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megxplryxb · 11 months ago

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More Than This Part 2.

Authors Note: I am beyond sorry for the 9 month wait for this. I just lost my motivation for writing but its slowly and surely coming back. Thank you all for being so patient. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: GIF is not mine.

Link for Part 1: More Than This

The last of your salty tears trickle down the bathtub drain as you wrap yourself up in a well-worn motel towel. The shower had done little to improve your mood, switching from hot to cold just as you had been with Steve for the past several weeks. You had been doing so well up until recently, trying to avoid him and your feelings but now that you were sharing a room and bed with him for the night, it was going to be next to impossible to hide the fact that you were hopelessly in love with your best friend.

The rusty faucet dripped little beads of water into the sink despite it being turned off while you carefully applied your make up, hoping Steve and the others wouldn’t notice the slight puffiness under your eyes from crying. Admittedly, you were taking a little longer than usual to get ready, making sure your eyeliner was just right, lips perfectly glossed and kissable and your outfit was showing off all your best features, ‘cause although you felt like utter shit, you didn't want to look like shit too.

As you began to gather up your things, folding the towel back on to the rack, you heard a tap on the bathroom door. “Hey, are you almost done in there? I need to take a piss really bad.” Steve said in a seemingly more relaxed tone than earlier. Unlocking the bathroom door, you find your best friend standing shirtless in his Levi's, leaning against the doorframe and you curse him for looking so damn beautiful.

“I did ask if you needed to use the bathroom before I went in.” You huff, quick to brush past him, clothes and make up bundled in your arms as his eyes follow you around the room, nostrils filling with the scent of your vanilla perfume, jaw a little slack as he scanned your body.

Steve couldn't help but notice the little black dress you were wearing along with your signature converse, how it sparkled and fit perfectly on your body, breasts spilling out over the top ever so slightly. He knows it’s wrong to think of you that way, because you’re his best friend and he's seeing someone else but sometimes he wonders if you know just how pretty you are.

“Uh, the air cons not working in here, the room's like a god damn sauna.” He informs, scratching the back of his neck, trying to avert his gaze from your frame.

“Well if you hadn’t made such a fuss about the sleeping arrangements, at least one of us would have had working air con tonight, Harrington.” You mutter, tucking your things back in to your duffle, pushing by him. Steve presses his tongue to his cheek, realising that whatever the hell was bothering you, wasn’t going to disappear anytime soon. Defeated, he shuts the bathroom door, leaving you to finish getting ready alone.

He emerges fifteen minutes later, freshly showered, smelling great and you hate how good he looks in his tight jeans and white t-shirt, hair perfectly in place, not that it wasn’t always. It wasn't exactly the attire you expected someone to wear to a Metallica concert, but it was Steve after all, he wasn't exactly into Heavy metal.

You can feel the tension rising between you with each passing minute of silence, unspoken words hanging in the air as his hazel eyes burn a hole through your head while you both walk on eggshells around the small room. With one quick look in the mirror and one final spray of perfume, you grab your purse and head for the front door, not being able to stand the awkwardness a second longer. “I’m gonna go see if the others are ready.” You say, reaching for the door handle but you already hear his footsteps behind you.

“Wait, can we just talk for a sec?” Steve pleads, eyes wide with concern when you sigh loudly.

“About what?” You ask as he scoffs at your response. “Seriously? Oh, I don’t know, maybe about why you’ve been acting weird with me all day?” He replies, folding his strong arms and you immediately regret not just walking out of the room to find your friends because you aren't ready to have this conversation with him.

“Steve...”

“Not just today actually, it’s been going on for a while and honestly, I don’t know what I’ve said or done to piss you off and believe me, I’ve been racking my brains trying to figure it out. But I’ve obviously done something because you’re so angry at me and.….”

“I’m not…I’m not angry.” You reply, not really knowing what else to say to him.

“You’re not?” He asks, raising his brows in surprise.

“Look, you haven’t done anything to upset me, alright?” You say, giving him a fake smile but he’s not convinced at all.

“Come on, give me some credit here sweetheart. We’re supposed to be best friends, yeah?” He asks moving closer towards you.

“Mhm” Is all you manage to say when he takes your hand but you’re quick to pull it away again, feeling the heat on your cheeks start to rise, placing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then what's going on huh? Why are you staying at Robin’s? I really miss you.” Steve confesses with such a mixture of sadness and sincerity that you almost consider telling him everything right there and then but you're not ready to hear that he doesn't feel the same way and so instead, you lie.

“There’s no big reason, Steve. Robin mentioned that you were on a couple of dates and I didn’t want to get in the way of anything, I think it’d be a bit awkward with me in the next room, don’t you?” You joke, trying to make an effort with him and you can see the confused expression on his face.

“Robin told you about Tracy?” He asks, surprised by how cool you were being about this, but the minute you hear the name fall from his mouth, he instantly realises Robin never told you who it was he was actually dating.

“Wait, did you say Tracy? As in Tracy Turner from high school, that’s who you’re dating!?” You question, furrowing your brows as Steve takes a step back, sensing the air getting thicker between you again.

“Uh, yeah. Sort of, I mean it’s pretty new and…”

"How....when did...where did you even..."

"She was at the video store a few times and I don't know, we were talking one day and she just sort of asked me out." Steve explained nervously.

“And you said yes?"

"Well, girls haven't exactly been lining up to date me recently if you hadn’t noticed.” He muttered, trying to make a joke out of it but it wasn’t working.

"I can’t believe you’d date her after what she did to me!” You yell, shaking your head in disbelief.

Tracey Turner had been one of your closest friends, once upon a time. That was until you found her in the back seat of a car with your then boyfriend Matt Anderson. It wasn’t that you’d been with Matt for long or even loved him but she was supposed to be your friend and she didn’t even apologise for hurting you. Now here she was, a couple of years later trying to take Steve away from you too. Your Steve. Steve, who you actually loved.

“Come on, that was years ago! She’s changed since then.” Steve says, panic apparent in his voice when he sees the look in your eyes and he knows he’s said the wrong thing again.

“Don’t you dare defend her!” You growl and he’s wincing at how angry you are now. “Can you just calm down for a second?” He begs, hands in the air, surrendering to you immediately, not wanting to fight or upset you anymore than he already had.

“Calm down? My “best friend” is dating a girl who FUCKED my boyfriend and you want me to calm down?” You yell, enraged at the new information you've discovered, seeing nothing but visions of them together in your head. Had he slept with her already? Had she occupied your side of Steve’s bed that you’d sleep on when you watched movies late in to the night? Had she seen pieces of your clothing lying around his house? Had she seen the pictures of you and Steve on his bedside table? Had he told her he loved her? Oh god, you were going to be sick.

“I’m sorry, alright? Shit, I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.” He exhales, throwing his head back.

“Oh really, Steve? If it wasn't such a big deal to you then why didn't you tell me about her, huh?” You ask bluntly as Steve's face begins to harden.

"You didn't tell me about Hargrove."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I had to find out from Henderson that you were dating that asshole and that’s only because he caught you making out on the couch while you were supposed to be babysitting!” Steve argues and you can't help but laugh at how immature he was being.

"That's completely different, we were barely even friends back then."

“But we were friends and you knew I hated him but you went out with him anyway!" He fires back, leaning against the old chest of drawers.

"Yeah, only because you were still getting....." You start to say before you stop yourself, realising that you'd almost blown your cover when Steve looks at you confused.

“Because I was still getting what?” He asks with a heightened interest, just as a knock comes to the door.

“What the hell is going on in here, we could hear you yelling outside!” Eddie shouts when you open the door, seeing the distressed look on your face as Steve stood silent, still waiting for your reply.

"Nothing, let's just go." You mutter, moving by your friends to exit the room. "You are SUCH a dingus, dingus." Robin rolls her eyes at Steve before chasing after you, figuring that you've somehow found out about Tracy Turner, praying that you won't be pissed at her for not telling you.

"Yeah, I know Robin, thanks." Steve sighs heavily, trying to follow but Eddie holds him back, placing a hand on his friends chest. "Dude, take it from me, let her cool off for a while."

"Eddie, I need to talk to her man, I need to fix this." He attempts to push by again but the metal head refuses to budge.

"How are you going to fix it Steve, huh? Do you even know what's going on with her?" Eddie questions, as Steve sighs, placing his hands on his hips.

"No, but I guess she told you, yeah? You two looked pretty close in the parking lot earlier." Steve grunts, while Eddie lets out a smug laugh. "Careful big boy, you almost sound jealous."

"I'm not jealous man, I'm just...fuck, I don't know!” He exhales loudly, leaning against the wall of the motel room. “Maybe I am." Steve admits, putting a hand through his hair, slumping to the ground. “I just, I don’t know what’s going on with her y’know? She's always talked to me about everything and now? I can barely get her to look at me.” Steve sighs as Eddie takes a seat beside his friend, patting him on the shoulder.

“Look dude, there’s nothing to be jealous about ok? There’s nothing going on between us, shit I’d be so lucky.” Eddie chuckles and Steve feels a sudden feeling of relief wash over him. “Sadly, she’s only got eyes for one lucky son of a bitch and unfortunately, it isn’t me.” Eddie smirks, as the other boy lifts his head in a panic.

“She’s seeing someone?”

“No dumbass, fuck– do I really need to spell it out for you?" Eddie asks, his eyes rolling back in his head when Steve still hadn't gotten the hint. “Come on man, you’ve gotta know she’s fucking crazy about you?”

“What?” Steve exhales in disbelief as Eddie's words reply in his head. “Did she tell you that?”

“She didn’t have to.” Eddie replies letting out a heavy breath. “Steve man, you didn’t see her that night on the lake. You didn’t see the fear in her eyes when you got pulled under the water. She jumped in after you so fast, she didn't even look back to see if the rest of us were following."

Steve remembered that night vividly, probably better than anyone else. Hell, there were still nights that he woke up in a cold sweat, thinking those bats were feasting on his flesh. Those were the nights that he missed you the most. How you’d wrap your arms around him, pull him close and tell him everything was ok now. That you could finally all move on with your lives. He missed the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, the sound of your heartbeat as his head rested on your chest. You never told anyone about those nights, he’d made you promise. Cause he had to be strong for the kids.

He thought back to that night in the Upside Down, how he feared he'd never see your face again, that he'd never be able to tell you how he really felt about you. Then suddenly, you were there, eliminating the demobats one by one, tears in your eyes as you ran to him in a panic. He should have told you then, should have made it clear that you meant everything to him but then the others appeared and so he decided to choose another time. A time when you weren't in immediate danger. A time when it was just you and him and fuck, he'd tried to tell you so many times after that but every time he got close to saying it, something stopped him.

Fear.

What if he ruined everything?

What if you laughed in his face?

What if you didn't feel the same way?

What if it didn't work out and you left him like Nancy did?

Steve couldn't bare the thought of losing you, so instead of telling you the truth, he decided to bury his feelings deep down inside. Deciding, that he'd rather have you as a friend than not have you in his life at all. So, when Tracy Turner boldly asked him on a date, he begrudgingly accepted, hoping it would stop him from thinking about you.

It didn’t.

“Jesus Eddie, I’ve been such an idiot." Steve sighs angrily. "I’ve been trying so damn hard to pretend that I don’t have feelings for her instead of just..”

“Instead of what?” Eddie asks as Steve moves his head to look at his friend.

“Instead of telling her that I love her. That I’ve been in love with her since the moment she answered Henderson’s door three years ago.” He reveals and Eddie lets out the smallest of laughs.

“Yeah Harrington, you are an idiot and out of all the dumb shit you’ve ever done, pretending you don't love that girl is probably way up there. But from what I can see, she’s always gonna carry a big ol’ torch for you. So come on, go make this right and go get your girl. I’ve got a fuckin’ mosh pit to get to.”

When Steve and Eddie finally get to the entrance gate of the concert, they see Robin pacing back and fourth with a stressed out look on her face and Steve instantly feels a knot forming in his stomach when he realises you’re nowhere in sight.

"What the hell took you both so long?" She yells frantically.

“Had to knock some sense into Harrington here.” Eddie smirks, winking at Robin who offers him a confused glance.

"Where is she?" Steve questions his friend and Robin throws her hands in the air.

"I don’t know Steve! She took off by herself with some guy, went in with him, she didn't want to talk to me. She's pissed with a capital P!" Robin yells, angry at her friend for ever telling her that he'd been seeing Tracy Turner. Angry that she’d been put in the middle of this situation.

"Calm down Robs, we'll find her." Eddie reassures, placing a supportive arm around his friend.

"No, I'll find her, this is all my fault and I’m going to fix it." Steve says adamantly.

“I think you’re the last person she wants to see right now dingus.” Robin grunts but Steve’s already making a beeline for the entrance to the outdoor concert.

"Harrington!" Eddie yells as Steve takes a quick look back to his friends.

"Don't fuck it up." He shouts as the boy nods back before marching through a sea of bodies.

“What the hell is going on?” Robin questions, earning a grin from the metal head standing beside her as he throws a lazy arm over her shoulder.

“Fifty bucks says they’re fucking by the end of the night.”

Thirty minutes later and Steve is no closer to finding you. The darkness beginning to bleed in to the sky, the smell of weed and cheap alcohol lingering in the air as he looks for you in every queue, at every stand but it isn't until he hears the familiar laughter coming from behind him that he finally sees you. You’re sitting on the ground with a beer in hand, looking very cosy with the attractive tattooed stranger that’s much too close to you for Steve’s liking and your smile fades immediately when you see the boy standing in front of you.

"What are you doing? I've been looking everywhere for you." Steve asks, clearly annoyed by the presence of the other male beside you.

"I'm just making some new friends, not that it's any of your business." You mutter, taking a sip of your beer.

"This your boyfriend, sweetheart?" The man sitting next to you asks, grinning at Steve who keeps his eyes solely focused on you.

You shake your head instantly. "Nope. He's just a friend, or at least I thought he was."

“Can you please come with me? We really need to talk.” Steve begs, holding out a hand to you but you refuse to move. “We don’t have anything left to talk about.”

“I think we both know that we do.” Steve says, staring at you and you’re sure you see new determination behind his caramel tinted eyes.

"Don't worry about her pretty boy, I'll take good care of her, you go enjoy the show." The man smirks, placing a hand on your thigh as Steve’s jaw clenches.

"Get your hands off of her." Steve warns and suddenly you feel the tension in the air. Your eyes widen as Steve's fists begin to ball up, finally removing his eyes from you to look at the man sitting beside you.

"Why? She just said you're not her boyfriend and I don’t see her saying no.” The man responds, finally standing up to meet Steve face to face.

“Listen man, she’s coming with me, alright? Now get out of my face.” Steve threatens and you’re quick to jump to your feet now.

“Or what pretty boy?” The stranger smirks, shoving Steve back before you could get between them.

“Steve, don’t!” You warn, as his fist connects with the mans jaw, knocking him to the ground.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” You yell at your best friend but he’s too focused on the impending retaliation to hear you. But just as the tattooed stranger tries to take a swing at Steve, his arm is dragged back by the security guard who had witnessed the whole altercation, deciding enough was enough,

“You three, you’re out of here now!” He demands, getting in the middle of the two males who had been fighting over you.

“He fucking suckered me, dude!” The other boy argues, holding his jaw but the security guard just laughs, ignoring his pleas. “You shoved me first, pal.” Steve replies smugly as you’re all led to the exit.

You don’t even try to defend yourself or make an argument as to why you should be left stay to watch the concert, deciding that going back to the motel was probably for the best, the night had already been ruined for you long ago and you just wanted to be alone.

“Hey, where are you going now?” Steve shouts after you, following you back towards the direction of the motel.

“Just go away Steve, haven’t you already caused enough trouble for one day?” You fire at him.

“Look, I’m sorry, I know I’ve been a jerk but I really need to talk to you.”

“I already told you, I don’t have anything left to say, so just leave me alone.” You beg but Steve shakes his head, catching up to you.

“I can’t do that.” He says as you roll your eyes trying to pass him but he gets in your way again. He was never going to let you walk back to the motel alone in the dark. Not when you were both well aware that things do in fact, go bump in the night.

“Steve, why can’t you just–"

“Look, I know you hate me right now and trust me, I really hate me too. But I just need to know one thing, please? Fuck, I’ll even switch with Robin so you don’t have to share a room with me, alright?” He bargains, as you finally give in. The prospect of not having to share a bed with him being too much to turn down.

What? What do you want to know, Steve?” You question, folding your arms as he takes a deep breath before placing his hands on his hips.

“I want to know what you were going to say before Eddie knocked on the door earlier."

"What are you talking about?" You say, eyes widening in panic as Steve lets out a breath, pleading with you to be honest.

“You know what I'm talking about."

"No, I..."

"When we were arguing and I brought up Hargrove, you said you were only with him because I was still getting–?" He questions softly as you shake your head, looking anywhere but at him.

"I don't remember."

"Honey, please just–"

“I don’t remember Steve! So just drop it, ok?” You interrupt, starting to walk away as you hear his voice calling behind you.

“Because I was still getting over Nancy?” He asks, as your whole body freezes.

How did he know?

When you turn back to face him, he’s still standing there, staring at you, waiting for you to say something. Anything.

“You really are full of yourself, you know that?” You reply, voice trembling as he begins to close the space between you and you're not sure how much longer you can keep this up.

“If that's not what you were going to say, then tell me?" .

"Why does it matter?" You question, raising a frustrated brow at him, not understanding why he couldn't just let it go.

"Because I need to know–"

"Need to know what Steve? If I had a crush on you three years ago? Fine, ok, yes, I had a crush on you. Who fucking didn't? You were the most popular guy in school! And yeah, I did go out with Billy because I knew you were still getting over Nancy but you know what? I actually liked Billy. He was different with me but he just couldn't stand me being friends with you. He kept saying that I had feelings for you, that what I felt for you was more than a friendship and so he made me choose: him or you.…and I picked you.” You reveal, tears beginning to fall from your eyes as you finally decide to be honest with your best friend. “Cause all this time, Billy fucking Hargrove was right. I did have feelings for you, even if it took me almost losing you that night on the lake to figure it out." You cry, finally feeling a huge weight lifting from your chest and for the first time in months, you could breathe again.

Steve was frozen, pink lips pursed as he put a hand through his hair, heart aching at your admission and how much it was killing him to see you so upset. He wishes he hadn't been so stupid, hadn't been so afraid of losing you and just told you the truth when he had the chance. You’d never told him or anyone else why you and Billy broke up, always keeping it to yourself and he was more than a little shocked to realise it was because of him.

Because you chose him.

“I..I didn’t know I was the reason you guys broke up.” He confessed, a sorrowful look on his face. “M’sorry.”

“Forget about it, it was a long time ago.” You shrugged coldly, hoping this would be the end of the conversation.

"I can't believe you picked me." He whispers as you let out a sarcastic huff, lifting your head to look at him.

"And I can't believe you picked Tracy."

You fire back, turning on your heels to walk towards your motel room, heartbroken, tired of arguing with him, tired of wanting him, tired of loving him and just as you were about to close the door, Steve’s hand stops you from shutting it, from shutting him out, a hurt look in his eyes as he stares at you silently for a moment before speaking.

"You think I picked Tracy over you?" Steve asks with sadness and anger in his voice as you wipe your tears, resting your head on the side of the door.

“Steve, I told you what you wanted to know. Please just-”

“No! You can't actually think I'd pick her over you?” Steve quizzes again, brows knitted together, voice more stern than the last time he asked.

“Why not? You wouldn’t be the first one.” You reply, referring to your old High School ex boyfriend Matt and Steve scoffs bitterly, hurt at the comparison.

“I can’t believe you could even think that, after everything we’ve been through, you know me better than that!”

“No Steve, I thought I knew you better than that! I thought we were best friends and that you would never ever hurt me but then you went and slept with her!” You fume, shoving him backwards as he grabs your arms gently but sternly, holding you in place. Finally letting himself inside, closing the door with the back of his foot.

“I didn’t, I didn’t sleep with Tracy!” He growls back at you, frustration apparent in his voice as you sneer at him, well aware of the notches on his bedpost. "Oh please, how stupid do you think I am, Steve?"

"I'm telling you the truth!” He snaps, as you get in his face. "Cause you've been so good at that lately, huh Harrington?" You reply, a harsh tone in your voice, refusing to back down.

"Jesus Christ, will you just listen to me for one god damn minute? I haven’t had sex with her alright? I couldn't."

