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steddiealltheway · 11 months

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The upside down is colder than Steve remembers.

To be fair, he only wearing a vest, pants, and no shoes at the moment, and he may be actively bleeding out even with the bandages because of the damn bats but… he just doesn’t remember it being this cold.

He probably didn’t spend long enough in the tunnels to truly get a feel for things. But now that he’s fully here, he can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for Will.

The place is dark enough to even give Steve nightmares although he has Robin, Nancy, and Eddie at this side. How did Will survive with no one?

Steve looks down and carefully steps over a vine as he makes his way through the woods. Did Will ever step on-

“Is this a bad time to mention that I haven’t kissed anyone?”

Steve and the girls turn to Eddie, giving him looks of confusion at the random outburst.

Eddie keeps walking, staring at the ground as he tries not to activate the hive mind. “I’m just saying, it kind of feels like the end of the world here, and it makes you think. Like, do I really want to die a virgin? Not really, but dying without kissing anyone… I feel like that’s a bigger problem in my book.”

Robin and Nancy share the same look of confusion mixed with an air of why are you talking to us about this? But Steve thinks he gets the nervous rambling. He wouldn’t want to die unkissed either.

Eddie slowly stops and turns around, finally noticing that the three of them stopped when he made his first comment. He just stares at them for a moment before sighing, “Forget I said anything. I just hate walking in silence with all these thoughts of impending doom.”

With that, the girls start walking again, quickly catching up to Eddie, but Steve struggles as he thinks a little too hard about what Eddie said instead of thinking about not stepping on a vine. So he compromises speed for a very important thought.

Eddie wants to kiss someone. Probably. Definitely.

He can’t kiss Nancy because she’s with Jonathan, and Steve’s pretty sure Nancy would not be the greatest choice of a first kiss - since she would be unenthusiastic.

And Robin… well. She would be equally as unenthusiastic, probably even more so.

And really, everyone must be thinking the same thing. Because there’s one obvious solution.

“I’ll kiss you,” Steve announces as he steps over a vine. He watches as the three of them freeze in front of them, and Eddie almost even trips on a vine.

Once he catches up to them, Steve says, “It’s the clear solution to the problem.”

Robin shoots him a look of bewilderment and mouthes what??

Steve just looks away from her. It’s not a crazy thought really. Eddie wants to kiss someone before the world maybe ends, and Steve is just a really generous person who would like- enjoy- no, volunteer very very generously to help the good cause.

“You’re kidding, right?” Eddie asks.

And oh. Steve hadn’t really thought about how Eddie might not want to kiss him. Shit. He shakes his head. “I’m not kidding, but I wouldn’t do it unless you wanted to. And it’s okay that you don’t. Let’s just keep going.”

Eddie reaches out and grabs his arm. “I never said that I didn’t want to,” he says quickly.

Steve’s pretty sure he hears Robin snort at the comment, and he can sees Nancy trying to hide an amused smile behind her hand. He ignores them and puts his hands on his hips. “Alright.”

“Okay,” Eddie says.

They both stare at each other not moving.

“We’re going to give you some space,” Robin says, grabbing Nancy’s hand and pulling her deeper into the woods.

Steve doesn’t pay much attention to them as they walk away, he’s too busy staring at Eddie. And yeah, he’s a good looking guy. He knew that from high school whenever he would go on his rants, and Steve had an excuse to stare. And really the thought of kissing him is definitely not the worse and actually… he’s kind of looking forward to it, if the fast beating of his heart is any indication.

Eddie though, he looks… scared. Maybe just nervous. But his expression definitely isn’t in any way happy.

Steve takes a step toward him and softly says, “We don’t have to do this, okay? And it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Eddie shakes his head and laughs humorlessly. “It’s not that I don’t want to it’s just… you’re Steve Harrington.”

“And?”

“And that name means something. And it shouldn’t be tangled up with my name.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at him. “I’m pretty sure we already crossed that line a while ago.”

“But you know what I mean,” Eddie sighs, looking at the ground.

Yeah, he does know what he means. But… “The world might end. I think there are stranger things than you and me kissing.”

Eddie shakes his head. “I think that would be the most shocking thing out of all of this.”

“Then get ready for me to rock your world, Munson,” Steve says with a smirk, stepping closer and brushing a curly strand of hair out of his face.

Eddie takes a deep breath and settles his hands on Steve’s waist above the wounds he’s forgotten about. “Is this… okay?”

Steve nods and wraps his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. “Yeah. Is this?”

Eddie just hums mhm, his eyes get a little wider and his cheeks flush a deeper pink.

Steve can’t help but look over Eddie’s face, taking in what he looks like at the closer proximity when he’s allowed to look. His eyes wander down to where Eddie’s full lips are slightly parted as if they’re just waiting for him to kiss them. But Steve looks back into Eddie’s dark eyes, searching for hesitation but only sending nerves and anticipation.

“I like that you’re the same height as me,” Steve randomly blurts out.

“Why’s that?”

Steve feels a blush creep up his neck. “Because my neck won’t strain when I kiss you.” Eddie laughs, and Steve decides that if the world really is coming to an end, he should be fully honest. “Plus, it’s easier to look at your eyes when they’re at my level.”

Eddie’s grin turns into a soft smile. His eyes glance down at Steve’s lips.

He knows the moment has come. “I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay,” Eddie says, leaning in closer.

Steve smiles before closing the distance between them and kissing Eddie slowly as if they have all the time in the world. He breaks the kiss and pulls back enough to take in Eddie's expression - eyebrow raised in astonishment, lips slightly parted, and eyes still closed.

And yeah, they might not make it to tomorrow, plus Eddie looks hot. So, Steve doesn’t pull away. Instead, he kisses him again, this time with much more fervor and… yes, tongue. Sue him. He just wants to make Eddie’s first (and second) kiss memorable.

Eddie’s hands press into Steve’s back, pulling him closer as Steve slows the kiss, needing air. He pulls back and breathes in deep, staring at Eddie’s kiss swollen lips and feeling… many things.

But instead of giving into those feelings, Steve just pats Eddie on the arm and says, “See, you’re a natural.” As soon as he walks away, Steve wants one of the vines to drag him far far away so he doesn’t have to think about what he just said. Christ. He’s not smooth.

As soon as he catches up to Robin, she practically yanks him back so Eddie and Nancy can wander off out of earshot.

Steve crosses his arms and stares at her. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You know exactly what this is about,” Robin says, jabbing a finger into his chest.

Steve winces. “Okay. Yes. I kissed Eddie. But what else was I supposed to do? Make you or Nance kiss him? No way.”

“You realize that he was just thinking out loud, right? You turned his thought into an invitation.”

Steve shrugs and walks toward the other two, trying to make sure they don’t go too far. “It sounded like an invitation to me,” he says with a shrug.

“I’m sure it did,” Robin mutters.

Steve turns to glare at her.

Robin sighs and lays a hand on his arm. “You can talk to me, you know? Even if you’re in the process of figuring things out and can’t get a true read of things.”

Steve turns and looks back at Eddie, noting how his heart beats a little faster and his body wants more than anything to get closer to him. He looks back and Robin and asks, “How obvious am I being?”

The tension in Robin’s shoulder goes away slightly at the question, and she smiles. “With the ‘you’re a natural’ comment? Totally fooled. No one would guess a thing.”

Steve’s jaw drops. “You were watching that?”

“How could I not? And do I regret it?” Robin pauses before answering her question, “A little when you started using tongue.”

“Jesus, Robin,” Steve says, trying to sound annoyed, but he can’t help but laugh.

Robin smiles and nudges him. “It seems like you have a type.”

Steve raises an eyebrow before he looks to where Robin is staring. He watches as Nancy and Eddie talk quietly about something, both sharing a small smile, amusement evident in their big round eyes, and dark, curly hair framing their faces. Maybe Robin has a point.

“Maybe I do,” Steve says as Eddie glances back at him and smiles. When he turns back, Steve asks Robin, “Do you think we could talk more about it when we’re not in an alternate dimension, and I have time to think about things?”

“Of course,” Robin says and squeezes his arm. “But for now, I’m going to give you things to think about!” she announces before running ahead to Nancy and quickly starting some type of hushed conversation.

Steve looks at where Eddie lingers behind the girls and quickly runs up to him, deciding maybe he can figure things out now. And maybe he can verbally thank him for saving his ass instead of just kissing him and hoping he gets the message.

Gosh, he doesn’t know if he can get through this without getting distracted by his lips. But he’s going to try.

(And he’s going to fail)

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #stranger things #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #did I just accidentally sort of make this canon compliant?#maybe #do i regret it?#not at all #now I’m just going to insist this is a deleted scene #because it is #they kissed your honor

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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Steve’s bat bites start to bleed again during the drive out of The War Zone.

It’s a slow realisation, a creeping dampness on his skin.

He stays as still as he can, keeps his movements small and contained when turning the steering wheel; he thinks he mostly gets away with it, manages to park the RV and pitch his voice on just the right side of normal as he tells the kids to scram.

Awareness of his surroundings grows a little fuzzy around the edges, but he senses enough to know that he’s alone—the silence feels heavy, makes his ears ring.

He lifts himself up out of his seat, one hand clinging onto the headrest for balance. The ringing gets sharper, more high-pitched; he shakes his head to try and clear it.

One step forward, then another, and another.

There’s a slight rocking motion under his feet. It feels a little like he’s in a boat that’s docked, constant movement even in the gentlest of waters.

His palms brush against the bathroom door.

“Okay,” Steve whispers to himself.

He hangs onto the sink to keep himself upright—feels the room sway, as if the waters underneath have suddenly become stormy.

With one hand, he finds the knot in the bandage.

“Okay, okay…”

Pulls.

Steve doesn’t think he blacks out, not quite, but there’s a shift, a dizzying tilt… and then, somehow, he’s sitting on the closed toilet seat.

And…

The bat bites must cause hallucinations or something.

Otherwise, Steve cannot explain why Eddie—who notoriously threw up and passed out during a dissection in Biology—is currently pressing a clean bandage against his stomach, staring down at the blood like he can’t look away.

“You’re good, you’re good,” Eddie’s saying.

He’s clearly trying to sound calm, but it’s just coming out strained, like what he really means is this is all a fucking nightmare actually, but we’ve gotta find something to be optimistic about.

“Think it just needs some more pressure,” he goes on. “Yeah, there, see? It’s stopping. Oh, thank God.”

Steve feels more gauze getting wrapped around his middle—if he wasn’t injured, it’d almost be a nice sensation, Eddie’s touch somehow the perfect mix of both firm and gentle.

As he works, Eddie hums nervously.

“Talk to me Harrington,” he says in a shaky sing-song. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging, man, gimme some awkward small talk. Got any hopes? Dreams? Anything I should know?

Oh, so many things, Steve thinks, still light-headed.

But then he really does mull that over: his mind goes to The Upside Down, to belatedly telling Eddie about the hive mind, and oh shit.

“Hey, weird question,” Steve says, “but I’ve not been, like, asking you to make it cold in here or, um, anything like that?”

Eddie blinks. “Uh. No?”

“Okay.” Before he lets the relief of hearing Eddie’s answer sink in, Steve adds, “If I ever do, you need to lock me in here and get out. Tell Nancy.”

Eddie’s staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “Sure. Cool. Cool! Uh, for any particular reason or—?”

“Just in case—like, I don’t feel any different, but—one time, Will Byers, when he was in The Upside Down it, like, infected him? Like a virus. Except more… possession. And they had to kinda… burn it outta him.”

“Ha,” Eddie says. A beat. “Oh fuck, you’re serious.”

“I really don’t have the energy to be messing with you, dude.”

“Sorry. Sometimes you all just say things, y’know? And if I don’t get it, I’m like, well, they’ve been living through this for a while, maybe they’ve got a code going on.”

“I mean,” Steve says, “we kinda do.”

Eddie shakes his head. “So when Buckley said she dealt with a human-flesh-based monster, and the one before that was smoke-related, that wasn’t just, like, a really fucked up metaphor?” Eddie’s eyes are wide, pleading. “Please say it was a metaphor.”

“Sorry,” Steve says sincerely.

