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springwitch26 · 7 months ago

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flowers and firsts (melissa schemmenti x fem!reader)

summary: being the gracious friend you are, you offer to share your weed with melissa and jacob for a fun friday night at their place. when jacob goes to bed, things get heated between you and your favorite coworker.

warnings: smut (18+), consensual high sex, recreational marijuana use (be responsible), strap-ons, praise kink, vibrators, soft melissa, stoner reader, attempts at comedy (it's a fun fic guys), mario kart 8 GONE SEXUAL

notes: happy 4/20. this wasn't requested, but my OCD is beating the fuck out of me rn and writing it brought me comfort. let me know what you think. much love from your favorite slutty stoner 💚

"i know kids are curious, but eighth grade is a bit early to try weed, right?" jacob bounced his leg anxiously as he raised the question to his friends in the teachers' lounge. one of his students had just been suspended for bringing marijuana to school, and jacob was characteristically worried about the kid.

"i started in tenth grade, but teenagers are growin' up younger and younger these days," melissa responded. barbara raised her eyebrows in shock, and melissa reacted with an amused half-smile. "like trouble over here. when was your first time, hon?"

you tried to ignore the innuendo as melissa invited you into the conversation. you had been hired to teach the third grade a few months ago. you and melissa had a rapport from the first moment you walked into the lounge. every time you were in a room together, you made each other laugh. melissa made you feel at ease in your new workplace, and you felt lucky to have her.

because you both got along so well, ava often paired you up for team-building exercises and combined-class activities. the two of you weren't exactly close friends yet, but you had chemistry. that much was obvious to everyone at abbott.

"tenth grade for me, too," you answered between sips of your morning coffee. "a friend and i did it in the bathroom before art class. good memories."

"what, did you have some kinda fancy vape pen?" melissa cocked an eyebrow at you.

"i wouldn't call it fancy, but yeah, we mostly smoked carts," you explained. "bought 'em from the upperclassmen in the parking lot before school. i'm pretty sure they weren't pure weed, though. we had to be smoking battery acid, or plastic or something."

"god, your generation is weird. smokin' chemicals out of a flash drive," melissa said, gesturing wildly to convey her amazement. "the first time i got high was in detention. my buddy steve would sneak in and bring us cigarettes and blunts. they all looked the same, so we played russian roulette with it. now everybody walks around with those neon devices in their pockets."

"i can't tell if you're being serious or if you're referencing the breakfast club," you giggled, nudging the redhead's shoulder jokingly as you sat down next to her.

"ha ha, very funny, little miss," melissa deadpanned. you had asked her to stop calling you "kid" a few weeks ago. she respected your wishes by coming up with all sorts of endearing synonyms to call you instead. "what about you, jacob? you used to vape—ever experimented with mary jane?"

"or mark john?" you added. melissa snorted and gave you a playful swat on the arm.

"no, actually, i haven't," jacob said, rolling his eyes at your quip. "i didn't have many friends in high school or college, and after that i had to be drug tested regularly for teachers without borders. i never got the chance."

"well, if you ever feel like trying something new, i have plenty to share," you offered. "can't have you over at my place, though; every time i bring guests around, my crazy neighbor thinks they're cia operatives."

everyone in the room except melissa gave you a shocked look. barbara looked especially aghast, her brightly painted lips curled into an 'o' shape.

"damn, i thought janine was the only after-school stoner here. what a pleasant surprise!" ava broke the silence.

"i suppose i would partake given one of those weed pens you mentioned," jacob said to you. "the only thing i've been vaping lately is air, and it gets stale after a while."

"oh no, i haven't used a cart since high school," you clarified. "if you're smoking with me, you're smoking. don't worry, it's easy. just like vaping, but better in every way."

"first of all, no smoke circle is happening under my roof without me." melissa chimed in, looking at you with a silent question in her eyes. you nodded—of course you wanted her there. "and second, where do you even get the weed? if you buy the legal stuff from new york or massachusetts, you're not bringin' it to my house."

"i wouldn't dream of it," you affirmed. "i only smoke authentic philly weed. don't worry about it; i got a guy."

---

that friday night, you showed up on melissa's doorstep wearing a casual t-shirt dress, with a tote bag full of goodies slung over your shoulder. jacob was the one to answer the door.

"hey! come on in, melissa's making pizza," he said cheerfully, a bit jittery with anticipation.

you followed jacob inside and found melissa leaning over the kitchen island, smiling fondly at you. she was wearing sweatpants and a loose-fitting striped shirt, with her hair loose and a bit messy from cooking. she looked radiant and comfortable.

"you know, the pizza will taste better if we smoke before dinner," you proposed.

"bold of you to assume my pizza could taste any better," melissa joked back.

"i'm game," jacob said. "i want the full marijuana experience."

"in that case, help me set up," you said to the history teacher. "i want you to see how everything works."

you laid the contents of your tote bag out on the island countertop: a ziploc baggie full of flower, a little purple grinder, a holographic pink bowl, and a yellow lighter with white flowers on it.

"jacob, this is a grinder," you said, uncapping the grinder and opening the ziploc bag. "we're gonna use it to break up the flower into little pieces."

"oh wow, that is... pungent," jacob remarked. he watched as you ground up the weed, then handed the pink glass bowl to him.

"and this is a bowl, or a pipe if you're lame," you said. "you wanna do the honors?"

jacob grinned and reached into the grinder, bouncing excitedly on his heels. you put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. he filled the bowl, looking to you for approval several times while he did it.

"awesome, we're ready," you said. melissa placed her pizza in the oven and joined the circle.

"let's take it out on the patio," melissa suggested.

she led you and jacob out to the patio, a small ledge overlooking the city with three chairs conveniently set up in a tight circle. it was 7pm and the sun had just begun its descent, casting philadelphia in an orange glow.

the three of you sat down. you held the bowl up to your lips and moved to light it, but melissa snatched the lighter from your hand. she leaned in and held the flame to the bowl, her face inches from yours. you tried to concentrate on the task at hand, rather than her painted lips or her vivid green eyes dancing all over you.

you took a long inhale of the smoke and blew it up toward the sky. melissa plucked the bowl out of your hand and took a hit. she held the smoke in her lungs for an impressive amount of time for someone who didn't smoke regularly. she passed the still-lit bowl to jacob.

as soon as jacob took his hit, you knew it was gonna hurt. he overestimated his own lung capacity, and he didn't even finish blowing the smoke out before he was coughing.

"happens to everybody, pal," melissa patted jacob's back to ease his pain.

"ugh!" jacob sputtered between coughs. "why didn't you guys tell me smoking hurts?"

---

several rotations later, the three of you were high. well, you and melissa were high; jacob was outright fried. not altogether unexpected, but funny as hell.

when melissa's pizza was done, you all resolved to eat outside so you could watch the sunset together.

"this is heavenly, mel," you moaned after a delicious bite of the pizza.

"ha!" jacob exclaimed, and you and melissa turned to him, confused. meeting melissa's gaze, he threw his arms up in the air—like he expected her to understand what he meant by that one noise. "she stole two syllables from your name. you can't just take syllables, y/n. they're not yours."

"since when do you care about private property rights?" you quipped back before turning your attention to melissa. "i'm serious though. this pizza is sooo good. like last-meal-on-death-row good."

"keep talkin' sweet like that, and you can call me whatever you want," melissa replied with a wink, sending a flood of warmth to your face.

"what were we talking about? just now?" jacob chimed in, his eyes wide and darting every which way.

"... i actually don't know," you said with a giggle. you tried to remember, you really did. but you could feel melissa's eyes on you, and you heard her words echoing in your head. and it was hard to focus on anything else.

"short term memory loss! add that to the list of things you guys didn't warn me about," jacob scoffed.

"jacob, eat your damn pizza," melissa cut in. a peaceful smile graced her lips as she stared out at the city skyline, now a twilight blue in the absence of the sun. "i've missed this feeling, everythin' all fuzzy and light. how are you holding up, lovebug?"

your heart fluttered at the endearing name. melissa, it seemed, wore her heart on her sleeve when she was high—judging by the adoring way she gazed at you while she awaited your response. maybe the weed was messing with your head, but you swore she'd never looked so beautiful.

her eyes lacked any trace of the fire you were used to seeing (though they were quite red). for once, she wasn't on guard. her plump lips curled around her wine glass as she took a sip of merlot, vocalizing her sensual appreciation with a hum.

her long auburn hair was tucked behind her ears, resting on her shoulders in loose waves instead of her preferred meticulous curls. you wanted to run your fingers through her locks, feel their softness and smell her shampoo.

entranced by the redhead, you forgot she had asked you a question. melissa tapped your knee in reminder.

"i feel perfect," was your soft reply. you were beaming brightly before the sentence even finished. rather than sitting in a chair, you felt like you were floating on a cloud. the colors of melissa's patio and the sky blended together in a beautiful, swirling mosaic. the sounds of the city were clear and pleasant as philly wound down for the night. "i'm so happy."

"glad to hear it, sunshine. but i'm pretty sure jacob is asleep," melissa chuckled and patted the man's shoulder. he didn't stir, remaining slumped and conked out in his chair. "he's been losin' sleep over the kid who got suspended. bending over backwards trying to keep 'em on track."

"oh gosh," you said sympathetically before patting jacob a bit more firmly than melissa had. "jacob, hey. c'mon, it's time for bed. get up, go get cozy."

your words were slurred and hushed, but they seemed to pierce the veil of jacob's slumber as he awoke with a start.

melissa stood behind jacob's chair, gently rocking it back and forth to bring him back to the conscious world.

"can't go to bed, we just started," jacob grumbled, but his eyes were still closed. he was dangerously close to falling asleep again.

"from the looks of it, you're either gonna spend the night sleepin' in this chair or in your bed, so get up," melissa said resolutely.

"yeah, and besides, there's always next time," you assured jacob as he stretched and groaned his way into an upright position. you made eye contact with melissa, and this time you winked.

---

after helping jacob into bed (his motor skills really deteriorated when he got high) and smoking another bowl together, you and melissa were ready to continue your night.

"alright, sweetheart, it's down to you and me," melissa said, sitting down next to you on the couch. "what do you wanna do?" you pondered the question, looking around the room for inspiration.

"oh my god, you have a nintendo switch?" you asked excitedly, gesturing to the black tablet plugged in next to the cable box.

"that's jacob's. he showed me one of the games on there—animal crossing, i think it was. i don't get it. why play a game if you can't win?"

"alright, i know what we have to do now," you said, walking over to jacob's game cabinet and pulling out mario kart 8. holding the case up for melissa to see, you grinned. "four races. whoever wins gets whatever she wants from the other."

you were distantly aware of the implications, but you were too high to reconsider what you'd proposed.

you figured melissa would want something from your thoroughly decorated classroom if she won. if you won, you'd ask her to make you a custom pizza.

"you have no idea what you just started, hon," melissa said with a confident smirk.

"may the best woman win."

---

how the hell was she so good at everything?

melissa had needed some time to warm up to the switch controls, complaining about how the little red rectangle was too small to hold comfortably. but she was a quick learner with skilled fingers, and soon she was absolutely demolishing you.

it also didn't help that your coordination escaped you when you were high. you had driven off of too many ledges to count.

"two wins in a row for luigi," melissa bragged as she crossed the finish line of the third race. "hope you're ready to give me whatever i want, princess. don't think i forgot about our bet."

"daisy won the first race," you pointed out calmly. "i can still bring it back. but you know what this last race has to be?"

"what?"

"rainbow road. it's the perfect final showdown course," you explained, navigating to the course with your controller.

"get ready to be mine for a night," melissa said lowly. god, you knew she was talking about the bet, but she knew damn well what she was doing. by this point your panties were almost uncomfortably wet.

you leaned into her unconsciously as the race countdown began. you both held your controllers tight, almost shoulder to shoulder.

3...

2... (you push down the gas pedal button)

1...

GO!!!

daisy took off with a boost of speed thanks to your timing. luigi had a false start as his engine blew out. you cheered, and melissa cursed.

"how the fuck do you do that?" she asked, exasperated.

"play the game!" you demanded without looking away from the screen.

the competition was intense. you and melissa weaved around curves, nearly fell off the road, passed and bumped each other. neither one of you spoke until lap 3.

coming up on one of the last turns of the last lap, your hands jerked and you swerved. reacting on instinct, you bent your arms dramatically in the other direction to overcorrect.

melissa's arm bumped into yours, sending your controller flying out of your hands.

"hey!" you said, thinking she was cheating.

"hey yourself," she said, her eyes still fixed on the screen.

if she was gonna play dirty, so were you. you thrust your arm forward to grab her controller. but she saw you coming from a mile away. effortlessly, she shifted the controller into her left hand alone and held it up and out of your reach.

desperately competitive (and stupid high), you launched yourself toward the controller. you'd stop at nothing to get even. before you could snatch it out of her grasp, though, your balance faltered. you fell out of your position and started to fall backwards off the couch.

melissa dropped the controller and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you back up before you could hurt yourself. there was only one problem with this heroic act.

you were in her lap now.

her hands remained clasped at the small of your back, and your balance shifted forward. you put your arms out for stability, and wrapped them around her neck.

"careful, don't hurt your pretty head," melissa cooed. the two of you stared at each other for a moment. she surged forward and pressed her lips to yours.

if sitting outside with her felt like floating, kissing her and feeling her body against yours felt like riding the ocean waves. but unlike the atlantic, she was warm. you relaxed into her warmth as her tongue licked into your mouth.

you felt her tongue everywhere. in response to her, you gave a few tentative kitten licks. she moaned, she moaned, and pulled back before giving you one last kiss on the lips.

she stared at you with heated eyes for a while before switching her focus to the tv.

"look, baby," she said smugly while gesturing to the tv screen, where luigi was driving victory laps after placing first on rainbow road. "i won. you remember what that means?"

it was a fair question, considering how many conversations you forgot happened tonight. still, you nodded shyly and bit your lip.

"smart girl," melissa praised. "can you guess what i want from you?"

you shook your head no with a frown. melissa beamed and kissed you on the forehead. then she leaned in to whisper in your ear.

"i wanna touch you everywhere. i wanna hear your pretty voice moan my name and see your face scrunch up when you come. i want you to feel me all over you, and i want you to spend the rest of your life craving that feeling," melissa said her piece all at once, as if revealing a long-buried secret to you and herself.

you swallowed.

"would you let me do that?"

you nodded, pressing your forehead against hers.

"i need to hear you say it," she said softly, so softly you almost missed it.

"i want you, melissa. i have since the day we met."

that was all the confirmation melissa needed to attack your face and neck with kisses.

"sorry, let me just," melissa said as she pulled away abruptly and reached for the tv remote. she changed it to cable mode and navigated to the jazz music channel. "there we go, perfect."

"you're ridiculous," you giggled upon seeing melissa's proud face.

"honey," she leaned in to nip at your ear before whispering, "watch your mouth. you wanna be on my good side tonight, trust me."

you shuddered and wiggled in her lap, aching for her touch. a slow grin spread across her face and her hands found your legs, running up your thighs and lightly dragging her nails along your skin. they soon made their way up your waist to your breasts, cupping and squeezing them. melissa even took two fingernails and circled your nipples teasingly, to which you squeaked.

"do you know how many times i thought about havin' you like this?" melissa whispered. her voice was sweet like molasses and flowed right through you. you could feel your nipples tingling where her fingers had been, swimming in a bubble of desire. "in my lap, all whiny and squirmy."

she pinched your nipple and you keened. you held your breath as her hands once again traveled to your thighs, making a beeline for your core.

"and now i got my angel in my arms," she said, gently spreading your legs for better access. you sucked in a breath and trembled when her palm caressed you through your panties. "but i gotta say, even in my imagination you were never this wet for me."

she punctuated the sentence by pressing her pointer finger on your clit through the fabric, drawing tiny circles. you gasped and hid your face in her neck. the high made every touch feel like it rippled through your whole body. the world felt like it had been knocked off its axis, and melissa was your new center of gravity.

"aw, don't be embarrassed, babygirl. it's cute you're so sensitive," melissa soothed, easing you out of the crook of her neck to face her again. she trailed her fingers down to swirl around your wetness under your panties. "let me take care of you, yeah?"

---

a few minutes later, you were spread out on melissa's bed, naked save for your (now useless) panties. she'd practically carried you to her room as you were baked and horny and unable to walk straight.

in spite of your writhing and needy whines, the redhead took her time to savor you. she kissed every inch of your torso before she even considered taking your panties off, mumbling sweet nothings between love bites.

when she finally pulled away to admire her work, the view did not disappoint. you were panting and covered in melissa's marks, and god, you were her favorite piece of art ever created. all hers.

"alright, sweet girl, i know," she cooed as you continued to plead for her touch with your best pout and puppy eyes. unable to resist you, melissa hooked two fingers in the waistband of your panties. "i'm gonna slip these off ya, okay? there, down they go."

melissa discreetly tucked the saturated material into her pocket. not as a trophy or proof of her conquest; rather, a token from the first of many magical nights with her girl. she would treasure it.

she wasted no time getting situated between your legs so she was face-to-face with your pussy. she inhaled deeply, basking in the heady aroma of your arousal. you overwhelmed her senses. everything she saw, everything she smelled, everything she felt, everything she thought—it was all one big, bottomless pool of you. and there was only one sense left for you to conquer.

the first drag of her tongue up your slit set you ablaze, flames licking from your core all the way to your extremities and your head. she let out a small noise of appreciation, and you felt it more than you heard it.

"you taste like fuckin' heaven," melissa rumbled between determined licks through your folds. her comment reminded you of the pizza, and you found yourself amused at how much things had changed in just a few hours.

"last-meal-on-death-row good?" you joked, and melissa seized the moment of levity to latch onto your clit. you cried out before remembering jacob was sleeping in the next room. you clapped a hand over your mouth.

"mhmmmmm," she moaned in agreement, and the vibrations on your bundle felt incredible. "but if you're still crackin' jokes, i'm not doin' my job."

with that, she shut you up completely. her tongue poked at your clit between harsh sucks. your back arched and melissa changed her strategy, prodding at your entrance with her tongue while her fingers took over on your clit. when her tongue penetrated you, you bit down on your hand to keep from screaming.

"i said i wanna hear you, remember?" melissa pulled out to chastise you.

"but jacob—" you managed.

"is passed out. he's dead to the world. now sing for me, angel," melissa's tongue dove back into your weeping cunt and lapped at your walls. you wailed her name.

"oh, mel, right—ahhh—there!" you mewled as her tongue teased your most sensitive spot. now that she'd located her target, melissa changed her play once again. two fingers replaced her tongue and crooked into your g-spot while her mouth returned to your clit. "close..."

melissa nodded her permission, her mouth busy with your button. with another hard roll of your clit between her lips and drive of her fingers into your sweet spot, you fell apart. you moaned and cried unbidden as she worked you through your orgasm, which felt twice as powerful thanks to the intoxication factor. your body shook in the grip of seemingly endless waves of heat.

your climax eventually died down and you squirmed away from melissa's touch. your mouth opened in dismay when instead of staying by your side, she stood up and disappeared into her closet.

after a short while, the older woman reappeared by your side. she was now nude and sporting a long, girthy strap-on. she placed a few other items on the nightstand, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the thick faux cock. unless it was to look at her gorgeous tits, which swung with her every move. she was a goddess.