"And why is that Steve? Did you realise she's a fucking–"

"Because of you!” Steve interrupts loudly, silencing you. "Because I'm in love with you! Because for the past three years since that night you answered Henderson’s door, it’s only been you.” He finally confesses, cupping your face, begging you to believe him as you see the sincerity written all over his face.

“Honey, do you really think if I had known that you had feelings for me– if I thought that me and you being together was even a possibility, that I’d be seeing anybody else?” He questions, as you stare silently at him, heart beating out of your chest as he looks into your eyes. His lips ghosting over your own as you try to catch your breath.

"Then why didn't you tell me?" You manage to ask as he shakes his head and smiles.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He retorts before cupping your face again, taking a deep breath. "I tried to, so many times. But every time I got close to it, I just...got scared." He admits, as you stare at him confused.

"Scared of what?"

"Of you not feeling the same way, of ruining our friendship, of us not working out... I was just scared of losing you." He mutters, lowering his head as you grab his face, forcing him to look at you.

"That would never happen, Steve."

"But it almost did! And it's my fault because I decided to be an asshole and date someone else instead of just telling you that I love–" You cut him off, placing your lips on his to stop him from talking but before Steve could even fathom what was happening, you broke the kiss again, resting your forehead on his.

"I love you too, Steve." You whisper, as he pulls you in for another kiss.

There were no words left to say, you’d said them all.

Two hours later, after the concert, Robin and Eddie decided to head back to the motel, having long given up on their search for you and Steve at the venue.

“What if she’s killed him Eddie? What if they’re fighting so bad that none of us can hang out anymore? What if we have to meet up with them at different times because they can’t stand being around each other? What about the kids?” Robin panics as Eddie laughs, rolling his eyes as he knocks on your motel room door.

After a few seconds, when the door remains unanswered, Robin begins to walk towards her own room, anxiety getting the better of her as Eddie continues to wrap on the door resiliently.

“Will someone open the god damn door before Buckley files a missing persons report?” The metal head pleads for his own sanity as he finally hears shuffling on the other side of the door.

His eyes light up and a shit eating grin spreads across his face as Steve finally answers the door, shirtless flushed and struggling to zip up his Levi’s.

“Sorry Munson, we were just, uh…sleeping.” Steve lies even though he knows it’s pointless. He can hear you giggling under the covers as Eddie notices your underwear on the floor behind Steve.

“Atta boy Harrington, I knew you had it in you.” Eddie winks. “I’ll leave you lovebirds get back to sleep. Don’t snore too loud, we’re in the next room.” He subtly teases as Steve smirks, quickly closing the door to join you in bed again.

“Did I hear Steve? Are they ok?” Robin asks, as Eddie enters their room smiling.

“Oh yeah, they’re fine. By the way, you owe me fifty bucks Buckley.”

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#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #king steve #steve the hair harrington #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #joe keery

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snowdeity · 18 days ago

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A part of me is I hate beauty then on the other hand I enjoy beauty and participating. Things are just getting so ridiculous online I genuinely prefer reality at this point I never thought I would say that. At this point for me it really is just an addiction. You can’t really escape the online world unfortunately everyone is linked to it even if you don’t have a smartphone you could be unknowingly recorded in public I just feel slowly I’m getting agoraphobia I don’t enjoy where I live no one is open to different ideas in England especially surrounded by mindless middle class pretending to be rich and the posh well being posh. I dunno none of this really makes sense I’m sick of people on the internet I’m sick of most people sadly as I get older even with family I feel myself sensing lots of people are just incredibly flawed. Even myself I feel like I never want to share my opinion because I feel like my face attached to it loses its meaning again I’m put into a category unfortunately because of my “image” which probably isn’t even exactly what I want to be because of social norms how I feel I should be presented (missing my more younger alternative years). I’ve lost myself becoming invisible I mean things have been shouted at me in public and I find it very overwhelming I have to think what I’m wearing so much everyone is just blindly led by their own stupid beliefs partly to do with the algorithm and well you could say well just wear what u want I wish it were that simple but it really isn’t years worth of trauma and I can’t unlearn that overnight.

Sometimes when I was younger I wish I was already retired I would walk to school and see old people living their life.I hated school and since birth i was burnt out. My autism makes me unemployable no one understands the struggle if you do not perform how they expect you too even thought you’re meeting targets trying your hardest to communicate effectively it’s still not good enough. I’ve been made fun of and bullied at different work places it burnt me out so much that I’m not even sure I can work for a while it’s so mentally draining. What’s sad is I’ll never get to the root problem of life and keep fighting. I believe it is autism that’s has caused so many problems but I’ll never get to the point of ever solving them. I need a diagnosis to move on with my life I bottle things up I never let myself go to breaking point and needing proper care. I never had the luxury of people looking out for me I have no second option I feel like I have no one. I feel so sensitive and I’m so embarrassed about myself I wish sometimes my brain could shut off it’s embarrassing. I don’t feel like I have a home.

Basically I’m an over sensitive Pisces. Even if something touched me to hard I would faint.

I think the only way I would be sincere through the narrow eyes of today is pretending to be a pretentious softboy studying art history and my words would suddenly have value. I know but in the same way I had an opinion 5 years ago and never shared due to worry of judgment then (thankfully) everyone starts to realise the world is shit it’s always been shit. But anyway I hate tiktok cause whenever I share a thought on social media especially tiktok I feel like I’m attacked or it’s just not understood.

#rant post #personal #personal rant

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brydigdraws · 1 year ago

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So these are long overdue lmao

I didn’t quite realise how 2021 was The Year of Crowley (2020 was The Year of Aziraphale) and 2022 was The Year of Izzy until I put these summaries together

I didn’t manage to account for every month these past two years, and 2022 is looking particularly sketchy (quite literally). This is because Shit Went Down :) I’m going to summarise it below for my own benefit▼

Personal/philosophical ramble under cut

In 2021 I had a lot going on, which I think explains the lack of art in June and August (memory’s fuzzy), and why I never posted some of the art in the summary here on tumblr (miiight post Nov and Dec soon-ish). In 2022 things initially screeched to a halt and I had the worst art crisis (and personal crisis tbh) I’ve ever had. Basically I had a really hard time drawing anything without it feeling completely soulless and of worse quality than my actual skill level, which heavily impacted my motivation to draw (sometimes my ofmd obsession came out on top lmao, but that fanart still felt like it was lacking something essential 99% of the time). I drew less, and felt worse for drawing less, which made me draw even less, repeat ad infinitum. It wasn’t until solidly into Autumn that I realised the root of the problem: I had tied the label “artist” so closely to my identity that it had effectively become my identity. And since it was my identity, I felt I had to become a professional artist or be miserable, and in order to become a professional artist I felt I had to constantly focus on honing my skills and get better, nitpick everything in every drawing and strive for impossible perfection, and “draw every day” as all the professional artists advice you to do (I have never managed to draw every day, and my failure to do so made me feel like I was lagging behind). Drawing had slowly but steadily become some insane rat race to me and eventually it ruined my art because I couldn’t appreciate where I was at. Actually finishing a piece of art felt like an incredibly arduous task with little reward (which is why I only really “finished” two pieces last year). I had drained myself of the inherent joy of creating. But realising this didn’t solve the problem, not on its own, because if the fact was “artist is my whole identity” the question then became “If I don’t create art, am I anything at all?”, and the answer for some time was “No.”

I have since found joy and genuine excitement in other types of creating (not that I hadn’t before, but never above a hobbyist level) with potential career opportunities that won’t make my daily life “miserable” (fun fact about me: my biggest fears are the unknown and having my soul ground down by the tireless gears of capitalism). This has helped me stress less about “becoming a professional artist” (something I’m still certain I’d enjoy, despite it all) and find some identity outside of art, but that perfectionist/improvement mindset in relation to my art didn’t start to leave me until a few days before New Year’s. That’s when I was suddenly inspired to make the Ed/Izzy sketch representing Dec ‘22 in the summary above. I had effectively given up on my art at that point, but my mental image was so strong I had to commit it to (digital) paper, no matter if it turned out like shit or not (which, in retrospect, is probably the most visceral motivation an artist can have for practicing their craft). Having no expectations on myself, and with the single-minded drive to capture the ~vibes~ and nothing more, I found the act of drawing fun and near effortless for the first time in fucking years. That’s when it clicked. You don’t have to try and make every aspect of a drawing perfect, and not every drawing needs to be properly rendered; just focus on the one or few most important things you need to be able to convey what it is you want to convey (in this case it was the overall poses and facial expressions). The rest may not be perfect, but it wouldn’t have been even if you tried to make it so, because perfection is fucking unattainable (as much as my chronically perfectionist ass wishes it wasn’t). Trying to attain it is a fool’s errand that’ll slowly eat you up, and your audience will most probably not even notice or care about the difference.

Audiences, especially online audiences, are arguably their own potential source of artist brainrot (and not the fun kind), and I’m of the firm opinion that art can definitely be made for no one’s eyes other than the artist’s own (in opposition to the mindset that the purpose of all art is for it to be shared with external parties) - my own art from years ago being an example of this. But I have found sharing my art with others to be such an inherent joy to me that I don’t think I’ll ever fully stop doing it, and will continue to try my best not to fall into the mental pitfalls that can come with it.

I don’t think my relationship to my own art is fully mended (and I’ve likely failed to see some of the cracks), but it’s definitely better now than it has been in a long, long while.

in short, thanks to edizzy’s dysfunctional marriage for helping me not give up on art I guess

#template by DustBunnyThumper on dA #my art #summary of art #fan art #original #suggestive #in regards to the contents of the read more: this does NOT mean art uploads will be more frequent; I am a spotty bitch and that's chronic

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teklarn · 3 years ago

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hi, this is my first ever ask so I'm not sure I'm doing this correctly, if that's the case I'm sorry; I don't know how tumblr works just yet >:')

would it be possible for you to write something about bakugo, pining incredibly hard for fem!reader and initially hating how strongly he feels about her? because they're not even friends, they only exchange few words occasionally and she doesn't even glance at his way whereas he slowly finds himself unable to divert his eyes from her during classes? shes always with damn deku and his friends and doesn't even seem interested in him at all but his heart can't ignore the way she looks at him proudly whenever they spar together, the way she sends him small confident smiles as they fight each other with all they have; so he thinks that maybe, maybe he might have a chance. basically bakugo liking reader so much he's completely lost in self-hatred because he always thought feelings were for weak romantics and not great people like him, but everytime he sees reader doing some badass things (again, like sparring with him and basically matching his skills etc...) he's reminded of how badly he likes reader? but when he finally accepts he's fallen for reader, after ignoring and trying to forget about how she makes him feel, he masters up the courage to confess? and it's a very clumsy confession because he's awkward and has no idea how to deal with those feelings? and he tries so hard to make reader realise he's never been more serious than now? and reader is startled and speechless before rejecting him? and at that point he's just completely humiliated, so he nods and walks away.

it might be a little dramatic but I've always been into unrequited love and one-sided pining. thank you, its okay if you don't want to write about this, i'll understand <33

𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓪𝓵 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾

character(s): katsuki bakugou x fem!reader (my hero academia)

reblogs are greatly appreciated!

a/n: AHHHHH this is so cute <33 honestly this is super exciting for me and this ask made me so happy, lovey. i’m fairly new to tumblr, i’m usually just a reader but i wanted to migrate here from wattpad so this made me so happy. here u are my love <33 i hope this lives up to what u wanted !! :)) a bit lengthy, but i had a lot of fun writing it !!!

summary: bakugou finds he’s rejecting his feelings for you in fear of becoming weak, however he just can’t seem to ignore you.

genre: fluffy, fluffier than the clouds istg, however the clouds are sprinking a little teeny weeny droplet of angst.

warnings: cursing (bakugou, duhh), one-sided pining (on bakugou’s part) second hand embarrassment (on bakugou’s part bc we can all agree he’s a complete idiot when it comes to trying to get someone’s attention), just bakugou being a jackass, i gave the reader a quirk

word count: 3,859

(pls excuse any typos or mistakes, i edited to the best of my ability but i miss some things sometimes !)

- - -

part 2 is here my loves <3

brutal. it was utterly ruthless. he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think right. his hands were already exceptionally sweaty, but gosh when he saw your damn face, he was ready to explode. literally.

what the hell was it about you? was it your stupid smile? or the way you just seemed to carry every battle on your back? was it all the undeniably sweet things you do for others ‘just because’?

it made him angry that he thought about you, but gosh he couldn’t wait to see you every day.

just like any other day, bakugou found himself staring at the large door to the classroom, awaiting the moment you would bounce into his day, skirt shifting around your legs, bag slung loosely around your shoulders.

his leg was bouncing eagerly.

bakugou didn’t know when the feelings came. his cheeks just started flaring up all of a sudden and one day you just looked...different. you hadn’t done anything different to yourself. it was just him. not that he would ever admit that, to you or anybody else.

you were insufferable. you were stupid and obnoxious and so...so damn...

“y/n! come look at this!”

you’d come walking into class just as expected, and as soon as you did, that stupid nerd had called you over.

it didn’t help that deku sat right behind him, either. the two of you had recently gotten closer. bakugou noticed it last month when he yelled at the two of you to shut up about all might and get to work. he’d turned around to find you leaning over deku, hands resting on his shoulders while you peered at his phone.

“sorry, bakugou,” you’d said, barely acknowledging him. you had waved him off like an annoying fly. is that all you were to him? some nuisance that got in the way of your oh-so-entertaining conversations with deku?

all he heard nearly every day was your chipper voice talking to deku. always, “oh my gosh, midoriya, did you see the fight edgeshot was in last night?” or “midoriya! i have something to add to our quirk analysis book!”

that was the one that took the cake. you two dorks shared a notebook, occasionally passed between one another, and filled it with junk about quirks and pro heroes. but no matter how much he tried to tune you out, no matter how he tried to zone off and think about something else, you were always there. it made him want to vomit how much he thought about you.

you were doing an adorable shuffle over to midoriya’s desk and leaned over the table as you usually did while he angled his phone your way. “did you see this hero report?”

deku let you slip the phone out of his grasp to get a better look.

“no,” you breathed. “was this just recent?”

“yeah,” deku said, taking the phone back. “last night.”

“holy—”

“can you guys shut up over there?” bakugou said, his voice quaking.

“sorry, kacchan.” deku scrolled through the article.

dammit, bakugou thought. “i wasn’t talking to you, nerd. i was talking to shitface over here.” he jerked his head towards you. his eyes flared in anger when he saw you were looking down at your phone, now focused in on the article yourself. “i was talking to you, asshat!”

your eyes flicked up to his. you looked around for a moment before slowly pointing to yourself as if to say, “me?”

his face scrunched. “yeah, you. you’re so damn loud.” gosh, he hated how his voice was cracking, how he could feel his ears and cheeks lighting up in a swollen, cherry red. his stomach flipped.

she’s looking at you, gosh i’m sweating. i’m going to throw up. she’s so gorgeous. what the hell? they’re ugly as shit, i don’t think anything of them.

his eyes bore into yours.

“did you...need something?”

your voice broke his trance.

“kacchan, are you okay? you dozed off there for a second. you look like you’re burning up.”

bakugou looked to deku who was currently stretching out of his seat, arm extended. he pressed the back of his hand to bakugou’s forehead. “you’re really warm, kacchan. should we call recovery girl?”

it took him a moment to realize what was happening. his vision got blurry every time he was with you. bakugou smacked deku’s hand away. “i’m fine!” his voice lifted at the end, cracking. “i’m not sick. don’t you think i’d take better care of myself?”

“i don’t doubt you take good care of yourself, kacchan, but everyone gets sick once in a while. there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“i never get sick!” besides, if i got sick, i wouldn’t want you to be the one taking care of me.

he was still pissed. he was always in a bad mood, however, more so right now because you’d gone straight back to your phone and that stupid hero article that was supposedly so damn interesting.

soon enough, the bell rang, and you were seated at your desk. it was jirou’s old spot, however, after much convincing, you two had switched spots so you could be closer to deku. just a few months of getting close to the idiot and you two are suddenly best friends. jirou hadn’t minded one tiny bit, claiming she needed a break from how loud that section of the room was.

late as always, aizawa came trudging into your room. thankfully, his entire body wasn’t obscured by a yellow sleeping bag that smelled of something unwashed and coffee and gasoline. (for some reason, aizawa’s clothes always smelled of it.)

“lucky for you,” he began while shuffling papers on his desk, “all of you are doing training for these first periods.”

the class cheered in perfect unison, followed by their individual chatter. you had erupted with glee along with them, and bakugou was sure he felt his heart clench and then explode. just a tiny bit. but he shoved the feeling down just as quickly as it had come up.

“go out to the field and wait for further instructions. don’t make a sound in the halls otherwise, i’ll expel all of you.”

this shut everyone up in almost a second, the sound draining out just as water does. the first years trailed out into the hall, single-file mimicking the positions baby ducklings would take when following their mother.

bakugou found himself walking faster when he saw you take up your spot in the line, hoping to land his spot right behind you.

unfortunately, this idiot who considered himself bakugou’s friend tugged him back. “bakugou!” a familiar voice rasped.

“shitty hair, let go of me.”

“hey man, chill out. wanna partner up if we’re doing training in pairs?”

bakugou glanced at the line, the spot that should have been reserved for him now taken up by sato.

bakugou tugged his sleeve from kirishima’s hand. “whatever,” he snapped.

“sounds good!” kirishima flashed him a toothy grin and a thumbs-up. the bubbly feeling in bakugou’s chest died down as he stood behind sato, the overwhelming scent of sugar filling his nose, various candies that would go straight to your arteries.

“you smell like ass, damn,” bakugou remarked, squeezing his nostrils together.

luckily, sato was tall enough to not hear the insult, as he towered over bakugou by just another head. the line began moving like a sloppy train down to the change rooms.

bakugou scoffed as he listened to your giggle. he should be making you laugh.

“you’ll be given partners randomly from this box.” aizawa held up a familiar red box. “inside are all your names. i’ll select one, then that person will come up and pick another name from the box. that will be your assigned partner for today. as soon as you have your assigned partner, i want you guys to get straight to work.”

denki raised a hand, speaking before being called on. “sensei, why are we getting random partners? we’re always allowed to choose.”

“in the real world, you’re going to come across different villains every day. you’ll never improve your skills or your quirks if you keep fighting the same person.”

denki sighed, slumping back.

dammit, bakugou thought, gritting his teeth together. there wasn’t any way he wanted to be partners with you. it’s obvious he’d win the fight in the first few seconds.

yes! exactly right! bakugou internally grinned. his fluctuating feelings had finally soothed themselves. you were just another extra, and he had no room for you in his head.

aizawa took a moment to fiddle with the slips of paper inside the box. soon enough, he pulled out a name. “todoroki.”

todoroki walked up, digging his hand into the box when aizawa held it out for him. he pulled out a name, delicately unraveling the slip. “uraraka, you’re my partner.” he deadpanned.

the brunette grinned. “great!”

the two found their own spot on the field, and the class’s attention was once again diverted to their grouchy teacher as he pulled out another name.

“bakugou.”

bakugou strutted up without a worry in his mind. he pulled a name to find...

“y/n,” he said, voice a low growl. instead of the annoying fluttering in his chest, his eyes met yours, and they were filled with a different, new ferocity. he crumpled the paper in one hand, letting it twirl to the ground.

you looked at him, unsmiling. your eyes gave away nothing, and to bakugou’s knowledge, all you saw in him was another opponent.

it took him a moment to realize you had both locked eyes for about a minute. perhaps the two of you would have stayed as you were if aizawa hadn’t snapped at the two of you to get moving as yaomomo’s name was called.

bakugou was on his way to the back of the field, you followed close behind. while there was plenty of room still, he chose a secluded area. while it was still open enough to view everything going on so nobody got hurt, it was often nobody chose to train here. for whatever reason, you weren’t sure.

“wait up, bakugou,” you said. after a bit, you caught up to him.

“if you can’t keep up, then...” then what? he looked at you from the side of his eye. “then don’t keep up...” gosh, here came the embarrassing, disgusting feeling of redness in his cheeks.

you laughed. “what?”

“shut up.”

“you’re an idiot, bakugou.”

“i said shut the hell up!”

