#just pointed to the residents and politely told them to get lost
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being a fellow is so nice cuz i can just tell the residents to go home whenever i feel like it i am drunk with power
#just pointed to the residents and politely told them to get lost#feels great#i wish my fellows had sent me home when the work was done early 😭#mimi medicine
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Reaching for a Phantasm
This fic is based on the wonderful art of @astravis! Go check it out!
It's been a blast working on this years ecto-implosion and I was lucky to be paired with such a talented and nice artist!!
Words: 5,201 Can be read on AO3!
Valerie knew that ghosts were evil. She also knew that Danny was not. So when she saw him use ghostly powers she realized that he must not yet know that he's dead and that as long as she could keep the truth from him she wouldn't have to hunt him down. She just wished that someone had told her how hard it was to mourn someone who was still there.
----
Danny felt the back of his head collide with the wall as he slammed into the side of the school gym, hard enough to make his ears ring and for his eyesight to cut out for a split second. The building groaned with him as he pulled himself out of the hole he'd made. around him and as Danny pulled himself out of the divot he’d made he could see cracks spreading out all around him.
Vlad laughed as he lobbed another volley of ectoblasts at him and Danny dove out of the way at the last second with a curse and a burst of energy he didn’t really have. The blasts slammed into the building, sending cracks racing across the whole front.
As Danny ducked around the shots he hung onto his transformation by the skin of his teeth, thankful that their drawn-out and violent fight had at least cleared out all possible spectators. Less people to see him if—strike that, considering his luck it was only a question of when—he lost control of his transformation.
“Why do you always have to stick your nose in my business?!” Vlad growled with a couple more shots to emphasize his point.
“That’s rich coming from you, you fruitloop!” Danny said as he attempted to eke out a bit of ghostly power to raise a shield, only able to produce a faint flicker of green in the air before one of the blasts slammed through it and grazed his left thigh. “Fuck!” Danny swore at both the pain and the realization that his battery really was empty. He needed to get away. “Just—Can you stop trying to mess with people for a damned minute?!”
“There’s nothing you can do to stop me,” Vlad laughed. “I’m going to get the support of the Residents' Association and get them to ban you Fentons from all the town’s stores!”
Danny gritted his teeth, tired of Vlad making his life harder at every turn. “It’s not real support if you force them through possession!” He threw a desperate ectoblast back at Vlad, cursing the fact that he’d been up since before dawn fighting ghost after ghost for days by this point.
Which was most likely all Vlad's fault too.
“You’re too young to get involved in politics, little badger!” Vlad snarled and hurled electricity right at him. Danny yelped and dove out of the way a split second too late. The shot clipped him in the shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground as his transformation suddenly slipped from his grip.
He came crashing down as a human, striking the ground hard and thanking his increased durability.
Vlad landed in front of him as Danny struggled to his feet, raising his fists, and praying that he wouldn't have to actually fight.
“I will teach you to learn to respect your betters, boy,” Vlad said with a grin as ectoplasm pooled in his hands, he raised them up and—
And was suddenly slammed to the side by the bottom of a hoverboard connecting with his face.
Danny flinched backwards as Valerie screamed, “Get away from him you disgusting ghost!”
And he'd never been happier to have her barge into his fight with guns drawn. Maybe because they weren't aimed at him.
Valerie immediately went for Vlad with a vicious series of shots aimed right at his core, forcing him to weave and dodge. A few of the shots went wide and slammed into the side of the gym, causing the whole building to groan and start to tilt dangerously.
“Va—Red Huntress!” Danny called, trying to get her attention, “Be careful where you aim, the gym is about to—”
He didn’t get the warning out in time.
Vlad laughed as he fired off an ectoblast big enough to throw Valerie backwards with the shear force of it. Right into the side of the gym.
She slammed into the side of the building and Danny watched in horror as the cracks spread and grew, widening into holes before the whole building gave one last groan and then promptly toppled over with a deafening crash.
Right on top of Valerie.
Danny caught a split second glimpse of her helmet staring up at the approaching building before it touched down and he instinctively raised his hands to protect his face from the explosion of dust that blew out from the collapse.
“No!” He screamed as he immediately ran to the rubble, scanning desperately for any sign of her. There was none.
Please let her suit keep her safe.
Vlad snorted and Danny glared up at him with a snarl. Vlad only raised his hands and gave a pointed look at the collapsed building. “Well, have fun with that. I’ll get back to my scheduled possessions.” And then he took off, laughing.
If Danny let him go now then Vlad would turn more of the town against him, would make his life even harder.
But. Val.
Val was under the rubble. She was most likely hurt, especially considering the fact that she hadn’t burst out of the wreckage with her guns blazing, and he couldn’t just leave her.
So Danny turned his full attention back to the mess of rubble in front of him, subconsciously reaching out with his ghost sense and there—
A sense of ghostliness, a tickling at the edge of his awareness. It wasn’t his own exhausted ectoplasm he was feeling, this was subtler, more repressed. Controlled. Molded.
He’d felt this before, tasted it at the back of his tongue every time he talked to Valerie ever since she became the Red Huntress. Which meant that it had to be her suit!
With new hope he reached for his core, desperately grasping that cool sensation and wrapping it around himself to turn into a stronger, more useful, version of himself and—
Nothing happened.
He was too tired, too empty. Even without changing form he might be able to dig her out; he still had some of his abilities as a human, but it would take a long time. Too long.
That left him with intangibility. With it he could probably reach her much faster, but she would see him. She would know.
It didn’t matter.
Danny bit down on the panic blooming in his chest and resolutely pressed it back down. He couldn't afford it right now. Valerie's life was more important than his secrets. He would deal with the fall out afterwards. He always did.
Danny turned himself intangible, took a deep breath, and reached out.
——
Valerie was crushed by the rubble all around her. She tried to pull in a breath, gritting her teeth as her rib cage protested the action. If she didn’t have her suit on she was sure that she would have been dead by now.
She had lost the grip on her gun in the chaos and there was no way she could reach the one strapped to her belt to try and blast her way out. Still, she needed to get out. She couldn’t leave that ghost alone with Danny, she needed to save him.
But she couldn’t move, couldn’t even pull in enough air to curse. This realization made her chest tighten further. What if she wasn’t able to pull herself out of this? What if she was stuck down here in the dark until her air ran out?
Just as the panic started to set in, suddenly, there was a hand on her arm and just as suddenly she could breathe again. The rubble didn’t crush her any more and she was floating as if in a safe bubble. As if separate from the world.
Then she was pulled up, up, up and out.
Daylight reached her and she blinked dazed eyes as she tried to focus. And she looked up at the person who had saved her; looked up at Danny right through their clasped hands.
She stared at Danny's worried face through her own hand for a long moment, uncomprehending. Her first thought was what happened to Plasmius? Her second was oh, I’m dead, aren’t I?
But then she paused. No, that wasn’t right. She had been stuck under that rubble and it hadn't been until Danny had grabbed her that she had turned intangible. He had done it to her.
Which meant that he was—That Danny was—
“Valerie?” He asked with worry clear on his face. His face that looked so familiar; no anger or malice or evil in sight. Just... Danny. Danny who was—
“Danny?” She asked carefully, voice rough and shaking as she sat up on the dusty ground, not trusting her legs to carry her if she attempted to stand.
“Yes?” The worried frown didn’t leave his face as he let go of her arm, giving her some space. “Are you okay?”
“I'm—Yeah. I'm good. Are you—?” She stopped herself. Of course he wasn't. He was de—
But he acted just like normal.
It wasn’t fair. He should be angry and violent and give her a reason to feel like her world was crashing down around her, joining the school gym in a heap on the ground. He wasn’t supposed to look at her with worry and kindness after helping her up. After saving her.
So how could he possibly be a ghost? Had he died just now? Because she had made a split-second mistake and gotten taken out of the fight? Because she hadn’t been fast enough to save him?
She might be out of the rubble, but she still felt crushed.
At least he wasn't fighting and destroying things. Yet. Maybe he hadn't been dead long enough for him to be corrupted? Did she still have to hunt him? She had to, right? He was a ghost. But had he done anything to deserve it?
…Did it matter? He was a ghost. And that should be all there was to it.
She found that it wasn’t.
“Valerie?” Danny asked and his open expression conveyed only worry, a hand outstretched as if to support her. As if he didn’t even know that he’d just—
Wait… Did Danny even know?
Valerie felt cold wash through her at the realization that he probably didn’t. Which meant that she had to be the one to tell him. Or wait, maybe she shouldn’t; if he didn’t know then maybe he didn't have to turn evil. Maybe she wouldn’t have to hunt him down.
“What happened?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it, an instinctual demand for answers and an explanation for what was in front of her.
Danny pulled his hand back with a suddenly guarded expression on his face, fear creeping into his eyes. “What do you mean?”
He knew. He had to know. He had to.
Her silence made his worried frown reappear and he crouched down in front of her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Stop that!” She was surprised by the anger in her own voice as she pushed him away, but she hated the fact that he acted like normal.
“Val?” His eyes were wide and full of hurt and she hated it. “What’s going on?”
Wait. How did he know her name? She was in her suit, he shouldn’t know—
Her hand went to her face and immediately found the big hole in her helmet. So that’s how he’d seen her face. But. He hadn’t seemed surprised. Which meant that he had already known.
Secrets. Lies. He had lied to her. He had manipulated her. Just like a ghost. And now he was pretending to help her, pretending to be her friend, pretending to be Danny!
She felt hot anger rise in her chest and fuel the blazing hate as she pulled out her gun and trained it between his wide eyes. “Don’t move.”
Danny drew back, stumbling on the same plank from which he had pulled her up from underneath. As if he was a normal human. As if he could feel surprise.
Then he stammered out, “I’m not—I’m Danny! I—I would never hurt you!”
She knew that he was Danny. That was the whole problem!
She kept her gun trained on him and tried to keep her hands from shaking. She didn’t feel any of the usual satisfaction that came from staring down a ghost through the barrel of her gun. “Don’t—” She swallowed heavily and tried again, “Don’t move.”
He didn’t. He just cowered in front of her, hands up to protect his face and his wide, wide eyes full of fear fixed on her. As if she was the danger here. As if she was the monster.
She felt like one.
Besides, if she was responsible for his death then she was also responsible for the creation of an evil ghost. Didn’t that make her just as bad?
The ghost sounded exactly like Danny as he—it said, “Valerie?”
Her hand twitched on the gun as she tried desperately to think. Maybe he really wasn’t aware that he’d died. Could he still be evil? Could she hunt him down for sins he hadn’t committed yet?
She couldn’t keep this from him. She couldn’t. It would kill her too.
But this was Danny.
She looked at his wide eyes and imagined his reaction to her telling him that he was dead. It would be like killing him all over again. She couldn’t do it.
It might kill her not to say anything, but she had to stay strong. She would keep it from him for as long as possible. She would make sure he didn’t realize he was dead, keeping her eyes on him to make sure he didn’t start acting like a ghost, make sure he didn’t hurt anyone, and when he inevitably did she would—
She would put him down.
Danny kept his gaze fixed on her as he asked in a small voice, “…Val?” He looked up at her with his blue eyes, and she—
She lowered her gun. And she hated him so much at that moment that it burned in her chest.
As she holstered the weapon she tried to play her actions off with an angry, “Don’t tell anyone. About me.” Maybe he would believe that her threats had been in response to him finding out about her secret identity. She had to make sure he didn't find out the truth.
Relief flashed across his face. As if he had been scared she would say something else. She told herself again that he didn't know. “Yeah, of course I won’t.” He gave her a shaky smile and a tremulous laugh. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to tell you, both that I knew, and that—Well, you know.”
“That’s… great,” Val managed, the words stiff on her tongue. She found that him knowing her secret identity didn't matter that much anymore. She also found that it was harder to talk to him than she had thought, to act like normal when everything had changed. “I just. I have to go home.”
Home. Would he be safe to go home? The whole town knew about his parents’ obsession with hunting ghosts and he would be going into that situation blind. She focused her suit's remaining sensors and let out a breath of relief as she noted that he didn’t show up as a ghost. It was probably a side-effect of just being created and still being weak, but she would take it. It would mean that he was safe for the time being.
He gave an easy laugh. “Right! Your dad must be worried.”
Valerie barely held back a flinch at the ghost mentioning her dad. He wasn’t threatening him, she reminded herself. He didn’t even know that he was dead.
But that didn’t mean that she wanted her dad anywhere near him.
Danny, oblivious to her whirling thoughts, waved as he turned away. “See you tomorrow!”
In school. As if nothing had changed.
Val gritted her teeth and flew off, not able to make herself respond. She felt like the crushing pressure hadn't lifted off her at all, despite being out of the rubble.
——
In school she watched Sam and Tucker hang around Danny with a knot in her stomach. No one in their tight-knit little group acted out of the ordinary. She took in Danny’s smile as he got punched in the shoulder by Tucker and reeled. Did Danny really die only for no one to notice? Not even his closest friends? Not even him?
Val watched and watched and came to the conclusion that they hadn’t. They all acted exactly like normal. Which meant that the knowledge of his death was only her burden to bear. So she squared her shoulders and went on with her day. She could do this.
It was her fault that he had ended up like this in the first place and she would—She would carry this for them all. As long as no one realized then it was fine, right? It was like nothing happened.
The only real difference was the glances that Danny kept sneaking her whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. She guessed it was because of what had happened the day before; even if he wasn't aware of the fact that he'd died it must have been traumatic for someone not used to it to get attacked by a ghost.
She could do this, she repeated as she watched him drop a ball in gym class. No, not dropped. It slipped through his hand.
He looked around with wide eyes as if to see why that had happened.
And since she couldn’t let him realize the truth, she stepped in. “I heard Skulker messed with the gym storage last week. A lot of the equipment has been weird ever since.”
Her voice came out slightly shaky and she swallowed the lump in her throat when Danny stared at her with fear for a split second before he gave her a small smile full of relief. “Thanks for the heads up. Haha, I thought I had just gotten even clumsier.”
And then he went back to what he'd been doing, as if nothing had happened, leaving Valerie to get herself back under control.
It was hard to talk to him, knowing that he was dead and not being able to say anything. She felt like she missed him which was ridiculous because he was right there. As if nothing had happened.
Really, she couldn’t understand how no one else hadn’t noticed, not even his closest friends. Not even himself. She thanked the gods that he was so oblivious.
But that didn’t mean that no one would. She checked her scanner between classes and let out a breath of relief every time she confirmed that he still didn’t show up on it. Combined with him acting normally, it probably meant that he was still safe at home if nothing else.
But acting like normal wasn't foolproof. In English class when Mr Lancer handed out worksheets, he must have touched Danny while handing him his papers because he flinched back with a startled, “Wuthering Heights Mr Fenton! Your hands are ice-cold!”
Danny looked startled, as if he hadn’t noticed anything strange about his hands. And of course he hadn’t, the dead didn’t feel warmth.
Val, from her seat next to Danny, leaned over and said, as casually as she could manage, “You always had such bad circulation Danny. Maybe you should try wearing gloves?”
Danny gave her a grateful look. “Thanks. I’ll… Maybe I will.”
During the rest of the class he kept sneaking glances at her and Valerie felt herself tense up more and more as time went on. Every time she looked at him he sent her a conspiratorial smile and turned back to his worksheet. He was trying to spy on her, to suss her out, her mind screamed.
But after class he just gave her a small nod and left. Leaving her to watch after him. And she watched. And watched.
Valerie watched him laugh with his friends, knowing he was dead. She watched him eat lunch, knowing he was dead. She watched him get bullied by Dash, knowing he was dead. She watched him live his life, knowing he was dead. He was dead.
He was dead. And only she knew.
Did it count as him dying if she was the only one that knew? Since he had only died in her eyes then maybe a part of him was still alive somewhat. She didn't know. She hoped so. It was driving her crazy.
She found that it was really hard to mourn someone by herself. Someone who was still around. Someone who was standing right in front of her, laughing and living his life.
And everyone acted as if nothing had happened.
And then the day was over.
Val went home as if in a trance.
She didn’t go out as Red Huntress that night.
——
The next day was the same.
And the day after that.
As time moved on she found herself dreading the day he finally realized that he'd died and she had to put him down. She tried to convince herself that she looked forward to it instead; that she would be rid of this empty feeling in her chest. Be rid of the dread and horror she felt every time she looked at him.
Despite this, she watched him more than ever. But she still could barely bring herself to talk to him and instead she started checking her scanner every chance she got.
A majority of the time he didn't show up, not registering as anything ghostly, but the issue was that sometimes he did.
The first time it happened Valerie's breath caught in her throat and she'd grabbed her gun before making the conscious decision to do so.
It was confirmation. It was damnation. Part of her had hoped that she'd been mistaken after the rubble; confused and dazed and seeing things. But he was dead. He was dead and he just hadn’t moved on. But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t. It was just hard to do when you were watching him attending school everyday as if nothing had happened.
But then the dot on the scanner had gone away. And then it came back.
He seemed to flip between showing up and not on a regular basis, with him being detectable often coinciding with a ghost attack or similar.
Danny would straighten up from being half-asleep in class, or stop in the middle of a sentence and then excuse himself from the room.
Valerie had never figured out where he went or why but he always showed back up not long after, often injured and trying to hide it. Her best guess was that he got hunted by people or that ghosts attacked him.
At least no one ever complained that Danny had attacked them, so she felt safe to assume he hadn’t turned evil yet and she was determined to keep it that way.
But maybe that was just wishful thinking; she was desperately trying to come up with reasons why she wouldn't have to hunt Danny down.
Once, he showed up on the scanner and for once she managed to follow him out of the classroom and all the way to an empty classroom. Only to find him talking to a ghost.
The ghost in question was a black and white kid and Danny sat on a chair while the kid floated at his side, both of them engrossed in what seemed to be a deep conversation. Danny didn’t give any indication of caring about the fact that his conversation partner was dead. Did that mean that he'd realized what he was? But. Neither of them attacked anyone. They just talked.
Valerie stood still just outside the classroom, peeking inside through the slightly cracked door and felt her anger rise. Because here Danny was, a ghost, conniving with another ghost right under her nose, even though he knew who she was, knew that she went to this school.
And they were just talking. And that was the worst part, because under the anger and the guilt and the pain, there was fear. Fear that she'd been wrong about ghosts this entire time.
But that was impossible.
She hurried away from the classroom and didn't know if she was angry or worried or sad anymore, she only knew that she needed to get away from there.
Before the next class started, Danny came back and sat down in his seat to talk to his friends. No ghost attack happened that day.
Valerie started putting even more effort into avoiding Danny than she had before.
Sadly, she couldn’t avoid him forever and he caught her after their last class a few days later. Before she could shoulder her way past him and out the door he said softly, “Val. I just wanted to say… Thank you. For looking out for me. It—It means a lot.”
She glowered as she balled her fists at her sides. “Don’t thank me.”
“I mean it, I really—”
“Don’t,” she cut him off before she skirted past him, making sure not to touch.
She couldn’t handle him thanking her for something she hadn’t done. She hadn’t looked out for him, that’s why he had died in the first place.