"okay, sweets, i'm gonna spell this out nice and slow because i know your brain is a little messy right now," she said as she crawled on top of you. "i'm gonna fuck you with my strap. and i know it's so big, but i have this to help you take it."

melissa reached over to the nightstand and retrieved a green mini wand vibrator. her intentions were clear, and you gulped. the redhead peppered kisses all over your face in reassurance.

"now relax, little love. let me in," melissa instructed as the wand buzzed to life. she smeared your wetness around your clit with her fingers, then pulled back its hood to position the vibrator tightly against your nub. even the lowest setting was a shock at such a direct angle.

while you were distracted trying to adjust to the clitoral stimulation, melissa aligned the tip of the dildo with your entrance and pushed in. you both groaned, and you felt yourself stretch around the toy. melissa turned up the vibrations on your clit as she progressed to being fully seated inside you.

"that's a good girl, so brave," melissa cooed. you thrashed underneath her, the sensations overstimulating you. the pain of the intrusion staved off a powerful orgasm from the wand vibrator.

again, you wondered if the drugs were messing with your mind—the dildo felt indistinguishable from a part of mel's body, and you were full to the brim of her.

as she began to rock her hips back and forth, you saw her bite her lip. you assumed that the strap had some kind of clit attachment for her based on the telltale signs of pleasure.

melissa built up a steady rhythm and drank in your pathetic sounds of pleasure. her tits swung in your face with every thrust, and you made a mental note to give them proper attention next time. with another tactical increase to the wand's speed, you felt yourself approaching the edge once more.

"you gettin' close? yeah, i can tell. feels too good to hide it, huh bunny?" that was a new one. you clenched at her words and she set the wand to its maximum power, rubbing it up and down on your clit. your vision went white and you spun out of reality as you came. "that's my girl. good little princess, coming so hard for me."

with a few more thrusts, melissa also came to a release. she shuddered and shimmied her hips at random while she rode it out. as soon as she recovered, she turned off the green wand and relieved you. next, she eased herself out of and off of you.

with a chaste peck to your lips, she sat upright and reached for the nightstand. she smiled at your fucked-out expression as she laid out the pajamas she'd picked out for you.

you watched in awe as she took off the strap and put on her own sleep clothes. her red hair was wild from the night's activities and glowed like a warm hearth against the white backdrop of her walls.

in your state, you wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with melissa and fall asleep. but she insisted that you get ready for bed so that you'd be comfortable through the night. she guided you into the bathroom and gave you a new toothbrush to use.

returning to the bedroom, you found a silky green nightgown with flowers on it waiting on the bed for you. given your exhausted and intoxicated state, melissa had to help you into it. neither of you minded. as a reward for your cooperation, she gave you a kiss.

the two of you snuggled into bed, tucked in together with you curled up against her chest. the tides of slumber lapped at your feet.

"g'night, lovebug," melissa whispered as you drifted off. "sleep well. see you in the morning."

and tomorrow would be the first of a lifetime of tomorrows waking up in her arms.

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x y/n #melissa schemmenti x you #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti smut #wlw smut #4/20 friendly #stoner fic #fanfic

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skalfy · 7 months ago

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Misunderstandings

alexia putellas x reader, ~4.1k words, part 1/2 - Part 2 here

angst in this part, but planning for a happy ending.

Hi! for people waiting for part 3 of the Misa story I promise I am working on it, just been busy and got caught with some other ideas, including this one. Hope y'all enjoy this in the meantime!

Also please feel free to send me requests, I am not very quick, but would love to take on some ideas. I don't really have a complete list of players I will/won't write for, but if you send me one for someone I won't, I'll reply and let you know so you can send it elsewhere :)

You had no idea how you had gotten off on the complete wrong foot with Alexia Putellas.

It had only been a month since you joined Barcelona on a three year deal, fulfilling a lifelong dream while launching you far out of your comfort zone. You were shy, and coming from Tigres, and before that, college football in America, you hardly even had a former opponent to befriend. All of your new teammates were strangers, and in some cases, even strangers you’d looked up to for years. All of your teammates except one, that was.

In a strange twist of fate, you had met Ingrid Engen almost a decade prior, when the two of you were both 17. You had an aunt--not a real one, but one of your father’s old friends from college-- who had moved to Norway a few years before you were born. Your family had gone to visit Aunt Anna every couple summers, spending a week or two seeing the fjords and the beautiful traveling the countryside. The summer you were 17, Aunt Anna had invited you to stay for a whole month. It was meant to be a sort of final hurrah before you started college in the fall, and your parents agreed without much debate.

Your second night at Aunt Anna’s house in Melhus, you had headed to the football pitch down the street with the intent to complete your assigned summer workout, and instead you had met Ingrid. That evening on the pitch was the start of a whirlwind month-long friendship as the two of you bonded over your love of the sport, then grew to find you had much more in common beyond that. One night as you sat on your bed in Anna’s house, Ingrid had told you that she was gay, opening up about the feelings she had for one of her U-19 national teammates. She held you in a tight hug as, for the first time, you said out loud that you thought you might be gay too.

You had said a tearful goodbye at the end of the month, but stayed in touch with Ingrid somewhat throughout the years, exchanging infrequent texts congratulating each other on football achievements or to check in on life. You had been pleased to hear that things worked out with her national team crush, Marie, though sorry to hear it ended a few years later. She had cheered you on in turn when you had your first serious relationship with a girl at college. When you first arrived at Barça, the two of you hadn’t seen each other since that month in Melhus, even with your respective places on your senior national teams, but you still considered her a trusted friend.

During the your first month with the Blaugrana, you had gravitated immediately toward Ingrid. You were delighted to fall back into the easy friendship you had shared so many years ago, and it helped that you were nervous to attempt to befriend your other teammates. You worried that you were monopolizing Ingrid’s time, but she easily assuaged your concerns, telling you that she was happy to spend the time together and that she would be there to support you as you took opening up to the team at your own pace. She offered you an open invite to have dinner with her and Mapi whenever you were ready to branch out.

Though you mostly kept to yourself and Ingrid, the rest of the team seemed friendly and open for the most part. Pina and Patri didn’t seem to mind your shyness and often chattered happily to you, managing to include you as a third member of their two person conversations in the changing room. Your spanish wasn’t perfect, but three years playing in Mexico had brought you up to a passable level.

Keira and Lucy, often accompanied by Ona, would also frequently bring you into conversations. You got the sense that it was as much for Keira’s sake as yours, she seemed more than pleased to have another native english speaker to chat to. You appreciated their dynamics, full of biting wit and teasing that reminded you of time with your national teammates.

The one person who seemed to hold nothing but animosity towards you was the one who you had been most excited to play with. You racked your brain, but couldn’t place any reason why you so often seemed to be at the receiving end of Alexia’s ire, but it was unmistakeable. At best, she ignored you-- the few mornings you had arrived early enough for the two of you to be the only ones in the changing room, she remained stubbornly silent, hardly acknowledging you at all besides a flat look as you entered. At worst, she singled you out in training, barking critique after critique. You had a relatively thick skin, but the captain’s intense disapproval wore on you as it never seemed to relent.

The obvious explanations that you could think of for her behavior were out. You were a forward, used to playing out and out striker or tucked under as a false 9, but you hadn’t played midfield since a few times in a pinch in college, so even setting aside her unmatched abilities, she couldn’t possibly think you were threatening her place. You had hardly ever played against her, coming off the bench late in a game once against Spain, and playing most of a friendly with Tigres. You had certainly never put in a risky tackle against her, you didn’t think you had even made any impact on her. Certainly nothing she might hold a grudge for-- you hadn’t, say, nabbed a winning goal.

As far as you could tell, it seemed like it was something you had done since joining Barça, because she hadn’t seemed so frosty on your first meeting. The captain had been quiet but polite as she welcomed you to the team, even returning the shy smile you had given her when you were introduced, but by the end of the first week it became clear that you had drawn her ire.

You had asked Ingrid for her opinion, and, while she agreed that Alexia did seem to be especially critical of you, she couldn’t come up with an explanation. After thinking through it, she optimistically suggested that it could be a misguided attempt to help you adjust to the Barcelona playstyle. At the skeptical wince you gave her in response, she offered to ask Mapi to weigh in. You thanked her, but declined. Alexia’s best friend’s opinion would likely be your best chance to understand, but you were wary of putting either Ingrid or her girlfriend in an awkward position.

A few days after that conversation with Ingrid, a particularly bad day of practice with Alexia all over your every move had you feeling desperate. You had stuck it out to the end of the session, but raced away as soon as you could, eyes hot with unshed tears and face red with embarrassment and exertion. You passed through the changing room only long enough to kick off your boots and grab your keys and phone. Jana was inside and changed already, on a slightly shortened training plan as she returned from injury, and she called out in concern as she saw you dart for the exit.

“¿Estás bien, Y/N? ¿Qué pasó?” You shook your head as the younger player stepped toward you, not sure whether you were answering no to the first question or trying to deny anything was wrong. Either way, Jana took matters into her own hands, grabbing you gently by the elbow and guiding you to face her. “Let me drive you home, vale?” you choked back a sob and let the defender walk you towards her car.

You told Jana which apartment building you were in and she didn’t bother to plug it into the GPS, navigating the short drive easily. She had turned on some music and you were grateful that she let it play quietly without asking you any more questions. When you reached your building, she turned the car off and climbed out, circling around to meet you at the passenger side door, clearly intent on seeing you all the way in. You let her walk you through your apartment door, sinking onto one of your kitchen chairs once you were in. The defender stood at the edge of the kitchen, looking a little uncertain.

“¿Quieres que llame a alguien? Call someone?” she asked.

“Voy a llamar a Jenni. Gracias por todo. Puedes quedarte si quieres.” you replied, managing a genuine smile at the young defender. She smiled back, pulling out the chair nearest you to sit.

Jenni had been one of your closest friends at Tigres, and she was eagerly checking in on your move to Barcelona every day, but you had held back about the challenges you were having with Alexia. You were afraid to gossip about the captain, especially with Jenni, and you weren’t entirely sure what kind of reaction to expect. But after the day you had, you craved Jenni’s support and guidance too much to keep holding back.

The phone only rang twice before Jenni picked up, greeting you with a cheery “¡hola, cariño!” you tried to answer her in return, but you were caught off guard by the wave of tears that surged back at the sound of her voice. All you managed was an urgent sniffle as you fought to hold the tears at bay.

“¿Cari? ¿Qué pasa?” Jenni’s voice, now concerned, crackled through your phone’s speakers again. After a moment, you felt Jana’s hand slide onto your knee comfortingly. You turned to her and saw that she had reached her other hand out, palm up. You handed the phone to her and watched as she immediately brought it to her ear.

“Hola, Jenni. Es Jana.” she greeted her former teammate before launching into a stream of spanish too quick for you to try to follow. You zoned out to the sound of Jana’s voice, focusing on deep breaths to unclench the tight knot of tears high in your throat.

You had managed to relax yourself considerably by the time Jana brought your attention back with a light squeeze to your knee where her hand still rested. You looked up to see her holding the phone between the two of you, an expectant look on her face.

“Jenni asked if you are ready to tell what’s wrong.” You nodded and took a deep breath.

“Alexia hates me. I don’t know what I did, but she hates me and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“How do you know, what is she doing? Cari, Alexia is shy and competetivo. Maybe she doesn’t know she is hurting you.”

“No, Jen.” you felt a tear roll down your cheek. “She knows. If it’s just the two us she will ignore me, she can’t even look at me. When we are with the team she tells me everything I do is wrong, my touch, my passes, my shots. I know I am not as good as everyone else here, but I’m trying and none of it is enough for her. I can see how she is patient and kind with the young ones, so I know it is about me.”

“Es verdad, I haven’t been in the practices, but the others have been worried about it. I didn’t know it was so bad, but Ale has been muy dura.” Jana chimed in, and you were a little surprised to hear her mention the team was concerned.

“I thought I wanted to play here, but I can’t do this for three years. I just want to be back at Tigres.” you admitted.

“Lo siento, Y/n. Lo siento mucho. I wish I was there to hug you.” you could tell she meant it by the waver in her voice, and it made you miss her even more fiercely.

You talked through everything you could think of, all your interactions with Alexia, every idea you had eliminated for what went wrong. Jenni and Jana alternated between outrage and murmured words of comfort, but mostly just listened as you vented everything you had been holding in for weeks. By the end, you actually felt better. Whether it was the release of finally letting everything go, or the relief of hearing two people who knew Alexia agree that something wasn’t right, a weight was definitely lifted from your chest.

“So what should I do?” You finally asked Jenni. “How can I fix whatever this is?”

“Oh, nena, you shouldn’t fix this, it’s Alexia who needs to. Quandó ella escuche lo que tengo--”

“Jenni, no porfa! You can’t talk to her about this.” You loved Jenni, hot head and all, but you couldn’t let her go off on Alexia about this. “Thank you, I know you would do that for me, but I need to do this. I don’t want her to think-- I can’t ruin—”

“Vale, I understand, cari. I won’t say anything, prometo.” Jenni saved you from struggling to explain further. In the pause that followed, Jana spoke suddenly from next to you.

“I think you need to talk to Ale. O sea, if you want to understand what is in her head. Maybe Mapi knows, but,” she stopped with a shrug, and Jenni finished for her,

“Only Ale knows what Ale is thinking. Jana is right.” You nodded, even though Jenni couldn’t see you. She sighed over the phone, then continued. “It might be easier if you are gentle. Even if she doesn’t deserve it.”

“Gracias, Jenni.” You were suddenly very tired. “Te amo mucho. I wish I was back with you.”

“Yo también, nena. Te amo mucho. I am here if you need me.”

“I know. Good night.”

“Good night.” You hung up the phone and placed it on the table.

Jana stood from the chair next to you and held a hand out to you. When you took it, she pulled you gently to your feet, then wrapped you in a hug. You immediately softened into the embrace, grateful for the comfort. She held you close for a long moment, then released you into a light hold.

“I know you have Ingrid, but I’m here for you too, Y/n. We haven’t had much time to get to know each other, but I’m glad you are at Barça and I want to be your friend.” The earnest look in her eyes as she spoke nearly had your own tearing up again. You tugged her back into a hug, squeezing her fiercely before you let go.

“Gracias, Jana. I want to be your friend too. Thank you.” You could feel a smile break across your face, and she grinned in return. “I should let you go home before it is too late. Are you okay to drive?”

“Yes, gracias. It is a short drive, we are almost neighbors. You can visit me soon and I will show you!”

You walked Jana back down to her car, exchanging numbers before you said your goodbyes. Despite everything, you felt a glow of hope for your future at Barcelona. At least you had a new friend and some kind of plan.

You were halfway through your pre-practice routine the following morning when your phone chimed with a message. It was Jana.

Jana: ¡Hola! Do you need a ride this morning?

Jana: Because I made you leave your car

Jana: Not sorry for that 😋🚙

You had completely forgotten about your car, so you were grateful for both the reminder and the offer.

You: Yes, thank you! I can walk to you if that is easier.

Jana: Do not worry, I will pick you up. 20 minutes?

You: Perfect

True to her word, Jana picked you up outside 20 minutes later. The drive was much more lighthearted than the previous night. You asked about Jana’s english, curious about why it was so good when she had spent her whole career in Spain. She started to explain that it was part of the curriculum at La Masia, but then cracked a smile and confessed that it was mostly because she was dating Jill and it was much easier than learning Dutch.

You had been curious about the rumors around the two, and seeing the way Jana lit up made you glad to hear they were true. You said as much to the defender, which led to her telling the story of how they met during the rest of the drive. The sweet story left you both in a good mood as you pulled up to the training center.

You climbed out of the car and grabbed your bag, laughing with Jana as she came up next to you and bumped into your shoulder as you started to walk together. For the first time in a while, you didn’t feel dread at the thought of walking into training, and you weren’t desperately searching for any sight of Ingrid. Jana seemed to be noticing the same thing.

“You will have to let me take you home more often if it puts you in this good of a mood!” She said, wrapping one arm around your shoulders.

You were about to respond when another voice beat you to it.

“Jana. Y/N.”

You froze, looking up to see Alexia approaching. Jana squeezed your shoulder where her hand rested. The captain had an unreadable expression on her face, eyes darting from you to Jana, then back to you.

“Hola, Capitana.” You said, lowering your gaze as her eyes met yours.

“Can I talk to you?” It was clear that the question was directed at you. When you didn’t immediately respond, she spoke again, voice softening almost imperceptibly. “Jana, vé sin nosotros. Iremos pronto.”

Jana caught your eye and you nodded slightly. You appreciated her willingness to look out for you, but you didn’t want to get her in trouble, not to mention you wanted to speak to Alexia anyway. The defender gave you a final squeeze to your arm before walking past Alexia toward the training center.

The two of you stood in silence. For a moment, your mind raced to guess what she had stopped you to say, but you pushed the worry down. With the way your relationship was going, it hardly seemed worth predicting what her latest criticism would be. You stared over Alexia’s shoulder, waiting.

“Jana has a girlfriend.” It was maybe the last thing you expected the midfielder to say, and you were caught completely off guard.

“What? I—I know.” You sputtered out. Jana’s last comment jumped into your mind, and when Alexia didn’t say anything else, you felt the need to continue and clarify. “What Jana said… She didn’t mean what it sounded like. She gave me a ride home last night and then this morning.”

“Bueno.” Alexia finally said, quieter than before.

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” You asked, voice flat.

“Ah...” she hesitated. “No.”

The blonde turned and walked away as you watched. The good mood you had only a few minutes earlier was gone, leaving behind a sort of hollow feeling. Jana had been the one to drive you, the one with her arm around your shoulders, and the one to make a silly joke about taking you home, but still, Alexia assumed the worst of you and you only. Suddenly, you felt like an idiot for thinking you could talk anything out with the captain. A surge of hopelessness washed over you as you imagined her scrutinizing every interaction you had with your teammates in addition to your skills on the pitch, and you felt sick. You walked to where you left your car last night, pulling out your phone to text Jonatan.

You: Lo siento, estoy enferma y no puedo ir a practicar.

Once at home, you buried yourself under the covers on your bed. You still felt awful from the interaction with Alexia, but you were overwhelmed by a wave of other emotions-- guilt for missing practice, anger at yourself for letting a personal issue get in the way of your career, and a deep fear that things were not going to get better.

Your phone was vibrating in the other room, but you ignored it, certain it wasn’t anyone you wanted to talk to right now. Ingrid was at the practice you just left, and it was far too early for Jenni or your family to be awake in their timezones.

As you lay bundled in your bed, the adrenaline from your high emotions faded, and you found yourself suddenly fighting heavy eyelids. Slowly, you faded into sleep.

You awoke to a loud pounding on your apartment door. Disoriented, you dragged yourself out of bed, padding out into the living room as the noise continued. You flipped the deadbolt and yanked the door open, coming suddenly face to face with your insistent visitor.

“Alexia?”

The blonde shouldered her way past you without a word, marching into your living room and looking wildly around. You closed the door and locked it before turning back to see Alexia peering into your bedroom. You snapped.

“Alexia! What the hell are you doing?”

“Looking for Ingrid!” She turned to snarl at you, eyes cold.

“What? Ingrid’s not here, what are you talking about?” You were genuinely confused, and Alexia barreling her way through your apartment wasn’t helping. You reached out and caught her by the elbow as she made to walk into your bedroom. “Stop, please! Can you just explain what’s going on?”

Alexia shook your hand off her arm, but stayed put.

