, you’re seeing it wrong. “It’s about the gesture.” 

“It’s about how you love someone so much, there aren't enough things in the world to buy to show it, and there are never the right set of words to say it quite right. I’ll buy all the flowers in the world for you, and I’ll use all the air in my lungs for these balloons but it’ll never match the love I have for you.” 

Peter clears his throat. “That's what I see, anyways. I think valentine’s day is an excuse to be a little cringy and basic because we all want that sometimes.” He might’ve finally broken through, but you crack a grin and bump your shoulder into his. 

“Ah, yes, because I’m so unfulfilled that a man has never gotten me a teddy bear for valentine’s day.” Would you want one? He could get you one. Or could that be a reason you might detest the holiday, not that he’d ever take your opinion for resentment or bitterness. 

“Have you ever had a valentine?” A small stumble, your hand is tied into his again. “Besides elementary, nah. And honestly, I should be happy so I don’t have to deal with all that stuff.” 

‘I should be happy so I don’t have to deal with all that stuff.’ But, now you do, don’t you? 

“Trouble, you do realize you’re my valentine this year, right? And I’m yours?” You feel your breath catch, no, you hadn’t realized. It’s always just been another day for you and you assume the same for Peter, it’s not like there was much to celebrate. 

“It’s also just a day that ends in Y.” Is that really the answer you have? It’s just another day to you, even if you finally have someone to claim? You might not care about the holiday, but Peter does and he’s going to get his valentine’s day, no matter what. 

And you’re going to enjoy a handmade card. 

And a teddy bear. 

Peter’s finger-combing his hair after a shower, he’s had the reservation for weeks, but he also wasn’t aware of your detestment towards red hearts and arrows. 

“Wanna grab some dinner wednesday?” If he didn’t say it by name he’s hoping you won’t scream bloody mary on him. “Sure.” A smile washes over Peter’s face, it drops in a second. “Wait, isn’t that valentine’s day? Ha, yeah, no thank you. You, me, and the entire city? Fuck that.” 

‘Fuck that, fuck that, fuck that.’ Weeks boiled into nothing. “But, if you wanna cuddle and watch a movie I’m down.” It’s something. He’d get to give you flowers and a card and a teddy bear and he can’t forget the strawberries. You told him you loved them. 

“Good with me, trouble.” 

Peter tried to sway your mind, he tried to make you enjoy the love and glitter and colors. But you hated it all. So all he has to do is ditch the flowers and the dinner and just… do nothing. 

Peter’s first real valentine and all he has to do is… nothing. 

Three rose bouquets tossed onto his closet floor, it was haphazardly done. Petals scattered around the cellophane, some even reached to his shoes. They were thrown in without care, they were hidden. 

But they were beautiful. A few front buds have taken a beating, but the others were fully blossomed and lively. You’ve never seen roses in such a vivid red, their petals almost like velvet under your fingertips, their smell unlike any other. 

The thorns have been expertly shredded, nothing but smooth, soft stems in their wake. It doesn’t matter if Peter didn’t mean to have you see them, they were too gorgeous to leave locked away in a dark room. They deserved the affection water and sunlight would give them. 

You clutched all three in your arms, the weight welcomed. You laid them out nicely across his bed, the third bouquet dropped a small card and you picked it right back up. 

‘Trouble- 

This day was made for you. 

Charlie’s at 8. 

Yours, 

Peter’

You bit back a smile. Charlie’s? It’s nice, too nice. And expensive. Peter got you reservations at Charlie’s? Holding the card to your chest you nearly squeal, you have no idea how he kept the secret from you. Or the roses. 

When you hear his bedroom door open you spin, waiting for him to be in the doorway so you can place a thousand kisses. Instead it’s Ethan and he looks surprised. “You’re here?” He points to the flowers, “Peter gave you those?” 

“I found them in his closet, he just tossed them in here! And he must’ve forgotten to tell me about Charlie’s.” Ethan doesn’t smile with you, he’s not sharing any joy. For a second you start to wonder if you were the person who was supposed to receive the gifts. 

“He didn’t forget.” You scrunch your face at him, “I think he did and I need to start getting ready now. Ethan, do you know how nice Charlie’s is? It’s fucking fancy.” You’re not prepared, you don’t have anything that screams Charlie’s worthy in Peter’s closet. 

“No, you’re not hearing me. There is no Charlie’s and there weren't supposed to be roses. I was supposed to get them before you got here, but, here we are. No roses and no Charlie’s.” You smack at his arms, pulling at his fingers to drop your flowers. 

“They’re mine!” Ethan’s on a mission to steal them, and he’s not being gentle. 

“No, you didn’t want them.” 

You watch him for a second, how could he say that, of course you want them. Thirty six reminders of Peter, how could you ever say no? You fight for what's yours, Ethan allows you to keep one bouquet. 

“I do want them!” 

Ethan’s not being nice to you tonight, he’s gruff with his response. “No. You didn’t.’ 

“You keep saying didn’t! I never said I didn’t want…” 

Except you did. Just like you said you didn’t want to get dinner with Peter. You feel terrible, you feel like crying. He’d had this planned for weeks and the whole time all you did was poke fun and degrade the holiday not knowing you were crushing him behind the scenes. 

You wanted the flowers, but you didn’t deserve them. You hand over the last bouquet silently. 

“I think it’s best if you pretend you didn’t see these.” You can’t imagine the ache Peter must have in his chest, he planned something out just for you to stomp all over it. It’s not about the value, it was the gesture. He can’t tell you how he feels, but taking you out to one of the nicest places in the city, where you know it has a month minimum reservation list makes you understand him just a little bit better. 

“This is so bad, Ethan. This is so,” you suck in air, “so bad.” 

“It’s not terrible,” a crinkle when he shifts weight. “But it’s not great.” You wince, if you could, you’d go back in time and shove your foot in your mouth, or tell yourself to shut the fuck up. 

“Well, I mean, what the fuck?! It’s fucking Peter! How was I supposed to know he was pro valentines day?”

“How was he supposed to know you were anti valentines day?” 

You sink to the bed and hold your head in your hands, “I just want Peter right now.” You want to hug him and kiss him and tell him how sorry you were. Ethan hesitates for a second, before stepping closer to lay the flowers across your lap. 

“You found them. They’re yours.” You protect them from being taken, but still have self-pity. “I don’t deserve them.” Ethan scoffs, “of course you do. Everyone deserves pretty flowers.” 

You pout at yourself in the mirror and fix any smudges. Brushing out any stray wrinkles your newest dress might’ve made on the way over. Ethan had very kindly instructed a pledge to pick you up an outfit so you could change before Peter got back. 

With minutes to spare, he’s back and taking a deep breath at your appearance. “Wow.” A surprised hum when you kiss him, you wipe red from his bottom lip while you apologize. “I’m so sorry, petey.” 

“For what?” A look around the room, red roses give him the reason. “Oh. Hey, it’s no big deal and I-” A frown when you silence him by holding a finger to his lips. 

“I’m sorry. I found those flowers and all I could think about was you and how much it meant to me that you got those for me, then I saw the card and I couldn’t believe you got us reservations and I just felt… special. I’ve never had a valentine, but I get it now. It’s just a day you get to dote on me extra hard.” 

Another surprise kiss, “and if you didn’t already cancel I think we can get to Charlie’s on time. But if you did, that’s okay. Because I think those are the most lovely flowers I have ever gotten, and I might have seen a little teddy bear in there but I didn’t wanna get too presumptuous.” 

This time, Peter kissed you. “There’s also a homemade card.” 

“You didn’t!” You fall in closer to his chest, his hands can have free reign tonight, you wore the dress just for him. 

“I did. I even wrote a little poem.” 

A chaste kiss, “just when I think you can’t get better.” 

“There’s also glow in the dark mini golf planned for after.” A peck, “so thoughtful and handsome.”

A whisper, he’s got blown pupils and hoping he’d get another kiss. “And your strawberries are in the fridge.” 

Your hearts about to explode, “fuck, I love-” you stop yourself, but you heard it and so did Peter. He brushes it off, “love?” Fuck it, you’ll both keep circling around it. 

“Yeah, I love love.” 

A hungry kiss, a squeeze to the back of your thighs. “Yeah, I love love, too.” 

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Stephanie: I’m getting bored.

Stephane yawns.

*What a good prank to do to the guys?* (* - thoughts)

She snaps her fingers with a devious idea. She dials Barbara’s number.

Stephanie, singing: Big sis, want to play a prank on the guys?

Barbara: Finally! I mean… sure why not.

Stephanie: Awesome, I’m going to call Cass so she can hear this.

Cass, sitting silently next to Stephanie: I’m already on board.

Stephanie yelps: Jesus, forgot you did that.

Cass: Thank you. Now, what’s the plan?

Stephanie: I’m going to need some sedatives, rope and handcuffs just in case and… the single worse movie you can think of.

Cass: I’ll get the tools from my room, you two pick out the devious film.

Cass flips off the couch and rushes to her room.

Barbara: I figured she’d have the kidnapping supplies. What about we show them the Star Wars Prequels?

Stephanie: Nah, Dick and Tim actually like those… and Jason, he says it has good parts.

Barbara: I forgot about that, had to block it out.

Stephanie: Hm… Disaster movie?

Barbara: Damien shouldn’t be subjected to that. Nobody should, but especially a kid.

Stephanie: True. Hmm… what’s a movie so bad that it would drive even the toughest man insane?

Barbara, snapping her fingers: I got it! Round up boys and meet at my place at 10.

Stephanie: Perfect. Let the prank commence.

Hours later after getting supplies, Cass and Stephanie shoot Jason, Damian, Tim and Duke with tranquilizer darts.

Each boy toppling to the ground and being dragged or carried off.

Cass tracks Dick Grayson to the Wayne Manor and hits him with a dart in the neck as he’s talking to Bruce. The man falls forward, Bruce stepping aside to let him hit the ground.

Cass: Ignore this, father. It’s a prank.

Bruce: Nothing dangerous?

Cass: Not entirely, just bad movie night. The usual capture and force to watch.

Bruce: You picked out a good one?

Cass: Barbara did.

Bruce: Okay, have fun.

Cass nods dragging Dick Grayson by the leg while humming the Batman theme.

An hour later and the boys are tied to chairs watching a movie so bad but they can’t look away:

Dick: Why is the animation so bad?!

Tim: What is the plot?

Stephanie: There is no plot, at least not a good plot.

Tim: It’s just a bunch of food references and puns, it’s not even funny!

Damian: These jokes are beneath me!

Jason: Kill me again! I don’t want to watch this!

Duke: Eh, I’ve seen worse. Garbage Pail Kids is way worse.

Stephanie, devious smile on her face : Oh really?

Duke notices the batbros glaring at him.

Duke: I shouldn’t have said anything.

[ghostchems]

bad idea right? - raphael x f!tav (part three)

you set foot into raphael's kingdom without a chaperone to retrieve the hammer he's promised you.

author's note: read part one/two. sorry for taking so long with the next installment. 4.2k words! there's lots in here. haarlep makes an appearance (of course). cunnilingus, face sitting, blowjob, rough sex, overstimulation. ao3 link.

You only caught a glimpse of the House of Hope when Raphael whisked you away during your first meeting but now you’ve nearly been through it top bottom. Yes, he told you to come here and go straight to the boudoir to retrieve the Orphic Hammer but were you really going to give up the opportunity to go through all his stuff? Of course not.

His house floats in the desolate hellscape of Avernus, yet he has no allegiance to Zariel as far as you’re aware. It’s moody and dramatic, two key adjectives for Raphael himself. The archive is overflowing with infernal knowledge, bookshelves from floor to ceiling and his prized possessions on display as if it’s a museum. The dining room is just as grand as you remembered it but with a hint of unease due to the rotting food. He knew he was having company - shouldn’t he have at least cleaned up? You attention is pulled from statues of devils to portraits of himself to the grapes and wine and hookahs seemingly strategically left throughout the house. You fine yourself drawn to the many balconies that oversees the green souls keeping the house afloat. You wonder what would happen if you fell. Will your soul be dammed? Will your bones turn to ash? Will you shed your human body and be stripped down to the delicious soul you are?

You may have learned more about Raphael in the last half hour than all of your other meetings combined. Much to your companions ire, you’ve stopped to speak to every single debtor. They’re broken. Broken souls worn down to the very essence of their being, cursed to toil away in eternity in Raphael’s House of Hope. Something about it… tickles you. He’s been nothing more than “helpful” since you’ve met him, sure the threats have always been there, but seeing what he is actually capable of with your own two eyes makes you remember what he is. A devil. A cambion, specifically. He could turn you inside out with the snap of his finger. But he doesn’t. He’s touched you instead, slithered his way between your legs just as the tadpole has wormed into your brain. Does he see you as a formidable ally? Or another plaything to break down? You wonder if Raphael has already started on you — if this is apart of your deal, scribbled in infernal (a language you can’t read) on your contract.

The thought makes you shiver. It makes you want him all over again. Even if he hasn’t started trying to wear you down… you hope he’ll try.

Speaking of Hope. You didn’t know what to expect when he gave you the order to steer clear but it certainly wasn’t a dwarven cleric being held captive in his basement. She accosted you the moment you set foot into her home, begging you to help her. You smiled and told her you would, the hero that you are. It was a lie, of course. She is desperate and broken but she still clings to her namesake. You can understand why Raphael would keep her — she rebukes his every advance and won’t give up her optimism. She believes she can be saved, and maybe she’s right but your hands are tied. Still, the thought of him having her here to continue to torture when he could be focusing that energy on you. You decide to at least bring it up to him the next time you see him, which has yet to be “scheduled”. Part of you wants him to be waiting for you in the boudoir, hammer and a glass of wine in hand.

“For all the sense of dread and horror seeping through this place I really feel quite at home.” Astarion chirps, tearing you away from your thoughts in an effort to get you back to the task at hand. He’s far more understanding than the others and at this point you’re not sure what you would do without him. You offer him a small smile and start to lead your merry group of companions to the boudoir. A crowd, certainly. But this should be easy — pop in, take the hammer which is the salvation for all of Faerūn and then have a pint at Elfsong (and maybe a visit from a certain devil later that evening).

The boudoir is expansive and you can see why it is held in such high esteem by the debtors. There’s a large, steaming bath surrounded by more grapes and wine. You fight off the urge to dip a toe in. There are several desks with journals, quills, books all stacked on top and large canvas paintings of hellish scenes and dark portraits. If these walls could talk…

You see sparks out of the corner of your eye, your head twisting to see an empty space where you companions once stood behind you. A trap. This is a trap. Your chest tightens and you swear to yourself, you should have known something wasn’t right. Anger boils within you and a readiness rises to swing your blade at the next living, breathing thing that comes into your eye line. You keep your hand firm on the handle of your sword and move deeper into the spacious room. Are you a fool to have fallen for Raphael’s trickery? Or is he really that good? Even in the face of potential betrayal,

“Raphael?!” You are bewildered, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed. The devil gives a delighted laugh as he slinks to his knees, his wings stretching out behind him. You blink a few times, overwhelmed just by the sight of him — displayed in all his glory in a leather harness, even though you are sure this is some sort of trick. The second he opened his mouth, you knew. You suck in a deep breath, steeling yourself to focus.