“what, so you can call me shitface in front of the entire class but you get all pissed when i call you an idiot?”

so you had heard him!

he tongued his cheek, curling his hands around an invisible ball, explosions sparking in the centers of his palms. “don’t expect me to hold back, dumbass.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it.”

gosh he loved that about you.

bakugou caught his thought in the air.

ahem...gosh he hated that about you.

you both charged in at the same time. his cry was louder than yours, but you struck first.

he admired your quirk. while he’d overhead you explaining all the drawbacks it had, it was strong, and you were strong because you knew how to control it.

purple arrows flew from your arms, going in your desired directions. if you lost focus for one moment, they’d vanish and weaken. if you focused too hard or long, you’d be plagued by a splitting headache.

he’d spent too much time obsessing over your strengths and weaknesses.

your arrows were weightless, however they were solid objects capable of carrying any mass, any thing, and worked as extensions of your body.

the violet arrow had shot out at him, twisting around his right gauntlet and crushing inwards. it’d snaked around him without him noticing, slithering along his back.

bakugou struggled to get the air-light arrow off his wrist, but it was no use. he glared back, only to see your focused, furrowed brows. he’d expected to see your cocky ass smiling. it was nice to see you weren’t.

that was one thing that had also caught his eye. you never underestimate your opponent, but you never underestimate yourself, either.

you conjured a larger arrow. it snaked around your right arm as you hurled bakugou into the air, releasing your grasp on him. you shot your other arrow into the air, and it raced into the sky.

it swerved. bakugou’s eyes went wide as the tip of the arrow came down on his chest. if they weren’t intangible things, he would have been bleeding out.

another drawback: the arrows, while they could solidify, they couldn’t do any actual damage. you had to use your surroundings to inflict harm on your opponent.

he coughed out as the arrow shot him into the ground. he hadn’t even touched you, and here he was, vulnerable and so...so...

you stood over him, hands on your hips.

vulnerable and so lost in that adorable, winning smile.

“get away from me, idiot,” he grunted and turned onto his side, his back crying out in pain.

“i think i won this fight, bakugou,” you chirped, rocking on your heels.

“don’t get arrogant, shithead. you won’t be winning against me anymore.”

you grinned, arrows shooting out behind your back.

the dorms were exceptionally quiet. you were typing away in the common room, bakugou on the couch reading. everyone was off doing something else. it was the weekend, luckily. he’d expected you to go bounding out with everyone else, however you’d stayed back, claiming you had some homework to catch up on.

bakugou being classic bakugou had stayed back. he was excited to have the dorm to himself, but your dumbass was stuck here with him. couldn’t you have done your typing in your room?

you were so aggressive on that poor keyboard.

“oi, quiet down with your shit typing.”

you barely grunted in response.

“don’t ignore me.”

“i heard you, mom.”

“the hell did you call me?”

no response. only your aggressive typing is a bit less aggressive.

“i can still hear it,” bakugou remarked, eyes fixed on your back.

“‘kay,” you said. your typing slowed a tad, and your pressure on the keys lessened.

it was quiet now. bakugou should go back to his book. he shouldn’t still be looking for a reason to talk to you.

the pages crinkled in his fingers. he bit his tongue, keeping his snarky comments in.

“you’re a fucking idiot, you know that? doing your damn homework. it’s due tomorrow.”

you turned, pursing your lips. “and how would you know what i’m working on? are you stalking me?”

“i- what? no. you’re such an idiot, of course i’m not—”

“i’m messing with you,” you breathed, face un-moving.

“o-oh,” bakugou stuttered out. he blinked awkwardly.

“gosh, what’s gotten your panties in a twist?”

“you’re annoying.”

“you’re a jackass.” you returned to your work. bakugou settled with reading in his room. reading consisted of jumping onto his bed just as the stereotypical high school girl would in an eighties movie. he buried his face in his pillow, face burning bright red. he cursed you for making him feel this way, and hated himself even more for how much he enjoyed it.

the next day came swiftly. you’d left early to go train with midoriya. there were many improvements needed to be made, but you weren’t doing too bad.

you propelled yourself forwards with an arrow, and your green-haired friend shot back, lightning flickering around his body.

landing back on the ground, you panted and swiped the sweat from your brow. from the corner of your eye, you could make out both kirishima and bakugou coming to the training grounds.

bakugou stopped in his tracks, frowning at the sight of you.

it was evident he hated you a bit more than everyone else. he was always making his annoying comments, he was always snubbing you. you saw no reason to talk to him, so you didn’t. either way, even if you tried, he would still get angry for no reason.

it’d taken you quite some time to get used to his obnoxious attitude. tuning him out had been the best course of action, in your opinion.

the way you and midoriya had bonded was through bakugou, in a way. the first day of school, bakugou had snapped at you for tripping over your laces and nearly crashing into him. later that day, midoriya had stepped up and apologized for his old friend’s actions.

you two had never been too close until now. the recent incidents going on with the league of villains had snagged your attention, and it seemed you were the only person who didn’t mind listening to him ramble on about heroes.

you were just as passionate and just as dorky, but midoriya could talk your ear off. you never minded, and he always took the hint when you didn’t want to listen.

you brought your leg up, twirling in the air with ease and watched your heel collide with midoriya’s face. he grunted, stumbling back.

you were about to charge in again when a hand landed on your shoulder, big and rough. you turned to see bakugou standing behind you, a scowl on his face.

“fight me again,” he demanded.

“excuse me?”

“don’t act like you didn’t hear me.”

“i’m in the middle of fighting midoriya right now.”

“so?”

“so if you think that i’m just going to ditch my friend because you want to fight, i won’t.”

“you’re being stubborn.”

“i’m being reasonable. back off.”

“y/n?” midoriya rubbed his jaw—right where you had struck him. “what’s going on?” he jogged up to you and bakugou.

“he wants to fight me in the middle of our fight. it’s nothing serious. don’t worry about it, midoriya. let’s just ignore him.”

bakugou made a sound someone would only make if they were choking. “the hell did you just say?”

“we’re ignoring you!” you waved him off and placed your hand on midoriya’s shoulder, wandering away.

it was new to him, not getting what he wanted. and what he wanted right now was to be around you. again, it wasn’t like he would ever admit that to himself.

“dude? you good? i thought you went off to fight y/n. i was so ready to cheer you on, dude,” kirishima’s chipper voice piped in. “she’s not fighting with you? why not?”

“the dumbass was just probably scared of getting her ass beat by me.”

“dude...that sounds really weird.”

“whatever, shitty hair. let’s go.”

the clock ticked. his ears were on fire. again.

gosh, it was happening again. it was all you. his face scrunched up, his voice would surely crack if someone were to ask him what was wrong.

bakugou was once again stuffing his face in his pillow, hiding his expression from no one. why did you have to go train with that shitty nerd? why were you always around deku? deku, of all people. what did he have? why was he so great?

bakugou was a man of many insecurities, but losing to deku? that was possibly his biggest fear.

perhaps he wasn’t the nicest, or the most soft person out there. bakugou could admit that, at least. but he was smarter than deku. he was stronger and he was better and people liked him more. right?

what was so...amazing about deku?

it was often bakugou would find himself obsessing over little, insignificant things such as these.

you were what he was thinking of most of the time. just yesterday, he’d gotten a test returned. he was expecting an eighty at the lowest, but more so expecting a high ninety. it’d come back exactly sixty percent.

sixty. percent.

bakugou vividly remembered staring at your face. he also remembered not being able to focus because of it. his grades were dropping because of you.

you were the only person to be able to do this to him.

his heart grew quiet, but the pounding of his didn’t cease. he lifted his head.

“alright, fine,” he said aloud. “you win, y/n. you win.”

he settled with getting over his feelings the way he’d read them in his collection of romance manga.

bakugou left his room and knocked on your door. (he was banging on it, but it was his nice way of knocking.)

you answered, looking around awkwardly. “yes?”

his hands shook. how was this supposed to go? sure, he’d seen it in romance movies and read it in books but it was always easy to tell whether the guy would get the girl or not.

in this instance, bakugou was clueless. for once in his life, he was clueless. you stood, tapping your foot with a hand on your hip, waiting expectantly for him to tell you why he was here.

“um.” he scratched behind his neck. “you uh- i uh...i’m sorry i called you a, um...a shitface.”

“okay? is that it?”

what? come on! it was already unlike him to apologize. what else did you want from him?

“did you...i’ve been thinking, maybe? maybe we could..train together as...friends?”

“...what?”

gosh dammit, as friends?

“whatever, um...the uh...” oh gosh, what did the boys do in all the books he’d read? right! bakugou stretched out his arm, resting his forearm on the door, leaning to the side.

although he didn’t, really, because like the clumsy jackass he was, bakugou missed completely and nearly toppled to the floor.

this earned a snicker from you.

his stomach flipped and churned, and bakugou found himself unable to reach your eyes. “uh, would you maybe..? okay, um. do you want to go on a date with me? you absolute fucking dumbass.”

your eyes flew wide. “...what?”

“no, that’s not what i— i mean i didn’t mean the last part. um, i meant the first part. the first two parts. the part where i was asking you if you wanted to go on a date with me and then before that when i said maybe because it’s still a maybe until you say yes. or...or no because that’s an option too.”

he swallowed.

you resisted the urge to mock him, just a little bit. “um, bakugou, listen.”

he leaned closer. “yes?”

“it’s going to be a no. i’m sorry, but i’m just not interested in you like that.”

it took him a moment to register everything. his shoulders sagged. gosh that was brutal.

“oh, alright.”

“yeah, uh, sorry about that.” you offered him a weak smile, still a bit shocked yourself. he did his best to return it, and when you closed the door, his face was ready to explode.

it was so damn difficult to deal with these feelings, but maybe it was better this way. knowing where you stood on your end, he knew he wouldn’t miss out on anything.

perhaps it was alright to admire from afar. things could happen in the future, right?

right now, he’d just wait. for a long, long time. bakugou pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat. maybe it was alright to not have you right now. perhaps he could better himself for you. just for you.

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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years ago

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would u possibly do some NSFW morbell? where they're up in colter ( i loved ur original morbell post on them ) pls do more as i love ur blog 💛

this is an absolute mess oml i literally have no idea how to write anything smutty but here we go i guess. I love this pair but i kinda went off topic and centred this on a praise kink for micah. ANYWAY this is probably terrible since i'm melting, its literally 40 degrees and the aircon is broken so its unedited af and i wont look at it again until i have a cold drink. but pls enjoy some morbell <333

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

‘Cold up in Colter’

Fuck, what a mess Blackwater had been. The Pinkertons were on them faster than ever and they found themselves fleeing from a blood bath.

That was almost three days ago and Micah hadn’t had an ounce of sleep. He’d been sent out with John to scout ahead, having found a homestead which ended up burning at the hand of O’Driscoll’s. Okay maybe house burning down was his fault but he tends to make stupid decisions when he’s had little to know sleep. And it was so fucking cold.

That didn’t stop heat rising to his face when he felt Arthur’s hands on his shoulder, pushing him back with a roughness he could only wish for in another way. Damn Arthur Morgan and his ability to have Micah curling in on himself and blushing like a virgin at the mere thought of a hand on his shoulder.

He should hate Arthur, really the two are nothing more than rivals, competing for the spot of Dutch Van Der Linde’s right hand. At the beginning, almost six months ago now, Micah couldn’t stand the sight of the man but somehow that anger tapered off into something more akin to admiration and that admiration slowly turned to desire.

He’ll never admit to how badly he wants Arthur but he won’t deny however that he’s pushed the man’s buttons more than once just to have an interaction with him. All he had to do start a silly argument over camp earnings or a bet at five finger fillet to have the man shaking him by the collar and threatening to break his nose.

It almost always ended with Micah sneaking off into the woods with half a bottle of whiskey and his pants bunched around his ankles as he thought of the way Arthur roughed him up by his shirt collar. Fuck he was pathetic sometimes.

There were other occasions where the two had actually managed to get along and that’s what pissed Micah off more than any threats of violence. Arthur just had to go and bring him a beer as he grabbed one for himself, letting their fingers touch accidentally. Or he went and offered him a seat by the fireplace where they ended up much to close for his comfort. Damn Arthur for always leaving him short of breath with a hole in his heart.

Despite what Micah did to impress Dutch, Arthur was still the camp’s favourite by a mile and he never failed to outcompete him in the eyes of the gang. Micah never minded much, not looking for anyone’s approval, but the thought of proving himself to Arthur, of being worthy of his praise is enough to have his wild side reined in.

Naturally that didn’t stop Micah from losing it from time to time and wasn’t surprised when his jealousy shot up again as Miss Grimshaw announced Arthur got his own cabin while he shared with the rest of the fellers. And he’d be damned if he had to share a room with Williamson who didn’t stop snoring.

That’s why he found himself huddled in the makeshift stables, choosing instead to wrap himself in his coat and down a bottle of whiskey to wait the night out. He cold planks he was sitting on offered little comfort and the draft in the room had his lip shaking. But at least he wouldn’t have anyone in his hair and he’d be left alone, just the way he liked it.

Of course that didn’t last long when the cranky wooden door was barged open, spooking some of the horses in the opposite end of the room. A broad figure entered the room, blocking most of the door way but that didn’t stop to whoosh of cold air flood into the room, draining even more colour from his face.

It wasn’t until the door was closed and the man stepped closer when he realised it was Arthur.

“Micah? What the hell are you doing in here?”

Arthur sounded surprised, with only a hint of concern in his voice.

“Sleepin’— what the hell ya doing here Morgan?”

There wasn’t much of a response from Arthur, only a quiet noise which was barely heard over the whistle of the wind between the planks. He walked over to the horses, checking over them and ensuring none of them were freezing to death. Micah watched in silence, scared to disturb the man as he patted along Taima’s neck.

It wasn’t until after Arthur had checked over all the horses did he turn his attention to Micah.

Micah watched as Arthur’s gloved hand extended out and offered itself to him, he hesitated before taking before taking it and being pulled to his feet. Arthur’s hand draped over his shoulder which he didn’t realise had shaking in an effort to keep warm, having drunk the remaining whiskey from the bottle.

“Common now, yer gonna freeze in here alone.”

Micah dug his heels into the ground, not allowing Arthur to pull him any further to the door as he tried to hold his voice steady. He’d be damned if he ever let Arthur know just how much he affected him.

“I ain’t sharing a bunk with Williams—“

Arthur tutted, pulling Micah out the door as he pushed him towards his cabin in the snow storm.

“Quit yer yapping, you’re sharing with me and I ain’t having any more folk die tonight. Now let’s go.”

Arthur didn’t utter another word until they were well and truely in his room, wrapped in a blanket that was barely big enough for the two of them. The bed wasn’t much bigger, having been made for one person which was evident by Arthur pressing against Micah’s back in efforts for them to fit. The only thing that kept them apart was the fabric of their jackets, otherwise Arthur would probably hear Micah’s heartbeat which was beating much to fast for his liking.

The uncomfortable silence was broken when Micah cursed under his breath which caused his teeth to chatter and Arthur spoke up.

“Yer still cold, c'mere”

Micah’s breath fell short as Arthur’s hands slid under his coat, resting his hands on his tummy to use his body heat as a source of warmth. In doing so Arthur had moved even closer, ensuring Micah’s back was flush against his chest.

Despite that Micah wanted to protest, to go straight to his default of arguing he couldn’t help but feel as he began to warm up and he slowly relaxed under his hands.

A blush rose high on his cheeks as Arthur also relaxed into their embrace, accidentally letting his hands drift lower until he felt the hard press of Micah’s straining erection against his knuckle.

Micah instantly sucked in a breath, panicking and trying to push his way out of Arthur’s hold.

“Shit Arthur I—“

Micah froze as Arthur gently pulled him back to the bed and rubbed slow circles along his stomach.

“S’alright Micah, I’m not mad…”

Arthur held him close, letting him relax before talking again before he whispered right into the shell of his ear.

“…This what you want? Is this why you’re always staring at me from across camp, why yer always picking fights and asking me to robberies?”

A high pitched noise left Micah as he shivered, feeling Arthur’s hot breath against his ear. His blush deepened as he pushed back slightly into him, whimpering at the feel of Arthur’s own erection pressed against his ass.

Fuck it, he thought as heat pooled in his abdomen and he finally allowed himself to have the one thing he’d been craving for months. He nodded frantically, grinding back onto Arthur’s clothed dick and squirming in his grip.

“Relax boy, gonna give you everything you’ve been waiting for— just be good and you’ll get it”

Micah nodded in agreement, a needy, desperate sound leaving him at the promise of praise. He wanted, no needed to be praised by the man so badly that he’d do anything for an ounce of it from the man.

“Oh god Arthur! I need it, need you. Fuck I can be good I promise.”

He knew he was probably being too loud but apart of him didn’t have it in him to care. He moaned softly as Arthur moved him to roll onto his back, towering over him but ensuring they were still kept under the blanket.

Arthur spent the next ten minutes undressing him without exposing much of his skin to the cold. He unbuttoned the lower buttons of his leather jacket, enough for Arthur to work his fly down and pull one pant leg off. He whined pitifully, grabbing at the lapels of Arthur’s coat in a silent plea for him to undress him properly.

Micah mentally scolded himself at just how desperate he was for Arthur to rip his clothes off and fuck him like a bitch in heat but he knew that wasn’t happening any time soon. Arthur however caught on pretty quickly to what he wanted, it seemed the man knew just what made him tick.

“I know sweetheart, once we’re well and truly outta here I’ll get us a room and we can do this properly.”

Micah’s eyes beamed at the thought of Arthur taking him to a hotel in the future, panting as his mind raced with images of Morgan making him fall apart on his cock for hours on end.

While Micah was busy in his mind, Arthur took the opportunity to retrieve the gun oil from his satchel. It certainly wasn’t the best option but it was their only choice with their limited supplies.

Arthur draped himself back over Micah’s body, kissing at his jaw and nibbling as he coated his fingers. The air was cold, only making the oil feel colder as he slowly dipped his index finger past Micah’s rim.

A devilish grin came to Arthur’s face as he heard Micah sigh and take his finger easily, deciding to work his way up to two sooner than he was expecting.

“You’ve wanted this for a long time haven’t you? I saw you once, bout a week ago. Head down, ass up with three of yer fingers inside you while you cried out for me to fuck you. It all clicked in my head then when you started acting different around me at camp.”

Micah flushed a deep red, coughing on air as he realised Arthur knew about his little crush. He tried to think of an excuse, to weasel his way out of it but his thoughts died in his head when Arthur twisted his fingers, scissoring and stretching him open before adding a third.

Arthur dragged a lip along Micah’s cheek to his lip, ghosting his lips over his before kissing him properly. This time Micah didn’t even try to fight for dominance, opening his mouth instantly for Arthur’s tongue to enter. Instead he sighed into it, pulling his legs to wrap around his waist as his hands wrapped around his lover’s shoulder.

It went on like that until Arthur was satisfied that Micah was well prepped enough, simultaneously rubbing against Micah’s prostate while he kissed him deeply. He only pulled away to pull his own leaking member out, bunching his pants around his thighs so he had enough room to move but could stay warm. He coated the rest of the oil onto his member, jerking slowly as he stared down at the sight of Micah below him.

Micah looked like an absolute mess against the pillows already, his face was flush and the scarf around his head had unwrapped slightly, revealing his disheveled blond hair. His chest was heaving as he panted and his thighs shook from pleasure as the weakly wrapped around his waist.

“You look so pretty like this sweetheart”

To say that Micah hated the pet name was a lie, one that he didn’t try deny as he moaned softly. His back arched and he gripped Arthur’s coat tightly as he felt his cock slide between his cheeks and over his hole. He’s wanted this for so long now and yet somehow it still didn’t quite feel real as his mind was clouded with arousal.

Micah’s toes curled and he moaned when he felt Arthur push into him, slowly inching forward until he felt him bottom out.

“Ah— ah! Oh Arthur fuck! Please fuck me, I’ll be good I swear.”

Micah practically sobbed with pleasure as Arthur set up a fast pace, pulling almost all the way out till just the tip was left inside his tight hole before pushing back in quickly, brushing his prostate in the process. His cock twitched from where it rested against his tummy, pinned between Arthur’s jacket which caused a string of moans to fall from his mouth.

“Look at you, so good for me— fucking perfect Micah. Such a good boy”

Arthur’s hands came to hold onto Micah’s hips for leverage, pulling on his slight muffin top under the jacket to help pull him back to meet his thrusts. Beneath him he heard Micah whine and whimper at the praise so desperately needed to hear.

Micah bought a finger up to his mouth, biting on his knuckle to silence any more noises he deemed to be pathetic from slipping out of him. He hated how close he already was just from being praised by Arthur.