She was shaking for the rest of the day. But the conversation made her realize that she had to tell him the truth. Both for her own sake and for his.
If he'd started showing up on scanners then it was only a matter of time before his parents figured him out. And after that it wouldn't be long until he figured out that something was wrong—if his parents didn't simply do what she hadn't been able to and put him down without hesitation. And that was. Hm. She found that she didn't like the thought of that.
Not that she was worried for him or anything like that. Of course not.
But regardless of why, she realized that she couldn’t do this any longer. She couldn’t pretend that nothing had happened. Which left her with the problem of how to tell someone that they were dead.
The first step was easy; after a few days of gathering courage she asked him to meet her after school, and of course he said yes. He was Danny.
They filed into an empty classroom, the same one she had seen Danny talking to a ghost in, and she took a deep breath before deciding that there was no easy way of doing this. She would just have to go for it. So she squared her shoulders and said, “Danny, I’m— I’m so sorry.”
That stopped him short. He tilted his head at her. “What for?”
“You—you’re dead,” she managed, teeth gritted and hands in tight fists.
He blinked at her. “I… know?”
He didn’t seem surprised.
Valerie scowled. “You know?!” Valerie tried to keep her voice down, failing as she continued, “Since when?!”
She had been so scared, so alone. And he had known?!
And if he'd known, then why hadn't he moved on? Could he be that scared of ghost hunters? His own parents?
She had lived in fear of ghosts for so long, it was strange to think of a ghost hiding out of fear for her, for humans.
She also knew how hard it had been for her to accept that he was dead, she couldn’t imagine what it would be like for him.
He frowned with clear confusion. “Since it happened? I thought you knew? Or what was up with the last few days?”
“But—” She cut herself off, reeling. “But you didn’t react. You didn’t seem to notice.”
“What?”
“Plasmius,” she tried to clarify with a reeling mind. “The rubble.”
He frowned in what appeared to be confusion for a second before his eyes widened in realization. “Ah. So you saw that.”
Him making her intangible, she guessed.
“Yeah. And you— Danny, you died.”
Then he shook his head with a small, sad, smile. “Oh. Oh, no. That wasn’t when— It happened a long time ago.”
Valerie blinked.
So maybe. Maybe he had been dead for a while. Maybe she hadn’t been the one to kill him. She thought that should make her feel better. It didn’t.
Because the immediate question that popped into her head was; how long had he been pretending to get this good at it? How long had he been dead?
Which, of course, led to; how had he been able to hang around her? Date her? Had he ever even liked her?
He knew how she felt about ghosts. But then again, she also knew what his parents thought about ghosts.
“You haven’t shot me,” he observed and she hated the calm acceptance he said it with.
“Not yet.”
But that seemed to be enough for him as Danny slumped in relief. For some reason, he smiled. “You have no idea how nice it's been to have someone else knowing the truth. Thanks again for all the help, it means a lot.”
Before she could protest his thanks for the second time, he continued with a much more serious expression, “I just—I'm sorry. I never meant to mess things up for you.”
He never had. Even though he’d been dead for a long time he had never let that affect anyone else as far as she could tell. “I know.”
“And, please, don’t tell—”
Who would she tell? The school? No one would believe her. His parents the ghost hunters? They would capture him or attack him immediately.
But wasn’t that what she wanted? He was a ghost, after all.
“…Val?”
“I won’t.”
He relaxed. “Thank you. And I—I’m sorry you found out this way. I didn’t want to keep it from you, but—Well…”
She knew why he hadn’t told her he was a ghost; she hadn’t kept her hatred of ghosts a secret. And still, he had hung around her. And a part of her still screamed that it had been to find out her weaknesses, to try and hurt her.
No, she chided herself, she knew better. He had tried to hide for his own safety and to spare her feelings.
Cause now she had found out and he wasn’t attacking her, wasn’t threatening her, was even asking for her forgiveness despite everything she had done wrong. All he was doing was talking to her like a person. Like Danny. Because that was all he’d ever been.
“It—It’s fine,” she found herself saying and found that for the first time since the rubble she could breathe again.
She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, gripping tight when she could feel him solid beneath her palm and neither of them turned invisible. He looked up in surprise but didn't shake her off. And this time it was Valerie who dragged him forward, into the crushing embrace of her arms.
Danny was dead, but he was still here.
And nothing truly had happened.
#danny phantom#dp#danny phantom fic#dp fanfic#ectoimplosion2024#I hope you enjoyed!#Danny: Wow I’m so happy Val accepts me#Val: Fuck fuck fuck fuck I killed him he’s a ghost he’s a disgusting ghost and it’s my fault#Val: I have to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t realize what a horrible creature he is#Danny: So accepting :)
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The plot HAZBIN lost
The hazbin pilot allowed Charlie to have a socially opposing view point and do something about it with pride. She moved to a new locations and started up her own business, still at any time she could call her supportive parents, one may be more willing to listen, one may have an "I told you so" attitude but either way the impression of closeness is there. She was a hardworking person using her privilege for good.
Charlie's goals complemented the secondary plot of the angels dealing with an overpopulation problem, she was the whole solution to this problem, all she needed to do was start up her business that she had the resources to run, she did that, then, all she needed to do was be herself.
This series no matter was always likely to face the one issue major issue, who are the candidates for reform and upgrade likely to be? Probably nobody of the main cast. Now that we have elitism and animosity, chances are this will only prolong this question.
We had yet to meet any angels but like with the demons, she could have faced adversity, she could have faced support.
The angels were robotic copy pastes of eachother, their was plenty of direction to take them in.
Now they're the leading adversaries who don't just professionally deal with the problem that is a crowded hell, but they slaughter because they fear hell toppling heaven but seems to see slaughter as a form of sport, they fear being overpowered and their fears apparently just come true.
Question.
Why would anyone want to be amungst them?
Why would Charlie want to send those she rehabilitated to heaven, which we haven't been sold on at all.
Before, we saw the destruction left behind after an angel mass slaughter, it fit that Charlie believed residents of hell deserved better and better objectively existed, but a prehistoric conflict and war combined with 'chosen one' Charlie strips her of her goals, they are no longer hers but what is to be expected, which stripped of her quirkiness, she's no longer that bizarrely nice and caring person because there's no reason to believe her behaviour is exceptional, everyone is there because they are a loser. The winner in heaven and loser in hell concept tells us nothing about a person, it highlights corruption which goes well with this new conflict we are now sold on. The political elements take away from wanting to do good deeds for little other reason than wanting better for people, furthermore, since Lucifer is now a depressed and misunderstood figure who created this world and his charming wife as good as run it, throw in what we now know about the angels and what's so wrong with this place?
Her parents have a backstory and she doesn't, she didn't to begin with but after years of waiting for an adaptation, Charlie becomes a byproduct in her own show. Her parents get to be mysterious absent figures while Charlie is simply absent fo the most part.
Maybe she's busy ruining a whole hotel? An easy job that nobody is interested in seeing apparently.
It's like Charlie just wasn't edgy enough? She has lost her stable family, unique perspective and choice. Her status continues to account for nothing even thought technically, it has boosted since her parent now built hell and there hasn't been an involved god figure.
No longer is she someone going into the unknown with nothing really to lose but a lot to gain, now there's war and a whole host of adversaries, taking us away from the hotel, those that check in and those who would upgrade.
#unpopular opinion#hazbin hotel critical#helluva boss critique#hazbin hotel charlie#hazbin hotel pilot#hazbin hotel series
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@harpyartisan's got a pest among their tents!
"Well he's definitely going to go somewhere familiar, somewhere he can hide so we can't make 'im stop explorin', but feels safe-" "Which means?" "He's at a circus, somewhere, I guarantee it, Sow. Just gotta find the one he's ferreted away in."
He can't quite read the banners, but Runt knows a circus when he sees one! colorful dragons and canvas is enough to make him feel at home, so with his box of crayons, and a will to elude his pursuant parents, the little clown is quick to vanish into the throngs of brightly colored residents- squeezing his way into what looks to be a fortune tent.
It surely seems to be occupied, when Runt arrives, and he does recognize the familiar cards of a fortune teller or diviner, spread atop the table nearby. He also remembers his father's words, even in the moments that they're playing hide and seek: To know your future is to fulfil the prophecy, we act in defiance of fate, boy- not in accordance with it.
So Runt does exactly what he knows he's supposed to: Gets his fortune told so he can ignore it real good. Of course, he does get bored halfway through, and once he's completely lost interest in what the pretty lady is telling him, he grabs the cards off the table and shreds them up really good.
that's definitely how you defy fate, he thinks. He's quick to leg it, when Constance seems to grow tired of his opinions on her divination- and he's rather quick, for someone with legs that short!
it's not long- in time or distance, before he finds himself somewhat... lost. The woods are thick, and unlike the circus, Runt is unfamiliar with the twisted trees that tower above him in the Bramble. There's a moment of quiet panic, before he becomes aware of the presence of another stranger.
Though his shape is familiar and his stature easily on par with his parents, the grand guardian who finds him is not Sow, or Pig, despite his similarly fur-clad frame- once he's established that he's not going to be eaten however, Runt remembers his manners.
"uh, hi! can you um... can you point me the way toward uhm... umm... Plague?" It's vague, sure, but it's really all he's got, at this point. He straightens his stack of drawings, stuffing them further into his little backpack and falling into step alongside the stranger. He's quick to learn his name is Letho and introduces himself as Runt- Mother was insistent upon making sure he was polite, when people were nice to him, after all- it's not a long time before he's on the other side of the thicket, once again able to navigate with his nose and his own bearings.
"Oh! thank you mister! I like your circus! it's way bigger than Daddy's!" It's shouted, as he waves one sticky paw over his head.
"Sow. you hear that?" "Hear what?"
"oh boy! I better go!"
#Runt Reviews;#my personal bias for certain colors and poses is gonna be real in this I can feel it.#thank you so much though!!!
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my barbie review
(obvious spoilers ahead)
okay so, i watched the barbie movie on the 22nd, and i must say, it exceeded my expectations and i was very happy with it.
the movie was quite political and i found it the most perfect opportunity to get political. the way the movie was done was that there were two worlds, barbie land, where all the barbies and kens reside, and the real world, where we all are.
i believe i should tackle each and every one of the movie aspects one by one in different topics.
let's start with barbie land. barbie land is a place where all the dolls of the barbie franchise live. you've got midge, allan, skipper, multiple different kens and multiple different barbies. in barbie land, it seems that the gender roles had switched. women took the higher-ranking jobs, like president, doctor, etc. while the men just had beach offs and basically did nothing, they were inferior. this was interesting since in the barbie franchise, ken was made just as barbie's boyfriend, that's all he was meant to be. he was at her every beck and call, he was the perfect boyfriend.
in the movie, ken(ryan gosling) was just barbie's friend. they didn't make them a couple, which i liked, they were just really good friends. however, ken wanted to be more. ken wanted to be acknowledged by barbie, included and respected. the kens in the movie weren't friendly with each other, they were all competitive and wanted to be better than the other. the kens were very dependent on their barbies and they believed that their whole purpose was just to get barbie to be their girlfriend. they basically believed that they were just barbie's boyfriend, nothing else.
barbie(margot robbie) was stereotypical barbie. the perfect, blue-eyed blondie that everyone thinks of right off the bat when someone mentions the name barbie. the thing is, she didn't do anything either. she mostly just woke up perfect, spent her day driving around and greeting other barbies, spends time at the beach and then has a dance party every night. it was the same thing every day. oh and "every night is girl's night." said barbie, ignorantly.
the way the barbies treated the kens were somewhat similar to how the men treated women; like they were secondary to everything. even though the gender roles are switched, the barbies were still women and the kens were still men. the way that the barbies ruled weren't discriminatory, they didn't sexualise the kens in any way, but when the kens ruled over, they brainwashed the barbies into believing that they their only roles were to do nothing and just serve their own kens. they ruled by making weird decisions like horses (you will only understand what i mean if you watch the movie, trust me).
however, i believed the only reason they had ruled this way was because when barbie and ken had come into the real world, ken was influenced by the men there. that's the reason he brought misogyny back into barbie land.(though when ken said "every night is boy's night." to barbie as a backfire, i was really happy LMAO)
all in all, all ken wanted was barbie's respect, her acknowledgement. he even said he lost interest in the patriarchy when he realised that horses weren't really a big thing in it. (he just wants a horse)
what i didn't like about what a few of the commentators and reviews said was that the movie was mostly focused on women. i believe that it wasn't. they talked about men's issues too. when ken said he wasn't suppose to cry, it made him weak but barbie told him it's okay to cry. barbie apologised to him for making him feel unseen and unheard, like his existence all depended on her. he got independency from this movie, he got closure. he is more than just barbie's boyfriend/love interest.
another thing that my friend had pointed out was that the way that the barbies ruled was similar to how the management in mattel(barbie's toy company) is. the ceo, cfo, etc. in mattel were all men. they believed that feminism, was women > men, when feminism is women = men. which is why the barbies didn't give the men any actual job, they just got lifeguard at the beach or surfer or anything beach related honestly.
when barbie went into the real world, she realised that women power wasn't as big as it was in her world. she realised that women weren't working in every high-ranking job like in her world and that they got constantly harassed and it somewhat shined a light on the whole situation she was in once she got back to barbie land. she probably realised that things were still one sided in barbie land, and they should strive to make both kens and barbies equal.
anyways, my favourite character was definitely allan. ally to the barbies, ally to the kens. after all, there is only one allan.
#barbie#barbie 2023#margot robbie#greta gerwig#ken#mattel#barbie dolls#ryan gosling#barbie movie#barbie spoilers#barbie the movie#michael cera#allan#emma mackey#will ferrell#simu liu#kate mckinnon#america ferrera
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AILess Whumptober Day 27: Locked Up/Immortal
The final entry, late but complete! I figured that I put Alice through the ringer all the time, it might be Jasper's turn. I had a very specific image of how this would look in my head that did not want to be translated to the page. I've also looked at this so long that I cannot look at it any longer.
So, enjoy whatever this is! I hope you all enjoyed Whumptober and were suitably depressed after my contributions to this event my loves <3
iron & stone. (day 27: imprisoned/immortal).
twilight, alice/jasper, pg, one-sided vampire alice/demon jasper.
very non-graphic wound description
She finds him in an old church in Tulsita, Texas. It’s a tiny place, one that has less than thirty people.
It’s a grim little town, with worn buildings and cracked roads; the air is thick and hot, even late at night. It’s the perfect place to be forgotten about, to be trapped. It’s a place that feels like it isn’t part of the real world, and like maybe time has frozen.
There’s an edge of dread in the air, and she has to wonder about that.
But mostly, she just feels anticipation.
It’s taken her thirty years to find him, she’s looked everywhere. She’s read everything. She’s recorded all her visions and made all the notes. She’s learned Spanish, Italian, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin for him. She’s practically a scholar on him and his kind now.
She’s still nervous.
(There are three kinds of demons - the oldest ones who have existed for always, those are the ones that should never been disturbed or called upon. Then there are the ones that are born naturally - very rare but possible. And then there are the ones that are made. Not like vampires - in the demon world vampires are half-breed cockroaches, endemic to humanity, according to the books she’s read. The change isn’t half the pain and suffering that being turned into a demon is - she knows that.)
She walks through forest surrounding the building carefully - it’s unlikely that anyone will see her, but she prefers to err on the side of cautious. Especially since it’s very, very clear that someone does visit regularly (relatively speaking, of course - time moves very differently for immortals.)
The church is thoroughly abandoned, the pews rotten and broken and the floor tiles cracked and scattered - what would have been an expensive point of pride lost to time and neglect. What is left of the prayer books are ruined cardboard covers covered in mould. The altar is pulled right down and destroyed; all but one of the windows is boarded up. Glass crunches underfoot - a mix of the remain window’s panes, and broken beer bottles scattered around.
And as she stands there and looks around, she wonders how anyone set foot in this place, even just to hide and drink, when she can feel his presence right here? That boiling rage, that uneasy feeling in the air - the gift of animal fear, that whatever this place contains is dangerous and they need to run. It’s all around her, yelling at her to leave and never come back.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Edward and Carlisle would be furious she’s come here by herself. When she’d worked it all out, when she’d told them what her visions had shown her, they’d acted like he was dead and gone and she’d just have to get used to walking the world alone. They expected grief and she’d been confused - Carlisle had insisted that he was as good as dead, and Alice needed to make her peace with that.
Alice could never bring him home. That the Cullen residence, the Cullen name, had no place for monsters and terrors and the things that little children hide from. And she had agreed with them politely, told them that she understood. And she did. They had thought she was mourning, taking her time to adjust to what her life would look like now.
Esme had tried to talk with her, but Alice had refused, and just closed herself up in her bedroom. And they had let her be.
They hadn’t expected her to pack her things in the same satchel she arrived with, to leave behind her locket with a letter thanking them for their hospitality; shedding the Cullen name and creed like an unfashionable winter coat.
If there was no place for monsters amongst the Cullens, then she certainly wasn’t welcome. They forget that she was a nomad, a vampire before she arrived at their house with a smile and golden eyes. They forget that she has a whole story before she ever found them, and that it’s not all pretty and kind.
(No place for monsters, when Carlisle went and changed four innocent people without consent? When suicide is a sin and so is murder? That she loves them fiercely but to be a family is to realize that none of them are perfect and holy and unsullied by their nature? The House of Cullen is so beautifully monstrous, she almost feels sorry for them for not seeing that.)
She had made herself once, exactly how she wanted, and she could do it again. Maybe one day she’ll visit them. See if they forgive her. Esme will. Emmett will. Rose might. But Carlisle and Edward… well, it depends on a lot of things.
Like what lies beneath the church.
It takes her a while to find the little trapdoor down into the earth behind the altar, covered with broken wood and tile, and chained up with a shiny new padlock that crumples like paper in her determined hand. The steps down are mostly rotten - slats of wood wedged roughly into the earth - but she is small and light, and slips down easily, down into a cellar dug too deep and too precisely to be created for anything but a very specific purpose, with the little alcoves in the wall with wells of oil to light the way - only a few of them are still barely burning, throwing bizarre shadows onto the walls.
Everything about this is screaming for her to turn back. Every instinct, every sign is telling her to go home. Except…
She saw him so many times, in hundreds of moments that will weave between them. The laughter and the jokes and the love. She’s seen the way he’ll protect her and change her, and she’ll do the same for him. He’ll look at her with loathing and then tolerance and smug power, and finally, soul-binding love and adoration. The scars she’ll bare will be in the shape of his jaw. She’ll trace his scars with her fingers and her mouth and her tongue; she knows all the little pieces of his story - the boring and the ugly and the difficult, as well as the fragments that are light and precious.
She can’t wait.
But this… this part she’s never seen properly and maybe her brain was protecting her.
The room is small, and little more than dirt and stone held up with rotting beams - buckled and warped, but holding steady for now. It smells rotten down here, almost burnt.
And then there is him.
He lies in the middle, on the stone, his head thrown back like a sacrifice about to be cut open in the name of some ancient god. His eyes are closed and if she didn’t know better, she would think he was asleep. She can see him properly like this, the muscular lines of his torso, the tendons in his neck, the strength in his arms and legs. He looks like a classical Greek sculpture celebrating rapture.
