#books actually existed for me to read *sobs* | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inmyheaddd · 2 months ago

Text

meet me in the afterglow - averyjameson

a/n: this may be my fav averyjameson fic i’ve written 😕 wc: 1.7k warnings: swearing, our fav parents fighting 💔, angst but v fluffy ending i promise!! masterlist

avery sat in her room alone, reading a book to keep herself busy, but she wasn’t actually taking in a single word.

she usually enjoyed the coldness of her room, but now it was just a bleak reminder that the one person who always radiated warmth and sent jolts through her with his touch wasn’t there with her.

and the worst part, was that it was her fault.

“what do you want me to do, heiress? act like i have it all figured out?” jameson’s voice grew louder, “well i don’t, i can’t just—”

“—just what?” she shot back, “jameson, i never asked you to act or pretend. i don’t need perfect, i don’t even want it. i need real.” her volume began to match his, even though she hated fighting with all her being.

the moments from last night played on repeat in her mind like a broken record player she couldn’t stop. she chewed on her bottom lip, and before she knew it, her eyes began to sting.

she wondered what jameson was doing now —drinking? driving at speeds far too high? blacked out? with his brothers? feeling nothing? feeling everything? whatever, she didn’t care. she didn’t care.

“i need you to stop acting like nothing matters every time things get hard!”

“oh, so staying silent how you do is any better? fuck, avery, i hate to break it to you, but this is the “real” me. as real as it fucking gets.” he said through a force chuckle, letting go of the nickname and using her name instead. “if thats too much for you, or— or, or not enough for you, maybe you should just walk away.“

without realizing, another tear fell onto the page on her book, and it was like the boiling point for her.

slamming the book shut and chucking it across her room, her hands came to cover her face as she sobbed, and she brought her knees up to her chest.

she was muffling her sobs like she’d gotten so used to doing when she was growing up, so no one would hear her, but there was no one there to hear her now anyway.

he took a step back, running a hand through his hair frustratedly as avery blinked back angry tears. “jameson, don’t even say that to me.” her voice quivered, but she wouldn’t let a tear drop. “don’t you dare look for the easy way out. you’re a hawthorne, aren’t you? the easiest answer is never the right one — you’re the one that told me that.”

she trudged her way out of her room to the kitchen, after angrily wiping at her tears and staring at her reflection for far too long.

she revised over all the things she would say to jameson when she saw him again, how sorry she was, how she never meant any of it, how she was so out of her mind.

jameson laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “avery, none of this is easy." his eyes met hers, his voice colder than she’d ever heard it. “you want someone i can’t be. you want a version of me that doesn’t exist. i can’t change myself no matter how hard i try, and believe me — i have.”

her throat began to tighten as she struggled to keep her composure. “jameson, no. i want you—whatever flaws you think you have and all.” she exclaimed, the next part coming out much quieter than she intended. “but you…” she trailed off, “you don’t even trust me with all of that. why can’t you understand that i love you for who you are? i want to work for us. i know we aren’t perfect, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t something worth trying for.”

“heiress,” he paused, “trying isn’t working anymore. down the line we’ll both be miserable and you’ll say nothing until we have one of these bursting screaming matches like this again. you don’t deserve it. it’s not worth it.”

it’s not worth it. they weren’t worth it. she wasn’t worth it.

avery swirled the glass of water she filled up as she leaned against the counter, dim low lighting filling the empty kitchen. the freezing water made her feel as cold on the inside as she was outside.

she finished her glass and made her way out of the kitchen, making a turn to get to the stairs, only to stop in her tracks and stagger back.

her eyes met familiar green ones with slight bags under them, and an unruly bed of hair that usually looked a little tidier.

avery was at a loss for words, jameson hawthorne, standing infront of her, giving up because things got too hard?

she scoffed, but she sounded more dejected than she did angry. “fine then. don’t try anymore.” she swallowed, taking in the way jameson’s brows softened and a flash of something passed through his eyes, though she couldn’t quite place it. regret? anger? satisfaction?

she let her eyes do the talking for a moment before speaking. “you are the most selfish person i’ve ever met.” she added with purpose, every word like a dagger to him. she didn’t wait for anything he had to say, turning on her heels with one last look and walking out of the room.

jameson called out for her, but she kept walking. her heart beat faster than it ever had before and it was like every inch of her body wanted to turn around and collapse in his arms.

—to apologize for everything she did and didn’t do, to look into his eyes and see that glitter of love in them, for him to kiss the tears off of her and simply be there.

unfortunately for avery kylie grambs, she didn’t always get what she wanted, and she kept walking forwards.

avery felt like she had the wind knocked out of her as jameson stood infront of her, breathing heavily as he looked equally as surprised to have found her.

every rehearsed line and practiced speech she had left her mind in that moment. the only thing that rang through it was his name. “jameson,” she said, almost whispering.

“heiress, wait.” he said, reaching an arm out to stop her leaving— he couldn’t let her go. she wasn’t going to anyway, she felt frozen in place. she also didn’t want to leave.

“i, i don’t know what to say, jameson, i’m so sorry.” she said with a light shake of her head, “i was so out of line last night, and i shouldn’t have—“

he cut her off, “no, avery, let me just say this, please.” he said with pleading eyes. “i think i should be institutionalized with the way i felt like i’ve lost my mind without you. i know i lost my mind last night, that’s for sure.”

he chuckled nervously, and avery knew jameson hawthorne never got nervous. “avery, you are worth every single thing on this goddamn planet— in the whole universe. i don’t think i could begin to conceptualize a life without you in it. what i said last night? i lied.“

he took a deep, shuddering breath in. “i said i couldn’t change for you, but i know that’s not true, because i have— before my own eyes. every waking day i spend with you makes me want to become better, for you, heiress.”

avery felt her eyes begin to prick with tears once again, but she didn’t feel a single drop of hurt in her body now. “i’ve never felt so deeply devoted and in love with anything in my life before, and that scares me. it scares me in a way nothing has before because i know it’s so real. but im not letting my fears get in the way, not anymore.”

jameson’s chest heaved as he looked down at avery, “heiress. you don’t have to say anything.” he said upon seeing her glossy eyes.

there was nothing she could say anyway to express the complete enamored feeling she felt when she looked at him, to express how much she loved him.

she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, as his arms wrapped around her middle like if he held any looser she would disappear, his head dropping down to her neck.

“i’m so sorry,” avery sobbed into his shoulder, “i love you so much. i’m so in love with you. i couldn’t ever imagine losing what we have.”

“you won’t ever have to, heiress. i’m staying forever.” he mumbled, as one of his hands came to run through her hair. when she didn’t respond, and he heard her muffled hiccups, he spoke once again. “heiress,” he he lifted his head, his voice low and almost musical. “don’t get all sappy on me now, i much prefer that smile of yours.”

she sniffled as she let out a little laugh, pulling back from the hug and wiping away at her tears. “shut up.”

jameson’s smile only grew at the sound of her laugh, and her now slightly red eyes met his. her smile faded for a second before she spoke again, remembering the events that had just happened the day before.

“jameson, i— you have no idea how sorry i am.” her brows slightly furrowed as she shook her head, echoing her words for earlier.

he chuckled, reaching his hands out to grab hers, “yeah? i think if you repeat it one more time, i’ll have a pretty good idea.”

“stop it,” she laughed, “im being serious.”

“so am i. you don’t have to apologize.”

“i do, though. and i’m sorry,”

“if you say you’re sorry once more, i may have to consider bringing you to rehab for people pleasers.”

“jameson,” avery breathed out through a chuckle, “i just wanted you to know.”

“heiress, i know.” he nodded with a small grin as he brought her closer, and she let go of his hands and brought them to his chest.

his eyes flickered over her whole face, frequenting back to her lips and eyes, and there was that glitter of love in his that she loved so much.

“can i kiss you now?” he mumbled.

“you don’t even have to ask.” her voice was barely audible in the small space between them.

he hummed in disagreement as he leaned in, his lips barely touching hers. the mere act made avery feel like she was buzzing alive as her breath caught in her throat. it would never get old.

“i like hearing you want me, like how i want you.” he whispered against her lips, before finally pressing a kiss to them, and they quickly found their rhythm against eachother.

his hands moved to cradle her face, like he needed her as close to him as humanly possible, his brows knotting deeply as he kissed her.

jameson pulled back ever so slightly, his forehead resting against hers as they both caught their breath.

his thumb brushed gently across her cheek as he looked at her, his heart leaping at the sight of the her smile.

"see," he murmured, his voice soft, "much better than the sappy stuff."

avery let out a small laugh, feeling light on her toes. she looked into his eyes, feeling the love pouring out of them. “everything is better with you.”

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @sweetlikeanangel

@littlemissmentallyunstable @anintellectualintellectual @tornqdowarnings @maybxlle @sheisntyou

@emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee — if you’d like to be added or removed lmk!

#averyjameson #avery kylie grambs #jameson hawthorne #the inheritance games #the grandest game #grayson hawthorne #xander hawthorne #nash hawthorne #tig #tgg #games untold #avery x jameson #javery #❦ jude writes

110 notes · View notes

drdemonprince · 2 months ago

Note

i read in the comments to my last ask about "ordinary unhappiness" the idea of depression as a lack of agency and i feel like that is true? when i feel miserable and in pain, it's not because something is sad but because something is either unachievable or impossible (or at least there is the perception of it). and like i think that's what you were getting at too? this thing that drives you to keep going, this lack of satisfaction. i simply don't have anything i can give into such that i would ever even feel a lack of satisfaction. i've never had anything to give myself into and feel frustrated and perhaps sometimes successful in but instead i just envy the people who do have those things. nothing i've ever done has felt maintained a sense of emotional connectiveness in that way (positive or negative). i guess to wrap this back around to another potential talking point, i'm curious how you find that in your life? is it weird for me that nothing has ever felt worth putting myself whole ass into? idk, i find it envious you've got both writing and gay hypno fetish stuff you're able to just throw yourself into so wholly and utterly

Passion isn't inherent, it can be a choice too. I only look like I care a ton about writing and gay hypno stuff because I have deliberately chosen to pursue those passions, for many years, and cultivated a deep interest in them, anon.

When I was in my early twenties, I felt completely empty. I was a void. If you've read the first chapter of Unmasking Autism, this is the period I'm talking about in that book. I went away to graduate school (because I was good at academics, and I had some illusions about what a career in that field would do for me), but I had absolutely zero zest for the subject of psychology at that point. I had no research ideas. I read psychology books and publications purely out of obligation. I did what was required of me, but nothing additional beyond that, and I spent the rest of my time sitting at home, sometimes literally staring at the wall and crying. I had no friends or hobbies, aside from taking long, long depression walks listening to podcasts in order to fill the silence.

This was when I was at my most depressed, and my most suicidal. Just existing was a pain. I'd sob in bed at night and cry out begging for God to kill me, and I didn't even believe in God. The only thing that distracted me from my pain was a guy I was seeing, who was beautiful and very cruel and inconsistent, and I clung to him through all kinds of lies and abuse because it felt as though my happiness was located inside of him.

I had a friend that I wrote to about how miserable I was, and all the twists and turns that my horrible romance was taking. Her name was Heather. (Unlearning Shame is dedicated to her). She told me hey, you're a really good writer, did you know that? I really enjoy reading your emails, even when you're speaking about the most pitiful anguished shit, you really put it poetically and have a ton of insight. You should write more.

For a while, I ignored her. I didn't care about writing. I just wanted to get my pain out on the page because I had nobody to talk to, and oodles of time to waste. I had nothing otherwise that I felt I HAD to say. I had no PASSION. I did not feel like I was put on this earth to do anything. Other people seemed to have these drives, and I had nothing.

But then one day in a fit of depression I stopped by a bookstore right near my apartment, The Armadillo's Pillow, just to get outside of the house. I happened upon a book I had loved in high school, Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections. I took it home. I read it. It transported me for a few hours away from my pain. I went back to the book store and picked up some sci-fi. A John Varley collection, I think. I was also swept away from my suffering, even when the stories had flaws that I noticed. I was interested in the actual craft of storytelling: what worked and what didn't. And there was finally some beauty in my head instead of the usual dreariness and self-hatred and emptiness.

And so. I made the choice to write. I could have taken it or left it at that point. I didn't care about anything. Caring is a muscle that you have to flex. And when you're depressed, it can be very hard. I needed a lot of nudges from the external world and other people, to realize that I had some things I did gravitate toward, even if I didn't realize it.

All that time of course I WAS driven to write. I was churning out 5k word letters to Heather every day practically. I was reading stupid shit online. And when it was put in front of me, and I had no reason to feel guilt about not working hard enough on other things, I reached for books. But I didn't feel passion strongly under the heavy blankets of my depression. Or usually at all, really. I am a quite internally muted person whose emotions are suppressed. But they're there. Speaking to me softly. And to overcome my depression, I had to decide to listen to them instead of ignoring them all of the time, and give them kindling, and then fan them into a flame.

I started blogging regularly while I was in graduate school (right here, hello, you can check my archive dating back to 2011), and finding a reason to live. When I was writing, I felt like the world was interesting, and beautiful. It gave me new things to do. I attended literary readings and book launches all over town. I submitted work to magazines. I bought old copies of magazines and read them. I inhaled books. I listened to fiction podcasts. I joined writing groups. At first, it felt like a slog, like anything else. Doing these things, I was not "happy". But I was interested. I liked learning about the world of publishing, critiquing people's stories in my head, and commisserating with other Tumblr writers about the stuff that got featured on the Prose tag that sucked.

After YEARS of doing this, of choosing to fan my passions, it became a genuine motivation in my life. But even then? I lose track of it sometimes. I get busy, or there's no place comfy to sit and read in my apartment, and I forget that I like writing and reading for months at a time. And then I have to choose it again. It takes effort to care about something, every time.

It's the same way with hypno. I did have a fetish for this stuff all my life long. But it's a passion that people always thought was weird and gross, and that I thought was bad. I didn't tell anyone about it until my late 20's. I felt ashamed masturbating to it or looking up hypno content online. For years I snuffed out that flame of passion until I could barely feel it anymore. It wasn't until I was super depressed AGAIN in my later 20's that I took a bunch of weird off-label anti-depressant drugs under the table and had a weird dreamy headspace overtake me and make me insanely horny that I remembered how much I loved hypno, and because I was in search of an escape from my tormented brain, I sought hypnotists out.

And I had the time of my life. But I also had boring, awkward encounters, bad hook-ups, and had to do a ton of work.

My passions have drawn me out of depression because I needed them to. I had to find them, listen to them, and then give them lots of food. And it's one of the few things that a person does often have agency over, no matter how dispiriting their circumstances. You can make choices about where to put what attention you do have, in what free moments you do have. When you're on the bus or in line at the grocery store and you're thinking about how much you hate yourself, you can try to think about a story you read or a sexual fantasy you had, instead. It's a lot of work. But it's better work than the work of hating yourself, which takes a whole lot of energy and attention itself.

I hope you can find something like this for you. It doesn't really matter what it is. It can be some hobby you've always wanted to try, or something "childish" you've suppressed. Having a passion isn't like being chosen by the universe to care about something. It's not like love at first sight. Nothing fucking works like that in life. It's always work. It's always a choice you have to make, because no one else will give it to you. But there can be hints that you can follow, sometimes.