“No, no, love… has he not told you about me?” Haarlep bares his fangs in a sinister smile, creeping closer to you at the edge of the bed. His tail slithers back and forth behind him, dangerous yet playful. You open your mouth to respond but he cuts you off — “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, mouse.” Warmth blossoms in your chest. He talks about you? Haarlep swings his legs over the edge of the bed and lifts himself to his feet, his body becoming the only thing you could possibly focus on. He lingers in front of you and eyes you as if you are a delicious meal, his tongue wetting his lips and a low hum rumbling from his chest. “A pretty little toy, aren’t you?”

“I… no, he hasn’t told me about you.” Confusion. Utter confusion. And, is it… is it hot in here? You’re sweating — you can feel it on your brow. “I’m here for the hammer.” Back to business. “We made a deal and he said it would be here.” Your voice strains, a mix of frustration and being so completely lost in the situation.

“A shame.” Haarlep purrs and leans in closer, leering over you with a sharp smile. “I am not too surprised though — how does one bring up having their own personal incubus who takes their form in casual conversation?” A claw runs along your jaw, the tip of his nail giving you goosebumps. From your adventure in Raphael’s house, it was easy to come to the conclusion that he has a plethora of kinks but this — this is something else. “You’re here for the hammer, that is correct, my dear, but you are also here to play.” His tail starts to slink up your leg and warmth starts to pool in your core.

“B-but Raphael —”

“You have his permission, mouse. And, fun fact about me using Raphael’s likeness — he’ll be able to feel everything we do. He’s expecting it, in fact, and I’m sure he’s looking forward to it.” Haarlep’s claw closes around your chin and forces you to gaze into his familiar burning eyes. Black holes. You feel their pull. “Perhaps he is conducting business right now — could you imagine? Him trying to make a deal while being able to taste you on his lips?” A jolt of arousal rushes through you, bringing a blush to your cheeks. Haarlep’s lips twitch into a devilish grin as you fall right into his grasp. The image he’s painted for you is beyond tempting; having Raphael be helpless to your touch while he’s off doing his devilish duties, desperate to conceal his erection. And, well, you have his permission, don’t you?

Haarlep lets go of your chin and swishes by you, his warm bicep brushing your shoulder and his tail flicking against your ankle. Your eyes trail after him, catching a glimpse of his toned back and his wing joints, veins bulging from the taut skin. You wonder if Raphael’s looks the same. It dawns on you that you haven’t seen much of his skin, in fact, you haven’t even seen his cock yet despite him spilling his seed inside you. You swallow thickly and take a step back, the backs of your knees hitting the foot of the bed.

“Cat got your tongue, mouse?” Haarlep moves in closer to you, the heat radiating off his body making your chest flush.

“No.” You answer sharply before slowly sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your palms and spreading your legs wide. His eyes rake over your figure, tilting his head to get a better look at you. You say nothing but Haarlep understands and sinks to his knees in front of you with his head settling at eye level. A hand rests on his chest, coarse hairs underneath your fingertips as you start to wander lower. Haarlep’s arms curl around your back, the tip of his nose just about touching yours as his body makes your legs spread even more. The heat between you is palpable and only continues to grow while you start to stroke at the ridges along his hips. It’s unusual for Haarlep to get this sort of attention, from both guests of the House and Raphael himself.

“You do not deserve to call such a man ‘Master’.” He can’t help it, locking eyes with yours. His words sting but the feeling is quickly washed away by his tongue slipping into your mouth. The breath leaves your lungs, sinking into the hellfire that is Haarlep. Nothing matters but how he tastes you in a deep kiss, his claws pricking at delicate skin beneath your sleeves. You top is gone in a matter of seconds and whether your helped him take it off of you or it disappeared with magic is beyond your at this point. All you want to do is feel. He breaks the kiss and brushes his lips along your jaw, his teeth nipping right where it meets your earlobe. You pull him closer by his harness until he is flush against you. Haarlep trails kisses further down your neck and your collarbone, sucking and biting enough to draw gasps and hums from you. He gently guides you to lay down on your back, his entire body enveloping you until he starts to move his mouth lower and lower.

Each kiss is like an explosion of sensations along your skin, buzzing and burning yet feeling so deliciously blissed out. You’re melting into the mattress, melting into him, each touch of his taking more and more of you. He leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake, his mouth then closing around your nipple. His tongue flutters around your hardened peak, making you tip your head back as you give a breathy moan. His hands are somehow everywhere all at once; Fingers feather through his hair and then settle at the base of his horns while he continues his descent. You feel him mouth around your navel with light scrapes of his teeth, his hands slinking down to tug at your pants. He takes his time, pulling them down inch by inch, lavishing kisses across your hip bones. You wriggle out of your pants, growing impatient but not wanting to order him.

Haarlep tongue lazily traces your clit and a ragged gasp escapes your lips, a jolt of pleasure rocketing through you. He laps at your slick folds, groaning at the taste of you and presses his face into you, his nose settling just at your clit. Your grip on his hair tightens and you can’t stop yourself from giving it a sharp tug as you squirm and huff. His claws curl around your thighs, the tips of them digging into the tender flesh of your inner thighs. You’re seeing stars, his tongue pressing into you so deeply while he grunts and laps at your juices. Your back arches off the mattress, your mouth hanging open and spilling hoarse moans. It’s devastatingly sensuous, your temperature rising to a comfortable simmer as your mind starts to clear. This could be forever, couldn’t it? You could stay here with Haarlep’s head between your thighs, devouring you until nothing else matters.

Your hands close around two of his horns and your hips start to roll, tugging him with each of your fluid movements. He growls into your cunt, making your thigh and core muscles tense, a deep groan falling from your lips. You’re so far gone yet so close to the edge, his tongue laving at your core as his claws dig even dipper into your thighs. The fire in your abdomen is raging, overwhelming you almost to the point of no return with soft moans turning to deep whines. You hear a rumbling groan, one too deep to be Haarlep’s, just as your dam bursts. Your eyes flutter open and you see him — Raphael — in cambion form with his navy blue doublet and a smug expression on his face. A broken sob heaves from your chest, Haarlep savoring the taste of your cum.

“Enjoying the amenities, are we?” Oh, he sounds so pleased with himself. If you had any energy you would mouth off but all you’re able to muster is a dramatic eye roll. Raphael slinks out of view, the bed dipping behind your from his weight. He had planned for this, the bastard. Your mouth is still slack and your heart is still pounding, trying to come down from an impossible high when Haarlep grips you by the hips and flips you over, your chin nearly landing in Raphael’s lap. He grabs you, his claw nearly clasped around your entire head and lifts you so that you’re looking up at him, though he makes sure you’re able to get a nice view of how hard he is through his trousers. “You taste sweet, little mouse. It’s only fair that you taste me after how wound up you’ve got me. Allow me to assist in getting you started.” His voice is dangerously low, glee in his fiery eyes as he unlaces his trousers, freeing his leaking cock**.**

It renders you speechless, larger than any cock you’ve seen before and it’s ribbed, a pearl of pre-cum already collecting at the top. Your jaw drops and Raphael takes this as an opportunity, forcing your mouth around him and guides you down his length. You groan as soon as you taste him, his cock heavy on your tongue as you run it along the underside, feeling every bulging vein. He’s so large that you drool and gag once he hits the back of your throat, swallowing and trying to breath comfortably. Haarlep is lurking behind you but you’re too focused at the task at hand to notice — until it’s too late. He positions his head between your legs, this time underneath you, his horns flush with your stomach, hands digging into your ass as his tongue savors your folds.

A moan of surprise rumbles up your throat and your head wrenches backward. Raphael’s grip on your head tightens and forces you back down his length with a violent tug. You’re eyes are watering and you struggle to breathe with his pulsing cock shoved down your throat while Haarlep toys with your clit, pinching it between his fangs and flicking his pointed tongue. Raphael bucks his hips into your mouth, fucking your face as he growls with need. You whimper around him, your vision blurring further from the tears in your eyes and the building tension in your core. You feel helpless, used. It’s the first time with Raphael you’ve felt you didn’t have the upper hand, or at least a cool head. The devils have reduced you to a mewling mess, a toy for them to play with. You mindlessly grind you hips against Haarlep’s face and he groans into you, his nose pressing firmly into your clit. A choked sob falls from your lips, your fingers digging into the sheets and your skin buzzing.

“Your lips are so pretty around my cock, mouse.” Raphael croons and tilts your head up so he can see you. Your cheeks are flushed and streaked in tears, your lips swollen and eyes half-lidded. He would paint you if he wasn’t so preoccupied by that mouth of yours. Hmm, perhaps he could paint your face. His claws dig into the sides of your head as he pulls you off of his cock, his other hand giving himself a few strong pumps before spilling his seed on your face. You’re panting, gasping for air as you sink forward, your cheek landing on the soft sheets. Raphael lifts himself off the bed but you’re too tired to lift your head to watch him, instead focusing on steadying your breath.

“You’ve had your fill.” He sneers and pulls Haarlep out from underneath you who gives a frustrated snarl. There’s some bickering but you’re too overstimulated to listen. After a moment Raphael’s claws settle on your waist with a low hum. He says nothing as he drags his cock along your dripping folds and you give a sharp whine, scrambling to adjust yourself. Your hips press back into him, sinking himself deep inside you with a calculated thrust. Primal lust explodes and courses through your body as you give a broken sob, your legs trembling and your core tensing while you ease his size. One large claw rests on the side of your head, nearly covering your eyes with his long fingers, and he clamps down on you, your face smushed against the mattress. His hips buck wildly against your ass, his pace brutal and punishing but you are basking in it, pushing back into each of his thrusts.

You feel his devilish strength, each roll of his hips sending you forward, your face buried in the covers as you cry and whine in twisted pleasure. Raphael has you laid bare. You’re nothing but a hole to him right now, a means to get him off just as he uses Haarlep. But there’s something about it that sends shivers down your spine: the possessiveness of it all. His claw is splayed out over your head, his other one digging harshly into your hip, slicing your flesh and making you bleed. The only thing on his mind is having you, having you in his true form, exerting his strength over you until you’re a quivering mess. He wants to fill you. Raphael hikes your ass up even higher and fucks into you, the new angle making your toes curl. You moan his name and he gives a pleased purr, driving into you quicker and harder.

You body feels as though it splits apart, overcome with your white hot climax. He rest his entire body weight on you now, crushing you beneath him as he buries himself deep inside you, over and over. His hot breath fills your ear, sharp and strained. You’re shivering, tears staining the sheets. Raphael utters one last hiss, teeth grazing your ear as he spills himself inside you, his hips slowing with each pulse of his cock. He’s on top of you until he’s spent, his nose nuzzling into your hair.

You can’t feel your limbs. Your body is trembling, your voice hoarse in your throat as you manage a weak protest. Raphael has you on your back in the blink of an eye, his tail slithering up your hips while he slots himself between your legs, using his knees to spread them further. His board is hard against yours, his clothes having disappeared. Your breath catches in his throat at the pressure of the top of his hard cock against your entrance. Surely you couldn’t take any more of this? You feel like you are about to melt away physically and mentally, your body limp and your brain fogged from the intense overstimulation. Raphael’s massive claws close around both your wrists, pinning them to the bed as his forearms cage you beneath him. The edge in his fiery eyes has softened and his nose drifts along your cheek, taking a deep inhale of your scent.

“A delicate little thing, aren’t you, sweetling?” He growls into your ear, his mouth hot and his sharp teeth pricking your skin. You open your mouth to answer but Raphael shifts his hips forward, the head of his ridged cock easily slipping inside you, the words getting caught in your throat. He hums against your ear and then drags his sharp tongue down the side of your neck. Your eyes roll back, squeezing them shut as he gives a languid thrust and pushes in to the hilt, a loud gasp forcing its way up your throat. Arms slip around his broad shoulders, body arching into his and you feel yourself start to disappear. Raphael lifts his head and hovers his mouth above yours. A groan vibrates up his chest to his throat, his lips parted as he continues at a lazy pace. He can’t get enough of your reactions, your cheeks flushed a delicious shade of pink, your lips swollen from how he fucked your face earlier and those sweet, breathless sounds that are spilling from them.

This is a stark contrast from how he had just taken you, his hips circling in slow, sensual movements that has your core twisting in arousal despite your exhaustion. His own deep moans send current after current through you, reigniting your passion and need for him. You bring your hips up to meet his with each thrust and he bares his teeth as your writhing grows more fluid. Raphael releases your wrists so that he can drag one of his sharp claws down your collarbone and along your side, leaving scratch marks. You move your hand to his hair and you realize this is the first time he’s been comfortably within grasp. Self control out the window, you touch his pointed and then bravely run your fingertips over his horns. Despite looking rugged and razor-sharp they’re smooth beneath your fingers. You wrap your hand around one of them and give it a gentle tug.

“Mouse.” The word is strained, sounding like a warning or potentially a challenge. You take the gamble and pull on his horn again. Raphael shudders, an uncontrolled moan spilling from his lips. His mouth drops open, lips curled into a blissful smile. You hum in response, feeling a deep flush in your chest from his reaction. His eyes sharpen as the feeling passes, slowing his thrusts and silence falling between you. Your breath catches in your throat, tension in your chest, your mind hurdling a million miles an hour suddenly because you feel like you’re in trouble. Raphael slowly moves his claw to curl underneath your chin, eyes locking with his. He groans, his entire body rumbling against you and leans in, capturing your lips. It’s shockingly gentle, passionate that only increases with his need to consume you. His hips jerk, tail wrapping tightly around your leg only to peel you further apart as he picks up his thrusts again. Your tongue runs along his sharp fangs and he purrs into your mouth, biting down on your tongue and lip playfully.

You’re all too aware of the way he throbs inside you, his ridges massaging your walls in a way that makes you see stars. Raphael’s growling grows deeper, vibrating through him as his pace starts to grow ragged, frantic and out of time. He gives a strangled hiss into your mouth, his body shuddering while he empties himself inside you. You’re already so full that it seeps down the insides of your thighs. Raphael breaks the kiss and presses his nose to your flushed cheek, catching his breath.

“I won’t stop. Not ever. Not until I own you completely.” A hot whisper of the clearest words he’s ever spoken to you. You sink further into the mattress, melting away as he rises over you, his red wings ruffling behind him. His obsession with you is written all over his face, his eyes taking in every part of your exhausted body, plotting more ways to keep you in his bed. He cracks his neck and his expression hardens in an effort to get back to the business at hand, though you feel one of his hands stroke at your arm.

“Rest now, mouse.”

Comfortable darkness envelopes you.

[the-witchhunter]

I’ve had an interesting thought swimming around my head that I swear I’ve been meaning to write

You know what would be an interesting combination of characters?

Jazz and Harvey Dent/TwoFace

Specifically a Dent just getting back on his feet, released from Arkham and trying to learn how to exist in the world with his condition

I’m thinking a reveal gone wrong, Danny has disappeared to ancients know where, so Jazz cuts ties and Stays with her Uncle Dent, or maybe her bio dad if that’s more your game. Just an soaking wet and miserable Jazz showing up at his crappy apartment saying she’s his daughter or niece and him resisting the urge to flip a coin because he has enough on his plate as is, only to let her in telling her they’ll talk about it in the morning and point her to the shower so she can clean up and dry off

Why do I think this would be an interesting combo?

