#and live many thousands of miles away

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Guizhong (don't mind me re-dropping this with the fixed ones, shh)

[lesbiansanemi]

I don’t often think I’m upset at not having a good relationship with my parents but sometimes it really fucking hits me that I don’t have a good mom I don’t have a dad I’ll never experience having a good parent and someone I can lean on like that and I get… really upset

[supportgaza]

Last Push for My Family's Fundraiser before the Temporary Ceasefire in Gaza: Help My Family Seize the Opportunity to Evacuate

Vetted by:

1. @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi # 151 on the spreadsheet of Vetted Gaza Fundraisers List

2. @riding-with-the-wild-hunt Here.

From thousands of miles away in Ireland, I have watched my family endure unimaginable conditions of fear, displacement, hunger, and thirst in Gaza. It has robbed me of sleep, struck my heart with constant fear, and caused indescribable pain and agony.

If this war has taught us Gazans anything, it's that Israel can never be trusted. Many Israeli officials and extremist ministers have already declared that this ceasefire is temporary and that the war will resume with even greater ferocity, raining missiles and bullets on Gaza once AGAIN!

If this war has taught us Gazans anything, it's that Israel can never be trusted. Many Israeli officials and extremist ministers have already declared that this ceasefire is temporary and that the war will resume with even greater ferocity, raining missiles and bullets on Gaza once AGAIN!

Hearing about the devastating loss of friends and acquaintances who have lost their families chills me to the bone. I cannot fathom how one continues to live in this world without their family. What would life look like? How could there be any joy, meaning, or value left? I don't want to know, and I won't take any chances.

I am determined to evacuate my parents and sisters at the first opportunity a ceasefire is reached.

Please help by reblogging and boosting my final support post for my family's campaign. This upcoming temporary ceasefire might be their only chance to evacuate and survive. Time is critical. Please take action today to help my family find safety and rebuild their lives in Ireland.

As we inch closer to achieving our goal, I want to extend my heartfelt gratitude to you-friends of Gaza, friends of Palestine-for standing by us during this time of strife, fear, and agony. We are forever indebted to you.

Your support, even with just a click, can make a huge difference in the lives of people in desperate need. We pray that you and your loved ones will never have to endure the horrors of evacuation and war.

Please don't look away. Take action today.

Donate, reblog, and share with your friends.

[atavist]

Layan Albaz is one of thousands of Palestinian children who had lost limbs in Israeli air strikes since October 7—and one of the very few evacuated to the U.S. for medical care. 

The new Atavist story, COMING TO AMERICA, is now live, and also available in Arabic:

The average U.S. public school has about 550 students. Imagine eight or nine schools in an area roughly the size of Philadelphia where every kid is missing at least one limb. Imagine also that their amputations happened alongside a torrent of other tragedies: the loss of family members, friends, neighbors, schools, houses.

Now imagine that the only hope to reclaim some semblance of physical normalcy required those children to leave home. Gaza’s sole manufacturer of prosthetics and its affiliated rehabilitation center were destroyed in an air strike months ago; as a result, many families of children who have lost limbs are trying to evacuate them so they can receive medical care abroad. Social media is brimming with their desperate pleas, and only a few get what amounts to a lucky ticket for the mortally unlucky: Countries willing to take pediatric amputees from Gaza are doing so in relatively small numbers.

The kids who do find a way out board planes for distant places. In Layan’s case, that place was more than 6,000 miles away from everything and everyone she knew.

[trollprincess]

So I have a friend from high school who is a cop. (Yes, I KNOW.) I shared a photo on Facebook of a packed highway of people attempting to evacuate from Hurricane Milton, all while the lanes going in the opposite direction were open and empty. And my Facebook post was basically me screaming, “Open the other side of the highway and reverse it so that people can GET OUT.”

His response was essentially, “Yeah, that is *really* difficult for us to do.” Not in a condescending way, because he genuinely isn’t a huge asshole. (Yes, I KNOW.)

And then I may have vented in my response, in which I tried not to imply that the police were a problem. Because to be honest, I don’t see this as a police problem. I see this as how we have fucked ourselves as a nation by making ourselves so dependent on cars.

There is that poll on this site – or multiple polls, at this point – asking how long people can tolerate being in their cars. And the thing is, Americans (and Canadians as well, I am imagining) have almost no other options. We have to be used to spending a good 12 hours in a car without breaking a sweat. Everything in this country is built around being in a car. There’s a reason when you ask us how far away a place is from somewhere else, we normally give that distance in hours and not miles.

Air travel sucks. It sucks for a multitude of reasons – cost, the hassle of dealing with security, the time suck, etc. – and in an emergency, only a select few are going to be able to use it to get away from a hurricane. And that’s one of the few disasters where air travel is an optional escape.

Train travel sucks. Amtrak is not something you’re gonna be complaining about if you’re trying to get away from whatever disaster you need to evacuate from. But next to so many other countries, Amtrak looks like we’ve been receiving other countries’s leftover railway systems from the 70s. It also doesn’t go everywhere. I live in northeastern Pennsylvania near Scranton, which prides itself on its history in the train industry. We have a museum and everything. We have multiple things named after that museum, including the Steamtown marathon which is happening tomorrow.

Can you get on a passenger train in Scranton? Nope.

(The main argument against this always seems to be that people will come here from New York City and commit crimes, which is hilarious considering if somebody wanted to come here from New York City and commit crimes it’s only a 2.5-hour drive.)

Anyway, disasters.

If the only option you’re gonna give most people to get out of areas of Florida that are being targeted by hurricanes or areas of California that suffer from wildfires or places in the Midwest that face flooding are cars, then we need a better fucking emergency management system regarding transportation in this country. You can’t just sit there and mock people for not evacuating because they can’t or won’t when getting away from Milton meant sitting on highway for hours with absolutely no gas stations whatsoever nearby having any gas at all. (It just makes me think of those photos of people stranded on the highway in their cars in blizzards where people are like, “Now imagine imagine how bad it would be if all of those cars were electric!“ Well, all of those cars in that photo in that blizzard run on gas and they’re fucking stranded, sooooooo.)

Look, we can change the transportation system in this country. we did it before and we can do it again. We used to have more train options, fewer highways. My small hometown had a fucking trolley in the 40s. Now, if you don’t have a car here, you’re stuck. You can’t even get Uber here. if a wildfire started here and surrounded the town, it would be a clusterfuck.

Regardless of how you feel about the police, if police and fire departments in this country cannot organize an evacuation on a highway in a way that will reduce the backup so that tens of thousands of people aren’t sitting in their cars when a hurricane hits, that’s a problem – not just for those people, but for the police, and the fire department, and emergency management in general.

The people in charge of emergency management are just people, just human. I’m researching the Camp Fire in 2018 right now, and you had a bunch of people calling 911 saying, “I can see a huge fire off to the east. Are we safe? Should we evacuate?” The 911 operators could only work off the information they had. They could have told people to evacuate earlier, but Cal Fire didn’t anticipate the strength of the fire. Which is understandable. Nobody could anticipate the strength of that fire. But the 911 operators were sitting in an office with no windows, and they had no idea what was going on the east. They couldn’t look out and see exactly what was happening. If they could have, they probably would have told people to leave as soon as possible much sooner than they were told to. Instead, they waited for official confirmation, and when they did start telling people to evacuate, traffic managed to back up in a small town of 25,000 people until many of them were trapped in an unimaginable hellscape.

When people need to evacuate from a disaster, and they stay instead, far too many people - including those in positions of power – just kind of wave their hands and say, “Well, we tried.” No, we didn’t. This country made not trying its watchword, and now we’re at a point where unless you own a car, which is a luxury a lot of people cannot afford in this economy, escaping from disaster is impossible. So you can get in your car or somebody else’s car and go sit on a highway and hope your gas doesn’t run out, since none of the gas stations for 100 miles have any gas to give you, or you can stay in your house and hope you don’t die.

Sometimes, I really wish somebody would make me the head of the department of transportation. I would demand an absurd amount of money to build a better train system, to provide better transportation options for smaller towns, to provide extensive training for rescue personnel in managing evacuations like the clusterfuck in Florida this week. I would become an absolute fucking nuisance to Congress. I would be asking for money left and right to make it so that our only options as Americans weren’t to get into cars we can barely afford these days and attempt to organize our own evacuations from the growing number of natural disasters in this country.

Y’all keep posting these polls about how long you can tolerate being in a car at the same time that tens of thousands of Floridians were sitting on highways trying to get away from Tampa so they wouldn’t die in a hurricane.

We can tolerate being in a car all goddamn day. It’s because we don’t have a fucking choice, even when it’s life or death.

[astonmartinii]

day four: rock(ette)ing around the christmas tree

pairing: pierre gasly x fem rockette reader

high kicks this, high kicks that, pierre is ready to kick off because his job is getting in the way of his festive wag duties

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 238,044 others

yourusername: back in the concrete jungle wet dream tomato for another round of rockette duty !!!

view all comments

user1: how does it feel to live my dream

user2: its not fair that 1. she’s a literal rockette 2. looks like that and 3. is with a whole ass f1 driver ???

user3: everyone saying that she’s lucky to be with him but have we considered that he’s massively batting above his league?

user4: real …. i hope their babies have her hairline

pierregasly: HUH???

yukitsunoda0511: i make sure to remind him everyday 🫶🏻

user5: obsessed with yuki’s need to humble pierre all the time

yukitsunoda0511: he bagged a queen and has made it everyone else’s problem since

yourusername: can you blame him?

pierregasly: don’t answer that yuki

charles_leclerc: please please please come back right now this whiny french man won’t shut up

yourusername: … it’s my job

charles_leclerc: well i’d also argue that wrangling this oversized puppy with attachment issues is also your job

yourusername: no it’s my passion! there’s a difference

pierregasly: seeeeeee !!!! i am loved :(

yourusername: you are! but please cool it on the texts, i got so many going through the TSA that they thought i had a vibrator in my carry on 😭

pierregasly: WITHOUT ME?

yourusername: babe can we not read?

pierregasly: oh! lol i was ready to fight the world of battery operated sex toys

estebanocon: you need help

pierregasly: LEAVE ME ALONE

user6: smile guys i think we’re in the original

user7: bro is crashing out

user8: tbf i’d give my left ball to have a chance with y/n

pierregasly: i will castrate you for free if you even think about her!

yourusername: so romantic <3

pierregasly

liked by charles_leclerc, yukitsunoda0511 and 524,087 others

tagged: yourusername

pierregasly: engine failures got me missing my girl :(

view all comments

user10: my one dream this christmas is to get a man this in love with me

user11: really waiting for my grapes to kick in

user12: any second now i swear...

yourusername: mine took three years to come true so hang on

pierregasly: as if i wasn't manifesting you

yukitsunoda0511: bro retired but still hasn't caused any damage this year damn

pierregasly: told them to give me the projected damages for the season as a bonus so i could treat my girl

yukitsunoda0511: ... and nothing for the guy who is actually at all of the races ???

pierregasly: that is your job?

yukitsunoda0511: and i just comfort you after the races for the love of the game?

pierregasly: yes?

yukitsunoda0511: well it looks like i'll be looking for a new boyfriend this christmas

yourusername: what the hell, sure

user13: y/n just giving up against yukierre

yourusername: sometimes you gotta just sit back and let them get it out

yourusername: and also i do actually get invited to pierre's house in milan (i do also live there)

yukitsunoda0511: THAT IS A SORE SUBJECT Y/N WHY WOULD YOU GO THERE

yourusername: you're calling my boyfriend your boyfriend in public instagram comments?

yukitsunoda0511: PLEASE STAY IN NEW YORK FOREVER

pierregasly: yuki ???

yourusername: that's not very christmas spirit of you yuki

user14: y/n is thousands of miles away but still pulled into the scraps

pierregasly: i'm glad she loves me and puts up with it

yukitsunoda0511: why are you both being so mean to me today :(

yourusername: it's the christmas presents that keep me around (jokes, OBVIOUSLY)

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, yukitsunoda0511 and 2,109,778 others

tagged: pierregasly, danielricciardo & landonorris

charles_leclerc: i've stolen his phone so he won't see this but @yourusername he's scarily easy to kidnap

view all comments

user15: so we're on kidnap now... i think the season needs to finish now

user16: no we gotta see how far they are taking it

user17: there's no race in qatar because half of the grid have been arrested lol

francocolapinto: please manifest it i need one of their seats

user18: so real

charles_leclerc: i hate to break it to you franco but you're also on the plane

francocolapinto: don't be dumb charles, i know that, i'm just too pretty to go to jail

charles_leclerc: if anyone is too pretty to go to jail on this AIRPLANE IT IS ME NOW PUT YOUR PHONE DOWN PIERRE IS GETTING SUSPICIOUS

user19: FRANCO IS THERE?

user20: are they all there ???

maxverstappen1: when all is done i don't wanna hear from ANY of them that i don't do anything for them

charles_leclerc: sorry good sir but not all of us have a private jet we can use at the drop of a hat

maxverstappen1: oh i know, i will just hold this over all of you (especially pierre) for as long as i can

charles_leclerc: it's pierre's surprise, why would you hold it against him

maxverstappen1: because i can 👌

yourusername: so on a scale of 1 - 10 how worried should i actually be?

maxverstappen1: very.

charles_leclerc: MAX

charles_leclerc: all is under control y/n do not worry

yourusername: i gotta go warm up for my show tonight i better not finish the show to news reports that my boyfriend is dead

charles_leclerc: he will be alive!

yourusername: and well?

