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downtwngrl · 6 months ago

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INTRICATE.

hi so it’s been a WHILE. uhhhh rewatched challengers for the thousandth time and it broke me out of my writers block! i don’t know how im going to continue w this, so feel free to drop any ideas and ill add it to the lore 😈 note: series prob isn’t gonna end with any smut scene bc im incapable of writing one without it sounding stupid asf! but who knows, you might be surprised

cw: 1.4k words,,, art and reader are dating but fighting, set in stanford era, tashi is NOT injured, patashi, hints of reader crushing on tashi but repressing it, fighting, tensiontensionTENSION! basically everyone is friends with one another but they all want each other BAD. lmk what else i should add :)

“it’s complicated.” that’s what you say every time someone asks you what your relationship with art donaldson is. and it’s true— you guys are fiery, but not explosive. complex, but not convoluted. it’s just… strange. intricate. hence, complicated.

you think he’d probably say the same thing, but there’s no real way to know, since you can’t exactly ask. the two of you aren’t on speaking terms right now, and for the same reason you two stopped talking last time, and the time before that.

art donaldson can’t split his time between his girlfriend and his fucking best friend’s girlfriend. and you can recite the argument quite well, maybe even word for word; it’s still fresh in your mind, engraved there.

“c’mon, you can’t just keep ditching me for her. it’s annoying, and it hasn’t just happened once or twice, you know.”

“i know.” art sighed, a hand tangled in his hair as if to ground himself. your name fell from his lips, voice cracking midway. “what do you want me to do? she needed help with her physics homework.”

“she can get one of her fucking groupies to help her! she’s a big girl, she doesn’t need to rely on you.” the way you said it, mocking and condescending, was mean, and you know it. you don’t hate tashi— you can’t even bring yourself to dislike her. but it hurts every single time you text art on your motorola and get hit back with some half-assed variation of ‘helping tashi. sry :( i’ll come later.’ he never actually shows up at ‘later’, which only rubs salt in the wound.

art’s jaw ticked. his eyebrows furrowed and eyes darkened in a way you’d only seen once before, when someone was talking shit about tashi in the cafeteria. you had watched as she calmly reassured art that is was fine, that he needed to relax, but he only shook his head and clenched his fists. in that moment, you wondered if he ever got that angry if he overheard someone talking about you. you now doubt it.

“don’t talk about her like that.” he said it calmly, but your skin still prickled. “she’s an accomplished lady. what about you? what have you done?”

if you sounded condescending before, it was nothing compared to how he sounded then. you scoffed away the sinking feeling in your stomach, blinked back the sting in your eyes. there was a lot you could have said to him then: ‘i might not be half as good at tennis as she is, but that’s less embarrassing than being second-best to her boyfriend.’ or ‘i didn’t compete for her number and lose.’ hell, even a good ‘fuck you’ would have sufficed.

instead, you just stood there, frozen, as he grabbed his stanford sweatshirt and left.

when you tell the story to patrick, he laughs, and doesn’t stop laughing until you jab him with your elbow, effectively knocking the oxygen out of him. his hands raise in mock surrender before speaking. “sorry, it’s just funny to see him get like this, i guess.”

you frown. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i mean that he likes you, but he likes tashi. i know it, tashi knows it, and from what i heard on the walk here—” he gestures vaguely towards the door to your dorm, “—the school knows it, too. i dunno, i guess it’s amusing ‘cause art has never been so disturbed about this kind of shit. usually he just picks the girl he likes best, but he can’t.”

“you mean he can’t because you’re dating her.”

patrick smirks his signature smirk. you have the urge to punch his teeth out; vagueness is beginning to be a pet peeve of yours. “no, i’ve told him that tashi is free reign.”

the way your stomach flutters at that is shameful. you push the feeling away. “like, you guys aren’t..?”

patrick shrugs. “i mean, currently she hates me because i said i’d go to her match yesterday and i missed it.” these guys really need to stop promising us stuff, you think. “but yeah, when she isn’t pissed off, we’re dating, and we talk about it. ‘bout you guys. she doesn’t really care if the two of you make moves on either one of us.”

you don’t say anything, but your ears feel warm, and your heart is about to explode out of your chest. it doesn’t help when patrick takes that as a sign to keep talking and says—

“i don’t care either.” it suddenly hits you, the closeness between you and him. close enough that you can smell his cologne, one typical of a rich frat boy you’d pass by in the halls. but it feels different, with him. patrick’s smirk has shifted into a grin, a big one. you realize he’s been gauging your reaction, and is thoroughly pleased.

“oh,” you breathe. he snickers, repeats it back playfully. you don’t understand how he’s so relaxed, able to make light-hearted jabs in this moment. art likes you and tashi. tashi doesn’t care if he likes her, or if you like her. patrick doesn’t either. but where do you stand in this?

your phone jingles, the sound muffled from the blood roaring in your ears. you don’t know if you should thank or curse out whoever decided to call you at this second, but you excuse yourself to answer. patrick nods begrudgingly, backs up enough for you to have room to finally start to inhale and exhale again. “hello?”

“hey.” it’s art on the phone. impulsively, you look around, as if he’s hiding somewhere in the dorm he marched out of a few days ago.

holy fuck. “hey!” you sound too cheery to your own ears, and hope that over the line it sounds more convincing. you hear a sigh on the other end, and can imagine art physically loosen. “what, uh— i thought you were mad. at me.”

patrick perks up. ‘art?’ he mouths, and you nod. he attempts to come closer, but you swat at him, moving a few steps away. he pulls a face, but doesn’t move closer. still, he’s definitely trying to hear what art is saying.

“i was.” art laughs nervously, the sound tinny over the phone. “but you’re right. i fucked up. tashi… she isn’t my girl. i need to pay more attention to you, and that’s gonna happen starting now.”

she isn’t my girl. “she could be,” you think aloud. you tense. art chokes. patrick stifles a laugh.

“what?” you pray that he didn’t hear it. you had mumbled it, whispered it, there’s a chance it didn’t pick up. art says your name one, two, three times before you respond.

“sorry, i just zoned out a little.”

“no, you said something. baby, what’d you say?”

“i said ‘you should be’. like, you should be paying more attention, dumb joke, i was trying to sound threatening,” you slap your free hand against your lips to stop your word vomit, then your forehead as you reprimand yourself for acting so stupid.

art hums. “oh, okay.” it should relieve some on the tension in your shoulders, but it doesn’t. he usually laughs when you fluster, but he didn’t. is he unconvinced, or are you overthinking? “hey, tomorrow can you come to my practice at noon? we can go to the cafeteria after, i’ve got wayyy too many meal credits.”

you look to patrick for help, but he shrugs, enjoying the moment. “sure.”

art says his goodbyes, goes ‘mwah!’ through the phone (which usually makes you laugh, but now you feel bad), and once you say bye, he hangs up.

“i’ll go to his practice, too.” it’s never a question with patrick (or with tashi); he just lets you know. “tashi’ll be there. she’s always on the court when she’s free.” you find it endearing that he knows her schedule.

“tashi.” you like the way her name rolls off your tongue, but you’d rather die than admit it.

before you can say anything else, patrick walks over, swings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. “don’t forget about what i said.” his breath smells like spearmint gum, the type art is always chewing. maybe he gave him a piece. “just think on it, yeah?”

you nod, and he pats your cheek before walking out the door, leaving you feeling dazed. after a few moments of just laying on your bed, soaking in the conversation you just had, your phone dings.

we’ll see u tmrw :-) -pat (&tash)

#art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #challengers x reader #challengers #came to me in a dream 😋#not proofread we ball

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rainy-writers · 4 months ago

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When are y’all gonna get it through your heads that no one actually cared if the Velaryon boys were bastards or not? They could have come out with white hair, violet eyes, the whole shebang and the rumor still would have been spread because it was meant to undermine RHAENYRA and her claim, nothing else!!

It was a misogynistic attempt to paint her as reckless and irresponsible and another way for the greens to push for Aegon. It was fear mongering, meant to say “Hey! Choose Aegon because you guys don’t want a bastard on the throne, right?” And it didn’t fucking work, save for on the idiot audience that still eats this shit up and genuinely believes that the dance happened bc Harwin and Rhaenyra weren’t married, rather than realizing the whole theme is MISOGYNY!! ITS ABOUT USURPING A WOMAN NO MATTER WHAT SHE DOES, SOLEY BC SHES A WOMAN AND NOTHING ELSE!!

If she had no kids = Vote for Aegon cause she’s barren!!

If she had kids = Vote for Aegon cause they’re bastards!!

If she has kids that look exactly like her = Vote for Aegon bc her kids are clearly Daemon’s bastards am I right? Vote Aegon bc he’s clearly the more responsible of the two with his trueborn kids!!

It. Does. Not. Matter.

And it makes me so mad, especially when people say that the realm wouldn’t have accepted Jace like DUDE. Nobody is just casually going around saying these kids are bastards, save for the people that KNOW they can get away with it if they’re caught bc Viserys wouldn’t dare punish them. Aka:

Alicent, Otto, and her nightmare kids. That’s it. No, some random Lord in the Reach wasn’t preaching about Jace, Luke, and Joff being bastards. I sincerely hate to burst your bubble (NOT!) but you guys as an audience care more than the actual people that live in this world and it’s so funny.

Basic media literacy will tell you that NO, Westeros did not care. How do I know? Well it’s simple really. If they cared then majority of them simply wouldn’t pledge to support Rhaenyra, clearly knowing that Jace is her heir??

I mean, these are all of the houses that supported Rhaenyra AND Jace:

I mean do yall honestly think Cregan Stark thought Jace was a bastard when he swore an oath in BLOOD with Jace, marched PERSONALLY to the south AFTER Jace was dead, and tried to literally kill the CHILDREN of the Lord’s who rose up against him and Rhaenyra?

Do you think Lady Jeyne gaf when she personally pledged to support him? Lord Manderly? Hm.

No, they didn’t lmao.

So please, kill this narrative that “There was going to be rebellion if Jace ascended the throne” and “The realm wouldn’t accept him bc all of them secretly knew he was a bastard despite having no proof because his father, his grandfather and THEIR KING never said otherwise.”

It would not have happened y’all. And one day you blood purist, Velaryon boys haters are going to get it through your head that YES !! They were legitimate because no one ever said otherwise. It was never proven. Rumor isn’t proof. Hair isn’t proof for fucks sake. You need actual words from Laenor himself saying that RHAENYRA cheated and those boys are Harwin’s. You need Corlys passing over Luke for Driftmark and outright saying it’s because he’s a bastard to even get a SHREAD of doubt from the great houses.

One day you guys are going to realize that those boys were loved and no matter how much you try and discredit them, they will always be legitimate. Whether you like it or not, Viserys was content with Jace being on the throne after him, THE REALM was content, and Corlys Velaryon was ready to die peacefully knowing Luke was going to be after him. Hell, he damn near handed that boy the keys so don’t you dare say Luke didn’t deserve to inherit anything.

And sorry for the long post but some of yall are really starting to piss me off. Never mind that this is fiction, your attitude towards these boys is disguising and saying that they don’t deserve a good life, that they dont deserve things that were literally GIVEN to them with no complaints, and even going as far as to call them dirty or saying they deserve to die all because their mommy and daddy weren’t married is fucking disgusting.

This “bastards don’t deserve anything,” attitude needs to stop being preached by real life people. Hell, some of the people saying this are literally in the wedding photos of their own parents wedding LMAO. It concerns me on how much disregard you guys have for adopted kids (which is basically what they are to Laenor), and I’d hate to see the shit you preach in real life. Acting like blood actually matters in order for someone to be considered family.

Because regardless of what you believe, had their mother not been usurped because she was a WOMAN, Jace would have ruled, Luke would’ve gotten Driftmark and, yes, the world of Westeros would’ve kept fucking spinning.

By law these boys were legitimate and people seem to forget they came out of Rhaenyra’s coochie so REGARDLESS, they are Targaryen. Like unless Viserys or Daemon was their father, they were always going to be half NOT Targaryen lol…Just like Alicent’s kids. It just so happens that they’re half Strong, but again, it doesn’t matter, because Jace gets his claim from RHAENYRA, not his father, so even if Harwin was married to Rhaenyra he still would’ve been the heir?? Even if it wasn’t Laenor who was his father, he’d still be heir because of his mother and being married to someone does not change that.

Some people even go as far as to argue that they’re not Targaryen so Jace shouldn’t be the heir which is stupidest thing I’ve ever heard and the most blatant case of misogyny ever. Like unless your father cloned himself then you STILL get half your genes from your mother dumbass. They are as much Targaryen as the Hightower kids with their DARK HARIED PARENT, it just so happens that their Targ side is from a woman, not a man. Which, like I said, if you don’t consider them Targaryen just bc they don’t get their claim from their father then we know what you are. 🙃

But anyways, to make a long post short, yes these boys are legitimate, they were recognized as such by:

The King himself (who they’d be inheriting from)

Rhaenyra

Laenor (their father, who they’d be inheriting from and wanted Luke to have Driftmark)

Corlys (their grandfather, who Luke would be inheriting from and wanted Luke to have Driftmark)

Rhaenys

The Realm

History

And if you still don’t believe me, here’s the official Targaryen family tree from Fire and Blood which all of Westeros sees :)

You see how they’re listed as Velaryon? You see how they’re directly linked to Laenor and there’s no little astric saying how they’re bastards? Yeah me too.

PS - Read Fire and Blood as well. This whole argument about them being bastards is literally stemmed from no more than two paragraphs, IF that. And their legitimacy is never brought up again.

#house of the dragon #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #joffrey velaryon #laenor velaryon #hotd discussion

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koukouture · 5 months ago

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I will forever think about this now because yeah this applies to an astounding amount of characters in ffxiv whom you could see their friendship with WoL as more of a convenience and how they use WoL as a tool. I think Aymeric is obviously guilty of it (bc of the above image) but I also think to some extent the Crystal Exarch is guilty of this (yeah ik it's not for HIS benefit but he still did kinda use WoL and he would not have taken it well if WoL stopped being a hero)

So many characters that are "friends" with WoL kind of only see them for what they can do. I think to some extent even the Scions are like that. Actually come to think of it, the Scions are the most egregious case of this because WoL is their champion. After we killed Ifrit that solidified WoL as something to be used and thrown at any danger that came at the world.

A lot of characters The Exarch included only know WoL as the hero. For what they can do for everyone else and it makes me insaaaannnneee. Likes yes OBVIOUSLY Exarch/G'raha admires the WoL as a hero and sure he got to know us for a time- but he just thinks that we are the hero from the books. WoL is inspiring; they give people hope and they give people the strength to push on but that's all he knows them for. Listen, I'm still on post Shadowbringers, but so far Exarch has done nothing but sing our praises as hero and yeah I'm sure he has good intentions but it's still a little dehumanizing that to him that's all WoL is. Everyone is free to make their WoL's relationships with the other characters whatever the hell they want ofc, but I kinda read a lot of the characters this way just because it's so easy to water down one person for only cherry picked parts of their whole personality. Celebrities are the best example of this but we also to this to the people around us every single day.