139 notes · View notes

aeternalis-eien · 3 months ago

Text

Gravity Falls LIVES!

So, just like so many other fans, with the release of the Book of Bill and everything, I've been re-watching the show alot and I've decided to add to the ever growing piles of Gravity Falls Fandom greatness/fun! So here are some of a Head cannons with the Falling Stars AU. *Just a note, I was not in the fandom when it was first coming out, and recently only got to find out about some of the cool AUs out there so that is part of what has caused this lol* For those like me who are learning about some of the cool AUs- Falling Stars is an AU of what if Mabel had been pulled into the portal in EP "Not what He Seems".

Also a note, I have not read book of Bill, the third journal or the comic that was published as I just have not had the chance so alot of this information/stuff I know referencing them, I will admit I got from Tik Tok so bare with me! Head Cannons that I might do one-shots on later:

-Dipper makes his parents give Stan full custody of him and Mabel with child support. The nightmare he has about his parents arguing is regarding how neither of them want either of the twins after their divorce as they find them creep/freaky and would not 'mesh' with their new families. (He could never tell Mabel of what he heard-She knew though)

-Mabel mistook Ford for Stan at first when he saved her from a black hole that was the cause of her being sucked into the portal. She spent hours clinging to him and just sob babbling. (This is also how Ford learned who she was and what likely happened)

-Mabel went into shock for four weeks after realizing what happened and that there isn't a quick/easy way to get home. (She learns to cope by being her 'normal' bubbly weird self.)

-Stan's panic, fear, and freak out in trying to get Mabel back in those early days is what allowed Dipper to not blame him for what happened and actually sit down and hear him out about why he was building the portal. (This would be basically the EP of Tale of Two Stans)

-Dipper has been allowed into Stan's mind/memories with his permission. This started with Stan wanting to regain Dipper's trust and then grew into their search for clues on repairing the portal that Dipper might be able to figure out that Stan couldn't.

-Dipper and Stan spend years trying to get the portal working again, even though Stan forces him to socialize and not stop living his life/existing.

-After Mabel and Ford finally get back, they are able to explain the reason that the portal couldn't just be turned back on due to how dangerous it was. (Back to back uses could rip reality apart fully if not the very planet itself.)

-Mabel acts like her old silly self as not only a coping method but as a way to hold to who she once was, but she can flip on a dime into a serious warrior survival type mode.

-Pacifica and Dipper started dating in high school. Since the weirdness continues in Gravity Falls (and outside it) they grow closer during one of these situations. -Dipper found out that Pacifica is actually really smart, she even ends up joining him and Stan on working on the portal. -She honestly does love Dipper.

-Wendy and Stan ended up 'forcefully' teaching Dipper how to be 'athletic' in their own ways. -Stan got him into boxing and gifted him his own brass knuckles -Wendy got him into parkour and rock climbing. - Pacifica got him into light gymnastics; but he won't talk to anyone else about it.

-Dipper blames himself for Mabel being pulled into the portal and believes that if he had just trusted Stan none of it would have happened.

-Mabel blames herself for getting pulled in, believing that if she hadn't let go of the button she wouldn't have been so easily pulled in and is worried about what has happened to Stan and Dipper.

-Stan taught Dipper how to pick locks as a hobby and 'male bonding' -Pacifica picked it up and is better at it then both of them.

-Dipper took up photography and found that he has the talent and skill to be professional. He started this so that he could continue Mabel's scrapbooks. -Pacifica, Greta and Candy now do a weekly scrapbook day after finding Dipper spiraling at 14 trying to balance his time doing everything.

-Ford made Mabel a digital journal/camera that she can wear as either a watch or a pendant so that she can record/photograph their journey to show Dipper when they get home. -Ford lost hope finding a way home long ago, but he doesn't want her to become like him.

-Greta has become a very popular travel influence/blogger thanks to her royal boyfriend. They are in love and very loyal to each other. -She likes to collect things from her travels to give to Mabel when she returns.

-Candy is on her way to become an internationally acclaimed robotics and prosthetics engineer. -She helps ensure Dipper's protective gear actually works.

-Pacifica has become independently wealthy away from her family due to her skills in finances and stocks. She also handle's Dipper's investments and patents as well as McGucket's. -She basically runs the fiances for the Shack, Stan and Dipper as she claims they are money morons- they are of course. -She has made sure the shack has been kept up and all the work is properly funded for the portal repairs.

-Dipper moved into Ford's old room after a year and a half as he couldn't handle seeing Mabel's things, but couldn't bring himself to move or touch them either.

-Waddles is/has been taken care of by everyone as every single person can't imagine how sad Mabel would be if she returned and he was gone.

-Mabel is known across the multiverse as the greatest matchmaker in any reality. She has made a solid name for herself and brings in 'funds' for her and Ford's travels. -She is even sought out by multiverse royalty for her skills in finding compatible matches that are known to be long lasting.

-Ford calls Mabel Kirk as she left a trail of broken hearts through their travels by no fault of her own as someone 'always' fell head over heels for her; even if she was clueless about it. -Mabel doesn't get the reference.

-After Mabel returns, she has kept in contact with some of the friends she made in traveling with a crystal flower that she keeps safe. When she first got back it looks like she was just talking to herself freaking out Dipper and Stan, but they eased when Ford explained what was going on during a particular heated conversation she was having with someone's who's language is to shout aggressively.

-Dipper grew his hair out because it reminds him of Mabel; he normally wears it tied back or braided when he is working.

-Mabel cut her hair short because it reminds her of Dipper; Ford isn't the best barber so Mabel learned how to do both their hair for him.

-Mabel takes out at least three of Bill's friends during Weirdmageddon herself. Stan is both horrified and deeply impressed.

I'm sure I'll think of more and might just add on to this lol.

I hope everyone enjoys some of my HC!

#aeternalis-eien #gravity falls #the book of bill #stanford pines #stanley pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #gravity falls fandom #alternate universe #grunkle stan #grunkle ford #disney #headcanon #random #I just had some random ideas and wanted to share them!

68 notes · View notes

clemissleepy · 7 months ago

Text

Autumn Sadness

seungmin's rival for the title of 'jeongin's best friend' collapses in his doorway.

wc : 1.7k

tw // implied sh , implied ed , fluff , angst , seungmin and reader are both very sensory-sensitive , seungmin is kinda rude at first , enemies to lovers but it doesn't actually go anywhere, this is just a lil drabble

seungmin hated that stupid face that was always glowing on jeongin's phone when he thought he wasn't looking. it enraged him to hear her obnoxious laugh through the walls and the way jeongin nearly completely ignored seungmin's existence.

when she came around to their shared apartment, it was like seungmin was a blanket. just used to everyone's benefit while he laid there and gained nothing. he didn't get to pick the show they watched, or the food they ordered, or what games they played. he just had to sit there and watch his best friend treat her like a princess.

the leaves were warm oranges and yellows. the sky was nearly gray and dead, wind chilly enough to dust pink on ones cheeks and nose, but not enough to numb their joints. seungmin had his headphones in, reading on his balcony bundled up in blankets and sweaters. he hummed to himself as he flipped through the familiar pages of his favorite book.

out of the corner of his eye, he could see something rushing. he could faintly hear the leaves crushing beneath someone's panicked steps and the creaking of the apartment's lobby door being opened. he caught a glimpse of the striped scarf the person worse and was now annoyingly aware of her presence.

just minutes later, he could hear keys shuffling around in the halls and the locks of his door clicking. the metal door slowly slammed shut and he rolled his eyes while closing his book to investigate. he unwrapped himself, throwing his blanket and story onto his plush comforter, and trotted out to the living space.

there she was, panting, in complete disarray. her scarf was tangled in her unusually disheveled hair. her eyes were uncomfortably pink and the way she darted around looking for something was getting on seungmin's nerves.

"jeongin's not here," he glares, hoping she'll take his hint to leave. but she just stares at him, eyes glossy as fat tears roll down her cheeks. a sob racks her body and she collapses onto her knees in the foyer.

"oh... um... okay," seungmin mutters while she wraps her arms around her and shivers. "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

she does not reply. rather, she curls over herself and chokes on her spit, groaning out and watching her tears puddle on the chill tile beneath her. her hands shake and run through her hair, tugging at it by the roots.

"okay, enough of that," seungmin comments, standing just in front of her and pulling her hands away from herself. 'they're soft,' he thinks. he notices how the white nail polish she always had on was chipped away, her usually clean and well kept nails were bitten far too short and the skin was picked at and fresh.

"what's wrong with you?" he continues to pry, looking down at her judgmentally. her head stays low as she pants and mumbles, rocking back and forth just enough for seungmin to notice. he supposes he needs to try a new approach.

he slowly kneels down, groaning at the ache in his back as he does. he reaches eye level with her and is very slow and gentle as he lifts her chin up to look at him. his eyes soften at the way her eyes just slightly turn inwards, making her look like a lost puppy. however, there is an obvious lack of color in her appearance, more like a homeless abandoned dog than one simply away from its home.

"i know i'm no jeongin and i know we're not friends by any means, but..." seungmin rests his hand onto her shoulder and slowly starts to untangle her from her scarf and jackets. "i'm here for you, if you need someone to talk to."

she chokes out her sickening laugh. "you just asked what the fuck is wrong with me!" she giggles while the tears drench her chin and neck. seungmin rests her scarf and jacket on the floor, now taking a close look at the way she's cradled into herself.

there was gauze wrapped tightly around her arms, suffocating her hands and turning them purple.

"you're cutting off blood," he states while starting to unwrap the bandages. he does not fail to notice the blood seeping through them, but he does not care. he is gentle and reassuring as he rewraps the gauze. "did you make a tourniquet anywhere else?"

she stares blankly for a moment, dissociating in front of the man she claimed did not have a soul. she catches his eyes and is lost in the way they are not as dead as she always perceived. they are small, half closed, but they are alive.

she points at her leg. beneath her jeans there is a lump where the gauze is and she hisses at the tension in her muscles.

"take your pants off."

"what?!" she yells, immediately regretting it from the scratch of her throat.

"well, unless you're gonna fix it yourself," seungmin rolls his eyes and stands up, offering one of his hands to her. she scrutinizes every inch of his face in an attempt to read his expressions just as she does jeongin. but she cannot see what lies behind his eyes or his foul mouth. she can only see the faint light of hope in the pit of darkness she's found herself in.

she adjusts the gauze on her thigh in the bathroom and seungmin insists she changes into some of jeongin's comfy clothes. specifically, his dinosaur pajamas. she is buried in the soft material, but comfortable nonetheless as seungmin leads her to the familiar couch and rests his own weighted blanket on top of her.

"beef or chicken?" he asks while tucking the edges of the blankets into her sides and ensuring she is mostly confined into a small roll of blankets and sadness.

"beef... for what?"

"ramen. you lost weight," he pads away into the kitchen and starts to boil water up in a pot. "i'm guessing you've been bottling everything up because jeongin has been having the time of his life with his girlfriend, yes?"

seungmin noticed the lack of his rival's voice through the walls the past few weeks. he was now hearing a much more trained voice coming from his speakers. it almost irked seungmin how jeongin seemed to shuffle away into a new world without his two best friends.

"how-,"

"i know everything. i know your coworkers have been talking shit about you behind your back and blaming you for things you didn't do. you're on your last warning before you get fired. i know your sister just started her tour in america so you're alone at home. i know your cat was diagnosed with cancer and you had to put her down last week. on top of that, you have exams next week, you can't get a hang of your calculus, and you're worried you'll never succeed, find love, or even make it out of college alive."

seungmin does not notice that he rambles. he knows there's an obvious annoyance in his tone, but he choosss not to acknowledge how odd it is that he knows so much about her.

the water is boiling, but the room is quiet. seungmin knows she can hear the buzzing of the lights, and the fridge, and the stove. so, out of the kindness of his heart, he turns the lights off and grabs an old pair of fluffy earmuffs from the foyer that he stuffs onto her head. 'her hair is so soft,' he thinks.

"well, you know my whole life story... you'd already know everything even if i wanted to tell you what's wrong," she grumbles.

"you talk pretty loud," seungmin shrugs and pours the noodles into the boiling water. "but i don't know why today was your breaking point. jeongin's at a photoshoot, not like it's a date that he abandoned you for."

"someone leaked my face and information. they got pictures of jeongin and i at a cafe and now... he's under fire for dating rumors and my sister is getting hate because of me and i'm so- they know where i live! i had to come here, i have to apologize to jeongin and ask if i can hide here."

"of course you can hide here, dumbass," seungmin chuckles. "and you should be more worried about your safety than jeongin or your sister's public appearance. they leaked your address?"

she nods silently and more tears stream down her cheeks. he finishes the ramen, letting it simmer in the pot with the seasoning. he then finds himself tensely beside her, hands anxious and trained to his sides while she starts to bresthe heavily again.

"you like pressure, right? lay down," seungmin commands, pushing her and watching her fall clumsily onto her side from being rolled inside blankets. she gasps and her eyes bug out, but she watches how seungmin crawls on top of her like a dog that doesn't know his own size and rests his dead weight onto her. she feels like she's floating on a cloud while simultaneously being grounded by the most wonderful weight imaginable.

it does not take either of them long to fall into an autumn nap, snores and drool falling from both their lips. seungmin shuffles in his sleep while she mumbles and hiccups quietly. the rain outside patters against the window rhythmically and their legs intertwine slowly as they adjust for comfort.

jeongin enters the apartment with grocery bags and his keys twirling on his finger. "seung-," he nearly yells, but he sees his roommates feet dangling off the arm of their couch. he notices the discarded jackets and scarf and feminine boots in the entryway, and deduces that his other best friend is here.

he does not, however, expect to see the both of them in a little cuddle pile. the ramen is still full on the stove at a simmer, the lights dim and the tv stuck on the netflix 'who's watching?' screen.

jeongin kneels down and whispers into seungmin's ear, "i knew you liked her."

"shut up, sushi roll needs peace and quiet," the older whines with a lisp and drag to his words. his hand lifts to the her cheeks and cups them oh so gently.

"she's sad... 'm gonna make her happy again."

thank you for reading! <3 ~clem

#skz #fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #writing #stray kids #seungmin #kim seungmin #skz seungmin #skz fluff #skz angst #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #skz fanfic #clem writes

132 notes · View notes

vincentvalenfine · 20 days ago

Note

something something vincent saving you from your toxic ex-bf (this trope always gets me going esp if he's staking claim asdl;k;lgk)

tw for stalking

"Remind me why you need my help for something like this?" Reeve asks, glancing up from his screen at Vincent’s surprisingly interested expression, huffing a little when Vincent just responds with a hum. Normally the man would be brooding by the doorframe, quietly waiting on Reeve to retrieve what he's requested this time, but instead he's hovering closely, observing. Reeve gets the feeling Vincent is finally trying to pick up on modern technology, though what could've encouraged him to do so is a mystery. Maybe he'll find the answer hidden somewhere in the information Vincent wants on this civilian.