It seemed Arthur wasn’t having any of it when he pulled his finger away from his mouth before kissing him like he had done not that long ago. He swallowed every one of Micah’s noises, mindful of Dutch sleeping next door and slowing his thrusts to something deeper and slower.

His hands roamed all over Micah’s clothed body, breaking away for air and whispering praises down his ear.

“That’s it, make those pretty noises for me sweetheart.”

Micah eye’s rolled into his head as he cried out.

“You’re mine, all for me— my good boy.”

More moans slipped from his lips.

“Atta boy— taking me so well, so good.”

His back arched and he withered in his embrace

“So eager to please aren’t you? I’ll take care of you now boy.”

“—Arthur! I’m close— Ah, I’m gonna—“

“Go on sweetheart cum for me…that’s it good boy.”

Micah’s whole body when rigid as he finally came. His mouth hung open, tongue lolling out as his orgasm dragged out with each thrust Arthur delivered, eager to chase his own.

He collapsed into the pillow, thighs shaking as he whined at the oversensitivity. It didn’t last long before Arthur’s thrusts changed pace to something more erratic, picking up the pace as he spilled his load inside him.

Arthur groaned into his neck, pulling him close and collapsing into him as he regained his breath.

He pulled out slowly with a wet and obscene pop, sitting up and helping Micah put his clothes back on. Micah only weakly managed to fiddle with the button on his jacket while Arthur gently manhandled his jelly-like limbs to fit back into his pant leg. He used the blanket to wipe the cum off his tummy, a weak attempt at cleaning up and something they would both no doubt regret come tomorrow morning but for now they were keen to sleep after such a horrific and chaotic few days.

Arthur pulled Micah into their original position for the night, the only difference being that his face was now tucked into his chest. Arthur rested his chin of Micah’s head, littering his hair with kisses as he played with his hair between his rough fingers.

Micah was the first to fall asleep, curled up with his forehead against Arthur’s collarbone. Arthur wasn’t far behind him either, finally letting himself get some much needed rest but not before he pressed a soft kiss to his hairline.

#morbell #micah bell #arthur morgan

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the-huntress · 3 years ago

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Little Moth - Chapter 1 - The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning

[Hi guys, welcome to my fanfiction. This is a Resident Evil inspired fanfiction, I wanted to incorporate a number of my favourite characters, and especially our beloved Magnet Daddy. Slow burn, soft smut impending, beyond that who knows… But to be safe I will say that this is for 18+ years of age only. Let me know if you’d liked to be on a tag list for future chapters. Masterlist is pinned. Thank you to everyone that has read so far. <3]

Masterlist

Trigger Warnings: Mention of menstruation, swearing.

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg [18+]

Summary:

Your lifelong friend, Leon Kennedy, has mysteriously gone missing two years after the events of Racoon City. You make a discovery that could lead to his whereabouts; dare you enter the Village?

[Photos are my own] You weren’t sure exactly what you were looking at for a moment, arching your back forwards over the desk in the dimly lit room, the glare from the laptop the only source of light. Several windows had been left open on the screen, and despite the turmoil that Leon’s apartment had been left in, this was what had really grabbed your attention.

The most notable of which was a photo, the resolution was grainy, a scan from a black and white film photo, it looked almost like a foetus, but you couldn’t be sure. Was somebody pregnant? It was almost akin to the sort of photograph that expecting parents would show at a baby shower, but this was… different. You had a feeling of impending doom just by looking at this thing.

Next, another very grainy photo of a town, it almost looked like some of the places from back home in England; a church steeple, a castle or maybe a mansion in the distance? A quaint looking village in the snow. And lastly, a very cryptic email;

10/10/2000

Leon,

Know not what I have done, but what I believe must be done now.

Half of the results of good intentions are evil; half of the results of an evil intention are good.

You have the information that you need, please make haste.

A friend.

Well, that’s ambiguous as fuck. You thought to yourself, pushing the chair back and pulling the lighter from the little band on the side of your cap. You reached to your shoulder and cursed. That’s right, you’d given up, “for health reasons”. Putting the lighter back you reached instead for your camera, a notepad and a pen. You’d been tempted to just take the laptop and the scattered papers, but after several years in the police you knew it was beneficial to leave things as they were. Your eyes flitted from paper to paper, taking notes of numbers, flights, times, place names, anything that you could until you’d filled a couple of pages. One page for practical info, and one page, now that you looked at it almost sounded like a fairy tale;

A village, four kings, four lords, and a mysterious ‘Mother Miranda’. You bit the end of the pen and pondered. It was like nothing you’d ever heard of before, what had he got himself into…

Several days ago you had received a text from the man himself;

‘Y/N I am going to be out of

town for a while, something has

come up. Please don’t worry,

will explain soon. Leon. X

P.S. I’ve left Timesplitters in

your mail box, play you again

when I get back! :] ’

And now here you were. You scoffed knowing he’d have had to pay double to send that one, but he was mad to think that you wouldn’t worry, he was like a brother to you, hell, the only family that you had. After a childhood growing up in rural England you had moved to the states with your father and stepmother when you were in those vulnerable years of your teens during the early 90s, but were lucky enough to have met Leon in school. The two of you had become best friends quickly, and even graduated from the same police academy. It was Leon that saved your butt two years ago when all hell broke loose in Racoon City, him and Claire.

You shifted on the collapsible chair in front of the usually neatly tidied desk which was now strewn with various papers and articles. Your thoughts of Claire continued, and you pulled out your Nokia, opened a message and then faltered. It was late. Later than late you realised, seeing the time; 02:08 AM. What am I doing? You didn’t want to wake her, so you put the phone back into the pocket on your belt.

You swept a strand of your hair behind your ear, the outgrown bangs jumping back in the way and you blew at them irritated. You heard a grumble and moaned, looking down at your stomach. Padding across the shiny, tiled floor you left the desk and headed to the kitchen, opening the fridge where you knew there would be left-over pizza. Sure, it was from over a week ago when you were last here hanging out, but hey, it’s pizza, right?

‘Ugh dude, always with the anchovies, why?’ you mumbled, flinging a small fish into the bin and mentally backhanding the back of Leon’s head. Of course, it was his side of the pizza that was left over, probably trying to stay in shape in case he bumped into ‘Ada’ again. You weren’t keen, but then, you didn’t trust her. You looked at your phone again, left on the desk besides the laptop, Leon would be much better off with Claire, but sadly you felt perhaps that ship had set sail long ago.

You went to sit yourself back down at the desk. CRUNCH “Shit!” Your eyes darted to your right knee. “Fuck… you’re not giving me a break are you.” Letting out a sigh you closed your eyes for a moment. Since you were a child your knee had given you problems. A few dislocations, hospital visits, insteps, braces and physiotherapy. You’d had to grit your teeth hard through every physical training session during academy, but you’d made it. Fortunately for you it wasn’t something that many people would be able to notice or spot. You could run for miles with no problem; it was the recovery time in the days that followed that was tough. You knew it was getting worse, and had been reading about how much longer you might have before you’d need a full replacement, but you knew that it could jeopardise your job, you knew you’d likely not get put on the jobs that you wanted, and the thought of being put into the office answering calls made your heart sink.

And then you spotted it, the corner of another window was sticking out from under the others, exposing the corner of a third photograph. Instantly recognising the symbol you felt as though you were falling.

“What…”

Dragging the window and clicking it to full screen you could see this photograph clearly; some kind of mural, was it in stone? It looked as though there were four crests, family crests maybe. And at the centre; “Umbrella.” You breathed. You stared at it for several minutes and quickly took a photo of the screen on your camera, no point trying to get that old thing to work, you thought, looking at the printer at the other end of the desk. You couldn’t help but smirk, memories of Leon trying to print page after page of game walk throughs, whilst trying to find all the secrets in your favourite action/ adventure game, and laughing your head off at him, mouthful of noodles spilling back out into the carton as a hundred pages shot out at him, flying all over the room with cheat codes for a scantily dressed version of the playable character.

You looked at the clock again, time to go. If you were going to do this, you needed sleep and to get going as soon as you could the next day. It might drain your bank account, but it would be worth it. You didn’t have a good feeling about any of this, and more often than not, your gut instincts were right. Grabbing your R.P.D jacket at the door, you took one last glance at the room. It really did look like a whirlwind had hit it, not like Leon when he was in a better mental state at all. You knew that when he wasn’t his best he’d reach a for a drink and then some, but you could see that nothing was broken, and it was mostly clothes scattered, some bits of equipment and where he’d clearly got the luggage bag down from on top of the wardrobe. Nothing to worry about in regard to kidnap or a break in at least; as if that was enough to stop you from worrying about whatever lay ahead in this ‘Village’.

It started to rain just as you got into your apartment building, and you smiled. You’d always liked the rain. Stopping to quickly check your pigeon-hole for mail and seeing nothing you felt something press up against you calf, rubbing itself against the tops of your boots. You looked down and grinned, scooping up a slender, black cat in one hand and kissing the top of her head. “I’m going to miss you Boo, keep an eye on my mail for me while I’m gone, you know how crammed that thing gets.” You winked at her as you set her back down outside Mrs. Little’s door and fished a sandwich bag full of the leftover pizza anchovies out of your R.P.D. bag. “You didn’t think I’d forget you, did you?” Leaving Boo hastily munching into her treats you jogged up the stairs, your knee twinged, but it wasn’t too bad. It just had its moments.

Your apartment was pretty standard for this part of the city; both you and Leon had left Racoon city some time ago, though it wasn’t far from here. It had been destroyed and bordered off and that was all there was too it. You had to tell it to yourself that way to cope. Leon’s apartment was slightly swankier, but then again, he did like his gadgets and liked to keep things tidy, when his thoughts weren’t somewhere else. You on the other hand were happy to know that while everything had its place, sometimes that place would be on the floor… next to the thingy and nestled safely under a cereal box; and that was okay! You picked up the thingy, and looked at it fondly, before folding it up and putting it away with the others.

Stretching and yawning you looked around you, making a mental note of what needed to be done; pack, shower, sleep. You’d get the tickets the next day, and some money too, you’d have to stop off at the currency exchange. What currency did they even use there? Equipment, keep it simple; knives, pistol, rounds, lighter, fluid, compass, torch, camera, medi-kit. A couple of spare pairs of clothes, and you had your light armour that also fit into the case. You knew the contents would raise suspicion, but you had your badge, at the end of the day another cop had gone missing, and your team knew too.

You whipped off the remainder of your uniform and jumped in the shower, the bathroom filling up with steam and bubbles quickly and you sang along to a few songs on the radio. Wiping the mirror to see yourself more clearly you felt all your insecurities flood to you at once, as well as seeing yourself for the natural beauty that you were. You pursed your lips, staring into your own eyes and promised you’d find him safe and bring him back. He’d yell at you for going in the first place, but you knew this wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right. Traipsing out from the bathroom, you felt the cool air attack your flushed skin. You liked it, you were always a window open kind of person, no matter the weather, the fresh air just soothed you. Of course, that meant the odd moth now and again, like now as you heard the tiny body plummet time and time again against the spherical glass shade of the dim lamp besides your bed. Snuggling up into the loose blankets you smiled at the little creature and pulled the cord on the lamp, smiling again as you felt the moth settle on the side of your head.

After that you actually fell to sleep very quickly. It had been a long day after all; a 6AM start, patrol, arresting some juvies for petty crimes, followed by yet another zombie scare, (false alarm thank God), before filing up all the paper work and heading to Leon’s. Sleep fell like a veil of cool clouds, taking you in and raising you up into the inky blue skies of the night. The next thing you knew, you were butt naked in a dark green forest, dew drops shining on moss like a trillion tiny emeralds. Mist hung thick in the air, and thousands of tiny moths flew up from the ground? No. From you. You were raising your arms up to the skies, the moss covered forest floor moist under your bare feet and between your toes. Behind you the silhouette of a deer… antlers, but much, much taller. In front of you a pair of cold silver-gold eyes in the dark. You felt drawn, ever so drawn, taking one step forward, and then another, your arms coming down now, hands outstretched in caring caress, your heart swelled, your lips bloomed, taking in a short breath, and then; blood. Gushes of it, soaking into the moss, reddening Earth’s green carpet, and dripping down the trunks of the trees, the moths falling from the air around you, their wings sticking and stopping in the thick, red mess.

“Shit!” You fell back down onto your bed, several items around you also crashing down. Hand to your head, you looked wildly about. It happened again. Whatever had fallen this time had been heavy. You turned to see half the cutlery that had been lying on the kitchen tops now on the floor, and the knives and pistol that you’d placed earlier on top of the luggage bag were now in the middle of the floor. A sudden feeling of loneliness washed over you. The same dream, but longer, and this time with blood. “Shit” again, you put a hand to your pants, pulled the covers back and saw red. “Well, that’s one more thing I need to bring with me.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes, and throwing yourself back onto the bed.

Song Suggestion: ‘The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning’ by The Smashing Pumpkins

#resident evil #resident evil fanfic #resident evil smut #resident evil 8 #resident evil 2 #resident evil village #leon kennedy #Karl Heisenberg #mother miranda #resident evil heisenberg #karl heisenberg fanfic #karl heisenberg fluff

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southparkxreader · 4 years ago

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title: home is where the heart is. pairings: christophe delorne x reader x gregory of yardale. tropes: mutual pining, always away for work, excited hellos and hesitant goodbyes. note: this probably turning into a series ? most likely. anyway, constructive feedback is always welcomed ! i will admit this is a little lackluster, but my first imagines always are on ( my ) blogs. feel free to send in requests after checking out my pinned post !

“ i can’t believe you’re already back ! “ it’s impossible to hide the excited giggle as the words are spoken, practically bouncing on the spot as you don’t hesitate to throw your body towards the two men. they were taller, so it was a little awkward as your arms were wrapped around the two of them and squished in the centre - but it doesn’t stop your spirits and still practically nuzzle in their sides, gregory stood there, usual charming grin planted on face as one arm wraps around you, squeezing your side; a complete opposite reaction to what christophe had, who offered a fake huff of annoyance at your attitude - though you knew him, knew him well enough that you can see the small ghost of a smile that pulled in the corner of his lips that hid behind the unlit cigarette “ i thought you guys weren’t meant to be back for a couple more months ! “

“ we weren’t, however we managed to finish the job and thought it would be a nice little surprise “ pressing a kiss at the top of your head, nose remaining buried in the crown of your hair as eyes slip shut. their work was mentally draining, it was nothing but destruction and death - which granted, is what he signed up for, it’s what he’s good at : both he and christophe were the best at the job which is why they together were always away and spread thin with how many people required their assistance, however it doesn’t make it any less draining. but knowing that he had you to come back to ? it always made it that little better “ it appears that was the right decision to make - “

“ oui, you’re like a little puppy “ voice deep, teasing, you don’t miss the faint coo behind the tone which causes your face to flare up red, a deep blush coating cheeks that had the french mans eyes gleaming at the reaction gained, which only eggs him “... loyal and waiting at home for the masters to return - now, if the puppy could let us in - “ you make a noise of embarrassment, elbowing the man in the stomach in retaliation at the comments made, it also made you painfully aware that the three of you were just stood in the middle of the hallway for the world to see - you briefly thank that exam season was closing in and most people were rushing by or locked up in their dorms, studying until their eyes hurt, completely oblivious to your existence and your friends.

“ i hope you know that i hate you - “ moving to the side to allow them into your flat, nose twisting up as christophe took your chin between his fingers - not missing the murmured, ‘of course you do’ under his breath as he passed by. the smile on your face doesn’t ease, back of your hand pressing against your mouth as to try and ease the pain in cheeks ( and to hide the growing redness on your face that made you look like a strawberry, it always annoyed you how easy it was for the pair to get under your skin. )

“ we weren’t interrupting anything, were we ? “ gregory hummed, seeing the revision sheets scattered over the floor: an organised mess only you can understand, even then you had moments of not understanding a thing that was going on “ i’d hate if we intruded on your studying “

“ no please interrupt, if i don’t get a break i’m going to have a breakdown - “ you look back at the two of them standing in the middle of the living room, watching the way christophes neck craned to the side as his back stretched, removing his shovel from its usual place on his back, you never understood how casually he carried that thing around, the looks gained was always something that amused you without fail. clicking the kettle to make them their favourite beverages : tea, one sugar. coffee, black and no sugar. you wished your memory was as good in classes as it was remembering the pairs favourite things.

“ you better be lookin’ after yourself “ the way christophe spoke always sounded like an underling threat, “ you are, aren’t you ? “ his eyes are dark, a protective light to them that had you almost hypnotised on the spot - how you managed to get him, of all people, to give a shit about you always made you a little winded. christophe and gregory are so intense in everything they do, with every emotion they felt : the way they care was no different.

you opt to busying yourself as you pull out three cups from the upper cupboards, trying to act as if the intense stare didn’t make you waver on the spot, smile falling a little as your eyebrows crease together. there’s no point lying to them, they’ll call you out eventually “ as well as i can be “ now making the beverages, peaking up as you see christophe and gregory sit opposite you on the counter “ i’m just trying to get through this year at this point. i might have to add another year, but forget about me - “ sliding their respective cups across “ how was the trip ? “ you know they can’t say much regarding their work, despite how much you’ve pressed in the past - but you knew it was... less than legal. the less you know the safer you are, they had once said when you were still in the early days of knowing them, you knew to read the room and move on : to understand that their life was chaotic and violent, had seen enough that would bring the modern day man on the streets to his knees. you’re just happy that they trust you enough to stick around to even hint what they do, you’re happy just to provide them a safe place to return to.

“ i went to this charming little art museum when the moment allowed it, you would’ve loved it, ( y/n ) - “ “ more proof that ‘zis british bitch is a pussy, every time you talk i realise there’s no dick between your legs - “ “ do you think about whats between my legs a lot, dear christophe ? “

it was then all chaos broke out, them arguing between themselves in between sharing information about what they saw, you trying and failing to hold in the laughter over the rapid fire insults that was shared between the two men, you have no idea how long you were stood there and they were sat, speaking about nothing and everything, joking and biting insults that were filled with nothing but love but still with the intention to get it under the others skin. though just like always, the burning question of how long they’ll stay this time is in the back of your mind. you wished they stuck around, that their work didn’t drag them across the world for months, sometimes years at a time - but you never let them vocally know, and if they can see the way your face falls when they say they’re back in town for only a few days, they don’t mention it. you love them, and they loved you just as much : which is why none of you dared to confirm the emotions in the air, dare not make the roots already growing that much stronger. their lives were unpredictable and you couldn’t handle a world such as theirs, you didn’t deserve to be introduced to what their normal lives were for what they’d call selfish reasons. right now, they had you to come home to, and that was enough.

#christophe delorne x reader #gregory of yardale x reader #south park x reader #south park imagines #southparkxreader

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tehrevving · 3 years ago

Text

Stop and Stall What’s Safe

When a stray bullet ricochets, Dante doesn't know how to save you. With a last ditch effort, he remembers how the bruises on your skin used to heal after sex, and just prays that it works.

Dante x Reader (Reader is neutral but can get pregnant), Gunshot wounds, Angst, Masturbation.

I had a little bit to drink, and was in mood. So this is like, angst but with a crack premise.

I don't know what to say about this apart from that Reader gets shot, Dante doesn't know what to do and ejaculates on the wound to try and heal it. That's it, That's the premise. Enjoy lol.

Dante’s heart is still racing, even though it’s been hours. You’ve been asleep on his chest for a while now and even though you’re breathing and warm and alive, his head just won’t stop spinning. It had been his fault. He’d almost lost you because he was too fucking stupid to think about the consequences of his own actions. He was terrified, lost in his own thoughts with no idea how to go about not making the same mistake again.

He’d never liked involving you in his line of work, even though of course sometimes he didn’t have a choice. It’s not like he could always keep his lives separate. Dangerous creatures often decided to try and invade his home that he shared with you, though luckily they never seemed to attack while he was away. They would always wait for him to appear before they made their move, he was never sure why, but he was thankful for it.

In general though, in a fight, you knew what to do. You would hang back, away from the battle, arming yourself with one of the numerous weapons that were stored underneath his desk, or under your desk, or behind some of the artwork. So when a bunch of low tier fucking assholes decided to disturb the peace today, it had all gone according to plan. To start with anyway.

He’d been fighting them, dispatching the weak ones easily. They were never a match for him anyway, but especially not when he was showing off for his mate. It had been easy, he hadn’t been concerned, or worried at all, until a Chaos had sauntered its way into the office.