I think Aymeric and WoL's relationship has also sort of been put into question with this moment (for me at least) because now I'm thinking "Oh my god, Aymeric did extend his friendship to WoL for either his own gain or for that of Ishgard's" and it's not a rag on him I love Aymeric but he is a politician. I don't doubt he admires WoL for all they've done for Ishgard, but I also don't think that if Aymeric hadn't pushed us we wouldn't have ended the Dragonsong war. I wouldn't say he manipulated us, but he didn't exactly have any qualms about making us battle on the Steps of Faith for Ishgard- yk, the closed off nation that's pretty hostile to outsiders- despite not knowing us for super long at that point. He thought that we could get it done and was like "Sure. You can fight for my country" and yeah I think Alphinaud's handling of the whole thing was also to blame- but Aymeric being okay with letting an outsider deal with things that should be handled by the Temple Knights is kinda sus to me now lmao. Like you are in charge of Ishgard's military shouldn't YOU have dealt with this???? Okay lol.

Listen, obviously I still love Aymeric and Exarch/G'raha but I think the potential that they only see WoL for their deeds is great and would make for an interesting hurdle to get over in a relationship. Actually, you can literally just slap this onto almost any character you want to ship with your WoL and it will be an interesting point of tension. The possibility that they only love WoL for being the hero and not in spite of it.

Anyways I need to thibk about this more bc I just finished the little Elidibus plot of Shadowbringers which is sort of about how heroes are remembered and how history can easily twisted and/or forgotten so uh yeah. I have lots of thoughts and I am very normal.

#shadowbringers makes me rethink my WoL's relationships with several characters #also that fragments comic but yeah #kouryuu's shit #wol oc #ffxiv spoilers #shadowbringers #ffxiv shadowbringers #crystal exarch #g'raha tia #heavensward #ffxiv heavensward #heavensward spoilers #aymeric de borel #wol elysia vespera #tagging my wol oc bc i want to reference this when i am more coherent

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the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 2 years ago

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Popping up in your askbox for the second time today oh boy- I really hope you don't mind me requesting again aaahhhh feel free to pick and choose one if you wish, no pressure at all! 🎔 Alright, this is actually not a romantic request but general hcs for the band! I'd love to see your take on how the band would be around their fifth member that is pretty much the most shameless and open person out there. The reader's not afraid to make snarky remarks on stage and interviews, will make a fool of themselves if needed, will wander around in undies like "one of the boys" (I hate that phrase but idk how else to explain it, I have to pull out my english is my second language card). Basically a chaotic free spirit of a person! Prefferably female reader but you can make it neutral too ^^

Have a great night Lana! ♡

(Jello! I love this idea and this is sorta me in my DR also! Sorry if this took a long time to put out, enjoy and have a wonderful night!)

Chaotic And Carefree Reader

Bill Kaulitz

He is most likely surprised on how open you are

And shameless

He thinks you are just like Tom

So it's no wonder you guys have all been friends since you were kids

He is happy you find it very comfortable with him

You often steal his shorts and wander around in a bra

He's so used to it he doesn't blink twice

Will ask you sometimes if you're okay with him being around you while you're not wearing a lot

Is surprised you don't give a shit but just shrugs it off

You're like his sister that clung onto his back so he doesn't mind

He finds your behavior in interviews so funny

You just pop outta nowhere with the craziest shit

Is collapsing into your side and giggling into your shoulder at your comments

He asks a lot why you say just whatever and you responded like it was nothing

He fears a scandal and doesn't say too much in interviews so he is slightly worried when you just put everything out there

Finds it quite normal on how open you could be about anything

From relationships, too hookups, to compliment's, insults, everything and anything

He's laughing as he tells you to stop insulting people in interviews but is laughing so hard he can't breath

The type you have to double over and take a minute

His laughs go silent

You have saved his ass quite a few times by making a fool outta yourself

You don't mind though but he feels as if he owes you

So get him to pay up or steal his shit because when he owes you he will let you get away with murder

You don't fear a lot of shit and just are you and he admires that

Will let you go about your style, laugh while you snark interviewers and disrespectful fans

When he needs someone to insult someone or just to make a snarky comment he calls you on what to say

Tom Kaulitz

He's still the playful asshole he is

So as you walk around in just a bra and underwear, not giving a shit, he doesn't blink twice

He will throw a flirty comment just for the hell of it and seeing you flip him off

You guys just have a game on who can piss each other off

But he truly doesn't mind when you hang out with him just in shorts and a bra like nothing

Some people have put you two in a dating scandal and you guys laugh at it so many times while just saying you're comfortable being like that around him

He doesn't mind it, neither do you so you guys don't get the issue

But tbh you guys found it funny to trick press with a dating scandal bc they started but whatever

He often times forgets you're not his sibling

It's most of the times when you guys are beating each other up and someone breaks it up saying

"Tom, you can't hit her! She's a girl!"

He doesn't give a shit and will fight them and you just to show them just because you're a girl, does not mean you can't fight

You and Tom probably tag team the person for doubting you

Tom and you don't use the phrase "one of the boys" rarely, if ever because you're truly best friends who are comfortable

He and you are assholes when making snarky comments

You guys are just alike that people need to be careful on what they say because you can make a joke or comment out of everything

You and Tom can't stop, it physically pains you both so much

He eggs you on when you make comments on stage or in interviews

He even joins in and you both can make someone cry, not that you mean to

He legit has to beg you to get him out of a situation by making a fool of yourself

You don't care what people think and would do it for free but you just wanna see him suffer

Georg Listing

Georg does not give a shit what you wear around him

Also doesn't blink twice when you walk in exposed in barely anything

He just says hi and goes about his day

You guys make up snarky comments to add to your collection like the assholes you guys are

Arguments between you two get so back but you somehow end up being best friends again the next hour

You have a confusing, funny and asshole-y relationship

You guys are the duo to be absolutely ruthless to each other

You say what's on his mind every single time you open his mouth

Will elbow you but is secretly laughing behind his hand

Loves seeing the faces people make out of surprise at your comments

He is also egging you on so much

He just enjoys the show you put on entirely

You say everything and anything and he just shrugs and goes along with it

You could say something horrid and he's like

"Damn. Why's that kinda true though?"

You act so open, shameless and comfortable around him he also often forgets you are not his sibling, much less a guy

He finds it weird to see you act like a actual woman

"Who the fuck are you and where's (Name)?"

"It's me, Georg."

"No, it's not. (Name) dresses like a homeless person, you have more than a shirt on. Can't fool me."

Don't try him because he will actually have a whole ass wrestling match with you

You guys are throwing punches, kicking, the whole nine yards over some bullshit

Gustav Schäfer

You say what's on his mind every single day of your life

He whispers you what to say when he can't and just laughs when you do

Gives you at least a shirt to put on when you wander around in underwear

He's comfortable around you but he doesn't want some creep that sneaks around to see or get pictures of you like that

You guys make fun of people so much that Gustav and you can't help but make comments

You guys look like the kind duo but are actually ruthless

He loves that you don't care what people think about you when you say shit

He admires that and is always supporting you when you do

You're very chaktic but he's there for the ride

Doesn't hold you back from your comments and is just standing there and agreeing with you

Gets you the dirt on people to use in your insults 100%

You guys are my favorite duo I gotta say

Laughs when you make a fool outta yourself on purpose

He doesn't have you save him by making a fool out of yourself

He also doesn't care what people think

He also says comments and is shameless about speaking his mind

He has strong emotions and does not conceal them and will say whatever with you

You guys can go on a whole rant for hours about insults and the person your insulting is just staring at you guys

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel imagine #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz imagines #bill kualitz x reader #bill kaulitz x reader #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz imagines #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel georg #gustav tokio hotel #gustav schäfer x reader #gustav schäfer #gustav schafer #georg listing x reader #georg listing

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beetle-blogging · 11 days ago

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I'm still not done with this theory. I thought about it again in context of the transcripts of the Small Print in the Marriage Agreement bc something about it niggled at me, and I connected some dots. This is gonna be long and partly a rehash of some of my previous posts, sorry.

TL;DR: Betelgeuse might be, or might have been in the past, trying to gain immortality through marrying and then murdering Lydia the same way Delores tried to do to him, except in BJBJ, he was trying to contractually obligate Lydia into the steps of the ritual through the small print of the marriage agreement. One of which, apparently, includes Falling In Love. He's only trying half-heartedly, though. Cause he likes her.

There was literally no reason for Delores to have been in the second Beetlejuice movie except to give Betelgeuse an excuse to narrate his backstory and exposit to the audience about the immortality ritual that Delores tried to pull on him.

Betelgeuse is clearly both intimately familiar with the ritual bc he was a victim of it, as well has theoretical knowledge of it, or else he couldn't have narrated the flashback like that. He, while alive, wouldn't have known about the cult or the requirements and purpose of the ritual, or even that there was one. He had to have looked that up later.

The ritual definitely requires marrying and then murdering your spouse and stealing/binding their soul, and likely also requires the love of the victim (at the time of the wedding? Wedding night? Murder? Cause while Betel doesn't seem to like Delores anymore, he did look smitten in the flashback and called himself "bewitched". Love is at least useful to get them to marry you) - and possibly also for the victim, because Delores was still acting like she had some possessive, fucked-up love for Betelgeuse. That part is actually very weird. Why the hell would she STILL act like she's into him when she murdered him, or at least tried to? I know fanon has it that he's a fantastic lay, but it's been 600 years. While I'm at it, I doubt the consummation was just for fun or done as a last kindness for the condemned, so there's another likely necessary step of the ritual.

And while that backstory and bit of lore was imo very interesting and sad, it didn't actually add anything, did it? We didn't need those particulars, fun as they were to watch, they weren't relevant to this movie. "Betelgeuse's ex wife is pissed and hunting him" would have given us the same movie minus the lore. Or just write her out. We didn't need her stalking the halls, or killing Bob - which was just added to give her more to do - or even showing up at the church, either. She was completely unnecessary after that flashback. Or even at all, if nothing further is ever going to be made of that ritual or cult (and would we want another soul sucker in BJBJBJ?). Ok, she was scary in a hot way, but that's it. Even without her, Astrid could have opened the door to the Sandworm in order to get rid of Betelgeuse in the church, who'd then have rerouted it to only Rory, followed by "We had a deal" etc just fine. The number 1 complaint people have about this movie is that Delores was just there for no reason. Betelgeuse/Delores does follow the theme of Love Betrayed same as Astrid/Jeremy and Lydia/Rory, and that's neat, but that wouldn't have required a background story involving a cult and a ritual that can get one out of the dead thing, for good gain you Immortality, through marriage and murder.

Then there's this:

Delores: Your soul belongs to me, my love, for eternity.

Betelgeuse: You don't want to spend eternity with me.

That sounded like they'd be bound together forever, not like she was going to eat his soul. At least, it sounds like that's Betelgeuse's understanding of what Delores is after. He'd still have been by her side. He just didn't wanna be after she killed him. Ok, so that bit is also there for a reason. Everything else, between flashback and church scene, is filler. Poor Bob.

Now we come to this transcript of the small print of the Marriage Agreement (only the highlighting is mine, transcript by jadeluz-official (who deactivated, and I don't know their current username or I'd link directly), which tbh, I'm not sure if we can count the text as canon bc it's basically imperceptible to the majority of the audience, but if the transcript is accurate then the contract is plain fascinating:

Do you see what I'm getting at? Cause the Immortality Ritual Theory occured to me weeks before I ever saw that transscript, I first mentioned it on my blog here and send herefortheships an ask related to the idea before that... but the part where Love might be an requirement for the ritual just hadn't occured to me then. Then I reread that small print which would compel Lydia to love Betel, my mind flashed back to Betelgeuse saying Delores had bewitched him, and I was like, uhhhh.

In context of my theory, Betelgeuse trying very hard to to woo Lydia (firm, very visible canon) and also having a contract ready that would obligate* her to love him for eternity and to fulfill all his needs (which is technically in the movie, but barely legible), is very sus. We've got love, marriage, sex (needs), and two people bound together for eternity all covered. The only stuff that's missing is the blood-drinking and the animal sacrifice. Which, 1) might have just been for the satanic aestetics, and 2) would still have been very easy to get Lydia to do if that contract had made her fall in love with Betel.

*again, the canonicity of that small print is questionable, but it does recontextualise Betel's wooing A Lot. Or like, make his motivations for it more ambiguous. Why write the Agreement like that? Why write it at all? (Was that in the script? I very badly want to read the script but I can't find it)

None of the above imo invalidates the headcanons/observations I and other people have made about how Betelgeuse did not try all that hard to either enforce that marriage agreement - which HE never even signed.

(he didn't even have Lydia sign it below when it says it will become effective once it's signed below, and yes I am being pedantic about a prop that people likely weren't meant to read anyway, but someone did bother to write it and it is meant to be a contract written by a demon/evil spirit who makes a lot of deals, so the signature being in the wrong place is really funny to me)

An agreement which should not have been voided by the Code 699 violation anyway bc it's an engagement, not a marriage. Nor did he physically/magically force Lydia into marriage in the church despite having ample time, plus there's his suspicious failure to fight back against banishment and instead inflating like a balloon and becoming helpless at the first "Betelgeuse".

Those can't all be out-of-story oversights. Maybe the handbook was meant to say "voids marriage contracts", but even so, the contract makes the code-violation it's own loophole. There's so much wriggle room to get out of the marriage. It's like the scriptwriters made a list of ways Lydia could escape the marriage this time, and then used all of them.

I don't think Betelgeuse really wants to screw over Lydia the same way Delores did him. At least, not anymore. But the pieces are set up in a way to suggest that the thought has occured to him, and that he might keep the ritual in his proverbial backpocket in case "have her fall in love with me and agree to stay with me forever voluntarily" fails.

Or maybe, he believes that the immortality ritual is still his actual plan A - cause this theory does imo fit quite nicely (as a retcon) even into the first movie where he said he wanted out of the creepy dead thing for good, cause he's arrogant enough to believe he could get Lydia to "help" him with that if only she let him out for a bit so he could make her like him (tbf, Toonverse proves him kinda right; he can be lots of fun) - and is now deeply, genuinely confused why he keeps self-sabotaging and giving Lydia outs, cause he himself is not aware just how deeply he's fallen for her after 30 years of watching her and trying and failing to get her attention. Too deeply in love to just give her a love potion (Beetlejuice Goes Hawaiian had them, and hey, if Truth Serums exist...), take her to a church, take her to bed under the influence, and then kill her. And too much in love to make her love him through a contractual obligation that she'd be bound to after the wedding.

Betelgeuse pointed Astrid to that loophole in the Handbook by drawing her attention to the book in the church and implying she'd find info about his and Lydia's deal in it. Mention of the deal is not in there, only the loophole to it is. And he knew she saw that page already because he clearly followed her to Jeremy ("She decided to trade lives with the boy"). This self-sabotage could have (further?) backfired on him because the other page she'd flipped to at Jeremy's was the one about Sandworms.

He's a deeply, deeply conflicted man.