“I’m not stupid. You show up here while Mapi is injured and try to steal her girlfriend. I see you every day at practice all over Ingrid. You don’t talk to anyone except her, you follow her around, you take her out for coffee, all while my best friend isn’t there to see. At first I thought you were just friendly, but it’s only with her.” Her chest heaved as she paused to take a breath. “Then I realized today you skipped practice and convinced Ingrid to join you and I knew.”

Your head was spinning and you were certain your jaw was nearly on the floor. You understood Alexia’s words, but struggled to comprehend what she was saying. As it finally clicked, a burst of laughter rose up in your chest. Alexia looked on, eyes narrowed, as you found yourself almost giggling.

“I’m, I’m sorry. It’s not funny!” You managed, pulling yourself together with a deep breath. “It’s just… you’ve been making me feel awful for weeks now because you think I’m trying to steal Ingrid from your friend? Did you even think to bring it up to Mapi herself?”

The blonde made no move to respond.

“I’ve been friends with Ingrid since we were 17. Mapi knows that. If we had any interest in each other we would have sorted it out long before now. You’re completely right that I’ve been following her around and sticking by her side, but you’re completely wrong about why. God, Alexia, I just came from halfway across the world to play for a team full of people I’ve looked up to for years. I miss my family and Jenni and the rest of my old teammates. A month ago, Ingrid was the only person I knew in this entire stupid country!”

You closed your eyes for a long moment, trying to calm your racing heart. Your body felt like you had just played 90 minutes of a championship final. When you eventually opened your eyes again, it was to the sight of Alexia still rooted to the same spot. She had hardly moved a muscle other than to drop her gaze to the floor, back and shoulders. rigid with tension. You left her in the bedroom doorway and walked over to sink into the same kitchen chair Jana had occupied last night.

“Y/n, I—” she started, but paused at the sound of the lock, then the knob turning on the door. It swung open.

“Y/n! Sorry to use your spare key, but you weren’t answering my texts! I would have come sooner, but I had a dentist’s appointment I had to leave practice for. Are you okay? Are you sick? Jana said you seemed fine until you talked to Alexia this morning, did she say something?”

“I’m okay.” Ingrid’s gaze caught you when you spoke, then rose to look past you as she responded.

“Good, I-- Alexia?”

“Alexia was just leaving.” You spoke before the blonde could. “Are you okay to drive home, Capitana?”

“Sí. Yes.” She answered quietly, finally moving away from your bedroom and towards the door to leave. Before she stepped out, she paused to turn your way. “Lo siento, Y/n. I will fix this.”

When the door shut behind her, you dropped your head into your arms on the table.

Part 2

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas

645 notes · View notes

queers-gambit · 1 year ago

Text

You Might Think It's Foolish

prompt: meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time creates anxiety, so, you stick to his side. at dinner, his mother calls out your clinginess - and Aemond doesn't defend you. or when someone else calls you clingy and he doesn't defend you / agrees with them.

pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 3.1k+

warnings: short and to the point, angst, hurt and no comfort, drama, relationship angst, stand alone, cursing, toxic family, toxic relationship...? barely edited, author's tired of her drafts.

Fall. Autumn. A time of shedding the old and preparing for the new. Perhaps that was why this happened - the universe was trying to shed what was unwelcome in your life. Yet you wouldn't see it this way for several long months.

The trees grew over the winding backroads in a curved canopy; creating a golden tunnel for visitors to pass through on their way to remote destinations. You were no exception, cruising at a leisure speed while taking slow, deep breaths to attempt to soak in the beauty autumn in the Northern Hemisphere brought. It was impossible not to feel enraptured by the serenity of the country roads, music set so you could hear it but still have a conversation if you wanted.

Your passenger princess told you it was the next right.

"I can't believe we're late," you whispered, sighing in strained stress. "This is a horrible first impression, Aemond."

"We won't even be the latest," he smirked.

"Doesn't matter, it's still rude to show up when the party's already started."

"We were busy."

"You were getting a new tattoo," you deadpanned.

"Exactly as I said - busy. And you got your third ear piercing, so, I don't want t'hear it."

You swallowed, making the right turn. "That's the house?" You gawked.

"Mhm," he gazed out his window, "welcome to the Targaryen Manor, princess."

"I forget you're from old money," you muttered, finding a suitable parking space and pulling in. You gathered your belongings, including the flowers from the backseat you insisted on bringing for his mother, and vacate the car.

"You're gonna be fine," Aemond smirked, tossing his arm around your neck as you moved up the walkway. "Just be yourself, laugh at their jokes - you'll fit right in."

"I feel like I can't even afford to be here," you whispered, approaching the front door. He chuckled and took your hand, letting you squeeze it tight as he opened the door and lead you inward. "Jesus, Mary Mother, and Joseph," you gaped, eyes bugging wide as the interior.

The term "fancy" didn't even begin to cover it.

And Aemond just smirked at you, amused by your response; knowing your family grew up without money and the nicest thing you owned for years was a Wii that had been purchased from a family-friend for a third of the price. So to see you here, amongst luxury and money, was an absolute treasure to him.

However, that was short lived, because the next thing you noticed was the amount of people milling around. There was at least 13 different people in sight, and for some reason, you knew there was likely many, many more. Aemond lead you into the kitchen, and from there, you could barely keep up.

First, you met his mother, Alicent. She was a kind woman, but stoic and calculating; observant with a quick wit. She intimidated you, made you feel small, burned you under her stare; and since you were dating her favorite child, you knew she was scrutinizing you. You felt desperate for her approval, and when you offered her the large bouquet of flowers, she actually let her lips twitch in a small smile. She thanked your generosity and consideration, making you feel like you had some kind of breakthrough with her.

When Alicent went to put the flowers in water, Aemond assured he thought his mother "adored" you before introducing you to his father - the birthday boy. He was sweet; soft spoken and bright-eyed; all too happy to have a conversation with you. He asked how you and Aemond met, then what you were studying in university, if you liked it, what you wanted to do with your degree. He asked what food was your favorite, if you played sports, about your family, and if you had any hobbies. Viserys Targaryen had a kind soul, making you wonder how he and Alicent remained married.

Though they say opposites attract.

Aemond showed you around the house, stopping to introduce family members; then heading to the backyard where you were drug around to meet the hundred other family members. You were close to tears the whole time, knowing it was his father's birthday, but not knowing how bloody big his fucking family was - and that they'd all show up today. You felt blindsided, it felt like a deliberate withholding of information to convince you to come. You were under the impression it was a family dinner, but now, you understood, it was an actual celebration.

There was people everywhere you looked, everywhere you turned. Voices spoke over one another, children ran around playing tag or jumping on a trampoline; babies cried and screamed, the grill was loud with sizzling meats, and a radio played through intermittent static. Multiple dogs ran around, trailing mud everywhere, even going as far as to shake their coats out to shower bystanders. The smell of charcoal, smoke, and chlorine mingled with that tangy-good scent of BBQ; but it made your eyes sting.

It was a sensory overload.

It was a miracle you hadn't burst into tears yet, but you remained anchored to reality by maintaining a close proximity to Aemond.

You held his hand in a vice grip. You held his bicep with a curled-grip that left fingernail indentations in his skin through the fabric. You held his waist, belt loops, anything you could grab onto in a possessive grip. You constantly touched him to reassure yourself he was still with you; being your anchor to reality, tangible and real since your anxiety drowned you in a sea.

You didn't think it was an issue. Didn't think anyone would notice, so you obviously didn't think anyone would care if they DID notice. You liked touching Aemond, it kept you grounded; if someone had an issue with that, it was 100% just a personal problem. However, plenty of people did notice, and when you sat down for dinner, you were unprepared for the ambush.

Conversation was flowing; food passed around and utensils scraped plates. Drinks sweat into the table cloth, citronella candles twinkled, and laughter was in an abundance as each person found merriment in their family. You were feeling more relaxed, but the truth was, there was so many people here that you felt nauseous enough to only take a few small bites from your plate.

Aemond noticed and met your eyes, subtly opening his hand to you in an offer for comfort. You all but snatched his hand into yours, smiling in thanks as he only smirked broadly and continued eating. You tried to sample what you could, but it was impossible to stomach much of anything. You reached for your water, took a sip, and heard Alicent question your name.

When she had your attention, Alicent asked, "Have you had many boyfriends, dear?"

"Oh, no," you answered honestly, "no, I've gone on dates but Aemond's," you laid your free hand to his bicep, sliding down to take his hand with yours, "my first boyfriend."

She hummed and stabbed her fork into the salad set in front of her, muttering in a lower tone, "Then I guess I can overlook it all."

You cocked your head, setting your glass down, wondering, "Overlook what?"

"The clinginess," she shrugged, reaching for her wine glass. "You've been stuck to his side all day - never even parting to go to the restroom, it seems. So, because he's your first, I can overlook all this... For now."

Your head began to spin like in a bad cartoon. You felt your heart cement and drop to your stomach; throat swelling to suppress either sobs, vomit, or both. The entire table was quiet. "I-I'm sorry, Mrs. Targaryen," you offered in confusion. "I'm sorry if I've offended you, but it's not with malicious intent."

"No?" She mocked.

"No," your head shook vehemently. "I did not realize my actions could be interpreted negatively, and I assume you, it was not my intention to create tension."

"Oh, spare me. You haven't let go of Aemond once all night, and even now, as we all sit for family dinner, you hold his hand hostage; preventing you both from eating. Don't you think he'd like to spend time with his family without needing to make you feel included in every single thing he does or says today?"

You gulped, "I did not mean to offend you nor your family."

"It's not offensive," Helaena Targaryen, Aemond's only sister, tried to intervene. "If you feel uncomfortable in any situation, why not seek out that in which you already know helps comfort you?"

How had it come to this?

"I am not offended," Viserys croaked, "I find young love refreshing."

But this made Alicent rage, "It is offensive when you prevent Aemond from actually visiting with his family. It's his father's birthday for God's sake! We don't have an infinite number of them left! If you want to hang all over him when you're at university, fine, but when you're here? In public? Around family or elders? It's not acceptable behavior, especially when you prevent my son from participating as a member of this family."

Your mouth went dry as you remembered your parents did not raise you to ever tolerate disrespect. If someone offered insult, sure, walk away, but they also taught you to stand up for yourself in particular fights. This felt like one of those fights.

There were also vivid memories long since repressed that flashed you back to your own parents telling you, you were clingy. They didn't want you hanging off them, distracting anyone, being an overall nuisance; so they started fighting your fire with their own. They became verbally aggressive, constantly ridiculing and belittling you; attempting to keep you humble by insulting your character - saying nobody (be it man or woman) would want someone like you. Your baggage was too heavy and you knew it, your parents telling you it was why you felt the need to cling in the first place.

If you held on tight enough, the weight of your trauma would eventually anchor your person in place. It'd be too late to swim away once that anchor sunk.

You looked at Aemond, thinking he'd tell his mother to quiet down, but he never did. He just stared at the table, so, you tossed his hand into his lap - feeling disgusting by his physical touch right now.

It was evident he wasn't going to defend you, so, you defended yourself, "I know you might think it foolish, but the reason I was 'all over' your son was because I was caught off-guard by the number of family members who attended today. I was lead to believe this would be a small, intimate affair so I could properly meet his nuclear family, and when I realized that was not the case, yes, I held onto Aemond because I felt incredibly anxious. I cannot control what makes me uncomfortable, but I was expecting under ten people - not close to a hundred. So, truly, if me seeking solace with my boyfriend upsets you, I am sorry, but I will not apologize for feeling blindsided and misdirected - I will not apologize for feeling anxious and nervous amongst such a large family that I've never met before, and - "

Aemond snapped your name, silencing you instantly out of sheer shock; your eyes widening a fraction. He growled, "That's enough, do not speak to my mother like that."

"So, she's allowed to call me clingy, but I can't - "

"I told you to watch your mouth," he seethed, "and not speak to her like you just were. She made an observation - an accurate one - not out of spite, like you want to do in retaliation."

You scoffed, while glancing between mother and son, nodding slowly. You mutely used your cloth napkin to blot around your lips, swipe your tongue over your teeth as you pushed your chair back and slowly stood. "You know what? I don't need this shit. I refuse to sit here and let you speak to me as if you're holier than thou," you told Alicent, then looking to Aemond, "nor will some mama's boy gaslight me."

Helaena giggled behind her hand as you swiped your purse and phone, turned on your heel, and walked away. Aemond sighed and called your name, standing from his own chair, still trying to slow you down by calling out to you. "Aemond," Alicent snapped when he meant to move after you.

"You've done enough," he told her, jogging after your retreating form while calling your name.

"Nice one, Mum," Aegon scoffed. "That's one way to make sure he doesn't knock her up - just break them up."

"Aegon," Daeron groaned.

"What? Isn't that what she was afraid of? Aemond getting too serious with her?" Aegon snapped. "He's finally happy, and you what? Had to implode that?"

Aegon's words sunk into his mother's heart as Aemond rushed after you, nobody untouched by the things he said.

Outside, you rushed for your car while fumbling with your purse and keys. Aemond followed, still. He finally caught up when you made it to the car, his hand whipping you around to face him.

"I didn't fucking mean it," he rushed, holding you securely in his grasp. "Hear me? I didn't fucking mean it, I-I just wanted the arguing to stop, I know how Mum can get and I didn't want it to escalate. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, my love, I didn't mean it at you - I just - I panicked - I don't know why. Perhaps we're both still very green to this whole relationship thing."

"Oh! Fuck you," you snapped, pushing him off you.

"Listen to me - "

"No, you're done talking," you raged with your manicured pointer finger jabbing the air between you in a dramatic fashion. "Your mother fully insulted me in front of everyone - your entire family, whom I wasn't even aware I was meeting, nor was I even ready to meet!"

"What?"

"I was willing to meet your parents and siblings. Not your entire extended family! You meet the nuclear family first and when ready to level-up, you bring your significant other around your aunties, uncles, cousins - whatever. You ambushed me," you snapped. "You totally caught me off guard - but instead of apologizing and acknowledging my discomfort, you just carried on on your high horse. You let me hold onto you - yet there was no word about being clingy - and you even reached for my hand a few times! Yet I was the one being slandered and labeled as 'clingy'!? But you know what? That's cool, really fucking cool, that's fine. Like I said before, fuck off. I don't need to be with someone who crumples like a wet piece of paper when Mummy Dearest starts to huff and puff. I need someone who's going to tell their mother to cut it out when they're trying to wrongfully insult me - your girlfriend. Better yet? I need to be with someone whose mother doesn't start on that bullshit! That has respect! Decency! Now get the fuck away from me!"

You shoved him back a few steps to give room for you to open your car door and get in - immediately hitting the automatic locks. You started the engine, put your seatbelt on, took one last look at your first love as he tried to plea with you through the rolled up window, then shifted into gear and pulled away.

You felt your anger boil to a new height when you replayed the entire day. How dare Aemond? How dare he try to manipulate this situation? He had no right to ask you to shut the fuck up while his mother was free to run her mouth! Well, first and foremost, how fucking dare Alicent insult and challenge you in such a public setting? How in the Seven Hells had Helaena been the only one to defend you? What the hell did you even need defending against? Why did you showing affection and needing reliable support upset Alicent that much?

Your phone began to ring, and when you glanced at it, you saw Aemond's contact photo displayed on the screen. You ignored it and put your phone on airplane mode, leaving it on for now. However, after a few long moments of stressful thinking, you turned the setting off and called your sister - knowing no matter what, she'd be your rock. When she answered, you told her a simplified version of events, and at the end, your tears had been triggered and she was encouraging you to come over to her house.

You agreed, shut your phone off this time, and drove to your sister's place. When you arrived, you were shocked to find her waiting in the driveway, opening her arms with a pout when you got out of the car. "C'mere," she cooed, enveloping you in her arms when you stepped into her embrace.

"Why do boys suck?" You whimpered.

"Because that's just how they were programed," she sighed.

"Sh-She called me clingy," you managed through your tears, "his mom called me clingy, a-and Aemond d-didn't defend me. So, when I had to defend myself, he just told me to be quiet 'cause his mother wasn't wrong - or what-the-fuck-ever."

"I know, honey," she sympathized, giving you a squeeze. "What're you thinking?"

"That I can't trust someone like that," you admitted. "And if I can't trust them, why be in a relationship?"

She nodded, "I think you know what you need to do next."

"I don't want to."

"Nobody really wants to, but it's necessary," she held your phone out for you after pulling it from your back pocket. "Don't let him or his mother disrespect you - especially in front of his other family members. I mean, shit, how're you supposed to face any of them again after that?"

"Exactly, his mom didn't exactly do it in private..."

"See?" She stared at you while you sighed, shaking your head. Your sister encouraged, "Make the call. This isn't a sustainable relationship, and Aemond shouldn't have to choose his mother and his girl - so, let's just make it easy on him, and you choose. Wanna be with someone who lets his mother say shit like that to you? Who tells you to be quiet, instead of shutting down his mother's insults?"

You frowned, whispering, "I don't think this is enough to break us up. It shouldn't be, right? This shouldn't be the end-all, be-all, should it?"

"No, honey, but the disrespect cannot stand, either," she shot back. "If he felt so comfortable to say that in front of his family like that, you don't wanna know what he's gonna get comfortable doing in more private settings." Tears filled your eyes as she reminded gently, but firmly, "Make the call."

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

Clingy Baby masterlist

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dilutedh2so4 · 2 months ago

Text

What do we think of this? Explanations below 😭

Jezebel x Ahab - The Phoenician princess Jezebel was married to king Ahab of Israel as part of a political alliance. She was key in the attempt to replace the Israelite state religion with her own, killing a few people along the way. She also got Ahab the vineyard he wanted (..through some murderous means..) when his own negotiations failed. Definitely the top in that relationship ;)

Jesus x Judas - something something, must you betray me with a kiss, something something, do what you are here to do, something something, he went and hanged himself

Eve x Lilith - Now, in the Bible, Lilith is only actually mentioned in Isaiah (as an evil spirit), then expanded upon in later tradition (to explain the two Creation accounts in Genesis). In this later tradition, she was said to be Adam's first wife who wouldn't submit to him, so God made another from his rib: Eve. I don't think they ever met, but I have seen some fanart, so here they are

Ruth x Naomi - MY OTP. Canon, because I said so. Tragic, because basically all their male relatives die and then Ruth has to marry Boaz for security. Ruth 1:16-17 my beloved 💔

Jacob x Leah - Put this here as a joke about the fact that Jacob always preferred her sister Rachel over Leah herself, and was tricked into marrying her by Laban.

Mary x Joseph - Two thirds of the Holy Family: the ever-compassionate Mother of God (in Christianity) and the step-dad who Stepped Up. See Matthew 1 & 2, Luke 1 & 2, or the (apocryphal) Protoevangelium of James for more

Devorah x Jael - Doesn't make sense as they never actually meet, but when you have two gaslight-gatekeep-girlbosses in the same chapter, they gotta be together. Don't usually recommend reading Judges (for your own mental health), but maybe look into Judges 4 just for them ;)

David x Jonathan - Where to begin? With how Jonathan's soul was said to be bound with David's, and how he loved him as himself? (1 Sam. 18:1-5) Jonathan risking his life to help David escape King Saul's wrath? (1 Sam. 19 and 20) The pair weeping and kissing before they part? (1 Sam. 20:41) David, in his mourning for [spoilers] Jonathan's death, calling his love more wonderful than that of women? (2 Sam. 1)

Absalom x Mephibosheth - David's son and Jonathan's son, whom David adopted. The two fans are @anniflamma and @sir-davey

Daniel x Darius - King Darius the Mede and the eunuch from Judah he falls for at first sight. Or something. Idk, ask anniflamma

Judith x unnamed maid - It does make sense, I swear. Probably unpopular because it's in the Deuterocanon, and also you have to be really looking for it -- but it is there, I promise!!!