Dante knew that they were fast, far faster than you as a plain old human would be able to handle. So he’d focused his attention on it, trusting you to dispatch any of the small fry if they managed to get close. He’d tried the usual strategy, shoot to stun, and then tear it limb from limb once those sharp spikes were no longer a factor.

He’d never had to consider the enclosed space before though, while fighting something so fast, so high powered. He’d aimed properly, got it in his sights right in between the eyes. He’d waited until he’d thought the timing had been perfect, but even though he liked to think so, Dante wasn’t perfect.

He hadn’t been able to anticipate the way that the creature had moved, the way that it had shifted slightly and thrown his marksmanship off. That the piece of shit would shift slightly, throw off his aim, that the thing would start rolling, moving its spines so fast that no bullet would have a hope of reaching it. He never expected the angle at which his bullet would ricochet off it’s shining carapace at full speed. Dante never fucking anticpated that any devil hell bent on destroying him would be smart enough to deflect his weapons straight into your god damn body.

He’d watched it happen in slow motion, the bullet deflect and start to turn in your direction. He’d seen your eyes widen, but he’d not been fast enough to do anything. Dante had watched as you crumpled to the floor as his stray bullet hit you, he’d watched it part your flesh, and embed itself deep within your abdomen.

Fuck, he’d been overtaken by an all consuming rage, he’d never felt anything like it before. It was like he wasn’t himself anymore, like his subconscious was moving without permission from his physical body. The entire world around him slowed down as he lost control. He wouldn’t have been able to recall exactly what he had done if you’d asked him, but every single damn devil in the building had been destroyed by his hand within an instant.

The Chaos was the last to go down, the ultimate subject of his rage. He moved faster than it could react to, his claws ripping it to absolute shreds. It didn’t even get a chance to shriek before it hit the ground, dead, and his entire focus shifted to you.

Dante was by your side seconds after you’d taken his deflected bullet, surrounded by the shrieks of dying devils around him. He grabbed your body before you hit the ground, lying you down carefully onto your back. You had looked up at him, with shock and horror and fear in your eyes, before immediately pressing your hand to the blood pouring from your abdomen. He’d expected to see disgust, or hatred, because he was the one that did this to you, but instead, you’d just been terrified.

He hadn’t known what to do, he’d just panicked, his entire mind wiped blank. You’d started speaking, throwing him out of the haze that had threatened to overwhelm all of his senses. “Bandage,” you’d said to him, snapping him out of his stupor. “Dante. Pressure on the wound.”

So he had torn the shirt he was wearing to pieces, the fabric didn’t matter in the slightest. He’d ripped the material from his front, wrapping it around his hand. He didn’t know how much pressure to use, how much pressure humans needed, so when he pressed the fabric against your slick abdomen, it didn’t seem to do anymore.

“Harder,” you’d barked at him, and so he pressed down with the sort of pressure that might have bruised you on a normal day. He didn’t know what to do, he could feel your blood pouring out from the wound, even through the layer of fabric bound around his palm.

You were surprisingly calm, or maybe you were just in shock. He didn’t know how being in shock felt, or what this much pain might actually feel like. He could be cut in half and recover from it a trace of a scar of course, do he had no frame of reference. “Is it bad?” you had asked him, and he hadn’t known how to reply.

“Did it hit any organs? I can’t feel anything,” you’d asked him, and in the moment he had ignored the way that a small amount of blood had bubbled up from your throat to your lips while you’d spoken, but now that it’s all over, he can’t help but imagine the whole fucking thing in vivid detail.

He’d tried to think. He knows when his own organs are compromised, it’s a slightly different feeling, but as he’d looked down at you, he’d realised he doesn’t know how to map his own experiences to your body. You’re so much smaller than he is, and you have more organs in your abdomen than he does, don’t you? “I don’t know,” is what he finally manages to say, because he doesn’t know how else to respond.

“Call an ambulance,” is what you’d said next, but as he’d looked around the shop, and at the carnage his own enraged demon had caused, he knew there was no way anyone would be able to get to you.

“I can’t. Fuck. I can carry you. I can fly,” he’d said, panicked, desperate. He’d tried to move you, but you had screamed in pain, a sound that he’d never heard before, a sound that tore him in half all the way down to his soul. He’d immediately put you back down, but even then, your screaming hadn’t stopped.

His entire hand had been wet, your blood welling up around his crappy shirt. He was going to lose you, because he didn’t fucking know human first aid, because he hadn’t fucking thought about his actions and shot a firearm in an enclosed space, against something that could easily deflect bullets at insane speeds. “What do I do?” he’d asked you desperately, but you hadn’t replied. You’d been in shock, and Dante doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how pale your face was. He’d started crying and he hadn’t even noticed. He hadn’t known what to do.

“I don’t know how to stop the bleeding.” He’d been distraught. He knows the basics, but not how to save you. The pitiful fabric of his shirt had been dyed completely red, and he knows it’s not absorbing your blood anymore, there’s just too much of it.

He’d pulled his hand away, just to get a look at your wound. It had been bad. The blood wasn’t stopping, and he could see your insides, his bullets are much more powerful than a normal calibre, even a ricochet. He’d willed himself to think as he’d felt your breathing start to slow, and felt your life starting to drift away. Fuck. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

His brain for some reason, had decided to fixate on when you’re first gotten together. When he hadn’t been able to control himself, and he’d left bruises on your skin. He’d noticed the bruises, felt guilty about them, but then suddenly they’d started disappearing once the two of you had decided to become exclusive, and stopped using condoms, and started pulling out and spilling himself on your belly instead. He remembered the bruises returning though, once you’d confirmed that birth control would still work on his half devil spunk, and he stopped pulling out.

It had been stupid, and a fucking long shot. But he hadn’t known what else to do, and your lips had been turning blue right in front of his eyes. He hadn’t know how the fuck he’d planned to manage it, but as he’d pressed down on your abdomen with slick fingers, he’d started struggling to undo his fly with the other.

It had felt wrong, so fucking wrong, as he’d pulled out his cock. He hadn’t been hard, but there had been no other options. He’d started stroking himself, and of course nothing had happened, arousal had been the last damn thing that his panicked mind was expecting.

He couldn’t keep looking at you, watching the life drain from your face. He’d shut his eyes, imagined you teasing and encouraging him. He’d imagined the way you would bite your lip and look up at him through your lashes while egging him on.

It had started to work eventually, but he was so worried it wasn’t fast enough. His dick had started to rise and for the first time in his life, as a virile and overeager half devil, he’d wondered if he could ejaculate at half mast.

He’d pulled out all the fucking stops, because he hadn’t known what else to do. He’d pressed down on your wound with one hand, trying to block out the feeling of your heartbeat starting to slow while he stroked himself.

He’d twisted his hand on the tip of his dick, stroking loosely and then putting pressure on the base, before moving back up. Of course he knows how to get off, but it’s completely different under pressure.

It had been a struggle, but the longer that he had kept his eyes closed and pretended, the easier that it had gotten. It had become easier to convince his penis that this wasn’t a life or death situation, that he was just casually jerking off and not using it as a last ditch attempt to save your life.

He’d gotten there eventually, though all of his progress had almost been ruined when he had to lift his sticky palm from your flesh. The wet sound had broken his heart. He hated the way that he could hear your laboured breathing start to bubble up from your lungs when he released the pressure.

He’d just hoped that this would fucking work.

Dante had taken his dick in hand, lined himself up, and with a terribly reluctant moan, shot his seed all over your wound. He’d tried his best to hold back tears as he watched the white settle over the red staining your skin, watching with bated breath, wishing for anything to happen.

He’d been able to see it right in front of his damn eyes, that his cum was slowly disappearing, sinking into your wound and reducing the amount of red. He’d watched as the bleeding had gradually stopped, and as your skin began to knit itself back together.

He’d waited with baited breath, watching as every trace of what had just happened disappeared from your skin, within moments there wasn’t even a scar on your abdomen. The only evidence remaining being your blood staining your skin, and his hands and the floor, and the tears streaming down his face.

He’d pulled you to his chest, begging for you to wake up, wiping his eyes on your hair. The office had been a disgrace, was still a disgrace. There was blood everywhere, sticky stains from where he’d ripped the damn devils apart, and of course your own life essence, staining the floorboards by his desk.

Eventually you had stirred though, eyes disorientated and unfocused. You had been in no state to do anything for yourself, but he didn’t care. He’d carried you against his chest, washed the blood off of your now healed skin, and off his own and then gotten you into bed.

You’d been exhausted and incoherent, immediately curling up against his chest and falling asleep, but his mind couldn’t stop racing. He’d been so fucking close to losing you and he hadn’t even known what to do to give you a fighting chance.

His last ditch effort had been disgusting, even though it had worked, and he’s horrified with himself. Repulsed by the fact that he’d even considered it, but horrified by the fact that he’d actually been able to get off to you dying. It makes him reconsider everything.

Dante knows that he won’t sleep at all tonight, but that’s okay. He had to watch over you, and make sure that you don’t stop breathing, that nothing else happens to you. He cries again, his face pressed to the pillow to try and muffle the sounds so that he doesn’t wake you. He vows that he’s going to be better, that he’s going to learn how to save your goddamn life next time, no matter what it takes, and that he’s not going to let anything like this happen again.

#dante x reader #dante #dmc #dmcv #rev writes #my writing

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fific7 · 4 years ago

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Dangerous and Divine - Part 16

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly fluff & lemon zest 🍋 The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to mentions of sex. Some drinking & swearing.

(My GIF)

So... after your heart-rate slowed back down to normal, you realised that, no matter how much you possibly empathised about Billy dropping her, there was no way you were going to sit back and let Madani keep coming after your man. She’d have a fight on her hands, that you could promise her.

You were trying to concentrate on your paperwork, you really were. But your mind kept circling back to Madani. Coming to a decision, you stood up and grabbed your things. Making your way downstairs, you walked through the café, stopping to let your team know that you’d be out for a while.

Getting on the subway, you made your way to Homeland HQ and asked the receptionist if you could speak to Agent Madani, specifying that you’d meet her there in Reception. You weren’t going to meet her in private, that was for damn sure. The receptionist made a call, then asked you to take a seat.

After a fifteen-minute wait, Madani and her heels came clicking their way over to you. Her eyebrows were presently in a permanently raised position. Standing up, you nodded to her and forced yourself to say civilly, “Good morning, Agent Madani.”

She nodded back at you, lips pursed. “You realise that approaching me while you have an active complaint against me is not correct procedure.”

Shrugging, you replied, “About as correct as you approaching Billy and asking him to meet you.” She flinched back, and you realised she didn’t think he would’ve told you. You carried on, “Agent Madani, this has got to stop. I feel you’re just going to keep on contacting him regardless, and you’re just going to keep getting rejected.” She opened her mouth to reply, but you held up your hand, “Hear me out, please. Look, I get it, I really do - you thought you might have something going for you with Billy. Then you find out he’s met someone else and he drops you. And I’m sorry about that. I wouldn’t be happy about that if it happened to me.”

She glanced round quickly to check there was no-one within earshot, before glaring back at you, but you carried on nevertheless, “I know you don’t believe this, but Billy and I do have a relationship, a real relationship - and yes, it’s all happened very quickly but sometimes that’s just how things do happen.” Folding her arms across herself, she huffed and said, “You’re right I don’t believe it. Billy Russo is the biggest damn player in New York City and if you think you’ve tied him down, you’re more of a fool than I thought. A damn naive, stupid, oblivious little fool.”

You nodded, “Uhuh... well, I thought a woman-to-woman talk about it might help, but I guess it’s obvious where you stand, and you’re not budging.” You started moving away, “Well, if I’m a fool then fine! - I’m a fool. That’ll be my problem to sort out. Bye, Agent Madani.” Turning, you made your way out of the building without a backward glance.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was slowly swinging from one side to the other in his chair. His head was lying back against the headrest and his eyes gazed up at the ceiling. He was daydreaming about his girl, something he found himself doing more and more often these days. Thinking back to his visit to her office that morning, a slight smile curved over his lips. He loved it when she initiated sex. Not only did it give a big boost to his male ego - that he couldn’t deny - but it made him go all soft inside. To him, it meant that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, meant it wasn’t him starting things all the time. That’s what he was used to, after all. He’d always been the one in control.

He chuckled to himself, what in the fuck was happening to him? He was turning into a big gooey mess of a man. Shaking his head, he stood up and wandered over to the glass wall, looking down onto the training area below. He’d better get a grip of himself or one of the newbies would get one over on him, and he couldn’t have that.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You made it back to Chelsea shortly after your unproductive meeting with Madani. Slamming your office door behind you and flouncing over to your desk, you plopped down into your chair, dropping your bag down beside you.

That obtuse bloody woman!!! And she called you a fool! Pot and kettle, love, you thought, pot and bloody kettle. Now you were going to have to admit to Billy that you’d also met up with her, and all for nothing - a complete and utter waste of time. Oh well, at least you’d tried. Not your fault she couldn’t see the wood for the trees.

But if she chased after Billy just once more, you wouldn’t be responsible for your actions - Homeland agent or not.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Madani was quietly stewing back in her office. How dare she try to do the sister act thing, ‘I get it, I really do’ .....just who does she think she is?! Miss Bloody Perfect.

She would just bide her time. There was no way on god’s green earth that Billy Russo would stay faithful to her, it just wasn’t happening.

He’d damn well admitted he’d been attracted to her. That was enough for her, to grasp onto that small sliver of hope and hold onto it tight.

And when he did fall off the Faithful Wagon, she’d make sure she was there to see it. And to catch him as he fell.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

After texting Billy to say you quite fancied a Vietnamese takeaway this evening, you went down into the café a little later on and had a long chat with Jake, catching him up on the Scorned Woman Situation. He started making you a macchiato, commenting, “She just really doesn’t get it, does she?” You leant closer to him, saying in a low voice, “The thing is, she’s succeeded in planting a seed of doubt in my head.” “What... about Billy?” You nodded, looking down. “He did have quite the reputation before he met me you know, Jake.”

He nodded, “You said. Are you thinking a leopard can’t change its spots?” You sighed, taking the small cup and saucer from him, “Well, yeah. She keeps saying he won’t stay faithful to me, hell - she even said it to his face! And... it is making me worry, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t. Everything’s fine now, but what if he gets bored? Sees a pretty face out and about somewhere, feels what he says he feels about me for them?”

Jake shrugged, “But that’s the test any relationship faces. You can’t play it out on ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs’. Just gotta go with ‘the here and now’. Don’t you?” Nodding, you sipped your coffee before laughing, “What you say is true, oh Yoda.” He laughed, “I am wise beyond my years, little one!” You heard the café door opening behind you, and Jake chuckled, “And talk of the devil...!” Turning your head, you saw Billy homing in on you, big smile on his face and eyes glued to you. Jake whispered, “That looks like a pretty faithful doggy to me!”

You subtly elbowed him, before fully turning to Billy and smiling back. “Hello, handsome,” you greeted him, and you were surprised to see Billy’s face go a slight shade of pink. “Hi, beautiful,” he said back, before leaning down and kissing you shyly. His hand slid down your side and took hold of your fingers, lacing his with yours, eyes gazing into yours. Okay, you thought, I know I’ve been ribbing him about being a big sap but this is a whole new level of sappiness.

You drained the last of your coffee, and said to Jake, “I’m taking off now, Jakey boy, you OK to close up?” He mock-bowed, “But of course, my Princess.” You caught an irritated look on Billy’s face and smiled to yourself, he really was a jealous ass. With or without good reason.

You nipped back upstairs to get your things and when you came back down, you saw Jake and Billy almost facing off against each other, eyes glaring. What the....? You walked quickly over to them, “Hey, guys?” They broke eye contact, Jake looking embarrassed as he met your eyes, “Uhh... have a nice evening.” You swung round to Billy, who was studying his shoes with great interest. “Okay, Jake - thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Billy’s head came up, “No! She won’t be in tomorrow.”

“What? Now, Billy, you know I’m always in the cafés on Saturday mornings,” you said with a hint of warning in your voice. He looked back at Jake, “I’ve got plans for tomorrow. You can cope, can’t you?” Jake bristled, “Of course I can!” Billy looked back at you, “See? All under control. Just for once, have a Saturday off, please sweetheart.” You looked at Jake, who just smiled at you, so you nodded, “OK, just this once, Russo.” Billy smirked in triumph and took your hand, pulling you along with him towards the door as you waved at Jake.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy almost dragged his girl out of the café, before that bastard Jake could say anything else. Who did that cheeky little shit think he was, trying to give him the “don’t hurt her or you’ll answer to me for it” speech! Her fuckin’ father or something?!

He was seething, but trying to hide it. Once they were both in the car and pulling out into the traffic, she turned slightly towards him, and he could feel her eyes boring into him, “Okay, Russo - spill.”

Sighing, he looked in his rear view mirror as he changed lanes and replied, “Your little pal back there started coming on like your Dad or big brother or sumthin’. Givin’ me the whole “if you mess her around I’ll come after you” spiel.”

Oh Jake, you thought, you numbskull. He meant well but.... obviously Billy hadn’t been impressed. You heaved a sigh and Billy glanced over at you, before making a right turn and swinging the car into his building’s underground parking lot.

“Look, that was my fault,” you said, as he parked up in his space and turned off the engine. He glanced over at you, “What d’ya mean, angel?” he asked as he unbuckled his seat belt, before opening his door and walking round to open yours. “Well... uhh, I went to see Madani this morning.” He was in the process of taking your hand as you got out of the car, but stopped and looked at you, mouth open. “You did what?” You slammed the car door. “Billy! I’m sick of her chasing after you!” He raised the remote and bleeped the car locked.

“Angel, you gotta be careful with her, she’s looking for ammo to fire back at us!” You nodded, “I know that. I met her in Reception so it was in public. I thought I’d try the woman-to-woman chat.” He took your hand in his as you both started walking to the lift doors. “Did it work?” he asked. “No it didn’t! She’s the most obtuse, stubborn woman I’ve come across in a long time.” “Uh-huh, that she definitely is. Tell me what you said to her?” The lift arrived and the doors opened, you and Billy walking into it. “Well, I told her that I got it. She thought she was gonna get somewhere with you, and you dropped her. I said I wouldn’t have been happy either. But that it had to stop, as she was just going to keep getting rejected.”

Billy chuckled, “Oh my, that must’ve gone down well.” You laughed, “She doesn’t believe we have an actual relationship, she said you were the biggest player in NYC and you’d never stay faithful to me. I get the feeling she’s gonna hang around just willing it to happen.” Billy tightened his grip on your hand, stroking your hair with his other hand, then your cheek. Before he could speak, you jumped in with, “And I might’ve admitted to Jake that she’d managed to plant that seed of doubt in my mind.” He closed his eyes, putting his head back against the lift wall. “Angel, please don’t be listenin’ to her bullshit!”

The lift doors opened, and you both began walking along to his apartment door. He suddenly stopped, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you hard. He pulled back, his dark eyes looking pained as he gazed at you, “You know she’s just tryin’ to stir things up between us, don’t you? That’s what she wants, for you to question me and my behaviour, to be suspicious of me, for us to argue.” He kissed you again, before burying his face in your hair, “Well, I ain’t gonna let that happen, sweetheart,” you heard, “....she ain’t gonna come between us. I will be faithful to you, I promise. Don’t want anyone else.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

After a very tasty and spicy Vietnamese meal which Billy had ordered in, you both lazed on the sofa nursing your beers. He was looking at you anxiously every so often, and eventually he burst out, “I swear to you on all that’s holy, I’ll keep it in my pants!” He was gazing at you, eyes wide and deep and dark and full of fear. Yes, fear. You reached over and laid your hand along his bristly cheek, “It’s okay, Billy! I believe you, poppet.” The smirk was back, “Uh, not with the poppet thing again!”

You laughed, “Yes! You’re my big sexy poppet.” Eyebrow wiggle, “Well, when you put it like that,” and your hand was lifted up and then placed under his sweatshirt, onto his lower abdomen, where you could stroke the treasure trail of hairs leading ever downwards to his ‘crown jewels’. “Mmmm,” he smiled, eyes closing, “....you gonna keep going, sweetheart?” You didn’t bother replying, just slid your hand further down and under the waistband of his briefs. You still marvelled at how big and hard Billy got, and you very happily took hold of what was clearly marked as ‘your property’ as far as you were concerned.

