#anyway idk what to do now except hope it will turn up at some point | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lilgoblinbitch · 10 months ago

Note

saw your post about rick and daryl, do you think you could write a rick TOWL smut with him angry that you left your post and got yourself injured and he takes out his frustration on you? idk why just had that idea after the recent episode😫

Grimes' Dominion 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

rick grimes x fem!reader

a/n: ahhh omg yes i actually had time to think abt this for a few nights. i added a bit of plot to this because i love me some backstory & descriptions. but anyway i made this pretty lengthy so if u wanna skip to the smut part just look for the '💋'. here is your plotty smut! lmk your thoughts ₊˚⊹♡

warnings: smut 18+, PinV, unprotected sex, oral/face fucking (male receiving), slight bondage, fingering, ass slapping, hair pulling, orgasm denial, degradation (use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’), language, mentions of blood and injury, angsty angsty angst!, reader is a mother, overall Rick is very rough so you have been warned

wc: 6k

MDNI

It was training day at your post. You had recently graduated from consignee and signed up to become a CRM soldier. It took you six whole years to get to this point. While your agility and militia knowledge were already unprecedented, the CRM didn't fuck around when it came to producing the world's most unrivalled soldiers. It was serious business.

Nearly eight years ago, you trekked a long journey down from your small community in southern New Jersey. You lost everything: your husband, your friends, and the people you lived with and grew stronger with through the grisly and dilapidated post-apocalyptic world. Terrible people – which were apparently becoming more and more common – destroyed your community, leaving very few survivors. It was you and your newborn child who managed to escape safely; you weren't able to go back to see if others had made it out. For almost two years you were alone, and your only hope left was keeping your baby boy alive...

Fast forward two years after the traumatic fallout you managed to escape, you discovered, or rather you were found by, a giant military in Pennsylvania, called the CRM. A military that bordered and protected a whole city of people – 200,000 of them. Out of desperation and maternal instinct, you bargained with the militia in hopes to give your two-year-old son a stable future. The CRM agreed to place your son in a 'nurturing fostering service' within the safe confines of the protected city – known as the Civic Republic of Philadelphia – so long as you swore to abide by the military's code and regulations by becoming a consignee.

Of course you agreed, because you were nonetheless terrified of what would happen to your baby boy if you didn't play it safe with this strong force. But for a while you lost it, you couldn't bear not seeing your child – they took him from you. You became defensive of your child, throwing yourself into dilemmas with whoever refused to listen to you. Except no one ever took notice of an angry and hurt mother because the CRM showed little mercy about their policies. And no matter how much force you put into finding hope about getting to your son, you'd always end up falling right back where you left off.

Soon enough you learned from acquiring an acquaintance that not only did the CRM take the only family you had left away from you, they were the ones responsible for destroying your home in the first place.

But now, six years later, you were predisposed to fight whoever and whatever got in your way in order to see your son again. You were a force to be reckoned with.

"No, you're doing it wrong. You gotta follow through, like this—" your sweaty hand maneuvered the heavy spear, sending it soaring through the air at high speed and finally piercing the bullseye of the target. You turned to the soldier beside you, who, to say the least, looked perplexed.

"What?" You huffed, blowing a loose strand of hair out of your face. "Ya give up? Need a break?"

"’Ey! Rogers, I'mma need ya to head back inside. We're gonna start sizing you all up for your new gear."

A brooding and strict man, Sergeant Major Rick Grimes, commanded the young man beside you. "Uh, yes sir," he saluted, then jogged toward the dome-shaped building.

Rick Grimes used to be a consignee like you were, and you even heard stories where he tried escaping at least four times. No one ever fled, or even attempted to, without failing. Escaping the hellhole was like trying to fit your right shoe on your left foot, it was entirely fruitless. But you heard all the stories about Rick, and how he got to become a leader. After the death of Lieutenant Colonel Donald Okafor, Rick was trained to replace his position by virtue of General Beale taking note of his loyalty to the military. Now, Rick was scaling further up the ranks. He was Sergeant Major, and in charge of the post you currently resided in.

You looked up to him, though, not because he was your leader, but because he understood you. He recognized how it felt to have your family ripped from your hands and not be able to do anything about it. You were able to bond with him. Most nights he would invite you to his apartment and the two of you'd spill your guts to one another over a glass or two of bourbon. That is how he got to know you, and see through your clouded demeanor that you kept in check. You were fierce and obstinate, because the place you were trapped in forced you to be that way, and truthfully Rick admired that about you. He was never able to relate with someone as well as he did with you.

Feedback echoed from Rick's receiver and he lifted it to his masked face, stating his position and whatnot. You crossed your arms, waiting for him to give you an order. "Well?"

He turned his attention to you, finally. "We need to talk." His one good hand snagged a hold of your arm and guided you toward a smaller brick-designed building, which you recognized to be the building that housed the high ranking officials like Rick himself.

"What do we need to talk about? And why is Rogers getting his gear but I'm not?" You struggled against his grip, a decision that ended with futility as his clutch tightened when you tried pulling away from him. You furrowed your brows and grunted in annoyance.

"Relax, sweetheart, you're not in trouble. Actually it's quite the opposite." Once again he faced you, stopping in his tracks as you both had reached the air-conditioned building. His grasp on your arm loosened and then reached for his matte black helmet detailed with red outlining. Your eyes darted across the room, taking in the essence of prestige and momentarily locking in on the various framed photos on the walls, which depicted a few recognizable CRM authoritative figures. One particular photo caught your attention, and you carefully examined it, discerning it to be Rick himself with a shiny black name plate decorating the bottom of the frame.

Your gaze finally diverted back to Rick, whose helmet popped off in a swift motion, freeing his slightly disheveled brown and gray curls, and his stern blue eyes – the spellbinding reflections to his enigmatic soul. And this man was undoubtedly a sight for sore eyes.

The silence was disrupted by the shuffling of Rick’s boots, his curt footsteps leading him across the room. He pulled out a chair from the corner and without any trouble picked it up with one hand and set it down across from a dark wooden desk. “Sit.” He motioned to the chair, and then found a seat in the larger, more cushioned chair adjacent to it. Without a peep you sauntered over to the wooden chair and sat, folding your hands on the desk in front of you.

“You gonna keep me on edge or are you gonna tell me why I’m here and not at training and getting my gear?”

His serious eyes bored into yours now, hinting that he wasn’t in the mood for your cynicism. “I brought you in here to tell you that you’re going to become Colonel under my order.”

You scoffed comically and dropped your hands to your sides, gripping the chair with force. “That’s ridiculous. Me – Colonel? Why?”

Rick’s focus never left your unserious face – one that was twisted with amusement. With a slight tilt of his head, he spoke, “Because you’re one of the best fighters and you’re fit to start leading, I know it. And I trust you, so does Major General Beale. We both expect your habitual commitment from now on.”

While you were still preoccupied with processing this information, Rick reached into one of his sleeve pockets and pulled out a silver badge, decorated with ‘Col.’ followed by your full name. He slid it across the desk toward you and you scrutinized it before giving him a look of disapproval and sliding the badge back to him. You shook your head in defiance.

“No thanks.”

He frowned and once again his frigid stare taunted you, something you’d undoubtedly gotten used to very much over the past few years that you'd known him. He leaned forward and for a second you could feel the steam emitting from his nose as he exhaled, eyes scanning your face for any signs of possible sarcasm. You were dead serious now, though.

“This isn’t an offer you can refuse. It’s an order,” the sergeant commanded, grabbing the badge reiteratively and this time placing it firmly into your hand. “So take it, and don’t lose it.”

You remained perched in your spot, not stirring any muscle, just studying his face with the badge dancing across your fingertips. Rick was not going to take ‘no’ for an answer. “Now do as I say, and meet me in that meeting room over there, in 10 minutes.”

You snarled and swiftly rose, shoving the badge into your zipper pocket. Without even giving Rick another look you booked it out the door full tilt.

All throughout meeting with Grimes and Command Sergeant Major Thorne and overlooking your shared brigade of soldiers, your mind couldn’t escape the worry you had about your son, and how you were going to escape and find him. Your mind raced as you tried to recollect what the map of your base looked like, so that you could pinpoint which weak spots there were around the perimeter.

You recall a little while back which security took which shifts at each area of the southwest perimeter where your complex was, but it wasn’t all that simple since sometimes they’d switch shifts around. However, security officers periodically switched their attention to different areas at a time out along the walls, so you could use that as leverage to sneak your way around and cut a hole in one of the fences–

Nah. That would be too obvious, and dangerously stupid. You needed to really think this through – come up with a strategic plan. So that’s what you were prepared to do after your first night of training as Colonel.

Sweaty and disheveled, you entered your sleeping quarters and kicked the door shut, immediately peeling off your bulky armor and tossing your heavy combat boots across the floor. With a satisfactory sigh, you trotted over to the shower and flipped the handle all the way to the left – you needed a steamy shower to filter out all the stress your body had been loaded with that day. Not only that, the steam would help you think, and you needed your head clear if you were going to figure out how to leave successfully that night.

If you were going to escape – if. You needed to keep that thought in mind, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be a piece of cake.

Frantically you shoved a handful of essentials into a black backpack – a lighter, duct tape, a pocket knife, flashlight, and a small glock you 'borrowed' from your trip with rick to the armory earlier. After zipping up the bag you threw on your combat boots and your gloves. You checked your watch for the time; 11:48 it read. The moon was scintillating in the sky and beaming with conviction. You took one last glimpse around the room to check if you had forgotten any extra tools or gadgets, and before you confirmed that you were ready to head out, you spotted something on the rusty gunmetal colored nightstand.

Inquisitively you wandered over to the table and examined a small, white folded paper. You unfolded it and inside it read, in urgent script:

“Meet me at my place at 11:30 tonight. Need to talk again.

-R.G.”

Too late now. Not happening. Besides, you were sure it was another booty call because for one, on busy task days like tonight, Rick often had a knack for ‘letting off steam,’ which meant fucking your brains out. Sorry, Rick, but my child is more important to me than easing your sexual frustration. And two, it was already reaching midnight…why else would he want to “talk” to you so late at night? Rick was just too obvious.

Speaking of Rick…

The man who shared his bourbon with you for the first time two years ago. That very night he had spilled to you CRM’s legacy and the nightmares behind it. The two of you bonded over your mutual grievance toward the antagonizing militia. Rick spurred hope in you finally leaving and finding your son; if anyone could help you escape it was him. But he changed – his interest in leaving the CRM no longer seemed to exist. After all, he was already climbing his way up the military rank. He was gaining power and respect, and that seemed to be more crucial to him then getting back to his own children.

So, screw him. He had his chance to leave with you, and it already passed – because now you were tiptoeing out your apartment and being welcomed into the darkness of the night.

