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leonw4nter · 7 days ago

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A Soft Spot for You

RE2R!Leon x F!Reader

Your phone buzzes into life, the once dark screen illuminated to a caller ID interface. The insistence of your persistent ringtone has you picking up your phone to check out who could be calling, though you have a clear idea of who could be the caller. The incoming phone call reintroduces noise into your home, as silence has long filled in the space when Leon had left hours ago to have drinks with friends and coworkers back at the police station. He initially planned on politely declining the offer, intending to stay at home with you as he is a homebody at heart, but your unrelenting attempts at getting him to go made him cave in. Besides, this would be a great opportunity to interact with his friends and make new memories. Your boyfriend’s smile commands your heart to take flight, even through a contact photo; his grin wide and warm, eyes squinted into joyful crescents, as he holds a bouquet of flowers close to his chest in his graduation from the police academy.

“Baby?” you ask as you hold your phone up to your cheek. You hear faint giggling, mumbling, some shuffling, and an unfamiliar male voice talking to some other person. “Hello? Who am I talking to?”

You hear some more shushing before someone finally responds to you. “Hi, I’m Chris. I’m Leon’s friend and he’s had one too many drinks tonight. He needs to be picked up, he can’t head home like this.” You’ve seen Chris before when you visited the station to get Leon cups of coffee when he had to stay in for a night shift, a tall man with exceptionally amazing arms and a neat Ivy League haircut.

“Baaabyy?” Someone drawls but this time his voice is familiar. It’s Leon and judging from the hiccup and giggle that followed, he must be a lot more plastered than Chris is describing. “I’m soooo hiccup dizzy…”

“He’s going to puke!” Chris says in an alarmed tone. “Jill, help him to the toilet! It’s going to smell like unwashed ass in here if he hurls!”

“Jill?” You ask.

“She’s a coworker,” he clarifies. “You better get here quick, he’s a mess. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him while we wait for you. Here’s the address but call me again in case you’re confused–”

“I loooove you!” Leon’s voice distantly calls out, probably done puking.

“I love you too,” you say before hanging up. You set your phone down to gather what you need: coat, shoes, purse, some plastic bags, and your ID. With your things ready, you leave the comforting warmth of your home and head out to find a taxi.

Finding a cab wasn’t too difficult so you got on the first one that you saw and gave the driver the address that Chris sent. The driver seemed familiar with the place so you told Chris that you’d get there in a few. Instead of acknowledging the message you sent, he sent what seemed to be several photos and videos combined. ‘You’re gonna want to watch these,’ he followed up. In all the attachments he sent, Leon’s hair was messy and sticking out; his eyelids were droopy, cheeks and ears the reddest you’ve ever seen them, his black shirt no longer wrinkle-free with his dark teal jacket dangling off of his forearms. In one (blurry) image, he’s bent over on a toilet as Jill pats his back; there appears to be a creasing frown on her face, probably from the smell in a cramped space. In another image, he’s sprawled out on a couch in what would be impossible for sober Leon to get into. In a video you clicked by random, he’s looking around for a marker.

“Dude, what?” Chris says from behind the camera. “I told you, there’s no markers in here.”

“Need to hiccup write… her name on… on my hiccup arm… can’t let anyone g-get to me…”

“This kid’s going places,” Jill mumbles from somewhere.

The next video is shakier, as Chris is now somehow chasing Leon. You don’t understand the flurry of movement until you catch a glimpse of Leon chugging a bottle of Smirnoff Ice, much to the horror of a middle-aged man nursing his beer in the corner.

“Barry, what do we do?” Chris asks, catching his breath. “How is he faster when he’s drunk?! That doesn’t make sense!”

You’re giggling hard now, a hand clasped over your mouth as you try to keep yourself silent inside the car. There’s tears brimming your eyes as you rewatch the video over and over again, a snort escaping your mouth which prompts the driver to look at you dead in the eye through the rear view mirror for a moment. In the last one that you click, your boyfriend is now leaning his forehead against Chris’ shoulder as he mumbles to himself.

“Angels, they’re– hic– real because I… have a girlfriend,” he begins.

“Mhm,” Chris follows.

“I think she can probably heal… sick puppies,” he adds. “I dunno… I– hic– love her sooooo much. My name’s jus’ a word… but hiccup when she says it, it’s like… it’s like–hic– the law… right, Chris?”

“Right.”

“hiccup she looks at me! Like… I’m her hero, or somethin’. She has hiccup the option to hiccup choose other men… but she picks me! Me, Chris!”

“She did,” Chris affirms and Leon giggles, shaking his head before another hiccup shakes his frame.

As he slurs nearly poetic nonsense, you find yourself oddly charmed by his drunk sincerity. You watch other videos, embarrassed yet undeniably touched by how aggressively passionate Leon can get while talking about you. To you, it’s unbelievable how much more adoration Leon can have when he’s drunk as he’s already so full of it when he’s sober.

“I miss my girlfriend, man.”

“You just saw her hours ago and you’ll see her again when you get home.”

“Love ‘er sooooo much hiccup I want… I want… I want hiccup a hug.”

“Okay, c’mere bud–”

“Noooo. Not from you, I want a hug from her.”

You giggle at the other pictures and videos, the trickster side in you wanting to show these to Leon at breakfast as he nurses a killer hangover. You send three sobbing emojis in response to the clips, finding them hilarious. You assumed that Leon would be the sleepy drunk type of person, dozing off in the corner once he’s had too much, but it appears that he’s the talkative type.

You get there and see that it is mostly empty, save for a few people that you recognized in the video. Chris gives you a nod and leads you to Leon, who is now being prompted to drink a tall glass of water.

“I’m so sorry for how he’s acting,” you sheepishly say as you help Leon stand up. “I’m sure he was so annoying.”

“Good to see the rookie’s treating his girl right,” Jill comments with a smirk. “He wouldn’t stop rambling on about you but it was sweet to be honest.”

“The station’s going to love this,” Chris grins. “We’re never going to let him live this down.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

On the quiet ride home, he clung to your arm with both his hands as he rested his temple against your shoulder. Upon arriving home, you first sit him down and undo the laces of his sneakers as he tries to fight off sleep and keep a conversation with you going. You give him another glass of water, encouraging him to finish it before taking his jacket off of his warm body.

“Somethin’ you wanna say?” You gently prod as he stares up at you, pupils inky and wide.

“You’re making me nervous,” he admits as the flush of his cheeks grow bolder. “You’re very… beautiful.” His actions are reminiscent of a teenage boy gushing about his out-of-league crush.

“Thank you baby,” you say with a wink. His eyes widen and his breath catches in his throat before he clears his throat and tries to look composed.

You help him to the bathroom to get him cleaned up before ending the night. Brushing his teeth proved to be cumbersome but it would lessen the taste of alcohol and vomit. You wipe him as much as you can before you bring him to bed, changing his clothes before tucking him in.

“Pills,” you mumble to yourself as you walk over to your side but your boyfriend, confused and teetering between sleep and consciousness, holds on to your wrist.

“Don’t go,” he softly pleads.

“Huh?” you ask. “I was just going to get some pills and water for when you get up.”

Far too drowsy to properly respond, he unwraps his fingers from where he held you and you get to fetch him what his hungover self will need tomorrow. You walk back into the room and set them down on his side before climbing into the sheets and snuggling up to him, the alcohol in his body making him a lot more warm.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

A quiet yet unmistakable sound of a groan comes from your bedroom, signaling that he’s awake. You walk inside, greeting him a chirpy good morning.

“What happened…” he asks, rubbing his forehead.

“You had too much to drink last night, “ you say. “Did you take the pills already?”

“Yeah. I feel like I got hit by a truck,” he adds.

“Well, breakfast would make you feel so much better. There’s some ready in the kitchen.”

He quietly heads over to the dining table, taking his seat and adding his serving of food onto his plate. After a few moments of silently chewing, you ask him something you’ve been wondering since you’ve woken up.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” You ask.

“No, not really. I’m never drinking ever again... my head hurts so bad,” he responds.

“You’re going to want to see this,” you say with a wicked grin as you show him the pictures and videos from last night. “I think these will jog your memory a bit.”

He’s baffled at first, confused by what he’s made to watch until his eyes widened, mortified and embarrassed at seeing himself.

“They’re never going to let me live this down as a rookie,” he says as he hides his face in his shirt.

NOTE - I was supposed to upload this last night but unfortunately my laptop died and my charger was downstairs but here it is anyway :3 this fic is inspired by "Soft Spot" by Keshi, I really love the song and have been looping it ever since I started working on it. Also this fic is another simultaneous writing project like the one before this and I worked on it within an hour at like... 1 AM coz I just got this sudden burst of creativity right before I was about to sleep. I'll try to write for other versions of Leon coz I've been writing for RE2!Leon so much 😭 Also to my smut writer mutuals or anyone who writes smut that came across this, feel free to drop any advice in my messages coz I wanna write smut (on a separate blog) but I feel so awkward typing it out LMAOAOA. Anyway, that's all <3 thank you for reading my ficsss!!!!!! I <3333333 UUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!

The dividers (the ones with the heart and stars) are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

#leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy fluff #leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil 2 remake #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #fluff #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #re2 #resident evil 2 #re2r #re2 remake #biohazard #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x you

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moonstruckme · 10 months ago

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Hey! I LOVE the comic you posted of the reader going to a club pre-relationship! I was wondering if you could write a part 2 to that of all of them going to a club together. With some jealousy, like when the reader goes to the bathroom on her way back she is getting flirted with by a random guy and the marauders reaction. Feel free to ignore

(Also I adore you comic that make my day every time I have re-read all of them at least 3 times!)

Hi lovely, thank you so much ! This took me forever to get to sorry, hope you enjoy it <3

part 1

cw: alcohol, unwanted/nonconsensual touch

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Your shriek cuts through the loud music, and you turn to Remus with an open-mouthed grin.

“This is my favorite song!” you shout.

He laughs. In the past half hour, four songs have been your favorite. “Yeah?” he asks.

You nod happily, throwing your hands above your head as you spin. You’re tipsy twirly, surprisingly sprightly considering you’ve downed enough shots to get Remus hammered, and he’s got several inches on you and has been drinking since he was thirteen.

Sirius is in a similar state. Remus and James have been steering the two of you around for most of the night, but now James has put himself in charge of crisis prevention, playing goalie between either of you and the bar.

“Oh be fun, Prongsie,” Sirius wheedles after getting spun around by the shoulders for the upteenth time. “I know you can be fun.”

“I am fun,” James agrees. “I have my most fun when I’m not cleaning up your vomit. Go dance with y/n.”

You’re game for this plan, giving Sirius an enticing smile and moving your hips to the music in a way that makes Remus’ mouth go completely dry. He knows he’s not the only person in this club who’s noticed, but thankfully the little circle the four of you have made in the dance floor stays clear of intruders. Thus far, your prediction has proved correct; no other men have come up to you with your roommates around. He’s not particularly distraught about it.

You seem oblivious to your own allure, laughing when Sirius hurries toward you like a called puppy. You take his hands, letting him twirl you around and then holding your arms up to twirl him in return, and at the chorus, you both jump around so that your hair flies all about. Your laughter is loud and sparkling. Remus sips his drink, entranced.

There are two more favorite songs before you careen towards him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He hastily grips you by the elbow, wary of a fall, but you seem to have done this intentionally. You beam up at him, your smile lopsided and far less shy than anything he’s ever seen from you.

“M’gonna go to the toilet,” you tell him, one word leading into the next like they’ve been sloppily tied together with string.

“Oh, okay.” Of its own volition, Remus’ hand coasts up the back of your upper arm, then down to your elbow again. “Do you think you’re gonna be sick, honey?”

Your face screws up as if this is taboo to mention. “What? No.” You make a funny pffting sound. “I’m miles off from that, I’m fantastic, it’s just,” you lower your voice, expression turning grave, “I think it’s time to break the seal,” you tell him meaningfully.

This time it’s entirely intentional, but he also can’t help it. You’re just too cute. Remus sets his hand on the top of your head affectionately, grinning at you. “Alright, love, sounds good.” He looks around for the women’s bathroom, locating it a short distance away. “Want one of us to go with and wait outside for you?” It’s not like he can’t see it from here, but a girl as intoxicated as you probably shouldn’t be going anywhere by herself.

“No, no, I’ve got it,” you say, patting his chest lightly. “Back soon.”

It’s like you’ve disappeared into a mist, the way you fade into the crowd so quickly. It takes Remus a moment to spot the top of your head moving towards the bathroom. You turn around just before you go in, giving him a dazzling smile paired with a dorky thumbs-up.

“Where’d she go?” James asks, holding his drink aloft while Sirius grabs for it. “And what has made you smile like that, Moony?”

Remus makes a dismissive sound, but he feels his face heat as he takes a long sip of his own drink. James’ grin widens.

“Ooh,” Sirius catches on. “What’d she say to you?”

“Nothing. She’s gone to the toilet.”

Sirius’ kohl-rimmed eyes bulge, and James laughs, following his train of thought immediately. “Did she ask you to follow her? I didn’t think that was your style, you rake.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “You’re depraved.”

It’s not long before you reappear, catching Remus’ eye on your way out of the bathroom like you knew he’d be looking. You give him another of those heart-stuttering smiles and head his way, weaving your way through the crowd with a drunken expertise.

A happy glow of anticipation starts up in his chest, but you’re intercepted on the way. Another head, taller, steps in front of you, blocking Remus’ view. He cranes his neck, but he can’t see you.

He must make some sound or simply be emanating discontent, because James is back at his side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s talking to her. I can’t see her anymore.” He sounds ridiculous, like an overprotective douche, but he can’t imagine one can be too cautious when a drunk girl is surrounded by guys in a place like this. Remus is being purely practical.

“Let’s go get her.” James is on board immediately, taking Sirius by the elbow and beginning to bulldoze his way through the crowd. Sirius grabs Remus’ hand just before the gap closes behind them, dragging him along.

Remus hears you before he sees you.

“Really, I appreciate it, but I’m not looking for anything.” Your voice sounds slightly tight, and Remus knows you well enough to tell by the sound of it that you’re giving whoever you’re talking to one of your big, fake smiles.

A man’s voice says, low and sure, “You don’t mean that—” and that’s as far as he gets, because you interrupt to exclaim, with no small amount of relief, “My friends!”

“Hi, sweetheart,” James says, and you’re right in front of them. You’ve cleaned up your makeup in the bathroom, the eyeliner that had transferred sweatily under your eyes now pristine again, and your smile is indeed giant and thin-lipped as you look between them and the man in front of you, subtly flaring your eyes. He reads the look clearly: Help, please!

Remus looks you over. The man has his hands on your hips and one of yours is around his wrist, a cautious touch. Sirius takes care of that quickly, wrapping his forefinger and thumb around the wrist closest to him and removing it like it’s a piece of trash he found on the street.

“Do you two know each other?” Remus asks. Without permission, his voice comes out gruff and accusatory.

“No,” you say speedily, taking a step towards Sirius. Towards them. “I was just on my way back to you guys, actually.”

“We were talking.” The man looks between the three of them scrutinously, like they’re threats. Remus doesn’t hate the thought of being a threat to this guy.

“Sounded like you were done talking, mate.” James smiles easily. You’d have to really know him to hear the sharpness in his tone.

Sirius snakes an arm around your waist, but you don’t shy from the bold touch. In fact, you lean into him, your smile slowly beginning to resemble the genuine article. “Wanna get another drink, baby?” Sirius asks you, gaze salacious.

“Mhm.” You bob your head eagerly, and he leads you off, James and Remus following. “Thanks for the help,” you tell them as soon as you’re away. “He didn’t, like, do anything, but it was a bit intimidating.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” James replies, expression going a bit stormy now that he’s done feigning lightness. “And I wouldn’t say he didn’t do anything, he shouldn’t have put his hands on you like that.”

“It’s whatever,” you wave it off so easily Remus’ heart gives a little throb. “What’re we drinking?”

“Oh, that was a ploy,” Remus says. “We’re done drinking, remember?”

You pout, and Sirius hugs your side sympathetically (entirely for your benefit, Remus is certain). “You mean we’re done,” he sneers. “You and Prongs get to have however much you want. Who made you king of the beer?”

“I think you did, actually,” Remus says thoughtfully. “At Mary’s New Year’s party, remember?”

Sirius sniffs, presumably because he does not.

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shalom-iamcominghome · 2 months ago

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I've been doing a lot of reflection as of late, especially after this past class.

This past class was about the Torah and Tanakh in general, and the way the rabbi talked about the commandments (specifically the ten commandments) has made me really reflect on how I interpret them, specifically the fifth commandment, or honoring your mother and father.

This is a commandment I have wrestled with for a long time - in fact, it brought me away from g-d at multiple times. I was severely abused when I was incredibly young by my mother, and I used to feel insulted at the implication that I were to honor her while she got to live a better life. It was hypocritical, in my eyes.

But this rabbi surmised that this particular commandment was because parenthood is an act of creation, something that is like the g-d from which we come from. My realization is this: I don't think we're necessarily meant to take even these commandments literally.

I this particular commandment is more of a call to honor creation - creation is a gift, and like any gift, many people simply will not like it and will discard it. The person who abused me created me, but she did not honor creation. She didn't honor me, but I can still honor it.

I have started to honor creation much more. I'm too young, too unstable, not mature enough to be a father (though I fantasize about it), but I create all the time. I create relationships, I create with my hands through crochet. I create memories, I create my world. And I can honor who I am and where I came from that made me who I am. I've been learning one of the mother tongues of my family (Italian, since part of my family originates there) and it was judaism that inspired me to do this.

I don't think g-d wants me to honor my abuser. I think He wants me to remember the Holy action of creation. When I am a father, that act of creation will be Holy, and indeed, I am already joyful about the thought.

I have seen many people struggle with this particular commandment, but I think this perspective helps me personally. I don't think I ever have to forgive my abusers (plural), and I don't think I am commanded to simply because they happened to be family. I am commanded to recognize the holy, to elevate the mundane. In doing so, I will remember g-d. Through creation, I honor g-d and everything he has done for us, for me, and for our collective people.

#jumblr #jew by choice #jewish conversion #personal thoughts tag #abuse tw #i am not sharing this for the sake of pity and i also ask not to be told to divulge my abuse story. that isn't relevant #i have been needing to engage with this topic for a long time though and judaism has helped me a bit in navigating healing #but i decided to share this publicly in the hopes it will help other survivors specifically of familial/parental abuse #i know how it feels (in general). it's so lonely and you can really harbor (understandable) baggage about this particular commandment #i have a meeting with My Rabbi (sponsoring rabbi) and i might bring this up. we've only spoken once face-to-face (zoom)#so that might be really Intense to bring up to him but he is very kind and i trust him (which is why he is My Rabbi)#and he has already told me that he WANTS me to wrestle with g-d and His word *with* him #again i am posting this publicly so i can document my thoughts and keep them straight but also with the hope it MIGHT help others #if it even *casually* inspires another survivor i will feel so grateful (though it is THEIR achievement and not mine to claim)#i want us to survive. i want us to eat well. i want us to smile #i will say that this must be a very sudden whiplash in tone from my last post about sex. from sex to awful horrific abuse #my stream of consciousness is just Like This though in the sense that i have very sudden realizations and tonal whiplashes #so you're just getting a very frank look into how my brain is structured and what my brain thinks are important enough to think about #if i seem much more verbose it's because i needed to write this on my laptop which makes typing and more importantly yapping even *easier*

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c0sm1c-c01nc1dence · 7 months ago

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Red

✧ Pairing: Hunter x human!reader ✧

✧ Content/warnings: Soulmate AU, takes place during season 3, use of the word ‘damn’ once, the title is bland and I’m sorry, Hunter and the reader are both dorks, first post on here!! ✧

The “rules” for soulmates, as it were, were pretty straightforward. You see everything in the color of your soulmates eyes. Once you make eye contact with them you can see in full, proper colors. Seems simple enough, doesn’t it? Well, not for you, it wasn’t.

You, for the past sixteen or so years of your life, had been seeing nothing but red. Different shades, thank god, but red nonetheless. And to be frank, you were getting pretty damn fed up with it. The thing is that no one naturally has red eyes. And you would know; you’ve googled it maybe a thousand times already.