You relished the feel of his velvety skin and gave him a couple of very firm strokes, before cupping his balls in the palm of your other hand and squeezing. You were pleased to hear a long, low groan from Billy and looked up at him, seeing that his eyes were tight shut in pleasure.

“So, Billy,” you asked, “...what’re these plans you’ve got that are so important I had to take Saturday off?” He opened his eyes and grinned at you, “Can’t possibly tell ya, it’s a surprise.” You took a much firmer grip of him and his hips jerked forward, “Are you sure about that, Billy?” He laughed nervously, but replied, “Very sure, sweetheart.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo imagine

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stateofloveandnegan · 4 years ago

Text

Alcohol - Eddie Vedder

Could you write an Eddie vedder one shot where he and the Reader argue because the reader has drug problems or bad drinking habits or something like that

it has literally been months to a year since i’ve written a one shot or anything of the sort, so pleaase, bare with me! I do hope you’ll enjoy this and don’t hesitate dropping a request if you’d like an idea of yours to be written by me!

Requested by: anon

Trigger warning(s): alcohol addiction, a bit angsty

It isn’t easy, to have a boyfriend who’s a famous singer in a very famous band. It’s very hard, actually. Sure, he cares for you, he loves you. And the rest of the boys and their partners do, too. But sometimes, the burden of the fame takes its toll on you. Hence why you started drinking in the first place.

The alcohol, it just gives you a better feeling. The feeling of not fully being in control anymore; you like it.

It’s only recently that Eddie’s realised what you’ve been doing. That you’ve been drinking the thoughts and weight away. And he doesn’t really approve, at all.

But every time he mentions something of the sort, you manage to sneak out of the conversation and continue your life as if nothing has happened.

“(Y/N), Eddie’s been looking for you.”

Stone speaks as he finds you in the treehouse. You and Stone built it when you were younger, and Stone knows this is your spot when you want to be alone or have things on your mind.

But, like often these days, he sighs as he sees you. Drunk out of your mind, half asleep on the beanbag you once placed in the house.

With a weak wave of your hand, you brush it off.

“Let him look, I don’t wanna see him now.”

The main reason you don’t want to see him is, well… jealousy. Eddie’s been getting so much attention from other girls and it sucks. It truly sucks.

Deep down, you know it’s not his fault for looking so damned gorgeous and being such a sweetheart. But he doesn’t really know how to handle the attention, so he often just lets the girls say inappropriate stuff, especially towards you.

They’ve said things about you that you wish you’d never heard. They say such mean things out of jealousy. At least you know better than to drag others down, instead you just sulk on your own, with a bottle of whiskey. Or whatever strong liquor you can find.

“No, (Y/N/N/). You’re gonna get up and come with me. You can’t keep doing this.”

But really, who is Stone to tell you what you can and can’t do? Okay, so he is your best friend. More your brother than anything, to be honest. But still, it’s your life and you are old enough to decide what you want to do with your own life. Even if it is messing it up with alcohol.

And so, Stone leaves. He knows he shouldn’t cross any lines with you, especially not if you’re drunk.

Days pass and you’ve been avoiding Eddie like the plague. You know he’ll speak up about it once he sees you. And instead of facing that conversation, you feel like avoiding Eddie and drinking more and more is the better choice.

Sometimes, your mind doesn’t work very logically. Even though, in your head, it makes sense to go for this option instead of facing your boyfriend of a year and a half. It’s the idea that it’d most probably turn into an argument that has you drinking even more.

Just to drown all those annoying voices and thoughts in your mind.

You manage to avoid Eddie for an entire week without him finding you. But then, one night, when you’re sitting in the Tree house once again, three bottles of wine, some beers and a bottle of vodka around you, Eddie comes up.

Feeling your heart clench when Eddie’s face comes into your view. Stone must’ve told him about the spot.

It’s funny, isn’t it? That you and Eddie have been together for over a year and this is the first time he ever sees the tree house. You always made sure to keep it a secret, because everyone needs to be alone every now and then, right? You didn’t want anyone but Stone to know about this place. To avoid moments like these…

Where you desperately want to be alone. But there your boyfriend comes up. And as much as you love him and want to kiss and hug him. You just want to be alone, because seeing him makes the jealousy return and you hate the feeling.

“Stone told me you’d be here.”

He doesn’t sound very pleased. And as you squint your eyes, you can see the look on his face. Which is even more displeased than his voice.

“Babe, c’mere.”

You mumble. Maybe it’ll help to just act like nothing’s wrong?

“Missed you, wanna cuddle…”

Holding your arms out and making grabby hands at him as you have a drunk smile on your face, albeit it being fake.

Eddie takes a moment to look around, letting out a very agitated sigh at the mess of empty bottles.

“Is this your new lifestyle, then? Getting drunk every fucking day and avoiding everything and everyone.”

The tone in his voice stings a bit, it’s harsh. Sighing dramatically as you move to sit up a little, but it doesn’t go without a bit of trouble.

“Don’t act like you never drink, Ed. You’re not a saint, either.”

Your voice now a lot less friendly. Even though you’re rather (very) drunk, you still know pretty much everything you’re saying and it comes out well. Moving to stand up in front of him.

He isn’t much taller, at all. He’s rather short for a guy. But that’s one of the things you love about him, that he isn’t much taller than you. You love his height, you love him. Everything about him.

The words you said to him make him even more annoyed, hand moving up as his finger points at you.

“Don’t pull that shit on me. I almost stopped entirely for you, (Y/N). Because you didn’t like me being drunk so often, and look where we’re at right now? The tables have turned. And for what? Tell me, (Y/N), just please tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

His voice isn’t as angry anymore, more a bit pleading now. He really just wants to know what’s wrong so he can help you. So you can work past this. Even if it won’t be easy.

Taking a step closer to you, he reaches out for your hands, but you push his away, not wanting to be held. Even though you desperately want to be held by him. It’s hard, isn’t it? Not knowing exactly what you want. Wanting two exact opposites at the same time.

“Please talk to me, sweetheart…”

And that’s when you break, the lump that has been in your throat for so long finally too much to handle. Tears form in your eyes and spill without any warning.

“I can’t do it anymore, Eddie! I just can’t… the fame, it’s too much for me.”

His face goes quite pale at that, that isn’t what he expected. Though he knows you’ve always been one to live a quieter life and be more in the background of things. Not for a second did it ever cross his mind that his job, his life was too much for you.

Soon, he grows rather annoyed again. At the way you’ve been acting and the way you suddenly throw this onto him instead of just talking to him like a girlfriend would do.

“So instead of telling me, you avoid me for days, a week!, and become a drunk bitch that doesn’t give a shit about anyone anymore?”

Okay, yeah, he crossed a line by saying that. Shaking your head in disbelief, eyes full of tears, your bottom lip quivering. But no words come out. Your throat is too dry to form any.

Eddie realises he went too far with that, and you can see him opening his mouth to say something. But honestly, with the haze that’s your mind right now, the pain in your heart and the heavy weight of his fame, this is the drop.

“A year and a half, that’s what you just threw down the drain.”

Clumsily grabbing your jacket, you make your way to the exit, but it’s a tree house… and you’re drunk. Getting back on the ground is quite the challenge.

But you manage to do it, without Eddie following you. He knows you, he knows the worst thing to do right now is to follow you. First of all, your emotions are all over the place. Second of all, you’re drunk. You need time to sober up and process it all.

A week passes before you manage to find the courage to face Eddie again, dressed in one of his hoodies as you make your way to the studio you know he’ll be in with the boys.

Breaking up with him was the wrong thing to do, and you’ve signed yourself into rehab to get rid of the addiction. Next week, you’ll leave to go there.

Swallowing thickly, you open the door and make your way inside, soon spotting the band. Most guys smile at you, a bit sympathetically, but Eddie, he doesn’t seem very happy to see you. In fact, there’s barely any emotions on his face, and that’s very unlike Eddie.

Opening the door to the area they’re sitting in, you smile a little before you speak up.

“Hey, Ed, can I talk to you?”

Voice soft and quite vulnerable.

He doesn’t really react, which stings, but you don’t show it. It’s Mike who eventually gives Eddie a push.

“Don’t be a child, go talk to her.”

With a roll of his eyes, he gets up and moves passed you into the hallway. At least there’s some privacy.

Nodding at the boys, you send them a bit of a smile before following Eddie and closing the door behind you.

“I just wanted to say sorry, Ed… I didn’t mean what I said and it was a mistake. I’ve signed myself into rehab, to stop the drinking. And I want to start seeing a therapist about what’s been so hard on me. We can get through this, I promise.”

It’s silent for a moment after you say those words, as if Eddie’s trying to find the right words to say, and maybe he is.

But what he eventually decides to say, breaks your heart into a million pieces.

“I don’t want to be with you anymore. The breakup wasn’t a mistake.”

Your whole world seems to fall apart at those words, eyes looking at Eddie as if he’s turned into a ghost.

“B- But… Eddie, c’mon, it was a mistake. I know I’ve been acting like a bitch and I should’ve talked to you about it, I know that. But I’m going to fix this, I am!”

His expression doesn’t change and he merely shakes his head.

“It’s too late, (Y/N). I realized I’m better off without you.”

Not able to face him any longer, you turn around and make way for the exit, leaving the studio as quickly as you can.

There’s only one place to go to now; the tree house.

Getting into your car, you practically race towards the woods, parking the car at the nearest parking lot before making your way through the trees towards the right one. Climbing up into the house before you let all your walls down. Everything coming out all at once, all the emotions.

You’ve never been so heartbroken before. Feeling like your heart has been stabbed through with a knife.

That night, you fall asleep in the tree house, on the bean bag. Fortunately, you always keep a warm blanket in the tree house in case of emergency. Right now is an emergency.

The next day, you wake up feeling sore and broken. The events of the day before replaying in your head over and over again.

Okay, yeah, most of it is all your fault. You are the one that didn’t cope well with things in the first place. But you’re working on it. Not everyone just signs themselves into rehab. It’s a big step to acknowledge the addiction. And you took that step.

If only you’d known this would happen… then you would’ve done all of this much sooner. Like you should have, anyway.

In the days that follow, you make sure to stay away from any of the boys, not wanting to be confronted by any of the pain. But that’s not a very easy task, since you’re all in the same friend group and such. Their favourite spots are yours, too.

Eventually, much like you tried to avoid, you spot the boys sitting at one of the tables in the bar you always go to.

They don’t spot you yet, so you decide to use that to your advantage, especially when you hear your name being mentioned.

Sitting down at a table nearby, but not close enough for them to notice you, you try to listen to what they’re saying. Mike’s voice comes through first.

“You do realise we’ll be gone on three weeks, Ed? If there’s any chance left to fix things with (Y/N), you need to do it soon.”

They’ll be gone? Where would they go? Before you can think more, you hear Eddie groan, one of those groans that tell you he’s having a hard time thinking of the right thing to do.

“It’s better like this, isn’t it? Us going on tour won’t do her any good. I won’t be around and she needs someone that can support her, especially now she’s going to rehab.”

On tour, that’s where they’re going. They’re going on tour- wait, is that the reason why Eddie acted so cold? Why he said he didn’t want to be around you anymore? Because he wanted to protect you from him being away?

Before jumping into conclusions, you decide to wait a bit longer, ears still entirely focused on the boys’ voices.

“She loves you, Ed, don’t be so fucking dumb. She loves you and she needs you. Of course, it won’t be easy with you two being so far apart, but there’s phones, isn’t there? What if you just call every day? Or as much as you can.”

That was Stone’s voice, oh how you love that boy. Even though he isn’t really a boy anymore. The closest thing to a brother you’ve ever had.

“You love her, don’t you?”

Dave chimes in. Woah, you didn’t know that guy could still talk. But Eddie’s answer distracts you from the thoughts about Dave.

“I do, yeah. It felt so fucking awful to push her away like that…”

Possibly the biggest smile ever enters your face and you can barely contain your excitement. Slowly and carefully standing up, you make your way over to the boys’ table, standing right behind Eddie.

“I suppose we can still work it out.”

Your voice soft and gentle, a small smile on your face as the other boys already look at you, smiling too.

Placing your hands on Eddie’s shoulders, you feel him tense up a little, but then relax. He slowly turns around, those beautiful eyes of his meeting yours.

He swallows, his throat a bit dry from your sudden presence, before he speaks.

“You mean that?”

Nodding, you give him a genuine look.

“If you can forgive me for how I’ve acted, I can forgive you for pushing me away. And if I recall it correctly, I just heard you did it only to protect me. Even though you should have given me the chance to make a decision. I understand why you did it.”

He stands up, taking your hands in his own as he looks deeply into your eyes.

“I love you, (Y/N). but I do think we have to talk about some stuff before we can continue.

“You’re right. Let’s have a chat.”

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bondsmagii · 4 years ago

Text

Here’s something I really can’t explain.

To sum up: I shouldn’t be alive right now. I shouldn’t be writing this. I have no idea how any of this could have happened, but the fact you’re reading this now is kind of living proof that it did happen, so I suppose I’ll try and explain it as best as I can.

A little backstory for you. Way back in the late forties, my great-grandfather was a young man working with the local fire department. He came back after the war and just couldn’t settle into any kind of desk job, so despite my great-grandmother worrying about his mental state he ended up running into burning buildings for a living. Naturally he saw some messed up shit, but nothing haunted him more than a hotel fire that he attended.

At the time there had been an annual prize night for a local grammar school. Hundreds of kids and their families were crammed into the hotel’s large ballroom when a stray match lit up the curtains on the stage. Back in the day they weren’t exactly great about fire safety, and the walls and furniture were panelled or made with highly flammable materials. The whole room went up in minutes. Over one hundred people died, over half of which were children below the age of fifteen. It was an indescribable tragedy, and my great-grandfather – along with every first responder there – was scarred for life over the things he saw that evening.

My great-grandfather did his best to live with what happened, and for the most part he did well, all things considered. All of his grief seemed to be directed towards one little girl, who was never identified or claimed. She was badly burned but not unrecognisable; the theory was that her whole family had died with her, leaving nobody left to notice she was gone. She wasn’t the only person to suffer this fate, unfortunately – all told, five people were never claimed by families – but because my great-grandfather was the one to pull her body from the wreckage, he sort of became obsessed with her. He was preoccupied until his death with finding out her identity, and every year on the anniversary of the fire he visited her grave to lay a wreath. Unfortunately, he died without ever finding out who she was.

Fast forward a few decades, and I’m in my early twenties. My great-grandfather died when I was quite young, so I only had a small idea of this part of his history. It was, however, enough to make me wary of large fires – especially hotel fires. One summer, I’m visiting another city for my younger brother’s university graduation, and I stay the night in a hotel near the city centre. I remember fires were on my mind already, because initially they had tried to give me a room on the twenty-third floor, and I had politely refused and requested a lower floor. (An old maxim of my great-grandfather’s: never stay on a floor where you wouldn’t survive the fall.) Because of the graduation, the hotel was packed, and I ended up on the fifth floor in the end, but I figured it was better than nothing.

The first night was fine. The second night a fire broke out. The hotel had had some electrical rewiring done within the last month, and something went wrong. The fire smouldered for hours, undetected, before spreading into multiple parts of the ventilation system. Smoke and flame was pushed to all corners of the hotel before the fire cut out the power. Later, investigators would discover that the fire burned through the power for the smoke and fire detection alarms almost immediately – yet somehow the fire alarms went off. This is only the beginning of the inexplicable that night.

By the time the alarms woke me, my room was already filled with smoke. I had been drilled on this so many times as a child that it was instinctive for me to roll off the bed and onto the floor; only then did I start to panic. Luckily I had fallen asleep with the curtains open – the only time I had ever done that in a hotel – and the city lights illuminated the room enough to let me know the smoke was only in the top two thirds of the room, and not as thick as it could have been. I had time to crawl into the bathroom, wet a towel, and tie it around my nose and mouth. Then I crawled to the door and lay a hand flat on it. The door was cool, so I cautiously pulled it open.

In the hallway, it was pitch dark. This is the worst case scenario for any fire. Smoke disorientates people, and they feel ill from inhaling it. Panic compounds the confusion. People can get lost in their own homes – hotels are the worst place for something like this. People stand little chance of getting out if they haven’t memorised an exit, and even then it’s not foolproof. I should know. I always memorise exits, but when I went out of my room I turned the wrong way. I don’t know why. I was panicking, I was confused, and I just made the wrong choice. It should have cost me my life.

I realised my mistake as soon as I reached the end of the hall. The door there was propped open (fire safety hazard, I remember thinking, like it mattered at that point) but I could see no flames. The door led to the stairwell, and I had just crawled out onto it when the entire world went black. The smoke and flame had intensified, the fire sucking in oxygen and the smoke being forced up the stairwell like a huge chimney. It spilled over the edges of the landing and enveloped me even hunched on my hands and knees. My eyes began to sting and water; I couldn’t see anything. I crawled back and bumped into the wall, and for several long seconds that felt like minutes, I couldn’t find my way out of the stairwell. The heat was evaporating the water in the towel, and the sheer amount of smoke meant it wasn’t doing much good anyway. By the time I finally made it back out into the hall, I was coughing and choking. Panic made me pull the towel down. I only took the smallest breath before the floor tilted under me and I experienced a horrible rush of lightheadedness – with smoke so toxic, sometimes a breath is all it takes.

I kept crawling, heading back towards my room, now realising my mistake. At that point I was forcing myself to stay calm, but it wasn’t working. I had realised I had probably just gotten myself killed, and it was almost impossible to breathe. The temperature was climbing, and I knew the fire was close. I could hear screaming from somewhere nearby, doors slamming. Every single rational thought had left. I scrambled down the hallway in pure panic, and then I saw the child.

She was hunched down, looking right at me. She wasn’t in any kind of night clothing – she looked like she was still in the clothing she would have worn at the graduation ceremony, a neat little dress and polished shoes, a ribbon tied in her hair. She was perhaps eight years old at my best guess, and seeing her shocked some sense into me. Before I could speak or gesture to the direction she should go, she waved and then pointed.

“Come on, mister,” she said. “This way.”

Together we crawled to the other end of the hallway. Smoke was billowing from that stairwell, too, thick and dark though still not as bad as the other one. Either way it didn’t look good, but the little girl didn’t seem concerned – not even when we crawled out onto the landing, and the orange flicker of flames was visible several floors below.

“No,” I said. “It’ll be too hot.”

“Come on, mister,” she said again.

She began scrambling down the stairs, staying as low as possible. I could hardly leave her, so I followed.

The heat was unbearable, and by the time we were on the floor below, visibility was zero. The smoke was so thick and black that even the flicker of the flames had vanished; the only way I knew how close they were was from the heat and the deafening roar of it. Have you ever been near to a large bonfire? Have you heard how loudly it crackles? That’s nothing. Big fires, they roar. They sound closer to a freight train, a tornado. It’s a sound so loud that it sets off a primal kind of terror, even without the heat and the smoke to add to the danger. What I’m saying is that it’s something that’s very difficult to crawl towards, yet there we were.

I couldn’t see the little girl, but every time I began to panic she would reach back and touch me. The heat grew and I could smell my hair burning, my clothing threatening to catch. The floor was excruciating, and while I didn’t realise it at the time, I was in the process of receiving third degree burns on my hands and knees from the floor alone. I felt faint, the heat making my head pound. It seemed to drain my of my energy, and during those last seconds – as we passed directly past the floor where the inferno was at its worst – I was sure I was running only on pure animal instinct to get away.

Then we descended into the hallway below the fire, and it was all gone. The heat lingered, but it was nothing compared to what it was before. The smoke was hazy grey, high up by the ceiling. The little girl was tugging at me, and I realised I’d collapsed to the ground.

“Quickly, mister!” she said now. “Not far!”

In my pain and confusion, it didn’t occur to me that she wasn’t burned; that she had no difficulty breathing. She tugged hard at my clothing, and while I didn’t know that my clothing was alight at the time, later I remembered and wondered how she had done it. With her prompting and encouragement I made it down the last of the stairs and out into the hotel’s lobby, which was shockingly untouched. Alarms were blaring, but the room was free of smoke and many of the hotel’s employees remained there, grabbing people as they emerged, coughing, from stairwells and hurrying them outside. When I stumbled into the lobby I was immediately tackled by several employees who were, I was later told, beating the flames from me. I had stumbled into the lobby on fire.