You were cautious of your surroundings, turning a few corners and eluding one or two officers. You noticed the southwest wall, which didn't look impossible to climb. You discovered a hefty pile of broken shipment container parts – bingo. And that's what you used to climb the wall. unfortunately your endeavor led to you stumbling and hitting both your knee and your arm against the metal object, then landing with your hands scraping against the unforgiving concrete. Fuck. What an idiot you were. Surely someone within about twenty feet of you heard you basically eat shit.

Gritting your teeth and whimpering from the twinge that shot through your knees and hands, you managed to put every fiber of your being to use and push yourself off the ground, only to end up on your ass with a humph. You winced as you peeked at your hands, using the flashlight from your bag to examine how badly cut they were. Blood leaked from multiple crevices in your palms, and you didn’t even bother paying much mind to your bruised knee or elbows because there was no time to dawdle.

“Shit. You need to get up now!” You scolded yourself, but as you tried standing up completely, your knees buckled. Well, at least behind this building it was dark enough for no one to see you, unless they heard you already…

Your alert ears picked up the sound of shoes marching upon the solid ground, and you cursed to yourself; someone was coming, but there was nothing you could do because they had already heard you most likely. “Just play dead, or pretend you passed out!”

You heard your name being called out from somewhere behind you.

The pace of your heartbeat quickened drastically, causing your head to spin toward the voice. Well, shit. It was Rick Grimes himself. This time his helmet wasn’t on and he seemed to have abandoned his uniform. He was instead dressed in jeans and that black tee that always hugged his muscles so perfectly–

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice boomed in your ears as he knelt down to your level, and you shivered.

You wheezed and resumed your pursuit of getting your ass off the wretched ground, to which you failed. Rick noticed the cuts and bruises decorating your injured body and his face softened. He sighed, gathering your belongings, and then in one swift motion he lifted you up off your feet, holding you bridal-style. You bit your lip to stop the tears forming in your eyes; your plan backfired, you got caught, and now everything was out of your control. You felt so stupid and useless.

Rick shifted around with you in his arms, taking one last glance at your injured figure. “Oh, honey. Let’s get ya cleaned up now.”

He had carried you all the way to his room without any hindrances, and the whole time you honestly thought about kicking out of his tight grasp, nailing him where the sun doesn't shine, and booking it out of there. But the way his strong arms cradled you made you melt into him.

Rick lay you onto his large – well, larger than your own – neatly made bed and pulled your shoes and socks off. Before he could reach your pant zipper to pull them down and examine your knee, you slapped his hand away, scowling at him.

“I can do it,” you promised, although of course your trembling hands reaching for the zipper illustrated a paradoxical story.

Not to mention, the stained blood and soreness reminded you that you needed to ease up on any further use of them. It felt like carpal tunnel. Damn, that concrete did some numbers on you. Your exasperated grunts caught Rick’s attention and he ignored your misleading comment, zipping your pants down and peeling them off himself. The look you gave him could have been detected as either annoyed or demoralized. Either way, your body was weary and your mind still raced with unrelenting thoughts.

Rick brought back a wet cloth and a first aid kit he kept under his sink. Gingerly, he brushed the cloth over your battered hands and then bandaged them up. You let out a few pained huffs while he went to work on your scraped hands and busted knee with his doctor abilities. When finished, his eyes scanned your body, being certain he didn’t miss any other wounds or minor cuts.

You, however, were busy ogling him; his beautifully sculpted figure that was outlined by the black t-shirt he wore, and the scruff that layered his defined jaw, and the way his pink lips pursed as his rough hand prodded your exposed flesh – it sent you into a trance.

He adjusted his gaze back to your face, and you snapped out of your trance promptly, painting that stern cast back on your expressive face. You recalled why you were irritated with him in the first place – he prevented you from escaping.

“Y’alright now? Gonna tell me why you were scurrying around past midnight with this bag on you?”

Your hard stare didn’t falter. He tsked at you and grabbed the backpack off the ground, unzipping it, and dumping its contents onto the bed. When he recognized the gun to be one from the armory, it was his turn to scowl at you.

“You better start talking before I get angry, sweetheart.” His body flexed as he folded his arms across his chest, eyes cornering you and making you feel small.

“I was–” you cleared your throat and sat up with your hands on your bare thighs, “I was going to escape, Rick. I… I need to see him…”

Rick lowered his head to the floor in disappointment, rubbing the bridge of his nose while his other arm rested on his hip. He paced the room. “You knew this was going to happen. We even planned it together, for fuck’s sake!” You pleaded with him, emotion spilling from your lips. You stared at his back, watching the way his muscles tensed. “I have a child I haven’t seen in years and I–”

“Yeah, so do I!” He interrupted, “But that life is over, there is no more escape plan pipe dream. Don’t you get it?!”

His pacing ceased, and he waited for your focus to meet him. When it did, he inched toward you daringly, almost wanting you to test his patience.

“I got you that ranking because I trusted you and expected you to be cooperative with me in this mission. I was planning on trying to convince Beale to let you visit your boy but that won’t be for a while. I need your trust in this,” Rick’s footsteps approached the bed, his towering figure intimidating you. “Do you understand? Look at me—” his rough hand pinched the sides of your chin to tilt your head up at him.

Your lips cracked open to speak but truthfully nothing could be said in that moment. The tension in the air was heavy and laced with despondency. You choked trying to enunciate words as you felt your shoulders drop, and your heart chugging on. Soon you gathered yourself from breaking down in front of him, masking the persistent commotion going on inside the walls of your skull, and the unabated sense of dread pouring over your body. You nodded your head in compliance and Rick released your chin.

This was a confirmation that Rick was never going to let you get away. And if he did end up finding a way for you to see your boy, living under an unlawful and controlling military organization was not something you stood for. With or without Rick, you needed to escape with your son, using any proper chance that swung your way. But if it was going to be without Rick, you needed to be secretive.

You batted your eyes at him, aiming to give him a reason to believe that you were officially yielding to him. The way you looked under him, all battered and desperate, made a spark ignite in his brain. You belonged in this position – underneath him, following his lead, and obeying his orders. He was going to need to show you how insistent he really was.

Your attention remained undivided. Rick stepped backwards a foot and took in the sight of you – your whole body and the way your thighs begged to be kissed and touched.

“I’m assuming you saw the note I left you, right?” His tone dripping with vehemence and his southern drawl rasping, relaying a yearning to your eager core, which you attempted to ease by clenching your thighs. He certainly did not miss that.

“So you were planning on not only ignoring my note, but being reckless and trying to leave this post and then, what? Risk getting caught and dying and never getting to see your son ever? You need to get your head on right, and I’m telling you this from experience, because it’s never going to work out the way you want it to, no matter how perfectly you think your plan will go.”

You gulped and studied your hands, which were thankfully stinging much less. You fiddled with the bandage, until Rick demanded your attention with his authoritative tone.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you to cooperate with me. Keep that in mind,” he warned.

Your front teeth bit into your pouty bottom lip as you struggled to make yourself look uncritical of his “plan.” Rick’s eyes targeted your every move as you, this time successfully, propped yourself up and off the bed, bending down to grab your pants which were sprawled out next to your feet.

💋

“What were you gonna talk to me about, y’know….if I ended up showing up earlier?” You flipped the pant legs so that they were no longer inside out.

“I was gonna do this—” Your heart quickened as he neared you rapidly, his arms finding themselves exploring your body and causing goosebumps to multiply across your vulnerable skin. He dexterously greeted his lips to yours, catching you by surprise. The man was quick with it.

You melted into the kiss while his hands continued to trace your curves, eliciting longing whimpers from your throat. You craved his touch.

Breaking away from the kiss, the Sergeant gave you no time to protest, spinning you around so that your back was facing him. Taking your jaw prisoner in the tight clutch of his hand, his hot breath fanned against your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck come alive. “Originally I was going to fuck you gently, make you relax from your big day—” His hand slid to the middle of your back and he forcefully bent you over on the bed, scoring a small grunt from you. He took your pulled back hair into his hand and with a tantalizing tug of it, he pushed his clothed hips against your bare ass. “But now I’m not gonna be so easy on you, because you decided to go and put yourself in danger. Well, I’m gonna have to punish you instead of reporting you, hm? For your own sake…”

Your heat practically leaked through your panties and down the inner part of your thighs. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you loved when he was rough with you. It stirred you up with the perfect concoction of salaciousness and angst.

Still, your alacrity temporarily repressed your aroused state and you barked back at him, “All I want is to see my son…you have no goddamn right to take that from me, Rick,” you cried, with your trembling hands supporting your upper body as he gripped your hips.

Rick delivered a firm slap to your ass cheek, then promptly straightened you up and turned you around to meet his sifting stare. You gulped, feeling submissive under his touch. You watched the way he contorted his face in vexation and you abruptly felt overpowered by him.

“In case you’ve forgotten you are under my command, and if you disobey me I have every right to correct you where I see fit,” he eyed your pout, huffing, “and I fucking told you already – you have to be patient, it’s gonna take a while.”

The hope you had was dwindling slowly, even though you really wanted to trust him. It almost felt like putting your full trust in him was equivalent to playing with fire. You couldn’t tell the difference between the two anymore. But ultimately Rick was right, you were under his command and the very least you could do at this moment was take his word.

His leer intensified. “Get on your knees.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and felt the command jolt through your body with a cogent nudge. You conformed to his request and scrunched your face in slight discomfort from your bruised knee making contact with the floor, but it was still tolerable. With urgency he unbuckled his belt and wasted no time in freeing his thick, throbbing length. The sight of his cock was not something foreign, as you’d slept with him many times; but the way he was so much more ambitious in getting his cock inside your mouth and feeling you gag around him, made you squirm.

The restless man bucked his hips forward, enjoying the way your soft pouty lips hugged his shaft so magnificently. You moaned softly, the vibration inciting a groan from Rick as he grabbed at your hair. “Gotta do more than tha’. I know you know how to be a good slut f’me.”

You took his whole length in your throat, feeling spit drip down your chin as you choked. You started to bob your head back and forth, becoming accustomed to the size of his dick and how it collided with the back of your throat incessantly. He took it upon himself to grasp your head and guide you up and down as his hips pushed against your needy mouth. Your tongue traced the veins that protruded across his length, as your head quickened its pace. His grunts echoed in your ears and you prepared for his sweet release when you apperceived the twitch of his cock against your tongue.

“Fuck, yes…good slut,” Rick sung out as he thrusted thrice more, shooting his thick warm seed down your throat and riding out the remainder of his orgasm. He pulled out and stared intently at your lips licking up the remnants of his juices while panting. His hand patted your head in approval.

“You think you deserve to cum tonight?” He taunted, his hold on your hair taut.

You didn’t respond, but instead observed the way his muscles flexed when he lifted his shirt off his back, and how he flattened his hair back with the palm of his hand. You were getting wetter by the second, shifting your thighs in anticipation.