#bjbj #beetlejuice #beetlejuice beetlejuice #beetlejuice 2024 #beetlebabes #immortality ritual theory #or else he is just very very dumb this time around. but there's just too much dumb #I feel like a conspiracy theorist but this one is not a case of me seeing connections between necessary plot points where there aren't any #when stuff just happened that way because it needed to to drive the plots forward.#BJBJ would've worked just fine with just the family drama and Astrid's first date being evil #Neither Delores nor that info about the ritual were necessary to the bigger plots and neither was the fine print #at least wrt to THIS movie #we got some fascinating Betelgeuse lore mounted on the wall #and uh. written in tiny print on the wallpaper I guess #I'd like to see it come into play in Act 3 #our titular... guy knows a permanent way to get out of being dead and keep his girl bound to him forever #would be weird not to do something more with it

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t-lostinworlds · 1 year ago

Text

A Strange(r’s) Comfort | Peter Parker

A/N: had this idea right after i saw nwh which was...years ago now lol. rewatched it again recently so here’s me dusting off a wip that’s been sitting in my drafts. basically, this is just me giving peter some comfort in a way, bc that boy really needs one :((

》 PAIRING: peter parker x female!reader 》 TROPE/GENRE: strangers to lovers (mostly implied); soft angst; hurt/comfort 》 SUMMARY: Peter found a strange comfort in the graveyard, no less. But hearing about your day-to-day had been the highlight of his. And when one night led to the both you showing vulnerability, suddenly, Peter didn't feel so alone anymore. Maybe a stranger's comfort wasn't so bad. 》 WARNINGS: Spoilers? (i mean it’s been a while); bad jokes/puns (one about chicken & one about sex lmao); peter eavesdropping (sorta...ya know, enhanced hearing); it’s mostly set in the graveyard so...; mentions of: death, car accident, drunk drivers, being in jail for a moment, petty theft, peer pressure; and overall just dealing with grief and peter & reader bonding over their experience with grief. 》 WORD COUNT: 5.2k+ (issa baby fic)

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ P. PARKER MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

Some might consider it unhealthy, but was there really a 'right' way to deal with the loss of someone you hold near and dear to your heart? They might even say it was excessive, but who were they to police him? They didn't know what he was going through. They could never understand what he was going through.

A part of him had excused it with his wounds being fresh, that with time, he'd be able to learn not to dwell too long on the remnants of the people he loves. Maybe with time, he'd be able to move on, something that seemed so impossible at the moment. But he'll get there—well, he hoped so, at least.

Either way, there was no doubt that everyone handled grief differently.

For Peter Parker, that was visiting May's grave every day.

Once was enough.

That was what he limited himself to, at least.

But still, it was barely enough to settle the demons in his head. Barely enough to stop him from replaying the scene over and over.

Peter had been recalculating in utter desperation as to what else he could've done better, what else he could've done more to save her.

That was what it was like most nights.

Some nights, though, his mind would switch things up a bit, thinking that maybe he was going about it wrong. Maybe it was a case of what he shouldn't have done.

Those nights Peter sometimes found himself picking apart every choice he'd ever made before it led to that point.

Maybe if he hadn't chosen to go on that stupid school trip to Europe then this wouldn't have happened. Maybe his identity wouldn't have been revealed and it wouldn't have led for that first domino to tumble, knocking over the rest that made his life turn for the absolute worse.

Or maybe, he didn't need to go that far back in the past. Maybe he simply shouldn't have chosen to question Dr. Strange's decision to send those villains back to where they came from immediately.

But sadly, that was all there was to it.

Peter's thoughts were simply and only just a whole bunch of unanswerable maybes.

Maybe this, maybe that. Maybe he owed it to them to try his best and fix things, maybe he didn't owe them anything at all. Maybe it was the wrong choice to try and save everyone, maybe it was right.

Aunt May said he did the right thing.

But it didn't feel like it sometimes.

Hell, it didn't even feel like it was even worth it. And no matter how much he tried to tell himself that it was right, his thoughts still managed to convince him that every. single. choice he made was simply wrong.

It wasn't even difficult to come to that conclusion anymore. Because ever since he got bitten by that spider, his loss considerably outweighed all his wins. And from then onwards, it just felt like he kept losing, and losing, and losing, and losing.

Right now, the most mundane thing he'd been losing lately was sleep, at the very least.

He'd gotten a job as a delivery guy at this small chicken joint a couple of streets down his apartment. Some might call it cheating—in his opinion, it was simply taking a shortcut—but he'd leave the bicycle they'd lend him in an alleyway and just swing the chickens to their destination. Sure, changing in and out of his suit was a bit tiring but it was definitely far better than dealing with New York traffic.

Apart from that, he'd also begun with some freelance photography work, dusting off the old DSLR camera Ben and May got him. He got decent at it a while back. But it got long forgotten the minute they bought him his first video game console, two years later.

He was starting off small, from random birthday parties to taking photos of restaurants or any establishment that was looking to use the pictures for ads or whatever. He was up for anything, anyone who didn't mind getting an okay photo at best.

There wasn't much to it, though, since nobody was really keen on hiring someone who didn't have experience. As a matter of fact, he didn't even have a high school diploma. Which had now led to him sacrificing countless hours of studying for his GED tests.

So, it was safe to say that he was handling a lot, especially juggling it with his still ongoing nighttime patrols.

Yet all of that seemed so much easier compared to what he had to deal with once he was lying in bed, wide awake even if it was past midnight. What went on in his day-to-day was only a fraction of the reason why he was losing sleep because his damning thoughts just had a habit of being so loud once everything else had quieted down.

It was hard as it was dealing with grief, even though he for sure had dealt with it more times than needed in such a short amount of time.

But what was more difficult about it this time around, was dealing with alone.

And Peter Parker was truly and utterly, alone.

No fellow Avenger to advise on ways to deal with this. After all, they were the only people who could understand even the slightest bit of what he was going through.

Saving the rest only to fail at saving one, losing someone in the midst of fighting for the rest of the world.

No Happy to offer some guidance on dealing with the loss of someone near and dear to you. Or for him to just be there as someone Peter could relate to, just like when Tony had died.

No Ned and MJ to give him company, offer their different ways of comfort as best as they could. They weren't there to simply make him laugh, offer that tiniest moment of reprieve, distract him with their theories and arguments about anything and everything to help him escape from, well, everything.

Right now, Peter had no one.

Going from having the people he truly cared about be only one call away, to suddenly being someone labeled as 'unknown number' in their contact lists, it was difficult.

But maybe he would just learn to live with it.

And maybe the first step to being able to live with his grief was to visit May frequently.

It didn't matter what time of the day it was. Whether it was early morning or just a few minutes after lunch, or when the sky started tinting orange as the sun slowly set. Midday or midnight, dusk or dawn, it didn't matter as long as he could visit her just once.

Maybe a part of him was hoping that by some miracle he'd hear her voice again, telling him, even if it was the last time, that you're going to be okay.

Peter needed it, so badly. He needed to be told that things would turn out alright because him being fine? It seemed like a far-off dream at this point.

He'd been to space, been to the mirror dimension, fought villains from other universes, been the center of a spell that erased people's memories and made them forget who he was.

Surely hearing the voice of a loved one that had passed wasn't too much to ask?

Yet every day, every moment he ventured into the graveyard, he was met by silence.

Well, aside from the distant hum of New York as life moved on. There was also the deep howl of the wind at night, a few cracking branches accompanied by the soft coo of crows.

Some would probably find peace from all the white noise, but Peter couldn't say he found any comfort in it. He'd only grown accustomed to it, used to tuning out the rest of the world to avoid being reminded of a life he once had.

Still, quietness had always been typical during his visits.

That, until one Saturday afternoon.

•••

Peter sensed another person approaching before he could even see them.

The soft crunch of fallen leaves was what he heard first, followed by a soft humming of some holiday song.

He looked up from the book he was reading, curious eyes landing on someone carrying flowers, a slight pep in her step which was unusual given the location.

Still, there was something about you that Peter couldn't help but be drawn to.

"There we go, all nice and clean," he heard you say, rustling of dried leaves and the soft brushing of clothes following suit. "And flowers well hydrated with bottled spring water."

You were talking to yourself.

It was a habit, he assumed. You just seemed comfortable doing it, as if you were having a mundane conversation with someone else.

Peter found it oddly endearing.

"I brought your favorite this time Dad because I am sure you're complaining to Mom why I always bring her favorite flowers," you explained with a soft laugh. "I sometimes forget you're a flowers type of guy, too."

No—you weren't talking to yourself.

You were talking to the gravestone.

His curiosity piqued even more.

It wasn't that you were being loud, either. Not at all. You were speaking softly as you typically would if you were by yourself in a graveyard, no less.

But because of his enhanced hearing, he simply couldn't help but listen.

"Sorry I haven't been here for a little while, just been busy with you know, moving, college, finding a job with a minimum wage that will not cover rent alone so what even is the point? We look for a job to survive but when we do find a job it doesn't even pay you enough to get by? Some people don't even hire you because 'not enough experience' and I'm like, duh? I'm trying to gain experience hence why I'm applying? Who even invented this shithole?"

Peter found himself nodding along, unable to argue with your claims when they were filled with nothing but the truth.

"Sorry, sorry, it just doesn't make a damn sense," you sighed. He could almost hear you rolling your eyes. "Anyway, I then have other adult things I really don't want to deal with like learning how to deal with taxes and stuff which is so dumb given I'm close to broke and—where does my tax go, anyway? Some politician's tenth vacation to the Bahamas, probably."

For the first time in a long while, Peter cracked a smile.

"Ugh, I am sorry, I promise I don't come here only to complain to you guys," you said, "But I am doing okay…"

He couldn't really explain the 'why,' but the soft tug in his heartstrings was definitely real when he heard the melancholia in your voice.

"The holidays are coming up," you said softly, the slight shake in your tone unmistakable. Yet as it rushed to the surface, it was just as quickly replaced with a chipper one.

"They always tell me how you both are watching over me now. But I don't know if I really want that," you sighed exaggeratedly. "Not because I hate you guys. But imagine if I was having sex? I really don't want to think about you 'watching over me' because it's really uncomfortable."

Peter couldn't stop his snort, his eyes widening as he spared you a glance. He was as grateful that you didn't seem to hear him.

The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was eavesdropping—well, maliciously, at least.

"It's a joke, Mom. See, Dad gets it."

Silence hung in the air after that, a sudden gust of wind blowing away the leaves that littered the snow-covered grass.

But he had a feeling the shake in your voice wasn't because of the cold.

"I really miss you guys…"

Peter left at that.

He didn't see you again for the next few days, probably because he never did visit at the same hour of the day. He never actively tried to see what time you were there, either—if you went every day at all. He'd just become a stalker at that point.

So, every time you did cross paths, it was entirely by chance.

The next encounter was when he brought his lunch with him to the graveyard. He'd caught sight of you sitting on a pink blanket that was laid out on the grass, legs crossed with a box of pizza to your right.

Instinctively, you looked up and over your shoulder when you heard his footsteps.

Your eyes immediately locked with his.

Pretty was the first word that came to his mind.

Beautiful, when you offered him a sweet and warm smile.

"Hello," you greeted.

Peter couldn't help but smile in return.

"Hi."

Nothing else was said after that.

You both respectively ate your lunches in your little corners, your soft humming bringing a comforting peace, one he still couldn't quite explain.

And from there on out, Peter learned that you did go there every day, but it was only either at lunchtime or late in the afternoon.

Because whenever Peter went during those times, you were always there.

As he said, he never actively tried to be there whenever you were. He didn't change anything with his routine. He still went there at random times of the day.

You and him crossing paths simply happened.

And most of those moments, Peter couldn't help but listen in on your rambles.

It might have been wrong, otherwise, creepy, but it wasn't like you were unaware of his presence. You weren't being loud, but you weren't exactly whispering into nothing either. If it were an unenhanced being, they would still hear you, but maybe only slightly inaudible. Peter just had the ability to make out your words a little clearer than the average person.

Besides, all your stories had been mundane at most, quite adorable at best.

Like that one time you ran into a post because you saw a cat wearing some boots and a clear raincoat across the road. Or that time you missed your stop in the subway because you kept talking to a Corgi who was lounging comfortably in their owner's backpack.

"His little legs were so cute!"

Like he said, adorable.

But if it was something personal, though, he'd learned to tune it out. He made sure to keep those matters out of his ear, leaving your private conversations, well, private.

Yet your silly and terrible jokes, your gripes about society and the unfairness of the world, to your little story times and mundane gossip of what you'd heard on the street, Peter couldn't help but tune in as if he was listening to the morning radio.

It made Peter feel lighter somewhat, a feeling he never once associated when being in a graveyard.

He didn't know if it was your stories, or if it was simply hearing that soft tone of your voice. Either way, he found it comforting, which was so strange.

Never had he ever thought he would find comfort from a stranger, no less.

A strange comfort.

•••

"People always ask why did the chicken cross the road. They never ask why the chicken didn't cross the road."

Peter perked up in curiosity, ready to hear another of the many jokes you'd completely ruined.

He found it absolutely hilarious how you were churning typical and old punchlines into horrible ones.

The funniest part was, it seemed like you were doing it on purpose.

"Why, you ask? Because they physically can't anymore," you said, pausing for added effect. "People enjoy eating chicken legs way too much."

Peter's eyes grew wide, gaze landing on the chicken leg he just finished. He couldn't stop the sound that escaped his lips.

It was a mix between a wheeze, a laugh, and a cough.

Loud enough to get your attention.

"Hey," you called, voice sounding closer. "Are you okay?"

"Oh—uhm, hi," he stammered, caught off guard when you were now suddenly in front of him. Clearing his throat, he nodded. "And yeah, I'm good,"

"Do you need some water?" You offered him a bottle.

"No, no, I've got my own," he declined, lifting his bottle. "But thank you."

"Oh okay," you said, smiling sweetly. "It just sounded like you were choking or something so I wanted to make sure if you were alright."

Peter blushed.

"No, I was…uhm—" He scratched the back of his neck. "I was holding back my laugh."

You tilted your head, bottom lip jutted out and Peter found himself thinking of ways to smooth out the little crinkled on your forehead, maybe kiss—wait what?

"Why would you do that?" you asked.

Shit.

Did I say that out loud?

"Sorry?" He blinked at you.

"Why would you hold back your laugh?"

"Oh," he sighed, mostly in relief. "Just didn't want to seem creepy and I wasn't…eavesdropping or anything but I uhm—heard your joke." Chuckling shyly, he smiled. "It was pretty funny."

"Funny because it was bad?" You raised a knowing brow. "If you say it was good then I'm really going to question your sense of humor."

"It was really bad," he admitted, breathing out a laugh.

The way your smile brightened made Peter's heart do a funny thing.

"Thanks," you giggled. "I pride myself in my bad jokes."

"Yeah," he breathed out, willing his heart to stop being so goddamn weird, what is going on with you? "And sorry for not helping the chickens cross the road."

You stared at him confused.

That was until he pointed towards the bag on the ground that had the logo of a chicken on it.

Your hearty laugh rang in the air.

Peter found himself growing warmer at the sound, the burn starting right in his chest and spreading to the whole expanse of his body.

"I—whew, sorry, wow," you heaved after a moment. "Haven't laughed like that in a while."

Both of you fell silent after that—not an awkward one. If anything, it was pleasant, like there was an unspoken understanding being exchanged with a simple look.

"This may seem like weird advice but try and talk to them," you softly said.

Peter looked at you, confused.

You gestured toward the tombstone with a sympathetic smile.

"They might hear it, they might not, there's really no way of knowing," you explained. "But what more could you lose if you try? Plus, you'll get it off your chest and that's always progress."

"I—" Peter nodded, the corner of his lips curling up. "Thank you. I'll keep it in mind."

You smiled at that. "I'll see you around."

"See you around," he hummed, gaze never leaving your figure even as you left, his eyes steady on the path you walked on as he mulled over your words.

It was kind of weird advice, but at the same time, it made perfect sense.

Peter didn't question it nor did he judge—who was he to judge? After all, everyone handled grief differently.

But as he sat down on the ground, eyes steady on the lettering of May's name, he found the words flowing out so easily.

"Hi, May I—" Peter took a sharp breath, blinking away the sting that started to settle in his eyes. "Wow. It's been a while since I've talked to you, huh?"