A fairly normal thirty year old guy from the first glance - though something about his appearance gives Reeve deja vú. He feels like he's seen this face somewhere before... more than once, even. He frowns slightly, knowing Vincent is reading the record over his shoulder.

What finally makes the gears click in his head is the last place of employment, the same as...

"Vincent, is this what I think is going on? You're not about to do something foolish, right?"

Reeve twists to look up at the other, and Vincent returns his look with a hum.

"For most people, perhaps it would be." But Vincent is an ex-Turk, and he knows exactly how to protect what's his now.

Your early afternoon walk with Vincent was postponed when he claimed to have business to attend to. It's disappointing when his company is one of the things you look forward to most in your otherwise quiet existence, but it's the first time he's actually had to do something like this. It must be something pretty important though, so you don't begrudge him the raincheck and instead curl up with the book you've been reading to pass the time.

There's a soft knock at the apartment door - the same one that's been haunting you for months now. Your blood turns to ice in your veins, and the page in front of you might as well be full of scribbles, eyes wide but basically blind.

Last time, it had been a rose left at your door. The time before, a sheet of cryptic poetry. The time before that...

A picture of you asleep in your bed, from just outside your balcony window.

Your pulse is racing now, your book tumbling onto the couch beside you as you reach for your phone with trembling hands that fumble and nearly drop it as well. Vincent had said you could call any time even if he was supposed to be busy, and even though your fingers can barely cooperate you still flick through your contacts to his name and hit dial, holding it to your ear. One ring, two, three-

The line clicks. "Someone's here Vincent, I heard that - that knock again. I know it's them, I - please, I know you said you had work, but-"

"I will be there as soon as I can," Vincent cuts in, deep voice soothing to your ears. You stifle a sob of relief and take a shaky breath.

"Thank you, Vincent. See you soon."

You can still make out one of his usual soft hums that always makes you smile, and it eases some of the terror that still clings to you. If anyone is out there waiting for you to be stupid enough to open your door, Vincent will deal with them. Hanging up, you press into the couch and take one of your throw pillows to cling to until he shows up, trying not to have a panic attack for now.

Vincent closes his phone and tucks it away in his pocket, finally returning his attention to the terrified looking man whose neck is still caught in a vice-like grip under black leather, hands scrabbling futilely at Vincent’s inhumanly strong hold. Only the faintest wheezing whistles through his nose, face steadily turning redder from a lack of air - Vincent hadn’t intended to start choking him, but your call was emergent and he hadn’t wanted to frighten you with the cretin's screaming.

He releases his hold and the man sinks to the floor, gasping and coughing with hands to his neck. There's likely going to be a very distinctive bruise there in the shape of Vincent’s hand before long. He cocks his head and watches, waiting for most of the noise to die off before he speaks.

"Hunter Bradbury, age thirty. Five foot nine, one hundred and fifty six pounds, brown eyes, blond hair. You previously worked at the Edge Cat Cafe, and the Lowball Pub before. Your mother Felicia's maiden name was Stratton, married to Sam Bradbury. Your blood type is A negative."

Vincent rattles off the information, and receives a wheezy, horrified, "What the fuck?"

This time he grabs the man by the front of his shirt and easily hauls him up, dangling a solid foot off the ground while intense crimson eyes stare through him, the amber ring glowing brightly. In spite of the squirming and raspy expletives, he doesn't loosen his grasp and simply leans in close, his voice dangerously calm.

"You will never enter this building again. You will reconsider your life and move to Kalm, and I will never lay eyes on you again. If what I speak isn't truth..." His eyes gleam brighter than before, the intensity of his aura drawing little more than a fearful whimper from the man.

"The Hunter will become the hunted. I do not suggest learning what that is like."

He lets go again. This time the man scrambles to his feet immediately and bolts; Galian Beast rears large in the back of his mind, and though he feels the urge to let it have a game of cat and mouse with your ex turned stalker, the building certainly can't handle such a thing. Besides, his warning has been delivered, and he has truly important business to attend to now in reassuring you that nothing would ever hurt you on Vincent’s watch.

He'll make certain of it.

#vincent valentine x reader #no one scares his fuckign sunshine light of his life #i asked for name suggestions for the ex and hunter was just too fuckin funny ok

28 notes · View notes

from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 2 months ago

Note

Do you know anything (or maybe have some headcanons) about Rohan’s wedding traditions? How do they propose to be married? What kind of wedding outfits do they have? Do they marry for life, or does divorce exist? Thank you so much! I so love reading all your musings about Rohan!

Thanks for this question, and for being so nice! I love to talk Rohan, so I appreciate the chance! ❤️

I’ve actually never written a Rohirrim wedding and there really isn’t anything to go on from the books/lore, either, so I don’t have a fully developed idea of what that would look like.

Off the cuff, I’d say weddings in Rohan probably vary a lot depending on the wealth, status, location, etc. of the couple. Rich people will obviously have a much bigger, more elaborate wedding, maybe with multiple days of feasting and revelry, while a poor couple has a simple ceremony and a little party. Someone from the far western borders might have different traditions, perhaps with some Dunlendish influence as they were direct neighbors and sometimes intermarried, versus someone in the Wold, which is all the way east, extremely rural and sparsely populated. There’s no official religion of Rohan or anything that might have imposed uniformity on all their rituals, so variety is the name of the game. But there would be some common cultural elements, like toasting and poems and songs, etc. All that ceremonial stuff is in the category of things I definitely need to think more about, though I’m also always interested in other people’s thoughts and ideas, too!

For proposals, I think it was a tradition for most of Rohan’s history (something they picked up from the Gondorians) for royalty and nobles to be guided into negotiated marriages that were considered strategically advantageous. (Marrying for love is one of the few privileges of the poor! They could just find someone they liked, decide between themselves that they wanted to marry and then move forward.) Arranged marriage is something I have addressed in my stories. I’ve written about Elfhild growing to love Théoden deeply over time but still always regretting a little that she didn’t get to choose him. Also, my Théodred HATED the idea of being forced into a marriage and held out against it, which is why he was still unmarried into his 40’s. He didn’t live to see that officially change (*sob*), but I think it did. Éomer makes it clear in ROTK that Éowyn consented to Faramir’s proposal — “she grants it full willing” — and if he had learned that personal autonomy was important for her, I think he’d want to give the same autonomy to himself, his children and others in the future.

As for divorce, there’s no evidence for it in canon (and I am CERTAIN that Tolkien would hate it) but I’m a big believer that divorce is one of the most important tools for the protection of women’s interests to ever exist. So I want it in Rohan! I have a tiny piece of a draft somewhere of Éomer’s wife (who is not Lothíriel in my fics, but a daughter of Elfhelm) being left to rule alone while Éomer is away on business in Gondor, and she essentially invents divorce while he’s gone by granting the plea of several women for the dissolution of their marriages to drunken jerks. Even though the husbands complain bitterly to Éomer when he returns, Éomer has learned some stuff through the years and backs his wife’s move. I’m not sure if that little idea will ever make it into a posted story, but it exists not just in my head but on my google drive!

Thanks again for being so kind! And if you or anyone else have creative Rohirrim wedding/marriage ideas, please always feel free to share them with me!

#answered asks #weddings #proposals #divorce #rohirrim #lotr

26 notes · View notes

darklydeliciousdesires · 7 months ago

Text

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Five.

Thank you everyone for your kind praise of the last chapter! I appreciate you all so much :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 3,554

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

“God, you are so fuckin’ beautiful, doll, but if you don’t look even prettier when you’re takin’ a pounding. God damn,” he cussed, hands gripped onto her thighs as he held her spread before him, cock driving into her like a jackhammer. Now he’d gotten over his fear that anything even bordering on brutal would shatter his pretty little creature like she was heirloom glass, he was very, very much enjoying letting the beast in his nature run wild.

After all, she had demanded he fuck her harder, reducing his blood to pure magma.

As for Emily... not words existed. Merely static where her thoughts once resided, mouth dropped open, crying out as her lover fucked her so hard, she was sure he was attempting to actually go through her. The sexual finesse, the dirty talk, the way he fed her his thumb while grasping her jaw, slowing the savage onslaught of his thick cock as he leaned to her, kissing her neck sumptuously. God... it was both too much and not enough, if such a juxtapose could exist.

His mouth met hers, kisses of filthy indulgence shared, hand still clutching her jaw as he drove himself into her hard, but slow, oh so blindingly slow. He kissed every little sob that fell from her pretty mouth, the twitch of her slick walls around him sending a flare over his nerves, willing himself not to give in to it. He didn’t, hanging onto his own release until she shattered beneath him, both lying there in a state of blissed out contentment in the aftermath.

“You have all those books over there,” she began a while later, lying on her side as she gestured to the packed-out bookshelf across the apartment, “but I never see you reading any of them.”

“Don’t get much chance to these days,” he confessed, his hand wandering over the curve of her ass. He’d never seen an ass that perfect in all his damned life. “All my good stuff is at my house upstate, anyways. Gotta small library up there.”

“Yeah? Wow, that’s my dream, to stay in one place long enough that I can accumulate books, rather than sitting in a library for hours on end while I read,” she revealed, Luca looking interested.

“Who do you enjoy reading, hm?” he asked, fingers skimming back and forth over the curve of her waist and hip.

She took only a second to ponder. “Edith Wharton, the Brontë’s, Anton Chekov, Franz Kafka. God, I love Kafka. I get giddy on Kafka!” she enthused, watching his eyebrows rise significantly.

“Chekov and Kafka? Really?”

Her mouth dropped open, poking the centre of his chest with her index finger. “Hey, enough with this face of disbelief!”

“No, no, cara mia,” he was quick to speak, shaking his head. “No disbelief, just surprise. Kafka is my favourite author, yet I can’t think of a single other woman I have ever met who has even heard of him, let alone read his work.” He hummed a chuckle, his eyebrows fluttering. “Then again, the kinda broads I meet ain’t exactly bookworms.”

Her eye roll displayed a little bit of attitude he’d never witnessed in her before, and it made him chuckle, reaching to stroke the side of her neck. “Do I detect judgement there, Miss. Mortensen?”

She looked a little uncomfortable for a second before raising her eyebrows, her mouth twisting into a lopsided grin. “I suppose, but that’s only because I don’t know how people can’t find reading somebody else’s words fascinating, especially when there’s so much affinity to be found with them.”

“Gimme an example,” he requested, curling a piece of her hair around his middle finger.

“Kafka once said, ‘I am free, and that is why I am lost.’ It resounded with me so much, after leaving my mother and San Francisco behind. I finally felt free, but so lost for so long, not rooting myself anywhere. Moreso, never finding a place or a person to root myself with,” she spoke, her hand drifting up to cup his face, taking a brave breath. “Until I found you.”

The breadth of his smile made butterflies burst in her tummy, Luca covering her hand with his, turning his head to kiss her palm. “Let your roots wrap around mine all you want.”

“Like two vines curling together?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, leaning to kiss her, “just like that.” Peeling back the protective layers that surrounded her, he was finding a woman who seldom let people see what lay beneath. Quiet still, but so, so intelligent. Well-read and thoughtful, his absolute dream. He had yearned for a woman both of beauty and the intellect to discuss literature.

Why oh why had he wasted his time with whores?

He knew why, actually. Since he’d hammered in the final nail into the coffin that was his marriage, he had not sought women for permanence, merely a means to an end. And now here she was, the permanence he hadn’t been searching for at all, but who he now couldn’t see himself letting go of without a fight.

“So, tell me more about these.” Her hand wandered from his chest, over to the tattoos upon his arms, a seemingly random, haphazard collection of black brandings that marked his olive toned flesh.

“Whaddya wanna know?” he asked, his eyes following where her finger trailed down to his inner elbow.

“What does omerta mean?”

“The code of silence. It’s a Sicilian thing.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You mean a mafia thing?”

Laughing softly through his nose, he nodded. “Yeah, honey. A mafia thing. It’s a code of honour as well as silence. Very big in my world, omerta.”

“And the snake?” she then asked, her finger tracing the swirl of the viper upon his inner forearm.

“No reason, I just liked it.”

Good enough reason as any, she thought, to have a certain pattern of ink etched into your flesh for the rest of your life. Her finger continued to glide, reaching his hand and swirling over the number six. “This?”

“It’s my lucky number, solidified even more lately. I met you on the sixth, and your birthday is on the sixth, too. The sixth of...” he trailed off, frowning with thought.

“The sixth of?” she repeated, winding her hand around.

He looked pained, face creasing as he wracked his brain. “The sixth of one of the months of the year.”

She couldn’t help but fall apart laughing, Luca grumbling softly. “Hey, it’s eleven thirty in the morning and I already blew my load twice. You have to forgive a fella for havin’ a scrambled-up brain.”

“Okay, you’re forgiven. April, by the way.” Leaning in, she kissed his jaw a couple of times, resting her head down on his chest, her fingers gently tickling over the dark hair. “How long do I have you here for today, then?”

“As long as you like. That call I made earlier, it was me tellin’ Angelo to handle everything ‘cuz I knew I’d be busy with somethin’ or another. Glad it was the way I wasn’t expecting to be.”

“You weren’t?”

“Nah, not just yet, I wasn’t. Thought I’d have to deal with why you suddenly stared acting like a rabbit caught in headlights,” he told her, fingers slowly stroking up and down her arm. “Why was that?”

“I’ll tell you another time.”

Oh, she should be so lucky. “Tell me now.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” she muffled, hiding her face.

“Can’t hide behind your hair forever,” he snorted, popping his shoulder against her face to make her look up at him.

“No, but I can burrow.” Detangling herself from his embrace, she grabbed the pillows, piling them atop her head and then pointing. “See? Successful burrowing,” she muffled, making him laugh quietly.

He grabbed the pillows, throwing them off and reaching an arm beneath her, hauling her body atop his. “Successful unearthing. Now, tell me.” She made a small noise of discomfort. “Emily.”

“I had a sex dream, alright? Are you happy now, mortifying it out of me?”

He laughed again, louder this time. “Sweetheart, when my tongue has been pushed right up in your holiest of holes, I think we’re past embarrassment, ain’t we?”

Her concession came at the expense of a very pink face. “Hmm, suppose you’re right.”

“Was I as good in your dream as I am in reality?”

Of course, he’d ask that. “It was more of a combined effort.”

The grin he fixed her with had her blushing, hiding her face against his chest. “I demand to be shown.”

Just then, her stomach gurgled. Loudly. “And I think my belly demands to be fed.” Save by the rumble. Phew.

“You wanna eat?” he asked. “I can make that happen for ya. Whatcha want?”

Her head shot up from his chest, her eyebrow arching. “Are you going to cook?”

“I am not,” he chuckled, “Luca Changretta does not cook. He burns. Seriously, I decided to try and be a good husband one morning, when Filomena was days away from giving birth to Milania. Attempted to make her breakfast and started a small fire.”

“Not a good cook, huh?” she laughed, watching him grimace slightly as he shook his head. “Tell me, what are you good at?”

He eyes slowly found hers, grinning widely before sticking his tongue out and giving it a very rapid wiggle.

“Yeah, I think I might know that already, Luca!” she snorted with soft sarcasm, moving to lie at his side again. “What else?”

“I’m a mean shot,” he began, watching her widen her eyes.