St Paul - Just see 1 Corinthians 7

Don't take this too seriously lol, it's all in good fun :))

Feel free to add what you would have done differently / your own propaganda!

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dduane · 2 months ago

Note

The first part of that last message got me curious -- given how long-running of a series YW is, how do you keep track of All That when writing a new entry? Copious amounts of notes? Re-reading the entire series backlog? Keeping a fully-functioning simulation of the entire YW universe running in your head with perfect accuracy? (only mostly joking with that last one)

And somewhat-relatedly, did you have any plan or idea when you started for how long YW would run? Or was it more of a "I'll keep writing about this universe until it stops churning out ideas," type of thing and that point just (very thankfully!) hasn't happened yet? I know for per-book purposes you're a proponent of outlining (I swear I'll try writing to one one day Q_Q) but do you also apply that to a series as a whole?

Let me take this backwards, as it may make more sense that way.

Particularly when doing series work, outlining is more vital than usual for me. (Which is saying a lot.) Some of the most basic reasons for this are laid out over here.

The simplest one, though, for series outlining, is logistical. Without having achieved a sense well in advance of what events (or effects of events) are going to be most formative or important (or both) for the characters in a series, you won't have allowed yourself time to think about them enough. And to fail to spend enough time on this is to cheat both yourself and the books in the series. (And your readership.)

If you're smart, you learn very early on that attempting to save time by shortchanging or omitting the planning stages is potentially profoundly destructive. You need to have a plan... and you need not to let anyone make you ashamed of needing one. Putting off your detailed character-interaction and event planning in the name of some magically occurring fit of inspiration, or theoretical bid toward creative spontaneity, will serve neither you nor your creation. You can throw "Hail Mary" passes all you like... but you'd better be damn sure there'll be someone in the end zone to receive. ...If not Herself.

...And just in case you're worried, your initial plans can be really loose! They don't have to jump out of your head full-formed like some local war goddess after somebody hits her dad in the head with an axe. The plan for the Middle Kingdoms books—after The Door Into Fire dumped me gasping by the side of the road and left me a few minutes to breathe—was nothing more than "Now that his boyfriend's finally upped the ante beyond all expectations, Freelorn finally gets off his feckless Would-Be Robin Hood shit and gets to work becoming king." I then spent the next decade thinking purposefully about how that was going to happen, and writing the second book in the series—while sufficiently working out the fine details of the climax (and beyond) to then be able to get busy executing the third book. Even though there was a change of publishers between the beginning of that series and the end of it, the basic dead-simple MK plan from a very early stage quickly became detailed and robust enough (because the series was short enough) to withstand the change. Not least because I'd been thinking about it in a general way since the early 1970s... and continue to do so, pretty much daily. The Door Into Starlight is still hanging fire...

YW has been a different story—quite literally—because the only plan extant at the start of things was, "Everybody slowly gets older (and slowly closer)." I always knew there were going to be more than the original three: there was way too much interesting ground to cover to just stop with those. (I've never yet succeeded in finding out who started the rumor that there were only going to be three books. Over time it's become one of those things you just shrug at and move on.)

(Adding a break here, because this does go on a bit. Caution: contains publishing skullduggery, plans ganging aft agley, approximate word counts, software recommendations, and value judgments.)

("Now wait just one minute. 'Feckless would-be Robin Hood shit'? Can she just say that??")

The circumstances surrounding the writing of Deep Wizardry and High Wizardry, though, made it plain to me that I was not going to be at the then-publisher (Dell) all that much longer. By the time HW came out, they were already starting to pull away from midlist books and authors in order to spend that part of the budget on best-sellers... so it became plain to me that attempting to construct a long arc with/at that publisher would have been folly. Because who could be sure what was going to happen next, and blow everything I'd built to smithereens?

Sure enough, when I finished A Wizard Abroad, Dell declined to pick it up (even though the books had been selling steadily and increasingly strongly in paperback). This annoying validation of my concerns—and my shiny new agent's—made it plain to me that further books in the series were going to need to be thematically driven, rather than mostly character-event-driven, and almost entirely capable of being taken as standalones. Any long arc was going to have to be one that could be suspended, or reworked, with little warning. Because what happens to you once, in publishing, doesn't at all mean you're immune to it after that.

It wasn't until the YW books were picked up by Harcourt in the mid-90s, with a strong editorial team behind them, that I felt confident enough to start building longer-arc material into the books, beginning with the arc that kicks off in The Wizard's Dilemma and more or less completes in Wizard's Holiday and Wizards At War. There is a secondary (and I assume, generally less obvious) arc that picks up material still unhandled in the "War Arc," and deals with it in A Wizard of Mars and Games Wizards Play. But plans for those stories' management were already nailed down in electrons as soon as 2001, because I had made some early choices about where I was going with the characters and their situations; and as new books came out, my editors agreed with me that the choices had been sound, and should remain.

I'll say this only because I've said it before: there is one piece of business planted in So You Want To Be A Wizard that has never been explicitly dealt with/followed up on in any of the books, and is at the core of YW #11. For the moment, it's safest merely to say that I do not willingly leave loose ends hanging. Beyond that, I'll leave you all to your own deductions.

...Now. How do I keep track of all this stuff? (The urge to mutter "With great difficulty" and run off into the wings is strong. But never mind.) :)

The question's fair, as there's a million-plus words' worth of it in the series at the moment. ...Mostly my guide remains the books themselves, in ebook form (in their NME versions. If I need to, I refer back to the traditionally published versions as necessary). I normally have a general memory of where a given event happens or where a given issue comes up for handling. I then pull that copy of the ebook(s) in question, and do a search on various useful target phrases until I find what I'm after, and where it leads.

For new work, or stuff not yet committed to what passes for canon, I do have lots of notes. Some of them are actually out in public, at the currently-being-revised Errantry Concordance (though they're not in any form that anyone but me will recognize). Others are tucked away in the notes sections of pertinent Scrivener files—this being one of the most valuable things about Scrivener, as far as I'm concerned: the ability to store project notes in the project itself as opposed to "all over the damn place." Others yet are in my iPad, as either typing or dictation, and get transferred to other files/formats as necessary.

But the very first thing that happens, when a new work comes into train, is an outline. Sometimes a hilariously simple one, sometimes one with more detail in the middle than at the beginning or the end. Doesn't matter what shape it starts in. All notes, scraps, prose chunks, random thoughts, and midnight cogitations, get slotted into place in this until it's ready to be organized and sent off to an editor. And this outline—no matter how fragmentary or how polished—remains ready to hand at all times until I've finished with correcting the book's ARC and am looking at the release date.

And then I zip it up and put it away where I can find it later if I need to... because some other plan, still in the building stages, may need something in that one that never happened, but now has its chance. Because in YW, as everywhere else in my work, it's so often about the things that have always almost happened... until they do.

...Anyway: HTH!

#writing #process #you've got to have a plan #Young Wizards meta

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 23 days ago

Text

sweet dreams

pairing: james sunderland x reader? (written in third person pov, v ambiguous description of nameless woman)

cws/tags: smut, p in v, cheating? or is it?, not proofread, weird vibes and a little dark ig, but it's just the mood of the game

summary: james re-enters heaven's night and finds a woman who seems to remember him. he does not remember her. basically if maria successfully seduced him except it's not maria?

a/n: what is going on in this fic? idk

wc: 1.4k

Mary’s body lies cold in the backseat despite the blanket covering her. He will not find her in the gardens, the old apartment, or any hotel room. Only in a videotape in which she turns to static before it ends.

The only warmth he has is the jacket he wears. Until he returns to Heaven’s Night. A certain familiarity struck him when he entered the building for the first time. Maybe it’s the stench of liquor, drawing him toward another reality, one void of grief. Maybe it’s the neon lights, the metal pole, a discarded bra. Maybe he’s been here before. The woman sitting at the bar looks at him as if he has.

“James,” she says with an inviting smile.

“How do you know my name?” he asks, taking cautious, yet steady steps in her direction.

“How does anyone know anyone else’s name?”

“Is that a riddle?”

“No, that was just a question. I’m not trying to trick you, James. I learned your name when you introduced yourself to me.”

“I don’t remember doing that. I don’t remember meeting you at all.”

“You’ve forgotten me already?” Her expression drops, every part of her face is disappointed.

“I’m sorry. I’m just going through a lot right now. Don’t take it personally.” He finds himself reaching out his hand and placing it on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

“Let’s start over,” he suggests.

She nods and pulls herself together.

He holds out his hand, and she takes it into her own. Her hands are soft minus the sharp tips of her acrylic nails that tickle his skin.

“You’re cold,” she remarks, and he cannot decide if her pout pities or mocks him.

“No, I’m James,” he says, forcing the creases of his lips to turn upwards into something resembling a smile. “Remember?”

“Of course,” she says with a breathy giggle.

“Now, how about you tell me your name?”

“You know people like me don’t give out our real names, don’t you?”

People like you… it takes him a moment to realize what she means: sex workers.

“Oh. That’s right. But I’m guessing you have an alias or something.”

“I’ve been called many names. ‘Angel’ when I’m here at Heaven’s Night, ‘Kitty’ at The Catwalk, ‘Jade’ at Jewels, ‘Baby’ by some former lovers. Call me whatever you like.”

Choosing someone else’s name was not something he’d prepared for and it leaves him stumped for a moment.

“Don’t overthink it,” she says cupping his cheek with her hand. “As long as it’s not Mary…”

“Why not Mary?” He flinches at the sound of her name.

She pretends like she didn’t hear him, and pays no mind to his nerves, shrugging them off as she leads him to a seat in front of the stage.

He follows her, eyes stuck on her curves. He startles when she pushes him onto the loveseat.

“James, baby,” she says, her voice softer, but just as sultry. “Why are you so nervous? You want this, don’t you?”

“I just feel like I shouldn’t, that’s all.”

“Your mind is playing tricks on you, then. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to see what a woman has to offer. It’s like window shopping, there’s no harm in looking.”

Before he can say anything else she finds a boombox in the corner and sets it up - in doing so, she leans over and reveals a tiny strip of lace underneath her skirt.

James tries to quickly adjust his pants as she’s turned away from him, but she must know he’s hard. What’s the point in pretending?

When she steps onto the stage, she needs no introduction, only the opening synth of Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) to lead her up the short set of stairs before she walks around the pole, prepared to do tricks that James’ imagination couldn’t conjure up even if he begged it to. But despite his amazement at the way her body bends, even more so when her clothes begin to disappear, it’s the moment she sits at the front of the stage and spreads her legs, giving him a better view of the red lace thong he got a peek at earlier, that really gets him going.

He didn’t know he was hungry until he was starving.

The music doesn’t stop, the cassette runs its course. The scantily-clad woman straddles James’ lap, just hovering but close enough to feel the warmth emanate from her body.

“I know I said it’s just looking, but there wouldn’t really be any harm in touching me, would there?”

She takes his hands in hers and places them on her chest.

He can feel her tits, her skin, her heartbeat. She’s so warm, and real, and alive. There is the childlike urge to squeeze them, to hold and let go, make them bounce in front of his eyes, but instead, he slides his hands down her waist to her hips, sitting her firmly in his lap.

“You’re so warm,” he says without thinking.

“I’ll be cold soon if you leave me like this,” she says. Then, leans down to whisper in his ear, “Take off your clothes.”

When he asks, “are you sure?” it stumbles out of his mouth and lands with a groan as she peppers kisses down his neck.

She only hums in response. He removes his jacket and unbuttons his shirt so her mouth can reach further – to his collarbone, while her hands travel to his poorly-hidden erection.

She looks up at him and bats her eyelashes before going any further. It’s her way of asking permission.

“I guess… as long as we don’t go too far…”

“We’ll just get naked, maybe even kiss, nothing more,” she says.

So, he helps her get his pants off and she slips off her barely-there panties.

He feels alive for the first time in years when her warm body touches his, skin-to-skin.

He doesn’t protest when she kisses him, he closes his eyes and lets himself feel something other than dread for once.

She surely feels his need prodding at her core, but she must feel his guilt as well because she assures him, “If it slips in by accident, then, it’s nobody’s fault, right?”

“Right,” he says, completely under her spell, nodding along.

Of course there are no accidents. This is a mistake, not an accident. James knows this, but when she repositions her hips, he lets her wet heat envelope his cock.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” she says, a tiny grin peeking through her faux-apology.

“It’s okay, I’ll just pull out,” he says. And slowly, with a grunt, he does.

He keeps a tight grip on her hips so he can guide her back to him. “You can sit back down now,” he says, with his cock ready to enter her again.

“We’ll do better this time,” she says, rubbing her folds teasingly along his shaft before gripping it and sliding it inside her.

“Sorry, it just, you know, slipped in,” he says, almost believing his own lies.

“But it’s only the tip. It barely even counts, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” The music covers up his heavy breathing and her soft moans. But James makes sure she can hear him when he says, “You’re so wet, it’s only natural for it to slide right in.” He fills her in one thrust and it finally drags a long-held back groan from him.

They can’t make more silly excuses when they’re both breathless as she bounces up and down on his cock at a steadily increasing pace. He holds her like he fears he’ll lose her and buries his face in her neck as if muffling any moans would take away any of the guilt.

But he’s shameless when he asks if he can cum inside her, and she’s quick to say, ‘yes’.

Though he’s as warm as ever, he shudders through his climax. After being pent-up for so long, he has a dizzyingly intense orgasm. What keeps him grounded is each squeeze of her walls around him and the sting of her nails digging into his skin as she cums at the same time he does.

The guilt returns along with confusion when she stands back up to get dressed. He follows her lead, but once his shirt is halfway-buttoned, he freezes, looking over at her for some sort of explanation, some sort of direction.

“What?” she asks, brushing off her skirt as she sits down at the bar.

“Nothing. I just- I don’t think we should’ve done that.”

“Don’t feel guilty, James. You said you were looking for someone, and you found someone.”

“No, I meant I was looking for-”

“Love? Comfort? Absolution?” She laughs differently now. “You won’t get those here.”

“No, for my wife…”

“Mary?”

“Yeah, do you know her?”

“Not anymore.”

Like everything else, she is swallowed up by the fog.

#james sunderland x reader #james sunderland #silent hill fanfic #james sunderland smut

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wosoamazing · 10 months ago

Text

Williamson v Williamson

Summary: It’s the Semi-Final Match against England, you’re playing against your sister for the first time, you lose, but an absolute legend wants your shirt.

A/N: Just a short one, can’t decide if I like it or not but oh well. (Tried to keep it as real as possible but obviously some things are fictional)

Today’s match was a monumental one, not just on a team level but on a personal level. Today was the Matildas’ Semi-Final match against the Lionesses, it was make or break. It also meant you would be versing your sister today, someone would finish the game better off than the other.

The game was going well, you were even, 2 all, you and Sam had both managed to score and so had Ella Toone and Lauren Hemp, it was looking like a large chuck of added time would be needed and then possibly penalties, that was until Alessia Russo scored England’s third goal in the 86th minute, that was it, there was no way you could come back from that now.

The final whistle blew, and you just collapse onto the ground, you played so well and tried so incredibly hard, but it wasn’t enough. Your team isn’t going to the gold medal match now, there is no guarantee of a medal, all because you couldn’t get a second goal past Mary Earps. The media and public caught many heart-warming moments of Lionesses comforting their fellow Aussie club teammates, Aussies comforting Aussies, but the moment that had grappled the world’s attention was when, one of the Lionesses defender’s and their goalkeeper sat down on the pitch either side of the youngest player of the match, a young Matilda, a complete stranger, club rivals if anything. However, they weren’t strangers, they had been to your house many times, they were your sister’s friends but somehow no one had thought about that. However, them not being strangers doesn’t lessen their gesture in anyway though.

Mary Earps and Millie Bright had come to comfort you, they sat down either side of you, “Hi,” you mumbled to them, wondering if they heard you as your head was in your hands.

“You’re a good player kid, you-” Mary started speaking but was interrupted by you “Obviously not good enough though, I wasn’t good enough score another fucking goal, a single goal” you yelled.

“Hey, none of that, you know you had the most attempts and the most shots on target for the whole game, they said it could even be for the whole tournament, you were fucking incredible,” Millie told you as she pulled you in for a hug.

“You truly tested my abilities today Kid you did really really well, and you should be proud of yourself, one of the hardest strikers to keep for I would say.”

“Thank guys, I’m sorry for yelling, you both played really well today too, well at least Mary did” your comment sent the three of you into fits of laughter, you then chatted to them for a few more minutes, they were friends after all, and even though you did just loose to them you hadn’t seen them in ages.

“We better go,” Millie said as she saw your sister walking over to you “But first, can I swap shirts with you kid?”

“Sorry Millie, but there’s already a shirt with my name on it,” you nodded you head in the direction of your sister.

“I see what you did there, Leah’s not wrong about you being smart too” Mary said as she grabbed your hand to pull you up.

“What can I say, I can’t help being the better Williamson,” “Shit, I think someone heard that, run” Marry said to Millie as she started running.

“I must admit today you were the better Williamson,” you hear you sister’s voice say as she placed a hand on your shoulder and turned you around, “Now, I think that shirt is mine, it does have my name on it after all,” she joked, you both quickly took off you shirts before putting the others on, you both posed for some photos, before you were called over for an interview.

“Well, I think it’s time we let you go, best not miss the team huddle” “Yeah probs shouldn’t miss that one might get in a bit of trouble, thank you it was great chatting with you” “Likewise good luck”

“I think yellow looks better on you,” Tony said as you joined the team.

“Yeah, so do I,” “Well, I’m relieved, saw you talking to Sarina before, got a little worried.”

“Too bad you already gave your shirt away, Beckham messaged me, asked if I reckoned he could have your shirt, he was thinking about coming down from the box,” Sam said, she had a serious tone in her voice so you couldn’t tell if she was lying or not, but then you caught your sister talking to a guy out of the corner of your eye, it was the David Beckham.

“Wait, you’re not joking, you’re being real” Sam nodded, “Shit, I need to go get my shirt back from my sister,”

“Nah, it’s all good, he said he’ll just make sure to get your Bronze Medal mat-” “Girls focus, I’m pretty sure I’m more excited about Beckham than you are but can we just debrief quickly?” Tony said cutting Sam off.

“So, I guess this isn’t a good time then?” an ever so familiar voice said as a pair of hands you could recognise from a mile away were place on your shoulders. Everyone looked to the person standing behind you, you didn’t bother you knew exactly who he was, “Tony, if you don’t mind, maybe they’ll listen to the real DB,” you internally cringe at those words, when you were little you idolised Beckham so instead of saying MVP or the real VP as some might say you instead insisted on saying the real DB, you hadn’t heard it in years, luckily your family forgot about it, but obviously someone remembered and told him.