charles_leclerc: i don't want to make that guarantee

yourusername: EXCUSE ME?

charles_leclerc: what? my lawyers told me to never make promises i can't 100% deliver on?

yourusername: well consider me worried

user21: they're defo doing what we think they're doing right

oscarpiastri: if you've got more than two brain cells and the ability to read context cues you will know, it's not the craziest surprise ever

charles_leclerc: we're not in a country rn, maritime laws and all that - THINK

user22: .... riiiiiiiiiiiiight

yukitsunoda0511

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 489,205 others

tagged: pierregasly & yourusername

yukitsunoda0511: using this love sick fool as an excuse to visit new york

view all comments

user24: they took him to nyc to see y/n !!! that's so cute i can't

user25: are they going to go to y/n's show ???

maxverstappen1: they weren't allowed my jet without the assurance that we were going to that damn show

yourusername: you were very happy to see me as someone who recently publicly told me to stay in nyc forever ...

yukitsuonda0511: obviously i said that so we could come visit you !!!

yukitsunoda0511: it was all a part of the plan

charles_leclerc: ummmm you had no part of the plan

yukitsunoda0511: i clearly seduced pierre into not asking questions

yourusername: you're very close to successfully seducing my foot to your ass

yukitsunoda0511: pierre !!!!!!!!!!!!

pierregasly: i am not helping you here bro

user26: someone get yuki a girlfriend before he gets his ass high kicked out of radio city

yukitsunoda0511: at this point i am just doing it to annoy them

yourusername: whatever you want to tell yourself girlypop

yukitsunoda0511: you're just scared that i'd look better than you in the costumes

yourusername: oh really?

pierregasly: okay girls there's enough pierre to go around

pierregasly: but it is all going to y/n, sorry yuki

yukitsunoda0511: you're scared you'll find things out about yourself

pierregasly: is it time to go home yet y/n ???

user27: fuck george vs max i need y/n vs yuki

user28: instead of crash threats it's just yuki threatening to steal rockette outfits

user29: surely there's someone who can make this happen? @f1 @yourusername

yourusername: noooooooo chance

yukitsunoda0511: cough, cough SCARED

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen and 303,277 others

tagged: pierregasly

yourusername: heard my frenchie missed me <3

view all comments

user30: my god they're so cute

user31: i love when a man is so shameless about his love

user32: the matching outfits !!!!!!!

charles_leclerc: thanks charles!

charles_leclerc: you're a great friend

charles_leclerc: you're an amazing person who knows us so well and DOESN'T try and seduce one of us

charles_leclerc: how can we ever repay you

charles_leclerc: oh well, no worries guys i love you

yourusername: nurse he's out again

charles_leclerc: i'm giving you ten seconds before i lose my shit

yourusername: i jest !!! thank you for bringing my lover boy to me charles

pierregasly: thank you charlooooo i guess all my complaining was worth it, i'll make sure to keep it up

charles_leclerc: no no no no no no no No No No NO NO NO NO

user33: charles got major friend points for reuniting them (after like a week away from each other lol) and now will be stuck with pierre complaining full time

alexalbon: and this kids, is why we're not nice to each other

user34: the grid being so done with pierre is so funny

charles_leclerc: the change from him being a slut to a lover boy is too much for my head

pierregasly: can we tell radio city to push back your performances to the second week of december so we don't have to be apart

yourusername: babe i don't think i'm important enough to be making those kind of demands

pierregasly: I THINK YOU'RE IMPORTANT ENOUGH

yourusername: thank you baby but being a rockette is my dream so you'll have to deal with a couple weeks without me

pierregasly: so you don't miss me :(

yourusername: you're on my mind all the time, i love you xx

pierregasly: i love you more xx

pierregasly

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and 673,298 others

tagged: yourusername

pierregasly: only two more races until i can become a full time christmas wag xx

view all comments

user37: the grid are so cute 🥰

user38: the way y/n's dressing room was full of flowers omg she's so loved

user39: the videos of them just being flabbergasted by the show, so personal to me

yourusername: thank you all for coming to see the show !! i promise everyone else were a lot less chill about you guys being there than they let off

pierregasly: no thank YOU for being the star you are 🌟

yourusername: ugh i love you so much

yourusername: are qatar and abu dhabi really that important?

pierregasly: unfortunately they are :( (i am also contractually obligated to be there)

yourusername: boooooooooooooo

alpinef1: but we're paying him to buy you christmas presents

yourusername: ... okay i guess

user40: christmas came early with all this grid content

user41: this is what i wanted from drive to survive not the fabricated drama

yukitsunoda0511: although i still think i'd look better in the costumes... i don't think i'd slay the high kicks like you y/n :(

yourusername: i'll take it !

yukitsunoda0511: but you guys will let me come to the milan house in the new year right?

yourusername: you'll have to ask pierre ...

yukitsunoda0511: PIERRE PLEASE

pierregasly: i guess... only if you stop saying you're prettier than my girlfriend. NO ONE IS PRETTIER THAN HER

yourusername: that's crazy coming from the handsomest man in the world

charles_leclerc: let's not get too crazy here y/n

yourusername: look who isn't getting a christmas present this year now ...

charles_leclerc: i mean last year you gave me a "this candle smells like max verstappen" and a max cardboard cutout

maxverstappen1: sounds like a great gift to me ...

pierregasly: well the presents she gets me are great

charles_leclerc: i don't want to know about those presents

user42: even christmas isn't free from them being horn dogs

yourusername: why do you think i learnt to high kick babe ....

charles_leclerc: shut THE FUCK UP

pierregasly: heheheheeh

fin.

note: oh gosh it's been a busy busy busy week. i haven't written for pierre for like a year lol - enjoy!

[moonstruckme]

vampire!james is such a fun concept!

what about if reader was a newly turned vampire too and James lets her feed on him

like the scene with elena feeding on damon in TVD?

because blood sharing is intimate :P

Hi lovely! I don’t really remember what this was like in TVD because I last watched that show probably 10 years ago and I don’t think I finished it but hopefully this is along the lines of what you were thinking, thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood, feels mature at times but no smut (vampires are just hot idk)

vampire!James x fledgling!reader ♡ 1k words

James hates seeing you like this. He remembers what it feels like—being aware for the first time of every nerve ending in your body, your mind whirring at a thousand miles a minute, everything worse and louder and so much more than it had felt when you were human. 

He’d warned you the transition would be like this, but you’d wanted it anyway. You keep trying to act like you’re alright even now, trembling from head to toe in the corner of the bed, eyes darting towards every sound and movement like your body thinks you’re under attack. The three bags of blood you’d gotten from the butcher lie empty on the floor. Normally James only needs one every few days, but this is one thing he’d forgotten about the transition, he supposes. The hunger is intense. He won’t be able to get you more for at least a few hours.

“Sweetheart,” James says softly. You still flinch as though he’s shouted. “You should try to go to sleep. It’ll help with the cravings.”

“I don’t think I can.” Your lisp is sort of cute. You haven’t been able to retract your fangs yet, have pricked your own lip more than once. “I can hear so many hearts. They’re loud.” 

James nods. He’s learned to tune them out, like the hum of electricity or the rush of wind outside, but he knows what you mean. If he focuses, he can listen to the beating heart of the bird nesting in the tree by your window, the neighbor’s cat, the woman who lives at the end of your street. Sometimes they seem synchronized together, the unceasing, steady beat of life in the world. It gets louder when he’s starving. 

“The butcher won’t be open until morning,” he tells you, though you know already. You nod, wrapping your arms around your legs. “But I can try to help, if you want. You could try feeding from me.” 

It’s an idea James has been toying with since you said you wanted to turn. He doesn’t think you could survive off each other forever—he’s not sure if he still makes new blood, if his body works that way anymore—but he doesn’t have need for his blood the way a human does. Maybe he could sate you for a bit. 

You give him a look of wary surprise, but James knows how you feel well enough to recognize the hope behind it. Any chance of feeding will sound good to you right now. 

“Can we do that?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “But I don’t think it’ll hurt to try. Might taste a bit stale, though.” 

It’s a lame joke, and you don’t laugh. Your trembling worsens, your restraint barely holding out against your cravings. Your voice is small. “I don’t know if I can be gentle. I feel…weird.” 

James offers you a smile. “I know, honey. It’s okay. Can I touch you?” 

You nod. James is careful about it, not wanting to overstimulate your sensitive nerves. He takes your hands in his, slowly guiding you onto his lap. 

“You’re alright,” he promises. “Let me help.” 

Your brows crease, and your lip starts bleeding again when you prick it with your fang. James gently thumbs the droplet away. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you whisper, scared. 

“I’ll be fine.” He looks you in the eyes, swiping his thumbs over your cheeks calmingly. “You did it for me, right? That wasn’t so bad. Just…” James palms the back of your head, bringing it to the crook of his neck like an embrace. “Take what you need.” 

James doesn’t have a heartbeat for you to hear, but that doesn’t matter; once you’re close you can’t restrain yourself anymore. You bite into his neck eagerly. 

It feels like you described. Part of James worried that you were stretching the truth, trying to make him feel better, but the places where your mouth connects to his skin are suddenly the center of James’ universe. He can feel his blood rushing to meet you, to sate you, fill you up and be everything you need. Your low moan vibrates against his skin, and James laughs, dizzy and drunk on you. 

One of your hands fists in his hair, pulling his head further to the side. He bears his neck to you readily. He hopes you glut yourself on him, stay here with him, keep your mouth suctioned to his skin until you both die whatever deaths immortals can. 

He feels a bead of wet roll down his chest. You make a soft, thoughtless sound in the back of your throat, leaving his neck to chase it. Your tongue licks a stripe up James’ left pectoral. 

He blinks slowly as you wipe your mouth, breathing hard. It feels like waking up from a dream. You have blood smeared around your mouth and nearly dripping from your chin. You look embarrassed as you catch it with your fingers and lick them clean. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“It’s okay.” James smiles at you. He still feels slightly doped up, but it’s also sweet to see you like this, pupils still blown from the taste of him and shy about it at the same time. “You were right, that was nice.” 

One side of your mouth tilts up tentatively. “I didn’t hurt you? You were so controlled when you fed from me.” 

“That’s not your fault, honey, you can’t be controlled this early on.” James kisses you, pleased to find your fangs are starting to retract. “It’s not possible. But no, it didn’t hurt.” 

Your smile blooms with relief. “You didn’t taste stale,” you reassure him. “You sort of tasted like yourself, if that makes sense.” 

He nods. You’d tasted like yourself, too, all sticky sweet and addicting. 

You let your breath out in a whoosh, sagging in his hold. “I’m…god, how do you manage to walk home after this? I’m so tired.” 

“It gets easier with time,” James reassures you. He pets the back of your head, turning you both around so his back rests against the headboard of your bed. “You can sleep, though. We’ll clean you up tomorrow.” 

There are no arguments from you. You’re fading fast, head falling naturally back into the curve of his neck. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I wasn’t as nice about it as you were with me.” 

“Sure you were, sweetheart. You’re always nice, I don’t think you can help it.” 

“Yeah, well.” You turn your head slightly to mush a kiss over the puncture marks you’ve left him. “Thanks.” 

[supernovafics]

𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2.7k words

warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, jealous!reader, a bit of angst, fluff

summary: in which you don’t expect to feel so bothered seeing steve talk to another girl, but you do 

author's note: this was unfinished for months and i finally felt inspired to actually finish it thank god. i'm trying to slowly get back into writing stuff for this series so enjoy this for now<333

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Summer 1986

When you first heard about the party, you didn’t think too much about it because your Friday night plans were already settled. A simple movie night in your living room with Steve featuring some of the new arrivals that had just gotten to Family Video. However, you still nodded and said a quick, “Maybe I’ll check it out” to your college friend when she told you about her party and you got the address from her too out of niceness. 

It wasn’t until you half-mentioned the party to Robin as you picked through the new arrivals cart during the final hour of her and Steve’s shift that going actually became a possibility. 

“Wait, what? A party at a lake house sounds perfect. We have to go.”

Steve was quick to look up from the computer and shake his head at her words. “No way. We already have plans for the night, Robs.”

The eye roll he received in response was immediate. “You two can waste away on the couch any night you want. Tonight we should go to a party.”

You considered her words and nodded after a second. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Thank you,” She smiled at you before looking back at Steve. “And you need to remember that I’m only gonna be here for a few more weeks, so we need to do as much stupid shit as we can while I am still here.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at her words. “Okay, you can’t keep using the college card like it’s an ‘I only have two weeks left to live’ card.”

“I second that,” Steve agreed. “Also, you keep making it seem like you’re going thousands of miles away. You’re only gonna be an hour away from here.”

“Yeah, well, still, things are changing,” She told you both. “And I wanna have fun before I leave.”

Fun ended up being an understatement. 

Barely an hour into the party she was drunk due to one too many cupfuls of whatever punch concoction had been thrown together and put in a big bowl in the kitchen. You and Steve shared one cup of the weirdly sweet drink and then decided to simply settle into the role of babysitting Robin. 

You both were currently lingering by a wall and watching as Robin danced with all of the other people crowded in the living room; you vaguely recognized the ABBA song playing. You made a mental note to tell her no if she came running over to you and Steve and proposed the idea of getting another drink. 

“This is your fault, you know,” Steve told you, leaning into your ear to be heard over the music. “If you didn’t mention the party to her earlier, you and I would be on the couch watching a movie and eating takeout from Third Street.” 