Jazz’s interest in psychology. A lot of times, as a fandom we depict her as an expert, and in a future timeline where she went to school and has been practicing psychology maybe, but default Jazz? She’s not an expert

Jazz wants to be a brain surgeon, psychology is an interest of hers but her understanding is very limited. She quotes Freud and Jung and has some amount of academic knowledge of the field, but she clearly doesn’t understand that psychoanalyzing friends and family and offering unwanted psychiatric advice is actually rude and something she shouldn’t do. She lacks understanding of actual therapy and is clumsy in applying her knowledge to people she knows

And I find putting her in proximity of someone with DID and probably PTSD would really be an eye opening experience for her

Because Dent might humor her, TwoFace will call her out. They both have hung around Harley to know enough to tell her, “maybe don’t take Freud so seriously” because man does everything go back to sex with Freud, and maybe quoting a guy that says she wants to boink her dad is not as strong of a point as she thinks it is

And the thing is, Harvey would likely still be receiving therapy as an outpatient, potentially taking meds to help deal with his conditions, likely a mood stabilizer or anxiety med to manage PTSD symptoms, so she’s front seat of him learning to live as a regular person in Gotham with his condition. She’s gonna see his good days, his bad days, the side effects of his medication, and it’s going to change her idea of what psychology is. It’s not just quoting things at people, it’s not just saying “this is good for people” but she’d see what it being put into practice would look like

Maybe that’ll push her away from the subject. Maybe it’ll make her more inclined to study, to learn not just about it as an abstract but how to actually apply it to help people. Learning about actual therapy practices. Maybe living first hand with mental illness would be the push to switch from neurosurgery to clinical psychology in her future plans

Also I just think that Dent would be empathetic and do what he could to help her, meanwhile TwoFace would help her cut loose a little, get a little chaotic and have some fun

You can’t tell me there’s not something fun about her and “Uncle Two-y” having a night on the town that only results in a little property damage. Relax Harv, they didn’t do anything too illegal, because they didn’t get caught or nothing

[qtubbo]

There has been some talk (mainly on twitter but some here) about calling Em, Tubbo’s daughter. It comes off as so cold, and anti what qsmp family have been teaching, if you don’t agree with that dynamic being there that’s perfectly fine (you are allowed opinions funfact). The reason though is always upsetting, stating that Empanada has enough parents, that she’s perfectly happy without him, that any outsiders to her established family would be an intruder trying to take her away. Qsmp’s family’s are a village, what’s so disturbing about someone non official becoming an eggs parent that didn’t “join” the family.

Using Bad and Pomme as an example, Pomme has 4 other parents (in this case I guess it would be bad taking pomme from the french) that take good care of her. When Bad considers Pomme his daughter, it’s out of love, just because he wasn’t assigned doesn’t mean he can’t have parental love for her. Pomme would be fine without Bad being her dad, but Bad being her dad doesn’t Affect her negatively at all. Pomme still choses to wake up for her other parents, bad doesn’t have priority, and it’s ridiculous to assume that he took her from them. Pomme and Bad are not related by a family tree, they just love each other like father and daughter and so they became that.

It’s a bigger statement of the fandom as a whole and how we really push for familial ties forged by blood even in an adoption setting. For example no one had issue with the idea of Roier being Richas’s dad instead of his uncle because he had forged a literal connection to Cellbit. In the same vein people often depict Cellbit as Bobby’s dad in another life even though he never really got to take care of him. These were never considered taking Richas or Bobby from their parents because there was a marriage, Roier joined Cellbit’s family. The most I ever see going against this dynamic is people arguing Cellbit isn’t Jaiden’s family, which inherently pushes the point once again.

We are given examples of non traditional family relationships where everything is done by adoption and there is barely any blood relationships. Though as a fandom we still try to push things into a traditional box. Fit and Tubbo are not related, nor is Fit to any of Sunny’s parents, yet he still calls her his child. They love each other like father and daughter, so why should it be any different why should Fit be blocked from that because he’s not married to any of Sunny’s parents.

Why is seeing a familial relationship more similar to father and daughter between Empanada and Tubbo an issue. If you believe they love each other like that, shouldn’t that be enough. Why must we consider love like that to be certified, that anyone else getting involved is an invader that is just getting in the way of the old parents.

Every single egg was adopted none have parents that would be considered traditional, but yet we still push for the perfect traditional nuclear family were there is no village, there is no family outside the one given, and believing in anything else is disgusting.

[unformula1]

love at midnight (MV33/MV1 x Reader)

love at midnight (MV33/MV1 x Reader)

valentines day series - valentines’ day countdown: -1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ synopsis: you and Max attend an event, not for long though. “They’re spending a lot of money on you Max” You comment, chuckling as you do so. Max cocks up an eyebrow and lets out a scoff before stringing together his words. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ pairing: max verstappen x reader word count: 1329 a/n: i need fic ideas lol. send plz. masterlist ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I hate these, you know that.” Max whispers in your ear as you hold his hand and walk toward the room.

“C’mon! They’re celebrating you!” You roll your eyes and let out a soft sigh, “You can’t just no show!”

“Watch me.” Max taunts.

You playfully punch Max’s shoulder as both of you enter the room.

“Media’s going to be all over this…” He rolls his eyes, pulling you in closer.

Everyone is dressed in formal attire, suit and ties and all. They’re all holding wine glasses, making small talk with people around them. The sounds of glass clinking, laughter and swift footsteps by the servers are heard. 

The room is all decked out with tables and fancy tablecloth, soft jazz music playing in the background, a giant chandelier and the walls are plastered with fancy artwork or sculptures. 

“Just last for a few hours, then we can say I’m tired. Then we can go back.” You whisper to him.

He nods, acknowledging your gameplan. 

“Get ready for small talk.” You tell Max as both of you approach another couple. 

“Max!” The gentleman says, wrapping his arms around Max and pulling him in for a tight hug. You’re forced to let go of Max as he awkwardly returns the hug.

“You remember me?” The man says.

No. 

“Yes! Of course.” Max says, adding a small, pretty forced sounding, laugh.

“I’m so happy for you!” The man says, letting go of his presumed wife’s hands and firmly shaking Max’s hands.

The woman looks at you and flashes a polite smile and you return it. This is very uncomfortable, emphasis on very. She fiddles with her handbag as her presumed husband talks with Max. You tap your foot and look around the room as Max talks with the man.

“So, how are you doing?” The man continues. Max is clearly running out of things to say.

“I’m sorry.” You interject, “Max and I need to go get some drinks.” You smile at the man.

“Ah yes! Enjoy yourselves.” The man says and holds back onto his presumed wife’s hands and walks off.

“That was so much harder than it needed to be.” Max scoffs as you pull him away.

“What a douchebag.” You joke, pulling Max to the drinks section of the room.

The table is laid out with some of the fanciest tablecloths you have ever seen, it’s silky and smooth, but it’s pretty good quality too. You feel the tablecloth as Max pours himself a drink. 

“They’re spending a lot of money on you Max” You comment, chuckling as you do so.

Max cocks up an eyebrow and lets out a scoff before stringing together his words.

“I- uh, yea they do.” He replies, flushing slightly pink.

You raise an eyebrow and pour yourself a drink, holding onto it and walking off with Max.

“More small talk!” You point out. Max lets out a sigh and fakes a smile.

“Max!” Another man, who’s with a group of other men, says as he pulls Max in for an awkward hug.

Max lets out a lot of fake laughs in that conversation and even more awkward responses. He’s done this a million times yet he’s still so bad at it. While they talk, you swirl your drink around, taking sips here and there.

The men finally leave Max alone and he lets out a huge sigh, wiping the sweat off his forehead. 

You laugh at his predicament, patting him on the back.

“Are you laughing at my suffering?” He asks, feigning offence.

“It’s pretty funny…” You chuckle, “and your fake laugh sounds hot.” 

“Really-” Max scoffs, “Because it really shouldn’t.” 

You pat him on the back and take another sip of your drink. 

--------------------------------------------------

A painful hour passes and it’s nearing 11pm at this point. It’s getting tiring for both Max and you. You don’t know how many ‘oh I’m doing great’s you have left in you and how many more times you can awkwardly stand there as people make conversation with Max. 

If you were being honest, Max had it worse. His social battery was getting more and more drained by the minute; every conversation he had felt more and more dreadful. His fake laughs were becoming more and more painful to listen to and his brain felt like shutting down at any second.

He let out a very long sigh, followed by a longer groan. He rubbed his forehead and leaned onto you. You made a few unintelligible noises too.

After a while, you yawned as Max finished up another conversation. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can last.” Max groans.

“Pretty long apparently.” You joke while adjusting your outfit for the one hundredth time.

He gives you a glance, “You are not funny.” 

You smile back at him and he returns a pretty weak one.

“Oh well!” You say, taking his drink and yours, placing them on a spare spot in the table before dragging Max away.

It catches him off guard and he takes a few seconds to process what you’re doing, looking back at the drinks as he walks off.

“What-” He says as you pull him.

“We’re leaving.” You say, politely smiling at the people you walk past.

Max pulls you in closer as he says goodbye to a few important people, using the ‘they’re tired’ excuse.

Both of you walk out the door and take a huge breath of fresh air, walking toward the car park. You open the door and get into the passenger's side. Max looks at you and lets out another groan.

“Really…” He says, dragging the word, “Can’t you drive?” 

He pouts adorably. You keep your cool and look back at him emotionlessly.

“Please…” He says, pouting more and dragging the words like a little child.

You fold.

You step out the passengers side, which earns you a small cheer from Max, who quickly gets into the seat before you change your mind. You get into the driver’s seat and start the car.

“Buckle up Maxie.” You say, “You’re the passenger princess now.”

He chuckles at your comment and turns on the radio.

You start the car and drive off toward your apartment. The ride is pretty long and eventually Max falls asleep in the seat. You’re tempted to do something funny to wake him up but you resist. 

Eventually the clock strikes midnight and the moon is bright in the dark sky. You drive on the nearly empty roads, the only lights still on being the streetlights. 

Max wakes up from his slumber and looks drowsily out the window, “We’re not home yet?” 

He whines and leans back into his chair.

“Stop complaining…” You smile and chuckle.

Sometimes Max can be assertive and dominant; then there are other times where he’s comparable to a child. He whines more and kicks his feet out.

“You’re adorable.” You comment which makes his face brighten up and he smiles widely at you.

He plants a kiss on your cheek and gives you a mischievous looking smile. You shake your head while a small smile escapes. 

His lips touch your cheek again and they’re ever so perfect. They make your cheeks feel amazing, it makes you feel on cloud nine. Just you and Max.

He takes advantage of the fact that you can’t do much back to him since you’re focused on driving and plants another kiss, this time closer to your neck.

Suddenly, you halt to a stop and pull over, which causes Max to get a little surprised. He glances in your direction as you lean over to kiss him on the forehead. He blushes red and looks away. 

Before he knows it, you plant another kiss on his cheek, then another on his neck. His face is burning and you know it. 

“Stop. I get it.” He whines.

“Do you not like it?” You pout at him.

“No- I love it.” He says.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[frvnkcastles]

Hello love! I know you’re probably still in recovery, so feel free to table this request as long as you like (or permanently if it doesn’t vibe with you!) but it came to mind and I immediately thought of you.

I thought, maybe something happens to the reader as a consequence of Frank’s life. Maybe they’re kidnapped or tortured or otherwise hurt, and it’s really not that bad - Frank gets to you in time, and you’re not too terribly hurt. But it sets off the readers cPTSD, which they weren’t ready to share with Frank yet. And he thinks they’re haunted and traumatized by the event, and you don’t know how to tell him it’s not what he thinks. And Franks doing his whole guilt spiral but you can’t explain that it’s not his fault, that these cuts and bruises are nothing. That you’re not scared of those men. That it’s something else you’re scared of

WILL YOU STILL LOVE WHO I AM ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You’re kidnapped and Frank comes to your rescue, but the ordeal triggers your CPTSD and you just want to make Frank feel less guilty.

Warnings: Knives, guns, mild torture, childhood abuse, hurt/comfort

Word count: 1.8k

Author’s note: I hope I did your idea justice!! I don’t feel like this is my best work but it’s a very heavy topic to write about and I really wanted to be respectful and careful with it. Sending you lots of love <33 (Also, I’m realizing I am NOT good at ending fics lmaooo.)

It was supposed to be a fun night out with your girlfriends. And you could have sworn you hadn’t taken your eyes off of your glass, but somewhere between laughing at your friend and reapplying your lipgloss you must have lost focus and that was when they had struck. The dancefloor was full, anyway, so you shouldn’t have been surprised that no one paid attention to a stranger dragging you away, and yet, you wished so dearly that someone would have.

That, you figured, was how you ended up in that warehouse, tied to a chair with your head heavy and groggy, just like your eyelids. You couldn’t tell how long it had been, but you were tired and scared and all you wanted was to go home.

You came to when one of your captors roughly grabbed your chin and tilted your head up. ”Smile. It’s for your boyfriend”, the man grinned in satisfaction, and as he squished your face and snapped a photo of you, you squinted at the flash. It was over quickly but the burn on your jaw remained, and it made you groan as you tried to look around you and process your surroundings.

”What do you say we make you all pretty for when he arrives?” the man spoke up in front of you, and when you turned to look at him, you saw the gleaming knife in his hands. You inhaled sharply and your whole body tensed at the implications, but with your wrists and ankles tied, there was nowhere for you to go.

He traced the knife across your stomach, not enough to draw blood but enough to remind you he could. He then fisted the material of your dress in one hand and, with his other one, drove the blade through the fabric, creating wide tears over your chest and thighs. He laughed mockingly, and as he trailed the knife past your revealed chest, tears welled up in your eyes.

”You’re going to regret this”, you mustered, but the shakiness in your voice didn’t make a very convincing case. Still, the attempt was enough to piss him off, and before you could do or say anything else, he had cut you right across your collarbone.

”Don’t talk back to me”, he warned you, and despite the tears running down your face, you stared back at him defiantly.

”You’re pathetic”, you spat at him, and within seconds, he had swung his hand across your face, making the warehouse echo with the smack. You cried out, and in an instant, you were back in your childhood home — at the hands of your parents, slapped around like you weren’t worth anything else.

You supposed that dissociating from the situation was how you got through the next hour. You were far too busy stuck in a flashback to fully process the cuts you received at the hands of your captor, but you heard every word he whispered in your ear.

You’re worthless. You deserve this. No one’s coming to save you.

It was all too familiar to you. But you had survived then, and you were determined to survive now — you knew Frank was coming to your rescue. Even if you had barely started dating, he wouldn’t let an innocent person get killed by his enemies, and that was exactly why you had faith that it was only a matter of time.

And, indeed, eventually you heard gunshots from behind the heavy door closing you alone with the man. He flinched, and when you both heard Frank roar out his name, you knew it was time. He reacted by circling behind you and holding the knife to your throat, so tight you barely dared to breathe.

Then the door opened, and Frank looked absolutely feral as he pointed the gun at the man behind you. ”Let her go”, he demanded with his gravelly voice, and the man only laughed.

”You stupid—”, he began, but Frank didn’t waste more time — he pulled the trigger, and your captor dropped dead, the knife clattering against the floor as he did.

You exhaled heavily, and immediately, Frank was rushing to your side. ”I gotchu, sweetheart. ’M here now. I’mma take you home, okay?” he rasped, using his own knife to free you from your binds. Your body slumped forward and he caught you with ease, supporting you against his chest as he gathered your limbs and heaved you up into his arms.