“Take it away,”

“Girls, wait move over let me in,” you all shuffled and he slotted in between you and Charli. “Okay let me start again. Girls you played amazingly today, but you were outplayed, your attempts were good, there were some I can’t believe she managed to save let alone believe they were from a sixteen-year-old,” you blushed “but some of them were too clumsy, a lot of those shots could’ve gone in if they had more power behind them, you hesitated to much, questioned whether you should pass or shoot, your decisions need to be instantaneous, but overall amazing work, great defending and great goal keeping, its England you are always going to concede to England especially to that team right there, their hungry and so are you but you know what the difference is, they believe they can’t get there but I’m not fully convinced you lot are. Great game though, very entertaining, thanks girls, and thanks to the real DB, I’m hoping I get picked for the shirt next game” he said to you, you nod at him, before heading down the tunnel.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #matildas #auswnt

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angel-fruitcake · 1 month ago

Note

How is it canon when it’s unrequited u make no sense whatsoever is it delusion or memes

first of all- 'unrequited' means distinctly not returned. Dean's stunned lack of response in the moment was not a rejection of Cas' feelings, and should not be considered as such. therefore, Destiel cannot be considered unrequited.

second of all- Cas' love for Dean has been confirmed many times on multiple different occasions, by both Misha and Jensen themselves, as well as Robert Berens, to be romantic love. that is not up for interpretation. based on that fact alone, it is canon. whether or not Dean's feelings are ever explicitly and/or verbally expressed does not change the fact that Castiel is canonically in love with Dean Winchester. that makes it c a n o n.

third of all- the fact that Dean's feelings have not yet been verbally confirmed is of very little consequence when compared to the monumental amount of very compelling evidence suggesting that he does, in fact, return Cas' feelings, even if Dean himself hadn't yet realized it at the time of the confession.

if you have watched this show and actually picked up on the frankly staggering amount of very clear context clues, it is quite obvious that, aside from his brother, Castiel is the most important person in Dean's life, full stop.

i don't have the patience right now to list every single instance that suggests Dean's feelings for Cas are mutual; there are far too many. but i will remind you of the most significant ones:

when Cas died in the s12 finale, Dean mourned that loss unlike he had done with any other character death up to that point in the series, and the way in which Dean grieved Cas was very purposefully portrayed in such an undeniably different way than how Sam grieved Cas. even the loss of his mother seemed to almost pale in comparison to the immense weight of Cas' sudden absence in Dean's life. Dean mourned Cas like a spouse rather than like a brother or family member; it is known as the 'widower arc' for a reason.

Dean was nearly suicidal up until the very moment he learned that Cas had come back. when Cas inevitably returned, the sudden change in Dean's demeanor was so immediately apparent and extreme, it gave Sam whiplash.

in the final seasons, Dean no longer showed much if any interest in having any romantic or sexual partners, a stark contrast to earlier seasons. the last committed relationship he had was with Lisa, which was quite a few years prior. this is in direct contrast to Sam, who had several romantic love interests over the course of the show (Jess, Madison, Ruby, Amelia, Eileen). the role of closest person to Dean other than Sam was always filled by Cas, the only difference being the lack of romantic label.

Dean and Cas' relationship has been directly paralleled in multiple different instances with canonically romantic couples, the most significant ones being: Sam and Jess, Cain and his wife Collette, John and Mary (during the widower arc), and Sam and Eileen in the final season.

additionally, directly following Cas being taken by the empty, Sam's attempts to call Dean were completely ignored, despite Dean knowing that his brother needed confirmation that he was alive. the sole thing occupying Dean's mind at that moment was Castiel; nothing else in the world mattered.

do you get it?

#need i say more #i'm sick and tired of people trying to dispute this #destiel is canon #end of story #destiel #deancas #spn #supernatural #anon #asks

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writhingg · 2 months ago

Text

heard you, saw you / need you, love you

Slender body angled in your direction, he leans against a rumbling car, a thick haze of cigarette smoke surrounding him. You quickly take stock of him—tall and tattooed, shaggy hair and black jeans ripped at the knee—and though you can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you know he’s looking at you. More smoke pours slowly from his lips, and with a wide, wicked grin, he points his cigarette at you and calls out, “Gonna get you, baby!”

Eddie wants you, and he won't stop until he has you.

Word count: 4,857

Tags/warnings: 18+/minors dni, Flayed!Eddie Munson x fem reader, Eddie Munson & Billy Hargrove (Billy is more of a side character), college-aged reader, post-season 4, no use of y/n, Eddie and Billy live (sort of...), Eddie hints at SA-ing reader (nothing physical, but he does talk about it), horror, suspense, dread, blood and gore, coercion, emotional manipulation, swearing, creepy older men, the Upside Down, background Shadow Monster/Mind Flayer, literary references and allusions, this is not romance.

A/N: I posted this on ao3 back in April, but since we're about a day away from October (spooky season!!!), I figured it would be the perfect piece to debut on here. This was heavily inspired by "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates and Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain. Reblogs are the best! Likes and comments are appreciated as well! Thanks for reading!

sweet, mourning lamb there’s nothing you can do it’s already been done

Your life is perfect.

You have a father who gives you money whenever you ask for it and a mother who dotes on you even though she secretly covets your youth and your beauty. When she looks at you, you can see the wistful look in her eyes, gaze lingering on the smooth skin between your manicured brows, the barely-there smile lines from late nights of laughter around a bonfire at Lover’s Lake, surrounded by your best friends and girls who pretend to be your friend and boys who want to be more than your friend.

At Hawkins High, everyone knows your name, always calling after you or grinning your way, trying to get a seat at the lunch table where you and all your friends gossip about the latest rumor—“Did you hear that Tracy Anderson got knocked up?” “Is she the next Virgin Mary or something? ‘Cause no away anyone’s touching her.”—while sipping on cans of Diet Coke.

It fills you with a triumphant sense of joy to get whatever you want; all you have to do is flutter your lashes or flash a coy smile and people are like putty in your hands, bending and twisting in whatever way you wish.

When you tell your parents you’re going out and don’t know what time you’ll be home, your dad grumbles a response, not bothering to look up from the TV dinner he’s shoving into his mouth while your mom asks if you really need to show that much skin, her uneasy grin falling into a grimace as you strut through the front door without a single glance back.

Crystal, your third-favorite best friend, is waiting for you at the end of your driveway. She’s perched in the driver’s seat of her dad’s new car, a sporty red convertible with leather seats and a top that goes all the way down. She greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and after the two of you complain about the humidity and gush over each other’s outfits—“God, that top is to die for!” “Baby blue is so your color!”—she tears off down the road, the both of you hollering the entire way.

A girl on the cusp of womanhood, you’re no stranger to stares that follow your every move.

Boys are always looking at you, but men want more than a small piece. Men want to swallow you whole.

You notice the way they watch you, with leering eyes and bottom lips tucked between teeth stained yellow from tobacco dip. You simper and wiggle your fingers in their direction, you and your friends giggling behind your hands when they stumble over themselves in their attempt to approach you. And when you see them up close—the crow’s feet, the nose hair, the greying mustaches—you no longer hide your laughter, doubling over with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“As if!” you always shout, unfazed as they grunt out stupid little bitch and fuckin’ tease. The words hang in the air as the men give you one last acidic look, scampering away with bowed heads and clenched jaws.

When you and Crystal pull up to the drive-in theater, it’s a familiar scenario. She finds a spot in the middle of the packed lot, and before the two of you even slip out of your seatbelts, the cars on either side of you are loud with boys you know from school and boys you’ve never seen before, all of them asking for your names and if you want to go for a drive to somewhere secret. The two of you share a smirk, Crystal busying herself with tuning the radio while you watch the intermission ad on the screen. You giggle at the dancing bars of ice cream, a jaunty tune crackling from the speakers as she finally finds the theater’s station.

They’re like hungry wolves, you observe, snarling and salivating at the sight of you reapplying your lipstick. When you climb out of the car, Crystal handing you a few bucks for her funnel cake and root beer, you pretend not to hear their desperate howls. It feels good to ignore them, just like it feels good to ignore the men who whistle at you on your way to the snack bar. Their idiocy amuses you, deluded enough to believe that cries of “Over here, honey!” will have you bounding over to them like a lost puppy.

You keep your head held high, eyes forward and hips swaying as you follow the oily scent of fried dough. You walk no further than a foot or two before the revving of an engine breaks your stride. Startled, your head whips to your left, and that’s when you notice him.

More smoke pours slowly from his lips, and with a wide, wicked grin, he points his cigarette at you and calls out, “Gonna get you, baby!”

You roll your eyes in response, thinking only of how stupid it is that he’s wearing sunglasses at night before flitting your gaze back to the growing snack bar line.

Later, after Crystal’s food and your corn dog are paid for by Robbie, a sweet-talking sophomore over at Purdue, you’re settled in the backseat of the convertible watching an old movie about a baby and some lady named Rosemary. You let Robbie put his arm around you, but when it’s clear that his insistent lips won’t be met with an eager, open mouth, he climbs out of the car in a clumsy hurry, huffing insults under his breath you’ve heard time and time again.

You sport a smirk as you help yourself to the pretzel he’s left behind, and in the distance, in the dark, you don’t see the man with the sunglasses watching you.

“You sure you don’t want to come?”

You heave a dramatic sigh up at your mom, muttering, “Yes, I’m sure,” for what feels like the thousandth time that morning.

Attending a barbecue at your great-uncle’s house—where you’ll be surrounded by your sticky cousins and all of your catty aunts who will make snide comments about your “hooker makeup”—is not your idea of fun. With the end of summer looming over you like a dark cloud, the promise of college and responsibilities and having to fend for yourself edging dangerously close, you plan to enjoy your last days of freedom by lazing about instead, sprawling out on a thin blanket in the backyard while the sweltering sun beams down on you.

“Alright,” your mom finally concedes. “Your father and I will see you later then. There’s some money on the fridge so you can order yourself a pizza. Call if you need anything, okay?”

You give a barely-audible hum in return, listening to the slap of her sandals as she shuffles to the awaiting station wagon. When you hear it disappear down the street, you exhale a relieved breath. After your whirlwind of a week—the drive-in, a shoplifting spree with your second-favorite best friend Amy, and a two-day rager at an abandoned lake house that once belonged to some guy named Reefer Rick—you’re in desperate need of solitude.

Situated on the grass, you switch on the radio, flipping through a few stations until you hear a song you don’t completely hate. Though the air is muggy, you find yourself lulled into a quiet comfort. Eyes soon slipping closed, your mind fills with shiny daydreams of white-sand beaches, roiling blue waves, and sweaty, muscled surfers. You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the incessant buzzing of a fly near your nose brings you back to reality. When you rise from your blanket with a yawn and a joint-popping stretch, you feel a hot, simmering ache across your face and chest.

“Shit!” you shout, scrambling toward the side door of your house. You take the stairs two at a time, out of breath as you rush past your frilly bedroom and into the bathroom. Twisting the faucet on, you splash your face with cold water, your warm skin immediately soothed by the icy temperature. A sunburn was so not on your agenda. Now you’ll have to spend the rest of the afternoon slathering yourself in one of your mom’s expensive moisturizers, which means you’ll have only a short window of time to primp yourself for tonight’s party over in Loch Nora.

You swear again, frowning as you gaze into the mirror and catch sight of your frizzy hair. With a scowl, you reach for your flat iron, a second away from plugging it in and dialing up the heat to the highest setting when you hear the loud blaring of a car horn.

“No way,” you mutter in disbelief, stunned as the horn beeps again only a few seconds later.

You cannot believe your parents are already home! They’d only been gone for an hour or two and weren’t supposed to be back until tonight! When you hear the horn a third time, though, a tell-tale signal of your dad’s impatience, you grit your teeth. You already told them you weren’t going to that stupid barbeque! What makes them think that you would change your mind, that you would want to hang out with all those gross kids and old people always going on about life a hundred years ago?

The horn sounds again, prompting you to forcefully stomp your foot against the tiled floor. Your parents are not going to ruin your plans. They’ll have to drag you out of the house kicking and screaming.

You barrel down the stairs and into the kitchen, bolting towards the side door once more. Your hands are on the screen, ready to push it open and unleash your frustration, but you stop at the last second.

It’s not your parents in the driveway.

The car is blue, sharp, and loud, with a set of words on the hood in an intricate, looping cursive. You can hardly read it, squinting as you try to decipher the sentence—“abandon all hope, ye who enter here”—before your face contorts into a disapproving frown. You think the car would look much better without all that mess written on the front of it.

Someone clears their throat, and your gaze then travels to the lone figure leaning up against the driver-side door. Your frown deepens when you see a man with a head of shaggy hair and sunglasses perched atop his nose.

“I was starting to worry you were ignoring me,” he says.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know me, honey. It hurts my feelings.”

He smiles at you, wide and toothy, and a look of recognition flashes across your face when you realize that he’s the same man from the drive-in.

“See? You know me.”

“No, I don’t,” you tell him, your voice sharp.

“You’ll get to me know me.”

He’s still smiling at you, a small dimple peeking through, and it occurs to you that he thinks he’s being cute. You study him, noting that he’s more of a boy than a man. You eye the black polish on his nails and his slightly cropped t-shirt, the sinewy muscle of his tattooed arms and his self-assured stance. He’s not your type, and you definitely don’t think he’s kind of cute.

“What do you want?” you ask him, arms crossing over your chest.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?”

You roll your eyes at the playful pout he gives you, and when he shifts to the side a little, you see through the window that there’s a second person in the car. Another boy, muscular with blond hair styled into a curly mullet. He sits behind the wheel and jams a tape into the cassette deck, the car filling with pounding drums and heavy guitars. Like the boy standing before you, he’s also wearing sunglasses.

“Hey,” the shaggy-haired guy says, snapping your attention back to him. “You’re pretty.”

“What?”

“You’re pretty. Prettiest girl I ever saw.”

You ignore the rush of warmth that blooms in your cheeks, gazing at him through a glare that takes more effort than usual to maintain. “I don’t even know you.”

“Eddie Munson,” he tells you. He jerks a thumb behind him. “And this is Billy Hargrove. Doesn’t say much, though. He’s shy.”

For whatever reason, in the furthest part of your mind, the names unlock a small inkling of familiarity. You brush away the thought, though, your glare fixed and sharp.

“Well, Eddie, it’s nice to meet you or whatever, but I think—”

“You should come outside and take a look at the Camaro. Decent stereo and it goes fast.” He leans forward, hands gripping the window frame behind him. “You like it when cars go fast, don’t you?”

There’s something in his words that makes you flustered again. You busy yourself by tugging at the frayed hem of your denim shorts, eyes darting away from him. He’s too forward and too inviting and too much trouble.

“So? What do you think?”

“What do I think about what?”

He chuckles, amused at your attempt to sound nonchalant. “Going for a ride. You know you want to.”

You exhale an exasperated huff, both hands on your hips now. Boys are always thinking that they can boss you around, that you’ll obey like some mindless servant. You don’t care that your stomach flutters a little at his words – it’s both insulting and annoying.

“No, I don’t.”

“You can sit in the front,” he continues. “Billy doesn’t mind moving to the back. We’ll turn on the radio and listen to some music. I bet I know what your favorite song is.” Then he does the most peculiar thing...he starts singing the song you dozed off to earlier. It’s an odd coincidence, especially when his voice starts to sound like the voice on the radio, gravelly and kind of breathy at the same time.

“That’s not my favorite song,” you interrupt him.

Again, all he does is laugh. “Fine, we don’t have to listen to music. We can do something else.”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. We could get pizza, go to the arcade.” One corner of his lips curves into a sly grin, as if he's privy to a secret only he knows. “We could even go to the beach.”

Another strange coincidence, you think, one that makes your heart beat just the tiniest bit faster. “There aren’t any beaches around here.”

“I’ll take you to one.”

“No, thanks.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve got plans.”

“Plans?” he questions, both eyebrows raising in what looks like feigned surprise. He places a hand over his heart, clutching the fabric as if you’ve dealt him a fatal wound. “How could you have plans when you’re supposed to spend the day with me?”

You roll your eyes at him, having already grown sick of whatever game this is. You take a breath, ready to tell him to crawl back into whatever hole he dug himself out of, but then he says your name, and you flinch as if you’ve been slapped.

You never told him your name.

“How did you know that?” you ask him, a mix of suspicion and fear swelling inside of you.

“How did I know what?” he replies, mimicking your earlier line of questioning.

“My name...I didn’t tell you what my name was.”

“You didn’t have to,” he shrugs, quiet for a moment as he plays with a silver ring on his middle finger. Then, an insidious smirk spreads across his face. “I know everything about you.”

It feels like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water on you, the air knocked from your lungs while your limbs lock in place. He seems close, too close now, and with a clarity that makes your heart thrash painfully, you realize that the only barrier between the two of you is a flimsy screen. With trembling fingers, you touch the lock on the side door, ensuring that it’s hooked in place.

“You d-don’t know me,” you stammer, trying your hardest to keep a straight face.

“‘Course, I do, baby. I know you and I know Amy and Crystal. I know sweet-talking Robbie and all those high school boys always running after you. I know those men and what they wish they could do to you.” He pauses, then his voice gets lower, taunting. “And I know your parents aren’t home right now, that they’re at your Great-Uncle Walter’s house for a barbecue. I know they won’t be home till later tonight.”

Your eyes are wide, your skin feeling too warm and too tight. You try to respond, but all that comes out is a shuddering breath.

Eddie isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s staring up at the sky, as if he’s trying to see past the sunshine and clouds. “Your dad...he’s sipping on a beer and tearing into a slab of ribs. And your mom is chatting away with your Aunt Belinda. She’s got a drink in her hand, something tart and sweet and mixed with vodka. Yeah...with the buzz the two of them are working on, they definitely won’t be home for a while.”

“How could you...you don’t know that!” you shout at him, breaking your composure. “You don’t know anything!”

He angles his head toward you again, still smiling, but there’s no longer any mirth. It’s what you see on all those other men, sharp and threatening.

Like he wants to consume you.

“You’re my girl. It’d be a shame if I knew nothing about you.”

“I’m not your girl!”

“Oh, but you are. You were made for me, honey, and I was made for you. And you can try, but you can’t run me off. I told you I’d be here, and I’m not leaving until you come with me.”

“Want me to grab her?”

Billy’s words petrify you, just as it petrifies you to see the shift in Eddie’s temperament. When he rounds on Billy, gone is the playful lilt of his voice. His skin flushes red, knuckles turning white as his hands curl into fists. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Hargrove? Huh? No, I don’t want you to grab her! She’ll come out here on her own, alright? Stay the fuck out of it.”

Eddie whirls around to face you again, a hand pushing back the hairs sticking to his forehead. He grins, and there’s not a single trace of his previous anger. “Sorry about that. Billy’s a little crazy, that’s all. Don’t pay him any mind. It’s just you and me, yeah? You and me.”

You nod because you don’t know how else to respond. Your fingers are still glued to the screen door’s lock, the metal latch warm and damp from your touch. Eddie cocks his head to the side, studying you.

“You’re scared of me.”

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being correct, but you have no rebuttal, no scathing comeback. You stare at him, blinking back tears, trying not to crumble. You are scared of him.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he says, his voice soft and warm. “I promise I’ll be gentle with you the first time. I’ll hold you in my arms real tight and I’ll kiss you and I’ll touch you better than any of those scumbags ever could. You’ll cry my name so sweetly, and you’ll be wet and aching and you’ll beg me, you’ll beg me to keep going. You won’t ever want to leave me.”