You gave him a sad look coupled with a pouty lip and he immediately felt bad, taking your look to heart. He quickly leaned in to apologetically kiss you. 

“Sorry,” He mumbled against your lips. 

You were smiling as he pulled away. “You’re too easy.”

He immediately rolled his eyes at you and playfully poked your side, which made you laugh. “And you’re very evil.”

“Sorry, I had to,” You said and initiated the quick kiss that time around. “Anyway, yes, I know this is my fault and I’d kill to have Third Street right now, but look how happy she is.” You gestured in the direction of where Robin was in the packed living room, dancing with all of the other people who you were convinced were at least half-drunk, but you now couldn’t see her. “Wait, shit, where did she go?” 

Steve looked around for a second too and then let out a sigh when he also couldn’t spot her. Maybe you two weren’t the best babysitters after all. 

“Okay, I’ll check upstairs and you look around down here,” You said to him. “Oh, and maybe grab some water too. She’ll probably need it sooner rather than later.” 

Steve gave you a quick nod. “Okay.” 

You checked every room upstairs and instead of finding Robin you accidentally interrupted one too many couples making out. After quickly peeking into the last room and mumbling out another “Oops, sorry,” you headed back down the stairs, hoping Steve had better luck than you. You noticed him in the kitchen, two water bottles in hand, and talking to someone who wasn’t Robin but you immediately recognized. 

Vanessa. A girl who was in one of your classes last semester and had gone on a handful of dates with Steve at the end of last year. 

It was hard to decipher what they were talking about right then, but Steve had a small smile on his face and so did she. 

You couldn’t recognize why— or maybe you just refused to admit it right then— but you felt the sudden urge to insert yourself into the conversation; sidle up next to Steve, grab his hand and wrap his arm around you, kiss his cheek or simply plant one on his mouth. Essentially mark your territory for everyone, especially Vanessa, to see. But, you were way too sober to actually consider doing any of that, so you instead looked away from him and went back to searching for Robin.

You found her moments later, sitting on the chair swing on the front porch of the house. 

“Hey, Robs, what are you doing out here?” You asked softly as you sat down next to her, trying not to move the swing too much but that proved to be a lot harder than you thought.

Robin didn’t seem to mind, though. Her eyes were closed as she shrugged at your question. “Just wanted some fresh air.”

“Makes sense,” You nodded. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Her eyes stayed shut as she answered you. “Sleepy, but at the same time I kinda wanna get another drink and dance some more.” 

“I’ll allow the dancing, but I need to be a good babysitter right now and say no more drinking.” 

She gave you a quick nod. “The logical side of me knows you’re right.” 

Things got quiet for a second and in that moment of quiet you thought about Steve and Vanessa in the kitchen. It seemed as if all your brain wanted to do right then was play that moment on repeat. You could inwardly admit that the conversation had looked completely innocent and probably quite literally meant nothing, but for some reason, it still bothered you.

“A part of me wishes I got drunk with you,” You said to Robin with a sigh and leaned back into the chair. 

She smiled at that and looked at you. “You definitely still can.” 

Before you could answer, you heard the front door open and subsequently close, and then Steve’s voice filled the brief quiet. “Good. You found her.” 

He handed one of the water bottles he was holding over to you. “I grabbed one for you too.” 

He the. placed the other bottle in Robin’s lap and she gave him a small smile. “Thanks, dingus.”  

If the circumstances were different and your thoughts weren’t confused and scattered, you would’ve shifted over a bit and made room for Steve on the small chair swing, and a random conversation would’ve played out for the next few minutes before you or he suggested leaving. But things weren’t different, so you didn’t.

Steve didn’t think too much of it, though. Instead, he simply asked, “Should we head out?”

You nodded, finally meeting his eyes. “Yeah.” 

He looked at Robin. “We’re taking you to our place, right?”

“Yes, please,” She answered, smiling. “You guys are great babysitters.”

She shut her eyes again and Steve looked at you, giving you a smile and you were quick to force one back. It was then that you could tell that he knew something was up with you because of the look he gave you in response to your forced smile, but he didn’t get to ask you what was going on because Robin was abruptly standing up and asking which way the car was. 

It wasn’t until you all were finally in Steve’s car and driving away from the party— Robin fell asleep in the backseat almost immediately— that he finally asked.

“What’s wrong?” 

You let the question linger in the air for a bit— keeping your eyes focused out the window and letting your fingers mindlessly fiddle with the zipper of your jacket— before you answered him. 

“I don’t know…” You mumbled with a shrug and then you sighed and shook your head. “Actually, I do know, but it’s dumb. It’s stupid.” 

His right hand moved off of the steering wheel and found one of yours. “You can tell me.”

You knew he was right, but that didn’t make being a thousand percent honest feel any easier in this moment. 

“Vanessa was at the party,” You ultimately said, figuring that would be the easiest way to start the conversation.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, we talked for a second.”

“Yeah, I saw,” You said and wanted to end the conversation there, but you knew that you couldn’t. “It kinda annoyed me a bit.” 

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, taking a quick look at you.

“I don’t know…” You sighed again. “Just seeing you guys talking was a little annoying, I guess.”

Things got quiet for a second, and that managed to make you get even more inside your head. Maybe Steve thought you were insane or he was even mad at you for feeling this way. This was entirely unchartered territory between you two, so you weren’t entirely sure what his reaction would be. 

“Oh,” Steve said as if he was realizing something and then smiled a bit. “You were jealous.” 

You immediately rolled your eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

You used your free hand to gesture to his face. “With that smile on your face.”

“I think it’s cute that you were jealous,” He told you, pulling your intertwined hands up to his lips so that he could kiss the back of yours.

You shook your head. “No, it’s not.”

“It really is,” Steve said and you decided not to protest him that time around, looking out the window again. 

“I love you, by the way,” He continued. “Just in case you forgot.” 

That managed to finally get a smile out of you.  

“I did forget, actually. Thank you for the reminder,” You joked and then turned to look at him. “I love you too.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Guiding a half-awake Robin from the car to your and Steve’s apartment was a feat in itself, but it somehow worked out. You two helped Robin into your bed instead of letting her take the couch and then you set a glass of water and ibuprofen on the nightstand because you had a feeling she’d need it in the morning. 

You changed into your pajamas in Steve’s room, which simply consisted of a t-shirt that you had long ago stolen from Steve and a pair of shorts, and then both you and him settled into his bed. 

He had fallen asleep pretty quickly and you thought, or more so hoped, that you would find sleep easily too, but instead, you tossed and turned in bed because you couldn’t seem to shut off your mind. You weren’t entirely sure why you were still feeling a little sulky and weird about everything— Steve didn’t care and he wasn’t upset with you for feeling jealous— but there was something still nagging at the back of your head about the whole thing.

“I know what you’re thinking right now,” You heard Steve sleepily mumble after what felt like an hour of you trying but failing to force yourself to sleep but it was probably only twenty minutes. His arm circled around your waist and he pulled you back against him. “And you should stop it.” 

The fact that he could easily read your mind wasn’t surprising and it was probably the only thing that made you feel a little bit okay and made you want to at least attempt to verbalize the thoughts that had been running through your head. 

“I just hate being like this. It feels so— I don’t know…” You were then squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your face into the pillow as you admitted, “When I saw you and her talking I really wanted to just go up and kiss you in front of her, so that she knew that we’re together and you’re mine.”

“Mm, you should’ve done that,” He mumbled into your neck. “That would’ve been really hot.”  

You finally turned on your side to face him. “Shut up. I don’t know why I just admitted that, honestly. I told you this was stupid.” 

“Don't feel embarrassed about it,” He said, somehow managing to sum it all up perfectly; you were feeling embarrassed. “This happens to me all the time.” 

You laughed a little. “You don’t have to lie to try and make me feel better about how dumb I'm being.”

“I’m serious,” He told you. “Remember last Thursday when you came to Family Video during the last hour of mine and Robin’s shift?”

When you gave him a quick nod in response, he continued. “I was so annoyed watching you talk to that one guy.”

At first, you weren’t sure what guy he was talking about, but then it hit you. It had been the all too familiar situation where someone thought that you also worked at the store because you were the only one standing behind the counter since both Robin and Steve were stocking shelves. But even after you told this guy that you actually didn’t work there, he kept the conversation going and you laughed and smiled along for a bit to be nice before making up some excuse and retreating to the break room for the rest of Steve and Robin’s shift. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You didn’t seem annoyed at all, and we didn’t even talk about it.”

“Yeah, because for like two minutes I felt jealous, but then I remembered that I’m the one you’re with and nothing could change that— especially not some random blonde guy— so…” Steve trailed off with a shrug and smile.  

As if flicking a light switch, his words changed everything for you. Once again, he was right; there was nothing that could change what you two had. 

“And just so you know,” He continued, voice soft and quiet. “I always feel embarrassed and stupid about it after it happens too.”

You were smiling as you kissed him then, closing the small bit of distance between you two and finding his lips in the darkness that consumed his room. 

“I can’t believe you’re turning out to be the rational one out of the two of us,” You joked when you pulled back from the kiss and proceeded to bury your face into his neck and completely entangle your body with his. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” He whispered back and pressed the softest kiss to your shoulder before he started to pull away from you. You immediately pouted at him in protest but he continued, pulling the blanket off of both of you and getting out of bed. “It’s only midnight. Let’s do what we were actually supposed to do tonight.”

Hearing him say that made you follow suit and get out of bed too, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Movies and Third Street?”

Steve was nodding as he walked over to you, arms slipping around your waist and pulling you close to him. “Yup.”

“That’s a great idea,” You whispered, looking up at him. “But, no funny business on the couch, though. The walls are way too thin and we’ll never hear the end of it from Robin if she hears anything.”

“Okay,” Steve said, and then proceeded to kiss your forehead and then both of your cheeks and then your neck; all of which made you softly laugh. “Sorry, just needed to get those out of the way first.”

You gave him an understanding nod that you hoped looked as serious as you wanted it to be, but there was a wide smile on your face as you spoke. “Okay, yeah, makes sense.”

He gave you one final kiss, that time against your lips, and then he was pulling away from you and heading toward his shut door. Your arms circled around him from behind as you followed him out into the living room. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

[plushipaws]

“Dragon, I am not sure that I am a prince.”

“Of course not, you are my beloved pet.” “No, I mean… gender-wise.”

“Oh. Are you a princess?”

“No, I don’t think so.” “Alright, dear. Then, what are you?” “I think- well I’m not sure I am allowed.”

“You can be anything you want to be, my darling.”

“Well- and please don’t laugh- I think I’d like to be a dragon. … Like you.”

The dragon purred and wrapped its long neck around the smaller being and nuzzled its nose on their head. “Then a dragon you are, my love.”

“But I’m worried I’m not qualified to be a dragon. I don’t have scales or wings.”

“Dragons come in all sorts of kinds. Many are scaleless or wingless.”

“And I’m rather small and weak for a dragon…” They sighed. “I mean, I am already fairly small and weak for a human.”

The dragon studied the being who was now a smaller dragon for a long time before speaking rather gently. “I am rather small and weak for a dragon too you know… It is something I never told you, and you couldn’t know because you have none other to compare me to.” “What? But you’re so big and strong! You fly ten miles a day to hunt for us and you defend me from nosey knights who try to ‘rescue’ me!”

The dragon nodded. “Yes, but other dragons can fly for a thousand miles a day and hunt for an army, and they could fight off an army too. After fighting a single knight I become quite tired… This is why I live alone in this cave, away from other dragons. They harass me for my weakness, and try to push me to do more… they say what I am is not enough.” With this, the dragon lowered it’s head, seeming to feel ashamed. 

The smaller, human shaped dragon kissed the larger one on the snout. “Well, you are certainly enough for me. You might not be able to fight or feed an army, but your hunts keep us both full and your claws keep us both safe. And I always look forward to curling up under your wings at the end of the day. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” They frowned, their brow furrowing. “It makes me angry how you were treated.”

“It makes me angry how you were treated! That is what drew me to rescue you. I could see your society was treating you the same as mine was… Pushing you to do too much when you were tired, not appreciating you for who you are… but I appreciate you. You always know how to make me laugh, and all your little faces are so cute. I always look forward to feeling you press against my sides at the end of the day.” It nuzzled them. “You are dragon enough for me, better than any other dragon I have met. You are enough.”

The smaller dragon nodded. “We are our own sort of dragons. And that is enough.”

[b38rman]

SLOW MOTION, DOUBLE-VISION ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡☾ ﾟ｡⋆ Ollie Bearman

tags - ollie bearman x afab!reader, childhood friends to lovers, reader is in uni, light angst, eventual smut (with feelings), explicit sexual content

synopsis - No matter how many years passed by, it was glaringly obvious that you would never admit to yourself that you’d always wished for Ollie to be the one for you. It was hard back then, and it was even harder now. (OR: Your head knew that your childhood best friend would never be the one for you. Your heart just hadn’t realized it yet.)

rating - explicit

warnings - 18+ minors dni, slight angst (a little bit of arguing), explicit sexual content, unprotected sex

a/n - very obviously inspired by gold rush by taylor swift. ollie IS gold rush to me. highly recommend listening to it while thinking of him.

Whenever Ollie ran, you would chase him. Whether it was through his garden, between classrooms, or around your dinner table, you'd been doing it ever since you could remember. 

That was until he ran far, far away from you to Italy—of course you wouldn't follow (no matter how badly you wanted to.)