”I got you”, he repeated in a quiet whisper, before carrying you out to his truck and taking you home.

Soon enough, you were seated on the edge of your bathtub with an ice pack against your bruising eye and Frank’s hand ghosting over your body to assess all the damage. In hindsight, it really wasn’t as bad as it could have been — minor, shallow cuts littered your skin but they didn’t even need stitches, and the drugs were wearing off. Frank still made sure to disinfect the cuts and apply band-aids where it was necessary, but for the most part, there was nothing to do about the physical aspect.

He helped you out of your torn dress and into one of his sweaters, and the whole time, you could tell how tense he was, like he was a ticking timebomb about to go off.

”You saved me”, you voiced your thoughts out loud, after not having said a word since he had found you. Your words got his eyes to meet yours, and you gave him a weak smile. ”You found me and I’m okay”, you added, and with a wry scoff, Frank looked down at your conjoined hands as you stood in the middle of your bedroom.

”You’re not okay”, he grunted, his voice dripping with guilt and blame, all of it directed at himself. ”I never shoulda let this happen”, he continued as he let go of your hands and started pulling off his skull-adorned vest, only now finding the time to take care of himself.

”It wasn’t your fault”, you argued with a frown, and with his back turned to you, Frank shrugged.

”Wouldn’t have happened to you if you weren’t involved with me”, he pointed out, and from the fragile tone, you felt like he was on the verge of tears. It made you sick to your stomach, and in a sick twist, you started to feel guilty, for causing him distress.

You weren’t used to someone looking after you, either. And his care-taking seemed to only emphasize the voice in your head that your parents had instilled in. You didn’t deserve it. You would have been better off dead.

Swallowing, you gave Frank’s back a caress before dropping your hand. ”Let’s just get some sleep, okay?” you proposed, ready to put this night behind you, and with a small nod, Frank agreed.

It was 4 AM when you jolted awake from a nightmare. You cried out as you flinched up, and reacting to the potential danger, Frank snapped out of his slumber, ready to attack. When he saw you sitting next to him, on the edge of hyperventilating, he ran a hand across his face and reached for your arm.

”Sweetheart”, he called for you, and startled out of your haze, you turned to look at him. You let your shoulders drop and with a sigh, you buried your face in your hands, all the while Frank climbed out of bed and began pacing back and forth in the room.

”This is my fault, shit, I never should have let you go. I never should have gotten you involved in the first place”, he rambled away, ”I fucked up, I did, and now you’re sufferin’ ’cause of me.”

Shaking your head, you tried to open your mouth and tell him. You wanted to. But a part of you was nervous. You hadn’t told him about all your trauma yet, hadn’t disclosed the effects your childhood still had on you, and you didn’t know how to get the ball rolling.

”Frank”, you croaked out, but he didn’t stop pacing. ”Frank, listen to me. It’s not your fault”, you insisted, and finally, he gave you a weary look, like he was catching you in a lie. But it wasn’t a lie — your nightmare hadn’t been about the man with the knife, it hadn’t been about the cuts or the bruises, it hadn’t been about any of it. It was like any other nightmare you had on a regular basis, and if anyone was to be blamed, it was your parents.

”Look… I didn’t want to tell you like this, but it’s not the first or the worst time I’ve been hurt”, you started, and finally, Frank paused and sat on the edge of the bed to be closer to you.

”Whaddya mean?” he wondered, curiosity and concern in his voice as he looked at you intently.

”My parents”, you shrugged with an unamused chuckle. ”I guess all of this is reminding me of the way they treated me. They put me down, physically and verbally, and no one’s ever looked after me the way you do”, you explained, and instantly, something shifted in Frank’s eyes.

”Shit”, he breathed out, ”baby, I’m sorry. You realize you deserve to be looked after, right?”

You licked your lips in thought. ”I don’t know”, you answered truthfully, and that was what got Frank to snap out of his guilt. He sat closer to you and took your hands in his, peppering your knuckles with kisses.

”I mean it. I’m real sorry no one’s shown you that before. But lemme tell you, I was going outta my mind tonight. I was wonderin’ if I’d ever see ya again. And that’s a feeling I never wanna deal with again. I want you in my life, and I fuckin’ wish it wasn’t so dangerous”, he ranted, and pursing your lips together in a faint smile, you nodded.

”It really wasn’t that bad. I’m okay. You came to get me”, you assured, before adding, ”and you’re worth it.”

Chuckling, Frank ducked his head before leaning in to kiss your forehead. ”You’re worth everythin’. I adore you, y’know? There ain’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you”, he emphasized, holding you close to him.

”Thank you for saying that. I might need some support for the next few days. I think I can manage it for the most part but after getting triggered things suck a little extra for a while”, you spoke shyly, worried that you were putting too much pressure on him, or revealing too much of yourself. This thing with him was still so fresh, and that was why you had avoided telling him about your past before — it was too much too soon. But now, you supposed, you both had baggage and it was just a part of who you were.

”Hey, you got it. Anything else you need right now?” Frank tilted his head at you, and quickly, you nodded.

”Yes. For you to stop blaming yourself and to get in bed with me”, you decided, and with a chuckle, Frank nodded.

”Aight. I’ll try my best. C’mere, sweetheart.” And with that, he wrapped you into his embrace and helped you fall back asleep, satisfied that you were still in one piece and home with him.

[kaisturni]

have me (let me pt. 2) | m. sturniolo

→ matt x fem!reader

→ plot; you’ve been on your own for a while, not needing or wanting the company of anyone. what happens when you meet a guy late night on the beach, and everything about him draws you in?

→ includes; making out, smut with plot, fem!oral, orgasm

→ a/n; IM SO HAPPY TO BE BACK! i missed you guys ;). anyway i got horny writing this. as always, hope you love it as much as i do! ps everyone say thank you anon!

NOT PROOFREAD!

——————————————————————————

“want t… want to go to the back?”

i can feel my ears ringing at his words. my mouth is agape, gaze bouncing between his eyes and then ultimately landing on his lips.

that’s enough for me to nod vigorously at his suggestion, and we’re both scrambling to make our way to the smooth black leather that covers his back seats.

my knees are to my chest, watching him close the door of the back seat, matt’s gaze not leaving mine.

maybe this is a bad idea.

i shouldn’t be doing this.

i shouldn’t be in the backseat of his car.

my racing thoughts are cut off by the sound of matt’s voice filling the empty space between us,

“y/n… are you okay?”

i feel embarrassed, just how i did when he first caught me staring at the beach. but i cant help it, none of this moment feels real and i keep having to remind myself that it is. my cheeks feel hot. my body feels odd.

i want his touch.

“completely fine” i manage to make out, “come here,”

he gives me a crooked smile, our bodies moving in synch, i’m sliding beneath him, my nearly bare back against his cool leather seats, and he’s crawling on top of me.

i swallow at the feeling of my heart beating out of my chest, matt’s eyes piercing into mine, head dipping down to meet mine like a magnet.

his lips are just as soft as they were on the beach; but this kiss feels different.

it feels hungry, lustful, like he’s ready to pounce and devour me at any moment.

almost instinctively, my hands find a home in his hair, and the light moan that comes from his mouth as soon as i do is enough to drive me even crazier.

matt’s hands wander, grazing over my skin so delicately in comparison to how is mouth is on mine.

it takes me by surprise; his soft touch turns rough when he squeezes my breast, and i gasp against his mouth at the feeling.

he plunges his tongue into my mouth, and i don’t stop him. with the way he kisses me, it’s hard to ignore the unmistakable burning sensation in my core, and i fully aware i’m growing wetter by the second.

what is almost hard to notice, is the string of my bikini bottom being slowly tugged undone.

matt pulls back from me abruptly, a small trail of salvia connecting our mouths for a moment.

he looks like a god; lips puffy and slick from kissing me, parted and panting, hair just about covering his eyes, and half naked in front of me.

his head comes back down to my level, but not to meet my face again. instead he’s leaving gentle kisses and nipping at the inside of my thighs, and i bring no hesitation to spread my legs further for him.

“can i?” he asks, his hand playing with the other side of my bikini, still tied; not for long though.

“god— please”

matt’s face curves into a smile for just a moment, before resuming the task of sliding off my unlaced covering.

it takes seconds for me to become hyper aware of how naked i am in front of him, his eyes not leaving my pussy.

a shaky breath escapes my lips, and i try to close my legs, but matt is quick to spread and push them up to my chest.

“hm” he lets out, with a shake of his head.

i close my eyes in anticipation, unable to control the guttural moan that comes from my mouth at the feeling of him softy sucking on my clit.

i’m latching my hand on to the head of the passenger seat, feeling like my knuckles are about to split from how hard i’m gripping it.

matt’s pace doesn’t slow down, it only speeds up, humming against my pussy every time his actions are rewarded with a moan or whine.

i wonder how he’s so good.

almost too good.

how many women has he been with before? am i just another number? another hookup? is he someone that’s just going to walk away so easily?

my thoughts are again interrupted when i feel two fingers enter me; my breathing increasing as he pumps his fingers in and out, wet noises filling the hot air in the small space we occupy.

the knots in my stomach start to twist and form, an orgasm soon to follow,

no one has ever made me cum before.

“matt— mm, s-slow down, gonna cu-“

“no,” he huffs out, head still hung near my pussy, eyes low and drunk with lust,

“i want you to cum on my fingers,”

i nod vigorously, who am i to deny that?

the speed and curl of his fingers doesn’t waver, my head becoming fuzzy when i feel my release.

he keeps going through my high, and only stops when my moans become light pants.

i sit up to look at matt; his fingers are coated in my own juices, glistening in the moonlight that creeps into the windows.

“how was that?” he asks, and i let out a light laugh at his question, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to need reassurance for his skills.

“amazing, like— wow,” i run a hand through my head, removing the hair that has been sticking to my forehead.

matt’s eyes are closed as he’s catching his own breath, a pang of guilt stinging my chest for a second when i look down and see his bulge pressing into his shorts.

gaining confidence knowing i caused his little situation just from pleasuring me, i should really return the favor.

“you know…” i start, sitting up, moving tuck my legs under me,

“i wanna make you feel good too, matt”

with that sentence, his eyes shoot open.

his breath hitches, lips parting when his gaze flickers down to my chest, words about to leave his mouth before we’re both startled by a buzzing ringtone coming from the front seats.

i for sure know not a soul is calling me, but for him i can’t stay the same.

“shit,” he curses, grabbing his phone that’s face down on the dashboard.

i do my best to be subtle about who’s calling him at this hour, and i see a contact picture of him and and identical guy next to him,

chris. must be one of his brothers.

he mumbles a fear swears before answering the phone,

“hello…? yeah, i was just at the beach… i was on my way home actually… yeah… i’ll be there soon… bye.”

the conversation is over as quickly as it started, and a frown grows on his face when he sets his phone down to look at me,

“do you have to go?”

it almost comes out shaky— i don’t want to leave this, leave him, be alone at my place without another warm body in my company.

again.

“yeah, chris and my other brother nick are tripping about where i am. how close do you live from here?”

i sigh, but quickly compose my frown with a smile.

“about 5 minutes, it’s a quick drive”

“perfect, i’ll uh… get in the front while you change”

his eyes run down my body a final time before just barely opening the car door, leaving space for him to exit but not completely expose me to the outside; as if anyone is around.

i swallow heavily, quickly tying up my bikini back onto my body while matt is in the front, the gentle purr of the engine starts as his fingers move quickly to text, i assume chris.

this is probably the best moment to put at least minimal clothes on, and i grab my shorts from the floor of the back seat, sliding them on right before i crawl back into the passenger side.

silence.

i hate this. the air feels almost awkward while matt puts his car in reverse, making our exit into the quiet streets.

oh god. was this a mistake? does he regret what we did? is he having some kind of after sex clarity? no. we didn’t even have sex.

couldn’t get that far.

୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧

“you can turn left up here then right, and it’s that apartment complex right there” i point out, and he says nothing but delivers me a nod instead.

quickly enough, we’re at the front of my complex, and i silently grab my things, ready to open the door and bid this man of the night goodbye, when his voice finally sounds,

“can i walk you up?”

the blank expression on my face changes, and i can feel my lips curve into a smile,

“i’d like that, thank you”

“no problem,” he says, smiling as he takes my things from my hands, leaving just my keys in my lap.

i really dont want this to be over.

whether it’s a blessing or a curse, i only live on the second floor. my keys jingle in the lock of my front door before clicking open, and i see matt peek inside my apartment when i swing the door open.

“thank you, matt. this was- this was great.” i say, taking my things from him, resisting the urge to throw them aimlessly in the hallway of my home.

“it was great, and you know what?”

“you wish you could come inside?”

i wasn’t expecting to say it. i definitely was thinking it, but wasn’t sure if i was going to let that thought out.

i’ve been bold and unlike myself enough times tonight, so what’s one more thing added to the list?

i’m feeling spontaneous.

he lets out a laugh, slightly throwing his head back before looking at me and reaching a hand up to caress my face.

“that- for sure that- but, what i was going to say was, made out on the beach, you were naked in my car, i ate you out, and i don’t even have your number yet.”

my core begins to heat up again as he recounts the night, the pleasure i had experienced being absolutely unreal.

“well then you should have it, and then maybe you can come inside”

his smile grows bigger and bigger,

“hopefully that maybe turns into a ‘you should’, but put your number in my contacts,”

this time, i don’t really give a fuck about where my stuff goes at this point, i whip around and toss it, grabbing matt’s phone that he hands to me, a low laugh coming out of him,

i put in my contact, and hand it back to him,

“text me when you get home?”

“of course i will,”

his hand comes back to my face almost instinctively, and his other hand reaches to intertwine with mine.

i don’t want to wait for him to do it, so i do the honors of pressing my lips to his.

the kiss is soft and sweet, neither of us pulling apart.

remembering he has somewhere to be, i break it, but keeping my face close to his.

“i’ll see you soon, y/n”

“yes you will,”

and with that, he kisses the top of my head, starting to back away, letting our other hands stay linked until the very last moment, where he gives me a wave with the hand that just escaped mine.

i wave back, the linger of his touch still burning on my hand where it last was.

god i hope i see him again.

whenever that may be.

always with love, kaia <3

[minimomoe]

it’s just… the thought of Toji finally growing some gray hairs is getting to me …

Toji is not vain by any means, but growing older is scary. It’s a reminder that his time is limited. He finally turned his life around but now he feels like he’s running out of time. When he’s shaving and he finds those grey hairs he pauses for a moment, reflecting on his life choices, he’s kinda lost in the moment until you walk into the bathroom again.

“You missed a spot,” you point out, wrapping your arms on his waist.

“Oh yeah, yeah you’re right.” You frown at him, noting the far away look in his eyes. You lean back on the counter to face him and tug on his shirt.

“You okay baby?”

“I’m fine.” But it’s not fine. His voice is still too quiet. This wouldn’t do at all and you couldn’t just leave it as it was.

“Okay, what’s on your mind?” A few beats of silence pass by before he meets your gaze. He looked unsteady, which was something you’ve never seen from your husband before.

“Do you notice anything different about me?”

The question took you by surprise. Has you missed something? A new hair cut maybe? Your eyes flick over his body trying to spot the change. “Different? Different how?”

His ears flamed red. He turned away before you can inspect further. “Never mind. Forget about it.”