A wave of nausea mixes with your fear, your stomach churning violently when his tongue swipes slowly along his bottom lip. “You – you’re sick! You’re disgusting! Go away or I’ll – I’ll call the police!”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter. The police can’t keep me from you, just like that door between us, and that lock you haven’t let go of. They’re just barriers, and barriers can be torn down. Nothing can keep us apart.”

“Shut up! Just shut up! You’re insane!”

“Baby, listen,” he says, flashing you a placating grin. “As long as you come out here, I won’t go in there, but if you touch that phone, if you call the cops or your parents or anyone else, deal’s off and I can step foot in that house. I’ll hurt anyone who tries to stop me, and I can tell you this much...you won’t like it if I have to come after you.”

“Just let me grab her,” Billy says flatly. “I’ll make it quick.”

Eddie’s jaw seems tight enough to crack his teeth as he whips around again. “Are you fucking stupid, Hargrove? Are you deaf? You got a few bolts knocked loose? Your daddy shove you around too hard? Your mommy drop you on your head too many times? She’s mine! She’s mine and I don’t need your slimy fingers all over her. She’s mine and she’s gonna come out here because she loves me and I love her, got it? Mind your business and shut the fuck up!”

You want to run. You want to hide beneath the covers of your bed and fold yourself up and wish and hope and pray that you’ll wake up from whatever awful nightmare this is, but you catch something in your peripheral vision, something that keeps you anchored to your spot.

In the chaos of his outburst, the sun had changed its position in the sky, his shadow slanting tall and wide along the concrete driveway. It shouldn’t be something you notice, just as insignificant as the blowing of the wind, but you stare anyway, eyes wide with horror when you see a non-human figure sprouting from his body. Broad shouldered, the shadow’s wings are outstretched, with pointed horns curling from its head and long, sharp claws where the fingers should be.

It’s only the light playing tricks on you. It’s not real, okay? It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not—

A shrill cry tears its way out of you as you watch the shadow mirror each of Eddie’s movements.

He turns around, no longer shouting at Billy. His mouth is pulled into a knowing smile as he reaches up to remove his sunglasses, and when you see his eyes, you let out a blood-curdling scream. There’s no iris, no pupil, no white. Both eyes are dark, fully encompassed in an abyss of black.

Your body moves of its own accord, drifting backward and falling onto the stairs leading up to the kitchen. Eddie moves with you, a hand over his forehead as he peers hungrily through the screen. He calls your name again and again and again.

“You with me, sweetheart? You’re not gonna touch that phone, right?”

“Why are you doing this?” you whimper.

“Because I want you.”

“Why – why me?”

“I saw you at the drive-in and knew I had to have you. Such a pretty little thing, I thought, needs someone like me to take care of her, to her protect from all those creeps. They’re rotten, all of them. They only want to hurt you. They wouldn’t love you like I love you.”

“Stop!” you shriek, nearly out of breath. “Just stop!”

“Don’t you realize we belong together? All this time, you’ve been saving yourself for me. Don’t you know that?”

Billy is standing beside him now, watching you with the same bottomless eyes. Like a blackhole, their gazes suck you in, pulling and stretching and tearing you to pieces.

And suddenly, seeing the two of them side by side stirs another rush of buried recognition.

You recall fuzzy, childhood memories, images blurred around the edges of news reports on the Starcourt Mall fire. You remember sitting on the couch, a teddy bear in your lap as dozens of names and faces are plastered across the screen, your mom in the background murmuring something to your dad about Susan and her poor stepson.

You remember your dad and a few angry neighbors huddled around the dining room table, all of them whispering about something called “cults” and “sacrifices” and “you think Wayne’s nephew actually did it?” while you colored in a picture of butterflies.

You remember the earthquake, the ground splitting open, strange, grey snowflakes falling from the darkening sky as your parents packed up the car and rushed you out of town.

You remember coming home after almost two years of sheltering out west, flyers of missing persons still hung up around Hawkins.

And when you think hard enough, when you think long enough, you finally realize why Eddie and Billy look familiar to you.

“No,” you shake your head too quickly. “No, no, no, no. It’s not—you can’t—”

“Use your words,” Eddie coaxes gently.

“You can’t. You can’t because…because you’re supposed to be…”

“Say it.”

Heart pounding, blood rushing, stomach whirling, the word falls quietly from your lips. “Dead.”

“See? Didn’t I tell you she was smart, Hargrove? Not like the last one. What was her name again?”

“Jessica, right?” Billy drawls out. “Or Jamie? Or was it Jacqueline?”

Eddie snaps his fingers excitedly. “Wait! I got it. It was Julie. Julie Thompson.”

Your face is buried in your quivering hands, but when you hear the name, everything becomes still and silent.

Julie Thompson. She’d gone missing last year, assumed by police and her parents to have run away with one of the many college boys she was sneaking around with. No one believed you when you said she wouldn’t just run off. And she was your best friend. Your first-favorite best friend.

You lift your head, reluctantly meeting Eddie’s pitch-black eyes. “What did you do? Where’s Julie?”

“Get in the car and I’ll tell you.”

“No!” you shriek, despair and hot anger coursing through you. “No! Fuck you! You – you’re fucking dead and you’re nothing and you can’t be here! You just – you can’t!”

“But I am here,” Eddie replies, all traces of his softness gone.

He sees every part of you—the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe too hard and too fast; the trembling of your shoulders as you hold back an anguished sob; the delicious throbbing of the pulse in your neck—like a predator tracking every movement of its prey.

A predator that has won the hunt.

“I’m here because this town owes me and I’ve come to collect what’s mine. And you, sweetheart, belong to me.”

You’re screaming again, your head whipping back and forth so rapidly that your world starts to tilt. You clamp your eyes shut, but your mind offers no solace, because behind your lids, there is only red – a red sky, red lightning, a red pool of something thick and warm and murky that your feet are quickly sinking beneath. And out of the pool comes slippery, snaking vines that wrap around your ankles and up your calves, tightening and binding as they rise higher and higher. And something is diving toward you, the beat of its wings growing louder as it swoops beneath the red clouds. And you feel the ground rumbling, shaking, falling apart as lightening cracks and illuminates a monster in the distance. Massive and spider-like, its roar cuts into you so deeply that you feel it in your bones.

It's coming after you.

You struggle and cry until your throat is raw and aching, and you beg for your parents, for someone, anyone, to hear you, to save you, but there is no one, there is nothing except red and screams and fear and blood. You can’t breathe and you can’t move and you sink further into the depths of this hell, and you swear and you plead that you’ll do anything, you’ll do anything, so please please pleasepleaseplease—

The distorted chimes of a grandfather clock reverberate across the cold, blazing landscape, and then someone laughs, cruel and deep and echoing. It grows louder, and it stretches on forever and ever, and you can't do anything because you are decaying flesh, you are crumbled bone, you are dust.

You are nothing.

After an eternity of depravity and suffering, of drowning beneath the weight of wailing souls and fetid corpses, your eyes are open again.

You claw at the lock on the screen door with shaking hands and push yourself over the threshold. And when you tumble outside, desperately gulping in lungfuls of fresh air, your face streaked with snot and warm tears, the world is bright and burning again.

Eddie stands before you, his mouth twisted into a malicious smile, his arms wide and open.

“I told you, honey. I told you I was gonna get you.”

#part 2 coming soon #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #billy hargrove #stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #stranger things fandom #cross posted on ao3 #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem reader #flayed!eddie munson #monster!eddie munson #my first fic on here!!!

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rieamena · 5 months ago

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Heyhey! Can you do Billy x Reader, where reader is mostly confused (not sad or any sad emotions, just. confused) as to why Billy would like them despite looking NOTHING like his crush Monica (I think shes blonde with giant boobs which ok, I get you Billy) personally or physique wise.

(I also wanna make reader a badass sniper kiss kiss)

rooftop—

you sat on the edge of roof an abandoned building, your rifle propped up on the nearby concrete. your eyes scanned the horizon for any signs of movement, but your mind was preoccupied with a different kind of target—billy kid

billy had been acting strange around you lately, and it was starting to make you wonder. he had always been so vocal about his crush on monica, the blonde bombshell with the perfect figure. you were nothing like her—physique and personality-wise. you were a sniper, not some glamorous model

billy clambered up the fire escape, nearly tripping over his own feet. "whoa! that was close," he laughed, holding up a bag of your favorite snacks. "hey! thought i'd bring you some sustenance for your sniper duties."

you couldn't help but smile. "thanks, billy," you said, accepting the snacks. your legs kicked back and forth as you looked back at the sky. "but i've been meaning to ask… why are you spending so much time with me? i mean, monica…"

billy tilted his head, taking a seat next to you. "what about monica?"

"you had—no have—such a big crush on her," you pointed out, trying to keep your tone casual. "she's everything i'm not."

billy put on an exaggerated thoughtful pose, tapping his chin. "hmm, yes, monica. the blonde goddess with the… uh, giant… personality."

stifling a laugh, you rummaged through the bag, pulling out and opening some chips. "exactly. so why me?"

billy leaned in closer, practically forcing you to look at him, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "you think i like you any less just because you're not monica?"

you shrugged, finding it extremely hard to maintain eye contact. "i guess i just don't get it. why me?"

billy's eyes turned into little hearts. "you, my love, are a badass sniper. you can take down targets from miles away, you’re smart, brave, and you always have my back. plus, have you seen yourself in action? you're like a real-life action hero! my personal starlight knight!"

billy squirmed and squealed in his place as he thought of the many times he was blessed to see you on duty

you blinked once twice a third time, processing his words. "so… you like me because i'm… me?"

"exactly!" billy said, getting up from his seat. your head followed him as he stood on the concrete floor. "besides, monica may be pretty, but she can’t do this." he attempted a clumsy cartwheel and ended up in a heap on the ground, his electronic insides swelling as he heard your laugh—the one he loves so much. "see? definitely not as cool as you."

you walked over to him, offering your hand. "i guess i never thought of it that way."

he paused for half a second, wishing to soak in the sight of you beautifully sunkissed for a bit longer. snapping out of it, albeit reluctantly, billy took your hand, springing to his feet soon after, brushing himself off. "w-well, now you know. and for the record, you're way more interesting than monica. also, you have way better taste in snacks."

you shook your head, smiling softly. "thanks, billy. that means a lot."

"anytime," billy replied, his eyes twinkling with playful delight. "now, how about you finish this mission and let's grab some ice cream afterwards? my treat, if i have money... and maybe after you can show me how to do a proper cartwheel!"

"you're on," you said, grabbing your sniper, feeling more confident than ever

this req ATE

billy kid taglist

@pedrosimp137 @mary-moongood @linx-nyx @lemonboy011 @eisblume77

@amaryllisenvy @megan017 @astral-spacepumpkin @corrupted-tale @inkycap

@thurstonw @plapsha @lavenderthewolf @kurakusun @miymiymiy

@sweetadonisbutbetter @cobraaah @mochiitoby @clickingchip @bardivislak

@h3r6c00k13 @cozi-cofee @apestegui-y @luvuyuuji @theitdoitnobody

@fersitaam @cathrnxxo @monkepawbz @fl1ghtl3ssdrag0n @dabislilbaby

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florenceafternoon · 7 months ago

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━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

These fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon complaints.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

Gilded by @charmingwillow

Beneath her jumper, her heart was fluttering fast. Her free hand rubbed at the spot, willing it to calm. Her eyes ached from all the nights she spent awake, unable to sleep because it hadn’t calmed in days. Weeks.

She knew why; beneath her fingertips, under the soft cotton of her sweater, her skin tingled. She knew without seeing that the spot above her heart sparkled faintly with gold, like stars spinning in the cosmos. Scattered and dancing around a name that wouldn't quite focus. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying.

Someone, somewhere, was falling in love with her. They were close enough that Lily could feel a tug of alignment if she concentrated enough.

Or, Lily and James go on a walk in the forest.

Sunshine in My Eyes (requires an ao3 account) by monroeslittle

Mr. and Mrs. Evans are killed when Lily's only a girl, and she's supposed to go to a home with her sister. Instead, a relative they didn't know they had comes to collect them, and introduces Lily to manners, magic, and a life that's just the slightest bit different from the life she was supposed to live.

Or, an AU in which Minerva McGonagall raises Lily.

Dying Fires by @jamesunderwater

In fifth year, James attempts to comfort Lily by a dying fire - but finds this will require restraint on his part in a number of ways.

Their tentative, developing friendship is something so special to me

basic maths by @gigglesandfreckles-hp

Euphemia cuts Sirius off sharply. “I was simply verifying whether this is indeed the same Lily Evans whose name is written under my dining room table with a heart around it.”

or Lily meets the parents and James tries not to hyperventilate. over and over and over again.

Blue Jay by @neurowriter14

In a world with magic, the only thing that really took Lily by surprise, and trepidation, was the fact that she had a soulmate.

All That's Known by @women-inthe-sequel

Wizards view nearly everything as a problem for magic to fix. Other people might view him that way, but James has never felt broken. He doesn’t need to be wound like an old-fashion toy and programmed to do what everyone else does.

I am in desperate need of more deaf!James (or deaf!Lily). Please can someone recommend me fics

just like a tattoo by sleepygirl0305 (on ao3)

Shortly after he witnesses Remus and Sirius realize that they're soulmates, James gets his own soulmate tattoo. A fairly inconvenient time, given that there is a war going on. And N.E.W.Ts. But no matter, he was going to try anyway.

A Happy Thought by @thelighthousestale

The 7th year Defense Against the Dark Arts Class learns the Patronus Charm.

James is shocked to learn what Lily's Patronus is.

I know that this is a very cliché trope but I'm a sucker for patronus fics.

The Boy (in the bedroom) Next Door by @eastwindmlk

Lily Evans has to move in with her new potion's teacher to finish her apprenticeship. There is one small issue, said teacher? Fleamont Potter, father of infinitely annoying and frustratingly fit former rival James Potter. Who she has not seen after leaving Hogwarts after her third year.

Put on Bed Rest also by @/ eastwindmlk

Hogwarts is covered in snow and James Potter is sick. Who better than Lily to nurse him back to health.

May Moon by Elynn (on ao3)

May Moon- also known as the Flower Moon or Blooming Moon, due to the abundance of flowers that occur as spring arrives.

She glanced up, catching sight of Mary and Marlene in the crowd of unsorted first years, the both of them bouncing on their toes as a new student was called up. She’d already made two friends (she hoped) and Lily was always a bit of an overachiever. “Hiya,” she said, doing her best to sound upbeat. The boy—Lupin—looked up at her, face a bit shocked. “I’m Lily.”

or sixth year, a bad pick-up line, and a secret.

Not really a jily fic (it's pre-relationship) but I really wanted to include it in this rec list

Accidental Magic by @missgryffin

What else is there to do after confessing feelings in the middle of the night than spend a lazy Saturday in bed?

Hell Is Empty (And All The Devils Are Here) by @nodirectionhome-ao3

When an Order mission takes an unexpected turn, James and Lily find themselves stranded together. In the aftermath of the chaos, sheltering together through the storm, a fire catches between them.

Ignore the fact that I can't remember if I've recommended this fic or not. Regardless, the back-and-forth between James and Lily is so good in this fic.

Starlight by @suzyq31

Under the cover of stars, Lily and James go out in search of an elusive flower. The northern lights make Lily contemplate how plans change.

The next few fics are all by @apalapucian because I may or may not have been stalking her ao3 page. Everything, and I mean everything, Jayne writes is incredible.

maybe it was egos swinging (maybe it was her)

James starts rolling his shoulders, wincing. "Jesus, Evans." "back at ya," says Lily, testing her wrists. "ever heard of taking it easy?" "with you? never." "can’t believe you’d use confringo on me." "knew you'd block it," he says. "can’t believe you’d use depulso." she shrugs, grinning. "knew you'd block it."

(or: seventh-year, auror-aspirant, academic rivals, head boy and head girl James and Lily.)

I still can't get over the fact that Jayne wrote me over 11 thousand words of academic rivals jily. ELEVEN THOUSAND WORDS OF ACADEMIC RIVALS TO LOVERS JILY!! The banter, the stakes, I love everything about this fic

calliope calling

in which:

James wields a wand for the first time; Lily giggles, tracing an impossible dancing deer in the sky; Sirius slams the door; Peter sighs; and Remus screams, raw and screeching and piercingly young.

(or: the marauders and lily evans as children, and something about invisible strings glinting in the moonlight.)

green light

There are yellow roses on the kitchen table. a cup of coffee charmed to keep warm for a time. a scrawled "morning! :) –James & Harry" on a scrap of paper, the torn bottom of a receipt for... milk, she finds. and strawberries. harry was signed by Harry himself, and Lily wants to cry at the shaky strokes, the crooked lines. she can hear them in the other room where James' window seat project is almost finished. harry is laughing. he asks questions, mocks his dad's shabby handiwork, drops the things he's asked to hand.

roses and handwritten notes and coffee and giggles nearby. this is her life now. she skims the flowers, the sun itself in her heart.

or: the war is over. everybody lives AU. (well, not everybody everybody, but the potter family + sirius + remus + even peter* live.) old fic rewrite.

* = you'll see.

bad day wall

Lily calls it the bad day wall. it's like this weird communal one-liner diary thing.

every time i think i'm over her something happens and it hits me just as stupidly intense as all the other times. i'm SICK of it

why can't people just LIKE by default the people they LOVE? why do they have to be separate feelings? it would make things so much less complicated

or: in sixth year, Lily starts talking to a stranger(?) through messages on a wall. she also befriends James Potter. These two things are completely not related.

I haven't read this one but it on my marked for later

#lily evans #james potter #jily #jple #james x lily #lily x james #jily fic rec list

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wannaeatramyeon · 6 months ago

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Vin Jin x Reader: Cheonliang Jacket v2

G/N but F leaning. Let's pretend Vin has a spare and you are given a present.

It smells musty. Faintly of mothballs. Like it has been shoved into a forgotten corner of the closet somewhere.

How it looks though, is a different thing entirely.

Pristine. Perfect.

You hold up the jacket. Study the stripes along the shoulder and arms. Peeks of red in the design. Cheonliang written boldly down the right side and on the back.

Hugging the jacket protectively to your body and peering at Vin with puppy eyes, you ask, "Really?"

He averts your gaze, ignores the heat rising from his collar and gives you a nonchalant shrug.

Mary sighs, considers slapping him upside the head. Settles on a side eye instead and responds for him with a nod.

"Oh my god!"

"Vin insisted." The man in question pretends he's not a part of this conversation. That Mary, that bitch, isn't airing all his cringiness for you to hear.

"Really?"

"Yeah he knew he had a spare jacket somewhere and was digging around for it for ages." The attempt to ignore the conversation isn't working. Beneath those glasses, Vin is glaring daggers at her.

"Aww Vin..."

"He threatened to take mine off me if I didn't help."

You opt to bury your face in the jacket to hide your blush, touched by how sweet this gesture is. Beneath the mustiness, you think you catch faint whiffs of Vin's scent, woody and dark and spicy.

"Tore his room apart for days looking for it. It's adorable how much he loves you-"

He gives her a rough shove, cutting her off. "Shut it, hag!"

WHACK! The long awaited and very well deserved smack arrives, hitting Vin in the back of the head.

He tries to grab Mary into a headlock, but she pips him to the post and he is the one trapped and floundering. It devolves into a mess of squabbles and pinches (courtesy of Mary) and squeals (courtesy of Vin). Bickering and swearing, insults and slander. The usual.