So you were fairly certain you didn’t have a soulmate, and this was all some cruel joke from the universe. But life marches on, so there’s no time to dwell on that, is there?

───── ───── ───── ─────

Another day at Gravesfield’s high school, bland as ever. At least until you caught a glance at your friend Luz. Rather, former friend. She’d been acting weird ever since she came back from that ‘reality check’ camp. And not standard Luz weird, no— she’d been avoiding you since then. Acting like she didn’t know you at all whenever you approached her, not to mention her sudden lack of interest in anything she used to like. The Good Witch Azura books, most notably.

So, needless to say, you were a bit surprised at her new look. Curly hair, a new scar over her eyebrow, and a general air of seasonal depression about her. Even though your recent interactions hadn’t gone so smoothly, you couldn’t help but ask. You were still allowed to care about her.

“Luz?” You called out from down the school hallway. She turned her head in your direction, and you could practically see the stars in her eyes when she saw you. She ran towards you, almost tackling you in a hug. Stumbling backwards, you hesitantly returned the gesture. “Good to see you too?” You awkwardly pat her back, unsure of what to do at the moment.

“Y/N, I am so glad to see you! Oh, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” She backed away and wiped a small tear from her eye.

“We saw each other yesterday, though?” You chuckled, still perplexed by this whole situation. “Seriously, what’s going on? You’re kinda acting like you just came back from war right now.” Her face fell slightly, but her smile quickly returned.

“Meet me at my house once school’s done, ok? I have… a lot to tell you.” You nodded, and watched her just walk away casually after that interaction.

“Cool. Good talk, I guess?”

───── ───── ───── ─────

“So, if I’m following,” You began, now in the Noceda family’s living room. “You didn’t go to summer camp, but instead spent several months in a fantasy world, and the Luz I’ve been interacting with is actually a shape-shifting basilisk.” You pointed to Vee, who nodded shyly. “And in this fantasy world you became a witch, made a bunch of new friends, and got a girlfriend.” You left out the details involving Belos and the Collector, deciding that you didn’t need to recap whatever nonsense was going on there.

“Yeah, actually. You’re handling this surprisingly well.” Luz noted.

“I think I’m still in shock, to be honest.” You laugh a bit in disbelief. You couldn’t begin to comprehend what she’d been through during those months, and you kind of didn’t want to. “So, more importantly, do I get to meet these new people?” You questioned, and her face brightened.

“Of course! They’re upstairs, so let me go get them and I’ll be right back.” You waited downstairs with Vee, exchanging basic small talk. She apologized for the whole ‘impersonating one of your few friends’ thing, which was nice of her. Eventually Luz came back, new friends and girlfriend following behind her.

“Alright! Everyone this is Y/N.” You gave a polite wave, quickly scanning over the group. “Y/N, this is Willow, Gus, Amity, and Hunter.” You got a proper look at all of them as she said their names, your eyes landing on the blond last. Wait a minute, blond?!

As it would turn out, when you made eye contact with Hunter you could suddenly see a lot more colors. He clearly noticed this as well, as a light blush was present on his cheeks and ears. You could feel some heat rise to your own face as well.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” Luz asked, noticing your stunned silence.

“I, uh…” you stumbled over your words like an idiot, still staring at him. Saving what little dignity you had left, your phone dinged from your pocket. Checking the notification, you gave an awkward smile and held it up to the group. “Oh! You know what, that’s my dad. He probably wants me home for dinner!” You put your phone back in your pocket, and began approaching the door. “I’ll see you guys later, okay, bye!”

You got the words out as quickly as you could, and bolted as soon as the door was open. You ran back to your house, face still flushed from embarrassment and being generally flustered, leaving a room full of witches (and one human) awfully confused.

“Hunter, what was that about?” Willow asked, as he still stared at the spot where you once were.

“Um- good question.”

───── ───── ───── ─────

Later that day, Hunter knocked on the door to Luz’s bedroom.

“Come in.” She said idly, distracted by whatever she had been playing on her Switch. He entered her room, hands anxiously fidgeting at his sides. There wasn’t a particularly easy way to say this, so he just bit the bullet.

“So, you know the whole thing with your soulmate, and how you’ll only see in their eye color until you make eye contact?”

“Yeah?” She encouraged, curiosity evident in her tone.

“Well, it’s possible that maybe, perhaps, Y/Nismysoulmate.”

“What?!” She immediately paused her game, and whipped around to face him. “Really?! Tell me everything!” She sat on the ground and patted the spot next to her, encouraging him to sit down. He did so, face red from having to explain the whole ordeal.

“There’s nothing to tell! I used to only see e/c, I looked at them, now I can see every color, and they— I always thought your hair was black, by the way— and they just ran away!” As Luz sat and processed this information, Hunter continued thinking out loud. “Did they not like me or something? Is it because I’m from the Boiling Isles?” He questioned, grabbing the pointed tips of his ears. Cutting his rambling short, Luz spoke up.

“No, I don’t think so. They were always interested in fantasy like I was. Maybe they were just a bit overwhelmed?” She suggested. He sighed.

“I guess that could have been it.” He said, though the anxiety was still clear on his face.

“Hey, how about I try to get them to come over this weekend? You guys can talk about it then.” He nodded, and watched her grab her phone to message you. Titan, he hoped she was right about this.

───── ───── ───── ─────

A few days had gone by since the whole incident with Hunter. You had been avoiding him since then, though you honestly weren’t sure why. If you had to, though, you’d say it was probably out of shock. I mean, you were convinced you didn’t have a soulmate for years. And now this incredibly good-looking boy comes in from another realm, and he’s supposedly perfect for you? It’s absurd!

Though it was also worry. How would a relationship between the two of you even work out? He’d have to go home eventually, and you probably couldn’t come with him. Maybe he wouldn’t even like you after the way you left the other day, and he’d reject you before you even had a chance. That’d put a quick and easy end to all this.

You’d been really sick of the color red these past couple days. You usually were, but now it was for an entirely different reason.

Though you couldn’t avoid your problems forever, despite your best efforts. Luz had invited you over for a board game night to celebrate the two of you reuniting. And, well… who were you to say no?

───── ───── ───── ─────

The day finally came, and it had been going relatively well so far. No one else seemed to know what had happened or why you left that first time you came over. Though you and Hunter had been carefully dancing around each other the whole time. It seemed neither of you were equipped to talk about your feelings at the moment. But were you really ever?

Eventually you saw him slip out the front door. With a sigh, you decided to finally face the problem. No use in stalling any more than you already have. After telling Luz that you were going outside for a moment, you stepped out and saw Hunter sitting on the steps leading to the front door. He turned around at the noise, and immediately turned back the other way when he saw it was you. Wordlessly, you sat down next to him. After a moment, he finally broke the silence.

“You look really nice.” You glanced at him, and saw the pink dusting his face. You smiled at the way his blush would spill out onto his ears.

“Thanks, but I’m not really wearing anything special.”

“I know,” He continued, finally meeting your eyes. “I just mean, like- you look nice. You’re really cute.”

“Oh.” You said, quite simply, now blushing a bit as well. You looked at the ground beneath you, pondering how exactly to go about this. “So, this whole ‘soulmate’ thing, huh?”

“Yeah.” Was all he managed. His hands toyed with his pants, still a bit nervous about this whole ordeal. Unable to find the words he wanted, Hunter just looked out at the surrounding neighborhood for a bit. Eventually, though, he said the one thing that was on his mind at the moment. “So… what do we do now?”

“Well, if I may suggest something scandalous?” His blush deepened at your words, but quickly faded as he watched you intertwine your hand with his own.

“Wow, and we’re not even married yet.” He joked. You put your free hand up defensively.

“I know, I know! What can I say, I like to live on the edge.” He laughed, and you silently basked in the sound. You set your eyes on the sky above you, a handful of stars already visible in the late evening’s light. Maybe red isn’t half bad after all.

#toh hunter x reader #hunter x reader #hunter x you #x reader #toh x reader #the owl house #hunter toh x reader #golden guard x reader #hunter toh #the owl house x reader #toh hunter #toh fanfic

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delulu-hours · 1 year ago

Text

Dog tags

Pairing: Jake Seresin x F!reader

Summary: Where reading a book has you fantasying about Jake and his dog tags as he has his way with you.

Waring: 18+ smut, unprotected, biting

A/n: Thank you @agentorange9595 for the request and the lovely idea! On a side not, I am not good at writing smut, but I hope you like it.

You couldn't help but bite your lip as you read the book in hand, fighting back a smile and the urge to giggle. Jake had been out for training, and you knew he would be back late, so you decided to finish the book you were reading. It was about a grumpy special op who fell in love with this badass sunshine girl. You had cried with the female lead when she learned about the terrible past the male lead had and the torture he went through during his ops. The romance was there, and it was hot. And there were several instances where they had hot, rough, and steamy sex. You had never felt jealous over the sex in the books until now. And it wasn't how the male lead was fucking her nice and slow, taking his time but being rough. No. It was for a simple reason.

That reason was that he was fucking her with his dog tags on.

Yep, the dog tags.

As you finished the sex scene, you let out a small groan. You rubbed your thighs together for some relief before placing the book down. "Pure thoughts." You told yourself, trying to help remove the image of Jake hovering over you, his dog tags hanging from his neck. The way his skin would glisten and how you would just be able to pull him closer by the tags. Another groan left your lips as you pulled the pillow to your face, and a muffled scream left your lips. This was torture. You had never known how deprived you were from the sight of seeing this man fuck you with his dog tags. The need for it. The only issue now was asking this from Jake. Asking him to rail you like no tomorrow so you could still feel him in you for days, and your legs couldn't handle walking. To the point where he would leave bruises on your hips from how hard he'd grip you. Your face flushed at the thought, and you wanted to curse your best friend for ever introducing you to a new world of smut. You pulled out your phone and shot her a quick text.

I hate you so much, but at the same time, I love you for recommending this book to me

10:47

You're welcome, and don't come at me with the innocent act cuz we both know it's just a mask.

10:52

You are anything but innocent, you're just too shy to ask.

10:53

You rolled your eyes at the message but placed your phone on the nightstand. You were almost done with the book and knew you could finish it tonight; however, you were ready to be done with it, so you just placed it on your nightstand. You turned off the lights and got ready for bed. Jake had told you not to wait for him, as you both knew you'd try to stay up until he came home. As you got comfortable, snuggling close to Jake's side, you drifted off and fell asleep quickly.

______

Several days passed, and now where you were, holding your drink in your hand. You could see the chain peek out from Jake's naval uniform from where you sat next to Bob and Nat. Lately, your eyes have been drifting to it, and you couldn't help the images that filled your mind as you bit your lip." You okay there?" Nat's voice broke your concentration as you looked at her. A smirk on her lips as she raised an eyebrow. "You look ready to jump him and rip his clothes off." The heat flushed against your skin as you let out a guilty laugh.

"Is it that obvious?" You pressed the back of your hand against your cheek. Nat just laughed and nudged you with her arm as you drank the rest of your drink in one go.

"So much so, but don't worry about any of these meat heads noticing except one." You looked up only to see Jake giving you an amused look, the pool stick in his hands as he took a drink of his beer.

"Oh my gosh," You mumbled. "I think I need another drink." You quickly got up, and Nat followed you.

"Want to tell me what that's all about?" She asked as she hooked her arm with yours as you went to the bar. "Usually, Jake's the one who looks at you like a meal he's ready to devour, not the other way around." This makes your face heat up even more, and the heat between your legs grows.

"Promise not to laugh." You gave her a pleading look as you found two open stools at the bar. She gave you a slight nod as Penny approached you guys.

"What can I get you girls?" She asked with a smile.

"I'm gonna need two shots of tequila." She gave you a look before going to get the shots. Nat had gotten her usual. "I've been reading this book, and it's steamy, Nat." You looked over at her, and a small sigh left your lips. "And when I mean steamy, I mean the girl is bent over while the guy fucks her like he's on heat, leaving marks everywhere. Claiming her and praising her." She raised an eyebrow. "And by no means is that the part that has me like this. Sex with Jake is amazing, but there's one detail in the book that has me running these images in my head, and I can't help it."

"Oh god, please don't talk about sex with him." She scrunched her nose, and you shook her head. Penny came back and placed the drinks in front of you.

"Y/n talking sex?" She joined in the conversation, surprised as well. You weren't one to be open about these conversations.

"No." You shook your head. Taking one of the shots and taking it down in one go. There was a slight burn in the back of your throat as you placed the glass down. "No, I'm not talking about my sex life. All I'm saying is that I wish Jake would keep his dog tags on. The book I'm reading has plagued my mind with the thought of it, and I need it now." You looked at both women, who seemed amused about your confession. "I'm serious here, guys."

"Oh, we know that, honey," Penny patted your hand. "And I think that is why it's entertaining for us." You rolled your eyes and took the next shot; this time, no burning sensation followed.

"It also sounds like you've been deprived of sex for a while." You shot Nat a glare as she snorted. "Like a beast has awoken." You groaned and placed your forehead on the counter.

"I hate you so much." She just laughed, and Pen gave you another shot. You looked at the small shot glass that lay beside you. You rubbed your thighs with a slight whine that left your lips. "I hate ever reading that book even though it's so good! I even saved my favorite parts on it." You pushed yourself up and took the third shot for the night.

Little did you know Jake's eyes had been watching you the entire time. Since the moment he started playing pool with Coyote, he had felt the way you had been looking at him. He felt your eyes burning into him– undressing him– and if he was honest with himself, he enjoyed it. It was rare when you were filled with so much lust and need that you didn't even realize yourself that you were showing it. He knew you weren't as innocent as you looked; however, you would never voice out what you liked. And he didn't mind it one bit. In fact, he loved it whenever he would discover something new about you. Just like at this moment, he had a vague idea of why you were acting the way you were. He accidentally stumbled across a book he had seen you read recently. He got curious about what it was about whenever he saw you, as your reactions were entertaining. So when his curiosity got the better side of him, and he opened it on a marked page, he wasn't expecting what he read. It was a lot to take in that he had to stop himself before getting worked up, but also because it hadn't been something he expected. The details were so vividly written. Just thinking about doing what was written to you made him hot as he pulled at the collar of his naval shirt. He could see the flush that dusted your cheeks even from where he stood. Coyote called out his name; Jake ignored him, passing the pool stick to Bob as he stalked toward you. He could hear Phoenix teasing you and Penny laughing, but he didn't care what they said. You had him worked up, and now he needed you, preferably in the comfort of your home. "What you ladies goin' on about?" He drawled, his hand touched your lower back, and he felt you flinch. He rubbed his thumb on your back and felt how you leaned into him. Reacting to his touch like you usually would.

"Nothin', Y/n was telling us a funny story." Nat had an amused look on her face, and you glared at her.

"You don't mind if I steal her from you then?" Jake asked, already knowing the answer as he moved his hand to your waist, pulling you up. You stumbled a bit due to being caught off guard and the alcohol running through your veins. Nat shook her head, and that was all he needed before drawing you out of Hard Deck.

"Jake," You whined when you were out the doors. "I was still drinking." He moved you towards the truck.

"I think you've had enough for the night, Darlin'." You shivered at the sound of his southern accent sounding heavier than usual. "Wanna tell me what has been goin' in that pretty little head of yours?" When you reached his truck, he turned you to face him. His green eyes looked darker, and you didn't know if it was from the night or from the lust that dilated his pupils. His hands were firmly on your waist as he looked down at you. You bit your lower lip as you took him in. He looked beautiful, but the silver chain that caught your attention was sending you overboard. You pushed your hands up his chest as your fingers grazed the chain. He watched you curiously as you pulled his dog tags, freeing them from his shirt. Your fingers play with the chain before they move to the tags. "Is it that book you've been reading?" He asked, and you looked at him with wide eyes. He would see the needy look on your face, the way a pout sat on your lips. He watched the conflict in your eyes before you made up your mind. He felt the pull on his dog tags as he was forced to lower his face to you. His eyes widened, not used to the sudden dominance you were showing.

"I need you to fuck me, Jake." He felt your lips move against his. He felt how his blood seemed to rush through his body and straight to his groin. "I want you to use me, baby." He felt the tightness in his pants. "Fuck me rough. Mark me up." You pressed a soft kiss on his lips. "Please," You begged, looking up at him through your lashes. A growl ripped out of Jake's lips, and he gripped your hips tighter. A small whimper left your lips as you felt his fingers dig into your waist. And then it all happened too quickly. He got you in the truck and drove back home.

_____

You barely made it through the doors when his hands were all over you. He pushed you up against the wall and pressed up against you. You could feel him. How hard he was. A small moan left your lips as he groped your boobs through your shirt. "You did this to yourself." His lips moved against your neck before his teeth sunk into your skin. You let out a small gasp as you gripped his arm, your nails dug into his skin. His name left your lips with a needy cry. He grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it off you before moving to your bra. His fingers traced the lace fabric over your skin, taking in the black color. "Fuck you're so pretty, sunshine." He was tempted to rip your bra. Rip the rest of your clothes, blocking his view of your beautiful body.

"Jake," You gave him a warning tone, already knowing what he was thinking. "You rip my lingerie, and I will cut your dick off." You threatened. He raised an eyebrow as if the temptation was there. He knew you didn't mean it; however, he had ruined a few of your favorite sets.

"Yes, ma'am." He smiled as he lowered himself, placing kisses and allowing his teeth to scrape your skin as he lightly bit you. The goosebumps rose on your skin, and you gripped his hair. Just as he got to the waistband of your jeans, he unbuttoned it. Light feathered kisses on your skin as you threw your head back. He observed you as he slowly pulled your pants down. Your eyes dilated as you looked down at him. He kissed my thighs, and you brought them up, stepping out of your pants. "Look at you," His fingers grazed the front of your black laced underwear. He could feel how wet you were. "All wet for me, and I barely even touched you." He watched as you rocked your hips against his fingers. His other hand gripped your thigh.

"Jake," You whined, needing more. He moved his hands to the back of your knee. Pushing you over his shoulder, he picked you up and marched to your room. A smack echoed in the room, and you felt the burning sensation on your ass. You pushed yourself back up, surprised by his action, while he had a satisfying grin on his lips. He kicked the door open to your room. He didn't even say anything as you dropped him on the bed. You bounced a couple of times as you watched him unbutton his shirt. That look in his eyes made the pit in your stomach flare up. He looked at you like a predator, and you were his prey. He took his shirt off like he was ready to pounce on you, and your eyes racked down his chest. The dog tags hung around his neck and down his chest. You bit your lip as you looked at him, taking in his beauty and how the tags seemed to decorate him. It added to the fuel you had racing through your mind. You moved to your knees, your fingers touching his skin about his waistband as you looked up at him. The doe-eyed look you gave him made Jake groan as he fought the urge to ravage you like the animal he felt. He watched as your fingers undid his pants, your nails scraped his pelvic skin as you pulled his boxers down. He let out a hiss as his cock sprung up and smacked his stomach. You licked your lips as you reached out to grab his throbbing cock. Your thumb ran along the head, rubbing the precum across before you stroked down slowly.

"Fuck," Jake moaned, and you looked at him through your lashes. He looked down at you with hooded eyes as you pumped back up. His face twisted with pleasure before he grabbed your wrist. "Baby, if you keep touching and looking at me like that, I won't last." He pushed the words out, his tumble rubbing the inside of my wrist. "Tonight, it's going to be about you." He pushed you down, hovering over you as he removed your hands. He used his free hand to move your thigh so he could settle in between your legs. He was slightly rocking himself against you before he pulled back. A frown settled on your lips from the lack of contact. He just had a smirk on his lips. "Take it off, or else they're gonna get ripped." He claimed, motioning to your body. He slipped his pants and boxer off completely, and you wasted no time taking off your underwear and bra. You laid back, watching as his hands wrapped around himself and giving himself a few pumps. His eyes looked at you with such hunger it caused the arousal to gather between your thighs. His hands over the head of his cock as you spread your legs open, showcasing your glistening folds. His nostrils flared as he clenched his jaw. He didn't even bother grabbing a condom as he settled between your thighs. He guided the head of his cock, coating it with your arousal. His left hand rested by your hips as he held himself up. Each time his head rubbed against your clothes, you whimpered. Desperately trying to get him in you, you shifted your hips and gripped his wrist.