“I think that’s standard for a successful wiseguy.”

“I did mean animals opposed to people. But yeah, them too,” he informed her, linking his fingers through hers and squeezing her hand. “I hunt when I’m up at my place in the Catskills. Always manage to get a clean head shot.”

“What else?”

“I’ve been told I’m a good listener. I prefer listening to talking. Trust me, this here, this is real fuckin’ chatty for me,” he spoke, pointing between them. She had noticed that the usually quite verbally concise man had indulged a little more than he normally would. It made her belly tingle. And then it rumbled, quite audibly.

He looked down, running a fingertip around her navel. “So, food?”

“Pastrami and Swiss on white bread, with lots of sauerkraut and mustard, please.”

He kissed her head, detangling himself. “Comin’ right up, doll.” While he walked to the telephone, she admired his form, chiselled back, a few scratches here and there from her nails, more tattoos as well. Oh, and the most perfectly pert ass in existence.

He made a call to the deli just up the block, putting in their order for the shop boy to bring down on his pushbike, her request followed by something loaded with mozzarella and assorted deli meats for himself, returning to the bed as soon as he’d hung up.

“Fifteen minutes. Just enough time for you to give me a live rendition of your dream.”

She should have known that he wouldn’t let it go. “I will, one day. When you’ve forgotten about it.”

He raised en eyebrow, shaking his head. “I’m a guy, darlin’. Trust me, we don’t forget things like that. Ever.”

Leaning to him, she tickled his cupid’s bow with the tip of her tongue, squeaking when he rapidly, but gently moved to bite it. “I’m still not showing you now.”

She got up to fetch herself a water, leaving him grumbling in mild agitation in her wake. Once they’d eaten, they returned to the bed, lying there talking for much of the afternoon in between bouts of sex that only got even steamier than the session before. They did finally make it out of bed, Luca taking her out for dinner in the city before they arrived back at Bella Vita.

While he went for a sit and a drink with his buddies, Angelo and Donny raising their glasses to her, she slid into a seat at the bar, being greeted with a cheek kiss from Maggie.

“So, I hear somebody was enjoyin’ herself with the big boss this morning, huh?” she grinned, her red lips curving to reveal a huge, beautiful grin. “I’d say tell me how you like his cock, but baby love, I fuckin’ heard!”

Emily’s eyes widened in an instant, reaching for the glass of vodka rocks she was furnished with, her hand missing the receptacle a few times before Maggie steered it into place. “Oh my god, how? I didn’t think I was that loud?”

Pointing up and to the side, the barmaid’s grin continued to widen. “Air vent, sugar. Trust me, when the music ain’t blastin’ out down here, the sound travels well. I ain’t even ashamed to admit it got me all hot in my undies, hearin’ you two goin’ at it!”

Her booming laugh filled the space at Emily hiding her face in her hands, reaching to squeeze her shoulders. “Next time you get that hot with ya man, at least let me come up and watch, eh?”

“Jesus, Maggie!” she cried, her friend reaching to pinch her cheek playfully.

“Come on, miss lady!” she laughed, pouring out a measure of rum for a waiting patron, sliding the glass over to him. “You’re the boss’s gal now, you gotta carry yourself like you are. No more wallflower behaviour. Lift that pretty chin, ‘cuz round these parts, you’re the fuckin’ queen now, darl. Everybody knows it, therefore so should you.”

The words absorbed like ink to blotting paper, Emily sitting up a little straighter, casting her glance around the room. She’d walked in there with her hand in Luca’s, and the patrons had noticed. The way they viewed her, it was with nothing but respect from the men, and envy from the women. She wasn’t nobody’s girl any longer, elevated to the most coveted position in that particular corner of Brooklyn.

She turned back to an expectant Maggie, paused in a lull, waiting for her thoughts on the observation. Her eyebrow rose, lifting her chin, remembering. Remembering the way he’d barely let her go for even a second all day, the way he’d praised and lavished her, the way the words cara mia had rolled so effortlessly off his tongue... the way his eyes had shone like peridot wildfire when he came for her.

“Hm,” she hummed, sipping her drink. “I guess I am, and honey...” Leaning close, she made a motion with her finger for her friend to lean closer, Maggie obliging, “...you should see how glorious my throne is.”

A very mischievous wink was delivered, and her mouth fell open, squealing as she drummed her hands repeatedly off the bar, pointing at Emily with both forefingers. “And that is how you be a queen, my gal!”

They shared laughter, Maggie counting down the minutes to her break, taking Emily with her when she went out back to the small rear alleyway behind the speakeasy, where it was quiet and free of people. Well, as quiet as Brooklyn could get on a Friday night.

“There is a way you could help me become queenlier, you know, Maggie,” she spoke, her friend lighting herself a cigarette, offering the case. “Ah, why not?” Cigarettes were a rare treat she couldn’t usually afford. Pulling one out, the redhead offered her light, snapping the lighter shut again.

“Ahhh, my regal acolyte comes to the oracle for her sage advice,” she nodded, blowing smoke down her nose. “Whatcha need help with?”

“Can I be blunt?”

“Are you gonna blush while you do it?” she couldn’t help but tease.

“Probably,” Emily confessed, taking a drag on her cigarette. “I need tips. Blowjob tips. Luca is nothing short of giving – and very talented – when it comes to pleasing me with his mouth, but I’m just so stunted by inexperience that I don’t want to shame myself by trying to return the favour when I have no real clue what I’m doing.”

Maggie began nodding rapidly, pointing her cigarette at her. “Now this, sistah, this is my mother fucking forte! Oh, you have come to exactly the right place, and please do feel free to mention I was the one who taught you to suck dick like a champion. I could do with a pay bump.” They shared giggles, Maggie continuing. “Alright, so first, you gotta make like his manhood is the most amazing thing on god’s green earth, like there ain’t nothin’ you want in your mouth more.”

“I’m there already,” she confirmed, smirking. “Continue.”

“Alright, so with your technique, think popsicle. Don’t go at it all guns blazin’ to begin with, give him a few strokes with your hand, couple’a licks over the head a few times, which you’ve probably noticed already is the most sensitive part of a cock.” A nod confirmed that such had indeed been noted. “Few little sucks, and I cannot stress this enough, get his dick real fuckin’ wet. It’ll feel amazing for him, think mimicking your pussy in terms of wetness.”

“So yeah, keep teasing, taking a little more of him back, go an inch at a time, and for the love of all things holy, cover your teeth. I mean, some guys like a gentle graze, so if he does, he’ll probably tell ya. Keep ‘em away until you know for sure, though. Tease the fuck outta him with your tongue, don’t give him too much at once, and yeah, just build on it. Speed up the closer he gets, then once he’s come, slow it down, be gentler.”

Nodding rapidly at her own advice, she was all done until something popped into her brain, her eyes widening as she flapped her hand. “Oh, just a warning, too. If you let him come in your mouth, be warned. Cum ain’t exactly tasty, so be prepared! He don’t smoke no more, though, so you have that goin’ for ya. Always tastes like salty bleach when they smoke, for some reason.”

“Gotcha, I think I can remember all that. And the warning? Appreciated.”

“Don’t panic about it, though. I mean, it don’t taste the best, but shit, darl. It’s fuckin’ sexy to have a guy blow right in your mouth, and he’ll love ya for it if you swallow. All men do.”

Armed with her new information, Emily made rapid mental notes, feeling herself growing aroused at the mere thought of having his cock in her mouth. She and Maggie walked back in, returning to the bar, unable to stop herself from swinging her ass as she walked, feeling her man’s eyes right upon her, turning to wink at him.

The conversation at his table was much, much more concise over the matter, but conveyed all it needed to.

“Oh, so she finally let you in there, huh, cuz?” Angelo chirped, waving to Emily before grinning at Luca.

He sipped his whiskey, enjoying the buzz. “A gentleman never tells.”

His statement earned a snort. “Yeah? I’ve heard all about your exploits, amico. You ain’t no goddamned gentleman!” he laughed, leaning closer. “So, how many times you jump her today, huh?”

“Yeah, I might not be,” Luca began, putting a fresh toothpick between his teeth, “but that gal over there is my fuckin’ lady, and you don’t get to hear shit.” He then paused, rolling his tongue around the inside of his cheek, a devilish grin beginning to widen his mouth. “Four.”

“You horny bastard.”

Luca raised his eyebrows, sinking his drink. “That’s what she called me, too, cugino. Now, cousin or not, you talk about my gal like that again and I’ll crack your teeth out your goddamned jaw.” Angelo knew he was only half joking, Luca winking as he rose and left the table, gliding across the room and over to the bar.

Emily felt his hand touch against her bare upper back, sliding down at he leaned in close. “Havin’ a good night, doll?”

It could stand to be better. “I am, but I think I need you to take me back upstairs.” Waving to Maggie, she sank her drink and slid from the stool, fingernail running along his jaw before she sauntered off in the direction of the heavy door. It was surprising to nobody more than her, how different a woman she was walking through it than she’d been two weeks before, carried through by Luca a bloodied and battered mess.

She could feel him behind her, her back tingling from his presence, sliding her feet from her shoes and her stockings from her legs once she reached the top of the stairs, moving to the couch and sitting down. “Get over here, handsome.”

“Oh, look at this now, making her demands of me,” he drawled, walking over to her all the same, halting once he was right in front of where she sat. “And what can I do ya for, now I’m here, huh?”

Without a single word, she stood, pushing the jacket from his shoulders, his waistcoat, tie and shirt following before sitting back down again, her gaze never leaving his while undoing his pants. “Stand there and enjoy, is what you can do.”

He had a distinct feeling he was about to do just that.

#luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta smut #luca changretta x ofc #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta fic #nobody's girl #luca and emily

64 notes · View notes

crow-hoards-things · 6 months ago

Text

The Bad Batch Series Finale

FULL DISCLOSURE: This is a vent post. I’m angry and hurt. After I get this out of my system I’ll be more open to discussing the positives of the episode.

Warnings: Ranting, Spoilers

Hooo boy. Okay. I am… less than satisfied?

Quick rundown since I haven’t posted much of anything Bad Batch related: Tech is my favorite Batch member, immediately followed by Crosshair. I’m also a HUGE Republic Commando Nerd (read all the books, played the game, despised Bad Batch as a whole initially because I felt the commandos were being unfairly ignored, can sing + translate Vode An, etc.) and Scorch was my favorite Delta. The Bad Batch grew on me shortly after Season 1 finished up, and I immediately latched onto Tech when I began watching. He’s the reason I watched the first two seasons. (Crosshair + delusions about Tech were the combined force behind watching the final season)

NOW, onto my actual thoughts on the episode, in no semblance of order because my brain is still trying to process, Ft. Cry count:

• Wish Tech was here. He would’ve loved the Zillo being freed.

• “‘Cause I’d do the same thing” no you wouldn’t. Fives would’ve. The you I fell in love with would’ve yelled at Fives about it being a terrible idea and then promptly gone along with it anyway. That said it was a really cute moment and I loved his nonchalant little “come on” afterwards.

• C: “Echo or Omega?” W&H: “Omega” THEY KNOW THEIR GIRL SO WELL

• When Hemlock went to get the operatives I got excited thinking maybe, just maybe we’d get Tech back.

• CROSSHAIR LOST HIS FREAKING HAND!?!? WHAT THE HECK!?! I will never stop being salty about this. He’s been through enough. [Near Tears]

• Rampart sucks

• Nala Se got to blow stuff up and I appreciate that even if I don’t really like her

• I’m glad Wrecker’s okay. He had me scared for a bit. Hunter, conversely, never really did? He’s Omega’s Dad, he had to survive.

• Did anybody else see that one operative whose helmet seemingly had goggles built into it? We had a lingering shot on his helmet for a few seconds and they looked like a red version of Tech’s goggles.

• SCORCH IS DEAD AND YOU’D BETTER BELIEVE I’M MAD ABOUT IT! [First shedding of tears]

• HECK YEAH, HEMLOCK IS DEAD!!! [Tears of relief combined with grief over Scorch]

• I’m so glad Omega hugged Crosshair first. I fully expected her to just run to Hunter, and Crosshair needed that hug.

• Echo’s goodbye was disrespectful. 0/10. He’s family and they don’t even care that he’s leaving???

• SOMEONE IS MISSING FROM OUR NICE LITTLE GROUP SHOT!

• I never really got super invested in the dynamic between Omega and Hunter, but the ending between them was cute I guess.

• We were robbed. We could’ve gotten Crosshair and Wrecker as old men and we were robbed.

• Tech is dead. Like, seriously, really and truly, dead. As a delusional “Tech’s alive guys, trust me” fan, it feels like he just died all over again. I’ll talk more about this later because I’m not over it. [Que sob-fest]

alright, circling back around to my main gripes, in order of appearance:

#1. Scorch.

I hate how they handled him. At first when he showed up I got super excited. That was my boy! In the Bad Batch show!! He’s making an appearance!!! Maybe they’ll do something with the Delta boys!!

Even as the episodes went on and I started to suspect where his path was leading, I consistently would go “Scorch!!! <3” every episode, because that is my boy and I love him dearly.

The levels of offended I am on Scorch’s behalf are not within my ability to express with words. The complete and utter disrespect he was shown over his time on the show is appalling. Why bring him in if you’re going to drain him of all his personality, make him have zero plot relevance, and then murder him?! They could easily have made a new clone for that, as seen by the number of operatives who exist and got 0.5 minutes of screen time.

But no. They brought in a beloved character with 10 seconds of canonical screen time prior, stripped him of everything that made him lovable, didn’t even have him DO ANYTHING, and then murdered him. It feels like a spit in the face and a kick to the gut all at once.

I will mourn. I’ve already cried and I’ll probably cry again. But right now I’m angry and I think Scorch deserves to have people be angry about how he was treated.

#2. Tech

Yes. I admit to having been a “trust me guys, Tech’s alive” person. I will also admit that at the end of episode 13 I wanted him to stay dead because I had zero faith they could satisfactorily bring him back.

My gripe is not with him staying dead. Yes, it feels like losing him all over again. Yes, I will mourn him again. Yes. That sucks. It’s not what’s making me mad.

What makes me mad is how his death was handled.

• It served ZERO purpose narratively other than to up the stakes and make us worry about whether anyone else would die (Spoiler alert: They didn’t. Tech was the only one who died) • Nobody mourned him. No one seemed affected by his death at all. No one cared. I don’t care what anyone says, that will NEVER be okay. • The first actual mention of Tech *dying* was in the finale. Sure, we’ve had name drops and goggle appearances, but actually talking about what happened? One line. One. Freaking. Line.

I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face, you know? He deserved better and so did we. He was a part of that family and they couldn’t even be bothered to address the responses to his death. He was beloved by many of us and they couldn’t even respect him or his fans enough to treat his death like something to be mourned.

That’s wrong, no matter how you look at it.