“Wait did I say something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t do anything. I’m just getting too old it seems,” he said with a dry chuckle. You frown again at the thought, hoping that he wasn’t doubting himself.

“Too old? Now why would you think that?”

He turned his head to show you his side burns that were slowly greying, and you run your hands through them.

“I think it looks nice. You’d make an attractive silver fox.”

“Isn’t it too early for that?”

“Maybe,” you hum. “But you have had a lot of stressful events over the years. It’s doesn’t look bad at all.” You gave him a reassuring smile but he still didn’t look convinced.

“I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about us.”

“That’s what you’re worried about? Toji, you do know I’m aging the same time you do, right? The days are moving through the both of us, making us move a little slower than the last time. It doesn’t mean anything bad though. Everybody has to go through it.”

“But you’re young now. You shouldn’t be tied down with me.”

“You can’t choose that for me,” you say firmly. “I like what we have so far. I want to be with you, and Megumi, and the dogs. I want to share more birthdays and holidays together. I want to show you my grey hairs when they finally show.”

Toji falls silent and you sigh. You wrap your arms around his waist, trying your hardest to dispel his worries through the touch, pouring as much love and confidence you could.

“I never thought the day would come that I would have to tell you not to care what other people think. You’ve done it so many times for me and for that I’m grateful. If anyone assumes anything other than love between us they are bitter and lonely. They can’t believe that two people can love each other with no other ulterior motives, because it is something that is hard to find. But we know the truth so I don’t pay them any mind, so neither should you, okay?”

Toji made a gruff sound that vibrates through your body. You wanted to look up at him but decided against it.

“Plus everybody knows that men get finer with age. I’ll have to carry a stick around to whack away touchy people.”

“I do that all the fucking time with men looking at you.”

“Great. Now we can be the super hot couple that’s mean to everybody but each other.” You look up at him and smile. You don’t comment on his watery eyeline but press a kiss into his cheek.

“Finish shaving, I’ll get Megumi ready.”

[secretmellowblog]

i just dont really understand why theyd target les mis? and like. its interrupting the work of actors and crew and house staff who dont have anything to do with fossil fuel corps. people who just paid to see the show who dont have anything to do with it.

i understand les mis is a show about rebellion and humanity but to me it doesnt make any sense.

( i say this as someone whos probably very unaware and very slow to realize the deeper meaning of things so i apologize if it comes off snobby i am just confused !! /genuine )

I'm very sorry if this comes off as rude but like.... "I don't understand why people would use Les Mis as the symbolic centerpiece of an act of protest/rebellion against the government" is just a very strange thing to say, and I'm genuinely not quite sure how to begin to respond XD. Like....it's literally Les Mis. It is Do You Hear the People Sing. The original novel was written to be a political rallying cry, it was written to bind together activists, and it has been used that way thousands of times since its publication in 1862. It's Les Mis, I don't know what else to tell you XD. Also I know this next comparison isn't perfect, but:

“I don’t understand why Les Amis interrupted Lamarque’s funeral.  Obviously I agree with Les Amis’s goals, but was this really the right way to protest? Obviously the government is doing something bad— but was this symbolic event really the right place to talk about it? Why even choose to interrupt this event, and the lives of the workers leading it and everyday people attending it? It wasn’t responsible for what was happening! 

Okay, yeah, I get the funeral is ‘symbolically significant.’  I get that Lamarque has become, in popular culture, a symbol of rebellion and resistance against a government’s unfair policies.  I get Lamarque’s funeral is a pretty big public event that has a lot of symbolic significance ties to ideas of rebellion against the state.

I get that Lamarque’s words are often seen as a rebellious call to action, so illegally interrupting his funeral could be a statement about resisting tyranny. It could be a call to action playing off the popularity and symbolic role that Lamarque has in the public consciousness.

 But at the same time— shouldn’t Les Amis have just gone to the palace and attacked the king directly? Why disrupt this symbolic event instead? They’re not really going after the people responsible! 

After all, there were so many people there who just wanted a normal day. They weren’t responsible for what the government was doing and had nothing to do with it.  They wanted to see the procession, to hear Lafayette’s speech and grieve a political figure they cared for. They wanted to hear people praise ‘resistance’ in the abstract, without actually doing it.

 Weren’t Les Amis disrupting that?  

Aren’t Les Amis bad activists? Isn’t disrupting people’s everyday lives for the sake of 'activism' always inherently a bad thing? I’m not against activism, but isn’t doing that kind of disruptive activism rude? Isn’t disrupting the lives of ordinary people just doing their jobs or going out for a special event evil— no matter why you’re doing it, or what your goals are, or whether the government actually is doing something vile that we should start to stage great events rallying against?

Even if this Lamarque's funeral has special significance because of its symbolic pop cultural ties to rebellion against tyranny—shouldn’t they have just avoided rudely interrupting some regular people’s everyday lives? 

Protests shouldn’t disrupt things. they should be big parades that don’t make anyone uncomfortable, don’t interrupt anything, and don’t disrupt any aspects of ‘normal people’s daily life.’ No one should ever target symbolic events— like a funeral for a political figure or a musical about revolution—  to make a political statement. Protests should be little quiet festivals that cause absolutely no interruption in everyday life so that we can all just safely ignore them, until the climate catastrophe they’re warning us about arrives.”  

[auras-moonstone]

Holaaa me emocione bastante con saber q eres de argentina (yo no soy de argentina soy de Mexico) pero esta cool saber q también hablas español lol

llevo rato leyendo tus trabajos y me encanta como escribeees, no se que te parezca la idea de una historia de Ethan como Spiderman tbh es mi head canon favorito y no hay mucha gente que lo escriba ahí una idea no se si sigas aceptando requests o si ya habías escrito algo de Ethan como Spiderman pero me encantaría leer algo así escrito por ti obvi 🤭

(En ingles ofc!)

Perdooon si escribí bastante me emocione jajaja apenas agarre el valor Para dejar un request

hola 🇲🇽 ! perdón por haber tardado tanto en escribir esta request😫 me encantó la idea, hace bastante que quería escribir algo sobre ethan como spiderman <3 espero que te guste❤️🫶🏻

the story of us — ethan landry

word count: 2,693

pairing: spider-man!ethan landry x fem!reader

summary: ethan and y/n’s relationship might be ending soon because of the boy’s behaviour and secrets.

based on: the story of us by taylor swift

warnings: mention of blood. a bit of angst.

Y/N SHOULDN’T FEEL SURPRISED FOR HAVING BEEN STOOD UP BY ETHAN, it seemed to be his favourite hobby lately. But when he came up to her with regretful puppy eyes asking for them to meet so he could explain the reason behind his behaviour, she really thought he would keep his word and show up to fix things.

But once again he failed her, and now Y/N was walking back home alone with mascara running down her face and with her chest filled with disappointment and sadness.

Y/N was walking through the dark and unsafe NYC streets, wondering what excuse her boyfriend was going to use this time, when she heard a whimper coming from the creepy unlit alley she was passing by. Her whole body tightened with fear, hands instantly became sweaty, her heart thundered dangerously fast and yet she stopped walking. Then the noise came again, this time more clear—it was a pained curse from a male voice.

The girl couldn’t decide if she was stupid or too brave, but she walked towards the person. Her eyes widened at the scene—there, sitting next to a container, was Spiderman; a bleeding Spiderman.

“Holy hell, are you okay?” she cried, inspecting the wound. “Of course you’re not okay! You’re bleeding a lot! A lot!”

Ethan cursed internally. Of all the people who could have found him, it had to be her. “Thanks for the calming words.” the superhero said between gritted teeth.

“Sorry! I shouldn’t have said that. I was exaggerating, it’s not that bad.” Y/N tried to convince him.

“You’re a horrible liar” his hands were shaking as he tried to put pressure on the wound.

“Okay, let’s get you out of here, the smell is awful.” the girl said, putting one of his—very strong and muscled—arms around her shoulders. “I know you’re in pain, but I need you to use a bit of your strength to help me lift you to your feet. Can you do that?” the masked figure nodded. “Okay, at the count of three.”

Ethan closed his eyes in pain as he let out a cry of agony. He had been walking towards the cafe where Y/N worked when he heard screaming. An old woman and her granddaughter were being robbed and it was his duty to save them. He would’ve made it to his date with Y/N if the thief’s partner hadn’t caught him off guard and sliced his stomach. Time didn’t matter anymore, he couldn’t show up wounded, and he didn’t have the energy to walk so he stayed in that creepy alley where Y/N found him.

“Ouch!” he yelled when the girl carelessly dropped him on her couch as soon as they arrived to her apartment.

“Sorry!” Y/N said guiltily. “My arms hurt.”

“It’s okay. Thank you, I just need to rest here for a few minutes and I’ll be out of your sight.” he panted.

“You can’t leave! I need to clean you up and then you need to eat something.”

“No, it’s okay. Look, just lend me a first-aid kit, I’ll do it myself. Then I’m leaving.” it wasn’t that Ethan was ungrateful for her help, he just didn’t want to be a burden. Also, if she was to see his body, she was going to recognize him instantly. And Ethan was not going to let that happen.

“Hey, you’re always saving our asses, it’s time someone finally takes care of you.” she smiled softly.

“I really appreciate that, seriously. But I’d be more comfortable doing it myself, if you don’t mind.”

“As you wish.” she said in understanding. And as he stitched himself up, Y/N went to the kitchen to prepare something for him to eat.

Ethan watched her from the doorframe. He wanted to close the space so badly, he wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and never let go. They saw each other everyday, but it’s been days since the last time he got to hold her, kiss her, touch her.

Y/N was really pissed at him, and with good reason. Countless were the times he had stood her up and he slowly—and absentmindedly—started to distance himself from her. And a few days ago, Y/N just exploded and they started fighting. Instead of telling her the truth (that he was a superhero and that the NYC streets were more dangerous than he had thought) he told her she was being dramatic and that he needed a bit of space. He regretted it instantly, and wanted to throw up as soon as his eyes caught her hurt expression. He was trying to keep her safe, but he handed everything in the worst way possible and ended up wounding the person that meant the most to him.

“You cooked for me?” he spoke up. Even though she couldn’t see it, she felt the smile on his voice.

“I told you, it’s time someone takes care of you.” she answered. “Is the wound okay? Does it hurt?”

“I’m fine. I’m a big tough boy.” he said in a teasing voice when she finished. “Thank you, Y/N. You saved me.”

“Anytime, Spider-boy. And honestly, you shouldn’t even thank me, you risk your life for us every- wait a minute.” she stopped when she realised something. “How do you know my name?”

Fuck, he cursed internally. He had messed up. “You told me.” he tried to sound confident.

“No, I didn’t. Do we know each other? Do we go to the same college?” Y/N asked curiously.

“I need to go.” he stood up abruptly, and a whimper of pain left his mouth.

“No! I’m sorry, I won’t press the subject.” she said, grabbing his forearms to sit him back on the chair. “I respect you wanting to keep your identity hidden. I won’t ask any more questions, but please stay. You’re still weak, you need to eat something.”

“You already did a lot. Really.”

“I swear to god, stop being stubborn.”

Who was he kidding with the hesitation? Just one look at her doe eyes and he was on his knees. As he ate, Y/N had her back to him so he could take his mask off. She could have turned around at any time and discover that the friendly neighbour hero was her boyfriend, but she never did. She respected his wish of not wanting to show his face, and that made him love her ever more.

“Your omelette was great” he said as he put the plate on the dishwasher. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Why were you crying?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. Ethan and Y/N weren’t on speaking terms, so maybe by talking to her through his secret identity would give him an insight on how to fix the relationship he tore up.

The sad girl frowned and pressed her lips into a line. She didn’t talk to her friends much about Ethan because she didn’t want to put them in an uncomfortable position, as they were all friends, so she had been keeping her frustrations bottled up. And now there was this trustful kind stranger asking her about it, so she gave in.

“My boyfriend didn’t show up to our date. He has been acting so strange lately. He shows up late, he always has a different excuse and gets all nervous and defensive because he’s obviously lying, but most times he doesn’t even show up. Like today.” the exhaustion and defeat was evident on her tone and it broke his heart. “He was supposed to meet me today, so he could open up and tell me what’s going on in his life, but…”

“He let you down again.” he added in a sad tone. Y/N nodded, tears blurring her eyes. “What are you going to do?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath “I honestly don’t know. I love him, I really do, but our relationship has become one-sided. I’m trying to save it, but it seems like he doesn’t care anymore.”

Fear crept into his mind. Was that it? Was it their end? Was she going to break up with him the next day? He wouldn’t blame her. Yet, he couldn’t help being selfish—he did not want them to break up.

“Maybe there is something going on in his life… something that he can’t tell you for your own good.” he said, and he knew he sounded stupid.

“What could be so bad that he can’t talk to me about it? We have always been honest with each other. He knows he can tell me anything, he knows that he’ll have my support no matter what. I just want him to talk to me. I don’t know what happened with our relationship, but there’s nothing I can do unless he talks to me.”

“Things are going to get better.” the superhero said, rubbing her arm in a comforting gesture.

Ethan had multiple opportunities to be honest with her, to explain why he had become so distant and yet he held his pride and told her she was exaggerating the whole situation. So, as much as she tried to be positive and believe Spider-man’s words, she was scared the story of them might be ending soon.

ETHAN REACHED THE TABLE WHERE THE GROUP WAS SITTING AT and eyed the two empty spots left. One was next to Chad, who was talking animatedly with Tara and Mindy, and the other one was beside Y/N. His spot had always been the one next to hers, but with their current complications and not knowing exactly in which page they were at, he didn’t know what to do. Seeing the way she was nervously pulling at her clothes and tried to look busy, he ended up choosing the first option.

Even though she was trying hard to avoid looking at him, his presence was overwhelming and it took all of her strength to hold back from peaking a glance at his gorgeous smile and perfect curls. She was dying to know if the situation was killing him as much as it was killing her.

Little did she know the boy was losing his mind. The anguish was too much, so many thoughts were running through his mind. He was dying to let her know what was going on, but he was scared it was going to put her in danger. He would rather have her be angry at him than her getting hurt because of him. The wiser thing would be to let her go, to free her from the chaos that came with being involved with a superhero, but he the selfish part of him couldn’t break things up—Ethan loved her too much to give her up.

He needed to come up with a decision. This contest of who could act like they cared less needed to end and he could not tolerate the loud silence between them anymore. “Do you think we could talk tonight?”

“If you have the decency to show up.” she shrugged.

Her armour was up, and it was understandable. “I will. I’ll meet you at your apartment after Econ?”

“Okay.” Y/N nodded. “I’m serious, Ethan. Show up. This is your last chance.”

“I won’t let you down again, Y/N/N. I promise.”

ETHAN DIDN'T KNOW IF THE AREA WHERE Y/N WORKED IN WAS EXTREMELY DANGEROUS OR IF HE JUST HAD BAD LUCK, but every time he was near, something happened that forced him to step in. Thankfully, this time it was an inexperienced thief he easily managed to bring down but his wound wasn't fully healed yet so he was in a bit of pain after the fight. But the important thing was that he made it to Y/N's house.

The girl was unable to hide her relief when she opened the door, but it soon turned into worry. "Ethan, what the hell happened? You're bleeding!"

The curly-haired boy looked down to find a scarlet stain on his blue polo shirt. The wound on his abdomen must have opened while he was stopping the thief, and he didn't even noticed because of the adrenaline. "Um, it's nothing, I-"

"Sit down." she ordered right before leaving to grab the first-aid kit. When she lifted his shirt up, she frowned.