Eddie sighs through a lacklustre chuckle. “You’re fine, Steve. As for, uh, being possessed, I don’t think so. You’re no weirder than usual, but—”

“Wow, thanks. Means such a lot coming from you.”

“—you were a bit, like, out of it for a few seconds, but it just looked like you were gonna faint on me. Um. How’re you feeling now?”

“Good,” Steve says. When Eddie raises an eyebrow, he tacks on, “As good as I can be, I guess. Still.” He groans slightly as he stands, goes back over to the sink. “Better check.”

“Check? What?”

Steve runs the water as hot as it will possibly go, until the steam is evident. He sticks his hand right into the stream, hears Eddie hiss as the water scalds his skin.

“Okay, yup. Not possessed.”

“Fucking fantastic. Now I want it cold,” Eddie says.

He takes control of the faucet, nods for Steve to put his hand under the now cold water.

After a minute or two, Eddie sighs and collapses onto the toilet seat himself.

There’s a squeak as Steve turns the faucet off—his skin’s probably not had the good of the cold water for nearly long enough, but it’ll do.

Eddie’s tipped his head back so he’s facing the ceiling, eyes closed. Steve watches him with sympathy; he really must hate blood.

“Eddie. You can go.”

“Mm, nope,” Eddie says without opening his eyes. “I’m fine right here.”

“Suit yourself.”

Steve turns back to the sink, frowns at the tiny mirror above it; there’s black spots on the glass, but he can make out enough. Christ, the bags under his eyes are horrific.

“Relax, Casanova,” Eddie says, almost as if he’s heard Steve’s thoughts. “You look good.”

“Uh-huh. Think your brain’s fried from being on the run.”

Steve leans against the sink with one hip, finds Eddie looking at him with a small smile.

“Yeah, probably. Or maybe being on the run just suits you.” Eddie’s eyes flicker down. His smile falters. “You know, in an ideal world,” he says conversationally, “you’d be in a hospital getting stitches.”

Steve scoffs. “In an ideal world, I’d be in bed sleeping.”

“Amen to that,” Eddie says lightly. But he still looks sombre. “Seriously, though. If it gets… you know. I’d drive you.”

“To the hospital? What are you gonna do, Eddie, wander up to the front desk? Sounds like a real interesting way to get arrested.”

But Eddie doesn’t leap at the chance to make a joke.

“Steve,” he says softly. “I mean it. I wouldn’t care.”

“That would sorta ruin the whole priority of hiding you.”

“That’s—” Eddie huffs. “That’s not the priority.”

“Huh, that’s funny, cause it is in my book.” Steve nods at the door, to his whole world just outside. “One of many.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “And your name better be right at the top, Harrington.”

Steve hums.

“In bold. Underlined.”

“Whatever you say.”

Eddie groans quietly, runs a hand down his face. “You worry me, man.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“I know. Just…” Eddie hesitates. “Don’t go off alone. You know?”

Steve thinks it over. He steps forward and offers Eddie his hand.

Eddie takes it.

When Steve pulls him up, he stumbles a little, as if he feels like he’s on a boat, too.

“Oops, sorry.” He grabs onto Steve’s forearm for balance. “Think this should be the other way round, man.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so.”

Steve leads the way out of the bathroom—doesn’t mention the fact that, really, they’re both holding each other up.

There’s a bottle of water left in the back. Steve twists the cap off. Drinks.

“You too,” he tells Eddie.

“Huh?”

Steve considers him—thinks of the little flare of panic he felt when watching Eddie walk through the woods, tiptoeing around vines. How he had a sudden instinct to catch up to him, to make sure he wasn’t alone.

“I’m making a deal,” Steve says. “I won’t go off alone if you don’t.”

He lifts the bottle up as if making a toast—drinks again then passes it over to Eddie.

For the slightest of moments, their fingers brush; Eddie’s rings skim over Steve’s knuckles.

“So what’s this?” Eddie asks. “Legally binding magical water?”

Steve shrugs. “Cool metaphor,” he replies.

You say you just turn heel and run, Eddie. But sometimes I think if there was a fire, you’d run towards the flames if it meant no-one else got hurt.

Eddie smiles. Tilts the bottle towards Steve.

“Guess it’s a promise, then,” he says.

He drinks.

Steve prays that it holds.

#reciprocal hurt/comfort & protectiveness because they notice each other and care so damn much. with a side of banter of course ❤️#pre steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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diwatopia · 5 months

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★ lovely ; james potter.

info: comfort, james potter x fem!reader, under 1k.

your head nuzzles into james' neck, inhaling greedily. "you smell good..." you sigh dreamily, nails raking the tiny curls at the base of his neck.

"yeah? i took a shower earlier... used that lavender soap you like," he hums while adjusting at the duvet. he huffs softly, unsure whether the cold touch of the wall that digs into his side annoys him more or the small amount of bedding left.

he tugs at the thick blanket as if attempting to get comfortable but you choose to not think much of it. in your mind, he fancies your cuddles, your affection, like he does every day.

after few seconds of finagling and a growing frown of frustration, "can you back up just a little bit? you've left me no space and this window sill is just stabbing my side like mad..." he groans.

you pout slightly, cheeks flushing a soft hue that closely resembles one of embarrassment. "sorry," you reply softly, body rolling over before scooting towards the opposite end of the bed.

"oh, love..." he makes an awfully sweet crooning sound, lips matching your bitty frown as you hug the bunched up duvet in your arms as if wired to cuddle something, to cuddle james.

james sighs, inching closer till your back meets his front. toned arms wrap around your midriff in attempt to apologize further.

"'m sorry, i didn't mean to be all over you." you speak understandingly, barely there and james feels his heart crack into trillions of pieces.

because here you are, being his undoubtedly sweet girl, showering him in your love that it makes his own affection cower next to yours.

"it's not your fault, baby. i dunno' why i spoke that way, 'm sorry." he speak weakly, as if barely noticing his original tone of voice.

you hum, "you seemed like you had a rough day... cuddles always seem to do the trick, but i guess today's different and that's okay." your voice is nothing but a squeak, soft and meek in a way that makes james believe that you'd rather not upset him again.

he's quick to prove otherwise as he showers your nape and cheek with the sweetest of kisses, soft lips against your supple skin.

"i'm not mad, my beautiful girl. you're so kind, always caring for others, thank you for the cuddles!" he lays it on thick, tone drenched in the finest of honey from the most richest of hives.

you giggle as his kisses grow tenfold, thicker fingers tickling at your waist. "jamie!" you laugh, swatting at his wrists with no real defense, more or less for show.

laughter and tickles turn to soft grazes and a love-sick gaze that makes you melt into the sheets like putty.

"why're you looking at me like that?" you whisper, thumb grazing his hairline absentmindedly.

"'cause you're lovely," he whispers back.

"you're lovely," you quip back with ease.

"nuh-uh, sweet girl. you're definitely loveliest." he coos.

★ diwa's notes: haiii this is my first post in ages and i'm super nervous bc ik my small amount of followers are def gone bc this isn't atwow TT this was just something sitting in my drafts so i hope ppl enjoy it :3 (and ellecdc if ur reading this which is a very low chance, ty for ur advice 🤍)

#★ amortentia ; james.#★ comfort.#james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter comfort #james potter masterlist #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #marauders x you #marauders masterlist

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cultpastorkevin · 9 months

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Cult Tips for AFTG writers

notes from the resident ex-cult pastor

If you’re in the cult, there is nothing bizarre abt what’s happening and in fact the normal stuff that happens outside of it is what’s bizarre to you. Target? Weird. McDonald’s? Even weirder. I can like guarantee Jean and Kevin never had McDonald’s until they left the Nest.

When you leave, you’re gonna be paranoid as fuck. All the time. Ngl at least for weeks but sometimes for years. Nightmares and insomnia 24/7. Hallucinations too lmao Riko is in every corner of empty rooms and you can hear his voice echo in the confines of the lockers.

I see a lot of Jean wanting to go back to the Nest, but not a lot of Kevin wanting to go back. He definitely struggled, 100%. In fact when he was in the pits of agony from his broken hand, was when he probably wanted to go back the most. Cult is home, cult is safe. Four walls you’ve always known and while it’s a cage at least it’s dependable. They hurt you but by god it always works out and the reward of pushing through this tragic incident is greater than the terror it caused in the first place. It’s a gift, actually. A gift from Riko. He saved Kevin. Cults save you. Cults make you wanna return to them like damn homing pigeons bruh. Give me more shattered hand Kevin screaming at Wymack to let him go back home and having a breakdown when he’s denied fics thanks

Piggybacking off the last one: cults are saviors; you’re nothing without them and they make sure you truly believe that; that everything that is done to you is for you and you’re blessed for it to be happening. You’re lucky even, to be allowed in it. Everything is as it’s supposed to be and order must never be challenged, because it works, and you’re the Edgar Allan Ravens, and this is the most honorable place you could be. All the pain you go through is you earning the right to be saved and to prove your worth every day on court. Only the worthy are honored.

You justify everything that happened and you will start fights and get angry with people who try to correct you and tell you it was wrong what went on.

On the other hand, you blame yourself for everything ever that happened there whether you were at fault or not. Hurting others, hurting yourself, gaslighting the fuck out of yourself over things maybe you could’ve prevented and over things you never could’ve stopped. The guilt is crippling and it eats you alive and haunts you.

There’s a lot of shame too. I see more guilt written than shame but shame is a huge portion of emotions that cult survivors have. Shits embarassing dude like “god how did I end up thinking this wack ass shit was normal” 😐 Shame comes later in the healing process usually, it’s after you have come to terms with shit that’s happened and you understand it. Looking back, you go “Jesus fucking Christ that was a red flag what the hell. Should’ve left then, or then, or then, or then” and then you’re just plain fuckin embarrassed.

Please look up how hive minds and brainwashing are created and work; also Stockholm Syndrome; understanding these would be incredibly helpful tbfh.

Diets are big; everyone eats the same thing; food is used as a reward and a punishment.

Hype hype hype. They whip up a frenzy of one singular emotion and use that to push you into a blind hysteria because you’re more suspectible to their influence when you’re out of your mind.

Drugs. Depends on the cult. But yeah these little bitches can be a huge factor for shit and can help with the brainwashing and hysteria and stockholm. Sometimes you don’t even know you’re being drugged or poisoned until you leave.

OH I ALMOST FORGOT. Dehumanization and then being treated like a person again can be traumatic as fuck yall!! Holy shit! Sometimes it feels worse than being dehumanized!

EDIT AGAIN: you don’t know what mental illness is !! Cults don’t fucking tell you these things lmao. if you show symptoms it’s your fault. Kevin being depressed his mom died was gonna get blamed on him and he was never going to be told grief is normal and it’s okay to be insanely sad. Jean also never got told his anger was correct or his trauma responses to being raped were realistic! They just got blamed for any reactions ever that weren’t neurotypical !! that is all; do with that what you will.

Idk if I think of anything else I’ll write another one but that’s all for now; I haven’t slept much lmao 🫡

#aftg #all for the game #edgar allan ravens #jean moreau #kevin day #riko moriyama #riko was a cult victim too yall #smh keep seeing people forget this #tetsuji moriyama #cult stuff #psycho analysis of aftg #kinda #it’s close enough #castle evermore #aftg fanfic #cultpastorkevin

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manicrouge · 2 months

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Somethin' Stupid

[ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ ʀɪʟᴇʏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

❥๑━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━๑❥

There's nothing he can do and he knows he can't control himself whenever you're around him. There had been a fierce change in himself, he spotted such from the way he dress, all the way down to what his hair smelt of. The introduction of you into his life was something that he had not expected, in fact, you'd struck him like a bullet upon your first meeting.

There were many things up in the air when it came to you and him, just like there were with every single thing in his life, but the one thing he was sure of was the fact that you were there. Everything else surrounding the pair of you seemed to blur — consumed by a flurry of emotions that, really, he had no idea he was capable of feeling.

He admired you in secret, unable to speak of you to anyone else. His mind had constructed a résumé of all the things which made you so dear to him: the way you could talk endlessly about your passions, the way you would greet him when he eventually arrived home from an op, all the way down to the serious look you would offer him whenever tried to be the one who was discerning and honest about his feelings — an art of which he found you knew all about, while he knew nothing at all.

That was an established fact until that night.