"Jake, please. I need you." You begged, needing him now. He didn't even deny you as he guided himself to your entrance. He didn't even bother prying your hand off his wrist as he held your hip down. He used his hold on you to slip himself in with a full-force thrust. You gasped, back arched as you felt him stretch you open. He forced himself not to close his eyes from the pleasure as he watched the pleasure on your face. Using both hands on your waist, he pulled out all the way, causing a cry to leave your lips before slamming back in. He did that a couple of times, and each time; your reaction drove him crazy. Your nails dug into his skin as you gripped his arm. He moved down to capture your lips, using his right arm to steady himself. The cool metal touched your skin, and you brought his lower lip between your teeth, biting it lightly. Your teeth dragged against his lower lip as he pulled back, and you felt his left hand grip tightly around your waist; you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't leave bruises. He began to move himself in and out of you; the noise of your skins coming into contact echoed in the room. Moaned curses left your lips as your ankles locked behind him. "Jake- fuck- don't," You squeezed your eyes feeling him hit your sweet spot. "Don't stop, please." He groaned, loving to hear your sweet pleas.

You opened your eyes, and a hazy look of pleasure filled your eyes as your gaze lingered on the dog tags that hung between the both of you. You brought your hand up and lightly tugged on it. Jake felt the way you clenched around him. He slowed down, and you looked up at him, ready to complain. "Is this what has been driving you up the walls, princess?" He raised an eyebrow. When you bit your lip and didn't answer, he rocked his hips before pulling out so the tip of his cock rested in your pussy. "Words. Have you been all needy little thing because you've wanted me to fuck you crazy with my tags?" You whined as he pushed himself in a bit. Even if not being in you was torture, Jake needed to hear you say it. You clenched your walls, trying to get him in you. "What did I say? Use your words." The tone in his voice was demanding. You closed your eyes, lip quivering from the lack of him.

"Jake," You tried to push your hips down, but he held you in place. You knew he wouldn't give you what you needed until you answered him. "Yes," You finally gave in. "I've been wanting you to fuck me with your tags." You looked up at him with hooded lids, and your lashes fluttered against your cheeks.

"See," He trusted himself in you, and you felt full again with him in you. "That's my good girl. It wasn't hard, was it?" You watched as he spun the tags so they would hang on his back, and he felt you clenched down on him hard. "Fuck," He groaned, using his strength to steady himself. "I'm gonna ruin you tonight so this naughty pussy remembers whose it belongs to." He promised, and you felt yourself tense up, knowing that quote a little too well. He licked his lower lip, a smirk dancing on them. You were in for a long night, and you were screwed. He had read your book, specifically the part you had marked.

#top gun jake #top gun jake hangman seresin #top gun jake seresin #top gun hangman #seresin #top gun #hangman #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #top gun seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #top gun imagine

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asumi2020202 · 26 days ago

Text

No longer his

Pairing: Rex Lapis x Reader

Summary: An incident caused all of them to drift apart. Now because of that one incident, another will be erased.

A/n: I was reading a zhongli fiction when this popped up in my head. Tbh I did not like the way I wrote this but anyway, I hope you enjoy. Thank you for reading!

________________________ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ_________

The God of Dust, Guizhong, first met you, the God of Fate, through Cloud Retainer. Xianyun knew you before she got to know Guizhong.

You had lived in solitude ever since Celestia granted you your life. Xianyun first met you when she accidentally wandered into your cave. From then on your called her your.. friend.

Xianyun was the one who introduced you to the rest of the Adepties. And Guizhong was the one who accepted you the most. From there, started your relationship with Morax.

You were there when Morax gave life to Azhdaha. You saw Xianyun and Guizhong bicker over the mechanisms. You watched the baby yakshas grow.

Yet, none of you ever expected the matter to be so grave that it would tear all of you apart.

_________________________________________

You were fighting with someone until Morax asked you to bring Guizhong to safety. You gave a nod to him and headed straight for Guizhong.

Morax was fighting some weak god while you were escorting Guizhong to safety. Morax wanted to ascend to one of the seven seats.

While running away from the battlefield, you and her come face to face with a god..

The glint in his eyes told you that he was not here for her but you...

Within a second, both your and his blades clash together. He felt powerful compared to you. With swift movement he cut you several times on your body.

Knowing you couldn't win, you asked Guizhong to run. To get to safety before he harms her as well.

"You must leave! Now!..Even with the both of us together, we cannot defeat him!" You shouted to your friend.

"You're wounded y/n! Do you hear yourself?! I am not leaving you behind!" Guizhong shouted back.

Suddenly you fell on your knees, having bled too much.

"Please.. Guizhong.. he's here for me.. I won't forgive myself if he hurts you.." you spoke, voice weak.

"So you do know.... Hah.. the God of Fate really seems to care for you...God.. of Dust. But tell me, oh God of Fate, why do you wish to protect this measly God. She has done nothing but take your time away from your beloved.

Even in battle he seems to care more for her safety than yours."

With that you understood who he was. He was the God of Manipulation. He's trying his powers to win against you. Trying to make you mentally unstable so you couldn't fight. And.. it was working..

You loved Guizhong. She was a great friend. But sometimes you felt insecure that Morax loved her than you, his lover.

"Stop trying to get in her head. Y/n you know these are all lies. Rex Lapis is a good friend of mine nothing else." Guizhong said, desperate to bring you back from your mind.

You shoved your head between your knees and grasped your hair. Blood oozing out of your wounds and mouth.

The God of Manipulation didn't like how Guizhong's voice was rebelling against his powers.

Just when you were back to reality, you saw him holding your friend by the neck, chocking her.

You tried to go towards them but it was too late. Her body dropped dead. Right infront of you.

You went to grasp your blade but he was quick. He instantly appeared in front of you and kicked you hard. Because of the previous wounds, the impact of the kick made you lose your consciousness.

_________________________________________

A harsh slap landed on your cheek.

"You're the reason why she's dead! All because you're too pathetic that you can't even trust your close ones!" Streetward Rambler shouted, almost hitting you again.

You kept your head low the entire time. Tears silently falling from your eyes.

"That is enough. She wasn't in her right mind to do anything. She was wounded and bled a lot." Xianyun spoke, trying to calm the situation.

"She wasn't in her right mind because she doubted Guizhong and Rex Lapis! You know what? You're right, Guizhong is far better suited for Rex Lapis than you ever could be. I wouldn't have even come near you if you weren't Rex Lapis's lover!" With that, Streetward Rambler left Mt. Aocang.

You watched as one by one all the Adepties left. Only Xianyun stayed behind.

"Y/n..."

"I'm sorry this all happened because of me.." you left after that. Some of your wounds reopening because of Streetward Rambler's hits.

_________________________________________

You hadn't seen Morax since that fateful day. He has ascended as the Lord of Geo.

You were inside your personal teapot, that xianyun had give you, when you saw Morax enter. He.. looked different. Probably because of Guizhong's death.

He had a stoic expression. You stood up from the ground and came face to face with him.

"Love-" you started but were interrupted.

"You had one job." Said Morax.

"But you have to listen to me. He, the god-" you tried again.

"You don't have to explain. It is very clear that you are incapable of doing even a simple job and clearly undeserving of being a God."

You couldn't help but feel a pang in your heart. It's as if the entire world turned against you. Your lover, your friends, everyone.

"Deares-"

"It's Rex Lapis for you from now on."

It hurt, hearing those words coming from the one you love. Tears falling but no one to wipe them.

You ran. Ran and left the teapot, leaving the God of Contracts alone, rethinking and regretting his choices.

_________________________________________

The next few days were odd. Morax looked everywhere for you but to no avail.

After a week, Xianyun got the idea of where you could have gone to.

She told Morax about the cave where you used to live. Morax hurried before anyone could speak another word.

Upon his arrival, he saw a cave surrounded by darkness. But when he stepped inside he could smell blood.

He followed through the path and found a chamber of sort. There was a puddle of blood in the corner.

When he went closer, his eyes widened. There you laid, a blade stabbed into your heart by your own hands. The very same blade which he had once given you.

He quickly crouched down and touched your cheek. You opened your eyes, your energy decreasing profusely.

"Dearest... Why?" Questioned Morax.

You gave a weak smile and said

" why?..... Because i.. am undeserving of life.. because i..am weak.."

"No no. I take back everything I said. I was not in my right mind. Hang in there... I'll take back.. I will heal you with the best healers.."

"No... My.. time is.. over.. i will no longer.. bother you anymore."

Morax noticed how your body has different cuts on different parts. Probably from the battle. How could he not know earlier.

His eyes watered. He gently hugged your small form close to his chest.

"I.. am the...God of..Fate. Hah.. yet, i couldn't even change mine.. nor could I escape it..

I'm sorry Rex Lapis, i truly am.. I can only hope you forgive me.." and with that your eyes close forever.

Rex Lapis..... It felt foreign coming from your tongue..

_________________________________________

The Adepties sat on the chairs, on Mt. Aocang. They saw Rex Lapis... carrying your body..

Xianyun inspected the body careful to be really sure it was your, a tear slipping from her eyes.

The Adepties.. were never the same again. All scattered. Xianyun held a grudge against Streetward Rambler.

_________________________________________

Morax now went by the name of Zhongli, a mere consultant in the Wangsheng funeral parlour.

He was walking down the streets of Liyue. When he heard someone call out.

"Dearest!"

The same voice like yours....

He immediately turned around and there you stood exactly the same.. you were waving.

A smile was about to be spread on his face when he saw a ginger haired boy running past him and going to you.

He held your waist and kissed you. Zhongli's heart broke for the second time. You were reincarnated but he won't be able to get your love anymore....

He looked and then headed back.. unable to face the fact that he was no longer yours and that you were....

..No longer his...

-Lillian

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #zhongli x y/n #genshin impact x yn #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #fanfiction #x reader #genshin impact #mihoyo

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seeingivy · 8 months ago

Text

picnic

sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friend's older brother fic

previous part linked here

(^^make sure you check since this was a double upload and I posted the last one very recently :D)

dear head of the cullen clan, keep evening plans open – im getting off work early and we’re going on a picnic. coldest regards, the head of the volturi (ps. am expecting a very wholehearted appreciation for the fact that it’s coldest regards and not warmest regards, because they are, in fact, vampires and therefore cold. because they don’t have a heart and such.) (extra ps. this is a link to a shared spotify playlist. i’ll add a song and then you add one. we’ll keep it going.)

you snort.

dear aro of the volturi (does he have a last name???), so much to unpack in one email, yet again. you really know how to keep a girl on her toes. first and foremost, you are SOOOO ran through. so offended that i wasn’t the person who got to put you on to twilight and whoever it was, I HOEP SHE DIES! if you’re team jacob, you’re a freak. second, SO VERY FLATTERED that you think i would be carlisle. a little haunting that you think YOU would be aro…but it’s ok cuz former companions to enemies back to lovers in our case would be kind of crazy??? third. done and done. i just added a song so hurry up bc i have like ten other songs i want to add and i am #impatient see u after work pookie :D, carlisle cullen (very appreciative of the cold regards. you are a king among men.)

his response back is very prompt.

Never call me pookie again. (very offended that you think i’d be stupid enough to be team jacob. and direct your murderous rage towards yuuji and my mom, who forced me to watch it in theaters with them.)

you wait for sukuna at the park two blocks down the apartment complex. the sun is hours away from dipping into the horizon, the chilly wind rustling through the trees. you realize now that the red skirt and white sweater might betray you in a few hours but decide that you’ll simply have to steal his jacket when he gets here.

and you would have already but he’s twenty minutes late.

and while this part of the city is extremely safe, sukuna’s ever constant fear of people attacking you on subway trains and stabbing you in alleyways has instilled an acute fear of strangers in you, which is why you’re gripping the sparkly pink pepper spray he bought you very harshly in your palm right now.

you think it’s sweet that he bought you a pink one.

but of course it’s severely ironic that you almost used it on him.

because he scares the living daylights out of you, by placing his hand around your shoulder from behind.

“hey. i’m sorry i-”

“jesus fuck-”

you instinctively hold the pepper spray up to his face, your hands shaking in front of you.

“i’ll use it, you pervert!”

sukuna leans his head to the side, which is when you’re finally able to log that it’s actually him standing in front of you and not a stranger, and you drop your hands in embarrassment.

“i mean, i’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t doll face but–”

“oh my god, sukuna. i thought you were trying to rob me!”

“i’m smarter than that. the only thing inside your purse is lip gloss, which has very little value to me.” sukuna responds, dropping the little basket at his feet and taking the little stalk of flowers out of the top handle.

“i’ll have you know that it’s actually sold out in every store right now. so you could make bank if you sold it.”

“don’t tempt me. and for your sake, i’ll accept the apology you didn’t give me for just trying to rob me of my eyesight and for calling me a pervert? i’m getting really tired of the age gap jokes, y/n.” sukuna responds, as he lifts your hands at your sides and places the stalk of flowers in your hand.

you give him a big smile as you press your nose to the flowers, the scent fresh in your nose. and sukuna props down, setting a billowing white blanket on the ground before he taps the spot next to him and signals for you to sit next to him.

“who needs eyes?” you joke, as you squeeze his hands and set the flowers down next to the little basket.

“me, dipshit. how else am i supposed to look at you?”

you cover your hands with your cheeks as you watch him place all of the little things inside the basket next to you, laying them out perfectly. it’s albeit a weird assortment – two wine glasses, perfectly wrapped sandwiches, a mini-cake, and strawberry lemonade.

“well, stop perceiving me. this is so weird!” you murmur.

it’s enough to catch his attention and stop him in his tracks.

“what?”

the question makes you pause. and a little embarrassed. it was a little harsh to say while you were joking.

“oh, i mean…i didn’t mean it like that! i was making a joke about perceiving because eyes…vision…and i almost took your vision away! and you perceive with your eyes, because how else would you see…”

sukuna smiles, before shaking his head, and continuing spilling out the last of the contents – a set of gouache paints and two little small canvases. and he drops to his feet, yanking his shoes off, before sitting flat on the blanket and gesturing for you to join him.

“there’s no way in hell that was what you meant. but we’ll ignore that for the time being.” sukuna responds, hiking his legs to his chest and gesturing towards the spread he just put out.

you tilt your head to the side in confusion.

“you look very pretty today.” sukuna responds.

“thanks! you too!”

he narrows his eyes.

“uh huh. well, pick what we do first. the paint, the sandwiches, or the weird wine glass cake.”

“the wine glass cake? like from tiktok?” you ask.

“correct. i’m really bad at…cute dates. so…i did some research.”

sukuna refuses to look at you. because after admitting it, he’s suddenly busied himself with reading the back of the box of paints, like it’s the most riveting, intriguing thing he’s ever read in his life.

but the pink flush that’s creeping down his neck betrays him entirely, as you reach forward and push the little box down. and sukuna’s already glaring at you.

you place your chin on the top of his knees, reaching for one of his hands and smiling.

“you did research for a date?”

“you can choke on your spit.”

you grin.

“you really know how to turn a girl on.”

“you’re filthy.”

you grin.

“and you’re actually so precious, i–”

“don’t call me precious, y/n.” he whines, as he reaches forward to flick on your forehead.

you smile as you sit by his side, tucking the folds of your skirt under your leg as you reach for both of the wine glasses and hand him one.

“so how humbling was it to have satoru explain all this to you?” you ask.

he sneers.

“don’t even ask. he’s like the biggest nuisance i’ve ever met in my life. top ten worst moments of my life.” sukuna responds.

“i’m flattered you humbled yourself to him for me.”

“i actually asked suguru. they’re like…two peas in a pod, they can’t do shit without each other. the paints and stuff they gave me and the nice basket too.”

“that’s sweet of them. remind me to send them something later to thank them.”

sukuna scoffs.

“no need. they were more than happy to give it up for you.”

“ah yes. i hear they’re big fans of this camping bag story. the scouts honor and the fake story we had to tell them makes a lot more sense now.” you respond.

sukuna rolls his eyes.

“okay, you know what? sue me. i was like sixteen sleeping next to a girl for the first time. god forbid i enjoyed myself. and i don’t know why they’re all so hyperfixated on that story because it was a very normal thing to assume when you’re asked that question.”

you snort.

“and you say you’re not a pervert…”

sukuna leans forward, his eyes flitting down to his lips before he looks back up at you. and he can tell that you’re in a mood, that you’re trying to push his buttons by annoying him.

“you know i despise you right?” he whispers.

you grin, leaning in.

“is that right?” you whisper back.

“oh yeah. you irritate me.”

there isn’t even a shred of earnestness in the words he’s uttering. you know he doesn’t mean them.

“keep going.” you respond, as he presses a warm kiss to the side of your cheek.

“you’re a nuisance.” – a kiss to your forehead.

“an irritation.” – a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“like a fucking thorn in my side.” – and a kiss to the sweet spot right in your neck and his hand snaking up your thigh, which makes you nearly keel your head back from the sensation.

you place your hands on his cheek and pull him back, face flushed and his eyes nearly glazed over.

“are you crazy?” you whisper.

“what?” he asks.

“we’re in public, dumbass. you can’t just start trying to rile me up.”

sukuna leans back, obliging.

“so you admit it? i was riling you up?”

“oh, shut up.”

you reach for the sandwiches and unpeel one for sukuna. before he takes it, he places a tiny white box in your lap.

you frown. first the fancy date but the jewelry too?

“sukuna. you didn’t–”

“just open it. i’m impatient and i’ve been waiting all day. and i actually think you’ll like it. otherwise, you’re ungrateful and rude and you hate me.” sukuna responds.

you give him a tight lipped smile before you open the little box and actually smile.

it’s a dainty silver chain – the exact same as sukuna’s from the chain-links, but the build is a little thinner. and right at the center, a little charm of a star.

you reach forward for his chain, dangling around his collarbone. and surely enough, in addition to the original charm he had of an interlocked circle, there’s a star charm added right next to it.

“you always reach for it. when you’re talking or when we’re kissing. figured i’d get you your own since you’re such a big fan.”

“you are so…”

“perfect? sexy? the father of your children?”

“i was thinking adorable. can i answer d for all of the above?” you respond.

sukuna grins.

“survey says yes, princess.” he responds.

you yank the chain from the little box and hand it to him, before turning around for him to secure it on you. his fingers tickle against the nape of your neck, accompanied by a warm kiss, before he taps your shoulders to signify that he’s done.

“you know. you really are perceiving me right now.” you respond.

“and how’s that?”

“i know you’re obsessed with me and pay attention to every word i say.”

sukuna smiles.

“obviously.”

you jab at his side.

“i mean, i know you’re doing this because i mentioned picnics yesterday and always feeling left out. sure you could put two and two together that he never really bought me any nice gifts or anything when i said he ruined my birthday.”

“okay, captain obvious. and?”

you shove him once more, before leaning your head against his shoulder.

“well, i appreciate it. i know the whole…cutesy painting date isn’t your thing. we won’t have to do it again. and that you…you’re trying to make this whole thing special for me.”

sukuna scoffs.

“i’m offended. first and foremost, i always like to eat with you. every time i think that there’s no way you can amaze me more, you find another way to spill food on your clothes.”

“hey! that’s not true.”

“you already spilled on the blanket. second, this is a very violent way to eat cake. you literally mess up all the layers by doing that and destroy the piping on the cake which i can admit, i am a fan of. and third, i’m going to paint us as worms, which seems enjoyable to me.”

you curl your nose.

“worms?”

“yeah. what were you going to paint?”

“i don’t know. but it certainly wasn’t going to be worms. like the park or flowers or something.”

“boring. i’m going to paint us as slimy worms. and because we made it on this date, you’ll have to agree to put it up in the apartment, even if it’s ugly.”

“sukuna.” you whine.

“especially if it’s ugly. it’s a testament to our love.” he responds, dramatically placing his hands on his chest.

“you know, you’re so right. worms have been a really defining feature of your relationship.”

sukuna leans forward and presses a quick kiss to your lips and an additional one on your cheek.

“you just get me, princess!”

and he breaks the little joke by lifting one of your hands to his lips, and pressing a kiss on all four of your knuckles before pressing your hand to his cheek.