You ignore them, too captivated with your honorary jacket. Decide there's no time like the present and shrug it on, checking the size and fit.

It's oversized. The length easily reaches your thighs and sleeves cover your hands. It's cosy, comfortable. Like having Vin wrapped around you all the time.

"It looks good on you!" Mary grins, untangling herself from Vin.

Vin coughs out an agreement. It really does. Seeing you in his clothes always does funny things to him. What's more, the idea of this being a couple outfit makes him feel all mushy inside.

...Assuming Mary not also going to third wheel and wear hers at the same time, completely ruining the vibe and his plans. He gives Mary another dirty look at this.

"Thank you guys!"

"Don't thank her, it's my spare jacket."

"Well I appreciate Mary anyway for helping and smacking you-" Mary gives you a smirk and a salute, "-And thank you for the jacket."

You reach up on your toes, and press a kiss to Vin's cheek.

He pretends it's embarrassing, you slobbering all over him in public, that he only allows it because you like it.

Without you asking, he leans down for you anyway. Angles his head so you miss his cheek, and graze his lips instead.

#lookism #lookism x reader #vin jin #vin jin x reader #mary kim #lookism manhwa #lookism webtoon #wannaeatramyeon

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her-satanic-wiles · 6 months ago

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Dawn Chorus - I

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.5k.

Reading Time: 26 min.

Warnings: attempted execution, blood, detailed aftermath of war, detailed deaths of children, detailed grief, detailed pain, mentions of sexual abuse within the church, mentions of rape, torture, violence

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976

Author’s note: This part of the story contains the origins of the Zionist argument, claiming that the land of Palestine belongs to Jewish people by will of God. I have written this section of the chapter as close to the Christian Bible as possible in an attempt to avoid Zionist ideology or propaganda - and I want to make one thing abundantly clear: this is a pro-Palestine blog. I will always and forever stand with the people of Palestine, and do my utmost to use my platform to promote the liberation of the Palestinians under Israeli apartheid. Zionism and Zionists have no place at my table. Please continue to boycott companies, platforms and people who send aid and support to the colonial state of Israel. Thank you.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, from the physical exertion or the panic rising in the pit of your stomach, you couldn’t quite tell. Your mind was a contradicting war zone, unsure of which team would win. On the one hand, your brain was buzzing with adrenaline, playing back every event which lead you to this moment: running for your life away from God’s chosen soldiers, avoiding your inevitable demise like a human billionaire and his taxes. You had shown yourself alternate scenarios in which this didn’t happen, in which you’d still be safe in the Humanities Department of Heaven, distributing angels to help God’s children and guide them to the Light. Or enjoying the presence of a fellow guardian angel at the proverbial water cooler. The other side of the battle was autopilot-mode, no thoughts, no feelings, just running to save yourself.

You had a fierce belief in your Leader - almost entirely unwavering and unquestioning. You were His daughter, mirrored in His image and devoted only to Him. You did His bidding as requested, journeyed to realms under His name, played the messenger when He had something important to say to His children. You were there when Gabriel delivered God’s message to the Virgin Mary, hovering in the background and keeping Mary safe from harm in order to protect the coming of Christ. You aided in escaping Peter from prison, making him invisible to the guards as you and some others guided him to freedom by the will of the Almighty.You believed in Him so strongly, that you didn’t need to question Him - because He was always right, and His plan was always just.

You saw how the people of Egypt suffered at the hands of your Lord, and personally watched as the souls of the firstborn children who were slaughtered by Him as an act of protest against Pharaoh and his tyrannic reign. You kept your mouth shut at the livestock, knowing that food could be replenished easily enough. You thought about saying something when you saw the innocence of Egypt battling against the boils that God had given them. By His grace, you could even turn a blind eye to the adult firstborns who were killed as collateral damage. But the children? Some as young as newborns, all the way up to twelve years old. Pure babies without an ounce of hate or sins in their hearts, who didn’t understand the difference between their heathenish beliefs and their Hebrew friends. Who had never whipped a slave, or ordered the execution of God’s children. Who never had the cognitive capacity to think of such a thing, because their brains hadn’t had the chance to learn, to change, to join in God’s favour.

You’d never forget the small boy you watched over in the seconds before he took his last breath, sleeping soundly in his bed after a long day of studying and games. He couldn’t have been older than six. The oldest child to a woman whose husband had passed on mere months before. To a woman who was hanging on by a fragile thread as it was. You watched the boy’s breath rise and fall steadily in his peaceful slumber, until his chest fell for the final time. You watched his soul rise from his body, confused for a moment - painfully unaware that his mortal life had ended. You saw the fear in his eyes when he looked at his lifeless body in his bed, and felt his frustration when his mother ignored his pleas for help, not understanding that she couldn’t see his soul. You observed as Horus came for the child, wrapping His arm around him and offering some comfort to his distress. Horus looked at you as you stood in the doorway of the bedroom, His avian eyes full of the darkest of emotions as He guided yet another soul to the underworld, to have their heart weighed and judged by the guardian at the gates. His loathing poured off of Him as He shot you that look, before disappearing into the night with the child. You didn’t kill the boy, but under the gaze of Horus, you felt as though you had.

Leaving the boy’s home, the streets were full of lost and confused souls, ranging in age and wealth but all sharing the same sorrow and fear. Among the devastation stood your doubts of the Almighty’s plan, and the question of why lingered on your lips even as you were summoned back to Heaven to give a report on the situation - on its success. You felt uncomfortable as you summarised what you saw to the archangel Michael, who looked triumphant in God’s success, knowing he had carried it out perfectly for Him. He thanked you for your hard work - and in that moment, you had never felt so disgusted with yourself.

Of course, your thoughts were never your own, and you were called in to meet with your superiors about your doubts. They seemed to be reasonable, and understanding, especially given that this was your first offense. They promised to set your mind at ease, and reminded you that you were merely a foot-soldier in the Great Plan. You didn’t need to worry, you just needed to do as you were asked. Then they kicked you out of the office with a bad taste in your mouth, and a sense of foreboding of the things to come. Surely His plan couldn’t get any worse?

Then Canaan happened.

After the Israelites escaped slavery in Egypt, they wandered in the wilderness for forty years, led by their leader, Moses. During this time, God promised them a land of their own, a fertile land called Canaan, where they could settle and prosper. When Moses died, a new leader named Joshua arose to lead the Israelites into Canaan. Before entering the land, Joshua received a command from God to conquer it. God promised to be with Joshua and the Israelites, assuring them of victory if they remained faithful. Under the pretext of divine sanction, and God’s name on their lips, the Israelites engaged in systematic warfare, besieging cities, slaughtering men, women, and children, and plundering their possessions. The conquest was marked by bloodshed, devastation, and the utter annihilation of indigenous populations. Then they burned the whole city and everything in it, but they put the silver and gold and the articles of bronze and iron into the treasury of the Lord’s house. Jericho fell to ruin, crumbling in ashes on the ground as fire engulfed the buildings and eating everything it could. You watched as they celebrated over the dead, drank themselves into a stupor in the ruined homes, covered in the blood of the innocent. They didn’t bother themselves to move the corpses until the celebrations were over, days after they declared victory.

Despite the humans being unable to see you, you were still a real being wandering the streets of Canaan, sobering at the sights before you. Your beautiful, white wings dragged on the floor as you walked, gathering the dirt and the blood at the tips of your feathers. God’s children had got the land that they were promised, but what was the cost? From the freeing of the Hebrews to the conquering of Canaan, all you could see were the bodies that had been left behind of the civilians caught up in the fight. Though the blood pooled in puddles no more than 3cm deep, it felt as though you were in it up to your neck. You looked at the conquerors in disgust, and with a rage you’d never felt before - especially when you realised that, for Joshua, peace was never an option worthy of consideration. You were suffocated by the sinners that surrounded you, the murderers and looters, the fornicators who lurked in dark alleyways to celebrate with any passerby willing or otherwise. You watched as indigenous stragglers were dealt with, some more humanely than others and you wondered: was this truly God’s will all along? Did He plan for such brutality? Did He allow Joshua to go as far as he did - and did He give Joshua the strength and the power to do so? Or did He look at His children in disgust and disappointment, ashamed of them for turning to sin and Satan so easily in a moment of pure happiness? Despite claiming to worship a God of love and justice, the Israelites demonstrated cruelty and brutality in their pursuit of land and power - and your faith wavered a second time when you realised that your worst fears were true: God really did give Joshua the power to do as he did, and He felt no remorse for it.

You were pulled into your superior’s office again, this time scolded with much less understanding than before. Gabriel and Michael looked at you with disdain, nothing but anger in their eyes and on their faces as you sat before them in the celestial white room, eyes aching from the brightness.

Gabriel, with his luminous wings unfurled, regarded you with a solemn gaze. “Again, ___? Hast thou not learned from thy previous lapse in faith? Our duty as angels is to serve unquestioningly, to uphold the divine order without falter.”

Michael, his expression stern and unwavering, spoke with commanding authority. “Indeed, ___, the Almighty’s will is not for us to question. It is our sacred duty to carry out His commands with unwavering devotion.”

You bowed your head, feeling the weight of their reproach heavy upon you. “I understand, my lords. But I cannot help but struggle with the suffering and turmoil wrought by our actions. Is it not within our power to seek mercy and compassion, even amidst the fulfilment of divine justice?”

Gabriel’s gaze softened, though his tone remained firm. “Our understanding is limited, ___. We cannot comprehend the intricacies of God’s divine plan. It is not for us to question His wisdom or to challenge His authority.”

Michael nodded in agreement. “Our loyalty to the Creator must remain steadfast, even in the face of uncertainty or doubt. We are His instruments, His messengers, and His will shall be done.”

You sighed, “But His will brings the destruction of cities and the deaths of children. His own children. It is difficult for me to truly follow Him when there is so much devastation.”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed slightly at your words, his expression a mix of compassion and admonition. “___,” he said gently, “we are but conduits of His divine will. Our mortal understanding pales in comparison to the grand tapestry of His design. Though we may not comprehend the reasons behind the trials and tribulations, we must trust in His wisdom and benevolence.”

Michael’s gaze remained steely, but a hint of empathy flickered in his eyes. “Indeed, ___,” he spoke firmly, “the path of righteousness is not always easy to tread. But it is our duty to carry out His commands, no matter the cost. Our faith must endure even in the face of adversity.”

You felt a pang of uncertainty gnaw at your celestial essence, torn between the call of duty and the ache of compassion. “But what of mercy?” you questioned, your voice tinged with desperation. “What of compassion for His creations, even in their moments of waywardness?”

Gabriel’s voice held a note of solemnity as he responded, “Mercy and justice are intertwined in the divine order, ___. Though His judgments may seem harsh, they are tempered by His boundless love. We must trust that His actions serve a higher purpose, even when they are beyond our comprehension.”

Michael’s voice continued in his firmness, his tone sharp and parental. “Let this be the last time we speak of this, ___. There will be consequences to thy actions the next time thou decidest to question the Almighty.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words pressing down upon you like a leaden mantle. The gravity of his warning was unmistakable, a stark reminder of the consequences of defiance in the face of divine authority.

“Yes, my lord,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.”

As Gabriel contemplated the situation, a solemn expression settled upon his countenance. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke, his voice measured and grave. “___,” he began, his tone tinged with a sense of sorrow, “in light of thy transgression and the gravity of thy doubts, it is clear that a lesson must be learned.” He paused, as if searching for the right words to convey his thoughts. Then, with a decisive nod, he continued, “I propose thou be assigned a period of reflection and penance. During this time, thou wilt be tasked with assisting souls in need—those who have lost their way, who suffer in anguish, or who cry out for guidance.”

Gabriel’s suggestion carried the weight of solemn judgment, yet also held the promise of redemption. It was a punishment tempered with compassion, an opportunity for growth and renewal amidst the shadows of doubt.

“Thou wilt walk among mortals,” Gabriel concluded, his gaze unwavering, “bearing witness to their struggles and offering solace in the name of the Almighty. May this experience serve to strengthen thy faith and reaffirm thy devotion to His divine will.”

“Let her spend time in Canaan until her penance is served, as she holds so much sympathy for the dead sinners.” Michael suggested, a smug tone oozing from his voice. He almost lit up at the look of protest you shot him, wanting to argue but Gabriel raising a hand and stopping you from speaking.

“It is decided. Thou may only return to us here when thou no longer holdeth contempt for our Lord. Dost thou have anything thou wishest to say?”

You stood and spread your wings, stretching them out and flapping them sharply in frustration. “There are several things I should like to say.” You retorted fiercely. “I shall restrain the urge, however. The Almighty gave me a tongue to use and a brain to think, after all.”

“And thou would doest well to remember that.” Michael commented, the smirk fading from his face. “Go. Leave us, petulant child. Perform thy duties and know thy place.”

Your time in Canaan was dreary - especially given that you didn’t want to be there in the first place, surrounded by those who used His name to spread evil. But still, you guided His creations as you were told to do, their guardian spirit keeping them from harm and returning them to the Light when their own beliefs had wavered. You felt somewhat like a hypocrite, guiding the wayward souls back to their own beliefs when you, yourself, were questioning yours. And, if you were to be truthful, your faith never completely restored to how it was before Canaan was conquered. You still held even the smallest amount of contempt for the Almighty, and silently questioned everything He did, wondering if His plans would succeed in peace or be laced with blood. But eventually, Heaven forgave you and told you that you were welcome to return, and you did so as though it was the easiest choice you had ever made… because, well, it was.

But all of that lead you to your third strike.

It had been some time since you entered the Mortal Realm, choosing to spend your time in Heaven and directing other angels to their tasks. You hadn’t really paid much attention to God’s creations as a result, almost entirely out of the loop. Since your time in Canaan, according to your fellow angels, much had changed. Great churches were built and devoted to God, while wars waged in His name and His word spread to those who needed it the most. Yet, in those churches, you discovered corruption everywhere you looked. The righteous taking their power and using it to abuse others, in God’s very own home, watched by the Saints and Apostles as they committed the most disgusting of acts to the vulnerable and the needy, as though they condoned such behaviour. You saw people, of all ages, routinely touched against their will, forced into submission and shunned if they dared to say anything - blamed by God’s other children for a crime they didn’t commit, but were the victims of instead. You watched the cycle repeat, families torn apart, and all the while the situation was monitored and allowed. Perhaps, even, ordered by the Lord Himself. You couldn’t bear it - you couldn’t fathom that the Almighty who you’d followed blindly your entire life could hurt another being like that, when He often portrayed Himself to be a kind and benevolent soul, a loving father to those who loved him. You needed to know why. Why must he enact such cruelty on his own creations?

You stormed into Michael’s office, where he, Gabriel, and Raphael met, staring at you in disbelief that you’d have the audacity to do such a thing. “I wish to speak with the Lord.” You demanded, anger coursing through your veins like never before.

Raphael’s brows furrowed. “Directly?”

“Yes.”

He laughed in disbelief. “Child, not even we get a direct audience with the Almighty. Whatever could thou say to Him?”

Gabriel sighed, disappointment oozing from his celestial being. “Thy faith hath wavered yet again, hath it not?”

“Aye, I stand before thee once more, yet again with a heart heavy with doubt.”

Michael’s own anger was bubbling under the surface. “Speak, and let us hear thy grievance.”

“My lords, I cannot remain silent any longer. I have witnessed the depths of depravity within the Church, the desecration of innocence by those who claim to be servants of God.”

“Thy words are bold, ___,” Gabriel said, his tone remaining level. “What troubles thee so?”

Your anger surfaced and manifested as a raised voice and shaking limbs. “‘Tis the scourge of sexual abuse that plagues the holy sanctuaries. Innocent children, robbed of their purity by those who should protect them. How can a just and loving God allow such atrocities to persist within His own house?”

Raphael nodded, unfazed by the spectacle in front of him. “Thy anguish is understandable.” He found this more entertaining than impertinent, clearly unaware of your two strikes before. “Yet thou must remember that God’s ways are beyond our understanding.”

“How can we stand idly by while the innocent suffer? Are we not tasked with defending the weak and the vulnerable?”

Gabriel rested his forehead on his hand. “Thou dost speak with passion,” he was exasperated by you, “but thou must not forget thy place. God’s will is inscrutable, and we are but instruments of His divine plan. How many times must we remind thee?”

“I refuse to be silent any longer! I will not turn a blind eye to the suffering of the innocent, even if it means defying the will of my superiors.”

Michael slammed his fist on the white desk, standing from his seat behind it. “Thou dost tread dangerous ground. Thy defiance borders on heresy!”

You echoed his tone. “So be it! I would rather be branded a heretic than remain complicit in the face of such evil. This smells of the Devil, not of our Lord. I do not understand why He sits by and allows it to happen.”

Gabriel tried to keep the peace between all of you, but he was losing control of the situation quickly. “Thy faith hath faltered, and thy words ring with rebellion. Thou must reconsider thy stance before it is too late.”

“I cannot, in good conscience, remain silent any longer. If God truly exists, then He shall judge me for my actions. But I cannot stand by while His name is used to justify such abominations.”

“Then so be it, ___,” Michael resolved through gritted teeth. “If thou wilt not bend to the will of God, then thou must bear the consequences of thy defiance.”

“So be it.”

“Thou hast been found guilty of heresy and defiance against the will of God for the third time. As Archangel of Judgment, it falls upon me to administer thy punishment.”

“Thou may judge me, but know that my heart is true, and my intentions pure.”

“Thy intentions matter not. Thy actions have brought dishonour upon the celestial host, and thy defiance cannot go unpunished.”

Gabriel stood and walked over to his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder and speaking urgently into his ear. “Michael, perhaps we should consider a less severe punishment. Her heart may yet be turned back to the path of righteousness.”

Michael shook his head. “Nay, Gabriel. The time for leniency hath passed. Ariel’s repeated offences demand a swift and decisive response.” All the while, his wrathful gaze never left your face. “Thy fate is sealed. As Archangel of Judgment, I hereby decree that thou shalt be cast out from the celestial realm and condemned to the Abyss.”

Raphael’s eyes widened with shock, but he said nothing.

Gabriel shook his brother and with sadness, he said, “Michael, art thou certain this is the right course of action? Once the sentence is passed, there can be no turning back.”

Michael replied firmly, “It is done, Gabriel. Justice must be served, even if it breaks thy heart. Let the punishment be carried out.”

Knowing your fate was worse than death, your body reacted for you - even before your brain had decided the best course of action. You turned swiftly on your heels and made your escape, wings flapping and trying to gain enough speed to remove yourself from the Heavens. Your heart was pounding in your chest, from the physical exertion or the panic rising from the pit of your stomach, you couldn’t quite tell. Your mind was a contradicting war zone, unsure of which team would win. On the one hand, your brain was buzzing with adrenaline, playing back every event which lead you to this moment: running for your life away from God’s chosen soldiers, avoiding your inevitable demise.

The portal to the Mortal Realm was just in your grasp, so by only the adrenaline that you were running on, you forced yourself to speed up - making a mad dash for the open world in front of you. You could hear Michael’s calls to, “Close that gate! Do not let her through!”

Someone had listened and had begun closing the portal. The closer you got to it, the smaller the hole became, shrinking and shrinking until all you could see was the tiniest speck of blue peeking out. But you couldn’t let that deter you - if you were caught, your future would hold horrors beyond celestial comprehension. You made a dive, perhaps it was your madness that drove you to do it, the adrenaline, or even your desperation, but you dove nonetheless. Your whole body ripped through the closing portal, feeling the walls shut in on you and grip onto your body with a searing, hot pain you’d never experienced before. Escaping from the Heavens was never a kind task, otherwise more angels would have done it, but now you were caught in Earth’s atmosphere, the planet’s gravity pulling you down to its very core with all the force it could muster.