"What is it?" Ethan asked worriedly.

"Ethan, when did this happen?"

"Um, I was robbed while making my way here." the lie slipped off his tongue in an instant.

"You keep lying to me." she let out a humourless laugh. "This has been stitched before, Ethan."

He sighed, thinking of another excuse. "Okay, fine. It's not new. I fell and landed on something sharp, and it cut my stomach."

"Okay, now I'm not only angry because you lied to me twice in the past sixty seconds, but also because you think I'm stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid."

"If you believe I'd buy that shitty excuse, then yes, I think you think I'm stupid." she spat. "Tell me the truth. Right now, Ethan."

Silence embraced the room. As Y/N worked on the wound, Ethan tried to find the words to explain. "I don't know where to start."

"Let's start by telling me how did you get this."

"A thief did it to me." he said, and ignoring his girlfriend's warning glance, he continued, "but he wasn't robbing me. He was stealing from an old woman and I stepped in. He cut me while I was distracted."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise as they scrutinised his face, trying to spot any sign that told her he was lying. She find none. "You fought them?" she asked in disbelief, and Ethan nodded. "That's... that's really brave. And stupid."

"It's my job." he blurted out, making her look at him in confusion. "Well, it's not a job job, because I don't get paid. Not that I'd do it for money, even though I need it-"

"Eth!" she interrupted him. "I love it when you ramble, you're adorable, but could you please explain?"

"I missed you calling me Eth." he whispered, caressing her right cheek. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too, Eth. But we need to talk. Well, you need to talk. What is going on with you? Why are you so distant? Why do you keep missing our dates? What did you mean by 'It's my job'?"

"I'll tell you, but I need to warn you first. You were in danger before knowing this, but after I tell you... you are going to be an even bigger target. And you can't tell anyone, okay? No one knows, and no one has to know."

"Okay, just spit it out, Ethan."

"I'm Spider-man."

It was as if their surroundings had frozen, and minutes felt like hours. Y/N sat on the couch, dumbfounded, and Ethan's leg bounced as he bit his nails.

Meanwhile, Y/N's brain worked at a fast pace, trying to connect the dots. Now, in hindsight, everything made sense. His bruises, his wounds, why he was always in high alert, why his walls were up, his grades dropping, his tardiness... he became the friendly neighborhood spiderman. The vigilante she had found bleeding the previous night.

"Hey! You used your secret identity to get information out of me, asshole!"

"That's all you have to say?!"

"I mean, no... but I don't really know what to say."

"You're not mad?"

"I don't think so. I really wish you would've told me, could've saved up lots of arguments, but I do understand why you didn't tell me. I'm glad you opened up, tho. I am really tired of missing you and not kissing you."

Ethan laughed. “I love you. I missed you like crazy, and I'm sorry for everything.” he hold her close to his chest and let himself relax for the first time in weeks. “By the way, you need to quit that job. I swear there’s a robbery every five fucking minutes.”

“Have you been following me?” she arched her eyebrow.

“Keeping an eye on you.” he corrected. “I can’t let anything happen to my girl, and like I said, it’s a dangerous area.”

Y/N laughed and kissed his lips tenderly “I love you, my little stalker. Don’t keep secrets from me ever again.”

“Never. I promise. We’re a team.”

[agendabymooner]

time to rock and roll || fa14 fic (1)

THE BREAKUP AND MAKEUP DUOLOGY — PART ONE

“when will you learn? i’m the queen and i’ll put you in your place.”

Summary: It was 2007, and Fernando Alonso had to learn the hard way that his ego and pride were getting in the way of the love that he built up with the recently-retired professional wrestler Trish Staedtlander. OR the 2007 Canadian GP left Trish no choice but to put on a brave face and show nothing but indifference. It’s safe to say that Fernando’s pride was immediately humbled by her words and impassive expressions as he begged her to come back.

Content warning: 2007 McLaren driver!Fernando, mentions the spygate scandal, exes-to-lovers trope(ish), use of explicit language, poorly Apple-translated Spanish dialogues, platonic!Lewis Hamilton x OFC, brief Jenson Button x OFC content, mentions brief alcohol consumption, jealous!Fernando, 6300+ words of nonsense.

Note: I cannot believe I have returned to my Nando fucker phase. Enjoy xx

masterlist

“¡Si así es como funciona, entonces me voy! Feliz jodido aniversario para ti.” If this is how it works, then I’m leaving! Happy fucking anniversary to you. 

“Vuelve, Trisha,” Come back, Trisha. Fernando sighed exasperatedly. 

“No, Fernando,” Beatrice Staedtlander was a force to be reckoned with. With enough time and money, she could do whatever with her life— yet she had chosen him. She expressed her feelings towards travelling with him, telling him that out of those 52 weekends of a year, she only had him for less than a half. 

He wasn’t keen on the idea of taking her to every race. The worst part about this was that he decided to turn her down at their second anniversary— three weeks or so after she initially proposed the idea of being around him more often through a call. 

Was it because of the grid girls? She asked herself. Because she was certain that she could take it. She fought against the most attractive women in the wrestling industry before, hell she was declared the poster girl for all of them. She definitely had no problem— knowing that she was the one that the Fernando Alonso would come home to. 

She tried to explain to him that she was fine with any kind of issues that may come as they travel. She could adjust for him. But that wasn’t why he kept rejecting her. 

He could have simply said that he didn't want to be angry at her if he had lost. It was much better to cool off on the flight back to Canada instead of having her witness him in the worst way possible. He could have said all of that, but all he said was that he didn’t want any distraction. 

Was that what he really thought of her? All those times she had been with him and he’d be reading something while she spoke… is she just a distraction? Seventeen weekends to compete and another twenty to prepare for the season and all she was to him was something to fill up his schedule?

She really shouldn’t have flown to England for this. She could have just left him working at the McLaren headquarters for his break until the next race.

“I’m going home,” she told him firmly, her voice shaky as she stood there. Her hand gripped the handle of her suitcase as she spewed out, “17 weekends are what I always miss, Fernando, and twenty of those you’re always working or out— so if I’m just a distraction then I’ll make sure to make the rest of your 15 weeks as peaceful as they can be. I don’t want to see you so please don’t come to my house.”

She slammed the door on him and left as soon as she hailed a cab— it took her three minutes to do all of that. Yet it took Fernando five minutes to catch up with her but she was nowhere close to him. She wasn’t in the lobby nor outside waiting for a taxi. 

She already left.

“I shouldn’t have retired early.” “You had a bad injury last year, you had to retire early.” 

“How do I unlearn Spanish?” “Don’t speak it.” 

“Seriously, I really would just like to stay at home and not be here,” Trish whined, playing with the ice on her empty glass. “I’m not fully miserable, guys. Why am I having some sort of intervention?” 

“Psh,” Amy scoffed. “I just watched you eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s for an hour straight while you’re watching Dirty Dancing. It’s been exactly what— seven weeks since you broke up with him. You need the intervention, trust me.”

“I think it’s very brave of you to break up with him,” Jay told her with a slight shrug. Of course he would say that— they’ve dated for three months and Jay constantly flirted with her even after she began seeing Fernando. “Look, maybe if you try to attend the Grand Prix tomorrow you’ll have some sort of closure. You’ll see his face and realize that you deserve better than someone who only cares for you if it’s convenient.” 

“I’m not going to fucking go— thank you,” Trish nodded at the server who walked away after giving her the second glass of rum and coke. Sipping on it, she found herself being stared at by her best friends. “I don’t even know why I decided to go to Montreal of all places! I could have gone to Banff for a vacation instead.”

“Because there’s a part of you that wants to support him,” Amy said. “He sent those passes to you in hopes that maybe you’ll watch him race.” 

“Tried telling him that before,” Trish huffed out petulantly, “look where that got me.” 

“He probably didn’t mean it,” Jay tried to reason out, leaving the blonde to glare at him. She had heard that pathetic excuse before, and she wasn’t about to hear that when defending what she thought was the love of her life. Jay caught the look in her face and grimaced, “Okay, poor excuse, sorry— but maybe there are some things that he hadn’t said?” 

“Did he ring you or something?” Beatrice raised a brow. 

Jay shook his head slightly, “No, but you’ve seen the man. Does he look like the type to ditch you because he’s looking for something new or something?” 

“Yes,” Amy and Trish answered, both looking at the only man at the table. 

Amy looked at Trish, “But Trish, come on, how bad could it be? We only have two days to watch— the chances of seeing him may be slim. Plus, we can pull some strings from Stephanie and maybe get some extra privileges that come with the pass?” 

“I do like the sound of that,” Jay nodded. “Talk to the McMahons. Probably find a way to get out of the McLaren area?”

“Yeah, I’ll call Steph or something. If not, I'm sure Shane would be generous enough to get us some other paddock passes,” Amy stood up and reached for her phone, flipping it open to contact their former employer’s daughter. She walked away from their booth. 

Trish sighed and realized that her drink was empty.

“She’s not calling Shane right? Like my ex, son of my boss Shane just so I can see my other ex race?” Trish asked Jay with a ridiculing face, leaving the other Canadian to shrug his shoulders.

She wished she hadn’t gone to Montreal because she could feel his presence regardless of which part of the city he was in. Those weeks of being alone were hellish, if you were to ask them. 

Everyone had taken notice of the model-turned-wrestler-turned-legend when she, alongside her former coworkers, arriving at the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve. 

It was surprising, to say the least; she assumed that with what she was wearing - a low rise jeans with her custom buckled belt and some tight white tees - she wouldn’t have stuck out. She wasn’t sure if it was the buckle that caught everyone’s attention - or maybe it was the cowboy hat that she wore in the colour of McLaren. But everyone saw her and had taken photos left and right. 

Jay and Amy had also signed some things — seeing as the three of them were to become legends of WWE. They’ve gone around the grid and talked to people. Team principals were rather glad to see the three of them, telling the trio that they made a good impression as professional wrestlers during the Attitude Era. 

The three tried to cut the conversations short, not wanting to withhold the staff’s attention to their own racing teams.

Trish dreaded going to the McLaren area, not wanting to see her lover, Fernando, and feeling like she was imposing once more. Like he said, she was just a distraction… so she saw no reason why she should see his team before the qualifying. Her feet were backing off and she was ready to walk away. 

She would have gone had it been for a young Lewis Hamilton who caught a glimpse of the Canadian wrestler. He was quick to reach out to her.

“H- Miss Stratus!” He greeted her, nervousness written all over his face but he smiled nonetheless. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. My name is Lewis Hamilton.” 

Trish quickly recognized the name, “Ah yes! It is very nice to meet you, Hamilton. You’re extremely impressive you know? I’ve watched the races from the television and you’ve got a lot of potential. It’s too bad I’ve never seen you race in person ‘til now.” 

“That’s a lot of compliment coming from you,” Lewis chuckled meekly, “and you’re the one to talk. You’ve been an amazing wrestler and character during your active years. Some may think that your championships were nothing but a joke but I think they were rather fitting for your character.” 

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged, “when someone tries to bring you down, it’s just easier for you to either ignore them or eat up the attention.”

“And you chose the latter,” Lewis laughed. 

“And I chose the latter,” Trish nodded. “As much as I’d like to keep talking I think I’m gonna have to cut the conversation short. I'd hate to impose and distract you—“

“Nonsense!” Lewis insisted, “Alonso’s been looking for you since we arrived a few days ago. I think he was worried you weren’t coming this weekend—“

“What?” Trish interfered, disbelief written in her face as she tried to comprehend what was just said. 

Fernando’s looking for her and he’s scared she wouldn’t come.

Her lover had always been confident, some people thought of his personality as something more boastful and egotistical. She always loved that he could get self-assured at times, and that he would often infect her with the same energy until she was at the same level of confidence as him. 

But even his fears could get irrational. 

Sure, the breakup became the talk of the month or whatever (so far there had been ten magazines that had written about it), but not once did he allow any personal problem to get in the way of his racing. Whatever happened in the tracks, he’d make sure to address it, but he would never jeopardize his race just because he had an argument with his parents prior to the competition. 

So his fear of her not being there? Trish was sure that he wouldn’t allow that to get in the way of his world drivers’ championship. 

“Yeah, really,” Lewis nodded in confirmation. “I know he had flown out his mother from Spain too, seeing as this was your country and all. Mrs. Alonso keeps telling me that Fernando’s been keeping you from her so she just decided to come here for you.” 

Okay, maybe there was a reason why he was scared. But they’ve broken up, have they not? It’s been nearly two months, why hadn’t he told Mrs. Alonso about their breakup? Perhaps she found out already, she probably just wanted to see Trish and possibly bitch-slap the Canadian. Maybe.

“Right,” Trish nodded. “I’ll see him around eventually. Maybe you can let her know I’m here? I’ve got to get back to my friends before the qualifying.”

“No problem, Miss Stratus!” Lewis grinned.

“Beatrice,” Trish told him, “call me Beatrice or Trish. Miss Stratus makes it sound like I’m old or something.”

“Alright… Trish,” Lewis chuckled. “I’ll pass the message to her for you. Hope you find your friends before it gets even worse in the paddock.”

“Thank you so much, Lewis,” Trish smiled softly at the man. “Good luck on your qualifying. Try to aim for the pole.” 

“I’ll work hard enough!” Lewis bid his farewell to Trish before returning to the garage. Turning away, Trish kept a small smile on her face before she set off to find Amy and Jay. There was a lot for her to say about what she just found out.

“HOLY SHIT! HAMILTON’S AT POLE!” Jay screamed, his mouth gaping as he turned to look at his friends with widened eyes. The shared flabbergasted look on Amy and Trish’s faces matched with the man as they yelled excitedly, trying not to jump up and down in joy.

“He’s fucking pole tomorrow!” Trish yelled, grin widening even more as she shook Jay’s shoulders.

“…I think you should be more excited for something else, Beatrice,” Amy poked Trish on the side, making the Canadian turn around to face her best friend. Amy pointed at the screen, all of them watching as a checkered flag was displayed next to Fernando’s name and his final qualification time showing up next to the second one. “Nando’s at P2 tomorrow.” 

Trish’s smile faltered for a moment, taking in the information as her chest swelled with pride. Her mouth returned to its curled position. She turned around to celebrate Hamilton’s pole position for a literal second and her man came running to retrieve the second position. Talk about a win. 

Before they could even leave the McLaren’s hospitality they were approached by a media relations member to let them know about being interviewed. It wasn’t as if they could get out of that duty— Martin Brundle would most likely be the one to approach them if they hadn’t been notified and if there was anything Trish had learned it was that you don’t simply walk away from him. 

“Trish, this is the first time I have seen you since last year’s Canadian Grand Prix,” Martin started once he introduced the three. “With what’s happening between you and a certain McLaren driver, or what even happened, how do you feel being in the circuit?” 

“Well, I am quite excited for tomorrow. Seeing McLaren with a pole and a second position made me feel so giddy,” Trish grinned. She wasn’t lying, but she didn’t mention him nor the comment that Martin made about their famous break up.

“Rumour has it that you weren’t planning to go this year,” Martin asked her. 

Amy decided to answer for Trish, “She wasn’t supposed to. She didn’t want to, I mean. And I know that this had been her tradition since she got her what— fifth— sixth Women’s Championship title?” 