Except… there’s pain. The pain radiates off him like heat; most of the scars are old but the wounds are not. Or maybe they can’t heal. Burns and cuts and bone-deep gouges cover every part of him. There’s a tremor to his body that she doesn’t understand.
And then he hears her shoes on the stone floor and he lunges in one swift move, alert and ready, a snarl echoing in the space.
…Or what should have been one swift move.
Instead, it’s messy and horrific and takes her a moment to process, as she tumbles backwards, losing her footing as he comes at her.
He rips himself from the stone, pieces of skin from his legs sticking to the floor when he moves, leaving open wounds that looks almost like burns on every piece of skin that the stone touched. His legs buckle and shake at the sudden movement, evidence that he has not stood in a very long time.
His eyes are so black they look like empty sockets as he looms over her. Blackness spreads up his hands and arms, spidery black veins stretching from his eyes and throat. For a moment, she thinks she catches a glimpse of the wings; ghost-like and ephemeral in the corner of her eye, tattered void stretched over ancient bone, cracking into place no longer than his arm span.
(He’s magnificent.)
And just as suddenly as he hovers over her, he is ripped backwards and hits the floor with a hiss and the heavy clank of chains pulling tight and recoiling. She gasps at his visible pain, the way he struggles to get up, the demonic visage fading back into the skin of a man. A man in the worst kind of pain she’s ever seen.
“Get out.” His voice is hoarse, the kind that hurts to listen to, and he turns away from her. She can see the chains properly now - ankles, wrists, throat, and thighs, all connecting to a back-brace of iron. The wings have sunk back into his flesh, deep scarring almost outlining them on his back, and she hates to think how painful it was to stretch them imprisoned like this.
How long has he been here, like this? As beautiful as he is, she can see every hour, day, decade he’s spent here in the gaunt shadows of his face, in the decay in his clothing, in the layers upon layers of scars and open wounds. His eyes are hard; there is no hope or trust in them at all.
She always knew it would be difficult, but she never counted on what seeing him in this state would be like. How much it would ache to see this bitter shadow of a man, and the suffering he has lived through.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she says, sitting up. Her bag has survived the fall, but she prepared for it. Nothing in the bag is breakable, for good reason. He’s liable to get angrier.
“Oh?” He looks at her. “You long for death so badly?” His voice is mocking, but she can hear the strain, the rasp of his agony. He shifts to see her better, and she can almost see ghost of his future self.
“Only of a certain kind,” she murmurs to try and lighten the mood, but it falls flat - he’s giving her the kind of look Edward reserved for fawning classmates, so she feels adequately stupid and regrets being so flippant and crude. “You’re hurt. I want to help you.”
He is so badly hurt. The fresh burns smell like alcohol, raw and weeping blood. It’s oddly matte with no shine, but demon blood isn’t like human blood. There’s also a mottled black mark on his torso that she hopes is some terrible bruise and not broken bone just beneath the skin.
“Go away.” His voice is hard, no trace of the pain or misery he’s experiencing. There is a power and a rage there that makes her skin crawl and every instinct is telling her to run. He glares at her, and his eyes… she’s seen them red and gold and black, but right now they are demonic - a black sclera and pupil with churning red iris. But there is no shine to them, just a void. They scream of danger and she understands a little better why Carlisle warned her so grimly away from him.
“No.” She rummages in her bag. Aro had allowed her to use the library for a whole summer, to learn about demon physiology and healing. He’d been amused by her request - and by the discovery she’d left Carlisle’s family in pursuit of this demon. She knows that he’s already plotting, that nothing he offers is without strings attached, but she’ll worry about that later. She has the knowledge, and that is what is most important. “Let me help you.”
“Why do you want to help me? What do you want?” He’s holding himself oddly, and she realizes he’s trying not to touch the stone again, only the soles of his feet.
“To help you. And to talk.” She checks the bottles have not split in her bag; she’d used old water bottles, and a few of them are warping from the chemicals inside of them. But she’d gone over it a dozen times at least, and these will work. He just needs to let her help. “If you don’t like what I have to say, you can leave. Nothing about this is conditional.”
He stares at her. “You don’t want to be remade?” He asked suspiciously. His breathing is labored. “You don’t want all the secrets of the underworld? Wealth? To live again?”
She shakes her head. “I have money and a home of my own. And I have no memory of ever being anything else but what I am right now. The only thing I want is to help you.”
He lets out a bark of laughter. “You say that. But you’ll expect things. Everyone who comes here does. They always want. Humans are greedy creatures and vampires are parasites. You’ll want something, they all do,” he snaps at her and then he smiles, cruel and sharp. “Not many survive being remade. Maria tried to make a dozen of us. I was the only one of my batch that made it through. You have no idea what pain can be.” He scoffs. “Especially if the change was so overwhelming for you that you blocked it out.”
“I know.” She does. She’s read all the written accounts of being remade into a demon right back to some scraps of information from the Roman Empire; the rituals are mostly anecdotal. There was nothing about how it was done; even Aro didn’t have a full copy of how to remake someone. Several of the leads pointed towards the possibility of the remaining instructions being locked up in the Vatican, but even her visions couldn’t decipher if they were genuine or just a rumor.
The fact Maria of Monterrey had found a record and managed to translate it into a ritual that actually worked was awe-inspiring. It made her one of the most dangerous people on the planet - and one of the most powerful.
But the cost of it… how many people had she killed to create Jasper? To create her army? There were the newborn recruits, the blood for the army, and the ones that she tried to remake… that was thousands, more than Alice could comprehend in the scale of human life.
No, she’s not interested. Perhaps she even fears physical pain a little, because she has no memory of human pain, of the change. She’s never bled, never ached, never really suffered like that. And that unknown void of pain, a universal emotion understood by every living thing on the planet… she doesn’t have that.
But maybe…
“I’ve never been hurt,” she says softly. “Not that I remember. I can’t stand the thought of it. That something can feel like that. If I can stop it, I want to. That’s all.”
His gaze burns into her.
“Do you know how many people have come here and promised me things?” He sounds angry but tired. “They’ll free me, they’ll give me money and food and bandage me up. My own army. Girls. Boys. Anything I goddamn want. Do you know what happens to them?”
She sits cross-legged. “Don’t pretend you killed them.”
“You don’t think I could?” The look on his face is dangerous.
“I know you could. I know that if you really wanted to, I would have been dead before I saw you move. I know that you were the most dangerous man in Texas and Mexico for decades before I was even born - before you were remade.
“But I don’t see any bodies. No bloodstains, no bones, nothing left behind. There’s nothing here. Whatever they offered you, you didn’t kill them for it.”
“When I didn’t give them what they want, they left me here,” he says finally. “All of them.”
“Were there many?” That she is curious about. There are a hundred reasons to seek out a demon, but few people are brave enough, and fewer still with the information to find one.
“More than I expected.” He looks at her, his gaze hard and bitter. “What do you want?”
“To help you,” she says obediently. “To get you out of the chains and upstairs; maybe look at some of those wounds? I’m no doctor, but I think I know what to do.”
“And what is your price?” He sounds testy again, and she’s getting annoyed that he won’t listen.
“I’m a cheap date - maybe you can just not kill me? Once you’re free, maybe we could talk for a little while? I have a house we can go to where you can recover safely, if you want to. Otherwise we part as friends.” That would be a disappointing outcome but one she is prepared for. “As long as you’re okay to be alone. I didn’t go to all this trouble to let you go off on your own and keel over in the street dead.”
The surprise on his face is genuine. “I cannot die from this. That’s the whole point of being down here,” he said slowly. “I can only suffer. It would take much, much more to end me.”
He looks sad and tired when he says that, and she wants to hold him. To reassure him that it will get better. It can be wonderful, if he gives her a chance.
“Good. Then if you want to leave me, you can. Just let me help you, and everything will be okay, I promise.”
They stare at each other for a long time, neither of them flinching before he nods his head once.
“I hold a grudge. If you double-cross me…” he begins but she’s already moving closer.
“I understand.” And she does - she’s had visions of him in battle, and the sheer violence and blood-lust had scared her. He is a dangerous creature. But she’d be more likely to rip off her own arm than intentionally harm him.
“You’ll want to take off your shoes.”
It’s an odd request but she takes off her boots and moves forward.
One foot on the stone and she can feel the warmth inside of it; when she looks down, her stockings are already being to singe from the heat.
“Keep moving, or you’ll stick,” he warns and she’s horrified.
The stains on the stone that she had assumed were age were patches of blackened skin still stuck to the stone - his skin - that had torn away from him every single time that he moved.
And then there was the sudden awareness of that fact that his feet have been resting flat against the stone since they’ve started speaking, and she wants to scream, to pry him off the stone herself. She looks at him in naked horror and his lip quirks in quasi-amusement at her expression.
“It’s consecrated ground - no matter how deep it goes, it will always burn the likes of us - me worse than you, but I wouldn’t linger. And no, your shoes wouldn’t protect you.”
Consecrated ground. Fucking consecrated ground. She’d read about it - Europe was lousy with it, but much of it has faded away forgotten and unsanctified in the last couple of centuries as religion has lost its grip on the population. It’s much rarer in the states - most of it is in New England, allegedly. But this perfectly built little prison, complete with consecrated ground… she wants to ask a million questions about the how and the why, but she knows he won’t answer. Not yet.
Right now, she needs to get him off of the floor and out of this evil little room as soon as possible. And the first step is to break the chains embedded in the wall - where a single panel of rock is placed.
She’ll worry about getting the brace off of him once they’re out of here.
He watches her, almost entertained, as she tries to break the links, inspecting the chain carefully for flaws or weaknesses. But even with all her strength, they don’t even bend. They are stubborn and as cursed as this entire basement.
She can feel it - they cannot be broken. She can’t see a way around it.
But when she looks down at him watching her, at his dead-eyed stare of acceptance that he will not be leaving, she feels the weight of what she’s promised him. That he still believes that she will fail and leave him to his fate.
But she was Emmett Cullen’s sister for nearly three years, and Emmett had never met a law, a riddle, a trap or a rule that he couldn’t find a loophole for.
Which is why she brought a screwdriver. An entire toolkit, actually. Whilst vampire strength and speed could fix so many problems, there were some things that required the precision of a toolkit or a lock pick. And maybe the last gift Emmett ever gave her was a mini pink toolkit, and she’d taken that when she’d left.
If there was one thing that all her research had taught her was that magical laws are rigid and precise. The chains will not and can not be broken - that is clear to both of them. She probably isn’t the first that has tried over the years - she could only imagine that he’s tried to free himself hundreds, probably thousands, of times.
So they cannot break them.
She doubts anyone bothered to stop them from being dismantled.
He stares at her incredulously when she pulls the screwdriver from her bag, like maybe she’s some kind of fool. And maybe she is.
But when the first screw hits the stone, she smiles brightly at the look of shock on his face.
“Pick all of them up, I don’t want anyone knowing how we figured this out,” she says bossily, hopping between her feet - her stockings have burnt through, ragged blacked edges having stretched back up above her ankle. She has more clothing at the house, but she’s mildly annoyed at the architect of this building for ruining them. It’s an uncomfortable heat, an odd sensation, but it doesn’t feel too bad as long as she keeps moving.
He fumbles for the screws as each of them fall - they are smaller than it feels like they should be for the size and weight of the chains, but there are so many of them.
And then…
And then the heavy chains drop free of the wall, and he is free. He stares at them in total bewilderment before he looks back up at her.
“Now you’re free,” she says breathlessly, jamming the screwdriver into her bag, and goes to help him stand. He’s unsteady but takes a deep breath as he begins to peel his feet from the stone. It’s horrific as the skin of his soles tears away, blistered and raw but not yet blackened, thankfully. He lets out a groan of pain, one that makes him sound every single day of his age, every single day of his pain.
She doesn’t say anything, she just supports him until they are finally, finally back on the dirt floor.
“Do you want to sit?” She asks quietly and he shakes his head.
“I want to get out,” he says stiffly, and she nods, as they move towards the exit.
It’s an awkward trip back up the stairs; the staircase is narrow, but he needs her guiding support for now, his legs shaking with each step. It takes twice as long as it should, with him pausing every so many steps, as she half-shoves him onto each step. His movements are made awkward from the brace, and she’s already trying to figure out how she’ll pry that thing off him.
And then…
She shoves open the trap door, the wood splintering. And even the feeble moonlight shining down from the broken window feels like someone has just lit up the room - the darkness of the cellar feels inky and oppressive in comparison; the oil-wells dimmer than they were when she descended.
He lets out a shuddering breath as he climbs out, into the fresh air, his eyes darting around the space.
“It’s okay, it’s only us,” she soothes. “You’re safe.”
He nods, but he doesn’t look at her. He’s staring at the boarded-up windows, at the broken glass and rotting pews and forgotten prayer books.
The look on his face reminds her of herself, when she awoke that first time in the woods alone. She knew nothing, had seen nothing in person… just the appreciation and awe of being there, in that place. A moment of simply being alive and in the world.
She remembers it well.
—
They sit inside the old church in silence for a while.
After a while, she begins to pull out first aid from her bag. “Let me,” she says softly, and he doesn’t protest - though he refuses to let her see the wounds under his threadbare clothing. She hasn’t got anything that will stitch his wounds, but she can clean the wounds and bandage them so that they at least stay sanitized and protected. The chemicals she has to use burn her nose, but they seem to work.
“Now, let’s have a look at the brace,” she says soothingly, the screwdriver back in her hand. He eyes her with suspicion but nods once for her to continue.
It’s not as easy as the chains. The brace is too tight and has bitten tight into his skin. The screws come out slowly, ad she doesn’t care that they roll amongst the glass and the debris.
The brace doesn’t fall away. Instead, she has to peal each piece away, skin and scar tissue tearing, leaving raw open wounds in their wake. But he doesn’t make a sound as each piece hits the floor. He just stares up at the piece of sky he can see.
And then it is gone. The wounds will scar, she knows it. But he has movement back, real movement again. His neck, his arms, his wings… Free again, a little bit more.
“Done,” she says softly.
“I don’t even know your name,” he finally says hoarsely, and looks back down at her, as she packs everything back up.
“Alice Cullen,” she says, and thinks about correcting herself. She’s not sure what surname she should be using honestly. She never had one of her own, and nothing else feels like it would fit. She was supposed to be Cullen for a while and then…
Well, she didn’t want to get ahead of herself. Cullen was fine.
He nods in acknowledgement before looking back up at the sliver of sky visible through the broken window.
“I want to leave this place,” he says in a steady voice.
“Of course.”
She wants to offer to burn it down. To tear it down with her bare hands for him. But he won’t understand, not yet.
“Let’s go.”
—
He finds his strength as soon as his feet hit the grass, enough to stand on his own and move away from her support, onto the grass, shivering as his feet sunk in for the first time… in so very long. His turns in a slow circle, just staring up at the clouds and the trees and the world outside he’s hellish, cursed little dirt prison.
He… to call it a scream is not accurate. It is a scream, a roar, a holler, a flood of grief and rage and resentment. It is pain and loss, swearing revenge against the one that did this to him. It is regret and heartbreak and relief.
He is free.
His wings stretch out reflexively, the black staining his hands and face faintly, and the full horror of what the brace has done to him is revealed beyond the splitting and tearing and stretching of the wounds - his wings only open as long as his arm-span; the humeral and secondaries appear to have been crushed from the brace. And the humerus bone appears to have been snapped and reset so that it cannot extend. Half of his wings are limp and crumpled against his spine, a dead and mottled colour.
He has been crippled, possibly forever.
Except…
She’s never really been in the business of giving up. Of looking at something and accepting a bad roll of the dice. She looks at his wings, slack and broken, and she wants to fix them. She’s already considering it, mentally adding splints and bandages, breaking and resetting bone, stitching back together the thin flesh that stretches over them. It would be painful and miserable and it would take a long, long time. And it might not work.
But she already knows that if it didn’t work, she’d take him to Carlisle. She’d take him to Carlisle and use every single trick in her book to convince him to help. She’d promise that Carlisle would never see her again, that she’d never bother any of them, if Carlisle would just fix him. She’d take him to Carlisle, to Aro, to goddamn Maria, if it meant helping.
Anything he needed. Or wanted. She would get it - she had waited for this for so long.
He’s silent now, and he turns to look at her with confusion on his face.
“I looked for you, you know. For almost forty years.” Her voice is soft, and his gaze turns wary. “I get …visions of the future. Of the path that I’m on. And you have always been in them. I saw you with Maria in the south. I saw you when you left with Peter and Charlotte. I never saw what happened, and how you ended up down there but I tried so hard to find you. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
And he stares at her, the black receding from his body, the wings folding back into his body.
“What did you see?” He asks, and he sounds exhausted.
“That I love you. All of you, for as long as you’ll have me.”
He shakes his head, and for a second, he looks so young. “Did you see what happened when she remade me? When she worked out how to make her army more powerful?” He asks. “Did you see what it took to become this? Did you see what I became?”
“I did.”
“Ninety days. Of pain and sacrifice and being ripped into pieces and put back together. To feel the rage boil and burn until your skin,” he murmurs, looking back up at the cloudy night. “Of having this fresh, feral monstrosity of yourself fit itself inside of you and this… clarity of the world and how everything fits together. I’m not the man you want, Alice Cullen.”
“Yes, you are. And it’s … not Cullen anymore, not really. I left them because they wouldn’t let me find you.”
He’s silent, staring at her.
“They said I should think of you as good as dead and that wasn’t… you were still here. I just had to find you. I wasn’t going to mourn you just because you weren’t a vampire anymore. What Maria did to you didn’t change our future, so it didn’t matter to me. But it did to them. So I left them.” She shrugs. “I had enough money saved that I have my own home now - our home if you want it. But it’ll just be us.”
He looks at her hard, like he’s trying to look right through her.
“I was going to destroy you, you realize,” he says finally, his knees buckling but he sinks into the soft ground with dignity, leaning against a tree. “I was going to devour you whole.”
“I mean, with a safe word…” she begins and he lets out a chuckle.
“You aren’t what I was expecting,” he says finally, and she moves closer. She can smell rain on the air. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t want to be remade like me as payment.”
She’s seen it. In a few decades, he’ll offer it as a form of protection. That the only thing more dangerous than a mated vampire and demon would be two mated demons roaming untethered to a master or mistress.
She’s seen futures where she accepts and they are … sublime. Glorious and terrible and so very, very happy. And she’s seen futures where she’s content with herself, and they are just as happy, just as fantastic and beautiful and fatal. It was never about the venom or the magic that flowed in their veins. It was always them.
“If you don’t want to stay with me, I can help you find Peter and Charlotte,” she offers. “You can recover in my home until then, and we can part as friends.”
He looks back up at the sky as the rain begins to fall, a smile stretching across his face as the water hits his face.
How long has it been since he’s seen and felt rain?
“I think I’d like to stay here for a while,” he says finally, and she can feel how tired and confused he is.
He doesn’t trust her yet - it will be a long time until he does, she knows that. Long after his wounds have healed - she’s certainly got some ideas for his wings, but it’ll be a while before he’s willing to hear her out - he’ll still treat her with suspicion. And that’s okay. She didn’t bet everything on him to be scared off so easily.