It was amidst this chase when you realized that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop longing for him. You'd known this since you were 12 years old, when he grinned from the pew next to you as he caught you falling asleep during a church sermon. After that, you couldn't stop realizing the squeeze in your chest when you made him laugh, or the way he'd look at you at the end of a karting race, and how he'd thank you on those days like your company meant more than the accolades he was collecting. 

At 16 and 17, when he'd just moved and you'd already begun preparing for university, you'd try to keep in contact regularly. You'd watch as your laptop screen filled with the smile that had made your knees weak even from a thousand miles away and promptly force yourself to shut down those feelings.

"Hey you." He'd say, like he always did. "Hi. How was work today?" You'd answer, and he'd beam before talking your ear off for an hour or two, or until he decided he was too tired to keep going. 

Many times you wished you could reach through the screen and trace the freckles on his cheeks. You longed for the certainty of knowing how they felt under your fingertips.

On these calls, you knew that he just needed someone to listen to him. It wasn't that you weren't genuinely interested in what he was saying—of course you were—it was just that maybe your life was getting so bland that you had nothing to share with him, or that all of those things paled in comparison to what he was doing. The distance was far greater than the mileage separating both of you.

"Good night Ollie, sleep tight." You'd say at the end of one of these calls, watching his eyes blink slowly, indicating that he was already drifting off.

"You aren't telling me something." He answered. You felt your stomach twist.

I miss you, was definitely on your mind. I love you and I want you here were more self indulgent options for sure.

"I'm telling you everything." It was a white lie, but you couldn't think of what else to say to that.

You watched as Ollie's face dropped and shifted into an expression you couldn't read. He paused to take a moment, before going back to his own sleepiness.

"Good night." And the screen faded to black.

Over time, the calls became less and less frequent. It was sad, honestly; you went from seeing him basically everyday to feeling like you were barely a part of his life. Ultimately, though, it became clear how you were worlds apart from each other, especially since he stopped coming home for holidays and birthdays, and you didn't have the time to visit Modena no matter how many times you'd promised that to him in the past.

You existed on different planets—entirely different dimensions and planes of reality. He could pick and choose between celebrities and Instagram models, and you were stuck highlighting textbooks living from deadline to deadline.

That was until you got the call. 

“Ollie’s coming home.” Your mom said as soon as you picked up. You were cycling from one building to another between your classes and had three missed calls from her already. 

“What?” You hoped the shock surfacing in your voice wasn’t that obvious, considering how jarring it was in comparison to your mom’s excitement. 

“Yes! Come home for the weekend, it’ll be just like old times.” Your mom answered, thankfully not detecting your nerves.

It would be like old times, but this Ollie  wasn’t. You didn’t know what to do with that. What you were sure of though, is Ollie wasn’t running anymore—and you weren’t sure if that meant you had to stop chasing him too.

Ollie was standing behind his parents when you arrived at their house. It felt surreal, like you were undergoing some kind of half-dream, half-deja vu state. After greeting his parents with the usual pleasantries about how university is treating you and how you grow up so fast, you finally got to lay eyes on Ollie after three whole years. 

All you could see in that moment was him. It was like your mind fell silent and the only sound that cascaded through your body was that of your heart pounding against your ribcage.

In front of him, you were five, twelve, sixteen, and nineteen all at once. 

The silence felt like it lasted a lifetime, but he pulled you in before he could say a word.

The world went silent as you closed your eyes and let yourself stay in that moment. It was as if his parents and little brother weren't in the doorway with you—as if the world was your hometown and Modena was universes away.

"I missed you." Ollie said so earnestly your body was going to explode. He buried his face in your hair and you swore he was a few inches taller than he was when he left you.

"Me too." You replied into his chest, trying to breathe through how overwhelming everything was.

You were on your phone, lying in Ollie's twin-sized mattress, perfectly preserved like a sacred relic from your childhood. You'd remember nights when you'd snuggle together, his touch like a comforting anchor amidst seas that he could calm with his hand. You wondered if it was the same as it had always been. Would it be different now? Was it different now?

You glanced above the screen to watch Ollie reassembling his simulator in silence. It was comfortable, with the only air of awkardness coming from the elephant standing in the corner of the room; that being you not being on conversational terms previously despite being 'best friends.'

"Need help?" You asked, as you watched Ollie furrow his brows at some part that looked like any other part, which was confusing in itself but you were willing to help anyway. 

"No, all good." He chewed his bottom lip, clearly still frustrated and at a loss at what to do. 

You pursed your lips together and calmly asked a second time, "You sure?"

"Yes! I told you I didn't need your help the first time. Why aren't you listening to me?" Ollie let go of the parts he was holding, opting instead to press his eyes into his palms. "It used to be so easy to have you around, I just can't figure out why it's so different now."

"Well maybe it's because you're different now, Ollie." You couldn't help but raise your voice back at him as your heart pounded for entirely different reasons now.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe you were the one who stopped talking to me." His eyes pierced through you, but his glare was so obviously laced with hurt. It hurt you too—of course it did. 

You took a deep breath before replying. 

"You could literally pick any other girl to talk to, I don't know why what I do matters so much to you." You felt the tears well up in your eyes as you tried to stop your voice from fraying at the send of your sentence. You closed your eyes and covered your face in an attempt to stop the tears, but that proved futile as the warm wet streaks soon lined your face.

You felt the side of the bed dip and a hand reach out to gently touch the hands on your face. 

"Hey, I'm sorry, look at me." He wrapped his calloused hand around your wrist and exposed your red, splotchy face in all its glory to him. "You know me, you know I don't care about—" Ollie gestured loosely with one hand "—them. Besides, none of them will ever be you."

You tried not to overthink his statement too much as he moved his hand from his wrist to your cheek, then to your forehead. You held your breath as he leaned forward to press a kiss on your forehead, then down to your right cheek. You felt all the air exit your lungs as he pressed his forehead to yours, so impossibly close to you.

Growing up, you'd always wondered what it would be like to study how perfect every freckle and feature on his face was. Now that it was happening, the overwhelming glimmer in his eyes barely gave away that none of this was a pipe dream that you'd imagined from too many days away from him.

"Can I—" Ollie started. 

You grabbed his chin and smashed your lips together, taking him by surprise before he could even finish his sentence. People describe kissing to be like fireworks going off in your belly, or like butterflies swarming—however, there were no butterflies or fireworks, because those things couldn't even come close to what you were feeling. 

The kiss was hard and deep and neverending. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that came from years of anticipation—it was something else entirely; gentler, more deliberate. You felt Ollie’s hand slide to your waist, pulling you closer as though he was afraid you might disappear. Every inch of space that had once stretched between you over the years seemed to fold in on itself, leaving only the heat of his lips on yours and the sound of your uneven breaths filling the room.

“Ollie,” you whispered against his mouth when you finally pulled away, your voice barely audible. His name hung in the air like a confession.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with something raw, and you almost wished you could look away from how immense it was. “I mean it,” he murmured. “None of them will ever be you.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of those words nearly leading you to collapse. You didn’t need him to explain further because it made sense now. From the moment he grinned at you in that church pew, to the countless video calls where his smile never quite reached his eyes anymore, and even now as his thumb brushed gently across your cheek—it all made sense.

But there was still a sliver of fear inside you. “What happens when you leave again?” you asked softly. Your hand found its way to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. “What happens to us then?”

Ollie let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing against yours again. “I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “But I do know that I can’t keep pretending it doesn't feel like this to me. I can’t keep running away from this—away from you.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave. For years, you’d chased him, only to stop when you thought he’d never look back. But here he was, tethering himself to you with a kind of sincerity that was so intense it was just on the verge of too much. 

You didn’t say anything more. Instead, you let yourself kiss him again—this time slower, more intentional. His lips moved against yours like he was committing every moment to memory, like he didn’t want to forget a single second of this.

Eventually, the kiss deepened, and his hands roamed cautiously over your back, your waist, like he was overriding the memories he had of you with this one. You felt the mattress shift as he pulled you down with him, your body fitting against his as though it had always been meant to. The warmth of his hands against your skin grounded you, making you feel like this wasn’t just a dream.

“Ollie,” you breathed his name again, your voice trembling as his lips found your jaw, your neck. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

“So have I,” he confessed between kisses, his voice husky and filled with need. “You have no idea how long.”

You stayed on your sides, your head spinning as you continued to kiss. Maybe it was the oxygen that you were losing from kissing for this long, or maybe it was how high you were on the fact that Ollie felt the same way about you. Either way, you knew where this was leading, and you could barely believe that it was happening here, in Ollie's bedroom. You couldn't figure out if it felt sacred or if it unlocked certain fantasies that you didn't dare indulge in. 

Ollie was the one who made the first move, daring to move his warm, calloused hands over your ribcage, tantalizingly close to your breasts. "Please, Ollie," you brought your mouth away from his for a moment to plead. "Need you." You said, punctuated by you moving his hands under your bra. 

You shuddered under his touch as his hand rubbed across your nipples, leading you to jerk your hips forward into the growing hardness in his pants. You knew the moan he let out would fill your ears and mind with yearning long after this.

You toyed with the hem of his shirt as both your movements grew more and more desperate, and that cued Ollie to rid of his shirt altogether. You followed suit with your shirt and bra, making sure to spend enough time admiring just how beautiful all of him was, like he himself was chiseled out of the marble they used to make the statues of demigods.

"You're staring." He said smugly, eyes glistening with mischief and warmth. You chuckled back at him. 

"Well I'm sorry." The apology came out sounding snarky and sarcastic, and it was Ollie's turn to laugh.

"You aren't though." Ollie quipped back before diving into your neck once again, licking and biting just to get some noises out of you. 

He then helped you out of your shorts and underwear, seemingly desperate to run his fingers through your folds. "Fuck, you're so wet for me." You gasped as he ran his fingers over your clit and your hole, spreading your wetness around. 

Ollie made quick work of his own pants and boxers, and you indulged him by wrapping your hands around his dick, hard and leaking pre-cum. After you gave him a few experimental pumps, he was relenting. "Ah—wait—don't want to cum yet." 

Soon after, your hand was replaced by Ollie's as he guided his length into you, inch by inch. He had one hand at the base of his dick, and the other holding your knee up, making the angle better and ensuring that you were properly open for him to lay all of his love into. 

You didn't even have time to think after he bottomed out inside you, because soon after he was setting a pace that could only be described as relentless, like he was trying to repent for the years you'd waited. You couldn't help the moans that escaped your mouth as he pounded into you. 

You held on to him as he laid into you, whimpering as sweat began to form on his brow. 

"Tell me," He said, breathless as the room was filled with the sounds of skin against skin, "Tell me you love me." 

Your heart felt like it was bursting at the seams. "I love you—God, fuck—I love you."

With that, Ollie was burying himself deep into you and reaching his climax, painting your insides with pearly white rivulets. You were not far behind, clenching and cumming around his cock as he ground the last of his orgasm into you. 

As soon as Ollie pulled out, he was grabbing napkins from his bedside table, cupping a wad of them at your entrance as his cum seeped out of you. He seemed focused on it though, how you were practically dripping with his release and yours. 

"I could get used to this." Ollie's breathing turned heavy.

"You're kind of nasty." You replied playfully, shifting the mood as he cleaned you up.

"You love it." He joked, but you knew there was more behind that. 

"Almost as much as I love you." You followed up, laying a kiss on his flushed cheek. 

For the first time in years, you didn’t feel like you were chasing him anymore. He was here—grounded, steady, and most importantly, yours alone.

[rederiswrites]

You can train your tastes. You can choose what you see beauty in.

Lemme go further, actually. You are constantly doing so--or letting others do it for you.

Nearly two decades ago, when we were planning our wedding, I made a very firm decision not to look at any wedding planning magazines or anything with marketing material for wedding products. I wanted our wedding to be uniquely us, and I also wanted not to be bombarded by product advertisement and beautiful photo shoots of very expensive weddings. Consequently, maybe we wasted a little bit of time reinventing the wheel, but we had a wedding we were very happy with that only cost perhaps four thousand dollars at most, probably not that much, spread out over our finances and those of both our families. Our guests went home with live potted plants that we'd paid pennies for at end of season, our florist had a great time getting to design a bouquet that tested her skills because I didn't have any preconceived ideas, my dress was utterly unique--and I really do feel that those magazines would have had a corrosive effect on all that.

When we moved to this property three years ago, I spent a LOT of time looking at images online, trying to form a coherent vision for a property that was at the time a fairly blank slate. I found myself scrolling through a lot of Russian dacha Instagrams, of all things, and they unlocked something for me. Seeing the same homey make-do decorations and techniques I grew up around a continent away, the same plywood cutout old ladies and tractor tire flower planters, somehow chewed through that last binding cord of classism, and suddenly I saw the art in it. The expression of a desire to embellish and beautify, even when you have very little, even when all you can afford is things the more well-to-do consider trash. I saw the exuberance of human love for beauty in a brilliant flower bed planted next to a collapsing shed--it didn't need to be perfect to be worthwhile. They didn't wait til everything was pristine to start enjoying things. And now I earnestly and unironically covet my own version of the tractor-tire Christmas tree at the farm down the road.

We've spent centuries now idolizing the manicured estates and quaint country retreats of the European wealthy elites. We've turned thousands of miles of living ecosystem into grass deserts in service of this vision. We need to start deliberately retraining our tastes. Seek out images of a different idea of beauty and peace. I'm not telling you what it'll be. I'm telling you this is not involuntary. You can participate. You can look at the many beautiful examples of native xeriscaping for arid climates, or photos of chaotic tangles of wildflowers, tamed by narrow paths, a bench under an arbor overwhelmed with wisteria. Maybe instead of trying to get lawn to grown under your mature trees, you'd actually get far more joy out of a patch of dirt. A hammock. A firepit ringed with log sections for seats.