#Crow’s cawing #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #star wars tbb #Star Wars The Bad Batch Tech #tbb tech #star wars republic commando #republic commando #tbb scorch #clone commando #clone commando scorch #tbb spoilers #Star Wars The Bad Batch spoilers #spoilers

47 notes · View notes

deanmarywinchester · 11 months ago

Text

previous years: 2022, 2021 / list of worst sf/f/horror

the bangers were BANGING this year, I kept mentally readjusting my top 5 list every time I read something good so the honorable mentions are extremely honorable this year. I hope you read anything that sounds good from this list and tell me about it!

top 5:

chain gang all stars by nana kwame adjei-brenyah: when I say that this book is like the hunger games for adults, I’m not making a glib comparison between two books about fighting to the death, I’m saying that I haven’t felt so intensely about a book since I stayed up late to tear through the hunger games and sob about it when I was thirteen. this book is satire as real and devastating as I’ve ever read, with action scenes that feel like they’re being dripped directly into my hindbrain and a unique and believable love story. put it on hold at your library literally RIGHT now.

the actual star by monica byrne: about a post-climate catastrophe utopian society built around a religion started by a teenage girl in 2012 based on mayan traditions, and also about the teenage girl, and also about the maya. this book made me crazy because the future society felt real enough to touch, with its radical openness and collectivity solving problems that exist today but causing new ones that are totally novel and meaty and interesting to dig into. read it if you’re interested in different ways of being.

the spear cuts through water by simon jiménez: really, REALLY good, fresh, original epic fantasy. jimenez picks a few perspectives to stick to but hops fluidly into bystanders’ brains to give you their perspectives, so even background characters feel fleshed-out and no one’s pain is dismissed as a side effect of heroic battles or whatever. highly recommended if you like framing narratives and stories about stories, and like epic fantasy but wish it wasn’t mostly about finding acceptable enemies to slaughter with cool swords

the dispossessed by ursula k. le guin: I love how much this book is about hope as clear-eyed commitment to the boring and difficult work of a brighter and necessary future. sometimes the work of the glorious anarcho-communist revolution is leaving your university post and romantic partner for months at a time to dig irrigation ditches so nobody starves when there’s a drought. read this book for diplomatic conniving, a clash of values between a capitalist planet and its dissident moon, and hope.

imperial radch trilogy and its spinoffs by ann leckie: what if you were built to be a weapon of the empire, a serene sentient battleship with thousands of human bodies all containing your consciousness, and you lost all bodies but one and had to figure out how to be a person, singular and alone? what if you were a 19th century british military officer and you slept for a thousand years into the decline of the empire? what if you were grown in a vat to be a facsimile of human and then told off for eating all your siblings even though eating them was SO interesting? what then. leckie’s prose is incisive and funny, her unreliable narrators are wonderful, and her stories are intimate even though the backdrops are insanely huge. 👍.

honorable mentions:

house of leaves by mark z. danielewski: guys? anyone hearda this one? anyway. Something Is Wrong With This House horror with themes of storytelling and grief. recommending that you slam this book as fast as possible like I did so you can hold all its layers in your head at once.

the lathe of heaven by ursula k le guin: i thought I didn’t like ursula k le guin, and then I read this book, went OH and immediately devoured the hainish cycle. im so sorry miss ursula. this book about a hapless pacific northwesterner whose therapist is making him dream different realities into being is so sharp and sly and funny. themes of choices, ends and means.

he who drowned the world by shelley parker-chan: I liked the prequel to this addition to the radiant emperor duology. I LOVED this book. parker-chan has invented new and exciting modes of fucked-up codependency and im obsessed. historical light-fantasy with themes of ideals vs what it takes to reach them, gender, and regret.

babel by r. f. kuang: found the didacticism of this book annoying, but i really loved the concept of this novel and the way it slowly ratchets up the stakes. this novel is for people who want to smash the fun of the magic school genre against the reality of universities’ complicity in the imperial machine.

piranesi by susannah clarke: im late to this book but it’s such a weird little gem. peaceful yet unsettling. a man takes care of an endless house with an ocean inside it until he realizes the house is stealing his memories. themes of memory and devotion.

hell follows with us by andrew joseph white: I can only read YA these days if it’s a reread or if it’s genuinely good and really really strange. this is that. weird gory fantasy about a trans teen who escapes his militarized post-apocalyptic christian cult and finds himself turning into something Different. my only gripe is that he uses 2023-perfect language to describe transness and I think he should be inventing genders weve never even thought of. such is YA.

some desperate glory by emily tesch: a rolickin’ good space opera time with terrible women <3. a thriller about how the golden child of her isolated human-supremacist space station cult deprograms and the consequences of it. this feels like a grown-up SPOP until the theoretical physics gets involved. big fan

the library of mount char by scott hawkins: this book is harrow the ninth in suburbia until it becomes a more macabre version of the absurdity of the gomens apocalypse. God raises his children, sometimes brutally, to hone their powers in a neighborhood that mysteriously keeps out outsiders. came for the dysfunctional mess of the god-children and now I can never look at a grill the same way

runners up:

bunny by mona awad: books that make you WISH you were in mona awad’s MFA program where she must have been having a terrible time. the weird one out in an MFA program accepts overtures into the unbearable rich-girls’ clique to find out what they’re Up To. themes of aimlessness and the intersection of class with the art world

camp damascus by chuck tingle: have you ever wished that you were simply too autistic to be successfully demonically brainwashed into not having gay thoughts? horror-flavored thriller that was just fun

light from uncommon stars by ryka aoki: this author put a bunch of genres in a blender and came up with something fun and surprisingly cozy. an immortal woman must sell violinists’ souls to the devil in exchange for their fame, or he’ll drag her to damnation instead. there might be aliens and coffeeshop romance involved. definitely a blender.

the fragile threads of power by v. e. schwab: if you haven’t read a darker shade of magic and you like tightly paced high fantasy and historical fantasy elements, political intrigue, and pirates, read that first. if you have, there’s more now! lila bard are you free on thursday when I am free

the library of the dead & our lady of mysterious ailments by t. l. huchu: a teenage girl provides for her family in soft-apocalypse magic edinburgh with a job carrying messages from ghosts to their living relatives. an ongoing mystery series about the intrigues she uncovers among the dead.

severance by ling ma: this books is on the list of media that is the terror to me: it's about an apocalyptic disease that makes people reenact their routines mindlessly until they collapse. intimate apocalypse novel with themes of late capitalist malaise.

ocean’s echo by everina maxwell: i didn't really like winter's orbit because i'm just not a romance guy, but this second novel stands alone and the romance is more insane and less of the entire point of the novel. (also it's between essentially Discworld's Carrot and Moist Von Lipwig, which is. really something.) in the Space Military, a buttoned-up mind controller must pretend to bend a socialite with illegal mind-reading powers to his will. what if fake relationship but the relationship they have to fake is "brain linked master/servant pair."

the murderbot diaries by martha wells: novellas about a misanthropic security android who jailbroke itself in order to watch tv. the name "murderbot" is a joke but it very much did kill people <3 themes of paranoia and outsiderhood, corporate wrongdoing, repentance, and trust

black water sister by zen cho: zen cho is good at any kind of fantasy she writes, including this, her first modern fantasy novel. a closeted lesbian has to move in with her family in malaysia after college in the US, only to discover that her dead grandmother has some unfinished business involving a local goddess and a conniving real estate developer. themes of family, gender, and place.

the way inn by will wiles: a man who’s paid to pretend he’s other people to attend conferences in their place gets trapped in an endless Marriott. has the sharp humor of a colson whitehead corporate satire until it becomes more straightforwardly horror-flavored.

#yearly book roundup #reading tag #my posts #it was a good year for my like. ideological and political development and im so serious that some of these books helped almost as much as #the nonfiction i read #reading about totally different and new ways of structuring society and morality are an antidote against knee-jerk reactionary thinking #like. 'life doesnt work like that' okay but what if we could make life work like that? what would it take? why does life work like THIS now #you know. anyway stream the dispossessed and the actual star especially

110 notes · View notes

happilychee · 10 months ago

Text

thinking about aromantic lucy

I saw a terf saying aspec people aren't actually queer so fuck them here's aromantic lucy heartfilia

cw: a few mentions of internalized arophobia

lucy who doesn't know that the word love exists until she reads it in one of the few fairytale books in her father's extensive library. lucy who doesn't quite get the kissing and the physicality and the fiery proclamations, but thinks that it's an okay price to pay for someone to be so passionate for her. to choose her and care about her, like her mother did before she passed.

lucy, who's eight years old and crying after another argument with her father, who summons aquarius and asks "do you love me?" aquarius feels her blood pressure rise, but seeing the broken look in her wielder's watery eyes, she decides to drop the snark. "I do, kid." "does that mean you wanna kiss me?" aquarius almost smacks lucy over the head.

lucy who doesn't quite understand the difference between how she cares for her spirits and how she felt about her mom. lucy who cares deeply for everyone who's important to her, who thinks that aquarius could just as easily be her knight in shining armor as the storybook prince. lucy who reads romance books because she wants someone like that in her life. lucy who's never had any friends besides aquarius. lucy who thinks it must be nice to have someone choose you, care about you, protect you. lucy decides that that's what love is.

lucy who's old enough to know she doesn't like her father. lucy who's so confused when she hates him but still cares about him. lucy who's old enough to run away from home but too young, too young.

lucy who joins fairy tail and has no idea what to expect. lucy who's startled by her new friends' openness and easy acceptance of her. lucy who blushes when natsu throws an arm around her, who feels warm and fuzzy when gray guides her by the small of her back, who has a lopsided grin on her face when erza links arms with her as they walk. lucy who suddenly thinks that she's in love with three people at once and panics (her storybooks never mentioned that!!).

lucy who turns to who she can confidently call her best friend, levy mcgarden, for help. levy sits her down with a cup of hot chocolate and cookies. they talk for hours about sexuality and attraction; lucy sleeps over that night. the word that sticks out the most in her mind is aromantic.

lucy who gets drunk at a party and gets a little too close to cana, and suddenly they're in cana's apartment, making out like there's no tomorrow. lucy who feels guilt creep up in the morning because she knows cana and gray and loke have something going, and she might've just ruined it. lucy who tears up when cana laughs because she's so, so confused. cana's expression morphs into concern and she wipes away her friend's tears, warm skin on skin. cana who tells lucy that what she does with gray and what she does with loke doesn't restrict her from what she does with other people. "we talked about it, I promise." cana reassures her. then, leaning in with a sexy smirk on her face, she whispers, "besides, they're probably jealous I took you home first~" the rush of heat is enough to make lucy's mind go blank with joy.

lucy who shyly asks cana about her relationships and learns so much she feels like her head is going to explode. lucy who has a crisis about her storybooks and her ideal romances. she's never going to have that, she realizes. it feels like someone's scooped out her chest.

lucy whose feelings ebb and flow like the tide. she's not used to this. being so... different. her storybooks are scattered across the floor, thrown in an angry fit. her door is locked, but her window isn't, and that's how natsu gets in. "you okay, luce? we haven’t seen you in a while."

the dam breaks. lucy sobs in natsu's arms, and all she can think is that this is the exact type of hurt/comfort scene she loves in her stories. she wishes she were normal, so she could love normally, so she could love natsu the normal way and be done with it. she doesn't realize she's talking out loud.

natsu cups her face, onyx eyes boring into chocolate ones. he squishes her cheeks together, the way he does when he thinks she's overthinking something. and then, natsu breaks through her entire crisis with three little words.

"does it matter?" he furrows his brow. "you're lucy, and I'm natsu, and I care about you." "but- I don't feel romantic attraction-" natsu huffs, frustrated that lucy's not getting something that's apparently obvious to him. "luce. I care about you, and I trust you, and I want to take care of you and protect you. who cares about anything else?" lucy blinks once, twice, and then she's sobbing again. natsu panics, because he knows he can be blunt and dismissive sometimes, but lucy barrels into him, clutching onto his scarf tightly.

"you care about me?" she whispers in a child's voice. that's more important to her than anything. romantic, platonic, the gray area in between, none of it matters as long as natsu cares.

natsu tightens his grip, wondering who he has to pummel for making his girl feel that way. "course I care about you, dummy. I'd burn down the world for you. and so would erza and gray and cana and everyone else."

lucy who has a really hard time moping when natsu's there every step of the way, trying to cheer her up. erza and gray show up, too, and it's hard to stay sad when she's being tickled by erza while gray cooks dinner and kicks natsu out of her kitchenette.

lucy who feels the hollow fill with something warm and gooey when erza gives her a hug, confessing that she often has trouble figuring out how she feels about anything. lucy laughs when erza tells her about the shenanigans that have happened when she doesn't pick up on someone flirting with her but gray and natsu do. she feels all fuzzy when gray leans against her, telling her that he feels the same way. his hand plays with hers, and she thinks it's nice how well they slot together.

lucy realizes when natsu falls asleep in her lap, arms wrapped protectively around her waist. lucy realizes when gray falls asleep at her side, erza tucked to his chest. lucy realizes that her friends make her feel like she's on top of the world, and she doesn't need a fairytale prince when she's got fairy tail.

111 notes · View notes

fokron · 9 months ago

Text

sorry I'm still reeling from reading the Natori cousin arc (up to chp 115 bc that's far as I can find the scans).

They really hit us with:

Natori explicitly trusting Natsume with knocking him out of yokai-magic induced hallucinations of his traumatic childhood memories.

Hiiragi literally saying that could only work with someone Natori trusts UNCONDITIONALLY and kinda implying natsume is the only person that applies to in natori's life........ o k a y!!! catch me sobbing!!

After natsume knocks natori out of it natori is like: "sorry for being so weak and a loser lmfao I'll walk u out so u can get back to ur day" and natsume says "Nice Try But I'm Helping You Idiot."

a Yokai-illusion version of Natori (built from the yokai seeing into Natori's soul) literally tells natsume how he was lonely and scared and ostracized as a kid and desperately wanted specifically a younger relative who could see the same shit he sees. and when REAL natori pops up and dissolves the illusion and is like haha don't listen to that thing lol and natsume is like isn't it built from your soul tho and natori doesn't rlly argue against it that hard........................ okay.

Natori blaming himself for mitsuru not being able to exist + no younger relatives getting born in general bc it was so feared that they could get the sight like natori like GOD the self hatred is so thick here fucking hell.

and let's go back to natori desperately wanting a younger relative who also had the sight so he wasn't alone. Natsume. literally natsume. his relationship to natsume. I'm biased bc I headcanon their relationship as sibling-like but I feel there's a lot in canon to back it up and POINTS POINTS POINTS LIKE THIS RIGHT HERE...

Also not super relevant but important to me specifically Nyanko offhandedly saying "good grief you and this kid" but like. to natsume. so referring to natori as a kid which he normally only does with natsume. could be specific translation or me misinterpreting it but um. Nyanko softening up to natori.

And there's a scene within like. a single page. where nyanko transfers from natsume's shoulder to natori's head to natori's arms which shouldn't be as funny and sweet to me as it is but it is.

(tho should be noted whenever I get back into natsuyuu, I usually do reread/rewatch it in order. so I don't remember if nyanko softening up to natori happened a while ago or whatever lol)

and ofc we cannot forget THE REASON NATORI TOOK ON THE JOB IN THE FIRST PLACE WAS MOSTLY FOR A CHANCE (just a possibility!!!) TO HELP NATSUME W/ THE BOOK OF FRIENDS..... and was willing to suffer thru uncomfortable childhood memories about it. Bye I'm actually going to throw up.