Sitting down beside him, she’s careful not to touch him. His eyes are glazed and dreamy as he watches the clouds and the rain, the darkness swallowing them up in the woods behind the church.
“You should rest,” she says softly. “We’ll have to leave before dawn, but we have a few hours.”
“I’m fine,” he corrects, but his words are slower and easier, and she doesn’t say anything else as he slowly drifts off, the cool rain on his face.
Jasper Whitlock. Major of the Confederate Army, turned by Maria of Monterrey back in 1863. The love of her life, who was supposed to show up at a diner in Philadelphia but never made it. The scourge of the South, a mythological monster forged out of pain and horror that most people couldn’t imagine, let alone survive.
And her reason for everything.
He looks… peaceful as he sleeps, the rain clinging to him and not even disturbing him. All the stress and pain and rage slipped off his face. He looked like a different person.
She doesn’t remember what sleep is like, and it’s strange to think of just not being for a while. To just be so vulnerable.
It’s a strange feeling, waiting for so long, and now being here with him. Watching him sleep in the rain, broken up into little pieces but somehow still standing.
The real thing is so much more than she ever anticipated.
Nothing will hurt him again. No one will imprison him again. He is free. She found him. Anything he wants, anything at all.
“I’ve got you, Jasper. I’ve got you."
#ailesswhumptober2023#ailesswhumptober#jalice#jasper hale#alice cullen#my fic: one shots#demon jasper#imprisoned jasper#this did not turn out how it was supposed to#it looked different in my head#maria fucked around with the supernatural and became too powerful#aro is up to his eyeballs in this and playing dumb to alice#carlisle is SO worried about alice#she just left and they never heard from her again#i wish i had more time for Lore#but yeah peter was remade too#and he remade charlotte himself#a little demon club#it will take time for jasper to tolerate then befriend then fall in love with alice#he'd be furious with himself that he fell asleep in front of her#me and my nonsense
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I know I asked you for a matchup before, but I like your writing too much. I'd like a matchup for myself this time for either Obey Me or Court of Darkness (I don't want to be paired with Guy or Jasper lmao)
Appearance: I am a 165 cm tall, average build, South Asian woman. I have wavy black hair that reaches my shoulders and I usually dress in South Asian attire, usually salwar-kameez. I also wear glasses. I don't really feel comfortable going out without them 😅
My MBTI and enneagram: INTJ 5w4
Star sign: Sagittarius sun, Virgo moon and rising
Sexuality: demiromantic asexual
Personality: I'm pretty calm, collected and hard-working for the most part. People say I'm intelligent, quiet, and polite. I can be sarcastic at times, although people often say it's hard to tell when I'm being sarcastic. I'm probably the most emotional unemotional person I know. I don't really show a whole lot of facial expressions, but I do feel things more deeply than people give me credit for. I also tend to get overwhelmed easily, especially when I'm in really noisy places for prolonged periods of time (RIP ADHD and Autism). When people get to know me, they say that I'm a good listener and that they feel safe to speak their mind to me. I also have a tendency to overestimate my own capacity to do work, so I often bite off more than I can chew and end up burnt out. I do this because most of the time, I can do a lot of things efficiently without breaking a sweat. Regardless, I still finish what I set out to do.
My favourite hobbies include reading, playing video games, listening to classical and lofi hip-hop, and making art. I especially like to draw and paint things that radiate a sense of comfort, nostalgia and serenity. Someone also told me that my artworks also hold a sort of innocence in the composition of the shapes, colours and the overall vibe of what I draw/paint.
Also, I kin Mishiro Usui from Blank Dream and Es from Alter Ego
I hope this is enough information for a matchup. Thanks for taking the time to read this
Hello! Thank you for the request and I am finally getting around to trying and finishing these up at long last. I hope that you enjoy reading!
Note: The match-ups are a little shorter for right now as I still have about 45 more of these I have to answer that have been sitting in the inbox and I feel so bad for having them all sit for so long. So much has happened in these last several months that I've just been on the brink of exhaustion at all times. Also, if the formating is weird, I'm typing this on a computer cause my phone be struggling lately.
TW: None
I match you with..........
Lynt Akedia
This sleepy prince absolutely loves it if you decide to read to him, though the chances are that he will actually find himself dozing off to the sound of your voice, more invested in listening to you at this point than to the story. Chances are, he has already read it, he just loves to listen to you talk.
Sometimes he is a bit lost as to just how hard-working you are, given he is a bit more of the opposite, but he finds this trait of yours to be rather endearing and it is something he admires about you. It's not all the time that he sees people such as yourself. I makes him smile.
As the resident peacekeeper between the many princes given how much he does not like conflict, seeing you start to grow more on edge as certain conflicts arise, this is where you will see him trying harder for you to try and get things resolved as quickly and as smoothly as possible. It's one of the ways that he shows how he cares.
Given how you are able to see how others are around you, how they feel and such, you just know when Lynt is not feeling his best, especially if you've found him alone and reading one of the books from his grandfather, or asleep, or even asleep while holding said book. He never really conveyed just how much he felt all that much with others, but you are someone who understands him, who will actually listen to what it is that he has to say, and he is thankful for that trait of yours each and every day.
As a prince, he does not really have any issues financially, so if he sees that there are certain paints or any other art supplies you are in low stock of, he makes sure to get them just for you. There's no need to thank him, the smile on your face and the shine in your eyes when he gives them to you is payment enough.
Overall, the sleepy prince knows he can just relax around you, that you are there for him if he needs to actually get something off of his chest instead of just sleeping it away. Such things have certainly improved several aspects of his life, and he could never thank you enough for just being there for him.
#matchups#shy writes#court of darkness#court of darkness lynt#lynt akedia#court of darkness x reader
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Yeah someone stole it.
It was probably by accident. There was a glitch in Amazon’s system, we eventually found out.
I couldn’t get Amazon to give me a notification of this package that FedEx said was delivered, and that the property manager had also been notified was delivered. So the property manager said she’d get it out of the locker for me and put it in my apartment--only to be told by the system that it was no longer in the locker.
As soon as the property manager told me it was lost, I rushed home from work to call the office that issued the check to tell them to cancel it, and called the police, because it was the check for the sale of my condo--more than half my life savings--plus 30 pages of related documents, so basically literally everything someone would need to steal my identity. I did not get through to the issuing office, because they’re in a different timezone and had closed for the weekend.
The property manager spent nearly two hours on the phone with Amazon trying to find out what the hell even happened, and how.
It turned out to be a good thing I did call the police early in the process, because at a certain point, Amazon said they couldn’t keep helping without a police subpoena. At that point the property manager was able to tell them the police were already involved, so we would get the subpoena soon. (In fact, I’d called the non-emergency number and they’d said they’d be there in a hour, so we were just waiting.) That motivated the Amazon people to fucking try harder to figure out what went wrong.
Eventually, the property manager--who accepted literally no explanation Amazon gave her, for which I am truly grateful--was able to bully them into digging into their records, and found out Amazon had contacted the previous resident of my apartment, told him my package was for him, and let him into my locker. So she was able to get in contact with him. He says had recently bought something and forgotten to change his address, so he was expecting a package to show up there this week, and thought nothing of it. He realized when he got it home that it wasn’t his; he says he never opened it, and the property manager has now arranged for him to give it back to me tomorrow morning.
If he does give it back unopened, everything is fine and I can just move on. I can call back the issuing office, tell them I got it back and everything is fine and don’t cancel the check; or cancel and re-issue it, if they prefer. If the package is opened, even if the check is intact, I’m still going to have to file a police report because of the potential identity theft.
So yeah, I spent my whole afternoon just completely freaking out, pacing in the lobby of my apartment building, doing literally nothing but walk back and forth, barely able to smile politely at neighbors’ naive greetings. After it was over, the apartment manager told me that if it had been her she would have been crying and throwing up. I did not do that, because it wouldn’t have helped; but I also did not get out my work laptop and continue working until it was resolved--or manage to be friendly-like-nothing-was-wrong with the neighbors passing through--because I had zero ability to concentrate on anything. So I feel like I had an in-between response, a reasonable response, but apparently no.
My check for the sale of my condo is in an "Amazon Hub". I have to sign in to a locker with my Amazon account to get it. Absolutely furious.
#this is the second time in the past year that something has happened that mostly resolved ok#and the stranger who was there with me through it told me that they would have been crying and throwing up in my place?#I don't even remember what the other thing was#anyway like... yeah it was extremely stressful#but the first thing I did was call someone to tell them to cancel the check#so I actually fixed the worst of it at the very beginning#I mean--still extremely stressful even so#especially since I only left a voicemail about the check so I couldn't know for sure#but I did not really think I was likely to lose the majority of my life savings
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SMART BOMB
The Completely Unnecessary News Analysis
By Christopher Smart
August 8, 2023
THE SEINFELD DEFENSE & KETCHUP DOESN'T LIE
Former President Donald Trump won the 2020 election. Despite no evidence of voter fraud he actually believes it, his attorney said, invoking the old “Seinfeld Defense.” George Costanza, the character in the 1990s sitcom “Seinfeld,” came up with the novel defense: “It's not a lie if you believe it.” That's now the brilliant legal response to a four-count indictment that accuses Trump of conspiring to overturn U.S. democracy. Trump's attorney, John Lauro, said prosecutors can't prove the former president believes he lost the election. Presto: not guilty. Well Lauro has a point there — who could possibly tell from minute-to-minute what's going through that guy's head. But there is compelling evidence that Trump did know he lost: Ketchup. That's right, White House aide Cassidy Hutchinson told the Jan. 6 House Special Select Committee that when then-Attorney General Bill Barr told the Associated Press there was no evidence of widespread voter fraud Trump threw his lunch and it splattered ketchup on the wall in the West Wing. Trump's attorneys no doubt will seek to undermine prosecution witnesses who told the former president he lost, but how do you undermine ketchup on a wall. Heinz may well be the best answer to the “Seinfeld Defense,” because, after all, ketchup doesn't lie.
PIGSKIN PIGOUT — IT COULDN'T BE ABOUT THE MONEY
Don't let anyone tell you that college football has become all about money. Sure, it looks that way but just because universities are jumping from one conference to another for bigger TV bucks doesn't mean we've lost what's really important about college football. We'll get to that in a minute. University of Utah football coach Kyle Whittingham makes $6 million a year. But it's not so much compared to Alabama football coach Nick Saban, who pulls in $10.6 million. Alabama football, in the Southeastern Conference (SEC), brought in a record $130.87 million last year. In Sept. 2022, the Big Ten Conference announced a new TV deal worth more than $1 billion per year. Last week in something like football musical chairs the PAC- 12 became in reality the PAC- 4, as schools bolted. The Big 10 added two schools and the Big 12 grabbed another three college teams, including Utah. USC, UCLA — Colorado left earlier. Jack Dickert, Washington State head coach said TV money will destroy college football and the school rivalries that have been central to it. “We'll look back at college football in 20 years and be like 'what are we doing'” What's really important about college football? It molds young men and prepares them for the pros where they could become millionaires. But it's not about money.
HOW MIKE PENCE GOT HIS GROOVE BACK
Mike Pence is from Indiana so it's no surprise he's got lots of charisma. Indiana is the “Charisma State.” Residents there are known as Hoosiers, from the Greek χάρισμα — “who's yours.” Pence was a gregarious young man from a good Catholic family of Democrats. Then something happened — the future savior of American democracy became an evangelical Christian and a conservative Republican and along the way landed a statewide radio show, cleverly called “The Mike Pence Show.” He said his program was like Rush Limbaugh on downers. It launched his political career where he was elected to the House for six terms and then governor of Indiana. But when Trump picked the charming Mike Pence to be his running mate, the Hoosier had to promise never to be charismatic again. Only Trump could be charming. Pence took on the persona of a mud fence so well that some believed he was an android. Then came Jan. 6 and “Hang Mike Pence.” The vice president and his family had to run for their lives. It was a reawakening. That's why the Mike Pence we see running for president today is the old fun-loving jokester who used to say his radio show was the political answer to “Pee-wee Herman's Playhouse.” Mike Pence rocks, relatively speaking, of course.
Post script — That'll do it for another historic week here at Smart Bomb where we keep track of our bizarre politics so you don't have to. It's now clear that Donald Trump is running for president so he won't have to go to prison. More than two-thirds of Republicans believe Trump is the rightly elected president and that stuff about the Jan. 6 insurrection is all made up. Trump continues to run far ahead in the race for the Republican nomination. Utah Sen-For-Life Mike Lee said prosecuting Trump for things he did on Jan. 6 is “dangerous” because he was president then and had immunity. In essence, a failed coup is not punishable by law. Great. Hey Wilson, do you ever get the feeling we've collided with a parallel universe where black is white and right-side-up is upside-down. Meanwhile Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis is campaigning against Mickey Mouse while extolling the great benefits of slavery for Black people. It's not going too well, so he raised the rhetoric by saying as president he would start “slitting throats” in the federal bureaucracy on day one. It sure is nice that we're setting the example of true democracy for all those Third World countries — bunch of heathens.
Songwriter Randy Newman once penned a number called, “Short People,” which was really about prejudice of all kinds. These days it seems like no one likes homeless people — many of whom are families and single moms. So Wilson, get the band to put down the hookah and take us out with a little something for the downtrodden:
Short People got no reason Short People got no reason To live They got little hands Little eyes They walk around Tellin' great big lies They got little noses And tiny little teeth They wear platform shoes On their nasty little feet Don't want no Short People Don't want no Short People 'Round here Don't want no Homeless People Don't want no Homeless People 'Round here They're always camping out on the street Don't wear no stockings on their feet All their junk is piled in grocery carts They're all rumpled up and got no smarts
Why don't they find someplace else to stay Seeing them is a bummer and ruins the day Don't want no Homeless People Don't want no Homeless People 'Round here
(Short People — Randy Newman, modified by the Smart Bomb staff)
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coffee; rafe cameron
summary: a small coffee incident ended with a night of lovesick smiles and a date with rafe cameron.
warnings: profanities, mentions of food & beverages, gif credits to @whumpypepsigal
word count: 848
a/n: entry for @sweeterthansammy’s 1k celebration // c/n buying y/n their items after bumping into them.
as much as you loved the small island you called home, it was nice to get out of there for a while — just to take a break from the whole rivalry fiasco and the weight of being the perfect fit in the granted stereotype.
you were currently resided at chapel hill, taking your time as you walked around the place, window shopping at studios you could never afford at.
you were sporting a cup of coffee in hand, the only thing you’ve bought since you’ve arrived.
you caught the sight of an old-fashion themed bookstore and a wide grin graced your lips. just as you slightly hurried your steps towards the shop, someone who was also hurrying in your direction bumped into you, your coffee spilling all over your shirt.
you regret buying hot coffee.
you let out a choked yell as you repeatedly tugged on your shirt to alleviate the burning. “fuck, fuck- ow,”
your face was scrunched up in pain and discomfort as you looked up to see who bumped into you. and lo and behold, there stood rafe cameron, who was seemingly frozen in spot.
when he locked eyes with you, that’s when he finally snapped out of his trance. “shit, i’m so sorry,”
rafe densely tried to pat the stain away with his hands, simultaneously and awkwardly, patting your chest. he mumbled, “why the hell are you drinking hot coffee in this heat?”
“shut up, and take your hands off me, cameron.” you grumbled, wiping the burning liquid with your handkerchief.
he did as you told and helplessly watched as you winced in pain. “i’m sorry.”
“it’s fine,” you waved him off and started to walk away. wanting nothing more than to just go home and cool off.
“hey,” you heard him call out. “wait!”
you sighed and turned on your heels to look at him. he was pushing his way through the crowd and jogging towards you.
“what?” you asked exasperatedly. “look, rafe, i’m burning and embarrassed, and i just want to go home.”
“i feel really bad,” rafe admitted, which honestly shocked the both of you. you were merely friends. despite spilling your scalding hot coffee all over you, he didn’t owe you anything.
he blew out a breath and looked around, his eyes landing on a clothing emporium.
you followed his eyesight and immediately shook your head. “nope, nope.”
“yes.” he prompted, already walking towards the shop. when he realized that you weren’t following, he sighed in exasperation and shot you a pointed look. “do you really want to travel back with a sticky shirt? it’s the least i could do, just come on.”
you begrudgingly agreed, ignoring his grin of victory as he guided you in.
“rafe, everything’s so expensive in here!” you whisper-shouted as you looked through the price tag. “it’s just a thrifted shirt, it’s nothing compared to these.”
“don’t worry,” he rolled his eyes as he went through the clothes. “i’ll make you my temporary sugar baby.”
“fuckin’ hell,” you whispered, silently following him around like a lost puppy.
“hi there, can you mix something up for this lovely lady right here?” rafe asked politely as he took a hold on your shoulders, ignoring your protests as the lady sent you a scrutinizing look over.
she let out an offended scoff, as if your appearance insulted her, before grabbing her essential needs, and more.
you and rafe exchanged confused shrugs before the woman pulled you in a dressing room.
you glared at rafe and mouthed a menacing ’i hate you’ in which was returned with an amused smirk as you disappeared around the corner.
rafe was bored out of his mind as an hour clocked in, he was nursing a cup of coffee to replace the one he spilled on you. he didn’t know what you wanted so he bought the cafe’s best seller.
he was mindlessly scrolling through his phone when the lady appeared with a satisfied smile. “she’s ready.”
rafe grinned, opening the camera and pointed it towards the door, wanting to film your grumpy frown when you came out to face him.
what he didn’t expect though was that he’d be so awestruck at the sight of you all dolled up. you look mind-boggling in the light summer dress that you adorned, a nice contrast to your usual outfit. you had a pair of wedges on instead of your worn out converses. “holy shit,”
“so,” you started, swishing the cup of coffee around as you thought about his question. “do you usually burn a girl with their coffee, make her your sugar baby, and ask her out on a date?”
rafe chuckled, “nah, you’re the first one.”
“oh, so you’re expecting more?” you mocked offense as you placed your hand on your chest.
he hummed in contemplation before looking back at you with a charming smile. “if you go out with me, i won’t.”
“well,” you dragged out, pausing a bit for effect. “you’ve got yourself a date, cameron.”
“…just try not to spill any more coffee on me.”
“i’ll try my best.”
general taglist: @tatesimper @bluvclouds @i-love-scott-mccall @miraclesoflove
obx taglist: @maybanksslut @angelixcpixies @oldschoolkiddo @iwritesiriusly @natashxromanovfreads @nyxie75 @stylesyourmine @gabiatthedisco @taylathornton @bury-my-love-inthe-moondust @queen-asteria04 @aliyahsutherland @wolfstar-lb @mrs-cameron @golden-hoax @ilyjohnb @diverrdown @malfoylaufeysonweasley @ayleehweasleyobrien @xsamsharons
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron oneshot#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x y/n#obx imagine#obx fanfiction#obx fic#outer banks fanfic#outer banks fic#drew starkey#drew starkey x reader#tuserliane
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flaws -- B.B
pairing: Bucky Barnes x ! insecure reader
word count: 1.8k
warnings: angst and talk about body image, insecurities and a persons flaws.
summary: reader compares herself to Natasha as she see’s her and Bucky getting close. She think’s he doesn’t have feelings for her due to her not being perfect and because of her flaws but Bucky reassures her it’s not.
note: i hope this imagine isn’t taken this wrong way as me trying to romanticise someones insecurities. if i did please dm me or let me know so i can help fix it!! i promise i wasn’t trying to make anyone feel bad or anything and EVERYONE IS SO BEAUTIFUL IN ALL SHAPES AND FORMS and everybody is insecure about something and that’s completely normal but you are loved and you are perfect and you don’t need a man ( or girl! ) to tell you that. hope you guys enjoyyy
You loved being the reason he smiled or laughed.