“and i have to do special things for a special person.”

you return the gesture, lifting his tattooed fingers to your lips and doing the same.

“you know…you’re really good at this type of thing.” you murmur.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean, being a boyfriend. and…and being supportive about everything. sometimes i feel like i’m trying really hard to be the best but…just comes naturally to you.” you respond.

sukuna shrugs.

“don’t know if i’m perfect but…loving you has always come really easy to me. i don’t really have to think twice about it because these are actually just things i want to do for you.”

you groan.

“see! that’s what i’m saying! you always just…say sweet things, do sweet things. sometimes i’m convinced i’m not even half deserving of it, just because sometimes i don’t reciprocate that back.” you respond.

sukuna leans forward.

“you know, you actually do though.”

“as if.” you groan.

sukuna pauses, before leaning his cheek against the tops of his knees and looking out at the expanse of grass in front of you. you follow his line of vision – to the dog running in the distance, the wide, billowing trees, and the little flower truck on the side – which you now realize is where sukuna copped the flowers from earlier.

“i mean, this type of thing. that we have, or…or the way i act around you. it means a lot to you because, you…you’ve never had this before. right?”

“yeah.”

“well, i haven’t had you before. i know you see me as perfect, but…but when you say that i can tell that you don’t mean it the way my mom or…or yuuji think that i’m perfect. in the untouchable way.”

you lean forward, cupping the side of his face.

“sukuna. you’re so touchable.” you joke.

“you’re disgusting.”

“you love it.”

sukuna smiles.

“yeah, i really do. it does actually mean the world to me that you think i’m perfect how i am and don’t think i’m larger than life.”

“if anything, your ego could be smaller.”

sukuna leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“and…and even the other day. i know you were acting squirrely and weird when yuuji was near us and heard us bickering, but i was half convinced that you were going to take his side at the end, when he started saying that stuff about me. because it is true and i have acted a certain way in the past…and, you would have every right to agree with him if you wanted to.”

you frown.

“no, i wouldn’t. you’ve never treated me like that and i know you’re being earnest when you say these things to me. this would be a very elaborate way to get into my pants if that was what you were trying to do. and i know it’s not.”

sukuna smiles.

“that’s what i’m saying. every other person for me has never given me that benefit of the doubt, but you always do. you were the person who thought to tell me that my grandpa died when you all came to get me and you were the one who wasn’t mad at me. the things you do for me are the same, in equal magnitude, as what i do for you. if this makes you feel good, or…or on top of the world, you have to know that’s how you make me feel too. i’m half convinced that you’re basically made for me at this point the way you get everything right on point.”

you lean forward and press a lingering kiss to his lips.

“i really think you’re made for me too, ryomen.”

sukuna groans, dramatically leaning his head back, before nearly pushing you over and peppering kisses to almost every surface on your face.

“quit fucking saying my name. you have no idea what that does to me.”

“i mean, i think i have an idea.”

sukuna clamps his fingers over your mouth, before pressing a few more lingering kisses to your face and pushing off. and subsequently, picks all of the grass out of your hair as you roll your eyes.

and after that sukuna, admittedly, very aggressively uses the wine glasses to portion off little slices of the cake and makes it a point to finish off yours when you can’t stomach the sweetness. and true to his promise – sukuna paints the two of you as worms, but at the park, stargazing.

it’s a little silly, the way he paints it. you were expecting it to be more gory or gross, but it’s so corny that it makes you smile. because he draws the two little worms, but distinguishes between the two of you, by swiping some of your pink paint and adding a little ribbon to the one that’s supposed to be you.

sukuna explains the stars. because before sukuna had dragged you out of that shitty bathroom bar, it’s what megumi and yuuji said in his drunken mess – he had pointed at two little stars and likened them to him and megumi.

and you’re almost positive that at the time, sukuna found it utterly ridiculous. but now, he understood it – the sentiment. that you and sukuna were two little worms, and two stars, and two little flowers too.

and to his promise, the two of you decide to place the little canvases you drew at the end of the kitchen counter.

it’s only then that you realize that you have to go the whole ten miles for sukuna the way he had done for you – countless times again. and that if you were going in blind in trying to make something special, you’d have to take a page out of his book and do some research.

and there was only one person who could really help you, who you’d rather die than humble yourself to than ask for help.

regardless of that, you still call sammy the next morning.

next part linked here

an: they're about to do it. anyways....there is a very real playlist to match the one that they talk about in the fic -- and it matches the way it described in the fic! so it's interleaved, the first song is a song that sukuna would have added, the second one that y/n added, the third sukuna, so on and so forth. it's linked here! happy listening babies

second an: thank you for the love on the last chapter. it makes my heart really warm bc all of that was actually based on a REAL MAN and real things that I have felt/have said to me and just having people comment that they felt seen by it or it made them feel a certain type of way actually made me really happy and so warm. this blog was one of the first things I did after I stopped being really, really sad and i'm glad that i'm able to share a little joy here and there, if that's what this fic is for you. anyways this is long and sappy and gross and actually I just love you all for enduring the ouchies and the sillies with me a little bit 💌

third an: double upload bc yall were so patient with me :D

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @ghostreadersthings @charlie-xo @whoami-72 @heijihattorisgf @megu-meow @complexivelovely @multiplefandomthings @hoebuns @lzaj19 @glossygreene @ramluvr @sureconfused @najaemism @manduse @imhorn1help @gamergirl5125 @r0ckst4rjk @invisible-mori @isaacdaknight @wishmemel @gyros-cum-sock @suftsunshine @i0099 @cowgirlikets @haitanibros0007 @stuffeddeer @yoontaedotin @ec3lipsy @armani79 @awkwardaardvarkforever @kereseth @leave-rae-alone @ruruvia @princess-ackerman @jjkwritingss @lilkiwikiara @opchara @telepathicheartss @starriesworlds @raechu11 @exprimidordefresas @nxxrxm @aalloochaat @strangehuman101 @tzutology

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 2 months ago

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there’s been lots of requests and comments so here it is PART 3!!! (SHE’S HERE first anon, hope you survived this long second anon and it was not a dream third anon, I’m posting/making it now fourth and fifth anon)

some of you were going feral for part 2 so I hope this lives up the expectation 😭😭 if not I’m severely sorry

title: the dancer and the angel part 3

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: grayson has just admitted to kissing lyra kane, the girl you’d been worried about, the girl that was stunning, the girl he said didn’t matter… he chose her over you so now what??

parts: part 1 part 2 part 4

warnings: swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: okay so I hate switching POVs but I felt it was necessary here and I know the start is the same as the part 2 but in Gray’s POV but trust me there is lot more

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31

GRAYSON’S POV

Guilt has chewed me up and spat me out the whole walk back to our shared room. There’s a pulsating lump in my throat that aches relentlessly, reminding me of what I’ve done. I am a terrible person. I never deserved her and now I’ve done the worst thing I could’ve possibly done, that anyone on this whole planet could’ve ever done. And she will never forgive me for it. I wish there was a way to turn back time and alter certain events. As soon as the time machine is invented, no doubt by my very own brother Xander, I’m coming back to moments before now to stop my idiot brain from-

I can’t even think it. Maybe it’s because it makes it more real. It’s like the last few moments of my life have been erased from my brain, it’s a blank canvas and I have no paints. I know what I did but I can’t remember exact details. Still, I can taste her on my lips, an over sweet taste that was almost too sickly has now morphed into something bitter. Her perfume lingers on my clothes and adds to my ever growing headache. I don’t want to smell her, I don’t want the reminder of the awful human I have become. The monster that now inhabits my body, lives in my skin, breathes my air and poisons the people I love. The ones I truly love.

Y/n. At one point she was the only reason I was still existing, still carrying on. She somehow managed to give me the fight to keep carrying on. I got up most days because I knew I would get to see her face. And now I’m going to throw everything away, our whole relationship. Everything we’ve been through or planned to go through together. It will reduced to nothing in a few minutes.

I’m outside the door, my feet have carried me here through muscle memory. I must go in, I must face her I’m aware but I’m afraid. I’ve never felt so pathetic. I wonder if she is still asleep. Though, I can’t work out whether I’d rather she be awake or asleep. I don’t think I could bear to look at her angelic feature either way. Those wide eyes, round lips, heavenly- I can’t bear it, I’m going to lose her, all of her.

I fiddle around with the key, hoping the door will just never unlock so I don’t have to face this. The mechanism clicks, mocking me. I step in silently and face the door to lock back up again. I don’t understand why, I know I’ll be kicked out in a matter of seconds, what good will a locked door be? And yet I’m still facing the door, fumbling with the key, my back towards her. Though I can hear her getting out of bed. She’s awake. My body’s immediate response is to go into a state of paralysis. I can’t move as the guilt ridden cement hardens over my body, creating an outer shell of the cruel creature I’ve become. Her body is behind mine. I can feel her bright presence radiating her usual tentative nature.

“Are you okay?” I hear her whisper as she touches my arm so gently it stings.

It stings so sharply because I know what I’ve done. The shameful crime I’ve committed. I jerk away suddenly.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, deep concern in her tone.

It kills me. It’s a poisoned dagger wedged deep within my heart, hitting every vital artery. Her voice is so soft, so melodic. She cares so much, too much and I’m about to destroy it all. And as much as I could not say a word I couldn’t live a lie, the guilt would eat me alive. How could I look her in the eye and tell her she’d always been the only one when I know she hadn’t? She’d already noticed earlier today my distant mood. She had always been observant, vigilant about those things concerning me and I’d always been grateful. I wouldn’t have that anymore. Lyra had been on my mind earlier and I couldn’t tell her. Now she would realise.

“No,” I reply.

My voice is unfamiliar to myself, it’s sharp and blunt. It sounds horribly harsh. I could feel it hurt her, the air ripples with a touch of dimness when I hurt her. Even with my back to her it’s obvious to me. I know her so well, too well and from this day on we might drift to perfect strangers. That thought hurts me more than anything.

“Where have you been?” she says. Her voice so sweet, so innocent, cruelly naïve.

I don’t want to break her, I don’t want to do it. It would be like smashing a glass ballerina. Something so beautiful, something so delicate should be preserved not purposely broken. I force my eyes to meet hers. I immediately regret it. The soft mellow colour all melts into one, clawing at my heartstrings and ripping the organ to shreds. She’s so beautiful. How had I ever looked at any other? How had I let myself?

Suddenly I’m drowning in guilt. I don’t know how, it just comes over me suddenly. Like a tidal wave I had my back to. I’ve been swept under by an endless ocean of shame. My lungs swollen full of my own black sin. I don’t know how but I manage to choke out two shaky words.

“I’m sorry.”

My voice cracks. My voice never cracks. She knows that. I’m sturdy, I’m strong, I’m the rock that never breaks and here I am. Here I am crumbling into dust. She’s too smart to miss the signs, she’s too clever not to immediately know something so horribly wrong, her mind is too sharp not to have worked half of it out. She’d already been suspicious of Lyra. She’d already seen what might happen between us even before I did, before it did actually happen.

“Gray?” she asks, my name sounding too sweet on her tongue. The next time she says it will taste bitter, I’m sure of it. She barely whispers the word but I hear her, it rings in my mind. It forever will.

I’m full of pure regret and guilt, it wracks my soul, shaking me relentlessly back and forth until I’m dizzy with it. Remorse’s doors suddenly burst wide open, ready for my grand entrance. My hopes and dreams snicker and smirk smugly as I walk down the runway, my head hanging in embarrassment.

I need to tell her. My heart races in my chest and there’s a lump stuck in my throat, so large it’s started to block my airways. I don’t know how to get the words out, I don’t know how to talk. I feel like I’m suffering some sort of aneurysm. She looks at me, her eyebrows pinched in and eyes narrowed and then I see it. Her eyebrows part and slowly sink. She knows already.

“Tell me,” she murmurs, her voice of an angel shaking.

I close my eyes, trying to suppress the tears. I haven’t cried in years I’ve forgotten this feeling, this heavy weighted agony that ripples through me causing water to infiltrate my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek and still my shaking hands.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, an uninvited raw desperation ripping through my voice, “I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” she grits through her teeth sharply, her eyes glitter so beautifully fierce and fiery, like she wants to kill.

But I know she’s trying to steady her rising sadness by covering up with her fury. I can see through her, like she can see through me. I freeze and the pause elongates. The aching silence is deadly, it’s fatal. I wish she didn’t have to make me say it.

“I kissed her,” I murmur, the words making me feel sick as I say them.

“Who?” she asks, he tone low and ferocious, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

I’m twisting a knife into her heart and I know it. But she wants me to cut deeper. She’s a woman of principle, I’ve already hurt her, I might as well do the job properly in her eyes. And I can’t deny her this. Not I’ve stripped her of her dignity, her trust, her love, her everything.

“I kissed Lyra,” I whisper, suddenly aware of the dampness on my cheeks.

A sour taste fills my mouth. The words send lightning sparks across my jaw, sending ribbons of agony down the sides of my face. The truth hurts. Literally. Tears are rolling the side of my face, but I don’t bring my hand to wipe them and nor do I stop them. I’ve never felt more broken.

But she doesn’t care, there is not pity in her eyes. Good. I don’t want he to pity me. She should hate me. She should want me to miserable and hope for me to have a lifetime of the torture I’ve just forced her to endure.

“Get out,” she murmurs, the anger bringing out her natural stunning features. A flicker of boldness in her eyes, the striking angles of her eyebrows, her strong thick lashes and her full lips.

“I’m sorry.” they’re the only words I remember how to say, through my internal fit of torment.

I expect her to hit me around the face, a good strong punch I know she can make or a sharp smack that’ll leave a red hand mark pressed against my cheek. I imagine she might scream at me and ask me all the questions I wish I had answers to. But she does none of that. She only looks at me darkly and utters two last words.

“Leave Grayson.”

I can hear the tears she’s trying to hold back, through the numb façade. I know her better than she’ll ever realise. But it’s not fair for me to stay, not after this. She’s only asking one thing of me when she should be doing so much more. So I do. I turn my back on her again. And I leave.

***

Tears pummel down my cheeks like never before. I can’t remember the last time I cried. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like this. I’m blinded by them as I stumble sideways. I don’t know where I’m going. I stand on the edge of the cliff and sink to my knees, letting out a loud guttural scream. I’m there until my throat is so raw I can’t feel it. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood. And then I’m up again and running, following a path my footsteps are dragging me towards. I can’t think straight, I’m dizzy with pain. Before I know it I’m outside the safe house on the island. My hands tremor on the handle and I swing open the door, falling to the floor for my sobs to take me over. My chest aches and burns and tightens. That’s when I realise I can’t breathe properly. I fumble around for my phone, a tear splashing into the illuminated screen. With uncontrollably shaking hands, I typed no words. Just three numbers.

911

***

The wait feels like years, maybe even decades. Each second taunts me, with a mocking tick. I’d crumbled into the corner of the room at some point and stayed there, curled up and choking on my own sorry sobs. What had I done? What had I done? What had I done?

The question circles around my head like the nostalgia of a distorted tune of a merry go round. I’ve never made such a big mistake and my life and deep down there’s a sinking sensation that is telling me I’m not going to be able to make this better. I sob, loud harsh sobs that hurt my lungs and knock the air out of my stomach. My whole being shakes with every strangled noise that escapes my lips. Grieving. I’m grieving over something I chose to throw away. It’s cruelly ironic. But I think part of me is also grieving the good man I once thought myself to be, that she made me believe I could be.

I turned my back on the one and only person in this world who just cared about me, took me for who I am and believed I could do anything. She only wanted the best, she only wanted happiness and she deserved so much more and here I am, stabbing her in the back and dancing in her blood like a madman. She was my everything and I managed to mess it up, just like everything else in my life. I can’t have normal relationships, I can’t do something without messing it up. I’m one big screw up the opposite of how the old man raised me to be. He’s looking down on me now and I can feel his disappointment, like an infection coursing through my bloodstream. I failed him, I failed my brothers, I’ve failed her, I’ve failed myself.

She thought I was better, she believed I could be more than his expectation. And I was stupid enough to believe it, encourage it and let her belive the lie too. We’re all idiots.

I can recite her favourite song, her favourite flower, her favourite food and favourite colour. I can tell you all about her favourite novels and how she orders her books on an endless bookshelf. I know that she tells people her favourite film is ‘it’s a wonderful life’ but it’s actually secretly ‘tangled’. I know she prefers to stay inside and cuddle under blankets rather than have a night out. I know she’d rather reason a thousand books than watch a thousand movies. I know she wanted a library in her dream house and two, maybe three children with her husband and I know she’d sometimes debate about getting a cat as well. I know how she loves brownie batter more than the actual brownies and can’t sleep with any lights on. I know she still uses the bunny rhyme to tie her shoelaces and how she fiddles with her collarbone when she’s nervous. I know exactly what diamond she wanted in her engagement ring and her favourite country. I know what people she despises and I know what people she adores. I know every inch of her face, every hair on her head, every sparkle in her eyes and every cell on her skin.

I know her.

I know her, but that can’t help me now. Pain ripples across the left side of my chest and my hand clamps over it as I grit my teeth to try and bear it. I hear the door creek open and can’t tell whether it comforts me or not.

“Grayson pookie!” Xander calls out, “we’re here.”

His cheerful voice doesn’t provide me with the cushion to this pain I thought it might.

“And we have some in incredibly strong whisky,” Jameson adds, I can here the mischievous grin in his voice, it’s been the same all of his life.

“My nose hairs are officially burnt off,” Xander agrees.

I can’t speak. I try to call out for them but the words die in my swollen throat.

“Where are you Gray?” Nash calls out, he sounds a little more worried than the other two but is concealing it well.

“Here,” my voice is hoarse and laboured, even I can’t recognise it.

The mood immediately shifts, you can feel it. The air becomes tainted with concern as their footsteps approach my cowering figure. The case of whiskey is dropped as there is an audible thunk as it hits the floor. I can feel their bodies enveloping around mine creating something of a circle of safety. I look up to worried face and shiny eyes.

“Help me,” I gasp for air, greedily trying to gulp down the oxygen that I feel so deprived of, “please.”

“We’re here to help you Gray,” Nash murmurs softly. His voice had always been something comforting, especially when I was younger. I wonder if he will be so kind when I tell him what I’ve done. He’s going to hate me, there’s nothing he despises more than a man who can’t respect a woman.

I shake my head and choke out another struggling sob, instead of the words I don’t know how to say. Jameson’s eyes flit between mine and Nash’s, the concern rippling across his features. He’s never looked this concerned for me in his life. I think to all the times as children I’d helped him settle after a nightmare and wiped his tears that he hated falling when the old man had humiliated him. Oh how the tables had turned. Now it was my little brother wiping my tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his touch so gentle it shocks me.

“I can’t-“ I barely get out, wrapping my hands around my neck.

“Gray…” he trails off, unmasked emotion hitting his face like a train.

“I can’t breathe,” I wheeze as the invisible blanket that was set out to suffocate me tightens over my nose and mouth.

“Hey, Gray, look at me,” Nash says, his voice smooth and reassuring, “in and out okay, in and out.”

“I can’t,” I pant, my limbs shaking embarrassingly uncontrollably.

Xander takes both of my hands into his and squeezes them until they still, “yes you can, follow Nash’s instructions okay?”

“Slowly, do it with me,” Nash nods, “in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

I do. In and out, a rhythmic pattern. Each time Nash reminds me how to breathe. There’s an aura of calmness about his voice that lulls my panic into a narcoleptic sleep. Once my breathing is halfway regulated I look at him, dead in the eye, with shaking sorrowful lips.

“I fucked up,” I sob, “I fucked up and I don’t know what to do.”

They all share a look, this is the worst state they’ve seen me and we all know it. I begin to pathetically sob uncontrollably once again, the feelings building up in my chest and tearing me apart from the inside out. It’s like a rabid pack of wolves had been set loose to feed on my internal organs. I don’t know how to stop the ocean of tears, I don’t know how to shut my mind off, I don’t know how to help myself. Reel myself in from this abominable mess I’ve become. I’m hyperventilating, my chest throbbing up and down unevenly. Nash nods towards Jameson, a short, soft, sharp nod of approval.