You stood up, tracing your hand over his bicep and fluttering your lashes at him enticingly. He smirked, recognizing that look to be your calling for him to fuck your brains out. Your hands reached down to lift your own shirt off, but he swatted them away in protest, throwing the shirt across the room hastily. All you desired was for him to make love to you, to comfort you and promise you that everything was going to work out, and frankly your sore muscles from training could use as much appreciation as they could obtain. But love-making wasn’t on the agenda for tonight.

Rick flopped you onto the bed, and effortlessly your panties were torn off and thrown next to your shirt. He kneaded your tits with his hand then bent over top of you to hungrily kiss your lips. Your fidgety hands stretched up to tussle through his hair but he broke from the kiss to pin both your hands above your head, rousing a dissatisfied whimper from you. The carnal man bent down diligently to grab his belt and release your hands for a moment, before grabbing your wrists and securing the belt around them.

Bondage wasn’t necessarily unfamiliar to you but you had never expected Rick to ever want to partake in it with you. Nonetheless, your core ached further for his touch. His hand went back to pinching your sensitive nipples, while keeping his ferocious eyes locked onto yours, and lowering his head down to your throbbing heat. The lewd mewls escaping your parted lips sent Rick into a frenzy. You bucked your hips up in an attempt to get him to do something, to give your desperate parts the treatment you longed for, except he just remained concentrated on the way you jerked and crumbled beneath him – he wasn’t even touching you anymore, and yet he had you folding already. How pathetic you looked.

“Rick, please do something!” Your pleas left him unphased. The only thought in his mind at that moment was how rough he was eventually going to fuck you.

Finally, his finger swiped up your soaking folds and came into contact with your swollen clit, giving it a soft pinch, stimulating a ribald whimper from you and inducing your back to arch off the bed. “What d’you want, sweetheart?” His husky tone intimidated you.

“Need you, please. ‘M lonely,” You sniffed, overworked from all the teasing. He cooed in a mocking manner, and with two fingers he plunged into you, sending you into the clouds.

“This sweet pussy needs attention, dun’it?” He curled his fingers upward, activating that sweet spot inside your squelching sex. With his thumb he circled around your sensitive bud, accelerating the speed of his thick fingers inside your tight, wet hole. Bliss clouded over you, and your head lulled to the side.

Rick hissed, dissenting your lack of eye contact. He yanked his fingers out all the way, giving a slight tap to your voracious cunt.

“Nuh-uh, eyes on me.” The glazed-over look you gave him was enough for him to give in and slide his digits back into your heat, this time being merciless by the way he finger fucked you with racking momentum.

Your walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, legs syncing with the rhythm of your swirling hips. Rick sensed your orgasm approaching – he ascertained that you didn't get to reach its peak by ceasing his thumb's labor and plucking his drenched digits out of your weeping center.

Your sensual clamors didn't go unnoticed; instead he hushed you, and bringing his mouth near your ear he rasped, "I decided that you don't get to cum yet. Not till I feel like it."

Rick really loved tossing you around, especially tonight. He arose, untying the belt around your wrists – almost as if he was showing mercy, but that thought was surpassed as he effortlessly flipped you around so your bandaged hands were gripping desperately onto the sheets, as if that'd prevent you from losing your grip on reality from what was about to go down.

Your begging hole cried for his further attention, causing you to become more agitated by the second. That is, until you felt his hard cock slap against your ass cheek, and his hips striking the back of your shaking thighs. The grumpy commander pressed his leather-sling gloved fist slightly against your upper neck, just enough pressure to ensure you stayed where he wanted you. You didn't plan on leaving, though – not until he fucked you to your heart's content.

He could take a picture right now, the way your ass pushed against his solid member so hysterically, as if your pussy lived to be stuffed by his cock. In that moment, it did. Rick grabbed his cock and lined it up with your welcoming entrance, collecting the condensation on his tip.

"God, just fuck me–"

One rigid thrust was all it took for you to fully engulf him. Your eyes rolled to the ceiling, stars eclipsing your vision while his thrust followed another one, this time much deeper.

Your whines bounced off the pale room's walls, alerting Rick, who hushed you with a growl, "Shutch'er mouth, the whole building's gonna hear ya."

A third thrust ensued, with the sound of his pelvic bone smacking against your backside and the echoing of your sodden cunt being governed by his greedy shaft. The wet squishy insides of your walls hugged Rick so magnetically, he almost gave in right there.

His pace picked up with each ram of his hips, and his assault to your clit. Your grip on the sheets tightened, bandages likely slipping off but that wasn't a concern. Shy whimpers were trapped inside your mouth as you gave it your all at keeping your lewd blubbers and cusses at bay. Your soft, muffled cries continued as he pounded into you strenuously and tirelessly.

"You're not gonna try to leave again, not ever." The thumping of his hips on your ass and him fucking you into the mattress was all too much for your brain. "I won't fucking let you."

You felt fuzzy. The dauntless rebel attitude you once had vanished, and now your were a blubbering hot mess under a relentless leader. His bulging biceps flexed as his leather arm continued pushing on your neck, the other hand groping your hip and then going back to flicking your clit as his cock rutted into your core. He fit you like a puzzle piece.

Your walls were pulsating and you sensed your climax approaching quickly. "Oh, fuck, Rick!"

"Don't you even think about it. So help me god, if you do..."

Rick's demands only filled you closer to the brim with pleasure, and you weren't assured how much longer you could hold it. His thrusts became sloppier and sloppier, indicating that he was probably close too.

"Mmmph–" You focused on grasping desperately at the sheets again, trying to fixate on the way the soft fabric felt against your hands and your face which was pushed into the bed.

Rick groaned out, whispering filthy affirmations as his pounding became more jagged and his grunts more urgent. "Wanna fill ya up, but you don'need another baby, not yet."

One last press against your clit and the band finally snapped, your juices releasing all over his cock, and his orgasm causing him to grasp your hips roughly as he used your dripping hole to help him ride out his own orgasm. He pulled out, releasing onto your back with a few strokes of his slippery member.

The bottom half of your body gave in finally, collapsing and being suffocated by the plush mattress. Your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open. He truly fucked the energy out of you.

"You gonna try that shit again with me?"

With half-lidded eyes you simpered and muttered, "Not without you."

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otherone12 · 5 months ago

Text

If You Don't Like My Chemical Romance, Wait Outside For Your Girlfriend

Gerard Way x Reader

-> Masterlist

A/N: Hey!! So… No one asked me to do this, but I remembered an edit that I saw a while ago, and the intro was Gerard saying ��if you don’t like My Chemical Romance, wait outside for your girlfriend”. I Had this idea and the urge to write it (because I’m kinda obsessed with Gerard, sue me). Btw, I'm writing a Mikey x Reader Imagine (what was inspired by The Killers "Mr. Brightside" song), so i'll probably post it this week or next... well, hope you enjoy this fic (:

Summary: You have a shitty boyfriend who bother you when you're in a MCR concert. You're in the front row of the show and Gerard notices all that situation. (I imagine this with the 2007 Gerard era, but it doesn't really matter, except for the show's setlist, because it will be songs from Bullets and Revenge).

-Warnings: Abusive relationship. A lot of curse words.

- Word Count: 1.526

- Ps: Idk if it's fluff, confort, angst... i just dont't know lol

- Ps2: I'll not use y/n…

- Ps3: I'm brazilian, so english is not my first language ... sorry if i wrote something wrong.

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1st Person POV

My 25th birthday was last week, and my mom gave me two tickets to my favorite band’s concert, one for me and another for my boyfriend. He is not a fan of My Chemical Romance, he’s into electronic music and some country stuff (i’ve never understood his taste in music), anyways, he is coming with me. I spent the whole week talking with my friends about how amazing the concert is going to be and how excited I was.

When the day finally came, I wanted to be one of the first in the row, because even with the premium pass I needed to be sure that I’ll be right in front of the stage.

I heard my name when I was in my room, dressing up as Helena for the concert. I turned around just to see my boyfriend with a mad look on his face.

- You’re really going to dress like this? - The disgust on his face made me feel a bit insecure about the cosplay.

- What’s wrong about it? - I tried to stay calm, even if I was about to scream at him.

- Nothing. But you never wear dresses, neither on my birthday, and I asked you to! - He walked to my bed and sat, sighed sadly and kept talking - I just don’t understand why this is so special.

- We’ve been together for five years, and you don’t understand why going to see the band who saved my life is special? - I spoke calmly, took a deep breath and held my tears. I didn't want to cry on what was supposed to be a happy day.

- I know that means alot for you, babe, but this shit means more than me? - He increased the volume of his voice.

- I… I’ve never said that! - I let his anger infect me, and now I was screaming like him.

- DID YOU FUCKING HESITED?! - He got up and I really thought that he was going to hit me or something.

- WHY DON’T YOU GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE?! I'M TRYING TO GET DRESSED! - At this point, I let my tears pumped out my eyes, accepting the fact that I'll need to redo my makeup.

- FINE! - He slammed the door, leaving me alone in the silent room.

I knew the night wasn’t going to be as good as I planned.

*** time skip***

Arriving at the concert venue, my boyfriend parked the car next to the front door and we got out of the car. I saw just three people. We did it! We were ones of the first to be there.

- Oh my God! I loved your outfit! - The girl in front of us turned to me and said - I was going to dress up like this, but I didn't find the right dress.

- Thank you! I actually made the dress with an old one from my mom’s closet.

- This is just Impeccable.

I smiled at her and turned to my boyfriend, who was rolling his eyes. I was so excited that I didn't even care, he wouldn't ruin my day.

- Are you sure that you want to be here waiting for the show to begin for five hours? - He sounded tired and annoyed, but we were there for just about half an hour.

- Yeah, I'm sure. You don't have to stay if you don't want to. - I think that if he stays away for a while, he will be nicer or something, but maybe I was a bit rude and he’ll be even more mad - As long as you come for the show when it begins.

I smiled, trying to make him see that I'm not angry, I was, but he didn't need to know.

- Sure… I'm going to find something to eat. Stay fine, babe.

He gave me a brief kiss and drove away.

*** time skip***

I was finally inside of the building, but my boyfriend didn’t get back for five hours. I was worried because I tried to call him like ten times in the last three hours, but he didn’ answer. I was about to leave, when I saw him coming.

- WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?

I hugged him in desperation, but he seemed like he just went to the bathroom and got back in two minutes.

- Like I said, I was buying some food.- He gave me a smashed hamburger and I grabbed it with an angry look on my face.

- I was worried! Why didn’t you answer the ten fucking calls?

- My phone was on silent. - The way he seemed to not care made my blood boil. - But I'm here now, right?

- Whatever.

He opened his mouth to say something, but at the same moment, Frank, Mikey, Ray and Gerard stepped on the stage and I couldn't help but scream with the crowd. Without saying anything, “Our Lady of Sorrows” started. I was so close that I could see the color of Gerard's eyes. Was this heaven?