Not that he would do it often, his face masked from the trauma he experienced. But when you were the reason he was happy, it gave you almost a sense of pride, but it was taken away from you.
There she was, Natasha Romanoff.
Her incredible orange hair that sat on her shoulders was eye-catching, her glowing skin and her full scarlet lips complimented her appearance tremendously.
You couldn't blame her. She was everything you couldn't be and everything you should be. Yet, the lump that rested in the back of your throat was difficult to ignore as you watched Bucky and Natasha interact with each other. A genuine laugh arose from the male, yet you could only wish you were the reason he laughed.
It wasn't as if you weren't friends with him. Hell, it seemed like a lot more to you. Maybe only to you.
You pulled your knees to your chest and hugged them tightly, watching the pair chatter among each other near the dining table as you reside in the comfort of the couch across from them.
Steve sat beside you, busy fixating himself on his new cellphone and playing around with the features.
You drew small circles on your knee to comfort yourself, ignoring the voice that was calling out to you.
"Y/n!" Your head snapped to your right, looking at a semi-concerned Steve. "Almost lost you there," He chuckled while you rubbed your eyes, gaining your full attention.
"How do you change the ringtone?" He innocently asked, poking his phone.
"Just go to settings and search it up." You told him, relocating your gaze to the pair. Steve hummed as he did what you instructed him. You sat quietly before you began to chew on your fingernails, thinking of every possible explanation on why Bucky would choose Natasha over you.
It almost felt as if you were being toyed with, one minute you'd be two peas in a pod, often being teased as one of the only people Bucky began to get close to other than Steve. On the other, he'd be flaunting off to every girl he would see.
"You know you should stop staring before you make it obvious," Steve whispered next to you, jumping at the sudden break in thought and looking over to a smirking man.
"Steve," You hissed, glaring at him, "before making what obvious?" You innocently asked, attempting to cover up the embarrassment you felt.
Steve shot you a knowing look and you felt your cheeks flare-up, "Shut up."
"I didn't say anything," Steve responded with a smug expression. You rolled your eyes jokingly before turning your attention to Bucky.
"You should give it a shot, yknow," Steve whispered.
You shook your head 'no', snapping your gaze to Steve, "Trust me," He said in a hushed tone. Looking back to Natasha, you couldn't help the sickening feeling as you watched the pair flirt with each other.
"What would he see in me that he wouldn't in Nat," You mumbled under your breath, not intending for Steve to hear.
"You wouldn't know," Steve cleared his throat, poking at his phone with a pleased look on his face. You tilted your head as you narrowed your eyes at him. Getting up from the couch, you had decided to leave to wallow in your sadness.
You made your way past the pair and you heard the silence that fell among them, their gaze darting holes in your back as you walked away from the room.
Ignoring the distant mumbling behind you, you made your way towards your bedroom. Locking the door behind you, you hadn't bothered to turn the lights on. You dropped on your bed as you felt a swarm of emotions hit you. Once mostly consisting of jealousy.
You took out your phone and headed straight to Instagram. You scrolled through for what could only be interpreted as hours before you paused on a single post that lied on your feed.
It was a picture of Natasha that was posted only a few hours ago. It was taken during Tony's infamous parties last night, one that you had skipped out on due to feeling ill. She sat on a red velvet couch, and she wore a skin-tight black dress that sparkled in the light. She held a drink to her mouth as her red straightened hair fell over her eye. You had noticed that Bucky liked the picture, and you felt the tears brim your eyes. Your grip holding the phone as if your life depended on it suddenly faltered as it fell beside your head, briefly missing your face.
Getting up towards the large mirror that was framed on the closet door, you noticed every imperfection on your figure. Your hands travelled to your shirt as you pulled it off your body, leaving you only in your bra and your negative thoughts.
Your eyes wandered to every flaw, the extra fat and skin on your stomach. The way your body wasn't the perfect hourglass figure. Your fingers traced over your stretch marks that lied on your hips, feeling the slight dent in your skin. Tears began to fall down your face. Your flabby arms and that your breasts wasn't the ideal type.
Sitting on the ground in front of your mirror, you hugged your legs tightly against your chest as you sobbed.
You couldn't fit the standards that were made. The more you looked and the more you scrolled, just end up bringing newfound insecurities. That was a problem you had faced many times during your life and you began to doubt yourself. You would rather be anybody else, feeling unfit in your own body, one that was especially for you. All you saw was what you should be. A happier person, a prettier girl, and a stronger Avenger.
You threw your shirt back on, making your way towards your bed. Lying your head down, you allowed yourself to think about nothing. Empty thoughts. Thoughts that had no meaning and brought you no use.
A knock on the door brought you back to your reality. Getting up, you brushed away the tears that stained your cheeks as you sniffed. Suddenly feeling exposed, you pulled your sleeves down to hide your arms before opening the door.
Your eyes widened as you saw a concerned Bucky waiting outside. His eyebrows furrowed upon seeing your puffy eyes and your red cheeks.
"Can I come in?" He politely asked, his eyes watching every move you made. You nodded, not trusting your voice.
You stood aside, allowing Bucky to slip into your room as you shut the door behind him.
You leaned against the door, your arms crossed against your chest as you waited for him to say something.
He sighed, not knowing where to start, his hands ruffling his hair. "Are you avoiding me?" He obliviously asked. You could almost laugh at how stupid of a question it was.
Your lips could only quiver as you attempted to respond to him. "What?"
"Doll, I don't know if I did something wrong, but you seemed pretty upset back there." He tilted his head and pressed his lips together.
You shook your head as you bit the insides of your mouth, "No, no, it was nothing." You muttered as you sat on your bed, staring at your palms.
"Doll, I know you well enough to know when something is wrong." He shot you a small smile.
"Do you like her?" You instantly regretted saying that, your insecurities creeping in again.
Bucky was taken back by the sudden question, his eyebrows raised in confusion. "Who?"
"Natasha."
"What, no. Where'd you hear that from?" He enquired.
You looked up at Bucky, tears glossing over your vision. "I've seen the way you look at her, Buck."
"No, Y/n. I've never liked her."
"You don't have to lie for me. I mean, what's there not to like. She has the perfect body, face and hair and-" You were interrupted by his sudden grasp on your hands.
"And you don't have those things?"
"I-I don't." You whispered.
"That's a lie, and you know it." His firm voice alarmed you as if you somehow offended him.
You got up and kept strong eye contact with him. "What are you trying to say, Bucky? Have you seen me?" You scoffed and started to point and poke around your flaws.
"There's nothing wrong with your body, doll." He said in a calmer tone, realising you were insecure about your body image.
"Bucky, you can just stop faking it. Go back to Natasha." You muttered, sniffing as you looked down at your feet.
"I don't love Natasha, Y/n! I love you, doll. I always have." He confessed, slightly panting as he raised his voice.
You stood still, finding it difficult to believe in his words.
"I love you and every part of you." He took your hands in his and planted a small kiss onto your knuckles.
"Then what about-"
"Forget about her, doll. I tried to forget about you through her. Steve told me." He looked up to your eyes, watching your reaction.
You felt the heat creep onto your face as you realised he knows your feelings towards himself.
"Do you really?" You asked, hope in your eyes.
He nodded, still holding your hand and planting small kisses. His kisses travelled up towards your arms as you felt a swarm of butterflies swarm your insides.
"I love your arms," he left a trail of kisses as he went further up.
"Your shoulders," he mumbled against your skin, a tingling sensation was left after every kiss as you felt yourself biting your lip in admiration.
He made his way towards your neck, loving the way you tensed under his touch. "Your neck," he kissed behind your ear as you bit back a moan.
You tilted your head, allowing him to move further, his lips moving alongside your jaw. He finally reached your lips and caught your gaze on his. His lips were mere inches apart from yours, you felt his breath fan over yours.
"Your lips," he whispered, his mouth slowly reaching yours as they gently kissed. Your lips dancing over his, enjoying the moment. His lips were soft against yours and he kissed you as if you were fragile, something to not be tampered with.
He slowly let go of you, his forehead against yours. "I love everything about you, doll. Don't doubt that and don't compare yourself to other women. You're equally if not more beautiful than them." He whispered, pecking you on the cheek.
"You'll realise your worth, Y/n." He kissed you on the forehead.
You felt better after Bucky had come found you that night. Your insecurities didn't go away, instead, you found them as someone else's treasure. And that made you feel better.
-----
a/n: man that last part has me embarrassed.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x reader angst#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes imagines#james buchanan barnes#marvel imagines#marvel angst imagines#marvel angst#bucky barnes angst imagines#insecure reader#bucky x insecure reader#bucky imagines#bucky angst#bucky angst imagines#ur mum#i dont think i could ever write smut
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can i request an angsty sbi fic where sibling reader lost two lives saving others (maybe tubbo at the festival?) and they see everything falling apart (techno and phil destroying everything, wilbur dead and tommy focused on the disks) and they pretend to be ok while their mental health gets worse and worse until they decide to end it, and people only realise they weren't okay after the death message pops up and their reactions to seeing it? if not thats completely fine, ik its pretty heavy
Broken
GN
Pairings: none
Characters included: Wilbur, Tommy, Philza, Tubbo, Technoblade
Warnings: depression, suicide (falling, non descriptive), angst
Series: a request!
Summary: Y/N just wanted their home back. They just wanted to live a peaceful life but instead all their hopes and dreams got ripped apart by the people they loved the most.
Words count: 3647
Authors Note: Honestly I could have shortened it quite a bit but here we are, it’s way longer than I wanted but I hope you guys enjoy this. I’m sorry if this went kind off of rails to what you might have envisioned. Also I hope that you guys know that you are loved and appreciated. I appreciate you for taking the time to read my stuff :] Here is m favorite video to cheer me up some times, hope it can cheer you up as well!
I’m also curious what your guys thoughts and opinion are on this or my writing in general! Can’t get better without feedback :]
Y/N loved their family.
They were all pretty chaotic but so was Y/N, following their siblings into trouble ignoring any possible consequences.
So when Wilbur proclaimed he would create an independent Nation inside the SMP that was owned by Dream himself, you bet that Y/N was standing right beside him.
When Wilbur would struggle with his tasks or was weighed down by doubts they would swoop right in and do their best to support him. Every time Wilbur would say “I don’t know what I would do without you sometimes.” While Y/N didn’t do it for praise but out of love for him it was still nice knowing that he appreciated them and that he took note of their work.
Tommy wasn’t really for heartfelt words but he too expressed in his own way how much he appreciated them being around. Most of his schemes wouldn’t have even happened without Y/N’s help after all. As a way to say thanks he would let them just take stuff fout his chets or when he heard they needed a specific resource he would wander out and get it for them. Of course saying something on the lines of “I was out there anyhow, so I brought some with me. It was on the way.” Y/N could read between the lines though. They grew up with him after all.
Y/N put so much energy into L’Manberg they couldn’t help but be in love with this little nation. They would do everything to protect their home.
When Y/N lost their first life it was together with their siblings protecting their nephew Fundy.
The Dream Team suddenly retreated after another battle against L’Manberg. While the group was celebrating what they thought was their first victory in ages, Eret appeared. She told the group of a small bunker with more resources.
Still celebrating Wilbur, Y/N, Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy made their way towards the bunker. The bunker that would later go down into history as “The Final Control Room.”
Inside they all looked at the labeled chests only to notice that they were empty. Eret then pressed a button which opened up secret walls with the Dream Team standing behind. She herself got into safety as Dream and his friends merciless attacked the L’Manberg faction.
As soon as Y/N understood what was happening they did their best to form a wall between the attackers and Fundy. Slowly pushing him out of the room while they made sure to block the exit, giving the Fox Hybrid enough time to run away.
When they woke up again it was inside their home. In L’Manberg. Sore from the respawning.
Once they did respawn though it didn’t take long for Fundy to barge into their room and throw himself against them, thanking them. Wilbur was close by, looking worse for wear as well but incredible thankful nonetheless.
After that and a few battles more Tommy challenged Dream to a duel in order to secure independence. He lost so instead he bartered his music discs for freedom.
After Tommy respawned a second time Y/N made sure to spent most of their time hovering around him. Making sure he was doing alright.
But with that L’Manberg was independent and it was Y/N’s time to shine. Sure, they worked hard on strengthening the infrastructure of the nation but now, maybe even because of that, they basically coordinated all the new builds.
Shops, homes and other things were being build with them overseeing it. Meanwhile Wilbur and Tommy took care of the political part only to come to the conclusion that they had to have a proper election.
At first it started innocently enough as well. New political parties were made that begun advertising themselves. Funny enough they would always come to Y/N asking them where they could hang up their posters. It was then that Y/N realized that the people saw them as some sort of authority, even asking them if they wanted to start their own campaign. They politely declined, saying they worked best as a support role.
Then Schlatt entered the stage and everything got thrown upside down.
In the end he managed to become the next president via a coalition and his first declaration as the president, or emperor as he called himself, was to exile Tommy and Wilbur.
As they ran for their life Y/N didn’t hesitate to follow. It hurt them so much to leave L’Manberg, their fruit and labor, behind. This only got worse once they realized that Tubbo was basically left alone back at the city under Schlatt’s rule.
Then Pogtopia got established.
Tommy, Wilbur and Y/N did their best to get a proper foothold again. Gathering resources and planning for ways to get their home back. And to accomplish this they soon called in the oldest sibling of the group, Technoblade.
Techno has been away for the longest time now. He moved out early to travel the world and apparently train himself. Somehow Tommy found a way to get a message to him, so he made his way towards Pogtopia.
He wasn’t big on words or emotions but as soon as he arrived he let Y/N hug him.
“This is a onetime deal, Y/N.”
With Techno they finally felt like they had a chance. Y/N could maybe return home someday. Back when they were children Techno always looked out for them so to have him back Y/N felt infinitely safer.
All the while Wilbur showed more and more signs that his mental health was rapidly declining. Y/N did their best trying to cheer him up but there was only so much they could do. Especially since they themself were struggling.
L’Manberg was their everything and now it was under the iron rule of Schlatt. They had to watch as Schlatt walked through the nation, ripping apart builds that they commissioned or even built themself. Every time he did something like that it felt like another stab wound directly into their heart.
Then the festival happened where Y/N lost their second life protecting Tubbo.
Schlatt wanted to apparently celebrate democracy and his amazing rule. Tommy and Wilbur weren’t allowed to join while Techno and Y/N received an invitation.
Y/N was very wary of that. They learned from Tubbo that Schlatt apparently was pretty interested in bringing them over to Manberg since a lot of the residents trusted them and saw them more as an authority than Schlatt himself, so bringing them over would probably also bring a lot of the residents around to his rule.
On the day of the festival Y/N made sure to stay close to Techno. Holding on to his arm and basically hiding behind him, not feeling up to talk with all the people in Manberg.
The people were happy to see them but Y/N was tired. They haven’t slept properly ever since the exile, too many thoughts that kept them awake.
Then the speeches started.
Honestly Y/N wasn’t really listening, their attention purely on a broken old building. It used to be the place where Y/N and the other residents would meet up and map out their plans for new builds. Discussing and even sometimes arguing on what materials should be used and where to get them. Now it was empty.
Their attention got pulled back towards what was actually happening once Tubbo begun speaking. It was a nice little speech Y/N had to admit.
Just as Tubbo was about to leave, Schlatt moved back in. Holding him in place and pushing him in something that Y/N had to describe as a cage with the help of Quackity.
“Techno, buddy. Come up here for a sec.”
Technoblade tensed up but still moved towards the stage. There Schlatt uttered the words that pulled the rug out from beneath Y/N once again.
“Kill him Techno. He is a traitor.”
“Don’t you dare!” Y/N yelled out, making their way towards the stage as well.
Y/N knew Techno couldn’t deal well with social pressure, especially when there were about ten people or more behind him that could attack him at any point.
Tubbo looked so scared as he pressed himself against the wall. There was no escape for him.
When Techno moved his crossbow up, aiming directly at Tubbo, Y/N let out another scream. Urging him to stop.
Explosions. Colorful explosions filled the place.
“Y/N!” it was Tubbo screaming their name out.
Just as Techno pressed the trigger Y/N managed to jump in front, the rockets hitting them instead of Tubbo.
Their older brother looked absolutely mortified “Y/N? Wha- What? Why? How?” staring at Y/N’s lifeless body that slowly dissolved. They were slowly respawning but seeing his siblings body was enough to send him in some sort of frenzy.
Filled with bloodlust he aimed his crossbow towards Schlatt and Quackity. Killing them with one press of the trigger only to turn around and aim his crossbow towards the people.
As this happened Tommy enderpearled over, screaming at Techno.
He helped Tubbo out of the cage who was still in a state of shock. He only saw Y/N for a second and the next they were laying on the ground in their own blood.
Y/N heard the details later after they respawned. Tommy had apparently been incredibly angry at Techno, even attacking him. Wilbur then offered that the two deal with their argument via a fistfight inside a pit.
Normally Y/N would have yelled at Wilbur for that. Would have told him that this was his dumbest idea yet but they were too shook from what had happened to them.
Technoblade always spelled safety to them but he killed them. Sure, he meant to kill Tubbo but that didn’t really make it any better. They gave him an out, they would have helped fighting off all these people so they could flee.
The next time they saw Techno they flinched every time he got too close to them and yet they still put on a smile “Never, do this again.”
Techno only nodded.
After this downward slope the momentum didn’t seem to stop for them. Wilbur dropped even more and more off. Falling victim to his paranoia. Y/N tried their best convincing him to not blow up Manberg, that they will fight to gain it back. At this point trying to gain back their L’Manberg was the only thing they could hold on to.
Though all that work was for nothing.
The war to take back L’Manberg went way differently than they all had imagined. Y/N fought with a viciousness most didn’t think they had it in them. This was the day for them to finally regain what they had wished for, for the longest time now.
Everything came to a halt once Dream surrendered. He showed them Schlatt who was sitting in the Carmavan. Drunk off his mind he yelled and screamed at people only to die of a heart attack which meant that the Pogtopia faction won.
The people begun cheering, they had their home back! They were free! Y/N was probably the loudest by far. It felt like a huge weight was lifted from their shoulders. All this hardship and they could finally return to working with the others and rebuild L’Manberg. Return it to its former glory.
Tubbo got appointed President and Y/N was happy with it. Tubbo had an eye for building and was a good person, with him they were sure they could do some amazing things.
Apparently Techno thought otherwise. Instead he pulled Soulsand out, holding onto the Wither skulls as a visible threat.