“Fifth,” Jay piped up, “if it’s 2005, yeah it’s fifth.” 

“Yeah, so this was something that she had been doing since 2005 and if there’s anything that I knew since working with her was that she doesn’t like to skip out of certain traditions. We had to drag her ass out of Toronto a few days ago because well, we didn’t want to waste the passes given to us by a generous driver,” Amy continued, smirking towards Trish’s direction. The Canadian shot her best friend a look. 

“Quite the generous driver, indeed,” Martin said, “have you three congratulated him by chance?” At least the man wasn’t singling her out now. 

“We have not,” Jay answered, “we were planning to call it an early evening after we speak to their team principal however—“

Meanwhile, next to the trio stood Lewis Hamilton, who was being interviewed as well. He spoke about landing on the pole and how confident he was tomorrow. 

Trish thought she misheard what he said as he continued, “I’ve seen Trish Stratus earlier. Trish told me today that I should get the pole position, and obviously being one of my favourite wrestlers and all— I can’t disappoint her.”

“She’s just right next to you actually,” Lewis’ interviewer pointed, making the cameraman pan his camera towards the wrestler who then turned only to see Lewis and the camera in her direction. 

“Oh Lewis!” Trish exclaimed, interrupting the conversation between Amy, Jay and Martin as she apologized meekly, “Sorry, Martin. I’ll just move aside for a moment to speak to Lewis.” 

Then she walked three steps towards the driver, “Can I give you a hug? Congratulations!” 

Lewis took that friendly offer as he grinned, finally pulling away as he said, “Thank you, thank you! We were actually just talking about you and how you told me to get the pole position.”

“And clearly Lewis fulfilled it,” Trish giggled, clapping him on the back. “It’s going to be really exciting to see you tomorrow. And I’ve heard this is your first pole?” 

“It is, it is,” Lewis nodded eagerly. 

“God, I am so happy for you, Lew!” Trish exclaimed.

“And what do you think about McLaren getting another higher position on the grid tomorrow with Fernando Alonso getting a P2?” The interviewer asked, making the wrestler pause for a moment. Her face remained impassive, not wanting to give the papers more things to write about. 

Her quick thinking, thankfully, led her to respond with, “I have always been supportive of each driver and just like the previous races, I never failed to believe that Fernando Alonso would be able to make it in the top ten. Each race that I have been to— I rarely go now— always has the same result with him being successful one way or another.” It was so nice having a media relations manager in WWE. At least she knew how to respond without losing her shit at people who kept on bringing up her ex.

“Do you think that his success in the races you make your appearance in would have to do something with you?” The woman across from the British and Canadian continued to ask, a smile on her face was rather genuine— if you would ask Trish. It was as if they were asking about a romance that had somehow brightened up the racing and wrestling community’s images. 

Everyone did tell her and Fernando that while their relationship was made public they somehow managed to show genuineness instead of the fake smiles and pretentious display of affection. 

So it never hurt for Trish to reminisce no matter what their situation was now. Trish answered the interviewer and said, “You know… that’s something that isn’t up to me. I know for a fact that Fernando was always made for this sport so me being there wouldn’t change a thing. I could be gone now and he’d still land in P2, you know?”

Amy: Gone down to the bar downstairs. Raikkonen and Button r here. R u coming? 

Beatrice: No, too tired. Enjoy though xx

Her room telephone started ringing by the time she shut her phone close, groaning as she glared at the direction of the phone. There was too much to unpack after arriving from the venue that she scolded herself for staying a little longer at the McLaren garage. 

Somehow she found a reason why Fernando refused to take her to the races. Being told that she was some distraction did hurt— but being left in the dark about what could potentially jeopardize his career was another. IFinding out about the information from Ferrari being passed to McLaren left a distasteful feeling on her mouth. She never wanted to take back her words of praise from earlier until now. 

All the more reason to avoid Fernando right? 

Right. But he was determined to make things right for them. 

When Trish answered the phone she initially thought that it was either Jay or Amy, exclaiming, “What? I texted you alr—“

“Trish, hija!” The voice on the other side of the call silenced the Canadian, feeling too stunned and unable to speak for a moment as the sweet voice continued, “¿Te parece bien que hable español?” Is it okay if I speak Spanish?

Trish swallowed the lump on her throat and stammered, “Sí, por supuesto, señora Alonso.” Yes, of course, Mrs. Alonso.

“Hace tiempo que no sé nada de ti, mi amor. ¿Cómo has estado?” I have not heard from you for a while now, my love. How have you been? God, those words were angelic. For it to come from her lover’s mother was a blessing that was hard to believe. 

Fernando’s mother had always expressed her fondness for the woman. Whenever Trish flew to Spain for holidays— all of which were spent with Fernando— his mother would always make sure that the Canadian had everything she needed. She even taught the younger woman a lot about Spanish culture. Needless to say, Mrs. Alonso enjoyed Trish’s company and vice versa. 

“Ah, ha sido duro, pero estoy trabajando duro para pasar el día.” It’s been rough but I’m working hard to push through the day. Trish felt herself smiling before it fell off and asked, “If you do not mind me asking… How did you find my hotel room number?” 

“Espero que no te importe, pero Nando ha sido muy reservado sobre ti últimamente. No me gusta ser entrometido, pero si significa para mí hablar contigo, entonces encontraré algo de sus cosas que me lleve a ti.” I hope you don’t mind, but Nando has been very secretive about you lately. I don’t like being nosy but if it means for me to speak to you then I’ll find something from his things that’ll get me to you. 

Trish nearly laughed at this. Mrs. Alonso, whenever the couple were miles apart, would take it upon herself to talk in the background and join in at the conversation held between Fernando and Trish. She was rather dedicated to keeping her relationship alive with Trish and the younger woman appreciated that. 

“¿Te parece bien si cenamos esta noche? Solo tú y yo, Fernando no estará allí.” Is it okay if we have dinner tonight? It’s just me and you— Fernando will not be there. Mrs. Alonso’s voice sounded more like a plea than it was a suggestion. “Tell me everything that happened.” 

And who was Trish to say no? After all, she was the Alonso that Trish liked the most— not that she would ever tell Fernando that. There’s got to be at least something to lie to him about. Especially when he’d done it multiple times. 

Their dinner wasn’t tense at all. It was as if they’d forgotten about Fernando for a moment as they chatted away, exchanging their thoughts on the current events and laughing about whatever.

Beatrice wasn’t too keen on telling Mrs. Alonso about the silliest things, but the older woman was a woman of detail. She needed to know how their relationship came to an end so easily. And instead of fighting back on it, Beatrice’s shoulders dropped as she started to tell Mrs. Alonso about what had happened weeks ago. 

“We’ve been together for years,” Beatrice said, dropping her hands to avoid playing with her food. She offered a rueful smile to the older woman. “Me hizo sentir como si fuera una carga.” He made me feel like a burden. 

Mrs. Alonso sighed quietly, unable to speak on behalf of her son. Fernando should be the one who would own up to his bullshit, and the pride that he carried within him hindered almost every good thing ahead of him. One of them being Trish. Mrs. Alonso figured that her son bringing his girlfriend along on a trip to Spain for holidays was a sign of love he could offer. 

But hearing about how he exploded and called her an inconvenience? Fernando couldn’t be more wrong and stupid. Even Mrs. Alonso called him that. 

He wouldn’t take Beatrice back home in Spain if she was just another woman to string along. He wouldn’t have lasted for two years in their relationship if he thought that Beatrice wasn’t the woman he wanted to marry. He hadn’t sat her down for three hours while drinking a bottle of wine, teaching her how to speak in Spanish at an intermediate level, just to toss her aside once he got her body trembling. 

A non-committal person would do things like that. But Fernando was in love with Beatrice. He’d see the grid girls wink and even put their hands on him, but not once did he ever try to get a taste of infidelity. He wasn’t like that. 

It baffled Mrs. Alonso to no end, but at least she expressed her empathy for the younger woman while telling Trish that she’d have a word with her son. 

Fernando was an idiot, and Mrs. Alonso was going to remind him how idiotic he could get. 

It wasn’t Fernando’s weekend this weekend, but it was Lewis Hamilton’s. 

And Trish couldn’t be happier for the young British driver. She spoke to him before his race about keeping his pole position all throughout the race. Then she told him that he’s becoming her favourite driver in the grid (which was true). Lewis Hamilton merely grinned and told her that, “I’ll make you even prouder then, hm?” 

And proud, she was. The moment he got an opportunity to be away from the media people, Trish didn’t take her time to drag Amy and Jay to find the man of the night. The Canadian merely rattled off at how exciting the race was for them as they were rooting for Hamilton. Lewis exchanged words and said something like, “I was nervous! I honestly thought I was going to fuck up at some point but no. I didn’t want you to see me race for the first time and watch me be shit at it.” 

Their conversation was cut short when he was pulled away by his press officer. Lewis had to beg his press officer to pause for a moment before giving the three a heads up about a party to celebrate his win. Trish hadn’t even realized what she agreed on, waving him off and nodding as if to tell him that he needed to go. He took this as a yes to the invitation. So when she received a text from him (when he took her number) about the details of the party, she only turned to her friends and said, “I hope you’ve got some nice clothes.”

Being invited to a party wasn’t on their agenda. She thought of staying for two or more days in Montreal to visit the basilica and cathedral church— and maybe she’d check out a farmers market and see if they’ve got a stall of local distilleries. So to be a guest of this race weekend’s winner? She was more popular than some of them yet she was worried about how atrocious she looked. 

She really lucked out when she managed to pull a going out top from her suitcase. A halter neck handkerchief top was what her eyes had settled on. Blue sequins were shining as she continued to hold it under her room’s light. She didn’t waste any time and prepared to go out tonight with her friends— and her new one, Lewis. 

As soon as she arrived with the two, her eyes scanned the place. The dance floor wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t crowded either. She saw Lewis by the dance floor and had chatted with him for a moment before she waved at him, telling him to enjoy his night. She immediately went straight to the bar and ordered a martini. 

Her eyes couldn’t help but wander, watching as bodies sucked in the air of freedom and happiness on the dance floor. She could see nothing but enjoyment, one that she craved the most after all those weeks of crying over some man. 

Her gaze shifted to a rather expensive space inside the club. She could see a VIP booth full of familiar faces— those that she saw while she walked around the paddock. If everyone were here, as Lewis had told her, then that meant…

“My, my,” she turned away from the VIP table back to the direction of the entrance, finding herself face to face with Jenson Button. He leaned against the bar counter and offered her a smirk. “Aren’t you a beautiful sight to see.” 

Thanking the bartender, she sipped on her martini with a scoff and asked, “Did that ever work on the girls you wanted to bed?” 

He chuckled heartily, shaking his head as he sipped on his drink — rum and coke. “No,” he teased, “it didn’t work on you, clearly.” 

Her face flushed before she turned away for a moment, hearing him laugh at the embarrassment that she felt. 

Regaining her composure, Beatrice looked back at Jenson. 

She knew that he was joking, but she had heard a lot about the grid singles; they were all trying to gain her attention when she attended the Grand Prix two years ago. Even now, there were still some drivers that were attracted to her. Jenson Button had an underlying problem and it was that his joke was half serious. 

She cleared her throat and pointed at the glass in his hand, “Fifth drink?” 

Jenson shook his head, “First.” 

“I don’t blame you,” raising her martini, she responded with a nod before tipping the drink over her open mouth. The burning sensation down her throat left her hissing quietly, making her companion chuckle in amusement. “It’s nice to know you get off at the sight of a woman in pain.”

His chuckle turned into a snicker as his shoulders shook. He then continued to joke along with her, “Not your thing? We can always compromise.” 

She bursted out of laughter, the burning feeling long gone as she exchanged words with him at the bar. 

What she hadn’t seen, though, was a quiet Fernando. He was sat at the end of the booth, the dimly lit area hiding the deadly stare that he held while Beatrice and Jenson laughed at whatever the fuck they were talking about. 

And as if God was laughing at him, the speakers were playing a remix of Beyoncé’s Irreplaceable. The song mocked Fernando’s vulnerable state.

“I can have another you in a minute, matter of fact he’ll be here in a minute.” 

He didn’t know how long he kept his gaze on the same place, or how many drinks Trish had while he zoned out. He shook himself out of his thoughts when Nico Rosberg called him, asking if he’d heard what the German just said. He only nodded but somehow he ended up being roped into a short conversation. He lost sight of her.

“Baby I don’t give a damn, I know your man’s nowhere in sight.”

Kimi Raikkonen, who had downed four shots of tequila throughout the night, decided that it was the right time to speak. He wolf-whistled as he peered over Fernando’s shoulders, his eyes squinting as he watched the dance floor. “Look at that. Jenson lied about being shit at dancing.” 

“And your eyes don’t tell a lie.” 

Fernando’s head snapped at the direction where Kimi pointed and his eyes narrowed at the sight. It wasn’t a pleasant sight for him. 

Because she was his woman. Not anyone else’s. Not Jenson’s. 

But with their dire situation, Fernando couldn’t call her his woman. She was single. So he painfully watched Beatrice’s face inching towards Jenson’s. 

The BAR-Honda driver’s hands were touching her hips as if he was holding a steering wheel. She smiled at him as if she liked it; Fernando knew she loved how his bigger hands gently rested on her waist whenever he’d sneak up behind her as she made their cups of coffee. Trish didn’t like how Jenson held her. Fernando just knew. 

“I know you wanna come with me tonight.”

Right. That was it. 

Fernando cleared his throat and stood, wordlessly walking away from the booth as he marched his way towards the two. His hand dragged her away from the British man, his face seething while Trish protested. She could’ve just pulled away because of how little force he had on his hold. 

Instead she just followed along as they ended up in a quieter area of the club. A rarity for such a loud venue.

“I can’t believe you,” Beatrice, rather than causing a drama, merely whispered the first four words that she offered him since she walked out with a “happy fucking anniversary.” 

“Trisha—“ he tried to reason out, but he was quietened by her glare. 

“Everything’s falling apart,” she told him calmly, “everything’s falling apart but you refuse to take accountability for being a part of it.”

He remembered the controversy surrounding McLaren and Ferrari. And how he was somewhat a part of it. 

Earlier today, he hadn’t even offered Lewis a congratulations on his first win. He bitterly walked off, frustrated at Lewis’ win and his P9 result. P-fucking-9. He’s been a two time world champion. Now he landed in P9? He was upset. It was even worse when he saw some televised interviews of Lewis and Trish being a little bit friendly as she showered the younger driver with support. Fernando was her favourite driver. Now it’s Lewis. 

Then he remembered how he got into a huge argument with her, practically lying about being a distraction to him just to save face. He hated how his pride got in the way of the things he needed, blaming others seemed to be a better option than accepting defeat. 

Beatrice continued on, “I gave you two years. I gave you half a year, Fernando. Why haven’t you backed out at the beginning if you thought of me that way?”

“I,” he paused to regain his composure, making sure that he was sober enough to speak. “I didn’t mean that.” 

“You were quite passionate when you were screaming abuse at me,” Beatrice muttered sarcastically. 

“I don’t, I really don’t— you have to believe me, mi corazon,” as of this point, he no longer had the prideful attitude. He didn’t care if he didn’t. He wasn’t about to lose her for good. “Everything’s falling apart and I wasn’t sure how to get myself out of it.”