The warmth was the first thing you noticed, the friction caused by the air resistance generated intense heat, turning your body into a blazing inferno akin to a comet streaking across the sky. Your skin prickled and your hair stood on end as the flames licked at your body, consuming everything in their path. The feathers on the outside of your wings were flying off and burning up in the flames, turning to ash in the atmosphere and disappearing entirely. The rush of wind roared in your ears, drowning out all other sounds as you plummeted towards the ground. The air around you shimmered with heat, distorting your vision and adding to the surreal sensation of falling through space. Tears appeared in your eyes but you couldn’t tell if that was because of the pain you could feel or the wind biting against you.

Despite the intense heat and the overwhelming sense of impending doom, there was also a strange beauty to the experience. The fiery trail you left behind painted a mesmerizing picture against the night sky, a fleeting spectacle that few that resided on this planet would ever witness. The sight of the planet from so far above reminded you just how the Almighty had made it: some land, but mostly water. As you fell, you recalled the horrors of the deep, the mammals with sharp teeth and stomachs bigger than your entire body. In that moment, for the first time in a while, you prayed to Him. You begged Him over and over to guide your body to land. You were an angel, you were likely to survive the fall despite the pain you were about to endure, and your weakened state couldn’t handle a battle with a sea creature that only wanted you for lunch.

Hurtling towards the ground, the last thing you remembered thinking was, this is how hellfire must feel. And that was when the world went dark.

“Clearly … happened … Sister.”

As you slowly regained consciousness, you became painfully aware of the searing agony coursing through every inch of your body. With your eyes tightly shut, you focused on the sensation of pressure and discomfort, trying to piece together what had happened. Your limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, and sharp pains shot through you with every movement. It was as if your body had been battered and broken, the impact of the fall leaving you bruised and battered beyond recognition. All the bones inside were broken, the bridge of your wings included, and your head throbbed beyond belief, as though you had a thousand hammers raging war against your skull.

Despite the overwhelming pain, a sense of relief washed over you as you realized that you were still alive. The thought of having survived such a catastrophic event filled you with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. Despite everything, He had heard your prayers and allowed you to touch ground - or perhaps this was the worst outcome… perhaps He wished for your pain as penance for your disobedience. Regardless, you would heal and be well, and then you could begin to live with the mortals and hide from Michael and his wrath. You were safe here… you were sure of it.

“… working … heard … looking … angel …”

The voice was registering with you now that you were regaining your cognitive abilities after the crash. Your brain was working over time to translate his words, though, leaving you slightly confused as this was phrasing you’d not heard before. You muttered something, your words coming out in Hebrew and silencing the man.

“What … ?” He asked, speaking some more but the rest of his words sounding fuzzy.

You tried again in Hebrew, but when that proved unyielding, you switched to Arabic.

“… know …?”

With great effort, you forced your eyes open, blinking away tears. Taking in your surroundings, you saw that you were lying amidst a pile of rubble, surrounded by the charred remnants of your fiery descent. You sat up a little, beholding the scene around you that was surreal and unsettling. The ground beneath you was scorched and blackened, a stark contrast to the surrounding, luscious, green landscape. The crater itself was a testament to the sheer force of your impact, a deep indentation in the Earth’s surface that stretched out before you in an almost perfect circle. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and charred debris, making it difficult to breathe. The heat radiating from the ground beneath you was intense, searing your skin and making you sweat profusely despite the chill of the night air.

Looking around, you could see the devastation wrought by your fall. Trees lay shattered and splintered, their branches twisted and blackened by the flames. Rocks and debris littered the ground, scattered in all directions by the force of the impact. On the edge of the crater, the man you heard stood, staring at you in disbelief.

He wore robes; a symphony of rich, deep crimson, a colour that seemed to capture the essence of devotion and authority. Crafted from the finest silk, the fabric cascaded in graceful folds, accentuating the dignified stature of the wearer. Each stitch, meticulously placed, whispered of skilled hands that had laboured to create a garment befitting its esteemed purpose.

The robe’s skirt, adorned with intricate gold and black embroidery, depicted sacred symbols and religious motifs that told tales of faith and tradition - resembling the cross that Yeshua died upon, but placed upside-down. The golden threads shimmered in the ambient light, casting a subtle glow that highlighted the reverence with which the garment had been crafted.

A matching red sash, elegantly tied across the man’s chubby waist hid the many buttons that ran the length of the garment. Its edges, crisply pressed and perfectly straight to show his precision and need to look as clean as possible.

The man’s sleeves, were straight, yet too long for him, as was the rest of his attire. As tidy as these lines were, as much care went into keeping it pristine, it was far too big for him like it had been handed to him from someone else that used to wear it perfectly. The cuffs ended midway down his palms, which, themselves, were hidden beneath leather, black gloves.

One hand was up to his ear, holding something to it and speaking in a tongue you couldn’t understand. Your eyes travelled over his face, his white skin dimmed by the light of the moon, but mismatched eyes shining brightly beneath black paint around his eyes. One was the colour of ice, the other was the colour of the trees. You’d never seen such a thing before in all of God’s creations. A moustache of mouse-brown sat above his top lip, which also had been painted black. As he spoke, you looked at his teeth, perfectly white but canines sharper than most mortal’s dental structures. You had heard of such a thing - rumours spreading amongst the Israelites as they told each other stories in the dark of the night - abominations so foul they ate people, consuming the blood from their bodies and ending their lives in a moment’s notice, hiding in the shadows of the night as the sun would kill them. You’d reported back to Gabriel, who’d confirmed these abominations were the work of Lucifer, an archangel who had fallen many eons ago and had renamed himself to Satan. Your eyes had fallen upon a vampyre, and as your eyes roamed over the rest of his body, you saw your halo clutched in his left hand, pressed between his fingers firmly as though you may make a grab for it at any moment.

You made an attempt to back away from the monster, but the bones in your body were still healing - taking longer now that your halo was in the hands of another and not atop your head as it ought to have been. You took in your surroundings a little more, brain power restoring to maximum as you realised he must be of the ancient Romans, the very same people who had killed Yeshua.

“I pray thee, do not harm me,” you said, your tongue switching to Latin. This got the man to stop again and look at you.

“You’ve hurt yourself enough without me getting involved, haven’t you, Angel?” he asked, responding in Latin back to you. His tone was unsettling, confident and dark. The glint in his eyes mimicked this. “… Latin.” The switch in language made you realise he wasn’t talking to you, but an invisible person in your midst.

“What tongue dost thou speak?”

“You’re a servant of the Betrayer and you don’t know my language?” he laughed, then spoke again to the invisible one. His hand moved from his ear and you saw light coming from his hand - expecting pain from Hell, you flinched. When the pain didn’t come, you heard him again. “It’s just a phone,” he explained, making a mockery of you. “I thought everyone up there knew what was going on down here.”

You sighed, “I have not visited in a while.”

“Oh really? When was the last time you were down here, then?”

“I am not compelled to divulge aught to thee, foul creature!” your voice was laced with disdain as you looked at him, fangs exposed as he grinned at you. He took a step towards the crater, and you tried to move back, howling in pain as you did so and earning another laugh from him.

“Then I’m not compelled to help you get your bearings.”

You stopped for a moment and thought - more knowledge would be useful at this stage. And keeping him talking would buy you some healing time and strengthen to get your halo then run again. “I beheld the passing of Yeshua - and that was mine ultimate moment in this earthly realm.”

The vampyre hissed at Yeshua’s name, almost as if he was in pain just hearing the name of the Holy Son. He straightened himself up and then took a seat on the edge of the crater. “That was two-thousand years ago, Angel. A lot’s changed since then.”

“What other tongue didst thou employ just now?”

“It’s called English. A mixture of Latin, Greek and German.”

A Germanic influence - you wondered why you were only picking up the Latin words at first. You were only prepared with the languages spoke around the time of Yeshua, meaning anything new that had been developed since was completely lost to your ears. Now that you knew the main languages, you commanded, “Speaketh once more in the English tongue.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He replied, but he did so in English.

“I comprehend thy words now. I give thee thanks.”

He scoffed. “That was fast.”

“‘Tis a… gift… from the Almighty.”

He looked at you in disgust.

You felt your body had healed enough for the pain to mostly subside, allowing you to fight your way to your feet. Your wings were still shattered, however, making you feel like a broken bird, vulnerable and weak in the eyes of her prey. The vampyre was preying on you, after all. “I express gratitude for the knowledge shared, yet I must make haste on my journey. I shall reclaim my halo and depart henceforth.” You held out your hand, silently praying that he’d be courteous and return your halo to you.

He looked at your hand and then at you. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He stood from his seat and took a step towards you, watching you flinch as you stepped back. “The son of the Dark One has an angel in his grasp - what makes you think you’re going anywhere, hm?” He was moving towards you at an alarming rate, rendering your body useless against his speed. He gripped hold of your arm, tightly trapping you beneath his gloved fingers. You struggled against him, pulling back as hard as you could but failing, your body still not strong enough. “The way you fell makes me think you came here without permission, right? Which means, we have a lot to talk about.”

“Release me.”

“Or what?”

“I shall slay thee.”

He simply laughed, before turning to a person who was walking towards you, emerging from the darkness. She was a woman, visibly older than the vampyre and a little chunkier, too. She had long, blonde hair and looked more human than monster, though, you came to quickly realise she was a monster like him, and when she spoke, she did so in English. “The Unholy Father blessed us with a gift tonight,” she commented through a smile.

“What do we do with her now, Sister?” the vampyre asked, English rolling off his tongue easier than the Latin he spoke to you in.

The woman entered the crater and grabbed hold of your chin, looking at your body in one, fell swoop before making her decision. “Take her to the basements and strap her up - we have a lot of questions to ask about her home, don’t we, little angel?”

“Unhand me!” you yelled, struggling against both of their grasps.

The woman gripped onto your wrists and tied a metal chain around them - the metal burned against your skin as you fought against her, the pain getting worse and worse until you were forced to still. “Forged with hellfire,” she explained, “you’re not getting out of that easily.”

The vampyre dragged you across the grass and into a building, smelling old and of incense. You could tell that the building techniques were similar to the Babylonian buildings, but with Roman Corinthian architecture thrown in. There were also elements to this structure that you hadn’t seen before, and was only paying attention to because you needed to escape.

The vampyre pulled you down some steps, travelling further and further below ground as though he were walking you to Hell, until you finally stopped at a door. The room he threw you into was cold and dark, and it smelled almost exclusively of damp. In the centre of the room was a table, propped up on wood and resembling a crucifix. You were strapped onto it, similarly to the Messiah, except your device was made exclusively of hellfire-forged metal, making your entire body tingle with pain. You fought against him all the while, trying your best to escape, but all your efforts proved to be in vain. Once the woman entered the room, the torture truly began.

They both asked you things, questions about Heaven and the Almighty’s plan that you couldn’t answer even if you wanted to. When they were met with answers they didn’t like, they would reopen wounds that had healed and damage your body in ways that were unimaginable once upon a time. Feathers were plucked from your wings to start with, following cuts to your skin, slaps, and then short bursts of hellfire that rose from the ground. But you remained silent throughout, save for your screams of agony.

Eventually, they grew tired, and as the vampyre left, he looked at you and smirked. “We all have eternity, Angel. You’ll be here for the rest of it if you don’t cooperate.” He winked at you. “See you tomorrow.”

The door to the room closed behind them, slamming shut with an echo that reverberated throughout your entire being. Your halo sat on the other side of the room, resting on a table and taunting you. You could hear it crying out for you and your body begging for it. If you wore it, you’d heal in no time and regain all of your strength. But just being in its presence meant it would take longer. You were never without your halo and your holy light, but you’d seen what had happened to angels who were. Fearing that this was to be your fate, you wondered if it would have served you better to be caught by Michael and thrown to the void. Or perhaps you should have just continued on in blind faith of the Almighty, doing His bidding despite your heart breaking each time.

Strapped to Hell’s crucifix, all you could do was think of all the regrets you had, and beg into the darkness that He would show you mercy and allow you to come home. Or die quickly.

Prev. ⛧ Next

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adalitas-coffeebreak-corner · 3 days ago

Text

The twin swap pt. 1

Sirius Black x potter!fem!reader

In an attempt to prank your twin brother James, you suddently find yourself in a situation where you can no longer ignore your feelings for your brothers best friend.

Warnings: nothing really besides reader bodyswapping with James, tiny bit of swearing, and excessive yearning because we know the Potters are hopeless romantics. Hope you enjoy.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆♡☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

This had gone way too far,

Sirius standing in front of you half naked, his pyjamas pants hanging just low enough to see the outline of his-

"Are you alright Potter?" Your eyes snap up to meet his silvery dark ones, framed perfectly by his dark brows.

You feel hot, all the blood rushing to your head, your palms are sweaty and you almost don't notice the ringing sound in your ears, as you mutter out a, hopefully, coherent response of yes i'm grand.

Sirius smiles, apparently somewhat pleased with your answer, as he continues chatting with Remus and Peter, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.

His soft, plump lips that you have been dreaming of touching since fourth year. You never really thought smoking was sexy until you saw how well Sirius pulled it off, which prompted many, many daydreams about you plucking that cigarette from his lips and just softly crane your neck to make your lips touch-

"Prongs, you're starting to freak me out mate"

Oh, right- you're currently stuck in your twinbrothers body, sitting on his bed in the boys dormitory.

Remus lowers his book from his place in the windowsill, giving you a strange glare as the adrenaline returns throughout your (james') body, making you once again stumble over your words.

"Sirius is right James, you look rather sickly and- are you blushing?" Peter chimes in sitting on his bed.

"Oh, no no, i'm okay, sorry carry on" you respond as you force yourself to lower your gaze, mentally kicking yourself. The boys share a glaze or two, but ultimately let it lie, starting back up their conversation.

This whole stupid idea started as a prank on your brother, but by some stupid twist of fate, or maybe even some strange twin telepathy, James had the exact same prank planned, which was showing up in the commonroom as you, using polyjuice potion.

The prank quickly extended to your friends, both of you wanting to see if any of them would notice your swap at dinner. Unfortunately nobody did, which in turn made you frown.

Are we really that similiar?

Can Sirius not even tell you two apart?

Needles to say, by the time you were ready to reveal your true identities, you had fallen too deep into your own prank, the boys almost dragging you up to the dorm, you just barely had time to exchange a panicked glance with James, who was in a similar situation with Lily, Marlene and Mary.

Now you just have to act normal until the boys fall asleep, then go find James.

Thats simple enough, right?

You are so lost in thought you honestly don't notice your eyes connecting with Sirius' for the third time in the span of fifteen minutes. But by the time you do notice, its too late and he's talking to you again, oh merlin you haven't heard what he said, and now the attention of all the boys are on you again.

What the hell is wrong with you? Just say something that James would say

Remus lets out a nervous chuckle, making you panic even more somehow.

Okay Potter, you can do this. Just make up some excuse to go wait this out in the bathroom.

Deep breath and hit them with a totally normal thing Jamie would say.

"I'm gonna go, bathroom, you know.. penis"

Shit

Sirius and Peter look equally perplexed and poor Rem looks absolutely horrified, as their wide eyes follow your ungraceful attempt to flee towards the bathroom, trying your best at manoeuvring your longer limps, and finally locking yourself away.

As soon as you hear the lock click, you slide down the door putting your head in your hands. You sincerly hope James is doing way better at pretending to be you, even though you doubt it, seeing as Lily is gonna be there.

You sigh deeply, muttering quiet curses at yourself, debating whether or not you should make a run for it, or stay locked in here until the potion subsides.

"James, talk to us please"

Sirius' voice startles you, making you shoot up from your position on the floor, almost knocking your head against the celling, letting out a yelp.

Is James really this tall?

"Prongs, if you need someone to talk to you know we're right here mate" Remus agknowledge sympathetically, causing you to feel a little guilty, making a mental note to buy him extra chocolate at Honeydukes, next time you make the trip. That is, if you don't die from embarrassment in this tile covered cage of shame.

"Even if it's, erh, penis related" Peter announced, earning a light smack from Sirius.

It occurred to you that you need to face the boys again, in order to get ahold of James, so you sigh and relent, shutting your eyes tight.

Might as well tell them how you really feel.

"Nothing is really going according to plan" you chuckle speaking up again, more somberly this time.

"I feel this suffocating pressure just to push everything down and lock it away, because there is no way Si- she will reciprocate my feelings, you know, erhm Lily. I thought I could ignore it, but for some reason I can't seem to." You trailed off, opening your eyes when you were meet with a few seconds of silence.

Immediately you're wondering if you went too real with it, do boys even talk to each other like that? Did they notice your slip up?

But on the other hand, it feels natural to talk with them like this. Since first year Remus, Sirius and Peter has always been your brothers friends first, yours second. He's more or less the glue keeping them together, and you're just his sister, someone they tolerate because of James.

Which ofcourse makes your infatuation with Sirius quite difficult.

Who would want to date their best mates sister? Not even mentioning the fact that James will have a fit, if he ever finds out just how much in love with Sirius you are.

For merlins sake.

Against your better judgement, you open the wooden door, awaiting their reactions, half expecting them to mock you.

Immediately you're tackled by Sirius who's pulling you into a hug, which is so comforting, and oh god he's still shirtless.

"Thank you for sharing that" Remus extends his hand to your shoulder offering you a gloomy smile.

A few seconds later Sirius releases you from his grip, you grimace slightly finding that you are missing his warmth already.

"Let's just go to sleep, I'll feel better in the morning" you whisper, closing the door behind you. The boys nodd, silently agreeing.

_____________________

You've been painfully awake for about an hour now, wanting to be completely sure the boys are fast asleep before you sneak out.

The floor is cold beneath your feet, tiptoeing to freedom, the darkness almost hindering you in finding the handle. A few seconds later you desend down the stairs victorius, relief rushing over you, as you spot James (or rather youself) sitting on the couch.

"Where have you been?" James hisses as soon as you plop down next to him.

"Relax, I couldn't get away until now" you explain.

"This was a very bad idea" James groans, looking rather adorable in his current position with his arms crossed.

"Tell me about it" you agree running your hand over your face, after handing him his glasses back as he mutters a quiet thank you.

You both sit in silence for a bit, until you ask him how his evening went. The commonroom is dimly lit by the orange and yellow nuances from the fireplace, the warmth offering you both much needed comfort.

"Well, not ideal" James hesitated.

"Or rather it was going really well until Lily went to change into her pyjamas" He covered his face, blushing at the memory.

"James Fleamont Potter" Shock overtaking your features, but before you could scold him, he interrups you.

"Don't worry, I didn't see anything"

"Good"

"because I fainted"

"YOU WHAT"

"Lower your voice" he snaps back, slumping his shoulders, looking around the empty commonroom wearily.

"It's fine, I played it off as a period thing"

At this point you're flabbergasted, not even wanting to agknowledge your twins basic lack of understanding about female anatomy, so you let it go. You'll have to deal with this in the morning...

#remus lupin #sirius black #the marauders #harry potter #sirius black x reader #marauders fanfiction #peter pettigrew #self insert #james potter #potter!reader

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