#natsume yuujinchou #natori shuuichi #natsume takashi #nyanko sensei #nyanko-sensei #alll of these thoughts and interpreations should also be taken with a grain of salt bc I read these chaps while delirious on cold medicine #fokron speaks #natsuyuu

60 notes · View notes

daydreaming-en-pointe · 10 months ago

Text

╰┈➤ i won’t sleep till you’re safe inside.

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x Sister!Reader (platonic obviously)

Type: Fanfic - Fluff -> Angst

Word count: 8.5k (🫢🤯)

Warnings: NOT CANON-COMPLIANT! (I’ll make a list of everything that’s probably not canon but is for this fic) colour-coordinated dialogues to make it easier to understand who’s talking, starts out fluffy but evolves into angst, cussing, reader is desi, usage of Hindi (translations given, except for the Sheila Ki Jawani song), hahaha culturedumping & projection go hand in hand 😭

Some Goldenmodel (is that their official ship name??) too! (pls they’re literally so cute 🫠🫠)

A/N: Basically where Pavi loses his sister instead of Gayathri :D

The numbers at the top of every section indicate Pavitr and the reader’s age respectively (reader is older than Pavi) :)

Andddd the Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar hc continues 😁

Probably (Definitely) Non-Canon List:

-reader’s existence basically since she’s the daughter of Maya Aunty and Uncle Bhim (so she’s not technically his sister she’s his cousin but close enough!)

-I actually have NO idea how Pavi’s parents died or anything abt them so I’m basically making stuff up hehe

-Reader also gets the scholarship to Mumbattan that Pavitr got, but for a different subject

-kinda waffling on Bhim’s death since I’ve never actually read the comic where he died so idk much of anything

-Reader helps Pavi make his webshooters (kinda)

-Pav may be a teensy bit ooc I apologize for that

-there’s probably a lot more but none I can pinpoint specifically right now

(this is the song that Pav sings btw)

title inspo:

Will you call me to tell me you’re alright?

Cause I worry about you the whole night

Don’t repeat my mistakes

I won’t sleep till you’re safe inside

(Safe Inside, James Arthur)

——— ———

4 & 6.

“Didi!”

You stifled a giggle, peeking out from behind the tree you were hiding behind to see the tiny boy scrambling over rocks and protruding tree roots, his eyes squinted in concentration as he searched for you.

“Come out, come out wherever you- ai!” He cut himself off with a sharp squeal of surprise, stumbling backwards as you leaped out and bared your teeth like the demonic rakshasas that seem to lunge right off the pages of your mother’s - Pavitr’s aunt’s - mythology books.

“Not fair,” Pavitr complained, glaring up at you and crossing his arms. His nose scrunched at the injustice and you laughed, sticking your tongue out at him and ruffling his hair.

“Totally fair.”

“Nahin! Pura cheating! Didi, tum hamesha dhokha deti ho!” (No! Fully cheating! You always cheat!)

“Oy, Pavi, main kaise dhokha de rahi hai? What nonsense you’re talking.” (How am I cheating?)

“I’m telling Maya Aunty that you’re being mean to me.”

“Wait-”

“Arrey, both of you stop squabbling and come up here,” Maya Aunty’s voice carried down into the lawn from the veranda as she poked her head out of the kitchen. “I made gajar ka halwa. Come eat before Bhim gets back and finishes everything.”

Pavitr’s eyes lit up at the mention of the carrot dessert, all earlier frustrations forgotten for the moment. “Race you!” He turned and darted across the lawn, his hair bobbing as he kicked up clouds of dirt under his shoes.

“Pavi, how is this fair?!”

——— ———

6 & 8.

“Didi! Checkmate! I win!”

“Ai, Pavi, that’s not… chess doesn’t work like…” He turned to you with big, shining eyes, grinning from ear to ear because he thought he had won. You trailed off with a resigned sigh, not having the heart to tell him that he had just got his own king killed.

“Wow, Pavi, you’re getting so good at this! You’re a natural!” You ruffled his hair affectionately, despite his protests and attempts to fight you off.

“Y/N! Yahaan aao!” (Come here)

You immediately perked up, eyebrows drawing together as you heard your mother’s voice, only… something was off. She sounded like she was holding back tears, the beginnings of a raw sob lingering in her throat.

“Haan, Amma? Kya hua?” (Yes? What happened?) (Amma/Maa just means mother)

She sat hunched next to the balcony, a phone in her slack grip. Your father - Pavitr’s Uncle Bhim - knelt with his back to you, holding her and rubbing her shoulders comfortingly. Tears fell from her eyes and the only sounds that split the air were her jagged heaves between soft sniffles.

“Amma? Papa, what happened to Amma?” Unease twisted in your stomach, knitting your eyebrows closer together as you moved forward and grasped your mother’s hand.

Your father turned to look at you and you inhaled sharply.

That was the first time you had ever seen your father cry.

“Pavitr’s parents were involved in an accident,” He struggled to keep his tone even for you.

“An accident? You mean…”

“Yes, beta. They’re… they’re gone.”

Your breath hitched and you backed away slightly, steadying yourself against the wall behind you.

You didn’t know much about what happened - and it would probably stay like that since you were ‘too young to bother yourself with the worries of the adult world - but you knew one thing for sure.

This is going to break Pavi.

I can’t let that happen.

You heard soft patters of bare feet on the marble floors and looked up just as Pavitr’s dark hair disappeared to the side of the doorframe.

Not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down mid-speech, you got up and left without a word, patting your mother’s hand sympathetically on the way.

You found Pavitr sitting against the tree you used to play hide and seek around. He pulled his knees to his chest, resting his forehead on his kneecaps and raising his head when you approached. “What happened, Didi?”

You grasped at words that would help convey it, but to no avail. How could you tell a 6 year old - one who was essentially a brother to you now - that his parents had died?

You had two ways out.

…I should tell him.

“Pavi… Maya Aunty will explain, but… basically, you’re going to be spending a lot more time with us - with me. How does that sound?”

Pavitr grinned, his eyes shining - and of course he had to look like a trusting puppy. Of course it had to make you feel guilty the moment those words, a romanticized version of the truth, left your lips.

“That sounds awesome,” He said happily, half-turning to wrap his arms snugly around your waist in a hug. “We’ll have so much fun! You can finally teach me how to play kancha and lagori like you’ve been wanting to! Right, Didi?”

“…yeah. You’re right.” You leaned down to kiss the top of his head as he nestled comfortably against your side, the strands of hair tickling your chin as you rested your head on his. You felt tears starting to well up as the depth of the situation hit you at full force.

Kaayar. Coward.

——— ———

9 & 11.

“Didi!”

You looked up from your schoolwork as Pavitr burst into your room. “What’s going on?”

“Maya Aunty said there’s some sort of… scholarship? They said we have to go to Mumbattan!” Your eyes shot wide open and you pushed your chair back from your desk to follow him into the kitchen. What scholarship? Mumbattan?

Maya Aunty had told you both that she had submitted samples of your writing and a few of Pavitr’s blueprints for futuristic designs he had come up with for various robotics competitions, but… you never thought the entry would ever amount to anything.

“Amma, Papa, yeh sach hai? Did we get a scholarship to Mumbattan?” (Is this true?)

“Haan, beta.” Your mother looked slightly tired, weary - but ultimately happy. The happiest you had seen her in quite a while. Your father patted your head affectionately, a large smile on his face. “Well done, both of you. Mere champions.” (My champions)

The moment dissipated like it was never there in the first place when Maya Aunty’s eyebrows scrunched together with worry once more as she turned to Uncle Bhim. “Arrey, Bhim. Hum kaise kharch uthayenge? Mumbattan mei, woh kiraaya-” (How will we afford this? The rent in Mumbattan-)

The moment you heard those words, you let out a soft exhale and took Pavitr’s hand, gently tugging on it and leading him away from the ‘adult’ conversation. By now, you were almost conditioned to do your best to avoid conversations that always got your parents stressed out and sometimes led to frustrated breakdowns which simmered into tearful apologies and doubtful plans.

“Let’s go play kancha, Pavi. I’ll even let you start this time.”

You ran out onto the lawn with him, your hand holding onto his smaller one tightly as if you could protect him from all the harm and sadness and worry that the world had to offer.

——— ———

11 & 13.

“Didi!”

“Don’t didi me. You agreed to this, remember? You brought this upon yourself,” You said between giggles that got increasingly louder at how ridiculous he looked.

Maya Aunty and Bhim Uncle were both out buying groceries, and Pavitr was so bored that he accepted your challenge to see who could balance more than five stones on their forehead. And if he lost, you would get to do his hair and makeup.

That was why he was currently sitting in front of you, bright pink eyeshadow on both his eyelids and wearing the brightest red lipstick you could find. He winced in pain, loudly protesting every two seconds as you tried to put his wavy hair into a Dutch braid. He had let it grow out over the past few months, and at the rate he was going, if he left it for even a little while more it’d be longer than yours.

“You need a haircut, Pavi. I think you might be getting split ends…” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the expression of pure horror that crossed his face at your words, which quickly turned to annoyance. “Shut up, you’re just saying that because you’re jealous- ow!”

“Whoops.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“Did not.” You looped a rubber band onto the ends of the braid, finally finishing and tilting your head to critically examine your handiwork. “There, you’re all done.”

Pavitr glanced at his reflection in the compact mirror you offered him. “Wait, I don’t look that bad. I can pull this off pretty well, actually.”

“Sure you can, sweetie. Let’s do your nails now.”

“You’re the absolute worst.”

——— ———

12 & 14.

“Didi! Rise and shine!”

You groaned softly, turning over onto your side. “Get out.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet and definitely not a prime example of you being mean to your younger brother. Seriously though, we have to get going soon for school.” He expertly dodged the spare pillow you threw at him, deciding to kneel by your bedside and stare you in the eyes like some psychotic cat.

“Not everyone’s a morning person, Pavi. Besides, it’s 6 in the damn morning. Come back in another hour.”

Pavitr didn’t respond, just started humming a tune and tapping out a familiar beat on your bedside table, using two pencils from your desk’s mug of stationery as makeshift drumsticks.

“I know you want it but you’re never gonna get it, tere haath kabhi na aani…”

Your eyes shot open as you recognized the song. “No, Pavi, I swear to God-”

“Maane na maane koi duniya yeh saari, mere ishq ki hai deewani…” Stifling laughter, he backed out of range before you could smack some sense into him with another pillow.

“Pavitr! Stop!” You chucked a pillow at him, sitting up and staring at him in utter astonishment at his song choices.

“Kisi aur ki mujhko zaroorat kya, main toh khud se pyaar jataun! What’s my name, what’s my name, what’s my name…?”

“Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar, if you don’t stop singing that song right now-” You lunged forward, trying to grab him and muffle the lyrics of the Bollywood song he was singing - granted, he wasn’t a terrible singer, and in fact he could sing in Hindi quite well, but out of every song he could’ve chosen… this? “By the way, you missed a few lines, but that’s not the point! Stop it!”

“My name is Sheila! Sheila ki jawani! I’m too sexy for you, mei tere hath na aani-”

Chaos ensued in the next few seconds. Pavitr, who had been running around your room doing whatever choreography he could remember from the scene with that particular song in the movie you had both watched, tripped on the fallen pillow and fell flat on his face.

You had been chasing him around and tripped over him, rolling over and landing beside him. Luckily, you managed to break your fall with your palms.

“How’d the ground taste, hmm?” You asked, offering a hand to help him up.

“You’re mean,” Pavitr complained, taking your hand and pulling himself up. You fixed his slightly ruffled hair, a little surprised at how soft it was. Was he already going through the phase of being obsessed with how he looked?

“Yeah, well. You’re in my room at 6 am singing one of the sluttiest Bollywood songs you know, so… you’ll live, buttercup.” You gave his head a rough pat, turning to reluctantly make your bed - might as well, since you were already awake - as he hovered over your shoulder with a grin.

“But hey, it did get you up, didn’t it?”

——— ———

13 & 15.

“Didi! Where are you? I need to tell you something!”

“…I don’t understand. What are you saying?” You felt so paralyzed that you didn’t even register your brother’s voice. Instead you stared at the person you thought was your boyfriend, dangerously quiet. The calm before the storm. He shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with his sleeve and clearing his throat.

“Um, I think we should break up. I’ve kind of been… seeing another girl. Shreya.”

You were careful to keep your expression neutral, crossing your arms to prevent you from worrying at your nails. “For how long?”

“Uh, I-”

“How. Long. It’s a simple question.”

“Five months.”

“Son of a bitch.” You kept your voice low, sweeping a hand towards the door. “The exit’s there. Leave.”

“Listen, I’m really-”

“Get out. I’m serious. Get the fuck out of here before I make you do so.”

He stopped and stared at you for a few seconds, realizing just how angry you were.

“Okay. Well, it was… good seeing you, I guess. I hope you-”

“Didi?”

This time you heard Pavitr call you, soft hesitancy in his voice that carried into the room from the other side of the door. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, Pavi, I’m fine. You can come in.” You covered the cracks in the screens of overly pleasant tones that you layered over your voice so as to make sure he didn’t worry.

He quickly entered your room, and from the way he glared daggers at your now-ex-boyfriend you assumed he had heard everything - or at least, a large chunk of the conversation.

“Hey there, buddy.”

He had the nerve to smile and hold his knuckles out for a fist bump. Truth be told, you felt a sort of bitter satisfaction when Pavitr just glared up at him and didn’t bother lifting his hand to return it.

“Fuck off.”

“What?”

His eyes widened slightly and traveled from the harsh scowl fixed on Pavitr’s face to your dangerously calm demeanour.

“You heard him, didn’t you?”

“I… yeah. I’m going. See you around.”

You followed him with your eyes as he inched toward the door, shutting it behind him.

The moment he left, your unbothered façade cracked and splintered into pieces. You moved yourself to sit on your bed, slipping the covers over your legs. “Thank you,” You murmured to Pavitr, closing your eyes so he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to spill. He came over to sit beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Mat rouoh didi. Hum ek movie dekhenge?” (Don’t cry didi. Wanna watch a movie?)

“Haan, please. As long as it’s not Tees Maar Khan, I am not watching that again with you. I’ve had enough of that Sheila ki Jawani. Wait, Pavi, you said you wanted to tell me something?”

“…that’s not important right now, don’t worry about it.”

You didn’t notice him anxiously trying to peel off the edge of the blanket that was stubbornly sticking to the pads of fingers.

——— ———

A week later.

It had happened so suddenly. No one seemed to know anything.

Well, except the fact that your father had died somehow.

I know we fought a lot more in… in the end, but I love you. I always have and I always will, Papa. You made me who I am today, you taught me to know my own worth and accept no less. Believe me, I think about it every day. If you were here I’d tell you.

You wished you could say that out loud, to offer everyone present a window into your thoughts to prove you weren’t just an angsty teenager - or a family disappointment, which a few aunties seemed to believe by the way they were whispering and shooting overly sympathetic looks your way which were quickly followed up by hushed giggles.

But instead you kept your head down and used what little energy you could muster to give a nod of acknowledgement every time a distant relative - even ones you hadn’t seen since you were a baby - popped up in your face to console you.