Y/N had somewhat forgiven Techno for what had happened. It was a stressful situation and they acknowledged it but seeing him there, threatening to kill all of them? That they knew they couldn’t forgive quite so easy. Especially since he made some sound points but it was their L’Manberg. The people didn’t like living under Schlatt’s rule, this wasn’t something that could be described simply as a coup. Technically he was right but only technically. There were so many things that came into play that could let you argue over that but Techno would have none of it. Yelling something about Tommy only wanting to be a hero.
When the first explosions rang Y/N thought it came from a Wither but Techno was still in the middle of putting the heads onto the structure.
When more explosions rang and the ground beneath their feet broke away, Y/N understood what had happened.
At some point Wilbur ran off and must have pressed the button. The button that set the TNT beneath the city ablaze, effectively destroying everything.
Y/N was too busy with finding hard ground again and then dealing with the Withers and Techno that they only noticed after the fighting ended, how broken the nation was now.
They had won. Why would Wilbur do this? He knew how much the nation meant to them and again, they had won, so there was no reason for blowing the place up!
And if that wasn’t enough to see how both their older brothers destroyed everything Y/N worked for, they also had to see how Philza, their father, stood next to the corpse of Wilbur. It felt like they lost everything.
They lost their trust in Technoblade.
They lost their hopes and dreams via Wilbur blowing up the freshly liberated L’Manberg.
They lost their trust in their own father who had slain his own son.
Y/N felt absolutely crushed. Family was so important to them and it was their own family that destroyed their hopes and dreams. They did everything for them and this is how they repaid them?
Once everything calmed down and Tubbo begun making plans on how to rebuild the nation, he immediately came to Y/N for help but they hesitated which worried him.
“Is everything okay? Usually you would have jumped on that offer, Y/N.”
Y/N put on a smile that didn’t seem to reach their eyes “Don’t worry Tubbo, of course I’ll help you. I’m just tired from what we have been through. I finally have time to take a breather and I think it all just crashed down on me.”
“Well if you ever need help you can talk to me.” It was an earnest offer that Y/N would never take advantage of.
Y/N mostly ignored Philza. He talked with them a few times and even explained what has happened but Y/N still made a wide berth around him. Seeing him just hammered back down the feeling of distrust and hurt. Their familial relationship took a hard hit from that point on.
With Ghostbur it was a weird situation as well. They enjoyed spending time with him but were also always incredibly sad around him. Ghostbur took notice of this and would always offer them to take some of his blue but Y/N declined every time.
“Don’t worry Ghostbur. Everything is still just fresh in my mind. I’ll be back to my old self in no time. You take care of yourself, you hear?”
“Of course Y/N! You have always looked out for me, thank you.”
L’Manberg slowly took on a proper form again but it wasn’t the L’Manberg Y/N knew. It felt to them like they were standing on top of a grave. A grave for their dreams and it was getting hard, real hard, to walk through it every day seeing places where they know specific buildings should be standing. Buildings they build on their own only to be destroyed by their brothers doing.
Then Tubbo exiled Tommy and Y/N felt conflicted. They felt obligated to stay in L’Manberg since they were the main person people came to for builds but that was their brother. Their only brother they still trusted and felt a need to protect.
Instead of following him into exile they stayed in the city. Visiting Tommy whenever they could, noticing pretty fast that he was struggling hard with his situation and for once they didn’t feel strong enough to properly support him. Y/N tried their best but once they noticed they couldn’t reach him completely they gave up a tiny bit.
It reminded them too much of Wilbur.
So while they visited him and helped them where they could, they spent more and more time alone in their home only coming out for work and other necessary things like food. Soon it was normal to see them with ever present dark circles beneath their eyes.
Before Philza disappeared to join Techno, he would stop by Y/N’s home all the time.
“Have you eaten, yet?”
“Yes, dad. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”
“I just haven’t seen you much lately and I got worried.”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine. Hey, if you go out, please, can you tell Ghostbur to stop coming around to throw Blue inside my mailbox? He won’t listen to me but perhaps he will to you.” And they would always carry the same big smile on their face accompanied by empty eyes.
The only time their happiness reached their eyes again was when Tommy returned from his exile. They crashed into their younger sibling holding him close to them and muttering apologies. He pried them off, embarrassed by all of this.
This short bout of happiness was destroyed by Doomsday. Dream, Technoblade and Philza once again made sure to set L’Manberg ablaze.
The second time Y/N’s fruits and labor got completely annihilated by their family but still they had some hopes this time. They still had Tommy on their side they could just finally build a home somewhere else and live in peace but Tommy had other ideas. He had it in his mind to get his discs back and he would do anything for it.
So while Y/N tried to ground themself with new hopes and ideas, holding onto the only constant of what was important to them, that being Tommy, Tommy ignored them. He was too busy with his own things and the worst part was that Y/N couldn’t even fault him for it.
They understood how much these discs meant to him and that this was something that had to come to an end but with this they lost another, and possibly their last, anchor point.
Yet you could still see them running around with a smile, tending to every one and trying to help out the best they could.
Then suddenly they were gone. They just disappeared one day. The few people who took note of that took some time to look around but there was no sign as to where they left. Y/N didn’t take their armor with them nor any weapons or food.
< Y/N succumbed to despair and fell of a high place>
When every ones communicators rung out with this message the SMP fell quiet.
Tommy couldn’t believe what he was reading. This didn’t make any sense. Y/N was fine! They would talk with them and everything looked fine! This must have been a cruel joke from Dream somehow, right? This couldn’t be real. Why would Dream do this? This didn’t seem to make sense.
Exactly there was no sense in Dream doing this.
While Tommy was battling with his thoughts Tubbo came running over to him. Tears streamed down his face.
“What happened? Why did this happen? Where are they?”
Tommy was visibly shaking “I- I have no idea. I don’t know. They looked fine. I’m- I’m not sure. Tubbo-“
Tubbo just slammed into him, giving him a proper hug, trying his best to help Tommy through his rising panic. He lost another sibling and by Ender that hurt.
Meanwhile in the snowy Tundra both Philza and Techno were staring at their communicators as well.
Philza was pale. So pale it almost rivaled the snow around him.
Techno had his brows furrowed. For anyone who didn’t know him well enough he looked at best displeased with this situation but Philza could see the small details that told a different story. Him sucking his breath in as he read the message, hiding his quivering lip in his cloak. He was heartbroken.
Sure the two weren’t on good speaking terms but Y/N was still his younger sibling. He still loved them.
Philza felt similar. He acknowledged that he screwed up and honored their wish to be left alone by him but he never imagined this could lead to their death. His knees buckled and he sank to the ground. Two of his children died, one directly by his hand and the other due to his inaction.
His eyes glossed over, the world became a blur and yet he continued rereading this message over and over. Y/N just lost their last life.
Philza could hear Techno walk closer to him and sat down on the ground as well.
“Y/N is-“ Philza begun but he didn’t know what he wanted to say. State the obvious to his eldest son?
“I have more fault in this than you, dad. Don’t feel guilty.” His voice was uncharacteristically weak. Wavering as he spoke. He wanted to cheer Philza up but it was a weak attempt.
“What have we done.”
Ghostbur was at first confused when he read the message. It was like he couldn’t connect the dots but it slowly dawned on him what this meant.
“Oh my.” His usual happy demeanor was suddenly gone.
He touched his face and as he put his hands back down he saw how they were smeared with blue.
“Y/N is dead?”
His usual ghost behavior seemed to break a bit. It was like through the warped version of Wilbur that was called Ghostbur for a moment the true version of him came through again. And he was hurt. Devastated.
“I think I need to find the others.” He mumbled to himself, making his way towards his family. All the while he held onto the blue wool of Friend like a lifeline. Combing through it nervously. Blue continuing to spill from his eyes.
#mcyt x reader#mcyt reader insert#mcyt fanfiction#mcyt x Y/N#dream smp reader insert#dream smp fanfiction#dream smp x reader#dream smp x Y/N#dsmp fanfiction#dsmp reader insert#dsmp x reader#sbi#sleepy bois inc#ramza writes#Anonymous#anon request
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The Man That Is Wilbur Soot [Wilbur Soot x reader]
Paring: c!Wilbur Soot x Gender neutral!reader
Summary: Inspired by the Song Honey Honey by ABBA aka I took the line "I'd heard about you before I wanted to know some more"
Warnings: Fluff?
Words: 3.4K
Masterlist: Wilbur’s Masterlist - Event Masterlist - Full Masterlist
A/N: This was made for my ABBA event. Check it out here! (Also requests are still open! Click here!) btw, this was supposed to be like 1k
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
You had heard about Wilbur Soot before. Everyone had heard about Wilbur Soot the President of L’Manberg. The guy who stood up to the Tyrant Dream of the SMP. And came out victorious, unlike the others whose life has been lost to the Tyrant, and their names to the passage of time.
You can’t say, he didn’t intrigue you enough, for you to set out on the dangerous journey that is crossing the SMP. Because he did. His country did. The ideals that you’ve heard about did. Everything intrigued you enough to leave your village behind and track into the world.
So that’s what you did, backpack on your shoulders, map in hand. You set into the big world, on the tracks to the dangerous country that the SMP is. You barely get out of the village before you are able to hitch a ride.
It’s a merchant that is headed for one of the villages closer to the border. It’s a bigger village than your own. The name rings a bell, maybe a traveller has mentioned it when passing by. So you hitch the ride, he tells you about his trades. He’s a merchant of fabrics, listing many places you haven’t even heard of. But there is one that catches your attention.
“You’ve been to L’Manberg?”
“Before it became independent yes.”
“Tell me about it!”
And the merchant does, for the entirety of the ride. He talks about the few people that resided there when he passed through the back then settlement. You beg him to tell each detail he can remember. And he happily provides. You take note of every you hear in your notebook. Your travel journal. Your… well diary.
He’s a good man, you note to yourself when he pulls into the bigger villages. The sun on the horizon.
You’re much further than you thought you would be on your first day.
This is going to be a good trip.
---
This is going to be a horrible trip.
You’ve been wandering for days, the closer to the border of the SMP, the fewer carts had come by, and even fewer willing to take a traveller with them.
You sigh as you watch the sun starting to set, and you are forced to make camp once more. It has been days since you last slept in a bed. To be exact 16 days. You had only managed to stay in an inn for the first night, realising your small amount of money wouldn’t get you far if you spent it all on beds.
You are reminded of the people whom you met that first night, a girl who talked about how President Soot had come by the town in his own travels to the SMP, and she had met him. No not just met him. She had spent the night with him.
And you just couldn’t help yourself, you had to quill your curiosity somehow, so you had once again asked for details, and she had provided.
The fire you get going is better than the last one. Not that the last one had ever turned into a fire. It had rained in the morning, and most of the wood you could find yesterday was still wet by the time you wanted to settle down.
But today, you had been lucky, it had been sunny all day, leading to being able to find dry sticks and a couple of pieces of logs. That you could make into a fire.
A clear stary night over your head as you turn in for the night. Hoping to get at least a couple of hours out of the fire to keep you warm. And to keep the mobs away. Knowing you still have a couple of days of wandering left before you will reach the borders of the SMP. You sigh as you jolt down the few interesting pieces of the day in your notebook.
Not that anything of importance actually happened. But maybe out there someone would read your notebook and find the fact that you saw a parrot in a birch forest be found interesting.
---
You have under half a day of walking left when a cart is willing to pick you up. Turning the hours of walking into a mere hour in the cart. You can feel yourself squirm in your seat as the silence falls upon you and the woman who picked you up.
“…So… Why are you heading to the border?”
She lets you sit in silence.
Rude much?
But… You can’t really call her rude, she was nice enough to pick you up and take you to the border. Where she very unceremoniously dropped you off, and headed off east, seemingly following the border never crossing it. She was… weird.
You instead tighten your back, and head over to the guarded tollbooth. A man looking bored out of his mind and close to sleep sits there. Not even having registered the cart that was there moments ago.
How often do people come through here?
The thought crosses your mind. You know it isn’t one of the main border entrances. You know of one that lies further west. But still, a good 2 to 3 days travel away. Besides you’re pretty sure someone told you the toll at the busy entrances is higher than the ones people rarely use.
But now that you are here and can read the price yourself. It seems the person had either lied to you, or the price at the main entrances are a lot higher than you could ever think about paying.
An idea strikes you, maybe… Just maybe… The guard will fall asleep. Just maybe. You linger on the side of the road. Seemingly interested in the plants nearby. You start jotting down stuff in your notebook. Taking note of the size of the leaves, the colour. You mumble the information to yourself.
Your eyes keep glancing over, as his head slumps down further and further.
It barely takes you a few more minutes of stalling before the guard is full-on snoring. You barely catch yourself nearly letting out a sound in victory.
Silent. Right. No noise.
You can do this. You can sneak past him. You can be silent.
You suck in a breath, as you start moving as slowly as you’ve ever done in your life. Hoping to the sky gods the slowness helps you with being silent. And it does, to some extent. But your backpack still rustles around, and the loose stones on the pathway still skirt across the dirt.
But he keeps sleeping, and before you know it, you’ve managed to sneak past him. Sneak into a country. You did it!
You decide your celebration is best celebrated far from here, and you make your way on the now stone path.
---
It takes you a couple of days before you hit your first village. You’re surprised by this. Normally there is a city around half a days’ time from most border crossings. But this is the SMP. The fact that its citizens aren’t exactly allowed to leave. Is more than public knowledge in other countries. They are under the rule of a Tyrant after all.
You figure it’s time to sleep in a real bed, you deserve it.
You head straight into the in, it’s barely past lunch, but there is a plentiful of people in there already. You stumble a bit at the sight, you had expected a couple of patrons, not a room full of people. But nonetheless, you make your way to the bar.
Conversations bustling around you, a waiter running around, and either the innkeeper themselves behind the bar, or just a barkeeper. You aren’t exactly sure. But you wave them down anyway. Maybe she can help you find the innkeeper and ask for a room.
“Well, hello there, you look exhausted.” Your shoulders sink further down at the comment. Did you really look that bad?
“I was wondering if you had a room I could rent?” you ignore the rude comment and stick to politeness.
“I figured.”
“… So um… Do you have a room free?” You try once again.
“Sorry hun, but if you hadn’t noticed we are full right now.” You completely deflate at the answer. In return, she takes pity on you. “But if you ask around over at the stables, someone might let you on as a passenger and take you to the next city. It’s half a day by cart, so you might just catch one if you’re fast.”
You beam up that answer, profusely thanking her, before running back into the street. Before realising you have no clue where the stables are.
It takes you two people, and three wrong turns to find the stables. And nobody is preparing any carts when you get there. Just a guy saddling his own horse.
Ah well, it never hurts to ask.
You approach the guy.
“Hi!”
He looks a bit confused when you stand across from him, on the other side of the horse.
“Um… good evening?”
You smile at him.
“Can I help you?” He speaks slowly.
“Ah yes! Sorry! I’m a bit out of it. I’m trying to get to the next town over.” You happily tell him.
“And you’re telling me this because…” He trails off. Leaving time for you to answer, instead, you leave him hanging. Until he coughs.
“Because…” He repeats.
“Because I was thinking, maybe you were heading that way.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I can pay…” You try.
“Well then, why didn’t you start with that.” He looks you and your baggage up and down twice before clicking his tongue. “We can make this work. Do you know how to hold on?”
You nod, and he settles onto his horse, waiting for you to do the same. You manage to hoist yourself up and onto the horse. It doesn’t even flinch at the added weight. You’re thankful to the sky gods for that.
He rides the two of you out of town and onto the road for the next town.
“What’s someone like you this far out in the country?”
“I’m a traveller.” You tell him.
“To the border? So you could look at it and head home?” He snorts.
“No no, I’m not from the SMP, I’m just travelling through. I’m headed to L’Manberg.” He snorts once more.
“L’Manberg? That bunch of spoiled brats.”
“Spoiled brats?”
He laughs this time.
“Don’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“You truly aren’t from these parts.” He comments, and let the conversation fade out after that.
You don’t question the man, instead just pays him as the sun starts to set, and you are once again in an unfamiliar village. At this point, you barely remember the route you used to take in your home from your house to the baker.
Okay, that’s a lie, that is a route that is embedded into your mind, that you could sleepwalk it. For the sole reason that the route had you pass the library. Which was a place you spent a lot of time. Especially after finding out about the interesting man of Wilbur Soot.
Some books portrayed him as a traitor of the SMP, others the hero of the folk. But every single depiction had one thing in common. That he was an interesting enough man for people to want to write about him.
And that made you interested in him. He had started a revolution in a country that wasn’t his. You weren’t sure where he was from. None of the books in your village had mentioned that.
You head into the inn, this time, it’s bustling from evening patrons, but nowhere as lively as the one in the previous town. The reception this time has a separate table. Which you welcome happily. This means you don’t have to cross another sea of half-drunken people you don’t know.
However once again, the inn is full.
What’s going on here?
This one is even larger than the other one and seemingly has fewer patrons. But you take the rejection with a head held high. Thank them for their time, as you head into the now dark streets.
You sit now on a couple of steps, you’re tired, exhausted, and just want to sleep in a bed.
The door opens.
You nearly leave your skin in shock. You had expected the owner to be asleep. Instead, an elderly lady stands there.
“Would you look at that? It seems I have a guest.” She speaks.
“No no, I’m just passing through, I’m sorry I just needed to rest for a moment. I’m sorry. I’ll be on my way!” You ramble on as you scramble from the stone step.
“Nonsense.” She tsks at you. “Come in you poor child.”
She steps back into the house, leaving the door open.
“You coming? Close the door after you, it gets so terrible cold at night.”
You find yourself following her. Closing the door after yourself. You carefully put down your backpack as she ushers you into a seat in the kitchen. Setting a plate of hot steaming soup in front of you. You nearly drool at the sight. You can’t remember the last time you had warm food. Especially not warm homemade food.
You are quick to dig in, and she laughs warmly at you. You feel comfortable here.
“Why were you out in the street this late? That’s no safe place to be.”
You stop the spoon still in your mouth. She laughs once again, but the kind air around her never leaves. You swallow and pull out the spoon.
“I’m making my way to L’Manberg.” You tell her.
“Ah, L’Manberg. I’ve heard about that place. President Soot right?”
“Yes, yes.” You nod at her. “Wilbur Soot.”
“Ah, the Antarctic prince.”
You stop once again.
“The what?”
“The Antarctic Prince?”
You hum.
“Ah my dear, President Soot is the second born of King Philza from the Antarctic Empire.”
You stare at her; this was new information. She laughs once more. You are quick to grab your notebook and write down the new information. How had something this important not been mentioned before? This explains so much to you. And it eagers you even more to continue the trip.
The man of Wilbur Soot only seems to keep getting more and more interesting as each day passes.
The kind lady offers you a bed and a bath.
You are more than happy to receive both. Although you would never admit that to anyone that you could barely recognise yourself in the mirror. And for the second realisation that night. You understood why the innkeepers didn’t want you around.
You’ve never slept as good as you did that night during your travels.