He'd been waiting on the sofa for you as he'd booked a reservation for a restaurant down town. His face felt bare without his mask and he could see himself in the reflection of his phone as he stared at the black screen. Stoic and unmoved, all for his expression to soften when he tapped the screen and saw you. Everything was there, everything was perfect, and he found his chest ached terribly with the realisation that he finally had someone.

And, fortunately, that someone was you.

His father had been firm on his assessment of him: always bound to be the best man, never the husband. It was his fate... or, at least, that's what his father would say to him. And he knew it was childish to think about being your husband considering you'd only been seeing each other for (exactly) 4 months. He could hardly bring the three words he had longed to say to you into his mouth, and yet, there he was, daydreaming about being your husband.

He turned his head when he felt your hands on his shoulder, and when he looked you in the eyes seeing the effort you had put into your outfit, even with your makeup (especially your eyeshadow — if that's what it's called; he's still getting used to all the new terms you've introduced him to) he felt his eyes sting as he slowly rises from the couch.

The immediate concern on your brow was the nail in the coffin for him and he finds his lips are moving before he can think rationally.

'I love you.'

The words exited with such haste, and he hoped you didn't hear what he said. However, he understood that his fate was sealed when you gawked at him, pressing your lips together. He felt as though his skin was about to break into hives, and, while he had never been one for saying sorry, he found that he couldn't keep himself from exuding a long string of apologies.

'I- I'm sorry, sweetheart, I really don't know where that came from... that was fuckin' stupid of me to say it just—'

He was silenced by your mouth against his, and his tense shoulders relaxed when you gently pushed them down. He felt you smile as the pair of you kissed, and when you pulled away from him, he was greeted with the brightest grin he'd ever seen.

'Si,' you sighed softly.

It was the that he concluded that you're as gracious as the sun in the early morning, he concluded, as welcoming as a warm cup of coffee on a cold winter morning.

You were everything he'd ever wanted, and so much more.

'It's not stupid,' you refuted firmly, shaking your head as you raised your hands to hold the side of his face, 'I love you too, Si. A lot.'

His heart felt as though it's going to explode inside of his chest, your loving gaze on him leaving him speechless as he simply stood and admired you. The pad of your thumb rubs against his scarred cheek.

'Every single part of you,' you added as though you could read his thoughts. 'So don't you dare feel stupid, hey? I'm not mad... I'm flattered, really.'

'I love you,' he repeated, unable to stop himself again, nodding his head as he spoke, even offering you a smile — granted the muscles in his face were still getting used to such an expression and there's a significant pull in his face, even a slight discomfort. But, he did it for you. 'So fuckin' much. More than anything in this world. '

'I love you more,' you answered with a grin as though to challenge him, holding him with such a gentle touch he was left unnerved at the fact that someone's hands could feel so pure against his beaten and scarred flesh. Really, he felt as though he didn't deserve it in the slightest. And maybe, just maybe you did love him more, but with all his flaws and the man that he knew was, he struggled to understand why.

'I doubt that, sweetheart,' he uttered before placing his lips back on yours.

❥๑━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━๑❥

#another random thought lol #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon cod #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley x y/n #cod x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #cod modern warfare #this is cute i think #cod x female reader #cod x y/n #simon ghost x reader

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diejager · 3 months

Note

More crow! Reader please for 141. I just love the idea of an eldritch being choosing and staying deliberately with a pack of monsters below their caliber for the sake of fondness

Crow Pt. 2

Pairing: Monster COD x Eldritch horror!reader

Cw: cannibalism, human meat, weird Eldritch horror thing, hive mind, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.7k Note: I wrote this over a few months, and I haven’t proofread it so a few parts might not connect.

With the knowledge they now held in their hands, they didn’t know how to react. You were, for all they knew, an ancient being, primordial even, and you were dangerous, much more than the unpredictability of König’s ire or the wildness of Ghost’s darkness. They didn’t know how to deal with the weight on their shoulder when your eyes landed on them, or how to react when they heard you speak to them with that low and raspy voice that you so rarely used.

After that day in Russia, the saw you more often, rather than finding you at night around your murder of crows, in the darkness of your room or standing beside Price, they would find you in their rec room, sitting beside the open window while petting the body of a bird; you’d meet them in the gym, watching them train and sometimes join them; or you would occasionally sit beside them. You opened up to them, letting the men see what laid under your mask. Price encouraged them to reach out, to ask you questions and to quell their curiosity by speaking to you.

Soap and Gaz were the first to jump to the occasion, their wide eyes gleaming with innocent curiosity threatening to spill over the edge. In the privacy of their personal space, they swarmed you with enthusiasm, Gaz standing to your left and Soap to your right. Ghost was fortunate to be in the room that day, drinking tea from the table while Alejandro and Rudy shared the couch. König and Horangi were deployed off to some remote village to help another company detain their target, and Price was slaving off in his office signing off paperwork.

While the two threw question after question at you, Soap being oblivious of his wagging tail and Gaz literally glowing with how much you spoke, the three men listened in, as interested in you as the two were. They learned a lot, their minds filled with everything they were given, clinging onto the sound of your voice, that soft rasp from under your mask.

When Soap, the ever-hungry pup he was, asked what you ate, a question that clouded everyone’s mind. They never saw you eat nor had they seen you at the mess hall. Your answer was soft and blunt, empty of fear and hesitance.

“Meat, human.”

You weren’t so different from Ghost and König after all, consuming humans as your means of subsistence. Yet none of them had ever caught a whiff of human blood or meat from your scent, only the strange and sterile musk from your body. Perhaps that explained why you sometimes went dark during deployments, Price only sent you out alone, believing you invulnerable (you somewhat were, old and powerful), you closed off all and any signal to gorge on human flesh.

What did your mouth look like? Could your mouth open up like those alien-like creatures, where your lower jaw was separated in the middle, breaking open into a terrifying maw filled with rows of teeth? Or were you more human looking, with a small mouth like theirs and sharp teeth like the shifters of their TF? It was a nagging thought that one would have to ask one day, or see if they were fortunate enough to catch you eating.

Gaz was mostly interested about the birds that swarmed you, the hundreds of corvid that followed you whether it knew you or not, from country to country you always had a feathery companion by your side. Mostly crows and ravens, the black feathers glistening under the light and squawking at him, a hybrid of the same genus as it.

“I can feel and see through their eyes.”

It was similar to a hive mind, a connection between you and every bird from the same family as crows. You closed your eyes and had the magpie in your hand fly around, its eye moving from one hybrid to the other with an intelligent gleam, a dark and monstrous haze that came from you. You were looking at them from the magpie’s dark orbs. It landed on Gazwho - with a joyful grin - brushed its luscious feathers. You could reach out to corvidae birds, seeking help from them through their sight and ears, using their senses to navigate the world.

“I can see, hear and feel every bird,” you drawled, hand reaching out of the window for a landing rook. “I feel them as much as they feel me.”

“An extension of ye, aye?”

“An extension of my being.”

Alejandro and Rudy would sometimes chime in, throwing a question from their seat, mostly about your hobbies and preferences. What did you do when you were free? You just sat outside, admiring the weather with a few cooing birds being fed from the seeds in your hands, little round pebbles that you offered from your palm. You also liked reading, dabbing into human and hybrid literature in an attempt to familiarise yourself with their culture and behaviours or watching people conduct themselves through the eyes of your little companions.

That’s how you came to join the army, the odd behaviour and unusual attitude of most soldiers were excused by their harrowing experience and near-death meetings. You could blend in easier while keeping a slight uncanniness to your being, not necessarily perfect or impossibly broken. You were knowledgeable of military tactics and human suspicion, you were - essentially - a being of madness and chaos, you could sense the swirling tornadoes of malicious suspicion and the violent storms that promised a chaotic end.

“What did you do then?” This was Ghost’s first question, his slow, yet intrigued tone rising in tone as was his want to know you won over his contained curiosity.

Faking your deaths every time and laying low for the next decade or so had assured your safety from human cults and pagenistic beliefs who wanted to believe in something greater and deranged. Under different names - none were your true name - you enrolled in the British military and other countries, rotating between the Navy, the Army and the Air Force. Your last enrolment was the British Air Force, under another alias for the past decade until the UN made it mandatory to accept any demands from hybrids and monsters to join their ranks.

When Soap asked how you met Price, you grew pensive, blinking at the question he shot. Then you stared at him, telling him that you couldn’t tell him that story without Price’s consent. You only mentioned him working under you before without divulging to the five men any more information. They’d have to bring it up with the dragon if they wanted to know anything. Gaz and Soap groaned, pouting and whining at the limit you put down on the amount of information they could get from you.

Then they wanted to know if you dreamed, if Eldritch creatures dreamed in their slumber. If you did, would your dreams be stalked by madness? That dark and dangerous madness that loomed over any person. A creation of human and hybrid minds when they couldn’t understand anything, when reality was outside of their reach. Or, if you did, would they be filled with memories? As often as people re-lived their memories in their sleep, replaying the what ifs that the mind concocted during stressful moments in their lives.

You shook your head, you could neither dream, nor need sleep. Although it wasn’t a need like mortal beings, you enjoyed sleeping from time to time, on days where the night seemed to stretch so far into time that it seemed unending from your seat on the roof. When you slept, you confessed to them that you couldn’t see, feel or ear, it was an endless plane of darkness who reached into the farthest point of your long life, the watery floor reflected back your human - or sometimes monstrous - appearance and the place would be eerily silent except for the echoing drip from an unknown source; perhaps the ticking seconds of your eternity.

They’d all seen the good and bad in humanity, the horrors that greed and corruption could lead to, but they had less than half a century of experience while you had a millennia of living. Rather than seeing the disgust of their current time, you’d seen the world rise as fast as it crumbled, burned to ash by greed, corruption and selfishness. How could you even stand living around humans? How could you stay so patient towards humans? How could you work and dedicate your last century to them?

“It was easier,” you hummed, staring off at the setting sun, the warm caress of the sun smoothing the darkness in your eyes. “Time changed, it made humans less susceptible to hysteria and superstition. Eating, hunting and catching became harder, scientific advancement made them less… naive, so I adapted. Inherently, I am a creation of humanity’s fear of death and madness. I cannot die without the other disappearing.”

Soap managed to coax you into joining them, sitting between him and Horangi while Ghost and König sparred, their strength and prowess usually better suited to fight something of similar capabilities. Ghost was deadly if he let himself go too far, his vitriol taking away his ability to see and think clearly, making his powers lash out. It could eat and corrode, break things down to the bones without consuming anything, it felt like a curse at times and a blessing at others. It was a reason why he kept himself covered, from letting a piece of himself wander too far, to let himself grow too comfortable that he might suddenly crack and hurt the people he cared for.

Ghost guessed it was the same for König, married to his sniper veil - or a big t-shirt at times - and his form-covering clothes, it stopped him from doing something irreparable. He had anxiety, a product of his life-long social reclusivenessfrom bullying. Maybe he would’ve turned worse if his mother hadn’t been so supportive of him, a caring and loving figure in his life when his father was never in the picture. König was a lumbering beast in humans clothes, but an impulsive and instinctual monster when shifted, following his needs and instincts.

Rare monsters on their own, they spared together only, afraid of accidentally hurting one of theirs. You’d seen them fight, the bloodlust-leading adrenaline that coursed through their bodies while they terre through the field, not only these two but the whole Task Force, beasts within beasts. The power, the accuracy, the teamwork and the trust between them was mesmerising, even to you, a creature who lived to seam discord into the world; it was breathtaking.

You watched them exchange blows, König pouncing on Ghost, pressing his whole weight on the block the wraith had built up against him. König was tall and broad, but Ghost was broader, his body in a shape of undying and unchanging physique, at its peak with human strength. He could withstand the force of König’s hits, blocking them with his forearms and palms, and returning them with a hit when he broke the Austrian’s stand.

Horangi was counting their matches, voicing the scores when one of them tapped three times, forfeiting the match. Soap piped up left, right and centre, a flurry of words in Scottish that others would usually ignore or not understand, but with you, he liked going off in Scott. Thank the lucky star you understood him, he practically beamed the day he swore at the sky with jargons that everyone but you asked for a translation.