You can free yourself from harmful conventions of taste and beauty, and you do it through imagining something better.

[drdemonprince]

For the last eighteen years (the entirety of my adult life), I have never lived in a place longer than twenty-four months. 

If you’re a renter, you know the deal: one apartment has leaks coming from the ceiling, thanks to a bathtub upstairs that the landlord never sealed up; in the next, you can hear skittering in the walls. I get a new job, so I have to head a mile south to find a commute that is tolerable. The relatively affordable one-bedroom on the corner where the ambulances are always blaring gets bought out, so the rent shoots from $900 to $1200 per month. Over and over the leaf blower of economic progress has expelled the flimsy debris of my life from the corners where it has settled.

There were less prosaic reasons for the many moves, too, like the 55-year-old roommate who would bang on my door at six in the morning accusing me of sampling her milk and let her dog shit on my rug. Or the boyfriend who stalked me after we broke up in graduate school, who would sit in the parking lot outside my window curled up into an angry, devastated ball, shrieking and crying until somebody came out the back exit and he could rush in to get me. I left the rug behind when I moved, because it had gotten stained. And when I escaped from the boyfriend, I left behind all the books from graduate school that reminded me of him, too. 

As a renter (especially one with a limited income) you never have any control over your surroundings. Where you live, how much space you have, what pests reside there, what works in the building and what doesn’t, how things get fixed, if things get fixed — it’s all determined by market forces and landlord whims. Nothing is permanent, and everything is uncomfortable, so you learn to keep your life light and ready to be picked up and dashed away with at the first sign of trouble. 

I never really learned to settle down into a place and let my weight expand gently all over it. It was better not to count on anything. Every time that I moved, I culled my possessions: the vintage exercise bike that I brought with me from Ohio got left behind when I darted from a depressing, windowless spot in Roger’s Park to a tiny studio in Lakeview. When the studio in Lakeview had cockroaches crawling up the bathtub drain, I found a dupe of a subletter and left behind my desk and half my kitchen items, and used a $40 folding table from Aldi as my counter, dining room table, and workstation for the next five years. 

That’s one thing that people don’t talk about, when they complain about landlords: how much disregard for your surroundings that renting breeds in you. It’s not only that the owner of your building never cleans the pipes. It’s also that you have no reason to feel invested in the pipes’ long-term functioning, and every reason to feel bitter about the thousands of dollars you’re already wasting on a broken building each year. 

And so you buy the Drain-o, even knowing it does damage. You don’t invest in a hair trap, because it shouldn’t be your job. Maybe you even flush kitty litter down the toilet, as one neighbor of mine did, because why the fuck shouldn’t you? It almost feels like revenge to wreck a place that was never yours, even though the only people who will suffer the consequences are the poor broke renters who come after you. 

There is no gratitude, no sense of continuity — only a steady march of expenses and breakdowns that never stop, until you’re kicked back on the street again.  

But this June, after almost twenty years and fifteen moves across various apartments and sublets, I have finally arrived at a place where I might be able to stay a long time. I’m no longer paying a landlord’s bills with my wages. I have become, as Eula Biss puts it, the husband of a space. This home is my duty to protect, to build up into something that might last for me and everyone else who passes through it. 

Suddenly I can see the consequences of my actions: A stick of incense left burning on the bathroom counter leaves three small, orange marks I have to buff out with a scrubbing sponge and a layer of Barkeeper’s Friend. When I ignore a leak from the hot water spigot that runs over the side of the tub, the liner swells up with moisture and has to be cut out and replaced. Life is no longer lived in pay periods, but in years. Unattended problems only get worse over time, and everything is riding on me. 

I wrote about making a home, adopting a cat, and learning to let my life have weight. You can read the full essay for free (or have it narrated to you by the Substack app) at drdevonprice.substack.com

[mr2swap]

The great shift: a stinking symbiotic relationship

I came home empty-handed, I hadn't even been able to get a job as a cashier at McDonald's, but I can't blame them who would hire an overweight middle-aged man like me... A lot of things are different since the Great Shift, but I guess that some things remain the same, I opened the door to my apartment and the first thing I looked at was my old body sitting on the couch with an annoyed look.

-Dude, What the fuck? You were supposed to be here 35 minutes ago, my phone is blowing up with messages on our subscribers! You know them, they can't wait a minute for any of this! -

Gary Muller, my roommate and my “business partner,” flexed one of his enormous biceps until the shirt that covered the muscular and perfect body that used to belong to me almost burst, then with one of his long fingers he pointed to one of his armpits that for a moment They were dry.

Gary took off his shirt, revealing the body he used to look at every day in the mirror, grabbed a pair of dumbbells that were on the floor and started working out for our afternoon show.

-Yeah... I'm sorry, I went to a couple of job interviews, and they went a little longer than I thought, just... let me change while you train a little-

He just ignored me and went about his business while I walked into our apartment. I had heard that many people ended up in bodies thousands of miles away because of the Great Shift, but me and Gary living next to each other was a strange coincidence.

I didn't know anything about Gary before all this. Furthermore, I only considered him as the old man who lived next to me, sometimes in the mornings while my uncle went to the gym I could see him leaving the building, dressed in a cheap suit and heading to his office job. It was a surprise for me, One day I woke up in his apartment with his old body.

 The Real Gary was as surprised as I was, the first time I saw my old body from Gary's perspective I was speechless, there was an expression of confusion on that beautiful, symmetrically perfect face, the long, muscular arms of which I used to be so proud now they were in someone else's possession, but the worst of all was how short I was now. The height difference between us was enormous, while I was almost two meters tall Gary was 1.50 CM Even some children They are taller than me now.

But over time I got used to Gary's horrible old body... every day I prayed to get my old life back, but every day I woke up with horrible back pain and with a face older than my father's, perhaps the most strange now is the hair, Gary started going bald since high school and when he turned 30 he decided to shave all his hair, Gary's bathroom was full of hair growth products that hadn't worked for years.

And while I was suffering from trying not to adapt to the life of a 48-year-old, the real Gary was enjoying his new youth and his new muscular body. I learned that people treat you very differently when you look like a damn stud instead of a wrinkled Troll.

He could hear through the walls like the real home, and he had fun with my body and with all the boys I brought to my old apartment every night, I had never realized how thin the walls were in this building Until for the first time I heard the powerful moans of my old voice at the same time that Gary used my cock to fornicate another man.

Time passed and society continued on its path, for me, it was surprisingly fast how the government recovered from all this. But there was only one problem, there were a lot of unemployed people everywhere, and among all of them was me.

I used to work at the local gym as a trainer, but with this body that had never been in a gym in its entire life, I was quickly fired. On the other hand, Gary's company went bankrupt when most of the investors ended up in young bodies And they decided to sell the company.

As the days went by, Gary and I became somewhat of friends, I helped him with exercise routines and taught him about the nutrition My body needed, We decided that it would be much cheaper for both of us to live together while all this was resolved, And I returned to my old apartment, but I felt like a stranger among my own things. I settled in the smallest room surrounded by my training equipment that was totally useless to me now, everything was too heavy.

Living with Gary was certainly better than living on the street, But every day it made me reconsider if that was true, Unsuccessfully I tried to get a damn job, so I could get out of that apartment and start my life over in Gary's weak old body. I felt like a parasite even with Gary, he paid the rent and all the house services.

On top of that, he used to party every night and hang out with his new gym friends during the day, it was a total mystery to me how he made so much money... until I started receiving some strange messages on my old Instagram account. .

“Hey buddy, was this your body?”

“Dude, are you DaddyGary?”

“Damn, you had such a hot body… I always knew what was under those shorts, you didn't disappoint me.”

It wasn't hard to realize that Gary had been making his filthy armpit fetish porn for those desperate gays. I felt so dirty watching the videos of my old body worshiping his sweaty armpits after the gym.

I immediately confronted Gary about it, and surprisingly he admitted it very quickly. He didn't seem embarrassed, or sorry for doing it, I could even notice a slight mocking smile on his face as I told him how humiliated I felt while a bunch of perverted men masturbated with my stinky armpits.

It was at that moment when those words from Gary sealed the destiny I am living in now.

-Those “disgusting” things like you call them are what pay the rent for this place and keep your old ass from sleeping in some dumpster. And if you want to continue sleeping in your comfortable bed, it's time for you to start contributing a little money, and I know how you can do it... Come here -

He flexed both arms showing his armpits, I was surprised to see that he had recently shaved his armpits, eliminating all the wild hair that I previously kept in my sweaty pits, I... I couldn't control myself, I don't think he's homosexual, but the powerful musk of my old armpits made me react like a bee to honey.

Gary took his phone and started recording me while he worshiped his wet armpits with my tongue.

-You like it, right?… “Gary” Do you like the taste of your old body? Can you believe this used to be me? Damn, You really are pathetic, “Gary” -

It had been several days since I had ejaculated, I had thought Gary's body had erectile dysfunction or something, but at that moment my little cock was hard as a rock and hot as hell. I had never felt this way, my head was completely clouded by the addictive testosterone filled aroma of my old armpits.

-Look friends, “Gary” is jerking off, it seems like he still misses his old body... Maybe we should let him play with him another time...-

Hello, if you liked this story and you want more, you can take a look at my Ko-Fi page to see my most recent stories, see my new stories and support me to continue creating this hot content.

[takumiraine]

Once upon a time chapter 3

3 chapters in as many days? Nobody tell my Ao3 readers. I don’t have siblings, but I hope I captured banter well.

<first> <prev> <next>

Once upon a time two men stopped believing in fairy tales.

Jason walked into the admissions office with Dan’s schedule memorized as well as Bab’s working schedule in the library to debrief both before and after and make sure their own girl genius ate. She was the only one in the family that didn’t treat him differently since the whole dead until he wasn’t thing after all.

“Hi there,” Jason said to the woman working the desk, turning on every ounce of charm, bringing out the smile that historically got him into as many troublesome spots as it got him out of. “I’m Jason Todd-Wayne and I think I’m ready to put down roots and get my degree in Literature. Russian or English, doesn’t matter.”

“Oh!” The woman looked suitably flustered, and he felt suitably stupid as he stood there with that thousand sun smile and his stupid shock of white hair and completely unprotected t shirt and jeans. Yeah he had a couple of knives in his boots but… he felt entirely too exposed. “Let me… make a call and see who can get you settled in.”

An hour and one incredibly flimsy “yeah well I’ve been doing absolutely no learning the last five years just give me the remedials first” lie later, and Jason had a schedule that matched up in a couple places with this Dan person.

He went to go see Babs at her job in the library, stopping at the campus coffee shop to bring her her favorite drink. May as well add some extra bribery to keep her from spilling if Bruce asked.

Jason doubted he would but weirder things have happened.

He walked up to where she was tapping away on one of the computers at the reference desk. He reached over and set the coffee near enough so she could grab it and far enough away that she wouldn’t throw a fit about the possibility of spills.

Jason looked around idly, waiting for her to be done with whatever task she was set to. Once she was done she grabbed the cup. “He’s here.” She said, taking a drink from her coffee.

Jason blinked. “What?”

“Yeah. Once I saw him this morning, without static, I realized why he was familiar.” There was the steady beep-beep-beep as she checked in books. “He practically lives here. Northwestern corner on the desktop.” More beeping and Jason turned his head under the guise of scanning the space as he sipped from his own drink. “Wouldn’t be suspicious except for last night, and knowing his class schedule.”

Jason nods, pushes off the desk and makes a slow circuit under the guise of looking for a book. The kid, under bright daylight, looks like hell. Pale with dark circles under his eyes. Thin. A quick glance at the screen shows him working on math way more complex than the remedial class he - they were taking. He selected a book from the shelf and returned to Babs.

“Kid looks more dead than I am,” Jason muttered, setting his cup down and paging through the book. Not only did the kid not notice when Jason got close but didn’t look over. No sense of danger that one.

He stood, making bland conversation with Babs and skimming through the book. At least until the kid got up. A quick check of the clock showed it was almost time for their first shared class. He walked out first, and pulled out the sheet of paper with his schedule. When the kid passed by Jason stopped him.

“Hey, sorry to bug you,” he wasn’t, “I started a bit late. Any idea where DL 115 is?” Danny startled a bit as he realized he was being spoken to, before nodding.

“Yeah. Headed there now. C’mon. I’m Danny.” The kid gave a smile and Jason was hit with the thought that with some sleep he was probably handsome.

As they walked Danny rambled a mile a minute, giving directions and a mini tour. Everything surface level, but kind nonetheless. He stifled a yawn as they passed the cafe where Jason had gotten the two coffees earlier that morning “and I’ve heard this place has the best coffee anywhere near campus. Haven’t tried it myself so your mileage may vary, but the smells are right.”

Jason normally found this sort of prattle irritating, but he found himself more amazed at the fact that a kid who had a knife in his stomach no more than 12 hours before was moving like nothing happened.

When they got to class Jason took the spot next to Danny. “Thanks for the tour man,” he said, wishing he could drop the Jason Todd-Wayne persona and go back to being just Jason.

“Yeah. Of course. Gotta help where you can.” Point one against being a rogue in the making. “Whats your major?”

“Literature. You?”

“Mechanical Engineering. I’m shit at lit, my high school teacher once accused me of being that dense on purpose.” Jason couldn’t help the snort, and he caught Danny’s lips quirk in a smile.