“Hey! Calm down!” Jameson snaps, giving me a hard slap around the face, “snap out of this!”

The shock shuts me up and the sting stops my tears. I’m back to reality instead of a wallowing mess. Nash must’ve been approving the slap I realise in the sudden cleared head I’d obtained

“Sorry,” Jameson mumbles at me, looking a little guilty.

I massage my jaw, “no I think I needed that.”

He grimaces and then softens his tone, “what happened Gray?”

I tense, growing very still, “I can’t say it out loud, I can’t, I’m awful, I’m horrible-“

“What happened?” Nash drawls.

I choke out yet another unnatural sound. Seems the slap didn’t snap me hard enough into reality. I exhale slowly. I have to say it, now or never.

“I kissed Lyra.”

The words hurt even more this time, that they did when I’d admitted it to y/n. Neither one of my brothers can mask their honest reaction.

“Oh fuck,” Jameson blurts out, “you cheated?”

Anger. He’s fuming with me. I can see the rage trailing through his eyes and blossoming into his expression.

“I didn’t mean to,” I reply, feeling like a small child.

Jameson’s eyes widen and fury flashes across his face, “how can you not mean-“

Nash shoots him a look and his mouth glues shut. Then he turns to me and I can’t quite read him yet. I gulp.

“No one does that kind of thing for no reason,” he says sternly, “I never thought you’d be the one of the four of us to ever do that, seems I was mistaken little brother.”

Disappointment. He’s disappointed. A horrible sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Nash is disappointed in me. It’s one of the worst feelings imaginable. There had only been few times in my life when he had been and I remember the feeling all too well. Shame has me in a chokehold an it’s succeeding in strangling me. I can‘t bring myself to meet his eyes, I don’t want to see that look I can feel is on his face, that look of pure disapproval.

“How did she find out?” Xander asks quietly.

Shock. He hadn’t said anything until now, but his lips had been slightly parted and he’d paled a little. He never thought I’d do this to anyone, he’s yet another person I’ve let down.

“I told her,” I murmur, “the guilt was consuming me.”

“As it should,” Jameson snaps, twitching with a fiery ferocity.

“Jamie,” Nash says, trying to keep some kind of diplomacy.

“No,” he growls, “you don’t do that to a girl, your girl, you can’t do that!”

“Don’t take the moral highground now,” I spit.

“When you’ve cheated on your girlfirend? Yeah I think I will,” he replies, the bitterness rolling off of his tongue like a deadly poison. He doesn’t know I’ve already poisoned myself with my own actions, his words can’t hurt me.

“I didn’t mean to,” I falter.

“Bullshit,” he grits through his teeth, in two definitive and threatening symbols.

“Careful Jamie,” Nash warns.

“All this is your fault anyway,” I continue, ignoring the warning.

“So it’s my fault, you kissed another girl, yeah, okay Gray,” he nods his head with a sarcastic smile.

“It is!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air, “if you hadn’t locked me in a room with her-“

“So it’s my fault you couldn’t keep up dick under control,” he quips, interrupting me.

“You could’ve locked me with my one of my sisters but of course you just had choose the only girl who isn’t related to me,” I seethe.

“Odette isnt related to you,” Xander pipes up. I’d forgotten he was there, that anyone besides me and Jameson were there.

“Odette is old enough to be my grandmother,” I scowl at him, immediately feeling bad as the words leave my lips, but don’t dwell on it as I turn back to Jameson, “why did you make me a player in your sick excuse of a game?”

“You can’t use the game as an excuse,” he laughs darkly.

“I will,” I reply sharply, “this is your fault and Avery’s fault too.”

“Avery? Don’t make me laugh,” he rolls his eyes.

“The game never should’ve been created by her,” I yell, “that’s why I’m in this mess!”

“No, you’re in this mess because of you,” he shouts back, “but don’t you dare bring Avery in to this it’s not her fault.”

I feel like I’m one of those circus acts, the ones that lay on a spinning board and get knives hurled at them. Only in my case the knives are the truth and they actually hit me.

“Why did you make me a player?” I ask quieter now, my voice hoarse, “why?”

“I didn’t know making you a player would result in this,” he says.

“It was so irreverent,” I snap becoming angrier by the second, a sudden burst of red overriding any rational sense in my head, “I never needed to play.”

“You can’t pin this on me Gray, if it didn’t happen with Lyra, who knows who else it would’ve happened with,” he hisses.

“So you think I’m just like this? You think this is me?” I ask him, prodding the hollow space where my heart used to be.

“I didn’t before….” he trails off, sighing, “but now I don’t know what the fucking think of you.”

“Jamie,” Nash repeats again, in the same warning tone as before. We both ignore him.

“Just because you and Avery are all peaches and roses-“

“Leave Avery out of your anger issues,” he roars defensively.

“No,” I counter, raising an eyebrow, mirroring his usual argument demeanour, “you think you’re so perfect now you’ve got your dream girl and the two of you are so much better off than the rest of us, because your love is undeniable or whatever bullshit people feed you about it-“

Jameson’s features twitch for a split second. He’s hurt, but won’t show it. He’ll refuse but I know that it hit a nerve that won’t heal for a long time. I stop mid-sentence.

“I am far from perfect, I think we both know that,” he says, in a low voice, “look you’re hurting, I get it, but I’m not going to mollycoddle you and tell you it’s okay when it’s not. I’m not going to stand here and lie to your face because as your brother that would be the worst possible thing for me to do to you.”

“My brother would try and understand what it’s like from my side,” I say, desperation clawing at my voice.

“You’re looking for a fight Grayson and it’s not going to end well, not with me,” he warns, shaking his head.

“Maybe I do want a fight, but you know you do too,” I growl rolling up my sleeves, “so fine, I’ll give you a fight Jamie.”

“I don’t want a fight, I want some justice for y/n,” he states simply, “she did nothing to deserve that Gray, she’s been so good to you, the sweetest soul on this earth and she’s helped you through a lot of shit and this is how you’re repaying her?”

“Jameson,” Nash says.

He ignores him for the third time and I can see his calm facade beginning to drop, “you think because you called a 911 and you’re here crying that I should feel sorry for you?”

“I thought you were going to be here for me,” I reply numbly, my tone dead, “clearly I’m mistaken.”

“I can’t be there for someone with no morals,” he replies, “you cheated and you’re the one who’s upset about it, how do you think she feels?”

“You think I don’t know her?” I fire back, my throat burning, “you think I don’t know exactly what she’s doing right now? I hate myself, I hate myself for doing what I did!”

“Good you should!” he screams back.

Before I know it I feel myself charges towards him, ready to throw a good punch but Nash and Xander launch onto me to quickly and managing to hold me back. Nash’s grip is so tight I don’t dare try and budge.

“Out. Now.” Nash says sharply to Jameson, “go and cool off.”

His tone sends a shiver down my spine that I won’t admit to. Jameson opens his mouth to argue.

“Jameson.”

He skulks away, with a sullen face. We all wait frozen until the door has been slammed shut. Nash lets my arm go, dropping it harshly and Xander follows suit.

“And you’re no better,” he turns to me, placing his cowboy hat on a nearby surface, “I’m only sending him away because you can’t be left alone in this mess and so the two of you don’t rip each other to pieces.”

Silence stills the room. His voice echoes but makes no sound all at the same time.

“Take a second, take a breath and we’re going to talk this through like adults,” he says, “if you want to carry on being a child then leave. Calm down, you’re not a toddler having a tantrum, you’re a grown man, act like it.”

Nash has a way of snapping me back to reality. I nod shakily.

“Talk.”

I begin, “I don’t even know why I kissed her, I didn’t mean to it just-“

“Happened?” he guesses, “no little brother, that doesn’t just happen.”

“The I don’t know Nash,” I say, tipping my head back and resting it on the wall behind me.

I hadn’t meant for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. It just did. She was there, just stood there. Her hands looped naturally around the back of my neck, warm and gentle, “someone sent me that ticket Grayson. I thought it was Avery but if it wasn’t…”

She trails off, her voice small and tentative. Her golden eyes filled with the utmost worry. I wanted her to know she’d be okay, that she’d have someone to keep her safe. Her arms get more comfortable around my neck. She’d felt it too, the electrifying spark between us. It was exhilarating but something about it was off, synthetic.

“Then who the hell was it?” I questioned, my hands magnetised to her cheek all of a sudden.

Lyra didn’t pull away and neither did I. I lower my head and she raised onto her toes and titled hers back a little. She was graceful, like a dancer. My lips brushed over hers. They were sweet like honey. For the first few moments it was bliss and the realisation hit, like a stone to my stomach. I jerked backwards suddenly, shaking my head.

“I can’t do this,” I said, my fingers trying to wipe her taste off of my lips, “I don’t- this isn’t-“

I was tongue-tied, not able to explain to her how wrong it was. The words wouldn’t work the way I wanted them to.

“Gray?” Lyra murmurs, a tender voice. Her amber eyes are widened and slightly confused.

“No,” I yell. She flinches and another wave of horribly strong emotion rushes over me, drowning me. “No I’m in love with someone else. I don’t know what that was. I can’t-“

I stumbled backward a few steps and the turned around and ran. Like the coward that I am.

“It did just happen,” I murmur, lifting my head from the wall to look my older brother in eye, “I swear to god, I didn’t intend for it to happen, I didn’t even know I had feelings for her.”

I can see he disagrees still and isn’t convinced. I don’t know how to prove it to him.

“Let’s establish one thing here, who do you like?” Xander asks me.

“I like Lyra,” I say slowly, “but I love y/n.”

Nash shakes his head, “if you loved her you wouldn’t have done that.”

“I made a mistake,” I press on.

“And you will pay for it and regret it for the rest of your life,” he shrugs, “it’s not what you wanted to hear but it’s the truth. Listen, I love Libby and loving someone means so many things. One of those things is that I don’t even look at other women, to me they don’t even really exist. Libby is my world and no one else even comes into the equation, so the fact is someone else came into the equation for you, meaning the love wasn’t there.”

“But it was, I felt it,” I say, my voice breaking as I press my chest.

“What do you feel for Lyra?” he asks plainly.

“I don’t know, she’s intriguing and smart and beautiful,” I murmur, “and I like her, but I don’t know if I have romantic feelings for her.”

“Then why did you kiss her?”

“Comfort? Lust? Greed? Selfishness? I don’t know it just happened,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Stop using that phrase as a get out clause,” Nash shakes his head, “you have to admit to yourself more than anyone that this didn’t just happen.”

“I leaned in and I put my lips of hers, and I didn’t stop it, it didn’t feel wrong straight away,” I admit out loud finally.

“It didn’t?” Xander says, looking wounded.

“No, it didn’t feel wrong until I realised what I’d done,” I say, looking down, suddenly finding my shoelaces to be the most interesting thing in the world.

No one replies for a long while. That’s when I realise how exhausted I truly am and how much I crave sleep.

“I vouched for you,” Xander says quietly, “I told her that you’d never do that, that you weren’t that guy.”

“I’m not,” I say, in denial at first. I take a moment to analyse his sentence and then come to a sickening realisation, “oh my god I am…”

“She was already anxious about where your loyalties were Gray,” he winces.

“I proved her right, I proved every worry she had right, I just proved to her that she shouldn’t have trusted me,” I spiral, hating that I hadn’t seen it sooner.

Xander looks to Nash for support for a reply.

“Yeah,” Nash sighs, “you did.”

“I need to fix this, there has to be a way-“

“Grayson,” the acuteness of his voice cuts through my sentence like a machete.

I freeze and clamp my mouth firmly shut.

“This isn’t a broken vase, you can’t glue it back together or buy a new one,” he tells me softly.

He was referring to a time where Jameson and I had been seven and eights years old. We’d been brawling of course, Hawthorne style and accidentally smashed a vase. Usually it wouldn’t matter, there were vases all over Hawthorne House and they were smashed frequently. But this wasn’t just any vase. It was nan’s priceless vase that had belonged to her daughter, our grandmother, Alice. We were never allowed within a five mile radius of it, but like the rebellious children we were, we didn’t listen. Through our fight we’d smashed the whole thing, it was truly destroyed. The two of us stayed up for nights on need gluing together the pieces only to realise it was never going to look like the original again. So we’d hunted to buy another, problem was, this vase was one of a kind. It turned out after four weeks or trying to ship a similar one in that nan had known the whole time. She didn’t speak to either of us for a good few months.

“This is real life, she is a real person and you hurt her,” he explains, “fixing this isn’t an option. There isn’t a way to fix it, there are no pieces to our back together, okay?”

I’m silent but it’s the loudest voice in the room. My face pinches together in agony. For the first time, a little of the disappointment fades and my brother’s face softens. He wraps a strong arm around me and I flop into him like a lifeless bag of nothingness. I bury my head into his shoulder and try to cry but there seems to be no tears left. He understands and holds me for a moment. Suddenly I’m six years old again and crying in Nash’s in my arms over Jameson hiding my favourite teddy bear at the time, then I’m eleven in his arms with pneumonia after being stupid enough to get caught in the rapids un the dead of winter wanting a good photograph of a rare fish, then I’m seventeen, crying over a redheaded girl who I thought I’d managed to murder. And now here I am, at twenty-two years old in his grasp once again, having made the greatest mistake of my life.

Suddenly I feel another set of arms wrap around the both of us.

“Group hug!” a familiar voice sings.

Leave it to Xander to make me crack a half smile in the darkest moments I’ve ever experienced. After a while I pull away and sigh.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” I ask, pulling away.

“Honestly?” Xander asks.

I nod

“No,” he says. I wish I could see that little glimmer of a lie in his eyes, but I can’t. And it kills me.

“Think about it like this,” he sighs, “would you forgive Eve for what she did?”

“This is not the same thing,” I reply coldly.

“Eve cheated your trust, she betrayed you,” he explains gently, “that’s exactly how she feels.”

Dread fills my every pore as I murmur lifelessly, “I’m as bad as Eve.”

“No wait,” he says, looking guilty and panicked all at the same time, “that’s not what I meant!”

“I know,” I reassure him so some of his guilt subsides, “but it’s true and now I’ve just realised.”

“Look Gray, you aren’t Eve. You’re never going to be Eve, but think of how you felt then. That’s how y/n feels,” Nash soothes, “she’s not going to just forgive you, that’s not how it works.”

“You just broke her heart Gray,” Xander adds, careful to keep his tone as light as a feather, “for a girl you just met.”

“Why am I horrible person? Why do I always find a way to mess to something good?” I groan, smacking my head on the wall behind me. There’s an audible thump as pain spreads through the back of my skull. I wonder if I can concuss myself to forget all of this, but I don’t attempt the idea.

“You don’t-“

“No I do,” I say firmly, cutting him off, “I’m not meant for love, to love or to be loved, I’m not built for it. I’m not a good enough person for it. I’m never going to find my Libby or my Max or my Avery.“

“Grayson-“ Nash begins.

“Emily knew it and now so does y/n,” I snap.

My brothers still at her name, not moving a muscle. I never bring up Emily.

“Listen to me,” Nash says sharply, getting my attention, “you are meant to be loved. You are meant to love. I love you, Xander loves you, Jameson loves you and y/n loved you too…”

The change of tense makes my soul ache.

“…but this time around, you made a mistake, a costly mistake. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love.”

I nod numbly, robotically.

“What can I do to make it up to her?” I ask, my voice beginning to tremble, “to show her I’m sorry? Something there has to be something.”

Nash gives me a grim look and Xander’s face remains blank, they’re the only answers I need. My head sinks into my hands. The door reopens and I look back up. Jameson has returned.

He meets my eyes, “Avery’s with her.”

Blood surges through my heart and I can almost smile. He checked on her. For me.

“Is she okay?” I ask quickly.

Jameson looks at me and for a split second I almost see the ghost concern is his eyes. He shakes his head softly, “no, but she will be,” he replies, it’s an attempt to comfort me and I am grateful.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“I’m not apologising for what I said, because I still stand by it and you won’t change my mind,” Jameson says, “but I am sorry for being so angry about it.”

“You were right,” I whisper, “you were right about me. I never deserved her, so was nothing but an angel to me and I just turned around and threw it all away. I abused the luxury I had, I stabbed her in the back and then gifted another with the knife, I’m a horrible person.”

“What you did was wrong, but that’s doesn’t make you a horrible person,” he sighs, “you need time Gray, this is going to take a lot of healing. On both sides.”

“I don’t deserve to heal, I deserve to be in pain,” I murmur, the dullness in my tone echos around the empty walls.

“Oh no, we’re not going back to emo Grayson,” Xander says quickly, shaking his head.

“I agree with Xander on this one,” Nash nods, readjusting his cowboy hat.

“I don’t want to hear you blasting my chemical romance at three a.m and then denying it later again, you came out of that phase we’re not going back there,” Jameson tells me.

I bark out a laugh that thaws my icy chest. I then bite the inside of my cheek.

“I can’t fix this, can I?” I say, looking at the ground,

Nash shakes his head softly.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed,” Xander says.

“You’ll get through this Gray,” Jamie agrees, “I know it.”

The room grows still.

“Can we drink that whiskey now?” I ask, to cut through the silence. I feel like getting drunk, I feel like I need some relief.

“Big brother,” Xander nods at Nash handing him the bottle.

“Little brother,” he tips his cowboy hat in reply before taking the bottle into his hands and cracking it open.

“Let me pour these things properly,” Nash grins, “Jamie, come help.”

“Wait me too!” Xander jumps up,

“Stay with Gray,” he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to be babysat,” I grumble, annoyance written all over my face.

“I want to watch them pour whiskey properly,” Xander explains, “so I can impress Max.”

My eyebrows fly to my forehead, “Max drinks?”

“No I want to impress her though,” he grins.

‘You’re an odd human,” I almost laugh, tilting my head to the side.

“Why ta very much!” he says, almost skipping away.

Once I know they’re all gone, I lean back on the wall, my heart feeling a tiny bit less heavy. The pain isn’t gone. I think I’ve just gone numb. I feel hollow, empty, nothingness. Guilt is still gnawing at my insides but slower. A satifying clink against the fragile rim of the glass takes me out of my own head for a split second. There are hushed voices from the kitchen, I notice. I walk over to the door that lay ajar, I lean in to listen.

“We need to tell him,” it sounds like Jameson.

“Not now,” the accent indicates Nash.

“Then when?” Xander’s voice asks, “how long can we prolong it.”

“I can hear you,” I tell them, raising my voice a little.

They turn to face me, awkwardly remaining silent. The expressions on their faces don’t offer me comfort.

“Whatever it is, spit it out,” I say, “it’s not like tonight could get any worse.”

They share a look. Apparently it can. I feel sick to my stomach.

I can barely breathe, “who died?”

“No one has died,” Xander says quickly, “yet.”

“What?” I say, my tone deadly,

Nash glares at him, then turns back to me. There’s sorrow laced delicately, deep within his hazel irises.

“Gray,” he says gently, “Gray we hate to do this but…”

“What? What is it?” I ask urgently.

“Gigi’s missing.”

The words shock me to my core. I feel my throat begin the close up as panic returns with a smirk and triumphant greeting. My whole world has collapsed in less than 24 hours.

***

YOUR POV

I don’t hate him. Call me naive or call me stupid. But I don’t. I don’t think I ever could. The kind of love I have for him is unconditional, irrevocable. Time can’t heal a wound this deep and although it is still fresh now, I can tell. But if he were to say sorry I think I would forgive him every time. And if he asked me back I’d fall into his arms into an instant. And I hate myself for it, it’s stupid and it’s a little cruel. How easily I would take him back after what he did. I know I shouldn’t but something inside of me is drawn to him. Like an invisible magnet has been planted in our hearts. I wish I didn’t love so hard, fall so deeply, maybe I wouldn’t get hurt so badly. But it’s in my nature, it’s who I am. I wonder if he knows how much pain I’m in, the rippling agony that rolls across my chest relentlessly with no hint as to when it will cease. I’m tired of being the second choice but unfortunately I wouldn’t mind being his. And I know it’s completely stupid of me to think that way, completely wrong but love makes you do stupid things so they say. I sit on the beach, by the sea in a state of numbness. Silent tears roll down my tears as the waves lap my feet. Deja vu washes over me and the memories of Grayson and I the night of the game flash through my mind.