It was comfortable, Soap spoke enough for the three of you, Horangi was purring softly beside you and you were simply taking everything in, finding comfort between two of your teammates. You nod and shake your head at most questions, words slipping through your lips on rare occasions where Soap asked something that simple motions couldn’t answer. You liked listening to them talk, it filled the silence you were used to with joyful laughter. You were content with simply listening without talking, yet Soap was an enthusiastic wolf, eyes narrowing with a sly gleam.

“Ye spar, Crow?”

You shook your head, gazing at him from the corner of your eyes, blinking owlishly. You had your reservations as well, more so for the safety of others than yours. Granted, you had a milenia to learn and draw a limit for yourself, to restrain your powers to a tenth of your strength to protect those you grew to care about.

“Aw, why naw?”

“Too dangerous, Soap.”

That caught Horangi’s attention, his eyes and ears straying from the spar to listen to your conversation, not that it bothered you.

“Can’t be that bad, can it?”

At this point, König and Ghost were brought out of their haze, shoulders raising and skin coated in a sheen of sweat, they breathed heavily as they strained an ear to Soap’s encouragement. Limbs untangling from one another, they leaned on the flexible cords of the ring, amused eyes staring at you three.

“It can be.”

“Why not give it a shot, yeah?” Ghost piped up, head tilted with his nose pointing up, an amusingly smug grin stretching his scarred lips.

“If not Soap, Ghost or I could fight you, nh?” König continued, who - unlike Ghost - had his head down, blinking lazily at you with squinted eyes, a smile hidden under the shirt he used as a veil.

You were hesitant, staring at them while you mulled over your choices: to either fold and appease their curiosity or to hold strong and reject the offer. But where was the fun in that? They looked giddy and excited, like pups finding out that they were getting treats. Soap was riddled with enthusiasm, leg jumping as fast as his wagging tail, the repetitive soft thuds from his tail hitting against the bench showed how much he expected you to say yes, how much he wanted to see you fight one of theirs.

You truly wanted to decline, to tell them that you wouldn’t want to accidentally hurt them, knowing that your restraint was practised with ease, but they didn’t know that. You truly did, but with Horangi’s swaying and thrilled tail, König’swide and happy eyes, and Ghost’s soft rumble, groundingly affirmative, adding to Soap’s eagerness, you found it difficult to brush off by their wishes.

Soap burst with joy when you nodded, pushing himself and Horangi closer to the ring. You jumped over the big cables and into the ring as Ghost moved out, it seemed that the two decided the order even before you agreed. You shrugged off your jacket, you tight shirt riding up your stomach, the soft fabric the same shade as your dark blue jacket. Hanging it on a pole, you turned to face a thrilled König, his body vibrating as he peered down at you.

It was almost ridiculous how different you were to him. You were neither board nor tall as König and Ghost, you weren’t insanely big and buff like any of them either. You were normal, an average person surrounded with big hybrids. You wouldn’t fault anyone for believing that you were the weakest out of the bunch, seemingly too small and human like to be the strongest, but they knew, most monsters and hybrids had this instinctual fear - ingrained into them for as long as they existed - for monsters that looked too human.

Horangi was once again nominated as the referee, he repeated the rules, anything went as long as the opposite party’s aware of the three taps for yielding. Hybrids were tougher and more resilient than human bodies, so most restrictions put in place for humans were lifted in hybrid spars, especially in this Task Force.

At the end of the count, König charged you, his big body pouncing on your smaller and nimbler one. You moved and bowed when he lunged, feet dancing around his loud stomps. He growled, jabbing at you with his right hand and lunging with a left hook when you blocked his hit with your forearm. It was a back and forth motion, he took the offensive position while you stayed on the defensive, taking hits leg and right. After a right hook, you expected a jab, but Königbowed down and kicked out his leg, aiming at sweeping you off your feet. It was a great change in tactic, surprising you with his quick movement.

You kicked up, hands firmly placed on his shoulder as you flipped over him. Soap whooped at your acrobatic move, moving and jumping around like a dancer - a gymnastic chorus - while König rushed frenziedly, strong hits and wide kicks, his body giving him a wider range than your shorter one. König growled, twisting in a crouch to tackle you down, his body was a weapon by itself. You landed with a grunt, wrapping your legs around him, one under his arm and the other around his neck. His hand latched to the arm you used to guard your throat while wrestling with his other one.

He cackled in your guard, voice rumbling out his chest as you choked him, lean legs hooking by the ankle to hold his chest down. His legs kicked, kneeling down uncomfortably, choking down a loud snarl. König tried breaking your hold, but you held strongly, using your monstrous strength to keep him down. He tapped your thigh, three soft taps that made you loosen your lock. König rose first, panting loudly with a satisfied purr as he sat, arched forward. Standing before him, you waved your hand to him, giving him help to stand on his feet.

Ghost had already joined you when you pulled König up, patting the giant’s back as he chuckled lowly, eyes squinted in amazement.

“Yer awright, König?” Soap asked, still standing beside a clapping Horangi, both tails moving excitedly.

“Yes, I’m all right.”

Unlike König, you were as winded or tired as he was, your metabolism working slowly and efficiently to survive for so long. It was a good show of power for König, to see what fought on his side rather than against him, but he doubted that you were the only Eldritch being working in the forefront, killing, consuming and hide in plain sight of other human and hybrids.

“That was Brazilian Jiu-jitsus, wasn’t it,” it was more of an affirmation than a question, Horangi knew well the technique you used against König.

He’d mentioned it in passing within the few drunken nights where you joined them at the bar, spewing his history of gambling on boxer in the ring, betting who would win for a few pennies to fill his pockets. You rarely used your hive mind on them i their leisure time, respecting their need for privacy and secrecy when you were away —they’d won your trust after a few Ops and proud and boisterous praises from Price. You shook away any lingering thoughts as you watched Ghost slip under the highest cord, entering the ring with tight fists and a mean stare, determined to get you once before he forfeited. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad that Soap forced you to watch with both him and Horangi, you - despite your tendency for your quiet corner and solace in darkness - enjoyed this team activity.

You were regretting letting Gaz and Rudy pull you to the Mess Hall, insisting that you’d be left alone in their corner of the cafeteria. People rarely engaged them when they all sat together, whispers of them being too menacing, too dangerous, or too scary for human minds. You weren’t fond of cold and stored meat, the cold destroying any semblance of freshness that recently killed meat brought. It tasted stagnant, blank of any fulfilling aspect your kills had : from the lack of warm blood still leaking from every veins and arteries, to the suppleness of the flesh, it’s soft and flexible texture cutting easily under your teeth.

You nearly gagged at the first whiff of it, locked under expectant eyes of both your teammates and curious eyes of others who’ve never seen you step a foot in the room. Your first bite was horrendous, your mouth washed with the revolting flavour of cold and stale meat. It was levels under your usual meal —not that you needed to eat, you’d recently eaten a few days ago on a shorter run in Argentina, but where was the harm in tasting military-provided meat when König and Ghost ate it without a second thought. Or so you thought, they’d simply gone numb, not having the luxury to be picky with the taste of their meal. Unlike you, they hadn’t spent centuries hunting for themselves, born into a restrictive world when monsters and creatures ran wild but hidden.

But you still hunted, it was a ritual that even the world’s government couldn’t stop you, no one would fight one of the personalisation of chaos and madness, many having decided to abide by your word simply out of fear while very few respected your history and culture.

“How is it?” Alejandro finally join your table, sweat still glistening from his brows as he cut into his steak with gentle and skillful slices.

“Stale,” you blinked, tongue lolling out of your mouth to lick the red stains on your face, long and serpentine, another aspect of your more reptilian body.

They snickered, knowing full well how repulsive it was, sharing their little quips and jabs about the quality of food everyone on base got. A few lines about the chefs being lazy, others of them being awful and some about them being talentless, followed by shared laughter around you, shaking shoulders and bright smiles before the table exploded in chatter, guilefully ignoring the world outside the safety of their bubble.

Maybe… just maybe sitting - you’d never lay a single finger on these provided meals - with them when they ate would lighten up your world slightly, bring some flavourful warmth if it made them happy that you joined them. You refrained from saying anything, simply nodding at them and giving a small smile that seemed to brighten up their faces, restraining your interaction to a few gesture to stop yourself from feeling overwhelmed with the suddenness of emotions. Th last one who’d stirred your hearts so vividly was years ago, watching over a still learning John Price.

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green-eyedfirework · 4 months

Text

“No.”

“Bruce—”

“Absolutely not. Do you have any idea what you’re proposing?”

“It’s not a proposal,” Dick said with a calm he didn’t feel. He’d already numbed himself to the idea. “I am not asking you, Bruce. I’m telling you.”

“I am not letting my son walk straight into the hands of someone who wants him dead,” Bruce snapped, eyes flashing, as he shoved upright from the council table.

“And I,” Dick replied levelly, meeting Bruce’s gaze, “am not letting someone else suffer for a war I caused.”

Bruce shook his head, deflating slightly as his expression pinched. “You didn’t cause it, Dick,” he said quietly. “It was a set-up. You know this. King Slade knows this.”

Dick’s mouth firmed to a thin line. It didn’t matter if Slade knew now that his son had been captured by extremists and tortured until he was a weapon aimed at Gotham. It was still Dick’s sword that had ended his life. “I killed him,” Dick said softly. “I killed Prince Grant and Slade will never forget that.” Never forgive that, never mind the grudging treaty created when Hive’s treachery had come to light. “I will not let someone else take my place as a target of his rage.”

No one trusted the treaty. Not in Gotham, not in Defiance. The hostage exchange was the only thing grounding the flimsy sheet of paper—one noble from Defiance, one noble from Gotham, each with a permanent stay in the other kingdom’s court.

“Dick,” Bruce said slowly, “you’re the Crown Prince.”

“I’ve been removed from the succession,” Dick said, half-shrugging. “Your advisors won’t let you reinstate me.” Hot-headed, impetuous, reckless—whatever Bruce believed, Dick had started a war by killing a prince, and several nobles in Gotham had never wanted the son of aerialists to ascend to the throne.

“Dick—”

“You can’t stop me,” Dick crossed his arms. This was his mess, and he was going to clean it up, whether Bruce liked it or not.

Bruce slumped back into his chair, and buried his head in his hands. “Dick,” he said quietly, “please.”

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Dick said, equally quiet. “But I can’t watch someone else take my place.”

Bruce let out a slow, shuddering breath. Finally, he spoke, “You won’t go as a prince.”

“What?”

“You won’t go as a prince. Under your real name. King Slade has never seen you—” That was true, once Bruce had realized why an army was at their border, Dick had been carefully guarded. “He won’t know who you are. We can make up a minor noble family for you. A lordship on the other side of Gotham.”

“But—”

“Dick,” Bruce looked him in the eyes, his face grave and pale. “He despises you. And I will not send my son to his death, do you understand?”

Dick nodded mutely, the words ringing in his head.

He despises you.

And Slade had every right to.

~#~

It was safe to say that Slade wasn’t in a good mood. Hadn’t been in a good mood since he’d received word that his firstborn was dead, and his initial fury had receded to an ever-simmering flame of rage, a perpetual bad temper that sent everyone fleeing.

If he’d had his way, he would’ve razed Gotham to the ground and stuck every member of its royal family on a pike before he stopped. Unfortunately, King Bruce had managed to find evidence that the terrorist group Hive had been involved, muddying the facts to claim that Prince Richard had merely been acting in self-defense, and it had been enough to sour Slade’s kingdom on a costly war.

So now he was supposed to play nice with the kingdom his son had died in, signing a treaty that wasn’t worth the paper and ink, biding his time until he could have his revenge. Gotham was sticking to its best behavior for the time being and Prince Richard had vanished after he’d been removed from the line of succession, leaving Slade uselessly seething.

He glared at Wintergreen as he approached the throne. “Is that it?” he asked, gesturing to the near-empty throne room. “No petitioners to hear today?” Very few dared to show up, all of them showing a healthy fear of his temper.

“The Lord of Owlcourt has arrived,” Wintergreen said. Right. Their noble hostage. Slade had sent Drakon to Gotham days ago with careful instructions to watch and listen but do nothing unprovoked. He doubted that Gotham would give him an easy excuse to go to war, the kingdom wasn’t as cutthroat as its neighbors.