It started out simple, filling her up with what was new with his life recently—the job, his education, all those mundane stuff.

But then as he shifted from one topic to another, he inevitably started talking about all the things that felt so wrong. And once that train left the station, it was so difficult to stop.

It wasn't a complaint. It was an unloading of the baggage he'd been carrying around alone for quite some time now.

All the loneliness and grief, the boiling anger and consuming regret, the love and the love lost, to the bleak look of what his future held.

Peter didn't realize he was crying until a soft gush of wind brushed his cheeks, the coldness making him catch his breath with a shiver.

And then, a small white butterfly flew right in front of him, stopping momentarily before disappearing into the now setting sky.

Peter let out a breath.

Lighter and relieved.

It could've been a coincidence, or maybe it wasn't at all.

But what more could he lose if he took that as a sign that she heard him?

So with a small, tearful smile, he sighed,

"Thanks for always hearing me out, May."

Since then, he'd grown to tell May about his day. Some were tougher than others, while some were snippets of his new life—mundane and simple but starting to become fulfilling the more he looked at it from different perspectives.

As the weeks passed by, Peter's everyday visits became every other day. At first, the guilt of missing a day was heavily consuming. But it didn't take long for it slowly turn into a soft lull—still there, but not as bad as it used to be.

There was one other thing he hoped for whenever he wandered into the graveyard, though.

To see you again.

If it was one last time just so he could say thank you, then he'd take it.

That didn't mean he wasn't wishing for it to be more.

•••

The hair on every inch of Peter's body stood up when he heard it.

It was definitely not his spider sense going awry. This was very much a human reaction.

Well, he could imagine that when the first thing a person would hear as they venture into a graveyard in the dead of the night was crying, even the toughest men would get spooked.

But as soon as Peter located the source of the sound, his heart broke.

He wasn't expecting to find you, sat on the cold ground alone, hugging your knees to your chest, body shaking with sobs.

His first instinct was to fight whoever it was that made you cry because how fucking dare they?

But with a controlled breath, Peter walked over to you, making sure to step on dried leaves so you'd be aware of his presence.

Your head snapped up at the sound, puffy red eyes landing on him.

His frown could only deepen as he slowly sat beside you, offering you a tender smile with his arms wide open.

You stared at him with furrowed brows, eyes switching between his face and his open arms, downright confused.

Peter couldn't blame you. After all, you didn't know him.

He was ready for you to yell at him for being a creep, to scream at him to get lost. He was prepared for you to push him away—hell, punch him in the face—and run as fast as you could.

But instead, your lips quivered, a broken sob following suit. With your head hung low, you fell into his embrace.

And Peter hugged you as tightly as he could.

He didn't say anything, didn't feel like it was needed. He simply held you close, rubbing circles over your back as he gently rocked you from side to side.

Crying it all out until you couldn't anymore was, most of the time, the best thing you could do at the moment.

So he let you.

Only when your sobs turned to sniffles to soft shaky breaths did you pull away.

"Your shirt," you gasped shakily, bottom lip jutting out as your eyes began to water again. "Oh no, I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," he reassured, squeezing your shoulders before reluctantly letting you go. "I wouldn't have offered you a hug if I minded."

"Thank you," you whispered. "I really needed that."

"No worries." He nodded with a small smile. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's just—" you sighed, wiping your face with the sleeves of your coat. "It's my first holiday alone so it's been kinda tough."

"Me too," he hummed, smiling sadly when you looked at him, a mixture of surprise and understanding crossing your face. "My parents have been gone since I was a kid, and I was left with my uncle and aunt. My uncle died a few years ago so all I had left was her but now she's…"

"I'm sorry," you softly said, your hand finding his.

You gave it a squeeze.

Peter squeezed back.

"I only had my parents growing up," you started, gesturing at the tombstone. "Didn't get to meet my grandparents, never really met many of my relatives because they're all halfway across the world, so now it's just me."

Peter didn't know what it was, exactly. Maybe it was the warmth of your hand still holding his and your kind eyes bearing no judgment or pity. Maybe it was the sheer comfort you provided, one that he still couldn't quite explain.

Either way, he found himself sharing what it had been like for him. Sure, he left out details to keep his deepest secret uncovered, and to come and think about it, it was mostly things connected to Aunt May. But Peter definitely spilled way too much to someone he barely even knew.

He did not regret it one bit.

"I promised to protect her and I—"

"I'm sure you gave it your all," you assured.

"Not enough to keep her alive," he scoffed, tone far more bitter than he intended to. He caught himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, sorry—"

"Never apologize for how you feel," you said firmly.

Peter nodded, his attention caught by your thumb that was absentmindedly running circles over the back of his hand. You'd been holding onto it as you listened to his story, and he found himself not minding it at all.

If anything, a part of him wanted you to never let go.

"But I get it," you breathed out. "The whole 'this is my fault' thing."

"Was it an accident?" he asked softly.

You nodded. "Car crash. Some drunk frat boys thought it was a good idea to test out how fast they could go in their new truck into an open road."

He frowned. "That's not your fault."

"It is," you insisted. "They wouldn't have been out on the road in the first place if they weren't coming to pick me up in the dead of the night." Shaking your head, you scoffed, "I wish I could say I was at a friend's house but they were coming to bail me out of jail."

Attempting to lighten up the mood, Peter softly bumped his shoulder with yours. "Am I in the midst of a troublemaker?"

That earned him a teary chuckle.

He took it as a win.

"Not quite," you sighed, your smile fading. "Got hung up with the wrong crowd. They kept teasing me that I was too much of a miss goody two shoes and that I should live a little."

"Peer pressure is one nasty thing."

"Yeah well, I still did it." You shrugged, anxiously gnawing on your bottom lip. "A group of us were walking home from a party and we passed by this random minimart on the way. My so-called friends thought it was a good idea to dare me to steal one thing from the store, to break my 'good girl' streak as they put it.

"They all gave me ultimatums, one of them was either I steal something or they'll tell the whole school that I was the real definition of 'The freaks in bed are always the quiet ones' so my loser reputation is no more. They said they can't hang around me anymore if I kept being the loser of the group. It was tough because they were all the friends I had."

Peter couldn't stop the surge of pure anger that ran through him. "They sound fucking horrible."

"Yeah, and I was stupid enough to go along with it." Shaking your head, you chuckled, tone void of humor. "It wasn't even the owner who saw me, it was some random white woman yelling bloody murder as if I was burning the goddamn place down. And the second my friends saw the security guards? Oh, they ran, left me there to fend for myself."

Peter unclenched his fist, settling to rub circles on your back instead.

"It was one candy," you choked back a sob, gesturing towards the tombstone. "But the punishment feels—"

Peter wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in for a side hug when you started crying again.

"And you know what hurts most?" you whimpered, fisting his jacket as you laid your head on his shoulder. "Knowing that the last memory they had of me was just filled with disappointment."

"I'm sure that's not true," he said softly, squeezing you close. "They loved you."

"I know they did I just—"

"Wish you could go back and change every decision you made?"

You lifted your head off his shoulder and looked at him, eyes glossy yet he saw the flicker of gratefulness in them.

Peter felt it in himself too, an appreciation to finding someone who could understand even the littlest bit of what he was going through.

"Yeah," you shakily breathed out, letting out a soft laugh as you wiped your nose. "God, what a way to celebrate the holidays, huh?"

He chuckled at that, nodding.

It was definitely something, crying your heart out, spilling all your trauma to a stranger in the dead of night at a graveyard.

But there was only one thought that stayed at the forefront of his mind.

Peter didn't feel so alone anymore.

"Yeah," he hummed, a shy smile playing on his lips. "But I'm glad I'm not alone."

Your whole face brightened, your fingers interlacing with his.

"Me too," you said, smiling. "We're going to be okay."

Peter felt some weight lift off his entire back at those simple words of reassurance.

"We're going to be okay."

Teasingly bumping his shoulder with yours, you hummed, "I'm Y/N, by the way."

You both laughed at the absurdity of it, getting to know each other's pain, regret, hurt and grief before even getting the chance to know a name.

"Peter," he sighed, squeezing your hand. "Peter Parker."

Later that night, he somehow gathered up the courage to ask if you wanted to get some hot cocoa with him. And when you said yes with that smile he'd grown to adore so much, Peter had an inkling that you wouldn't stay a stranger to him in the long run.

But for now, as you laid your head on his shoulder, your soft breaths visible in the cold air, tiny snowflakes on your lashes, face glowing underneath the moonlight, warmth and contentment bloomed in his chest.

Peter was smiling.

Genuine and pure, and perhaps a sign of a new beginning.

A stranger's comfort wasn't so bad, after all.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

↬ thank you for reading hun! reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed, feedback is always appreciated <3

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#asc #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker oneshot #peter parker angst #peter parker x female reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man x reader #spider-man one shot #spiderman x reader #spiderman fanfiction #spider-man: no way home #tom holland #tom holland x reader #my writing

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midnightmayhem13 · 1 year ago

Text

baby kiss it better

your first kiss with the ladies! enjoyyyyy🩶

carol danvers:

after carol had taken you on a few dates, she wanted to wait for the perfect one to kiss you. until one day, you two were doing a mission together but had to be disguised. you two dressed up and went to some famous drug cartel gala. there was people making bids on illegal substances and there was one in particular you had to get so no one else had it. you and carol had dressed up as if you went as a date. after you two finished the mission you were just chilling on a roof top. carol flew you there bc she wanted to cool down before you two went home. she was telling you all about the stars. saying "but your smiles out shines all of them" with a smirk. you giggled and looked at her then her lips, noticing she was already staring at yours. as if there was some force that pushed you two together you met in the middle and kissed. the kiss was long passionate. her hands going to your waist, yours to her face and neck. and the stars shined brighter in that moment

sharon carter:

you two were out and about just partying and having fun together. no avenger status and no power broker business. you two went to clubs and bars and just had drinks going to all the clubs you could find. and the more you two drank the more tension there was. you two were flirting shamelessly. you even had sat on sharon's lap and just chilled there with her arms around you. the later it got more drunk men started getting confident. sharon had gone to the bathroom and you stayed talking to random people. there was one specific man that got too confident and started flirting with you. he started getting touchy and you prayed sharon would come over soon to get you out. he was trying to pull you into him by the waist and before you could react he was getting punched in the gut. by who if not your sharon. she had protectively held you by your waist and cussed the man out. you two walked away and as you were going to thank her she pulled you in and kissed you passionately. you two later decided to go home and get some much needed alone time.

darcy lewis:

you can't help but stare at darcy's beautiful red lips all the time. and she can't help but tease you about it. always blowing you kisses or making kissy faces at you. you kiss each other on the cheek or forehead but you still haven't had your kiss yet. one day you two were on a walk on a chilly fall night, swinging your joined hands when you brought up the topic of kisses. you complimented her lips, says they always looked gorgeous with or without their usual red tint. she blushed and said yours were cute and adorable. you teased her saying that hers were probably soft too. "they look super kissable too darce" you said with a wink. she giggled and stopped your motion. "you wanna see for yourself?" darcy questioned with a raise eye brow and a smirk, grabbing both of your hands. "without a doubt docter" you answered, gingerly grabbing her face and kissing her sweetly. (this my fav one omg)

nebula:

now with nebula, physical affection was hard. not only having never rlly gotten any as a kid, but having you so close to her made her vulnerable. but for you, she would go through hell. she let herself get close to you and forced herself to get used to giving you physical affection and know you loved her. it was hard but things got better. after a hard day you two were entering your room. once in privacy, nebula loved to hug you for a while. while you two were doing this. swaying side to side you pulled away. she immediately looked to see if something was wrong, "i love you nebula." she was stunned, never in her life had she thought you would love her. when she took a while to answer you spoke up, " you d-don't have to say it, i just wanted you to know-" when she cut you off with a passionate but awkward kiss. she didn't say it back but you felt she did. with time, the words would eventually come out her mouth

maria hill

now i strongly believe maria loves slow dancing. so enjoy. you and maria danced often. she actually showed you the steps if you didn't know. but after a while it became a normal thing. when she was stressed for work you step back and hold your hands out and she couldn't say no. slow dancing with you always calmed her down. it didn't matter with or without music as long as it was with you. you two often slow danced in a beautiful scenery. one day while driving around, you found a flower field. it happen to be a mix of your favorite flowers. as if you read each others minds, you began dancing. maria played your favorite song to dance to. you were so beautiful to her. her eyes shined brighter than diamonds in that moment. as you two finished off the dance, you held eachother staring into eachothers eyes. "may i?" maria asked, almost shyly you nodded closing your eyes and feeling her soft lips on yours. neither of you could be happier in that moment.

kate bishop

when you and kate started going out there was a lot of times were you two almost kissed. and much to both of your dismays it was always interrupted. and kate was getting fed up. she wanted to just lock both of you in a room and make out. although that probably wasn't the best option but she considered it. finally one day when you two were having a roof top date as usual eating pizza and having fun. you two were both laughing at something and looked at the other to watch them laugh. in that moment everything just felt right. your belly laughs died down and turned into soft giggles. after having some sort of staring constant you smiled at kate "whatcha thinking about katie?" she questions with an adorable expression "i- i uhm i was uh can- can i kiss you?" late messily stuttered out. immediately getting embarrassed of the way it came out and covering her bright red cheeks with her hands. you didn't answer, you gently removed her hands and smiled at her. you held the side of her neck gently and kissed her. her eyes went wide not thinking you'd actually do it. once she realized what was actually happening she quickly held you by the hips and kissed passionately. you giggled into the kiss and made out on a roof top.

i love darcy. expect more content. that's it.

#carol danvers x reader #sharon carter x reader #darcy lewis x reader #nebula x reader #maria hill x reader #kate bishop x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #wlw

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alwaysonthemend · 1 year ago

Text

Carpe Noctem | JTK x Reader

Author’s Note: Naming this fic Carpe Noctem in honor of my new tattoo lol. The beginning of this fic is inspired by the shitty date that I went on last night... Unfortunately, Jake did not in fact sweep in to save the day but a girl can dream. I was complaining to @jakeyt and she had the wonderful idea to turn this into a fic so I hope you all enjoy! As always, apologies for any typos/mistakes

Word Count: 4979

Content Warnings: Fem!reader, terrible flirting (bc I can't flirt in real life either), oral (m and f rec), unprotected sex, edging, orgasm denial, p in v sex, slapping, sir kink, pirate kink? idk. 18 + MINORS DNI

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

You don’t think you’ve ever been on a date worse than the one you’re on right now – and you’ve been on some interesting ones in the past… But this guy just takes the cake. To begin with, he’d chosen a very expensive steak restaurant in East Nashville and while you’re not opposed to finer dining every now and again, this just seemed like overkill for a first date.

But you’d agreed when the guy had suggested it and had proceeded to spend a far longer time than you’ll ever admit trying to pick out a nice outfit for the date; Time, you came to discover, which was totally wasted given that your date had shown up in basketball shorts and flip flops. And normally you wouldn’t give a damn about what someone else wanted to wear, but damn he could have at least tried a little bit – especially given the location.

Still, you’d persisted and sat down with him – intent on giving him the benefit of the doubt. But he’d quickly let you down, launching into rant after rant about himself and all the amazing things he’s done and about all the places he’s traveled, hardly letting you get a word in edgewise.

The few times that he did actually ask you about yourself, you could tell that he was only asking because he knows that he’s “supposed to.” Everything you said he just turned into another way to talk about himself, and it didn’t take you long before you just gave up on trying to say anything – choosing instead to just sit there quietly and let him go.