Everything was going really well, but it was a small show, so they kept stopping the show to talk to us. Before playing “Helena” Gerard said:

- Well, the next song is really important for us, and it’s amazing to see that so many people like it too. - He looked down at me and smiled. I forgot how to breathe for a moment. - Your dress is perfect, darling.

I was about to faint.

- T-thanks! - I said, smiling back at him.

My boyfriend gave him a death look, but Gerard just chuckled and started to sing.

- What the fuck?! - He grabbed my arm and began to talk, loud enough to not be muffled by the music - That was why you dressed like this? to impress him?

- I dressed like this as a tribute to this song! - I tried to make him let me go, but it didn't work, so he kept holding my arm. - It's not my fault that he noticed!

He huffed and dropped my arm.

- I need a drink.

He walked away to the bar and I stayed watching the show. I was not sure, but I think Gerard saw all that shit happening. By the way, seeing Frank and Ray playing guitar with my own eyes was the most amazing thing ever until now, and Mikey slayed so much with that bass.

The next song that they played was “The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You”, and I was very enthusiastic about this song. But I haven't any idea of how this was going to end.

I was singing along, and weirdly Gerard walked close to where I was and kneew in front of me. He put his hand on my cheeks, which turned red immediately, and kept singing “Pull the plug. But I'd like to learn your name. When holding on. Oh, I hope you do the same '' He looked deep into my eyes and continued “Aww, sugar”.

The crowd started to scream again, and my boyfriend turned to see what was happening. The scene made him get out of his mind. I know that a good girlfriend would never let this happen, and I should've backed off, but he has been such a dick since the day started, so I didn't feel blame, shame or anything else.

- You came here five hours early to be in the front because you knew this was gonna happend! You’re a fucking slut, don’t you? - He never talked to me like that. I got so sad that I couldn't even pay attention to the song.

This sadness became anger so fast, and I pushed him away before he could say any other thing. He tried to grip me in his arms, but I dodged him, bumping into someone next to me, and spilling a drink on my dress. I was about to scream something, but I saw Gerard making a sign to the security guard, who ran to my boyfriend and told him to go away.

- It’s fucking over! - I said to him and went back to see the rest of the show.

At the end, I waited for the people at the back of the crowd to leave, so I could have easy access to leave too.

- Hey!

I heard and didn’t believe it when I felt a touch on my shoulder.

- I’m sorry about what happened… I shouldn't have done that - It was Gerard. He was in front of me, just us. - Apropos, I'd really like to learn your name.

We laughed with the reference.

- That’s fine, he was being such an idiot since morning. - I said, giving him a shy smile. I said my name to him and kept talking - By the way, the show was amazing!

I was chatting with one of my favorite people in the world. I needed to make this not about my, now ex, boyfriend.

- Thanks! Good to know that even with all that shit you could enjoy the show. - He’s so cute, and the way he cares about his fans makes him even more wonderful. - It’s kinda weird but, can I get your number? It’s fine if you don’t want to give, but I find you really pretty and the way you dealt with this whole thing..

- Sure!

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~ Well, that's it, lemme know if you like it, and send me your request (;

#my chemical romance #gerard way x reader #gerard way #mcr

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artist-issues · 5 months ago

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You're my new favorite blog! You have no idea how I wish I could peck inside your brain like a chicken. 😭😂😂 I am a Catholic and a recovering agnostic. I struggle with letting go of my old way of life and philosophy constantly, I have been struggling with it since the day I decided to revert - that was back in 2017. (I think you would like to know my journey back to the Faith started after watching HBO's The Young Pope! 👌🏼) At this point I don't know if I'll ever be the person the Lord wants me to be, oh well, I'll die trying and I know that will mean something.

I just know I can't go back to being a non-believer, because as Carl Young said, now I don't just believe, I know. The irony is my struggle to believe in something I know to be objectively the Truth.

I have a question for you though, actually I hope for some advice from you. How do I reconcile with the reality that I haven't become who I dreamed to become (like career wise), but now that a new career has been shoved upon me (a career my parents wanted for me - and they valued safety and stability over "following my dreams" I suppose)? ...which isn't necessarily a bad thing, because it is an extremely noble profession and it pays quite well.

The thing is, as much as I try to accept my new career, I keep telling myself and to others that I'm doing this for my parents and not because I want to be here. I feel terrible about it. But, again, it's not like I am unfulfilled (I am unhappy though, but that comes with the work culture/environment, I feel like I am surrounded by 40+ year old teenagers); as a matter of fact, I do think I know - objectively - in my heart that this is exactly where the Lord wants me to be? But I keep fighting against it, keep struggling against this sense of vocational calling that I'm feeling towards my new job, instead I desperately wanna give into my want to go "live the life I want." Like throw this all away, get new training and start all over with the career I wanted all those years ago.

I want to be better, to be sacrificial like Christ on the Cross. I've always known I had a little depression (comes with my disability from a young age and this whole dream thing); I have been suicidal over this, I actually used to joke with myself that I'd kill myself if I don't achieve my professional goals by the time I turned 25. I will turn 30 this September and even though I haven't been literally dead, I feel like I've been in a vegetative state - mentally - ever since the day I turned 25. I hope that makes sense.

I started seeing a therapist 2 weeks ago since my mental health started affecting my new job - she did say I have depression and is trying to help me but I just don't know if I want to be helped at all, because I am unable to do the exercises she tells me (like create a routine, exercise well, write down good thoughts, etc.) I feel like I'm failing myself, my parents and, most importantly, my Heavenly Father.

I apologise if this is nonsensical, I apologise for dumping all of this on you - random stranger on the internet - but idk I felt like maybe you'd have something wise to tell me to knock some sense into me (without a bump to prove it hehe).

Thank you and God bless! 🥰

You’re very kind, and I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to share all this with me! I really never have anything good of my own to say, or any wisdom to offer, except what I “steal” from God…and I guess what I mean is, if I ever say anything helpful or good or true, I’m just the messenger. I didn’t come up with it. On my own I have zero wisdom or good things to offer.

Anyway, I was surprised reading this because I have gone through (been going through) a similar sort of mindset. I went to school for the career I dreamed about (still dream about) and I worked hard and I wanted it more than anybody around me (very Mike Wasowski in MU of me) and it hasn’t happened the way I planned, or in my timetable.

I mean, in all humility: I work with a studio making a tv show, but it hasn’t got off the ground yet, and I work for a company that writes movie reviews, but neither of those things pay my bills. I have a third job, working with therapists, that’s nothing like what I always wanted to do. That’s my “career,” but it’s not the career I’m passionate about and working toward. And I wonder if I’ll ever do anything “major” in the line of work I love and went to school for. And when I do, I have gotten into some really dark mental places.

Forgive me for not using the words “depression” or “suicidal.” I hate using those words because they’re overused and romanticized and flooding the culture. But more importantly I hate using them because the only thing I identify with is Christ, not any mental struggle I try to slither back into, like a snake trying to put back on old skin. I’m not my overthinking—I’m not my depression—I’m not my suicidal thoughts or emotions—I am one with Christ. Those are things inside me that are defeated and dead—the teeth have been knocked out of them. They just gum me from time to time. So I want you to know I empathize with you, but that’s my point and that’s how I want to answer you:

The only thing about you that really matters is Christ.

Who He says you are, what He has done and how He lived, which is applied to you because He said it is, by grace alone, through faith alone. No matter how you feel.

And I say that to you, as the answer, because I think you and I focus too much on what could be and what “should be” as if God has a set path for us, and if we don’t figure out what it is and walk it, we’ll have a less-fulfilling life. “If I stay at my therapy job and just work with teenagers and write on my blog for the rest of my life, I’ll be fine, but I won’t be as good as I could be.” Or for you. “If I stay in this career I’m in, the one my parents backed me into, I’ll make it, I’ll be fine, but I’ll never be as happy as I want to be.” We’re both thinking, every once in a while, “This is career is what God wants for me, and all my misery is coming from not submitting to it, and if I could just wrestle my contentment into place and give up the thing I want, and submit to what God wants, I’d be fulfilled.”

But how do we know any of those thoughts are true? How do we know God wants us in these boring old careers we wouldn’t have chosen—didn’t choose? Or, how do we know these boring old careers are what we’re stuck in because we didn’t take the plunge and work harder for our “dreams,” which were what He really wanted us to do? How do we know either of those things?

We don’t. We don’t get to know. That’s the point.

Because that’s not how God works. Not from what I can tell in the Bible.

“And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.”. Colossians 3:17.

Whatever you do. Not “the one specific thing you figure out He wants you to do.”

My mom described it to me once when I was in a really dark place trying to figure out what He wanted me to do, paralyzed with indecision, afraid He wanted me to do something I just didn’t want to do, like this: “God doesn’t hold out one flower and say, ‘this is the one I want you to have, so you can either take it or take something worse.’ God makes a field of flowers, and He says, ‘Which one do you want? Pick one, and do it with excellence for Me.’ Then just trust Him to make it good.”

It sounds like you’re in a career, but you are wrestling with whether or not to pick it, now that you have some autonomy as an adult, or to pick starting over. Well. Pick one. Just pick one. And trust God to take care of you. Trusting God looks like thinking it through with excellence, then making the decision—and making the decision means letting go of worrying about the thing you didn’t pick. “Take every thought captive in obedience to Christ.” Once you make a choice, make it all the way, and don’t let your mind wander anymore to “what if this blows up in my face? What if I should’ve stayed back there at the crossroads, or gone down the other path?” It’s going to be hard and God is going to take care of you, no matter what you pick. So don’t let your mind go to those places where you worry; acknowledge the worry, and every time, ask God to help you remember that He’s got you.

Because here’s the point, here’s the thing: He does have you. Because ultimately, your career really doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t. Neither does your dream. Not ultimately. And now I’ll say “our” because I need to hear it too. Our dreams and careers are not the point of us, and our dreams and careers are not what God means when He says “I’ll take care of you.”

What He means is, “I’ve already taken care of you.” Because the most important thing isn’t our job or our dream. The most important thing is, we’ve been rescued out of eternally being trapped in our broken desires, and now we get to live for Christ, Who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. That’s the major. And that truth is where our fulfillment is supposed to come from, what our lives are meant for, our purpose. As long as we pick one, and do it with excellence to make the name of Jesus famous, with that goal in mind, we’ll be emotionally fulfilled. We’ll be satisfied. Because that’s the goal. Not making movies, or whatever it is you want to do. Not having secure means of living. Just…living our lives to make who Jesus is famous. We can do that wherever.

So then the choice? It becomes a minor, not a major, and the pressure of “will I be happy?” is off, because happiness isn’t found in that stuff. And whenever I forget, and start looking for happiness in my dreams, goals, career, that’s when it all starts to feel dark and stressful and hard and crushing. Because it was never meant to give me happiness or fulfillment—that’s a need only Christ can fulfill.