“Whats an engineer doing in a remedial math class?”

“High school was murder. Spent most of the time ghosting my classes.” He shrugged a bit, arranging the books he brought on the table. “Chronic underachiever.” The last two words were said with the same tone of someone who had heard them more often than anyone bothered to ask the reason behind it. Jason wasn’t quite sure where that point fell.

“Well, we need more engineers here. You grow up in one of the districts?” Small talk was a Wayne staple and even though Jason could appreciate the way they were helping him get information from the kid, it made him want to claw his face off.

“Nah.” A pause and the pit in Jason burned suddenly. “Small town in the Midwest. They need good ones there too. But Gotham was willing to pay me to be here.” He shrugs. “It’s a living I guess.” Jason had to resist the urge to grit his teeth. “You grow up here?”

A breath in. Out. Control. “Yeah. Crime alley until I was adopted by Bruce Wayne.”

Something in Danny’s look changes subtly, and the pit shrieks. Jason clenches a fist under the table, nails biting into his palm. “Doesn’t he fund the Justice League?” Knowledge outside his scope. Either the kid researched or had inside info. One point for rogue. Jason shrugged one shoulder and did his best ‘I just work here’ voice.

“I think so. Managing the money is more my brother’s thing though.” Keeping his voice even is a struggle with the way the pit lashes inside of him. Sweat beads at his hairline even though he’s certain the air conditioning just clicked on from the way the air is suddenly cooler around him.

“I hate those assholes…” he heard Danny mutter as the teacher entered and began the class. Another point towards rogue. So far it was pretty even, but there could still be an explanation.

The teacher began droning on and slowly the pit calmed in him as more math was put in front of them. Jason wished it would act up. Trying to manage it would keep him occupied from the numbers. They always only meant one thing. There was no subtext. No beauty. No romance to it.

God. If anyone knew that the vicious Red Hood was secretly a romantic? Kill him again now. He glanced over at Danny’s notebook when he realized he missed some instructions. The guy’s handwriting was a mess, little notes jotted this way and that with arrows connecting it to something else that Jason recognized from the more complex math that Babs and Tim sometimes got on about.

Danny caught him looking and trying to copy, and rolled his eyes but put dots next to the things he was missing once he looked over at Jason’s mess of notes.

After class, Jason couldn’t help but ask “why are you in this math class? I’m the wrong guy to ask but that sh…stuff,” he corrected, reminding himself who he was supposed to be. Danny raised an eyebrow but let him continue, “seems way more complicated than what we’re learning.”

“I’m a bad tester.” He shrugs. “I’ve had worse lecture experiences.”

Jason had an opening to get to know this guy better. “Any chance you’d be willing to tutor me?”

Danny’s eyes furrowed at him, “I’m sure your dad could hire someone with a math degree, not just some….” He waved his hand “nothing nobody from nowhere.” He finished. Jason considered, or at least pretended to.

“He could, probably a whole fleet of them. But I hate asking him for things. Rich people are just….”

“Pompous assholes?” Danny supplied when Jason seemed to struggle for a nice way to put it. Even Sam had been at first, her parents’ attitudes surrounding money rubbing off on her.

“Yeah. We don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. But I will pay.”

Danny seemed to consider that for a while, watching him more closely than the exhausted appearance would make anyone expect, something sharp and calculating in his gaze. Finally he seemed to decide and nodded, opening to a page where he had his schedule scribbled out. “I guess. When?”

“As soon as possible, I’ve already missed a couple weeks and I’m totally lost.” Not a complete lie. He could get himself caught up but making the bridge with Danny was more important. “Dinner at the cafe? I’ll buy for the inconvenience and then we can head to the library and get started?” Jason remembered Danny showing the mugger the empty wallet the night before. Either the kid kept his money elsewhere or he was broke.

Those sharp blue eyes landed on him again and narrowed slightly, and Jason got the distinct impression he was trying to weigh Jason’s soul against a feather. Then, again, Danny looks away and shrugs. “I guess. My next class is out at five.” Jason made a point of checking his watch. It was three. He nodded. “Meet you there at quarter after.” Jason nodded his agreement and stood. As Danny started to walk off Jason heard “And don’t think I’ll take it easy on you just because you’re a pretty rich boy.”

Fuck. What had he just gotten himself into?

The class Danny was headed to wasn’t one they shared, so Jason returned to the library. “Any idea what the kid does on the computer while he’s here?” Jason asked quietly, standing next to where Babs was shelving books. She handed him one and he put it back where it belonged, over her head.

“Excuse you, libraries are havens for those who want to be away from the panopticon of spying that is the powers that be.” Babs shot back, handing him another book. She could have reached that one but they both knew the understanding was clear, ‘you stand here to bother me during my normal girl hours, you work.’

‘And I know you’ his look countered. She sighed, wheeled herself and the cart to a different shelf.

“Nothing suspicious. Some conspiracy forums. Spends a lot of time sharing conspiracies with accounts named Technus and Ember, occasionally gets told to ‘go outside and eat something’ by an account called Desiree. Everything seems normal, or as normal as can be from conspiracy nuts.”

“What’s their favorite conspiracy?”

“Ghosts mostly. Though Pariah, Dan, also talks about how the JL is either in the pocket of the government or vice versa. He can’t seem to decide.”

“Any idea why he hates them?”

She hums, finishes with that shelf and moves along, waving cheerfully at some students that come out of a study room and keeps on her way. Jason is amazed that she manages the heavy book cart with her wheelchair. It’s just proof that there’s nothing that Babs can’t do. Jason doesn’t offer to push it. If she wanted his help she’d tell him. Or hand him something.

“Something about only helping when it suits them. Sending the government to put down anyone who needs help that they don’t want to give.”

“Threat assessment?” Jason was willing to bet that there was a reason. Maybe not a good reason, but a reason.

“Minimal so far. If they are working together, this forum seems to be their only point of contact. Ember is in Bludhaven, and although I haven’t been able to get any real id on her, Dick says there hasn’t really been anything abnormal out there. She uses a different computer almost every time and pays in cash. Technus is in Metropolis. Has some pretty nasty firewalls. I could get past them but then he’d probably know. Desiree is in Yale, studying psychology. She’s probably the one I have the most information on. Real name Jasmine McLain. Eldest daughter of two middle class parents, younger sibling died in a hit and run in high school, left town first chance she got and never looked back. Overachiever in high school and got an associates in Psychology while working full time. Doesn’t know much about net security but nothing stands out beyond that.”

Jason shelved a few more books. Wished he still smoked. “Something doesn’t feel right.” He couldn’t put his finger on what.

“Sure it’s not that jacket?” Jason looked down at himself, frowning. He looked pretentious. He looked like an asshole. He looked like Tim or Bruce.

“Now that’s just mean and uncalled for Barbie.” He said her name just loud enough for some stupid barely 18 year old somewhere in the stacks to chirp back ‘Hi Barbie’ almost automatically.

Babs pulled a face, elbowed him in the ribs. “Laugh it up J.J. the Jet Plane.”

In spite of the carefully honed bat instinct that said he was missing something important, Jason smiled.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-Three

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Angst, some suggestiveness

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

There was stillness. A few hesitant gasps. A churning inside your chest like an ocean brewing up a storm. Pieces of Koschei fluttered in the air, landing on your skin like bits of ash until all that was left were the chains of teeth spooled on the ground in bizarre memory of the death god who’d worn them. 

“Y/n,” Azriel gasped out, struggling to his knees. Sweat lined his brow and dripped from his temples. Blood flaked off his caramel skin like rust.

You could smell the iron on him and identify which stains belonged to which fae warrior. You could tell from one breath how they’d died. The dark mark on his thigh had come from a Spring court nymph run through with a snapped femur bone. The splatter on his cheek came from the Winter court Spymaster who’d been beheaded protecting his High Lord. There were a dozen marks for a dozen bodies, and you could hear their last words echo in your ears.

And there were prayers — so many prayers — being spoken and whispered and screamed throughout the world. Funeral songs. The sounds of weeping and twisted-tongue prophecies all competing to drown out the pleasant hum of the mating bond. 

Your skin boiled. The winter chill struck your body and let off steam. You looked down at your hands and saw your palms begin to crack and splinter, light pouring outward just as Ione’s had. Suddenly, you didn’t feel so powerful. 

Azriel sank his sword into the ground, dragging himself to his feet.

Don’t let her go into the mirror. Elain had warned him. She may not come out. 

Her haunting words froze Azriel to the core. He’d tried to decipher her prophecy, but vague and misleading as they could be, he’d let her warning fade into the background. Now that he was here, it was so painfully clear.

Don’t let her go into the lake. 

But he had let you go…and you’d gone for him. 

To protect him. 

To save him. 

Because you loved him. 

Now he needed to do everything in his power to save you. 

The world was a sharper place. Colors shook on different wavelengths. The air was tainted by new flavors. You could hear it when a human boy a thousand miles away coughed and breathed his last. You could hear his mother’s weeping as his body went cold. 

But worst of all, when you looked your father and Lucien in the eye as they propped each other up, you could see their deaths as clear as the clouds in the sky. As if their futures had been inked onto their cheekbones. It was a bloody end, as would befall all High Lords. 

You were afraid to look at Azriel when he finally staggered over to you, all but collapsing in his arms. He brought you both to the ground, drawing you into his lap and cradling your face like you were the most precious thing in the world. Fingertips glossed over your temples. Across your cheeks. Over your hot and cracked lips that spilled starlight over his hands. 

“Az—” You whispered, tears dotting your eyes and slipping down your cheeks in paths of gold. “I’m sorry—” 

“Don’t you dare,” Azriel all but growled. “You are not dying on me today.” He grabbed onto the bond, holding you to this plane of existence with desperation. Like a kite about to drift away. It was through the bond that you heard a smaller, more frightened voice beg, “Don’t leave me here alone.”

You were his mate. His mate. This male who’d become your best friend and your home was now your mate. You could have lived a thousand lifetimes with him and been happy. But no amount of time would have left you satisfied. You would have always been greedy for more. 

Another minute. Another second. 

You coughed and the blood that dribbled down your chin was liquid gold. 

Was this all you’d be given? A handful of confusing months and less than an hour together? A mating bond left incomplete? 

You wondered if this was how Bethsevah had felt when she’d consumed this power. Whether the same stubbornness had compelled her to hold on so that Koschei’s magic might die with her, or whether her promise to Thanatos to live and have her children had finally convinced her to let go and bury what remained in the lake.  

But the lake was no longer an option. In order to kill Koschei you had transformed the very nature of the magic you’d consumed until it belonged to you. You felt it inside your chest — inside your very soul. It was yours. And it was killing you. Like a flame that would soon run out of fuel to burn.

“You’ll be ok, won’t you?” You asked, leaning your head against his chest. You heard his heart beat frantically in your ears and for a moment, the rush of blood through his veins helped dim the choir of weeping and singing. Even now, Azriel was bringing you peace simply by existing. 

Helion and Lucien looked to Azriel as he held you, silently begging him to do something. 

Anything.

“Azriel,” you gasped, eyes fluttering, “It hurts.” 

“I know, Y/n, please just hold on a little while longer,” Azriel begged as more cracks appeared up your arms and across your chest, unfurling like leaves in spring. 

He scrambled to think of something as the bond roared with desperation. You would know what to do in his position. If your mind weren’t being driven to madness by a thousand voices you would have come up with a solution ages ago. You with your brilliant theories and your Librarian training and— 

Azriel choked, angry tears dripping from his eyes onto your cheeks where they crackled and turned to steam. 

You were his best friend. 

His home. 

His mate.

His mate. 

His—

“I always thought that mating bonds must be some special extension of that. Magic that’s not the same, but perfectly complementary.” 

“Like the difference between two sets of keys, versus a key and a lock.”

“Maybe? I suppose that’s not a terrible analogy to make, but I’m not sure.” You’d shot him a smile more radiant than the sun, “You’re beginning to think like a Librarian, Azriel.” 

Azriel saw the bond stretching before him like a bridge of moonbeam on a cloudless night. It looked like a future where he would always be wanted. Always be loved.

He hadn’t taken you to the seasides of Summer. He hadn’t brought you to meet his mother. He’d never asked for your hand in marriage or seen you in a wedding dress or accepted the bond. All things he so desperately wanted to do. 

All things he wanted a chance to do right. 

He saw the bond stretching before him, and barreled down with only one thought in mind: he would not lose you today. 

It was difficult work crossing the bond before it had been accepted. At times the path felt secure beneath his feet. Sometimes it felt at risk of disappearing entirely. But you were waiting for him. He’d never forgiven himself for that night at the Alcove when he’d arrived late and the wards had already gone up. He didn’t want to be late a second time. 

Your mind was composed of endless library stacks — a maze to keep your thoughts secret instead of walls of impenetrable adamant — but Azriel found his way. Bond or no bond, he still knew you like the back of his hand. 

When his soul reached yours, you were a flickering light crushed under the weight of your own magic. Pulsing and twisting and fighting to hang on. He caressed your soul, brought you peace of a kind you didn’t know was possible, and began to strip away those layers of light.

He bundled them up and dove down into the deepest recesses of your mind. Memories of the past flew by — painful, haunting, lonely. Full of crippling worries and undying hope for something more. It pressed against him from all sides until he finally came across something safe. Something frozen in time. A distant memory that had remained untouched for centuries. There he constructed a well, burying your powers behind walls of shadow and adamant and bricks of cobalt blue. 

Piece-by-piece he stored away your power until the light faded from your skin and you were no longer dying in his arms. 