By the time the bill was paid (at least he’d had the decency to pay for your meal), you were more than ready to get the hell out of there. You walked briskly to the door with your terrible date hot on your heels.

“Y/n.” He said, turning to you as the two of you stepped outside onto the pavement. “I think this date went really well.”

You open your mouth to protest but he continues on, yet again preventing you from being able to say a fucking word.

“I think we have a real connection, and… I think you should come back to my place tonight.”

Your jaw drops at his audacity and you whip your head around to gape at him. Seeing your reaction, he’s quick to try and backpedal.

“I don’t mean to presume, but-”

“Oh would you just shut the fuck up? Please?” You bite out, and it’s his turn for his jaw to drop in shock.

“Excuse me?” He asks, voice raising in volume. He looks so offended but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“All you talked about at dinner tonight was yourself, you hardly let me speak at all…” you gesture angrily towards his lower half, “you show up in fucking shorts and flip flops – and you have the audacity to ask me to come home with you?”

You’re suddenly so angry you can barely think straight and his stupid face – gaping at you like a fish out of water, is only making it worse.

“Well I’m sorry that I didn’t realize that you’re such a stuck up bitch.” He says angrily, glaring at you as you both stand there staring at each other.

“Oh fuck you.” You say, whipping your phone out of your pocket to call an Uber.

“You wish.” He snarks, turning to leave.

As he passes you, he bumps his shoulder into yours, sending your phone flying from your grip and crashing to the ground. He keeps walking, not bothering to stop or to apologize.

“Douchebag!” You call after him, huffing angrily as he climbs into his car without a second glance back.

You sigh, turning your attention back to your phone lying face down on the concrete. Hopefully it’s not broken, because that would honestly just be the icing on the cake for your horrible night.

Just as you're about to stoop down to grab it, another hand darts out and grabs it for you. Startled, you take a step back, noticing a man standing next to you, holding your phone out to you. You don’t know where he came from, but you’re stunned into silence for a moment upon taking in his appearance.

He’s gorgeous, to say the least: long brown hair flows down his shoulders, and a light dusting of facial hair adorns his top lip. In the dim light of the night, you can just make out his chocolate brown eyes staring at you from beneath his wide-brimmed black hat. His shirt is only buttoned at the very bottom, leaving his chest on display for you. His silver necklace glitters in the moonlight.

“Um.” You say eloquently, trying to swallow around the sudden dryness in your throat.

“It’s not broken.” He tells you, and fuck his voice is attractive too – smooth and lilting in a way that makes your knees weak.

“Thank you.” You take your phone, shoving it into your pocket without even glancing at the screen to confirm that it’s not cracked. “How long have you been standing out here?”

“Long enough.” He says, giving you a smile that makes butterflies erupt inside you.

“So you heard all that, then?” You gesture vaguely in the direction of where your date had gone, cringing at the thought of this beautiful stranger bearing witness to what just transpired.

“Yeah, I heard all that.” He confirms, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Seemed like a real piece of work.”

You nod your head, grinning a little at him.

“I seem to only ever attract assholes, unfortunately.”

“I’m not an asshole.” He says, eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “At least, I don’t think I am.”

It takes you a minute to catch onto what he’s implying, but once you do your cheeks grow impossibly hot under his gaze. He’s attracted to you – the thought seems almost ridiculous given how beautiful he is. He doesn’t seem real with the way he’s standing before you: seemingly appearing out of nowhere and practically glowing under the light of the moon.

“Oh?” You raise your brow playfully at him, “You don’t think you are?”

“I think I’m alright. Most definitely better than that guy.”

“That’s a low bar.”

He chuckles, and the sound of it makes you feel all warm inside. You’re struck with the sudden desire to make him laugh again. You want to hear it over and over and over again.

“I’m Y/n, by the way.” You say, extending your hand for him to shake.

He pulls his hand from his pocket and grips your hand. His palms are warm and smooth, but his fingertips are rough and calloused. You revel in the feeling of touching his skin for the first time.

“I’m Jake.” He tells you, and you can’t help the snort that escapes you. “What? Something wrong with my name?”

You shake your head, grinning from ear to ear as you assess him.

“You just don’t look like a Jake, that’s all.”

He quirks a brow.

“And what do I look like, then?”

You hum, looking him up and down for a moment.

“I’m not sure. William maybe? Or just Will for short.” You shrug, “Just not Jake.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.” He says honestly, tilting his head at you. You can’t help but notice how the moonlight accentuates the curve of his jaw in the most delicious way.

You pause for a moment, thinking.

“It’s a compliment.” You finally assert, nodding your head once as you speak. “You just seem so…” You trail off for a moment, searching for the right word. You can’t think of one.

Jake just laughs again, shaking his head at you. He takes a step closer, and you swear your heart skips a beat.

“Can I ask you a question, Y/n?” He says, voice suddenly a lot lower than before.

“Technically you already did, but go ahead.”

He shakes his head again, lips quirking into a mischievous smile.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He jerks his head towards the restaurant.

You can’t for the life of you think of one reason why you shouldn’t let him buy you a drink.

“You promise you’re not an asshole?” You ask, though your mind is already made up.

“I promise.” He assures you, holding his arm out so that you can link your arm with his.

Grinning like an idiot, you loop your arm with his and the two of you make your way back inside, this time taking your seat at the bar. As you sit, Jake signals a hand for the bartender.

“Whiskey. Neat.” He says before panning his eyes to you. “M’lady?”

That makes you smile, and the butterflies are back in full swing inside you.

“Gin and tonic. Hendrix if you’ve got it.” Jake raises his eyebrow at you again but you ignore it, opting instead to smile at the bartender.

He smiles back before turning his back to make your drinks.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you to be a gin girl.”

You just shrug.

“You most definitely seem like a whiskey guy.”

“Again,” He says, smiling at the bartender as he places your drinks in front of you, “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It is.” You say, taking a sip of your drink. Silence lapses between the two of you for a moment before you speak up again. “Mysterious.”

“What?” Jake asks, eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

“I couldn’t think of a word to describe you earlier when we were outside.” You clarify, swiveling in your seat to get a better look at him. “Mysterious is it.”

“What makes you think I’m mysterious?”

“Dunno.” You nod at his form, eyeing his clothes. “Maybe the outfit… It's very piratey.” That earns a chuckle from him and the sound warms you even more than the alcohol has. “Or how you just sort of appeared – like a knight in shining armor, to save me from the worst date of my life.”

“I hardly saved you. I just picked up your phone.” He reminds you, placing his elbow on the bar top and leaning his cheek against his palm as he watches you.

“Saved me from the boredom of going back to an empty apartment, then.”

He inclines his head, accepting your addendum.

“Happy to help. Though I much prefer to be likened to a pirate than a knight.”

“Righty-o, Captain Jake.” You exclaim, putting on your worst pirate accent you can.

Jake laughs – a full belly laugh, for the first time tonight and you can’t help but preen over eliciting such a reaction from him. His laugh isn’t loud, but it’s downright musical and so very contagious.

Your conversation flows freely after that, as the two of you talk about anything and everything you can think of. Your work – he’s actually interested in hearing what you do and what you’re passionate about (he even asks questions and seeks out more detail as you speak.) His music – it’s very fitting that he’s a guitarist, and you’re in awe at the passion and love that he so clearly carries for his music and his other bandmates. You talk about books, movies, your cat, his brother’s dog – you talk about just about everything, and it seems like no time at all has passed before the bartender lets you know that they’re closing.

Disappointed, you rise from your seat and turn to leave. Quickly, almost as if he doesn’t want you to see, Jake leaves a $100 bill resting on the bar before he turns to follow you. You make no mention of it.

“Thank you.” You tell him as the two of you find yourselves out on the pavement for the second time.

“For what?”

“Restoring my faith in men.”

Jake smiles, sweet and genuine, and his eyes practically sparkle as he looks at you.

“Glad to be of service.”

The two of you are silent for a long moment, both seemingly unwilling for your time together to end. The thought of leaving him… of going your separate ways, almost makes you nauseous. Though you’ve only just met, you feel an unexplainable pull towards the man in front of you – like your very soul is reaching out to him, desperate for some sort of comfort that you didn’t know you needed. Not to mention the dull ache between your thighs that makes you want to latch onto him and never let go. Seemingly reading your thoughts, Jake speaks up first.

“Y/n,” he starts, and you shiver at the sound of your name from his mouth, “I’m trying to come up with a way to ask you this in the least asshole way possible, but I’m failing miserably.”

Without a doubt, you know exactly what he’s going to say.

“Ask anyway.” You demand, taking a step to close some of the distance between the two of you.

“Carpe noctem.” He mutters to himself, and you look at him in confusion.

He just shakes his head. The phrase wasn’t meant for you.

“I’d love it if you came back to my place with me, Y/n.”

“And here I was thinking that you’d never ask.”

He grins wickedly at you, and you get the sudden feeling that there’s trouble waiting for you – the good kind. The kind that makes your thighs tremble and your body weak with pleasure.

“Did you drive here?” He asks, pulling his car keys from his pocket.

“No, I took an Uber.”

“Perfect.” His beautiful white teeth glitter under the light of the night sky and your breath stutters in your chest. He really is stupidly attractive.

The drive to his home is torturous. You’re so close to him – close enough that you can smell him (vanilla and whiskey and his natural musk), but you can’t touch him. At least, not the way that you want to. Not yet.

He looks downright sinful behind the wheel, and you take the opportunity to admire him. Your eyes track the angle of his nose and the way his plush lips look so soft. You watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows and you watch the way his long fingers wrap around the steering wheel. His beauty is like nothing you’ve ever seen – like some divinity coming down from the heavens to bless you with his presence.

“See something you like?”

His question snaps you out of your trance and your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment after being caught.

“Maybe.”

He just hums, the corners of his lips just barely turning up into a smile.

Your body betrays you, and your thighs clench together as you watch him.

He tracks the movement from the corner of his eye and his smile widens. Wordlessly, he drops his right hand from the steering wheel and brings it over to rest on your thigh. He squeezes, pressing his fingertips into your flesh and earning a breathy little moan from you.

Seemingly satisfied with the way you react to just a simple touch, he pulls his hand away from you and returns it to the steering wheel. You ignore the whine that wants to bubble out of your chest at the loss of contact.

After what seems like ages, he finally pulls the car into his driveway. You make the conscious effort to unbuckle yourself and exit the car slowly, trying and failing to conceal how desperate you’ve gotten.

As soon as the front door closes behind the two of you, Jake pushes you up against the wall. A surprised squeak falls from between your lips as he presses into you with his body. He’s warm and solid and your core throbs with need.

His face is close to yours – so close that your lips just barely brush against his.

“Kiss me.” You whisper, not caring about how needy you sound.

“As you wish.” He says, before pressing his lips to yours.

They’re warm and soft and the feeling makes your knees go weak already. You part your lips, allowing Jake to explore you with his tongue. His hands grip your waist, pinning you to the wall as he presses his hips into yours. You slide one hand beneath his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin and the softness of his belly while the other travels up to tangle in his hair. You give it a slight tug, eliciting a groan from him.

“You’re divine.” He whispers, pulling away from you so that he can look at you more clearly.

“Speak for yourself.” Your voice sounds wrecked. You hardly recognize it.

He attaches his lips to the skin of your neck, licking and biting, and you toss your head back to give him better access. He presses one thigh between your legs, and you can’t help but rock your clothed pussy against the hard muscle. It’s thick, and you whimper at the thought of the power that it likely holds.

With shaky fingers, you unbutton his shirt and slide it off him, tossing it somewhere on the floor. He pulls his lips away from you just long enough to pull your own shirt over your head, before he resumes leaving searing kisses down your throat and over the valley between your breasts. As he does so, you take the opportunity to splay your hands over his torso, exploring the feel of his skin beneath you. Everything about his body is solid – a perfect mixture of soft and strong and your mouth waters as you explore him. Though he isn’t a tall man, the power and strength that his body holds is undeniable.

“Jake.” You finally mutter, the ache between your thighs becoming unbearable. “Take me to bed, Captain.”

He smirks and groans, before taking your own hand in his and presses it against his clothed erection. You can feel him – ridiculously hard and throbbing beneath the fabric of his pants.

“Feel what you’ve done to me?” He asks and you nod breathlessly. “So hard it hurts.”

He extracts himself from you, and your body thrums with the desire to press yourself into him again. He beckons you, leading you through his home and up the stairwell to his bedroom. The house is dark, lit only by the moonlight that spills through the windows.

A king size bed waits for you. The room is tidy, with small little bits of messiness that just show that the room is lived in. A pile of books shoved into a corner, reading glasses left out on the nightstand and an empty whiskey glass sitting next to them.

Jake unbuttons his pants and steps out of them before turning to you. Wordlessly, you follow his example – stripping until you’re completely bare. Somehow, you don’t feel overly exposed as his eyes drink in your naked form. The way he’s looking at you: predatory and dark, only serves to stoke the fire between your legs. He wants you – no, he needs you. And you’re more than willing to give him whatever he wants.

At last, Jake slides his boxers off himself, letting them join the pile of yours and his clothes on the floor. His cock, hard and throbbing, springs up and slaps against his belly. It’s just as beautiful as the rest of him – long and flushed red with his own need, and just barely curved to the left.

“Jake.” You whine as he brings his hand up to stroke himself, spreading his precum over his length as he watches you struggle to find words at the sight of him.

Giving up on trying to formulate a coherent thought, you approach him slowly before sinking to your knees. You look up at him, eyes wide, as you silently beg for his cock.

“Let me taste you.” You implore, slick dripping down your thighs.

His eyes are so dilated they look black, and his chest is flushed and heaving as he looks down at you.

“You look like an angel on your knees like that.” He tells you, his voice husky and rough. He traces the velvety head of his cock across your lips for a moment, before pushing the tip between your lips. You relax your jaw and push forwards, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can. He groans loudly, tossing his head back as he nudges the back of your throat. Pressing your tongue into the vein that runs up the underside of him, you slide your mouth almost off him before pushing back down again. You use your hand to grip his base wear you can’t reach, and you use your other hand to massage his balls.

“Oh fuck.” He whines, tangling his fingers in your hair.

You pull off him for a moment and look up at him through your lashes.

“Fuck my throat, Jake.”

He groans and nods as you swallow him again. You brace your palms on his thighs as he rocks his hips, thrusting deeply into your throat. You relax as much as you can and focus on breathing through your nose as he fucks into you. The sounds he’s making are sinful, and you drop one hand to finally rub tight circles onto your swollen clit – the relief causing you to moan loudly around his cock.

His length twitches, and he pulls himself from you and he moans at the string of saliva that connects your lips to his tip.

“On the bed.” He commands, and his voice has lost the softness of earlier. It’s an order, and you scramble to obey. Though you must not be quick enough for Jake’s liking, as he grabs your hips and lifts you – tossing you into the bed on your back. His strength surprises you, and you whine out his name as he settles his weight between your legs.

“You’re soaked, angel.” He says appreciatively, admiring the view of you spread out before him. “Wish you could see how you look right now – dripping and needy.”

You spread your legs wider, trying to entice him to finally touch you where you need him to.

He leans down and kisses up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You whine and toss your head back as he nips at your skin, so very close to where you want him.

“Jake, don’t tease.” You beg him, squirming as he continues to ignore your throbbing cunt in favor of your thighs.

You cry out as he delivers a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it catching you off guard.