With the exception of its reckless prince.

“And I have to be here for that?” He didn’t want to greet whatever sacrificial lamb Gotham had sent, he didn’t even want to acknowledge that they existed. As minor a lord as they could find, most likely, or maybe even a merchant willing to play at being a lord for a generous payout to his family. According to Wintergreen, Owlcourt had been a royal territory until very recently, which meant that Gotham had magicked this lordship out of thin air.

Wintergreen gave him a sharp look, but didn’t start the long lecture Slade was half-expecting. Everyone was treating him like he was a piece of fucking glass, and Slade dearly wanted a fight. Wanted to draw his sword and hack away until everyone that would hurt him, hurt his children, were dead.

In his imaginings, the bodies all had dark hair and golden crowns.

“The Lord of Owlcourt,” the guards announced as they opened the doors, and Slade got his first look at the noble.

Young, younger than Slade had been expecting, dark-haired and light-eyed, expression steady as he flicked his gaze around the room, not shivering or scared. Slade flicked a glance at Wintergreen to make sure he wasn’t overthinking things. His steward had his mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowed.

Slade wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a taunt or a deliberate provocation, but if they wanted him to lose his composure, they’d have to try harder than sending a lookalike of their prince.

“Your Majesty,” the lordling dipped into a low bow. Lower than a lord to a foreign king usually bowed. The idea that they’d foisted a lordship on some random commoner was looking more and more likely. “My name is Dick Grayson, and I’m—”

“The Lord of Owlcourt, yes, we did receive the message,” Slade said, cutting him off. He made no attempt to hide his glower as Grayson straightened. “Neither of us need to pretend this is anything but what it is.” His noble hostage could rot in a tower for all Slade cared. “You will obey our rules. You will not leave the castle without permission. You want anything, you will ask Wintergreen and he’ll see if it’s necessary.” His steward inclined his head as Grayson darted a glance at him. “If you’re on anything less than your best behavior,” Slade paused, scanning the young lordling’s face. Wariness aplenty, but no outright fear. “There will be consequences.”

“Understood, Your Majesty,” Grayson dropped into another bow. Someone should teach him some etiquette before the whole court figured out he wasn’t a noble. “Thank you for your hospit—”

Slade got up from the throne and walked out before he could finish. The pleasantries had been met, and he had no intention of getting closer to a Gotham lord. Especially not one who looked so similar to the man that killed his son.

This time, when Slade dreamed of destroying his enemies and venting his grief, the corpses looked like the young Lord of Owlcourt.

~#~

Dick had half been expecting them to throw him in the dungeons and was pleasantly surprised when he was led to a room. Nowhere near as large as his quarters in Gotham, and the simplicity was clearly intended as a slight, but the room had a writing desk and a window, and didn’t seem overly cold.

“Your trunk will be brought up after it’s searched,” the steward said—Wintergreen, Dick remembered, cold eyes watching him with eerie intensity. “Anything we deem too dangerous to let you have will be destroyed.”

Dick took a breath and nodded. He hadn’t brought anything valuable with him, had correctly assumed that Defiance wouldn’t treat his possessions with any sort of courtesy.

“It should go without saying, but your best option is to keep your head down,” Wintergreen said sharply. “Do not test the King’s temper. War has been narrowly avoided, I suggest you try not to court it again.”

Don’t flinch, Dick chanted mentally in his head. Wintergreen didn’t know who he was talking to. Didn’t know how accurate his words really were.

“If there is something you require, you come to me. You will not be assigned a chaperone or a guard, and you will be stopped if trying to enter a restricted area. Meals will be served in the Great Hall, the library is open if you wish to read, and the training areas are usually empty in early morning. You will not be allowed sharpened weapons.”

That was more freedom than Dick had expected. There weren’t bars on the windows and the door appeared to lock from the inside.

“Do you have any questions?” Wintergreen asked, tone perfunctory. Dick shook his head, throat still dry from his interaction with the King.

“Very well,” Wintergreen inclined his head. “Lord Grayson.” He swept from the room before Dick could breathe through the sting of the title. No longer a prince. Never a prince again.

He’d half been prepared for his disguise to fall apart the moment he’d reached the castle’s gates. The steward’s eyes had narrowed dangerously when he’d seen him, and Dick had seen the way King Slade’s expression had flickered with surprise before cooling. They might not have seen him before, but clearly they’d heard of his appearance.

He’d thought about dying his hair, but he couldn’t bank on getting the materials to keep it up in Defiance. His only shield was a name lost to time and the prayer that they wouldn’t put it together.

Dick sank down into the chair and exhaled slowly.

It had worked.

~#~

Unfortunately, the Lord of Owlcourt was a model guest. He’d made no demur over his sword and dagger being seized, no protest at being forced to file a formal request for every additional piece of furniture for his rooms, no complaint at being ordered to attend every meal in the Great Hall.

The last had been Wintergreen’s idea. If it was up to Slade, he would’ve locked Grayson in a cell and thrown away the key, but Wintergreen had pointed out that Slade had sworn to treat the hostage with courtesy.

So Grayson had a decent set of rooms in the guest wing, had meals with everyone else, was allowed to roam the castle without fear of retaliation. It helped that he was an unrecognizable face—Slade didn’t doubt that Grayson had fought in the war, his hands bore sword calluses, but no one in Slade’s court had any personal animosity with the young lordling.

It also helped that the Lord of Owlcourt was charming.

~#~ ~#~

Slade turned back when he reached the door, and had to fight his twitching lips. Dick had spread out on the bed, curling up in the warmth Slade had left behind, and had pulled the blankets over his head to block out the sun.

Not a morning bird, then, but a cat. Slade shook his head as he left his room, and refused to call the emotion fondness. He wasn’t getting fond of the Lord of Owlcourt.

And what if you are? a tiny voice asked in his head.

…And what if he was. Dick was from Gotham, true, but he would be staying permanently in Slade’s court. No one had heard of Owlcourt in Defiance, so it wouldn’t ruffle any feathers amongst his court. And—and Slade couldn’t spend the rest of his life wrapped up in misery.

Dick was amusing, and a challenge. Smart and fierce and bold. Good at politics too. He was everything Slade looked for in a partner, and Slade had to admit that what was supposed to be a temporary relief had turned into a more permanent arrangement.

He recalled the way blue eyes sparkled as Slade pinned Dick to the bed, dark hair ruffled by the pillows—as much as Slade detested the underhandedness of the Waynes, Slade wouldn’t have gotten this if they hadn’t tried to provoke him.

For a moment, Slade tried to imagine what it would’ve been like if they’d actually sent over Prince Richard. If Slade, or someone else, didn’t kill him, Richard would’ve probably spent the entire time locked up in his rooms, perhaps plotting how to murder the rest of them in their sleep. There was certainly no way they would’ve ended up sleeping together.

The very thought was ridiculous. As if Prince Richard would’ve ever—

“I volunteered.”

“My cousin. She’s a tutor for the youngest prince.”

“I learned swordsmanship from the very best, Your Majesty.”

Slade came to a stop in the middle of the corridor.

No.

That was—impossible.

No one would ever—

Dick, on his knees, almost trembling, and the snarl of what did they teach in Gotham, that he thought Slade would ever do such a thing forestalled by his fury for the young lordling, what kind of royal family sent someone to sacrifice everything for their mistakes?

“The King is a good man,” Dick sighed, “And his family are good people.”

“It’s my duty,” Dick said quietly, “For my kingdom.”

My.

But no king would ever send his heir as hostage if there was another choice. No father would ever send his son to someone who wanted him dead.

Slade was being ridiculous. Dick was just a noble’s bastard son with a passing resemblance to the Crown Prince of Gotham.

…Dick was a short form of Richard.

~#~

“It’s a pity,” Slade said softly, “That we don’t have Prince Richard to explain away this one too.”

The courtiers laughed. Dick didn’t.

Slade was staring directly at him.

~#~ ~#~

Dick laced his fingers around the cup, and took another sip. It was refreshing. It was water. It was something to do that wasn’t looking up at Slade, because he didn’t think he could handle looking up at Slade right now.

He’d been ready, when he approached the castle, for his paper-thin disguise to fall apart. For Slade to kill him where he stood, and know that at least in death he kept his kingdom safe. He—he had not been prepared to watch Slade’s face twist into hate after softening, after he knew what Slade looked like grinning sharp and victorious, or solemn, or sleepily content with the early morning sun splayed over his face. It…hurt.

Dick took another small sip of water. The cup was already three-quarters empty. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could drag this out.

The door opened again, and Dick’s fingers tightened on the cup. The boots in front of him jerked, and turned to face the newcomer, but Dick didn’t look up. It wouldn’t make a difference.

“Wintergreen,” Slade said flatly, sounding both confused and displeased at once.

“Slade,” the steward answered in the same flat tone, “And here I was half-expecting he’d already be dead.”

Dick raised his head, bewildered. The way Wintergreen had said that—

“You knew?” Oh, Slade sounded furious now. “Since when?”

Wintergreen didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by his king’s agitation, instead studying Dick as Slade growled. “A week or so after his arrival. Before you, I wager.” Dick’s stomach twisted—how long had Slade known? Dick hadn’t noticed any sudden difference in him, anything to suggest that he knew Dick was the person that had killed his son.

Before sleeping with him?

After?

“How?” Slade demanded.

“I already told you of my findings regarding Owlcourt,” Wintergreen said mildly, “But if he was some merchant’s son or a farmer, no amount of drilling in manners would’ve been able to replicate being raised a noble. So that must mean he’s a noble. But then why hide his real title, why give him some random royal territory?” Wintergreen shrugged lightly, “If he looks so much like the prince, then perhaps he is the prince.”

“And you didn’t tell me,” Slade bit back. Dick took another quiet sip of water.

“No, Slade, I didn’t tell you, because you would’ve killed him,” Wintergreen snapped back, “And started another war, hostage or not, by murdering Gotham’s Crown Prince.”

“I’m not,” rang out into sudden silence. Dick winced, but—but he couldn’t stay silent forever. “I’m not the Crown Prince,” he said quietly.

Slade and Wintergreen were both staring at him now. Dick fought the urge to hide.

“We just went over this,” Slade began, but Dick cut him off.

“No, not—I was the Crown Prince. I’m not anymore.”

Slade narrowed his eyes, but it was Wintergreen who spoke. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“The council,” Dick explained, “One of their conditions was that my adoption be revoked.” Bruce had been furious, but his court had agreed that it was an elegant solution—if a prince had not slaughtered a prince, the consequence would never have been war—and by that time, Dick had already made up his mind to go so it had been a moot point. “So I’m not. A prince or a Wayne. I—Owlcourt is a royal territory, yes, but I have a claim to it, through my great-grandfather. My name was Grayson, before Bruce adopted me. It—wasn’t a lie.”

Slade and Wintergreen were staring at him, silent. Dick swallowed, and bowed his head.

“But it’s a deliberate omission,” Dick said quietly, “I understand why you’re angry.” Still two sips of water left in the cup, but Dick put it down, before shifting forward to fold onto his knees. “Killing me won’t start a war,” Dick almost whispered, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Another stretching silence, before boots came closer. “Out of curiosity,” Slade said, his voice level, “How long did you think you’d get away with it?”

Dick—didn’t know. There had always been an end date in sight. All he could do was push it another day away. “Hopefully long enough that tensions would’ve died down,” Dick said quietly, because he was still a hostage, and if Slade killed him without provocation, the treaty would be in turmoil. Too soon after the war, and angry, grieving people might seize the opportunity to attack again.

Slade made an irritated sound. “I’m not going to kill you,” he snapped, one boot nudging his knee, “Get up.”

Dick processed the order before he processed the statement, so he stuttered halfway up, nearly falling back down before he recovered and straightened fully. Slade wasn’t looking at him, but his face was set in a glower. Wintergreen looked…mildly amused. Or satisfied.