Don’t misunderstand me. He cares what you do. He cared about every decision you make, and He does have a plan. But that’s going to happen anyway. So just pray, consider which option is a) wise to go for and takes care of the responsibilities God has entrusted you with, b) which option you genuinely want, when your wants are not influenced by fears, and then c) step out and do it in faith. And do it with the mindset of, “I’m doing this, and I’m not thinking about the alternative if I can help it, and I’m also not putting all my happiness-eggs in this basket, because even if it crashes and burns, hey, I’m still one with Christ and I can still make Him famous no matter what road my career goes down.”

I hope this helps. It’s a subject I’m hamster-wheeling around in my mind right now a lot—but when I just fix my eyes on Christ and think about how the most important things, the things that give real joy and happiness, are already and forever taken care of and I can’t mess them up—then can get off the hamster wheel and enjoy the life He’s given me, right now, today, without worrying about the future.

#love you sib #asked #answered #thanks for asking #Christianity #biblical #faith #careers #options

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eri-pl · 1 month ago

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So I was thinking about Mandos and afterlife in Legendarium (as you do), and I came up with some HC/thoughts about Men.

Warnings: ghosts. Implied possibility of Hell??? (Those are two different things). Should this be a warning? It's creepy. And typically not talked about in the context of Legendarium, except some really weird questions people asked Tolkien and that one fic?

Those are all HCs based on vibe + what seems to make sense to me + what fits for me with other things. I think none of them contradicts canon, but they aren't very supported either.

First: ghosts. I wish I came up with it earlier, now it's probably a bit too late…. still, I hope to see that story someday!

So, Men have the thing that I quoted earlier today:

have a virtue to shape their life, amid the powers and chances of the world, beyond the Music of the Ainur, which is as fate to all things else

I read it as the Men can do a lot of things with their fate that the Elves cannot, and while they can't permanently bind themselves to Arda and become immortal, they can, in some circumstances, bind themselves temporarily. I'm not sure if it can be done on purpose, maybe it can (counterargument is that the Numenoreans tried to find a way to do it and failed), but we've seen it done accidentally.

We've seen: Aragorn's ghost army of Men who bound themselves to their oath (you know, who can't bind themselves to an oath this strongly? Yes, those 8 guys. Because the Men have safety switches turned off and can do more, for better and for worse.), Gorlim who bound himself by breaking his loyalty (idk if there was a formal oath involved), the Nine who bound themselves – well, accepted Sauron binding them, but it's much the same thing — with the rings.

Sidenote: The Norns are three kinds of (fate? something): things that have happenned, things that happen now, and debts/obligations/"should" (it's etymologically that!)

TBH I know very little about them, so I maybe misinterpreting. anyway, the point is that debts, oaths and obligations are a form of a self-imposed destiny. Or at least let's assume that they are.

So yes, Men can linger as ghosts if there's something keeping them: some debt or obligation. And only as long as this thing is keeping them. When it ends, they land in the normal situation, same as Men who have just died.

And, strangely, I don't think Námo has a lot to do with those ghosts. Based on thematic and visual elements I would say: Vaire if any of the Valar deals with it. Because she reminds me of the Norns. (But this is a purely aestethical choice: you could have Námo managing all of those situation and it would still work. Just… debt-ghosts and Men who die properly are a different pipeline in the Halls.)

Námo deals with processing the Men who are leaving, not the Men who are bound (until they are not longer bound). And now we get to the stranger/less canon-based part: Men too can refuse the call of Mandos.

Why? Because I said so because this leaves space for … things I won't write about anyway? IDK. It would seem strange to me if the elves could and Men couldn't.

However, unlike Elves, they cannot linger on their own (as in: without the circumstances mentioned above), and the call is a one-time event for them*.

(And the debt-ghosts get the call when their debt is gone. Earlier it... blosks the call, sort of? Postpones it? IDK but it makes sense to me.) Edit: OK, this doens't make a lot of sense probably... Probably it makes more sense to be call→they talk with Námo→sent to linger because of their stuff→deal with their stuff. But this makes it harder to write. Or at least less fun to write because the ghosts don't have the type of agency that I like when writing? Hmm... I'm not sure I'll probably edit this part some more.

So the Men either go to Mandos, are processed (with more or less arguing with Námo and difficulty) and leave; or they refuse the call, but can't (as in: it's a law of (meta)physics, not just a moral law, Iforgot the Tolkien word… axan?) stay on Arda, so… something else happens with them? Probably not pleasant? I won't delve deeper into this question.

*For Elves the call of Mandos canonically a permanent thing and they can follow it at any time, it is said in one of NoME or similar book. If they don't follow it immediately, it's bad for their state and for their chances of reembodiment. And they can be caught and necromanced. But still, they can go to Mandos late.

#silm #silmarillion #tolkien legendarium #the silm #the silmarillion #tolkien metaphysics #mandos #namo #silm headcanons #silm hc #idk how to even tag it #ok i won't add more disclaimers on the post... i don't think it needs more

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trifoliate-undergrowth · 2 months ago

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Thrift store Westerns I've never heard of part 2!

SHOOT FIRST AND PRAY YOU LIVE (Because Luck Has Nothing to Do With It) is an indie film from 2009 and winner of the independent spirit award at Santa Fe Film Festival, apparently. Wikipedia says it was based on the novel Luck by Max Brand. It's got everything! It's got maybe in fact too much going on! It's got split screen, it's got a brief animated sequence, it's got so many fucking flashbacks.

Opens with this, which I find very funny for some reason:

While we're on disclaimers, my quotations are summarized and not exact bc I am not going over ever few seconds of this movie. Also this movie is rated R so assume Yes for most common western content warnings.

Very GBU intro with about 10 seconds of empty street, a surprise close-up and then a tense shootout that we'll only have context for later. I hope.

The first real scene introducing our main character (Red Pierre) is a very gory shootout in a saloon. The shots themselves are fast and then we get a blow-by-blow of exactly where each of the 3 shots fired went. Lots of squirting blood from exploded arteries. I respect it but also was deliberately not looking at the screen too hard for like a solid 30 seconds or so lol. Red's first shot was shooting his opponent's thumb off, so he pulled a Silence a la The Great Silence. However in this case it was not simply a disabling move bc he did just keep shooting and murder those 2 guys. also. so. not sure what the point of that was.

Then he turns around and makes awkward eye contact with the only other guy who hasn't left the saloon, an old man who makes a high-pitched sound and goes 'I didn't see anything! Actually, no, I saw everything and you were totally in the right hahaha don't even worry about it....' Red asks if he has a horse and he stammers that he's got a burro and Red is welcome to take it. "My horse died, or I wouldn't ask," Red clarifies awkwardly, before escaping with the old man's burro. It's now night, Red frees a Mexican man whom some nasty gang members were hanging from a tree as a form of torture. Red waits at the tree, presumably waiting for these guys to show up so he can kill them? idk. He falls asleep immediately and wakes up being guarded by the daughter of the aforementioned gang leader.

fuckin womp womp sound effect plays as he realizes what happened. My guy what did you expect? Why did you go to sleep at the Local Asshole Gang's Designated Torture Tree?

STOP LOOKING SURPRISED YOU HAD TO KNOW THEY WERE COMING BACK.

Anyways the gang leader's son just got killed and then he saw Red and was like, oh yeah I hear he's killed people. Good enough! New son figure and new gang member to fill the empty seat at the table! (Everyone thinks this is a terrible idea, especially gun girl. Red is like 'you're right, what a terrible idea, I'll just... leave.... *gun pointed at him threateningly* ok or not or I'll just sit here I guess')

There's a bit where the camera zooms in on individual gang members and names them. There is no way I am remembering all 5 of these guys at once. The girl's name is Jack though. Cool. Her dad is a creep and does not seem to like her much He does, he just gets really weird dialogue. idk, I have mixed but not very coherent feelings about how Jack is handled in this movie like, generally. Anyways gang leader Jim Payne comments that Red is 'older than I thought, but young enough for what I want to make of you.' He then goes on a rant about how when he was Red's age he had a mentor who shaped him into the man he is now and he's going to be that person for Red.

Red is....

Deeply confused by all this?? but willing to roll with it for his own agenda. If the gang helps him out with some Mysterious Tasks he needs to accomplish, he'll join them willingly. Payne is delighted to hear it. The first task is burying Red's dead father. Everyone chews on some loco weed and gets high as shit before setting off on this long journey (except for Knife Guy, who I guess is loco enough without the weed and thus declines it.)

TWENTY YEARS AGO (we are getting an extended flashback)

Pierre's dad, who is now dead and needs to be buried, was having an affair with Red Pierre's mom. Bob McGurk and the other guys Red wants to revenge kill show up at his mom's house and shoot some guy and assault her. (I thought the guy they shot was her dad but eventually, in a later flashback, we find out it was just like. some other dude she happened to know, and that the killers thought it was Red's dad). She swears to kill them all and eventually manages to kill the sheriff, leaving 2 others for someone else to please take care of.

Red Pierre's dad simply can't, because he is wearing a sweater. He can't shoot no one! Not in a sweater! Despite his extended musings about what a terrible man he was and how he's going to hell, he's apparently just not a shooting man, thus letting his girlfriend be tortured by the local gang for months (yes this went on for Months before she managed to stab the sheriff.) He's also not a "raising my illegitimate son" type apparently, so he drops the kid off at a random Mexican mission to be raised by the friars.

the subtitles helpfully provide pronunciation. Also, THIS PLACE IS LIKE 900 MILES FROM THE BORDER? IS THIS WHOLE MOVIE TAKING PLACE FULLY INSIDE MEXICO (IF SO WHY IS ALMOST EVERYONE WHITE AND SPEAKING AMERICAN ACCENTED ENGLISH) AND IF NOT, DID THIS GUY RIDE 900 MILES TO DROP OFF THE KID HE DIDN'T WANT TO RAISE SOMEWHERE HE WOULD NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER FIND HIS WAY BACK???? WHAT'S HAPPENING. WHY ISN'T RED SPEAKING SPANISH IF HE WAS RAISED DEEP IN CENTRAL MEXICO. HOW DID WE GET HERE. HOW DID WE GET ANYWHERE. WHY ARE YOU SO INSISTENT ABOUT THIS SPECIFIC GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATION THAT DOES NOT MAKE SENSE. LIke don't get me wrong it's a very cool geographical location but what is happening.

Anyways, Red's dying mother whispered something (I thought it was her murderous plans but it will later be revealed that I was wrong about this) into his baby ears as he lay in her dying arms and now he's gotta go murder the bad guys that terrorized his mom but first must bury his illegitimate dad who was nice to his mom but did not protect her from the other guys and also did not claim or raise him bc the dad was married to some other unseen unnamed woman who is presumably also dead now I guess bc she's just not ever going to come up. Simple! I'm so confused. The priest who raised Red after he got yeeted 900 miles south into Mexico has a monologue about raising his beloved child and WAIT HOLY SHIT IT'S ANIMATED NOW. WE'RE HAVING AN ANIMATED SEQUENCE???