I don’t remember anything else. I didn’t have time to mention the girl. I passed out, and was kept in a medically induced coma while my body recovered from serious burns. I very nearly didn’t make it, and when I awoke I had several months of painful operations and skin grafts to go. My hands were badly burned, though the doctors managed to save nearly all my fingers – I’m only missing the little fingers to the first knuckle, and while the scarring is bad I can use the hands well. My knees are badly scarred but functional. My back isn’t pretty to look at, but it doesn’t bother me now, not outside of itching in the heat. I forgot about the girl until just before I was released from hospital, five months later, but to my relief I was told that no children had died in the fire. Whoever she was, she had gotten out safe.

Almost a year later, my grandfather died. He was the son of my firefighter great-grandfather, and when my own father and I were around his house, sorting through his things, we came across some of my great-grandfather’s stuff. Medals, a few old photographs of the family, some letters. My father and I went through the pictures, my father pointing out relatives and telling a few stories here and there. What you would expect from such an occasion, really – but then I found an old picture of a little girl.

I recognised her immediately as the little girl I had seen in the hotel – there was no denying it. The picture was an unpleasant one, taken post-mortem, and while half of her body was badly charred the other half looked as though she could be sleeping. Her hair was the same, the bow singed but present. The dress was the same. I could even still hear how she sounded. Come on, mister! I was so shocked I didn’t say anything. My father looked at it for a long moment, and then he gave a sad sigh.

“I wish he had found out who she was,” he said. “That haunted him. He felt like he failed her.” He took the photo from me and looked a little more closely at it. “Nonsense, of course. He did everything for that little girl. I’m sure she would thank him if she could.”

She did, I thought. She did.

#creeptastic #creepypasta #my creepypasta #writing #my writing #short story #fiction #back at it again with the spaghetti afraido

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jaskiersvalley · 5 years ago

Text

Just Jaskier

Home. That was what Kaer Morhen was, despite all the agony and anguish it had wrought him and Geralt was oddly keen to show Jaskier. Introduce him to the other witchers and maybe give back a little bit of the kindness and hospitality that Jaskier had always shown him. There was no anxiety from Jaskier’s part, no asking whether they others would like him, whether they would accept him and Geralt felt no need to tell him it was going to be okay. Because even if they others didn’t immediately take to Jaskier (not like Geralt could ever claim to have done so either), Kaer Morhen was big enough that they could minimise contact with the jealous idiots. After all, everybody ended up liking Jaskier, that was just the way things were.

Walking through the keep, Geralt took a deep breath, it smelled like it always had. He was home. They stabled Roach together and Geralt led them towards the kitchen where everyone had a tendency to gather.

“Geralt!” Someone called in joy and there were bodies rising as to greet him as Jaskier stepped into the kitchen one step behind. Immediately, the jovial greetings were silenced and there was a mad scramble for knives, swords and one enlightened buffoon grabbed some garlic.

“What is the meaning of this, Geralt?” The oldest witcher said, a sharp looking carving knife in his hand.

In front of Jaskier, Geralt was frozen, obviously confused by the sudden frosty reception. And the fact that Jaskier was hiding behind his back with a small “meep” didn’t help either. As the silence stretched, Jaskier risked a peek out from over Geralt’s shoulder and took in the knives still pointing at them. Well, him really but Geralt was kind of in the way.

“So this is a bit of a rude greeting,” he risked and the witcher holding the garlic growled.

“Did you bring us live bait for training? An incubus?”

Confused, Geralt peered around, trying to see where an incubus could be hiding. Eventually, his eyes settled on his travel companion. “No, just Jaskier.”

Unfortunately, Jaskier had already taken offence at being labelled an incubus and he sniffed in disdain as he stepped out from behind Geralt. “I prefer succubus, thank you very much. No need to be so sexist, a man can be a succubus too.”

That had Geralt twirling to look at him, wide eyed, gaze flicking over him repeatedly, trying to find the monster in him with a disbelieving “what?” of betrayal. Which was just downright hurtful and awkward.

“What?” Jaskier replied. At least there wasn’t another sword being raised to his throat. Yet. Because that would have hurt more than anything.

It was the old witcher who spoke up. “Yes, well. Lambert, put the garlic down. We’ll be focusing on effective repellents for creatures over this winter for you I think.” The garlic ended up crushed in an angry fist and slammed down onto the table. “And Geralt, why did you bring a, ah, succubus home with you?”

When there wasn’t some intelligent reply Geralt could come up with, Jaskier decided to take matters into his own hand.

“I don’t think he realised? At first I thought he didn’t care but, judging by his reaction, he just had no clue.” Which hurt, just a little bit. It wasn’t like Jaskier made a secret of who he was. “To be fair, I was young when we met, barely coming into my powers.”

“I thought you were just young and horny,” Geralt finally said. Really, he wasn’t wrong and Jaskier hummed in agreement, head nodding along in a “so-so” manner. Because he was young and horny but also really bloody hungry. But, with the kinds of people Geralt encountered, it wasn’t so difficult to seduce and feed off the scum of the earth. While Geralt cleansed the world of monsters, Jaskier went after those Geralt couldn’t, the human monsters.

Sadly, his words weren’t endearing him to the witchers. If anything, they looked a little more murderous. Especially Lambert who was eyeing up the things on the table for what to lob at Jaskier.

All in all, it wasn’t the warm welcome Jaskier had been hoping for. It wasn’t even a cold annoyance of having a non-witcher amongst their midst. If anything, it was a rather hostile and frosty reception. Disappointing all round.

“And how did a succubus think he would spend a winter in an isolated keep?” The old witcher seemed to be the leader of the little group and Jaskier had to hope that if he could win him over, the others would fall in line too.

As for the question, he shrugged. “I’ve got reserves. There were some bandits along the way. Might age a little while I’m here but nothing drastic.” It was true, he had planned on simply fasting over winter. It might cost him a few wrinkles in appearance but that could be rectified when they left in the spring again.

The looks of disbelief were accompanied by a snort of entertainment. Why Jaskier thought a handful of witchers he’d never met before would believe him was questionable. But call it careless optimism, he had so hoped that they would accept him like Geralt.

“Well, Geralt thought this would be okay.”

“Geralt,” the witcher drawled, “who didn’t realise what you were. Who thought he had found a human bard to warm his bed. We’ll work on his monster identifications this winter. Starting from scratch it seems.”

Wrong thing to say and irritation rippled through Jaskier. It was one thing to be wary of him and behave so insultingly but another to besmirch Geralt’s good name.

“I don’t know why you’re so rude, Mr. Witcher,” he seethed. “But Geralt has done nothing wrong. Except been a friend for all these years.” A slight lie, they weren’t always friends but that was beside the point. Geralt was his friend now and that was that counted. “You will not degrade him or put him down like that.”

The witcher with scars across his face an a sharp sword in hand laughed. He actually had the audacity to chuckle. “Shit, Vesemir, you’ve lost your touch old man, if you let some young succubus smack you down like that.”

The witcher, Vesemir, snarled. He pushed past Geralt and had the tip of his carving knife under Jaskier’s chin, glaring down at him. As much as Geralt tried to protest, Lambert was holding him back. Now Jaskier was on his own, facing down a weathered witcher.

“Show me what you really are.”

The demand was rude and Jaskier refused with a snarl. He was happy exactly as his was in his form, always had been. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been in his human form. Well before Geralt, that was for sure. The press of sword and a growled “show me” didn’t really encourage him to change. So he steadfastly ignored it.

“I bow to no man,” he seethed, eyes burning with a very human rage. Jaskier and Vesemir stared at each other in a challenge before the carving knife dropped away.

“You may stay. But drain any of my boys and I will personally run you through with all the swords in the armoury.”

It was a fair deal and Jaskier nodded. With Vesemir won over, the others looked a little less wary. Eskel actually nodded at him with a grin and turned to start ribbing Geralt about travelling with a succubus without knowing it. That was rather priceless. Lambert was a little more difficult to win over, he growled and reached for sharp things as soon as Jaskier was nearby. But he never attacked and even shared a table with Jaskier when they all sat down to eat together. So it wasn’t all that bad.

As suspected, fasting over winter had its downside. Jaskier didn’t look or feel as vibrant as the weeks passed. He ended up looking a little sallow, shadows under his eyes and crows feet from where he had laughed and his skin crinkled with mirth.

Sometimes, Jaskier walked in on Geralt arguing. Usually with Vesemir but he also caught hissed conversation with Lambert. It was only Eskel who seemed cheery and supportive. Which was weird, especially when Jaskier heard Geralt exclaim “well, I’m going to do it. You all know about my intentions now and know it’s not his influence. So fuck you all.” A strange thing to say, even more weird was that as soon as Geralt had turned on his heels and spotted Jaskier, he bodily hauled him back to the bedroom.

The sex that followed was one through which Geralt all but begged Jaskier to take what he needed. To feed off him. And that desperation tasted better than anything Jaskier had in a long long time. Freely given was always more refreshing than quietly stolen (from those unawares of who they were bedding) or forcefully drained (as he did with bandits and the like).

When they returned down to the kitchen, Jaskier looked like his usual, youthful self, glowing and crows feet free. And Geralt looked happier too, rolling his eyes at the wink Eskel sent him. Some garlic still went sailing through the air and smacked Jaskier in the forehead but he laughed and threw it back at Lambert, appreciating the weird solidarity they were showing at this newest turn of events.

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #witcher wolf pack #eskel #lambert #vesemir #creature!jaskier #tldr: jaskier is a succubus and geralt didn't realise

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just-a-poor-boy-queen · 3 years ago

Note

Alternate Universe requested by anon

The first thing Freddie noticed when he woke up was that he was wearing waders.

This was most peculiar. He never wore waders. The only person in Garden Lodge who wore waders was Jim for when he was cleaning out the koi pool. Freddie would sometimes throw them on as a joke, laughing at how they were too big for him; but today, to his surprise, they fitted perfectly. Even stranger was the pair of large wellington boots he was sporting on his feet, caked in mud and the most hideous shade of green. This was an outfit he wouldn’t be seen dead in, let alone asleep in.

What the hell is going on? He thought to himself as he stumbled out of bed, only realising once he was at the door that this wasn’t his bedroom at all. It was much smaller, with hideous peeling wallpaper and a tiny, single bed crammed in the corner. The place reeked of an odour that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. It almost smelled like… dog.

This was either an elaborate prank or some horrific dream, Freddie decided as he quickly descended the staircase, hoping that he might suddenly snap out of this nightmare if he ran into a familiar face. He heard Phoebe’s voice coming from the lounge downstairs and he quickly made a beeline for the room, desperately throwing open the door.

‘Phoebe, something weird is going on!’ He declared, only to stop in his tracks when he saw the other man.

Phoebe was… working out. Lifting weights, more specifically. In all the years that Freddie had known him, he had never seen Phoebe lift weights. Even more shocking was that the usually chubby man was now built like a tank. It was so surreal it was almost disturbing. Phoebe was a round, jolly guy who loved his food and never worried too much about his body image. This guy on the other hand...

‘What is it now?’ Phoebe sighed and set his weights down, flexing his huge bicep. ‘Shouldn’t you be out doing the garden? The boss is going to kill you if he catches you slacking.’

‘The garden?’ Freddie replied, appalled. ‘Why would I be doing the garden? That’s Jim’s job!’

Phoebe rolled his eyes. ‘Very funny, Freddie. Now, if you don’t mind, I was in the middle of something.’

Freddie opened his mouth to protest but Phoebe had already gone back to his weights and started lifting again. Annoyed, the singer turned and stormed out of the room, unable to believe how rude and dismissive his friend was being. And what was all this about “the boss”? Freddie was the boss!

Maybe Joe could shed some light on what was going on. Freddie quickly made his way to the kitchen, where he found the American in the midst of baking a cake, carefully sieving flour into a large bowl.

‘Joe-’ he began, only for the other man to shriek, flour flying everywhere until half the kitchen looked like a Christmas card.

‘Oh, it’s you, Fred.’ Joe clutched his chest dramatically, his glasses completely white. ‘What are you doing here? You should have finished the garden ages ago.’

‘Why does everyone keep banging on about the garden?’ Freddie grumbled, angrily wiping flour off his moustache. ‘And since when are you so easily startled? You nearly shat yourself!’

Joe looked slightly annoyed – at least, Freddie assumed he did, as he couldn’t really see his face under all the flour – ‘you know what a scaredy-cat I am, Freddie. The smallest drop of blood and I’m passed out on the floor. It’s a curse, really.’

Alright, whoever this was, it definitely wasn’t Joe. No way in hell was this the same Joe who, only last week, savagely beat a wasp to death with the kitchen mop, then left its severed head on the kitchen windowsill as a warning to the other wasps.

‘God, look at this mess.’ Joe rushed to the kitchen cupboard and took out a broom, sweeping up the mess on the floor. ‘When the boss sees this, he’ll break my neck!’

‘What are you on about?’ Freddie snarled, ready to tear his hair out. ‘I’m the boss! This is my house!’

‘I’m really not in the mood for jokes right now, Freddie.’ Joe replied, not even looking up at him. ‘Hurry up and get the garden finished, otherwise we’ll all be in the doghouse.’

Freddie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Whatever parallel universe he was trapped in, he wanted out right now. But Joe had already turned his attention to cleaning up the mess, so Freddie had no choice but to leave him to it and trudge out into the garden.

He took a moment to survey the area; he didn’t know the first thing about gardening, despite sometimes watching Jim while he was working and occasionally helping him plant seedlings for his favourite flowers. He noticed a rake laying nearby and decided to start by raking the leaves off the lawn. How hard could it be?

‘Freddie? Freddie! Where have you got to?’

The sound of Jim’s voice echoing across the garden alerted Freddie, and he almost tumbled right off the ladder he had been balancing on to trim the hedges. He had never realised gardening was so much work; he was covered from head to foot in soil, his waders ruined and his hair dripping wet from when he had attempted to reposition the stone bowl in the koi pool, only to fall in face first. But none of that mattered now. Jim was here. His wonderful Irish husband was here, and he was going to sort this horrible mess out.

‘Jim!’ He cried as he entered the conservatory and found the Irishman standing there, looking unusually solemn. He immediately threw his arms around his neck. ‘Jim, I’m so glad to see you! You won’t believe the day I’ve had-’

He was cut off as Jim abruptly pushed him away; taken by surprise, Freddie didn’t have time to steady himself and ended up on the floor.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!’ Jim barked, wiping off the dirt that had smudged all over his expensive looking shirt. ‘You really think that’s an acceptable way to behave with your boss? You should know your place by now, Mercury!’

Freddie stared at him from where he sat on the floor, dumbfounded. What was going on? Why was Jim treating him like this? There had to be some mistake.

‘Jim,’ he said softly, his eyes large and confused, ‘it’s me.’

‘Yes, it is. Unfortunately.’ Jim huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘For God’s sake, you’re filthy! And what the hell have you done to my garden?’

Freddie glanced out of the conservatory window, noting the misshapen hedges, the large holes in the lawn from where he had clumsily attempted to plant flowers, and the overturned stone bowl in the koi pool which miraculously hadn’t crushed any of the fish. Gardening clearly wasn’t his forte.

‘I-I did my best.’ Freddie insisted nervously.

‘A blind monkey could have done a better job.’ Jim snapped, crossing over to the drinks cabinet and pouring himself a glass of whiskey. ‘I sometimes wonder why I keep you on, Mercury. You’re absolutely useless.’

Freddie felt the colour drain out of his face. This wasn’t the Jim he loved. This man was cruel and demeaning, treating him like he was nothing more than mud beneath his shoe. His sweet and lovely Jim would never do this.

‘Jim, please!’ Freddie scrambled to his feet, grabbing Jim’s sleeve desperately before he could take a swig of his drink. ‘It’s me, Freddie. Your husband.’

Jim scoffed, shrugging the Persian off as if he were an annoying fly. ‘Husband? Sorry Mercury, but I don’t bat for your team. I don’t know what sort of weird obsession you have with me, but you’d better stop it. I won’t have any of that queer shit in my house.’

His house? What did he mean, his house? This was their house. Well, legally it was Freddie’s, but he had always considered it Jim’s home as much as his own. Tears rushed to Freddie’s eyes. This couldn’t be real. Any moment now, he would wake up and find out this was all just an awful dream.

‘Jim, I’m telling the truth! I’m your husband!’ Freddie rambled, heart breaking as Jim rolled his eyes in disgust and took another sip of whiskey. ‘Look, you bought that ring on your finger to show your commitment to me! And you bought one for me too, right here-’

He went to show Jim the ring on his right hand, only to find his finger bare. He immediately panicked. Where was it? Had he lost it? Had it fallen into the koi pool during the incident with the stone bowl? Had someone stolen it?

‘I’m not sure what planet you’re living on, Mercury.’ Jim finished his drink in a single gulp, completely ignoring Freddie’s distress. ‘But I bought this ring to show my commitment to my fiancée, not you.’

‘Your fiancée?’ Freddie could feel the walls closing in around him; in that moment, his entire world shattered and suddenly his lungs were fighting for air. ‘But who-?’

‘Oh, Jiiiim!’ The sound of the front door closing came from the hallway; moments later, the conservatory door swung open, and a familiar blond woman strode inside, laden down with dozens of shopping bags.

Freddie’s jaw almost dropped to the floor. ‘Mary?’

Mary pulled down her sunglasses a moment to acknowledge him, ‘oh, hi Freddie,’ before she immediately turned her attention to Jim and pressed a big wet kiss to the Irishman’s mouth. ‘Thank you so much for giving me another credit card, darling. I know I maxed out the last three, but I just had to buy that new dress I saw in the boutique window.’

‘Anything for the love of my life.’ Jim crooned, rubbing their noses together in a way that made Freddie want to vomit. ‘I’m glad you’ve had a better day than I have – just look at what that idiot’s done to the garden!’

‘Now, now, Jimmy.’ Mary replied, looking at the man as if he was a deity. ‘You know we have to be patient with the help. It’s not like anyone else will hire him.’

Freddie had never hit a woman in his life, but right now Mary was really tempting him.

‘Here,’ Mary held out her bags to Freddie, looking down her nose at him as if he were contagious, ‘take these up to my room, would you? Jimmy and I need to discuss the plans for our wedding.’

Freddie’s cheeks burned with both anger and despair. He went to take the bags when he noticed the gold band on her left hand; it was much smaller, clearly fitted for a woman, but he would recognise it anywhere.

‘My ring!’ he cried, hands clenching into fists as his entire body began to shake. ‘That’s the ring Jim gave me!’

‘Don’t mind him, love.’ Jim put an arm around Mary, a horrible sneer on his face. ‘I think he’s been snorting something; all sorts of crap is coming out of his mouth today. Make yourself useful, Mercury, and go take the dogs for a walk. Maybe that will sober you up a bit.’

‘Dogs?’ Was all Freddie managed to get out before the door flew open again and he was set upon by at least six or seven four-legged fiends.

Don’t misunderstand, Freddie liked dogs. But unlike cats, dogs lacked any sort of grace and dignity; they piled on top of him like they wanted him dead, tongues licking mercilessly at his face until he managed to wriggle free and take cover on one of the sofas.

‘Since when do we have dogs?!’ he practically screamed over all the barking, holding up a pillow to shield himself as a dog the size of a bear leaped onto the sofa to join him.

‘Your memory needs testing, Mercury. We’ve always had dogs. You sleep in their room, for God’s sake.’ Jim refilled his glass and called over to the Newfoundland, which was currently smothering the Persian man. ‘Bad dog, David. You know you’re not allowed on the sofa.’

‘David?’

‘Yes, David. Phoebe said we should have called him Goliath because of his size, but I thought David would be funnier. Completely catches people off guard.’

Freddie felt his spirit rise out from his body and drift up towards the ceiling.

‘Right, you’ll need to keep him on a tight leash if you’re going to take him through the park – you know how much David loves children and I don’t want any parents filing a lawsuit because he’s knocked their kid over.’ Jim said, as Mary took out a small pocket mirror and began applying lipstick. ‘Juliet gets really nervous, so make sure none of the others bully her. And Samson hates you, so just keep out of his way.’

Freddie glanced over at the white poodle with brown markings, who was growling at him menacingly. No, no, no, not Delilah. She was his baby, his princess. How could she ever hate him?

‘By the way, Jim!’ Mary chirped, seemingly oblivious to the chaos around her as the dogs swarmed the conservatory. ‘I took another test this morning and it came back positive – I am pregnant!’

Freddie covered his ears and screamed.