#my snippets #sladick #royalty au #royal hostage #identity reveal #snippets from various parts of the story #self sacrifice #mistaken identity

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historicity-was-already-taken · 5 months

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pixeljade: #it IS very much a complex issue and I feel like saying that has been pissing off a lot of folks on both sides #one fact i would add to the table is that the current actions against palestine DO constitute a genocide by definition #its a word i hear pro-Israel people get very upset by because they think it is inherently comparing this to the holocaust #but its not. some people DO and thats its own discussion. but calling it a “genocide” is simply accurate and undeniable

Speaking as someone who was that pro-Israel person in her teens and very early 20s, the reactions you're describing are 800% cognitive dissonance freak outs. Most of these people, like me, received either directly or indirectly from their Elders in the Jewish community a very trauma-induced and deeply emotional information about the history of this situation, which boils down to: "They tried to kill us all once and they didn't now we finally have returned to the Promised Land, the only place we have to shield ourselves against It Happening Again. Israel's detractors hate that Jews can defend themselves now, and if any of them, including the Palestinians, were to have their way, they'd see us all dead. We must defend ourselves at all costs, and not let anyone ever put us in existential danger as a people ever again."

And then to have some rando 19 year old who knows jack shit about your or your community or your community's trauma to get up in your face and start screaming at you about genocide? It's only going to trigger that intergenerational trauma, and cause the party being screamed at to dig deeper into their defensive, cognitive-dissonance fueled response. Which, if we were to boil that response down to a thought process, looks like "This person hates me and all Jews. They think we're a hive mind who don't deserve to live. Thank G-d for Israel."

What's complex, is that not everything in that trauma response is wrong, and not everything the dumbass 19 yo who has no interest in unpacking their own learned anti-Semitism was wrong.

Israel's actions towards Palestinian Arabs since 1948 does fit several definitions of genocide and/or ethnic cleansing. And many of the Westerners who scream about it the loudest are fairly openly anti-Semitic.

Now, as someone with big Holocaust intergenerational trauma in her family, I am sympathetic to the Jewish kid in this scenario. But cognitive dissonance is just that: the domain of a child. Adults understand that cognitive dissonance is a little voice in our head telling us "Hey comrade our discomfort with this is a little much. Maybe this is a learning opportunity?"

I mean, that's what I did. But it's difficult. Its uncomfortable, and that scares people. It's much easier to believe that "They call it the Naqba because they hate us and think our survival and access to national self-determination is a disaster,"* than it is to understand that "They call it the Naqba because it was the near total dispossession and ethnic cleansing of Palestinian Arab populations from their generational homes and properties."

And again, everything I'm saying here is a result of my journey from a hardcore Zionist-in-the-contemporary-sense child (though always left in terms of domestic US Politics), to a grown Holocaust historian who understands that Israel is no better and no worse than all the other nation states (for new readers, I understand the nation-state as a political entity, the logical end point of which is genocide and/or ethnic cleansing), and openly criticizes it on those grounds.

*A rabbi in a youth group I belonged to told me this almost verbatim when I was 15. And when you're 15 and somebody tells you they love you you're gonna believe them.

#this post is clunky but i have a fever so w/e #i have great love and compassion for my community as an american jewish woman #so much of how american jewry remembers the history of israel is shaped by our collective trauma #sometimes in ways that we ourselves don't understand #i'm not here to shit on them #but i am here to compassionately call them in #and the only groups who i don't expect that compassion from #are actual palestinians

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freeuselandonorris · 7 months

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I wish you’d write a fic where lando tries different antics to get oscar to lose his cool a bit (both in the bedroom and out ig)!

HELLO ANON thank you for this delicious prompt! i actually ended up going off in a slightly different direction to what you asked for because it sort of ran away with me, so i hope you still enjoy it ❤️

The first time he does it, it’s an accident, although Oscar doesn’t seem to think so.

It’s a couple of minutes before the start of FP2 and the garage is a hive of activity. Ted Kravitz is stood about ten feet away, pointing energetically at something from the mouth of the garage. There are at least three cameras within shooting distance. So Lando doesn’t think much of it when he squeezes past Oscar, shifting him out of the way by the hips to get to his cubbyhole, because there’s no thought behind it other than Oscar is standing in the way and it’s too loud to say excuse me. When Lando’s hands make contact with his racesuit, Oscar jumps. Lando laughs, pats his back and carries on, thinking nothing more of it.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Oscar asks accusingly, after the session when they’re waiting to leave.

Lando squints, mystified. Racks his brains to figure out whether he’d accidentally cut Oscar up on track or blocked him on a fast lap. “Do what?”

“In the garage,” Oscar says. He’s watching Lando with a funny expression, eyes locked on his face. He wets his lips. “When you—” He stops, eyes snapping to his feet.

“What?” Lando says. It’s funny — for all Oscar looks supremely unbothered by basically everything, reacting to stress and joy alike with little more than an eyebrow raise, he does have one tell. He blushes more easily than almost anyone Lando’s ever met, except maybe Morgan, who’s got the excuse of being ginger.

“Never mind,” Oscar says. He’s so red. “I just thought — when you came past me. I thought you were too close on purpose.”

Huh. Lando tilts his head, studying Oscar. “Nope. Sorry, mate. Won’t happen again.”

“No,” Oscar says hastily, before Lando’s even finished speaking. “It’s fine. It wasn’t — It’s fine.”

His face is scarlet now, the flush spreading right across his nose and cheeks. Even his ears are pink.

Interesting.

The second time he does it, they’re alone. In a lift, to be exact, which means Lando only has about fifteen seconds. By virtue of being in the executive suites, they’re both posted to the top floor, and the lift that had been full of various team personnel empties out suddenly on floor seven, leaving them leaning against the back handrail, alone.

Lando leans over, tips his head onto Oscar’s shoulder and yawns exaggeratedly. “Wow,” he says airily. “I’m beat.”

Their heights don’t match up properly for this at all. Lando’s ear is squashed against Oscar’s shoulder. He feels Oscar go still for a few seconds, and then, abruptly, his shoulder drops. Like he’s listing deliberately to one side, lowering his shoulder for Lando’s head to fit.

Lando bites back a smile, nestles into the curve of Oscar’s throat. Twists his head so his breath gusts out against the soft skin. Breathes in deep. “Wow, Osc, you smell good. New cologne?”

His head jiggles as Oscar swallows hard. “No. Nope. Same one as always.”

“Hmm,” Lando says, and presses his nose into Oscar’s shoulder, revelling in Oscar’s shuddery inhale. “Maybe I’ve just not been close enough to notice before.”

The third time, they’re being filmed. They’re in a conference room downstairs at the hotel, sun streaming through the windows, backing out onto some tennis courts Lando quite fancies getting onto later, if he gets chance. They’ve been positioned next to each other on an uncomfortable sofa, answering quickfire questions for some YouTube channel Lando’s never heard of. His back is killing him, or at least that’s the excuse he’ll use if anyone asks why he he swings his feet up off the floor and drops them into Oscar’s lap.

Oscar stops halfway through a sentence, stammering to a halt. His hands hover in midair, awkward.

Lando wriggles his feet, feeling the muscles in Oscar’s thighs. They’re so firm, even through the rubber of his soles.

“Sorry,” Oscar says to the interviewer, who’s looking at them bemusedly. He turns to Lando. “Really, mate?”

Lando shrugs, doesn’t move his feet. Smiles the smile that let him get away with being a little shit at school. After a moment, Oscar’s hands settle on top of his trainers, curled tentatively around his feet.

“Okay,” the interviewer says. “Let’s go again.”

Afterwards, Oscar stands up quickly, dislodging Lando’s feet so fast his trainers squeak on the polished floor when they land. He yanks his hoodie down over his hips, but not before Lando sees it. Hard not to, really, given that he’s still sat down at crotch height. The front of Oscar’s jeans, stretched out, just a bit.

“Oh,” Lando says stupidly.

“Shut up,” Oscar says tightly, out of the corner of his mouth. “Swear to God.”

Lando nods and struggles to his feet. Prays he hasn’t taken it too far. He’s half-expecting Oscar to make his excuses and disappear, but he sticks around to exchange pleasantries with the team. Makes jokes like nothing’s up, beckons Lando when they’re dismissed and strolls out alongside him, whistling between his teeth. Lando’s just starting to think that maybe he’d imagined the whole thing, when Oscar turns to him.

“Come to my room,” he says. Just like that, no preamble, no beating around the bush.

Lando nods, falls into step alongside him.

Lando’s barely got the door shut before Oscar’s shoving him up against it. Pinning Lando back with his hands bracketed around Lando’s biceps, staring down at him. And then he stops. Uncertainty flickers across his face.

“What is this?” he says, quiet and tense.

Lando blinks. “What do you—”

“No,” Oscar cuts him off. “Don’t bullshit me.”

He doesn’t look angry. His gaze flicks between Lando’s eyes and mouth. His lips part. Goosebumps break out all down Lando’s arms, starting at the point where Oscar’s warm hands wrap around him.

“Do you like it?” Lando says, squirming against the doorway. Looking up into Oscar’s dark eyes.

Oscar kisses him. Same way he’d asked: no fucking about. His teeth click against Lando’s with the force of it, tongue dipping inside Lando’s mouth and retreating, a maddening tease.

Lando’s gasping for breath by the time they break apart. His skin burns, prickly like he’s starting with flu, only good. He grabs Oscar’s wrist, wrenches it away from his arm and shoves it under his hoodie. They both gasp when Oscar’s hand touches skin, Lando sucking in his belly involuntarily.

“You’ve been driving me fucking mental,” Oscar says, a low growl. Lando shudders and lets his head thud back against the door. Oscar’s fingers curl into the soft space below his ribs. “You know that? Can barely think straight, sitting there wondering when you’re gonna do it again.”

“Hardly even done anything,” Lando mutters.

Oscar scoffs, but his eyes are soft. He grips the bottom of Lando’s hoodie and the shirt underneath, pulling them up far enough to expose his stomach, and looks at the skin on display. Lando arches his back, squirming under the scrutiny.

Holding the fabric up, Oscar scrapes the nails of his other hand in one long line down Lando’s stomach, letting them snag in the waistband of his joggers at the end of the trail. His nails leave streaks of fire down Lando’s skin. He can’t help but imagine it, even though he can’t see past his clothes: pink lines, marks on his skin, put there by Oscar.

Oscar ducks in again, kisses him for a few destabilising seconds. This time, when they separate, he stays close enough that Lando can see the tiny, distorted reflections of himself in Oscar’s dark eyes. He brings one hand up, cupping the back of Oscar’s neck, where the hair is short and soft.

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes. Abruptly, Lando realises he’s trembling, his entire body shivering with desire. He might have wanted this for a lot longer than he’s let himself think about. “Yeah, I like it.”

#prompt fill #landoscar #lando norris/oscar piastri #ln4 #op81 #mctwinks #answered

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averyfawkes · 19 days

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6 months passed by like wind. My rehabilitation has gone smoothly and I can't ask for more. The nurses who assist me every day are such sweethearts. They treat me nicely and gossip with me while they do their rounds. They're all funny and caring, and I couldn't ask for more. I'm slowly regaining my control over my body as years of being in coma sapped away my strength and vitality. Everyone praises me for doing my best to eat all my food, take my prescriptions, and give my best in any physical exercises they put me through. Even my mom and my sister, Agnes, were surprised at how I remained positive despite the hardships that I'm facing after waking up. I just give them all a smile and say that I'm just looking forward to the day when I'm fully recovered and resume my life again. I mean, who wouldn't be excited to live their life when they discovered that they literally have a hive mind constantly expanding within their consciousness?

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

I hear my alarms start ringing, indicating that I should get up and start my day. These past few months have been a rollercoaster for me and my Dad. He finally confessed to my mom about his sexuality and she also confessed to her infidelity. Both of them acknowledged that having me in their 20's was the only reason they decided to be together. But now that I'm almost done with college, they both thought that it's best for them to be true to each other about how they really felt.

I didn't take that well at first, but after my dad talked to me one night in my bedroom, I felt like I just had a different perspective in life. Rather than dwelling about how I should feel about this whole thing, I'm old enough now to discover myself too and not end up like my Mom and Dad. They still love each other but more in a friendship-type love. I can't go back to the past and prevent them from having me and setting aside their own dreams, but I can focus on my own and let them fully express themselves.

Right on schedule, Dad comes into my room with his phone in hand. He checks on me and smiles as soon as he sees that I'm awake. He raises both his eyebrows before waving his phone at me. I just replied with a nod before lifting both my arms to pose for my morning update. I look straight into Dad's camera and flash a gentle smile, knowing that Avery will love my morning update.