I swear to God I am not making this movie up. delightful. what is happening ever. anyways no wonder Red just goes "this might as well happen" about acquiring a new father figure in Payne, he has so many fuckingn dads already...

The priest is like 'yeah I didn't even try to raise him to be a good Christian I knew he was destined to be a total badass adn beat people the fuck up so I taught him to fight bobcats and grizzly bears and climb trees and catch fish with his teeth and shit. bc I'm cool'

The priest then coyly mentions that Pierre is too much of a badass in the boxing ring and nobody wants to fight him, so he uses him as a form of penance on sinners by making them box this violent child and get beat up.

THIS IS NOT THE SAME MAN? THIS IS NOT OUR GUY? DID HE LOSE ALL HIS PIGMENTATION AS HE MATURED. DID A GRIZZLY BEAR BITE ALL THE BROWN OUT OF HIS HAIR AND NOW IT'S RED? WHAT HAPPENED. THIS IS NOT A RED HAIRED BLUE EYED KID. IS OUR CURRENT GUY NOT RED PIERRE? IS HE ACTUALLY SOME OTHER DUDE? IS RED PIERRE (THE REAL ONE) GOING TO SHOW UP LATER??? WHAT'S HAPPENING. (This kid is a very good actor and a good fighter by the way, but he is not a good double for the guy he is allegedly the child version of.)

His opponent mumbles "que diablo" as he's getting knocked out with the most American pronunciation I've ever heard. I don't even know Spanish that well adn I can tell that's some extremely American Spanish. also

thank God we're free of the flashback. We've been here so long. No specific time given bc that would require me going back through this and I don't want to reexperience it.

...My theory about this flashback is it's showing us in realtime how Red's story becomes a legend (part of the intro featured a guy telling us and a bunch of children a story about The Legend Of Red Pierre so Storytelling is like, a Theme.) I guess? It would explain why current Red is kind of a sweet awkward quiet kid and flashback Red is Paul Bunyan if he was a ginger (but only sometimes.)

aww novice Red is so cute.

YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO SHOW ME A MAP MONTAGE? DO YOU REALLY WANT TO REMIND ME OF THE 900 MILE DISTANCE BETWEEN YOUR STATED CURRENT SETTING AND WHERE THE REST OF THIS MOVIE SUPPOSEDLY TAKES PLACE? YOU WANT ME TO THINK ABOUT DISTANCE IN THIS MOVIE?? ARE YOU SURE

oh my god we get another different flashback about Red's mom Irene now and. His dad fully was there the day that the gang killed that other guy and assaulted her. he had a gun. he had the drop on them. he... ran awayyy! It haunted him. Finally, years later, he took his gun and went to shoot McGurk, who shot him instead. that's how we ended up here, Red still has 2 guys left to kill for his parents. I've now heard this story like 19 times and it gets slightly more complicated and yet somehow less interesting every time.

Red's batshit crazy rogue priest daddy is ok with the revenge and gives him a???? Cursed crucifix??? that will bring blessings to him and evil to others?????? What's happening. I was raised Catholic I did not get any magical amulets like this

ok so we're caught up. Red killed one of the 2 guys in the first big shootout of the movie, his dad was the guy getting shot in the intro. Jack joins the men officially as part of the gang. We are now getting backstory for some random gang member whom I do not care about.

Blessedly this was a short flashback. he used to be a blacksmith before he went axe crazy, or more accurately hammer crazy, with a hammer. I think he had some reason but I couldn't understand the dialogue in that bit so who knows.

OH NO ANOTHER GANG MEMBER IS GOING TO TELL HIS LIFE STORY NOW... IS THIS GOING TO BE THE WHOLE MIDDLE OF THE MOVIE? PEOPLE TAKING TURNS TALKING ABOUT THE VIOLENCE THEY'VE DONE? wait a minute. false alarm. the next guy starts his story but is INTERRUPTED! By McGurk dramatically showing up. Ok fine that was funny. you got me.

anyways McGurk wants Red dead. what a shock. oh god another flashback PLEASE DO NOT ZOOM IN ON MCGURK PULLING HIS WIENER OUT PLEASE GOD

I do like the period accurate costuming in this movie. buttons yes. can I be done here? can the movie be over here? we're not even halfway in how can I endure this.

anyways. Red and McGurk have a showdown and fire simultaneously, each wounding the other. The other gang is delighted by this as the previously untouchable McGurk being wounded means his charm is broken. He can be killed! Eventually. (?)

The storyteller from the beginning of the movie comes back and tells us that McGurk disappeared for 2 years and that Red did lots of exciting stuff during that time but we're not going to get into all that right now. He also mentions that Red has the gang working with him while McGurk has 'always been a lone wolf'. This is straight up incorrect, as we had to see at least 3 painfully long flashbacks of McGurk and his 2-3 (I forgot) cronies shooting Red's mom Irene's friend full of holes and assaulting her. As a group! He did in fact have help before, if maybe not now. anyways. I shouldn't try to logic this movie.

The kids go to a masquerade. It's cute. Jack is enjoying the dress but worries it'll compromise her tough butch persona if the boys find out. Red promises not to tell anyone. There's a trippy extended rewind sequence that shows, everything playing in reverse, that McGurk, now wearing an eyepatch, has been stalking them all day, and then a completely unnecessary but in parts very funny sequence where McGurk gets a shave and the barber gossips to him about his backstory , providing a couple details we hadn't known but that I don't think matter much. 'now I never even seen a picture of McGurk, but they say he was an unnatural looking man, with a face you'd never forget,' says the barber, dabbing shaving cream onto McGurk's face. lol. It gets to be too much when the barber implies that McGurk dragged himself off into the wilderness and died somewhere, never to be heard of again. McGurk, very alive, pulls out his gun and asks if Red is still alive, and where to find him, thus bringing us back to before the masquerade, though first we must get ANOTHER flashback showing that McGurk did indeed drag himself off into the wilderness and ALMOST die, and he spent the whole time thinking about how much he hated Red.

Then there's a bit from I guess before the masquerade in which one of the gang members gets jittery over one of the others not showing up on time and tells Red he's bad luck, despite Jim Payne's argument that he's brought them nothing but good luck for these past 2 years. Red and the complainer square up for a duel and the other gang members go wait outside. We get some split screen of inside and outside the building:

It's fun but I'm not sure why it needed to happen. The complainer decides to just Not today and slinks off, but Jim mumbles that the other gang members will have to pick sides and a breakup is coming. We exit split screen. Then for no discernible reason we re-enter split screen.

Split screen gives us 2 slightly different shots of the same porch scene for a very funny and confusing moment, then McGurk steps into view in one shot while the gang doesn't notice him in the other. He shoots Jim Payne, Rodrigo and I think that's hammer guy? I think he killed the other non-complainer gang member earlier but the 2 guys sitting outside were shooting at a wasp and therefore didn't hear his shots, which happened at the same time? That section was confusing.

Ok NOW we're back up to the masquerade, and we have to watch a bunch of the same shots again. No wonder this movie is nearly 2 hours, it's mostly repetition, a lot of it of the same couple of flashbacks. Anyways, McGurk shows up at the masquerade, threatens Red, dances with Jack. Red gets knocked unconscious by someone and wakes up tied to a post in the middle of nowhere.

Oh look, Chollas! That places this movie as taking place in the Sonoran Desert, so somewhere in Arizona, southern American California, parts of Nevada or New Mexico, Baja California (unlikely) or northwestern Mexico. Filming apparently took place in New Mexico. You will notice that zero of these places are ANYWHERE near the one SPECIFICALLY NAMED location with title card and everything, TzinTzunTzan Mexico. No I'm not done being annoying about this I'm never done. Does anyone know how distances work?

Anyways. Red is tied up, concussed and dehydrated. The complainer from the gang shows up and mocks him. It was he who kidnapped Red! And now he's going to kill him. But fairly, of course. He'll give Red a weapon--he places it in his left hand and leaves him tied up, of course. And I am going to turn on captions for these because I need you to see that I'm not making this dialogue up oh my God.

"Because I face my challenges head-on! Like a train going down the tracks! I love trains. ...Robbing... trains."

Red shoots the complainer, whose name I will never not mishear as Gandalf (it's Gandall or something?) and then Some Guy happens along to find Red. I'm pretty sure this is the same guy he freed from being tied to a tree at the start of the movie but I'm not sure. The guy comments 'it's only fair' as he releases Red, so maybe I'm right? It's not super obvious if they recognize each other or not. He does threaten Red a bit first before freeing him. idk.

Anyways I think this man is hot and watching him playfully mess with Red a bit before releasing him was the closest I've come to sexualizing anyone in this movie. Mostly I have been too confused and haven't cared about anyone enough.

Red, now freed, finds McGurk McLurking over his mother's grave and yells at him to get away from it, furious. They have a showdown. Red shoots McGurk's gun hand, then drops his own gun and dares McGurk to try to pick his up faster. McGurk doesn't move. Red mocks him, then finally tells him that there would be no satisfaction in killing him like this, even though Red could, and to get out. McGurk leaves his gun, throws his belt of ammunition in Red's general direction and skedaddles. A flashback reveals that Irene told Red's presumed father whom he buried in the beginning of the movie that McGurk was the young Red's father (I did wonder about that. But also how did she know? Red was redhaired like his father. Well I guess his non-father was more blond but like. He definitely doesn't look like McGurk. And all those creeps had their way with her so like. how do we... know... that it's him.... in particular. None of these guys had red hair also. except maybe his dad who wasn't his dad.) but anyways... in Red's non-dad's one moment of bravery, he picked up baby Red, saw McGurk McLurking outside, and shouted 'the boy's mine. Get out!' at him. And McGurk actually McLeft. In the present, once again, he runs away from Red. an interesting ending, though I'm not sure I'd call it a satisfying one--maybe if it was more "Red is sticking to his moral principles of not killing where avoidable" was more of a Thing up to this point, but like, Red has killed a bunch of people and not seemed to mind joining the outlaw gang and presumably doing a bunch of crime with them for 2 years. So. idk??

It's then revealed via, surprise, ANOTHER FLASHBACK that Red had given the magical cross amulet thing to Jack before their dance and so has been winning these last fights with his own skill and no luck, which is a fun reveal I guess. It then cuts to Jack who has been caught and tied up by bandits though, so like, I guess the cross does not work at all bc that is just some real bad luck for her. So. What was the point of any of this?

The movie ends there. No explanation of what's going on with Jack. We do not see her get rescued. I don't even know who those guys that tied her up are. We've never seen them before. What the fuck is happening. ROLL CREDITS!