He heard your weak voice, felt your soul flare like a struck match as you took your first clear breath, before beginning the long trek from the place where he’d hidden your power and back into his own body. 

He jerked to attention. Twin gasps left your lungs as you clung to one another. Your skin cooled and stitched itself together, leaving behind pale scars that feathered down your body like ferns. The world was far too silent now. The singing. The prayers. The screams. They were all gone. 

Until you heard Azriel whimper, “Y/n.” It was just a name. Your name. But it was also a prayer of its own. A quiet song of relief as he crashed over you like a great wave, burying his face against your chest as he began to shake. “Gods, Y/n, I thought I was going to lose you.” 

You shook your head, looping your arms around his neck and trembling from the sobs that wracked through his body. 

He closed his wings around you, blocking out the sights and sounds of the world as the others left to gather the dead. In this place — in his arms — you were safe. Your skin no longer crawled with fever and death. You could breathe and taste the air as it was. Nothing more. Nothing less. There was only the haggard rhythms of Azriel’s chest as he regained control of his breathing.

The sound of whispered promises.

Words of love.

The smell of cold wind and cedar wood.

Nearly an hour later, Azriel finally let you go for long enough to accept the cloak Helion draped over your shoulders, and a long embrace from your father and Lucien. 

“Never do anything so stupid again,” Lucien warned, squeezing you tightly. Your skin was still burnt and sensitive, but worth the spine-cracking hug. 

“It wasn’t stupid actually, it was a stroke of brilliance.” 

“Let’s not joke just yet,” Helion said, his voice strangled. 

Azriel appeared to be in agreement, quickly gathering you under the curve of his wings. You sighed deeply, nuzzling into his side and wishing he would take you far away from here. If you asked, Azriel would have flown away with you in an instant, his own exhaustion be damned. But that new power was humming in your veins. Azriel had locked much of it away, but not all of it. And as you knew all too well, power demanded release. 

You looked at Azriel — at your mate — noting his bloodshot eyes and the deep shadows beneath them.

“Azriel, you should—” 

“I’m not leaving you,” He croaked. His hazel eyes flashed with fear, his grip around your waist tightening as if to fuse himself to your side.

“You can barely stand.” 

His eyes softened, pleading. “Don’t ask me to stay away right now, Y/n. Please.” 

And so he followed. Azriel never left your side as you roamed the woods, gold-trimmed cloak trailing behind you. 

One by one, you stripped away the spells that had survived Koschei’s death. You were a new and welcome guest within these woods. They’d been left to rot and ruin for too long, like an abandoned house with boarded up windows and sheets laid down over the furniture. You swept off the sheets and tore open the windows. Over a thousand years these woods had laid in darkness. You finally let the light in.

The bones that had been pulled from the earth were laid to rest for good. You cleaned and preserved the bodies that had recently joined the dead, and when you reached the blindspot where Ione and Techaria had died, you took the pieces of Ione and fused her back together until she just looked like a young woman sleeping amongst the trees.

There was nothing left of Techaria for you to bury. 

Viviane would not allow you anywhere near Kallias, and so you let her attend to her mate and her grief in privacy. 

Then, you went in search of the firebird. 

Lucien was already with her, draping his cloak over her shivering, bloody form. She lay in silence, cradled in the pocket of earth she’d landed in after Viviane had cut through her wings with blades of ice. She croaked mournfully, twisting on the ground to gaze upon you with her beady eyes. With a few careful touches you drew away the curse like a curtain until she was a maiden once again, soot-stained but unharmed. 

Lucien wrapped her in the cloak, soothing her trembling cries as she called out for Jurian. But she was only met with silence. 

Hours later, you all stood by the edges of what was once a lake, carrying the dead and wounded alike in makeshift stretchers or folded neatly within gentle arms. 

Cassian had his left arm thrown around Nesta, his figure pale and crooked. His right arm stuck out awkwardly, bloodied rags wrapped tightly around the stump. 

Rhysand, prideful and stubborn as he was, refused to be carried on a stretcher. Instead, he limped, propped up on one side by Feyre and on the other side by Helion. Eris did the same, guarded by the remaining true-born sons of Autumn. Tarquin was more practical. He let his men carry him and the broken remains of his shield. Viviane was the last of their procession and carried her husband’s frost-coated body. Her tears dripped down her cheeks and froze there. 

At the sight of the High Lady of Winter, Azriel thrummed the bond. He wanted proof you were alive. 

You tugged at it gently and he tugged back with a small exhale of breath.

“Is it time to go home now?” You asked him. 

He caressed your cheek, and the bond, eyes shining. You shivered beneath both touches. 

“Yes, my love, it’s time to go home.” 

All those who could winnow pulled together the scraps of their power, the promise of home so tempting they would have swum across the ocean if needed. 

The fabric of the universe folded in half and everyone stepped through, leaving behind a wasteland decimated from battle and centuries under Koschei’s oppressive power. 

You promised yourself that you would never return, and would keep to that promise. But the next time anyone from Prythian or the Continent gathered enough courage to step foot on the grave of a death god, they would find that everything had changed. Life would find its way once more, and the only things that walked that ground would stand firmly on the side of the living. 

You jerked awake, hands clawing at your scalp as you remembered the power that had burned you from the inside out. It still weighed heavily in your chest — both the locked and unlocked portions — serving as a reminder that your magic was changed now. Touched by death like ink spilled over a book page. 

Azriel wasn’t asleep. He hadn’t slept since you’d arrived in Prythian and immediately collapsed in his arms, choosing to keep watch over you until you finally woke up. 

He was quick to wrap you in his arms and sent all his reassurance and love down the bond. You twitched in his hold. Dug your fingers into his chest so you could feel the beating of his heart. 

“Shhhhh, I’m here, Y/n. You’re alright. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he breathed into the crown of your hair. 

The bed you were in wasn’t yours, and it was too lush to be Azriel’s. You were drowning in opulence and silk. A far cry from the comfortable simplicity of Azriel’s deep colored walls and blue bed sheets and it felt wrong.

The downy feather pillows were covered in the vibrant turquoise, purples, and reds of the Dawn Court, which Azriel confirmed when he explained, “You were so exhausted you passed out the moment we were back in Prythian. We all decided to stay so Thesan could attend to you, Cass, and Rhys.” 

“How long?” You croaked out. Your tongue lay dry and heavy in your mouth. Like someone had shoved cotton down your throat. 

“Three days.”

That would explain the film over your teeth. But someone had bathed you since then. You smelled clean. A hint of lavender soap clung to your skin and hair, and the spare shirt you’d been tucked into smelled of night-chilled mist and cedar. 

There was no blood. No dirt. Nothing. 

If it weren’t for the fern-like scars snaking up and down your body and death’s mark on your powers, you might have believed it was all a dream. 

But there was another clue… or rather the absence of a clue. 

Azriel’s shadows were missing. He looked naked without them twisting around his wings and across his shoulders. 

“Your shadows they’re…” You were at a loss. 

Azriel winced. “They’re still gone.” 

Gone. Not dead or destroyed. Just… gone. 

“Do you think they’ll come back?”

“I don’t know.” It was the uncertainty that was eating away at him. “I can still hear their voices muffled like echoes in the distance, but I haven’t felt them since Koschei…” His words trailed off and he held you impossibly close. 

He hadn’t been born with his shadows, but they’d been by his side for all the years that mattered. Losing them had felt like losing a piece of himself. 

“Were you hurt elsewhere?” You asked, frantically running your fingers up and down his bare chest and back in search of new scars beneath your fingertips. 

“A few bruises here and there and a couple of scratches, but they’re gone now.”

“And the others?”

Azriel looked down at you and grief made the words come out slow. “Rhysand will never fly again and Cassian won’t be the warrior he once was.”

The words slammed into your chest, crushing the breath from your lungs in a strangled gasp. 

You didn’t know what to say. 

Rhysand had rarely shown his wings, preferring to hide what was truly important to him so that it might not be taken away. But he loved flying. He never smiled so wide as when he and Feyre would gather Nyx and Velaria into their arms and shoot off into the night sky until they’d become one with the stars. 

And Cassian… he was a warrior through and through. He may as well have been born with a sword and shield in his hands. 

Azriel tucked his fingers beneath your chin. “They’re alive. That’s what I say we focus on.” 

Because what else was there to say? 

You took his scarred hand in yours, tracing the grooves and valleys along the palms. 

You raised your arm, slipping your hands into a ray of light that spilled through the window and pooled across Azriel’s chest. Lightning shaped scars wound down your shoulder to the palms of your hands, catching the shimmering light along the newly healed scar tissue. 

“We’re matching,” You whispered, sliding your hand into his like it belonged there. 

Azriel’s heart stuttered in his chest and might have given out if you hadn’t kissed him then. It was a hungrier, wilder kiss than he was used to receiving from you. More desperate. As if you wanted to take the air from his lungs just to prove he was breathing. 

He pulled away when your hands drifted to his waist and then further down, gently taking your wrists and pinning them by your sides. 

“Y/n, you don’t want this. Not now.” 

But you did want this. Even if your hands were shaking and your heart was racing uncomfortably. 

It wasn’t how you’d imagined it would go. It wasn’t the ideal fantasy you’d read about thousands of times with a bed covered in rose petals and candles to light up the dark. But it was something. It was Azriel. And you were afraid that you’d wake up tomorrow and find that it was all a dream. Or that some other danger lurked around the corner, waiting for its moment to steal your mate from you. 

You couldn’t have that. You wouldn’t have that. Not when there were still so many things you wanted to do with him. 

You struggled to free your hands, terror rising in your chest at the realization that you’d nearly lost him. The bond had snapped in place and he’d almost died immediately after. What would you have been left with if Azriel had been taken from you? Memories spanning a handful of months and a gaping hole in your life? One half of a bond never realized? Another 300-hundred years alone? 

He rolled over on top of you, bracing his arms by your head and gently smoothing back your hair. He whispered for you to just breathe. 

It was the closest you’d ever gotten to one another.

“How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me?” You begged him for answers, tears streaming down your cheeks. It was clear from the moment the bond snapped into place that Azriel had known far longer than you had. It was written all over his face now — some mixture of shame and longing. A secret that had been kept hidden for too long.

“I’ve known since the night I met you. Since the moment you called me Azriel the Shadowsinger I’ve known. But I didn’t tell you because I wanted to do things right. I wanted you to love me. I wanted us to take our time.” You started to cry even harder and Azriel felt a piece of his heart crack. “Maybe I took too long.” 

He kissed your eyelids, smoothing away the tears with his lips before they could drip down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier and I’m sorry I frightened you but… but when we do this, I don’t want you to be afraid. I don’t want to be in a stranger’s home or for you to be scared I’ll be gone in the morning.” 

“Then promise me,” you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks, “Promise me you’re really here. Promise me we’ll have more time together.” 

“I’m here, Y/n,” Azriel breathed. “And I swear to you, we will have all the time in the world.” 

Maybe it wasn’t a promise he could keep — the gods knew there were some forces beyond his control — but still, he made the promise over and over again with every belief that he could keep it. He whispered those words against your forehead, against your lips, and against your heart until you stopped shaking. 

He would tear down mountains and move the very stars in the sky for more time with you. 

There was untapped grief that would need to be spoken about and new futures to be arranged. But right now, you and Azriel chose to lay together in silence. It was a quiet sharing of things that couldn’t be spoken, but also couldn’t be carried alone. 

You still had each other. 

You’d both survived.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Y'all I remain hesitant about the ending of this chapter, but you know what, I'm going to let it stand. Nothing I write can be as weird as some of the questionable smut scenes SJM includes in her books (*cough cough* Feyre should not be giving blowjobs to the sounds of people dying on a battlefield). Like...

Anyhow, thank you to everyone who has stuck around with me and this fic after 100k words (and yeah, we hit 100k words like two chapters back without me realizing!)

[mockerycrow]

REWRITTEN: Undercover I (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover masterlist | next (original)

summary; you’re apart of an undercover joint task force between the CIA and MI6, meant to infiltrate Makarov’s ranks. Your mission is thrown out the window when Makarov finds you out, and the 141 takes you in for interrogation after finding you half dead.

A/N: THIS IS REWRITTEN! I’m rewriting it all, major plot points aren’t really changing but I kept rereading my work and I hated it. please enjoy new and improved undercover. 3k words.

[warnings; gore, description of injuries, descriptions of torture, near death experience(s), waterboarding, medical and military inaccuracies. watch out for pov switches.]

Everything fell apart due to the intense lack of communication; something anyone could’ve seen coming from a thousand miles away. Information staying classified, secret—it was a death sentence the second more eyes landed on Him. Maybe the death sentence was written into existence the moment I breathed in the air in that conference room where my teammates sat. We’re the guys they call for the dirtiest work they need to get done; it isn’t something I’m proud of, of course.. Not when your death has been faked numerous times, stitching together new stories and burying your old ones. To an extent, I wish it wasn’t like this, living in a world where this type of work is necessary, but humans are inherently violent and animalistic. 

Someone would’ve started this cycle eventually. 

You curate a mask to wear so perfect you find yourself believing your own lie. The shit you make up sticks with you, too. The stuff you end up doing as a result never leaves, either. Imagine making up an entirely new life and living it for years only for a tiny slip up to break the new reality you’ve been living. Having to break genuine bonds, having to disappear on people you knew you were using, but sometimes cared about? It hurts more than I like to acknowledge. You get used to the guilt in your gut and the blood coating your hands, the red puddling at your feet. Sometimes, you can’t tell whose it is. Yours? Theirs? The innocent kid who got too involved? It all feels the same at the end of the day.