"Fuck, Ethan. You look so hot right now. If Avery is here, I would definitely ask him for permission to suck your cock and gulp your cum. I'm so glad that you told me that you're gay too, just like your old man." Dad says as he types on his phone with his right hand while stroking his boner with his left.

"Oh come one, Dad. You know the rules. My body is only for Avery and no one else's. I haven't cummed for a month now. Avery wants me to save it until he's discharged, and I couldn't ask for more. Although, I'm having a hard time focusing now. The anticipation of finally being able to let Avery enjoy my body is killing me. It's all I can think about right now." I stand up from my bed and stretch my limbs as I talk to Dad. I can feel my dick getting harder just by talking about Avery. I can still remember the day that I met him.

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

Damn! My dad is a faggot?! I can't believe this. Now it makes so much sense. Why he's been distant with mom lately, why he likes to pick me up after football practice when I was in highschool, why some of my friends in college told me back then that they swore that a gay friend of theirs saw my dad on Grindr. I thought they were just making all that shit up. I never thought that my gym-hound, alpha man of a dad is a fucking fairy.

After he and mom told the news to me over dinner, I didn't say anything and just walked up to my room. Mom cried while asking me to sit back down but I just ignored her and headed to my room. What do they expect from me? Celebrate how my mom is a slut and my dad is a fucking fairy? Fuck that! I was planning on moving out of this house as soon as I got my first job but fuck this. If I don't get out of here, I will lose my goddamn mind. I can just stay over at my friends' couch for a while, move in with Sophie, or just sleep on the streets. Anywhere is better than spending another minute in this clown house.

Suddenly, my door flung open even when I locked it. I see my dad standing on my doorway with keys in his hand. His eyes are red in tears but he's not making a sound. He gazes down on me as I pack my suitcase full of clothes. He looks back at me with a confused look before gazing down on my suitcase.

In an instant, I noticed something came over him as his body became rigid and tense. His body shudders as if he just peed himself before his eyes roll back into his head. He looks at me with only whites in his eyes and his jaw hanging open as if he was about to puke. I want to move but my body is frozen in utter terror. And then he lunged at me. He pins me down on the floor as his mouth closes into mine. I felt this thick, gooey fluid pouring out from dad's mouth into mine. My head throbs as if I was drunk, high, and horny all at once.

Your parents tried their best to raise you and give you a whole family. Are you going to forget that just because they both made some mistakes? They're both human and did everything they can despite having you while underaged. Cut them some slack and just be happy that they're starting to figure out themselves.

I open my eyes and see that it's morning already. Maybe I overreacted last night when I walked out of them. My mom seemed really hurt by what I did because I never did that to her. My mom and my dad have been great parents to me growing up. I should at least give them some chance to rediscover themselves after all the years of giving me the best childhood any kid could ask. I should set this right and make up for my outbursts last night.

I sit up on the edge of my bed as I check my phone. I should at least tell Sophie what happened last night. She might be worried since I always call her before I go to bed. She also mentioned yesterday that she'll be having her first day at work today. I should talk to her to calm her nerves since she tends to overthink a lot.

You don't need to call her. You don't even need to talk to her anymore. You love that girl because you were in college and you need to fit in, that's all. You just want to experience having a girlfriend in college. You don't want to end up like your parents and become stuck with someone like her. You're young and fit, you need to break up with her so you can see what the world offers.

I stare at my Sophie's number on my phone. Do I really want to talk to her right now? Do I really love her? Do I want to end up marrying her and have children with her? Of course! Absolutely! Sophie is the right amount of sexy, crazy, and responsible. Thanks to her, I was able to graduate without failing marks. In times that I need encouragement, Sophie knows what to say to help me get rid of my doubts and fears. I want to build a life with her, and now that she's starting her first job, I want to show how much I support her like she supported me.

You don't even know what to say to her. What if you say something that will make her overthink and mess up her first day. Women are fragile. Anything can affect her performance. It's better to wait until the day ends and then you can talk to her. You have a busy day. You need to get ready to go.

I find my body standing up and heading to the bathroom. I sit on my toilet and take a dump while scrolling through my phone. Maybe I'll just call Sophie after dinner. I don't want to mess with her head and make her lose her focus by saying the wrong stuff. But where am I going? I was planning to hit the gym today and then look for a job posting around the town while jogging back to my house. I don't consider this a busy day.

As I take a dump, I hear my door open. I immediately wipe my ass to see who's inside my room now. I like my privacy but still let my parents go in and out of my room as they please. After I wipe my ass clean, I go out of my bathroom and see my Dad sitting on my swivel chair, looking at something on my computer. As soon as he notices me, he minimizes the tab and swivels to face me.

"Ethan, how are you feeling? Can I talk to you? I just need a moment of your time." Dad asks me as he pats his left thigh, as if he's asking me to sit on it.

I'm so confused right now. I know that Dad just confessed about being gay but this is unacceptable. Barging into my room, using my computer without permission, asking me to sit on his lap?! That's it, now I'm really done.

You always sit on your Dad's lap when he needs to tell you something important. You're a good boy, you always listen to Dad. Every time you sit on his lap, you find yourself opening up to him easily. His words fill up your mind with what you need to do to continue being a good boy. You love sitting on his lap. You love being a good boy for your Dad.

Shit, this must be serious. Dad only asks me to sit on his lap if things are serious and he needs to tell me what I should do to remain as a good boy. I slowly walk up to my Dad and gently sit on his lap. I look straight into his eyes and find myself focusing on him. He reaches out to my computer and I notice the light of my webcam opening but it doesn't matter. I need to listen to Dad and to whatever he has to say. I want to be a good boy.

Dad looks back at me and smiles. I love seeing my Dad smile. I love how I can make my Dad happy. I feel his right hand going behind my back and touching my shoulder while his left hand grabs my cock through my shorts and gives it a firm but gentle squeeze. As soon as he opens his mouth, I find my mind becoming empty of thoughts.

"Ethan, the one who freed me wants to know you more. He thinks that you'll be the perfect boyfriend for him since you're around his age. He's a little shy and reclusive since he's been in a coma for 10 years. He decides that if he wants to have a pretty normal life, he'll need to have normal relationships aside from what he has with me and countless men who are now freed from their responsibilities. Now son, I want you to look at the camera and tell him all he needs to know about my wonderful son." Dad explains to me as I slowly turn my head to the camera and smile. I feel my cock getting harder as Dad pulls down my shorts and starts jerking me off.

"Hi! My full name is Ethan Carter Phillips. I'm 25 years old and my height is 6'2" while I weigh 200 lbs. I work out a lot and my body fat percentage is 10%. I have a degree in finance and just passed my CPA licensure. My dick is 9 inches long and 3 inches thick when fully hard. My balls are heavy and huge, and I can recover quickly from an orgasm. I love fucking my girlfriend, Sophie, in missionary while I play with her nipples until she cums. I want her to be the mother of my children someday. I want to secure a high-paying job so I can give her and our children a life of luxury that they deserve." I find myself sharing all this personal information about myself as if I'm answering a questionnaire listed in my head.

"Oh son, you don't need to put pressure on yourself just to have that kind of life. Not everything can be planned like that in real life. Look at your mom and I, I always knew in my heart that I was gay but I was too scared to come to terms with who I am. I gave it to the pressures and expectations of my family and friends. I dated your mom thinking that it will help me get rid of my homosexual thoughts. Now, we're in a loveless marriage, only waiting for you to get out of the nest so we can separate privately. I don't want that for you son. You need to get yourself out there and discover who you are before settling." Dad explains to me as I find myself hanging on every word while his hand jerks my cock faster.

"Now son, I want you to come with me. We're going to visit a very special friend of mine. He encouraged me to be honest with your mom and finally admits to myself who I am. I know that he'll help you discover who you are as well. After I let go of your cock, you will dress yourself professionally as if you'll be going in an interview. After 30 minutes, meet me downstairs so we can go and meet him." Dad explicitly orders each word carved into my mind.

As Dad lets go of my rock-hard and leaking cock, I stand up from his lap and head straight to the shower to clean myself. I hear Dad going out of my room and closing the door but I don't care. I need to look promising and professional in front of Dad's special friend. I want to make a good impression on him for some reason. My heart is beating like crazy while my mind is wracked with anxiety that I may not be enough for this friend. My cock throbs harder as I moan while I scrub myself. I need to be the best version of myself. I dry myself and head back to my room to pick out my suit.

As I go downstairs, I see my Dad taking pictures of himself in the mirror. He grins as he types on his phone and exhales after seems like sending it to someone. He turns his head and notices me looking at him. I never noticed it before but Dad has a very huge cock. I can see the outline of his cock through his pants as it throbs and pulsates.

"Ready to go, son? You look sharp right now." Dad says as he walks over the kitchen counter to get his keys.

"I really want to make an impression. I just hope he will like me." I reply as we walk out of the house.

Borrow your Dad's phone and send me a selfie. I want to see how good-looking you are right now.

"Dad, can I borrow your phone? I want to take a selfie." I casually ask Dad as he immediately hands me his phone.

I open Dad's phone and type in his password. For some reason, I know what it is but I don't care about that. I open the camera and find a good angle for a quick selfie. My jaw looks sharp with my hair brushed up and with my glasses on. I look so professional and handsome right now. I quickly go into Dad's email and attach my selfie before sending it to an email address that I'm not familiar with. I smile as I catch up to Dad and hand him back his phone.

The drive to the hospital is silent and unnerving. I'm trying my best to hide my boner to my dad but it seems that my legs just spread wider. I can see that Dad does the same. We both stare ahead, not uttering a single word, as our cocks throb inside our pants and leak out pre-cum. My mind is reeling with thoughts of surrendering myself to someone. To be in service to that person for the rest of my life. To become anything that he wishes. Nothing else matters. My focus is now directed into a singular objective for a single person. I can't put a finger on who this person is. All I know now is that I see this person's eyes, I will know it with all my heart.

Dad parks his car in the hospital's basement as he leads me to the elevator. Everything around me fades into a distant noise as I can only recognize my Dad's muscular back and the need to follow him. Dad walks into the hospital's hallway with a clear destination in mind. All I have to do is follow him until I can meet this person. Dad walks into a room and opens the door widely so I can go inside before him. There, I saw this thin, weak-looking man resting on his bed. He looks young and seems like he's been in this hospital for quite some time. I walk closer to his bed and roll it up until the man on the bed is almost sitting up. The man slowly opens his eyes and turns his head to me. That's when I knew.

His name is Avery and I am his. My mind and body belong to him and only him. From this day forth, I am his to use as he please. No thoughts other than his will ever run inside my mind ever again. My purpose is to serve and please him.