Ok thoughts: idk interesting movie. I didn't feel strongly about it. I think it's clear the people making it were having a lot of fun so that's cool. Red was kind of a fun character, especially when he's awkward and dorky. Very lovable. However his motivations and general morality are an enigma to me. For a guy who has that much exposition about him I'm really very confused about what's going on with him, which does not seem like it should be possible at this point.

Jack was potentially a fun character but I feel her dad was so weird about her gender while I didn't have a solid grip on how she felt about it herself. It's implied that she has to be a man to join the gang and her dad allows it as long as she dresses masc and shoots guns but views her as neither man nor woman. Potentially fun concept.. I really wish we didn't end the movie with a casual non sequitur of her getting attacked by some random dudes. Do we not have enough women experiencing violence in this movie already. It's in every fuckign western I watch and I am just so tired of it.

idk. I think Red should've shot McGurk. It's not like he was Not shooting anyone else. Why would he shoot all those other guys and NOT McGurk. Maybe he thinks it's crueller to make him live knowing that he had to run away from Red. idk. Also why did we have those two (and a half? there's a brief moment where he talks to someone in a saloon?) sequences of the storyteller talking about the legend of Red Pierre? What did that add?

I did like some of the humor in this movie. Generally I think it was rather incoherent but had some fun along the way. Maybe too much, to a confusing degree. I also liked the costuming and how dusty and greasy everyone looks.

I feel like maybe the characterization was clearer in the book but falls flat or just seems confusing in a movie... this is just a theory though.

Anyways. Unexpected parallels between this movie and the other western I'd never heard about before finding it at a thrift store and making a tumblr post about, Gallowwalkers:

-Some kind of secret society of magical wizards which is vaguely Catholicism-flavored and described as a religious order despite having absolutely nothing to do with real world Catholicism

-Older, morally questionable gunfighter notices a conventionally attractive younger white boy and immediately goes "that's my new boy. I'm adopting him. Boy, hello, I am your new mentor, whether you want one or not. Come shoot people with me." In both cases it's so weird and flat and confusing that I don't even ship it, despite being a known freak and Wanting to...

-generally confusing movie. Too much going on that is never fully explained and yet the stuff that is explained gets too wordy.

Anyways I skipped through the credits to the end looking for some explanation of the ending and did get this:

To be continued?? you thought you were going to make another one of these? well that explains the ending I guess. oh well.

There actually WAS also a brief funny stinger of the shopkeeper whom Red and Jack held up and told to lie on the floor and count to 5000 reaching 4998 and going "To hell with this" and getting up. lol.

#westerns posting #indie western #an experience.... has been had. by me.#why did they clarify that this English speaking ginger was raised 900 miles away from the sonoran desert movie setting in Mexico.

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planetpiastri · 2 years ago

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💝+ giving them a taste of your meal, with your own cutlery (bonus: by your own hand) from this list with hangman?❤️

reading this back i feel like i have a lot of hidden opinions about ihop i don't ever let out idk what that's about. anyways this was so cute hope u enjoy!!<3 | [wc - 0.9k] | join my prompt party!

“Can someone explain to me one more time why we’re at an IHOP of all places?” Hangman deadpanned, glancing around the kitschy foyer.

“Because I wanted pancakes and you guys will jump at an excuse to eat anything that isn’t steamed chicken,” you replied, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“It’s international, Hangman,” Fanboy added with a teasing waggle of his eyebrows.

Hangman scoffed and opened his mouth to make a withering remark, but you laced your arm through his, effectively shutting him up. He glanced down at you, and everyone gathered around could clearly see the way his face softened when he saw your excited expression. Everyone except you, apparently.

“Yeah, okay,” he ceded. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

The hostess led your group to a long table in the middle of the dining area, and everyone took their seats. There was a lot of pairing up that came naturally: Fanboy and Payback sat across from one another, Phoenix wedged in between Rooster and Bob, and you sat hip-to-hip with Hangman.

No one could really understand why you and Hangman were such good friends; it made zero sense on paper. At first glance, you seemed like precisely the kind of outgoing, altruistic asshole that he would have teased endlessly. But something between the two of you just clicked, and if you were able to keep Hangman in check more often, no one was going to argue against it.

You shimmied in your seat, excitedly flipping open the menu. “What’s everybody getting?”

“Do they have anything other than pancakes?” Hangman muttered out of the side of his mouth, turning the menu over noisily.

“It’s the house of pancakes, dude,” said Rooster. “What do you think?”

“And it’s international,” Fanboy said again, eliciting giggles from the group.

“Ooh, look, there’s milkshakes!” said Phoenix, pointing at her menu. She blinked innocently across at Hangman. “Is that more your speed?”

As the group laughed again, you leaned over so that your shoulder bumped Hangman’s. Once again, you were the only one that didn’t seem to catch the way he stiffened at the contact.

“They do have other stuff,” you murmured, pointing it out on the menu. “It’s not as good, but they do have it.”

“I just want some bacon,” he said quietly, folding his menu shut and placing it down on the table.

With company like this, waiting for your food to arrive didn’t feel too torturous. Fanboy started showing Rooster how to make a perfect spitball until Payback put a stop to it. Phoenix got Bob to recite an absurd number of bug facts to the table. You facetimed Coyote, who was stuck at his apartment with the flu, and hung up partway through his stirring rendition of Berlin’s 1986 hit, “Take My Breath Away.” Hangman impressed everybody (or maybe just you) with his ability to balance a spoon on his nose.

Under the table, you pressed your leg against his from knee to thigh. You were the only one who didn’t realize that’s what was making him so fidgety.

Finally, the waitress arrived with everyone’s food. Hangman and Payback had both gone with small, non-pancake side dishes, but everyone else had embraced the spirit of the occasion.

“When in Rome!” said Fanboy around a mouthful of pancakey goodness.

“Now that’s international,” said Bob.

Small talk came easy to a group like this. When you spend your days saving each other’s lives and nearly dying, the little things suddenly don’t seem so important. It was only natural for Payback to ask Fanboy how things were going with that guy his sister was seeing, or for Phoenix to ask Bob all about his niece’s birthday that had just come and gone.

During the dinner chatter, you nudged Hangman with your shoulder again. “How’s your bacon?”

“Not very good,” he said, grinding his teeth together. “Have a piece if you want.”

You daintily took a nibble off the end of one, pulling a face. “Ew. I guess that’s why I stick to pancakes usually.”

“How are they?” he asked, bumping his leg against yours.

You smiled, immediately cutting off a small square and ensuring it had just the right amount of butter and syrup and cream before holding it out towards him with your fork, one hand cupped underneath in case it fell. Hangman opened his mouth obediently and took the bite of pancake, chewing thoughtfully while you watched him with a close eye, waiting for his verdict.

“Hm,” he finally said. “Good. I guess that’s why it’s international, right?”

You beamed at him, and he offered you a smile in return: the small, quiet, real smile that no one else barely ever saw. If all the others watching you had the nerve, they’d have teased him about it. But that ran the risk of him changing his behavior, and that was the last thing they wanted.

Under the table, you put your hand on his leg, and he released a small exhale. Returning to his bacon, he kept his eyes trained on the table, ignoring the heated discussion Payback and Phoenix were having over the difference between ‘IHOP’ and ‘IHOB’.

And slowly, his hand found yours. Tentatively, his fingers laced themselves between your own. Gently, he squeezed your hand. Finally, he made a move.

Neither one of you spoke. Neither one of you looked at each other. He kept picking at his shitty bacon, and you kept happily eating your pancakes. But you were both smiling, and everyone at the table knew that you had finally figured it out.

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresis blurb #hangman fanfic #hangman fic #hangman x you #hangman x reader #vinny's valentine's prompt party #vinny fics

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angelmichelangelo · 6 months ago

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between sainw and the last ronin i just get SO SAD picturing the brothers dying. their deaths STILL take my breath away like an actual gut punch and i tear up. like. i care about these turtles, this family SO MUCH and seeing bad things happen to them that can't be fixed will always break my heart

seeing the lows leo sunk to in s4 before getting help is so heartbreaking, the idea of how much worse he might get losing don and splinter (and casey, we never mentioned casey but he also died) and then feeling responsible for hurting mikey even if he saved his life... damn. is it even more painful to picture that he did go to japan, did try his best to fix himself with the ancient one, only for it to not matter in the end anyway because by the time he returned raph and mikey are so bitter towards him for leaving to begin with? even though deep down all three of them want to be a family again? except they will never be able to rekindle that because they fucking die on the floor trying to save the world?

it's just so so sad.

mikey feeling guilt over losing his arm because it led to the others leaving OUCH. OUCH OW OWIE. BABY BOY. COME HERE. IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT

the 2003 writers were WILD because how do you just write all of this trauma into a single episode and then never return to it. how do you never even dig into how donatello copes after the insanity he witnessed? sainw writers please come here i just want to talk ;___;

a miniseries would be soooo good. for now all we have is fanworks (amazing fanworks btw), but maybe someday! 2003 seems to be getting a lot of attention from official sources this year (two new toy sets, 2k3 don appearing in the saturday morning cartoon crossover issue, and the 2003 variant covers and comic in the anniversary issue) so that + the success of the last ronin... now would be the best time for them to return to sainw!!

UGH YES sainw and last ronin.. the tmnt writers do love making poor old man mikey suffer huh ;—; they say our resident comic relief character and went haha now what if we made him mega depressed…?

but yeah!! imagine when leo goes to japan! not only would raph be sore for missing him but he’d also lash out about it because he has all these emotions he doesn’t know how to regulate and maybe in turn him and mikey butt heads about it (kinda like they do in canon when mike has to yell raph to lay off leo because he knows something is up with him) and UGH it just makes tensions worse and everyone is hurting :((

and dude i know. the 2k3 writers will literally put the turtles (mainly don) through the most insane bat shit crazy horrors, have them breaking down and losing their minds and then by the next episode they’re like “well that was just silly :D” like GET SOME THERAPY I BEG OF YOU!!!

and yes yes!! it’s so so exciting to see the series finally FINALLY get its flowers after all these years.. one can only hope that a resurgence is enough to kickstart something like a miniseries or a comic.. but like you pointed out we have sososo much fan made material so either way im happy :] though boy would i love to hear 2k3 donnie’s voice again.. idk what it is but sam riegel’s voice scratches something in my brain lolol i just miss them (i like watched the show like yesterday)

#i think i said it before but 2k3 donnie casting is my favourite out of every single turtle there is #he has the best voice :)) it’s just. ITS SO COMFORTING IDK IS IT JUST ME LMAO #anyway.. i just woke up hello im still thinking about sainw boys weeee #ask

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writer-ish · 2 years ago

Text

insecure

pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 2.3k | rating: T+ (maybe higher idk i'm rusty pls lmk) timeline: uhhh somewhere in book 3? when feelings are still relatively uncertain? after the demo scenes though. summary: grace is insecure. mason has a solution. author note: wow the brain rot is so real i guess because here we are??? i can't pretend like i wrote this whole thing in the last few days - half of it had been manifested (lol) after the book 3 demo and i just put some lipstick on it and sent it out into the world. anyway please do not perceive me 😶‍🌫️

Somehow, they manage to sneak away.