“Patience, angel. I’m calling the shots.” He tells you, and it’s all you can do to nod your head at him.

Another harsh smack lands on your skin, and this time a loud moan escapes you at the feeling.

“Say ‘yes sir.’” He demands, and if you weren’t so desperate, you’d laugh because of course he has a sir kink.

But your mind is far too clouded with lust and you quickly do as he says.

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl.” He says with a sinful smile, smoothing his hand over the red mark that he’d left. “Good girls get rewarded, you know?” He says, before diving downward to lick through your wet folds.

You cry out his name, eyes screwing shut as he eats you out – the pleasure of his tongue like no other pleasure you’ve ever received from someone else.

“Oh fuck, Jake.” You whimper, rocking your hips downward onto his face. His tongue breaches your entrance, fucking in and out of you as the bridge of his nose presses against your clit.

He grips your thighs in both hands, spreading them apart as he lavishes attention on your cunt. The sound of your wetness is obscene, and you’re embarrassingly close to orgasm already.

Fighting to get your eyes to focus, you glance downwards to see him resting between your thighs. He's got his legs kicked out behind him as he buries himself in your weeping cunt and you whimper as you watch him rock his own hips into the bed. He's groaning into your heat, coming undone at the sounds that are escaping you.

“Jake, I’m close.” You warn him, thrashing your head as the pleasure inside of you builds. Just as you’re about to fall over the edge, Jake pulls away. You groan in protest but he silences you with a look.

“I’m nowhere near done with you, baby.”

Slowly, he dips his finger into your folds, swirling through the wetness and grinning like a little kid on Christmas morning.

“You make such pretty noises, Y/n.” He tells you, pressing the tip of his finger just barely into you. You whine and rock your hips. "Almost came from the sound of you alone."

His voice is low – gruff and warm and you wish that somehow it could fuck you too.

"Fuck, I feel like I could explode." He admits, and you whimper at the honesty in his tone.

“More. Please.”

He laughs wickedly and pulls his hand completely from you.

“Greedy little girl. Want me to play you like I play my guitar, angel? Make you sing for me?”

“Yes. Fuck. Yes sir.” You correct yourself, and he smiles approvingly.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Finally, he sinks his finger into you, messaging your walls for a moment before adding another finger. He curls his fingers, brushing against your sweet spot and your entire body jolts as you moan loudly.

“There it is.” He mutters to himself, repeating the action – sending white hot sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, making sure to hit that spot with each thrust of his fingers, and his thumb circles your swollen clit. Once again, it doesn’t take long for your orgasm to build up in you. This time, you can feel the strength behind it after being denied your release last time.

“Ooh, you’re close aren’t you?” Jake asks, increasing his pace to bring you even closer. “I can feel you squeezing around my fingers.” His attentiveness to you and your body would be sweet if it weren't for the desperation clinging to you as he coaxes you to orgasm yet again.

You can’t reply. All you can do is moan and cry out his name as you approach that edge again.

But you should have known. Jake pulls his fingers from you, denying you your climax once again and you could sob at the loss. You let out a wail, and tears leak from the corners of your eyes.

“I know, baby.” Jake croons, looking down at you in sympathy. “But not yet. Just a little longer.”

Jake sits up and grips your hips, flipping you over and pulling you onto him so that you’re straddling him.

“Ride me, angel. Been thinking about it all night.”

Without hesitation, you line him up with your entrance and sink down. You both moan loudly at the feeling and you bring your hands up to grip Jake’s shoulders for support.

“Oh fucking hell.” He groans out through clenched teeth, “you’re so fucking tight.”

“Jake.” You cry, lifting yourself up and then slamming back down again. Your body feels like it’s on fire – overstimulation and the need to cum battling within you as you ride him. Your thighs burn and your mind is completely overtaken with your need to finish.

“Jake, fuck. I’m gonna cum. M’gonna-” You can’t finish.

“That’s it, angel. Cum on my cock. Let me have it.”

Your climax tears through you – completely overtaking you as you ride out your high, You’re shaking as the pleasure slices through you, and the noises that fall from between your lips aren’t even English anymore. Just animalistic, helpless little noises as you finally start to come down. Your body falters, unable to continue and so Jake flips you over, pressing your back into the mattress. His cock is still inside you, hard and throbbing as he begins to fuck into you.

His hips snap against you, the sound of his skin hitting yours and the sound of your wetness filling the room. You blink your eyes open to see Jake, hair stringy and messy, with his mouth open in a silent scream. He places both hands on the bed on either side of you for leverage, and the muscles in his arms and shoulders flex with each thrust of his hips.

He’s fucking you like no one else ever has – hard and deep and so. fucking. good.

Little grunts accompany each thrust and his skin glistens with sweat in the moonlight.

“Fuck you feel like velvet around my cock.” He’s reckless, driving into you like an animal in rut. All you can do is lay there and take it, eyes rolling back into your head as you let out high pitched, pornographic moans and whines.

“Touch your clit, angel. Take care of her for me. Fuck, I’m so close.” His voice is completely wrecked and his thrusts are growing sloppy.

You bring your hand down to your clit, frenziedly circling it as your entire body begins to tense up.

“Give me one more. Fuck, one more, angel.” He’s begging now, face contorted as he holds himself back – waiting for you to cum again before allowing himself to finish.

“Jake!” You scream, walls clenching around him as you cum. Your vision fades to black around the edges and your entire body shakes and quivers.

“Oh shit. Fuck! I’m gonna cum. Where- fuck.” He’s losing it, face contorting into agonized pleasure.

“Inside!” You manage to say and that’s all it takes for him to explode in you.

The growl that he lets out is sinful as he finally allows himself to cum. His eyes are closed tight and his mouth hangs open as keeps fucking you – riding out his orgasm until there’s nothing left in him.

Spent, he collapses on top of you, breathing heavily and cock growing soft inside of you.

“Holy fuck,” You breathe out, beginning to come back to yourself a bit.

“Mmm.” He mumbles into your skin, lips pressed into your neck.

Jake sits up, and the both of you hiss as he pulls out of you.

“I am so glad that asshole knocked my phone out of my hand.” You say breathlessly, and Jake lets out an honest-to-god giggle. The sound catches you off guard and you can't help but to laugh alongside him.

“Me too.” He smiles, and pecks you on the lips.

“I’m keeping you by the way.” You tell him, brushing some of his sweaty hair behind his ear. "Captain."

He smiles wide and jubilant at you in the dark.

“My very own Elizabeth Swann”

-------

If you're reading this, I love you! 💗

Taglist:

@ignite-my-fire

@demolitionndann

@brujamagik

@mybussyinchrist

@writingcold

@jakesguitarsolo

@sinarainbows

@sinsofstardust

@way-to-go-lad

#dee's writing #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka

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eddieslooneymoonie · 7 months ago

Text

Sorry for this but….

Angst Eddie Blurb that’s been rotting my brain

Not beta read bc I’m kool (and have no friends atm)

It had been a long day at work. And after that you went straight to the high school as a nurse volunteer for those who were injured but not injured enough to be cared for in the limited hospice space.

The agonizing cries of the burned, broken, and grieving.

They say the town was truly was torn apart.

But then I guess they hadn’t had to watch what that truly means.

You doubt anyone else had to watch bats decend and feast on the flesh of their boyfrie-

No.

He was more than that but you couldn’t get into it right now.

It seemed unfair to you that two things in your life had been torn apart, and the only one you hated more out of those two categories was recovering.

The one you loved most was dead.

Revered only by a handful of people who took turns scrubbing “Satanist” and “Freak” off a false resting place.

For all you knew (and tried not to think about) his body had become part of a creature you’d have to kill in the next few weeks.

All you knew for certain was that when Edward Munson had taken his last painful breath in your bloodied arms,

so had you.

So when you finally got home after another lifeless day on instinctual auto pilot, the last thing you wanted to see was a ransacked home.

Not that you cared. Not much of it was his anyways, which was about all you possessed with any fire.

But you were 𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙙.

You dropped all your belongings and decided that maybe you were wrong about strength lying in moving forwards. All you wanted was to fall.

So you did, slumped against the doorway with nothing but a sore ribcage from crying yourself to sleep every night and a dirty bandana folded nicely in your back pocket.

Bare bones of a love you thought was forever.

Then you heard something that made you question if you really hadn’t survived.

The ragged notes produced only by Eddie’s most prized possession-

and now yours.

Something you had safely tucked under your bed.

You listened hard with your head still settled against the cold tiled floor of your doorway.

There was no way it could be anything else but-

Sweetheart.

You bolted upright in a murderous rage. You couldn’t care less about someone walking in and taking your half burnt belongings but how DARE they help their grimy fingers to the last piece of your soul you had.

You grab the ax you have hanging above the door,

one of 7 weapons hidden in your home.

Then you feel it.

An ice in your veins only in the past unleashed against bar scumbags and then naked looking alien fucks from the Upside Down.

And then…..

And then bats that took half of you and all of him.

It was no question.

Whoever decided to enter your shitty one bedroom apartment probably had no idea it was the last thing they’d ever do.

Another aspect of you life the Upside Down had taken from you.

Your humanity.

Gripping the axe in a way far more comfortable than your own bed was sometimes, you head down the hallway to the soon to be murder victim.

Just when you reach the door the gentle strumming stops.

So do your steps and breath, paused in pursuit like the predator you’d been forced to become.

You take a slight step forward and peek through the doorway crack-

Only for your eyes to meet messy brown curls, scarred abdominal, ripped to hell black jeans, and dirt covered bare feet.

You shove through the door and the figure doesn’t even flinch.

Instead he looks up from plucking the strings of a guitar he can no longer play comfortably now that there is claws where fingers once were.

Under the red eyes, sunken cheekbones and feral smile you still recognize the figure in front of you.

Dirtier than the day you met him but somehow more defined and twice as beautiful.

Hotter than sin and looking fresh out of hell.

“Hey Trouble,” Eddie’s grin widens.

In his next words you see his teeth, all sharp and pretty.

“I’ve missed you.”

#eddie x reader #eddie oneshot #eddie spaghetti isn’t deadie:)#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurb #stranger things #eddie the banished

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stormikins · 9 months ago

Text

Mass Effect: Failed Opportunities.

An informal rant/essay about my opinions and thoughts (and ideas/suggestions) about the choices made in Mass Effect Three. This is all because of this one post by mass-effect-anonymous, and my friend (@xoshepard) giving me a compliment about my Shepard came back wrong headcanons. So. I’m fueled by validation and rage. A summary of the mentioned post is anonymous regrets that BioWare didn't explore the implications of Shepard dying and coming back and the fact that Liara helped Cerberus in doing so.

Disclaimer: I am a hater in this. I am. No doubt about it. If you like the story and think it’s great and nothing is wrong with it— then I am so happy for you. Truly. I wish I was the same. So, this post might not be for you. Also, this is a rant, and I try to keep it sensible so apologies if it’s not.

Word Count: 3k

TLDR: BioWare flip flops between decisions and choices and never truly settles, disregards choices already made, and leaves players (AND THEIR MOTHERS!) wanting while eviscerating character personalities. Consistency is not in BioWare’s vocabulary. Or dictionary. Or thesaurus.

One of the things that I dislike the most about BioWare's choices regarding this matter is that Shepard starts having these crisis thoughts/questions about if their body is theirs or not, etc. not only in the third game, but at the end of it. The player is literally doing the mission that marks the point of no return in the end, the last of two until the game is finished, and now Shepard is voicing these thoughts. Roughly sixty-ish hours since the beginning of me2 if the player is a completionist. (that’s in game time, not to mention how much more time for real life but I digress). This isn’t a plot hole, it’s a speed bump the player trips over and then the game expects us to get back up and get going while asking why our nose is bleeding. Fuck you BioWare.

Now, one could construe this into being part of Shepard's character; squashing down all these conflicting and worrying thoughts to focus on their mission, bc they are a soldier. They literally don't have time for this. But now they're physically confronted with their reconstruction post-awakening haze and/or denial about it all bc Cerberus could be them lying to Shepard bc of manipulation. All right. If that is supposed to be the implication, Shepard putting their mental focus on their mission, why didn't Shepard have this crisis when they were in lock-up for six months, aka where they literally only have time to think?

James having a throwaway comment to Shepard, or another crew member (bc they talk to each other now between missions!), about how he's worried about them, about how Shepard had a freak out some point in lock down, the level of 'freak out' does not need to be expanded upon. Hell, James can just say maybe they passed the time asking each other philosophical questions, maybe about consent and choices (which would tie into James’ past!) and bodily autonomy. It could help lend more weight with Shepard posing these questions during the Cerberus HQ bc these thoughts are still plaguing Shepard. Shepard dies—again—without getting closure— again. This would fall into the cycle theme that the games have.

But, like always, Bioware fails to capitalize on opportunity.

Now. The Citadel DLC. sighs Shepard's repeated variations of "don't want to talk about it" it being the clone and everything else that's happening in the DLC, lends more to the theory of Shepard's supposed to be repressing this all. But the counter point about Shepard having their crisis in lock-up still stands.

What could have been interesting is if Shepard had these identity issues in 2 and potentially in three. Given that the Citadel DLC ends with the clone always dying canonically, it can be a pivotal moment for Shepard to realize that they are who they are, different than their me1 counterpart or not (it also would be cool if characters mentioned if the player was choosing choices that an imported me1 Shepard normally would not have) and to have a clarity moment that they are Shepard. The clone and these logs could have provided a clean tying of loose ends of Shepard having identity issues instead of the teammates saying two lines about how they know that Shepard is Shepard and Shepard simply... moving on because you do all this in the middle of a base attack. The player's mind is already set on defeating Cerberus (finally) and getting revenge, on being so close to the end of the game! It's also OPTIONAL. Yes, the player is automatically entered into the terminal, but the choice to leave without seeing what's on the logs is immediately available.

Another thing the previous post went into was Liara's involvement. Her part in Shepard's reconstruction is not explored in the game. The player never learns about how Liara helped, just that she did and that she lost Feron because of it all to the Shadow Broker. I will not go into the comics, because 1. I have not read them and 2. If developers must depend on supplemental media to explain key plot points, they are in fact doing it wrong (this is a conversation for another time).

I would not be as bitter about Liara's involvement if the game treated it better. The player has to complete two quests to unlock the dialogue of Liara telling Shepard that she gave their body to Cerberus. Which, I will give them, it’s normally to not want to tell the person who you gave their dead body over to terrorists. Shepard’s renegade dialogue to Liara apologizing about giving their body over is as follows, “all this time, it wasn’t your sources. You knowingly gave me over to Cerberus. You did this to me!” SHEPARD DOESN’T SAY ANYTHING ELSE. JUST SITS BACK DOWN AND THE RENEGADE RESPONSE TO HER SECOND APOLOGY IS TO SAY, “Let me know if you need any more help,” AND YOU LEAVE. WHY IS THIS THE ONLY TIME SHEPARD ACKNOWLEDGES THIS. wow. AND WHY IS IT LIKE THIS? ITS OPTIONAL. I— Again, this could tie into Shepard bottling up feelings and acknowledging them in Me3, could show Shepard as an actual person if the game lets us choose to be mean or turn her off but alas, the player cannot because the game likes ruining Shepard’s character (which I’ll save that for later) and doesn’t treat the games like RPGs.