I grip his hand and run with him as he guides me the just beyond the shore. He sits down swiftly on the sand and pulls me down to sit between his legs. I lean my back onto his chest and let him nuzzle his face into my collarbone.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing my neck, “only you.”

Only me, huh? Only me…

The waves crash against the rocks, hurtling a salty spray towards me. I hear footsteps and turn around. Avery stands there, a mournful expression over her delicate face. She knows. I stumble towards her and collapse into her arms in a fit of uncontrollable sobs now and she holds me. Her touch is gentle and warm but it’s nothing compared to his. I realise he might never hold me in his arms again and I cry even harder.

***

I don’t hold Lyra accountable. She is not to blame. Some girls in my position might dream about different ways to brutally murder her but I can only ask what comfort would it bring me? My feelings are already dead, what good is more pain doing?

There was a choice that Grayson Hawthorne was given: his dancer or his angel. He chose his dancer and I hope he’s happy. Because angels have wings and we rise up stronger.

idk guys I think I wrote Grayson’s POV really awfully to be honest… also I feel like the 911 meet up was not like their normal ones where they try and like do something (e.g drink or dare) and then talk about the pain but that’s bc Grayson was in such a mess and then they had to drop the bomb that Gigi was missing. so anywayyyss…

I am sorry this took so long and I hope it lived up to any expectation you wanted it too (sorry if it didn’t) and I hope you enjoyed 🤍🤍 thanks for reading as always

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 1 month ago

Text

What if all the yeerks suddenly died? AU

Part 3.5; Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 are here. All you need to know from earlier parts is that all the yeerks disappeared at once after the events of #19, and that the Animorphs and ex-controllers have been trying to resume a normal life ever since.

• Hedrick Chapman wanted to be an ecologist when he grew up. Or a veterinarian. Barring that, he’d have settled for being rich. At no point did he ever want to be a vice principal of a criminally underfunded public high school. That had been a yeerk decision, not his. Certainly not his. And yet, here he is.

• Then again, Chapman reflects as he watches Andy Mitchell vomit into the potted plant on his desk, this job has recently involved far more working with wild animals than he initially anticipated.

“It was horrible,” Andy sobs. “Her f-face, it… it split open. I could see bones under the—” He cuts off, retching more.

Probably in shock, Chapman thinks. A perfectly understandable reaction to having seen someone morph for the first time. “What did she turn into?”

“What?” Andy lifts his head. Milk-pale, except for those red-rimmed eyes. Definitely in shock. “What do you mean?”

“Rachel.” Chapman didn’t get a name, but that description could only apply to so many students. “What did she morph?”

“I don’t know,” Andy wails. “Her face got all baggy and horrible, like the skin was coming off, and it…” He makes a pulling motion, away from his own mouth.

“So she turned into an elephant.” Chapman notes that down. “Then what?”

“You don’t understand,” Andy says. “She… she… her body was melting!”

Chapman sets down the pen, looking him in the eye. “I believe you. You saw her turn into an elephant. Did she try to attack you, once she was done?”

“I don’t know! I ran for it.”

“Smart choice.” Chapman massages his left temple, which is where his Rachel-shaped headache seems to have taken up full-time residence in Iniss 226’s absence. “I figured as much, since we’re not having this conversation in the hospital.”

“It was horrible,” Andy says again.

“And what did you say to Tobias Fangor that precipitated this incident?”

Andy blinks. His color looks a little better, anyway. “How did you know that?”

Chapman does not roll his eyes. Because he’s an adult, and in control of his own body. “I just so happen to be fluent in English, Mr. Mitchell. Which is, by enormous coincidence, the language used to write your disciplinary file. I’m also capable of basic pattern recognition.”

“What are you going to do to her?” Andy asks. “Rachel. What happens to her?”

An excellent question. Bringing a deadly weapon to school results in a ten-day suspension. But if Chapman applies that statute in this case, then he’d be forced to suspend all five Animorphs for the rest of eternity. Threatening a classmate can result in expulsion, though it sounds like no actual threats were issued. There isn’t a rule on the books for showing a classmate something so disturbing his brain tries to turn itself inside-out from sheer horror, although in light of recent developments there really should be.

“Not your concern,” Chapman says. “Thank you for telling me. Back to class.”

Andy takes several more minutes to collect himself before he goes. Chapman uses that time to catch up on paperwork, though he does offer the young man a tissue. And a breath mint.

• Andy is barely out Chapman’s door when it swings open again and Tom Berenson strides in. “You have to tell my parents it’s not Jake’s fault,” he announces.

I am not your therapist, Chapman would dearly like to say. I am not your best friend. I am not, regardless of Iniss 226’s relationship with Temrash 114, your fucking subordinate. I do not ‘have to’ do anything.

Not being snippy with vulnerable teenagers is probably one of those things they’d cover M.Ed. programs, if Chapman had ever actually been to school for this job. “Why don’t you take a deep breath and explain from the beginning.” There. That sounds like something a vice principal would say.

“Jake.” Tom sits down. “My parents keep forcing him to go to school. They think he’s, like, being a moody teenager. Or faking it.”

Chapman may not be a therapist, or even a college graduate, but he does recognize that Jake’s entitled to as many sick days as he feels like taking, for the rest of eternity. However, “That’s between your parents and your brother.”

“You can’t do anything?” Tom asks. “You have the ability to give kids permanent excuses for made-up medical conditions— Iniss did it all the time—”

“I am not,” Chapman says severely, “Iniss 226.”

Tom stiffens. “I just meant…”

“I recognize it is not your fault you have entirely too much information about the administration of this school.” Chapman tries to soften his tone. “But if you can do without using the Krav Maga or ability to home-assemble a working handgun that you also didn’t choose to receive, you can do without that.”

“But— Jake. They don’t get it.”

“I will speak with your parents. I’ll express these concerns to them,” Chapman says. “In the meantime, might I suggest you focus on your own grades? Thanks to Iniss, you’ve missed far too much school already. If you want to have any hope of graduating on time, you need to catch up.”

“Why?”

He says it so simply. It’s a question Chapman’s been asked before: Why bother? Of all the kids who’ve asked him, only Marco Santiago has been more entitled to ask. Why, indeed, bother with school? Why care about Civics and Algebra when the world itself has already ended around you?

A real vice principal would make a speech about learning being its own reward, or the importance of insuring one’s future. “Because,” Chapman says, “when I speak to Coach Lu about letting you back on the basketball team, he’ll point out that student athletes need a minimum two-point-oh GPA.”

Tom’s whole face lights up. Suddenly looking years younger. Looking like a kid, for the first time in months. “You’d do that for me?”

That M.Ed. program no doubt would have advised against bribes. “No skin off my butt,” Chapman says. “Now go do your homework. And let the adults worry about your brother.”

“Yes sir!” And he’s off like a shot. Possibly even, miracle of miracles, off to work on that backlog of English essays.

• The first time Jake called a meeting in Cassie’s barn, even though they don’t really have a reason to meet anymore, it was to discuss what they can do to help the hork-bajir—taxxon alliance. The second time, it was to make a plan to help Tobias get caught up in school. The third time, he doesn’t even make an excuse.

Rachel complains about the press hounding them for a statement. Marco complains about his parents making out on the couch while he’s in the house. Tobias complains about Ms. Paloma’s workload, and about the hork-bajir constitution negotiations. Jake complains about his dad’s horrifying questions about how morphing affects puberty. Ax complains about Alloran’s frequent, extremely snobby, emails. Cassie complains about her parents constantly asking her to morph their patients to figure out what’s wrong with them.

It’s silly. It’s fun. It’s playing at being teenagers with teenage problems.

“This time next week,” Jake announces, at the end. “And if there are any major developments in the meantime, keep the rest of us posted.”

• “Tobias Fangor’s aunt called again,” Principal Walsh says, when Chapman gets to the office on a Tuesday morning. “Don’t you think we should at least speak to her, see what she wants?”

“No,” Chapman says. “I don’t.”

“His uncle. This…” She glances at the paperwork. “Axel Mili-Esgarrouth. Didn’t show up for last parent-teacher conference.”

Small mercies. Chapman doesn’t explain Tobias’s living situation. Doesn’t reveal that he owes the kid’s parents the kind of debt that cannot be repaid in an entire lifetime of favors. Doesn’t deign to find out if Maggie Walsh knows what an andalite is.

“Tobias Fangor,” he says, “is part of the one-tenth of one percent of students who are, somehow, attending this high school because they want to be here. If you give him reason to transfer out, I will resign.”

• There are reasons that Chapman stays in this job, despite being stashed here against his will. Not the pay. Not the sullen ingratitude from the teens he helps. Certainly not the parents. It’s because he’s needed here, now more than ever.

• He stays for the times Loren’s kid comes skittering into his office, wild-eyed and muttering, “Sorry, I just, sorry, I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise…” Chapman knows to open the window, when that happens, knows to shove a chair already well-deformed with talon marks out from behind his desk.

• He stays for the kids who on paper had straight As, perfect attendance, promising gigs at The Sharing — and overnight became failing wrecks with insomnia and dozens of unexplained absences. He can explain to their teachers, to their parents, in a way that someone who hasn’t been there will never be able to understand.

• He stays for the way Eva Santiago clasps his hand and says, “You will look out for him.” Half-supplication, half-command.

• He even, despite himself, stays for Tom. Who showed up at school the day after Aegas 1909 died, trying to pretend like nothing had happened. Who is a truly godawful actor — he took one look at Chapman, went dead-white, and ran for it. Who was backing away even as Chapman cornered him in the parking lot. “Wait!” Chapman had said. “Wait! Iniss is dead too.” And Tom had burst into tears.

• No one else would understand them. No one else would know why nearly every one of the seventy-three ex-hosts in this school has been sent to his office for not paying attention, for sleeping in class, for allegedly being stoned during school hours. No one else would overlook the absolute illegal mess of Tobias’s paperwork, or give Rachel a fortieth second chance after she has yet another hair-trigger reaction to being bumped in the hall.

• But there’s one reason above all others that he stays in this job.

“You don’t mind?” Melissa says, every single time he offers her a ride to school. As if he’s doing her a favor, letting her take up space in the car he’s already driving that way. As if it’s a chore to get to spend time with his daughter and hear about her day.

“You sure you don’t mind?” he always answers, smiling, and she always runs to get her bag.

It takes so little — a smile, a nod, an offer to feed the damn cat, sometimes even just a glance her way — to get her to light up with gratitude. It breaks his fucking heart to know the reason why.

He drives her every day. He helps her with homework every night, and cooks her dinner afterward. He drops more than he can afford on leg-warmers and Lisa Frank and Limited Too. He’s every parenting cliché: on a trial separation from Alison, spoiling their kid rotten because of the guilt.

Anyway, time with Melissa is worth a hell of a lot more than mere money. And it’s almost enough to make up for dealing with parents. Almost.

• “But Cassie’s a good kid,” Michelle Logan says. “She’s always been responsible, and she’s always taken care of herself. There has to be some kind of mistake.”

Chapman looks at the good kid sitting between her parents. Thinks of watching her rip a hork-bajir’s throat out, taking an innocent life along with the guilty one. Trusts that she had no choice in the matter, because if it was him she’d killed instead then he would have understood.

“I recognize that Cassie has had an overall clean record thus far,” Chapman says. “However, the Rain Forest Café is filing charges against the school for the impersonation and theft of several live animals, and I don’t have other suspects.”

“Cassie would never,” Michelle said. “She’s a good kid. She just fell in with the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

“Of that,” Chapman says dryly, “I have no doubt.”

Cassie lifts her head then to look straight at him. “I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding it. “I was trying to help the parrots.”

I. Yes, she’s a good kid. “It’s admirable,” Chapman tells her, “that you’re covering for your friends.” Probably also on the list of things a real vice principal wouldn’t say. “But there is no way that you could have acted alone.”

“Can you prove that?” Cassie asks.

“Can you even prove it was her?” Michelle says. “What about Marco, or Rachel? They morph. Isn’t Tobias a bird quite often? Who says it wasn’t him?”

Cassie and Chapman make eye contact. Marco is one incident away from being expelled. Rachel is about negative eight incidents away, and Chapman can only do so much to protect her. Tobias isn’t supposed to be at this school at all, which the board will surely notice if he comes to their attention. Cassie confessed, because Cassie can take the heat. And Chapman’s letting her take that fall.

“It’s okay,” Cassie tells the adults. “It’s only a week of detention.”

Because that was the lowest sentence he could propose, while still avoiding a legal proceeding. She really is a good kid.

• “Where you going?” Jake asks, not looking up from his Spanish homework, when Tom unlocks the front door at 8:00 PM on a Sunday.

“Sharing meeting,” Tom says casually. “Wanna come?”

Jake sets down his pen. He looks at his brother.

Tom stares back, smirking.

“Where are you actually going?” Jake says.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” And with that, Tom walks out the door.

Despite himself, Jake follows.

• It’s an under-21 nightclub that Jake vaguely recognizes as being a front for The Sharing, but the crowd spilling onto the lawn around it is truly all ages. There’s a giggling pair of 10-year-olds standing too close to the beer keg for his comfort, a middle-aged guy handing out glow sticks, and a woman with gray hair and a hand-knit sweater smoking a joint on the curb.

“Tommy-boy!” That’s the guy standing next to the door, an ex-controller Jake thinks is named Bill. He throws out his arms and, before Jake can react, has grabbed Tom, spun him around, dipped him, and kissed him on the mouth.

“Hands off, asshole,” Tom says, laughing as he pulls loose. “You are so fucking drunk.”

“Sssshhhhhh,” Bill says, not disconfirming the accusation. He points to the Employees Only printed on the door. “Just meat-puppets tonight. Ditch the tagalong.”

“Oh, come on.” Tom gestures at Jake. “The kid was a controller for a hot second last November.”

Bill squints at Jake. “Wait, really?”

Jake shrugs. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “Yeah.”

“Well all right, then.” Bill ruffles Jake’s hair, Tom slaps Bill on the ass, and they shoulder their way inside.

• The club is jammed full of bodies, most of them sweaty and partway naked. Jake retreats until his back is against the nearest wall, looking over the mess of dancing humans. Tom has split off, chest-bumping with some other guy Jake doesn’t know and stealing a drag off his cigarette. None of them are acting remotely like controllers, which is reassuring, and now he’s wondering if it’d be rude to leave without Tom about 10 seconds after having arrived.

No one would notice if he turned into a bug, he decides after about an hour of this. Seriously. This crowd would not notice, and it’s not like they’d care if they did. Tom can find his own way home.

A small form sidles up next to him. “Hi, Jake.”

“Melissa!” he says too loudly, glad to see a familiar face. “Hi.”

“You want some drink?” She holds up a clear plastic cup, three-quarters full of liquid. “There’s plenty more over…” She points to the punchbowl behind her.

“Drink?” Jake asks.

Melissa shrugs. “From the empty bottles, it’s mostly beer and tequila, with a little bit of Bloody Mary mix. Which is probably why it…” She grimaces down at her cup. “Looks, smells, and tastes like urine.”

“Um.” Jake peers at her cup; her assessment isn’t wrong. “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Cool. There’s also a guy around here with E, if that’s more your speed.”

“Gee.” Jake looks back over the crowd, which includes several couples openly pawing at each other, a group of four with hands inside each other’s clothes, and Tom apparently attempting to eat some woman’s tongue before she can eat his. “There’s ecstasy here? I never would’ve guessed.”

“People are just glad the war’s over,” Melissa says. “And your brother’s a really good kisser.”

It’s official: this is worse than the gathering of alien slugs plotting Earth’s destruction that Jake expected to find. It’s not even a proper orgy, just a whole crapton of giddy ex-hosts hugging each other and then getting too enthusiastic about the hugs.

“Look,” Jake says. “This has been nice, but I have school tomorrow, so…”

• Which is when the commotion breaks out near the door.

“Gatecrasher!” That’s Bill, brandishing a mason jar as he continues to yell. “We have a gatecrasher!”

Several people crowd around him to get a better look, someone holding up a glow stick to reveal that, sure enough, the jar in his hands contains a single wolf spider. Among this crowd, animals that act strange or aren’t native to California don’t go without notice.

«I’m innocent! And even if I’m not you can’t prove anything,» the spider says. «Maybe I just wandered by accidentally, and this is all a big misunderstanding.»

“This thing’s for full members only,” Tom says, straight-faced. “There’s a sign on the door, can’t miss it.”

«Maybe I want to join the Sharing?» the spider suggests.

This gets him several unamused looks. “Toss him out,” Li says. “And let’s get back to the keg stands.”

“Nah, let him stay!” That’s Koko, piping up from the back. “God knows every person in this bar owes the Animorphs a drink.”

Looking between them, Bill turns back to the jar. Finally he lifts it up to eye level, starting at the spider’s middle two eyes. “Repeat after me,” Bill intones.

«Uh-huh.»

“What your mom doesn’t know…”

«What my mom doesn’t know…»

“Will not hurt her.”

«Dude, I wouldn’t narc on you! What do you take me for?»

“A chip off the old block,” Tom mutters.

“Repeat it,” Bill says severely.

«What my mom doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.»

“Great!” Bill unscrews the lid of the jar, dumping it out on the ground. “Welcome to the Sharing.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Melissa says to a slowly-demorphing Marco, “I got the same speech.”

“It really does.” He presses a hand over his heart. “Now, someone mentioned buying me a drink?”

• A small nightclub on the outskirts of the city burns to the ground, shortly after having every piece of its furniture and glassware smashed in a pile in the middle of the floor. The local police force, over 30% of whom were controllers three months ago, elects to ignore this development.

• Chapman loathes paperwork to the absolute depths of his soul. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is worse than filing paperwork to get permission to file paperwork, and yet here he is. The state of California cannot possibly need this many copies of Ashley Shawn’s transcript. This has to be a torment invented by an evil god to punish him for everything he did aboard the Jahar. There is no other explanation.

So when Ms. Hanna comes skidding into his office and announces “Science wing! There’s a brawl!” his first thought is, oh thank god.

His second thought is to wonder why she came to get him, skipping the security officer and Principal Walsh, but they’re already running by the time that occurs to him.

When they get there the press of screaming-chanting bodies fills the hall from end to end, but kids still find room to crowd out of the way when they see Chapman coming. The circle of spectators breaks long enough to reveal the melee at the center, and—

Oh hell. Chapman can tell exactly why Ms. Hanna got him first.

Fiona Aherne has one hand fisted in the collar of Tom Berenson’s shirt, and is punching him repeatedly in the face. Joe Lassen catches her around the middle and rips her off Tom, tossing her to the floor, only to be caught in a side-tackle by Li Saren. Beyond them, Hailey Ng and Bill Renaldi are hanging onto Asher Reed, until Asher suddenly rolls forward and body-slams Bill to the floor.

Chapman winces — so much for not using that Krav Maga. He's knocked aside as Jake shoves past him and dives in to the fray.

Principal Walsh is across the battlefield, staring in bafflement. Shouting ineffectually for everyone to stop. She doesn’t know, of course, what Tom and Joe and Asher all have in common. What Bill and Li and Fiona and Hailey do.

Li has Tom by the throat from behind, which is why Jake throws himself onto Li with the gracelessness typical of a high-schooler. Li head-butts Jake, only to have Jake, snarling, bite him in the face.

“Stop!” Chapman bellows. “ALL OF YOU! STOP!”

Jake drops off Li. Hailey drops Asher. Slowly the others lower their fists, glaring.

Good to know everyone’s fear of Iniss 226 is still good for something.

“Everyone in the Biology classroom,” Chapman barks, pointing at the door. “Bill’s lot near the windows, Tom and the others by the door. Move it!”

Principal Walsh stares at Chapman in confusion, which deepens when everyone obeys him without question. He beckons first to Ms. Hanna, then to Mr. Tidwell, pointing them into the room as well. They also take their places without question, Mr. Tidwell supervising the voluntary half of the room as Ms. Hanna covers the involuntaries.

Pausing in the doorway, Chapman turns at last to face Maggie Walsh. His boss. Who has the ability to fire him, if she misunderstands the situation. “It’s about yeerks,” he settles for telling her.