“Where’s Pavitr? Did he come to the antyesti?” You jumped; you hadn’t noticed your mother hovering beside you until she laid a light hand on your shoulder. She seemed to move around like a spectre; dressed completely in a simple white salwaar kameez with a long white shawl wrapped around her in such a way that it obscured both her arms and her hair, along with part of her face.

“No, I don’t think so - at least, I haven’t seen him.” You looked over her shoulder at the priests starting to get everything prepared for the ceremony and searched the crowds of vaguely familiar people.

Where the hell is he?

Getting the priests to agree to Pavitr - who wasn’t exactly Bhim’s son but the closest thing to it - leading the rituals was hard enough. But then again, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice, did they? You couldn’t exactly do it - the rituals of an antyesti were to be performed by the eldest son. Or the priests themselves, if he couldn’t do it for any reason. Never a woman.

You and Maya Aunty weren’t allowed to do anything except watch and pray.

And now if Pavitr didn’t show up in time-

Thwip! Thwip!

You frowned and shook your head slightly, wondering what the source of that noise was. Oh, well, probably just a pesky mosquito buzzing in your ear.

“Didi, Maya Aunty, I am so, so sorry that I’m late. Did they start already?” You jumped again in surprise - what was it with people sneaking up behind you today? You took in Pavitr’s crisp white dhoti and neatly styled hair, and for a second you couldn’t decide whether to hug him or punch him in the face.

“I’ll tell you everything later, didi. Pinky promise,” Pavitr murmured to you, offering his pinky to you. You linked your little finger with his, looking into his eyes as concern bubbled up to mix with the hurricane of emotions already clamouring for attention in your brain.

He had horrible bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept properly in a week. And when you gently squeezed his pinky, his breath hitched as if he was in pain and he drew his hand back after a few seconds. You blinked in confusion, getting a brief glimpse of painful-looking faint purple splotches all along his hand and the underside of his arm. They looked like bruises that had been poorly covered up by foundation that was almost three shades too light for his skin, but before you could say anything he turned to make his way through the crowd.

“Pavi-” You started to ask what was going on, what happened, what was wrong, but he just shook his head, angling his chin toward the priests waiting patiently for him.

“Badh mein, didi. Antyesti ke badh.” (Later. After the antyesti)

——— ———

After the ceremony.

“Pavitr Prabhakar, if you don’t tell me what’s going on-” You came face-to-face with one of your more distant aunties, who immediately lit up excitedly in a way that was probably not suited for a cremation ceremony as soon as she recognized you.

“Arrey, beta! You’ve grown so much! How old are you now? You still sing, no? Kya aapne college ke bare socha hain?” (Have you thought/started thinking about college?)

“Haha… hi, aunty… no, aunty… no, I haven’t thought about college yet… have you seen Pavitr anywhere? I need to find him and it’s really urgent but… oh, uh… yes, of course, I would love to catch up over chai sometime. Sure, we should plan that - oh, sorry, bye! Tell my mother that I’ve gone to look for Pavitr, okay? Thank you!”

Seizing the opportunity that presented itself in the form of another aunty who came waddling over to greet the first one, you squeezed through the crowd of people in sarees and dupattas, some milling about and some dispersing, all accompanied by the almost suffocating smell of jasmine. God, did everyone use the same horrible perfume?

Luckily for you, the antyesti was held fairly close to your house - on a large terrace that was only about a 15 minute walk away.

You got to the front door and fumbled with the set of keys in your pocket for a second, your fingers shaking slightly as the shock and grief began to set in. Adrenaline could only take you so far, it seemed.

“Pavi? Pavi, I’m home, where-”

You opened the door to your room and inhaled sharply at the sight that lay before you. Pavitr leaned against your bed, sitting on the floor with his knees hugged close to his chest, chin resting on his kneecaps. His eyes were squeezed shut, eyelashes fluttering as tears slipped out one after another from underneath them.

“Pavi…? Oh, Pavi, mera chhoti bhai, kya hua? Kisi ne… tumhein chot pahunchaee?” (My little brother, what happened? Did… someone hurt you?) You scooted closer to Pavitr, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and drawing him into your side. He buried his face in your shoulder, tears soaking through the thin fabric of the kurta you were wearing.

“Shh. Sab theek ho jayega. Mujhe batao, Pavi. Kya hua?” (Everything’s okay. Tell me, what happened?)

“I’m Spider-Man.”

You blinked in surprise. Out of all the possible explanations he could have offered you, that was certainly not on your list. “Spider-Man? Matlab… the superhero?” (Matlab means meaning)

The hero had emerged only a week ago. Wearing an intricately patterned mask that left his wavy hair loose at the top, a blue-and-red spandex suit and blue dhoti pants on top of them, he was basically impossible to ignore. You had seen some key similarities between Spider-Man and Pav’s hair, but you had always just assumed it was related to how boys cut their hair like their idols sometimes.

“Chacha died because of Spider-Man. Because of me. He got caught in the crossfire and I couldn’t reach him in time and-” Pavitr’s words spilled together in a panicked haze, blurring each syllable and tripping over letters in an attempt to get them out before he could break again. (Chacha is another word for uncle)

You shifted to face him, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Shaant ho jao. Main yahaan hoon. Main kaheen nahin ja raha hoon.” (Calm down. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere)

“I can’t-” His breath quickened as his whole body started to heave with dry sobs. “Please just… just listen to me. This is what I wanted to tell you last week. I’m Spider-Man.”

He mistook your silence as a sign of disbelief and carried on speaking, trying to convince you. “There were these bullies I was running from, and I tripped and fell into a tree hollow and there was this yogi who said he’d give me the powers of a spider to fight the evil in this world, and I didn’t know it would turn out like this so I accepted and-”

“I believe you.”

That caught him off guard. He pulled back to look at you, his eyes wide. “You do?”

“Of course. You think I haven’t noticed you sticking to everything? You almost ripped the couch’s upholstery clean off because you weren’t paying attention.” You gently swiped your thumb near the corner of his eye, wiping away the tear that was at risk of spilling out. “It’s okay, Pavi. Let’s.. talk about something else for the moment.”

As much as you wanted answers - how exactly had your father died? Which sick, twisted, psychotic ‘villain’ killed him? - you knew when to stop pushing Pavitr and now was definitely that time. Tears still shone in the corners of his brown eyes, not quite ready to fall but not small enough to be blinked away.

“Spiderwebs!”

“What?”

“You need spiderwebs, naa? So you can swing like a spider instead of leaping around and relying on sticking to whatever surface you can reach. Ooh, it’d be so cool if you could shoot them from your hands and lasso bad guys and when they fight back you go dishoom dishoom.” (dishoom is basically just a sound effect for beating someone up 😭 usually punching someone)

“… you mean webshooters?” Pavitr watched your emphatic display of just what dishoom dishoom meant to you with a mildly concerned look on his face before he took a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket and smoothed it out. It was filled with designs for some sort of gadget, the sharp, jagged pencil lines highlighting every feature and listing possible building processes.

“I’ve done some research and I’ve got everything, so I know how to make it. But I need something that can contract if I wrap a web around it… kind of like a yo-yo? But it also has to fit on my wrist so that it’s easy for me to angle where I want the web to go.” He absentmindedly tapped the pencil against the silver bangle you were wearing. The soft clinks gave you an idea and you quickly got up, going to your dresser and rummaging around in the drawers.

“Wait, I think I might have something that’ll work…”

Your fingers closed around what you were looking for and you fished it out. You held two large golden cuffs in your hands, but they weren’t regular heavy cuffs. The top and bottom were actually two separate pieces, joined together in the middle by a stretchy piece of white nylon that went all the way around.

Just looking at it made your heart ache a little as all the memories associated with the simple accessory came flooding back.

Your father had given it to you a few Diwalis ago, when you were throwing a tantrum about having to wear the large bangles to go to with the itchy salwar you had on - against your wishes, of course. But your mother warned you that her mother was a stickler for traditions and insisted on everyone wearing the most colourful ethnic wear you all had, including Pavi.

Your father had slid one of the cuffs onto your right wrist, laughing gently at your surprise look when you discovered how light they were, a stark contrast to the gold bangles that weighed down your other wrist.

“Compromise paaya, hain na?” (We’ve found a compromise, right?)

“Haan, papa.”

Now, more than eight years later, you held one of the last things you had left to keep your father’s memory alive.

And what better way to honour him than to use his kaadas to fight evil and protect the city?

“Use these.”

Pavitr looked up and immediately shook his head, gently pushing away your outstretched hands. “No, didi, I can’t- this is what Uncle gave you-”

“I know. He gave them to me as a gift. And now I’m passing them down to you. Please, Pavi. Take them.” You took his hands, pressing the kaadas into his palms and closing his fingers over them.

Something in your tone made him search your gaze for a few seconds before giving in and bringing the cuffs up to his eyes, testing out the nylon middle. “Wait, this is perfect. If I can just…”

He reached into the depths of one of your drawers and pulled out a small device that looked like it had some sort of fluid sloshing around in its… fuel container, maybe? You furrowed your brow in surprise. “Has that always been there? In my cupboard?”

“Well, yeah. Can’t have Maya Aunty accidentally pulling it out of mine, can we?” He gave you a grin. “Besides, you have so many things stuffed into that one drawer that it’s basically impossible to find.”

He attached the device to the inside of the cuff with a small click and slipped it onto his wrist.

Thwip! Thwip!

With two tiny flicks of his wrist, he had shot two webs to the ceiling and was now hanging upside down, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Well, this is working pretty well-”

Thud.

“Don’t you dare,” Pavitr warned you as he winced and rubbed the spot where he had fallen on his backside.

“I will not laugh. I will not laugh. I will not-”

You couldn’t help but burst into giggles at his mildly pathetic sad-puppy expression as he sat dejectedly on the floor after falling from the ceiling.

“So, uh… the web strength may need some work.”

“Everybody, this is Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar, Mumbattan’s Spider-Man.” You pretend to speak into an imaginary microphone, gesturing animatedly towards Pav as he lay on the floor.

“Oh, sure, announce it to the whole world, why don’t you,” He grumbled, reluctantly pulling himself to his feet.

You gave him an overly sweet smile, leaning over to mess up his hair. “Never. I’m gonna take this secret with me to my grave.”

——— ———

14 & 16.

6 months really went by quickly.

6 months of monthly poojas to honour your deceased father. 6 months of Pavitr being Spider-Man. And also…

“Didi! Why isn’t my hair staying down?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because that bad guy threw you into an electricity tower? Pavi, why are you dressing up all of a sudden anyway?” You sat on the floor of your room as you skeptically watched him brush out his hair. He had insisted that your mirror was big enough and ‘had the best lighting’.

He stayed silent, though you could see him scrunch his nose a little in embarrassment. The realization hit you and you let out a loud - maybe overly dramatic - gasp.

“Oh my god! You have a date!”

“…maybe. So?”

“So that means I get to meet and terrorize them! You know, sibling stuff!”

Pavitr froze for a split second, a small smile starting to form in the corner of his mouth at the last part. Siblings. In all honesty, didn’t that word describe the bond you both shared almost perfectly? Siblings - not by blood, but by something so much bigger than either of you could’ve imagined.

“Absolutely not. Gayatri’s-”

“Gayatri? Is she Punjabi? Ooh, is she pretty? Is she really badass and cool and-”

“She’s a model,” Pavitr interrupted, smoothing down his hair and glaring at you. “And this isn’t my first date with her. Just for the record.”

“Wow, and she’s your age? Damn, Pavi, you managed to pull a model! I’m so proud of you right now.”

“I will strangle you if you don’t stop talking,” Pavitr grumbled, punching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not saying anything bad!”

“Sure you ar-” Pavitr stopped mid-sentence and stiffened, craning his neck and glancing out the window over his shoulder like a cat that had heard something strange. “Wait, someone’s here. Gotta go!”

He dashed into the bathroom and came out two seconds later, fully decked out in his spider suit and mask.

“Don’t get your ass kicked!” You called out as he nose-dived out the window.

“Ha, ha! Very funny!”

——— ———

10 minutes later.

“Pavitr, what the hell?!” You leaped backwards as a strange sort of alien materialized in your room for a split second before they disappeared into a black hole-like void, followed by a… Spider-Man? Not Pav. This one was taller and his suit was red and black, and oh God, was he bleeding from his armpits?

You were tempted to offer him a few cotton wipes and something to clean the wound but he disappeared in after the weird teleporting alien before you could ask.

Pavitr came crashing in through your window, landing on the floor and glancing around. “What? I thought they came here-”

“Really?! Now you show up? I’ve just had some sort of cow-man and a new Spider-Man teleport into my room through a pit and-” You stopped short as another Spider-Man landed on the floor. Except… Spider-Woman? She wore a suit in the shape of a white-and-black ballet leotard and had a hood with web designs on the inside.

“Pavitr, is… this Gayatri?” You tried to wrap your head around the fact that there were three different types of Spider-People and a cow on the wrong side of evolution who had just phased through your house. “Oh, hi, Gayatri, I’ve heard so much about you. Pavi thinks you’re really classy and cool and you’re the prettiest girl alive and-”

Pavitr webbed a pillow and swung it into your face before you could finish, temporarily shutting you up. “Didi, this… this isn’t Gayatri.” Despite his face being covered by his mask, you could tell from his tone that he was embarrassed out of his wits. “This is, uh… this is Gwen. She’s a Spider-Woman. Look, it’s hard to explain, but they’re all from different universes and I think the New Guy’s in love with Gwen, so we gotta go save their romance before it shatters. Bye!”

He leaped out the window again, followed by Gwen - who was stuttering and tripping over her words trying to form a plausible denial for his last statement.

Never a dull day in Mumbattan, I guess.

——— ———

5 minutes after that ordeal.

“Arrey, your chai is getting cold. Drink fast, no?”

“Haan, Amma. Ek second.” (One second) You moved away from where you were hovering near the window. As much as Pavitr reassured you that he was okay, that being Spider-Man was easy now - you still remembered having to disinfect wounds and ice bruises and watch him hiss and crinkle his face up in pain every time you wiped a tissue soaked in Dettol along his cuts.

Maybe those were only fairly harmless flesh wounds, but what kept you up at night was the worry that one day it might turn into something worse.

“I’m drinking it,” You said defensively and sat down as Maya Aunty lifted an eyebrow at you over her own mug. Just as you sat down the whole ground seemed to shake, a horrible din filling the air, screams and the sound of rubble falling mingling together in the cacophony.

“Oh, someone blew down Alchemax,” said Maya Aunty once the noise died down. With a small shake of her head, she casually returned to her chai as if this sort of thing happened almost every day.

“What an idiot.” You glanced out the window, squinting into the distance and widening your eyes as your eyes snagged on a flash of vibrant fabric flying through the air, just barely visible through the pieces of flying rubble.

Oh, fuck, that’s my idiot.

——— ———

You figured the easiest and fastest way to get near Alchemax was to take the bus. After all, those bus drivers had basically decided long ago that they were above the rules of the traffic. They honestly didn’t give a damn about the speed limits and you respected that.

“Hi, Y/N!” You turned at your name, tilting your head curiously because you didn’t recognise the voice.