One could say that Liara would go to any lengths for those she loves, whether the player romanced her or not, but in the first game, we have no indication that she is willing to go this far. I have a belief that nothing is 'out of character' if the circumstances are right. Now, these circumstances are right: two important figures in Liara's life die (Shepard and her mother), Liara's only connection to her theories on the extinction of the reapers dies as well, the threat of the Reapers, and all the traumatic experiences she had during me1 and then the destruction of the Normandy all collide together to make it realistic that Liara wouldn't be able to let Shepard go. There is one thing, though, is that this is all boiled down into “I couldn't let you go” and the game doesn't show it. Doesn’t show Liara's descent down into this rabbit hole, doesn't show the switch getting flipped of her turning much more ruthless compared to her me1 characterization.

She does show ruthlessness in some regards in me1, willing to kill her mother no matter their relationship. But out of all the SR1 cast, she is one of the most paragon characters. The game does not show the shift into Liara's characterization. No commentary from Me1 companions about how Liara suddenly shut them out, or from Feron talking about the things Liara was willing to do to get Shepard. No comments from Miranda and Jacob who I do know were part of the retrieval mission about how Liara acted. Liara is just immediately introduced with quoting her mother’s threats. WHICH IS SO INTERESTING! Again—AGAIN—the game goes nowhere with this. We get optional dialogue from Aethyta about the Matriarch’s being concerned about her but that is optional, and only if the player talked to her in Me2 does she show up in Me3 and deliver said dialogue. Liara herself never confronts this. Even when SHE TALKS ABOUT HER MOTHER. LISTEN— LIARA COULD HAVE TURNED INTO A SCIENTIST THAT WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR HER RESEARCH. TO PROVE HERSELF RIGHT BECAUSE SHE IS, SHE KNOWS IT AND SHE’LL DO ANYTHING LIKE BRINGING SOMEONE’S DEAD BODY TO A TERRORIST ORGANIZATION TO RESSURECT AND YET—

Garrus, on the other hand, gets his new characterization explained. In me1 he already tends to be reckless, ruthless, and selfish. It is no surprise that when Shepard died and the Council buried the truth, he went vigilante. The game shows his new bleak outlook on life bc we find him fighting for his life in a base full of dead bodies and then he explains he got betrayed. We deal with his character arc. We do not deal with Liara’s.

One could argue that could go and show how Shepard wakes up two years in the future and everything is different and confusing. Which I will agree with. If it was purposeful. And I don’t think it is, personally.

She doesn’t stay this new ruthless way. I am not saying she can’t be more than one-dimensional; I like that she can be soft with Shepard and the other companions. But all of a sudden, she, the character whose introduction in Me3 is her popping a singularity and gunning down two Cerberus goons with a cold look on her face, “can’t be that callous” about not focusing on the death numbers in the middle of a war zone because “that’s my home down there”. A home she rarely talks about, and she’s also been in numerous war zones just as bad as this. Liara, who spent more time in digs or collecting intel than with people, feels a sudden connection with Thessia.

I would like Liara a lot more if they didn’t eviscerate her character, thank you. Don’t take this the wrong way, I love her, I think she’s great. She just has the potential to be so much more.

Like—

Mass Effect for some reason, tries not to be an RPG. They don't give the players a proper choice/dialogue to allow Shepard to be mad at Liara about what she did. Or to stay mad. (I am not going to get into the debate of whether being mad at Liara should be a renegade option or paragon). It would make sense for someone to get pissed at the person who gave their dead body over to scientists to reanimate, but also terrorist scientists. The same terrorists that Shepard potentially fought in Me1 and also potentially discovered were behind the whole sale slaughter of their entire platoon and the torture of the only other survivor of the incident.

(I can’t remember if Shepard ever mentions Akuze to Cerberus. Funny, isn’t it. How the games like to take away Shepard’s agency but not in any compelling way.)

Besides, simply not choosing paragon options, it’s never mentioned again what Liara did to Shepard, which makes sense if Shepard accepted Liara’s apology. But what if Shepard, and the player, doesn’t? Liara’s forced on the player in Me3 as Shepard potential confidant, showing up repeatedly to Shepard’s cabin to move the plot forward, give Shepard missions/updates. Yes, the player can refuse to get personal with her which I do appreciate it. Like I said, Liara’s actions never get brought up in any meaningful way to help Shepard on a character journey. If they don’t want to let characters make decisions about who Shepard is, they should give them a personality. But they don’t.

Another failed opportunity about Shepard’s character is when the games don’t get into what Shepard is like post-resurrection. The game seems to be in the middle ground of making Shepard different but not still human, but in actuality, they can, in the words of Hannah Montana, have “the best of both worlds”.

Me2 shows how Shepard is different now. “I’ve noticed a few upgrades,” Shepard states when talking to the Illusive Man on Minute Man station. Shepard can have multiple hard-hitting drinks in a row along with Ryncol in Dark Star, Zakera Ward. A poison tailored for humans served by a batarian bartender in the lower segment of Afterlife only knocks Shepard out, not killing them like it does to every human before.

That is how far the game will go in showing how different Shepard is, not counting renegade scarring. Which is a waste.

Shepard is The Protagonist. The main character. They have done the actual impossible. They are the Sole Survivor, the Hero of Elysium, the Butcher of Torfan, Savior of the Citadel, repeller of Geth, Collector, and Reaper armies and a host of other incredible achievements. They are a prophet, the damned, a modern-day Cassandra. The tip of the Spear, the Diplomat, the Soldier. Coats in the FOB on Earth says that it means something to the soldiers to see Shepard with them. They are “a tool, an agent with a singular purpose,” TIM calls them. (And a Karen ‘accuse her of classism’).

And yet, when Shepard gets revived—the most impossible of all things (and yes, it’s not like they had anything to do with it, it was Miranda and her team, but the Lazarus project only had one subject)—they are not made further into something larger than life. Something Other. Something that sets them out from the others. Because they’re Commander Fucking Shepard.

They literally have a vision of a dying race in their head that propels them to stop the Reapers. Me1 does a great job of playing with it. The player sees it once in Me2 and Me3, a side mission (Blue Suns: Archaeological Site) and after retrieving Javik, respectively.

Mass effect is all about cycles. The Reaper’s, Saren/Tim parallels, etc. What could have been interesting was instead of the reoccurring dream we have about a child that gets his emotional impact tarnished because of said dream and the star-child, the game does a mesh of the vision, prothean civilization in ruin, and the ruins we see of current civilizations from the missions Shepard goes on. Keep the oily shadows that whisper quotes from our dead teammates, but also have their voices coming from long dead Protheans pleading with Shepard to stop the Reapers, to save them.

Shepard can’t get any escape from the war, from the Reapers in their sleeping nor waking hours.

The game not making Shepard Other and going in the opposite direction—that despite all these upgrades Shepard is still human—would be fine if it was done better. A good stereotype of “I’m only human” is when a character fails. Shepard fails in Me3 most prominently on Thessia. I’m all for having characters fail but only when it’s done not so obnoxiously.

It’s a terrible fight. It is. Kai Leng hides behind a gunship that Shepard took down at least three separate times in Me2. Two of these instances are non-optional: Garrus and Samara’s recruitment and Kasumi’s loyalty mission is optional. So, Shepard—Commander Shepard who literally destroyed a proto-Reaper—can’t destroy a gunship. It’s insulting how they ruin Shepard’s character in three.

In the end cutscene, Shepard clearly hears and registers that Kai Leng orders the gunship to fire on the supports of the structure and… runs further into the building. One could argue Shepard was trying to get the Prothean VI for the catalyst, but Liara is shown scanning it with her omni-tool. What did she do, if not copy it? Why would she not? Why wouldn’t Shepard? They’re in the middle of a war zone, with enemies that were just right outside the door. Why stop for a chat here and now? (I know why, the plot demands it and lore dumping— lore that contradicts the lore dump by Vigil in Me1 so I’m even more inclined to not like these proceedings).

Kai Leng is Shepard’s nemesis in Me3 (and I’m forever mad that he is) and he’s supposed to be badass and edgy and able to go toe-to-toe with Shepard. Yet the game shows he can’t. He can’t reach his target because a terminally ill drell stopped him, or he didn’t notice Bau being cloaked in front of the Salarian councilor. (I can also go into how stupid this scene is with BOTH Thane and Bau).

He gets one over Shepard with the C-Sec sky car chase but that doubles back to BioWare ruining Shepard’s character by making them an idiot. Why not hit the brakes? Why not do a couple barrel rolls? Why fire through what should be bullet proof glass because it’s a C-Sec sky car?

Kai Leng can’t go toe-to-toe with Shepard unless Shepard gets dumbed down into an idiot and isn’t someone who reached not only Commander rank but also became the first human Spectre. HELLO!?

So, Shepard failing and still being human and fallible doesn’t hit because they execute it poorly via Kai Leng and his stupid plot armor.

Who would be Shepard’s nemesis if not Kai Leng? HARBINGER. YOU KNOW THE REAPER THAT TAUNTED SHEPARD IN ME2? THE VERY FIRST REAPER MADE? THE REAPER THAT WE ONLY SEE—NOT TALK TO—SEE IN THE LAST HOUR OF THE GAME? THAT GUY. (matter of fact, throw in some of Harby’s arrogant lines about Shepard not being able to stop the Reapers in the alternative dream.) Harbinger should have possessed troops like he did in Me2 in the major Reaper battles. Earth. Menae. Thessia. He should have showed up somewhere, boasting about how they’re darkening the sky of every world. YES THAT’S A SOVEREIGN CALL BACK CYCLES! SHEPARD’S VISION IS COMING TRUE RIGHT BEFORE THEIR EYES AND HE’S NOT BRAGGING!? I THINK THE FUCK NOT! If you’re gonna make the Reapers so obsessed with Shepard as shown in Me2 with Harbinger’s comments and making a human looking Reaper, KEEP THE OBSESSION FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I hate that the Reapers are obsessed with Shepard, Reapers who are above organics, have no weaknesses etc. and the entirety of Sovereign’s brilliant Virmire speech, because it’s not CARRIED OVER!

The enemies should have primarily been the Reapers from the start, and Cerberus the splinter group trying to sabotage the player. Make them smaller. Keep them kidnapping people for troops and biotic tests and lying about Sanctuary being a sanctuary and not run by Cerberus. Continuously have them send assassins—plural! Phantoms and nemesis—after Shepard with Kai Leng at the head of them. Even better if a strike group of baddies show up randomly during missions and watch out! Now Shepard has to deal with them as they fight the Reapers—in the same mission— because Cerberus wants to stop Shepard from killing the Reapers so they could control them and secure human dominance. Kai Leng is kept away from his target because they’re also fighting Shepard where Reapers are. Have them locked into stalemates until the environment getting destroyed literally forces them apart. Have them actually be equal adversaries.

Cerberus is introduced to be a mere group Shepard took out in Me1. They’re not all gone in Me2 surprise! Okay that’s fine and yet they not only sunk so many resources into Shepard and had so many cells gone rogue but they’re able to stage a coup on the Citadel! Pardon?? “But our resources are not unlimited, rebuilding you was a significant investment. And a significant risk,” Miranda tells Shepard in Me2. Cerberus kidnapping people on Benning would make sense if they’re scrambling for troops other than the relying on Sanctuary. (EVEN IN ME3 THERE ARE ‘ROGUE FACTIONS’— still a common occurrence for them. It’s never explained if Cerberus is lying about Benning or not). If they have these many rogue cells, again, how can they manage all they do in Me3? Especially if scientists are leaving Cerberus as well, aka the Ex-Cerberus Scientist mission Traynor gives you where you meet up with Jacob.

Yet, the player talks more to the Illusive Man than Harbinger in Me3, the leader of the Reapers, and we confront TIM at the end of the game, the most pivotal moment. The moment which people have sunk countless hours into, and we get a power hungry and indoctrinated TIM to… talk into shooting himself or firing a single bullet at him. There is no physical fight between the two. The conversation is similar to Saren’s and again, cycles are a theme, so why can’t we get a Reaper!TIM fight? The player, and Shepard, deserve the choice to fuck him up. This is a military game after all, they’re supposed to be encouraging our aggressive nature.

They ruin TIM but also Shepard.

Shepard never grows and changes like the characters around them, and their resurrection could have—should have—played a part in that. If they’re supposed to remain the same, be a tool for the narrative, make them it. Lean into that. The player chooses options. What would be an interesting mechanic is to make it a struggle for a certain background to get a certain morality. Have Shepard be stating doubts about who they are and if the player is contradicting a stereotypical background (Butcher trying to be paragon, a Hero trying to be renegade), they meet the camera—the players eyes—as they explain their inner turmoil. Make Shepard feel like the tool they are, like they’re not in control of their actions. A renegade overcoming it all and being a paragon hero, or a fall from grace paragon that brings the galaxy down with them. A renegade trapped in a cycle of violence (CYCLE) who can only see the world down the barrel of a gun, or a paragon who continuously chooses kindness. MAKE IT MEAN SOMETHING!

I think I’m done. So.

In conclusion, my love and passion for this game transitions into rage because of seeing possibilities squashed like a bug under a boot. To borrow Star War’s phrase: Mass Effect could be so good if it was good.

#anyways this was fun #im finally dictating my thoughts on ME3 cause it fucking sucks #ive played this game the most out of the entire trilogy and any other game i own

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cryptic--writing · 4 months ago

Note

pls anything with load era james IM BEGGING YOU

hihi!!

thanks for the request! please be specific next time! I don't know what you want, so please give me at least a genre or scenario!!

anyways, its an angst fic bc I didn't know what else to do

warnings: drinking, swearing, one line that sounds sucicidal but isn't, possible break up, arguing, angst in general

word count: 2,440

LOSING YOU (1996)

I sat in the cold, empty hotel, sitting on the bed and just staring at the wall, trying to process everything that's been going on.

The last few months in James and I’s relationship have been pure hell. Nothing was going right with us, it felt like there was no more caring, passion, or even love.

These months James has been on tour, and I decided to join him for a few of the dates, tired of spending months alone in our apartment, the quietness and deadness of it all seemed odd. I always enjoyed James’ presence, and I had gone out on tour with him before, but this time was, way, way different. Normally, he comes back somewhat drunk, not fully wasted since I was there, but he was tipsy. Now, he would come up at 3 am, drunk off his ass, and be all weird to me. He’d ignore me completely unless he had needs he wanted me to fulfill.

But lately, for at least the last 15 shows or so, he would just come in drunk, push my hands away from him, and wouldn't let me cuddle up with him, which was very not like him, as he was one who valued personal time, but perhaps his priorities have changed.

I sighed, hearing the doorknob of the hotel rattle, it was locked, and I slowly trudged towards the door, a small hope begging that James was sober, and just wanted to love me. I cracked the door open, seeing James swaying slightly as I opened the door fully to let him in, and oh how he reeked of beer. I moved so he could get in, and he stumbled in, not even greeting me.

“Hi,” I said coldly with a scoff, shutting the door. I watched as he shuffled to the bed, falling on it with a groan.

“Why are you always.. Such a bitch..?” He slurred out, and I felt my heart drop, my stomach twisted into a knot. We had argued plenty of times, name called even, but he never called me a bitch.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” I said, more of a statement than a question, my voice shaking slightly. He was drunk, he must not meant it.

“Youre.. You're a bitch..” He slurred out at me again, which stung again. We had been together for almost 6 years, and he had never lashed out at me, not like this.

I scoffed, my hurt and sadness only coming out as anger, “What is your problem? You haven't wanted to be around me at all, for weeks. You're always drunk, and you never hug me, kiss me, talk to me, hold me, anything that we used to do.” I stated coldly at him, though I doubted the words really registered in his mind.