#slime possession #male puppet #male manipulation #male mind control #male takeover

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imthebadguyyy · 7 months

Text

Arms

pairing : sirius black x reader

fandom : marauders/hp

synopsis : sirius realizes there's no place that feels more like home than your arms.

warnings : self depreciating thoughts, insecurity

a/n : felt like wandering into the realm of the marauders! do let me know if you want more :) inspired mildly by francesca by Hozier

sirius sat with james, while remus and peter sat across from them, both pouring liberal amounts of gravy onto their plates. james was also digging into an obnoxiously large amount of roast potatoes and chicken, barely pausing for a breath as he scarfed down the food.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the great hall was not buzzing with the sound of students chattering as it usually did, and the sound remained at the decibel of a small hive of bees, while the professors murmured softly at the grand table, the munch of the many treats laid on the table for the christmas eve dinner.

sirius himself didn't feel that hungry, fork half heartedly poking at the beans on his plate. his eyes roamed around the hall, taking in the tiny mass of people at the other tables, and at dumbledore pulling mice out of his purple witches hat - his christmas special.

that very morning, his owl had dropped off a rather nasty howler from his darling mother, once again choosing to call him a colourful variety of insults and ending with her usual "disgrace and traitor to the black boodline" bullshit, followed by a chorus of "mixing with mudbloods and muggles" that had him clenching his fists in frustration.

then, his father orion had also decided to grace him with a scathing letter he burned the moment he received, but not before catching the words "shame to my bloodline", which once again had him sighing and rubbing the sore spot on his temples.

he had ignored it initially, focusing instead on the beautiful hand knitted scarf, golden watch and basket of sweets and treats he had received from euphemia and fleamont, with a small engraved gryffindor lion at the back of the watch.

he had also received a leather jacket from you, and homemade strawberry pies that you had made with help from the elves in the kitchen, and a set of silver rings to go with his pre existing ones.

remus had gifted him a muggle record called rumors from a band called Fleetwood Mac, that you had freaked out over and told him you'd listen to together because they were your favourite band ever and you'd be damned if he discovered your favourites on the album without you.

james himself had bought him bundles full off tricks and games from hogsmeade, and a framed picture of the marauders, along with a small replica of his own quidditch jersey because, "everyone has to know you're my number one fan pads!"

even marlene had gifted him a bunch of chocolate frogs, and mary had got him a postcard from venezuela and chocolate because her parents were visiting. lily had sent him muggle posters of his favorite bands as well.

but despite the merriment, the niggling insecurity of not being enough played on his mind the whole time, creeping like a shadow, insecurity slithering through the corridors of his mind, casting doubts where there once was light.

his mind was spiralling, as he looked at his plate, gulping as a sudden lump appeared in his throat. james was reading a letter from his mum to remus and peter, telling him about their travels in egypt, and peters mum had sent sweets for them to share at dinner.

oh how he longed for a mom who would write him sweet letters and send him sugary treats instead of venom coated words and flame bursting letters, a father who would teach him how to tie his tie properly for class, or tell him tales of his childhood.

sirius longed for a family to love and hold him always. and the closest he had to that was you and james.

as his thoughts turned to you, he was distracted by a sudden crash as the doors were flung open, as you rushed in, followed by the two friends with whom you sang as part of the hogwarts band, your red robes flaring as you rushed to find your spot beside him at the table.

with a pant, you flung yourself down, taking heaving breaths to calm your racing heart.

"well hello little miss" james said through a mouthful of peas, making you scrunch your nose in disapproval. "where were ya?" remus asked, piling on food onto your plate before it changed course.

"i was at band practice! we just lost track of time and then had to rush because we were so hungry!" you exclaimed, while your hands reached for sirius' under the table, taking his cold palm in yours, squeezing it tenderly to get the blood flow back in them, bringing it up for a quick peck to the knuckles before interlacing his fingers with yours.

sirius felt his heart physically slow down as he watched you, laughing a joke remus made, poking fun at james and messing around with peter. he watched as you cut the roasted potatoes into smaller chunks, dipping them in extra butter as you popped them into your mouth, and the way your eyes sparkled when you smiled.

he watched the way your hair fell, little strands framing your face as you brushed them off impatiently, all while leaning forward for a slice of a chocolate tart and icecream that had just appeared.

he watched as you put a slice of apple pie on his plate, topping it with a healthy dollop of cream, and passing it to him with a saccharine sweet smile and a murmur of "your favourite siri!" and he felt his heart flutter again.

what he didn't note was the crease in your eyebrow as you looked at your friend, the darl circles under his eyes, the slight stoop to his posture, the way his smile came out forced, lips pressed tight together with none of his gorgeous smile lines appearing around his eyes and lips.

he failed to note the way you drew a sharp breath when you felt the rough skin of his palms, coarse from all the times he dug his nails into the delicate skin to control the rage and hurt he felt at his family. the way your eyes softened as you looked at him, the way his lack of obnoxiously lewd jokes and quick wit made him look so vulnerable that it shattered your heart into a million pieces.

after the crackers were pulled and you had packed up a "grow your own warts" kit and many a butterbeer flavoured candy and a few white mice, he squeezed your hand again, gesturing towards the gryffindor common room, leaving the boys chatting with a few members of the ravenclaw quidditch team who had stayed back for christmas as well.

murmuring the password to the fat lady, you stumbled into the common room with sirius, who had his arm wrapped tightly around your waist. you sunk into your favourite armchair, and giggled when sirius fell into you with a muffled "thump"

even though you were 'just friends', you knew him better than anyone else and he knew it as well as you did.

the cozy red armchair with its plush cushioning looked as inviting as ever as he settled into it, legs haphazardly tossed over yours. affection was a major part of your relationship with sirius, having become fast friends since the first year at hogwarts.

ever since you were joint at the hip, bonding over a shared love of music, shared comfort in silence, shared trauma and a love for leather. you were as much a part of the marauders as any of the other boys, and sirius couldn't quite point to the time when you had become such fast friends.

he buried his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, absorbing the lilting notes of vanilla and shea, and fiddling with the loose strands of hair at the base of your neck. you hummed softly, some melody that had been playing on your mind, hands gently running through his dark locks, nails scratching softly at his scalp.

"you okay?" you asked, noting the tenseness of his shoulder muscles, and the still present frown between his eyebrows.

a non commital shrug was the only response.

worry began to seep into your mind, surprised at how your usually bubbly bestfriend was decidedly unbubbly.

"you don't seem okay babe" you stated, lifting his chin so he was looking at you.

his stormy gray eyes reflected doubt and insecurity dancing like lightning, casting shadows of uncertainty that loomed deep in his mind.

to your surprise, tears welled up in his eyes, mirroring raindrops, poignant with a tempest of emotions swirling within, creating a tumultuous scene of vulnerability and insecurity.

"oh sweetheart.." you cooed softly, shuffling so he was engulfed in your arms. you felt him bury his face deeper into your neck, clinging to you desperately as if he was worried you'd disappear into thin air.

"talk to me honey" you whispered, trying to coax him out of his hiding place.

just as he opened his mouth to speak, the door to the common room swung open and remus james and peter trooped in, followed by a few other gryffindors.

they stopped short, taking in the scene before them, their best mate in tears in the arms of the girl he loved who happened to be his best friend.

"mate are you-" james began, only to be cut off by a glare from remus.

"who don't you go up to our dorm y/n? I'll make sure no one goes up" remus said, staring at your pointedly, offering a soft smile to you when you nodded.

"i think we'll take you up on the offer, is that okay with you siri?" you asked, still softly stroking his hair.

he nodded against you, and followed you silently as you took his hand in yours and draped an arm around his torso, pressing a kiss to his temple as you led him up the winding staircase to the boys dormitory.

as soon as you were inside, you led him over to his bed, gently pushing him down so he was sitting, eyes looking unseeingly at the posters and polaroids that graced his headboard.

with worried eyes, you watched his gaze flicker back and forth, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"talk to me siri, im right here" you cooed, kneeling down in front of him, hands resting on his knees, drawing tiny circles with your pinky over the material of his robes.

"are you here with me love?" you asked, watching the black in his pupils darken as he spaced out. you watched as he jolted a little, looking at you almost alarmed, before the tears began to drip down his cheeks.

the first drop had you sprinting into his arms, wrapping your own tightly around him, kicking your shoes off as you squeezed him tight, knees resting in between his own, as he sobbed into your chest.

you'd seen him cry before, but never like this. broken sobs spilled from his salty lips, dampening the material of your robes, and small choked sounds escaped his lips, along with deep strangled breaths as he gripped your waist to keep himself grounded.

he cried for what seemed like hours while you whispered sweet reassurances to him, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his forehead and his hands, placing his hand on your chest to feel the steady beating of your heart.

"m' right here darling, let it all go, I've got you, i promise, I'll be right here to hold you honey" you whispered to him, rocking him back and forth like a child.

sirius gripped you even tighter, clinging to you as if you were his lifeline.

eventually, his sobs slowed,and he pulled back, eyes red and swollen and face glistening with tears. even when his hair was messy and he looked like a wreck, he looked ethereal.

"oh my beautiful boy" you said, kissing the top of his head. "tell me what you need" you said, interlacing your hands.

"you, just need you" he said, and the way his broke on the word 'you' shattered your heart into a million pieces.

"just give me one second darling, okay?" you said, walking into their bathroom and taking out a clean handkerchief from your pocket. you soaked it in some water, bringing it back to him, gently wiping his eyes and then his face with it, leaving kisses on every spot you cleaned for him, before taking a comb from his nightstand and slowly untangling the mess that his hair was.

sirius watched as you combed his hair, eyebrows furrowed in attention, and he swore his heart fell even more for you.

"d'ya think you can tell me what's wrong sugar?" you asked, biting you lip when he flashed you a smile at the nickname.

"yeah" he nodded, tugging you down so you were cuddled into his side. "oh wait!" you exclaimed, fishing some chocolate out your pocket and offering a piece.

he took it with a smile, letting it melt on his tongue as he looked at you.

you were now snuggled into his shoulder, your ankle intertwined with his as you lay across from him, hand gently holding his, as his other hand traced patterns on your hip.

"darling mother of mine sent me a howler this morning for a christmas present" he said with a dry chuckle.

"did she now?" you said, anger simmering deep in your bones. "yeah, and then sperm donator sent me a lovely letter as well" he said, chuckling a little at his own nickname for his father.

"mmhmm" you said, tracing his thumb.

"yeah, jus' caught me off guard" he mumbled

"you do know that whatever they say is not true, right?" you asked, looking straight into his eyes.

"yeah but- fuck, darling, it gets hard sometimes. sometimes I feel like I am a traitor and failure. sometimes i feel like I'm not worthy of being a human, I'm not worthy of being a friend, I'm not worthy of being loved i-" he broke off, looking at the ceiling.

"you are more than just a name, sirius. you are worthy of being loved. you are worthy of being human, and you are worthy enough to have friends who care about you" you said firmly, forcing him to look back at you.

"it just hurts me sometimes" he admitted

"i know sweetheart" you cooed again. you felt like no words you said were enough when it came to this topic.

"am i really worthy of being loved?" he asked suddenly, turning his face to look at you.

"of course" you said. the silence got louder for a moment. "siri?" you asked, voice lighter than honeycomb.

"theres something Ive been wanting to tell you" he got out in a rush. "ever since we met on the train on our way here, from the tender age of eleven, my heart silently declared its allegiance to you. each passing day has been a testament to a love that started as a whisper and has grown into a resounding echo in my soul. darling, with every sunrise and every moonlit night, my affection for you deepens, as if there's an infinite well within me, filling with the boundless affection i hold for you. you are the constant melody in the symphony of my existence, and i fall harder for you with each beat of my heart" he said, turning to look at you.

you felt tears welling in your own eyes, and it only felt right when you leaned forward, pressing your soft lips to his slightly chapped ones.

to him, you tasted of strawberries and cocoa, warm and sweet and oh so extravagant, a taste so luxurious he couldn't get enough of it.

to you, he tasted of cigarette smoke, mint and cocoa, an intoxicating taste you couldn't get enough of

his lips pressed deeper against yours, hand grasping your waist tightly, pulling you flush against him, as he poured all his love and passion out for you.

time stopped, the world slowed and your heartbeat dropped to the lowest of lows. relaxed. calm. loved.

finally, when your lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen, you drew away, chests heaving as you looked at each other.

a slight flush lay on his cheeks, tinges of red littering his cheekbones. you could feel a heat thrumming in your own cheeks, and your heart felt like it was racing a million miles an hour.

"i don't know how long I've waited to say that to you" he breathed out, nuzzling his nose to yours.

"since our shared days at eleven, my heart has been a clandestine haven for the enchantment you brought into my life. you don't know how happy you made me with this. in the quiet dance of our days, my affection for you has blossomed into a resplendent garden, and with every sunrise, I find myself immersed deeper in the captivating allure of our love. you are the symphony that resonates in my heart, and i cherish you always" you told him, pressing a kiss to the swell of his cheekbone.

sirius felt his cheeks burn a deep red, and he tilted your lips up to press a searing kiss to them again.

"i love you" he gasped against your lips, drawing you closer to him.

"i love you too" you murmured against his lips moulding your body to him.

and as sirius lay there in your arms, pressing kisses as sweer and delicate as spun sugar against every part of your body but especially your lips, he realised there was no other place that felt more like home than your arms.

you.

you were his home.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n : I've missed writing so much!! i really hope you enjoy this, and as always likes reblogs comments opinions etc are appreciated!! sending u all love and happiness and remember, my inbox is always open and i love making new friends!! marauders is a new field for me but if u have any reqs/ideas please do send in asks! happy reading ☺️♥️