---
You stretch as you can feel the scorching heat of the sun above you. It has been three weeks since you left the kind lady. She had asked for her son to help you move deeper into the country, so you were closer to the border you are desperately trying to reach.
You had travelled with her son for about a week, when he had to start heading more west than south, you had thanked him as much as his mother. But he had brushed you off that having a travelling partner was nice, and that you if came back through he would love to hear stories of the famous L’Manberg and its citizens.
The map you had brought seems to not be well mapped in the SMP. It wasn’t something you were unprepared for, but it did surprise you how little it truly resembled the mapping of the roads.
But a map is a map, and a destination is a destination. So you head onwards.
And onwards…
And onwards…
And onwards…
Sometimes meeting other travellers now that you are deeper in the countries. The nights where you aren’t alone passes faster than the ones where you are.
You hear stories of L’Manberg you have never heard before, and retellings of events but in other perspectives.
It seems a lot of people have a lot of opinions on the small country. But you understand, you too would have a lot of opinions if a city suddenly started wanting independence from its country.
It takes you weeks before you start coming across people who have been near L’Manberg regularly. It gives you a sign of hope. You’re getting closer, your journey is reaching its destination.
---
It’s storming the day you spot the country on the horizon. It’s still storming by the time you reach the country. The SMP toll guard is seemingly nowhere nearby and you pass the border with ease this time. Luckily for you. Or else you would have to explain why a traveller like you didn’t have travel papers.
You had expected to be met with one of the cities of the small country immediately. But it seems they are further from the border. And by further, it takes you an hour at foot-travel to meet the capital of the small country.
The streets are bustling.
That’s when it hits you.
You’ve made it.
You’ve actually made it.
You might look mad, but you let out a laugh right then and there. A laugh of relief. A laugh of victory. A laugh of … being alive.
“Having fun there?”
You turn around, to be met with the eyes of a stranger. A tall brown-haired stranger, nonetheless.
“Yeah, I just… Yeah.” You trail off. You eye him up and down, he’s cute. You put your hand out to present yourself, your name, the country you came from, and the name of the village you used to live in.
“Wilbur Soot, President of L’Manberg.” He returns with a smile. You barely listen to his words. Too captured by his smile. When…
Oh.
Oh, sky gods.
This is the man.
This beautiful human being of a man is the man.
“You alright there?” He asks as he watches you falter for a moment.
“Yes, yes, everything is fine. More than fine actually.” You tell him.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” You smile at him, and he smiles back.
“So, what are you doing here? You are an awful long way from home.”
He starts walking, and you fall in step with him.
“I’m here to see the country. I’ve heard a lot about it.” Leaving out the unsaid, I’ve heard a lot about you. He didn’t need to know yet, just how intriguing you found him.
You follow him down the street as he points a couple of things out, a couple of buildings, a couple of people. You listen and stop to note something down a couple of times, and he waits, patiently. Until he leads you to the local inn.
He holds the door open.
“A drink?”
“Yes please.”
He finds the two of you a booth, and you easily fall into conversation.
He asks you about your hometown, you about his.
He asks about your journey, you ask about the revolution.
You continue this game of ping pong. And the further down your drinks you get, the more personal the conversation gets. The less you note down. Yet, the man himself never falters from being the most interesting thing you’ve ever encountered.
And the night moves along, your conversation following.
You don’t really know when his hand landed on your thigh. Or when your lips met his. But suddenly you’re stumbling into a room together.
His touch setting you on fire, and your touch egging him on.
Your head is spinning as your back hits the bed.
Your notebook is lying tucked away safely in your backpack, staying there all the way into midday when you finally wake up. Disorientated, confused, and hungover.
Sitting there in that bed, you can’t help but remember the words of the girl you met the first night. And you can’t help but agree with her. Wilbur Soot surely is a love machine.
You hear rustling beside you, and you turn your head.
He’s awake.
He’s watching.
He’s watching you.
You lazily smile at him.
And at that moment, there is nowhere else you would rather be.
You had heard about him before, and you wanted to know some more.
People later down the line found your meeting story anywhere from boring to fate. But one thing was sure, you entered L’Manberg with one goal in mind. And never left again.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
#wilbur soot#wilbur soot x you#wilbur soot x reader#c!wilbur soot x reader#c!wilbur soot#c!wilbur#c!wilbur x reader#c!wilbur fanfic#c!wilbur x you#c!wilbur soot x you#dsmp wilbur#dsmp#mcyt#mcyt x reader#fanfic#gender neutral!reader#delias own writing
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Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 5.5 Bonus
Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language Warnings: None Summary: Local feral human spends some time with their new family. Four short bits featuring Daphne (Maiden OC), Bela, Lady D, Daniela, and a surprise guest. Enjoy. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly, 4: Portraits For Ghosts, 5: Heart Of The Matter
5.5: Family
i.
“Wait, you’re telling me that you came here willingly?” You asked, mouth agape, eyes wide. It felt like every time you talked to Daphne she had something incredible to say. Which was, of course, why she was your favorite maiden to talk to. That, and the fact that she had adapted so quickly to your ‘charming personality’. So far she was the only servant you had been willing to be honest with. Mainly about your feelings regarding your blood bond, but also just about your relationship with Cassandra in general. Something about Daphne simply made her incredibly approachable. From what you had heard, you weren’t the only one to think as such, with her being fairly popular among the castle workers.
“More of us do than you might expect. Some consider it an honor to serve one of the four Lords, and Castle Dimitrescu is certainly… nicer than either the factory or the reservoir. Personally, I came here for a friend of mine. She, well, had less of a choice. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being here without knowing anyone, so it felt like I only had one option. Can’t say I regret my decision, if you can believe it,” Daphne explained, folding laundry all the while. At the same time, you carefully sort through the not yet washed clothing, separating them into two baskets. After all, you wouldn’t want Lady Dimitrescu to end up with a pink dress! Technically this wasn’t your job, nor did you have a job at all, but you hated having idle hands- especially when talking to someone who was working. At first Daphne had protested, but she had given in upon realizing just how stubborn you could be.
“That’s… impressive. I mean, holy shit, that's a real ride or die friendship right there. Is she, uh, is your friend still, you know, around?” You stuttered, cursing your tongue for asking such a thing. If the answer was no, you were going to feel like a real asshole. Which, admittedly, you had a tendency to be. But this wasn’t one of the times where it was intentional. Thankfully, Daphne is all smiles, and even seems amused by your spluttering.
“Yes, we’re even roommates. Well, us and five others. Possibly with a sixth one on the way, if we ever get someone to fill the empty space,” she replies, pausing to think. Then she’s back to work, refusing to waste any time. “Speaking of roommates… I know I said I’m not one for gossip, and I meant it, but a little songbird told me that Cassandra seems to be in a much better mood these days. Are the two of you, well, getting along? It would be nice to know that soulmates can overcome even the roughest of introductions.” There’s a hint of something odd in her tone, and you take a moment to wonder what she’s (unintentionally) hinting at. Had she met her soulmate, only for things to go poorly?... Before answering her, you make a mental note, deciding to see if any of the other maidens had a scar across their nose.
“It’s not like she and I are dating or anything. We’re just, you know, not hating each other. Currently,” you said, shrugging. But Daphne raises an eyebrow at you, and you find yourself instinctively feeling guilty, somehow feeling small next to the shortest person you knew. “Alright, alright, we might have… Okay we kissed. And promised each other not to die, because having your soulmate die hurts like hell. Also maybe she showed me her mom’s art collection and I made a joke about the titty sculptures because holy shit, this house has a lot of titties.” At this, Daphne bursts into laughter, grinning from ear to ear.
“Amen to that, for sure.”
ii.
“So… fan of science, I see,” you say, awkwardly, bouncing a little on your heels. Next to you is the eldest Dimitrescu daughter, who had unexpectedly joined your table in the library. There were several other places she could have sat, with both more comfortable seating and more workspace, but for some reason she had chosen here. So far she hadn’t said a word. Hell, you hadn’t spoken to her since your first meeting, where she had suggested killing you. Naturally, you weren’t quite sure what to make of her. Something told you that she felt much the same about yourself.
“Fan of oversimplification, I see,” Bela counters, after a few tense seconds. Then she sets down her book- a heavy text about Romanian avian fauna- to give you her full attention. “It would be more accurate to say that I enjoy studying biology, particularly the branch of zoology.” Well, this conversation was certainly… happening. Honestly, you couldn’t tell whether she was legitimately judging you, or merely chaffing you for her own amusement.
“You’ll have to, er, forgive me for being overly broad. Consider it a side effect of my nerves, those themselves being due to our unsavory introduction. In case you don’t recall, you put that sickle of yours into my shoulder,” you reminded, with a sarcastic smile. To your surprise, Bela chuckles at this, almost as if fondly remembering the incident. Seriously, you think, why did my soulmate have to be from this family?
“Staying silent was an option. Perhaps that would have suited you better?” Bela says, now clearly teasing, smile much more genuine than your own. Knowing she had a point, you’re quick to blush, mildly embarrassed.
“Touche. I am curious, however, why you decided to sit next to me in the first place. I certainly wouldn’t have tried starting a conversation if you hadn’t,” you explained.
“Like I said… I enjoy studying zoology,” Bela replies, with a sly grin. It takes you a few moments to understand the intended implications. Once you do, however, you’re giving her a hard stare. Then you scoot your chair a few inches away from her, in exaggerated movements. “Don’t worry, I was only joking. Though you certainly are an interesting human. Much more, hmm, cheeky? Compared to the servants, at least.”
“Somehow I get the feeling that they simply prefer being alive, as opposed to not being as snippy. Except maybe Daphne, now that I think about it. Very sweet, that one,” you muse. “Regardless, I think I’ll return to my book now, for it lacks a tongue, and is therefore less likely to taunt me.” Doing just as you had said, you open the book, holding it a bit higher than what would be comfortable, so that it becomes a ‘shield’ of sorts. Nothing was quite as satisfying as subtle body language.
Accepting your words with a shrug, Bela also resumes reading, turning to a bookmarked page. Roughly an hour of relative quiet passes. Neither of you so much as glance at each other, not even when she drops the pen she had been taking notes with. In the end, you are the one who leaves first, and finally the silence is broken. You give your goodbyes, and Bela returns them politely. Though you do not know it, she sets her book down as soon as you leave, pausing to think about you. Now that things had ‘calmed down’, it was reassuring for her to know that you weren’t always full of spite. Still, you held onto your cleverness (for the most part), leaving her with no doubt about the universe’s decision. You were her sister’s soulmate.
iii.
“It’s official: I’m lost in a creepy castle. The universe hates me. Probably should have realized that sooner, considering how it decided to introduce me to my soulmate,” you mutter, scowling deeply, as you wander unfamiliar halls. How had you even gotten lost? Sure, you had taken a wrong turn, but it hadn’t taken long for you to realize your mistake! Evidently you somehow managed to make another one while backtracking. Now you were standing in the center of the corridor, hands on your hips, desperate for some maiden to come rescue you. What you really didn’t want was Cassandra to find you, because she’d make fun of you for the rest of your life. It’s not like she had specifically joked about you getting lost before. Except that was exactly what had happened.
A few minutes pass uneventfully. There aren’t even any distant sounds of life; no footsteps, nor echoing voices, nor the squeaking of floorboards. All you can hear is your own breathing. As well as the occasional sigh, admittedly. By this point, there’s a part of you that’s starting to panic. After all, there was a chance that the castle was big enough for certain sections to be abandoned. Hopefully that’s not the case, you think, I mean, they’d cut the power to those parts, right? Here’s hoping… With that in mind, you get back to wandering, figuring that you’d have to eventually run into a familiar landmark. Or better yet, someone who actually knew the castle’s layout.
When salvation at last reveals its holy visage, it is not in the form of a lowly servant, rather the muffled voice of none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. Neither her exact words nor who she’s speaking to is clear. At first, you can’t even tell where her voice is coming from, but you quickly approach one closed door, then another, searching for the source. Several doors later you’re certain you’ve found her. By then you can tell that she’s not alone. Not wanting to seem rude by interrupting, you take a few steps back, leaning against the wall to wait. For the most part you still cannot make out what’s being said, but a few words do reach your ears.
“-expected more from you. How am I-” the voice gets cut off, not by Alcina, rather a sudden gust of air, akin to massive wings flapping. When the speaker continues, they are both louder and angrier. “Someone is listening. Have you not taken steps to ensure our privacy?” Then the door is swinging open, revealing your soulmate’s mother. At first she’s practically shaking with rage, but her expression turns to shock when she sees you.
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Cassandra?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, clearly stressed, as she steps into the corridor. There’s movement behind her, although you cannot make out any details. Besides, you’re quick to answer her, wishing to avoid her wrath (and that of whoever she was speaking to).
“I’m so sorry, Lady Dimitrescu, I was walking from the dining hall to Cassandra’s studio, and I took a wrong turn. I’ve been wandering for half an hour now. When I heard your voice, I thought perhaps I could, well, enlist your assistance. But you were busy, so I figured I’d wait outside. If I had-...” you pause, gulping, as the other figure steps into view. It’s a face you’re all too familiar with. One that popped up countless times through the village, and again throughout the castle, the owner’s name always spoken with acclaim, with worship. Mother Miranda, in the flesh, wings spreading out behind her, somehow cutting a more impressive silhouette than even Lady Dimitrescu. Instantly you’re falling to your knees, knowing that your sharp tongue was no match for this practical goddess.
“Who is this, Dimitrescu? Why isn’t their blood staining your claws?” Miranda questions, gaze never leaving your trembling form.
“This… this is one of my daughters’ soulmates. They were brought in with the last group of sacrifices,” Lady Dimitrescu explains, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘Twas a true testament to Miranda’s power, as well as her influence, that she could make someone so powerful seem so weak. Which was exactly why you were shaking with anxiety. But to your surprise, the goddess does not immediately order your execution for your trespass.
“And already they know their place, hmm? Kneeling before me?” Miranda says, a strange smile dancing on her lips. Whatever anger she had been feeling a minute prior had faded, though you couldn’t even begin to guess as to why. Regardless, both Alcina and yourself are quite relieved, though neither of you are quick to show it. “Either they have a good head on their shoulders, or you still take care of some of your duties. Very well, they may live. For now. But I expect next week’s report to be far more favorable. I don’t need to remind you of the price for failing me.” With that said, Mother Miranda turned to leave, a swirling mass of dark feathers flying past you.
A minute passes, maybe two, before either of you feel capable of speaking up.
“Let’s get you back where you belong, yes?” Lady Dimitrescu says, quietly, before placing her hand on your shoulder to guide you. Tension hangs clear and heavy over both of you. Even as you walk down corridor after corridor, the feeling does not ease. At least not until you’re back in familiar territory, near where you had originally made your mistake, finally able to breathe a little. It’s here that Lady Dimitrescu pauses to speak once more. “Tomorrow I will assign one of the servants to give you a tour, in the hopes that this does not happen again. Furthermore, I ask that you forget everything you heard earlier, for it is neither your business… or my daughter’s.” You’re quick to nod, and with that she bids you farewell, leaving you alone. Now, you think, was it left from here, or right?
iv.
“I’m just going for a walk. Why do you care so much? It’s not like it’s any of your business,” Daniela assures you, despite the fact that all you had done was say ‘hello’. If this was her attempt at casting aside suspicion, she had done a terrible job of it. What made her so nervous? Was it even worth investigating? Only one way to find out.
“You’re rather bundled up, planning on being out for long?” You ask, trying to sound casual, leaning against the wall as you did. In response, Daniela pretty much stomps her foot. There’s something odd in her expression, however, that implies your question hit a soft spot. Certainly wasn’t what you had expected. “Don’t mind me, just trying to make conversation with my soulmate’s sister. Speaking of her… have you seen Cassandra? Is she, perhaps, going with you?” A little misdirection never hurt anyone. Probably.
“No!” Daniela replies, fast as a gunshot, too much emphasis to be unintentional. But she realizes her mistake as soon as she’s made it, and makes a clear effort to relax herself. “She’s probably in her studio, doing whatever it is she calls art, on the other end of the house. Besides, I don’t want any company for this walk.” For a moment you merely squint at her, unsure of how to proceed. In the end, you decide that it really is none of your business, being more than satisfied by what teasing you’ve already done.
“Alright, alright. Well then, I’ll leave you be. Just… be careful, yeah? If you get hurt, and your mother finds out that I didn’t stop you from going… not sure Cassandra could save me,” you say, with a shrug. At first Daniela can’t decide whether to be upset or relieved, but she seemingly settles for the latter, giving you a brief nod before heading outside. As the door shut behind her, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had done the right thing.
#cassandra x reader#cassandra dimitrescu#cassandra dimitrescu x reader#lady dimitrescu#resident evil: village#re8 village#yeah I'm back#don't be weird about it
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Princess | JJ Maybank
Warnings; jealousy, mentions of drugs, and use of drugs.
Find my masterlist here
She was rising through the ranks on figure eight, and soon, she would overtake the one, the only, Sarah Cameron. It was infuriating, no one had heard of this prissy girl in a while, and here she was, already beginning to replace the blonde.
“Uh.” Sarah groaned, noticing how even her brother was flocking over you, even Topper had returned to the dark side after his helpful stunt.
“What’s wrong Cameron?” JJ asked her, following her eyeline, and carrying his gaze along it, until he found the centre of her irritable - a group of kooks, her own.
“The princess is back in town.” She groaned, noticing how you walked through your entourage, oblivious to any of the pogues that resided on this side of the island. It was as though you didn’t hold a grudge against their species, but that was her thing, you were just trying to copy her actions.
Hell, for all she knew, you’d hook up with a southsider too, and attend the parties at the boneyard as though you were one of their own.
She knew her attitude towards you was petty, but she just couldn’t help it. You now had everything that she had lost, she was even stared down by her dad and step mother, both of whom were mildly disappointed in the side that she had taken within the whole ordeal.
“I thought that was you.” JJ noticed how her mood had turned sour, and he was aware that it was his duty to cheer her up. If John B returned with their drinks, and saw that his girlfriend was displeased, he would be the one to take the blame as it was his company that was keeping her from boredom.
“That girl.” She pointed you out, JJ’s eyes scanning every dip and curve, each mark and mole, upon your body, memorising every inch of- “is the kook. Used to have the mantle of princess before I did. Don’t dirty your hands with her Maybank, she’s a spoilt brat, and whatever she wants, she gets.”
“A kook? Not my type.” He assured her, the whole form of your beautiful being crumbling in his eyes, all because of what you essentially were. A golden finger, in the dirt of his home.
🏹
The Cameron’s house was large, but you smiled, knowing that you lived in one with a bigger foundation, and more floors. Material items were value on the island, it gave way to status.
“Hi Mr Cameron.” You greeted him, with a pristine smile that would knock him dead. Rafe was beside you, content with your obliviousness to the things that he had done.
His father had told him to find a rich, pretty thing. They were the least suspecting ones, too occupied with spending cash and dolling themselves up. It is what he himself had done, after he had worked his way up to kook status, but the wife he now had, well she was as devious and power hungry as him. They fit perfectly.
“Nice to finally meet you y/n, I’ve heard a lot about you, not only from my son but practically the whole island. Is it good to be back?” He shook your hand, noticing the small smile slip onto his son’s face.