‘Freddie? Freddie, wake up!’

Freddie bolted upright, panicking when he felt his arms pinned to his sides, only to realise he had cocooned himself in the bedsheets. Jim was right beside him, carefully untangling him and smoothing back his sweaty hair while the singer trembled, mind still stirring from the nightmare he had just awoken from.

‘Sweetheart?’ Jim said softly once his husband had time to calm down. ‘You were crying out in your sleep. Did you have a bad dream?’

As if snapping out of a trance, Freddie felt his right hand in the darkness, almost weeping when he realised it was bare. ‘My ring! Where’s my ring?’

‘Shh, shh, it’s okay, love.’ Jim soothed, reaching over to turn on one of the lamps and pointing to Freddie’s bedside table. ‘It’s right there, safe and sound.’

Freddie immediately grabbed it and slid it onto his finger, vowing never to remove it again, not even when he took a bath. He turned and snuggled into Jim’s arms, head tucked under the Irishman’s chin, relieved that he wasn’t pushed away.

‘That must have been one hell of a dream.’ Jim murmured, kissing Freddie’s temple. ‘Are you alright?’

Freddie wasn’t sure if he’d ever get those images out of his head. Having to wear waders. Phoebe with a six pack. Joe being skittish as a kitten. Destroying his own lawn with his terrible gardening. Jim treating him like garbage. Mary wearing his ring on her finger. His lovely cats transformed into a kennel of hyperactive, smelly dogs.

But it was just a dream. He was back in reality now, safe in Jim’s arms.

‘I am now.’ He mumbled sleepily into Jim’s neck, placing a kiss against his throat. So long as Jim was his, he would always be alright.

The prompt

OH MY GOD I AM DYING😂😂😂😂

Ahh fuck this is so good I am STILL DYING😂

Firstly, kudos to the anon who came up with such a brilliant prompt. I mean this is innovative af, and you did complete justice to it, writer anon! I had actually forgotten about the prompt, and was afraid that it wasn't a dream😂

Freddie reactions were the best part lmao. How he's utterly horrified at the aspect of Jim and Mary (behold the return of jimary!) being partners, his baby delilah (rather her counterpart) hating him, Phoebe being a gym-aholic and ahhhh Joe, sweet baby Joe actually being sweet like a baby kitten😂😂 I loved it all! Imma reread this so many times ahahahahahah oh god.

(More drabbles by writer anon)

#ask response #anon writing #jim hutton #freddie mercury #alternate universe #jimary

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rallamajoop · 4 years ago

Text

...and the unironic joys of better living through chemistry

How do I love Venom: The Hunger, let me count the ways…

It’s by far the shippiest Venom/Eddie story to come out of the character’s heyday. It’s the only story of the era to treat Venom’s violent wild-animal instincts not as an immutable fact, but as something that can be managed. It pulls off an aesthetic like nothing else that was being done at the time.

And then there’s the way it says, Does the world around you seem sinister and foreboding? Do you lie awake at night contemplating metaphorical oceans of despair? Well shit, son – have you considered you may be suffering from a mundane neurochemical imbalance, and a round of the right meds could clear that right up for you?

It does all this without breaking the atmosphere, without a whiff that our story has been interrupted for a Very Special Message about mental health.

In the near-decade since I was first prescribed anti-depressants, I don’t think I’ve read another story that lands the message “Sometimes, it’s not you, it’s just your brain chemistry,” so well.

Fair warning: if you have not read The Hunger, I am about to spoil every major plot point. If you have, well, maybe I can still give you a new appreciation for a few details you might have missed.

It’s a strange book, whatever else you take from it. It’s almost the only thing either author or artist contributed to the Venom canon, and it’s so different stylistically and tonally from the 90′s Venom norm that it feels like a tale from some noir-elseworlds setting instead of 616 canon. When you take risks that big with a property, you leave yourself precious little landing space between 'unmitigated triumph’ and ‘abject failure’: if this book hadn’t absolutely nailed it, I’d be dismissing it as edgy, OOC dreck. Fortunately, if The Hunger is nothing else, it is a story that $&#@ing commits – to basically everything it does.

Now, I'm not going to tell you Venom: The Hunger is a story about overcoming depression, because I don't know whether author Len Kaminski even thought about it that way while working on it. There's always space for other readings, and this one take is not gospel. That said: holy shit is this thing unsubtle with its metaphors. And with that in mind, let’s start by talking a little about Kaminski’s take on Eddie himself.

As I may have mentioned before, I like to divide 90′s Eddie into two broad personas: the Meathead, and the Hobo.

Kaminski’s Eddie nominally belongs in the angsty, long-haired Hobo incarnation, but that’s a bit of a simplification: this version certainly has plenty of angst and plenty of hair to his name – but nowhere, not even at his lowest ebb, does he doubt that he and his Other are meant for each other, which is usually Hobo!Eddie’s primary existential quandary.

He’s also taken up narrating his own life like a hardboiled PI.

So that’s... novel.

The only other time Eddie’s sounded like this is, er, in that one other Venom one-shot Kaminski penned (Seed of Darkness, a prequel that sadly isn’t in The Hunger’s league), so I think we can safely file it under authorial ticks.

Then again, Hobo!Eddie’s always been one melodramatic SOB, so maybe this is just how he’d sound after learning to channel his angst into his poetry. You can’t argue it fits the aesthetic, anyway.

We’d also be remiss not to mention Ed Halsted’s art, which I can only describe as gothic-meets-noir-meets-H.R.-Giger. Never before or since has the alien symbiote looked this alien: twisted with Xenompoph-like ridges and veins.

But Halsted doesn’t treat Venom to all that extra detail in every panel. Instead, the distortion tends to appear when the symbiote is separated from Eddie or out of control – and I doubt you need me to walk you through the symbolic importance of that creative decision. More importantly, Halsted’s art provides exactly the class of visuals that Kaminski’s story needs.

Did I mention this is a horror story? You might be surprised how few Venom stories really fit that genre, but if all those adjectives about Halsted’s style above didn’t clue you in, this is one of them.

Anyway, with that much context covered, let’s get into the main narrative of this thing.

As our first issue opens, Eddie’s world has become a dark and foreboding place. He’s not sleeping, though he mostly brushes this off. (Fun fact: trouble sleeping is one of those under-appreciated symptoms of depression. Additional fun fact: the first doctor ever to suggest I might be suffering from depression was actually a sleep specialist. You can guess how that appointment was going.)

Just to set our scene, here’s all of page 1.

Eddie’s narration has plenty of (ha) venom for his surroundings, but the visuals are here to back him up: panels from Eddie’s POV are edged in twisted, fleshy borders and drained of colour, the people rendered as creepy, goblin-like creatures. A couple of later scenes go even further to contrast Eddie-vision with what everyone else is seeing:

As depictions of depression go this is a little on the nose, but then, you don’t read a comic about a brain-eating alien parasite looking for subtlety, do you?

Eddie doesn’t see himself as depressed, of course. As far as he’s concerned, he’s seeing the world’s true face: it’s everyone else who’s deluding themselves. He’s still got his symbiote, so he’s happy. He’s yet to hit that all-important breaking point where something he can’t brush off goes irrevocably wrong.

But he’s also starting to experience these weird... cravings.

He just can’t put a name to exactly what he’s craving until a routine bar fight with a couple of thugs takes a turn for the horrific.

(I include this panel partly to point out even in The Hunger, the goriest of all 90′s Venom titles, you’re still not going to see brains getting eaten in any graphic detail. We don’t need to to get the horror of the moment across. The 90′s were a more innocent time.)

Eddie himself is horrified when he comes back to himself and realises what he’s done.

Or rather, what his symbiote’s just made him do.

Kaminski doesn’t keep us in suspense about why, though. Eddie may have just done something horrific, but there’s a reason, and it’s as mundane as a vitamin deficiency. He’s bonded to an alien creature, after all, and his symbiote is craving a nutrient which just happens to be found in human brains. And if Eddie can’t or won’t help it meet that need, it’ll do so alone.

Now, giving us that explanation so quickly is an interesting creative decision: this is a horror story, and horror lives in what we don’t know. Wouldn’t it be all the more horrifying had the symbiote been unable to explain what’s going on, leaving Eddie without the first real clue as to where this monstrous new hunger had come from?

The Hunger doesn’t take that route though, and I love it. Eddie isn’t a monster, this isn’t his fault: he has a fucking condition, and wallowing in his own moral failings is going to get him nowhere. You might as well try to cure scurvy or rickets with positive thinking. Just like depression can make you feel like an utter failure at the most basic parts of being human, and all the affirmations in the world won’t fix it when it’s fundamentally your brain chemistry that’s the problem. Or like addicts aren’t weak-willed for struggling not to relapse, they’re dealing with genuine chemical dependency – or even like how someone who’s trans isn’t at fault for being unable to reconcile themselves to the bodies and the hormones they were born with by pure force of trying. Free will is more than an illusion, but we’re all messy, biological organisms underneath, and your own brain and biochemistry can and will fuck you over in a hundred wildly different ways for as many wildly different reasons and it’s not your fault.

We aren’t monsters. But if we do, sometimes, find ourselves identifying with the monster, there might be a reason for that.

(Ahem)

I’m just saying, that’s fucking powerful, and we need more stories that say it.

Anyway, in case you missed it during that tangent, issue #1 closes with the symbiote having torn Eddie’s heart in two itself free to go hunting brains without him.

I’m trying not to get too sidetracked at this point talking about Kaminski’s take on the symbiote itself. Suffice to say there are broadly two schools of thought on how it ought to function while separated from its host: the traditional ambulatory-slime-puddle version, and the more recently popular alternative where anything-you-can-do-with-a-host-you-can-also-do-without-one. I’m not much of a fan of the latter, personally: if your symbiote doesn’t actually need a host, I feel you’ve sort of missed the point. (The movie takes the route of saying symbiotes can’t even process Earth’s atmosphere without a host, which is a great new idea that appears nowhere in the comics, and I love it. Hosts or GTFO, baby!)

Kaminski has his own take, and I can only wish it had caught on. Without Eddie, the symbiote becomes an ever-shifting insectoid-tentacle-snake-monstrosity, driven by an animalistic hunger. It’s many things, but it’s never humanoid.

If you absolutely must have your symbiote operating minus a host, I feel this is the way to do it: semi-feral, shapeless and completely alien (uncontrollable violence and cravings for brains to be added to taste).

Issue #2 comes to us primarily through the perspective of the mild-mannered Dr. Thaddeus Paine of the Innsmouth Hills Sanitarium (yes, really).

Yeah, he’s not fooling anyone. Meet our official villain! He joins our story after Eddie is picked up by the police and handed off to the nearest available institution, on account of how completely sane and rational he’s been acting.

Naturally, Dr. Paine soon has copious notes on Eddie’s ‘crazy’ story about his psychic link to a brain-eating alien monster. Fortunately for Eddie, Paine also runs some tests and makes an interesting discovery.

Congratulations, Venom: the ‘vitamin’ you were missing officially has a name!

Finding the right meds isn’t always this easy. I got lucky – the first ones my psych put me on worked pretty well – but I have plenty of friends who weren't so lucky. In fact, the treatment for Eddie's problems is so straightforward it arguably has more in common with, say, endocrine disorders like thyroid conditions or Addison’s disease, which differ from clinical depression but present many similar symptoms (but can sadly be just as much of a bitch to get correctly diagnosed – please do read author Maggie Stiefvater’s account of the latter when you get the chance, because forget Venom, that is a horror story).

‘True’ depression remains much less well understood by medicine, either in its causes or how to effectively treat it. But simply having a name for what was wrong with me made so much difference, and that’s an experience I imagine anyone who’s dealt with any long undiagnosed medical condition could relate to. It put my life in context in a way nothing else had in years.

(I can’t speak to the accuracy of the way phenethylamine is portrayed in this comic – a quick google suggests there may be some real debate that phenethylamine deficiencies have been overlooked as a contributor to clinical depression, but having no medical background, that one’s well beyond me. Either way, scientific accuracy really doesn’t matter in this context – it’s how it works in-universe for story purposes that we should pay attention to.)

Since this issue is mostly from Paine’s POV, we don’t get Eddie’s reaction to having a healthy amount of phenethylamine sloshing around in his brain again, just the assurance that treatment appears to be ‘completely successful’.

He’s still a paranoid, hostile bastard though. Meds can turn your life around, but they won’t make you not you.

But even if Eddie’s feeling better, he’s still psychically linked to someone who isn’t. Symbiote-vision still comes through drained of colour and edged in viscera.

That’s the thing about meds: they won’t solve all your problems overnight. If you’ve been depressed for a while, there are good odds you have problems stacking up. But working meds can be a godsend when it comes to getting you into a space where you can deal with your problems again, whether said problems are doing-your-laundry or all the way into not-giving-up-completely-and-just-accepting-you’ll-die-alone-on-the-street.

For Eddie, ‘dealing with his problems’ begins with stealing a keycard and busting out of the asylum.

Of course, that’s the easy part. How do you solve a problem like a feral symbiote? Like any good 90′s comic book protagonist, Eddie tackles it by putting on his big-boy camouflage pants and kitting himself out with weapons and pouches while quoting “If you live something, set it free. If it doesn’t come back, hunt it down.”

We can add this to the list of things I love about this comic. Even if The Hunger is a weirdly-stylistic tract about depression at heart, it’s also still a goddamn 90′s Venom comic, and not ashamed to be.

We’re into issue #3 now, and back to hearing the story from Eddie’s POV.

Eddie is very much aware that his symbiote has murdered innocent people while they’ve been separated. Even if this is the result of extreme circumstances, there’s a good case to be made that the symbiote is too dangerous to be allowed to live. Plenty of heroes would treat it like a rabid dog at this point.

But Eddie isn’t a hero, he’s a mess of a character and an anti-hero at best, so we don’t have to hold him to the same standard. He’s well aware his symbiote may be too far gone to save, that he may have to put it down – but that’s only his backup plan. He wants to help it. He wants it back. He’s down in that sewer with screamers and a flamethrower because he knows all his symbiote’s weaknesses, but he’s also carrying a large jar of black-market synthesised phenethylamine, because if he can just get close enough...

Depression can’t make you a literal monster, but it can make you an asshole. Miserable to be around, lacking even the energy to care who else you’re hurting. The depression doesn’t excuse that, but it makes everything harder, and it’s that much easier to sink back into your spiral when everyone around you has given up. It can make you think everyone around has given up even if that isn’t true.

So to have Eddie here say, in effect, I don’t care how many people you’ve eaten, I know it wasn’t your fault. I still love you. You’re still worth fighting for – god, does that get me right in the id.

There’s still a whole issue left at this point – we’ve still got to deal with our real villain, Dr. Paine, who we’ve just learned is into eating brains himself and torturing his patients recreationally, and who wants to capture the symbiote for his own purposes. There’s the scene where Eddie and his symbiote finally bond again, and Venom beats up all Paine’s goons while singing David Bowie because like I said, this is still a 90′s superhero comic and this is what Venom does.

But for our purposes, I'm going to skip to the penultimate page of the story, because the way it mirrors our opening page is really lovely.

Remember that shot of Eddie dealing with a beggar back at the beginning of the story, thinking about how these people would 'get their despair all over you'? Here he is again, cheerfully forking over the last dollar in his pocket to the next man to ask him for change. For all the gothic atmosphere and gore, it’s moments like this that make The Hunger easily one of the most positive, uplifting Venom stories ever written. Funny, that. (I could probably write a whole other essay on sympathy for the homeless as a recurring motif in Venom stories, but that... well, whole other essay and all that.)

What’s Eddie learned from this experience? Don’t take your symbiote for granted. Is ‘symbiote’ a metaphor for mental health here, is paying attention to its needs an allegory for paying attention to your own? I still don’t know how literally Kaminski meant us to take this, but it’s a lovely note to end on no matter how you parse it.

At the end of the day, The Hunger isn’t flawless. The conflict with Paine ends on a thematic but slightly unsatisfying note. Eddie makes much of his symbiote's loneliness and desire for union, but when the two of them are finally reunited, the only reaction comes from Eddie's side. In fact, the symbiote seems to have no response to being able to return to Eddie at all, and that’s an omission that bugs me.

But Kaminski is more interested than any other writer of the era in the truly alien nature of the symbiote, in its relationship with Eddie from Eddie’s side, and though plenty of others talk about the symbiote's love/hate relationship with Spider-man, no-one else had the guts to portray their relationship this much like a romance.

And Venom: The Hunger is no less interesting in the context of Len Kaminski’s other work. You don't have to look far into his Marvel and DC credits to pick up that the guy has a real thing for monsters. (“All of my favourite characters are outlaws, misfits, anti-heroes,” he says, in one of the very few interviews I could find with him, “I wouldn't know what to do with Superman.”) He's written for vampires, werewolves, victims of mad science, and all of three at once, littering his work with biochemistry-themed technobabble, melodramatic monologues, gratuitous pop-culture references, and protagonists who must learn to embrace their inner demons. So The Hunger represents more than a few of his favourite running themes.

For our context, his more notable other work includes Children of the Beast, in which a werewolf must make peace between his human and animalistic sides, and The Creeper, in which a journalist must make peace with the crazy super-powered alter-ego sharing his body. In fact, The Creeper and The Hunger share so much DNA (including an evil doctor posing as a respected psychiatrist who uses hypnosis on our hero while he's trapped in a mental institution) that it’s quite the achievement that they still feel like such very distinct entities beyond that point.

The human alter-egos of both werewolf and Creeper even use prescription meds while wrestling with their respective dark sides. The difference, in both cases, is that these are stories where meds play their traditional fictional role – and that's a role that could be as easily filled by illegal drugs or alcohol without making any substantive difference. You see, if a protagonist is using them, it's a sign of unwillingness to tackle their 'real' problems. Even among work by the same author in the same genre, The Hunger represents an outlier. And that's just a little disappointing – at least to me.

In real life, of course, prescription meds are no magical cure-all elixir. Depression meds that work for one person may not work for another, or may not keep working in the longer term. Everyone has heard stories about quack doctors who prescribe them to the wrong patients for the wrong reasons, about lives ruined by addictions to prescription painkillers, or the supposedly-damning statistics about how poorly SSRI's perform in rigorous clinical trials. The proper way to treat depression is obviously with lifestyle and therapy. People will still airily dismiss medications that we all know previous generations got along just fine without, or suggest that figures like Van Gogh would never have created great art if they hadn't been mad enough to slice off an ear. I mean, the fact you think you need those bogus mediations is probably the best possible sign of just how broken you are, right? Who do you think you’re kidding?

Our popular fiction loves stories about manly men who bury their trauma under a gruff, anti-social exterior and come back swinging at the world that broke them, bravely refusing even painkillers that might dull their manly reflexes. Other genres make space for broken people confronting their demons in grand moments of catharsis, finally breaking down into tears when someone gets through to make them face their problems. "I could barely make it out of bed in the mornings until I found a doctor who started me on this new prescription" is not only wildly counter to the accepted social narrative, it's a hard thing to know how to dramatise.

Even other Venom comics have been guilty of this.

Believe me, I recognise all of this, and just how much progress we've made in the last few decades. But I haven't the slightest doubt that for so many vulnerable people, the stigma against prescription medications does infinitely more harm than those same meds could ever do. And just having the right to externalise my problems into it's not you, it's your brain chemistry, may have helped me more than the meds themselves.

(And again, no, being prescribed SSRI's didn't fix me overnight, but I honestly don't know if all the talk therapy and tearful conversations with family members in the world could've got me as far as I've come without them.)

I love Venom: The Hunger. It's no-one's idea of high art, but it doesn’t need to be. There is a whole other post’s worth of things I love about it that I’ve already cut out this one as pointless tangents, and that may actually be it’s biggest drawback as a go-to example: I fully recognise that I would not be making this post if The Hunger hadn't also also grabbed me as a great bit of Venom canon, being the massive fan and shipper that I am. Other people who are just as desperate as me for more stories with the same core theme, but not into weird 90's comics about needy goo aliens, probably won't get nearly as much out of it as I have.

But if it sounds anything like your jam, maybe you'll enjoy it as much as I did.

If nothing else, it proves that you can make a viscerally satisfying story out of a message that shockingly unconventional. And you may even have people still discovering it and falling in love with it 25 years after the fact.

#Venom: The Hunger #Venom #depression #SSRIs #Symbrock #Venom meta #meta #Venom comics #Len Kaminski

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