Her look of bafflement doesn’t fade. “How?”

Chapman opens his mouth. Hunts for words.

“Jake had nothing to do with this.”

Chapman doesn’t have to turn his head to know who spoke from the involuntary side of the room. What a surprise, a Berenson kid running his mouth.

“Thank you for your input, Thomas.” He spins around. “That isn’t your call.”

Tom crosses his arms. Between the fingernail marks down his cheek and the broken knuckles of his right hand, he looks the very picture of delinquency.

“He’s right,” Joe says, from the voluntary side of the room. “It’s nothing to do with Jake.” In Chapman’s peripheral vision, Maggie Walsh blinks several times. He’ll explain later. Or try to.

“Fine,” Chapman says. “Jake, get back to class.”

Jake lifts his chin, blood striping the lower half of his face. “I chose to get involved,” he says. “I’ll take my punishment.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom says. “Then what was the fight about?”

Jake looks from one side of the room to the other. Both sides have ninth graders, twelfth graders, jocks and nerds, white and Black and brown kids. Jake’s probably smart enough to identify several ex-controllers, and to guess at the rest, but unable to tell how or why they sorted themselves like they did. Nonetheless, after a second he opens his mouth.

“That’s what I thought,” Chapman cuts him off. “Anyway, if I suspend you then Marco and Rachel will have burned down the school within a week. Fix your nose, then back to class.”

Knowing when he’s beat, Jake leaves. Chapman makes a note he’ll also have to explain to Maggie how morphing works, and that he didn’t just order a 14-year-old to hand-set a broken nose.

“The involuntaries started it,” Bill announces, the moment Jake is gone.

“Yeah,” Tom snaps, “and the voluntaries are the ones who—”

“Who were lied to, instead of being coerced?” Mr. Tidwell suggests.

Tom shuts his mouth.

“Asher called me a traitor.” Li points a finger across the room.

“Six months ago Li told me,” Asher says quietly, “that I should really join the Sharing.”

“And so,” Chapman drawls, “you had no choice but to punch each other in the face. Is that correct?”

Tom mutters something under his breath that Chapman chooses not to catch. He can’t threaten them, not this crowd. Most of them have survived worse hells than the Geneva Convention ever dreamed of. Detention means nothing.

Fine. Persuasion it’ll have to be. Fuck his life. Chapman raises his voice to address the involuntaries. “They—” He points to the voluntary side of the room. “Are not the enemy. The yeerks are the enemy, and the yeerks are dead. Don’t start doing their work for them, you hear me?”

There’s a long silence. Asher scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“Yeah,” Tom says at last. “We hear you.”

“Everyone get checked at the nurse’s office,” Chapman tells the room at large. “You’re all suspended for the rest of the week.”

Maggie Walsh takes a seat next to Chapman, even as the kids all file out. Yeah. He owes her an explanation. Taking a deep breath, he tries to sum up what just happened. Hopefully in a thousand words or less.

Don Tidwell, coward, takes that opportunity to slip out the door.

• “Does anyone have anything to report?” Jake looks around Cassie’s barn. It’s still odd to see Ax and Tobias sitting out of morph and in the open. There was a brief collective panic when Cassie’s mom poked her head in earlier to ask if they want any lemonade or feeder mice.

“I have,” Marco says grandly, “a date… with Destiny!”

«Oh, you mean Destiny Trembull in tenth grade?» Tobias immediately undercuts this, because of course. «She seems nice.»

“And we don’t even have to spend the next three days following her around,” Rachel comments, which gets Marco to lob a horse comb at her head.

«I have accessed one-hundred twenty-three additional channels on my television,» Ax adds.

Cassie and Jake exchange a glance. “How’s it going, getting a ride home?” Cassie asks. “Any word on that?”

Ax shrugs — he isn’t even going to fit in on the andalite homeworld anymore when he does finally get there — and looks away. «I’ve been told that there are more important priorities concerning the Navy.»

«Their gratitude,» Tobias drawls, «is overwhelming.»

• Chapman explains to Jake’s parents that Jake needs a therapist, and also permission to miss school if he needs to. Chapman explains the Yeerk Empire and how exactly they recruit humans to Li Saren’s parents for the third, then the fourth, then the fifth time, until they are in tears and begging their son’s forgiveness for doubting him. Chapman explains to the district that he has no idea how the school ended up with a staircase leading from a supply closet to the alien sinkhole, but that he wants it sealed up posthaste. Chapman explains himself to Naomi Berenson, and then he does his best to explain Rachel as well.

• "No," Chapman tells the officious-looking little man sitting across his desk. "I don't know of anyone like that. I'm sorry, I wish I could be more help."

The man — he's probably a real detective, he has a badge — leans across the desk to push the photo array a little closer to Chapman. "You're sure? None of these individuals is a..." He glances at his notes. "Voluntary controller."

Chapman looks at the array, which includes images of nearly 100 students. Some of whom weren't controllers at all — that's Tobias Fangor in the upper left corner. Some of whom were lied to by the Sharing, and then lied to by the Yeerk Empire. Some of whom, like Bill Renaldi and his absolutely debilitating major depression, felt they had no choice but to give up their bodies. "Sorry," Chapman says. "None of these individuals appear to be voluntary controllers to the best of my knowledge."

The detective stares at Chapman, waiting for more information. Chapman stares back, waiting for the detective to get bored. He can do this all day, literal hours of silence if that's what it takes. He doubts any mere civilian can say the same.

Sure enough, the detective breaks first. "You see," he says, "we know for a fact that some of these individuals did, in fact, collude with the Yeerk Empire. And we have CCTV footage indicating that you might have been one of those colluders yourself. So anything you can do to help us out..."

Chapman lets the silence go for another minute, long enough for the detective to shift in place. "You're mistaken," he says at last. "About what it means to be a voluntary controller. Or an involuntary one, for that matter. The distinction you're seeking does not exist."

"I'm sorry." The guy has his notepad out now, pen moving. "You're saying... there's functionally no difference between the voluntary hosts and the involuntary ones?"

"Yes," Chapman says, unaware of the hell he's about to unleash. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

• “Ms. Paloma’s being a butt,” Melissa says, spinning her chair with a toe on the floor. “I told her that I have a French test the same day as the Bio one, but she just said that means I have to learn to manage my time.”

She just walked into his office. Without knocking. Without asking if he’s busy, if he minds, if he’s sure. Without apologizing for her existence. She walked in, she sat down uninvited, and now here she is complaining to him like any normal teenager.

“That sounds stressful.” Chapman is choosing his words with infinite care. He’s six years old again, holding a butterfly cupped in his palms and knowing that even a millimeter’s clumsiness will crush this precious living jewel. Thinking this. This is what I want. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.

She came in unprompted. She just walked right in.

“I hate French.” Melissa spins the chair again. “It’s all those lists of vocab words, and I can’t even say half of them correctly…”

“Do you want me to help you study?” Chapman asks.

Her head pops up with the force of her surprised, pleased smile. “You’d do that?”

That’s it, then. He’s never leaving this job. Paperwork and all.

#animorphs #animorphs au #long post #hedrick chapman #melissa chapman #violence #implied past child abuse #bullying #aus #imperfect consent #failure to obtain consent before kissing? doing things under the influence of substances that should really be done sober?#sol cares too much about the meatsuits #i am SO normal about the yeerk hosts

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melodic-haze · 5 months ago

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OMG FUCKING AYAKA ABSOLUTELY SENSELESS WITH A STRAP GOT ME LIKE UGHMSGGHRKLSH LIKE IMAGINE EDGING HER MULTIPLE TIMES, SHE WAS BEING SUCH A GOOD GIRL, YET YOU DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT IT AND JUST BE CRUEL TO HER LIKE AGHDSFKKHSJGRHG AGHHHHHH (I am sane)

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Ayaka x dom!afab!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Reader has a strap, rough sex stuff, BDSM mention ig?

☆ — NOTES: Dude what if I combusted on the spot HELLOOOOOOO GOD I NEED HER (I'm not sane)

I need her to go mental PLEASE

I love the thought that Ayaka's canonically really REALLY pretty but at the same time I KNOW I'd hate it cuz of how she DEFINITELY gets hit on like a lot

She wouldn't be all that clueless of her beauty's reputation but like.......at the same time she kinda is, with the way that she kinda dismisses the attention as basically awe and reverence bc yk. She's in the Yashiro Commission

The attention just. Irks you One Too Many Times 🫶 and it doesn't help her case that she looks soooo utterly delicious, crying bc of you, so you do something about that!!!!!!

Ayaka doesn't know what she's done wrong.

She had sworn she's been behaving like a good girl for you, obeying your every command and being at your beck and call (minus when she's at work for her family's commission, you're not unreasonable), yet she was still faced with such a predicament.

Inazuma's cute little princess was clueless—was it something she said? Or maybe something she had done unconsciously to prompt you to essentially raise torturous hell on her?

She could try to rack her brains, and by archons she did try at first, and yet the only thing that she could even think of at the moment was the severe desperation for release.

The woman could see your borderline sadistic grin grow further as tears streamed down her face, cheeks almost as wet as her gushing pussy that has been mercilessly edged for.. who knows how long, by this point.

"'m sorry," she hiccuped, resisting the urge to buck her hips into your strap because despite everything, she was still your good girl, "I'm so-- mnf, sorryyy-- AH!"

You slapped her ass, pale skin already so red from the previous impacts it's had, before squeezing it roughly as you spoke, "Saying sorry and you don't even know what you're apologising for..."

"B-But I've done everything you asked of me, I--"

"Are you talking back?"

Her mouth clamps shut.

"I said--" and you grab a fistful of her hair to pull her up to your level, your hips moving as if punctuating every pause you make, "--are you.. talking.. back?"

She lets out those pathetic little whimpers of hers as she feels the tip of your faux cock bottom out inside of her in quick, deep thrusts, "I'm sss-- sorry I talked back please--"

"Please what?"

"I need to feel you move please I've been such a good g-- GIRL-- oohhhthankyouthankyou thankyou--"

You had relented to her wishes with an eyeroll, your hips practically slamming into hers as you pulled on her hair as a way to keep her upright. That along with the pain from having her hair pulled in the first place and all that pent-up lust from not being allowed that sweet release had easily helped escalate that impending high.

Ayaka knew that such a state of undress, such an expression on her face, was unbecoming of the graceful White Heron Princess but at this point? The only thing she was concerned about was being your princess, along with what she had been chasing this entire--

She doesn't register it immediately, but when she notices that you've deliberately slipped out of her cunt--

"Funny, how the Kamisato clan's very princess whines like a pathetic bitch."

Another climax absolutely ruined by you, yet she still doesn't know what she did wrong.

But she won't fight back, she won't ever fight back. She was your good girl, and good girls don't only do what they're told.

They take what they're given too, no matter what.

I don't even have much to say after writing that I'm ngl

Just that she's definitely a bit of a masochist lol

God she would just be SO FUN to toy with no matter how hard or soft you go just saying 😜😜😜😜 who knew such a reserved girl was a whore all along

There's a saying for this somewhere you all know what it is guys

Anyway enjoy 🫶

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arc-misadventures · 23 days ago

Text

Burdens of an Unwanted Legacy

"So, why are you dragging me to the training halls, Raven?

"Because I wanted you to practice on your swordsmanship."

"I'd assume as much, but if you wanted me to do some training, then where is your blade, Raven?"

While, Jaune may be dressed in his exercise clothes, he was still armed with, Crocea Mors upon his hip. And, while, Raven may have also been dressed in simple exercise attire as well, her dreaded blade, Omen was nowhere to be seen.

"Ahh, well you're not going to be practicing with me today. No, we have a special guest here today. So, I thought it would be good if you got some time to practice your blade with someone else."

"Hmmm... that is a viable reasoning."

"Plus her beating you up a bit would be a good way to relieve some tension..."

"And, there it is... typical" Jaune had earned the moniker of, 'Punching Bag' by his fellow students, and teachers on account of his high, Aura reserves. This resulted in him having to fight many of his peers for extended periods of time for several reasons.

Those reasonings being endurance training, to testing the limits of an individuals semblance; This either being the impacts that this semblance would have on an individual, or the extent of possible damages one could expect to impact if ones semblance was allowed to extend to it's maximum capabilities.

While, Jaune could understand the reasoning behind such practices, and even encouraged many aspiring trainee to unleash the full effects of their semblances on him, It did not mean he enjoyed it.

"Haa... Am I testing someone's semblance, or am I really just the punching bag for them today."

"Don't worry, they won't be using their semblance. Just some honest training bouts with a sword to relieve some accumulating stress they've been dealing with lately."

"Stress? I take it that this isn't something that our usual meditation lessons couldn't deal with then?"

As a means to help, Spartans combat the, Grimm; Spartan Trainee's were sent through several rigorous training regimens to strengthen their mental fortitude, and more often learn to control their emotions. Often leading to many, Spartans to be seen as emotionless killing machines by the common folk.

"Uhh... no. It's civilian related." Raven visibly winced as she spoke the word: Civilian. Bar dealing with, Tai, Raven didn't have much patience when it comes to dealing with civilians.

In fact: Most, Spartans didn't like dealing with civilians so much so, that before trainee's became, Spartan's they were placed in new mental fortitude class. A class solely meant to help dealing with civilian antics, and behavior. Honestly, Jaune along with many other, Spartans didn't think that these classes were all that effective. Necessary yes, effective no so much.

"I take it that the punching bag method didn't help them?" The punching bag method was relatively simple stress relief: Get a photo of the civilians face who has been giving you shit, put it on a punching bag, and beat the ever loving shit out of it.

Many civilians found this method to be a totally barbaric practice, and that should be done away with imminently. Something that the high ranking, Spartan officers made fully well know that they fully supported this incentives. However, this was merely lip service that the higher ups gave to the civilian officials who made the complaints about it. Considering, Jaune had seen the faces of those same civilian officials on multiple punching bags before, and that his commanding officers themselves were the ones to ripe them to shreds.

"No. She's been dealing with too much stress because of this particular civilian. It's more likely that she'd turn the civilian into a punching bag at this rate." Raven chuckled nervously as they entered the training hall.

"She? Who is this, Spartan I'll be sparing with then?"

"Well..." Raven pointed her hand outward, and Jaune knew fully well who she was having him spar with today. This lady didn't need to introduce herself, Jaune knew fully well who he was dealing with the second he saw that silver white hair. And, upon seeing her, silver white hair, Jaune gave the only appropriate response anyone could fathomably conceive.

"Ahh... shit."

Among the, Spartans everyone knew who the lady with the hair as white as snow was. She was a rarity among rarities. For she was, Winter Schnee, S Rank, Spartan.

A Spartans overall end rank was determined by an individuals level skill, Aura levels, and the combat applicability of their unique individual semblance in combat scenarios. A circumstance with begged the question; if an individual, Spartan that had truly impressive levels of, Aura, and a truly effective combat applicable semblance. Would there rank stop at, A Class?

This question, and rare existence swiftly lead to the creation of the seventh rank that only a rare, and selected few, Spartans could dream to acquire. Given to those only with both vast aura reserves, and especially powerful semblances.

S Class.

The numbers of, Spartans who had reached the rank of, S Class were enough to be counted on one hand. Because of their rarity they had unprecedented influence both within, and outside the, Spartan Academies.

Influence that many unscrupulous characters from the outside of the, Academies often wished to capitalize on.

"Winter Schnee... Are you trying to get me killed, Raven?!"

"Yes." A smirked rose across her face, as Jaune recoiled in fake shock at the teasing remarks of his friend, and mentor.

"What did I do to deserve this?!" He feigned mock shock at her playful accusation.

"You forced me to reconnect with my past lover!" Raven lean down, and leered down at the young man.

"And, what is wrong with that?"

"Nothing, it's nice to reconnect with him. I'm meeting him, and his wife for dinner this weekend." Raven, straightened her back, and looked away from him, trying to hid the faint blush across her face.

"Oh, Tai got married? I wonder how that came about."

"I don't know, I'll ask them when I see them this weekend, and I'll let you know."

"Thank you. Did you catch her name by any chance?"

"I think her name was... Summer Rose? Yeah, Summer Rose." It took, Raven a moment to catch the name that was caught on the tip of her tongue. But, as she said it, Jaune couldn't help, but raise an inquisitive eyebrow as he heard that name.

"Rose? Hmmm... do you think she has any relation to that gun nut in the armoury?"

Raven's eyes blinked in contemplation as she heard the mention of, Beacon Academy's resident gun nut armourer.

"Hmmm... Maybe... why don't we ask...?"

"Hey!"

The duos musing was interrupted as they saw the, S Class Spartan, Winter Schnee walk towards them.

"Hey, Raven."

"Winter..." The duo clasped their hands together in a greeting before breaking apart. "Sorry, I didn't call out to you sooner; my friend, and i were lost in our own discussion."

"That is alright. So, is this my sparring partner?" Winter turned to face, Jaune. She gave him the once over, no doubt evaluating him. Jaune gazed at her in turn, evaluating her in the process.

Jaune knew full well how effective of a warrior every, S Class Spartan was. He knew full, and well how effective of a warrior, Winter Schnee was. He knew fully well, and good that if they fought in a duel with, and Winter was using her semblance, she would wipe the floor with him. Without her semblance though, he'd give himself a thirty five out of a hundred to win.

"B Class Spartan, Jaune Arc, Sir!" Jaune threw up a salute to the woman out of respect, she quickly returned the salute in kind.

"B Class? You look rather young for a, B Class."

"I have higher then average levels of, Aura. Because of that, they made me a, B Class when I graduated." Jaune had been asked this question many times before, his ranking often made sense to his fellow, Spartans. But, his experience's when it came to his rank, and aura levels when it came to dealing with civilians was often unpleasant.

"Ahh, I had a similar experience; I was promoted to A Class when I graduated because of my semblance's capabilities."

"A Class? Seems a bit too fast to graduate from a trainee to an, A Class Spartan in my opinion." Winter nodded her head as she agreed with his statement before she continued her story.

"I agree, but due to my semblances unique abilities, and some... backroom politics I was promoted to, A Class. However, I never acted like I was an, A Class until I had a few more years of experience under my belt."

"I understand that, I'm still acting like I'm a, C Class myself. I've only been a, B Class for little over a year now. I still don't feel like one yet. Now then, enough small talk; You asked for a duel with the 'Punching Bag.' Shall we begin?"

"The punching bag? I thought you said I would be fighting a person, Raven, not an actual punching bag." Winter looked at, Raven, her brow furrowed in disappointment. Raven shook her head, as she waved the idea away.

"No no no. 'The Punching Bag,' not a punching bag."

"Hmm?"

"Jaune's, Aura is so vast that he is often used to help trainee's test the limits of their individuals semblance's. Because of this he earned the moniker of, 'The Punching Bag' around, Beacon Academy."

"Oh... my condolences." Jaune took, Winter's words in, and just waved them off.

"Think nothing of it. Considering the effects of many trainee's semblances, it is better if they could test their semblance in an controlled environment against an individual who can withstand their attacks."

"Hmmm..." Winter cupped her chin in thought as she registered his words. "That is sound logic. I could have used someone like that whilst I was training with my semblance."

"Hey, just because I think it's a good idea to train with people to help control their semblance's doesn't mean I like it!"

"Oh? But, it sounds so fun to toss you around with my semblance." Winter gave, Jaune challenging smirk that caused him to growl at her in turn.

"So you want to play then? Okay then..." Jaune walk out into the middle of the training hall, and pulled out his sword, and shield. He pointed his blade at her as he issued his challenge to her, that she was all too willing to reciprocate in kind. "Care to dance miss?"

"With pleasure~!"