James just groaned, “God, all you do is whine and complain.. Just shut up for once..” He grumbled out, and it hurt me, bad.

I shook my head, grabbing my coat and wallet before walking towards the hotel room door, “I’ll talk to you once you're sober.” I called out into the room, though I doubt he understood me as I slammed the door, storming out of the hotel and walking out into the street, the cold air nipping my skin harshly.

My outfit wasn't very warm, just my sleep shorts and one of James’ old band shirts, along with my jacket. I hated the shirt I was wearing, he was the last thing I wanted to be reminded of, though It brought me some slight comfort, smelling him on it and feeling that he was still with me somewhat, even if not truly or emotionally.

I walked for about twenty minutes until I found another hotel, booking a room for the night as I felt the cold air melt off of me, the warm hotel air swaddling me in a way. I sighed, slowly approaching the front desk, the receptionist glancing up at me from her computer screen.

She was quick to take in my rushed state, clearly here on a whim. “How can I help you?” She said, her voice tired. It was so late, I didn't blame her. I read the name on her nametag, Laurice. A name I hadn't ever heard before.

“Can I get a room, just for the night please?” I said, my voice shaking a bit, my mind still hazed from the argument.

Laurice nodded, typing on her keyboard for a few moments before glancing back up at me. “Alright, we can get you in room 247 on floor 3 for $67.48. Will that be cash or card?”

I sighed, grabbing my wallet out of my pocket, “Uhm, cash,” I mumbled, digging out a fifty-dollar bill and a twenty.

Laurcie grabbed my money, giving me my change as she handed me my hotel key, “Enjoy your stay, you check out at two pm tomorrow.” She informed me briefly before sitting back down behind the desk, and I took the key, walking away.

I walked slowly into the elevator, the empty, compact steel room making me feel horridly uncomfortable. The silence, the only noise was the rutting hum of the elevator moving up towards floor three, until the sudden jolt and stop, the elevator dining and opening.

I quickly walked out, wandering around the vacant halls until I found my room, unlocking the door with my key, stepping in and shutting it, and locking it behind me. Standing there for a moment, the events of the night replaying in my mind, everything finally hitting me, hard. I stumbled towards the bed, beginning to sob. All my emotions and hurt finally spilled over from the last weeks, of being ignored, pushed away, insulted, and yelled at. All I needed was someone to hold me, love me, and comfort me. This was a life I didn't want to live. Maybe even after all of these years with James, the ‘honeymoon phase’ has ended. Maybe he was right, that I couldn't handle dating a rockstar like him.

How could things fall apart in such an instant? One day we were perfect, happy as can be, discussing our future, even marriage or children. I clutched my stomach, feeling nauseous at all of these emotions. I brought the large shirt up to my nostrils, inhaling his familiar scent.

I hadn't been alone to process a breakdown like this in years, James wasn't here to hold me, tell me it would all be alright and that he loved me, but now I questioned if any of that was true. Everything had fallen apart around me, I was alone, in a different place from where we lived, sobbing in a hotel room.

Eventually, I cried myself to sleep, the half-empty bed making me feel so odd, so unnatural. Sleeping without him holding me as I curl up to him is so wrong. I have grown so dependent on him, yet he seems like he could use less of me.

IN THE MORNING

I woke up groggily, my body instinctively searching for his warmth, though finding none. Last night memories flooded back to me. Now realisation hit me. I looked at the clock, the red pixels gleaming 1:34 PM. I had slept in so late, and by now James was either sober and hungover, or drunk off his ass again. Maybe he skipped town and left with the band to go to their next gig early.

They were done with the shows in this city, and the private plane would be leaving tomorrow at noon. My list of choices was small, either not leave the city, fly home, show up to the private plane unannounced, or make amends.

This shouldn't be so hard for me to get over, it was just a drunken spat, but he has been neglectful towards me for weeks. Was there anyone else I could find to even possibly replace him?

The man who had held me during so many nights, made me smile, made m laugh, and made me feel like the most important and loved person in the world, now made me feel like a piece of shit he stepped in, it was like all we had has vanished.

He would push me aside when I tried to hug him, wipe my kiss stains from his cheek, shrug off my questions, and keep me distant. I would try to cuddle up to him in bed, and he would just move further away from me until he was against the wall, then he would tell me to “give him some space”.

If anything, I have to settle down to what we have become with him. I had to check out if this hotel was in.. Fuck, twenty minutes. I didn't have much or anything to grab, but I would have nowhere else to go except for the hotel James was at. I had to speak to him, either to fix things or end them.

I sighed, quickly fixing the bed and grabbing my wallet, checking out of the hotel and trying to remember the way back to where James and the rest of the band were staying. I wasn't sure which street I walked up or down, where I turned left or right. This would be very, very difficult.

After wandering around for thirty minutes, I finally reached the hotel. I stood in front of the door for what felt like an hour, but I quickly walked in, though was surprised to see James’ bandmate, Kirk, in the lobby of the hotel, talking with a man who I didn't recognize, though I assumed he was a fan. I slowly approached him, tapping him on the shoulder and he quickly turned his head back, recognizing me.

“Hey, do you know-” My words were mumbled and hushed, though that didn't matter as Kirk quickly interrupted me.

“Hey! Where the hell have you been? We were all gonna go to breakfast but James said he couldn't find you or something, is everything ok?” Kirk spoke quickly, his words filled with confusion and relief.

I sighed, “Yeah, everything is fine, where's James?” I glanced around the lobby, hoping to see him maybe.

Kirk nodded, “He's in his room, probably waiting for you,” He responded, and I nodded, already walking away.

“Thanks, Kirk,” I called back to him, already down the hallway and getting into the elevator, headed for the 6th floor where we stayed. The elevator hummed, gradually bringing me to my desired floor with a ding, the doors opened and I walked down the hallway, each step feeling like I was walking a thousand miles, even though the door to our room was probably no more than twenty feet away.

I now stood in front of the door, collecting myself and taking a deep breath before opening the door, seeing James standing in the hotel, on the phone with someone. He turned around when he heard me opening the door, his face turning relieved, setting down the phone and giving his full attention to me in what felt like years.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He asked with a scoff, he wasn't mad, or at least he didn't seem mad, just concerned.

I sighed, “Away. Do you remember anything from last night?”

James rubbed his forehead, “I.. no, not really, we did our show, and then everything blurry after that. Did something happen?”

I shrugged, still standing in the doorway, finally shutting the door, “Yeah, I guess. We need to talk.”

James grew more concerned, his face showing the thousands of thoughts running through his head. “Ok, uhm, sure, is everything okay?”

“I don't know.”

“What is that supposed to mean? What happened?” James began to sound more irritated, though still worried and confused.

“I want to know what happened too,” I stated, so lost that he couldn't even pinpoint why or how I was hurting.

“Enough of these bullshit games, the hell is up with you?” He seemed to only grow irritated with me.

I sighed, now I was getting annoyed with him. “No, what the hell is up with you? This is the first time you've tried to talk to me, in like, a week. You avoid me, you push me away, you won't kiss me, you won't even look at me! I have been neglected and ignored by you for weeks. Ever since this tour started, I have been your last priority.” I finally said, my words heavy yet rushed with emotion.

James was silent, he couldn't think of anything to say. He knew that I was right, but would he ever admit it? He sat on the bed, sighing, looking at the floor, and refusing to make eye contact with me.

The silence went on for about a minute, and I was losing my patience, “Are you gonna say anything or just..?” I finally muttered, growing tired of being ignored by him.

James shook his head, shrugging a bit. “I.. I don't know, I'm sorry, I never meant to be or tried to be cold to you, it's just.. I get like this on tour, y’know?” He mumbled, clearly digging for an excuse.

I scoffed, “But you have time to get drunk, party and fool around with other women?”

James just looked defeated, he didn't want to argue. “I'm sorry, ok? I don't know what to say.. Just, c’mere?” His voice was soft, tired.

I was hesitant, I didn't know why he wanted me to go to him, but I did, slowly walking towards him on the bed, and sitting down next to him. He laid his head against my shoulder, something I had missed, his touch. I didn't know what to say, or really what to do.

“I love you..” James mumbled to me softly, but I wasn't sure if he was truthful. I wanted to ask him if he really did because it never seemed like it anymore, but I knew better and to hold my tongue.

I sighed, my eyes on him, “I love you too..” I muttered in response. My words were true, I did love him, but did he? That's what I wasn't sure of.

“I'll change, ok? I won't drink as much, I won't be out as late after shows.. I won't ignore you anymore. That's a promise.” James swore to me, and I had no choice but to take his word for it, and to believe him.

“I hope that stays true,” I replied in a soft, slightly shaky tone as I let out a shaky sigh, possibly beginning a new stage of our relationship.

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sorry if this isn't too good! I also just had it sitting around for a week and I wanna move on to another idea I had

#metallica fanfiction #metallica smut #j4h7 #james hetfield smut #james hetfield x you #metallica x reader #James hetfeild x oc #James hetfeild angst #metallica angst #angst #angst with a hopeful ending

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commanderquinn · 1 year ago

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a list of canon ways in which lillian hart is The Fucking Worst that cora coe deserves financial and emotional compensation for:

-the basis for the big divorce counseling mission is that cora's worried for her mother's safety. that means, before going on a deep cover operation with smugglers known to kill rangers, marines, or anyone else caught trying to interfere with their business, lillian didnt leave her daughter a heads up much less a lead. once the fuck again, this woman decided that her career was more important than her daughter's mental and emotional health. once the fuck again, this woman decided she could just disappear from cora's life and then come back out of the blue without consequence

-when you go to lillian's office to look for her at cora's request, the guy working the desk knows SAM well enough to know his name and give him shit like they've got a personal history, but he??? isnt sure about????? cora's name???? word for word, he looks at her and says "it's cora, right?" you're telling me that this woman doesn't talk about her kid enough for her fellow INVESTIAGATIVE rangers to be sure about her name??? are you SHITTING ME??????? get the fuck out of here. you cant push "ranger family values" and the close ties they have in one breath then claim she likes to keep a professional distance at work in the other. you wanna have the conversation about what fresh hell it is being a working mother in a position of power, lets go, ill have that conversation all day long. but lillian hart is not a fucking example of a working mother and im gonna be pretty fucking insulted for working mothers everywhere if i catch wind of ppl trying to pull that kind of defense card. the woman's an awful parent and should be held the fuck accountable for it. you wanna know how i know????

she doesn't say cora's name enough for the ranger watching the door to be confident in it, but he remembers alllll the stories of the captain her ex is cozying up to. and lillian is the one to confirm during the quest that she has been getting the stories from cora, so there's some clear "oh she already likes the stranger more than me." i know im reading into it because its fiction and none of these people are real, but ive also, y'know been in cora's shoes, so i can tell you from real life experience that shit does exist. idk if that was the writers INTENT, but it sure does a great job at reflecting a very sad reality

-sam points out its dumb that lillian wants to speed the ship, with her daughter on it, directly at the sydicate. idk abt y'all, but my ship was pretty dinky at that point bc i was focused on outposts, and we got ambushed by like 6 ship waves once we landed for that fight. again, i get it. game mechanics get a higher priority than realism. but this whole "we have to finish this because theres a chance you were spotted trying to rescue me" shit is so. nauseating. theres no demand to drop off cora somewhere safe, theres no "lets call in the cavalry." its this fucking egomaniac looking you dead in the eye and being like "i know i just traumatized the shit out of my kid but i need you to drive us into an ambush while she's still on board. hope you're a good shot because sam and i cant kill them ourselves." and so what that we did that????? YOURE TELLING ME IT WAS JUST THOSE SHIPS???? the rest of the organization is just going to LET IT GO???? like no fucking wonder sam sees himself as the better option even through all his fucking doubt. at least he knows when to turn the fuck around because shit is above his paygrade

-she has custody rights. she is a decorated and respected ranger. sam being a smuggler wasnt public knowledge, but point out one person in akila who wouldnt believe her in a heartbeat over it. everyone in town gives him nothing but shit, and they all side with his dad who was definitely no picnic to live with. im guessing big emotional detachment there, lotta interrogation and persecution rather than teaching and understanding. HELL, sam would probably own up to his past if lillian outed him for it, he's that type of idiot. at literally any point she could put in the effort to get legal council involved. if she's SOOOO by the law, whats the hold up there???? i agree the kid shouldnt be on my ship while im in the middle of a space fight. ive talked with sam about it, and im not even the kids parent (as of the personal quest). what the fuck are you doing about it lillian????????? oh thats right. we cant get lillian on the phone. whomp whomp.

-she made cora cry. hyper independent, "big girls dont cry" cora coe. multiple times. worse, she made cora cry because she made cora feel like she wasn't as important as lillian's career. i dont give a fuck what criminals are doing. i do not give a fuck. i give a fuck that that little pixel child got her heart broken and there isnt a dialogue for me to call out her mother for being a huge fucking cunt to her own daughter but theres a thousand and one options for me to tell sam he's parenting wrong. he is, and i have no problem using them when they're appropriate, but where the fuck are they for lillian??? why am i not allowed to tear this woman a new asshole at any point, but there's like 20+ extra dialogue options added to every single npc you have a persuade option with???? todd my head hurts and its your fault

-"im sure sam's told you all about me. go on. ask whatever you want." yet there is no option to ask what the fuck her problem is. so, clearly, i cannot, in fact, ask whatever i want.

-"but the looks i got from my fellow rangers reading alexander dumas... we do strange things for kids." yeah hart??? thats your standard????? THATS your idea of going out of your way for your kid??? literally how did sam fall for this woman oh my god i cant even listen to her speak without wanting to use the power of bitchhood i inherited from a long line of angry irish women to ridicule her to tears. maybe then she'll fucking understand how small she makes her fucking kid feel every time she turns a moment of bonding into a little "woe is me and my comfort zone oh how unfortunate i am to have a brilliant daughter that wants to connect with me through her greatest passion"

-she openly admits that she dumped the cargo sam was smuggling not because she felt any connection or sympathy or just didnt want to destroy someones chance at life in a capitalist society, but because he was a good pilot and she didnt want that talent to "go to waste" so she could recruit him. thats not really a thing against cora i just really fucking hate that and the picture it paints of her priorities as a human being

-"if we're going to be really honest here... back when we were a team... cora would follow you everywhere, like a little adoring dog. i... just fell out of it. long before we separated."

i literally. do not have words for how fucking disgusted i am by that line of dialogue. oh my fucking god. oh my fucking god. i. i TRULY would not even know where to start. the dog comparison makes me violently angry and if you'd given me a punch interrupt at that moment, i would have broken my keyboard punching the accept option

-go replay or watch a recording of that divorce counseling mission one more time. while you're doing it, imagine the roles reversed. imagine youre romancing a character thats a mother bringing cora into space, and the ranger standing in your cockpit asking to finish the mission is her father who took off to live at work once it was clear his little girl liked mommy better. imagine THAT while you listen to the (imo) out of fucking pocket dialogue where sam constantly praises lillian for being "a good ranger/woman." then you come back and tell me how comfortable you are with the concept of lillian hart as a character.

#sam coe #lillian hart negative #cora coe #starfield #meta #look man i know i know i have mommy issues and im biased but jesus fucking christ i cant stand her as a character #she's not a mother by any stretch of the imagination #she designated HERSELF as extended family and im forever disgusted #anyways im writing up a meta post abt my feelings on sam so far #lillian just gets on my fucking nerves so a hate post for her was easy to whip up lmao

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