“It’s great, nowhere is quite like home.” The hierarchy on Outer Banks was its most predominant feature, no where else quite had an order that lacked most of itself in the same way.
“I need to talk to Rafe here for a moment, would you mind waiting here?” He expectedly asked, and once more, you could only plaster on a false expression, and happily nod.
“Not at all.” Was your reply, and as soon as they had disappeared, you were left awaiting for their return. You plucked at the skin around your nails, and tapped your foot, trying to reduce the enveloping silence that made you feel small and anxious.
Another person entered the room, making you slowly spin to greet them. It was Sarah, and a look of worry crossed over her face, it was quite amusing. The Sarah Cameron, was concerned for you.
“Rafe isn’t a good guy.” She spoke slowly, thinking that you were interested in her older sibling. It made you quirk your eyebrow in surprise, you had never expected her to talk about her family to you, or at all in general. “You can do a lot better.”
“Don’t worry Sarah, I don’t want him, nor do I want to be the so called ‘princess’ of this wealthy establishment. I hate figure eight, it sucks. It’s boring, it’s just parties here, and parties there, but they’re all sophisticated and you have to dress nicely. Sure, the luxury is great, the expectations of washing your hair every day, wearing perfume that literally burns my eyes, and having to dress so- ugh, it’s just gross. You can take the throne back if you want, it’s not too comfortable, it squeezes me in all th wrong places.”
Your paragraph of speech left Sarah in shock, you had been faking it all along. The laughs were all pretend, the smiles were all forced, and she no doubt had one thing left on my mind. “Then why, out of all the kooks, are you hanging it with my brother?”
Nonchantly you shrugged, a sparkle flaring in your eyes. “He thinks he’s gonna get laid, and so until he realises that he isn’t, and he can’t touch this hot bod, then I get free weed.”
“Well played y/l/n, well played.” Nobody had used Rafe and had to give nothing in return, yet you had found the perfect trick.
“He also thinks I’m a virgin, sooooo, my contract is going to last a while, I suppose.” She almost laughed at that, she wondered how you had given him that impression in the first place. Before you had moved, she had seen you makeout and consentually grope countless guys, leading them to dark corners and your empty car.
It wasn’t something that she had ever admit, but for the first time in her life, she thought that you’d make the perfect friend. You sounded just like a pogue, but instead you were living the ‘high life’, and rolling in the cash and smokes that were thrown your way, with no charge.
🏹
JJ on instinct, creased his face up at the sight of Sarah leaving John B and the others at the boneyard, only to walk over to an intruder. She had told him that she didn’t like her, however her stride and smile supposed otherwise.
“Who’s that?” John B leant over his friend’s shoulder, watching his girlfriend interact with a stranger.
“The kook princess.” JJ informed him, spitting the name out of his mouth, glaring at the kook that had the nerve to once again, walk onto his side of his island. And not only that, but to invite herself to the party.
“She got a name?” John B asked, and that was when JJ realised, that he didn’t know it. Before you had moved, you kept to your side of the island, but the times were changing, with relationships and friendships between pogues and kooks beginning. All you wanted was to be accepted, and if they didn’t like the fact that you were born a kook, then that was most definitely their problem.
“Hey, I’m so glad that you could make it.” Sarah greeted you, you shyly smiled, still not familiar with her being so polite to you. You’d notice her cast you the stink eye on more than one occasion, and how she would speak about you at school in the time prior to your move away.
“I still don’t understand why you invited me.” You honestly said, uncertain by her intentions. If she had other motivations, then you could deal with them, she wouldn’t be the first one to try and challenge you for your position. And either way, you didn’t want it, it were only a weight on your shoulders, but some kooks wanted you to remain their royalty, and so by their reputation, you did.
You pulled a blunt from your shorts pocket, and lit it, inhaling slowly and awaiting an answer from the relaxant. It calmed you, and made the thoughts of being the only kook here, excluding Sarah, go away.
“I want you to meet my friends.” She spoke, and you nodded, more entertained by the smoke that rolled out of your mouth than her intentions. Her hand grabbed your own, and she began to drag you through the sea of people, until she reached a small fire pit, where four people were sat.
You already knew of them, John B being the one on your side of the island the most. It of course was because of Sarah, and her successful attempts to seduce him, and sneak him into her room.
“This is y/n.” She told them, and you didn’t notice the way JJ focused on the weed that hung from the clasp of your fingers. He was surprised by the consumption you had of it, and watched intently as you went in for another puff.
You weren’t just a kook, you were a stoner. Perhaps the two of you had something in common after all, maybe you weren’t this spoilt brat entirely.
🏹
“Pass me the goddamn lighter J!” You beckoned at the blonde, who held the red automatic match out of your reach. On instinct, you crossed your arms, and poured, causing the boy to laugh.
“Don’t do that, you look like a spoiled kook.” His words only earnt himself a glare, and so he reached down, plucked your blunt between his fingers, and lit it. He took a puff before placing it between your own lips. “Technically we just kissed.”
“Geez, I really am spoilt.” You rolled your eyes, as the pair of you stood out of the chateau, where it was the two of you alone. Everyone else was inside, watching a movie, and they didn’t want to get high off the fumes, instead they’d rather remember the ‘cinematic details’, as Pope put it.
“It was a joke Princess.” He rubbed your head, messing up your hair, but he knew that you didn’t care. Appearances weren’t your most entailed feature, you only dressed up to the nines to please your parents. But here, with him and the rest of your friends, you could be yourself. You weren’t a kook or a pogue, instead you were just y/n.
“You need to stop going on about kissing me Maybank, otherwise I might think that it’s something you actually want to do.” You smirked, noticing how his cheeks reddened slightly, and the normally confident male gulped.
“Well...” before he could say more, you lightly pushed him, but he soon grabbed you, and the blunt out of your mouth. “Maybe I do.”
“Maybe I want you to as well.” You flirted with him, eyes darting between where he was licking his lips, and the blunt that was gently held in the pads of his fingertips. “Tell you what, if I gift you with a kiss, I get my property back.”
“Princess you gotta stop that, you can’t call me your property, I’m a person too babes.” You groaned at that, he knew full well what you were speaking about, but he had to be a tease in every conversation that the pair of you had.
“Shut your mouth pogue.” Your words weren’t what shut him up, instead you grasped the fabric of his baggy, sleeveless shirt, and pulled his mouth to your own, your tongue instantly prying its way towards his own, breaking through the seal of his lips.
Distracted, he dropped the blunt, and cupped both sides of your face. He was in heaven, finally he had given into the kook, and vice versa. He was glad to have learnt your name, and everything that you had to offer.
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Marvelous Friends - part 9
Summary: you introduce Chris to your family
Warning: language, Chris being cute
previous part series masterlist
dividers by @firefly-graphics
You are biting your lip, not sure if this was the best idea, it was too soon, right? It didn't feel too soon but you've only been dating a few months and the only other time you introduced your boyfriend to the family this early was when you weren't sure the relationship was going anywhere and knew your brothers would scare them away for you.
Chris squeezed your thigh to get your attention, apparently you were so lost in your head you didn't hear him calling your name. You mumble a quick apology and give him your undivided attention. "Are you okay? I've never seen you this anxious" he asked as he pulled you into him, as well as he could in the back seat of the car.
"I'm ok, just a bit nervous…..my family is loud and opinionated and there's so many of them" you sigh as you relax into Chris' hold.
"Well, families are supposed to be loud and obnoxious, but they helped form the amazing person you are. I can't wait to get to know them" he offered you the sweetest smile before you rolled your eyes at him.
"You're such a sap" you giggled and started to relax in his hold. Reaching the airport you weren't sure if there would be paparazzi, Chris told you not to worry but when did that ever stop you, so the decision was for him to go into the airport while the car took a loop around before dropping you off.
If it wasn't too early to meet your family, it was definitely too early for your relationship to be public knowledge. By the time you made it to the gate he was sitting in a chair, sipping some water, you hadn't discussed what to do at the gate but when he extended his hand to you, holding out a cup of coffee, you immediately smiled and sat down next to him. Luckily airport wasn’t crowded so you decided to give a bit more detail on what he was getting himself into.
"My parents have been married forever, and are madly in love...It's kinda disgusting, but absolutely adorable at the same time. My mom will try to feed from the moment we get there until we leave." You felt that these types of tidbits would be helpful but you really didn't worry about your parents, they loved and trusted you, even if they wanted to protect you. You were more concerned about your brothers and the hazing that might happen.
"My dad has a tendency to test people with uncomfortable questions, like politics or religion...but the answer doesn't matter, he's not gonna judge you on that, it's the way you respond that he uses to evaluate you." Chris looked at you puzzled so you tried your best to explain.
"If he asks you anything out of the ordinary, he's looking at the way you respond, if you get defensive or agitated, you're losing points, so to speak" you shrug, not sure how to make any of these seem normal.
"Ok...I can handle that, which brother is picking us up?" he asked as we began boarding the plane "ah, that would be Greg, he's the engineer and married to Meg. Greg is the twin of Garrison, or Gar, who is married to Jan. Gar is the chef and our resident bartender most of the time, he's practically a mother hen to all of us, very nurturing and a sweetheart even if he tries to play the tough guy."
"Ok, and they are the ones closest to you in age?" He asked, trying his best to keep everyone straight.
You smiled and nodded "yea, 2 years older. I introduced Meg to Greg, she was my lab partner in 10th grade for biology when he was a senior. They got married about a month after finishing college, they are adorable."
As you settled in, the two of you decided to enjoy cocktails on the flight to help alleviate your anxiety. Exiting the plane and making your way toward baggage claim, Chris kept his baseball cap pulled low, no one would recognize him unless they knew he was going to be there.
The moment you spotted your brother, you turned to Chris and apologized in advance for what was about to happen. He seemed confused until he heard your name being called and saw who he assumed was your brother, Greg.
You tried your best to scowl at him but he looked so ridiculous that you just had to laugh “why do you do this shit to me?” you asked as he pulled you into a tight hug.
Turning around to introduce Chris, he is doubled over laughing at how ridiculous your brother looks. "Chris, this asshole is Greg, this is Chris" you gesture and the two shake hands.
You all pile into the car and surprisingly, your brother hadn’t said anything else to embarrass you completely in front of Chris, but knowing him, it was just a matter of time. When you finally make it to your parents house and Meg & Greg don't follow you in, you realize that tonight was going to be the parental interrogation. Taking a breath you were about to open the door when Chris grabbed your hand and gave you a reassuring look.
You couldn’t help but smile “I’m good, just a bit nervous…..feel kinda like a teenager” Apparently your dad was waiting for you and laughed at you the moment you walked in the door.
“A teenager huh? Well hopefully you won’t break something sneaking out of the house” he smirked and pulled you into a hug.
“Thanks pop, this is Chris” you watched as Chris and your dad exchanged greetings while the two of you made your way into the house, maybe this weekend will go by better than you hoped. You were about to ask about your mom when she came in from the garden, looking like she had been there most of the day.
“Oh thank goodness you are finally here!” she squealed and pulled you into a hug. “Sorry I’m such a mess, but you know I can’t sit around waiting, and your father is making dinner, so I had to find a way to keep myself busy” she continued to ramble on while pulling Chris into a hug.
By the time the two of you had cleaned up and made it down to dinner, you had given Chris a rough overview of what to expect.
Dinner with your parents was wonderful, your dad proudly showing off his limited culinary skills and the wine definitely helped everyone relax. That was until your dad decided that he was gonna get personal.
"So Chris, what do you do for a living?" he asked and you all got quiet. He had to have been screwing with you, there's no way he didn't know, or so you thought. Chris cleared his throat and told him before sipping his wine and looking at you for some direction, you could only shrug and refill your glass.
"Are you any good?"
"Pops really? How is anyone supposed to answer a question like that?" rolling your eyes, you weren't sure where he was going with this but you didn't need any unnecessary anxiety right now either.
"I just want to know that he is self-sufficient.'' Turning to Chris, your dad continues "my darling daughter can support herself, but does not need to support others."
You are groaning before Chris can even respond "it's not like that dad. He is very successful and if you have a problem with me supporting people I care about it's your fault. You were the one that taught me to be generous to those in need" you were a bit smug at that point but really hadn't expected that kind of question tonight.
"Well sir, I do very well, no debt and have a large nest egg prepared for when I’m ready to retire” Chris spoke very confidently and grabbed my hand under the table, trying his best to reassure me.
A sigh left your lips when your mother spoke up, “darling, you watched his movie last week” she shook her head and your dad just looked more puzzled.
“The mystery one you love, with Christopher Plummer. We both really enjoyed it” she smiled at Chris when your fathers face lit up in recognition, “you’re the asshole who killed the grandfather! I didn’t recognize you with the beard.”
Your dad begins to gush over Chris’ performance and tells him how great the movie was. Everything after that seemed to breeze by with ease, you all chatted about what was going on in town, since you hadn’t been home in a while. By the time you all finished dinner, you were all full and there were several empty bottles of wine scattered around the table. The next thing you knew, your dad and Chris were headed into the kitchen with the dirty dishes, so you and your mother opened another bottle of wine.
She usually stuck to her 2 glass max but apparently tonight was an exception. You began chatting about Boston and how much you were liking it when the men came back in, your dad patting Chris on the back.
“Well, we better call it a night, we have an early morning, good night kids" your dad smirked before turning to escort your mom out of the room.
"I thought we were all hanging out here tomorrow, we can sleep in!” A bit surprised your parents left it at that, you looked at Chris questioningly as he just shrugged.
“Your dad invited me to play golf with him and your brothers tomorrow, a 7am tee time. I thought that was a good sign, so I agreed” he sat next to you on the sofa looking quite smug.
Taking a deep breath and thinking through everything you couldn’t help but smile, “that is definitely a good sign, but…” you trailed off, not sure how to properly express your concerns.
“Don’t worry babe, I can handle myself” he slung his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. His touches were always so calming and they meant even more now. In the short amount of time you have been together you have realized that his touch made your anxiety almost completely disappear.
No one has ever been able to do that for you and you were grateful for even the smallest touches he could provide. “I’m not worried about you, or dad, it’s those idiot brothers of mine” you sighed just imagining the shit they would tell Chris to embarrass you as much as possible.
“Ok, how about, we grab some drinks and head out to the swing I saw out back and you can tell me all about your idiot brothers?”
“I like the way you think Evans! What’s your poison?” The two of you spent the next few hours, drinking and laughing more than you had in a while, you realized you were stressing over this trip more than necessary. Chris was amazing and even if things ended soon, you were thankful for what you had. It had been a long time since you felt this comfortable and safe with someone you were still getting to know.
By the time you made it to bed it was close to midnight, and you were trying to be as quiet as possible to not wake your parents. Snuggling with Chris, you got a closer look at his tattoos that littered his chest, tracing them with your fingers and enjoying the closeness and quiet between you.
“Who’s Bardsley?” Chris tensed up and you regretted it immediately.
“Uh, Matt was a friend of mine” he spoke barely above a whisper.
“He must have been important to you, what was he like?” you asked, hoping to ease the tension that you caused by focusing on the good times with his friend.
Looking up at Chris, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking but then he smiled and started telling you stories about the two of them in their younger years.
Before you knew it, the alarm Chris had set was jarring you both awake, causing you to groan and Chris to laugh. He gave you a quick kiss before hoping in the shower and letting you fall back asleep for a few more minutes.
“Good morning Buttercup!” you immediately grumbled when you heard your dad’s voice in the doorway.
“If you don’t have coffee, there’s no reason for you to be here” as you rolled over and opened one eye.
“Of course I brought coffee, no need for patricide this morning” he handed you the mug before turning to Chris. “Ready to hit the links, the boys should be here any minute?”
He smiles and nods to your dad with a quick 'yes, sir' before giving you a quick kiss and following him out the door.
Realizing if you didn't get up soon your mother would be coming to find you, you pulled yourself out of bed and headed downstairs. The two of you were a lot alike and you missed your mom when you were away, but as soon as you were back together, the fun resumed.
You were both giggling and making brunch when the kids and your sister in laws arrived and the usual house chaos was in full swing by the time the guys were back from golfing.
Music was blaring over the outside speakers while the kids were convincing Grandma to join them on the trampoline. None of you realized the guys were back until the music volume dropped suddenly and you heard your dad’s booming voice. “What is going on?”
He was using his stern voice, but the amusement on his face told everyone that he was more in shock than annoyance at the madhouse he came home to.
You were about to answer when your brother chimed in “$20 bucks says it’s Y/N fault” Before Chris knew what was happening, you and your brothers were bickering with each other, but he could tell it was a playful tone, no matter how much you try to act assertive and intimidating toward them.
He shook his head and laughed, only to realize that most of the kids were ignoring their parents and were staring at him. Looking at the kids, he couldn’t think of anything other than smile and wave at them, cursing himself for being awkward.
He’s done this a million times, was able to mask his nerves and anxiety around fans but for some reason this seemed different. It wasn’t just some random kids he’d never see again, these were your nieces and nephews, all 12 of them, and you adored them with your whole being.
He needed to be genuine with them and not Mr Movie Star, the fear of them not liking him made him more anxious than meeting your parents. These kids could make or break him, their opinion mattered to you and he had to win them over.
Before he was able to actually interact with them, the littlest one looked up at him with widened eyes and practically yelled “Oh my boodness!” causing everyone to stop and see what was happening.
He stepped closer to Chris, still looking shocked and asked “are you capen merica?” He immediately crouches down so he’s eye level, “yea bud, I am, what’s your name?” The kid looked at him in awe and a big smile stretching on his face.
“I’m Marshall” he tells him proudly and sticks out his hand.
You watched the interaction, trying your hardest to keep the smirk off your face. How did you get so lucky to be dating one of the nicest and funniest guys you’ve ever met and he was making you smile just by talking to your nephew, gawd when had you become such a simp.
Your thoughts were broken when Marie bumped your shoulder and smirked toward Chris, “don’t stare too long, a sight like that might make your ovaries explode” she giggled and you almost spit out your drink all over her.
“Yea, he has a way about him, doesn’t he?” you hummed. The rest of the weekend was more chaotic than normal, but Chris seemed to fit right in. He got along well with your brothers, which was surprising since they had a tendency to hate everyone you have ever dated in your entire life.
When the chaos and excitement finally settled down, the kitchen was raided for snacks before the mention of lunch would even be thought of. You tried to interrogate your brothers and find out what happened on the golfing excursion but they were all very tight lipped, which was incredibly unusual.
“So, how were the links?” you asked Chris as grabbed the seat beside him before anyone else could.
“Not bad, haven’t played much lately so didn’t do great but I held my own” he smirked at you before pulling you closer to his side.
“I was more worried about what the idiots would be saying than your actual swing, but I’m glad you had a good time” trying your best to get the juicy details of the day.
“Oh, well, it’s bro code, I can’t tell you” he laughed as he grabbed a beer and disappeared into the backyard with the kids, leaving you a bit shocked.
Next chapter
#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans x fem!reader#chris evans x reader#Chris Evans#marvel reader insert#marvel fanfiction#marvel rpf
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