Adam wants to debrief and Nate hopes to ask Grace a question about a specific translation and Felix starts pulling out their favourite board game—

But Mason wants her more.

Grace, as always, tries her best to accommodate the needs of all the others and almost doesn't see him there in the doorway, gaze searing into her, his eyes conveying a message for her and her alone.

But when she does, it causes her to stumble on her words as she speaks to Nate. To claim a headache when Felix says she can be the banker this time. To tell Adam she'll meet him later to discuss what needs to be discussed.

At least, that’s what she assumes happens, since her recollection turns fuzzy after seeing Mason waiting for her like that, his intent clear.

They make it only a few steps away from the meeting room before he has her against the wall, lips on hers in a kiss so heatedly possessive, she thinks maybe she’s imagining the intensity. But no - there's something different about his behaviour, something intentional. The way his mouth moves over hers, stroking and claiming. The way he holds her so close, pressing her body to his. One hand roaming up to her hair, tightening there, while the other moves down to her bottom and secures her in place.

Lost in the moment, she wraps her arms around his neck, giving in to the tenderness she usually curbs when she’s with him. There’s always that part of her that feels like she needs to protect herself against the inevitable backlash. His words at the bakery still cut deeper than he’ll ever realize - deeper than she'll ever let on - putting a voice to the very fears that plague her about him; about them.

Except now she relents to the ever-present temptation to touch and to stroke. She lets her fingers move into his hair, to scrape against his scalp, her other hand stroking his nape in a soft gesture. He lets out a low rumble, pulling her even closer, tilting his head to open her mouth wider and stroke her with his tongue just so.

He pulls away and she lets out a soft gasp as his mouth immediately finds her neck, licking her pulse points, biting gently. The soft-sharp touch sends a zing of electricity through her, warming all her limbs and traveling into her lower belly. Tugging on his hair slightly, she makes him look up and meet her gaze. He stops immediately at her unspoken signal, head lifting and hands moving to rest on her hips.

“Take me to your room,” she whispers, resisting the urge to glance down the hall to see if anyone heard her, caught them.

His eyes darken and a smirk turns the corner of his lip up, knowing what it took for her to say those words. Wordlessly, he entwines his fingers with hers and practically drags her away from the wall, pulling her in the direction of his room at the Warehouse.

The second his door closes behind them, she’s up against it, his lips on hers once more. His agile hands make quick work of her clothes, unbuttoning her shirt, unzipping the back of her skirt.

“Did I tell you how good your ass looked in this fucking little skirt?” he growls against her mouth, nipping at her jaw. “I’ve been thinking of this all day, from the second you waltzed in wearing it.” He pushes it off past her thighs and it falls to the ground. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you put it on specifically to torture me.” His head drops and his mouth finds her bare shoulder, kissing on either end of the bra strap there. “But for some reason your silly little head doesn’t think that way.”

She laughs breathlessly, self-consciously. “The only thing I thought about as I put it on was that it was tighter than it was the last time I wore it,” she admits, bracing her hands on his shoulders as she steps out of the material at her feet.

“You crazy?” he mutters, running his hands over her until they settle on her bottom, giving it an appreciative squeeze. "Fits perfect."

She doesn't know if she's talking about her skirt or her ass in his hands, but either way, his grip on her tightens and he lifts her up effortlessly, carrying her to his bed and dropping her down unceremoniously. For a moment he just stands there at the foot of his bed, still fully clothed, his eyes running over her half-naked form.

And she thinks about Bobby.

The unwanted image in that moment feels visceral - like a slap. It’s the last thing she ever wanted to cross her mind, especially here, now, with Mason.

But his presence has been weighing heavily on her lately. His tendency to pop up when she’s at her most vulnerable. His careless dismissal of her devotion to the ethics of her work.

The kiss he took from her unwillingly.

It brings to mind other visions of Bobby, intrusive and unsolicited.

Bobby who had always found her lacking, who’d always seemed to have a comment about a dimple on her thigh or a roll in her stomach or the way she couldn’t fill a bra cup.

Bobby who seemed to master the art of taking, while overlooking the ability to give.

Bobby who almost fucked up everything standing in front of her right now, because of one unwanted action and a few flippant words.

She’d touched death more times than she even cared to count in the last six months. And the one lasting traumatic experience for her had been with goddamn Bobby.

Figures.

She realizes Mason has grown quiet and still, not joining her on the bed like she expected him to, so she looks up.

He’s staring at her differently now, curious and a tad wary. Something in her face must have given away her thoughts; or, at the very least, the fact that they weren’t pleasant ones.

Unhappy with this turn of events brought on by her own inability to smother trauma down into the darkest recesses of her brain like a normal person, she sits up and closes the distance between them, pressing her body to his, feeling the folds and fabric of his clothing on her oversensitive skin.

He allows her to embrace him and she feels his hands gliding over her in return, one reaching the nape of her neck, the other settling on her lower back, long fingers resting on the curve of her round bottom.

She tilts her head up, prepared to kiss him, relieved that he didn’t mention the weird expression he must have seen, when—

“You going to tell me what you were thinking just now?”

Rats.

He speaks the words against her lips, then tilts his head back just far enough to keep her from kissing him and force her to answer him.

“I was—” No. It’s stupid. She shouldn’t even say his name; not here, not now. She shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”

“Tell me,” he insists, one hand still caressing her lower back.

She tucks her face under his chin, her nipples puckering under the lace of her bra against the soft leather of his jacket.

“It’s—I was just thinking about—” She swallows hard. Will he give it up if she says nothing? One look at his face tells her the answer. Sighing, she responds: “I was thinking about Bobby.”

At her words he pulls away suddenly and she gasps as she lurches forward. His hands are still braced on her arms so she doesn’t fall, but the cool air of his room hits her all at once, the absence of his heat more apparent than ever. She could kill herself for her stupid, abrupt wording, for a brain that fails to connect properly to her mouth right when it matters the most.

“Why?” he says eventually, his face a mask of disgust and anger and—hurt? Possibly?

“No, not because of anything—not because—ugghhh,” she groans loudly, burying her face in her hands briefly. “I can’t stand Bobby, okay? It’s just that—I’m still so mad at him for that day in the town square. For thinking he could come up to us - to you - and spew his filth as if what he did to me that night meant a goddamn thing.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, cold and finally self-conscious now, feeling exposed in more ways than one. Mason makes no effort to draw her into his arms again. He lets go of her, in fact, and stands a few steps away now. Instead of any sort of sympathy or concern on his face - two emotions she should have known better than to expect - he eyes her warily.

“You already explained, sweetheart.” He speaks slowly, as though trying to process something in his own mind; something she isn’t privy to. “I don’t understand why that asshole needs to also be here, right now.”

“Because—” She folds her legs and sits down on the bed now, clenching her hands together tightly. Mason eyes her hands, but says nothing, waiting for her to continue. “The difference between you and him—the way you make me feel—”

Oh god, why was she talking about this? Why did she bring it up?

She’s horrified with herself, but has no choice except to persevere, considering she’d already instigated the verbal equivalent of missing the bunny hills and going straight down the Black Diamond. Without poles.

“Bobby was a time in my life that invited a lot of…awful feelings.” She takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands, fingers still wrung together, to avoid looking at Mason. She continues down her expert level ski-hill, hitting every tree on the way. “Feelings about who I am. What I’m...worth. And it took a long time for me to move past that. A long time.”

She still can’t look at him, although she can feel his eyes on her, piercing and intent. The words are spilling out faster now, in a bid to say them all so then she doesn’t have to say anything else.

“And I hate, so much, that he interfered at all with what—we have. Because, being with you, this ill-defined—thing that we are, regardless of the fact that we don’t have any of the labels or—or whatever. It just feels... better. You feel better. You make me feel better. Than I ever have before.”

Okay there, you said it. Now, shut up. Just shut up.

Sufficiently humiliated, certain she has blown the moment to smithereens, she looks up reluctantly and meets his gaze.

As expected, the intensity in his eyes is enough to make her skin prickle with awareness. His expression is inscrutable, but it’s clear that he’s been listening very carefully to what she’s saying and her words have had some sort of effect on him. She holds her breath, waiting for whatever it is he’s going to say. At this point, it could be anything from a “welp, see ya later” to some sort of declaration of adoration; she truly doesn’t know what to expect from him anymore. Her head is in an absolute tailspin and nothing he says at this point can possibly surprise her.

“Okay.”

...Except maybe that.

Okay? Just okay? She pours her guts out and he responds with OKAY?

Before she can even process this lack of response, he’s lifting her up off the bed and into his arms, holding her tightly against him, her feet almost completely off the ground. Strangely, she can feel his heart pounding through his chest.

He releases a noise into her neck, a strange exhale that teeters on the edge of a groan, and he bites her. Actually bites her. Not enough to draw blood - his canines aren’t even extended as far as she can tell - but enough so she feels it. He pulls back to look at her again.

“Let me kill him.”

It’s a statement, not a question or a plea, and he says it earnestly yet casually. As if he were offering to buy her a coffee. Or put gas in her car.

And Grace—god help her. She considers it.

He must see the expression on her face, the quick double blink as she truly contemplates a life without Bobby always lurking around the corner, because he barks out a laugh.

“You have everyone fooled except me, Detective,” he says, pushing her back down on the bed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she responds, bordering on indignant, even as she slides back to make room for him.

“Everyone thinks you’re just sweet as pie. Little Gracie. Protector of the town. Miss By-the-Book. Crossing her Ts and dotting those Is on all her little reports.” He grins, flashing white teeth as he puts his knee down on the mattress and moves towards her, over her. “I see you, though. I see that dirty mouth and that mercenary heart. You’d let me do it. Wouldn’t you?”

She waits until he’s full on top of her, his body covering hers, arms braced on either side of her. His long, dark waves fall over his face like a curtain, close enough to almost skim her body, grey eyes flashing as he looks at her, half-amused and half-something else that she can’t define. He makes her feel light - light and free and all the things she never thought she could be. Even amidst the uncertainty, she realizes he brings out a side of her that she didn't even know existed before he came into her life and turned it all upside down.

Bringing her hands up she cups his cheeks, stroking the high cheekbones reverently. Gently she pulls his head down until his ear is near her mouth. She nips it playfully and smiles as he groans, before whispering against his skin:

“Maybe.”

@ejunkiet and @coldshrugs this is for you 🖤

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfic #twc fic #specialist agent m #mason x detective #idk what this is tbh #but here you go #twc #twc mason

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