“I could’ve done something,” Trish told him, “I could’ve been there to comfort you, to provide input— and I know jackshit about whatever’s happening. You didn’t tell me anything. How am I supposed to believe you after all of that?

“I can’t be the only one responsible here,” she continued with the pain that felt permanent. “You— ugh.” 

She angrily wiped her tears away, a slight smudge of her mascara showing her exasperation as she asked, “These papers— those people… when they ask you about me— did you ever try giving them an answer?” 

“Did you even tell them how much I fucking meant to you? Or did you just let it all show in front of the cameras because I’m not worth a word to anyone? Did you even bother to look and wonder how the fuck I was doing? After all of that fiasco last year— you weren’t even there!” 

“And that was my mistake, Trisha!” He yelled in the same tone as her. Were they ever glad that nobody could hear them with all of the bass boosting inside the club.

Her lips trembled, unable to contain her sadness. She wasn’t even upset at the way he yelled. She was just sad it turned out like this. 

He sighed, slumping down against the wall as he leaned his head back for a moment. He couldn’t talk to her if he couldn’t contain his frustration. But then again, if he continued to focus more on himself and keeping his composure— she’d walk away again because of the lack of words he had given her. 

His hand reached on her wrist, squeezing it once, “Just stay. Don’t leave, mi corazon.” 

“I’m not leaving,” she spoke quietly, slightly tugging her wrist away from his hold. Did he really think she’d leave? She only left months ago because she knew damn well that he’d much rather be alone… and that he didn’t want her there. “Only did that to make things easier for the two of us. I want to talk- and so do you, so I’m not wasting my time on leaving.”

Fernando Alonso never felt the need to explain himself any further to anyone, he could admit. He didn’t give that much shit what anyone would think, thanks to his ego. But he had never felt the need to explain himself this desperately before. He knew too well that the moment he watches Beatrice Staedtlander slip away from him would be the moment when everything ends for him. 

“Ojalá pudiera volver atrás en el tiempo para poder contarte todo. Sé que he herido a mucha gente debido a mis acciones y he hecho tanto por ti, ojalá no dejara que mi orgullo sacara lo mejor de mí. Mamá tiene razón. Soy estúpido porque te he deje ir tan fácilmente en lugar de tratar de mejorar las cosas,” I wish I can turn back the time so I can tell you everything. I know I’ve wounded a lot of people because of my doings and I’ve done so much to you, I wish I didn’t let my pride get the best of me. Mom is right. I am stupid because I’ve let you go so easily instead of trying to make things better.

His mind was set on panic mode and clearly the rambling of Spanish words showed it. His eyes, ones that were often playful or stoic, softened as he kneeled in front of her, clasping both of her hands as he said, “Please. Let me back in your heart, Trisha. Let me learn.” 

And she couldn’t even fathom the thought of refusing him. Because those two years of relationship didn’t build up to nothing. She hadn’t learned intermediate Spanish in his childhood home for nothing. She hadn’t stayed up late to receive his call for nothing. She wouldn’t have done anything as remotely outrageous as putting his driver number in her tiny bikini for a magazine cover if it hadn’t been for the love and dedication she had for him. 

“You’ve always been in my heart, Nando,” she murmured, peering down at him as she held his face against her smaller hands. Pressing down a kiss on his lips, she then said, “But god if you fucked this up, then maybe we really aren’t meant for each other.”

Fernando stood from where he kneeled, his lips capturing hers in a heated yet gentle kiss as his hand sat on her hip. He couldn’t even seem to answer, but it wasn’t as if he'd ever refuse her. She was someone he’d never turn down; not when he knew that she was it for him.

But this wasn’t the first time they’ve broken up. And this definitely won’t be the last time Fernando Alonso would find himself making the biggest mistake of his life. Thank god, Beatrice Staedtlander was there to remind him that his pride would only hinder his chances of making things right. 

[herofics]

hello, it is urgent , but you're the only one who could do that, be a gojo student, and we try to commit suicide by hanging, for example, megumi will find us and call gojo, and just try to save us, I would be very happy and would recommend you to others, you can really make their personalities good (please🙏🙏) it is really urgent my angst era is now 💀

A/N: I’m buried in angst requests, so I had to write some other stuff to climb out of the angst filled hole I was in, which is why this took so long. This didn’t turn out very good tbh

You were late to go on a mission, so Gojo sent Megumi to go get you. He got to your door and heard a thump that sounded like something fell over.

“Hey (Last Name), you’re late, we need to go!” Megumi shouted as he knocked on the door of your dorm room.

You didn’t answer, so he just sighed and said: “I’m coming in”

You were hanging by your neck on rope that was tied to one of the ceiling supports. Megumi didn’t even think, he just ran to you and lifted you so you weren’t hanging anymore. He was just barely able to make the hand sign for his shikigami, which he sent to get help. It’s not that Megumi wasn’t weak, but holding dead weight in such an awkward position was getting difficult quite quickly.

Gojo appeared just as Megumi was about to run out of strength. He cut the rope and caught you just as you almost hit the floor. He set you down on the floor and knelt beside you, not really sure what he should do.

“Are they alive?” Megumi asked, with a hint of panic in his voice.

“I’m-I’m not sure” Gojo muttered, searching for a pulse.

Suddenly, you exhaled deeply and started coughing your lungs out.

“Take it easy, you almost died” Gojo said.

You sat up, and he placed his hand on your shoulder and looked you over. Your neck was already starting to bruise, and you were still coughing.

“Alright, you’re going to the infirmary” Gojo said as he stood up.

“Go away… both of you” you croaked.

“Huh?” Megumi exclaimed. “Are you freaking kidding me? I find you hanging from the ceiling, and you think we’re going to just leave you alone?”

“Please, just leave…” you sniffled.

You felt so embarrassed. You weren’t supposed to be found so quickly. You were supposed to be dead right now. This was not how it was supposed to go.

“I’m taking you to the infirmary, and I’m not asking” Gojo said and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder.

Megumi was quite honestly stunned. He’d had no idea you would do something like this, he hadn’t seen it coming at all, and he was angry. He was angry at you that you hadn’t talked to him, or any of your other friends, and he was angry at himself for not having noticed anything.

“Put me down!” you yelled as Gojo started carrying you towards the infirmary.

“Not a chance” Gojo said.

You struggled for a moment, but it was no use, he was too strong. 

Megumi walked behind you and Gojo. As you hung your head down, Megumi could see something falling from your face. He quickly realized it was tears, and he felt bad for you. What might drive a person to try and take their own life? He didn’t know, and he didn’t really understand. He just wanted to help you somehow, but he didn’t know what to do.

When the three of you finally got to the infirmary, Gojo put you down and told you to sit down on one of the beds while he went to get Shoko. Megumi decided to sit on the bed opposite to you and keep you company. You shouldn’t be alone after something like that.

The two of you just sat there as you cried quietly, trying to stifle your tears. You felt humiliated and so many other things, you couldn’t really make sense of it all. You just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up.

“Why didn’t you talk to us?” Megumi suddenly asked.

You didn’t know what to say, so you just came up with something.

“I didn’t know ho-how, I still don’t” you sniffled.

Megumi found himself getting irritated. Why wouldn’t you just talk to him? Or if not him, than someone else, anything would be better than this.

Megumi exhaled deeply, attempting to calm himself down, before saying: “Just come to me next time, or go to Kugisaki or even Gojo sensei”

You just nodded, not really sure if you were doing it to make him go away or to actually promise to do what he asked.

“Promise me? I don’t need anyone else to end up dead after what happened to Itadori”

“I promise” you muttered.

Megumi wasn’t really satisfied with your answer, because he wasn’t sure if you meant it. He really hoped you did, but he didn’t know for certain. He just really hoped you’d talk to him. Anything else but this, he didn’t want you to go through another attempt ever again.

[qui-gg]

opinion on the bog ii 🤖🤖🤖

I’ll assume you mean bot and answer accordingly

(Drops art i havent shared and wasnt really planning to. But its appropriate for the things ill talk about yay)

Fun fact i didn’t really have a strong opinion of bots character for a while but then one day i woke up and went “I have an idea for a gjinka” and it caused me to get into their character and now its like my fav gjinka to draw

(Some fun facts about that gjinka design: their head is completely magnetic, and their “hair” is a set of completely removable accessories so their natural state is bald, they can add as much or as little as they want. Also they continue to wear a little pink because i was thinking of the “I can still like chocolate cake” line- they can still like pink too)

I LOVE BOT. Even though i have thoughts and opinions about the iffy nature they were implemented overall i love the concept of a character who was made to be someone else and theyve given me a lot to chew on which i appreciate with a character. What really fascinates me about them is how their interactions with other characters play out so id like to talk more about that⬇️

Their relationship with Cabby was what caused me to create the gjinka design in the first place, and then I found a song that made me think of them and i was like Wow. Bot and cabby’s initial impressions of one another being somewhat at odds due to miscommunication but ultimately other factors (cabby’s disability and bot’s suppression of their fake memory- wow they both have memory issues!) was something that lasted a while but then iii14 saw the end of bot’s assumptions of her being strained when they finally had the chance to actually talk with one another. Bot assumed that Cabby was obsessed with finding a way to explain their existence and identity which they very much felt didn’t need an explanation for who they were, but they realized this is only the way cabby processes the world around her they both place importance on identity both with not knowing their pasts and carving a way for their futures the way they are and they can do it together agh i love ittt

Here my gjinkas of them with an outfit styleswap

One day i kind of started placing suitcase in bots position to cabby though and i just think about their potential relationship primarily now though LMAO but thats unrelated

With fan and test tube I had stronger opinions about how the circumstances/reasons behind creating them weren’t strong enough and it caused both of their characters to backslide from where they were in ii14 but now i like to look at it and take what i can get from it because i like it when characters do bad and questionable things its interesting to analyze why they did something so selfish. In fan’s case he didnt have a strong connection with bow’s death when it happened beyond being a fan of her bc of his low empathy at the time especially he didnt process it as Death, and he believes he knows everything about bow as the number1 fan so now hes the best person for the job, and test tube coldly decides to recreate the image of a person under the idea shes now using her strengths for a good cause, but shes wrong and she has to learn shes wrong. Theyre not bot’s parents- but it’s easiest for them to describe them that way, since they created them, but that’s not quite how their relationship is at all. Bot has no real familial ties with them, and test tube created them with the sold intention of being somebody other than they are, so that’s always going to stick with them and theyre not just a blindly happy family now. Bot is also a grown adult that doesnt just go away they shouldn’t be infantilized so much. They can be friends with fan and test tube because they now recognize them as Bot but honestly theyd prefer keeping a distance when they can because they wish they were made intentionally or were just a person, but they appreciate being created. Its a pretty unique situation

What really fascinates me the most though is the concepts of how they are in relation to Bow, with the concept of being created as a replication of someone who already exists being so terrifying for both involved. In Bot’s perspective, their conscious is being repressed intentionally to continue living someone else’s life who they never even knew and doesnt identify with. And everyone is acting like its fine and okay when theyre the only one who seems to see how scary this is. They just struggle to grasp with their very existence with the only thing to guide them being a paragraph of a character description and to spew references that dont make sense. In BOWS perspective, she was a celebrity and the most popular contestant in the first season of a reality show, and even after dying on it the fans just screamed for her to “come back” though it was impossible. So her likeness kept getting replicated by both the show (doughs inclusion) and fans (bots creation) who both misrepresented her and she could do nothing but watch it play out. Her death was being denied and other people were living her life just because she was popular on a show, it’s terrifying. Terrifying and despair inducing for both of them theyd both have a disdain for one another on an existential degree, and bot finding their identity is freeing for both of them.

Lifetime achievement award made me insane abt this thanks panks

:D ive talked long enough so thanks for reading this far if you made ittt ! More art

[sepublic]

Anyhow there’s something indescribably sad to the Collector trying to reach out to Belos, of all people, and give him some compassion. Not just for what follows right afterwards, but also...

Part of their arc really is the age-old realization of how life isn’t perfect. Not just with existence and permanence of death, but also in that loss of innocence when you want to believe that you can save and befriend everyone. That nobody is too far gone, that everybody can be happy together!

The Collector has known Philip for centuries; He’s one of his longest relationships, and for Philip, the Collector IS his longest interaction, by a long shot. The Collector has been privy to so many of Philip’s secrets, by proxy of being a source for arcane knowledge, so they know all about the Grimwalkers and his human identity.

They’ve picked up on Philip’s loneliness, his insecurities; Even asking Philip about his anxieties over returning home. They weren’t wrong about any of these things! For centuries, the Collector reassured himself that the two of them were friends, and I wonder if a recognition in their similarities helped fuel this conception for the kid. Made them feel less lonely.

In the end, I kind of get the idea that the Collector cared for Philip, despite it all; Or at least was inspired enough by Luz to give her idea a shot, because if it worked on them, why not Philip? Who is just like them, because Belos thrives on making these comparisons between himself and others to manipulate them! And sure he was mean and a liar, but the Collector misunderstood King to be that, and was wrong! If they just needed help, then Philip...?

And that gets me back to the Collector’s scared and disappointed question, one he’s repeated all his life; What did he do wrong? What did he do wrong, for Belos to not reciprocate, to lash out? They don’t want to hold malice, they just want to get along... It ties back to this idea of kids and even adults kind of seeing themselves as the heroes of their story, there’s a responsibility for them to save others. And if they don’t accept help, then it’s the fault of the person who reached out for not trying hard enough.

It’s the devastating heartbreak that came to Hunter, to any kid who’s had an older, conservative relative who refused to change their mind. Refused to listen, despite all of the compassion in the world. And the grief that some people won’t get better, won’t get happier. And in the end, as Luz recognizes, you just have to admit that it’s up to those people to do so. It’s only your responsibility to a certain degree.

That’s part of Luz letting go of her Hero complex, whereas Belos never gives up on being a Savior, in trying to convert people like Caleb at any cost. Luz reiterates to the Collector that they didn’t do anything wrong, and King’s dad reminds her as well; Luz forgives herself for not being able to do enough, both for being a child who shouldn’t bear the weight of the world on her shoulders, and also for just being a single, flawed person. It isn’t her fault, there isn’t something secretly wrong about Luz for failing to save Belos. You can only give so much support. And after everything he’s done...

Well. There’s nothing wrong about Luz hating Belos, wanting him to die when he pleads for mercy, feebly tries to appeal to “peace” as if he’s ever considered that, spat and killed at every attempt for it by Caleb, his Grimwalkers, the Collector, his followers, Luz; Every kind person he’s met in the isles.

As King’s dad reminds her, fighting the bad guy doesn’t necessarily make you equally evil, because sometimes you HAVE to fight, in self-defense, because those people won’t quit. It’s not required for victims to forgive, nor should they try to appeal to ‘moral sensibilities’ by being palatable in how they retaliate against an oppressor. Anger IS okay and justified, and you shouldn’t feel guilty and be expected to always take the moral high ground.

For a kid like the Collector or even Luz, it’s a heartbreaking epiphany; Not everyone can be happy, no matter how hard you try. As King’s dad notes, you CAN’T control everyone and everything. But eventually, they learn to let go of those toxic people and that obsession; Accept and make the most of that, and find relief in this lesson. The show never admonishes compassion, even if it won’t always be enough; Look at Gus, whose arc involves realizing that while people may take his compassion for granted and even manipulate it, it’s not foolish and eventually there will be those who reciprocate. Kindness does pay off in the long run!