Most people lose themselves in their lies like I said, but not me. I know exactly who I am.

One one hand, I’m Zhenya Antonenko; one of Makarov’s most trusted right hands. Zhenya, a big brother with an unstable past and a bloody trail following me.

On the other hand, I’m myself. Just me, myself, and I.

I only have myself, except for my Captain, the only person I’ve properly trusted for a couple of years now; can you blame me when you’ve lost so many people to the mission? Whether from discovery leading to death, or legitimately believing the lies you’ve been spewing to yourself? Nobody understands having to gun a person down you started out with just to keep yourself safe; keeping the operation safe.. Because the mission comes first. 

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful who we pretend to be.”

“..status?” “...alive…..”

Searing pain—deep aching pain. Rough, calloused, careless hands—

“...one of his—...” Fuck. That accent; it’s not Russian. Not Slavic at all in general.

It’s Scottish. What the fuck? Did I fuck up?

You’re in terrible shape; critical condition. Soap wishes he didn’t have to untie you and tend to your wounds; you’re one of his. You deserve the slow, painful death your injuries would bring onto you. 

His gloved fingers wedge themselves into the knots of the rope tied around your wrists. It’s a little slippery; the rope is stained with your blood, either from your wrists due to struggling or any of your pre-existing injuries. You’re alive, barely—but they have to act fast if they wanna keep you alive. Your skin is visibly.. Off; lacking its usual color, maybe. You’re shivering in the chair, your clothes soaked in freezing water, mixing with the blood already embedded into the fabric. Price is untying the ropes around your ankles. 

“Alright,” Price gruffs out, his voice low and rough. “Grab ‘em. Off to the truck.”

Soap hooks his arms under your armpits as Price grabs your limp legs, both men grunting quietly as they lift you. They shuffle together in tandem, working their way to the truck in the back of the warehouse. The truck is running as Gaz opens the backdoor for Soap and Price to shove you in there. Soap steps up onto the truck and sits in the backseat, dragging your body inside with him. He takes the opportunity to assess your wounds in a surface level manner first. Soap almost grimaces—almost.

Your lips are parted ever so slightly, the skin chapped and a light layer of dried blood on them, dried so much that it would flake off if you tried to rub them together. The blood is likely from you biting your tongue, or the fact that your top lip on the right side is split open so badly you need stitches, or perhaps from the fact that your nose is broken. The structure of your nose is noticeably out of place and there is blood trailing down your lips and chin, thick and dried droplets down the front of your already ruined shirt. The left side of your jaw, near the hinge—swollen and out of place. Torn, maybe? Broken? Fractured? All possibilities. Your left eye is swollen shut, your left eyebrow split open, too. Like you got your face smashed, but they somehow managed to mostly hit your left side over and over. 

“Wonder what the bastard had to do to earn all that.” Soap mutters, his voice low with a slight bite to his tone. He leaves you untied; if you woke up, he’s sure you’d immediately slip into shock. You’re not a threat, not in the state you’re in. Soap watches you struggle to breathe; labored and uneven. It almost is similar to agonal breathing, something the body does in a desperate attempt for a proper source of oxygen. Maybe some of your ribs are broken. His eye’s trail your abdomen—the red seems to spread, dribbling onto the seats below your body, slicking his skin. Soap tugs up your shirt, and he swears under his breath from the gaping wounds in your belly, his hands reaching down to apply pressure.

Price is about to comment, catching sight of the stab wounds when Ghost exits the warehouse with a couple of documents—a laptop, a thumb drive. All items that were left behind. “Seems like they didn’t see us comin’.” Ghost utters, his voice rough as he stuffs the items into a backpack left in the bed of the truck. “Makarov was here.”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed; your struggle to breathe breaking the silence. You gasp, almost like a gurgle, reminding them of their finds; documents, technology, and you.

…Am I dead?

Is this Hell? Did Makarov finally end me? ..It’s funny, really. I thought I would’ve died from—

Oh, welcome back.

I feel heavy as I suddenly come to, like I’ve been drugged. My tongue is dry and heavy in my mouth and it almost feels too big. Tastes like metal.. Blood. I barely manage to lick my lips which I immediately regret, my cotton like tongue swiping over the split in my lip, lighting up my nerves—however, I don’t have the energy to properly react to the tingling pain. My head feels… full, like there’s pressure. My thoughts are.. Fuzzy, almost. As if there’s something in my skull, blocking them. My ears are ringing, and fuck, it feels like someone is bashing the inside of my head with a metal baseball bat. Ironic.

I feel so incredibly heavy, my limbs comparable to anvils. The fucking pain crawls up my back and into my nerves as I wriggle my fingers, fuck, fuck! Fuck, fuck fuck fu—

“They’re awake.” Utters a gritty, low voice, borderline baritone; British. I manage to open my right eye as my left.. Is seemingly swollen shut, but I regret it from the corneal pain as I close my eye again, the luminescent light above us burning deep into my eye.

A gloved hand roughly grabs my jaw, which fucking hurts. Something is seriously wrong with my jaw, the ache is fucking terrible feels bone deep. I look up, a looming figure over me. My eye refuses to focus for a moment, but I can tell the guy is wearing a mask, a vest—a rifle. I blink languidly and—oh. In front of me, stands a large man; broad shoulders, stocky. A wide chest, and a pair of eyes that make me wanna curl in on myself. He’s staring down at me as if I’m Makarov himself. Big and brown, empty…

I can tell that he is not a man Makarov has worked with before. Who is he?

I shakily inhale and I shut my eye as his fingers dig into my jaw, causing me more pain and nausea bubbling up from it. Fuck. 

“Zhenya Antonenko.” His voice is full of venom, deep and gritty. He’s mocking me—he’s British. I hiss softly as he finally lets go of my jaw, and he holds up my I.D., my fake I.D.. I look at the man in front of me, who is wearing some sort of skull balaclava mask thing. I wanna stay in character, spit or curse or something, but the pain in my mouth is enough to keep me silent as well as the exhaustion. My head tilts forward, my neck incredibly sore and aching. His fingers push under my chin, bringing my head back up. “You’ve worked for Makarov for years, yeah? Makes me wonder what you did to make the man leave you behind.. Bloody and beaten, no doubt.”

I don’t respond—of course I don’t, there’s no reason for me to. I gotta keep up my mask, y’know? It fucking sucks, having to keep the act up, but I don’t know what could happen to the operation if I let it slip. Ugh.. maybe I fucked it all up anyway, considering Makarov found me out. The guy in front of me looks like he wants to tear me apart, limb from limb. Huh. I survived Makarov’s torture.. I’m sure I can survive his.

I want to throw up, despite not having anything in my stomach. My head is reeling and fuck, I just.. I’m aching so badly. Every sensation is blending together. 

My head whips to the side with a blooming, stinging sensation against my cheek—He slapped me. “Pay attention.” The man hisses—Skull-face, I deem him in the moment. I blink and I turn my head to face Skull-face as he walks over to a tray nearby, his boots heavy against the ground. The door behind him opens, my eyes flickering over to it and three more men walk in. Shit.

The first man I see is young, tall; he has dark skin and even darker eyes; brown, I think. There’s a small atrophic scar under his eye. His shoulders are wide but nearly as bulky as Skull-face’s; he’s definitely well built. I watch him cross his arms across his chest. My gaze flickers to the next man that catches my eye—he’s also tall and built, maybe a bit beefy. He’s pale with brunette hair and… mutton chops? Odd choice.. But alright.. Mutton-chops is leaning against the wall of whatever this room is. His eyes are trained on me like a cat who is hunting. It makes me shudder a little bit. The last guy I see; a bit shorter than the others, but he isn’t lacking any muscle. Thick forearms, for sure. He’s pale, brown hair and blue eyes, mohawk. Pfft, mohawk.. Who has a mohawk these days?

I flinch as Skull-face pats my jaw to get me to pay attention, making me hiss as he purposely chooses the bad side. God, it has to be swollen by this point. 

I can barely think.. Jesus. 

“I’m only repeatin’ myself once, y’hear? You’ll know what Hell truly feels like, you only got a taste with Makarov.” Skull-face threatens. I swallow harshly; I can’t afford another beating, or whatever this fucker has planned in case I don’t follow the rules. I already feel so light headed and dizzy. Hesitantly. I nod as a response instead of using words. “Why don’t y’tell us what Makarov was doin’ in that warehouse, hm?” He utters, glancing over to a tray and picking up a few papers—the text that I can make out, they look vaguely familiar. Must’ve been documents they grabbed from the warehouse. I wheeze a little, wincing, my chest spasming. Fuck.

He waits for a response. I swallow again, my eye fluttering as I utter out, “I took an oath.” Weakly. I feel a bead of sweat drop down from my temple, down the side of my face. I’m sweating from pain, that deep ache in my ribs, in my jaw—everywhere, honestly. I don’t know what doesn’t hurt by this point. “An oath.” Skull-face murmurs, almost as if he’s amused but I hear no humor in his tone. He walks closer towards me as he sifts through the documents in his gloved hands. “An oath for a terrorist.”

I see the way his eye twitches when he looks at me; to be fair, all I can see is his eyes but folks say the eyes are the road to the soul, right? And what his eyes are telling me right now is that he’s holding himself back from wrecking my shit further. I glance away for a moment, but he shoves the documents in front of my face, all typed up in Russian. “Y’know what this is?” 

My eyes scan the paper, recognizing it—”It’s Makarov’s plans, his plans on how he will slaughter entire cities with the biological weapons he’s trying to get his bloody hands on.” Skull-face gruffs out. His throat is tight, I can tell he’s furious. 

I know what the plan is—I’ve read those exact papers several times myself. I’m more shocked by the fact that they know that he was searching to get his hands on weapons like that in the first place. My head buzzes as I shift my eyes to Skull-face, who is staring at me as if he’s expecting an answer out of me.

I swear to God my vision whites out when he lifts my fucking shirt and opens the shitty stitches across my stomach—

Hot liquid spills from my belly and immediately soaks the spandex of the waist band to my pants, choking and wheezy noises leave my throat as I reel from the fucking pain. God, the pain.. My eyesight blurs back into colors, but no focus yet. I gasp quietly, trying to get a hold on my pain. However, Skull-face doesn’t give me a chance as he viciously grabs my jaw again, squeezing so harshly my lips part and my jaw feels like it’s being ripped out of its hinges. “My deal is simple. Fill in the obviously missin’ gaps, an’ we’ll let the medics work on ya.”

I try to get a steady breathing pace again, breathing through the pain. I close my eye, my throat bobbing as I swallow. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Someone grunts and walks towards me—more like stomps towards me, so I naturally open my unswollen eye only to see Mohawk seething in front of me. “Y’dont seem to understand the situation yer in. Do you understand that you fell for a trap?”

Mohawk grabs the front of my soaked shirt—tears, blood, water and whatever else—as he barks in front of my face. I struggle to focus on his face—rugged and young, sporting some light stubble with an atrophic scar across his chin. His jaw is strong and so is his nose. His eyes—blue and fierce. 

He wants to kill me. I can tell. I don’t blame him.

I wince as he tugs on the front of my shirt, peeling it from the open wound on my stomach. I feel sick. “Makarov does not care for you!” Tell me something I don’t know..

I’ve known that since the beginning. He doesn’t care for anyone, not really. We were always just pawns to him. Everyone is.

I must’ve spaced out again because I snap back to reality when something squeaky is rolled into the room. I lift my head—oh fuck. Mutton-chops has a big bowl of water on a cart, wheeling it closer. “I told ya, I wouldn’t repeat myself.” Skull-face gruffs out and my heart drops to my fucking stomach, my eyes widening. Someone must’ve noticed the change in me because I hear someone laugh. My leg kicks out instinctively when the cart is rolled closer—That one guy, the basic dude, scar on his cheek, his hands shoot out and hold down my leg. 

I barely get enough time to react before a hand is grabbing a chunk of my hair and forcing my face into the water. I struggle against my binds, against the hands on me, against the fucking bowl of water that’s against my face. I fight and fight, my wrists screaming for relief as I give myself rope burn because I’m fucking drowning, I’m fucking drowning, I’m gonna die and it’s all going to be for nothing—

My head is ripped out of water, making me gasp and choke, spitting out water that I inhaled. The dread from the feeling of drowning remains as I sputter and wheeze, the water running down my face and neck, soaking the neckline of my already damp shirt. 

Fuck, I’m gonna die. I’m gonna fucking die.

I keep gasping for air, trying to level out my breathing. I feel exhausted, all of the fight in my soul having already left my body. My limbs feel heavy, like there’s weights tied to them like before. My vision is blurry as I lift my head, looking at the three men in front of me. I have to bite back an angry laugh because I know they’re just going to stand there and watch me die. Maybe they’ll resuscitate me like Makarov did—just to remind me how much power they have over me right now. 

Makarov.. He held me under the ice cold water until I passed out. I don’t know what happened after that, I don’t know how long he left me like that or if he left me like that at all. All I remember is being on my back on the cold concrete below me, my hands remaining tied behind my back as I sputtered water out of my throat and nearly inhaling it back in.

He did it more than once to me. I don’t know how many times. Maybe it’s the brain damage making me forget. 

Fuck. I don’t know. I just don’t fucking know.

My head falls forward as my vision is filled with black dots, and then—I’m out, water dripping off of my chin and face, my pants wet with my blood from my stomach.

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