You found yourself looking at someone who looked oddly familiar, you just couldn’t place it - until you glanced briefly out the window and saw a Zomato billboard. Of course if had to be her, how else would she know your name?

“Oh, are you Gayatri? Hi! It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you from Pavi.”

“Aww, that’s sweet, and likewi-“

The bus swerved sharply and you, Gayatri and more than half of the people who weren’t holding onto the railings were slammed against the back window before the bus started to tilt forward. You blinked away stars for a few seconds as the wind was knocked out of you.

When you regained your vision you let out a yelp of surprise. Someone yelled “Fuck!” right next to you, followed by a string of unrepeatable Marathi cusswords - while also listing out gods and praying to them that they’d make it out alive - and you could understand why.

Some dumbass - or maybe a large piece of rubble - had ripped a hole in the middle of the fucking Mumbattan Bridge. The whole bus was falling right into that hole, and unfortunately the bus driver’s magical ability to fly straight over potholes seemed to have evaded him right now, judging by the fact that he was currently contributing to the chorus of terrified screams.

“Hold on!” Gayatri caught your forearm right as your grip on the flimsy side railing was loosening and pulled you up to latch onto the railing at the back. Good lord, was this girl strong. You decided right then and there that you definitely liked her.

You saw Pavitr stop mid-swing and turn around, his mask’s eyes widening as he saw both of you pounding relentlessly on the back bus window in the hopes that it would break in time.

He shot a web that stuck to the back of the bus, tipping it almost vertically as he held onto one of the bridge supports. His eyes narrowed with effort as he struggled to hold onto the deceptively delicate-looking silky tendrils.

You silently thanked whatever higher power existed for the time when Pavitr fell from the ceiling 6 months ago. If that hadn’t happened, you and the other people on this bus would’ve been flattened on the ground by now. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.

Pavitr glanced behind him, his shoulders falling slightly in shock. The web holding onto the bus stretched and dipped, threatening to snap any second. He wrapped the silken web around the support, trying to bring it up.

You and Gayatri were just barely hanging on, your entire bodies dangling down with gravity as you held onto the railing for dear life.

Suddenly something changed. Another web attached itself to the bus and pulled you onto the bridge. Another Spider-Man, possibly?

You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding as the bus levelled itself on solid ground again. Gayatri gave you a weak smile, grasping your hand and pulling you straight into the throng of people rushing to exit the bus.

The moment she stepped outside Pavitr wrapped her in a hug, eliciting a surprised squeak from Gayatri.

“Are you okay? I was so worried-” He realized his mistake mid-sentence, drawing back from her and patting her shoulders with both hands, unsure whether to cross his arms or rest them on his hips. “Uh, you seem like a nice young woman who I do not know…”

Gayatri chuckled softly and looked past him. “Papa!”

“Gayatri!”

She ran at him and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. Seeing their bond warmed your heart but also made it ache slightly with the acceptance that that could never happen to you with your own father.

“Real smooth, Pavi,” You grinned at your brother, who grumbled something under his breath and closed the distance to crush you in a hug.

“Shush, didi. I just saved your ass.”

“Yeah, I suppose you did.” You ruffled his hair affectionately and pulled back, smiling at the growing shouts of ‘dhanyavadh, makhdi-bhaiya!’. (Thank you, Spider-Guy!)

“Amma’s going to kill you, by the way. She thinks you snuck out to go to some p-”

You let out a soft mmph as you collided with possibly the boniest person you had ever had the misfortune of bumping into. You were pretty sure you had just got stabbed in seven different places by various joints.

“Sorry, I didn’t-” You paused as you looked up, taking in spikes, a leather vest, pins, a guitar, and mask eyes which looked like running mascara.

“Holy shit, you’re really cool.”

The Spider-Man variant blinked in surprise and let out a laugh. “Why, thank you, poppet. I try. Pisses the fascists off so much that they call me Spider-Punk.”

You heard the twang of a well-known (almost infamous, at least in Mumbattan) accent and glanced at Pavitr. “He’s British,” He confirmed, giving Hobie a high-five.

“Well, I don’t care. He looks awesome.”

“Oi, Pav, I like this one.” He gave you an appreciative fist-bump, and you lifted your eyebrows at the sheer size difference between both of your hands.

“That’s my sister.”

“Makes sense. But you know I didn’t mean it like that. She seems cool is all.”

“Wait. If you’re British, can you do us a favour and steal back the Kohinoor? Please?”

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t make any promises. Fuckin’ Sweeney*, I doubt they even know where it’s kept.” (*Sweeney/Sweeney Todd - Cockney rhyming slang for Flying Squad [the police])

You nodded along politely with a smile like you actually understood even one word of that sentence. “Well, okay, in that case-”

You turned and almost burst out laughing. Pavitr looked like he was on the losing end of a staring contest, his hand almost engulfed in Inspector Singh’s much bigger one. Gayatri stood behind him, looking between them in awe. “I’ve never seen him so emotional.”

“Excellent job.”

Your bother just gave a nod, but knowing Pavitr he was internally over the moon and would hold that simple statement close to his heart, insisting that his girlfriend’s dad “loved him”.

“Man-like Miles, my guy!” Hobie grabbed the red and black Spider-Man - Miles’ - shoulders and shook him excitedly, punching him lightly as the people of Mumbattan started cheering.

You were about to join in when something happened. Well, not happened, really, but… something felt off somehow. You had read something once that said a person’s hair stands on end as a warning when lightning’s about to strike. You imagined that’d feel like you you were feeling right now. And you could hear whistling… was that sound just your ears being weird?

The cheers died down suddenly and you turned around too late. One of those portal-holes, slicing through the air like a deadly frisbee, slammed into you and knocked you inside in such a way that you got teleported straight off the side of the bridge. You scrabbled for the supports, but to no avail as you sailed right past them.

You heard Pavitr’s panicked yell, the sounds of confused and worried chatter bubbling among the ground, and the air rushing around in your ears as you free-fell.

You can’t save me, you realized as you saw Pavitr dive off the bridge, reaching out his wrist in preparation of shooting a web. You won’t get here in time. You focused on mouthing the next few words that came to your mind, because if you were going to die and leave your brother you would do so by reminding him that he was - and always would be - loved. Pavi, I’m sorry. I love you. I always will.

Your stomach dropped and your head spun - but by some mercy you didn’t feel the final impact.

——— ———

Pavitr’s POV.

“No, no no no- please, please no-”

Pavi, I’m sorry.

I love you.

Six words. Six words which shouldn’t be used in the same sentence. Those two sets separately, sure, but in very different scenarios.

Those would not be the last words you said to him. They couldn’t be.

Time seemed to slow down, making his movements sluggish and hazy. He stretched his wrist out till it ached, silk erupting from his - no, your - kaada. Come on, come on…

The silk shot toward you and for a second he thought it would reach in time.

Then he heard a crash and watched you fall straight through the flimsy tin roof of an abandoned warehouse. “No!”

He landed after you, shooting a web at a street lamp and pulling up to break the built-up momentum at the last second. Kicking down the warehouse door, he rushed over to your limp form, sprawled across a few empty crates in the dimly lit space.

“Nonono you have to stay with me, please don’t go, I can’t-” Pavitr swallowed hard as he picked you up and set you down with your back against the wall, holding up your jaw so your head didn’t fall forward. He snapped his fingers in front of your face two, three times - no response.

He could feel his vision starting to blur, heart practically causing an earthquake as he shakily put his finger to the pulse point on your neck.

Nothing.

“No,” He whispered into the still air, as if that would be able to revive someone who was so much more than just a cousin. You were his sister, his closest and most annoying friend, his anchor. You were supposed to be a constant in his life. If you were gone… what would go next?

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, cradling your lifeless body in his arms. But after a little while Hobie dropped in through the hole in the ceiling, and Miles and Gwen came in through the door. He didn’t understand anything they were saying. Pavitr felt like he was underwater, the cold, murky silence filling his ears and bleeding into his brain.

Someone else, much bigger than him tried to drag him away. Someone wearing a beige police uniform and a turban. He kicked and fought, screaming at them that they didn’t understand, he couldn’t leave you, this wasn’t how it was supposed to end. That you were going to wake up soon. You were only unconscious, after all. You had to wake up sometime.

You had to, right?

Pavitr watched as you were placed on a stretcher, a white cloth laid over your body. He slumped in the hands of whoever was struggling to drag him away as all his hopes of you waking up splintered into a million pieces. Pieces that he would step on and trip over and they would cut his skin a billion times. Little tiny paper cuts. Paper cut after paper cut, till he bled out.

Through whatever shocked haze his brain was forcing itself into, he knew that something inside him had broken. Duct tape could fix it. Duct tape could fix anything. Was this metaphor for something? His brain really needed to slow down, he couldn’t keep up with what was and what wasn’t fixable with a single roll of duct tape.

He pictured his heart, the muscles and blood vessels torn clean through in the centre, forming a hole in the shape of you. Did it stop beating? It felt like it stopped beating. Was there a way to check if he was still alive? He hoped he was. Though there didn’t feel like much reason to be. Not anymore, at least.

Oh. Maya Aunty. Someone would have to tell Maya Aunty. No, he would have to tell Maya Aunty.

Two funerals in the span of 6 months. Two core members of the family gone.

Twin flames burning warm and bright, always lighting up the entire place with their own unique luminosities, until they couldn’t anymore. The wicks were extinguished and the candles melted into stumps before their time.

The Spot knew exactly what he was doing, Pavitr realized. Because he might as well have set fire to his entire home.

——— ———

15 & still 16.

Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar was many things.

He was Mumbattan’s Spider-Man. He was Maya Aunty’s nephew. He was Gayatri’s boyfriend. He honoured his dead parents with his last name. He carried the legacy of his dead uncle with his middle name alone.

Most of all, he carried the memory of his sister in every scar that he got that day.

Suddenly every moment you had spent with him seemed too little. Even just one of your hugs would take away some of the pain.

Keep them in your heart, they’re watching over you. Recall the memories you made with them.

What did that even mean in this case? You had gone too soon. Dead, cremated at 16. You weren’t even an adult. And what hurt the most was that everything - from your room to your belongings - was exactly how you left it.

It had been almost 3 months and he still hadn’t let anyone change anything in your room. The messy duvet could stay messy. And the pillow that was thrown at the foot of the bed had taken up permanent residence there.

The room smelled like vanilla and honeycomb. And it would stay that way for as long as he could help it. If someone rearranged anything, would that part of you disappear from this house? He didn’t want to find out.

Everything that made this room yours would stay there, it had to. The way you meticulously arranged every makeup and hair product by height, colour and serial order on your chest of drawers. The way your cupboards always smelled of cotton candy because of an essence diffuser your friend had given you.

Gayatri, Miles, Gwen and Hobie had all tried their best to help him, and Margo had even dropped in a few times and offered to play video games with him. And admittedly, he was in a much better frame of mind than how he was only a little while ago.

He sat on the floor, hugging his legs loosely to his chest and clutching a mug of chai in one hand. Pavitr couldn’t say anything even if he wanted to; the altogether lack of the owner of this room made the silence even more oppressive and suffocating.

He stretched his legs out slowly, refusing to let his mind wander. Focus on the wallpaper. Focus on the sound of traffic. Focus on the chai. Focus on anything except the posters, the pillows, the way that it felt like time itself was holding its breath inside this room.

Pavitr’s leg brushed something hidden underneath the rug in front of him. Frowning slightly in confusion, he leaned forward to peer underneath the fuzzy square of fabric - finding nothing but a small notebook and a pen.

He pulled it out and, upon recognizing it, drew in a surprised inhale. The leather-bound cover was dusty and worn out. The label that read Bhim Prabhakar in neatly printed handwriting had been scratched out, jagged words cutting across the paper like tiny knife strokes. His heart squeezed when he read the word written in the second handwriting.

Y/N.

Of course he remembered this book, how could he not? On days when you had noticed he felt sad, you tore out two lined pages of paper and made him write down what was bothering him in a letter.

“Here, Pavi. Write it to anyone you want, and fill it out with everything bad that happened today. You don’t have to send it to them, don’t worry. I’ll even do it with you.”

He still remembered the first time he had done that activity with you. You both sat back-to-back, scribbling down all the ‘yucky feelings’, as you had put it once. Pavitr had finished his letter and surprised you by addressing it to you, twisting around to hand you the folded piece of paper.

You hadn’t addressed your letter yet, so you wrote his name on the top in big block letters.

To: Pavitr Prabhakar.

Because it was a very official document, you had explained solemnly.

And when you took a look at how he had mentioned you, you had lunged forward and trapped him in a bone-crushing hug.

To: The Best Didi In The World.

He felt tears well up slightly as he recalled the amount of times he went and wordlessly sat at the edge of your bed, pointing to the leather journal. And you would pull out two pages, hand him a pen, and sit back-to-back on the floor. Every time, without fail.

Pavitr opened the book, running a hand along the pages of handwritten letters that were unevenly glued or stapled in. Some were tearing at the edges, others had chai-stains or ink splotches.

He carefully pulled out a page - only one this time - and picked up a pen from the mug of stationery on your bedside table.

Pausing to think for a second, he tested the pen on the bottom of the page. Then moved the tip to the first line.

Dear Y/N,

Pavitr stopped and narrowed his eyes at that. It felt strange, almost alien for some reason. A foreign word on these pages.

He tapped his pen on the page as he got an idea. He scratched out the two words he had written, addressing it to someone with a different yet more familiar title, at least to him.

To: The Best Didi In The World.

I know very little about the antyesti process so if anything’s wrong don’t hesitate to correct me! <3

Glossary:

Antyesti - Antyesti literally means "last sacrifice" or "final auspicious ceremony", and refers to the funeral rites for the dead in Hinduism, which usually involves cremation of the body. This rite of passage is the last samskara in a series of traditional life cycle samskaras that start from conception in Hindu tradition.

Saree/Sari - A saree is a garment consisting of a length of cotton or silk elaborately draped around the body, traditionally worn by women from South Asia. It is usually worn with a blouse that exposes part of the midriff, but blouse styles can vary.

Dupatta - A length of material worn arranged in one or two folds over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez or a kurta, worn by women from South Asia. (Srry guys u have to look up those two definitions if ur curious,, it’s better to see how it looks rather than read a description anyway)

Kancha - Kancha is played by using marbles. It is popular in small Indian cities and villages, among small boys only as a gully sport. It is rarely played by girls. The participant has to hit the marble kept in a circle. If he hits the target properly, he wins. The winner gets the kancha (maybe kanche is the plural form? idk) of the other participant boys.

Lagori/Pithoo/Seven Stones - Lagori is a traditional game from the Indian subcontinent. It involves a pile of stones and a ball.

A member of one team (the seekers) throws a ball at a pile of stones to knock them over. The seekers then try to restore the pile of stones while staying safe from the opposing team's (the hitters’) throws. The hitters' objective is to hit the seekers with the ball before they can reconstruct the stone pile. If the ball touches a seeker, that seeker is out and the team which the seeker came from continues, without the seeker. A seeker can always safeguard themselves by touching an opposite team member before the ball hits the seeker.

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 @vhstown

110 notes · View notes