#rwby #jaune arc #raven branwen #winter schnee #tai yang xiao long #summer rose #Noblesse Oblige AU

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 months ago

Note

aita for calling my boyfriend babygirl

let me clarify upfront: my boyfriend has never expressed discomfort with this, and says he likes it, so it’s potentially a non-issue, but it’s still bugging me. this has been ongoing for a little over a month and i feel like i’m going nuts. forgive me if any of the language i use here isn’t correct, i don’t know how else to get the ideas across - feel free to correct me if i could be saying things more inclusively. sorry that this is rambly also. small nsfw warning (nothing too explicit)

i (22m) have been dating my boyfriend (19ftm) for a little over a year. i’m cis and he is trans. admittedly i’m not like… the most well versed in trans issues but i love him more than life itself so i really try to be respectful of him. he was bullied pretty severely in highschool, not just for being trans but his gender identity was no small part of it, and even though he’s not super dysphoric day to day he’s definitely got some boundaries about it. there are certain compliments he likes and some that upset him (he doesn’t enjoy being called pretty or cute, typically) and he’ll snap at people for referring to him with feminine names or titles like “sis” “girl” etc even if it’s done jokingly.

the thing is he’s rarely, if ever, done that with me? i call him pretty and cute all the time (because he is) and he’s always been fine with it. admittedly the first time i did it i didn’t know it was something that usually bugged him, but he’s never said anything to me about it. everytime i have he’s seemed happy. he’s very outspoken, i pretty firmly believe if it was a problem he’d say something about it - again, he has no issues being firm about this boundary with any of his other friends and family. i was doing this before we started dating, so after we started dating it sort of bled into pet names

again, it was never something i asked him about expressly, but at some point i started calling him, like… princess, babygirl, etc. i only ever do this in private, when its just us or when i’m pretty sure only he can hear me, for a few reasons. my boyfriend doesn’t really pass (entirely his choice. he doesn’t bind his chest and he doesn’t want any gender affirming surgeries or hrt - again, he’s not super dysphoric day to day, he only gets upset when it’s commented on and he can bounce back from it pretty quickly) and again, it seems like it’s always made him happy. at the risk of tmi, it especially seems to make him happy in the bedroom, which is another reason i avoid dropping these pet names in front of anyone else. it’s private and i don’t think it’s anyone else’s business.

so. to put this mildly. we went to a house party together recently and i got super smashed. it was a pretty big party so we were sticking by each other, and when you’re drunk and your partner is there… well, yeah. i was admittedly being pretty handsy. he didn’t tell me to knock it off or anything, he was reciprocating. at some point he started talking to his best friend from highschool (19mtf, i’ll call her Z) so i reigned myself in but i was definitely still drunk and horny and being clingy. i don’t know Z all that well - she and my boyfriend are very close but she can be pretty harsh, and i appreciate all she does for him so i like her, but we never talk unless he’s there. i’ve had maybe one one-on-one conversation with this woman ever.

they’re talking. i’m also there. i’m not trying to rush him but i definitely want to get home. the conversation lulls and i take the chance to ask my boyfriend if he wants to leave soon, and because i am aforementionedly drunk and horny i drop one of those earlier pet names. before he can respond to me, Z snaps at me. she says not to call him that and that i was being a creep - this alarms me and was kind of frustrating since i wasn’t even talking to her, and i recognize i’m not in a headspace to argue? with her? so i just tell my boyfriend to come find me when he wants to leave and i wander outside. he finds me about 5-10 minutes later and we head home.

it doesn’t get brought up again that night but a day or so later i text Z to ask her what she meant by me being a creep, because it was bugging me. she says that it’s obvious i’m fetishizing my boyfriend’s gender identity, that the fact i call him those things brings up major red flags, etc. i tell her that my boyfriend doesn’t have an issue with it. she says it doesn’t matter and asks me why i want to call him those names in the first place, and posits that maybe i don’t actually want to be dating a boy - that i just like the idea of dating a boy and actually want to be with a woman. i’m gay, so this is VERY out of pocket to me. i tell her my boyfriend is not a woman and end the conversation there, but it DOES stick with me. so, very belatedly, i ask my boyfriend what he thinks of all this. i adore him so much and i hate hate hate the idea i could’ve been treating him like that, even unintentionally. he says the pet names never bothered him and he’s never felt like that, and that he’s fine with me specifically doing it because he trusts me and knows i don’t see him as a girl.

so, whatever. she has a problem but me and my boyfriend don’t. i try to move on, but the next time i see her she asks if i’ve apologized/reflected at all. i tell her no, because my boyfriend said i have nothing to apologize for and it seems like a non-issue. she is now avoiding me, refuses to be in the same room as me, and will declare to anyone who asks that she doesn’t want to be near someone who fetishizes trans people and she doesn’t feel safe around me. my boyfriend tries to talk to her but she insists i need to apologize at the bare minimum, but to who? even if i did apologize to my boyfriend i wouldn’t mean it and he wouldn’t want it. Z is his long-time best friend, i can’t exactly go the rest of our relationship just avoiding her. so i have no damn idea where to go from here.

on some level, i worry she’s right? i honestly don’t know why i started calling him those things. i think it started as a joke but i just kept doing it when i noticed he seemed to like it. in hindsight that was maybe shitty of me, but i trust him to tell me when something i do is making him uncomfortable. it’s not like i can do that over, but if he ever told me to stop i would. it’s definitely true that if you saw my boyfriend on the street you’d probably assume he’s a woman, but i’ve never been attracted to anyone who actually identifies as a woman before. i’ve only ever liked men, and no matter what he looks like he is a man. this whole situation did make me think about how i think about him, and i’ve realized that, like… i want to have kids with him one day, and ideally i’d like him to carry them. ideally, but id never make him. if he decided tomorrow that he wanted to medically transition and go the whole nine yards i’d support him. he’s my whole world, i just want him to be happy. but does the fact i want him to carry children prove her right?

i’m just. confused. i feel like i’m running myself in circles. Z knew him in highschool so she was there when bullying over his gender was at his worse, so i get why she’s protective. she’s also trans herself so she undoubtedly understands this stuff better than me. but i’ve heard it’s normal for trans people to have complicated relationships with gender, so it’s normal to be okay with gendered language from some people and not others (like only letting close friends use certain pronouns for you). i figure it’s like that, but it’s not my gender so… i don’t know. should i just stop calling him those pet names altogether, even though i know at this point he enjoys them, to be safe? am i an asshole for calling him those things in the first place / would i be an asshole if i kept doing it?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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rallamajoop · 8 months ago

Text

On Mia Winters, misogyny, and abuse

As should be pretty obvious by now, I love Mia Winters. I honestly think she’s one of the most compelling characters in this whole damn franchise.

But let me make clear: you don’t have to love her. Mia’s canonically done a lot of shady shit in her time, and her relationship with Ethan has real problems. There are perfectly viable interpretations where the only thing really holding it together is his own denial. Only I never seem to get to read any of those takes, because the most common characterisations Mia gets in fic are an irredeemable monster, or a cardboard cutout who exists only to be written out as quickly as possible. And to write Mia out to that degree doesn’t just do her character a disservice, it does Ethan a disservice, and a big one.

The amount of Mia-bashing I see out there in this fandom turns my stomach. It’s not just the slash fans who’d rather ship Ethan with another dude. I have seen Mia loudly bashed in tags on het or gen fic in which she does not even appear. I have seen male fans reviewing these games on youtube who treat her the exact same way. But it’s never more frustrating than when that hate comes from the same fans who’ll turn around and talk about characters like Chris or even Lady Dimitrescu (she who canonically abuses her and murders her servants, and, y’know, eats people without a shred of remorse) like they’re perfectly forgivable and have done no real wrong. And don’t get me wrong: I love Lady D, but I love her because she’s magnificently evil. Mia? Mia’s a whole lot more complicated.

But to really explain why this hate makes me so uncomfortable, I’m going to have to start with the start of Resident Evil 7, and Mia’s very first scenes in this whole franchise.

Let me quickly summarise the opening of that game. A man whose wife disappeared without explanation suddenly gets a message about her whereabouts. He travels to an isolated location, breaks in, and finds her. She denies ever sending him that message, and seems incredibly distressed that he’s there at all. They fight. It ends with him sinking an axe into her neck and shooting her several times with a handgun. But see, he didn’t do anything wrong! It was all self-defence! She started it! She was acting crazy!

If you didn’t spot it, the whole opening of RE7 reads uncomfortably like a story about a woman escaping an abusive relationship, then being tracked down and murdered by her ex.

Obviously, I am not here to tell you Ethan’s abusive. He’s not, we’ve got no reason to imagine he is. He was legitimately acting in self-defence.

But the fact the first thing Ethan has to do in this game is find the balls to kill his own wife ‒ that a whole new era of Resi games has opened with a sequence so easily read as a sympathetic justification for how a man might perfectly innocently track down his missing spouse and "have" to kill her – that made those opening minutes into by far the most uncomfortable part of this whole franchise for me. Shit like this really happens. I mean it, I will track down the fucking statistics on women who are murdered after trying to leave an abusive partner if I have to.

What happens to ‘Mia’ in the opening to RE8 isn’t much better: it's as textbook a fridging as any I’ve ever seen. Yes, it’s a fridging that gets retconned away later when she turns up alive, but the fact that’s even possible speaks to just how awful and confusing her death is. The game opens with Mia’s violent murder at the hands of this series’ longest running ‘hero’, and the event is framed entirely in terms of how awful it is for her husband. That's as frigid as a fridging gets.

The eventual reveal that the real Mia was just trapped alone in a cell being experimented on by a madwoman for god knows how long doesn’t actually make it better. The horror Mia goes through in both these games is a footnote, barely explored.

I bring these events up not to condemn the RE franchise, not to say that including these sequences was unconscionable, or that violence against women can never be shown in a horror title. A quick glance at my tumblr should demonstrate how much I adore these games. Tropes like fridging become problems only because they’re so ubiquitous they can come to define almost the only roles women get to play, not because any individual example is necessarily grounds for outrage. If anything, there’s just as much to analyse in all the hate thrown at characters like Ethan Winters (or his predecessor, Jonathan Harker) as a archtypical examples of sexism against men – backlash against the very idea of a male character in the disempowered role of horror victim, usually reserved for women.

But with this context in mind, my god is it uncomfortable to see people talk about Mia as irredeemable monster who deserves to suffer more. People who will valorise the likes of Chris Redfield, who didn’t even bother to stop to tell Ethan that’s not Mia, yet talk about Mia like being shot to death in her own living room was only what she deserved. That is just a whole load of yikes.

And given that both games open with Mia being violently killed by a male protagonist (twice in RE7, with the player in control), it sure is convenient how so many people have managed to ‘find’ the evidence that proves she’s the real villain. You don’t have to think too hard about Chris Redfield as a violent maniac or Ethan Winters being forced to kill his own wife if it’s okay to inflict violence on this woman. “Yes, but she shouldn’t have done [X]…” or even “But what if she’s the real abuser” is a narrative that gets thrown at real women in abusive relationships all the time – especially when the man is a friend of whoever’s casting judgement, or even a celebrity. Real world examples of this shit in the wild run the gamut from wild fan-takes on The Shining ‘proving’ that actually the abused wife was the ‘real’ abuser all along, right up to the ongoing hate campaign against Amber Heard. People don’t want to have to think badly of someone they admire, and will take any excuse to shift the blame. The stakes are infinitely lower when we’re talking about fictional characters, but the same pattern plays out.

And look, I do get it. It’s easy to go into these games and come out with a negative opinion of Mia. She’s the one who lures you into danger in RE7, acts all innocent, and then comes at Ethan with a chainsaw – and when you finally find out her big secret at the end, it turns out she was working for the people who created Eveline from the start! You’re really not given a lot of reasons to invest in Ethan and Mia’s relationship before she’s suddenly coming at him with a knife, and the fact she never does get to come clean to him in canon leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

It’s really easy to go into RE8, note all the glaring signs that Ethan’s relationship with Mia isn’t healthy, and draw your own conclusions about a woman we don’t hardly even see again for most of the runtime of the game. Half this goddamn fandom still seems to think Heisenberg is actually a lycan, ffs – most of what people think they know about Mia is more meme than fact, and the rest is pretty surface level. Basic media literacy is not exactly high out there in the tumblrweeds (let alone the rest of the internet).

But as for the idea that Mia’s responsible for all the horrors Ethan went through, people seem to forget that Mia herself went through so much worse. Ethan spent a day in the Bakers’ property, and a day in the village. Mia spent years trapped in the Bakers’ property, and days at least imprisoned in Miranda’s lab, knowing exactly how much danger her family were in, helpless to save them. She’s no innocent herself, but ye gods has she already suffered for her crimes.

So with all that out of the way, well, what’s the actual ‘evidence’ that Mia herself was abusive? No-one's coming into this one without some bias, but let’s at least give it a fair shake.

Right upfront, I want to recognise that in both fiction and reality, women can be abusers, and men can be victims. Abuse in heterosexual relationships is far more likely to occur with the man as the abuser, but the reverse does happen, and the fact culture at large can be so eager to cast the woman as the villain doesn’t make it any easier for the real male victims of abuse to get recognition and help. Society as a whole is still just really shitty about enabling or excusing real abuse.

But the idea that Mia was abusive has very little to back it up. Whatever you make of “her” interactions with Ethan at the start of the game, the fact remains: that’s not Mia, and the fact she’s acting so strangely is meant to be our clue that something much bigger than a little marital strife is going on here. Knowing all this doesn’t really make the scene where she’s violently executed less disturbing, but you can’t miss the hints we don’t yet know the full story.

So the question becomes, is there any evidence that the real Mia was abusive? I’ve dug into this one a bit before in my post about trying to figure out the timeline of exactly when Mia was replaced, but there are no definitive answers as to how long Miranda's been living in their house. To summarise a long post (and a surprisingly lively timeline of events from the days before the game begins): the most likely intent seems to be that Miranda’s been posing as Mia for less than a week, though a lot of the vibes of the scene give me the impression it’s been several weeks at least. Ultimately, that’s going to come down to your own interpretation.

The Mia mentioned in Ethan’s diary who blew up at him at the hospital could be the real Mia, but more likely isn’t: you can’t really use her to argue anything definitive, one way or another. The Mia from the flashback where Ethan gets the call from Rose’s doctor is the real Mia, but if you think getting upset when your husband brushes off your obvious distress over your daughter’s health makes you abusive, then nothing I say here is going to convince you otherwise.

The only ‘real’ evidence that Mia might be a problem is one line you might hear from Ethan while taking Rose to bed, and it is admittedly a red flag: your mother’s scary when she’s angry.

And to anyone whose whole hatred of Mia has been built backwards from this one line – especially anyone who’s grown up in a dysfunctional household themselves – hell, I get it. It is one really yikes thing for Ethan to say about his wife.

But in Mia’s defence, I can only point out that, well, yes, canonically, she is scary when she’s angry.

Oh, did I say angry? I meant fucking possessed.

And if Ethan’s bringing up the spectre of that time, even subconsciously, maybe that should be an even bigger clue that the Mia in this house right now isn’t Mia.

But what really shows this line for what it is is that we’ve seen the real Mia angry. We’ve seen her cold fury at Eveline, daring to go right back to asking ‘can we be a family now?’ within hours forcing Mia to assault her own husband with a chainsaw. We’ve seen her frustration at Ethan’s own denial, and we’ve seen her stalk out of the room when he blows off an important conversation for a call from work. We’ve seen her advance on Chris after he shut her down, demanding, Where is my husband? Where is my daughter?!

We have never seen her angry without real justification. Her anger is neither violent nor disproportionate. It’s consistently purposeful, focused, and contained. There is nothing scary about the real Mia’s anger, unless you’re threatened by the very idea she might have something valid to be angry about.

There is evidence of tension in the Winters’ marriage from before Miranda’s arrival, but it takes a very different form – most evident in the flashback scene where Ethan receives the call from Rose’s doctor. Far from Miranda’s brusque, dismissive copy of her, the real Mia is anxious and depressed, scared of what Rose’s results might reveal. Here, Ethan’s the one brushing her concerns aside (“We talked about this […] Rose is fine!”) He recognises there seems to be something Mia’s not telling him, says they should talk about it, but then immediately brushes the conversation off when he gets a call from work, while Mia storms out of the room.

You can certainly read Mia as a hypocrite here, getting angry at Ethan for not knowing things she’s deliberately kept from him. But it’s Ethan who decides a call from work is more important than a conversation with his wife – someone who is obviously distressed, canonically still on a regime of drugs after the traumatic events of RE7, very likely suffering PTSD along with Ethan, and maybe even some form of postpartum depression. We don’t know anything about Ethan’s work, so there’s no point in speculating about how much he ‘needs’ to take that call. Mia’s no clear villain here – quite the opposite.

Personally, I tend towards taking this scene as evidence that Mia has tried to talk to Ethan about what really happened to him, but hasn’t managed to get him to face the truth. For all that Ethan supposedly wants to talk about the past, it’s a defining plot point that he’s badly in denial himself.

Or they could both be at some fault here: Ethan unwilling to face the truth, while Mia is reluctant to force him to face something she knows will hurt him and bring him distress. Even when Mia says outright that she ‘tried to keep this a secret, but…’ to Chris at the end of the game, the implication is as much that she’s tried to keep it a secret from people like Chris, who might decide Ethan is dangerous. She’s lied to protect him before, and if she’s still lying to him about her past with the Connections, then the fact that knowing the truth will hurt Ethan is obviously among her reasons. Protecting Ethan has always been among Mia’s top priorities ‒ even at her own expense.

The only other real hints we get about Mia’s inner life come from the glimpses of her we get in Donna’s domain. But I’m hesitant to read too much into these, given how unclear it is how much is just a manifestation of Ethan’s own anxieties. If anything, the ‘Mia’ in these scenes almost seems to have some far worse secret than simply having not told Ethan something he really ought to have put together on his own, and I’d kind of love to see that explored too – at least as long as that goes somewhere more interesting than round umpteen of ‘and that’s why Mia sucks’.

But my point here isn’t that you have to read any of these scenes the same way I do. I do think it’s important to recognise that nothing written for a game like RE is truly character-driven; scenes exist to serve the plot far more than to reflect consistent character motivations or hold up to fridge logic (which, let’s face it, is the real reason for most of Chris’ horrific behaviour in this game, let alone anyone else’s). The result is rarely super consistent, and leaves ample space for multiple interpretations of anyone’s motivations. Regardless, the idea there’s any hard evidence that Ethan and Mia’s relationship is dysfunctional, or that whatever’s wrong is Mia’s fault alone, is going to be incredibly hard to justify.

Any assertion that Ethan and Mia are somehow on the verge of divorce also needs to be weighed against the masses of evidence of how much they love each other – the number of times Mia has said she loves Ethan, up to and including (yes, I’m bringing this up again) how ready she is to die for him in RE7. Her speech to Chris at the end of RE8 states explicitly that being together with Ethan and Rose is the only thing that matters to her. “Mia, I’m sorry, I love you,” are some of the last words Ethan ever speaks – and I can’t help but read into how the moment he finally pushes Rose into Chris’ arms so they can get away with him weighing them down is right after he learns that Mia is alive, and thus implicitly that Rose won’t be alone if Ethan doesn’t make it. And good god does that scene break my heart every time.

It’s worth recognising that the fact Ethan and Mia love each other doesn’t inherently mean their relationship is healthy, or that you have to love them together as much as I do. Like I said up top, you don’t have to like Mia, and you don’t have to justify not liking her if you don’t. I would genuinely like to see fics where Mia and Ethan’s supposedly-necessary break up feels in character. Where Ethan loves her but just can’t deal with the resentment and the fallout over all the lies she told him, where he's been clinging to his 'happy ending' with Mia after surviving the Bakers so hard he can't face the fact things just aren't working, or where he’s having to face that their relationship only ever really worked because she was away so much. It will break my heart, but fiction is allowed to do that.

But god, it would be nice if people could just take the bashing below an eleven around this place. The number of times I’ve had to sigh and back-button out of reading something, because yet another author has decided to project their own hatred for Mia onto the husband who’s still reeling from watching her being violently murdered in front of him… it gets fucking old, y’know?

I would really like to think that in the year of our lord 2024, fandom would be a bit past this thing where they bash the canonical female love interest in the name of shipping the hero with another dude. People will bend over backwards to try and cast Heisenberg and Chris as guys who really care about consent and worry about Ethan getting hurt, because heaven forbid anyone be caught shipping something slightly problematic. And yet misogyny still somehow gets a pass.

You do not have to love Mia. You don’t even have to like her. But ye gods, the hate she gets is baseless and absurd.